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wildlyglittering · 3 years

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Love in an Elevator

Happy Sunday everyone!

Thank you to those who have liked, commented and re-blogged my pieces so far - you are *chef’s kiss* awesome.

How’s the ACOSF discourse coming? I’m watching it all whilst slurping my tea but very much staying out of it. I’m cracking on with my fanfiction though, am feeling weirdly inspired lately which is rare but I’ll take it!

In a few weeks I’ll probably ask if anyone has any requests as I’m feeling up for the challenge. I’m slow but I’ll get there in the end.

In the meantime I hope you enjoy this one!

***

There was no getting out of the predicament she’d found herself in, no matter how much she begged - and she had begged.

She’d thrown in some negotiations and when those offerings failed, she’d feigned a nonchalance that was as transparent as water. The very last weapon in her arsenal had been to fling mean spirited insults but those spurred him on more.

Then again, she grinned to herself, didn’t she know they would?

Nesta’s arms were stretched upwards above her head, the backs of her hands pressed against the cool wall of the elevator. Two large hands held them in place with a grip that refused to relent, the skin of her captor so hot he must have been burning.

At some point his mouth had moved from hers to her throat, his head dipping down while she strained hers back, her neck arching to give him better access. She always provided an initial protest. I don’t want your filthy mouth on me. The waiter from the restaurant looked like he was able to provide more satisfaction than you and he could hardly stand. I think I should go home now before my evening ends in disappointment.

It was a game they played and they played it well.

That hot mouth travelled to a sensitive spot, lips skimming her skin to the point where they scarcely touched her. A whine escaped her, short and shrill enough that she’d hoped he hadn’t heard but from the quirk of his lips on her throat that she did feel, she knew he had.

“Patience is a virtue,” he trilled at her and her own lips turned into a sneer.

“I’m just trying not to die of boredom.”

Nesta’s voice was far too breathless for the barb to land and he chuckled.

“Sure,” he murmured, “and that’s why you sound like you’re a filly in a stable right now.”

“Shut up, Cassian.”

“Mmm. Make me.”

His mouth was on hers again, lips hot and greedy, tongue gliding against hers. He tasted faintly of the scotch he’d been drinking at dinner and he would be tasting red wine.

Cassian was somehow lazy and energetic with his kisses.

He kissed like his goal was to steal every breath she might ever make but he did it so leisurely, so languidly, like he’d managed to switch the passage of time off to allow for it. He pulled back his mouth to suck her bottom lip between his before soothing it over with his tongue.

One day he’d probably make someone combust from kissing them. Not her though, she’d built up an immunity.

Nesta squirmed; her muscles straining in her back. Thankfully yoga had made her limber over the years so that any discomfort was minimal but still, she needed to exhibit some form of protest.

Cassian slid his mouth from hers and glanced at her, it was a brief check in to make sure he wasn’t hurting her, his eyes quick to turn gentle even with his pupils dilated into blackness. She could tell all this from one look. Cassian had such expressive eyes.

Nesta mentally chased the endearment away and pouted. Cassian’s faced slipped from worry to amused, his lips tipping into an arrogant smirk. He chuckled and dipped his head down to suck on the skin of her collarbone.

“Nice try sweetheart, but it’s not going to happen.”

She let out a sigh, half irritation and half bliss, which turned into a moan when he doubled his efforts and sucked harder.

If Nesta had any decency, she wouldn’t be letting him doing this to her in the elevator of his apartment building. If Nesta had any decency, she would pull her body away instead of rubbing it against his.

If Nesta had any decency, she wouldn’t have been the one to make the first move as soon as the doors had closed.

Nesta’s eyes fluttered shut. Her heart pounded its rhythm in her chest and her blood rushed in her ears. Her pulse thrummed everywhere, everywhere, including the place Cassian hadn’t yet reached for.

Still, it was as though he read her thoughts, and he elevated some of the ache by pressing his pelvis against hers, his crisp dress pants rustling as he stepped further between Nesta’s legs.

He lazily flexed his hips against hers and she rocked back, her dress slipping further up her thighs, expanses of bare skin showing to an empty cube. His tongue pressed against the pulse point at the join between her neck and shoulder and she gasped, eyes flying open.

Every. Time.

Once Cassian had figured out what made Nesta’s body hum he’d seemingly made it his personal mission to turn a tune into an orchestral delight.

Her eyes refocused past the swimming haze that Cassian drowned her in and what she saw must have reached some part of her brain that hadn’t vacated her head.

The numbers on the elevator display kept increasing. Five, Fifteen, Fifty.

There was no danger of anyone calling the elevator, the apartment building was in an area of the city that was considered ‘up and coming’ which meant over three quarters of the complex were still up for sale. Cassian had been one of the first buyers and snagged the penthouse at a decent introductory rate.

Nesta’s eyes managed to sharpen into focus when they alighted on the black polished and exceptionally shiny tiles lining the ceiling, which, for all intents and purposes, acted like a mirror.

The tableau playing out did absolutely nothing to quell her thundering heartbeat.

Earlier Nesta’s hair had been preened into a slick French knot, teased into place by her hairstylist who implied Nesta had big plans for the evening. Nesta had dismissed those remarks with a wave of her hand and a scowl that could curdle milk.

Now, hours later, all was in disarray. Gold-brown strands fell onto her shoulders loosened by two firm hands that had buried themselves in her hair at the first available opportunity.

One of those shoulders was bare, the strap of her dress slid down when Cassian had made a beeline for the curve that contained the most freckles. His favourite shoulder, he’d once told her. She’d rolled her eyes at him on hearing that but made a point of wearing one-stap tops at family summer barbecues where he couldn’t reach for her.

At this vantage point Nesta was able to catch glimpses of herself from their mirror-twins but mostly what she saw was him.

Cassian’s hair was still in its low bun, which, unlike Nesta’s was messy by design. The expanse of his back covered her, his snow-white shirt stretched across solid back muscles. His jacket was discarded on the floor along with her bag and one of her shoes.

She’d managed to tug his shirt loose before he’d pinned her, the bottom of it now crumpled and ridden up at the back and in the shimmering, slightly distorted surface of the black tiles she saw his smooth, deep olive skin.

Her fingers twitched. She couldn’t wait to get into his apartment, to grab at the buttons and pull the fabric from him. Nesta had ruined, two, maybe three shirts of his now, not that he cared. With any luck she’d have him naked halfway across the lower floor of his open planned mezzanine. Maybe this time they’d make it up the stairs to his bed. Maybe they wouldn’t.

Cassian must have felt her fingers twitch because he shifted his hands upwards, from her wrists across her palms, to entwine his own between hers. They clung, entangled with each other, their knuckles surely turning bone white with the grip.

It wasn’t enough that she wanted to see his skin, she needed to feel it, smooth and warm underneath her fingertips. She envisaged her fingertips rounding over the muscles of his chest and abdomen and then drifting her palm over hard muscle to harder muscle still.

Every time they did this was like Nesta was receiving a present from the universe and it was a sobering thought that ultimately, they would have to decide the gift tree needed to stop gifting.

“Cassian,” she groaned and he lifted his head.

It always seemed to Nesta that she was more undone than him in these situations. Her clothes and hair were always mussed, her skin flushing red and her breath huffing from her mouth in harsh pants. Cassian always looked like he’d run a marathon without breaking a sweat.

There was lust in the way she’d said his name, of course there was. A man this decadent couldn’t hold his body against hers like this, couldn’t flex his hardness against her pelvis like this, for Nesta not to sound like she was about to unravel into a spool of thread.

But something else had crept in, something that sounded disturbingly like longing, like she wanted their ribs pressed as close as they could get so their hearts almost touched.

His eyes, half-lidded and hazy were staring into hers. Desire lived in them when he looked at her, but she also knew how he counted the freckles on her nose while he thought she was asleep and how he played with her hair when she dozed. Now his desire had a permanent room-mate who’d crept in uninvited.

These were things that would go unsaid. They hated each other, of course. They even had friends who encouraged the level of vitriol they could spew.

Cassian slipped back into arrogance as easy as he could breathe.

“That’s right, Nes,” he murmured, “say my name.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. If she could move her legs, she’d be tempted to give him a kick. “Bastard.”

The smile never left his face. “Oh, and don’t you know it.”

He kissed her again, shifting his pelvis away only to position one strong muscled thigh between her legs instead. She moaned against his mouth, feeling the determined throb of his erection through the fabric of his pants against her thigh. She ground down onto his leg, her hips rocking as she tried to quell her building ache.

Cassian moved both her wrists into one of his hands, freeing the other. His grip was looser now with just one fist holding her and if Nesta wanted, she could pull both her hands down and out with ease. She didn’t of course, despite her earlier protests. This game had well established rules.

Cassian’s free right hand slipped down to her bare knee, hooking behind it to draw it upwards towards his hip. They’d played this part of the game before too, Nesta instantly wrapping her leg around his waist, her dress indecently bunched around her hips.

There were many things to be thankful for in this world. The fact that Cassian’s apartment complex was semi-deserted. The fact that his frame shielded hers from any view if the elevator happened to stop and the fact that Cassian knew where the button was to turn off the security camera.

They’d learnt their lesson from experience.

Stern words had been directed to them both from the old security guard. “Please,” he’d pleaded, “no more sex in the elevator. I’m over 70, my heart isn’t so good. Make love to your girlfriend in your apartment.”

Nesta had been extremely quick to point out she wasn’t Cassian’s girlfriend which just made the old man raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

Perhaps Nesta was the only woman that Cassian invited over, perhaps she’d brought over an overnight bag once or twice and perhaps they’d hooked up after the cinema and a couple of dinners and even after a Sunday farmer’s market but it didn’t mean a thing.

“Ah,” Cassian sighed, pulling his mouth away from hers. “I know this pair – the red silk?”

His fingers trailed up her bare thigh and further until he reached the edge of her panties. The man had an unusual gift for accurately guessing her underwear.

The dress she’d chosen to wear out was a new one; sleeveless black lace with thick cut straps scooping into a scalloped neckline. Demure and elegant. Hints of cleavage and slight bare shoulders only.

The lower half was significantly shorter than what she would normally wear but pairing them with her highest heels had been worth it to see Cassian’s face when she entered the restaurant, his eyes skimming up her naked legs with an expression like he wanted to devour her.

This underwear was a particular favourite of his so she thought that tonight they should make an appearance.

His fingers, a maddeningly delicate touch, skimmed across the front of the fabric, pressing firmly with his thumb in just the right place for the briefest of seconds before pulling away.

Nesta’s body jolted and his eyes shone.

“Prick.”

“Hmmm pretty sure that’s Feyre’s pet name for Rhys.”

Well there was a mood killer.

“Ugh please,” she said, “please don’t mention my baby sister and that asshole while your hand is up my dress. I already spend enough money on therapy as it is.”

Cassian laughed, a sound that was rich and warm and thrummed through her. When Cassian laughed, he laughed with his whole body. “Oh, not finding Feyre and Rhys’ terms of endearment a turn on?”

She scrunched her nose.

“Well, that’s cute.”

“Shut. Up.”

Cassian grinned and kissed her again.

At first, when all this began, they didn’t talk about real life; Cassian’s job, Nesta’s job, weekend plans, friends or family. It was strictly skin on skin contact only. Those were the rules.

As time trickled past like sand in an hourglass, the rules warped until a significant portion had changed completely.

They ended up asking how the other was.

At first it was small talk, trying to be polite as they walked through shared the lobby of Cassian or Nesta’s apartment buildings but then Nesta had a bad day and Cassian seemed genuine in his question.

She told him about a potential client who no longer wanted her as their literary agent and how that rejection had stung. She’d believed in that book she told him, it was about sisters and redemption, and she explained how she’d cried when she first read the manuscript.

After that point they talked about their work. Nesta would glance at the architect plans Cassian had scattered about his drafting table and asked questions about how his projects were progressing and check her emails while he cooked dinner. There were times they sat opposite each other, Cassian while he drafted and Nesta while she read.

That was the other thing. There were dinners. Lunches. Weekend plans involving brunches and early morning Saturday jog’s around the park.

The one thing that did seem to be beyond their new rules was discussing friends and family.

Cassian and Nesta rarely spoke about their mutual acquaintances, often refusing to acknowledge they even had any. It was strange for Cassian to bring Rhys into conversation but he was obviously on Cassian’s mind from the phone call earlier.

They were done with their starters and waiting for the main’s when Rhys rang, Cassian answering because if he hadn’t, ‘shit would look suspicious.’

Nesta could hear the conversation from both parties even as Cassian twisted in his chair, phone pressed to his ear hunched away as much as possible to try and limit the sound.

It was confirmation from Rhys that him, Cassian and Azriel were still on for their tomorrow plans; a morning of manly activities followed by ‘lunch with the ladies’ to celebrate Cassian’s thirtieth birthday as Cassian had told them he wasn’t able to celebrate tonight, on his actual birthday.

Of course, Nesta hadn’t been invited to the group festivities. As far as all were concerned, Cassian and Nesta loathed each other and so Nesta let it slide. Cassian had essentially fobbed off the ones he loved the most with a work-based lie to have dinner with her. She thought it was a poor and unexpected exchange on his part.

Still, she had promised him a lovely birthday treat to make up for it.

Nesta gently pulled back from his kiss and watched Cassian pout.

“Now, who’s looking cute.”

“It’s my birthday. I want kisses.”

She looked up at him as coyly as she could, flexing her hips forward into his, gasping as the action moved his fingers across the front of her underwear. “Well as you’re now such a big boy perhaps tonight we can do that thing you’ve always wanted to do. It being a special occasion and all.”

Cassian’s pout dissipated and his eyes grew five shades darker.

“You mean...”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, Nesta. What the hell floor are we on? Why aren’t we top floor yet, c’mon!”

Nesta laughed. They were in the world’s slowest elevator which wouldn’t be an issue but they definitely wouldn’t be doing the thing in here.

The birthday gods or whoever Cassian just offered a sacrifice to in his mind were in an obliging mood as the ‘ding’ told Nesta they’d finally reached Cassian’s floor.

Somehow, with super human speed, he’d removed his hands from her body, scooped up the jacket, bag and shoe from the floor and turned to her, hoisting her up so she clung to him like a bear climbing a tree.

Nesta laughed again combined with a shriek of surprise, her legs wrapping around his waist, her hands buried in his hair. With a fumbling grace, his face pushed between her breasts, one hand full of their belongings and the other on her ass, Cassian moved them from the elevator into the hallway.

Her back thumped against the wall by his front door as Cassian dug around for his keys. Nesta tangled her hands further into his hair, making his bun as messy as hers.

“You know,” she said, “you should really consider getting a mirror installed above your bed. I think it would add a certain post-modern aesthetic.”

He momentarily paused his search to look up at her, his eyes hazy. “Yeah, you think?” he rasped. “If you want, sweetheart.”

“Not for me,” she replied with an air of indifference, moving her fingers to skim along the muscles corded in his neck. “Some woman you try and pick up might go for it.”

Cassian gave her a smirk and kissed the skin of her exposed cleavage before getting back to find his keys.

“Hurry,” she pleaded to hear Cassian mumble back, trying.

The click of the lock turning was the best sound she’d ever heard and they were barely through the threshold and into his darkened apartment before everything in Cassian’s hands, aside her, fell to a clatter on his solid floorboards.

Cassian simultaneously slammed the door and her back against the wall, his mouth stretching up to claim hers while she grabbed the back of his shirt, tugging it higher. She needed to get to his skin, needed to peel off his layers and throw off hers. If they made it to the bed for the first round of this evening it would be nothing short of a miracle.

It was only seconds before the apartment flooded with light where it had been pitch black before. The realisation that neither of them had turned on the lights came a second too late.

There was a chorus of loud and happy voices to accompany the lights.

“SURPRISE!”

It petered out to stunned silence and gasps. Cassian pulled back from Nesta his eyes filling with horror. Nesta didn’t want to look, but she was facing them, she couldn’t not.

Balloons and streamers dotted the apartment, a huge banner stretched overhead to say ‘happy birthday,’ tables full of food and alcohol primed and ready to go. There they were in front, the collective loved ones they didn’t talk about with a few extra of Cassian’s friends thrown in for good measure.

They just stared, eyes wide and mouths open. Silence.

There was a throaty chuckle followed by Amren’s voice. “Surprise? Well, I’d say it is.”

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #i wrote something #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessianfic #nessian fic #nesta x cassian

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harrysweasleys · 4 years

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a lesson in chemistry // r.l

summary: hey! i was wondering if you could do one where the reader does really bad in a test and remus comforts her? thank u!!

warnings: none

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i am close to 1k and was thinking of doing an event but i know i’m gonna forget and it’s just not going to go well so i just wanna say THANK YOU to all you sweet sweet beings for following my mess of a blog! :)

——

Moonstone. Powdered porcupine quills. Powdered unicorn horn.

The three ingredients repeated themselves over and over in your head as you sat by yourself in the common room nearing two o’clock in the morning, the messy notebook spread open in front of you as your eyes tried to droop shut.

It was nearly impossible for you to focus on the fuzzy words, but you forced yourself to stay as awake as you possibly could so that tomorrow’s quiz would be a breeze. That’s why you were studying, wasn’t it?

Remus and Sirius had promised to help you out, but the two had trudged off to bed nearly an hour ago, practically already asleep. For two people who seemed so adamant on ‘all nighters’ they had gone to bed rather early, in your opinion. You quite missed their company — Remus more than Sirius — and wished you could at least have someone here to help keep your mind sharp.

But, here you were, all by your lonesome and wrapped in a scarlet and gold knitted blanket that your parents had made you, the crackling fireplace heating you up, and the words in front of you making you sleepy.

You couldn’t comprehend why no one else seemed stressed or even worked up about this quiz — exam, actually — which made studying it just that much more frustrating. You figured people would care about their marks and scores, right?

“The potion should result in a cool blue colour,” you mumbled to no one in particular, the words trying their best to etch into your brain, “A cool blue colour. Not to be mistaken with Draught of Peace which is a warm blue colour.”

You let out a quiet groan and rested your head against the back of the couch cushion. Potions class was never your strong suit, but you had found it fascinating. And, of course, hou didn’t want to seem like you were lost, so studying hours on end seemed to be the only passing solution here.

The large ticking clock on the wall told you it was five minutes past two o’clock, and the exam was at ten o’clock the next day. Only eight hours left for you to memorize every last word.

Eight hours.

As you glanced back down at the book, your eyes felt heavier than they were not a minute ago, and your head felt as if it were on a cloud. The room around you seemed to vanish down a long, long tunnel...

——

“D’you think if we poke her she’ll jump?”

“Sirius, that’s just rude.”

“C’mon, it’d be funny though. What if we poured pumpkin juice on her?”

“No, let’s just calmly wake her up.”

“You’re boring, Remus.”

Your eyes fluttered open to two overly familiar faces crouched in front of you. Remus, his hair messy and his eyes watching you cautiously, and Sirius with his signature smirk.

“Get out of my face,” you sat up, throwing the blanket off of and trying to figure out where you were. The Gryffindor common room felt very different when you were waking up in it.

The fire embers were burning low and the morning sunlight blazed through the windows, the room brighter than it had ever seemed before. The blanket was still comfortable draped over your body, warm and comforting, and the heavy textbook was still open on your lap with the page slightly crumpled as your hand rested upon it.

Suddenly, as if hit by a train once you noticed the book, you remembered, “Bloody hell, it’s the Potions quiz today.”

Remus chuckled, “Relax. It’s in, like, an hour.”

You threw the blanket off of your body and grabbed the book, shaking your head, “You don’t get it, Remus. I don’t know anything.”

“That can’t be true,” Remus furrowed his eyebrows at you.

Sirius pat you on the shoulder, sitting next to you on the couch and closing the book with a loud thump, “You’ll be fine. You just need to eat.”

So you let the two boys lead you down to the Great Hall, where the loud hustle and bustle of the early morning made it nearly impossible to focus on the jumble of words on the worn out pages in front of you. The book, although informative, was clearly written for someone who actually understood what the hell everything meant. And it was harder to understand anything when the ruckus around you made it difficult to even read said things.

It bothered you greatly that Remus — the person you considered your best friend — didn’t seem to care about the exam. Were you overreacting?

It wasn’t your fault, really. You took schoolwork very seriously and sometimes that meant overreacting. Over-studying. Over-planning. All of the above.

But, better to be safe than sorry — isn’t that the saying?

When the Great Hall crowd became dispersed, you knew that meant classes were beginning and you felt your nerves kick in at the thought. You shut the book rather loudly and followed Remus to the Potions classroom, no words being exchanged between the two of you — which you were thankful for, to be honest.

“You got this,” Remus flashed you a grin as you slowly walked into the class together, taking your usual seats in the middle. You didn’t like being too close, nor too far from the teacher. These seats were perfect.

“I don’t need false hope,” you groaned, resting your head on the table, “I need answers.”

He chuckled, “Sorry, you know me. I can’t cheat. But if this test goes wrong, I can tutor you.”

You lifted your head quickly, a bright red spot on your forehead from where it was previously pressed up against the wooden desk, “Wait, really? You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he smirked, running his hand through his hair in a stupidly attractive manner, “What are friends for?”

You flashed him a bright grin, “Oh, you’re the best, Remus.”

His cheeks turned slightly pink as he smiled back, lowering his head slightly as he flushed at the compliment. You felt your heart leap at his flustered state, unsure why the strange feeling decided to make its home in your chest.

You brushed it aside as the professor entered the class and handed out the quiz papers, making sure every student was silent and that no cheating would occur.

Within the first glance at the page, your heart sunk, all previous fluttery feelings gone. You had been so focused on remembering ingredients and potion colours that you forgot to study their purposes. The entire first page was asking about what each potion did and who they helped best. And you hadn’t even brushed on that subject during your late night study session.

Long story short, you were screwed.

You closed your eyes, thinking long and hard about each answer, writing down whatever felt right. It was always good to trust your gut instinct right?

In this case, it didn’t feel so right, but you went with it anyways.

What felt like two hours was only really thirty minutes, and the quiz was officially out of your hands. You felt ashamed handing it back — you knew your Professor would think you were a fool, a student who found excuses not to study. And that feeling was nagging you throughout the remainder of class.

“You don’t look so good,” Remus nudged your shoulder once you packed up your books, your entire body slouched and your lips curved downwards into a frown.

“I botched that so bad,” you groaned, tossing your head back and closing your book bag, throwing it over your shoulder, “I was too tired last night and didn’t study everything I wanted to.”

Empathetically, Remus wrapped his arm around your shoulder, guiding you out of the crowded class. You were too busy sulking to pay attention to the fact that Sirius, James and Peter weren’t even with you guys.

“I’ll help you,” Remus said, voice laced with confidence, “I don’t want you doubting your intelligence so I, Remus Lupin, appoint myself as your own personal tutor.”

“Can people self-appoint themselves that?” your face broke into a grin, his humorous antics thankfully distracting you from your disappointment, “You’re too much.”

“But you love me,” he ruffled your hair, removing his arm from around you and slipping his hand into his pocket.

You chuckled, shaking your head as your heart leapt in your chest, “I really do.”

——

“I failed.”

Your voice was weak and quiet as you sat down on the Gryffindor table bench during lunch the week after, your mood rather sour. You had been incredibly worked up that morning, knowing you’d be getting your test results. But now that you’d gotten them, you wanted nothing more than to go back in time where you didn’t have to deal with the reality of the failure.

Remus’ face fell and he placed his hand on your knee, “Ah, I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t do so well either. I think this test was marked more strictly than they usually are.”

Though you appreciated the effort, it didn’t lift your spirits.

“I didn’t think I’d do bad enough to actually fail,” you sighed, slouching your shoulders and resting your elbows lazily on the table, “I’m mad at myself.”

“Hey,” Remus lifted his hand off of your knee and poked you in the shoulder, “Stop that. Seriously. Don’t put yourself down so much.”

“Hard not to,” you leaned forwards and rested your head on your hand, eyeing the food with a frown. Your appetite wasn’t present at the moment.

Remus snapped his fingers in front of your face, “I’m serious, Y/N. I’m here to help you, yeah? We’ll get through this. We’ll improve together. The next quiz won’t even stand a chance against us.”

You wanted to keep sulking, but his words brought a smile to your face. Remus had a way of cheering you up — him and his ways. Something about him.. you just couldn’t stay upset around him.

“Thanks,” you grinned, lifting your arm and poking him in the shoulder as he had done to you previously, “I do feel a little better.”

“Good!” he flashed you a toothy grin, his eyes brightening, “That’s always the intention.”

You stared at him for a good moment, the smile not leaving your face. His freckles seemed more visible than usual, his hair lighter and his eyelashes long against his cheeks each time he blinked. Though his hair was thin and brown, his eyelashes were thicker and darker — it was rather cute. His eyes had specks of green in them and, you had never really noticed before, they had some grey in them too.

You had to snap yourself out of the trance he left you in, unaware and unsure as to what caused it.

Had you just checked Remus out? No. Couldn’t be. He was your friend. Friend. Best friend.

You took a deep breath and began filling your plate, appetite suddenly back. You filled your stomach with chicken pot pie and potatoes, hoping that the faster you ate, the better you’d feel.

But nope.

Though your mind was off of your test, you somehow felt even worse. Remus was all you could focus on. His closeness, his kindness, his warmth, his smell.

“Ready for the afternoon?” Remus stuck his hand out to you as he stood up, shaking you from your weirdly romantic thoughts.

“What?” you blinked, “Oh — yeah, sorry.”

You shook your head and stood up, linking your hand with his as the two of you left the hall and took off towards your next class.

——

“No, no,” Remus shook his head, “You need to add this.”

You stared blankly down at the messy piece of parchment, nodding your head slowly, trying to remember which potion you guys had been talking about in the first place.

“Uh — which one again?” you asked sheepishly, your ears burning at the obvious fact that you weren’t paying attention, “Sorry.”

He let out a small laugh, placing his finger on the page in front of you, “This.”

You were glad that the library was quiet at this time of day, the cloudy weekend morning meaning most students would be choosing to start their day relaxing around in their pyjamas and drinking pumpkin juice.

You, however, while others students got to relax and spend the morning doing nothing, you had the great misfortune of being dragged out of the common room by an equally tired Remus.

“The library is empty in the morning,” he had said at your repeated groaning.

And he was right. The library was empty. The only sound you could hear was your quill scratching against your parchment and Remus’ whispered voice trying to teach you while respecting the library noise rules.

“What potion uses porcupine quills and peppermint sprigs?” he asked, resting his head on his hands and staring at you intently, his eyes focused on you and only you.

“Uh—,” you fought the urge to look down at your parchment notes, “Elixor to Induce Euphoria.”

He grinned, raising his hand to high five you, which you gladly accepted, “See! You got this!” You felt your face warm up at the contact and compliment.

“Next question,” he smirked, leaning even closer to you, “What would you say if I asked you to come to Hogsmeade for a drink?”

“I — what?”

As if the wind was knocked out of you, you couldn’t utter a single sound. Had you heard him right? There was no way.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” he chuckled.

But you still couldn’t find the words.

Yes, you had recently looked at Remus differently, but had it been a crush? It didn’t seem like it at first — but as you looked at him now, his face illuminated by the light outside and the way his hair stuck up in odd places, you realized you did like him.

You liked him. Him and his boisterous laugh, his nervous nail-biting habits, his love for poetry and snow. You loved how he’d always be there for you, ready to crack a corny joke when you were feeling down in the dumps. You loved how he’d always have a book recommendation and a long list of reasons why it would be worth the read. You loved how he always had the neatest handwriting, his notes providing you with bits of information you’d miss in class. How he’d always look forward to dessert because of how delicious he found the pumpkin pasties.

And all it took was him asking you out for you to realize you were falling for your best friend.

“I’d actually like that,” you nodded, aware that your cheeks were probably glowing but you were too giddy to care at the moment. Somehow, you felt as if this was right. There was no strangeness about him asking you — it somehow felt as if you had been waiting ages for him to do so.

“Thank Merlin,” he sighed, relaxing his entire body as his face lit up, “Next weekend?”

“Hm, can’t think of anything I’m doing,” you tapped your finger against your chin, eyebrows raised and your cheeks beginning to hurt from the bright smile you were sending his way. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this giddy.

He leaned across the table and linked his hands in yours. You melted into the contact, using your elbow to push your parchment and quill out of the way so you could lean forwards without fear of ruining your notes or your sweater.

Safe to say, studying was now long forgotten.

—

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#remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin imagines #remus lupin one shots #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin reader insert #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fics

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snifflyjoonie · 4 years

Text

Sick Day

In which Jungkook catches his co-worker Jimin’s cold from hell and learns that Kim Taehyung never takes no for an answer.

snz-centric with Jungkook as the sickie and Taehyung as the caretaker.

Word count: 3508

This is an AU that takes place in this established universe.

a/n: WOW I take forever sometimes I’m sooooorry! That being said, the patience is so immensely appreciated. I’m such a sucker for AUs, so I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also, I decided to make a little moodboard for this fic just for fun! If you guys like the concept, I might make more for future fics. Anyway, enough rambling! Thanks again for waiting so long for this, and I really hope you enjoy reading!~

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Jungkook gave a tight-lipped smile despite Jimin’s inability to see. The older boy’s voice was thick and croaky and Jungkook couldn’t help but feel for him as he switched his phone from his left ear to his right.

“Of course not.” He assured, his voice low.

Admittedly, he was a little irritated he wouldn’t be spending his day off how he had hoped — namely playing too much Overwatch for his own good — but Jimin never called in sick. In fact, Jungkook had been working with him the past few days trying to urge him to do just that. Now it finally seemed like he had decided to take the younger man’s advice.

“Okay...if you’re sure.” Jimin sniffled. Jungkook winced at how the noise gurgled in his ear. “Thanks, Gguk.”

“No worries!” He chimed. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Yeah.” Another sniffle. “Me too.”

Jungkook clicked off his phone with a heavy sigh and collapsed back onto his mattress. He loved his job, he really did, but there was just something about going in on his scheduled days off that left a sour taste in his mouth. Not that he blamed Jimin for that, of course. People got sick sometimes. Even people like Jimin who always tried to pretend everything was fine until they were so unbelievably stuffed up they could hardly breathe — let alone serve people food. Jungkook cringed at the thought.

He rolled himself over with another groan and glanced at his alarm clock. It was already half past eight meaning if he really planned to get up at 4am to open then he desperately had to get ready for bed. He wished Jimin had called him earlier, but deep down he knew the older boy had probably put it off in the hopes he would start to feel better. His heart went out to him, but he still made a mental note to hassle him the next time he saw him.

With another small huff Jungkook pulled himself from his bed and trudged his way to the dorm’s bathroom to start getting ready for the night. If he took a shower now then he'd get to sleep in just that much longer in the morning, and to Jungkook, that extra time was priceless. No matter how many open shifts he worked he swore he’d never get used to the shrill sound of his alarm pulling him back to consciousness while the rest of the world soundly slept. 4am was too early for anybody. Jimin was lucky he liked him.

The next morning, when the dreaded sound of his alarm pulled him from his dreams, Jungkook truly thought it was the worst sound he had ever heard in his life. For some reason, it just sounded worse this particular morning — more shrill, more irritating, more horrible. Each buzz and chime made his head pound in protest, and he couldn’t reach over fast enough to get it turned off.

With a half-asleep groan Jungkook pushed himself into a sitting position and cleared his throat into a closed fist. He lazily reached for his cellphone and squinted down at the bright screen, still not quite awake enough to comprehend anything he was seeing as he scrolled aimlessly through his social media. He vaguely registered a dull ache lingering behind his eyes and sniffled quietly against the back of his free hand.

He really needed to get moving or he was going to be late.

Throwing his legs over the edge of his bed, Jungkook trudged his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and throw on his uniform. He was a little slow-moving, but he simply chalked it up to staying up too late. He felt another twinge of annoyance about Jimin’s last minute phone call, but ultimately brushed it off. He wasn’t going to let himself dwell on it. Jimin really did look like death the last time he saw him and it was honestly a good thing he had decided to call in before someone else ended up in the same boat as him.

Jungkook coughed lightly. None of that really mattered now, anyway. He needed to pick up the pace.

He made a grab for his keys before rushing to tie his shoes. He debated hunting for his bus pass but ultimately decided against it after double checking the time. He wasn’t too far from the café to begin with and if he really hustled, he figured he might even have enough time to heat up a breakfast wrap before the first customers started trickling in.

Throwing a light jean jacket on to combat the chilly spring air, Jungkook stumbled his way out of his dorm room and down the steps onto the street. He hurried himself along with purpose and did his best to ignore the way his sinuses stung with each inhale of fresh morning air. He was feeling strangely groggy, more so than usual, and brought the back of his hand up to scrub absentmindedly at his nose. At least he’d soon be able to make himself a cup of coffee. That thought alone kept him going.

Rounding the last corner to the café Jungkook quickly fumbled around in his pocket for his keys. He pulled them out swiftly, ready to unlock the front door when the sudden urge to sneeze caught him by surprise. He sucked in a desperate breath and snapped down hard into his elbow, dropping his keys in the process as two rapid sneezes toppled their way out of him.

He groaned in annoyance and bent down to retrieve his keys, rubbing his nose aggressively into his sleeve as he did so. He always sneezed when he got to work — so much so that it became a running joke between him and his coworkers — but he hadn’t even stepped inside yet, so how could the smells be affecting him?

Jungkook shook his head and fiddled his key into the lock with a thick sniffle. He pressed his shoulder into the door and shoved hard, tumbling his way into the dark café. He did his best to hold his breath as he scurried into the back room, determined to not let the strong smells get to him. Of course, the moment he let himself inhale, the various smells quickly overwhelmed his sensitive nose and he pitched into himself with another pair of uncharacteristically messy sneezes.

“EESH’hiuu!’ huh’ESSHhiUu!!”

Jungkook rose back up with a groan as he flipped on the café lights. He pressed his nose into one of his sleeves briefly before wiggling himself out of his coat and throwing it onto a nearby hook. He sniffled hard, annoyed by how runny his nose was becoming as he headed back towards the front counter to start preparing for the inevitable morning rush. He allowed himself a few moments to whip up a cappuccino and toss a breakfast wrap into their warming oven.

Now that he wasn’t rushing to get to work, he was becoming increasingly more aware of how run down he was feeling. Granted, he was always a bit tired and groggy at the start of any opening shifts, but today just felt worse. He sniffled again and sighed at the sound it made. He just hoped that he’d begin to feel a bit more lively when customers started arriving.

The clock had yet to strike 7am before a line had already formed from the front counter to the door. Normally, Jungkook could handle these types of situations, and even liked them to a certain extent. He fed off of the adrenaline it gave him and enjoyed the rush he’d get as he made drink after drink. Today however, any type of adrenaline he’d normally get was instead replaced with anxiety as he occasionally messed up orders and ran behind.

He was in the middle of making his 12th latté of the morning when the overhead bell of the front door jingled, signaling to Jungkook that yet another customer was making their way inside. Too busy to look up, he tried to ignore the way his hands trembled as he did his best to pour steamed milk into some type of design for the incredibly patient customer. He sniffled thickly as he did so, feeling sweat accumulate behind his bangs. He was nearly finished — only had one more delicate pour to complete — when his breath began to falter. Without much warning, Jungkook scrambled to set the milk and latté down, spilling half of the drink’s contents in the process before he shoved himself backward and fell into his shoulder with a harsh, sudden sneeze.

“hHuh’EEKSHhh!—godi’msosorry…” His apology came out on his shuddering exhale as he hurriedly cupped a hand around his face and stared in horror at the drink he’d ruined. He was about to stutter out some sort of offer of compensation when a familiar deep voice caught his attention.

“Yikes, not on your game today huh, Gguk?” Taehyung chuckled lowly as he bustled his way behind the counter. All Jungkook could offer back was a dumb stare and a thick sniffle — he had forgotten that Taehyung usually worked mornings with Jimin.

Jungkook felt himself relax a little as Taehyung hastily slipped out of his coat and began to tie his apron tightly around his waist. He shot the disappointed customer a warm, boxy smile and immediately fell into his barista role with minimum effort.

“Sorry about that, ma’am.” He apologized as he mopped up the spilled drink with a towel, “I’ll get started on a new one for you right away.” He turned his attention to Jungkook briefly and gestured with his chin towards their espresso machine. “Gguk, would you mind pulling some shots for me, please?”

Jungkook nodded a bit dumbly again and scurried his way towards the machine with a sharp sniffle and a rub of his nose.

Now that Taehyung was here, the older boy was quick to take control over the stressful situation and Jungkook was just as quick to let him. They fell into a rhythm together easily, and before too long had nearly emptied out the café — much to Jungkook’s relief.

“I didn’t realize you were working today.” Jungkook murmured with a tiny sniffle as he topped off one final drink with a dollop of whipped cream.

“I could say the same about you.” Taehyung retorted a bit coyly as he popped a plastic lid onto a travel cup. “Though with how awful Jimin looked the last time I saw him then I guess I’m not too surprised.”

Jungkook hummed in response, but the sound was audibly nasally and rounded. Taehyung raised an eyebrow.

“Coffee beans still bothering you?” He asked as he set down a finished drink. “You’ve been here, what...two and a half hours? Three? Usually you’re good to go by now.”

Jungkook hummed again, this time with more uncertainty, and followed it up with a sniffle.

“I’m...not sure what my deal is.” He forced a tight smile at a customer approaching the counter to retrieve their drink before continuing. “My nose is just…”

Taehyung waited patiently for the adjective that was sure to follow. Stuffy? Itchy? Sensitive? When he heard none, he stole a glance at Jungkook expectedly, but what he saw made his face instantly soften.

“Hh! hA’KSHhhiuu!” Jungkook bent at the waist and caught his sneeze into cupped hands. He groaned almost immediately afterwards, but the sound was muffled by his palms.

“Sneezy?” Taehyung offered with a scoff before reaching out to place a hand briefly onto Jungkook’s back as a sign of acknowledgement. “You alright there, Bun?” He couldn’t help but ask as Jungkook snuffled against the back of his hand.

Bun was a nickname Jimin and Taehyung had branded upon him during his training days. As time went on, the nickname was used less and less (instead getting replaced by more ridiculous things like ‘Hulk Hogan’ and ‘The Muffin Man’) and only really came out on special occasions. Taehyung felt like now was one of those times. Bun was an easy way to set the tone, and he knew the younger knew this.

“Because…” Taehyung continued as he folded his arms across his chest. “I’m starting to wonder if Jimin gave you more than just his opening shift. You worked with him all week, yeah?”

“I…yeah.” Jungkook sighed as the realization dawned on him. It was riddled with the sound of defeat. “Shit. Goddamn it, Jimin.”

Taehyung snorted out a laugh and passed a napkin to Jungkook who very graciously accepted it. Taehyung watched him shake it open before bringing it up to his nose and blowing. He turned his body away from Taehyung slightly, but it didn’t do much to stop the productive sound from reaching both of their ears.

“I’m gonna call you an Uber.”

“Wait— you’re what?”

“I’m sending you home.” Taehyung’s tone left no room for argument as he retrieved his phone from his pocket. “What’s your address? You live in the dorms, right? The ones nearby?”

“I— well, yeah, but—” Jungkook shook his head in protest. “You don’t need to— gosh. I don’t want to leave you alone for your shift, it’s going to get busy again, and—”

“Gguk, who trained you?” Taehyung cut in, eyes still glued to his phone as he typed in the café’s address.

“...Jimin?”

“Yeah, and who do you think trained him?” Taehyung chuckled and re-pocketed his phone. “Your ride’s on the way. I’ll be fine, you need to go home. Can’t have all three of us sick, can we?”

Jungkook knew he was right and he hated it.

“I could’ve just walked…” He grumbled. He was slightly embarrassed and he didn’t know why. “How much do I owe you for the Uber?”

“Owe me?” Taehyung laughed. “You owe me one clean bill of health. How about that?” He reached out to poke Jungkook’s shoulder but the other swatted his hand away sheepishly. “Oh, come on, Bun. Don’t be like that.”

Jungkook frowned deeply and brought the knuckle of his thumb up to swipe against the underside of his nose. It was wet to the touch and made him grimace. Taehyung was quick to pass him another napkin.

Jungkook had every intention to thank him — not just for the new napkin but for everything he’d done since the moment he walked in — but the chime of the door stole away his opportunity. Snapping his mouth closed and shoving the napkin into his pocket, Jungkook made to step towards the register but Taehyung stuck an arm out to stop him.

“I’ll take it from here.”

“But—”

“You’re sick, Gguk.” There wasn’t much room for argument. “Did you bring a coat?”

Jungkook nodded slightly, and Taehyung almost missed it. Jungkook was refusing to make eye contact.

“Alright, go grab it — your ride shouldn't be long. Get some rest for me, okay?” He smiled and added a quick, whispered, “Feel better soon.” As the cafe’s new customer approached the counter.

Jungkook hesitated for only a moment as Taehyung happily began taking the order. He wanted to object again, to tell Taehyung to let him stay, but he knew deep down that the decision had been made, and there would be no way Taehyung would accept any other outcome aside from him going back home. With another sigh of defeat, Jungkook started to undo his apron and headed towards the back to retrieve his things.

He really owed Taehyung. He owed Taehyung big time.

“hA’PSSH’iew!—Shit.” Jungkook rocked to the side with a sneeze that made him fumble the controller held tightly in his hands. It wasn’t that drastic of a movement, but it was enough, and he watched in horror as his character on screen died dramatically. It wasn’t the first time this had happened (in fact, it had been happening all afternoon) but that still didn’t stop Jungkook from throwing his head back and groaning.

Sniffling sharply, Jungkook set his controller down beside himself and made a grab for the tissue box he had stationed in front of him. This had been a recurring cycle ever since he’d gotten home, and the used tissues littering the floor around him reflected that.

He blew his nose harshly, doing his best to empty it out completely before throwing the used tissue down with the rest of the pile (that he kept telling himself he’d deal with later). He was about to pick back up his controller and continue his cycle of sneezing and dying when a sudden knock at his door nearly made him jump out of his skin. He wasn’t expecting anybody, and for a split second wondered if he had maybe just been hearing things, when a second, softer knock sounded through his small dorm.

Jungkook stood up hesitantly and tightened the blanket he had wrapped around himself as he shuffled his way over to the door. He reached for the knob a little cautiously, and opened the door just a crack.

There, with a warm, welcoming smile on his face and a plastic bag held tightly in one hand was none other than Kim Taehyung. Jungkook had to fight every urge in his body to not slam the door closed out of sheer embarrassment.

“Hey, Bun.” Taehyung’s voice was just as warm as his smile, maybe even more so, as Jungkook felt his cheeks begin to flush red. “I thought I’d drop off some soup. It’s just from the café, but…” He shrugged. “My shift was over and I figured it was better than nothing. Are you feeling any better?”

Jungkook opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the right words. Instead, he ended up blurting out “HowdoyouknowwhereIlive?” Which most definitely wasn’t the right thing to say, but he was too far gone to stop himself. To his surprise, Taehyung threw back his head and laughed.

“You told me earlier, remember? When I asked?”

Oh. Jungkook thought. That’s right. He felt his blush deepen.

“I just texted Jimin to grab your room number. He feels awful, by the way.”

Jungkook winced. “You told him?”

“Sure did.” The older boy hummed back, shoving his free hand into his jacket pocket. “He asked why I was dropping by, so I told him. Was I not supposed to?”

“Oh, no!” Jungkook quickly shook his head. “No, it’s fine! I’m just...sure he feels bad.”

“Well, you know him. If he does, he’ll get over it.”

Jungkook nodded and the two fell silent for a moment before Taehyung lifted the bag of soup containers slightly into view.

“Anyway, can I come in? I can reheat this for you.”

Jungkook’s mind immediately went to his mountain of used tissues and he dropped his head with an embarrassed sniffle.

“My dorm’s a mess.”

“So’s mine. All part of the college experience.” He was smirking now, and Jungkook wished his blanket could turn him invisible. “If that’s your only reason to tell me no then I gotta say — that’s pretty weak.”

As he had slowly learned throughout the course of the day, when Kim Taehyung had made up his mind about something, there was no use arguing. Defeated, Jungkook stepped aside and let him in, desperately trying to push back down the increasingly nervous feeling that was starting to creep up his throat.

Taehyung reached out to ruffle the bit of hair that stuck out from beneath Jungkook’s blanket as he stepped inside. He immediately made his way into the kitchen like it wasn’t his first time over while Jungkook waddled along at his heels. He pulled himself out a seat and plopped down as Taehyung began to rummage around his cupboards for a pot.

“You didn’t have to do this.” He ended up murmuring as Taehyung emerged from a cupboard triumphantly, pot in hand.

“I know.” Responded the other as he popped open the containers of soup. There was a pause like he intended to say more, but instead he just began to dump the contents of the containers into the pot.

“Well, I...thank you.” Jungkook uttered after a moment, bringing up a corner of his blanket to scrub into the side of his nose. “I appreciate it, Taehyung. Really.”

The older boy looked over his shoulder and smiled, and Jungkook was surprised to find a blush sitting high on his cheekbones.

“Hey,” His deep voice was smooth and sweet like melted chocolate. “Don’t mention it, Gguk. Now—” He gestured with his chin towards the television in Jungkook’s living room where his game’s loading screen continued to play on an infinite loop. “Why don’t you pick out a movie? I could stay to watch with you once the soup’s done? Only if you want to, of course.”

Jungkook smiled. He couldn’t help it. Maybe taking a sick day wasn’t so bad, after all — especially if he got to spend it with someone like Kim Taehyung.

“That sounds great, Tae. Action or comedy?”

#bts sickfic #sick!jungkook #mine #bts au #i'm a little nervous about this one so i hope it was worth the wait #bts snzfic #bts snz

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

Text

Temptation (pt. 1)

RATING: M/smut

WORD COUNT: 9.4k

CATEGORIES: fratboy!harry

“Can I ask you something?”

She turned back and looked at him. “Sure.”

“Why haven’t I seen you before?”

She shrugged at his question. “Dunno. I’ve never been to parties here before. We’ve got different majors. It’s a big school.”

“Not that big.”

“Big enough.”

“Too big if I missed out on meeting you until now.”

Her breath caught. The words fell from his mouth with such ease, such nonchalance, as if his words didn’t shake the ground she stood on.

Harry’s a fratboy and Nora (might) be in love with him. (part 1)

PART TWO | PART THREE

After a semester abroad, the last thing Nora felt like doing was going to an American frat party.

She had spent the semester in Germany going to clubs and house parties, weird bars and day drinking at festivals. All she wanted was a pint of good beer, a cute boy to flirt with in her horrifically bad German, and go home and curl up in her double bed. Now she was back home going to a beginning of semester frat party where there would be shit beer, she wouldn’t be “the cute American girl,” and she was back to the Twin-XL life. It was the weekend before school started, so she knew it would be crazy—no one had work to do, no one was stressed, and everyone was desperate to be back at school and away from their families.

But Maddy wanted her to go, and so she was going.

“You’re going to drink these boys under the table!” Maddy called to her from their bathroom where she was curling her hair. “We’re going to play rage cage, I’ve already decided.”

“I hate rage cage,” Nora lied. She loved it and she knew it. “Abroad changed me!”

A bootie came flying in her direction, and Nora caught it before tossing it back to Maddy. “You’re a shit liar.”

She took another sip of the drink she had mixed, some decent vodka and Fresca, her secret weapon of a mixer. “Who are you going after tonight again?”

Since Nora had left Maddy had decided she was in love with the boys of Delta Sigma. They were mostly the international boys who didn’t seem like they’d be the frat type and were so hot you couldn’t tear your eyes away from them. Also, apparently their parties were insane. “His name’s Liam,” she said, “and he was quite possibly the most gorgeous boy on earth.”

“What’s his instagram again?”

She read out a handle from memory, and Nora typed the handle into her phone as she took another sip. She scrolled through the photos, most of which appeared to be from frat parties, with the occasional more artsy photo of him and friends. They appeared to be on actual film, which was interesting for frat boy. “Is he a photographer?”

“No, why?”

“These photos looked like they’re on actual film," she replied. Nora clicked on one and it’s a photo of him, but she noticed he had tagged someone. Someone with the handle @harry_styles. She clicked on the name and was immediately entranced. Based on his bio, he was their year at school, but she had never heard of the kid before. He also appeared to be British. She scrolled through his photos, all taken on film, and gorgeous. Some were of landscapes, but most were portraits of people doing simple and mundane things. He was incredibly talented. “Some kid named Harry takes them,” Nora told her.

“Oh, I think he was friends with Liam. I’ve seen them before.” Maddy strutted out of the bathroom and striked a pose, perfectly curled hair bouncing behind her head as she shook it. “Like?”

“Love.” Maddy was wearing a snakeskin bodysuit, ripped black jeans, and heeled booties, and she looked incredible as usual. “Now what the fuck am I going to wear?”

“Good lord, you will be the death of me someday, Nora Tate.”

The party was in full swing when they arrive. They weaved their way through the crowds on the front lawn, Maddy jabbering in her ear about how hot this Liam kid is. Nora simply nodded along, thankful for the vodka coursing through her veins, because the amount she did not want to be there was pretty high.

The lights were low and the music was loud when they opened the door, the smell of sweat and cheap beer hitting her immediately. Ah yes, this was why she left America.

“Rage cage," she reminded Maddy, and Maddy squeezed her hand before pulling her deep into the crowd. They weaved their way through the throngs of people to the kitchen, where they poured themselves drinks, and then Maddy dragged her to the basement.

There were four pong tables set up, three of which currently had games going—all simple games of pong, and a bunch of people loitering around the tables waiting for a turn. “We’re going to have to start the game,” Maddy told her quietly.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“I’m scared!”

Good lord. “Who do I talk to about starting a game of rage cage?” Nora yelled into the loud room.

Everyone stopped talking and looked in one direction.

Harry was leaning against a table in the back where a computer is set up, most likely controlling the music. “Me,” he yelled in reply, standing up. “Let’s play.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Maddy told her, laughing, “and I love you.”

Harry was fucking gorgeous in person. Like, he was gorgeous on social media, but in person he was effortlessly beautiful. Cropped hair with a wave to it, high cheekbones, and the swagger of someone who truly didn’t give a fuck about what people think of him. She suddenly decided that Maddy was not alone in her love of this fraternity.

A bunch of boys, freshman pledges from the looked of it, finished filling cups with beer and setting up the table. Nora grabbed Maddy’s hand and led her over to the table. She set them up right in the middle, the best place to be, and placed their cups in a safe zone of the table. “Remember, controlled bounces," she reminded Maddy, who was notoriously horrible at this game, “and I’ll help you drink if you need it.”

“My savior,” she replied, and Nora snorts in response.

“Want to start?” She looked up and Harry was standing next to her, holding a ping pong ball out to her. His accent was like butter and she honestly wanted nothing more than to hear it constantly on a loop.

“Sure.”

Some pledge had the other ball and positioned himself across the table from her, and everyone scrunched together around the table. Bodies pressed closer and she tried to ignore the feeling of Harry’s arm flush against hers.

“Good at this game?” Harry asked her, leaning his head over so she could hear him.

“Actually, yes,” she replied.

“Let’s see,” he said, and she thought she caught a wink before she bounced the ball and made her first cup.

Maddy was drunk, despite the fact that Nora had been avoiding giving her a cup the whole game. The problem wasn’t Maddy though, it was the other people at the table. Upon discovering Maddy was a) still quite sober and b) horrible at the game, they took it upon themselves to single her out, sending all their cups her way. Meanwhile, Nora was in her happy drunk phase, one that could be sustained by sipping a drink every hour, but became messy if she went too hard.

Next to her, Harry was flushed and laughing, the alcohol and the game having loosened him up. They kept bumping into each other, their fingers brushing when he passed her the pong ball, and it messed up her breathing every time.

There’s only three cups yet, and she was just praying that Maddy didn’t end up with the bitch cup. But as the ball and the cups worked their way around the table, some pledge drinking one and a girl drinking the other, there was only one left. And the ball was coming straight for them.

“Fuck,” Nora said under her breath.

Harry looked down at her, somehow having heard her. “You good?”

“I just don’t want my friend to have the bitch cup.”

Harry glanced over at Maddy. “looked like it would do her in.” “Harry, pay attention mate!” His head whipped back and the tall stack of cups was right in front of him. He took the ball and Nora watched him, knowing he was going to make a perfect shot in, just like he had all night.

Except he didn’t. He missed.

And he missed again.

“C’mon Harry!” Someone yelled, and her eyes focused on the boy standing before Harry, who was desperately trying to make it into the single cup he has in front of him, but the slick beer-covered surface of the table meant the cup was sliding around and he kept missing.

Harry missed another shot.

And the boy before him made his.

“HARRYYY!!!!!” The table screamed, and everyone started chanting his name as he reached for the bitch cup.

He caught Nora’s eye right before he started chugging the beer, some of it spilling down the front of his barely buttoned shirt.

And it hit her—he missed on purpose.

He was trying to make sure Maddy didn’t have to drink it and instead made sure he drank it.

Harry slammed the empty solo cup down on the table and cheers erupted, a grinning Harry the triumphant loser.

“Another game?” Some kid asked, and everyone agrees, but Nora just shook her head.

“We’re good,” she said, taking her and Maddy’s drinks from earlier.

Harry stepped away from the table. “Same,” he said, and no one questioned that.

“I wanna find Liam,” Maddy said to her as they stepped away from the table.

“Okie doke, Tiger,” she told her, and Maddy giggled in response.

She looked up at Harry who was standing right in front of her, blocking their exit. “Thanks for that," she told him, their eyes catching.

“Anytime,” he replied. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

As if she didn’t already know his name. “Nora.”

“I’m Maddy!” Maddy piped up from behind her. “Now we’re on the hunt for more alcohol and some dancing, so could you scooch out of our way?”

Harry chuckled, and Nora just rolled her eyes. “Have fun,” he said, and she tugged Maddy away from the table.

“he was soooo hot,” Maddy said as they climbed the stairs. “Like literally, could-melt-polar-ice-caps hot.”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

“And you love me for it!” She said, throwing her arm around Nora’s shoulders. “Now let’s find us some dancing.”

Maddy hadn’t been able to capture Liam’s attention despite all of her efforts, but she had captured the attention of another DSig boy, who she was now dancing with in the middle of the dance floor. Nora made her promise to tell her if she was going to leave without her, and with that Nora left her to her own devices.

She wandered outside, seeking fresh air, and sat down on the edge of the deck that extended into the backyard. It was quieter out here, the thud of the bass faint and the cold air welcome on her sweaty skin.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a smooth British accent said to her.

She turned and saw Harry sitting a few feet away from her, leaning back on his hands, a beer next to him. His thin white button-down was unbuttoned low, exposing tattoos littering his torso, and thanks to the porch lights and soft glow of the moon she could see the many rings adorning the fingers of hands and the pendant necklace lying on a butterfly tattoo just on his abdomen. She caught sight of a trace of stubble on his chin and perhaps an earring in his ear.

Nora had never been this entranced by another human being. “Tired of your party?”

“Bloody hate these things after a while.” He took a swig of his beer and sighed. “You said it was Nora, right?”

She nodded. “Without an H.”

He cracked a smile. “Harry, with an H.”

“What would it be, sans an H?”

“Arry.”

“That isn’t a name.”

“Most people call me something that,” he said.

“‘Arry?”

“Yeah.”

“Most people call me Nor," she replied.

“But your name is already so short, why do you need a nickname?” She shrugged in response. Just what people did. “You’re taking the thunder of everyone with names that aren’t nickname-able.”

She leaned back on her hands, copying his pose. “Your name is nickname-able.”

“Try.”

Names rolled over in her head. “I’d probably just said ‘H’.”

He was quiet for a beat. “Never heard that one before.”

“Well, I’m happy that I could introduce it to you.”

They were both quiet for a second, and then she heard the scrape of fabric. Harry had scooted closer to her, his position changed so he was facing her, one leg still dangling off of the porch, the other bent in front of him. “What do you study, Nora without an H?”

“History," she replied without a beat. “Mainly German history.”

“Why?” His tone was genuinely inquisitive, as if this was a completely intriguing fact that he simply must know more about.

“I guess…I’ve always liked stories," she told him, finding her words as they come. “And history is really just a bunch of stories that they can learn from and use to make sense of the world around us.”

He considered her answer. “I like that.”

“And you? What do you study, Harry with an H?”

“Comparative literature,” he replied. “Focusing on Italian.”

“Why?”

He grinned. “I’ve always loved languages and reading, and it just seemed like the right fit. You have a better answers than me for this question.”

“You like comp lit?”

“Love it,” he said immediately.

It was rare to find a fratboy who genuinely enjoys what he studies, so Harry was an outlier. “And you speak Italian, I assume?”

“Sì.”

She knew no Italian, but she gathered that that’s a yes. “How long?”

“Most of my life.” He took another sip of his beer, and someone opened the sliding door behind them, music and voices swirling around them. “My grandparents bought a house in Italy before they had my mum and it’s stayed in the family. I’ve spent all my summers and holidays there.”

“You were there for Christmas, then, I assume?” He nodded. “I’m jealous.”

“Best place on earth.”

“Where in Italy?”

“Lucca. It’s not too far from Florence.” He scooted a hair closer to her as he swung his other leg onto the porch, winding his long legs into a comfortable position. “You ever been?”

“To Italy?” He nodded. “Nope. Didn’t make it there while I was abroad.”

“Shame. Where’d you go?”

“Berlin for the fall semester," she replied, and he perked up. “Traveled a bunch, but stuck to central and northern Europe mainly. Copenhagen, Prague, Luxembourg, Amsterdam, Warsaw, and then around Germany. Spent a week in London during Thanksgiving and my mom met me there.”

He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly, and she watched his bicep flex with the movement. “That sounds incredible. My parents told me being here was my study abroad, so I’m missing out.”

“That’s a shame," she told him. “I needed the break from all this," she waved her hand around them, attempting to capture the absurdity of college and the pressure and the exhaustion in a single motion. “Felt nice to be given the opportunity to slow down a bit.”

“I can imagine.”

Their conversation slowed a bit. The sliding door opened again and a group of girls started talking loudly near them, their discussion circling around some boy they’re all in love with, but they thankfully made their way to the fire pit on the other side of the yard.

“Can I ask you something?”

She turned back and looked at him. “Sure.”

“Why haven’t I seen you before?”

She shrugged at his question. “Dunno. I’ve never been to parties here before. We’ve got different majors. It’s a big school.”

“Not that big.”

“Big enough.”

“Too big if I missed out on meeting you until now.”

Her breath caught. The words fell from his mouth with such ease, such nonchalance, as if his words didn’t shake the ground she stood on.

“Nor!”

She looked up and Maddy was standing in the doorway and she was thankful for the distraction. “You okay?”

“I wanna go homeeee,” Maddy said, her words slightly slurred. “I’m tired.”

“Let’s go home then, babes.” She downed the rest of her beer and then turned to Harry. “See you around, H.”

Before he had the chance to reply, Nora walked inside, the door shutting behind her.

Maddy and Nora spent the rest of the weekend decorating their apartment and analyzing Harry’s sentence to her. Maddy was convinced that he had a crush on her, but Nora begged to differ. Nora thought he was just a poetic guy who had a bit too much to drink. Maddy rolled her eyes at her but let it drop finally and began describing Niall, the adorable Irish boy who she had been dancing with. He was sweet and funny and a good kisser, and didn’t try to get her to come home with him. Just got her number and told her to find Nora so she could go home since she was drunk and tired. (Sometimes, Nora thinks, it’s a bit sad how low the bar was set.) She seemed to have forgotten all about Liam, who she said was just too unattainable that it wasn’t worth trying.

By Monday, Nora was anxious to get into the classroom. After a semester of operating at half intelligence because all her classes were in German, she was excited to be able to actually communicate her full thoughts on a topic. She wanted to write papers and read things that intrigued her.

She'd put a lot of thought into crafting her schedule, leaving time for her shifts at the coffeeshop on campus, while also balancing her schedule between History, German, and Gen Ed requirements. She'd chosen to takes an Urban Studies class for her technology requirements, since it required use of something classed GIS. Maddy was an Urban Studies major, so Nora decided that it was safe to assume she’d help her pass if she needed it.

She chose a safe seat—middle of the room, middle of the row, able to see the screen but not too close that she looked too eager. She unpacked her notebook, already labelled for the class and her pencil bag with her favorite pens. She was ready to be back at school.

She was not ready for Harry Styles to slide into the seat next to her.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, and she just about jumped out of her skin.

“Fucking hell.” The words fell from her mouth without pause. “You scared me.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not," she said, catching her breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Fulfilling a Gen Ed,” he replied. “This seemed interesting and easy enough. You?”

Embarrassingly, the same reason. “Me too.”

He smiled. “Was nice to see a familiar face when I walked in.”

Before she could reply, the lecture started, and her mind tuned out everything else in the room. Their professor went over the syllabus, which seemed decent, and then started in on the first lecture. Nora was quickly engrossed, scribbling notes about different city planning techniques and histories, making notes of things she wanted to look up more on. The professor had a good lecture style—succinct, engaging, and a bit funny. He had some memes throughout his presentation that got the class laughing, and she tried to ignore how Harry’s soft chuckle made her stomach flip.

In fact, she spent the whole class trying to ignore Harry.

She tried to ignore the way he bit his lip while he wrote notes, the wrinkle in his eyebrows when he was trying to understand something, the way he pulled on his lip when he was reading intently. How his handwriting was messy but clear, how he said “fuck” lightly under his breath when he smudged ink, how his leg bounced up and down when he was trying to focus.

But most of all she tried to ignore the fact that he kept glancing over at her.

Because the thing was, Nora was not in the market to have feelings for someone. She didn’t want to have a crush. She wants to have aimless sex with cute boys and go about her life as she wanted. After the fall, she'd decided that boys were confusing and a waste of time.

Jonas. She'd met him at a house party and it had been a fling—they’d hooked up a couple of times, he’d make her tea and breakfast in the morning, they’d drunk text each other, and he’d act like her boyfriend if they were out together. Sometimes the things he’d say and the way he’d look at her would make her wonder if it was more for him. If he cared. But then, before she knew it the semester was over and it was time to go and their didn’t even have a proper goodbye. It was weird and confusing and when she left she didn’t know what to make of it, because if they’d had more time she probably would’ve dated him. And now, sometimes she'd remember the way he’d back her up against a wall and wonder if she'd find someone who would kiss her the way Jonas did.

So when Nora looked at Harry, she couldn’t help but wonder how he would kiss. And that was when she knew that even though she had only known him for two days, she was developing a crush.

And that was the opposite of how she wanted to start her semester.

When class ended, Harry turned to her and said, “Want to go pick up their course books?”

She didn’t have a class next, so she had no excuse. So she just said yes.

“What did you think?” He asked, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder as they exited the lecture hall.

“The professor was great," she replied. “Really engaging and seems like he was not going to be harsh of a grader since it’s an intro class.”

“Yeah definitely. And I liked how he explained all of the different city plans with such detail but also clarity. He seems to know what he was doing.”

They turned to exit onto the campus green, and she pulled her coat a little tighter around her. It was January and she had forgotten how cold it could get in Massachusetts. “Which section do you think you’re going to do?” The professor had mentioned at the end of class that they would have weekly discussion sections with their TAs to go over material and readings, and had listed out the different time options. She was leaning towards Wednesdays at 11, just after their class was over.

“Probably Wednesday at 11,” he replied. “Fits best into my schedule.”

Fuck. “I was thinking of doing the same one," she told him. This was not good. More time around Harry was not going to be good for her.

“Really?” Nora couldn’t help but take joy in the smile that spread across his face. “Thank god. I hate going into those sections and not knowing where to sit.”

They turned into the building with the campus bookstore, and Nora unwound her scarf from around her neck. “Well, you won’t have to worry about that.”

“Do you have other books you need to pick up?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m going to hold off and go after my other classes so I can figure out what I can get at the library first.”

“Good idea.” He pulled out the syllabus from his backpack and studied the instructions their professor had written down for the books their need. “I think they’re over this way,” he said, leading the way to the back corner.

“Spend a lot of time here?” She asked, shocked he knew where to find the books without even asking for help.

“I worked here during freshman and sophomore year,” he replied. “They never change up the organization of this place.” He scanned the shelves with his finger, mumbling the names of the authors they were looking for under his breath. Nora stood behind him and couldn’t help but smile. “Here,” he said, pulling two copies of one out. “Hold them?”

“‘Course.” She took the books and held them in her arms while he continued his search for the second and third titles they need. He quickly tracked them down, snatching them off the shelf and adding them to the pile in her arms. “That it?”

“Yes.” They weaved their way to the front register and she followed Harry, watching how his long brown coat whips around his ankles when he walked.

After they paid, they walked back out to the campus green and stood on the edge of the sidewalk facing each other. “Do you have another class?” He asked her.

She nodded. “Later. Think I’m going to go home and drop these off first, though.” She lifted the stack of books in her arms and he smiled.

“Bit too heavy for you?”

“Shove off," she said, and a smile sneaked onto her face when he chuckled.

“Well, I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

She took a step back and shouldered her bag. “Bye, H.”

“Bye, Nora.”

She tried to ignore the beauty of the way he said her name. But she failed.

Maddy and Nora had been in the library for most of Saturday doing their readings for the next week, and by seven o’clock Nora wanted to bash her head into a wall. She kept re-reading the same sentence about the layout of Vienna’s old city and couldn’t process any of the words.

“Maddy," she whispered, poking her in the arm with the cap of her highlighter. “I want to go.”

“Stop poking me, you ass.” Maddy looked up from her readings. “Let’s get out of here—I feel like I smell like library at this point.”

We packed up their stuff quietly, ignoring the death stares from a girl with a problem set spread out on the table in front of her. “It’s like they don’t realize that people naturally make noise when they move," she said, and Maddy snorted, earning them more glares. “Come on, we should go before we’re killed in here.”

She followed Maddy out of the room they were in and made their way down the hall, the sound of Nora’s sneakers squeaking on the tile floor earning us yet more glares from people. It was literally the first week back at school, Nora thought, how are people already so stressed about work?

Maddy suddenly slowed her walk and matched her pace with Nora’s, leaning in close to her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that Harry walking towards us?”

Nora looked up and realize that it was Harry. He was wearing an oversized black sweatshirt and a pair of houndstooth pants that he somehow makes looked both comfortable and stylish, along with a pair of glasses. She simply does not understand this boy’s ability to looked so good constantly. “I cannot talk to him right now," she told Maddy. “I looked like complete shit and he looked like…a Greek god.”

“Shut up. You’re going to talk to him because he was basically beelining over here.”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck," she said under her breath.

“Nora.” Harry’s voice was soft because of the library, and she loved the way it sounded. “Maddy, right? I’m Harry.”

Maddy nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Harry’s gaze turned back to her, and she decided then and there that she loves him in glasses. He was not just a Greek god, he was a studious Greek god. Tortoise shell, peak book nerd. “How are you?”

“Good," she replied. “Was just doing the reading for their class.”

He groaned. “I haven’t even started it. How bad is it?”

She shrugged. “A bit dry, but not horrible.”

“Great,” he said. “I have that to look forward to doing. What are you two up to tonight?”

She looked at Maddy, who shrugged. “Unsure at this point.”

“We’re having another party if you want to come.”

“We’ll be there,” Maddy said before Nora had the chance to reply. She shot Maddy a death stare, which Maddy just ignored.

Harry grinned and it was utterly adorable. “I’ve got to keep working, but I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye H.” The nickname fell from her mouth with ease, and he smiled in response.

“Bye Nora.”

He walked away and she turned to Maddy, who was grinning ear to ear. “What?”

Maddy shook her head and gave her a knowing smile. “You’re fucked.”

She looked back to Harry’s receding figure. Maddy was right. Nora was completely fucked.

They had been at the party for an hour and Nora had yet to see Harry. She didn’t know if he was hiding or something, but no matter which room she went into or how hard she looked, she still couldn’t manage to spot him in the crowd. The party was bigger than last weekend as everyone was now on campus, and Maddy and Nora kept running into people they knew, so now they’ve developed a little crew to hang out with. Their friends Taylor and Lauren arrived shortly after Maddy and Nora did, and they brought with them a girl who was in the same sorority as Lauren and was dating a DSig. As a result, they all end up trashed and dancing without much time passing.

Nora threw her arms around Maddy and screamed the lyrics to a Post Malone song, and Nora felt utterly, blissfully happy. She had forgotten about this side of frat parties while she was gone—how happy she was when she was dancing and there was alcohol coursing through her veins. Some girl must have gotten hold of the music, because the song changed to an old Taylor Swift song and the girls lost it, jumping up and down in the crowd and screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs.

“I need a drink!” Nora said when the song was over, her throat hoarse and her hair sticking to the back of her neck. The song switches, and the Maddy screamed—it was her favorite song and she had to be on the dance floor for it. Nora could see the torn look in her best friend’s eyes, and she shook her head. “I’m good—I’ll be back in a second.”

She pushed through the crowd, apologizing as she dug her elbows into people to make a path to the kitchen. She grabbed a beer, needing something cold and not too strong, and leaned against the countertop, letting the cooler air wash over her skin.

“Hello.”

The words tingled down her spine, and she turned her head to see Harry standing in the door jamb. The kitchen had mostly cleared out, so it was just the two of them and a set of girls who looked like freshman trying to decide which mixer was less disgusting with their bad vodka. “Hi, H.”

“Having fun?” He was wearing a black t-shirt and it was tight in all the right places and Nora had to force herself to not consider what it would be like to take it off of him.

She nodded. “Couldn’t find you, though.” The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them and Nora wanted to shrink into the counter. She sounded desperate and psychotic—she had barely known this boy and now she was complaining about now being able to find him?

But Harry just smiled. “I was upstairs,” he explained. “Was trying to finish a bit of work before I started drinking.”

If he was doing work here, Nora assumed he lived in the house. “You live here?”

“Unfortunately.” He moved towards her, grabbing a beer from the fridge next to her, and Nora caught a flash of light blue on his fingers. Harry painted his nails, she realized.

This fraternity boy painted his goddamned nails light blue.

Who was this boy?

What planet was he from?

And more importantly, where had he been all of her life?

“I like your nails,” she said. “What color is that?”

He glanced down at them. “Dunno. Stole it from my sister over winter break. I can check and text it to you later, though.”

“I’d like that.” Nora took another sip of her beer, the cold drink feeling good in her body. “Where are all your friends?”

Harry shrugged. Nora got the sense that he didn’t really care about all the fraternity stuff and she liked that. Frat boys had always annoyed with their “bro energy” as Maddy called it and she’d met some real assholes during her time in college. Harry seemed like an outlier though. “You want to dance?” He asked her, breaking her out of her trance.

She straightened up. “Sure.” She tried not to think about the fact that she cannot, for the life of her, dance sexily. Maddy had made fun of her for it since freshman year, and despite her efforts Nora had not been able to master the art of looking hot and dancing. She was more of a whip-your-arms-around-and-scream dancer.

When they reached the crowded living room, Harry grabbed her hand and Nora loved his callused hand in her hers, the way he held it tightly so he didn’t lose her in the crowd. He didn’t go too deep into the crowd, wanting to make sure they had space to breathe and it was not too hot. When he stopped moving he tried to create space for them, wanting to make sure they could actually move, not just stand there like idiots and battle for oxygen on the dance floor. Nora took a long swig of her beer, and then she started to sway her hips, deciding to throw caution to the wind.

She liked this boy. She had a massive crush on Harry and his soft words and the way he called her by her full name and smiled at her. She had a crush on the way he was dancing—awkwardly and with a goofy grin on his face, screaming the lyrics to the Top 40s hit along with her. She liked that he didn’t seem to care what people thought of him, that he painted his nails baby blue and knew how to dress himself. She even liked his tattoos, which she usually secretly judged people for, but on Harry they fit him. She wanted to trace the outlines of them and ask him about the stories behind them, to know everything about him. She liked that he took the hit during rage cage for Maddy. She liked that when they were dancing he gives her a thumbs up to check in and make sure she was doing okay.

She really liked him, she realized as she dances with him. She wanted to impress him, but not in a way that’s uncomfortable—more in a way where she just wanted him to see the best parts of her. But she also wanted him to know her, she realized. She wanted him to know things about her and like being around her as much as she did. Because he put her on edge, but not because he made her uncomfortable, but because of how much she liked him. She wanted to know him, even if it was just to be friends, because he seemed interesting. She felt like he has layers to him, and every time she snatches another piece of information she only has more questions.

Even if they were just friends, Nora wanted to know him, she decided.

So she decided, fuck it all, and danced like she didn’t have a care in the world, because she wanted him to see the real her. She wanted him to see her awkward dancing and to accidentally hit him in the face with her hair so that he knew her and could bail if he didn’t like her. She wanted to give him and out and see if he took it.

And he didn’t.

They dance for what feels like forever, their beers long gone. He grabbed her hand at one point when people were becoming pushy and pulled her closer to him, their sweaty bodies touching each other practically every time they move. They sang their favorite songs, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I fucking love this song,” when Mamma Mia came on, and Nora decided that it’s the cutest thing she had ever found out about someone. She told him about her obsession with Drake when In My Feelings comes on, and he admitted that he listened to this song on repeat for three hours one time. They had these snippets of conversation on the dance floor, their faces close and voices loud enough to be heard over the music.

SexyBack came on and they both devolve into seventh graders, obsessed with this song and not really caring about the meaning. Nora danced, throwing her hands up and dropping her hips lower than she had before.

And then someone slammed into her back, throwing her straight into Harry’s chest.

The feeling of him close to her set her skin on fire.

She had kept just enough distance during the evening to make sure they weren’t this close, but it had not taken much for them to be fully flush against each other. And now they were and Nora could feel everything. One of her hands was on his pecs and she could feel the smooth muscle across his chest, and the other hand landed on his side, the palm of her hand on his abs and she felt the outline of abs there. Her fingers dug into his skin, grappling for balance as she tried to find her footing.

Harry’s hands immediately found her waist, holding her steady. His fingers felt like they were searing on her lower back, the contact sending Nora into outer space. And she didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or from him, but either way her head was spinning a bit.

“You okay?” He asked, his accent smooth as butter in her ear. His lips were close enough that they brush softly against her hair and the edge of her ear. Nora was trying not to hyperventilate, but also maintain her footing, and not press all of her weight onto Harry.

She was about to answer that yes, she was fine, so sorry, when someone bumped into her again, pushing her back into Harry. He stumbles this time and wrapped his arms around Nora fully to try and keep them both upright. He was essentially hugging her at this point and Nora thought her heart might have stopped the second she felt him tug her close to him.

“Someone’s really trying to push you over, aren’t they?” He said with a chuckle into your ear.

“I’m so sorry,” Nora apologized, finding her footing and straightening. She didn’t push away from Harry though, and he didn’t let go of her. “I didn’t mean to fall onto you—or into you, I guess?”

He shook his head. “No matter. You okay, love?”

Love. The word reverberated through Nora’s head and she tried to keep her wits about her. She knew she was feeling mushy tonight—all these thoughts of Harry and how adorable he was and sweet and kind had got her melting for him, but maybe that was the alcohol? She couldn’t keep it straight. And when he called her love, all of the efforts to keep it together just fall apart.

“I’m okay,” she answered softly. “Are you?” She looked up and into his eyes, and even though the room was dark, she could still make out his eyes in the strobing lights, the flashes of his beautiful hair and his high cheekbones. She could see his eyes meet hers and Nora felt this pull in her chest to kiss him. He didn’t break eye contact with her and Nora was just searching his eyes, begging for an answer, an explanation, some hint to tell her what to do and what he bloody wanted.

Because she knew what she wanted. She wanted to kiss him.

“‘M fine.” His voice was like sandpaper and she wondered if his mouth was as dry as hers was. He hadn’t moved his hands from her back, only loosened them slightly so he was not holding her quite so close.

She inched her fingers upwards, one landing on his shoulder, the other on his elbow. Nora wondered if she was imagining the way his breathing had quickened. Did she kiss him? She wanted to. She wanted to kiss him so bad. She wanted to know what his lips feel like on hers, if they were as soft as they felt when they bushed her ear. She wanted to know what he tasted like and how he would kiss her. Did she just do it? She searched his eyes one last time, the seconds stretching into what feels like hours. “Can I kiss you?”

He blinked.

Nora held her breath.

Then, his lips were on hers and suddenly Nora knew exactly what his lips feel like on hers. They were soft like velvet and he smelled like heaven.

He kissed her like it was his last breath, desperate to know if she breathed the same air as him. Deep and wanting, the intensity building with every press of his lips to hers. It was urgent, yet soft—he didn’t lick into her mouth, just stays on her lips. And man, can the boy kiss.

Her hand moved from his shoulder to his neck and wound through the hair there, a breathless moan leaving his mouth, and she wondered if he liked it when she pulled his hair.

So when he finally did lick his tongue against the seam of her lips and she widened them, she pulled, ever so softly.

And he moaned deeply, his grip on her waist tightening.

Nora wanted to kiss him for the rest of time.

Her other hand moved from his elbow to his back, fingers finding the material of his shirt and pulling him closer to her. Her fingers curled into the cotton, the sweat from them dancing on her palm but she didn’t care because she wanted him closer. She could feel every inch of his body flush with hers and she loved it—the way he felt against her, the way her skin was lit on fire, the way she wanted to drink purely Harry until the end of time.

“Nora,” he said, pulling back, allowing both of them to catch their breath, “do you want to come upstairs?”

She hesitated. It’s not that she didn’t want to—she’d love to fuck this boy until the dawn of time—but she had no idea where her friends were, and she would rather not let them think she’d been kidnapped. And if she thought about it, she knew she probably shouldn’t. She barely knew Harry and she had class twice a week with him, and most likely a discussion section on top of it. If it didn’t work out, she had to see him constantly for the rest of the semester, which was not ideal.

His finger raised her chin slightly so she had to look into his eyes. “I’m not trying to get you to sleep with me, by the way. I just want to get out of this fuckin’ sweaty crowd so I can kiss you properly and not worry if I’m going to be kicked in the back. And if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine too. I’ll stay here if you’d rather that. Or we don’t have to kiss at all—I don’t want you to do anything you have to.” He was rambling, unsure of his standing. Her hesitation had thrown him for a loop and Harry wasn’t sure if she even wanted to kiss him at all anymore. Was she into it? He thought she was from the way she pulled him towards her, but from the hesitation he wasn’t sure and he wanted to be sure.

“No, it’s not that,” she said, and his fears were immediately pushed aside. “I just want to let my friends know where I am first.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Where are they?”

Nora looked around the crowd, but couldn’t catch sight of them anywhere. “When I left they were here. Lemme try texting them.” She pulled out her phone and found a string of texts from the group chat with Maddy, Taylor and Lauren discussing the fact that she was making out with Harry Styles and that they were fine and to do whatever she wanted, that they’d find her when they were going to go and check in. Truly the best friends of all time. She quickly texted them that she was going upstairs to Harry’s room and then she looked back up at him, his lips quirked in a smile. Nora wondered if he saw the texts, but then decided there’s no reason to freak out—he was making out with her, after all. “Upstairs?”

“Upstairs.” His fingers wound through hers and he led the way out of the crowd, dodging groups of frantic dancers and couples making out just as they had been. He navigated the crowd with ease, his tall frame putting him a head above most other people, and Nora just held onto his hand and let him lead her out of the crowd and up the stairs.

It was quieter on the second floor, a row of doors to bedrooms shut and soft music drifting out of some, the loud thud of the bass from the main floor less intense. Nora stayed close to Harry, her body magnetic to his. He led her down the hall, telling her who lives in all the other rooms, pointing to the bathroom as they passed it, just in case she needed it. Then, they were standing outside a room with his name on the door and he turned to her.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” He asked her, searching for confirmation, which he found when Nora nodded.

He pushed open the door, a soft light from his bedside table lamp illuminating bits of the room. Nora saw posters of bands, a minimalist map of Milan, and stacks upon stacks of books lining the walls. She stepped inside and he shut the door behind her, and she continued to investigate the room, taking stock of the various pieces of information she could collect from its decoration. A guitar leaned against the wall, sheets of paper next to it with scribblings on them—he was a musician—and a basket of cleanly folded laundry lies in the corner so she knew he was clean and tidy. He had photos of his family on his dresser, which warmed her heart, and a stereo in the corner with a stack of records next to it.

“What do you think?”

She turned to him. He was leaning against his door, a look of curiosity and a hint of fear on his face. They were still learning about each other, and he had exposed a huge part of who he is to her by letting her in here. “I think you like music and books.”

Harry just laughed. “Well, you’re right about that.”

He didn’t move from the door, so Nora decided to take the lead. She wanted to kiss this boy again, not have a conversation about his favorite book he read or the musician that transformed his understanding of music. She sat on the edge of his bed, leaned back on her hands, and gave Harry a look that screamed, “Come.”

And he does, a quirk in his brow. He stood between her widened legs, brushed a thumb across her jawline, and then leand down to reconnect their lips. Nora softened immediately, her hands begging for purchase on his skin, and pulled him towards her. Harry kicked off his boots and then gently pushed Nora up on the bed, following her, the desire written all over his face. He was about to lean down to kiss her again when Nora said, “Wait. Shirt?”

He pulled it over his head without a second thought, and Nora relished in the sight of his tattoos. The butterfly on his abdomen she’d seen before, the swallows on his pecs, the ship on his arm that she hadn’t. The small musings up and down his arms that she would look closer at later, she decided. In the mean time, she pulled him in by his neck and he collapsed into her, his weight a welcome feeling against her body. Nora widened her knees and hooked her ankles around him, resting them on his lower back. The pressure pushed him closer to her core and she gasped at the feeling—she couldn’t help it. He was big. Bigger than she expected.

Harry stopped his assault on her neck and looked up at her. “This okay?”

“God yes,” she replied. “Keep going.”

He smiled, and returned his lips to her neck, pulling and prodding at her skin with his lips and his teeth, sucking what would be a hickey later onto the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Usually Nora despised hickeys, but she couldn’t find the reason to care right now. Her hands scrabbled at his skin, trying to find purchase, the feeling of him grinding slowly into her and his lips on her neck almost too much.

“Harry,” she said, gasping for air as he tugged at the neck of her shirt to gain more access, “roll over.”

She unhooked her ankles and he rolled, pliant to her words. She straddled him immediately, loving the view of Harry Styles spread out beneath her. His hair was tousled from her fingers, lips swollen from her kisses, chest rising fast from her. She felt him beneath where she sat on his abdomen and it made her smile. Then, she pulled her shirt off and she watched him look at her.

Nora hadn’t always loved her body. She remembered the first time she ever took off her shirt, the boy looking at her didn’t know what to say or do with her breasts, and she hated it. She wondered if they were too big—girls in films have breasts, but never ones that were like hers. The size that hurt when she ran and gave her back aches. The size her friends didn’t really understand—the size Nora hated as a teenager. But in the past two years she decided to stop giving a fuck. She thought she was beautiful and she was done letting what other people think of her change that. And when she let Harry look at her, she was wondering what he was thinking. Did he think she was as beautiful as she does?

And then he told her. “Good lord,” he said, voice hoarse, “you’re gorgeous.” He leaned up and kissed her cleavage that’s exposed, Nora’s fingers finding a home in his curls.

“Fuck, H,” she whined at the feeling of his lips on her tender skin. She bent down and captures his lips with her own, pressing him back onto his back, loving their bare skin on one another. They were battling for both air and dominance, and when Nora’s lips started traveling down his neck and onto his chest, Harry thought he stopped breathing for a second. She sucks a hickey on his pec, right above the swallow, and then blew on it and he practically shivered from the sensitivity.

He could feel her traveling southward and even though he wanted her to suck him off—good lord did he want her too—he stopped her. He tugged her up, reattaching their lips, a “C’mere,” whispered between them. He wanted to kiss her for longer, he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. And also, quite honestly, if she kept occasionally rolling her hips like she was doing he might come from that alone. She was gorgeous, yes in the way she looked, but also the confidence she exuded and the way she told him what she wantd and the way she was tracing up and down his arms and sides with her fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He was fucked, because this girl had managed to turn him into putty after knowing him for just one week.

And then she started really moving her hips back and forth. Nora knew what it wa doing to him and she loved it—loved the knowledge that she was the one making him feel this way and she wanted to see how far it would go, how far she could take it. So as she kissed him, their lips moving in sync, she rolled her hips on his, grinding down every once and a while, drinking up every breathless moan leaving Harry’s lips, savoring each grunt, and when he let out a low, “Nora, please, fuck,” she knew she had him in her hand.

She smiled against his mouth and turned her head, leaning down to his ear, and whispered, “Tell me what you want, H.” He grunted and she rolled her hips again, the seam of his jeans rubbing against her clit in a way that sent shivers down her spine. “What do you want?” She asked, her voice low and dripping with desire.

“You,” he said finally. “Fuck, Nora, I want you.”

Nora kisses his cheek and then makes her way down his chest, making a path right to his dick. Harry had given up any contemplation of waiting, he couldn’t wait anymore. He wanted her so bad it genuinely physically hurt. He needed to come and he needed to come now. Nora popped the button on his jeans and Harry lifted his hips to let her pull them down.

Then, a series of knocks came from the door.

Nora’s head whipped up and so did Harry’s. No one knocked on his door usually. They knew he was private, that he didn’t like people in his space unless he invited them.

“Nora?” Maddy’s voice could be heard over the dull throbbing of the bass from downstairs, and Nora let out a sigh. “We’re heading out babes.”

Nora looked between Harry and the door. “Give me one second,” she called back to Maddy, her eyes not leaving Harry. “I’m going to go,” she told him. She had shit to do tomorrow. But also, she wanted to make sure she was not making a mistake by hooking up with Harry, since she was going to be seeing him all the time for the rest of the semester. She wanted to think about this, because she wasn’t expecting this to happen and needed to take a moment to consider the repercussions of her actions. She barely knew Harry—what would he do if they fuck? Would he ignore her for the rest of the semester? He might be nice, but he was still a fratboy, and Nora had enough experience in that department to know the norm wasn’t to bring a girl flowers after.

“Everything okay?” He asked, sitting up as she snatched her shirt from the other side of the bed where had she discarded it.

She nodded. “I just need a second to…think.”

Harry considered this. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he is—that they have class together for the rest of the semester and it was probably not the best idea to fuck your classmate the first weekend of the semester. “Okay,” he replied. “No worries. I’ll, uh, see you in class, I guess?”

Nora was tugging on her booties and she looked at him with a small smile on her face. “Bright and early Monday morning.”

Harry got up, rebuttoning his pants. As Nora was about to open the door, he grabbed her wrist, acting on pure instinct, and pressed a kiss against her lips. It was softer than the ones before, a simple kiss that was a goodbye, but also a question. A question begging, “What’s next?” Nora broke the kiss, and with a touch to the hickey left behind above the swallow, she was out the door and gone.

Harry stumbled to his bed, his body hitting the mattress with a sigh.

He was so, so royally fucked.

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i hope you guys enjoyed this! this is my first fic and i’m super excited about her. :) let me know what you think of my lil frat boy harry. there is more coming soon. xoxo

ask me about fratboy!harry here | masterlist here

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bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

Text

Fic Friday: A Good Mood

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

This started out as an attempt at one thing and then just kind of evolved and changed over time. At this point I don’t know exactly what to call it? So we’ll just call it what Adachi’s like in a good mood as the title suggests.

Summary After having a surprisingly good day at work, Adachi gets let off early and arrives home to catch Reader in the perfect moment and take out his good mood on them.

Tags/Warnings

Biting, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vague Fluff

A Good Mood (F! Reader/Tohru Adachi)

Living with Tohru Adachi, you were used to his moods, whether fair or foul. Some days he returned home from work exhausted, possessing only the energy to coax you into tending to him before passing out like a light. Other days, work left him simply stressed and grouchy, requiring an outlet for all the boiling emotions and repressed words.Those days left you the most sore the next morning. Far more rare were the days Adachi came home from work with energy to spare, in a cheery mood, relatively speaking, making him almost playful in a teasing way.

Whatever his mood, though, you enjoyed his attentions. Physical attention was often the extent of Adachi’s affections, though. You were used to not hearing much of how he really felt, nor did you expect to hear about it anymore. Getting Adachi to address deeper feelings more than something base and carnal was like pulling teeth, so you didn’t force it. But you didn’t need to try very hard to pick up on the times Adachi was feeling happy or content, despite his best efforts to hide away anything he might consider vaguely vulnerable.

That afternoon was one not unlike any other, tending to chores around the apartment or running small errands. Sometimes you allowed yourself a break here or there, in the form of enjoying the day’s weather or just relaxing. Overall, it was routine and ordinary, what you were accustomed to doing. Much of the day you were alone, left to entertain yourself when your busy work around your home was finished. While it was hard to say when Adachi would arrive home from work, given how wildly late they kept him at the police station some nights, it was a safe bet typically he wouldn’t arrive home before a certain time.

With the afternoon winding down and the apartment otherwise tidy, you found yourself with some spare time before dinner preparation called. You took advantage of the time to clean yourself up with a shower from the grime of the day. Though it was just as relaxing to bask in the hot water for longer than necessary afterward as it was satisfying to wash up. Cutting the water, you clambered out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a towel hung nearby.

The telltale sound of the front door opening suddenly made you freeze in your tracks. Assuming nothing was awry, the sound signalled Adachi had returned home from work. Your brow furrowed while you wonder if you had mistaken the time earlier or had simply been in the shower far longer than you thought. You shook your head to clear the thoughts; whatever the case, he was home, it seemed.

Adjusting your towel, you exited the bathroom, closing the door gently behind you and peering out toward the front door. You caught Adachi still standing just inside the entryway, the front door shut. There was an almost chipper air about him, and he didn’t seem overtired or irritated at first glance. You tried not the smile to widely at the thought maybe Adachi had actually had a good day at work for once in a while.

“Tohru, what are you doing home already?” you asked, curious but happy to see him all the same. “Never thought I’d see the day they let you off early,” you added cheerfully.

Adachi laughed softly at your addition, his attention shifting to fixate entirely on you. A sharpness crept into his gray eyes as he noted your state of undress, and his lopsided smile got a little wider. It was easy to see where his intent gaze lingered, tracing over the bits of bare skin or the droplets of water clinging stubbornly to to it. Under his stare you felt much more aware of your nudity beneath your towel, how very exposed it left you.

“Me neither, but I’m sure glad they did,” he quipped. “Looks like I’ve got perfect timing.” his words dipped into a lower tone, the hunger you were familiar with and had already seen in his eyes seeping into his voice.

Before you could say another word, he moved smoothly from the entryway to where you stood. He stepped in close, pressing a flat palm to the wall behind you and placing the other on your hip over the towel. He stayed like that for a moment, his crooked grin growing more as he took in the sight of you up closed. You followed his line of sight as it slipped down, drinking in the lines of your jaw and the curve of your neck. His pupils swallowed more of the stormy gray of his eyes when they reached the swell of your chest peeking out from beneath the fluffy fabric.His hand on your hip joined his hungry, wandering gaze, sweeping up and down, feeling out the curves of your waist and hip and outer thigh, all hidden from his view.

Seeing the intensity of his desire, especially up close, never failed to shake you in the best possible way. It made your heart speed up, thumping a wild rhythm against the inside of your chest. Your breath stalled in your throat, lips parting as you searched for something to say. You licked dry lips, trying to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs together to address the burgeoning thrum of heat between them that his desirous gaze created.

“Tohru, hold on, I need to get dressed and get stuff started for dinner,” you protested, though the words were half-hearted.

He hushed you, leaning in until his nose was brushing yours and his breath tickled your skin. It wasn’t often Adachi’s pace was so languid, nor did he often quiet you gently like that. It left you more time to be flustered, time to appreciate his closeness and his lusty gaze boring into you. You obeyed his silencing, catching your bottom lip between your teeth unconsciously in anticipation

“It can wait,” he insisted, his hand smoothing over your lower body shifting up and ghosting over your chest through the cloth. “Right now I’d rather eat you instead,” he said, trailing his lips over your jaw.

“T-Tohru!” you balked, your scolding as half-hearted as your earlier protests. Not that it would server any purpose if it wasn’t wasn’t. There was little dissuading Adachi when he was was in the mood, especially when you were already nearly naked.

Adachi quashed any further protests, tilting his head and claiming your lips hungrily. Though he didn’t stay at your lips for long, indulging only in a short, lustful but lazy kiss before moving away and back to the line of your jaws and down your neck. He left sharp bites in his wake, stopping only to latch onto a spot here or there that made you squirm and gasp, leaving behind light marks that would surely darken. He worked his way down one, pausing at your collarbone, unhidden by the towel, before shifting to the other side and lavishing it with equally feral attention.

Your already weak will to convince him there were things that needed doing faded with each nip and kiss to your skin, your chest already rising and falling more heavily. At first, you had instinctively clutched at the top of your towel, ensuring it didn’t slip away, but abandoned it for a fistful of Adachi’s crinkled dress shirt, something more solid to ground you while Adachi ravaged your skin. With a small thud, your head rested back against the wall beside his hand and you let yourself surrender to the rough scrape of his teeth and the warmth of his mouth.

“So soft,” Adachi breathed against your skin. The adventurous hand that had been mapping out your curves moved to clutch at the towel, languidly beginning to peel it away. “And so noisy.”

Your face felt hot at his comments, hotter than the pleasant flush that had already settled in from his attention. You made no move to stop him from undoing the last covering hiding your body. Instead, you were content to reach with your other hand and weave your fingers into his messy hair, encouraging him to go on.

When Adachi tugged the towel down past your chest, the fabric hanging loosely to your form around your waist, he wasted no time moving to his next target. Taking his hand from the wall, he cupped both of the breasts fully revealed to him, rising and falling with your lightly panting breath and gasps. He squeezed them, looking delighted as he bent his head from your neck to the swell of your chest. He gave the soft skin the same treatment as your jaw and throat, alternately fondling your chest and leaving short, rough bites.

Your fingered curled tighter in Adachi’s hair and shirt, and you couldn’t help the soft cry of his name that fell from your mouth. Adachi chuckled against your skin, the sound low and amused. Lifting his head from your skin, he spoke again, torturously slowly working your pebbled nipples between the pads of his thumbs and forefingers.

“Did you miss me, baby?” As if on cue, he elicited another sinful sound from you, louder than the others. He laughed again. “Sure seems like it, sounding like that.”

As if unsatisfied by only your moans and whimpers and gasps to answer him, Adachi returned to your skin, digging his teeth into it hard enough to another moan halfway into a yelp of pain. “Well?” he prompted, and in it you could hear a hint of the hardness you were used to when he was in his less relaxed moods.

“Yes, yes, Tohru, I missed you,” you answered breathless, opening eyes that had fallen shut to meet expectant gray ones peering up at your face. “H-how could I not?” you added, the word wavering as he resumed his ministrations, pleased with your initial answer.

“I thought so,” he said, sounding almost cheeky. “I bet me coming is the highlight of your day,” he drawled in between more bites, though he didn’t press you to confirm his words this time. One hand slid down further, its twin continuing to busy itself with your chest, and he fumbled with the towel again. “Why don’t we get this out of the way?” he suggested, pulling more firmly until the soft fabric unbound completely. “There, that’s better.”

A fresh surge of heat struck you while you watched him appraise your form again, wholly nude, his attention to your skin halting. It consumed you, warming your cheeks more intensely, swirling in your gut and pooling between your thighs. A growing slickness joined the warmth between your legs and you swallowed thickly at his wordless appreciation.

The moment of inaction was shattered, and Adachi moved back to your skin again. His lips remained level with your breasts, tongue and teeth taking up the place of his fingertips. One hand resumed roaming your body, exploring the curves of your side he already knew well. The other hand, more shameless, dipped lower, dancing past your mound and easing between your legs. He rubbed lightly, gingerly, almost, at your slick lips, until his fingers slipped easily through them and ran along your seam.

“You’re practically dripping. Did you miss me that much?” Adachi teased, while still gliding his fingers along your slit and gathering the wetness he found.

You moaned indecently at his mocking tone, something Adachi took as confirmation of his question and further incentive. He moved fingers more insistently, dipping one shallowly into your opening. You tried to buck your hips into the too-slight intrusion, craving more, but his other hand pinned them back against the wall, stopping you.

“C’mon, sweetheart, fess up. Were you having some fun in the shower without me? Just couldn’t wait a little longer, could you?”

It didn’t seem as if he was looking for an answer to his latest questions, inserting his finger smoothly, and then a second, until they were buried to the knuckles in your head. You whined pitifully, and your eyes fluttered shut again. Despite the weight of his hand, you tried to rock your hips against Adachi’s hand as he drew his fingers in and out, the noise they made lewd and wet. The heel of his hand ground fleetingly against your clit, and you protested weakly at being kept in place.

“Mm, it’s like you’re practically begging for my cock and you’ve barely said a word,” Adachi purred, thrusting his fingers faster, hooking them at the tips.

The curl of his fingers added to the wetness growing between your thighs, kindling a coil of tension that mounted slowly but steadily with each blissful stroke. It was a tantalizing and torturous sensation, leaving your craving more, your breath coming out more heavily by the second.

“Aah, fuck, Tohru,” you groaned. Your hand had abandoned its grasp on Adachi’s shirt, though the other remained tightly tangled in his hair. Though the tight grip didn’t seem to obstruct nor bother him.

“Aren’t my fingers so much better? Bet it doesn’t compare,” Adachi claimed, and your cunt tightened unbidden in response.

“So, so much better,” you moaned hazily, the words broken and slow from the panting that interrupted them.

“Do you want something even better, sweetheart?” he offered. The speed of his fingers slowed, and you whimpered at the loss of the mounting tension and heat.

“Yes, fuck yes, please, Tohru,” you agreed eagerly, futilely trying again to roll your hips to meet his touch.

With your admission, Adachi withdrew his fingers from your core, and the heat there ebbed down to an aching throb that demanded a replacement. Wiping his fingers on the inside of your thigh, Adachi shifted, hooking an arm behind your knees and another behind your back. You let out a startled shout of shock when Adachi hoisted you off your feet, and you instinctively clung to him while he made his way to the bedroom.

Surprising you even more, Adachi didn’t unceremoniously dump you onto the bedsheets, though, nor was how he set you down especially caring or tender. Once he had settled you onto the bed, he went to work on his clothing. You sat up on your knees, turning halfway to watch him strip, appreciating the view even if you weren’t allowed to idly look for long.

Rounding on the bed, Adachi climbed onto it, situating him over and behind you. His knees splayed on either side of your own, trapping close to him. At first, you tried to twist your neck back to see what he was doing, but stopped when he took a hold of your hips and ground against you. You hummed, low and erotic, at the hard feel of him pressed against your backside, and you pushed back to meet him.

The head of his erection slipped between your thighs and through your thoroughly wet and slippery lips, teasing your entrance for an instant, before sliding past it. It brushed your clit, already sensitive from your arousal and his previous touch, and you groaned, letting your head loll back. Adachi’s teeth found your neck again, scraping against your skin, his hair tickling your jaw. He rolled his hips in a lazy rhythm for a few thrusts, each one equals parts bliss and torment as the hot length of him stroked along your center.

Adachi groaned against your neck, the sound only heightening your desire, accompanied by his hot breath on your neck. “Feels so nice and I’m not even inside your pussy yet,” he growled filthily in your ear, punctuating his words with a sharp nip to your earlobe. “How about you, baby, does it feel good?”

You whimpered and nodded vigorously, your hands finding his on your hips and grasping at them to anchor you among the sensations.

“But you’re so greedy, I bet you want more, don’t you?” He insisted coyly, and you nodded again without hesitation. “C’mon, I wanna hear you say it,” he pushed, giving a hard buck of his hips and bumping your clit more roughly.

Adachi was right. In that moment, you were greedy for more, so much more. Greedy for more of his touch, his voice, his teasing, all of him. And you would say whatever he wanted to make him indulge that greed.

“Tohru, I need more,” you claimed. “Fuck, I need you. Now.” the last worded bordered on being a desperate demand.

But it was a demand for once that Adachi was glad to oblige, shifting his hips back and into position, before bucking forward again and spearing you on his length in one quick, hard thrust that made you cry out. He rolled his hips several times, pumping in and out, relishing the feeling of your over excited cunt already clenching around him.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this all morning,” he confessed in your ear huskily, his hands escaping yours and sliding from your hips to your breasts, squeezing greedily.

He thrust harder, deeper into your heat, mouthing at your throat again while he kneaded your chest. You turned to putty in his hands, more and more with each thrust, the angle and position making for a tight fit that made you feel full, almost achingly so. Each time his dick slowly sank back into you, it easily caressed your most sensitive spots inside, compounding the slickness between your legs and the relentless flames and tight coil stirring in your gut.

“Is this what you want, too, sweetheart?” Adachi asked, though his speech was noticeably more strained and thick. “Just waiting all day for me to come and give you a good fucking?”

It was a struggle to compose yourself long enough to answer him. Though even with the effort, moans broke through your speech. “Yes, yes, Tohru… yes, all day, every day.”

Adachi bit more harshly at your skin, sucking even more marks that would be angry and sore later on. His thrusts remained slow, but their force increased, and one hand groping your chest drifted away, splaying across your belly, pulling you tighter against him. He was rewarded with an even louder chorus of bawdy noises, gasps and weak breaths, and breathless croons of his name. It all incited him to pound into you more roughly.

“Fuck, that’s my good little slut. Make more noise for me,” he commanded between marking your neck and shoulders. You obeyed without question, letting your mouth hang open and allowing each little sound to escape, airy and clear. “Shit, just like that,” he praised, words complemented by sound of his skin slapping against yours.

He was close. You could tell even with the mounting tension and fire in your abdomen distracting you and threatening to burst, drowning any thoughts. You reached down, past the hand holding you possessively close to him, and slipped it between your legs. You rubbed furiously at your clit, adding more stimulation, pushing you toward the tipping point of the explosive feeling building inside you.

You came with a shout and a more wanton string of moans than before, reflexively grinding back against Adachi. Your walls seized him tightly, craving every inch of him as deep inside as possible. Electric ripples of pleasure webbed out from your core, and you continued to stroke yourself until it was too much, even though the sound of Adachi so very close to following you excited you even more.

“Such a good girl.” the words were mumbled into your neck, and between that and your keening, you nearly missed them. “I’ve been wanting to fill you with my cum all day,” he lewdly confessed, his pace stuttering against your backside.

The primal groans that burst past Adachi’s lips when he finished inside of you in several hot spurts were enough to make you considering touching yourself all over again, but you held back, still oversensitive. You settled for whimpering and pressing harder back into him, focusing on the waves of pleasure as they died away and the hot, wet sensation of his cum filling you up.

Neither of you moved or said a word for a few minutes, still both sitting up on your knees, back to front. Hot and slick with sweat, exhausted and sated, panting while you regained the breath your ardour had stolen away. When Adachi pulled out, he lay back onto the bed. He surprised you yet again, though, when he pulled you down with him, trapping you against him, your back pressed to his chest like before, his limbs getting tangled among yours.

You were almost confused at the rare display, but decided just to enjoy it rather than question it. You listened to his breathing as it slowed back to normal, soothed by the beat of his heart as it relaxed along with your own. Though after indulging this rare mood for a while, you remembered you still had things to do.

“Tohru, I can’t go get dinner started if you don’t let go of me…” you tried softly, craning your head to glance at him and judge his reaction.

“Forget about it,” he grumbled. You noted both of his eyes had been closed, with him cracking one open to meet your questioning gaze. “We’ll order something. I’m in a good mood and I’m not done with you yet.”

You were about to protest again, but thought twice, settling for shaking your head lightly and letting yourself relax, though already feeling the ache from the thorough fucking you’d received. You would enjoy his alleged ‘good mood’ for as long it lasted then.

#writing #fanfiction #tohru adachi #persona 4 #ao3 #archive of our own #fandom #nsft #n/s/f/w #fic friday #biweekly upload

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captainchrisfics · 5 years

Text

Why Not?

About: Loosely inspired by Taylor Swift’s “Wildest Dreams,” in which Chris Evans and the first-person pov narrator try to escape L.A. in search of some ocean air, planning to spend the night snuggling up on a secluded beach somewhere. At a crossroads in their lives, when there are so many choices regarding their careers and their future as a family, tensions rise as the couple suspects they may want different things after all.

Word Count: 5,855

Requested By: Anon! Thanks for giving me a chance to write this. I hope you don’t mind I changed the point of contention a bit from the original work, but I had this conflict somewhere in me instead and found that the song was a perfect foundation for it. Totally not an excuse to use one of these hot new beach gifs. x

“Let’s get out of this city,” Chris shouted suddenly, fast footsteps pounding down the hallway. Soon he was standing between me and the television with a hand on his hip as he dropped a packed duffle bag onto the coffee table with a clatter.

Chris looked tired, worn in a way only a day of stressful work with the press made him. His hair was messy, like his anxious fingers had been raking through it and tugging at the long strands with nothing else to let out the nervous energy. I knew he’d had a rough day by the way he stormed into our L.A. apartment late and locked himself in our bedroom since he didn’t want to talk about it, but this crisis was surprising even me.

“Oh?” I asked with a playful smile, liking this spontaneous outburst of his. Usually Chris was rather disciplined, strict with his schedule because he had to be. Thousands if not millions of other people’s dollars usually rode on it. But he did have the occasional break in routine, more often than not when the flashing bulbs of Tinseltown became a little too blinding.

“I want to drive out of here, out of the crowds you know? I mean,” Chris shook his head in exasperation before throwing his hands into the air. “It’s not normal, this place- God, this place isn’t normal. The grass is all AstroTurf and the water tastes weird. There aren’t even any stars in the sky!” He gestured wildly to the ceiling as he looked up. As if he was disappointed not to see the Milky Way swirling above our living room, his shoulders sagged as his arms fell back down and he looked at me dejectedly.

“That’s because they’re all in Malibu, babe,” I joked, earning a sarcastic laugh from my husband as he rolled his tired eyes. “Where do you want to go anyway?” I asked more seriously, genuinely entertaining the idea. I sat up from my lounging position on the couch to give him my full attention.

Chris smirked like the devil, sure he had me hooked. “The ocean,” he said and, before I could make a snide comment about how he’s able to see it from our backyard, he continued. “A beach without anybody else.”

I leaned back onto the couch, stretching my legs until my toes pressed against the other side’s arm. “Please, leave me and my DiCaprio movie at peace then.” I pointed to the screen behind him, where Rose was just about to ask Jack to draw her like one of his French girls.

Chris peeked over his shoulder before turning back to me, his upper lip curled underneath his beard’s mustache as he smiled. “Don’t be a smartass. You know you don’t count. Now come on,” he insisted, walking around the table in only a few of his long strides and extending his hand to me. I looked between his palm and his gaze, biting my lip before flicking the tv off and taking his in mine. Chris not only hoisted me off the couch but pulled me into his chest while peppering the top of my head with kisses.

“I’m not ready, though,” I said, wriggling out of his grip and holding my arms out as if he hadn’t seen me yet. I’d done rounds of auditions that day and I hadn’t bothered to change out of my nice dress, one with a floating fabric I saved for readings since my agent called it “age-appropriate,” let alone take off any of my makeup or unpin my hair. It was so exhausting, trying to keep up with Hollywood’s standard of idealized young women as I aged out of many roles, that I just collapsed on the couch when I came home. It seemed the longer I sat in the waiting rooms, the younger, prettier the girls who joined me on the couches were. The more roles I was rejected for.

My protest didn’t dampen Chris’s grin, I don’t think anything could’ve rained on his parade. “I packed your things. The tent is still in your trunk. Dodger’s got tons of sitters I can text on the way. And you don’t have a good enough reason as to why we can’t drive until this godforsaken place is nothing more than a twinkle in the rear-view mirror,” he said without his eye-pinching smile ever wavering once. Chris must’ve recognized the hesitation in my eyes as he gave it a last-ditch effort with, “We won’t be able to just pick up and leave for the weekend forever.”

I squeezed his hand a little harder, a meager but earnest smile creeping onto my face. “Guess you’re right,” I admitted, trying to feign absent-mindedness. I pressed a quick kiss to his lips, leaving behind a ghost of the cherry red color I wore on mine. Then I crept around him toward the front door. I grabbed the keys to my convertible, which housed our camping supplies from our last we-can’t-survive-in-this-city-for-another-second trip. Now that I thought about it, they were becoming more often than not. “Race you!” I shouted as I tried to push that thought and its implications out of my mind. Instead, I took off running out the door as Chris’s shouts about foul play and heavy footsteps trailed behind me.

The drive, however, offered too much time to think. Over the quiet hum of the engine and Chris’s low voice whispering along to the oldies on the radio as I drove, the wind whistling filling my ears as I sped down the curving roads carved into the side of the coast, I was left with little more than my own thoughts and Chris’s fingers tapping along to Elton John’s beat on my thigh. I realized this was the third weekend in a row Chris and I needed some sort of escape. Even before this last month, we jetted off to the Cape even though it was freezing or hopped in the car to drive until the lung-coating smog turned to salty ocean air or climbed mountains so high we could barely see the skyscrapers below. I was suffocating. I never thought I was trying to escape something until I realized how fast I was going, as if I desperately wanted nothing more than to put that city behind me.

Once we arrived at our usual spot, there were only a few hours of sunlight to prepare for the night. It was a small cove a bit of a hike from the beach’s parking, but it was private. The perfect place to set up camp without being bothered. Chris started propping up the tent while I got cracking on the portable grill and some hotdogs that would be inevitably undercooked for dinner. Neither of us minded too much, having become accustomed to worse food on our travels.

While we sat together in the tent, picking apart granola bars and waiting for the sun to start setting, I found myself playing with my wedding ring. Turning it around my finger, mulling over my thoughts. For better or for worse, we’d promised we’d be there for each other for as long as we could, but that was a hell of a lot different than asking him to give up this life he’d worked so hard to build. With a stiff resoluteness, I decided I couldn’t ask Chris to leave. I’d pick him and his happiness over and over and over again.

“Hey,” he said softly, placing a hand on my knee tentatively, like he was casting a line and praying I’d take the bait so he could reel me back into reality. “Look, the sky’s turning already. Why don’t we take a walk?” Chris prompted as he stood, tugging me along with him. I glanced out the tent’s entrance to see the sun was barely even grazing the water’s edge and the sky was still daylight blue, but I guess he thought a change in scenery might ease the creases in between my furrowed brow and at the corners of my frowning mouth.

We didn’t get far, only to where the last of the waves spluttered into foamy white bubbles along the sand as the water dragged away. It was cold between my toes and the whipping wind didn’t help, but Chris pulled me into his side to block some of the breeze. He was always hot, with skin like a radiator that was warm to the touch. I fit against his shirtless chest so perfectly since Chris was so much taller, curling up to his side like a cat hiding under the heater. He tugged the elastic out of my hair with a goofy smile, claiming he liked watching it whip around in the wind, but I managed to subdue the strands by tucking them behind my ears.

“Nothing lasts forever, you know. The way you’re feeling, it’ll pass,” I said quietly, partly hoping he wouldn’t hear me over the crashing waves and seagull squaks. I wasn’t sure if it was more for Chris’s sake or mine, but it felt like a rationalization even as the words left me lips. Of course Chris would get over these weekend-long sprints away, he just wanted a small break from the hectic celebrity life. I couldn’t blame him for craving an escape from all the paparazzi cameras, wanting for once to be able to leave the house in pajamas without worrying about getting recognized and looking your worst. It was all for work he loved, though. Ultimately that would overcome his frustration and, when it didn’t, we’d be here.

But I knew, deep down, I needed to hear those words out loud just as badly, even if they were coming from me. My yearning to leave the L.A. lifestyle behind, to find something that fulfilled me in the same way acting used to before it became little more than an age-shame game. To ask Chris to pack a few suitcases a lot bigger than his duffel bag and join me. It would pass, it had to.

Unaware of the tornado my thought-spirals were sucking me into, Chris’s arm fell from my shoulder as his hand reached for mine. “I want us to,” he said with a firm purpose. “Last forever, I mean.” He played with my fingers, running the tips of his over the length of mine before finally intertwining them.

I paused, too busy with my mind to adjust to Chris’s calm declaration of familiar love. “What a relief,” I laughed through the unease in my shaky breath, wagging my diamond-clad ring finger in his face.

We hadn’t been married for long. The ink was barely dry on our license, even calling each other husband and wife still felt a little funny on the tongue, but it meant our promises were still fresh. We’d known each other forever though, having lived in the same complex when we first moved to the city fresh out of high school, and we dated for years before he put this ring on my finger. If I had any insecurities when it came to our relationship, he would’ve known about them a long time ago, but Chris still looked past my hand, right into my eyes and through to my soul with nothing more than one eyebrow hanging slightly lower than the other.

“Are you having any, uh, doubts?” My eyes snapped to Chris, the worry lacing his voice as fresh as the preemptive hurt. He avoided my stare, instead watching the seashell he kicked back into the ocean. “About us?” Chris added like an afterthought, as if I could’ve thought he meant anything else with the dejected way he tore his hand from mine to shove it deep into his pocket.

“Why would you say that?” I spit out the words like poison. I didn’t realize I stomped my foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum until I felt the water’s splash. It was the very last thing to cross my mind, even amidst thinking about our drastically different wants right now, so it must be on his.

“Only because you said it like that,” Chris defended indignantly, crossing strong arms over his chest. He shot me one hard look, steely eyes looking ablaze with the setting sky’s reflection, before reverting his gaze back to the ground. “And you’ve been... I don’t know. You’ve been distant,” he concluded, rushing the words out of his mouth while he still had the courage to confront me. Chris shrugged, trying to pass himself off as blasé about it, but I could tell by the way he clenched his jaw tight that he was trying to bottle it up.

“Baby, the only thing I want is for us to be happy,” I asserted, choosing my words carefully. It was the truth, evident enough in my voice to quell any of his suspicions. More than I wanted to get away from L.A. and all of its pressures, I wanted to be with Chris. “Old and grey,” I continued with a wistful smile, “holding hands in creaky rocking chairs on a wrap-around porch somewhere in Massachusetts wouldn’t hurt either.”

It was quiet while Chris thought it over. Too quiet, in fact. I imagined it’s what it felt like to be on the other side of the moon, the dark one where there wasn’t any sound and anyone who could hear you if there was any was hundreds of thousands of miles away. So I stretched to reach a hand to his shoulder, only for Chris to shrug me off as he sucked a breath in between his gritted teeth.

Chris started walking along the foamy wet line drawn by crashing waves as they pulled out to meet the rest of the sea. I stood there, watching him walk away, feeling utterly useless. As I debated whether or not to follow the indents his feet left in the sand, Chris peeked over his shoulder. Seeing me still planted where he left me, he jerked his head forward, encouraging me to chase after him. We walked silently, the only sounds being rolling water, the squishiness of our feet hitting wet sand, and seagulls chirping overhead. After a moment, I couldn’t stand it.

“I just...” I released a defeated sigh, sputtering like a deflating balloon as I tried to find the words to explain myself. “I want you to remember this, though. You know how work’s been. Chris, I want you to remember me like this... not the way Hollywood makes me feel,” I divulged, hands wringing in the fabric of my billowing dress just searching for something to hold onto.

“Darling,” he said, admonished. Chris turned to face me, placing one firm hand on each of my shoulders as he dipped to be at my eye-level, imploring me to believe him. “That’s what this is about? You do know I’ll still love you even when you’re not. I mean, I can’t wait to grow old with you. Comparing our crow’s feet and arguing over whose hair is grayer.”

I met his eyes, their sincerity coupled with my desperate need to believe him, made me feel enveloped in his love. I cracked a smile, feeling awfully silly for even questioning it in the first place, as I joked, “Oh, I can already guarantee it’ll be mine with all the stress you and your antics put me through.”

Chris smiled too, although his was crooked and haphazard in a lazy sort of way, lips upturning with tired relief. “Just wait until it’s me and three or four mini Evans’s running around. We’ll be in for it then,” he said, eyebrows raising as he begged me to believe him, a smug smirk playing on his rosy lips.

Chris turned back to the ocean, tugging me to his chest with a new comfort. I thought I could last for a little longer in L.A. if it meant I still got to be held like this, his mountainy musk nearly drowning out the salty smell of the water. “Three or four?” I asked incredulously, wrapping my arms around his waist. Of course I thought about having kids with him before, but never that many. Although now that he said it...

He bumped my hip with his. “Mhm...” Chris hummed as he laid his chin on top of my head. He didn’t take his eyes off the horizon, where the sun was sinking below the water and turning the sky a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors as warm as the feeling in my chest, as he said, “A conservative guess, if you ask me. In rapid succession, too.” Chris laughed hard, but I had a feeling he was only partly joking. Suddenly, he sobered up. “I’m looking forward to starting a family with you, darling.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you won’t be the only one I’m calling baby for much longer. Enjoy it while you can,” I teased with wriggling eyebrows, leaning impossible deeper into his shoulder and slipping a hand in the back pocket of Chris’s jeans.

“You know what I’m really going to enjoy right now?” Chris asked, a rascal’s grin growing from ear to ear. Before I could even ask, one of his arms hooked around my knees while the other supported my back as he lifted me close to his chest. Carrying me bridal-style despite my squirming and shrieking giggles, he darted further into the cold water until he decided to drop me. Even submerged, I could hear Chris cackling. When I broke the water’s surface, I pushed down on his doubled-over shoulders suddenly with all the force I could muster, sending Chris tumbling head-first into the sea.

He stood up quickly, shaking his head like a wet dog before pushing his hair back and wading toward me. “So that’s how we’re playing this, huh?” he said in a low voice, looking at me in a way that made me feel all too much like he was a lion stalking its prey. Looking around for a way out, I realized I was the exposed gazelle. When Chris lunged, he missed, but I was drenched by his splash anyway.

Soon we left the water, not wanting to be caught with anything lurking under the surface at dusk. Somehow, even in the dim moonlight, Chris’s wet torso managed to twinkle and I was tempted to make my very own constellations out of the water dripping down the curve of his back. I hung back, watching as he pushed the long dark strands of hair matted from the ocean out of his face, the silhouette of his flexing bicep and the rippling muscles of his back driving me mad.

By the time I reached the tent, Chris had already traded his soaked shorts for checkered pajama bottoms. I turned to face the wall, as to avoid Chris’s wandering eyes and the inevitable, burning blush they’d ignite in my cheeks. I don’t know why, the clingy fabric of my wet dress left little to the imagination and my body wasn’t anything he’d have to dream up in the first place, but I tried to maintain an inkling of modesty as I kneeled so my head wouldn’t hit the ceiling, slowly peeling the dress away until I was left in nothing more than my underwear.

It was dark, with just the faint glow of a lantern filling the tent with an orange hue and exaggerated shadows. I saw Chris’s hand reaching for me, spindly shadow fingers projected onto the wall in front of me before he made contact, his warm palm pressing into the curve of my hip as he held me.

Chris’s chest melded with my back as he moved closer, our hearts pounding hard enough we could feel each other’s being somehow in sync. Our bent legs rested between one another, bringing us as near to each other as we could be. He gathered my hair in one hand, moving it all out of his way as he rested his scratchy beard on my shoulder’s bare skin, nuzzling into the crook of my neck. He placed gentle kisses along the exposed skin, trailing up my collarbone. I reached around, tangling my hand into the long hair at the nape of his neck as I urged him to continue. My neck craned, trying to give him more surface area to suck on while I released breathy, fluttering gasps that elicited a deep moan from the very bottom of his throat.

Chris reached my ear, nibbling on the sensitive skin. Instinctively, my head moved toward his until our noses were brushing. Every breath was borrowed. “It’s not good for you to stay in wet clothes, you know,” he growled instead of kissing me as I anticipated. Instead, he went back to marking me neck, always such a tease. His hand on my hip reached across my stomach, dragging his fingernails across my cold skin until he held me, pressing my impossibly closer toward his torso. His fingers didn’t make themselves at home, choosing instead to travel up the other side of my torso’s curve until he reached my chest. Over my wet bra, Chris kneaded my breast, already tender from the cold. His warmth was a welcome contrast.

“Wouldn’t want you catching a cold, darling.” Chris’s lips left my neck suddenly, leaving me feeling a rush of the night’s frigid air in the wake of his absence. My hand fell to his chest, the back of it landing just over his heart as my fingers curled with anticipation. I felt him pressing against the back of my thigh, hard through the thin fabric of his pants. It continued to fall until I found the hem of his pants. My fingers hooked below the flannel, beginning to tug it down the subtle curve of Chris’s hip. Then his teeth grazed my shoulder as he gripped my bra’s strap, tugging until it slipped. My breath hitched in my throat as his hand traveled up my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and I froze.

He started to unclasp my bra as my lips, trembling like there was an earthquake, spit out a word I wasn’t even anticipating. “Stop,” I whispered earnestly before I even registered that I’d thought the word. My hand dropped to my bare thigh, tightening into a fist with frustration at myself.

If Chris wasn’t so attentive, he may have mistaken it for a lustful sigh. But in a second, with no questions asked, he untangled himself from my body and sat back on his heels so there was a foot or so of space between us. It wasn’t much, but considering the size of our small tent, it was all the room I could have to breathe.

I sighed, snapping my bra strap back into place with my thumb. “I just-“ I tried to say, only for my voice to betray me and break. “Damnit, I’m really sorry.” I buried my face in my hands, too afraid of the hurt Chris’s eyes would inevitably hold.

“No, no, darling,” his measured voice reassured me, just barely above a whisper. His hands wrapped loosely around my wrists, tugging me out of my hiding spot. Despite my trepidation, Chris’s whole being only held concern. Between his low shoulders and soft eyes, all he had was repentance. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you weren’t feeling-“

“Don’t you start saying sorry then either, Evans,” I responded with a sudden insistent flare. “It wasn’t anything you did. God, it never is.” I reached for Chris’s hands, where they sat wringing in his lap, and enveloped them in my own. “I-I don’t know... I’ve just got too much on my mind to enjoy this... To enjoy how great you make me feel, baby,” I disclosed, looking at him longingly through my eyelashes. In all honesty, I did want to make the most of our alone-time together. To make Chris feel that bliss he came here craving, to allow him to return the favor, but I couldn’t pull myself out of my own head enough.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. No worries there, Evans,” he responded with a giddy grin, still not used to calling me by his last name. He tucked some of my hair behind my ear so I couldn’t hide my blush. It was infectious, coupled with his kind words, I couldn’t stop from breaking out into a smile myself. “Why don’t we go look for some shooting stars then? I think NASA tweeted something about Jupiter and Saturn lining up with the moon this week.” Chris stood as tall as he could, though it wasn’t much more than a painful-looking crouch. He extended a hand to me, a peace offering I accepted with open arms. Or, rather, by taking his hand and allowing him to lead me back toward the sand.

“Oh, babe,” I giggled, a mischievous smirk of my own making its home on my lips. I stumbled a little, having difficulty finding my footing in the sand when I could hardly see in front of my face. “You know I love it when you talk nerdy to me.” Chris laughed while shook his head at the sky as he searched it, deciding this spot was nice until he thought the view would be better another couple side-steps to the left.

Finally he dropped, making a quiet thud against the sand as he dragged me down with him by our joined hands. Chris intertwined our fingers before nodding with satisfaction and laying down. He stretched his other arm, resting his head on his bicep as he jutted his chin out to the spot next to him.

As I snuggled into the soft sand, Chris pointed up to the sky with a lazily extended finger. “You see the Big Dipper?” he asked, a childlike amazement evident in his voice. I said I did, although I was too busy being overwhelmed by all the other dazzling lights twinkling in the sky as well. Feeling awfully small and insignificant in an inexplicably liberating sort of way. I curled up close to Chris, trying to catch every bit of his body heat I could.

“It’s actually called Ursa Major, Latin for the Great Bear,” he continued. Instead of staring at the sky, I turned to Chris. I watched his blue eyes light up, although I wasn’t sure if it was the moon’s bright reflection or a burning passion inside of him. “The Greeks had a story for it, tons of them actually. But I like the version where this nymph named Callisto swore a vow of celibacy to Artemis, although Zeus had a bit of a thing for her,” Chris turned to me with wagging eyebrows.

“They end up having this son…” he trailed off, turning back to the sky as his face tightened with concentration. “Sorry, I can’t remember his name now. Anyway, Zeus’s wife, Hera, gets super pissed and turns the poor nymph into a bear. She spends years like that until, one day, her son happens to find her.” Chris squeezed my hand, his eyes flickering between watching me in their corners to staring at the constellation again. “It’s not the happiest family reunion though. He’s a hunter now so, without knowing the bear he’s afraid might attack him is really his mom, he goes to kill her.”

Chris pulled our laced-together hands to his lips, pressing gentle kisses to my knuckles as he tried to prolong my suspense. “Zeus takes pity on them, but if you ask me, he was trying to make up for being the dick that got them in this situation. Ease a guilty conscience, if gods even have those,” he paused to scoff. “He ends up carrying Callisto and her son to the heavens and turns them both into constellations so they couldn’t be hurt anymore,” Chris finished, his voice growing quieter until he reached the end, barely above a whisper.

“Is the moral supposed to be that kids ruin everything?” I said sorely, offering a bitter laugh to try to pass it off as a joke, but Chris could tell my heart wasn’t in it. In fact, I’d been thinking the opposite all night. A lot longer than that, actually, now that I think about it. Too nervous to see the confirmation I suspected may be in his eyes, I kept mine glued to the sky. Feeling an awful lot of the vulnerability I imagined Callisto may have, if only in a fraction.

“Nope,” he said, popping the word on his lips. “I just think it’s comforting to know that we won’t be able to fuck up that badly. I mean, as far as I know, neither of us are deities so, unless you’ve got some secret jealous ex with that potion from Brave, we’ll be alright parents. Sure, we’ve got crazy lives, but I don’t think we’ll suddenly wake up tomorrow with all the answers, so I don’t see why we’re still waiting.” His voice was as level and laid-back as if he was talking about the weather, not actually starting a family someday soon.

My neck nearly snapped with its velocity when I turned to Chris, flabbergasted in every sense of the word. Of course I knew he wanted kids, I don’t think there’s a person that’s ever watched a minute of a Chris Evans interview who didn’t. But we were always too busy working. Too focused on each other. Too far from a good school district. Too not-living-the-lives-we-want-to-lately.

“That is what you’ve been thinking about, right? Kids?” Chris asked, his whole face contorting with confusion, screwing up as he thought he did. “I figured, you’ve been worrying about getting older a lot lately. Plus, it seems like you’re tired of the whole L.A. lifestyle, lord knows I am, and like you’re ready to do something else career-wise. So I thought… I don’t know. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if-” he rambled, trying to put words to his thoughts in an attempt to make me understand them as well.

“Chris,” I said. It came out more sternly than I intended. “What do you want?”

He flipped over to his side so we were facing each other completely now. “Well, of course, I want you to be happy-”

“No, Chris. What do you want?” I repeated, unrelenting. Our eyes bore into each other, playing the world’s worst staring game with a poignant intensity. Chris’s eyes narrowed, his thick lashes nearly brushing his cheeks, until he lost.

“Honestly?” he said, liberating a heavy sigh from his lungs. I turned on my side to face him completely, curling up against his ribs which nearly rattled with every one of his stalling, shaky breaths. “I want kids,” Chris admitted in a breath. “If you aren’t ready yet, if I misunderstood whatever you’ve been going through lately, I’m really sorry, but I’m ready to settle down a little more. Move out of the city, find a nice home in some suburb with a yard for Dodge and a few empty bedrooms to fill.” Chris spoke with longing for a life we weren’t quite living, not dissimilar to the one that’d been plaguing my thoughts ever since I figured out the words for it. Although he was hesitant at first, once he started rolling, Chris couldn’t help confessing this residential life he’d planned down to the picket fence.

“Do you- Chris, don’t fuck with me like this. Do you really mean that?” I asked, utterly unable to hide my desperation. More than anything, I wanted that picket fenced front yard and a dozen little feet pitter-pattering down the hall. All I needed was for Chris to want it, too.

“Absolutely,” he said with confidence and a slow nod to boot. “I mean, we’re both tired of L.A. anyway, right? We aren’t getting any younger. I figure, why not, you know? I’d rather raise our kids where they can see the stars and walk down the street without getting papped. What do you think?” Chris inquired, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously. He’d gone out on a limb, hoping I’d be there to catch him when he fell.

I couldn’t stop the tears brimming in my eyes at just the thought of packing school lunches. Shutting the fridge, littered with finger-paintings of our family and tacky magnets we’d collect on every vacation, before handing a bag to each little kid. Kissing the tops of their heads as they rushed out the door, ready to board the big yellow school bus waiting out front.

“If that’s not what you want, that’s okay,” Chris rushed. His eyebrows dipped, heavy with concern that tugged down on the corners of his lips as well. “Really, it’s okay. No pressure. Please don’t cry about it.” Chris reached an arm around me, pulling me close to his chest to comfort me until my quiet cries erupted into laughter. “Wait, wh-what?” he stuttered.

“You meatball,” I teased, trying to catch my breath. “God, you don’t know how badly I’ve been wanting to hear you say that. Would it be wild if I told you I think that’s exactly what I want, too?” I laughed again, relishing in every bit of the relief.

“Not at all, darling,” Chris reassured me quickly. “I think it sounds like a dream, waking up with one arm around you and our baby snuggled in the other.” His eyes turned glossy, like he was remembering something that hadn’t even happened yet.

“In that case,” I said with a smirk that grew into a devilish grin. I placed my palm on Chris’s chest and pushed him back, flat against the sand, as I rolled over to straddle his waist. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as an incredulous laugh left his rosy lips. I flipped my hair to one side, biting my bottom lip with an excited suspense, as I looked down at Chris, balancing myself with a hand on his stomach. I swear I could feel his diaphragm halt as he forgot to breathe. “Why don’t we get started?”

Chris’s hands found their place on either side of my hips. His eyes watched his finger as it slipped under my underwear’s waistband, tracing the horizontal line dangerously low on my skin. As his gaze rose slowly, trying to soak up every last drop of this moment. “Are you proposing we make a baby right here, right now?” Chris asked when his eyes met mine, a soft smile carving crow’s feet next to his blue eyes.

“Well, in your very own words,” I purred, laying my chest to his so our faces were only inches from each other. I ran my fingers through his dark hair, trying to engrave the way he was looking at me now into my memory, as if I was the moon and the stars and the whole, entire sky. His grip tightened on my hips with anticipation as I leaned in to press a longing kiss to his lips, only a tease of what was to come. “Why not?”

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mummybear · 5 years

Text

Strangers In The Night - Part 3 - He’s My Brother

Part 1 Part 2

Words: 3546

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Threat Of Non-Con, Demon possession, knives, Threats Of Murder. Think that’s it.

Characters: (OMC) Sebastian, (OFC) Veronica, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x (OFC) Veronica

Veronica awoke with a pounding in her head, she didn’t even want to open her eyes with the pain that was currently radiating through her skull. The sound of a metallic scraping quickly caught her attention even through her pain. It sounded so clearly like a door on hard stone floor, something she could have sworn she’d heard before. The banging of the door as it closed echoed through the room, making her head pound just that much harder. But at least that was a noise that she recognised, even under her current state of being.

She even managed to hear the heavy footsteps that echoed outside of the room she was in, it sounded like just one person. Said person was pacing continuously outside the door, never straying too far. Whoever it was, walked slow and purposeful with every step as clear as day.

The room that she was in was completely disgusting, the smell alone was enough to make her eyes water. To top it all off she was completely freezing, goosebumps covered her entire body. It almost felt like she might have been in a basement, or it was underground at least, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Fighting everything inside her that was telling her to keep her eyes closed, she allowed herself to blink them open slowly. Squinting a few times before she could focus on anything at all around her.

Even when her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, there was only a little bit of light filtering into the room, it looked like it was coming from under the door.

Veronica winced when she tried to move her arms, groaning quietly when she was met with nothing but resistance and more pain. In fact she could feel the blood that had crusted around the cuffs and the cuts on her\ wrists, or whatever the hell it was holding her to the wall. She just about managed to lift her head from her chest, her eyes were only met by the dark stone wall in front of her.

The room was much smaller than she’d been expecting to begin with, but she was right, it was definitely a basement of some kind, definitely underground. Something else that was completely obvious, was that she wasn’t the first person to be brought here, not if the blood that stained the walls and floor was proof of anything.

The longer she stared helplessly at the wall in front of her, which she was sure was about to become the place she died, the more she began to panic. There was no way in hell she was getting out of here, the room was tiny, nothing but the chains that bound her and the blood stains were in the room. How in hell would Sam and Dean ever find her now, they weren’t close enough to follow the car that had brought her to this place. In fact, aside from knowing there was at least one demon, they had no plan for this, she was alone scared and trapped.

Sam And Dean

Sam turned to look at Dean with wide worried eyes, when his brother started shouting Veronica’s name into his phone, that was never a good sign knowing Dean the way he did it took a lot for his brother to break this way. Dean sped off around the corner, turning hard enough to cause a wheel spin, Sam’s hands slammed onto the dashboard instead of his head with the way Dean handbrake turned around the corner.

Sam turned to look at Dean again, he could practically see the colour drain from his brother’s face in an instant, Dean winced and his jaw clenched hard, even Sam heard the scream that ripped through the speaker of the phone, the thing that he didn’t hear which Dean did was the sickening thud that followed shortly after, or the laughter of someone else, a man or more probably a demon.

“Dammit! Son of a fucking bitch!” Dean fumed angrily, tossing his phone without thinking, pushing the now free hand through his already messy hair. He narrowly missed Sam’s head. But the younger Winchester didn’t take any offence, he knew this was Dean trying to keep his cool. Dean’s fist slammed against the steering wheel as he practically growled out his anger.

“Dean? What do you want to do?” Sam asked carefully, resting a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder as he continued to drive. Though he was pretty sure there was no point asking what had happened, since it was fairly evident that whatever it was, it wasn’t good and it involved Veronica.

The cafe that Veronica had mentioned came into view, Dean turned quickly and pulled into the parking lot of Carlie’s cafe, the last place that they knew V had been for sure and she’d been here less than fifteen minutes ago. The elder Winchester spotted her car immediately, he quickly pulled the Impala into the parking space beside it. The brothers climbed out of the car, searching the area for any CCTV, unfortunately, there were no visible cameras. Sam was still in his FBI suit so he headed inside without a word to his brother, heading inside the cafe to ask if they had any just to be sure.

Meanwhile, Dean decided to search Veronica’s car in hopes of finding any clues of where the hell she’d been taken, and by who. Contacting Crowley had even crossed his mind, but that was at best a last ditch option, one he hoped that he wouldn’t need to use.

Resting a hand on the cars hood feeling the dent in the still warm metal, there were a few of the same shape dents littering the cars body work. Almost the shape of a baseball bat. It took a little effort to pry open the door, as it had been forced to close over itself. Dean stumbled back a little when the door finally gave way and swung open. He searched the car for her phone, but came up empty handed that was the first thing that was a positive at least, there were no other clues

only blood pools in the car. His fist slammed into the roof when he emerged, angry eyes focused solely on the blood splattered across the steering wheel and dash.

If he hadn’t left her, just took her with him, or sent Sam and stayed at home with her, then she’d be okay right now. Cuddled up in his arms in her big bed. This was on him and he had no plans to stop until he found her safe and sound. He should’ve kept her safe was the only thing he kept thinking.

His hands rested on the roof of her car, head hanging low as he tried to think back to the phone call. His brothers hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts though, with a deep sigh he turned to face Sam. “Anything?” Dean asked quickly but his face fell as soon as he looked at Sam. “So no then” he grumbled looking at Sam, he frowned when Sam joined him leaning against her car.

“Oh no, they’ve got CCTV. It’s just-” Sam pauses seeing his brother shift beside him. Sam swallowed hard running a hand through his hair.

“Spit it out Sammy, what is it?!” Dean demanded impatiently, he sounded angry but Sam could hear the real fear behind his words.

Sam nodded as he scratched at the back of his neck, “She was unconscious when they left, they tossed her into the back of a car, I got the licence plate” Sam tells him before his demeanour changes further, he swallows hard and a small shaky sigh slips past his lips before he allows himself to speak again. “So, the camera had sound Dean, the things they were saying about her man. It made me wanna throw up” Sam told him regretfully, completely aware of how his brother was probably about to act.

Dean’s face changed straight away, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed and eyes darkened dangerously, and his fists clenched at his sides. “Tell me” Dean practically growled, turning his attention to his brother, Sam watched his brother’s jaw tick and knew that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“They said they were keeping her underground, undetected. Under an old military base the next town over. But Dean, please just trust me you don’t w-” Sam tried but Dean’s fist collided with the side of her car, leaving a slight dent behind.

Dean nodded for a moment before he realised the last part of what Sam had said, his head whipped back around to practically glare at him. “Sammy just tell me, for fucks sake! I need to know what the hell we’re gonna be walking into!” Dean fumed but when he saw Sam’s face he took a breath, trying to push the anger down slightly. “Please” he sighed as they climbed back into the Impala.

Sam groaned not wanting to repeat the things they had said, “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you” Sam caves as he slides into the passenger side,closing the door behind him before he turns to face his brother. But Dean remains silent, still, waiting for Sam to speak. Sam pulls up the location of the old base on his phone, letting the directions spill from the speaker. Of the base which is supposed to be deserted, of course why would demons care about that. Dean pulls out of the parking space and follows the directions.

“Keep talkin’ Sammy” Dean tells him his tone serious, eyes not moving from the road.

Running a hand through his hair the younger Winchester sighed, “Okay, first off at least four of them. From what I could tell from the footage, pretty sure that all four are demons. The guy I think was the leader, he said something about not telling Crowley, that this was his mission and he didn’t need him involved” Sam revealed watching the frown that crossed Dean’s face.

“So, what some of Crowley’s demons gone rogue. You think that the leader could’ve been V’s brother’s meat suit?” Dean asked curiously, making another turn.

“You think we should call him?” Sam asked his brother, hoping that he would forget the rest.

Dean shrugged before he shook his head with his own sigh, running a hand across the back of his neck. “No. We can’t guarantee that he won’t just kill Veronica and her brother. If there’s any chance he’s still alive, she’d do anything to keep him that way. And I can’t let anything happen to her, I can’t lose her Sammy. Not again” Dean explained, the confession at the end surprised Sam a little but he didn’t let it show on his face.

“Yeah, I get it. Okay, so we keep him as a last resort?” Sam questions, picking up his gun from the floor of the Impala and reloading it. Dean reached behind himself a little awkwardly, tossing Sam his gun as well.

Dean nods thoughtfully, “Yeah, probably for the best. You weren’t done though were you? You heard more right?” Dean inquired hands flexing around his grip on the steering wheel.

Sam nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “They said that. They said, they were gonna tie her up, keep her hanging for a few days without food or water, leave her until she was too weak to fight. Anything. That they’d get what they needed, and then she would be useless. Except for bait to get to us, ” Sam finished and that sick feeling was back in his throat and the very pit of his stomach, he couldn’t look at Dean, instead his eyes landed in his lap as he played with his fingers trying not to think too much about what he’d just said.

“Oh yeah. They’re gonna pay!” Dean growled through clenched teeth, his foot pressing down harder on the gas. As he pushed himself up straight in his seat, his eyes hard and his jaw set.

“We need to be smart about this Dean” Sam sighed heavily finally looking up and over at his brother.

“I know Sammy. We’ve been through worse. We’ll get her out safely if it’s the last thing I do” Dean replied leaving no room for argument. They turned the next corner and the base became visible, run down and it did look abandoned. Dean drove a little way down the road, parking up on the opposite side of the road from the base. “Let's do this, she’s been gone hours now” Dean said, taking his gun from Sam he tucked it into the back of his jeans, sliding his angel blade into the pocket on the inside of his jacket.

Sam tucked the demon blade inside his jacket and his gun in the back of his jeans, following Dean as they headed over to the base, Sam lagging slightly behind Dean. They rounded the building tucked up as close to the wall as possible.

Back With Veronica

At this point she wasn’t even sure how long she’d been stuck in here. The room was so quiet now, deathly silent in fact, the footsteps outside the room had been long gone for what she thought was a long while now. Her head was beginning to spin, she was so thirsty, with her arms cuffed together above her head her breathing was starting to become difficult too.

She fought with the strength that was left in her arms to pull herself up slightly, she gasped as the air entered her lungs, it was an almost painful burn. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take, every now and then a shock would be sent through the cuffs around her wrists.

The door suddenly clanged open, and the cuffs lowered, allowing for more chain so that her shaky legs could touch the floor. Veronica gratefully breathed in the air, finding that the blurred eyesight began to fade but she was still swaying on her feet. A light flickered on and she winced as the room began to become bright, her eyes were burning as she fought to keep them open. “Well good morning my little Ronnie, nice to see you awake” that voice, she knew that voice, there was only one person who called her that.

Blinking hard a few times her vision began to clear, finally, she was able to see, not that it made it any better seeing his face. Veronica’s eyes immediately fell to the bullet holes in his chest, “So, you lied typically then. He’s already dead isn’t he?” she asked quietly, trying not to let her defeat or sadness seep into her voice.

She tried to move away from his hand when his fingers brushed over her chin, he tilted her head much gentler than she’d have expected. Veronica tried her best to stop the sob that punched its way from her throat, but that wasn’t possible, as soon as her eyes met his, she thought that her heart had already stopped.

“No. I didn’t lie. He’s very much alive my love, this is an old shirt. Please forgive me” the demon wearing her brother smirked, curling the edges of Sebastian’s lips proving further it wasn’t her brother she was speaking to, it was a look she’d never seen on him before. That paired with the way his eyes moved over her face and body, had her skin crawling more than she’d ever thought possible.

“Bullshit” she spat, scoffing as she pulled her face from his grip.

His hand went over his heart and he gasped in fake hurt, “Baby doll. I would never lie to you, I’m shocked you’d accuse me of such a thing” he winks, as someone leans into the room and passes him a bottle of water.

The demon unscrews the cap and holds it to her mouth, “Fuck you!” she growls, whipping her head away from the bottle and bringing her leg up between his.

He chuckles sickeningly as he shrugs, placing the water carefully on the ground. Before he spins on his heels and is back in her face. “You keep fucking pushing me little girl, then I’ll do just that!” he threatens his lips grazing hers, she pushes herself back into the wall as far as she can.

Then something happens, he seems to trip over his own feet. She can’t explain it but she’s sure it’s him, her real brother hidden beneath the hard surface of this demon. “I’m guessing my brother isn’t a fan of that idea” she asks with a small smirk of her own, but it quickly falls away when he pulls out a knife.

“You’d be right about that. But he knows he can’t fight too hard or he dies. Perhaps my approach to that should change though” he smirks pressing the knife against her throat, he drags it down slowly making its way to the buttons of her shirt, leaving an angry red line in its wake. The tip presses into her skin and she winced, but refuses to show him just how scared she is. “Now, tell me. Has Dean had his way with your tight little body yet?” he asks with what seems like a slight interest. “Perhaps, Sam?” he questions, as the knife begins to move lower popping off every button it comes into contact with.

“They’re gonna fucking rip you apart” she grunts when the knife cuts deeper.

“So is that a no then? From what I see in your brothers memories it’s more likely to be Dean?” he asks again, she does her best not to react but he can sense the slight raise of her heart rate and pulse every time the elder Winchester is mentioned.

“I’m not telling you shit!” she replies venomously, flinching a little when her shirt falls open, leaving her in a thin t-shirt.

“But princess, you don’t need to. The way your body responds to his name, is unmistakable” he smirks cocky and yet he seems angry still.

“Why? You jealous?” she chuckles darkly, her eyes meeting his again as she reminds herself that this isn’t her brother.

His grin is dangerous this time, seconds later the knife slides through her shirt she shivers as the cold air tugs at her bare skin. “Don’t flatter yourself, i’m fully covered there thanks. As I’m sure Dean is without you” he grits out and she smirks.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But that is all my brother, it has nothing to do with you, you sick twisted fuck. My brother, Sam and Dean. They’re twice the men that you’ll ever be” Veronica laughs in his face, she can practically feel the rage flowing off of him, but she can’t stop herself.

“Well we’ll see just how pretty all three of them are when I have my way with them. First I’ll deal with your precious Dean, real slow bleed him dry make you watch while I cut up that pretty face of his. I’ll keep him alive just long enough to watch as I kill his brother, little Sammy will go nice and painful. Then when Dean is eventually dead, I’ll kill you with your brothers hands around your throat. Finally, I’ll leave your brother. Nice and fucked up about what he’s seen what he’s done, until it’s all too much and he has to end it all himself” the demon spits the last words, laughing happily seeing the tears rolling down Veronica’s face. “You my love, don’t stand a fucking chance in hell” he chuckles, slapping her cheek lightly.

Veronica looks down, her heart sinking in her chest as the light blinks off. She’s even colder now than she was before. She can even feel the blood rolling down her stomach, as the cuffs are pulled tight again when the door slams shut behind him. She sucks in a deep breath as the burn in her arms returns again, he’s alive she can’t believe it she’s happy about that, of course she is.

But she knows her brother, knows that he will find it almost impossible to live with the things she’s sure that he would have been made to do. He was never meant for the hunter life, let alone this shit show he was currently stuck with.

Everything was beginning to go fuzzy again, all she could think about was when her and Seb had been younger, how he’d always protected her, right up until he wasn’t able to. When that sick fuck of a demon had caught him, he’d tried so hard to keep her safe. She was determined to get him out of here and that thing out of him, but right now she was screwed, he breathing was slowly getting deeper, each breath further apart. There was a loud bang at least that was what she thought she’d heard, who knows maybe she was dreaming.

She was stuck, completely useless to him. She thought she heard her name as she blacked out, but it would only be him again so she didn’t bother to fight the overwhelming darkness as it enveloped her.

Tags: @lusyschwa @chewie-redbird @julzdec @lettersofwrittencollective @stiles-o-dylan24 @mogaruke @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @dylanholyhellobrien @desiree-0816 @emichelle @lilulo-12 @22sarah08 @flamencodiva @hobby27 @akshi8278

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mitchsmarners · 5 years

Text

burn, crash, romance (i’ll take what i can get from you)

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier [reddie] w/ side mike hanlon/stanley uris/patty blum [stanpatlon] word count: chapter count: 1 of 8 of the fratboy eddie project w/ @reddietrashclub, chapter written by me! summary: Richie didn’t know Eddie very well, not that he would want to, and even just looking at him now, he knew that Eddie Kaspbrak was exactly all the things that Richie had tried to tell Stanley that frat boys were. His brown hair flopped into his brown eyes, pressed down by some red snapback worn backwards and beige khaki jeans that looked glued to his legs. He was hot and the smirk on his face showed that he knew it. warnings: intoxication, sexual flirting

frateddie!taglist: @aizeninlefox, @appoloos, @mrs-vh, @playwiththeflowersofmysoul, @tyrror, @alonelystarfish, @blueskies-and-fucking-sly-smiles, @captainbartholomew, @edneedspie, @im-therosaline-tohisromeo, @invitedtoapityparty, @it-crack, @kasp-brakz, @merriebaby, @proton-disaster-blaster, @purpleposionedgem, @ra-ra-rasputine, @richietoaster, @stanielthemaniel, @tenderlydeliciousstrawberry, @trshmth-richie, @wheezyeds, @wintersember, @youll-kill-me-if-you-stop (let us know if you want to be added!)

perma tags: @jwilliambyers, @eddiecare, @thorn-harvester-ven, @wonderfuleds, @kasbprak

read on ao3.

Richie turned around in his desk seat when his roommate, Stanley, came barging in. Now, Richie had been sharing a room with Stanley Uris for nearly a full three years and he wasn’t much of a barger. Admittedly, Richie was sure he’d gotten to become a bad influence on his friend over their time together- because Richie could be a good student and still have fun, thank you very much- but Richie was still able to recognize out of character behaviour in his best friend.

Stan moved quickly towards his bed, grabbing at the clothes he’d yet to unpack from his trip back home for Passover. He started tossing clothes over his shoulders in search of something, and Richie startled. “Whoa, buddy!” Richie cried, forcing a laugh. “Where’s the fire?”

Stan turned towards Richie and glared at his clothes. Richie had already settled in for the night, wearing nothing but a slightly larger band T-shirt and his boxers. His contact were out, glasses settled on his nose and hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of his head.

Stan let out a disgusted noise. “Get dressed,” Stan said, shaking his head. “We’re going to a party.”

“What the fuck, it’s Wednesday!” Richie cried, tossing his hands up into the air. “Who the fuck throws a party on a Wednesday? This isn’t fucking Frosh week anymore.”

Stan started jumping into what Richie had loving dubbed his “My girlfriend pegs me” jeans, and rolled his eyes. “Mike’s fraternity is having a party, and he invited us. All of us. So we’re going.”

Richie groaned. He liked Mike Hanlon, he really did, but ever since his best friend had started growing close to farmer boy-turned- frat boy, Richie had found himself being forced into a lot more social interactions then he cared for. “That frat boy has the hots for you.”

Stan’s cheeks flushed and he flipped Richie off. “I have a girlfriend, in case you’d forgotten.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Just because you have a girlfriend, doesn’t mean that somebody else can’t think you’re a hot piece of ass.”

Stan chucked the first pair of Richie’s jeans he could find on the floor towards him. Richie squawked as it hit him in the face, then fell into his lap. “Shut up about Mike like that. We’re just friends!”

“So, you’re going to introduce him to Patty then?” Richie challenge, looking around for a shirt to shrug on. He settled on his simple grey UCLA sweater, over top of his acid wash skinny jeans that were ripped from wear rather than style. He paused, debating for a moment doing something with his hair and putting in his contacts, but ended up shrugging it off.

Stan was glaring at him. “Why are you saying that as though I’ve purposely been keeping them apart? Their paths just haven’t crossed yet, it isn’t anything serious. But yes, Patty is coming tonight. So you can let go of this weird idea you’ve thought up that Mike likes me.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Alright, whatever. Let’s go.”

Stan frowned at Richie, looking him up and down. “You’re actually wearing that? Richie, put in an effort.”

Richie scowled. “Why? You’re one going out to a party on a date with your girlfriend and the hot frat dude who wants to fuck you, not me.”

Stan grabbed hold of the hem of Richie’s sweater and tugged on it. “You could use to be laid! You haven’t been serious with anybody since Sandy back in freshman year- and this is your longest dry spell in ages. Mike and I were talking today and-”

“You and Mike were talking about my sex life?” Richie squawked, yanking away from Mike and tugging his sweater back into place. “What the kind of fuck-”

“We were talking about your lack of sex life!” Stan replied. “Richie you used to be kind of a slut-” Richie made an offended noise but Stan barrelled on over him. “And that was an issue, but now you’re sort of the opposite side of that. You gotta find a good medium, Rich, and there’s gonna be tons of chicks and... frat dudes-”

“And you’re telling me that the frat dudes won’t be wearing UCLA sweaters?” Richie challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. Stan’s mouth dropped open and he raised his brows, but he merely stared at Richie gap mouthed. “That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Eddie Kaspbrak dodged the fourth overly-muscled guy of the night, taking the solo cup he offered him and swerving away. He moved towards the sink in the kitchen and dumped the cup down the drain. His best friend and fellow frat brother grinned at him, reaching out to adjust the hat backwards on Eddie’s head. “Dodging all the m-m-en is starting to make you look m-m-messy.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I need to start bringing a bat to these things. Can’t get them away.“

Bill chuckled, handing Eddie a drink he could actually trust. “It’s because you’re the hottest gay on campus. They can’t h-uhh-help it if you’re out of their league. Aim high. That’s my motto.”

“Don’t I know it,” Eddie said with an eye roll. Bill Denbrough had the highest kill count of anybody in their fraternity, but he no doubt that the highest count of strike outs as well. Denbrough had never shied away from a challenge, and Eddie had been by his side through countless successes and failures. Sometimes so many successes that Eddie was a little disgusted, and so many failures he couldn’t help but laugh. You could only be so supportive of bro. z

“Looks like Mike brought his little nerd boy tonight,” Bill said, leaning back on his elbows against counter in front of the sink. Eddie followed Bill’s gaze towards the front door of their frat house, watching Mike Hanlon ducking into the doorway with prim looking dark haired boy and another two friends, one female, one male. “How long do you think it’ll be b-be-before he gets some of that?”

“Mike Hanlon?” Eddie asked, sighing a little wistfully. He shook his head, smilingly fondly. “Personally I’m surprised he hasn’t locked in already. Not like people to take the long road when getting some of him.”

Bill suddenly let out a low whistle. “Might have something to do with that.”

Eddie looked back over, wincing at the sight of Mike’s crush- Stanley?- with his hand suddenly entangled with the girl who’d come in with them. “Ah, fuck, a Straightie. Nothing worse than that.”

Bill let out an annoyed noise and sucker punched Eddie in the shoulder. Eddie burst out laughing and punched him back, the two of them socking each other in the chest and shoulders for several moments. Eddie turned slightly away from Bill, still laughing a little breathlessly, when the man who had come in with Mike and Stanley caught his eye.

His hair looked black from so far away, but Eddie supposed it must be brown, and it was piled up on top of his head in a messy bun. He had rimmed glasses sitting on his nose, with a pair of old looking jeans and a regular gray UCLA sweater on. He wore a bored expression, like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Eddie’s stomach flared up hot just at the sight of him. “Who’s that? The other guy?”

Bill looked over his shoulder, frowning. “The dude who looks like he just rolled out of bed? I don’t know, some scholarship nerd, I think. He was in my Intro to Psychology class last year, but I think he took it because he was actually interested. Weirdo... why?”

“I want him.” Eddie said, licking his lips before tossing back the rest of his drink.

Bill looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “What... him? Kaspbrak, look at him.”

Eddie smirked. “I am.” He skipped in place for a second and then quickly moved towards the other man.

Richie shifted awkwardly through the uncomfortable tension within his friends. The second Stan had made it apparent that he and Patty were in a relationship, Mike had seemed to grow quiet and disconnected. They’d been laughing and joking together one moment, and now Richie could see how Mike seemed to glancing around for a source to escape.

Stan was holding Patty’s hand awkwardly like protected him from the world and Patty was... well if Patty was openly drooling over Mike’s muscles then that wasn’t any of Richie’s business. Stan had told him so.

“Want to give us a tour, Mike?” Patty asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger like Richie hadn’t seen her do since she and Stan were just starting out. Stan’s gaze followed the movement and frowned.

“Sure.” Mike said lightly, shrugging and gesturing further into the house. Patty dropped Stan’s hand and moved to quickly follow him. As Richie moved to go as well, Stan pressed a hand to Richie’s chest and pushed him back. He shook his head and mouthed “no” before taking off after Patty and Mike.

“What the fuck!” Richie cried, tossing his hands into the air.

“Hey, there.”

Just as Richie was getting ready to dwell on how his friends had abandoned him, yet again, a voice whispered into his ear. Richie spun around, fight or flight reflexes turned on, but his shackled quickly lowered when he took sight of the person behind him. Eddie Kaspbrak.

Richie didn’t know Eddie very well, not that he would want to. Even just looking at him now, he knew that Eddie Kaspbrak was exactly all the things that Richie had tried to tell Stanley that frat boys were. His brown hair flopped into his brown eyes, pressed down by some red snapback wore backwards, pair with a oversized red muscle shirt that showed off a ridiculous amount of sides and stomach and beige khaki jeans that looked glued to his legs. He was hot, and the smirk on his face showed that he knew it.

“Hi.” Richie said coldly.

Eddie leaned in closer, pressing against Richie’s side. “You know, I sort of run this shit. I’m in charge around here.” Eddie dragged his fingers down Richie’s bare arm, Richie trying to pretend that he didn’t get goosebumps. Eddie pressed completely against him to whisper in his ear. “That means I get my own room. The bed is a king sized. You wanna see it?”

Richie let out a bitter laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve gotta do better than that.”

Eddie pulled back, blinking as the persona left his face completely.

“What?” Richie snickered, less bitter and much more amused this time. “Not used to being rejected?”

“Not really, no.” Eddie said slowly, shaking his head as though the last moments were imagined and he’d be able to knock them out.

Richie hummed. “Poor, poor, King Kaspbrak. Are you at risk of losing your crown?”

Eddie startled, looking Richie up and down quickly. “You know who I am?”

Richie gave him a disgusted look. “Don’t act all humble now, aren’t you the one who just waltzed up here talking about how you run this shit as though it’s some sort of achievement.”

“What’s your name?” Eddie asked, tucking his hands into his back pockets and nodded at Richie.

Richie checked Eddie out quickly then scoffed. “You want it?”

Eddie shrugged as though he couldn’t care less, but Richie saw how he flushed in the dim light of the house.

“Then earn it.”

Eddie let out a disgusted noise, scowling at Richie. “You’re not that hot, you know? Who shows up at a party wearing some school sweater?”

Richie scoffed. “You’re wearing the exact same sweater, dude.”

Eddie looked down at himself and flushed when he realized that, yes, he was wearing the same UCLA hoodie, right down to the style and colour. “Well! I’m a party of campus life, I have school spirit! What do you do?”

“Hurt the little fragile feelings of some Bambi-eyed frat boy, apparently.” Richie grinned cheekily down at Eddie, whose face flushed deeply. “There’s probably a hundred guys around here who would let you into their pants. Go find one of them.”

“Bold of you to assume there’s a hundred gay guys at this frat party.” Eddie said in a low voice.

“So go turn somebody,” Richie said with a waggle of his brow. “You’ve got gateway gay written all over you.”

“Gateway gay is so offensive, oh my God-” Eddie said, voice hitting up a pitch as though maybe it was supposed to sound like that. Richie jerked towards him, furrowing his brow while Eddie bit his bottom lip. “Whatever. Fuck you. No! I don’t want to fuck you.”

“You did 30 seconds ago.” Richie rolled his eyes. “And I think you still do.”

“Only because I think it’ll be hard for you to talk with your mouth stuffed full.” Eddie was standing at his full height, which was still about three inches shorter than Richie, and was openly glaring at him now. Richie couldn’t deny the burning that was starting in his gut, but from hatred or something else he wasn’t sure yet.

“Kaspbrak, that’s dirty.” Richie challenged with a wink. “Do you kiss your frat brothers goodnight with that mouth?”

Eddie pursed his lips, turning on his hip and storming off back towards the large groups of people. Richie laughed to himself, giving himself the chance to check Eddie Kaspbrak out as he walked away. He almost regretted turning him down- almost. It had just been too fun to resist.

Moving quickly through the crowd of drunken classmates, Richie finally laid eyes on Patty and sprinted towards her. Her face light up when she caught sight of him, though there was a delay between her smile and her eyes that implied she was more than a few drinks in. “Richie...” She cooed, reaching up and poking his cheeks with the tips of her fingers. “I love you! Where have you been?”

Richie chuckled. “Your boyfriend banished me so the two of you could ogle at Mike without be dragging you down.”

Patty’s eyes opened wide and leaned in close, despite only coming up to Richie’s shoulder at full height. “He’s like a God.”

Richie laughed, wrapping Patty up into a huge bear hug and swaying them around to the music. Patty let out a high pitched giggle into his chest, squeezing her arms around his waist.

“Stop stealing my love, Tozier!” Stan called through the crowd. Richie looked up to Stan and Mike coming towards them, walking a little too closely together, and Richie pressed Patty closer into his chest.

“Sorry, you can’t have her.” Richie sang, rocking softly on the spot with Patty. She giggled against his chest while kicking at his shins, and Stanley’s smile was all too fond to actually be annoyed. “She’s had enough of you and we’re running away together.”

“Richie!” Patty laughed against his chest, pulling away just to turn to face Stan and Mike, while resting backwards against Richie and allowing his arms to stay around her.

Stan rolled his eyes, smiling, then his gaze seemed to settle on something over something over Richie’s shoulder. He frowned. “Tozier, why is Eddie Kaspbrak glaring at you like you said something real offensive about this mother?”

Richie glanced over his shoulder, finding Eddie in the crowd quickly. The second their eyes met, Eddie gave him the dirtiest of looks. Richie purposely licked at his bottom lip and he swore he could see Eddie inhale.

Turning back to his friends, Richie caught sight of the look on Mike’s face. “Oh my god, whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.”

Mike grinned, reaching out to grab Richie’s hand away from Patty and pulling him towards Eddie and his floppy haired frat brother. Patty and Stan followed quickly behind, Stan’s hand falling into Patty’s to keep her from stumbling and falling.

“Hey!” Mike called happily to his brothers, draping an arm around Richie’s shoulders and forcibly dragging Richie to stand in front of them. “Haaaave you met Richie?”

Oh fuck.

“Noo.....“ Richie groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see the look of victory on Eddie’s face, though he felt it all the same.

“Richie, huh?” Eddie asked, voice dripping with smugness. “So that’s your name?”

Richie opened one eye, frowning. “Yeah. Congrats somebody gave you the answer. It’s not the same as winning.”

Eddie smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “I kind of think it is. So..” He stepped closer to Richie, slowly dragging his eyes over his torso. “Since I know your name now, does that mean I get to make you scream mine?”

Richie made overly loud vomiting noises, watching the awkward expression settling over Eddie’s face as his frat brothers began to laugh behind them. “Get better fucking material.”

Richie turned away, biting back his own grin, and walked off. Patty broke out into a fit of giggles, needing Stan to wrap an arm around her to lead her away from the boys. Mike turned to Eddie, an apologetic look on his face but Bill couldn’t contain his laughter.

“Looks like Kuh-Kaspbrak fuh-finally met his muh-match!”

“I know where you sleep, Denbrough.”

#reddie #reddie fic #my writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #frateddie au

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calpops · 5 years

Text

veiled valor | 4 | c.h.

safe stay

series masterlist

Calum spent the day captaining the ship with an aching arm and wandering mind. He had spoken with Ashton, gotten the update on the new coordinates set during the attack and charted a new course that would bring them to land in days and not weeks. He needed a new crew, the downfall in numbers leaving the usual orderly conduct to chaotic rushing and taking up multiple positions. The men didn’t mind—were promised double the wages and liquor for their efforts. But half a crew would not last forever. Calum questioned, mind working to untangle messy thoughts, how long Elodie would stay aboard his ship. There was a nagging need to know, his curiosity burning and unwavering in his quest to figure her out. The thought of her departure left a hollow pit in his stomach, menacing images of her back turned storming through his thoughts.

He could still feel the brush of her lips against his cheek as night claimed the sky. He could recall each minute detail of the flicker of uncertainty crossing her face and capturing her golden eyes. There were a lot of uncertainties surrounding Elodie. Her past. Her future. The way she could be a beautiful symphony that echoed through his rib cage and bring an unrelentless haunting chill to his heart all at once. Calum had never felt this way before, not so vividly—not in such great contrasts. He knew what he wanted; her. Her past. Her present. Her future.

It may have been the sway of the boat that carried his footsteps to her cabin door, it may have been his mind craving a good night from petaled lips. He wasn’t sure. Nonetheless, he stood outside her door, fist raised to the wood and heart beating in time with the gentle taps against it. It only took a moment to hear the click of the lock and be greeted by tired eyes and tousled curls. She still wore her nightgown; white fabric fitted so perfectly to her every curve. He hoped she had gotten sleep; hoped he had not interrupted her dreams.

“Captain?”

“Were you sleeping?” He asked first and foremost, ready to see her back into bed if the answer was yes.

Elodie shrugged and opened the door further to step out and close it behind her, Calum abiding and shifting to let her through. She crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the cool night breeze and though Calum was about to suggest grabbing her cloak to cover up he realized it was nothing the crew hadn’t seen before. Her head was tilted up, looking at the moon and taking in the breeze.

“I was trying to,” she began, a soft sigh swirling into the cool air. “But I couldn’t.”

Calum hesitated, curious what kept her awake, before offering her his good arm. “Walk with me?”

She did not hesitate to take hold and send shockwaves of lightning through his bloodstream. It was in that moment Calum realized she was a storm—thunderous and consuming yet cutting through dark nights with bursts of light, ever changing and fading back into darkness. Calum feared the day the storm would end. They strode away from her cabin and along the path of the main deck, small steps and a light grip that felt like heaven crashing into the depths of the sea. Calum stopped them near the rail that ran with the length of the ship. Elodie held a little tighter as the edge overtook and waves cut against the side. She craned her neck forward, peeking over the rail while clutching to Calum like a lifeline. He remembered every snippet of truth she had told him, the inability to swim drifting through his mind.

The night was unusually quiet, the crew retired early as the waves allowed them to disperse. Calum reveled in the intimacy of privacy and being truly alone with the princess. The last time he was graced with such an opportunity her lips had brushed his cheek and he had let her know it was okay in a way that needed no words.

“There’s no feeling more freeing than having your back to the waves and eyes to the stars,” Calum murmured, recalling the fleeting freedom of sitting on the rail. It was as if the world was his; the ocean imprinted with his name and the stars telling his stories.

“I wouldn’t trust my back to the waves,” Elodie admitted as she looked up to the stars.

“Do you trust me?” Calum held his breath after asking, unsure of her answer and unsure he wanted to hear it.

Her hold didn’t falter and her eyes didn’t break away from the stars splayed out in the night sky. “More than anyone else.”

It was a split second decision on Calum’s behalf, his hands moving without much thought, mind ignoring the searing pain in his arm as he spun Elodie around and lifted her atop the rail. He held her hips and she clutched at his shirt, gasping in surprise at the sudden situation. Her eyes bore into his, flickering with a building storm on the horizon. The waves were gentle and kind, Calum’s hold tight and unrelenting, her grip white knuckled and certain.

“Look up,” Calum instructed. She reluctantly followed his instruction, eyes rivaling the beauty of bright stars. “Right there, that’s the North Star, the most important star when sailing. If you can find that, you can find anywhere you want to be.”

She went quiet and introspective, eyes alight with wonder and thoughts Calum craved to hear. She was close, just whispers of air between them and yet she was distant. Gaze lost in the stars and thoughts charting a destination unknown to Calum. He yearned to know where she wanted to be, if she was content within his ship, and then balked at the idea of a princess finding purpose within a pirate ship’s galley. There must be much more she was seeking.

“And what if I have nowhere to go?” She asked, face still tilted to the sky, taking in the North Star for all it was worth. “What if I don’t know where I want to be? What if I only know where I don’t want to end up?”

A selfish answer burned at the back of Calum’s throat, sitting heavily on his shoulders as he held her tight. He could tell her to stay where she was—with him—he could tell her sailing the ocean would solve all her troubles and convince her to stay. But he didn’t want to have to convince her. Though he realized a warning was in due order.

“Don’t go back there,” Calum said, pausing to see her reaction at his guess of fleeing and staying away from her past. “Perhaps you’ll find where you want to be when we next dock.”

Terror rippled across her face and all Calum wanted was to soothe her fears.

“When?”

“A few days. I can’t sail with half a crew much longer.”

A sudden wave rocked the ship and Elodie lurched forward, falling from the rail and into Calum’s arms. Her hold on his shirt only strengthened and his hands moved up, cradling her against him. She let out a small “oh” at the surprising predicament. Calum kept her in his hold. She didn’t try to move away, just stood under starlight in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he said in a low tone, sharing those words with only her and the night. “I’ve always got you.”

It was silent aside from racing heartbeats that thumped with refined emotion. Calum realized her nightgown was thin and though the night was cool her body was warm and flush against his. Her cheeks pinkened and gaze tore away from his to search for the North Star once more. She let out a shaky breath as she turned back to peer at Calum again. There was something unreadable in her hooded eyes; something heavily guarded but Calum could tell it was begging to break free and join the the night. There was something elusive about her, how she had fled from a castle and ended up on his ship a story she would not tell. There was a cutting and horror stricken moment in which Calum pictured her leaving his ship in much the same way.

“I think I could possibly know where I want to be; where I would like to stay. I’m just unsure if it’s a possibility.”

Calum gaped at Elodie for just a moment as her words sank into his mind and travelled a path to his heart. He hoped with every single thump of his heart and every single inhale and exhale that she wanted to stay on his ship; wanted to stay with him.

“As a man who’s been searching for that his entire life I advise that once you find that place you should do everything in your power to stay there.”

Elodie nodded, hands that clung to Calum’s shirt shifting, releasing their hold momentarily to glide up to his shoulders and find a new home there. Calum was still, his hands on her lower back unflinching though she made his body react; saltwater waves colliding past played ribs and low into his stomach. She was so close, body fitted entirely against his, the smell of her sweet skin overriding the permanence of salt in the air and the water below. A curl fell into her face but she swiftly tucked it behind her ear before Calum could relive the morning glory of such a privilege. Her hand went back to his shoulder without a thought but it made Calum’s mind race.

“You see, I am not the one who holds said power. I fear I would need permission.”

Calum tilted his face down, capturing her gaze easily, she was intent to stare back at him with eyes that shone and begged for something more. Calum remembered their first night, gazes colliding in much the same way. She had reached a hand out that night, barely brushed it against his and used her eyes to bargain her way onto the ship. Calum hadn’t recognized her in that moment though something familiar carried her every step along his deck. He hadn’t been able to place her in the moment; commoner clothes clinging to her body and shadowed features hidden behind the depths of a hood. Had Calum not frequented the small island kingdom he wouldn’t have recognized her at all. Had Luke not been born and raised there, he surely wouldn’t have known her either. Calum thanked every force in the world the crew he had assembled were transients merely drifting through and waiting for the next opportunity to be gone. None were of political mind; none cared to know of crowns and thrones—let alone the people who wore them and sat upon them.

“Anyone would be a fool to not give you whatever you want,” Calum responded after a moment of silence. It was an unusual sensation to have her in his arms for so long; he had become used to fleeting hugs that left him cold much too soon. He reveled in the continued contact as her hold drifted from his shoulders to his upper arms.

Calum was not sure what prompted her to look back up at the sky, why she had suddenly been cast adrift from him once more. She came back quickly, biting her lip and letting it catch against her teeth; Calum was now convinced she knew the impact it had on his entire being. She did little things to drive lightning through him; to watch a storm dance off of waves and settle into nights.

“And so, if a princess asked a captain if she may stay aboard his ship indefinitely?” Elodie whispered, words caught between them in a heated tangle of innate and riddled desires.

“The captain would say yes,” Calum concluded, chancing to bring a hand further up Elodie’s back. He could feel her body heat on his fingertips as he lightly trailed along her spine, could feel the shiver escape her at the contact.

“How noble of him,” she said, recalling one of their first conversations in the galley. “I suppose some pirates do have good intentions.”

“I only want what’s best for you,” Calum murmured, dropping the thinly veiled charade they had begun to play.

Elodie deserved to hear those words with no ulterior meaning or motive. No games played; no teasing tone capturing his voice. He meant them pure and simple. He wanted what was best, would let her decide what that was, and be there for her for as long as she would want to stay. Elodie pressed closer to him, he could feel every dip and curve of her body against him, let that consume his every nerve ending and set him alight with desires unspoken. He found himself close enough to lean down and capture her lips once more; all it would take was one subtle motion. But she was frosted glass and he could not quite see through her. He did not know if he was what she wanted, if he would be what’s best for her. He decided in that moment to let her steer them, whether they’d be lost in the dark or finding sunset horizons within each other Calum was unsure. Though he knew he would enjoy the journey and hope the voyage would never end.

Ever so slowly Elodie lifted herself on her toes, chasing height that Calum had on her; she was not short but Calum towered over many. Her fingers clenched at the sleeves of his shirt, jaw wavering and eyes blinking rapidly as if contemplating the meaning of the world. Calum swallowed nervously. His heart fluttering all the way down to his ribs; pulse alight and rapidly increasing as she closed what little distance was between them. He saw the sunrise and the sunset behind closed eyelids, saw her beautiful storm caught in rays of light. Her lips were soft and supple, gentle and unsure at first, hands keeping their home on his sleeves as he let his wander. It was a momentary sensation to have her lead the way and charge into fiery horizons. She pulled away all too soon, letting lightning flicker and break up the sun.

As much as Calum yearned to reel her back in and collide with her once more, he kept still. Let her stay statuesque in his arms and worry at her lip. He knew her hands wanted to glide down and pull at her skirt; the anxious tic coming undone in times of uncertainty. Instead, Calum captured her hands, fingers unfurling from his shirt and slotting into his. They stayed like that for a moment, both trying to figure out what just happened and where to go next.

“I think I should say good night now, Calum,” Elodie said meekly, voice tired and soft.

Calum nodded, mind still racing with the memory of her lips pressed against his. Had her hands not been in his he was sure he would have placed his finger tips to his lips in disbelief. Calum led her back to her cabin door with one hand still held and heart daring to escape his chest. He didn’t want the night to end, didn’t want to wait until morning to see her again. But she had restless gray painted under her eyes, was shivering from the cool night and had given him more than he could have ever imagined on tiptoes.

“I will see you in the morning,” she reminded as they came to a stop at her door.

Morning felt worlds away when in the moment she was so close. Before she could reach a hand out to the doorknob, before she could think about entering and closing the door behind her, Calum stopped her short. Pulled the hand he had a hold on up and let his lips brush along her knuckles. She blushed and Calum heard the breath catch in her throat; content to believe he could fill her heart with symphonies and stall her breath before hitting a crescendo.

Calum paused to think; gathered his thoughts, tried to form a sentence to leave her with. He chose one they both were in tune with, he had said it every night since she first boarded the ship, because he meant it with every piece of himself, “Sleep well, Elodie.”

***

Morning brought Elodie back to Calum, she was surrounded by only trusted men in the galley, her watchful gaze taking in the crew and their hunger. Calum strode toward her with bounding steps, not stopping himself until he was as close as the night before. It was less tense and unsure, more careless and natural. And though it felt as easy as breathing to be so close to her, every step and motion was thoughtful and walking a thin line of boundaries he was not sure could or should be crossed. He remembered her leading them last night, setting sunsets on fire and melting gold with a brush of her lips against his. He craved that, but would wait for her to come back to him once more.

“Good morning, Calum,” she exclaimed lightly, unflinching from his close proximity.

“The lady gets to call the captain Calum,” Michael remarked with a huff and a playful eye roll. “Figures.”

Calum just smirked at his trusted master gunner turned galley aid and turned back to Elodie. He had contemplated a lot of things during the night; most centered around her and plans for rounding up new crew. He did not want to leave her on the ship without him, had thought of sending Ashton in his place but feared his authority would be questioned by newcomers once more. They were only a few days away from the next harbor, the ocean sending them along quite favorably.

“Were you in need of something, Captain?” Elodie asked, giving a pointed look to Michael who laughed with his head thrown back and raised his hands in surrender.

Calum waited until Michael dramatically backed away and joined the rest of the ravenous crew for breakfast. They were not alone but afforded a moment between the two of them, as much as they could get one in any case. Calum would have swept her away to his own cabin, if only to have no listening ears but he did not want to arouse suspicion.

“I’m in need of an answer,” Calum replied, arching an eyebrow as he contemplated how best to proceed. “Would you like to join me when we dock?”

It was the only plan his mind could fathom that his heart also felt comfortable with. Elodie was visibly surprised, an audible gasp leaving her at the last syllable of the question. Calum waited for her to collect herself; knew she must be running through the pros and cons of the scenario just as much as he had.

“Are you sure that would be wise?”

Calum let a hand fall to the wooden table beside him, palm flat and fingers splayed out. He shrugged. “No wiser than leaving a lady on her own.”

Elodie smirked and turned her face up at him, sloped nose pointing up and eyebrows furrowing. “I’ve taken care of myself before, Captain. I’m quite capable of being on my own.”

While Calum believed her, words contrite and dripping honesty scarcely used, he thought she did not realize what being alone would truly entail. “Alone on a pirate ship? Docked at a royal harbor? You are no fool, I know this as fact, surely you’ll be just fine.”

He expected her reaction of utter shock and being completely taken aback. He knew his words held bite and sarcasm she must not have been expecting but he had no clue how else to ring the message clear as day in her mind. She quickly licked her lips and narrowed her eyes.

“How do you propose docking in a royal harbor?”

Calum grinned, pleasantly surprised at the turn in conversation and her new inquisition of his plans.

“An alias. A bribe,” he began and lifted his branded wrist. “Sleeves.”

Laughter spilled out of Elodie in an easy and natural flow. She was light as air as she grabbed Calum’s wrist and ran a finger over the brand once more. Calum had always despised the marking, let it keep him up on lonely nights. But when her finger traced the letter with touch as light as a solitary feather he felt much better. He could almost be thankful for the wrongful marking. Almost. When she let his wrist drop he let it hang by his side, fingers curling into his palm as she thought her options over. In truth, Calum knew she realized she had few options. He hoped with the whole of himself she would find his offer most appealing.

Her eyes flickered to the floor as she worried at her lip. There was something heavy she was not saying in the belated pause. Calum was going to prompt her, to ensure she said and asked everything on her mind before committing to such risky plans.

“How do I get through?”

Calum had thought that over; agonized over it in the night. The simple question had a simple answer.

“Wear your cloak. Keep the hood up and your face down. Stay by my side. Answer no questions. Say not a word. Men are easily fooled, you might be quite surprised.”

Elodie nodded. They both knew it was a risk. Surely, Calum guessed, it was less risky than leaving her alone on a ship with free flags.

“I’ll go with you.”

***

The morning shore came within sight Calum was restless, tossing the idea of Elodie accompanying him in his mind over and over. She had already agreed, there was little he could do to back out of the situation now. He wanted her safe; felt as though he could protect her best with her by his side but worry ate away at him all through the nights leading up to docking. They had spent much time together In those few days. Calum ducking into the galley frequently; pulling her to the deck for fresh air and leading her to her cabin for private conversation. She still let on very little of herself, nothing truly remarkable or secretive being shared with Calum. There were moments where he wanted to tell her everything, if only in the hopes to coax something out of her. He remembered being robbed of her tale of departure. How she had stolen a story from him and left him cold. It was endearing yet frustrating. He swore to himself he would figure her out; learn the whys and why nots of her life if given enough time.

He was exhausted by the time the waves carried them into the harbor. He knew they were miles and miles from her kingdom, that this land had little to do with the outside political world. Her kingdom was small and private. This kingdom was of scarce land and secretive. Preferring to keep to themselves and not seek outside their people and lands. He knew if she could follow his instruction she would be okay. He also knew she was not one to be told what to do; he hoped for both their sakes she could bite back her pride and listen with the grace of a princess he knew she still possessed.

They met outside their cabins that morning, Elodie already wearing her cloak; heeding Calum’s instructions and making his heart race with anxiety as he drifted his gaze towards the docks. Calum was leaving the boat in Ashton’s hands, knowing he would stay aboard and ensure the safety of her; only Ashton, Luke and Michael—his most trusted men—left behind. Without thinking Calum pulled Elodie’s hood up, let his hands trail down, fingers crossing her soft collar bones. The small contact was still enough to set storms alight inside him; more than enough to feel her kiss against his lips once more.

It had been days without such an intimate moment. Calum craved it; craved her in his arms, creating storms that danced on saltwater waves. She stayed apprehensive in their contact. Only brushes of her fingers on his skin, only momentary hugs accompanied by a good night before closing and locking her door.

“Ready?” Calum asked gently, giving her one last chance to make a proper and solid decision.

Elodie—as always—was unwavering and nodded firmly. Calum expected as much; if there was fear inside her it was hidden within her depths much like her secrets and past. She grabbed his hand before he started to step away, a smile curving and gracing his lips. Their fingers entwined and lifelines on their palms ran together. Calum sank because of her touch, letting waves pull him under without resistance. Docking was no problem, gangway ready for use in no time. Calum guided Elodie down the board and to the royal dock, men in naval coats ready for their appearance.

“Name?” The shorter of the two asked. His eyes were curious but not enough to be inquisitive.

“Thomas Coyne,” Calum lied smoothly, procuring coins more than necessary for docking. His eyebrows arched as he reached a hand out to place them in awaiting palms. They spared just one glance down before waving them on with no further questions.

Elodie kept her head down, eyes taking in the cobblestone streets and her own worn shoes. Calum noted her new attire; still a dress of common use, fabric wrinkled from being shoved in a small satchel. He did not let go of her hand on the streets of the quiet kingdom. The silence of the day was unnerving until street vendors began setting up for morning sales. Warm wind blew through the air and all Calum could picture was Elodie’s curls being influenced by the breeze, but they were confined under her hood. He was leading them towards an inn, somewhere safe Elodie could stay while he rounded up new crew during the day; she could lock the door and open it for him once he was back.

He feared leaving her at the inn but knew it was the lesser of two evils. If she was found within a pirate ship there would be no escape from that for her. No matter her title, no matter her wit and charm, she would live a life with an unjust ruling hanging over her head. He let his gaze drift to her momentarily before his attention was caught by a cart of flowers. An old lady who stood with hunched shoulders and a smile as bright as new morning light beckoned him over.

“Flower for the lady?” The old woman asked with an aged and tired voice. Her wrinkled hand held the stem with care; fragile fingers and what Calum assumed a lifetime of practice guiding her through such easy movements.

Elodie stiffened beside him, keeping her face down though he had a feeling her cheeks were pink and her hand yearned to play with her skirt. Calum knew the curtain of shyness that befell Elodie was due to being directly talked of. Even in such minimal terms as ‘the lady’. He could feel her fear roll off her in choppy tides. Calum graced the older woman with a smile and a coin, swept the flower away from her in a gentle hold and kept them moving and on their way to the inn. Calum wanted no more stops or hesitations on their path, heart racing at every eye that turned toward them.

Elodie’s fingers pressed into his hand; showcasing her doubts and fears without saying a word. Calum dipped down to quietly ask against her ear. “Still have your pistol?”

He didn’t mean to alarm her as they came across the inn, was elated that she kept calm and merely patted her thigh with her free hand as a sign of confirmation. Calum prayed to every new and old God that she would never need to use it; especially not while he was gone but felt comfort in knowing that it was still strapped to her, in case of an emergency. He did not know how much experience she bore behind a trigger, how accurate her shot was, but would not underestimate her. The inn was small and cozy, the keep at the desk taking Calum’s alias and coins without a second thought, handed him a key that bled comfort into his bones for Elodie’s sake.

It was a quiet stroll into the room and though they were many things Calum wished to say before leaving to scope out new crew members he kept quiet. Instead of speaking he watched as Elodie pushed the hood back; finally enveloped in privacy and free to be herself. He offered her the flower, watching her entire face light up at the simple gesture. She spun the stem between her fingers, colored petals twirling in the dim light of the room. Calum did not want to leave; wished to stay and keep his eyes trained on her joyous gaze at the flower. He realized in one quick moment it’d been weeks since she had seen such beauty, there were no flowers at sea and none that crossed his decks. He made a note of that; memorized the way happiness captured her being.

“I’ll be back soon, Elodie. Don’t open the door for anyone,” he instructed though he knew she knew such things. After all, she was no fool. “Have a safe stay.”

Elodie nodded and once more wrapped herself around him in a hug that would end too soon before he departed the room. He took just one moment to breathe her in and let her sweet scent calm his nerves. Calum left before he got overwhelmingly wrapped up in her. He would come back for her. He always would.

***

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peace-coast-island · 4 years

Text

Diary of a Junebug

All aboard the Midnight Train

One of the hardest parts of embarking on a big journey is taking the first step. I can say for certain that you will definitely stumble and fall - believe me, I’ve fallen further than I’ve moved forward - but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

That’s not to say you don’t have every right to be ticked off when things go wrong. I mean mishaps can be a good learning experience, but it’s okay to get frustrated when you lose your way.

Hell, it’s absolutely okay to bail out and throw in the towel when you’re just not feeling it. Perseverance is good, but sometimes it’s okay to say “fuck this shit, I’m out” - not to mention freeing if it’s about something that’s really dragging you down.

Sometimes life doesn’t work out. It fucking sucks but in most cases there’s nothing you can really do other than carry on. As my mom says, what’s done is done. Stop trying to build a house if it brings you more frustration than joy - tear the whole damn thing down and burn the remains if you have to.

Funny how far your mind can wander when you’re on a train. With nothing but trees, beautiful landscapes, and the starry night skies, deep thoughts are bound to run free. Especially when it’s about something that’s been on your mind for a while.

At the start of the new year, Daisy Jane decided to leave Rosevine. Like many other old friends - and myself - as much as we love our charming little town, we were starting to outgrow it. After spending almost two years at home stuck in a limbo, Daisy Jane had enough and packed her bags. Her mom wasn't too on board with the idea as she doesn’t really have the means to support herself but nevertheless she gave her daughter her blessing to go out in the world.

Daisy Jane’s one of those people who deserve so much more and yet usually ends up with the short end of the stick. She’s one of the most creative people I know and could easily make it as an artist if she had the support. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not nagging on her family, but at times they don’t respect her enough - especially her sister.

What I’m saying is that Daisy Jane could've become an artist if she wanted to, but disapproval from family is a hefty roadblock. They say doubt kills more dreams than failure but what about strict family expectations? Asian parents, amirite?

Tired of sitting around at home, getting repeatedly rejected in a career involving a degree she worked her ass off for, and being put down for not being as successful as everyone else, Daisy Jane needed to get out. So she did, taking a leap of faith and jumping straight into the unknown. She didn’t have a plan in mind, but sometimes you just gotta cut and run before you lose your nerve.

Months of traveling led her to the small village of Neptunia as she was running low on funds. What seemed like a promising new start quickly fell apart as soon as she stepped into her new house. That’s because it’s not actually her house - it belongs to someone else. Because Neptunia is so small and resources are limited, Daisy Jane is stuck rooming with a stranger. And both have to pay off the remaining mortgage, adding to the annoyance of both since the main resident already paid off a huge part of it herself.

Because of the living situation, Daisy Jane’s not too keen about living in Neptunia now. Her housemate’s nice and all but neither one were prepared for the roommate situation. Had she known about that, Daisy Jane wouldn’t have gone through with the move. But knowing how bad Tom Nook felt about the miscommunication regarding housing (you just can’t stay mad at him for too long - and in his defense, Neptunia’s kinda on the bottom of his list of villages he’s overseeing so it’s easy to forget things) Daisy Jane decided to stick around and see how things work out.

Six months in and things have been pretty meh for Daisy Jane. She didn’t want to dwell on the negatives too much but I suspected that she wasn’t entirely truthful. Always eager to please and willing to silently suffer, that Daisy Jane. Instead of creating art like she wants to, Daisy Jane’s been selling pears and shells, randomly planting stuff around the village, and running errands for everyone. She doesn’t mind doing all that (well, except maybe the garden, which she admits isn’t something she’s too excited about) but it all seems kinda anticlimactic. It also doesn’t help that Neptunia’s kinda isolated so there’s rarely any visitors, so things are pretty monotonous.

And to top it all off, Daisy Jane’s experiencing the absolute worst art block ever. By spending all her waking hours trying to pay off a mortgage, saving up for a rainy day, and catering to everyone else’s needs, she rarely has time for herself - or her creativity.

I really miss seeing her art online. It’s been months since she last posted something she made and it’s sad. You never know how much you miss something until it’s gone. The same can be said about creativity.

I’ve had my moments where my creativity and motivation for art burns out and it’s not a good feeling. Being someone who is driven by creating art, losing that spark is one of my biggest fears because without it, I’d be nothing. Art is one of those things that keep me going so to lose that means I’ve lost my purpose. I’d hate to think about what happens if my creativity is gone for good.

And what’s even worse is that I’m afraid Daisy Jane’s headed for that direction if she doesn’t take action soon. I suspected something from our texts and her posts, but seeing her in person really puts things into perspective.

She’s not one for selfies, her last one being taken over a year ago, so seeing her face for the first time in forever, I almost didn’t recognize her. From her hair being tied into three messy pigtails instead of adorned with pretty clips to the concealer hiding away the bags under her eyes and the slightly too dark blush on her face (what happened to her naturally rosy cheeks?) as well as the slightly ragged Nook shirt a couple sizes too large, I could’ve sworn that she was someone else.

Visiting Neptunia wasn’t too bad, but it’s no Wizpire. Things are just a tad bit too slow for my liking - and a bit outdated as well, then again what do you expect in these parts? Honestly I’m surprised that Tom Nook still keeps tabs on this village, especially since he’s busy with islands and such. Then again, he does feel bad about Daisy Jane’s housing mishap so he’s been dropping by quite a bit to check in on her.

To say that Daisy Jane’s been frustrated is an understatement. She describes it as escaping from one prison only to get stuck in a trap. Except staying in the trap is more practical than going back out on the road where it’s unpredictable. So she’s in a position where she feels like she can’t really complain because it’s not like she’s stuck in the middle of nowhere. It’s not an ideal situation but sometimes you need to pick and choose your battles.

I can’t tell Daisy Jane what to do since it’s not up to me, nor should I try to influence her in any way, but I can take her away for a bit. An outsider’s perspective can be super helpful, especially if you’ve been looking way too closely and missing out on the big picture. I know I’ve fallen into that trap too many times, wasting too much time and energy on one small piece without considering the overall grand scheme of things.

So we took out the train amenity to go on a late night ride. We’ve been meaning to bring back the train and this was the perfect opportunity for it. A scenic route’s the perfect way to escape from monotony and let your mind wander without putting too much effort into it.

Also, Daisy Jane enjoys long train rides as she’s the kind of artist who breaks out a sketchbook to capture the view outside her window. It’s amazing what she can do with a pen (yes, she uses a ballpoint pen and does so with full confidence) and paper. It would be a shame to see her talent and passion go to waste.

The train ride was super relaxing and beautiful to look at. Of course, it didn’t solve Daisy Jane’s problems, but it was a good retreat. I can tell by how much her eyes lit up that she’s feeling a lot better than she had in a long time. I had suggested that she bring her sketchbook along as well as a pen (no pencil, because that’s now how Daisy Jane works!) and that did wonders for her.

I never thought that the sight of Daisy Jane scribbling in her sketchbook with ink stained hands would bring me as much joy as it did tonight. I’m pretty sure she filled about half the book in the span of a couple hours.

Creativity can be fickle. Sometimes it flows in a steady stream, sometimes it comes and goes, and other times it goes into a drought before flooding back like a storm. The latter is what describes Daisy Jane. Hopefully the storm will lead to a steady flow of inspiration. After all, you can’t keep the tide from coming in, even after a long dry spell.

The night’s still young and there’s still so much to see. It’s just me and Daisy Jane in the train but it feels like we’re in different worlds. There she is, scribbling away, capturing the views outside her window. Jagged shapes for mountains, curving lines for rivers, scattered stars bringing a night sky to life - even in rough sketches, you can tell it’s unmistakably Daisy Jane.

A train ride won’t solve all of Daisy Jane’s problems, but it’s a start.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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yooncutiee · 4 years

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[Description]

I could feel my nerves pulse against my body as I tell hobi what I've been dying to avoid "shit hobi I think I'm fucking In Love with him," I whisper it out enough for hobi to hear me.

Genres: romance, mystery, horror,

MAIN CHARACTERS AND SHIPS: Taehyung, jungkook, jimin, suga, Namjoon, Jin, hobi.

Vkook, yoonmin, namjin.

Wattpad: yooncuteie

~ CHAPTER 1 ~

~ NIGHTMARE ~

~ Taehyung POV~

I could feel my nerves pulse against my body as I tell hobi what I've been dying to avoid "shit hobi I think I'm fucking In Love with him," I whisper it out enough for hobi to hear me.

Hobi takes a deep breathe in before responding " I knew you couldn't handle what you got yourself into without feeling something"

"What i got myself into?"

He scoffs "don't play dumb"

He was right. I wasn't forced into this. I wanted it. Needed it. And jungkook was nice enough to offer it to me.

"Friends with benefits isn't exactly what I was planning to have with him" I say as I gaze my eyes out the car window of a Honda Civic, that was probably as old as my great grandpa was. It took too much effort for me to roll down the window using it's almost broke off handle. for hopes of fresh clean air. The air was cool against my sweaty forehead. Sinking more into my seat I turn to look at hobi driving while his right hand rests on my left thigh.

"How do you think he feels?" He asks me while eyes clued to the road ahead of us.

"Shit if I know" I mumble in annoyance.

"Well... guess" he chuckles

I shift in my seat, glaring at the headboard "he can handle me with such care sometimes I think he might actually feel something for me other then see me as a sex toy" my hand brushes along my sleeve. I pull on a thread to calm my nerves "Sometimes I feel like I'm his whole world.."

My heart swells up with hope at my own words. Knowing a possibility of it might be true. But in this life everything comes with a price. And I'd be damned if I let myself have this much hope.

"That's good, Right?" Hobi turns to look at me with worried eyes. Hand squeezing my left thigh in hopes to comfort me.

That's when the world suddenly stops. Everything around me losing its purpose as my heartbeat slows down and all I see next is two tail lights covering my entire existence. I didn't know that night would be the beginning of my end.

~ 1 year later ~

I walked around helpless in a dark forest struggling to keep my balance as I made my way down a cleared path being illuminated by the moon. My only source of light to be used. My dream I was so certain I was having right now, as I did almost every night since I stop talking my medication that's supposed to make me normal again. But it only kept me at the surface. Barley breathing, but enough to survive.

I made my way through the clear path to come up to a big tree with red leafs. The sky turned pitch black as I looked up to see the moon be covered in darkness. That was when the blood came. Flowing through the cracks of the tree branch's. As it came closer to my feet I heard the screams. His screams. They flooded my ears like the blood at my feet going higher and higher. I stopped breathing. Stopped thinking, as I was swallowed by its darkness. As I was swallowed by my end.

That's when I always wake up.

I jumped up out of my sleep from another nightmare. Sweat was dripping from my forehead. "Damn it!" I cuss under my breath.

I pull my covers away and stumble my way to the bathroom located in the corner of my room. I switch the lights on and stare at my reflection.

I looked like shit. Felt like it too.

I turn the water faucet on to fill my hands with water and splash it on my face. rubbing my eyes harshly in hopes it wakes me up more. Deciding to reach out to open a small box laying out on the counter for easy access. taking out my prescription of medication that keeps the bad thoughts away.

But the bad thoughts never go away.

I get out two pills and pop them into my mouth and swallowed them dry. going back to my room and reaching for my phone on the night stand.

the time was 3:25 am. I suddenly had that sick feeling of dread. Too nervous to sleep alone tonight I swipe up on my phone and press a number on my contact listed as "kookie"

Will he even answer?

I hear four buzzing sounds on the other end as I wait for jungkook to pick up.

"Hello?" He sounds worried.

I hesitate at first but mange to say

"Hey kookie I need you"

He goes silent on the other line for what feels like hours but was only 10 seconds.

"O-okay tae I'll be there in....Like 10 minutes" stumbling over his words as if he is drunk.

I wouldn't be surprised if he was. Maybe at some club having a fuck or a drink to drown himself in.

I start to hear loud noises in the back and music bumping loudly on the other side of the phone. and already know one of my suspicions was right.

He breathes down the other line as a low voice comes through "dont you dare do anything stupid, I'll be there just hang tight" he waits for my response.

"I promise kookie I won't.. just come" I bite down on my lip to calm myself down. He hangs up the phone after my response. I put my phone back on the night stand and lay in bed waiting for him.

After a year of the accident we haven't made any process on our "friends with benefits" relationship. I shut down completely and never confessed my feelings. Telling him I needed time. He waited for me but not long enough. Half a year he waited before he went back to his old habits. I couldn't blame him. I was too broken for even him to fix.

Still no matter what, he was always there for me. like a security blanket. He was my security blanket.

After my many failed attempts of ending my life he was extra careful with me. Never leaving my sight.

He was the only one to understand me. He knew what I was going through because he too was going through it. He was one of the cars that crashed into us. The others were a hit and run. It broke me when I and jungkook were the only survivors. hobi had been my best friend since the first grade. He was family. Now he was gone.

Jungkook had became the closest thing I had to a best friend after hobi.

The others were fucked up by everything that we all drifted apart.

Jimin was absolutely devastated when hobi died. Fuck! We all were. But jimin was with him for 2 whole years. Planning a whole life together. That hits different.

Jin graduated that year and left never looking back. His brother was everything to him. Their mom took her own life after she was left alone, grieving her dead son while her cheating husband who left her for a young slut not even a month after his sons death. Maybe he thought she could fill the void he that hobi left in him.

Namjoon drowned himself in school work. Never batting an eye to us. Said he was too busy. Needed to work on his future and not worry about the dead.

Yoongi was... well he fell off the face of the earth. I pass him by through the halls but nothing more

We all lost something that night of the accident. Some more then others.

Breathing in a big gulp of air I hear a small knock on my window door. A smile spreads on my lips as I get up to open my window. Jungkook jumps over and into my room. There was a black framed full sized bed in the middle of the room, a night stand beside it and a small desk with a bookshelf. Quite small and messy but comfortable.

Jungkook grabs my waist while he stares me down "how are you?" He breathes out. Making sure to be quiet so my parents don't hear.

"I'm okay just tired" saying as I rub his forearm with my thumb.

"Any bad thoughts?" He grab my face in his hand to lift my eyes to his.

"No... not as bad as usual" I managed to say without choking back a sob. My eyes were getting watery and my head felt intense pressure. I bite my lip to calm myself down again.

This Shit happens everytime!

He puts his forehead to mine for a few seconds before speaking and wipes awaya tear waiting to fall from my eye. "hey- it's okay if you did, I'm here now"

I smile at his response, feeling a jolt of love and affection as always "thank you kookie"

"Today I was thinking of him... today" he sounded in pain and regret.

"Oh.." I decided not to pursue jungkook into talking more about it. I didn't want to think about. Didn't want to feel it anymore.

I was stuck. Always stuck.

He sighs against my face, only inches apart. He lends back, eyes moving to my bed. He tugs at my arm and lends me to the bed

"well let's sleep then?" Pulling the sheets away to make room for us. I sink into the bed while he makes his way in a position to spoon me.

I will never get tired of this.

His warmth. His breathe against my neck as he hugs me close. My heartbeat stays calm for now.

"I w- wish I could have done more that night" he says against my ear as he plays with my hair.

"The night of the accident?" I ask confused.

"Yes... I just-"

I grab hold of his hand that wraps around me and lock it in mine "it's okay kookie you couldn't have done more, it's not your fault"

"Okay" he lends deeper into my neck

"You won't have anymore nightmares with me" he whispers against my skin.

Feeling calm and secure in jungkook's arms, I hum a response as I fall in a deep sleep.

But the nightmares never go away because they are my reality.

#bts #bangtan #bangta boys #fanfic #reading #writing #storytelling #taehyung #jungkook #jimin #suga #yoongi #jin #namjoon #kpop #mystery #lovers #bxb

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bensbuttercup · 5 years

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Operation: “Stickys” Situation

K-9 Officer!Ben AU Part One

Summary: Tatum has grown up knowing all the in’s and out’s of the NYPD, growing up with a father an a number of extended family members working in some of the most specialized divisions of the Department. However, Tatum made one rule to herself: never date one of your dad’s officers. K-9 Officer Hardy puts that rule to the test.

Pairing: K-9 Officer!Ben Hardy x OC

Word Count. 5,281

Thank you to the amazing Claire ( @the-claire-bitch-project ) for putting up with me bouncing ideas off her and for beta reading my work for me. You always inspire me to keep writing even when things may seem a little tough. Thank you for being the big sister I needed on this ride through life.

Tatum sat on the cool tile floors of the K-9 Kennel, her legs crossed as she held tightly to the end of the red, white and blue Kong rope that the dog in front of her was currently pulling on. She felt some of the skin on her hands starting to become raw from all the pulling she was doing but it wasn’t anything that cocoa butter couldn’t fix later. She felt the white German Shepherd give a particularly strong pull on the rope and her butt lifted off the ground while the rope was pulled out of her hands. She landed back on to the floor with an ‘oof’, and before she had any time to think she had a hundred pound mass of white fur on top of her.

“Sticks!” She laughed playfully pushing his face away from hers, but it was no hope. She already had a wet pink tongue spreading slobber all over her face and the lenses of her glasses. She groaned and tried to roll away from the dog, but he followed, leaning down to lap at her cheek that wasn’t now pressed into the floor. To anyone else the sight of a twenty-year-old face down on the floor with an over excited German Shepherd on top of them would have probably been quite odd, but it was the norm for Tatum.

“Sticks! Platz!” Tatum suddenly felt the weight off her back and was able to roll over, pushing herself up on her forearms. She pulled her shirt hem down over her slightly exposed stomach and squinted through her smudged glasses to see who had walked in. Across the room Sticks now laid in front of two pairs of work boots. Through her she could see that one pair was old and worn, days of working on the streets and chasing criminals down the alleyways of the city had clearly been spent in those boots. The other was new, shiny, the few scratches signaling that they had seen the streets but they were yet to be truly used for their intended purpose.

Carefully, Tatum reached up to wipe most of the slobber off her lenses before her eyes trailed up the legs that were in the newer boots. He wore the same uniform her father used to come home every day in, the fabric pulled tight over the bulletproof vest worn under it. The name tag on his chest read ‘HARDY’ and Tatum was sure she had heard the name before but was never able to put a face to it.

On the other hand, Ben was looking at something completely different, just as lost in Tatum as she was in him. Ben had heard the laughing from down the hallway of the kennel as he was walking to meet his new partner with Officer Buchanan at his side. “You know how much money the city put into these dogs?” He asked Ben with a straight face. “You should consider yourself lucky that you’re getting one of these dogs fresh into K-9.”

Ben was one of the newer officers on the force, moving straight from the patrol until in Queens into Special Operations K-9 meant someone had put a good word in for him, and he was incredibly thankful for the opportunity. He was 26 and was working his way up the chain of command, a number of future promotions already in his line of sight. As they moved closer to the end of the hallway Ben realized that the sound of their heavy work boots thumping on tile floors was beginning to be drowned out by high pitched laughter coming from inside the kennel. “Must be Tatum again,” Officer Buchanan sighed as he scanned his ID to unlock the door.

Tatum? Ben had heard plenty about the Commissioner's daughter and had seen the countless pictures hung up in the office, but he was yet to meet her face to face. When the door to the kennel opened Ben was met with one of the most shockingly adorable sights he had ever seen. On the floor there was a girl with a head of messy strawberry-blonde hair, laying on her stomach with large white dog licking her face. She was trying to playfully push the dog away but he kept lapping at any available skin he could find to cover in slobber.

“Sticks! Platz!” Ben heard the commissioner say from next to him. As soon as the words were spoken the white dog was off the girl on the floor and he was laying at Buchanan’s feet. Ben watched as Tatum wrinkled her nose and rolled on to her back before pushing herself up on to her forearms. He felt his breath catch in the back of his throat as he watched her grab the ends of her long sleeve shirt, a small amount of the smooth skin of her stomach being exposed, while she wiped a majority of the slobber off her face. She had a wide smile and looked up to the commissioner with a shrug while she stood up.

“Sorry Dad,” she mumbled, fishing a foil packet out of her pocket. Ben’s eye followed her hands and read the label on the packet, ‘disposable lense wipe’, not a condom. He bit his lip to keep from laughing at his own thoughts before looking up to see who he now assumed was Tatum, pulling her brown glasses off her face. He watched her pink lips move as she had a conversation with her father, although he wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about. He was too easily distracted by the spots of slightly darker skin that dotted her face, he noticed she had the most freckles around her nose, the dotting becoming less crowded as his eyes trailed across her cheeks.

“It’s Ben right?” Hearing his name caused Ben to look in front of him where Tatum was sliding her glasses back on to her face, tucking loose strands of hair back into her low bun. Ben nodded feeling the blush creep on to his cheeks. Had they been talking to him him this entire time and he just didn’t realize?

“Me? I- umm, yes!” Ben stumbled over his words. “Sorry, yes I’m Ben.” he quickly pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out. He heard Tatum let a small breath of air followed by a quiet laugh slip past her lips while she shook his hand. He hoped she didn’t realize how nervous he was, he didn’t think his hands were clammy so he was off to a good start.

“Well, Ben,” she dropped his hand far too soon, “I’m Tatum.” The smile she wore was kind and genuine. It made Ben feel a type of warm inside he had never really felt before, the kind he would call butterflies in his stomach when he was younger. It fell silent between the two and Clint Buchanan cleared his throat causing the pair of young adults to turn and look at him.

“I have other men to introduce to their new partners,” he looked between Ben and Tatum before his eyes landed on his daughter. “I think if anyone here is qualified to tell you anything about Sticks its Tatum.”

“Dad,” she groaned, her eyes rolling as she kicked the ground in front of her with her vans.

“Ben, don’t let her convince you otherwise,” Ben looked over to where Tatum was still looking at the ground while they talked about her. “She has been at this kennel with him every day since he got dropped off here eleven months ago. Actually,” Clint trailed off for a moment, “she asked of we could name him Marshmallow.”

“Dad!” Tatum’s head snapped up and she glared at her father. “We agreed we would never talk about that again!” Her cheeks were also becoming red. Ben realized that her blush made the freckles even more prominent, it was a sight he could get used to seeing.

“Imagine that one,” Clint clapped Ben on the back while he turned towards the door, “Officer Hardy and his partner Marshmallow,” he laughed loudly while pulling the door open. “If you have any more questions about him ask Tatum.” With that the metal door of Stick’s kennel closed leaving Ben and Tatum alone. The two were barely three feet apart, yet neither made the effort to move further away from the other.

“Marshmallow?” Ben’s eyes widened realizing he had said that out loud and he immediately reached a hand up to cover his mouth. Tatum’s head snapped up after hearing Ben snicker the word. Her eyes narrowed at him before she stepped closer, closing the gap between the two of them. Her hands found their way to his chest and with a gentle shove Ben found his back against the wall, his hands bracing himself on the cool tiles. His breath hitched when Tatum left one hand on his chest the other falling to her side.

“If you ever, and I mean ever tell Gwil or Joe about that I promise you they will not find your body.” She spoke in a smooth tone. She was close, too close. Close enough for Ben to start counting individual freckles on her nose and cheeks, the ones around her lips. He found himself resisting the urge to reach up and trace the marks across her soft skin with his finger, to watch her blue eyes flutter closed under his gentle touch.

He looked down to where her hand rested on his chest, it was firm but gentle. She was putting just enough pressure for him to feel her touch through through his bulletproof vest. It was letting him know she was in front of him, touching him.

“I umm-- wow,” Ben choked out looking up into Tatum’s eyes for the first time. “You’re pretty, strong. Pretty and strong. Can we-- lunch?” Ben squeezed his eyes shut after he had finally gotten some form of his question out.

Tatum moved her hand off his chest, “you wanna go get lunch?” She wondered.

“Only if you want to!” Ben replied a little bit too fast. “You don’t have to get lunch with me! Only get lunch with me if you want to.” Ben closed his eyes and took a deep, long breath in. He held the air in his lungs until it started to burn before letting the air out his nose in a steady stream. Soon Ben was speaking with his eyes still closed, “what I meant to say was if you want to get lunch one day I would like that.”

When she saw Ben’s eyes open again Tatum was met with one of the most beautiful shades of green she had ever seen. His eyes were searching her’s nervously, waiting for her to answer his question. Before she could assure Ben that he didn’t need to be this nervous around her a big, furry body was pushing its way between their almost too close bodies. “Sticks,” Tatum groaned as the white dog jumped up to try and lick her face.

“Beruhigen,” Ben spoke strongly. Tatum smiled watching the dog settle between her and Ben’s bodies, listening to the command without a second though.

“See!” She looked from Sticks to Ben, a wide smile on her face, “your training paid off! You are one of the first people I have ever seen who has gotten their dog to listen that fast.” She saw the grateful smile Ben gave her, his shoulders relaxing slightly with the compliment. “Maybe I should get lunch with you,” she spoke thoughtfully, “you can teach me a few of your tricks.”

Tatum walked over to where her backpack sat by the door, opening the front pocket to pull out a post it before pulling a pan out of the cup pocket on the side. “That’s my number,” she held the paw print shaped piece of paper out to Ben, numbers written neatly in purple ink. “Text or call me and we can make plans.” She picked her backpack up before turning around to where Ben was running his hand over Stick’s head. “Just so you know, I usually have a policy of not dating my dad’s officers.”

“I can- we can forget this happened,” Ben mumbled. Tatum saw the frown growing on his face and shook her head as she walked over to the blonde officer again. She rested a hand on his forearm before leaning in and placing a quick peck on his cheek. She watched as his cheeks heated again and he cleared his throat, looking anywhere in the room but at her.

“No, sometimes you gotta make exceptions,” Tatum shrugged and turned around, walking towards the door. “Ya’ know you’re pretty special Ben Hardy, hope you know that.” With that Tatum walked out of the kennel , leaving Ben alone and flustered with his new partner and a pink paw print post it with his boss’ daughter’s phone number on it.

“Why can’t you just tell me!” Tatum was walking into The Club when she heard the familiar voice fill the mostly empty space. She was greeted by the usual bartender who handed her a glass with her usual drink in it, a lemon blueberry vodka spritzer. She carefully set her backpack down in the coat room before continuing past the lobby and into the main dining room.

At their usual table, the last row to the left three tables back from the front row, Tatum saw Gwilym and Bellamy already munching on appetizers, their first dinks almost empty. “You know that we keep work at work Bells,” Gwil moved a hand to Bellamy’s thigh and rested it there. His thumb was rubbing gentle circles into her leg and Tatum felt herself smile. She had grown up with Gwil, knowing him since before she was born, and seeing him finally in love after a few rocky break ups and unfaithful partners made her happy. Gwil and Bell’s relationship also gave her hope that she too would find the one.

Once they realized Tatum was in the room Gwil looked over and gave her a smile while Bell was still pouting, but her hand came to rest over the one that was on her thigh. “You okay Tater Tot?” Gwil asked as Tatum sat down, sliding her chair in.

“Me?” Tatum checked her phone a final time, looking for a text from Ben before setting it face down on the table. Gwil’s eyes carefully followed her motions before flicking back to her face before he sighed. He carefully moved his hand from Bell’s thigh and folded them on the table, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers.

“Yes you,” Gwil playfully rolled his eyes. “Which boy do I need to talk to?” He asked, watching Tatum take a sip of her drink before she looked to him again.

“Nobody,” she responded smoothly. Tatum grew up around all types of police officers, but one thing she never learned how to do was lie. She was absolutely awful at lying and she knew it. So, when Gwil narrowed his eyes at her she took a deep breath, “don’t worry Uncle Gwil.”

“You and I both know it’s not nobody Tatum Grace,” he sat up a little bit straight while Tatum leaned back in her chair, “where’s he from.”

“Not from here, that’s for damn sure,” she mumbled under her breath. Tatum knew exactly what Gwil was doing and she wasn’t going to be happy if she let him win that easy.

Bellamy rested a hand on Gwil’s bicep and squeezed gently, “he just worries about you honey,” she added. “He just wants what’s best for you.” Tatum knew if anyone wanted the best for her it was Gwil and Bellamy. Since the pair had started dating nearly four years ago, Bellamy has become the big sister she had never had, guiding her through the end of high school and the start of college. The pair would often go out to dinner on their own and talk for hours, or Gwil would walk into his home after a long shift and see the two curled up together under a blanket watching movies. He was glad that two of the most important women in his life had become close and he often expressed that to Tatum, especially when they had gone ring shopping together weeks earlier.

“You’ll know who he is,” Tatum downed the rest of her drink and went to stand up to ask for another. Gwil shook his head and motioned for her to sit back down.

“You’re still only twenty, lucky they let you drink here, and you know my one drink rule.” Gwil wasn’t playing today apparently. Tatum let out a frustrated groan before turning to Bell with pleading eyes.

“If we’ll know him then we’ll be able to tell you if he has good intentions, Tatum. Gwil already has enough gray hair don’t make it worse with the worrying he’ll do over this.” Tatum listened to Bellamy speak carefully and ran the words over in her head before gently slamming her glass back down on the table.

“Fine,” Tatum crossed her arms, “he works in Special Ops.” Tatum knew only giving that away wouldn't be too much and could still leave her wiggle room to talk herself out of the conversation if she needed it.

“Thank you Tatum,” Gwil ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated with her. “Now we are dealing with bomb squad, coastguard, the pilots, counter-terrorism, should I keep going?” Bell’s hand around Gwil’s arm tightened and she leaned into him more to whisper something in his ear. Tatum couldn’t hear what it was but Gwil closed his eyes and nodded slowly before taking a deep breath.

“Tatum honey, he doesn’t mean to be rude he just had a long day at work and we really don’t need to walk circles around something that is just going to be discovered regardless.” Bell’s eyes softened as she watched a crease form between Tatum’s eyebrows, the younger girl pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Fucking fine but-”

“Language,” Gwil tiredly pulled on the roots of his hair, his eyes still closed.

“Fine!” Tatum huffed annoyed that this was even happening, “but first you promise not to tell my dad!”

“Tatum, I hardly see him anymore and I have too many cases right now to even consider getting you in trouble with him,” Gwil was tired of the attitude he was getting from Tatum. He was tired from work, he was just tired, and all he wanted to do was go home and snuggle with Bell. He didn’t need the added stress of this conversation.

After realizing just how tired Gwil was Tatum looked to Bell with a sorry expression before sighing, ��he works in SOD K-9, Officer Hardy, Ben Hardy.”

Gwil suddenly stopped pulling on his hair and a small smile grew on his face while he looked across the table to Tatum, “you're kidding?” He asked. “The only other one from across the pond?” Gwil wanted to make sure he had the right Officer.

“Yes,” Tatum felt her cheeks growing hot under Gwil and Bell’s gazes. Tatum had a couple boyfriends in the past, but none of them were around long enough for her to introduce them to her family, let alone her extended, yet unrelated family.

“The blonde one?” Bell wanted to clarify for herself. When Gwil nodded Tatum watched the smile on Bellamy’s face grow, her hands coming up to hold her own cheeks.

“He’s twenty-five Tatum,” Gwil pinched the bridge of his nose. Tatum bit her lip, she knew he was older than her, she just wasn’t aware it was five years older, “you’re twenty.”

“You’re thirty-two and Bell is twenty-six,” Tatum shook her head, “your argument is therefore invalidated.” Tatum watched as Gwil ran over what he was going to tell her next in his head. He opened his mouth with no words coming out a couple times before he settled on what he wanted to say.

“But,” he started, “Bells is out of college, she has a real job! The gap means less when you’re older Tatum.” Tatum wanted to respond, she wanted to argue but she understood that Gwil had been stressed at work lately, that new cases had been flowing in multiple times a day. He could only take so many he he was only able to distribute them out to other officers so fast.

“Okay Uncle Gwil,” Tatum bit her bottom lip to keep herself from tearing up like she had wanted to. She thought Ben would be everything anyone wanted in her significant other, but apparently he wasn’t.

Tatum watched as Bell put her hand back on Gwil’s arm and leaned in to kiss the shell of his ear before pulling back again and looking at her. Tatum had lost her appetite and was no longer thinking about what she would be wearing on her first date with Ben, but was now trying to figure out how to tell him she wasn’t interested anymore.

“Oh c’mon Tater Tot,” Bell watched as Gwil reached a hand across the table but Tatum shook her head, sinking further into her chair. Bell squeezed Gwil’s arm feeling the hurt radiate off of him, Tatum was his pride and joy, the closest to a daughter he would probably ever have. From past experience Bell knew that hurting her was slowly killing Gwil on the inside.

A few seconds later Tatum pushed her chair out and stood up, setting her napkin down on the back of her chair. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she addressed the couple in front of her before picking her phone up and darting to the closest ladies room. Bell sighed and kissed Gwil’s neck while he watched Tatum disappear.

“You were a little bit harsh on her honey,” Bell murmured, “she was so excited I could see it when she walked in.”

“I know,” Gwil angrily pulled on his hair again, a dissatisfied groan rolling past his lips, “I saw her face fall and I knew I fucked up.” Bell hummed and ran her hand down Gwil’s arm to hold his hand in hers.

“Don’t beat yourself up, please,” Bell knew if she didn’t intervene now it would become a heavier issue later. “We’ll talk about it at home honey and we’ll figure out what’s gonna happen then, but for now I’m gonna go talk to her. Yeah?” Gwil nodded in response as Bell kissed his cheek once more before standing up and walking towards the bathroom.

Tatum heard the door open and she quickly shoved her phone back in her pants pocket before starting the sink, trying to make it appear that she was just washing her hands before returning to the table. Her hands shook under the warm flow of water, and she felt someone walk up behind her. “You know he just wants what’s best for you, right?” Bell spoke quietly.

“Everyone wants what’s best for me,” Tatum replied, “so I can’t be mad at him because he has the right intentions. I just hope he realizes that I’m still going to lunch with Ben, and if it doesn’t work out then he was right.”

“I was going to tell you to just go out with him,” Bell’s smile grew wider as Tatum turned the sink off. She dried her hands on her jeans before turning around to face Bellamy, “I met Gwil when I was twenty-one. So, I wasn’t much older than you. He just doesn’t like watching you grow up, it’s hard.”

“It can be hard!” Tatum stomped a foot not knowing any other way to get her anger out in the moment. “He knows how tough I’ve had it with relationships, he should be happy I’m interested in someone! Someone he knows for fuck’s sake!”

“Shh,” Bell just didn’t want Tatum raising her voice too much where Gwil would hear, “you have to talk to him, Tatum.”

“Will he listen?” Tatum asked. “Because he hasn’t been lately, and I get work is stressful but he can’t take that out on me!” Tatum took in a shaky breath and looked up at Bell again, her lip pulled between her bottom teeth.

“You think I’m not stressed?” Bell reached out for one of Tatum’s hands and squeezed it gently. “You think you won’t be stressed if you start dating Hardy, Tatum? You of all people should know the stress the job has, the stress that being close to someone with that job. Some nights when Gwil gets called in I’m up until he’s home and I know it’s the same with your dad.” Bell swallowed thickly.

“Yeah but he shouldn’t try and stop me from dating him,” Tatum added.

“You’re right, he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t want you getting hurt, you are like the daughter he doesn’t have and he just wants you happy, he doesn’t want you stressing. When we go back out he’s probably going to apologize, let him, and don’t argue because he means it.” Bell told Tatum sternly.

“Fine,” Tatum didn’t argue this time either.

“Sometimes you two are the same person, I swear, it isn’t easy dealing with both of you,” Bell mumbled while she pulled Tatum into a hug. “And you’re the same height as me? Oh god you really are getting too old.” Tatum refused to drop Bell’s hand as the pair started walking back into the dining room where Gwil was waiting with the main course, the food so far untouched.

Once the pair reached the table Tatum dropped Bell’s hand and walked around the other side to wrap her arms tightly around Gwil. “I love you Uncle Gwil,” she mumbled squeezing him tighter, “thank you for everything you do for me.” Tatum swore she heard Gwil stop breathing for a minute when she squeezed him extra tight.

“I-I love you too Tater Tot,” Gwil pulled back slightly to kiss Tatum’s temple before she moved back to her seat across the table. “I’m sorry I overreacted, Ben is an amazing Officer and I’m sure he’s make an even better boyfriend.” Tatum felt a smile spread across her face with Gwil’s words and she laughed lightly looking at him, slightly shocked.

“You’re kidding?” She asked, shocked with Gwil’s confession. “What changed your mind?” Tatum was genuinely curious and wanted to know how a few minutes alone had changed Gwil’s thought process so drastically.

“I have respect for Officers his age who are able to see so much so young and still stay composed and still come to work every day and tackle whatever they’re given,” Gwil sipped his second drink. “I was in his position once Tatum, and I know someone like him can only want what’s best for you.” Tatum noticed that Gwil was hesitating, that he wanted to say more but wasn’t sure if he should. It was one of his signature moves, his eyebrows would knit together and a small frown would form on his face while he considered if saying how he felt was worth it.

“And?” Tatum urged him to continue, wondering what he was holding back on.

“ I think that you two-” Gwil was cut off by Tatum’s text tone ringing through the empty dining room. Her eyes flickered briefly to her phone which was face down before moving back to look at Gwil, her heel tapping anxiously on the ground. “Check it Tatum,” Gwil rolled his eyes. Tatum let out a breath and her left hand reached out to pull her phone off the corner of the table.

Tatum saw that it was a picture from an unknown number and unlocked her phone, opening her messages. The image that she saw caused her to ‘aww’ out loud, confusing both Gwil and Bellamy. It was a picture of Sticks, laying on a large dog bed, a stuffed cow under his chin. The text bubble signaling that the person was still typing appearing under the picture. A second later another chime rang in the otherwise quiet room.

‘I miss you and can’t wait to see you soon for lunch! If it’s not too soon I’d love to see you again tomorrow!’ Tatum bit her lip to contain her smile, knowing the message was from Ben.

“It’s definitely Hardy,” Gwil mumbled over his glass of Scotch, his hands gripping the glass tightly. “What’d the fucker say, Tatum?” He asked. Tatum sighed and handed Bell her phone letting the couple across from her see the picture and message. She carefully watched for both their reactions, Bellamy being the first to have a wide smile spread across her while while she turned to Gwil. Tatum was most nervous for his reaction as she knew her father had already expected her and Ben to get together when he first left them alone in the kennel. Tatum already had approval from the most important man in her life, now she just needed it from the second.

Gwil slid Tatum’s phone back across the table a few seconds later before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, “God Tatum, Hardy is more of a dork than I first thought.” Bellamy giggled and leaned her head on Gwil’s shoulder, happy that he was finally accepting that Tatum was growing up.

“Oh my god,” Tatum looked down to her phone again, her thumbs hovering over her keyboard, “what do I tell him?” She had gone out on a few dates, but nothing ever too serious, and she had surely never been this nervous to accept a lunch offer from someone before. “Do I just say yes?”

Gwil’s soft smile told Tatum that he was happy for her and his response assured her that he was also happy to help guide her through this part of her life, “tell him that tomorrow isn’t too soon and ask where he was thinking you could eat?” Gwil suggested. Bellamy’s nod confirmed that it was a good response and Tatum quickly typed it out before sending it.

Not even a minute later Tatum’s phone dinged again and she picked it up, “He said that he was thinking he could cook for me!” Tatum looked up and both Gwil and Bellamy looked shocked. She had never had a boy offer to cook for her and by the looks of it the guy cooking lunch wasn’t a usual first date suggestion.

“Oh my god, Tatum. God has gifted you with an amazing man,” Bell replied looking up to Gwil who rolled his eyes before leaning in to peck her lips. “Ask him if twelve thirty is a good time for him.”

“Twelve thirty?” Tatum asked.

“It’s not too later but still early enough to give you both a little extra time to get to know each other,” Bellamy gave Tatum a playful eyebrow wiggle causing her to look down with a slight blush, typing out the question.

“Not like that!” Tatum mumbled out while she watched the dots that indicated Ben was typing pop up. “‘Perfect’”, Tatum started to read his response, “‘just wear something comfy! No reasons to dress up.’” She locked her phone and looked up to Gwil with a grateful smile. “Thank you Uncle Gwil, for always wanting what’s best for me.” Gwil just nodded in response while reaching a hand out across the table for Tatum to take. He had seen her get her heart broken before and if he trusted anyone with his Tatum’s heart it was the kind hearted, blonde K-9 Officer he had helped promote himself the month before.

Tag list

@the-claire-bitch-project @onceuponadetectivedemigod @the-baby-bookworm @a5-24-ah @nomadsgrogers @codycasperky2 @sweetjellytine @whatwouldidowithoutgeorgeluz @wonderful-th @joalsglasses @a-t-l-a-a-s

#ben hardy #ben hardy fan fiction #ben hardy x oc #ben hardy imagine #cop!ben hardy #gwilym lee #gwil lee #joe mazzello #rami malek #lucy boynton

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silvereddaye · 5 years

Note

Trope prompt, Vader/Amidala in a bookstore AU?

OK SO I started writing this prompt and it just kept going and going and going. It is now a short multi-chapter fic that I want to wait until I have it all completely written before I post it. BUT here is the first chapter.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Padmé found herself in the bookstore. A true bookstore of old flimsi books. There were shelves and piles of books everywhere. Each one worth a nice sum of credits. Printed books were rare. Flimsi was expensive. Why make books when there were holonovels and holovids? But Padmé loved this store. She especially loved the smell. She stopped, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. No library or archive of holonovels and datapads ever had this wonderful smell.

“It’s the books dying,” came a man’s voice.

Padmé opened her eyes and looked to her left. Standing a bit down the aisle was a man. He was tall and dressed in all black. He seemed to scream Imperial, but his hair was long and wavy instead of kept short in a military style.

“Excuse me?” Padmé asked.

“The smell,” he said evenly. “It’s the books’ materials decaying.” He looked over at her. He was gorgeous with a strong chin and cheekbones. But the most telling feature was his eyes. They were golden.

“Ah,” Padmé said. The man grabbed a book off the shelf and left. She thought that would be the last she would see of him.

She returned to the bookstore two weeks later when she had some free time in the afternoon. Again she took a moment to savor the smell of the books. There was a sense of reality that holonovels didn’t quite have. Perhaps because these words would be forever branded into these pages. There was a permanence here.

There was also that guy. He sat at a small table that was shoved in a corner. A few books were piled at his table, and he was reading one. He was as she had last seen him. All black clothing. The long hair. This time she noticed a scar that slashed along his face next to one of his eyes. He stopped reading and looked up. At once his golden eyes landed on her.

“It’s you,” he said dryly. She held her head up high and nodded at him.

“I’ll admit,” she said, “it’s rare to see someone in here twice who isn’t a collector or trader.”

“Which one are you?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Which one are you? A collector or trader?”

“Neither. I’m just an admirer.”

He cocked his slightly to the side. His raised a single eyebrow. “I take it you’ve been to this store on several occasions, and not once you bought a book?”

“No,” she replied softly. “They’re rather expensive …”

He let out a snort. “You cannot afford it, Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo? Surely if you can afford that fancy penthouse apartment and those gaudy gowns, you can afford a flimsi book.”

She glared at him. “What I spend my credits on is none of your business, Mr …?”

“Skywalker,” he said quickly.

“And yourself Mr. Skywalker?” she asked. “Which one are you? A collector or trader?”

“If I had to pick,” he said as he collected his pile of books, “a collector.” He took the whole stack and walked down an aisle with towering shelves on either side. She slowly followed him to the front of the store. She peered around a shelf to see him buying the whole stack. That stack had to be worth tens of thousands of credits. The old Togruta man who ran the shop smiled and bowed at Skywalker repeatedly.

After he left, Padmé approached the store owner. “I can’t believe he bought all those books,” she said.

“Oh he has become quite a good customer,” the Togruta replied. “Though I do wonder what it is he’s researching in all those books.”

“Researching?”

“He seems to be looking up old histories. Old, old histories. The type that are obscure. The type that may have never made it into a holonovel.”

Padmé nodded not wanting to look too nosey. She next saw Skywalker again only a few days later. She didn’t want to admit, but his words had bothered her. She had always wanted to own one of these real books, but had been indecisive about which one to get. Should she get a history book? A long winded adventure? A prayer book on forgotten mythologies? None of the books had yet to completely strike her interest.

She had collected a small collection and settled down at a table. She had quickly skimmed the first three books. They hadn’t kept her attention, but the fourth one had.

“The Distant White Stars?”

Padmé looked up. “Mr. Skywalker,” she said. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. After you last impressive purchase, you’re back again so soon?”

“I have yet to find what I am looking for,” he said. He glanced down at book. “Have you?”

“Have I? I’m not … researching anything.”

“I did not say you were researching. I said you were searching. While else would you come back so often?”

“Since you seem to know so much, Mr. Skywalker, tell me what it is I’m searching for.”

He sat down at the chair opposite of her. He placed his elbows on the table and leaned over. “It’s easy to tell,” he said in a low voice. Padmé found herself leaning in towards him. “You’re here whenever you get a free moment. You’re not searching for a book, but a story. You haven’t found it amongst the bright blue lights of holonovels despite your best efforts. Something is eating you up inside. A hunger you can’t quite ease. And my guess?” He paused. Slowly a charming smile spread across his face. “You’re looking for a romance.”

She jerked her head back as she realized how close she was to him. She could smell him. Feel his warmth. Her cheeks burned red.

“Don’t be silly,” she said collecting herself. He continued to smile and raised an eyebrow. His eyes purposely darted to her book.

“The Distant White Stars. This was before the hyperdrive as we know it was invented. The young woman goes off to explore space. Her messages back to her lover take more and more time to reach him. He is aging faster than she is. Yet he never moves on. Never finds another lover. He dies old and waiting for her next message. She continues on in her days wondering why her lover stop responding to her messages.”

Padmé had to pause. “You’ve read this story?” she asked. “Are you searching for a romance too?”

“No,” he said quickly and lowly. “I am looking for a truth.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“If you are prying, dear senator, that is all you will get out of me. But if you enjoy that book, might I suggest looking at The Code of Uka or maybe you can find a translated story of a Brush of Air.”

He placed his gloved hands flat on the table and pushed himself up. He nodded and disappeared. The next visit to the bookstore Padmé looked up both books Skywalker had mentioned.

The Code of Uka was about a system ruled by a monarchy that passed along the females of the bloodline. A young princess was trying to prove she was more than her villainous mother by helping refugees of a planet her mother had ruthlessly conquered. She fell in love with her bodyguard. However, her family was not pleased with her pursuits. So they summoned her back home and put her through intense brainwashing. She returned to the refugees and ordered the army to kill them all. When her lover found her, she begged him to kill her. He did so.

The Brush of Air was just as sad. It was a myth about a goddess of the stars and a god of the earth. However, they could never be together. The sky and clouds constantly keeping them apart. The only time they could touch was when she dipped below the horizon.

Why was Skywalker reading these stories? The shop owner had said he was looking up old obscure histories. Skywalker said he was looking for a truth. An unsolved mystery forgotten by time? There were plenty to be found. The galaxy was old. Civilizations had come and gone. How many had gone unnoticed?

She was sitting down on a bench a week later when Skywalker sat down next to her. He placed a pile of books in his lap. He leaned over. His arm pressing against hers. He looked down at the yellowing page she was reading.

“A rather biased history of the Mirialan Trade Dispute.”

She could feel how warm he was. She should lean away or even just push him, but she didn’t. She instead became very still.

“Sounds rather dull,” he said as he leaned back over into his own space.

“I uh tried those books you recommended,” she said. “They were very good. Sad, but good.”

She looked over at him. A brilliant smile flashed across his face. Force. He was very good looking.

“Looking for more?” he teased. She couldn’t help but blush.

“If you know some more,” she said. “Though I am curious as to why you yourself know of such stories.”

“My mother,” he said a bit sadly. “She was quite an avid reader. These were her favorite stories. She would …” He paused and she noticed a bit of red on his cheeks. “She would read these stories and then retell them to me when I was a child.”

“Really? Such tales?”

He shrugged.

Padmé asked, “And she could afford such books?”

A sad look crossed his face. “No,” he said. “She was … tasked with organizing and keeping clean a personal library. She would peak into the books during her long days.” A small smile spread across his lips as he clearly thought of his mother. “I would suggest reading The Priestess of Hotorine.”

The two read side by side on the bench until Skywalker collected his pile of books and left. It wasn’t until her next trip she looked at The Priestess of Hotorine. In it the priestess had to drink water from a sacred spring to keep herself clean and holy. She falls in love with a traveling smuggler, but tries to fight off her feelings for him. When she finally decides to leave with him off planet, it was revealed she was dying. The sacred spring water had slowly poisoned her body.

Padmé also found a small note hidden inside the page written in a bit of a messy scrawl.

Try The Blue Expanse of the Tiphon System. -S

She couldn’t help but smile. She found that book. Like the others it was a sad story of star crossed lovers that never got their happy ending. But inside was another note leading to another book. And to another and another. Whenever she saw Skywalker at the store, she would thank him and smile. They would talk briefly of the stories she had read, and then they would both sit side by side and read quietly.

“You know,” she said after a few months since they had met, “I still don’t know what it is you’re looking for in those books. Perhaps I could help you out?”

Skywalker paused. He looked at her. His striking gold eyes seemed to dig into her. It felt he wasn’t seeing her on the physical level, but on a spiritual level.

“I am looking for a planet,” he said slowly.

“A planet?”

“Kesh.”

“Kesh?”

“Yes. It exists out in Wild Space.”

“Why are you looking for it? How do you even know it is there?”

He smiled. That smiled sent a shiver up her spine and a twist in her stomach. “My mother was from there.”

“And she does not know about her home planet?”

“Oh she knew about it,” he explained. “She ran away when she was pregnant. I’m not completely sure what she ran away from. I only know she wanted a better life for me …” He sighed.

“So, this is the truth you are looking for? The truth about who you are? Perhaps about your family?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “There have been some … interesting claims about my father. But perhaps I just want to know more about the place. Problem is I can’t find it. My mother never told me its location.”

“I take it she’s dead,” Padmé said softly trying not to sound too crass.

“Yes,” he said. “And it’s hard to find much of anything about this planet. Doesn’t help there is a mid-rim sector known as Kesh.”

“Anything I should look for to help you?” she asked.

“The Old Sith Empire after the Great Hyperspace Wars settled on an outer rim planet known as Dromund Kaas. From there the empire rebuilt itself and launched its attack on the Republic in the Great Galactic War. The old Empire eventually dissolved until recently when Emperor Sidious returned the Sith Empire to its proper place in the galaxy.”

“Spoken like a true Imperial,” Padmé muttered. Skywalker eyed her.

“Not a fan?”

“I was only fourteen when the Republic fell,” she explained. “But Naboo is a religiously democratic planet, despite birthing our current Emperor. I still believe in democracy.”

He smiled and continued. “Well during the Great Hyperspace War, there was a great Sith dreadnought. The Omen. It was mining ore to use for the upcoming invasion of the Republic, but was attacked by Jedi. It was knocked off course in hyperspace and crash landed on the planet Kesh. The surviving Sith crew convinced the natives they were the Skyborn. Gods of the Kesh religion.”

“Does this have anything to do with your name?”

He let a small laugh. “Yes it does. I am a descendant of those on board the Omen.”

“So you are a Sith?” she asked in a low voice. Her heart squeezed in her chest fearing the answer. He didn’t respond. He only smiled, and it did not reassure her. There seemed to be a glint of danger in those gold eyes of his. There were only two known Siths in the current Sith Empire. The Emperor Sidious and his heir Darth Vader.

“The Omen crashed on Kesh some 4,500 years ago,” he continued. “It is an isolated planet. How my mother got off, I do not know. I only know that she barely escaped with her life. There are no known current routes to the planet. My only hope is that perhaps there is something in old texts such as these.” He waved to the shelves around them.

“And once you find its location, what will you do? Go to it? Go be the god they think you are?”

A crooked devilish smile spread across his lips. “Who wouldn’t want to be treated like a god?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t.”

He sighed. “That’s a shame,” he said. “You would make a fine goddess.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?”

He leaned in. “What would happen if I say yes?”

His side was pressed against hers. She couldn’t help the heat racing through her body as her heart started to pound faster and faster. She glanced down at her lap. One of his hands covered in a smooth leather glove came gently under her chin and tipped her head up so she had to look at him.

“Hmmm?” he purred. He leaned in closer. She could feel him. Smell him. She took a deep breath of it. “You haven’t found your story yet. Perhaps it isn’t one you’ll find in a book.”

He was so close. She could feel the breath of his voice against her lips. Then she felt his lips against hers. She gave a small startled jump, but didn’t pull away. Instead she leaned into him. His other gloved hand slid up into her hair as he pulled her closer to him.

And then he pulled away. He licked his lips. There was a satisfied look on his face. “I’m afraid it’s time for me to go,” he said. “Until next time.” Then he was gone leaving Padmé alone on the bench in the bookstore. Her fingers came to rest on her lips as she remembered their kiss.

#my writing #prompt #ask silver #skyborn #anidala #vaderala #darth vader #padme amidala #praetor-canis

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softjeon · 6 years

Text

Speed Lane | Pt. 7

• Pairing: Yoongi x Jimin • Genre: Angst | Racer!AU ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 6,6k | Co-Writer: Cat @cassiavioletblue ↳ (AO3) • Disclaimer: mentioning of alcohol / drugs / violence / smut / abuse / graphic content

↳ There he was. In midst of his workplace, standing straight, sunglasses on his face, nose a bit too high, with an attitude as if he owned that place. The rage was welling all the way up inside of him, so quickly that the wrench cluttered from his hand. The boy turned around at the sound and they stared at each other, just like they did in the night of the race.

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Yoongi groaned low in his throat at Jimin's word. How could the other talk dirty to him so sweetly? He was pushing all of Yoongi’s buttons and Yoongi wasn’t having it!

Seeing Jimin drop to his knees like that made his stomach drop both in anticipation but also with dread. He remembered all too vividly what Yunyeong had said about Jimin’s mouth. He definitely didn’t want to think about Jimin giving the other a blowjob right now, so he pulled him back up, his hands finding the way to Jimin's backside, kneading the firm flesh as he pulled Jimin into his lap.

“As seductive as you look down there, licking your lips like that - I need you closer. I want to feel you. All of you…,” He pulled Jimin closer and then, frustrated about the many layers of clothing just pulled the shirt over Jimin’s head, not even bothering with any buttons. As soon as he had free range he attacked Jimin’s neck, pushing the younger close to him, rolling his hips into Jimin a little, just to rile him up. Jimin shivered from the feel of finally having Yoongi so close again. It had been too long. He whined desperately when Yoongi was sucking a bruise into his skin, holding onto Yoongi’s shoulders tight.

Moving on his own, Jimin rolled his hips right back onto Yoongi’s lap. It was a sweet torture for the both and Jimin smiled blissfully. His hands were wrapped around Yoongi’s neck, pulling himself closer as he played with his hair just like he knew he loved it while the other was occupied with kissing all his freed skin.

Wanting to take this elsewhere, he pulled at Yoongi’s collar, getting off from his lap and dragging Yoongi along. Yoongi was about to complain when Jimin got off of him, but the look the other gave him silenced him quickly. Jimin wasn’t finished with him yet. Anything but. So, he followed the other into his bedroom, after accidentally landing in some kind of closet first, that Jimin had accidentally mistaken for the bedroom door as he explained, half choking on his giggles when Yoongi bluntly told him that he would go into whatever room Jimin wanted to have him as long as it meant that they could continue making out.

In the end Yoongi had to agree though that the bedroom was definitely better. The bed was massively big with one single mattress (which meant no crease in between) and so soft that Yoongi never wanted to get up again.

Jimin chuckled low, “Oh, now you love the expensive mattress, huh?” Jimin stepped closer and in between Yoongi’s legs, his hands slowly wandering up his arms until they reached Yoongi’s collar. Pulling him in roughly, Jimin kissed him passionately, while he unbuttoned one by one taking his sweet time. When he had opened the shirt Jimin instantly attacked Yoongi’s neck, licking and sucking sweetly on his soft skin and leaving a wet trail down his throat. He slowly got onto his knees, his lips kissing every spot of skin.

Jimin’s hands were following his mouth, his nails scraping along his skin lightly until he reached the hem of Yoongi’s jeans. Slowly, Jimin looked up at Yoongi, licking his lips while he opened the button carefully. Jimin had a feeling why he had pulled him up earlier, declining the blow job he had given him if he had let him, so he smiled faintly at Yoongi. Nonetheless, he pulled down his pants swiftly, leaving Yoongi in his boxers on purpose. His hands caressed over his thighs for a moment, heightening the tension before Jimin pulled them down as well. Yoongi kept still, leaned back comfortably, letting Jimin do the work. It turned him on to see that all of Jimin’s attention was on him and the younger put in quite an effort to make sure that Yoongi would be ready to return the favor.

The smile turned wicked and Jimin kissed Yoongi’s knee, placing more soft kisses up his thigh up until his crotch. With an expertly lick, Jimin went in and licked right over his length, where Yoongi wanted it the most, just so slowly, letting him feel what he could have next time, and up over his chest, ending in a wet kiss on Yoongi’s neck. He pulled back, getting up on his feet again as he bit his lip.

He looked beautiful as he stood there, shirtless, the dim light just enough to make out the dips of his muscles under his skin. Yoongi still didn’t move, just devouring Jimin’s body with his eyes until the younger got nervous. He chuckled darkly as Jimin’s questioning gaze met his. “I think you missed something Jiminnie,” He motioned to the pants that the younger was still wearing and then sat up, “Or are you getting shy all of a sudden? Do you want me to do it?”

Jimin cocked his head to the side, his smirk back in place. “Keep your hands…right here,” Jimin said and leaned in to make sure Yoongi would keep his arms behind his back. He kissed Yoongi right below his pulse point, before whispering, “Now, close your eyes.”

Luckily for him, Yoongi did just like Jimin said and the younger smiled. He loved playing those games. “Don’t want to touch what isn’t yours, yet right?” Jimin teased and turned around to open his pants, letting them glide down while beautifully arching his back, making sure he was close to Yoongi. He tossed them aside, whispering Yoongi’s name, as he pulled down his boxers as well. Jimin could literally see the way Yoongi was aching to touch him, to see him, but instead of reaching for his hands, he carefully got around the bed. Crawling over to him, he nibbled on his earlobe.

“You want to see what can be yours? Do you want to hear me moan for you? Make me scream? And whine,” Jimin’s hand caressed up Yoongi’s back and shoulders, kissing him right behind his ear, “I want to be yours, so badly.”

Yoongi’s patience snapped the moment Jimin kissed him again, turning around quickly and pushing Jimin onto his back to hover over him. He was just keeping himself there, his hands on Jimin’s arms, holding them down (he had chosen to not go for his wrists in case Jimin would feel trapped, but it seemed as if the other didn’t mind).

“Who says you aren’t mine already?” He smirked when he leaned down to brush his lips over Jimin’s neck, where he had left a bruise last time, “I’ve marked you up already before, haven’t I?”

“And who said you’ve been the only one who did so?” Jimin said cockily, liking the rough manhandling way too much already. He bared his neck on purpose, parting his lips in a soft moan, before his gaze fell back onto Yoongi, “Maybe I’m not sure, yet who I belong to.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows went up at that. “Oh. I see. So apparently you need a firm hand, hu? So, tell me, do those others you were talking about kiss you like this?” He let his hand wander up Jimin's neck, pushing his head back and keeping his hand there so that he had full control of the kiss when he leaned down, kissing Jimin harsh and messy. He loved it way too much, not only the kissing itself but also how Jimin’s lips looked whenever Yoongi kissed him like that; even more plump and swollen. And the glint in Jimin’s eyes… Yoongi couldn’t wait to see Jimin’s expression when he would take him.

Jimin moaned into the kiss, his hands holding onto Yoongi’s waist to pull him down on him as he spread his legs further, so he could be closer to him. He needed him so much closer. When Yoongi was pulling away, kissing down his neck and sucking in another blooming bruise, Jimin cried out in pleasure. He was panting already, just from the kiss and he could feel himself getting hard, when Yoongi hadn’t even touched him – but he wanted to tease just a little bit more.

“Y-yes,” Jimin moaned, “My lips are their favorite thing…everyone…want a taste.” Jimin looked up at Yoongi with an innocent expression, pursing his lips a little, “Who am I to deny them that taste?”

“Yeah, you’re a goddamn saint to give them what they want, fucking angel, aren’t you? You definitely look your part.” Yoongi let his thumb glide over Jimin’s plump bottom lip, licking his own to savor the taste. He would kiss Jimin so much tonight that he would never ever be able to forgot what the younger tasted like. He slipped his finger in Jimin’s mouth, letting the filthy tongue wet it before he pulled it out and went right to Jimin’s nipple. As far as he could tell Jimin was pretty sensitive pretty much everywhere, so he thought it would be interesting to rile the younger up before even thinking about touching his cock. Jimin gasped, arching into Yoongi’s touch right away, letting him play him like an instrument. Closing his eyes, Jimin bit his lip to dwell in the feeling of Yoongi’s touches against his skin. Wanting more, Jimin’s hands held onto Yoongi’s waist and pushed him down on him, as he moved his hips sensually to give himself some friction but Yoongi swatted Jimin’s hands away although it took him all of his self-control. It felt way too good to have Jimin move against him like that. Boy, the younger could move. Jealousy rose within him when he wondered if Jimin simply was good with moving his body or if he had gotten lots of practice in bed. He knew it wasn’t his place to push further and he would never judge Jimin by the amount of his partners, but he couldn’t help it, the thought of someone else taking Jimin apart like he was doing right now made him... possessive.

He leaned down, carefully biting the nipple his hand wasn’t playing with and was rewarded with another perfect arch of Jimin’s back. “Hm, you know what, you move too much. I can’t really take my time with you if you’re that demanding.” The smirk and the fondness in his eyes softened his blunt words and Yoongi waited for a second, just a tiny little moment for Jimin to disagree if he wanted to. Then he stole the cushion from under Jimin’s head, pulled Jimin’s arms up, placing the cushion right over them while gently cradling Jimin’s head before placing it down right onto the cushion and over his hands. If he wanted to Jimin could very well pull out his hands from under it with a bit of struggle but as much as he wanted to tie him up Yoongi thought it to be better to not go full on BDSM on Jimin the first time they had sex. If they both liked it, they could establish something more but for now this had to be enough.

Jimin whined when Yoongi had restrained him but he loved it nonetheless. It turned him on a lot and he had to suppress a moan just because of the thought of Yoongi taking him. He kept his hands up, wanting to be a good boy, just once, before he pushed his hips up again to meet Yoongi’s.

“Please,” Jimin whined, kissing the palm of Yoongi’s hand that caressed over his cheek. He loved Yoongi’s hands, he had noticed them before – how delicate they were – and now he wanted to devour them. His gaze met Yoongi’s when the other pushed his thumb pass Jimin’s lips and he eagerly sucked on it, licking skillfully and making Yoongi only dream what he could do with his tongue. It got too much, watching Jimin use his mouth like that, curling his tongue so skillfully around his fingers. It got him fully hard in no time and so he quickly jerked his hand back. Jimin was still anything but docile, but that was exactly what Yoongi loved about him; his passion, his fire. He would make sure to set Jimin completely aflame...

Gently, slowly did he kiss his way down from Jimin’s nipples over his abs (making them contract deliciously) until he had reached his crotch. Jimin was just as hard as he was and Yoongi’s mouth watered at the thought of taking him in, taking him all the way to the edge before stopping short to hear him whine. Jimin would surely make the most beautiful sounds. With a slight nudge he opened Jimin’s legs further, admiring how easily flexible the younger was. It just called for a few experiments in case this got a regular thing, just to see how far Jimin could go. Right now, Yoongi was content with seeing his legs opened wide for him. He started tracing little patterns into Jimin’s hip, each time getting closer to his hard length. When Jimin started getting restless he added the other hand to gently tease the insight of his thighs, making sure to sit in between them in a way that Jimin couldn’t close them.

The younger whined, feeling needy for Yoongi and his touches. He twitched with every touch that was so close to where he needed it, but he didn’t dare to get his hands from above his hands. Moving his hips restlessly against Yoongi’s hold, Jimin pleaded him to stop teasing him. Arching his back, when Yoongi kissed along his thigh, Jimin groaned desperately, “Please…I need you, just…ah stop teasing me already. I’ve been waiting…for this too long, please.”

Just as he had thought Jimin sounded beautiful. So beautiful that Yoongi wasn’t about to give that up yet and just give Jimin what he wanted. Even though it got harder to deny himself the pleasure of sinking into Jimin he was determined to hold out and make Jimin lose his mind a little.

“You’ve been waiting for me to do this? Although you had other guys leaving marks on you? Hm, I’m not sure if I should believe you. Maybe I need some more convincing.” He let go of Jimin and could almost see how not touching him at all made Jimin desire it even more. But he needed to check on something really quick.

Yoongi got a little off the bed to reach the bedside table and opened the very first drawer. Bingo! Inside was what he had expected - and a little more than that. He could see the edges of something like handcuffs, something that was made of leather and could be a collar and something feathery. “Kinky...”

But now wasn’t the time to poke around in Jimin’s things. So, he took out the lube and a condom, checking the expiration date before coming back and settling comfortably right in between Jimin’s legs again. “You don’t mind, do you? I’m not quite as prepared as you. But I guess I don’t have that many people lusting after me.”

“You hated me, so,” Jimin said a little breathless, “I wasn’t sure if you were up to the hate-sex thing, so I had to get me fun somewhere else…but still there was this one, cute racer guy that I just couldn’t get out of my head. Oh, how I just wanted him to pound into me, fuck me hard against his car and claim me.”

“Well, hate is a strong word...”, was as much as Yoongi could tell before Jimin wiped his mind blank and placed all these images into it. Who would have thought that someone so innocent looking could be so filthy? Jimin’s eyes followed Yoongi’s movements, but he didn’t stop talking dirty, “I’d like it if he still had his leather suit on, pressing it against my skin and pushing into me…so hard, so good.” He arched his back, moaning at the thought and giving Yoongi a sweet show, “You think he would show me who I belong to? Spank me for the times I teased him and fuck right into me? Because that’s where I belong?” Jimin bit his lip and winked playfully, moving his hips in little circles.

He slapped Jimin’s thigh without warning, hard. “I can spank you too if that’s what you want. But well, that would be giving you exactly what you want and I’m not sure if you deserve any of that the way you are talking,” He slapped Jimin again, for good measure, just to hear that little sound again that Jimin had made, low and needy and so submissive it had sent heat right to his groin.

“Turn around!” He was helping Jimin get onto his knees and then face the mattress, so his ass was up right in front of him. He wasn’t going to fuck him like this, simply because he enjoyed looking into Jimin’s eyes too much while he played with his body, but this was their first time and he wasn't sure how tight the other was so for Jimin’s sake he would prepare him like that, because it would be easier, not for him but for Jimin.

Jimin couldn’t keep still, especially now. Moving his hips each time Yoongi only did something as caressing his thighs or squeeze his ass just right. He moaned sweetly, waiting patiently for Yoongi to prepare him. Closing his eyes, Jimin heard how Yoongi poured some of the lube onto his fingers, the other hand squeezing his cheek tight. The coldness of the lube surprised him at first, a gasp fell from his lips when Yoongi circled his hole, but as soon as he pushed in, Jimin pushed his ass back. “Mh,” Jimin hummed in delight.

Jimin was tight but he didn’t seem to mind a little pain because he pushed back as soon as Yoongi had entered him. “Easy there!”, He placed a hand on the small of Jimin’s back but the younger didn’t need much help with relaxing. “Needy, aren’t you,” He murmured fondly, before patting Jimin's ass teasingly. “You like that, hm? Didnt your racer guy give you that much attention?” His hand wandered lower, stroking Jimin’s cock while simultaneously preparing him, making sure Jimin wasn't able to answer.

“Ah,” Jimin moaned out blissfully moving his hips against Yoongi’s finger. Jimin was helplessly whining in Yoongi’s touch and he loved every second of it. “I need more,” He moaned out breathlessly, steadying himself on his hand so he got push more desperately onto Yoongi, “More, please.” He brought his hand back to wrap it around Yoongi’s wrist, keeping him from moving away from stimulating his hole and trying to desperately to make him stretch him out even more. He loved it. All of it. Way too much.

“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” Yoongi loved the way Jimin was shamelessly taking what he wanted - because it would give him a reason to discipline him. But not now. Right now, he wanted Jimin to get close, so close to coming that he would be perfectly ready for Yoongi to fuck him senseless. He could think of nothing better than Jimin coming apart on his cock. So, he let Jimin move as much as he wanted, gripping the youngers cock tightly and jerking him of, quick and dirty.

As soon as Yoongi was keeping his grip on him, Jimin kept moving his hips against Yoongi’s hold. He whimpered into the cushion, feeling the heat rush through his veins quick and he spread his legs a little further. Yoongi knew what he was doing, so much Jimin could tell and he was blissfully trapped in his grip.

“Oh fuck,” Jimin moaned, biting down on his lip hard, pushing back and forth. When Yoongi stopped for a second, Jimin was panting already, his chest blushed, and his legs were shaking – but it wasn’t for him to take a break but only for Yoongi to push another finger into Jimin’s tight hole. The younger kept still, whimpering from the feel as he slowly moved them back and forth letting him get used to it. Jimin held onto the headboard of the bed and smirked, circling his hips – only when Yoongi kept on jerking him off, he pushed back further again. “Hm so dirty,” Jimin repeated Yoongi’s words, “Only for you…. want you so bad. Ah…fuck.” His legs were quivering and Jimin’s moans gotten louder.

The words ‘only for you’ made the jealousy in his chest simmer down contently - and his desire for Jimin flare up. He just needed to hold on a little longer, just a tiny little bit... It didn’t take much to make Jimin take another finger and with the way he was spreading his legs further and further, pushing back rhythmically and letting Yoongi finger-fuck him the younger was more than ready. So Yoongi waited until Jimin’s moans got breather and his body started tensing, he could see Jimin’s thighs starting to tremble, his abs contracting - and that’s when he pulled out.

He ignored the younger’s protest and manhandled him to lie on his back while he put on the condom. It hit him like a punch in the gut when he looked down and Jimin was laying there, all spread out, eyes glazed over, lip red and plump from kissing and teeth pulling on it, his chest flushed from the arousal. He looked amazing. And so ready to take him. So Yoongi did just that, holding Jimin up by the hip and sinking into him in one single, hard thrust.

Jimin screamed out when Yoongi was bottoming out right away, stretching him so good that Jimin felt dizzy from the feel. He spread his legs wide for Yoongi, his hands wandering up his chest, his shoulders until he cupped Yoongi’s cheeks pulling him down on him to kiss him eagerly before he could thrust into him more. He held Yoongi’s waist, keeping him close, just wanting to feel how deep he was as he kissed him dirtily.

“What are you doing to me?” Jimin whispered against his lips, licking into his mouth once more, “You feel so good inside of me.” His eyes flickered open, looking into Yoongi’s beautiful eyes. They were so close, Yoongi’s breath fanning over Jimin’s lips and he bit his lip with an innocent expression, “Will you show me who I belong to now?”

„I think you already know who you belong to, don’t you?“ As if to remind him he nipped at the youngers collarbone until it stung a little and Yoongi was sure the mark would stay a while. It felt like heaven, rolling his hips into Jimin who took him so well, so willingly. And yet he was so tight that Yoongi had to keep himself together not to moan at every thrust.

„Tell me, Jiminnie, if the racer guy fucked you so well, then why are you still so tight for me? Doesn‘t sound to me like he stretched you out as good as I do.“ He was going harder pretty quickly but he was sure Jimin could take it – or else they younger would just speak up. Yoongi closed Jimin‘s lips with his and kissed him deeply, tasting the others desperate pants on his tongue, whenever he snapped his hips into him. It was easy to push Jimin’s legs further up as the younger’s body went with it without resistance and Yoongi groaned at the sight. “I’m going to make you come on my cock, Minnie, make you shake and shudder and fuck you through it until you scream!” While he growled his promised into Jimin’s ear he changed the angle a bit, trying to find the spot that would have Jimin go crazy for him.

Jimin loved how his teasing and telling him his own fantasies had riled Yoongi up so much, that he was fucking into him so hard now to show him who he belonged to. He didn’t want anyone else. Hadn’t anyone else on his mind, but Yoongi since he met him. Yoongi was holding onto Jimin so tight, he was sure there would be bruises left on his skin - but he didn’t mind. Not one bit.

Jimin hummed in delight, closing his eyes as he felt the new angle pushing even deeper. Reaching out for Yoongi he held onto his arm, moaning and screaming out for him each time he hit the right spot. The precum was leaking onto his stomach and he fought the urge to reach out and jerk himself off, but he was sure that Yoongi wouldn’t let him.

“I want...closer, please,” Jimin moaned and pushed Yoongi up from hovering over him, “Let me…” Yoongi slipped out and Jimin whined right away, reaching out to quickly crawl into his lap as he repositioned himself. Jimin wanted to be closer, to be wrapped in Yoongi’s arms tight, so he slowly pushed himself onto him again. The gasp that fell from his lips was stifled by Yoongi’s kisses right away and Jimin pushed down on hard. Yoongi’s hands on his bottom, squeezing and holding him tight, while Jimin threw his head back, screaming out in pleasure when Yoongi spanked him hard.

Yoongi loved it, everything, how responsive Jimin was, how vocal, how he didn’t need to hold back or slow down. Jimin seemed to love him going all out and for Yoongi it was pure heaven to be able to take what he wanted without having to worry about pushing too far. Only when Jimin had asked him to get closer, crawling into his lap did he slow down, thinking Jimin was exhausted and wanted him to go softer, gentler, but soon the younger demanded him to go harder again, squirming in his lap as if he needed Yoongi to overwhelm him to really let go and be able to enjoy this in the fullest. Yoongi was all too willing to give Jimin exactly that.

“Oh god, it’s so good, please,” Jimin moaned holding onto him, “I need you to… promise me, one day….fuck ah, you need to fuck me...wearing your leather, god...you look so hot, fuck!” He cupped Yoongi’s cheek a dirty smile on his lips, as he circled his hips with each thrust and push down on Yoongi’s cock. “Taking...you so good,” Jimin mumbled pushing Yoongi down on his chest, so the older could lay down, giving himself more space to fuck right back into him, “Fuck me harder, please.”

Yoongi chuckled when Jimin was talking about the leather gear he wore during races and slowly kissed his way up to Jimin’s ear. “You’re kinky, hu? I like that. Who would have thought that an angel like you enjoyed it like this...a little rough… a little dangerous. But that’s why you like me in general, don’t ya?… the racer guy, feeding you adrenaline, hu? Does it turn you on to know that it’s illegal? That it’s dangerous? That we could get caught?” He bit Jimin’s neck, not hard enough to draw blood but enough for the other to feel that it hurt.

Jimin screamed out, pushing Yoongi down on his chest again, so he laid beneath him. He was watching him hungrily and a smirk placed itself on his lips, as he rode him. “Hm, so much…fuck, yes,” Jimin moaned the answer, circling his hips on Yoongi’s waist before he leaned in and confessed, “But it means more than that…you do…now fuck me hard and make me forget my name!”

Yoongi didn’t need to be told twice, snapping his hips upwards and into Jimin making him scream in pleasure, as he tried to desperately hold onto his chest, but he gave up quick and just leaned onto him. Yoongi’s arms wrapped around him, holding him in place around his waist, when he mercilessly fucked into him. “Ahh,” Jimin shook with every thrust, the pleasure rushing through him, his dick leaking precum, “I can’t…fuck, Yoongi!” He whimpered and whined into Yoongi’s neck, trying to leave a few kisses there but every rough thrust left him speechless and unable to move.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, scream for me, show me how much you like it.” Yoongi kept pounding into that sweet spot although in this position it was getting a bit difficult to keep a hold of Jimin and still fuck him (he wasn’t exactly the strongest) so he made them switch positions again, rolling Jimin onto his back without slipping out. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay inside Jimin for as long as he could, to feel the younger tightening around him so deliciously like he did whenever Yoongi thrusted into him just right. He could see that Jimin was close in the way his eyes were completely dreamy, his body starting to twitch with every snap of his hips. So, he held Jimin down by his hips, pushing him into the mattress so the younger couldn’t squirm away even if it was starting to get too much. He planned on getting him so close to the edge by being fucked alone that it wouldn’t take much for Jimin to come, he wanted Jimin to shudder apart as soon as he touched him. He couldn’t wait to feel Jimin come, to see the pure bliss on his face - while he would continue to fuck into him.

If Jimin loved one thing, it was the way Yoongi was manhandling him. He spread his legs further, pulling him in with his gaze as he licked his lips. “You fuck me so good,” Jimin spurred Yoongi on, making him go crazy with the roughness of his thrusts. A low growl escaped his lungs and Jimin shuddered.

“Yoongi, please, ahh I can’t…,” Jimin closed his eyes, arching his back beautifully as he tried to reach out for him to steady himself somehow, but it was no use. The orgasm crashed over him like big waves and his whole body shook with the pleasure and Yoongi didn’t stop. The cum was sticking to his stomach, as he was panting hard, screaming out Yoongi’s name one last time before he closed his eyes, gasping for air.

Jimin was quite the sight when he came, back arched so beautifully that Yoongi was sure no one else could look so graceful in this. He had mercy on him then, touching him gently which was enough stimulation for Jimin’s body to snap. His whole body shook, the pleasure rippling through it from head to toe. “You’re... so beautiful like this! So…perfect for me...” Yoongi’s pants were getting more and more breathless, he just couldn’t take the way Jimin was clenching so delicious around him. “Oh god,” Jimin moaned when Yoongi kept thrusting, feeling the overstimulation making him twitchy but he kept his legs spread nonetheless, letting Yoongi use him for his own pleasure as he dwelled in the bliss of it all.

He could feel Jimin’s muscles contract under his hands and he knew that the younger was sensitive in the way he gasped and twitched. His plump lips were still slightly opened and just begging to be kissed. What finally got him toppling over the edge was how even though Jimin was vulnerable and oversensitive right now he spread his legs even further for him, offering himself up like a gift for Yoongi to take. He was his. Completely his!

Yoongi came hard, Jimin’s name on the tip of his tongue like a prayer, holding himself up with the last bit of strength while he rode out his orgasm, eyes fixed on Jimin the whole time.

Jimin pulled Yoongi down on him right away, kissing the top of his head as they both tried to get their breathing back to normal. “Stay…just a bit like this,” Jimin murmured, not wanting Yoongi to leave him in any way or form right now. He closed his eyes, letting his hands caress over the others back and draw little patterns into his skin. When Yoongi looked up at him, he kissed him sweetly with a smile that quickly turned into a frown when he pulled out of him. He whined, but at the same time he was happy to be able to close his legs again.

Yoongi felt completely sated, the warmth of Jimin’s body nicely grounding him while he was still high from the pleasure. Apparently Jimin needed cuddles afterwards and although he intended to stay he had to slip out of him, tying the condom off and throwing it in the bin. Hopefully the maid was used to stuff like that. He chuckled when he came back to his senses, realizing where they were.

He had just fucked the most beautiful guy he had ever seen in said guys luxurious summerhouse. How on earth did he get into this? He was as much fitting here as a thorn in the flesh. Luckily though Jimin seemed to think differently about this, holding onto him as if he was scared Yoongi might just get up and leave. Normally he liked to clean up right away but for Jimin’s sake he stalled it a little. He made sure to hold Jimin close and make him feel protected and safe, kissing his temple, brushing back his sweaty hair. Jimin soaked it all up as if he thought he had to live off it for a while.

Jimin was still so blissfully gone, he was sure that this feeling right now was better than any drug or any adrenaline kick in the world. That Yoongi was holding him, was something that Jimin wasn’t used to, even though he had wished for it each time, with whomever he had slept. There had been too many times that people left him after they had been done with him. Sometimes he got a kiss. Sometimes a pat on his thigh and a little smile. The aching memories made Jimin seek more warmth of Yoongi.

“Can we take a shower?” He asked quietly, his legs feeling like jelly as he stood up. Jimin didn’t saw the shocked expression of Yoongi, when they had stepped into the bathroom, as it was almost bigger as his whole apartment. Jimin was shaking, feeling cold as he reached out for the handle and turned the water on. As soon as Yoongi stepped beside him, he leaned onto him, placing open mouthed kisses along his shoulder. Yoongi had stayed close to Jimin all the way to the bathroom, making sure the other’s legs wouldn’t gave out. The bathroom was a little shock, but he pushed down the bitterness and cynicism to concentrate on Jimin as the other was still shaking a little. He turned the water to a pleasantly warm temperature and helped Jimin wash himself. It was touching, how clingy the younger was, how pliant he went under his hands. So Yoongi was extra careful with him, turning the shower session into something that had more to do with cuddles than cleaning although they stepped out the shower clean and fresh a while later.

When they got back into the bedroom, the sun was already rising and Jimin walked over to a little tablet that was installed in the wall and typed in a few things. Just then the blinds went down all by themselves in every room of the cottage. He crawled back into bed and into Yoongi’s arms right away. “What, aren’t they voice-activated”, Yoongi teased Jimin about the house control, becoming aware of the tablet just now. He had been so overwhelmed by the sheer size and luxury that he probably needed to take a closer look around to take it all in. He would bet that he could find at least five articles he had never heard of, didn’t know how they worked or simply thought they were absolutely unnecessary. Like the blinds thing. If he wanted them down he’d let them down. No need for a fancy-ass power eater installed in the wall to manage that. But the rich would always find ways to show off.

“Hm,” He sighed in content, yawning cutely. Reaching up, he kissed Yoongi’s lips softly. For the first time in a long time, Jimin felt safe in someone’s arms. “I think…,” Jimin whispered and his cheeks blushed a little, “I think I love you.” He quickly put his head back onto Yoongi’s chest, biting his lip as he realized that he just confessed out of the blue.

Yoongi felt a little strange. He wasn’t an arsehole, so he took care of his partners after sex, sure. But this type of cuddling? It made him uncomfortable. Because... because normally... Jimin’s confession shocked him into motionlessness for a second before he relaxed again. Or at least his body did. His mind was running wild. He was panicking. What should he do? Jimin expected an answer. He probably did. But…love?

The mere thought of it made Yoongi feel vulnerable, as if he had to shield his heart away immediately. He liked Jimin. A lot. So much that he could probably say that he l.. but nope, there was no way that he would think that, let alone throw it out there. Love was dangerous. It made you assailable. Weak. It made you shift your priorities or forget your former passions. As if it tried to change you, erase who you really were. Some of Yoongi‘s friends had thrown over their lives for a ‚certain someone they loved‘, they gave up their careers or ignored their hobbies to settle with a wife and have kids and all those usual shenanigans – just to be left three weeks later. With nothing.

Love was chaos, no one could guarantee you anything and even though Yoongi felt that he loved Jimin right now in that very moment – he just couldn‘t get himself to say it too. So, he kept quiet, sneaking a finger under Jimin’s jaw and pushing his chin up so that he could kiss him, hoping that it would be enough for Jimin to know that Yoongi wasn‘t playing with him.

Yoongi’s lips felt hot against Jimin’s lips and he had closed his eyes, his heart beating fast, only slowly realizing that Yoongi wasn’t answering him. That he wasn’t saying what Jimin ached to hear so badly. Suddenly it felt like he was free falling again and Jimin turned in Yoongi’s hold. He still let him pull Jimin closer to him, but Yoongi wouldn’t see that his lip was suddenly trembling that, his eyes were searching for something in the darkness. Didn’t Yoongi say that his heart was safe with him? That he wanted to show that he liked Jimin more than just for sex? Even if it wasn’t love, yet – shouldn’t it have at least been something? Why did he race for him? Risk his own life if he didn’t like him? It couldn’t solely be because of his body, right? He was starting to spiral.

Jimin almost gasped for air, with how painful his heart ached but he kept still, curling further in on himself, pretending to fall asleep. He shivered, but not from the cold but from the realization that Yoongi…as much as he may like him, probably never would fall in love with him.

He could take what Yoongi was willing to give him, but in the end, he wouldn’t choose him. No one ever did.

Jimin sighed, wiping away a tear that had fell on his cheek. He brushed his finger over his lips where Yoongi had kissed him, while his thoughts were spiraling, his mind going crazily with possibilities and the things Yoongi had said and done and what it all could have meant. He didn’t realize it when he had fallen asleep sometime later. He was just too exhausted.

A/N: Oops ;) Well...there we thought they finally found each other. Thank you for reading!! And don’t forget to send us a comment on how you liked the chapter. Do you think Yoongi should have said something? Or maybe the other is really just using him...hmmmmm

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