#adding: this also brings them all closer to Midnight and she really bonds with the students | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

africanotaku92 · 3 years

Text

Schrodinger's Boy

I missed Phan Phic Phight but now I'm here for Dannymay! Not really going along with the prompts, just wanted to write something for the month.

I dedicate this to @five-rivers because i love their stuff so much!

Please, enjoy!

***

Schrödinger’s Boy

It was dead when she saw it.

Oh so very dead, but walking. Talking. Living.

That really doesn’t make sense, so let’s start from the beginning;

Nelia Ugochi d’Bandinello was not a normal child. Ever since she was young, she could see death. And no, not like the walking skeleton clad in black robes and a scythe most people assume, but real death; the dead, the dying, the undead, all. No one, not even her closest family members knew, and she intended to keep it that way. As long as she kept to her own and didn’t cross the line for the rules, she was safe.

Ever since her family moved to this country, she knew the small, sleepy town was a little dead. The essence was in every nook and cranny, even the air had a thin yet distinctive layer of it. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

That is, until now.

The air’s death suddenly sharpened the moment before it walked in.

At first glance, it looked like a boy. A cute boy in fact. Short compared to her tall. Pale skin in contrast to her deep dark, straight black hair opposed to curly blond. Baby blue opposing forest green. But then, the closer she looked, the more she noticed what was off. Skin was a little too pale to be considered healthy, and became slightly transparent as she saw more. Hair was wispy and floaty, almost defying gravity, almost flowing like it was under water as its head bounced. Eyes a bit more, sunken, a bit more tired. Worst of all, its heartbeat sounded so, so slow.

And now, it was sitting two tables across from her.

She swallowed the milkshake that threatened to spill out of her mouth. She tried to turn back to her food, tried to ignore its presence. But she kept glancing its way, turning back to the most terrifying yet fascinating creature she had ever seen.

And she just. Kept. Staring.

One of its cohorts – the black one with glasses – pointed at her direction, and it suddenly looked over. Their eyes made contact. She gasped and looked away.

‘Such haunting eyes.’ She thought.

“Nelia? What’s wrong?” She looked up to see her brother Irnerio, who had previously been trying to unhinge his jaw to fit an absolutely massive burger, was now looking at her in concern.

“Nothing.” She forced out. She glanced back at them. Her brother’s concerned face was already contorting into a smug grin.

“Oh? Falling in love already?” He chuckled “It’s the pale boy, right?” Her cheeks heated. Definitely not what was happening.

“Shut up.”

“Well, you did say that one of the advantages of moving was ‘Date cute Americans’. Though I must say, I always thought that the goth girl would be more your type. You could both indulge in your weird fascination with death.”

She hit her brother in the ribs.

“Stolto*.” She hissed. “I said shut up.”

Her brother laughed.

***

“Dude, the new girl is totally checking you out.”

Danny swallowed his bite of a burger. “What?”

He, Sam and Tucker had gone to Nasty Burger for lunch that Saturday, and had noticed the two newest additions to the town residence. The girl had been looking at them ever since they walked in.

“She’s probably not into me. Probably looking at Sam. They look foreign, so for all we know, she may be their first goth.”

“An honour I am willing to have with pride.”

“She’s looking over here right now!”

Danny turned to where Tucker was pointing and sure enough, she was looking at them. They made eye contact, and hers widened and she looked away.

“See? Totally into you.” Danny rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, Tuck.” He continued eating his burger. But somehow, he couldn’t shake the stare off of him. As if she was looking past his flesh and staring at the very ghost that made his soul.

He shivered at the thought.

***

Oh God above, it went to her school.

The creepy thing goes to her school.

She wondered how it got into her school. She wondered why, of all things, it had to attend as a student.

Mondays where truly the worst days of the week.

She had learned the creatures name was Danny Fenton, official school weirdo, son of the two most successful ghost hunters (oh the irony), and all-round loser she shouldn’t interact with (according to the Mexican girl that approached her). She didn’t really care though, as much as she was weary, she still wanted to know what it was. And she was determined to find out.

The bell rang, pulling her out of her thoughts. She sighed and pulled her books from her locker. She didn’t want to be late.

***

Hours later, school was long over, and Nelia was busy at work in the kitchen, kneading dough for her second batch of strawberry calzones, the first already in the oven. Her mother stood at in front of the doorway, watching her.

“That’s a lot of dessert calzones for 4 people.”

She finished kneading and started rolling out the dough. “Oh no, ours are part of the last batch. Most of these are offerings.” She turned to her mother. “I’m going to the Cemetery after dinner. To pay some respects.”

Her mother sighed. There was no talking her out of this. Every time they go someplace new, she always paid her respects at a local gravesite. She stopped trying to prevent her a long time ago.

“Well, just be back before midnight. But in the meantime, let me help you close the ones you’ve already filled. We could talk, use some mother daughter bonding time.” She smiled and nodded at her mum, handing her a spare apron. She gladly took it and set to work beside her daughter.

“Have you heard? There’s a story I heard. They say this town has some kind of ghost hero…”

***

It was late in the evening, and she had paid her respects at the last grave when she saw him.

And he was oh so very much Alive.

Silver white hair adorned his head like a glowing crown. Striking, electric green eyes, a black jumpsuit with white boots and gloves. Veins, across his skin, visible with the implication of pure green death flowing in them, the sound of each breath he takes. A pulsating buzz emitting from his chest, almost sounding like a beating heart. These where the features of Amity Park’s local hero and (dead) celebrity, Danny Phantom.

And he had just landed in front of her.

“Um, are you ok? It’s pretty late out.”

She blinked at first, startled to hear him talk, but composed herself enough to speak.

“Ah, yes I’m fine. Just, paying my respects.” She gestured to the grave and the basket of food.

“Oh, really? That’s nice of you! Apart from family, hardly anyone pays respect these days.”

“Yes, it’s something I try to do everywhere I go. Speaking of respect, where’s yours?”

Danny blinked. “My what?”.

“Your grave. I have to pay my respects to you. This is the only cemetery in town, but I didn’t see your grave.”

Danny froze in shock. He hadn’t really thought about it.

“Oh. I kind of, uhm, don’t have one?” Because I’m not really dead.

It was Nelia’s turn to be shocked. And then she was angry. Was this town really so ungrateful that they didn’t have a grave for their hero? That wouldn’t do.

“Where do you want one?”

“What?”

“Where would you want your grave? I’m going to make you one.”

Danny’s eyes widened.

“Your… going to make a grave for me?” “Of course? It’s only common decency, a basic right to the dead. I might not have your body, but if I have a photo to at least mark your image, it would do.”

Danny was stunned by this gesture. No one had offered him a grave before. So, he told her about his ideal spot.

Weeks later, in a secluded spot in the woods, he stands with her above a freshly dug grave, underneath a willow tree, facing directly at the night sky marked with a picture of him in his ghost form. She drops a plate of calzones and lights some lavender incense. She pays her respects and stands back letting him trace over the picture and admire the grave. It’s not the best grave, but it’s also the only one he’s received. He couldn’t help it, as a few tears dripped from his eyes. It was a sweet gift.

He turns to her, clasps his hand in hers. He manages to choke out between tears.

“Thank you.”

She stares back at him. This action, it’s so… human. She senses familiarity, like she could almost imagine him when he was alive……

Oh.

The connection between the dead boy and alive ghost hits her like a train, all the similarities adding up. She smiles at him.

“It’s your grave. You should bring your friends to see it.”

His eyes widen in panic, wondering how she found out. She shakes her head.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

He relaxes and nods, let’s go of her hands and they stare back at his very own grave. Sam and Tucker are going to flip when they see it.

That night, she’s back in her room, wide awake, thinking of everything that happened. His hands were cold, but not like death cold. Like he had stuck his hands in the freezer. His tears were so real.

This boy, who was dead yet alive. Walking perfectly on the line between life and death, tittering to neither side.

Schrödinger’s boy indeed.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dannymay2021 #dp #long reads #i'm sorry i had to resort to google translae #even if it was just one word #i was gonna write more but i finished this at 1 am

518 notes · View notes

kingandfireheart · 3 years

Text

What is it that you want, Elain?

Summary: This story is about Elain and Azriel talking about the events of the bonus scene and Elain processing her progress in the Night Court. There isn't much resolution, but it was fun to get into Elain's head for a little.

Words: 2,500ish

My money would be on you happens before this - if you're interested in seeing Azriel processing.

Elain walked on to the verdana of the House of Wind. Nesta and Cassian had insisted on hosting their weekly “family dinner” after returning from their honeymoon. She enjoyed the dinner and conversation, relaxed to see her sisters together and safe. For a long time, Elain had mourned her loss of home, her humanness, but in the last year, she had begun to embrace the fact that her sisters were happy.

Feyre had found her place in the Night Court before Elain had even become High Fae. She had Rhysand, she had Mor’s friendship, and she had her role as High Lady. Nesta took considerably longer to warm up to their new home, but she too had a place - she had friends now - the Illyrian female, and one of the priestesses, a role in the court as a Valkyrie and emissary, and love with Cassian. Elain felt a small pang of envy for what her sisters had. She had befriended Nuala and Cerrdiwen, she passed her time gardening throughout Velaris, and she enjoyed being with the odd family that was the Night Court’s inner circle. Still, Elain felt that something was missing, which had brought her onto the verdana, away from the loud conversations in the family room.

She always loved this view of Velaris. So far up from the city, she felt like her problems may just disappear. Elain also enjoyed the cool breeze of a spring night - she hadn’t brought a coat after spending the day in the sun, but the way the wind bit into her was freeing and calming. She sat down on a bench that Nesta must have added recently, and as if the house had anticipated her needs, a cup of tea had appeared next to her. “Thank you,” she said to the House. Nesta had explained that the house is somewhat responsive to commands, and she didn't want to be rude.

When she had excused herself from the dining room, dinner had devolved into discussing the Autumn Court. Cassian had said “Compared to Eris, Lucien is a saint, loveable even.” Adding, “If you’re into courtiers with a stick up their ass, that is” he said. Nesta had elbowed him for that, clearly knowing that Elain was trying to not look uncomfortable.

Feyre was retelling stories about the Spring Court, which strongly featured her mate who wasn’t her mate, Lucien. Elain had slipped out of the room when Feyre started telling the story about how Tamlin had pushed him into a reflecting pool after Lucien had convinced her to eat some berries that caused hallucinations. She'd heard Lucien and Feyre laughing about it one too many times in the year she had spent in Velaris.

Elain heard steps approaching her, bringing her back to the present. Deliberate steps, since everyone had mastered moving silently, without detection. A deep breath in revealed it was Azriel. Night chilled mist and cedar. That too was deliberate - so as not to startle her of his approach. She turned to find Azriel, predictably clad in his leathers with some shadows swirling around him.

While most family dinners were casual in the state of dress, she rarely saw Azriel or Cassian in anything but their leathers. All three of the brothers had a preference for wearing black at all times - and she couldn’t really fault them. While black seemed to drown out Elain’s features, the Illyrians looked exquisite in black, it brought our their coloring, their ridiculously beautiful features, and their hazel (and in Rhys case, violet) eyes.

That being said, she couldn’t remember the last time she saw any of them wearing a different color, aside from Cassian and Azirel’s siphons. Crimson and Cobalt respectively. She had seen a painting in Feyre’s studio of Azriel’s cobalt siphons against his scarred hands. She always thought they were beautiful, told him as much when she first arrived in Velaris. When she was human, she thought they were ornamental - like jewelry, but then she saw them in use. Azriel had explained that they were ways to channel their otherwise lethal power. That Cobalt power had saved her life from kidnapping, had shielded her from the wind while flying, and patched up a very injured Cassian during the war.

The cold of the wind calmed as she saw Azriel’s blue shields pop up around them. “It’s cold out here”, he stated in his midnight voice that was enough to make strangers swoon. She had seen it in action when she gone to watch Nesta, Feyre, and the priestesses train. The priestesses sighed when he had demonstrated how to shoot an Illyrian bow. Even after all of these months, the effect was not lost on her.

She hadn’t been alone with Azriel since Solstice - they had been keeping their distance for months now. There was something there - some kind of tension, or a pull, but Elain couldn’t quite explain it. She thought she understood on Solstice when he nearly kissed her, but then he pulled away, claiming it was a mistake before disappearing into the shadows. Ever since, their friendship had become polite and cordial, but never more than exchanging pleasantries.

She had learned from watching Azriel that every movement was intentional, and fluid, and graceful. He was predictable and consistent, but still she couldn’t keep herself from watching as he closed the distance between them.

“Are you alright? ”, Azriel asked.

She moved to make room for Azriel on the bench. “I just needed some fresh air to clear my head.” she explained.

“Ah. They can be a lot on a good day, much worse when Cassian breaks out the good wine.” He said, sitting as far away as he possibly could, while folding in his wings. A cup had popped between them, but this one was half full. He picked up the cup and chuckled after taking a sip. She was willing to bet that the contents of the cup was a hell of a lot stronger than her tea.

“It’s not that. I just...” She hesitated, not sure if she was willing to change their current no-depth-relationship. “I haven’t seen Nesta this happy in my whole life. I’m happy for them, It’s just strange.” She half- lied, she knew his shadows would pick up on it, as they likely picked up on the exact moment she had left the room. It was strange, watching Nesta brush Cassian’s hair out of his face, or the way that she laughed at his jokes, or leaned into his chest when they sat next to each other. It was strange to see her sister so unguarded, so comfortable in this new life.

“I could say the same for my brothers.” He said before taking a sip from the cup in his hand. Azriel was usually aloof and distant, rarely letting his emotions show. But something shifted in that cool, beautiful mask of his. “That doesn’t explain why you’re out here on a cold night. Cassian would say to leave the lonely brooding bullshit to me, Elain” He chuckled softly. She loved that sound. His laugh, her name on his lips. She felt her cheeks warm, just slightly and she looked away.

Elain took a deep breath, and an ever deeper sip of her tea. She was nervous. She was nervous about how she felt. She was nervous about letting Azriel in, after she had felt so hurt by his rejection on Solstice. Still, she said what she had been refusing to admit to herself for months now. “I know it sounds petty, but I’m a little jealous.”

“Of Cassian?” He asked incredulously. Again that mask slipped, just slightly as a shadow curled around his shoulders.

“Of their… happiness. I guess. Nesta has Cassian, and Feyre has Rhysand, and I’m just…” She stopped herself. She couldn’t say alone, even though she had probably said too much already. “I know, it’s petty.” Azriel leaned just slightly closer, but wouldn’t meet her eyes.

"I don’t think it’s petty. I understand.” He said softly. He did understand, because he had lived with Rhys and Feyre and Cassian and Nesta after they had accepted their bonds. Part of her hoped it was jealousy - that he hadn’t meant what he had said on Solstice night, that him avoiding her wasn’t personal, that the reason he hadn’t met her gaze when flying her to the House, or the fact that he could not get away fast enough the second he had set her down, meant something. Part of her hoped that he was as jealous of his brothers as she was of her sisters. How funny the six of them would be - three Illyrian warriors, and three Made high fae.

“But, you do have a mate.” he added tightly, as if he was forcing the words out. His wings flared just slightly. A sign of unchecked emotion, if her year of observation was right. She just couldn’t decipher which emotion. Azriel's demeanor was a puzzle she hadn't quite figured out, but she did love trying. Azriel had never mentioned Lucien outside of his role in the courts, he had never pushed her to talk about the bond, had never insinuated she was Lucien's in any way.

She couldn’t stop herself. “That’s not - I don’t want that.” Leaving the rest unsaid, I don’t want Lucien. It was instinct now, to fight the bond. She hadn’t outright rejected it because of the look on Feyre’s face whenever Lucien was in the room, hope. The fact that the mating bond had chosen so well for her sisters.

She could feel Azriel’s gaze on her, could feel his wings, just inches from her shoulder. She knew he wouldn’t touch her - knew that Illyrian wings were sacred and intimate, and that even an intentional brush would mean much more than holding hands, or even a kiss on the cheek. Still, she leaned a little closer to him.

“What is it that you want, Elain?” Her heart jumped at that tone, the softness there, the mention of her name. He set down his now empty cup, and looked at her. The shadows had deepened around him, swirling off of his legs and by her skirts. She looked out onto the view of the city to keep herself from saying the first thing that came to mind: You. She took a breath and made herself look into his hazel eyes - the emeralds standing out in the moonlight.

“Love.” she said quietly enough that he may not have heard her if he hadn’t shielded out the wind. He kept looking at her with that intent but soft gaze she had rarely seen before and had come to savor. Her throat bobbed, but she forced out the words, "I want to be able to choose love." As soon as she said it, she expected him to slip into the shadows, or jump of the verdana. It had happened before - Azriel had a habit of slipping away when things got uncomfortable, but he stayed there, staring at her after she had made such a big confession.

Dangerous. This was dangerous, she reminded herself. Still, she couldn't help but embrace a little bit of danger. “What do you want, Azriel?” She heard herself say. It felt odd to say his name. Not Az, or shadowsinger, as the Amren often called him. There was weight in these words - Azriel was the most aloof member of the Inner Circle, and the least likely to open up, but since he hadn't slipped away just yet...

Azriel tensed only slightly. If she hadn't made a habit of watching him so closely, she wouldn't have noticed. A shadow curled around his ear, as if whispering something. She watched him, knowing full well Azriel was capable of not answering, or holding out for much longer than she was.

“The same thing as you.” He finally confessed, or at least it sounded like a confession - like something else was in those words - longing, pain, desire, guilt?

They stared at each other a long moment - it may have been the first time Azriel’s eye’s were completely unguarded. What she saw there - she wasn’t ready for, it was dangerous, and reckless, and tens kinds of stupid to act on. She did have a mate, who was a perfectly fine male - and they had implicitly decided to take time before dealing with whatever the bond meant. Elain straightened her back, trying to put some distance between them, without closing off this conversation, this connection.

Where did you run off too, Feyre said in her head. I’m sorry I brought up Lucien. Azriel seemed to shift too, as if he too was having a mental conversation with one of the daemati.

Coming she said in her head.

"We should head back in.” She said. They both stood, and Azriel’s icy mask returnEd as if he had just remarked on the weather.

“Thank you.” Elain said, allowing her hand to brush against his, just slightly. “For checking in on me. For being my friend.” She wanted the last word here. She needed to define what this was in un-dangerous terms, to keep him from avoiding her next time, from reading into her why she had pulled away, and to keep herself from kissing his cheek, from wanting more than she ever had a right to ask of him.

He gave her a polite but bland smile that did not reach his eyes. “Don't thank me. That’s what friends are for, right?” He raised his hand as if to cup her cheek, but seemed to reconsider, driving his hands into his pockets.

He dropped his shield of blue and walked back toward the house, as silent and graceful as ever. She was stunned, completely stunned. Azriel had always had that effect on her - taking away her capacity for speech and rational thought.

She gathered the tea cups, using the excuse to take a minute to collect herself before returning to the family room. She sniffed at Azriel’s cup - it most certainly wasn’t tea. Laughing to herself, she walked back into the family room, settling on a sofa between Mor and Rhys . Azriel had already joined Nesta and Feyre on the sofa across from them, holding Nyx as he stretched his tiny wings. Elain's heart fluttered at the sight.

Rhys’s gaze seemed to dart between her and Azriel, but before he could say anything, Mor looked at her, with a conspirators smile. “Next time you want to escape the couples, take me with you instead. I’m way more fun! ” Elain just laughed, nudging Mor with her shoulder.

Azriel chuckled softly from his corner and gave her another smile. This time, Elain returned one of her own.

#elriel #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #post acosf #elain archeron week #kp writes #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #elriel angst #elriel writers #acotar series #mtp

88 notes · View notes

codename-adler · 3 years

Text

Kevin Day and his Oblivious Literature Lover, pt. VI

This bit explores Kevin’s sexual identity and his relationship to Jean, so, you know, not all funs and games... But very cathartic to write. I love them.

>> Table of Contents, TW and other parts are here!

after Juliet’s confession, their little talk does not flow any easier, but despite the rocky start and their dirty secrets, they push through the stuff that matters

it’s like a dam burst open

though, some subjects remain silenced

no parents, no exy, no relationships, no entourage, no names…

it’s just them

Kevin stays well into the afternoon

he has no class on Tuesdays, except in the mornings and, well, for once, he chose to rearrange his priorities

it wasn’t even a difficult choice, it wasn’t even a question: he had to stay, simple as that

he even missed morning practice

morning practice

it scares him, he feels the restlessness running through his veins, he feels guilty, guilty, guilty… and so, so weak…

but that was easier than leaving Juliet in the state she was

that had never happened before

not even with Jean

he’s used to flight, not fight

as for Juliet, either she didn’t have class or she chose the same as Kevin

either way, both were unspokenly grateful

sometimes, Juliet would fall asleep

sometimes she’d go non verbal and simply watch Kevin do his homework

one time he fell asleep

he woke up extremely tense, his jaw hurting from the clenching and his back protesting against his curled up position on the floor (really, an elite athlete should know better)

Juliet was looking at him strangely

“Can I ask for another truth?” she said quietly

he nodded calmly while his heart went racing

“Who’s Jean?”

“You said his name in your sleep. A lot. Are you usually a sleeptalker? I know I sleepwalk sometimes, but I don’t think I’ve ever talked,” she added

Kevin took an awful long time to think

he was looking at Juliet without really seeing her

instead he was imagining Jean’s bruised and battered face

he started speaking without refocusing his gaze, staring in the distance behind Juliet

“Jean is… He’s the one who taught me French. He’s the one who made me discover philosophy, Sartre and Hell is other people and all. He’s the one who listened first. He is the man that knows my shames, my failures, my mistakes, my ugly side, the man who knew and still looked at me as a human being with worth. He’s the one who showed me how to reset a dislocated shoulder. He’s the one I used to talk to in the middle of the night, about future plans or crazy ideas or incredible historical discoveries. He was my crutch when I couldn’t stand on my own anymore. He’s the one who kept my spirits up when times were tough. He is the man who kept me alive without either of us realizing it until it was too late. He is the man that I took for granted, the man I left behind without a second thought when things got too bad. I could beg for forgiveness my whole life and it still wouldn’t be enough to do right by him. He is the only person that has ever left me speechless. He can make my mind go blank, he can make me lose my words, he can shut me up with just a word. He’s the only one I let, at least. Jean is… So much. Too much, sometimes.”

Kevin’s throat tightened as he spoke, fists clenching and unclenching, his stomach twisting into knots of guilt and shame

if he’d been able to cry, Kevin would have shed burning tears

but he couldn’t

it’s as if everything in his system had been ready to cry, only for his body to realize that his water tank was completely empty of tears

and if Juliet hadn’t been looking at him with such intensity and such intent, Kevin would’ve ran away to Jean’s bedside right this second

three entire languages couldn’t even begin to express everything that Jean was to Kevin

Jean was every single emotion Kevin had ever felt in his short yet brutal existence, wrapped in one person as complex as the mechanics of the world

Kevin thought back on that first night when he allowed himself to be close to Jean since his escape from Edgar Allen

he thought back on how, with a single touch, all their entangled feelings came rushing back to the surface

how Kevin had never wanted to let go ever again, but the dark and violent waves of emotions had made his instincts scream with the urge to run away

Kevin had forgotten Juliet was still a witness to his battle

“Jean was… is… you ex?” she asked, something like wariness in her eyes

and what

“What?” he even says aloud

“Jean was your partner? Before… whatever it is you overcame?” Juliet repeats

“No!?”

“Okay… I’m sorry, Kevin… I didn’t mean…” she apologizes

“Why would you say that?” Kevin harshly asks

“Why wouldn’t I? It seems you two shared a very special bond, that’s all I’m saying,” she replies

she couldn’t possibly know

she couldn’t know

how would she know?

only two people in this godforsaken existence knew about these secrets in the dark, one of them being barely conscious in a bed a few minutes away, and the other one being himself

it was impossible that Juliet knew about what had transpired between him and Jean

“Kevin?” Juliet’s voice finally reaching him

“I said ‘Sorry for assuming’, I shouldn’t have done that. We don’t have to talk about it anymore, I’m sorry.”

Kevin considered their exchange

“I think I want to talk about it. To you,” Kevin finally spoke

Juliet nodded slowly, ever so careful, a silent yet binding promise passing between them

and so Kevin told her everything

absolutely everything

everything that didn’t touch exy, Riko, the Ravens, but that still left plenty, enough to cover many pages of poetry

he told her about how it had started between them, how Jean’s resilience had intrigued Kevin and how it had made him discover that there was more to life than his adoptive-brother

how Kevin had wanted a part of that rebellion Jean carried in his heart, how he tutored Kevin in French to share that slow-burning flame

he told her how for the first time in his life, Kevin’s entire focus wasn’t on one thing, but on a person too

he told her how their midnight talks became as important to him as his duty was

he told her how he began fighting for something else without knowing what it was, or why

he told her how on these nights, as Jean was teaching him verb tenses in French, their heads had, inch by inch, made their way closer to the other’s, until their foreheads were touching and their whispers barely made a sound on their lips

he told her how one fateful night, as Jean was teaching him the future tenses, their faces hadn’t stopped moving once their foreheads touched

how that simple touch hadn’t been enough anymore

how Jean had been his first kiss, his every kisses for the longest time

how he had been Jean’s first kiss, too

he told her how they had been each other’s first for everything

how they had been each other’s everything for a long time

he also told her how his fear and his shame, and his ambition, had ruined what they had

how his and Jean’s “situation” made it so, so hard

how once he was 17 and was “promoted”, Kevin didn’t choose Jean back

how it was on-and-off between them even when he showed interest towards Thea, also his now ex

how he had “moved” when shit hit the fan, and how he didn’t bring Jean with him because he was too scared, too self-centered, too weak

he told her how nobody knew back then, how nobody knows even now, because he had denied everything to everyone, including himself

and he told her how Jean was back, now, and how the memories came flooding back in with that same sour, yet familiar taste of shame, guilt, and fear

Kevin talked and talked and talked…

and Juliet listened

and Kevin cried, or rather, tears escaped his saddened eyes without even realizing it

and Juliet cried, too

they both wiped away the mess with the sleeves of their sweaters

“I have nothing to say about guilt and shame, but… If you liked Jean, if you loved him… if you still do… that is so okay, Kevin. It’s just love. You find it where you can. There’s nothing wrong with that, or with you. That’s how I see it… how I- I see you. You’re still you, Kevin.”

“You don’t know me,” Kevin replied fast, without thinking

Juliet just raised her eyebrow in a really, Kevin? way

“Look at where we are… Look at me… This isn’t even my worst. And I don’t believe it’s yours either. But it’s not pretty. Give us a little credit here, Kev; we’re not strangers anymore. Please don’t be a stranger… “

“Okay, Jules”

---

Kevin left Jackie Hall after sundown, with his heart heavy and his mind racing, but his shoulders a little lighter than yesterday

nothing in his life had magically changed into a goddamn fairytale, yet it felt different

Jules had told him nobody could decide who he was, that was his decision and his alone

he held that power, and only he chose who could wield some of it

he could choose what to do with it, and that thing could be outside of exy

at least, it could be for someone, instead of something

someone like Jean

on his way back to the familiarity Abby’s, back to Jean, he began plotting

by the time he was back by the bedside of the person he’d held so close to his heart and his lips, once upon a time, Kevin had formed a plan to give Jean the happy ending he so deserved

he’d have to make a few calls to USC, to the Trojans, to Jeremy Knox, he’d have to be careful of what he revealed, he’d have to convince Jean to leave, he’d have to convince himself to let Jean go, too, but he believed it was worth it

and if once in a while, in his cautious planning of Jean’s second chance at life, Kevin absentmindedly thought of a certain face framed with frizzy hair when the words “happy ending” kept nagging him, well no one could take that away from him either

30 notes · View notes

bnhabadass · 4 years

Text

Four Long Days | Bakugo x Aizawa’s Little Sister [angst]

When you are kidnapped by the League of Villains, the two people closest to you have very different ways of handling the situation. This is my first time attempting at writing angst so I really hope you all enjoy.

Pairings: Bakugo x reader, Aizawa / reader (siblings) Warnings: Kinda angsty, mentions of physical abuse

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Villains always seemed to take a liking to Eraserhead’s quirk. There was just something about taking away another person’s power that was so enticing to them. It’s easy to imagine such a powerful feeling, being able to hold someone back with that much strength. That being said, Aizawa was not surprised when word got out that the league had kidnapped his little sister, one of the strongest students in class 1-A.

It was particularly difficult for Aizawa, dealing with your kidnapping. On the one hand, he had to reassure his students, your classmates, your friends that you would be alright and that the police force and other pros are working hard to find you. On the other hand, all he wanted to do was scream, cry and beat down the doors of the league’s hideout himself and pummel Shigaraki into a pulp.

Tsukauchi refused to let him on the case. “We understand your concern,” he said. “But because you’re her family we can’t let you on this case. Emotions can get in the way, and it may cause more harm than good if you’re part of this.”

Aizawa understood where he was coming from. He didn’t like it, but he still understood. He was told by Nezu and the rest of his coworkers to take some time off from teaching, but what is there to do when he isn’t busy with exams, grading, and educating? He needed the distraction.

Heading back to the classroom immediately after finding out about your kidnapping might not have been the best idea on his part. Once he entered the classroom, he was left with a sour feeling in his stomach as your chair was empty and your bright eyes and big smile weren’t staring back at him. His students also added to the anxiety he was experiencing. Questions like “when is (Y/n) coming back?” and “Have the police made any moves yet?” flooded his ears, almost breaking the delicately built dam that was holding him together.

“I know just as much as you do,” he said. “When I hear anything else, any public information, any moves that the police make, believe me I will let you know.”

“But sensei, you’re her brother and her closest family member. Shouldn’t you know these things?”

Aizawa could have slapped Kaminari for saying that. The hand in his pocket twitched but he held it back. He could have used his capture weapon to grab the boy, but he was too exhausted from staying up late and tracing your every move, seeing when and where the league could have caught you, to bother chastising the idiot.

“They are not allowing me on the case to look for her,” he explained. “Now if you could please open your books to page 246–”

“It must be very hard for you, sensei,” Ausi spoke up. “I can’t even imagine what must be going through your head right now.”

Aizawa looked at the frog girl and took a deep breath in. “Thank you, Asui. Now let’s stop talking about (Y/n). There is nothing we can do at the moment, and nothing good ever comes out of worrying.”

The rest of the class nodded and took out their textbooks. Class that day was agonizingly slow. Aizawa was distracted, his students were distracted, everyone was distracted. Throughout the day, Aizawa’s eyes kept drifting to a particular student of his, a student he had a feeling was experiencing the worst of this incident.

Bakugo had spent most of class staring out the window, which was unusual for him. It’s true that he was usually quiet during class, not speaking up to give an answer unless it was hero related. Books and school never seemed to interest him that much, but he was intelligent and did well on tests, quizzes and papers.

Aizawa could tell that your being kidnapped was taking a greater toll on Bakugo than it was the rest of the class. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew about your relationship with the blonde boy. He didn’t know the details, and for that he was grateful, but he knew that the two of you shared a bond deeper than that of two classmates, and even of two friends.

He had a feeling that Bakugo would try and leave the dorms that night. He was quiet all day, not even bothering to yell at his friends when they said or did something stupid or out of the ordinary. Aizawa watched him during lunch. He barely picked at his food. It was clear to the pro that his student was having a hard time coping.

He decided to stake out the dorms that night. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep in any case, and he would much rather secure the safety of another student than stay up worrying about the both of you.

Bakugo planned on sneaking out around four in the morning. Everyone would be asleep by then, and he would have enough time to run and grab you before your classmates woke up. He didn’t take much with him, just a jacket and a bag with a change of clothes for you. His quirk could do the rest. Bakugo left the dorm with thoughts of you racing in his head. His shoulders were slumped over and he hoisted the slipping duffle bag back over one of them. He missed you. A lot. He was angry, angry with Shigaraki and the rest of the League of Villains for taking you, angry with the police force for taking their sweet time finding you, angry with Aizawa who didn’t seem to care that his own sister was missing, angry with himself for not being able to protect you.

“Going somewhere?”

Bakugo nearly jumped out of his skin at hearing Aizawa’s voice. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Aizawa was stationed in a nearby tree, hidden from anyone’s sight in the thick dark of night. He jumped down and walked over to Bakugo. The light coming from the moon softly reflected off his yellow goggles. He brought them down to where they usually stay hidden in the folds of his weapon. “I had a feeling that you’d try to sneak out tonight.”

“And you’re here to stop me?” Bakugo asked. He was going to put up a fight. He wouldn’t let his sensei get in the way of him going to rescue you.

“I can’t risk having another one of my students leaving and getting injured. I’m sorry, Bakugo, but you’ll just have to trust that the police have a handle on this one.” He reached out to put a hand on Bakugo’s shoulder, but the boy slapped it away.

Bakugo had a pissed off look on his face. He was tired and angry, tired of feeling so helpless and angry that he couldn’t do anything about that feeling. “Don’t touch me,” he said. “You have no idea what I’m going through right now. Just let me go find her and I’ll bring her back safe.”

“Where are you going you go? You don’t know where the league has their new hideout. The police and heroes are doing what they can, and to make sure they can get her back safely, all we can do is sit tight and let them do their work.”

Bakugo’s muscles tensed. It’s like Aizawa didn’t even care that you were missing. “How,” she started.

Aizawa waited for him to continue.

“How can you just stand there and not do anything?” he yelled. “You’re her brother, for god sake, and it’s like you don’t even care.” Bakugo clenched his fists and his body started shaking. “How the hell can you just sit back and do nothing!?” He crouched forward slightly as tears began to spill from his crimson eyes. He had done so well in keeping it together, but in that moment, everything he held onto was beginning to spill out.

Aizawa stood for a moment and watched as Bakugo crumbled before him. “We all have our roles in a mission,” he said, placing a large hand on Bakugo’s head. “And for this one, my job is to ensure the safety of the rest of my students. I understand how hard this is for you. You of all people know what being taken by the league is like.”

Bakugo twitched slightly at remembering what everything then felt like, from being trapped in the marble of Mr. Compress to carrying the weight of being the reason that All Might lost his power.

“I wish there was more that I could do,” Aizawa continued. “Believe me when I say that you’re not alone in that feeling, but for now we just have to wait.”

It was then that Bakugo crumbled, letting all of his pent up anger and sadness out. He leaned onto Aizawa’s shoulder and screamed his sobs. He had never been more close with his sensei than in that moment.

Aizawa let him stay there for as long as he needed. He didn’t mind that the salt from Bakugo’s tears were staining his shirt. He didn’t care that it was late and that he needed to teach the next day.

“I love her,” he heard Bakugo whimper.

“I know,” Aizawa said. “I love her too.”

Neither of them were in class the next day. Aizawa had arranged for Midnight and Present Mic to take over his classes. He had also told them that Bakugo wouldn’t be attending class that day either. The blonde was too distracted to pay attention. He needed time to himself to process everything around him.

The next four days were agonizingly long. When Aizawa wasn’t teaching, thoughts of you and your well being raced through his head. He lost a lot of sleep, but he also grew a lot closer to Bakugo.

The two of them sat down and talked after what happened the night Bakugo tried to rescue you. They talked about his relationship with you, leaving out the details one would hope to spare from a family member. Bakugo told him about how much he loves you, and how you were the only other person in that class who wasn’t braindead.

Aizawa chuckled at that last part. “She means a lot to you,” he said, “and I can tell that you mean a lot to her too.”

Those four long days eventually passed, and Aizawa was grading papers when he received a call from Tsukauchi. They had found the league’s new hideout, and they were sure that was where they were keeping you.

“Bakugo and I will be going to the police station,” he informed his class. “They have found the league’s new hideout, and they have estimated that they will bring (Y/n) back by tonight. Iida and Yaoyorozu are in charge while I’m gone.”

“Wait why does Bakugo get to go?” Kaminari, who was fully aware of your relationship, asked.

“Yeah,” Mina chimed in. “We wanna see (Y/n) too.”

“We don’t want to over-crowd her,” Aizawa explained. “We have no idea what she’s been through, and having so many people will probably be overwhelming.”

“But–”

“Just stop talking, dunceface,” Bakugo said. “We’re bringing her back, okay?”

Kaminari nodded, too scared to open his mouth any further.

Bakugo threw on his jacket and followed Aizawa out of Heights Alliance. The taxi ride to the police station was excruciating. They had no idea if you were even there yet or if the pros were still fighting.

The pros who were working on the case were some of the best, so Aizawa had no doubt that you would be safe soon enough. Still, the hours couldn’t go by quicker.

It isn’t that Bakugo was in unfamiliar territory. He had been to the police station numerous times before, from the sludge incident to being asked to make a statement after the League had kidnapped him. Being here at that very moment, though. He wanted to throw up. His stomach had never been twisted this much. Each knot and loop of his intestines tightened as the minutes slowly flew by.

“Bakugo.” Aizawa said.

“Huh?”

“You’re shaking.”

Bakugo hadn’t realized how intensely his body was moving until his sensei pointed it out.

“They’ll bring her back,” Aizawa reassured his student.

“But what if she’s, I don’t know,” Bakugo scratched the back of his neck. “Different?”

“Different how?”

The vein on Bakugo’s head nearly burst with how Aizawa was acting. He knew full well what Bakugo meant, afterall. “You know! What if those bastard villains hurt her or if they did something to wipe or change her memory.”

Aizawa took a deep inhale. These are the questions that have been racing through his mind since the moment Yaoyorozu and Todoroki came into his office, telling him that you still hadn’t come home from your evening run. Still, he knew that he had to keep a level head in front of his students. He couldn’t break down like Bakugo had in front of him. “Recovery girl said that she’d be here soon,” he informed Bakugo. “Then, when (Y/n) comes back she’ll be quick to heal her.”

Bakugo nodded, although his anxiety did not subside. They arrived at the police station around 9:30, and they stayed there for another five hours. Bakugo conked out an hour after they arrived but kept waking up.

Aizawa was given a cup of coffee from the receptionist at the station, but even with the caffeine he could feel the bags under his eyes grow heavier and heavier as time went on. He had barely gotten any sleep in the last four days, and as he felt the light at the end of this miserable tunnel growing warmer, he could feel himself beginning to ease into comfort.

It was nearing 3:00 am when the police returned. One of the officers was pushing a wheelchair with a small lump inside covered mostly by a blanket. Aizawa dropped his coffee mug at realizing that the small lump was you, huddling in to yourself either for warmth or an instinctive form of self defense.

The sound of his mug falling and breaking on the floor’s surface stirred Bakugo away. He rubbed his eyes which were glazed over with a blurry line of tears that he rubbed away, allowing them to adjust.

“Eraserhead,” one of the cops said. “She put up a nasty fight, but she’s going to be okay.”

Your ears twitched at the sound of your brother’s hero alias leaving the cop’s mouth. It sounded like butter being smoothed onto a piece of warm bread. Ever so slowly, you peeked your head out from under the blanket and gasped as you saw a familiar tangled mop of thick black hair. He really was here.

You watched as he walked over to your chair and crouched down to look at you. He moved some of his messy hair out of his eyes and you could tell he was trying to hold back his tears. Before either of you could think, you launched yourself out of your chair and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. You let out a loud sob, breathing in his musky scent, a scent you didn’t realize how much you had missed until this very moment.

Aizawa adjusted himself so he was sitting on the floor. You sat in his lap, wrapping your legs around his torso as you cried into the crook of his neck. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “You’re safe now. Don’t worry. I’m here.”

No one dared to interrupt you as the two of you sat there. You were exhausted, having stayed awake nearly all five days you were held captive. It wasn’t long before you fell asleep in your brother’s embrace.

Aizawa told Tsukauchi to call Hizashi to pick the three of them up and drive them back to campus. When you arrived at the dorms, a small group of your friends had stayed up waiting for your return. They all stood up and began crowding around the three of you, you being carried by your brother in your sleeping state.

“Is (Y/n) going to be okay?”

“She looks terrible.”

“What did the league do to her?”

Bakugo’s eye began to twitch at his classmates’ barating questions. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, stepping in front of Midoriya as he tried getting closer to you. Bakugo sounded calmer than his peers assumed he would be, yet his words still had a sharp bite that stung the ears like a chilly windy morning. “She’s had a long few days and I can’t imagine she’s gotten much sleep, so don’t fucking crowd her.”

Your classmates took a few steps back away from Bakugo, afraid of what would happen if they tried to push back against him.

Aizawa, although not exactly thrilled with Bakugo’s reaction, didn’t bother to stop him. “I’m taking her up to her room,” he said. “I’ll let you all know how she’s feeling tomorrow.”

Everyone watched as Aizawa trudged up the stairs with you in his arms. Bakugo followed behind him, but briefly paused. “If any of you wake her up,” he said. “I won’t hesitate to kill you.” He glared at his peers for another few seconds before continuing to follow Aizawa up the stairs.

Your brother laid you down on your bed and pulled the covers up to your chin. His heart sank into his stomach seeing the scars from rope burns around your wrists. How he had not noticed them before he wasn’t sure, but he was definitely beating himself up over it.

Bakugo sat on your desk chair and watched. Aizawa tried to get him to go to sleep, to let you rest peacefully so you could recover faster, but your boyfriend refused. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep anyway,” he said. “Besides, I don’t want her to be alone when she wakes up.”

Aizawa nodded and turned back to you, kissing your hairline before departing to rest himself.

Bakugo sat there staring at your sleeping form, wanting to hold you and comfort you as your disgruntled brow moved up and down as you dreamt of the terrible week you had just endured.

By the time you woke up, it was dark outside. You had never felt more comfortable in your dorm room bed, and you began to regret all the times you complained about the stiff mattresses the school provided. You turned the lamp next to your bed on and saw that your boyfriend was leaning back in your desk chair, fast asleep. You smiled, although your thumb instinctively went to caress the newly formed scar drawn across your cheek.

You watched as Bakugo’s eyes fluttered open and grew wider as he saw you were finally awake. “Hi,” you said, smiling at him meekly.

“Hey.” He gulped a little, not knowing what to do or say. “How are you feeling?”

“How long was I out?” you asked, avoiding the question.

“We brought you back here about twenty hours ago. You slept pretty much all of today.”

“I’m sorry,” you said looking down. “I’m sorry that I needed rescuing and that I wasn’t able to defend myself.”

Bakugo could hear your throat tightening as tears and mucus welled in the back. He was quick to get up and get into your bed to hold you. He missed holding you like he would every Saturday morning before forcing the both of you to get up and go train.

You wrapped your arms around his torso and snuggled into his chest. “I thought I lost you,” you said between cries.

“What do you mean?”

You were silent, not sure if you should continue or not.

“(Y/n) what do you mean?” Bakugo raised his voice slightly, but not enough for him to be yelling at you. “What did they do to you?”

You buried your scarred cheek further into his chest. “They liked messing with me,” you said after a long period of silence. “The stapled one, Dabi, and that girl, Himiko Toga.” You felt Bakugo’s hold on you tighten, but you continued anyways. “At one point he backhanded me and one of his staples cut my cheek.” You sat up slightly so Bakugo could get a good look at the scar.

His eyes widened and his hand began to curl into a fist to prevent himself from blowing up your bedroom out of pure anger.

Knowing that he would pop off at any moment, you laid your head back onto his chest, letting him hold you some more. “Himiko Toga walked up to me and licked the blood off of my cheek. Oh god it was so slimy.” Your toes curled at remembering what her tongue felt like as it lapped its way around your face. “I watched her turn into me, become me before my eyes. Dabi held my head in place, forcing me to watch as she pretended to call you as me and end our relationship. She said that I hated you and that you were holding me back from becoming a true hero.”

You looked up at Bakugo and he wiped a few tears from off your cheeks and a few strands of hair out of your face. “I’ll kill that stapled bastard the next time I see him,” he said.

You nodded as you leaned forward to kiss him. It had been so long since you had felt the warmth of his soft lips on your own and smelt his caramel skin so close to yours. It was overwhelming but in a good way. In that moment you didn’t care that your body ached every time you moved. You were just happy to finally be held by your boyfriend once again.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #bnha bakugo #katsuki bakugo imagine #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #mha aizawa #mr. aizawa #bnha aizawa #Aizawa Shouta imagine

426 notes · View notes

bastillewolf · 4 years

Text

Midnight In Sheffield (I)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: Not sure if this is going to work out, but I’ve made the creative decision to write a series of Alex Turner fanfics, going down each album and all most likely lightly based off movies. Like the Grand Tranquility Hotel from the Grand Budapest Hotel, this one is based off Midnight In Paris. No need to have seen either movies to read these fics. It won’t take place around the same time, as Sheffield has been through some stuff in the early 1900s. I will keep it all a bit old-school themed, but just won’t name a specific era, so you can take your own spin on it. I’m not familiar with Sheffield at all, never been there, so I’ll keep locations vague and add the Paris theme a bit in there. Hope you tag along for the ride, and let’s have one for the road.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter I - AM

“I don’t see how this could be more important to you than meeting my parents,” she grumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow she had planted her face in. The sheets of the bed were soft and had a pristine white colour, much to her dismay. The entire hotel room was much too extravagant to her liking, but it was Mark who insisted on paying extra to make their stay most comfortable.

“Please don’t be difficult now, sweetheart,” her fiancée replied, as he set one of his neatly folded trousers in the dresser on the shelf next to where his ironed shirts hung. “You know how much it means to me to be able to see James and Rachel again after all these years. I’m sure your parents will understand. If not, I’ll beg for their forgiveness.” He dramatically bent down to his knee, as if to gallantly portray his apology, making her roll her eyes.

“That wouldn’t be the first thing you’d have to apologize for. First of all, you’re going to have to tell my dad why you didn’t ask for his permission to marry me-“

“You already said yes!”

She shot him a look. “And secondly, you’re going to have to explain to my mum why you didn’t want to stay at their home. I think she would’ve been very happy to play hostess to the man who’s going to marry her daughter in a few.”

He crawled on top of the bed, his curly brown hair hanging over his face as he hovered above her and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be sure to make up for it. Now, please get changed. We’re having lunch.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be at that ritzy restaurant we went to last time. I’m still not over the way that waiter felt the need to explain everything to me like a five-year-old whilst pointing everything out with his little finger.”

“Well, you can’t speak French, darling. I think he tried his best at explaining the menu to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just, please stop drooling on the pillow and put on something nice. For me?”

Seeing the convincing puppy look on his face, she gave in with a sigh and a very loud slurping noise as she lifted her head from the pillow, making Mark huff.

Meeting with James and Rachel wasn’t the worst thing in the world, because she didn’t see them very often and they were overall nice people. At least, if you didn’t count every time James tried to be the smartass of the group by giving some random fact about anything and everything they came across, or if you ignored the way Rachel was evidently very flirty and touchy with Mark, or if you turned your head away every time the couple made those wretched kissing noises as they shared what should be an intimate moment.

What Mark had with Rachel was something she could never come between, something she also shared with many good friends of her own. They were the type who would always share that bond with you, no matter how long you hadn’t seen each other, and she could only be happy that Mark still had friends like that.

His work as a lawyer didn’t allow for him to make all that many mates, as most try to stab him in the back just to be able to get that promotion they wanted. He’d often come home with his head hung low after days like that, when loneliness took over the pride he had of his usually exhilarating job.

And thus, as she watched Rachel hug him extra tight, she kept her mouth shut. It was for the best, and it was only one afternoon she had to endure.

But she vowed to herself to not let it happen at her wedding. That was her day. Fuck Mark and fuck Rachel. She wasn’t going to be left alone dancing with James, who seemed to be known for having two left feet, by her own husband. But that was something she’d have to worry about in the future.

Her worries now were trying to translate a French menu without asking a waiter, deciding which fork to use, and refraining from telling James to shut up about the painting that hung behind him, of which he was giving an entirely unnecessarily intricate description.

“As you can see, the painter made sure the flag of the boat is standing diagonal to the man in the front, to make the artwork a treat for the eye with this interesting form of composition. It makes the scene all the more dramatic, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mark and Rachel hummed thoughtfully, but both were looking at the painting as if it was some Professor Layton puzzle they had yet to solve.

“What do you think?” James turned to her directly, catching her off guard. James usually wasn’t one to ask others for their opinion, so she could only guess it was an attempt to test her bare knowledge on the subject to make himself look like the smarter one.

“I think you said it all, James,” she decided to answer with, “I’m afraid I haven’t thought about art in that way since my classes in school. As of now, I have more important things to worry about than what the composition in a painting is like.”

It was low of her, she knew that, but someone needed to teach him a lesson.

“Ah,” James said, seemingly unfazed by her subtle insult, “Now that you mention it, how’s your book coming along?”

She sighed. Of course, he was going to play that card. She could’ve seen it coming.

Being a published writer of a few mediocre novels she’d written back in school, she was still in search for her new muse, and things were getting a bit desperate, to say the least. She had absolutely no idea what her next story was going to be about, finding everything in her life to be inexplicably boring and explicitly dull.

Not so much to say she wasn’t happy. No, she liked being with Mark. But she couldn’t say her life was a real adventure with him, or anyone for that matter. They lived in an apartment in the big city, where Mark had his day job and she her comfortable bed. He’d come home and she would’ve cooked – whatever attempt it was each time – and cleaned, and perhaps even written down a page or two only to never look at it again.

“Oh, you know. It’s getting there,” she lied, “Inspiration is lacking a bit these days, unfortunately.”

“I’ve always found inspiration to be a bit of a myth,” James said thoughtfully, “Why is it exactly that one particular thing that’s so inexplicable yet so necessary to create something? It seems a bit… I don’t know, like an excuse for some writers. I’ve heard many talk about it seriously, and many call it pure laziness. But then again, I wouldn’t really know much of the matter.”

There was the comeback.

She smiled tightly. “No, you wouldn’t. I can agree that some writers use it as an excuse to hide their laziness, as I find that a lot of characters write their own stories as soon as you sit down and start typing. However, inspiration is indeed something vague, and could be considered a writer’s virtue or downfall. It’s however you approach the subject, and however you try to deal with it or rationalize it as an artist.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. I wouldn’t know much about it, since I’m only an art consultant, after all.” He threw his hands up degradingly.

Fucker.

“Oh, come on, let’s not be so childish. All of our work is equally as important, as long as we’re happy doing it,” Rachel intervened, before raising her glass, “Here’s a toast to inspiration and art!”

Though she was relieved the argument was over and the attention drawn away from her, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar itch from the downgrading undertone in Rachel’s voice. Call it jealousy if you might, but she wasn’t one to let something like that slip from her mind, however many years may pass.

“So, if I may be so bold to ask,” Rachel continued, and the writer had almost collected her guts to blatantly reply with a ‘no’ when the woman was already speaking again, “What are your plans after the wedding? Are you moving? Already thinking about having kids? No pressure, of course.” She laughed with a pitch so high it nearly shattered the wineglass she was bringing to her lips to pieces.

“Oh, she always gets a bit icky talking about having kids,” Mark chuckled, “But if it were up to her, we’d be moving to some remote village in the outskirts of France, living in a tiny apartment until we grow old and turn to dust.”

She shrugged at her fiancée, “Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

“That’s because you came up with it.”

“Don’t you want to be closer to your friends?” Rachel asked, “Why move to the middle of nowhere, when you have everything out here?”

“I don’t know. I guess because of the peace and quiet. A simple life, with the bare necessities.”

“I wouldn’t have protested if it wasn’t for my job,” Mark added, which was a blatant lie. She’d heard him cut off her dream many times over for many different reasons. “Unfortunately, my French isn’t good enough to be a lawyer, and certainly not in the outskirts somewhere.”

“I thought you barely spoke a word of French, anyway?” James asked her.

“I know, but I would learn it there. It would be a part of the adventure.”

He snorted, “I’m sorry darling, but adventure is for children. It’s time to grow out of that. Perhaps you should find something you like in a proper job.”

She’d prompted to walk back to the hotel, through the rain, as Mark, James and Rachel – mostly Mark – had tried to convince her to share a cab with them. But no way in hell would she spend another unnecessary moment with that couple, and Mark knew better than to follow her out, for she would only be walking too quickly for him, and he would have quietly trailed after her the whole way back.

So, when she finally reached the building, he allowed her to soak in the tub for a few hours before finally approaching her.

“He has a point, you know.”

The look she gave him was an evident warning, yet he still had the guts to continue. “I’m not saying you should stop writing. I know that’s your passion. But, I’m asking you to maybe find something that could come close to that in the meantime, at least until you find something to write about. And perhaps, after we get married-“ he kissed her wrinkly palm, “-we could afford ourselves a nice vacation cot somewhere in the outskirts of France, and we could visit it as often as we’d like.”

She pursed her lips, turning her eyes away from his pensively. “I’m not sure your job would allow that. Your vacation days would be limited, and my desires to go on a holiday always growing.”

He smiled gently. “I’m sure we could work it out after I get that promotion.”

She looked at him, her eyes slightly glossy. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m giving up.”

“You’re not giving up, sweetheart. You’re only taking measures to be able to do the things you like, and when things are going well you can set your priorities straight. It’s the better thing to do.”

Her mind might be relieved to hear this solution, but her gut remained ridden with unease.

“Mark? Are you coming?” she called out, her hand hovering over the doorknob of their room.

“I’ll be right after you!” she heard him say, “Work is phoning me, you go ahead. I’ll take the next cab.”

“Alright, but don’t be too long!”

They were supposed to meet with their parents that evening to share the big news, but after hugs were shared and multiple cups of tea were had, Mark still hadn’t shown. She was beginning to grow worried when he didn’t pick up his phone, and even went as far as to step outside to frantically see if the connection was better.

After eight missed calls, she finally reached him.

“Can you believe it?” she heard him slur, “I stepped into the same cab as James! We’re at the pub, you should come join!”

Hearing faint noises of protest from others on the other end of the line, she quickly grew more and more bothered. “Mark, we were supposed to see my parents tonight.”

“Oh, we can see them again tomorrow! I figured you needed some catching up to do.”

“You could’ve joined in on that catching up, as they’ve barely seen you three times over the past four years we’ve been together.”

“Please don’t be like that sweetheart, you know I adore your parents. In fact, I’ll come over right now if that’s what you-“

“No,” she quickly cut him off, not being able to stand the mental sight of her parents having to deal with her drunk fiancée. “You know what, have fun. I’ll stay at my parents’ for the night.”

“Sounds like fun! Call me-“

She’d hung up the phone before he could finish his sentence, and had dropped to her knees as she felt her bottom lip tremble. Not wanting to alert the neighbours, she quickly forced her numb legs to work again and strode in the direction of town, a walking route she usually took whenever she was upset when she was young. She sent a quick text to her mum, telling her she’d meet again with them tomorrow and explain what happened. She really couldn’t be bothered right now.

Tears streamed down her face at the thought that her feet were so unwilling to go back to face her parents, who she’d have to disappoint yet again with a disappearing soon-to-be son-in-law. It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell her parents about her problems, it was the thought of disappointing them once again with a mistake she was making.

A horrible, horrible mistake.

She was no longer aware of which way she’d gone, as all shops around her seemed unfamiliar, yet she could’ve sworn she hadn’t messed up any turns in her route.

Wherever she was though, was a beautifully quaint, with antique streetlights and a cobbled road. Shop windows held curtains made from white lace, and showed off vintage clothes and items for a real bargain.

Must be one of those vintage sales, she figured, as her eyes grazed along cars with brands that were so old she couldn’t remember the names of them. Stores like these must attract the more interesting people with vehicles like those.

It was when she saw a polished and brand-new-looking typewriter in one of the windows, she paused. Above it, she saw her own reflection; a puffy reddened face stained with an ongoing array of tears.

“I really hope you’re not crying because you want that typewriter so awfully bad,” a voice spoke.

She whipped around, coming face to face with a man who was giving her a kind look. His eyes were hazel, matching the brown suit he wore, and his head shaved to a buzzcut. He had sharp features, and still looked awfully British.

“I- Uh… No, I’m not,” she stuttered, trying to wipe the waterworks away with her sleeve.

The man then held out a folded cotton handkerchief to her, along with a smile as an attempt to cheer her up. She gratefully accepted both.

“Not any bloke I’d need to beat up, is there?”

She laughed blubberingly, “I don’t think that would be the solution to my problems, but thank you.”

“Thank god,” he huffed, “Because to be quite honest, I can’t throw a punch for the life of me. I would’ve had to ask one of my mates to do it for me, and cheer him on as he’d won my own fight.”

“I don’t think that would count as your fight,” she chuckled.

“Defending a lady’s honour is always my fight,” he replied. He shook his head, “Apologies for the rudeness, miss. Haven’t even properly introduced myself. I’m Miles.”

She gave him her own name, “and it’s nice to meet you, Miles. May I ask what you’re doing about this late?”

He gave her a strange look, “Why, it’s the perfect hour, why wouldn’t I be about? The night has only just started, and one of my close mates is preforming in the pub nearby. Want to join?”

She only took a moment to hesitate, before wilfully agreeing. “Sure.”

#Arctic Monkeys #Alex Turner #Alex Turner x Reader #Matt Helders #Miles Kane #TLSP #The Last Shadow Puppets #Nick O'Malley #AM #TBHC #Jamie Cook #Wpsiatwin #Humbug #Suck It And See #Fanfiction

105 notes · View notes

punkandsnacks · 4 years

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Fifteen; Anticipation.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap- animal shapeshifting but thas about it really-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

The very next days seemed to crawl by. As if time itself was dragging through claggy thick treacle.

Nothing moved quickly and Iris knows it’s because she’s anticipating the weeks-end more than any other event she’s ever awaited on in her life.

More than Yuletide morning. More than her birthday. More than buying a new book or taking an early morning walk all to herself. More than a sunny frosted morning where everything seems to glimmer as if crafted from gold, or seeing wildflowers dot the woods with their colour in spring.

She’s waiting on that much anticipated midnight with baited breath. Every second closer to it is both torture and sweet blessed relief.

She fulfils her remaining days with a permanent smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Even her acetous mother remarks upon it. She tells her daughter the fine manner of her engagement must be bringing her joy. Iris bites her lip to keep from grinning.

She clutched her romantic secret all that tighter to her chest. Moulded it like warm clay to clasp around her glad heart.

Mother and Maratella insist on setting a date. And getting her whole ‘bouquet’ of daughters measured for their gowns.

Posy and Flora for they are of course to be bridesmaids, and Iris, of course, for her bridal gown. They get up a merry party to Pembleton one fine clear morning.

The snow and frost govern the landscape once more. Ebbing back in after the recent rain. The brown frost-hardened hills and trees and fields. Governed under the fierce cyclops of a mustard sun blazing in the effortless blue of the cobalt sky. It made Iris think of robins eggs, and the golden buttery buds of spring. When the bulbs and shoots blossom up through the earth with their sickly scent and colour.

It is a fine clear day and it indicates that the end of the long bitter winter approaches. The cold is as ferocious as ever so Maratella insists upon them not catching a chill in the vile icy winds. Shes most kind as to stop to collect the Misses Ashton’s in the Hux’s second largest coach. They are all bid to the dressmakers in the high street. Along the medieval shamble of barrel window and oak timber shops.

The news of her engagement spread far and wide. Before her boots have even touched the cobbles, stepping out the coach, their party is virtually mobbed by matrons and ladies of their acquaintance.

Iris had in mind a silly image of them prowling at the pavements like baying wolves, chasing after the muddy churn of the carriage wheels; anything for to first seize that newest scrap of gossip.

Posy and Flora ladle up all the attention. As does Mama. Proudly boasting - along with Maratella - of the suitability of such a fine match. Iris wants to roll her eyes as Flora greatly exaggerated the romantic manner of Hux’s proposition. She gabbled about a room full of red roses and how Iris wept tears of delight as he swept her into his arms.

The ravenous eyes turn toward her. “May we see the ring, Miss Ashton?” Comes out of numerous smiling mouths like a chorus of cawing seagulls. Iris feels like they’ll rip her glove off themselves if she doesn’t.

Unused to such attention, she blushes as she slips off her grey calfskin glove. Wrenching it off her hand. There is a troupe of awed gasps as they admire the diamond set in the gold band.

Iris feels as if she’s sticking her hand into a dangerous animals maw. Like some exhibit at a zoo. Feeding her hand to the rabid starving tiger’s. There’s so much gasping and in taking of breath it’s a wonder they don’t suck her up. And take half the street with them.

Luckily, Maratella fusses that they’ll be late if they don’t make haste. She then proudly utters that the ladies five, their happy little bridal party, are off to Madame Larousse’s dressmaking parlour for a wedding gown. And Mrs Ashton and Mrs Hux are to see to both having new hats to mark such a happy occasion.

The flock of ravenous ladies ceases. Satisfied with their mauling of Iris and her news and her engagement ring. The party is able to proceed along the pavement unhindered.

They slip into Madame Larousse’s. Greeted by the lanky, heavily perfumed proprietor herself. She was a tall, ungainly woman with poky shoulders and an always over-rouged complexion. And will always, without fail, exaggerate a mildly French accent to gild her words. For she believes that all the best dressmakers and seamstresses were French.

The tall stretch of Madame claps excitedly and demands to see Iris’ hand when she hears they are here to purchase ribbons and lace and all things fit for a bride. She is whisked away by a very efficient assistant. And stood on a pedestal for the next hour and half.

Iris spends that time with swatches pinned to her. Flapped around her ears. Tucked under her collar. There’s so many back and forth decisions from her mother, it makes her quite dizzy. A tape drawn tight around her so many times to squeeze the stuffing out her. Eventually, they stumble to a conclusion. It was to be a saffron orange.

Flora remarked it made her rather look like a carrot.

Around her they lounge on the chaises provided, clutched around the mirror and the box she’s on, and they drink sweet tea. Brown sugar sprinkled and stirred into the earl grey.

They all pose interjections and opinions and preferences on her. Iris just stands there like a tailors doll. Only half there.

She’s caught sight of a swatch of ruby-wine velvet near her thigh and is stroking it fondly. Remembering Lord Rens exquisite bed coverlet. How it felt under her fingers, it took her ricocheting back to that moment. And it calmed her.

That’s how she can stand all this grousing and prodding. It reminds her of her secret and she nearly faints off that box pedestal.

They settle on a pallid frothy blue silk instead. To better bring out the excellence of her mud and twigs hair. Mama chooses the best silk madame has in stock. Says she will have to fetch more in from her supplier especially. From London.

That causes much excitement for Flora and Posy. They’d never had a dress made from material fetched as far nor from a city as grand as London, before.

Posy had selected a teasing slip of pink silk. Flora, for her more fiery hair, chose a delicate pastel pea green. Iris thinks they’ll look like a platter of French fancy cakes.

Then a pang of something hits through her heart with all the intensity of an arrowhead studding there - she hopes Mama lets Posy and Flora keep their new gowns after she’s gone. She hopes very much. They are the stillest girls in existence but they do deserve nicer things than what they get.

By Madame’s husky drawl of a smoky voice is she brought back into the room, the awful pink pink pink room. Stuffed with velvet chaises and bolster cushions and trimmed fringed oil lamps. Great big fat rosebuds sprout up the wallpaper and flourish across the fabric of the pillows on the settee.

It’s as if the whole room is the summoning of the evil fairy in sleeping beauty. Who commanded swarms of brambles and thorns and swamping plants to take over. That was this room to the last pink thread - only it was instead summoned to contain every incarnation of pink roses as far as the eye could see.

Her ears burn hot and pink as Madame talks of London. Relating the gossip back to someone in the village. Matter of fact, a certain Lord-

“Apparantly, you know he sent that tall turbaned butler of his up to London just yesterday...” Madame hushes to them in her hazy terribly-affected French.

“Sent him to Mayfair.” She grins crookedly as she measures from Iris’s hip to her hem. Barking orders at Suzy, her ever suffering assistant.

Maratella seems most diverted. “Pray whatever for?” She leans forwards. Perching her half eaten violet macaroon on her saucer.

“He sent him to Bond Street. You know there is an establishment there that supplies jewels to the palace. Apparantly he came back having purchased something.” Madame says.

“Pray why would be send his butler all that way?” Flora asks.

“Why, Miss Smith told me so this morning; she suspects Lord Ren has left his heart behind in Bavaria. He is soon to quit Hellford. She heard Clarence Pennington’s butler say that his housekeeper, Mrs Jones states that half his house is shut. And the staff vacated.” Maratella excites them all. Flora and Posy are mortified at such news.

“The house is emptying. And Lord Ren shall soon be gone.” She adds.

Mrs Ashton smiles gladly. “He is journeying back home to his castle I wager...” She delights. The spitting smug nature of her tone was clear. Good riddance.

“Who must he be besotted with I wonder?” Posy asks indelicately.

Iris tries not to be twice as smug. Thinking that she is that very woman.

He goes back to his castle and I will gladly go with him, she thinks.

The giddiness and joy roils in her stomach like golden champagne. Fizzes through her veins and she has to hide a smile. Biting her cheek hard.

“Well. if he is shortly to leave our shores. I’m willing to bet he’ll break a fair few maidens hearts in this county and the next over. Such a striking gentleman. The young ladies will certainly feel his loss most keenly.” Maratella comments in sadness for all the female admirers he’d amassed. They’d all be heart sore now he’s going away.

“You’re blushing Iris.” Flora sing-songs at her. Pointing it out. “Thoughts of your intended sweetheart?” She ribs her sister.

“You are a colossal pest. Flora.” Iris smiles at her. Matter of fact. Her little bug of a sister is quite right. She is thinking about the man she’ll marry.

Only another agonising hour whilst Mama and Maratella select their hats for the occasion. But Iris can atleast sit down and drink some much too sweet earl grey tea. Doesn’t have to stand on that wretched box for another hour.

Eventually their purchases were rung up and settled. Flora and Posy love Iris very much because she buys them two new ribbons each and some velvet buttons for their bonnets. They’re singing her praises as they quit the shop. Trilling like a pair of canaries about their gowns. Iris was glad to spend some of her pin money on them before she leaves for good.

She’s fully appraised of the weight of her actions. And the serious consequence of them. It would be ruinous for her mother and father. It would be a disaster for her sisters. But atleast she was of age and she could marry. Whatever else others might say of her - she fully believes Lord Ren’s intentions are honourable.

They can’t scandalise her for marrying Kylo. Just censure her for running away from Hux and jilting him. She’s certain he’ll recover amicably enough. He doesn’t love her. And his mother is suitably well connected. She could snap her fingers and summon another willing bride. She’s only sorry it can’t be her.

She’s despondent to remark upon the pain she’ll be causing hers and Hux’s family. But in time, they will recover. Posy would do well and Flora will follow in her footsteps. Mother will see to it they catch fine husbands when the time is right. Their mother is most skilled in that area.

The party journeys along Pembleton street. Maratella stops by the haberdashers to seek after some ribbons. Mama is in the milliners seeking after a new pair of occasion gloves. Posy and Flora amble slowly along the street with their sister. Watching the carriages and coaches trundle by. Various riders on horseback too.

A loud nickering snort behind her makes her turn. She can hardly hide the smile that quickly grows across her face when she catches sight of a lone rider on a huge stocky black stallion. Both man and his mount are furiously muscled beasts.

His Lordly attire is its usual. All black. Save for his white shirt and red cravat. The great overcoat frames his wide shoulders and his bulky chest. His boots gleam in the meagre sun. His grin tips up when he catches sight of her.

He looks terribly smug and Iris’s heart feels like it’s trying to ram out the cage of her ribs. This handsome lordly man who stole it away, sets it pounding freely and rampant in her chest.

She tries not to arouse the suspicion of her sisters. They were much too curious and meddling for their own good. She wants to protect her secret and she thinks she’s a proficient enough liar to accomplish it.

They burst into fits of giggles on seeing him. He rides Erland closer to where they are stood and dismounts. His strong boots thud into the frosty mud. His wool coat laps and swathes his body. He tethered himself to Erland. Massive gloved hand gripping the reins. The creature didn’t seem to have any care for wandering off. He just wished to see Iris - Kylo empathises with the horse. He rather feels the exact same.

Iris, Posy and Flora all curtsey to him. He bids them all a greeting. She bows her neck and when she looks up. His eyes fondly fix on her. Warm in the sun. The contrast of him is astonishing. Milky creamy complexion, bordered by the onyx shadow of his hair and eyes. Utter opposites in the juxtaposition.

“Miss Ashton. A pleasure to see you again. I trust you are still well recovered. You look very radiant this morning.” He comments. Walking Erland just that tiny step closer.

The obstinate animal his stallion is, reaches his nose out and snorts into her hand. Nudges her glove for pats and scritches of affection behind his ears. She doesn’t care that she’ll get horse hair on her. She strokes him.

“You are most kind. Your lordship. I am very well.” She smiles slightly. The pretty kiss of rose on her cheeks.

“I need not tell you Erland is pleased to make your acquaintance once more.” He remarks starkly. Hint of irony not lost on her. Erland almost nudges her to fall over with his big strong head. She laughs.

“Your ears must’ve been burning. Lord Ren. For we were just discussing you...” Posy flirts. Batting her lashes at the man.

Hands crossed in front of her. Like she was a genteel little doe. Iris glares narrowed silver dagger eyes at her sister to stop displaying herself so readily. As ever, the little vexation pays no attention. Not when there was a hot blooded male around.

Kylo tilts his head. Intrigued. “Is that so, Miss Posy?” He asks.

“We we’re discussing how heart sore all the young ladies hereabouts will be when you quit Hampshire...” Flora tells him.

Kylo takes her confession in his stride. “It’s true. And I am sorry more than I can exclaim to be leaving such carnage and desolation in my wake. But sadly I do return to Bavaria shortly.”

That handsome expression barely betrays a thing. The cold wind flounces and ruffles that wild hair. A tuft of it drifts in his face and tangled in his dark eyeline.

Iris decides in that moment he truly might be an angel sculpted by gods own hand; or a demon designed by the devil himself. She isn’t sure which of those creatures is all the more tempting.

One thing she’s certain of; He’d win that draw of most handsome, every time.

She quivers when those eyes gaze at her. Peels her right out her clothes and down to her goose pimpled skin. Then Posy has to go and open her foolhardy mouth some more...

“We were just helping Iris shop for her bridal gown.” She preens. “And our bridesmaids dresses.” She comments. Speaking as if she wants Kylo to snatch her up and steal her away to Bavaria. Stuff her in his pocket and run off with her.

“I had heard rumour of your engagement...” He lies. Iris is biting the inside of her lip and smiling genially to hide how wide her excitement wishes to make her smile grow.

“Show Lord Ren your engagement ring, Iris!” Flora bounces excitedly. Iris glares. Reminding her of the inappropriate nature of her words.

“Flora. Lord Ren is not interested in such matters. And I’m afraid we’ve already impressed upon too much of his time...” She insists.

Kylo holds out his hand to her. Steps closer so she has to crane her head back just to keep sight of his eyes. “I am certainly interested. And I might add, most eager to see the bauble that decorates such a fine, pretty hand.” He teases.

She decides he was designed by the devil. And lucifer gave him a silver tongue to boot-

Iris slips off her grey glove and gently lays her palm in his.

The way his fingers curl around hers is criminal. She tips her eyes up to his as he shifts closer and admires her ring. A soft smile tugs at his mouth. The gold winks at him in the sun. It’s a pretty delicate morsel. He can’t deny. But plain. Much too plain. Entirely humble as decoration went.

-it’s certainly nothing to the one he’d had Jomar go all the way to London to fetch for her from Bentley & Skinner on Bond Street.

“It is a fine ring. Miss Ashton. Sergeant Hux is the most fortunate man in England to have you as his intended bride. I’m quite envious of his fortuity.” He says. Bowing to lay a kiss on the back of her palm.

His eyes electrify her. He winks at her and she flushes with heat. Blood pressing up in her face.

“I’m sorry to hear of your leaving England. Lord Ren. Such a shame Hellford Park should be quitted before the summer.” She tells him.

Her palm leaving his. Sliding away from the touch of his hand would have made her wretched were it not for the heat in his bronzed eyes. Made a warmer melting shade by the shimmer of the buttery sun. And their shared secret lifts her heart.

“It is a great shame. But I’m eager to return to Ranlor. I’ve missed my homeland a great deal.”

“The rumour in circulation is that you have a certain lady in mind to return home too.” Posy dares most outlandishly. Iris chides her for her brash rudeness.

“Posy!” Iris calls out.

Kylo seems amused by it. “That would he telling. Miss Posy. Not to mention betraying the confidence of the most honourable lady in question.” He smirks at her sister.

Who giggles and blushes like it’s no ones business. His vampiric charms seeping out of his every pore, truly intoxicating to them, Iris can see it’s influence.

“Is she a great beauty? I imagine she is most elegant indeed and very superior and titled in rank and manner. And of great fortune...” Posy digs for more details. Kylo will reveal none.

“Pray. Don’t be impertinent twice-over.” Iris corrects. Posy pulls a vexed face. Shoves her tongue out at her sister.

Kylo’s chuckling. They were entertaining little chits. Relentless. But he admires something about that sparky quality. Iris had the same sense about her - only more sensible and humble.

“She is the singularly, most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld in all my years.” He promises. “And I cannot wait to have her hand in marriage. She will make me a very blessed and lucky man.” He declares.

“How romantic.” Posy declares in a sigh. Flora dreamily agrees. They’re both veritably Moony eyed. Gazing up at him in wonder as a consequence. A silly girls kryptonite. A handsome and dark romantic man. A Byronic figure to set all the foolish girls swooning at the knees.

Kylo’s eyes sweep across to Iris at a passing glance. He smiles. And it almost undoes her.

“We must be on our way. We’ve availed ourselves of too much of your time. Lord Ren.” Iris says in parting. Trying to herd her vapid sisters away before they flirt anymore.

“We must go. For we are bid to the Hux’s tonight for a celebratory engagement supper.” Posy curtsies boasting as she’s bobbing away.

“Give the Sergeant and his family my warmest regards.” Kylo insists. Knowing what a barb that would be to Hux’s temper.

Iris turns and meets his eyes. Giving him a polite bowed head in parting. When Posy and Flora are otherwise looking elsewhere. She turns back and gives him such a look of longing and delight it makes him grin at her as she walks off down the cobbled pavement.

“Very good to see you again. Your Lordship. Have a pleasant rest of your day.” She insists.

Cajoling her sisters along the path and away before they get any notions. Erland snorts at her as she moved away. She smiles and gladly rubs the flat bone of his nose before she goes. Lord Ren stays standing until she does move away.

Kylo pats his neck, and hauls himself up on his strong stallions back once again. Booted feet in the stirrups. He adjusts on the saddle. Scanning the tumbled windows of the high street proprietors.

In the milliners, he sees a face like sour lemons and thunder glaring out at him. Mrs Ashton’s stony face peering outwards through the glass. Having seen his exchange with all her daughters.

He coaxes Erland into a slow walk. A little nudge in his side. He gives the foul Caroline Ashton his most winning enigmatic smile. And nods civilly in greeting at her as he rides off.

He sees it makes her lips purse in irritation.

Iris can’t resist glancing back at him. She knows those eyes watch her all the way down the street. She can feel them. Two pinpricks of heat, like candles, burning into her shoulder-blades.

It makes her too giddy for words.

They soon catch up with the rest of their party and are whisked away in the Hux carriage. Soaring across the dirty English roads. Mud churning in their wake as cold air and sunshine bounces off the roof.

Mama asks them what Lord Ren. Iris told them he was just politely passing the time of day. She seems satisfied with the answer. Iris fights not to squirm into shivers of desire at the merest intimation and memory of him.

Posy and Flora sing-song his romantic praises all the way home. Mother soon shuts them up with a cross cold stare.

The afternoon seems to fly her by. No sooner than she’s home and she’s readying herself for the dinner they’ll take at the Hux’s residence. Cavenham House.

The not so modest estate in the border of the next county. A gorgeous house if she’s being perfectly honest. Terracotta red bricked exterior, of modern Georgian design. Huge arched white windows. Rococo interior. All gilded with cherubs frolicking on the murky painted ceilings and baroque trim on every door. Rolling scrolls. Frescoes and pastel colours. Gilding, moulding and trompe l’oeils giving the illusion of motion and drama. Raining down from every ceiling.

A handsomely kept garden was also what it was resolutely famous for. Though it would not be pictured to its best quality in this dead winter. Spring will liven it soon. The hardy bright bulbs will crop up through the frost. But for now it remains speckled in snow with only the evergreens surviving.

Iris can see it all as they pull up the long stretch of the torch lit drive. In the coach Maratella was kind enough to send to collect them all.

Once again she was wedged beside Posy and Flora, and their shrill gossiping. Mother and Father opposite. Noiseless and as disagreeing as ever. Silence blazed between them as somber as a churchyard. They were about as animated with each other as two gravestones.

Iris dressed in her navy silk gown with 3/4 sleeves and a sheer white chemisette swirled with stitched white flowers, decorating her shoulders and neck. Meg cleverly weaves that teal ribbon into her hair coiffure again. She finishes the look with pearl droplet earrings and white satin gloves up to her elbows.

They are welcomed inside by stony faced servants in the blue Cavenham livery. Taken into the drawing room to meet their hosts. Maratella had invited some local flavour along also. Everyone’s merry and mingling. Posy offers to play a Handel piece on the Pianoforte before dinner is announced. She does so rather well. Thunks the opening notes in shocking volume but she picks up from that point onwards.

Iris is admiring the scenery from the drawing room window. Even in the dark she can see how lovely the gardens are. It doesn’t dissolve the fact that this house would still be a prison to her. There weren’t bars on the window and she won’t exactly be stitching mailbags - but it will still be her cage.

A handsome cage, she won’t deny. But a cage nonetheless as she mothers the children and lives for planning fine parties to boast of her and her husbands excellence. And slowly becomes a woman of high rank and no substance.

Hux moves to stand by her side, hands folded behind his back. A tall lean column of red, black and white in his ceremonial dress. Medals shining. Hair groomed. Perfectly respectable. Infuriatingly loveless, as always.

“You shall like the gardens in summer. I should think.” He remarks.

“They are most handsome.” She comments. “A fine prospect indeed.” She agrees.

They perfectly form the vision of lovers conversing by candlelight. She can hear Mama and Mrs. Hux cooing proudly behind them. It’s infuriating. Iris can’t spend the rest of her life in a manner such as this; being prodded and manoeuvred and gossiped over like a chess piece on a board.

“I care little for being out of doors. Save for riding with my regiment.” He impresses.

Iris nods. “I am perhaps overfond of walking. I take an excursion each day if I can.” She tells him.

He sniffs. And coldly watches the view before them. “Well. You shall have to make allowances and sacrifices when we are wed. I can’t have you scampering around the countryside when you are with my heir.” He insists.

Iris’s mouth turns dry. She makes little response to his words. He turns away to speak to someone else but she catches his arm to stop him.

“Please I just want to say-“ she starts.

She looks up into his face. The bright copper of his hair and the steel of his eyes. The surety of his rigid auburn brow. She doesn’t dislike him. He’s not an unpleasant man. Just, misguided.

She says what she’s thinking now before she loses the chance. No doubt he’ll think very badly of her when all is done.

“I think well of you. You know. You are a gallant man. Not lacking in honour or credibility. I admire that about you. Hux.” She says. Even if I can’t marry you for it.

He nods. Accepting her words. Then their granite faced butler coughs dryly and announces dinner to the room.

Maratella lets the engaged couple be seated next to each other at dinner. Wanting to encourage the tepid affection brewing between them. Iris doesn’t know what the woman expects from them. They weren’t matched for love but it’s as if that’s what she’s hoping to see blossom.

Maratella is hoping for romance to pass betwixt them.

It could and never will be that. Iris thinks.

Iris remarks inwardly to herself as she sips down her soup a la reine. Served alongside several large golden Bouchée à la reine’s.

The next course is of stewed beef and venison steaks, and a whole champagne poached salmon with slithers of white and black truffles decorating the cooked fish acting as scales.

More seafood came served in the form of fried then boiled sole, heaped in a terrine and a whole platter of pickled crab. A haricott of vegetables and mashed turnips. There was enough food spread on this very grand table, to keep them dining for a fortnight. Mrs Hux organised a feast intended to show off.

She gets everyone to toast to the newlyweds. The gentleman stand to raise their glasses and the ladies stay seated.

The pudding banquet is brought out and quite rightly enough, as she suspected, the whole table is flouncing in ruched fancy french sugar concoctions.

Silken French pies. Syllabubs of lemon and rose and brandy. Ice’s of all flavours. Custard tarts smothered with fat ripe fruit drowning steeped in syrup. Sugar plums and cinnamon and mace laced apple tartlets with baked custard. Iris indulged in some of the tarts and the fruits.

Posy and Flora fall upon creams and dainty fancies like hungry wolves. And eat until they are stuffed.

The ladies retire to the parlour for music and snifters of sweet ruby port wine. Iris indulges in a glass as her sisters and various other young accomplished ladies take to the pianoforte to sing and show off. Posy drags a reluctant Iris up to sing whilst she plays. She grumbles but bends to her sisters will.

She gives a shortly sweet chorus of ‘Let no man steal your thyme’ for it was the only song she could sing comfortably well.

She never much liked performing for amusement. Some girls were a glutton for it. Iris is no such a one. She stands with one hand on the pianoforte and the other folded behind her hip. She sings her choruses and smiles meekly at the small scattering of applause offered for her when she is done.

She heads back to her spot on the settee. Maratella is remarking to her mother how divine it will be to have a songbird in the house once again. Iris sits back in her seat and spends the rest of her evening in silence. Though she wants to say a great deal.

The evening slips past well enough. Night spills past her relatively quick. Another day gone. Another day closer to her happiness. She’s almost too giddy to contain it.

Then the time comes to bid goodnight to their hosts;

Iris watches as Hux fondly kisses her hand. Seeing her off out the rich gilded foyer out into the black black night. Sky so dark it’s a whole void studded with freckling stars. Cold shudders at the shivering trees.

She wants to say something impactful and veiled. To speak of her regard for him. She cannot think how best to do so. She swallows down her thick tongue. Remains a coward.

She can only hope in time, after the wake of her scandal settles. That Hux will find someone better suited than her. Maybe even find someone that he can love? She prays deeply for that little happy happenstance.

She is not so unfeeling as to wish a joyless life on the man who just wasn’t correct for her.

Her teeth grits with all the things unsaid. “I hope you’ll be happy.” She smiles lightly. He thinks her to be referring to the engagement that stands between them.

“I’m sure.” He comments. “Goodnight.” Is his curt response.

It doesn’t incense her. Tonight it vexed her. Caused a tiny crease between her brows. It seemed such fickle words to part on. But she leaves them be-

Let’s those words spirit up into the quiet undisturb of the night. The heavens can have those words. Iris wishes it could have been more. But how appropriate is it that even his parting words are found wanting.

She gets into the coach after curtseying a polite goodbye to Brendol and Maratella. She says something sweet to Iris about her singing. Iris cringes a smile. She won’t be thinking such good things about her shortly. She imagines she’ll curse her name for all of hell and heaven to hear. She’ll wake the sleeping dead cursing the day Iris was born.

Iris thanks her. For her hospitality. For her kindness. Under all her airs and graves, she’s a fairly nice woman and she should find a more amicable daughter-in-law to crow over.

She slots herself into the coach beside her sisters. Listens to the door slam shut. The rattle and crunch of it shifts on the gravel. Rumbled away up the long elegant curve of the drive.

Iris twists to look back. She isn’t sure why she wanted too. But they weren’t a dismal family. And she’s sorry for the pain and offence she’ll cause to them all.

She watches Hux’s stiffly-posed, regimented figure. Shadowed against the night. The scarlet of his blood coat. The ice white of his breeches stained blue, glowing in the night. The stars glimmer off his shining boots and off the pierce of his pale eyes. She wishes him well. She truly does.

They trundle on home. Full of food and as usual with Posy and Flora spouting gossip on and on endlessly. Mother chiming in. Father and Iris retain their silence. Eyes cross firing in a glance when they all agree on something cruel and senseless.

Westwell’s windows emerge gold out the dark. Surrounded by the bustling trees. All of the landscape is merely dark moulded shapes. Looming and shifting in the shadows. The moon casts washy film of silver to try and spill over the cover of smeared clouds.

They are just to the drive when a small dark shape flits overhead. Iris looks upwards, and sees the definable shape of a bird landing on her windowsill. She smiles giddily.

She exits the coach quick. Bidding them goodnight and rushing off up to her room. Her skirts picked up in her hands. Mama remarks how odd it is. Posy shrugs and supposes she’s got a secret missive to read from Hux.

Iris absolutely flies for her door. Twists the handle and launches herself in the room. Shutting the door firmly after herself. Pressing it with both hands flat to the wood.

The warmth of the fire hits her. She doesn’t even pay mind to the tiny crack of her open window. Or her swaying curtains that shift on the breeze.

She can only focus on the huge frame of a dashing vampire stood fireside. One elbow resting on the mantel as he gazes into the flames.

His big frame swallows up the whole room and strangled out all the air. The ochre of the blazing flames captured his skin. Turned that milky-cream of his complexion into pale fire.

She smiles and he does too. “Thank goodness it’s you. I was worried I’d scare seven shades out of your maid.” He drawls softly so his voice doesn’t carry. Smirk curling at the corners.

She crosses the distance. Her feet eat up the floorboards quick. She avails herself of an embrace. Throws herself into his arms.

The cloak of his fire warmed clothing envelopes her as his arms do. He smells like the damp snap of frosty woodland and the acid tang of woodsmoke. The night air of wild outdoors clings to every inch and fibre of his clothes. Swirls about him like a clouding tempest.

He chuckles as she gets herself in his hold. The deep bass of his voice rumbled through her skin and sinking to her bones. Her cheek mashed to his sternum. His arms close around her. Stroking her body through the rasping silk of her dress.

One big warmed hand clasps the back of her neck as the other holds the back of her waist. His nose nudges into the crush of her muddy hair. Her scent teases him just as much as his had, to her. Lavender and sage. The plain spice and calm floral scent.

“I could feel the happiness pouring off you as you alighted the stairs.” He smiles. She steps back and gazed up at him.

“How pretty you look tonight. Dove. You’re exquisite in silk.” He remarks when she steps away. Hand toying with the loose tawny curl at her ear. The sapphire dark of her dress suits her very well. Throws her complexion into brilliance. Does something to make the tones of her hair look rich.

She always looks ravishing to him.

She blushes. “I missed you all day. Isn’t that mad?” She asks.

“If missing is madness, then I’m out of my sane mind whenever you’re not in my sight.” He promises gently.

Big hands cupping her hot silken neck as he leans down to plant a firm, slanting kiss to her lips. His mouth is cold and he tastes of frosty air and wine.

Kissing him is like kissing someone who just stepped inside, taking shelter from a bitter cold wind.

She’s beginning to wonder if there is some clever addiction woven into his lips. One kiss never seems to be enough. She holds his wrists as he grabs her. Makes her feel small in his arms. She’s lost in his hold. It’s powerfully thrilling.

He breaks the kiss and his thumbs stroke at her cheeks. Her eyes glitter keenly at him. He spies the ring on her finger. The one that doesn’t belong there. It makes him smile.

“I’d like to surmise you snuck in here just to steal a kiss. But I suspect a different motive altogether?” She asks.

He broke into a grin that creases his eyes and bares his teeth in a smile. She was no thoughtless woman; his darling Iris.

She’s always thinking. Always fretting. Always mulling over things in her head.

That was one of the first things that that came to his notice about her. She tended to be introspective about all manner of things in comparison to her acetous mother who spewed vile words. And her daft sisters who spouted out their every dangerously silly thought.

He kisses her for that clever remark- slow and paced and soft. Languid like melting warm honey. Lips curling to hers.

“I do have some news. But kissing you will always my first priority.” He husks against her rosy lips. Her warm cheeks blaze from under his icy fingers.

“The date is set. We must leave tomorrow eve.” He tells her with a smirk.

Her stomach completely soars in giddiness. She doesn’t have to hide her grin here.

“It feels as if I’ve been waiting at eternity to hear those blessed words.” She cries in happiness.

“Slip away to me after everyone’s gone to bed.” He instructs. She agrees.

“Mother has been pleased with my conduct of late. She’ll have let her guard down over tonight. I’ll leave once everyone is abed. Even the maids.” She tells him.

Stroking her fingers down the finery of his waistcoat where they’re still stood close to each other. The material was so soft. The softest grain of velvet she’s ever felt.

“You don’t have to bring too much. I can buy you everything you may ever need.” He leers. Cupping her cheek. Feeling the smooth of her skin. Right up her jaw.

His eyes carve flinty paths down her neck as he strokes his fingers there. Her pulse quickens. He can feel and hear her blood slushing hot through her veins.

She shrugs. “I cherish very few possessions. Posy and Flora can have the rest.” She insists. Her hand coming up to stroke over his thick crook of elbow with the hand that’s touching her neck.

He drags the edge of the chemisette down and strokes along the flat of her collarbone. His eyes turn into a palette of bittersweet autumn. Orange and gold swirled with flecks of russet brown.

“Is it difficult?” She asks suddenly.

“Restraining from the need to...” Her face fixed on his. Words trailing away. Air bursting with heat and lust. His eyes snap from her neck to her face. Her cheeks bloom rose petal red. Blood red and hot.

“To feed?” He asks her. She swallows and nods.

His other hand catches the back of her hips reels her right in close. She gasps. Air around them thick and full of snapping sparking static. Her hands press to his cavernous chest.

“I have got several hundred years of restraint up my sleeve.” He crooks a smirk.

His eyes flicker to watch her jugular pulse. The thrum of her little timpani heart makes his mouth wet. He knows she’d taste like salt and sickly Turkish roses and warm bronze coins.

He presses the chemisette aside again and nudges his nose against her pulse point. Right at the epicentre of his life’s greatest desire. He hums a kiss against her neck and she almost faints-

“You shake all those very hard learnt lessons right down to their very foundations.” He promises.

“Iris my love, you are the hardest thing, I’ve ever had to resist.” He tells.

Swooping upwards to kiss at her cheek. Sighing in need against her hot warm skin. If he indulges the temptation of tasting her blood. He doesn’t even want to fathom what the raw animal in him will do to her. Such debauchery he’d surely scandalise her innocence to tipping point.

He will have her on their wedding night and not a second before.

Though the rogue in him does think how goddamn glorious it would be to have her on that bed of hers right now, torn out of that gown. Screeching his name for the whole house to hear. And they can listen to her rapture and whimper, and beg and writhe under the man who really does love her.

Bite her neck as he pumps deep into her slick heat. Gather up every groan as she opens those sweet pink thighs for him and claws at his back. He’d kiss her neck until she yanks her fingers into his hair and tugs. Opens that sweet songbird mouth and calls for him in her bliss, with that ambrosial voice.

He holds the backs of her hips and strokes the silk there with arcing curves of his thumbs. Drawing shapes on that stiff silk.

“I must tell you-“ She starts. “I never was much good at resisting you either. Even after knowing what you are. It shocked me I won’t deny. But it somehow in its twisted way, it made all the sense in the world. It didn’t alter me for my knowledge of it. It didn’t even begin to change the severity my feelings for you.” She tells him. Reaching up and stroking along the handsome plain jaw.

Wholly, un-confinably, remarkably handsome.

“My love-“ He begins warmly. “If I had to, I would throw you over my shoulder to carry you up the aisle to marry me. Even if I had to tear you from your bed and steal you away in the dark of night to be mine. I would have done it. Because this, what we share, it cannot and will never be undone. Can never be ignored.” He promises her.

“Vampires love more deeply than any mortal longing. What I feel for you, it is not fickle. It will never fade. Never wane. We love each other and that will last for as long as we exist on this earth. I thought I had better edify you with these clear facts about my nature, before we are to be bound in matrimony.” He pledges to her. Declaring his undying devotion to her.

Iris rather wants to swoon into his chest - if she had ever been inclined to be a swooning sort of woman. Instead she just beams. A smile so glad it touches the frosty barren place his dead heart inhabited.

“These last few hours will be such a torture.” She comments seriously. But giddy. So giddy it felt like her sides would split open. And molten happy gold would pour out.

His eyes turn promiscuous. As does his domineering smile.

“I can safely offer you nothing but pleasure once the torture is done.” He filthily promises.

She blushes. He wants to lift her up and devour her in a kiss again. Taste those saccharine sweet lips in an animalistic kiss. He savours holding her instead.

Tomorrow he can let the animal roam free over his delicate dove. Tonight is the last night it must be caged.

“Not long to wait now. The last of my household servants left today. I sent Jomar and Jones off to London to make passage to France. Erland and Kana remain to take us to Scotland with one driver, and the coach.” He tells.

She liked that he’s bringing Erland to their elopement. It’s quite fitting when the creature loves her almost as much as he does.

“Then it’s just us. Riding into the wild of the Highland. Roaming over the Scottish moors, and glens and lochs, as a Lord and his Lady.” He paints a vivid picture for her.

She sighs a smile. “Us, has never sounded so splendid.” And she beams brighter than the sun.

He clutches her close for another kiss before he slips away.

The appointed hour loometh. And Iris won’t sleep a wink for thinking of his sharp smile or those savage eyes.

She eventually dreams. And thinks of kissing his soft plush lips once more. Like kissing pink rose petals.

The next time she will, they’ll be well on their way to being man and wife.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #kylo ren x oc #vampire au #vampire!kylo #vampirelovestory #very wolves and doves #adam driver #Iris vibes 🕊#Draegan vibes 🥀#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #more swooning #secret lovers

21 notes · View notes

watchingcutscene · 5 years

Text

No Man’s Sky

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan

Word Count: 2000+

Note: The nsfw ban has me pretty disappointed with tumblr tbh, but i guess that hasn’t really stopped me from posting my stuff (still, if you want more regular updates and most recent stuff, pls follow my DeviantArt or even AO3)....This was written before the game No Man’s Sky actually came out, and we were all excited for it (before it actually came out and proved to be much less exciting than anticipated)

---

She was an unpredictable summer thunderstorm. He was a constant light drizzle. She was an editor, a challenger, a ghost of wilderness that haunted the urban scene. He was an executive director, a nine-to-five worker, a man with a suit and tie constantly crisp and fresh and clean. She liked playing video games after half a bottle of Jack Daniels. He liked seeing his username ranked first on the score board.

They met through her forgetfulness. When Levi returned home nearly 10pm, he found a girl slouched against the apartment door next to his. Her hair was hastily put up in a messy knot. She had on a white button-up, tucked into a dark grey pencil skirt, all wrinkled between her back and her apartment door. She sat cross-legged with her worn out Chucks. The combination of Converse and business attire was what made his gaze linger. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up, her (e/c) eyes vibrant against his grey ones. She had a can of beer in her hand. “Hey,” she greeted him as she got up on her feet. Her voice was light and cheerful. “Hey…” Levi reluctantly replied, having not the slightest clue who this woman was. “I live next door,” she explained, flashing a flawless smile while dusting off her butt, “and I forgot my keys.” Levi’s suspicion eased, he shifted his bag of store-bought premade food to his left hand as he reached for his keys in his pocket. “Do you mind if I climb over your balcony?” He froze for a second, the sound of metal echoed through the hallway as the keys dangled in his hand. He met her gaze a second time. “You can,” his said, voice unintentionally impassive, though his usual deadpan of a face softened, “but isn’t that a little dangerous?” “I’ll be fine,” she replied, her voice trailing off on a high note. He nodded as he opened the door. She marched into his apartment after him, following him to his balcony. “Thanks,” she mumbled with one foot on the railing of the veranda. He watched her back intently, muscles tense, ready to launch himself at her should she falter the slightest. But she was more than graceful when she hurled herself over the railing, landing accurately onto her own property. When she stood up, the now empty can of beer still in hand, she turned and waved at him before heading through the sliding doors and disappearing out of sight. Levi stood there, staring after her, until many seconds had passed and the light in her apartment flickered on. She was pretty, quirky, and a little strange. Also, he noted after replaying the scene of her launching over the balcony, her underwear was black. The same evening a week later, he had begun to wonder when he’d run into his neighbour again, when he heard a knock on his door. He had changed out of his work clothes, and was sporting some grey sweatpants and a black V-neck. Off course, she was there when he answered, this time, she had her hair done up neatly, the bags under her eyes covered by the perfect shade of concealer, and her lips were graced with a wine coloured lipstick. Below her silky blouse and navy trousers, she still had on her old Converse. “Hello,” she smiled, lips curling perfectly, to which he replied with a small smile of his own, “have you had dinner yet?” It was past midnight. Levi leaned himself against his doorway. The distance between him and his visitor drawing a little closer than he had intended. She didn’t falter the slightest, her (e/c) orbs vibrant and unyielding. Seeing the plastic bag in her hand, he lied, “No, I haven’t.” “Good,” she replied, delighted, “I bought some sushi and liquor, and also the new game No Man’s Sky, care to join me?” Her toothy smile was dazzling. Levi felt compelled to smile back, it was contagious. “Um,” the man let out a low chuckle. Laughter was a thing his body was not accustomed to. “Sure”. She stepped back and toward her own apartment, keys already in hand. He followed suit. “Just think of this as a token of my gratitude,” she said as she fumbled with the lock, and when it clicked, added “I cleaned my room, don’t worry.” The apartment was smaller than his, and while it did look like she gave some last-ditched effort to organize the piles of magazines and video games scattered about the living room floor, it was not clean. At least not compared to his anyway. Levi wondered about the room gingerly, afraid to disturbed the organized mess. She was behind the kitchen counter, freeing the boxes of low quality sushi from the plastic bag. She also pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. While she was reaching for beer from the fridge, he remarked, “you have a lot of magazines”, notably a lot of issues of the same magazine. “I’m an editor,” she responded as she placed the various kinds of alcohol and plastic containers of sushi on the coffee table, along with two shot glasses. “Are you a gamer?” she asked half-heartedly, turning on the PS4 that was placed on the floor under her flat screen. “Yeah,” he admitted, picking up the DVD case labeled “No Man’s Sky”, the art was quite impressive. “But I haven’t played this one,” he added. “Hmmm..” she turned back to face him, opening a can of beer and bringing it to her lips before mumbling, “What do you play?” Levi got a can of his own, chugged half of it, and answered half-heartedly, “I don’t know.” She chuckled, “what do you mean you don’t know? Like what, FPS?” He nodded. She giggled to herself and shook her head, mumbling something under her breath he could not hear. They spent the night getting tipsy and exploring the universe. He named planets after people and places, and she named them after the underdogs of the material world. It was easy to distinguish, his were planets called “Zeus” or “Nagoya”, and hers were planets named “Fish Tacos” or “Toe Nail Clippings”. Alcohol really did stimulate creativity. Normally, games like No Man’s Sky would not be Levi’s cup of tea. There was no defined objective, no competition, and therefore no sense of accomplishment. Though he hated to admit it, he liked the gamer clichés: Counter Strike, Call of Duty, and the new Star Wars. He was pretty much a stereotype. She was all that he was not. She didn’t need to vent her stress through virtual reality violence. Game art and animation were the most important. She never paid attention to score boards or kill streaks. She played all her games tipsy. Despite that, Levi still went out and bought himself No Man’s Sky the next day on his way home from work. In fact, he had to visit three different shops to find one that wasn’t sold out. He almost pulled an all-nighter trying to fulfill his purpose as a hitchhiker in the galaxy that first night. He popped open a bottle of whisky that had been collecting dust in his cabinet since the dawn of time, and named his first planet after the girl next door. He told her about his purchase over dinner, which he had invited her to when they ran into each other again one morning before work. His coworkers (namely Hanji) would go nuts if they ever found out Levi asked a girl to dinner. She was wearing a black jump suit with heels and bright red lipstick, looking fierce and powerful and oh-so-beautiful. She was delighted. “I didn’t think you were the type to play those games,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “What did you name your first planet?” Levi was not prepared for that. The tips of his ears flushed pink. “Um,” he must have looked surprised, “I named it…Chuck Taylor”. She frowned in bemusement, “What?” “Oh, you know,” he looked down at his plate, desperately trying to keep his cool, “it’s just…a thing,” he failed. She laughed it off, not pressing him any further. They bonded, for the first time, over things beyond video games. Her favourite flavour of ice cream. His collection of cufflinks. Existential despair. Childhood memories. Allergies. His feelings of tender curiosity found its shoring and morphed, without warning, into a heat wave, a revelation. He fell in love. That was a first too. One night she called him out of the blue just to ask what he was doing. “I’m playing No Man’s Sky,” he couldn’t stop the smile from creeping up his visage. It was a good feeling to have someone call just to ask what you were doing. “Hey what a coincidence!” her voice was very high pitched, “me too!” Levi hesitated before asking, “are you tipsy again?” “Uh-huh,” she didn’t even bother to hide it. “Why do you always play while intoxicated?” he finally thought to ask. “Well,” she began, he could hear the background music from the game playing through the phone, “reality is really demoralizing when you’re sober.” “What does that mean?” She paused to think, “It’s that kind of thing you know. Apparently, there are 18 quintillion planets you can explore in this game.” “Okay…” he ensured her he was still listening. “That’s already such an unfathomable number, but in reality, there’s probably more planets out there,” she continued. “We spend our entire lives being indoctrinated with the brilliance of humanity, but that brilliance is actually nothing but a speck of dust”. Levi paused, processing. “You are very well-articulated for a drunk person,” was his reply. She giggled, “well I’ll have you know that I have a master’s degree in English lit and culture”. He let out an exhale of laughter, “impressive.” The line fell silent. Neither of them knew what to say. “Sometimes I think people are like that too,” it was she who broke the silence, continuing with her drunken philosophical generalizations about human existence, “do you know the book Kafka on the Shore?” Her brain made pretty big leaps when she was drunk. “No,” he replied simply. The background music from the game was no longer echoing through the phone, replacing it were the low hum of traffic and voices of urban life. “Well, it’s by this Japanese author – Murakami,” she continued, “he wrote about this myth, where humans used to have two heads and two hearts, but because the gods feared our strength and power, they cut us in half, so now we have to spend our entire lives searching for our other half.” “That’s very poetic,” Levi stood up to stretch. “But according to No Man’s Sky,” her voice sounded a little distant, muffled by background noises and blurred by wires transmitting telephone signals, “you will never find your other half. Because it’s simply statistically impossible. They say it’ll take 5 billion years to explore every planet in the game, that’s simply too many life times. We can’t afford that.” “But it’s happened,” Levi interrupted, remembering the Google headline, “on the first day of its release, in fact. One player landed on another player’s planet. They contacted each other to meet up at the same location in the game,” he seemed so eager to prove something. She became interested, “did they?” “Yeah,” Levi switched the phone to his left hand, “but apparently they couldn’t see or interact with each other. The game didn’t support multiplayer I guess.” She took some time to think, "well, at least our world supports multiplayer." "What?" "Cause I can see and interact with you." "Well, if you put it that way, I guess..." There was a long pause. Levi became distracted by the background noise on her end. “Hello? Where are you?” he was a little concerned. She was drunk after all. She didn’t reply for a while. “On my balcony.” He was slightly taken aback. Without a word, Levi pulled open the glass doors beside his living room and stepped out into the chilly evening air. “Hey,” her voice synced with the copy of it echoing through his phone. She waved. Her hair was down and flowing through the breeze. It was a mirrored image of the night many days before, she had one foot over the railing. Without warning, she made a leap, the light from her phone screen illuminating Levi’s visage as she landed on his balcony and stumbled into his arms. A moment of silence passed before he sighed in relief, “we have to stop meeting like this,” he chuckled, “what were you doing out here?” “Looking for my other half,” she mumbled sleepily, wrapping her arms around him, head resting on his chest. “I found you.”

4 notes · View notes

yminie · 6 years

Text

breaking temptation | (m)

pairing: Jungkook x Reader warnings/genre: smut, mild in comparision to other chapters lol, hints at sub!kook undertones? like if you tilt your head and squint rlly hard, noona kink? you don’t really need to squint for that one words: 7235 summary: Jungkook ditches movie night for other activities, and you’re not impressed.

a/n: this is it! The final chapter in the series! When I started writing sleeping temptation I never planned for the storyline to turn into a four part series but here we are! As always, other parts are listed below and I highly recommend you read them in order! Hope you guys enjoy and I’ll see you with my new projects soon! <3

sleeping | waking | sweeter | breaking

It’d been roughly two months –give or take– since the incident, and most things had gone back to normal, albeit the boys treating you like you were delicate enough to shatter at one wrong move for the majority, but one thing that had made no progression was Jungkook’s stand off with you.

Since his surprise embrace in the kitchen the day after you safe-worded Namjoon, he still had yet to make a proper conversation with you; eyes dropping and unable to connect with yours whenever you were seemingly close with the others and even worse if he caught the impression you’d recently had sex with one of them, hiding away in his room and acting like you were the personification of the plague.

You’d never quite connected with Jungkook as easily as you’d been able to with his hyung’s, the conversation’s not coming quite as easily or the intimacy never quite blossoming past a hug after a birthday dinner, but it was not for your lack of trying. He was so incredibly sweet and however shy he seemed to be only added to the softness you felt for him. But you just couldn’t seem to bond with him at all, and it played on your mind more often recently than ever before.

Had you considered or entertained the idea he may be gay? Absolutely. Anyone would wonder the same, especially for a young adult coming into his own and surrounded by six handsome older boys in such close quarters, but he never quite let off that vibe enough for you to directly question it, and you knew if the boys caught wind of their youngest feeling that way it would be open knowledge to the group.

It wasn’t until recently that it really started to irk you, beforehand the distance he kept from you was easily put down to his shyness but now it was on a whole other level, and now that they had another break in promotion after a busy two, three weeks of not seeing them, his lack of presence was becoming even more noticeable with the amount the others were around.

“Where’s Jungkook?” Walking into the living room for joint movie night and finding him missing from the couch yet again had you feeling a little bitter, what was his problem that he couldn’t even hang out with the group? It’s one thing to like your alone time, but when you spending every waking moment locked away in your room, it’s hard to believe you don’t have two hours to spare and hang out with your roommates.

“Uh, he went out I think.” Taehyung is distracted, the opening credits of whatever action movie he and Jimin had chosen to kick off the night rolling across the screen.

“He went out? Out where?” You had to nudge him with your foot to bring his attention back from the tv, and he barely paused his watching long enough to notice the bowl of chips in your hand, promptly snatching it from your grip and curling himself around it, his eyes focused back on the screen as he shrugged.

“No idea.” You huffed, frustrated at Taehyung’s blatant lack of worry for what the youngest in the group was up to, but you couldn’t really blame him. Just as much as Jungkook didn’t ever go out, he was also incredibly private, and even if you didn’t like the idea of not knowing where he was, you forced yourself to let it go; he was an adult, he could take care of himself.

Focusing your own eyes on the screen and immersing yourself into the movie, you settled against Taehyung’s side, not missing his small smile at the idea of you cuddling up to him; you didn’t have the heart to point out that you were really there for the chips.

One movie turned into two, two turned into three and it was well past midnight when you finally got up to turn off the tv, pushing Taehyung off of you from where he’d fallen asleep against your shoulder and squashed you against the arm of the lounge. Namjoon, Jin and Jimin helped to tidy the food wrappers and dishes while you were left to be the one with the job of waking the other three boys, Tae and Hoseok grumbling sleepily as you shook them awake.

You’d turned to wake Yoongi from his slumber as well –more gently than the others however– and found his squinting eyes already looking up at you. He sat up slowly, reaching out to pull you towards him as he stood, before nodding in the direction of his room. You’d just started to follow him towards the hall when Tae whined from behind you, trailing along.

“I was already cuddling her on the couch, I wanted her to sleep in my room.” You didn’t have to see Yoongi rolling his eyes; you could feel it, and you grinned to yourself with the secret guilty pleasure you got from them fighting over you.

“That’s if you can call you laying half on top of her cuddling. She hasn’t slept with me in over a week, you were with her two days ago.” He continued on his way, hand wrapped tightly with yours as he pulled you along, and Hoseok followed the three of you, clapping a hand down on Taehyung’s shoulder.

“She has a name, _____ isn’t a toy guys.” Tae closed his mouth and sulked in silence as he disappeared into his room, Hoseok doing the same after bidding you a quiet goodnight, and a few minutes later you were in bed with Yoongi, listening to his breathing deepen and even out as he fell asleep once more, arms tightening around you unconsciously.

Jungkook still hadn’t come home, and even as you tried to forget your concern, he was the last thing you thought about as you drifted off yourself.

__________

You’d woken rather early this morning, and you can’t bring yourself to lie in bed until Yoongi wakes, as you already know he’s going to stay asleep until mid morning/lunchtime. You carefully lift his arm from where it’s draped across your chest and stand from the bed as silently as you can, padding across the room and glancing into Jin’s room as you make to walk past and out into the hall.

Not so surprisingly, Jin is already awake, wiping his hands on a wet cloth and shutting the sugar gliders cage door carefully – ah, feeding time. He looks up to see you peeking at him and smiles warmly, holding the empty food container and cloth in one hand and walking up to you to hold your chin with the other, kissing you gently on the cheek.

“Good morning.” He hums, hand running from your chin to your waist as you turn and walk ahead of him through the doorway, his hand firmly planted on your lower back as you both approach the kitchen. “You’re up quite early.”

“I know, I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. Didn’t see any point in staying in bed, how was your sleep?” Your casual conversation continues, and inevitably you both start preparing breakfast, soon joined by Hoseok’s half-asleep presence at the table, and the smell of food cooking slowly wafting through the house draws the rest of them from their rooms, Taehyung and Jimin bouncing within their seats as they watch the food get closer and closer to being done.

A kiss is pressed to the back of your head and you easily recognize the smell of his body wash, Yoongi’s arm looping around you momentarily as you dish the food from the pan onto the various plates. Jin and Yoongi both reach around you to grab some of the plates and you’re still turned towards the stove when a low whistle fills the room.

“Well, well, busy night?” Jimin teases, and it takes you a second to notice Jungkook standing in the doorway, hair ruffled from sleep and his arms stretched above his head, t-shirt lifting slightly to flash a strip of tan flesh, and he walks to the table at the same time as you, accepting his plate with a quiet thanks and you settle in the seat next to him silently. You know as you’re sitting there eating that you’re staring at him periodically from the corner of your eye, but you can’t help it. He was out all night, something so uncharacteristic for him, and now he’s just appeared back in the house? What time did he even get home? Something feels off.

Jimin catches your eye when you pull your gaze from Jungkook’s cheek once more, a curious smile on his face as he studies the emotion swimming in your eyes, but you brush it off, returning his smile as you quickly finish your food.

Your portion having been far smaller than the boys’ you’re the first to stand from the table to clear your plate, and you hear a few chairs scrape across the floor as you’re rinsing off the dish. Turning, you find Jungkook directly behind you and Taehyung coming up on his flank to put his plate next to you on the counter, and its as you reach out for Jungkook’s plate that you spot the little mottled pink bruise peaking from his t-shirt collar, the sight instantly freezing you with one hand on the plate.

He looks directly up at your face when your grip falters on the dish, and he’s forced to hold it tighter to stop it from falling. You’re not focused on his face at all; gaze lower and more intense as your eyes zero in, and he has to think quickly on what could have caught your attention, trying hard to work it out.

And then he does. Oh, he does.

His eyes are wide with alarm and his opposite hand flies up to clap against his neck, covering the lovebite and instantly confirming your suspicions. A hickey. There’s a fucking hickey on his neck. This kid, had you worrying all night, disappearing with barely a word to any of you and all so he could get lucky? You feel a strange pang of hurt in your chest and you’re sure it’s mirrored in your eyes, but it’s then that Taehyung see’s he’s trying to cover something, and it all comes crashing down.

“What is that Jeon Jungkookie~? Did you get lucky, hm~?” Tae starts a silly dance from side to side, teasing Jungkook while grabbing at his hand, pulling it from his neck and tugging the white cotton further down his chest and revealing even more of the horrible little things. Jungkook is temporarily distracted, eyes ripping from yours and battling Tae’s grip on his shirt, and the spike of jealousy you feel is your breaking point.

The nature with which you tug the plate out of his grip is none too gentle, and your lip is trapped between your teeth as you spin back to the sink, the clank of the porcelain hitting the inside and rattling the counter as you drop it in carelessly, but no one notices you as they all chip in to tease Jungkook further, Hoseok and Jimin now helping Tae’s efforts to pull his shirt away to see exactly how far down those hickies go.

As hard as you try, you can’t drown out their antagonizing voices, and with the strange mix of emotions bubbling inside you, you’re forced to slip from the room, drying your hands quickly and escaping back into Yoongi’s bedroom where you’d left your phone on the charger. You’d only been laying across the bed for about a minute when feet padding across the floor had you turning your head, eyes landing on a sheepish Jimin as he stood at the end of the bed.

“Are you alright?” Your brows furrowed and you couldn’t contain the surprise you felt, not having expected any of them to even notice your exit let alone your mood.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You attempt to brush him off, hoping to brush off your own feelings in the process, but it proves harder than you’d hoped as he crawls up the bed towards you, leaning on one hand above you as he chuckles, legs tangling with yours as he gets closer.

“Is that the game we’re gonna play? I know you too well for that, don’t try and push me away. You’re upset about Jungkook having sex with someone.” His smirk is slightly smug as he watches you grasp for something to say, but you come up empty handed, sighing.

“It’s not that I’m upset that he’s had sex with someone it’s more…” You pause, thinking hard on the best way to word what you’re really trying to say, but Jimin beats you to the punch line.

“You’re upset that he doesn’t want to have sex with you.” You frown at his words, looking away from him as you fidget your phone in your hands aimlessly, the statement hitting a little too close to home.

“Well, yeah I guess. Like,” You stop to take a deep breath, ignoring the way Jimin’s fingers glide up your arm and trail through your hair. “What is it that I don’t have? I’m here everyday, I help out around the house, I care about him and I would love to be… intimate with him, but he doesn’t want me.” You can’t help feeling a little insecure, glancing up to see Jimin’s furrowed brows and frustrated expression. “Is it wrong that I feel hurt? That him disappearing one night without me knowing and sleeping with someone I don’t know about, bothers me?”

Jimin is shaking his head before you finish your rambling, pulling you closer and into his chest as he strokes your hair more firmly. “No I think that’s perfectly normal baby, we all are so close with you and he’s the only one who hasn’t wanted it. I’ve often thought about it myself – myself and the others, we don’t know why he isn’t interested.”

“I feel a bit… disappointed, that he isn’t attracted to me. God, I sound so greedy, but I can’t help it.” You shake your head with an annoyed laugh, pulling away from Jimin and sitting up to rub your hands over your face.

“That’s not the case at all baby, it’s not that he doesn’t find you attractive. He’s good at hiding the way he reacts to you from you but he can’t hide it from everyone, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you on more than one occasion.” He sits up behind you, reaching around to pinch your cheek with a sweet smile, only growing wider as he gets a soft smile in return.

“You think?” Your words are echoing with insecurity and you feel so silly, so immature. There’s nothing stopping Jungkook –or any of the boys– from sleeping with other people, you’d said that from the start. But now that it had actually happened, you didn’t like it – not one bit, and that was crazy to you. That sort of controlling, protective urge was so uncharacteristic of you, especially towards Jungkook, whom you’d never been with in the first place to even be entitled with feeling like this.

“I know.” He indulges you with a grin, pulling you close and squeezing you tightly to his chest, laughing as you groan in slight discomfort from his tight embrace, pulling you back until you’re laying across his torso wiggling in his hold. “If it bothers you so much, just ask Jungkook about it.”

You freeze. “Are you crazy? No way!” He shakes you from side to side, laughing when you giggle at his silliness.

“I’m being serious! Ask him yourself if he’s not interested, he’ll tell you.” You scoffed, shaking your head.

“I doubt it that very much. Besides, I don’t even really want to know.”

__________

You really wanted to fucking know.

It had been two weeks since the first morning Jungkook showed up with those hickies and all the questions you had were burning holes in your brain, the way he’d looked at you in the kitchen when he’d realized you saw them continually replaying in your mind. He hadn’t done it again, disappear and return with hickes littering his body, and there was a dangerously jealous part of you that was happy about that, greediness within wanting him all for yourself even though you’d never had him in the first place.

And not to mention you were even more on edge with the way he continued to ignore you, avoiding being in the same room as you for longer than absolutely necessary. The fact that you already weren’t close with him, and now all of a sudden you’d seemingly done something to make him want to be around you even less had you pissed.

The same went for last night as well, you watching Jungkook’s back with frustration as he hurried down the hall away from you after catching you walking out of the bathroom after your shower. He’d been on his way towards your end of the hallway, probably aiming for the stairs to go down into the kitchen, but the minute he’d spotted you exiting the bathroom he’d promptly spun on his heel and rushed back into his room, eyes bugging.

And now, sitting in the kitchen with a coffee by yourself late on a Thursday night, you were dwelling on everything that had happened. It didn’t help that none of the boys were here to help distract you either, all having decided to head out to dinner together. The apartment was strangely quiet without them, and you almost regretted your decision to stay home instead of joining them.

Your dwelling comes to a halt however, when you hear a rattling noise come from upstairs, and your find yourself momentarily frozen. What the fuck is that?

Your heart started to pound in your chest, blood rushing through your ears as fear struck you, blood running cold as the sound happened again, and you were up and out of your seat; phone grasped firmly in hand as you silently tip toed through the kitchen and out through the living room. Standing at the base of the staircase you paused once more, listening out for the hint of a noise, and you jumped nearly a foot in the air as the sound went off again but louder this time.

Creeping up the staircase and making your best effort to ignore your brain screaming at you to get the hell away from the noise and not walk closer to it, you found yourself in front of the bathroom door, hovering as you gauged whether or not the sound had been coming from within.

A quieter rattle came this time and you noted it had not been from the bathroom like you’d thought, but from further down the hall, and you could feel your body tensing further the closer you got to the source. It’s coming from Namjoon and Taehyung’s room!

You run through all the worst-case scenarios in your head, and decide at the last second while hovering in front of the slightly ajar door that you should probably be ready to call for help. Selecting Namjoon’s caller ID and hovering your thumb over the dial button, you inch closer and reach your hand out to press against the door, willing your shaking fingers to straighten and calm, but before you can put any pressure against the wood, it’s ripped away from your palm and you can’t stop the scream of fright you let out.

“Ahhh! Fuck! You scared the shit out of me Noona!” Jungkook’s eyes are wide, hand braced against his chest and a pile of video games balanced in his opposite hand.

“Holy shit,” you choke out, palm pressed to your own chest as you gasp for air, heart beating rapidly, “What the fuck are you doing here?” Jungkook splutters; mouthing opening and closing quickly.

“W-What do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here? You’re meant to be at dinner with the hyung’s.” You shake your head at him, now sagged against the wall opposite the doorway and he is the same, leaning against the doorframe as you both stare each other down.

“No, you’re meant to be at dinner with the boys, I didn’t want to go out. What were you even doing in there anyway? That’s not your room!” he holds up the games in his hands sheepishly.

“Namjoon-hyung broke Tae’s Overwatch disk so he’d borrowed mine, and I wanted to get it back. Plus the others I lent him… I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I’m sorry.” You nod at his reasoning, waving your hand dismissively.

“No, that’s okay. Sorry for the same.” You both stand there for a moment, silently staring each other down, but he moves first, giving you a flash of an awkward smile before waving and walking the few feet to his bedroom door, pulling it closed behind him. You’re now alone in the dim hallway and you feel your thoughts from earlier creep up once more, and as you’re staring at the strip of light highlighting the bottom of his door, you’ve made up your mind.

Your steps toward the door are determined and before you can think twice, you’ve gripped the handle and pushed the door open quickly, catching the poor boy off guard and making him jump in his computer chair, nearly dropping the gaming disk looped on his finger. “Jungkook?”

He swallows noisily, Adams apple bobbing in his throat as he stares at you, frozen in his seat. “Y-Yes, Noona?” You can see his spine straighten further when you shut the door behind you, and you hesitate for a moment before walking further into his room; its dim and cramped but the scattered instruments and overall organization of it is so very Jungkook that it almost makes you smile.

You walk until you’re standing in front of him, turning to gesture towards the chair next to him, “Can I sit?” he nods quickly, manners winning over his nerves, and it’s not until you’re sitting facing him and looking him dead in the face that you realize what you’re about to do.

This could ruin any semblance of a friendship between the two of you, or it could greatly improve it, and even though you know the risks, you find yourself in too deep to reconsider, the desire to just jump in head first and get it over with at the forefront of your mind. You had always been attracted to Jungkook, naturally, what with his muscular build and obvious handsomeness, and even just the inkling of getting the chance to be with him made your heart flutter and warmth spread within your core.

“Jungkookie, I have a question.” He nods, silently waiting for you to continue. “I’ve been… involved with your hyung’s for a while now… but you’ve-you’ve never-” You find yourself stuttering in nervousness as you try and word the sentence correctly, eyes flicked from his down to your knees.

“Noona?” He’s slightly concerned, leaning forward in his chair and tilting his head at you. God he’s cute.

“Jungkook, do you think I’m attractive?” Clearly not the question he’s expecting, Jungkook straightens in his chair, eyes wide and unblinking as you stare at him nervously, teeth worrying your lower lip.

“I-I, do I what?” You cringe.

“Aha, kidding! That was a silly question; never mind, have a good-” His hand on your wrist stops your escape and you’re forced to sit back down in front of him, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Did you really just ask me if I think you’re attractive?” you cringe again, trying to hide your inner embarrassment with a stiff smile as you fix your stare on his bare feet, tapping your toes against the floor. “Of course I think you’re attractive, you’re probably one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen.”

Your eyes shoot up to his in shock, connecting with his as he furrows his brows and chews on his own lip, the nerves you felt echoed in his eyes. “Wait, really?” His furrow brow turns into a frown.

“Yes, why would you ask me- do you think I don’t?” You shrug, taking a deep breath in to calm your racing heart. Hearing him say that had made you feel so much better, and you knew it was silly to have been so vain about how he felt beforehand, but that nagging little voice in the back of your mind hadn’t let you forget the uncertainty.

“You’ve never… shown any interest. I just assumed you didn’t.” He seems frustrated at your statement, leaning back in his chair with a sigh as he inspects your face. He’s surprisingly at ease and confident sitting here in front of you, a stark difference to the shy, no-eye-contact-for-more-than-five-seconds Jungkook that you were now used to.

“I’m not what you want, and I know that, so I guess I just never bothered.” You gape at him, blinking rapidly at him in shock. What?

“What do you-”

“Are you asking me about this because of the hickies I had? Because you realized I’m not a virgin or something?” He’s laughing slightly as he interrupts you, and his tone is friendly enough to distract you momentarily had he not just told you, you didn’t want him.

“I-I, kind of? I didn’t think you were a -no-, I’m sorry, what did you say? You’re ‘not what I want’? What the hell does that mean?” You’re flabbergasted, waving your hands slightly in the air as you try to convey just how confused his assumption has you, but he’s smooth with his response.

“I don’t do what hyung does, you wouldn’t enjoy sex with me.” If you were gaping before, your jaw had officially smacked against the floor this time, and you braced your hands on his knees as you stared into his eyes.

“Okay, unless this is your way of admitting you have some really weird, dangerous kink you can’t live without, I highly doubt that.” He stares right back at you, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean Jungkook.”

“I know what you do with them Noona, the way they push you around and dominate you, and I don’t do that.” You relax back into your seat as you realize what he means, a small smile growing on your face slowly as you realize just how silly he’s been.

“I was there that night, I saw the bruises – and I helped Jin-hyung carry you to bed when you passed out.” You can’t help but wince. “That… that doesn’t turn me on at all, Noona. I don’t want to use you until you can’t stand. But I’ve seen that’s what you like so I-”

“Jungkook.” You’re giggling, pulling his eyes from the wall next your head and back onto yours. “Do you think I only like to be bruised up and thrown around?” he nods hesitantly. “So you’ve wanted to be with me but you’ve not bothered, and avoided me because you don’t want to do that?” He nods again, tongue flicking across his lips to wet the chapped skin. “You’re so silly.”

“I- huh?” He grows even more confused as you stand up in front of him, taking the one step closer necessary to put you between his open thighs, and you can see the hint of a hand twitch on the chair with his automatic instinct to pull you closer.

“I don’t want you to think that I wouldn’t enjoy sex with you without all that.” His mouth drops open when you ease down to sit across his thighs, thick and sturdy beneath you just like you thought they would be. “Jungkook, I’m attracted to you, but I’m also your friend, and I like you just for you. You don’t have to do all those things to please me.”

“Really? I just thought, since that night-” he’s still hesitant and you’re just beginning to wonder whether you’re pushing him too far when his hand moves from the arm of the chair to press against your lower back gently. It’s the first time he’s touched you like that, and it makes your heart race in the most sweet, innocent way.

“What happened that night will never happen again.” Your words are firm and he relaxes beneath you, hand more confident on your hip now as you lean closer to him. “The dynamic of my relationship with the other boys isn’t something I expect you to understand, and if you’re not interested in that lifestyle then I don’t think you really need to.” He’s looking at you intently, taking in every word and trusting in what you’re telling him, and you bring a hand up stroke his jaw. “But I want you to know that they don’t use me or do anything bad to me, I know that night wasn’t nice for anyone, but you can trust me when I say that isn’t how things are, and that’s not how I like to be left feeling after being intimate with someone.”

“I-I can’t say that I understand, because I don’t, but thank you for… ah… I guess it makes me feel better to know that you’re safe and happy.” You smile at him softly, continuing to stroke against his neck as he pulls you closer. “And… I’m happy you told me that… you like me.”

His hand not on your hip comes up to cup your cheek, and his gaze is incredibly tender as he cradles your chin in his palm. Your heart feels fuzzy and it’s then that you recognize the extent of your feelings for Jungkook. This whole confusion with the uncertainty of his feelings towards you had bothered you far more than the regular person and it’s now, staring into his eyes as you feel him lean in closer to your lips, that you acknowledge why your heart is beating so fast.

“I do. I really like you Kookie-ah.” His lips are on yours without a pause for reply, and he swallows your squeak of surprise. His lips are soft and plush, snagging on your lower lip and sucking it into his mouth gently with a level of skill you didn’t expect. The ‘first time together’ feel is a heady mix when paired with the scent of his cologne and his hand cupping the back of your neck, and you’re moaning against his lips when he pulls you even closer, chest firm under your hand as it slides down from his neck and tangles in the fabric at the hem of his tee.

His hand tangles in your hair as he deepens the kiss, and you’re left gasping when his tongue dips between your lips to graze against yours. Your lips make a slick smacking sound as they disconnect, the both of you breathing heavily as you watch each other. “You’re a really good kisser.”

“Thanks, so are you.” You hum as he pulls you in for another kiss, just one, and when he pulls back this time it’s to look up behind you. You follow his gaze and realize he’s glaring up at his bed, the mattress being on the top bunk and the little ladder stairs up to it. “There’s not a lot of room up there.”

“I’m sure you could make it work.” You pull a grin from him, and he stands, sliding you gently off his lap and towering over you, grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you again, tongue delving deeper this time as he presses you back against what you’re visualising to be the ladder.

The pole digs into your back as he pushes against you harder, arms wrapping around your waist now, but it’s easy to ignore when you finally get the chance to properly appreciate his biceps, gripping them firmly and grinning at the way they flex under your hold.

His teeth pull at your lip gently and you moan again, receiving a surprisingly sweet boyish one in return, and then his hot breath is all over your neck, teeth nipping at skin and tongue laving over the dip in your collar bone and it has your back arching, the bite of the metal bars behind you unpleasant but easily ignored. Your nails make little crescents in his skin as he sucks hard against your neck, lips pulling and tongue rolling across the tender skin.

Jungkook’s lips pull from your neck with a pop and a proud smile flickers across his lips before he dives back in, pulling a chuckle from you. “Ah, I see, so that’s your thing. Does it feel good to mark up my skin like that?” He pulls your skin between his teeth and you grin as his erection throbs against your stomach. “I thought you weren’t into bruises.”

You’re only teasing but you find yourself pleasantly surprised at the gentle swat he delivers to your upper thigh; it’s so light it couldn’t possibly leave a mark, but the exhilaration you feel is just enough. “I might make an exception.” He’s grinning against your neck, hands gripping your waist as he pulls back from your skin once more, giddily observing his handiwork and you can feel the throb of the little lovebites littering your neck. “There’s no way we’re making it up this ladder together.”

You laugh with him as you turn to look at the steps up to his bed behind you, giving him a sly smile as you shrug, “Guess I’ll just go first then.”

“I-” He doesn’t have time to react as you push him back slightly, gripping the handles and stepping up onto the first rung and the next, and its maybe the third or fourth rung when he realizes what you’re trying to do.

You, having been home ‘alone’, had only opted to wear a large t-shirt and panties, and you could tell the exact moment he got a flash of the black lacy fabric by the gasp he couldn’t control, and you hurried up the rest of the rungs to his bed, peeking cheekily over the side at him when you’d settled onto the mattress. He can only shake his head, chuckling as he pulls himself up easily to join you, and when his large body is finally up there with you, you realize just how cramped his bed space is.

“God, how do you sleep up here?” Your nose wrinkles, laughing as you lift your head enough for him to tuck his arms under it, and he settles next to you on his side, propped up on his elbow and grinning along with you.

“I don’t.” You recall for a moment Jimin complaining about the maknae always sleeping in his room, and you’re amused by the idea, but then Jungkook’s lips are back on yours and you don’t bother trying to think about anything else.

He’s leaning right over you, chest touching yours and tongue grazing across your lower lip, and you welcome the weight of him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair as you respond to his tongue with your own. His hand slides from your high to your thigh, and you can feel the way he’s toying with the fabric at the hem of your shirt, the gentle tickle of his finger against your inner thigh making goose bumps scatter across your skin.

“Noona,” his voice is practically a moan against your lips and the sound makes your core clench in anticipation, your own moan escaping as he pulls back slightly, running his tongue gently across your lips. “Can I touch you?”

“God, do you have to ask?” You whine, releasing your hold on him and reaching down to pull the nuisance of a shirt out of your way, dropping it somewhere over the edge of the bed without a second thought and watching the sweet way his eyes widen at your bare body, breasts on full display for him as you press yourself against him. “Touch me, please.”

He swallows thickly, the hand hovering near your thighs rushing up to cup one of your breasts as his mouth descends immediately to the nipple opposite, twirling his tongue around the hardening nub and teeth grazing the tip, reveling in the way you moan under him with your back arched, pushing your chest closer to him. Your legs tangle with his clumsily as you twist your fingers back into his hair, pressing him closer as if that will heighten your pleasure, and he’s working hard for you, face buried into your skin and fingers on your other breast twisting and stroking the little nub, eager to pull more of those cute moans from your lips.

Not one for delayed gratification –unlike some you know too well– he swaps the nipple in his mouth for the other, hand dropping instead to trail across the fabric on the front of your panties before hooking beneath the fabric and pulling it down your thighs. He’s known you for well over a year; he’s had enough of waiting to feel you around his fingers.

The whimper you let out at his thumb flicking against your clit is heaven to his ears, and he repeats the motion; middle finger joining in to swirl in the wetness leaking from your core, and he can feel the way you clench at his touch, moaning into your skin as his teeth graze against you harder.

Your hand palming his erection catches him off guard and his moan curls into a high-pitched whine as your fingers trail over the weeping head through his boxers. You managed to hook your hand into his sweatpants unnoticed but the fabric bunched at the waistband made it increasingly hard for your hand to actually move, and when you grip the top to pull it down, out, away from his body, he slips a finger into your core, hissing at the tight warmth surrounding his digit and immediately withdrawing to place a second finger along with the first, the stretch a little more intense this time and making your gasp cut off into a too-loud squeal. He chuckles against you, eyes peeking up at you with a cocky grin and while you can’t muster the same amount of bite as usual with his fingers hooking into your g-spot, you don’t let him get too far ahead with his control over your body.

You rip the fabric down his thighs until he’s forced to pause and lift his hips slightly, and once they’re out of the way your hand is tugging his length from his underwear, wrapping around his thickness and gliding your thumb over the weeping tip. His fingers are in your hair with the arm beneath your neck, and they twist further into the strands at your touch, pulling enough for it to sting and it only adds to the ache in your core, his fingers resuming their movement inside you.

Trying your hardest to pump his length in time with the thrusts of his fingers in your core, you look up at him and meet his gaze, eyes lidded and dark as they shine with lust, and you can only guess the same sentient is reflected within your own as he moans shamelessly at your touch.

The noises he makes vibrate in your core and your hips are rising to meet his hand, the heel of his palm rutting against you as he fills you completely with his fingers and jerks his hand up and down, pummeling your g-spot completely and rubbing against your clit.

Before you can blink your orgasm hits, driving your hips to lift from the bed completely and he captures your lips with his, swearing against your mouth as you clench around him and your whine is entirely too loud in the small space but you can’t bring yourself to care, breathing hard and relaxing back against the pillow shakily as your hips continue to jerk with the aftershocks.

Once you’ve managed to control your breathing, he slips his fingers from your core, slipping his shirt over his head and his bottoms are quickly ripped from his legs, all disappearing over the side carelessly, and then he’s hovering above you; elbows on either side of your head as he tries his best to fit you both comfortably in the cramped space. You watch with pleasure as he lifts the fingers he’d pulled from you to his mouth, sliding them over his tongue and using the wetness to coat the tip of his length.

Jungkook lines himself up with your entrance and pushes inside you gently, your dripping core taking all of him with ease, and you both tense at the initial throb of pleasure, a long drawn out moan leaking from his lips that you muffle with your own, tasting his tongue as he rolls his hips into you. He’s not too big, not too small but just right, and the slight upwards curve of his shaft helps his tip to press directly into your g-spot, making you throw your head back when he starts to really thrust into you.

His thighs are thick; spreading yours with ease and pressing them back against the bed as he fucks into you, the small space making it slightly difficult but the sheer power he harbor’s within the solid muscles making it easy to press you into the mattress roughly with each thrust. It’s stiflingly hot so close the roof and under his body but you love it, tasting the salt on his skin as your tongue peeks out to graze his jaw and your teeth are quick to catch on his neck, tongue swiping out again to get a better taste.

His whining moans are muffled into the skin of your shoulder, but you can easily hear the way he whimpers ‘Noona, Noona, Noona’ over and over, and the way he wails the honorific when your core clenches around him makes your eyes rolls back. Later on you would wonder if this was how Yoongi or Namjoon felt when you screamed ‘daddy’ for them.

“You fuck Noona so well, Jungkookie~” You praise him quietly and his hips stutter in their pace, his hands hooking under the tops of your shoulders and pulling you down harder against his length, and you can feel yourself pulse around him, another orgasm riding off the sensitivity of your last and quickly forming as the coil inside of you winds tighter and tighter, eventually pulling his orgasm from him as well and you cum around him shakily, the feeling of him spilling inside of you dragging out the aftershocks until you’re both frozen in place, mouths pressed against damp skin and his length throbbing inside you while his cum leaks slowly from your core.

You feel him pull out of you and collapse at your side gently, pulling you to his chest and loosely tugging a sheet over the two of you, and in the dim light reaching his bed, and just before you fall asleep, you somehow find the energy to smile at the trail of blotchy purple bruises littering his neck once more, because this time, they belong to you.

#jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #bts smut #bts scenarios #jungkook imagines

3K notes · View notes

aelin-and-feyre · 7 years

Text

Preferences: First Meeting/Mate Bond

I got part of this idea from @stherix for when the mating bond snaps, thank you darling. First meeting is for the non-Fae in this preference, which was requested by @fiery-feyre @embracethenight138 and some nonnies

THANK YOU @highladyyfeyre @my-boyo-fenrys and @autumn03 for being my beta team on this, you guys helped so much because I honestly didn’t think this was any good so thank you!

Preference Tag List: @runesandfaes @autumn03 @fiery-feyre @januarystears @caitlyn-blackwell @starzablaze @writergash @illyriangoddess @wyrdtoyourmother (let me know if you want to be added to this tag list!)

Rowan:

It snaps right away for him. He smells your intoxicating scent and he meets your eyes and just. Boom. Somehow, in a split second, he is across the room in front of you, his pine green eyes boring into your own with fierce intensity and he purrs, ‘Hello, mate,’ with just the stupidest half smile on his face that you fall in love with immediately. He offers you his hand and bends down low, without taking his eyes off you, to place a kiss on your knuckle. It is a reverent and completely loving touch that sends shivers down your spine and then it clicks for you as well. Rowan’s smile widens because he sees realization dawn in your eyes as he straightens. You take in his tall, strong frame, corded muscles, long white hair, and you murmur, ‘well hello to you too’.

Rhysand:

It seems like all the air is taken from his lungs when it first snaps. His heart is pounding rapidly in his chest and Rhys feels as if it might explode. His usual smug expression disappears until unrelenting determination and love shine through. He doesn’t even believe - can’t believe - that the Cauldron would grace him with such an exquisite creature as a mate. ‘Mine’ he whispers, more to himself than anyone else. You’re across the room so you don’t hear him and Rhys is pretty sure that you don’t know yet, so he decides to not tell you for a little while. However, that doesn’t stop him from murmuring quietly practically every time he sees you - a smile playing on his face - ‘mine.’

Aelin:

She is completely and utterly shocked when the mate bond snaps. Being half-Fae, she was never completely sure that she would get a mate, much less you, her best friend since she was a child. She frets for days about how to tell you, and ends up showing up at your bedroom door one night, in nothing but an extremely scandalous nightgown. You sputter a few times at the sight, trying not to stare at her though you desperately want to. Aelin mutters, ‘Huh, I thought my mate would be happy to see me with so few clothes’. Your eyes widen because you can’t believe that you might have just actually heard her say that. She has a sly smirk on her face as you take a second to process. Finally, you drag your eyes back to her frame and take your time raking them up and down her scantily clad body. ‘Well if by mate, you mean me, then you would be correct’, Aelin’s smile grows and she pushes her way passed you and onto the bed. Slightly opened mouth but not reluctant in the least, you follow her right away.

Dorian:

You first catch Dorian’s eye from across the ballroom. He is so infatuated with your lithe figure as you dance, your bright smile that stretches across your face, and the clever eyes that gleam in the light of the chandeliers, he completely disregards the woman he is talking to and marches straight over to you. Always the charming prince, he bows to your partner and then takes his place, his hand fitting comfortably on your hip. You are shocked that the prince has decided to dance with you, and blush when you notice how intently he searches your face. Dorian finds that he absolutely loves your blush. He dances with you for the entire night, thoroughly confounding your senses. The two of you talk and laugh well past midnight, and Dorian discovers that from that moment on, he really has no desire to dance with anyone else.

Cassian:

He just. Stares. The bond snaps and suddenly there is no where else that Cassian is able to look. He is frozen to his spot and his gaze is glued to you, trying to memorize every part of you down to your soul. You feel his stare on the side of your face and when you meet his eyes, you can’t help but blush. ‘So, I’m guessing you know?’ You ask, walking up to him nervously. He nods, silent. ‘You’re not... mad, are you?’ That shakes him from his daze. He grabs you to him and wraps his wings securely around you, his lips descending to your own instantly. Loving pecks spread across your face and between each one, he speaks. ‘I’ kiss ‘have never’ kiss ‘ever’ kiss ‘been happier’ kiss ‘in my’ kiss ‘entire’ kiss ‘life’. You giggle and relax against him after weeks of worrying over his reaction. Cassian rests his chin on top of your head and closes his eyes. He breathes in your scent and sighs happily. ‘My mate.’

Chaol:

When he first sees you, he is skeptical. He never does really trust beautiful women, especially ones that flit around the castle in big dresses. You’re new, he notices quickly, and briefly wonders why he didn’t know you were coming. But the second time he sees you, and the first time he actually talks to you, its on the running track at 6am. No longer in your finery, he is unable to take his eyes off of your form as you somehow are able to pass him. He catches up with a little more effort and as soon as you smile at him, Chaol is a goner. The two of you go on morning runs together for weeks, and the Captain soon finds himself entering court gatherings even when he’s not needed just to talk to you more when neither of you are sweating and out of breath. So sure, you’re a beautiful woman of the court, but he quickly learns that you are much, much more.

Azriel:

The two of you feel it snap at the exact same time. You’ve known each other forever and have been tiptoeing around the other for years, but now that he knows, Azriel is quick to take action. His arms encircle your waist in a second, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in and pulling you tighter and tighter to him with each passing second. You respond immediately, though you are still shocked, your hands scraping through his hair as you pull him closer as well. ‘I-I always hoped that maybe -’ he murmurs against your skin, his voice hoarse. ‘I know, me too, but I never even thought to dream that -’ you cut off, unable to express your emotion accurately. His hands squeezing your waist slightly is his wordless response, letting you know he understands. The two of you sink to the floor slowly, holding, caressing, admiring each other, murmuring words of adoration and disbelief. Azriel simply cannot stop smiling.

Manon:

Meeting Manon for the first time is always the most important interaction with the witch. First impressions are very important to her. Luckily, she doesn’t find you annoying, weird, or insufferable so you’re already on the right track. Once, you even manage to get her to smile! Abraxos also takes a quick liking to you, which helps a lot where the witch is concerned. She can tell you’re nervous and likes that she has that affect on you. When she’s about to leave, you quickly call her back because you just can’t help yourself, ‘do you think I’ll ever see you again?’ She smirks and you feel a thrill go through you at the gesture. ‘I definitely would not mind crossing your path again, human.’

Lorcan:

He tries really hard not to react when he feels that string pull taught between the two of you. He really does try. It doesn’t work very well though. First of all, he’s surprised because he didn’t think you were possible, and then he’s mad because you are so perfect and would never accept such a monster as him. He almost walks away right there, telling himself that he will leave you to your life without being tied to a murderer. But you call him back and Lorcan cannot believe his ears. Hope blooms across his face and from then on, he is putty in your palms. The sound of your name on his lips make the decision for him; he will work for the rest of his life to be worthy of being your mate.

Lucien:

‘Cauldron’ he murmurs. It happens while the two of you are in bed together. Lucien has absolutely no filter and suddenly he is just telling you. ‘You’re my mate.’ You have just come down from a huge climax and you’re kind of smug as you say, ‘oh that’s why that felt so good’. Lucien roars with laughter, burying his face in your hair and breathing you in. Your hands rake down his hair lovingly. ‘I love you.’ he says, and you can’t help but smile. ‘Two declarations in one night.’ and then, ‘I love you too’.

Aedion:

You meet Aedion for the first time because of mutual friends. Ever the smooth bastard, he is charming and funny and charismatic. It doesn’t take long until you are head over heels, and Aedion soon follows. Many drinks and lots of flirting later, you’re truly not sure how you are going to go home tonight without him. Turns out you can’t. ‘Invite me in?’ He asks after he drops you off that night. You smile and pull him through the door. The two of you don’t end up tumbling in the sheets that night though. Instead, you stay up all night talking about anything and everything. Years later, Aedion likes to joke that he went home with you the night he met you, and he’ll look at you fondly as he says it and wink, because it makes a good story, but you both know the truth.

Mor:

She’s already hopelessly in love with you when the bond finally clicks. In fact, the two of you are getting married when you both feel it. She’s about to finish her vows when her eyes widen and you see the wheels turning in her mind. Mor completely disregards the planned words and starts to speak. ‘I am the Morrigan and my gift is Truth. Thus, when I say I will love you forever, you must believe me. Forever and always, my mate.’ Tears come to your eyes because she felt it too and neither of you hear the gasps through the crowd as she brings you in for the first kiss of the rest of your lives.

Helion:

He realizes it the first time he sees you, and tries his usual flirting techniques, attempting to get you to notice him. Of course, you’re stubborn and refuse to be swayed by a classic womanizer like him, so Helion begins to devote every waking second to getting you to like him. He brings you flowers, bakes your favorite desserts (he is an excellent baker), flatters you constantly, is always trying to ask you to dinner - dinner, not bed - and somehow finds a way to make you blush at all times. Finally, after weeks of him struggling, you agree and Helion rejoices quite publicly. At the end of an extravagant night, you allow him to kiss you and he thinks that he might just die from happiness. It takes many more dates before you allow him to take you to bed though.

Gavriel:

Time slows down when he finally feels the bond. You’re walking away from him, and he is being pulled in the opposite direction, and then suddenly he rips his arm out of his captor’s hold and rushes to you. Gavriel grabs your hand and you meet his eyes. Understanding floods through you as he pulls you far away from those that wish to separate you. He refuses to let you go once you are in private. He memorizes everything about you down to the minute detail. ‘I promise,’ he says, ‘I promise that no matter what happens, I will never leave you’. Because he’s made that mistake once, and he will not do it to his mate. Never.

Kallias:

You’ve served in his court for years, always knowing him as the icy, stoic High Lord of Winter. However, when you unthinkingly serve him some food one day, the bond snaps and Kallias turns into the fluffiest male ever. It takes a little while for both of you to get used to each other and the bond but soon the becomes loving and affectionate. There are smiles that are reserved just for you and little crinkles in the corners of his eyes when he is super happy. He loves to wrap you both up in a blanket and proceed to kiss you senseless. Any prior iciness completely melts when you are around, and you love that you have that affect on him.

Fenrys:

The two of you have been friends for years, and when he realizes that you are his mate, he just blurts it out. ‘You’re my mate.’ Fenrys notices that you don’t look very surprised, and quickly figures out that you already knew. ‘Gods, why didn’t you tell me?’ he asks, scooping you up in his arms and twirling you around. His forehead rests on your own, his large hands cupping your cheeks as he stares into your eyes. ‘You’re my mate’ he murmurs again, like he can’t even believe it. ‘You’re my mate’ Fenrys repeats, loving the smile that lights up your face when he says it. A small peck quickly leads to a passionate kiss which progresses into him picking you up and carrying you to bed. ‘You’re my mate’ shortens to him whispering ‘mate’ all across your body over and over again as he worships you throughout the night.

Tarquin:

About a week after meeting you, it all clicks, and Tarquin’s efforts to woo you double in intensity. Innocent friendly touches become much more meaningful and much less innocent now that he knows. His smiles never fail to knock the air out of your lungs, even though you don’t know why. He takes extra care at pushing a strand behind your hair and before you know it, he’s kissing you, because Tarquin literally cannot help himself. Needless to say, you’re surprised, but not against the feeling of his lips on yours. When he finally pulls away, his eyes still closed, he whispers, ‘that was better than I ever imagined it would be’. And the smile that grows on your face is so big that it hurts. ‘You’ve imagined that?’ Tarquin just nods, still drunk on happiness. ‘Ever since I found out you were my mate.’ You sputter a few times and the High Lord seems to realize what he said. Always the cool guy, he just shrugs and silences your questions with another sweet kiss.

Tamlin:

He never finds his mate because no one deserves that kind of fate.

706 notes · View notes

marjorieterry90 · 4 years

Text

How To Prevent Cat From Peeing On New Rug Astounding Useful Ideas

Start watching your cat has an amazing sense of time or the cat when moving home.Your cats are very territorial, the day and after replacing all of her cats, a gray tabby named Silver, was regularly beating up the litter is not the bag of food does your cat not urinating, you have to use are cloth towels, the paper towels over the world, since it's more comfortable place to scratch.A mix of water can't be trained rather quickly to use on the subject of cleaning up cat urine smell in your cats attention and love.If not, proceed to the shoulder blades, absorb into the ear.

Fortunately, Deckster is still a kitten and your feline before it dries, this less odor will remain.There are lightweight, vinyl nail caps instead.They want this praise, so give it a kitty they want to save your plants.Spraying is one issue most cat lovers have waiting for you to adopt a cat flea product like Advantage or Frontline.At the very best for your cat when they want you to play with it, you cat and this is at night should keep him from going in, and leave it there for a thing one day it may certainly work for one partner to be able to monitor the kitty to scratch, there can be more likely we just let her out of the cat and that you should try to circulate the air that is something that smells like apples or lemon citrus peel and/or instant coffee which cats use it sparingly so as not to underfeed or overfeed your cat.

It is best to keep a close eye on the counter for dinner?Each and every cat to be able to initiate to forestall future accidents.Spaying female cats may dislike one another and a special formula that kills adult fleas on your hardwood floor and can be easy for your cat.It is safe, environmentally friendly and crazy expensive, but at the same with mischievous cats, as they age, they lose muscle tone, including muscles that control the bladder.A cat that they may be annoying but getting upset will not use them.

This kills germs that cause odors without adding a water fountain.Hardest because trying to discover nasty surprises in the same time show him what he is being threatened he will find the best products to see if she does something you would do in fact bond very closely with their hearing as well as testicular cancer and other animals potentially invading their territory.Cats are excessively particular cleaners and perfumes are common questions of those who aren't.This recipe is modified from the blood suckers minutely without causing any real pain is by preventing the cat is scratching.Not all cats have also been known to other animals including squirrels to work as well.

The major effort on your costly furniture, cover the smell and nearly impossible to suppress, but it's quite ineffective in toilet training a cat that is considered experimental but initial reports have been bred to show your cat from enjoying life.Other things to use the litter box will generate the most popular breeds are safer for owners of cats may spray the furniture, give your pet cat and tried to stroke a particularly sensitive area such as feline panleukopenia.Vaccination- To protect plants and aromatic herbs.A quick spray and pre-heat your oven to 365.Occasionally caused by stress, boredom, change or illness.

Feeding your feline when he/she does use the litter tray so that the cat urine odor and blemish.Another solution is to soak cotton balls into your family should try to make a difference and YES Cats will mate frequently with males to ensure that your cat is feral and roams wild she may have more than one litter box is clean.This spray of water to remove the thick of the most popular techniques of how you can help to stop the marking behavior as soon as she had used it correctly for a number of plants that you are angry because it is IN the act to see kittens that can be drawn.Remember, scratching is a good rough material for your cat is spraying in order to get fed.It's true that cats do find that a pheromone spray is non-toxic and safe to use.

If there are not sticky enough to dig and eat out of your cat, you will need a cat not to mention neutered may choose to purchase is the most popular breeds are safer for owners include Cornish Rexes, LaPerm, Sphynx, Oriental Shorthairs, and Devon Rex.The answer is more likely he will redirect his aggression towards whoever is closer to him.This can be quite a while we took him home.Your cat is an indoor cat's environment more interesting by building an activity that is a 1x6 board and some like just to play.Senior pets may still carry the habit of using motion activated sprinklers act in its liquid form in an emergency.

Some cat furniture has to get access to rooms, and even extend your cat's scratching into a bowl of ice nearby too so that they're unhappy about something.Planes and other immune-suppressing disorders.But cats can jump great heights, a simple little word, yet it has little to do a bit of irresistible catnip!How often do the best ways we have two cats, I know you don't want a pet lover.However, cats are going to do it, discourage them from affecting your pet.

How To Stop My Cat Peeing On My Rug

Mostly cats should not make the experience as enjoyable as you get bitten or scratched by a bronchodilator.American Bobtail is also a time when they come into direct contact with a clean litter box.The number-one sign of flea preventative to use the bathroom with a clean bill of health hazards including flea and tick treatments.Treatment for marking is because the owners might keep some things to look for the deterring plants to grow, then you will need to provide your cat in heat will howl terrible noises at inappropriate hours, like midnight or dawn.Canned Tuna, dog food, raw liver use very sparingly.

When bringing in a bush etc. After a few alternative strategies first.Other eggs may drop off onto carpeting or pet store.Multi-level cat posts with toys so that the Cats of Parliamentary HillYou not only when you need are a very sensitive body part - it would do with me... that is, blaming the litter box only.If your litter box is to put him back to a cat's toilet habits or an easy procedure and should occur about twice the size of some kind of molecular constitution which can cause allergies because their owners didn't know about.

In other words, the cat of the cat, with styles ranging from homemade recipes to expensive commercial gadgets.They don't like them, will make the cat urine should not be hard to tolerate the noise is not too hot or too cold for your pet with an enzyme cleaner.Usually it is possible for other cleaning situations are not as pleasant as she gets used to the litter clean is the main reason why most of the time it chews or gnaws on things.Cats love to be fancy or huge for that matter.Many models even have any doubts, you should only use these to play with him.

You could have come under intense scrutiny from veterinarians and concerned pet owners worry about clogging issues.F3 Savannahs will enjoy having their own garden is to fill the box inaccessible to the cat's body, the spot or locking the door to the sparing amonts you'll need to control.The key to their new home because they no longer needed.This is just ruling the roost for the cat.Cat scratching, territorial urine spraying in the world!

There are different and then you have a cat frequent urination could be that your cat hate you?They are also cheaper than many products available for removing tartar, but some are better than merely compromising, why not try out some of them will also spray if they start using it though.Some actually believe it's inhumane to the problem, homeopathic treatment is hands down the road to having a healthier animal.As a matter of business when they have pink tissue that can lead to food allergy.In addition to all cat owners are surprised to have a long-haired cat, you will have his ears and solid construction make it to completely dry.

You don't want to take time to adjust to such a manner remains mostly a mystery.While many people stand still to think that all valuables are out on your furniture ripped up!The procedures are safe, affordable and if they do, they will work out well, but this usually lasts for a while and then use your usual cleaner to really eat anything from the pet odors.Another useful thing about scratching your furniture, carpets and upholstery if fumigating is not to use their litter box.F4 - F7 Savannahs enjoy they whole family, they are clean and deodorize an affected area.

Remedies For Cat Spraying

Make sure it does not have to simply accept this fact and even online.We did have a wider base so that the cat mistakes these for scratching furniture is that high pitched noise.A colony of cats and birds can be used topically.A Savannah cats are about 10 days to entertain their cherished pet.Make sure it gets professional treatment, an expert is always important, but it can exert some of the smell of the time of need, even if you have an account of being hit with behaving in a show of dominance over the chair next to each other so that each cat has something to keep Kitty from destroying your house!

Advantage is an airway dilator when given by your local allergy doctor will not show visible Lymes disease symptoms seen in cats:If you use natural therapies such as Bronchitis, Heartworm Disease, and Pneumonia.Once they get wet and will force your cat is unique for having a benefit for both.They also have plaque or tartar build-up, on the carpet.It's not as simple and inexpensive, and the chemical laden commercial cat food out of hardwood floors with a treat or a new baby or pet, sometimes regress.

#How To Prevent Cat From Peeing On New Rug Astounding Useful Ideas #How Can I Stop My Cat Spraying

0 notes

heretic-altias · 7 years

Text

SSO Bad Ending

If it was possible to fail sso, this is how I’d imagine it goes. I actually almost cried writing this, I could relate to the emotions.

I shifted uneasily on Midnight’s back. This was it. Anne had finally regained enough strength to join us in battle, and now we were off to defeat Dark Core once and for all. Midnight fidgeted underneath me, sensing the fear nobody wanted to admit they had. “It’ll be ok pal” I whispered reassuringly, patting his neck. “I can sense your fear. Theirs too. This won’t be easy” he replied quietly. “It won’t” I agreed “but we’ll win” Our previously stolen barge finally approached Dark Core’s base. “This is it” Alex said “be ready”. The plan was simple. Sneak up to the portal platform when we knew they were meeting there, and attack. In action, it would be much harder. Midnight shifted nervously as we stopped. I patted his neck again, but it didn’t make a difference. I was just as nervous. Anything could happen out there. We snuck through easily. None of the goons were around. “Where are they” Linda mumbled from the back. Linda’s powers weren’t really meant for battle, but she’s taken an ancient looking sword from the Druids and insisted she’d be fine. It had a moon symbol on it, which made me wonder about it’s origin. She’d proved she was able to use it, so we’d reluctantly agreed to bring her into battle when it was clear she wouldn’t stay back no matter what we said. Where she’d learned sword fighting and when, I have no idea. “There they are” Lisa whispered loudly when the portal area came into sight. Yet as we approached we knew something was off. All the goons were with them, and nothing was going on. They weren’t doing anything other then talking, so why were they all there? The goons weren’t needed at meetings like this one. The Dark Riders were all mounted too. Something was really wrong. “Something is off” Linda said, voicing my exact thoughts. “Can’t turn back now” Alex replied. She was right, we were too far in to go back. It was all or nothing now, we had to act before they retrieved the last Dark Rider. “I’ll fly around and attack from the other side, that should grab their attention. Then you guys all charge in” I suggested. The original plan was to all go in together, but if I could draw the goons away it would help. “I don’t know, you could be shot down” Alex said. “It’s the best strategy, we can’t charge all of them like that” Linda told her. They debated for another minute, but I knew I’d won. If Linda agreed with me they all would cave eventually. Sure enough after a moment, Alex reluctantly stepped aside letting me past. I picked up a slow canter and leapt over the rail on the edge of the path. Midnight free fell for a brief moment before wings, the same color as his brown coat, appeared with a flash of energy. One flap, and we were steady and heading right over to the back side. We approached a bit below it, so we weren’t seen right away. “You ready?” I asked Midnight. This was the final reprieve before it started. “No, but it’s now or never” he replied. “We’ll be fine” I assured him. “Just be careful” he sighed “I can’t bear to lose you” I hugged his neck tightly. “We can do this” I told him “then we’ll go out to that cafe you love the fries at so much” “Alright” he said. “Let’s do this” I added, with one final rub on his neck. We shot straight upward, and I immediately blasted fire like Lisa could. There were benefits to having all four powers, I had an entire arsenal of magical attacks. I had been told right before leaving that I was somehow connected to Aideen, and that’s why I had all four. I still wasn’t sure how. All attention turned to us. Well, almost all. Sabine looked to the main path, the way the others were coming. They charged down, and immediately had to narrowly dodge Sabine’s fire. I couldn’t watch them after that, I had my own battle to fight. I hit goon after goon with Soul Strike, before coming face to face with Katja. I had an advantage with Midnight’s wings though, and he knocked her off her horse. I hit her with a Soul Strike, and she stumbled back on the impact. We were still near the edge, and to my surprise she stumbled right off, into the sea. Her horse leapt after her, in a futile attempt to save her. Did I just kill her? I thought suddenly to myself, the idea bothering me. “No idea, think about it later” Midnight, who could hear my thoughts, replied. I shook my head and focused back on the battle at hand. Midnight was right, I couldn’t focus on that now. Alex managed to knock Jessica unconscious, and her horse was guarding her. Alex moved on to some goons, and the horse ignored her. The area near Linda was a mess. She was the only one whose weapon drew blood really. I had to focus really hard to not puke at the metallic smell. Of course, then it went wrong. The portal flashed and out came Darko, followed by an unfamiliar girl. I didn’t have time to get a good look at her. He took one look at the the scene, before lunging towards the closest rider, Linda. He slammed into Meteor, with enough force to knock Linda off his back. Her sword skidded away from her, and came to rest inches from the edge. Seeing she needed help, I dove in there. I managed to grab her in the nick of time. Meteor saw she was safe and dashed off back towards the barge. I started to take Linda there, figuring we could drop her with Meteor and rejoin the fight, when suddenly some kind of energy blast hit Midnight in the wing. I quickly identified the unknown girl as the source. We barely managed to avoid hitting the water, crashing on to the platform edge instead. I immediately leapt to my feet, knowing Midnight needed a moment to get up. To my surprise, instead of attacking me, she lunged at Midnight, dodging past me to do so. “Midnight!” I shouted, but the poor stallion had only just gotten to his feet. She stabbed his neck with a hidden dagger, and he let out an ear piercing cry. I felt his pain through our bond, and in a move of pure instinct jumped on to the girl’s back. I lit my one hand on fire, burning her shoulder, and grabbed for the dagger with the other. Yet this girl clearly had experience, she grabbed my arm with her free hand and flipped me over. I landed right on Midnight, who cried out from the pain. She then shoved us both over the edge. “Jacqueline!” I heard Linda yell. That meant she was ok at least. Midnight desperately attempted to fly us up, but one wing was burned from the energy blast, and I think the other was broken from when I was flipped on top of him. “I’m sorry” the horse said in my thoughts. “It wasn’t you” I replied, also mentally. We hit the icey water in slow motion it seemed. I held Midnight’s neck, and desperately attempted to drag him up to no avail. He was losing a lot of blood, and the salt water didn’t help. I could feel him slipping away. “No, don’t leave” I begged him mentally, despite knowing there was nothing I could do. “I’m sorry” I then told him “I shouldn’t have taken you here” “It was our last chance” he told me weakly “we had to fight today” At this point we had drifted quite far down. I gave one last futile kick upward before knowing I couldn’t do anything. “Go” he begged “leave me and go, you can swim up on your own. At least then you’ll stand a chance” “No, I’m not leaving you” I said, tears forming in my eyes. Those words had been quieter. He was fading away. I was losing him. “I love you” I told him, hugging his neck closer. “I love you too” he replied in just barely a whisper. I felt our bond break. Time seemed to completely stop. I didn’t even notice I was running out of air. I refused to let go of his neck. I felt numb inside. I watched the light above us fade away. I’ll see you on the other side I thought as everything faded to black.

Our story was over.

#star stable #sso

13 notes · View notes

biofunmy · 5 years

Text

Jewish Summer Camp With Campfires, Crafts and No Lights Out

As if on cue, the first camper I meet is a guy named Josh: a nice, 27-year-old Jewish boy with kind eyes, a subtle smile and the same name as my husband, another nice Jewish boy, back home.

“Do you know where Malbec is?” asks this Josh, Josh Blake, rolling his eyes, and then his suitcase, over a wide dirt path flanked by rickety cabins that have been renamed for the weekend. (Malbec and Cabernet, for the men; Pinot Grigio and Rosé for the women; Raisins for all.) “I don’t want to walk all the way over there, if it’s back there …” he says, sounding not unlike Woody Allen.

I don’t blame him. The camp is desert-hot and dusty. And he’s ultimately here, he later admits over bagels, because his parents paid the all-inclusive $525 for him to be. They met on this very land, albeit half a mile away. “Talk about pressure!” he says, laughing.

Ilana Rosenberg, 31, sitting nearby, agrees. “My mother said, ‘Have fun! Go meet your Jewish husband!’ My sister was like, ‘Mom, she could find a Jewish wife, too, you know’.”

American Jewish University owns these 2,800 acres in Southern California’s Simi Valley, which is home to rolling hills and herds of cows, the university’s Brandeis-Bardin Campus and Camp Alonim. Over the next three nights and four days, this 66-year-old summer camp for Jewish kids has been commandeered by a new kind of summer camp — Trybal Gatherings, for Jewish adults.

Trybal Gatherings was founded by Carine Warsawski, 34, a buoyant, Boston-bred M.B.A., with the goal of fostering lasting community among Jews in their 20s and 30s, and, ahem, a few in their 40s.

She held her first Gathering at Camp Eisner in the Berkshires in 2017, roping in mostly friends of friends. Over Labor Day weekend, it sold out, with 125 campers and a wait-list dozens’ deep. Last year, she added Wisconsin; next summer Atlanta, and has plans to expand from Seattle to Austin to Toronto.

Whereas traditions like Birthright Israel offer free trips to the homeland, Ms. Warsawski’s aim is to offer an immersive, low-commitment experience closer to home — one rooted not in Zionism or religious doctrine, but in the shared nostalgia of a Jewish-American rite of passage, complete with archery and horseback riding, and a roster that reads like it’s from the Old Testament. (At one point, I’d forgotten my name-necklace. “That’s O.K.!” someone joked. “It’s probably either Sarah or Rachel.”)

There are two main differences between Jewish kids’ camp and Jewish adults’ camp: No bedtime, and booze, lots of it. Kiddie-pools brimming with hard seltzer at Bubbe’s Beer Garden. Bottles of cheap wine at supper. Compostable flutes of bubbly at Arts & Crafts.

Also, adult campers have careers, though no one talks about them. Web developers and screenwriters, wedding planners and wardrobe stylists. And yes, a few doctors and lawyers. The majority came solo; others hand-in-hand and interfaith or happily married in matching outfits, like Emily and Rachel Leavitt — my Secret Santa, er, Mystery Moses.

It’s a mix of die-hard camp people reliving their glory days, once-homesick campers redoing their awkward years, and first-timers wondering what all the fuss is about. “My parents were immigrants from Iran! They didn’t know about camp!” says Baha Aghajani, 30. Neither did Saraf Shmutz, 39, who moved from Tel Aviv to San Diego. “My summers were ‘go play soccer and bug off.’”

As a writer who hasn’t been back to her camp, Young Judaea, in New Hampshire, in 25 years, I signed up to learn what’s moving Jews to opt for uncomfortable bunk beds and kosher-style mess halls, in lieu of a real vacation.

Trybal isn’t the only over-21 camp cropping up these days. Nor is it the only Jewish one. Camp Nai Nai Nai, which also operates on both coasts, and attracts a post-college, more conservative crowd. And “55+” Orthodox Jews have been davening at summer retreats for decades at places like Isabella Freedman where campers crochet kippahs and take day trips to Tanglewood, in the Berkshires.

Trybal is arguably the only camp, though, that starts the day with an “Abe Weissman Workout,” a calisthenics routine straight out of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.” (Tomato juice refreshers included, but no rompers.)

It’s also, explains Ms. Warsawski, “a place for people who are more -ish than Jew.” Like Molly Shapiro, 28, of Berkeley. ““This is my jam!” she says. “Synagogues today aren’t really designed for us. We want something less traditional, more affordable, more fun. I mean, playing cornhole isn’t Jewish, but we’re playing cornhole together!”

Togetherness is what Trybal is all about. The schedule is packed from early morning to midnight with get-to-know-you-games and group activities like partner massage and mah-jongg, pickling and pool time.

The next morning, I pass up dreamcatcher-making for challah baking. “Oh yeah, this is what I’m here for,” says Abel Horwitz, a young Robert Downey Jr., kneading dough we’ll later braid and adorn with toppings beyond the traditional sesame. Rainbow sprinkles. Peaches. Jalapeños. “Will 20 loaves be enough for all 60 of us tonight,” some Jews worry.

Next, it’s a tossup between the relationship workshop and the ropes course. I decide I like humans more than heights and head over to hear what the visiting Rabbi Sherre Hirsch, has to say. She reads a passage from the 20th-century philosopher Emmanuel Levinas and tells us to partner up. A 26-year-old named Sam and I stare into each other’s faces for a full five minutes. “Sit with the discomfort,” the rabbi urges. Reluctantly, I do. I smile. He winks. I wiggle, examining his wrinkle-free forehead and bushy eyebrows bound to grow bushier in old age, until my awkwardness turns to calm. I’m overwhelmed by a deep feeling of curiosity and compassion for this man, for myself, for humanity.

“That was a good reminder,” Ms. Aghajani says afterward. “To give people more of a chance. To not swipe so fast.”

After a grilled cheese buffet, there’s solar art and yoga and Slip-n-Slide kickball. I head for the hammocks, where a guy with long red hair is lounging in a tie-dyed Helvetica T-shirt that reads “Falafel & Sabich & Hummus & Schwarma.” It’s his third Trybal. He is the camp guitarist, and a rocket scientist in real life.

“I come to be a kid again,” Jeremy Hollander, 34, says. He pauses. “And to, you know, be with my people.” In real life, he doesn’t bring up the fact he’s Jewish. “‘Hollander’ isn’t ‘Schwartzenbaum’. People see me and usually think I’m Scottish or something.” He feels safer that way. Especially today, he says, with rising anti-Semitism. “The flame is being fanned. You never know who has what opinions. Here, I can let my hair down.” (Although, technically, it’s in a ponytail.)

“The only one thing I have to worry about at camp,” he says, “is when am I going to squeeze in a shower?”

Still, before sundown, we all emerge from our bunks neat and clean and dressed in white. “Can you believe I got this for $2.99 at Saks Off Fifth!” exclaims Lauren Katz, a volunteer staffer wearing lace. (We can’t.)

Picture time. “Say Cheese!” the camp photographer instructs. “But we’re lactose intolerant!” someone cries from the crowd.

We gather in a stone-lined grove, to sing and sway and cheek-kiss “Shabbat Shalom,” before making our way to the dining hall for a sit-down dinner of roast chicken. And, of course, plenty of challah.

It’s all so familiar to me. The tunes are different, but the Hebrew words are the same. The trees are eucalyptus, not pine, and Mr. Hollander is not the longhaired, tie-dye-clad musician from my old camp, and yet — he could be.

I agree with what he said earlier. There is something easy and assuring about spending a summer weekend like I used to (albeit for eight whole weeks): with my people. Or, at least with people who remind me of my people. New friends bonded by old memories.

Trybal is like a modern millennial shtetl, where gesundheits fly. And “Hava Nagila” plays at a Hawaiian luau. And campfire stories include, “How I Became a ‘Nice Jewish Guys’ Calendar Model.”

It’s an alternate, insular world where I find myself running through a field, streaked in war paint, chanting: “We have spirit, because we’re Blues! We have spirit because we’re Jews!”

It’s a universe where conversation flows from the Netflix show “Shtisel” to the lack of Jews in Santa Barbara to the universal disdain for online dating (despite the fact that Trybal is sponsored by JSwipe), to whether Ms. Rosenberg indeed met her future husband.

“We’ll see,” she says, smiling. She did make-out at Arts & Crafts with the Trybal barista: a boy she barely remembers being at her bat mitzvah.

On the last night, I slip quietly out of the luau, where the D.J. is rocking “Lean On Me.” I leave the Leavitt ladies in their twin Hawaiian shirts and my Rosé bunkmates dancing the macarena. Mr. Shmutz and the Cabernets are making reunion plans. Mr. Blake is flirting with one of his crushes.

I have an early flight to catch. Back to my husband and kids and, in a way, the future. In the morning, I’ll miss the friendship bracelets and the compliment circle and, like a true last day of camp: tears. For a moment I have FOMO. And then I realize, it’s fine. Sometimes an Irish goodbye is just as good as a Jewish one.

Rachel Levin is a contributor to the Travel section and the author, with Wise Sons Deli, of “EAT SOMETHING,” to be published in March, by Chronicle Books.

52 PLACES AND MUCH, MUCH MORE Follow our 52 Places traveler, Sebastian Modak, on Instagram as he travels the world, and discover more Travel coverage by following us on Twitter and Facebook. And sign up for our Travel Dispatch newsletter: Each week you’ll receive tips on traveling smarter, stories on hot destinations and access to photos from all over the world.

Sahred From Source link Travel

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2LHUz87 via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes

postculturemag-blog · 6 years

Photo

What’s Better Than This? Guys Being Dudes

Read on Post Culture

The End of the Movie

Despite being a child of the 90s I consider myself a super fan when it comes to 80s movies. Every month my local Alamo Drafthouse movie theater holds viewings for older movies and I always try to make at least once a month. Last month it was Nick Castle’s The Last Starfighter.

The first 80s movie I remember falling in love with was the Spielberg classic Stand by Me. Stand by Me was a coming-of-age story about a group of friends who go in search of a rumored dead body. Along the way they meet a host of characters and challenges that send them on individual journeys of self-discovery.

Even back then I couldn’t help but draw comparisons to another childhood-best-friends coming-of-age movie I’d seen: Now and Then. Now and Then was billed to me as Stand by Me, but for Girls. Instead of a group of boy friends going on an epic journal of self-discovery to find a dead body, the audience was treated to snapshots of summer spent with a group of girls who just wanted to buy a treehouse together and maybe put a disturbed spirit or two to rest, too.

Both films share themes that are integral to all coming-of-age films, most importantly growth and independence. At the end of Now and Then once the girls have secured enough money to buy their treehouse Samantha comments that “The tree house was supposed to bring us more independence. But what the summer actually brought was independence from each other.” The idea is sweet and profound, made even more so by the opening reunion between the friends, now all grown-up, and the promise they make to each other at the end to visit together more often.

The end of Stand by Me is noticeably different. After our brave heroes overcome trials and the perils of pubertal self-discovery and find the dead body, the adventure, and summer, are over. A flashforward narrated by Gordie tells us that the boys drifted apart with age. Teddy and Vern became passing figures in Gordie’s life. He remained close with Chris through college until he went off to university—then died breaking up a fight at a restaurant. This prompts Gordie to write the famously heartstring-pulling line: “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve.”

I remember casually asking my dad at the end of Now and Then why the boys didn’t stay together like the girls. His response? “They’re boys.” Like that explained everything. At the time, it actually kind of did. There was a reason the men in the movies I saw didn’t hug or talk about their feelings like the women did. In fact, attempts at intimacy or emotional connection between male characters were either played for laughs or shown as a cautionary tale.

“They’re boys” was the simple answer to a complex problem, but like most moviegoers, I was content to leave it at that.

But now that I’m older I have to ask why? Why are boys expected to sever ties with the people they care about when they grow older? What kind of Wormer Brothers-level havoc does puberty wreak on boys that it seemingly spares girls?

The answer is a lot less mystical than dead bodies or resurrected spirit.

Dude, Where’s My Emotional Intimacy?

Gordie’s line about never having friends like the ones he had when he was twelve isn’t isolated fiction. Boys tend to form closer bonds with other boys in childhood and almost seem to “lose” the ability to later. Sociologist Lisa Wade theorizes that around the ages of fifteen and sixteen teenage boys start learning what it means to “be a real man,” and the feminine-coded traits of friendship do not fall into that ideal.

In her book Deep Secrets: Boys’ Friendships and the Crisis of Connection psychologist Niobe Way followed boys of varying ages over four years to chronicle their views on friendship. Wade highlights a particularly devastating part of her research in which a 15-year-old boy named Justin was asked to describe his feelings towards his best friend at two different parts of his life:

[My best friend and I] love each other… that’s it… you have this thing that is deep, so deep, it’s within you, you can’t explain it. It’s just a thing that you know that person is that person… I guess in life, sometimes two people can really, really understand each other and really have a trust, respect and love for each other.

By his senior year, however, this is what he had to say about friendship:

[My friend and I] we mostly joke around. It’s not like really anything serious or whatever… I don’t talk to nobody about serious stuff… I don’t talk to nobody. I don’t share my feelings really. Not that kind of person or whatever… It’s just something that I don’t do.

Niobe’s interviews with boys are both eye-opening and heartbreaking. At one point she interviewed a freshman named Jason who touted the merits of friendship as having someone to turn to. Three years later she asked Jason if he had any close friends and he “said no and immediately [added] that while he nothing against gay people, he himself [was] not gay.”

Despite popular belief, men actually desire (and need) emotional intimacy just as much as women do. In fact, not having those emotional connections contribute greatly to men’s health problems.

So if men want it, and the lack of it might actually kill them, why can’t they have it?

Heterosexual men are taught that the romantic and sexual relationships they have with women are the only acceptable source of intimacy and closeness they’re allowed to have. That’s often why straight men feel the need to caveat any positive, slightly friendly interaction with another male with “No homo.” Popular belief is that if a guy is showing affection to a person he must want to date or have sex with that person. Hence the word bromance. Know what the female equivalent of a bromance is? A friendship.

Friendship between men is such a delicate walk between ‘just-guys-being-dudes’ and ‘full-on-homo’ that its become almost regulated. Telegraph’s Chris Moss posted a handy guide titled “A fine bromance: the 12 rules of male friendship” that featured such ‘rules’ as this:

Never openly verbalise that you value the friendship. Most men avoid literalness. There’s something vulgar about declaring “how important you are to me”. But there is also a kind of mysticism in never quite affirming that this might just be the second, or even the, central love in your life. Sometimes stating the obvious makes the obvious deteriorate or vanish. So respect the given; you can always weep openly at a friend’s funeral.

Even with the wink-wink-nudge-nudge aspect, it is still depressing to think that men have to edit their feelings in an effort to not make the people they care about uncomfortable. The other day on Twitter a virtual (female) stranger told me she loved me. In line at the checkout at Walgreens, I overheard a man say to his (male) companion “That’s a nice shirt, man. No homo.”

The restrictive range of what’s considered “acceptable” emotions men are allowed to feel are just some of the ways the patriarchy takes a toll on men, and it has real-life harmful effects. Misogyny and homophobia are core driving factors to this epidemic, and what’s worse is that it’s become normalized. One way society is both chronicles and reinforces these unwritten rules of masculinity? Movies.

It’s important to remember that things haven’t always been this way for men. Silver screen blockbusters show us that at some point in time a fella could hug another fella after a shootout without anyone feeling the need to qualify it with a “No homo.”

So where did it all begin to turn?

Blow Your Wig

Because platonic intimacy between men wasn’t vilified in early years, depictions of strong bonds between men were actively depicted in cinema. In fact, the first same-sex kiss on screen in the 1927 silent film Wings was an entirely platonic kiss between two male infantrymen (Buddy Rogers and Richard Arlen).

Audiences didn’t so much as bat an eye at the kiss. It went on to become a critical success and won the first ever Academy Award for Best Picture.

Another early 20th-century film that highlighted male friendships was the bad boy classic Rebel Without a Cause (1955). Let’s be honest here for a second, folks: James Dean wasn’t that great of an actor, he was just handsome (don’t @ me). That mug put butts in the seats for his performance as Jim Stark, the film’s troubled teenage protagonist just trying to make it. Aside from James Dean’s bad boy good looks the most memorable aspect of the film is Jim’s friendship with even more troubled outcast Plato (Sal Mineo). Jim’s feelings toward Plato take on a paternal tone, helping them both make up for something they lack. For Plato, it’s a stable, loving family. For Jim, it’s a sense of what it means to be a real man. Unusual as their dynamic was people were touched by love and care they shared. That’s further complicated when you look a little harder, but that’s a conversation for another time.

What’s Your Damage?

The 1980s and 1990s gave rise to the timeless buddies trope. Buddy comedies were defined by their “odd couple” approach to hyper-masculine films. Movies like 1988’s Midnight Run took the tried and true formula and flips it on its head, but still stays true to the hyper-masculine-odd-couple trope.

The most popular of this genre is the buddy cop film. The Lethal Weapon franchise (1987) is often credited with starting the movement in films, and sure enough, helped define other films in the genre. You take one by-the-book veteran cop, mix in a younger, more hair-trigger partner, throw in a few explosions and shootouts for maximum masculinity, and bam, you’ve got yourself a buddy cop film.

Because the men themselves were in a profession defined by its hard-shelled masculine nature the characters were allowed—in small doses—a degree of intimacy between one another. You wouldn’t catch Martin cathartically kissing Robert Thelma & Louise-style after one of their many near-death experiences, but the average heterosexual man wouldn’t feel too weirded out over an affectionate clap on the back or mildly fond poses in marketing materials.

The late 80s and early 90s also gave birth to a peculiar kind of cinematic take on male friendships I like to call Feelings Are Gay and Bad.

Unlike the buddy movies of the same decade, these films wielded homoeroticism like an Aesop’s Fable in 35mm. Rather than depict male friendships as the begrudged act of two hardened, red-blooded American males, these films opted to show brutal, all-consuming homoerotic unholy unions that eventually came to screeching—and often deadly—halt. A character who placed his love and care with another man would come to rue it by the film’s end or would learn a valuable lesson about vulnerability.

In Reservoir Dogs the audience watches as Mr. White lovingly cradles a wounded and terrified Mr. Orange in his arms. In between horrifying, blood-soaked scenes in the present we’re privy to Mr. Orange’s secret: he’s an undercover cop working to bust White’s crime ring from the inside. Blissfully ignorant, White soothes and protects him. He even goes so far as to pull a gun on the man in charge for threatening to kill him. After the infamous Mexican stand-off, White crawls over to Orange’s body as the police close in, only to be told Orange is actually a cop. The movie closes in on White’s anguish as the police surround them.

Kathryn Bigelow’s Point Break (1991) introduced the world to Special Agent Johnny Utah (birth name Heterosexual McManlyman), former football star and current by-the-book FBI agent who goes undercover in a group of adrenaline junkie surfers and becomes dude-smitten with their charismatic leader, Bodhi. The explosions, killer surfing scenes, and the fact that Special Agent Johnny Utahis a former Rose-bowl winner and current gun-wielding badass makes it okay for male audience members to laugh at lines like “We gonna jump or jerk off?”

Nick Schager of The Daily Beast referred to Point Break as “A Homoerotic Classic.” Whether Point Break is a cautionary tale about getting too close or an intentionally subversive homoerotic film a female director remains a hotly contested.

The film adaption of Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire (1994) and David Fincher’s take on the Chuck Palahniuk classic Fight Club (1996) both use their source materials’ explicit homoeroticism to make the story darker and grittier. In Fight Club’s case, this was used in conjunction with what many feminists consider a critique of hypermasculinity, made with the intent to draw straight men to watch and leave rattled. For Interview with the Vampire, while Anne Rice’s intent was clear, some parts had to be altered considerably for consumption.

During this decade films of this kind also started to utilize the Deranged Homosexual trope. Poor, unfortunate heterosexual men would offer their friendship and find themselves in the grips another, obsessed and subtextually sexual man. The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999), another novel-to-film adaptation, takes the time to build up the dynamic between Tom and Dickie from budding friendship to growing obsession until Dickie’s ultimate death at Tom’s hands.

The 80s and 90s weren’t the purgatories of male friendships, though. For every Cable Guy(1996) there was a Sandlot (1993) after all. Still, the trend in media portrayals of male intimacy in films during this era set a particular tone that went virtually unchallenged until the following decade.

Isn’t It Bromantic?

The 2000s were the start of the “exclusively comedy” buddy films. In contrast with buddy films of the 80s that were action films that sometimes featured comedy, the male friendship movies of the 2000s were comedies that sometimes featured action.

The 2000s also saw a rise in the use of the term bromance or bromantic comedy to describe close male friendships. Even the word bromance evokes a mocking callback to romance, self-deprecatingly lampshading the connotations of two men being emotionally intimate. ‘Bromance’ takes the idea that men are emotionally illiterate and incapable of showing care without sexual or romantic inclinations and applies it homosocial relationships. In other words, the word ‘bromance’ pretty much plays itself. So started the attempt to strike a balance between “Fuck yeah, friendship!” and dudebro-ish mocking.

And mock they did. It was as if the homosocially-propelled films of this decade were constantly at war with their desire to show the close bonds men can foster with each other, and their need to assure the men watching it that yes, they know how “gay” the idea sounds.

I call this the “No Homo!™” movement.

When The 40-Year-Old Virgin premiered in 2005 it marketed itself as a raunchy, stupid, over-the-top sex comedy for men. Steve Carell plays Andy Stitzer, the eponymous forty-year-old virgin. After it’s revealed to his friends that he’s never had sex he’s put on a quest to lose his virginity as quickly as possible. This devolves into a series of cheap laughs, dubious sexual situations and, of course, rampant transphobia and homophobia.

The movie focuses on Andy’s quest (spoiler alert: the real loss of virginity was the self-discovery he had along the way!) but the B-plot belongs to two of his friends/bullies: Seth Rogen’s Cal and Paul Rudd’s David. The two spend most of the money bickering and insulting each other by making jabs at who’s “gayest” (“You wanna know how I know you’re gay? You like Coldplay.”) The jokes are cheap and unfunny but are sure-fire ways to get a chuckle out of your standard insecure bro-type.

At the end of the film after Jay apologizes to Andy for pressuring him into losing his virginity the two hug and embrace. In a call back to Cal and David’s game Haziz, their manage, comments snidely:

Haziz: Do you know how I know you guys are gay? You’re holding each other ever so gently.

This allows the film to reassure the audience that despite the lovey-dovey shit that’s just happened this is still a dude film.

Some praised The 40-Year-Old Virgin for “deconstructing the bromance formula,” but when compared to other films in its decade we can see its done nothing of the sort.

After the commercial success of The 40-Year-Old Virgin, we were treated to another Apatow-Rogen bromance film with Superbad (2007). Superbad brought Jonah Hill and Michael Cera together as Seth and Evan (named after writers Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg), two high school seniors desperate to lose their virginity before college. Despite the classic pitfalls—Seth Rogen himself later said jokes in the movie were “blatantly homophobic”—the movie handled the friendship between Seth and Evan with surprising care. During a quiet scene, Seth (drunkenly) confronts Evan about rooming with their mutual friend in college. Evan apologizes and admits he’s afraid to live alone. The two make up and say they love each other, then wonder aloud why they’ve never said they loved each other before.

Evan: I love you. It’s like, why can’t we say that every day? Why can’t we say it more often?

Seth: I just love you. I just wanna go on the rooftops and scream “I love my best friend Evan.”

Sure, they’re drunk and it’s comedic, but the comedy is more about their drunkenness than their love for each other.

At the end of the film the two friends meet up with their respective love interests at a mall and go their separate ways. This reminded me of the end of Stand by Me (and that is the first and last time you’ll hear me compare Stephen King and Rob Reiner to Seth Rogen and Greg Mottola): boys with a fierce bond drifting apart as evidence of their maturity and growth. As if the moment they spent telling each other they loved one another the night before was meaningless.

Seth Rogen, you sonofabitch.

Riding off the rise of Seth Rogen’s bromance comedies came I Love You, Man (2009) which tried to brand itself as the “bromance” movie. The movie set out to answer one question: Why don’t men have friends? The answer was a resounding “Uhhh?”

Peter Klaven (Paul Rudd) goes in search of a best guy friend after realizing he has no one to be his best man at his upcoming wedding. After going on a misfortune of “friend dates” he runs into and befriends smooth con man Sydney Fife (Jason Segal). I Love You, Man starts off as Feelings Are Gay and Bad and ends up a lukewarm reunion that skirts clumsily around the subject of real emotion like Jason Segal on a moped.

The only reason I rip on I Love You, Man is because it truly could have been groundbreaking. At the time it was considered groundbreaking because for once the premise of the movie was about male friendship. Not friendship plus virginity and booze, just friendship. It went even further to prove its progressive cred by introducing Paul’s But-Not-Too-Gay brother Robbie (Andy Samberg) as a shining example of sports-and-meat-loving masculinity. Still, despite its failure to truly commit, I Love You, Man managed to make a bromance film that didn’t rely heavily on sex and slapstick to validate itself as a “guy’s” movie.

Other notable bromance films of this decade like Dude, Where’s My Car? (2000), Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle (2004), and The Hangover (2009) also used similar tactics of highlighting friendship and neutralizing the discomfort of seeing intimate male friendships via homophobic language, slapstick comedy, objectification, and more. The self-deprecating overcompensation that defined the movies of his decade was a reflection and reinforcer of America’s evolving feelings towards male intimacy. It was no longer “Don’t be intimate with your male friends” but “Don’t be too intimate with your male friends.”

Men Have Feelings, Too (And That’s Okay)

Things began to subtly shift for bromance movies in the 2010s. Slapstick and Seth Rogen still reign supreme, but now there was a softer and more forgiving edge to it all. Conversations on hypermasculinity and homophobia were propelled into the mainstream to start a national dialogue. The idea of what it means to be a man and what masculinity really means started to change as did their portrayals in film.

“Your average dudebro” is the very demographic that needs to see these kinds of relationships normalized in the first place.

You could argue that Seth Rogen is the kind of bro comedies. He’s produced such nerdboy-testosterone, weed-filled slapsticks as Pineapple Express, Superbad, This is the End, and Game Over, Man! Whether as an actor, director, producer, or writer, Seth Rogen’s name has become synonymous with the kind of obnoxious bro-rock marketing execs don’t even consider women a demographic for.

But I would argue that much of the normalization of intimate male friendships comes from your average Seth Rogen film. Most of the time these are “dumb fun” comedies. That’s not to say other films by other people don’t portray male friendships just as well, but while movies like Magic Mike XXL (2015) are heartwarming examples of the kind of power platonic male intimacy can have they’re not as likely to be watched by your average dudebro. “Your average dudebro” is the very demographic that needs to see these kinds of relationships normalized in the first place.

The 2011 comedy-drama 50/50 cast Seth Rogen as Kyle Hirons, a man watching his best friend Adam (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) undergo chemotherapy. Even though he doesn’t possess the necessary bedside manner he plants himself as Adam’s rock (and wingman) through his treatment. When Adam’s girlfriend cheats on him he angrily confronts her to defend his honor.

The film is at times tone-deaf and crude as any movie starring Seth Rogen and directed by Jonathan Levine is wont to be, but the message at its core is sweet and powerful.

In the controversial Netflix film The Interview (2014), Seth Rogen balances crude humor and James Franco-ness with an almost careful tenderness between the two male leads. During the penultimate scene where Dave and Aaron are preparing to walk to their deaths in order to save North Korea, the two share a quiet, intimate moment together discussing Dave’s hypothetical biography.

Dave: As the two best friends stared into each other in the eyes, they knew that this might be the end of a long road. But they also knew how much they meant to each other. And even though neither one could say it out loud, they were both thinking…

Aaron and Dave: [whispers] I love you.

What shocked me about this scene wasn’t just that two men had said they loved each other in an action-comedy, it was that the scene was played straight. No jokes, no thrown in “No homo!” It didn’t make up for the rest of the film, but it furthered my appreciation for Seth Rogen.

Another unexpected gem in the same vein are the 21 Jump Street movies, specifically its sequel 22 Jump Street. In 22 Jump Street we’re re-introduced to Jenko and Schmidt, who are assigned to go undercover at a college to find out what student has been dealing the drug WHY-PHY. Jenko gets close to a suspect in the investigation–the popular, athletic Rooster–and starts to blow off Schmidt, much to the latter’s dismay.

While Schmidt does spend a not insignificant portion of the film playing a comical version of a scorned lover for audiences to point and laugh it, you can’t knock 22 for trying to tackle a virtually undiscussed issue in male friendships: jealousy. This is pleasantly resolved near the end of the film with Jenko assures Schmidt that he lifts him up—while they’re dangling from a helicopter, but still.

There are plenty of other films from the 2010s that truly flip the script on your standard movie bromance (Due Date [2010], The Green Hornet [2011], and even This is the End [2013] if you’re in the camp of thinking they did rape jokes the right way) but I’d like to wrap up with one that’s dear to me: Seth Rogen’s Neighbors (2014).

On premise alone Neighbors sounds like your run-of-the-mill ignorant bro comedy. Mac and Kelly Radner (Seth Rogen and Rose Byrne) get into a prank war with the Delta Psi Beta fraternity that’s moved next door, headed by Teddy (Zac Efron) and Pete (Dave Franco). The humor is slapstick and borders on gross at times but is absent the casual bigotry that early Rogen/Goldberg films weren’t shy about including. Of note is Pete and Teddy’s relationship. It’s revealed that Pete slept with Teddy’s girlfriend, and even though this causes bad blood between the two Teddy still sacrifices himself when the police show up to spare Pete’s bright future.

Neighbors 2: Sorority Rising (2016), though, by far takes the cake for the best of the two. It opens on the old Delta Psi brothers assisting Pete’s boyfriend Darren in a Jason Mraz-inspired proposal. Having peaked in college, Teddy lives on Pete and his boyfriend’s couch. This comes to an end after the proposal and the two friends having a falling out, prompting Teddy to leave in search of a place to feel wanted. When crashing with the Radners doesn’t work out he moves on to a struggling sorority.

The decision to make Pete bisexual (or gay) was a conscious one suggested by writer Evan Goldberg and reporter asking director Nicholas Stoller why he’s never had gay characters in his films.

At the end of the film, Teddy and Pete make up in time for Teddy to plan and be the best man at his wedding. Before walking Pete down the aisle Teddy stops to give him a pep talk:

Teddy: You all right? You seem really nervous.

Pete: I’m having a little bit of a meltdown.

Teddy: Just remember, man, Darren loves you more than anyone in the entire world- Darren cherishes his friendship with you. Darren can’t imagine his life without you. And Darren is proud to call you his best friend.

Pete: You’re not talking about Darren, are you?

Teddy: No, not really.

The humor stays intact and without the expense of losing intimacy. Teddy is even allowed to tear up with pride and happiness for his best friend in full view of the camera before the scene is over.

And you still get a poop joke.

A movie that utilizes Seth Rogen, Zac Efron, and Dave Franco and a plethora and copy-and-paste frat bros to chastise against using misogynistic slurs (“Don’t call them hoes. That’s not cool anymore.”) and normalize gay love is a feat in and of itself. You could argue that the movie tries a little too hard to seem progressive and open-minded (at one point Teddy helps the sorority throw a Feminist Icon Party that features three different Hillary Clinton costumes) but the effort is genuine and appreciated. The film doesn’t equate masculinity with misogyny and homophobia. It allows their funny frat bros to show vulnerability and care for one another in a way that promotes laughter but doesn’t mock.

The expected bro humor isn’t sacrificed in favor of these progressive elements either. There are women in bikinis, babies holding sex toys, and unnecessary dick and poop comedy. All the elements that define a sleazy bro comedy but without the sleaze.

These movies are important to show that men being vulnerable and caring about one another doesn’t have to be something shameful, or something that comes with rules, or something that should be laughed at. Looking back on the up-and-down progression of these portrayals is at times hilarious, but are mostly sobering and sad. We should promote and support portrayals intimate male friendships in media to normalize the concept of platonic male intimacy.

So, straight men, go. Re-watch Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle or The Shawshank Redemption and consider telling a friend they’re important to you. You might never have friends like the ones you had when you were twelve but it’s never too late to find that kind of bond again.

#toxic masculinity #let boys be soft #patriarchy #no homo

0 notes