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silvercrystalwhump · 3 years

Text

Little thing based on an idea for Ash

@ashintheairlikesnow owns all of these characters I just an idea one day and decided- Hey I'ma write this. Enjoy

TW: implied noncon, noncon photo taking, general bbu warning, Owen Grant exists

Vincent drums his fingers across the wood with nails bitten to near bleeding. A hard drive sits on the table in front of him, almost eating at his eyes by simply existing. It’s red, and the word Memories is written on the side. His eyes bore into the table, wanting the hard drive to combust and leave his life.

“You know I could always see what's on there?”

James, the only person other than his therapist to know about Owen, leans by an open window. The sound of Blue Jays singing outside dances through his words like background music on set. The only reason he had the displeasure of knowing about that migraine-inducing part of his life was that Vincent forgot to watch his liquor intake at an event and vomited out his entire life story to James in one night. Needless to say, he woke up the next morning with a hangover that could kill god and a very concerned James who knew too much.

Vincent shakes his head, “I am fairly certain I know what's on this, I don’t want you seeing that.”

James doesn’t respond, “I have an incinerator at home. You can just get rid of it there.”

“If it’s not I’ll be destroying something I actually like.”

Vincent did not even know why he had him come over. After he saw the handwriting he just went on autopilot. “Could you drive down about five minutes down, there’s this small coffee place that makes pecan pie flavored coffee, can you go get me some?”

“Sure,” James says, “Do you want me to go so you can do this alone and I can come back later or?”

“No, I just need you out of the house for maybe 15 minutes, it’s not like you probably have already figured out what I think is on this hard drive.”

James shrugs, “You want something to eat too?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Vincent hears James’ keys jungle quietly and the door opens. He can hear his footsteps walk down his porch. As he listens to James’ car start, Vincent puts his head in his hands. His finger knit into his hair and closes, threatening to rip the follicles right from his skull. I really don’t want to see this. He exhales as he hears the car pull out of the driveway and his gate slide closed.

Inhale, he closes his eyes and fumbles the hard drive into the laptop. Then, exhaling, he opens his eyes.

USP Pot In-Use. Transfer 486 GB of data onto this device?

Half a terabyte of data just sitting on a hard drive. A hard drive that was in the button of one of Vincent’s bags for months. Vincent starts to chew on the inside of his cheek, hands trembling near the mouse pad.

Yes.

Not enough storage for transfer. Preview file?

Yes.

A handful of files transfer to his laptop. Some files were named with dates, some with pet names, some with actual event titles but all were photos. Vincent closes his eyes and opens one simply labeled Coffee. The actual photo itself is just him sitting in one of his old dressing rooms back when working with Owen. There is a blurry spot in the upper left-hand corner of the photo. This was definitely Owen’s phone. Owen’s phone always had a blurry spot in the upper left-hand corner no matter how much Owen wiped it off.

The photo looks like it was taken at an awkward angle. Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose and mutters, “So he stalked me long before the incident, I stopped working there months before it happened.” The other handful of photos are similar; pictures were taken without Vincent noticing, usually at work. The last one was in his own house, but it was during a party he remembered that he invited Owen to.

Then a video pops up only labeled with a date.

Vincent reaches up and mutes his computer, and slowly presses play on the video. It starts with Owen muttering something before sticking his phone up and peering through a window. The video is of Vincent sleeping, and it lasts for nearly 30 minutes before the phone is dislodged, and the video finishes.

The next set of photos and videos are dated during his time with Owen.

He gets through three before rushing to the bathroom to puke.

When James gets back, Vincent has seen enough. He was right. It was Owen’s hard drive, and somehow he got a hold of it. James hands Vincent the coffee and the bag.

“I’m not gonna lie, I kinda forgot what you said about food so I just got you a scone since I was listening to the radio talk about the new federal policy on box boys.”

Vincent took a sip of the coffee and raised an eyebrow at James, “Something changed?”

“The emancipation law, it was signed by the president a week ago and the changes went into effect today,” James says as he sips his own coffee, “If you own a box boy for over a year and they meet a handful of prerequisites you can emancipate them and give them legal citizenship.”

“I honestly thought it would get shot down.”

“Well since the senator that was so against it was voted out this election no one else has objected,” James says, and he pulls up his phone, “Well the owner has to be the one to sign them for emancipation. Senator Grant was her name wasn’t it?”

Vincent takes a bite out of the scone. He swallows both the scone and a thought.

“Does it say anything about private transfer?”

“I think you just have to have their papers. Why?”

Vincent looks down at his food, and an idea pops into his head, “What’s Senator Grant doing now since she’s not in office.”

James shrugs, “Let me see if anyone said anything?” He taps on his phone, the little buzzes echo around the room like flies to trash. James pauses, “I’m pretty sure she’s just at home preparing for the next election why?”

“I think I might need you to help me make a phone call.”

Weeks later, Vincent paces, listening to James talk on the phone in the other room. He could not physically hear Owen’s voice through the phone without falling apart.

“That’s my ear,” James says sarcastically, “Do you agree with this or not?”

Silence.

Click.

James knocks on the half-open door, “You alright Vincent?”

“Are you done?” Vincent asks, tighter than a spring.

James nods, “After the screaming he agreed, do you want me to go over with the papers so you don’t have to see them?”

“Please, I’m more than likely already going to have to be on a phone call with his Mother and that's stressful enough.”

Vincent opens the door of his study and steps out, “I need a drink.”

“It's noon Vincent.”

Vincent has one hand on the liquor cabinet and chuckles dryly, “Perfect.”

‘Vincent, no.”

Making dead eye contact with James, he pulls a bottle of sweet tea vodka out of the cabinet and pours himself a glass. James sighs and shakes his head, “I thought Dr. Brycan told you not to drink.”

“He said that I need to wait until at least noon since I used to drink from dawn until dusk unless I had work, it’s 12:01.”

“Didn't you tell me that you’re probably going to get a phone call from the ex-Senator today,” James says, stepping back, “I think you want to wait at least until then so you're sober when you two talk.”

Vincent pauses with the glass halfway to his lips. He sets it down just hard enough to hear it but not hard enough to crack the crystal. Vincent grumbles, “Fine,” and walks back for his study to wait by the phone.

“You do know this is blackmail, Vincent,” Mrs. Grant grinds through the phone, “And that is illegal.”

“So is paying off someone to hide criminal charges. He either takes the deal or I take this half terabyte hard drive filled with evidence to court and get the press involved, his decision.”

“How much do you have to pay you,” she says after a moment.”

“No amount of cash will buy me over, he either takes the deal or I contact my manager.”

Silence through the phone. Vincent’s nails dig into his jeans. The woman on the other end of the line can’t see the tears pouring down Vincent’s face. One thing acting taught him was how to keep his voice steady for clarity in a microphone. The only difference here is that the microphone is in a phone rather than on a long stick.

“We’ll think about it,” she finally says.

“You have until Sunday.”

“Fine.”

Click.

Vincent holds the phone up to his ear for a second before dropping it onto the table. His head falls into his hands, and he sobs. His mind, blank yet filed with too many feelings, recoils under its own weight. Tears that had been held back for months spill across contract papers and blot through blank ink. The ink spread like blood across bed sheets.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to knock his teeth in?” James asks as he holds the contract and transfers forms in one hand and a Sprite in the other, “Because I will and want to.”

Vincent shakes his head, fingers drumming across the velvet seats of the limousine he almost forgot he had. When did I even buy this was the first thought he had when he dug through contacts. “No, just go inside, get him to fill out the forms, and come back. Then we go home and I gorge myself on M&Ms and fudge ice cream.”

James laughs, “Room numbers on the card right?”

“Yes.”

James steps out of the car. The condominium looms over the limousine, and James bites through white-knuckled rage as he steps into the lobby.

Guess who’s standing there waiting for him, Owen Grant, and his mother. James steps up to them, “Grant, correct?”

Owen looks surprised and gives James a quick not-so-subtle scan, “Are you who Vince sent, I thought he was coming?”

“Do I really need to explain why that will never happen?”

Mrs. Grant gives James a glare to rival the sun’s wrath on gingers. The demeanor shifts almost instantly to a more business appeal, “Well allow us to get this paperwork sorted out as painlessly as possible.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

How long does it take to sign papers? James thinks as he watches Owen go through the forms. These are pre-filled out records; he just needs to sign in three spots. Pen scratches against the paper, Owen’s friendly demeanor evaporated when he reached the final form.

“Why this of all things?” he grinds out.

Neither of the two people answers him. Owen finally tosses the form and an orange file in James’ direction. “All of Kauri’s paperwork; if Vince needs anything else, he’ll have to contact WRU directly.”

James scoops the papers off the table, flipping through them; he looks to make sure Owen didn’t deliberately miss any signatures. An extra envelope sits in the orange file. James pulls it free and waves it in Owen’s face.

“What’s this?”

Owen, stupidly, answers, “A goodbye letter since I just filled out a no contact agreement, I want to give my final goodbyes if you will.”

James rips open the envelope and takes out the letter but keeps in anything that may be important.

“That’s for Vincent’s eyes only!” Owen snaps.

“And that hard drive was for your eyes only wasn’t it? I got Vincent’s consent to look through these forms.”

Owen and his mother glare daggers at James as he tosses the letter back onto the table, “Goodbye.”

James can still feel Owen’s teeth grinding gaze on his back as the door closes behind him.

Jake answers the door, “Hello Vincent.”

“Is Kauri here?” Vincent asks as his fingers shift around the orange folder.

“Depends,” Jake says, leaning against the door frame, “What do you want?”

Vincent sighs, “I called Natalie yesterday and---”

“Just let him in,” Kauri’s voice echoes from inside the safe house, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jake pierces his lips and steps out of the way. Vincent steps past him and enters the safe house. Natalie had told him to make things as quick as possible, and if Kauri told him to leave, he would. Vincent agreed. Now he simply hoped that he would be able to get this across without being told to leave.

Kauri steps around the corner, a look of tired anger sits behind his eyes.

“Kauri I’m so---”

“Skip the bullshit, Nat said this would be quick.”

Vincent nods and forces the new wave of guilt back into his stomach, “A few days ago, I was able to… convince Owen to transfer ownership of you to me. I want to ask if I can transfer you to anyone else for your own security, so you are entirely out of Owen’s grabbing range.

Kauri stands there with an expression of absolute disbelief. Then, finally, he opens his mouth to speak before stammering, “I said quick but not one sentence, elaborate.”

“Well, to put it in simply I was going through some of my old stuff from during the incident. I found a hard drive with nearly half a terabyte of… evidence that could be used against Owen,” Vincent says as his shoulder tense at memories he wishes to be buried. “A friend of mine brought up the new box boy emancipation law and after that I got an idea. This friend, who I vomited out my entire life story to black out drunk, was willing to help be the liaison between Owen and me. After a telephone call between Mrs. Grant and I, we got the papers signed and so now I have all of your paperwork under my name.”

“Okay?” Kauri says with disbelief still in his tone in tiny blips, “Then why are you talking to me, just leave me alone and I won’t have to worry about Owen.”

Vincent chews at the inside of his cheek, “Here’s the thing, what I did is, in the eyes of the law, black mail. While he could be charged with the same thing, if he took me to court one of the first assets taken for compensation are box boys. So, you could stay under my name but I don’t trust that he won’t try to get you back by either suing or doing something. My question now is, is there someone who you trust enough for me to transfer your ownership form to.”

Kauri pauses. The gears shift in his head for a moment before he looks past Vincent and back at Jake. The widest shit-eating grin nearly splits Kauri’s face in half. He looks over Vincent’s shoulder and laughs, “Hey Jake, want your own Romantic?”

Vincent looks over his shoulder and sees a very exasperated, tired, and just downright flustered Jake.

“I- um- Kauri- I- please don’t wrd it like that, that makes me sound terrible.”

“And.”

“I- mean in order to keep Owen away from you then yes I will but please don’t,” Jake stampers, “I don’t and won’t own you.”

Kauri pushes past Vincent and boops Jake on the nose, “Congrats you get your own boxie.”

“Kauri, please.”

Vincent clears his throat and interrupts, “While I am used to being third wheel um I know you all want me out of your hair so I have the forms with me and after they are signed I will do the heavy lifting with WRU.”

After a second, Kauri chuckles before walking away. Jake just watches as he leaves, a sigh escaping his lips, “He is never going to let me live that down.”

“If you don’t want to-”

“No no,” Jake says, “I will, he's just teasing. What do I have to sign?”

#owen grant should be castrated #bbu #ash is cruel to the boys #kauri #jake #vincent shield #blackmail #tw: implied noncon #tw: noncon phototaking #whump #box boy #box boy universe

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shallow-seas-we-sail · 3 years

Text

£ (A Girls Night Out on the Town)

Alex taps the center of the table, “Okay, call it. Fifty bucks in the pot. Shot glass in five. Lets go.”

“The barstool in ten.” Sam grins and smacks her money into the center of the table. Nia rolls her eyes over the glass of her fruity concoction before setting it down and turning in her stool to rummage through her purse, “Shattered cue ball in fifteen.”

Alex lifts her chin towards Kelly, “What do you think?”

Kelly shifts in her seat, and absently picks at the label of her beer bottle, “I think this is a bad idea.”

“Boo, okay mom.” Sam deadpans into the top of her bottle before taking a sip. Alex snorts as she throws back a shot, the tequila nearly burning its way out of her nose.

Kelly drums her fingers impatiently on top of the table before reaching into her jacket pocket, “Fifty on the table in..,” she pulls her lip between her teeth and narrows her eyes towards the bar where Kara is waving down the bartender, “eighteen.”

“Why do you always pick such a weird number?” Nia asks, poking at the small umbrella sticking out of her drink, “This isn’t the Price Is Right.”

“Isn’t it though?” Kelly retorts with a sideways smile as she slides the bill across the table.

“Alright, you’re last, Luthor.” Alex jabs Lena with a playful elbow, “Main event. Whatcha got?”

Lena presses a single finger to her lips thoughtfully and her eyes flit over to Kara, who looks confused as to how to precariously balance the six drinks the bartender has placed down in front of her.

“The jukebox is getting fried tonight in twenty.” Lena says ruefully as she opens her wallet and lays a crisp bill down. Alex smiles, and pokes a shot glass across the table towards Lena that she waves off, “I hate tequila.”

Alex gives a knowing look, but doesn’t stop the forward momentum of the glass until it is bumping against Lena’s knuckles, “Come on...”

Lena licks her lips, and plucks her wine glass up, giving a tight smile towards the older Danvers sister, “Fine, but this is,” she taps the side of the shot glass, “contingency. plan. only.”

continue on ao3 or

Alex scrunches her face up, a little drunk and a little excited as she reaches into the center of the table, collecting the money in a scramble and shoving it into her pocket, “Okay. okay, okay, okay, here she comes. Shh.”

“You are literally the only one talking.” Nia says, flicking a rogue pretzel across the table towards Alex.

“Talkin’bout what?” Kara asks, carefully setting down the drinks and glancing around the table.

Alex freezes for a moment, a tight smile plastered across her face and narrows her eyes, “Uh...”

“My semester abroad.” Lena finally interjects.

Sam’s eyes widen, a devious smirk pinching at the corner of her lips, “Oh?”

Lena glances towards Sam, giving a subtle wink as Kara takes the seat beside her, “Play along.” she mumbles half-heartedly out of the side of her mouth.

Sam’s eyes narrow for a moment as she weighs her options. If Lena is giving her the green light to improvise, she is going to take it and run. Decision made, she gives an emphatic nod, “Right. You semester abroad in..”

“London.” Lena finishes.

Sam snaps her fingers and pushes lightly against her friends shoulder, “Of course. London.”

Sam is sure that was a semester she visited, but can’t quite remember. She does distinctly remember the apartment Lena had sublet above a bar and the fish and chips smell that clung to everything. That doesn’t mean that she can’t work with this tiny sliver of information. She is also in a wicked dry spell in their betting pool, so, whatever it takes to get a barstool shattered, she is ready to take on. She needs to poke Kara juuuust enough, and honestly, it won’t take much, and Sam is teetering on the sort of drunk that she will absolutely use to her advantage to bend the rules in her favor.

Kara takes a sip of her drink, the strong taste burning in the back of her throat and winces as she lowers her glass, “I didn’t know you did a semester abroad.”

Nia’s face screws up in bewilderment as she looks between Sam and Lena, “What the fuc-? OW.” she snaps towards Alex, who is digging the point of her boot into her shin beneath the table.

“Are you okay?” Kara perks up.

“Yeah, just a little bitch.” Nia says curtly, cutting her eyes at Alex.

“Hmm?” Kara hums, half paying attention as she leans back and stretches her arm out so it rests on the back of Lena’s chair. She barely contains her smile when Lena gives an assuring shoulder shimmy, and pushes in closer, settling into the crook of her arm.

“Itch. Just a little itch.” Nia laughs mirthlessly, bending forward, and swatting at Alex’s foot under the table, “It’s fine.”

“So,” Kelly intervenes, resting her hand on her girlfriend’s thigh and giving a tighter-than-warranted squeeze, “how did you like London?”

“It was beautiful. I enjoyed the autonomy of being out there and exploring a new place on my own,” Lena says wistfully, “especially becau-..”

“Because I was there.” Sam finishes, her head falling forward and sucking in a breath as she slams her shot glass down on the table, “Visiting and pulling the stick out of this one’s ass and dragging her out all over the city.”

Sam grins, Oh yeah, it’s all coming back to her now.

Lena’s distant, nostalgic look shifts into something more dumbfounded and with a pinch of horror as she turns her head slowly towards her friend.

“Don’t you dare.” she warns.

Sam wiggles her eyebrows and gives a faux pout towards her friend as she leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “Playing along remember?”

“I thought you went to school with Andrea?” Kara asks, absently twirling the stirrer in her glass.

“I did. Sam visited, usually around finals to cause trouble.” Lena says, side-eyeing her friend.

Sam waves off the comment, even if it is true, “No. I came to loosen you up because you were, and continue to be, a nerd.” she mocks in a low tone, “Plus you were literally living off of Wispa bars and black coffee. I was doing you a favor.”

Kara smiles and leans in, and goosebumps begin to prick up on Lena’s arm as warm puffs of breath pass over her ear, “Oh, so that’s what you keep stowed away in your desk drawer.”

Kelly turns over her hand, ignoring how insufferable those two are, and glances at her watch, “Three minutes. You’re about to be out.” she whispers out the side of her mouth to her girlfriend.

“Like hell I am.” mumbles Alex, shooting her hand up and snapping her fingers. She presses her beer bottle to her lips, finishing the last of the amber liquid as a waiter approaches the table, “Six shots. I don’t care. Anything.”

The waiter gives a tight smile and nods as she heads back towards the bar. Alex drums her fingers impatiently against the table as she tries to peer around the throngs of people crowding the bar and glances down to her watch.

“You think showing up to my flat in the middle of finals and dragging me out to every bar so you could find someone and get laid was a favor?” Lena asks incredulously.

“Come on, come on.” Alex pleads, biting her lip, and gives a small fist pump when the waiter returns, “Thaankk you,” she sing-songs as she picks up the glasses from the waiter’s tray and passes them around table.

“Pffft, that flat was a glorified closet at best,” Sam says, lifting her shot glass. Lena scrunches up her nose and makes a face, “and secondly, I wasn’t the only one getting laid.”

Kara stiffens and her hand tightens around the shot glass as she raises it. Alex is so, so sure she hears it crack.

“What are we cheers’ing to?” Kelly asks, picking up her glass, and studying reddish liquid, “And what is this?”

Nia lifts her glass to her nose and grimaces, “Oh, that’s a Washington Apple,” and she wafts the offending odor away from her face.

“Okay, okay. To Lena’s semester abroad.” Alex chortles and raises her glass.

“To Lena’s semester abroad!” the other women echo, except Sam, whose eyes stay fixed on Lena as she raises her own glass.

It is too easy, honestly.

“To Pound Town.” Sam crows and throws back her head, the drink easily sliding down her throat.

Lena nearly chokes as she swallows, and quickly Kara’s hand is on her back, shot forgotten on the table and eyes wide with worry, “Are you okay?”

Nia licks her lips and shakes her head, trying to loosen the disgusting taste in her mouth, “What did you just say?”

“I-.. I’m fine.” Lena waves a hand and presses it against her chest, sucking in a breath.

Alex clenches her jaw and reaches across the table, snatching Kara’s drink and begrudgingly finishing it, “Damnit.”

“Sorry, babe.” Kelly consoles, rubbing her girlfriend’s shoulder.

Alex sits motionless for a moment before snapping her head up and staring at Sam, “Did you just say ‘pound town’?”

Nia nods in agreement as she sips on her drink, trying to get the bitter taste of cranberry and whiskey out of her mouth, “Yeah, what the hell is that?”

Sam leans back in her chair and brings her arm around Lena’s shoulders, squeezing and pulling her in close to her side and out of Kara’s loose embrace.

Kelly sucks in a breath and glances down to the table, eyes wide by the sheer audacity of Sam. While Alex audibly scoffs at the power move. Nia sways in her seat, and points an accusatory finger in Sam’s direction.

“I see your angle. Rein in it, why dont’cha?” she laughs, drunk and proud of her wordplay, and raises her hand for a high five. When no one at the table moves, she lowers her arm and rolls her eyes “Whatever,” she mumbles, poking at her umbrella again.

Kara looks over to the growing space between herself and Lena and leans forward slowly, her eyes fixed on Sam and set to kill.

“Pound town,” Sam twirls a finger into Lena’s ponytail, her tongue peeking out between her lips as she glances at Kara, “We used to go there all the time.”

And this must be what death feels like, calmly and cold, settling into her palms, its icy grip moving its way up her back. And Lena is going to welcome it right here and now. Just to die and be dead and cease to exist. Lena closes her eyes, ready to welcome oblivion. She should have known better than to give Sam an inch. Because if she gives Sam an inch she takes a whole goddamn marathon mile.

Alex lifts a single finger and motions between Sam and Lena from across the table, “You two used to...” her eyes wide and expectant, but mostly pleading for her question not to have an answer. Not for her sake, but for Sam’s.

“Go to Pound Town?” Sam finishes as she lifts up her beer bottle and takes a sip, “almost every night.”

“Stop saying ‘pound town’.” Kara pleads and squeezes her eyes shut as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Pound City, then.” Sam quips, and waves her hand in a flourish as her other dips down into the collar of Lena’s shirt, tracing abstract patterns just below the nape of her neck, “Whatever, Lena loved it.”

Lena tucks her head, chin pressing against her chest, and glances woefully over to Kara who will likely pick up her body from the sticky bar floor and be writing her obituary by morning. Lena gives herself over to something greater and makes her peace that the only monument to the Luthor name will be an “In Remembrance” plaque hung up above the jukebox in an alien bar.

Sam presses a wet, drunk kiss against Lena’s temple; which causes her to jerk up, ramrod-straight in her chair. Maybe if she doesn’t move, she will just disappear.

“Shit, babe, remember that night you were all like, ‘no, we can’t go again,’ and I told you we totally could, and finally, you were like, ‘okay but this is the last time Sam-a-lamb,’ and one time became three times and then six times, and finally you had gotten so much you couldn’t even walk straight.”

Kara’s eyes slowly grow wider, and Alex realizes with growing horror that her sister is possibly about to commit murder. Like, public execution. Like, kill-Sam-and-stick-her-on-a-post-in-front-of-Al’s-as-a-warning-to-all-others-not-to-remove-Lena-Luthor-from-super-cuddles assassination.

“Is she always this extra?” Nia asks painfully, lowering her head down onto her crossed arms, and resting on the table.

“She’s insufferable, and obviously she is embellishing.” Lena says, jabbing an elbow into an amused Sam’s side, “But you can practically get anything you want. We did spend many an inebriated night there.”

“Kara!” Alex yelps, slipping out of her seat with a small, drunken stumble, and linking her arm through her sister’s. “How’bout a round of pool, huh?”

Kara plants her feet, and the dirty linoleum floor cracks beneath her, “Shiiit,” Nia slurs, lifting her head up, “should’ah bet on the floor.” Alex bungees back into sister’s side, and tugs her arm again. This time Kara’s relents and allows Alex to pull her away.

“She’s messing with you.” Alex hisses as she shuttles them away from the group towards the pool table. Kara’s gaze stays planted directly over her shoulder, eyes flickering with cerulean heat as she half-listens to her sister.

“Six.” Kara says resolutely, hands nearly on her hips as she turns before thinking better of it, “Six, Alex.” she hisses back at her sister, “6.” she says, defeated.

“How in the hell can I compete with that? Bring gatorade and trail mix to the bedroom?” Kara says, worry edging into her voice.

“Like Lena is ever going to be in your bedroom at this rate.” Alex slams the rack down on the table, and Kara straightens up, “Do you know what Pound Town even is.”

Kara waves her hands in a flourish, and plugs her ears, “La-la-no-no-no. Stop saying that.” she squeezes her eyes shut.

Alex juts out an arm, and collects a pool stick propped up from against the wall. She leans down, squaring up over the edge of the table and strikes a perfect break against her sister’s abdomen. Kara looks down in faux shock at the perfect blue ‘o’ dusted on her shirt.

“It’s like...the limey version of a Dollar General.” Alex pushes herself up from the table's edge, and leans back, rolling her eyes, “Kelly looked up on her phone while you were death-glaring at Sam. You fall for this every time she does it.”

“I do not.” Kara tuts, crossing her arms.

“The Rail Yard?” Alex drops her chin, giving her sister a blank stare.

“Tha-..that could’a been a sex dungeon.” Kara protests, pointing an accusatory finger at her sister.

“It was literally a restaurant they remodeled from an old train depot.”

“How was I supposed to know that?!” Kara throws her hand ups

Alex’s eyes go white for a moment as they roll into the back of her head, “This is it. This will be the time you two idiots finally make me stroke out.”

Kara’s head falls back and she stares up at the ceiling, a frustrated groan rumbling in the back of her throat.

“Look, she knows how you feel about Lena. Hell, anyone with eyes knows, and both of you just sit there, ocular intercoursing each other out in the open and we all have to suffer as unwilling voyeurs every time you two are within ten feet of each other.”

Supergirl looks off into a distant corner of the smoky bar, eyes shining with the knowledge of the cosmos. She also doesn’t need this shit. She is practically a god.

Alex snaps her fingers in front of her sister's face, “Don’t go all smoldering and stoic. This is the same thing she did at game night.”

“What game night?” Kara drops her arms, relenting to her ever present weight of loving Lena bearing down on her shoulders.

“The best of fiv... ya know what,” Alex shoots up her hands, effectively cutting herself off, “wrong timeline.” Kara blinks, “The point is, she is trying to rile you up so you finally make a move.”

Kara’s brain short circuits and boots back on, “I can make a move.”

“It’s been four years.”

“I can make all kindsa moves.”

Alex purses her lips and frowns, “You are drawing up blueprints to plan the plans for your moves.”

“Whatever,” Kara groans, changing the subject “What’s the bet tonight?”

“FIfty on what you break.” Alex taps her hand over the bundle of cash in her pants pocket.

“What did you have?”

“Shot glass in five.”

Kara blows out a low, sad whistle and clutches her hand to her chest, “Rao, have a little more faith in me then that.”

“Sam has the barstool in ten.” Alex smirks deviously, “And, there is a contingency plan.”

“What?” Kara whines through her teeth, eyes widening behind her glasses, “I thought that was a myth.”

“Someone has to make a move. And it’s not like you were ever gonna get around to it.” Alex snarks, widening her stance, arms akimbo, “Plus it’s not a myth, super dork. It’s just in a group chat that you’re not a part of. Tonight is the night, so if you don’t, Lena is.”

“That’s rude you know.” Kara chastises, and drops into a take-off stance, rubbing her hands together and a little giddy at Alex’s revelation. She bites her lip in thought and glances up to her sister, “How much time do I have?”

“Almost...” Alex looks at her watch and winces, “six and a half minutes give or take? Where are you go-..” But a gust of air is already hitting Alex’s face as she stares at a swinging alleyway door. Kara is gone, and a distant boom echoes in the distance as the sound barrier cries out, cracked by one lovesick and slightly horny Kryptonian.

“Oh shit.” Alex breaths in, and then forces a bright smile as she turns, making her way back to their table of friends.

“Where did Kara go?” Lena asks more jovially than necessary as she pushes a hand into the side of Sam’s laughing face.

“Probably flew to Sexless in the City.” Sam blurts out, busting into another fit of hysterics as the front door blows up. The gust of accompanying wind sweeps up a dusting of leaves that silhouettes Kara, box tucked beneath her arm in its threshold.

“God,” Kelly whines, “Good or bad. You Kryptonians and your dramatic entrances.”

Sam throws a thumb over her shoulder towards the door, “I wasn’t that dramatic.”

“Mmm, but weren’t you though?” Alex tilts her head side to side thoughtfully.

“Took a trip over to Pound Town and got this one her own girlfriend.” Supergirl says, voice low, dripping with bravado and jutting a finger at Sam as she stalks forward.

“Told ya to Rein it in!” Nia perks up, and gives herself an astral high five, incandescent purple sparks fading off the tips of her fingers because, Boom. Fireworks.

Kelly lolls her head in Alex’s direction and screws her eyes shut because she is just so tired™ and because ‘these fucking idiots’ need so much therapy.

Alex blinks, and gives a quick, agreeable shrug as she comes up beside her girlfriend.

Sam tips her bottle at Nia, “Fair. May have crossed a line.” she concedes as a gust of wind blows up through her hair, sweeping it across her brow and obscuring her view.

“Shit, or a few lines.” Sam grits through her teeth as she runs her hands back through the tangles. She immediately chokes out a breath as the sharp corner of a box slams into her solar plexus and the barstool being kicked out beneath her shatters. Before Sam realizes she’s in a slow motion free fall, she is on her back in a crater of shattered linoleum, box clutched to her chest and gaping up at very pissed Kara Zor El.

“Here.” Kara snarls, pressing the box into Sam’s chest with a final push, eyes pulsing with heat behind skewed glasses.

All higher brain function shuts down for Lena then, her eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment, and Nia juts out her bottom lip as she cheers her astral-projected self, “Girl, same.”

Back online, Lena reaches out, hands flexing needy, open and shut towards Kara. But before she can grab the fabric of Kara’s taut shirt, straining over those flexed biceps, she is face to face with a disheveled and flushed Kryptonian.

Kara throws a thumb over her shoulder towards a wheezing, supine Sam’s direction, “I’m sorry.” She confesses through her teeth.

Lena licks her lips, and does her best to suppress a dangerously bright smile, “Did you really...” she trails off as a laugh tumbles out of her, and Kara swears it is the only sound she wants to hear for the rest of her life.

“Go to Pound Town?” Kara asks leaning in conspiratorially, and with a little too much confidence, “Why? Would you like to come if I did?”

“Oh shit. That’s a move.” Alex mumbles under her breath.

Heat race under Lena’s skin, like a fever in her blood, and the flush creeps up all the way to the tips of her ears. And no, this is how Lena is sure she dies, by some corny double entendre from Kara that shouldn’t be having the effect on her that it does but absolutely is. So she plays it cool, feverish expression and all by resting a hand on her hip and giving an over exaggerated eye/head roll combo.

“Did you really think that line would work?” she says about an octave too high as she reaches around Kara and grabs her contingency plan. “Sláinte.” And Lena tilts her head back, throat open and burning with tequila. After a moment of reckoning, she brings her head forward and is met with a smug smirk pulling across Kara’s mouth.

“Did it?”

Lena schools her painful expression to something sadly more concerning; the inherent awe that comes with the knowledge that she is hopelessly in love with one (1) alien himbo.

“Unfortunately, yes.” she says in a huff, wrapping her arms around Kara’s neck, and pulling her into a hard kiss.

Their friends and the bar patron’s lets out a collective sigh, and the voices of ‘finally’ and ‘bout fuckin time’ are mumbled in concordance around the bar.

Sam raises a limp hand that Nia takes, helping her to her feet, “What’s the time?” she asks, pulling herself up.

Kelly turns her wrist over, and gives an approving nod, “Barstool in ten.”

Sam presses a hand into her lower back and slowly straightens herself up, rolling her eyes at the public love fest happening beside her, “Ew, gross, but worth it. Gimme my money, Danvers.”

Alex begrudgingly digs into her pocket, and smacks the wad of bills into Sam's outstretched hand, “Why can’t you just do this normal for once?”

Sam waves off the comment as she slips the money into her pocket, and brushes a few stray pieces of floor off of her shoulder, “Because where is the fun in that? It works every time.”

Lena gently pulls away from the kiss and stares into the clear skies of Kara’s eyes. She adjusts her glasses and turns in their embrace towards Sam, and dips her head, motioning to the box her friend is still holding.

“Looks like someone is getting lucky tonight.” Lena murmurs as Kara’s warm lips move up her neck, nipping and kissing along the underside of jaw.

Sam arches a questioning eyebrow, and turns the box over in her hands. She is met with the plastic, blown up, cartoonish face staring dead-eyed back at her, mouth positioned in a perfect ‘O’

“She kinda looks like you.” Nia observes over Sam’s shoulder.

Kara’s hums in agreement as she walks her fingers around Lena’s back, pulling her close against her chest, “Yeah. So she can go fuc-...”

“Myself, yeah.” Sam cuts in, raising and shaking the package, conceding to Kara, “I deserve that.”

#supercorp #supercrack #i dont know why i keep writing sam like this #but i honestly believe she would be the best/worst wingwoman for lena #kara danvers #alex danvers #lena luthor #kelly olsen #nia nal #fic

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mybiasisexo · 3 years

Text

The Wedding

Genre: Angst | Exlovers!au (is that even a real au???) | Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Length: 7.8k

Warning: Unfinished | Language | Funny AF (im sorry its prob not even funny :/)

Summary: Your good friend, Kim Junmyeon, is getting married, and with that news comes a lot of old history with a certain ex that will be present at said wedding--yike

Author’s Note: Let me just tell yall I am sO EXCITED ABOUT THIS FIC!!!! its a WIP and like, in 2016 I started it for Jackson Wang lmaoo. But then I left the fandom and it sat dusty in my document file, just waiting to be continued. So I was like, ‘hey, I should turn it into a Suho fic!’ but halfway into changing the characters I realized this isn't for Suho. Then it clicked!!! Park Chanyeol!!! So, that’s what's going on there. Have no idea when I’ll post, but it’s gonna be juicy, so just enjoy this lil tidbit mmkay??? (also def not going to name the fic The Wedding cause ew? but I can’t think of a title just yet so that's what im stuck with :/ Also also, I really fucking love Park Chanyeol like its gross ://)

NOW AN ONGOING SERIES

MASTERLIST

credit

“You’ve been staring at that sheet of paper for days now,” Kang Seulgi, your best friend, points out. She sits beside you at your pale wooden dining table, hands curling around the warmth of a mug she presses to the pout of her mouth. If you weren’t so busy staring at the elegant announcement currently clutched in your hands, you would have caught the judging lift of her eyebrow.

That being said, you do catch the amusement in her tone.

Biting your lip, you run a finger gently over the thick white parchment. In a dazzling gold script reads, “because you have shared in our lives and supported our love, we, Im Nayeon & Kim Junmyeon, invite you to our wedding….” Above the words is a picture of the before mentioned, smiling sickeningly dotingly at one another as their noses touch, arms wound around each other like the band around her pretty left ring finger.

You feel like you are going to be sick.

“Have you RSVP’d yet?” Seulgi asks, oblivious to your inner turmoil. She swirls her spoon around her drink, the metal drags agonizingly against the bottom of her glass.

Her words finally yank you out of your haze, away from the invite that has been haunting you for days now.

“I will,” you answer simply.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes for extra measure. Leaning forward, she places her cursed cup down, focusing on you. “Honey, the wedding is in a couple weeks. You need to RSVP now before he starts harassing. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t yet.”

You wince, knowing Junmyeon well enough to know it is only a matter of time before he does just that.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” She asks gently with a reassuring tilt of her head. She reaches for your hand, patting it comfortingly.

“Please?” You rasp, relief evident in your voice. She laughs prettily and you pout at her mocking your evident distress.

“Who knew you hated weddings.” She shakes her head before pulling out her phone, typing away.

You release a slow breath through your tense teeth and give into the temptation to peek at the invite laying on the table haphazardly. Drawn as though it was the moon gravitationally pulling your waves to Nayeon and Junmyeon’s obvious love for one another.

No. You don’t hate weddings.

You just hate that yours wasn’t first.

You wouldn’t label yourself a bitter person.

But ever since you received the rather abrupt news of the wedding, you have been fully consumed with bitterness.

Three years ago, you were planning your wedding.

You had a wonderful man in your life who you were mere months away from calling your husband. All of your friends were envious of the relationship you had and were all undeniably sure that the two of you were, not only meant to be, but would spend the rest of your lives together.

But, unfortunately, life doesn’t work out that way.

Three years later, and you now watch as one of your friends takes that dream and makes it their own.

You’re happy for Junmyeon, really truly are, but his wedding is a grim reminder of your failure, only leaving you with this unanswered question:

Where did you go wrong?

~*~

“All packed?” Seulgi asks.

You nod, dragging your unreasonably overpacked suitcase into the living room of your shared Seoul apartment.

“Thank god we’re not that close to Nayeon,” Seulgi muses. “We get to wear our own dresses.”

“And get to spend more time on the beach.” The both of you cackle. Neither one of you dislike the girl, although in the five years you have known her due to Junmyeon, you haven’t really formed a bond any stronger than being acquainted. You always assumed she was probably intimidated by the fact you both were female and close to her boyfriend, bringing out that strange sense of competition, or boundaries, keeping you all from growing closer despite efforts made. She has a particular distaste for Seulgi, what with her being Junmyeon’s ex and all.

The term “ex” didn’t really fit what she is to him. More like a routine fling throughout college that fizzled out the moment he met Nayeon. The two were never official—although, you are sure, she wouldn’t have minded had they been.

“Speaking of people being in the wedding.” You sober. Seulgi, who is leaning against her just as overstuffed suitcase stiffens at your tone, expectantly waiting for you to reveal the one thought that has been eating you alive since you had received the invitation. “Chanyeol will probably be there, huh?”

The color instantly drains out of your best friend’s face. Speaking of exes….

“I didn’t even think of that!” She yells, covering her face with her hands before walking over to you in a hurry. She pulls your hands into her now clammy ones, holding them tightly. “It won’t be a big deal, right? It’s been three years! Plus, I heard he gained a lot of weight since his time abroad—you know how they like their greasy food there. Nothing to worry about! You look fantastic.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you swallow the growing lump in your throat. Three years… and now you will have to confront the biggest regret in your life.

“You’re right,” you push through the ball of tears as positively as you could muster. “We’ve had time to move on. We can be adults about this. I’m fine!”

Your voice cracks at the end and you clear your throat to make room past the burning sensation.

“You’re more than fine,” Seulgi reassures, swaying your connected hands. “You’re successful and sexy and rich! He’s not worthy of the bottom of your heels.”

You hug her tightly, laughing at her attempt to cheer you up.

Once separated, you take a calming breath and attempt to smile. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Your taxi arrives and you both wobble your luggage into the vehicle. Seulgi gives the driver the address to the ferry and you give her a quizzical look.

“Isn’t Yerim coming?” You ask, voice quiet to keep your conversation private.

“Not anymore. The little sis apparently has a date.” She throws you a conspiringly smile.

“Oh, so she ditched us for a man?” You falsely pout. You didn’t mind what Yerim was doing, as long as she was going to be there.

You aren’t going to lie to yourself, the closer you both get to the destination, the more your apprehension dims as excitement takes it place.

The wedding is going to be held at one of Junmyeon’s father’s swanky hotels on a beach at Jeju Island. You all had spent a spring break there your junior year and it was magical—for many reasons.

Despite the bittersweet memories, you are looking forward to being around beautiful scenery and old friends. Life, as always, gets in the way, and it has been a while since the whole gang has been able to spend some quality time together.

You all missed each other so much, you turned the event into an excuse to have a vacation, just the old gang, well, minus Junmyeon since he’ll be on his honeymoon, although he was able to pull some strings to cheapen your rooms so that you could all stay longer.

That’s all Seulgi and you can talk about on the ferry as you enjoy the cool early autumn breeze on your face, chilly from the little sharp droplets of water. You all had a full itinerary and the week was full of expectation.

You finally arrive to the island and hail another taxi to get you to the vaguely familiar hotel.

You whistled lowly as you craned your neck, blocking the sun with your hand as you take in the hovering Greek inspired hotel.

“It’s bigger than I remember.”

“That’s what she said,” Seulgi replies instantly, almost robotically as she squints up at your current home.

Her words make you shake your head. “We’re not even with the guys yet and they’re already rubbing off on you.”

She winces, catching what she just said. “Old habits?”

You both laugh and head inside, checking in easily. You can’t help but glance around every few minutes. One, because, holy shit this place is beautiful, all whites and golds and pillars and painted sceneries on the ceilings, it’s something straight from a fairytale. Two, because, you’re keeping an eye out for familiar faces.

Your room is on the sixth floor and your jaw drops at the luxuriousness that is your shared room.

“This is bigger than our apartment,” Seulgi states in awe. You agree with a nod, taking in the gentle fabrics on your bed and the rainforest showerheads—yes, heads, plural, there’s three to be exact—and the floor-to-ceiling windows that open up the back wall of the living quarters, revealing a tranquil scene of the beach you are going to undoubtedly be spending majority of this trip at, hopefully intoxicated.

You both don’t have too much time to gander, dinner is at seven and it is past four.

The wedding, being from a more high-class family, will be running a bit differently than the typical kind. Because there are so many people invited, there will be, what has been deemed, a pre-ception party. It’s a mixer of sorts, where everyone invited will be able to meet one another as well as the husband and bride to be.

It sounds a tad strange to you, but you can’t judge them too much, knowing all too well how much rich people love their professional parties.

This is just day one of the three-day event that is Kim Junmyeon’s wedding.

Tomorrow, for those involved, will be the rehearsal, as well as the bachelor and bachelorette parties, with the following day being D-day.

Your other best friend, and best man to the groom, Oh Sehun, has been texting you nonstop the past couple days, keeping you informed on all that is Junmyeon’s big day. He didn’t want to outwardly lead it on, but you gathered just how happy he was for his other best friend as well as being such an important role in such a big event.

Making this a reunion trip was also his idea.

You are nearly a hundred percent positive Chanyeol is going to be in that group, but have been trying to ignore it and remain optimistic for Sehun’s sake.

After getting ready, you head down to the ballroom where the dinner is being held. It’s just as beautiful as the rest of the hotel. The walls are painted gold and tan with arched windows that show the glow of the sunset ahead. A string quartet sit in the corner and the entire back wall across from the entrance is lined with rectangular tables covered in food. Twenty or so round tables dot the rest of the floor with one more rectangular table on the far right where the future bride and groom sat with their families.

It is preoccupied by at least thirty people, and you’re glad you decided on the olive-green floor-length silk dress that fell off your shoulders elegantly. Everyone in the room is of higher class and you know ‘cheap’ is a word none of them have heard in decades, if ever.

“We should quickly get our food and grab a table before they all fill up,” you suggest. You both bolt for the food, piling your plates high. Once content, Seulgi runs for the closest empty table, while you snatch two enormous unopened bottles of red wine, lord knows you’re going to need them.

Junmyeon and Nayeon stand in front of the table at the head of the room. Junmyeon is glowing, it’s the only way to describe the smile on his face as he embraces everyone that approaches him. As you watch, his gaze is drawn over to you, locking eyes. You jump, startled, and he chuckles before motioning for the both of you to come over.

“Junmyeon spotted us,” you inform Seulgi, who is slurping down an oyster. She nearly chokes. You pat her back a few times as she chugs some wine straight from the bottle.

“Alright, let’s go,” she coughs, rushing over to the star couple.

Junmyeon practically cheers your names at your presence. “Thank you for showing! I know it’s quite a distance from Seoul.”

He pulls Seulgi in first and you try not to study Nayeon’s reaction. You do catch her smile falter some before they separate. Junmyeon goes after you next, arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders, swaying you both before letting go.

“It’s so good to see you guys!” He continues in that gentle-like voice of his.

“Likewise,” you answer earnestly. It had been a long while since you last saw your friend. “Congrats on taking the plunge.”

“Thank you,” Nayeon says, wrapping an arm around Junmyeon’s waist. He tucks her under his arm and kisses her hair and you realize neither one of you have acknowledged her.

“Can you believe it? I’m getting married!”

“You are!” Seulgi cheers, a bit too excitedly.

“You were probably the most against it amongst us all,” you reveal, nudging his free arm and he laughs good-naturally.

“Yeah, but love can change your mind on a lot of things.”

You smile at his words, trying, as always, to not make this moment about you. It isn’t about you, not right now.

“So, where is the rest of the gang?” You ask, needing to change the subject. “I was sure Sehun would be here by now.”

“He’s here somewhere. I know that most of them just checked in, so they’ll be coming down a bit later.”

“Alright, well, if you see them let them know we’re here! We won’t keep you any longer.”

“Thanks again for coming,” Nayeon says as Seulgi and you retreat back to your discarded meals.

You pause once you see a broad figure in the seat next to yours.

“I knew it was your table because who else would have that much food on one plate? Not to mention the wine.”

You scowl and fold your arms. “Don’t be jealous we have fast metabolisms, Sehun.”

He laughs drily and meets your gaze through the dark strands of his bangs with mocking eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Love. You’re not as young as you used to be.”

You scoff and he breaks, laughing his signature laugh that can only be compared to a monkey’s, he at least tries to cover his mouth with his hand as his shoulders shake. You fight the urge to throw something at him.

“Are you going to insult me all night or are you going to give me a hug, asshole?”

He swiftly gets up from his seat, his long lanky body hovering over you as he draws you into a much-needed comforting hug.

“God, it feels so great to see you,” he gushes lowly into your hair before pulling away.

“I miss you every day,” you reply, not needing to say anything else for him to know what you mean.

Sehun moved outside of Seoul for his job a year ago and since then, you have only seen each other twice in person. It feels good to be around him again, he’s the big brother you’ve always wanted. He was always protective of you and for such a stoic individual, he opened up to you rather quickly, allowing you in during a time in his life when that wasn’t as easy for him to do. You did the same, and it brought one of the most meaningful friendships you’ve ever had.

He goes to greet Seulgi before heading over to the buffet with you trailing after him as he makes a plate, teasing him the whole time before returning to the table to finally begin eating.

“Can you believe he’s actually getting married?” Sehun asks, voice light in mild disbelief.

“It was definitely unexpected,” Seulgi chimes.

“He’s growing up,” Sehun, who is three years younger than the groom, sniffs. You rub his back comfortingly.

“He looks so happy,” Seulgi continues, attention given to the man of the hour. “I hope to one day be that happy.”

“Goals!” Sehun cheers sarcastically, causing Seulgi to cut her eyes to him.

“Shut up! I’m being serious!”

“I know you are.” He takes a bite and chews it thoughtfully, leaning back into his seat. “But you’re right. He’s, like, the happiest a person can get.”

“It makes me want to throw up,” you mutter, tasting that familiar sour sting of bitterness on your breath. Sehun glances over at you in concern, catching your words despite yourself, but doesn’t acknowledge it, instead continues eating.

A loud raucous gains the attention of all the attendees and you catch three guys colliding into a server carrying around a tray of flutes of champagne. Everyone and thing go crashing to the floor in a not so subtle entrance.

“I don’t know them,” Seulgi declares, shielding her face from the train wreck unfolding to save herself the second-hand embarrassment. The boys try to get back to their feet, but it takes time as they slip on the expensive liquid, legs tangling together as they try to save face.

Now is the perfect time to take pleasure in your friends’ mortification.

“Baekhyun!” Junmyeon hisses. “Jongdae! Jongin! What are you doing?”

The three—finally off the ground and bowing profusely to everyone around them—turn beet red as they approach Junmyeon with tails tucked between legs.

Your laughing only intensifies. Baekhyun hears it and immediately turns his head to glare at you. You’re mildly impressed by how easily he finds you, but then realize that’s pretty fucking hilarious as well and double over, stomach knotting almost painfully as you work it out with humor.

Junmyeon pulls them to the side and reprimands them quietly for a minute before sending them off. They trudge over to your table, inhabiting the majority of the empty seats.

“Well, that’s one way to make an entrance,” Sehun states. Jongdae throws his upper body on the table, arms sprawled out. His fingers nearly touch your food and you pull it protectively to yourself as he whines loudly.

“Jongdae stopped abruptly and we were too close behind him,” Jongin explains with a pout on his little lips and you’re instantly filled with pity towards the man. Jongin out of all people didn’t deserve that.

Sehun shakes his head. “I would say something, but it seems Junmyeon beat me to the punch.”

“He told us not to embarrass him further, or we’re out of the wedding,” Jongdae informs at the same time Baekhyun orders Sehun to ‘respect his hyungs’, before going for Seulgi’s bottle to pour himself a glass. She watches in dismay, not enjoying the fact that she’s now apparently sharing it.

As surprising as it sounds, both Baekhyun and Jongdae are the eldest friends you had in college, alongside Junmyeon and one other. Despite their age, they often acted like the children, getting you guys kicked out of many places with their loud shenanigans. Jongin is the same age as you, Seulgi, and Sehun. How he ended up with those two crackheads this day was beyond you, though you’re sending your regards.

“Are you hungry?” You ask him. He sits on Sehun’s right, but that doesn’t stop you from stretching out some noodles from your plate, drawing it to his face before he can even answer you. He smiles gratefully before taking a bite, humming in gratitude, and you have to resist the urge to coo at him. It’s actually hilarious because he’s a whole ass model! His nickname in school was Adonis, because, well, he’s beautiful. When you first met him, not going to lie, you had a crush on him, but the more you got to know the gentle, soft, teddy bear, the more your maternal side came out. Now, he was just a very well sculpted baby in your eyes.

“Where’s my bite?” Jongdae asks. Jongdae is an interesting character. As previously stated, him, Baekhyun, and—fine, no need to beat around the bush—Chanyeol were wild and free and lived without any boundaries. Yet, despite him being loud and always down for a good time, he was brilliant—one of your smartest friends—and observant. He loved fiercely and was always aware of his surroundings.

You shrug. “Make your own plate.”

“You’re mean!” He whines.

“You’ll give me a bite, won’t you, sweetheart?” Baekhyun tries his luck, tilting his head flirtatiously. Baekhyun was the mood setter. He has such a magnetic personality and can become friends with anyone and thing. You swear he was on a first name basis with all the professors—even ones he didn’t have. He is so funny, can leave you in stitches with a simple facial expression, and got off on making others happy. Despite being a social butterfly, he kept you all close, and made sure to let you all know that you were his family.

You don’t even spare him a look as you point in the direction of the buffet. You hear him tisk disapprovingly before Jongdae is smacking his shoulder, pulling him up so that the two of them can follow your instructions. Jongin scrambles after them once realizing they didn’t invite him and you chuckle to yourself as they try to shove him away, claiming that you can just feed him.

Nearly instantly, the seat Baekhyun was previously occupying beside Seulgi’s other side is taken.

“Yerim!” Seulgi shrieks, throwing her arms around her sister.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” you say, narrowing your eyes at her accusingly.

She has the gull to blush and grow shy. “I know, I know. We we’re supposed to go together.”

“Yeah, but I get the news that you found someone else to go with? And some boy, no less!” You place a hand over your chest. “I’m hurt.”

“He’s not ‘some boy’.” She rolls her eyes before perking up. “He’s a man.”

“Oh, you look absolutely smitten!” Seulgi purrs. Yerim’s cheeks flare once more and you realize that she does, indeed, seem to like this guy, even though this was the first time you’ve heard about him.

Yerim is four years younger than you and Seulgi, and despite knowing Seulgi throughout all four years of college and meeting her family a few times during that time, you didn’t really grow close to Yerim until her sister became your roommate. She spent an awful amount of time in your condo, and you now considered her a sister of your own. She isn’t very familiar with your college friends, because once she was introduced you all had kind of went your separate ways, but you and Seulgi thought it would be nice for her to come out to Jeju Island and meet the boys. That is one reason why you are kind of confused as to how she was able to, not only come here without you two, but bring a date as well.

“Well,” you begin, voice higher than usual. There was too much successful relationships going on around you lately. “Where is he?”

“He should be coming down soon. Have you all said hello to Junmyeon yet?”

“Yeah. Still in shock this is actually happening,” Sehun reveals.

You pinch the skin below his elbow, the closest skin you can access with his black button-down sleeves rolled up to his bicep and he yelps. “Nope. It’s real, bro.”

He ruffles your hair in retaliation and you allow it because he’s letting you off easy.

He gives his attention back to the newcomer as the three stooges rejoin, leaving two empty seats. “I’m Sehun, by the way. You’re Seulgi’s sister?”

She smiles politely and shakes his hand. “I’m the prettier sister I know, you can tell her.”

He’s visibly taken aback by her words, not expecting them, for Seulgi would never say something like that, but it’s only a second before he’s smirking, nodding appreciatively. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She introduces herself to the other guys who do the same in return and you’re all chatting when a familiar voice chills your blood. “There you are!”

The body that belongs to the voice easily slides into the seat next to Yerim. “You saved me a seat.”

“Of course, I did, Honey.” She rests her much smaller hand over his that rests on her bare shoulder and you think you might’ve blacked out for a second.

The whole table goes silent as the newcomer finally checks out who he’s sat with.

Once you lock eyes, the color drains completely out of his face and the fear you feel reflects deep within his irises.

It is him.

Park Chanyeol.

~*~

It appears Chanyeol is in a predicament.

Yerim doesn’t seem to be able to feel the tension that just trapped the table as she proceeds to introduce him to everyone, oblivious to the fact there is no need for introduction. He sits there awkwardly, politely nodding his head, his lips rolling onto each other, stretched into a thin line as he gently pulls on his earlobe. Nervous ticks you remember all too well. Actually, the last time you saw him doing that was….

No. Now is definitely not the time to be walking down that particular lane of memory.

Instead, you absorb the present, taking a sick joy in how uncomfortable the six-foot giant is now that he’s weighing his options on how to approach the new situation he finds himself in. He can, one, pretend he has no recollection of the people he spent the most time in college with. Or, two, confess that he indeed knows all of you. Some—yourself—a lot more than others. You somehow think he might not want to disclose that particular tidbit of information to his current girlfriend who just so happens to be his ex fiancee’s best friend’s little sister. He doesn’t know that just yet.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he finally goes with, avoiding any kind of eye contact.

Sehun barks a dry laugh and you pick up the untouched bottle of wine in front of you, chugging the thing damn near empty. When you pull away, Chanyeol’s taking you in with concern, but averts his gaze when you meet it.

“So, uh,” Seulgi scrambles to change the atmosphere. “How did you meet?”

“Oh! It was straight from a K-drama!” Yerim gushes. You think you’re smiling, but it might be a grimace. Your eyes snap to Sehun to share a Look, but he’s too busy watching Chanyeol with narrowed eyes to notice. “You know how I work at that café? Well, turns out it’s right next to Loey’s studio! He’d always come in and order an Americano. After some time, we started talking and sparks flew! The wedding got brought up, and we realized we were both going, so decided to come here together.” She now turns her head to give her attention to Chanyeol, who has an arm thrown lazily on the back of her chair, turned towards her and he catches the movement, raising his eyebrows attentively and you nearly chuckle, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she just said. He smiles back at her though, albeit confused. “It was perfect.”

“Too perfect,” you slip. Chanyeol glances at you, a question in his eyes, and you try not to think about how fucking handsome he still is.

Didn’t Seulgi say he got fat?

Well, there isn’t an ounce of it from what you can see from his form-fitting—possibly, most likely, tailor-made—navy blue button down that molds deliciously over his firm arms and chest. It takes everything within you not to reach over and cop a feel, see if his skin is as smooth as you remember it to be.

Yeah, maybe too much wine?

“I told you, it’s like a kdrama!” Yerim continues, not catching your sarcasm in the slightest. She rambles on about the two of them, but you’re too focused on studying your ex, ignoring all the red alerts your mind has going off in an effort to get you to stop, adamant on how bad an idea it is.

His hair is a light brown, lighter than it was the last time you saw him, and is falling over his forehead, shiny and fluffy and soft. His face actually appears sharper, skinnier in some parts that leave you slightly concerned, wondering briefly if he has been eating well. You shake the emotion off quickly, not wanting to retreat back to old habits, not yet. His skin glows under the golden yellow lights as he laughs at something Yerim says and you nearly moan when he throws his head back, exposing his thick strong neck to you. God, you love his neck. He replies to her remark, but all you register is his deep baritone and grow misty eyed as nostalgia weighs heavy on your heart.

He is exactly the same, yet utterly different.

You hate it.

“So, Loey.” Baekhyun, Chanyeol’s best friend that’s sitting beside him, stresses the name. Loey is Chanyeol’s producer alias, but also the name he gives to those who aren’t very close. You fight the smile threatening to break out at how uncomfortable your friends are going to try to make him.

It’s what he deserves.

“What is it you do for a living?”

Chanyeol takes the time to pull away from Yerim, turning so that he is sitting straight in his chair, able to meet everyone’s gaze. He’s stalling, you’re sure, but he also struggles to not roll his eyes, knowing you all well enough to know damn well what game you are playing at. “I’m a music producer.”

The whole table ‘ohs’ dramatically. Jongin throws in a ‘that name sounds familiar, I wonder if I’ve heard any of your stuff’ for good measure and you nearly break. The table’s response actually does draw an eye roll from him.

“You guys haven’t cha—” He chokes on his words and Yerim doesn’t hesitate to give him a cup of water randomly at the table.

“Haven’t what?” Jongdae asks with an eyebrow raised challengingly.

Chanyeol’s gaze is steady as he comes up with a quick cover. “You haven’t told me how you all know Junmyeon.”

“We all went to college together,” Sehun answers easily. “Isn’t that how you know him? Loey?”

Chanyeol’s jaw ticks, and you watch, completely entranced by the show.

“Indeed,” he reveals through gritted teeth.

Yerim gasps. “You went to the same college as my sister?”

“Your sister?” Chanyeol asks, eyes wandering from Yerim to the now similar featured girl beside her. “Seulgi…?”

“Surprise,” she mouths with a wink and a pleased smile. Yerim’s facing away from her, so she doesn’t see, but Chanyeol’s eyes widen and Baekhyun and Jongin can’t take it anymore.

Laughter drowns the fancy orchestra as the table finally breaks, and you’re once again clutching your stomach, resting your head on Seulgi’s shoulder as tears pour down your face.

Yerim’s frightened and confused, eyes frantically taking in everyone, probably wondering the state of your sanity, all the while Chanyeol sits there, arms crossed, looking outright pissed.

She starts to finally piece enough to gather you are all laughing at her guest. She rubs his back reassuringly before glaring. “You all stop giving him a hard time.”

This leads the tables’ chortles to double, but the laughter leaves your system as soon as you zero in on their shared contact.

“No, no. She’s right, guys,” you say, influence strong enough in the group to get them to settle down. “We mustn’t be rude to her guest.”

Your chest is heaving for some reason, and you genuinely feel like you’re going to be sick. There’s a pressure on your leg and you check to see Seulgi’s hand gripping your leg reassuringly, and then Sehun’s hand comes up to pat your shoulder. They know. And it makes you feel better, more grounded to be around the people that know you best, especially during something as rough as this.

Yerim mouths you a ‘thank you’ and it annoys you for some reason. You didn’t do it for her. But did that mean you did it for him? That made you even more upset.

Now settled, you all go back to eating, quietly talking to one another, ignoring the couple as you all catch up on what you all missed.

Jongdae got a promotion at the hospital he works at and was now one of the main child delivery doctors. Baekhyun’s third children’s book is in production and is due to come out by the end of the month, he promises to send you all signed copies. Jongin is going to be heading to America right after Jeju for New York Fashion Week to walk for Gucci. Sehun’s . Seulgi updates you all on her current art exhibit and pouts that no one but you, Yerim, and Junmyeon have visited, and you let everyone know how your interior designing company has been thriving.

It gets quiet when the couple are the only ones not sharing their lives. Yerim scratches her head nervously, for she isn’t as successful as you all-hell, she was still a struggling college student! But, she didn’t realize, that the pressure isn’t on her, but in fact the man beside her. You all want to hear what he’s been up to. He’s a close friend, after all, but now that there have been boundaries set, it feels awkward.

“Chanyeol?” Finally, Baekhyun urges, letting him know that it is okay for him to share.

He lets out a breath of relief, glad none of you are angry with him and informs you all on how his beats have been selling and he’s been working closely with a giant kpop entertainment company. You all congratulate him, but you can’t help but be proud and devastated. That had been a huge dream of his—to share his music, and seeing that, not only is he sharing, but also getting the exposure he always wanted, well, you couldn’t be happier for him.

You open your mouth to genuinely congratulate him, but as soon as you do, the feedback of a microphone interrupts, gaining everyone’s attention.

Junmyeon stands in front of everyone now behind the table. Nayeon sits beside her fiancé, watching him dotingly.

“Hello, everyone,” he begins politely, like the CEO son he is. “I just want to begin by thanking you all once again for joining me and my future wife for our big day.”

Everyone cheers loudly for a moment.

“We are so excited to officiate our love and are even more grateful to have all of our friends and family share this milestone in our lives. We hope that you enjoy your stay here at the hotel, and open yourself up even more to love. Thank you all and can’t wait to see you soon!”

You all cheer and it seems to be over.

“So….” Jongin begins, taking in all the attendees leaving the lavish room.

Jongin, Baekhyun, Seulgi, Jongdae, and yourself say at the same exact time, “bar?”

~*~

Two hours later and six of you are huddled around a corner of the hotel’s bar, throwing back soju faster than the poor bartender—who you swear was wearing a necktie earlier—can pour.

“Iloveyouguysandmissedyousomuuuuuch~uwu!” Jongin slurs gleefully. You sling an arm over his broad shoulders.

“How did you say that with your mouth?” You ask. He throws his head back in a hearty laugh in reply.

Jongdae sits at the bar, his back leaning against the counter, facing the rest of you with his eyes closed, statue still, as if meditating.

No one disturbs him.

“Hey, hey!” Sehun, who now mysteriously has a necktie wrapped around his head like a headband, tries to collect everyone’s attention. Once he does, he lifts another full glass. “To Junmyeon!”

“To Junmyeon!” You all yell, throwing back your nth shot and making obnoxious noises from the back of your throat as the liquor burns.

“You’re all my bestest friends!” You cry. “Only the ones here! Everyone else!” You hiccup. “Everyone else, no.”

After a thought. “Except Junie. He can he a friend, too.”

“Chanyeol is out,” Baekhyun agrees with a pout. “He pretended I wasn’t his best friend.”

“Nooooo!” Sehun cries, as if he hadn’t been there to witness it happen. He’s standing beside you, his hips sway to a beat that definitely doesn’t match the song on at the moment, but stills at the mention of your ex. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know!” Baekhyun answers, truly destressed. “It has something to do with that bit—”

“That’s my sister!” Seulgi, who has been sitting silently beside Jongdae, finally shouts. “And it’s not her fault that he’s an asshole! We already knew that.”

You nod forlornly. “We did.”

“We did.”

You all cheers to that.

~*~

“This was not a good idea,” you grumble. You swear you’re actually on a ship that’s currently on rocky water, throwing you across the hall, bouncing off opposite walls like a ping pong ball.

Seulgi tried to carry some of your weight back, but gave up when your feet kept getting tangled. She appears a lot soberer than you. You could’ve sworn she drank as much, though she’s always been so damn good at pretending to take shots with you all when she wasn’t in the mood to actually drink.

“At least you don’t have to be at rehearsal tomorrow,” Sehun whines. His room is directly across from yours, so he’s trudging along, shirt already half off in his need to be in bed now.

“That’s true, I can sleep in!” You grow giddy at the thought. Your steps come to a halt when you see someone standing in front of your room.

“What is that?” You ask rudely, causing the person to turn towards you.

“Oh, it’s the pretty sister,” Sehun slurs mockingly, pointing at Yerim as she merely watches.

She takes the two of you in disapprovingly and, yeah, she’s pretty, even when she’s visibly upset. She zeros in on Seulgi and lets out a ‘thank god’ when she notices at least her sister is relatively sober.

“What’s wrong?” Seulgi asks, instantly in older sister mode.

Yerim huffs. “Everything was fine before that dumb dinner, I swear!”

Your ears perk at that as both you and Sehun lean against the wall beside his door adjacent where the sisters stand, giving them privacy, but also curious for details.

“What is it?” Seulgi presses, rubbing Yerim’s shoulder reassuringly.

Yerim shakes her head in annoyed disbelief, an angry grin stretches on her face and you pity whatever soul it is directed too. “Loey and I talked and he thinks it would be better if I roomed with you for the rest of the trip.”

Seulgi’s head jerks back as if Yerim’s words attacked her and you don’t feel any pity towards the culprit of the smile anymore, nor as drunk as you were a moment ago.

Sehun, on the other hand, still does and leans down to stage whisper a, “your Loey?”

You hush him in a rush, but don’t notice if Yerim catches his words.

“Of course, you can stay with us!” Seulgi assures. “My bed is big enough for five people!”

“That was the plan originally, anyways,” you chime in, catching the younger girl’s attention. She smiles gratefully at you.

“Thank you, guys,” she says. “I’m sorry to be such a bother—”

“You’re not!” You reply, a tad too fiercely.

She blinks at you before drawing out an, “okay….”

The hallway starts spinning again, so you rest your head on Sehun’s bony shoulder. “Me head hearts, Cap’n.”

“Why are you talking like a pirate?” He questions.

“Aren’t we on a ship?”

Seulgi calls your name, gaining your attention. “Let’s get you inside, Sweetie.”

“That’s my que!” Sehun slips from under you and you go toppling to the floor. He doesn’t even spare you a glance or checks if you’re all right before he’s stumbling into his own room, the door clicking quietly behind him.

You don’t even have the energy to cuss at him, your head now throbbing harder after coming into contact with the carpet.

Arms bring you up and drag you into the softest fabric you’ve ever felt and you melt into it with a pleasurable moan.

“I’ve never seen her this drunk before.” You hear somewhere above you, but can’t remember how to access the part of your brain that will open your eyes. “She’s funny.”

“She’s had a…hard day,” another voice defends gently.

“I know that’s right,” you’re able to gargle through the detachment.

“Her and I both.” There’s a sigh and the sound of someone sitting. “This isn’t how I imagined this trip going.”

“Did he say why he wanted you to stay here instead?”

“There’s only one bed. That’s his excuse. He didn’t think we were at the level to be sharing one. But, oh, how convenient that my sister is staying here as well, maybe it would be better if I roomed with her instead.”

“But what if I hadn’t been here?”

There’s a pause, you imagine it’s probably a shrug, since it isn’t vocal.

“It doesn’t make sense to me either! The thing that pisses me off the most is that we’ve already been to the room. I put my stuff away. We were excited about it, claiming it was perfect. But after the dinner…. After the dinner, it’s suddenly a problem.”

You shoot up from wherever you are, startling the two girls.

“Room number?” You demand, voice threateningly low.

“Wh—what?” Yerim asks, shook.

“Room number.”

“You’re not going to talk to hi—” Seulgi is cut off by Yerim’s resolute, “609.”

Your sharp eyes cut to Seulgi. “Aren’t we 613?”

Seulgi nods, face full of warning.

You shrug.

“Be back, Mateys,” you assure, closing an eye for good measure.

You’re gone in a flash. Lead filled legs stomping the two doors down to what was once Chanyeol and Yerim’s room.

As soon as you face the gray rectangle, you square your shoulders and begin banging on it with all your might.

It opens after around fifteen bangs, you nearly knocking an annoyed Park Chanyeol in the chest from your momentum.

His irritation melts instantly when he’s met with you. You’re sure you are the last person he expects to be knocking at his door so late at night.

You both seem to pause and you take a moment to just…stare. It has been so long since you were this close to him. You take in his attire—a plain white-T, some unfamiliar cute Christmas pajama bottoms, and bare feet. His dark hair is in a wild mostly dry state. You swear he hasn’t aged a day in the last three years and it infuriates you further.

“What…what are you doing here?” He finally breaks down to ask, tone resigned.

“I came to defend Yerim’s honor,” you declare. You smirk, impressed by how sober you sound.

Chanyeol lifts an eyebrow and leans against the doorframe. His left hand holds the door open and you try to ignore how long and veiny his arm is. “Are you drunk, Mel?”

So, maybe you don’t sound as sober as you thought.

“Look. One, don’t call me that, Loey. Two, yeah, I am drunk, that doesn’t change the fact you’re an asshole!”

“Wow,” he drawls out, irritation leaking into his voice. “I didn’t expect this to be the first conversation I’d have with you in three years.”

“What?” You snap, quirking your head. “You didn’t expect our first conversation to be about your current girlfriend?”

His jaw works at your words and he’s looking above you, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

“I’d have to move on eventually, right?” He asks tersely, still avoiding your gaze.

His words simultaneously sadden and enrage you, but since there is no room for pity, you take the latter.

“If you’re moving on,” you say quietly. “Then why did you kick her out of your room?”

Your question draws his attention, and he searches you. Eyes taking in parts of you. “You look good.”

You scoff. “Is that an answer?”

He shrugs. “No. But it is the truth.”

“You… look good too,” you acknowledge reluctantly.

“You think so?” He asks quickly, as though the answer is important.

“I mean,” you shrug and close your eyes tightly. “You haven’t changed a bit. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not. Regardless, stop distracting me by changing the subject.”

He inhales deeply, letting it out through his flared nostrils, but you’re still too in your head to peek at him.

“You want me to stay on subject?” He asks skeptically. “In that case, maybe I asked her to leave because I felt this trip was going to go differently than I had originally planned. I’m not sure if her being in here is a good thing anymore.”

“And why is that?” You ask in a breath.

“Did I mention you look good?”

“You don’t want to tell me?” You gather and throw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. It’s your business, after all. We can go back to pretending we never met, let alone fucked. I think I prefer it that way.”

You begin to retreat, but before you can take a full step back, Chanyeol is snatching your wrist.

“Wait,” he sighs, giving in to your trap. You smile slyly before making the mistake of lifting your head to lock eyes with his. It has been so long since you were this close to him. His wide eyes always gaze down at you so earnestly, always open for you to read. He’s searching your face as well, getting lost in the plains he once knew by heart, reacquainting himself with your beauty.

You swallow the saliva that pours into your mouth, transfixed by his lips, so soft and wet looking and pink and full and tempting. He really is one of the best kissers, so good at knowing exactly what you like and—

“Why did you bring her?” You ask, voice a broken whisper.

“Will you remember this?” He asks in return, reaching out gently to brush some fly away strands of hair from your face.

You shrug, not completely sure yourself. “Try me, I guess.”

It’s an answer he will not like and that’s why you phrase it that way. To get a rise out of him, to make him push you away because you were getting lost at sea and needed the shove.

You expect a frown, a snarky remark, and a door slam to the face.

Instead, his warm hand tightens around your wrist, dragging you into the threshold of his room, bringing you a mere breath away. He uses your shock to lean down, bringing you more at eye level.

It is now his turn to grin slyly.

“Maybe I brought her because….” Did his nose just bump yours? Was one of his fingers slowly running up your stomach? His breath smelt like fresh mint, like toothpaste, not a scent for desire, yet here you are. “Because I knew you would be here.”

His words are like a sharp jerk of your boat throwing you into the dark dangerous depths of the angry freezing sea, and the past three years flash before your eyes as he watches, taking in every emotion that runs across your features.

“I hate you,” you say, voice chillingly low.

He straightens at that, retracting all contact and stepping further into his empty room. You swear his eyes are sad as he goes to close the door.

“I know,” he answers before leaving you alone in the dim hallway.

#chanyeol scenarios #exo scenarios #chanyeol #chanyeol scenario #exo scenario #chanyeol drabbles #chanyeol drabble #exo drabbles #exo drabble #chanyeol oneshot #chanyeol oneshots #exo oneshots #exo oneshot

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emiewritesthings · 4 years

Text

locked down with you (1)- jay halstead

jay halstead x fem!reader

summary: a series of scenarios between y/n and jay whilst they quarantine together

requested?: nope but requests are open :)

warnings: language but basically just fluff

a/n: still being in lockdown has made me think about what it would be like to be living with jay during these times. the following is just a strange combinations of scenarios i have thought about. not sure i how i feel about them :/

masterlist

day 1 of lockdown

“is that the last box?” jay called out as he reappeared from his room with a sweaty brow and a large smile on his face. he wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to seeing your clothes hung up beside his own in his wardrobe, or your shows lined up beside his by the door. it was strange, but it felt... natural.

“i think so, wow is it sad that my whole life can be packed up into 5 boxes?” y/n asked, collapsing onto the sofa breathing out heavily. jay let out a small chuckle, before he joined her, melting into the cushions that supported their bodies.

“well that’s not true, that was just your clothes, you still have an entire apartment of things waiting for you back home.” he corrected, with a smug smile pointed. the pad of it flicking her nose, making a childish giggle escape her parted lips. “but who knows by the end of this thing you might need to bring those over too.” jay hummed, leaning closer to her with lustful eyes. in a matter of seconds, his lips pressed lazy kisses against her neck, the sensation taking y/n’s body to a new level of euphoria

“just give it a week, halstead. you will be so sick of me you will have to kick me out.” she challenged, watching as he pulled his lips away from her skin for a moment. allowing their foreheads to rest against one another, eyes both equalling challenging the other to make the next mood. in a moment of weakness, it had been y/n to lean forward, igniting the warmth in their chest.

“if anything, i don’t think i will be able to let you go.” his breaths were rugged, only parting to say the last few words before he reconnected their lips. his hands respectfully running over her body, admiring the way it curved and held its unique shape.

he sure could get used to this.

day 3 of lockdown

“jay!” y/n whined impatiently as she threw her head back to demonstrate just how tired she was becoming. a strange ache running up her spine from the position she was currently sat in. her back arched as she rested against the arm of the sofa. her fingers pinching a pencil as she looked between her sketchpad and the angelic man sat a few centimetres away. “i thought i told you not to move.”

jay’s eyes narrowed in confusion, as he looked up from the pile of paperwork he had to complete by the end of the day. seeing his girlfriend sat in a large hoodie that she had stolen from their wardrobe and a pair of shorts, a look of boredom and frustration etched on her features, he had to question what the hell was going on.

“what are you talking about?” jay asked, in all honesty, he had been so focused on his work that he had tuned the woman out. from the look of art supplies spread over the floor, he could only assume she was occupying her day off with fulfilling her craving to be artistic.

“you know what, it doesn’t even matter anymore,” she sighed, closing up the book in her hands. “it was stupid anyway.” she muffled into the sleeve of her sweater, attempting to walk out of the living room towards the kitchen, a place she had labelled her ‘happy place’ from the moment she stepped into the apartment. slight guilt seeped into jay’s mind as he pushed himself away from the sofa cushions and wrapped her up in his bulky, warm arms.

“i’m sorry.” he apologised, arms trapping her in what only could be described as a bear hug. from her small frame, jay managed to rest his chin on the top of her head, until he brought his face down to kiss her cheek softly. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” he repeated between each.

y/n felt her mood slightly, reminding herself of the effect the man had on her. she felt like mush in his hands that he was able to sculpt in whatever way he wanted and she had no objections.

“now what do we have here?” he spoke more to himself as he took the sketchpad from her hands, his fingers playing with the edge of the pages until he stopped on a page with a rather large sketch. the pencil lines were faint, but it didn’t take jay a moment to recognise the large image illustrated on the page. “holy shit, y/n.”

feeling her cheeks heat up, she tried to hide her face with her sleeves. she didn’t like to share her work with anyone, with fear that she would be laughed out of the room. but listening to jay’s taken aback tone made the butterflies in her stomach jump without any consideration for y/n’s wellbeing.

“i know it’s not the best, but-.” she attempted to denounce her clear display of talent by breaking out the embrace, but jay only held onto her tighter. using what control he had to turn her around to face him. he had placed the sketch on the coffee table, so he could focus fully on the beautiful woman standing in front of him.

“it’s amazing,” jay assured, his gaze diving deep into the soul present behind the beautiful colours of y/n’s eyes. “you are amazing, i’m sorry i’m so busy.” y/n didn’t need an apology. she knew that jay’s job was much more demanding than her own. it just seemed being forced to do nothing didn’t feel as good as when she chose to do nothing before any of this quarantine business was mentioned.

“do you want some help?” she offered, not wanting to intrude. her teeth brought in her bottom lip to bite in anticipation worried she had crossed the line. jay’s hand reached up to rest on the side of her face, his thumb resting on her chin as he brought it down to rescue her lip.

“you are the best, you know that?”

“ugh, come on, romeo.”

day 9 of lockdown

“okay-.” y/n began as she entered the bedroom, her body wrapped in a towel and her hair leaving water droplets behind her. it was sometime in the late afternoon and jay was laying on their bed. his attention had been caught by a book y/n had brought, but it had been stolen when she had entered the room.

“i don’t know what you’re about to say but i know it’s going to be a bad idea.” jay discouraged, he knew her. he knew her more than anyone else in this world. the way her voice had raised slightly at the end and she was currently avoiding eye contact with the detective, telling him that she was about to make to offer a foolish plan.

“no fair, you have to at least hear me out!” she whined like a child, searching around for her bras that were normally flung in different directions, thanks to a little too happy detective. jay watched her with a loving grin, she made him feel so alive.

“okay, proceed.” he gestured as though he was king of the castle ordering his servants around. flicking her middle finger up at the man, disappearing into the bathroom once again, but her voice could still be made out.

“i want to dye my hair!” jay couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine the little hop she had done in excitement at telling him about her idea. “or maybe shave my head, you know, since lockdown could go on for the rest of the year, it’s not like anyone will see it.”

letting out a deep chuckle, he waited until she reappeared to respond. her body, cladded in sweats (for once ones that belonged to her), collapsed down beside him. curling into the side of his body. she stared up at him dazedly, trying to read the thoughts behind his eyes.

“it’s your body, your choice,” he shrugged, his right hand coming to his side so he could grab ahold of her own. when interlocking their fingers, he made sure to run his thumb over her knuckles comforting. “i don’t care if you shaved off all your hair and your eyebrows whilst wearing a potato sack, you will always be beautiful to me.”

“i love you.” she hummed, leaning up to kiss his lips.

“i love you too.”

day 16 of lockdown

“y/n hurry up it’s on!” y/n heard as she grabbed a few beers from the fridge. as she reached the living room, she grinned at the sight of kevin, kim, adam, will, natalie on the computer screen.

“hey guys!” she squealed, giving jay a beer before putting the rest on the coffee table that the computer currently rested on.

“oh shit, now i owe kevin 10 bucks.” adam whined, his image slightly pixelated from his poor connection. frowning, y/n looked towards jay that was equally as confused. they then turned their gaze towards kevin, who wore a large smug smirk.

“ruzek here betted me 10 bucks that you two would have killed one another by day 14.” y/n let out a snort of laughter, throwing her head back in amusement. of course, kevin had bet in their corner, had it not been for him, jay and y/n wouldn’t have been together in the first place.

“honestly i wouldn’t have blamed you, y/n,” will spoke up, “it takes a saint to deal with jay’s slobbiness. i think i have only ever seen jay clean his room twice, mom always took pity on him.” will chuckled, making jay cower in embarrassment. y/n had seen first-hand jay’s ability to create a mess in a matter of minutes. a stray sock here, an empty pizza box there. before she knew it, they were eligible for Hoarders USA.

“shut up, will, are we starting this quiz or what?” jay changed the subject, trying to get over the embarrassment of being laughed at by their closest friends. in an attempt to cool him down, y/n hooked her pinky around his. offering him a soft smile when he looked up in her direction.

“hope you guys are ready to lose.” she teased, turning back to face the screen. jay watched the way she acted so freely, a kind smile never slipping from her face, her touch soothing his soul. at that moment he couldn’t help but think ‘this will be the woman i marry’

day 34 of lockdown

“-alright, alright i think he’s on his way. i’ll see you later.” y/n rushed out as she jumped off her position sat on the edge of the bed. her heartbeat was thumping against her chest as she shoved her phone back into her pocket, aware the sound of water had fallen silent.

it was jay’s birthday and y/n had been planning it for the past two weeks. unfortunately, it was well known that y/n y/l/n was awful keeping secrets. it was as though when she knew something, good or bad, she felt an immense amount of pressure, which ended in her exploding and spilling all to the one person she normally wasn’t meant to. but she was determined that this would be like the other times. she had gone the extra mile in avoiding conversation with jay, knowing one slip and her whole plan was ruined.

“hey, baby!” jay yelled, y/n’s body jumped in shock. his footsteps growing nearer until he appeared in front of him. his muscled torso on show as his bottom half was hidden away by a large grey towel. jay noticed y/n’s jumpy behaviour immediately, his eyes drawing nearer as he examined her face. “what’s wrong?”

“wrong? with me? pfft, nothing’s wrong with me. absolutely nothing. w-what’s wrong with you?” she rushed out, leaning her weight against the dressing table until her hand slipped and she quickly caught herself before hitting her head on the wood. jay shook his head in amusement, he had been worried for the past few days that he had upset the woman. she was unusually quiet, which normally indicated that something was wrong, considering she hated silence.

“doesn’t matter.”

seeing jay withdraw from her made her want to reach out, but her mind already ticked over to something else. running into the guest room, she reappeared with a shoe-like box. not knowing what to say, she shoved the box in his direction innocently. jay pecked her lips lightly, taking the box and taking a seat as he ripped the sparkly paper she had found in a random drawer.

removing the box lid, he peered into the box with curiosity. in a matter of seconds the teasing look fell from his face, replaced with a loss of words. in the box resided memories that up until that moment had been in the back of jay’s mind. letters that the pair had sent back and forth all those years ago when he had been enlisted in afghanistan. photos from jay’s police academy graduation, dates, christmases anything that held a sentimental feeling y/n wished to recreate.

“y-you kept all this stuff?” he asked, his fingers grabbing a small blue teddy bear that’s fur was slightly matted from the dust that had tainted its texture and colour. the very bear y/n had brought jay the time he had broke his arm back when they were kids, she had forced her mother to buy the bear from the giftshop knowing that it would cheer the boy up. she was right, of course she was right.

“of course i did,” she whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder, watching him study each individual object. “throwing away any of this stuff made me feel like i was throwing a bit of us, you know?” y/n felt stupid, but only the slight blush on her cheeks gave it away to anyone that looked close enough.

“thank you, thank you for everything.” snaking his arms around her, he brought his chest close to his chest. sometimes he felt like they were still the kids that would climb through each other’s windows just so they could hold one another and remind the other they weren’t alone. “i love you so much, i’m so happy i have you in my life.”

the tears brimming in y/n’s eyes were not missed by the detective, he didn’t miss anything she did. she was like art to him, something beautiful, at times a little misunderstood, but beautiful nevertheless. lifting his head to connect their lips, the two took their time, slowly allowing the lust to push its way through. before it could progress any further a loud blare made them jump apart.

“what the-.” jay began, watching as y/n pushed her way off the seat and running out the door. hesitantly he followed, leading his way out of the house until he found y/n grinning childishly.

“happy birthday, man!” pulling his eyes away from his girl, he found the familiar cars driving slowly down the road. the lights on the large black cars blaring as kevin leaned out the front car, whilst adam and kim leaned out the second. with the confusion seeping into the feeling of surprise, he felt y/n leave his side before reappearing. this time, her arms held out a large cake that had clearly been homemade considering the way the lettering that spelt out ‘happy birthday, jay’ slowly got smaller towards the end.

“you did all this for me?” he asked astounded, despite y/n being the most affectionate and loving person he knew.

“of course i did,” she responded as if it was the most ridiculous questions she had ever heard. “i meant what i said jay, i love you. this is the least i could do considering all you do for me.” the heart to heart was rudely interrupted by the blaring of a car horn.

“you guys can do your thing later, just blow out the candles!” adam complained, earning a thwack over the arm by kim. “i mean, totally up to you, buddy. happy birthday!”

jay chuckled, as he took in a deep breath and blew out the many candles that sprinkled over the sweet treat. before he ignored the cheers of his friends and kissed y/n passionately.

“this might just be the best birthday ever.” he grinned.

“happy birthday, baby.”

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akaluan · 4 years

Note

20, 99, Ichigo/Xanxus

(20: Teacher AU, 99: Magical Accidents, Ichigo/Xanxus)

(With apologies to anyone expecting a vaguely IC Xanxus: I’ve read fic with him, but never source material, and it’s been a damn long while XD)

Ichigo’s leading his students back to their hotel when it happens.

A great orange-red blur bolts from a nearby alley, pursued by several distinctive men, all wearing identical uniforms and obviously furious; one even has wisps of bluish power trailing from his fingers, clearly intent on doing something to the creature they’re pursuing.

Ichigo doesn’t bother stepping aside. He flickers forward in a tiny burst of shunpo. Scoops up the… cat? Cat. And tucks it against his side even as he lets his reiatsu uncoil from his soul. He keeps it subtle for the moment, just a sense of pressure in the air directed at the men and shielding his students, but he’s ready to act if he needs to.

(He may be a teacher these days, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost his edge.)

(Especially against near-baseline humans.)

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” Ichigo asks in careful, precise Italian, even as he adjusts his grip on the cat. It’s struggling, gnawing on his wrist and ripping at his arm in an attempt to escape, but a touch of hierro means the beast’s efforts are in vain.

The men skid to a halt. Glance between him and his gaggle of students. Clearly label him not a threat even as the largest takes a menacing step towards him.

“Hand over the cat,” the man demands.

Ichigo’s students snicker and edge back a bit to give him space, elbowing one another and whispering in Japanese; the clear dismissal seems to bother the men, but Ichigo doesn’t bother to shush them.

(He… might have a reputation still.)

Ichigo hums and glances down at the cat still angrily trying to gnaw his wrist off, then back up at the men. “I don’t think it wants to go with you.”

The man grits his teeth and holds out his — scratched and bleeding — hand in demand. “Its wants are immaterial,” the man says. “Thank you for catching it, but we need to return it home.”

The cat yowls at that, all anger-fury-terror at the option, and Ichigo tucks it more carefully against his side. This close, he can feel the whisper of not-a-cat leaking from the creature; whether it’s a person trapped in a feline form somehow or someone experimenting with a skill like Yoruichi’s, they’re not quite good enough to hide their personhood from him.

All the more reason to refuse to hand the person over, honestly.

“Sorry guys, but I think we’ll have to agree to disagree about that,” Ichigo says with a shrug, and then doesn’t wait for a response. He darts forward. Trips the first bruiser and lays out the second with a sharp jab to the stomach. Ducks away from a grab by the one with blue power and elbows the man in the side of the head. Applies a careful burst of reiatsu to make sure they all stay down, and turns back to his students with the — suddenly very quiet — cat still tucked against his side.

His students clap.

“Don’t tell anyone about this and I’ll buy you all ice cream,” Ichigo bribes them without remorse. Not that he expects this little event to go entirely unreported; one of his students will talk to a friend, the friend will talk to another, and soon enough the whole story will be blown entirely out of proportion and add another tally on his record.

“Yeah!” “Alright!” “I want mango!”

Ichigo snorts and jerks his head in the direction they were headed before their interruption. “Well, come on then. Two scoops for each of you, whatever flavors you want.” The cat in his arms makes a grumpy noise, and Ichigo snorts in amusement as he strokes the cat’s head. “None for you. Ice cream isn’t good for cats, you know.”

The cat growls and tries to gnaw on his wrist again, less like it means it and more like it’s just trying to make a point.

“I’ll get you some tuna and water when we’re back in the hotel,” Ichigo promises as he hitches the feline higher and attempts to make it at least a bit comfortable. Still, he’d rather not give it a chance to escape, so he doesn’t try too hard as he starts moving down the street with his students in tow.

It’ll forgive him eventually, or maybe not.

Honestly, he doesn’t really care.

(Why can’t any of his trips ever be normal?)

(Really.)

*****

“If you alert the hotel staff and get us kicked out, I won’t call my friend who can probably get you out of that shape,” Ichigo hisses into the not-a-cat’s ears as he and his gaggle of students finally approach the hotel. And then to his students he says, “Students, remember your promise. Not a word about our newest friend to anyone here, understood?”

“Hai, Sensei!” comes the ragged chorus of voices, many muffled by ice cream or gelato.

Ichigo hums and carefully positions himself towards the center of his group, letting the bodies of his students obscure the fact that he’s carrying a cat into a hotel that probably has a ‘no pets allowed’ policy. His students are of course entirely up for this harmless bit of rule-breaking, no doubt looking forward to seeing the cat later when he’s checked it over.

(Given the not-a-cat’s rather persistent attempts at mauling his arm, he’s pretty sure he’s also going to need to rescue a perfectly average stray in order to entertain the class.)

At least Not-A-Cat seems to be cooperating. Except for continued half-hearted attempts to chew through his wrist, the little beast is entirely quiet as they pass through the lobby and proceed down the hallway to the elevators. Where they have to wait, because there are only two elevators and he has nearly twenty students — a quick head counts confirms he’s not missing anyone yet — that need to reach the fifth floor.

One eternity later — in which Not-A-Cat graduates from half-hearted chewing to a serious effort to bite through his hierro — and Ichigo has finally managed to usher all his students back to their rooms and washed his hands of active chaperoning duties for the night.

If they need him, they know where he’ll be.

He unceremoniously drops Not-A-Cat on the hotel chair and grabs a washcloth to wipe the smudges of dirt and spit from his arm. “Hope you didn’t chip a tooth on my arm,” Ichigo tells Not-A-Cat as he settles down on the bed next to the chair. “Not sure how that would transfer over to your human form when we get you out of that.”

Not-A-Cat yawns very pointedly in his direction, wide and long and obnoxious, but it’s more than enough for Ichigo to see that nothing’s wrong with Not-A-Cat’s teeth, at least.

Which is a relief, because the more chance he’s getting to look at Not-A-Cat, the more he dislikes what he’s seeing.

Not-A-Cat is hunkered into a defensive loaf, body trembling now that the danger is gone. Its red-orange fur is ratty, with odd patches of white fur scattered all over, one of the largest splashed right across its face. It looks little better than an alley-cat, which… doesn’t bode well for the person the cat originally was.

“Got a name?” Ichigo asks as he sets the washcloth aside and eyes the room, wondering what he’s going to use for a water dish. There really aren’t that many options, but… he’ll figure something out.

Not-A-Cat very pointedly yowls at him, tail lashing and ears back, as if to say ‘I’m a cat, how do you expect me to talk?’

Ichigo huffs a laugh. “Have you even tried to talk yet?”

“Course I fuckin’ h— what the fuck?!” Not-A-Cat practically shrieks, voice softer than Yoruichi’s despite the pitch.

“There you go,” Ichigo says with a smirk, more amused than anything by the profanity after so many years of Shiro in his head. “Try to keep the chatter to a minimum around my students though, hm? They’re just regular kids.”

Not-A-Cat scowls at him, eyes narrowed and ears back, but all it does is make him look like he’s pouting. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get smug, trash. How’d you fucking know…?”

“I have a friend who can.”

“That friend get trapped in another form by a fucking Mist high on superiority?”

“No, but she has a technique that lets her turn into a cat at will,” Ichigo says as he arches an eyebrow, confused by the mention of a ‘mist high on superiority’ but content to leave it be for the moment. Now wasn’t the time to poke his nose into another society’s definition of ‘empowered human’, though given his luck…

Well. He’d deal with the fallout when it came.

If it came.

(He was getting pretty good at stopping issues before they became issues, if he did say so himself.)

“Why the fuck do you think she could help, then?”

Ichigo shrugs. “If she can’t then Hat’n’Clogs can. He’s good at unraveling mysteries.”

Not-A-Cat’s tail thumps against the chair cushion in frustration, and their voice is sullen as they say, “Fuckin’ fine. Whatever. Name’s Xanxus. If you don’t follow through on getting me out of this shape, I will find a way to fucking end you, trash.”

“Nice to meet you, Xanxus,” Ichigo says with all the weaponized pleasantness he’s learned to muster as a teacher. “I’m Ichigo Kurosaki.”

Xanxus scoffs and looks away, hunkering down further into the chair as he mutters, “Yeah whatever… didn’t you fuckin’ promise me food?”

Ichigo inclines his head and rises to his feet. “I did indeed. If you promise to stay put and not make trouble, I’ll see about getting something for you, hm?”

“Whatever, trash. Better not keep me waiting long.”

“I’ll try not to,” Ichigo says in amusement, thoroughly reminded of some of the ‘trouble’ students he’s had in the past. Whoever Xanxus is, Ichigo has no intention of letting him fall back into the hands of the people searching for him.

Even if it means calling Hat’n’Clogs up to work out a way to smuggle a feline back into Karakura.

Well, it’s not like Urahara doesn’t owe him one for the latest round of ‘fix Shinigami fuckups’.

(They’ll figure it out.)

(Just like usual.)

#local cryptid teacher kurosaki ichigo #with his gaggle of students entirely accustomed to Weird Shit (TM) happening around their homeroom teacher #tbh the ages in this don't work very well since this is Xanxus escaping from ZPB years early #via a mist with a magical artifact and more moxy than sense #anyway Xanxus gets to experience ten years of Belligerent Crush before anything happens #and maybe gets adopted by Yoruichi for funsies #and KHR arcs are entirely derailed #oh weeeelll #thefringeperson #replies

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jewish-space-laser · 4 years

Text

Miles & Black Coffee - Part Two

“If you’re thinking about taking the high road,

I can tell you that you’re doing it wrong,

There’s a better of way of letting it all go,

‘Cause you’ve been running from the feeling too long….”

-Highroad by Sir Woman

Hiya everyone! Sorry this is up a bit late, inspiration really just runs on its own clock. I’ll keep this short- giant thank you to @oh-honey-styles @andwhenshesays @for-fucks-sake-h for beta-ing and being so so SO supportive. If you haven’t read their fics yet, go check them out! As always, I adore feedback! (4.1k words)

xoxoxoxoxoXO Tile

You and Harry would never be friends. You were up and down, night and day, oil and water. You just didn’t mesh. He was your roommate’s insufferable older brother, and that is all he would ever be. Well, at least that’s what you thought before….

the one with campfire conversations, cabin getaways, and enemies that were never really enemies after all.

Read Part One here!

TUESDAY

Charlie was still sleeping soundly on her side of the bed when your alarm went off, so you tried your hardest to sneak out of the room without making a sound. Spending all day in the sun yesterday had been amazing; your heart felt full, your muscles were relaxed, and you were ready to do it all over again.

Unfortunately, you also felt a bit gross. Between the warm weather, lakewater, and sunscreen, your skin was feeling like it needed it a good rinse. The thought of showering in the showerhouse wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was that or the garden hose, so you gathered up your shower caddy and a change of clothes before making your way out of the main cabin.

It was a beautiful morning, the perfect setup for another day of summer. Dewy blades of grass tickled your ankles as you cut across the lawn, a pleasant chill running through you at the contact. You’d tried to wake up early enough to have the shower house to yourself, not wanting to have an awkward run-in with anyone before you’d had a chance to fully wake up.

From the look of it, you’d succeeded. You listened for signs that anyone else was out and about, but all you could hear were the sounds of birds chirping and bugs buzzing, the nature around you having yet to be disturbed by rowdy college students.

Smoking on the boat the night before had turned out to be a great idea. The group had stayed out till the moon was the only light in the sky, only turning in when none of you could stop yawning. You hadn’t slept that deeply in a long time; it felt amazing to be so rested after a full school year of late nights and early mornings.

When you finally reached the shower house, you moved to pull the door open to have it swing forward and smack into you. You stumbled backwards, balancing yourself against the wall as you stared wide eyed at the person who’d nearly knocked you over.

“Whoa, sorry,” Ryan rushed apologetically, “I didn’t think anyone else would be up this early.”

“That’s okay,” you gulped, “I didn’t think anyone else was awake, either. I wanted the showers to myself.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he chuckled, running a hand through his wet hair, “I’m all finished though, so it’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” you giggled, “how was the water pressure?”

“Honestly?” He shrugged. “Better than I expected, but not great.”

“Lovely,” you sighed, slinging your towel over your shoulder. Ryan dragged his eyes down your frame quickly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You blushed as you realized that you were still in your pajamas. At least they were somewhat cute, little blue shorts with rubber duckies printed all over them and a plain white tank top.

The two of you were quiet for a moment, switching places so you were standing in the threshold of the shower house. He was too cute, sleepy eyes squinting in the sun as it grew brighter out.

“So, um, I was thinking of checking out this hiking trail today,” he blurted, cheeks tinted red, “Archie was going to come with me, but he drank his weight in white claw last night, so I’m thinking he might be too hungover to stomach it.”

“Where’s the trail?” You questioned.

“It’s on the other side of the lake, about two miles north. We were just gonna borrow a couple bikes from the shed,” he explained, playing with his hair some more, “but anyway, I was like, well, I was wondering if maybe you would wanna join me. I’d hate to go alone.”

“I’d love to!” You said eagerly. When he smirked at your excitement, you tried to play it cool. “I mean, uh, yeah. That sounds like it could be fun.”

“Great,” he chuckled, “I was thinking of leaving around eleven, gives us time to relax and have some breakfast. The trail itself should only take a couple hours, but there are a few detours I wanted to see. Is that cool with you?”

“Sounds awesome,” you nodded.

“Fantastic. I’ll find you in a bit?”

You nodded, bidding him farewell as he made his way back to the guest cabin. The moment the door shut behind you, you let out a quiet squeal. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, and already you had a date with a cute boy. Plus, you were genuinely interested in the hiking trail; if it was anything like the forest around the cabin, it was sure to be gorgeous.

Ryan was right about the shower pressure. It was enough to make you feel clean and refreshed, but certainly left much to be desired. At least there was hot water.

By the time you made it back to your room, Charlie was up and about, playing upbeat music on her phone speaker and digging her toothbrush out of her bag.

“I can’t believe I forgot to brush my teeth last night,” she pretended to gag, “I literally passed out so hard. Didn’t even hear you get up this morning.”

“It was a long night,” you laughed, feeling amused as you watched her flit around the room to get ready for the day.

“And it’s gonna be another long day,” she sighed, “long, but fun. Olivia and I were gonna tan on the docks for a bit, if you wanna join?”

“Actually,” you tried to act nonchalant, “Ryan and I are going on a hike.”

You sat on the corner of the bed, sucking your lips into your mouth to keep your giddy smile at bay. You were really excited though, and Charlie seemed like just the right person to gush to.

“Ryan, huh?” She said, face scrunching up in confusion. “I would’ve thought you’d want to spend as much time with Harry as possible.”

You widened your eyes, letting out a loud burst of laughter that had you wheezing. “Harry? No way!”

“You and him aren’t a thing, then?” She asked, zipping her suitcase shut. “He was asking after you at the bonfire yesterday, and then insisted that he should check on you when you didn’t come down.”

A frown formed on your face. You specifically remember him saying that he’d just been using the restroom. Why would he want to check up on you, anyway? Surely he was just using it as an excuse to bother you. It was his favorite activity, after all.

“Well, no, we’re not a thing,” you said firmly.

“Ryan’s cute, too,” Charlie shrugged, “James and I had a moment yesterday, too, so hopefully we both get our cute summer romance this week.”

“Ooooh, James?” You waggled your eyebrows, happy to change the subject. Charlie flushed, biting down on her lip.

The two of you gossipped for a while longer, with Charlie organizing all of her belongings while you lounged on the bed. It was nice chatting with her; you weren’t the closest, but you’d always gotten along really well.

New romance, new friends, sunshine and nature. You could already tell that this was going to be a week to remember.

~~~

By the time you made your way into the kitchen, almost everyone had already had breakfast. Dishes were piled high in the small sink, streaks of what looked like pancake batter smeared across the countertop. You hated when people didn’t clean up after themselves, but you chose to ignore it for now.

What you couldn’t ignore, however, was Harry, who was sitting by himself at the table. He was also pouring a bowl of cereal, which wouldn’t have been a problem if your name wasn’t written across the box in black sharpie.

“Is that your cereal, Harry?”

You had a hand planted on your hip, eyebrows raised expectantly as you awaited his answer. He lazily glanced up from his phone, looking you over from head to toe before shrugging.

“Dunno, found it in the cupboard,” he muttered, jamming a spoonful into his mouth.

“Interesting, interesting,” you droned, biting the inside of your cheek, “did you stop for a moment to think that it might belong to somebody else?”

He shrugged again, not bothering to look away from his phone this time as he chewed slowly. You could tell he was holding back a smirk from the way his dimple indented into his cheek. He knew what he was doing, he always did.

With a huff, you walked over to him and snatched the box off of the table, turning it around and pointing at your name in bold letters.

“I wish you’d asked,” you snapped, opening the cabinet with more force than necessary to grab a bowl.

“Just figured we were all sharing food,” you heard him say.

You wanted to rip his breakfast out from under him, anything to get a reaction, but you just took a deep breath insead. Getting you worked up is exactly what he wanted, and you’d never give him the satisfaction

“If you’d read your sister’s e-mail, you’d know that any food that isn’t labelled is up for grabs. That cereal has my name on it.”

“Sorry,” he shrugged again, “I don’t really look at my e-mail.”

“Clearly,” you rolled your eyes.

He didn’t respond, and even though your skin was crawling with irritation, you figured it was best if you stopped talking. Even though he was being a pest, this behavior was relatively tame for him, and it would be a shame to ruin a perfectly good morning with a fight.

Well, that’s what you told yourself before you opened the fridge.

“Harry,” you warned through gritted teeth, “did you finish off the milk… and then put the empty carton back?”

“No,” he locked his phone, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning, “there are a few drops left in there.”

That was it. The absolute last straw.

“You are literally the most inconsiderate person I’ve ever met,” you seethed, shaking the empty carton in his direction before throwing it into the recycling bin. It didn’t seem to phase him.

“I think-”

“I don’t really care what you think,” you interrupted.

“-that you’re being dramatic.”

You were scowling so hard that your cheeks were beginning to hurt, but you couldn’t help it. Not when he was pushing your buttons in all the wrong ways. You dumped your bowl of dry cereal back into the box.

“I’m not being dramatic,” you hissed, “you’re just being a dick, but what else is new.”

“You really need to calm down,” he snorted, “a bunch of us were going to break out the kayak and race across the lake, do you wanna join?”

You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the idea that you’d want to spend more time with him, so you just shot him a dirty look, deciding to just skip breakfast. Sure, you were starving, but anything was better than spending one more second in Harry’s presence.

“I have other plans,” you snarled, turning your back to him and leaving the room.

“Really?” He asked, following you down the hallway. “Do they involve… I dunno, pulling the giant stick out of your ass?”

You practically growled, stopping so suddenly that Harry nearly ran into you.

“No,” your voice was strained, “Ryan asked me to go hiking with him, if you must know.”

For the first time all morning, the unbearable smirk on his face dropped into a frown.

“Just the two of you?” He prodded.

You narrowed your eyes at him. Why was he suddenly so interested?

“Yes, just the two of us,” you sighed, turning to walk away again, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be as far away from you as possible.”

He didn’t follow you this time, but you could feel him watching you go up the stairs. It bothered you to no end that he could get you so riled up. Next time, you would walk away at the first sign of trouble, because he truly wasn’t worth your energy.

Once you finished packing up a drawstring backpack with the hiking essentials, it was just about to time to meet Ryan, so you made your way over to the guest cabin. On the way there, you saw Harry pulling a kayak off of a metal rack, passing it to James like it weighed nothing. He looked a bit ridiculous, with his tie-dye shirt and a bandana in his hair.

“Hey,” you jumped at Ryan’s voice, “you ready to head out?”

You didn’t spare Harry a second glance when Ryan started raving about this amazing waterfall that he wanted to see. The day could only go up from here.

~~~

The rain had come out of nowhere.

It had been blue sky for miles for the entire hike, but the second you got back to the bikes at the trailhead, dark stormclouds had already started sprinkling. It had quickly turned into a downpour, soaking through your thin t-shirt in record time. Ryan wasn’t much better off as he pulled his helmet off, hair matted down on the top of his head.

Not to mention, it had been extremely buggy. Even with bug spray, they had been relentless. You were sure you had at least twenty bug bites all down your arms and legs.

Despite everything, you’d enjoyed yourself. You’d stayed out even longer than you planned, sitting by the waterfall and chatting. As soon as Ryan found out that you skipped breakfast, he’d given you half of his sandwich. He’d been a complete gentleman, taking your hand frequently to help you over a rough part of the trail, and even though neither of you specified, it felt like a date.

Conversation with him was easy, which was a major improvement from your awful morning. In fact, you barely even thought about Harry all afternoon, so distracted by Ryan and his nature commentary. The only time he’d come up was when you stopped for lunch.

“So what’s the deal with you and Harry?” Ryan had asked.

“Ugh,” you’d snarled, taking a pull from your water bottle “can we talk about literally anything else?”

“Oh,” Ryan had raised his eyebrows, “so, you’re not together?”

Immediately, you had choked on your sip of water, slapping your chest until you stopped coughing.

“Together?” You guffawed. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

He had blushed crimson, playing with the hair on the back of his head. “He talks about you a lot… and sometimes I notice you watching him.”

His comment had confused you, but you’d shrugged it off, assuring him that you and Harry weren’t, and never would be, together.

Now, the two of you were ditching your bikes in front of the cabin and sprinting towards the door to escape the awful weather. You found yourself giggling as you stumbled into the kitchen, wet, muddy footprints trailing behind you as you dropped your pack to the ground. It landed with a loud squelch, which only made you laugh harder.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you said, “I’m really glad you invited me.”

“Really?” He chuckled, catching his breath. “I thought it was a bit of a disaster, between the mosquitos, the rain… the mud….”

You both laughed, shaking your heads at your bad fortune. You were being truthful about having fun, though. Even though the day hadn’t gone according to plan, it was exactly the kind of adventure you’d wanted.

“Whatever,” you shrugged coyly, “I had good company.”

Ryan’s cheeks flushed crimson, and a sweet smile crept up his face. Even with mud caked across his neck, pine needles in his hair, and angry pink bug bites down his arms and legs, he still managed to look adorable. When his eyes darted down to your lips, you stepped forward.

“I’m really glad we’re both on this trip,” he said softly, placing a hand on your waist.

“Me too,” you whispered, leaning in closer.

Just as your lips were a hair away from brushing together, a crash from behind you had you jumping apart in alarm. You yelped loudly, your heart stopping for a beat before you spun around to face the culprit.

Of course it was Harry.

The first thing you noticed was his sunburn; all he was wearing was a pair of light gray sweatpants, so you could see how pink his chest had gotten. He resembled a deer in headlights as he stared at the floor below him, which was currently covered in the broken remnants of a shattered plate.

“Sorry,” he slurred, tip-toeing out from where the ceramic shards had scattered. Once he was clear, he stumbled over to the broom closet, swinging it open harshly as you and Ryan watched on awkwardly. After digging for a few seconds, he emerged with a broom and dustpan that looked like they were older than you.

“You scared us,” you bit out, heart finally slowing down to a normal rate.

“Oops,” his shoulders lifted in a shrug, He turned to start sweeping, but quickly did a double take. “What hap-… you guys look horrible. Why are you covered in mud?”

Irritation took over you as you watched him gape drunkenly at where you and Ryan were standing. Not only had he interrupted what was sure to be an epic kiss with Ryan, but then he’d nearly given you a heart attack by sneaking in and dropping the plate. Sure, it was an accident, but that didn’t make you feel any less angry. And now here he was, telling you that you looked horrible.Your foot started tapping against the floor rapidly on its own accord.

Just as you were about to chew him out for being a complete thorn in your side, he stumbled forward and hissed, lifting his bare foot into the air.

“Harry, you’re stepping on glass,” Ryan warned, rushing forward with a worried expression over his face, “and you’re barefoot. Why don’t you start getting ready for bed… I’ll clean this up, okay?”

He took the broom from Harry, shooing him away from the mess. You knew it was the responsible thing to do, but part of you was still disappointed that your moment with Ryan had been ruined.

“Will you help me up the stairs?” Harry asked you sheepishly, half-limping over to you, “can’t get the glass out of my foot….”

“Well, don’t try to take it out here,” you sighed with an eye roll, “let’s go up. We’ll have to clean it, too.”

“Aww, y’gonna take care of me?” He smirked.

“Don’t push your luck,” you snapped. He held his hands up in surrender, but you still wanted to slap the smug look off of his face. You turned to Ryan, who was still sweeping the plate shards into a pile, and shook your head apologetically. “See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, a sad little smile on his face. You made yourself a promise that you’d kiss him next time you were alone. It was only the second day, after all; you were positive that you’d find another moment. For now, though, you had to deal with a certain drunken fool, who was currently limping down the hall, tripping every other step as he tried to grip the wall for support.

“Hold on, you dimwit,” you sighed, rushing forward and slipping a hand around his waist.

“Ooh, we’re getting cosy,” he hummed. You weren’t going to dignify him with a response.

Harry’s skin was warm to the touch, a bit sticky with sunscreen but still smooth. You tried to ignore the shock that ran through you when you felt his back muscles shift… you knew he was in good shape, but you hadn’t expected him to be so… firm. Your mouth went dry.

He leaned practically his entire weight on you, nearly forcing your knees to buckle. Fortunately, you were able to find your balance and walk with him, taking one stair at a time.

“Now who’s being dramatic,” you muttered.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Harry slurred, frowning in your direction. He had one arm slung over your shoulder, and the other hand gripping the railing as he hopped on one foot.

“You called me dramatic this morning,” you reminded him, “and now here you are, needing help up the stairs because of a teeny piece of glass….”

“Heeeey,” he protested, stopping in his tracks to look down at you properly.

A scoff escaped you as you rolled your eyes, gesturing for him to continue hopping. You were nearly at the top now.

“Is there a first aid kit somewhere?” You asked, relieved when he removed his arm.

“Yeah,” he scratched at his head, “I packed one, but it’s still in my room.”

Honestly, you were a bit surprised that Harry packed a first aid kit. You’d never stricken him as the responsible type; Callie had always seemed more put together despite being younger.

You followed his hobbling figure into his room, which was much cleaner than you expected. He clearly hadn’t changed it much since he was young, evidenced by the lego figurines lined up on his shelves. There was also a cute framed photo of him and Callie at her high school graduation, which was admittedly adorable.

Getting the splinter out of Harry’s foot hadn’t been a problem, but cleaning it was another story. First, he insisted that he could do it himself, but then he accidentally got neosporin all over his bedsheets. Then, he wouldn’t stop flinching away from you when you tried to stick on the bandage, claiming that he was ticklish.

“Can you please just cooperate,” you sighed.

“Can’t help that it tickles,” he giggled, twitching away from your hand again, “your hands are too soft.”

If he pulled away from you one more time, you’d rip your hair out. This was not how you foresaw ending your night.

Eventually, finally, he stayed still long enough for you to finish. You glared at him as you gathered up the bandage wrapper and used alcohol wipe. He was gazing at you with wide eyes, bandana slightly crooked on top of his head.

“Did I interrupt something downstairs?” He asked all of a sudden, sheepishly looking out the window.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, shaking your head in frustration. “You know, Harry? I don’t understand what I did for you to hate me so much.”

He squinted his eyes in confusion, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. As if he hadn’t spent countless hours intentionally getting on your nerves.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Please,” you laughed sarcastically, “It hasn’t even been two full days here, and you’ve already called me a wet blanket, eaten my food, and ruined the end of my date. You do nothing but antagonize me… why?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times, and it was then that you remembered how truly drunk he was. He probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning. You don’t know why you’d asked him about it in the first place.

“I mean, I…” He stuttered, apparently unable to articulate his thoughts.

Truthfully, you didn’t even want to know.

“Maybe we should just stay away from each other,” you told him, “I’m not a huge fan of you, and you clearly have a problem with me….”

He looked completely taken aback.

“Just… go to sleep, okay?” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I left the painkillers out, so… take those in the morning if you want.”

You were waiting for him to say something, but he just sat there, silently gaping at you with cloudy eyes, so that’s how you left him. He was still staring at you when you fleetingly made eye contact on your way out the door, but didn’t say a single word.

From what you knew about him, that was out of character. He always had something to say, another jab, another comeback, absolutely never letting you have the last word. And his eyes… the way he’d been staring at you, like he was offended and guilty and confused. You’d never seen him look like that before.

As you got ready for bed, you tried to shake the entire interaction off. He was drunk, he probably had no idea what you were saying. The entire conversation wouldn’t even matter in the morning.

Yet, for some reason, the image of his wide eyes and crooked bandana were all you thought about until you drifted off to sleep.

~~~

If you made it this far, thank you! What do we think? Any thoughts, theories, questions, comments? Let me know! Until next time, xoxoxoxoxox Tile

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry #styles #hs #enemies to lovers #love triangle #m&bc #miles &black coffee #m&bc2

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dindjarindiaries · 4 years

Text

Thunder - Chapter 1: Warm Front

gif via @hvitserkk

summary: Frankie and Luciana escape a party for some much-needed peace and quiet spent with each other, and unspoken feelings start to stir.

warnings: mentions of death, alcohol abuse, drunkenness, partying

rating: R

word count: 3.816k

masterlist

chapter 1: warm front

“I fuckin’ hate parties.”

Frankie sips his beer to hide his smile as Luciana laughs alongside him. “Yet, you’re always at them,” Luciana reminds him, sipping whatever concoction’s in her red Solo cup as she gives his bottle a flick. “And why don’t you ever use a cup? Are you ‘too cool’ for that?”

“Shut up,” Frankie mutters, biting back a smile as he nudges her shoulder. “I just prefer it ‘authentic.’” Luciana laughs as she lets out a sigh, leaning back against the corner of the wall.

Luciana’s not wrong. Even though Frankie hates parties with every fiber of his being, he’s almost always here at Benny’s frat house, finding himself unable to reject the time spent with his best friends. Over the past few years of college, Frankie’s found a friend group that’s become more like a family, unstable at times but also reliable. Tom, Will, and Benny are all people he met within his first week at school—but Santiago and Luciana have been close to his side ever since high school. Him and his four brothers have already planned to move into their next phase of life together serving their country.

Really, Frankie just wants to fly.

He always has. Ever since he was a kid, Frankie’s dreamed of being able to touch the sky. His gaze drifted upwards no matter what time of the day it was, admiring either the clouds or the stars above. His mother used to tell him he could catch a star if he got up high enough, and it would fit right in his pocket. His father used to say he could paint with the clouds, using the edge of a wing as a brush. Frankie would tell them that he’d paint his dad a portrait of their old family dog, and he’d get two stars—one for his mom and one for himself.

That was until his mother finally gave way to her condition, and his father wasted himself away with Jack and Jim Beam not too long after.

But now, Frankie’s got a new family who cares just as much about his dreams of flying. Being the “dad” friend already promised him a spot as their calm and collected pilot, anyway. Santiago always told him that he was the person who steered the group in the right direction—so it made sense that he’d do the same in the air someday. Luciana agreed with those claims. Even though she’s not going to follow the same path as the rest of them, she’s always said that Frankie needs to be in the air. He’s the only one she’d trust, she often tells them all.

So, it’s no surprise that Frankie’s once again found himself on the fringes of another one of Benny’s wild frat parties, keeping a watchful eye over his four brothers as Luciana keeps him company at his side. She’s not big into parties, either—just one of their many similarities. It’s what’s made Frankie draw so close to her, especially over the past few years at college. They understand each other like no one else does. Her and Santiago have been there for Frankie ever since his father started fading, and they practically adopted him into their family. But Frankie would never use the label “sister” on her. He doesn’t know why he can’t do it.

He thinks he might be starting to get an idea as to why, now.

Frankie looks over to see Luciana bobbing her head to the hip-hop tunes that blare out of Benny’s speakers—a firm rule for his parties: current hits only. Her brown eyes are sparkling as she watches the crowd of drunken college kids dancing in front of them, and Frankie likens the appearance of them to that of fresh honey dripping into a warm mug of tea. She has her dark hair tied back in a loose bun behind her head, and a few pieces fall around her face as her free hand tucks them away absentmindedly. Freckles adorn her nose and cheeks, and Frankie has to try to suppress the warmth in his chest when he thinks about how fitting they are for her.

Luciana soon catches Frankie’s eye, and she raises an eyebrow at him curiously. “What?” she asks, observing his close stare. She covers her mouth with her hand self-consciously. “Is there something in my teeth?”

“No! No,” Frankie assures her, chuckling a bit as he takes a hold of her wrist and brings her hand back down. “I just—” Frankie pauses, trying to think of a way to cover his ass, “—I was making sure you’re still awake.”

Luciana furrows her brow as she laughs at him. “I’m not sure how anyone could fall asleep easily here, Frankie,” she remarks, taking another sip of her drink.

Frankie tries to laugh it off, tipping the brim of his hat on his head before taking a swig from his bottle. “If I wasn’t standing, I probably could.”

“I know,” Luciana agrees, nudging his shoulder playfully. “You’re an old man stuck inside a college kid’s body, Francisco.”

Frankie wrinkles his nose at the sound of his full name. “What did you call me, Luciana?”

Luciana gasps lightly and narrows her eyes at Frankie. “Are you trying to full-name me back?”

“And what if I am?”

Luciana doesn’t get a chance to answer before Benny suddenly stumbles over to them, throwing his arms around their shoulders. Frankie and Luciana both fall back a bit at the sudden taking of his weight. Some of the drink in his cup sloshes on Frankie’s shoulder, and he holds back a heavy sigh as the reeking scent of vodka hits his nostrils. “Franksters! Luci-Goosey!” Benny greets them, his voice slurred. “What are y’all doing in the corner?”

“Minding our own business,” Frankie answers simply, earning a snort from Luciana.

“Oh, c’mon,” Benny scoffs. “You’re always avoidin’ the fun! You should go dance!”

“I’d rather watch people make asses of themselves,” Luciana asserts, gesturing to the main part of the house where some hotshot’s just tried to do a backflip—and ended up kicking one of their buddies in the face while also landing straight on their back.

“Fuck, y’all are boring as hell,” Benny whines, taking his own weight again as he lifts his arms from Frankie’s and Luciana’s shoulders. “But thanks for comin’!”

“We always do,” Frankie reminds him, slapping his shoulder in a friendly manner before he stumbles somewhere else.

Frankie and Luciana share a glance, barely able to contain their laughter as they shake their heads. That was the typical Benny interaction they’ve been waiting for, always being urged to do something other than sit in the corner where they’re more comfortable. Frankie wouldn’t change a thing about it.

“Luce, where’s your brother?” Frankie suddenly questions, looking over at Luciana with a raised brow. He’s lost track of his Santiago, Will, and Tom, and he wonders if they’ve gone somewhere else in the house.

Luciana shrugs. “Probably fucking up a nice game of pong,” she confesses honestly, causing Frankie to chuckle to himself.

It’s true—the minute Santiago gets more than a few drinks in him, he’s an absolute shitshow. Any drinking game he touches turns to chaos. Santiago already has a high energy about him, and so it gets intensified when the alcohol starts pumping through his veins. Frankie doesn’t know how he does it, and sometimes he wonders what it’s like to be the life of a party. It’s a role he knows he’ll never fill.

“Hey,” Luciana’s voice suddenly draws Frankie out from his thoughts. He looks back over to see her looking up at him with a sparkle in her eyes, one that makes Frankie want to smile instinctively. “Are you ready to get out of here? I would kill for some pizza right now.”

Frankie laughs, nodding as he finishes off his bottle. It was his only drink over the course of the hour they’d lasted at the party, and so he doesn’t have to deny her request to go for a drive as they head out to his truck. It’s a rusty red color, worn from its years of use but still going as strong as ever. The guys and Luciana have often told him that it’s a perfect reflection of himself—but Frankie doesn’t try to think about it too hard. Going in deep isn’t something he’s mastered yet.

They get into the truck, and as soon as Frankie starts it up, the classic rock station starts to play. It’s his favorite—his parents loved to blast it when he was growing up. He has to suppress the smile that grows when he sees Luciana’s eyes light up out of the corner of his eye. “Ugh, Frankie, you have the best fuckin’ taste in music,” she tells him, closing her eyes as “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac flows out from the speakers. “I swear to God. Sing it, Stevie girl.”

Frankie chuckles, taking off for the local pizza place as Luciana hums along to the tune. He looks over every once in a while to see her gazing out of the open window, as if she’s lost in her own little world. Frankie’s always admired the way she does that so easily. Luciana often escapes into the worlds of her creation, but she somehow also stays grounded to her reality. She’s always been the person that’s able to get Frankie to escape his reality if even for a little bit—and that’s just one of the many reasons why he’s so drawn to her. It’s reaching a dangerous level, and he knows it.

It’s not a conversation he’s had with Santiago yet, but he knows exactly what would result from it. Santiago and Luciana are practically attached at the hip. They’re the kind of twins that truly share everything with each other—and should his sister’s heart be placed into Frankie’s hands, he knows Santiago would be on his case all the time. To make shit easier, Frankie knows Santiago wouldn’t let that happen in the first place. Luciana is off limits in any sense other than friendship, so Frankie doesn’t even let himself get there mentally. For now.

“Thunder only happens when it’s rainin’,” Luciana joins in with Stevie’s voice, and Frankie bites back a smile upon hearing it. “Players only love you when they’re playin’.” Luciana releases a light sigh, finally looking back over at Frankie as he navigates the dark roads. “I wish it was raining right now.”

“Yeah?” Frankie remarks, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Are you a pluviophile, now?”

Luciana giggles softly. “I always have been, Frankie. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”

Frankie shrugs, turning into the parking lot of the pizza place. “When have we ever talked about rain?”

“Fair point. I guess we have to do it more often.”

Frankie nods, putting the car in park and flashing her a quick smile. “I guess so.” He starts to get out of the car—leaving it running so that Luciana can stay inside with the tunes playing—but pauses as he holds up a finger and narrows his eyes in concentration. “A pepperoni eight-cut with the Italian parmesan crust?”

“You know me so well, Morales.” She offers a bright smile, one that involuntarily makes Frankie’s chest warm up as he completely gets out of the truck and heads inside. He places their order and waits for it, trying not to drown in his thoughts as he pictures himself flying high above them. He even tries his hand at daydreaming, attempting to envision himself painting his way through the clouds. He can see the world so small beneath him, putting himself in a place where he doesn’t have to think about everything he’s left there. All that would matter is keeping his eyes on the horizon and steering ahead—and maybe even capturing a star when the sun sets.

His daydream’s soon interrupted by the finishing of his order, and he takes the box with a low thank-you before heading back inside the truck. Frankie sets it on the backseat, chuckling when Luciana dramatically inhales the scent of the freshly baked pizza.

“God damn, do they make some heavenly shit here,” Luciana comments, causing Frankie to laugh harder as he starts to head back to the house. “I can’t wait to devour that.”

“That makes two of us,” Frankie agrees, glancing over at Luciana quickly as he drives on.

“Four slices for each of us,” Luciana reminds him. “It’s perfect.”

“Four?” Frankie scoffs playfully. “Last time, you could only handle three.”

“Oh, fuck off, Flyboy,” Luciana retorts. “Last time we also got garlic knots. I can only hold so much at once.”

“Sure, Luce. Sure.” Frankie laughs as Luciana swats at his shoulder, and he sees her shaking her head with a hidden smile as she crosses her arms.

They spend the rest of the drive listening to the tunes of the radio, sitting in an otherwise peaceful silence. It’s not too long until Frankie’s pulling into the long driveway of the house. It’s a respectively large space, split between the boys and Luciana. Everyone’s able to have their own rooms—save for Will and Benny, but Benny usually splits his time up between staying there and staying at the frat house—and they never let it get too crazy. Parties are always held at Benny’s frat house, which helps to keep their own home in shape. If it’s just the six of them, they’ll keep the party to themselves, but otherwise their home is like a sacred space just for their little family. Frankie wouldn’t have it any other way.

Just as Frankie’s about to turn the engine off, Luciana stops him, keeping his hand from touching the keys as she shakes her head. “Let’s eat in here,” she suggests, already starting to reach back for the pizza. “I’m really feeling these songs right now.”

“I can turn the radio on in the house,” Frankie reminds her, gesturing with his thumb to the house behind him.

“Yeah, but there’s something about it coming through the truck speakers.” Luciana sets the pizza box down onto the center console, opening it and taking a slice for herself. “It just really hits deep.”

Frankie snorts, also taking a slice and folding it in half. “Alright, but if you get grease stains on my seats, I’ll have no choice but to fucking kill you.”

“You got it, ‘dad,’” Luciana jokes, and Frankie shakes his head as she lets out a laugh. They continue to eat and bop along to the songs that play, mostly accompanied by Luciana’s random commentary on the selections. “Have you ever thought about how fuckin’ creepy this song is?” she reflects when The Police’s “Every Breath You Take” starts playing. “Like, it’s a love song, but he’s basically like ‘I’m always watching you.’ That shit is terrifying.”

“What, you wouldn’t find it romantic if someone was watching you all the time?” Frankie teases her while he moves onto his third piece of pizza, pleased to find that he still hasn’t gotten a grease stain on his jeans yet.

“Hell no!” Luciana lets out a cut laugh, shaking her head as she also goes for her third slice.

“Okay, fair.” Frankie pauses to bite off a piece and chew it up, contemplating his next few words as he does so. “Then, what would you consider romantic?”

“Jesus, there’s like… so many things.” Luciana’s gaze drifts to the roof of the car as she thinks, chewing on her food as she does so. Frankie waits curiously for her response, continuing to eat as he watches her think. “I mean, for starters, you can never go wrong with pulling the gentleman card. You know, like opening doors and pulling out chairs.”

“That’s not cheesy?”

“No! If anything, the fact that it’s going out of style is so depressing to me.” Luciana clicks her tongue and shakes her head, and Frankie can tell by the way she’s narrowed her eyes that she’s thinking again. “Honestly, the most important thing is just knowing what she likes. You gotta make sure you’re playing her favorite songs and bringing her to her favorite places—without her having to tell you ahead of time. Picking up on those hints along the way is so important.”

“Noted.” Frankie finishes off his third piece after he speaks, watching as Luciana raises an eyebrow at him.

“Plan on being romantic anytime soon, Morales?”

Frankie scoffs, shaking his head as he reaches for his last slice. “No, not likely. But it’s good to know.” He shovels a bite into his mouth, hoping it’ll keep him from having to speak again. Frankie soon realizes he’s unsuccessful, as Luciana’s head has now tilted in a curious manner at him. He releases a sigh, waiting until he finishes chewing to go on. “Maybe, one day, I’ll be able to take someone up to the sky with me. Show them the clouds. Catch a star for them.” Frankie shrugs. “Just—y’know—that’s probably not something I’ll have soon.”

Luciana smiles a bit, but Frankie easily sees a hint of darkness in her gaze. “That’s sweet, Frankie. But why don’t you think you can have it soon?”

Frankie’s breath catches in his throat. Why does he think he can’t have it soon? Because he’s not ready to let his heart be taken? Because he’s so guarded that only five other people know his true heart, but still don’t even know all of it? Because he’s denying himself a painful truth? Frankie doesn’t have a fucking clue. But Luciana’s still waiting for an answer, her dark gaze glittering as she waits to take her last slice into her mouth. “Not enough time, I guess. And how can I show someone the sky when I don’t even have my piloting license yet?”

“Fair point,” Luciana agrees, finally digging into her pizza. Frankie holds back a sigh of relief, continuing with his slice as well. They finish off their servings in comfortable silence, letting the sounds of classic rock lull them into a rhythmic state of conscious slumber. Frankie’s thoughts solely drift to the words of the singers, and he pictures himself hearing the songs play as he returns home from piloting school—his mother singing along with them as he shows her his license. She would smile at him in that endearing way she always used to and playfully ask if they can play Journey on their way up when she finally gets to fly with him. I want some Journey on our first journey!, she always used to joke with Frankie. Now, he just tries not to listen to Journey at all.

His trance is broken when Luciana suddenly lets out a gasp, and Frankie feels alert for a moment until he realizes that a new song’s come on the radio. He tunes his ears in and hears the beginning instrumental of Foreigner’s “Waiting For a Girl Like You”—a guilty pleasure song of his that he’s not willing to reveal to anyone else. But it must be Luciana’s, too, because she’s looking at Frankie with excitement in her dark gaze. “This… this is my fuckin’ song,” Luciana tells him, clearing her throat as the lyrics soon come in.

“Of all songs, you chose one of classic rock’s cheesiest?” Frankie jokes.

Luciana places a hand on her chest, pretending to be hurt. “It’s not cheesy. It’s romantic. And it’s an absolute classic.”

Frankie raises his hands in fake surrender. “Alright, Luce, you got me there. Go ahead, freak out.”

Luciana narrows her eyes at him, laughing it off as she starts to let herself jam along. “Maybe I’m wrong, won’t you tell me if I’m comin’ on too strong?”

“This heart of mine has been hurt before, this time I wanna be sure…” Frankie murmurs the words under his breath, hoping Luciana won’t hear it over her own singing. He would never hear the end of it.

“I’ve been waiting!... for a girl like you, to come into my life.” Luciana sings the words unashamedly, closing her eyes as she spreads her arms wide. Frankie chuckles lightly—more in admiration of her free spirit than in amusement. Luciana finishes the chorus and shakes her head, looking at Frankie with a raised brow. “I’m telling you. A fuckin’ classic.”

“Hey, I believe you,” Frankie retorts, chuckling as he releases a sigh. He looks around, seeing the dark street around them. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome in this truck. She’s gonna be begging for mercy if we don’t go inside soon.”

“Shit, I didn’t even think about that,” Luciana confesses, reaching for the empty pizza box. “I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Frankie assures her. “It was worth it.”

Luciana simply smiles in response, setting Frankie’s chest ablaze yet again as they walk inside the house together. They remain silent as they settle in, soon heading upstairs to their respective bedrooms. Before they part, Luciana stops Frankie for a moment, her hand reaching for his arm. Frankie faces her with his brow raised. “Thank you, Frankie,” she says softly, her dark gaze looking straight into his. “For always being there for me—and getting some damn good pizza with some hella’ good tunes.”

Frankie chuckles softly, shaking his head at her. “You don’t have to thank me, Luci. I enjoy it just as much.”

Luciana widens her smile, bidding Frankie goodnight before she disappears into her room. Frankie bites back his own, entering his room and preparing for bed. He flops down onto it with a sigh, hating the way his mind feels cloudier than usual. He’s being swept by a feeling he’s had before—but it’s starting to almost overpower him now. Frankie’s afraid he won’t be able to ignore it anymore.

The lyrics to the song are stuck in his head. It’s a torturous reminder of himself and his own heart—and that’s why he’s annoyed when the lyrics run through his mind. It feels so right, so warm and true, the words taunt him. I need to know if you feel it too. Does he, though? Because Frankie’s pretty damn certain he’s content with ignoring every feeling he has. He’s been doing it ever since his mother passed—and he’s pretty sure he can keep doing it.

But then he thinks on that chorus: I’ve been waiting for a girl like you to come into my life. And Frankie can’t help wondering if that’s exactly what’s happening. As he hides himself underneath his covers to sleep, he hears distant thunder rumble outside, and he smiles for the fact Luciana will get her pluviophile moment—even if she’s asleep.

next part: chapter 2: cold front

thunder tag list: @youhavereachedtheendofpie @charmantbarnes @theindiealto @fangirl-and-stuff @phoenixhalliwell @maybege @amarvelousmandalorian @seawhisperer @mrsparknuts @saltywintersoldat @softpedropascal @i-hide-inside-my-head @sunshinepascal

permanent tag list: @mikahid @theforceofdarkandlight @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @lavenderl3mons

#i know it's like 2 am so y'all won't be around for a while #i'm waiting for the mando doc lol #also i love frankie please #my BABY #i'm making up his canon #we'll go with it #frankie morales #francisco morales #catfish morales #frankie morales fic #catfish morales fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #thunder fic #dindjarindiaries

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slaapkat · 3 years

Note

JARED LOBO KISSES 28 TOUCHING 20

28. neck kisses + 20. bandaging/stitching up an injury

Jared’s lost count of the days. Sometime after the-- second? Third? --time he’d passed out, either at the grimy and sticky bartop or the equally grimy and smelly motel room, it all just blended together in a haze of cheap booze and cheaper cigarettes. Not much in the way of a coherent day-night cycle when one was bar-hopping across outer space.

He’s been gone for-- a while, he thinks. He knows that much. Long enough that his indignity at getting kicked off Earth had faded into the background and he could lapse back into old habits without much care or thought to the consequences.

Stiffing a bar tab was much, much easier when one had the likes of Lobo at their backs, and worming out of a bar fight even easier.

Most of the time.

“Ow! Fuck!”

“Oh, fraggin’ sit still, will ya?”

Jared grumbles his discontent and takes another swig of his beer. Bar fights Jared had experience with, space bar fights he did not. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, wasted on alcohol he couldn’t even read the label of and fists itchin’ to make someone hurt, but all it had earned him was a meeting with the wrong end of a broken bottle and said someone making him hurt instead. A gash on his good arm and a glancing blow across his brow was as far as the assailant got before getting soundly trounced by Lobo and Jared was subsequently whisked away like a real actual goddamn damsel in distress.

Lobo, as it turns out, is mighty handy with a needle.

“You sure you know how to use that thing?” Jared gripes for lack of anything better to do, holed up in their latest run-down motel and nursing the one drink he’d managed to swipe on the way out, sleeves rolled up and sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed while Lobo stitched him up. It’d be disturbingly domestic-- and boy, it is considering how often Jared had been in this exact position with Arn more times than he could count --if not for the sudden deep panging of homesickness the memory invokes, instead.

“More used to stichin’ up my jacket, but yer not makin’ things easier by squirmin’!”

“Well, sorry I ain’t got yer fancy healin’ powers,'' Jared huffs back, flinching again as Lobo drives the needle into his arm with surprising delicacy. It’s almost-- no, he’s not gonna think about it.

“Yeah, and that’s why bastiches like you need me,” Lobo snarls back, though it lacks any venom and is more than likely just a simple result of how Lobo talks normally. It’s an odd delight Jared’s yet to get used to. “It’s whatcha get by fightin’ all willy-nilly. You’d be roadkill without t’ Main Man to protect ya!”

All Jared does is grumble again, looking away. The fight’s all gone out of him, and what’s left of his beer isn’t quite enough to chase away the growing despondency in its place. He wants to go home, regardless of the fact he never had much of one in the first place, and maybe never will again.

There’s a snap as Lobo cuts off the thread with his teeth and swipes a thumb around the edges of the wound to wipe away any stray blood and admire his handiwork. “Ha!” He barks, grinning wide. “Not too bad for an ol’ bastich, huh?” His hand then goes up to trace the cut through Jared’s brow, stitched earlier with same amount of disturbing care. “See, now that’s gonna be badass. A scar like that? Says get out of my fraggin’ way!”

Maybe it’s a poor attempt at cheering him up, maybe an even poorer attempt at envy given how Lobo’s utterly incapable of scarring himself in any real capacity, either way Jared’s not feeling it as much as he should. Lobo must notice, because he frowns and growls somewhere deep in his chest.

“C’mere, pup,” he declares roughly, pulling Jared into his lap without much resistance. Jared, despite himself, nestles into the new position quite nicely. They’ve-- done this before. Jared knows what Lobo’s proposing and honestly isn’t altogether against it, and his suspicions prove right when Lobo begins nosing at his neck and mouthing wet, insistent kisses all up and down the column of it, teeth grazing his skin every now and then and making Jared gasp with the sensation of it, squirming again in Lobo’s grasp; meaningless sex was just about as good at making him forget all his woes as drinking inhuman amounts of alcohol was, and in the absence of the latter Jared would gladly accept the former. He squirms again when a grazing of teeth from a particularly rough kiss becomes an outright bite, near-possessive. Jared groans and grips tight at Lobo’s shoulders before he can help himself, elicits a pleased-sounding growl from Lobo in response, who leans back to look at Jared, licking his lips. “Yer adorable, y’know.”

“Am I,” Jared states flatly, eager to move on.

“Ya,” Lobo hums, and dives back in with uncommon gentleness, kissing at his neck again, methodical and slow. Jared isn’t sure how he feels about it. “Adorable. Jus’ like m’ fishies. I should take ya t’ see ‘em sometime. If they like ya, maybe I’ll even keep ya around.”

Jared shivers as Lobo’s tongue swipes over the bite from earlier. “Maybe,” he agrees, amicable, and seeks to lose himself in the sensation.

#WELL. IT'S SOMETHING #I HOPE THIS IS OKAY #FIC #ASK #JARED STEVENS #LOBO #JARED STEVENS/LOBO #ufonaut

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missfay49 · 3 years

Text

Just Speak

Summary: Janus and Remus being domestic. Well, as domestic as they can be.

Warnings: body horror, space, aliens, suggestive content, food, poison mention, venom mention, talk of medical procedures

Word Count: ~2060

AO3

Down Time

“Say it. Say it, pleeeaze? Please, please, please, please-”

Remus is crouching in front of the kitchen table, only the top of his head and his fingertips visible from where he’s gripping the edge. His eyes are wide and teeth bared.

Janus is sitting across from him, elbows on the table, face in his hands, staring at Remus through his fingers. He looks tired and more than a little disturbed.

“Remus, honestly? I don’t know if I can take another one. Do I enjoy a good philosophical debate now and then? Yes. That’s not this. You’re trying to destroy me!” He squints and sits up, lowering his arms. “It’s rude.”

“Hee! Last one, I prom-ise.” Remus rolls the ‘r’ and jumps from his crouch onto the table. By the time he lands, he’s an eight-legged Boston Terrier, bouncing and giving Janus authentic puppy eyes - several of them.

Janus releases a shuddering sigh of defeat.

“Fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth, a thousand-yard stare overtaking him.

“Pinky,” he asks. “Are you pondering... what I’m pondering?”

Terrier-Remus erupts into a full-grown side again, standing on top of the table. Janus leans back, looking up at him and grimacing.

“YES!” He cackles in triumph, then pauses, confused. “I mean, no!” He smirks again.

“Unless, of course, you are also pondering the expansion of the universe and its correlation to black holes, because if matter disappears into the black holes of our universe, yet we continue to grow, then that implies not only that pocket universes are forming on the other side of those black holes, but that our own universe is also a pocket dimension formed on the other side of a black hole we cannot see - in a universe above our own - supplying our universe with matter at such a rate that we cannot lose it fast enough?! And are you further pondering whether life first formed in our universe or the one above ours, and if it formed there first, does that mean that they put us here on purpose? Are they watching us? Are we just an experiment to them, CURSED,” he screeched. “-to struggle for the sick curiosity of an ancestral yet alien race that may decide to terminate us at any moment?!”

Remus stands over him, hands clutching the air, panting at the end of his monologue. Janus stares up at him, mouth agape. Logan laughs.

Logan?

Janus turns slowly, reluctant to take his eyes off the spectacle before him. Logan is sitting cross-legged on the couch behind them, apparently having watched the whole thing.

“Hilarious.” He puts a hand to his chin. “The odds of Janus pondering that exact same thing at the same time are preposterous. Excellent joke, Remus.”

“Spaghetti!”

“That was not a joke - it was an existential crisis!” Janus yells at the both of them.

“I am not sure why it should cause any distress.” Logan says evenly. “While it is technically possible for that scenario to be true, it is not more true now than it was before you were aware of it. And there is literally nothing we can do about it, given our species’ current technological progress.”

While Logan speaks, Remus climbs down, sits at the table, and conjures a plateful of piano wire covered in marinara. He’s spinning a fork into the mess, nodding sagely all the while. Janus watches him take a crunchy bite.

“This is why Virgil left, you know.” Janus simpers, summoning a glass of… soup.

“Oh, boo, Janny.” Remus speaks out of a second mouth he’s just added to his shoulder. It’s grin belies something sinister. “He left for much worse reasons than that!”

Janus sighs into his wine. Logan walks over to join them at the table, summoning a notepad and pencil.

“Remus, could you describe what is happening to your teeth right now? I’m curious.”

“Absolutely!”

On a Mission

“Remus? Darling, where are you?” Janus calls from the kitchen. A shape appears to the side, just catching the corner of his eye. Remus is inexplicably soaking wet.

“Ah, there you are.” Janus claps his hands together. “Remus, dear, did you place this giant terrarium here just off the kitchen?” Remus peers into a thick jungle sprouting out where the oven used to be.

“Sounds like me, but I don’t remember. Are there dangerous creatures in it?”

“If the shrieks are any indication, undoubtedly.”

“Then, yes!” Remus shimmies, shaking off the water. Janus admires the spray, smiling.

“That’s exactly what I wanted, thank you. Come along, now, we’ve got specimens to collect.” With a flourish, Janus twirls around and strides into the foliage. Remus snaps his fingers, donning a stained and battered explorer’s outfit, equally as wet as before, and leaps in after him shouting something about ‘smashing!’.

Working Late

Remus tiptoes down the hallway, leaving a trail of flour-based footprints behind him. He’s dusted halfway up his shins with the stuff. He slows and stops when he sees the light still on under his target’s doorway. Janus is usually asleep by now. He twists the knob, willing the hinges to squeal with their utmost spooky capacity.

The bed is empty and neatly made. Janus is at his desk instead, cape and hat hanging off the back of the chair. His gloves are nowhere to be seen. There’s a pen still upright in his hand, but his head rests on his arm and he’s fast asleep. Even the noise doesn’t stir him.

Looming over his shoulder, Remus examines what was keeping him up so late. Small stoppered vials full of pale liquids are lined up in a specially-made wooden crate. Latex gloves, wash cloths, and a mask are discarded atop a metal tray. A pair of safety goggles are resting on Janus’ head.

Half the vials are affixed with permanent labels in a clean handwritten script. The rest just have sticky notes and scribbled words.

Taxine alkaloids, Taxus brevifolia

Abrus precatorius

“Oo hoo hoooo!” Remus claps excitedly as black tentacles tear through his clothing. They wrap around Janus and lift him from the chair with surprising grace. Janus only startles for a moment, settling back down when he recognizes the feel of the limbs surrounding him.

“I’m nearly finished,” he murmurs. Remus just presses him down into the bed, tendrils pulling down the blankets. As the tentacles pull away, Janus shivers; nothing but his boxer briefs remain on him, the rest having vanished somewhere between the bed and the desk. He pulls the blankets up tight as Remus perches on the footboard. The tentacles are slowly slurping back into his body.

“Prenez une petite mort. Your nightmares are more interesting when you get more sleep.” Remus grins wide, revealing rows of shiny, dagger-like teeth. A tentacle passes by the desklamp and hits the switch. In the darkness, he sounds ravenous.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay right by your side…”

“Fine. Goodnight, Remus.”

Janus sleeps soundly knowing nothing will get past his bodyguard tonight.

Almost Ready

“What scent should I use?” Remus has brought three different perfume bottles for Janus to choose from. “Ozone, battery acid, or meat?”

“Oo, tough call...” Janus deadpans, focusing on tying a bow onto the crate just so. “Sure you don’t have bloody mouse-y with a dash of hot sauce?” He slaps a hand over his own mouth when he realizes what he’s said.

“A classic! You got it, Santa-snakey.” Remus snaps his fingers. The first three bottles vanish, and a fourth appears. It’s filled with a thick, bright red paste.

“For the love of Liza Minnelli, do not spray that in here.”

The Gift

Logan sits unsuspecting in the living room having a cup of tea and reading an article about Maria Skłodowska-Curie on his phone. The dark duo appear out of thin air on either side of him, the rustle and movement of the couch his only clues, except… Logan puts his tea down.

“Remus, what is that smell?”

“Best not to think about it too hard,” Janus interjects. “Here.”

Janus holds a hand out before Logan, a mysterious shape underneath a black cloth. He flings the cloth away dramatically to reveal a present wrapped in gold-foil paper and a black silk ribbon. Logan blinks at the surprise.

“This wrapping is quite aesthetically pleas- oof!”

Remus drops a ten-pound box in Logan’s lap, knocking his phone to the ground. Janus deftly moves his gift out of the way. The box is wrapped in yesterday’s paper and tied in a series of reef knots. The top facing article features the latest alligator attack suffered by yet another “Florida Man”.

“Thanks!” Logan squeaks out. “I will just open this first, if you don’t mind, Janus?” The other side nods.

Logan carefully unties the knots and opens the box - the cake box. Because inside is a pale blue frosted cake with rock candy cutting through the side.

“It is beautiful. Is it meant to resemble blue agate?” Logan carefully lifts the cake out of the box and places it on the table.

“It’s meant to resemble a vagina! It’s a vageode cake! I made it last night.”

“Is this another reference I need to learn?” Logan asks them both, but Janus just shrugs while Remus pokes holes in the cake and laughs.

“Mine next,” Janus reminds him.

“Ah, yes.” Logan accepts the gold package Janus hands him and undoes the bow with one pull. Underneath the foil is a smooth wooden crate holding eight vials.

“Oh! ‘Nerium oleander’. ‘Atropa belladonna’.” Logan starts reading off the labels. “Poisons?”

“And venoms-s-s.” Janus says low. “So you can help Thomas’ competitors- I mean, his fellow actors, take a well deserved break. Or, you know, develop life-saving antivenoms, or whatever. Your choice.”

“Thank you? I am not going to poison Thomas’ colleagues.”

“You can test them on me!” Remus winks at him.

“Surely that won’t be necessary. Although, testing does provide a lot of data.” Logan looks thoughtful for a moment. “Say, do you think- wait, no, that’s unethical.”

“Who cares about ethics, you’re not a doctor! Tell me tell me!” Remus bounces on the cushion, making a horrible sucking sound with each rebound.

“Well, I would need to do some research first. Is it still considered an autopsy if the patient is alive?” Logan picks his phone off the ground and starts opening tabs.

“Wait!” He stops himself. “I’ve got your gifts upstairs. I didn’t know when you would be popping in. I’ll be right back.”

Logan leaves the two sitting on the couch. Janus preens.

“Another highly successful encounter. Do you think he’s caught on to our devious plan, yet?” He smirks at Remus.

“Definitely not. What was the plan again?”

Janus tsks.

“Our very evil plan to befriend the nerd under the guise of traditional holiday celebrations, reconcile all the sides with his help, and thereby help Thomas achieve self-actualization? You know, the ultimate plan?” He squints at Remus. “Did we not go over the plan?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Then why did you make that cake?”

“Cause we harvested all those poisons and I wanted to try my hand at creating a vagina!” Remus tears a chunk of cake off and starts to eat it. Blueberry filling starts to pour out.

“You know they’re not blue, right?”

“Maybe not the ones you’ve seen.” Crumbs are falling everywhere. Janus withholds any more questions to prevent a bigger mess and texts a warning to Logan not to eat the poisoned cake.

At that moment, the front door swings open. The pair on the couch freeze. Roman and Virgil start loudly carrying in armfuls of groceries, complaining about the lack of snow.

��Patton, we’re back!”

Footsteps upstairs are rapidly approaching. Janus nods to Remus.

“That’s our cue.” They stand up as one.

“Hey!” Virgil shouts. “What are you two doing here?!”

“Villains! We’re being invaded by villains!” Roman cries out, rushing into the living room.

“Now, Remus!” Janus drops out of sight with a swirl of his cape just in time to avoid the explosion of glitter as Remus’ form erupts like a balloon.

When Patton comes downstairs, Roman is standing in the middle of the room spitting out neon green glitter with his sword drawn, and Virgil is ranting about perimeter security and motion detectors, floor sensors and alarms.

Logan comes down a moment later carrying two gift bags.

“Hm.” His phone buzzes.

The cake is a lie.

Come visit anytime.

@sanderssidesgiftxchange @on-and-on-we-go-forever

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wherevermyway · 3 years

Text

i just want you to know who i am. // binchan // oneshot // 18+

pairing: bang chan x seo changbin | bang chan x hwang hyunjin (mentioned) rating: explicit | 18+ ⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ tags/warnings: graphic depictions of violence, transphobia/misgendering, trans male character, internalised homophobia, implied rape / non-con mention, suicidal thoughts, unhealthy relationships, explicit sexual content, slurs (like, two). word count: 8,229 also on AO3!

originally published: 31 october 2020

Bang Chan forced himself through almost three decades of shoving himself into the wrong box, being uncomfortably forced into whatever roles society deemed worthy for him. It doesn't surprise most people when he comes out as trans, but it bothers his boyfriend, Hwang Hyunjin, the most. Hyunjin is outwardly outspoken about Chan, too afraid of being labelled as gay when his boyfriend comes out, and he constantly lets Chan know this: talking down to him, misgendering him, calling him slurs, and deadnaming him. One day, Chan has enough. If nobody was going to accept him, what was the fucking point? He fully intends on taking his life one night as he angrily, desperately rushes to the bridge that overlooks the Han River.

He plans on it, that is, until a complete stranger comes up and saves his life. Literally.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

“I’m not gonna be fucking gay, alright?” A lanky blond man says with a scoff, aggressively carding his fingers through his hair as he nervously paces back and forth. “Look, Chun-hwa, I—“

“It’s Chan. Please, Hyunjin, I keep telling you, stop calling me that name. It’s not who I am.”

“Whatever,” the man grumbles. “You know what it’s gonna be like if the guys find out? If they think my girlfriend suddenly thinks she’s a dude?”

The brunette on the couch sighs, dipping his head into his hands. “Hyunjin, you knew. You’ve known for years. I don’t know why, all of a sudden, the medication is what’s causing problems. You handled my top surgery.” His voice breaks as he curls into himself, trying to hide from the situation at hand, make himself small. “I’ve tried to start this so many times, to tell you I was finally starting the medication, but I was afraid you’d react this way.”

“Chun-hwa, this is bullshit.” Hyunjin gritted through his teeth, deliberately using the wrong name again, which called Chan to wince. “I told you,” he threw his hands in the air and raised his voice, “I’m not gonna be labelled as some stupid homo for dating a fucking tranny. The guys are gonna fuckin’ kill me if they find out you’re not just a tomboy or some shit.”

Chan bites his lip back, his face scowling into a frown. “Hyunjin!” He shouts, finally snapping. “Why the fuck do you care more about what they think, versus how I feel? This isn’t something I can choose. If I could just live my life as a normal, heterosexual woman, I totally would. Trust me.” A deep sigh escapes his lips as he shakes his head. “Life isn’t that easy, though. I’m never gonna be that woman you want me to be, because I was never a woman to begin with.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and pads off into the kitchen, digging around the refrigerator. He pulls out a bottle of soju and chugs nearly half of it in one go. Chan gets up, following him into the kitchen. He stands in the entryway, folding his arms as he watches Hyunjin. “Stuffing this down with alcohol isn’t gonna make you feel better in the long run. It won’t make it go away, even temporarily.”

“Fuck you,” Hyunjin grumbles, taking another swig from the bottle, and another one, until the bottle is totally empty. His face winces and he tosses the bottle into the sink, causing it to crash and chip, a couple shards of green glass flying upwards, some ricocheting and landing on the floor. He angrily opens the fridge again, grabbing a can of beer and chugging it. “I just want my friends to think I’m normal, that I’m fine, that I’m not stuck with some…”

Hyunjin pauses and the air grows tense. He nervously looks at Chan, then quickly darts his eyes to the wall, looking as if he was desperately trying to bore a hole into it. Hyunjin was about to say something he knew that Chan would hate, and he still had some semblance of respect to stop himself. Some, but not much.

“Say it.” Chan’s voice is dark, but calm. He knew he wasn’t going to like whatever Hyunjin was going to say, but he knew it was coming. Chan didn’t expect Hyunjin to actually say anything horribly offensive, but he tensed as Hyunjin took a long swig from the can in his hands. The blond man took a couple steps closer to Chan, his boozy breath nauseatingly permeating the air as he sticks his bony finger into Chan’s shoulder.

“Stuck with a fucking queer.” Hyunjin sneers, his voice quiet, but colder than ice. He gets closer into Chan’s face, staring him down, then moves back a bit and spits on his feet.

Chan sarcastically scoffs, turning on his heel and making his way towards the front door. “I can’t believe I’ve dealt with you for so goddamned long, Hyunjin.” There was no way he could handle such shitty behaviour anymore. He couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t. Hyunjin was the last person he had, and he just broke the last straw that was keeping Chan sane.

“Where are you going?” Hyunjin slurs after Chan, arms wide open in the air, beer sloshing to the floor from his open can.

“I’m done.” He lets out a nervous chuckle and grabs his keys from off of the wall rack, slipping a pair of flat trainers on. “I’m done with you, I’m done with this, I’m done with everything.”

“Chun-hwa—“

“Stop calling me that!” Chan shouts, grabbing a thick, heavy boot off of the shoe rack and angrily tossing it directly at Hyunjin’s head, the heel hitting him square in the forehead. The collision causes him to lose the grip from his can of beer, making it topple to the ground and spill its remnants all over the floor, the echoing ringing loudly in the apartment. “I’m not gonna be a fucking problem for you anymore, so just be happy for fucking once. You’ll never have to see me again, alright? Go meet some woman who won’t be just another ‘fucking queer’.”

Hyunjin grabs his forehead, staring at Chan for a moment, his face dumbstruck and mouth agape.

“Are you going to say something? Anything at all? Are you going to think about anyone but yourself and your shitty fucking friends? Think about your fucking boyfriend for once?” Chan shakes his head, but Hyunjin offers nothing in response. Chan desperately wanted his boyfriend to say something, but, like always, nothing came to fruition. He was always the one that had to put in the effort, and when things got tough, Hyunjin did nothing. He never did anything. “Fine,” the older man scoffs, grumbling under his breath and opening the door, letting it practically fly off of the hinge. “I sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, honestly hope you die alone, Hyunjin. Alone, cold, and in a bed of regret.”

Hyunjin continues to say nothing as Chan slams the door shut and runs down the stairwell, tears spilling from his eyes. Why nobody accepted him was beyond him. He told his parents two years ago, and he hasn’t heard from them since. He told his close friends, and they treated him like a leper, like he carried some sort of terrifying, incurable, transmittable disease. To be dismissed by someone like his boyfriend after all of these years hurt the most, honestly. Hyunjin was the only person he had left, even though their relationship was nothing more than toxic sludge.

None of this mattered. Soon, none of it would matter anymore, not to Chan, not to anyone. Nothing fucking mattered.

Tears sting, burning like battery acid, as they roll down Chan’s face involuntarily. He gazes far down the Han River, watching the city lights dance on the lapping waves, wiping the tears off of his cheeks. He takes in a deep, long sniffle, and digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands. A small tremble kept coursing through his veins, causing him to lightly shake as he stared. He just needed a little bit more courage. He could do this. He would drift his way down the Han River, and then he wouldn’t be anyone’s problem anymore, he just needed the courage to fucking do it.

The soft scent of acrid mint and floral tobacco pulls Chan from his thoughts. A shorter man with neatly trimmed, dark black hair is suddenly standing next to him, offering him a burning white stick. “You look like you could use this,” the man exhales, a puff of smoke escaping his lungs, deliberately rolling up through his nose. They didn’t make eye contact, but there was a form of nonverbal exchange going on between them. “Nobody comes out to the Seongsu Bridge at three in the morning with good intentions. Wanna talk about it?”

Chan gasps, a bit flabbergasted. He eyes the cigarette, then mutters a hushed “fuck it” under his breath, taking it and pulling a long drag off of it. “Oh, shit,” he sputters through coughs. “God, that’s bad.”

“Sorry,” the other man scoffs, sticking another cigarette between his lips. He pulls out a black lighter, flicking the flimsy metal dial a few times until white smoke billowed up from his mouth. “I was in your shoes once — well, maybe not exactly where you are, but close enough — a couple years ago. I sat on the handrail and waited. Not sure what I was waiting for, exactly, but I was waiting.” He sighs and scratches his forehead, turning to look towards, but not directly at, Chan. “There was a guy that came up and saved my life. He just came to talk to me, and I realized that this was a stupid, permanent way to fix a temporary problem. My job, and losing it, wasn’t my entire personality, even though society made it seem that way.”

Chan lets the cigarette burn between his fingers, transfixed in the way the white smoke softly danced its way up into the sky, eventually completely evaporating and disappearing. “My existence is a mistake.” He didn’t mean to be so blunt about it, but it fell from his lips before he could really think about it. “My family hates me, my friends think I’m diseased, and my boyfriend,” he scoffs, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and takes in a deep inhale, “I guess he’s my ex-boyfriend, now. He’s more concerned about his appearance to his friends and what they think about him compared to what I actually think and feel.”

The mysterious man cocks his head to the side briefly and offers a noncommittal grunt. “Sounds like ‘ex’ is a good title for him, then.”

A soft chuckle puffs out from Chan’s lips. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s not a good person for a lot of shitty reasons; should’ve left him years ago.” They sit there for a few minutes, letting their cigarettes burn between their fingertips and eventually die out. “I don’t get it, man.” Chan tosses the end of his cigarette over the railing, watching it fall down towards the river, slowly getting smaller and smaller, until it’s completely invisible. Gone. Lost forever.

“Get what?”

Chan’s eyes glimmer as he looks up towards the sky, letting his hands drape over the fencing of the bridge, dancing so close to where the promise of eternal comfort lie ahead of him. “Why do people have such a fucking problem with what makes someone else happy if it doesn’t affect them, you know?” He finally turns his head to look at the man next to him. They make eye contact and just stare at each other for a moment, letting their emotions communicate nonverbally.

There was a layer of pain behind the stranger’s eyes, almost like he understood the pain and helplessness that Chan was feeling, all without saying a word. The man sticks an arm out, presenting an open hand. “Seo Changbin. I don’t have the answer to your question, but I suppose you’d at least wanna know my name.”

Chan looks down, then back up to Changbin’s eyes, grabbing his hand with a firm grasp. “Bang Chan. Nice to meet you, Changbin.”

The two men smile at each other warmly, keeping their hands grasped together for a moment too long, but neither of them react negatively. “I know we just met, but,” Changbin says, softly tugging at Chan’s hand, “there’s a coffee shop not too far from here that I love going to early in the morning, since there’s never anyone there and the coffee actually tastes good.”

Chan doesn’t stop the man from pulling him along, doesn’t let go of his soft, warm hand. A gentle smile slowly grows upon his face. When was the last time someone was so nice to him, anyways? “Alright, that sounds like a plan.” He might have come here to die, but he was walking away feeling, ironically, more alive than ever.

The two guys sit at a dimly lit table near the entrance of the cafe, inhaling the aroma of freshly-brewed pour over coffee. Everything suddenly seemed more vibrant since Changbin literally pulled Chan away from the brink of death. Colours were vividly radiant, scents were more prominent, the lights were brighter, uncomfortably so.

“Hey, Chan,” Changbin says, bringing the clear mug up to his face and taking a soft sip of the warm coffee, steam enveloping his face. “I wanna ask you something, if that’s alright.”

Chan drops a cube of sugar into his coffee and aimlessly stirs it around with a tiny spoon, gently breaking up the cube and watching it slowly dissolve. “Sure, sure, what’s up?” He never liked coffee. Should’ve ordered the tea, he briefly pondered, watching the liquid swirl.

Changbin looks away, staring out the window, watching the morning passersby move with purpose down the sidewalk. “You said your existence is a mistake.” The words cause Chan to look up at Changbin, whose eyes flit back from the window to make eye contact. He dips his head down and to the side a bit. “Why is that? Why do you think you’re a mistake?”

“Oh,” the older man bites his cheek, breaking eye contact and clearing his throat. “I just…” He wasn’t sure how to answer that, grazing his thumb against the indentations of the spoon’s handle. “I wasn’t born right,” he sighs, but doesn’t elaborate.

“You weren’t ‘born right’?” Changbin presses, setting his mug down on the saucer in front of him, folding his hands together and resting his chin on his fingers. “I know it’s probably a heavily-detailed, incredibly personal question, but, if you don’t mind elaborating, what do you mean by that?”

Chan brings the cup of coffee to his lips with his right hand, taking a long, deep drink of the lightly bitter, vanilla-scented liquid. For not liking coffee, he had to admit that it wasn’t actually bad. He sets the glass back down and looks directly at Changbin, taking in a long, deep inhale, and makes sure to speak in a hushed voice. “I was born a woman, biologically speaking. ‘Assigned female at birth’ is the more correct term, that’s what people keep telling me.” Chan studies Changbin’s face, which doesn’t falter, so he continues. “Neither my family, nor my friends really tried to understand it. They all abandoned me immediately. My ex, though, was the hardest hit by it. He tried to care for a while, but then he started to call me these terrible things, only worried about how my expression and appearance would affect him and his new friends.” Chan scoffed. “It’s stupid. Not fair. So, I always figured I was a mistake. Everyone treated me like I was a mistake.”

Changbin eyes Chan’s free hand and takes in a deep breath, letting his hand fall directly onto the hand on the table, loosely gripping it. “Chan,” he softly says, soothingly, deliberately looking the older man in the eyes, “you’re not a mistake. Nobody is born a mistake.” The two of them lock eyes and stare at each other, exchanging glances of pain, misery, and understanding. “We just blossom into who we really are, and sometimes, people can’t handle the real, true us. If they can’t handle who we really are, then what’s the fucking point? Why keep them around if it only ends in misery for us, and they lose nothing?”

It had been so long since someone looked at Chan with empathy instead of resentment, and the realization of that caused his stomach to burn uncomfortably. The strange warmth spread across Chan’s abdomen, and he glanced down to Changbin’s hand, then back up to his face. The way they exchanged glances was oddly calming, like Chan could be comfortable telling this stranger almost anything, and he wouldn’t be judged. Changbin made Chan feel alive for the first time in months. Years, actually. For the first time, he didn’t have to try to put on a façade of who he really was; it felt like Changbin accepted him for who he was with a single glance.

“Changbin,” Chan breathed out, knitting his brows together and mustering up the courage to grasp the younger man’s hand a little tighter. “You’re completely right.” The two of them exchanged a glance that spoke more than words could tell. It was an exchange that said ‘I’m broken, but thank you for listening, for trying to understand.’ His eyes started to water, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyelids. It hurt, but it was paradoxically relieving for him to feel this way.

“I’ve got a lot of problems, too,” Changbin sighed, but deliberately grabbed Chan’s hand a bit tighter. “It’s hard enough to come out as gay here. The guy that saved me? We became close friends, but he quickly regretted it when I misinterpreted the signals he gave off and I told him I had feelings for him.” His eyes rolled down to an insignificant stain on the table. “It’s been nearly a year, and I still haven’t heard from him, even though he saved my life. I thought he really cared, but he showed his true colours and then he was gone.” The younger man took a long sip from his mug, and stared into the ripples of the coffee as he set it back down.

“I’m sorry, man,” Chan sighed with sincerity, rubbing the back of Changbin’s bony hand with his thumb, but he did not relent. “Fuck him. Fuck him for not accepting you. Fuck him for not being a good person when you needed him most, not respecting you enough to at least politely turn you down.”

Changbin met Chan’s eyes again, this time with more determination, and he let out a quick huff before finishing the warm beverage in his mug. They stared at each other for a few moments, and it was like there was a silent agreement between them.

“Are you done with your coffee?” Changbin asked, but the true meaning of his question sounded more like “do you want to go home with me?”

The ‘yes’ that Chan whispered was a double entendre: it was a ‘yes’ to the question about his coffee, and a ‘yes’ to Changbin’s unspoken question.

“Honestly,” Chan muttered, inanely scratching the handle of the mug with his thumbnail, “I’m not a huge fan of coffee. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not bad, I just didn’t wanna say no.”

Changbin pulls Chan up by the hand as he makes his way to his feet. He steps around the table and stops right up next to Chan’s ear and whispers. “Don’t make yourself smaller or less than for anyone. Ever.”

It doesn’t take long for them to make their way back to Changbin’s apartment, only a block and a half away from the cafe. In fact, if Chan had actually looked out the living room window, he’d be able to see the streetlight of the cafe and the spot where Changbin saved him. Instead, he was too busy letting Changbin pin him up against the kitchen wall. The soft light of the start of daybreak illuminated the kitchen, spilling rays of orange and purple onto both of them.

“You look incredible,” Changbin whined, biting at Chan’s bottom lip. “Handsome. Gorgeous.” He panted, whined, dragged his fingers through Chan’s hair. “I want to drown myself in you, Chan, drown myself in you if you’ll let me.”

Chan forgets how to breathe for a moment, the tightness in his abdomen causing him to feel lightheaded. He was nervous, but the burning feeling of desire overwhelmed the nervousness. “Changbin,” he whines, allowing his teeth to graze against the bottom lip of the man in front of him.

“I only want to do what you’re comfortable with,” Changbin whispers, trailing his right hand down from Chan’s neck to his waist, finger hooking in the tip of his hipbone, causing the older man to buck into him involuntarily. “I want you to tell me to stop if you need me to. But I also want to hear you long for me tonight, to cry out my name, to piss off the neighbours.”

Something about Changbin’s words drove Chan insane. “I trust you,” he whines. He shouldn’t be so trusting after knowing someone for maybe a couple of hours, but there was something about this stranger that made Chan feel more comfortable in his own skin than his ex-boyfriend of several years did. He did, after all, save him from jumping off of a bridge. All bets were off for now; Chan had nothing to lose. “It’s fine, it’s fine, I want you, Changbin. Please.”

That’s all it takes. Changbin brings both of his hands to Chan’s hips and effortlessly, somehow, lifts Chan up off of the the wall. Chan wraps his legs around Changbin’s waist, dragging his tongue against Changbin’s bottom lip. The two of them haphazardly make their way towards Changbin’s bedroom together, lazily pressing their lips together.

“I want you, Bin,” Chan whines, peeling his hoodie and shirt off as soon as he hits the plush of the comforter. “Changbin. Please, please, please. I need you.” The pitch black enveloping him in darkness gave him an extra air of confidence, making him feel like he could fully lose himself within the moment as he ran his fingers down his torso, taking an extra moment to scan his fingertips against the scars on his chest, hoping Changbin wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t linger too long on his imperfections.

Changbin grumbles as he straddles the older man, pressing his lips against Chan’s neck. “Patience, baby,” he whispers, peeling his own shirt off, then quickly returning his teeth to Chan’s soft flesh. He lets his hands run up against Chan’s abdomen, paying special attention to how exactly Chan responded to each soft, gentle touch Changbin offered. He was so attentive, making sure that nothing was too out of place, making sure that nothing was too uncomfortable.

“Ah, wait, Changbin.” There it was, the tone of Chan’s voice. That was the protest that the younger man was waiting for. “Are you sure you want to do something like this with me? I’m not really…” Chan’s voice trailed off in discouragement. “I’m not a real—“

“Shut up,” Changbin counter-protested, his voice breathy and slightly annoyed, pressing his lips against Chan’s. “Don’t you dare try to tell me you’re ‘not a real man’ or some dumb shit like that.”

“But,” Chan whined, subconsciously rutting his hips up into Changbin’s pelvis. “It’s true, I’m not.”

“Chan,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes, “please, just shut up. You’re as real of a man as you identify yourself to be.” He pressed a soft kiss up against the older man’s warm cheek, then nuzzled his forehead against it. “Don’t invalidate yourself like that, because it’s just going to make you feel like shit. If you don’t want to do this, then tell me. If you’re just going to invalidate yourself, I don’t want to hear it and I won’t do this.”

The brunette swallowed hard, his eyes nervously scanning the ceiling as he felt the younger man’s breath on his neck. “I don’t want you to stop,” he whispers, “I’m just nervous. It’s been so long, and I don’t like…” His voice trails off and he sighs. “Honestly, if we’re gonna do this, can you just, fuck — wow, this is awkward to ask — but, can you just fuck me like a normal dude? Pretend that all of the frontal anatomy just doesn’t exist? I don’t want to even think about it.” He shakes his head. “It’s too much.”

Changbin pulls back, bringing his hands to the sides of Chan’s face and deliberately making eye contact with him. “Of course. I told you, anything to make you comfortable. I’ll go slowly. I’ll admit,” Chan sees the whites of his eyes shift, as if he was looking away for a moment, “I’ve never been with someone that’s trans. So if I do something wrong, tell me.”

Chan sighs, not out of irritation, but relief. “Of course. Can we do this now?”

Changbin reaches over Chan, pulling his nightstand’s drawer open. He grabs a condom and a bottle of lube, then sits back on his heels. “Have you ever done this before?”

Finally, a bit of confidence, likely from the darkness of the room hiding his body, rushes through Chan, and he offers a bit of a cocky smirk. “I ride dick like it’s my last day on earth, every time. Trust me,” he sits up and grabs Changbin by the waist, “I’ve done this before. I’ve done a handful of freaky things before. You’d be surprised to know what I haven’t done, honestly.”

A breathy gasp leaves Changbin’s lips and he swallows hard. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting, not in the slightest. “You w-what?”

After some careful preparation and stretching, it doesn’t take long for Chan to take Changbin fully inside of him, causing the younger man beneath him to let out a small whine. “Fucking tight,” he whimpers, digging his fingernails into Chan’s hips. “You feel incredible. So good.”

Chan smirks. “I told you.” He puts both hands on the bed, on either side of Changbin’s neck, allowing him to roll his hips up and down slowly, in controlled movements. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I can, ah,” Changbin tightly closes his eyes and rolls his head into the pillow behind him, “fuck, Chan, I can feel that.”

The brunette dips his head down, pressing his lips to the younger man’s. Changbin responds by grabbing the back of Chan’s neck, pulling him in closer, and he aggressively jams his tongue in between his lips. They explore each others’ mouths with purpose, both of them still faintly tasting like coffee and menthol cigarettes.

“Changbin,” Chan whines, drawling out the last syllable of his name.

A grin is painted upon the younger man’s face at the sound of his name. “Say it again. It sounds so fucking good when you say my name like that.”

Chan complies. He complies repeatedly, grinding up against Changbin’s pelvis, his length filling him and causing all of the nerves in his body to light up. He’d never fucked like this before, nothing so passionate or romantic in his life. All of his experiences were lacklustre with Hyunjin, who never fucked him the way he wanted to be fucked. It was all about Hyunjin.

Tonight, it was all about Chan. It was all about how well he and Changbin blended together, and Chan couldn’t get enough of it.

A week and a half passes, and Chan can’t bring himself to leave Changbin’s apartment. The younger man doesn’t mind, of course, he’s happy to give Chan as much time as he needs to figure out what exactly he needs to do.

It was a bit awkward at first, since Changbin’s apartment only has one bedroom, and Changbin doesn’t keep a large enough couch for either of them to sleep on. “We’ve already slept with each other,” Chan pondered aloud one day while he was scrubbing some dishes in the sink, “why bother not sleeping in the same bed?”

Their relationship dynamic was strange, but it worked. They had spent several nights staying up far too late, going for walks downtown and talking about the complexities that life had to offer. Chan would link arms with Changbin, they would share a cigarette with each other, and all of Chan’s problems would just come spilling out.

Things came so naturally to both of them. They would usually get to the well-lit touristy spot in Cheonggyecheon, staring down the river, watching people meander about and the lights illuminating the ripples in the water. That’s where Chan would open up more and more about himself and the horrible experiences he had with his family, friends, and Hyunjin.

“You know,” Changbin took a long pull from the cigarette in his fingertips, then let the smoke lazily escape his lips, “if I ever meet this guy, I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.”

“Changbin,” Chan pressed, half-serious.

“I’m not kidding, dude,” the black-haired man cocked his head, looking up at Chan over the rim of his glasses. “He has the balls to constantly misgender you, treat you as less-than, and now you’re telling me he would get drunk and beat you for fun? What the fuck is wrong with this guy?”

Chan sighed, taking the cigarette from between Changbin’s fingers and putting it between his lips. “I know, I know. It’s bad timing, but,” his voice trails off, and he turns his head to look down the river, “I need to go back and get my stuff from his apartment. My legal paperwork and some clothes and stuff.”

“I’m going with you.” It’s a statement. Changbin doesn’t bother asking. He grips the handrail with both hands, his knuckles turning white. “I’m not letting you be there alone.”

“He’ll be at work, Bin.”

“I don’t care,” he spits out, a bit harsher than he intended. “He’s violent. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone in a space where you can’t easily get away from him.”

Chan bites back a retort; he knew that Changbin was right. The two of them stare off into the dark water for a few moments, until Chan deeply sighs. “Fine. We can go tomorrow around noon. I’ll text him tomorrow and tell him we’re coming over before we show up, just so he knows.”

“That’s a stupid idea, Chan.” Changbin grits his teeth and scowls.

“I know. But it’s the right thing to do.”

Changbin scoffs. “That’s typical of you, dove, always looking out for the greater good before taking yourself into consideration.”

Chan squints his eyes in confusion. “‘Dove’?”

“Oh,” Changbin chews on his cheek. “I didn’t even think about that, it just slipped out. Anyway, you know how there’s tales in the West about how seeing a dove with an olive branch is a symbol of peace?”

“Yeah, what’s that gotta do with me?”

Changbin turns his head towards Chan and smiles softly, light reflecting off of his glasses. “You’re too good for people like me, and especially Hyunjin. You’re calming, peaceful. Besides,” he reaches over and grabs Chan’s hand, interlacing their fingers together, “it sounds cooler than ‘baby’ or some other overused pet name, yeah?”

Chan chuckled and smiled, looking down at their hands, how well they fit together, how right it seemed. It had only been a week and a half, but he was starting to fall for this man.

Changbin grips the steering wheel of Chan’s car tightly with his left hand, softly grabbing Chan’s leg with his right hand. “Are you sure about this?”

“I need my belongings, Changbin.” Chan tried to sound confident as he stared at the car parked in front of them, but his voice wavers a bit. “I can’t keep wearing the same things and I can’t keep living off of you. It’s been nearly two weeks.”

Changbin sighs as he turns to look at Chan. “I’m going in there with you.”

“I can do this myself, Changbin, I promise.”

“I told you yesterday and I’m not changing my mind. He’s hurt you before, Chan.”

Chan bites his lip and looks down to his knees, subconsciously grabbing Changbin’s hand. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not asking. He could be there, react poorly, and try and kill you.”

Chan sighs, looking up at Changbin with tears in his eyes. “Fine, fine,” he relents, “just be careful. If he’s here, Hyunjin has a temper and he’s not gonna like this.”

“To be frank,” Changbin lets go of the steering wheel, undoing his seatbelt. “I don’t give a shit what he thinks, dove. I don’t know if this is the real thing or not, but I’m gonna protect you.” He lifts himself up off of the seat a bit, grabbing Chan’s face and pulling him in closely. He brushes his lips softly up against the older man’s, only for a brief moment, before pulling back and staring at him with purpose. “You deserve to be happy and safe.”

Chan furrows his brows as he stares at Changbin. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know, dude, it’s a gut feeling.” The two of them sit there and stare at each other for a second, then Chan softly laughs.

“I’ll let you have that. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t even be here.”

“I certainly hope not.”

Chan turned his key in the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. Unfortunately for them, Hyunjin was there, and he was furious. The blond hastily undoes his necktie and lackadaisically discards it on the floor, reeling as he scowls at Chan, glowering at him.

“Chun-hwa, I had to leave work early for this shit.” Hyunjin’s voice was laden with venom. He took a couple of heavy footsteps towards Chan, gripping his fist tightly, until he saw Changbin step in to the side of Chan and he froze in his tracks. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He scoffs, his face wrinkling up in disbelief. “Who the fuck is this? You think you can just bring some manwhore into my house?”

“Back off,” Changbin dryly says, stepping in front of Chan and adjusting his shoulders, rolling them back. Posturing. “Chan is here to collect his things. You give him any problems, and you’ll be answering to my fists.”

Hyunjin looks at both of them and lets out a throaty laugh. “Are you fucking kidding, shortie? I could kick your ass just by looking at you funny.”

Changbin cocks an eyebrow up, placing his hands on his hips. A faint smirk curls up on the right side of his face as he slightly turns his head towards Chan, not breaking eye contact with Hyunjin. “Go grab your things. Don’t worry about this string bean-looking asshole.”

“He looks thin, Changbin, but Hyunjin is tough. And fast.” Chan takes a hand and places it on Changbin’s shoulder, but the younger man doesn’t react. He leans in closer, right up to Changbin’s ear, and whispers. “I told you, he’s beaten me senseless before. He’s more of a threat than you’d think.”

“Not worried about it. Go, Chan.” Changbin pops the knuckles of his fingers and rolls his neck around. “Ready to teach this motherfucker a lesson.”

Changbin’s quip causes Hyunjin to roll his eyes and dismissively shake his head. “Yeah, believe it when I see it, shithead.”

Chan takes a moment, contemplating if he should intervene, but he decides against it. He figures that Changbin is a grown adult, and he can make decisions for himself, even if that meant he was potentially going to get his face rearranged. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he whispers, then moves towards the back of the apartment, towards his old bedroom. The bedroom he shared with Hyunjin. The bedroom that caused his heart to drop into the pit of his stomach with every step he took closer and closer to it; old, negative memories resurfacing.

Hyunjin eyes Chan as he walks past. “You’re not just gonna walk past me and pretend like I don’t exist, Chun-hwa.” Changbin’s eyes roll down to Hyunjin’s feet, watching the micro-movements his toes were making. As soon as the side of his right foot twitched, his toes turning towards Chan, Changbin stopped paying attention to whatever nonsense Hyunjin was sputtering off. It was time to move.

He swiftly rushed forward, reaching his left hand out to grab Hyunjin’s collar, winding his right hand back in a tight fist. “What the fuck?” Hyunjin barely had enough time to react before Changbin’s fist collided into his cheekbone, causing the younger man to let out a strained groan. The blond regained his composure, then kneed the black-haired man in the stomach in response, causing him to curl into himself a bit, but he refused to falter.

Changbin’s grip on Hyunjin’s collar loosened only briefly. He reoriented himself upright and grabbed the other side of his collar with his right hand and threw him into the kitchen table just off to the right-hand side. The paraphernalia intricately placed on the table went flying, including a glass vase that clattered to the floor and shattered into what looked like a thousand pieces.

“You fucking dweeb,” Hyunjin grunts against the table, “you can’t do shit to me with those tiny arms.”

“You wanna fucking bet?” Changbin lifts Hyunjin up and rams him back into the table. “Looks like you’re the one in a compromising position here, dude.”

Hyunjin scowls, kicking the older man in the shin to distract him, then reaches up to his hair, grabbing a fistful of it and throwing his free fist into his cheek. “I’m gonna rearrange your fucking face, you prick.”

Chan sucked in some air through his teeth, physically cringing as he heard the men roll around, grumbling and shouting, their fists colliding into each other. He tried so hard to just ignore what was happening behind him. He shakes his head a couple of times before he starts haphazardly throwing his important belongings into some bags.

Hyunjin and Changbin wrestle around a bit more, a couple of fists to the face, a couple of knees to the stomach. Chan tries so hard to ignore the throaty grunts and the sharp cries coming from both of them. He just needed his important documents, his favourite sweatshirt, some clothing. He compromised: the photos of the family and friends that rejected him could stay behind. It would slow him down and he didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life. Not anymore. Not when he knew they weren’t worth the mental energy, when he could fill that negative void with new people that accepted him and loved him for who he was.

Chun-hwa had finally died at the Seongsu Bridge the night he was saved, and a new, revitalized Chan was born from the ashes of the person he used to be. It was time to leave the negativity behind, once and for all. Let it all die in this shitty apartment with the remnants of the relationship with his shitty ex-boyfriend.

“Wait a minute. I’ve seen you before, I remember your name now.” Changbin wipes some blood off from under his lip, stumbling backwards a bit. “I finally realized who you are.” He punctuates his sentence with a sharp, sarcastic laugh. “How ironic.”

Hyunjin’s eyes grow wide as he holds the back of his hand up against his bleeding nose.

“That gay bar down in Itaewon. You hit on my friend, who was very much taken, and so were you.” A nervous scoff comes from Hyunjin. “Felix wanted nothing to do with you, but you kept hitting on him. Unlike you, Felix was, and still is, happily committed and out to his partner. Yet, you treat your ex-boyfriend like shit because you didn’t like him identifying as a man. If I recall correctly, it was because you didn’t want your friends to think you were gay. Interesting, isn’t it?”

Chan steps out of the bedroom, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “What did you just say? Did I just hear you correctly?” His voice sounds pained and confused. Changbin turns around for a moment, surprised to hear Chan come up from behind him.

This was his opportunity. Hyunjin grabs a thin, hardcover book off of the table from behind him, blood spilling down from his nose, and he runs up to Changbin and brings the book crashing into the side of his face. There was enough force to cause the older man to fall to the ground with a sharp cry. Hyunjin angrily throws the book at the wall in front of him and stares over at Chan as Changbin brings a hand to his face and whines.

“I’m not letting you leave this fucking place alive. You hear me?” Hyunjin’s voice is dark, but flat. All of the light in his eyes had evaporated, and Chan froze in place. He had been here before, seen that look in Hyunjin’s eyes. He so desperately wanted to run, hide in the washroom or the bedroom, but he was frozen in place, like someone had glued his feet to the floor.

“Hyunjin,” Chan softly whines, bringing his hands up to cover his face, to hide away from the impending attack he was about to receive, “Hyunjin, please, don’t do this.”

“Shut up, you stupid cunt.” Hyunjin spits out, taking a slow, deliberate step towards Chan. “Cheating on me with some stupid gay dude. Running away from me for almost two weeks. How fucking dare you bring another man into my house?”

Changbin shakes his head and snaps back to reality, managing to grab Hyunjin’s ankle before he walks out of reach.

“The fuck?” The blond stops, looking down to Changbin and he shakes his leg, but is unable to free himself from the smaller man’s grasp.

“I’m stronger than you. You’re going to regret treating Chan like shit.” That’s all Changbin says before he musters all of his strength to pull Hyunjin to the ground. The younger man loses his footing, colliding down to the ground with a thick thud. Chan pulls his hands away from his face, and his mouth drops as he watches the two of them.

Hyunjin may have been terrifying to Chan when he was angry, but seeing Changbin like this was petrifying. The black-haired man’s expression was flat, calculated, and a deep bruise was starting to form where Hyunjin crashed the book into his face. He crawled over Hyunjin, lifting his head up by his blond hair with both of his hands, then rapidly brought it down to the floor, a loud thud echoing throughout the room.

Hyunjin cries out as he rolls his head around on the floor. “Stop it,” he sputters out, “just fucking stop!”

“How many times did Chan say that when you beat the shit out of him?” Changbin’s voice is quiet, calm. Too calm for this situation.

“W-what?”

Changbin lets out an irritated huff and raises his voice. “How many times did Chan beg for you to stop? Every time you beat him? Every time you assaulted him? Wait a second.” He lifts his head to look at Chan, his eyes piercing him with a strategic glance. “You mentioned something a few days ago that concerned me, but I never pressed the issue. Did this fucking prick ever rape you, Chan?”

Chan’s eyes widen and he looks down at the floor. “I…” His voice trails off, clearly avoiding the question.

“Chan.”

“Fuck you.” Hyunjin’s voice is garbled and he spits some blood into Changbin’s face. “She’s a fucking slut and isn’t worth your time.”

Changbin somehow ignores Hyunjin’s prodding, letting the bloody saliva drip down his cheek. “Chan. Answer me.”

A tear slips down Chan’s face as he shrinks into himself. Memories started to come flooding back of nights where Hyunjin got too drunk. The nights where Chan would try and correct Hyunjin’s terrible behaviour, how he’d quietly plead with him to refer to him as the correct name and gender. The nights where he’d wake up and Hyunjin would be there, hovering over him, clearly frustrated with Chan not wanting to sleep with him and —

“Chan!” Changbin’s voice is angry, loud. It’s distracting enough to bring Chan back to the situation at hand.

He slowly looks up, scanning every detail on the floor, trailing his way up to Hyunjin. There was no emotion on Chan’s face, nothing in his eyes, as he stared at the bloodied blond. “Don’t kill him, Changbin.” His voice is soft.

Weak.

Tired.

A beat passes and the implication of Chan’s words causes Changbin’s nostrils to flare in fury, and Hyunjin’s eyes grow wide, staring at Chan as if he were betrayed. “You fucking—“ Hyunjin tries to speak, but Changbin brings his fist against the younger man’s face. He does this several times, before Hyunjin goes limp, and blood spills from his nose and his face.

Changbin breathes heavily as he stares down at the bloodied man beneath him. His entire torso trembles from adrenalin, fear, anger, and shock.

“Is he alive?” Chan manages to squeak out.

“I…” Changbin shakes his head rapidly, trying to bring himself back to the moment. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. I think. He’s still breathing.”

Chan’s hands shake as he anxiously wrings his hands. “What the fuck was that, Changbin? That was more than a fist fight. More than protection.”

“He hurt you.” Changbin looks up at Chan, his expression no longer confident. Strangely enough, he looked terrified. “Chan, he abused you. He raped you, for fuck's sake. What else was I supposed to do?”

Chan bit his lip and folded his arms, not in irritation, but as if he was trying to comfort himself. “Have you done this before?”

“This badly?” Changbin looks down to Hyunjin and brings himself to his feet. “Only once. I had to defend myself against a few guys behind a bar once. I had to protect Felix. You learn to protect yourself against a world that doesn’t want you to exist. Against people that want you dead just because you’re happy. It’s why I’m so adamant about working out.” He looks up to Chan, but doesn’t advance towards him.

Chan is aggressively chewing on his lips, pulling dead skin off of them and causing his lips to drip blood. He watches Hyunjin’s head tilt to the side, blood dripping down his face, his lips and eyes starting to swell. “Changbin, that was fucking terrifying.”

“I’m so sorry, Chan. I didn’t mean to make this situation worse.”

Chan breathes in deeply, then gets enough courage to to look up at Changbin. “No, no,” his voice is shaky, “Hyunjin deserved it. Just, please, promise me you’ll never do that again unless you absolutely have to.”

Changbin sarcastically huffs. “I don’t like doing this, Chan. I just get protective over people I care about.” His eyes soften, tears starting to well up. “I’ll do anything to protect you, dove.”

Chan doesn’t say anything. He takes a shaky step forward, then another, his feet shuffling forward enough until he collides against Changbin’s chest. “Don’t hug me back,” he says as the younger man lifts his arms, “you’ve got blood all over your hands.”

The men stand in front of the kitchen sink, hastily cleaning most the blood off of their arms and faces. Chan gives Changbin a loose hoodie to cover his bloodied shirt. “Guess it’s a good thing I wore black pants today, huh?” Changbin’s quip causes Chan to roll his eyes.

They grab the hastily packed bags and two boxes and bring them down to Chan’s car.

“Is that everything you want?” Changbin slams the back door of the car a bit harder than he intended to.

“Yeah. I just wanna get out of here and shower. Get out of here before Hyunjin wakes up. Well, hopefully he wakes up.” Chan shakes his arms, trying to rid the nerves that were built up inside of them. “I want to go home with you and curl up in bed and forget all about this.”

Changbin says nothing as he walks up to Chan, he brings a hand up to his face, softly stroking his cheek with his thumb. They tiredly, longingly gaze into each others’ eyes for a few moments. “‘Home’, dove?”

“What?” Chan cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“You said you want to go home with me.”

“Oh,” Chan bites his sore lip and softly smiles. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?” Changbin smiles in response and nods his head once. “We’re doing this backwards, you know. We’re not even dating, and we’ve already fucked. You beat the shit out of my ex, rightfully so. And now I’m going to be staying with you, almost like I’m moving in with you. You even have a cutesy pet name for me.”

Changbin lifts himself up on to his toes and gently, briefly presses his lips against Chan’s. He pulls back, bouncing back on to his heels. “I just want you to be safe and comfortable. Even if we’re just roommates. Even if it ends in heartbreak. Just knowing I got you out of such a horrible place is good enough for me. Knowing I saved your life and helped give you a second chance, a chance to actually breathe, to be comfortable with who you are. That’s all I need.”

A deeper smile slowly creeps up on Chan’s face as he blushes and looks away from Changbin. He sucks in a quick breath, then shyly, quickly gives the black-haired man’s forehead a soft kiss. “You’re my nightlight.”

“What?” Changbin cocks his head to the side and his eyebrows pull together in confusion.

“I’m your dove, your sign of peace. You’re my nightlight: guiding me through the darkness. Keeping me safe from the unknown.” Chan bends down and quietly whispers something in Changbin’s ear, and it causes his eyes to grow wide.

“Did you just…?” The younger man stutters, his words barely coherent.

Chan smiles, pulling his key fob out of his front pocket. “Let’s go home, Binnie.”

#skz fics #serious #trans male character #binchan #bang chan x seo changbin #seo changbin x bang chan #chan x changbin #changbin x chan #wherevermyway

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gotemsayingw0w · 4 years

Text

Kyoru Week Day 4

Prompt: Lover @kyoruweekofficial

On the first of September in a town that is now only mildly-foreign to him, Kyo Sohma picks up the keys to his new apartment from his landlord. It has been three months of working well over full time, eating cheap meals, and skimping on every possible expense, but the time has come. He has the keys. And now he has her to himself. All to himself.

Well, all to himself after he picked her up from work, that is. And he still has two fucking hours before that could even happen.

He hauls their few boxes up the stairs and into the small apartment. Tohru labeled them with her neat script the night before, so he knows where to put everything. Clothes in the bedroom, dishes in the kitchen, everything else (packed neatly into a single large box) in the living area. He doesn’t bother unpacking anything but the tea kettle. It isn’t like they have any furniture besides a dusty arm chair left behind from the previous tenants and a skinny vinyl mat that may have once been a futon. It doesn’t matter. They have a place to live, a place that is theirs. Who needs furniture when he has that?

Furniture, honestly, was probably hovering around #12 on his list of priorities.

He kills time with cleaning. The damp rag he runs around the countertops and through the cabinets ends up a dark brown by the time he has collected all of the dust and dirt. The open windows allow the breeze to filter through, airing out the three otherwise musty rooms. He sweeps all of the dust off of the tatami floor and out onto the tiny balcony.

Finally, it is time to get Tohru from work. He looks around, nods, and closes the door on the apartment.

Their new home is closer to her workplace than to his, but that was part of his plan. She was almost always done with work before he was and, because he couldn’t be there to walk her home, he just prayed she would manage to stay safe on those three short blocks. It wasn’t as if they didn’t live in a safe neighborhood, but for some reason any slight bump on the sidewalk concerned him.

Tohru works at an elementary school as a teacher’s assistant. It wasn’t often he got to meet her after work, in fact she often came straight to the dojo after work to walk home with him instead. Before, when they were living with a friend of Shishou’s, they would avoid going home right away. They’d walk down to the shore or eat a vending machine dinner together in the park. They would get to enjoy their food together, alone, without the distractions of roommates they barely knew.

He waits on the street opposite the school, watching as the students scatter off in all different directions. Once the schoolyard is clear, she emerges from the building, shielding her eyes from the late-afternoon sun. He watches as she scans the street before locking eyes with him and smiling.

Kyo doesn’t think he will ever get tired of looking at her. As she walks towards him, Kyo notices the bounce in her step and the way it scatters her hair in the breeze. Her yellow cotton dress swishes around her knees and matches the yellow ribbon in her hair. She closes the distance between them and wraps her arms tight around his midsection.

“Hi,” She says, beaming up at him.

“Hi,” He responds, kissing the top of her head. He reaches into his pocket and produces a silver key. “This is for you.”

She grins and reaches into her purse, producing a silver keychain with a tiny, polymer cat charm. Its orange color is clearly painted on with nail polish and he can’t help but grin back. She fastens the key to the charm and slides her hand into his.

“Let’s go home,” He says, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“Home,” she affirms and lets him lead the way.

* * *

They could make dinner or unpack, but the second they push through the entryway of their new home, their mouths are locked together as they kick off their shoes.

Tohru presses her body into him as he leans against the front door. Her hands dance under his shirt and across his abdomen, featherlight touches that leave his skin burning. He dips his head into the curve of her neck and gently sucks, eliciting a soft moan.

Without looking, he grabs her purse from her shoulder and tosses it to the floor. He bends down and reaches his arm behind her knees, hauling her up and over his shoulder. She giggles as he carries her to their tiny bedroom, where a single cardboard box and one pink suitcase sit in the corner.

He stands her up in the middle of the room, pulling at the hem of her dress so it floats over her head and down to the floor. He runs his hands up and down her sides, relishing the curves that exist between her narrow waist and her hips. “There’s no bed,” he apologizes sheepishly.

“I don’t care,” she responds earnestly as she pulls at his t-shirt. He doesn’t care either. He lowers her down to the floor and the chill of the sticky vinyl futon there sends a shiver down her spine.

The sun appears from behind a cloud and floods her face and he swears to God she looks angelic. He gently squeezes one of her breasts as his other hand fumbles at the clasp behind her. Her fingers knot in his hair and she sighs his name.

She shrugs out of her bra and takes the moment to reach for the waistband of his joggers. With her feet, she slides them down his calves the rest of the way and he kicks them off behind him, his hand dipping between her legs. He teases her there for a moment, enjoying the fact that she’s not even trying to be quiet because she doesn’t have to be.

Here, in their new home, there are no hushed whispers or silent groans. She doesn’t wrench her teeth into her lip to stifle her moan and he has no reason to sigh into her neck to muffle the sound.

He fumbles his boxer briefs down to his ankles and, underneath him, she does the same thing with her cotton panties. She beckons him forward with her hips and he pushes inside, pressing his forehead against hers as he does so.

It isn’t the first time he’s loved her in this way and it certainly won’t be the last, but just like their first time together so many months ago at Shigure’s, this time is special. They are finally alone, finally able to be intimate without the risk of a housemate walking in or hearing them. He appreciates this moment with her, knowing that when he wakes up in the morning it will only be her in this apartment. She will be the only person he will see in the morning and she will always be the only person he needs to see.

“I love you,” she says, clear as day and he says it right back. And in their new home there is no need to whisper.

* * *

At some point, the sun starts to go down. Tohru crawls over to the box in the corner of the room and pulls out some linens to dress the pathetic futon that barely contains both of their bodies. They tick off a list of all of the things they will need to buy when the sting of paying first and last months’ rent wears off.

After the sun has gone down completely and they lay bathed in the dim light from the streetlights outside, Tohru insists they get up and eat something. She slides on her underwear and throws his t-shirt over her head. When she rises to stand, he asks “Aren’t you going to put on some clothes?”

She shrugs. “No,” and dances off to the kitchen.

They eat instant ramen noodles in their underwear, sitting on the cold floor of their new living room. Tohru talks animatedly about all of the projects they can start tomorrow. She asks him for his opinion on everything and he simply nods and agrees with all of it (except for the part where she said they needed a pet cat). She only stops talking to take a bite of her food before she starts again. He watches her eyes dance around the room, widening every time she has a new idea, and laughs at her when she becomes out of breath from talking so much.

And in his head, he thinks about how she could do whatever she damn well pleased with the apartment and it wouldn’t matter to him. The only thing he needs is here, sitting next to him, giggling and resting her head on his shoulder. He has Tohru, just Tohru, and he is home.

#kyoruweek2020 #kyo sohma #tohru honda #kyoru #cross posted on ao3 and ffn #rated: M

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tarithenurse · 4 years

Text

Stolen - 5

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: Angst, threats, creepiness. A/N: Have some hugs!

5. The Beautiful People

... Reader ...

Loki hadn’t lied when he had foreshadowed a turn in events within days.

“Put this on.” He tosses a bundle of mixed fabrics at your face.

It’s a struggle to figure out what goes where as you untangle the silk and organza before you can see that it’s a dress fit for Lord of the Rings LARPing. “You gotta be -”

“I’m not. Now put. It. On.”

An awkward silence follows where both of you wait for the other to do something, but eventually the god groans in annoyance and points to the bathroom door as if you could trust having a minimum of privacy even there as long as he remains in the room. Still, you oblige.

Stripping down to your underwear, you slide your arms into the cascading sleeves, already loving the smooth feeling of the white inner layer. It tickles as you pull the dress over your head and allow it to fall into place, but the lovely feeling evaporates when you look in the mirror. A white tent with soft green mosquito net over it, your mind objects sarcastically. Perhaps it would pretty on someone else? The wide cut barely holds on to the shoulders, making you feel naked even if the dress covers decently otherwise. Add a lack of makeup or elf-like hair and it’s obvious that this must be Loki’s way of grinding you further into the dust of self-loathing. No amount of silvery embellishment at the seams can change your mind.

Speaking off the captor, his voice cuts through the door at that moment. “If you do not hasten, you’ll regret it.”

I already regret everything. Opening the door, you shuffle out to him with your head held low.

... Loki ...

Though not unpleasant, the sensation of a tiny warm spark in his chest startles the former prince of Asgard when he lays eyes upon his prisoner. Intriguing, as she has been since he first learned of her existence, [Y/N] is not supposed to be anything else than a tool in his plan yet her countenance has appeared unbidden in his mind at the most inconvenient of times lately and now...now a softness towards the woman is taking hold within Loki.

Displeased with himself, he refocuses. “Lift your arms.”

She does, granting him access to tie a silver sash around her waist. As he finishes the knot, he lingers to enjoy [Y/N]’s fragrance and the sound of her speeding breathing, a tempo which he involuntarily adopts and follows as cold fingers play with her hair. One more detail. With a twist of hand, the Jotun reaches into a pocket realm to pluck out a thin, silver tiara – nothing more than a circlet, really, fashioned to the likeness of a snake with emerald eyes. Once in place, Loki hums in approval.

“One might even think you weren’t simply a mortal.” Of course, she doesn’t seem to believe him but merely keeps her gaze on their feet. “Ah, yes...you must go barefoot. Your instructions are simple, my pet, you shall -” he continues, calmly circling her –”do exactly as I say: speak only when spoken to, pretend your presence and task is of your own free will while letting any and all decisions fall to me who must remain at your side throughout this quest. Furthermore, you will heal the priestess. Failing to do any of these things will result not only in your own punishment but also in the death of those you care about. I have sent Arox to Midgard, your Earth, with instructions to kill in two days from now unless I personally retract the order. Do not test me. You will fail.”

[Y/N] is fighting to keep her poise, eyes brimming with tears she is too stubborn to allow to fall – a willpower Loki finds echoed in the set of her jaw and the teeth biting into that perfect bottom lip. A single sniffle escapes before she dries her eyes with the back of her hands.

“Let’s get it over with, then.” There isn’t even a hint of a tremble in her voice.

Deciding not to say a word at risk of betraying how impressed he is, Loki reaches once more into the other realm and retrieves the priceless cube he escaped from New York with. Even after all the pain and trouble, he knows the importance of keeping it out of reach of his former “master” - it is as vital to his plans as [Y/N] is.

Bending his will to resonate with the Tessaract, a shimmering bauble of indigo swallows them and spits them out a second later. Loki is familiar with this way of travelling whereas the woman stumbles slightly. Grabbing her by the upper arm, the Jotun straightens her and locks her in place next to him.

“Smile,” he orders with a whisper, and right on time too. From all sides the sound of running feet hails the arrival of the temple guards.

... Reader ...

Survival instinct dictates paying attention to people with weapons aimed at you but honestly, your eyes would be glued to these people either way. Woah. They are... Your brain wriggles to find a proper label only to come up empty and dazed by the view.

Every single person is different from the next while still being the epitome of perfection: godly toned bodies, ideal skin, lustrous hair. There is even a sort of glow that you thought strictly belonged to anime characters rather than actual flesh and blood humans. Humanoids. On second look, you do notice features fit for fantasy novels. My life has turned into a sci-fi-fantasy! Too bad the cold presence of Loki standing next to you is a strong reminder this isn’t a pretty story waiting to be enjoyed.

Words are shouted. Loki replies calmly, a soothing balm which seeps into the voices as a conversation carries on while you stand there lost, waiting for a cue.

“Sweet [Y/N].” Loki finally turns to you. “Explain to the kind people of Alfheim what you hope to accomplish.”

His eyes hold a warning only you can see. Cold, hard, like precious stones cutting through your soul easily because they have been sharpened with knowledge that he, this so-called god, is mad enough to do exactly as he has threatened.

So of course you readjust your lips into a sweet smile. “I am here to lend my skills and heal the Priestess.”

The chorus of sing-song voices is the only proof that your announcement has been well received until they signal for you and Loki to follow them.

For the first time, the surroundings begin to stand out as if the place didn’t even exist before. Fresh lines and curves shape arches reaching for the heavens – without the dark weight from the Gothic architecture of Earth – with wide windows and doors giving every wall an airy aesthetic. Marching along the hallways of the building, its grandeur is evident in the glittery stones it seems carved from, cool under your bare feet. Crystals are hung from the ceilings, catching the natural light and amplifying it...but not fracturing it into the shards of rainbows you would expect at home. Passing niches, you catch glimpses of golden statues of serene men and women, the metal somehow softened by potted plants that are leaning in as if to hug the figures.

“Do not gawk.” Loki’s voice is enough to bring your spirits down just as they were beginning to take flight at the wonders around you.

You had expected to be brought directly to the priestess and for the agonizing wait before Loki’s verdict of your cooperation to be over as soon as possible. Instead, you’re brought to a grand room with chaise-lounges and poufs scattered over a mix-match of soft carpets where you are told to wait. Servants come and go with fresh fruits and golden wine which you can’t stomach any of despite your abductor’s gleeful enjoyment of it all – all you can do is to walk about in a daze for the fear that you will fail.

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 3 years

Text

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 54 – The Night of Horror

“Tao, duck!”

Screamed M-21, to which Tao responded by promptly letting an imaginary hand wrench his entire torso towards his feet.

Not a second after, a human body thrust its way through the exact spot where his head used to be.

Wham!

“Krrrgh!”

“Kraah!”

The agent M-21 just wrestle-flung collided with a man in a lab coat, reaping from them grunts close to beastly snarls.

They shared one thing in common – nothing about their appearances suggested they are Homo sapiens, with discolored skin reminiscent of corpses, nails and teeth jutting out in a vicious manner, and eyes seemingly brimming with blood.

And these were not exclusive to the two pseudo-zombies giving Tao and M-21 a challenge like nothing before.

Of course, it would take less than a minute and feel like less than 10 seconds for Tao and M-21 to make sure their opponents will never again disrupt them.

Alas, they could not position themselves appropriately, let alone pull out a weapon or shift into battle forms, because they happened to be facing the staff of KSA.

“Looks like that gas was combined with the technology on... What was it again? Rapid body modification?”

“Yup. Damn, I didn’t think it would be so effective.”

The two men lamented upon witnessing how employees and agents wobbled back to their feet; they could swear they did more than a proper job of hitting their vital points to knock them out.

They even twisted the ankles, solemnly swearing to get upon their knees for forgiveness once the storm is gone; however, their plan was made null by the healing power that naturally comes with body modification.

“...I don’t think we’ll be getting out of this situation, unless we pry out their limbs or a rib or spine or two.”

“...How I hate the fact that I can’t help but agree with you there.”

The outcome was beyond Tao and M-21’s expectation, probably because of Yuhyung’s adjustment.

Nevertheless, they presumed the healing power that surfaced within the victims would be below average.

After all, the project on which their modification was based off was classified as failure and ultimately canceled.

So just like M-21 said, the victims would not be able to recover the loss of a limb or skeletal structure.

Nonetheless, Tao and M-21 could not dare harm them; the only thing they have done wrong, if they have done anything wrong, was staying overnight to fully dedicate themselves to their duties.

It was not the question of post-measurements, already guaranteed by KSA and Frankenstein; it was the question of morals.

M-21’s and Tao’s faces stiffened as the victims dragged their feet towards them, the two men cornered in the room.

Just then, one of the agents bumped shoulders with a researcher closest to him, from which the situation took a precipitous downfall.

Slash!

Chomp!

The agent made a violent lash at the researcher’s face, and the researcher countered by rooting his teeth into the agent’s shoulder with full power.

Which served as a cue for the rest of the victims to tackle and thwack and open their mouths wide at one another.

Tao and M-21 turned pale as they watched how a scene from fratricidal zombie movie was being played live, their minds becoming numb with shock as the floor being slowly freed from gas was now being plastered with victims’ blood.

They threw themselves in the middle to separate the victims from each other, and that was when their communicators finally vibrated with life.

<Tao! M-21! Do you copy?!>

“Takio? Where are you? What in the world is keeping you? And why did you have to wait to...”

Tao and M-21 met each other in the eyes for a moment at how alarmed Takio sounded.

Then their memories rang the bell for them – the corridors of KSA were not the only area under the effect of Yuhyung’s gas.

“Don’t tell me... Are there people whose body went through modification? Shoot, I was hoping it’d take time for the gas to spread!”

<It’s not far from KSA’s HQ, but what on earth is going on? And what do you mean, body modification? I’m sure these people are civilians!>

“We’ll talk about this later! First, get over here! We could really use a hand or two right now!”

Knowing Takio, they anticipated him to fly over on the double, although they ended up acting individually, a rare occasion to begin and to continue.

Notwithstanding, there was a reason why Murphy’s law was ever coined.

<Uh... I’m afraid as of now I’m... Ugh!>

Swoosh!

Pow!

Their ears whirring upon the sonic boom so very tangible despite the distance secured by the communicators, Tao and M-21 gaped each other with their eyes trembling.

“Takio? What’s going on?!”

“Are you also under the civilian attack?”

<No! It’s the Union! I ran into two of them on my way. One of them happens to be that big guy we saw in the footage we pieced back together from the security camera outside the safehouse that was destroyed. And the other one is a woman with...>

“...Orange hair and cerulean eyes?”

<H-how did you know?>

“Takio, that’s the one!”

“That’s the woman Miss Lunark mistook for Kespar! The one who plotted against Frankenstein in joint with the 3rd Elder!”

“Hang in there. We’re coming in...!”

M-21 and Tao stomped their legs in a halt, in the middle of their sprint carrying the violently struggling people, partitioned with their arms and shoulders.

As soon as they turned the last corner connected to the nearest lab, they saw how the tiles were barely visible due to countless people with abnormal builds.

“Impossible! There’s no way such number would be remaining at this hour!”

“Tao, look at them.”

M-21 directed Tao’s eyes towards the side, where three men and women were yanking each other with their mouths like hyenas that fasted for a month.

“Look what they’re wearing. They’re no agents. Or employees.”

“Are they civilians...? Did some of them trespass?!”

Tao bellowed in dismay, which unfastened the door that was keeping the avalanche of trouble from stampeding towards them.

“Grrr...”

“Krr...”

The blood-shot eyes of people who were busy taking a bite or grab out of anyone within their reach darted glances towards M-21 and Tao.

Not long after, the artificially modified humans lunged towards the two RK’s like a pack of rabid dogs that have spotted a target, a phenomenon propagating outside KSA.

“W-what the hell?!”

“Argh! Mommy!”

“H-help me! Somebody please he... Aaaah!!!”

People who have never consented to their monstrous changes spread out from the street housing KSA’s headquarter, to hunt down innocent citizens, paving the streets with blood and gore.

Which Yuhyung was watching through his device, via the cameras attached upon interior and exterior of the KSA building.

His hands gripping the device quaked, and he hurriedly pulled out a communicative device he would keep asleep unless he has to talk to Helga.

<Oh, hey. So how’s the plan go...>

“What the heck is going on?!?!”

Yuhyung shrieked, as if he were forcing his guts out through his throat, as soon as Helga’s pointed-as-always voice hit his eardrums.

And her response successfully blew up his half-powdered mind.

<What’s the yelling for? Is there a problem?>

She sounded so very placid, whereas her voice was toned up and down deliberately, as if she had seen this coming.

“Problem? Problem is an understatement!!! You know what is... I mean, you are seeing and hearing what is going on! You said you’ll make your way to KSA, so you should know very well what’s...”

<Oh, yes. I know. Of course I do. In fact, I’ve known it for quite long.>

“...What...?!”

Yuhyung’s quivering voice listlessly scattered into thin air, like a ball of dirt caught in the wind.

<I’ve never told you, have I? I mean the reason why this project the data I gave you came from was labeled as failure and canceled. Well, you were too excited to get your hands on the data and didn’t even bother to ask.>

Helga did mention that the project has a side effect, but he heeded not much, since the way she spoke of the side effect gave impression that it is no big deal.

Still, like she said, he was so thrilled back then to at last gain the Union data he had been thirsting for.

His thoroughness, a must-have value for anyone affiliated with investigation, was discarded temporarily, as he was too occupied with letting his elation jingle his entire universe, like popping champagne open.

And when he later examined the data, he could not find anything in particular in terms of side effect, so he had forgotten about it, until now.

<That’s right. What you’re seeing as we speak is the side effect of this project. The subjects that experience rapid body modification lose the ability to tell their friends from foes. Whenever they see something living and moving, they will first and foremost react by driving their teeth and nails into flesh. And if they are devoid of lifeform around them, they will slash and masticate and take apart their own bodies.>

Instantly, Yuhyung felt as if the entire world spun right into his chest; the entire world turned into a stone of immeasurable size and unimaginable weight, smashing his heart into pieces and plummeting towards his core.

Helga snickered, stage-choking herself.

<Anyways, congratulations. You made your wish come true – turning non-modified into modified. And now, you’d get to collect as much data as you’d want, like picking apples under the falling leaves!>

Helga sneered as she smiled in vile entertainment and sinister glee, and Yuhyung could only make out his mind escaping far away from him as he watched her.

And the horror spreading throughout Seoul, delivered to his device in divided screens, did not stop assaulting his calm.

No...

This isn’t what I wanted......

I’ve never asked for something like this......!

After peeking at something that was not accessible for sight from Yuhyung’s side, Helga cut off the signal, to restrain Kornel once more.

“I’d thought I told you to be prudent!”

“Oh, come on! Can’t you stop stopping me now?! We’re going to kill him anyways!”

“I would have let you, if it were someone else. But that’s Takio we’re facing – the one Sol told us. Takio of DA-5.”

“What? That’s him?”

“Precisely. We assumed it’d take a miracle for him to stand against Aris, let alone beat her. But he not only deleted her existence but also decided to put himself against us. Do I have to explain what we could achieve if we manage to apply the secret of his growth to us?”

“Okay, okay. I got it. Geez. But you don’t mind me beating him up just enough to leave him battered but breathing, do you?”

“Actually, that’d be more than welcome. There’s no telling what will unfold if we don’t go that far to capture him.”

This was certainly not a pleasant situation for Takio, about to battle two Union agents when immediately surrounding him was a scene from a common disaster movie.

His fingers poised upon the triggers, waiting for his order, were strained with pressure.

(next chapter)

So in summary, there are 3 battles taking place at the same time: (1) Takio (ft. Tao & M-21) vs Helga and Kornel, (2) Rael vs Deneb (with Yuhyung), and (3) Lunark vs Dark Spear. As I am posting this chapter, I finished composing part 1 of this battle. And once I’m done with the remaining parts, I’ll finally move on to the finale of this fic. I already know what I’m going to write, and I can’t wait to reach there lol. I’ll do my best as I take this fic to its ending!

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #lunarkxfrankenstein #wolfsbane #Mr.Wolf #AnAngelicDay

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velmalav · 4 years

Text

if you’re too shy (let me know) {h.s.}

warnings: nsfw mentions, swearing, pretty damn sexual i’m not sorry

synopsis: inspired by the lyrics of the 1975 song of the same name. you’re a cam girl and harry can’t get enough.

word count: 3k+

Insanity; doing the same thing and expecting a different result. I’d heard this definition so many times, throughout so many years of my life in so many different forms, and not once did I think twice about it. It was just a word and a definition and it didn’t apply to my life at all.

Not once did I think twice about it.

But tonight, yeah, maybe I will.

---

I met you just like most people meet their lovers nowadays – the internet. But in the way Jason met his wife of three years Heather on Tinder, I met you through a cam site. Yeah, I know, it’s not the most romantic thing in the world, and I probably should’ve saw the red flags right then and there, but God knows that’s never how stories like this go.

My friend, Cody – well, more like just a coworker that I have drinks with now and again – sent me a link to the site months back. On Valentine’s Day. As a joke. And I simply rolled my eyes and dragged it into the trash, reassuring myself I “never needed to stoop that low to get off.”

I guess you can tell where my feelings are on that now because three months later, in an effort to distract myself from the overflowing regret of a miserable three week relationship, I took a dive into my trash folder.

You were the fourth one I clicked on. Pretty eyes, suggestive smile, your name seemed attractive enough. But it was your voice that did it for me. It was hollow, pretentious, but smooth. Every word had me on the edge of my seat and my pulse racing for more. And I swear you knew – knew that I was sweating every time you curled her lips into a smile or moistened them between words. I can’t lie – I’d never spent so much money on anything in my life. I was hooked.

You’d go live every Thursday night at 7 pm. I never missed a show. I was never left unsatisfied. It went on like this for weeks, maybe even a few months, before things really started to take a turn.

---

Cody and I took a business trip down South one week – the first week I missed a show. It was a seven hour trip there and back, and we just happened to leave on a Thursday morning. We arrived at our shitty hotel for the next few days MINUTES after your show would have ended and by God was I frustrated. Every missed turn, every piss stop, every inconvenience kept circling my mind in rage. I blamed Cody and all I wanted was to try and forget about you for the night. Cody suggested what any 25 year old business major would – the cheapest, filthiest bar on the strip and asap.

“Shit’s packed. How are we going to find a seat?” Cody had asked out loud to a sea of empty tables. Three times.

Three times before we entered an even rustier kind of bar. I mean, hey, it was our last resort, and looking back, there was no way in hell I’d expected what was coming for me in there.

After a couple hours huddled at a booth in the back corner, seven beers down, the front door bell chimed for the hundredth time. I glanced up to see a very familiar set of eyes flouncing inside, an even more familiar, sweat-inducing smile set on your mouth.

There was no fucking way. And yet there was, because you were there in front of me. Cam girl, approaching with a sway in your step, clueless to the lanky, curly-headed man boring a hole through you.

“Bro, you good?” Cody waved a hand in front of my face, the other knocking his bottle of beer onto the table loudly. You turned at the noise, pretty eyes softening at the sight of me.

I didn’t even answer him. I stood up, closing the large gap between us for a much smaller one. Cody said something but you’d be crazy to think I heard him with you staring at me like that.

“You need this booth?” I muttered, suddenly realizing just how pathetic and meek my voice sounded. But you didn’t skip a beat, coy smile on your mouth as it opened.

“Oh, god, could I? Didn’t think this place would be so busy. It never is.”

So you frequent this bar. Yet I could never see you here on a casual occasion, or any for that matter. But the more I eyed you, the more it suited you. Anything could’ve suited you.

“All yours,” I breathed, finally finding my deep, raspy voice. Your eyes perked up at the words, but you didn’t move for a few beats.

You went to say something, but caught sight of Cody. Fucking Cody.

“I would invite you to join me, but I wouldn’t want to be rude to your friend,” you murmured breathily, lips centimeters from my face as you passed me to approach the booth. Just like I had, Cody stumbled from it, extending his hand to you.

You wave his hand off as if you’re shy and murmur a, “No need,” before you turn back to me, and the cute, fragile front you’d just put on for Cody vanishes underneath the limelight of you and me. “I’ll see you around.”

---

I honestly cannot stress how fucking quickly I ditched Cody that night. I told him I was feeling under the weather and that I was going to head back to the hotel room, and as soon as he tucked in for the night also, I went straight back to you. Who the hell knows when I’ll get back around this area, and I need more than what you’d given me.

You were surprised that I’d returned. Your eyes didn’t hold the same flirtation, they were cold and only cold when they were on me. I tried playing the game – assuming it was a game – but after an hour of eyeing you from the bar, I realized what you were all about.

I didn’t need to beg you. In fact, I didn’t want to, for your sake. God only knows how many of guys like me have done this to you, desperately waited for your long-awaited, never to be heard call. As much as I wanted that same tension as before, I’d rather have the memory than be labeled as a creep.

I turned to leave, disappointed. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and step out into the cool air. I watch my breath as I trudge back to the car, and God does this feel like shit.

“Must be later, I guess,” your voice calls, and it’s finally it’s not long-awaited or nonexistent. You’re here and jogging in your little heels to catch up with me.

“Must be,” I plainly remark. I don’t understand you, and I’m expecting another short-lived memory I can use as an exaggerated fantasy tonight. “You need a ride or something?”

“Something,” you smile, teeth and all. “Definitely something.”

I go to send yet another signal that I’m annoyed when I catch the way you’re looking at me. Those same flirtatious eyes. And you’re almost giddy, hands in your pockets, cheeks red. You know I’m down for you and you’re just waiting for the green light.

In my confusion and realization, I stutter out a breathy laugh and touch my fingers to my stubble. That’s really all it takes for you to click forward on your little heels, closing the gap until we’re uncomfortably close. “I have to tell you something.”

“Took you long enough,” I repeat my nervous laugh.

You dip into me until your chin molds into the space between my ear and my shoulder. No hands, all lips as they graze the skin under my ear. Even in those heels I’ve got so much height on you. “I’d like you so much more if you took off your clothes right now.”

I tip back just enough to see your expression, and to my surprise your coy smile is gone. The coldness is back yet I’m burning up staring at you. I’m reminded of the way you touch yourself on the live cams and my heart starts racing and racing until I swear you can hear it against the wind and your inner thoughts.

You catch my Adam’s apple bob before I sputter out something pathetic. You snake your sweaty hands onto my face and attach our mouths together.

It’s a blur between the groping and angry kissing from outside to the back of my car, but we find our way. I imagine all of the weeks I spent pining after you and your body as my hands feel every square inch of it. I soak you in like the sand absorbs the tide, every kiss and bite and grasp burned into me. And I don’t know if its habit to moan so loud, so pornographically from your live shows, but you do and it among many other things sends me over the edge.

Even after its over and I’m pining over these moments in my hotel room in the early hours, I see flashes of your fingernails digging into the leather seats of Cody’s SUV and the pressure of hot skin against me. Your half-lidded eyes, your open mouth. I thrive off of it for days after and then it’s almost like it was a fantasy, a sick fantasy I’d created in absence of that goddamn missed week. Because every passing day you’re not here to remind me of the leather seats and the heat and your cold expression, it’s a missed week.

---

After the night, after the business trip, after you slide me your phone number on the second night I see you, I still watch you every Thursday night. I can’t help myself, you’re addicting and I doubt you’d mind – the amount of money you make from just me is quite ridiculous. I doubt I’ll see you for a long time, if ever again, and things start to fall back into the sad, Thursday night and office work week routine and I miss you.

And I thought – since I have a lot of time to think these days – about it; I don’t just miss you because of that night. I miss you for all of the other reasons I can think of. Most of it sexual, but in the midst of it is beauty and arrogance and a livewire strapped to a pole. You bring all of those things into my life, and now I’m desperate for more.

So I call you one night, digressing from wanting you in every way possible to wanting to hear you moan in my ear again. I know it’s strange and pathetic, but you make me nervous and no woman has that effect on me.

You answer your phone with that same breathy voice. I notice the lilt, the sensuality of the way you respond and I know you know something you couldn’t possibly – I’m naked and at your every whim. It’s nearing 9pm and your Thursday night isn’t up.

It’s not much more but it’s also everything, what you give me over the phone. And I guess cams would be more skin, more visuals, but with you I don’t need that. Your tongue speaking words meant for just me is enough to send me over the edge a thousand times, and the way you make me feel I swear I do. Topple, again and again and again.

“I miss you,” you say when it’s over. A phrase I couldn’t fathom leaving your mouth. You’re a one type girl and I’m trying to figure out why this night is so three dimensional.

I want to reciprocate and make sure you know what you’re doing to me, but I say nothing. Because as much as I want to, you’re a one type girl. And a one type girl seeks a many type guy only to destroy him later. And boy am I aware of later.

---

I can feel your grasp on me one particular afternoon. The office is suffocating and you’re the only thing I’ve been able to think about all day. Over the course of five months I’ve figured out the inevitable – I think I love you. And it’s a tough call and an even tougher call five minutes later in the office bathroom when you beg me to come see you.

And I’d do anything for you now, and my tongue won’t hold back for long. I’m so close to spilling how I feel for you and the second I roll into your city I know the floodgates are going to open.

The drive is excruciating and the thought of losing all of those hours of work is even less so the closer I get to you. It’s so depressing, the thought of falling for a cam girl after one physical night and countless virtual ones, most of which you don’t even know about.

“I think I love you,” is on my mind as I fill up my tank halfway through and again when I see the city limits sign. I know you’re giddy when my phone blings and the sun is going down and I can feel my pulse beginning to quicken already.

And then you’re in my car and not Cody’s but it feels all the same. You don’t hesitate to get the ball rolling. I grab your feverish hands and gently nudge you back into the front seat. Your rosy cheeks burn more, cold stare freezing over. “What’s this about?”

“It’s fucking freezing in here.”

“I can warm us up. Just give it a second-“

“Wouldn’t you rather be more comfortable in a bed?”

You stare, same ivy flashes across your face. You’re impatient and stubborn, but I don’t care. My leather seats don’t recline like Cody’s do and the windows aren’t tinted.

The only place you’ll consider going to is a grimey motel on the west side of your city. It sticks out like a sore thumb in consideration of the other tall, modern buildings around it. Why would you take me there? I hardly have time to ask because your timer is running out.

The motel worker stares at us, a match you’d all but expect, especially at a place like this. God, we look like a CEO and his mistress and I can’t help but inch away from you. “Sorry, we’re closed today.”

“But you’re here,” you blanch, rosy cheeks reddening. You’re not shitty to her but you sure are impatient.

“Yeah, I know,” the worker spits. “But there’s an active crime scene in one of the rooms and I was told not to rent out any other rooms for the day.”

“That’s fucking stu-“

“Fine. Fucking fine,” I interrupt you, inching back towards you to wrap my arms around your waist. “Let’s just settle for the car,” I murmur into your ear. And I’m sad because I wanted a bed regardless of the dodgy stains and the noisy springs. I wanted to eye you from the foot of the bed as I mouth the words I’ve been waiting to say for months.

---

“I love you,” echoes into the frosted foyer of your apartment building after another escapade in my tight fit Honda. My hands fidget, eyes shift around your face.

And then you laugh. “You don’t know me.”

---

I don’t know you and yet I think I love you. I take the laughter in stride and watch you go with the coldness I always knew you were capable of. My heart hurts, but I still can’t scratch my itch for you.

So I call you days later. Tell you I lied, that I got carried away and I wanted to see your reaction and genuinely every excuse I could muster. You laugh again, but warmly this time, and assure that you already knew all of these things. And just like that, things go back to normal.

I wish I could tell you that’s how it went. That I simply took the quick release every Thursday night and casual random phone sex, but God did I hate that I lied and I hate that you won’t let me feel the things I feel for you. I let you fuck me over again, once every few months. A trip I never regret until it’s Thursday night and you’re naked and acting like you want every other man but me.

And I say it again. Every trip I say it and you laugh and mention that I’m insane. And I stare at you and and lie again and then shake my head and tell you what I feel is right. And you laugh.

Because it doesn’t matter. It’ll all end up the same anyway.

---

A year in and I hate myself and I think I hate you. Things can’t go back to normal, as if there ever was one. The phone sex is weird now, and I don’t call. I skip Thursday nights every other week and even on the phones I sit in on, I hate every second of my release. It’s not real anymore. It never was.

A year on the dot and I feel my phone vibrate for the thousandth time as I cruise down the highway. My pulse is racing and I’ve still got an hour to go. I’m almost to you, and I swear this time it’ll be different.

“I love you,” I think to myself. I know it’s true, and I know this time she’ll say it back. No woman in their right mind wouldn’t after so many months of what we have.

A year since I clicked on your cam and now seeing you online makes my stomach flip. A year since I felt your cold stare across the bar and your hands first grabbing my face for a first kiss.

A year since I first told myself I wanted you more and more. A blossoming thought of love that I thought over and over as I drove into you.

A year of the same build up and break down. But I swear this time will be different. It has to be.

I never thought much about the definition of insanity.

But, yeah, maybe tonight I will.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #apseventy #the 1975

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