#this did not take as long as i thought it would i cranked these pics out in 2 days god bless | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

usedpidemo · 6 months

Text

Acquainted (Red Velvet Yeri)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope it's to your liking.)

You’re just about ready to head off to sleep when you check the group chat. This is your nightly tradition. These strangers, now your closest friends despite the anonymity, are active and in good spirits, as usual. Outside of your weekday 9-to-5, these few moments are the most interesting parts of your day, and you just so happen to join during a particularly lively conversation:

> [22:48:01] yerimiese: (posts a link to a red velvet album article)

> [22:48:14] flutter mane: :sanapog:

> [22:48:23] silksong sulker: k-pop is saved

> [22:48:33] wonyoung cockjuicer: ew red velvet

> [22:48:37] wonyoung cockjuicer: wonyoung can peg me tbh

> [22:48:39] irene’s tokki: Bae J:floshedjiggle::floshedjiggle:hyun

> [22:49:06] milf hunter: :floshed:

> [22:49:11] milf hunter: gape sugalo

So of course, you chime in as well.

> [22:50:12] You: lets get it, new rv fancams

You’re in no mood to chat for longer than five minutes, but before you head offline, you receive a private message from your closest friend:

> yerimiese: so when are you in korea again?

> You: Next week, why?

> yerimiese: nice. why don’t we meet up, that would be dope as fuck

> You: You’re in Korea?

> yerimiese: yeaaaah? why wouldn’t i be?

> You: I thought you’d be doing other schedules abroad

> yerimiese: nah sm definitely won’t fly us out to film an mv. cheap ass bastards ㅋㅋㅋ

Yerimiese then sends you a video link. It’s a Yeri fancam, her weapon of choice. Your conversations began with small, intimate talks about your personal life, soon transpiring into open fapping, degrading, and casual lewdness with each other. Despite the usually depraved nature of your messages, you both continued sharing snippets of your day to day lives. That’s how close you’ve grown as friends.

> You: Well i’m very tired, today was a long day at work, had to work overtime. No time to lewd, sorry

> yerimiese: it's alright. you did well today

Yerimiese sends you a pic this time. It’s an event; the internet can’t load any quicker. You’re hungry, impatient, dying. Whether it’s intentional or not, the photos she sends whenever you’re tired or stressed out are hotter than her usual swimsuit or photoshoot reel. You’ve shared enough about your daily routine to her that a camera crew might as well be recording you.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary; a simple candid pic of herself lying in bed, her face perfectly cropped out of the background, showing nothing but her body on full display in front of the huge mirror, dressed in skimpy black panties and a white shirt that accentuates her shapely breasts. As usual, she’s not wearing a bra; you can clearly see her hard nipples demanding all of your attention.

> yerimiese: no need to send a dick pic tonight if you don’t feel like doing it

You can’t help it. Tired as you are, you feel obligated to send her one. Luckily, every pic she sends is more than enough to make you instantly hard. It feels more guilty not to be turned on, rather.

It’s a mostly quick and painless affair, powerful enough to put you out of commission within minutes. Even though you’re mentally checked out, Yerimiese’s sexy body is too hot not to crank one out. Taking a pic of your erect cock as you pump yourself to her is second nature; sending it on sticky fingers after you’ve spurted all over your phone and blankets is a different story. There’s no other way to put it, she was the perfect reprieve from the day’s exhaustions—a perfect high note to go out on.

> yerimiese: fuck you’re THROBBING THROBBING tonight :ningasm: your dick looks so damn nice. i can taste your cum through the screen

> You: Happy now?

> yerimiese: more than, and then some. I wish you were here right now so you could feel how wet I am

> You: Just wait. I can’t wait to fuck you hard. Goodnight

> yerimiese: goodnight

> yerimiese: :tukkwithkiss:

—————

The next time you’re able to communicate with her, you’re one day away from being in Korea. In that period, you’ve been inactive in the group chat because work. What welcomes you back is a barrage of lewd photos and Yeri fancams.

> yerimiese: see you tomorrow :chuupeek:

It’s an open secret that you know she’s Kim Yerim. Yes, that Kim Yerim of Red Velvet fame. It was a giveaway right from the first explicit photo she sent you; those tits in a tight, petite package couldn’t have belonged to anyone other than hers. That, and the fact that her username is the same as her Instagram handle, and that she has a photo of herself in the group as a display pic. How she would end up stumbling into your private K-pop server objectifying her body and her profession is one of life’s biggest mysteries, yet here she is, giving you a very personal look into her shapely figure, better than any fancam and photoshoot could ever provide. To others, she’s merely a casual acquaintance, but to you, she can freely open up herself.

Mainly because you’re one of three people in the group chat that still cares about Red Velvet.

Her latest sent photo is relatively tame; a tight fitting white silk sundress, and the skirt is virtually nonexistent, her panties practically out in the open. Luckily for you, she seems to be sitting down, but not in her usual living room. The notion that this is what welcomes you to Korea, that you’ll be balls deep inside an idol’s pussy right when you land—it ruins you.

Almost.

An airport guard manages to break your deep train of thought. “Sir! No phones please,” he sternly commands, saving you from total disaster; you’re inches away from walking straight through a metal detector with your phone in hand, the belt around your pants, and some spare coins lying deep in your pocket after you bought some traditionally expensive bottled water. Luckily, no one manages to see the photo—and even if they did, she’s still smart enough to cut out her face, leaving nothing else to your imagination.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about immigration and airport security, it’s that there’s little need for repetition. You go through security four times. At the entrance, after the check-in counter, then within your departure gate, and even before boarding your flight—repetitive. It’s frustrating enough to tell Yerim, to which she responds with more lewd photos of herself.

> yerimiese: yeah ive been there before ㅋㅋㅋ

> yerimiese: how long’s ur flight?

> You: About 13 hours

> yerimiese: cali?

> You: Yes

> yerimiese: kinda random, but seulgi misses los angeles

> You: How come?

> yerimiese: something about an ex-boyfriend that i didn’t know about until the other day ㅋㅋㅋ i bet she’ll be jealous when she hears about you coming over just to clap my cheeks ㅋㅋㅋ she’d wish it was her bf instead of you

> You: does she know about this?

> yerimiese: of course not LOL i bet you’d rather fuck her instead of me, so she’ll never know. smh.

> You: That’s not true ur my RV bias since day one!

> yerimiese: stop lying LMAO i don’t blame you tho seulgi has some really toned legs and a nice slappable ass XD anyway, i’m gonna send you something to pass the time while ur onboard

> You: If it’s a masturbating clip i swear to god

> yerimiese: fuck you got me LOL

> You: Goddamit if anyone finds out on a plane of all places…

> yerimiese: i still can’t get over your clip of you jerking to me. i can taste your dick. you’re depriving me by leaving me out to dry for a week ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’ve been touching yourself to that clip for a week??

> yerimiese: can’t help myself, album prep has been tiring and i haven’t really found any opportunity to relax in the meantime

> You: I’ll be there soon, just wait a bit longer

> yerimiese: can’t trust me with that, i’m very close to making a huge mess of my hotel room ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’re in a hotel?

> yerimiese: just to meet you! I won’t be able to meet you at the airport (duh, idol dating shit), so this is the next best thing. just message me when you’ve landed here, okay?

> You: Sure

—————

It’s ingrained deep within Yerim’s mind. A core memory. If her phone could present count how many times she’s played the clip, it would be over a thousand.

It’s very straightforward. A 45 second clip of someone masturbating between the sheets, pressing their erect cock against their phone with a brightened image of a scantily clad woman on the screen. But it’s not just any woman, it’s her. She’s pleasuring herself to the idea of a man jerking off to her. She’s following his rhythm, timing the pace her fingers rub her clit to the tempo of the man’s cock pumping to her zoomed-in breasts.

And she’s mere minutes removed from a conversation with that exact same person.

Slumped against the hotel room walls, her bliss spirals out of control rapidly. Her legs are instinctively spread wide, juices already leaking through her panties and spilling to the floor; that’s how used they are to Yerim’s impulses to pleasure herself. In those brief moments, she imagines how the next few days play out, skipping past the formalities and pleasantries and going straight to the fucking. She moans and shouts as if that very man’s cock is penetrating her pussy hard at this very moment. Her other hand bashes the wall, tongue screaming streams of profanities, as if he’s manhandling her, using her to his personal delight.

“Fuck! Suck those fucking tits!” she screams, slipping one strap of her sundress down to pinch her own tit, enhancing the illusion. Her phone rings; in her mind it's functionally a vibrator. He’s come fully prepared, and she’s riding high knowing that this person is doing exactly what he said in their private messages from the very start.

Yerim drags her fingers along her clit violently, desperate to reach climax, the realization that this is her third orgasm of the day way beyond her. The evidence can be found everywhere: on the soiled bed sheets and in the smell of the shower; she envisions herself getting railed in those parts of the room, and then some—essentially turning the entire hotel room into the backdrop for all of the things he’d do to her: fingers around her throat, sunk into her ass, until it’s red and hurting, the way she’d quiver and cream all over his throbbing cock. Her neediness has no limits; it even breaks past her very own personal quarters, the loudness of her own self-induced pleasure drawing concern from occupants nearby.

Only after the blissful haze of orgasm does everything fall back in place. That repetitive knock on the door is a huge wake up call. Yerim’s eyes widen.

“Shit.”

She checks her fingers—they’re coated in copious amounts of slick—and after a little further inspection, she realizes the aftermath.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

—————

Being honest about yourself, you couldn’t have asked to feel hornier at a worse time than this. Thirty thousand feet high up in the air, stuck in economy class because you don’t get paid enough to deal with the bullshit back in the office. Using your one of two allowed leaves in the year for a trip to see a girl you’ve mostly known online, and it isn’t even paid. To make things worse, there’s no layovers—just a point-to-point flight from San Francisco to Seoul. 13 hours.

And boy, is the ride absolutely miserable.

By what you might as well call divine intervention, you’re conveniently seated between a nun and a little girl—the two worst kinds of people to be alongside with. No, not because they’re annoying or anything like that; aside from the girl getting up every thirty minutes from her window seat to get something from her parents across the aisle, you’re practically barred access to your glorified archive of lewd Yerim pics. Opening them up with a kid barely in the first grade beside you is openly asking for trouble.

And the few times you get up for a lavatory break, you can’t get yourself going. There’s always someone at the door every five minutes.

Eight hours deep into the flight, you look over your shoulder, catch one of the male flight attendants sneak inside one of the vacant lavatories with a fellow stewardess while everyone’s fast asleep. Fucking sickening. That should be you with Yerim right now.

When you arrive on the other side of the planet, you’ve gotten only a couple hours’ worth of sleep. You almost fumble your passport at immigration, getting them mixed up with a slew of business and membership cards. Then there’s your forgetfulness working against you, remembering you need some kind of pocket Wi-Fi, and now you have to spend a little more to get back online. It’s a mess, and it wasn’t that long since you were in Europe for a seminar, where these things were merely second nature to you.

At least you remembered that VPNs exist. You message Yerim on the taxi ride out of the airport, unsure of where to begin.

> You: Just got out of immigration

> yerimiese: fuckin finally!

> yerimiese: you got a place to stay here?

> You: Not yet

> yerimiese: don’t bother, lemme send you my hotel address, you can stay here

Of course you don’t know Korean, despite the constant back and forth with Yerim for months. Learning’s been on the backend of your itinerary, and has never been your top priority, even now. You show the cab driver the address, who merely looks at you and the phone with a particularly vacant and dumbfounded expression, as if you’re stupid for not planning this out—which, in that regard, he’d be correct.

When you finally arrive at the hotel, only one message stands between you and finally meeting Yerimiese, once and for all.

> yerimiese: I’ll be at the poolside, third floor. can’t wait to meet you :P

And that’s exactly where you end up going. Forget that you’re lugging two whole bags and a traveler’s backpack on your shoulders; you drop them off at the front desk, expecting the staff to have a clue of what’s going on and what’s about to happen.

Stepping out into the poolside, it’s a completely barren sight. It’s three in the afternoon on a Tuesday; most people probably aren’t even booked, let alone in this supposed five-star hotel. You don’t really question whether she’s being serious or not, the evidence was in the previously sent photos; you’re dying to meet her at this point.

And as if perfectly timed for dramatic effect, a woman emerges from beneath the waters, shaking off the wetness from her damp hair.

Yerim casually swims over the deep waters’ edge, without a care in the world, let alone your presence quietly shadowing over the large pool. Even halfway submerged, you can make out the outline of her shapely bust and hourglass figure, tightly hugged by a pink swimsuit. She was sultry and intoxicating to gawk at from candid photos, but seeing Yerimiese herself in the flesh, that’s when the realization hits you: this is happening.

And you can’t move a muscle, let alone react from the actualization that you’re right in front of her. Even as the waves of water splash on your new loafers, you simply observe. It’s creepy, it’s morally dubious, but it’s one in a million. You’re taking in every moment, every second; soak it all in, you’ll never get an experience like this ever again.

You should be friends by now, if your definition of friendship means sharing explicit body photos and exchanging devious intentions about how you’ll fuck each other online or how much cum you’ve given to each other. But when she turns in your direction—catching you casually observing her, your hands tucked away in your coat’s pocket, grinning like a little kid— it’s back to square one.

Like the very first time.

Yerim takes all the time in the world to wade over from the other side of the pool, her smile growing closer as she approaches you. She lifts her eyebrows, expecting you to make a first move, to which you barely open your mouth, and ultimately only a deep breath, a stilted sigh, comes out.

Well, this is awkward.

Yerim giggles. You’ve previously heard her loud moans and cries, but a genuine laugh—this was your first. She never hops on calls in your group chat, most likely because idol shit, as she often refers to her line of work. Her laughter, her energetic expression—it’s as perfect of a translation to real life as it is online, and embodies the idol Yeri you know on screen.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, trying—and failing—to suppress more of her laughter.

Your answer is concise, but doesn’t seem quite right. “A while.”

In reality, about five minutes. You probably won’t be there any longer when she props herself out of the water with her strong elbows. Water cascades down her shapely figure, thicker and meatier than it's ever been, more than what the cameras and pictures present. She’s truly the entire package, through and through.

She walks over to her sunlounger, granting you a nice peek of her ass peeking through her skimpy swimsuit before she wraps herself with a towel. Apart from that, your only other notable observation is that she’s soaking wet, even bundled up. That, and also: she’s barefoot. No sign of slippers or any footwear—she willingly walked on what appears to be scorching cobbled floors.

“I would give you a big hug right now, but you know—” she comments, looking down at her drenched self, pool water endlessly dripping down to her feet. Even if she isn’t soaking wet, you’d still be frozen in place, or even worse, some eagle-eyed stranger or Dispatch reporter catch you in secret and you both end up on national news the very next day.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you say, trying to dodge Yerim’s eyes. “I left my stuff at the front desk. I should probably go and grab them.”

“Smart.” Yerim sizes you up, nodding in amazement at how you’ve managed to get yourself past the entrance. “See you upstairs, then? Room 1015.”

—————

The difference between you and Yerim couldn’t be any more obvious.

Granted, you’re fresh off a 13 hour flight, followed by an hour's travel from the airport to a five-star hotel in the heart of Seoul. Yerim had all the time in the world to prepare, and yet when she emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a modest bathrobe and her dark hair bundled up, she’s never looked better.

Facing an idol in such a haggard condition, it gives you an underlying feeling of shame. And if you’re being completely honest, if not for your cock, she’d probably be repulsed and call security on you.

But there's no security in sight. Just you, just yeri, the two of you standing in this room - which is, for the most part, quite nice. Multiple bedrooms, a lovely view of the city beneath you, and all sorts of amenities and features you’ll never get to use—you half expect her members to come in later, but perhaps for your sake, you’re better off with just her and her alone.

When Yerim begins to talk, she rambles. She goes on about the status of the next album, discussions about a possible solo debut, her relationships with her members—conversations about topics that you never really had online. It was mostly dirty talk and lewd captions. At best, you knew each other at a surface level, but here she is, sharing everything from her heart like you’ve been lifelong friends since day one.

You let her. She’s as charismatic as what she portrays on screen, and her sass is no different than the private messages she sends you. There’s not a single dull moment whenever Yerim speaks. Though you know her mostly for her body, her personality is what has you sticking around.

You wonder if she feels the same way about you.

“So, how’d you find out about us?” Yerim asks, after blabbering for a while, and you genuinely believe she’d keep going till nightfall. Close enough. Five minutes away from five in the afternoon, and you’d already spent the last hour and a half listening to a personalized podcast from her. You hope she doesn’t notice the plate of bulgogi on the table now completely empty.

“Well, a friend was a K-pop fan and had an extra ticket when you toured here,” you say, casually, slumped on the sofa. “Forgot how long that was—” you pause, “five years ago?”

“Five years? Five years since we went to America?” Yerim appears flabbergasted, face in utter disbelief at the passage of time. The realization causes her to stand from her chair. You’d be too after listening to her drone on endlessly. “Fuck.”

“SM! Give us a fucking world tour already!” she screams, pretending she’s inside the company building and you’re an executive in the room. Watching her snarkiness come to life never ceases to amuse you. You’ll let her go on for as long as she needs to; she’s entertaining in such a unique and charming way that it disarms you.

“Argh, sorry, you know me.” She suddenly stops, faces you, arms crossed, mocking up a pout. “Look at me suddenly losing my shit for no good reason.”

“Are your members used to this?”

That didn’t come out right.

She bats an eyelid. On her face is a mild, blank look of displeasure. That didn’t come out right.

“Used to what?”

“Well, uh, I—I mean—”

You gulp your throat.

“Stop.”

Then, an air of awkward silence. Her eyes quickly scan you, lazing on the sofa.

“Let’s just get to fucking each other right now.”

—————

It isn’t that you’ve forgotten the one purpose you’re there to begin with, it’s that Yerim is very, very impulsive. One moment, upset at her company for doing the bare minimum for her group and her career, the next she’s using you as an outlet to release her frustrations. It’s a good thing your first impression of her was that she was very busty, because otherwise, the other description you had of her was—simply put—bratty.

You’re on your back, plopped against one of the beds, completely caught off-guard by her show of strength. Eyes rolled to the back of your head, you find Yerim already at the bed’s edge, loosening the belt around her waist, quickly disrobing herself within seconds. It’s nothing new; you’ve seen glimpses of her nude figure in pictures, imagined many scenarios where you’ve got your hands on her, but this—to see her completely bare in the flesh—is new.

This is different.

“Just so you know,” you mutter, frantically panting, your heart jumping, as Yerim undresses in front of you, “I haven’t actually had sex before.”

Just like that, the mood instantly changes. She stops. Abruptly.

“What?”

Her mouth drops—again. Might as well stay agape.

You consider retracting your statement. It was a joke, you’d say, something to get her even more aroused, fired up. The sex would be wilder, hotter than anything your fantasies would conjure. Then again, you wouldn’t be in this exact situation if you weren’t so chronically online, simping over pop idols like a kid about to enter puberty.

“I guess that’s to be expected,” she comments, snarkily, grabbing the edges of your pants, daring to rip them off you. “That’s fucking life, baby!”

If you were in her shoes, obsessively waiting for someone with equally unhinged horniness, expressing precisely how you’d get fucked every single time you’d send a remotely lewd photo, you’d feel just as disappointed. You can tell by her partially scornful expression: she’s been fantasizing this moment as much as you have, too. You can’t blame her, but you kind of expected her to anticipate this; after all, you connected in a private group chat that’s been sexualizing her, of all places.

Surely the signs of virginity were right there.

“At least this is real,” she says, leaning her head forward while cupping your growing bulge poking through your trousers. Your tip, at full mast, mere inches away from her chin, instead of a little phone screen. She’s pushing you around, growing slightly more mischievous and uncontrollable with the prospect of throwing someone like you around instead of the opposite. Something her members may have taught and ingrained in her.

It isn’t quite the picture you expected from all the erotic snapshots and clips she’s been sending you. Every photo and video, designed to rouse the filthiest and wildest of your thoughts, was an act, a ruse to let your guard down, to give you this fixed headcanon that you can toss her around like she’s your personal plaything and object of pleasure. Instead, she’s using you for her own desires and wants.

It’s not that you don’t want her to use you and fuck you like this, it’s how completely in control she is that has you reeling, leaves you in a dizzy spell.

“I was gonna let you use my pussy and fuck me to ruin,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes, teasing and mocking. Her hand grips around the denim of your bulge, and it fucking stings. You’re sucking on loose air. “But since we have a virgin over here, I’m gonna do whatever I want.”

The implied connotation is what terrifies you, and no, it isn’t the revelation that Yerim isn’t a virgin—you assumed that much—but the notion that you were gonna have free reign over her cunt that has you contemplating some deep, long forgotten life decisions that set you back years. Their consequences are now starting to show.

She releases her ironclad grip on your pants, frees you of your obstructive clothing, both trousers and boxers down to the floor. Your hard cock springs free, terribly aching, already red and sore from her suffocating clench, and already leaking bursts of precum. The last day and a half hasn’t been kind to your cock.

To add insult to injury, she makes this licking motion with her tongue, aimed at your tip, but relents at the last minute. It leaves your throbbing cock aching harder, without any point of relief. The teasing sight almost renders you unconscious, and sends Yerim into a laughing frenzy.

“Remember when I said I could taste your cock?” she says, chuckling. It’s not playful in the slightest—quite the opposite, in fact. It’s sinister. “I’ll wait a little longer to taste it. Don’t worry.”

Not the most reassuring of words, especially when you’ve got your hands tied—at least, not yet. Actually, you appreciate that she isn’t going to milk your cock dry just yet; when you finally look past the situation at hand, you come to treasure her chest. Her shapely chest, freely bouncing while she bounces her thick body on your lap—keep doing that, you say inside your mind, letting your wandering gaze soak in the unreal scene.

She notices your intrigued eyes, rising and falling in rhythm with her tits. Subtlety was never your intention, and she probably knows from experience, as she says she does. Fixated attention is how she gets herself off, based on how she seems to respond to the lewd messages you’ve sent her in the past, and it shows when she repeats some choice remarks back to your face:

“I’d kill my boss to fuck those tits right now, you’re so goddamn sexy.”

She grips a hand around your throat, another down to the buttons of your shirt, pulling them apart.

“Let me be your personal titty towel.”

Halfway there.

“I’d suck on your tits first, go down on your delicious pussy, then fuck that wet hole of yours three times straight.”

Just like that, you’re both even. Equal in nakedness.

You’re unsure whether it’s the sight of Yerim asserting her dominance over you, tits all up in your face with a devious smirk as she bares you down to your essentials that’s leaving you short on air, or if it’s the hand cautiously coiled around your neck. Either option seems sensible enough. This is how she lives in your head rent free, just being her sassy, sexy self. Even repeating some of the same particularly questionable lewd things you’ve written to her sounds hot with her brazen tone.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she raises an eyebrow, leaning her head close, as if demanding an answer.

Really, there’s no multiple choice here. Of course you nod.

She rolls her hips upward, inches her body across yours little by little, til her dripping pussy completely shadows your view. Her hand grabs the back of your head, meaty thighs pressing between your face. Now you’re truly suffocating. Even with the rather shameful admission, she rolls her crotch on your lips, expecting you to know what to do. No words, just the expectant grind of her crotch on your face, her wet folds opening up for you to take them.

Then, she begins moaning.

Admittedly, the closest you’ve had to trying out oral is using your phone as an outlet for your tongue whenever she sends a boob photo. Thankfully, your inexperience doesn’t show when you first dip your tongue inside her folds, getting your first taste of pussy. Saltier than you expected, but fuck, you’d be lying if you think it wasn’t completely intoxicating—everything you hoped for, and more.

It incites a few expressive reactions from Yerim—some loud, others quieter—with the end result usually a sharper, deeper grind of her waist on your face, splaying her cunt for you to devour. You’ve got one hand pressed on her ass, holding her plump flesh down while the other is at her mercy, pulled by hers, forced to squeeze her breast. You won’t complain. Not when her cries of pleasure motivate you to push yourself harder.

You repeat this addictive cycle, stretch moments into minutes, minutes into hours. Even when you’ve drained her completely, you’ll still be craving for more of her; that’s how hungry she’s made you. Your tongue meets her clit, and it draws out this especially sharp whine that she’s never hit once. Not on a track. Not anywhere. She swears up a storm, juxtaposed between soft, gentle pleas of “yes, more, and you’re so good.”

In return, you take more of her, soak yourself in the continuous downpour of her slick juices freely flowing all over your mouth and tongue. As her pleasure escalates, her fingers tighten their grasp on your head, grab your tousled hair. You add soft, intimate kisses between streaks of licking her folds, and they send the young idol writhing, shaking atop you. Her words have been reduced to nothing but short, needy bursts of “please.” Even in this uncontrollable state, she gyrates her hips around you, rhythm steady, but more determined than ever to let herself go.

By the way her pussy throbs, you’re certain she’s a few critical points away from climax. It doesn’t change your plans, not one bit. You continue to lap at her sensitive folds, bask in her intoxicating heat, purposefully teasing her clit. She won’t demand that you end her —not this quickly, not when you’ve magically learned the art of giving oral to a woman under short notice.

You slowly work her through it. Your tongue dives into her slick entrance, deeper than it's ever been so far. The overpowering sensations send ripples that reach even the foundations of the bed, unlike anything it’s ever felt. Even in the wild throes of bodily pleasure, Yerim has enough willpower to stay in character, delivering a demand in her usual playful, fast talking tone. “Please do it! I’m going to cum!”

You contemplate the thought, completely drunk in her divine taste yourself, but you oblige.

Your tongue sticks to her bud, and it causes this instantaneous, elaborate chain reaction. Yerim cries a sharp cry, waves of orgasm washing down all over her body. She stops in her tracks, completely rigid, mouth wide open, and this torrential gush of slick and orgasm swamps you, drowning you so deep that it's nearly fatal. Her thighs involuntarily clench tighter, too, and you’re temporarily trapped in your own pocket dimension, impossible to clean with all the cum left behind, especially on the sheets.

The most surprising observation from her orgasm is how suddenly calm it becomes. Only the sound of your tongue licking her clean can be heard, and it’s nothing but a gentle rustle. She hangs her head up, face completely flushed, catching needed oxygen in her lungs, letting the aftermath of her climax pass over.

While her breath normalizes, she lifts herself up, moves to the side of the bed. In her wake, she’s left behind a drenched lake of slick around your face, leaking down to the muddled sheets beneath you.

“Well,” she says, panting and pausing for air. “There goes the other bed.”

It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out what she meant. Even when you’re still mindlessly occupied by the sticky residue around your lips. You let out this muffled exhale, designed to be a laugh, but it backfires in your face. Amused, she giggles on your behalf.

“Not bad.” Yerim smiles at you. Charming and cute, a contrast to what had just transpired. “I thought you said you never had sex?”

It takes you a moment before you answer back, “I haven’t. You just taste really good.”

“You still have some left on the edges of your face,” she comments, her eyes mesmerized by how much she’s cum all over you. “Let me help you clean that up.”

And she helps, but not in a conventional way. She lifts you from the bed by your torso, then submerges you again, this time at the mercy of her bosom. You’ve got your arms wrapped around her waist while you’re kissing and sucking on her Yerim’s tits, not exactly tidying up, but creating a larger mess that no amount of tongue cleaning can resolve.

In the meantime, she whispers in your ear some of your more—questionable—comments:

“They need to give her a solo debut with a very sexy concept and trust me, I’ll be the guy who breaks the world record for jerking off if they do that.”

“It must feel heavy to carry them all the time. Let me lend a hand to you.”

“The only thought I had inside my mind when I saw her is every member would milk her 3x a day so that they don’t have to go outside and buy milk to eat cereal to the point they would just drink it from the source.”

You stop. You give her this strange, confused look. Even you couldn’t believe you said that.

“Did I actually say that?”

“Yes!” she replies, quick and straightforward, unable to hide her enthusiasm, while brushing your hair. “Not gonna lie, that sent me to the floor. I was laughing so hard, Irene ran in to check up on me!”

To make things worse, she flashes this wide, toothy grin that makes you regret your life choices.

“God. I don’t wanna drink anymore.”

“Hey, if there’s any consolation, you wouldn’t be sucking on my tits and eating me out now if you never made that comment,” she says, caressing your chin and giving you a peck on the lips. As if it’s still not one of the most out of pocket comments you’ve ever made about anyone, let alone a celebrity—and you weren’t fully yourself.

“Relax. Don’t think about it too much.” Yerim pushes you back down to the bed, crawls atop you, meeting your lips again for an intimate kiss. Your hard cock, which has been left unattended for quite a while, captures your attention—and especially hers. “Lean back for me, will you?”

You comply. Involuntarily, your legs straighten, but Yerim pushes them apart, places herself at center view, seemingly ready to take you in her mouth. It makes sense; a woman with a mouth that runs like hers probably only stops when there’s cock stuffed inside them. The theory proves to be plausible when she gives your sensitive tip a delicate, yet dangerous lick, her eyes glinting at you with renewed vigor and lust.

“I told you I’d have a taste of that cock,” she says, half smug, half seductive, gloating with her brows. Your tenseness slightly recedes—until you realize your cock’s moving past her lips, in the direction of the space between her cleavage. “I didn’t say I wanted to suck on it.”

And she was right—not once has she ever expressed her desire to choke, gag, deepthroat on it.

You grit your teeth, watching your cock disappear between her shapely tits, with Yerim personally making sure you comfortably fit like a glove. You fold. It’s snug. Hot. Breathtaking.

“Fuck, Yeri,” you mutter, closing your eyes as her inviting warmth leaves you weak in the knees, trembling. You don’t realize you’ve used her stage name over her real name. “God—”

“Does this feel like everything you wanted?” she asks, tone sultry and triumphant. A little slide up sends you into a frenzy.

You nod—even though there’s no other available options. The erotic image in front of you is permanently seared into your head: Kim Yerim, popular idol and to an extend, your ‘friend with benefits,’ grinning like a maniac, slowly fucking your cock between her tits, coated with your saliva, sweat, and copious amounts of precum. To think your little crude messages on a random forum would have such long term and drastic consequences such as this.

Not that you’d want to make sense of it all, especially when she gets into a rhythm. Sliding her breasts up and down, she’s delicate, intentional, and masochistic; you’re on the receiving end of how she felt when you were slowly eating her out. She’s dangerous, teetering between the line where your cock can be safe between her bosom and where she can break you in half. You’re already falling apart—and fast.

“Holy shit, Yerim. Fuck.”

Each word you deliver is long and drawn out, especially the profanities. Heavenly music to her ears. She’s out of reach where you can pull by her hair, so you settle for the sheets instead. Your gaze wanders, travels everywhere but in her direction, because you don’t need to see the tortuous scene happening between your legs. Looking at the descending sun, this is probably the last time you’ll see the sun set in your life.

Her eyes challenge you to look at anywhere from her. Panting frantically, you find yourself at the mercy of Yerim’s whims, your cock fading and swelling into view, sticky and wet, gushing cum all over her tits. The sight drives you further mad, has you making sounds that have never been recorded—ever. She takes you in, delights in your suffering, eager for you to say the magic words.

“Ready to cum? I know you want to cum.”

Even under duress, you’re not ready to fold just yet. There’s a little stubbornness inside you fighting back, pulling all the stops to keep you from surrendering to Yerim’s demands. You close your eyes, grip on the sheets even tighter, control your breathing, but it’s too little too late. You can only do so much with two hands.

“Cum for me.”

You hold onto a particularly deep breath, desperate to cling to whatever dying vestiges of control there is left, but your fate has already been sealed from the moment you’ve allowed your cock to enter her chest.

“Yerim, I—”

The exhale you release is the most relieving and satisfying. With it, comes out a rope of thick, creamy cum splashed all over her neck and chest. The aching, violent sensation doesn’t stop; more seed spills between the warmth of her cleavage. In one fell swoop, you feel all of your energy sapped from you, leaving you completely weak and powerless.

In the gap between your climax and post-orgasm haze, you wonder if she’ll take some of your cum in her mouth, with the way she looks at your cock as it throbs beneath her chin. No. She lets it drip down her perfect naked body with a sticky white sheen that glows under the natural light piercing through the hotel’s window.

“Just like that, hm,” she comments, casually flicking the last of your withering orgasm and cum with her wrist. She lathers the slick on her fingers on her shoulder, then places some into her mouth for a taste.

After you regain a semblance of normalcy—after Yerim’s finished entertaining herself with your cum, staring at her coated body and fingers with curious interest—she rests her elbows on your knees, in the process of relearning how to bend. You sink back against the headrest, watch as the fading sun glimmers on an idol like her, destined to shine for every occasion possible—on the stage and under the afterglow of sex. She smiles, bright and wide, taking you in, as you are.

There’s something brewing, especially in the tender few minutes that follow. Something special, something more than just a spark.

“So—” Yerim runs a sticky finger on your knee, dangerously close to stirring up your cock again. “You wanna try anal with me next?”

You pause. Widening your eyes, staring back with a look of disbelief. Just when you’re about to open your mouth to reply, she adds:

“Kidding. You do know that you’re gonna have to delete those tweets and comments, right? If they find out you’re here, you’re fucked. And I mean, a thousand times worse than now.”

—————

(A/N: This was an absolute joy to write. The nature of the request meant I could go very meta with it. About time we get a proper Red Velvet full album, so perfect timing! If you're able to figure out some of the references and easter eggs, then you, my friend, are too engrossed in the Tumblr K-pop male reader smut lore. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #yeri #red velvet

683 notes · View notes

demetriandelibinaryboyfriends · 2 years

Photo

@ckhalloween22 BEHOLD, chapter 2 of my “Monstrous Transformations” prompt submission!!! AKA the chapter where I somehow make things even more fucked up and crank the suffering up to 11 :D And also the werewolf chapter. The very graphic and probably very disturbing werewolf chapter. Oops.

Here is Chapter 1 btw!!! This bad boy will also get an epilogue sometime next week because

My condolences to Hawk and Dem, they probably deserve financial compensation for all the absolute agony I am laying on them. At least they’re in love???

Big boi CW for some uh...fairly graphic body horror/transformation horror in this. Like I said, there’s werewolves this chapter, and uh...well, you know how it is. Full moon comes out and the trauma begins! Also CW for just general blood and gore. Werewolf morphing is not pretty. Where’s the fun in that?!

There’s also some kind of gross-out/twisted/black humor in this, I guess? The boys are traumatized and then use sarcasm to process it, as per usual. They don’t have to only be endlessly miserable about every terrible thing I throw at them XD

Fic under the cut--be warned, it’s another longboi! Even longer than the last one :O And moodboard pic credits available upon request, as always!

Nocturnal Chapter 2 - After Dusk

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

Demetri’s fingers dig into Eli’s shoulders so hard it probably hurts. Right now he’s too livid to care.

“Asshole, let me explain—”

“What is there to explain?” Demetri snarls. “You knew this shit was permanent. Like…incurable, life-ruining permanent. And you did it on purpose?! Just…Jesus Christ, Eli.”

Tears well up in the corner of his vision. He doesn’t stop them.

A little guilt-tripping wouldn’t hurt right now.

“I’m already so fucking scared all the time, running away from all the assholes who want to kill me. And now they’re going to hunt you, too.”

“They already were, moron!” Eli’s eyes flare, and he shoves Demetri away. “You said it yourself: I can’t be with you without putting a target on my back. And I already made that decision a long time ago.”

“I just…” Demetri’s voice comes out in a choked sob. “I didn’t want you to get this deep in all this. I thought maybe you could still have a normal life. And you throw that away?”

“What if I don’t want that?” Eli snaps. “I told you I’m not abandoning you. I see you keep giving me outs, like you think I’m suddenly going to run away like a fucking pussy. You think—what? I’m going to stop loving you because of something out of your control? It’s fucking insulting.”

“I…” Demetri shakes his head slowly. “I wanted to protect you. Always. I never wanted you getting hurt on my behalf.”

“And what about you, huh?” Eli takes a step toward him, fists clenched. “Who’s supposed to protect you when you’re running from killer mobs for the rest of your life? All alone?!”

“We’re not talking about me—”

“Yeah, we are! Because you don’t think you matter and I’m fucking sick of it. You don’t care if you die as long as I make it out. Because you don’t know how much it would fuck me up if you died, Demetri. And I can’t keep you safe if I’m just some…some weak, useless bitch!”

Eli takes a shaky breath, and moonlight catches the moisture under his eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, more fragile.

“Do you have any idea how fucking terrified I was when we got ambushed by those slayers, and—and they held you down and burned you?! I thought I was going to lose you. And then I couldn’t—” His voice breaks, lip curling in disgust. “I couldn’t do shit. I threw everything I had into getting them off you, and there were still too many.”

Something about Eli’s panicked, desperate expression makes Demetri’s anger melt away. He steps forward, cupping his boyfriend’s cheek in his hand.

“You did throw them off their game enough for me to break out,” he says gently. “If it weren’t for you, maybe we wouldn’t have gotten away at all.”

Eli scowls. “We got lucky. What, were we supposed to do that every time? Run away and hope they don’t catch up? I’m done living like that.”

Demetri looks away. He’s right—it isn’t that different from how they used to be, running from every bully and praying they were faster.

“It was stupid, anyways,” Eli mumbles. “Thinking I could fend off trained monster killers with fucking karate.”

“Well, I blame our senseis for giving us the impression that karate is the most valuable and indispensable weapon in the entire world.”

Eli snorts. “Yeah, turns out there are scarier things in the world than kids with blackbelts.”

“Who would’ve thought?”

They both laugh, and Demetri’s agitation continues to gradually trickle away.

“Dem.” Eli breaks into a slow smile, his hand sliding over Demetri’s. “I can protect you now.”

His eyes are shining, bright like they used to be when he puzzled out a tricky line of code or beat his high score in a game. Nothing but innocent delight and pure, unabashed hope.

Demetri sighs. “Stop looking at me like that. You know I can’t stay mad at you.”

“Yeah, that’s never been your strong suit, has it?”

He huffs in defeat and pulls Eli into his arms, burying his nose in a now-rather-weathered blue mohawk. It smells like dust and dirt and leaves tonight, the usual faint blueberry aroma of the dye nowhere to be found.

“It’s just…” He noses Eli’s hair. “They’ll kill you on sight now. They’d at least hesitate if you were still human.”

Eli scoffs into his chest. “I’m a lot harder to kill now.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

He runs a hand along Eli’s back, trying to let the last of his biting anxiety ebb away.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmurs. “I don’t know what this’ll do to you, but…I want you to still be you. I don’t want it to turn you into something I don’t recognize. I…” He holds Eli a little tighter. “I felt you slipping away a year ago, and it scared the shit out of me. I felt like I didn’t know you anymore. I don’t—I don’t want that ever again.”

“Demetri, I did this for you.” Eli works his fingers in Demetri’s flannel. “Why would I leave now?”

“That’s not what I mean. Just…” He exhales. “Promise me whatever happens, you’ll try to hold on to yourself. Because…well, it’s selfish as hell, but I am so fucking in love with you, and I don’t want this whole thing to…kill that person.”

Eli laughs softly against him. “I promise. Guess it’s only fair, since you managed.”

“I also just…I’ve heard it really hurts, what with all the realigning bones and what have you. I don’t want you to have to go through that.”

“I mean. Didn’t yours hurt too?”

Eli suddenly pulls away, fingers trailing up to the scars on Demetri’s neck. They don’t sting anymore, although they’re still pretty unsightly.

Good thing his mom usually has spare foundation when he needs to go out.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t exactly opt out. And it was just the once.”

Eli shrugged. “I’ll be fine. If I can survive the ‘pain does not exist’ dojo, this’ll be nothing.”

“Speaking of, though.”

Demetri pulls Eli’s arm close, inspecting it.

He only glimpsed the wound when Eli first walked into his living room, and didn’t have time to get a good look before he was already yelling. The complete lack of evidence of any crying—or rather any indication that Eli was upset about this at all—was proof enough that the bite was no accident.

It’s ironic, really. Demetri took them into the backyard to avoid waking up his mom, but their shouting probably woke up the entire neighborhood instead.

The bite’s a nasty thing—a semicircle of deep toothmarks, the skin around them puffy and inflamed. They’re starting to seep red again, as if Eli had initially managed to stave off the bleeding only for it to pick up again.

“I put pressure on it,” Eli says. Reading his mind as usual. “Kind of calmed it down for a while.”

“Come here.”

He guides Eli down to the grass, pulling over the Ralph’s bag he set down earlier. He was pissed when Eli came in, sure, but not too pissed to raid his mom’s first aid cabinet and grab a few essentials.

He digs out a tube of disinfectant and antibacterial, starting to carefully spread them over the wound.

“So let me get this straight. Your plan was to wander around Topanga Canyon on the full moon, find a werewolf, and…bait them into attacking you?”

“Pretty much.”

Demetri scowls. “I do not know where to even begin with that, but first of all, you know there are actual dangerous nocturnal pumas out there, right? Like lycanthropy aside, the wilderness at night is one of the least safe places you can possibly be.”

Eli snorts. “Yeah, well, my chances of finding werewolves in a fucking Costco aren’t great.”

Demetri purses his lips. “You’re impossible. If I still had a fully-functional digestive system, I’m certain you would’ve given me a stomach ulcer by now.”

“Love you, Dem.”

He pauses to see Eli giving him the most innocent possible look and groans. “Stop using that to get out of trouble, Moskowitz.”

“It’s so effective, though. Can’t kick it if it works.” Demetri only rolls his eyes.

He squints at the wound as a new fear bubbles up.

“And you’re sure this was a werewolf, right? Not just an actual wolf? Or a coyote? Should I take you in for another rabies shot?”

Eli wrinkles his nose. “Nah. This thing looked too weird. Definitely part human.”

“I have to confess, I don’t get it.” He shakes his head as he continues to rub cotton pad circles over Eli’s skin. “If you wanted to be strong enough to back me up, why didn’t you ask me to bite you? I’m sure you’d turn out to be a more badass vampire than me, anyways.”

“Because you never would have gone for it.”

Demetri stops, glancing up. Eli looks so confident in the statement that it’s almost insulting.

“What—how do you know? Did you ever think to ask, Eli?!”

“You would’ve given me a speech about how your existence is a curse and you’d never subject me to that because you love me, blah blah blah. Never would have convinced you.”

“You didn’t even try!”

“Didn’t need to.” Eli scoffs. “Seriously dude, you are so fucking predictable. Like you’d ever ask me to give up my mom’s hilbeh dip for you. I’d do it, by the way, but the fact you’d act like it’s the tragedy of the century and throw me the world’s biggest pity party makes me like…not want to. More than all the actual annoying vampire shit.”

“And this is better?” Demetri gestures aggressively at Eli’s upper arm—undoubtedly one of the most disagreeable injuries he’s ever seen. And he’s broken an entire limb.

“Jesus, Eli. You could have at least told me you were doing this. I could’ve…I don’t know, given you a sword or something in case things got gnarly.”

“What, that decorative one you got during your 4th grade Aragorn phase? I’d swing it once and it’d break in half. Besides, you’d never have let me even go.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, it is, asshole.” Demetri curses Eli’s ever-present ability to read his mind.

He hates that Eli’s right. He shouldn’t get the satisfaction, after doing one of the stupidest things known to mankind.

“You would’ve bitched at me until you got your way,” Eli goes on. “And if I tried to go anyways, you’d follow me into the fucking werewolf-infested forest and get yourself killed.”

“And—and you wouldn’t get yourself killed?!”

“Clearly not, or I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

Eli glowers at him. The sight has always reminded him of a chihuahua—undeniably adorable, but fair warning that the boy would bite if you pressed him any further.

And mind him, Demetri’s experienced enough of the bite of Eli Moskowitz to last a lifetime.

Demetri sighs. He really hates when Eli’s right.

The downsides of having someone who can so precisely predict your every move is that it’s nearly impossible to be crafty. Whatever your brand of cleverness is, it’s already been accounted for, with every last possible decision and outcome analyzed. What with the rainbow hair and the hammy, loud persona he still puts on in public, it can be easy for Demetri to forget Eli’s brain runs on mathematical probabilities, too.

Logicians are many things, but “charismatic and vibrant” aren’t usually among them.

Nonetheless, the more mortifying aspect of Eli’s intuition doesn’t outweigh the perks. Few things compare to the odd euphoria of having someone remember that his favorite flavor of fruit snack was sour cherry, and that as a preteen he insisted on having his ice cubed rather than crushed for the sole reason of liking the aesthetics of it.

He settles for an extremely annoyed eye roll before returning to wiping Eli’s wound. “Well, next time you decide to do something that will drastically alter the course of your entire life, please talk it over with me first.”

Eli won’t, of course. But perhaps he’ll at least consider it, and that’s a start.

Demetri frowns suddenly, something unsettling occuring to him.

“Do you…do you know who it was?” he asks softly. “Anyone we would know?”

“Kyler Park.”

“Wh—Eli!” He smacks Eli’s uninjured arm. “Are you insane? He’s a steaming shitbag! You really trusted him not to actually maul you to death when he got the chance?!”

“Demetri, Kyler is dumb as fuck. All you have to do is play dead once and he’ll think he annihilated your entire existence with a half-assed arm bite.”

A snicker bursts out before Demetri can stop it. “That’s all you had to do?”

“Deadass. I lie still for like a minute and he prances off into the bushes, howling like he won the AVT.”

And then they’re both laughing, holding each other and giggling and wheezing, terror and anger forgotten.

Eli’s right again. Demetri doesn’t know how to stay mad at him.

He slips a used paper towel back into the bag and pulls out a roll of gauze, starting to wrap it around Eli’s arm.

“Did you turn tonight?” he asks quietly, voice serious again. “Before you came over.”

Eli shakes his head. “I think it takes a while for it to, uh…get into my system.”

“I want to be there, then. The first time you change. I want to be with you.”

Silence. He looks up to see Eli frowning at him.

“That’s dangerous, Demetri. I can’t control it yet, I might—”

“—hurt me, yeah, I know.” Demetri snorts. “You can’t just steal all my catchphrases and shoot them back at me.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong!”

“Eli.” He leans forward, sneaking a quick kiss. “I’m a horrific undead fanged monster that parents tell their kids creepy bedtime stories about. I think I can handle myself.”

Eli looks away, but not quick enough to hide a small smile. “You almost say that like you’re okay with it.”

“If it means I get to stay with you when you need me, then…yeah. Could be worse.” He scoots forward, leaning into Eli’s side.

“You stayed with me when I was going through all my crap,” he murmurs. “Even, yes, when it probably freaked you out. Let me return the favor.”

He feels Eli tense next to him, heart speeding up. Pure, raw fear.

Demetri recoils, concern rippling through him.

“Do you think I’ll hurt you?” he whispers. “On instinct or something?”

Eli shakes his head rapidly. “No, of course not! Never.”

“Then why are you scared?”

A silence.

“It’ll be ugly.” When Eli finally speaks, his voice is barely audible. “The whole thing. You won’t look at me the same way. I don’t want you to stop—”

He doesn’t finish, but Demetri knows what he means.

I don’t want you to stop loving me.

Demetri wraps long arms around Eli’s waist and pulls his boyfriend into his lap. He leans down, planting a soft kiss on Eli’s scar.

“Nothing about you can be ugly to me,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over the little line of raised skin. “You know that. And for the record, you could melt into a puddle of…I don’t know, toxic, stinky slime mold and I’d still be in love with you.”

He feels the scar stretch as Eli grins.

“Thank you.” Demetri’s fingers brush through Eli’s buzzed hair, massaging his scalp. “For sticking with me through everything. For having my back. I promise I’ll always have yours, too.”

Eli presses their foreheads together, looping thin arms around his neck as naturally as though they’ve always been doing this.

“I know.”

***

“You don’t have to do this.”

They’re leaning against Demetri’s car as dusk falls over Topanga Canyon, fingers interlocked. Eli’s eyes dart around nervously, scanning over the inky outlines of the trees over and over again.

Demetri squeezes his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Eli Moskowitz. Deal with it.”

Eli huffs. “You’re already a nervous wreck. You don’t need more shit to haunt your nightmares.”

“What, like you being out in the creepy woods all by yourself, sad and alone, wailing in agony, without your wonderful boyfriend around to comfort you? Yeah, that would be a bad one.”

For a moment, Eli’s anxiety melts, giving way to a small snigger. “Do you ever stop running your mouth?”

“Not really. You should know this by now.”

Eli takes a step toward the darkening trees, eyes flicking up at the emerging stars. “Okay, last chance, Demetri. Drive home.”

“Not in your wildest dreams, pal.”

Eli turns with narrowed eyes, as though debating arguing more. Finally he huffs, shaking his head.

“Fine. But if it looks like I’m going to attack you—at all—you need to fucking run. Okay? And if I come to and find out I’ve gored you because you didn’t listen, I’m going to be pissed.”

Demetri shrugs. “Sounds reasonable. I’d rather not be wolf dinner if I can help it.”

“Do you promise?” Eli turns and grabs his other hand, squeezing tight. “Swear on your life or some shit. I need your word you won’t get yourself mauled trying to talk me down.”

“All right, all right! I swear on the honor of House Arryn. That was always your favorite, right?”

Eli sighs. “I’ll take it. Let’s just get away from the road.”

He pulls Demetri into the forest, grip on his hand vicelike. Demetri can feel the nervousness pulsing off every fiber of his boyfriend’s body.

“You don’t have to wait for me, by the way,” Eli mumbles. “If the sun’s about to come up and you need to leave, I can find my way home. I’ve done it before.”

Demetri frowns. “How?”

“I can track your scent.”

Despite himself, Demetri chuckles a little. “Oh, yeah. I guess now we can bond over how weird that is. What do I smell like, anyways?”

“Flannel and silicon. Like 5 different types of your mom’s body lotions. Sometimes stale tortilla chips.”

He blushes a little at how fast Eli answered.

“I, uh…yeah, I guess that tracks.”

The trees part ahead, silvery light trickling through. Eli stops, and Demetri feels his heartbeat pound through both of them.

“Shit. I think it’s starting.”

“Okay.” He squeezes Eli’s hand. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

There’s a sudden cracking and Eli’s spine distorts, twisting in unnatural jerks. He lets out a scream, doubling over.

“It’s okay.” He keeps his grip on Eli’s hand, guiding them both down to the ground. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

Eli’s entire body is trembling as they settle on the dirt. He meets Demetri’s gaze, eyes wide and panicked.

“Demetri, I—” He’s interrupted by more spasms, ripping down his sides. More snapping of bone, and Eli gasps.

“Eli!”

Demetri shouts his name without thinking. Eli’s panic has become his own now, surging through him like a California wildfire.

“Shit, Eli, are you okay?”

Eli shakes his head, pained tears starting to trickle down his face.

“I, um…I brought peanut butter balls with ibuprofen in them. You want me to get them from the car?”

“N-no.” His voice is shaking as violently as his body. “D-don’t l-leave me. Please.”

“All right. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hold on, lemme just…”

In what looks like a taxing movement, Eli shrugs off his jacket and pulls his t-shirt over his shoulders. The outline of his lotus tattoo is just barely visible, hidden under a newly-sprouted layer of gray-brown fur.

The fur is crawling up his arms, into his face. It’s an odd sight.

And then Eli’s face starts to reshape itself.

Cracks and pops ring out as his skin ripples, stretching into something elongated and grotesque. “D-Demetri…”

He doesn’t have any follow-up. It’s as though he’s saying Demetri’s name to remind himself Demetri is a person. Somebody he knows.

Not just another piece of prey.

His mouth starts to extend, drifting open to reveal rows of gleaming, sharp teeth. The skin around it stretches, making an unsettling ripping noise.

“Oh, look at those chompers!” Demetri gives Eli a full-toothed grin, showing off the latest addition to his own dental assortment. “We match now!”

Despite everything, Eli laughs.

It’s a strange noise, a ragged mixture of a snort and a growl. Nonetheless, the quickly-morphing werewolf appears to be smiling.

Something sharp jabs into the back of Demetri’s hand, and moisture trickles across his skin. He glances down to see long, honed claws have torn out of his boyfriend’s fingers, blood pooling around every hole in the flesh.

This only makes Demetri hold onto him tighter.

“Demetri.”

Eli whispers his name over and over as he morphs, like it’s his last lifeline. Demetri feels a bulky, thickened finger brush against the back of his own, stroking almost frantically.

And that’s about when the real nightmare begins.

Eli starts convulsing, the cracks and pops and rips speeding up until he’s screaming in pain. Fur sprouts from every pore, bloody pieces of skin peeling off and fluttering to the ground. His muscles bulge, rippling just beneath fresh fur like they have a mind of their own. His face elongates more and more until a snout bursts from the center, stretched wide in a guttural wail.

It’s terrifying, but not for the reasons it would terrify most anyone else.

It’s Eli lying motionless on the mall floor. It’s Eli stalking through the computer lab in a frenzied rage, calling his name in a breaking voice. It’s Eli crumpled by the trophy case, glass pieces in his face. It’s Eli holding him down with shaking hands in the arcade, his peers goading him to crush any kindness left into dust. It’s Eli held down on the mat, about to be punched out by Robby Keene.

It’s the particular agony of knowing Eli’s in pain—deep, throbbing, terrible pain—and being absolutely fucking helpless to do anything about it.

That’s Demetri’s greatest weakness, he supposes—the one thing that always trumps over everything else. He can’t stand to see Eli Moskowitz hurting.

Now all he can do is try to be the anchor he never quite could before. Show Eli that he can’t make the pain go away, but he can help him through it.

He holds Eli’s hand until he can’t anymore. Eventually his fingers are pushed free as the bulky paw takes shape, the gaps between the toes narrowing too much for anything to fit.

When the worst of the shifting is over, Eli is a hunkering mass of mostly-wolf, whining softly. His ears, now stretched to unnatural points, are pressed flat against his head. He stares at the ground, working impossibly long claws in dirt and leaf litter.

“Eli.” Demetri takes a shaky breath. “Look at me.”

The creature doesn’t budge.

“Please look at me.”

Eli turns.

His face is pulled in strange ways. Slightly contorted, like someone tried to make a clay figurine and didn’t quite know what a wolf looked like. It’s a patchwork of fur and twisted skin, a squished nose that’s a blend of wolf and human. There are bits of skin and sinew and blood strewn around where fur forced its way out—and Demetri winces, because that looks like it really fucking hurt.

His eyes are still undeniably human, at least. Pale blue and spilling with emotion, just like they’ve always been. But the look in them is enough to shatter Demetri.

Regret. Fear. Shame.

He starts to turn away. Demetri reaches out and cups his cheek, stopping him.

“I love you,” Demetri whispers. “And I don’t—I don’t know how much of yourself you’ll hold onto tonight, but I need you to remember that. Promise me.”

He feels like an idiot as soon as he says it. Eli probably can’t even talk anymore.

But then he hears a tiny, rasping voice, its single word almost indecipherable.

“Promise.”

Eli collapses. One final convulsion, and any trace of humanity is gone.

For several moments the wolf just lies there, sides heaving. Demetri scoots back, rising unsteadily to his feet.

“Eli?” he calls tentatively.

The wolf’s ears prick up. That’s probably a good sign.

The enormous creature rolls over slowly, getting to his paws. He eyes Demetri skeptically, whining.

It’s very strange, looking at this great beast that has Eli’s eyes. Trying to figure out if Demetri’s imagining the recognition in them or not.

“Eli, do you know who I am?”

The wolf prowls toward him, growling softly. Demetri holds his breath and extends a hand, palm out and fingers shaking.

Please don’t be gone.

The wolf gives him a long look, ears twitching. Sizing him up. Demetri tenses his legs, ready to make a run for it.

Then he feels something soft against his skin.

Demetri looks down to see the wolf pressing a furry forehead into his palm, and he lets out a laugh of relief. “You do know me.”

The wolf grunts and looks up at him again, blue eyes almost annoyed. The sort of No shit, moron look he’d know anywhere.

He cups the wolf’s cheek and lets his fingers trail down, tracing the huge jawline. The beast lets out a puzzled growl.

“Hold on. I just…”

His fingers brush against a familiar line of raised skin, curving from under the wolf’s nose to the start of a long canine tooth. Buried under fur now, but unmistakably there.

Something soft flutters inside of him.

“Sorry, I just…I had to make sure it was really you.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the scar. The wolf whines uncertainly.

He smiles, gently cupping the wolf’s huge face and bringing their foreheads together. “I’m glad you’re okay, love. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

They settle into a pile on the ground, Eli curled around Demetri’s skinny form. Demetri buries himself in the mass of gray-brown fur, stroking it over and over.

Eli’s okay. Eli’s going to be okay.

Right now, that’s all that matters.

***

It’s a while before Demetri gets another scare.

He honestly thought he had enough for one night, and would just as soon capped it at Eli contorting every which way and screaming in pain. Still, the universe seems unable to throw him any kind of bone without also making those bones look rather tasty to his boyfriend-turned-megafaunal-carnivore.

His first indication that something is amiss is the licking.

It’s endearing at first, if a little gross. He makes no secret of his gripes about having to shower when he gets home, and he’s pretty sure Eli licks him more after just to annoy him.

After a while, they get more insistent, and he feels less like an object of affection and more like a Trader Joe’s sample.

“Hey! Knock it off!” One lick too many, and Demetri squirms out from under Eli’s snout, pushing his massive paw aside. “I keep telling you you’re making a mess! You—”

He stops. Eli is giving him a strange look.

A chill ripples through him.

It reminds him of the looks Eli used to give him when they fought—cold, intense, ruthless. Although less angry this time, and more…hungry.

There’s something almost primal in his stare that Demetri’s never seen before. Swallowing, he takes a step back.

The wolf follows, uttering a low growl. His tail is raised, eyes bright and alert.

Ready for the hunt.

“Eli. It’s me.” He takes a shaky breath, dread starting to crawl through him. “It’s Dem. You don’t want to hurt me.”

Perhaps there was a time when that wasn’t true, but those days are long gone.

Aren’t they?

The wolf snarls, fur starting to bush up as he continues to advance. His haunches are wiggling, almost like he’s…

Getting ready to charge.

One last time.

Demetri tenses his own legs, preparing to sprint.

“Eli, it’s me.” He smiles weakly. “Codename zer0. Remember?”

The wolf stops.

He flattens his ears for a moment, looking confused. Then the realization seems to dawn.

He stumbles away, whimpering. Tail sweeping in low, anxious circles.

“Hey, it’s okay, it happens.” Demetri steps forward, extending a hand. “You didn’t mean t—”

The wolf turns and high-tails it into the forest. Demetri wants to follow, but he knows better.

He trudges over to the dirt patch where Eli first changed, clothes still scattered across the ground. Crouching, he picks up Eli’s black-and-red jacket and slips it on.

It’s the one he wore during the school fight, Demetri realizes. He looks over the striped sleeve with a small smile, shaking his head.

He wonders what the Eli from a year ago would think if he knew where his jacket was now, wrapped around the boy he claimed to hate while he prowled the woods as a monster he became to protect said boy. The irony is really too much.

Would “Hawk” find it funny, too? Would he be glad he and his best friend smoothed things out, figured out years’ worth of tension? Or would he just be disgusted with himself, knowing he’d end up letting someone like Demetri love him? Knowing he’d reciprocate?

Was he always in love with Demetri, even back then?

He never thought to ask Eli when it all started. He’s still wrapping his head around his boyfriend loving him in the present.

A long, mournful howl peels through the night, and a deep yearning churns in Demetri’s chest. He suddenly wishes he had the vocal cords to answer.

“I’ll see you soon.”

He says it to no one. He doesn’t know why. Perhaps to comfort himself when, right now, he’s all he has.

Demetri gathers up the rest of Eli’s discarded outfit. For a long while he sits with his back against a tree, holding it close.

***

It’s 10 am when Eli finally shows up at Demetri’s bedroom door, disheveled and dirty with his blue hair hanging down in a sad heap and reeking of raw meat. He doesn’t seem too bothered by his state, leaning in Demetri’s doorway with a casual suaveness that should infuriate him.

Right now, all Demetri can feel is relief.

“Holy shit, Eli.” He props himself up on his elbows, gesturing almost frantically to the spot beside him on the bed. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah, toughed it out like a champ.”

Demetri opens his arms. In a familiar ritual, Eli wastes no time darting across the room and crawling into them.

He might get dirt on the bed, but Demetri can deal with his mom’s lectures later.

“Sorry I had to leave,” Demetri murmurs, plucking a couple twigs out of Eli’s hair. “I wanted to wait for you, but…sun was coming up, and I didn’t want to roast alive. Or…roast undead, I guess?”

Eli laughs, nuzzling into his shirt. “Nah, man, you did the right thing. I also don’t want you roasting undead.”

“You feeling all right?” He brushes a hand through Eli’s hair, unearthing several leaves. “You were having a pretty bad time last night. I wanted to help more, but…I didn’t know what to do.”

“You being there helped.” Eli grabs one of his hands and starts playing with it absentmindedly. “Thank you. I know that was probably a lot.”

“I hate seeing you in pain like that.” Perhaps without meaning to, Demetri’s grip tightens. “It scares me. But I hate you being in pain by yourself more, so. I deal. Reminds me too much of when we were being kicked around growing up, and I never knew how much it was hurting you. I…never really forgave myself for leaving you to deal with that on your own.”

Eli sighs. “I didn’t tell you. You’re not a mind reader. I just…I don’t know. I thought I should be able to deal with my shit on my own.”

“Well, you never have to again.” He strokes Eli’s back. “And I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you before. I will be from now on.”

“I know.”

Eli’s hand works in the fabric of his shirt, making its way up to his collar. He gives an abrupt grunt of disapproval.

“Demetri, is that my jacket?”

“I, uh…” Demetri blushes. “It smelled like you. Helped relax me while I was waiting.”

“So you’re the reason I froze my ass off the entire walk home.”

He laughs, pulling a wad of blankets over both of them. “Sorry, love. Didn’t know you’d lose all your fur before the sun came up.”

“S’fine. I guess if it stops you from flipping out all night.”

“Glad you got all the glass out,” Demetri teases, gently poking Eli’s side. “I’d feel kind of bad if I knew I ruined it.”

“Wait. Was that the one I—” Eli stiffens. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t remember, I just grabbed it—”

“Eli.” His hand finds Eli’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll keep telling you until you believe me. I’m not mad about any of that stuff anymore. It’s just a jacket. And besides…” He pecks the top of Eli’s head. “It’s cute, and it smells like you, so positive associations outweigh negative ones. I wouldn’t be getting cozy in it if it gave me terrible karate war PTSD.”

“I know. I still hate that I did all that, though.”

“And I hate that I told the entire school you piss the bed, but. You now turn into a colossal murderous beast once a month and I have to drink human blood to survive. I think we have slightly bigger concerns.” Eli mumbles disapprovingly, but doesn’t try to argue.

Demetri frowns suddenly, looking down at Eli’s small, bedraggled form. “How much do you remember from last night, anyways?”

Although he can’t see it, Demetri can imagine Eli scrunching his face up in concentration. “Just bits and pieces, I guess. I remember you holding my hand and telling me you loved me like a sappy bitch.”

Demetri snickers. “Yeah, yeah, guilty as charged.”

Although Eli’s tone is nonchalant, it sends a pulsing wave of relief through Demetri.

So some part of it all stuck. The monstrous wolf roaming the forest alone into the wee hours of the morning still knew he was loved. Still knew he would have someone to come home to. Someone who would hold him even when he was at his most…well…conventionally unattractive (i.e. in the process of transforming into a giant terrifying creature).

“I also remember you making me fucking ibuprofen peanut butter dog treats. Like who does that?”

Demetri snorts with laughter. “Offer still stands for those, by the way. I could also try Tylenol. That helps a lot with broken bone pain.”

“Ah, shit.” Eli tenses again. “This of all things I don’t deserve your advice for.”

“Oh, my god.” He jostles Eli’s shoulder playfully. “Are you still on about that? I think you breaking several of your own bones for my benefit, repeatedly, once a month, outweighs you breaking one of my bones one time.”

“Mmm.” Eli hums thoughtfully. “When you put it like that, it sounds like you need to sacrifice a few more limbs for me so we’ll be even.”

Demetri scoffs. “Well, unlike some people around here, my bones don’t fix themselves after they mold into giant wolf bones and back.”

“Weak.” Although it comes out like a taunt, Eli kisses Demetri’s chest as he says it.

Demetri laughs, giving his back another rub.

“Remember anything else? You still sore at all?”

“Nah. The aches stopped like an hour after I turned back.” Eli suddenly looks up at him with a tenderness that could euthanize him on the spot. “I remember you touching my scar, though.”

He’s hit with a surge of emotion, coursing through him like good coffee on an early morning and making him wonder how it’s cosmically possible to love a single human being with the sheer magnitude and intensity with which he loves Eli Moskowitz.

Demetri smiles, brushing a thumb over the rough skin. “It’s beautiful. I’m sorry anyone ever made you feel like it was something to be ashamed of.”

Although Eli rolls his eyes, his cheeks go unmistakably pink. “Ugh. You’re biased. Pretty sure you’re the only person who actually likes it.”

“Yes, and I’m the only person ever whose opinion actually matters, because I’m right.”

“You always think you’re right!”

“I have yet to be wrong. Well…in a broad sense. Why would I be wrong about your beauty mark?”

“Please. It’s a facial deformity.”

“Oh, what, you put stock in that?” Demetri’s lip curls in disgust. “Counselor Blatt’s entire visage is a facial deformity. And anyways, the woman completely believed you were a wholesome pillar of purity while you were wearing your hair in blood-red death spikes, so I don’t think she’s getting an invite into MENSA anytime soon. There are much more credible opinions to trust.”

Eli scoffs. “Like yours? You’re not subtle, Demetri.”

“Oh, I’d never try to be. But yes, like mine, because I’m correct. It’s a beauty mark.”

He leans down and pecks the scar. Eli groans, but thankfully doesn’t try to argue further.

“What else did I do last night, anyway? I remember you petting me, I think and then everything’s kinda vague, until—” Eli stiffens. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“I tried to hunt you, didn’t I?”

His voice comes out in a strangled whisper, and Demetri’s heart breaks all over again.

“Hey. It wasn’t like that.” He kisses the top of Eli’s head. “You only looked like you wanted to eat me for like…a few seconds, tops. And I snapped you out of it pretty fast.”

“You…” Suddenly he’s being seized by his shoulders and slammed down into the bed.

“You moron!” Eli spits. “I told you to run if I started doing that kind of shit!”

“You weren’t really!” Demetri tries to shove Eli off, but his boyfriend holds fast.

“You just said I looked like I wanted to eat you! Is that not a good enough reason to haul ass out of there?!”

Demetri decides that perhaps he should omit the part about the repeat licking. Eli doesn’t need more ammo.

“That’s not you,” he says fiercely, clutching Eli’s wrist. “I know you. I know I can get through to you, and I know you’ll never lay a hand on me again. Or…a paw, I guess. Same difference.”

“You can’t count on that!”

Demetri sees wetness trickling in at the corner of Eli’s eyes and feels a twinge of guilt.

“I know you’re scared.” He reaches up, gently brushing the tears away. “And I’ve been there, too. I know what it’s like. But let me trust you the way you’ve been trusting me. Please.”

Eli shakes his head, sniffling. “I just don’t want to wake up and find you dead.”

“And you won’t.” He runs a thumb over his boyfriend’s skin. “These gangly legs are no joke. I know I used to complain about them killing my sex appeal, but they can take me very rapidly away from werewolves if needed.”

“For once in your life, be serious, Demetri!”

Eli glares down at him with an intensity he hasn’t seen in a while. He feels the other boy’s heart hammering through him, every muscle in Eli’s body squeezed as tight as it can go.

“I am,” Demetri says softly. “I promise I am. I need you to trust I can take care of myself. Okay?”

Eli exhales, some of the anger and panic seeming to drain out with it.

He pats Eli’s cheek. “I’m made of tougher stuff than I used to be. I think unless you start growing silver teeth or eating a bunch of garlic bread before you transform, we’ll be fine.”

“Still. You can’t be reckless like that—”

“Oh, look who’s talking! I don’t want to hear a peep from you, Mr. Rabies Shot Cobra Heist Cement Truck Vandalism Underage Drinking Breaking-and-Entering Getting-Intentionally-Bit-By-Werewolves Moskowitz.”

Eli releases a long sigh. “I hate that you have a list ready.”

“Yes, and for the love of god, do not make me make it longer.”

Eli huffs—a defeated noise that sends a ripple of satisfaction through Demetri. “How did you get through to me, anyways?”

Demetri snickers. “Oh, you’ll love this.”

“…oh no.”

“Demetri and Eli, binary—” Eli smacks him before he can finish.

“Come on, dude, that?!” His boyfriend looks at him in abject horror, and he bursts out laughing. “That’s so freaking—out of all the things I could remember about you, it had to be ‘Codename zer0.’”

“‘Codename zer0’ got you back into karate with that video and indirectly won you a trophy, as I recall.”

Eli lets out long groan, face pressed into Demetri’s shoulder. “Is that even our catchphrase anymore? It’s super weird now that we’re dating. We should be like…the Binary Badasses or something.”

“Like that sounds any less ridiculous.”

Eli elbows him in the stomach. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Fine, fine!” He raises a hand in defeat. “Binary Badasses it is. For you.”

Eli slides off him and nestles into the crook of his arm, finally releasing Demetri from his death grip. As tousled blue hair brushes over his chest, he notices something strange.

Eli isn’t exactly spotless—wandering around Topanga Canyon at night as a giant carnivore did a number on him. Scrapes, cuts, bruises, plenty of dust and forest debris still mixed into Eli’s luscious cerulean locks. But other than that…

No evidence of any ripping skin. No gougemarks, no deep lacerations, no lines of marred, torn flesh, carved open and shredded to make room for fur and snouts and claws and everything else. Eli looks just as tan and polished as he did yesterday evening.

Apparently he regrew everything with little trouble. It’s difficult to conceptualize—such a rapid myriad of creation and destruction, all in one night.

“I saved your skin,” Demetri blurts out.

Eli lifts his head to give him a baffled look. “You what?”

“All the skin and sinew and whatnot that peeled off when you morphed. It was lying around in the dirt and I didn’t know if you’d want it back, so…I washed it and put it in that bag over there.”

He gestures at the grocery bag leaning up against his desk—probably the reason why the stench of Eli’s hunting trophies hasn’t bothered him all that much.

“Wh—DUDE! What the fuck?! That’s disgusting, what—” Eli looks like he’s just witnessed a war crime. “Why the hell would I want all my own peeled-off skin back?!”

“Well, I didn’t know it would all grow back!” Demetri puts his hands up. “And I didn’t want you to—I don’t know, wander around LA as some shambling skinless mess trying to hold all your organs in or whatever.”

“Demetri.” Eli presses his palm into his forehead. “How would any werewolf survive more than one full moon if they didn’t grow their fucking skin back?”

“I thought it might be like…a reverse selkie thing, all right?! Look, I read up a lot on werewolves, but none of the Wikihows mentioned what to do with all the skin and muscle bits lying around. I thought if I just left it there, it’d get eaten by a raccoon or something. And who knows what that would do to you?!”

“Probably the same thing as if your finger got cut off and a raccoon ate it? It’s no longer attached to your body, who cares?”

“Okay, but what if not all your skin grew back? What if you were stumbling through the forest covered in holes—which, by the way, all kinds of microorganisms and viruses can just climb on in through—and then you try to reattach your old skin but it’s covered in dirt and you get super infected—”

“Demetri.” Eli buries his face in Demetri’s chest, groaning for perhaps the 17th time that morning. “That’s not—how would I even do that? By fucking supergluing it back on?”

“I don’t know, you tell me!” Demetri waves his hands in exasperation. “I just didn’t want to be in a situation where you needed your skin and I left it to the mercy of the elements like a terrible boyfriend.”

Eli sighs, crawling back onto his chest and looking at him with an almost pitying expression. “‘Metri, did you think werewolves had to get skin grafts once a month? Is there any insurance on earth that covers that?”

“It was just a precaution, all right?!” Demetri huffs. “I’m still figuring out how all this works. I don’t want to screw it up.”

“Then use your brain, dumbass.” Eli thumps him on the temple, and Demetri rolls his eyes. “Something that shapeshifted once a month and wasn’t able to self-repair would be a biological nightmare. How would that shit even function?! Gather up all the ripped flesh and cram it back in? Werewolves wouldn’t be around long enough for people to tell horror stories about them if they were constantly dying of tetanus.”

“For all we know, they could be.” Demetri shrugs. “Or septicemia. Or osteomyelitis. Or—”

“Hey. Relax.” Eli presses a kiss to his neck. “I, uh…I guess I appreciate you saving a bag of my gross-ass severed skin in case you needed it for like…emergency repair, but I promise you don’t have to do that. I looked into this shit too, and I think if we were supposed to keep my skin, the internet would’ve said something about it across like 15 sites. Now you really need to get rid of that shit before your mom sees.”

“Uh, well…”

Demetri bites his lip, and Eli wilts.

“Oh no. Did you tell her I’m—”

“No, no!” He shakes his head vigorously. “She walked in on me washing it, and I was about to bullshit something, I swear, but then she said that next time I needed to hide a body, I should let her know and she’d help.”

“Jesus.” Eli snorts out a laugh. “What the hell was she up to back in Greece?”

He grimaces. “Whatever it was, she evidently did a very good job of hiding her tracks. So much so that she can offer advice.”

“All right, well. We’re covered if the blood bank scams stop working.” He smirks.

“Holy shit!” Demetri shoves him, laughing. “You’re awful.”

“Oh, you fucking love me, Demetri Alexopoulos. Dog stink and all.”

He swoops down, grabbing Demetri’s lips in his own. As he pulls away, Demetri wrinkles his nose.

Although Demetri’s come to appreciate Eli’s initiative, he’s not sure it’s ideal right now. The shorter boy’s breath is abysmal.

“You do stink, though,” he mutters. “What were you doing all night?”

Eli gives him the same meek grin that always seems to get him out of trouble. “I…may have eaten a couple deer.”

“Ah! That explains the stench of rotting venison.” Eli gives him another apologetic smile, this time with some bits of deer meat still visible in between his teeth. “And next full moon, I’m leaving you breath mints.”

“Mhm.” He traces delicate fingers over Demetri’s arm. “That’s rich, coming from the human mosquito.”

“Your favorite human mosquito, though.”

“Dem.” More gentle brushing before Eli’s fingers stop at the base of his neck. “We match now, yeah?”

He looks down to see Eli’s hand on his bite scars. Suddenly he wants to cry.

His own hand flutters off Eli’s back, drifting up his boyfriend’s arm until he feels the slight bump of raised skin. His fingers ghost across the wolf bite, once something so insurmountable and now nothing more than a bit of skin that doesn’t fit quite right.

Not that different from his own fading bitemarks. Something he’ll get past eventually. Something that stays, but not in a way that has to hurt.

He smiles. “Yeah. I suppose we do.”

“You’re not alone.” Eli presses soft lips to the same place vicious fangs had once been. “You never were.”

Demetri pulls Eli in, kissing his hair. “Neither are you. I wanted to chase after you last night, but…”

He trails off. No matter—he knows Eli knows what he’s trying to say.

It wasn’t safe. They can’t always be safe for each other, as much as they wish they could. It’s just part of their natures—their new natures.

“You never would have caught up, anyways,” Eli mumbles. “Soon as the wolf wanted to hunt you, I got so fucking scared. I ran as far as I could.”

Demetri feels an ache in his chest.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean t—”

“Not your fault,” Eli cuts him off. “I should have made you leave sooner. Chased you off or something. But I wanted you to stay. Kind of selfish, I know.”

Demetri smiles. “Good to know I’m not the only one. I should’ve done the whole ‘drive you away for your own safety’ thing with you ages ago. Was…the rest of your night okay, at least?”

“S’fine.” Eli shrugs against him. “Did some hunting. Enjoyed all the scents. Howled really loud. Ran around.” He sighs. “Got old, though. It was lonely. Kind of wished not everything that saw me cowered and ran.”

“Oh, you would’ve loved that last year, though.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” He feels Eli’s face twitch into a scowl. “I guess that’s the thing about being at the top, isn’t it? You just feel alone.”

“I can imagine. I’m sorry.” He massages Eli’s scalp. “And…I’m sorry I flipped out at you last month. I know you were trying to help, and I know you can make your own choices. I guess I just…I worry about you. And I’m probably always going to worry about you. Hard to kick a habit I’ve had my entire life.”

Eli hums into his neck. “I’m sorry I worry you. I don’t mean to.”

“I know. If anything, I probably smother you too much. I used to try and shelter you away from every bad thing that could happen. I was never very good at it, though.”

Eli snorts. “Used to annoy the shit out of me. Not…when we were kids. I needed it back then. But when I dyed my hair and stopped taking shit, you acted like I’d been…I don’t know, corrupted, and you needed to heroically save me or whatever.”

“I kind of did, though.” Demetri snickers, flicking Eli’s shoulder. “You saw poor little Demetri in an arm bar, and that triggered your whole ‘Simba, remember who you are’ moment.”

“Well, you looked so pathetic I couldn’t help myself. Never seen a sadder sack of disproportionate limbs.”

“Oh, you take that back!” He grabs Eli’s shoulders and easily rolls on top of him, pinning him down. Eli cackles. “You are such a little—!”

“Demetriiiii.” Eli does his best pout. “I was out being a sad, lonely wolf monster all night. You wouldn’t get mad at me, would you?”

Demetri smacks his shoulder. “You’re such a brat.”

“Oh, but you want to be my knight in shining armor so fucking bad.”

It’s Demetri’s turn to pout. He looks away, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“It was…kind of flattering, you know.” He feels Eli’s fingers start to comb through his hair. “You being all fussy and suffocating. I didn’t realize I wanted it back until I was in Cobra Kai.”

“Classic Eli Moskowitz.” Demetri clicks his tongue. “Always wanting what he can’t have.”

“It felt nice, though. Knowing someone cared that much. Even after everything.”

Demetri refuses to look at him. Eli is undoubtedly hitting him with the doe eyes, and he refuses to give his boyfriend the satisfaction of watching all Demetri’s annoyance melt away in real time.

Besides, it won’t exactly help how much his face is still flushing.

“I’m not an anomaly.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Lots of people care about you, Eli. Yas, Moon, Miguel, Chris, Mr. LaRusso, Sam, Bert and Nate, your parents…”

“Yeah, and could any of them stomach that shit at Topanga?”

Finally, he looks down. Eli is gazing up at him with a thoroughly dubious expression.

“Could they?” Eli asks again, eyes flaring.

Demetri sighs.

“Probably not.”

“And that’s why I love you.”

He pulls Demetri’s neck down and kisses him like it’s the most vital thing he’s ever done.

Eli tastes wild—like fur and wood and leaves and berries and streamwater and fresh-killed deer. It’s a far cry from what Demetri used to fantasize about, all warmth and cinnamon and old books and cable-knit sweaters. It’s different from how he used to taste too—the kisses with reckless adrenaline and fresh sweat and sharp, chemically-scented Axe.

Eli Moskowitz never runs out of ways to surprise him. Demetri is finding he doesn’t mind at all.

He’s not even that bothered by deer breath. Not really. It’s Eli, and Demetri loves him with his entire being. Even when he stinks.

He cups Eli’s cheek in his hand, holding it like it could dissolve at any moment. It has to be the hundredth time they’ve done this, but regardless.

If Demetri had a heartbeat, it would still be racing.

“Demetri.” Eli is the first to pull away, hand loosening against Demetri’s neck as he leans back. For a moment they both hover there, lips only an inch apart.

“I’ll always come home to you,” Eli whispers against him. “No matter what.”

Demetri beams, bringing his forehead down to meet Eli’s.

“I know.”

***

Y’all remember when Trader Joe’s had samples??? Before the pandemic??? Because I do. Different times, goddamn. (Also CK canonically takes place in like 2018/2019ish so Trader Joe’s does indeed still have samples lmao)

I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of Demetri kissing Eli’s lip scar while he’s in wolf form. Idk man I Just Think It’s Neat.

Actually added a bit more to this than there originally was concerning Eli rewearing his S2 school fight jacket. I kinda like doing introspection with these boyos where they think back to the “enemies” phase and are just like “Well that was stupid” while also being morbidly fascinated and trying to psychologically untangle whatever tf was going through their heads XD

I really love writing Demetri in these kinds of AUs because you will subject the boy to horrors beyond human comprehension and he’ll just be like. Aggressively practical about them. “You shed your human skin in a bloody, disturbing mess when you transform into a werewolf??? Better hold onto that, you might need it later.” The best part is that his neurosis actually overrides his rationality half the time (not unlike myself lmao), so he’ll be over here catastrophizing while Eli is actually chillin and thinking things through logically (since he’s over the whole “get mad about everything” thing). They share a brain cell. Demetri thinks he’s the one who usually has it, but he’s wrong.

This goes with this btw!!! Basically took this bit and turned it into a whole scene. Demetri does indeed stay with Eli while he goes into wolf form so he doesn’t feel alone <3

Still giggling over the fact that for once I made Demetri the Red Gay and Eli the Blue Gay in the moodboard akajidpwbaiyvf

20 notes · View notes

bitchysongcomputer · 2 years

Text

Married Men by BearTrainer

From BeefyFrat Library, before it disappears.

Don’t ask me what finally made me do it. I guess surfing all those gainer sites and lurking around those bulletin boards after Janine and the kids were in bed. Of course, when I first found them all, I did what you usually do. I knew they got me hot, but I just told myself I was bored and stressed out from work, which is true. Now that my contracting business is taking off, work is far more of a bitch than it ever was when I was hurting for jobs. But, you know that’s bullshit, even I knew it was at the time. So I’d jack off real quick to some of the hot stories, some of those big belly pics and drawings, and then forget about it. I’m not gay—I’m not. Janine still turns my crank after 15 years, and if it weren’t such a hassle, me being boss and all, I’d gladly go pussy-chasing with the Mexican crew I got on Friday night. It’s just that when it comes to fat guys, guys blimping, guys getting soft, sprouting a gut and growing tits, I pop a boner. The rest of that gay shit doesn’t do anything for me—just fat guys. So after getting up enough nerve to exchange a few E-mails with some of the cooler dudes on the gainer boards, I decided to see what kind of action I could scare up for myself. Opened a Hotmail account and got my ad together: Straight married encourager guy looking for straight married gainer into getting fed, growing gut. No strings or romance. Just hot man-to-man action. I’ll bring the eats. You bring the appetite. Beginners welcome. I put that last part in mostly to cover my own ass, since I’d never been with a guy, period, no less doing any kind of shit like this. And maybe it was my own denial or something, but even though I plastered the ad everywhere I could think—even on the Yahoo personal boards, for Christ’s sake!—I didn’t really think I’d get a response. And for a month or two, I didn’t. But then. . . . I remember thinking, "Man, he sounds a helluva lot more nervous than even me," when I answered the phone and heard him say, "Hey, man, this is Gary," then a long pause, "You know, from the ad. . . ." Like I wouldn’t know. Right. Like I hadn’t fucking waited three days by the phone. "Hey, Gary! Cool. I was wondering if you were going to call." "Well, you know, stuff came up. How you doing?" "I’m great. Just great. How’s by you?" I could hear him coughing, clearing his throat. "I’m OK. So, what’s the deal? You want to meet or what? What do you usually do?" I was such a wuss about this, I don’t mind telling you. I’d been putting these ads out and actually hadn’t really even thought about what the fuck I’d do if someone called. But I think quick on my feet, so I said, all cool and suave, "Well, let’s at least meet for a cup of coffee, then you know, if we want to take it the next step, we can always go down the street for a tub." "What do you mean, like a hot tub?" I was thinking of the place next town over where Janine and I would go every once in a while before the kids. It was nice, not sleazy, well-run, and all the rooms had a little bed and a sauna. Plus, I wanted to get a look at this guy before I committed myself to anything. You know, what if he was some ugly old skank or something. "Yeah, but let’s just talk first. Like I said, no strings." He hung up so quick after I named a place to meet that I really didn’t think he’d show, so after telling the guys I was taking off to price a job in the city, I brought some paperwork with me the next day, got my coffee and figured I’d wait a half-hour, no more. Knock me over with a fucking feather if he doesn’t show up like right on the button and isn’t like one of the hottest guys I’ve seen. Just the way I like them—looking about early 30’s, real all-American, about six-foot, should have been about 180 and maybe was for most of his life, but clearly packing an extra 30 or so, lots of it hanging over the front in a sort of clingy yellow T-shirt. "Gary, it’s Doug. How you doing, guy?" I thought he’d be a nervous wreck, the way he sounded yesterday, but evidently he got his shit together and looked cool, sat down, chunky football player ass and legs spreading big on the seat, smiling like we were both being bad boys. Figured I might as well set a tone. "Can I get you something? Couple of donuts. Coffee." Still smirking, he nodded, "Yes. And yes." So we chit-chatted some, keeping our voices a little low. Turned out this was his first time with a guy, but his wife—he wouldn’t tell me her name, just called her "my wife"—seemed to be intent on fattening him up. "You should see what she cooks for me. And I don’t dare tell her I can’t eat any more, because I get the look, you know. Plus she’s always handing me what our daughter doesn’t eat. And of course there always cake and ice cream in front of the tube. It’s like I get up feeling like a stuffed pig sometimes when I get into bed. You see, this." He rubbed his gut. "All in the last two years, and I can’t lose it. So I figured, why not just forget about it and let it go." Thinking to work him a little, get him hot, I said, "The wife likes it that way, doesn’t she?" He smiled shyly. "She can’t keep her hands off it. Neither can the guys at work. They’re always ribbing me, but that’s why I called you. Because it like turns me on when they do that shit. Am I, like twisted or something?" I leaned back and pushed the second donut at him, trying to act smug, like I was the big expert. He looked like a little boy, cheeks munching away, looking up at me. "I don’t know, man. What’s twisted? I just know what I like." I waited till he swallowed. "So, you feeling like a tub?" He laughed out loud and slapped his belly. "Yeah. You bet I’m feeling like a tub. But I guess you mean a hot tub, huh?" If this was his first time, it didn’t show. I went in first and paid, and then he waited in his truck a little and came in after, just in case anyone might see us walk in together. I had my wits about me—either that or my old army training—but I had crammed my bag full of plenty of supplies from the bakery around the corner from work where all the lardasses seemed to go, all the stuff I’d fantasized for years seeing a guy eat—chocolate eclairs, a big box of butter cookies, a marble cake, and a bunch of cupcakes. (I’d have loved to bring a coconut cream pie but I couldn’t figure out how to smuggle it in, since you’re not supposed to bring food into the tub place.) Anyway, the door hardly closed when suddenly big Gary was all over me, pressing his overfed belly right into mine and knocking me back against the wall, nuzzling my neck with his face, smelling of sweat and sugar. I ran my hands over his straining T-shirt, feeling the heft of him, rolling his fat back and forth in my palms, half-teasing, half-dominant, and using my own strength, pushed him back. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, bubba. Not so fast. You gotta do what I say or you ain’t gonna get your eats." I stuck my thumb in the deep depression of his navel. "Got that, gainerboy?" It was a risk, I knew, pulling that attitude, but figured putting it out there would give us something to work with. He smirked, embarassed and horny, and played along. "Sure, man. Whatever you want. You be my coach. I’ll follow orders." Then he hung his head and looked up at me. "Pants off." He obeyed, but when he went to pull his jockeys off, I smacked his hand. "Leave them on." I went over to my bag and started laying out the goodies in front of him, taking my time, keeping my own gym shorts and tank-top on, looking at the fine sight of his belly hanging out of the now loose T-shirt. We were both throwing major woodies, but I just stood there and took in the sight of him, like he was a big piece of beef, and that really seemed to make him crazy-hot, started pulling on his dick. I cocked my head toward the bubbling tub, and saying nothing, we climbed in with our clothes on, as if we were just straight guys doing a jacuzzi together, but I pushed him back and climbed on top of him, running my face and hands over the now soaking-wet, clinging T-shirt, straddling his fat thighs with my legs and sort of sitting on his lap. We didn’t talk, rubbing our face next to each other. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to kiss him, to tell you the truth, having never smooched with a guy, but eventually we started, mostly because it seemed he wanted it, and I had to say, the taste of his tongue was a real turn-on. I just kept thinking about how his whole life was going to revolve around that greedy mouth of his, his big hungry greedy voracious gainer mouth, how he was starting to live for his food, for being fed, for getting everything he could into that mouth, and at some point I guess I eventually started to say shit like that in his ear, whispering it, being a big tease, talking into his mouth. The whole feeling of this big dude under me, slick and wet, begging for it, was the most intense turn-on and he just moaned when I flipped both our cocks out of the shorts and started belly-fucking under the water. "You like this?" he said, his eyes kind of closed, putting his hands down my shorts and holding my ass. "I mean, you’re so tight, you work out." I poked my cock right into his underbelly as a response. "I don’t know. What do you think? You think I like this?" He moaned a little louder and pulled me into him a little harder. "I’d have to say yes. But man, like I’m so fucking fat." "That you are." I kept up the belly fucking, holding his wrists down on the sides of the tub, licking on his chin. "And you are going to get fatter." "Oh fuck. Really? You want me fatter. I’m such a blimp already." "You saw that food, didn’t you?" He licked his lips, looking over my shoulder at the spread. "You ain’t going to make me eat all that? Man, I’ll be sick. Already had a huge lunch." I grabbed his lovehandles under his shirt and started jiggling them, his soft mantits shaking just above the surface of the water in wet, nearly see-through T-shirt. "Yeah, I can feel it, right here, fatso. Is this where the guys at work poke? In your fat, right here. What do they call you these days? Chubs? Tubby? Jellybelly?" He was getting breathless, which I figured meant he was getting close, so I stopped the belly-fucking, peeled off my own shirt and shorts, threw them into a wet heap across the room and moved over to the other side of the tub. He didn’t expect this, but I was really getting off on being a cocktease for change, I guess ‘cause of all the years of having chicks do this teasing shit to me. Kind of helped me see it from their perpsetive, you know what I mean. It was pretty damn fun. Anyway, he started to come over but I stopped him with a foot, wiggling my toes in his flab. "Uh, uh, uh. Food first. Fun later. Just relax, big guy. Take a breather. We got a whole hour." He shook his head and decided to give me a taste of my own medicine, sitting back across the tub from me and lifting up the wet shirt just over his tits and cupping them, trying to act real matter-of-fact. "If I gain any more weight, I’m going to have D-cups, what do you think?" Thing was his tits weren’t really that big yet, most of the weight was in his belly and hips, but I played along because it was kind of hoot talking about a guy’s breasts, plus it was very hot watching a guy fondle himself, breasts all hairy and butch. "Nips getting sensitive, darlin?" I said, looking away like I didn’t give a shit. "All the gainers I know say their nipples start fucking talking to them after a while." He chuckled at that and wincing a little, began to flick the tips of his nipples with his fingers. "Yup, they’re talking all right. Hear em?" I guess I deserved it for being a prick, but the sight of it was kind of driving me crazy, him leaning back, double-chin under his sexy, cleanshaven face, teats almost as big as Janine’s when she was revved up, and it was about all I could do to keep bringing myself off in the water in my own shorts. So I used my feet again and knocked his hands away from his breasts. "Yeah, I hear ‘em. They’re saying, ‘Feed this fucker. Get him big.’ " and with that, I climbed out of the tub and started toweling myself off right next to him. He was definitely getting off on my body—which after years of construction gets plenty of looks still, I will say that—but frankly, I wouldn’t look twice at a guy like me, while a big soft old doughboy like Gary just was working me to the bone. But there he was, jacking himself furiously as he watched me, so I gave him a little show, a few ass shorts, flexing the legs, shooting a bicep curl now and then. His face was red and sweaty, eyes kind of going glassy from being so turned on, and he looked like he was having the time of his life. "Isn’t that what they are saying, Gar? Aren’t those nipples saying, ‘Mmm, mmm, want some pound cake.’ " I lazily made my way over the to the bed and sat cross-legged on it, arranging the food around me. "Or maybe it’s that hungry mouth of yours?" He didn’t say anything, but with a big whoosh, he hoisted himself out of the tub, struggled to get his soaking wet clothes off, blubber shaking the whole time, which I wasn’t about to complain about at all, and then, quickly drying himself, made his way over to the bed. I checked out his cock, which wasn’t as long as mine but was real thick and uncut, which kind of surprised me, and with a sound kind of like "oomph," he plopped down parallel to me on his back, all the goodies lined up between us, making a pillow with his towel, so his head was propped up. In this position, his belly flattened out some, but I could still see the roundness spreading and his navel looked real deep. "You want dessert?" I tore off a hunk of cake and nibbled on it myself. He still didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t figure out if he was embarassed about this, or ashamed, or if this was part of the turn-on for him, having me take charge like this, but he nodded, staring straight into my eyes for a long time, and then parted his lips and closed his eyes. So I started feeding him like that, at first giving him chunks that were way too big, but then realizing that all my fantasies of cramming guys full of food had to be brought into reality and that little bite-size pieces made it easy to just keep the rhythm going, one after another, trying to time his swallows with another little bit ready and waiting, right on the edge of his lips. He was moaning and groaning the whole time from pleasure, making little baby sounds, and I let myself sort of lean over him so I could hear him better, because I found that part of it really, really hot, like he were my son and I was his dad, and I was growing him into a huge fat stud. In fact, pink and round and fat as he was, he sort of looked like a little kid, and so I just started rubbing his belly really affectionately, not like sexual or nothing, rubbing my hands in long, slow circles up from his navel to just under his pecs and back, like I sometimes did on my own kids backs to help them go to sleep. Well, big Gary put away a pound cake, gut getting higher and tighter toward the end and he managed to pack away about a dozen sugar cookies before opening his eyes and saying, "Got a take a break, Doug. Belly’s real full." The look in his eyes made me think he was hurting, but the smile on his face told me a different story. So, I raised my eyebrows, said, "Hey, sure," but since he had responded so well to me being kind of a mean bastard, I decided to keep it up, and sat back, took one of those heavily iced cupcakes in my hand and began to lick it off. "Man, is this shit ever good! I don’t usually eat this stuff, but now I see why you fatguys like it. Real sweet. Real soft." My cock was jutting straight up against my own flat belly and I just thinking about all those chicks I had see in the Playboy movies and the way that they made you really believe that they didn’t want to do anything but go down on that guy’s prick, like they were living to suck that fat cock. So thinking of that, I made love to that sweet cupcake like I’ve never made love to anything. "I mean, you can’t be full yet. Big dude like you. You gotta wanta just taste this, don’t you? You don’t want me eating all your treats up, do you, bigguy?" I started making little thwacking sounds with my lips, thinking that might do it, and sure enough, Gary closed his eyes again and opened his mouth, my signal to start feeding. Well, getting this round down him was a little more work, and in all honesty, I started feeling a little sorry for him, because his gut really did start to look like a beachball and there was an edge to his groaning that made me think we were moving past pleasure into pain. But the fact was, the whole time, his cock was hard as a rock, drooling like a hose pipe and he opened his mouth to whatever I offered. After the last cupcake, he was breathing real hard, his eyes sort of rolling back in his head. "I’m like getting a sugar rush or something," and I don’t know what made me do it, I guess instinct, but I grabbed his cock and began to slowly give him a handjob. I’d never touched another guy’s cock before, this was the first time, yet the position we were in made it easy for me, you know, side by side, kind of like I was jacking myself off. "Breathe deep, baby. Just breathe into your belly. Make a little room in there." The back of my hand was stroking his lower belly and I could feel him doing what I was saying. "You just gotta keep breathing. It’s like any kinda training. You know what I’m saying." His prick was really slimy, which wasn’t my most favorite part of this, but he started to clench his big ass with every stroke of mine and the movement seemed to make him more comfortable. "That’s right," I prompted him. "Get into it. Fuck my fist. Come on, you’re fat and happy, ain’t you?" He knocked my hand away suddenly and grabbed himself, a sign the big guy wasn’t going to be lasting too much longer. Staring right into my face, he croaked out, "Eclair," and fumbling a bit, I managed to lay hold of an eclair, aiming it right into his open mouth as his whole body tensed and released. It was an amazing sight, seeing this overfed guy cumming next to me, a sight I had only dreamt of for many years. I could see all his muscles tight, but on top of it all was a big quivering layer of manfat, shaking like jello, the orgasm just shooting through him in waves, his mouth frantically trying to down the eclair I had pushed in it without choking, and again, mostly from instinct I guess, I got on my knees, aimed my own cock straight over his stomach and with no more than five solid pulls, shot my wad on that blubberbelly quivering underneath me. I had cum about a thousand times thinking about this, spewing right on top of a big man’s fat hairy stomach, and it was like I stayed there frozen for a real long, the orgasm absolutely one of the most intense I had ever had, so intense I forced myself to keep my eyes open, to take the whole fucking scene in, and just when I thought I was done, I heard Gary groan, saw his lips smeared with cream and chocolate and damn if I didn’t fucking lose it all over again. This time I let out a yell, because this had never happened to me, cumming twice right on top of each other, and it scared the shit out of me, thought I might be having a convulsion or something, and I guess Gary saw that because he put one of his arms around the back of my neck and using his strength, pulled me straight down on top of him, holding me like a fucking doll against his huge warm soft body, as I just let loose again, thrashing wildly, crying, hunching my prick into his belly. It was like I had been reduced to some kind of animal or something, and all I could think about was trying to stay conscious while I rode this incredible wave of pleasure—not my family, not my job, not my wife, not my kids, not nothing—just this mind-blowing orgasm. All I can say was that it was a good thing Gary was a big strong guy, because he held me good and just let me carry on, all of him shaking underneath me from laughter. I ended up laying completely limp on top of him, drooling between his pecs, panting, feeling my own thighs wedged between his, my cock just sore and throbbing buried in his fat, almost too sensitive for me to touch. Trying to get my own shit together, I mumbled something like "Goddamn. That was a first," and taking stock of the situation without moving, I realized that both of us were pretty much of a mess, between the food, sweat, spit, and cum. He was stroking my head and I responded by reaching up and the back of my own hand against his cheek. "First for me, too," he said, good-humoredly. "You could have warned me you were a wild man." "Then I thought you might get scared off." I managed to say this and sound like I knew what I was talking about. "You know how uptight married guys are." "Don’t I ever!" We both laughed, and after hearing the buzzer for ten minutes, took our time showering. Worst part was realizing suddenly that the only clothes we had were the soaking wet things laying in the corner. "Oh fuck," I said, wringing the shorts and T-shirt out. "Guess I’ll have to say I went to the gym." Gary made a face, holding the shirt. "Wish I could use that excuse. I’m going to have some major explaining to do. Walking down the street, looking like the goddamn Goodyear blimp in a wet T shirt. Least I got my pants." He caught me looking and laughed again. "You are a big prick, aren’t you? Use me and abuse me." I smirked. "Me? What are you talking about? You ever going to call me again or you just gonna just dump me?" He fiddled with his wedding ring, not thinking about it, far as I could tell, but that’s what he was doing. "We’ll see. It’s going to take me a month to digest what you fed me today." I gave him a soft punch in the gut, copping one last feel before we opened the door and went back to real life. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, you got my number. Thursdays are good for me." Then I handed him the four eclairs left over in the box. "Here, share these with the wife and kids. My compliments." He stuck his tongue out. "You are a prick, aren’t you?" Guess I fed him good, because I never heard from him again. I did hear from a lot of gay guys who didn’t seem to be able to read, though, or who musta thought I was kidding when I said I was looking for straight, married guys. I didn’t answer any of them, mostly because the pics they sent didn’t do much for me, but also it was clear that they were looking for love in all the wrong places, as far as I could tell. I was certainly not going to be throwing my whole life down the toilet for a little gainer fun on the side. Plus, I couldn’t figure out what to say without sounding, you know, like an asshole. What was I supposed to say--"Sorry, I don’t get into fat queens," which is what they were. My momma always said, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. So I just didn’t write back. Anyway, a month or so passed and then, finally, I got a note someone who could not only read English but wrote me quite an intelligent-sounding letter, by the name of George. Said he was a college professor, kids grown up, wife away a lot and said he was doing all the exploration he had put off for all these years. Clicking on the attachment, a pic came up that did a number on me—him wearing a Speedo on the beach, taken from below, big goofy smile on his bearded face, eyes squinting from the the sun, and what looked like quite a hefty, hairy belly and big soft manpecs, real dark tan. I popped a big boner immediately, not so much because he was a fat fox, which he was, but really because he was the spitting image of my father-in-law. That, I will say, felt a little weird, jacking off thinking about Russell while looking at this guy George’s picture, but after cumming, I knew I’d have to get together with this dude, just to push the envelope. He was real friendly on the phone and very well-spoken, so I knew he wasn’t giving me a line about him being a professor and all. This put me immediately at ease and we shot the shit some, all the usual stuff—no, the wives didn’t know, yes, we had both been into this for as long as we could remember, no, we weren’t looking for romance, just play—moving quickly to "how’s your schedule look?" When I said it looked good, name a day, he said, "I don’t know what you usually do, but may I suggest this? Let’s meet at La Picante for a little Mexican fiesta and then, if you can wait till next Friday, I’m going to have the whole house to myself." "How come?" He chuckled. "My wife travels a lot on business. She’s an entertainement lawyer. It does make it convenient, however. I got very tired of having sex with my socks and shoes on. Plus, going out to eat makes it easy, get filled up, do a little take-out and finish it off in the privacy of my own boudoir. You want to see if you can help me beat my taco record?" "Yeah?" I had cruised all the eating contest sites in the course of my websurfing, and knew this kind of turned me on. "How many?" "So far 21, at a single sitting. But that was when I was a mere slip of a thing at 245." I felt myself get real hard real quick. "And what’s the weight now?" "Hovering around 270. Need help to push that needle over. You up for some pushing, Doug?" I was up for some pushing, all right. I had always dreamt about being with a guy that huge, seeing how far I could take him. So I was definitely up, no problem, except maybe keeping from whacking off right here in my office where any of the Mexicans could walk in, which they usually did without knocking. We decided to meet on Friday after work, and that whole week I jerked off over his pic, thinking about rubbing suntan oil all over that gut. I also found myself saying, "Daddy" when I came, which freaked me out a little, but I tried not to think about that too much. I wanted to get there early, order some stuff like margaritas the place was famous for and sort of set the stage, but the professor beat me to it, already camped out at the table with a basket of chips, three bowls of salsa, and a frosty pitcher waiting. He rose, looking hefty and preppy, wearing a snug striped button down and khakis with the pockets flaring a bit on account of what I saw was a big rumproast on him. He was a lot darker and hairier looking in person and a lot bigger than the pic he had sent, looked to be about ten years older than me. The handshake was strong, and the smile was real friendly. I liked him right away and felt like I was with someone who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. It felt kind of good to not have to be in charge. He piled the chips into his mouth in a steady stream while talking. Looked to me like he was a born eater, and when I said something, he laughed a little, wiping sauce off his beard and licking his fingers off. "Yeah, I eat like a breathe. Spent most of my life trying to hold back, but once the kids left, I said, ‘Fuck it, life’s too short.’" "Does the wife give you trouble about the weight?" He waved the waiter over and made a face. "She makes noises like she cares, but she doesn’t. I mean, I think she knows about me, my being bisexual, I mean. I think she’s known for years. Her approach is very ‘don’t ask,’ and mine is very ‘don’t tell.’ So it works. After being married 25 years, it’s not an especially pressing issue. Say, you want something?" I ordered a combination plate, thinking what I didn’t finish, George would get—turned me on thinking about making the big guy eat my leftovers, I have to say. However, George had definitely been through this drill, because he told the waiter that he wanted him to just start bringing tacos in batches of three until he told him to stop. The waiter looked at him strangely, but then I caught the dude checking out the professor’s gut and realized George was for real, so he just nodded and asked, "Chicken, beef or pork?" "One of each. And when you see me start on the third one, you start getting the next three ready." I was stiff as steel down below, something about watching this already fat guy intent on shamelessly pigging out in public was making me nuts, and I think George could sense my excitement, because he poured me another ice-cold margarita and snickered. "I like taking my time, Doug. Don’t you like taking your time? Makes the release so much sweeter." Well, that’s when I knew I had met my match in this one. Fasten your seat belt. This guy knew what he was doing all right. "Yeah? You know that from experience?" "Mmm, mmm, mmm." He struggled to get the last handful of chips down, swigging the rest of his drink like it was Kool-aid and crunching loudly on the ice. "Not as much as I’d like, that’s for sure. I’ve got a very demanding gut. Brought some pics for you." And so what does he do then, but he pulls out a bunch of old photos, tosses them on the table in front of me while we are waiting for the food to arrive, and just sits back, legs spread, belly pulling on the lower buttons of his dress shirt—before food!--looking the spider that ate the fly, knowing the effect they’d have on me. "Man, you were in great shape, weren’t you!" He had a few photos of him at about age 25 or 30, I was guessing, at the beach, wearing some real little bikini thing. "Where’s this?" The tacos arrived and he dug in, slurping them up, one bite taking care of half, cheeks stuffed and munching contentedly. "Greece. Family’s Greek. Used to have to visit grandma every summer. Tight gut, huh? I think I was 32’ there." It was hard to believe this was the same guy, really, because in the photos he could have only weighed about what I was weighing, 175, 180. "Really?" "Oh yeah. I was 32" for years. You know, until this." He rubbed his hands around the circumference, taking the opportunity to sling his belt down a little farther and push out his stomach. "I think this fellow measured 50" last weekend." He smiled wickedly. "You’re a contractor, aren’t you? You measure things for a living. That’s makes 18 inches of fat in five years. I don’t tell a lot of people. And a good 80 pounds or so, right? 180, 270. Guess 90. I’ve never paid much attention to the scale till lately. I started eating whatever I wanted whenever I wanted and figured I’ll end up weighing whatever I weigh. Once I got to 250, though, I figured I might as well shoot for a 100 pound gain. That’s been a bit more work than I thought it would be." He leaned forward to catch the drippings of the third taco and I could see his tongue darting in and out of his furry mouth, all red and wet. I wondered if he liked to suck dick. "Hey, why not?" I tried to sound casual and not to stare too much, but the real story was that I was pretty fucking mesmerized. I picked at my food and when the waiter didn’t do as he was told and the tacos didn’t arrive, I decided to give it my own shot, taking one of the tacos off and giving George the rest of the plate loaded with rice, beans, two enchiladas and two big greasy chile rellenos. I didn’t say anything. "So you aren’t going to finish that, huh?" he said, pulling the plate closer toward him, so the edge was almost touching the top of his gut. "Funny, you look real hungry. Or is that blush just the alcohol?" I acted cool but really all I wanted to do was fucking jump his fat ass right there. It was also pretty damn clear though that the professor was in charge of this. So what else did I have to do but toss back my margaritas and watch him eat. And man, did he eat! We were at that fucking restaurant for every little bit of two hours, between him announcing that it was time for what he called "a short hiatus" which meant him shifting around trying to get his now beachball-sized stomach into a position for further feeding, making conversation with me about the wife and kids, as if we was two old buddies catching up, and then starting in for another round. Around taco 18 or 19, he let out a very polite burp and then scooted himself to the end of the chair, letting his gut sag between his legs, elbows on the table, letting gravity make some more room. "You want to help me break my record, don’t you?" "Hey, sure, man. That’s why I’m here." He lowered his voice, as the waiter placed another three tacos in front of him and walked away. "Then this is how you help. Tell me what you like to do." At first I didn’t get it. "Like what do you mean, do?" He wiggled his eyebrows and picked up a taco. He was practically whispering. "You know, do. When you are with a guy." I couldn’t believe it. We were in a crowded restaurant. I was very turned and also very self-conscious, and he knew it. He also knew that I wasn’t going to say no to him. "Well, it’s time for the truth," I finally said. "I ain’t done much." He was munching away, words a little jumbled. "You fuck?" I looked around, hoping no one could hear him but sort of getting off on being so public at the same time. It was really a mindtrip, that I have to say. "Never fucked a guy. No." "Just handjobs then, like in the car, in the park. Right?" I continued to squirm like a deer in the headlights, watching him pile in the 20th taco. "Nope, ain’t done that either." "Tell you what, Doug." He picked up the last taco, full of shredded pork and cheese, and held it in front of his mouth. It was dripping red grease off the end onto his plate. "You want to see me break my record, don’t you?" "Absolutely, man. I want to see you eat that." It sounded lame, but I didn’t know what else to say. "Then you’ll let me suck your dick, won’t you? How’s that sound?" This dude was really out there, I remembered thinking, and I was so strung out at this point, I just bust out laughing at the whole thing. I figured, shit, I might as well say yes, since he had fucking read my mind. He was cool as a cucumber, though, waving that damn taco in front of his mouth, staring me down like he had just asked what time it was. Finally, I pulled myself together, stopped laughing and said, "Hell yeah," figuring I didn’t have to keep my promise, even if he did eat that damn taco. Truth was his mouth looked pretty damn fine for cocksucking, that I had to admit, and I was hoping that I wasn’t wearing a cooz spot of my own in the crotch by now. I don’t think I have been so hard for so long since high school. "Come on, eat it, cocksucker," I said, wearing a big grin. "Earn your keep, you fat fuck." Which evidently got him completely hot, because I have never seen anyone eat and whip out a $50 bill, keep the change and make for the door so fast in my whole life. "Follow me home," he said, waddling toward his brand-new Cherokee, big ass cheeks fighting to get out those khakis, basket almost as swollen high and hard as his belly full of food. Well, the professor was definitely an education for this hound dog. He sucked me not once but twice, the first time barely in the door of his fancy home in the hills, opening my pants and fly with one hand like he had gotten a master’s degree in doing married men on the run. I came in about ten seconds flat and he slurped me all up, getting on his feet and telling me, "Just to drain off the tension. Call it an hors d’oeuvre." The second time was much better, him taking great care of me after he had gotten me all hot and bothered again with that ass of his. Turns out that he got into this very specific sex thing: he pulled his pants down right under the cheeks of his ass, pulled his shirt tails up, so that his humongous soft cheeks sort of squeezed or jutted out in the space between, which is when he wanted me to start patting them—not slapping or spanking them, just jiggling. We were in his bedroom at this point and I have to admit the whole thing was really a trip, because he had positioned us so I could see the two of us reflected in the full-length mirror on the closet door off the mirror on the nightstand where all his wife’s shit was, hairbrushes, make-up, lipsticks Of course, he could see himself too, watching my hands on his cheeks, shaking his fat, watching me get into it with two hands, getting a rhythm going, each buttcheek bouncing up and down. "Rough hands," he grunted out at one point, pulling on his own cock with his eyes half-closed. "Like that." "Like that?" I said, giving him a little bit of a slap, making him jump. "Yeah, keep it up. I’m so fucking fat. I’m so fucking fat," which he just said over and over again until he shot onto the carpet, with me watching him in the mirror from behind, all of his blubber shaking under its own power at that point. I had such a big boner then I actually thought about maybe porking the guy, after all, his ass was right there practically begging for it and I was ready to go off again, but then I thought maybe that’s what he wanted to do all this for and I backed off, decided an another long, excellent bj would do fine. He was in fact a very excellent cocksucker, but my theory is that most gainers are. What do you call it, oral fixation? He lived for my dick for about a half hour, cupping his big titties the whole time and moaning, and it felt great, standing there, my hands on my hips, my big old prong wet and warm, feeling him suck that second load right out of me. I didn’t have to do shit, just come in his mouth a second time, and the look on his face was just priceless, like he’d won the Kentucky Derby. Now, trippy as the whole scene was, you can’t argue with getting two great blowjobs in a day, can you? It’s the kind of thing that I think maybe only a married guy can really bend his mind around, lucky as we are to maybe get one good blowjob every year. And the professor was digging it big time, no hesitation, no whining, just pigging out on cock, my cock. That was when I decided I liked doing gainerguys for real, right there in George’s bedroom in the hills, and on the way home, I was hoping that the professor might turn out to be a very useful tension reliever for those days when you just need to get off and you know that it ain’t going to be happening at home. Shit, this stuff was great, I thought: I didn’t even have to pay for dinner. He could be my fat cocksucking daddybear any old day he wanted. . . . Well, the thing with George went on for a bunch of months, as a matter of fact. His wife was traveling a lot that summer, some case of hers she was working on, and he’d call whenever she was gone. It got to the point I’d answer the phone at work and all I’d hear was "I’m hungry," which meant "Show up at La Picante at 5:30 pm." Which I would. He built his capacity up to a pretty impressive 35 tacos, and so he blimped to way past 300 in a flash. Or I guess I should say, in reality, he didn’t know what he weighed at that point because the scale they had only went up to 300, a fact I never failed to mention as his "breaking the goddamn scale," which always gave him a hard-on when I said it. And talk about quick, easy and painless--he was a married man’s dream come true, a little bit more of a prissy queen than at first glance, I found out, but hell, I wasn’t about to grouse. Even Janine noticed I seemed to be much more relaxed at home after work on those Fridays, and when she said something about it at dinner, I grinned and said "We’re raking in the dough these days with all these jobs. Sure, I’m in a good mood," wondering what she’d do if she knew I was getting my hose drained on a regular basis by a fatman. It was really all I could to keep from cracking up. But then, it all started having an effect. First thing I caught was me staring at big guys wherever I was, sometimes like really obviously without even knowing I was doing it. Going to Home Depot on the southside was like hog heaven—those dudes must do nothing but munch a bunch in the back, because every last one of them is fat-bellied piglets, waddling around the aisle, guts sticking out, and then they’d get up on those ladders, stomachs and lovehandles hanging out of their shirts with me looking up, and whew, sometimes it just got to be too much for me. I had to sometimes literally close my mouth and try to turn away before I gave the whole jig up right there in the power tool aisle. Then it got a little closer to home when my oldest boy Brad came home from school one day and said that he wanted to try out for wrestling this year, but that it meant putting on 25 pounds and what did I think? I didn’t quite know what to say really, because Brad had always been kind of stocky and had taken shit for it from some of the kids growing up, but he said he and his buddy Dan were going to bulk up together, hit the weights, get big. I got the same kind of freaky feeling then as I had had when I had been jacking off to George’s pic that time while thinking about Janine’s father. So, I said it was his decision, just no drugs or I’d bust his ass, and he looked at me like I had three heads, because I had never said anything like that to him before. I didn’t want to start thinking about what it might be like to have a gainer son right under my own roof, but of course I couldn’t help thinking about it and getting turned on, which it made it kind of hard sometimes to relax when I was with George, because I felt mixed up and kind of weird and guilty. But the final straw came when we all finished the Woodward job, this big mother of a custom house that tipped me into a six-figure income bracket and forced me to hire all the Mexican guys I had working for me now. Anyway, we’d been on that for a solid nine months and the day we turned it over, I took the crew out for a party at this divy Mexican bar place where the muchachos all hung out—figured they could use some serious Corona-action after what a pain in the ass the Woodwards had been with all their design changes and demands. So anyway, I’m the only gringo at this place and there’s Miguel, my foreman, who used to be my handyman and is now running the show for me on site, meanwhile there’s also the whole crowd of his friends and relatives he had me hire who did a good job for me after all because they appreciated getting the steady work so much instead of all that shitty day labor. The cholos are getting plenty blitzed, dancing and carrying on, and I’m feeling no pain either after an easy five or six Coronas, so I go outside for from fresh air and a smoke, about ready to take off when Justino, Miguel’s brother-in-law, comes out, this little fireplug of a Mexican guy, pretty quiet, never said much, to me or to anyone. Justino looks wasted and fumbling lights up a cigarette, too. "I just wanted to say thanks for the work, Senor Douglas. It’s been hard getting jobs, you know." I shrugged and smiled politely, realizing just how buzzed I was. "You all did a good job. Don’t worry about it." So then he’s standing there, shifting back and forth, and if I hadn’t been so shit-faced maybe I could have seen it coming, but then, real casual, he says to me, "You like guys, don’t you?" A chill goes up my spine and I look at him. "What did you say?" I ask him, real sharp, throwing down my cigarette and stamping on it. "I just see the way you look at us. You know, you like guys, too, don’t you, Senor Douglas." Which is when I realized he was fucking trying to come on to me. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was who knows what, but I stand there like I been hit by lightning and it just fucking comes out of me. "Yeah, I like guys. Only I like fat guys." To this day, I can’t believe I said it, but I guess I thought it would throw him off the trail or something. Or maybe I just wasn’t thinking too straight after all the brew. "So, if I get fat, we can do it?" I couldn’t believe he was serious but damn if he didn’t look like he was, all shy and aggressive at the same time. "You are really a hunk, you know what I’m saying. I think you are a real man, you know." "Justino, come on," I tried to brush it off. "Knock that shit off. You’re married, wife’s pregnant. Who are you trying to shit?" His eyes got real wide and that’s when I really felt the fear of God, because he was dead on, no-shit, totally fucking serious. No joke. "I know. She’s all big, and like, I ain’t had any, and I keep seeing you and, senor, you are like driving me crazy. How much you want me? 200? 250?" Well, I sobered up right quick and realized if I didn’t handle this one right, the jig would be up, because this was Miguel’s wife’s sister’s husband and what one of them knows the whole pack of them knows. All of this was just beginning to hit way, way too close to home, so I bust out laughing, mostly from nerves, and tossed the whole thing off like he was pulling a joke on me. "What are you now? 160, 170? Huh? 200, Justino. You weigh in at 200 and we’ll talk. Okay?" And I poked him in the belly and walked off, sweating pouring off me like I’d jumped in a pool. Fun’s over, I decided that night driving home. No more of this shit. It was getting way too complicated. I wasn’t hiding my tracks well enough, not if fucking Justino, who I said maybe two words to in nine months, could tell what was up with me. Then add on to that the fact that the more I got, the more I wanted, and where was that going to end? I was already jerking off twice a day, checking my E-mail for messages all the time, hoping every phone call was George. So that was easy to take care of. I closed my Hotmail account the next day, and next time George called I pushed delete on the machine and hoped he wouldn’t call back. I continued to get a little bit of a break on this score when Brad told me that his buddy Dan flaked out on the training and that actually the wrestling coach told him to lose weight if he wanted to try out for the team. They’d want him to qualify for a lower weight class if possible, not bulk up. We were all at dinner that night and Janine cracked up when Brad said the coach had said, "It ain’t sumo, you know. I want my boys light." "Guess that means no more apple pie, huh?" she said, dishing out dessert. "Give mine to Dad," he said, flashing me a smile. "He’s the one that needs to bulk up." Yup, it was getting way too close to home, all right. That night I deleted all the gainer shit from the computer—all the links to all the sites, all the stories I had downloaded, all the pics. It took about ten minutes to wipe out almost all of a year’s worth of obsession, which made me feel good because I had always been a little worried about Janine or one of the boys coming across it, even with all my passwords and stuff. George did call twice more, even though I hadn’t called him back, and in the last message said he wouldn’t call again, which also made me feel good. So that was that. Chapter closed on a dark corner of my life. I thought a lot about why and how I had gotten onto that track, but really, mostly I tried to forget about it. And I would have been able to, except for Justino. . .. So, my life is going just totally dead-on normal. It’s a warm spring for a change. I go to work, send Miguel out to supervise the jobs, I stick in the office to handle all the bids and estimates, occasionally go on site to check up on the guys, then I go home, kiss Janine, toss a ball with Brad and Corey, go to my parents for dinner on Sundays. Very straight. Very suburban. Until one day, about two months later, late in the day, there’s this big sort of commotion in the shop outside the office, a bunch of wild Spanish, not angry really, but like all excited, laughing and so forth, all the guys coming in from this commercial store downtown we were hired to remodel, a Italian deli. They all sound like they are having fun, and I hear Miguel on top of all the voices, so I saunter out, the big padron and what’s in front of me but a circle of these Mexican guys, one of them holding Justino with his arms behind his back, another two lifting up his shirt, exposing what has become a big round brown soft beachball of a borriga, and no one else but Miguel standing there with his hands on it, looking real thoughtful, occasionally putting an ear right on Justino’s deep bellybutton. They are all chattering away, and Miguel sees me and gestures for me to come over. "Ay, Douglas. What do you say? Is it going to be a boy or a girl?" I look at Justino who looks at me, not doing shit to get away, big dark eyes with this strange, kind of proud expression on his face, looking right the fuck at me, no less, and I hear another of the Mexicans say, "Si, senor Douglas. We are wondering how Justino’s wife got him pregnant. Maybe you deliver before her, ay, papi?" Meanwhile Miguel is bouncing the belly back and forth in his hands, and I’m looking at all the fresh new fat which shaking like a flan, and of course, I’m immediately hard, because I haven’t had any of this for months and months and months. "If he gives birth, I think it’s going to be a pair of twins—burritos!" "He is a big burrito, what you saying. He’s going to have rice and beans." "Yo, Justino, no beer for you tonight!" They had their fun at this point, especially since I was hanging around, being the boss and all, so after a few more pokes, they all let the poor guy go, though he didn’t seem be too worse for the wear, and still laughing went about getting ready to go home. I, however, tried to seem like it was just some harmless fun, too, but I don’t think I did a very good job, because who should follow me into the office but Justino, not even closing the door, just standing on the other side of it, lifting up his shirt and rubbing it, teasing me. "Not 200 yet, senor, but soon. See, I getting big belly for you, papi. You want to touch, too?" I stood there and glared at him, trying to pull off the same lame "I don’t know what the hell you are talking about" act as I did outside of Los Caballeros, and being about as convincing as I was then. "You make me pregnant. I get big and fat for you, papi." He pulled up his shirt and ran his finger under his gut, licking his lips, looking at me. "You the man. I want the man." Behind him, through the crack of the door, I could see them all taking off for home in their broken down cars, Miguel looking around for Justino then shrugging and taking off in his new truck. The place was quiet. "Come on, Justino. Don’t do this. You don’t want to do this. I mean, last time, you were drunk. It was a joke. At least I thought it was a joke." He looked at me hard, real hard, almost buying it and then, I blew it. Without thinking, I pulled on my crotch, and he caught me. "Come on, you, senor. No one know. I promise. Who I tell, my wife? Your wife? Women don’t care. My wife like me big and fat. She feed me like a big pig. Feed me like she eating. Feed me for two. Only she don’t know. Come on, senor. I’m happy, she’s happy. You be happy." And knowing I was completely fucked, really deeply, seriously fucked, what do I do? Well, about the only thing I could do. I walked over and closed the door on the two of us, making sure it was locked. "No one knows?" I asked. He grinned. "Senor, we two married men." In everything he had said to me, it was that happy part that got to me: what was "happy"? What it would feel like? For the time being, though, I tried not to think about things like that, choosing to lose my soul instead, burying my face in all that new warm flesh of his, rolls of manfat grown just for me.

6 notes · View notes

namjoonbitmyfinger · 3 years

Text

Smile for the camera

Pairing: Choi San x reader

Summary: Just you and your bf being soft for each other which ends up hot and heavy between the sheets.

Genre: established relationship, fluff, mentioning of smut, cursing

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 561

A/N: had this sitting in my notes for forever. Also let me know how it is because this is the first serious one I put on this app👉🏽👈🏽

“Babe” You called out for him knowing he’d turn around with his signature smile which he did “mmhmm” he hummed before he realized what you did his face went blank.

“Really” he said after the flash went of in his face “yes really. I want to collect random moment so I can show our kids what a handsome man their dad was!” You answered putting the Polaroid camera away so the pic could develop and kissing him just below his ear letting your lips lingering there just long enough until a hand gripped the back of your head “don’t do it” San warned.

Having your head now sandwiched between his big hands he cranked his neck so he could reach your lips which you thought would be a kiss turned into a make out session instead turned into him licking the tip of your chin all the way to the your sleep, what left behind a thick stripe of saliva and with a satisfying grin he let go and darted out of the living room.

“CHOI FUCKING SAN.... YOU. DID. NOT. JUST. LICK. MY. FACEEEEUH” you started your scream which ended with a whine. “COME HERE YOU DISGUSTING PIECE OF AHHHHHHHHHH” you ran up the stairs into our bedroom where You ran in to 2 arms and got pinned to the wall . “Disgusting piece of what, huh?” San said threatening to come closer to your face, when suddenly San started to tickle you. After a minute or so he asked again “disgusting piece of wha-“ but he got cut off by Métis slamming your lips on to his. With your hands pinned just above your head, You deepened the kiss as You asked for permission by softly biting his bottom lips what got granted by a touch of his own tongue and exploring his mouth for the millionth time but the feeling never changed.

��Oh my god, I didn’t know you had it in you but dear lord was that hot” San said as he pulled you close. “I’m full of surprises, sir!! I’m gonna go and take a shower.. wanna join me?” You asked kissing his chest. “Mmmmh” he inhaled “you do that, in the meanwhile I’ll change the sheets and maybe order in!! I might even join you in the shower.” “But what if the food gets here and we’re still in the shower?” “Well than we have to be quickly don’t we?!” He said slapping you on the ass to get you going.

#choi san #ateez san #san fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez #fanfic #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez wooyoung #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yeosang #ateez yunho #ateez imagines #fluff #8 makes 1 team #san fic #san #sannie

58 notes · View notes

teamsavingmyles · 3 years

Text

Ninette Week Day 3 - Lights

i am very surprised i managed to crank this out HASDKJF but well, they are my comfort rarepair :>

(Song Inspration: la trains by eaj)

AO3 link

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

Sometimes, nighttime patrols reached the hour when the night swallowed up the distant stars into small, buried asterisks in the sky. Those nights took the longest for Ladybug to scour through, trying to protect the little lights that could be snuffed out of the city. Tonight could have been one of those nights, but the newly installed street lights shone through the block as a guiding beacon.

Chat had whistled appreciatively once they saw the stream of light but he didn’t stay for long, an early morning appointment dragging him back home. But Ladybug let the warm, steady streetlights take her away.

Underneath one lamp, she could breathe in relief at how bright but not blindingly bright it was, like the small shine reflected in Nino’s glasses when he video called to share a new movie he found or like the twinkle in his triumphant smile when he arranged the beat drop to land at the perfect timing. It was a gentle, warm light that Ladybug was content to look at before the moment was gone altogether.

But what if she could keep that moment, tucked inside her gallery? Without a second thought, she took out her phone and positioned it to capture the beautiful array of street lights. It took a few minutes of bending down and stretching to form a worthy angle but once it was done, Ladybug couldn’t help but marvel at the photo. She had to send it to Nino.

Wait. What if he’s asleep? Her mind raced around that possibility for a moment before a memory surfaced—the week when she had bouts of insomnia every night. Ambient noise playlists in Youtube wouldn’t ease her circular, paranoid thoughts to sleep nor did complete darkness in her room force her tearful eyes shut. Instead, it was the rhythmic keyboard clicking from Alya’s research, the soft snores from Adrien already deep in sleep, and the gentle lofi beats from Nino’s latest song that pulled her to rest. Their video calls would span for hours but by the end, she would always find herself asleep with the comfort of her friends on late nights with her.

With the memory pushing her worry away, she quickly opens up their messages and sends the picture to him.

[2:08 AM]

marinette sent an image

mari: it’s a really pretty view out here!

if youre still awake though, please go sleep

nino: nah, you alr know my sleeping habits

mari: well someone has to be the responsible adult here

nino: says the one who sends the pic :P

wait howd u even take it

Ladybug’s fingers stilled. Oh. How was she going to explain that she was outside at 2 am, leaning on a lamppost located kilometers away from her house? Bakery excuse?

[2:11 AM]

nino: bruh are you outside rn??

mari: dw that was taken like wayy before now!! like when my parents went to negotiate with flour suppliers at 4 am and i went with them!

nino: hmm and u decided to share it now because ?

Because...because it reminds me of you.

There’s no way I’m saying that! Her cheeks burned red as she tried to shake away the thoughts from her mind. It would never work, she knew, her budding feelings for Nino would keep growing and growing. And she honestly...didn’t mind it.

Because liking him meant trying to see the world as he does—with appreciative eyes for the lights in everyday life like the ordinary but still, beautiful street lights in front of her now. And liking him meant caring for each other even if it led to her embarrassing explanations...

With slight courage in her, she glanced back at the mess of a conversation in her hands and found her answer.

[2:15 AM]

nino: i mean i rlly love it

sorry im just worried if youre actually out rn

it’s been really dark these days

mari: issoki! but yes, dw i’m safe!

thank you as always nini!

*nini

*ninI

autocorrect pls stop

nino: lmaoo its fine

i like you

That was it. She was dead. The night sky (and an already giggling Tikki in the back of her mind) would be the sole witnesses to her demise from him!

nino: I MEAN I LIKE IT

WAIT I

HAHWUDJDJDK

With a kickstart to her heart, Ladybug rose from the dead. Gosh, she really liked this boy.

mari: HAHSHDHHD

no worries!!

i like it too :>

#ninetteweek2021 #ninette #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #nino lahiffe #fluff #ninetteweek #day 3: lights #my writing

38 notes · View notes

hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jjk; angel’s trumpet [04]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 5k a/n; lot of angst in this one!! if your heart aches i urge u to do what i do and hug some stuffies (my current fav stuffie is my bt21baby cooky) i hope u enjoy more of w1!jk, ty for all the love pls share and like if you enjoy!

[03] [04] [05] -> masterpost

W1.

Jungkook is strongly advised not to visit you.

Jungkook has been strongly advised over the past two weeks not to visit you, despite the fact that visitors have been allowed since two days ago considering the fact that you are confirmed comatose.

A coma. You’re in a coma. It’s weird how much the notion echoes in Jungkook’s thoughts, constantly nudging the back of his mind like a petulant child wanting an out. He’s never met anyone who’s been in a coma before, the condition only reserved for late night melodramas and medical movies.

And in all of those shows, the person bedridden until further notice always looks like a wreck. He feels like ripping his heart out at the thought of you with tubes and liquids going in and out of your body, face ashen and devoid of any thought other than pain. He needed to see you, to support you even if you didn’t know.

After days of persistence and Namjoon’s inability to say no to Jungkook, Namjoon agreed to let Jungkook swing by the hospital after his solo recordings. He couldn’t get there fast enough, knowing Namjoon is already there and probably taking care of you.

He takes slow steps to your room, as if trudging through a sea of molasses. Careful to not let his combat boots strike the linoleum, he catches the tail end of a conversation. Your room is large enough for two patients, but so far you’re the only one checked in. There are three other people in your room, concealed by a thin curtain revealing them as shadows. Jungkook lingers behind, staring intently at the shadow of your figure laying in bed.

“How inhiberated was your friend the night of the incident?” Jungkook’s presuming it’s your nurse, going over protocol.

The second voice is Sehlyung, the bubbly coordinator who immediately befriended you the week you got hired. Her voice is no longer chipper, but strained and weak, as if she’s been crying for days.

“I don’t know exactly how much,” she sniffs, “but it was a lot. She had a rough day, I—I just wanted to help her forget a little,” her soft cries reverberate throughout the white-walled room. “I should’ve, I should’ve helped her upstairs. I knew how messed up she was and I left her alone!”

Jungkook’s fists clench beneath his hoodie, familiar moisture creeping into his eyes.

Sehlyung’s words felt like a jab to his form, already aching at the wounds in his own heart. It isn’t the answer the nurse wants, but it seems like the poor woman has been holding in a lot of pent up stress. Namjoon’s trying to placate her, and Jungkook can see the way he’s patting your friend’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “No one’s blaming you, so please don’t blame yourself,” Namjoon’s words are like a balm to the proverbial wound, “Nurse, is it possible to project how long it’ll take until she wakes up?”

“Hard to say,” your nurse replies, and has the decency to sound sad, “it could be weeks, or even months. Judging by her high amount of brain activity however, she’s predicted to awake with very minimal brain damage.”

Brain damage?

“Eventually her insurance will run out however, the longer we need to sustain her will depend on how much her cosigner—”

“Money will not be an issue,” Namjoon cuts in smoothly, almost sounding insulted that the nurse would even bring up such a thing. “We can’t put a price on our precious friend’s life.”

As much as Namjoon’s words alleviated Jungkook’s initial anxieties, the question still stands. Will you come out of this the same person you left? How long will that take, weeks, months, years? He’s extensively Googled before this, reading way too many WebMD articles that he probably shouldn’t have, effectively skewing his perception on the matter.

He fiddles with his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his sweater, clammy from the heat. You’re suffering, and just like Sehlyung, he’s trying very hard not to blame himself.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W2.

Angel’s Trumpet Scientific Name: Brugmansia Order and Family: Polimonailes and Solanaceae Summary: A higher order of nightshade, the Angel’s Trumpet is a show-stopping pendulous flower that hangs like bells. In myth, they were prized as chimes holding magical properties. In modern use, Angel's Trumpets have occasionally been used to create recreational drugs, but the risk of overdose is so high that these uses often have deadly consequences.

So you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life.

You push away from your MacBook, rolling over to your bed to mull. It’s near two in the morning, and you’ve channeled both your love for Buzzfeed Unsolved and your poster making skills in order to construct The Timeline.

Using your somewhat solid memory from the past two weeks and Hoseok’s own timeline from his daycare shift, you spent the entire night plotting as to why you’re in W2 and how you can leave.

Your plan of action is minimal, definitively so because there are no leads other than Sehlyung’s wine dealer, and Jungkook.

Something must’ve been in the angel’s wine, something dangerous. You remember the sky flickering that night, wondering if you were hallucinating or very drunk. Scientifically speaking however, if you really are under the influence of this flower, the hallucinogens should’ve left your body by now.

Unless it’s magic that brought you to this world. As absurd as it is, the notion of magic gets easier and easier to cite as the days go on.

And if it is some form of magic, something tells you that Jungkook has something to do with it. But why?

One: Jungkook’s birth flower, you muse. You think back to how vivid the ink appeared on Jungkook’s skin, how precious the design meant to him. It made you think back to your Jungkook, who couldn’t stop fidgeting as he was so excited to get some serious ink done when visiting a friend in Jeju island. How bright his face glowed after it healed and how proud he was to show it off.

Two: The last thing Jungkook said to you. How coincidental must it be for him to specifically cite your relationship could work in “another world”?

You’re definitely overheating your brain at this point, and you trudge yourself out of bed to make something to eat. If you were going to spiral, you were going to spiral with a full stomach.

The pot as the water starts to boil, crackling and bubbling angrily because you are impatient and cranked up the heat to high. An open ramen block sits on the counter, ready to be softened. Suddenly, the door unclicks and you point your fork at the door. Panic fills you, wondering who could be visiting at this hour.

“Home sweet home!” Taehyung cries, swinging the door open so hard that it reverbs and hits him in the forehead. However he is unfettered, flashing you a toothy smile as he dumps his luggage at his feet. “Care to open another ramen packet for me, roomie?”

You lower your fork, remembering that Taehyung’s due to come back sometime this week. “Welcome back,” you exhale, forcing a smile as you watch Taehyung arrange his mess in a corner, “did you have a good trip?”

“Yeah, Busan’s nice,” he replies easily, dumping his body on the couch. He looks the same, shaggy brown-black hair and mischievous chocolate eyes. He still has an affinity for earth tones and long coats that make his shoulders look good. Despite the fact that you always expect that their counterparts will look alike, it baffles you how easy it is to forget you’re not in your world. “What about you? Why’re up so late?”

“My thesis was bugging me,” you lie easily, “I’m gonna work on it in the library tomorrow.”

“Ah, is that why you’ve been ignoring Jimin’s texts?”

You stop swirling the noodles in your pot, looking up from your spot at the counter. “He told you?”

Truth be told, you haven’t been exactly comfortable conversing with Jimin. You feel a little bad if your alternate self had a thing for the young man, but you know in your heart you definitely did not hold any romantic or sexual attraction towards him.

“Duh. You’ve hurt his heart.”

You scoff, dividing the pale yellow noodles and soup between two bowls. “Jimin’s a big baby, that’s why.”

“C’mon, you love that big baby,” Taehyung jests, “have lunch with us tomorrow during his break,” his eyes are glued to the bowls in your hands, as you carefully walk over to place them on the coffee table. Like an eager puppy, he scrambles off the couch and onto the floor, joining you in your meal.

You bite back a sigh, stuffing your face with hot noodles to give yourself some time. It still grossed you out that you supposedly hooked up with Jimin on the regular, but at the possibility that you were potentially messing up your alternate universes’ life still held you back for telling Jimin to kindly stop sending dick pics.

“If you pick me up from the library tomorrow I’ll come,” you concede, “just don’t make it weird, okay? I’ve had a hard week.”

“Done,” and that became that.

Taehyung and you cite the silence as being exhausted from today’s events, and you two quickly scarfed down your meal and headed off to bed. Another day gone, and another day longer it takes for you to return to your world.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“Your life’s totally an anime movie,”

As much as you love Hoseok’s support, the fact that he’s so excited is a little unnerving.

“You’re like an alien! Or Phil of the Future who’s trying to get back to his timeline!”

“Hoseok…”

“Right, right. Sorry. But think about it,” he jabs a finger in your notebook, citing the pastel pink sticky note where it’s crossed out. “If you fall in love with W2 Jungkook like W1 Jungkook implied, it’ll fulfill your prophecy and you can go back home! And then when you go back home, W1 Jungkook will realize he was being a pussy and then grovel at your knees for forgiveness and—”

“Please stop,” your head is throbbing. The fact that you’re talking about two Jungkooks is terrifying, because it was hard enough for you to handle one Jungkook on their own. “Even so, what’s to say that Jungkook and I really aren’t meant to be? It’s not like W1 Jungkook was wrong. He has a busy life and I know a romantic relationship could add extra stress on him.”

A little part of you felt good to tell another person about your struggles between Jungkook and yours’ unnamed relationship. Of course, you had to catch yourself sometimes when you delve a little too much. Hoseok after all, doesn’t know either Jungkook. You also forget yourself, often muttering a variant of “shut up Hobi you absolute Fruit Loop” when Hoseok gets too giddy. The Hoesok next to you is still just as new of a friend, not this co-worker you’ve spent the better half of two years with.

But back to his theory, while there was no symbolic chime that signaled the start, it grew into a slow, easy love, at least for you. As your and Jungkook’s feelings grew, the more your panic bubbled to the surface. Was it a risk you were both willing to take? Evidently not, from the way Jungkook had slammed the door in your face.

Another reason why you’re hesitant to test the falling in love theory—it’s too easy to fall in love with Jungkook all over again. It scares you. Without his music career in the way, what’s stopping you?

Hoseok squeezes your hand at the way you stare so intently into your timeline, sending you a tender smile, “Don’t think so hard. Even so, a little date won’t hurt, right?” he whispers, picking up his things, “text me if anything happens. My kids are coming soon.”

You give him a halfhearted wave, leaving him to his shift at the daycare. You were so engrossed with the influx of information yesterday that you failed to ask Jungkook for his phone number. This meant that you had to do some intense social media stalking in order to find him. If he’s anything like W1 Jungkook, you’re going to have a hard time finding any updates from him.

“Excuse me? Professor?”

Tilting your head from your notepad, you notice an undergrad had replaced the seat that Hoseok previously occupied. She’s a pretty thing, with long raven black hair and almond shaped eyes. You suddenly feel very ratty and underdressed as a professor, the leggings and oversized sweater with a questionable stain really giving off baked-potato vibes.

“Do… yeon?” you say, remembering her from an email thread you sent a while ago.

She beams, “Yeah! I’m so glad I found you. I know Professor Kim said he’d be absorbing your classes since you’re on leave, but I really need help with my final draft. Professor Kim tried to help me and…”

“Let me guess,” you smirk, “his thoughts were way too convoluted and you need me to get straight to the point.”

Doyeon snaps her fingers, “Exactly!”

While apprehensive with medical knowledge, you can still find confidence in your essay grading skills. You spend the next half hour looking over Doyeon’s paper, pointing out how things she could improve on or articles she could cite. Soon enough, Doyeon texted two other members for her study group, saying that it’s a once-in-a-semester-offer to get some time with you.

And you’re baffled at how easy it is to fall into this professor role. It makes you believe that if you really wanted to, being a professor would also be a perfect job for you. The students are buzzing around your table, excitedly whispering how happy they are to work with you after so long, and that they miss the way you teach your lectures. For two blissful hours, you forget your circumstance and keep your focus entirely on your students.

A loud, obnoxious cough breaks you and your students out of their work bubble. Taehyung is tapping his Valentino loafers impatiently, holding a very large back of what seemed to be you and Jimin’s lunch.

“Sorry kiddos,” Taehyung sing songs, already stuffing your work stuff in your bag, “she promised to go out and have lunch with mature adults.”

“We’re literally like, a couple years younger than you,” Chan scrunches his face, sending you a pleading look.

“Sorry Chan, I did say I was going to have lunch,” you concede, “but please email me if you have any more questions. Otherwise, you’re right on track!”

You wave at the thankful students happily, and Taehyung literally has to drag you out by the arm and shove him into his Uber before you could relent.

“Damn girl,” Taehyung chuckles, relieved to finally get you out of the library, “you didn’t hear me the first three times I was calling you. Chan looked like he was about to rip my head off!”

You shrug lightly, “What can I say, the time really flew with them.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

What a coincidence, you’re in the same place he is, again. More specifically, his new workplace.

How is it possible that you have so many handsome friends? Jungkook is baffled by the way Park Jimin and the dark-haired friend feed you fries like you’re their precious daughter. In response, you scrunch up your nose and push them off, instead deciding to shove five fries in your mouth all at once.

As much as he wanted to ask you out since you admired his tattoos yesterday, he can’t find it in him to go up and interrupt your lunch. Besides, he has work and he doesn’t want to complicate things if Jimin finds out he was the one responsible for nearly running you over the other day.

If he walks fast enough, he can avoid any awkward interaction and make it to his office so he can give the day’s full report—

“Jungkook! Get your cute butt over here and meet my friends!”

Crap.

Trying not to glare daggers at his new co-worker, he places a thin smile on his face as he moves to your table in the corner of the cafeteria. He lets Jimin give the whole spiel on how he hired him, and Jungkook decides to hover awkwardly while the rest of you are sitting. The sun filters its way through the windows and bleeds brightly onto your body, making his throat dry and constrict in awe. Your expression is definitely more positive since that time at the library, and he wonders what he has to do to reach that level of contentment you’re sporting.

“Guys, this is Jungkook. I just hired him last week. He’s like my son.”

“Ewh,” the dark haired guy upturns his nose. “But hi, I’m Taehyung.”

While Jimin goes into detail about how amazing he found his work, he can’t help but notice the fond smile that melts upon your face as you listen intently to Jimin. Jungkook wants to archive that expression on your face and save it to memory, the way you look so pretty with your chin nestled in your hand, turning your head slightly to gaze at him with a look of what—pride? Affection?

“You sound like quite the artist,” you muse, “I would love to see some of your work if Jimin says it’s that good.”

He rubs his head bashfully, clutching the camera hanging on his chest like an anchor. “Oh no, I’m just starting out,” he replies shyly, although he would be lying if he said he didn’t crave the attention you were bestowing on him.

“He’s actually going out to Dongdaemun to get some stuff done for his portfolio,” Jimin pipes up, “hopefully get some good content for the commercial he’s filming.”

“Oh, do you mind if I tag along?” you ask, picking at a hangnail, “I’ve always been so curious about the producing process.”

Jungkook’s eyes dart between Jimin and his friend, noticing the telepathic conversation they’re exchanging between you two. Jungkook’s palms start to sweat, not because Jimin definitely wants to probe, but because you made the first move. You pay no mind to the boys, nonchalantly pushing in your chair as you practically float to Jungkook’s side.

“Wait,” Taehyung recovers first, “you know him?”

You agree with a vague wave of your hand, “we work in the same area.”

Jungkook knows for a fact that’s not true, as you only started appearing in his life when he almost knocked you out. But Jungkook can only nod like a bobblehead, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty.

“I promise to stay out of your way,” you say, “but don’t feel pressured if you don’t want me to go at all!”

“No no, I want you to come!” and Jungkook raises his voice a little too high to be deemed mannerly, and he watches you step back a bit at the sudden intrusion. His face is on fire, especially when there’s a little smirk grazing your lips.

“Well if you want me, you’ll have me.” you flirt, gesturing for him to take the lead.

Jimin and Taehyung’s faces have fallen flat. There’s a stray bit of limp lettuce hanging sadly from Jimin’s lip as he watches Jungkook escort you out of the building. Meanwhile, Jungkook is swallowing the biggest smile on his face. He’s going to spend the rest of the day with you. He doesn’t know if he’s going to get a decent shot in because you’re a definite distraction, but it’s totally worth it if he can get to know you a little better.

You mention that you haven’t walked around Seoul in a while. Jungkook wants to ask more about it, but as open as you display yourself, there’s definitely something guarding you. Jungkook wants to chalk it up behind the whole fiasco of mistaking him for someone else the other day, so he doesn’t want to step on those eggshells again.

But Jungkook is here to work. So he tells you to walk on and lead the way to Dongdaemun while he gets ample footage of the city.

He’s taking pictures of you along the way, but he decides to leave that part out. He likes the way your long red dress swishes in the breeze, the tail end of the fabric brushing against his legs whenever he gets too close.

You stop in front of a pet store, face glowing as you point to their aquarium tank. “Look!” you cry, tugging his sleeve over as if you’re long lost friends, “it’s my boi Nemo!”

He cracks up at your joke, as you excitedly shout to Jungkook that “you found your son!” and it spurs him on to continue his peals of laughter. The joke isn’t that funny but it’s humorous enough coming from you and the smile on your face is enough for him to return one equally as big.

“C’mon,” his fingers brush over the bare skin of your forearm, sending sparks straight to his heart, “it’s getting dark. Just keep swimming.”

Jungkook manages to get some good sunset content before the sky turns navy. He’s not a big fan of photographic tourism spots, but Jimin insisted that the big boss wanted a specific style for their company and he needed to get used to making the usual seem unique.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees you swinging your legs on a nearby bench. You’re munching on a bubble waffle, cheeks puffed as you concentrate on the Cheonggyecheon stream, water babbling.

He’s about to ask you if you want him to take a picture of you, because he thinks you would look beautiful with your dress billowing as you hop over the stones, but he notices the sadness in your face as you gaze at the water.

Lowering his camera, he sees the way your chewing slows, as if you don’t feel like putting anymore effort in the action. Your dimmed gaze seems to peer into a different world, as if you could dive right into the water and transport yourself far, far away from here.

Jungkook takes tentative steps, crouching down from your space at the bench so he would have to look up at you. His hand hovers to balance himself on your thigh, but he thinks better of it and decides to hold onto the wood.

“Can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t comment on the strain in your smile, “Sure.”

“Do I remind you of y’know, him? Your Jungkook?”

Your smile increases, and he doesn’t expect it. Shifting over, you pat the space next to him. It’s a tight fit, and your thighs brush his. “Yes and no. It doesn’t hurt or anything, really,” you answer softly, and you reach for his hand, pulling the long sleeves apart to reveal his tiger lily tattoo. He doesn’t believe your excuse for a damn second, but decides better than to speak against you. “He’s still around, even if he isn’t here. I guess I was just thinking about how we could never go out like this.”

He tenses under your ministrations, and you immediately pick up on it like a sixth sense. “I’m not trying to replace him,” you add, and he tries to relax as you trace the petals on his arm, “I’m sorry if you felt that way. But it’s... impossible to compare you to him, really.”

“So, would you be interested in seeing me again?”

“I’d be upset if you weren’t, Kook.” you manage to pout, and you slide your hand down to thread your fingers between his. “Can I take you out on a date?”

“Only if I can take you out on one after.”

And it’s easy for the both of you to forget your circumstances, at least for tonight.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Jungkook drops you off at your apartment soon after, and it feels nice to kick off your shoes and place your bare feet on your soft carpet.

Your roommate’s feet are propped up, covered by a fuzzy grapefruit-colored blanket. Taehyung stretches his head from the couch to throw you a teasing smile, “Sooo, how was your night?”

Instead, you point a finger at the flatscreen playing some Korean drama. “Is that Jin?” you balk.

Taehyung cranes his neck to where he paused the drama. The man on the screen is definitely Kim Seokjin, judging from the plush lips and irritatingly symmetrical face. He looks absolutely comical in his Joseon get up and mustache, and you’re not surprised that he made it to the acting industry.

“Kim Seokjin? Yeahhhh,” Taehyung melts, relaxing into the couch, “that man is so fine I just want him to bend me over that little well and—”

You physically gag, causing Taehyung to break into peals of laughter, forgetting about his fruitless celebrity crush. Only you would never forget this interaction, the words currently searing into your memory at the thought of seeing Seokjin and Taehyung in the same room when you manage to return. “So?” he goads, “Jungkook? He looked like a scared bunny when Jimin glared at him.”

“It was… good,” you settle as an answer, reaching over to ruffle Taehyung’s messy bed head. “I like him, Tae.”

“That’s good,” Taehyung nods, “you deserve more happiness in your life.”

“You think so?”

“I know so!” Taehyung jerks up, punching his fist in the air. You giggle at his antics, and he ushers you over to the couch, “good things are coming, y/n. I can feel it.”

You don’t tell him, but you can feel it too. Sharing his blanket you snuggle further into the couch, asking questions about the famous actor Kim Seokjin and his litany of dramas he’s filmed under his belt. Tonight, falling asleep next to Taehyung, you have the best night’s sleep in weeks.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1.

Jungkook sits in your sickness.

Namjoon says he doesn’t have to, doesn’t need to stay the night. You’ll be fine, your family will come in the morning and care for you. For once, Jungkook tucks his tail and says he wants to, even compromises to bring his work so he doesn’t miss a deadline.

But he can barely get a bar in because he’s too focused on you, your form all-encompassing as he makes sure you’re well-taken care of. Sehlyung dropped off your things from the apartment, carefully packed neatly in a duffle bag you’ve never used.

Soft, lo-fi hip hop plays from his computer speakers as he takes the time to nurture you, care for you. It’s dark outside, the only light emanating from the hallway and a dim desk lamp. He’s done his research, making sure to keep you as clean as you would like to be. He brushes your hair, takes the time to remove the tangles and pin it out of your face. His hands are slightly greasy when he’s done, and his hand falls to your hospital sleeve.

“I wonder how I should wash your hair,” he says aloud, “maybe I can get a small basin or something? It’s not the first time I washed your hair, remember when you sprained your arm after we snuck around in Dongdaemun?” he smiles at your peaceful expression, neutral, “you were such a baby, didn’t feel like shampooing with one hand.”

Talking is also good, too. They say that sometimes the patient can hear and recall conversations family and friends have shared. It’s a little jarring to them, almost like they’re drowning in their heads and unable to bubble up to the surface to reply, but it’s still reassuring to hear familiar voices.

He massages your limbs with lavender scented baby lotion, making sure your body isn’t wasting away and stretches your fingers and toes. You’d have a fit if you didn’t do your whole lotion routine daily, wanting to be soft and huggable at all times of the day. He puts on a pair of pink bunny socks, making sure your feet don’t get too cold in the sterile room.

Running out of things to talk about, he settles for singing along to his playlist, knowing how much you loved to fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He’s tired and he doesn’t feel one-hundred percent, but he hopes you appreciate the sentiment either way.

Weaving through the wires and cords that sustain you he places your hand in his larger one. Jungkook wishes he could care for you everyday like this, treat your body like a temple and wait for you to wake up. Resting his head on the mattress, his soft locks brush against your thigh unkempt as he focuses on tracing words on your palm.

Lavender. Chicken. Netflix.

Your nurse steps in, giving Jungkook a polite wave as she does her nightly rounds. He mumbles a half-hearted greeting in response, immersed in working between the lines on your soft skin as he traces character by character. Your nurse is quick with her work as she checks things off on her iPad and checks the machines that keep them informed. As if she’s intruding on an intimate moment, she types her findings faster.

JK. y/n. Still with you. Sorry. Love.

Your hand twitches in his grasp. It’s minuscule, a brief curl of your fingers. The pad of your thumb barely brushes his knuckle and Jungkook’s reeling. It’s only half a second, but Jungkook cries “whoa!” and sits up straight, startling your nurse, “she’s moving!”

Your nurse smiles sadly at the sparkles of hope in his eyes. “It’s only muscle spasms, Jungkook. It happens sometimes,” and she catches herself before Jungkook’s shoulders deflate and sink into the floor, “but see her eyes?”

He blinks, watching as the nurse gestures to your face. She’s right, your eyes are movie, flickering back and forth. Your lids may not be open, but the movement is there.

“She’s either dreaming or really listening to you, Jungkook,” your nurse murmurs fondly, “make sure you keep her entertained, being in a coma is awfully boring.”

Jungkook thanks her, sending a terse smile as she whisks herself away. He squeezes your hand firmly, wishing you would give him another sign. He feels like he’s chasing you now, reaching out to you, talking to you in hopes you’ll reply. It’s ironic, considering this time he’s not sure if you’ll turn around this time, bounce back as you once were.

Wiping the wetness from his eyes, he tucks you in and scoots his chair closer to your bed. “Wake up soon, yeah? We’re waiting for you,” he whispers, holding your hand next to his head as he tries to fall asleep.

Tonight, he’s dreamless.

#jungkook fic #bts fic #goldenclosetnet #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios

285 notes · View notes

vegetacide · 4 years

Photo

Veggie art’ing Part II complete… This is a continuation of THIS

Also for something a bit new as I had several notes asking what was going on with the previous pic I wrote a little something to accompany this. It took a rather unexpected direction on me as I had ordinally intended for this to be a reconciliation picture.. Just were my mind veered for some reason.. I blame these two idiots…

I have spent far too long plunking away at this so bare with me if its absolutely crap.

Anyway.. if you wish to read it.. look check out below

Working title: …haven’t come up with one yet.. meh. Sue me

Blanket warning: Hints to adult subject matter that some might find offensive or triggery..mentions of past trama…. etc etc

Rating: Teen.. I guess

Word count: 2726 words

Characters: Virgil/Kayo

Fandom: TaG’verse A/U

Location: My made up beach house located somewhere on Tracy Island..

Veggie notes: Any errors are completely my own and I am sure I will catch them at some point on one of my obsessive read throughs of self doubt. :D

Enjoy…

o0o

Damn, how in the world had it come to this?

Virgil watched as she padded on quiet, bare feet across the beach house deck. Retreating again and effectively shutting him out. Her slender shoulders so small under the too big flannel of his shirt, were hunched as she protectively wrapped her arms around herself. Closing off like she always did when things got too close and too real for her to deal with.

His chest hurt, a dull ache behind his breast bone and he rubbed at it subconsciously. Like his heart was too big and in its floundering it was trying to break through the meager sack of flesh that housed it.

Cursing, he rubbed at it again and resisted the urge to drive his fist in the plastered wall of the beach house. The effort wouldn’t serve any meaningful purpose anyways other than splitting his knuckles. There was no detracting from his present circumstances and potential broken bones wouldn’t change that.

He should have taken more care with his words instead of letting his thoughts run free as he did and he kicked himself for his short sightedness, not that it fixed anything. He’d been too caught up in his own little world, completely forgetting the reality they were living and now here they were.

On opposing ends of a vast chasm. Him holding on with all his might to keep his family whole while Kayo fought against it. The horrible twisted image of family that a mad man had imprinted on her at too young an age warping her view on things to the detriment of them both. An idea she had been fighting her whole life to make different and one she couldn’t escape, it seemed no matter how hard they tried to.

The old doubts and worries were always just beneath the surface just waiting to spring forth to bugger things up. The present being a prime example.

The morning had started out completely different and felt almost like a dream to where they were now. Warm and lazy with a vague like quality one found just upon waking.

Kayo had been snuggled in his arms. Her legs tangled with his among the rumpled sheets. A sweet ocean breeze blowing through the gossamer curtains and dancing pleasantly over their satiated bodies. Wicking the dew of sweat from their skin as their pulses slowed and their minds drifted back from the bliss of carnal sensation.

His fingers had been lazily tracing up and down her back, over the sinewy grace of her shoulders and down the curve of her spine. Paying homage and mapping every glorious inch to his artist brain.

He’d been lost in a day dream of what could be. The gentle rise of her hip, the varied valleys of her ribs directing the course of his thoughts. A picture was forming of a future, one that stretched out before them like a blank canvas, waiting for them to take up the brush and fill it with colour and life.

A story in images had started to sketch itself in his mind’s eye. The two of them, together. Healing, growing and evolving with a world of opportunity before them and nothing to hold them back.

Not being able to contain himself as he lazed with her, Virgil had voiced his thoughts. Letting loose all that he’d hoped for. A tumble of words spewing forth that had Kayo suddenly growing still and stiff to his touch.

“Virgil, stop…” Had been all she’d uttered before she’d turned from his embrace and slipped from the soft comfort of their bed. Her hair a tumble of love tousled ebony, hiding her face.

“It would be a nice picture to paint.” He’d replied, mind still on other things and not on the present. “Go anywhere, wherever we want. Take in the sights for a change instead of just jetting by them. Go to that little cabin by that lake I told you about… it would be a perfect spot to..”

“Enough! …” The abruptness of her raised voice had him snapping his jaw shut.

With jerking motions, she’d grabbed up his shirt. The match to his favourite pair of lounge pants. The one she loved to cozy into and entice him with. A glimpse of flesh here as it rode up her thighs, a flash there as supple mounds peaked out between the row of loosed buttons. Now though it covered her in a different manner entirely. Like a shield, she clasped it tightly

He’d pushed up to his elbows, brows dropped low with concern as he’d finally taken note that something wasn’t quite right.. “Kay?"

She’d cast her gaze back at him then. The briefest of looks had been enough for him to catch the shadow of disquiet in them. Their usual vibrancy muddied by brewing clouds of anger that had him sliding from the sheets and reaching for her.

“Don’t.” Was all she said, shaking her head as he’d risen and moved towards her. Her hands held aloft to hold him back as she’d strode from the room.

“What… Tin, what’s going on?”

Grabbing up his pants Virgil had stumbled after her, hopping as he yanked them on amid a litany of colourful words.

“Shit… Wait..”

Steps later he was confronted by a fury he hadn’t expected considering where and what they had been doing mere moments before.

She had been pacing like a caged animal, across the expanse of the living room and back again. Rage flowing from her with each hurried step.

“What…?” Was all he managed to say before she turned on him. Fire in her gaze, colour high on her cheeks.

“You know what?” She seethed, poking a finger in his direction as she did another circuit of the room.

He’s own anger bubbled to the surface, “Actually, I don’t. So would you enlighten me to whatever erroneous infraction it is that you think that I’ve done?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You know exactly what the problem is.”

Virgil’s brows shot up as her words had struck a chord in his grey matter. “Problem? You really think…”

“What in the hell were we thinking?!” She growled out, shoving a chair out to the way and knocking it over with a crash. “Selfish..Stupid.”

“With the lives we lead….You can’t ask this of me!”

Her words had been like a physical blow and Virgil had taken an involuntary step back. She’d wanted her words to hurt and she’d succeeded. She never did pull her punches and her aim was as impeccable as ever.

He’d seen the realization of what she’d said flicker through her gaze but she’d quickly buried it. Instead of saying more, she shook her head, turned her back on him once more and walked out the open sliding doors putting more than just distance between them.

And he’d let her go, his shoulders slumping at the writing between the lines of what had been said. In his mind there was only one option open to them but maybe for her that wasn’t the case. The implications of those options was something he couldn’t dare to fathom…but it was a road he wouldn’t let her travel down alone.

He had a responsibility to uphold, as her husband and as the man he prided himself on being. A rescuer in dark times, when there was no one else capable of the job and sometimes those that needed rescuing were closer to home.

Squaring his shoulders he went after her. She was begging for a fight. An obvious distraction from the core reasoning behind her lashing out at him but he wouldn’t take her up on the invitation. He wouldn’t let her push him away to deal with whatever this was on her own.

Passing through the doors, his eyes scanned over the deck and his breath had caught.

She looked so small, fragile and it had brought him up short. Slumping, he braced himself between a support post and the beach house wall. An uncanny exhaustion suffusing him as he saw the uphill battle of the task ahead. A task he was determined to see through to the end, no matter the outcome.

He hated seeing her like this and despite her best efforts to push him away, Virgil knew her too well. Had spent most of his life knowing her. He could read her nuances, gestures and mood even when she tried to close off from him like she was trying to do now under a mask of anger.

“Tin,” He said carefully, dropping his hand and pushing away from the post. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, letting the tension slip from his shoulders. Approaching her with all guns blazing would only crank her defenses up higher and wouldn’t get them anywhere.

He watched her stance with a practiced eye as he stepped closer. She was like an abused animal. Even with all of her training, when she was emotionally compromised as she was right now the scared little girl she had been came to the fore. The one they met when she’d first came to live with them, hiding behind her father’s leg.

He hadn’t known her history then, the actions of her uncle and the effect that it would have on the rest of her life. How it would shape her into the strong, determined woman she was today. Never letting anyone get close enough to see the frightened child she closeted away inside. Virgil though had managed to find his way inside, found the cracks in her apparent impenetrable armour and had broken through to the core of the woman inside. The one she tried desperately to hide from the world in a shell of fierce resolve and purpose.

Under it all was a woman, who had seen too much. Abused, battered, basically orphaned by her absentee father and desperately afraid. To top it all off, she hated the weakness and fought tooth and nail to hide it from everyone. With the exception of him, she didn’t have a choice there. He’d wormed his way in and he wouldn’t stand by and let her retreat from herself or from him.

Gently he placed his hands on her tight shoulders, cupping their slender, wavering strength and he whispered her name again. “Tanusha…”

Her head bowed further, a meager attempt to hide in the fall of her hair but he could feel the quiver in her body now, hear the soft stuttered intake of her breath. She was crying and trying oh so hard not to be.

Pain and love swelled through his chest, and an undeniable protectiveness.

Virgil pulled her back into his embrace, encircling his arms around her waist and with little resistance she melted.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered over the curve of her ear, brushing his lips across the elven-like arch of it. “I’m so sorry.”

He put all his love he could into the words, hoping that by apologizing for something he wasn’t wholly the cause of would help alleviate her suffering in some way.

“I wasn’t thinking and it was insensitive of me.” He tightened his hold on her, reassurance imbued into the gesture and slowly began to rock giving her the time to pull herself back together again.

The slight tremor slowly dissipated, her breathing settling into a somewhat normal rhythm and he knew that she was ready to hear. More so when she dragged in a ragged breath and exhaled a long drawn out sigh. He could almost hear her counting to ten in her head. A method she used to reign back in some of her control and a calm he knew well creeped back in. One that camouflaged a great deal of hurt.

He did the same, his warm breath stirring her hair and ghosting across the smooth column of her neck which peeked out from the drooping collar of his shirt.

“You know we’ve got this, right?” He questioned though he wasn’t expecting an answer. “Yes, he’s out…” She stilled once more in his hold but Virgil couldn’t stop now, Kayo needed to hear this even if it was just a band-aid to the problem. He couldn’t sit by and let her lose herself in fear so he pushed on. There was too much at stake.

“Yes, he’s upped his game in a big way. Dad knew he was capable, your Dad knew….” A flinch at the mention of the absentee man but again he pressed on. There was no backing down now. What he had to say, needed to be said.

“We were unprepared but we know better now and I promise you, Tanusha Kyrano Tracy; just like I did on the day you said ‘Yes’.. That I will never, ever let that man hurt you again.”

He slipped a hand down, between the soft folds of flannel, across her silky, soft skin that concealed honed muscle and deadly skills. Brushed the edge of fine lace and stilled, cupped and shielded that which was only known to the two of them.

With strength of purpose his chest swelled, a determination unlike any he had ever known bulked up the threat behind his next words. “I’ll do everything in my power to protect both of you, I swear it or the Hood will regret the day he heard the name Tracy.”

She turned, taking his hand in her own and lightly brushing her lips across his knuckles. “You’re too good for me Virgil Grissom Tracy and I don’t deserve you.”

The brief storm of anger has fled from her eyes, leaving behind only doubt and fear. “But I don’t think it’s as easy as that. You’re too good a man to stoop to such levels and I don’t think I could live with myself if you made that sort of sacrifice on my behalf.

Besides, what sort of life could we offer with him out there. He’s already been the cause of so much pain. You and your brother’s have suffered for years because of it..I don’t think I would have the strength if he was to get you or….”

Virgil’s frowned. “Tin, I married you. All of you and everything you brought with you. I knew full well what I was marrying into but that man, that bastard… he can’t come between us and what we want unless you let him.”

Her gaze dropped and with gentle fingers he lifted her chin and waited for her to meet his pleading eyes. “Don’t let him win… not in this. Please God, not in this.”

“We may not have a choice…” Came the whisper of her response, her forehead resting against his own as a lingering tear slipped from her lashes.

“Tin, please….”

“Virgil, I love you. God, how I love you but I can’t tell you what you want to hear. Not right now. If the Hood found out….

Just then the island klaxon blared and Virgil’s comms started to ping with urgency.

Kayo took a step back from him and he stared after her. Brain going a mile a minute with words he wanted to say, emotions he wanted to express.

“Go…” She said with resignation, her arms once more crossing over her frame. “You’re needed..”

“I’m needed more here.”

His comms buzzed again followed by the voice of his star loving sibling. “Virgil, you’re needed in Ops. A.S.A.P. Please confirm.””

Conflicted, Virgil stood unmoving, his fist clenched at his side. Trapped between the woman he loved and the life they’d chosen.

“Go, I’ll be here when you get back..”

His brother’s voice sounded again from his comms, pulling him in two directions at once. The hint of stress he picks up in it though had him unfreezing and heading for the underground access to the hanger.

Passing through the automated door and hitting his comms to reply to John, he looked back at Kayo. His heart sinking and doubt filling him as he watched her turn away from him.

Uncertainty prickling across his skin as he questioned the validity of her words but there was nothing he could do right now. Lives were at stack…more so than just those that needed rescuing and his hands were tied…

“FAB John, on my way…”

FIN….????

53 notes · View notes

ciggylungz · 4 years

Text

Boys are weird

BUTTERFLIES AND BANDAIDS- chapter 4

Boys are weird

••

The boy stared down at his best friend. Eyes locked on hers, trying to figure out what to say. His train of thought was halted when he heard a little giggle from Y/N

"I was just joking Haz, you look like you're gonna pass out...am I that ugly?" She stuck her tongue out at the boy and he just shook his head letting out a little chuckle himself.

"Not at all love, just caught me off guard is all" his fingers went up to pinch her cheek before dropping back on her bed. He tried to push the thought out of his head, but he does wonder about how Y/N's lips would feel on his, not just his cheek or forehead like he's used to.

He imagines they'd feel soft, they're rather full and plump. He thinks they'd feel like a little pillows against his. Her cherry chapstick leaving a little layer of grease on his, but he wouldn't mind.

He was brought out of his little day dream by the girl herself, "Harry are you listening to me?" He looked up at her and blinked a few times "sorry love, mind drifted. What were you saying?"

The young girl gave him a little playful eye roll. "I asked how I look, these jeans are new I got them because Emma said they make my butt looks good, thoughts?" She did a little spin and he huffed

"Not gonna comment on your body little love. You know you're beautiful, looks great" he gave her a smile and she returned it.

"Thanks stinky" her little hand held his cheek as she kissed his other one, smiling at him.

"No problem dummy" he blew her a kiss before sitting up and cracking his back.

"You really gonna go to Eli's house? I really don't think it's a good idea, got a bad feeling sweetheart."

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and his eye brows pinched together. The younger girl looked up at him with a tilted head

"What do you mean?"

Harry let out a low sigh and ran his fingers through his chocolate locks trying to find a way to warn her without being a dick.

"Well, sometimes guys can be jerks. Some guys don't have good intentions, they want selfish things and some guys don't take no for an answer and that's what I'm afraid of. Not ever gonna let someone hurt you if I can help it. You're my best friend, still see you like the little girl I met. Just as protective over you as I am over my mum and sister. Care about you sweetheart."

He gave her a warm smile after speaking and she took a second to let it sink in. Looking back at him a nervous look on her pretty eyes

"What do you think he wants from me?"

Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sweater when she asked, nervous energy evident with the slight shake of her fingers.

"I don't know bunny, that's what I'm scared of." He brought his fingers up to push a few curls from her face, rubbing his thumb on her blushing cheeks.

"Okay...I'll tell him I'll reschedule with him...do you wanna do something together instead?"

He gave her a smile, nodding and twirling her hair around his pointer finger.

"Course, always wanna hangout with my girl. Can go to that diner we like tonight? Steal a couple beers from your brothers stash and have a little movie night?"

Y/N smiled at the offer, nodding and holding her hand up, palms smacking and pinkies locking as they did their handshake, purely muscle memory at this point.

"Sounds good. Think Luke is at his friends anyway, he won't care. But for now let's go get some snacks and I gotta get tampons so let's go to the pharmacy."

Harry let out a groan, he may be her best friend but he's never super into hearing about periods or her needs for period products.

"Relax, you're so dramatic. I don't start till next week but I wanna just get them now cus Lily used the last of them, I'm paying for the snacks this time so be nice or I'll eat all of them myself"

She poked his chest and he just nodded chuckling a bit.

"And I'm the dramatic one?"

••

The two teens jogged down the steps of her family home, hopping over the baby gate at the bottom of the steps, greeted by her 3 year old brother Jackson, 8 month old sister Miley and then year old Violet. All of the toddlers looking up at them, instantly getting excited.

The little ones have always loved Harry, and he loved them just as much. He's always wanted to have kids, so they are kinda like his little practice family till he settles down and has his own. Plus making a baby smile is one of his top ten favorite feelings.

Jackson was the first to rush towards the older boy, hugging his leg and smiling

"Hi! I missed you! We play football together?" The little boy looked up at Harry and he smiled down at him, rubbing his head

"Course we can, later yea? Going out with your sissy for a little while. I'll bring you back a surprise though, don't tell your mommy ok?"

He talked lowly like it's a big secret, getting the toddler even more excited as he pinky promised not to tell.

The next one up was Violet, she was a sweetheart just like her older sister but she definitely has a sass that Y/N was too shy to have when she was little.

She lifted her little arms up prompting him to lean down and pick her up, kissing her cheek while settling her on his hip.

"Hey Vi, how are you today?"

The little girl grabbed onto his necklace and smiled at him

"Good Berry, tooked nap!"

The fact she still couldn't say his name, and settled for 'berry' instead still made Y/N giggle sometimes, the boy found it endearing though.

"You took a nap?! That's great! Good job!"

He highfived her tiny hand and kissed her little knuckles before letting her down, watching her run off to the little play area they had in their living room.

Finally Miley managed to scoot her way up to Y/N getting promptly scooped up, she was definitely a lovey little baby. She loved being held, kisses, cuddles any affection anyone wanted to give her, she welcomed. She was a lot like Y/N, they are both the softest most cuddly girls he's ever met. And he still finds it adorable.

The baby babbled a bit, smacking her lips and sticking her tongue out. A new trick she had learned from her older brother. Harry gave her a smile and a kiss on her rosy chubby little cheeks, giving her a quick cuddle and baby talk session before the two teens left the army of infants with their mother and started making their way towards the small pharmacy at the end of the block.

The pair made conversation as they went, mostly Y/N telling him gossip she'd heard, and because he is guilty of being quite the gossip himself, he ate up every bit of it.

"There's no way! You're lying!" He exclaimed as she told him a juicy little bit about a girl she is on the volleyball team with.

"I swear! She really is! She's pregnant, by Austin Lewis!"

She waved her hands around as she talked, both of them shocked at the piece of drama they now were clued in on.

"God, that's gonna be one ugly baby...Austin's an ugly little prick, personality and looks wise. She must be legally blind." The boy chuckled at his own comment, holding the door open for her as they entered the store.

They continued to chat among themselves as they browsed the isles, grabbing snacks and the tampons she came for. Harry made sure to snag a little bouncy ball from a crank machine for Jackson on their way out. Knowing the little boy would lose his mind over the brand new toy.

••

They made it back safe and well, both distributing the snacks and bouncy ball to their intended recipients before marching back up the steps, Y/N snagging 4 beers from her brothers closet on the way and stashing them under her bed for the evening.

The pair sat together talking and simply enjoying each other's company. Both always feeling content even if they are both on their phones not talking, as long as they were in each other's vicinity they were content.

Harry only looked up when he heard an audible gasp from the girl beside him, seeing an immediate blush rush to her face and eyes wide as ever, cocking his eyebrow at the girl.

"What? It looks like you just saw a ghost"

He sat himself up and peeked at her phone screen, eyes widening before squinting when he saw what she was looking at.

A text message from Eli, normal enough until he saw the very graphic dick pic he sent attached to it.

The boy instantly went into protective mode and snatched the phone

"Yea you don't need to look at stuff like that, why did he send you that? You're like 6, no don't look Y/N!" He held the phone away from her grabbing hands and scrolled up the thread of messages.

" 'You sure you're not able to come over tonight?' 'I had something special planned, even got some drinks for us' 'really wish you were coming...' 'know it's a bit unexpected but maybe this might change your mind about coming...got me rock hard just thinking about you baby' what the hell-"

Harry read the texts aloud and cringed at most of them, Y/N blushing like crazy hiding her face in her hands.

"I knew that kid just wanted to sleep with you. He literally sent a picture of his dick mid conversation, he has horrible game bloody hell"

Harry took it upon himself to delete the picture from their texts and send the boy a text himself.

' keep your dick pics to yourself mate, She's 14- Harry'

Sending it off before handing her phone back and blowing out a breath.

"Oh my god...this is the most embarrassing moment of my life...I can't believe you just sent him that text...I can't believe I just saw his penis...I'm- what is even going on?"

The young girl groaned as she finished talking flopping back on her bed, the boy chuckling a bit as he watched her.

"That's high school boys for you. They think with their pricks, not their heads sweetheart. They see you and have one thing on their mind, and I will die before I let you sleep with some guy who has a small dick. Not gonna happen love."

She simply shrugged and gave him the side eye, getting a cheeky smile from the boy who was covering up his sliver of jealousy with his protective tendencies. He knew it was up to her what she did with her body, but he hated the thought of her sleeping with some boy who only wants one thing from her. As much as she is a smart girl, she's still a bit naïve at times. So of course he does what he can to keep her safe.

If he has to endure looking at his classmates penises to keep her protected, then he will.

He secretly felt a bit of an ego boost seeing that kids dick compared to his, Harry knew he had at least 5 inches more than Eli and was a hell of a lot thicker. He knew he was above average in that department but who doesn't love a good confirmation once in a while?

Y/N finally let out a little laugh, starting to lose the embarrassment and find humor in the situation turning to Harry and letting out another laugh

"His dick was...ugly. I've seen others but why did his looks so odd? It was like 4 different colors! Is that normal?"

The boy snorted and laughed with her shaking his head

"Mine isn't, not sure on if it's normal or not. But out of the dicks I've seen in my life his was probably the ugliest."

She smiled at him and poked his side

"You go around looking at penises in your free time Styles?" She raised an eyebrow and he let out another bark of a laugh.

"Not intentionally usually, locker room and porn is usually where I'm exposed to guys bits. Some guys don't care much about just letting it all hang out in the showers"

The girl giggled and sat up a bit. Smiling and laughing quietly to herself while she gets comfortable against her headboard.

"Boys are weird, girls don't get like fully naked usually but I've seen lots of boobs in the locker room. Katie Wilson has really nice boobs, I'm honestly jealous. I have seen Sarah Peters fully naked in the showers, that's really it. I've seen guys in the locker room like twice when I had to go in their locker room to drop off towels and stuff, saw Seth Newman fully naked and Grant like that too, they were definitely not shy about it. A bit uncomfortable."

She let out another laugh and he did the same.

"Boys are weird." He nodded

"You're not that weird though, you're the best boy I've ever met. You haven't sent me Dick pics mid conversation either so you get bonus points for that." She poked his stomach and smiled.

"I don't typically send unsolicited cock pictures"

He laughed when she gasped at his choice of words, cheeks growing pink yet again.

"I've only ever heard people call it that in porn, do people really use that word?"

Harry gawked at her for a second before nodding.

"Yea, lots of people say it. But you watch porn?! Since when? You're a baby! You shouldn't be exposed to that!"

Y/N rolled her eyes and waved him off.

"I'm 14, I can watch porn if I want to sir. You watch porn, I've seen your search history you Weirdo. Eli isn't the first guy to send me pictures, I've sent a few before too. Not to him but to someone else."

Harry was shocked to say the least. The shyest sweetest girl he ever met just admitted to sending nudes to other people. He couldn't believe it.

"YOU sent nudes?! To who?!"

The girl smiled shyly,

"Don't worry about it, not your business mister."

He stared at her for a second before shaking his head.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that, you're still such a innocent little girl to me. I refuse to accept you've done that ma'am. I still can't believe you've made out with people before, the only reason I accepted it was because I literally caught you doing it once. Still not happy about that one Y/N, boys are stinky! You're not allowed to do that, I decided it's illegal now."

Y/N laughed at him and pushed him back a bit

"Shut up, you're such a drama queen Haz. I'm not 4 anymore, I'm old enough to kiss whoever I want."

He grunted in response and frowned.

"Nope, it's illegal I made the law. Now I need a beer after that."

She just snickered to herself while handing him one grabbing her keys and popping the cap off with her house key before grabbing her own doing the same.

Locking her bedroom door and turning off her overhead lights, opting for her fairy lights instead. Switching her tv on, both of them sipping their beers while skimming movies before picking one. Both just drinking and enjoying their evening together, but still Harry couldn't help his mind wandering off a few times thinking about the pictures his best friend has sent other people.

And he couldn't help but be jealous.

#harry styles series #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles tpwk #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #older!harry #younger!yn #bestfriend!harry

84 notes · View notes

okk--maaan · 4 years

Note

Hi Deja, Can you entertain: thigh riding & "Is someone needy?" + Ronnie? Thank you!! xoxo 🌹

Helllooo Rosie!! (I have a couple ideas about who you might be but I’m not sure so we’re not gonna talk about it, just like we’re not going to talk about how it’s almost 6 in the morning and I don’t know how that happened). I actually think this is the first full Ronnie thing I’ve written so that’s cool! BECAUSE I LOVE HIM!!!

WC: ~1.3k

CW: cold leftovers, a nickname for RC that may have already been used in regards to Ronnie, slightly Domme RC, a lil hint of a taste of my crackhead AU, teasing, orgasm denial

It was unusual for Ronnie to stay at the station later than six o’clock. Usually by six-ten he was latching the front door and padding around the house to find you, ready for a kiss and dinner. But tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Something about a spike in weird disappearances. And a spike in paperwork along with them. He had been texting you all day about how he already missed you. Already wanted you. There may or may not have been some suggestive pictures exchanged. And they may or may not have been coming mostly from your end. But that was okay. You liked teasing him. And he loved you teasing him.

Around ten o’clock, you realize he’s not going to be home for a while still and his dinner's getting cold. Maybe you’ll bring it to him. Along with another little surprise. You click off the silly show you’re not really watching, push off the couch, and head upstairs to the bedroom. You rummage through that special drawer in your dresser, searching for his favorites. Once you find them, you slip them -- and those heels that make your ass look like really good -- on. For a second you ponder what to put over your risque get up. You very well can’t just walk around town like this but you still needed something that would give you easy access, free movement. You figure that random tan trenchcoat you have for some reason is the best option. You take it from the hanger, wrap it around your body, and tie it around your waist snuggly.

As soon as you step over the threshold with Ronnie’s to go plate, the chilly air hits you, and you think maybe bare legs wasn’t the best choice. But you’re committed to it now. You walk to your car, turn it on, crank the heat, and wait for the goosebumps to go away. On your way to the police station, you think about all the messages Ronnie had sent you over the past twelve hours. About all the dick pics. Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as you imagine him inside you. In your mouth. In your pussy. In your ass. You have to force your eyes open and your head straight forward as those thoughts flash in your mind.

You’d never hear the end of it if you got pulled over.

You’re so caught up in your own fantasies that you don’t even notice that your limbs have driven you right to the station, purely out of instinct. Snapping yourself out of your daze, you turn the engine off, gather what you brought for your husband. Oh yeah. He’s going to like what you have for him. His treats.

You push back first into the door of the little municipal building to open it. When you turn, you see him sitting there in the empty pulpit. Nose deep in manila folders and loose papers. Such a good Sheriff’s Deputy, you think to yourself. So diligent. Although maybe not the best situational awareness. He doesn’t even look up until you call his name. “Oh! Hi Pumpkin! What are you doing here?” You lift the tin foil wrapped dish for him to see. But at the same time, you walk around the little swinging door separating the reception area and his desk, and the flash of your legs is enough to instantly make him forget about the food. “Just thought I’d bring you something,” you put an infliction on the last work to match the quirk in your eyebrow. “Whatcha got there?” he points to what you’re holding, but you know what he’s really asking. “Your favorite,” you respond, playing coy. He gulps, “Mushroom ravioli?” “Mhmm,” you reply softly, savoring the way his Adam’s apple bobs and the leather of his chair’s armrests squeaks under his strained grip.

Honestly, this is probably your favorite part. Getting him all hot and needy for you. It makes you gush. The thin fabric of your panties didn’t stand a chance.

As you make your way closer to him, you can already see the long prominent outline of his growing erection. Considering how long you’ve been in the station and how hard he already is, he’s been thinking about you for a while. Getting himself worked up. You can’t break your gaze from his lap as you click click click your way across the linoleum floor. You only look up to him once your shins make contact with the seat of his chair, once you're wedged in between his wide spread legs. Even behind the lenses of his glasses, you can see the desire shimmering in his honey flecked green eyes.

You set the now irrelevant plate on his desk and whisper, “Hi.” “Hi,” he breathes as he leans forward to wrap his thick fingers around your exposed thighs. “What’s under here Pumpkin?” he asks running his hot palms up your skin, bunching up the hem of your coat. He scoots to the edge of the chair, pulls your body closer, nuzzles his face into your soft belly. “Hmm. Wouldn’t you like to know, Officer?” you retort, a devilish smile playing at your lips as your own hands come up to twist in his dark locks. He nods into you and you grip his hair, yanking with just enough force to pull his head back so he’s looking at you. His red plump lips part and a desperate strangled breath blows past them. You tsk at him as you work one of his knees between your thighs and lower your already dripping core onto his leg. “Ohh Ronnie,” you coo. “Is someone needy?” you ask, at the same time dragging your wet heat over the starchy material of his uniform pants. You nudge his rigid cock just enough for him to loose an “Uhhnn”. Just enough for his head to knock into the backrest. Just enough for his fingertips to dig further into your supple flesh. You giggle a little and ask again, “Huh? What was that baby? I didn’t hear you.” “Yes,” he huffs out. “Yes Pumpkin. I need you.” “Mmhmm. That’s what I thought,” you smirk, even though he can’t see you now that his eyes have fluttered closed. You take that as you cue to go full force. To grind down hard back and forth over his strong thigh. Your own heavy head falls back in ecstasy. You work yourself over and over and over his muscles, relishing in the sensation of them flexing against your stiff clit. Even with the barrier of your underwear, you’re sure you’re leaving a dark slick streak on the front of his trousers. He’s going to have to re-pleat these. His hands work their way up to you ass, grasping and kneading there. Your nails dig into the now sticky skin of his scalp, anchoring yourself so you can go faster faster faster.

Ronnie's head snaps up, his eyes crossed and blurry as he searches for, seeks your gaze. “Pumpkin please. Please. Ple-mmhhh-please,” he begs pleads. He feels like he could cum just from this. Just from you rubbing your cunt on him. Just from your knee occasionally brushing against his ragingly blindingly hard cock.

But just as he’s ready to hoist you up and throw you across his desk, you stop your ministrations. His eyes go wide with disappointment and shock. His breathing is erratic and you know he’s right on the edge. Good. You lean into his ear and whisper, “Now Ronnie. You didn’t think I would let you get off that easy. Did you?” You place a chaste kiss to his flushed cheek, release yourself from his grip, point to his probably cold dinner, and make your exit. “See you at home baby,” you throw over your shoulder with a sly grin.

He really hopes all the documents he filled out in a matter of two minutes are correct.

72 notes · View notes

sherrybaby14 · 5 years

Text

Casual Sex

This is for Fvckingavenger’s writing challenge. Thanks for hosting!

Prompt: I’m never gonna fall, but I’m never hard to catch // My heart will never break, I’m just here to break a sweat // We’re wild under the covers, crazy for each other (Casual Sex - My Darkest Days).

Summary: You have some casual sex with Captain America.

Pairing: Steve x reader

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I had never heard this song when I picked the prompt…I gave it a listen and the music video is very odd!

The TV switched from captivating to boring without you even noticing. You were glued to your phone, unsure what you were watching at this point. What a boring Thursday night. You had to get up in the morning, but there was still time for something fun.

You debated on calling a friend, maybe heading to a bar to try and find some random ass. But that sounded like a lot of work. As you looked out the window of your apartment you noticed it was raining. Definitely not leaving now, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t order in.

As you flopped back down on your couch you went back to your phone, opening the hook-up app.

“Let’s see…men…within one mile…currently online.” You set the filters and watched the tiny dots dance.

You rolled your eyes as you were hit with over 1000 results. New York was such a crazy place. You slid the distance meter down until you got to .4 miles, knocking your prospects down to a much more manageable fifty.

“Nope.” The first picture didn’t do anything for you. “Un-un.” You swiped the second away.

All of these guys looked the same. You wanted something different. Exotic even. Something you’d never tasted before.

A super-hot guy appeared on your screen. Tall, dark and handsome. You licked your lips about to message him when his icon went black: USER NO LONGER ONLINE.

“Fuck man!” You sat up frustrated. “You were a second away from maybe getting some. Unless you got swiped up by some other user.”

The next icon appeared and you smiled at the familiar image. Steve Rogers. Captain America. You liked a guy with a sense of humor. And what could be more exotic than meeting a complete stranger? You tapped the icon to direct message.

YOU: Hey stranger, what’s your name?

The little bubbles showed up. He was responding right away.

STEVE: Steve.

You crunched your nose as the response.

YOU: Very funny. Why don’t I just call you Captain? Would you like that? I can dig out some fourth of July panties for you?

You giggled, watching the typing bubble appear and disappear. He was flustered.

YOU: A newby on this site? I’ll help you out. First, don’t use a fake picture. Nobody will respond to it. Second, don’t be so shy. Everyone on here is looking for a quick lay. There’s no need to hold back.

STEVE: You can tell? First night. I guess I still have things to learn.

YOU: Well I am a great teacher. Do you want to come over? Once we’re done I can help you set up your account better. Keep the Captain America pic for now. I enjoy a good surprise.

STEVE: Alright.

You tapped the icon that sent your GPS and address to the mystery man. He accepted and the screen turned into a map. He was at the coffee shop around the block. You had five minutes to freshen up.

Your apartment was clean enough and you were going to be undressing anyway, so the lounge pants were fine, but you went to your underwear drawer and started to rifle through it, unsure if you had any red white and blue undies.

A knock sounded through your apartment. Shit! That guy was fast. You left your bedroom and went for the door where the knocking continued.

“Just a sec.” You pulled open the door, what you saw made your mouth fall open.

You weren’t sure what you were seeing and had to pinch your thigh. He was more beautiful in person, his thick hair and trimmed beard, let alone the sparkling blue eyes.

“Hi. Do I have the right apartment?” He looked a little nervous. “I’m looking for Y/N. The girl on the app whose photo looks just like you?”

You realized you were staring and shook your head out, moving so he could walk into your apartment.

“So Teach, you do this sort of thing a lot?” Steve brushed some raindrops off of his jacket.

“Yes. I mean, holy shit! That was your picture?” Your initial instinct was to profess your love for the man and thank him for all his service to the world, but that would work against your now new goal: casual sex with Steve Rogers.

“What if I was a serial killer?” Steve looked around. “Or tried to rob you, it’s not very smart to let strangers into your home.”

“Then I would be dead or you would be a disappointed thief.” You shut the door. Ordering yourself to treat him the same way you would treat any other random from the hookup app. “It’s worth the risk for some good sex.”

“Why casual sex?” Steve cupped his hands in front of him. “Why not a relationship?”

“Don’t do relationships. I’m busy. I’m happy. But every few months I need to get laid.” Your eyes took him in. “What about you? Why casual sex?”

“Thought I would try something different.” He didn’t seem as confident in person. At least not about this.

You licked your lips as you walked up to him, so you were only inches from his face.

“Am I…different enough for you?” You reached out and cupped his cheek.

He followed your cues and dipped his head, pressing his mouth to yours. Inside you were screaming! You were making out with Captain America. In your living room. But externally you played it cool.

He wasn’t a bad kisser but moved a little slow. You tried to coax his tongue into more action, teasing yours into his mouth. You brought your hands around his neck, but noticed he kept his in front of him.

“Mmmm.” You pulled away from the kiss. “You have to relax. You’re not going to break my heart. You’re going to break a sweat.”

He smiled as you grabbed his hand and led him into the bedroom. This time he put his hands on your waist when he resumed kissing you. There was a dominance to his lips now. One that you welcomed as you started to tug on the hem of his shirt.

Steve broke the kiss and tugged off his top. Your eyes glossed over at the picture of perfection in front of you.

“I don’t mind admiration.” His hands went to his belt as he kicked off his shoes. “And yes, I’d like it if you called me Captain.”

It felt like someone cranked the thermostat, your clothing more than unnecessary. You pushed and pulled it off as fast as you could. Then found yourself in your underwear with Captain America.

“No Fourth of July?” Steve kissed your neck. “I’m disappointed.”

“You came too quick Captain.” You brought your arms around him and nipped his ear.

“I wouldn’t worry about that Teach.” He scooped you up, hands under your ass and tossed you on the bed, falling down on top of you. “I have super stamina.”

“Let’s find out.” You ran your hand across his chest, turning it around when you got to his boxers.

When you went under the waistband you gasped at the size of him. Tonight was going to be amazing. He was sucking on your neck, when you moved both hands to his boxers and pushed them down, raising your foot so it caught them and pulling them down the rest of his legs by straightening your leg.

“Nifty trick.” Steve raised his head.

“Nifty?” You giggled. “I’m full of them.”

“I bet you are.” Steve rolled over, pulling you with him.

His hands went to the sides of your panties and he gave one tug. The fabric ripped without hesitation.

“Hey, I liked those.” You wiggled your hips as Steve tossed the ruined panties aside. “But, I have to say nifty trick.”

His hand came behind your head and pulled it down for a kiss. When your lips met you crawled upward, repositioning yourself to take him. There was no chance you were going to miss the opportunity to ride Captain America.

With your hand on his head, you ran it over your slit. You were horny before he got here, but having the chance to live one of your fantasies was too much and now you were soaked.

That was a good thing though because when you held him at your entrance and started to lower yourself you needed the lube.

The kiss broke as you sank lower, your pussy stretching around him to an almost painful level.

“This is so hot.” Steve’s hands were on your hips, but his eyes were watching your body take his. “The hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

His reaction increased your desires. You parted your legs further, taking him all the way in, back arched forward.

“Lick your hand.” You sat up all the way. “I want you to rub my clit while I ride you.”

Steve’s blue eyes looked like they were about to shoot out of his head, but he put two fingers in his mouth and then wasted no time putting them on your clit.

You started to roll your hips first, waiting until he got a good pattern going on your pleasure center.

“A little harder. Set the pace.” You looked at him. “I’ll go as fast as you’re going.”

“I’ve never been instructed like this.” He tilted his head. “I may have lied about that stamina thing. This is so hot.”

“I told you.” You smiled since this was how you almost always had sex. “I’m a good teacher. Now rub.”

Steve put more pressure down and started moving in a circular pattern.

“Good.” You licked your lips. “Real good.”

You began to rise and lower your body, sliding up and down his shaft, trying your hardest to keep pace with his hand. He increased and you bit back a moan, loving how he was bringing your clit to life and how stuffed you were with his cock.

“Move to this motion.” You raised your hand made the come hither motion. “Do that while rubbing.”

“Yes.” He did just what you instructed.

“That’s a good student.” You were taking him with ease, his cock and fingers both bringing you immense pleasure. “Captain. If you keep that up I’m going to cum real soon.”

Steve let-out almost an inhuman noise as he started moving his fingers faster, flexing his cock inside of you while you bounced up and down.

A long moan left your mouth as the orgasm shattered over you.

“Are you on birth control?” Steve’s voice was shaky.

“Uh-huh.” You had an IUD from the last relationship you never bothered to take out.

You realized this was the first time you’d had sex without a condom since then and that ended years ago. He grabbed your hips and pushed your body down hard.

You cried out and fell forward at the loos of his fingers, your orgasm still fresh in your limps. His cock twitched inside of you as he followed you into orgasmic bliss.

“We should have used protection.” You curled up on his chest. “Don’t do that with anyone else on here. You don’t want to get a disease.”

“I can’t.” Steve looked at you.

“Can’t?” That seemed like a rude remark. “Allergic to latex?”

“I am immune to diseases.” Steve looked at you.

You shook your head. Of course, he was. You pushed yourself up from the bed and looked at your ruined panties.

“Where are you going?” Steve turned on his elbow.

“Bathroom.” You winked. “Do you have another one in you this evening or do you have to hit the road?”

“What do you mean?” Steve had a quizzical look on his face.

“I mean, casual sex. Do you want to do round two or leave now?” You stopped in the doorway. “I have to get to sleep around ten, but you can stay until then?”

“Oh right. Casual sex.” Steve gave a pressed smile. “Ten works.”

“I’ll be right back.” You winked and headed for the bathroom.

Once you were out of sight you did a little happy dance. A night of sex with Captain America. How in the world were you this lucky?

Break a sweat had been the right choice of words. Your breath heaved in your chest. Both of you reeling from the latest finish, but you weren’t sure if yours was a new one or just a long continuous one. You turned to look at Steve when your eyes caught the clock.

“Shit. It’s almost midnight.” Even though everything felt like jelly you popped up in bed. “You’ve gotta get out of here.”

You went to grab his clothes off the floor.

“Or I could just stay the night.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “You can kick me out in the morning.”

“Ha, nice try.” You handed him his clothing. “That’s too relationship-esque for me.”

“Right.” He started to get dressed. “You didn’t teach me how to use that app though.”

“It’s not hard.” You laughed. “I think you’re doing fine. I mean, you found me. That picture is going to confuse some people.”

“Honestly, you’re not the first one I tried to meet up with.” He stood up from the bed. “The rest, um either thought I was lying and swore at me, or when I did meet up with them stared at me awkwardly until I left.”

“Not going to lie, I had about five seconds of that.” You wrapped a towel around yourself, hating how tired you were going to be tomorrow, but needing a shower. “Good luck with that. No advice there.”

“Well, what I am trying to say is. Would you want to do this again sometime?” Steve was pulling on his shoes. “Maybe I could get your phone number?”

“That’s sweet.” You smiled. “But no. I mean sure, we can do this again sometime if we’re both on the HookUp App at the same time and you’re close enough to me. I set it my radius. But A friends-with-benefit relationship gets messy. What if you call me and I’m not in the mood? Then I feel guilty and like I have to since you’ve been there for me when I was feeling horny?”

“Oh.” There was no hiding the disappointment in his voice.

“But I did enjoy tonight.” You smiled. “Really. Thank you. Maybe lightning will strike and I’ll find you again?”

He almost looked like a bruised puppy. It was tempting to give him your number, but you weren’t looking for anything. You had been honest.

“Have a good night.” Steve nodded and you watched him leave, locking the door behind him.

Once you were sure he was out of earshot you did a happy dance. Banging Steve Rogers. Tonight was one for the books.

#Steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfic

1K notes · View notes

commenter2 · 3 years

Text

Rift Apart State of Play breakdown

Here is a breakdown of the Rift Apart gameplay from the State of Play and the thoughts I had while watching it. SPOILERS and LONG POST WARNING !

We see Rivet activating an infobot. I don’t know what the writing on it says, hopefully they release an alphabet for that language soon. Its funny seeing Clank in a semi backpack form and seeing him waddle around while moving.

The bug ship from the recent trailer appear as it was looking for the infobot but instead it grabs Clank and flies away. You can see Rivet’s arm being effected by the magnetic tractor beam which makes me wonder if that will be a big weakness for her during gameplay ? This is the start of that segment we saw in the new trailer since we saw Rivet (who was Clank less there) chase that ship down and as seen here she takes it out. I bet while she is chasing Clank, Clank will sabotage the ship from the inside given that the ship is still missing a piece before crashing.

After what seems to be the opening title we cut to Ratchet in Nefarious City and we see how mission objections will be show in the game. Him saying Clank is charming was adorable !

One major change to the gameplay you can notice is the HUD, as its smaller, the XP bars are orange, and instead of the weapon XP being a circle around the weapons icon, its also a bar. They also grouped the number of bolts and raritanium together. To be honest I’m not a big fan of the new HUD.

Cool to see Ratchet still fooling around when he isn’t moving, and nice to see bolt cranks.

Ratchet: Please let there be good news behind here (see Nefarious statue) XD

“Does that mean, there are TWO Nefariouses now !” that one line just summarized what the R&C fandom has been thinking since the announcement trailer for Rift Apart XD

Ratchet has his hoverboots ! I though we were going to get them much later but this is awesome. Its also great as this could make Ratchet’s gameplay different from Rivets. I wonder if he can use them to high jump since Clank will be missing ?

Nice change having Ms. Zurkon be the weapon vendor for the game. Still hoping Mr. Zurkon won’t be a weapon. I can tell she is going to be a fun little character. She was actually seen in the new trailer but I missed it, thank you VTNVIVI for pointing this out.

Those holograms on Ms. Zurkon walls are the weapons we will be using in the game, and sadly it shows that the Buzz Blades and Warmonger will return, which is kinda annoying but I could think of worse weapons to bring back.

Ms. Zurkon thinking Ratchet is part of the resistance makes me think that other Lombaxes from this AU are a part of the resistance hence her confusion.

Ratchet can not only wall run like Rivet but he can also dash mid air like her, which is interesting but I’m still hoping for some differences between there gameplay.

I think those bouncing platforms were a reference to Sunset Overdrive ? Also before jumping on them you can see a Lombax face painted on a crate, which I think confirms there are more AU Lombaxes in the resistance.

There are a lot of Megacorp logos in the city, I wonder how this version of the company will be different from the one we know from Going Commando ?

You can hear Nefarious talk in the background which is cool, and there is a moment where he states he going to enact something called operation dreamstar ? I think that’s what its called. I wonder if its something serious or if he’s just indulging as being an Emperor. You can also briefly see that Lombax billboard I mentioned in the Clank bio and it looks like he was turned into a robot.

The Nefarious Day Spa, funny and reasonable as I remember Vorselon having one in ACIT.

I think the Phantom is a AU version of Skidd McMarx cause not only does it sound like him a bit but I remember that in UYA he had the codename “Shadow Dude”

The dash after images DO draw enemy fire, cool ! The ammo crates have changed in appearance, which is a nice little change.

The Nefarious Juggernauts looks awesome, they remind me of those mini bosses you fight from time to time in TOD and ITN. Its also cool how we can be randomly be transported to other dimensions while fighting. I think the place Ratchet ended up is that place in the trailer where he is hoverbooting and used that ball ramming weapon.

Alien snappers from the 2002/2016 will be in the game, yet for some reason there spitting out stuff.

Nice touch having Rivet’s HUD have different colors then Ratchet’s, being orange while her XP is purple. Speaking of purple you can see purple versions of horny toads here.

So the riding bugs are called Speetles, good to know for the future.

We finally get to see some new weapons. First is the Ricochet, which is that ball colliding weapon I just mentioned and as seen in the new trailer. Mr. Fungai, a weapon that as stated in the trailer “attacks and potentially distracts enemies”. He seems to be the Mr. Zurkon of the game but I don’t mind as I rather have him then Zurkon again. Then we have the Megaton Collider which “charges up to fire a beam that will go through multiple enemies” sounds great for dealing with a tons of enemies that are hurdled together.

Dimensional pockets, that must be that space between dimensions I talked about in the trailer breakdown. Also even though Clank is missing an arm, he still has 3 propellers.

New alien race, I wonder if there an AU version of Kerchu ?

So the Goons-4-Less ARE Thugs-4-Less, just rebranded which I recall VTNVIVI stating as a possible theory on one of his videos. I bet he will be surprised by this.

Nice to see the Megaton Collider in action, I think its gonna be a favorite of mine.

Before the demo ends, you can see a unstable rift, I wonder if this means Clank will have to fix it ?

We then get a lot info all at once so here are a few things I saw like how it seems Ratchet can hoverboot at a leisurely pace or just like in past games while exploring open worlds.

Though not much was shown, its nice to see some of Clank’s interdimensional powers and its cool to see that his segments might be like the Great Clock puzzles from ACIT.

These Glitch challenges look interesting, I wonder what they will be like ? Could that be what Rivet was doing to the infobot or is this the hacking mechanic of the game ? Also who is Glitch ? Is she Rivet’s Clank of sorts ?

Arena challenges confirmed. Its also confirmed that you will be fighting all kinds of enemies from the dimensions you visit, which is nice as we will have more variety then just getting the same few enemy types over and over again.

Aerial combat looks cool, especially since we can ride creatures instead of ships, though it would be cool to be able to fly Aphelion again.

Gold bolts return, no surprise, and some pocket dimensions are optional kinda like the ACIT moons. BTW there is a Big Al balloon in the screen here.

We were already told that we could mix and match armor in the game but its still awesome to know that we can kinda like in Size Matters. It also shows that armor can give you bonuses like more bolts and reduced damage. You can see tons of references here with the armor like Lombax Trillium armor, Q-Force, and Captain Starshield.

You can change the HUD ! That must be why its different from the August demo, and its cool what you can do with photo mode.

This is REALLY HARD to see but during that scene near the end of Ratchet fighting a Nefarious Trooper, I think that is a Lombax wall jumping ! Maybe he is the Phantom ?

After the State of Play, IG posted some new screenshots on there twitter: https://twitter.com/insomniacgames/status/1387891304072425475

3 are interesting as one depicts Ratchet with that machine gun weapon as seen in trailer, Ratchet looking at his Rift tether which I bet will be upgraded by the Phantom to let Ratchet dash, and a pic of Rivet and Clank in front of a well detailed Grunthor, which was also seen in demo.

Also today IG posted a small video on Sargasso: https://twitter.com/insomniacgames/status/1388115976915361792

There is nothing new here besides some Lombax writing that translates to “Resistance outpost four” meaning we could see more bases in the game, and more resistance fighters.

There is so much going on here and I cant wait to get the game however the only problem I have with it so far is that there isn’t much difference between Ratchet and Rivets gameplay, besides how they might travel. Hopefully there will be one more difference. I also hope we can see Captain Qwark and Talwyn soon and though Qwark is briefly seen in the trailer and even in the demo during the photo mode segment, we haven’t seen any sign of Talwyn which makes me worried that she might not be in the game.

What did you think of the gameplay demo ? Was there anything I missed ? What did you like about it ?

#ratchet & clank #ratchet & clank: rift apart #insomniac games #rivet #playstation 5 #talwyn apogee #please let talwyn be in rift apart

1 note · View note

madmadmilk · 5 years

Text

Like Dark Chocolate Part 7 | Tom Holland x Reader (FINALLY)

IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME COMING, BUT WE’RE BACK IN THE GAME BABEYYY. Thank u for waiting so patiently~ it literally took like 6 months lol pls be kind ((pics not mine))

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You can’t help but fall into something familiar, something warm, something you deserve. He’s been waiting for you while you’ve been wondering. They say time heals all wounds, but the real question is, how much time does it take to even believe you’ve healed?

Warning: Swearing, sweating, and something like forgiveness

Word Count: 10.8K petals on the floor

Special thank you to some of my lovely BETAs: @fangirl-writer-awesomeness @laucontrerasv @spidey-waffles11 (and honestly anyone who sent asks looking for this. thank you)

“Same old Tom.”

Your head tilts as you look into those familiar chocolatey browns. You can see the arrow run straight through his heart. It’s the first time he’s hearing your voice say his name in a month. And it’s one of the few times you’ve let yourself say it out loud.

There’s a familiar taste that coats your mouth.

I don’t want to admit it but––

A shallow breath catches in your throat, a faint smile on your lips. You just can’t hold it back anymore, old feelings threatening to spill over.

I do miss you, Tom.

They were never really forgotten.

Just a little bit.

And well, you could never hide it from yourself.

You fight the smile on you dry lips from widening, you fight the warm flush ferociously crawling up your chest, you fight every urge in your body from jumping up to wrap yourself up and all around him.

You missed him.

And the bare sight of him is enough to drive you mad.

“It’s been a long time.”

“It has been,” you reply curtly, eating up the sight before you. He was dressed in a rush, slouchy, ruffled but smelling like a cosy detergent and sexy shampoo. The giddy smile has never left his lips.

The space between you both is maddening, easy to be made close, easy to pull further apart.

Your fingers twitch by your sides.

Ha.

He probably can’t even remember the text he sent you–– “Blink 3 times if you miss me,” how the hell would you count how many times a person blinks? We do it all the time? When does the clock run––

But, Tom… Tom gets it. Of course he does.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.1, 2, 3.

A devilish grin stretches across his boyish face, an overwhelming excitement vibrating through him. He stood taller, shoulders hunched up as he leaned forward. It was a short victory he would hold against you and then it evenly faded into a relieved smile. The corners of his brows pull down as he lets out a soft sigh. You can hear the click of his tongue. His shoulders slump in satisfaction, and cheeks pinken as if his whole body being was saying, “thank god, thank god.”

He finally has your attention, better, at your admission.

His quiet voice confirms,

“So you have been reading the things I’ve sent you,” whispering now, “And listening?”

Haha.

You give him a blank stare, but inadvertently stretch your lips from smile to pucker to smile. You’re trying not to give him anything more than your telling blinks. You’re not going to make yourself anymore vulnerable, any more needy, any more…. generous. This was already too much.

But the silence gives him one more confirmation; tells him that you still think of him, at least enough to let him think you do. And this circular rationale reminds you of just how much of a sweet lil cavity he is.

An aching pain you can’t ignore.

He nods, wiggling his jaw while his eyes dance over your shoulders to your nose and back to your eyes,

“Good to know.”

Oh, hell.

Tom’s confidence comes and goes as he laughs to himself, only to flush in embarrassment. Neither of you can keep your composure. Both of your minds roll over all the little things he’s said in the messages and that’s more than enough to fill the remaining gap between you.

You feel like you know almost everything he’s feeling right now.

Almost, almost.

He clears his throat, scratching his head and bowing down,

“Listen, I–I really didn’t expect to see you at all. For the while. It’s just that Mal messaged me about an emergency, just saying that it was you and––“

“It was me. I sent it,” you clarify, not wanting to smear any more blame on your ill neighbor. Hadn’t she had enough? Questionably.

“I used her phone.”

“Oh,” he laughs emptily. You see his entire face sink in guilt. He scratches his head a little harder, trying to piece it together.

“She practically begged me to get your attention and she––“ he hums to your truth, “She showed it to me. I… I saw the messages she sent to you.”

Tom freezes, and drops his hand. He searches for an answer in your eyes. His blinks are slow, and the deep stare makes you all too aware.

Suddenly, you wonder if that was a breach of his privacy, if his healing should have been done alone. If you had stepped into a part of him you weren’t meant to see.

You step forward, putting your hands up.

“Sorry! Uhm, she… She let me read what she sent you, at the end… end of it all,” an uneasy chuckle falls past your lips, “She left your conversation open… and yeah, I saw a little bit. I think she was apologizing to me with it… or something like that.”

He nods, stare looking past you now, far away. He mutters under his breath,

“I’m still waiting for one too.”

And now you felt the restlessness of guilt; maybe it was a breach of trust. You squeeze your eyes tight for a second, trying to reorganize yourself, trust this and trust that. You’re getting tangled deeper into problems you were trying so hard to move past, smooth past.

The truth is all you have left.

You offer him a way out of the storm, praising softly,

“At the very least, I want to say thank you… for uhm, letting me know you were coming.”

His brows twitch into a furrow before he smiles gently, his cheek pulling. His hands were itching to reach out, to hold you. And, honestly, if he did… you wouldn’t resist too hard. Maybe.

“Of course,” Tom confirms so lovingly. In that short phrase you can hear the tumbling of his feelings, the way he had to hold back from spilling his heart out and taking all of you in his arms, up and away from this cursed apartment.

But you both hear the echo of your own words, cast like a spell, “give me time.” So he did.

“And…. I’ll be getting out of your hair now.”

Your head tilts as you take him all in. His hair has dried, somewhere between curls and waves, the bags under his eyes are deep but the expression on his face is warm. You notice his pause, wondering if you should ask him to stay.

You can’t.

And he knows that.

Tom cracks into a laugh, rolling his head in a circle. You stand back on your heels, tension dissipating. He rocks back too, and starts to pick up his scattered jacket and hat. He puts them on quickly and you lean against the back of the couch. The apartment is quiet, save for the sound of his rustling clothes.

He heads to the door, ruffling his hair before he sticks it back under his cap. His hand is on the doorknob, cranking it slowly. He turns back to give you a dazzling smile,

“It was really, really amazing to see you again.”

You stomach flips. You can only nod and smile, as he holds your gaze. He looks down stepping out and––

“Hey! Tom?”

He looks over his shoulder expectantly, and you take the door. He’s still halfway inside your apartment, and sorely full in your heart. He raises his brow in question, stuffing his hands in his pockets as you hold the door open for him.

Here it goes.

“I… I stayed around because… I kind of wanted to see you.”

His jaw drops.

“It was nice.”

And that goddamn heart-stopping grin is burned into your memory. You could see the sunshine and hope leaking out of his pores as he smiles with an open mouth.

Ooh.

And with a boyish chuckle, he accepts.

“Thank you, Y/N,” the flushing boy turns back and retreats with a happy skip,

“I’ll see you around.”

My name.

You don’t let yourself watch him walk away for too long, and shut the door quickly. Similarly, trying to shut out the emotions welling in your chest. Warm, worn, weak.

If Mal was awake, listening, or even remotely on “your side” you could just imagine her slow clapping to that awkward exchange.

You and Tom had finally moved forward; maybe they were baby steps. Or maybe they were even something less.

Anything is better than where you were nearly a month ago.

You retreat back to the couch and sink into your spot, alone with your rambling thoughts. Are we in, or are we out? Are we back? Is there more? Are we less––?

Gah.

You laugh as you wipe your hands over your face. You pull your cheeks down and let out a garbled sigh.

It’s really annoying how much you miss the taste of chocolate.

☎️ “Hey, It’s Tom. Again. Uhm, alright… This…. This feels ten times MORE awkward now that I know that you actually listen to these. Haha, shit! And I’ve sounded so pathetic in every single message–– hahaha, but, uhm, thanks. Not sure what part I’m thanking you for… but… I’m just thankful for you. Hah, hope that’s okay. I really just can’t believe I got to see you. It’s really been a long while, and I… I just wasn’t sure how we were even going to meet again. And, I realized I don’t have many pictures of you and you haven’t updated ANYTHING so––– oh, oh my god. I didn't mean to sound so fucking creepy! I swear I’m not checking on you everyday or something, hahahaha. Wah! I–– well. I don’t think i’ll ever forget what you look like, and I hope you’ll let me stick around……………… ugh, I’m the worst. For fucks sake. Hm….. you…. You really did look amazing, babe. I couldn’t breathe. And maybe you look even better without me……. Ahem. Ah, yeah. Sorry this is a fucking, that I’m a fucking mess. I’ll leave you be. Yeah. I’ll-- uhm, later. Bye, Y/N. I’ve missed you too.”

☎️ “Hey! Hey, uhm, It’s me. Tom. Again, again. Haha. Okay, uhm, totally slipped my mind, but I’ll be at Jay and Jae’s wedding like next, next week. Harrison said you were going as his date? Yeah, no problem with that. Just– uh, yeah. Just letting you know i’ll be there too. I know Mal, is invited so, she might be around? I’m not too sure. And… shouldn’t Zendaya be back around that time? Hahaha. Yeah, i–– This is just a heads up. I…. I won’t bother you there but…. Can i say that i’m looking forward to seeing you again so soon? Because I am….. Ooooohhhh….. Okay. Yeah, sorry. I’ll see you there, or not. Bye, babe.”

You smooth out your dress over your legs as you sit in a stiff chair. You kick your feet next to Harrison, lost on his phone. He ignores your fidgeting.

True to Tom’s voicemails, that you did listen to the moment you got them, you were at a wedding. Together, but not exactly. Jay and Jae were distant friends of yours, closer to Tom and his group of friends more than anyone else.

So naturally, Tom was there, sitting alone and far off, since Harrison took you as his date. He kept a professional distance, you would say.

Now, Mal was meant to be here too–– but she wasn’t. She declined without giving a specific reason, but you could imagine a few. The idea of fluffy bright whites, bouncy chatter and the honest glow of fairy lights might not shine too well on her particular shade of red.

Not that she doesn’t deserve her own sparkly moment in time, but you suppose this is all too fresh. And all too soon.

You reach out to touch the flowers wrapped around the chair in front of you. Were they real? Were they fake? You occupied yourself like this, and wondered…. Should you be feeling the same way as Mal?

Your eyes dart around, following strings of lights and greenery and warm sounds. Being at weddings, whether you knew the party well enough or not, has always made you feel loved. There's a certain warmth and love and respect that just overflows and spills into your own heart. Making you nostalgic for things you’ve never felt before.

So lovely.

Your thumbs smooth over a large petal.

And a ceremony like this…. Isn’t that bad. One day…

Your eyes flicker up, immediately finding that curious cute cavity.

One day maybe.

Tom is sitting with his arms resting on his legs. He switches between looking up, waving at distant friends and checking his phone, only to put it away quickly. He’s fidgeting too– trying his hardest not to look directly back at you.

You still catch him a few times.

You lean back, obscuring yourself from his view and line up your arm with Harrison. You lean your head on his shoulder and laugh to yourself, pressing a fist against your lips to stifle it.

“Hm?” Harrison hums, craning his neck to see your face, “What’s so funny?”

You quiet down and smile gently. Curiosity is bubbling inside you and you feel like you’re in such high spirits–– the giddy nature of weddings is infectious, after all.

Is it because you feel like you have the upper hand tonight? Because Tom is trying so hard to not stare, but is so bad at hiding it? Because you feel like nothing can go wrong from this point?

Knock on wood.

Having Harrison by your side definitely feeds you a bit of confidence, at his expense. But you don’t think of that immediately. Things are only just coming to focus for you, and you eyes are willing to see.

You squeeze Haz’s arms softly, and suggest,

“Shall we invite him over?”

The golden haired boy scoffs, cocking his head back before looking at you,

“You sure about that?”

“‘Can’t leave him looking like a chump all by himself, right?”

He smiles at your thoughtfulness, raising his eyebrows then standing up. He calls over his friend quickly without much question. Tom perks up at the call of his name, and you could see his eyes widen across the ways.

He shimmies his way over, dodging people with a easygoing smile. He stands next to Haz, nodding his head politely,

“Hey, guys.”

“Hey, come sit with us,” you offer plainly, pointing beside Harrison.

You could see Tom doing the math in his head, but he doesn’t challenge it. He smiles instead, a little wary and a little stiff but thanks you. You could hear Harrison snort in dull annoyance, making you giggle.

You’re giddy for real.

Haz is sat between you two during the wedding ceremony, but you can feel whenever either of them turn to look at you, hot stares on your cheek. You all sit and stand together, following the procession.

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” the taller boy teases over the tension, bumping you with his elbow. You bump him back and he continues, “I’m in the line of fire.”

“Shut up!” you whisper back to him, catching Tom’s attention.

He turns to you, only like quarter cheek, but you can see the side of his eye wrinkle and how his cheek lift in a smile. You’re left looking at the teasing image of his jaw and ear and cheek and the tangle of waves on the nape of his neck––

Bring the heat.

The ceremony ambles on, and in the lull you hear Tom joke with Haz,

“Can’t wait for the drinks, man.”

Pffft.

His face was dusted pink. He needed something to keep him cool, something to do with his hands, and it might as well take the edge off too. It really couldn’t do much harm at this point. But would it even help with his nerves?

You stop yourself from giggling again, some kind of ancient, wretched, cliche girliness crawling out from you. You’re trying to play coy, but you can’t go exposing yourself.

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? And know you’re wanted?

Feels a little nice to be on this end, you have to admit.

You pull through the rest of the service, crying as the grooms whisper their vows to one another. Honestly you could barely hear it, but the way that they cried and smiled and cheered told you everything you needed to know.

Your heart swells as they kiss and walk by, everyone throwing handfuls of petals over them. It rains pink and white, a small flurry of love.

And while you take in the loving visual, you miss the way that a certain brunette turns back to catch a glimpse of you. Through the light mist of flowers, he sees a happy tear mark down your cheek and wishes nothing more than to be by your side and wipe it away.

“Catch you in a few,” comes Harrison’s voice and parting tap on your shoulder.

“Huh?” you blink, rubbing the corners of your eyes delicately.

He smiles, tilting his head towards company calling his name. He disappears into the crowd after giving your shoulder a squeeze and Tom a sharp pat on the back.

Ah, alone at last. You roll your eyes and nod to yourself.

There’s a wave of people leaving the ceremony to walk over to the reception hall, but you end up waiting in your row with Tom. You step close to his back, peering over him to see if it would be any easier to get out. You don’t talk.

After a while of being stuck, you both dart between chairs and exit the opposite way. You feel his hand almost touch the small of your back as he urges your way through.

The touch doesn’t connect, but a part of you wish it had.

You laugh bitterly as you push through the doors that lead out. It’s more than a bit ironic that you meet again at a wedding. The place of commitment and love and attempt at eternal happiness.

It’s kind of funny actually.

You step onto the sidewalk, shivering slightly at the cool spring weather. The smell of spring and summer was strong, but your teeth still chattered.

You stand side by side as you wait to cross the street, cars zipping through. You’re too aware of the space you hold between each other. You hold your hands to your chest and look ahead to the reception hall, glittery lights and soft noise wafting through.

“That was beautiful,” Tom comments quietly.

“Wasn’t it?” you smile, brought back to those glimmering emotions. You blink the wetness away from your eyes as you face him for a moment.

I’m such a sucker.

His hair is gelled back neater than usual, though a rogue curl tries to coil at the side of his head.

For…. things………..

“Mhm,” he hums, returning your gaze warmly. Those dark browns caught a twinkle the evening glow. Your heart beats oddly, as your lips pressed together. Tom smiles then taps the back of your arm, looking ahead of you.

“Let’s cross this street now.”

And you walk behind him, following his steps while skipping in your formal shoes, watching the broad sweep of his back in a smart black jacket.

You felt safe here.

Again.

Tom stood by your side as you crossed the threshold of the reception hall. The clack of your shoes against the hardwood didn’t catch any new attention but it sounded so fucking loud to you.You felt his shoulders roll back, as yours did, taking in the beautiful sight. Fairy lights and flowers and white drapery, hidden and highlighted by crowds of people. Wah.

You turn your cheek softly to look at him, your lashes fluttering. He was doing the same thing, both cautious of what to do and what to say next. You can’t stand at the entrance forever.

Oh, fuck it all––

“Hey! Tom! Is that you–?” a new voice crackles into range. Said boy ducks down and hollers back to an unfamiliar crowd, stepping away from you.

“Y/N!” and that call was for you, from a blonde you could hardly call yours.

You bounce back to Harrison, quickly hooking your arms into his without thinking. You wanted cover, fast.

Tom’s presence beside you was short lived as you went separate ways to greet some familiar faces, to your frail relief. You both get swept away in the tides of people, hardly saying goodbye to one another. Hm. You look back over your shoulder to see Tom smiling back at you gently. Hmm. He nods simply, then turns away.

See you later.

You suck in your cheeks, feeling a pang of disappointment as your expectations didn’t last long. But it’s fine. It’s fine. You weren’t even counting on spending the time that you did with him. Its fine! Really!

You float between hanging out with Harrison to meeting up with some old friends. Eventually starting to be dragged away by some especially gossip-y pals, Jenn and Sam. You hold on to Harrison’s arm as they tug you away,

“Nooooooo, guys, I can’t leave him by himself!”

Haz pries your fingers off one by one, sticking his tongue out and pointing behind him,

“Don’t worry about me, I have some other chumps to hang out with.”

You tilt your head for a second to see Tom, of course, looking down. His hands are stuffed deep into his pockets, laughing to himself, a pretty smile you wish you could have ignored. There’s a little unease that you notice about him too quickly, and that’s when you bounce back up.

Ha.

“Enjoy,” you say quietly, quite literally being pulled to the bar.

Conversation blends in seamlessly, with the help of some casual alcohol and swishy dancing. You haven’t met with them in along time, catching up and dissecting updates you’ve only seen through instagram and facebook. Then that drama starting spilling out as you look deeper into your cup, seeing where it all was heading….

“So, I heard Tom and Mal officially split,” Sam starts.

“Tom and Mal? They were a thing?” Jenn gasps.

“Yeah, official-ish–– right, Y/N? You roomin’ with Mal right now, yeah?”

And you nodded, “Yeah.”

“And they’re over? Done?”

Their eyes both shone bright with excitement, nearly licking their lips for the spill. Please, oh please! Share that shit!

You hold your shakey glass to your lip, wishing you didn’t have to answer this. But under their wide eyed stares and the desire to speak some truth, you squeak,

“Yeah, something like that.”

And they assume the pitying position quickly with,

“Oh, poor Tom. I knew he’d get dumped. He’s too nice and Mal was obviously taking advantage of that––”

And,

“Oh, well, I heard that Mal was just trying to use him to get back with someone.”

“Like, Jon, right? Or was it Tobey? I don’t remember––”

“Yeah, and Tom isn’t the type to date frivolously, so he must have known––”

Their story was wrong, but not so wrong. Just enough to get you itching. Itching to set it straight and itching about whether or not you had the authority to correct them. Like what, just save Tom’s face, and tell them that Mal got what she deserved? That could be easy. But what happens when they ask about your role in this story–– is it even yours to tell?

“They did look great together though, Tom was head over heels for that bitch.”

“How could she let him go? I mean, the girl was all over everyone all the time, but Tom was a good one.”

They looked for him in the crowd, spotting him and cooing in pity. They were being so obvious, god. And at this point, you really couldn’t help yourself. You spoke in a hushed tone,

“Hm, actually, Tom dumped Mal.”

“Huh? For real?” and “Tells us what happened!”

You pause for a second, trying not to get in too deep.

“I don’t know for sure, but Tom realized he could… be better.”

“‘Be’ better? Not ‘do’ better? What do you mean by that?” Sam pushes, leaning closer to you, stepping by your side so you could both get a view of Tom swaying with some friends.

You shrug, turning your back to Tom, “I don’t know! I just saw the aftermath. I haven’t really talked to him, or Mal. It’s been tense–– you know?”

“Yeah, we get it,” Jenn nods solemnly, but perks up to wave, “We can just ask Tom himself! Hey! Tom! Harrison!”

Gah–!

Both of them are waving and making a scene towards the pair of boys somewhere behind you. You can only hunch your shoulders to brace yourself. It’s not like you could just walk away––

And “poor” Tom didn’t even realize you were there until the last second, freezing as he stops next to you.

Huuuu.

You’re very aware of how close he is.

With no formalities, no greetings, your friends cut right to it, only directing themselves towards the darker brunette,

“So, how have you been, Tom?”

He shrugs coolly, laughing sheepishly. His eyes are a little half-lidded as he blinked,

“Just… ask what you want to ask.”

Woah.

You look at him in dull surprise, Harrison too. You notice the soft pink glow on his cheeks and how he’s supporting himself on one leg. Maybe he’s drunk? Maybe he’s just that ready to get it over with.

Cheers.

“Sooooo, you? And… Mal?”

“Not a thing anymore,” he shrugs again, holding up his beer bottle and smiling cryptically.

Your old friends turn on the pity again.

“Awwww, but you guys were so cute together!”

You have to squint your eyes at that remark, knowing they were egging him on. Buttering up the situation, but…. Ugh. You hate these kind of exchanges. But hey, transitions are important right?

Tom tries hard not to look at you as he nods slowly, explaining only a little bit more.

“Yeah, we… just didn’t work out. We… we wanted different things.”

You could see the questions bubbling in their pretty lil heads, but they offer some kindness, some room to take a breath.

“Oh, well good on you for getting out, Tom. We’re happy for you.”

And there it goes. You laugh under your breath at their blatant flip of the coin.

Tom smiles a little warmer this time, eyes crinkling genuinely.

“Thanks, ‘appreciate it.”

“And you know,” Jenn sings, shimmying her shoulders, “If you’re looking for a new, new love. There’s plenty of candidates right here!”

She bumps your shoulder, making you fall towards him. You dance a few steps forward, clinging onto his arm to balance yourself. You scoff as you stand up straight, your hand gripping his sleeve and nearly stretched across his chest.

Oh.

He stiffens beneath your touch.

Right.

You pull back to yourself, stepping aside as he clears his throat. Your brows furrow but he continues to speak uninterrupted.

“Ahem, yeah… thanks. I’m still–– I’m figuring things out. But I’ll be sure to do it right next time.”

Next time.

And you crack a one-sided smile, pursing your lips and looking down. Haha.

Harrison gives Tom’s shoulder a hard pat, not to be forgotten.

“If you get a next time!”

Oh, that was a bit pointed. A little sharp.

Tom opens his mouth in reaction, booing. Harrison laughs wide hugging his shoulders as everyone teases. You can’t look straight at him, knowing that you would fold and join into the glee all too quickly.

He looks too pretty in this light.

“Well, we still have some rounds to make,” Haz hugs Sam, then Jenn, then you, “We’ll grab a drink with you later.”

You close your eyes in the short embrace with Harrison, recharging. He squeezes your shoulder and starts to pull Tom away. Tom was in the middle of hugging your old pals, no hard feelings.

He gets to stand before you but speaks to the group,

“Yeah, ‘nice seeing you guys.”

The one rogue curl has turned into three framing his face, his canine pokes over his lip in a warm smile, and you feel the world stop turning.

“Y/N.”

You nod, giving him a quiet goodbye, tracing the lovely expression on his face. You blink softly, calming the pinpricks in your heart.

Damn.

And before you realize it, you’re smiling.

Greaaat.

It’s getting harder to deny that he’s got you got.

Cos now....

I’m actually kind of rooting for you.

How great is it that wedding playlists are full of love songs, huh? Gives you lots of material to think about as you bob your head to some bops with a chilled glass of wine in hand.

“I love you” and “I need you,” those are the songs singing. And the warmth in your face? You can blame it on the bubbly.

Right.

You raise your glass with another circle of friends as you spin in a daze. You let yourself blend into the blur of company, focused on remaining present.

Present as in–– not falling too back into those chocolatey clutches. Too soon anyway.

You don’t need to spend this time thinking about Tom. You don’t need to worry about where he is or how you’ll meet again–– in the next hour? After this wedding? Next week or…

Stop!

You’re just two separate people living on this planet, and your worlds don’t need to revolve around each other. At least, not all the time.

Tom is respecting your space, and you his. You don’t know what happened during this month long break, but… you still have time to think some things through. Whatever.

You nod along with friends to the music, finding your attention drifting away as the songs switch to something slower. The spell is wearing off, clarity is coming.

“I’ll be right back,” you hum but sure they didn’t actually hear you, and head to the bathroom.

And what a surprise, he is standing outside talking on his phone.

He doesn’t see you at first, kicking his feet on the floor and spinning alone. You tiptoe past him, and maybe that was when he notices you–– you can’t fully tell either because you’ve already made it inside.

You make no impression of it, only looking at your face in the mirror. You take out an oil-blotting sheet and press it against your forehead. You look at your reflection, and it simply stares back. Nothing new, just some lines of wear and tiredness beneath your eyes. The usual.

You exit the restroom, and he isn’t there.

Hm.

You make your way, pulled into some conversations and breaking free for another drink, waiting at the counter of the bar. Your fingers tap against the counter fidgeting not out of impatience and––

There’s a raucous eruption of laughter and rustling beside you. You turn your cheek to see none other than, that man. He’s hugging another guy as they stuff a few bills into the tip jar. He notices you this time.

Small smile, and then disappears into the crowd.

You managed to smile back as your drink came and you flit away just as quickly. There’s an incredulous laugh that edges in the back of your throat.

Hmm.

Next, you go out for some fresh air on the balcony and, huh, he’s there, too. Harrison and Tom smoke some cigars with the grooms and you quite literally smack your lips and turn a heel to the other direction.

Not the kind of air you were looking for at the moment.

You sputter a laugh in disbelief, shaking your head as you clomp your way to… wherever the hell else.

God, you weren’t even looking for him! He was just always fucking… right there. Your pace quickens and you focus on the tap of your shoes as you run away––

But there’s something else in your step.

Disappointment?

Maybe it’s weighing on you that he isn’t making any moves. Not that you want him to, but you kinda did expect him to.You see him miraculously after a month and he leaves all those begging and wanting messages and now you see him here and–– nothing.

Shit, Tom. Don’t be such a great guy.

You laugh, shaking your head, feeling your hair come undone a lil. You tuck it behind your ear as you come back to face the twinkling lights.

You’re making it hard to ignore you.

You take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders back in an attempt to relax. Sliding your way back onto the dance floor, you find friends and hold onto your waning freedom.

Dancing is the best way to get him out of your head. He’s outside, you’re in a tangle, you won’t find him here. You won’t even look for him here!

Shimmy. Sing. Shake. Grind.

Your eyes are closed to just fall in tune with the music, and maybe you’re dancing badly but that’s always alright. Just enough to get the feelings out.

In the throes of expressing yourself with your body, you fail to ignore another body coming up behind you, shushing your friends. Warm hands melt down your waist, rolling with the contours of your hips.

You yelp, jumping up and falling back into the body. You turn to see that it’s just Harrison, laughing smartly. His cheeks are flushed as he hugs your waist close to him,

“Hello there, thing.”

Thing.

“God! You scared me.” You swat at him, as you struggle against his arms to face him. You hug his own waist back easily, fingers spreading across his back. You giggle sheepishly, feeling the full weight of tiredness as you’re finally able to lean on someone.

His warm fingertips gently brush hair away from your sticky face, commenting,

“You’re look beautiful, even 3 hours into this thing.”

“That’s the alcohol speakin’, Haz.”

“No, no.Just accept it,” his eyes soften, watery blue, “I mean it.”

Oh, the pang of guilt.

“Not looking so bad yourself,” you say, patting his cheek. You could feel the beginnings of stubble beneath your hand, sending shivers down your spine.

The song slows and you collapse into a dance together, feet shuffling softly and heads leaned. You take solace on his shoulder, breathing in his manly cologne, still going strong. You can smell a feminine perfume mixed along in there somewhere too––

“So, where’s Tom now?” you callously ask.

“Why are you looking for him?”

“N-no, I’m just wondering,” you callously reply.

Harrison shallowly laughs at your obvious interest, shaking his head to hit his chin against you.

“‘Trying not to keep bumping into you, he says,” you hear a deep sigh come from deep within, “Ya’ll are so annoying.”

His bold hand pats the space right above your ass in poor punishment. You inhale deeply, words spilling,

“I don’t know what to do with… with this, honestly.”

“Spend some time with him, you’ll know.”

You frown, craning to look back at him, eventually standing straight before him, “I… don’t want to.”

“Then don’t look for him,” Haz says firmly, bluntly, clearly.

He’s giving you an empty smile, his eyes icy. And it hurts your heart, hurts you knowing that he’s still having a hard time with this too. You step back, making distance,

“I’m sorry, Harrison–– I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no, you’re alright,” his eyes close, tilting his head. His perfect hair falls with his movements, “I don’t want you to pity me, just–– just let yourself be happy, or else i can’t move on.”

Woof.

That’s the first time he’s said it out loud.

And you hear it loud and clear.

You don’t know what to say, offering him a crooked smile, eyebrows pulled. You try to give him a look that looks more like understanding rather than pity.

He chuckles, a bit more genuinely this time,

“What are we going to do with you?”

You bob your head. You’re a wreck and you know it.

“Dance?”

“I dare you to dance with Tom.”

“What?No way! I can’t do that,” you look past Harrison as he spins you. That pretty boy is standing alone against the wall somewhere far off. He’s not looking in your direction now, but you could never be sure of where his eyes were mere seconds ago.

“No!”

You want to tell Harrison that you’d rather dance with him, no one else, but that would just be twisting the knife in further. Pure cruelty.

“Come on,” Harrison hugs you from behind, swaying for a moment while he presses his cheek against yours. The grain of his stubble tickles your face as he whispers into you ear,

“There’s nothing to be worried about.”

Easy for you to say, is what comes to mind. There’s PLENTY of things to worry about–– but further burdening Harrison with your troubles is just.... Unfair, and you know it.

Fuck it all.

The song ends, and Haz lets you go with a soft spin and swivel. Your shoes tap on the hardwood, as he motions for you to go. It fills you with a little bit of confidence, if you can call it that.

You make your way, looking back to see the beautiful boy already chatting up some people nearby, his perfect smile on display. There was a little ease given back to you there. A little.

The songs get slower, and it’s harder to make it out there alone.

Your stupid eyes keep trailing back to Tom leaning against the wall, glass in hand. You suck in a breath and finally waltz yourself over to him.

At least you have the element of surprise on your side, right?

“Hey.”

“Ah! H-hey!” he’s caught off guard, pushing himself off the wall to stand tall.

You fall into place next to him, looking around as you control the pace.

“You enjoying yourself?”

You’re aware of how strange this sudden exchange must be, but you’re tired of running in place. You think Tom picks up on that too as his shoulder slumps in casual ease, able to speak loosely,

“Of course, great company and an open bar. It’s a good night.”

You break into a wry smile, wondering who and where his company was. You were out there with his best friend, who was left?

That’s a little mean, haha.

“You’re not gonna go dance?”

“No one I wanna dance with out there,” he bumps his head to the music, looking out into the sea, and back at you.

You exhale, taking a small leap,

“No one for the… past few months?”

Tom fights a grin, puffing his cheeks up as he turns to you fully. His eyes scan over your face, looking for permission to be back on that cheeky shit,

“There’s only (1) person that comes to mind.”

Mmhmm.

“––Well ,a few ones. But you’re the main one, don’t worry,” he jokes with a weak smile.

That’s enough to make you laugh though, his easy teasing. You fix the strap of your dress as you smooth out the conversation with just as much tact,

“So, how have you been otherwise, busy?”

“Yeah, a little bit, and you?”

“Not busy enough,” you laugh, maybe this wasn’t so easy. The nervous energy boiled in the pit of your stomach as you kept talking, “––with work and class and stuff. It’s been slow but i’d rather be stressed. I don’t know it’s weird, being idle.”

“No, no, I get it,” Tom points his finger as he takes a drink, maintaining eye contact, “Don’t overwork yourself though.”

“Thanks.”

And the conversation stops, not flowing to the next thing like it used to.

There should be so many things to talk about, so many things to catch up on, movies, shows, life, anything! But there were still wrinkles you had to iron out, not to be forgotten.

The silence isn’t unpleasant though, though you can credit that to being at a loud and rowdy wedding. Lots of background noise and things to avert your gaze to.

“How’s Mal?” he asks outright and suddenly.

“Doin’ better,” you reply just as earnestly, “Haven’t talked to her much though, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s good. She… really worried me last week, but we left on good terms.”

Thank god.

You face him fully this time too, “I’m glad. That’s great, Tom. I’m really happy for you.”

He puts down his glass, scratching his nose to hide his face. You can see his eyes were a little watery while his brows furrowed,

“Listen, I– I gotta clear some things up with you too. If you’ll––”

You hear the loud crackle of a microphone, eyes directed towards the mass of people rushing to the dance floor. The DJ announces it’s time for the bouquet toss, people pushing beside you asking you to come join, Hands reaching out as they pass.

Uhm, hell no.

You shake your head in rejection, it may just be superstition, but you’ll take no chances. Predictions for the future made you queasy, forever waiting for those star sign events to come true. It’s limiting, in a way. Strings of people pass by you, pulling at you and Tom to join. They smelled a little too hopeful and a little too much like alcohol.

“Come on, you’re single. Just go!”

“No thanks,” you breath.

“Why, are you taken?”

“No,” you had to reply over and over.

You held still, your stomach churning for some reason. Maybe it was just having your future ~love~ predicted and dissected by a crowd of people. You just felt rushed and hot and annoyed. These festivities were meant to be fun, harmless! But you feel too conscious about it in this state.

“Want to get out of here?” Tom offers, expertly sensing your nerves, his hand already hovering over the small of your back.

“Please.”

He takes the outside and you walk along the wall, weaving through threads of people while his hand guides you. You couldn’t look at him, embarrassed about your mini-meltdown as he leads you out into an empty hall. It led to a quiet lobby.

No one was there, the only sign of use were the half-drunken booze littered across a table. There was still plenty of room to stand and talk. You lean against a marble column and look out the window. There’s meant to be a view of the city, sparkling at night, but the glare allowed you to see your reflections. Both of you stood apart and stiff.

You hug your shoulders, thinking of just moments ago, “Pushy.”

“Sorry about that,” Tom offers, leaning against the same pillar, close. “Is this alright?”

“It’s not you,” is all you can return.

You both take the moment to try to look past your own reflections to the outside world, listening to the muffled sounds of the DJ and blurry cheering. Soon enough, you push off the column stand closer to the glass, looking out and seeing clearly.

“I have to apologize for speaking on your behalf… about Mal.”

There’s a beat of silence before he comes beside you again, searching for the same view. In the faint reflection, you see his hand reach for yours and stop, stuffing his back into his pocket. He pretends he hadn’t moved at all.

“No, no, thanks for saying something. I, uhm, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

You both chuckle, looking down–– no one really knows anything. It’s contained, it’s a secret.

It’s stills something that’s only between the three of you.

And it’s all you can think about lately.

What are we now?

During this gap, you’ve spent so much time thinking about what to say, and what you would do when you get the chance to speak one on one…. But now you’re fumbling. So far, you don’t know anything about thisTom. This Tom you have seen for days, weeks, months. You don’t know what he’s being doing, how he’s doing or what he’s even thinking about–– not like before. Not like back when you could read his mind. Not like when you knew, “I’m on my way” meant “I’ll be 10 minutes late, but I’ll be there.”

There’s so little to go off of.

The boy before you wasn’t a complete stranger, but not exactly a friend either.

And you don’t know where to start with that.

You cross and uncross your arms in the dragging echo of silence.

You feel like a child, helpless. You feel like a teenager, confused. But worst of all, you felt like an adult who has no idea what the fuck to say.

It would have been comforting to know that Tom felt the same way, but you didn’t notice that. You didn’t see how his forefinger pressed into his thumb, and how he bit the inside of his cheek, navigating the same path to the truth and apology.

It would actually be a relief for someone to burst in at this moment.

But the time for peace and clarity has arrived, and you both know you shouldn’t let it go.

“I’m sorry for… kissing you the last time I saw you. The last, last time, I mean. At the party,” Tom courageously blurts, turning a frustrated red. He steps back to the column, leaning against it as he balls his hands into fists,

“That’s one the biggest… things I have to say sorry for. And… yeah, you know the rest. I just–– I know that I shouldn’t have done that. The alcohol and confusion isn’t an excuse… and yeah, it’s disgusting, I know.” He trails off, hoping that you would pick up from there. But you don’t, properly giving him time to say what he needs to,

“I–I’ve been so lost for so long, you know? Looking for someone to be with, and Mal was there. She was someone who wasn’t perfect, needed help… Someone I thought I could help. And I wanted to stick through it, but when I met you––aside from what happened between us, you taught me that I deserved better. Better than someone who wouldn’t do anything in return for all I’ve done. That that relationship isn’t… something I had to destroy myself to save,” he looks up, looking for you.

“You just… none of this is your fault and you don’t need to feel bad for any of it. For me.”

Tom laughs, shaking his head more curls and waves coming undone.

“You don’t need to be anything to me. But I’m just going to be the sap that’s still falling in love with you for a while longer.”

The laugh takes a bittersweet turn, and you can tell he wishes he were holding your hand–– anything to physically show you he means it. But you’re not sure you’re ready for that kind of direct touch just yet.

You’re just absorbing it all in. It’s been a tumultuous few months, both caught in a vicious tide. Rolling, tumbling, drowning–– and it’s not an excuse for either of you. You can’t just let things fall where they may.

“No… Tom, I have to apologize too,” you start shakily, after you hear cheers from the vibrating reception.

“For what?”

Breathe.

The past few months of getting close to Tom, getting closer and falling apart, run though your mind. And you really wonder if he thinks that you are blameless in this catastrophe.That you hadn’t seduced him or wanted him while he was promised to someone else.

That’s pretty shit of you, right?

You lick your bottom lip in a small smile, Tom always had that kind of innocence about you. The assumption that you don’t play the game, that you could never wish ill-will. He could never think that you had ever schemed against his relationship.

And you didn’t, explicitly, but….

“Tom,” you dig your heel into the ground, leaning against the window while you watch his face, “I shouldn’t have ever… tempted you–– or spent that time with you. Back then, in the beginning, you had Mal. And I walked right in between you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did, and maybe it wasn’t forcefully or with the intention of taking you away but… it was wrong of me to even try to confuse you. It was selfish and stupid.”

And it hurt everyone involved.

Whether it started with you is up for debate, but you want this cycle of hurt to end with you. Or end with the truth.

You think of Harrison and even Mal. Maybe it’s not your fault or Tom’s fault, but it’s hard to feel blameless as you assess the damage.

“If I hadn’t gotten involved, none of this would have happened and…”

Your eyes shift left and right as you wait for his reply. Tom hangs his head, rocking for a moment before coming back up to smile,

“It’s okay.”

His words hang in the air, releasing you. And something has changed, with your confessions, something has reverted back to those glossier days. He teases,

“I’m glad you confused me.”

You scrunch your nose at your words being brought back.

Tom and Mal’s relationship was rockier than either of you knew at the start, and with your intentional slash unintentional meddling, lots of things came to light, got messy and now… you’re here.

Confused.

Far from the start, but still just as lost.

Tom’s brows raise and soften as he watches your heart on your sleeve,

“I…. I know there’s still a lot to think about but… I gotta say that I’m so happy that you’re still here talking to me.”

You have to laugh, one that you can’t swallow and pretend. You rub the corner of your eye, and muse,

“I’m not that cold, Tom.”

But you had been, and he knew he deserved it.

And while time has not swept away all the hurt, the path seemed a little bit clearer.

There were still some things you couldn’t deny.

“Hey... You know what?”

He hums in response, kicking off the column to come stand beside you again. You could see the pretty wrinkles on the side of his mouth deepen as he breathes into a smile.

You start,

“Despite this mess, I’m glad I got to know you. At all.”

His dark eyes widen as he takes it in, the future still in question. His pale hands yearns to reach out to you, and even with this new confidence he is wary of rejection. Instead he cuts through the still and get straight to it,

“What does that mean?”

You felt caught off guard at his parry, but your answer comes out all on its own.

“It means that, I’ve liked you, Tom. and––”

And?

“I don’t completely want you out of my life.”

You find yourself smiling as you tuck your chin back in embarrassment. That sounded an awful lot like you still felt That Way about him. You shut your eyes and sigh, shaking your head a little bit.

“Not completely?” he repeats, egging you on for more. He leans close to you, making his way back to your heart.

You chuckle under your breath.

“Let’s start over.”

Tom’s brows harden.

You stretch out your hand towards him, which he cautiously accepts as you put out the flames.

“As friends.”

There’s another loud round of applause that echoes through the hall. Shouts and whistles bleed out to the lobby.

“As friends,” he murmurs.

You shake firmly, avoiding his eyes as your hands fall back to your sides. You turn your cheek to face away from him and suggest,

“Let’s get back in, yeah?”

You don’t want him to see the strange, flustered, excited, happy expression drawn so obviously on your face.

“Let’s,” Tom agrees easily.

His hand smoothes over the small of your back, in a brave and bold little show of camaraderie.

Let’s start off as friends.

You smile stiffly, because you don’t want him to know that your heart is pounding like it used to.

That it would be too easy to melt back into that old mold.

Let’s just see where we go from there.

As with all romantic dramedies, you enter the party together with no resolution or closure to your prior conversation. And once again, you are immediately swept away into the tide.

You lose each other for a moment, following the flow of people and conversation. But this time, you find your way back to one another, willingly.

Tom stands tall by your side, instead of cowering away, and you roll your shoulders back with inviting poise. You feel at ease and he smiles warmly.

That’s not to write off the unbelievable and undeniable tension stretching in the small gap between your shoulders. It’s TOO real.

Your hand had bumped his once, and you both jump back and fumble over hurried apologies.

“Sorry.”

“You’re good.”

And it’s back to standing still but not too still. You both manage to relax with your favorite blonde slash brunette makes his way, and stands in between. He’s throws his arms over both of you, drunken weight pulling down as he sways.

You laugh at the rumple in his collar, fixing it while berating him for still being so drunk at the end of the night. Harrison waves the hand on your side and twirls a finger in the air,

“Indulge a little.”

The celebration nears the end as the lights dim and people start making two lines by the exit, standing together holding party poppers to burst over the grooms in the grand finale. A parting gift of glitter and petals and kisses.

Tom has placed Harrison in a chair by the wall, both of you standing nearby. You both snicker as he rubs his eyes and checks his phone, undoubtedly texting you both.

Facing forward, you hold the small device in your hands as you wait together, scraping to make small talk. Your voice startles him.

“You know, Z is coming back in a week.”

Tom’s eyes widen, looking at you with genuine surprise. He nods, looking for more,

“Oh, for real? Does she want––” His eyes dart from side to side, thinking of his next words carefully.

You finish it for him.

“She wants to see you. And uh-oh, biiiiig trouble.”

“Oh,” he pulls an exaggerated face, tugging at his collar.

“Not all bad trouble. But–– you know, it could help your case if you could help us with the move. Uhm, If I could trouble you with that.”

Tom smiles wide, his eyes crinkling near shut as he looks down. This is your arm stretched out towards him, offering a path back to where he wants to be. But it’s just a feeler, if anything at all.

“Yeah, of course, I’d love to.”

You giggle, shaking your head. No one wants to help anyone with a move, dummy. God, you don’t want to take advantage of his feelings but–– he does have a car and some apologies he wanted to make. Haha, it’s nothing malicious! You could just use the help.

“I can bring Haz and Jacob too, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, I don’t have that much shit.”

“Just Harrison then?”

Your eyes scan over him, wondering if he was worried about spending time in the same place as 3 women who were, arguably, after his throat. You really can’t blame him for looking for some protection.

You offer your sympathy with a edging smile, “Yeah, bring the drunkard with you. He’ll be a lot of help, yeah?”

You both turn back to look at him, squinting into the crowd. You laugh as he finally finds you, and offer him a little wave. You turn to Tom to see if he was waving too, but he wasn’t.

His face is close, and tilted towards you. You could see those freckles you missed so much, and the brow you’ve always wanted to tame. You could smell that faint boyish cologne that always reminded you of home––

“Oh! Here they come!” Tom interrupts, his whole face perking up animatedly. His smile is so wide and true, leaving you in a daze and you turn back to the grooms.

They make their way through the lines, dressed in white, only to be covered in glitter and streamers and petals.

You squeal in excitement, screaming congratulations as you pull the string and feel the pop in your bones. Tom is whistling and howling beside you, a cheeky hand making its way across your back.

Goosebumps prickle across your skin as you watch the new couple pass.

Hey.

They disappear into night, as the crowd collapses into one. You hear stray pops and fizzles, delayed responses but none to go to waste. The flurry of confetti is dense and never ending, feeling like a stubborn snow flurry in the early spring.

You lean into the warm palm into your back, and spin to find it’s owner.

Through falling flowers, muted music and passing bodies, you turn back to Tom.

Lovely Tom.

And he’s found you too, hair tousled just right and lips a rosy pink.

Picture perfect and sugary sweet.

“Hey, you.”

Your back is still blooming with warmth even after his hand falls away.

“Hey.”

Before the flurry ends, he’s pulled you aside to avoid the bustling of people making their exit. The dim light and soft rustling makes you feel small and lonely, yearning to be held again.

Your eyes shift towards Harrison, coming up from his seat and taking a video of the falling flowers. You blink back into your body.

Straightening yourself out, you tuck hair behind your ear, making rogue petals fall out onto the floor. You and Tom laugh, as he brushes his shoulders off and shakes his blazer.

You’re shaking off your dress as Harrison comes up, and Tom speaks low,

“Can I give you a ride home?”

Oh, the night’s not over.

You look at Haz, still in and out of his coordination and seeing that he was your ride… you agree. You walk with the pair of boys clinging to each other into the warm night and softly bump into Tom’s shoulder.

“Did you plan for this?”

He raises his brows to give you a smug smile,

“Nope, only hoped.”

You roll your eyes as you get into Harrison’s car–– Tom must have gotten a Lyft or something. Harrison surrendered his keys and quickly settled into his seat up front. He dozes off quickly, dropping his phone and making no reaction.

Tom snickers as you take a picture of the blonde sweetie, sitting back to type on your phone.

He plays some whatever late night radio music, and it’s quiet in the car but it’s not so bad. It’s comfortable.

You don’t feel the pressure to talk after all the talking you had already done.

You focus on picking off flowers that have gotten into precarious places, and rub the glitter off your skin. You seethe,

“These better be biodegradable.”

And Tom laughs, glitter and paper confetti falling out of his hair.

He takes you home on familiar dips and turn, getting back to your apartment in no time. You almost forgot about your roommate for a moment too––

He parks to the side and as you gather your things he runs out to get the door for you, making you blow up at your hair. You take the hand he offers as you step out,

“Thank you, thank you. That’ll be all.”

You start to walk to the front door, realizing Tom is following you after the car door shuts and you hear his hurried steps. You look at him, lips pressed to avoid a smile. He shrugs,

“Just want to make sure you get inside.”

You both look towards the door, only a short distance away. And reconvene with those dark browns, curious to see what could happen next.

He understands that there’s still a line, still a few things to settle. And you appreciate that–– except for the fact that your insides are buzzing to take him in, to watching something dumb or to catch up or to drink drinks or to just to have him on your couch again.

But it can’t be tonight.

You climb up a few steps, making yourself a lot taller than him, and lick your lips,

“”Thank you, Tom. Uhm, it was nice talking to you again.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he scratches the side of his neck, “This eases some of my worries.”

“You don’t have to worry,” you say softly leaning back.

“But I want to.”

You shake your head, throwing your shoulders up as you laugh,

“Stay worried then!”

Tom pouts, slapping his arms at his side in defense, and you only rub your nose.

“Thanks,” he sarcastically nods, continuing the banter. He wants to spend more time with you too, to wrap himself in that fuzzy gray blanket and tell you how much you meant and mean to him. But he rocks back on his heels, trying to get away from your sweet scent and away from the sweet licks of temptation.

Let’s not make the same mistakes twice, yeah?

“Text me when you make it back, okay? Tell Harrison to too,” you conclude, stepping on the brakes.

He smiles a little too wide at the permission you just gave him, and you only realize it a second after. Then the lines of communication were open again, that this is something you will really move forward with–– and as Tom bows his head to hide his ecstatic grin, you catch sight of a stray white petal knotted in his locks.

“Hold on!”

You reach forward instinctively, and he keeps his head lowered. You hold the side of his head with one hand, the bottom of your palm smoothing across his forehead and the other plucking the petal from a nest of gel,

“Got it.”

And he looks up then, with no warning. You hand frozen in place, and ultimately cupping his cheek. Your thumb presses against the corner of his lip, pressed in a gorgeous and heartbreaking smile.

You manage to speak, “Look, silly.”

Your hand shakes as you show him the white petal between your faces, and he defiantly looks past it and straight at you.

“You can keep that,” he whispers, making your hair stand on end.

And it’s funny because your arm lowers, and your hand slides off his burning cheek onto his chest. You smooth down his lapel and hold his gaze before you let your hand fall back to your side. You wished nothing more than to tumble forward, to collapse back into his arms. To embrace him wholly, for him to embrace you back.

To forget the stupid messes made and fall in love with the sweetness again.

“I will.”

There’s still a trust to be earned, a new recipe to follow. Proper ingredients, real sugar and in the end, it’s still gotta taste good too.

But, oh, what would wouldn't do to kiss him again.

To take a bite of that sweet chocolate.

“I’ll see you soon, Tom.”

I wonder what it would taste like now?

A/N: …… FINALLY. OH MY GOD. it’s been like what, 6 months? Since December? This series took a hard hit because of my birthday and holidays and tumblr banning blogs left and right. I’m glad to return to it, and fucking… END it. Thank you so much to those of you who have stuck around, remembered this series and asked for updates! This is for you.

If you can, please like, comment and reblog. I want all of those who have been waiting for this to see the end! Maybe like 2-3 more chapters left?

And i’ll let you know when i can update next. The next one won’t be as long, so maybe i can get it out in a week or two?

Track #LDC or #Like Dark Chocolate to see the updates!

Again, thank you so much and i love you guys! See you very soon.

Peace,

Madmadmilk

1K notes · View notes

babethepig · 4 years

Text

two slow dancers

Summary: "Who are you dating? Do I know him?"Dan snorts."Phil," it comes out easy and natural, Dan's brain processing what he said a second too late.

or dan and phil are best friends and neighbors and secretly (not so secretly) in love but from Dan's POV.

Second part of you fill my head with you

Word count: 2.7K

Rating: G

(read on ao3)

Dan doesn't even notice the first lie, it slips through his lips like dry sand escapes your fingers when the wind blows. He must show a lot of conviction because Rina believes him without a fuss and she doesn't usually believe in Dan's excuses.

She wants Dan to go on a date with a friend of her’s, she has been nagging Dan for a whole week. It's Friday, at this point Dan is in a state of total annoyance.

"Where is this coming from?" Dan squints at her. "In all the months I have known you, you haven't cared about my love life."

She makes a face. "Ok, maybe my friend saw a picture of you and has been bullying me into getting him a date with you."

"Well, that's flattering," Rina rolls her eyes, Dan ignores her. "But I don't think my boyfriend will appreciate me going out with some other dude."

Her face lights up at the word boyfriend, Dan can see the moment it happens, her eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open.

"You didn't tell me about your boyfriend!"

Dan shrugs. "It's pretty recent."

"Who are you dating? Do I know him?"

Dan snorts.

"Phil," it comes out, easy and natural, Dan's brain processing what he said a second too late.

Dan is not going to think why it feels so right to say it, he's sure the guilt will come later anyway.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Dragging his feet against the floor while he makes his way through the hallway, Dan reaches his door. He’s standing in front of it but changes his mind at the last second. He turns around. There's another place he would rather be at.

Dan gets his key out and opens the door like is his own home, he ignores the feeling of buzzing bees in his stomach and twists the doorknob. Sometimes, Dan likes to pretend this is his life and he gets to come home to Phil every day, and kiss him hello and goodbye and goodnight and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him... But he ruined his chance.

Phil’s apartment is quiet when Dan enters, that’s a rare occurrence, Phil is usually home when Dan comes back, with food already on the way and maybe some board game set up.

“Phil?” Dan takes his shoes off by the door. “Phil, are you here?”

A noise comes from the room, it sounds like a soft whine. Dan rushes in.

“Phil?”

He's a lump on the bed, curled up on himself. Phil whines again.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dan sits on the edge of the bed.

"Head hurts,” Phil mumbles, sounding miserable. Dan pushes the hair off his forehead.

“Is it really bad?” Dan makes sure to use the softest voice he can, to not disturb him. “Did you take your tablets?”

Phil shakes his head.

Dan goes fetch the tablets, he knows where Phil keeps them. It’s not the first time he has witnessed one of Phil’s migraines, he knows how bad they can get. He goes to the kitchen and fills a glass with cool water before going back to the room.

“There you go,” Phil sits up to take his medicine. “You look like a kicked puppy,” Dan gives him a warm smile

Phil pouts. “Lay with me,” he says, making grabby hands towards Dan.

The bees inside Dan’s stomach start buzzing harder, Dan wouldn’t say no to Phil.

Dan takes off his coat, realizing just now that he’s still wearing it, and slips into the bed behind Phil, he wraps an arm around Phil's waist and rests his open palm on his stomach.

“Missed you,” Phil mumbles before falling unconscious again.

In moments like this Dan tries to remember he did this to himself.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“You have a boyfriend?” Estelle asks, cornering Dan in the break room.

“Rina told you?”

“Of course she did, she’s my wife,” she puts her hands on her waist and gives him a look that makes him feel like he’s in trouble.

“You’re not married.”

“We’re beyond that,” Estelle shrugs. “Why didn’t you tell us before? Haven’t you thought about all the double dates we could have been having all this time?”

“It’s pretty recent,” he repeats the lie he told Rina just the other day.

“Phil is your neighbour, right?” Dan nods. “I mean, it was just a matter of time, you’re always talking about him.” Her whole demeanour changes after she says that and she smiles at him. “Anyway, I’ll stop bothering you but you owe us a date.” She points a finger to him seeming far more threatening that someone so short and so sweet-looking should seem before leaving the room.

Dan has gotten himself into a big mess, he knows Estelle and Rina won’t stop pestering him until they meet Phil. Dan likes them, they are great people and they took Dan under their wing when he first got his job, he thinks of them as his friends and he hates lying to them. Still, he can’t just tell them the truth, Dan’s still filled with regret from the things he said.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Phil has no business being so cute, with his rosy cheeks and pretty blue eyes, tipsy from the wine they had with dinner. Martyn and Cornelia’s sofa is too small for the four of them, Phil stands in front of them for an awkward second before Dan pulls him to sit on his lap. Phil giggles and Martyn and Corn are unfazed, Dan wonders if they think there’s something between him and Phil. He hopes they do.

Dan wraps his arms around Phil’s waist and squeezes, maybe he can blame it on the wine but he feels it wouldn’t be fair, he touches Phil because he wants to and he can only hope Phil feels the same autonomy of his actions when he rests his head on the crook of Dan’s neck and puts his hands over his.

Everything feels easy with Phil, everything but words. Dan always thought he was eloquent enough to make himself understood, the problem is he’s also pretty impulsive and easily frightened, it seems.

When Dan first met Phil he was terrified, he thought Phil was an amazing person and he couldn’t believe someone like him was interested in Dan, at the moment he convinced himself he was doing Phil a favour because Dan was just going to disappoint him. Those were other times, Dan likes to think, now he knows his own worth and he knows he would never hurt Phil intentionally.

The real problem is that he doesn’t know how to communicate that to Phil, at least not with words. Maybe one of these days Phil will realize that every single one of Dan’s touches is full of intent and love and all the words Dan can't bring himself to say.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Dan has been moping around all day, he must admit. Phil left early to visit his parents and Dan was cut short of his Phil time. Maybe he should be doing a better job at masking it but he misses Phil and he dreads going back home because he won’t be there.

Rina notices Dan’s mood because her desk it too close to his and she always seems to have time to check on Dan at least ten times a day, she says she’s perceptive but Estelle says she’s nosy, Dan doesn’t have an opinion, it’s nice to have someone caring about him.

“Why the long face, hun?” she asks, sitting on top of his desk without a care in the world.

Dan answers before thinking too much, “Phil’s away.”

“Oh, no. Have you been left all alone?”

Dan pouts and nods.

“Poor baby,” she pouts back at him. “We should have a sleepover!” Rina smiles again, holding her hand close to her chest and putting on an excited face.

Dan doesn’t see why not to agree, he needs something to lift himself anyway and he would like to have some fun and not be alone.

“I’m down if you and Estelle don’t mind a sad giraffe invading your home.”

Rina laughs. “We don’t mind. I’ll text you our address in a second,” she waves him goodbye and gets off the desk.

Dan spends the rest of his shift being grateful for his friends -and thinking about Phil, but just a little.-

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“You think Phil will be free next weekend?” Estelle asks out of nowhere.

Dan is laying between them on their bed a little full of pizza and a little drunk. He’s caught off guard for a second while he scrambles his brain for a credible lie.

“I could ask him but he has been very busy lately,” Dan feels awful for lying to them, he’s a shit friend and he doesn’t deserve them. “But I promise I’ll convince him to do something all of us together soon.”

“That’s alright,” Rina chimes in, Dan thought she was already asleep for how still she was. They might have had one too many Mojitos. “We just want to know the guy that has our Dan's heart,” she drapes her arm and her leg around Dan and reaches out for Estelle’s hand, their joined hands resting on Dan’s stomach.

“Serious talk,” Estelle says. “Does he treat you right?"

"Yeah," Dan says all high pitched, feeling his face get flushed.

"We just want you to be happy," Rina cranks her neck in an awkward angle to drop a kiss on Dan's cheek.

"I'm happy, I promise," it looks like the lies will never cease.

"If he ever hurts you, you just tell us and we will spray paint 'bitch' on his wall."

Dan snorts, "I'll keep that in mind."

He definitely deserves the ‘worst person in the world’ award.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The domesticity of going grocery shopping with Phil hurts Dan deep to his non-existent soul. He finds himself wishing, once again, that this was his life.

He pushes the cart, Phil beside him trying to read his messy handwriting because he couldn’t write his shopping list on his phone or just try to remember what he needs and die when he inevitably forgets something like normal people do.

They stop by the cereal aisle and Phil takes his time choosing one, Dan gets his phone out and scrolls through Instagram, he sees Rina posted a picture of the day of their sleepover, she and Estelle are sitting up on the bed, Rina is pecking Estelle’s cheek. They are bending in a strange way to avoid crushing Dan, that is still sleeping between them. The pic is captioned ‘perfect centrepiece’.

Dan huffs out a quiet laugh and likes the post, he’s thinking of a clever comment when Phil taps him on the shoulder.

“Should we have granola for breakfast?” and then with a mischievous tone. “Or eggs?”

The implication that they’re having breakfast together makes Dan’s heart beat faster but he tries to keep a neutral face, better if Phil doesn’t know what a simple thing like the promise of shared meals can do to Dan.

“We’re vegan,” Dan reminds him.

Phil makes a face and puts the granola in the cart. He doesn’t have to, Dan thinks, he is the one trying to be vegan and Phil is just his friend, it’s not like they live together and have to accommodate to each other’s life habits or can take conjoined decisions, this food is for Phil’s place and Dan’s veganism shouldn’t affect the way he shops and yet Phil cares, he wants to do things with Dan, do things for Dan.

This is the kind of moment that makes Dan want to be brave for once and talk to Phil about what he feels and admit that he screwed up at the beginning of their relationship but he always talks himself out of it.

The supermarket is not a great place for love declarations anyway.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Dan suspects he has reached his lowest point when he fakes a call to get out of another double date planning conversation, he can’t keep making excuses to avoid introducing his alleged boyfriend to Estelle and Rina. He could say that he broke up with Phil, though they might not believe it. Maybe he could say it was something mutual, that they decided they were better off as friends.

His stomach turns at the idea, even a fictional breakup would be too much for his already bruised heart, if he actually had Phil he wouldn’t give him up as easy as this, he would try to make it work.

Maybe he’s just setting himself off for rejection but Dan decides that he’s going to tell Phil how he feels after the Holidays, he just doesn’t want to ruin that for Phil so he’s going to wait.

For now, he’s going to try to convince Phil to show up to a lunch date with Rina and Estelle as Dan’s boyfriend.

Without him knowing.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Of course, Phil shows up despite not having an idea of what is going on. Of course, he plays along even if he is notoriously mad. Of course, he’s the perfect fake boyfriend. Of course, Dan is more screwed than he was before.

Phil really is the perfect boyfriend, Dan reckons. He’s nice to Dan but still has a sense of humour to tease him and bant with him, he’s charming and pretty and Dan is sure Rina and Estella have bought the act.

Dan has bought it too if he’s being honest, he feels like he’s being allowed to have a peek into the life he could have had if only he hasn’t pushed Phil away. Phil is the best person in the world and Dan is an imposter.

By the end of the date, Dan has convinced himself there’s no way Phil still wants him and he should keep his distance

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Phil needs time away from him, Dan repeats in his head over and over again until he makes himself think he believes it.

Not knocking at Phil's door every time he comes back from work gets harder every time, not having Phil there to share every moment it's killing Dan. But confrontation is worse.

Dan can't handle Phil's disappointment, Phil's anger. What if Phil hates him for being a liar? What if he doesn’t want to be friends with Dan anymore? What if he moves out and Dan never sees him again?

Dan doesn't even want to think about it.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

When the power goes out and Phil comes into his apartment Dan can barely believe it. He forgets that he’s scared of the dark and just jumps into Phil’s arms, too happy to know Phil doesn’t hate him to care about the absence of light around them.

They talk and Dan confesses he was scared of fucking up everything between them and Phil tells him he loves him despite everything. Things still feel a little tilted, they have a lot to talk about, but Dan has the feeling they will work it out at the end.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Phil is a big fan of double dates. Well, probably he’s just a big fan of Estelle and Rina. Dan can’t blame him, they’re amazing.

They all hang out so much Rina ends up pointing out Phil’s new lack of responsibilities and Dan has to come clean about his lies. He’s lucky they’re just mad at him for about five minutes. Estelle says she’s too glad it worked out at the end to be angry and Rina says she only forgives him because Phil is sweet, not because of Dan, he’s an asshole. It’s better than what he could have ever asked for.

And Dan gets to be with Phil, as unbelievable as he finds it.

They’re on the sofa, Dan’s arm over Phil’s shoulders. It’s nothing they wouldn't have done before but it still gives Dan a trill, he's Phil's boyfriend, he has his arm around his shoulders and Phil is cuddling into him. It's not different and yet it's completely different. There are no excuses or pretences, they’re free to love each other.

Good thing this is Dan's life.

#phanfiction #phan #mine

20 notes · View notes

stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 5 years

Text

sit with me a while

Requests: Can you do a sequel for Write to Me? / Can you write a fic about Willy mourning Mitch? We didn’t get to see much other than the beginning of episode 3... / I know you said you wished we could have gone to Mitch’s funeral, so maybe you could write a fic about that?

[Thank you for the pic, Pi!]

Read on AO3

---

The water’s freezing, the cold soaking into his bones as he kicks his feet at the passing fish.

With the sun peeking over the horizon, barely lighting the lake or the trees, one would think the air is just as chilled. It’s the opposite- warm and heavy with the scent of summer, something sweet and floral. The perfect temperature.

Willy’s cheeks flush crimson as if he just finished an hour-long run, or if he were running a fever. Scooting closer to the edge, he sticks his long, lanky legs further into the coolness, soaking the ends of his shorts. Mud squishes between his toes as he digs them in deeper. Something wiggles against the soles, perhaps a worm or even a snake, but he’s not too worried about it.

He slips further into the water until fully engulfed. The contrast between hot and cold burns his flesh in an oddly pleasant way. Willy remains beneath the surface for a long time, the pressure in his ears or the need to breathe not a pressing issue or even a concern.

No, if anything, the only things that hurt are his eyes. They’re sore, heavy, and somehow dry even when submerged. He can barely keep them open to admire the beauty within the water. Schools of tiny colorful fish, bright blue crabs crawling among the moss and iridescent rocks, seahorses whizzing around each other as if playing a game of tag.

Willy wants to watch it all, wants to swim out there and join the underwater creatures, but he can barely see.

He can’t remember the last time his eyes hurt this much.

Hell, the last time he cried like this-

There’s laughter.

It’s muffled, deep.

Willy squints through the pain, searching the water, but the source of the laughter isn’t down here.

Of course not, he thinks. Fish can’t laugh.

The water breaks and he takes a gulp of fresh air. He spits, blowing his nose and shaking his head, droplets spraying from his sopping locks.

The laughter is clear now.

“Oh, c’mon!”

The crash of a can.

High-pitched whimpers.

Willy rubs at his eyes, wincing.

“Really?!”

A voice responds, something gargled like if a walker tried to talk.

It’s enough for him to pull forward, clinging to the land and climbing up, still rubbing his eyes on his arms and blinking away any blurriness brought on by the water.

Frantic, exuberant barking.

His eyes- his ears- they’re lying to him. They have to be.

Royal purple adorns the front of Louis’ shirt as a man- someone unrecognizable- flings a paintbrush at him. Rosie jumps and barks with excitement as she chases after it.

Willy becomes rigid, half stuck in the cold water at the sight before him. He blinks several times, but nothing changes.

Louis dodges to the side, the paintbrush smacking against the side of the house-

The house?

Willy hurts his neck cranking it back to try and see the top of the half-painted house- no, not a house- half-painted mansion but all he sees are clouds. Big, fluffy, gray clouds high up in the orange and lavender sky hide the rest of the building, and for the first time since his growth spurt, Willy feels small.

Small, cold, weakened, dumbfounded, a little terrified- a cocktail of emotions boiling in his belly.

The mansion towers over everything; over the trees, over the lake, over the whole world. Old, metal ladders press against the side, paint cans, rollers, and brushes spread out across the healthy grass, and plastic protects new pristine windows. The double doors are missing from the front, laying against the staircase leading up to their future placement, glossy from a fresh coat of white paint.

Rosie barks again, Willy's gaze darting away from the doors and back to her. She buzzes with radiant energy, bouncing and howling for attention.

There’s something heavy and sour in his throat as he watches Louis pick up a paint can and move it over to the ladder, whistling for Rosie to follow. She’s close behind, her tail wagging gleefully and her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth.

“Rosie…” Willy covers his mouth as liquid warmth spreads behind his sore eyes. He tries wiping them on his sleeve again, but the material’s soaked, only making it worse.

Louis calls out something more, but being so far away, the words are like soft murmurs hidden in the breeze sweeping the area.

The man- Willy tries to get a look at his face, but can’t- shakes his head and walks away with an endearing little grin. Louis calls after him, holding up the paint can for emphasis.

“Louis…?” The name feels strange on his tongue, like one that hasn’t been spoken in a long time, nearly becoming foreign.

He continues to speak, more so to himself and Rosie, and perhaps Willy could hear him better if his heart wasn’t beating so damn hard in his ears.

Burying his face in the grass, Willy allows darkness to overcome his sight as he counts to five before looking up.

“No, no, that’s-”

It’s still Louis kneeling down to adjust the ladder, and it’s still Rosie sitting beside him, so he does it again.

Still Louis, chuckling about something the man said as he pours paint.

Still Rosie, leaning forward to press her snout against the grass.

She finds a clean paintbrush, picking it up and sitting patiently with her little tail wagging in the grass.

Louis chuckles, patting her head and taking it from her.

“Good girl.”

If there was ever a distinguishable laugh ingrained in Willy’s brain, even after all these years, it would be Louis’, and it brings a heartbreaking nostalgia that bubbles over in his stomach up into his chest.

A shaky breath passes his lips as he yanks himself fully out of the water and stumbles to his feet. Whether it be due to the physical weight of the water in his clothes or the weight in his mind and chest, he struggles to stay standing. Stumbling, practically crawling on his hands and knees, he gets closer.

The closer he gets, the more clear Louis’ form and words, the more panicked his gut becomes.

That’s when Willy realizes that he’s not just speaking- he’s singing.

“...I wish I had something more to give you...”

Willy stops.

Rosie softly howls with the song as if to sing with him.

“Good girl,” Louis laughs. “...You've been feeling bad this time of year...”

That night-

It hits him quick, like a flash in his brain.

The last image he had of Louis prior to this moment.

That night they brought everyone home.

“...If I could I would drive out to see you…”

Well, almost everyone.

“...Take it from me, I'd be lost without you…”

Clementine, AJ, and Tenn were still out there, lost in the chaos of the delta explosion and Louis refused to stay put. Aasim tried to get him to stay, said it was too dangerous for him to go out there alone, said they needed his help to take care of Omar and Violet, said they would go out for them in a group once they’ve rested, but he didn’t- he couldn’t.

“...I try to run away, but you're running up on me faster, and I could barely breathe, I couldn't even turn around…”

The last time Willy ever saw him was when he ran through the gates and out into the woods.

That’s it.

Can’t even remember the last thing he said before he left. Willy didn’t think about it at the time- he was too busy sorting through the supplies he stole off the rafts.

“...I only hope we make it home safe and sound…”

The next morning, AJ wheeled Clementine up in a wheelbarrow, both of them covered in walker guts and Clem missing her leg, barely holding on.

Tenn was missing.

And Louis was dead.

“...Safe and sound…”

Eaten alive.

Nothing left of him.

When they had his funeral, they buried his deck of cards.

Clementine wouldn’t let them touch the piano, not even to break a piece off to bury, too. Even in her weakened state, she still threatened Aasim when he suggested it.

No one said it, but they all thought ‘no one is going to play that piano anymore, so why not lay it to rest with him?’

But, they weren’t going to fight with her on it, not when she had to drag herself out on crutches to attend- against Ruby’s concerns- and could barely stand through it. Willy had to bring around a chair for her to sit down, and Ruby covered her with a heavy blanket before she collapsed.

They weren’t wrong, though.

No one has played that piano in five years.

The only one who goes in the music room anymore is Clementine, and when she’s in there, no one else is allowed in- AJ’s rule.

He doesn’t know what she does in there, not really. He knows she sits at the piano with the wooden cover placed over the keys, and he knows she sits there and writes stuff in some notebook.

He spied on her one night through the crack in the door. He wasn’t trying to be creepy, even though AJ thought he was and banned him from the music room forever, which was a little harsh. He just wanted to make sure she was okay.

Willy feels a chill that starts at his muddy feet and travels up his calves, along the shirt clinging to his back and shudders his shoulders with every step he takes closer to the mansion.

Louis begins singing a new song, which excites Rosie as she begins yapping at him and howling along.

He looks...

What’s the word Willy’s looking for?

Bright? Carefree? Buoyant? ...Real?

...Alive?

“...So we'll find a mountain path on down the hill... C’mon, Rosie! ...Meet me where the snow mount flows...”

Willy can’t even remember if he cried at Louis’ funeral. Surely, he must have, didn’t he?

Did he?

Was that the last time he’s cried this much…?

No.

Willy forces himself to stand.

No, that would be Mitch’s funeral.

After Willy had lashed out at Tenn, shoving him to the ground and threatening him until the other boy ran away, Louis went after him.

He got down to his level and forced eye contact. In his fit of heated rage, his heartbreaking despair over the loss of the most important being in his life, Willy swung and pounded his fists against Louis’ chest, not even bothering to hold in his tears and enraged sobs. He remembers Ruby telling him to stop, but more so he remembers Louis grabbing both of his wrists to pull him into a hug.

When he closes his eyes, he can still hear Louis telling him it’s okay that he’s upset, to let it all out, get it out of his system.

Eventually, he calmed down and Louis helped him carry Mitch to the grave Ruby dug.

Willy never forgot that.

Not a single detail- Mitch’s bloody face, his lifeless eyes, Clementine’s promises, Louis’ warmth and comforting hug, Tenn’s shame and guilt-ridden, downcasted gaze, Ruby’s muffled sobs- was forgotten.

If he closes his eyes, he can see himself standing before the freshly dug grave where Ruby covered Mitch with shovels over dirt until he was gone. Gone and never seen again, nothing left of him.

The only thing Willy to remind him of what Mitch looked like was a school picture of him when he first got here. The one he keeps tape up on his desk next to Mitch’s favorite knife.

The funeral was over quick- they didn’t have time to mourn him. Not really.

They had raiders to kill.

Willy finally approaches them, close enough to that what he’s seeing is true.

Rosie’s head bolts up, her ears straight and amber eyes alert. She scans the area, sniffing the air. When she sees Willy, he holds her stare just as he holds his breath, waiting.

There’s barely any time to react or gasp out when she bolts towards him. Falling back to his knees, Willy opens his arms to her as she leaps at him, lapping at his face and whines.

“Rosie!” Willy sobs into her warm fur, holding onto her tightly for fear that she’d fade away. “Oh, it’s you! Good girl! Good girl!”

A shadow falls over them. Willy pulls the eager dog away from his line of vision to see Louis’ wide, curious eyes peering down at him. There’s paint dried to his cheek and hands, but his skin appears bright and so… alive.

“Louis?”

Something registers within him, and Louis grins.

“Willy, I thought it was you,” Louis chuckles, sitting down beside him and pulling Rosie off from her attack on his face. “It’s been a while.”

Rosie barks, refusing to be ignored, pressing her wet nose into his neck. When Willy goes to pet her again, he notices that all of the white and gray hairs are gone from her muzzle and around her eyes. No more deformed lumps scatter across her sides and hips, no more broken teeth or bent whiskers, no more blood caked to the fur around her bum or tail.

She’s young again, perhaps a little older than a full-grown pup.

“How ya doing, buddy?” Louis’ tender voice interrupts his thoughts.

A ball of dread plops down from his chest into his stomach, something that nearly jerks him back to reality- or rather, whatever this is. When he touches her face, he expects her to fall cold, maybe become old again, but she doesn’t.

“With everything, I mean,” Louis adds. “Heard it’s been a tough week.”

He ‘heard?’ What did that mean?

“I know what happened,” Louis answers without him breathing the question, something Willy would’ve immediately concluded as physic, telepathic superpowers, but since Rosie’s here in the first place... Of course he knows.

“I… I don’t know.”

Louis nods, sighing as he looks back at the mansion.

“I used to worry about it, you know,” he says, “What it would do to everyone, especially you and Tenn since you both grew up with her.”

Rosie snuggles herself into Willy’s lap, playfully nipping at his fingers as he pets her neck and face.

“I ever tell you I had a pet turtle?”

“No,” Willy shakes his head. “But, Clem said you did.”

“Geoff,” Louis beams. “I loved him. He was small and slow, but he could devour one of those huge strawberries in seconds. It was awesome.”

“Why a turtle?” Willy asks. “Why not a dog? Or a cat?”

“Mom was allergic to a lot of furry animals, and Geoff was anything but furry,” he laughs, reaching out to rub Rosie’s belly. “When I got sent away, I wasn’t allowed to take him with me. He had to go stay with my grandma and I never got to see him again.”

“Oh...”

“Well,” Louis smirks, “until now. Geoff’s in charge of the garden in the back. He’s strict and a little grumpy, but he grows the best damn strawberries you’ve ever eaten.”

Willy bursts into a fit of giggles. “What?”

“He does!” Louis insists. “Strawberries, raspberries, corn, carrots, blueberries! And, he just planted some apple trees, too. Best damn garden turtle I could’ve ever asked for.”

Willy can’t help it, he’s almost choking because he’s laughing too hard. Rosie sits up, curiously watching the boy with her tail moving at top speeds.

Louis laughs with him, and when that laughter dies down, he places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’ll get better,” he says. “I promise. Shit like this always hurts like hell at first.”

“I know.”

“If it makes you feel better, Rosie misses you guys just as much.”

Rosie barks in agreement, and Louis chuckles.

“See?”

Willy tries to smile, but can’t find it in himself as he scratches Rosie’s ears, studying her youthful face. Those are nothing but vibrant amber, a contrast to the bloodshot black that she had in her final moments.

“She loves it here.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just-” Willy sighs, “it sucks. It really, really sucks.”

Louis studies him a moment, his hand absently running along Rosie’s back. She’s calmed down, her large head resting in Willy’s lap again as her eyes droop shut.

“How’s everyone else doing?”

“They’re okay, I think. AJ and Tenn drew this big picture of her with all of us there with these treats laying all around for her to chew on. Aasim helped me make a big cross to stick in the grave and I carved some cool designs in it. We bur- um, we buried her between you and Marlon.”

Louis nods, smiling.

“That’s a good place.”

They’re quiet, enjoying the humid breeze that rustles the grass and watching the golden sun continue to rise.

Willy glances over at him, wondering if he should continue.

“Clementine did it,” he says slowly. “Put her down, I mean. Aasim was gonna do it but… looking at her just- none of us could, so she stepped in and...” he trails off.

“Took care of her,” Louis continues to nod, though his smile falls into a thoughtful look as his hand travels to Rosie’s chest, scratching the one good spot that always got her leg kicking. “Of course she did.”

Willy’s chin quivers, but he takes a deep breath to calm himself down, sighing, “We didn’t want her to suffer anymore, y’know?”

“I know.”

Louis gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders as if to relieve some tension.

“Well, Willy, it’s good to see you again, but I have a feeling I’m not the one you really wanted to talk to about this, or that you’re here to help me with my project,” he jerks his thumb back at the mansion. “Five years and I’ve only got about two-hundred of the floors built.” He shakes his head, hands resting on his hips. “Turns out, nine-hundred and fourteen is a lot. Go figure.”

“Nine-hundred and fourteen?” Willy looks up at the never-ending mansion.

“I told Clem it’d take me a long time to finish this thing. Then again, I am damn proud of the two-hundred I have now. Besides, it’s going a lot quicker with the others helping out more recently.”

“The others?”

Louis nudges him with his foot, saying, “C’mon.”

Willy takes his hand, letting himself be pulled up as Rosie groans, disturbed of her rest. They stare out over the lake, now glossy and glimmering with the rising sun.

“Over there,” Louis points.

It’s the largest oak tree Willy’s ever seen- one with a tire swing attached and what looks like a treehouse under construction. Hell, the biggest damn treehouse he’s ever seen, too. Perfectly placed in the middle, it almost looks like someone built the base of a house, picked it up, and plopped it up in the tree only to find out it’s the perfect fit.

How did he not see that before?

Louis wraps an arm around his shoulders and guides him closer, Rosie following close behind.

“Looks pretty good, huh?”

“It’s huge!” Willy marvels. “Did you build this, too?”

“Nope.”

“Geoff?”

That gets a loud laugh of out him. “No, not Geoff.”

There’s movement, a shadowed figure passing by one of the unfinished windows. Boot heels click against the wood above them, accompanied by unintelligible grumbling. Something metal drops, clanking against something so familiar- a toolbox?

“Shit!”

Willy comes to an abrupt halt at the curse, lips parting in a hitched gasp. He stares up at Louis with wide, bewildered eyes, questioning his sanity more so than ever now. Just to ground himself again, Willy grabs ahold of Louis shirt- it’s really there, the fabric in his hands- as he waits, gazing up at the treehouse.

More footsteps, then the pounding of a hammer.

“He put his heart and soul into this,” Louis says. “Keeps pretty busy up there most days.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah,” Louis grins. “He won’t admit it, but he’s been hoping you’d come visit for a while now.”

Willy goes to speak but finds his mouth dry and tongue heavy.

Regardless, Louis gives him a knowing look and pulls his arm back, leaving Willy’s shoulders feeling much colder against the wind.

“You shouldn’t keep him waiting. He could use the company, I think.”

With that, he turns to walk back as panic shoots through Willy’s spine.

“Wait, Louis?” he calls after him.

“Hm?”

Willy finds he can’t hold his gaze, instead choosing to peer down at the caked mud stuck to his feet.

“You… you’re not-”

“I know, Willy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”

“Who cares how long it’s been? I still feel sorry that it happened. I just…” Willy finally looks at him. “I wanted to tell you that Clem- Clem really misses you,” he murmurs. “AJ, too. And Tenn, he still draws pictures of you and Clem together... here, I think. I don’t know, but he really misses you, too, and so does Violet, and-”

That glow Louis had about him dulls, just a bit, as his expression becomes darker, sadder. He blinks several times in an attempt to compose himself, to hide that gloss to his eyes.

“I know, buddy. I miss you all, too,” he finally says, offering a genuine, but dejected smile. “Now, go.”

“Yeah, yeah I will.”

He claps, gaining Rosie’s full attention.

“C’mon, Rosie! You’re slackin’ again! This place isn’t going to build itself! Hop to it! We’ve still got seven-hundred floors to go!”

Rosie barks.

“Excuse me! Seven-hundred and fourteen! Can’t forget the fourteen! Clementine will have my hide if we forget the fourteen!”

She peers up at Willy one last time, panting and licking her lips. Willy moves back down to her, hugging her to him as she whimpers.

“You’re the bestest girl in the whole world,” Willy tries to keep his voice calm, but it comes out as more of a croak. “Goodbye, Rosie...” He presses a kiss against her forehead, which she returns with a lick on his cheek.

Willy lets her go, watching her trot off after Louis.

Together they get back to work on the mansion.

Willy lingers to soak in that image of Louis to replace the real one he had, the one that was a blur, and to remember Rosie as a dog with nothing but youth and love coursing in her veins.

“Shit-”

His hands cover his face as he takes long, shuddering breaths.

The hammering above him grows louder.

Willy sniffles, mumbling, “Stop it, stop...”

He’s not a child anymore. He can’t go up there like this. No, he needs to get his shit together and show that he’s grown up now. He needs to act his size.

One deep breath after another, Willy calms his heavy, racing heart and faces the treehouse again. Thick planks of wood secure against the trunk of the massive tree create a ladder to the opening beneath the structure.

With another heavy inhale, Willy begins his climb. While this isn’t the longest tree he’s ever made his way up, it’s still the biggest. He didn’t know a tree’s trunk could grow like this. The ones surrounding Ericson are twigs compared to this monster.

The pounding of the hammer is close, nearly vibrating through the wooden pieces. Once he reaches the top, Willy cautiously peeks over the edge of the opening.

It’s...

It’s set up to resemble the basement, with a workbench and several cases with shelves adorning various tools, toys, books, weapons, and other supplies. However, unlike the basement, it’s bright and open with plenty of space to move around and work in. The glassless windows let in the morning sun to heat the floor and illuminate the center of the place. When he pulls himself up more, he spots a couch with a brand new guitar pressed against it, and posters of various bands and movies cover the walls, all with graffiti smeared over them.

The hammering stops as a string of incoherent grumbles hum behind him.

Willy’s breath hitches when he turns.

Down on his hands and knees in the doorway of the treehouse, Mitch checks the sturdiness of the frame, grasping and giving it a jerk. When it doesn’t move, he nods to himself and moves to the other side.

Willy’s hands shake violently, even when he balls them into fists. Scrambling to his feet, careful to mind the opening as he moves in closer.

“Mitch?”

The hammering stops again.

Neither of them moves.

Willy can see Mitch glance at him from the corner of his eye. Then, he slowly turns on his heels to face him.

He’s exactly how Willy remembers; fair skin adorned with various freckles, dark hair that falls around the nape of his neck and hides his forehead, broad shoulders and long legs, a dimple in his chin, a scar along his right hand...

It’s even the same shape and color, crossed around the back of his hand and up his wrist. He got it when one of Willy’s traps malfunctioned, nearly dropping a log on him before Mitch yanked him out of the way. The force of it sent them flying back into their supplies where one of the arrows sliced up his hand. They were lucky it didn’t go through, but it still brought on overwhelming guilt every time Willy looked at it, no matter how many times Mitch said he’d rather have a fucked up hand instead of the alternative.

Yet another thing Willy did to hurt him...

“Holy shit,” Mitch breathes out.

He stands, letting the hammer drop to crash against the wood.

Willy’s eyes burn as he swallows the lump in his dry, sore throat. He has to bite his lip to still his trembling chin, screaming in his mind to hold himself together.

Mitch steps closer into the warm light, eyeing him up and down in disbelief, gaze widening and brows furrowing.

“Holy shit…” he repeats. “Look at you.”

When he’s close enough, Willy realizes that for the first time he can look Mitch straight in the eye without any trouble, a jarring contrast to five years ago when he would jump on the furniture and pretend he towered over him and everyone else.

Mitch smirks.

“Told’ja you wouldn’t be small forever.”

Willy smiles wide enough to cause a strain in his cheeks, barring all of his crooked teeth.

“Yeah, you did,” he shakes his head. “Should’ve listened to you.”

Willy tries to memorize everything he can of Mitch’s face but looks away when heat begins to threaten his eyes again. He twitches, wanting to throw himself at Mitch and hold him, sob into his chest like he did when he was little, when the world ended and they were abandoned.

He doesn’t- can’t.

Instead, Willy holds out his trembling hand.

“I- I’m happy to see you.”

Mitch cocks a brow at the gesture, but takes it silently, giving a firm shake.

His skin feels real, his warmth soaking into Willy’s and it boggles his mind. He tightens his grip, shaking back.

Mitch chuckles, rolling his eyes.

Before Willy can question it, he’s jerked forward and enveloped by Mitch’s arms around his shoulders. Stunned, he stands there as Mitch presses a hand against the back of his head, smoothing out his hair, and grumbling, “No need to be so formal, old man. I’m happy to see you, too.”

“...You hate hugs.”

"You’re an exception.”

With that, Willy allows himself to wrap his arms around Mitch’s waist and hug him back tightly.

When it’s time to pull away, he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want Mitch to see the tears threatening to spill over or the quiver in his chin.

“C’mon,” Mitch pulls him out the doorway and onto a porch. “Come sit with me for a while.”

The sun’s higher in the sky now, burning orange within the lavender sky, illuminating the world much more than before. From out here, they can hear Louis and Rosie singing again.

They sit together at the end of the porch, letting their legs dangle over the edge. Willy peers down, realizing just how high up they are. Not that he’s afraid of heights of anything, but something about being this close to falling makes him nervous, so he scoots closer to Mitch.

“Rosie hit you pretty hard, huh?” he asks.

Willy’s quiet, watching the dog in question bring Louis a new paintbrush.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he sighs. “When she showed up here, we were all worried about it, about you and Tenn and AJ and whatnot. Didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“We didn’t have a choice.”

“No, you didn’t. It’s better this way, though, and I know how shitty that is to hear right now, but it’s true. Keepin’ her around in the state she was would’ve been cruel.”

“I know.”

“You’re gonna be okay.”

“I know.”

“Willy.”

He meets Mitch’s eye.

“...What else?”

“What?”

“You’ve got more on your mind than Rosie.”

Of course, he does, how could he not?

Mitch- real or not- is there beside him for the first time since the delta attack so long ago.

Willy’s glance falls down to Mitch’s throat. There’s no wound, no blood, not even a scar as if what happened to him was only a nightmare.

Like Louis, Mitch has another worldly glow about his skin, a light in his stare, something so real that Willy finds himself at a loss. He wants to believe that he’s here- actually, physically here- and that everything around him is true.

Except it’s not.

“When we were saying our goodbyes to Rosie, I kept thinking about you,” Willy starts. “Kept telling myself not to cry because you wouldn’t. You’d be strong and pull through it, just like you used to whenever we lost someone. But, I couldn’t keep it in.”

He looks to his hands in shame.

“I thought I was done crying... done being small.”

“You’re not small anymore.”

Mitch stretches out one of his legs, nudging him to do the same. Their legs reach out the length, almost. Actually, comparing them this way, Willy’s reach is farther.

“Somethin’ always told me you’d outgrow me,” Mitch mumbles. “Damn.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Mitch grins. “So, stop callin’ yourself small.”

“Can’t help it. Still feel that way, like I’m not doing everything I can for everyone. They’re all sad, but Aasim’s still taking care of the rabbits and Ruby’s still running the greenhouse. Violet’s damn near blind and Clem has no leg and they’re doing more than me.”

“Willy, that’s bullshit. You’ve stepped up a lot, fixed a lot of things I never got the chance to, made things more secure for everyone. I always knew ya had that in you. And the shit with the delta? Who built that bomb? You did. You helped kill those fuckers and stop them from ever bothering our home ever again.”

"...I did do that.”

Mitch chuckles. “Felt that explosion from here, y’know.” He knocks his fist against Willy’s shoulder. “Hell of a bomb, kid. Couldn’t’ve done it better myself.”

Something swells around Willy’s heart, something comforting.

“Seriously,” he adds.”I wasn’t right about everything and I said and did some stupid shit, but I wasn’t ever wrong about you. Yeah, Rosie’s gone and that sucks, but you know what? You’re gonna be sad for a while and then you’ll be better. Thing’s’ll get back to normal, just like they always do. You’ll get into that flow again, building traps and making weapons, just like how I taught you.”

The words sink in slowly just as something bubbles in Willy’s throat. He turns to Mitch again, studying his serious face. It’s the same one he used to make whenever Willy beat himself up over messing up a trap or whenever he missed a shot while hunting. The face that said, “Don’t sweat it, you’ll get better.”

“...What do you know? You’re dead.”

He doesn’t mean for that to slip out, or for it to be so harsh, but the effect on both of them is instant. Mitch’s frown deepens, his brows furrowing as his eyes become dark, slipping shut as he takes a deep breath.

"Yeah,” Mitch nods. “Been dead for a while now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m talking about or that you shouldn’t listen to me.”

“It means you’re not really here.”

“So what?”

“So, none of this is real. Not you, not Rosie, not Louis, not the sun, not the treehouse, nothing. You’re dead and I...”

Mitch grabs his wrist, squeezing tightly.

“Then pretend it is and hear what I’m telling you. You’re better than this. What happened to me wasn’t your fault, or Tenn’s, or anybodys. Hell, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine,” his shoulders slump, defeated, “realized that one a little too late.”

He loosens his grip.

“Left you a lot sooner than I ever wanted to,” Mitch admits. “Always said I’d be there, y’know. Told’ja I’d make sure nothing ever got you, that you’d always have something to eat and wear and fight with-.”

“Why?” Willy interrupts without thought.

“Why what?”

“Why’d you do all that? Why were you always so nice to me?” Willy asks. While he knows this isn’t real, he still finds himself desperate for an answer. “I was just a weird kid who did stupid, gross stuff. You never had to take care of me, but you did. I should’ve been better than that.”

“Willy-”

“I should’ve done more so that I wasn’t slowing you down or wasting your time. If I was stronger then, or smarter, or faster, I could’ve helped save Tenn and then you wouldn’t have died!” With each breath he takes, the words come faster and angrier. “Then, we could’ve made that bomb and blew those assholes up together!”

The tears finally overflow, dripping down his cheeks and onto his shorts. Wiping his nose on the back of his hand, he twists himself around and leaves the edge of the porch, struggling to his feet.

Chirps of passing birds catch Mitch’s attention for a brief second, his face falling before he rushes from the porch to follow Willy back inside the tree house.

“Hey-”

“No,” Willy shakes his head. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to be a burden, Mitch, and now you’re gone and I can’t even- I can’t even thank you or tell you I’m sorry or how much I miss you-”

The chirping grows louder, the birds landing outside the door and looking in. Mitch turns to glare at them, hissing out, “In a minute!”

The floorboards beneath Willy’s feet suddenly feel unstable, like one wrong move and he could fall through. The weight of his our head is too heavy for his shoulders, falling forward for him to drip his tears, staining the wood.

“Willy,” Mitch’s voice is softly melancholic. “It’s time to wake up.”

“I- I know.”

“Listen, I-” Mitch pauses, gaze falling to the ground as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I never got to say this because, uhm, y’know... Shit, Willy, you weren’t just some kid I looked after, you know that, right? You have to know that.”

Willy says nothing. He doesn’t think he can.

“I had a lot of brothers, you know. Real ass hats. Didn’t miss them for too long after everything went to shit... but I had you.”

Fingers grasp his shoulder, and he’s being turned around. Once again, blinking back tears he stares straight into Mitch’s eyes, his vivid green eyes that hold an eternity of life in them.

“I never cared if you were weird or if you did stupid shit. I was weird and did stupid shit, too. You were fun and silly and I liked talking with you and I liked the way you used to follow me around like- like I was some sort of hero. You just- you were so little and scared out of your mind and I knew I had to step up and help you, because if I didn’t, you wouldn’t’ve made it and I couldn’t live with myself if you ever got bit or killed or whatever. You meant too much to me.”

Now he holds both of his shoulders, never once breaking their locked gazes.

“You were never a burden, Willy. You were more of a brother to me than my own blood, and I’m sorry that I can’t be there for you anymore. But, I need you to take care of yourself and the others, okay? I need you to grow even taller than you are now, and live until you’re eighty-years-old-”

“Eighty?”

“At least,” Mitch chuckles. “Think you can do that for me?”

“...What about after that?”

“After you hit eighty?”

“Yeah.”

“Then... then you and I can build a nine-hundred and fifteen-story house across the lake, just to piss Louis off.”

Through his tears, Willy laughs, sniffling and asking, “What color?”

“Up to you.”

Willy’s vision becomes spotty, colors fusing together around black blobs.

“Orange,” he says. “Let’s paint it orange.”

“Orange it is,” Mitch sighs, smile falling in sorrow. “If... if you ever need to, come see me again. We can hide out here and sit and talk, or carve some shit. Or, y’know, it wouldn’t kill ya to write...” He grumbles that last part.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” he shakes his head. “Time to go, Willy. You’ve got morning watch.”

Willy takes a step towards him, throwing his arms around his shoulders and giving him one final hug. Mitch doesn’t hesitate, holding him back.

“Thank you.”

“Make me proud, okay?”

“I will,” Willy sniffles. “Sorry I yelled at you. And cried.”

“Don’t be.”

Willy clings to his shirt.

“Goodbye, Mitch...”

He lets go.

Willy watches him through sore, teary eyes as Mitch moves to the doorway, stepping into the light.

“Love you, kiddo,” Mitch murmurs. “No matter what, remember that, okay?”

With that, he fades away.

#twdg willy #twdg mitch #twdg louis #twdg clementine #twdg aj #twdg tenn #twdg aasim #twdg ruby #twdg omar #twdg violet #twdg clouis #twdg fanfics #angst that i wrote in a night because i was sad #come be sad with me i guess

30 notes · View notes