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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

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Somewhere Only We Know

Pairing: god!Dream / DreamXD x gn!reader

Summary: [Reincarnation!AU & Dream SMP!AU] Being a god can be especially lonely—Dream knows that better than anyone. Yet somehow, you always manage to find your way back to him in every life you live. If only it didn’t hurt so much to love you.

Warnings: tw// mention of death

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: requested by the lovely 🤡 anon, who asked for a piece based on keane’s somewhere only we know! i got rather carried away when writing this, and it’s certainly quite sad, but i hope you all enjoy it! <3

Dream blinks lazily up at the fluffy clouds drifting across the cerulean sky, his emerald eyes tracing over their soft edges. He hums to himself as one of them drifts in front of the sun, the warm light suddenly leaving his face. Frowning, he sits up a little straighter, raising his arm above his head. He snaps his fingers once, and in an instant, the clouds vanish. Warmth floods his cheeks as the sun’s brilliant rays crash over him once more. He smiles, but it’s melancholic, a forlorn look passing over his face.

Just how long has he been alone like this?

Sighing, he rises to his feet, kicking at the soft dirt beneath the soles of his boots. His viridian cloak is light atop his shoulders, his wings neatly folded underneath the soft fabric. Above his head, his halos glow with a dazzling golden hue, sending beams of amber light flashing across the nearby tree trunks. Rolling his neck, he snaps his fingers again, and his wings and halos vanish in a flash. Just like that, the weight on his back dissipates, and his lips twitch. There—that’s much lighter.

His gaze flickers over to the waterfall lying just a yard away, rushing ripples of water streaming down the short cliff face and into the pool lying at its base. He crouches down next to the small pond, brushing his hand over the soft soil beneath his feet. Sparks shoot up his arm and into his fingertips, the earth suddenly bursting to life underneath his touch.

All of a sudden, a blossom sprouts from the ground, soft and pink as it unfurls its petals and soaks up the warm sunshine. Dream grins as row after row of flowers shoot up from the ground, circling around the pond and lining the trees around the clearing until suddenly, the whole space is surrounded by breathtaking blossoms. He stands back with a satisfied hum, glancing around himself with an almost nostalgic gleam in his gaze.

It’s been ages since he last returned to this little alcove in his favourite forest. He could tell no one else had stepped foot here except for him, too. After all, there was only one other person who knew about this place—the only other person in the world he knew would be able to find it in the first place.

Had it been decades or centuries since he last visited? He’s not sure anymore, but really, he’s not sure if he cares, either. There’s a reason why he doesn’t come back here very often—one that he hesitates to even think about.

It’s far too painful of a memory to relive.

“Hello?”

Dream freezes, his eyes going wide at the sound of a new voice—a familiar voice. Slowly, he turns, his lips parting in awe as he sees a figure stepping into the clearing, a mix of caution and curiosity flitting across your cheeks.

He knows that face—knows you.

His heart aches at the thought.

“Hi,” he manages after a long moment, swallowing ever so slightly.

You flash him a sheepish smile, lowering your gaze to the ground almost bashfully as you brush a stray leaf off your shoulder. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, or anything. I was just passing by when I saw the flowers, and thought they looked really pretty, and...”

You trail off, your voice growing smaller and smaller until it fades off into silence. Dream stares at you, unmoving as his heart races a mile a minute in his chest, battering against his rib cage as your timid gaze flickers to his.

“I, um,” you squeak out, feeling the intensity of his eyes on yours. “I can go if you wa—”

“No,” Dream suddenly blurts, the word flying out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He can already feel the heat flooding his chest at the way you startle in front of him, and he sucks in a breath.

“Wait,” he says, calmer this time. “Please, I—you’re not intruding at all. You can stay.” He takes a shaky step forward, offering you a crooked yet earnest smile. “I’d love it if you stayed.”

In an instant, your face lights up, and his breath hitches in his throat at the sight. “O-Oh, thank you! It’s nice to meet you. My name’s [Y/N].”

In that moment, he could have sworn his heart stopped and would never beat, again. “What’s yours?” you ask, your eyes shining like freshly cut gemstones.

His eyes scan your face for a moment, taking in the soft panes of your cheeks and the delicate curve of your lips as your smile leaves tiny cuts in his lungs.

“Dream,” he breathes at last. “Call me Dream.”

Suddenly, your eyes curve into tiny crescent moons as you grin at him, and he feels the loneliness flowing through his veins subside the tiniest bit.

Even after all this time, he still can’t bring himself to forget your smile.

Dream hums to himself as he tosses a pebble into the pond from his spot on the fallen tree log. The stream laps at the stone once before swallowing it whole, letting it sink to the murky bottom without so much as a splash. A rustle comes from behind him, and he immediately whirls, his lips curling up into an eager smile.

“[Y/N],” he chirps, bright and keen, “welcome back.”

Your glowing face greets him in return, and he nearly combusts on the spot. He still remembers the way you had promised him you would return to see him again a week ago, when you had first stumbled upon his clearing. His head still spins at the thought, and it almost makes him forget the longing ache that sinks into his bones when his gaze lingers on you for a fraction too long.

Almost.

You wave at him as you jump over a protruding tree root, crinkles forming at the corners of your eyes. “Good morning, Dream! What are you doing here so early? The market only just opened.”

He shuffles over on the log to give you room, raising an eyebrow at you. “I could ask the same of you.”

Crouching over, you settle down onto the space next to him, not at all noticing the way he stiffens when your thigh brushes against his. “I woke up early to watch the sunrise,” you say with a half-drowsy smile.

There is a beat of silence, then Dream tilts his head at you. “The sunrise?”

You bob your head, turning to look at him. “Yeah,” you murmur wistfully, raising your arm to wave your hand up at the sky above. “I love watching all the pretty colours fill the horizon. It only lasts a few minutes, but it’s so magnificent, and I always try to watch them if I can.”

His eyes flash as he takes in your gentle expression. Then, he opens his mouth, thoughtful and slow. “Sunrises, hm? What other things do you like?”

You pause for a moment. “Other things I like?” When he nods, you hum, averting your gaze from his until you find yourself staring over at the bubbling waterfall.

“I like... I like flowers,” you begin, “but you already knew that.” He chuckles at the hint of a smile that dusts your face before you continue. “I like exploring the market every Saturday, too. They always have something new to find.”

Suddenly, your eyes flicker to life, glittering with excitement. “Oh, I also like stargazing! It’s like watching the universe paint a picture with little crystals every night, and something about looking up at the sky makes me feel so small, and I... I...” You gesture vaguely, a frustrated noise escaping your throat. “I don’t know. I just like it.”

Dream cannot help the way his heart melts in his chest at the sound you make, a certain fondness seeping into his soul. You were always so endearing—always, always, always.

“What about you, Dream?” you say suddenly, looking at him curiously. “What things do you like?”

Dream blinks at you—once, twice. Suddenly, his mind is flooded with image after image, memory after memory.

He thinks of the millennia he has lived through, the cities he has watched rise and fall. He thinks of the countless distances he has wandered, travelling far and wide with a heavy loneliness hanging in his barren heart. He thinks of soft kisses pressed to calloused fingertips and fluttering eyelids.

Then, he looks at you, with your enraptured eyes and your glorious grin.

“You,” he says, sincerity gracing his every word. “I like spending time with you.”

He watches as you stammer in reply, your eyes going wide as you gape at him in a mixture of embarrassment and flattery. He laughs at you, and his heart swells in his chest.

He’s missed you—more than you would ever know.

“Say, Dream, have you ever seen the ocean?”

The sun glares harshly into your eyes from where you lie on the earth, staring up at the cobalt sky, but Dream hardly notices—his eyes are too focused on you. “I have,” he murmurs as his gaze traces over the bridge of your nose in wonder. He’s seen more of the world than he would like to admit. After all, he was the one who created it in the first place. But to you, he’s just a simple traveler with a penchant for waterfalls.

Before he can even register it, you’ve bolted upright, bending over him with an excited shout. “Really?! What’s it like?”

He jolts at the sudden movement, all too keenly aware of how close your face is to his before his shuffles into a sitting position, resting his chin on his hand. “Well,” he begins, “it’s really big. So big that you can’t see the shore on the other side no matter how hard you try. It’s blue as far as the eye can see, and the breeze kind of tastes salty if you open your mouth.”

He catches a flash of your awed expression as he waves his arm in front of him to illustrate the vast size of the ocean. “The water,” he continues, envisioning the waves as they crash onto the sand, “is nice and cold, and if you swim deep enough, you might find fish and coral. It’s relaxing to watch the tide come up into the beach. Sometimes, shells wash up onto the shore, too. You can keep those as little souvenirs.”

For a moment, you are silent as you simply stare at him, something swirling deep within your gaze. “Wow,” you say at last, sounding completely breathless. “That sounds beautiful.” You stretch your legs out in front of you, your fingers curling into the grass spread beneath your palms. “My best friend says there’s mermaids in the ocean.” You scrunch your nose. “I don’t know if I believe him, though.”

Something dark ripples through Dream, and the tiniest of frowns passes over his face. “Your best friend?” he parrots.

You nod. “Yeah—his name’s Karl. He’s really nice and likes to goof off a lot. He’s also a really good storyteller!” You look at him then, fondly and with such a kind look it almost knocks Dream right over. “I think you might like his stories.”

His lips quirk up into a coy smile, and he leans ever so slightly forward. “Would I, now?” he croons, a teasing lilt tinting his tone. “What kind of stories does he like to tell?”

You clasp your hands together, excitement brimming in your face. “Oh, wonderful ones! There’s the one about the sleepy fox, the one about the pig who could not be killed, and the one about how we all face reincarnation after death, but my favourite,” you murmur, “is about the creation of the world.”

Dream goes still at that, his smile faltering for a split second. “How does that one go?” he asks softly.

You scoot the tiniest bit closer to his side, your gaze lowering ever so slightly. “Once upon a time,” you start, your voice as smooth as velvet, “a god descended from the heavens and carved the world into the shape it is today.” You traced your finger along the soft dirt. “He made valleys and hills, oceans and rivers, decorating the land with flowers and trees. The world he made was beautiful, but it was lonely, so he filled it with people to keep him company. He was so full of joy to have friends, until one day, he fell in love.”

Your demeanour, which had been cheerful up until this point, suddenly shifted, darkening as you let out a sigh. “He fell in love so quickly and so deeply that he was blind to the nature of his own creations, as they had a mortal lifespan, unlike him. When his lover died, a part of his soul died with them. He vanished after that, never to be seen again.” You curl your knees to your chest, resting your head upon them. “Some people say he wanders the world, mourning for all of eternity. Others say he died of heartbreak. Even fewer believe that his lover lives on and he loves them still, although they’re not entirely sure. Either way, he has yet to appear, and humanity quietly awaits for his return.”

Dream is silent beside you, his lips pressed into a thin line as his chest rises and falls with the timing of his breaths. “Why is that story your favourite?” he finally asks.

You lift your head, surprise shooting across your face. “I’m not sure,” you say softly, pondering for a moment. “I just think he sounds so... sad. It’s a tragedy, what happened to him. He only wanted to not be alone anymore.” Your voice drops even lower. “He only ever wanted to love someone.”

An ache suddenly expands within his gut, digging into his sides of his skull with such ferocity he fears he may never escape it. That same, fleeting sense of solitude slinks around his lungs, squeezing and squeezing until your eyes lock into his, and they halt.

“Do you think that he lives on?” you whisper, your gaze searching his. “That he might have found someone else to keep him company, despite his sadness?”

You pause, something like hope sparking within your eyes. “Do you think... he ever loved again?”

Dream stares at you, and stares at you, and stares at you. Your lips are right there, are so dreadfully close to him as he looks at you, feeling the blood pound through his ears as the pain in his heart begins to lift. It rises higher and higher within him before sliding off his shoulders entirely, leaving nothing behind but tender affection and warmth—a warmth he had been yearning for for so, so long.

He smiles at you then, and for once, this one is real.

“Something tells me he did.”

Dream stretches his wings out behind him with a quiet groan, feeling the cool air ruffle his ivory white feathers. His cloak sits on the ground next to him while his golden halos spin rapidly atop his head from where they float, glowing faintly in the fading evening light. After a moment, he lets his wings fold back up against his back, lowering his arms with a sharp exhale. In the distance, he catches a glimpse of the setting sun just before it dips below the horizon, shrouding the world in darkness. With a bored look, he picks at his nail, curling his toes in his shoes.

He’s already waved you off and watched as you wove your way out of the clearing and between the forest’s tangled trees back to your village. Now, he has nothing left to do but wait for your return the next day, his throat aching for your arrival with every passing second.

How far I have fallen, he thinks distantly to himself, to be reduced to nothing more than a helpless admirer for a human.

A moment passes, and his heart sighs.

A lovely human, at that.

All of a sudden, he hears a stick snap behind him, and Dream immediately snaps his fingers, his wings and halos disappearing in a flash, almost as if they had never existed to begin with. Whipping around on his heel, he narrows his eyes at the clearing entrance, jaw clenched in preparation. His shoulders are raised at his side, tense with anticipation when just then...

...you stumble out of the forest, tears streaking down your face.

Dream’s shoulders fall in an instant.

“Dream,” you choke out, your voice cracking sharply.

You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth again before he’s standing in front of you, his hands gripping your shoulders as gently as he can manage. His eyes scan your face as his stomach churns with agony at the despair painted onto your features. “[Y/N],” he murmurs softly, “what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You sniffle, lifting your head to look at him through watery eyes as you open your mouth. “Karl—he’s sick. Really sick,” you babble like a winding stream. “The doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, and he’s been coughing so badly that you can just tell he’s in pain. At this rate, I—I’m scared he’s not going to get any better. He... I’ve known him since forever, and I—”

The words die in your mouth as you cut yourself off with a broken sob, and Dream almost feels as though he’s been stabbed in the gut. He never wants to see you in pain, to see you as sad as this, and the fact that you are sobbing at all makes him want to wail himself.

Softly, he wraps his arms around you, pressing you close to your chest as he rocks you gently back and forth with your head resting on his shoulder. Your tears soak his shirt, but he doesn’t mind one bit. “Shh, [Y/N],” he coos quietly. “It’s going to be okay.”

You pull back with a wary gaze, fear etched into your features. “How do you know that?” you whisper. “What if he doesn’t get better? What then?”

Dropping one arm from behind you, Dream slips a hand into his pocket, quickly rubbing his fingers together. Just like that, cool glass that wasn’t there a moment earlier presses against the warmth of his palm, and he pulls out a vial filled with a pale, rosy liquid.

“Here,” he says, pressing the vial into your hand. “This is an antidote I’ve been...” He pauses for a split second, then fibs. “...holding onto for a while. For emergencies.” Slowly, he clasps your fingers until they’re closed around the glass top, sending you a reassuring smile. “Give this to Karl, and I promise you he’ll recover.”

You blink at him, your eyes glimmering underneath the light of the swirling stars overhead. “You swear?” you ask meekly, hope dancing along the edge of your lashes.

Dream swallows thickly and nods. “On my life.”

You inhale a deep, shuddering breath, then raise your hand to wipe at your eyes before smiling at him, warm and full of affection. “Okay,” you murmur as you step back from him. “I trust you, Dream.”

The next morning, you come tumbling into Dream’s arms with a gleeful cry, tears flowing freely down your face as you knock him to the ground. This time, they’re there for an entirely different reason as you ramble about Karl’s cleared airways when the doctor came to check on him after you fed him the antidote.

Beneath you, Dream relishes in the warmth of your body against his, praying you cannot feel the way his heart hammers against his chest.

There were not enough words in the world that he could use to describe how deep his devotion to you ran.

He fears there may never be enough.

Months pass in a blur, and Dream watches with knowing eyes as summer turns to autumn. Soon enough, snow coats the clearing although the waterfall continues to flow. No matter how harsh the weather, you stumble your way back to the forest to him, and each day, Dream feels himself sink deeper and deeper into the very essence that is you.

To think that there was once a time he never wanted to return here at all.

“Dream,” you say abruptly one day, “you know, I think you might be my favourite person in the world.”

He cocks a brow at you, his lips twitching up into a small smirk. “In the world?” he repeats. “I think Karl would be offended.”

You roll your eyes at him, but you can’t stop the smile from stretching across your face. “Maybe, but it’s the truth!” You lift a hand and begin counting off on your fingers. “You’re—you’re so nice, and passionate, and bold, and bright, and...” You pause, then chuckle almost shyly. “I could go on and on, but that’s embarrassing.”

He chuckles at your words, only growing more and more enamoured with each word that falls from your lips. “It’s not embarrassing,” he says gently. “It’s cute.”

Your shoulders suddenly stiffen, and you slowly turn your head to glance up at him. “Cute? You think I’m cute?”

He doesn’t have to think twice about his response. “Very much so. I would dare say that you are even more beautiful than you are cute.”

You whine with a pout, heat crawling up the side of your neck as you dig your thumbs into your palms. “You can’t just say things like that.”

He stares at you for a second, then he flashes you a grin that is both parts wicked and affectionate. “Maybe, but it’s the truth.”

Your mouth drops open at the way he fires your own words back at you, and you gape at him a moment before you groan, reaching over to playfully bat at his arm. “Why, you!”

He laughs at you and loves the way he can tell your heart races in your chest. He loves the way you smile despite your small shouts of frustration. He loves the way you are just so endearing to him in every which way.

He laughs at you and he loves you, hopelessly and wholly.

Dream gazes up at the orange sky with a slight frown and furrowed brows, watching as the clouds coast by overhead on a distant, northern gale. The waterfall babbles restlessly at his side, and he taps his foot against the smooth stones lining the pond with abandonment. The flowers he had once grown rake this petals over the soles of his shoes as he lets out a long sigh, anxiety slowly beginning to paw at his backside.

Are you going to show up at all today? he wonders. There are some days you don’t appear at all, typically because you had to run some errands or something of the sort, but those days are few and far between. He won’t chastise you for not seeing him, of course, but he cannot simply ignore the pang of his heart when he misses you so.

His fingers drum against the cool material clutched in his hands, and a melancholic look flits over his features. It would be a shame if you didn’t appear though, especially given what he had in mind for the day.

Right then, he hears your lovely voice call out for him. “Dream!”

His frown is immediately replaced by a smile as he whirls around to see you, his hands carefully tucked behind his back. “[Y/N],” he greets, striding up to you. “It’s good to see you.”

You’ve only just made it in front of him when he opens his mouth again, excitement filling his words to the absolute brim. “I brought you a gift.”

You blink wildly at him, pointing to yourself in surprise. “For me?”

His grin only grows wider, his heart leaping into his throat. “Of course it’s for you, silly. Who else?”

You squint for a second, then smile. “Karl?”

Dream deadpans at you, and you laugh in return, not noticing the way his eyes melt fondly at your expression. “I’m kidding,” you chide, shuffling a step closer to him. “So, what is it?”

He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet when he finally brings his hands out from behind him, pushing them towards you. “Ta-da! Here.”

Your breath catches at the sight of his palms, and with trembling hands, you reach up to pull the curved item from his hand. “Is this... a shell?” you whisper, your eyes as wide as saucers.

He nods, his emerald eyes gleaming with pride. “A conch shell,” he says. “From the ocean.”

You sputter as you gently turn the shell over in your hands, your fingers tracing over the solid edges with nothing short of pure shock. “H-How did you even get this? The nearest ocean is at least a week’s travel on horse away!”

Dream thinks of the wings he typically had tucked on his back and how they carried him to the ocean and back in less than a few minutes, but to you, he only smiles and shrugs. “I have my ways.”

You don’t respond for a moment, then two. All of a sudden, you sniffle, and Dream is bending before you in a heartbeat, his hands reaching for yours before just stopping short. “[Y/N]?” he asks in a soothing tone. “Is something wrong?”

Your gaze is watery, but only slightly as you raise your chin to look at him, your lower lip set with determination. “Dream,” you say with a shaky breath, “I have to tell you something.” You gulp. “It’s serious.”

Immediately, Dream’s mind runs through a million and five possibilities of what you could possibly say to him, each one increasingly worse than the last. Your family is in need of funds, or you’re about to leave on a life-threatening journey. Or maybe Karl is just sick, again.

But before he can run himself into the ground with his own worries, Dream lets out a breath and tilts his head at you. “What is it?”

Your gaze falls down to your feet, and you stare at the earth for an excruciatingly long minute. Dream simply stands in front of you, patiently and earnestly waiting for your response when you suddenly open your mouth.

“I—I love you.”

Dream’s lungs feel as though they are about to collapse in his chest. “You do?”

You bite your lip, but raise your head, your shoulders trembling at your sides. “Yes,” you whisper, the syllable steeped with emotion. With one hand clasped around the conch shell, the other reaches up to rest over your chest, palm pressed flats against your left side. “My heart is yours, all of it.”

The world is a blur of colours and sounds around him, and he can feel his head spin faster and faster as a wave of memories come crashing down over him, drowning him whole. He wants to tear his hair out and scream to the heavens above until his throat is raw and he can scream no more.

You love him. You love him back, and as much as he wants to burn your words into the back of his eyelids, something else sinks its claws into his heart and tears a hole right into the flesh.

This is not the first time you have spoken these words to him. No, not at all.

He had done his best to forget them over all those years, had tried his best to outrun the anguish with every century he lived through. After all, when you live as long as he has, it is only natural for him to forget some things. Through wandering across every land he had lovingly sculpted by hand, he had hoped to erase his suffering by engulfing himself in other worldly affairs, isolating himself entirely from others.

But no amount of time could ever truly erase the memories he had of you—the first incarnation of you, from all those years ago.

He remembers how the two of you had shared your first kiss under the light of the full moon, giggling to one another as he wrapped you up in his soft feathers. He remembers the way you would hold his hand and tell him about all the things you could not wait to do with him in the very same clearing he stood in now. He remembers the way your body went limp in his own arms, coughing until your lungs could cough no more. He remembers the agony and the torment as he wasted away, too caught up in the imprint of your skin against his before you turned to dust before his very eyes.

He remembers it all, and he cannot not let himself be shattered like that, again.

“I have to go,” he whispers, jerking his arm back from yours.

You whip your head up, pain shooting across your face. “Y-You’re leaving? What?”

He takes another step back and swallows down the lump in his throat, but it tastes like acid burning his stomach. “I—I can’t stay here.”

Before he can move back again, your hand shoots out to grab at the hem of his shirt, desperation soaking into your face: “P-Please,” you plead, “you can just say you don’t love me back. My feelings for you won’t change.”

He wants to cry. No, he thinks, it’s not that. It could never be that. Not with you.

You clutch at the cloth, hoping your feelings somehow reach him through your anguished touch. “I love you, Dream,” you begin, “I really do. I love how attentive you are, how much you always seem to care. You’re always so patient with me, so kind, so generous, and it makes me melt inside. I love the way your eyes shine so brightly, and I love your little freckles. I want to count them all, and I don’t mind if that takes the rest of eternity.”

You’re almost entirely out of breath by now, and Dream’s jaw has gone slack. He can only stare at you with a look of pure conflicting despair as your eyes search his for answers he knows he cannot possibly give. “An eternity with you would be nothing,” you breathe, your voice cracking. Your grip on his shirt suddenly goes limp, and your arm falls back to your side. “Please. Stay.”

The knife in his gut only seems to twist deeper as he takes yet another step back, his cloak feeling like a boulder upon his back. “I can’t,” he chokes out. “I really can’t.”

Tears line your eyes like tiny jewels, and he wishes he could wipe them away. “Why?” you beg. “Why do you have to go?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

In front of him, a look of absolute defeat sinks into your expression, and your voice grows smaller than ever. “At least—at least tell me if I’ll ever see you again.”

Dream’s feels the back of his eyes sting, and he clenched his hands beside him. “Not in this lifetime,” he wants to say. “And hopefully not in the next, either.”

“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” he says instead.

Just like that, he watches as the light fades from your eyes, vanishing from sight as the setting sun watches on with a sad gaze. Your lower lip trembles, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crumpling to the ground in a heap and watering the earth with your tears. You clutch the conch shell to your chest and let it dig into your chest from how tightly you press it against yourself, your vision completely blurred. In front of you, Dream holds back tears of his own, forcing himself to look away from your broken figure as he walks toward the forest away from you.

Your wails follow after him even after he unfurls his wings deep in the forest and soars up into the sky, flying high above the world below as he dries his tears with the harsh wind that bites at his face.

He will not return here for a long, long time.

He doesn’t think he would even be able to bring himself to if he tried.

Dream brushes a stray leaf off his shoulder as he steps over a root, his eyes focused on the bushes before him. A bird chirps as he strolls past a tree, nestling further into its nest as he ducks under the branch. He smiles at the sight, a deep fondness seeping into his heart as he lets his hand run over the tree’s hard bark.

He recognizes this forest—these trees. He knows this sky, has leapt over these rocks. He’s walked this path before.

It’s a shame he can’t remember how long it’s been since he last came here.

He hums a quiet melody to himself as he weaves a path between the trees, drawing nearer and nearer to the place he had been searching for with every passing second. He’s only a few steps away when a sound calls out to him—a sound that isn’t a part of the forest.

“Hello?”

Dream goes stock still, his heart coming to a screeching halt in his chest.

He knows that voice, too.

Sucking in a deep breath, he slowly steps forward, out into the entrance of the clearing. In front of the waterfall stands a silhouette he is absolutely positive he’s seen before—countless times before. Something tells him that he should leave, that he should run far, far away and disappear from view. But as he watches the silhouette take a tentative step toward him, his inhibitions fall away.

Warmth blossoms in the space between his lungs, all encompassing and full of grief as he opens his mouth.

“Hi.”

818 notes · View notes

ellewords · 3 years

Note

atsumu was like the sun. he shined and glowed and warmed people just by being near them. without a single thought, he was able to brighten the mood in ways that no one else could. even on his darker days or when his being felt too harsh, he left an impact that made everyone long for more. you couldn’t always see him, couldn’t always feel his presence, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there somehow, unseen but known.

by association, that sort of made you the moon. you could shine brightly and leave a warm glow and comfort others when they felt like they were in the dark. but all of that wasn’t possible without the sun. without atsumu.

people didn’t know you unless you were by atsumu’s side. they didn’t spare you a glance until atsumu brought attention to you. but you didn’t mind. all you wanted was to have him by your side, to support you when you couldn’t hold yourself up, to be brilliant beside him even if you would never outshine him. you were content in your current situation.

so why did it hurt so much seeing him continue to shine? why did his warmth suddenly feel so cold? why couldn’t you be as bright as him all on your own?

or, atsumu will always be the sun, you always the moon. maybe now it’s time to accept that you’re nothing without him so you can finally shine for yourself.

-💛

— from elle ! 💛anon you never miss, do you? aaaa this was so good it lived in my head rent free ever since i first read it >_< i just had to write an addition to this for the way you made my heart actually ache. i hope i did your drabble justice :<< this just hit a lil too close to home ngl thank you for reading everyone, i hope you like this! reblogs are appreciated, they help a ton <3

fic notes / warnings : timeskip!miya atsumu x gn!reader, angst, fluff (-ish? kinda) ending, oneshot, wc: ~1.52k (!! my longest margins addition so far omg)

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

atsumu has a gravitational pull, that much has always been clear to you and everyone else; a pull so strong that you can’t help but orbit around him. every room he walks into, he commands the attention of everyone present. one can’t help but simply be drawn to him — with his bright smiles, boisterous laughs, and larger than life movements. it’s no wonder why everything seems to bend to his will, how the universe seems to revolve around him.

you’ve moved around him for as long as you can remember, every now and then, he lets you borrow his light. the world has associated you with him and you don’t blame anyone one bit.

his name has always come first. setter for the inarizaki volleyball team, miya atsumu. invited to the all-japan youth intensive training camp, miya atsumu. captain of the inarizaki volleyball team, miya atsumu. setter for division one volleyball team, the msby black jackals, miya atsumu.

meanwhile, yours is treated as an afterthought, an attachment, a footnote in the awe-inspiring narrative of his life. you’re known as his childhood friend. his best friend, the one who cheers him on from the stands in every single one of his games. alleged significant other, according to whispers in the hallway and to the tabloids and paparazzi. his eventual confirmed significant other, ln yn.

atsumu and who’s that with him? atsumu and his best friend. atsumu and his significant other. atsumu, oh, and yn’s here too. it’s always atsumu before yn; his name before yours. sometimes, you wonder if anyone would know your name if he hadn’t started dating you.

you walk behind atsumu, not beside him, when you enter a room. fingertips loosely intertwined with his, you attempt to keep your head up as atsumu introduces you around. they spare you a quick “hi”, before beginning a conversation with your sun.

though he’s not really your sun, is he? you’ve always had to share him with everyone else. everyone needs a little sunshine in their life, a little warmth; his brilliance is dazzling, like everyone else, you revelled in his glow.

the world has always associated you with him, but it never worked the other way around. atsumu has always shined on his own; you needed him to have light for yourself.

no one blames the sun for burning a little too bright; it’s simply the way it is. similarly, you’ve never blamed atsumu for being the way he is. he doesn’t know, didn’t mean to do it in the first place. atsumu has always existed for himself, lived life the way he sees fit.

you can’t blame him, no matter how much you wanted to. even if you forced yourself to.

staring at the sun is fascinating, but do it long enough and it starts to hurt. the warmth is no longer comforting, but harsh and prickly. the light is no longer magical and dazzling, but blinding and terrifying. it took some time, but you eventually convinced yourself to look away.

“ya sure ya wanna do this?” atsumu asked, immediately recognizing your hesitance. he doesn’t want to break up, he wants you to take your words back, he wants you to tell him that this was all just some sick prank. but right now, it doesn’t matter what he wants. what matters is how you feel, the emotions he didn’t realize you had been feeling.

“no…” you mumbled. the intensity of his gaze makes your knees buckle, but you stand your ground. even in the chilling darkness of his living room, he radiates light and understanding, making everything all the more difficult. you bite the inside of your cheek, letting a few beats pass before your next words, “but i have to.”

“i believe in you,” atsumu nodded, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his jeans. he lets out a quiet exhale, eyes gazing on the suitcases in your hand, “yer gonna do so many amazin’ things.”

your grip on the bag’s handle tightened. it was the end of an era, one that you didn’t expect would be ending at all. but it had to be done. for the first time since you met atsumu, you finally began to think of yourself. a small smile plays on your lips, hoping that he picks up on the pure gratefulness of your tone, “thank you for lending me your light.”

his reply would play in a loop in your mind. even in a breakup, the darkest the night has ever been, atsumu offers you a little bit of light. as expected from the sun.

the moon goes through several phases. some days are better than others. it’s a wave of several highs and lows, but you grow to understand that’s how things are. on some nights it’s as invisible as they come, the clouds blocking out what little light it already produced. though it glowed on other nights, you often feel like nothing has changed. but you learn to trust the process either way.

gazing at the moon is calming, not dazzling and exceptional, but calming. it provides peace, serenity. you often gazed at the moon, especially on the nights where you could only toss and turn. a cold breeze would blow past you and send shivers down your spine, painting your bare skin with several goosebumps. leaning on the balcony railing and taking in the sounds of a city that barely slept makes you think of him.

you miss the sun; you miss your sun. you miss his presence and the warmth he brings you. atsumu checks in every now and then, asking how you’re doing and wondering if you’d ever want to meet for a cup of coffee. you’ve never accepted any of his offers for fear of only getting pulled back in.

you’ve never realized that you always had a gravitational pull of your own. atsumu spends most of his nights gazing at the moon. when his heart raced and his mind buzzed, the moon brought him tranquility — as did you, his anchor.

[ miya atsumu ] : the night sky is nice tonight, it makes me think of you. i like that we’re always looking at the same one.

[ miya atsumu ] : i hope you’re doing okay.

he’s right, the night sky does look nice. the moon is full and shining the brightest you’ve ever seen it shine. gleaming, enchanting, and breathtaking doesn’t seem to do its beauty any justice. perhaps the poets and artists had been right all along, the moon is the perfect muse. your thoughts almost convince you that its light isn’t artificial. but twinkling beside the moon are the stars, shimmering high above the world you know, their light completely their own.

you’re not okay. being the moon may not be too bad, but you’ve already realized that you want to be amongst the stars as one.

days turn into weeks, and eventually months. sometimes they blend together when nothing of interest or importance happens, though you strive for events that are worth remembering. you’ve found a job that you actually like, one that you truly excelled at. you’ve started to put yourself out there, to meet people that pushed you to be better than you had been the day before. slowly but surely, you began to create your own light.

some days your light faltered, some days are dimmer than others, but it was a light of your own. it’s one that didn’t need another’s glow to exist. soon enough, you find yourself accepting one of atsumu’s many offers for a cup of coffee.

he’s now brighter than ever. setter for division one volleyball team, the msby black jackals, miya atsumu, has turned into setter for japan’s olympic team, miya atsumu. his radiance is as blinding as ever, the largest grin on his face as he waves his hand out the second he caught sight of you.

but you’re brighter now too, weaving through the cafe tables with your head up high. you’re more sure of yourself, standing taller, making each step towards him with purpose. you’ve lost the tension in your shoulders, the weight that built in your chest. and atsumu notices it too.

“you’ve changed.” he smiles, much softer than you’re used to. his gaze is fond as you settle in the seat in front of him.

“i know,” you reply, the corners of your lips twitching upwards, “but thank you for lending me your light.”

atsumu’s smile remains that same soft one that you’re not used to as he recognizes your words almost immediately. he leans back in his seat, gesturing a hand to you, “never gave ya anythin’, this is all you.”

he replies with the same words he said several months ago, the latter half of the sentence being the only addition. warmth fills your chest as he never lost a single ounce of sincerity. the only difference? this time you actually believe him.

atsumu may still be the sun, but you’ve become a star in your own right; you no longer need him to shine. maybe someday you’ll shine bright enough to allow yourself to exist beside him. but for now, this is enough.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

send me a hc / or a scenario ! <3 | written on the margins masterlist

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retvenkos · 3 years

Text

to dance among the stars | c.b.

Bridgerton - Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader, fluff requested by @musicallisto

tw: talk of marriage

word count: 1.4k

prompt: “Dance with me?”

A/N: I started writing.... forgot i had a prompt to fit in... decided to just keep going and hope for the best. i feel like that meme “it’s not much, but it’s honest work.”

Summary: (Y/n) hated dances and balls, but if there was anyone who could change their mind, it would be Colin Bridgerton.

(Y/n) laughed into the clear night air, throwing her head back in blissful happiness, unaware of the way that Colin Bridgerton looked at her - as though his whole life was in her smile. A clement wind greeted the two on their stroll, allowing the music from the nearby ball to drift toward them, a sound much more soft and inviting now that there was distance between the two and the dance floor.

“You, Colin, will be the death of me,” (Y/n) said, her words like a happy sigh, a gentle ending to her enjoyment of his presence.

“The death of you? I thought I heroically saved you from having to entertain suitors all evening,” he teased, straightening his jacket dramatically, as though they were in one of (Y/n)’s novels - the kind with epic romances and gruesome battles. (Y/n) scoffed, swatting him on the shoulder. “I am your knight in shining armor, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes—” Colin chuckled, earning a smile “—but I saved you from your mother. She’s been looking for a project now that Daphne’s entertaining the prince, is she not?”

“My mother is always looking for something.” Colin rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I won’t be properly saved until I marry some girl from the ton.”

“Oh.” Colin’s words ushered in an awkward lapse of silence that had both of them turning away from each other, taking a sudden interest in their shoes. They slowed their walk to a stop, and the breeze drifted between them, as though pushing them apart.

It was silly that something like a wayward comment could reduce them to silence, but the future lay within that statement - a future fast approaching and terrifying in its weight. The ton was designed for marriage. Here, at these balls and parties, both of them were supposed to find someone to marry - to bind themselves to another for the rest of their lives.

Another couple walked past the two and (Y/n) watched them go, disappearing into the evening - perhaps to dance among the stars.

“Well... is there someone who’s caught your eye?” (Y/n) fidgeted with her gloves as she spoke, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer. Colin had always been a flirt, and his romantic tendencies had always been something (Y/n) both admired and teased, and yet to know if his heart truly lied with one of them was the very thing she wanted least. Being out here with Colin - away from everyone else and anything that might stand between them - was the only thing that made the ton worthwhile. All else paled in comparison to these moments seemingly stolen from the flow of time, where they were two souls together, walking the same path for a brief while, hearts close enough to touch.

To have them be taken away would be too much of a heartache. Worse than anything she could fathom.

Colin looked at (Y/n) with his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, (Y/n) took hold of the conversation once more.

“Perhaps Marina Thompson? She was quite popular before she fell ill. Will you be the one to ask for her hand, at the end of the season?”

“Miss Thompson is a fine girl, but... no.” (Y/n) looked up abruptly and met Colin’s blinking stare. Even when baffled there was something light about him - kind and caring - it tugged on her heart more than she cared to admit. “I would much rather wait than make a hasty match.”

“Hasty?” (Y/n) stifled a laugh, the mature word - not at all like the Colin she knew - bringing humor back into the conversation. Colin was forcing down a blush, his cheeks warming in color, like roses beneath his skin.

“I just mean I want to love my wife before we get married, instead of having to force feelings after the fact.”

(Y/n) smiled, taking a step closer to lock arms with Colin once more. “I hope you get to.”

The two resumed their walk, never going too far from the festivities to be considered improper, but managing to stay well away from anyone else. Colin admired the way that (Y/n) looked under the night sky - her beauty something wholly unique to her, and yet perfectly matched to the darkening sky. In the light of her eyes lay all the beauty of the cosmos, and in her smile lay all the thrills of the world. All the universe was captured in her essence, and Colin knew that all of his longing for travel could be satiated with a single touch; a kiss from (Y/n) could carry all of the wonders of the world, and no matter how many times he visited her touch, he would never lose his wanderlust.

(Y/n) fixed him with a look, as though they could sense that his thoughts rested with them.

Colin cleared his throat. It was one thing to care for (Y/n) - it was quite another to admit he had fallen in love. “What about you? Surely you’ve found a suitor who is the least bit exciting?”

“They think themselves exciting, if that is answer enough,” (Y/n) sighed, looking at Colin through the corner of her eye. “But truly Colin, having to entertain them is the worst part about these dances.”

"Even worse than dancing? I know you avoid getting out on the floor like it’s the plague.”

“Because when you’re on the dance floor, you’re trapped! That’s when entertaining suitors is at its worst.” Colin chuckled at (Y/n)’s words. “If I had a choice, I would come to these balls and the only man I would dance with is you.”

“Me?”

(Y/n) nodded.

Colin paused and they drew to a halt so he could better marvel at the woman before him. “If you had your choice in the matter, wouldn’t you rather avoid the dance floor altogether?”

“No,” (Y/n) said, dipping her head with a look that said she had spoken too much but was too fond of what she said, and not keen on taking it back. “I suppose I would like to dance with you.”

You’d dance with me?”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Well, I know you enjoy it.”

And around them, the world was hushed. The voices and sounds of the nearby ball were drowned out by the thumping of their hearts. Colin looked at (Y/n) and saw them so clearly, he was almost taken aback. How could one be so beautiful that their existence shamed a sky full of stars?

“Dance with me, then?”

He spoke before he acted, but it wasn’t long before his hand was outstretched, waiting for (Y/n) to take it.

“Right here?” But her hand was already resting in his, her smile bright and warm. "There's no music."

"Then come a few steps this way." Colin pulled her a few paces closer to the ball. (Y/n) chuckled as Colin tugged on her arm, guiding them nearer. He put a finger on his lips to shush her, causing (Y/n) to roll her eyes, smiling all the while. The soft lilt of music was slightly louder, here, but still distant enough that they had to be silent to hear the beat. Colin took a step closer, and although there were still enough space between them and enough bystanders around for their actions to be considered proper, there was an intimacy in the moment to make (Y/n)’s cheeks heat up.

"Is it loud enough for you to hear?” Colin whispered.

"It's perfect."

Adjusting his hand in hers, Colin led (Y/n) into a dance, smiling at her in a way that could only be described as lovestruck. His entire being was in awe of her as they spun around each other, like the moon in orbit of the earth. There was something heavenly in (Y/n)’s eyes, and when the song ended, the light in them did not fade.

“I love you,” Colin breathed, the words falling out of his mouth before he had the time to realize he had said them. It was the purest of admissions, one he hadn’t planned or even dreamed of admitting until the very moment he said it. “I-I love you,” he repeated, as though he needed to affirm the truth.

“Colin, I love you, too.” And all the world was in their smile, once again, all of the universe seemingly wrapped up in their blissful words.

Colin let out a laugh that was almost a joyful sigh, and in his eyes were stars - constellations that burned brighter than the sun. He took (Y/n)’s gloved hand and kissed it, wishing it could be something more.

“Perhaps you will dance with me more often, then.”

“At every ball we attend.”

-- taglist: @findmeintheafterglow, @prttybitchin // message me if you want to be added!

#bridgerton #colin bridgerton #colin bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x you #colin bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagines #one shot #imagine #fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #fluff #reader insert #fem!reader #i wanted to make it gender neutral but then i started talking about suitors and whatnot.#and finally. a decent fic title

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thedeathdeelers · 3 years

Text

Racing Hearts

[a companion piece to this gorgeous piece of Luke art brought to you by the ever talented @mamirugbee]

It‘s a warm and quiet night as Julie lies comfortably on a sleeping Luke, the sound of his strong heartbeat thudding steadily against her ear.

Her finger lazily traces patterns on his chest as her eyes roam the dark room, taking in the familiar surroundings of yet another hotel room. Julie had come to learn that no matter what country they were in, the hotel rooms were always the same.

Her eyes brush over his discarded navy and black suit along with his black band tee draped over the sofa across the room, landing on the shiny helmet propped on top of the coffee table, the gloss glittering with the light of the moon shining through the slanted shutters of the window. Her gaze lingers on the various logos littered across the top of it, each one of them so familiar to her now. As her eyes take in the shape of the Sunset Curve Racing logo, her heart warms once more at the memory of Luke pulling it off earlier that day, as he swiped his sweaty hair away from his face, listening intently to the scores. She also distinctly remembers the brightness of his smile that had been visible from miles away as his name echoed through the circuit, the announcers praising him as the youngest driver to ever win the Mexican Grand Prix.

Her eyes flick away from the helmet to rest on the trophy standing tall on the centre of the dining table tucked away in the corner of their room, the silver glint of it guiding her gaze down towards the name engraved on the plaque at its base.

She had watched him from the base of the podium as his competitors sprayed him with champagne, his smile not waning for a second as his hat, his favourite Screams from the Attic band tee and his suit tied at his waist got drenched. The multicoloured flags behind him had flapped in the wind as he turned his gaze, searching for her in the gathering crowd. She had backed away the second his eyes landed on her, the growing mischievous smile on his face a warning sign as he started towards her, the sticky nature of dried champagne pushing her to move even further away from his approaching hands.

She had lost of course, a smile now making its way on her lips as she remembers his arms snaking their way around her waist from the back, lifting her up until her feet were helplessly kicking the air in front of her, her squeals louder than the cheering crowd.

Julie pulls her attention away from the day’s events and back to the quiet room she finds herself in, her eyes coming back to trace the features of the sleeping driver beneath her.

Her heart grows tenfold as she takes in the peaceful almost boyish look on his face, sleep taking away any edge it might carry during the day. Without her permission, her fingers skim the lines of his chest, dipping past his collarbone and up his neck as they settle at the base of his jawline.

She thanks whatever greater power brought him safely back to her after yet another successful race.

Because truth be told, even though she had gotten better at controlling the anxiety that riddled her whenever he walked away from her and towards his car, Julie still worried about him and struggled to sit still while she watched him race to the finish line.

Just like she was now, she often found herself wondering how Luke kept his pre-race nerves at bay as he got ready to risk his life again and again for his job - his passion. She admired for him, even if it scared the living daylights out of her.

She always watched him as he got ready while the team, including Alex and Reggie, prepped him before he slid into his seat behind the wheel, glimpsing a look of peace settling on his features as he closed his eyes for a few seconds, shutting out the flurry of activity happening around him.

Julie had always assumed it was due to the music pulsing through his headphones, the loud beating of the drums and heavy guitar riffs blocking out the world for just those few seconds. It was a ritual she’d seen time and time again, even before he knew she existed - but during his last few races, she’d been seeing less and less of that. The headphones themselves would be left dangling in her hands as he walked away - no music in his ears, his eyes never leaving hers.

Maybe whatever brought on that peaceful expression to his face could help her, too.

Her fingers move upwards once more, her thumb gently swiping against his cheek and grazing the day old stubble. Her index finger glides down the length of his nose, her hand hovering just above his mouth when she feels lips pressing into her palm.

A giggle slips out of her before she can stop herself.

“Did I wake you?”

Her whispered question is met with a soft grunt, followed by a hand tightening its hold on her hip.

“Yes. No. Maybe?” His sleepy answer brings out more laughter to bubble out, her hand retracting itself from his face to slap across her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” comes her muffled apology.

“No you’re not.”

A beat of silence follows before she slips her hand off her face and settles it back on his chest.

“No I’m not.”

He grins at her reply, his eyes still closed.

“How come you’re up?” His brow furrows before he cracks an eye open to peek at her. “Wait — what time is it?”

Julie shrugs, answering both of his questions in one swift motion.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No, I’m fine I just...” She tries to think of a reason, but all she can think about is that peaceful look on his face before a race, and she suddenly finds herself itching to ask him.

“I- I was just thinking about today, and your races in general and I...” she trails off, not entirely sure how to phrase this.

She feels the hand on her hip give her one quick squeeze, and realises her eyes had drifted away from his gaze.

She looks back up at him to find him looking at her with both eyes open, a curious and slightly concerned, gleam to them.

Right. This was Luke — she could do this.

“It’s just that I know the anxiety that comes along with having a loved one getting into a race car will never fade, especially not after...” she trails off, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “But I- I always see you do this thing before you race. Like suddenly all of the anxiety that was there just kind of...melts away?” Julie registers her words and hurries to explain herself. “I don’t mean you’re not anxious anymore! Or that you’re completely relaxed or— I don’t know how to explain this. It’s like you’re just suddenly okay? Ugh, I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m saying.” She drags her hand towards her face as she hides behind it, hoping she can blame her lack of sleep on whatever the hell that was.

Anxiety about maybe dying just casually melting away?? Where did that come from?

The silence that follows only causes her to worry even more, until she feels a hand rest against hers, only to then gently pull it away from her face.

He holds onto it as she looks up at him again, his thumbs softly tracing her knuckles.

“I know what you mean, Jules.” He tilts one side of his mouth up into a half smile before he continues. “I’ve always had this habit of losing myself to music right before the race starts — ever since I was a kid music just kind of...I don’t know, had this calming effect on me? Or no, wait.” She watches him as he screws his mouth up, his eyes looking up towards the ceiling as he tries to come up with the right words. “Okay so maybe not calm exactly, but music has always been able to help me sort out how I feel, right? And just like it can help me understand how angry or sad or happy I am, I find that if I choose the right song, the right melody or just the right guitar riff, I can almost will myself to just — feel the way I want to feel? If that makes sense?”

His eyes come back down in search of hers as he struggles to explain himself, but just like she always does, Julie knows exactly what he means.

“Yeah, it does. Music is magic like that,” she tells him, a little smile sneaking its way onto her lips.

“Exactly!” The hand holding hers squeezes once before his thumb goes back to its soothing motion. He grins down at her, a smile just as bright as the one she saw on the podium earlier today, except this one was just for her to see.

Her gaze shifts down to his nose, her next question on the tip on her tongue struggling to make its way out. Was this maybe a little too personal? They’ve been together for a few months now but there were times where it still felt so new — she’d get shy or flustered like a school girl, getting tongue tied just at the sight of his brilliant smile. She had a feeling it would always be that way with Luke.

She hoped it would be.

“Jules?”

His voice interrupts her thoughts, bringing her back to the conversation as her eyes reflexively find their way back up to his.

Before she can overthink it, the words spill out of her.

”I um- It’s just that I noticed in the last few races you’ve stopped doing that — listening to music right up until the race starts, I mean. And yet even then you still get that look on your face so I just....wanted to know why - or how - I guess.”

His expression grows soft at her words, his eyes roaming her face once, twice, three times.

“Hmm, something more magical than music came into my life.”

She waits for him to continue, to elaborate and make sense. Instead he just stares at her, as if his vague statement was all the answer she needed.

“Um..what?”

He laughs quietly at her confusion, the vibrations of his laughter reaching the ear still pressed against his chest.

Not known to be patient, Julie jokingly scowls at him, attempting to look unimpressed as he laughs at her.

“What?” She doesn’t mean to, but a slight whine slips into her tone, followed by a pout settling on her lips. This only makes him laugh even harder, her head shaking with the movement of his chest.

“Nothing, nothing.” He chuckles some more while she half-heartedly glares at him, before continuing. “I thought I was being obvious but I guess Alex was right.”

“Alex? What about Alex?”

He shakes his head at her. “Nah, never mind. He just likes to tell me how wrong I am sometimes, that’s all.”

A snort makes its way out of her before she can stop herself. “When doesn’t he...”

He chuckles once more at her words, before quieting down as his eyes flicker down to her lips.

“Luke?”

His eyes tick back up at her questioningly, a smile curling her lips at his short attention span.

Or maybe he just got distracted by her? Huh.

“You were saying about something else taking over music...?”

“Oh! Oh right, yeah sorry. Uh, I mean it hasn’t taken over music exactly — it’s more like I’ve found something else that just kind of,” he lets go of her hand as he reaches over to trace a finger down her cheek. “Better embodies the magic of music for me? Kind of like the living embodiment of it, you could say.”

Her heart starts beating a little faster at his words even as her brain struggles to comprehend his words. Was he-

“Do you get what I’m trying to say, Julie?”

Unable to speak, Julie slowly shakes her head.

The hand on her face cradles her cheek, his fingers weaving their way into her hair.

“You, Jules. You calm my nerves before a race better than any song I’ve ever added to my playlist. I-” A chuckle escapes him before he continues, “Just the thought of you brings me this sense of peace, and it just kind of settles in, pushing away at any jitters that try to shake me before a race. I don’t know how to explain it, even if it’s pretty simple to me.” He stops to stare into her eyes for a second, Julie fully unable to articulate any word or thought.

“I just close my eyes for a few seconds, and picture you. Your voice, your eyes, your smile. I picture you running towards me after a race like you did that first time, and suddenly I’m just excited to race and get to the other side so I can hold you again.”

She feels his thumb gently swipe across her cheek; up and down, up and down.

“I guess what I’m trying to say — what I thought was obvious but maybe Alex was right — is that you’re the reason I’ve been getting better in all my races, the reason I even won today. You make me a better driver, make me want to be a better person.” He tries to draw her closer, his head tilting down towards hers, lifting it off his pillow as he whispers against the crown of her head,

“I love you Jules.”

Still taken by the confession that has left her a little dizzy, Julie pulls herself closer to Luke, wrapping her arms around him as she tightens her hold on him, her face snuggling into his chest. They had already said those three words to each other numerous times before, neither one of them shy about letting the other know the true depth of their feelings.

But somehow, this felt different.

“I love you,” she mouths into the space right above his heart, pressing a kiss into his skin. She feels his fingers twitch in her hair, letting her know that he heard her, felt her, too.

Silence settles in the dark room, neither one of them moving, too happy and comfortable to ruin the moment. They both eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms, ready to conquer whatever the world threw their way - one race at a time.

fin

#jatp #juke #julie and the phantoms #otp: you’re music to me #luke patterson #julie molina #my fics #thedeathdeelers fics #jatp fics #luke day #juke day

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randominagines · 3 years

Text

Request: hiii love, could you write an ouat Peter Pan X fem reader in which they are fuckfriends and she gets hurt during a battle (against someone idk) and he saves her? Maybe smut? Idk you decide

Requested by: anon

Pairing: Peter Pan (ouat) X fem!reader

Warning: Whump, Smut, violence, blood, a lot of sex references

P.s. if you find any mistake please correct me, English is not my mother tongue and I want to improve. Reblog, if you can, it helps a lot, thank you💕

P.p.s. gif belongs to the creator

Carelessness

"Shit" Y/n said in the moment she noticed her sword was missing. Pirates were pretty tedious but it was usually almost funny fighting them. It was okay for Peter welcoming a random battle sometimes, he said it was good to keep all the boys alert and he had this capacity to turn everything into a game, but introducing in the camp and stealing some of their weapons? Mostly outrageous. Peter was mad.

"Bunch of idiots, no one steals from Peter Pan" He whispered between his teeth, his eyes looking at the empty wood box y\n and some others used to keep the swords in. "They must have suicidal thoughts, there is no other explanation" Felix said and shrugged, his scar shining in the light of the moon.

"Where is Y/n?" Peter asked with urgency in his voice; she immediately walked toward him.

"I'm here" She said and he turned to look at her.

"How many of them?" He asked. All the Lost Boys were quite; when Peter was in a bad mood things were always tensed up.

"This morning I checked and they were almost thirty" She said; she was one of Peter's closest member of the crew and she was his eyes around the island, not to mention that she was her fuckfriend.

"Good... Boys, go collect your weapons, we're paying a little visit to the pirates tonight" The boys started to cheer up and run all around the camp, they were exited about the battle to come. As soon as everyone came back to the center of the camp, Peter spoke again.

"I know you are looking forward to killing those bastards, but remember to be careful: this time they have our swords and I don't need to remind you of the Dreamshade we soaked them it. Don't let the blades touch your skin" The atmosphere suddenly got darker. The Lost Boys looked at each other in concern, but they would never had given up on a proper battle. As soon as Felix gave the okay and walked toward the beach, all of the Boys started to follow him.

"Y\n?" Peter gently grabbed her by her arm and pulled her toward him, she stopped walking and looked at him in confusion.

"Peter, what's wrong?" She whispered those words. They used to be very discreet, almost indifferent to each other when the boys were around, besides they didn't want anyone to realize: she considered all of the Boys like brothers, but she felt an attraction toward him that wasn't fraternal at all and he felt the same. Since she arrived, a year before, they started to fight a lot but also to admire each other, untill they ended up sleeping together.

"I'd love you not to show your usual carelessness toward your life, just this once" He said putting a finger toward her chin and raising her head, she chuckled looking at him: she had to admit she was pretty reckless, but the battle gave her such an adrenaline that she couldn't help herself but forget the safety rules.

"I'll see what I can do" She joked and winked at him, she also gave him a very quick kiss on his lips, followed by a teasing bite. "Don't worry about me, save your strength to fuck me later instead" She whispered bringing her lips closer to his ear.

"Don't tease me, babe, or you won't be able to stop screaming all night long" He said and grinned looking at her.

"I should tease you more often then" she said and bit her lower lip, he rolled his eyes in frustration: he wanted her now. She gave him one last look and turned around. He puffed in frustration as looking at her joining the rest of the boys and accepting a sword that Felix was offering her. That girl really was a pain in the ass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pirates were surely taller and more robust than all of the Boys, but they hadn't done a good job: the battle was almost over and the Lost Boys hadn't lost a single member while the pirates were almost all dead. Y/n was just looking around searching for the sword they had stolen from her: the one Felix lent to her was not bad, but hers was balanced in the perfect way, besides it was less heavy and with a smaller haft. She had just spotted her sword when she decided to go and get it back.

"Where are you going?" Her best friend, Tyler, stoped her; he was covered in sand and sweat. She cleaned his face from the dirt and pointed at her sword.

"I'll come with you" he said, he had an instinct of protection toward her. They walked toward the dead bodies. The corpse of a pirate was still holding her sword in his left hand, the blood colouring the whole blade. Tyler reached out to take it when the man's opened his eyes: before he could even realize what was about to happen, he used his last strength to raise his torso and he would have soaked the blade in his stomach, but y\n pushed him aside so the sword ended up thrusting in her left hip. She immediately looked down and opened her eyes wide, her own blood was dripping down her leg and she was so shocked she couldn't even perceive any pain. The man looked at her and gave her one last smile before letting himself go: while falling down on his back, he pulled the sword out and she finally screamed in pain.

"Peter, Y/n is hurt" Tyler called out for Peter in disbelief and before she could say anything she started to feel her legs weakening. She was kneeling down when she felt Peter's arm catching her.

"Oh my... fuck!" He almost shouted while slowly laying her on the ground. Y/n felt the cold sand behind her back, almost a shocking contrast opposed to the warmth of the blood running down her leg and soaking her trousers.

"What the fuck happened?" Peter asked, his voice filled with terror and madness. Y/n was starting to realize that she was about to pass out: her view was clouded, she felt drops of cold sweat running down her forehead and she couldn't perceive her body with clearness anymore. It took all of her strength to raise he torso and look at the wound: the black of the poison was drawing spirals around the deep cut, the Dreamshade was running through her body already. "Stay still" Peter commanded her while working his magic on her, his hands were shaking. "Fuck fuck fuck, the battle tired me out, my magic is not on top; besides she is losing too much blood, I can't close the wound with the poison still inside. I need to take her back to my place" He said, frustration dominating his every word and move. As always, his bad mood was reflecting in the weather: big dark clouds were massing over them. She looked at his hands: they were red, red like the fire, she knew that it was her blood colouring them. He raised her from the ground by taking her body into his arms, it was almost like she weighed nothing. She realised that they were flying and smiled, she always wanted to fly like him.

"Don't worry, I'm going to fix this" He tried to reassure himself more than her, she held him with her hands crossed behind his shoulders and nodded.

"I am sorry.... Looks like I've acted carelessly again" She whispered while closing her eyes, she felt tired and cold. He chuckled while flying over the forest.

"I wasn't expecting anything different" He nervously joked. He tried to focus on what to do but he seriously was worried, what if magic wouldn't have been enough? No. It had to be enough. He wouldn't have lost her. She smiled and slowly fell asleep, he gave a quick look at her and couldn't stop thinking about the fact that if he wasn't going to be successful he wouldn't have been able to live with himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun. It was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes. Rays of sunshine were penetrating through the roof made out of branches. The brightness of the sun made the leaves look almost white. She was in Peter's house. She squeezed her eyes and tried to stand up but, in the moment she raised her torso, an excruciating pain crossed her hip and stomach.

"Shit!" She exclaimed and laid back down. Her hands touching her wound, it was warm.

"Don't move, you could get hurt" Peter's voice made her turn left: he was sitting in a chair, his green eyes fixed on her and his hands crossed under his chin. He looked relieved.

"Thank you, I noticed" She said and he chuckled. He stood up and walked toward the bed. Before she could say anything he lifted her shirt and checked the bandaging.

"You need another couple of days to get back on your feet, at least the wound is not bleeding anymore anytime you move" He said and looked at her, she nodded and tried to sit up with her back against the wall. It was a bit painful but totally bearable if done slowly. "Good girl" He said and smirked at her, she rolled her eyes.

"Why would you say such a thing right now that I can't fuck you?" She asked in frustration, he chuckled and got closer to her; he caressed her cheek and runner his fingers toward her neck, then closed them around it and pulled her toward him. She moaned before he kissed her: the kiss was urgent, deep, passionate. He had seriously feared that he could have lost her, he never stopped thinking that he cared about her more than how he believed. Sex was amazing with that girl but almost losing her gave him the certainty that she was so much more than that for him. She was caressing the back of his head while pulling his hair, her body barely moving because of her pain but he knew her, she wanted more and he wanted more too, but that was not the time.

"Babe, stop..." He whispered on her lips, she gave him one last kiss before puffing in frustration. He looked at her and gently moved a lock of her Y/c/h behind her ear.

"I want you" She said, her voice filled with desire. He cursed internally.

"Y/n, I want you too, more than anything, but we must have a little patience" He said and caressed her lips with his thumb, she nodded and kissed it.

"Thank you, you saved my life" she said and put her hand on his chest, he smiled while sitting next to her and gently pulling her in his arms, she felt safe.

"And you saved Tyler's, you have been brave" He said and gave her a kiss on her head, she shrugged while caressing his chest.

"I admit that I hadn't realized that pirate was still alive" She confessed and looked at him, he kissed her quickly.

"I admit that the idea of losing you almost drove me crazy" He confessed and she looked at him in confusion. Did she really matter that much to him? She couldn't imagine... She always had feelings for him, since they started having sex, but confessing them? She thought she was just a fuckfriend for him.

"Really?" She asked, pure amazement in her voice, he nodded.

"Y/n, I really care about you" He said and she frowned in surprise before speaking. "I thought I was just..."

"Sex? I thought so too, but seeing you on the floor, all of that blood on your legs, the Dreamshade turning your hips and stomach black, your face as pale as the moon... It made me realize that I don't want to lose you, nor now neither never" His voice was gentle as it had never been before. Y/n was pleasurably surprised of that much sweetness, she didn't even know this version of Peter Pan existed, but she liked it.

"So, we're not fuckfriends anymore?" She teased him and he shook his head laughing.

"I'm still fucking you, babe; but we can see how it goes from now on and being open to eventual feelings" he said caressing her hair, she smiled and bit her lower lip, she couldn't been happier.

"I love the idea" She said while running her fingers between his neck and chest.

"Of me fucking you or the part about the feelings?" He asked joking and she pulled him toward her lips.

"Both" She said and grinned; before she could say anything else, he kissed her again.

#peter pan ouat #ouat #peter pan imagine #Peter pan x y/n #ouat imagine #ouat peter pan #peter pan x reader #Peter Pan x fem!reader

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clandonnachaidh · 3 years

Text

Light Across The Seas That Severed (Ch2)

Read on AO3

Jamie was sat, feeling maudlin and staring into the depths of his pint after a particularly difficult day. If Jenny had been beside him, she’d tell him to wise up and be grateful for the situation he was in. But he still wasn’t used to being so far from home, away from his parents and Lallybroch. He wouldn’t let himself say it out loud but he even found himself missing the tinny aftertaste of a pint of Tennents that he had yet to find on sale south of the border.

He knew his parents were over the moon about his acceptance into Oxford, how could they not be? Jamie had walked around Broch Mordha with his mother and father a few days after he’d received the happy news and found that the standard twenty minute scoot around the shop was considerably stretched out to allow his parents to stop and boast to every person they could about their youngest son’s achievement. Jamie had smiled sheepishly and thanked people for their well wishes but if he was being entirely honest, there was a knot in the pit of his stomach every time someone mentioned him leaving home.

Jamie tried not to let his nerves get the better of him as he settled into his new home those first few days. It wasn’t just that he stuck out like a sore thumb as the 6’ 4 red headed Scot that was almost as broad as he was tall. It was the fact that the people seemed to be looking at him funny. He made the mistake of asking someone for directions and ended up on the receiving end of a joke about his accent, the man making a mean comment about Jamie being asked to join Oxford University as some attempt to reach whatever entry quota of undergraduates hailing from underprivileged backgrounds. It didn’t matter that he was there on the merit of his exam results that he had worked his arse off for, the same as everybody else. Jamie Fraser was a working class lad from the Highlands, not some self-entitled Etonian arsehole whose father knew somebody who knew somebody. He was surrounded by future Lords and Dukes and he knew that if he heard the words ‘titan of business’ again, he was going to have to start cracking some overprivileged skulls.

And so he sat in The College Bar on a Friday night, hidden away in the corner upstairs where he could sit in peace and brood over his very fortunate situation that he didn’t feel so fortunate about. The only thing that he made the whole thing worthwhile was the girl who lived a few doors down from him in Merton College.

The first time he saw Claire Beauchamp she was fighting a losing battle with a cardboard box that looked like it had already taken a few bashings. Jamie had moved into his dorm a few days prior and was out that morning in an attempt to scout a route for his morning runs. He was keeping a close eye on his AppleWatch, making sure that his heart rate was staying in the optimal zone when he encountered one of the more colourful expletives he’d had the pleasure of hearing before.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!”

His head swivelled on his neck and his eyes landed on her.

Her long arms were wrapped around the box, trying to keep it steady on a propped up knee while the glaring at the taxi driver who was stood fiddling with his phone rather than helping the poor lass. Irritated at the absence of chivalrous manners, Jamie jogged towards the car to offer help.

“Are ye managin’? Here, let me,” he moved to her side and grabbed the next box, lifting it without thought and immediately straining as gravity worked quickly against him. “Christ, lass, what have ye got in here? Rocks?”

“That one contains books, laddie,” she spat back in frustration at him, trying her hand at matching the Scottish brogue and failing miserably. Jamie found it utterly adorable and couldn’t help but smile as he placed the box on the pavement and unloaded the next one which was thankfully much lighter. After wrangling her suitcase from the boot of the car, he tried not to watch the delicate movement of her limbs as she paid the fare.

Trying to pretend that he hadn’t been avidly watching her, he faked a jump of surprise as she thrust her hand towards him, “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

He liked her instantly. He found himself thinking, who the hell introduces themselves with their full name anymore? What an interesting wee thing she was.

“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser,” he returned the gesture, shaking her small hand in his large one, damning the tough skin of his calluses for keeping him from feeling the exact texture of the soft skin of her palm.

“That’s too many names.”

“What?” The question burst out of him in an exasperated laugh. “No, it’s no’. ’Tis the number of names my parents gave me and if ye want tae live a good long life, Sassenach, ye winna get intae the bad books of my wee ma.”

“What’s a… sassanatch?” Her head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“Sassenach,” he corrected her pronunciation with a wry smirk. He knew that if he tried to give her anything but the truth, she would see through him in an instant so he decided to answer honestly. “It means ‘outlander’.”

She snorted at him and rolled her leopard eyes into the back of her skull.

“Sorry to break it to you, Toto, but I have a feeling we’re not in Scotland anymore.”

“Now that I am painfully aware of,” he sighed, sending a cursory glance around the quad that they were standing in and almost willing it to magically transfigure itself into the hills of his home.

“Not enjoying it so far?”

“Jus’ takin’ me a while tae get used tae it, naebody spiks tae ye here. Said hullo to the man in the shops and he looked at me like I’d twa heids.”

He was putting it on a bit, thickening his accent to amuse her but he was delighted to see that it was working. She laughed, looking at her feet and then sighing at the boxes that he had stacked into a neat pile on the pavement. She looked wistfully at them and cast a sideways glance at the man in front of her, an idea forming in her mind.

“Rather large, aren’t you, Fraser?”

He grinned wolfishly at her, “That I am.”

“What if I make you a promise to say hello to you every time I see you? In exchange for a small favour?”

“And what would that be?”

“Help me to my room with my things?” She sent him a dazzling smile to try and convince him but he had already resigned to himself that his morning workout had changed from cardio into upper body strength training.

“Wisnae going tae let ye carry these yerself, I’m no’ that cruel,” he smirked as she triumphantly pulled out her phone, bringing the information of her dorm up on her screen.

“You’re a saint. I’m staying in Merton, you wouldn’t happen to know where that is?”

He tried not to look too enthusiastic as he felt the universe click things into place, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

And that day was the first day of their story together. With Claire holding open doors, Jamie managed to get her boxes to her dorm in three trips and they bantered the entire time, her quick wit shining from her and almost doubling him over with laughter at one point. Without really making an effort to do so, they seemed to find themselves in each other’s orbit more often than not, walking to lectures together despite chasing completely different degrees and finding that they enjoyed the same very specific spot in the library that offered the most sunlight with the least amount of noise. He surprised her the first time he appeared with the correct number of sugar packets for her to dump into her coffee and he beamed when she peeled the gherkins from her burger and dropped them onto his plate, knowing that he would eat them for her. They came to know each other, slowly showing the parts of themselves that not many people were allowed to see. She banged on his door in the late afternoon after a particularly bad seminar and his hand found the perfect purchase against her shoulder as she laid her head on his and cried, admitting to feeling overwhelmed and burnt out in such a competitive environment. In turn, he let her in on his feelings of inferiority which she quickly shot down, telling him that he was not only the smartest person she knew but the kindest and that was no small thing. Soon enough, they were practically inseparable, both having their own friends but somehow always ending up in each other’s company. Jamie began to relax into his life in Oxford, knowing that as long as he could do it with Claire, well, it might not be so bad.

“Nice to see you didn’t wait for me, Fraser,” she puffed as she sat herself down on the stool across from him at their usual table in the pub, unwinding her long scarf from around her neck as she greedily eyed the pint that was sat waiting for her. Claire took a long drink before setting it down again and sighing heavily as her fingers, stiff and bright red from the cold, attempted to undo the buttons of her coat.

“Ye call me and tell me tae meet ye in the pub in ten minutes and then ye show up half an hour after. What am I meant tae do, just sit and stare at the ‘hing?” Jamie muttered in response, not meeting her gaze as he picked at a piece of dried candle wax that had dripped and solidified on the table. He had been studying in his room when she had called, demanding that he meet her and even though he would rarely say no to her, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t let her stew for a bit. Trying to hide a smirk, he pulled his eyes up to see her face, immediately regretting his teasing. “Sassenach? What’s worst wi’ ye?”

“It’s nothing, it’s-“ she finally managed to pull her arm free of her coat only to thrust it deeply into her pocket, retrieving her phone and staring at it with a furrowed brow. “Bloody bastard, he hasn’t even text me.”

His ears pricked up at the mention of a ‘he’ but Jamie kept his mouth shut, raising his pint glass to his lips to stop himself from blurting out all the questions that were brewing behind them.

“Why are all men total pricks, Jamie?” She took a deep drink from her own glass, her eyelids drooping slightly at the relief the cold liquid brought her before she wiped her lips with the back of her hand which she then waved in his general direction. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Och, I dinna ken, ye’ve called me worse things in our time thegither.”

That earned him a laugh and he watched as her shoulders relaxed slightly, her slight frame melting back into her chair.

“Bad date, was it?”

Claire snorted, the sudden expel of air causing one of her curls to dance around her face, “I don’t suppose it counts as a bad one if the guy doesn’t even show up.”

“He pied ye?” Jamie’s skin felt hot as anger licked at his insides. Her face scrunched up in confusion, as it did sometimes if he used a colloquialism from home that hadn’t quite found its way across the border.

“What?” she asked before deciding that it didn’t matter, carrying on in her irritation. “He didn’t show! No call, no text, nothing.”

“Good riddance then. Where did you find this one?” He asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Part of being her friend was watching from the sidelines as men, and some women, fell at Claire’s feet. Not for the first time, Jamie found himself ruminating on the fact that her name in Gaelic, Sorcha, meant light. She drew people in and without meaning to, they soon found themselves to be in her orbit.

“We quite literally bumped into each other in the library. He’s reading History.”

“And what would a history man be doing in amongst yer medical textbooks, Sassenach? Sounds like a bit of a creep to me. Or mebbe he was lookin’ up some horrible rash he’s got on his-”

“Same again?” She interrupted after downing more than half of her pint in an attempt to catch up.

She was already out of her seat before he had the opportunity to answer. He enjoyed, probably a little too much, watching the sway of her hips and the way her curls bounced as she bounded down the stairs towards the bar and he leant backwards, letting his head rest against the wall and sighing in frustration. She was going to spend the rest of the night sneaking glances at her phone, hoping that this new guy would try to get in touch with her and he would have to suffer in silence. He would tell her that she has nothing to worry about, that whoever this guy was would have to be a fool not to crawl over broken glass to get to her.

Because that’s what Jamie would do. If she ever asked him to.

After a second round and a third and a fourth, they came to be sat on the same side of the table, hidden away in the alcove that their table was situated in. They were both drunk although Jamie would never admit to it, saying that a Scot was never drunk as long as they could stand upright. Their shared laughter was getting louder and Claire’s gestures were getting bigger, sloppier, as the frustration began to pour from her.

“I mean, I’m reading medicine, for Christ’s sake! I have good prospects, I’m only minimally neurotic, I don’t think I’m that terrible to look at. So what’s my problem? Am I just destined to be alone for the rest of my life?” A massive hiccup ripped through her, followed by a laugh as she brought her hand to her chest as though the act would calm them. Jamie’s eyes fell to her hand, trying so hard not to let his eyes focus on the breasts beneath it. Realising that the drink had made his reflexes slower, he pulled his eyes to face forward, staring at the floor and worrying that he’d been caught.

“I dinna think so.”

Her index finger stabbed a little too hard at her phone, the screen lighting up and showing no notifications, “It’s not like there’s a line of men waiting patiently at my door.”

“Then they’re eejits.”

A whirlwind of curls twisted towards him, a slight smile that was playing on her lips admitting to her surprise. The words had left his mouth before he realised it and the moment he did, red creeped insidiously up from the collar of his shirt, seeping into his cheeks.

“Eejits, huh?”

He looked at her then, blue eyes fixing onto their honeyed counterparts, humour dancing across her face mixed in with the light that was cocooning them.

“Every man who doesnae fall at yer feet tae do yer bidding is an eejit,” he conceded.

“Are you including yourself in that list, Fraser?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, not needing to lend even more credence to what they both already knew but were too afraid to speak out loud. That he was completely under her spell and happy to be there.

“I think ye’ll find ye had me cartin’ yer wee boxes tae yer room within minutes of meeting ye, Sassenach.”

Claire bit her lips between her teeth, trying her hardest not to smile, “Your mother raised you to be a gentleman.”

“That she did. Which means I buy the next round and then I’m walking ye home,” Jamie said.

“Not heading to see Annalise tonight?”

Rising to his feet, he fought back the urge to snap at her, irritated at the mention of the girlfriend that he hated being reminded of when he was with Claire and simply replied with, “Not tonight.”

Something playful and dangerous glinted in the amber eyes and she leaned forward on her elbows, as though she was stalking her prey.

“Then I shall delight in having you all to myself.”

By the time Jamie returned with their drinks, the moment of flirtation had passed. Claire was back frowning at her phone and tapping a single bitten fingernail against the wood grain of the table. Determined to distract her from falling down the rabbit hole of despair, their final drink was spent teasing, telling funny stories to each other about the idiotic things that had been said in their seminars, gloating about who got the best marks on their last essay. Before they knew it, Claire’s scarf was being wrapped around her neck once more as the two of them stumbled into the cold night air.

They had stayed a little later than last call, a classmate of Claire’s being the barman on staff and allowing them to finish their drinks while he wiped down the bar and cleaned the lines. It meant that they were alone as they walked, not amongst the mass exodus of warm bodies that had left the bar twenty minutes previous. Jamie watched from the corner of his eye as Claire furiously rubbed her hands together in an attempt to introduce some heat. With the alcohol loosening the usual restraint that he kept firmly in check, he turned to her and grabbed her small hands in his and brought them to his mouth, blowing the hot air from his lungs against her skin. Even through the drunken fog, he felt the flickers of electricity that seemed to pass every time their hands touched. It wasn’t unheard of for their hands to find their way to each other’s in those long study sessions when both of them were tired and stressed and in need of a comfort. A gesture that said ‘It’s okay, I’m here with you’. Things were always easier if they touched.

Slowly, he became aware that she was holding her breath, confirming it by sweeping his eyes from her hands to her face. She was staring at him, like a leopard stalking its prey. No smart remark or witty retort fell from her lips which were parted, allowing her breath to leave her in little bursts that betrayed how fast her heart was beating. The drink making him bold, he began to lace his fingers through hers, the only sound on the street being her sharp intake of breath as he pressed their palms together. Jamie became immediately more aware that their faces were closer than they ever had been before, that her body was pressed lightly against his and he suppressed a groan at how easy it would be to pull her closer and lose himself in her. His eyes caught her her tongue darting out to wet her lips and he wondered if she realised that she had done it. He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth, her pretty pink lips forming shapes that he wanted to know the taste of.

“Jamie…“ her breath was sweet against his mouth. It was an invitation but there was a hesitance there that he recognised and he knew that she was thinking the same thing he was. That if they did this, if they kissed, nothing would be the same again.

“Aye?”

“Can I…?”

An imperceptible nod of his head was all it took for her dart towards him but she stopped himself just shy of his lips. His mouth was hovering above hers, so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. Jamie held himself there, basking in the anticipation of a moment that he had dreamed of so many times. This wouldn’t be another first kiss to regret.

A small whimper escaped Claire’s lips as she softly pressed her mouth against his and it was all it took to undo him, his whole self filling with the need to taste her the moment that their lips met. Jamie raised a shaking hand to her face, to cup her cheek and kiss her slowly, deeply, wanting to drink in every part of her that he could.

He was kissing Claire Beauchamp. And it was everything.

#light across the seas that severed #clan donnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au

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breakyeol · 4 years

Text

Midnight Train

one shot

┗ pairing : kyungsoo x reader

word count : 7.5k (ohmygod this was supposed to be a drabble)

warnings : language, explicit sex

a/n; I saw a picture of soo on a train and was suddenly inspired. also, don’t go with a stranger to a hotel. not a good idea in real life. be safe kids. I have zero self restraint when it comes to soo, please forgive me.

You don’t know what time it is, and honestly you don’t really care. But it’s late, you can tell that much. Clusters of tiny stars are shining brightly against the inky blackness of the cloudless night sky, the full moon bathing the city in its soft milky glow.

Any other night, perhaps you’d stare up at it in awe, bustling mind eased and taken by its natural beauty. It’s not often you see a night sky like that, so vast and endless and whole, unobscured by clouds or light pollution.

But tonight, it hurts. It hurts to look at something so beautiful.

Because tonight, you lost something beautiful. Or at least, something you once believed was beautiful. Maybe that’s why it hurts so terribly, sitting like heavy stones in your chest, a lingering reminder refusing to let you be. Because something you’d once thought was beautiful turned out to be something so horrifically gnarled and ugly, something so twisted and mangled that you’d managed to fool yourself into believing it was magnificent.

It’s the feeling of betrayal that has salty tears dripping down your cheeks, slipping down over your shuddering lips and clinging to the slope of your chin.

You feel tricked.

You feel lied to.

You feel deeply wronged.

So you stand on that metal platform surrounded by the cool night air, crying silently and so terribly alone, and you refuse to look up at the beautiful starry sky, only staring blankly ahead at the dull metal wall on the opposite side of the rusting tracks.

The platform trembles beneath your sneaker clad feet as the train pulls into the station. A low screech shatters the heavy silence that previously encased you and you blink in mild surprise, abruptly broken from your inner turmoil. Your hand lifts, roughly swiping away any lingering wetness from your face before you’re pressing forward. It takes more concentration than it should have to push through the weakness in your knees, but you manage, stepping carefully over the small gap in the floor and through the door.

A middle aged man dressed in navy blue greets you with a vaguely forced smile, eyes tired and underlined by dark bags. It must’ve been a long day for him as well. Sympathy draws the corners of your lips upward, though you’re certain it looks unstable and awkward on your downcast face.

Moving past him, you take in the state of the train. A soft breathe of relief escapes your lips, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. Empty. Completely empty. As much could be expected at this hour of the night. Most people were already home, tucked safely beneath the comforting warmth of their duvets.

If only…

Swallowing back the thought, you make your way through the rows of seats, not stopping until you reach the very back of the vacant train car. Your exhausted body is more than happy to slump against the plush red fabric, limbs going slack the moment your butt makes contact. It’s pure relief for your sore feet and unsteady legs.

But the relief is short lived.

Only a handful of seconds pass before there’s a familiar tug in your chest, and you’re thrown right back into the abyss of your own memories, regrets, and sorrows. A slow ache consumes your head and you have to close your eyes. Too much is going on in your mind. You wish there was an off button for your thoughts. Better yet, your emotions– your pain. Life would be far more convenient that way.

A muffled voice suddenly crackles over the intercom, announcing the train’s departure from the station. Your eyes flutter open and, by chance, they flick over, only to widen in surprise.

There, in the seat on the opposite side of the aisle, is a man.

For a moment, you’re confused as to how you could’ve missed him. Then you note how he’s hunched over, body curled in on itself, head resting up against the window. The glass has fogged beneath his nose, where a pair of thick rimmed glasses rest low on his bridge. The corner of your lip twitches at the sight of his hands tucked comfortably between his thighs. It’s cool for a summer night, and you find yourself wondering if he’s cold. The answer is a clear yes if the goosebumps decorating his arms are anything to go by. Your fingers subconsciously twitch towards the coat resting across your shoulders, the one thing you’d gone out of your way to grab on your way out.

Would it be too strange for you to offer it to him?

Something aches inside of you though at the sight of his downward arched brows and pouted lips. He looks so terribly alone and so awfully small. You couldn’t just leave him like that. Stranger or otherwise, the thought of doing nothing made your stomach twist unpleasantly.

Silently, you tug at the sleeves of the coat until it falls off your shoulders, pooling behind you uselessly. Sliding carefully to the edge of your seat, you tap your fingers gently against the plastic lining of his. If he hears it, he ignores it. Or, perhaps he’s sleeping. But, with how tightly his jaw is clenched, you doubt that.

“Excuse me?” The words are a whispered breath on your lips. Nonetheless, they were effective in finally drawing his attention. Slowly, his eyes flicker open and drift over to meet yours. For a moment, the ability to speak is stolen from you.

Those eyes— they were big and round and deep. Deeper and darker than the entire ocean, or rather, the night sky. Because within their depths, were stars. Bright, twinkling flecks of soft light. It was like he’d stolen them right out of the night sky.

They were iridescent. And they were beautiful.

So beautiful that it hurt.

It hurt to look at him.

But it was a different kind of hurt. It was the delicious kind that reaches beneath your skin and deep into your very being. That ripples through you in slow, heavy waves, igniting blistering flames in their wake. They pull you in and swallow you whole all at once. Looking away wasn’t an option. Even if you could, you’re not so sure you’d want to.

He raises a confused brow. The motion, however slight, enough to bring you out of your thoughts and back to the real world. Clearing your throat, you stutter back into motion, holding out the coat in suddenly warm palms. His features twist, a light frown pulling at the corners of his full lips as his gaze flicks between your face and the clothing item extended towards him.

Dryness invades your mouth and you force yourself to swallow down the sudden buzz of nerves, tipping your chin forward in feigned confidence.

“You look cold.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he presses his lips together and you know simply from the look on his face that he’s about to refuse.

“Take it,” you insist with a soft chuckle before he gets the chance to shoot you down, “it seems like you need it more than I do.”

He glances down, briefly taking in the position he’s currently curled in. A soft shade of pink tints his cheeks and he clears his throat, straightening himself out. But it’s only when you nudge it persistently in his direction one last time that he finally accepts it, dipping his head in silent gratitude. You watch in quiet satisfaction as he slips it on, fitting him almost perfectly, albeit a pinch on the larger side.

The corner of your lips tip upward, then you turn away. The clicking and low hum of the train as it bustles along the tracks fills the silence that fell over you. Though it doesn’t last too tremendously long.

“Ah– I think this is yours.”

You almost flinch at the low, smooth voice that breaks through the quiet. Head spinning back around, you meet his large, beautiful eyes. Large, beautiful, red eyes.

Crying. He had been crying. It was obvious now. You could see it in his swollen eyelids, flushed cheeks and reddened nose. You wondered if he was looking back at you and seeing the same telltale signs of heartache in your features.

But you bite your tongue, and drop your gaze to the small, silver band cradled in his palm. A ring. Your ring. The same ring with those damn initials engraved on them. The same ring that carried too many memories.

Memories of cheesy pickup lines and secret glances. Memories of late night talks losing sleep. Memories of clammy hand and shy caresses. Memories of movie dates and hot blushes. Memories of petty arguments paved over by gentle kisses and murmured apologies. Memories of love. Memories of loss. Memories of lies and pain and betrayal. Memories you no longer wanted.

You sigh softly, a bittersweet smile touching your lips.

“Keep it.”

His eyebrows jump, gaze bouncing between the ring and your face. “It… looks important.”

“It was,” you admit softly, interlacing your fingers, “but not anymore.”

The expression that crosses his features catches you off guard. It’s not of confusion or of judgment or disbelief, but of understanding. Understanding. How rare.

“Are you sure?” He asks quietly.

For a moment, you fix your gaze on the small, silver item that not long ago made your heart soar with nothing but pure delight every time you looked at you, but that now roused only painful heartache and unwanted memories. There was no going back to how things were, no chance of recovery for your once steadfast love. You’d been proven wrong one too many times, and refuse to be made a fool of again.

Sometimes, holding on did more damage than letting go.

“I’m sure.”

He stares at you, a conflicted look glinting in his dark eyes. You couldn’t quite read him, couldn’t quite make sense of the swirling emotions in his heavy gaze. But then he moved, fingertips reaching for something on the back of his neck. You tilted your head in confusion, briefly distracted by the endearing way his face twisted into an expression of concentration. Then, you catch a glimpse of something metallic— a necklace. He made quick work of the clasp, the item slipping easily off of his neck and into his awaiting palm.

“Then you…” he let out a soft breath as he extended his hand to you, fingers enclosed around the necklace, “you should take this.”

It was a simple piece of jewelry, a thin silver chain with what appeared to be a small, circular locket with two sets of initials engraved into it. The metal was surprisingly warm and you found yourself toying with the locket, tracing the pair of initials with your index finger.

“Which is yours?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“DKS. Doh Kyungsoo.”

“Doh Kyungsoo.” You repeat softly, testing his name on your tongue. There’s something melodic about the way it flows off your lips, and you like the way it tastes. Doh Kyungsoo. It was a name befitting his face.

“Pretty.”

It’s the lateness of the night that prevents your usual filter from functioning properly, the word escaping you before you can second guess it. Faint warmth touches your face, and you fix your eyes on the locket, not wanting to look up and gauge his reaction just yet.

“Thank you.” His voice is soft, and you find you can no longer fight the upward lift of your gaze. But the warm pink cheeks and shy smile you’re met with soothe the nervous buzz in your stomach. “And- and yours?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching as he slides a gentle thumb over the engravings. Everything about this man is gentle, soft, like the moonlight that falls across the sides of his face, making him appear to have a silver halo. His eyes, his skin, his voice, his lips; he’s soft all over, and you’re willing to bet that that same nature reaches into the very core of his being.

You wonder if he’d be soft under your fingertips, against your lips, caressing your skin.

The thought invades your mind so quickly that it momentarily stuns you, and you draw back, blinking hard and with a sudden warmth in your face. Your feelings always have the strangest timing.

He asked you a question, you remind yourself, forcing yourself out of the dangerous grip of your own thoughts.

“Y/n. Y/n L/n.” Your throat strains around the words and you have to swallow against the unexpected dryness.

His lips twirl. “Pretty.”

The cool air in the train car is suddenly suffocating.

Oh god.

“Do you have a place to stay for the night?”

What did you just say?

His eyes widen and you hold your breath, wishing you could pull the words right back out from the air that they now hung in, heavy and demanding, unable to be ignored.

“I don’t.”

The softness of his reply contrasts heavily with the expression that flashes across his face, the glint in his eye as his fingers tighten around your ring. You sink your teeth into the inside of your cheek, the warm metal of his locket pressing against your fingers.

“Me either.” You take a breath. “I know a hotel.”

Silence. Soft, warm, intoxicating silence.

Then his tongue drags over the full, pink flesh of his bottom lip, and you know you’re done for.

“Take me there.”

It’s a nice hotel.

The interior is pretty. Simple, but pretty. Flecks of gold complimenting soft, warm tones of brown. The woman behind the counter even manages to muster up a somewhat friendly smile as she passes you a room key despite the late hour; though, you’re certain she’d much rather be anywhere else in the world. You also don’t miss the soothing hum of orchestral melodies that pump through hidden speakers as you step into the mirrored walls of the elevator.

It’s a nice hotel.

But you can’t seem to appreciate it. Not fully, anyways. The mere knowledge of Doh Kyungsoo’s presence ruptures your sanity, and deems you wholly incapable of thinking rationally. The promise of midnight’s caress lingers in the air around you, invading your every sense like a poisonous gas. It’s something you can’t see, can’t smell, can’t touch. But you feel it. You feel it pulsing in your veins, dizzying your mind, eating away at your self control. It’s like there’s a string being pulled taut between you, the tension growing greater and greater with every passing second. Your gut churns in anticipation, skin prickling. You can barely keep your feet from shuffling and your hands from fidgeting as a foreign impatience gnaws at you.

But then the door of room 107 clicks shut, and the string snaps.

You have him pressed up against the door before your brain can condone it, mouth feasting on his. He doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, hands sliding around your waist and pressing into the small of your back, holding you tightly against him.

You pour yourself into his kiss, pour out your pain and heartache, pour out your hopes and dreams that will never be, pour out your longing and desperation. You pour until he’s overflowing. But even then, you don’t stop, and he doesn’t want you to. Because just as you’re pouring yourself into him, he’s pouring himself into you, filling you up in ways you never imagined possible, filling the void that another created. He’s chasing away the emptiness with his eager tongue, fending off the icy chill of betrayal with his warm caress.

Greedy fingers find the collar of your borrowed coat, hurriedly pushing it off his shoulders. There’s a soft thud when the thick material hits the floor. A low groan vibrates in his throat, one hand raising to cup the back of your head while your own slip beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. It’s over his head and discarded onto the floor in a matter of moments, and then there’s only skin. Warm, smooth skin. He’s hot to the touch, almost searing, but you can’t find it within yourself to mind the burn.

Distracted and disoriented by his feverish kiss, you don’t realize you’re moving backwards until the back of your knees hit the end of a mattress and suddenly you’re sprawled flat on your back. Kyungsoo hovers above you, panting and red in the face. His lips are swollen and a delicious shade of pink, just begging to be bitten. But it looks like he wants to say something, so you refrain.

“I— I don’t usually do things like this.” He admits, voice unstable and breathy. “Actually, I never do things like this.”

His confession has a light smile curling onto your lips. “Me either.” You murmur, admiring the way the silver moonlight spills across his sun kissed skin. He shudders faintly as your fingers trace over his bare waist, up over the small of his back, following the length of his spine until they reach their final destination, threading themselves through his thick black locks. His midnight eyes flutter behind the rims of his glasses when you offer a gentle tug. He makes no objection as you carefully remove the spectacles from his face, reaching over to set them gentle on the nightstand before returning your attention to his handsome face.

“But there’s a first for everything.”

He professes his agreement with the press of his hot mouth against yours. The kiss is softer this time, probably because you allow him to lead. It’s slow, deep, tender— tender in such a way that it’s somewhat surprising, especially between two strangers. But you don’t question it, instead relishing in the slow drags of his tongue and gentle nips of his teeth.

His lips are sweet, tasting of mint and honey. But there’s a bitterness, a distinctive saltiness that clings to the plush flesh. You don’t have to question if his tears slipped over them, tears he probably hadn’t bothered to wipe away. Briefly, you wonder if he can taste the lingering residue of your own heartache. Then you feel an unmistakable hardness against your hip, and stop thinking all together.

He groans, the sound soft and low. “Can I touch you?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

At your concession, warm fingers rouse goosebumps across your skin as he feathers delicate touches over your exposed stomach. Chills roll down your spine, body arching up, seeking out more— and he happily delivers. You jolt as he presses his face into your neck, hot tongue licking from the curve of your jaw down to the slope of your shoulder. All the while, his hands slip higher up your body, sliding beneath the thin fabric of your blouse, not stopping until they find the swells of your bra clad chest. You hiss as his thumb drifts underneath of it, slowly circling your rapidly hardening nipple.

He hums against your collarbone, pleased with your reaction. “Sensitive?” He asks, though you can just make out the slightest of mocking pitches clinging to the word. You don’t bother denying it. Instead, you push your hips up, rolling them slowly, deeply into his, drawing out a low groan from his lips, forehead falling against yours.

A smirk traces your lips. “Sensitive?”

He chuckles, hooded eyes fluttering open. The look within them, the lust, the hunger, the desire, ignites every last fiber of your being. You can’t seem to remember the last time anyone has looked at you with such intense want. And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel incredible. To be wanted. To be craved. Even if it was by a complete stranger.

You tip your chin up, easily finding his pillowy mouth and smothering it against your own. His kiss was addictive. You just could not seem to get enough of it.

All too soon, he was pulling away and you have to bite your tongue to stifle a sound of protest. His hands find the bottom of your top, toying with it for a short moment before he asks, “can I take this off?”

Abruptly, you sit up, forcing him to fall back onto his heels. “Don’t ask. Just do.” He can only watch with lust blown eyes as you peel your shirt off of your body in one swift motion, exposing your bare skin to his ravenous gaze. A deep moan rises from the depths of his chest, the sound rousing an inexplicable heat in the pit of your stomach that quickly seeps into your bloodstream and spreads through the rest of your body like an erotic poison. Teeth biting sinking into your lip, you trace a finger over the strap of your bra.

“This, too?”

“Don’t ask,” he takes in a breath so deep that you can almost feel the hot rush of oxygen filling your lungs as well, “just do.”

You intend to laugh, finding enjoyment in this little game of yours, but the sounds breaks off halfway up your throat when his hands circle around your body and you feel his fingers making quick work of the clip, the tension giving way in a matter of seconds.

“I think that’s the fastest a mans ever been able to take off my bra.” You muse with a playful quirk of your brow, allowing him to nudge the grey material down the length of your arms, before tossing it uncaringly onto the floor. “I’m impressed.”

He smiles, and you’re, once again, immediately floored by its beauty. “I’m glad I could leave an impression.”

Please, feel free to leave me with more than just an impression.

Somehow, you manage to bite your tongue and keep the words locked in your mind, quickly deciding that undoing his belt is a task far more deserving of your attention. It’s impossible to miss the bulge straining against the tight confines of his jeans, but you get the sense that he’s unashamed. You don’t mind. Besides, what’s shame between a couple of heartbroken strangers?

“Fuck.” He huffs out the curse, mouth falling open as your curious fingers caress over his arousal through the tight, black fabric of his boxers. You can feel the heat of him, the impressive hardness giving away his unspoken need. “No, no… let me take of you first.” He murmurs, gently brushing your wandering hands away from his clothed length. “Lay back for me?”

Christ. You happily fall back into the plush white pillows, legs spreading around the shape of his body. Desire coils in your belly in tight, hot tendrils as his hands slide up the length of your legging clad thighs, skin burning fiercely in their wake. His lips press slow kisses to the skin of your hip while his fingers gently peel the article off of your body, leaving you almost completely bare aside from a pair of thin black underwear. It’s a sight he eagerly drinks in.

“Please.” You plead pathetically, a need unlike anything you’d ever experienced pulsing like liquid ecstasy through your veins. His gaze pierces you, pupils blown as his lips graze over your clothed heat. There’s no need to elaborate, he knows what you want, knows like he can read the desire on your face. It’s static shock when he slips a finger beneath the undergarment, grazing your slick lips in the process of shifting it to the side. It’s pure electricity when he dips down and slips his tongue over your core, all the way up to circle your sensative clit. Your hips jerk up, but he presses them back down into the mattress with steady hands.

“You taste so sweet…” he breathes, hot, praising words caressing your burning skin and igniting an angry flame in the pit of your stomach. A low whine rumbles in the back of your throat, eyes fluttering in bliss as he teases your slick opening with warm, pillowy lips. Fingers slipping through his thick black locks, you weakly tug him closer, a familiar ache swelling in the pit of your stomach.

“Tell me what feels good.” You can only nod dumbly at his muffled request, the vibration of his voice directly against your wet core having a mildly dizzying effect. Pleasure spills into your veins at the same time he takes you by surprise, a single finger pressing inside of you. An airy ‘oh god’ flutters off your lips, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy him, so he presses, “good?”

“Yes. Yes, so good. So good.” You manage to choke out as he tugs at one of your legs, positioning it over his shoulder. He’s looking up at you now, starry eyes taking on a dangerous, lustful glow beneath the silver moonlight. It’s the kind of look that makes your stomach twist and your pussy throb.

Oh god. Who is this man? To make you feel this kind of pleasure… it’s the kind of pleasure no one has ever managed to make you feel before. It’s the kind of pleasure that licks at every cell of your being, rippling through you in slow, heavy waves. Your toes curl, your back bows. Your muscles shudder. It’s hot and it’s everywhere, invading every inch of you like a slow poison seeping through your bloodstream, infecting you down to your very core.

Doh Kyungsoo. You don’t know much about him. Only his name and that his heart is in a similar state as your own. But it doesn’t seem to matter.

Or, rather— that’s all that seems to matter.

Perhaps you sensed it, sensed his pain, his broken heart. And when you looked into those beautiful starry eyes, you had seen suffering that mirrored your own. It drew you to him, and him to you. You’d come to a mutual agreement in that moment. What was the use in suffering alone? Might as well share your pain with another. Maybe it would ease the hurt, or maybe it would just make it all the worse. Whichever came to be, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Not right now, at least. Not with the way that his lethal tongue was lapping at your heat in slow, deep strokes. Not with the way he was thrusting his fingers inside of you, curling, caressing, exploring.

It was too good to be concerned with anything else, future and past alike. Even your broken heart had become an afterthought under his bliss inducing ministrations.

“Oh god—” a shuttering curse flew from your chest, heel pressing into his shoulder blade. He had wrapped his lips around your clit, flicking his tongue over it expertly and at the same time, his fingers had found that perfect little spot inside of you that sent white hot electricity crackling through your veins.

Then, the coil snapped. Specks of white invade your vision, and for a moment you believe you are seeing stars. Or perhaps it’s his eyes, but you can’t really tell which direction you’re looking in, the incredible pleasure of the high he had just thrust you into entirely too dizzying and disorienting to decipher up from down or left from right. A choked moan followed by a broken whine escapes your gaping lips. Your hips jump off the mattress, refusing to be restrained any longer as they grind themselves desperately against his heavenly mouth. He doesn’t object, only moaning deeply as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

“Holy fuck…” you pant, chest heaving. He chuckles, climbing up and attaching his lips to yours. You taste yourself, the bitter sweetness hitting your tastebuds with a delicate swipe of his tongue against yours.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he hums into the kiss, gentle thumb drawing slow circles against the skin of your hip, “got me so hard...”

“Yeah?” You ask, voice airy. He nods, sinking his teeth into your lower lip. “Let me feel.”

You feel him smile into the kiss. Then his hand finds your wrist, guiding it slowly down the length of his body, until your fingertips are feathering over the strained fabric of his boxers. He’s hard. So hard. You can almost feel him throbbing. Any haziness lingering from your previous orgasm is immediately vanquished by the thought, wicked desire flooding your senses. He’s breathing hard against your throat, gripping tightly at the flesh of your thighs. He shudders violently when you find his tip, tracing it experimentally. The sound he produces in response is enough to have you clenching around nothing.

“Do you have a condom?”

His head snaps up, wide eyes meeting your hooded ones. He has to swallow a groan once he sees the expression on your face, the lust burning in your gaze. Nodding, he slips a hand into the pocket of his half off jeans and tugs out a small, square foil. You can’t help the mild amusement that curls the corners of your lips, the irony not lost on you. He huffs at you, “I like to be prepared.”

“I bet.” You croon, voice pitching playfully.

He grinds his hips into yours in retaliation. Still sensitive, you jolt beneath him with a quiet moan, a reaction that coaxed a mildly taunting smirk onto his glistening lips. Fixing him a glare lacking any genuine malice, you hook your fingers into the loops of his jeans and tug.

“Shut up and get naked.”

Laughter bubbles at his lips, and you can’t help the way your heart trembles in your chest at the sight of his scrunched nose. The sound of it warms you up from the inside out, and you smile. He’s beautiful when he laughs.

“Yes, ma’am,” he giggles, sitting up to kick his jeans onto the floor, followed suit by his boxers. Somehow, he’s even more beautiful completely bare, his honeyed skin and lean muscle on full display for your feasting eyes. Your tongue licks at the inside of your teeth, longing to steal a taste of him. But you refrain, barely, and only in favor of pressing the heels of your palms into his shoulders and flipping him onto his back. The swift change in position draws a surprised gasp from his lips, but he makes no complaint as you swing a leg over his hip and settle yourself on top of his thighs.

Plucking the condom from his hold, you shoot him a light smirk. “Let me help you with that.” His brows raise, pink tongue peeking out to drag over the corner of his mouth.

“Yes ma’am.” His voice, having dropped an entire octave, makes your skin prickle with goosebumps, arousal swirling to life in your stomach. Carefully, you tear open the wrapping and slip the rubber over his length. He visibly shudders at the contact, eyes fluttering when you not so accidentally allow your fingers to feather over his hot skin on the way down. Shifting forward, you position yourself above him, one had falling onto the mattress beside his head while the other teases your entrance with his tip. You want him inside of you, want to feel him stretch you out, want to feel him throbbing and hear those gorgeous sounds that you’ve already found yourself addicted to. And you don’t deny yourself of that desire, sinking down onto him in one swift motion.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and you’re not completely certain if it was you or him or both. But you know it’s him that lets out the first real sound, a groan, low and smooth in your ears. The sound is trailed by a shaky curse, a breath of your name, and the feeling of his fingertips pressing into your hips, though, he makes no attempt to get you to move. After all, you have, what feels like, all the time in the world. There’s no need to rush things. He knows that.

For a handful of moments, you remain still, adjusting to him, to the blissful stretch. You can’t remember the last time anyone has filled you so well, so wholly.

Inhaling deeply, you push yourself into an upright position, palms flattening over the gentle swells of his chest to balance yourself on. When you finally move, it’s at a slow, deliberate pace. Controlled downward thrusts of your hips that have him filling you to that perfect depth over and over again. Heat consumes you, your skin trembling and perspiring within its grasp.

He’s holding you so tight, looking up at you with those starry eyes. Those beautiful starry eyes that have somehow both completely undone you, and made you complete again. In the span of only a few hours nonetheless. It’s baffling. He’s baffling. How can a man like him exist? How could anyone have let him go? Then again… he’s still a stranger. But he’s a beautiful stranger with the kind of gaze that reaches past your skin and bone and straight onto your core. It feels like he sees you, knows you, understands you. And oh god, after so long— it feels good to be seen.

You moan breathlessly, head tipping back as your hips roll hungrily over his. Below you, Kyungsoo is fighting to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single moment. But the pleasure is overwhelming, hot in his veins, boiling in his blood. He was losing himself, but in the best way imaginable. In you, to you, for you. Slowly, yet all at once. It’s like drowning: filling his lungs, pouring into every empty crevice of his body. It was consuming him— and he was loving it.

Searing fingertips dance over your body, up your stomach, over your breasts, across your collarbone. Your skin burns and shudders in their wake, the sensation so distracting you don’t notice one of his hands coiling around the back of your neck until you’re being tugged downward, swollen lips colliding with his. You moan in surprise before melting into him, gentle hands raising to cup his burning cheeks.

“You feel—” he gasps against your mouth, “so good.”

His hips snap up, causing your back to arch deeply, chest pressing tightly to his. You can feel the racing of his heart, the astonishing heat of his skin. You swear he’s going to burn right through you.

Not that you’d really mind.

“Kyungsoo.” You pant, hands dragging down the length of his neck to grip at his steady shoulders.

He tips his head forward, bleary, hooded eyes fixing on yours. “Yeah?”

“Fuck me.”

There’s a pause. And then you’re on your back, splayed out beneath his body, and he’s fucking himself into you like his life depends on it. An uncontrollable cry is wretched from your throat, arms flinging themselves around his neck as he lifts your hips off the mattress. Like this, he can go even deeper, fuck you even better, make you come even faster. He knows what you need, and he knows exactly how to give it to you.

Ecstasy rips through you when his fingers reach between your bodies, finding your swollen clit with astonishing ease. Your legs raise, ankles locking around his back, urging him closer, urging him deeper. A strained groan tears free from his fluttering lips, his eyes squeezing shut as you clench around him. In response, he rolls the heel of his palm over your clit, while simultaneously hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you that has been neglected for far too long.

It’s so much— too much. It feels like you’re on fire, and he’s pouring the gasoline. If he keeps going like this, you know you won’t last.

Then his eyes, those goddamn starry eyes, meet yours, and you feel yourself come undone.

If there was any lingering hurt, sadness, or regret— it is completely obliterated by the mind numbing intensity of your second orgasm. It hits you hard and fast; ten times more powerful than the first. Your muscles shudder, your skin burns, your mind empties. All you feel is pure, euphoric pleasure. Every cell of your being is consumed by it.

Kyungsoo doesn’t last a moment longer than you do, the second the first wave hits you, he’s spilling himself into the condom, moaning and trembling above you. You are just conscious enough to force your eyes to stay open, not wanting to miss a second of the beautiful contortions of his handsome features as he reaches what looks to be the epitome of pleasure. There’s little doubt in your mind that the image of him unraveling will haunt your dreams in nights to come. Not that you’d mind. A face like his is a pretty good face to be haunted by.

By the time his high finally recedes, his muscles are so exhausted that they quiver beneath the weight of his body. He just barely manages to hold himself up long enough to roll safely off of you, before collapsing onto the mattress at your side.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Catching your breath alone is proving difficult enough without being hindered by any pathetic attempt at formulating a coherent sentence in the aftermath of one of the most mind blowing orgasms you’ve ever had.

Your cells are still trembling in the aftershock when Kyungsoo finally speaks— or, attempts to, at the very least.

“That was— you were— wow.”

Breathless laughter bubbles at your lips and your turn just in time to see a bashful smile creep onto his.

“You were pretty wow yourself, Doh Kyungsoo.”

Doh Kyungsoo in the wake of an amazing fuck is something to behold. His bare skin glistening with sweat, cheeks and chest flushed a deep red, his thick black hair is unruly and sticking out in strange directions. He is an absolute mess, and he is beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that your breath catches in your throat at the mere sight of him, though you try your best not to make it too obvious.

With a huff, you roll onto your side and toss an arm over his stomach while the other slips beneath the small of his back, fingers interlocking on the opposite side of his body.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you hum tiredly, eyes fluttering shut, “I’m an avid believer in cuddling after sex.”

He chuckles, and you feel the warm press of his palm between your shoulder blades as he tugs you closer.

“I don’t mind,” soft, starry eyes flit over your blissed out features, “I don’t mind at all.”

In the distance, a train horn blares.

“Why’d she leave you?”

The question doesn’t seem to catch him off guard. But his hand pauses where it had begun to trace abstract designs in your skin. He blinks, purses his lips, then exhales softly from his nose and stares blankly across the room.

“She… fell in love with someone else.”

This surprises you.

“That doesn’t make sense.” You mutter, brows furrowing.

He glances down at you. “What do you mean?”

You meet his eyes. “You’re one of the good ones.”

He falters. It’s only for a moment, in which his eyes widen, lips part, cheeks flush, but you can see something flash across his face. An emotion he gives you no time to decipher before he wipes the expression away and raises a brow, one corner of his mouth turning upwards in a lazy smirk.

“And how exactly, after knowing me for all of three hours, did you come to that conclusion?” Curiosity and amusement swim in his gaze.

“Call it a sixth sense,” you grin, peering up at him, “I’m good at reading people,” you contemplate that for a moment, “sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

Your shoulders raise and you watch your fingers trace invisible words across his chest. “I thought he was the kind of man that would never betray me, never lie to me, never break my heart. I thought I knew him. But look where we are now.”

A comforting hand caresses your waist.

“What happened?”

That could be a loaded question. What happened? Everything. Nothing. Something. But you opted to give him a more straightforward answer. “I’m not sure. The only part I really saw was him railing his secretary in our bed. But it’s not so hard to make up the rest of the story in my head.”

“His… secretary?”

You chuckle. “Cliché, isn’t it?”

“Yes but…” he cuts himself off and shakes his head, but you can practically see the gears beginning to turn in his head.

“What is it?”

He hesitates, then speaks slowly, carefully, as if contemplating each work before it could come out of his mouth. “It’s just, my g— ex-girlfriend worked as a secretary for this big shot new tech company. Crazy coincidence… right?”

A shock goes through you. Big shot new tech company? You’d definitely heard those words before. But there was just no way. The chances of it were one in a million. There had to be hundreds of big shot new tech companies in your city, and thousands of secretaries that worked for them. There was no way…

“W–What’s the name of the company?” You ask, even though you’re not entirely confident that you want to know the answer.

He swallows. “Strato Tech.”

You blink once, twice, then ask,

“I don’t suppose your girlfriend has a bird tattoo on her left shoulder?”

He offers a nod. “That would be her.”

There’s another pause. And then you’re laughing. You’re laughing so hard your stomach aches and tears spring to the corners of your eyes. Kyungsoo is in a similar state, bellowing belly laughter exploding from his chest, loud and uncontrollable.

For what feels like hours (but was probably only minutes) the two of you laugh. You laugh because what are the chances? What are the chances that your fiancé and his girlfriend work at the same big shot new tech company? What are the chances that they feel a mutual attraction and begin a secret affair? What are the chances that you stumble onto the same train as her heartbroken boyfriend and fall into bed with him? What are the chances?

“This is unbelievable.” Kyungsoo pants, tossing an arm over his eyes, a cheek achingly wide smile plastered across his face.

“When’d our lives turn into a poorly written soap opera?” You scoff in disbelief.

“You tell me.” He chuckles.

Then, an idea strikes you. Mischievous excitement sparks in your eyes.

“I feel like this is an opportunity we can’t miss, Doh Kyungsoo.”

He raises a brow, intrigue curling at the corners of his lips. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

Smirking, you sit up on your knees and reach for something on the nightstand. “All you have to do… is sit back and look pretty.”

Chanyeol sighs softly, hands sliding over his face.

He fucked up. Bad.

It’s been hours. Hours since he made the mistake of bringing the new secretary back to your shared home. Hours since he watched helplessly as you stormed out. Hours since he kicked his accomplice to the curb and desperately scrambled to right his wrong. Hours since he made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

It’s been hours, and he can’t stop worrying.

He tried calling and texting, but you must have turned off your phone because none of them went through. He even reached out to your friends and family. None of them knew what he’d done yet, but none of them knew where you were either.

He never meant for this to happen, really. He had been stressed out and drinking, and she’d been there. Apparently, in his tipsy mind, that was enough. Enough to throw years of his wonderful relationship out the window in a matter of moments.

It was a mistake.

But it was a mistake you wouldn’t easily forgive. Not like the (many) times when he accidentally knocked glassware off the counter and it shattered. Not like the time he showed up so late to one of your dates that you’d eaten both the main course and dessert all on your own. Not like the time he kept you up late and you’d been so tired the next morning you slept through a meeting. Not like the time he got upset because you beat him at his favorite video game and ignored you for two days.

This was a mistake that no amount of desperate apologies or late night kisses could fix.

He cheated.

Groaning in frustration, he presses the heels of his palms against his swollen eyes. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Then his phone dings.

He all but lunges for it, and feels his heart leap into his throat at the sight of your name plastered across the top of the screen. His hands are shaking so terribly that he mistyped his password three times before finally managing to unlock it.

But the message that greets him makes any semblance of hope for your future together drop like a dead bird in his chest.

from : love of my life 💕

tell your little secretary friend that her sexy boyfriend says hi ;)

delivered 3:04 am

710 notes · View notes

starshine583 · 3 years

Note

For the soulmate letter prompts, Felinette with prompt O please.

O: Opportune outfit (soulmates will eternally color coordinate, even if they have not met one another yet, and often times have similar patterns in their clothing)

(Thank you @symwinter and @desiiigirl for this ask! I had a ton of fun writing it, so I hope you enjoy!)

“We’re here live tonight at the Carrousel du Louvre where Audrey Bourgeois is hosting her biggest party yet! Celebrities of all kinds will be invited, including Jagged Stone, Gabriel Agreste, and MDC herself! Stay tuned to catch sight of these incredible fashion icons!”

Marinette drew in a deep breath to calm her nerves as her miniature limo drove up to the front entrance. She’d been to plenty of parties before hosted by celebrities, but none as big as this. There were going to be reporters everywhere who would hold her under a magnifying glass all evening and powerful, influential people that she would have to tip-toe around to make a good first impression. On top of that, this was going to be the night she revealed her exclusive designer’s dress that she’d kept a secret for the last six months! It was an extremely important event for her, and she didn’t want to mess anything up.

The limo pulled to a stop in front of the red carpet, causing Marinette’s breath to catch in her throat. She quickly checked her hair and makeup, then smoothed out the corners of her dress.

“You can do this.” She muttered to herself. “You’ve already made it this far. Now, you get to show the world why.”

The driver opened her car door, and Marinette offered the reporters a bright smile as she stepped outside. Screams of delight and excitement swept over the crowds of people that were huddled on both sides of the carpet. Cameras were flashing everywhere, almost blinding her, but Marinette kept an elegant stride despite it as she signed a few autographs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, MDC has just arrived at the gala, and may I say her dress looks absolutely dazzling!” A reporter to her left trilled. “The navy blue mixed with those silver dots and stars makes it look like the night sky! And the way the sheer fabric in sewn to the dress makes it look like the stars are trailing behind her as well! It’s truly a fantastic creation, especially with that diamond, crescent moon necklace to compliment it! Could this be that secret design that MDC’s corporation has been hinting about for so long?”

Marinette tried to contain her grin, but by the time she walked inside the Carrousel du Louvre, she was positively glowing. After spending many sleepless nights working on Starry Night- as her design was called - hearing the multitude of praises from the reporters was immensely satisfying. It made the whole project feel worthwhile.

“Oh, Marinette!”

Audrey Bourgeois, having heard the commotion, waltzed over to the Louvre entrance to greet her. She seemed to be as fashionable and haughty as ever, and Marinette pulled an extra bright smile in an effort to please the woman. "Bonjour Audrey." She said politely. “It’s wonderful to see you again. Thank you for inviting me to your party.”

“Oh, think nothing of it!” Audrey replied, linking her arm with Marinette’s to guide her into the heart of the party. “I’ve been dying to speak with you about your latest designs, anyway. You’ve certainly made a name for yourself since the first time we met.”

A bit of tension melted from Marinette’s shoulders at the comment, and she felt a more genuine smile settle onto her lips. The last time she saw Audrey was when she’d been offered that job in New York, the same job that she ended up declining. It was good to know that Audrey wasn’t holding a grudge against her for that.

“Yes, these last two years have been quite eventful.” Marinette agreed. She’s managed to build a small company out of her designs that’s only continued to grow. The fact that she’d already designed things for Jagged Stone and Gabriel himself definitely helped her take-off.

“Indeed. Even my customers all the way in America have heard of you, which is why I wanted to propose a collaboration between us.”

“A collaboration?”

“Yes! Imagine how much popularity you’ll gain if we-”

“Audrey! Audrey Bourgeois!”

Audrey’s pleasant expression quickly soured when someone from across the room called out her name, interrupting whatever proposition she was going to make.

“What is it?” The woman snapped. “I’m busy.”

A man stepped forward from the crowd, his countenance stern and unimpressed. “We were supposed to talk about the location of your next fashion show. Need I remind you that I have other business I need to attend to tonight?”

Audrey huffed and rolled eyes. “Fine, fine, we’ll talk then. Marinette, dear, do me a favor and stay put while I go discuss a few matters with M Laurence.”

Marinette nodded and took to idly surveying the room while the two strolled off to another corner of the Louvre. She wasn’t sure why Audrey would have to leave to talk about fashion show locations, but she supposed it also wasn’t any of her business either. Everyone had their own way of working, right?

The Carrousel du Louvre was an extraordinary place, especially with the gold and silver decorations lining the walls. Lights reflected off of the glass pyramid that dipped into the center of the room, making it shine almost as brightly as it would in the day, and the floors were polished so well that Marinette could actually part of her reflection in it.

The guests were no less remarkable than the setting too. Save for a scarce few, she could recognize every face in the crowd, be it through newspapers, magazines, movies, or heads of rival companies. A part of her almost miniscule in the presence of such greatness. Audrey certainly knew how to throw an enchanting party.

“Yo, Marinette! Is that you?”

A voice that Marinette immediately recognized yelled out to her, and she turned around with an eager smile to greet them.

“Uncle Jagged! When did you get here?”

Jagged wormed his way out of the crowd with a wide grin. “I should be asking you the same thing! That dress looks great by the way.”

Marinette giggled and offered him a little spin. “Thanks! It took me forever to finish it. How have you been?”

“Oh, the usual. I’ve been rock and rollin’ to my heart’s content. Have you tried the food here yet?”

“Afraid not. Audrey told me to stay put until she came back from a meeting with somebody.”

Jagged scoffed and gently took her by the arm. “Audrey Shm-audrey. You’re an adult now! You can do whatever you want, like coming to try these over-priced cream puffs with me.”

Marinette snorted, but before she could reply, a cacophony of squeals tugged her attention to the front entrance of the Louvre. Someone new was joining the party, and it had the reporters quite excited.

“It appears that Felix Culpa has decided to come to the gala after all! There was speculation of him skipping out, but we’re happy to see him regardless!”

Annoyance swirled in the back of her mind at the mention of the actor, though she tried to hide it for the sake of civility. Ever since she started her small fashion business, Felix Culpa has been indirectly stealing her designs and wearing them without giving her an ounce of credit. She’s not sure how, since she’s jumped through who knows how many hoops to keep her projects a secret, but he does. Magazines, social media, behind-the-scenes pictures from his movies- anything he appears in, he’s wearing something of hers, be it a t-shirt or a tuxedo or a button-up shirt with jeans. It was infuriating, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not figure out where the leaks were coming from. No one was sending out emails, no one was going to visit him in person, and no one was posting any pictures of the working process online. And yet, he still managed to match his outfit with everything she created.

She couldn’t even sue him for copyright! Because, technically, all of the outfits that he’d worn so far had been made from a mix of his own wardrobe, and that, unfortunately, wasn’t a crime.

Whatever, she thought to herself with a slight shake of the head. At least he can’t copy me tonight.

“What’s this?” A reporter gasped. “Folks, I’m not sure if I’m actually seeing this, but Felix Culpa has just stepped out in a silver tuxedo with a navy, button-up shirt underneath that matches MDC’s outfit exactly!”

Marinette’s jaw had to have dropped to the floor when she heard those words. How was that possible? There was no way Felix could have coordinated his outfit with hers! No one even knew what she was going to be wearing! Unless this some insane coincidence?

“Oh, Look at that! He even has a small, diamond star clipped to his tie! Could Felix Culpa be dressed as MDC’s moon?!”

Marinette whirled around to face the entrance. This was most certainly not a coincidence. Even if he did decide to wear a silver tux tonight, nothing should have prompted him to wear a diamond star clip. Not unless he was trying to copy her designs again.

“Marinette? Are you alright?” Jagged Stone asked, noticing the sudden shift in her mood.

“I’m fine.” She said, forcing a leveled tone as she eyed the door. “I’m just going to go greet M Culpa, if you don’t mind.”

“ No problem! Come find me by the hors d'oeuvres when you’re done.”

Marinette didn’t bother throwing Jagged a tight smile as she stalked towards the door. Instead, she focused on how, exactly, she was going to call this esteemed actor out on his indirect theft without making a scene. This was a high class party, and she couldn’t afford to make a fool of herself. At the same time, however, she desperately needed to know how he’d been matching her outfits to a fault.

Felix Culpa strode into Louvre a moment later, wearing the very tuxedo that the reporter had described. The silver jacket and dress pants matched the glittering stars on her dress, while the navy blue, button-up shirt underneath matched the main color of her outfit. Don’t even get her started on the diamond clip! It was like the thing had been bought as a pairing with her necklace! The only way he could have coordinated with her that well was if he looked at a picture of her dress directly, which didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t have seen her dress! It’s been in her personal apartment since she started working on it!

His eyes scanned over the room leisurely, stopping when they landed on her, and for a moment, Marinette felt her anger falter, because my gosh was he a gorgeous man. She’d seen pictures of him plenty of times, but they apparently didn’t do him any justice. His strong jawline and defined cheekbones were perfectly framed by his pale, blond hair in a way she’d never noticed before. Then, there was his slender figure that the tuxedo seemed to cling to..

Marinette shook her head slight. Focus! There was a reason I was walking over here!

She offered the man a smile as she approached him, so as not to alarm him towards her somewhat hostile intentions, and he returned the smile with a slight nod.

“I assume you’re MDC?” He said in greeting.

Marinette nodded, barely holding back a sarcastic tone as she replied, “What gave me away?”

A small smile graced Felix’s lips, and he gestured to her dress. “I believe I’m supposed to be your ‘moon’.”

Marinette swore she felt her eye twitch. Was he being smug about it now?

“Yes, it would seem that way.. If I might ask, what prompted you to dress that way this evening?”

Felix glanced over his outfit thoughtfully, before giving her a little shrug. “Nothing in particular, I suppose. I simply felt like it.”

Marinette bit her tongue to avoid scoffing. He simply felt like it? No one accidentally coordinates their outfit with a specifically crafted dress because they ‘feel like it’. That’s just preposterous!

“I would like to compliment your work, though. It is my understanding that you brought that dress to life yourself?”

“..I did.”

“It’s phenomenal craftsmanship. I’m afraid I’ve only heard of you in name alone, but the praise clearly wasn’t over-exaggerated-”

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. Did he just say that he’d only heard of her in name alone? Meaning he hadn’t seen any of her other designs yet?

“-I couldn’t imagine stitching that many stars onto a single garment.”

“I’m sorry,” She politely cut him off. Did he expect to get away with lying straight to her face? “But did you just say you’d heard of me in name alone?”

He nodded. “I’ve been rather busy as of late and haven’t had time to check with things in the fashion industry.”

“Then how do you explain your other outfits?”

A blank expression fell across Felix’s features. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your other outfits.” Marinette repeated, almost through gritted teeth. “I have proof that you’ve been blatantly plagiarizing my designs for the past two years. How do you explain that if you supposedly haven’t seen any of my work until now.”

Felix raised a brow, appearing to be genuinely confused. “Mademoiselle, I can assure you that I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

This time, Marinette did scoff. How could he not know what she was talking about? If it had been once or twice, Marinette could write it off, but consistently matching her designs for two years? That’s no accident. How else would he manage to-

“Oh, there they are!” A reporter gasped. “MDC and Felix Culpa have already found each other! The moon and stars circling around each other as always. I’ve never seen such a fashionable pair of soulmates!”

Marinette froze, and from the looks of it, Felix froze too.

Soulmates.. Color coordination.. Was that why Felix had been ‘plagiarizing’ her outfits all of this time? Was that why he claimed not to know anything about it even though it was glaringly obvious? Had she been obsessing over a mystery that had had a reasonable answer right in front of her face all along?

Her eyes trailed down to his suit, the suit that matched hers perfectly, and the realization that washed over her nearly caused her to face-palm.

He hadn’t been copying her designs.

He’d been copying her outfit specifically.

Because they were soulmates.

“..What was that you said about my plagiarizing your designs?” Felix asked after a moment.

Marinette let out a defeated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, I feel ridiculous now.”

A soft chuckle passed Felix’s lips, and she glanced up just in time to catch the spark of amusement dancing in his silver eyes. Gosh, this beautiful human being was supposed to be her soulmate now? How was she going to cope? How was she going to Alya, the person she’d been ranting to for a good year now, about this new development? Actually, did Alya know about this all along? She always did act strange when Marinette brought it up, with her sly smirks and mischievous smiles and-

Felix offered his arm to her. “I, personally, would love to hear about this ridiculousness if you don’t mind sharing.”

Marinette pressed her lips into a thin line, a blush creeping onto her cheeks, but she took his arm with a huff despite it. “I guess I might as well tell you. We’re probably going to be spending a lot more time together after this, anyway.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Felix replied lightheartedly, shooting her a smirk that made her heart skip a beat.

Marinette glanced away to regain some composure, but failed miserably as she only felt herself blush harder. Darn Felix Culpa and his stupid, breathtaking face.

She absolutely loved it.

(Send me a letter and I’ll do a thing!)

(The next one I’m going to be working on is J for Daminette!)

#asks #felinette #Soulmate AUs

196 notes · View notes

somethingvaguetodo · 3 years

Text

Strangers in the Night (Two Lonely People)

This is for @lnc2 who has been having a tough time lately, and loves Ladrien. Hope you like it! I realized I’ve never written just Ladrien before, so that had to be fixed. I imagine this taking place as an alternative ending to Gang of Secrets (no reveal), but it could be anytime.

Read on AO3 here.

~~~

Ladybug tumbled over the rooftops, bounding over Rue Soufflot and performing a series of impressive aerial somersaults before landing on her balcony. She rested for a moment against the railing, taking a deep breath of crisp night air and glancing up at the crescent moon. She let her eyes scan her surroundings, slipping from the metal scaffolding around Notre Dame to the façade of her school. Ladybug leaned forward, her attention piqued. A strange glow emanated from the courtyard of the collège, shining through the windows.

Before she could think about it twice, Ladybug leapt from her perch, landing silently on the roof of the school. Below her in the courtyard was a lone figure, illuminated by the glow of a lantern, who was slashing a fencing sabre through the air. It was easy to identify the midnight fighter, his golden hair gleaming in the light.

Adrien.

She dropped down from the roof to land behind him.

“Hey.”

Adrien jumped, dropping his sabre to the ground and letting out a yelp. Ladybug covered her giggles with her hand as he spun to face her, a guilty look on his face.

“I’m sorry I know I shouldn’t…” Adrien rushed out, before pausing. “Oh, it’s you, Ladybug.”

“Gee, thanks,” she answered.

Adrien shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I thought I was going to get in trouble for being here.” Suddenly, he looked alarmed. “What are you doing here? Is there an akuma?”

“No,” she assured him. “I was just out patrolling and saw the light, so I figured I should check.”

Adrien bent to pick up his fallen sabre. “Do you often patrol alone? I thought you usually patrol with Chat Noir?” he asked. There was something strange about his voice and the way he asked the question, but Ladybug chose to ignore it.

“Usually.” She shrugged. “But I couldn’t sleep so I decided to stretch my legs. Didn’t want to bother Chat Noir for that.”

“I don’t think he would mind,” Adrien said, his voice soft. He shuffled his sabre from his right to his left hand, bouncing it as if he was testing the weight.

“Probably not,” Ladybug conceded. “But enough about me. What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

Adrien met her eyes, holding her gaze for a moment before turning away. “I couldn’t sleep either, so I came here to burn off some energy.”

The longer she looked at him, the more she could see the signs of weariness in him. The slump of his shoulders, the bags underneath his eyes. He wasn’t dressed for fencing, but was more casual than she was used to seeing him. He had on black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, emblazoned with a large Gabriel logo. His hair was messy, and he looked almost like he had rolled right out of bed and into the school courtyard.

Despite having a pile of her own troubles, Ladybug felt a tug on her heartstrings. Adrien usually looked so polished and put together. Something must be really bothering him if he went out like this, even if he didn’t plan on running into anyone.

“Do you want me to give you a lift home?” she asked him.

Adrien kicked at the duffle bag sitting at his feet. “I’m not really ready to go back yet. Are you gonna rat me out?” He looked up at her, eyes wide.

Ladybug smiled gently. “Of course not.”

“Do you want to stay?” Adrien asked. Ladybug thought he sounded like he wanted her to, but maybe it was wishful thinking. “I have a foil in here too.”

“I don’t really know how to fence.”

“I can show you.” Ladybug nodded, and Adrien held out his sabre to her. “Here, take this, it’s easier to use.”

Ladybug reached out and took the sword from him, her gloved fingers brushing against his palm. She wrapped her hand around the grip, watching as her fingers trembled slightly. She was a little nervous about fighting him, but more so about being with him like this, in the quiet glow of this midnight meeting.

It had been a while since she was alone with Adrien, and usually Marinette was clumsy and awkward where Ladybug could be confident and sure. But there was no danger, no villain to fight and nothing to focus on except the sad boy by her side. She really didn’t know who she was supposed to be with him like this.

Adrien stepped up next to her. “Loosen your grip just a little bit, you don’t want to be squeezing your sword too tightly.” He lay a hand on her forearm, and Ladybug’s pulse skyrocketed. “Lower your arm a little,” he said, applying gentle pressure to move her arm into the right position. “Bend at the elbow. Other arm behind your back.” He gripped her empty wrist with his other hand, guiding her arm to rest at the small of her back.

She could feel him behind her, the heat of his body so close to her own. He was still holding on to both of her arms, and she really didn’t want him to let go. She turned her head toward him, only to see that he was looking directly at her face, almost as if he wanted to say something. She waited, the silence stretching between them, but Adrien didn’t speak. Instead, he shook his head and stepped back. Ladybug mourned the loss of him.

“There, that’s perfect.”

Ladybug watched him as he went to his duffle bag, breathing deeply to try and steady her pounding heart. He pulled out another sword and swung it around, before popping a bright red safety tip on the end. He stepped forward, putting a matching one on hers.

“It’s not a real fight, and we aren’t protected,” he said. “How about we just try some attacks. You lunge, I’ll parry.”

Ladybug nodded.

“En garde!”

Ladybug bent her knees and lifted her sword to cross with his.

“Prêts?”

She nodded her confirmation.

“Allez!”

Ladybug extended her arm forward toward Adrien, but he blocked her easily. She stepped back to try again.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence between them. “What was keeping you up tonight?”

The minute the question slipped out of her mouth, she regretted it. It was probably too personal to ask, and it wasn’t like Ladybug and Adrien really knew each other that well to warrant her pushing. But Adrien didn’t seem to mind.

“Have a lot on my mind,” he said simply, blocking her attack once again. “All the expectations people have of me. Who they want me to be, trying to figure out who I want me to be.” He stepped back gracefully with his back foot, giving her the space to lunge again. “What about you?”

Ladybug lunged, overbalancing and stumbling a little. She paused to think for a moment. “Oddly enough, the same things that kept you up. A lot of people expect a lot of things from me.”

Adrien nodded. “Makes sense. Being Ladybug must be a really big responsibility. Do you want to try parrying?”

Ladybug nodded, and this time, braced for his attack. “It’s literally like having the weight of the world on my shoulders,” she divulged. “But not only that, people in my civilian life too. My friends, family… people expect a lot, and it’s hard to live up to that.”

“Tell me about it,” Adrien said. He lunged forward, the tip of his sword coming at her shoulder, and she was just able to get hers up in time to stop it from making contact. “Everyone expects me to be who they want me to be, but I’m still figuring out who I am for myself. The pressure can be too much sometimes.”

In a way, she suddenly realized, she was doing the same thing. She had been surprised to see Adrien as anything except polished and perfect, but maybe that was just the version of him that she was expecting to see. Maybe rumpled-and-wrinkled, wild-hair-and-soft-eyes, fencing-alone-in-the-middle-of-the-night was Adrien too.

But mostly, it was nice to spend some time with someone who understood how she felt, and felt the same way. Someone who wasn’t pushing her to give more than she could, but who knew what it meant that people expected too much from them. Even with Chat Noir, who knew her better than most but still not as much as he should have, the barriers between them were sometimes too much for her to bear. Adrien, who didn’t realize he was here with his friend and classmate, but thought he was spending time with an anonymous hero. A lot of people wanted to know more about who she was underneath the mask, but Adrien didn’t seem to mind her vague answers.

He lunged, she parried.

“Is this what you do, when the pressure is too much?” she asked him.

Adrien looked thoughtful. “I have a couple outlets. Fencing can be one, or playing the piano… or talking to a friend who understands.” There was something about the way he was looking at her that made her blush, and made her wonder if he was thinking the same thing she was a moment before. She didn’t know if he really thought of Ladybug as a friend, but hopefully he found some solace in the thought that they understood each other, even with the words that remained unspoken between them.

Before he had the chance to lunge again, she attacked, thrusting her sword forward. He was surprised, but managed to block it, and suddenly all rules were off. Their swords slashed, technique gone, and Adrien started laughing, beautiful and full, in a way that made her think of thunderstorms and first meetings.

Despite his carefree attitude, he was still in top form, and managed to slip past her defense to press his safety tip against her left shoulder. “Touché,” she laughed, looking at her shoulder as if she could see a physical mark where he touched her.

“Looks like I got you,” he said with a smile.

Boy do you ever, she thought.

In the comfortable silence that lingered, Adrien collected the swords and put them away, extinguishing the light in his handheld lantern before also putting that in his duffle.

“I should probably get going, I don’t want anyone to realize I’m gone,” Adrien said.

“Do you want me to give you a lift?” Ladybug offered again. This time, Adrien nodded, securing the zip on his duffle bag. “How did you get in here in the first place?”

Adrien grinned a genuine smile, pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies.” The edges of his smile were sharp, and it felt out of place, and yet oddly familiar. Nevertheless, his smile made her heart and her cheeks warm.

“If you say so,” she muttered, lifting him up in her arms as he wrapped his own around her shoulders. She crouched and leapt, onto the roof and beyond.

The trip to Adrien’s house wasn’t very long, but Ladybug felt like she would remember every second of it. The weight of him in her arms, the way his eyes glowed in the dim moonlight, his cheeks dusted pink. There was something about Adrien Agreste, that even through all these years and all the ups and downs and fights and failed conversations, he could pull her back into his orbit like nothing and no one else.

One of Adrien’s floor to ceiling windows was propped open, and Ladybug landed on the ledge, pushing it open with her toe. Adrien hopped down from her arms, dropping his bag to the floor. His room was dark, just a nightlight glowing in the bathroom. Ladybug lingered in the window frame, unsure what to say.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” Adrien said, breaking the silence.

“Thanks for teaching me how to fence,” she answered. Unsure what else to say, she turned to leave. “Well, goodnight,” she said, sending him a little awkward wave.

“Wait!” he called, and she looked over her shoulder back at him. He looked young and happy in the low light, and Ladybug couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, this whole night had been a dream. “If it’s worth anything, I want you to know I like you just the way you are. Saving Paris or fencing pretty poorly.”

“Hey!” she laughed, indignant, but really felt like she was glowing from the inside out. How amazingly easy it really was for him to accept who she was, in any form. “It’s worth a lot,” she said sincerely. “And I like you just the way you are. Picture perfect or trespassing on private property in the middle of the night.”

In the back of her mind, Ladybug wished she was brave enough to lean down and kiss him, but she knew that would only end up complicating a beautiful moment. Instead, she pressed her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss before leaping back into the night, satisfied.

#my writing #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #ladrien #ladrien fanfiction #lovesquare fanfiction #mlb #ladrien is so soft this whole thing is candlelight #also STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT #is now a lovesquare song for me thanks bye

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enha-woodzies · 3 years

Text

➸ CHAPTER 5 | " ILLICIT AFFAIRS "

starring: enhypen ft. i-land daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

word count: 1.8k

taglist: @serendipitysung @angeljungwon @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @fluffi @gyeraniee @stxrryemxlys

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“The morning sun has come, and the evening moon is gone. Dearlings, I am elated to apprise you of the events at the debutantes’ ball that occurred as of late, and must I warn you, they're not for the feeble spirits!

The ton is abuzz with the most beefy tale as Northumberland’s jewel among the lovely rocks, Miss Y//n Park, has earned herself a ticket to glory! She danced with the most favored noblemen in the ton and surely, she went home with a hearty grace as she'll most likely expect an abundant roster of suitors in the following days.

Not only was she offered a dance by our dear second-born, Lord Yang, but she also had the privilege and pleasure to be twirled around the court by the most charming, Lord Lee, and the ever coveted nobleman among the ton, Lord Park, the next-in-line Duke of Northumberland!

Where's the beef you might ask? Well, it seems to me that these men are blindfoldedly playing fire with each other.

Not only does Lord Lee has women wrapped easily around his fingers, he has men too! With a sly steal of Miss Y/n’s hand from Lord Yang last night, he certainly left the chap earnestly plotting for a segue of intrusion- and Lord Yang intriguingly delivered!

With the timing in its most opportune, Lord Yang managed to finally dance with the young miss, in private! Ooh! This is new! My senses told me they spent their waltz in the Queen’s library, alone! How in the world did they let this happen to the ton’s jewel unchaperoned? That is something the Daily Tattle is unfortunately unable to unearth, but the mystery will continue to haunt us for long. Do take note: the more you hide in careful secret, the more people will know and hear about it.

What happened next will have you either boggled, or enchanted! The young lord abruptly rushed out the room before the music even ended! Should that be counted as a waltz at all? Before you ask about the enchanting part, Miss Y/n was seen dashing out the room moments later in tears and evident heartache. What do you think happened in the mere minutes of alone time in that large 4-cornered room?

But come now, enchanting stories aren't as they are without a knight in shining armor. In fact, in our young miss’ case, her knight wasn't clad in shining, silver sheath, but in magnificent and elegant, vintage red tailcoat draped over a loose white jabot shirt that’s cleanly tucked into the black, satin knee breeches, finished off with a pair of shiny Hessian boots. With skin as white almost akin to snow, it complemented perfectly with his ravishing fit. The beautiful marquess certainly dressed himself valiantly for the seasonal occasion. With that stunning presence, anyone would surely presume he went to the ball looking like a duke in careful search of a duchess.

Lord Park and Miss Y/n surprisingly became one of the ball’s highlights as they graced the Royal Court with the most heart-stopping, corset-itching, tantalizing waltz. All the while their faces are almost an inch apart from each other, a brooding identity was found hiding in the crowded corner of the hall! Under the bright gleam of the grand chandeliers, our dearest second-born, Lord Yang, was seen eyeing the two with such stare that even the buffy slice of vanilla cake on Lord Sunoo’s plate could almost melt in a blink of an eye!

Among the splendid tales told by yours truly, which tea do you think tastes like sweet ecstasy of oddity and fervor? It is the ton's tradition to portend the lady’s endgame by the person whom she had her last waltz with. From one man to another, should these prophecies dictate Miss Y/n Park’s fate?

Well, don't turn your heads away now! The story's just begun.”

The mid-morning sunrays peek through the large leaves and busty trunks of the hibernating redwood trees lining in disarray. Y/n is just about to plummet into her habitual readings in the Kielder forest and the autumnal breeze is keeping up with her bubbly morning approach, fortunately.

The sounds of the birds chirping and the dead leaves crunching under her shoes creep up through her puff sleeves making her tingle in giddiness and enthusiasm. She deeply inhales the aromatic forest and lets out a giggle in the process. With jumpy leaps and crispy leaves echoing in her every move, the young lady surely knows where she's going in this partly mysterious forest that is most often open only to men and men alone.

Somewhere deep in the evergreen woods, Y/n has built a fortress of her own for whenever she needs to run away from the seldom, mundane life in the manor. At the heart of Northumberland's famous Kielder Forest, lies a small, whimsical looking fort made up of translucent voile casually hanging on a tree branch. One of her lady maids helped her out with the fabric one time and it still stood prettily among the chaotic scenes that go around in the forest today.

She enters her slightly sheer fort and sits down on a pillow that she stole away from the comforts of her bedroom. Flipping the olden pages of the aged Jane Austen book she borrowed from a boy several years back, she heaves a sigh at the sight of a dead Catalpa flower resting on a particular page accompanied by a little, worn out parchment dating back to when she was a tiny ten-year-old lassie. She reads,

Her eyes drifted over the page to where the note and the old flower were situated. The pads of her fingers graze over the certain phrases that were underlined by the book's owner that says, “I cannot make speeches. If l loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.一 You hear nothing but truth from me.一”

She suddenly feels a gush of nostalgia and loneliness upon muttering the words she had ultimately carved in her tongue way back; reciting each word with fervor while she bask herself under the brightly-lit moonlight in their garden. How can children of ten gobble up such emotions at once? So much for a pair of hopeless romantic hearts from the distant years of ten, screaming disagreements and would later huddle on a sprawled out table cloth on the flowery fields, exchanging sentimental poesies and stolen stares.

She relives the brief moments they both shared last night in the Queen’s library, and ponders on how one could be so adjacent to the changing of tides in the sea; promptly, and mostly without warning.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't the feelings I've been trying to avoid.” She whispers to the autumn air. Unfortunately, her pondering truncates as snaps of twigs and crisps off dried leaves echoes in her corner. She hastily crawls out her hand-made canopy and brushes away any pieces of tiny crumpled leaves off her dress.

“What are you doi-”

“Who are you?” She cuts off the startled chap cladded in ragged clothing, apparently embodying that of a mainland farm boy.

“Greetings, your ladyship. I come in peace and I am just here to fetch the chopped woods I’ve laboured a day prior for the farm.” The chap with a very odd accent replies with both hands hanging mid-air. “You are fully aware that you shouldn't be in this place, especially unchaperoned, right?” He continues.

“I am fully aware. But such matters shouldn't concern you.”

“Indeed, my apologies. Furthermore, I will respect your unspoken wishes if it is truly your desire to keep your whereabouts hidden from your townspeople. My lady.”

Y/n relaxes from her bold stance as she found a hint of kindness from the odd stranger. Surprisingly, she extends her hand out to the stranger for a greeting.

“Please. Call me Y/n instead.” The boy looks at her open palm for half a minute before shaking it, looking as equally surprised as the young miss with the sudden gesture.

“You live pretty far from the town, huh?”

“I do. Life's utterly chaotic over on your end?”

“Oh, you don't have the slightest idea.” They both share laughters and inside jokes of their own livelihood that made the young miss settle her shoulders down comfortably.

“I'm Jake Sim. Just Jake Sim. Apparently, my name was originally Jaeyun, but the farm folks got used with Jake and so did I. They said it sounds more Australian.”

“Why would they associate your name with something Australian?” Y/n grew more curious as it was, after all, the first time she's ever been with a person that's not of Northumberland's proper.

“I grew up in Australia.”

“That's curious. How did an Australian boy land among the ragged farms of Europe?”

“It's complicated. The story involves a lot of conspiracies so it's definitely not for your ears. Some other time, maybe?” Y/n smirks at the sudden brazenness from her newly found acquaintance.

“Is this an Australian thing where we shift from acquaintanceship to something more?” She teases.

“Certainly, if you're down to it on your next Kielder visit?”

“For sure. But as for now, I must take my leave. My presence is very much needed for the promenade scheduled for me today.” Y/n half-covers her mouth as if reaching out for a whisper, hissing the last sentence.

“Ah! Rich people things that I could never.” The chap could only roll his eyes at the fancy thought.

“See you soon, Just Jake Sim!”

“Where have you been, princess?” The young miss scoffs at the marquess upon arriving at the town’s park, with a hand immediately sliding through Lord Park’s arm.

“Down with the flirtatious remarks now, aren't we? I went to promenade with myself, Your ever handsome Grace.” Sunghoon smirks at her tiny, playful whispers against his shoulders. They go around and about, traipsing along the cemented pavements as they give away acknowledging nods and polite smiles to whomever wants their brief attention.

The ton is still in amazed shock at the possibility of these two ending up with a ring on a finger. Everyone was subtly betting for Jungwon but as a result of his loss, a much better gent carried his girl off the floor. Something he let himself do, out of cowardice perhaps, or out of pride.

“Remind me the point of all this?” Y/n carefully whispers to Sunghoon.

“To make your man jealous and spit out his genuine sentiments in the process, as well as an advantage for me as we get to keep the marriage-minded mothers of the ton at bay. Now, all we have to do is smile, nod, and appear madly in love with each other if this is to work. Is it clear enough for you?” He jerks a brow at her paired with the most charming smirk he could ever expose.

“Crystal.”

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series' taglist!

#enhypenwriters #enhypennetwork #of lords and mischiefs #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen fics #enhypen series #enhypen jungwon #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunoo #enhypen niki #iland daniel

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ahgaseda · 4 years

Text

aura | one

driving me crazy, look in my eyes, follow me, come here, dance with me now, I’m gonna make you feel like that...

summary : back again at a camp for kids that can’t behave, you are still brokenhearted over your ill-fated romance with Jaebeom, until your friend Jackson offers to help make your ex jealous in exchange for helping him land the most unattainable girl at camp.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, recurring alcohol or recreational drug use, graphic sexual content, brief mentions of illegal activities, potentially triggering elements involving toxic relationships and emotional manipulation, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

The sun was too bright. Rays pierced the gossamer curtains and shone into your eyes. You vaguely recollected your mother bursting in and throwing the windows open, ordering you to get up. Now, the sun had risen and you were cutting it close.

With a grumble, you threw the blanket over your head and rolled over, eager to sleep the day away. And maybe tomorrow, too.

Being in a constant state of denial and dread was exhausting.

Slowly, you drifted back into a dream. Well, maybe less a dream and more a memory. Perhaps it was all a fantasy at this point, the way you recounted it, lingering on only the good parts.

You remembered every insignificant detail of that night - the night you reached your greatest high and deepest low in the span of an hour. The moon had been full and the crickets were singing. The air had cooled from its typical summer heat, but the dirt was warm beneath your bare toes.

Sneaking off in the middle of the night with a boy. You would have never in your wildest dreams done something so reckless.

But he said he wanted to watch the stars and kiss you beneath the moonlight. Endlessly. You escaped with him down the beaten path, his hand wrapped tightly around yours. Then, he backed you against a tree and kissed you like he had completely run out of patience.

You remembered smiling against his mouth, giggling when his tongue teased your bottom lip. Your hands were on his shoulders while he cradled your face. At some point, you broke away and he stared at the sparkles in your eyes.

“I love you,” was all he said. The first of many lies.

You followed him. It didn’t matter where he went, you were ready to follow him off the edge of the earth if he asked. Jaebeom held you so tenderly, yet tight and secure. You had no hesitations and certainly no regrets when he laid you on your back, kissing you restlessly.

But it was a lie.

You moaned his name when Jaebeom pressed his lips to your neck. You could still remember how your heart thundered uncontrollably whilst he tongued his way between your breasts. You had never wanted someone as badly as you wanted Jaebeom. The boy who made you fall in love with him.

But it was all a lie.

Even the way you whimpered when he took you was a persistent echo in your mind. The noises he had drawn from you were carnal, to say the least. His skin was hot beneath your fingertips, his hair damp when you tangled your hand through his strands, and his naked body heavy on top of yours. He kissed you with such gentle affection when he buried himself inside you.

But it was still a lie.

You truly believed he was making love to you, every last inch of you. He was all you knew in that moment. With Jaebeom, you lived like there was no tomorrow. And you would never forget the way his face tensed with ecstasy, how he groaned your name when he filled you. All you cared about in that moment was his pleasure - his love. It was all you ever wanted.

But it was his biggest lie.

You opened your eyes, tears escaping down your cheeks, and forced away the bitter memories. Every beautiful moment spent with Jaebeom kept coming back and you wanted to set them all aflame until you forgot every single fucking detail.

You remembered how he smelled, how he felt. How his arms flexed around you when he hugged you close. How he smiled when he made you laugh. How he kissed your hand at the most random of times. How he whispered his love into the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

Your heart couldn’t take it anymore. What was once sugar on your tongue turned to ash and dust in your mouth. You didn’t think you were capable of this much pain.

Jaebeom had taught you a very hard lesson. And yet, though you would never admit it to anyone, you still loved him.

Suddenly, the door to your bedroom burst open and a familiar voice announced, “Rise and shine, dear!”

It belonged to your best friend, your childhood rival, and most inconveniently, your next door neighbor.

“Jackson,” you groaned, muffled against your pillow. “Not now. Go away.”

“Baby, you know we on a schedule,” he chirped with the speed of a man who had already ingested too much coffee, grabbing your comforter and ripping it off the bed without mercy.

You cried out at the unexpected cold on your bare legs, curling into the fetal position to try and trap some warmth to your body. You then bounced lightly on the mattress as Jackson leapt into the air and landed on your bed in the most spectacular fashion.

His face moved predictably before yours, inches away, and he was sporting a grin that could be filed under Jackson’s trademarked twisted delight. “It’s camp day,” he said excitedly.

You blinked. “I know.”

Jackson sat up and reached over to smack your butt. “Get up,” he yelled, sidling off your bed. “Breakfast will get cold.”

You huffed profanities under your breath and clambered after him.

Downstairs, your mother and stepfather sat at the kitchen table. Maids attended to them, waiting on their every move. Such was commonplace in the penthouses of preternaturally wealthy people.

“Ah, I knew you could handle it, Jackson,” your mother crooned.

Jackson plopped down at one end of the table, opposite your stepfather with his nose buried in a newspaper. You finished tying the knot of your fluffy bathrobe and took the empty seat across from your mother.

“Everything is packed and loaded in the car,” she informed, her tone a little harsher where you were concerned.

“I promise, Mom,” you began, eyes cast downward. “I won’t go back there again.”

It was true. You were so caught up in negative ways of coping that by the time you realized you were going to get yourself sent back to the one place you would be forced to see Jaebeom again, it was too late.

“Well, if only you had found that resolve last year,” she chided, stabbing a piece of melon with her fork.

You clocked a glance at your friend. Jackson happily stuffed his face, eating everything in sight. Despite living in the penthouse next to yours, with his equally wealthy parents, Jackson opted to eat at your table more often than not.

Preferably so he wouldn’t have to listen to his parents fighting.

“Can we expect the same promise from you, Jackson?” your mother asked, as if she were speaking to her favorite puppy.

She always did love Jackson. He was like the son she never had. Although, in her defense, it wasn’t hard to love Jackson. He was the golden child that every mother’s wet dream was made of.

“Absolutely not,” he retorted politely, grinning from ear to ear. “Some of my closest friends are at that camp.”

Your mother chuckled, having expected as much.

Your stepfather finally lowered the corner of his paper and called your name sternly, as if oblivious - or uncaring - to the conversation taking place.

You glanced up.

“Eat your food. It’s a long drive and I’ll hear nothing of you getting faint on your first day.”

Jackson and your mother both looked to you expectantly.

You flashed him a soft smile and said, “Yes, sir.”

Stepfather number three, despite having more money than God, was surprisingly kind and considered you one of his own. There was a time you overheard him say you were the daughter he always wanted. His three sons had far surpassed mischief and landed in deviance, always on the hunt for his money.

The maid offered sweetly to make you some breakfast, whatever you would like, and you accepted. Jackson swiftly reached over and pinched your cheek in approval.

Most respectable parents would never be so lenient toward a friendship between a girl and a boy, but you knew your mother was hoping you and Jackson would get together. It would be a fine match in high society, given the status of your fathers.

Matter of fact, when she walked in on the two of you eating chocolate and watching movies while cuddled in bed, she was thoroughly disappointed you weren’t having sex.

When you finished eating, you dragged your feet upstairs to your room to get dressed for the trip. Jackson took a few extra minutes to clear his plate and then joined you.

Standing in front of three full panel mirrors in your bra and underwear, you alternated holding skirts up to yourself in the reflection. Jackson folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

“What does one wear for total humiliation?” you asked dryly, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Plaid probably,” he quipped, uncrossing his arms and slipping into your closet.

You turned, brow furrowed, and waited for him to come back.

When Jackson finally emerged, he tossed you a t-shirt and jeans. Casual at its finest.

You caught the clothes and surveyed them in surprise. “Really?”

“Put ‘em on,” he said, clapping his hands. “Let’s blow this town.”

You pulled the extra tight jeans on, fastening them with a huff, and pestered, “Do you have to be this excited?”

Jackson came close, taking your face between his hands and pushing your cheeks together. “The sooner we get there, the faster we can get drunk.”

You snickered, rolling your eyes.

The two of you came thundering down the stairs, reminiscent of times you and Jackson slid down the banisters as noisy kids. Your mother waited stiffly at the door, almost cracking a smile when you galloped into the kitchen and pressed a kiss in farewell to your stepfather’s cheek.

She may have been after his money like a cat on a mouse, but she inadvertently found a decent father for her only daughter.

Jackson said his hurried, loud goodbyes and slipped through the open door. You slowed down long enough to take your jacket from your mother’s waiting hand and endure one last scrutinizing gaze.

“Is he seeing someone?” she asked softly.

“Nope,” you chuckled, having expected some backhanded remark about your outfit.

Your mother spoke like she read a whimsical poem, “The two of you would make the most perfect couple this side of the Hudson.”

“Love you, too, Mom,” you teased, pecking a kiss on her cheek and trotting out the door.

The limousine rolled out onto the busy streets of New York City and you peered through the tinted windows. You watched as the looming skyscrapers turned to towering green trees.

As the drive went on, your nerves only grew.

With misplaced optimism, you turned to Jackson and said, “Maybe he won’t be there this year.”

Jackson didn’t even look up from his magazine and droned, “He’s been there every year since he was seven.”

You slumped in your seat, defeated. Clapping a hand on your forehead in self-chastisement, you groaned, “I should have been better, not worse.”

Jackson shifted, leaning back against you and resting his head on your chest. “I’ve never seen you so out of control,” he exclaimed, turning a page in the magazine. “And that says a lot.”

It said plenty. Jackson had warned you about Jaebeom many, many times. Though you held his opinion in high regard, you didn’t listen. You were blinded by love and had no one to blame but yourself.

You grabbed a handful of his brown hair and tugged playfully, earning a tiny whine. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, acerbic. “He stole all of the goodness out of me.”

Jackson scoffed and his tone became stern, “Don’t give him so much credit. And don’t put all of your goodness on your virginity, for fuck’s sake.”

You sighed loudly, thinking about Jaebeom and how he made your pulse race, how he sent fire racing down your spine. The thought of him made you want to cry and you quickly clenched your jaws.

“It’s true though, isn’t it? I’m a bad girl now,” you countered, draping your arm over his chest. “I surrendered my virtuous flower to a boy who added another notch to his bed post.”

Of your memories with Jaebeom, and they were countless, among the stolen kisses and soft touches and sweet words, one stood out above all the rest. The last time you saw him - when he told you it was all a lie, just a game.

That he never loved you.

Jackson sat up, setting down his magazine and facing you. He could feel where your thoughts had wandered, screaming at him to ease the pain despite no words leaving your mouth. Meeting your eyes, Jackson wanted you to hear him even though the two of you had been over it many times already.

“You loved him,” he said, sympathetic but firm. “And he made it a good experience for you. Take that away from it.”

“You’re right,” you replied with a nod, holding back the tears and the quivering of your lip. “I need to let it go.”

Jackson cocked his head and pressed, “But?”

He knew you too well.

“But I can’t,” you whispered, lowering your head to hide your face in shame. “I can’t get over being in love with someone who never - not even for a moment - loved me back.”

Jackson balled his hands into fists. It had taken every inch of his goddamn restraint not to hop a plane, show up at Lim Jaebeom’s house, and beat the living shit out of him. You and his mother were the only people he was willing to go to jail for.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you wiped away the one tear that had escaped. You hated Jackson having to see you like this, staring at you like his precious wounded puppy. With a shrug, you gave a scoff and said, “I wonder who he will have his eyes on this year.”

Jackson frowned and settled back into his seat, shaking his head where the likes of Jaebeom was concerned. He knew three months of unadulterated fun for him were going to be total misery for you. For days he racked his brain over what he could do to help you get over Jaebeom.

Then, the metaphorical light bulb clicked over his head. Who would Jaebeom be pursuing this year? With you crossed off his list, there were simply no more challenges to be had.

Jackson smirked. The solution to this problem was clear as day. He would have to make Jaebeom chase you again.

“I have an idea,” Jackson muttered under his breath, eyes gleaming with devilish intent.

“Oh, boy,” you laughed, recognizing his telltale mischief.

Jackson faced you, propping himself on hands positioned at either side of your legs. “You help me bag Yeona and I will help you make Jaebeom jealous,” he said, letting his tongue linger at the corner of his mouth.

Your expression registered nothing but surprise. Yeona was the bane of Jackson’s romantic skills and the eye of his conquests for years. She was the only girl at camp not the least bit impressed with him and that drove him crazy.

At that thought you realized the similar dynamic. “Do you think that would work?” you asked curiously, piqued.

Relieved to see your approval, Jackson nodded. “He’s like me. He wants what he can’t have.”

To some degree, Jackson added in his head. He and Jaebeom had totally different motivations for stealing hearts.

You questioned in disbelief, “So… what? We just walk around making out all the time?”

Jackson snorted. “Within moderation, obviously. Don’t want to completely turn off either of our targets.”

One of the main reasons you never hooked up with Jackson (on more than one occasion you had been tempted) was to spite your insufferable mother after what she had put you through. That being said, you had kissed him more than once. Usually when dared to do so at parties or during sleepovers when you bared your deepest, darkest secrets to each other. It was always innocent, but this felt forbidden and impure.

You loved the idea.

“Hm, okay,” you said, noncommittal. “At this point, I’ll do anything to make him as miserable as I am.”

Jackson grinned and chuckled. “Take my word for it. There is nothing more miserable than blue balls.”

You pursed your lips, mulling, “He’s already had me. He won’t want me again.”

“I’ll convince him you’re worth having,” Jackson replied, his voice a deep rumble in his throat. “And you’ll do the same to Yeona about me.”

“What makes you think Yeona will be that hard to get? You’ve never really pursued her before.”

Jackson slid to the edge of the seat and reached for a bottle of alcohol currently sitting on ice. “She doesn’t believe in sex before marriage.”

That explained why he threw in the towel so quickly. You cocked a brow and chuckled, “Really?”

Jackson nodded, popping open the bottle of champagne and grabbing two glasses. “Yeah, even wears a promise ring.”

“Wow, that’s commitment,” you smarted, taking the flute of bubbly he extended to you.

Jackson glanced up briefly before pouring his own glass, hair falling in his eyes, and said, “Don’t wallow in self-pity again.”

You rolled your eyes and quickly defended, “No, I’m not. It’s just… I wasn’t saving myself for marriage, but I was saving myself for someone that loved me.”

Jackson exhaled loudly.

You hated hearing his disappointment and ranted irritably, “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It wasn’t even good. There was no leg shaking orgasm. It was messy and uncomfortable and whatever.”

“That’s because it was your first time,” Jackson said, putting the glass to his lips.

You took a sip. “Yeah, I guess.”

Jackson leaned on his side, sizing you up. His eyes drifted up and down your body. He hated seeing you bent out of shape over a boy, least of all hot garbage like Lim Jaebeom.

After a pause, the following words dripped like honey off his tongue, “We could fool around, you know.”

You almost choked on your champagne, wondering if you heard him clearly or if it was a figment of your imagination. You exclaimed, “What?”

“You and me,” Jackson continued, sidling closer. “I could show you what all the fuss is about.”

He sounded so smug when he said that, his voice even deeper. You swallowed at the offer and asked, “Would that be awkward?”

“No, it would just be sex. No strings attached.”

The knife in your heart twisted and you peered at him. “Could you make me forget about Jaebeom?”

Jackson leaned in. “Baby, I could make you see stars.”

Heat flushed behind your cheeks and you glanced away, faltering under the sudden tension in the limousine. “I’ll think about it,” you finally told him.

Satisfied, Jackson grinned and made himself comfortable, opening the magazine again and proceeding to read.

You surveyed Jackson out of the corner of your eye, lingering on his thick thighs. Years of fencing had built him strong, sturdy. When Jackson said he could make you see stars, you were inclined to believe him.

Especially since the vast majority of his exes tended to brag about how good he was in bed.

You thought about Jaebeom. You wanted him to go crazy at the sight of you in Jackson’s arms. You craved revenge, to serve him a taste of his own medicine, no matter what it cost.

The car eventually came to a stop on the gravel road. Attendants were ready to unload your luggage and transport it to your respective rooms. It may have been a camp for unruly brats, but said brats came from very affluent parents.

An older woman stood by the gate, black hair glistening a little too fiercely in the sunlight. Clearly she had sprayed dye on her graying roots.

“Ah, you two again,” she grimaced at yours and Jackson’s approach.

You took the keys from her outstretched hand and continued on your way without a word. Jackson on the other hand, leaned in with puckered lips and jeered, “Always a pleasure, Miss Hamm.”

“Hmph.”

You continued on the path with your best friend in tow. Your cabin was in sight, on the bluff beside the lake. Jackson’s was adjacent, slightly lower down. Your parents made sure you had the same spots each year, always furnished and equipped with everything you needed.

Some of the campers lived in bunkhouses with other roommates, but not you. Your first year, you swore to your mother if you were forced to bunk with other girls you would not stop until you got yourself sent home. It was an easy compromise to make. She loved traveling during the summer with stepfather number two.

You stopped and pivoted to Jackson, saying, “I’m gonna go freshen up.”

“Alright,” he replied. “Meet at the mess hall?”

Naturally his mind was on food, you mused. “Of course.”

Jackson looped an arm around your waist and pulled you in for a hug, whispering in your ear, “Don’t hide in there from him. Remember - I got your back.”

You nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek in gratitude.

The two of you broke away at the fork in the road, taking opposite paths to your cabins.

Dropping your purse, you plopped down on the brand new mattress, gripping the sides and looking down at your shoes. The air conditioning had been turned on, the cabin had already cooled off. You would never know how hot it was outside whilst inside your pink-themed prison.

The camp was meant to reform. It didn’t matter that you were a legal adult, you still belonged to a rich and influential family in high society. It was like the parents knew their spoiled, entitled children would indulge in bad behaviors, therefore it was best they did so in controlled environments.

You already imagined the endless nights of booze and debauchery awaiting you for the next three months. Maybe it was time you embraced the darker side of life like you used to, rather than wasting away and pining over a boy.

Rising from the bed, you approached the nearby bathroom and braced your hands on the sink. Studying your reflection, you wanted to curse. You looked like a shadow of your former self.

The girl you knew was confident, vivacious, and a rebel to the core. You were quieter now, tempered. An experience like last summer had opened your eyes to how cruel the world really was.

Still, you were ready to buck up. Jackson had a plan and you were willing to execute if it meant you would have some kind of absolution. Splashing water on your face, you dabbed your cheeks with a cloth and headed outside.

The largest of the buildings, the mess hall was loud and chaotic. The majority of kids went straight to the line for food, hungry after a long trip. The place was alive with a hundred different conversations, varying levels of chatter. Friends reunited dramatically in the aisleways.

You searched for a friendly face, desperate to avoid Jaebeom for now, and spotted a head of platinum hair. Approaching the scrawny boy, you grabbed a handful of blond locks and teased, “Bam, I thought you were gonna let your poor scalp breathe?”

Bambam didn’t flinch at the brief tug on his head and turned to meet your grin with one of his own. “Hey, beautiful,” he exclaimed, leaping up to envelope you in a warm hug. “Thought you were gonna try and avoid this place for once?”

“Yeah, well,” you said coolly with a shrug. “Bad behaviors are hard to break.”

“You’re telling me,” huffed Bambam as he lowered back onto the row with you at his side. “I landed myself back here in the first week of the semester.”

You laughed, smoothing down where you had disrupted his hair. “I expect nothing less.” Looking across the table, you met eyes with Bambam’s best friend and partner in crime, Yugyeom, and greeted, “Hey, Yugy.”

“Hi. I’m glad you came back! Well, not glad, obviously, but…,” Yugyeom rambled, cheeks reddening. “Happy you’re here. You know, it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Thanks,” you replied shyly.

“Any sign of Jackson?” Bambam asked, glancing around. “Don’t you always come together?”

Yugyeom kindly pushed his plate of fruit in your direction and you thanked him. “Yeah, we did. He was supposed to meet me here,” you answered, popping a grape in your mouth.

“Probably sneaking a smoke with Mark,” Bambam grumbled quietly under his breath.

Yugyeom cleared his throat loudly, looking at something behind you.

Just as you turned around, brows stitched, someone sat at your side.

It was Jaebeom.

He didn’t face the table like the rest of you, he straddled the seat, squarely in your direction.

“Hi, baby girl. Imagine my surprise when I heard about all the trouble you got yourself into,” Jaebeom taunted, clicking his tongue in feigned reproach. His fingertips came to your temple, slipping through your loose hair and tucking it behind your ear.

You couldn’t breathe and you certainly couldn’t think. Your heart was pounding in your chest. He smelled so good. The mere touch of his fingers made you freeze in place. You wanted nothing more than to throw your arms around him and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“I…,” you trailed, hesitating, lost for words. What the hell were you supposed to say?

I love you, but I hate you.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Jaebeom cooed, stroking a finger over your cheek. “Cat got your tongue?”

You could feel the tears gathering in your eyes. Even Yugyeom seethed at how Jaebeom was toying with you.

This was the humiliation you had been anticipating and dreading. You knew Jaebeom wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to remind you that he stole your heart and your virginity and left you with nothing.

The whole camp knew that you had given it up. That you had been such a fool to believe for a second that Jaebeom loved you.

Blind. Blind. Blind, you chanted in your head.

Jackson appeared out of thin air, grabbing Jaebeom’s wrist and pulling him from you. “Can I help you find something?” your best friend snapped.

Jaebeom rose, agitated at being challenged. “The fuck are you doing, Wang?”

Jackson drifted closer to Jaebeom, aggressive. “Keep your hands off my girl.”

Jaebeom’s eyes widened. “Your girl?”

“You heard me,” Jackson hissed, turning to you.

You remembered the game. Jackson’s eyes were expectant.

Finding your voice, you took a breath. “I’m so sorry to break the news to you, Jaebeom,” you began softly, rising from your seat and backing into Jackson, who didn’t miss a beat in wrapping his arms possessively around you. “I’ve moved onto bigger and better things. And I mean much, much bigger.”

Bambam beat his fist on the table, cackling wildly.

Jaebeom scowled, but there was skepticism bold in his eyes. Jackson promptly wiggled his brows and stroked his hands on your waist, intentionally making your shirt ride up.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” you sang, interlacing your fingers with Jackson’s underneath the hem of your shirt. “We’re gonna go make out in the hallway. Seeing Daddy get territorial really does it for me.”

Jackson wagged his tongue at Jaebeom, gladly laughing at his expense, as you squeezed his hand and proceeded to drag your best friend behind you into the hallway.

Jaebeom watched you go, eyes narrowed. Something didn’t sit right with him. He had known you for years, Jackson too. He couldn’t imagine driving you into Jackson’s arms. Not with how fierce and loyal your friendship was.

He didn’t believe it for a second.

Once in the clear, you backed against the wall and giggled. “Oh my god, did you see his face?” you exclaimed, covering your mouth as you chuckled.

Jackson tickled your sides and joked, “Look at your little sick and twisted self. I’m so proud.”

The door next to you opened and like clockwork, Jaebeom stepped out.

The grin vanished from your face in an instant and you quickly grabbed Jackson by the collar, yanking him forward. Jackson collided into you none too gently and grunted, silenced only by your lips suddenly on his.

Jaebeom could hardly believe his eyes. There you were, swept up in Jackson’s arms with your tongue down his throat. He was green with fucking envy. It had taken him a whole summer to open you up and now you were throwing yourself at Jackson of all people.

Jackson slipped his hands beneath your shirt and roamed his hands up your sides, giving Jaebeom a glimpse of your soft skin. You overlapped your arms around his head, making little noises in the heat of his kisses.

Jaebeom felt a twitch in his pants at the sounds you made. That was supposed to be him. You were supposed to be in his arms, kissing him like he was all you had thought about every day since he ripped your heart out and crushed it in his hand for all to see.

“Pfft,” Jaebeom snorted, hiding his jealousy. “Glad I could break her in for you, Jacks.”

Neither of you heard him, which was lucky for Jaebeom because Jackson would not have hesitated to beat him to a bloody pulp.

Jaebeom cleared out. He couldn’t stand to watch anymore. Not when he had spent every day wondering if you would forgive him. Jaebeom shook his head as he continued down the hall, reminded what a stupid fucking mistake he had made.

Kissing Jackson made you forget what you were doing, where you were, and basically any and all information you were meant to be processing at the moment. Finally a sense of clarity hit you, though you had no earthly clue where it had come from.

Breaking away, you panted, “Okay, if we’re gonna do this, we have to lay down some ground rules.”

Jackson kneaded your waist and nipped at your lips, ever flirtatious. His voice came out a rasp when he said, “Give ‘em to me.”

“No sleeping around,” you told him sternly. “I’ve never had a sexually transmitted disease and I’m not starting now.”

Jackson bobbed his head, eager to kiss you again. “Deal.”

“When you get Yeona or I get Jaebeom, what’s between us is done.”

“Agreed.”

You softened, pulling him close for a brief, innocent peck on the lips. It wasn’t the first time you had kissed Jackson and it wouldn’t be the last.

But you realized when you were kissing Jackson, you forgot about Jaebeom and your feelings.

And that was dangerous.

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered delicately, tracing hair from his brow lightly with your fingers. “If either of us starts getting feelings, we shut this down.”

Jackson studied you a moment. He knew he loved you. He had loved you a long time. But it was an innocent love, not a complicated one. You were the only person he trusted with his heart. The only person he knew would never hurt him.

He wouldn’t catch feelings for you, would he? It wasn’t in his nature. He didn’t allow himself to get attached romantically. He hated the idea of commitment or monogamy, after seeing what his parents’ marriage had devolved into.

“Got it,” Jackson finally said, offering a gentle smile.

You swallowed, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back. Jaebeom was gone. There was no one to convince anymore.

Jackson let his hands slip from your body. “We should go back.”

You nodded. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

Jackson noted the heat on your face, the glistening of your lips and the twinkles in your eyes. Forget making you see stars, Jackson knew in that moment he could absolutely ruin you.

He gathered you back in his arms, pulling you flush against him, and as you peered up at him confusedly, Jackson growled, “Let’s go to my cabin.”

A long, heavy silence wrapped around you and him. The weight of what you were doing landed squarely on your shoulders. And despite that, you found yourself not giving a damn.

Lips tugging in a smile, you purred, “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

But even as Jackson led you by the hand out of the mess hall, you glanced over your shoulder, looking for Jaebeom.

Wanting him to see. Wanting it to hurt him. Wanting to make him crazy.

But mostly, just wanting him to love you.

next chapter →

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