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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

DENTIST THE BAD BOI

Word count: 7k

A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.

Summary: Harry's a med-student and Y/N's an art student, being neighbours with Y/N was already a living hell for Harry but when she fusses over his cat getting her cat pregnant -- he mighty looses it.

Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff.

MASTERLIST, REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN || PART 2

“Harryyyyy!!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs staring at the small picture of ultrasound, blinking at it several times to vision herself back into reality because the more she does the more she becomes grumpy and fussy – cursing the beast of a neighbour who got her little innocent cat pregnant.

She pulled the strings of her pyjama shorts to tighten it around her and hastily towed her feet into fuzzy slippers, giving a stink of an eye to her cat “don't act so surprised you little ragamuffin!” She mouthed at her with venom (as if trippers her cat cares), stomping her way out and writes a whole book of judgements in her rattling brain upon hearing the loud music weeping through walls.

She knocks. Huffs when it goes unnoticed and this time pounds at the door, crossing her forearms infront of her chest. Not unaware and very accustomed; of happy chatter whirling around whenever she’s trying to focus how a certain recipe goes by, his mates chanting his name from outside when he’s too occupied in whatever he's sorting out inside for their arrival, clanking of beer bottles knowing they and her have a long time to go, the music dimming in the wee of night as the door closes after every fifteen minutes and it dawns at that time –-- she always get left with one option and that’s to curse him till she sleeps.

It’s every Friday and Saturday’s story.

“Max stop that before Ni asks fo’ a dummy —-,” His neck's craned to where his friends are sitting on one of the cosy spots. His jaw popping, dimples chasmic from the smirk he’s holding and Y/N gulps then arches her brow when his attention drops down at her, “Oh .... hi, could help ya?” His cocky grin irks her – bubbling a fire in her pit and an urge to twinge his ear and drag him to her apartment, to show him what he did.

“Could you help me!?” She laughs ironically, chases her frowning gaze from the ripped patches of his jeans towards where his curls are brushing his earlobes and it kind of makes her gasp which she traps in fortunately because – he’s always wearing a hoodie, beanie or his hair up in a little fountain like bun rushing through the lobby with his thick books and laptop clutched in his arms, “Yes please .. y’could help me by transferring expenses of your cat's babies every month to me —-...um could simply have them in your apartment too if the first deal’s too bad.” She shrugs. Taking a glimpse from his shoulder of his friends bunched over eachother and he toys with his bottom wet lip, brows stringing into confusion and his bicep flexes making her flutter her eyes away as he grips the knob of the door and closes it behind him.

“What d'ya mean?”

“You’re doing it on purpose right? ‘cos there’s no way —--” He cuts her groans with a snap and runs a palm down his face, “I seriously don’t know what you’re talkin' ‘bout, Y/N.” His lips tinned into a flat line, his posture now resembling her's and she slaps her forehead with the heel of her palm.

“Then you should keep tabs of your beasty minx of a cat who got my cat pregnant!” She exclaims disbelievingly to which his eyes turns saucer and he throws his sinewy arms in between them, mimics her expressions comically, “Is that my fault? Did I get your cat prego?” She blinks up at him rapidly --- he’s such a nerve puller.

“Yes it is! You didn’t get your cat desexed —-,” She stuffs her pointer against his chest and twist it with a grit, “Now he’ll have babies left and right – like a catwhore he is!!” She aerials her hands in different directions rapidly and he takes a step closer kissing his teeth together to seethe his words.

“He’s not a catwhore!”

“Kay then take the responsibility of what he did.” She mutters tapping her foot onto the carpeted floor and guppies at him like a fish when he bursts into taunting cackles, leaning to catch the door-frame before he mushes her under his weight. ”

“Ye -‐..- you’re —- you aren’t serious are ya?” His rosy eyelids snib tightly forming crinkles to where his temples meet his cheeks and she almost pouts, how much she doesn’t want to she could never cascade her expressions.

“Oh my — .... Bambi eyed wouldn’t I’ave had free him of his ball’s heaviness –-- if I’d ‘ave enough money down me pocket?” He scrunches his nose to take a breather from laughing hard.

“Don’t call me that!” She bites at him.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” He smirks gingerly – drums his fingers against his folded bicep and presses his back to the wall tipping his chin high.

Her blush eager to creep up her neck embarrasses her further more and she hides the softness in her voice, muttering gruffly, “Shut up.” Then turns to walk back into her apartment and to slam the door at his face -- but -- his whistle for her halts her in tracks.

“Hey – Bambi, we could sign the custody of kitties if that what ye'want.”

Three weeks after. There was another knock on Harry’s door, Niall's head perks up and bangs against the bookshelf –- he was trying to keep the furry cat in his lap, for a good warmer but its more enamoured with the ‘clucks' of his daddy’s boots than the soft flesh of Niall’s thigh as Harry chucks his wallet in the back-pocket of his jeans (he was about to go outside and bring some food) and opens the door slightly to see through the trapping chain, “who’s it?”

“Harry ‘s me ....” The voice mousey and worried. Niall recognizes it in a hot-second, frowns and tries to gain snowy’s attention, “What did y'do again? Did ya get the pretty neighbour's cat prego twice, you fat farts.” He chuckles when snowy meows at him innocently and Harry's brows skews together into a scowl.

“Call him fat farts another time —- I dare you —--,” He howls. Throwing angry upset glares towards Niall – their bickering gets interrupted when Y/N slips her hand from the crack of door, pinches Harry’s knuckles and he squeaks, “Ow —- what the fuck!”

“Harry.” Her tone threatening.

Harry puffs out a huge sigh and reveals himself infront of her, he's not in mood to fight with her over their cats, or the parcel Harry forgot to give her which got delivered to him on accident like one of the thousand times (he never found anything freakish until now .. not that he goes through what’s inside, but the labels tell they’re mostly her art supplies), or why he’s been showering for an hour because she now isn’t left with any warm water —- because he just came back from UNI and is dust bones from having two exams in a row.

“Y/N —-,” His face reeks with exhaustion. His curls drowsy, escaping from his knit beanie and his eyes glazed with sea-foam. She kinda feels bad for disturbing him -- but – it’s an emergency and she doesn’t know where to go, except him.

His weary vision falls upon trippers tucked beneath Y/N’s arm, “Is she alright?” He scratches behind her ear and trippers gives out a pained yowl.

“No –-.. that’s why ‘m here. She’s spotting blood everywhere and –-- and I don’t have enough money ...,” She’s embarrassed to say least. Not meeting Harry’s eyes and he gazes her sincerely –- belly doing weirdly funny somersaults. He clears his throat, grogs out gathering all the information in his head from the anatomy of humans and animals he studied till now.

“It’s okay for spotting in pregnancies – but ‐-.. she looks very much in pain s' we shouldn’t risk it. I’ve a friend. She’s practicing vet -- we could take her there.” He offers. Rubbing the back of his neck and Y/N bobs her head vigorously, anything to save her trippers baby.

“Fine –-- yeah, Iemme just wear my shoes ... then we're good to go.” She mumbles. Harry hasn’t seen her demeanour flatter like this ever before, whenever she’s banging and barging through his flat it’s always taut and cold banter.

He has never seen her this defenceless.

He drops his gaze down at her feet and finds that she’s wearing cute pizza slices socksies.

“Is this a clinic, or weed doing zone for animals?” She didn’t try to be mean. It just happened as she takes in the wearbouts of garage, stuffed with drums and musical instruments, spray paint on walls. Harry seems unfazed though, he could be shabbier than her if he wants to –- much fouler that could make her cry.

“Told you. She’s practicing not a vet yet.” She doesn’t question him further. Grateful enough for his help. She might not admit but he isn’t that bad of guy as she once imagined him in her head.

Y/N stifles a snort when a girl with mullet shag, having a stud in her brow and the corner of her lip, attired in all black greets Harry with a hip-check, “Vas’up booger.” She grins and Harry grumbles ruffling her hair with his knuckles.

It leaves Y/N in awe. This’s what group of friends look like -- so fun and annoying, she wanted to have this since when she’s small. Sadly, it’s just her and trippers in her friend group.

“Hi there!” She waves to Y/N trying to battle Harry’s tickles away. Takes trippers from Y/N's arms and coos up at her, “hiyaa baby .. oh, she’s having lil buns inside her.” She laughs and Y/N already likes her so much. As if, she’s the main character of any vintage styled movie.

“Rori here.” She introduces herself as Harry strolls inside her kitchen to rummage through her fridge, “Y/N.” Y/N smiles –-- eyeing Harry who’s whistling and tearing the crate of orange juice open.

When Trippers purrs from a cramp, Rori snuggles her closer to herself – “Her spotting is nothing to worry about –-- maybe she’s ready to give birth. If not I’ll take her to my hospital.”

“So Harry said...” Y/N nods.

“Oohh.” Rori exclaims, wiggling her brows curiously at Harry who’s gulping down juice hungrily, “Booger got normal friends too? Thought, those were all white lies.” He almost chokes at it – downing it cautiously and blinks vividly.

“No. Just neighbours.” Yeah, there’s nothing friendly between them –-- but how it’d be like to befriend Harry. The thought makes Y/N feel snoozy and warm.

“I see.”

“Okay then! ‘m gonna keep Trippers with me for two days –-- figure out what I could do to help her and if she heals I’ll drop her by, how that sounds?”

“Sounds good!” Both, Harry and Y/N chimes together heating their cheeks up. Harry wavers his gaze away, sulking a pouty mouth and turns all stoic again.

He doesn’t want to like, Y/N. Nope. Not at all. In any case.

She’s his bedevilling, bothersome and galling neighbour who just screams at him too much for his likening.

“Would you like something to eat?” She asks him while walking back home and he shakes his head, so she nudges him in ribs, “oh c'mon let it be a thank you, grumpy pants.”

“’M not –-,” He was about to snap at her. Instead, he groped her wrist tightly and tugged her to his side –-- she squeals into his chest as a car passes by them swiftly, honking at them in anger.

Her hair wisps from the friction of Harry’s hoodie as she pushes herself away from him, surprisingly he smells incredibly sweet – that of vanilla and citrus musk, something very cosy and like a morning breeze.

A jolt buzzes through her spine at the fact she was about to get crushed under a vehicle but she grins up at him awkwardly, “Tofu then?” His peepers widen in shock and he slaps his forehead.

“You’re mad, know that.”

Harry and Y/N. Sky and earth . She sprouts buds of irises and peonies when she speaks, her touch that shines away even an intimidating person as if they're mimosa plants, those eyes --- those eyes are itself sepia of grounds on which the tiny creatures celebrates by and Harry's well ... he’s the floss of clouds hidden behind sunshine, his rains would turn her into loam and his uppish thunder would make her loathe him.

Then some gods decided to break the needles and fix it in some other clock that rotates anti-clock wise.

Now, when she’s unable to nourish her flowers he's always there to rain and stroke a tender breeze against her that makes her lush grass snuggle the roots of who she’s.

They were enemies once. Opposite to eachother in many ways but couldn’t live without eachother despite of their distances. Just like sky's a hollow sheet of nothingness without it’s dear earth.

What blossomed their friendship was Y/N's date with this cute boy that is in her ceramic class, (not a date if you’d ask so –-- more like a meetup at this coffee house near her UNI).

Turns out he isn’t that cute. His blunt hands wandered up Y/N’s thigh without her consent and before she could know that, he was groping at it –-- making her gasp and hit her knee against the table. She struggles to writhe out of the chair but he stitches his nails in her skin, “I’m not liking it – you better stop.” She hisses, palms sweaty and slipping trying to remove his grip from around her.

“Don’t act all stupid .. you were hitting at me for hours, you want it but wouldn’t admit.” He groans, rolling his eyes and she feels like crying –-- teeth clanking letting out a shuddering breath.

“I’ll scream.” She warns him.

“You’re not that innocent, you act like.” He smirks, sliding his hand down her insides and before he could reach further Y/N sneaked a fork from the table and stabbed it in his knuckles.

“Fuck.” He shrieks, “Bitch.” He almost screams but stops when everyone stares at him as Y/N’s chair fell against the floor and she stumbles inside the bathroom.

Locking it behind her. Her chest burns with tears. Her vision spins and her fingers shakes as she dials one number she could reach for anytime, it rings then goes to voicemail so her bitten lip wobbles and eyes turn glossy.

She again dials it. There’re noises behind, that of someone instructing and Harry was in his lecture hall when she called .. his heart drops because all he could hear is quivering breath ... it shudders to tight painful gasps and he’s collecting his stuff leaving his seat immediately the doctor who's teaching them Apiceoctomy stares Harry while speaking.

Once he’s out in hallway, “Hey? Y/n are y’there? You okay? What happened?” She bolt her eyes close pressing her head to cold tiled wall and yawps outta fear when someone pounds at the door. Harry runs towards the exist, “Y/N where are you!? ‘m coming .. whatever it’s just --.. just ...” He gripes at his curls pushing them back – his heart beating loud, “ – just stay where you’re ‘n don’t panic .. yeah? It’s okay.” He mutters. Voice soft and assuring.

Her breathing patterns back to calmness – something about him so consoling, so warm and she nods. After some minutes she’s telling him the address and gladly it’s not that far away from Harry.

When he reaches. There are several people waiting at the bathrooms door and he’s knocking on it lightly, pressing his ear to it and grabs the knob (in case he’d have to break it).

When there’s no-response from inside he gets it something’s peculiar, “Bambi. ‘s me Harry.” It clicks and unlocks and he’s tumbling inside while the others groans and disperses knowing it’s invain waiting.

He’s dishevelled. His curls in moppy condition and his eyes full of concern and worry –-- she feels awful for doing this to him.

“Were you crying? Did somethin' happen?” He frowns. Ducking a bit to meet her gaze level and she clears the clump in her throat, “Can we just leave .. please?” He couldn’t believe it’s her voice – the bubbliness and chirpiness of it died to frightened meekness.

Harry takes her hand and walks them outside, Y/N sucks in squeak when the same guy rushes to confront them and when Harry sees his injured hand -- everything pieces together and fury spikes through his veins.

His brows pinches together into a frown, his lips lifting into a scowl and his eyes darkens pitch coal like.

He grips her dainty fingers and moves her behind him protectively and his chest buffs out as he takes a step forward towering the guy – “What d'ya want?” He kisses his teeth together to grit vehemence and that guy lift his trembling hand infront of Harry.

“Look what this bitch —-,” Ah –-- he really pushed Harry’s bad button didn’t he?

Harry grabs him from collar and Y/N squeals rubbing his wrist to pull him back, no-use.

“Badmouth her or anyone —-" Harry sneers and if he'd be a cartoon character – fume would have been coming out of his ears and nose.

“Else what!?” Harry’s more of a practical person -- so he did what he's been learning for years now and breaks his nose with such force it almost knocks him out.

Y/N's still in shock. Walking behind him on jelly toes and a shiver spirals in her bone marrow when her sweat dries from the wind that’s blowing and hitting them in faces.

They wait at bus shelter, sitting side by side –-- thighs brushing now and then flustering Y/N, Moreso when he apologizes everytime.

There’s silence. Harry’s irritated groan breaks it –- he clenches and unclenches his knuckles .. the thin skin a bit bruised.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry –-- .. ‘s my fault.” She rambles. Taking his hand to inspect it, “I shouldn’t have called you at ---..” He frowns confused and pokes her in knee conveying her to stop worrying. Because if anyone needs to be taken care of is her and wish he could just hug her and tell her that it’s not her fault – not even a tad.

“Y/n...” He gains her attention and his gaze flickers from her snotty nose towards her soaky cheeks, “Shut up.” She chuckles at that putting his palm gently back on his thigh.

“Would you like to have, noodles? I know this incredible chinese place ...” He shakes his head. His smile small and kooky, nose scrunched up as he sniffs the air – predicting a rain coming soon.

“D'we have to eat after every tragedy that happens t’you?”

“Yup, tragedies makes me hungry.” It’s her coping mechanism if she'll be honest and that’s what she’s been doing for ages.

“Who are you, Y/N?

She jumps up. Wiggling her fingers for him to take and beams sweetly, “Bambi next door?”

“From when did ya become s' rich?” He giggles. He finds her fucking adorable as she drags him along herself excitedly – she halts infront of the expensive restaurant –- where people dressed in all kind of luxuries and bright pearls are dinning in and she arches her brow sceptically, “Did you really think –- I’ll be able to take us here?” He shoves his hands in his jeans pocket, elevates his shoulders and smiles bashfully.

“Maybe one day, who knows?” They walk towards the chinese take out and Y/N trots backwards –-- facing him all while and rolls her eyes, “’M an artist whose half of paintings goes to trash.” Harry’s eyeballs springs out of his sockets hearing her statement and he really wants to knock some senses into this silly girl.

“Oh my --.. jeez .. those paintings are ‘s good y'divvy. They're hanging onto my walls, been enjoying them fo' free —- what the actual fuck .. really your hands are magical.” He feels annoyed and sad that she felt a need to dump them, because those were some beautiful art pieces.

(“Hmm. It has some hidden meaning beneath it, H. I’m tellin' ya.” Ni would always say. Standing infront of it for hours and hours staring at it.

“Looks like a pussy to me.” Max would quip sipping his bevy and Harry would smack him in head, “Guys how ‘bout we just see it like a fuckin' painting.” He'd grumble focusing back on his books.)

“Really?” She asks shyly and he bobs his head, “Guess you could just keep them then ...” She grins up at him taking the boxes from the cashier.

“Where are we going?”

“You’d see yourself.” She sing-songs galloping over the muddy potholes and Harry looks funny doing it with his spider long legs. Their footsteps echoes in the empty warehouse and Harry didn’t expect her to be the person – that loves finding weird places and spend time there.

“Careful there.” He murmurs. Pressing a hand to her waist when she wobbles on her feet climbing the metal stairs and Harry thinks if she was this clumsy all along or it’s from what happened at the coffee house.

“Holy shit!” He cups a hand around his mouth as the traffic bustles down on the street, “You afraid of heights?” She glances back at him from where she’s standing on the cemented edge.

“Matters. If we're about to act silly and jump, then yes.”

Warmth worms up at his chest and his adam apple bobs, he barks out a laugh when she giggles demanding him to come closer to her, “Come here then you dentist the bad boi.” He tugs the fabric of his jeans from his crotch and hikes his one knee up sitting beside her, other leg swinging in air.

He listens to her hums and happy sounds as she slurps the long noodle inside her mouth, “What you’re afraid of then Harry?” Her question catches him off-guard. Nobody has ever asked what his fears are and he might be famous for an intimidating personality just because he speaks less and owns a roaring bullet –-- he’s still very nice to talk to, but he'd rather spend his time with snowy than waste his time on orgy parties.

“Snowy’s funky farts -- they're ‘orrible!! have to leave the flat fo’ a minute.” He grins when Y/N’s head lulls back and she laughs gleefully, rolling into his side to support herself, “Oh no!” She whines when her chopsticks falls and drops onto the road poorly.

“We can share mine.” He hands her his chopsticks and she thanks him timidly, “What d'you fear?” They pass it back and forth –- his lips wrapping around them as he takes a chunky bite.

Harry tries to down the food that got stuck in his throat when she said nonchalantly, “Dying alone I guess?” He chews the veggies, grimaces and shakes his head -- puts his hand over her knee squeezing it kind-heartedly.

“You’ll not.” She feels like every tulip of light around her’s sparkling – the buzz of having his company tingling her in good way, “Promise?” She asks and Harry lifts his pinky in between them encouraging her to bring her's.

She wasn’t serious about the promise thing it was more onto sarcastic side than to sincerity.

“Promise.” His dimples caters deep and his eyes crinkles when different golden lights dances against her skin making her look prettier than she’s.

He’s gonna fulfill his promise.

Y/N could be sentimental given on occasions and how bad the situation’s – but she bottles it up for good amount until later, it all crushes her completely and she’s unable to stand back.

Now, when there’s eerie quietness in the bus and the world infront of her fades behind in weird shapes and forms in her head because of the speed of vehicle – her mind thought it’d be best time to remorse over what happened to her and her eyes well up at that.

Harry plucks his headphones down upon hearing her soft sniffles and turns her towards him with her shoulder, “Y/N hey ....” His voice tender and dewy as he slides his palm under her jaw and cups her cheek to wipe out her tears with the mild stroke of his thumb.

His gentleness rakes out an agonising sob from inside her and she feels like her organs are clashing together.

“Shh. Bambi you’re okay now, ‘s alright you’re here with me -- shh, ‘m so sorry love —- but it’s over now, yeah? We're going home and I’ll make you chamomile tea, could ‘ve both snowy and trippers cuddle with you while I’ll get you all warm and nice inside this new fluffy blanket I just bought! – how does that sound?” He pets her hair. Brings her closer to his chest and she keeps her nose tucked against his clavicles to stop from crying and make a show.

When she nods, suckling a wet breath he swipes a loose errand of her hair behind, “Sounds good yeah?” She just hums snuggling into him.

Her arms slowly loops around his love-handles and he stows her head under his chin -- rubs her back in circles to soothe the stiff muscles, covers her ears with the headphones he was wearing before – plays acoustic version of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac and simpers when she hiccups his name, but doesn’t respond when he answers – his ears turns pink from fond and his belly overglows with butterflies as she babbles his name till she drops into peaceful sleep.

Y/N found herself in his bed with snowy and trippers ontop of her and Harry snoring on the couch – his gangly limbs not fitting at all.

She really wanted to call him and sleep on his bed, but she drowses back to slumber.

“Grumpy jerk and an actual ray of sunshine. Sorry, couldn’t process it – too much.” Rori teased Harry the last time they gathered and Y/N was there too! though the true statement was claimed after her departure.

Harry’s friends couldn’t believe that he stepped out of his comfort zone and made a new cute friend, now after one year of their friendship it doesn’t feel like they’re neighbours anymore –-- it's just one big home with an alleyway in between.

“What're y'doin', moppet?” Harry chuckles picking up the half eaten packet of crisps, chewy sour candies, wrappers of oreos and the romcom CDs they were playing before.

Y/N's sprawled on her tummy. Feetsie in air and her chin secured in her palm as she looks like she’s seriously about to take an admission in med school –-- she’s concentrating real hard on the thick book under her, eyes fixated on the diagrams of teeth – it makes Harry laugh like a maniac.

“Aish. Your books, gives me an ache.” She massages her forehead, shakes her head as if she tasted something icky and pushes his book away. Harry laughs harder at her antics wrappers flying away from his grasp and he flops onto couch –-- thighs spreading wide and back sinking into the cushions.

“Where?” His lips rumbles as he tries to hold back another fits of laughter when she gets his dirty joke and pouts, lips fluttering into a smile until she bursts into giggles joining him.

“Nope. My cookie doesn’t throb like it used to sneaking on reproduction chapters in biology.” Harry roars out a cackle at that and Y/N grins fiddling with the frizz of her socks, “Heyyyy it’s not funny –- very much sad.”

He suckles a breath in, their grins achy and big, “Stuff your cookie with some jam ‘n you'll be alright.”

“You’re gross!” She fake gags. Hunches over to exaggerate the severity and scares the shit out of Harry when she gasps loudly slapping his knee, “Harry! Harry! Oh my gosh.....ahhhh!” She gallops like a bunny towards the window and gazes up at the sky with glinting eyes, “Harry look! It’s snowing.” He trots behind her with a roll of eyes knowing what’s about to come next.

When she turns around with sparkly grin, hands clasped atop her chest and tippy-toes to beg him, Harry shuts his lids, “No Muffy.” Y/N loves eating chocolate muffins –-- eating them whenever she could possibly ... and that’s how the pet name Harry decided to call her was muffy.

“Please, it would be so fun .. we could have hot chocolate afterwards.” She mumbles tugging at the hem of his chunky yarn sweater.

“Nothing’s fun about snow angles, Muffyyyy!!” He whines. Squinting down at her with one eye and finds her all slumpy, head falling downwards.

“Okie then. ‘m going to sleep.” She mutters in a meek voice pushing past him –-- but he wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls her back to himself, chuckling with wide eyes, “You’re very dramatic and annoyin’ y’know that?”

Instead, she grins bobbing her head shamelessly, pats his chest and dashes to wear his warm jacket, “Biscuits on you -- hot chocolate on me.” She tells him slipping into her shoes with the support of doorframe.

He comes closer to her and her heart thuds into her tiny ribs as he zips his jacket she’s wearing up till her neck and warns her while pulling out her hair, “If I get sick – ‘m gettin'y sick too.”

Harry’s waiting outside the candy shop Y/N just barged in moments ago. He refused to step inside – knowing she’ll use him as a taste tester and at the end of the day his tongue would have a mountain sugar atop his taste buds.

The spring breeze flowery and warm. He shakes his head, smiles softly watching her switch aisles and guffaws loudly catching attention of an old couple siting on the bench behind -- at her eagerness when she started chomping onto the long chewy candy right after getting it from the cashier.

“That’s g'na rot your teeth even before your forties.” He tells her taking the small bag from her and walks beside her, “Your kids are gonna hate you ...” She tells him –- stretching out the candy with her teeth.

“You sure, y'were allowed colas and candies in childhood?” He teases her prodding her side so she throws it at his chest making him laugh and he bends down to pick it up and dump it in bin.

“You’ve got a cute bum.” She whistles and Harry’s cheeks bashes with blush – turns around and wiggles herself, “How's mine?” She hums glancing back at him with cheeky grin.

“Ten by two, I guess?” He bites down a smirk when she spins to face him a bit gobsmacked, “Not even five?” She grumps chin doubling as she tries to see her bum herself.

“Six then?” He giggles enjoying how she’s getting riled up out of nowhere and she stomps away from him so he jogs to catch her, “Bambi. Was kiddin'.”

“You owe me two muffins with the amount of insults you’ve caused my poor bum.” He knuckles at her hair and she slaps him away like a feisty kitten, “I take it back –-- you’re really ten by two.”

“Oi!!!” Now, she’s running behind him. His curls blowing away and his coat ruffling with the zephyr, his head falling back with the belly-ache laughter that bounces against the bricked walls of shops.

It’s Friday night. Y/N is doing her laundry. Plucking out Harry’s socks from Trippers furry ear, her kitties sleeping in bassinet. Harry and Y/N have named them Tum, Tug and Truggers –-- she sits back on her heels upon hearing her door closing and hikes the small basket on her hip trudging outside —-- she didn’t had any clothes that could make her feel warm during these days – even her socks were all soggy -- so was Harry’s, now all she’s gonna do is make a blanket fort and hide in it for hours.

She knuckles at her eyes, blinking the tiredness away to see properly who’s standing in the middle of room, “Harry?” He's wearing a graduation gown and tips his hat with a sheepish smile then waves his degree infront of her, “Guess who's a proper dentist now!?” She’s frozen to her spot –- jaw slacked and eyes blown away in surprise.

“Your bad boi!” The basket falls from her hip onto the floor scaring Trippers and she whispers an, “Oh my goodness.” Before, stumbling towards him and crashes in his arms giving him a tight loving hug. He slinks his forearms around her and squishes his face into the crook of her neck, lips tickling her skin and if it was possible for him to freeze the time and cherish it for some more he'd.

“I’m so proud of you.” She mumbles into him with a grin. He feels so worthy and every hardship he faced now feels like nothing, this's how life supposed be throughout –- but best things always bores fruit for the right time.

“How about we celebrate? Just you and me.” Just you and me. It feels nice to just her and him. Makes her heart swoon. Makes her feel like skies outside are wet and pink, “Umm .. can we celebrate here? It’s okay .... “ She shifts on her feet and he furrows his brows in confusion, lips ticked up as if he’s scrutinizing her.

“You and not goin' nutters for an outing .. seems odd —-,” Then his eyes falls over the surrounding, a heating pad beside his feet – aloe fused socks hanging to get dry, a tray of chocolate muffins, kettle on the coffee table so he puts one and one together himself.

“Oh muffy —-... pizza and cuddles then?” If he wouldn’t be aware of how first few days of her period are hell for her then who would? He’s always making her pot meals and curry rice – feeds her and gets all strict when she refuses to eat anything. She looses her appetite and transforms into something ‘if zombie had a baby with vampire -- it sure looked like you’ he'd always scold her.

Even bribe her with candies. Once they were awfully painful and Y/N really didn’t want to be all dramatic not when their friends were having a good time, she doesn’t like to be a party pooper.

But, when a stinging cramp cut through her pelvis and thighs she was hunching forward with a jolt -- all teary eyes and wobbly lips. Harry left everything and rushed towards her, sitting on his knees on the floor and cupped her throat to make her look at him when she refused to, “Y/N ‘m serious -- you rather tell me what’s happening with ye’ or ‘m throwin' you at my shoulder and takin’ you hospital —... cause fuck look at you been like this since morning ....” He was rambling and Y/N felt like drilling a hole into floor and hide herself there forever.

She was mortified and embarrassed, a terrible combination.

She wasn’t able to tell him infront of all of their friends even though it’s something very normal, so everyone stared and nodded when they left they for Harry’s room.

“Bambi are you okay? I’m not even kidding something’s not —-..” She wipes her nose and tugs at his wrist trying to shush him, when he doesn’t pushes a fingers against his lips.

“Don’t worry. ‘m good --- just —-... umm I’m on my periods.” She rubs her one feet on another and his mouth fall into an ‘o' when realization hit him and his brows clinches together sternly.

He sighs running his fingers through his hair, something he does when frustrated and whumpy.

“Should’ve told me. We could have done this later ... do you want anything? I’ve got pain —--,” His words swells on his tongue when her head bumps against his chest and her hands locks around his neck, hugging him with all her gentle will because nobody has ever cared for her –-- him being so tentative to her makes her want to sob into his chest.

He warms her in all the right places.

“How’re you feeling on scale of one to ten?” He speaks while chewing onto the stuffed crust of pizza. They’re cosied up on the sofa while Mama Mia plays on the telly and she’s cuddled up into him, he's holding her heat pad with the grip of his forearm and she lifts her head mousey-ly from his bicep and whispers – “Eightish...? Now, you’re Dr.Styles.” He giggles at her and pushes her head back against him with his finger.

“What does my being dentist has a connection to your periods?” He dips the pads of his fingers into her pudgy love handles and squeezes them -- she giggles thinking about the joke she’s about to crack.

“You pull teeth, it’s blood and I pull out tampon so it’s —...” Harry chuckles gruntly at her and tickles her more, “Oh no. I know where it’s goin'....”

“You asked for it!” She pouts at him and he squishes her lips together as if she’s a duck toy.

Then they flump back into their cuddling position and Harry rubs her tummy in tender soothing circles, it helps her relax and his breath syncs with her and she really tries not to pay attention to her bratty screaming hormones heating her skin up – her thighs experiencing a quiver and she squeaks down a huffy whimper.

“You okay?” Harry asks. When she squirms against him and she gulps -- they don’t hide stuff from eachother so she tells him honestly, “You’re really turning me on.” Harry’s heart hiccups at that and his palms still over her thighs.

“Is that so?”

He pets her hair and tries to make her stand, “Just go to washroom and jizz one out.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why?”

“Promise me you wouldn’t make fun....” He frowns and nods bringing his pinky to make the deal.

She clutches her sweater down to her knees, cheeks rosy and mutters out in one breath – “I’ve specific days for that....” Harry really tires to. He locks up his laughs in his lungs and it aches his chest, his cheeks balloons up but at last he rolls onto floor and guffaws into his elbow.

“You said you wouldn’t make fun!!!” She whines kicking his side lightly and he grabs her ankle, “This means all those times you’d be all locked up –- oh my god, you were playing with yourself.” She folds her arms. Her nostrils flares with irritation and she doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Pet, waiting so long .. it’s a torture to yourself.” He tells her genuinely sitting up with crossed legs and she mumbles knuckling at her eyes, “just some reasons ... horny is bad.” Now, Harry feels kind of terrible pushy person and he really wants to help her out but he’s walking on egg shells here. So, he stops asking anything.

“Rori's girlfriend is a sex therapist —-“ She becomes all fidgety at that and Harry takes in her nervousness, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to.” He exclaims waving his hands and she gulps giving him a small nod.

“Night time fo' some grumpy muffy!” He coos, brings the blanket to her chin and his pupils dilate adorningly when she asks him, “Could I snuggle you?”

“Ofcourse.” He pecks her temple and tells her to budge over before sandwiching her between him and the sofa.

That whole night all his mind could think was why horny is bad for her?

Y/N was feeling overly warm and heated, a tad achy between her thighs. She vigorously tries to focus on something else but her chest is heaving at this point, even opens the windows and let the cool air hit her but no use –- so she does what have to be done in order to get rid of the throb.

She cosies herself on the bed, switches onto hentai and throws her legs in air to shimmy her sheer white panty down.

“Oh ...” Whimpers teeny-ly when her fingers brushing up her soaking pussyfolds provides her a bit relief – her soft hands wanders beneath her flimsy shirt and touches her skin in the most arousing way possible –-- tweaks her nipples and jerks up, oozing more wetness.

“Ah! Fuck.” She moans easing in two fingers at once and cramps down at them watching the hentai porn –- but it’s not enough, she’s been pushing her fingers in and out for ten minutes now—she’s unable to get to climax.

So she groans sits up and switches to domineering audios, listens to it while fingering herself hard and she has no idea from where her mind gathered these images from -- but -- soon she’s thinking about Harry’s husky rasp, his sea-foam beautiful eyes and those rosy knuckles ring clad hands —-- imagining him holding her down into mattress and pounding into her at a brutal pace, making her sit on his cock and not letting her move –-- his fingers down her petty throat —-- him spanking her ass if she let’s out any voice out and he'd roar at her beg as she'd be lurking at her tenth orgasm –---- every plausible dirty stuff with him.

She was so engulfed into making herself feel good, lost in her own headspace and imaginations that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching and it’s like she manifested him as he stands at the door-frame with blown away pupils –-- guppy mouth and she’s squealing feeling dizzy upon sitting up this quick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck —-... sorry sorry ... “ He covers his eyes and turns to walk away but bumps his head with a thud into doorframe.

She gasps, knees up and almost shouts, “No!” making him halt mid-track and she’s on the verge of tears, red face and shaky fingers.

“Please ....”

“Stay.”

Harry’s eyes turns soft at that and he walks towards bed, licks his lips wet and brushes the loose tress of her hair away.

“You want me to stay, muffy?” He asks to make sure – she isn’t in haze and all fog minded.

“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.

748 notes · View notes

kpopchangedme · 4 years

Text

Sun-drenched [M] - Youngjae

Every time you opened your mouth something outrageous came out but unfortunately, your new dorky step-brother seemed to be immune. You couldn’t tell if Youngjae was actually that clueless or if your reputation preceded you.

Protagonists: Choi Youngjae & You

Word Count: 4.6k

Genre: NSFW - Cringe Fest - Smut - slight exhibitionism - f*ckgirl - Stepbrother!au || [One Shot]

[The Pleasure Chest: A Cringe Fest]

GOT7 | M.list

Your mother was doing that thing with her hair again, slightly shaking her head every time her new beau spoke. Every single bob invariably made her blonde curls spring. How disgusting. You had asked to be bleached once, a few years ago, and she had the audacity to claim it would look cheap on you. So unfair.

She hadn't met her fourth husband for more than 6 months before she did just that. She thought it made her look younger, but Miami-midlife-crisis was more like it. It wasn't pretty wheat blonde, it was white yellow-ish banana buttercream. On-sale daffodil... Much like the sad ones Youngnam had gotten her from the convenience store yesterday. They were now awaiting certain death in a crystal vase husband-number-two had gotten her for God knows what occasion.

You rolled your eyes when your latest stepfather started going over safety rules again. At your dad's there was never a need for them and if you correctly remembered the last time you had lived with your mom... You smiled, imagining how Dr. Top Surgeon would react if he found out his perfect church-going wife used to pop pills like candy and store a very impressive bong in the third drawer of her kitchen.

That would make for a fun scene.

The goodbyes seemed to stretch half an eternity in the living room, after which you got dragged to the hall where the speech began all over again. Your mom gave you a short hug, more of a shoulder squeeze, then she pulled back and frowned with intent as much as her botox allowed. You shrugged off her silent don't-screw-this-up warning, already waving goodbye to her husband. Shoo shoo, you thought, sending the adults off to a far far away location.

As soon as the door shut behind, you squealed in excitement.

Summer had officially begun!

Moving half across the country to fake “house sit” their new place while they honeymooned in Boca wasn't exactly what you had scheduled for your vacations. But when Youngnam accidentally let the words infinity pool and cars – as in with an S – slip out during the weekly video call, not even the dread on your mother’s face could’ve deterred you from flying over.

As it turns out, Dr. Choi was loaded.

Something you probably would’ve figured out earlier if you’d bothered showing up for the ceremony at all. Unfortunately, the wedding hadn't matched your Spring Break’ schedule and you decided having been present to the many previous ceremonies should be considered enough daughterly care for a lifetime.

As you bent to the freezer for a celebratory parent-free popsicle, you felt the eyes of that gift-that-came-with-the-house glued to your ass. He briefly glanced down at the flash of your stomach’s skin when you jumped to sit on the counter.

Surprisingly enough, your mother’s many rings had never once come with a step-brother before...

Usually, she went for the bachelor or womanizer types and those had the decency to never have baggage. Dr. Choi was a break of pattern and the news came with complete horror on your part.

For as long as you could, you had made a duty of never meeting his son, pretended he didn't even exist. So when the bubbly blended trio came to pick you up at the airport yesterday, you had been shocked.

They had said soloist of the local Choir and you’d heard; loser. Piano lessons? Dork. All-boys school graduate? Stuck-up. Computer Science Major? Nerd alert.

No one had talked about… That.

As a matter of fact, Choi Youngjae himself had not spoken much either, but he was certainly looking...

And there were few things you enjoyed more than having a man's undivided attention.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen in all his glory, your new step-brother was staring, as usual, watching intently as you sucked your popsicle. You made sure to make a show of it.

“So… What about lunch?” He finally asked even though it was barely 9. Just to rattle him you hummed on the sugary treat as a reply. Mission accomplished. “S-Should I order pizza?”

“Don't worry, I’m easy...” Youngjae’s gaze fluttered down to your belly ring again. Boy, if he liked that one he had a few things coming. “I’ll eat anything if it's on you.”

Gaze widening, he pretended to look at something over in the living room and walked away.

Wait no, the poor guy literally bolted out of the kitchen to escape to safety. So fast one could wonder if this whole first exchange was the fruit of your devious imagination.

Oh no, you had just traumatized your babyish step-bro.

It made sense, you were one scary bitch.

All-boys school graduate? Virgin, you mentally took note.

Or perhaps your mom had said something about you devouring the souls of poor innocent men. They said the apple never fell far from the tree. Grinning like a shark, you discarded the melting popsicle in the trash.

This promised to be one Hell of a summer break.

______________________

“It’s been more than 10 minutes...” Chimlin flipped the phone over to yell unintelligibly at her demonic baby twin sisters. Despite the protection, you winced. “No DMs.”

“Then he hasn’t seen it yet.” Artlessly reporting for BFF’ duty was a lot more fun face to face, but for a few months, video calls would have to do. “Trust me.”

“I don't know,” she whined, going on all over again about how her boyfriend hadn’t picked up the phone since their nightly routine fight of yesterday.

Sometimes you wondered if you’d even follow her back on Insta if you met this current sad version of herself. Kinda hard to tell, but she used to be the coolest baddest chick on campus. Then she was partnered with that Italian exchange student for a Statistic class, disgustingly dripping pheromones, cash and European pizzazz. Yes, Statistics. The most boring course ever, let's be real. But Chimlin was a genius, the deadly hot kind. No matter how shit-faced she was, that girl could track the B-52s and Gin Tonics’ calorie count of each respective member of your girl squad, not that she'd ever had to care herself.

Then Massimo came. At first, he was just a casual hook-up, but he managed to worm his way into her brain and grew there like a tumour. By the end of last semester, they were full-on steady-going together like in cringy 90s rom-coms. He was always stuck to her like a parasite.

Gone was your favourite 4 feet 11 party animal.

“Do you have any idea how many bitches Mas could meet this summer?”

You snorted, “Not even close to the number of dicks you could have in Pattaya if you wanted to.”

“Phatthaya,” she corrected automatically with a dramatic eye-roll. “That’s the thing, I don't want to. I only want one dick and he's miles away.” She waved her hand to brush it off right as your mouth opened in protest.

Her Italian barnacle did want to remain with her on campus for summer, but Chimlin thought she had better plans that involved a lot more beaches and fruity drinks. She simply couldn't live with her own poor life choices now and you were just about to tell her so when a flash of skin on the screen distracted you.

“What else have you been hiding?” You sing-sang, impressed by the view.

She glanced over her shoulder, “That's my uncle. Like... He’s literally my mom’s lil’ brother. Gross.”

“I know what an uncle is and that's a very hot one if I’ve ever seen one. You can look.”

“We’re not all depraved sluts like you.” She only half-teased with a sharp laugh. “How's the cute new brother doing, by the way?”

“No idea.” You flipped the camera and zoomed on Youngjae's bedroom window like to prove a point. The curtains were drawn, concealing anything worth mentioning from view. You were lounging by the pool on one of those fancy long chairs, much as you had been for the past week. Margarita, sunscreen, repeat. If this boring routine went on, you’d be so tanned by the end of summer no one on campus would recognize you. Sometimes you did think Youngjae's curtains were wobbling, maybe he was spying on you but it could all be your imagination. “Typical. He's been in hiding from me since day one.”

“I don't blame him.”

“Don't blame me for wanting him either. He's a good boy in a bad boy’s body.”

“I don't even know what that means...”

“No one does. But he's not cute, he's hot. I need him all over me and I've been telling him so, but he's strangely elusive. I think he hits the gym above the grocery store on the corner, I should join.”

“Stalker.”

“I don’t stalk, I live in his house.”

“No wonder the poor guy doesn't go out of that room, I bet he picked up on all your slutty energy.” In the rectangle screen, Chimlin switched to tan the other side and you did the same, laying on your back.

“Ha ha. He'd have to be moronic not to,” you were holding the phone above, casting a partial shadow on your face.

“Your legend precedes you. He's scared you're gonna trap and fuck him.”

“What else am I supposed to do when you've abandoned me and flew to the other side of the world? You know I need a summer project.”

“And of course, it had to be a guy.”

You were so glad she stopped whining about Mas for a minute that you let that one slide. “Well, I am not a needlepoint kind-of-girl.”

“Right, hey maybe it isn’t the incest that’s creeping your brother out. Maybe he's gay.”

Someone snorted out loud at that – not you – and you sat up in alarm.

Two guys were standing by the edge of the pool.

“No, he's not,” said the one on the left, a smile in his voice. They were directly in your sun, so you had trouble making out their features. One silhouette was slightly slumped, the other tall and all limbs. You suddenly felt very exposed, dropping Chimlin to fasten your bikini top in a hurry. This show wasn't for strangers to enjoy.

“Who are you?” The second man asked, clearly lost.

“She's it,” the other echoed.

“Who are you? I live here.”

“We're your brother's social life,” the frisky one smiled largely, kind of in a dangerous way that you immediately recognized for your own. Friends, they were Youngjae's friends and they very clearly overheard your embarrassing banter with Chimlin.

Flushing – a rare occurrence – you brought a hand to shield your eyes from the sun while you corrected; “Step-br–”

A sharp voice cut in, “She's not my sister.”

Behind, Youngjae was standing awkwardly by the patio door, a stern look on his face. He didn't seem surprised his people were there. He didn't even glance in your direction before disappearing back as you blankly stared after him.

“Well, thank fuck,” the you-guy turned to wink, following him inside. “Good luck with your summer project! I’ll root for you!”

In a daze, you picked your phone back up. Chimlin was still there, waiting dilligently to be briefed on what just transpired. You puffed your cheeks, mentally preparing for what was to come.

______________________

Swear to God, Youngjae had not come out of that room for two days.

Two.

Fricking.

Days.

Maybe he had a fridge in there.

Maybe he only came to life after midnight like a vampire to avoid the whore squatting his dad’s house.

Whatever his annoying friends told him had certainly made a lasting impression. You just hoped he wasn't the type to go cry to parents whenever something happened. You had no intention of going back to your tiny dorm all alone and sad for the summer just because you hurt his feelings by finding him bangable. Or worse, at your father's.

What was he even thinking?

You had not done anything wrong. Pushed a bad joke a little bit too far perhaps, nothing to get all worked up about. No reason to get shunned out of your mother's life again.

Youngjae's reaction, or lack thereof, was way out of line.

It's not like you had actually done anything to him. He was such a prude. A prude that eye-fucked you all the time!

Church baby boys were the worst.

What an ass.

Three days?!

Three days of an overly empty house. The atmosphere had gotten so heavy, the air so tense you couldn't even think about anything else. There was nothing left to do. Just sit on the couch inside or by that dumb infinity pool, starring at the drawn curtains of your step-brother's bedroom. They weren't wobbling anymore.

Which was what you were actively doing this afternoon, ruminating your dark thoughts for hours. You didn't even notice you were getting dangerously warmer. When your timer went off, announcing it was sunscreen time again you nearly fell from your chair.

Doing the legs was the easiest part, your favourite to be honest. They were one hell of an asset of yours. You were massaging the thick lotion on your right calf when something at the corner of your eye caught your attention.

For a heartbeat or two, you thought you were hallucinating.

Youngjae had finally reappeared.

He was standing at the end of the pool, a knapsack thrown over his shoulders. His thumbs were hooked in the straps, hands dangling to his sides like dead weights. If he looked like a young boy at first glance, the heated look on his face was one of a man.

Frozen still, you gulped. True to form, he kept staring for a long moment before turning to the house and you thought he was about to go into hiding again – but oh no, fuck – he was actually pacing towards you.

“I’m back.” Youngjae blurted out awkwardly, mouth twisted.

Yours was opened in a mix of disbelief and shock. He was actually addressing you. “Back?” From where the corner store?

“Yes,” his eyes ghosted over your poor excuse of a bikini before anchoring themself back to safety in yours. Again, horny eyes. If you were warm earlier, now you were burning up. “I thought it'd be better if I stayed away at Bam's for a few days…”

Right? No one could actually stay between four walls so dilligently. It made sense. You were so dumb.

Apparently, your confusion was evident. “Didn’t you notice I was gone?” No, you had not. So your step-brother was so freaked out being around you that he actually moved out for a few days. Had you gotten that bad? Jesus. “Anyway, I’m back home with you now.”

Youngjae took a step closer, kindly getting in your light so you'd stop squinting at him. He looked even hotter in the bright light of day, sweat pearled between your breasts. He frowned and bit his lower lip waiting for a reaction. The things you'd do to that perfectly proper mouth.

Of course, what came out of yours at the moment was less than appropriate. He was right to be scared, you weren't safe at all.

“Wanna do me?”

Yes, you were that bad. Terrible indeed.

“Do I-I,” he gasped for air – oops, “w-what?”

“My back,” you clarified smiling like a prisoner that hadn't been fed a good meal in days, “sunscreen.” The poor man should've stayed far far away from you.

You weren’t crazy or desperate, but you couldn't resist. You had been patient and unusually upright so far. You deserved a treat. You were hungry and you knew your step-brother wanted you too, he wouldn't have felt the need to hide away otherwise. Youngjae had an interesting duality, shamelessly thirsting over you one minute and getting flustered and embarrassed the next. He must have been deeply unsettled by your open invitation because before you could flip over, he had claimed possession of the bottle.

Or maybe he just didn't need to be asked twice this time. He knew. He wanted to give in to temptation. Why would he even come back here otherwise?

Laying down, you reached to undo the bikini strings, pressing your loosely covered chest against the rough towel on the chair. You waited.

“You must really hate tan lines,” Youngjae said in your back, sounding tormented, “it seems you're never properly wearing clothes.” He sat down in slow motion like an obedient little boy as you grinned.

“Are you ever gonna put your hands on me?” You teased once more, it was like a string was tugging up your insides through that dirty mouth of yours. You wanted to keep pushing him, wanted to find out what it'd take to make him break. And just fuck you really. It was fighting the inevitable by now.

Every guy you met wanted to have you.

Usually, you didn't have to beg.

“I'm trying not to,” he admitted the obvious. “I promised I would never touch you,” Youngjae grumbled and you jerked in surprise when lotion spurted on your lower back. “Promised my father I’d treat you well.”

It made sense, a good boy would never disobey and do his dirty step-sister. If your legend preceded you, his golden son’s reputation certainly did too. Honestly, this promise made the taunting easier and even more tempting. It made for a funnier challenge and the spark in Youngjae's eyes when he looked at you hinted you could break him if you really tried.

You were about to defy his ethics again when words went back down your throat, letting way to a sharp sigh. He had suddenly fully committed to applying your sunscreen, fingers exploring your skin. You asked to be touched and he had risen to the occasion, firmly rubbing the lotion on your naked back.

Earlier you had every intention of teasing him further by enjoying this a little too much, but you weren’t sure it was entirely voluntary when the first moan escaped. If he wanted to keep it PG, he probably should’ve stopped right there, but it didn't seem to deter your step-brother. He kept going, massaging you along the way. His thumbs traced circles up your spine until one of his palms cupped your nape.

Perhaps this is what an erotic massage was supposed to feel like, heaven. Every stroke was totally appropriate, very perfect boy-ish, but still, your toes were curling. After a few minutes, Youngjae's breathing was heavy, he was enjoying this impromptu contact just as much.

You both had made yourselves obvious these past weeks; him with the eye-fucking, you with the open-truths. Clearly, the forbidden nature of your desires would make for an even more intense experience. You couldn't even imagine how it'd feel to take it further now.

“I've never had a step-brother before,” you mewled, mentally following the downwards path of his hands.

“I bet you love messing with me,” he replied, barely audible.

His pianist’s fingers were now haltingly sliding up your ribcage. He wasn't rubbing in anything anymore, just caressing all he could reach.

He was right, but you wanted more. That was the sexiest thing that happened to you in forever. Having a guy want you bad enough he had to hide away to resit, and now having his hands on you. You wanted him everywhere, all over. You didn’t care; step-brother promises or not.

Giving in to temptation, you turned around, resting on your elbow. Your untied bikini had not followed so you watched as his face fell in realization. Youngjae's mouth opened in awe, eyes glued to your bare perky breasts. At the moment, there was absolutely nothing going on in that male brain of his. He didn’t move; you helped.

As soon as you put one of his hands on your chest, he came back to life.

“Jesusfuck,” he breathed out, completely winded.

Wow.

Church baby boys were the best.

Entertained, you reached for the sunscreen, pouring lotion on yourself again. “You aren't done.”

“I…” Youngjae swallowed back his protests, cupping your boobs with both hands. He couldn't even look up anymore, enthralled by your nakedness.

No matter what their intentions were, it seemed good guys were still guys after all. If you had known he was this easy to overwhelm, you would’ve walked around topless sooner.

“The neighbours will see us...”

He didn't seem to mind that much, seeing as his thumbs were stroking your pierced nipples relentlessly. If those middle-aged housewives you only caught glimpses off looked over the edge now, they’d have a pretty impressive show.

“Let them,” sitting, you snaked a hand to his dramatic bulge. Your mouths got so close you felt his breath ghost over. Beaten by your expertise, his shorts’ button came undone first, his fly was even more compliant.

The moment of truth.

Youngjae's whole body shook when you took his cock in your palm. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Fuck, he was so hard and flushed for you. He pinched your erected nipples in response and you felt a familiar vivid jolt of pleasure and pain down to your toes. Not a virgin, after all, no doubt he would handle you just fine.

You pressed your mouth to his neck and sucked, right where his Adam's apple bobbed.

That's it, all for you. You were so going to eat up that good boy.

“Mmmm, I’ll tell daddy you’re treating me so fucking well...”

Of all the filthy things you had said so far, this was the one that got the strongest reaction. The wrong one. Youngjae jerked up to his feet, tugging at his shorts in panic. He swore a dozen of times, out of his mind as you stood there, frozen still.

“Sorry,” he offered at last, pitiful before running for his life to the house.

Fuck.

No.

Surely you were feverish.

Having a heatstroke.

You had imagined the whole thing.

You had not just being left out cold by a man.

This type of shit never happened to girls like you.

It took a few minutes to gather back your thoughts and when you did, you decided this wasn't even close to completion.

Without wasting a second more you stormed inside the house, almost flying upstairs to that mythical off-limits bedroom of his. You didn't bother banging, he was in such a hurry he forgot to lock behind, so the door flew open.

Like a scene straight up from a bad porno, Youngjae spun on his computer chair, a hand still wrapped around his fully erected dick. You couldn't believe your eyes.

“Are you jerking off?” He was already pulling up his shorts again to cover himself, caught red-handed, blushing as though you hadn't been doing it yourself a moment ago.

“I’m sorry, I don't think you–”

“Please don't stop on my behalf,” you waltzed in, confident, and sat on his well-made good boy's bed.

“W-What?” Youngjae blinked, even more, rattled by the sight.

He didn't leave because he didn't want you, he clearly did. He probably only left because of his father and that dumb promise he mentioned.

“Is this how you've been dealing all along?” You laid back on the comforter, smirking and remembering all those afternoons by the pool you’d thought you’d seen his curtains fall. He certainly enjoyed spying so it gave you an idea. He could try to resist you all he wanted, you'd still made him cave. “You don't want to touch me, right?” Your step-brother nodded, spellbound. “Because you're the perfect son.”

He swallowed hard, “But you keep… Saying those things, sunbathing… And to my friends...”

“Yes, you’re right... So let's start over.” You sighed in fake contrition, “I'm sorry, I've made this so hard for you. I’ll be good too from now on.”

Youngjae scoffed in disbelief, “You are sitting topless on my bed.”

“Oh,” looking down at yourself, you cupped your breasts. “I thought you liked the looking.” His cock was standing up, glorious testimony to this mess. “Don't worry, I get it. I promise I won’t let you touch me...” Throwing your head back without breaking eye contact, you moaned and lightly twisted one of your pierced nipples. “But I’ll make you watch...” Out of his mind, Youngjae did just that as you caressed your own chest for him. Somehow his eyes on you now burned even better than his hands earlier.

You were so turned on, so worked up by all the days of teasing and loneliness. Your hips started swaying on his bed, craving some fiction and release.

“You're crazy,” his voice was laboured but he had yet to escape again. This time you wouldn't have followed.

“I-I'm so wet, Youngjae...” Giving in, your right hand fell to your sex, rubbing your last piece of clothing. He was captivated.

“Fuck it,” he immediately breathed out in surrender, hand wrapping around his dick. That was it, you finally had him. He was all in, playing along with your new favourite family game.

No touching, just innovative teamwork.

You had to establish ground rules, but pushing them was what fun was all about.

“I want you so bad...” You mewled, slipping your middle finger inside your bikini bottom.

Stroking himself, Youngjae groaned, “So you’ve been saying baby, but now you have to show me.”

Oh shit. You were going to come so fast if the golden son had other surprises like that. In a hurry, you wormed out of your panties before he could change his mind once more. In front of his fully clothed self, you laid back, touching your damp slit while he observed intently. The whole experience was surreal, your mind was buzzing, overwhelmed by the wrongness of it all.

It felt so amazing though.

Touching yourself for your step-brother was the sexiest thing you’d ever experienced, and you were very accomplished. You would’ve done anything he'd asked of you, and Youngjae knew that but he abided by his dumb rules. Standing up he came closer, boxer messily shoved down from his earlier haste, one hand was in his hair, the other working hard. You kept rubbing your clit repeatedly letting him see, hastening the pace until you were numb all over, panting.

“Youngj-jae, I-I–”

Moaning, you broke faster than you had ever with someone, then again no one knew how to make you reach your own high better than yourself. Paroxysm made your thighs jerked as the pleasure waved through you, annihilating all sense of your surroundings.

When you came back, your step-brother was giving up too, bursting in thick spurts of hot cum all over your body and chest. His eyes were wide opened in black elation, intense, not missing a second of the show as he came on you. His whitish-gray seed painted your bareness in ribbons until he was completely emptied.

In silence, Youngjae dropped next to you on the bed, hands covering his face as you both caught your breaths. His now softening dick was still protruding out of his shorts and underwear for the world to see. It probably made for quite a view; your naked body covered in semen right by your respectable step-brother’s way more humble cock.

If your parents came home early, they would both have a stroke.

Youngjae sort of kept his word though... For today at least.

Because now that you had him all over, you knew you were going to crave him under you.

And no man had ever resisted your charms before.

Step-brother or not.

[The Pleasure Chest: A Cringe Fest]

GOT7 | M.list

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lustresky · 4 years

Text

all i ask [peter parker x f!reader]

summary: You question your true feelings for Peter after missing out on five years of your life.

wc: 2400ish.

themes: angst(ish), fluff, happy endings, best friends to lovers trope, mention of dermatillomania, existential questionings...

a/n: this is the first x reader that i have ever written, so sorry in advance if it’s awkward:’’’) english also isn’t my first language, so please do hit me up if i make any mistakes/some things sound wrong! still, i hope that some of you out there will still like this lil thing. i just want to keep peter in my pocket gawd what a bby:’’’’’’’( p.s. title is a song by adele! just had to name this that cuz it unexpectedly came into my playlist while i was writing this and the song just fit so well that it shocked me haha

requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c:

THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER ENDGAME, RIGHT BEFORE FFH. IT EXCLUDES THE LOVE STORY BETWEEN LIZ & PETER IN HOMECOMING.

available on ao3.

The rom-com flickered on the screen in front of your and Peter’s eyes, the only light illuminating the small living room.

Your legs were sprawled on top of Peter’s own, your arms becoming a bit numb from the fact that you haven’t moved them from their cramp inducing position for the past fifteen minutes. It wasn’t your fault— the small sofa could only leave you and Peter enough space to lounge about.

He had invited you over for some much needed “hang out” time. Considering the fact that both of you had missed out on five years of your life, you had suggested you both catch up on all of the movies the two of you had missed; but one thing led to another and now you were both watching late 90’s and early 2000’s films.

You were surprised, and maybe even mildly offended, when Peter had said that he had never watched Mean Girls nor Clueless. The boy who spew out pop comic references every other second had never watched the classics for every teenage girl? The blasphemy!

You fiddled with the fluffy throw covering your legs and partially, Peter’s. Your attention wasn’t really on the movie anymore, you’d seen it multiple times. Could probably recite it by heart, you thought, if you concentrated hard enough.

Speaking of concentration, your eyes inadvertently found their spot upon Peter’s face. It was quite funny, and maybe even adorable if you wanted to go that way, how concentrated the geeky boy was over such a cliché film. You had never once thought, with all of the years that you had known him, that he would listen and take Cher Horowitz’s words to heart.

Peter didn’t notice your gaze, and so you took that as an unspoken permission to roam your eyes over his features: the small lines already appearing beside his eyes, a tell-tale sign of how much he smiled— or at least, tried to, these days. There were those chiseled cheeks and the sharp jawline that he somehow managed to maintain despite eating delivery food every other day. (You can’t blame May, she tries her best, really; but sometimes Thai or Chinese is just way more palatable.) His nose, a bit crooked, from an ”accident.“ (You still don’t really know the exact details about that one, and frankly, you think it would hurt just hearing about it.) Soft curls of his brown hair fell over his forehead, messy and barely brushed.

Truly, you could probably spend a whole hour just staring at him. It’s weird, you know, who the hell stares at their own best friend for long periods of time? Well, MJ probably does, but then again she draws people most of the time so that’s socially allowed... and well— she’s MJ. She just… does that. You suppose.

Maybe she does have a point, you mused. People-watching seemed fun, seeing the way that people processed information was interesting, but you couldn’t really imagine doing that to anyone— anyone else but Peter, at least.

You loved Peter. It wasn’t even a question. Truly, you did— he was family. However, after the Snap, you started to question how you truly felt about him.

Did you ‘love’ him? You had asked yourself that question multiple times already. Then again, he was cute, goal-oriented, stubborn, loyal, smart, geeky, strong... (not just physically, between his difficult childhood and what you both had just gone through, you think that he may just be the strongest person that you know, mentally.) He knew how to make you laugh, how to make you feel safe… God, he was your exact type.

However, you had always put your feelings aside ever since you came back from the dead. What if it was just your mind craving for affection, afraid that you would never be able to experience the love that you had always wanted? Were you just terrified of the thought of not living your life to the fullest, that you started to ’love’ the first person to have ever given you warmth, just because the choice to do so was taken away from you?

Did you actually love him in that way? Would you still have loved him in that way, even if that purple fucking raisin didn’t come out of the fucking sky and take you both away from reality without even asking? Were you just blindsided? Were you wearing rose-coloured glasses?

What type of love for him did you feel, exactly?

It didn’t really help that Peter was way more clingy and touchy now. Sure, you were best friends even before then, but you never really touched each other so often before. His actions only further spiraled your pondering.

His hands seemed to linger more on your shoulders, nowadays. Now, he would, absentmindedly, lay his hands on your thighs while you were talking. Now, his hugs were tighter, warmer, and always included both of his arms— unlike those casual, one armed hugs that you would give each other while saying goodbye after school, right before you both ceased existing.

While talking, his eyes seemed to stare straight into yours, which always made you falter with your words before you shook his gaze off. Once, you saw him fixating his eyes on your lips while you vented to him about a mathematical formula that gave you a hard time.

He never really did that before— whenever you didn’t understand something, he would always just give you a small grin before shaking his head and finding a way to better explain the topic to you. At first, you thought that maybe he just had a lot on his mind, that he was just staring into space…

Or maybe, just maybe, he loved you. In that way.

Though, now that you thought more about it, maybe he just craved affection like you did. He went through a lot. His life was never devoid of danger, and it wasn’t questionable to want comfort after all of the things that he had gone through. Did he truly feel that way about you, or did he only see you as a comfort tool? You wouldn’t be angry if he did, out of all the people that you knew that deserved more reassurance and love, he was definitely on top of the list.

You didn’t mind. You understood.

Was he in the same boat as you?

You startled yourself away from your thoughts when Peter suddenly retracted his body further back into the couch, as if he wanted to bury himself in it. His brows were furrowed, nose scrunched, lips curled up in disgust; though to your relief his eyes were still glued to the screen and he hadn’t just seen you checking him out. You chuckled at the unexpected reaction, “What’s gotten you so worked up?”

Peter shook his head from side to side, as if that would help him from his current situation. “I get that they aren’t really related, but it’s just— weird.” He replied.

Intrigued, you shifted your eyes over to the screen, and was welcomed by Cher and Josh kissing. You laughed at Peter’s disgust.

“How is it weird? They’ve had— like, very evident tension for half of the movie, Pete.” You replied, eyes watching the way Josh held Cher’s face in his hands. As much as you would never admit it, your stomach fluttered at the scene. “Don’t tell me you didn’t expect it to happen.”

Peter groaned. “It’s not that I didn’t expect it to happen, it’s just— Josh is what, almost twenty or something? And Cher is our age!” He rattled off. “I’m having flashbacks to when I learned that Luke and Leia were actually related.”

You shook your head and let out a snort. Typical Peter, always finding a way to reference Star Wars.

“It’s just a lil’ kiss scene Pete, don’t get so worked up about it.” You chuckled. You let out a dreamy sigh, your lip unknowingly curling into a small smile. Truth be told, you've always wanted something so passionate yet so soft like that to happen to you.

You couldn’t help but let the next words tumble out of your mouth. “Isn’t it romantic though? The fact that the person that Cher has been searching and looking for so hard was actually just right there.”

“Always there…” Your voice slowly found itself becoming quieter, until it was only a ghost of a whisper. “Right by your side.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot. What the fuck was all that sudden sentimental bullshit, Y/N? You thought to yourself.

You hoped that Peter just didn’t pick up on what you had just said. The movie was loud enough to cover it, right?

With a reassuring breath, mostly to yourself, you turned your gaze back to Peter’s face.

Only to find him staring back at you.

Fuck, what were you thinking? With his enhanced senses, of course he would’ve heard what you had said.

Your breath got caught in your throat as your brain almost short circuited from the unexpected eye contact. His stare was unrelenting; from the dim light of the television, you can see his dilated irises, swimming with what you can only assume was longing… and hope.

The air suddenly seemed thick with tension. What kind it was? You weren’t really sure, but the movie and its noises were now just background noise and lighting. From the corner of your eyes, you see Peter’s Adam apple bob up and down as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Y/N…” He started, slowly, seemingly unsure of how to word his sentence. You mustered up a small bit of courage and sent him a small smile, patiently waiting for his brain to catch up with his mouth. It was one of his quirks that you adored so much, how much he struggled with the right words to say, because he knew the gravity of them; even if he did end up just spewing them out in the end.

“I— I don’t really know how to say this exactly, but,” Peter chewed on his bottom lip. “God I just— I just need to man up and say it because it’s been on my mind ever since I came back and I don’t think I can put it off any longer because I’m scared that you’ll disappear again and that I’ll never have the chance to say the truth and I—“ He stopped in his tracks, seemingly running out of words to say. His head dropped to look at his lap, as he started fidgeting with his hands and picking at his cuticles. A nervous tick that you recognized.

You straightened up from your lounging position, and slowly reached out your arms to lay your own hands on top of his, effectively gaining his attention and stopping his quite destructive habit. Bit by bit, he faced you once more; albeit now his eyes seemed to be more glassy.

“Y/N,” He took a shaky breath. “You— you mean so much to me.“ His eyes stared straight through you, and by now you felt your eyes start getting teary too.

“When it was happening I— all I could think about was how I felt about you. I— I felt so fucking selfish. I didn’t even think about Aunt May— or Ned, or MJ. All I thought about was how much I regretted not telling you how I actually felt about you sooner— that I’ll never be able to tell you how much I actually fucking loved you—“

Instinctively, you cut him off with your index placed on his lips. Now it was your turn to let out a shaky breath as your hand descended and found itself laying once more on Peter’s own.

Peter loved you. Even before the snap. Even before you disappeared.

The sight of Peter in front of you: vulnerable, hair ruffled, cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears red, his eyes watering as he poured his heart out to you was the moment that answered all of your doubts from before.

That was when you realized that you loved him, too. Truly. Without a doubt.

You loved him before everything went to hell, you still love him now, and fuck, you would still love him even if you hadn’t died. You weren’t wearing rose-coloured glasses, hell, far from it. You were seeing everything clearly. You were seeing everything just the way that they are.

You opened your lips, and a strangled but genuine giggle came out. “Pete, I love you too. I’ve loved you since— fuck, I can’t even remember when I actually started fucking loving you. You’ve been such a constant in my life that I questioned myself whether I truly loved you romantically, because I’m also a fucking idiot that thought that the type of love that I had for you was only platonic. Turns out they’re both one and the same.” You were laughing now, with a few hiccups here and there from the hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

“And shut up— you aren’t selfish,” With a new wave of courage, you lifted up one of your hands again and cradled his face. He leaned into it, impulsively, sniffling. “You’re one of the most selfless people that I know, hell, you put yourself in danger for people that you don’t even fucking know. I… I honestly think you could use more selfishness sometimes.” You laughed, softly, trying to regain a bit more composure with the tidal wave of emotions washing through you.

Peter, thankfully, found your quip funny. He snorted, shaking his head, as he lifted the sleeve of his Midtown Tech hoodie up to wipe at his tears. He wiped yours too, and you thanked him with a genuine smile.

All hearts now bared, you both just stared at each other, not really knowing what else to say nor do. From what you could tell, the movie was over now, the ending scene just slowly rolling in as it always does.

You opened your mouth, about to break the silence, when Peter beat you to it.

“Can I kiss you?”

A chuckle escaped your mouth before you could reply properly, and a huge grin overtook your face as your cheeks heated up once more. You squeezed his hands, and nodded.

Peter leaned in, and you had never felt more at peace.

#lily’s lil’ stories #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #fanfic #ff #x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #spiderman #spiderman x reader #one shot #angst #best friends to lovers #fluff #subtle (not really) movie references #existential musings #pete n reader's been thru a lot ok:(

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himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

your fics are amazing ❤️ can i have anything about baberoe but julian also appears in the fic🤣? thank you so much ❤️

This is probably way more than you wanted, doll, but here you go!!

It’s been a long time since Gene picked up a late shift at Smokey’s Bar. Longer than he’s proud of, really. Medical school don’t pay for itself, even on a scholarship, and it’s a stretch to think that changes on an intern’s salary. Just because his daily routine is filled with a lot more triages and tracheotomies now doesn’t mean he’s forgotten where he came from.

Hell, Gene spent two years in this cozy backstreet establishment, serving drinks well into the midnight hours with his textbooks stashed just below the counter. The job at Smokey’s was the only reason he could afford an apartment at the time; without it, he might not‘ve even had a shirt on his back. The regular crowd was always great, the bar’s owner was a true gentilhomme, and there was no hard feelings when Gene left to start his internship. Smokey accepted it with grace, and everybody wished him well.

Of course, if he’d known he’d be back just a few months later, he’d have protested the going away party.

“You’re a real lifesaver,” Smokey declares as Gene steps back behind the familiar counter. “Skinny’s out tonight — something about helping his Granny with her pet cat, which I’d be glad to believe, if I didn’t know for a fact his Granny lives across the country — and we called Blithe about ten times, but no answer there.”

“It’s no problem.” Gene offers his old boss a thin-lipped smile, running hands hands lightly over the oiled bar top. It’s been a while; best to get the feel of the place before the night rush arrives.

“It is, though, Gene. Big favor you’re doing me. If you ever need anything —“

“Don’t worry about it.” Maybe in two years he and Smokey got past the point of “boss and employee”. Gene wouldn't call them friends, but they’re close enough. Helping out a friend is just what you do, and you don’t complain about it. “I’m happy to be here. Missed these old walls more than I realized.”

Smokey barks out a laugh. “Yeah! See it every night, and you get tired real fast.” The bar door rattles open without warning, ushering a familiar crew — half a dozen guys, all with the same swagger and grins on their faces. “Same old ugly mugs each night, too!” Smokey exclaims, brightening like the sun’s come out at midnight. “Not sure why we let you guys in at this point!”

“You’d go broke without us, Smoke!” Bill Guarnere’s voice is loud as ever, and as rowdy as Gene remembers it. “You know we pay half the bills ‘round here.”

“Lose us and you lose your nightlife too,” Floyd Talbert adds with a grin, already stripping off his heavy jacket.

The atmosphere is familiar; every corner is known, and fondly remembered. Across the room, a 90s rock beat pulses from a pseudo-modern jukebox, all but rattling that side of the building. Smokey’s has got a dance floor, a pool table, a dartboard... everything a person could need for a rowdy night out. “Except the dancers,” Smokey said once. “We tried to put in these nice cages, but seems like you need permits and all that. Why waste the money when Luz gets up on the tables after a few drinks for free?”

It’s a respectable place, and a cozy one. The city will never feel like home — home to Gene is warm air, thick as honey against your skin, the symphony of the bayou floating around you like zydeco in the night air — but Smokey’s is close. The closest Gene feels anywhere in the city, and he’ll take what he can get.

Gene settles back behind the bar, and falls into the familiar dance; he still remembers all the steps, and hasn’t lost his touch yet. Smokey’s isn’t a cocktail place; Gene’s job is generally restricted to serving up beer and chips, with the occasional harder drink coming in. He can toss together a good whiskey sour, and his Dark and Stormy’s are excellent, so he’s been told. It shouldn’t be this easy to pick up the old rhythm again; his days since leaving Smokey’s have been filled with nonstop work. The nights he isn’t on shift, he spends studying, memorizing so many conditions and treatments that there shouldn’t be room for anything else. The brain works in mysterious ways, though. This old job carved grooves into his memory, and he slides back into them now without even having to try.

George Luz grins at him, loudly proclaiming how good it is to have Gene back. “Place just wasn’t the same without you, Doc,” he declares, and a round of cheers from Luz’s group echo their agreement. Muck and Malarkey team up on him, pestering him about how work at the hospital is going. Gene suspects they’re only in it to hear the stories every doctor acquired over time. He humors them with one about a man who’s ent swimming in the buff, ending up with a fish stuck where no fish should ever be. Offhandedly, he tacks on a mention about the frequent cases of alcohol poisoning they get in the ER. Plenty of gory detail to go into there. From the grimaces on the duo’s face, and the way Muck eyes his third beer of the night warily, they definitely get the message.

A ruckus near the dance floor rings out, distracting Gene from mixing a whiskey-and-lime. His hands fumble with the bottle; it nearly slips from his grip, but he catches it without looking. The commotion is much more interesting. some spaghetti-limbed kid, all deer-in-the-headlights, is squared off against Roy Cobb, who’s already had one drink too many. Flushed and surly-eyed, Cobb steps up into the kid’s face, rearing up like a pissed off moode.

“You think I can’t hear you? What, you think no one in here hears you running your mouth?”

“Christ, buddy, I didn’t say a word about you!” the kid replies, stumbling back a clumsy step. “Why don’t you siddown, huh?”

“Don’t need to sit down, don’t need you to tell me —“

Now, Smokey’s isn’t the sort of place where fights break out as a rule; sometimes men get a bit riled up, but it rarely turns ugly. When it does, they’ve got Bull on hand to break up any fight before it can start, and probably break some costly furniture in the process… but it’s Bull’s night off. By now, the rest of the bar’s taken notice of the fight. Tension thrums through the room like a live wire, sparking off and just itching to catch on something. Everyone’s watching them, and no one’s looking towards the other side of the room. Gene does, and he spots the kindling.

Bill Guarnere, fists clenched and face red, is slicing straight through the crowd. At his heels is another kid, gangly, with a mop of messy ginger hair; he looks twice as pissed off as Bill, but doesn’t wear it quite as threateningly.

Gene moves forward without a sound, setting his drink on the table. In a few seconds, the situation’s gonna get three times worse. Better snuff it out before they get the chance.

“Cobb.”

Gene’s the quiet sort by nature — but when he wants to, his voice can ring through a room, cutting over shouts and curses as clear as a roll of thunder. Before he spoke, he might as well’ve not even been in the room. Suddenly, every eye’s on him, and Smokey’s is silent. He braces himself against the bar, red-hot gaze trained on the troublemaker. “Come here.” One hand gestures Cobb over; it’s not a suggestion. “Free drink for your trouble. Sit down, we’ll talk.”

“Don’t need to talk,” Cobb replies, voice dropping low and rough. The kid takes the opportunity to remove himself from the situation, scurrying back to his friends’ side. Bill Guarnere claps him on the shoulder, and sends a glance towards Gene; his nod, short and grateful, is all it takes to finish the threat off. Reluctantly, with the tension broken, Cobb trudges towards the bar and accepts the beer Gene slides towards him.

“Now,” Gene says, strictly business. “What’s goin’ on with you? You tell me, I’m here to listen.”

Offering an ear to a drunk’s sorrows is always a shot in the dark. God forbid Cobb disappointed. Gene ends up spending the next forty minutes listening to Roy Cobb’s woes about his job, his girl, and everything in between — until his last drink’s done, and he’s vented enough that he no longer seems ready to snap. Gene calls the taxi for him, and sees him out.

It all goes smoothly after that. Not an interesting shift; for his first time back, and probably his last time, Gene’s a little let down. At least on his last night there was cake. Tonight, all he gets it a thank-you text from Smokey, complete with copious emojis, and a few “see ya, Gene!” and “thanks a lot, Gene!”s at last call. Once all the patrons have cleared out and the bar’s gone dark, Gene lingers in the doorway for just a minute before locking up. Just one more minute… and then he’ll say goodbye to the old place. For good, this time.

“Aw christ, Julian, my goddamn shoes!”

A shrill voice echoing from around the corner… kind of kills the moment.

Uncertain, Gene lets the door fall shut, and hastily turns his key in the lock. Something about that voice is familiar, but he can’t put a finger on it. There’s no one else in sight, not even any stragglers from closing time… but as he tucks his key in his pocket and rounds the corner, the source of the disturbance makes itself painfully clear.

Some idiot is sticking ass-first outta the dumpster.

“No!” The idiot’s friend exclaims, bouncing on his heels as he tries to grab hold of a thrashing, sneaker-capped leg. “Get out of the — get out — this ain’t my job! Do I look like your mother to you?”

“Ain't my kink, babe,” echoes a voice from within. One second later, and the set of legs vanished completely; the dumpster consumes its victim, leaving nothing behind but a loud rustling, and the clank of limbs against metal.

I don’t want to know, Gene acknowledges, weighing the situation like a detective at a crime scene. I don’t need to know. It’s late. I’m tired. I’ve got a shift in twelve hours.

“Everything alright here?” he blurts out, before god-given common sense can talk him out of it.

The friend turns on his heels, with a soft grunt of surprise. Immediately, Gene realizes why he sounded so familiar — the head of messy red hair is familiar, as are the lanky limbs and the telltale freckled Irish skin. Bill Guarnere’s buddy, in the flesh.

Since it’s definitely not Bill in the dumpster, Gene’s got a good clue who it is.

“Your buddy’s recovered well,” he observes, crossing his arms, “from the mess earlier.”

“Huh? Yeah! He, uhh — shit, he sure has. We don’t make a hobby outta this, you know.” The kid goes to run a tired hand over his face, then seems to think better of it. There’s a puddle of liquid near his feet, with the telltale sheen of half-digested liquor. His eyes are haggard, mouth twisted up like he’s not sure whether to laugh or scream. Maybe it wasn’t an awful night for Gene, but someone’s clearly taking the brunt of it.

“I hope not,” he observes, cocking his head slightly at another thud from inside the dumpster. “Strange sorta hobby.”

“It’s just that Julian — well, he’s an asshole, right, and he ain’t used to drinking like the rest of us — lightweight. You know how it is. He don’t have any rights.” As if to emphasize the point, the kid aims a kick at the side of the dumpster. From within, Julian yelps. “We try not to give ‘im too much, but he was real rattled from the whole thing, so we thought —“

“I remember.” Gene distinctly recalls Bill Guarnere’s unusual order, and the effort it took for him to remain stone-faced through it. “Vodka schnapps.”

“Yeah. A fuck-load of ‘em.” The kid offers up a smile, crooked and half-desperate. Whatever the hell his heart does in the moment, Gene isn’t prepared; it feels like a mini heart attack. To cover up, he hastily turns his gaze back on the dumpster again, making out like he’s more concerned than he really is. “I was gettin’ ready to call an Uber, but my phone — if some jackass hadn’t tried snatching it outta my hands, and then not let go ‘til it went flying —“

“Blamin’ me? Babe! Butterfingers!”

“Shut up, you!” Butterfingers Babe aims another kick at the dumpster’s side. This time, Julian shouts . His friend doesn’t seem a bit concerned. “Just find the damn thing!”

“You got an iPhone 6! ‘S right where it belongs!”

“You wanna buy me a new one?”

Julian has to pause, like he’s genuinely considering it. Butterfingers Babe taps his foot. Eugene crosses his arms and waits.

“Like hell,” Julian finally declares, and a new round of thunks echo from within the garbage can.

“Okay,” says Gene. That’s all it takes to get Butterfingers’s attention back on him, like for a moment he’d genuinely forgotten Gene was there. As soon as their eyes lock, though, the kid flashes him a smile like Gene’s never seen before — downright fluorescent, definitely lit up by liquor, but something more, too. Gene’s never smiled like that at a stranger; hell, he’s never smiled like that in his life, and definitely never had one sent his way.

It takes a minute for his thoughts to snap back on track again, still wavering dangerously, like the kid’s grin has shot the wheels right out from under him. “Okay,” he says again, clearing his throat. “Uhh, if you want, I can just call you a ride.”

“Nah, that ain’t your job. Thanks, but you don’t gotta —“

“I don’t mind.” Gene shrugs, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans to hide them from the biting cold. “Don’t actually work here anyways, so…”

Butterfingers Babe’s brows furrow. Slowly, he tilts his head.

“You mean, you… just walked in and started pouring drinks, then?”

It takes an inhuman amount of effort for Gene to hide a smirk. “Yeah. Call it a hobby.”

“You can do that? Holy shit.” The kid stamps his foot on the ground, turning to the trash can as if genuinely forgetting that his buddy can’t react back at him. “Did you hear that? Julian! We could take over a bar for real!”

“Always been your fantasy, babe, not m— ahh , god dammit, there’s a rat!”

As the eight circle of hell echoes from inside the dumpster, Butterfingers turns his wide grin back on Gene. “So, how do you even — like…” As his words trail off, his smile calcifies at the corners, before crumbling away. “Hey, you’re yanking my chain, arentcha?”

Now Gene really can’t help it — he smiles, quick and unashamed. “Sorry.”

“You really got my hopes up.” He doesn’t look too upset, though, even as he drags a hand through his struggle hair and shakes his head. “Damn. New plan, Jules.”

“Call,” shrieks Julian, “the police! The army! Satan!”

“Must be the name of the rat,” Gene observes sagely.

Butterfingers crosses both arms over his chest, and takes a step back, bracing against his heel. Gene mirrors the casual posture. The both watch for a few moments, enjoying the show, as Julian apparently wrestles with one of Philadelphia’s notorious cannibal street rats and emerges victorious from the fray. At last, he breaks into fresh air, exploding from between bags of garbage like the parasite in Alien . His black hair is a scruffy mess, there are scratches on his cheeks that he’ll definitely need some shots for, and when he thrusts his arm into the air, a banana peel dangles from it.

“I found it! I found your goddamn phone!”

“Amazing,” Butterfingers drawls. “Now can we get outta here before my nose freezes off my freakin’ face? All the booze in the world can’t make tonight warm.”

Julian makes a noncommittal noise, and suddenly vanishes back into the garbage bag abyss again, like someone’s grabbed his leg and pulled.

“For chrissakes , Julian!”

“He always like this?” Gene can’t help but ask. “I mean… has he done similar stuff, in the time you’ve been…” Butterfingers stares blankly at him. Gene gestures vaguely, as if that stands a chance of making his meaning any clearer. “I mean. Not to be rude.”

“You ain’t being rude. He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, but…” Gene clears his throat, intensely uncomfortable. “Did he do this on your first date, too?”

“Dating?” The word escapes the kid’s mouth in a squawk loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. Gene jumps, and scrambled to regain his composure; in that time, Butterfingers has already doubled over, wheezing. “Jesus, Julian, didja know we’re on a date?”

“No kidding,” Julian calls from inside the dumpster. “Y’gotts tell me these things, Babe.”

With two drunken strangers laughing in his face at three in the morning — one of them hanging out of a dumpster — Gene suddenly feels like the fool. To be fair, what else is he supposed to think — hearing Babe, Babe, over and over again?

“My name’s Babe,” the Babe in question clarifies. “I mean — it’s really Edward, but everyone calls me Babe, even my ma, though she says —“

“No one cares,” says Julian. “Now goddamn help me, huh? The rat’s comin’ back.”

Suddenly, ending this encounter as soon as possible— and saving whatever dignity he has left — is more tempting than a twelve-hour nap. Gene gestures towards the struggling Julian with renewed eagerness. “We should probably —“

“Yeah, we really should!” agrees Babe, spinning back around again. Only then does Gene feel comfortable getting closer. Somehow, with lots of trial and error, they each manage to seize hold of one of Julian’s gangly arms. With a great tug, they haul him out. He ends up sprawled on the pavement, a lot worse for wear, but with an iPhone in his hand.

“Ha ha,” he declares, and, victorious, flops backwards onto the filthy ground. “Ha ha ha, ha. I did it.”

“Sure did, buddy,” Babe agrees, snatching the phone out of his hand. His nose crinkles as soon as he’s holding it; too quickly, he tosses it back down onto Julian’s chest, wiping his hand off on the rear of his jeans. The alleyway isn’t that well-lit, but when he looks back up, Gene catches a spark of hope in his eyes.

“Hey, y’know, I don’t mean to ask —“

Gene’s already ordering the Uber. “It’s no problem.”

Grateful, Babe gives him his address, and tucks his thumbs in his pockets as Gene sends the order through. When Gene holds up the phone for his inspection, he huffs in relief. “Twelve dollars, huh? I’ll pay you back.” He goes pawing through his pants, urgency increasing when both pockets turn up empty. “Shit, I mean — when I come back again, some other night, I’ll —“

“I won’t be here.” In spite of himself, Gene feels a stab of regret. “Actually don’t work here, I was just filling in tonight. As a favor to Smokey.”

Babe huffs a laugh, and it inflates Gene’s chest, warming him in spite of the bitter January chill. “That’s real great of you.” Babe runs a hand through his hair again, almost awkward, though the way he bounces on his heels dulls any tension between them. “I mean, I still feel bad —“

“Uber’s coming in two minutes,” Gene observes.

“Right! Umm, umm, ya know what —“ Babe snaps his fingers, then suddenly lunges forward, gesturing towards the phone in Gene’s hand. “My number! Is that okay? I could give you, and then, we could just —“

“Sure,” Gene says, in the same second as Babe blurts out, “Yeah?” They blink at each other for a second before Gene echoes, “Yeah,” and Babe exclaims “Sorry”, still at the same time.

As Babe claps a hand over his mouth, he can’t seem to help snorting. “Jesus Christ, I’m a lot better at this when I’m less sober — swear to you, just gimme the chance to prove it. My number, it’s 215—“

Gene’s quick fingers tap the number into his contacts, despite the chill gradually creeping its way into each digit. He titles the contact “Edward”... and then, after a second thought, adds “Babe” in parentheses. Just to keep from mixing him up with Cousin Edward from Lafayette.

A sleek grey car sidles up to the curb. Gene checks the license plate and nods towards it.

“That’s your ride,” he says, and the weight of parting presses down against his chest until his ribs creak beneath it. “See you… around then, Edward.”

“Edward?” A squawk like that has no right to sound damn charming . “Aww, c’mon, what’d I just say —“

“Save ‘Babe’ for the second date,” Julian advises, still flat on the ground. His friend aims a precise kick to his ribs; grunting, Julian jolts upright, only to be hauled to his feet by Babe’s grip on the collar of his jacket. They lead each other forward, both stumbling over their own feet — though for Babe, that might be just the effort of leading his friend along. Or the vodka schnapps. Hard to be sure.

At the last moment, Babe looks up through the Uber’s brightly lit window and raises a hand to Gene. Gene waves back, half-smiling, until the car pulls away.

Left alone on a street corner at well past three in the morning, he sighs and tucks his phone back in his pocket. It’s an ungodly hour; he’s got work tomorrow; his schedule can barely accommodate his body’s inconvenient need for sleep, let alone falling in love.

But maybe, just maybe, Gene can fit in a few extra shifts at Smokey’s sometime soon.

#baberoe #babe heffron #eugene roe #band of brothers #hbo war

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tinkeringwithcannabis · 5 years

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The First 90 Minutes Episode 41

Strain: Hurkle Flower

Company: Sira Naturals

Location: Somerville, Ma

Cannabis Connoisseur: Tristen

Website: www.siranaturals.org

Flower Quality Assessed by HighGrade

Hello again to all my cannabis loving and canna-curious friends, and welcome back to another episode of The First 90 Minutes! Today we will be toking and talking about a pretty kickass high CBD strain called Hurkle, which I picked up from my friend Tristen over at Sira Naturals in Somerville, Ma. This amazing hybrid strain is a product of crossing Harlequin with Querkle, and just falls shy of being a true 1:1 CBD:THC strain. Hurkle’s THC levels measure in at 14.3%, while the CBD levels are at 9.3%. One of the best qualities reported about this strain is its ability to stand up to pain, stress, and anxiety, providing a strong sense of relaxation both in body and mind. With these qualities, it is no surprise that this piney, menthol, earthy bud comes highly recommended for combating stress, pain, insomnia, inflammation, and headaches. Patients have reported feeling relaxed, happy, sleepy, uplifted, and tingly; with potential negatives of dry eye, dry mouth, and dizziness. Today I will be using this strain to relax and destress after a busy day at work and some anxiety provoking issues going on personally. I have been feeling extremely anxious, agitated, and high strung all day. I am looking for the relaxation and stress relief this strain offers in combination with the mood uplift patients have reported. Now that we have run through the history portion of our segment, let’s jump into the fun part! So, without further ado, let’s light up, sit back, and relax, as we toke and talk about the first 90 minutes!

Starting this session off at 6:50 pm with three hits of a joint, the taste is earthy, with a menthol kick that seems to hit right in the back of your throat. There are undertones of pine that are left on the pallet upon exhale. The scent is a combination of earth and pine, which reminds me of this one particular place where I love to sit and eat lunch in the middle of the forest when I hike in my favorite spot. Four minutes in my brain feels like it’s relaxing. That’s really the only way I can describe it. I feel like my thoughts are disintegrating into dust, and I am on autopilot. My body is following in sync. I’m relaxed, calm, and my mood has already started to lift.

At 7:02 p.m., I feel amazing. My anxiety has stopped, and this autopilot thing is great. My whole body feels relaxed, yet it knows exactly how to respond to things I need to do. For example, my wife came in with my dog, who had gotten messy outside and needed a bath before she could be in the house. Although my head feels very floaty, and right now it sort of feels like it’s filled with helium, and my whole body feels extremely loose and relaxed, I jumped right up, grabbed my dog from my wife, put her in the sink, and started washing her. Didn’t think about it, there was no mental delay, and I didn’t even realize I had moved so fast until I was in the kitchen washing her. This was also going on while I’m trying to cook dinner, which was about to come out of the oven in less than ten minutes. That normally would completely freak me out and send me stressing like mad, yet I don’t feel an ounce of stress. My mood is happy, upbeat, and somehow I managed to finish washing the dog and cooking dinner with the same stress-free, relaxed demeanor.

At 7:30 p.m., I am checking in a little late on this one. I became a little distracted talking and missed the 7:20 p.m. mark. This strain has me unbelievably calm. My mood is upbeat and happy, and I’m able and interested in socializing if someone starts up a conversation, but I am also content to remain a quiet observer. My body is completely relaxed, and I feel a tingling sensation running through the most tense areas of my body, like my neck, spine, and shoulders. I’m not sure how many of you have ever been to a physical therapist or have purchased one of those ab belts online, but those muscle pulsars, if you were to put those on the most subtle level possible, where you almost couldn’t feel them, that would be how I would describe this. I do not feel an ounce of anything negative at this time, other than a minor case of dry mouth. My body feels completely tension and pain-free, as if I took a muscle relaxer. My mind is relaxed as well as stress and anxiety free. My head still feels like it is floating and filled with helium, and my mood is so happy that I don’t think anything could rattle me. I still am experiencing the autopilot function mode, which is nice because I am able to function despite this deep relaxation and mood uplift.

At 7:50 p.m., the autopilot mode prevails, along with a sudden onset of the munchies. I’m not sure I have ever felt such relaxation without any couchlock. My mental stress and anxiety continue to remain away, and my body continues to feel a river of relaxation flowing through it. The tingling in my neck, back, and shoulders continues, and my mood uplift has me in a place of happiness that I wish I would never come down from. I am still experiencing the dry mouth, but it is very minor. One thing I am noticing has shifted though is my level of clarity. Although my head still feels airy, there is a level of clarity that was not there in the earlier check-ins. It’s not so much a clarity that improves focus, as it is a clarity that allows you to clearly process certain information or situations and see them from an angle without stress and anxiety provoking a fight or flight response before completing your first thought. This is definitely one that makes it easier to step back from situations and process all sides. When I have tried to do this in the past, the anxiety always sets in, no matter what strain I use. At the very least, I usually find myself physically tensing up. This is not the case tonight, instead, this processing and clarity are met with calm, mellow, relaxation, objectivity, and happiness.

Rounding the corner to our 90 minute mark at 8:20 p.m., I am finding it easy to concentrate enough to sit down and read a book and stay engaged in what I am reading. My head still feels airy, and my body relaxed. My mood remains extremely happy, and the level of clarity seems to be increasing. There has been no return of any tension or anxiety, and I still feel completely calm and mellow. Normally, I love to read but it is difficult for me to sit still for too long. I get distracted, I get antsy, and I lost interest after five to ten minutes, regardless of whether I love the story. I am not feeling that way right now. I am caught up in my book, just caught up in my own world. Physically, my body feels amazingly relaxed, despite the tingling sensation having stopped along with the dry mouth.

I continued to time the effects until completion. The cerebral effects ended at 8:52 p.m. leaving me with a nice, calm, relaxed mind. Although I could tell the effects had worn off, the anxiety and stress had not returned. I remained happy, just to a more average level. At 9:06 p.m. I felt the last of the physical effects fizzle out. My body was left with a post-massage sensation. I am truly impressed with Hurkle all around. Not only did the effects of this bud last more than two hours, but it quickly targeted and annihilated my stress, tension, anxiety, and agitation almost immediately. The mood boost and crazy body relaxation makes this bud one amazing package! As far as functionality, I would not use this as an anytime strain because of how fuzzy and airy my head felt, which made it difficult to focus throughout the majority of the effects. That being said, I would use this strain at a much earlier time in the day, and then three to four hours after medicating go about my activities once the psychoactive effects have worn off. The level of clarity, calmness of mind, lack of stress, and overall mental and physical relaxation are very focus boosting and really seem to have helped peak my mental sharpness. It is similar to getting a very restful sleep and waking up refreshed. This is something I will be keeping on hand as a mood enhancer, an anxiety reducer, and to use to help aid in relaxation. Not only was it very effective, but the only negative was a minor case of dry mouth. This is one I will be adding to my cannabis cabinet! I wish I could go higher than 5 stars ⭐️, but since I can’t, 5 stars⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️! Sira, amazing job, amazing product. Keep it up!

If you are a patient or adult above the age of 21 in Massachusetts, Sira’s Hurkle flower is sold at the following dispensary locations:

Sira Naturals:

Cambridge- Medical only

Somerville- Medical only

Needham- Medical & by appointment only

Well my friends, we have reached the end of this review. Thank you for joining me, and stay tuned for more product reviews!!

Disclaimer

*****Please remember, this blog is an account of my personal experience with this product. Not everyone has the same experience with every product, and that’s okay. I always recommend starting out with one to two hits to see if that is enough, and you can always increase your dose from there.*****

Also, if you find this post helpful, please help me get the word out to other patients by liking and re-blogging this post! Thanks!

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seriouslyhooked · 6 years

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Scoring Your Love (Part 10/?)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven, Part Eight. Story also on FF here and AO3 here. Banner by the wonderful @timetravelandfairytales

Modern AU where Killian is a world famous soccer star who has hit rock bottom and been sentenced to the place where ‘football’ legends go to die – America. While here he crosses paths with Emma, an up and coming musician and film scorer who challenges everything he thought he knew and makes him want more than the game he’s always loved. Will be filled with fluff for days, and eventually rated M.

A/N: Hello again, friends! So as promised we finally get to the M rating in this chapter, but we also get another important check in before then. I mean come on, you didn’t think I was just going to forget about Liam, did you? Well he’ll make an appearance of sorts in this chapter, and though we’ll end in my usual fluffy place, we’re sowing some seeds of intrigue for later. Hope you all enjoy and thanks so much for reading!

In all his years playing in the professional leagues, Killian had managed the intensity and the strange schedules of a sportsman’s life better than most of his fellow teammates.

To be sure there were some more destructive habits he had formed, drinking a bit too much, surrounding himself with the kind of people who were interested just in the fame and the fortune, but on the whole he hadn’t fallen victim to the same bad moods that most other men did. Leaving home for so long and being apart from family took a toll on anybody, but Killian had never felt he was leaving too much behind. Since it was only ever Liam who he had as a given in his life, and since his brother was also his manager and as such was on the road with him more often than not, Killian didn’t feel the weight of separation.

Now, however, things were changing. One might argue it was because he was on the American circuit and his new games weren’t in enthralling places like Paris or Milan, but in small suburbs outside cities he’d never thought to see. Yet Killian knew that the real reason for the change was simpler than that. The problem was home – or rather Los Angeles – had a certain person in residence who did not get to come on these trips with him, and the more he got to know Emma Swan, the harder it was to take these jaunts out on the road for the sake of a game. It was likely crazy to feel this way, but Killian wouldn’t lie to himself. He missed Emma when he was gone, and finally he understood all that regret other more settled teammates had been feeling all these years.

It was of great comfort to him then that tonight he was back at his place in LA once more. Minutes ago he’d said goodbye to Tiny down stairs and now Killian was filled with anticipation and a need to get things going. He could do with a shower straight away, and food would probably be a good thing this time of night when he’d had none so far, but any unpacking could wait until morning. Right now Killian was hoping to speed things up as much as he could to get to Emma. He pulled out his phone and started to craft a text seeing if she was still up. It wasn’t too late yet, and he knew from their conversations this morning that she didn’t have any early morning commitments tomorrow, but he’d hate to call and disturb her if her plans had changed. Unfortunately just as he was about to press send on the text, a call came in disrupting him. A picture of his brother and Liam’s name appeared on the screen and Killian groaned at the interruption, but decided to answer in the hopes of conducting a speedy conversation.

“Liam, I’m sorry I haven’t checked in the past few days, but I’m actually just -,”

“You’re not seriously blowing me off are you, Killian?” his brother asked from where he was half a world away, and though to others it might sound a bit standoffish, Killian could sense his brother was actually in good humor. He could envision the smirk Liam had going there across the pond, and he was glad things had started to calm between them since Killian was first shipped off to the states. “It’s been a whole week at this point.”

“Aye, it’s bad form to be dodging my manager, I know,” Killian agreed.

“Ha! Your manager – I’m your brother first Killian, as you well know. Question is, what’s got you so busy. You’re ‘on a roll’ as they say over there. Stats are looking good and there’s still a buzz about you over here. But are the States so entirely exhausting that you can’t call your family?”

“Not quite,” Killian said with a smile of his own as he looked about his apartment figuring he could kill two birds with one stone. He could straighten up a bit on the off chance Emma could come here later and also touch base with his brother.

“So what is it then?” Liam asked and Killian hesitated, not because he had any shame over his relationship with Emma. On the contrary, he was thrilled that the two of them were progressing as they were. Instead his worry came from Liam’s potential reaction, and that worry was proved of merit when Liam spoke again. “Oh for fuck’s sake, tell me it’s not some woman.”

“Liam -,” Killian wanted to immediately correct his brother’s resentfulness and assure him Emma was different and unlike anyone he’d known before, but he didn’t have the chance with Liam fully blowing up at the realization.

“God, I knew this ‘new leaf’ was too good to be true! Here I am campaigning for you, working my arse off to get your image back where it needs to be for a proper team return, and you’re shagging some random American woman and throwing it all away!”

“I’m not throwing anything away. And she’s not just some woman,” Killian growled back, his hand balling into a fist and his body tightening in anger at his brother’s harsh iterations.

“Oh I bet. If you’ve glommed on to her she’s bound to be a total disaster,” Liam said haughtily. “Let me guess: she’s a great lay right? But with her sexual abilities there’s always some kind of rubbish. My bet its either a fully-stunted personality or some sort of fucked up gold-digging ambitions. Am I right?”

“No you aren’t bloody right, and I’m telling you Liam if you don’t stop talking about Emma that way you will regret it.”

“Oh Emma is it?”

“Aye, Emma,” Killian said, releasing a breath and trying to be the bigger person here. He could admit that he had made bad choices in the past, and the fall out of those choices had made Liam’s life and job no doubt more complicated. Rationally Killian knew that he was the one the burden fell on to be the bigger person, but it was difficult when his elder brother was giving in to such theatrics. They both knew Killian hadn’t been in the habit of sleeping with every eligible lady in the whole United Kingdom, that was all a part of his unearned reputation, but hashing that point out in this moment would do nothing. What needed to be said was of an entirely different nature. “I hadn’t planned to get into this just now, I was hoping to introduce the two of you when you came in a few months so you could see that she’s different. She’s everything.”

“Everything? Christ, Killian, she’s just a woman!”

“No, she’s the woman, brother,” Killian said aggressively, and then it dawned on him – this wasn’t worth his time. If Liam was coming at this with such combative, head-strong energy he was never going to listen. As such they were just moving towards a larger fight, a bigger blow out with more hurt along the way. It would be better to shut it down now and deal with the fall out later, at least that way the whole night might not be ruined and he might yet get to see Emma. “You know what, let’s just call and end to this. It’s been a long day, and I’m not interested in whatever judgment you’ve got rattling around in your brain right now. You don’t know Emma, Liam. You don’t know us together. Hell you don’t even really know me anymore. So let’s just say I’ll call you in a week, or better yet you can email me any business particulars and I’ll see you when I see you.”

Killian ended the call before Liam could respond and turned his phone on the ‘do not disturb’ setting. Was it rude? Yes, but it felt warranted under the circumstances. He didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life, and when his brother felt a little more compassionate and a little more interested in trusting Killian’s judgment they’d speak again. For now, Killian returned once more to the text he was about to send Emma only to hear a knock at the door. Now who could that be this time of night?

“Can I help you?” Killian asked as he opened the door to his apartment. A young man with a bike stood before him and the kid nodded, handing Killian a package and a tablet for a signature.

“Delivery for Jones.”

“Right. Thanks, mate,” Killian said as he accepted. He shut the door behind him and examined the parcel. He knew he hadn’t ordered anything but when he saw the return address he grinned. It was from Emma. But what could it be?

Opening it up Killian discovered it was of all things a cassette tape and an accompanying player. Thank God she’d thought to include that last part because he certainly didn’t have one, but before he could listen he had to search for a note. He found a short one attached and read it as quick as he could.

‘This song wouldn’t exist without us.’

Killian felt his pulse quickening as he maneuvered the tape out of its holder and into the player, his conversation with his brother all but forgotten. It was a Walkman style set up, something straight out of the 90s but the fun of the nostalgia was undeniable. He was already in the best mood possible by the time he had the headphones on, but then he pressed play on the tape and he was awed into something else.

The music that came through the device and into his ears was unexpected but brilliant. It moved him in a way he truly hadn’t seen coming. This was no mixtape of throwback songs, this was something new, something bold, and something truly remarkable. Killian was certain it was one of Emma’s own compositions, and he stood there surrounded by the essence of her music trying to fathom how one person could have such talent. Too soon the song came to an end, but just as Killian was about to hit rewind to play it again Emma’s voice flittered through the air giving the name of the song, ‘Ready for You,’ and the intended scene it should go with on the series she was working on with Tiana.

Another realization dawned at that part, not just from the title, but from the purpose of the song as well. He’d been speaking with Emma on and off all week about the orchestrations she needed to work on, and one of them was the theme for one of the show’s heroines and her love interest. According to Emma the two characters (neither of which were played by Ruby) were ‘endgame,’ and he was now sworn to secrecy because no one knew of that except for Emma and Tiana. So to have Emma saying that it was their relationship that sparked this kind of music with this intended meaning… well it was just about the clearest way he could think for Emma to show him that she was in fact ready for the next step between them.

Understanding now what Emma’s intention must have been Killian moved swiftly, abandoning his original plans and throwing on his leather jacket once more. He grabbed his phone, debating as he walked to the doorway whether or not he should call Emma on the way. Such debate was not actually needed, however, because when he opened the door again he very nearly ran into the woman he was trying to get to in such a haste.

“Emma,” he declared, shocked that she would be here but so bloody grateful he couldn’t find the words.

“Hey. I was hoping you were back by now, and I got the delivery receipt for the package, but I didn’t think you would have plans already,” Emma said as she took in his appearance that was ready for departure. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I’ll just -,”

Not wanting Emma to doubt even for a moment that he was thrilled she had come, Killian pulled her to him and kissed her out there in the hallway. He felt her wariness slip away the instant their lips met and through some sort of coordination he couldn’t actively control he maneuvered them both inside of his apartment. Words weren’t needed as he got them inside and pushed Emma against the now closed door, his body fueled by the feel of hers beneath him and the way she held on to him like she loathed the very thought of being parted. There was no space between them, no end to the passion in sight, but Killian wanted one last affirmation before they took this final plunge.

“Stay with me tonight, love,” he whispered as his mouth remained just inches from hers. He watched her eyes open, the jade color now darkened from the exchange they’d just had but they lit with the smile she shared at his request.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

With her approval Killian locked the door and now the decision wasn’t one of how far to go but just exactly how to play it. He’d fantasized about this almost since their first meeting, concocted at least a hundred scenarios in his head and imagined each corner of this apartment as having some kind of potential, but the first time he was truly with Emma, Killian knew it had to be in bed. That wasn’t to say they were in any kind of rush though, and the build up, of which he was planning quite a lot, could happen anywhere she damn well pleased.

Emma, meanwhile, had no problem indicating what she wanted. She was unwilling to break away from him, kissing him surely as she had been, both of their hands roaming, leaving trails that inspired more hunger along the way. It was as if they were famished for the connection and too long denied the promise of this part of their chemistry. In no time at all Emma had managed to rid Killian of his jacket and most of the buttons on his shirt while also leading them to the living room. She was making good time, trying to tear away the layers that separated them until they were all gone, but it seemed it wasn’t fast enough, as Emma looked at him and let out a frustrated sigh of air.

“Something wrong, Swan?” Killian asked with a grin, knowing full well there was nothing the world over that could possibly be calculated as amiss when he and Emma were like this. No, her frustration was all of a sexual nature, and he watched as his words, rough from the need he had for her, washed over her skin and sent a shiver through her.

“This is taking too long,” she said with what might have been considered a pout and Killian chuckled as they moved in through the kitchen and come up against the counter. Then he surprised her by spinning her in his embrace and coming right up behind her, his hands clasped on her waist to pull her back.

Killian pushed her blonde hair over her shoulder, his lips trailing down from her ear lobe and lower, finding a spot at her neck he’d noticed that she was sensitive at before. He took slow, torturous care of riling her up in a way that had her wanting all the more, his hands moving across the delicate dress that clung to her figure. He knew in his heart she’d worn this for him, in the hopes of pushing things further tonight, and he had no more ability to resist. This scrap of red silk was beautiful, but it couldn’t compare to the woman underneath and Killian was ready to reveal his prize. He unzipped it with just enough patience to tease them both and then he let the garment fall as he pushed the straps off her bared shoulders.

“We have all night, Emma,” he assured her as his fingertips traced her now mostly naked flesh. “And far longer too, as you well know.”

Killian watched the harsh swallow that came at his words, but Emma wasn’t running from his actions or his words. Instead she turned back around in his arms and took control back once more, pulling him in for another needy kiss that he caved into immediately. So much for slowing this down, Killian thought to himself. Now Emma was even more set on finding release, and he was right there with her.

“I know we have time,” Emma said when they came up for air again and her eyes locked on his, her hand trailing down to the button of his slacks, grazing down his bare chest and abs in the process and making his already undeniable ache to have her grow. “And trust me, I’m happy for it. But we’ve already waited so long… I don’t think I can stand to wait anymore. I need you, Killian. I need you now.”

What more was there to say? When the woman he loved made her wants and wishes known it was Killian’s job to see to it that he did everything he could to procure them for her. It was in no way a hardship given how much he wanted her as well, and besides, they could have the slow and steady seduction he’d anticipated later. Far, far later after he’d wrung out every last drop of passion from her tonight.

They hurried back to his room, both of them of the same mind this time and now words weren’t needed any more. Their remaining clothes were stripped away, and by the time they’d hit the bed they were both beyond rational planning or design. This was pure instinct, and all Killian could think was that he had to make her come, had to satisfy every last desire his Swan could have. He knew he was on his way to accomplishing that as he moved above her, his lips tracing down her body past the tender peaks of her breasts, over the gentle swell of her stomach, and down to the space between her thighs that had been driving him mad for weeks.

“Killian.”

Emma said his name not in warning or in censure but as a sigh of need. His eyes flicked back up to hers and he saw the nearly wild appearance that had settled in them. Lust had consumed her, and Killian had known as much without even looking. Every sound, every movement that came from Emma told him exactly what she wanted, and he was nothing if not persistent when it came to reading the signs. Because of this he knew that even as she pleaded for him to sate her desire immediately, she actually wanted just a touch more anticipation. He bit lightly at her inner thigh, feeling her jump and then shake underneath the soothing of his tongue after. He did the same thing to the other side, moving closer to her sex, and only after a few more heartbeats did he give in, tasting her on his tongue as she let herself go to the sensations.

It was an out of body experience to know he was giving Emma so much all at once. Nothing could compare to it, and he didn’t even think to try and draw connections. This was already so much more than a simple shag; it was intimacy designed with meaning and with purpose. Every flick of his tongue, every suck, every kiss, was all done in the name of seeing Emma reach heaven itself, but when she finally fell into the ecstasy she was seeking it was Killian who was flush with fulfillment. It became clear that this was rapidly becoming an addiction, and as he kissed his way back up her body and came above her, looking at the pink that had crept into her cheeks and the satisfaction that swam about her gaze, Killian realized there would be no coming back from Emma Swan. This woman had run away with his heart completely and he was fundamentally changed from knowing and loving her.

Their tender moment was short lived however, for Emma had sacrificed none of her energy in finding her enjoyment. Indeed she surprised him, switching their positions and undertaking a perusal of her own that left him reeling. Damn she was a siren, a bloody minx who was hell bent on riling him to a state that would be unforgiveable, but how could he blamed when she had her mouth on him? It was sublime and indescribable, but when he was just at the edge of falling apart himself he stopped her and took back the reins once more. The time for waiting was over. All he could think about was filling her, sheathing himself inside her and never turning back.

“Fuck,” he grunted to himself as he paused just before taking what they both wanted.

“That’s kind of the idea,” Emma said with a laugh that turned into a slight moan from her still lingering desire. “What’s the hold up here, Jones?”

“I left the condoms on the counter. Just a minute, love.” He moved to get them but Emma held tighter and shook her head.

“You don’t have to. I’m on the pill.”

Holy shit, he didn’t know what to say to that and his hard length jerked at the words. The thought of being with Emma without a barrier was enough to drive him mad. If things were already blindingly glorious between them, what indescribable ecstasy would be procured from taking her bare?

“Are you sure, Emma? I’m clean of course. Just had my physicals with the new team doctors, and I’ve never actually gone without…”

“Me either,” Emma replied softly as her hand came to brush some of his hair from his forehead. “But I want to. With you.”

Since that want was of a fully mutual variety Killian offered no rebuttal, only giving in and taking what they both were craving so desperately. The moment he filled her was too fantastic to put to words, and he could have stayed there forever if Emma hadn’t begged him to move. The rhythm they set was perfection itself, crafted from a bond needed between two people that couldn’t ever be contrived. It made the claims of stories and fairytales, the ones about soul mates and perfect matches seem a little more realistic, for surely this could never be this way with another. This love he felt for Emma was cosmic, causing a shift Killian swore he could feel down to his bones, but when it came to an end and they both cried out in relief, it was the aftermath that truly took his breath away.

Holding onto Emma and having her in his arms cuddled beside him was a luxury he knew she rarely bestowed on others. Emma was guarded, cautious, and careful with her heart. She had been wary at the start, and with good reason, but as weeks went on Emma admitted that getting close to people always scared her. Truth be told Killian had often felt the same way. Love was a means of getting hurt, a fanciful notion that distracted from the game and never worked out in the end, but his old cynical notions of love no longer held water. For in this moment there was no way to deny what was between them. Tonight both Emma and Killian had shed the last pieces of doubt and of caution, and now they were truly in this together.

“So that was…” Emma paused as her fingers traced over his chest and a smile bloomed upon her lips. “Definitely worth waiting for.”

“On that we most certainly agree, love,” Killian said happily, seeing the call of sleep washing over Emma and feeling a similar tug into slumber himself.

“And I’m waking you up in a few hours for more,” she joked with a yawn. “You promised, no more waiting.”

“Aye, Swan. No more waiting. Not any more.”

He pressed a final kiss to the crown of her head, and a few moments later, as sleep finally claimed them both, Killian fell asleep smiling, knowing that life held so much promise now that he had Emma. And no matter what came next, and no matter where their paths might lead, Killian would do whatever it took to keep them like this – happy, connected, and together – for now and for always.

Post-Note: So there we have it. Another chapter come and gone and we find our couple just about in the happiest spot they can be. Rest assured this story, like all my stories so far, intends to give CS truly happy situations, and while there will be some bumps in the road ahead, it’s smooth sailing for the time being. Anyway I thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and messaging me! Your enthusiasm has been wonderful and I love hearing your thoughts. Hope you have a great rest of your weekend and thanks for being fabulous!

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs ff #cs fluff #cs au #cs mc #emma swan #killian jones #the whole storybrooke gang #liam jones #scoring your love au #Scoring Your Love #scoring 10 #ouat soccer fic #cs soccer fic #soccer star killian #musician!Emma

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emmaekay · 6 years

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Kotonari IV - Future, Complete Chapter

AN: I’ve literally been working on this for like 8 hours. Hopefully it’s worth reading. I’m gonna go eat some pizza and pass out now.

Kotonari IV – Future

The Boy walked next to the King, who was still in just his nightrobe, as they walked through the castle. This place, too, was different in his time. The thrones on the dais were the first difference The Boy had noticed – this King Vegeta’s throne was black marble, 90 degree angles, sharp and uncomfortable looking. You looked at the King, you looked at the throne, and you realized that you needed to speak quickly, clearly, concisely for it was apparent that the King didn’t intend to spend all that much time on his throne.

The gilded, plush, jewel inlaid throne next to it, The Boy assumed it belonged to his grandmother Queen, gave you just the opposite problem. You looked upon that throne and realized that the comfortable Queen would take all day, had all the time in the world, to patiently wait for you to run out of words, out of excuses, out of your mind before she passed judgement upon whatever issue you’d brought to her.

The two thrones were entirely missing from The Boy’s world. His father took no audiences, and so had no need of a place to sit and make proclamations. The dais was still there, and on the rare occasions that he addressed his soldiers or his son, he stood upon it and screamed down. The room itself was bare of everything in that future, totally bereft of the painted royals whose portraits hung on the walls now. Dark King Vegeta took no guidance from his ancestors, nor indeed from anyone at all.

The King raised a hand in greeting to the same guard who had admitted The Boy. “Cress. You wisely admitted this child. A threat against the crown is made. Send word for the entire Crown’s Battalion to awaken, make ready for a highly dangerous opponent to attack the castle. One third of the battalion should go directly to the Prince’s estate and guard the Queen and Princess who are currently sequestered there.”

Cress stood immediately to attention. “At once, sire!”

“And wake Nappa up. Send him to the estate. I need his counsel.”

“N…appa’s, sire?” Cress paused a moment. Nobody had ever – ever – wanted Nappa’s counsel in Cress and Nappa’s entire life. They were cousins, playmates, sparring partners and friends… but he wouldn’t ask Nappa for counsel on anything other than spirits, and even that advice could be taken as dubious. The only other royal to ever send for Nappa directly was Vegeta, who liked the old fool for reasons that weren’t ever apparent. They had gone off world together many times, Nappa and the Prince. Perhaps that was connected to this, Cress thought.

“Did I misspeak, soldier? Nappa. Now. Crown’s Battalion, also now. Move!” King Vegeta ordered the younger Saiyan, who immediately saluted before running down the hall at the highest speed he was capable of, past the paintings, the plush couches, over the thick ruby red carpets, down the hall and around the corner and out of The Boy’s sight.

In the future, the castle was a dark, echoing place. None of this – the carpets, the paintings, the crystal, the gilded banisters, the guards and service people – none of it was there in the castle that The Boy had grown up in. There were no servants, no housekeepers, no cooks, no cleaners, no guards… only himself and his father for the last eight years, and the dry bones of his beloved twin sister rattling in the howling wind against the iron gate.

The Boy had imagined that he spoke to her spirit often, imagined that she grew up with him, that he had hidden her away instead of letting her confront their father. Just ten, just ten – and ten she would always be, and just four feet tall, and just dry bones to haunt him – always. The Boy tried to clear the image from his mind as he and the King passed through that same, but different, gate.

This path he knew well, the winding and beaten path through the castle garden and down into a gully and up over this hill to the Prince’s estate. The Boy would come here often, whenever he could, whenever his father wasn’t beating him unconscious in their “training,” whenever his father wasn’t sending him to fly over cities and encampments to tell him how many “traitors” still lived on “his planet,” whenever he could get a free second to himself.

The Boy and the King crested that same, but different, hill now and The Boy gasped in shock. He had never seen the estate like this – the lawn trimmed, the hedge fence even and brambleless, the roof solid, the door intact. It looked like a real mansion, not a haunted husk – not the corpse that it became. Best of all and most different to The Boy, there were lights and warmth within and he could see someone moving against one of the kitchen windows. He knew that silhouette’s head of long hair, the lithe frame, the short stature - could it be? The Boy broke into a run.

He burst through the side door that lead directly into the kitchen and cried out, “BERI!” banging the door against the wall hard enough to crack the glass inlaid. The woman in the kitchen jumped in surprise at the sudden violence and dropped a tray of biscuits right onto the floor. The Boy burned his hand on the open oven door as he brushed past it to throw his arms around Beri’s aproned waist, falling to his knees and burying his head in her apron, crying again.

“Uh, I, uh, sire?” Beri turned her confused eyes to the King who stood in the doorway.

“I can’t believe you’re alive! Beri!” The Boy laughed and cried and stood and straightened himself up, rubbing the back of his head in that same way Daiku did after he’d done something foolish.

Speak of the Saiyan, Daiku had felt her confusion and was now thumping down the hallway to see what the hell was going on. He rounded the corner to see a strange young man holding his Beri’s hands, laughing and crying and babbling some kind of nonsense. He also noticed a full batch of his favorite biscuits rolling around on the floor, and he scooped two of them up as he strode into the room.

“What in -omf- ninety eight hells is going -omf- here?” Daiku shoved the bread in his mouth between words. He wanted to know what was going on, yeah, but he also wanted his first meal in 27 hours. As his attention left the bread, he saw the King in the doorway. “Uh… sire,” he added.

The Boy dropped Beri’s hands as soon as Daiku spoke, and was transfixed to the spot, staring at Daiku like he’d seen a ghost. In one way, he was seeing a ghost, but the man who stood before him had not been killed yet. The Boy jumped clean over top of Beri and threw his arms around Daiku’s massive shoulders. “SENSEI! YOU’RE ALIVE, TOO!”

“Uh… yep?” He cocked an eyebrow and opened his hands in confusion, gesturing toward the King and mouthing, What is going on?

“First things first,” the King began, “How is the Queen, how is the Princess, did you find the doctor, what is his progress, and where is my son?” the King ticked off his questions, one through five, on his fingertips.

Beri answered the first two, “My lord, your wife is strong. She is helping Bulma recover a memory right now, but based on her previous meditative sessions, she should be awake within perhaps 15 minutes. The Princess Bulma’s body is healed; the damage to her womb was significant, but her near death was caused by blood on the brain. The Queen has secured two of the five tethers on Bulma’s soul already.”

Daiku dislodged The Boy’s death grip from his shoulders, shoving a biscuit from the floor into the kid’s interrupting mouth. “You next.” He turned his attention to the King. “My lord, I found the doctor on the north road out of Caarte and brought him here directly to heal the Princess and relieve some of the strain on the Queen. Prince Vegeta chose a different route to look for the doctor, and we were separated about 14 hours ago. I do not know where he is.” The King stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I see. How was he when you parted?”

“Distracted, my lord, frantic, at the edge of rage. I would be the same way in his position. After I have eaten, I intend to go find him.”

“Belay that for the moment. Boy, tell them what you told me, answer whatever questions they have, eat something. I need to see the Queen.” The King strode forth, hem of his tunic flapping. “He has on absolutely no pants.” Daiku noted aloud. “Huh.” He sat down at the kitchen table, laden with a hearty stew, biscuits, rice, potatoes, four roasted shanks of some animal, fruits on ice and vegetables piled high and steaming. Daiku pulled several plates and began ladling food on each. Beri brought another tray of Daiku’s favorite biscuits and several baskets of berries and began serving herself as well. The Boy stared. How long had it been since he’d seen a table laid with so much? All The Boy could cook was rice because it was the only food stuff that was ever delivered to the castle. Rice and rice and rice for … was it really ten years since Beri and Daiku had been killed?

“Eat.” Daiku shoved an empty plate at The Boy. “Some sorrows are smaller on a full stomach.”

“You told me that once.” The Boy nodded and the trace of a smile began to emerge.

“Did I? Feel like I’d remember that.”

“About eight years from now, you’ll find me crying for my mother, who I never knew. I was here, exploring, and I found her journals and her jewelry. I gave the jewelry to my sister and I kept the journals for myself. I would come here and read her notes, try to imagine her voice, try to imagine my father the way she described him. He used to sing to us, when we were in our mother’s belly.”

Daiku ate, scraping his first plate and lading it again with another helping of meat and stew. “Eight years from now, but you speak of it as if it happened long ago.”

Beri looked at The Boy, eyes widening. “How can it be?” Tears pricked her eyes and Daiku felt her joy and sadness both pass through the Keiyaku. “How can it be? How can it be?” Beri jumped up from her seat, abandoning her dinner and hugging The Boy tightly. “Daiku, this is the little prince!”

“You’re insane.”

“Daiku, look at him! Look at his eyes, look at his ha-“ Beri started to exclaim.

“Not you,” he waved the woman off. “What, am I blind? Am I dumber than Nappa? Look at his face, feel his ki. Of course this is Vegeta’s whelp.” He gestured toward The Boy with the knife he’d been using to butter a biscuit. “No, I meant you. You’re nuts if you think Vegeta ever sang to anyone in his life.”

The Boy exploded into laughter. That’s just what Daiku said the first time he’d read the passage from his mother’s journal and asked Daiku what his father’s singing voice had been like. “I can’t believe you’re still here. Beri, the first memory I have of anyone other than my sister is of you, you know?”

Beri sat back down in her place at the table. “How can this be? Your little body is sleeping sound upstairs! The King told me to take you home when I leave here in the morning, though I may not leave here for a few days. But either way! You’re just a baby, and yet you’re – you look old enough to be nearly independent!”

The Boy straightened up in is chair a little. “I’ll have you know I am of the age of independence.” He smiled sheepishly. “Just yesterday.”

“Tell us how you came to be here.” Daiku spoke around a mouthful of meat.

So The Boy repeated his story, much of the sorrow already gone out of him like a tide withdrawing from the edge of the sea, forced away by the bright power of the moon. Daiku and Beri, like parents to him and his sister, were the moon to him. He told them of his father’s descent into darkness, of the war that wiped them out. Of the rips and rifts in time, hanging open like windows or doorways in the air there to walk through.

“I flew right through one once, without realizing it, you know? It was just air opening into air. And I must’ve been in the decades in the past… there were lizard creatures everywhere and Saiyans in chains. It looked like something from out of the Saiyan histories you used to bop me over the head with. Icejin bastards everywhere, but I thought about freeing them – the Saiyans, I mean. I thought maybe I could get them through the window, back to my time.” “Reinforcements. Not a foolish idea.” Daiku agreed.

“But it was. Look at me. I don’t look Saiyan. And anyway I was spotted by Frieza’s men within minutes. I’m fast, though, really fast, I mean – even my sister and you couldn’t keep up with me, Beri.”

Beri made a little impressed noise, mouth full as she chewed “Mmm!” Beri’s speed was somewhat legendary among Saiyans, as she was lithe and small of stature instead of tall and thickly muscled like most Saiyans. Anytime someone would make fun of her diminutive stature, she’d say she was –

“Built for speed! Like you always say,” The Boy exclaimed. “Anyhow, I just took the hell off out of there, you know? It took me weeks to find the door in the air, though. I spent… a lot of time on the run, then. Frieza’s men weren’t that tough though.”

“Not that tough?!” Frieza’s forces were notoriously strong. No way had this scrawny kid held his own, much less brushed them off.

The Boy shrugged, though. “I mean, I don’t know. Maybe they put the weak ones here on Vegetasei to keep guard or something.”

Daiku frowned deeply. “That’s not – anyway. How’d you get home?”

“I found the window, eventually. My own time, it smells different. The air does, I mean. Even when Frieza’s men were on the planet, it still had some greenery and some nature. My time… doesn’t. It’s all just blasted down to the dirt. The land has been razed entirely – burnt, stripped, ki blasted into oblivion. Most of Vegetasei is just dead and desert dry. The Allewater river is poisoned, the Namekian’s grudge in it’s waters make it deadly for any Saiyan to touch, let alone drink. That’s,” the faraway look stole back into The Boy’s eyes, “that really where it all went wrong, I think. So many people were poisoned by the water, and that started a panic. The Dark King, he took advantage of that panic to stir the whole country into civil war.”

The Boy tightened his fist around his fork. “We just… Saiyans just… kept dying. You know? Just dying. And my father… seemed happy about it.”

Daiku knit his brows together. That wasn’t right – Vegeta loved Saiyans, he was proud of being a Saiyan, he wasn’t a complete madman… this couldn’t be true, could it? “How many dead?” “All of the women. Maybe 200 men remain. We’re effectively extinct.” The Boy told him.

“Hundreds of thousands dead?”

“At a minimum.”

“My Beri?”

The Boy cast his eyes down. “I was small, only eight. You both died in battle against offworld mercenaries hired by my father to put down the rebel fighters in Asket. They conscripted your house. The worst, the worst men in the galaxy. One grabbed Beri, you went for his throat with your teeth – it was a brawl in seconds.” The Boy began to tremble. “I snatched my sister up by the hand and we just ran and ran. We hid here, in the dilapidated remains of our birthhome for a day, maybe more. When we returned, you were both gone. I’m… sorry.”

Daiku reached under the table and put his hand on Beri’s knee. Yes, he would die for her in an instant, and he would kill anyone who intended to touch her without her permission in half that. Beri gave her husband’s hand a squeeze. “What are you sorry for? You were eight, little prince. I’m sorry I failed to protect you.”

“As am I,” Daiku spoke. “You called me ‘sensei,’ but I must not have been a very good one.”

“Sensei, no. You taught us how to survive. Both of you did. You kept us alive when we were babies, my father would never have cared enough to keep us alive – Beri, you were like a mother to me and my sister. We loved you – love you – very much. Both of you, sensei.”

“Where is your sister?” Beri asked, a little excited to see if she was correct about the little princess growing up into a beauty. “Did she come through the rift with you?”

“No, I… she – I…” tears welled in The Boy’s eyes and he angrily dashed them away. “How long ago?” Daiku asked simply. No details needed. Clinical. Spare the boy any more pain. His eyes were already red and swollen with crying when he arrived, he was barely picking at his food – the child was on the edge of shaking apart, dissolving into the kind of melancholy from which there was no return.

“Eight years.”

“How?” “My,” he choked, cleared his throat, scrubbed at his eyes again. “My father.”

“Was it –“

“Murder, it was murder plain and simple – he just, he just, he just…” cracks in his voice so far away, he looked suddenly so small, a little boy of just ten, and tears poured out of him then. Beri jumped up and threw her arms around him, gathering him to her like a mother hen, kissing the top of his head. “Shh now, shh. It’s not going to happen like that this time, I promise you that, child. Not this time. Shhh, your sister is upstairs and when she wakes you’ll see her and hold her. Shhh.” And she stroked his hair with such mother-kindness and such fierce love, he felt even more like a little boy again.

“And that brings us to the heart of it,” Daiku said at length. “How do we stop it, and what happens when we do? Do you just go -poof- and cease to exist?”

“I don’t know what happens to me, really. When I go through the windows, it seems like everything is just… off. Off on an angle, like the whole world was knocked out of kilter by the wrongness here. And maybe when the thing is prevented, everything will just settle back into the place it always should have been.”

“Hm. Maybe. But how do we stop it, stop him? I don’t suppose I need to tell you that he could kick my ass into space with the difference in our power.”

The Boy snorted sardonically, “No shit.”

“Watch your mouth,” Beri admonished, popping him softly upside the head.

---

“And so, my love, that’s how it is.” The King finished his explanation.

“He must’ve picked up the poison of that asteroid, Vegeta.” Queen Pea, said furiously. “We never should have used it, we should have destroyed it! Look what it’s done to our son.”

Mallumo Asteroid was a dark body, massive, hurtling through space. So large it had its own atmosphere, Mallumo was filled with an evil miasma. The Saiyan King thought if their covert forces could seal some of that miasma in grenade like deployment spheres, they’d be able to use them as an excellent, effective disruption device when defending themselves from the plots of other worlds. He had been wrong – six of the eight Saiyans in the squad sent to Mallumo killed each other on that rock. Only Vegeta and Nappa had left alive, and they didn’t remember anything about how they got off the asteroid.

There was every likelihood that the Malluma miasma was somehow… sentient, and perhaps it allowed Vegeta to live, living itself in his own ruthless heart these last two years, until the stress of recent events gave it the cracks it needed to escape.

Evil is its own self-fulfilling prophecy that way – a little evil makes it easier to do a little more, then that taint on your heart makes it easier to do even worse. Vegeta had always been somewhat ruthless in his dealings with anyone other than the Saiyans, but it was his love for his people that always balanced out the dark things he did to safeguard them.

Now, that darkness had taken over him, manipulated his mind into thinking there was nothing left but the viciousness, the cruelty and the anger in him that sustained the Mallumo miasma in the first place. Without Bulma, he’d forgotten love entirely.

The Queen was right, and this was the most likely explanation for her son’s soon coming betrayal. Now, how to stop it? “Did you send for Nappa?” the Queen demanded.

“Yes, he’s to meet us here. I’ve assembled the Crown’s Battalion, as well. Nappa and Daiku, and even The Boy, will be here and I intend to fight him. Capture him. Fix him.” “See that you do, Vegeta,” her voice still harsh. She reached for his hand with her free one – the right still holding Bulma’s hand, still pouring her power into Bulma, still trying to keep hope alive. “Vegeta…” she whispered. “Do not make me choose.”

She couldn’t imagine having to choose between Bulma, who had become a precious daughter to her and had given her two beautiful grandchildren, and her own dear heart, her King, her Vegeta. She couldn’t imagine the pain of having to let one die to save the other. Even thinking of having to make such a choice stung her eyes with tears like fire.

“No,” King Vegeta reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek. “That will not happen, Pea. It will not.”

“Good,” she sniffed. “Then go get dressed, fool. Running around in your nightrobe.”

“Don’t like the view?” he said, standing and flexing his legs and arms impressively.

“Idiot.” The Queen blushed crimson under the golden glow of her super Saiyan ki. “It’s not… unappreciated.” The King bent double and kissed her head, her face, her lips. “Never fear, my love. Nightrobe or finest armor, I will always come back to you.”

The Queen tipped her chin up to kiss him again, but a little knock at the door disturbed them. “Sorry – it’s Dende. I really need to check on the Princes –“ he said, poking his head into the room. “-ess. Uh, I can come back, she’s probably fine.” Dende flushed plum purple under his cheeks, having caught the King in a state of undress, looming over the queen with her hair in one hand and her chin in the other, both flushed like teenaged Saiyans left unattended.

“Enter. The King is leaving. To dress properly.” The Queen giggled.

The King opened the door to leave, Dende standing aside sheepishly to let the large man come through the doorway before he entered it. “Oh, Vegeta?” the Queen called out, “Send my grandson in here.”

----

After their talk, Daiku and Beri walked into the bedroom where the Princess was sleeping, with The Boy following close behind. He had never seen his mother’s face – no pictures, no portraits or paintings of her had survived his father’s rage. Daiku tapped twice on the door, and The Boy heard the Queen say “enter” in a lovely mellifluous honey warm voice.

He walked in and was rooted to the spot, instantly. His “grandmother” was sitting in a chair alongside the bed, holding another woman’s hand, and she shone with a radiance like sunlight, blonde haired and blue eyed. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life laid sleeping in the bed – long blue hair flowing down around her shoulders, her skin the same creamy pale color as his sister’s had been.

“Are her eyes like mine?” The Boy asked.

“No,” the Queen told him. “They’re sky blue, crystal blue, blue like the clearest water.”

“Did she ever tell you what she was going to name us?” The Boy asked, wonder and joy in his voice.

“No, my dear, she didn’t. What do people call you?” the Queen asked.

“Boy. Or The Boy. My sister was girl.” The Boy lost only a little of his enthusiasm. There she was! His mother! She’s alive! He was in time. He sat down at the edge of the bed, near the queen’s chair. “Can I touch her?”

“Certainly. It will not harm her. Dende has repaired her body, I’ve just been coaxing her soul back into this vessel.” The Queen gestured to the little green doctor, sitting on the couch across the large room.

“Thank you both, for what you’re doing for my mother.” The Boy took Bulma’s free hand, stroking the top of it with his thumb gently. “Mother. I hope you can hear me. I hope you wake up soon. I’ve always, always wanted to hear your voice. I’ve always wanted to meet you, you know? I’ve always wanted to see you.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “I read your journals… no one can believe that dad really sang. When you wake up, can you teach me the melody? Better yet, can you smack some sense into my father? He’s… he’s lost without you.”

Beri walked into the room from the adjacent nursery, holding the tiny newborn Princess in her arms. “She woke up all on her own, just laying there and listening, the second you began to speak.” One tiny hand poked out of her wrappings, the little princess flexed her fingers, almost in an attempt to grab at something. Beri placed the precious little bundle in The Boy’s lap. “Here is your sister.”

The babe wrapped her little hand around The Boy’s finger immediately. He looked down into his lap and for the fourth time today, and the fourth time in eight years, he wept – tears splashing down on the baby, a baptism of protection and a baptism of sorrow all at once. The little princess sneezed.

“That’s right, my little one.” The Queen placed her free hand on The Boy’s head. “No need to cry, big brother, you’ve come to set things right and we will help you. The King will win his fight. You’ll see.” The Queen’s sweet voice was gentle and reassuring in his ear. “I need to meditate and try to contact your mother’s soul.” “Right.” Trunks swiped a hand across his eyes, “Okay, I’m going to go. I’ll see if I can help the King.”

“Oh, no, no. Sit down, you’re coming with me,” the Queen pressed. “With your power as one of the Saiyan Gemini, you should be able to easily attain the necessary power level and focus.”

“The Saiyan what?” The Boy looked at his young grandmother in pure confusion.

“You don’t even know what you are.” The Queen clicked her teeth. “I will explain in greater length what you are and who you are, but for now, suffice it to say that you, in your unascended state are very nearly as strong as I am at this level.”

“What?”

“You are. But that strength requires awareness. You have to know, have to believe, have to have unshakable conviction in your own physical superiority to your opponent. Of course, you’ve been so badly treated, all your life, it’s no wonder you aren’t in tune with that ability yet.” The Queen patted his head. “Daiku, please go find Nappa and get to the King. He must survive whatever is coming – on pain of death, you will return my husband to me.”

“Yes, your highness.” Daiku stole a kiss from Beri on his way out the door, and was gone.

“Beri, please take the babies and Dende and settle them in to sleep. I assume you’ll be staying here, as well, but please sleep soon yourself.”

Beri scooped the little princess up from her brother’s lap. “Yes, highness. Come Dende.”

The little green man was rubbing his eyes and acquiesced instantly. Namekians were definitely not nocturnal. Beri laid the baby down in the nursery, then left the room entirely, Dende in tow.

“Now then,” the Queen began, “Just try to match your ki to mine – the same strength, the same flow.” The Boy studied her form and let his ki flow outward as hers did, a peaceful stream, a pool of water undisturbed. “Yes, that’s just so. Now, focus on my breathing, and I will focus on your mother’s breathing, and we’ll go through together.” The Boy closed his eyes and felt a sleepy pull, a floating feeling, come over him.

“Don’t fight that,” the Queen’s voice rang out in his mind. “It’s only us. Come along.”

---

Bulma stood in the kitchen, about four months pregnant. The antefasting battle was a memory fading into the fabric of their lives, and two months had passed in relative ease. The pregnancy made Bulma prone to fatigue, so Vegeta forbade her from training. He tried to prevent her from even doing yoga, but she insisted that was good for the babies, for the birth, so he let it go.

He let most things go, when it came to Bulma. Most everyone did – it was the effect of the pregnancy, she thought. Vegeta knew it wasn’t. It was her own charm, her own irresistible pull. Meeting her meant befriending her almost instantly, even though she could be abrasive, vulgar, rude and spoiled. She had some power over people. It made her irresistible.

She rummaged through the fridge and Vegeta watched her. The bump of her belly poking out from under a shirt that didn’t really fit anymore, she was piling food on top of it and holding the stack in place with her chin. “Woman, what are you doing?” he asked, one brow raised.

“Look, hee hee,” she giggled, sticking her arms out to the side and holding the sandwiches, fruits and vegetables in place with her chin and her bump alone. She stumbled and tottered, nearly losing her balance, and losing several of her snacks in the process.

“Don’t play around like that!” He jumped up, picking her up, food and all, in his arms. “What if you fall?”

“Oh, Vegeta, really, how much of a clutz do you think I am?”

He just stared at her, his silence the only answer to that question.

“Put me down, husband!” she demanded, pointing her nose in the air and using her most regal tone of voice. Vegeta’s knees almost buckled, but he tightened his grasp on her instead. “Woman, don’t do that,” he said, referring to her ability to turn her words into irresistible commands. Damn flaw of the species, he thought. “What room are you going to?”

Bulma laughed against his chest. “Upstairs sitting room. I’m going to write in my journal a little.” “Mm.” Vegeta mumbled a vaguely affirmative acknowledgement and carried her up the steps to the second floor sitting room she preferred to his own study on this floor. Vegeta walked up the steps, thinking that he’d ask a few attendants to come over and swap the furniture in the two rooms. Maybe then Bulma would stay on the first floor, where she couldn’t fall down any steps.

Deep down, Vegeta knew he was being overprotective. It wasn’t like Bulma went keening down steps every other day, she was actually quite graceful in her own way. But, he thought, kissing the top of her head and depositing her in her favorite chair, he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Call for me when you want to come down, I’ll come get you.”

“Vegeta, I don’t need you to walk me up and down the steps! You’re being weird.”

“It’s this, or I tear the whole second floor off the estate,” he threatened.

“You wouldn’t.” she narrowed her eyes.

“Try me.” He kissed her lips. “I would destroy stars to keep you safe – a house is nothing to me.”

“Vegeta.” She smiled at him warmly and something in his chest tumbled over.

“Call for me when you want to come down.” He pinched her under the chin and went back downstairs.

About an hour passed in peace and quiet. Vegeta was buried in paperwork in his own study – preparations, requests, suggestions and plans were being made for his 30th birthday and since it was a celebration for the entire kingdom, it would take an unholy number of supplies. 100,000 barrels of beer, 200,000 barrels of wine, 75,000 barrels of spirits. The livestock required to feed an entire race a banquet – they’d have to trade for some. The Namekians would provide some of the entertainment, they could use their ki to create illusions and fantastic effects.

He was trying to do some meat-math when he heard an all-encompassing rumbling, the sound of thunder over top of him, a soft body making repeated painful impact and his own wife’s scream - and he ran from his study, papers scattering in a flurry. “BULMA!”

She was lying at the bottom of the steps, body curled tightly around her belly, crying her eyes out. “I told you to call for me, I told you I would come get you!” He scooped her off the floor, “What did you hit, where are you hurt?”

“I fell on the babies!” she wailed, burying her face in his chest. “I hit everything!” she cried and cried. He put her up on the high counter in the kitchen so that he was face to face with her bump.

“Shh, shh a minute,” he put a finger physically on her lips, ear to her belly. Strong heartbeat, one. He moved his head to the other side of her bump. Strong heartbeat, two. Vegeta let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “The babies are fine.” “Then why does it huuuuuuuuuuuurt,” she caterwauled.

“Because you fell down the stairs, you little fool,” he ruffled her hair to annoy her. “They’re upset because you’re upset.”

She pouted and cried. “My babies haaaate me!”

Pregnant women are terrifying, Vegeta thought to himself. Moods worse than an Oozaru. Of course, he said nothing, smoothing her hair down and getting something cold for her elbow, which was beginning to bruise deeply. Handing her the cold compress, he placed his hands on either side of her bump as she sat on the counter.

“Little warriors, come out and see your people.

Little royals, come out and see the land.

Little prince and little princess

Your Kingdom is at hand.”

Vegeta sang the old nursery rhyme he remembered his mother singing to him and his brother when they were being stubborn about one thing or another. His voice was deep and smooth, and so sweet. Bulma felt the pain in her belly subside and she would have sworn that the babies were listening, straining at the walls of their warm little world to hear what only they and their mother had ever heard – their father, singing.

And so the third tether was made, and The Boy learned the melody to the song he read in his mother’s journal as a little boy, and he saw the man his father could truly be.

---

The King stood atop the battlement, looking up into the black of night at something darker still. He had sent lookouts 50 miles in every direction and when he saw the ki blast signal come from the watcher to the southeast, he knew Vegeta would be arriving soon. He hoped the lookout got away, and since he saw no further blasts of ki light up the night, there was a chance he did.

Now, the Dark Prince Vegeta loomed above his father’s head by 30 feet in the air, and was perhaps 40 feet away. Close enough for ki combat, not close enough for the physical restraints the King hoped to clap on his son until he could be relieved of this madness.

The Queen had been right – this was the work of the Mallumo miasma. His son’s entire body, even the whites of his eyes were covered in an inky blackness, no hint of his caramel skin remained, and his black Saiyan eyes were overthrown by an evil bloody red. Teeth far too white were displayed in a rictus grin drawn tight across his face.

“Father.” The Prince’s voice spoke.

“You are not my son.”

“But aren’t I? Aren’t I the one you sent to cause the death of millions, while you sat here comfortable and safe on your throne, with your Queeeeeen,” the Prince’s voice mocked and stretched the words out unnaturally. “Aren’t I the one you used to do all your dirty work, aren’t I the one this entire race used to carry out evils untold in the name of protecting someone they love?”

“Vegeta! Fight this!”

“Vegeetaaa, fight thisss.” The shadow mocked. “Vegeta has fled, coward that he is. I am the Dark Prince, here for my crown, here to show this worthless race what it is to create a Dark King!”

Dark Vegeta charged the King then, closing the gap between them in less than an instant, landing on the battlement just long enough to use its solidity as a launching point as flung himself, screaming his rage, at his father. They clashed brutally – elbows flying, teeth gnashing, feet and fists making shattering impact with their targets. The King locked his hands in the Dark Prince’s hair and delivered a crushing headbutt and the younger man staggered back, shaking stars from his head. He snapped his arms back, and deadly light filled his hands. He thrust them forward with a tortured scream in many voices, “GALLICK GUN!”

Light filled the corridor of the battlement, but King Vegeta fired his own ki wave back. Now it was down to who was the stronger man. They screamed. They felt the ki tear like electricity through their bodies, burning its way out of their hands in unstoppable waves.

Suddenly, the Dark Prince was tackled from behind and went hard to his knees. A crushing blow upon his head. A stab like fire through his middle. Heavy boots to his back, and a man cried, “NOW! THE RESTRAINTS, NOW!” It was Nappa’s voice, and Daiku was still pummeling him senseless. The King flew across the battlement, iron chains in his hands.

The Dark Prince reached up, grabbing Daiku’s hair and smashed his face into the rough stone of the battlement. Nappa was behind him in a flash. The Dark Prince drove an elbow into his ribs – snap, snap, snap went the bone. The King looped a chain around him. The Dark Prince spun and escaped its loop. He snatched the chain from the King’s grasping hands. The Dark Prince wound the iron chain around the King’s neck and with an almighty snarl, pulled the chain taut.

The King’s world went black.

He could smell the iron of the chain.

Taste the iron of his blood.

The Dark Prince hauled the King’s limp body to the edge of the battlement and kicked it off. The King plummeted to the ground, landing with a sickening crunch of bone.

The Dark Prince faced Nappa and Daiku. “All hail the King.”

#kotonari #vegebul au #fic #I'm tired af now #gonna eat some pizza and pass tf out #please reblog and comment to validate the fact that I spent 8 hours on this

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raendown · 7 years

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Chapter 51

@fineillsignup The chapter you requested for the Soulmate Collection! This time I play around with the idea of someone in a universe full of soulmates who is a Blank, with no soulmate matched to them. Yunyu left the pairing and au up to me and I hope you like how it turned out!

Under the cut or on AO3!

Pairing: Genma/Raidou Soulmate au: The one where you and your soulmate have matching tattoos on your wrists

Genma scrunched his nose as Asuma’s cigarette waved a little too close to his face. He didn’t want to be the guy that told his friends what they could do to their own bodies but that didn’t mean Asuma had to shove it down his throat too. Waving a hand to clear the smoke away, he turned back to the bickering between Aoba and Iwashi.

They had been arguing almost since the moment they arrived and it was getting harder and harder to keep his mouth shut. He would have loved to tell them that they were one of the reasons he was glad to be a Blank. He refrained only because he thought it might make their arguing worse somehow. It was times like these that he wondered what the origins were behind the marks that branded over 90% of the populace – and why fate even bothered to match two people who so obviously did not belong together. Aoba and Iwashi made each other miserable yet still they stayed together. Why? Because they had matching tattoos? Genma had a tattoo that matched every other ANBU in the village. Didn’t mean he wanted to be with any of them.

He was saved from his morose mental ramblings when someone tapped his shoulder from behind. He looked around and found Raidou there, jerking his head towards the exit in a silent question. Genma grinned and climbed over the back of the bench to escape the establishment at his best friend’s side. He would much rather go anywhere with Raidou than stay here with the rest of his friends.

The two of them stayed mostly silent as they hopped across the rooftops, waving at the patrols they passed, until finally they touched down on top of Raidou’s building and sprawled out across the terracotta tiles. Genma tucked his arms up behind his head and listened to the rattling of the senbon in his mouth as he flicked it rhythmically against his teeth.

“How long were they at it this time?” Raidou asked eventually, his eyes turned up to the stars. Genma didn’t even have to ask to know he was referring to Iwashi and Aoba. Their bickering was famous.

“Almost since we got there,” he replied. “I’ll never understand why they stay together. It’s not like they make each other happy.” He saw Raidou shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“They’re soulmates. How many people are there that would walk away from that?”

Genma sighed. “Not as many as there should be. I mean I get it – I think. I don’t know what it’s like to meet that one person fate has chosen for you and I never will. But I do know what it’s like to be in a relationship where you’re unhappy and I know how much happier I was once I got out of that relationship.”

“You think soulmates can just…walk away from each other?” Raidou asked, raising himself up on to his elbows to look over and Genma.

“Why not? It’s a choice isn’t it?” Genma brought his arms out from under his head to gesture up at the empty sky above them. “Just because you and this other random person were both born with the same symbol on your wrist doesn’t mean you’re going to love them. Maybe they’re a dick. Maybe they like hurting fluffy bunnies or something, I don’t know. And what if you never even meet them? You haven’t met yours yet; are you just going to spend your entire life alone if you never do?”

Raidou stared at him with wide eyes, listening to him rant without saying anything. Genma had a lot of opinions about soulmates that he tried hard to keep to himself. Most people didn’t want to hear that their ‘fated love’ might be bullshit. He’d managed to get through a lot of years without talking about this with his best friend, always changing the subject if it came up, but tonight he found he was just in the right spot. He’d had just enough alcohol to mellow him out in to that drifting, uncaring headspace that he’d been told made him too honest for his own good. So he kept talking, not giving much thought to what Raidou might think of what he was saying.

“Loving someone is…it should be a choice. You shouldn’t feel like you have to love a specific person just because of the mark on their wrist. If they don’t make you happy you should find the person that does. Soulmates are great and all but it just doesn’t work like that all of the time. What about polygamists? What about the crotchety folk who hate the world and don’t ever want to fall in love because ‘ew people’? It’s just not possible for every single person in the world to perfectly match up with one other person. AND, even if they did, how would they all find each other!? It’s a big world! You can’t meet everyone!”

“You’ve…thought about this a lot,” Raidou murmured tentatively. Genma snorted.

“Well I haven’t got a soulmate and I spent a lot of time being upset about it when I was a kid,” he said. “The older I got the more I realized that it just meant I was freer than other people. I can love who I want and no one says a damn thing about who it is. The only problem is…”

Raidou sat all the way up, his eyed locked on Genma’s form almost like he couldn’t bear to look away.

“Is?”

“Well the only problem is that I fell in love with someone who does have a soulmate and you still want to find them. Pretty stupid on my part but I chose to love you. You are everything I would want to spend the rest of my life with. Not because some mark says so but because that’s how I feel.” Genma shrugged and let his arms sprawl out across the clay tiles underneath him.

“ME!?” Genma shot upright when Raidou shouted, suddenly realizing what he had just said. “You’re in love with ME!?”

“Fuck! Uh, no? Shit!” Genma brought a hand up to smack himself in the face – only to pierce his own palm instead with the senbon still clutched between his teeth. “Ow!” He stared at his hand, blood welling and dripping down past his pinky finger. He felt vaguely betrayed but he wasn’t sure if it was because of his hand, his senbon, or his stupid idiotic mouth.

Raidou shuffled about in his peripheral vision and Genma felt his shoulders tensing, preparing for the worst. He really hadn’t meant to confess his hidden feelings but now that he had he may as well face the consequences. He could take the rejection. Of course he could. He was a grown ass man – a special jōnin for god’s sake. He absolutely did not have the urge to run away and hide.

“Are you alright? Here, let me see.”

He was startled to have his hand pulled over so Raidou could inspect the tiny wound. Neither of them said anything as the scarred man pulled a roll of bandages from his vest, wiping the blood away and slowly wrapping his palm. He swallowed hard with every layer of gauze until finally Raidou gently tied it off, smoothing the cloth down with an idle thumb.

“You’re…really in love with me?” he asked, still holding Genma’s hand.

“Ah, yeah. It’s okay if you don’t – um – I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Genma’s free hand poked at the roof underneath him, fidgeting nervously.

“I always thought I was strange,” Raidou murmured, “falling in love with someone who wasn’t my soulmate; someone who wasn’t anyone’s soulmate. I thought ‘I shouldn’t ever tell him, he would never feel the same’. But you do.” He looked up in to Genma’s stunned face, a shy flush rising underneath the uneven burn marks on his cheeks.

It took a solid minute of staring before his brain kicked in to gear and Genma realized that Raidou was waiting for him to make the first move. A wicked grin flashed across his face as he leaned in and pressed their mouths together in a wild, frantic kiss. Years of pent up emotions poured from one to the other and back again, their hands gripped tightly between them.

Genma nipped at Raidou’s lip, making the other man gasp and shudder and duck his head down. He shuffled closer to swing his leg over top of his friend’s, kissing the top of messy brown hair then bending down to peck at a roughly stubbled cheek.

“I have been waiting way too long to do that,” he announced. Raidou chuckled lowly.

“Are you gonna remember doing it in the morning? You taste like sake.”

“Maybe I would remember better if there were something there to jog my memory in the morning?” Genma suggested with a leer. “Say, maybe, you? All wrapped around me, sweaty sheets twisted around your hips, the early light of dawn-”

“You sound like one of Hatake’s smut novels,” Raidou cut him off.

Genma threw his head back and laughed.

“Well if you don’t want to listen to me sound like a smut novel maybe we just go back to my place and act one out. What do you say?”

“I say you’re pickup lines are horrible.” Raidou was grinning even while he shook his head. “But I don’t say no.”

If you asked Genma he would tell you he was happy to be a Blank. If you asked Raidou he would only shrug and grin. He was just happy with the choices they made.

#soulmate collection #rae writes #genrai #genma #raidou #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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xpressfocusworld · 5 years

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TicPods Free Review: Incredibly Comfortable Truly Wireless Earbuds with Fussy Controls

Cameron Summerson

TicPods Free are $130 truly wireless earbuds from Mobvoi, and they’re really good. In fact, they’re pretty close to being perfect—they’re convenient and comfortable. Despite the poor gesture controls and weak bass, though, I still love them.

Design: Small and Convenient

Let’s talk about the design a little bit because that’s probably my favorite thing about the TicPods. They’re just so convenient. Like pretty much every set of truly wireless earbuds on the market, they come in a little charging case that’s a great, pocket-able size. That means you can carry them with you everywhere you go.

Aside from that, they connect incredibly easily. They go into pairing mode the second you remove them from the case for the first time— pair ’em up with your phone, and they’ll instantly connect every time after that. By the time they get to my ears, they’re already connected and ready to go. So fast.

Too red for your taste? Don’t worry, they come in white and navy blue too. Cameron Summerson

That alone has made these my go-to earbuds the entire time I’ve been reviewing them. I have several sets—both wired and wireless—but I’ve been reaching for the TicPods about 90 percent of the time when I need some headspeakers. They don’t sound as good as any of my others, which we’ll talk about in detail down below, but the convenience negates all the tradeoffs. All of them.

Of course, they’re not perfect. The case charges the buds when they’re in it (so they always come out full, assuming the case isn’t dead), but there aren’t enough options to let you know the charge level of either the case or the earbuds. There are two settings:

Stays Green: More than 10% charge

Flashing Red: Less than 10% charge

Yeah, that’s it. It’s pretty horrible. Like, c’mon Mobvoi, let me get some middle option—blink green for 10-49% or something. This all or nothing crap doesn’t cut it. I don’t want to know my buds are almost dead before realizing I need to charge them.

Fit and Comfort: Like Gloves for My Earholes… or Something

A wise man once said that truly wireless earbuds are only as good as they are comfortable, which is something that Mobvoi must’ve taken to heart with the TicPods Free (henceforth just referred to as “TicPods”). Straight out of the box, these jokers popped right into my ears like they were designed to live there.

Cameron Summerson

Since not everyone will have the same experience, the TicPods comes with a couple of sets of silicone tips. They ship with the larger of the two sets by default—which should work well for most people—but the smaller ones should be good if you’re one of those tiny-eared people. With your cute little earholes.

I’ve been wearing the TicPods pretty heavily since I got them. I’ve worn them while mowing the yard, out shopping, sitting at my desk, walking around the park, and during workouts. I’ve worn them for 10 or 15 minutes at a time, and I’ve worn them for two or three hours at a time. But no matter what I was doing, one thing was clear: man, these are so comfortable.

They stayed in my ears very well for the most part, and they sort of disappeared. They’re super light, so it’s almost like they’re not there. It’s nice. And again, they’re comfortable. Maybe the most comfortable earbuds I’ve ever worn. That is, of course, pretty subjective, but still worth mentioning.

While they stayed in my ears pretty well, they did occasionally slip a bit and required a quick readjustment—mostly during crazy sweaty, hard workouts. Makes sense.

Features and Use: Good Fit with Finicky Gestures

While wearing the TicPods has proven to be a great experience, using them was a little more finicky than most because of the gesture-based interactions.

By default, there are a few key gestures:

Swipe up and down to control volume; this works on both sides.

Double tap to skip tracks; this also works on both side.

Long-press the left bud to pause.

Long-press the right bud to bring up the Google Assistant.

Automatic ear detection to pause/play music when you remove/insert the buds.

Those are pretty useful, but they’re far from perfect. For one, they’re not customizable. I would love a way to change the assigned command for a given gesture—for example, I want a double-tap on the left bud to go back one track and the right bud go forward. As it stands, double-tapping either bud skips the track. That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.

Cameron Summerson

Secondly, on occasions when I did need to adjust the earbuds, it would often interpret the adjustment as a double-tap and skip the playing track. Let me tell you: that is far more frustrating than it should be, mainly because it happened to me about 70 percent of the time. Irritating.

Thirdly, the long-press feature on both buds is straight-up garbage. It takes about 1.5 seconds longer than it should—it just feels like you’re holding it forever. It feels so petty to point that out, but the tap-and-hold gesture shouldn’t take more than 1.5 seconds total, but at three seconds, it’s double that. And while I also realize that three seconds is not a long time, it feels like ages when you’re standing there holding your hand to your earbud to get the music to pause. It’s just a janky gesture, and I’d rather be able to turn it off.

That’s my biggest complaint with the TicPods. I wish there were a way to change, modify, or disable gestures—especially on an individual basis. But even within the Mobvoi app, it’s not possible. And it’s frustrating.

Sound Quality: I Mean, It’s Okay

If I had to pick the biggest downside of the TicPods, it’s the sound quality. Not because they sound bad, just because they suffer from the same issues that other truly wireless ‘buds have: they have very little bass response.

I get that bass isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s cool, but all music needs some bass. It doesn’t have to rattle your brain and all that, but bass is what gives music the oomph it needs most of the time—the low end that defines some genres, even. But with the TicPods, you’re not going to get that; some frequencies don’t even register on these little guys. It’s a bummer.

Cameron Summerson

Honestly, it makes sense. There’s a lot of tech stuffed into a minimal space in any earbud of this type, which cuts out room for bigger drivers. The result is, you guessed it, less bass.

Now, all that aside, the TicPods do have excellent audio clarity. They may be lacking bass, but that doesn’t mean they’re shrill or even tinny—they have clear, defined sound quality that is excellent once you get past the “where’s the bass” issue. Because of that, I still highly recommend these if you’re looking for a set of truly wireless earbuds to stuff in your headholes.

As another upside, these are some of the only earbuds I’ve ever worn in my life where I can still carry on conversations with real-life humans in the same room as me. They don’t block my ear canals to the point that makes everything that isn’t coming from the buds sound muffled and terrible, so I can still hear people talking to me. In another fun twist, I can also speak to those people, leveraging something called “conversation.” All without taking my earbuds out!

They also work great for phone conversations. I’ve always hated wearing earbuds (or anything noise-canceling) when talking on the phone because I can’t hear myself well enough—I sound muffled in my head, and I can’t stand it. But since the TicPods don’t block my hearing that much, I can talk with them in. I like that because that makes them so useful for long conversations or video chats and whatnot.

Conclusion: Despite the Shortcomings, I Love Them

Cameron Summerson

As much as I love headphones that have great low-end—of which I have several pairs, both wired and wireless—I still find myself reaching for the TicPods about 90 percent of the time when I need headphones. Why? Because they’re just so damn convenient.

And that’s what’s can’t be overstated here: the convenience of truly wireless earbuds are where the real value is. It’s not the sound quality. In the case of the TicPods, it’s not even the comfort (though that’s a big selling point for me)—they’re just so easy to use. The case is small, so I can easily toss it in my pocket and take them everywhere with me. They connect instantly. No turning on/off; no waiting for a connection. No cables to mess with. They work quickly and instantly. And they disconnect just as quickly and as easily. Not to mention at $130, they’re cheaper than even the most affordable level of AirPods, which start at $160.

But at the end of the day, comfort and convenience is the name of the game for truly wireless earbuds, which is where the TicPods excel.

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