#I can’t wait for the purge march | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1moremilgram-enjoyer · 10 months

Note

Hm... Amane: 1, 3, 13, 15 for Amane and Muu: 1, 2, 9, 10, 11, if that's alright!

Yep! Thanks for the ask! Sorry if this took a bit, been busy.

(Ask game)

CW Cults and indoctrination, child abuse, murder, bullying

Amane

1- Favorite song lyrics?

Oh, God, she has so many good ones. Let's go song by song.

[Magic] But it’s not scary at all, because it’s love I can really think it’s great. See isn’t it a great thing?

[...]

Only if, only if, only if I could be a good girl I hope, I hope everyone can be happy and smile Forever, forever together would be a dream

I pick these ones because they're the most mentally scarring lyrics in Magic in my opinion! And as an Amane Momose enjoyer, I always love it when she inflicts psychological torture on us!

The first one is just horrifying because of how much Amane forces herself to see what's happening to her as "love", even though the situation is horrible. "Mercy without limits" incident flashbacks.

The other line is just as horrible. Self-loathing ("if I could be a good girl") because she dares to have such sinful desires as *checks notes* putting a little napkin over a cat's injury. And then "I hope everyone can be happy and smile" never fails to make me horrendously sad. She just wants people to be happy! She wants to be the "Happiness Support Sister"! But her mother's always mad at her because she's a "bad girl". I am so hurt.

[Positive Parade] You can take the opportunity to hold me close and you can share the burden of your worries with me You say it's embarrasing, but I'm embarrased too, you know!

This is my favorite line outside of the context of Amane, because it's just really sweet. Positive Parade is such a nice song, and this particular line always brings a smile to my face!

Now back to your regularly scheduled mental torture, my favorite part of Amane's cover specifically is the "we can't stop" that she sings more sinisterly than any other. It really carries so much hopelessness, just- we can't stop following doctrine and trying to be happy and it hurts so much and is this really going to go on forever it is isn't it we can't stop-

Yeah I really like that change. Makes me sad!

[The Purge March] After you cry, repent, and kneel, it’s now your turn to say that hopeless “I’m sorry” You’re sorry? I don’t care! Please, go ahead and die already Remember MY cries, MY repents, MY words of “I’m sorry” that I said to you?

If there's one thing I like just as much as Amane angst it's Amane anger. The jarring shift from "you have to say sorry so I can forgive you! :D" to "You're sorry? PFFFFFT- Go fucking die" is awesome. It really highlights the difference between the cult's doctrine and Amane's righteous anger at the people who hurt her, and how spiteful she sounds by reminding her mother of Amane's own pleas of "sorry." I'm just fascinated and thrilled any time Amane gets furious, it's becoming a problem.

[Animal] The mask comes off and the beast comes out, I do it wild even if it’s ugly I can’t do sit, I can’t even do stay, purr until I go Layers of makeup, the perfect animal, I'm waiting with my eyes wide open I can’t do sit, I can’t even do stay, purr until I go

I love the Animal cover in general, which means my favorite line is the one that really encapsulates the entire song. Amane not being able to "be a good girl" by following order, because when the makeup is off, she's an "animal." Cat parallels! Followed by a reminder that it takes layers of makeup, layers of hiding her true nature and desires to be the "perfect animal". Amane angst, gotta love it (<- holding back tears)

This is followed closely by the part at the end where she hisses, btw. The wilder Amane gets, the better the world becomes.

3- Favorite non-MV official illustration?

Oh, this one's hard to pick between these two for me:

The duality, huh?

The 3rd anniversary artwork (left) may just be her Magic outfit, but her dead stare really makes it compelling. She looks so done with your bullshit. She looks like you just told her you voted her Unforgiven and is seriously considering dealing out divine punishment.

One thing that really interests me is that she's holding the 'wand', but she doesn't have the cloud ribbon thing, she still has the black bow tie. And her cloak is still draped over her, it hasn't turned to wings. I wonder if this is supposed to be Amane right before her murder, in the moment of Magic where she grabs the wand, but before undergoing her magical girl transformation. So when she grabs the stun gun (assuming she did use it) and before attacking her mother.

But ultimately, I think I like the birthday cake art a bit more! She looks so happy! Look at her :D

I also love all the details about it. The fact it's not really a cake but rather a plain-looking muffin because of the whole "she doesn't eat sweets even though she really wants to" thin. The feathers to represent... I guess innocence or something like that? I'd have to think about it a bit more.

And yet, the horrors lurk. The thunderbolt and trumpet cookies, possibly referencing Riyone's and Gachata's punishments. The way the flower thing behind her is almost styled to look like a fountain, and water... Gozake... yeah... yeah... Yuuri doesn't seem to be referenced but oh well.

But ignore the horrors! Doesn't she look adorable in that dress? Look how happy she is!

13- Any ideas on what would they and their MV be like if they got a different verdict in T1?

Oh, hell if I know. Amane is a very unpredictable character on the best of days, so it's really hard to say.

I'd imagine her attitude would have stayed similar to what it was during T1, so a lot more upbeat than how she currently is. She likely would still be saying "I" instead of "we", which means we may not have seen the army of Amanes which as a whole (the way I interpret it) represent her faith in the MV, though it's still possible it would have been there.

One thing is that although she'd agree with her verdict, she may not agree with the things the voices would say. The way I interpret the voices is that they essentially repeat the arguments given for the verdict they got, but not the arguments for the verdict they didn't get. So in canon I believe she heard things like "we need her to understand something's wrong" or whatever people where saying, but in an alternate reality where she gets innoed, she would hear things like "she's just a child, she doesn't understand what she did" (general consensus before Purge March I think?). Why am I explaining this? Because I feel we'd have a Yuno-type situation where Amane gets angry at the voices pitying her and saying that she had no control over the situation. She'd probably repeat a lot of what she said in her first VD lol.

One thing that worries me about this verdict is the whole "making Milgram the perfect world" thing. In her first VD she kinda tried to strike a deal with Es like Kotoko did, so she'd feel extremely betrayed if she got a T2 Guilty. But beyond that, would she be more proactive on "fixing" Milgram if she had been innoed? How would that manifest? Would she speedrun the "attack Shidou" arc with her full freedom? I kinda doubt that, but it's possible.

As for her MV, really no idea. I feel like it would be more similar to Magic than Purge March, really. I don't even know if we'd have gotten real world scenes or if we would have stayed entirely in-metaphor like Magic, though I imagine we would at least get clarification on the cat being an actual cat lol. I really wonder if we would even learn who her victim was. Again, I have legitimately no idea.

15- What do you think of their voice?

I love it! Tanaka Minami does a fantastic job expressing all of Amane's really weird emotions in her voice! Love the singing, love the VDs, adore the voice reveal distorted lines (that T1 line has scarred me forever, thanks for that!), I love it! I especially love things like the haunting background lyrics at the end of Magic, the "we can't stop" in Positive Parade, the super upbeat "you're sorry? I don't care! Please go ahead and die already" in Purge March, and the laugh that trails off in Animal right after the "why don't we do it m0re?".

Muu

1- Favorite song lyrics?

[After Pain] If you’re going to make me the villain It’s ok to ignore me If it’s endurance, I’m used to it. It’s just having another taste of it But I see it in my dreams even though I erased it Maybe I’m done Just one more time before saying goodbye I’m just kidding, please forget I said that

I was torn between this one and the "let's meet up inside the pain - I love YOU" section, especially since I really like how the latter sounds, but I like the lyrics I chose a bit more.

"If you're going to make me the villain, it's okay to ignore me" hints at Muu's desire to always be pitied, which is already fun, and while the "endurance" part likely refers to the bullying, I've always wondered if Muu means something else when she says she's "used to it." There's gotta be a reason she feels a lot of people are jealous of her, maybe?

"Just one more time before saying goodbye- I'm just kidding, please forget I said that" is just really sad. She still likes her old friends, girl get better taste T_T I also like that this line explains DSCF because I really had no idea what the hell that was about when I first saw it with Muu.

[Otome Dissection] It's in pieces, without spelling out "love" It's a penalty shoot-out, Feelings vs. Boredom Yeah, there's a kid there, lost in anything and everything, Shedding tears, meowing "SOS" with their eyes only halfway open

Cat people and DECO*27 songs, name a more iconic duo.

Keeping in mind the singer is the kid meowing SOS, I like this line because of the nonchalance of the "yeah, I'm lost and need help, but that's not the problem. The problem is I'm bored. I'm more interested in the 'penalty shoot-out of feelings vs Boredom'". It really helps visualize the way the singer hides their very real mental distress as just a matter of boredom, pretending like that's the only reason she "plays Otome dissection." Same idea with Muu, because as much as she likes being pitied, she does not do a good job at conveying why she does the things she does, such as bullying people.

[It's Not my Fault] It’s not my fault after all, after all! I’m sure I’ve made no mistakes you can find. Gather that nectar, more and more, and come bring it to me, ‘kay? It’s not my fault after all, after all. Everyone wants me to be innocent. What a relief. Can’t be helped. I’m always meant to be pitied!

(From the wiki)

I've noticed a pattern where my favorite lyrics tend to be the ones that really encapsulate the song's message, and this isn't really an exception. I love how unapologetic Muu is about everything, it's part of what makes her such an interesting character! The lines are pretty straightforward, so all I really have to say is that it's really fun seeing her fully indulge in her "Queen Bee" attitude.

[DSCF] And so we're the Delusional Sentimental Compensation Federation We embrace love and shout out our ideals A melody of fools with nowhere to go Retry - Rebirth - Teleportation We keep trying, but it keeps dying At the mercy of an endless love

(Using this translation btw)

I really have to make more cover analyses, these things are fun.

Going back to the idea that I love the lyrics that represent the song's messages the most, here we have the basic idea of DSCF, of the singer trying to rebuild a broken relationship even though "it keeps dying." She understand it's a delusional idea, hence the name, but they're "fools with nowhere to go", so they have to try to hold it together anyways. I like the pairing of teleportation with "retry - rebirth", given the idea that teleportation could be achieved by destroying one thing and reforming it in a different place, sorta what they're trying to do with their relationship.

Back to Muu, this is either about Rei and it's the gayest thing in Milgram since Cat, or about her friends which I find a bit more likely given the idea of rebuilding a relationship rather than anything else. It fits the "just one more time before saying goodbye" line from After Pain at least. So you know, fun!

2- Favorite MV moment/frame?

For individual frame, and my favorite part of It's Not my Fault, it has to be this.

I am noticing I adore when character's eyes do weird shit. Look at how happy she is after murdering Rei! (<-She is in severe emotional distress). This shot just lives in my head rent-free.

But for favorite scene, it's the whole section between these two shots of After Pain.

So the build-up and the murder. But specifically the build-up. Musically it's my favorite part of Muu's videos, and the immense feeling of "something really bad's about to happen" is incredible. The quick switching between Rei walking away, and Muu running out of the school, with the murder of crows flying away because you know what's going to happen. And probably because Muu knew too; she ran out of the school without a backpack yet with a box cutter in hand, she had to have known murder was a way that could end. Plus the imagery of the hourglass being sideways, as the power dynamic it represents can no longer be determined to have someone on top, and rolling down a staircase, as it's about to completely break. One of my favorite build-ups to a murder in the entirety of Milgram probably.

9- Do you forgive/not forgive their crime on its own?

Oh boy, is this one hard to answer!

So, there's a lot that complicates this question. Let me run down the full situation so I can try to figure out my own feelings about it.

I want to clarify, by the way, that from an outside "Muu is just a fictional character" perspective, oh absolutely no problems. Slay queen, I hope you get worse! But I feel like that's not really the point of the question, right? It's to ask how we would feel if they were real people and stuff.

Muu was a bully, or rather, she spearheaded a bully group without physically engaging in the bullying herself, if her claims in Queen B are to be believed. Shitty behavior, but also she's a dumb teenager, this isn't exactly unforgivable.

Then Rei comes in, tries to defend one of the bullies' victims, Muu thinks she's jealous, the bullying turns on her. Here comes the first problem; we know Rei managed to turn Muu's "friends" against her, but we have zero clue how the hell she did that. We don't know what Rei's role in the bullying really was at all. For all we know, she may not have actually done much, but Muu still blamed her so as to not blame her old friends. Particularly, in After Pain, we see Rei stumbling into Muu after she was harassed by the bullies, and she just walks away. So she didn't seem preoccupied with protecting Muu, but she didn't directly hurt her either, from what we've seen.

Not to downplay Rei's involvement. If Muu thought killing her would end the bullying, then I'm sure she was certainly the main motivator for it.

However, it's important to note murder wasn't Muu's preferred solution. She did try to apologize to Rei, though how sincere she was could be debated, and it was only when Rei rejected her that Muu took drastic action. So Muu had to really feel cornered by what was going on.

So let me say, I don't really take Muu bullying people into consideration for whether I forgive her or not. A lot of teenagers bully others, and while it's a very shitty thing to do, it isn't unforgivable, and certainly not when compared to murder.

But then comes the other thing. By the same reasoning, Rei didn't do anything bad enough to deserve what happened to her, which I think should go without saying but y'know. She's not blameless, she definitely hurt Muu a lot, especially by essentially having her isolated by turning her "friends" on her, but death is way too much.

I don't want to make it sound like Muu didn't suffer or anything. The whole situation is horrible on all sides. And the thing is, ultimately Muu is still very young, and the murder was entirely emotional. Muu tried until the end to resolve things somewhat peacefully, even though again she did leave the school with the box cutter in hand. It's pretty clear to me she wouldn't kill again, obviously, and as a teenager she certainly has a lot of room to grow.

So ultimately, I do forgive Muu, even though her murder on its own is one of the least forgivable in Milgram in my opinion. But "one of the least forgivable" doesn't mean "unforgivable", it just means in comparison to other things it's not so easy to look past it.

10- Is the answer to the previous question different from your vote(s) on the character themselves (do you vote them based on anything else aside from the crime)?

Uh, well I wasn't around for Muu's voting, so I'm not really sure. I think in T1 I would have voted her Forgiven, since without any info on what voting did I think I would have gone off my actual feelings on the murder.

In T2 I'm a bit more torn. I think voting her Forgiven wouldn't make her a better person, while voting her Unforgiven... well, is it going to help? She definitely places a lot of value on what people think of her, and does have moments where she's not entirely sure if what she did was the right decision, so it's possible she'll regret it a bit more and she might become a better person.

But here's the thing. Ultimately Milgram's system wouldn't help Muu in a very good way. It would inflict more mental distress than really necessary, just to possibly try to make her a bit better. As I said, I highly doubt Muu would kill again unless she faces extreme situations, so ultimately, the only risk of voting her Forgiven is that maybe she'd be a bit meaner. And between how torturous Unforgiven verdicts are, and especially with Haruka's threat in mind (I do not think for a second the restraints will prevent him from at least attempting suicide), I think I would have maybe ended up voting her Forgiven again, with the hope she can find proper help outside of the Hell Prison. But again, maybe I should think about it more. Her verdict is certainly a pretty complex one.

11- What are your favorite points about their story and the narrative surrounding them?

Oh, this is always hard to pick. Muu's story has a lot of really interesting points, but I'm not the biggest Muu understander so explaining why they're cool is kinda difficult for me. But if I have to pick just one thing, it's the fact she's so unapologetic about her crime! It just makes her extremely entertaining, love it when the girlies are just Evil (<- hyperbole, all characters in Milgram are morally grey, blah blah blah).

Just that on its own is fun enough, but the fact she still wants her feelings validated externally by being pitied and Forgiven makes it so much more interesting! Unlike, say, Amane, who fully believes she's in the right and ignores (or at least does her best to ignore) other people's (Es') opinions on what she did, Muu tries her best to get Forgiven:

[Crying B] Muu: What should I do then? What should I do in order for you to forgive me, guard-san? I'll do anything! Um… Anything painful or embarrassing is out of the question though… And, I don't wanna do anything scary either… Es: Ugh, listen here you… Muu: But, it's true, isn't it? All I have to do is gain your favor, right? I'll listen to what you say! So, what would you like me to do?

You could say that's just because of Milgram, but to me it really seems like Muu herself wants that external validation. It makes her feel more like a real teenager, you know? She has her own opinions, but she still cares a lot about what other people say, she's easily swayed. That's why she goes from asking permission to breathe because some of it is her fault:

[After Pain] But I guess some of it is my fault Maybe it’s ok as it is I want to feel “alive”, is it ok if I breathe?

To... well. The song's called It's Not my Fault.

[It's Not my Fault] It’s not my fault after all, after all! I’m sure I’ve made no mistakes you can find. Gather that nectar, more and more, and come bring it to me, ‘kay?

That, combined with the fact she did apologize to Rei for something, makes it feel to me like Muu wasn't entirely sure how blameless she really was, until she was Forgiven. Her feelings validated, she threw away (almost) all her doubts, and thus we see her back on her queen arc by Trial 2. Her previous doubts are literally only brought back in one line of It's Not my Fault ("what if I'm actually a bad girl?") before being denied instantly ("don't ever hate me [...] wait, wait, it's not my fault!").

So yeah. I enjoy that she's a certified Worst Girl and how we're sorta part of that.

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

That would be all! I'm really sorry this took so long, studies have been kinda difficult (what the fuck is a Taylor polynomial send help). Thanks for the ask, take care!

#milgram #amane momose #muu kusunoki #ask game

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purgemarchlockdown · 1 year

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hi AJAJSH sorry if you’ve already reviewed this, but what are your thoughts on positivity parade in relation to amane's character?? it was only after i started piecing together the motifs in animal that i saw how positivity parade was a “contradiction” to her character as well being about indulging yourself in something just because it makes you happy which she Does not let herself do :<

Oh I think about Positive Parade Amane! Not as much as Animal, but I was using it to stave off the wait for Animal so I thought about it a lot lol.

Uh- my initial impression of it way back Pre-Purge March was Amane's Cult manipulating Amane's desires and wants as a way to influence the way she was thinking and feeling. Mostly cause at the time I didn't realize how Much Amane's Want was and a bunch of the lines just felt really weird to me. Specifically the ones about reliance and what not

However now that I'm looking at it again I pretty sure I was off base (though I think her cult's influence is Apparent in a lot of parts see, the parts about how the light is on Her side) and Positive Parade actually reads very well as a Prequel To Animal.

It doesn't seem like it at first due to how different the two songs are but when viewed through the context of Amane's Story the progression to Positive Parade and Animal is actually pretty solid.

Most notable thing that jumped out of me here is that we have another repeat of the idea of what is good and bad in relation to doing something you Want.

“We can’t stop.” Is this a good feeling? Or is it no good after all?

Presumably the singer could be talking about being unable to Stop bottling up their emotions or being unsure if doing what they want is Really Good or being Unable to stop doing what they want and feeling scared and guilty and ashamed.

But either way it works real well with Amane and it works Really Well when put together with these lines in Animal.

You want me to bite you? The beat accelerates, let’s do both the good and bad ------------------ Why don’t you get h!g%, why don’t you go cR%&Y, why don’t we do it m0rE, hahaha

There's a natural progression here from complete lack of indulgence to wanting to do Even More In Spite of that guilt and shame.

Jupiter: But what else do you expect me to do? I want to leave this camp, this state, this planet. But I can't. I just can't. Jupiter: It's like a reflex. I can't stop it.

(I'm allowed to include Appropriate We Know The Devil quotes its my blog-)

Positive Parade also has This Verse:

I’m not wrong, but, if someone says “no, that’s not right,” I won’t support anything that denies you.

Which I didn't think much about before Purge March but now is put in a Very Different Light now that it is out. Amane is very much going, to herself, that she will Disavow Anything That Tries to Stop Her.

Which...I can't say I disagree but like- Animal's indulgence and dissatisfaction with life was Always in Positive Parade. It's just sitting right there! The two work fantastically as a naturally progression of Amane's story and I think that's really damn cool.

Again, I haven't looked at Positive Parade much since I've been looping Animal so these thoughts are disconnected but it's definitely super interesting and I'll probably loop Positive Parade just to figure out whats up with it.

#asks #really sorry for the mess I just woke up!

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sushigirlali · 10 months

Text

No Body, No Crime - Part V (Reylo Fanfic)

Summary: Assassin!Rey Palpatine is on her first mission for the evil Darth Sidious. The goal is simple: kill Prince!Ben Solo by any means necessary.

Pairing: Rey + Ben Solo

Rating: E

Continuity: Canonverse AU

A/N: I think it’s time for a heart to heart between our favorite wannabe assassin and public servant!

Master list –> AO3 | ff.net | Tumblr

——————

No Body, No Crime - Part V

By: sushigirlali

——————

Exegol Time

Unknown

——————

Rey marched toward the throne room, throwing the doors open with a wave of her hand. “What am I doing here?” she demanded of the shrouded figure looming before her.

“Welcome, granddaughter,” Darth Sidious said, sitting calmly on his dark, jagged throne. “Thank you for accepting my invitation to come home.”

“This isn’t my home!” Rey crossed her arms. “And what invitation? I just woke up here! But I shouldn’t be surprised that you’d stoop to kidnapping.”

“You’ve done well, my child,” he said, ignoring her interruption.

The statement was chilling, but wrong. Everything was wrong. She should be taking comfort in Ben Solo’s arms right now, not hugging herself like a scared child before her abuser.

“I haven’t!” she refuted. “I didn’t complete your mission! I didn’t do what you wanted!”

“Oh, but you have. You will.”

“No!” He was lying, he had to be. But how the hell did she get here? And where was Ben?

“You’re seconds away from killing him even now,” he told her enigmatically.

“Wait—what?”

“Sleeping within arms reach of you?” Palpatine motioned toward her. “My weapon? Tsk tsk, what a stupid boy, letting his cock lead him instead of his head. He had to know that I could control you.”

“No, you can’t,” she denied.

“Of course I can. Why else would I have sent you, my useless progeny, into the den of my enemies,” he said cooly.

“No. You’re lying!” Rey yelled. “I don’t believe you!”

“Let me show you, then.” Palpatine moved unnaturally fast, closing the distance between them in a blink.

Rey jumped backward, but his grizzled hand had already pulled the poison jade spike from her hair. There was no way he should have been able to do what he just did, given his decrepit state, and yet…

“This isn’t real,” she realized. Looking around, the room began to almost ripple, like the mesh of reality was barely holding together.

“Your mind makes it real,” he said, twirling the hairpin in his spindly fingers. “Nightmares are reality for our kind.”

“Our kind?” But she wasn't his kind , she wasn’t a typical Force-user. She was part of something bigger, something special and rare. “Ben is my kind, not this monster.”

She could feel his influence now, parse it out from her own thoughts. It was different from when Ben’s mind merged with hers, from the feeling of unity he inspired. Palpatine’s invasion was all one-sided, toxic and intrusive.

He was trying to compel her to complete the mission through her dreams, but she had something he didn’t: a dyad. A buffer to outside interference. A layer of protection Darth Sidious could never comprehend or penetrate.

Concentrating hard on Ben, on their connection, on everything they had shared over the last few days, she suddenly felt his body under hers, his breath puffing against her cheek. He was alive, in their bed. Waiting for her.

“I’m not like you,” she said firmly, soaking up Ben’s warmth through their bond, willing her mind to return to her body, to him. “Only you’re too stupid to see it. You won’t survive this—survive us.”

“What are—”

“Goodbye, grandfather.”

“No!”

——————

Hanna City, Chandrila

Early Morning

——————

“So much for dreamless sleep.”

Rey opened her eyes, breathing hard as the dark shadow was purged from her mind. She was straddling her lover’s waist, pressed closely to his front, and the poisonous hairpin was hovering inches from his pale neck. Her fingers shook as she carefully moved her hand away, clicking the needle closed before hurling it across the room.

That was close. Too close.

Rey settled back down on Ben’s chest, feeling several emotions all at once as his arms looped around her waist: fear, relief, possession, they all blended together into a storm of anxiety.

“What the fuck was am I going to do?”

As if sensing her disquiet, Ben pulled her tightly against him, one hand cupping the back of her neck while the other smoothed over her bare ass. He unconsciously squeezed her butt and Rey had to fight back a snort of laughter. Here she was worrying and he was getting frisky. Still, it comforted her that he felt possessive of her too.

Nestling her head between his shoulder blades, Rey rested her lips against his jaw and allowed sleep to take her once more.

——————

Noon

——————

Ben tried not to be too concerned as Rey quietly allowed him to lead her across a grassy field some distance away from the city. The land belonged to a friend of his mother’s and he knew it well, having often set off on grand adventures into the wilderness as a child. Supervised by his family’s droids, of course.

And although he was a man now, with the burdensome responsibilities of an adult, every so often he would still trek out to his favorite secluded spot, which boasted a beautiful waterfall surrounded by ancient trees and wildflower fields tall enough to hide in. Horizontally, at least. His height made disappearing a little less feasible nowadays.

Rambling. He was rambling in his own head because Rey had been subdued all morning. Something had happened between the intimacy they shared last night and waking up clinging together this morning. He just didn’t know what it was, and was too polite, and frankly scared of pissing her off, to bring up her sudden silence directly.

Grateful that official activities had been canceled again today, even though it meant the war effort was likely ramping up, Ben hoped the refreshing scenery would help to lessen the strain on Rey’s pretty face. Maybe he could massage her shoulders or feet or something? Work out that perceptible tension coursing through her slim body…

“You just want to get your hands on her again,” he chided himself.

True, but he also wanted to take care of her. She’d been alone for all intents and purposes for her entire life; and an entire planet full of sith cultists did not count as glad company as far as he was concerned.

“Ben, what’s that?” Rey interrupted his musings, her tone uneasy.

Recognizing the telltale sound of water crashing on rocks, he quickly set her mind at ease. “There’s a waterfall nearby.”

She brighted, looking around intently. “Oh!”

Smiling at her childlike delight, Ben reached for her hand. “Not much longer now,” he promised. “I have a surprise for you.”

“A fun surprise?”

“I hope so! I used to come here a lot as a child. No one but me and our droids C-3PO and R2D2 know about it. Well, and now you will, of course.”

“Really? So, it’s like a secret?” she said eagerly.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, squeezing her fingers. “It’s a beautiful spot; a small piece of paradise I wanted to share with you.”

“You’re beautiful,” she blurted.

He stopped in his tracks, surprised by the compliment. “Thank you,” he blushed. “And so are you. You’re beautiful. Stunning, actually. But you probably already know how much I… um…”

Rey looked like she wanted to tease him, but thought better of it. “So, how much longer?”

Ben wondered what she had been about to say, but didn’t want to press it now that she was smiling again. “Uh—it’s just here, actually.”

She took off excitedly, tugging him along toward a thicket of trees that looked like the entrance to a tropical jungle. “I’ve never been in a forest before!”

“It’s not so much a forest as an oasis,” he chuckled.

“What’s an oasis?”

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, like he was telling a secret, “and I’ll show you.”

She readily did as he asked, and Ben felt the weight of her trust in his bones. Placing a kiss on the back of her hand in his, he used his free arm to pull a large palm frond back and allow her to pass into the hidden gully.

“Now?” she asked.

“Now.”

“Wow!”

The verdant foliage formed a ring around a small cliff at the base of a large rolling hill. Just above the waterfall was a crystalline lake, filled with fish and other aquatic creatures that sometimes journeyed down into the pond below. The clear blue water was about four feet deep, surrounded by a carpet of clover.

Ben smiled as he spotted the picnic his cook had organized for their trip, a lovely taupe blanket ladened with baskets of food and jugs of fruit juices and wine. The matching pillows looked plush and comfortable and Ben couldn’t wait to enjoy the ambiance with his companion.

“Oh, Ben,” she sighed happily, hazel eyes darting everywhere, cheeks flushed with pleasure.

He’d never heard that tone from her before, nor witnessed the pure joy radiating off her. Ben’s heart skipped several beats, knowing he’d made the right decision in bringing her here. From what he knew of her homeworld, there was no greenery or sunshine or lazy afternoons spent in good company to revitalize the spirit.

“Would you like to sit?” He motioned toward the picnic.

Her eyes widened as they always did around food. “Yes!”

Ben walked her to the edge of the blanket, then stooped to remove her shoes. This time he’d gifted her a long, bright blue dress topped with a navy poncho. Intricate designs etched the edges of the thin fabric in warm yellow and orange and cool white. It was a simpler outfit than most his grandmother owned, but still beautiful.

He was dressed more casually than usual, wearing dark crimson pants, a beige button up shirt with sleeves pushed to his elbows, and a dark blue vest. The ensemble was similar to those his father favored, but Ben only wore when he knew he might get dirty; he much preferred the fashions of his mother’s house.

“What are you doing?” she said curiously as he lifted the hem of her dress and cupped her ankle.

“We don’t want to track dirt on this nice blanket,” he answered, lifting her foot onto his knee. The buckles holding her low boots were easily undone, so it only took a moment to discard them. Releasing her, he removed his boots as well.

“That is quite nice,” she said, squishing her feet into the blanket.

She looked so beautiful, so happy, so free in that moment that Ben couldn’t contain the love he felt for her any longer. Moved closer to her on his knees, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his cheek against her stomach.

“Ben?” she gasped, hands threading into his dark hair.

“I love you,” he said softly. He wanted to look up, to see her expression, but he was scared. “I know you’ve only just learned of my existence, that we’ve only just met in person, but… for me it’s been a lifetime.”

“What… what do you mean?” She sounded hesitant but not unreceptive to his words.

“I’ve dreamed about you for as long as I can remember. I felt your birth, your childhood struggles, your teenage hopes and dreams being crushed year after year. When you were older, I wanted to come to you, to show you that someone loved you, but I waited. I waited for you to come to me, to free yourself because I knew we couldn’t be together any other way.” He took a steadying breath. “But I could have come for you, I should have. Not as the other half of my soul, my dyad, but as a fellow human being in pain. But I took the excuse of predestination to ensure we’d end up here together. It was selfish and I–”

“Ben.”

He did look up at her then, surprised by the evenness of her tone. “Yes?”

“Ben, you can’t love me.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because I’m dangerous, because I’m more of a weapon than a person. I could list a hundred reasons, but there’s only one that truly matters.”

Dread filled his heart. “And what reason is that?”

——————

Rey stared into Ben’s dark eyes, feeling his pained expression like a blow. She knew what she had to do but she didn’t know if she had the strength to do it.

“Say it. Say you don’t love him. Crush him, make him leave you, and… save his life.”

But she couldn’t do it. Her lips moved, but no words came out. She may not have dreamt of him for two decades, but her shared dreams with him every night since meeting had been revelatory. Hell, even their waking hours felt like a daydream.

Over the last few days she’d worked with him, laughed with him, shared meals and even her body with him. She knew him, and he knew her, including her laundry list of flaws.

And he still loved her…

“No!” Rey pushed hard against his shoulders, causing him to let go of her waist and topple backward on the picnic blanket.

Stunned, he lay unmoving on his back, staring up at her.

“You don’t know,” she started shakily, “you don’t know what almost happened last night. What will happen someday if we stay together.”

“Rey, what happened?” His voice was hushed, as if afraid to scare her off. What a joke.

She shook her head, suddenly wishing she had kept her mouth shut. If he was selfish for leaving her with the Sith so they could be together then so was she for wanting to hide her nightmares.

“Rey,” he said pleadingly. “Please.”

“I–I almost went through with it.”

He titled his head, as if his hearing was suddenly fuzzy. “What do you mean?”

Rey pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “I almost killed you,” she admitted. Her stomach clenched at his disbelieving expression.

“When? With what? With–oh.” Ben pulled something sharp from his back pocket.

“Be careful with that!”

“It’s okay,” he tried to sooth. “I know what it is.”

“You know?” she whispered. Sitting hard on the blanket at Ben’s feet, Rey covered her face with her hands. The needle in her mind was strengthening, making it hard to open her eyes without wincing.

“Rey, are you alright?” He dropped the pin by one of the picnic baskets and moved closer.

“No,” she gasped, rubbing her eyes. They were wet.

“Rey, let me–”

“Stop! Stay away from me!” She held out her hands, trying to ward him off. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But he ignored her, closing the distance between them to pull her into a warm embrace. “Never,” he said firmly.

Rey felt ice slide down her back, heard a chuckle in her ear. But it wasn’t Ben’s warm laughter. “Ben, no! He’s trying to–he wants to control me!”

“He can’t,” he murmured, stroking her back. “You’re stronger than him. And we’re stronger together. I love you.”

“Ben,” she groaned, sinking into him despite knowing she should resist. “I almost killed you last night. He was in my head, he almost made me… Ben, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Tears suddenly poured down her cheeks, expelling long repressed emotions and the stress of the last few days, expelling the noxious presence trying to take over her mind.

Ben pulled back to ghost his lips over hers, gently cupping her cheeks while he sipped her tears and kissed her pain away. “It’s okay, you’re not alone.”

She sighed into the next pass of his lips, loving the soft, insistent way he was touching her. “Neither are you,” she vowed.

He kissed her for long moments, not lustfully like before, but sweetly. Lovingly.

“You can fight him,” he insisted when they finally parted, “I know because I’ve been there and you’re a hell of a lot stronger than I was at your age.”

“You–what?”

He smiled sadly when she pulled away. “Rey, he’s tried this before. And he failed.”

——————

Ben told Rey about his childhood, delving into his nightmares and sleepless nights. Into the way his personality was affected, changed, by the darkness stirred within him by Darth Sidious. It was always him. Since his grandmother and grandfather were young, all the misfortune that had befallen the Skywalker family could be pinned on one man.

“But he didn’t win then and he won’t know,” Ben concluded confidently.

“Your grandparents,” Rey frowned. “They both…”

“Yes,” he said sadly. “I never got to meet them. My mother and uncle did meet my grandfather, but… he was saved, in the end. He did the right thing.”

“And you? How did you escape Sidious?”

“My uncle,” Ben smiled. “Luke could tell what was happening and he helped me open up. It was… difficult. But he helped me banish the darkness. Or control my darker instincts, at least.”

“How?” Rey looked hopeful.

Ben pulled his lightsaber off his belt and held it out to her.

“What?”

“Take it.”

“I can’t!”

“You can.” Ben took her hand, wrapping her fingers around the thick hilt himself. “Now ignite it.”

She stared at him, aghast. “Why? A killer is trying to possess me and you hand me this?”

Ben couldn’t help it, he laughed out loud. “Just turn it on and you’ll understand.”

Chewing her bottom lip, Rey held out his weapon like it might bite her, then gently clicked it on. “Ben, I don’t–what the Force?!”

Smiling as her shocked eyes studied the amethyst blade, Ben knew she’d see the light at last.

“It’s purple,” she said, nonplused. “Like mine.”

“Of course.”

“Because we’re one, because… we’re a dyad.”

“Yes.”

“And my energy…”

“Is yours, but also mine, also ours,” he said softly. “The energy surrounding us exemplifies everything you and I are, separately and together.”

She looked deep into his eyes. “And who am I?”

“Whoever you want to be.”

“I want to be… yours,” she admitted quietly.

Ben felt a weight lift off his heart. “You are, as I am yours.”

“I love you, Ben,” Rey said at last, placing both hands on his shoulders.

“I lo–ha!” Ben laughed as she pushed him onto his back again. “I love you, Rey,” he finished.

“I know,” she said, moving to straddle his hips with a sly smile. “Now show me how much.”

——————

A/N: So yeah, gonna be a sixth part I guess! This chapter was not what I had planned originally, but I wanted to flesh out the story a bit more before jumping into more sexy times (and the conclusion of this tale). Believe me, I am also shocked lol Until next time!

#reylo #kylo ren #ben solo #reylo fanfic #reylo fic #my fanfiction #sushigirlali

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what-is-my-aesthetic · 2 years

Note

You’ve unleashed the gateway to hell, dude

Much like Peter Morchly in 1903…. Oh you haven’t heard???

Peter Morchly on March 2nd decided to start “his own purge like in the movies”. A direct quote which is very strange considering Purge came out 110 years later. Many people consider Peter to be a profit some even hypothesizing he will come back in 2103. And I personally can’t wait. He’s my favorite!!!!!!

#blorbo from my crime #blorbo from my crimes #my favorite one!!!!#skrungly #poor little meow meow

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dxrkdreamer · 3 years

Text

Not So Bad

Modern Sukuna x Reader

Working late had been the bane of your existence, only getting worse when a certain man started showing up to your store’s parking lot to light his joints.

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: 18+ implied sex, mentions of weed.

(A/N: should I make a part 2? It seems pretty popular

Couldn’t come up with a name for the store so I used Anavrin from ‘YOU’)

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

“11:00 pm? Again?” you rubbed the back of your head trying to hide your frustration, the store manager nodded his head, sighing you agreed to stay late at work again since the closer frankly did not want to stay. So now here you are grumbling as you finish sweeping the floor and checking it off your log. You worked at a high end grocery store named Anavrin, a store that swore to sell organic produce and products to the best of quality. You took up a job here in your senior year of high school, planning on working for a few months to save up for college. And yet… 4 years later you’re still here grumbling at the extra hours you had taken. After your second year of working you had a promotion to supervisor… woo hoo!!... but it turned out it was more responsibility than expected. But it paid a little more and you could not argue with that.

‘I should be a little more optimistic, I’m graduating uni this year’ you’d tell yourself anytime you wanted to pull your hair out because of your measly job. You finished turning off the lights and locking the door, sighing as you felt the cold fall air hit your tired face, taking a deep breath of fresh air… wait a second “Who the fuck is smoking weed!” you yelled in a girly voice, as if this day was not long enough. Since you were in charge of a proper closing you marched off towards a tall man leaning against the back of the store, laughing and conversing on his phone. It was a little nostalgic, you remembered your highschool days, sneaking around and smoking pot in strange places. But he was not as young as a teenager, in fact his build made him look older than you.

“Hey! I’m going to ask you to leave, this is a smoke free property” You tried saying sternly gesturing to the sign right above them that read “no smoking” in bold letters. But your short stature compared to the man made you look like a kid waving your arms around attempting a snake dance.

“What on earth is this?” a man with pink hair and face tattoos said “I’m so scared, I should be so ashamed for not reading the sign” he cackled as he pressed the joint to his lips and inhaled again. “My apologies”

He did not look sorry at all.

“Look, I’ve had a long day. I’d like to go home so please go to a proper location or I’ll-” but you’re cut off with the joint stuffed to your pretty lips.

“You’ll what cutie?” he smirked as you stared at him dumbfounded, the joint stuck to your lip as you tried to figure out a reaction. But the man was already on his way towards his motorbike. Of course he had a motorbike. “First one’s always free darling, next time I’ll charge ya” he winked as he put his helmet on and sped off.

“Mother fucker” you swore and banged your head against the brick wall. ‘Never am I staying late again’ you groaned. You walked to your car, but not without tucking the joint safely in your pocket for when you got back home.

---

And that was your first of many nightly encounters with the pink haired man. You were not surprised to see him anymore in the parking lot, either smoking, laughing with friends or just sitting on his bike staring at his phone. You learned his name was Sukuna… you had asked for it during the nth time you threatened to call the cops. You also learned he sold weed to the store manager, so he pretty much had a free pass on smoking here.

“Working late again (name)? My, they must pay you a lot for you to stay here.” he smirked, watching you with grinning eyes. Your annoyance shot up at the mention of your little over minimum wage pay. They definitely were not paying you enough for the store, but giving you a delinquent like this guy… you had written your resignation letter a few times after his nightly visits. You ignored him as you walked to your car, heavy footsteps followed “I brought ya a little something” He grinned handing you a baggy with a cookie “It’s on the house, made ‘em myself”. Eyes narrowed as you tilted your head up to glare at him, but realized you were a lot closer than you expected. You could hear him breathe, feel the heat off his body and smell the spicy cologne he was wearing as you breathed a little too loudly trying to inhale the scent. “Not today darling, that package is for another date” he winked.

Oh my God.

What have you done? Sure he was hot and you didn’t mind the view, but his mouth made up for that. He was like an evil version of a talking cat. Opening his mouth to smite you, prideful like one and given the opportunity would sit on your face if you were lying down. Wait what?

“I’m not interested in you like that!” you squeeked.

He tilts his head to the side, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand “Then how are you interested in me?”

“I’m not interested unless you’re a customer, or an employee here or something!” Frustrated, you grabbed the zip loc with the cookie in it “And I’ll be confiscating this!”

“Sure thing, I made it just for you. It's a special recipe”

“I’ll let the cops know!” you yelled getting in your car, throwing the cookie on the passengers side as you sped home for the night.

“So if I was an employee…or something...” he wondered gazing at the stars, his thoughts frenzying around as his mind came up with the most brilliant idea. Cackling loudly “you’ve really outdone yourself this time me.” Laughing as he got on his bike, speeding towards his apartment.

---

“A new employee?” You mused, It was pretty hectic at work recently, one of your employee’s had quit and they finally found a replacement “I wonder what they’re like”. You asked yourself as you prepared a training checklist to go over, making sure to not make it too hard on the new guy- you heard it was his first job after all. “Hello! And welcome to the Anavrin family!” you say smiling with closed eyes, as you open them your mouth went agape. ‘What the….’ had the demon cat from the parking lot shrunk and gotten more youthful?

“Hi, I’m Yuji Itadori. You must be my brother Sukuna’s friend. He said to write your name down as someone who referred me to the job”

Chuckling nervously with the clipboard in hand you checked off the box for introductions “I’m (name) the grocery supervisor, and you would be working under me mostly.” Friends with Sukuna? Cutting your wrists open and watching them bleed sounded like the better option.

As the shift progressed Yuji showed you he was the complete opposite of his older brother. Always finishing his tasks, being kind and sweet. Everyone else loved him too, just on the first day. He was stocking milk and eggs the way you had shown him, one of the last tasks of the night. The crowd of customers thinned out as it got late and the store was closer to its closing time. You watched to make sure he was doing them correctly and if he needed any help. ‘This wasn’t so bad’ you thought, closing your eyes and leaning back.

“So how’s my little brother been (name)?”

Your eyes shot open at that voice God no please. “He’s been amazing, but you can’t just put my name as a referral without asking me-” There stood a tall Sukuna in a dress shirt with his sleeves rolled back, probably coming after finishing his day job. Majority of his tattoos were covered except the lines on his wrists that were exposed, making you gulp inaudibly. Suddenly feeling underdressed in your uniform’s polo shirt and measly work pants and sweater as you stared up at his glory.

“Sorry darling, I can’t do what?” he smirked. Mentally praising himself as his plan got into action. He couldn’t lie, (name) was interesting. Always yelling at him, cursing him and swearing that she would murder him if it was the purge. His usual charm not working gave him more of a challenge. Not to mention the way she was kind to younger brother made his heart swell a little.

The annoyance returned once you saw his shit eating grin “You can’t write my name down without asking me!”

As he opened his mouth to speak, the intercom went off, notifying everyone that the store was now closed and any remaining customers should bring their purchases to the front to pay for them.

“Yuji you can go home now, I’ll put this away and start heading out myself” you say massaging your temples with your fingers.

“See you soon (name).” Sukuna winked as he walked towards the exit, waving behind at you as he went outside to wait for his brother.

---

Unfortunately soon had never come… at least not for the last 3 weeks. Making you miss the tall man in more ways than one. Maybe he wasn't so bad now that you thought about it. The usual nightly teasing might make you seethe but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t laugh about it later in your car. Somehow his laid backness and mocking smile made your night light up a little. And the weed that you would “confiscate” really did help you unwind after a long shift.

“Maybe it was because he saw me in my uniform” you grumbled. That had to be it. You weren’t a sore look on the eyes. Right? But compared to him… you hissed as you felt your lower half heat up and tremble at the thought of the man. “Well it's only 11:00 pm… and my first class is at 9:30 am… and then I have work at the 4:00.” Debating your options…. ‘This is why I’m probably so grumpy all the time, I think too much’

“And probably need to get laid” you said aloud. Living alone did have its perks, no one could call you crazy for talking to yourself. Your friends always nagged you about your dry spell too, but one night stands weren’t really fun to you anymore. They were too shallow and you always found yourself feeling more frustrated by them than relaxed.

Quickly rummaging through your drawer, you found your lovely device and turned it on. The buzz filled the room as you fell on the bed and groaned. Your mind was wild as you thought dirty little things about the man. Your eyes rolled back and you felt little whines erupt from your throat as you imagined him on top of you with his signature smirk, choking you and teasing you, calling you terrible names and whispering dirty things in your ear.

But as quickly as you heated up, the device buzzed and suddenly stopped. Too hazy to think straight you tried turning it on and off again, soon realizing it was the battery that was dead. “For fucks sake” you threw the vibrator and it hit the wall and fell with a loud thud. Good. Pulling your covers up, scowling as you shut your eyes to sleep.

The next day only went further downhill. Your lecture was long and uneventful, you forgot there was a guest speaker instead of the usual prof, most of the class skipped anyways so you sat alone and pretended to be interested. And as you went home from campus, your car broke down on the way leaving you stranded in the heat as you waited for the tow truck. You really just wanted to buy some batteries and get some time to yourself before work. But life had another thing planned once you got home, you only left with half an hour before you had to leave for work. Which barely gave you enough time to shower, change into an excuse of an outfit, grab your uniform and run out the door. You heard a few whistles as you ran to the bus stop, most likely because of the skimpy outfit which was pretty much just a long t-shirt made into a dress with stockings. But this was not the time to be picking fights.

Work was more mundane as ever. Emptying, stocking, organizing and talking was all that seemed to happen. You frowned for the nth time in the day when you saw Yuji was not scheduled to work today and you remembered him mentioning that he was going somewhere with friends for the next two days. The boy could always turn a bad day around. He was a blessing to the department and the store as a whole. The long day finally came to an end and the weekend awaited. Stuffing your uniform in your bag as you walked out you saw a familiar motorbike and a man leaning against it getting ready to light a joint.

You didn’t think, all you could hear were your footsteps smacking against the pavement as you ran to the man. Blood rushed to your head as you slowed down, stopping barely an inch away from him. He was wearing jeans and a dress shirt and most important, that smirk.

“I didn’t realize you missed me this much darling, otherwise-” but he was cut short as your hands gripped his head and pulled him down to your lips for a not so innocent kiss. You had to admit, you liked the guy. But as he responded by deepening the kiss and sliding his wet tongue into your mouth to taste you, you realized you wanted more of him. And you found yourself in his apartment, stripped down with his face buried between your legs as you came down from your second orgasm. Him licking you clean and not missing a single bit.

“When” you panted “when is Yuuji-” but he shushed you by gagging his fingers deep in your throat.

“Not until Sunday at least” he smiled with a sinister look, your wetness coating his lips “we have the whole weekend darling” He had waited almost two months for this so he was definitely going to take his time and relish the next few days. How could he not? You were beautiful with a fiery personality, and that showed by the ways you disobeyed him on his bed to get a reaction. It seemed the roles were reversed, but this time there would be consequences. For you at least.

He was relentless but you were no pussy and would not back down either. Both of you with fire and heat taking over your bodies as you brought spark and life into the night, wanting to explore every bit of each other, not stopping until you noticed the sun starting to rise causing exhaustion to take over.

He had let you stay to sleep in, provided you with a clean shirt to wear and even made breakfast for you. Presented you with a “gourmet plate of eggo waffles with the finest Aunt Jemimah maple syrup” he said which earned him a giggle from your pretty lips.

“I can make pretty good waffles from scratch” you told him proudly, puffing out your chest in pride. But these were special to you, the whole moment was special.

“I intend on trying them,” he spoke after a moment. He thought it was out of character for him to ask for a relationship but he wanted to be with you more than just a few times. And wanted more of you in different ways. He wouldn’t get his brother involved if it was a casual fuck relationship that he wanted. Which reminded him he owed the brat 50 bucks.

“Maybe you should come over sometime” you smiled sweetly, blushing a bit.

“I’d like to see you more, take out and get to know you” he said, interrupting your invitation.

“I’d like that too.” you said smiling.

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader inser #ryomen sukuna #yuuji itadori #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna fic #sukuna imagine

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Long Lost Prince Part 2;

Merlin leads his people home and Arthur grapples with whether he should keep his feelings to himself or not.

Part 1

Just like Arthur promised, a portion of Camelot's army mixed with around fifty of Merlin's knights are marching towards the Dragonlands within a month.

Merlin and Arthur lead the way, Sir Thornway, Sir Leon, and Sir Mordred following closely behind. It was decided fairly quickly that Hunith and Gaius would stay in Camelot; they were desperate to get home, but they weren't fighters, and whilst the chance of attack was fairly low considering the army behind them and the two dragons circling ahead, Arthur and Merlin were unwilling to risk it.

At a quick pace, Arthur reckons they could've made the journey in a week, but the army is slow-moving, and it takes them almost three to reach the border. They don't hear a peep out of anyone as they move through the countryside, though Arthur does raise an amused eyebrow at Merlin every once in a while, as and when the Warlock chuckles at Kilgharrah whispering in his head about all the various pathetic mercenaries and bandits running away screaming at the sight of his silhouette against the clouds.

The Dragonland, in comparison to Camelot, was a very small kingdom, but it’s capital city was near the far border, backed by miles and miles of towering mountains. In one of the many sessions of reminiscing that Merlin, Thornway, and Kilgharrah have in the evenings, they discuss the mountains at length. They were mostly uninhabited by people, even before the purge, they were far too treacherous for those without a guide and strong magic, and even then the paths were still dangerous.

The great mountains were where the Dragon’s resided; in a network of twisting tunnels and great caverns carved with fire and magic. Merlin vaguely remembers being taken there a few weeks before... before they left. Thornway told him that retreating into the mountains was one of the back up plans, if Uther’s army was too big and there was no hope of escape through the countryside.

(Arthur frowned at that. He was frowning at a lot nowadays, but Merlin just squeezed his leg under the blanket they were sharing (Leon did NOT smirk and Arthur did NOT blush) and whispered, yet again, that he was not his father.)

The escape through the mountains was planned to be a last ditch effort though, even with the dragons leading them and their strongest sorcerers protecting them, the perilous paths, with their knife edge drops and loose rocks and harsh snow, would have taken too many casualties to count. Though, in the end, escaping through the countryside had been just as deadly.

Arthur also used the journey to think about what Leon had said. Though Merlin and The King stuck close by for the whole trek, conversation was sparse (though the silences were comfortable); Arthur was unsure how to bring up the inevitable change in their relationship, though he knows that, for his own peace of mind if nothing else, he should.

They were deep into the Kingdom, having passed all the now doubly abandoned outer villages (Arthur was right in thinking that two dragons and a marching army scared away all the various mercenary groups and bandits) and now only a day’s ride from the capital, that Arthur asked Merlin the question that had been plaguing his mind for weeks. The two of them were sat against a fallen log, the night flourishing around them. The silence over the rest of the camp was tense, the knowledge that they were close hanging in the air, but the silence between Merlin and Arthur was comfortable, peaceful:

“What are you planning on doing?”

Merlin took a noticeably deep breath and Arthur turned to him, trying desperately to keep the worried frown off his face:

“I don’t know. I didn’t really discuss it with ma, we just... wanted to get home, and work from there, see what happens I guess.”

Arthur nodded, gulping slightly before he responds:

“Do you think she wants the throne? Your mother? Or will you become King?”

Merlin chuckles, but Arthur clenches his hands and looks away at the humourless lilt the noise has:

“I’d love to see her back in her crown, on her throne, but it’s been a long time. She did everything with my father by her side, I don’t know if... if she would want to do it on her own. I don’t know that she would cope.-”

The Warlock turns to face Arthur, and it strikes The King how close they are when he can feel Merlin’s breath on his cheek. He turns to meet his gaze once more:

“-What would you do, Arthur? In my place?”

Arthur can only hold his stare for a few moments before he looks to his lap, shaking his head slightly:

“I don’t know, Merlin. Tell me what’s on your mind, I... I can’t promise that I’ll have the answers, but maybe saying things out-loud will help.”

Merlin nods as he shuffles in his spot slightly, and Arthur likes to think that he was moving closer:

“I... I’m desperate to get home. But at the same time, I waited. I waited for twenty years, I’ve built myself a life in Camelot, I’d... given up on ever returning home, and I was just about coming to terms with the fact that Camelot was my home now. And then... this. I have to lead my people back, I know that, I owe it to them, it’s my job to protect them and give them back their heritage-”

Arthur interrupts quietly:

“Your heritage.”

Merlin sighs:

“-yeah, my heritage. My mother, and Gaius, and my people, and... and I, we deserve to go home. But I was only six when we left, I never got all the lessons on how to be a Politician, a King. Yes, I’m the heir, yes, I remember home and the crown and being a little Prince, but I am not built to be a King, Arthur, I don’t want to- I can’t fail my people, but I fear I will. I... I’ve been putting up a brave front for my mum, for Thornway, but I’m terrified. I have no idea what I’m doing, Arthur. What if I mess up?”

Arthur allows a small smile to slip onto his face as he takes Merlin’s fidgeting hands in his own. He shakes his head as he huffs out a short laugh and Merlin looks at him incredulously:

“You couldn’t possibly, Merlin. I know you well, do I not?-”

Merlin nods his head vigorously:

“Better than anyone.”

Arthur fights the blush:

“-And I’m telling you, that you have nothing to worry about. You may not have had official lessons, but you have the mind for politics.-”

Arthur glances to his lap briefly as he takes a fortifying breath, stroking his thumbs over the back of Merlin’s hands, still clutched in his, and looking up to him again:

“-I had all those lessons. All that training, and practicing, and tutoring. But I was still so... lost when I became King. I don’t think I ever told you, Merlin, but the only thing that got me through was you, always by my side. Because I knew that you would never let me fail, because I trusted you to see my shortcomings and make up for them without fuss, without fault. And you did, without asking for any thanks, or recognition, like you do with everything. To this day, you think I’m a good King because of destiny, but that’s utter bollocks and I’ve always known it. I’m a good King, Merlin, because you made me a good man first. And on days when I doubt my own rule, I remind myself of how much faith you have in me, and it gives me strength, because I know you would never allow me to fail, and on the off chance I fall, I know you would catch me. Every good King who cares about his people has doubts, Merlin, but however much faith you have in me? I have the same amount, if not more, in you. You’ll do just fine.”

Merlin looks at him with wide, teary eyes, and Arthur flushes under the scrutiny. The King goes to say something, maybe a flippant joke to de-charge the atmosphere, but before he can utter even a word, Merlin throws himself at him, wrapping tight arms around his shoulders and burying his face in his neck. Arthur almost falls back, but he holds steady, chuckling slightly as he returns Merlin’s hug with equal intensity. Merlin’s muffled voice from his shoulder has Arthur tightening his grip:

“Will you catch me? If I fall?”

Arthur moves a hand up to cradle the back of Merlin’s head:

“You won’t fall. But I’d spend the rest of my life stood below you with my arms out ready, Merlin, if that gave you just a fraction of the belief in yourself that you should have.”

Neither pulled away for what felt like hours, and by the time Thornway wondered over to check on them, they had fallen asleep against the log, arms still firmly wrapped around each other.

He smiles mournfully as he drapes a blanket over them. You would have to be blind to miss the odd moroseness that had overtaken them both, and the old knight knew that his Prince was dreading having to leave Arthur, and that Arthur was dreading the same. They shuffle in their sleep, and Thornway freezes, worried that he had woken them, but when Arthur just mutters Merlin’s name and moves impossibly closer to the other man Thornway sighs. This is going to be... painful for the two of them, and he’s not quite sure how he can help.

After another day of travel, they find themselves moving through the capital city, towards the castle sitting at the foot of the mountains.

The army was left with orders to methodically clear the city whilst Arthur, Leon, Thornway, and Mordred headed straight for the citadel gates. Though the city had fallen into disrepair, the castle looked like it had barely been touched, even by the elements, and Thornway explained that powerful enchantments laid over the ancient building, preventing it from being invaded or damaged by even the strongest of armies:

“It was meant to be a stronghold, somewhere we could hide and keep our people safe in emergencies, but we knew if we did that we would have backed ourselves into a corner. Uther was taking over more and more of the city every day, if we locked ourselves in... we would have just starved. Trying to escape through the city and out into the wilderness was our only hope.”

Merlin nods absent-mindedly as he stares up at the main door:

“Can we even get in?”

His voice is quiet and shaky, and Mordred steps forward to put a hand on his shoulder as Thornway replies with a small smile:

“You’re the heir, the doors will always open for you, Little Falcon.”

Merlin replies with a weak smirk and flushed cheeks:

“You know, I’m not all that little anymore.”

Thornway barks out a laugh as he shakes his head slightly, ruffling Merlin’s hair as the younger man pouts:

“Well, you’ll always be littler than me.-”

Merlin goes to retort, but before he can, his knight steps back and gestures to the great doors in front of them:

“-Go on, it’s time for us to finally come home, I think.”

Merlin gulps and nods, and Mordred lets his hand fall back to his side as the older Warlock takes the steps two at a time, hesitating only slightly before he wraps his hand around one of the doors’ metal rings. It twists easily in his grip, and the door swings open. Merlin has to take a step back and cover his mouth with his sleeve as he coughs, the billowing clouds of dust being disturbed for the first time in two decades making it almost impossible to see into the dark hall.

It settles after a few moments and Merlin takes a deep breath, reaching behind him wordlessly and relaxing only when he feels Arthur take his hand. The blonde King gives his hand a comforting squeeze, and Merlin takes his first shaking steps across the threshold.

He walks through the dark corridors slowly, one hand tightly clenched in Arthur’s, the other trailing along the wall next to him. The rest of the group is silent as they follow him, and nothing can be heard bar their muffled steps over the dusty rugs, and the deep breathing of Merlin and Thornway.

Merlin seems to know where he’s going, so no one questions the corners he turns and the rooms he passes without second thought. The deeper into the castle they get, the darker it becomes, until finally Merlin stops, a long hall stretched out in front of him. His eyes flash gold and the torches lining the walls flare up, illuminating the corridor in golden light. Arthur turns to look at the Warlock beside him, empathetic tears gathering in his eyes as he sees tracks on Merlin’s cheeks.

Merlin turns to glance at Thornway, whose in a similar state, before closing his eyes and flattening his free hand against the wall, digging his fingertips into the cracks as his voice comes out quiet and raspy:

“I know these halls, this stone.-”

Thornway takes a deep stuttering breath, muttering Merlin’s name. Merlin steps away from the wall, looking back to his knight with a weak, teary smile:

“-Do you remember? Chambers filled with golden light, vast halls bustling with people and dragons and magic?”

Thornway gulps and nods, slowly moving towards Merlin and putting a hand on his shoulder:

“I remember.-”

He nods down the corridor, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat before asking:

“-You remember what’s down there?”

Merlin smiles and nods, squeezing Arthur’s hand and leading the group down the hall, obviously impatient to get to wherever their destination is, but unwilling to walk any quicker.

Leon and Arthur share a confused and slightly concerned look but don’t say anything, allowing Merlin and Thornway to lead the way. Once again, Merlin hesitates only slightly before pushing the door at the end of the corridor open. and the six of them gather inside the immense chamber. Like the rest of the castle, it was dusty, but untouched; unlike the rest of the castle, it was bathed in colourful light. The walls were high, the ceiling obviously stretching far above the surrounding rooms, and the afternoon sun shone brightly through giant stained glass windows.

Reds and blues and greens and every other colour imaginable were splashed across the stone floor, painting pictures of dragons and flowers and family, but everyone’s eyes skip over the colourful artwork, instead being drawn to the two golden thrones sat on a dais at the other end of the hall. Merlin lets go of Arthur’s hand, walking towards the thrones with wide eyes as the others stay back, watching with a mix of pride and grief. Thornway follows after a few moments and Leon has to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, shaking his head slightly when the King looks at him. Arthur clenches his hands and looks away, but stays by the door, wanting more than anything to be with Merlin through this but also understanding that it wasn’t his place.

Merlin finally reaches the thrones.

He wipes the thick dust from the armrests with shaking, but reverent hands before sitting down on the steps, slightly to the side of the golden seats. He runs his fingertips over the stone, remembering every bump and crack and texture, and Thornway stands behind him, in line with the thrones, putting a hand on his shoulder and muttering:

“Now this brings back memories.”

Merlin nods, looking up at him, tears no longer flowing, but still gathering in his eyes:

“I... I don’t remember much, but I still... know. I know this is where I sat, with you behind me, ma and dad next to me on their thrones. I remember dad promising that when I was older, they’d have a throne made for me, so I could sit with them.”

Thornway nods, slowly moving to sit beside him, ignoring the creaking in his bones as he lets his weight fall onto the stone steps:

“Hmm. foreign royalty and dignitaries thought it odd that the King and Queen let you sit in on meetings, even as a young child, but they were always adamant; they didn’t want to hide you away. You were always safe, of course, but they wanted you exposed to the people and the people exposed to you. I suppose they wanted to nurture a natural love and protectiveness of your people in you; how could they expect you to serve the Kingdom well if you were only doing so out of duty, and not genuine love?”

Merlin hums thoughtfully before smiling briefly up at Arthur, still stood on the other side of the room. When Arthur tentatively returns the smile, despite not hearing the hushed conversation, Merlin looks to Thornway next to him, bumping shoulders with a short giggle:

“Probably why I’ve always been so disrespectful to Arthur, everyone in here was equal, no matter what. I guess that’s why the treatment of servants and commoners was such a shock when I moved to Camelot, I don’t really remember much of home, but it definitely felt different.”

Thornway nods as Merlin stands, holding out a hand to the knight and pulling him to his feet. Merlin’s gaze moves around the room, though he stays rooted to the spot, and Thornway asks his question quietly:

“What do you want to do? Do you want to finish clearing the castle and the city first, or fetch your mother and uncle first?”

Merlin gulps before taking a deep breath, staring at the floor and saying in a small voice:

“I don’t know... what do you think I should do?”

Thornway chuckles and shakes his head:

“This is your decision, Little Falcon. You are the Crown Prince, this is your Kingdom, your city, your people, trust your instincts. What should be done?”

Merlin looks to Arthur once again, reminding himself of the King’s promise to catch him should he fall, before looking back at Thornway with a determined expression:

“Send Kilgharrah to fetch ma and Gaius. We no longer need him as a deterrent, and we’ll still have Aithusa. He can make the journey to Camelot and back in a week at most, knights, even on horseback, will take at least twice that. It’s been a while since either of them went flying, but they’ll remember soon enough, and I trust Kilgharrah to keep them safe. We can keep clearing the city and start rough plans for rebuilding whilst we wait.”

Thornway grins and nods proudly:

“Exactly what I would have suggested. See? You’ll be just fine.-”

Merlin returns his grin shyly, blushing slightly as he rubs the back of his neck. Thornway rolls his eyes good-naturedly before gesturing to the others:

“-Come, My Lord, we should let the others know and head out to send Kilgharrah off as soon as possible.”

Merlin pushes the older knight’s shoulder playfully at the use of a title, but Thornway just smirks and waves Merlin ahead of him.

Arthur, Leon, and Mordred were told of the plan as the group made their way out of the castle again, having to cover their eyes when they step into the bright sunlight. They all smiled fondly as they saw Merlin’s growing confidence, though Arthur had to stamp down the growing anxiety swirling in his stomach; he refused to be sad for himself.

Kilgharrah was flying back towards Camelot within the hour, and Merlin was separating the army into groups and assigning tasks with a strong voice and straight back, taking every question and suggestion in his stride and organising hundreds of people without issue.

Arthur knew that there was still a conversation to be had between himself and Merlin, though with every day that passed he questioned whether it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t oblivious enough not to notice the way Merlin always asked for his council, even when he didn’t need it, always searched for his eyes in the crowd when he addressed his people, but that didn’t mean that his... affections, were returned.

Everyone, even Thornway now, kept shooting him pitying looks, and he figured out fairly quickly that he wasn’t as subtle as he’d like to believe. Leon was the only one he could rely on to convincingly pretend nothing was wrong, and Arthur used that to back up his deliberate ignoring of his stupid emotions.

Six days had passed and the clearing of debris from the lower town was well on its way when Kilgharrah landed in the castle courtyard, his two passengers tense and teary. Only Hunith, Gaius, Merlin, and Thornway took the journey through the castle this time; the others continued to help with the work in the town, not quite feeling that they would be welcome on the emotional tour.

Hunith decided fairly quickly that she would move on to become Queen Mother. Merlin would be crowned King (though he put his foot down and insisted that it wouldn’t happen until everything was properly sorted, and the people were settled back in the city), and though Hunith would still be the most senior of the royals, Merlin would technically have the most power.

Arthur had mixed feelings about that.

As King, Merlin would be a lot busier, would have a lot more responsibilities, but equally, he would have much more control over the use of his time; somehow making it both harder and easier to organise visits between the two of them. Though Arthur, of course, didn’t mention such feelings, just pulled Merlin into another tight hug and congratulated him with a grin.

With the help of Merlin and Mordred’s magic, and the few sorcerers scattered throughout the army they had brought, clearing the town of debris and rebuilding what they could with whatever was left went fairly quickly. Soon enough, the blacksmith’s and an infirmary were up and running, and the farms were ready for work to commence, just as soon as the resources from Camelot arrived.

The castle, whilst it had been fully explored by Merlin, Hunith, Thornway, and Gaius, had yet to be opened up to others or cleaned properly, but no one mentioned it. The gang slept happily in homes rebuilt in the upper town, and accepted Merlin’s excuse of wanting to focus on the people’s infrastructure first.

It was a week or so after Hunith and Gaius had arrived, Kilgharrah and Aithusa had disappeared into the mountains with Merlin’s approval, and Arthur once again found Merlin stood in the otherwise empty, still dusty throne room, staring at the golden seats with his hands in his pockets and his face tense.

Years ago, Arthur would’ve been wrong in his assumption that Merlin hadn’t heard him approach, but just this once he knows that he’s right. Arthur had slowly become an expert on picking up Merlin’s ticks, and even in the low light of the evening the blonde could tell that Merlin had no clue he was there.

Arthur didn’t want to feel like he was intruding, so cleared his throat quietly, only walking closer to the other man when his head whipped around, smiling slightly when he saw it was just Arthur.

Arthur stepped up next to him, and they both stared at the thrones in silence, shoulders brushing ever so slightly. Everything had been so busy in recent weeks that, other than the conversation two weeks earlier, Arthur and Merlin had spent barely any time together, just the two of them; every other time Arthur had found Merlin alone in the throne room he had shut the door quietly behind him and left, too afraid to intrude, not quite ready to start a conversation. The conversation.

After a few minutes, he clears his throat again and speaks in a quiet voice, not looking to the Warlock next to him:

“What’s on your mind?”

Merlin responds almost immediately, but like Arthur, he speaks quietly and doesn’t move his gaze from the thrones:

“Nothing, everything. I’m... doing ok, I think.-”

Arthur nods with a small smile, but Merlin continues before he can say anything:

“-But I’m scared that I’m only doing well because you’re here. You have to go back to Camelot eventually and... it sounds stupid, but I... I don’t want you to go. I need you, Arthur.”

Arthur gulps, finally looking to Merlin’s sorrowful face, though the other man refuses to meet his gaze. He takes his hands out of his pockets, fiddling with them roughly, rubbing his knuckles together and scratching his palms harshly. Arthur clenches his jaw, taking one of Merlin’s hands in his own gently and running soothing fingers over the younger man’s callouses:

“I know what you mean.-”

Merlin looks to him in surprise, his eyes widening, and Arthur continues with a small smile:

“-I told you, Merlin, I’m only a good King because of you. I’ve never had to rule on my own before and I’m dreading going back to Camelot without you.-”

Merlin shakes his head roughly, but Arthur continues once again, before he can disagree:

“-No, Merlin, don’t argue, it’s true. I... I need you as well, I don’t want to be without you, and I’ve no clue how I’m going to cope with a week’s ride between us. Leon tried talking some sense into me back in Camelot, and I know he was right, that all relationships take effort and we’ll have to work incredibly hard to stay in each other’s lives in any significant capacity, and I’m absolutely willing to do anything to keep you close, if not physically then... otherwise, but I’m still...-”

Arthur sighs and looks away, his cheeks just a little bit pink as he continues quietly:

“-I’m still scared to be without you.”

Merlin gulps and squeezes Arthur’s hand in his own, waiting for the blonde to finally look up at him again. The Warlock smiles at the eye contact and Arthur returns it weakly as Merlin finally replies:

“The last ten years of my life have revolved around you, completely and utterly, and I know it’s selfish of me to... not want that to change. I know I’m staying here, with my people, as their King. I would never consider abandoning them, not really, but I desperately want to, just so I can stay with you. We... we’ll figure something out, find some way to communicate quickly. I’m magic incarnate, there has to be a way, I... I’ll make a way, if I have to.”

The tears in Arthur’s eyes finally overflow at Merlin’s determined tone, but before the other man can say anything about it, Arthur pulls him into a tight hug, clutching his cloak in shaking fingers and burying his face in his shoulder, for once feeling grateful for the extra inch in height that Merlin has on him. Merlin returns the hug without hesitation, closing his eyes against the tears, though not managing to stop them from falling as he quietly speaks, his voice thick:

“I promised that I would stay with you until the day I died, but I... I have to leave, I... I can’t-”

Arthur tightens the hug as he interrupts him:

“No, Merlin, you owe me nothing, you don’t have to explain. You’ve already given me my kingdom, now it’s my chance to return the favour. I would never ever ask you to leave this behind just for me.”

Arthur can feel Merlin’s body shaking with silent sobs, and he runs a hand through his hair softly, breathing deeply in an effort to hold in his own bawling.

They stand wrapped in each other for a while, neither willing to let go even when their tears dry up and their breathing evens out. Eventually Merlin rasps out a whispered:

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Arthur pulls back at long last, but doesn’t go far, leaning his forehead against Merlin’s and closing his eyes before replying:

“You won’t. We’ll take turns hosting Yule celebrations, and I can visit on your birthday, and there’ll be tournaments of course, and trade routes, and shared patrols near the border. I refuse to let you slip from my grasp, Merlin, you’ll never be without me, not for long anyway.”

Merlin huffs out a gentle laugh, and Arthur thinks the flutter of his breath over his cheeks and through his eyelashes is the most beautiful thing he’s ever felt. Both of them open their eyes, but they don’t move away from each other, even as they stare, becoming increasingly aware of the very little amount of space between them. Arthur’s brows crease slightly but he ignores the concerned question in Merlin’s eyes, instead lifting a hand to gently cup his jaw, gulping as Merlin’s expression falls into a soft smile.

The King takes a deep breath as he summons his courage, eyes filling with tears again as he clears his throat, whispering so quietly that it’s a miracle Merlin hears him, even with only inches between them:

“Merlin, I... you mean a great deal to... I mean I... -”

He cuts himself off with a quiet huff, and Merlin smirks at the slight blush dusting his cheeks, patiently waiting for him to continue. Arthur shuts his eyes tightly, taking another deep breath before opening them with a newfound determination. He meant it, he’d come this far, he was not going to let Merlin slip away:

“I love you, you are the single most important person in my life, and I would go to the ends of this world just to see you smile. I owe you my life, and so much more than that; you’ve been making promises and swearing oaths to my crown for years-”

Merlin interrupts him quietly:

“To you, to Arthur, not the crown, to you.”

Arthur huffs slightly and rolls his eyes:

“I’m trying to confess my undying love here Merlin, and I’m not very good with this whole... expressing shit, so shut up and let me finish.-”

Merlin snorts but stays otherwise silent, raising an eyebrow to prompt Arthur to continue:

“-Like I was saying. You’ve been swearing things for years, and now it’s my turn.-”

Arthur steps back, taking Merlin’s hands tightly in his own as he lowers himself to one knee, pressing his forehead to the Warlock’s knuckles:

“-I swear on my crown and in the name of Camelot, that I will always love you, that I will always be ready catch you, and that I will never stop putting the work in to make sure I don’t lose you, that you don’t lose me.”

The blonde can hear Merlin’s stuttered breathe and barely has time to process Merlin’s whispered-

“I accept your oath.”

-before he’s being pulled to his feet and urgently kissed.

One of Merlin’s hands settles on the side of Arthur’s neck and the other grips his hip. Arthur’s arms flail for only a moment in his shock before he moves to clutch Merlin’s collar tightly, closing his eyes and kissing back, pushing as much of his devotion into the action as possible and wanting nothing more than to sooth the stress-induced bite marks on Merlin’s lips.

They pull back far too soon, as far as both of them are concerned, once again resting their foreheads against each other as they catch their breath. Arthur’s face slowly morphs into a grin as he says:

“And to think I was stressing over whether I should tell you for weeks.”

Merlin rolls his eyes in response, snorting in amusement as he admits, much to Arthur’s chagrin:

“Believe me, I already knew, you weren’t very subtle. You’ve been sulking.”

Arthur lets out an incredulous huff and pulls back, still holding Merlin’s collar but staring at Merlin’s amused raised eyebrow with wide eyes:

“I am a King, Merlin, I do not sulk.”

Merlin chuckles:

“Well so am I, and yes you do.”

Arthur narrows his eyes slightly:

“Not yet you’re not. That’s besides the point, if you knew... why didn’t you say anything?”

Merlin’ face falls slightly, and if Arthur had to guess, he’d say that Merlin looked a little guilty. The blonde furrowed his brows but pulls his Warlock close again, stroking his jaw softly with his thumb as he waits for an answer:

“I... I love you, Arthur, more than anything, but... I wanted see if you would do anything about it. I knew I would do anything for you, but I needed... I needed to know if you thought I was worth the distance, the effort. If I said something first, I never would have known... I would always be second guessing if you were about to... to break it off, because you didn’t want to put in the frankly ridiculous amount of effort it’s going to take to keep things... good.”

Arthur smiles and shakes his head disbelievingly, landing a quick kiss to the tip of Merlin’s nose and smirking at the way his face scrunches in response:

“Well, now you do know. I will do anything, everything, to keep you happy and safe and loved. You will always be in my heart, if not by my side.”

Merlin smiles, and the two of them resolutely ignore the tears gathering in their eyes as he whispers his reply:

“As will I. I’ll talk to the Druids, Kilgharrah, Thornway, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure out some magical way to communicate.”

Arthur just smiles and nods, taking Merlin’s hands in his own once more:

“Ready to head to sleep? It’s late, and I know you’re tired.”

Merlin takes a deep breath, glancing to the thrones before walking towards the door, keeping Arthur’s hand securely in his:

“Yeah. Though unless we sneak past the others I doubt we’ll get to sleep for a while. Morgana’s been speaking to me in my head and teasing me for weeks and my mum keeps hinting at how politically beneficial a marriage between the kingdoms would be.”

Arthur doesn’t even try to hide his snort, but nods in agreement and squeezes Merlin’s hand, following him out into the star-lit evening with a newfound enthusiasm to see what the future will bring.

THE END OF PART 2!!!

I think I’ll write one more reeeaally short part, a ten years later sort of thing, just because I have a few more ideas about this, but no real huge plot points, just cute little things I want to add in but haven’t found space for yet.

This took a little longer than I expected to come out, but I hope y’all enjoyed it!!

(and yes, I may have taken a little inspiration from The Hobbit movies, sue me (pls don’t, I’m kidding))

287 notes · View notes

kyberphilosopher · 3 years

Text

Atonement

Requested: yes.

Word Count: 4193 Cal must deal with the consequences of his comrades deception and injuries, while they must deal with what this means for their relationship.

Atonement is the concept of a person taking action to correct previous wrongdoing on their part, either through direct action to undo the consequences of that act, equivalent action to do good for others, or some other expression of feelings of remorse.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Once upon a time, Anakin wasn’t all bad. But maybe that was why he died. After that, there wouldn’t have been competition for someone that was all bad, or at least somewhat worse than Anakin was alone.

Not that Anakin was a complete and utter angel. You knew, not better than anyone but still enough, that Anakin wasn’t all good either. And sure, most people aren’t, but your Master wasn’t most people. Far more talented and powerful was he than the other Jedi Knights, but far more unhinged was he who could not control himself. Anakin was the latter.

The other Jedi seemed to pity you. It wasn’t as if Anakin Skywalker was always inherently kind on you. You weren’t funny like Ahsoka, or respectable like Obi-Wan. In fact, Anakin had a suspicion that there was something inside of you that reminded him of his mother. Thus, he was cold. And he rarely bothered to teach in the way that people deserved to be taught.

He doesn’t like me, you remember thinking. He never will.

You had been the perfect padawan. You were certain you had done everything right. And yet, Anakin’s stare was icy, when he bothered to look your way at all. Where had your Master gone after the Purge anyway?

Your eyes open slowly.

Light peels across your vision, smeared from the art of being tired. Once your lids are widened, the back of your right hand lays across your forehead lazily. You had been dreaming, hadn’t you? But what had it been about? And why did it seem so hard to remember?

Maybe it was about your Master again, you realize as you exhale. No- ex Master now. But maybe it had been about him. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

You’re a Clone Killer.

Eyebrows crease with a twitch. You’ve laid in bed with too much comfort now. It’s time to get up. Stars, but the bed is warm and your legs are tangled in your comforter just right. When’s the next time you’ll get to feel this relaxed and sleepy?

Must’ve been the worst Padawan in history.

“Shit,” you whisper with closed eyes. Yes, now you’re more than certain that it’s time to get up. Comfort doesn’t matter today.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The restroom door hisses to a close behind you. Rubbing the back of your neck, you begin your sluggish march to the ships deck. You can already smell Greez’s cooking wafting from around the corner. What is that? Sausage and... is that eggs?

Your pants scuff against each other, sweatshirt twisting with the reach of your arm. As the floor transitions from metal to stiff rug, you pull your chair out.

“Ah, good morning sleepyhead,” you hear Greez’s voice call out to you. Your eyes remain sleepy, gazing down at the table. Doesn’t even look present, Cal observes as his eyes flick over your face.

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sun today,” Dritus continues from the stove. One of his four hands flick the pan over the stove up with an explosive sizzle. “Be careful you don’t make me feel bad, so I don’t feel inclined to give you more of my food.”

“I slept in too late,” you mutter, half to yourself.

At the other side of the table, Cal’s stocky form is hunched over. One of his hands is wrapped around a cup on the table, which is covered in cold perspiration. Soft ginger hair falls back as he looks over you. You could feel his pretty, kaleidoscope eyes from the other side of the universe. He doesn’t say anything, though, and you’re too tired to play the “What’s He Thinking About?” game right now.

“You’re damn right you did,” the Latero says. “Cal here was just about to go and check in on you.”

You swallow quickly, glancing up at the man parallel to you. Cal is looking over at Greez, given you a clear view of his jaw and the scar that stretches over his neck. He’s beautiful. He always has been. You can feel your ears start to burn, and you look away almost immediately.

“Thanks,” you say instead, finally pulling your hand away from your neck. Without even realizing it, your intelligent orbs look to Cal again. This time, however, your eyes meet. Electric pulses run through you, tickling from your neck to your pelvis. And, true to your nature, you brake gazes immediately. “I think I’ll skip out on breakfast today.”

“Seriously?” Greez whirls around, dumbfounded. “But... breakfast is the most important meal of the day!”

That’s true. Ever since you gained the privilege of having Greez Dritus the wanted Latero to cook for you, breakfast had been far more likeable. He always knows how to add the perfect amount of spice and flavor without coming off as overbearing. But there’s something in the back of your throat, crawling up to the tip of your tongue. A name of an old master, and the dream that you can’t remember.

“I’m just not hungry,” you push yourself out of your stool and slide it back under the table. Cal watches your form jog down the steps and disappear into the cockpit, his lips parted and near pulling into a frown.

“Wonder what her problem is,” Greez’s raspy voice calls into the air.

“Let her be,” a mature female voice breaks as it rounds the corner. Cere emerges from the hallway by the stares, her watchful eyes also glued on the cockpit archway. “She’ll come around.”

Will you? Cal wonders. You’ve always been a bit tight lipped in the grand scheme of things, but today the anguish is peeling off of you like steam. You seem pale in the way that conveys sickness. The dark circles under your eyes are wise, but tired. Maybe you’re just ill.

It’s not that far off. As you flip switches around on the console pointlessly, all you have to think about are these hands that disappointed your Master. Calloused, rough fingers. Raw palms from holding your saber. Clever, but never enough.

You exhale through your nose, your shoulders sinking.

Oh, that’s right. That’s what happened to your Master.

How could you have forgotten that?

“Rough night?”

You perk up at the sound of his voice, but don’t turn around. It’s not that you don’t want to look at Cal, it’s that you feel to ashamed of yourself to even try it. You don’t deserve to look upon him.

“Just feeling sick,” you mutter so hoarse he can barely hear.

“Is that the truth?”

Your eyes widen stiffly. One heel at a time, your feet turn around until you are facing your companion.

Time slows as you look at Cal. His soft orange hair billows in the air conditioning, kaleidoscope eyes twinkling with wonder. The freckles, the jaw, the chapped pink lips. He is beautiful. The way he looks at you now makes you feel guiltier than usual.

Why don’t you just tell him? Tell him you know the person who’s responsible for that scar on his stomach. Tell him you were trained by him. Tell him about your nightmare last night, how you woke up in cold sweats. But you can’t. You just can’t.

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely, eyes glued to his.

Cal steps forward suddenly, almost losing his balance. His soft, pink lips come dangerously close to yours. You can smell his scent, turning your jaw to meet him instinctively. But it was just an accident.

He steps away to regain his balance. The only sound in the room is that of the air vents.

He wasn’t going to kiss you.

Cal stays still, firm. “I hope you feel better,” he says in the same tone as before, though far more sincere.

And he turns away and walks out of the room, leaving you alone with only the air to comfort you.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The leaves crunch under boots as they do. Twigs snap, pebbles crumble. Dirt scuffs against each shoe.

Above you, the Kashyyyk trees whisper in the wind, allowing pools of sunlight to fall in between the loose spaces of green. The breeze tickles at the skin on your arms. It’s a nice day. But this is still not enough to improve the sick feeling in your stomach.

Maybe you really were just a failure of a padawan after all.

“Hey,” the boy beside you calls. “Look up there.”

You raise your head, squinting through the thin, rainbow rays of sun. Up ahead of you, over a steep drop that could be anything from a river to an abyss, is a great mechanical building. It’s sleek and gray, standing out against the natural beauty. This itself is enough proof of Imperial presence.

“I thought they would’ve left by now,” you mutter, slightly in awe. Birds fly over the fort as if it didn’t bother them for a second, and the waterfall nearby doesn’t cease its babbling. “Why haven’t they left by now?”

“Only one way to find out,” Cal tells you after some seconds of silence.

Something rushes through the air then- a gust of wind that only you seem to feel. It’s haunting and low, like it has it’s own voice or musical theme of doom. It’s almost impossible to tell whether it’s a warning, a promise, or some kind of mockery, but it feels dark. More importantly, it feels like a message. But Cal doesn’t move a muscle. Only his orange locks billow in time with his lashes, which close slowly.

“Wait,” you break the quiet. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

The boys eyes are furrowed when his head turns to you. His pale green eyes flash briefly in the sunlight, but the twinkle of confusion and curiosity remain after the flash disappears. “Why not?”

The rush of wind slows until you can barely feel it anymore. The words are on the tip of your dried up tongue, but you’re not even sure what they are. What can you say to explain your... your fear? It’s more than just intuition or a gut feeling. It’s something you know for a fact, and you have the evidence, but you can’t even hold it.

“It’s dangerous,” you decide, your bottom lip shaking too quick to notice. You say it almost casually, almost as if it were obvious. And of course, it is. Thus the flaw in your attempt.

“Most things are,” Cal replies.

Just then, the pitter pattering of little metal feet tap against the dirt and mulch comes to life. It completely cuts away what little presence the ominous air had left, only allowing BD-1′s happy little whirs to clearly ring through.

Cal’s hands rest on his hips as he turns his head to look at his partner. He squats to the ground with his little calm smile. “Would it make you feel better if I sent BD to scout ahead?”

It wouldn’t at all. All you can think about instead is your little scrapped friend getting his sliced clean off with a long, red blade. Cal wouldn’t even be able to fix him.

“BD, go on ahead,” Cal tells the machine. He scratches along BD’s head for encouragement, and the creature doesn’t even seemed miffed before hopping off into the leaves and trees until he’s completely out of sight.

“I don’t- I don’t think-” your hands ball to fists at your sides. A lump forms in your throat like an invisible bubble, or a heavy ball clogging your airway.

“Y/N?” Cal’s brows furrow once more as he twists and stands again. “You look pale.”

Another wave of wind flows through. It’s the same as before- cold, threatening, filled with something angry and sad and warning you to never have to feel it for real. However, your partner feels it this time too.

His eyes leave yours and drop to the ground behind him as he twists in concern, looking around for whatever could be the cause. Subconsciously, his right hand lifts from his side to the right side of his ribs. Your eyes widen in understanding, but you wish so badly it was anything but that.

“Do you feel that?” Cal calls out to you, still trying to locate the presence that doesn’t even exist.

Yes, you think as you watch the boys other hand slip over his saber. I feel it.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Anakin wasn’t always evil. Whether or not he’s even evil now is up for debate. But for as long as you knew him, in your eyes at least, he was your hero. Not because he helped you, which he didn’t, or because he wanted the best for you, which he didn’t care about. But because he was strong, and someone to look up to. He’s the knight in shining armor that every little boy wants to be like when they grow up, and the warrior every feminist wants to be equal to. Anakin Skywalker was, by all means, a dream.

So then why is this the worst you’ve ever felt?

“Master?” your voice wheezes out. There’s a storm all around you, a personal tornado for the three of you that makes everything but roaring hard to hear. Rapid blinking helps to keep the dust from your eyes every few seconds, but not enough. It’s starting to sting.

“Stop,” you hear another voice say, but it’s muffled with chokes. “Stop...”

This isn’t Anakin. This is a man of metal- obsidian and iron and cooled magma. There’s not a single inch of flesh showing. The cape, whipping wildly in the wind, is the closest thing to organic. It’s tattered, and the wind gives the illusion of it bleeding away like inky smoke.

“Join me,” False Anakin calls. His fist clenched with determination, a red glow brightening up the area. “Serve your master.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

And from Cal’s position, you just look plain pretty. Kind of distraught, with faded eyes and slightly knitted brows paired with a frown. Your hair is sort of billowing in time with the storm around you, along side that weapon on your belt. Really, you look sad.

Cal’s fingers dig into the dirt and sand beneath his body. His whole form feels like it’s going to rip away into dust, like Vader doesn’t want him there. And of course, he doesn’t. He hasn’t even given Cal a glance. That being said, his whole stomach feels entirely enflamed. Especially that one special place where he’d felt Vader’s touch before. Now Cal knows that you must’ve been touched by him as well. It’s the worst feeling in the world.

“Don’t,” he chokes. Cal gets a mouthful of dirt in the process, but he doesn’t even register it. “Y/N-”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“-will come back from this.”

Your eyes open. They feel stiff and dry, like how you imagine a mummy’s would. The light over head is blinding and white, with flecks of rainbow bouncing off it at the sharper edges. You do not react in any way.

Internal bleeding of the stomach, one impalement scar on your right side. There is a long, long series of blisters and torn skin across your shoulder from being tossed and dragged across the ground. Then there’s the slit over your left eye which makes it impossible to open. You might as well have lost it.

Some people would’ve been happy to just be alive. Fighting Darth Vader? Fighting Anakin Skywalker? And surviving it? Well, not everyone gets that privilege. But for some reason the appreciation isn’t coming to you. Maybe you should’ve died back then as some kind of last apology.

“I know they will.”

You hear footsteps from beyond the doorway become more and more faint, until you can’t even hear them at all. The metal door hisses open. There’s a few footsteps against the floor, then a sharp pause.

Your head rolls to your right lazily. A young man stands before you. A cute redhead with a broad chest and wide, shocked pale green eyes. Underneath them are mauve rings- dark circles and bags- and chapped pink lips.

Cal opens his mouth to speak, and then spins around. With the flick of your wounded fingers, the entrance to the room closes and seals itself shut with a click. The cute redhead is still, his back away from you.

Maybe because of the loss of some other senses, your Jedi one’s have heightened. The intuition inside of you is reading his color- his entire aura- something you could’ve sworn you weren’t able to do before. There’s so much anxiety from him. Enough to make up from the lack of anxiety you have right about now.

“You’re awake,” he speaks. You can sense his voice about to crack. “I should tell the others.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cal,” your raspy voice croaks. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

He turns around to look at you, one foot at a time. His eyes are downturned tiredly, but mostly from sadness. The corners of his lips are annoyed from your words. “You’ve been asleep for two weeks,” Cal says. “Didn’t know if you were coming back.”

You don’t say anything.

His use of the words ‘coming back’ sting. Just two simple words, which to you feel like they mean something far more deep and sinister. Almost as sinister as yourself.

“Are you okay?” he proceeds to question, though you both know it’s just out of politeness.

“I can’t see out of my eye.”

“Do you know why?”

You don’t move. You’re quiet yet again.

Cal’s voice raises frustratingly. “Do you know why? You let someone put a lightsaber to your face just so you could smash in their helmet!”

“I don’t remember that.”

“He stabbed you in your stomach!”

Cal’s never raised his voice at you before. You wish you were more upset about it. His tone alone is enough to make a sinking weight appear in the pit of your stomach. But you can’t cry. You can barely feel anything but both relief and emptiness. Not once in those two weeks did you dream about either Anakin, or Vader.

“I watched him pick you up and slam you on the ground! I watched you die about a million times out there!”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” you mutter hoarsely. And you mean that, too.

“I thought that...”

Don’t. Don’t tell him.

“I thought that I was going to hurt you.”

Silence fills the room from corner to corner. Even whatever air that once came from the vents has come to a complete halt. Maybe every system in the galaxy has stopped its turn.

“What?” Cal asks, now much softer. He takes a gentle step towards you, his eyes desperately locked to your own.

You glance down before back to him. “I was his apprentice before the purge. Don’t ask Cere about it- he never talked about me. I doubt there was even paperwork to confirm it. I thought this was coming but... I wasn’t sure.”

Cal takes another step forward.

“He never liked me. And then on Kashyyyk... he...” You swallow down the shame for a moment. “He told me he wanted me to be his apprentice again. For real this time.”

“So you fought him,” Cal partially pieces together.

You swallow again and look down to your hands.

“Cal, I fought him because I wanted to go with him. I saw my- I saw the future he was talking about. It was good for me. I was happy... sort of.”

He’s finally close enough to sit on the end of the bench that you didn’t even process lying on. There’s concern in his eyes as he listens, and he doesn’t dare take them off your face. It makes you feel like even more of a coward.

“But I didn’t see you there, too. I didn’t see anyone there. I thought maybe I... I thought maybe I had killed you.”

Cal opens his parched lips slightly, and then closes them.

“And I really don’t want to kill you.”

Cal looks away. From here, sitting up slightly so you didn’t choke in your sleep, you can make out freckles on his neck. They stretch over his tendons, across his jawline. They’ll no doubt stretch over that scar from his jaw down on the other side. His long lashes move as he blinks. His hair looks softer than ever.

“After the battle I carried you away. After it was done you just... looked at me. And then you collapsed, and I had to carry you.”

Silence.

Cal gets up.

“Cal?” you call, louder than you meant.

The boy turns back to look at you.

“I...”

Is he prettier than before?

“Do you hate me?”

Cal creases his brows.

“Do you... are you going to talk to me again?”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak.

“Don’t say it, if you don’t mean it. I was trained by the most dangerous person in the galaxy. By your biggest enemy. I... lied to you about it. I almost killed you, Cal. You can hate me.”

“Do you think I hate you?”

Your eye squints, and finally it glosses over as it wells with tears. “Yeah.”

Cal Kestis. Man of your dreams. Hero of everything. Angel of infinity. Please, don’t hate me. You have every right to, I know. But please- please don’t.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” he finally whispers, looking down at the floor. “Maybe you should’ve told me, but... I think deep down I already knew.”

A questioning look appears over your features, but Cal answers before you can ask. “You’d been acting off for weeks, Y/N. Those nightmares were about Vader, weren’t they.”

“Yeah. They were... Do you... think of me any differently?”

Please.

“...No. I don’t know if I could ever do that to you.”

“I couldn’t think of you differently either,” you say after a moment. You throat is getting scratchy, but it’s hard to care.

“I care about you, Y/N,” he tells you, sincere but calm. “You know that don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t have carried me if you didn’t care, Cal.”

“Y/N on the morning of this whole thing I wanted to kiss you,” he snaps, his hands limply swinging with urgency. “I should’ve kissed you.”

So many emotions in one conversation.

“You can still kiss me now that I’m clean with you.”

Cal looks at you for a long time, his tired, bright eyes searching for something in your stillness. Then he looks down.

“It’s okay, Cal. It’s part of my atonement.”

He looks at you for a long time again. The corner of his lips twitch upwards for just a second. It puts you at ease somewhat, with a warm feeling spreading in your stomach finally.

“You’ve got nothing to atone for,” Cal says. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Y/N.”

You have nothing to say. No words come to your dry tongue, although your lips hang open like something will come out. Nothing does. You just look at your redhead, who’s tired and distraught, but has more clarity and love than he ever has in his entire life. He won’t raise his voice to you again.

Your palm dances again as you look to away. The door finally opens again, and Cal forgot that you had initially even caged him in here.

“You can go now.”

It’s quiet. You can hear shuffling, slow footsteps like maybe he doesn’t want to leave. “Can I kiss you when I get back?”

Even while looking at the wall right next to you, your face goes hot and pink.

“Maybe,” your husky voice answers. And when you turn to look back at him, he’s already looking at you with a genuine smile like a little boy getting a big present that they can’t believe. That’s how he sees it, anyway.

“I don’t hate you, Y/N,” he suddenly says. “I could never hate you.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Idk if I’m happy with this or not? I ran into a bunch of writers block with this I don’t know why. Sorry it took so long to put out anyway. I also might change it to better fit the request because that’s really the most important thing to me and with finishing it after literal months I might’ve lost sight of the whole point. Idk though. Cal is a cutie.

TAGLIST: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @haztory @fanficsforheartandsoul @kit-jpg @ahsokatano-thetogruta

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shurelyasreverie · 4 years

Note

Hi, I am new here. I like your work. May I request a Viego x reader wherein Viego falls madly in love with a Paladin who was sent to purify/ purge the shadow isles of corruption

welcome to the blog! I hope you enjoy all the future works to come, this request included 😊 (I think I made Viego kind of a yandere? Although canonically he pretty much already is?? That’s the appeal to him, right???)

Viego x Reader: You Will Stay

Sent to the Shadow Isles to purify the land, you’ll sacrifice anything to rid the land of the Black Mist. But will that also include sacrificing yourself?

Word Count: 1891

Many said you were doing the work of the gods, the Aspects had delivered you to slowly return the former haven of Runeterra back to it's former glory. It was your calling, the magic that coursed through you was the direct antithesis of whatever sorcery destroyed the Blessed Isles. So when the council of your land heard of your gift, you were instructed to slowly purge the Black Mist before it consumed all of Runeterra.

You weren't briefed on much prior to your arrival here. The Ruination was so many centuries ago, what truly happened was been distorted through myths and word of mouth. You've heard everything from monsters to heartache to murder, and as curious as you were, you were ready to accept you might never know what happened all those years ago.

First stepping onto the darkened land, a chill instantly slithered up your spine. You could feel the tendrils of the Black Mist engulfing you you, wrapping around you with its cold fingers. Goosebumps covered any of your bare skin. The uneasy feeling in your stomach wouldn't die down but you willed yourself to steel your nerves. Looking around, it was clear that you were alone. The only living thing around as you could only see the faint green light of distant, wandering souls. You couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched but you blamed it on the Mist, how it rolled in waves, consuming all of the land. How it pulsed like a heartbeat, like it was someone's lifeline. You took a deep breath. It was more than just a cloud, it was a creature that grew. As you used your magic to will it away, it only recoiled from your touch but swelled around you, determined to keep pushing the boundaries. Determined to find something.

This task was going to prove harder than originally thought.

After a few hours of unsuccessfully keeping the fog at bay, you realised that the only way to truly get rid of the Black Mist was to find the heart of it. Standing up straight, you looked into the Mist but it was fully opaque. Taking a deep breath, you kept your weapon at the ready as you delved deeper into the darkness.

The only company you had was the many souls trapped in the Mist. Many green orbs of lost souls were naïve and terrified, if you could, you'd grant them your aid, using your magic to enlighten them to the spirit realm. However some had become driven to anguish by whatever horrors were in the Shadow Isles, growing into humanoid wraiths that would try to rip you from limb to limb with their bare claws. You would send them down with your weapon, empowered by your purifying magic and then run further into the Mist before any other wraiths would check the commotion.

On the third day you had evaporated a small cluster of wraiths. Despite the fight being over, you couldn't quell your adrenaline, your heart racing as panic rose inside you. Your instincts alarmed you that you were being watched. It was more than just the encompassing presence of the Mist, you could feel a gaze drilling into the back of your skull, how it wandered across your body. But every time you turned to look behind you, no matter how fast or how unpredictable you tried to make it, you'd see nothing but darkness. Perhaps it was impact of spending night and day in such a paranoia inducing land? You steeled your nerves once again.

The next day, you had found a soul that actually communicated with you. Such souls were rare to find, many would dart away from your presence, others remained still and silent as you tried to guide them to the realm beyond. But this soul had been wandering for many years, their age shown by their declined sanity. It was hard to fully decipher what the soul was saying but you managed to figure out some pointers on what happened all those years ago. An obsessive king, hellbent on keeping his wife alive.

“And what was his name?” You asked and the soul told you. Despite never hearing such a name before, you felt a shiver down your spine and you instinctively looked around, as if using his name called him to you.

After five days of travel, you found yourself at the foot of a decrepit castle. Your soul companion told you this was the place. The tops of the towers and battlements had eroded, none of the roofs remained. You struggled to maintain your balance on the jagged cobblestones as you carefully made your way up. Hands on your weapon, you turned back to see the soul staying in place. It refused to travel any further to the castle. Thanking it for it's aid, you sent it to the spirit realm.

You were now truly alone.

The castle was free of any souls or wraiths. The silence was deafening as you could only hear your shoes against the stones and your slow, methodical breathing. The Mist was at its thickest here, it was almost a struggle to breathe. Your magic helped ease the Mist around you and you caught your breath. If this Black Mist was related to this ruined king, you figured the best place to start looking for the centre of the Black Mist was at the throne room.

Pushing a large door open, you cringed at how loudly it screeched against the floor. You had to be quick, there was a good chance a wraith outside heard it. Looking up, in the middle of the throne room, stood a towering throne, its back facing to you. The furniture must've been almost twice your height, blocking any vision of what was in front of it. But you could see the pitch black tendrils of Mist that flowed and spilled off of the throne. You found it. Letting out a sigh of relief, you hurried to the front of the throne.

You chocked out a scream as you came face to face with a man. His emerald eyes held a knowing look as he smirked. Sitting on the throne, head resting on one of his ivory hands, he waved his other with a flourish. Tendrils of Mist shot out from behind him and wrapped around your limbs, pulling you down onto your knees.

“Ah, the purifier has come,” the man taunted, his voice echoing against the hollow walls of the throne room. “Did they really think that one daring little soul could stop me?”

You stared at the man in confusion. This wasn't part of the job brief! Your job was simply to restore the Shadow Isles, not get subdued by the seeming creator of all darkness. Who even was he...?

“Viego,” you whispered, before you could even stop yourself. It was the name the soul told you. You had no idea what he was meant to look like, but somewhere in your heart told him he was the one. His head twitched and his expression softened.

“That is right,” he praised. “But it isn't fair if only you know my name. Tell me, purifier, what is yours?”

“Wait... how do you know that I can purify...?”

“My dear,” Viego chuckled as he leaned down to your level, his face filling your vision. “The Black Mist flows through me. It is a part of me. The instant you entered the Shadow Isles I felt you.”

His hand went up, his fingers tracing your jawline. You watched as Viego let out a sigh, closing his eyes in relief for a brief moment. “Your magic... that warmth. I haven't felt it since-”

Taking advantage of his distracted state, you sent your magic coursing through your body. The tendrils that latched onto you dissipated into thin air and you scrambled up to your feet. However Viego already predicted your movements. A green sword was in his hand, the tip mere millimetres away from your neck as he stood straight. You didn't dare swallow.

When you made eye contact with him, he immediately frowned. “I apologise for my brashness, my dear. But you must understand, you can't leave.”

Pulling the blade back, you heard the door of the throne room behind you close by the Black Mist. Rigid, you couldn't bring yourself to move as Viego stalked closer to you, his hand reaching out and gently curling around to the nape of your neck.

“The instant I saw you I knew you were special. How much did you sacrifice to come here even though you wouldn't gain anything? How much are you willing to sacrifice to restore this land? Such selflessness, such purity.”

“When did you see me?” You asked. Viego smiled.

“Whenever you felt it, I was there, my dear. Watching you dutifully march all the way here was warming. And I had to make sure the wraiths wouldn't deter you, and I most certainly couldn't let them hurt you. I watched you every step of the way.”

Your heart dropped and you could swear Viego must've sensed it as his smile turned to a scowl.

“Why do you respond that way? Am I repulsive to you?”

His grip on the base of your neck tightened, making harder to breathe as you stammered out a no. He then started to rub the back of your neck comfortingly, before letting it trail down your arm and holding onto your hand.

“Let me feel your magic, my love.”

You reluctantly did as you were told and Viego brought your hand up to cup his face. You stifled a gasp as through your magic, for a brief glimpse, you got to see Viego in his past life. Tanned skin with flowing brown hair the only similarity was his bright green eyes that shone with pure warmth. But after that flash you were left with Viego's current, deathly white pallor as he pressed his head into your hands.

“Who are you calling 'my love'?”

“Is there anyone else in this room?” He regarded you warmly. “I can tell you are the one.”

You gently pulled away from him, taking a step back and shaking your head. “I don't even know you.”

“But you knew my name? You know how this land came to be, yes? You know more than enough.”

“I was just sent to try and purify these lands.”

“And you will,” Viego rushed up to you, taking your hands in his, pressing them against his cold chest. “Stay with me and I shall be ruined no more. Your presence purifies me, and in turn, the land shall be purified with me.”

Viegos' arms started to reach around you, wrapping you in his arms. He pulled you into him, your cheek against his chest but you heard no heartbeat. Angling your head more, you looked back to the throne room doors to see them completely engulfed in his Black Mist. There was no way out.

“Your name, my dear?”

“... (Y/N),” you responded, surrendering to your fate. You felt his chest rumble as he repeated your name, testing the syllables. He instinctively smiled.

“(Y/N), my dear. Stay with me.”

You doubted you had a choice.

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bookishofalder · 4 years

Text

Pretty Girl - Seven

Summary: In which Pretty Girl and Flip take things to the next level after dating 6 months.

Warnings: Smut, language, talk of period sex, copious amounts of fluff. WC-5,507

A/N: Ah! I can’t believe this is the final chapter-just the epilogue to go now! Thanks so much for enjoying this story, it’s been wonderful to share. [Just to be clear, I’m a cis female and speak from experience in regards to the embarrassment that occurs around period sex. That scene is basically inspired by my own incredible husband. We celebrate menstruation on this blog!]

“I think we have to break up.”

A soft breeze blew in the window over the sink, the promise of summer in the air. He was wearing an old t-shirt and jeans and a frown that contrasted against the warmth in the air. Flip stared across the kitchen at (Y/N), eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Now why the hell is that, exactly?” He questioned, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms.

She gestured at him wordlessly for a moment, then pointed her finger at him accusingly, “I just don’t see how we come back from something like this, Flip. I really don’t.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, darling, come on!” He pleaded, giving his head a shake in disbelief.

(Y/N) marched to the fridge and flung it open, her back to Flip for a minute as she dug out what she was looking for, then spun around to face him. She had a can of soda in each hand-one Coca-Cola, one Pepsi, her expression indignant.

“These. Are. Completely. Different.” The pucker between her brows appeared as her frown deepened upon seeing him begin to laugh. “Flip! They taste entirely different!”

“Darling, they really, really don’t. It’s all the same, sugar and carbonation. That’s it.”

Setting the pops down on the counter, she huffed stubbornly, mirroring his crossed arms pose and glaring at him. Flip pushed away from the counter, no longer able to resist her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He kissed the top of her head as he let out a rumble of a laugh.

She was pointedly not hugging him back.

“I can tell the difference.”

Flip leaned back and met her gaze, “You want to bet on that, pretty girl?” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity at his suggestion.

“Go on then.” She replied, grinning up at Flip.

Inwardly, though it had been a playful disagreement, he was happy to have her smiling again. Six months together and he still couldn’t stand to see her anything but happy, his daily mission to ensure she smiled and laughed more than anything else-something he was often successful at. He felt like he pulled in oxygen from her laughs and giggles.

“Hmm, well how about I pour each of them into a cup, and you don’t know which is which, and then you taste them and tell me which one is Coke.” He tucked some of her loose strands of hair over her shoulder, simply an excuse to touch her. He watched her consider the offer, warmth and affection shooting through him.

“That’s easy,” She replied with a nod, “And what does the winner get?”

“What do you want?”

He hadn’t meant for the words to come out as suggestive as they did, but (Y/N) simply rolled her eyes, giving him a playful wink. “Well, if I win...then I want to go to your place after lunch and purge your closet!”

Flip groaned, releasing his hold on her, though she remained leaned against him, to run his hands through his hair. “Of all the fucking things, darling!”

Giggling, (Y/N) reached up and stroked Flip’s jaw. “It needs to happen, detective. And since we’re both off this week, there’s never been a better time!”

Flip scoffed, “We’re off because we’re on vacation, pretty girl. Why the hell would I want to clean my damn closet on vacation?”

“Because you won’t do it any other time, you big grump,” Patting his cheek, she arched a brow at him, “Now, if you win?”

He considered for a moment. Initially, he was just going to use this as an excuse for spending the afternoon in bed with her. But now, high stakes were on the line and Flip wanted to match her offer. “Ah, I know,” He said with a grin, “If I win, you’ll let me take you to the gun range to train you on how to use my gun.”

With an exasperated sigh, (Y/N) stepped back from Flip, “Not this again, Flip, I don’t wan’-“

“It’s not about wanting, darling. It’s about safety around firearms, you should at least understand the basics of the one I have on me, just in case.” He reached out and cupped her soft cheeks, thumbs stroking gently. They often bickered about his insistence on keeping her safe, and this was a point of contention for them they had yet to work through.

“Uhg, fine!” She stuck her hand out, and Flip took it in his own to shake, sealing the deal. “I’m going to wander outside and check the mailbox while you pour, I guess.”

Spinning, she barely took a step before Flip smacked her affectionately on the behind, “Trust me, it’ll be fun at the gun range!” He joked, watching her retreating figure with admiration.

Without turning, (Y/N) continued toward the front door and called over her shoulder, “Funny, I was going to say the same about purging your closet, detective.”

With a bark of a laugh, Flip shook his head and turned to the soda’s, grabbing a couple of glasses and setting to his task. Noting which one was the Coke, Flip set them back on the counter and moved the cans to the table, where a delicious looking lunch spread was waiting for their argument to end.

It had begun innocently enough as they prepared lunch together in (Y/N)‘s comfortable kitchen, until he let slip that he didn’t see any difference in the two drinks and his girl lost her damn mind.

Flip had to admit, in addition to being a wonderful baker, she was a talented cook as well. But years of living alone and not wanting to clog his arteries from eating out constantly led Flip to become a decent cook himself, and he insisted on sharing kitchen duties, regardless of whose home they were at. And so, most days they would find themselves in the kitchen together, cooking, baking and chatting. They tended to spend more time at (Y/N)’s place, for various reasons including the proximity to the station, the overall warmth of her home and her formidable bathtub. Flip was a big fan of ending their days with a long soak before bed, whether he stayed the night or not-though, he mostly stayed the night.

Reentering the kitchen, (Y/N) tossed the mail onto the counter and glanced around at Flip, eyes twinkling. “Ready?” Flip responded by gesturing a hand at the drinks, his eyes sliding down her figure when she turned to them, admiring her curves in the high waisted shorts and a black band tee.

“Go on then, impress me.” He rumbled, watching her closely.

With a smirk, she took a sip of the first drink, loudly and unnecessarily smacking her lips. Her intent was probably to be obnoxious, but Flip found himself becoming semi-hard at her performance, eyes on her plump lips. She set the drink down and picked up the second, already smiling, and took the sip.

“Easy, detective,” She bragged, setting the second glass back on the counter. She pointed to it, looked at Flip over her shoulder and proudly announced, “This is the Coke.”

Damn it, she was right.

He didn’t even need to reply, as the expression on his face gave him away, and (Y/N) let out a gleeful shout before bouncing over to Flip, standing on her tiptoes and throwing her arms around his neck. One hand splayed out and pressed, urging his head to lower and meet her lips. She tasted especially sweet from her taste test, but Flip didn’t return the kiss, though his hands did settle on her hips instinctively.

“Yeah, yeah, you won,” He conceded grumpily when she pulled away to peer at him with a smug little smirk.

“Oh, come on Flip,” She breathed, rolling her hips into his slightly, “I can feel how not annoyed you actually are.” Groaning at the sensation, Flip shook his head before pointing at the table, ignoring his arousal.

“Lunch, then we’re getting this purge over with, and then maybe I’ll consider this,” He slid his hand between their bodies and patted his erection. “Maybe, if you’re a good girl.”

Cheeks blazing at his words, (Y/N) simply nodded at Flip with a small grin and then pulled away from him, moving to the table.

They let lunch stretch along, not rushing as they enjoyed relaxing together. (Y/N) did spend most of it explaining how the process of this clean out would work. Flip just knew he was going to be bagging a lot of clothes for donation or garbage at her insistence because she was right that he hadn’t done a proper tidy out in years. He hadn’t seen the point.

Though now, unbeknownst to her, he did have an idea of why it might be good to do one-in addition to the joy she would gain from doing it, that is. He just needed to ask her.

All in good time, he thought.

Four hours later, four, and they were still working away and Flip was starting to lose his patience. (Y/N) held up an old plaid shirt that had some minor tears in it, her face scrunched, “Well, how about this one?” He wasn’t sure if he was bothered more by her endless enthusiasm and patience for him, or her determination to seemingly leave him with little remaining clothing.

“I don’t see why I can’t keep that. It’s good for yard work.”

“Flip,” She deadpanned, “It looks like a bear mauled you while you were wearing this, it’s not suitable for anything.”

With an annoyed huff, Flip wordlessly gestured at the ‘dispose of’ pile. He grabbed a large garbage bag to put that pile into, knowing it would do no good to argue. (Y/N) was smiling away as she hung up a section of shirts he was keeping, ordering them by colour which, he had to admit, was visually very pleasing. After stuffing the throwaways into the bag, Flip had cleared enough space on his bed to lay down, stretching out the wrong way across, his joints clicking in places.

Closing his eyes, he relaxed for a moment, content despite the loss of many, he felt, quality pieces of clothing. Though when (Y/N) had made the point that, due to his overall largeness, his clothing would most certainly benefit men at the shelter who normally couldn’t find donations in their size, he had relented on many items that he didn’t wear anymore.

When he felt a couple of pieces of clothing hit his legs, tossed somewhat carelessly by (Y/N), Flip’s eyes snapped open and he sat up in protest, “Now what are you-Oh.”

Oh.

The clothing had been hers, shorts and shirt on the ground at his feet, (Y/N) stood in a simple white cotton panty and bra combination that instantly had him growing hard. It never ceased to amaze and disarm him, how fucking beautiful she was. Glowing skin, soft curves, plump lips, she was devastating. He often wondered what he'd done to deserve her.

Six months together meant they’d been on plenty of outings, either errands or dates, and he’d see the way others would admire her. He always kept a hand on her lower back when they walked together, both to keep himself steady, and to remind others that she was his, and he was hers. And maybe to remind himself, as well.

“Christ, beautiful, you getting a little warm?” He growled out, unmoving on the edge of the bed. With a coy smile, she walked over to stand in front of Flip, eyes only looking down slightly into his. He’d discovered pretty early in their relationship that she found their size difference just as much of a turn-on as he did.

“A little...worked up,” She admitted, closing the gap between them. With practiced ease, Flip lifted (Y/N) into his lap, her legs straddling his. Her fingers sunk into his hair as he latched his mouth to the curve of her throat, kissing her, then dragging his tongue along her skin. With a moan, she ground her hips down, rolling her heat across his hardness. “Maybe a lot, actually.”

With a groan, he wrapped his arms around her and twisted, depositing (Y/N) on the bed before jumping up to rip off his clothing, eyes never leaving hers as he did. When he pulled down his boxers and he sprang free, her gaze lowered and she licked her lips in anticipation.

“Pretty girl,” He growled, crawling over her and caging her body beneath his, his length resting against her thigh. “Do you think you’ve been a good girl, that you deserve to be fucked?”

(Y/N) gave a keening whimper, struggling to wrap her legs around him. Flip didn’t let her, he braced one hand on the bed next to her head, the other he used to still her hips. He began his assault on her neck and chest then, licking, biting and laving his tongue over the skin to soothe it, leaving light marks just how she liked it.

“Please, I’ve been good, so good, it’s been days, I need you,” She breathed out desperately, writhing under him.

Flip snorted, “That’s your own fault, darling, we could have been doing it every day this past week-“

Still whimpering, (Y/N) cut him off, “No, I told you, I was on my period.”

“And I told you,” Flip pulled back and met her eyes, his expression serious, “Unless it hurts, I don’t care what’s going on down there, it’s natural and it doesn’t bother me.”

They’d had this conversation a few times before, as spending so much time staying over at one another’s meant that, eventually, he’d been with her while she was on her period. And Flip didn’t mind, didn't care, going so far as to call his mother and ask if women were okay to have sex in such a state. After she spent five minutes roaring with laughter, she assured him that yes, with certain precautions taken, and it wasn’t on the worst of cramping days, it was perfectly fine.

But (Y/N) had shut down each time, insisting a few days without sex wouldn’t hurt all the while appearing shy and embarrassed. He hated that she felt that way, but he didn’t pressure her. He simply reminded her it was on the table, whenever she might be ready.

“I know,” Her small hand moved to his cheek, caressing it, expression softening, “Perfect man.” And then her lips found his and the sweet moment was over because it was fierce and possessive and Flip could feel her trembling with anticipation, with need. For him.

With the countless amount of times they had come together, Flip still felt an intense sense of rightness, of home, whenever he was inside of (Y/N), pulling sounds and curses from her lips as he moved. Whether it was a quick and passionate release like this or a night of never-ending pleasure, each and every time was always perfect. Exhilarating. Because they were made for one another, and every kiss or moan or touch only proved it; it was easy, so fucking easy to sink into that feeling of perfection, of irrevocable love so intense it was like taking a hit of a drug every damn time.

“Love you,” He murmured into her hair, his hips pounding into her relentlessly as her legs only encouraged him, tight around his waist to urge him closer, deeper.

Her response was automatic, “Love you more, Flip.” And then she was jerking beneath him as she crashed over the waves of her release, crying out as her walls fluttered back-arching, fingers digging into his shoulders.

His own orgasm washed over him, a long, low moan rumbling out of him as he filled her, his movements slowing, sloppy as he coated her walls with rope after rope of cum. “Fuck!” He finally cried, pulling out to jerk himself a few more times, another few spurts coating her stomach.

With a groan, he flopped on the bed next to her, careful not to push the pile of donation clothing off. Lazily, he draped an arm across her torso, kissing her shoulder. They stayed silent for a short while, catching their breath in the glow of the afternoon sun. These were always his favourite moments; when it was just the two of them blissed out and tired and content.

“I think we should move in together.” He blurted out suddenly. Inwardly he smacked himself on the head for His callousness. He had been thinking about it for a while now and had planned many ways to say it.

But of course, he just spewed out his thoughts with wild abandon. Christ.

(Y/N)‘s head jerked off the bed, and she leaned on her elbow, looking down at FLip with wide eyes. “Wait, seriously?” She was giving him a cautious but promising smile. His heart was pounding in his chest, harder than it had been just ten minutes ago.

Flip nodded, “Yes, pretty girl, seriously. Been thinking it a while,” He sat up, crossing his legs before reaching down to stroke her hair, “We don’t have to if you’re not ready, but I wanted you to know that I’m ready. I hate spending nights without you or coming here to an empty house. I love waking up with you, hell, spending all my time with you.”

He wondered why he chose this exact moment to ask her, when he was naked, his cock softening from their romp, her stomach coated in his spill. It wasn’t exactly romantic, though it did manage to increase the vulnerability he was feeling.

“I, wow, Flip. I’d love that, I hate spending nights apart too. I sleep so much better with you keeping me warm,” (Y/N) giggled, then sat up and took his hands into hers, “There’s a lot to discuss before we make a decision, but I’m ready too, Flip.” Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his.

“Well, can I tell you what I was thinking, and then you can tell me if we’re on completely different pages?”

(Y/N) nodded, a smile splitting wide across her face upon hearing that he’d put so much thought into it. “Let’s hear it, detective.”

Flip grinned, “Well, I’ll be honest I like your place much more, not just for its proximity to the station. And I was thinking, I could rent out this place pretty easily, make some extra cash. Pay half the bills and whatnot at your place, and then maybe when we’re ready, we both sell and get a place a little bigger. Maybe something with a large backyard?” He’d meant to say less, but the more he spoke, the wider her smile grew, eyes sparkling in delight. A warmth was growing within him, spreading through his body. He felt almost giddy.

Instead of replying, (Y/N) launched herself into Flip’s arms, toppling them into the donation pile of clothing, and started peppering him with kisses.

"I'll take that as a yes?" He asked through his wide grin.

(Y/N) giggled, "Oh, detective, it's definitely a yes."

“Christ, it had to be the hottest day so far this year, didn’t it?” Flip grumbled, wiping his arms across his forehead and considering removing his shirt, though he wasn’t sure all of his latest love marks had healed up, so he kept it on begrudgingly.

(Y/N), as if knowing exactly when Flip would hit his limit in the heat, suddenly appeared at the propped open doorway, a large glass of lemonade in hand. John and Ron appeared behind her, following her outside with their own glasses. He watched, grateful for his sunglasses, as she walked toward him, hips swaying in her linen shorts, breasts curving beneath the thin white T-shirt she wore. Though she usually kept her hair down at home, it was too hot today and instead had it pulled into a high, messy ponytail.

Patting his arm comfortingly, she handed him a cold glass, “Here, take a minute, you guys are nearly finished.” And her eyes surveyed the remaining boxes, the armchair and the stereo system, all that was left of the items he’d brought from his old house.

“Thank you, pretty girl.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead before gulping down the lemonade like a dying man, already imagining the cold bath he’d be climbing into later on. Preferably with his new roommate.

“Bailey’s got burgers and beers ready in the back, so once you finish up you boys come through and have a rest, alright?” She smiled around at them, Ron and John both nodding eagerly, just as ready as Flip to be finished.

It only took twenty more minutes to get the rest inside, and Flip was impressed when he came through the door the last time and saw how neat everything was. Evidently, while they’d been hauling things inside, (Y/N) had made quick work of organizing anything she could lift. Even though Flip insisted she not do any of the hard work, he could tell by the number of missing boxes that she had carried a lot of them to the rooms they were meant for, getting a head start on the unpacking process.

When he followed his helpful friends outside, he found (Y/N) and Bailey laughing together on the back deck as they plated the burgers. Next to the grill, they had a table set up with all the fixings, including potato salad and, of course, more of (Y/N)‘s baking, this time in the form of mini sugared donuts.

Before he could make his way toward her, (Y/N) caught Flip’s eye and pointed at the lounger, a silent order to take a seat. With a grin he flopped down onto the seat, grateful to be off of his feet and out of the sun. Under the shade, it was much cooler, a soft breeze playing across his sweaty skin.

John walked up to his wife and kissed her on the cheek, thanking her for cooking for them. Ron had copied Flip, sitting in another lounger, his eyes closed. The atmosphere was relaxed, the best part of a busy moving day.

With a beer in one hand and a piled-up plate in the other, (Y/N) plopped herself into Flip’s lap and handed him his reward. With a grateful groan, he pulled the plate out of her hands and immediately started devouring the burger with one hand, the other snaking around her waist to hold her hip. She took a sip of his beer, watching him eat with a happy smile, her cheeks flushed from the heat.

“You two are such an affectionate couple,” Bailey pointed out with a smirk, “Even with a burger you find a way to cuddle, it’s almost annoying.”

The elder (Y/L/N) sister was, in many ways, opposite to (Y/N). She had a cooler, calmer personality, her humour more sarcastic and her gaze a little intimidating at times. Flip liked her, and her husband, quite a lot. They often had dinners together on Friday’s, and Flip had even taken John to the gun range a handful of times, discovering that despite (Y/N)‘s hatred of guns, John and Bailey were a little less wary of them.

“Nah, it’s groovy!” Ron amended with a grin, taking the plate Bailey was handing him with a grateful nod.

“I don’t know,” John said between bites of his food, pointing his burger between Flip and (Y/N), “I think of all the couples I know, you’d be the ones who’ve had sex on every surface and piece of furniture.” Ron and (Y/N) burst into laughter, Bailey shook her head, a small smile on her lips.

Flip flushed, his hand squeezing (Y/N)‘s waist, but made no reply beyond a slight grin. With a bark of warm laughter, John nodded his head, happy with himself.

The rest of that early summer afternoon was enjoyed in good company, the group casually conversing as they lounged in the shade, until the setting sun was low enough in the sky to capture their notice. They all pitched in on tidying up, bringing the leftovers inside while (Y/N) wrapped up a couple of donuts for Ron to take home. Congratulations and thank-yous were exchanged, along with heartfelt hugs and cheek kisses.

And then, it was just Flip and (Y/N), waving goodbye from the front door with wide smiles; alone at last. His mind on drawing a cool bath, Flip was caught off guard when he was suddenly pushed against the wall, and (Y/N)'s lips were crashing into his.

Flip was never one to question these types of moments, instead, his hands found the curve of (Y/N)‘s hips, pulling her close as his tongue licked into her mouth, and a moan escaped them both. They stayed like this for a few minutes, making out as they clung to one another, until (Y/N) pulled back and smiled up at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to go back to your place tonight, right?”

Flip shook his head with a smile, “No, I’m meeting the new tenants there tomorrow afternoon.”

Her eyes darkened considerably at his response, pupils blown with desire. Flip’s hands tightened on her hips in anticipation, eager to hear her next words.

“In that case, wait out here for about three minutes and then meet me in the room, okay detective?” She murmured, then pulled away and danced off toward their bedroom.

Flip stayed against the wall, considering for a moment and then deciding to strip off his little remaining clothing. He heard the sounds of the tub being filled as he pulled his shirt over his head, and his cock twitched in anticipation. He then wandered into the kitchen, helped himself to a glass of water, and then figured it had probably been long enough.

Making his way down the hall, careful to skirt around a few boxes piled somewhat precariously, Flip felt an overwhelming sense of joy; the stressful work was over, and now he was living with his girl full time. If anyone had told him last year that he’d come back to work after that fucking Klan case and meet the love of his life, he’d have scoffed at them, convinced he was an unlovable son of a bitch.

And then (Y/N) came along and found her way into his heart, shattering every doubt he had of himself and somehow, amazingly, fell in love with him. He’d never been happier, a sentiment that he knew he thought almost too often, but if the other shoe was going to drop, it missed its chance. He even liked fighting with the woman, for Christ's sake. Though they didn’t argue much beyond occasional bickering, especially since she apparently had an unlimited supply of patience for his various sour moods, they did sometimes had what Flip considered a ‘blow out’.

After each one of these intense fights, they would somehow meet in the middle, always willing to compromise with one another no matter how passionately they’d been arguing. And then, the sex that would follow was always mind-blowing, fast and powerful, and selfish. They’d each work to bring themselves off, which was never the case otherwise, usually striving to bring as much pleasure to the other as they could.

But Flip had always heard that makeup sex was on another level.

He had known for a long time now that he wanted to marry her. They’d spoken of it a few times, casually, each sussing out the other’s reaction carefully. Flip had learned that she hadn’t ever wanted a big wedding, something her sister had wanted, which had solidified the decision in her mind that it wasn’t for her. This suited him just fine, as he wasn’t one for big parties and it meant he could invest more money in the ring, get her something she could be proud to wear.

But first, there was tonight.

When he walked into the master bath, completely naked and already mostly hard, his cock stiffened further at the sight in front of him. Of her.

(Y/N) turned to face Flip, and though his eyes swept over her beautiful face, they didn’t linger as he took in the sight of her, standing wearing his favourite buffalo plaid shirt, unbuttoned with absolutely nothing else on. She’d taken her hair down, and it fell in waves around her shoulders, brushing against her stiff buds.

He couldn’t even form words, he was so turned on, seeing her wearing his clothes, standing ready for him to do whatever he wanted with her. He came undone entirely when, upon seeing his leaking, hard cock, she fucking whimpered.

With a growl, Flip closed the distance between them, swiftly lifting her onto the bathroom counter, which happened to leave her dripping heat at the perfect height for him to thrust forward, filling her in one motion. Fuck, she was tight around him, and so wet already.

“Fuck, pretty girl,” He groaned as she cried out his name repeatedly, “So fucking wet for me already.” He adjusted his arms, putting each under her legs so that she was pressed back and folded, exposing her enough to find an angle that tore screams of pleasure from her as he slammed his hips into her, splitting her open most satisfyingly.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s so good, so perfect Flip.” She whined, trying to keep herself steady on the counter as he absolutely ruined her with brutal thrust after thrust. He could hear himself growling and groaning out her name each time he pulled back, living for the way she screamed his when he would slam back in.

Keeping his arms hooked under her legs, Flip removed his hands from the counter and pressed them into her lower back under the shirt, both forcing her body a little closer and helping her to stay upright. He was impressed at her flexibility, though he checked her face as he moved, ensuring she was comfortable. The way her eyes rolled back told him everything he needed to know.

“You take my cock so well, you know that? Perfect little girl,” He broke off and moaned as he felt her walls tighten further around him as he spoke, her orgasm closing in. “Fuck, you love it when I tell you what a good girl you are, don’t you?”

Her mouth fell open for a moment before she could find the ability to speak, “I love it, I’m such a good girl for you, you fucking fill me so well, Flip,” (Y/N) whimpered out, her body beginning to tremble. “Fuck, I’m going to come!”

He increased his pace, her words bringing him closer to the edge, “Go on then, cum all over me, pretty little girl, and I’ll fill you up. Fucking give you all my cum.” He growled out, and her eyes rolled back again as her body seized up, her walls fluttering around him and her cries unintelligible. When Flip looked down at where their bodies connected, he saw just in time as her juices squirt out for him, splashing him in the warmth and fucking sending him barreling over the edge, his movements slowing as he pushed himself as deep as he could and releasing his cum into her.

It took several moments to come down from their high, the combination of the happy, emotional day, and the two days they hadn’t been able to have sex because of the busy work that was moving, made it so that their peaks were nearly debilitating. Flip could have sunk to the floor, he was so exhausted. Just able to remain standing, he instead slowly slipped himself out of (Y/N), both of them watching as their combined fluids seeped out of her deliciously. He was careful to let her legs down slowly, and she groaned in a little discomfort as he did.

“Bath time,” He whispered, helping her off the counter and to the toilet first. Once she finished, he stepped into the lukewarm water and helped her in after him, lowering them slowly until they could cuddle up, (Y/N) between his legs, her back on his chest. The water was a sweet relief to both the heat of the day and their sore muscles. They laid together for a long time; until the sun was gone and the twilight light was too dark for them to see anymore and sleep was a whisper away.

“You ready for a nice long sleep, detective?” (Y/N) asked him as they dried off, her eyes half-closed with exhaustion that he was certainly was mirrored on his face.

“In our bed, darling.” He replied, with a sly smile. She giggled happily, tossing her towel into the hamper.

When they climbed into bed together, still naked, (Y/N) laid her head on Flip's chest. One hand trailed lazily along his flat stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I love you so much, Flip Zimmerman.”

His heart stuttered. He brought the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her to tilt her face up, meeting her tired gaze. “I love you more, pretty girl.” And he leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a goodnight kiss.

Both of them fell asleep easily mere moments later, wrapped up in one another in all of the best ways.

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leafs-lover · 3 years

Text

If He's Lucky I'll Let Him Join

Part 4: Point of no retreat

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’ve re-written this a bunch and I’m not 100% happy with a couple parts but I hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: Soft Freddie, swearing, a little drinking, smut, 18+, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up kids)

March 26, 2021

“Hey how’s it going,” you hear Fred on the other end of the line. He sent you a text a few minutes ago but you are busy puttering around your kitchen and thought it would be easier to call him back instead.

“Alright,” you reply, “oh fuck,” you mumble climbing onto your counter almost losing your balance.

“I didn’t think teachers swore in front of student,” he laughs. “Wait, why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be teaching, it’s like 2 in the afternoon?”

“Oh,” you stop climbing, setting the glass on the top shelf. Turning around you sit on the counter, back pressed into the open cabinet and take a deep breath. “I uh…I’m not a teacher anymore…or at the moment; for now or uh,” you stutter out, still reeling from the last 24 hours.

“What?” he asks, in disbelief.

“There was a lot of cases in the TDSB so they shut down in student learning transitioning to online,” you start explaining.

“Yeah I heard about that,” Fred replies.

“Well they have a bunch of fulltime teachers that do things like gym, dance or geography and they don’t have the classes or resources to keep them at full time hours with virtual learning. So they decided to pull hours from contract teachers, have the full-time teachers teach our classes. Once they handed out hours there wasn’t enough for the all of contract teachers left. Being one of the newer teachers with the least amount of seniority I lost my position.”

“It’s only temporary though, until the board goes back to in person right?”

“I don’t know, rumours are going around of the remainder of the year being virtual, in which case I won’t have a job until the fall assuming I find a contract for then.”

“Shit I’m sorry Y/N,” he says softly. Sitting on the counter is the first time you have stopped since finding out yesterday. It all happened so fast, they told you at noon and by 4pm you were done, handing off your lesson plans, badge and unmarked assignments. You busied yourself in cleaning, starting with your closet. Switching it from your winter to summer wardrobe, purging items that are too small or unworn. Next you went on to your bathroom, discarding expired products and organizing everything before cleaning every surface and crevice.

After breakfast today you started in the kitchen, pulling every item out of every cupboard. You cleaned every cabinet inside and out and began to organize the items before putting them back. You kept yourself busy, kept your mind busy. That is until now.

Silence fills the line, Fred can hear your breathing, but it’s not until he hears you stifle back some sobs, knowing once you start you won’t stop.

“I’m coming over.”

“No Fred,” you object, voice cracking as you choke on some tears.

“You’re upset Y/N, I’m coming over. You eat? I’ll bring food with me.”

“Fred,” you chuckle, wiping the tears from your eye. “I have been spending the entire day cleaning; my kitchen is littered in dishes I’m trying to re-organize and a million Tupperware containers that I can’t find lids for. It’s just a mess here right now.”

“Okay,” he laughs lightly, “then I’ll come get you. Will you be ready in an hour?”

“Fred –“ you try to object, really wanting to stay home alone in your track pants all day.

“No y/n it’s non-negotiable. I’m not leaving you alone. Now my place or yours?”

You let out a deep exasperated sigh wishing Fred wasn’t such a nice person, but you know he isn’t going to take no for an answer. He’ll just show up and sit on your couch waiting until you finally gave in and curled up beside him. And really it’s on you, you did call him.

“I’ll be there in two I need to put this stuff away, I don’t want to come home to a messy kitchen,” you sigh, hoping off the counter.

“Kay, pack a bag.”

Hanging up your phone you put the remaining dishes away, matching the Tupperware containers to the lids as best you can. You have some unmatched pieces, but there is also a load in the dishwasher. You carefully set the single pieces in a pile in the container, knowing you will have to finish when you return later.

Next you jump in the shower. You intend on it being quick, but once the warm stream hits your back you find your mind wandering, replaying the last 24 hours, the last few years of your life. You knew being a teacher in Ontario would be hard.

So many of your peers ended up in other provinces; or even overseas. Others are on multiple supply teaching lists, struggling to get enough working days each month to pay for rent. You never expected to get a teaching job so soon, even if it was just a contract. But you figured you could have some contracts and after a few years maybe a fulltime position would open up. But now all your work seems to have been for nothing.

Finally the water has turned cold, and you step out wrapping yourself in your towel. Glancing at the clock you have less than 40 minutes until you said you’d be at his condo, not enough time to do your full routine, not that you are in the mood for it. Pulling on leggings and a loose tee and a sweater. Quickly throwing a few items into your duffle bag, mostly pyjamas, track pants and sweaters. Even if Toronto wasn’t in a lock down you still wouldn’t be in the mood for proper clothing.

Looking to the clock you are already past the two hours you told Fred, but you don’t care, it’s just one of those days. You actually feel bad for Fred knowing you will be the worst company tonight, but he was insistent.

Pulling your hair into a messy bun on your head and pack your toiletries and you are finally ready. It’s a relatively quick and easy drive through Toronto on a Friday afternoon, which is surprising given the time of day. But at least something is going your way. Scanning radio station to station you try to find a song. But they are either too happy or too sad, none matching your mood so you turn it off. Listening only to the honking horns and the wind blowing against your windows.

You barely knock on the door when it flings open and he instantly pulls you in wrapping his arms around you. Melting into his grasp your hands grip a handful of his sweater. His lips gently brush against your temple and you can smell his faint cologne and body wash. You tighten your grip on him, nuzzling your head into his chest thinking how you never want to leave.

“Hey Y/N,” he says, his deep voice soothing you.

“Hey,” you sigh, tilting your head up.

Fred smiles when your eyes meet his. “Missed you,” his soft lips gently press against yours, you can taste his chap stick on your lips. He presses multiple quick reassuring kisses on your lips, keeping you tight to his chest.

“Missed you,” you mumble through the kisses.

He reaches down to grab your bag from you and steps aside letting you in. Once your coat is off you see a gorgeous bouquet of flowers with a box of chocolates sitting beside them. There are also various bags of chips and candies on the table, with a few bottles of wine. “I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for, wanted to have a little bit of everything,” he explains, coming back from putting your bag in his room.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you whisper with a lump in your throat, running your fingers over some of the flower petals.

“You’re having a bad day and I wanted to cheer you up,” he pulls you back into his arms.

And that is what gets you. You have expelled so much energy not allowing yourself to cry. You focused yourself in cleaning, even trying to come up with a plan for once you were done. But it’s his soft voice and feather light touch. The sweetest gesture makes you unravel.

Letting out a heavy sob his arms quickly tighten around you, his entire body engulfing you. You try to stop it, but it’s no use as he pulls you in so your face is tight to his chest. You hear him softly coo and hum in your ear while sobs wrack your body.

His hand strokes over your back, slowly the tears let up, listening to the beating of his heart. You take a few breaths, knowing your eyes are bloodshot and cheeks are puffy. You can smell the Chinese food he had delivered sitting on the counter waiting for you. Your heart is pounding through your chest, but every beat of his heart proves to slow yours slightly.

Finally Fred pulls away but not before placing a soft kiss to your forehead whispering, “you’ll be okay smuk,” in your ear. You whimper slightly, the warmth of his body leaving yours. “Don’t worry I have a night of cuddles and movies planned,” he chuckles, pulling you to the kitchen to grab some dinner.

He fumbles around in the kitchen a little longer than you, but finally joins you with two glasses of wine. Sitting on the couch you cross your legs, a warm plate of food resting in your lap. Fred taking a seat beside you, so close your knee grazes his thigh every so often.

He asks if you want to talk about it and you shake your head instead, asking him about hockey. He tells you about his injury to his knee and all the tests he underwent this week. You knew he had been injured, having missed a couple games last month, but this time he tells you how he thinks it will be a bit before he is ready. How he played through it for too long. You get the impression he doesn’t want to talk about it, through his hesitation to answer your questions. But even still he dives into it, knowing you need the distraction.

You feel bad for not having the time to watch a lot of the games over the past few weeks. You saw a few weeks ago when he shoved Tkachuk after he crashed the net and you had to clench your legs at the sight. You also have seen a couple of Auston’s two goal nights, and have hoped for him to get a hat trick, but it has yet to happen. Maybe now that you have more free time you will be able to watch a bit more. Maybe see Auston get a hat trick or watch Fred get into another shoving match.

After dinner Fred teases you until you finally reveal your favourite guilty pleasure movie. Setting the movie up he lies with his back against the couch, pulling you against his hard chest. A warm plush blanket is draped over the two of you and a pillow under your head while his hand slides under your sweater resting gently against your stomach while you relax against him. Warm breath blows gently on your neck, the pad of his thumb slowly rubbing soft circles against your skin as you feel his chest rise and fall behind you.

“This movie sucks,” he grumbles part way through causing you to laugh.

“You love it,” you smirk gently shifting back, your ass rubbing against him. He groans at the contact his hand sliding further up your shirt momentarily. His hand grazes along your breast and he feels your hard nipple having foregone a bra when you got dressed. He pulls his hand back resting it back on your stomach. His touch is soft and gentle. He isn’t trying for this to lead anywhere, it’s a comforting touch. Meant to keep you warm and safe in his embrace but it has your core dripping. You need this.

Your ass presses back further with every gentle roll of his thumb and a soft whimper falls from your lips. Even still Fred doesn’t try to progress it further, instead groaning every time. The movie continues on with Fred adjusting a few times behind you.

“Baby, you have to stop doing that,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear causing you to smile. “You’re missing the movie.”

“Yeah because you are so into it,” you laugh slightly and shift to expose more of your neck. His mustache grazes against your neck causing you to laugh. “Ticklish baby?” he mumbles shifting. He has a feather light touch, fingers gently grazing over your skin and some light laughter tumbles from your lips.

“Fred…please,” you whine while he stops tickling you. His hand slides out of your shirt and attaches to your hip, fingers anchoring into your skin and playing with the hem of your leggings. His mouth begins to place warm kisses on your neck before he gently sucks on your skin.

“Fred,” you moan softly while he shimmies your leggings down stopping them just above your knees and his thumb finds your clit. Slow circles are pressed into the fabric covering your core while his mouth is in your ear.

“This what you wanted baby,” his voice is light, you can hear the slight Danish accent poking through. Pushing your underwear to the side a sharp exhale leaves your mouth as two of his thick fingers curl inside you. “Been rubbing your ass against me all night,” he mumbles.

You gasp feeling him set a soft and steady pace while he continues softly sucking on your neck as your moans gets caught in your throat.

“You’re so wet skat,” he hums, goosebumps prick the skin on your neck. You feel him slowly getting hard behind you; it never takes long for his arousal to start once he feels yours. Your breathing increases and you feel him shift behind you his fingers leaving your slick heat. He adjusts you slightly and you can feel his tip poking at your entrance.

Slowly he slides inside your heat, your ass pressing against his pelvis and he stops moving. “Freddie,” you gasp while he stretches you out, it always takes you a bit to adjust to his width. Slowly he pulls back and rocks back into you, thumb pressing firm but slow circles into your clit.

Setting a slow and lazy pace he continues to pepper your neck and collarbone, mumbling Danish praise in your ear. The voices on the TV fade slowly become inaudible, your body only aware of the man behind you and how he is hitting your g-spot with every thrust. His hand snakes around you to your sensitive bundle of nerves and your head falls back onto his shoulder.

It doesn’t take long for him to get you to your high, between his husky voice vibrating against your skin and down your spine and circles being pressed into your sensitive bud. Your eyes snap shut and your moans becoming louder. Your walls begin to flutter around him, clenching around his length. He groans at the feeling continuing to slowly thrust in and out, working you through your high.

“Baby girl,” he moans getting sloppy. His teeth dig into your skin as he continues rocking in and out, with a firm grunt he spills inside of you. A few sporadic thrusts and he stills behind you, his teeth release from your neck and his thumb slowly stops. He doesn’t pull out, but you adjust against him turning your attention back to the movie. Fred however doesn’t return to the movie, his mouth gently pressing kisses against your neck until you fall asleep.

***

The morning light reflects through his large windows, causes you to wake up. Still on the couch you feel Fred’s hand on your stomach, and you can smell his faint cologne while his chest gently rises and falls, soft snores falling from him lips. His body is warm, his now soft dick still resting inside you. You shift slightly to get comfortable and hear Fred stir from behind you.

“Hey baby,” his voice is raspy, heavy with sleep from behind you. He groans when you shift again, hips twitching ever so slightly. He slowly pulls out, your walls now dry. They two of you groan as he slips out, and you turn around in his arms; Fred gently brushing some stray hairs behind your ears. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles pinning you against his chest, lips brushing your temple.

“I don’t have on any makeup and I don’t think I’ve brushed my hair since Thursday,” you laugh.

“Beautiful,” he repeats smiling against your forehead. “I have to go to the rink in a bit for physio, but…” he trails off not continuing until he takes a breath, “will you stay…be here when I get home…” he gently brushes away some hairs from your face.

“Yeah,” you smile against his chest. Normally he’d drop you off on his way to rink, and sometimes he would stop by after. But in all the time you have spent with him you haven’t stayed at his place without him. But the idea has your heart skipping a beat.

Returning home a few hours later he smiles when finds you curled on his couch reading. Wearing his sweater from yesterday, the one that faintly smells of him, a fleece throw blanket draped over your lower body. The gas fireplace is on creating a warm glow breaking up the grey sky caused by the snow falling outside blanketing the streets of Toronto, a tea on the coffee table long cold. Sitting beside you he pulls you onto his lap while you continue to read, gently running his hands through your hair.

Everything about the last 24 hours is simple and easy. It’s organic and not rushed. Making you wonder if this would have been your life if there wasn’t a global pandemic. If Fred never went to Arizona last spring and the two of you kept seeing each other, if he didn’t spend half his summer in the bubble would the two of you gone away somewhere together.

Maybe instead of months apart, it only would have been a few weeks before he returned for the season. And maybe if you hadn’t slept with his best friend in July, and again in January, and every time since then. So many times since then. Maybe if everything was different you would be sitting on the couch in your shared apartment, having been dating for a year and a half.

Over the past two and half months you have spent a fair bit of time with Fred when he is not on the road. But you haven’t had much time like this. Maybe it’s because about half of that time is spent with his best friend, or maybe it’s because with both of your schedules you don’t typically find large blocks to spend together.

And your time with Fred and Auston has been unbelievable. Not just the sex, the sex it obviously great. But just being around the two of them.

Fred and Auston are such good friends that it was easy for you to feel at ease around them. You don't see Auston every time you see Fred, he is probably only there about 50% of the time. But it's still easy to be around both of them. When the three of you are watching a movie or some ridiculous show Auston is making you watch, your face hurts from all the smiling. It’s easy to be with them.

They have a chef who comes over sometimes to make them dinner, and sometimes you join them. On weekends when you have more time you have made them dinner, pulling out recipes from your grandmother’s cookbook. While you allow Fred to help, Auston is helpless, often getting in the way doing things wrong resulting in you shooing him out of your way.

But he doesn’t ever go far, hovering a few feet from you. He’d trail his finger over the back of your arm, reach out and take a vegetable from the cutting board to eat raw. When you’re at the stove stirring ingredients in the pans he’d come up behind you and wrap his arms around you, pulling you back against his chest while he kisses your temple.

Fred would swoop in groaning about how you were going to burn dinner and would push the two of you out the way taking over until you wrangle away from Auston. Fred wouldn’t actually be upset though, he would have a smirk on his face the entire time.

And you can’t forget about the post sex naps. No blankets needed their thick limbs keeping you warm and protected. And you can’t even begin to process what is or isn’t going on with Auston. He is all over the place in how he talks and acts towards you and you just try to ignore it. Using him for the same purpose he does you, sex.

But none of your time with Fred, with or without Auston, has felt like this as of late. Tonight Fred is making you dinner, but it seems different. The air around you shifting. And it has your mind swimming, and not just the wine you drank; but also the what ifs.

Your legs are hanging off the edge of his counter with a glass that never empties. At some point Fred spilled some sauce on his shirt and pulled it off, continuing to cook with his bare chest fully on display. Not that you mind. After asking for the third time you finally stopped offering to help, instead watching while he stirred the sauce and sliced the vegetables.

As everything simmered, his kitchen smelling like garlic and tomato sauce, he walks over to you. Stopping in front of you, legs spread on either side of his hips. His large hands squeezing your thighs, yours locked in on his roots as his tongue lazily dances in your mouth. It’s not a kiss laced with hunger and fire but still it feels right. Feels like home.

You separate only when the timer dings indicating dinner is ready. After dinner you find yourself back on his couch watching as the Leafs take on the Oilers, curled under him. Instead of a blanket, Fred’s large body draped over you, his head resting on your shoulder effectively pinning you to the couch. Instead of feeling enclosed or smothered you feel completely at ease wrapped under him.

During the second your hands gently strokes over his back, grazing the curve of his muscles. He responds with his hand sliding under his sweater slowly pressing circles into your skin with the pad of his thumb. But as soon as the second intermission starts all remaining clothes are quickly in a pile on the floor.

Waking up Sunday it isn’t the morning light that alerts you. Instead it’s your nipple being harshly sucked on, the other being rolled through his index and thumb. His mustache tickles against your skin but he just presses in further, teeth raking over your sensitive orb. A slew of curse words tumble out of your lips as your hands run over his back until you find his hair.

“Freddie,” you moan, tugging on his locks. Instead of pulling back he dives in further. He spends longer than he ever has with his attention solely on your breasts, them becoming more sensitive with every growing second. Pushing himself up slightly he bends one knee between your legs pressing his thigh against your folds.

He groans feeling the wetness that meets his skin continuing to focus his time on your breasts. Your back arches and your hips grind down on around his thick thigh. You feel his erection, hard and throbbing pressing against your clothed core. “Fred please,” you whimper, your pert orbs pulsating under his lips. You don’t even know what you are begging for at this point, but you’ll take anything.

You try to tug on his red locks to create some space but in only encourages him more, every second he is relishing in your pain, every groan and whimper causes his dick to twitch. Your mouth opens but a silent scream is all you can manage as he bites your breast, teeth millimetres from nipple. Finally his mouth releases your breast but the damage is done, you know they will be purple and blue. That every time you wear a bra over the next few days it will hurt.

His lips move to the valley of your breasts slowly licking and biting as he flexes his thigh under you. Your entire body is hot, little fires erupting everywhere. Slowly he trails down your stomach biting harshly, so harsh you wouldn’t be surprised if he drew blood.

“Fred,” you try to scold but it comes out as more of a whimper. You feel his lips curl upwards but he continues to slowly crawl down your body towards your belly button, each time barely moving an inch. Once at your hip he pulls the skin into his lips, sucking on your skin. Your entire body arches as he continues to pinch and roll your other nipple through his finger.

“Jesus fuck,” you mutter when his thick digits find your folds, gently flicking them, toying with your entrance.

“Those two words shouldn’t be in the same sentence babygirl,” he murmurs moving his mouth around your hips continuing to litter your body with marks. His two fingers coated in your juices slide inside and begin to scissor you open.

A deep guttural moan is all you can muster as his digits curl slowly thrusting in and out of you. His fingers set a steady pace, his mouth slowly trailing back up your body retracing his previous steps. Once his mouth returns to your breast you whimper trying to push him away but he doesn’t let up; pressing his thumb into your swollen bud.

Fred feels your heat clench around his fingers and he continues his pace, but smirks against you. Teeth grazing your nipple, thumb pressing into your clit, long thick fingers curling inside. Your legs tremble, knuckles go white gripping at his hair as your orgasm washes over you.

Your eyes roll into your head and you scream silently, euphoria flooding your body. Warmth drips down his fingers while he continues to work his fingers in and out of you. Writhing under him you try to move to get some relief but he doesn’t give you the opportunity.

He continues to work you open, his fingers increasing their pace thumb pressing fast circles eagerly seeking out your next high. Your mouth is stuck open, almost as if there are hooks pulling your upper and lower lip in opposite directions.

Fred continues to suck and bite all over your chest and stomach, not leaving an inch untouched. Your back is arching off the bed fingers digging tightly into his roots. Through uneasy breaths you moan and pant his name. Curse words tumbling from your lips, and your high is rapidly approaching for the second time.

Smirking against you, he slows his fingers right before you plummet over the edge. A deep seeded chuckle falls from Fred’s lips while you whimper having your orgasm ripped from you. Fred does this to you a second time, and just before you are about to scold him for withholding your release he slides further down the bed.

Hooking your legs over his shoulder he gently nips and sucks the skin on your inner thigh. Just like your chest you know you will have marks all over your thighs. His mouth attaches to your clit lapping up the juices that have collected, his nails leaving crescent shaped marks on your hips. He wastes no time flattening his tongue and diving in, drawing figure 8’s around your clit, thrusting his tongue in and out. He feasts on your dripping pussy like a man with his last meal.

Barely able to contain yourself; curse words and erratic panting spill through your chapped lips. Your throat feels like sandpaper, so thirsty but you can’t even focus on it. Fred continues to bring you to the edge of the cliff, rocks tumbling under your feet before he pulls you back to level ground. You don’t know how many orgasms he has denied you of at this point, but you know it’s more than you can count on one hand.

“Fred please,” you groan.

Fred laughs from between your legs, his hands digging harshly into your hips to pin you to the mattress. “Yeah elskede,” he doesn’t lift his head up to acknowledge you.

“Stop teasing me,” you groan.

“Or what,” he sucks harshly on your clit causing you to hiss out.

“Please Fred,” you whine, again tears falling from the edge of your eyes.

“So impatient” he mumbles. With a deep sigh he releases your clit and drops your legs, slowly crawling up your body. He finds the trail of red marks and retraces his path, biting and sucking. Finally he reaches your neck and jaw before his dark eyes raging with fire lock on yours. His tip is pressing at your entrance, using his hand to coat it in your juices.

Red and puffy lips back on yours, eager and hungry as he licks the inside of your mouth, thrusting his thick cock inside your walls. Your breath hitches at the familiar stretch, but before he can start a pace your hand finds his chest, pushing him away. Immediately stopping his eyes soften, scanning your face waiting for you.

“I should be on top,” you push his chest again and he falls onto his back, “your knee and all,” you grin.

Before he can respond you hear him exhale, your dripping pussy easily welcomes him back in. “Mmm baby you feel so good,” his nails grip your hip while you take a minute to adjust to the stretch. “But you look even better,” his eyes rake over your body as you rise up and fall back down. “Look so good full of me,” he groans.

Your hand lands on his stomach, beads of sweat resting in the curves of his abs. His hands run up and down your side, grinning as he takes in the marks he has plagued your body with. It doesn’t take long for you to get brought right back on the cusp. You almost expect Fred to slow his hips, dig crescents into you, holding you in place. Stop his thrusting, a complete halt to withhold it from you.

Instead he bucks his hips his length grazing your g-spot, increasing his pace. You are having a hard time keeping up with the pace as your head tilts back. Your orgasm immediately tears through you and Fred completely takes over the thrusting, working you through it.

Visions whites out, static fizzling in your ears while wave after wave crashes over you. Having been denied your orgasm for the better part of an hour, this one is intense. Losing focus of everything, your walls flutter around his cock and your entire body trembles. As everything begins to subside you can barely see through your tears. But you do see Fred, dark eyes, tongue parting his lips while he smirks up at you.

“That feel good baby,” he murmurs bringing a thumb to your sensitive bud. Before you can respond you feel another building, your second turning into a third. Crying out still sensitive from your last you feel Fred getting sloppy under you.

“Don’t stop baby,” he hisses out but you are almost a complete mess at this point. If you had on mascara it would be smeared down your face. Fred pushes off the mattress closing the gap; chests pressing together, an inhuman noise leaving his throat.

“Cum for me babygirl,” his lips are on the shell of your ear. His breath is hot but goosebumps prick all over your skin, his movements getting more and more erratic. Fred groans as a strangled sob is caught in your throat, hot white bliss flooding your veins. Your head falls onto his shoulder and Fred has completely taken control, your body lazily sagging against him.

With a few shallow sloppy thrusts Fred twitches, spilling inside of you coating your walls white. Slowing down he gently draws over your back with his finger, waiting while your breathing begins to steady. You run a hand up through his beard and pull his lips down to yours for a sloppy kiss full of teeth and tongue.

“You’re amazing baby,” he mumbles, gripping your hips. You wince as his fingers dig into the fresh bruises to lift you off of him. His sticky warmth spills out and begins to drip down your thigh as he pulls you back down onto the bed.

“That’s a fun way to wake up,” you laugh resting a hand on his chest.

#frederik andersen #frederik andersen smut #frederik andersen x reader #frederik andersen fic #freddie andersen fic #freddie andersen #freddie andersen smut #freddie andersen x reader #Fred andersen #auston mathews #auston matthews fic #auston matthews smut #auston matthews x reader #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs smut #if he's lucky i'll let him join #nhl smut #nhl fic

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honsoolie · 4 years

Text

don’t rush | 04

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings: excessive amounts of pining, explicit smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation

words: 10.3k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: thank you for waiting... if you've stuck around this long :") i've tried so hard for the past couple months to condense this story into the original length (3 chapters) but i've gotten attached and i'm afraid that this will turn into a longfic at the rate i'm going. so after this chapter, i'll be sure to post lots of drabbles of the scenes i couldn't fit in!! thank you so much for the wild ride, and without further ado, i present to you don't rush 04.

start from the beginning?

You can’t bring yourself to fault Yoongi for what happened that morning. You also can’t bring yourself to say that it was your fault either–or even that there may be a single person to blame.

24 hours of radio silence. No good morning text, no morning after–or really, afternoon after–text. Nothing.

The thing about silence–absolute silence, with the exception the low hum of the air-con, or the distant sounds of a city, or footsteps from the room above you–is how slowly it passes. Maybe that’s why you’re a music student, spending all your time filling the silence with your own music.

Silence is such an empty space–and can breed such bored thoughts. And where else for your mind to wander but Yoongi?

It’s not that you were waiting for a text from him, it’s just that… you were half-expecting a text from him. Like he owed it to you. Even if none of this had ever happened, he would have texted you good morning by now.

At least in your head, it seems fair that the onus is on Yoongi to text first. After all, he was the one who dragged you tightly by the wrist back to his apartment. He pushed you down on his couch, and in a very roundabout way, made you late for class.

It’s not that you let this whole affair happen to you, but he started it. So it’s his job to text first. That’s the excuse you use, for not being brave enough to do it instead.

It honestly feels a little pathetic that most of your thoughts outside of music and school are occupied by Min Yoongi. Even now, weeks after you’ve started talking to him, even mere thoughts of him elicit physical reactions from you.

Your heart rate picking up, skin flushing where your neck meets your collarbone… maybe you’re allergic to Min Yoongi.

It’s hard for your mind not to run wild with conclusions and assumptions after what happened between the two of you, even if a day hasn’t elapsed yet.

Why hadn’t he texted? Does he do this often? Did he hate it? Did he ghost me, and now I’m never going to hear from him again? Should I text him first? Why is this so hard?

Why do I care so much?

The worst part is, you can’t turn it off. The thoughts follow you throughout the day, a weight sitting on your shoulders as you flit from class to class, building to building, rehearsal to rehearsal. Once the sun dips below the horizon, you’ve almost completed the process of resigning yourself to never knowing the answers to any of your questions.

You make a note to yourself that you might start grieving the loss of any sort of closure–other than what Yoongi had given you the day before. All evenings this semester have been relegated to the confines of the practice room, so that’s where you head next after chamber music rehearsals end. Finally, the Bach partita has a purpose in your life other than plaguing your waking dreams–something to focus on other than Yoongi. But for God’s sake, it sounds pathetic when it’s put like that.

Your. Life. Doesn’t. Revolve. Around. Min. Yoongi. You tell yourself, punctuating each word as you march down the stairwell in the music building. You clutch your violin case to your body, seeking warmth in the cold plastic.

The universe likes to play tricks on people, and its language is irony. Yoongi taught you that lesson, the hard way.

So it almost makes sense that the next time you encounter Yoongi is when you collide head-on with Yoongi’s smooth chest as you speed-walk through the doorway once you’re at the foot of the stairs. Just as you dreaded (and knew was going to happen anyway), your cheeks light up, some light from deep within you turning on. You kick yourself for the fact that your entire body perks up in his existence, erasing the cold and the tiredness from the night before.

“Oh–I didn’t expect to see you here.” At the very least, Yoongi doesn’t look like he hates you. Or is disgusted by you. If anything, he looks a bit coy. If you could let yourself believe it, there might even be the warmth of fondness in his eyes, and even more incredulously, maybe the hard edge of guilt.

“Didn’t expect? Yoongi, I’m here more than my own room.” You laugh despite the thoughts that have been trailing you all day, sounding something like cherry blossoms floating on the new breeze that spring has brought. You feel like you’ve forgiven him for something that he didn’t do, even if he hasn’t said anything yet.

Just seeing him makes you feel better, the devil in the back of your head whispers.

“Right, right.” His answering laughter is familiar. Even now, ever after everything, he still has the audacity to smooth his hands over your shoulders, make sure you’re intact and okay. “Violin okay? You okay?”

You try not to let his scant touches send a shiver down your spine, just so you don’t give him that satisfaction, but you fail all the same. You manage a nod, but can barely bring yourself to look in his eyes. But is it for fear of seeing that warm tenderness again, or something else?

“So…” With no prompting from you, Yoongi slides a fingertip underneath your chin. It feels simultaneously casual and momentous, and you’re not sure which one you prefer.

Is this really happening right now?

He looks deep into your eyes, taking inventory of something that you’re too self-conscious to think about right now.

Of course, you’re self-conscious. You bump into your hookup a day after the fact, now that it’s nighttime in the practice rooms on the second floor of the music building. Both of you should be somewhere else, anywhere else, preferably drunk. How could it not be awkward, and how could you not feel self-conscious?

His eyes flick lower, to your lips, and you avert your gaze. Yoongi’s hand returns to his side, and he coughs.

“Sooo…” You say, digging your foot through the carpet, the warmth of his hands lingering on your skin. You play with the buckles on your violin case, just to give your hands something to do. You hope he says something first, because you’re sure as hell not going to do it.

“Got something to say?” There’s a hint of a laugh in his words. He coughs again.

“I thought you were going to say something,” You say, still not looking at him. It’s all you can do to not shrink away. In the dim lighting of the mouth of the hallway, there’s no way he can see your blush, but you turn away all the same.

He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t, or maybe like he’s purged the last thirty-six hours from his memory. “Let’s not be strangers, come on. Are you busy?”

“Not… particularly.” You commit to the words before you can finish the thought.

“Can you do me a favor?” Right. So he wants something from you. Of course, of course he wants something from you.

“What kind of favor?”

“I was going to print something downstairs, but now that you’re here, can you listen to my piece? I need a second opinion.” He sighs, as if remembering something sweet. “It’s time I made it even, right? I’ve kept you waiting for long enough.” He smiles, just barely, and yet it feels like a gift.

So that’s it. It’s confirmed. This is officially Not a Thing, you consign yourself to the fact. It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t a little bit relieved. At least you have an answer.

There’s no need for a great step forward that’s necessary. No more awkward conversations like these, no admitting of feelings, let alone reciprocation of feelings.

Nothing has to change between the two of you. Isn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You say, like it shouldn’t have been a question in the first place. You hate that even despite his silence on the matter, you’re running back to his side. You hate that you’re happy that he still wants anything to do with you. You ignore the empty kind of ache in your chest, too hollow and too full at the same time.

You follow him down the narrow hallway, past the couch where it all began, and into the practice room. Of course, Yoongi’s already booked the only one isn’t a dingy cesspool.

He pats the space next to him on the piano bench, beckoning you closer.

“Sit down, don’t stand the whole time.”

“Don’t you need the space?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Come here.” If it’s even possible, your face burns even hotter when you sit down next to him, shoulders brushing just so. It’s harder to forget about the fact that you are hopelessly crushing on Min Yoongi when you’re literally touching him again.

It reminds you of all his touches from before, because it was good. The sex was good. If it had been awkward and fumbling, if Min Yoongi hadn’t been able to push you over the edge with only his mouth and that look in his eye, you would be a lot more inclined to leave those memories in the past.

You don’t need to relive the memory over and over, an endless reel. And yet, glimpses, flashes, disjointed stills of that morning still follow you everywhere. But you look at him now, silently flipping through the marked pages on his score, and now you see more than just a good lay. Looking at him now, in his natural state, you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, you’re whipped, there’s no chance for you.

“I don’t have it memorized yet, please don’t judge me.” You try not to think about the way he had pulled you closer by your hips. You try not to think about what you might have thought was lovesickness in his eyes. You try not to think of the timbre of his voice, when he told you to come for him. You try not to think about that.

“Really, a pianist who can’t memorize his pieces? Sacreligious.” The delivery of your jibe falls flat. You steady the ricketing breath in your lungs. You’re nervous, and tired. Accepting that your Min Yoongi has absolutely no interest in you other than when he needs you for something isn’t easy, you know.

“Oh come oooon y/n, this is something I’m learning this semester.” He pouts, just like he had before the both of you had fallen into this nebulous mess of feelings. Or maybe, it’s all one-sided and you’re the only one feeling like things have gotten messy.

You poke him in the side, which you regret immediately after doing so. “I’m just joking. Show me your piece. Are you warmed up?” Yoongi turns pink, again.

You remember the pink dusting his cheeks when he was–right, you’re supposed to be forgetting that ever happened.

He runs his tongue along his lower lip, everything moving in slow motion. Your head is swimming.

Well, maybe things aren’t moving in slow motion, and it’s the proximity to Min Yoongi that’s making time distort. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine. Are you ready to listen?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

Yoongi hovers his hands over the keys. He does that pianist thing you’ve always loved, where he pauses before the keys, preparing to play.

He leans in slowly, sinking his hands down, pulling out a sound so sweet and, so, so solemn. This is a different Yoongi than the one thirty seconds ago.

You realize somewhat belatedly that the fluorescent lights, the same ones that erase any sort of proper time telling in windowless rooms like these, still make Yoongi look good. The light bounces off of him just right, his cheekbones casting a gentle shadow on the sloped panes of his face. Like the rest of him, there’s no harsh angles, just soft gentle slopes that feel like home. Like comfort. Your gut twists in yearning. The hollow of his cheekbone is the perfect place to kiss, you ponder.

Things should be easier now. All of it was a mistake. It’s in the past. It seems that Yoongi doesn’t seem to care at all. It should be forgotten about. Things, in theory, should be easier now. You should be able to carry on as you’ve always been able to. The path of least resistance, right?

He pauses, and begins what must be the main theme, cascading sixteenth-notes that sound about as tumultuous and troubled as you feel.

He looks like he’s about to cry. Sure, you’ve seen sleepy Yoongi, cranky Yoongi, even a little bit of earnest, pleading Yoongi. But whoever is in front of you is entirely different. He’s approaching the main theme again, hands jumping over the keys as if they were hot irons. You can see all the versions of him laid out before you. Younger Yoongi, hands too small to reach the tenths written in his score. Hungover Yoongi that shuffles into class a couple minutes late, remnants of a late night out drinking written all over his face. The Yoongi that holds your hands between his and tells you that everything is going to be okay.

When he reaches the final cadence, he doesn’t look at you immediately, still trained on the keys. His hands are still placed in the final chord, lifting them off slowly so the sound doesn’t quite fade away yet. The both of you stay like that, in the aftermath of what he just played. You hear the click as he takes his foot off the pedal. The tension that he was churning out doesn’t fade away when the sound stops. If anything, it gets worse. Blood rushes to your cheeks, the room warmer than it was before.

“So… that’s what I’ve been working on so far. I, uh, hope you liked it.” It’s shocking how that compelling spirit from just minutes ago dissipates into thin air. He looks vulnerable, naked despite the fact that he’s fully clothed.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Min Yoongi.” You laugh in disbelief, blinking away tears. God, you are so fucked. Sure, you’ve heard him play before, practicing with him. But you’re not practicing with him now, you’re watching. You’ve become the audience, and the dynamic has changed once again.

There’s been many a night where you googled his previous performances and competitions on Youtube, but this doesn’t compare. Not in the slightest. So this is what all your teachers were talking about when they were lecturing you about the importance of stage presence.

“Uh, wow. Wow.” You’re still tearing up, no matter how much you try to will it away.

You’re not even really sure why you’re tearing up or why you can’t stop. It’s usually difficult for music to elicit such a visceral reaction from you. Goosebumps, sure. That very specific thrill down your spine when you hear music that isn’t so much as something that you hear, but feel in your blood, thumping, alive, real.

But tears, no. That doesn’t happen.

It feels like your body is reacting to something that isn’t tangible, that you can’t see with your eyes or hear with your ears. Like there’s something else in the room that you can’t quite register. Like you’re crying despite yourself.

You desperately want to kiss him. You want to pull him close and breathe in his familar scent and feel him pull you closer. It feels like the only appropriate thing to do, rather than just say “wow” over and over, in that stupid longing voice because you don’t what else to say. This is too overwhelming. More overwhelming than what it feels like when he finally puts his hands on you.

It’s the only thing you want to do. You can’t imagine the night ending in any other way. It seems like it was prewritten in the stars, like the universe came together to stitch this scene together. Like it was fate for you to find him here, long after the sun disappeared over the horizon, practicing just like you were.

But you can’t, so you hug him. Like an absolute idiot.

You regret it as soon as your arms circle around his shoulders. Yoongi stiffens, as if startled, as if he wasn’t expecting the hug either. Then his hand come to awkwardly pat the space between your shoulder blades, as if this couldn’t get any worse. This feels like a consolation prize.

He can’t see your face nestled against his shoulder, but you cringe.

You feel the vibration of his laughter against you, his shoulders shaking, “You liked it that much?” You can feel the way his voice resonates in his chest, and like everything else about this ordeal, it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah,” You pull back away from him, relieved that the moment is over, “Yeah, I liked it. Winter Wind, right?”

“Yeah, fitting for this fucking weather.”

You laugh. “Look, thanks. But I gotta go, it’s getting late and I have a paper due tonight. Thank you, again. It’s really good.” You pick up your case, “You have good start, but keep practicing. Can’t stop until you have it memorized, ha.” You try to force a laugh.

You hope you don’t look like you’re fleeing the scene. (Except you are. You leave the building without even practicing. But you don’t tell him that.)

As you stream down the steps leading to the music building, the cool night air blotting away the swelling tears in your eyes, there’s something else that takes up residence in your heart: jealousy, and initiative.

You envy the lucky bitch that ends up with Min Yoongi. And if Yoongi won’t talk about it, then you will. You won’t let him drag you around on a whim without a real answer. You can’t bring yourself to wait any longer.

Min Yoongi doesn’t like you back.

At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself before he goes to sleep, as if lying to himself might make sleep come more easily.

The truth is, you are Min Yoongi’s favorite bedtime story. Like many other nights before, Yoongi falls asleep thinking of you, hashing and rehashing all the little details and inside jokes and past conversations. It’s a small comfort during this semester, thoughts of you keeping him warm.

Tonight, Yoongi is replaying the conversation from earlier, the way he saw you nervously rubbed at the tough calluses on your left hand while he was playing for you, out of the corner of his eye. It made Yoongi want to make you smile, laugh at his bad jokes, and maybe, if you’d let him, gasp against his lips. It’s been less than a day since he saw you and yet he misses your laugh.

That morning after class, you had sat up, blinking away the sun filtering through his shades, or maybe trying to clear the post-orgasm fog. Post- orgasms fog. Then you mumbled something about being late for class, a thin layer of sweat shining down to your chest.

You had thanked him, then laughed at the misstep. God, you were so dorky that you thanked him. How was he ever supposed to resist you?

How had the two of you come so far?

And the guiltiest indulgences Yoongi would allow himself in the middle of the night were the things he hadn’t experienced with you. Like a kiss. He hasn’t gotten a chance to do that, not yet. Maybe not ever. Would it be chaste? Slow and romantic? Or would it be impassioned and angry?

Yoongi is particularly fond of the image of taking you to the jazz cafe a little ways away from campus. Would you wear a dress, once the weather warms up a little bit? What kind of coffee would you order? Do you even like jazz? What would it feel like to feel your hand slotted against his?

He definitely wasn’t been thinking about pushing you up against the mirror in the practice room and seeing if the soundproof padding was actually properly installed. Or about that morning after classes, and those little mewling noises you made to urge him on. You were so desperate. It was cute, to say the least.

But Yoongi wasn’t trying to think about that right now. He was thinking more about your unwavering diligence. Or the merriment in your eyes despite the tired shadows that hung beneath them. Or the way you didn’t back down from the way that he was obviously flirting with him, fighting fire with fire.

How much longer can the both of you live in denial, waiting for the other to make a tentative step forward?

The more he thinks about it–about you–the less he can comfortably stay in his little bubble of denial. Denial can only get him so far. He tells himself that whatever relationship between the two of you is inevitable, and someone is going to do something eventually, and that’s why he’s not making a move just yet.

Much of your relationship (or lack thereof) has been stepwise progression, slow steps. Graduating slowly from classmate to study partners to friends and closer, still. And now Yoongi had made this great leap and it felt like the both of you were lost amid the signals and the truths neither of you knew how to broach.

And no matter how brave he is on stage, it’s nothing compared to being up close and personal with you. Cheesily enough, it’s easy enough to show a crowd what he’s been working on for months, but with you, he has to improvise.

Truth be told, Yoongi knew he was being idealistic. The space that you two existed in had become precious to him, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset the balance, until now. There’s no easy way to make this all go away. Both of you were in too deep now.

He saw the way you sighed into his touch, the way your eyes would go unfocused when he said something that was even remotely flirtatious, then then snap back to reality, as if you were reminding yourself of something. He knew you wouldn’t do anything any time soon. The past evening had shown him that.

And how was he supposed to admit his feelings for you… when he could hardly admit them to himself, in the privacy of his own room?

And now, how could Yoongi make sense of anything? Every quiet moment carried the ghost of your voice. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the way you had squeezed your eyes shut when he brought you to rapture. Even when you’re not with him, you’re filling up his senses. His thoughts.

Am I in love with my friend? Are we friends because we’re in love? Am I feeling like this because of the way she says my name? Am I feeling like this because of the way she touches me?

So those are all the reasons. To not talk to you. To talk to you. God, how the fuck was Yoongi supposed to know?

You (5:03pm): hey, I think we should talk soon

The minutes tick by. Does the time always pass this slowly, you think to yourself. Your hand hovers over your phone keyboard.

Fuck… what have I done.

You (5:15pm): that sounds sooo scary lol no pressure okay?

You grow desperate in the wake of his silence. Have you ruined it all?

Yoongi (5:30pm) yeah

Yoongi (5:31pm): sorry I was practicing

Yoongi (5:31pm): wasn’t looking at my phone

Yoongi (5:31pm): let’s talk then

Yoongi (5:32pm): where are you?

You find yourself at his apartment once again, the closed door spelling out all the possibilities in front of you. At least give him the benefit of the doubt, something reasons inside of you, but something darker says, think of what he’s put you through.

Think of what you’ve put yourself through, you finally think. You’ve stood outside long enough. You’ve overwrought this, alone, long enough.

Each knock that you rap against the door sounds like another nail in the coffin, but you still cling onto the last dregs of hope left in you.

The door opens immediately, a rush of warm air enveloping you from outside. “Hey,” Yoongi says, shyly, almost demure in his lounge clothes and undone hair.

You want to take him apart.

“Hey,” You mirror, and try to pretend like Min Yoongi hasn’t stolen the breath out of you for what seems like the thousandth time. You hate that he has this effect on you. With nothing but a simple greeting, it seems like you’ve forgiven him for all your grief already. You try to push that feeling further down, trying to stay objective.

Yoongi leads you to his couch. “Here… sit down. It’s cold outside, I made tea,” He says, padding into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything else, but it looks like he knows exactly what you want to talk about. There’s something in the little tick in his jaw that tells you he’s just as sure as you are, but you’re tired of guessing. Your eyes are blurring from looking in between the lines for so long.

There’s a big difference between overt facts and implied certainties. Fact: You and Yoongi are friends who study together, and now, ex-hookups. Implied: There’s something more there, something between friend and one-time hookup.

“Um, what did you want to talk about?” Yoongi says, setting down a steaming mug in front of you. You don’t reach for it.

“I–” You steel yourself for the words to tumble out of your mouth, but you lose your nerve. You had prepared a whole monologue on the walk to his apartment, but it doesn’t seem right now. You sigh, loosening the tension in your shoulders. “I wanted to talk about… about the last time I was at your apartment.” You hope it’s enough for him to get your point, and you hope that he’ll be honest and direct. He owes at least that much to you.

“What about last time? Like specifically, what about last time?” Yoongi says, not flippantly. Please, you silently plead, please… just say something good.

“Yoongi,” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come, “What happens now? What does it mean? Please, just be honest.” When you hear your voice leave your body, you can hear how pained you sound. It wasn’t something you intended. You match his gaze and his eyes are like mirrors. “Yoongi… whatever you say, I won’t be angry. I just–I just want to know how you feel.” Your voice trembles. You hope you don’t sound as pathetic and humiliated as you feel, the scorned hookup.

Worse yet, the scorned hookup who didn’t get the hint the first time.

“No, no. You deserve the truth.” He sets his mug on the table, and you bristle at the fact that he doesn’t use a coaster. “I’ll, um, tell you my side of the story. Just to be clear I’m not like, mad at you, or anything like that. I’m also not the type to fuck and go… even though it looks like that. And I’m not like, going to ghost you or anything. Unless you want me to do that. In that case,” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, lingering on the nape of his neck, “I’ll do that.”

“Can you do something for me, y/n? Can you just–” Yoongi holds his hands out in front of him, and he clasps his hands between yours. He always knows exactly how to comfort you, even now.

He sighs. “I wasn’t… expecting everything to happen like this. y/n, I… Just let me think about what to say for a second. But I promise, you’ll get the explanation you’re owed.” Another deep breath in. Another deep breath out.

You sit like that for what seems like a long, stretched out moment, your hands clasped in Yoongi’s, his brow furrowed.

“Why didn’t you say something yesterday?” You burst out.

Yoongi clears his throat. “Okay, look. I have… a lot of… okay, I just, I wasn’t sure how to go about this whole thing. And that morning in class, I rushed everything and after that I wasn’t sure how to approach you. Then when I saw you in the music building afterward, I just wanted to talk to you… to make sure you were okay. I saw you and I blanked. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know what to do without making it weird. That’s a shitty reason, but I blanked and didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“So,” You blink, frustrated, confused, flushed hot with embarrassment and maybe a little bit of arousal, “Okay,” You say. At least you’re getting somewhere. “So… why did it happen? Why… why did we…”

Your eyes sting, and you breathe deeply, as if you might run out of words. “Was it all in my head?”

Yoongi’s clammy hands tighten around yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll leave.

“No,” Yoongi exhales, “No, it wasn’t.”

Your body is running hot and cold. It feels like something in the air has been punctured, all the tension, all the doubts, rushing away. Something new rushes in.

“I spent all this time guessing and wondering and hoping. I ran myself ragged with all my thinking. It’s not your fault, mostly, but I’m so tired. Of guessing.”

He smiles. Well, smirks, in that Yoongi fashion that makes it feel like the top of your head is spinning. “Stop thinking so much then.”

“It was–” Yoongi’s voice breaks, rips in half. “It was a mistake,” Yoongi lies. You know he’s lying. You can tell from the way his eyes are looking everywhere on your face but your eyes. You can tell from the way that he wrings his hands, like he’s reading a pre-written apology from behind the camera. “I’m so, so confused about everything. This isn’t going the way I thought it would–not that–it’s just my words aren’t coming out like I thought they would. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like a bad thing.”

Yoongi sighs, “I thought this would be easier.” And when you look at him again, you can see the pink on his cheeks. And how dilated his pupils are, and the decreasing proximity between his lips and your lips, because again Yoongi is still death-gripping your hands in his. If you could let yourself entertain the idea, he might be pulling you closer.

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” You say. You lean away from him, hoping that the energy in the room will simmer down if you’re not centimeters away from falling into his arms. You need to hear him talk more, say everything, explain himself. You can’t leave this room without knowing more, you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth and the full truth. You really don’t have the energy to wait more.

“Well, even before everything–” And this is where Yoongi waves his hands in the air, gesticulating wildly. He doesn’t elaborate, although you suppose “before the almost-handjob in class and the whole mouth-fucking each other on your couch” is a bit of a mouthful.

“Even before everything– I knew you liked me. Like, you can’t even be surprised that I knew. Because you were really obvious. Like so obvious. But yeah. I knew, and I thought it was cute, and it was super flattering.”

You open your mouth for a response, but you concede that he’s right. You flush ever hotter.

Yoongi’s voice drops a little lower, like he’s telling you a secret, “And it was so fun to mess with you. Like, I could make this cute fucking girl blush and giggle and squirm and it was all because of me, how can I not be flattered? How can I not want to spend more time with you, push all your buttons? I figured you’d eventually do something about it. But you never did, no matter how much I pushed it with you. I wanted you to make the first move. But we started getting closer, and I thought maybe you were never going to do anything about it. Like we agreed to be friends, but on the inside we both liked each other? I didn’t want that to happen, but I was too scared to just go and ask you out. So I was getting frustrated. So that morning, I was just messing around with you again. I wanted to annoy you during class, I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it. But you–I guess you were frustrated too, because you called me on my bluff. And then, you know, one thing leads to another and we’re somehow at my apartment, which I barely remember how we got there in one piece before–” Yoongi stops, breathless and something tender sparkling in his eyes. His hands aren’t gripping you like you might run away, just resting on the tops of your knees. Reminding you that he’s there.

“And now, in the present, I’m just confused? Did I like you before or after we…” He trails off, bashful still, even now. “Or do I feel like this now because we were together? And does that even matter now, because I like you regardless?”

All the blood has rushed away from your chest. It feels like someone has knocked all the air from you but also as if a winch has tightened ever-so around your heart.

“Let’s take it slow, if that’s something you want. Nobody…” You grapple for something to say, after that hell of a fucking lovesick speech, “Nobody said that you needed all the answers now. Don’t rush.” You take his hands back into yours.

The weight of it all hits you slowly, in successive waves. You don’t have to filter anything out, never have to make yourself feel appropriate for him. When you practice with him, study with him, eat with him… all the quiet spaces and body-wracking laughter just feel like a perfect fit. Nothing out of place. There’s never a conversation topic or something to stray away from, other than circumventing the feelings you have for him. Even then, it’s not like Yoongi pretends like the attraction isn’t there. He doesn’t skirt around it, avoid it like taboo conversation. It really only serves to amplify your conversations, a red thread pulled taut underneath everything else.

And now, you can give into that? You can show him how you really feel, and there’s just one less thing to hide?

“You know, you’re not blameless. I was super stressed out at the time, and with the Bach Festival and midterms and everything I guess… you gave me the opportunity to lessen that a little, so. I know, I know. It’s a shitty excuse. But I wanted things with you and with the way that things converged, it seemed like–”

“Serendipity?”

“A bit like that, yes.” You tighten your hands around his, and he pulls you a little closer. You’re leaning over his lap now.

You can’t choose whether to look into his eyes or at his lips. It looks like Yoongi has the same problem. He pulls you imperceptibly closer.

“Can I kiss you? If that’s not rushing, of course.”

“Yeah. Yes, please.” You soften yourself into his lap, Yoongi pulling you closer by the shoulders, sliding down to rest on your arms. You relish in the sensation, knowing it’s something that you can enjoy with a reassured heart now.

He plants a closed kiss against your lips, and somehow that makes your heart flutter more than anything else he’s ever done before. The pads of his fingertips are soft and gentle against your arms, pulling you closer by the bicep.

“I like you… I like you a lot…” Yoongi whispers against your lips, laughing at the confession. So sweet, so soft.

“I like you too…” You whisper, kissing back. Slow, chaste, if a bit restrained. The realization hits you again, slowly, like an ocean wave washing over wet sand.

Yoongi likes you back. Yoongi wants you back. You laugh at how absurd it sounds, even in your own head, nipping at his lip. “Say it again, Yoongi.”

“I like you…” Yoongi sounds coy.

You smile against him, “Say it again,” You gasp, pushing him back on the couch, gentle but firm, “I like you too, in case you didn’t know.” You can’t help but laugh. Not at the absurdity at the situation, but just out of happy shock.

“y/n, I like you…” Yoongi chuckles, deep in his chest, looking up at you. His hair falls out of his eyes.

“Do you know how happy it makes me, to hear you say that?”

You’re honestly surprised that you don’t have whiplash. Whiplash from the weeks of tension and denial, feeling like you would never get this relief, but now you have a whole new set of problems. Dating Min Yoongi.

This whole “taking it slow” thing is fucking bullshit. The past couple weeks have been one long sustained effort, some kind of marathon in testing the waters, drawing back and then pushing forward.

Maybe you spoke too soon. You have to admit that the slow build, chaste romantic courtship is nice .

The study dates are more than nice. The coffee shop dates feel almost luxurious, expensive in time in the same way that the actual coffee is cheap.

Actually, all of this is a lot nicer than having to guess his every intention, the message between the lines. But you already know what it’s like to have Min Yoongi.

In fact, things have been largely the same for the past couple weeks, except now you can feel the weight of his flirtatious jokes. You can now confidently say that Yoongi says what he means. The more time you spend with Yoongi, the more liberated you feel in letting yourself delight in the feeling of being allowed to show your feelings for him, and having them be duly reciprocated.

After the confessional evening the both of you had, Yoongi had agreed to take it slow. In your lovesick state, you probably would have said yes to anything that Min Yoongi put on the table. Which is probably why you agreed to the whole courtship thing.

“y/n… think about it like this! If we take our time then when the time finally comes… to… uh, you know, then it’ll be so much more gratifying. And I want to be with you more, like this,” Yoongi says, as you lean against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his words.

“Delayed gratification, have you ever heard of that?” Yoongi had said, smiling wider than you’d ever seen.

“Although from my experience with you, I think you like instant gratification more,” He said, a touch darker. Your memory blurs now, because that was about the time he started tickling you relentlessly. And then kissing you relentlessly.

And at the time, you had agreed. The delayed gratification would make everything better, make the world a little more rose-colored than before.

You don’t want to push his boundaries, he doesn’t want to push yours, but now it’s begun nearly feels both of you are so afraid of each other that you haven’t touched each other in what seems like fucking forever–and it’s reached a boiling point, from what you can gather this evening.

The newfound tension between the two of you is new, maybe a day or two at most, but annoying nonetheless.

“Y/n, how many times have I told you? Stop rushing. Do you need me to count your part out? One, two, three, four.” He punctuates every count with a clap in your face, and a sneer to boot.

Yoongi has been especially volatile this evening. His normal jokes and jabs at you fall just short of endearing. Your initial approach at remedying the situation by focusing on the music at hand has only seemed to make things worse, and you’ve given in to your slowly-growing temper.

“I am fucking counting, and I’m not the one playing fucking half notes, okay? How about you just focus on making the harmony, I don’t know, harmonious ?” You lower your violin, face screwing up in anger, only you don’t know how much of it is joking anymore.

You don’t know how much longer you can take this kind of tension in the air. It feels angry and red and biting, but you can’t help it. The stale air-conditioned air in the practice room only seems to make your face warmer and warmer as time passes.

All this tension, and no release. That’s what music is all about. The build-up of musical intensity, the expectation and anticipation for resolution. It’s like you’ve been stuck on the same chord of a cadence, waiting for a release that feels like it isn’t coming anytime soon.

You take a deep breath, the frustration tightening in your chest. “From measure eighty-four, and take the fucking repeat this time. Let’s just move onto the next section after this, we’ll just come back to it later.”

You fight the urge to huff and sigh, knowing it would only earn you a comment from Yoongi about being, as he had put it, ‘wound up.’ Yeah, no shit, you’re wound up. Wound up is putting it lightly. Just last week Yoongi had made a mess of you at his apartment, teasing you apart and then stopping just short of an orgasm. And he said the same thing last week too: delayed gratification.

You try again, cueing him in with a sharp breath and the uptake of your bow.

And again, and again, and again.

“This isn’t working.” You set your violin on the soft lining of your case and rub your temples, resting your upper body on the body of the piano. You swipe the back of your hand across your face, breathing in the clean smell of the hand soap from Yoongi’s apartment bathroom, from when you were there a couple hours ago. Warm. Brown sugar. It feels like his embrace–if only you’d ever feel it again.

God, why did you let him push all your buttons? All evening–ever since the two of you left his apartment to come to the practice rooms–he’s been acting like this. You know it has something to do with you, another game. But you don’t have the energy to divine his ulterior motive, whatever it is. You shut your eyes to provide some reprieve from the strain of staring at the same phrase that you have been stuck on for what has felt like an eternity.

“Yeah, this isn’t fucking working,” He says. It reminds you of the way he talked to you when you found him practicing in the early morning that one Tuesday. You only open your eyes when you hear him get up from his bench.

Min Yoongi is standing too close to you. His eyes are on your lips and not your eyes. Even in the dim light of the practice room, you can see how dilated his pupils are.

You meet his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, more breathless than he’d like to admit, “You’re provoking me. Why?”

“Who said I was trying to do that? I think you,” You point a finger at his chest, looking into his eyes, “Are provoking me.” You try to sound as petulant as possible, and it works.

Yoongi’s lips meet yours before you can even take your hands off of him.

In the best sense of the word, you are cornered. Backed up against the piano, enclosed by his arms. He slips his hands up underneath the cotton of your sweatshirt, pulling you flush against him. His cool fingertips grazing the small of your back have you gasping against his soft lips.

“Tell me, why are you provoking me?”

“I, well-” You don’t continue with an excuse, because you’re finally getting what you want. What you both want.

He presses on. “Gonna answer my question, or are you just gonna keep being a little brat?” He wedges his thigh between your legs, closer to where you need him most. You stifle a moan, it’s too soon to be making those kinds of sounds, but you grind down on him anyway. “What?” He laughs, the sound sitting deep in his chest. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

You try to focus on the possessiveness in the way that he holds you by the waist, so you’re not thinking about how weak your knees are.

He sighs, as if in disappointment. Only you’re not sure who it’s directed towards.

“If I touch you right now, will you be wet?” He laughs. “I don’t even have to guess.” The ghost of his breath fans against your upper lip. “Is this what you want? Do you, do you, want to keep going?” Yoongi stops his ministrations. When you meet his eyes, both of you breathless, you can see the inquiring concern in his eyes again.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you say, trying, and failing, not to sound frantic, “Only if you’ll see it through to the end this time,” You bite.

He laughs, devoid of mirth. “You say that like it’s not hard for me, either.” His hands trail down your torso to rest at the waist of your jeans. You don’t want to pseudo-argue with him anymore, so you just whine a little from the back of your throat, hoping he’ll get the point.

You don’t want him to think that this isn’t what you want, because truth be told, it is exactly what you want. Your hands come to meet his when you reach to undo the button.

“You know exactly what to do.” He laughs, lighter this time. He’s laughing like he’s not mad at you. He helps undo your jeans, pushing them and your panties just past your thighs. You gasp when he starts rubbing gentle circles on your clit. His fingers slip against your wet, slippery pussy.

Yoongi is everywhere. He’s crowding your space against the wall, hand down your pants, the other holding your neck in place. It’s getting overwhelming with his beautiful hand rubbing little circles on your clit. So simple, and yet it feels like you’re breaking apart underneath him. It’s getting harder and harder to bite back the moans, stay in control.

“You know, these rooms are soundproof. Let me hear you,” He murmurs, pulling you closer. “Stop hiding from me.”

Yoongi shifts his attention from your wet cunt to the collar of your shirt. “What’s this? Getting busy without me?” Yoongi brushes his free hand over the circular dark mark coloring the crook of your jaw. You’re starting to get impatient with all this teasing, how much more can you take?

“Haven’t you ever heard of a violin hickey?” You spit, grinding down on his hand, but it’s not enough. God, it really has been too long since he last touched you. He never stops the gentle advance he makes on your clit, never faster, never slower. Just barely enough. “We were just practicing, it gets darker when I play.” You try to explain yourself, as if that might make him show mercy later on.

“You’re not in any position to talk back right now, don’t forget that.” He leaves open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking gently. “I’ll just help you add to your little collection.” Your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself. It’s been so long since anyone has touched you. It’s been so long since anyone has held you so closely.

Your desperation is beginning to show. With every movement of his hands, Yoongi starts to lessen his touch, your hips dogging his hand. You come to the realization that you’re not above begging to get what you want. He doesn’t even have to ask.

He continues his gentle assault on your clit. “Do you know what these mirrors are for? They’re for checking your posture as you practice, but I guess this is just a different kind of practice.” He turns you around, your hips digging into the wood panelling of the piano. You’re confronted by your own fucked-out reflection, flushed and panting. You’re still mostly clothed, and yet you look debaucherous, like some ancient painting of a study into the nuances of female pleasure. “Look at you. All messy. And for what? I’ve barely touched you.”

The frustration is too much, reaching a boiling point. “Please, I swear to God.” You bury your hands in your head, wiping away frustrated tears. Your legs are trembling now, now that Yoongi is only using one of his arms to brace you against him.

“Please, what?” He digs his nails into the soft skin of your hip, and you can’t help but like it. He lowers his head so it’s level with your ear, sultry, low. “Use your words.”

“Can’t you just, just-” Again, you buck your hips against his hand, as if that might make him get the point, only for him to nip at your inner thigh with his hand.

“Don’t rush me, babe.” Babe. Min Yoongi is calling you babe. Is the universe playing some trick on you?

He takes advantage of your position and leverages his knee on the inside of yours, spreading your legs further. “That’s it, just take it. Take it.” Finally, he takes pity on you and slips a finger inside. He earns an answering gasp. You can tell he means business, because he doesn’t take it slow, he doesn’t let you adjust, going directly at that spot inside of you that makes you keen for him.

You struggle to stay upright, eyes rolling back. Your fingers scrabble along the dark wood of the piano, struggling to find purchase.

“Fuck, Yoongi…”

“So needy, look at you, so fucking needy...” He drives his point home further by adding a second finger.

“I’m sooooo sorry… how can I ever make it up to you…?” Even despite the mind-bending pleasure and the prospect of Min Yoongi blowing your back out this evening, you roll your eyes.

“What if someone hears?” Your point is lost when Yoongi changes the angle of his hand, and you break off into a ragged whimper. It’s loud enough to make you embarrassed to have made that sound in the presence of another person.

“Oh, so you care about that now?” “What about that one time in class,” Yoongi all but pants in your ear, digging his nails into your thigh, “That you were being a desperate little cocktease?”

You don’t answer, shame stoking the embers in your belly, driving lower and lower. You hate, and love, that he can make you feel like this with only some stern wording and a firm hand. Because it feels that good. Because you like him that much.

“What then, hmm?” Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response however, before he’s yanking your jeans and panties further down your thighs. “Do me a favor. Touch yourself for me. Show me.”

“Why?”

“Wanna see you all messy for me,” Yoongi says, voice silky soft, liquid sex. He guides your hand down to your pussy, and god, you realize just how embarrassingly wet you are for such little foreplay. “Please?” He presses his chest flush to your back, leaning his forehead into the crook of your neck.

You oblige him. You’re wet to the point where it’s difficult to find purchase against your clit. “Okay… but you have to forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“For being needy…” You say, sweetly.

“Sure. I’ll forgive anything you do if you do this every time.” He says it like it’s a matter of fact.

You giggle, like a lovesick idiot. At the very least, you’re glad that Yoongi can make you laugh even when you’re half-play-fighting, half-on-the-verge-of-having-sex-in-your-favorite-practice room.

The vibrations of your laughter traveling through your body have you moving in new, novel ways against your own hand, and you break off into a moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, voice barely above a scratchy whisper. He sounds genuine, and the tenderness of the moment isn’t lost to you, even despite your pleasure. At least now that you’re touching yourself, you don’t have to suffer the patient wrath of Yoongi and can touch yourself the way that you see fit.

You feel his free hand nudge against the back of your thigh and when you look, he’s dragging the heel of his hand across his pants.

Fuck. Fuck, you are so wrecked for Min Yoongi.

“No, you too,” you say, “Show me too.”

Yoongi moves away from you, pushing his waistband past his hips. He’s gripping his cock in one hand. He’s reaching for your waist again, his hand traveling up to grasp your throat. He jerks your head back. “Look, look at yourself.”

The combined sensation of his hand on your neck and own hand on your pussy is too much. Your eyes water. “Yoongi,” You gasp, “I’m going to come.”

“No, not yet. Not yet.” He wrenches your hand away, and the sudden lack of touch is almost cruel.

You buck against him, his back to you. “Please, please let me come, I can’t–you can’t do this again, fuck,” Your desperation comes out in whines, all shame lost.

“Be patient, come here.” He turns you around again, your back against the wood of the piano. And you’re looking into his eyes, dark and filled with something like lust. Min Yoongi wants you. You reach up to brush his hair out of his eyes.

Yoongi’s on your clit again, drawing light circles, testing the wetness before slipping a finger inside again. “I wanna hear you,” He says, adding another finger, more tenacity behind his strokes. He rocks his thumb against your clit. “I wasn’t asking.”

Up until now you’ve been biting your lip, muffling your cries as best as you can. You look up at him again, drawing up your courage. You feel exposed–how can you not, half-naked in the practice room, when you’re not completely confident that the soundproof padding on the walls can contain the sounds of your rapture.

“You-you fuck me so good Yoongi–” And you keen, just because he asked you to.

He stops in his fucking tracks. Again.

“Well. You fuck me so well. You can’t describe a verb with an adjective. God, I really shouldn’t let you come…”

“Oh my God, are you really going to do this right now.” You bear down on his hand with your hips again, seeking more friction. “Please… please, I can’t wait anymore.” You can hardly finish your sentence, as Yoongi fucks into you with a particularly hard thrust. You’re finding it difficult to keep your eyes open, instead opting to rest your head on his shoulder.

God, he smells so good. Like fresh laundry and the melting snow outside, warm and human and reassuring.

You can feel his smile ghosting over your neck as he leans down to suck another mark into your collarbone. “Yes, yes, I am.”

“I’m–I’m getting close again,” You say, fisting your hands in his shirt, “Just, ah–” It takes you by surprise, crashing over you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to stay upright, pulling Yoongi against you. You can feel his satisfied smile, as he pants against the curve of your neck, hot and heady and everything you need.

“Good?” He asks, after your breathing has calmed, even though you know that he knows that he’s done more than a good job.

“Okay, okay, enough bragging,” You half-laugh, half-scoff, pulling your pants up past your hips again.

“I wasn’t bragging,” He whines. It’s endearing, and you pepper his face with kisses before you get to business again.

You sink to your knees before him, and his expression immediately softens. You try to bridge the gap between the two of you, placing the palm of your hand on his thigh. Asking for permission.

“Are you sure?” He says, but the expression in his eyes saying something to the effect of “I really hope you’re sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” You say, smiling as you tease the head of his cock with your parted lips. You replace his hand with yours. It’s barely any contact, really, but Yoongi closes his eyes in pleasure nonetheless, head tilted back. Normally, in any other situation like this, you’d be at least a little bit nervous. Or shy, hoping that Yoongi keeps his eyes closed so he’s not looking at you. But the absolute deprivation you’ve felt for the past couple weeks is enough for you to not care.

You sink lower, in the wake of remembering how pent up and frustrated you’ve felt for the past couple weeks. You even, at least try to, bat your eyelashes at him. But like you guessed (or had hoped), his eyes are squeezed shut. You try not to delight in the sudden change of power too much, but it’s impossible not to.

He tightens his grip on the back of your neck, groaning. “You’re so good to me.” You take him further in your mouth, eager to please. Eager to hear him make more of those sounds. Eager to take this further.

You try your best to make it slick, flattening your tongue against him. You’re a little out of practice, after months of being alone, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. And if he does, he’s still enjoying himself. Thoroughly.

“Fuck, fuck,” He gasps, in hushed whispers.

“What a mouth on you…” Yoongi moves stray hairs out of your face, surprisingly tender given the lewdness of the situation. The sounds of your mouth fill the practice room, although hopefully not loud enough to expose your vulnerable position. You truly hope that the soundproof padding lining the walls works as advertised.

“Ah–ah wait, I’m getting close, wait–ah, y/n, fuck,” He rasps. You don’t let up quite yet, letting him sit in that in-between space between ‘on the edge’ and ‘letting go’. His free hand makes a weak fist against his leg.

Someone knocks on the door. Your first thought is that it may be security wrapping up rounds for the night.

Your eyes widen in shock as you stand upright and zip up your jeans. The surge from adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught in the act makes your head pulse and spin. Your heart seems to have fallen from the left side of your chest all the way into the pit of your stomach.

It’s hard to remember how aroused you were, not thirty seconds ago.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” For someone who was quite literally about to be balls-deep inside you, Yoongi tucks his dick back inside his pants with a surprising amount of tact and speed.

Yoongi is fixing his hair in the practice mirror as you cross the room at the piano bench, pulling out your phone to make it look like the two of you were just dawdling or taking a practice break.

Maybe twenty seconds have elapsed since the first knock at the door, which you reason might be a reasonable time for someone to stop practicing, and walk to the door to answer it. You hope it might seem reasonable.

You can feel the pulse in your neck moving as Yoongi opens the door. You train your eyes on your phone screen, as if that might make you more nonchalant.

“Hey, Yoongi-hyung.” The voice at the door is youthful, and energetic. You can even hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t know you were here this late. I was looking for you!” You finally muster up the courage to stop staring at your phone, your eyes venturing to the other side of the room.

It’s… Jungkook?

Jungkook, as in, the only bassoonist in the department, Jungkook?

Jungkook must have had the same idea as you, because he looks over at you at the same time you do.

His smile falters, albeit briefly. Whatever replaces it is something akin to a smirk. A knowing smirk. An accusatory smirk. A proud smirk.

“Hyung, who’s that?”

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