#being sweaty in bed is a textural nightmare

[sleepinglionhearts]

Second hardest part about this whole stupid covid thing: realizing I need a fucking humidifier

[grapenehifics]

I’m very curious to know if you have a headcanon about whether Anakin wears a sleep shirt? He’s shirtless in both AOTC and ROTS. Is this because he overheats at night? What does Obi-Wan think about this?

Tits out, guns out.

Longer (real?) answer below the cut...

First of all, thank you for this ask; this kept my brain very pleasantly occupied on my commute to work today.

In An Uncivil War, I put Anakin in clone-issue under-armor to sleep in - which involved a whole separate headcanon, about what they wear, which is more likely probably both black leggings and a black turtleneck but I added a sleeveless black undershirt to that combo so that Anakin could wear a black tank top because this is my fic and I want to see some arms damnit - mostly to get him into something black and obviously non-Jedi issue but also because he and Obi-Wan are sharing a room with Ahsoka for all of that fic so while I think he'd be perfectly happy to go shirtless around Obi-Wan he also recognizes that they're in a war and anything could happen and he would not have the luxury of being able to get up slowly and put a robe on or anything before needing to hurry to the bridge to deal with an explosion or a Separatist attack, so during the war he might forgo the whole sleeping-naked thing at least while on duty.

I think of Obi-Wan - at least pre-war Obi-Wan - as a pajamas person, like the whole nine-yards matching-set sort of deal, and so little Anakin would think that is normal/Jedi appropriate/wants to emulate his Master, so when Obi-Wan gets him child pajamas he wears them. But I also see Anakin as deeply texture sensitive - and prone to nightmares, which make him sweaty, and unused to regulating his body temperature in a way that makes sense for non-desert planets - so he'd actually really struggle with wearing all that baggy fabric and blankets to bed, and the fabric gets bunched up underneath him, and now he's lying on top of wrinkles, and if he gets sweaty then the whole thing is damp and soggy and uncomfortable...so he takes at least the top off, and that feels better, but Obi-Wan never does, so Anakin gets yet another (subtle, unspoken) impression that he's doing 'being a Jedi' wrong.

(And honestly so long as Anakin's not completely naked, I don't think Obi-Wan actually cares if he's only wearing pants, especially in his own room; this is not something Obi-Wan actually chastised Anakin for; it's all in Anakin's head that he's being judged.)

In the AotC deleted scene, we see Anakin sleeping in his clothes:

so either Obi-Wan didn't pack any pajamas for him (potential future headcanon discussion: how old is Anakin before Obi-Wan finally stops packing his suitcase for him) or Anakin took the whole 'travel as refugees' thing to heart and decided that refugees don't get pajamas, and really he's just staying in character. The next time we see him asleep, he's at the Naberrie family vacation villa:

There's our topless boy! Is he wearing pajama pants under there? Difficult to say for sure but I'm leaning toward yes, both because of his generally awkward nature and the fact that he's trained to jump into action at any moment in case of danger.

By the time he's gone outside to meditate he's put a shirt on, unfortunately:

Is this a pajama top, or just his regular tunic? If it is his regular tunic, why is it XXL? That is not where shoulder seams generally go. Does Obi-Wan think he's still growing and is tired of replacing his shirts every six months so he's still doing the, 'it's too big now but you'll grow into it' thing?

In any case, why are Jedi so into beige; I know we (rightly) make fun of teen Ahsoka's tube top but at least the girl has an appreciation for color.

So far, though, I'm going with, Anakin will sleep in pants, at least while at other peoples' houses, but prefers not to wear a shirt. I would imagine this would probably hold while he's with the 501st, too, that he needs to be ready to spring into action at any moment but who cares if his troops see his bare chest (and, again, maybe this is just me, but this is where I see him slowly adapting to wearing more of what the clones wear, just because there's so much of it, and yes they're shorter than he is so the leggings only come up to his calves but this is would not be a dealbreaker for him).

In RotS, I have to assume that we're meant to assume Anakin is buck-ass naked under the covers here and the only reason he's wearing pajama pants here:

is because this is a PG-13 movie. I mean, he's off-duty and in bed with his wife. Yes I know she has her hair done and is wearing a silk nightgown with pearl sleeves (??) but, again, kids movie. Why on earth would Anakin be sleeping in pants otherwise.

Around Obi-Wan, though, before they get together: pants on, shirt off. (He's trying to flirt with the man, after all.) After they get together: clothes just get in the way. Anakin expects this of Obi-Wan, too, and looks so hurt the first time Obi-Wan tries to put his pajamas back on after sex that Obi-Wan course-corrects and gets into bed naked. "If you're cold, I'll warm you up, Master," and Obi-Wan doesn't have the heart to say no (also, Anakin is very warm). They have pajamas, but they're for, like, morning and evening lounge wear (and Anakin's still does not involve a shirt).

Obi-Wan does, however (eventually, slowly) manage to teach Anakin the fun of taking your partner's clothes off slowly, piece-by-piece, as opposed to popping buttons and ripping them off as fast as he can. This is both fun and has the added benefit of extending the life of Obi-Wan's wardrobe and keeping him from needing to break out his sewing kit quite so often (Anakin still leaves them piled on the floor though).

Throwing it back to you, @underacalicosky and anyone else who wants to play :) Agree? Disagree?

[isbergillustration]

Going out in this weather was a mistake, but this is what she signed up for, getting a dog. The rain is kept at bay just a little by the canopy of trees above them, but Karl Barx is rolling in a deep mudpuddle, and her jeans are soaked above the knees already. His stupid doggy smile up at her is worth it, though, at least she thinks so before he jumps up and stands right by her to shake himself off.

«Coome ooon,» she groans, «we gotta get home, boy.»

After a last mournful glance at an even deeper mud puddle, she manages to distract him by handing him a nice stick, which he happily chews on as they keep going. At least, for a moment. Then, suddenly, he yanks on the leash, nearly knocking her to the ground as he dives toward the underbrush surrounding the roots of a particularly old and gnarled looking tree.

«Hey! No, calm down, boy!»

But Karl Barx is face deep in something, clearly intent on trying to eat it. Damn retrievers. God, maybe it’s a dead squirrel again, gross. She kneels down next to him, fully resigning herself to being completely drenched and cold, and tries to coax his head out. Usually it’s a soft white gold colour, but now his fur is matted and muddy grey. Maybe she shouldhave gotten a black or chocolate lab, maybe they blend into the mud more.

«Hey, don’t eat that, that’s not food, baby.»

She reaches in and manages with some effort to pry his jaws apart and feels something unpleasantly fleshy. Yelping, she drops it, but manages to keep Karl Barx from going after it again. He wriggles impatiently in his harness. Again, she reaches down, grimacing at the slick texture, and extracts something surprisingly heavy. A book? A leatherbound book. That explains the feeling, then. It looks old and heavy and ornate, and she has the brief but silly thought that it might be bound in human skin. No, that’s ridiculous. But she stuffs it under her jacket. Too wet to have a proper look here, but maybe it belongs to someone, if it isn’t completely wrecked by the rain.

-

“There, all better now, yeah?”

The golden retriever, golden and fluffy once more, whines pitifully, looking at her as if she has threatened to have him neutered all over again. She rolls her eyes, and gets started on wiping the floor clean of muddy paw-prints.

Five minutes later she sits at the kitchen island, a steaming cup of coffee next to her, phone in hand, the book in front of her. It’s the size of an old fashioned bible, though the paper it’s printed on is thicker and more durable. Old, too, if the yellowed pages are anything to go by. A shiver goes down her spine as she inspects the reliefs in the cover. They are abstract, but something about them makes her uneasy. The dog, who usually thinks kitchen time means incessant begging for food time, is curled up in his bed on the other side of the flat. Hurt about his bath, still, maybe.

She gingerly opens the book, to a random page. It is handwritten, or printed in a typeface made to look very much like handwriting. Hard to read, either way, and so it takes her a while to make out anything at all..

It’s nonsense, or at least not any language she can understand, but it makes her feel weird anyway. Some odd prickling on the backs of her hands. The faint sensation of something behind her, like the paranoid feeling you get after too many horror movies. There isn’t, though. Karl Barx would alert her. Not, of course, by attacking the intruder, but by enthusiastically greeting them and demanding ear scritches.

She tries to look up a few combinations of words online, but she can’t even find a title or author name. The first page has no publishing information, but then, it doesn’t seem like the type of thing that would be published. It’s old. Very old. Might be valuable. She’s got a friend who works at a used bookshop, they might know. She can take it over the weekend.

-

She wakes sweaty and shaking, heart racing. There is no memory of a nightmare, or of anything, but her shoulders have the sense memory of clawed hands gripping at them. She takes a minute to just sit and breathe, then checks her phone. Quarter to seven. Not enough time to try to go back to sleep, and she doesn’t think that is a dream she would want to go back to, anyway. She throws the duvet back and steps onto the cold floor with a shiver, and immediately trips over the heavy object that definitely wasn’t there when she went to bed.

It’s the book. How the fuck did it get here? She definitely left it on the hall table last night. And it can’t be the dog either, the bedroom door is closed. Dread settles over her like flooding water, unrelenting. She must have sleepwalked. She has not to her knowledge sleepwalked before, but then, how would she know? She lives alone, and if she sleepwalked back to her bed every time, who is to say? It has to be that. Any alternative is too upsetting. She’ll mentioned it to her doctor at the next check up. Perfectly normal thing, sleepwalking. Perfectly normal.

In the bathroom mirror, her skin has taken on an ashen grey cast, and the circles under her eyes are dark. It’s the rain. It’s autumn. It’s a bad nights sleep and forgetting to take her vitamins. She gets the little jar from the cupboard and takes a double dose, just in case. Still, she feels uncomfortable. Like her bones move oddly within her, as if suddenly not quite fitting together right, as if her skeleton is a slightly botched ikea project.

Karl Barx isn’t scratching at the door eagerly like he usually does in the mornings. In fact, he isn’t even in the hallway. No, after a few minutes she finds him trying to fit behind the sofa, where he used to hide when he was a puppy. The sight of him is silly enough that the worry doesn’t immediately follow.

“Morning, buddy, you okay there? Reminiscing about your youth? I feel you, baby. Come on. Time for breakfast, yeah?”

And, whatever has gotten into him, he is still a retriever, and nothing is more important than breakfast, so he jumps up, knocking his head against the lamp, and follows her to the kitchen. His tail doesn’t wag as eagerly as usual, though. And even the kibble goes down a bit slower than usual. Which still means a minute and a half rather than fifty seconds, but these are the time scales at which he operates. She makes herself a coffee, staring out of the window at the lovely view of half a car park and the back of a supermarket and the rain, falling relentlessly.

Karl Barx nudges her leg, and she startles. Checking her phone she sees she has to leave in fifteen minutes. How long has she been standing here? She grips her mug, and it is room temperature.

-

“What do you think?”

“Shit, you look awful. Recovering from the flu or something?”

“About the book, asshole.”

Ciel rolls their eyes, and grabs the heavy plastic bag from her outstretched arms. Their hair is closely shaved, now, and a few new pieces of metal glint in their right ear. It’s been a while. She follows them into the dry warmth of the shop, and says yes please to the offer of a cup of coffee, though she knows it’s the cheap terrible instant kind. She navigates her way through the narrow spaces between shelves and tables filled to the brim with the sorts of books people bring with them to flea markets after keeping in their basements for years.

“Oh, damn,” Ciel says, unwrapping the book.

It is still, several days after the find, slightly damp to the touch. It reminds her unpleasantly of sweaty skin. The sight of it makes her stomach twist.

“Found it in the woods. Looks cursed enough that I thought you might like it.”

They smile like an old painting.

“Love that. Why’s it got teeth marks?”

She shrugs, looking at an undoubtedly very outdated atlas left half open.

“The dog found it.”

“Ah, I get you. Right, lets take a look.”

They spend a while pouring over the pages, as she sips too bitter instant coffee, shuffling uncomfortably from time to time. The feeling of looseness persists. Like whatever is holding her together is starting to crumble. She tries the thing an ex-therapist had once suggested. Focus on her breathing. Feel each part of the body, be present in the moment. It doesn’t work. The awareness just makes her more uneasy.

“Think it’s worth anything?”

“Sure. I know some goths who would love the vibes. But in terms of collectors? I don’t know, I’d have to make some calls. Well, metaphorical calls. I’d have to write some emails. You know what I mean. I’d have to keep it, though. Make some scans.”

“Oh, please do!”

Their eyebrows raise.

“Not a fan?”

She shrugs.

“Kind of weirds me out, is all.”

The relief as she leaves the shop a few minutes later is instant. She never quite understood the term a weight off your shoulders until now. It feels like the freedom after just handing in a long term project, sudden freedom. Possibility.

-

That evening, she gets a text from Ciel. It’s been a while, the last one is a happy birthday wish from two months back. It’s just one word.

Help

[necros-writing-stuff]

Added to the Hoard

M!Dragon-Hybrid!Bailey/F!Reader (commissioned by anonymous)

Summary

He’s been watching you for so long now. Not that you’re aware of that, but you will be soon. It’s time to claim his mate.

Warnings

Non/dubcon; cunnilingus; knots; hybrid Bailey; creampie; sub reader

AO3

HERE

Wordcount

3378

The heat of the scorching sun beats down on your back as you tend the fields at the family farm. Sweat made your shirt cling to your back, breath coming out in short, harsh bursts. It didn't matter how many times you toiled out here, it was always hard work that left your muscles aching by the time you slipped into bed. 

Luck had been on the side of the farming village this year, as their fields had not been set ablaze. It was common knowledge that a dragon resided within the mountains overlooking the quaint residence, one that had (on occasion) unleashed torrents of flames that had engulfed the crops and roasted animals alive. That was what had happened two summers ago. You still remembered hiding, seeing the bodies of those that had tried to fight the monster in the aftermath. The nightmares had been haunting, but thankfully had subsided in the recent months. The bright side was that the ashes had fertilised the soil, making this year’s yield extremely promising. 

Who knows why the dragon had been quiet these past two years, and who cared as long as it remained dormant. Hopefully it was dead. Rumours circulated that the dragon was responsible for the recent bout of disappearing orphans, but it was just a silly excuse people used. It was probably some weirdo in the village taking advantage of the paranoia in order to fulfil some sick fantasies. 

Standing up straight, you hear your spine crack. Having been bent over for hours now, the stretch feels amazing, and so does wiping your sweaty brow with a handkerchief. Examining the fields, it seems you only have two hours left of work to complete before you can move on to tending the animals.

Somewhere behind you, your mother yells out your name, probably needing help with the heavy hay bail that she was pushing into the barn. Taking a deep breath, you begin to walk over, only for your eyes to be drawn to a strange shadow cast on the ground. Dismissing it as a cloud, you keep going, even as your mother starts running towards you, frantically calling out your name. That is the moment the sound of beating of wings registers. 

Your mother’s screams echo as claws grasp around your shoulders, feet leaving the ground as your captor lifts you up, up, up into the air. Shocked, you try to grasp onto something - hands finding purchase on a foreign texture - a scaly texture - when you reach up. Opening your mouth to scream is difficult when the wind rushes in, generated by the sheer speed you're being carried at. Whatever had snatched you was moving fast, straight towards the peaks of the mountains. The fear that coursed through your veins did not produce enough adrenaline to keep you conscious, black spots clouding your vision, till finally it all went dark. 

-

It's unclear how much time has passed when you wake up. It’s dark, bar a few candles. Quiet apart from the dripping water that registers in your ears from somewhere distant. Soft furs cushion your body. Gazing around the room, you find many shiny trinkets strewn around. Piles of gold, silver and gems. More riches than you could imagine, than your whole village could ever possess. But right now, you need a way out. A way to get home and away from this strange place. 

From where you lie, there is no sign of an exit. It takes a conscious effort to keep your breathing steady, a lump starting to form in your throat. What was going to happen to you? What had taken you? Are you going to die?

Sitting up, you further survey the room. Maybe if you can find the mouth of the cave before whatever took you returns, you can escape with your life. Turning to look behind you when no answers were found, you gasp at what else you see. Cold, red eyes stare intently into your wide-ones from the shadows. 

“You’re up. Good,” a deep, masculine voice growls out, and your nose picks up the scent of smoke. “I’d grown tired of waiting.”

Something scrapes against the stone floor as the figure leans forwards, revealing more of himself in the candle-light. What you see makes you whimper like a frightened child. Scales, accompanied by harsh scars that signified a life spent fighting. A tail with jagged ridges. Clawed hands that could slit a man’s jugular with ease. Folded wings that explain how you got where you are. It all means one thing. Dragon. 

“Please, please,” you beg as you crawl backwards, not entirely sure what you're begging for as terror seizes your heart. Dragon’s eat people. Those stories are well known, told to children many times as scary bed-time stories. They were also cruel, cruel beasts that tortured their victims when they had the chance. What sick games would this one have planned out for you? Would he tear you limb from limb or eat you whole? 

Snickering, the beast continues to advance as you retreat, mocking you by repeating your begging in a high-pitched tone. It’s too late that you realise you’ve been backed into a rocky wall, body curling up on itself as you try to make yourself as small as possible. Maybe if you try hard enough, you’ll disappear, fold in on yourself until you become so small he can’t see you. It doesn’t work.

Soon, the dragon’s large form looms over you, smoking breath filling your lungs and choking you without the need of hands around your neck. His hands do grasp your jaw, turning your face back and forth as he inspects your features, ignorant or pleased with the tears streaming down your face as the claws prick at your skin. Without warning, his clawed hands shoot to your sweat-stained shirt, ripping it open as you sob. 

“Don’t eat me! Please, I’ll do anything you want, don’t eat me!” blood pulses in your ears, heart beating so hard it’s a miracle that it isn’t bursting from your chest. Scratches form on your ribs as you’re poked and prodded.

“Shut up, you dumb fuck, you’re not getting eaten,” the dragon snarls, purposefully digging the sharp digits in so you stop talking and only whine instead. A dark, parted fringe falls over his eyes, one of the few humanoid elements to the creature. He was truly striking to look at, handsome even, but it was a beauty similar to a wolf’s beauty. A sight to be admired from afar, lest you be devoured. Not seen so closely you can feel the heat from his body.

“What-what are you going to do to m-me?” your breath jumps as you speak, practically hyperventilating in the grasp of the dragon. His grip is so warm as he gropes. You try to push him away when he starts grasping at your exposed breasts, but he swats at your arms and hisses in warning. It makes your muscles freeze, not wanting to find out what the punishment for disobeying might be.

Tracing your hardening nipples with his thumb, he curls his tail around one of your ankles and begins to pull your legs apart so he can slide in even closer. “My brats are lacking a carer. They’ll need you to take care of them in the ways that I can’t” 

The tears have slowed, cheeks wet and chest still heaving, but the fear is ever so slowly being joined by confusion and slight licks of lust. It’s not your fault, you know this. Being teased like this is bound to cause your body to react in turn. Surely this beast would understand that?

“You have children?” you ask, feeling just a tad sorry for the mothers that had to birth the babies. If they had scales like their father, it must not have been pleasant. It was also an attempt to distract, to slow down the creature from whatever it may intend. 

“Not biological ones. You might recognise some of them, I stole them all you see. Just like I stole you,” his forked tongue flicks out to taste your skin, trailing between your breasts. A horn scrapes against your chin, head stuck against the wall. So it was true, then. The dragon really had been abducting orphans. Why would he do such a thing?

That tongue ventures to one of your nipples, and the dragon lets out a pleased hum at the taste as he licks. “Oh. My name’s Bailey, by the way. I already know yours. Don’t worry about how, just know that I’ve been watching you for a while now. Had to ensure you were right for the job.”

As one of his claws begin to dip between your legs, your thighs clamp down on it and he stops his teasing to glare at you once again. “Do not resist me. I promise you, Treasure, it's much easier if you behave. It will hurt much less. Might even make you feel good, if you play along.”

The dragon - Bailey - uses the tail wrapped around your ankle to pull you back onto the furs. Flat on your back while this apex predator watches every twitch and flicker of your body, sharp fangs revealed as he smiles at your compliance. You’re still shaking, still afraid. It's sinking in that your life has been ripped away from you, that everything has changed and that you may never go back. That you’ve been stalked and now you’re about to be claimed by this creature.

Your pants, dirty with mud, are ripped from your body, then your underwear, leaving you vulnerable and bare beneath Bailey’s fiery gaze. “You should be thanking me, you know. No more hard labour in the fields. You’ll get fine clothes. The best meals. Such are the benefits of being my wife.”

“We’re getting married?” you whisper, still trying to hide behind your hands as the dragon settles between your thighs once more. Keep him talking, it’ll delay what he intends to do. You hope. He wears no clothes, but you’re aware of a slit in his crotch that widens as an inhuman cock reveals itself, dripping with white, gloopy fluid already. It’s big, might be one of the biggest you’ve ever seen and it's intimidating. 

Chuckling, Bailey leans down to nip at your hip with his sharp teeth. “I do not play by the rules of people. When my kind declares someone as theirs, that is all that is needed. You belong to me. There’s no debate about that.”

It's hard to look away as the tongue flicks out again, rubbing up your slit. Bailey keeps eye-contact, the look he gives is one that dares you to look away. And you do, snapping your eyelids shut and letting your head fall back as your clit is stimulated over and over. You don’t want this. You want to go home, you want to see your family, not play babysitter to his. 

Protests die in your throat, both out of fear and because you have to fight moans from escaping. At least you're not crying anymore. That’s one less humiliation. It feels so good, the way his slick muscles teases and twirls, making you all wet and needy. It's not fair! You hate him! Why do you want more? 

Your abdominal muscles flutter, hands flying to grasp onto something - anything solid. It’s his horns that you end up using, the hard ridges grounding in this moment. “That’s it, Treasure. Give in. You’re being so good, taste so sweet.”

The noises that come from between your thighs are obscene, wet and loud. You can’t block them out, just as you can’t keep his praise away. You don’t want to cum. You really don’t but you feel your peak approaching. Especially as Bailey’s wet tongue delves between your folds, drinking in the honey that drips so readily from your cunt. 

What a perfect little mate he’s found. One so pliant and soft beneath him. How annoying you would have been, if you’d fought back, but you let him do as he wishes. Bailey had watched you for so long through that enchanted orb he owned. Peered into it for hours at a time while his brats ventured the world, coming back with expensive gifts in return for a chance at a better life than they would have had as orphans. You had enraptured him. Begged out for the dragon, despite being ignorant of his existence. 

Now, you cling onto his horns as you orgasm on his tongue. Thighs quacking, voice crying out, the sound ringing in his ears like an angel’s choir. Other dragon’s had warned him about how meeting your mate felt. No other bounty would compare. You could gain the biggest hoard with the rarest obscurities, and they wouldn’t hold a candle to your mate. Bailey had scoffed at the idea. He wasn’t laughing now. Possession grows within him second by second, and a growl rises in his throat.

Licking his lips, he rises. Your pretty eyes are all glazed over, your chest heaving. Just as he wanted you. “I’ve worshipped you, Treasure. Now you should worship me.” Should show him that you know who you belong to.

Rolling onto his back, careful to spread his wings out so that he is comfy, Bailey pulls your much smaller body on top of his. Dazed and tired, you sit straddled over the dragon’s hips; the strange sensation of skin and scales mixed together under your skin is surprisingly pleasant. 

“You want me to do what?” you pant out, still coming down from your unwanted high. Yes, you felt good. At least physically. Mentally, you weren’t quite sure what was going on. One mistake and the dragon could change his mind about being nice. Could burn you alive just like many others. But he was being nice, wasn’t he?

Barking out a laugh, Bailey grasps your hips, lifting you with such little effort that you became very aware of how outmatched you were, once again. That strange length of his is rubbed along your slit, wet and ready to take it all. Breath hitching, your hips squirm to get away from the sensation, still sensitive from your orgasm. It doesn't work.

“Ride me. I just did all that for you, don’t I deserve to rest?” he sounds bored, wrapping his tail around your waist to replace his hands. The ridges dig into your skin, but not enough to hurt. There's no mercy from him as you attempt your best pleading look. Only a raised eyebrow - as if he’s daring you to protest. You wouldn’t dare.

Hesitantly, you perch your hands on his chest. The skin is so warm, all of him feels hot to touch. Taking a deep breath, you grasp the strange dick in a shaking hand and angle the pointed head so that it kisses your hole. Perhaps you had been too slow (or he was just being cruel), because the dragon uses his tail to slam you down onto his length. 

Crying out, your nails dig into his scarred chest, other hand returning to the muscled pecs that flinched beneath them. Smoke rises from Bailey’s mouth, a hiss accompanying the cloud. “What a wonderfully tight cunt you have,” his praise makes you blush, so vulgar and lewd. He lets you adjust before he thrusts up into you. “Move, then.”

Not wanting him to provide any more assistance, you begin bouncing on the warm cock. It’s so thick, hitting so deep, and the tail stops you from sitting at an angle to reduce the pleasure it brings. If you can’t stop your violation, you can at least try to fight off another orgasm. Please the beast enough that he may leave you alone, providing an opportunity to escape. 

Bailey’s eyes flutter closed, a purr rumbling from his chest. You can feel the vibrations beneath your palms, so you keep your pace and start moaning. Maybe if he thinks you're enjoying yourself, he’ll finish quicker. Wet smacking noises fill the cave, your thighs hitting against his hips. If it hurts, the dragon gives no sign.

The drag of his length against your wall feels even better than his tongue had, going deeper than anything else ever had been able to and making you breathless with every bounce. On occasion, it hits that one spot that has you seeing stars and makes your thighs clench hard around the creature’s hips.

The more you ride, you notice something strange. The base of the dick seems to swell, getting thicker and thicker, until it becomes uncomfortable to slide back inside you. A knot, perhaps? You’d heard of animal breeders talking about these things - is that what was happening? Your pace slows down to accommodate the swelled cock, unsure as to what exactly is going on, but determined to end this and get away. That is, until the stretch becomes painful. Forced to still, you catch your breath and peer down at where you’re joined. 

Fear returns at what you see. A monstrous knot has formed at the base, one that surely wouldn’t fit anymore without a great deal of pain. “I-I can’t keep going, it’s too much.”

“You can and you will,” Bailey snarls, and yet again utilises his tail to pull your small body onto his length. There's a burning sensation as it stretches you wide before it is forced in with a pop. Whimpering, you let your body go limp as the dragon grinds into your pussy. Shamefully, it's happening again. Another coil forms within, clit grinding against the beast’s abdomen at the same time your cervix is prodded over and over. You can’t help the pathetic noises coming from you now. 

“I’m going to fill you up, going to have you take everything I have,” Bailey threatens, red stare laser focused in on your joined sexes. His hands come to grab your breasts, rough in his handling of the sensitive mounds. A sharp fang digs into his lip, a trail of blood dripping down his chin, but the beast seems too caught up in his own pleasure to care. 

It’s all too much. Too good, and you cum for a second time, incomprehensible pleas spilling from your lips as he roughly gyrates, again and again, until an almost molten liquid spills into your battered cunny. Nothing drips out, despite the sheer amount of seed, that thick knot ensures that you remain stuffed full and unable to run. 

Slowly, the tail unwinds from around your body, allowing you to collapse onto the scarred chest of your captor. It vibrates, the dragon still purring as he brings a claw to lazily play with your hair, the other tracing patterns down your back. “Good mate. You take me so well, I knew you were the right choice.”

Exhaustion fills each and every limb you have, eyelids growing heavier as the seconds tick by. Finding an exit could wait until you wake up. For now, resting was the best idea. You’re not even sure you can feel your legs properly.

Bailey intently studies every inch of your body you fall asleep, still impaled on his knot. He could smell the fear encompassing you. From the moment he had taken you, you had feared him. A good thing, perhaps. If he scared you, you’d do as you’re told.

It takes half an hour before the swelling of his cock goes down enough to comfortably slide out of you, the dragon easing you down onto the furs to keep you from waking as he rises. Searching his hoard, he seeks one thing in particular. He finds it half-buried in a pile of sapphires, the intricate craftsmanship magic in nature. It’s a chain that grows and shortens at the command of the owner. One that cannot be undone by anyone other than the owner, too. And he is the one who possesses command over the chain. 

When Bailey leaves the chamber, he is secure in the knowledge that you’ll be there when he gets back. Your left ankle is bound to one of the many sturdy pillars of the cavern via his chain. Your life is bound to his whims.

[hhjs]

summary ➝ "I don't get it." You cock your head to the side and investigating the painting at your feet with an obstinate want to understand how it's supposed to depict love. "It just looks like they slapped on paint."

"Look here, dummy!" He slaps your pointer finger jokingly, grumbling under his breath.  Taking your palm and slowly splaying out the digits. Traces the rough pads against its silky texture, a map to somewhere, a blend of blue and pink, silhouettes reaching out for each other when the world intends to tear them apart.

You sigh, contentedly and think this must be it; because never was love meant to be understood.

It was meant to be felt.

word count ➝ 16.6k words.

alternatively➝ university premise.

genre ➝ angst, romance??? comedy??? a smidge of drama??? idk

pairings➝ han jisung. x fem reader.

warnings ➝ recreational drinking, use of profanity, suggestive.

note➝ i suspect that i have a vague emotional attachment to this. Please note that it used to be a jeonghan fic originally but is now rewritten.  i've been toying around with my writing style, idk if this has met what's expected :c but... this piece is a proper example of the idiots to lovers trope. 

a huge thanks to @emhpathy​ for beta-reading. 

 also i felt indolent and didn’t edit. :(

loosely based on the Coldplay song in question, ‘A Message’.

After. 

The air smells like seasalt. Like having a foamy blanket of  waves draped over your face until you let go, slowly, let all the air leave your lungs. 

In the distant rhythm of the rattling wind, you can barely hear the ring of childish laughter. It's an old bicycle Minho last rode when he was 13. Jisung's driving too fast. But you don't care, you don't care because you feel just so alive. You can feel your heart on your tongue. Under your fingertips. Inside your chest.

You can't believe it's true. Can't believe this is your life. Can't believe you're real.

The city is a haze of blue and yellow and red. Jisung slows down by the sidewalk, leaning into the wash of colours and it  stains the side of his face a little. The breeze is caressing his hair. Patting stubborn gelled strands out. His shoulders rise and fall with every little movement, upwards and downwards. When he breathes in and when he breathes out. Everything seems to slow down. Every second feels like a minute. Every minute like an hour.

 Then suddenly- and it surprises you a little - Jisung pauses, cranes his neck back to smile at you. It's lopsided, toothy. He looks so much younger. Suddenly, so utterly boyish. You commit the sight to memory, the sliver of his teeth, the glint in his eyes, the curl of his mouth -

You hope you never forget this.

 Because this is how you know. This is how you've always known.

You wouldn't change anything. Even if you could go back.  

Not for a second. Not when it hurt. Not when it was hard.

Not even once.

...

Bach's  Toccata & Fugue in D Minor. 

You're in your bedroom, you can hear the music in your head, the crescendos and diminuendos, the feather light piano, the strum of a guitar and the gargling of a trumpet, fingers buzzing with an intense desire to write it all down. But then the sound of an organ rips through the air, the curtains pull apart. Your bedroom floor gives away from under your feet. There is a stage, there is an audience impatiently staring up at you, watching you, measuring you and you don't know what to say.

So you run, run, run home.

You remember standing in front of your mum's bedroom. Knocking. When she lets you crawl back under the covers and she runs a caressing hand down your back, you say nothing. (There seems to be a gaping hole in your chest. And you don't understand it. Like something's missing.) . When she traces the shape of your jaw and says trouble sleeping? you say nothing. Then the rain pelts the windows, the curtains are  pulled; suddenly it's so much darker, so much colder, you place a hand over your heart and then look up at her, up to her large, concerned eyes and say, "It hurts."

 But it's okay. It's okay. You'll forget all about it by tomorrow morning.  Because your mum smells like home, like the earth after it rains. It's okay because the world is less scary when you're a kid. When you don't understand.

 Then you're on a train, it skids against its tracks and your hand hurts from holding onto the handle for too long. You hold your draft against your ribs.There are too many people. Shoulders. Heads. Standing. Sitting. Their lives are different. Even when they're together. 

From here, you can make out a woman stroking her toddler's cheek, a teenager with a copy of A Tale Of Two Cities in hand, a tall man, with his head hung low. He is smiling down at his lover. His fingers splay against her throat. She is looking at him. They say nothing. 

 She stands on her toes and kisses him. And something inside you suddenly comes alive, an absence, tries to gnaw its way out of your ribcage. Tries to tell you I've never left. 

The train finds itself in the belly of a tunnel. Outside, it's so much darker. So much colder. There's a blinking streetlight ahead. Yellow and lime green. It must have been raining. You don't know your stop.     

All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players. This is a stage. 

The passengers are impatiently staring up at you, watching you, measuring you and you don't know what to say. You can't run this time.

(You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. This city. Something is missing. Something is wrong. You need to get away.)

Now you wait for a room. A door. A bed. And miss your mother with an intensity that's akin to taking a punch to the gut. You don't remember what the earth smells like anymore. Everything in the city is platform and concrete. And soot rising from tall  chimneys.

Suddenly, you can't believe childhood is over.

Spurts of light found themselves against the hallway ceiling, you wondered how long you'd been thinking about that nightmare for it to take so much of your attention. A mic involuntarily roars to life, reminding you that you were still at the varsity and you had to find Jisung. 

Which sounds easy, had it not been for your history with him. Avoiding him was getting progressively hard a task to maintain because you were in the same department, sharing minor courses that prompts you to think that nothing much had changed and you'd be lying if you said you mind. He is a stubborn page which keened on flipping over in the youthful chapters of your life, refusing to be left behind and some part of you is too scared to know what would happen if you had.

You sigh, looking at the clock nailed to one of the pale yellow pillars and then close your eyes to try to ease the tension in your shoulders. Breathing in. Breathing out.  This morning, you put on a thin cotton dress but the humidity had somehow prompted it to appear somewhat translucent.

Summer brushes up against the back of your neck, you rub your eyes vigorously, placing your sweaty palms on them, dapples of light settled atop  the lids. Coating the little twists of purplish veins pink and white, becoming brighter and brighter and brighter. Any minute now and you would muster up the courage to face him.

You push the field door open.

Football players for the born-again team are loitering about in the heavily populated room, expectants look on most of their faces. You begin to feel twice as much nervous than you did before. 

See, the possibility of stuttering nonsensical sentences and potentially embarrassing yourself in front of Jisung and nameless strangers, again, wasn't the most thrilling idea for you but if you don't make the deadline this time on this group assignment, you'll fail your linguistics course, so it  would be tough to bounce back from for the both of you.

The coach, who is a lanky man, with an alarmingly ruddy face and tufts of snow white hair spiralling out of his head, experienced a lot of difficulty blowing it away from his line of sight. With the  door held back, pressing a curious looking opaque board to his chest, he scans the entirety of the team with an owlish stare, when he was satisfied with the number of persons attending, he stepped in.

"Game starts in 10 minutes." he pauses, allowing the candidates to settle in. A feet away from you, Changbin produces a series of garbled profanities before going back greedily guzzling down the rest of his gatorade.

Once the coach clears his throat, his beady eyes travelling from one curious face to another, flitting between each person, it finds you briefly then it darts curiously across the scenery behind you, as though an explanation for your presence is out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered.

You hold the assignment packet against your chest, feeling the weight of gel blue letters under the rough pad and then slowly fold it open.

Han jisung. You tell him, that's who I'm looking for. 

It takes you awhile to navigate your gaze to the owner of the name amidst the maze of students huffing and puffing about schedules and missing lectures and deadlines, some shouldering their way out in bored frowns, some smiling excited smiles, rushing to grab a suitable seat. Like a blur of faces you catch on the subway and eventually forget, the little snippets of another person's life. Glimpses of them from car windows pressed together in traffic, just a few seconds before the light turns green. One minute you think you know them, put yourself in their shoes and imagine their life for them and the next, you go back to being strangers. 

To you, Jisung's face is an unmistakable, unforgettable kind of face. 

Taunting you from posters of his many swim team accomplishments, under which his name stood in big bold yellow letters, plastered on the noticeboards, on the  walls where the paint was starting to crack. The search didn't prove to be very difficult even though he didn't stick out like a sore thumb without his signature bleached blonde hair.

A varsity jacket is discarded on his body. Under the blue and yellow fabric, Jisung's chest rises and falls with every breath, his lanky legs perched up on the bleachers.  You wonder how he managed to doze off in the face of all this tension about getting clocked in face with a football. 

Aside from by accident, you were positive he hadn't tried to speak to you ever since your previous, unspeakably embarrassing encounter. 

That was a long time ago. 

It was certain that had it not been for this assignment, things between you would remain that way. In spite of this, you've gathered, because people never stop fawning over this prominent character, that not much has changed since you were in school.

Jisung managed to secure an attention drawing position wherever he went and upperclassmen wanted to be his friend even though he mostly indulged only in his own company. 

His head rests on folded arms, his foot is propped up on his knee, which he keeps shaking.  Sunlight crawls up the expanse of his exposed cheek, allowing burnt orange to  bathe half of his face, ribbons of liquid light tapering to smudges down the side of his jaw and disappearing.

Jisung has a boyish face, his eyes are big and kiddish, paired with a sharp nose and a convenient, small, pinkish mouth inherently pouted out to accentuate his puffy squirrel like cheeks but slimming down around his jaw. His raven hair falls in sleek, wet tufts clinging to his forehead and grazing his rosy cheeks, giving him a strange resemblance to a cherub loitering around in the real world.

Come to think of it, Jisung looks, like he invariably does, just slightly out of place.

You drop your bag on the grass. The action makes an unexpected thump. His eyes stir  faster behind closed eyelids, as though he were stirring awake from an ardently produced dream, like a newborn baby, divorced from the worries of the world. Jisung opens one of his eyes, then another, glaring confusedly, his lips pursed in unspoken surprise.

What's the big deal, right? At best, he'll start cooperating with you. At worst, you imagine, he'll toss you across the field for disrupting his sleep.

Of course, no one in their right minds would opt for the latter option, the rational part of you reasons - but you show him the packet,  just for safety measures.

"I thought we ought to go over how we're going to work around this assignment and you weren't in class so..."  You explain. When Jisung just blinks up at you in a curious fashion, you consider that he might not recognise you at all, that, for some reason, bothers you. "You probably don't remember me I-"

"I remember." He interjects firmly, acknowledging you with a fluent utterance of your name that gives you enough evidence of his claim, followed by a watchful, stoic gaze, he motions for you to take a seat beside him. 

You hesitantly sit at the end of the row,  keeping a calculated distance between your bodies. You find that even after all this time looking him in the eye was just as unnerving as it had been the first time they shyly flickered back to yours from across a thick spined A levels Calculus textbook. There's still an intimidating air about him, something that seeks to be constantly impressed without asking to.

Jisung sits up straighter, setting both his legs on either side of the bench, he keeps his gaze trained on your face, not looking away once. "Go on." He suggests, his voice low, "What do we have to do?"

You perk up at this, taking the contents out of the packet. Setting them down before you, you reiterate the instructions rendered in class, trying to include every important detail which contributes to the making of the project.

"We have to attach a PowerPoint part too." You paused, "Let's do that bit today."

Jisung listens intently, never cutting you off, he nods occasionally, making suggestions when you were trying to look for suitable loops in your schedules to work on the scheme, you recommended  several premises, ranging from cafés to parks to libraries to food courts, even your place because it's the closest from Jisung's flat and he refuses go beyond the distance on a Sunday morning. You casually let in the fact that your flatmate would be there in order to insinuate that you hadn't made the offer because of your previous feelings for him.

 You sigh, taking a minute to stretch back and take a deep breath. The bench is cool under your thighs, soft caresses of a warm summer breeze brushing the hair from your face away, pale yellow pours from the canopies, staining the grass, football players prepping in the distance, their zealous partners egging them on with excited smiles, shouting encouragements from the other end of the court.  You imagine lying down on the grass, spreading your arms out and not having a care about anything.

"You still wear that bracelet." 

"What?" You yawn, brows furrowed in confusion. You look at him from the corner of your eyes,  finding that his brown orbs motion to the source of comment, they dart from your cheek to your wrist, where surely the platinum accessory is tied to its loosest hoop, it used to be your go-to add-on in school. 

Surprised, you touch the item briefly, before retracting your hand slowly. All you can think is he remembers, he really remembers,  "...Yeah."

...

Instead of running about playgrounds with a mouthful of kiddish laughter and building cartoonishly  architectured sandcastles, you remember spending most of your childhood with your nose dug deep inside a fairytale, splurging much time on committing the glide of milky pages to memory, eyes widening, face twisting with each vicissitudes of emotions that would come over you with each stage of exploring a story. It was your own little world, a catharsis for all that you were holding inside, a window you could crack open and when the real world felt stuffy. 

Fancying Jisung was, your younger self imagined, fantastical, like something out of those fairytales.

You don't know when you started liking him, maybe it was the first time you saw him. It was your last year in school and Jisung's unfamiliar face was a new sight against the fuzzy background of sleepy students pouring into the hallway, it was the kind that demanded to be noticed, even though he simply  looked bored with an enormous pair of headphones looped around his thin neck.

Jisung was born to go through life being the embodiment of an all rounder, now that you think about it, there's not a thing he wasn't good at, always  having a proclivity to outshine others.

 He was a transfer student with stellar grades in spite of mostly routing his interest  towards composing  obscure music you'd found floating about the net. In all honesty, he truly was the master of all trades and the jack of none and every room was a keeper of attention, enveloped in an intangible but unanimous, wordless veil of interest towards the new character.

But  maybe it wasn't as theatrical as you remembered; maybe it was the love at  first sight nonsense, maybe it wasn't something you realised overnight, out of the blue, maybe it all happened at a slow, infuriating pace, maybe you started liking him for the small, stupid and unimportant things, like when you dropped your pen, the thin stick rolling away between your desks and he picked it up, flicking it between his fingers curiously, carefully curling his fingers around the metal, observing it before putting it back on your desk, maybe it was in class, when he zoned out in class, not bothering to look apart until he realised it had caught your attention, he then blinked away, the rosy hue of his cheeks more prominent with each passing second,  maybe it was when you were sure you were about to flunk the history pop quiz and Jisung whispered the names of warriors and poets and the fallen while keeping his gaze firmly poised on his paper.

You were so shy, cloistered, intensely egregious and he kept seeking you out in some new manner, causing you to be an element of mild interest not only amongst your peers but also people who actively seeked his romantic interest.  Although, conversations  on your part never stretched beyond differentiation and stealing cautious glances at one another, (which wasn't a shocker because you didn't know how to compute a chat with him and Jisung was unusually timid for someone who acquainted himself with well known rambunctious personalities), you genuinely enjoyed his company.

So you obliged. Even though it was utterly improper and you were sure he liked someone on the cheer squad. It was just that you were a kid and you wanted to wear your heart on your sleeve just once before tucking it away forever.

He poked his head out from the water, wordlessly upon hearing his name, looking at you with a cocked brow and you were quick to say it, like you had to before you ended up changing your mind, it took a lot of courage to mutter a simple confession after all,  in spite of the fact you didn't at all picture him reciprocating, whisking you off of your feet with a wide grin, in a grand affirmation of all the rubbish pop culture has spoon fed you. 

It was a stereotypical teeth rotting, sweet crush that bound you to want to be around Jisung in a way he didn't, something lodged deep inside of you, the same thing that was childish and clung onto its fairy tales for dear life, hoped that he would share the same feelings, in spite of knowing it was undoubtedly unrequited. 

 Jisung had an indecipherable look on his face, he parted his mouth to say something but paused as if looking for the right words.  He simply settled with a sigh, before lowering his body down into the pool. You replayed the scene over and over again for the rest of senior year, until it drove you to a point of absolute insanity. You even considered googling what a sigh was supposed to convey, if fishing through dictionaries wasn't going to tell.

That was notably the last time you spoke in school.

But your strained relationship stayed with you like an embarrassing tattoo  and in trying desperately to  conceal it, afraid someone would see too much, know too much, you would only make it more apparent. 

You had to push him away to the farthest corner of your mind so you didn't have to wonder anymore, didn't have to interpret every action like your life depended on it - because love to you was so immense that it was overwhelming. You've wanted love to rescue you in some way, looked for it in the soft murmur of pages, in the chilling words to a song you can't seem to forget, you've waited for love like an impatient eagle anticipating its opportunity  to leap in and swoop up its shot at satisfying its undying hunger. You needed to uproot those budding feelings before they took abode inside your chest, grew stronger, into something massive, unignorable, something like love.

Avoiding Jisung in hallways, in class and really everywhere was some form of a habit you were developing - but that didn't stop him  from entangling himself with your ponderings; you thought of all the things he did without paying much attention to the act, like his petulant whining when he wanted something he wasn't getting, you thought of the way he tapped his pen against the wooden desk, silently eyeing chalky math problems on the board before uttering the answer with an ease only he could carry, you thought of his petulant front during arguments and how he always ended up winning, you just missed being around him without the added tension - which was funny because you're the one to blame for it. 

To your knowledge, Jisung didn't know to speak in puzzles, even when he didn't want to say something, he always found an agreeable way to deliver it,  often unknowingly wording them as they were, he didn't understand the complexities with which people conversed, needing everything to be black and white, as clear as the summer sky, so everyday felt like he owed you an example of his unintentional transparency, a explanation even though you knew he didn't.  

Maybe that's it, you thought, maybe that's all. 

(Sometimes you would sense his gaze searing into the side of your face, as if he was on the verge of uttering a greeting.

But graduation came along. And you never heard anything from him.)

You began to understand that all those tear jerking, unhappy endings were inevitable, like not being able to take your eyes off the stage during  Giacomo Puccini's Sono Andati, like being exposed to Mimi's excruciating death, losing something you can't put a finger on - and suddenly, the plays, the window, the catharsis wasn't enough, the child in you wanted to scream and  kick and throw, the child in you wanted to forge her own ending, the one that made sense, the one you could anticipate.

Running his palms along the cool glass, Jisung pauses from time to time to look at you, as if expecting you to address the elephant in the room, the same elephant that followed you all the way from campus, to his car, to the café downtown. It wasn't until the waiter went away in the pursuit of getting your order did he pose the inquiry. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

You shake your head slowly, a nervous laugh escaping your lips.

 "What's there to talk about? It was a long time ago and I'm over it."

 Saying it out loud like this feels weird, it feels so real and disappointing and embarrassing, you feel reduced to a child coming clean about that one time they tipped over a vase and dusted the debris under the rug he is about to step about on, hoping he wouldn't notice. 

The statement makes you feel guilty, like you're lying. You don't want to know if you really are.

"Well, does that mean we can be friends?" Mutters Jisung against the opening of his straw, sipping miserly as though not wanting to finish the rest of his Americano. He opens his mouth to say something but stops, looking blatantly confused, like that was the only explanation he had for your fallout. "I don't understand." 

Not having thought that far, you stop typing, the click clack of keys muting, Jisung's thick rimmed glasses rest atop the jut of his nose and he's peering over them to look right at you with big wide eyes, genuinely interested in being supplied an answer.  The sixteen year old you would be overwhelmed with bouts of fluster right now. But you stopped being that person a long time ago, in fact, that person is to you a bleary recollection of a mere stranger who you thought you saw somewhere but couldn't put a finger on the location.

Shrugging, unsure, the question comes after a lengthy pause, "I guess it does?"

You sit in temporary silence after the short conversation ends, never going off topic again and giving into irrelevant chats even though Jisung is actively trying to initiate conversation about things which had nothing to do with work. You wonder why, wordlessly admitting that it was getting harder to resist the urge to talk to him with every passing second.

His car was parked a few lanes away from the café so you were obliged to walk after getting through the first portion of the assignment.

"So." Jisung starts, biting the side of his cheek, "What have you been upto lately?"

Talking to Jisung isn't as difficult as your younger self made it to be, he could hold a conversation well, jumping from serious topics to lighter ones to keep the balance, making witty comments here and there that had you laughing without really meaning to and every time, you'd catch a look of satisfaction glinting in his eyes. 

 The pair of you walk by an ice-cream parlour where a short bald man with a perpetually happy  face is handing out samples. A mint green board is attached to the appendage of a stall, outstretching from the original store, it says La Petite Glacière. 

You raise your brows, literal nomenclature.

"Journalism could suit you." The comment is off-handed, a product of you thinking out loud, imagining Jisung running around with a recorder, with his big, friendly eyes, queries posed with an an easy jovial attitude; it's so befitting, you just couldn't help but notify him. Even if it was an involuntary notification. You left out the part where you always pegged his love for composing would eventually materialise instead, this was unexpected to say the least. But Jisung described music as a getaway, something he was willing to do out of passion and not duty.

It was to his credit that he didn't laugh in your face when you said you wanted to be a playwright, specialising solely in the field of fiction. That's one thing he doesn't have in common with your parents. (Who didn't hesitate to point out that it was an obsolete branch of writing.)

"Yeah?" Jisung grins archly, glancing at you, as insinuating the memory of you playing Iago when you were expecting to land Desdemona is still impressed on him. "I could say the same for you."

You only wave him off, rolling your eyes. Some things are better left forgotten.

It's hot and you're really thirsty. You're knee deep in lengthy conversations engineered to catch up with one another, which consisted of ping-ponging inquiries about everything and anything, like how it was moving away from your family and new hobbies and pet peeves and casual strolls down memory lane but then the tension would settle and you would grow awfully quiet, like you're doing something you aren't supposed to, like you're walking into the inviting mouth a ginormous tiger whilst convincing yourself that it won't gobble you up.

"Okay. I have one." you start, he's nodding in encouragement,  "Have you been dating a lot?" 

Jisung laughs at your obvious curiosity, wiping his sweaty forehead with a spare napkin, strolling really fast, long legs promoting his speedy gait, you have to jog from time to time to keep up.

"Why?" 

He tilts his head to you, the teasing spark in his eyes glinting knowingly, he becomes shorter and grows taller walking up and down the slopes of the bumpy road.

  Your eyes widen. You were curious! You haven't spoken to him for a long time and you're just catching up. Exactly, you tell yourself,  that's believable, that, you think, makes sense. The other explanation, the one you're deigning to not look in the eye, that a part of you would be disappointed if he had said yes doesn't.

You flounder for a response, something, just a word or even an awkward noise, anything to formulate a proper retort. When that proves to be delayed and difficult, heat begins to pool into your cheeks, shooting up to the back of your ears and budding under the skin of your neck.

"Just asking."

 He hums, ghosting his fingers along the small of your back, careful not to touch you as he shoulders his way to your side without bumping you off of your feet, the gesture prompts something inside your gut to twist and twist and twist. "Well...yeah, but it's never been serious."

You're waiting for the red light so you can cross the road to the parking area. Jisung is towering over a sea of the heads, he's not much taller than the average person, hands tucked in his pockets. The wind is messing his hair up to the side, he keeps running his fingers through the stubborn strand to get it to sit right but when the endeavour proves to be futile so he just scoffs, as if berating the strand whilst stubbornly repeating the action. 

Looking at him like this, you imagine falling in love with Jisung is easy. Like gliding a hot knife through butter. It must feel just right, even if it doesn't last long, like holding fire in between your palms and pretending you own it, feeling the warmth kissing your skin before it nips and burns, like speeding across comets, stars and the moon, waging wars in the name of romance and producing litanies about love and then - finally, inevitably, unwillingly - letting go, like you always knew you would.

 You imagine the aged memories of blurry faces behind cobwebs of raindrops and curtains of mist, the faces of people who he could've loved but hadn't.

And it scares you for some unknown reason.

There's something inexplicably lovable about Jisung, his babyish features have always possessed the tendency to catch you off guard, even though you've known him for a long time; it's gobsmacking and too winning to be real, like something out of a dream, the milky planes of an acrylic face. The smooth buttery texture of his skin, the subtle, narrow jut of his nose, the pouted shape of his mouth and pearly teeth. You think he doesn't know this, doesn't see himself the way you do even when he pretends to be confident with his boastful jokes, they are just jokes after all. Only further evidence of how he doesn't want to believe any compliment rendered his way.

"What about you?" He poses, looking over from the hood of his car while unlocking it from the driver side, "Dating anyone?" 

The truth is, you've tried the atrocities of blind dating and online dating and casual dating but they all have been deficient and you're too tired to go through the never ending cycle  of being on disappointing dates again: your expectations are too high, some might even say, for the way you seek familiarity with absolute strangers; you're stubborn, awkward and sometimes, simply unapproachable,  but for the sake of not deflating your ego, you decide that Jisung doesn't need to know this. 

You shake your head, failing to understand why Jisung is grinning through the cracked window, whilst you're pulling the door open and plopping down on the passenger seat.

"Why are you smiling?" You furrow your brows, watching as the lopsided grin grows bigger. 

"Because." He shrugs, tucking his hands in his pockets.  

"Because?" You look at him expectantly, but he just looks back at you without expanding the brief explanation. You're so close that you can make out the thin layer of mist collecting on his eyelashes, his arched cupid's bow, his eyes have so much brown in them. You'd liken the colour to that of a muddy lake, like the bare earth, they catch sunlight and turn golden, just for a second, for just one second, it looks like what magic must be like. Realising that you have been staring at him for quite long, you tear your abashed gaze away. Piloting it to shift from the buskers to the other cars, buses, pedestrians, traffic lights, looking for a sight distracting enough.

"I'm not telling you!" Jisung mocks your tone like a child with a violent shake of his head, putting his keys in ignition. The engine roars to life, wheezing like a kettle. Why he drives a Comet Convertible when he could've gotten any other alternative is a wonder; not that you mind, you like it, it’s  like sitting  inside a giant jewelry box, the inside is smooth red leather, velvety smooth black paint on the outside.

"Why not?" You frown.

Jisung rolls the steering wheel with one hand, keeping his eyes trained to the approaching traffic while turning lanes, he giggles, "Because."

...

You'll have to admit that it's quite... challenging coming to terms with being friends with Jisung. Not because he's practically everywhere but  just since Jisung tends to demand your attention when he realises he's not getting it.

When you try to dodge him on mornings after he cheats at UNO, scurrying away behind swathes of sleep deprived university students, hoping you don't catch his eye, he calls your name in that  loud, clear and intentional way that he does, dragging a heavy arm around your shoulder to squeeze it against the back of your neck before tousling your hair or some other action to effectively ruin your get up. When you zone out in class, musing absently about something that has nothing to do with scale efficiency and accidentally catch his gaze, he winks at you, snapping you right back into attention. 

Your friendship is, to say the least, interesting, for everyone around you.  It's like everyone is always on the edge of their seats, waiting for a chance to poke fun at your apparent chemistry. It means nothing, you're just friends, you remind yourself over and over again, defensively, succumbing to the urge to grow closer and closer to him without paying mind to the annoying voice in your head.

Jisung texts you in the middle of the night, when he's parked out front, to meet him for a midnight drive out that you're sure no one knows about and you tell yourself you're getting away with it - only to be confronted by a smirking Sunwoo in the morning, likening the situation to a teenager  caught red handed sneaking in through the window after a clandestine night of partying.

 But you're not spared the teasing even out in the open. Though while you squirm awkwardly, sink into your seat and refute offendedly, Jisung doesn't have a lick of such knowledge or care, he easily slumps against you, resting his head on your shoulder in class and dozing off, indifferent to the multiple pairs of eyes zeroing in on you.

Even though the bartenders smile their coquettish smiles, offering drinks on the house and people laughed a little more than necessary, twirling their hair around their fingers at anything and everything he said, thence offering proper chances to ditch you completely, he remains close to you at pubs, putting his long fingers on your shoulders and resting his chin on your head, shooting some creepy guy who just wouldn't stop insisting on buying you a drink a look that said he wouldn't mind taking a stronger stance, had the creep not backed off. It was what anyone would have done, you tell yourself, ignoring the underlying pang of a gut feeling that begged to differ.

You envy the obvious charm Jisung holds over everyone, easing his way out of the jokes to do whatever he wants, you wonder what he would do if someone asked him if you were just friends, if he would dismiss them with a wave or provide a positive response, if it would hurt, if it would matter.

"Hey!" 

You jump at the tone. It's breezy, light and followed by a scoff at the end, you recognise it, sighing once the initial surprise oozes out of you to be replaced with familiarity, Renjun is halfway through a complaint about acrylic paint, his mouth half open while his eyes travel over your head, where you're certain the owner of the voice is jogging up to the pair of you. 

"I'll er...catch you later." Renjun purses his lips, while you turn your gaze back to Jisung, he's coming from practice, so his hair is wet, cheeks flushed red, he looks younger like this, completely barefaced. He's wearing a  plain white t-shirt and light wash jeans, even in such an ordinary attire, a few bypassers' attention latch solely onto him.

The sun has long laid on a cotton soft sheet of clouds, letting a blue evening straighten its back against the dark firmament, the crowd at campus is reducing dramatically, you were walking to the metro, deciding to rest by the park bench as he mimics the pose, sliding from the opposite end when you try to keep a distance.

Jisung nudges you with his shoulder. "We’re having a party at our new place. You should come."

It wasn't willingness that took you to loud premises. You aren't exactly a party animal, far from it, maybe an animal that blends into the background, wordlessly observing  masses of sweaty people who will wake up with horrible hangovers the next morning, wishing the night before had never happened. If such an animal exists. 

 But you're genuinely curious about meeting Minho, who seems to have assumed the position of  one of Jisung's best friends while you were absent from his life. You found yourself wondering if he was different from Bang Chan, who in spite of being the former's friend, is someone you could deem yourself more similar to than he is to Jisung; shaking your heads and groaning into your palms, Chan would pinch the bridge of his nose and cautiously glance at you as though to convey You get me, right? while Jisung showered the karaoke bar manager with grandiloquent blandishments into giving extra minutes for a lower price.

Despite this, it is the undeniable but sheer adoration for your fun-loving mutual friend that binds you two together the best, the shared looks of appreciation when Jisung  scolds you for neglecting your health, when he surprisingly remembers a minor detail about you or when he indulges in appreciative chats about crayon drawings with loquacious kids who would come running to display their paintings when you were looking to take an indolent walk in the local park, he would listen attentively, moving to a sitting position, nodding his head like he understood what the kiddish gibberish meant; one thing is certain -  there was certainly more to Jisung than people pegged and if anything, those undiscovered traits only made him more endearing.

"Okay….but make sure we don't end up playing strip poker or something." You shudder at that thought, grimacing exaggeratedly to make your point.

"Why?" He raises his brows, a small simper playing on his lips to give away that he was only teasing you, "I like that game."

But under all that banter, it was well received that Jisung would never put you to the obligation of doing anything you're not comfortable with, so you just play along, narrowing your eyes, "That's because you're a pervert." You say, stifling a laugh whilst his grin dissolves to drop to a blank face.

 Jisung glares at you, nudging you with his knee, effectively putting you on the verge of falling.

"Hey!"  You scoff, repeating the action but Jisung doesn't roll across the grass like you wanted, he doesn't even budge. Instead, he laughs at your frustration, shaking his head and glancing back at you with an entertained look in his eyes. 

(Something inside your chest is growing, like an epiphany, its vines pushing up against your lungs, your heart, its thornes prickling, injuring the flesh, something that tells you this is so much more to you than you'd admit, you press it down, ignore it; just a little longer, you think, just a little longer before you start to see this for what it is. )

"Why are you staring at me?" Jisung questions, you can't help but notice how he tilts his head, moving his curious face closer to yours, inspecting, like just before he makes his final move and mutters Checkmate but he doesn't actually know what he's doing, doesn't realise the weight of his actions.  "Do I have something on my face?" He tilts his cheek to you, as though offering you to examine it and then, immediately his mouth lowers down to form a deep set frown. Is he really that goddamned clueless? Doesn't this affect him at all? 

"No." You clear your throat and lean back, moving your weight on your palms,  "It's getting late. We should get going." 

...

The earliest memory you have is from when you were five, your parents had taken you to the beach and that day, while the sun shone brightly and the sand was warm, like home under your feet, with big curious eyes, you gazed off into the brilliant blue water. 

It was just so beautiful. 

And you so badly, wanted to wade into the welcoming foamy arms of the sea. If only the immensity of the water hadn't scared you as much as it did, you thought. It was like a blue giant that was reaching to steal the sun off of the sky and if you  dared to test the waters, the liquid Goliath could whisk you right off of your tiny feet and drag you into its mouth.

 That, you think, is what you're really afraid of, that deep down inside , you never really stopped holding back. That you'll never muster up the courage to do anything you really want.

In the midst of the chaos of an alcohol induced party, your head feels like it's about to explode.

It stopped raining. And you haven't had the luxury of running into Jisung ever since he went off to get a drink for himself.

The windows are open. Though there's not a flutter of a cool breeze or anything. But there are assortments of crisps, juices and other suspicious looking snacks. The cool curve of the stair railing pressing up against your side. It's unspeakably loud. The frat house, as typical as it sounds, welcomes an obnoxiously large crowd, it isn't surprising, considering people here have a reputation for social adeptness, the house being big enough to capacitate a crowd twice as big as its guests is just a plus point.

 Once the majority of the crowd  had  long thinned out to participate in a curious sounding game of  beer pong, the aftermath is that everything smells like sweat, vomit or both. You're tipsy, tired and alone. It's been an hour since you arrived. Your patience is wearing thin. 

 You down the remainder of the watered down scotch, even though the liquid could secure a horrible case of nausea if you couldn't hold your liquor well tonight.

In the mess of too many heads, too many hands and too many bodies, pushing, pulling, dancing and kissing  with shocking hostility, suddenly, the view starts to shift, from left to right, from upwards and downwards, like you're on a rollercoaster but without the lap bar. It's certainly a symptom of  the  splitting migraine you're sporting. It's too loud downstairs for you to summon anyone and besides, the search for a familiar face seems futile.  

You fish out your phone, wondering if you should send Jisung a text, squinting at the glaring blue screen but decide against it - hoping to God that you don't walk in on anyone shagging while looking for one of the rooms to crash in. 

Now, that...would put them in an awkward position. You mentally high five yourself for the joke. 

Though the amusement is  mostly transient, soon replaced by a rapid jerk of pain. Wincing in an attempt to stand with little control over balance, you try to ease the pain from your briefly twisted foot. 

When you've made it to your desired destination, an inconspicuous looking room at the end of the long hall, you kick off the death traps for heels off of your feet and all but fling yourself on the mattress.

Stacks of comics are carefully  placed on the top most shelf of the bookshelf pushed against the wall, their polished spines sticking out.

 The rest are overflowing with vinyls, set in alphabetical order. You can tell because each row has a tag taped over its head.

Everything is surprisingly clean, the walls are crisp white, there's a single black wall on which a large painting sits. A night light glows dimly, perched up on the bedside table. Whoever's bedroom this is, has the blandest taste in interior design. Or a lack of it since they moved in not long ago as Jisung informed.

 You stare owlishly at the blue ceiling, following the undulating spines of bricks, stacked in. Upwards and downwards. Like a map. Like a  staircase to nowhere. Then you close your eyes. 

Imagining that you're staring up at the sky at dawn, when it's  a swirl of milk tea. Golden. Buttery white. Autumnal Yellow. And pumpkin spice. Brown curls against the background of a milky white firmament and if one bothered to look closer, they'd catch stars peeking from behind slowly darkening clouds, waiting to come out. 

When you were a child, you liked to stick a curious index into filled tea cups, as if to study the khaki liquid , not quite grasping the connoisseurship of hot beverages just yet. The experience would always end with a mouthful of biscuits and your grandmum's tickles engendering your stomach to ache a good kind of ache.

Now, the memory prompts you to raise a finger to the air, as if you were dipping your digits into the whirlpool of maroon. For a moment, you feel as if you're still that little girl stuck in someone else's body, like you hadn't grown up at all. 

But in the hurtful manner that reality often made itself known, yanking you right back from your dreams, the door creaks noisily and then closes.

Out of the corner of your eye, the character looks more like a funny sketch on a chalkboard than he does a person. All blurry and messy. Like someone tried to rub him out. 

The flash of light radiating from his phone, a sliver of neon, silver, you recognise his face, you've seen the same expression right before he's about to choose between  his favourite ice cream flavour; eyebrows knitted in concentration, lips pursed, emerging from the shadows.  He's typing really fast. You blink, adjusting your vision. The unobstructed sight of his face broadens. "Jisung?" 

 He looks at you, positioning his phone towards your face to get a good in the barely there light. 

"Yeah?"

You furrow your brows in confusion, "What are you doing here?" 

"That's a good question."  He snorts.  "Indeed, what business might I have in my room?"

You jump, sitting straighter, then stand up. Just in case he thinks you're a fucking creep. He probably doesn't even want to be friends with you anymore and you understand, you wouldn't want to be friends with you either. "I...I didn't know."

Jisung laughs loudly at your fluster, rolling his eyes,  he plops down, the mattress dipping under his weight, groaning noisily. He pats the spot beside him. "Relax..."

You wear a doubtful look, under the impression that he'd break into a laughing fit with a quip about you caving in so easily.  You narrow your eyes even though you're quite tempted to take his offer. 

He tuts, yanking you by the arm so you sink down beside him.  

"I just saw you coming upstairs, wanted to make sure some asshole wasn't picking on you." He explains, his face contorting to momentary peevishness just at the fleeting thought. 

A crappy pop song is buzzing in the background, you can hear it, you can smell the salted popcorn in the air. His fringe is brushed forward, cheeks smoothed over, moisturised, in this intimidating proximity, you pick up that Jisung always smells really good. Like aftershave and something strong, woody, earthy — but just the right amount, not overpowering.

 "Have you considered trying something more...erm... colourful?" You  scan his room, deciding to change the subject, attempting to dodge the heavy feeling of fluster in your chest; you guess it was showing on your face because the corners of Jisung's mouth begin to quirk upwards. If there’s anyone more awkward than Jisung, it /s definitely you. "This isn't really you."

 With his mouth lopsided, his nose scrunching upwards, his teeth showing, his eyes turning to crescents, Jisung chuckles, as if perceiving your attempt to digress but choosing to let it slide.

 "Then what is?" He raises a brow.

"I don't know." You pause, trying to picture a suitable tint, "Something bright."

Someone starts blasting Ed Sheeran outside, putting the volume all the way. It creates a proper distraction from the conversation to go beyond simple suggestions, it was a sudden reminder of just how badly you wanted the party to be over.

 "You know the more I think about it, the more I come to acknowledge that this is really not my scene."  You confess absentmindedly, backing up on the mattress so your feet dangle, your headache kicks back, beating inside  your ears, knocking against your skull. You lie back on the mattress, curiously blinking up at Jisung's frowning face.

 "Why didn't you tell me that before?" He says, a pinch in his brows pushing the shape up in utter concern. 

"Because I wanted to come." You say honestly, prompting Jisung to heave a deep sigh, relief gradually washing over his rigid features, "I don't know, maybe I'm just not fun enough."

"Yeah. That's probably it." He jokes, grinning from ear to ear. But the shape drops immediately when you jut your lip out instead of mirroring the mirthful action. "You really think so?"

 He blinks at you, not expecting the forwardness, "No." He says, and you note that this is the most serious Jisung has ever sounded around you.

Your face is growing increasingly hot as the weight of his remark started to kick in. It’s so unfair, isn't it? He has no idea how every little thing he said to you meant so much more than it ought. It hurt when you found yourself automatically deducing his trivial actions, all the while knowing it hadn't meant anything to him.  To him, you're just a friend. And you aren't going to let your emotions ruin that, not again. 

 "What's the party for anyway?"

You furrow your eyebrows in genuine curiosity when the silence has become unbearable. Constantly needing to be disrupted. 

 "It's a stupid frat house tradition, they do it every time we move."

“Sounds like a cult activity to me."

You hear him hum, as if feigning contemplation, then open your eyes.

 "Well, that...That's because it is."

It's very typical of Jisung to try to make jokes whilst trying to keep a straight face. In most cases, he doesn't fool anyone. His voice rises  to a cartoonish volume, his mouth pouted out when he speaks as though to hold back a laugh, it’s his eyes, widened, twinkling with a notorious spark in them that ultimately gave it away. In rare instances, however, they deluded strangers into thinking he was being serious when he really wasn't; like that time he told Chan the pool was pre-heated just for the latter, who trustingly dove into the water, to swim up with clattering teeth and ice cold skin to the surface finding that Jisung was grinning deviously. It was an obvious payback for the time the older male hogged Jisung's share of cheesecake as a daring attempt at pranking.

Maybe, you guess, you just knew him too well.

  "Interesting." you raise your brows, playing along, "I'm surprised there isn't any nude dancing involved."

 "Wow...you sound so disappointed.” 

 Jisung laughs, his chest heaving upwards and downwards with every laboured breath.  It's a pleasant sight, knowing you get to have this moment to yourself. For reasons you'd like to ignore, something inside your chest begins to ache, thrumming against your ribs. It isn't until you put your hands over your face in an attempt to get rid of a thin layer of sweat, do you realise that you were smiling.

When he calms down, he keeps looking at you. "I take that you made the submission?" He presses, knowing well that you were intending to put off the matter from the dodgy look in your eyes. "Right?"

 Before, Jisung stubbornly pressed on the matter, it was unheard of for you to allow your writings to be read by anyone other than yourself; it was only fiction, your little secret, you reason, even though you knew the underlying cause of your unwillingness was that you simply cannot take rejection well, it is truly terrifying but an automatic reaction to think that your work is boring and somehow unworthy of praise every time  you are on the verge of sharing it. Your parents never showed any particular interest in it and you assumed that was a universal desire. 

But Jisung is incredibly obdurate when he wants to be.

 Sometimes, you think he's the only person in your life who's truly honest with you, he doesn't shower you in false accolades, not hesitating to rip the band-aid, to point out the less likable bits from the likable ones even if he knew it would make you unhappy. It was interesting prying your wounds open around him, he wouldn't suppress his thoughts and blurt euphemisms like it's going to be okay, he would grimace and gag and then he'd clean them, he would sit patiently with them and try to dress them up for better - and somewhere along the way, while you may have cared about other people's opinions, your concern for what he thinks of you is starting to become far more significant. And it petrifies you.  "No." 

Jisung shoots you a look of annoyance, staring at you like he's awaiting an explanation. You can sense the lengthy talk coming from the back of his throat, something which surpassed the regular limits of you should do this and you shouldn't do this, he relentlessly pushed you towards your career which you claimed you were passionate about but needed his stern berating often when you would stagger back in indolence and you'd be lying if you said it isn't effective - albeit, the scoldings sometimes led to the two of you bickering back and forth, giving each other the silent treatment until one of you would cave - whatever it was, you know you could never turn down Jisung, even if he was bruising your ego to ask you to get your shit together.  "Why not?"

 "It's just a stupid draft, Sungie..." You laugh nervously but he doesn't give into the fit like you imagined, instead, he just dons a solemn look on his face, something that seems to show that he'd been peeved by your response.

  "No it’s not." He shakes his head slowly and there's sort of a firmness in his retort that surprises you, far from how he usually jokes on about,  that tells you there's no room for argument, "It's not stupid at all."

Jisung tears his gaze away, his expression softening once he notes the worried look on your face, it's as though he had suddenly changed his mind about the lecture he was surely planning  to give you,

 "Look I don’t want to fight.” He sighs, “You’re always talking about how much this means to you and if it’s something that you really want, don't put it off. I'm your friend, I can only encourage you — but at the end of the day, it's your job to pull yourself up. Goes without saying that it’ll be a complete waste if you don’t pursue play writing because you - and I don't care if you don't agree with me -  really do have a lot of potential.”

You blink in wonder, ”You think so?"

 "I know so."

 You don't remember the last time someone said something like that to you, if at all. Tearing your gaze away from him, you’re met with the inability to shake the feeling of craving something you don't want to understand, mired in your own musings and for no particular reason but to avoid the desperation of confessing to yourself of the warm tight feeling inside your belly - you give into the temptation of placing your palm over the nightlight, watching the light turn from bright yellow to muted blue, it stings slightly. 

Too cheesy, you would groan out under any other circumstance where you hadn’t been so fazed.

Instead, you just gulp, eyes wide at his forward comment, his praise is the equivalent of being splashed with ice cold water when one is half asleep, now you're all wide eyed and incognisant of what's real and what isn't, it prompts a jolting sensation to traverse all throughout your body, "Thanks." 

This scene was no exception, Jisung tips his head back against his palms when he's thinking about something, while keeping his calm gaze posed on you, he smiles, rolling his eyes. “You’re too hard on yourself, loosen up just a little. I'm not always gonna be around.”

You muse that your mum said the exact same thing when you moved away for university but chose not to mention it, it's not true though, you want to say. Because Jisung is always there for you.

 See, the universe exists on this dreadful thread of balance  and you've been hanging on by your last finger for as long as you remember, taking every step on the basis of a fear of tumbling off to be greeted by the gasps and complaints of an imaginary audience, for the longest time, picturing  your play to be dissected like a lab rat, for a delirious critic to point their scalpel and announce, the misshapen heart is here, that's the pudgy head.

But nowadays and you'll never tell him this, when Jisung talks about you  like that, you almost believe it, believe in yourself and don't think he understands what it means to you, how grand that is  -  to imagine seeing your play come to life, something severely intimidating about watching it, spotlight gingerly kissing up the actors' newborn faces as the audience spews quiet comments, critics' expressions morphing with  nuanced understanding, the anticipation is tangible, the walls closing in by the second, tension squeezing the air out of their lungs -  until the curtains part and a story draws them into another world. Then everything falls into a formidable silence.The inexplicable feeling of being one wrapping its limbs around everyone and cradling them to its chest like a loving mother, awestruck strangers listening in on the heart wrenching dialogues, the belter of a riveting tragedy prompting their hearts to lurch forward and sit on their tongues, then they'll look around, spot bits of you in your characters and think I'm not alone. I never was.   (The people you've both never known but known your entire life.)

It's better to slip, to put everything on the line for the sake of making way to what you want on a feeling rooted deep inside your gut than to cower behind the fear of disapproval and have nothing at all. Being brave enough to tell your story is not the absence of that fear which keeps you, but it is telling the tale despite, toppling that fear.

There's something relieving about that theory.

 "I want to lie down..." You mewl, in spite of already lying down. It's a sign of how the constant toiling through exams was finally taking a toll on you, the sleepiness coupled with hours long lethargy from the party seemed to be weighing your body down, making your eyelids heavier by the second. He moves your hand, leaning into the light. A wash of colour is spreading  across his face for a brief moment, exposing the skin to scrutiny, all veins, curves and crinkles around his eyes. Jisung smiles at you. Your eyes dart all over his face, resting on the curve of his mouth briefly, then his eyes, you catch the yellow flickering in them , the brown turning to dark copper. 

Your heart drops to your stomach when he blinks away slowly, the disappointment assuaged by something foreign, dumb and utterly clichéd stirs in the pit of your stomach as his thumb briefly swipes across your knuckles,  "You don't say, sleepy girl!" Jisung scoffs, bringing his arm under his head.  

Unconsciously, entertaining the thought of staying alone in his room, you find yourself feeling safer because of his presence instead, divorced from prying eyes, "Thanks for staying." You say, wanting to talk to him more and more,  contemplating fashions  to contribute to the conversation again and again just to cut the silence.

"Well, you had a lot to drink." 

He reminds, as if the reason for his staying is that obvious;  worry laced in his voice and you understood why -   even though you aren't completely doused in a state of inebriation, you kept swaying all the way upstairs.

"But you missed out on.." you drag the consonant unintentionally, "all the fun, though."

"Do I look like I care?" Jisung snorts, staring up at the ceiling, leaning back on his hands and dropping down against the bed, he laces his fingers together over his chest, digging into his pocket and fishing out his phone. It isn’t a question.

His wallpaper is of a kid gazing up from the water, he peers up at the camera, grinning ear to ear. This is definitely Jisung. Because even with his front teeth missing, his smile is all too familiar. His cheeks were chubbier back then, face rounder, softer around the edges. Subconsciously, you rose a finger to poke at his cheek, as if to examine it. Jisung shoots you a glare.

"You were cute."

You coo, leaning onto his shoulder, the closeness should not intimidate you, given the amount of time you spend like this. But it does anyway.

"What do you mean were?” Jisung scoffs, “Nu-uh, still am. I'm the resident cutie pie, if you will."  He sings, narrowing his eyes briefly, thereon chuckling at the look of sheer disgust on your face. 

You wrinkle your nose, "I can't believe you just said that..." 

The rest of the night is spent in a comfortable quietude, except for the times when either of you perk up to initiate conversation and Jisung gives you aspirin for the throbbing migraine. 

Your shoulders are touching. Jisung breathes. Slowly. Then fast. Then slow. And then he tucks an earphone into your ear, it was an unspoken ritual you two practised when you were alone, oft in a different venue, sitting languidly about campus, while you read and he winked through the glaring sun to get a distant view of the landscape.

Jisung yawns, the grapple on his speech loosening and loosening.

You remain quiet, closing your eyes again. Words feel liquid in your mouth, letters wobbling on your tongue until you feel like you've lost complete control over what you're thinking of saying.

You can see the scene unfolding inside your head, can feel the earth under your skin, can hear birds chirping, can feel the dusty orange, morning glow kissing your faces. As if you're the only two people there. "Coldplay, right?" 

"Uh-huh..." Jisung replies, he sounds unsurprised by your aligned tastes. You look at him and find that he's mirroring you. His long lashes casting shadows on the apples of his cheeks, eyes clamped shut. 

"It's beautiful..." You murmur, dropping your head back against the mattress, you think Jisung hums in response but you can't be too sure. It's like you're slowly, slowly and slowly drifting far, far away. Letting slumber wrap its welcoming arms around you. 

For a second, you feel the weight on your shoulders lighten, you imagine that you're soaring, soaring, soaring, like you could look down and see the rivers and seas and lakes pulsing against the  Earth's body, as though they were a bundle of nerves belonging to a round, green vessel of a body, and somehow - then immediately, you're being pulled to your feet, at great speed, you're falling, falling, falling - so fast that you feel like there's a fire budding inside your lungs, budding under your fingertips, inside your heart. 

Then it begins.  This must be a dream, this must be a dream, this must be a dream. The soft murmur of scripted words. Parted curtains, an open window allowing you to stare in wonder, dusk stretching across the entirety of the landscape, blue, then pink. You think of the big sapphire sea, the warm sand and someone waiting for you before it.  You think, this is it. This is it. This is it. And run, run, run. Sprinting to the broadening view. You recognise the back of his head, the curve of his neck, tufts of raven hair fluttering about, his white cuffed shirt, his footsteps like a trail of breadcrumbs, feet dipped in frothy water, You call his name, surprised  but think I knew it, I knew it, I knew it all along. He looks back and smiles at you, offering you his hand. (You're not over him. You don't think you ever were. And this is what you want, you want it so bad, after all this time, are you going to hold back? Are you going to hold back? Are you going to hold back?)

Just for a moment, in the split of a second, just now,  just once, you aren't afraid. 

You jolt awake, the earphone straining against the sudden movement, "Hey." You whisper, looking up at him. His Adam's apple drops with a slow gulp, the rosy colour of his parted lips. The slope of his nose. You don't know when you  nuzzled your face into his chest, his long arm is draped around your waist, pulling you flush against his body.  Your heart is beating noisily in your ears, on your tongue. 

To your surprise, Jisung hums in response, eyes still clamped shut. You're so close, just so close, he brushes his slender fingers against the back of your neck, the touch feather light, as though reminding you that he had heard you. Your breath hitches inaudibly.

"Let's..." You say, with your tongue starting to limp inside your mouth, "go to the beach sometime."

...

A shower is running, loud, water gushing down and thumping against the tiles, the sound echoing and growing thinner by the second. 

You sit up on the empty bed, the recollection of last night lodged deep inside your head like a butcher knife. 

The realisation that you aren't at home isn't startling as you momentarily grow distracted in examining the room, the photos, the turntable, the white paint, the portraits, a light adjusted above, bits and pieces of a person scattered around.

Jisung's t-shirt is discarded carelessly on his reading table, your eyes widen when you acknowledge the occupant in the shower to be him, leaping up with a haste, everything comes back to you  with a force equivalent of pulling the butcher knife out and slamming it right back into your skull.

"It's you!" You gasp, partially  because the cheerful exclamation sends pangs of pain to your head, having made all the way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, only to find Minho whipping up pancake batter in a bowl. As opposed to his old Instagram photos, with the new complementing pink hair, his feline like features are even more staggering, eyes narrowed to amused slits, behind which beady black orbs stare you down in absolute curiosity.

"Right, we met last night." He reminds you, uttering your name quickly, finding that you already recognise him. He holds the spatula up, paused in surprise as if he really wasn't expecting to see you right now, the position only eases when you wave your hands dismissively and say it's not what you think.

  He smiles, there's a strange disappointed quality to the demand."Sit down, let's have breakfast."

It's awkward, Minho spares you a few interrogating stares while you silently dig at your meal, the sound of cutlery and ceramic sounding through the open kitchen. You wish Jisung would come down already if the floor beneath your feet isn't going to open up and swallow you whole to save you from this discomfiture.

"They're really good." You nod, shoveling more of the unevenly cut portions of the pancake into your mouth.

"Do you still have feelings for him?" 

You choke, coughing on the gigantic bite, patting your chest as you slowly as you begin to regain your composure. Minho's eyebrows are weaved upwards, hinting that he expected an answer despite offering you water. God, he cut right to the chase, you aren't used to people as blunt as that. When you don't say anything, he blinks at you, tilting his head to examine the evasive expression on your face.

"He talks about you a lot..." He notifies, as though it was an explanation for something.  Minho's arms are crossed over his chest, proudly before announcing, "I think I practically know everything about you."

Funny, you could say the exact same thing about him. Jisung likes to babble on about people he cares about, which albeit is a handful, you are just as special as any of them. And that reminder as a consequence of his constant prodding makes you a little angry. 

"Look, he doesn't like me if that's what you're trying to say." You blurt out, you don't want to get your hopes up.  It's weird saying something so grave to someone you only recently  came to know. Having already accepted your one sided feelings even though you struggle to try to suppress them and the hopeful part of you reasons that Jisung probably didn’t initiate a kiss because you weren’t exactly sober — but the real reason, and you know this, is that his withdrawal last night was just cherry on top of the  big fat I-don't-feel-the-same-way cake. 

You made the mistake of ruining your friendship because of a stupid confession in the past and you aren't going to make it again, not when you're closer than ever now.

"That's not what I asked."  Minho comments. He is pretty great at appearing intimidating. Or rather, he sees right through you. You can't tell. But he's practically cornered you with his witty questions whilst his perceptive eyes keep an intent watch on you.  Minho had a curious  quality to him when he looked at things, he seemed to notice everything.

You laugh nervously, rubbing your nape when his gaze is practically unblinking in anticipating a reaction. 

"How was your Gimpo trip?" You digress.

 Minho's ears perk up, his eyes blown to big, happy circles, he nods his head excitedly, properly distracted from pressing the previous topic further. 

The conversation fizzles away in a haze, Minho rambles on in a cheerful tone, his eyes glossed over in enthusiasm. He speaks  of his three cats and asks you to commit their names to memory with a dead serious face, moving onto ramble on about his childhood, an entanglement of being the only child who dreamed laboriously of pursuing a career in ballet and succeeded. You listen attentively, not breaking your focus even when he gets up to do the dishes. 

By the time Jisung lazily drapes a towel around his neck, all the while hopping down the stairs, you feel like you've overstayed, digging your feet into the heels from last night while Minho holds the door open for you. 

"Need a ride?" Jisung asks, standing on his toe to look at you from behind Minho. 

 You shake your head, suggesting that you were to take the subway instead, keeping your eyes fixated on your sore feet as a reminder that you're opting for the alternative not by choice but because you don't have the energy to render Sunwoo an explanation of where you'd spent the night at with his constant teasing, Tightening the strap around your leg, while balancing yourself with the free arm, Jisung's long fingers quickly grab onto the underside of your arm, letting you balance your weight whilst posing the question, "You’re coming tomorrow for the group study, right?" You ask.

 It was an uncharacteristic gesture, outright surprising, because of his renowned proficiency in that class, when Jisung suggested that he didn’t understand the volume of topics you were going over.

Jisung glances cautiously at his best friend, who has a stupid smirk on his face for some reason, like he knows something you don't, “Yeah, yeah...” He says, reaching out to pinch your cheek despite your complaint. 

“Are you an alligator?” he calls out, prompting you to shoot a confused look over your shoulder.  "What?"

It's just one of those things Jisung says instinctively, his eccentric humour getting the best of him in silences and you, well, you walked right into this one. 

 "You know...cause I'll see you later!" 

In your peripheral vision, you spot Minho pinching the bridge of his nose at the quip, muttering a quick Jesus Christ.

...

During the day, the portrait is much more confusing. 

It's carefully placed on the paper covered floor, the room smells like fresh paint and sweat. Jisung suggested that you go paint shopping in the  pursuit of looking for a suitable colour to liven up his walls and the end of the semester meant you had enough time to put the purchased product to use. 

There is a blob of red on Jisung's jaw and the colour gets smudged all the way to his cheekbone when he makes an unsuccessful attempt to itch the skin with the back of his palm. You don't tell him this. 

"I bought it from the local display." He breathes out exasperatedly, the paint roller is placed on the paper, "The artist said it was about an unlikely romance or something like that. Looked pretty dope to me too and—"

 "I don't get it." You cock your head to the side and investigate the painting at your feet with an obstinate want to understand how it's supposed to depict love. Or anything that bears semblance to it, you never did have a good eye for art,  "It just looks like they slapped on paint."

 "Look here, dummy!" He slaps your pointer finger jokingly, grumbling under his breath.  Taking your palm and slowly splaying out the digits. Traces the rough pads against its silky texture, a map to somewhere, a blend of blue and pink, silhouettes reaching out for each other when the world intends to tear them apart. 

You sigh, contentedly and think this must be it; because never was love  meant to be understood. 

It was meant to be felt. 

...

"Why do you have that dumb look on your face?"

 Sunwoo speaks, chewing through his snack, his fringe is glued to his forehead in a thick layer of sweat. You aren't surprised. The humidity is skyrocketing. A cut in your salaries have made you compromise the use of your obsolete air conditioner. It's a terribly humid Sunday morning and you're getting ready for a trip to Minho's beach house.

It wasn't hard to convince you. Such was possible because Minho's offer was reiterated through a number of ways and people over the span of last week. Even from Sunwoo. 

He and the rest of the boys have started  to get along pretty well, so well that you often end up acting as an amused spectator, simply watching the boys cosying up to one another while you're effectively camouflaging in the background of utter silence. Your friends  teamed up to produce quips here and there, stopping to chuckle into their napkins, cheeks rubicund like ripe apples whenever you went out for dinner. It was becoming a regular occurrence, at this point. Not that you minded; you genuinely enjoy the time you spend together.

As a final move, Jisung reminded you of your slurred request of wanting to go to the beach, beating the purpose of you claiming you wanted to stay home doing nothing when really you were just looking to avoid encouraging how you felt for him. You constantly found yourself suppressing the desire to want more and the last few weeks had been the toughest because you had trouble ignoring how you felt although you were careful not to show it. Jisung was spending more time with you than usual since you were on summer break and were relieved of your studies for a short while. You couldn't forget that night at his place, the memory made your gut wrench in a desire you couldn't fulfill. 

But  while it was hard being around him, you just knew you couldn't help it.

The trip was, nonetheless, a reminder of how Jisung always gets what he wants, even if it is as easy as snagging his favourite items off of the super store shelf or something which demands  more patience to be possessed, something that needs to be drawn out with unwavering persistence.  

Come to think of it, you never really understood what it means to live like that. 

"What dumb look?" You ask, averting your gaze from your phone, twiddling your thumbs for a response to Jisung's text notifying that they were taking the lead on the journey by setting off earlier than you to set up the place.

 It won't take them as long as it will for you because it's a familiar premise for them. Your arm is starting to hurt from holding up your suitcase.

Sunwoo mimics a grin, stretching the corners of his lips awkwardly and flattening his lips like that of a frog, a string of dried milk sits on his chin to finish off the impression. He points to his face, "This one."

 "I don't know what you're talking about." You roll your eyes, "Hurry up. Jisung messaged me the location." 

Sunwoo nods, then pauses, then his eyes widen, a teasing grin making  its way on his face, insinuating that he finally understood why you packed chocolate cake last minute in spite of you not having a particular preference for the item. "Does he know you have a big puppy crush on him?"

Sunwoo makes up for your social ineptness, amongst other things, and there are times when you don't understand what you'd do without him, times when you're relieved he's your friend even though you're essentially opposites - now is, certainly, not one of those times, now you wish he wasn't so close to you  to have access to this information without telling. 

"Are you hearing yourself? I don't have a crush on him." You lie, glaring at him, when your flatmate ducks his head to display that he didn't quite agree, you groan, 

"I don't!"

…

"Do you take me for an idiot?"

Sunwoo pulls his sunglasses down to pretend to study you, his big brown eyes scrutinising you from head to toe.  The  strong stink of diesel is still emanating  in the air in spite of the image of the gas station being wiped out long ago in your peripheral vision. You kind of like it, it contributes to boosting the anticipation of what was to happen when you reach your destination .

"Oh absolutely..." Sunwoo says, driving in the direction of the beach house the GPS pilots him to, Lauv hums faintly from the dusty speakers, the familiar lyrics filling the air  whilst you unconsciously bobbed your head. The vague distraction allowed Sunwoo to buy time to gather his thoughts, 

 "You need to tell him how you feel before someone else does. You need to tell him how you feel, period."

“I'm not doing that again.” you warn him, he speeds down the highway, your beach hat threatening to fly about under the weight of your hands at the sudden gush of wind. "Need I remind you how it went last time?" 

"Last time was different." 

"How?" 

"You barely even spoke to each other!" He exclaims frustratedly, pointing out the obvious, "Now you're good friends and he seems to feel the same way considering he always puts up with you...like...voluntarily." Sunwoo mocks, looking at the corner of his eye to note that you're rolling your eyes in annoyance, "Maybe Jisung's out of his mind."

"I'm not that bad!" You defend, quieting down once again when the memory of your admission flashes before your eyes in vivid details - the years of distance and silence that stretched between you because of it was hard - if that were to repeat itself now, when you're more used to him that you were before, you don't think you could bear it.  Or maybe you could but you don't want to.

It's enough to just have Jisung around and not be yours than to lose him by admitting.

"I'm not putting us in that position again just because of how I feel. It's kinda selfish, don't you think?" Your statement has a touch of finality to it that shuts Sunwoo right up, he wordlessly pulls up in front of the huge beach house, another jeep and the Comet Convertible is parked; before which far off near the shore, you couldn't help but notice the two unfamiliar figures by the boys, one of them is wearing a bikini, standing incredibly close to Minho, who's setting up their small grill, the other (and it makes your stomach turn) is talking animatedly to Jisung, he nods and smiles in that way that makes you think you'll never quite stop loving him. Chan is holding up his phone to take a picture. 

 Sunwoo honks loudly,  pulling you out of your trance. You can hear the I told you so sitting on the tip of his tongue when he shoots you a look of pity. You don't like it. The way that makes you feel like a toddler who can't keep herself from sticking her fingers into electric sockets in spite of being precisely instructed not to. Now, you think, the ‘I told you’ so would've been much more agreeable to your pathetic but injured emotions.

Jisung snaps his head around fast, raising his lithe digits to the air, waving at you languidly.  The girl spectates the exchange in an engrossed fashion, slowly routing her inquiring  gaze to yours in thought. Not all that seemed black and white is black and white between you.

"Are you coming?" Jisung screams over the noise and distance, away from the spot you're completely frozen in.  

(A pang in your chest tightens. Tightens. Tightens.  And you don't want it to mean something. But it does. It does and it always will.)

...

Minho once learned to set up tepee fires in scout camp, with twigs, a small heap of leaves, wood shavings and loosely screwed newspaper in the centre. Now, he only prides his younger self for setting up the fire once in their backyard and decides roasting marshmallows on the grill demands less of the expertise that he's lost overtime.

"I've actually heard a lot about you before we met." Sunwoo garbles out, clearing his throat.

You've been ignoring Jisung ever since you arrived. Now the group is sat down on the sand, in a misshapen circle, the two girls, now you know their names and the root of their invitation - Junhee and Shoshanna are merely bypassers the boys met when they arrived this morning. They're on a weekend trip like you and their visiting resident is a few houses away from yours. You wanted to act on your peevishness  and groan out a loud What are they still doing here?  everytime Shoshanna took the seat beside Jisung or asked him to set her marshmallows but that would, amongst other things, make you look like a crazy jealous idiot who has no right to step into a situation of that sort, even though Jisung seemed hesitant, cautiously looking at you every now and then. 

Jisung's brows rise and fall, gaze darting between you and your flatmate, surprised, "Is that right?"

Sunwoo laughs, "Yeah."  He chews carefully, trying not to choke, as if the source of his knowledge doesn't need to be pointed out. 

"Only good things I hope."

Skeptical, Jisung glances at you with a cocked brow, in case you oppose but you avoid his gaze, glaring down at charred marshmallow on the tip of the stick and thinking of ways to strangle Sunwoo, who chuckles at the former's apparent doubt, furrowing his eyebrows in bemusement, "Only good things."

"You're on the varsity swim team, right?" 

 With a mouthful of food, Sunwoo poses the question, the grin only widens when Jisung replies with an equally enthusiastic nod. 

"Did you know that this one can't swim?" He points his marshmallow stick at you, keeping his eyes trained on Jisung's surprised face. "I tried to  provide assistance." Sunwoo insists, "But when someone is really bad around water, like screaming at the top of their lungs-I'm going to drown in a kid's pool- bad, it's quite a challenging task."

Minho produces an animalistic laugh at this, patting his thigh like he's rendered a vivid image of your embarrassing experience while Chan shoots you a concerned look, as if sensing an underlying tension in the air that the others can't. You don’t know which one you dislike more.

"I can hear you, you know!"  You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. Suddenly having lost your appetite. 

Sunwoo widens his eyes, with a hand atop his chest, mocking you,  "Really?"

You open your mouth to continue bickering with him because it was the only way you could hold yourself back from jumping across the sand and grabbing him by his collar in case that should stop him from further embarrassing you, but Jisung  interjects, blinking inquisitively at you.

 Jisung pouts. "It isn't that bad, you'll see, we can go for a swim anytime. That's what's the pool for anyway."

"Sungie,  I could use a swim now. Can we go, please?"  Shoshanna piped up jutting her lip in a way that made her more attractive, she hooked her arm with Jisung, pulling him to her side and he simply blinked at her, surprised by the gesture. Only you called him that  —  when did she pick that up? Why doesn't Jisung seem to mind at all? Are you seriously seeing what you are definitely seeing?

 Without meaning to, you imagine them floating about in the water, while she curled her arms around his neck to keep balance and him leaning down to grin invitingly.  And it feels like you're losing something.

You feel yourself jumping up to your feet. The sudden movement gains the attention of all your friends except Sunwoo, who keens on sparing you the smug grin which insinuates that he sparked the entire conversation intentionally.  You hope the universe would miraculously  render you telepathic powers so he'd start to choke on the stupid marshmallow. 

"Uh...I mean...I gotta." You gulp, "I'm going to go grab a beer."

"Wait."

Jisung frees his arm to get to his feet, powdery sand dusted off of his sweats.

"I'll come with you."

You walk in silence, wrapping your arms around yourself. In your peripheral, you catch the sight of his pockets swelled around the area he stuck his fingers in, you don't think Jisung's ever been that quiet. It makes you feel guilty. You're acting out because you simply can't get a grip and it seems to have taken a toll on him. You want to punch yourself in the face.

 It's not like you desire to stand in the way of his merry-making, it had to happen eventually, right? Jisung is free to get involved with whoever he pleases. He doesn't know how you feel and even if he did, you don't think he would reciprocate. 

And despite everything, your heart still aches for him. 

"Why are you avoiding me?" Jisung  tells you. There's a sadness to his voice that supplies that you can't escape this conversation because you simply cannot stand it when something prevents him from being his happy-go-lucky self. But you can delay it. 

You pull the fridge open slowly, scanning the items, alcohol, milk and a few other things that are necessary to spend the weekend. They definitely were newly bought. 

 Jisung pushes the fridge door wider, sighing, he pulls a can and hands it to you. "If this is about the girls, I'm not-"

"You don't have to explain it to me, Sungi—I mean, Jisung." You stare down at the perspiration collecting between your fingers and  the can, then set it down immediately in fear of it slipping out of your hands. Jisung stiffens at the transition, a faint look of pain flashing in his eyes. What did he do that is so wrong? 

You feel horrible for making him feel bad, aren't you supposed to be an adult? Aren't you supposed to have a strong grapple on your emotions? This isn't good for the two of you, you don't want to hurt him because of how you feel, Jisung needs you to be his friend and you can't accept, even after so long, that that's all you are to him. 

 "I don't think we should be friends anymore."

"What?" He purses his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. "Why?" He provides, raking a frustrated hand through his hair when your mouth parted instead of giving him an answer. "Did I do something? You could have just talked to me about it but..." He muttered shakily, repeating, "Why...this?"

Jisung glares at you, he looks so clueless, angry, blatantly hurt and  it's such a selfish thing to ask of him, the least you can do is be honest with him, though you couldn't fight the annoyance from seeping into your tone because he apparently had not a clue. 

"God, don't you see it?!" You placed a warm hand against your forehead, "I'm...in love with you...I love you, okay?"

You start to panic when the tense expression melts into his  features, replaced by something you couldn't put a finger on, "Don't get me wrong, I don't expect you to reciprocate or anything. It's stupid, I thought I was over you but I'm…I'm not. And I can't...I can't watch you get on with someone who isn't me, especially when…" you trail, preparing to admit the truth to yourself once and for all, "...you don't already love me back. I can't...It'll hurt too much…" 

"So...I think...it's better for the two of us to not continue this friendship anymore." You gulp, your palms shaking by your sides, those words have been taking refuge inside you for too long and saying them makes you feel empty, like you've lost something that keeps you grounded and you'd be aimlessly floating about for the rest of your life. 

"I know I'm asking for too much…"

Jisung interrupts you with a wry laugh, the sound startling you. He never spoke to you that way, not even when you argued before.

"Yeah, you're right, you are."

"Well, I'm sorry."  You breath out. 

He leans closer so your hip presses against the cool counter. He drags his fingers from the exposed skin of your collarbone to your neck, tilting your chin up with his thumb while the remaining digits splay against  your throat, "Sorry doesn't cut it." 

 The kiss sends a chill down your spine, prompting you to straighten up from your slumped position. Your knees feel like jelly, like they could collapse any minute. Jisung deepens the kiss, grazing his teeth along your bottom lip, he props you up on the counter and you sense yourself wrapping your legs around his waist, tugging on to his hair to draw out a groan from him; touching him feels so surreal, even though it's a reminder of just how real everything that's happening is. 

"I…" he breathes heavily, "I love you. I'm in love with you. I didn't know what to do with how I felt and seeing you again...it just made me realise that I couldn't ignore it anymore. There were times when I couldn't help myself, I felt like I needed to see you when I couldn't, so I did, even if it meant I had to lie. I love taking care of you. I love our dumb inside jokes and I love the way we can't go long without talking. Hell, I love everything we do together." He chuckles, "But I didn't say anything because you told me you were over it. I... just assumed you were only interested in being friends with me." You don't think you've properly registered the sentences, maybe it's the suddenness of it all, maybe it's because you've never actually pictured this. You told yourself, this is how it's supposed to be, that Jisung was never supposed to feel the same. Just with that alone, you had axed your own foot, screwed yourself over more than anyone else did.

Jisung's face breaks into a sudden grin, he pecks your pouted mouth. "But I'm glad I was wrong." 

"Did you just kiss me?" You joke, touching his face, tracing your fingers against his cheeks, the skin glossy and pinkish under the touch, his pupils are blown to large black circles, the brown in them barely visible. 

"I don't know, did I?" Jisung deadpans, narrowing his eyes jovially. 

 He eases into the embrace when you slump against him in a tight hug. The chuckle comes out all muffled against the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Hmmm, can't be too sure."

You wrap your arms around his neck, it's like you just can't stop smiling. When you think about it, that's what being around Jisung was like, really. Your digits traverse from the side of his jaw to cup his cheeks, eyes peering into his. You watch as he blinks incredulously, there's something impatient about the way you look at him. Then you tilt your head and kiss him, gathering a faint taste of chapstick whilst your tongue prodded at his bottom lip. 

A low moan thrums against his chest, his mind failing to produce a single coherent thought. Because, God, he knows exactly what you're doing. 

This time the gesture is needy, desperate, as though to convey a strong desire to be completely consumed by him,  to be ruined by him. You raise your hips to brush against his lower abdomen, eliciting a low groan from his throat. 

"Baby not here." He breathes out, gauging your intention whilst resting his forehead atop yours. His palm traces the skin of your thighs, travelling up your sides, a free hand which rests at your neck coming to rest at your jaw. His delicate thumb journeys upwards, tugging your bottom lip out and then slowly retracting the digit. Somehow, the gesture makes his eyes darken even more, if that's possible. "Let's go upstairs."

You're so breathless and shocked and have your head stuck way  so far up  up in the clouds that the statement sounds imperceivable. "What?" You blink dumbly, with your hands on his shoulders.

A husky laugh made reverberates inside his chest, "We can’t...here."

As if on cue, you whimper needily at the weight of the implication. The thought of what is to unfold upstairs making your throat close up. You understood the purpose of his statement, the rest of the boys would soon gather into the beach house because it was getting dark soon, the sky was gargling its throat in the distance too, it would rain and neither of you were keen on PDA.

Jisung's teeth graze along your throat, his fingers around it to keep your head pressed to the door while your thighs are snuggly bracketed around his lithe waist. His need is apparent when he grinds up into your body. You're all but putty under his touch.

It's dark. But you can still make out how absent the room's paraphernalia is, just a bed which is stripped to the bare essentials of a white blanket and scratchy sheet, giving away the fact that visits aren't made too often. You don't care about all that though, Jisung pushes you back against the mattress, pulling his shirt over his head before resuming his position on top of you. 

You can't understand how you kept away from him for so long. 

...

Between your short, bitten and misshapen fingernails, the word Premiere reads on the tickets  in bold red slanted letters. 

You can't believe what was once a figment of your imagination, a rubbish script you wrote whimsically on too much caffeine and too little sleep was going to unfold right before your eyes.

It's crowded inside the subway, you stare at the heads, faces, shirts, jackets, arms and legs and your heart is beating too loud, like you ran a marathon or drove a sports car way past its speed limit, rammed it into a tree and flipped it over.

 All the world's a stage and all men and women merely players.

(You should be scared, you should be scared, you should be scared.)

 Delicate, lithe fingers quickly travel down your palm to squeeze the tense digits at the end, his free hand is rubbing circles on the back of your neck; you stare into those brown eyes and without really thinking, press a quick kiss to his pouting lips, it's difficult, he keeps grinning against your mouth but you pay little attention to those things now. 

"That was a good move, champ." Jisung winks briefly, tracing his thumb along your cheek as he nuzzles his nose against yours, "You always kiss people on the subway?"

You grin, with a slow shake of your head, "Just the hot ones."

(This is a stage. And the passengers are waiting. The Tale Of Two Cities. The couple. The mother. Like that nightmare you used to have. 

But, you think, it doesn't matter now. It doesn't matter anymore. 

Because you've got your silver lining.)

[ohplagg]

Normal Girl

Also read at AO3

Summary: Nora is living her best life by being the normal middle school student that she always longed to be with her new friends and her two parents that love her so much.

WARNING: This story makes mention of abuse, suicide and suicidal thoughts. Individuals suffering from anxiety, depression and/or suicidal thoughts may not have a safe experience reading this. Viewer discretion is advised.

Thank you @noragamibigbang for organizing this.

See my partner’s ( @maybemacdc ) wonderful artwork that goes along with this!

Get up.

I hear the faint sound of an alarm clock, its signals the start of my day. I know I need to get up but the warmth of my bed and the peace in my bedroom cuddles me in a soundless lullaby.

Get up now.

The cold morning air hits my skin as I reach my arm out of my covers to turn off the alarm making me a bit more aware of myself than before but not enough. I decide to curl up in my bed once more, savoring the cozy air that my blankets trapped during the night.

You’re going to be late.

As I finish rubbing off the sleep from my eyes and brushing off the black hair strand stuck in my mouth I peak my head out of the covers. While staring into the celling, waiting for the moment I have enough courage to leave my warm bed, I hear two calm knocks on my doorframe like there were right on cue.

“Good morning love, come help me with breakfast when you’re ready~” I hear my mom call out as she walks away from the doorframe.

I sit up on my bed and I admire the sunrays peak through my window. Little particles of dust dancing in the stationary air as they bathe in the sunlight.

I walk over to my closet and change into my freshly clean school uniform. It’s your typical sailor middle school uniform with the red bow tie, white shirt with a blue collar and a matching blue skit to go with it. I make sure I wash it every night so it dries overnight. I briefly enjoy the softness of the fabric as I straighten the skirt with my hands, getting rid of any wrinkles that were created when I put it on.

Now that I’m dressed, I head over to the mirror. I stare back at my reflection, my messy from sleep black hair begging to be brushed.

My hair has always been pretty boring. It has no color and no texture, not to mention that its so short that I can’t do any fun hair styles with it. Not that I have tried any. Maybe I can try something today?

As I think that, I open a box of ribbons I’ve been collecting for years but never worn. I first try on a big red bow, I then try a blue one, and then a bright pink ribbon but they all make me look stupid. This is stupid.

You’re stupid.

I finish trying on my last ribbon which is a white thin ribbon. This one I put it across my head like a hair band. It looks okay I guess but what would people say? I bet they wouldn’t stop pointing it out and making fun of me.

“That looks cute! Are you wearing that?” I get startled by my dad’s voice. I turn around to see him frozen in his tracks as he was walking pass my bedroom door.

“I’m not sure…?” I tried to say no but something about his loving and warming smile told me that I wanted to hear his reply to my hesitation.

“You should” he simply said and then left.

Dad would never lie to me and if he thinks that I look cute with it then I guess the ribbon isn’t that stupid.

Maybe I should wear it.

I think I will.

--

After deciding to leave the ribbon on and finish getting reading for school, I head downstairs and help my mom by setting the table while she prepares breakfast. I see my dad sitting on the TV-couch with his laptop and a bunch of work documents scattered all over the coffee table. We all are busy with our morning tasks while the morning local news is playing on the background.

First it was politics news but I’m too young to care and stress about that yet so I don’t really pay attention to it. Then it’s the bad story news which this time was something about how the police just arrested an abusive father who hurt his kids physically and mentally.

What a way to start the morning. Did the news anchors really need to say such graphic and gruesome details?

As always a feel-good story gets told right after, this time is about some rescued stray-kitty-siblings that were adopted by this high school girl or something, I honestly didn’t pay enough attention to it, I couldn’t stop thinking about the prior story.

I try to picture it but I can’t imagine my dad turning violent on me and doing me harm, how could any dad do that to his kids? The idea of not only not having my mom but also getting physically harmed by my dad made me feel nauseous.

“Darling. Stop playing with your food, you’re going to be late.” My mom snaps me out of my dark train of thought.

That’s right, my parents are both here and they will never hurt me no matter what. They love me and will protect me. I don’t have to worry about any of that. But I actually do worry because I’m about to be late if I don’t hurry up and eat. And with that I devour my food as fast as I can without getting a stomach ache.

--

“Ittekimasu!” I yell at my mom as I close the front door feeling the cool but not cold spring air hit my skin.

“Itterasshai!” I hear my mom faintly yell back to me.

I head down the streets on my way to school. As I walk I take in my surroundings; I hear some birds singing, some cars driving by, some other kids heading to school and some old lady gossip. I pay extra close attention to the gossip. Ever since I started walking to school on my own I realized that I didn’t know much about the world outside of my notebooks so this is the only way I keep up with the world beside the morning news my dad puts every other day.

Today’s gossip isn’t the usual though. The ladies are also talking about that horrible gruesome story the local morning news covered, I hear them talk among themselves how they actually knew the wife before she committed suicide.

“I don’t think she did” one of them comments while looking over her shoulder as if she was about to say her most guarded secret, “and with the most recent news I’m pretty sure he killed her.” She finishes while nodding her head as a matter of fact.

Gasps roar among the ladies and I find myself gawking at the possibility as well.

“He wouldn’t do that” one interrupts the buzzing gossiping that had been unleashed. “The husband was really in love. She was his whole world. I wouldn’t be surprise if he went crazy with grief because of her death.” She tries to defend the man from the accusation of killing his own wife.

The ladies continue their gossiping but by now I’m too far to hear it anymore. My thoughts remain stuck in that conversation while I make my way to school. A husband so overwhelmed with grief that he took it out on his own flesh and blood that he raised since they were babies.

Imagine being the kids, they were around my age if I recall correctly. Just thinking about how I could be living that nightmare makes me feel sick to my stomach. Not only were they dealing with the loss of their mother, but also the loss of their father. The pain and the fear they must have felt while seeing their dad turn into that monster as the days went by. The uncertainty of being chosen as the punching bag that day. The hopelessness and loneliness they must have felt.

Thinking about it almost feels too real. I feel my palms become sweaty and my heartbeat drowning any noise from the outside world. I urge myself to take in deep breaths and to remember that that is not my life. That my dad is not like that.

Thank the gods that my dad is not like that.

--

I arrive to school and I see Nana and her group waving at me, waiting for me at the front gate. They tell me to call them my friends but I’m not used to having those yet. You see, I’ve always focused on school and academics first and I never gave the idea of having friends even a consideration so this is all really new to me.

Nana is my favorite of the 3, she’s the one I can easily talk to. Turns out she and I are pretty similar in the sense that we both like to be right and get in fights because of it. Of course, she gets into physical ones while I only do intellectual ones…. for the most part. Look, it wasn’t my fault that one time with Yukine.

Sure, I did throw in the first punch but he started it when he said I copied from him. Well, he really didn’t said it, but he insinuated it and if you ask me that’s more than enough reason to get punched. Besides I would never copy him. I don’t need his second-best-in-school answers because I have my own first-best-in-school answers, so ha!

According to him he caught me “starring” at him “several” times which is not true. Why would I stare? Maybe he was in my field of vision but that doesn’t even make sense because just the sight of him is annoying, it always has been. Ever since we were 6 with his “I’m going to one-up you” attitude he always had with me. Ugh, so annoying!

And there’s nothing about him worth looking at either. There’s nothing eye-catching about physique like his unusual golden locks. And why on earth would I stare at someone who is so focused in whatever test question he’s answering that you can’t help but admire his soft expression as he solves the math problem? It doesn’t make sense.

It kind of does.

Whatever.

But all that is in the past now and if I’m being honest I’m really happy I fought with Yukine. Because of that fight I met Nana and her fraternal twin brother Shiigun and I’m also closer to Yukine now than before. My life has definitely become a lot more fun than before.

Thanks to Yukine’s better social skills I get better along with everyone in school including teachers and staff. I really like that about him. I think that’s the main reason why he is so nice to me too. I really admire him for it.

Yukine and I are still rivals though, don’t get me wrong. We are still argue and fight but now we know each other a little bit better so we know that we don’t have to be better than the other at everything. Even though I will always better than him in academics even he says otherwise. I’ll let him have his spotlight with social stuff.

--

The lunch bell rings and I immediately take out my study notebook and start studying for history, the exams are next week and I need to be the best. I would prefer to do homework right now but there isn’t enough time to properly do it so a quick overview of history will do for now. I can always do homework in the comfort of my home where no one can bother or distract me.

“-chan you need to give it a rest. It’s not good for you.” Nana interrupts my study time as she rests her hand over my notes to take my attention.

“Both you and Yukine are overkills, I swear you guys are the biggest nerds in the whole school- no, the whole world!” Shiihgun has a talent to sting me where it hurts. I know he doesn’t mean it in a mean way but I’ve always been insecure about how I’m perceived by others and he doesn’t help one bit.

I try to laugh it off as I’ve seen Yukine do it before since I’m guessing that’s what I’m supposed to do. I hope my laugh seems genuine and not painful or forced. Please, don’t let my discomfort show.

Yukine turns my way as we’re laughing off Shiigun’s mean joke. I guess acting isn’t my thing because as soon as our eye meet he casually makes his way to my desk, leans in (invading my personal space if you ask me) and in a whispers tells me that he thinks it’s pretty cool of us to be the biggest nerds of the whole world. If the coolest kid in school says so then I guess we are pretty cool.

I realize that I’m too distracted to focus back on studying and Nana has a point I need the break, so I guess I’ll take her advice and rest during lunch time. As I start putting my notebooks away I realize that I forgot to pack my bento box. I guess I was too distracted when I left home this morning.

“Eeh?! You forgot your bento?” I wanted to pretend that I didn’t forget my bento, that I wasn’t looking for it and that I wasn’t hungry but apparently once again my acting skills failed me because now Nana saw right through me.

“I didn’t forget it. I’m trying to eat less.” I poorly try to act casually. Maybe I should stop acting.

“Here. Have one.” Yukine offers me one of his onigiri. “I always bring enough to share.” He reassures me as he notice my hesitation.

I reach my hand out to take the onigiri, as I do I start smelling a scent. A scent with the smell of… toothpaste? That’s weird.

I take a bite of the onigiri and I’m reminded of that winter afternoon where Yukine sneaked freshly made onigiri from his home to share with me. I remember how we ate them under a bridge while I did paper boats out of leaves and trash that I found under the bridge. I remember that I was feeling upset for some reason, what was the reason? Something to do with my dad? But…. I wasn’t even friends with Yukine in winter.

This doesn’t make sense.

I shake off the confusion and decide to focus on the argument Nana is having with Yukine about who would win in a physical fight. I would bet this onigiri that Nana would beat Yukine.

--

After a long day in school where I couldn’t study as much as I would have wanted I thought I would have gone straight home to study everything that I couldn’t during the day but instead I’m walking in the direction of the river bank on my way to play badminton with Nana, her brother and Yukine. As I was getting ready to head home Nana stopped me and asked me to come with them.

I wasn’t sure at first if I should go but Yukine told me that if second best in school was taking some time to have fun then the best could also do the same.

On our way to the river bank I try to make some casual conversation with Yukine so I ask him what made them invite me to come along with them.

“We always wanted to invite you- well, I always insisted on inviting you. But you always seems busy.” Yukine explains.

“I was also busy today.” I challenged his logic.

“But not busy enough to say no.” he retorted with a cheeky attitude. After I gave him a look with an eyebrow raised he continued “But also last week this homeless creepy dude approached us asking if he could be our fourth player so we want to avoid him getting any ideas.”

“Was the dude in his twenties, had black hair, bright blue eyes, and wore a smelly sweaty dark track suit?” the image of the dude suddenly popped in my head with such a clarity that I had to ask.

Yukine looked at me with an extremely puzzled look. “No… Where did you get that from? Is there someone like that where you live?”

Now that I think about it, the man I just describe isn’t anyone that I know or seen. I wonder where did I get that mental image in my head. I must have seen him on TV.

“I don’t know..”

--

As we’re approaching the river bank we make a quick stop for snacks. The store where we stopped by is owned by a very lovely and young married couple. Yukine tells us that he sometimes works here on weekends helping move the heavy stuff and because of that he gets free snacks whenever he comes by.

“Yuki! You came!” A young lady with bright pink hair yells out in excitement as she rushes to bear-hug Yukine. I’m guessing that’s one of the owners.

“Yuki! Great timing! Can you help out this Saturday? The roof needs to be repaired.” A scary looking man asks while he gets the young lady off Yukine.

It seems that Nana and Shiigun also know this odd couple because it takes them no time to start chatting amongst themselves. Because of that I start doing what I usually do and entertain myself with whatever catches my eye.

I first focus on the discount signs they have scattered in different parts of the background, I then notice how they have some fresh fruit as well but what really catches my eye is the magazine and newspaper shelf they have, one usually doesn’t see those anymore and even less in a small store such as this one.

I start reading the magazine covers and I eventually drift to the headlines. As soon as I do I feel my heart drop.

It’s that news again.

To be fair, it’s to be expected. It was in the morning news after all. But that doesn’t make it any better. While I read that particular newspaper I notice that there’s more details about that story than what I had already heard in the street gossip and in the morning news. Now I’m learning that the man actually killed the daughter who was my age and the older brother manage to run away and he was the one that call the authorities.

Props to the journalist that wrote this thought because it feels so real that it feels like I’m actually that girl that got killed. Good thing that my father is a sane person, that my mother is alive and well and that I don’t actually have a brother.

“-chan, they are talking to you.” For the third time today I get startle back into reality. I turn around to see Nana who grabbed my shoulder to get my attention.

“What?” I asked confused turning to look at the pink hair lady who I guess was the one that talked to me.

“Say hi to Yato-chan for me!” She excitedly and with confidence said as she waved us goodbye.

Yato-chan?

“Bye Kofuku! Bye Daikoku! Thanks for the football!” Yukine yells back as we leave the store owners flirting to each other.

I try to question Kofuku’s comment but between everyone else already walking away, the already said goodbyes and my confusion I couldn’t say anything. Why did she talk to me like she knew me? Why did no one else think that was weird? And who is Yato-chan?

--

We arrive at the river bank and Shiigun and Yukine start playing with the football apparently Daikoku gave Yukine while Nana and I set up the badminton net. Nana instructs me where to stand with the other side of the net and then teaches me how to anchor the net on the grass.

“Come on, guys. We’re ready.” Nana calls out as she goes to the bags she and Shiigun carried out here to take out the rackets and the bird so we could start playing a match. As she calls out I finish anchoring the net to the grass. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t having fun being out here with my friends, just hanging out. I might even say that this is more fun that history homework.

Might.

I approach Nana and Yukine who were already tossing a coin to choose who got what side of the net. Shiigun had gone to retrieve the ball that had been accidentally kicked far.

“Look out!” I hear Shiigun panic at the top of his lungs followed by a hit to my head that knocked me down so hard and fast that I didn’t get a chance to do anything other than fall like a wood plank. My vision went black, my consciousness faded as I heard Nana and Yukine faintly scream my name.

--

Get up.

I hear a high pitched ring in my ear, the throbbing headache bringing me back to my senses. I know I need to get up but a piercing pain in my back freezes all my movements. The hard cold floor isn’t doing any favors either.

Get up now.

The cold wind hits my skin as I reach my arm up to feel my head.  I feel a warm liquid gushing through somewhere in my skull but I can’t really feel exactly where. I wish I could become more aware of myself than before but between the sharp pain in my back and the dizziness this headache is giving me I decide that I should probably go back to sleep and not think about the pain.

You’re going to die.

A jolt of electricity rushes through my spine. My eyes shoot open as if I were to die if I kept them close for a second longer. My body is screaming in pain as I try to sit upright.

Between the grunts and cries of pain that scape my mouth my eyes start noticing things that… I’m pretty sure they weren’t there before.

There’s a man standing over me. He looks like he’s in his late teens even though he feels older. As he’s wiping his sweat and what it looks like blood from his jaw with the back of his left hand I notice that his hair resembles a lot to an almond.

He doesn’t look injured where he’s wiping the blood so… whose blood is it?

I glance at his right hand and I see him holding a long black staff-looking thing. The staff is thin and black with a spiral form on one of its ends. It looks very rigid even though it feels like it can be bend and molded if it so desired. I notice that the same end that looks alive was dripping with blood.

My blood?

I turn back to this man’s face and I realize that he’s been looking directly at me this all time. His eyes move to focus on the different parts where I feel the most pain as if he were looking at something worth admiring. He then turns his eyes and looks directly at mine. His expression turns into what an angry but disappointed father would look like. As he did that I felt disgusted at myself. Is he upset that I got injured? But he did this to me!

That’s right. Father did this. I started recalling everything that happened before I lost conciseness. Memories come flooding back increasing the pain that I feel from the headache. After I had arrived with Hiyori to where Father and Yato were fighting- Father was so angry. He was so… ready to kill Yato. It felt terrifying but also familiar. It felt like those times where Father punished me for Yato’s behavior but somehow this time it was worse.

I don’t know what came over me when I rushed in and pushed Yato out of the way. Maybe I just wanted to return the favor of all those times he took the bullet for me or maybe I didn’t want to see him get hurt again at the hands of Father. Maybe I just didn’t want to deal with Hiyori after the fight, maybe I just wanted someone to get the life that they wish to have.

But now look at me. I don’t even know if Yato is even alive, I left Hiyori’s side and now I’m even wishing the end of this endless torture. Everything I do, everything I am is a waste.

Pathetic.

Hiyori said I’m allowed to make mistakes, that I’m human. I’m not and I never was. The bare thought of making a mistake and being looked down upon eats me up inside until my outer shell breaks leaving me no other place else to hide.

I wish I could let myself believe that excuse, I wish I could believe in myself, believe that it’s okay to not be perfect, that its okay to fail, that its okay to not be okay. But the fact that I fail at even accepting the reality that I can’t be perfect goes to show how big of a failure I truly am.

I wish I could blame him for making me think this way but this is all on me and that would have never changed.

I did try to change, that’s why I’m here right now dying at the hands of the one I once called father. I did try to be the person Hiyori wanted me to be. Be myself. I really liked her because of that. That’s why I here instead of her.

Ironic isn’t it? The person I hate the most, the person I fear the most, is the very person I never want to let down. Maybe that’s why I’m always so scared whenever he's near. Scared to be asked, scared of a conversation, scared of not doing what’s expected of me, scared of not being enough, scared of my own shadow, scared of myself.

Maybe I don’t hate him, maybe I just hate me.

I feel whatever this life I’ve had vanishing from existence, not even leaving a dead corpse behind. It’s pretty unfair right? I got two shots at life. Two opportunities. Most don’t even get one. But not me, I got two chances at live and in both I was unwanted, despised and casted aside. Maybe third time’s the charm? If there’s even a third time.

If.

“If only” right? Those are the famous words. If only there was a third chance at life. If only I needed just the first one. If only I didn’t die so young. If only Sakura didn’t showed up. If only she didn’t succumb to god’s greatest secret. If only I had instead.

If only the gods treated me better, if only I didn’t become a nora. If only someone wanted me. If only Yato didn’t rebel. If only I was a better sister to Yato. If only Yato didn’t replace me with Yukine. If only I was less judgmental of Yukine. If only Yukine and I had met while we were both still alive. If only I had friends. If only I went to school. If only I had met my parents. If only father didn’t take me in. If only father accomplished his revenge sooner.

If only I was allowed to live like a normal girl. If only I was born.

.

.

.

But I wasn’t.

[pips-fics]

ask: hey! first of all i wanted to mention my favorite fics of yours, the one with hyunjin and felix. i love their dynamic and feel like they go really well together as a pair in a story. i also love the hyunjin and chan one because hyunjin is just so cute, he can fit into any sickfic plus, chan can be such a good caretaker and it warms my heart. could you possibly make either one where jeongin has the stomach flu or smthng and chan stays with him and is like the caretaker? if not that’s totally ok!

tw: vomiting

childlike; not a child –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

jeongin liked to think that he was fairly mature for his age.

he enjoyed spending time on his own, and he didn’t like to burden other people with his problems, which had made him more independent than a lot of his same-aged friends. jeongin knew how to handle himself in different situations because the kept a close eye on his hyungs, and he was good at following their example. most of all, he had built up a strong mental game after years of working in the entertainment industry. most people in the industry were pretty unshakeable, but especially those who started young and stuck with it.

getting sick, though, made him feel very small, and very helpless, and when his stomach started hurting in the early morning hours, he just wanted someone to hold him. in a half-daze, jeongin willed himself up, just long enough to seek out chan’s bed. he couldn’t even really explain why, but seeing chan there, sleeping peacefully, sent a wash of relief throughout his body, so jeongin didn’t think twice before crawling in next to his oldest hyung. his stomach still hurt, but at least he was able to fall back asleep.

——

chan had planned to sleep in until 10 am, and then get right back to the studio and continue his work, but he scrapped that train of thought as soon as he woke up.

it had been about two years since jeongin had slept with him. he used to, during their trainee days, when he missed home, or had a bad day, or when a nightmare woke him up, but since they debuted, jeongin had been more determined than ever to grow up quickly. according to jeongin, that meant no more sleeping with hyungs.

it didn’t take long for chan to figure out why an exception had suddenly been made. jeongin had the most obvious fever chan had ever seen: his cheeks were flushed, his forehead was burning and shining with sweat, and he was shaking from head to toe, hogging the blankets as if his life depended on it. chan sighed, and stroked the younger boy’s head until he woke up, bleary-eyed.

“hyung…” already, jeongin looked teary. it had been so long since chan had seen their youngest member express himself so openly, a certain amount of nostalgia trickled into the otherwise painful situation, and chan smiled slightly.

“hey, innie. how are you feeling?”

lip wobbling, jeongin sniffled. he spoke quietly. “i thought if i slept, it would go away, but i just feel worse, now. i don’t know what to do.”

chan felt his eyebrows draw together. “aw, innie. can i give you a hug?”

jeongin nodded. “please…”

without another moment of hesitation, chan pulled jeongin into his arms, rubbing his back and wishing he could do more. he could feel the younger boy nuzzle his face into his shoulder, and for a few minutes, they just sat like that. jeongin and chan both relaxed in a way they hadn’t in a long time. it was a reminder of safety that they’d both needed without realizing.

it ended far too quickly for either of their preferences, but jeongin eventually pulled away, shaking. “hyung, i think i’m going to throw up,” he admitted in a whisper. chan tried not to wince, and squeezed jeongin’s hand instead. as he stood, he guided the sick boy to follow. they made their way to the bathroom hand in hand.

“i think you must’ve picked up some kind of stomach bug,” chan said, hand to jeongin’s sweaty forehead. leaning over the toilet in what was possibly the most uncomfortable position he’d been in, jeongin nodded. he didn’t know when he was going to be sick, but he was confident that he would be, eventually, and felt that it was better to be safe than sorry - even if that meant holding his aching body up in a rigid and unnatural pose. a chill ran through him, and without thinking, jeongin leaned into chan’s warmth.

“do you want me to get you some blankets?” chan asked, thoughtful as always, but jeongin shook his head. he really just wanted chan to stay right where he was. not for the first time, he felt very childish, but the last thing jeongin wanted was to be alone.

despite the drawn out wait and the steady moral support, jeongin was caught off-guard by a sudden gut-wrenching cough. it was enough to turn his stomach and send some of its contents half up his throat, and the retch that immediately followed brought with it a waterfall of soup-like sick. he heard a quick intake of breath from chan, but couldn’t spare him a glance as more coughing, heaving, and vomiting ensued.

it was absolutely vile. not just the taste, but the texture of it, of having warm liquid spill out of him with chunks of his lunch uncontrollably, splattering back in his own face. it was the inability to stop it, the feeling like he couldn’t possibly get enough air, and like it might never end.

there was a moment when he thought it was over - when he needed it to be over, because his muscles couldn’t hold him up any longer, even with chan’s support - and jeongin allowed himself to lean back as he continued to cough. he was hardly coherent, but as his mouth started to water and his coughs became headier, he tried to follow chan’s guidance and lean back over the toilet. they weren’t quite fast enough, and a mouthful of mushy brown barf ended up on jeongin’s t-shirt.

“it’s alright,” chan said, feeling more helpless than ever. “you’re okay, innie.”

he wasn’t even sure if jeongin could hear him, but he wanted to make sure than jeongin knew he wasn’t alone. the next few rushes of throw up were, fortunately, the last ones, at least for the time being, and jeongin immediately reached for chan’s arms when he was finished.

“good boy,” chan said, helping jeongin out of his soiled shirt. jeongin blinked, teary eyed, and chan placed a hand on the younger man’s head, cradling it gently. “you did so well. do you feel better?”

jeongin nodded. “i’m just so tired, hyung, i know you just got up, but–” he cut himself off.

“how about you drink a bit of water, and then we can get back in bed?” chan offered hopefully. jeongin didn’t look entirely pleased, but he nodded. chan smiled.

the two of them went back to the bedroom together, and jeongin was able to keep the water down. it surprised him how quickly they became comfortable in the tiny bed together, but it felt right. despite the years that had passed, there was still a part of jeongin that was chan’s little-kid brother. it was more reassuring than he could have imagined to be reminded that chan still recognized and accepted that part of him, too.

——

a very quick reader survey (specific to this fic!) to make me smile and possibly send a free fic request that i may or may not actually use :D

——

feel free to send more asks! / rules

[pilot-boi]

Too Long Since Rest: Chapter Three

Lacking Someone

As reluctant as Weiss was to take it, a solution has been reached. A new day was dawning.

AO3 LINK

Weiss didn’t turn on any more lights on her way back to her room, even if the darkness after the kitchen lights turned off felt unpleasantly deep for a while. She knew her way around well enough anyway.

She only went back to her own room to fetch the blanket Ruby had draped over her hours earlier. Partly because she might actually need it, and partly to bring it to Ruby as an offering for the night.

Ruby was a total blanket hoarder who somehow slept under three blankets even when the hall’s air conditioning broke, and she seemed indifferent to the fact that she would thus wake up gross and sweaty every morning. She said that the heavier the blankets on top of her got, the more comfortable she felt.

Weiss thought she should just get a single heavy blanket then, but that was just her opinion.

The door to Ruby’s dorm room swung open more quietly than she would’ve expected, and Weiss couldn’t help but roll her eyes upon finding it unlocked. Hadn’t she ever heard of security? That dolt was just asking to get attacked, it seemed Weiss’s nightmares weren’t entirely unfounded.

A string of still twinkling fairy lights glowed faintly above Ruby’s bed, paired with what looked like a million glow-in-the-dark star stickers over her roommate’s bed. A halo of curling orange hair was all Weiss could see from the other girl in the dim light, but the steady rise and fall of the covers showed that she was definitely asleep. 

Ruby herself had strung up a makeshift canopy over her own bed. When Weiss had asked about it, she’d just grinned and said it made her feel like she was a character from a fairy tale. Weiss tiptoed through the mess on Ruby’s side of the room, stepping over stray books and clothes, and already regretting her decision to come here in the first place.

Ruby seemed to wake only to Weiss sitting down on the side of her bed. Her huge silvery eyes blinked open to stare up at her, a dark silhouette with just enough detail for her to recognise.

“Hey,” Weiss said, voice a whisper, not daring to speak any louder for fear of waking up Ruby’s roommate. She thanked every god who might be listening that even if Penny woke up, she was not the type to take pictures to use for potential blackmail.

Ruby shifted slightly under her horrible pile of blankets and pillows so she could look up at her more comfortably. “Hey. You okay?”

Weiss tried really hard not to show how touched she was by that question being immediate. The darkness helped. “Yeah,” she said, because Ruby didn’t need to know the rest. “Can I stay here?”

“Of course.” Ruby didn’t even miss a beat, like there was never a chance she’d answer any differently. She scooted back to the wall to make room for Weiss pulling the edge of her blankets with her so that they wouldn’t get in the way.

The bed was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. Ruby seemed too sleepy to notice the problem that Weiss should have seen a mile away.

Weiss ended up keeping her blanket to herself. She laid down on her side with only minimal issues arising from trying to fit the both of them onto one bed. Ruby actually lifted her blankets up and settled them over Weiss as well, effectively cocooning them both in place.

When she finally settled into place, facing Ruby, she found Ruby’s eyes already staring at her intently through the dark. They were reflecting the moonlight from the window and were looking worryingly alert for someone who had been fast asleep just a few minutes ago.

“You’re sure you’re okay though?” Ruby whispered finally after a few moments of silence. Weiss couldn’t see her well enough in the dark, but she thought she was wearing that soft worried expression again. The one that did things to Weiss’s heart and made her want to both run away and stay forever. “You were practically sleepwalking just a few hours ago, and now you’re up again.”

Weiss couldn’t hold her gaze for long, even in the dark like that, before she had to look away and find something else to stare at. Maybe it was because she was tired, but with Ruby here, with everything she’d done for her today and with how she was looking at her…

… It made it feel a lot less tempting to retreat back into her shell. Into her safe little zone of snark, and smooth lines, and well-aimed words, and just remain stubbornly alone. It had stopped feeling like it was her only option, anyway.

“I… I’ve been sleeping terribly. Like…” She breathed, screwing her eyes shut so that she didn’t have to look anywhere. She didn’t want to talk about this, everything with her was screaming against it, but she couldn’t stop now.

Couldn’t stop herself now.

She felt vulnerable, and she hated it. But somehow despite that, she also felt safe. She didn’t want to think about why, either. She’d rather keep talking than think about that. “I can hardly fall asleep because I’m restless, and when I do sleep, it’s just… nightmares. So many nightmares, all the time, so at the end of the day I figured I was better off just… not sleeping at all.”

She trusted Ruby, she really did, but out of some habit and fear she still braced herself for something that would be enough to shatter her in that moment.

That something, of course, never came.

“Hey, I get it,” Ruby said, quiet and slow and sounding the same kind of sad that she had when she’d talked to Weiss when she’d thought she was asleep and said she wished Weiss trusted her.

She reached out to adjust the blanket over Weiss’s shoulder like she wasn’t even thinking about it, a silent spark of affection trying to find a way to express itself. “I’ve been sleeping badly, too.”

Oh.

Weiss’s heart twisted painfully in her chest when she finally connected that sentence with just how alert Ruby had looked the moment Weiss had sat down on her bed.

Then very, very quietly Ruby spoke again. Just over a breath, quiet enough that if Weiss wanted to, she could pretend she hadn’t heard any of it, because it wasn’t like she could see Ruby’s lips move in the darkness. It was an easy way out, should she need to take it.

“It helps when you’re here.”

But Weiss heard it, and not for a moment did she want to pretend that she didn’t. She smiled, small and soft and maybe a bit fragile, because she was feeling fragile herself right then. It was the relief that this didn’t only comfort her, that she wasn’t alone, that she wasn’t just being ridiculous.

And it was also knowing that she had a way to help Ruby, too. A way that they could help each other, even if the fact that Ruby would need this help in the first place hurt to think about.

She didn’t want to think about Ruby waking like she’d been waking night after night for days now, out of breath and her heart hammering in her chest, trying to fight the urge to cry, and sometimes failing. But if that did happen, if Weiss couldn’t stop it from happening, at least tonight she could be around to help her deal with it.

“It helps me, too.”

They talked for some time after that, voices kept quiet, about random little things that had happened in the past few days. Nothing too significant or heavy, nothing worrying, nothing about the future neither of them wanted to think about for now. Probably nothing to remember by next morning either. It was comfortable.

They both grew more and more tired by the minute, voices slurred sometimes, blinks got longer. At some point Ruby took Weiss’s hand, and Weiss didn’t even stop to react to it, because this small form of affection, a simple point of contact felt so much like it belonged in that moment. 

Soon enough Ruby’s other hand was out from under her horrible blanket pile too, as she pulled Weiss’s hand closer to herself and examined her painted nails in the dark. They were barely chipped yet, only two days old, and so she eventually settled for thumbing over them as the two of them continued to talk, delighting in the smooth texture, and Weiss let her.

And then Weiss yawned so wide her jaw popped, and she pulled her other hand up to cover her face as he did. When she looked at Ruby again she found her looking at her all fond and soft and open, and it made Weiss wonder if Ruby felt as safe here as she did. 

She imagined that maybe Ruby had worn this same look, a look that she couldn’t really describe, because loving sounds too big a word for her to dare use, when she’d tucked her into bed earlier that night. 

It was a look Weiss found she cherished greatly and tucked away into some safe, warm corner of her mind to think about on worse days, and she thought that maybe it made her feel loved, but she was too scared to actually name it as that.

“Sleep,” Ruby said, still watching her like that. Her voice was gentle and her thumb was rubbing back and forth against the back of Weiss’s hand.

Weiss squinted at her, because her immediate reaction, even half asleep, was that she didn’t like it when Ruby was right. 

“As long as you don’t kick me out of bed in the middle of the night.”

Ruby laughed, just quiet huffs of breath against the quiet, but somehow none different from her much louder ones from during the day. Her thumb was still moving against Weiss’s hand. “I won’t, I promise.”

“Okay.” Weiss nodded against her pillow. Thank goodness Ruby had a veritable nest of the things, how would they have made this work otherwise? 

She realised too late that she probably should’ve made her swear on that. Better safe than sorry, one could never be too careful.

Well, here’s to hoping she wouldn’t find herself waking on the floor at three in the morning.

So she made herself comfortable, settling in to sleep. She pulled Ruby’s hand she was still holding closer to herself and Ruby didn't protest, until the backs of Ruby’s fingers rested against Weiss’s collarbone. 

She didn’t know why she found that so comforting, the added point of contact and the closeness, but she really did. She hoped that it would help her sleep through the night, this time.

She curled up a little more, arranging her legs better. Ruby just moved to accommodate her, until the two of them fit together better.

“Goodnight,” Weiss said, barely audible, finally giving in to her exhaustion again. She closed her eyes.

“Goodnight,” Ruby repeated back, and she squeezed Weiss’s hand once. Even if she couldn’t see it, wouldn’t be able to even with her eyes open thanks to the darkness, Weiss could still hear the smile in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

The next morning Weiss woke to early sunlight, with Ruby’s fingers clutching at the front of her shirt and her body curled close to hers. As her eyes swept the mess of blankets on the bed and Ruby’s ridiculous bedhead, through her comfortable, sleepy haze she realised that, for the first time in a while, she’d slept through the night without a single nightmare.

She had no idea what time it was, but she figured, way too comfortable for her conscience to be working yet, that if she needed to do something, it could freaking wait for once. 

So for now she closed her eyes again, bumped her head gently against Ruby’s, and went back to sleep.

[twistedrunes]

George - Chapter 25

A Peaky Blinders Fanfiction

This is a series. If you’re new here welcome! I would recommend you start at  the beginning:   Chapter One More chapters of George are available on the Masterlist Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. All original work is my own.

Hello Friends!

I head back to uni tomorrow to hopefully bust out that PhD so I wanted to celebrate (not sure if that’s the right word) by getting up the next chapter of George. Thank you all for your patience and ongoing encouragement a special shout out to my MVP’s @prettieparker86 , @pure-bastard-extract and @tommysmutnothingbut for putting up with my moaning. Thank you too, to everyone who supported my Six Sentence Sunday teaser, in particular, @sympathyfortheblinderdevil @zazasblogxx @londoncharlotte88 @weeo @inkinterrupted and @mafaldaz - without your enthusiasm, this would not have happened so quickly. 

Until next time - Twistedrunes xox

Chapter Twenty-five: Before Dawn

Summary:  In the aftermath of the disaster with Arthur in Tommy's office, Tommy comes to be with Anna at the betting shop.

Warnings: language, angst, smut, violence, racial slurs, grinding, allusions to past abuse, feelings

Tommy’s hands are on your hips as soon as you open the door, bundling you back inside, kicking the door closed behind him. You’re immediately struck by the intensity in his eyes, wide and slightly wild. As you back up against the wall he pauses, assessing you, eyes roaming your face, settling in the middle of your forehead. His jaw tenses, he pales slightly and he swallows hard. Watching him you recognise the expression from bad nights when he’s seeing things that aren’t really there. If your guess is correct he’s seeing a perfectly formed bullet hole in the middle of your forehead. He closes his eyes as he lifts his hands to your neck, using your jaw to tilt your head down and pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. He hums softly as your hands slip into his overcoat and rest on his hips. He reaches up and pulls his cap off, shoving it deep within the pocket of his overcoat.

As he pulls back, you bring your hands to his chest, rising up on your toes you graze your lips against his. Meeting his eye you give him a soft smile before kissing him again, slightly firmer this time. Silently reminding him that you’re alright. That you’re here, in this moment, with him.  Under your hands, you feel Tommy’s chest rise and fall. Your kiss deepens becoming firmer, Tommy's hands cup your cheeks and he parts his lips, quickly the kiss becomes more frantic. It’s ferocious, dragging the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping when he finally releases you.

Heart pounding you slip out of Tommy’s grasp and slide the bolts of the betting shop door home. Tommy paws at your hip, turning you to face him. He takes your chin in his hand, caressing your swollen lips with his thumb as he steps closer. He ducks his head to kiss your neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth, teeth pressing just hard enough to send a thrill through you. Your mouth falls open as you draw shaky breath, the tip of Tommy’s thumb bumping against your tongue. He groans as your lips close around it and you draw it into your mouth. Tommy lifts his head, eyes blazing as he pushes his body up against yours, trapping you between him and the door.

Still, there are no words between you, nothing needed to explain or guide your actions. Tommy grinds against you, cock already firm and reaching out for you. Burying his hand into your hair, his lips are on yours again. Tongue slipping between them as his other hand slides down from your hip to your thigh, coaxing your leg up so your knee is resting above his hip. The movement tilts your pelvis and his hardness brushes against you. Groaning, you tighten your leg pulling him harder against you, rocking as you pull your skirt up to your hips.

Grabbing your ass, Tommy moves you up the door, leaning into you with his hips. Your kisses become sloppier, sucking on each other’s lips and tongues.  The sensation is delicious, you were so close before Arthur arrived in Tommy’s office earlier and now, coming down from that adrenaline high, you were teetering on the edge already. Frantically, you work your hand between you, unable to resist feeling his fullness. Tommy’s rhythm stutters slightly, and he moans into your mouth. You continue stroking him before your own need returns and you begin to fumble with the buttons of his fly.

Tommy’s catches your wrist and he shakes his head, devilment dancing on his face. Humming in disappointment you watch Tommy’s eyes blaze as he lifts your hand above your head, pressing the back of it to the door and holding it in place. Tommy smirks as your breath catches, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip. He places his free hand in the back of your knee and adjusts you so you’re grinding against him at the perfect angle.  Your mouth hangs open as you pant, aware of his length hardening and growing, your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the feeling, balling the fabric of his lapel in your fist.

Beginning to come undone you struggle against Tommy’s restraint. Tommy loosens his grip and allows your hand to fall. You bring it to his chest, stroking over the cool cotton, and then over the rougher texture of his tie, working up to the knot and loosening it.  Tommy rests his brow against yours, brushing your nose with his, silently urging you to meet his gaze again. Tommy hums approvingly as you do, his fingers gliding along your jaw. He swallows hard, thumb tugging on your lower lip. The tightness in your stomach becomes nearly unbearable, a hot ball of tension needing release. You lick your lips, tongue grazing the pad of his thumb and feel your heart miss a beat as he pushes the digit further inside.  You suckle on it greedily. Tommy intermittently rubs it over your lips, smearing your lipstick, his cock getting harder each time. Your rocking becomes more fevered and you tug on his coat and dig your nails into the back of his neck.

Tommy responds by grabbing your ass pulling you against him, your legs wrap around his waist instinctively. You squirm, trying desperately to reach release. The tension of the last few hours unbearable, you whimper. Tommy’s eyes sweep your face, a look, somewhere between tenderness and feral lust passes behind them. You nod in response to his unasked question, barely able to contain yourself.

“Cum,” he commands.

And you do. Your voice breaks as you let out a strangled cry. Tommy kisses you, sloppy frenetic kisses down into the crook of your neck, a shuddering breath over the burning flesh before he bites you, timing it perfectly with your peak.

You’re not prepared for the strength of the orgasm that consumes you, falling through an infinity of light, body throbbing and heart pounding in your ears. You shake and gasp and moan. Tommy breathes gentle praises in your ear, as he continues to rock against you, slowing as you come down. He soothes you, bringing you back, a tender kiss on the smarting flesh where he’s bitten you, stroking your hair back off your sweaty brow and slowly lowering your legs.  His hands stay on your hips, steadying you and making sure you’re stable on your feet. You lean against him allowing him to support you, resting your head against his chest as you regain your breath. Tommy holds you close, tucking your head under his chin and caressing his fingers over the nape of your neck.

A soft smile on your face, you tip your head back to look at him. His face a mixture of lust, wonder and darkness. The darkness familiar something you've seen before, after a nightmare, a kind of repressed grief. “Let’s go to bed.” You suggest quietly, suspecting what Tommy needs is to lose himself for a few hours.

An evil smile flashes over Tommy’s face, momentarily breaking through the darkness. “Oh, I’m not ready for bed yet.” He growls before kissing you.

“I wasn’t suggesting we sleep.” You purr, stroking his face, in a more overt attempt to get him upstairs. Taking his hand in your own you take a few steps towards the stairs. Tommy follows until you reach the bottom step where he stands fast, stopping you short. “Come upstairs.”  You repeat as you step back up onto the first tread before wrapping your arms over his shoulders. “Come on,” you suggest kissing the warm skin above his collar.

Tommy unwraps you from his neck “Let me make sure everything is secure.” He says, kissing your nose.

“I’ve already checked.”

Tommy nods but steps away, hanging his coat by the door before turning towards the main body of the shop. Resigned and with your legs still wobbly you sink down onto the step. Closing your eyes you can follow the sound of him moving around the space, the soft rattle of the windows being tested, and the metallic clunk of the safe door resisting his attempts to open it.

Closing the door that separates the shop from the house Tommy pushes the bolts home. He raises his eyebrows at you with a bemused smile, looking down at you on the step, elbows on knees, with your chin cupped in your palms. You pout in response. He leans down, placing his hands either side of you, and kisses you. “Are you sulking?” He teases.

“Hmmf” you huff turning your face away.

Tommy nuzzles below your ear “Or do you need a few minutes to recover.” He chuckles, nipping your lobe.

“Recover?” You snort as if you had no idea what you could need to recover from. Knowing full well that any question of Tommy’s ability to satisfy would result in hours of him proving just how satisfied you could be. Putting your hands on the landing behind you, you lift yourself up and out of Tommy’s reach.

Tommy groans as if deeply wounded by your comment and buries his face into your lap, dropping to his knees. Lifting his head he meets your eye, “Better fix that then ‘ey” he says, face deadpan.

“Yeah, you better.” You shoot back flirtatiously, glad to see Tommy seems to have relaxed. You reach up for the handrail and begin to pull yourself up.

Tommy grabs your waist and pulls you back down. Your face wrinkles in confusion. Tommy slowly slides your dress up your thighs as he leans over you. “I told you, I’m not ready for bed.”  His hand runs up your side, slowly kneading your breast before stopping on your throat, caressing the skin lightly with his fingertips.

Your body reacts instantly and you groan. Tommy pauses to mouth your breasts, teasing your nipple with his teeth for a moment before carrying down further, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you squirm beneath him. His lips brush over your thighs, quickly becoming deep sucking kisses. You writhe under his touch, whimpering a little as your back arches and fingers tug at his hair to guide him towards your centre.

Eagerly he buries his face between your legs, inhaling deeply. He kisses you through your panties and you moan his name. Tommy stops. You grunt in irritation and tug at his hair. “Tommy,” you repeat. Tommy straightens and strokes his fingers down your arm, again a haunted look passes over his face. He shakes his head as if trying to dislodge it. “Tommy?” you ask, sitting up. Tommy closes his eyes and shakes his head as he brings his hand to your cheek, you relax into it and allow him to bring your mouth to his.

He pauses, opening his eyes as your lips touch. “I can’t do this without you.” He rasps.

“Everything is going to be alright Tommy.” You assure him, your hand coming to his face and drawing it the final distance to your lips. “The plan is in place, it’s going to work. Changretta and the Mafia will be dealt with. We’ll send a message to every organisation in the fucking world never to come for us. They’ll all know not to fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” You hold Tommy’s gaze fiercely. “We’re going to be alright.”

Tommy shakes his head slightly, grasping your face in his hands. “You, Charlie, the family, that’s all that matters.” He kisses you, it’s long and needy, but the fire and lust are no longer there. Tommy sits on the landing next to you, he takes your hand in his, again watching you closely. “I nearly fucking lost you tonight. Again! Fuck, a few inches lower,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “If Arthur hadn’t been so upset, drunk.” He shakes his head “FUCK!” he yells at the ceiling, although you suspect it’s directed higher. He remains that way even after the anguish robs the voice from his throat.  

Shuffling closer you press against Tommy’s side, “Tommy,” you murmur against his cheek. Tommy doesn’t move or look at you. “Tommy, look at me.” Tommy’s eyes remain closed. “Tommy,” you whisper, bumping your nose against his jaw. Still, he remains motionless. “Tommy,” you insist. Reaching across him you take his hand and place it on your knee, the result turning his body towards you. His eyes remain closed and slide your arm under his, tucking yourself under it so you can wrap your arm around his waist. You place your head on his shoulder and look at him, weaving your fingers between his. “I’m still here Tommy,” you remind him. Tommy flinches. You remain still. Tommy takes another deep breath and slowly leans into you, softening he moulds himself around you, forehead resting against your collarbone, arms wrapped around your waist.  

Dropping your head to the side you rest your head on his. Tommy’s body is warm against yours and you enjoy the silence of the moment. “Tommy,” you say finally, this time Tommy looks up at you. Relieved you smile. “We’ll do it together alright? Whatever happens, we’ll look after each other.”

In his old bedroom, Tommy holds you close, dancing. There’s no music and no space, but he doesn’t care, he has you in his arms and, for the moment at least, you were safe. “We need to talk about some things,” he begins.

You shake your head and pull him closer. “Not tonight, please.” You sigh just wanting the quiet and release of being close with Tommy without interruption, knowing he needed it too.

“We have to, some things are going to happen tomorrow, things that can’t be avoided,” his jaw twitches and he trails off.

You feel the fatigue of the past month pulling down on you, exhausted by the plans and secrets and the constant need to be alert. Then it occurs to you that maybe Tommy wants to talk about whatever is playing on his mind. “Alright.”  

“The Golds are going to want more than the money we’re giving them for the men.” Tommy begins, still moving with you around the tiny improvised dance floor, his thumb caressing the small of your back.

“Mm,” you hum, it’s not a surprise, people thought the Shelby’s were in trouble, and so the sharks were circling.

“His boy, Bonnie, is a boxer. He wants to go professional but the Gold’s don’t have the money, or the contacts, so they want us to promote him. They want Bonnie to go up against Alfie’s top welterweight fighter.”

“Right, so what’s the problem?”

Tommy sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Our people, the Gypsy’s, they have a certain way of doing things, it’s important to them that we take Bonnie on, so they are going to ask for something else first, something too big, something we will refuse so when they ask for the smaller thing it seems minor in comparison.”

“What are they going to ask for?”

“To buy Charlie’s Yard.”

“But if they can’t afford to promote Bonnie how will they afford the yard?” You stop moving, stepping back a little to look at Tommy.

“Doesn’t matter. They know I’ll tell them it’s not for sale and they’ll insist and then I’ll suggest we make a wager, flip of the coin.” Tommy describes the transaction with the boredom of someone who’s played this game before. “What’s important is that they can’t know that we know, what their goal is. They can’t know how much we know about them and their plans.” Tommy explains you nod. “So we need to ask him to wager something valuable against the yard. Something precious. Something he will have no choice but to refuse, something he will refuse immediately and without hesitation.” Tommy holds your eye his tone sincere and insistent. He brings his hands to your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. He watches you closely, his own expression pained. Nervously you nod and wait for him to continue. “I need you to know I would never suggest this if I didn’t know that he’ll refuse. He will refuse.” Tommy is insistent.

“His daughter,” You realise, stumbling backwards with the shock of it.

Tommy’s hands come to your shoulders, stopping you from falling. “Yes.” He agrees flatly, holding your eye. He steps closer, speaking slowly and quietly, caressing your shoulders with his palms. “I’ll ask him to wager his eldest daughter, Esmeralda. I will tell him if he loses I will have sex with her.” His voice is even and factual, but his eyes are filled with emotion.

“How sure are you he will refuse?” You ask, trying to focus on what Tommy’s telling you.

“Very,” Tommy assures you. “She’s promised to the son of the head of another family. They don't want her to have been in Shelby hands.”

You can feel panic rising in you. “If he doesn’t refuse and he loses what’s your plan?” You ask, realising, for perhaps the first time, you need Tommy to have a plan. Because you can’t think, can’t see a way out that doesn’t involve you shooting Gold if he offers his daughter as the stake in a game she has no way of winning.

“In the highly unlikely event, he takes the wager and loses,” Tommy speaks slowly emphasising the words, holding your face to keep you focused, stopping you from spiralling. He pauses for a moment waiting until you are focused on him before speaking again. “I’ll tell him it will have to wait until after the Mafia business is done. By the time all of this is done, nothing wagered tomorrow will matter. Bonnie will have had his fight and no one will care.”

“Promise me you won’t do that to her, you won’t hurt her, no matter what.” You ask, voice tight and wavering.

“I promise. I won’t hurt her. No one will touch her.” Tommy promises.

In your heart you know it’s true and your eyes close as you hear the words, tears sliding onto your cheeks. He moves closer, wrapping his arms around you, bundling you up so your arms are pressed between your chests. “I would never go through with it.” He assures you, stroking your hair.

You breathe deeply, the familiar comforting scent of Tommy flowing over you. You remember the first time you met him in his office. You desperate and half mad with fear. Tommy, you recognise now, was desperate and half-mad too, although for him it was grief. Both of you trying to survive in a world that seemed determined to grind you out.

Tommy begins to sway softly, reaching between you and taking your hands in his. “I need you.” He says, lips brushing over your knuckles as he holds your eye.

“I need you.” You reply, pressing your brow to his.

“Together?” Tommy asks, eyes searching yours.

“Together.” You promise.

Tommy’s light touch wakes you. His fingers brushing through your hair, tracing over the landmarks of your face, enjoying the soft skin of your shoulder. It’s still dark when you wake, you can tell Tommy’s sitting up smoking, his face illuminated by the glow of the tip as he inhales. Through a gap in the curtain, you can see the sky is just starting to lighten. Not ready to speak yet you rub your hand over his hip in greeting.

“Morning love.” He says, voice deeper in the early morning.

“Mm,” you agree, shuffling over so you can snuggle up to him, your face resting next to your hand on his chest, his arm draped over your shoulders.

Tommy kisses the top of your head. “Sleep well?”

“Mmhmm,” you agree.

Despite fatigue and the emotion of the day, or maybe because of it, you and Tommy had remained holding each other and dancing until you had shivered with cold and Tommy had taken you to bed. You’d made love for hours, connection rather than pleasure, the goal. You’d fallen asleep held by Tommy and you felt like you’d slept for days.

“You?” You ask, stealing his cigarette and taking a drag.

You just catch the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he answers. “Yeah.”

“What time is it?”

“Early.”

“Good.” You say shuffling up onto your knees before leaning in and kissing his neck.

“Mmm,” Tommy agrees, lifting your chin with his finger and turning his torso so he can kiss your mouth.

From your kneeling position, it’s easy to slide across and straddle Tommy’s thighs, the bedding pooling around your ass. Tommy grinds his cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand. The corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles at you, taking your face in his hands and drawing you in for a kiss. “Again?” He asks playfully, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Well, only if you’ve recovered.” You tease rubbing your hands over his chest. Tommy’s fingers dig into your ass as he drags your hips to his. “Fuck.” You hiss as his cock, hard and ready presses against you.

Tommy smirks, his hand gliding smoothly up your naked back and into your hair. He tugs gently as he pulls you in to kiss him again.  You can feel yourself getting wet and begin rolling your hips, spreading slickness along the length of Tommy’s shaft. You groan in unison.  Pulling you up so your hips are pressed against his chest he kisses your breasts, drawing circles around your nipples with his tongue before sucking them into his mouth.

You grab the metal bar of the headboard to support yourself, your other hand caressing Tommy’s shoulders and neck. Palm gliding over the shorn velvet of the back of his head before your fingers twist in the longer strands on top.

Tommy’s hands splay over your back, seemingly everywhere at once as he drags his tongue up between your breasts and nips at your throat. The sensation arches your back and you let go of the headboard, your arms falling around Tommy’s shoulders. His hands come to your hips, guiding them down, bringing your faces level. His mouth capturing your whimper as he enters you and turning it into a groan deep in his chest. You curl in on yourself, the pleasure almost too much, your fingers digging into Tommy’s sides and your forehead pressed into the corner of his neck.

“Look at me,” Tommy insists, holding your hips still and stopping the motion of his own. He watches you as you lift your head and open your eyes, his thumb brushing over your cheek, fingers guiding your hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. Slowly you begin to move together, finding your rhythm. The tension within you begins to build again, breathing becoming more erratic as you both scramble to hold each other closer.  Tommy’s lips dance over your neck, his hot breath humid against your skin, you shiver. “You cold love?” Tommy asks.

“A little, I’m fine.” You assure him, your body making a liar of you as you shiver again.

Tommy adjusts himself, turning you and laying you down on the bed. Kneeling between your legs he reaches behind him and pulls the covers up his back before stretching his arms up and holding them over his head. He falls on top of you completely burying you both. You can’t help but laugh as he pushes himself up, pinning the covers above your head and hovering over you.

In the dark you wiggle beneath him, rubbing your leg up over his hip and pressing your heel into his ass, “Tommy, please.” He nods, reaching down between you to guide himself. Your toes curl and you gasp as he reaches the top of his stroke.

His gaze softens as he leans down and kisses you, “together,” he reminds you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist you pull him against you. Tommy releases the covers as his hands caress your thighs on their way to tilt your hips. He withdraws nearly completely before he presses into you again, and you cry out in pleasure. You can feel the heat in your belly building as Tommy fucks you slowly. Your fingers dig into the back of his neck as he pumps harder, faster. You watch as he bites his bottom lip with pleasure before you bring his face to yours. You kiss him briefly between breaths. “Together.”

Tommy’s eyes widen and he murmurs softly in Romani, pressing his brow to yours as you watch each other. “Together.” He agrees as your back arches as you feel the first explosion of warmth in your belly. Your fingers claw at Tommy’s back as his thrusts increases. Biting your lip, you hold on until his head falls back and he cries out. In seconds you follow. Together you climax, each lost in the other as you do.

The curtain has a rose coloured glow before either of you feels the need to pay attention to anything than the other. Eventually, Tommy sits up against the headboard, lighting a cigarette and pulling you up against him.

“We should get moving soon.” You say stealing the cigarette from Tommy’s fingers. “You should be there when Charlie wakes up, spend some time with him.”  

“There’s a lawyer coming this morning to sign some paperwork.” Tommy begins.

“Can’t you see Charlie before?” You don’t mean it but there’s rebuke in your tone. “It can’t be any later than seven now, how early is he coming?” You try again.

Tommy smiles and shakes his head. “Will you listen for a moment, please? This is important.”

You nod chastised and rub your hand over his chest, “Sorry.”

Tommy simply nods and continues. “I’m going to have him change my will.”

“We have a plan, it’s going to be alright.” You interrupt him.

Tommy holds his hand up to stop you, “But just in case, I wanted to ask you if you would be Charlie’s guardian.” You’re so shocked you sit bolt upright, drawing the covers up to your chest but can’t find any words. Tommy carries on. “You’ll be in charge of the house until he’s of age and then there is provision for you to get a place of your own if you wish. The money will be held in trust for Charlie but household expenses will be drawn from it and you will receive a monthly allowance for yourself.”

“But, surely Grace’s family?”

“No,” Tommy says flatly.

“Polly, Ada, Arthur?” You stammer.

“They have families of their own and they never liked Grace. You know what it is to lose your mother young. You won’t let him forget her.”

“But,”

“You always put him first. Always.” Tommy cuts you off. “You make sure I put him first.”

“He’s important.”

“And that’s why I want it to be you. He loves you.”

You shake your head. Tommy kisses his teeth in frustration “Do you love him?” He asks bluntly.

“Yes, of course.”

“That’s all he needs. The rest you’ll work out as you go.”

You take a deep breath trying to work out how to respond. Of course, you loved the sweet boy who played with his cars on your bedspread when he was younger and still squealed with delight whenever you came to visit. “You can’t just make a snap decision like this. It’s Charlie’s future.”

“It’s not a snap decision. I’ve talked to Pol and she agrees.” Tommy takes your face in his hands, “I want you to be part of Charlie’s future, part of my future. When I said I need you, I didn’t just mean with business. When I said we would do this together, I didn’t just mean Changretta and the Mafia. I want us to be together, all of it. The three of us. But with all this shit going on, we can only deal with one bit at a time. And right now that bit is you being there for Charlie if I’m gone.” Tommy stops breathing hard. “Please, it’s important to me. Will you do it?”

Your eyes meet Tommy's and all your worries disappear. Taking a deep breath you nod “Yes.”

As always I look forward to your thoughts, comments, questions and suggestions. I’ll see you all again for the next chapter.

Chapter 26 - Of Gold and Lead > > >

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@weeo

[bisexualstokes-archive]

yeah okay here we go, @dannilea this is slightly your fault since you made that comment after reblogging that prompt from me lol

original prompt | nick x greg, ~1.7k | read it on ao3

Greg should have known something was up the minute Nick called him. Nick sounded elated, surfing the waves of catharsis he received from solving the McCormick case. A certain type of elation, a dangerous one, when it comes to Nick Stokes, because Greg knows better than Nick does, that pride is the deadliest of his sins.

And yet, he still fell into the trap of seduction laid out by Nick, as he always does. It wasn’t until his back was against the wall, his wrists pinned by his ears, that he saw that there was something hiding beneath the superficial happiness that Nick was displaying. An anger, a roughness, simmering, creeping its way as Nick forcefully smashed his lips onto Greg’s; his cheeks, his neck, his collarbone, his forehead, his ears…

It wasn’t until he pushed Nick off of him, shoving him towards the bed that he saw both sides of the internal conflict raging within Nick; the maniac playfulness plastered on his face, and the glimmer of darkness in his eyes.

It wasn’t until Greg pounced on top of him, that Nick let Greg know exactly what he was feeling, as he pulled onto Greg’s hair as if he were trying to fend off an attacker.

It’s in this moment, that he realizes Nick is not okay.

“How do you do it?” Greg grunts, wincing at the slight pinch of Nick’s grasp on the back of his head. He can feel five of Nick’s fingers digging into the back of his scalp, the other five nearly bruising his shoulder.

“How do I do what?” Nick snarls, he’s trying to focus on Greg. There’s nobody else there, just him and Greg. Greg. Greg. His lips are full of Greg, his hands gripping tightly onto Greg’s body, as if he were about to lose him. It’s just him and Greg, nobody else. No little girls, hiding cough syrup and gum wrappers under the bed. No creepy psychopaths, watching from a peephole in the ceiling. No fathers, who are so torn apart about losing their daughters, that they decide to exact their revenge on someone who’s only crime was doing their job. No men, screaming from the top of their lungs as they struggle to breathe under the confines of the earth surrounding them.

It’s just him and Greg, but the voices in Nick’s head tell him that they’re not alone.  

“Pretend you are okay.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Yes you are, every single day. And it breaks my heart.”

The slick texture of hair gel slides between the strands of Greg’s hair and the skin of Nick’s fingers as Nick releases his firm grasp on the back of Greg’s head. Greg pushes himself up, sitting uncomfortably on Nick’s thighs as they both catch their breath. Their hearts pounding against their chest, their lips twitching, searching for the connection that was abruptly severed as Greg finally spoke the words that have been on the tip of his tongue since Nick came back to work.

“I told ya, G, I’m not pretending,” Nick whispers, cupping Greg’s cheek in his hand, stroking Greg’s face, trying to gently move it back towards his own. “Really, I’m okay.”

“Nobody can be....buried alive and just be ‘okay’ after that, man,” Greg continues, feeling as if he needs to explain why he’s pushing Nick’s hand back towards him, shaking his head slightly. “We’re all--I’m worried about you.”

Nick’s back suddenly feels stiff, he feels a throbbing sensation in his forehead, and the mattress beneath his body suddenly feels like a cold, hard surface instead of a warm, soft one. Nick curls up the hand that had just held the back of Greg’s head moments ago into a fist, slamming it into the mattress. He uses the other hand, which is still warm from the contact with Greg’s cheek to push himself up as he rolls to his side, throwing Greg off of him as he stands up from the bed, and begins to pace the room.

“Is this about what happened at the station? Did Sara tell you?”

“She didn’t have to, I saw the tape,”

A harsh sound escapes Nick’s body, laughing at the realization that just as he’s doomed to suffer, everyone else is destined to watch him in his torment.  He leans against the wall, folding his arms, as if he needed to further entrap himself as the walls in the room begin to cave in.

“And considering you just had me up against the wall a couple minutes ago in a similar manner…”

“Yeah, until you shoved me onto the bed…” Nick mumbles under his breath, the corner of his lips tugging into a small smile, which quickly retracts after seeing the daggers in Greg’s eyes.

“You still have some things on your mind that you need to sort out.”

“Look, I told Sara, I’m sorry that I lost it with that...that dumbass in the station--”

“It’s not just that, Nick. Every night you wake up screaming, every time we’re on a case in a space that’s just a bit too tight, hell, every time you walk into Grissom’s office and see all his bugs, you just...you act like nothing happened--”

“What do you want me to say, Greg, huh? You-you want me to write a full report on every single nightmare I have where I’m still in...in that damn box, with that damn light, with those damn ants? You want me to tell you, how I had to hold my breath when I went down into that bunker a few weeks ago? You want me to tell you how I saw a-a picture on Grissom’s desk, of my face, covered in ants? Hmm?”

He can feel water in his eyes, his tongue pokes out between his lips, catching a teardrop before bringing it back into his mouth, the hot, salty taste lingering for a few seconds in his mouth before he continues.

“I...I don’t want...I don’t want what happened in that box to define who I am. Part of me...part of me is still in there, and-and that part is gone. Forever. I’m not getting it back. But the rest of me? The rest of me made it out. I’m-I’m alive and that’s all that matters. And...and I’m just...I’m trying, man. I’m trying to leave that part of me behind but I just can’t--”

Nick buries his head into his hands, quickly wiping away the tears as he slides down the wall. The sudden cold, rugged edges of the paint rub against his naked skin, goosebumps bubble up in his arms. His jaw clenches, his open mouth catches the tears that stream from his eyes against his will. He scrunches his face closed tight, trying to push back the waves of sobs that shake his body as the voices of victims and tormentors scream at him, telling him he’ll never escape his premature burial.

Greg, meanwhile, was getting goosebumps of his own as something in the back of his head was sounding off like an alarm, telling him to get off of the bed, get down to the floor, grab onto Nick’s hand...but even in the shroud of shadows cast by Greg’s body on top of the bed, the outline of Nick’s body seems to glow. He feels his ears prick up, he feels a soft tingling shiver spread through this body, his vision begins to cloud as the image of Nick on the ground morphs into a different Nick. A Nick that stands tall, a confident smile on his face, radiating the same glow Greg saw moments ago.  

Something in his mind, his heart, his blood seems to tell him that this is the path Nick is currently traversing, a path that he hasn’t even begun to stray away from in the slightest. A wave of relief washes over Greg, and he finally moves off of the bed and next to Nick, taking Nick’s free hand in his own, and cusping his cheek in the other.

“I think you’re doing pretty well, Nicky,” Greg whispers softly, with the most reassurance he could muster, although he feels as if the words are not his own. It feels like he’s giving Nick a reminder of something, a carrier of a message that seems to resonate with Nick on a level that Greg doesn’t quite understand.

But Greg didn’t need to understand, nor did he see any pressing desire to, as Nick immediately lunges at Greg, his wet lips pressing against Greg’s. Greg can feel the transfer of Nick’s tears to his own cheeks, the saliva exchanged in their mouth has an odd, salty taste that was quite gross, but Greg doesn’t care. All he cares about is Nick Stokes, a broken man on a path of healing.

And with Greg Sanders by his side, he’ll make it to his final destination. The man in Greg’s vision. The Nick Stokes that is truly “okay” and doesn’t have to pretend any more.

“Greg?” Nick whispers out to the void behind his closed eyes. The voices are gone, there’s an eerie, but soothing silence in the air. His body feels light, as if a tremendous weight had been removed. His fingers absentmindedly move towards his forehead, to the outlines traced by Sage over a day ago. There’s nothing there.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For getting so…rough…”

“Pfft--Please, you don’t have to apologize for that, man. I...kinda enjoyed it, actually…”

Nick opens an eye, to look at Greg, who’s staring at him with a devilish smirk on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, giddy-up, cowboy, I’ll go on that ride again.”

Contagious laughter erupts from Nick as his face turns redder than it already was, he leans himself on Greg as they stand back up, nearly losing his balance. Their laughter fades, and for a moment, their eyes meet. Their bodies melt, puddling together into a teary, sweaty mess, but it’s their mess.

“Okay,” Nick breathes. A multifaceted statement. An answer to an unspoken question, a word of assurance, an echoed word spoken by the part of him that’s buried underneath the earth…a word that describes his current state of being, as he stands face to face with the man he loves more than anything else in the world.

[recovering-and-healing]

SELF CARE TIPS

Set aside some time, to allow yourself to work through each step. Don’t rush or skip ahead. Self Care is important, and you deserve to devote some time to it.

You may want to go through this routine as soon as you wake up, as a preventive measure.

1 - Have you eaten in the last four hours?

If you haven’t eaten in a little while, your body needs fuel. It’s time for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

If there’s a specific food you want, it’s okay to eat it! You don’t have to eat perfectly healthy all the time– no one does! Just also use your brain a little, and notice the quantity you’re eating, and how healthy it is for you. You’re probably just fine at trusting your gut and knowing what your body needs.

Making a meal is hard for you right now, and that’s okay! Everybody struggles with cooking sometimes.

You have some options:

You can cook a meal for yourself.

You might have ready-made meals in the fridge.

You can get take-out or delivery.

You can go to a restaurant.

Take-out, delivery, and restaurants are a little more expensive than cooking on your own, but how you spend your money is your decision. It’s okay to treat yourself!

If you’re going to cook on your own, you have to decide what to make. A friend, partner, or family member can help with this. Here are some ideas for easy foods you can eat right now:

Pasta with butter, sauce, cheese, vegetables, and/or meat

Ramen noodles

Sandwiches

Rice

Grilled cheese (This can have meat on it, if you want!)

A smoothie or milkshake

Baked or fried potatoes

Eggs, pancakes, and/or bacon

Macaroni and cheese

Canned soup

Salad

Vegan

Boxed mashed potatoes

2 - Have you taken any medication you need to take?

Medication needs to be taken on schedule, or your body might react negatively.

Take some time now to take any pills, do any tests or injections, or apply any ointments prescribed by your doctor.

If this is a persistent problem for you, you may want to set a smart phone alarm so you remember to take it at the same time every day.

3 - Are you keeping yourself hydrated?

Drink a glass of whatever liquid you like best. Water is ideal, but don’t beat yourself up if you’d rather have tea, soda, juice, or milk. Soda will actually make you feel thirstier, but if it’s easier for you, then that’s okay!

4 - Can you take a guess at how many hours you’ve slept out of the last 24?

Everyone is an individual with different sleep schedules, but most people need 8 hours of relatively uninterrupted sleep. If you had less than that, and/or woke up frequently, and/or had nightmares, it might help you to take a nap.

Take a nap. You can finish this self-care guide when you wake up.

Ideally, let yourself sleep naturally, and sleep until you wake up. Obviously, this isn’t always possible. Otherwise, set an alarm for yourself, with plenty of time to wake up and get yourself together between your nap and your responsibilities.

5 - Are you in pain?

If there is something your doctor has prescribed you for pain, you should take it or do it.

For aches and pains, take an aspirin. You may also want to apply a heating pad or a cold pack on whatever hurts.

If you have a stomach ache, there are medications for that, like Pepto Bismol, and hot tea may also help.

Be nice to your body, and try to do “replace” the unpleasant pain with some pleasant alternative sensations, like good smells and pleasurable textures.

6 - Is something about your environment distressing or uncomfortable? Are your surroundings the right temperature?

If you’re too cold, you can try putting on some warm clothes, using a space heater, turning up the heat in your home, putting on a blanket, and/or snuggling with a pet or another person.

If you’re too hot, you can try putting on cooler clothes, turning on a fan, or turning up the AC in your house.

7 - Are your surroundings dirty or smelly?

It’s hard to feel okay in an environment that is unfriendly for whatever reason. If your surroundings aren’t clean, set a timer for five minutes and take care of the biggest problems, like leftover food, pet messes, or dirty clothes.

Chores can be scary and exhausting, but that’s not what we’re doing here. We’re just taking a little five-minute clean up to make ourselves and our homes happier!

8 - Do you feel unsafe because of the people, or lack of people, in your surroundings?

If you can, try to remove yourself from situations that are overwhelming or feel unsafe. If you can’t relocate entirely, take frequent breaks, or tune out with headphones.

9 - Does your body feel uncomfortable, sweaty, or dirty?

If you have the energy and ability to take a shower, it may be a good idea. If you are unable to take a shower, here are some things to do instead:

Wash your face

Put on lotion

Change your clothes

Use dry shampoo

Whatever physical self-care activity you like best!

10 -  Do you know why you’re in a bad mood, or not feeling well emotionally?

(Remember, any answer is okay!) If there’s something on your mind, we’re going to do our best to take care of it.

11 - If there is something in your mind, set a timer for 15 minutes, and work on a solution.

If it’s something you can change, then great! If not, do your best to reach out to someone and talk about it.

12 - Remember, 15 minutes and only 15!

You can go back to whatever it is after we’re done working through this together. We’re just taking baby steps in the right direction.

13 - Sometimes, we don’t know the source of our bad feelings, and that’s okay.

14 - Do you feel anxious, nervous, keyed-up, paranoid, scared, or on edge?

If you’re generally anxious but don’t know why, that’s okay!

If you’re feeling anxious about something specific. That’s okay! Set a timer for 15 minutes and do something to take care of that worry. Maybe chip away at a task that seems insurmountable. You can do it!

15 - Here are some ideas for grounding activities:

Take deep, calm breaths.

Notice and list things in your surroundings.

Expose yourself to strong, pleasant sensations, like a pleasing smell or a favorite blanket.

Say out loud your name, your age, the date, and your location. List some things you’ve done today, or are going to do.

Splash water on your face or run your hands under the faucet.

Do a body scan meditation, or pay close attention to each of your body parts one by one.

Make tea. Feel the warmth of it in your hands, and the taste as you sip it calmly. Listen to music.

Play a categories game, and name some types of dogs, or clothing items, or gemstones, or countries, or anything else you can think of.

Write in your journal.

Take a mindful walk, either inside or outside. Pay close attention to your body and your surroundings.

Squiggle. Wiggle around. Dance. Stretch. Be silly and active for a few minutes.

Any other favorite grounding technique you’ve heard of or can think of.

There’s nothing wrong with experimenting!

16 - Do you feel triggered? Are you having flashbacks? Is something traumatic or upsetting from the past weighing on your mind? Did you have a vivid nightmare?

If you’re feeling triggered, see if there’s a practical action you can take to lessen your distress. Can you block that unsafe person from your Facebook, for example?

If not, reach out and tell someone safe how you’re feeling. Just express yourself! Human contact works wonders when you’re not feeling well emotionally.

Remember that you’re here in the present, and nothing from your past can hurt you. If you like, you may want to try some grounding exercises to reinforce that idea.

17 - Are you feeling dissociated, depersonalized, or derealized? Do you feel far away, foggy, or unreal? Are you not sure who you are?

Go back to number 6 and try the grounding activities.

18 - Are you feeling depressed, sad, or upset?

Feeling depressed isn’t fun, but it doesn’t last forever! Don’t be mad or disappointed with yourself for feeling depressed.

Take 15 minutes and accomplish something small, like loading the dishwasher or making a friendship bracelet. You are not a failure, and your situation is not hopeless! You are a superhero, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

19 - Are you feeling lonely?

Everybody feels lonely sometimes. If you’re feeling lonely, there’s ways to reach out to people!

You can talk to someone in your house, or call someone on the phone. You can also use texting or Facebook messenger to speak to someone. You may want to talk about how you’re feeling, or you may not. Anything you want to talk about is okay!

If that isn’t or doesn’t seem possible, you can post a general message on Facebook, Tumblr, Vent, or another internet service, about whatever you want!

20 - Are you feeling foggy?

If you are feeling foggy, you might need some exercise.

21 - Do you have the energy and ability to go for a walk?

If you can’t take a walk, that’s okay!

Here are some alternatives:

Jumping jacks

Bouncing on the bed

Dancing

Push ups or sit ups, if you like doing them

Walking up and down the stairs

Yoga

Wiggling, squirming, jiggling around; being silly and active and having fun!

If none of those are or seem possible, just sit outside for some fresh air!

22 - Do you have pets at home?

Playing with pets can be a great way to take the edge off when you’re not feeling well. It doesn’t matter what kind of pet you have, just take some time to interact with them. Pet your cat, take your dog outside, feed your fish, hug your lizard…

23 - Take half an hour and do whatever you want to do right now.

This can be anything: crafts, watching TV, laying on the couch, taking a walk, playing Farmville… your choices are literally endless!

Obviously, don’t do anything that’s bad for you, like feeding addictions or harming yourself or others

24 - It’s time to reassess.

Maybe now that you’ve done all this self care, you feel better– great! Maybe you don’t, and that’s okay too. But hopefully you’ve cleared things up and you know what to do next to take care of yourself.

You deserve self care, so even if it’s hard, do your best!

Good luck!

source: Jace Harr - Please do not remove the source

[dragonpunt-blog]

There is a large spread of food in front of the young woman, all of it, succulent meat and oh so mouth watering, the waiting staff around the banquet smile at her, extend their hands and offer the food to her, all that she could ever want to eat and more. All for Chie. Lips part, and her voice chimes through the room. "Excuse me, but I'm /vegan/." {{ask and you shall receive}}

SEND CHIE A NIGHTMARE (BLESS) - NOT ACC.

There’s a rather loud audible gasp as sweaty hands clutch at the orange covers on her bed. Chie breathes really heavy, staring into the darkness of her room as she attempts to catch her breath. What a nightmare that was... it was like being denied the thing you desired object && being forced to reject it. HOW HORRIFYING. If there was something that Chie wanted the most at any given time it was meat. It fueled her energy && the juicy texture of well anything just made her happy.

Chie blinked her eyes as they adjusted to the darkness, emitting a shaky sigh as a hand raised to rub her head. Pressing her palm into her forehead for a moment, she slowly laid herself back down. It would be best if she just forgot that awful dream && returned to sleep. 

          “ ...Maybe if i go to bed earlier than I won’t have      horrible dreams... “

[purplemoonchild77]

this isn’t mine, just reblogging.

SELF CARE TIPS

Set aside some time, to allow yourself to work through each step. Don’t rush or skip ahead. See care is important, and you deserve to devote some time to it.

You may want to go through this routine as soon as you wake up, as a preventive measure.

1 - Have you eaten in the last four hours?

If you haven’t eaten in a little while, your body needs fuel. It’s time for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

If there’s a specific food you want, it’s okay to eat it! You don’t have to eat perfectly healthy all the time– no one does! Just also use your brain a little, and notice the quantity you’re eating, and how healthy it is for you. You’re probably just fine at trusting your gut and knowing what your body needs.

Making a meal is hard for you right now, and that’s okay! Everybody struggles with cooking sometimes.

You have some options: -  You can cook a meal for yourself. -  You might have ready-made meals in the fridge. -  You can get take-out or delivery. -  You can go to a restaurant.

Take-out, delivery, and restaurants are a little more expensive than cooking on your own, but how you spend your money is your decision. It’s okay to treat yourself!

If you’re going to cook on your own, you have to decide what to make. A friend, partner, or family member can help with this. Here are some ideas for easy foods you can eat right now: -   Pasta with butter, sauce, cheese, vegetables, and/or meat -   Ramen noodles -   Sandwiches -   Rice -   Grilled cheese (This can have meat on it, if you want!) -   A smoothie or milkshake -   Baked or fried potatoes -   Eggs, pancakes, and/or bacon -   Macaroni and cheese -   Canned soup -   Salad -   Vegan -   Boxed mashed potatoes

2 - Have you taken any medication you need to take?

Medication needs to be taken on schedule, or your body might react negatively.

Take some time now to take any pills, do any tests or injections, or apply any ointments prescribed by your doctor.

If this is a persistent problem for you, you may want to set a smart phone alarm so you remember to take it at the same time every day.

3 - Are you keeping yourself hydrated?

Drink a glass of whatever liquid you like best. Water is ideal, but don’t beat yourself up if you’d rather have tea, soda, juice, or milk. Soda will actually make you feel thirstier, but if it’s easier for you, then that’s okay!

4 - Can you take a guess at how many hours you’ve slept out of the last 24?

Everyone is an individual with different sleep schedules, but most people need 8 hours of relatively uninterrupted sleep. If you had less than that, and/or woke up frequently, and/or had nightmares, it might help you to take a nap.

Take a nap. You can finish this self-care guide when you wake up.

Ideally, let yourself sleep naturally, and sleep until you wake up. Obviously, this isn’t always possible. Otherwise, set an alarm for yourself, with plenty of time to wake up and get yourself together between your nap and your responsibilities.

5 - Are you in pain?

If there is something your doctor has prescribed you for pain, you should take it or do it.

For aches and pains, take an aspirin. You may also want to apply a heating pad or a cold pack on whatever hurts.

If you have a stomach ache, there are medications for that, like Pepto Bismol, and hot tea may also help.

Be nice to your body, and try to do “replace” the unpleasant pain with some pleasant alternative sensations, like good smells and pleasurable textures.

6 - Is something about your environment distressing or uncomfortable? Are your surroundings the right temperature?

If you’re too cold, you can try putting on some warm clothes, using a space heater, turning up the heat in your home, putting on a blanket, and/or snuggling with a pet or another person.

If you’re too hot, you can try putting on cooler clothes, turning on a fan, or turning up the AC in your house.

7 - Are your surroundings dirty or smelly?

It’s hard to feel okay in an environment that is unfriendly for whatever reason. If your surroundings aren’t clean, set a timer for five minutes and take care of the biggest problems, like leftover food, pet messes, or dirty clothes.

Chores can be scary and exhausting, but that’s not what we’re doing here. We’re just taking a little five-minute clean up to make ourselves and our homes happier!

8 - Do you feel unsafe because of the people, or lack of people, in your surroundings?

If you can, try to remove yourself from situations that are overwhelming or feel unsafe. If you can’t relocate entirely, take frequent breaks, or tune out with headphones.

9 - Does your body feel uncomfortable, sweaty, or dirty?

If you have the energy and ability to take a shower, it may be a good idea. If you are unable to take a shower, here are some things to do instead: ⁃  Wash your face ⁃ Put on lotion ⁃ Change your clothes ⁃ Use dry shampoo ⁃ Whatever physical self-care activity you like best!

10 -  Do you know why you’re in a bad mood, or not feeling well emotionally?

(Remember, any answer is okay!) If there’s something on your mind, we’re going to do our best to take care of it.

11 - If there is something in your mind, set a timer for 15 minutes, and work on a solution.

If it’s something you can change, then great! If not, do your best to reach out to someone and talk about it.

12 - Remember, 15 minutes and only 15!

You can go back to whatever it is after we’re done working through this together. We’re just taking baby steps in the right direction.

13 - Sometimes, we don’t know the source of our bad feelings, and that’s okay.

14 - Do you feel anxious, nervous, keyed-up, paranoid, scared, or on edge?

If you’re generally anxious but don’t know why, that’s okay!

If you’re feeling anxious about something specific. That’s okay! Set a timer for 15 minutes and do something to take care of that worry. Maybe chip away at a task that seems insurmountable. You can do it!

15 - Here are some ideas for grounding activities:

⁃ Take deep, calm breaths. ⁃ Notice and list things in your surroundings. ⁃ Expose yourself to strong, pleasant sensations, like a pleasing smell or a favorite blanket. ⁃ Say out loud your name, your age, the date, and your location. List some things you’ve done today, or are going to do. ⁃ Splash water on your face or run your hands under the faucet. ⁃ Do a body scan meditation, or pay close attention to each of your body parts one by one. ⁃ Make tea. Feel the warmth of it in your hands, and the taste as you sip it calmly. ⁃ Listen to music. ⁃ Play a categories game, and name some types of dogs, or clothing items, or gemstones, or countries, or anything else you can think of. ⁃ Write in your journal. ⁃ Take a mindful walk, either inside or outside. Pay close attention to your body and your surroundings. ⁃ Squiggle. Wiggle around. Dance. Stretch. Be silly and active for a few minutes. ⁃ Any other favorite grounding technique you’ve heard of or can think of. There’s nothing wrong with experimenting!

16 - Do you feel triggered? Are you having flashbacks? Is something traumatic or upsetting from the past weighing on your mind? Did you have a vivid nightmare?

If you’re feeling triggered, see if there’s a practical action you can take to lessen your distress. Can you block that unsafe person from your Facebook, for example?

If not, reach out and tell someone safe how you’re feeling. Just express yourself! Human contact works wonders when you’re not feeling well emotionally.

Remember that you’re here in the present, and nothing from your past can hurt you. If you like, you may want to try some grounding exercises to reinforce that idea.

17 - Are you feeling dissociated, depersonalized, or derealized? Do you feel far away, foggy, or unreal? Are you not sure who you are?

Go back to number 6 and try the grounding activities.

18 - Are you feeling depressed, sad, or upset?

Feeling depressed isn’t fun, but it doesn’t last forever! Don’t be mad or disappointed with yourself for feeling depressed.

Take 15 minutes and accomplish something small, like loading the dishwasher or making a friendship bracelet. You are not a failure, and your situation is not hopeless! You are a superhero, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

19 - Are you feeling lonely?

Everybody feels lonely sometimes. If you’re feeling lonely, there’s ways to reach out to people!

You can talk to someone in your house, or call someone on the phone. You can also use texting or Facebook messenger to speak to someone. You may want to talk about how you’re feeling, or you may not. Anything you want to talk about is okay!

If that isn’t or doesn’t seem possible, you can post a general message on Facebook, Tumblr, Vent, or another internet service, about whatever you want!

20 - Are you feeling foggy?

If you are feeling foggy, you might need some exercise.

21 - Do you have the energy and ability to go for a walk?

If you can’t take a walk, that’s okay!

Here are some alternatives: ⁃ Jumping jacks ⁃ Bouncing on the bed ⁃ Dancing ⁃ Push ups or sit ups, if you like doing them ⁃ Walking up and down the stairs ⁃ Yoga ⁃ Wiggling, squirming, jiggling around; being silly and active and having fun!

If none of those are or seem possible, just sit outside for some fresh air!

22 - Do you have pets at home?

Playing with pets can be a great way to take the edge off when you’re not feeling well. It doesn’t matter what kind of pet you have, just take some time to interact with them. Pet your cat, take your dog outside, feed your fish, hug your lizard…

23 - Take half an hour and do whatever you want to do right now.

This can be anything: crafts, watching TV, laying on the couch, taking a walk, playing Farmville… your choices are literally endless!

Obviously, don’t do anything that’s bad for you, like feeding addictions or harming yourself or others

24 - It’s time to reassess.

Maybe now that you’ve done all this self care, you feel better– great! Maybe you don’t, and that’s okay too. But hopefully you’ve cleared things up and you know what to do next to take care of yourself.

You deserve self care, so even if it’s hard, do your best!

Good luck!

[aurea-mare-blog]

Quiet me from a nightmare

Leave a “Quite Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]

“Drabble” the prompt said. This is not a drabble. 

That being said, enjoy(?). 

When they first met - or arguably when they first interacted - Sinbad had a general idea of what Ja’far had been through in his short life. After all, this child sitting in front of him had actually bragged about killing his own parents, and had just made an attempt on Sinbad’s own life; an attempt that might well have succeeded had he not happened to choose that moment to roll over. But having a general idea about what his would-be companion had gone through and knowing the facts were as different as the heat of his village in the desert and the snow drifts and glaciers of Imuchakk. It was a vast difference he wouldn’t truly appreciate until later, after the trials of the Dungeon they had conquered there and began their voyage together. 

It was on the sea, feeling the gentle rock of the waves and hearing the lap of water against the boards of the ship, with the salt on his tongue and the breeze playing with his hair, that he found out that difference. The moon was high in the sky, pulling at the tides, surrounded by so many stars there wasn’t a number high enough to count to, not a cloud in sight. But the quiet night was disrupted by a soft sound, one so small Sinbad would have missed it if he hadn’t already been awake, brain still short-circuited over the lessons they’d been drilled with. It confused him at first, and when it sounded again, he followed the cries - because that’s what they were, weren’t they? - to the mast and looked up. Sinbad frowned, then began his climb, the rope rough against his hands as he made his way up to the crow’s nest. There, he found Ja’far curled in a tight ball, eyelashes moist and chest jerking with small hiccups, still lost in whatever sights he was seeing. 

Hopping over the railing, Sinbad quickly knelt beside his companion, shaking his shoulder, trying to pull him from whatever horrors were holding his trapped and putting such a tormented expression on his face. “Ja’far! Hey, wake up,” he called, shaking him again. His eyes flew open, and for a moment, Sin relaxed, until he got a better look at him.

Sinbad had thought he was prepared for whatever reaction he’d get, but it wasn’t enough to dodge the knife swung blindly at his face. With a startled sound, he jerked back, knocking his shoulder against the wooden boards of the nest, heart jumping into his throat as Ja’far threw himself at him. Sinbad caught his arm as it came down, calling out to him again and again, more panicked this time. 

Finally, as the seconds stretched on, the focus came back into Ja’far’s eyes, his ragged breathing changing just enough to let Sinbad know that he was finally completely awake. He stayed with him that night, and many of the following nights, explaining away injuries he sometimes received as the results of training and his own clumsiness. 

As the years passed, the nights Sinbad pulled him from the claws of his own nightmares lessened, Ja’far’s life as an assassin becoming a distant memory, a past to be buried beneath a new life as they forged new paths for themselves. 

But that wasn’t to say it never happened. 

It was a quiet night in the summer that found Sinbad curled up around the advisor, the hot, humid air not enough to keep him from clinging to his lover. After years of caring for Ja’far, the king had become sensitive to the slightest sound the other man made while at rest. Most nights he slept quietly, barely breathing, so still that the warmth of his skin was the only thing to give away the fact that he was still among the living at all. But there were some night that he thrashed and cried so violently that Sinbad would have to swaddle him in the bedding to keep him from hurting himself, rocking him like a babe while he hushed his sobs and held him tighter until he could call him back to consciousness. 

There was never any sign of when the night terrors would catch him in his grips. Sometimes it was during the monsoon season when the widows were buffeted by screaming winds, nearly torn from the sills by the rain that followed alongside it. Other nights it was like now, when the light of bonfires were still dying down as the last of the festivities were brought to a slow stop, drunken laughter heard all the way from the warf as every other creature slept, unlikely to wake until the sun was well into the sky later that day. 

The small whimper was what drew him to begin his waking process, alerting him to the needs of his lover - but it was the sharp burn in his side that had him jerking awake with a gasp. Too dark to assess the damage, Sinbad turned his attention to Ja’far as he began pushing against his chest, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His face looked so tormented and broken that Sin could feel his chest tighten with the need to break with him. 

This was his fault, after all. 

Before, Ja’far had been haunted by his past, by the things he had done to others and what other had done to him; but it was when Sinbad had saved him from becoming fallen that the true horrors of his actions had been released onto his mind, his forts torn down and burned away. Sinbad might night have lit the blaze, but he had taken away the mote that had protected the walls from catching the spark that had become a dangerous inferno. 

“…Ja’far…” Sin whispered, voice cast low and calming, steady despite the ache he felt. The king reached out, shaking his shoulder as gently, but firmly as he could. Ja’far lashed out again, and Sinbad hissed, unable to move out of the way in the position they were in. He slapped at his hand, hearing a dull thud as something hard in the floor on the other side of the bed, before pulling Ja’far to his chest, holding him tight and restricting his movement as best he could despite his thrashing. 

“Ja’far,” he said, lips pressed against his ear, kissing his sweat-soaked hair, “come back to me. I’m right here, I’ve got you. Just wake up, you’ll be okay. It’s just a dream.” Sinbad repeated the words over and over again, until his head became light and his voice scratched his throat.

Slowly, he could feel the response as Ja’far came to his senses. The minutes dragged on, until finally, finally, Sinbad could feel him sag as the tension ran out of him like the string of a marionette pulled too tight finally snapping. He continued hushing him over and over as Ja’far panted against his neck, hiccuping and sobbing.

When Ja’far finally began to raise his head, Sinbad held him back down with weak arms. How long had he been holding him as tight as he had? His fingers were numb, and the lightheadedness was worsening. He took a deep breath to steady himself. 

“Sin?” Ja’far asked, voice rough from crying. He tried to pull up again, and again, Sinbad held him down. “Sinbad, what-?”

“Ja’far,” he cut in softly, stroking the back of his head, down to the hard shapes against his spine and lower, enjoying the feel of the textures, repeating the movement a few times before speaking again. “Ja’far, listen. It’s not your fault,” Sinbad said, swallowing thickly, “you didn’t mean to, so don’t blame yourself.”

“Sin, what are you talking about?”

“It wasn’t on purpose and I forgive you - but I need you to get Yamu.”

Ja’far froze, and this time when he moved to pull away, Sinbad let him, wet fingers trailing across his cheek, leaving two lines of red against the shine of his sweaty, pale cheeks. The king could pinpoint the exact moment he realized what had happened, what he had done while lost to whatever torture he’d been subjected to by his own mind less than an hour before. The way his mouth fell open and the horror filled his eyes, body turning so tense he’d probably snap in half right in front of him if he let him. 

“Ja’far, hurry,” Sin said, his voice still cast low, but he tried to add in as much force as he could summon. It seemed to be enough to jolt him into action, and while he seemed to need to remember how his limbs functioned for a moment, his lover threw himself off the bed, grabbing his robes almost as an afterthought as he stumbled for the door. Sinbad watched him go, smiling reassuringly when he glanced back. 

“Sin, I’m so sorry…” 

And then he was gone, the creme of his robes disappearing in a flutter as the door was thrown open and his bare feet pounding down the hall as he ran. Sinbad pressed his hands to the wounds, not wanting to look at them or see what a bloody mess his sheets probably were. His fingers slipped across his skin and he groaned at each touch, but he put as much pressure as he could summon against them. 

Next time, he would make sure Ja’far’s knives were the first things to come off when he undressed him, and that they were kept well out of reach. 

Looking out the window as he waited, Sinbad watched the sky turn from its black-blue to grey, casting a sparkle over the ocean as sunrise crept closer. Slowly, without realizing it, his eyes began to close, the scenery printed across the back of his eyelids, a familiar sight. It was home to him. 

Distantly, he could hear a pounding, but whether that was Ja’far’s return or his own heartbeat, he didn’t know, too lost to the feeling of drifting in the ocean that surrounded his kingdom…