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Ardeo

Caracalla gets a fever. Part IX of my Emperor Caracalla series.

No warnings, unless you're squeamish about smallpox. I'm not an immunologist, so note I'm taking poetic license here for dramatic effect.

Interesting fact: Inoculation was thought to be developed in China more than 1,000 years ago. Who knows if other cultures explored it around that time or earlier.

----

The fever was stealthy, as the worst ones often were. Caracalla was riding, the wind warm on his back, his retinue of Praetorians riding in formation beside him, when he felt light-headed. The sun is in my eyes, he thought, the angle too bright. But when he arrived back at the fort and dipped into the coolest of the three baths, he felt only discomfort.

At that evening’s feast, he felt peckish and cross (more so than usual), unable to muster even a sarcastic retort to Julia Domna’s shrewd analysis of the Legion’s military strategy along the Rhine river. Only Gelvira seemed to sense something was amiss, her fingers quietly brushing his as he poured his fourth cup of wine, his hand shaking as he set the heavy goblet back down on the table with a splash. “Perhaps Caesar needs to rest,” she murmured softly, the only person who could suggest the idea of his vulnerability without him flying into a rage. 

Caracalla waved his hand dismissively, but it felt heavy, as if made of iron. The floor swam up toward the middle of his vision and for a moment he wondered if he had accidentally eaten another of the potent mushrooms from the night they had conceived. “Very well,” he said, and rose unsteadily from his chair.

When they entered the chamber, Caracalla bade Decimus to extinguish the fire. He leaned against Gelvira as she led him to the bed and helped him to disrobe. Caracalla fell back against the pillow and felt black exhaustion overcome him. 

By morning, he was on fire. The cushions beneath him were wet with his sweat, and a strange sour taste was in his mouth. That day, Gelvira did not leave his side, wiping his brow with fresh cloths dipped in cool water that smelled of crushed peppermint to cool his skin. Decimus brought him mead and wild boar for strength, but he could not eat. His mother glided into the chamber as the sun set and laid her hand above his brow, a stern look on her face. She glanced at Gelvira, who was holding his hand, and tilted her head toward the doorway. “Healer, speak with me.” 

“No,” croaked Caracalla. “She stays.” Julia pursed her lips into a thin line, but nodded and exited the chamber. Gelvira turned back to Caracalla and clasped his hands in hers. “I am here, Lucius,” she whispered. “I will not leave you.”

“Let me feel our son,” he asked, his voice thin and stretched. “Let me feel you, Gelvira.”

Wordlessly, Gelvira slid her shift off her shoulder and placed his hands against her belly. They were as hot as tongs from the fire but she did not flinch. Caracalla closed his eyes and pressed into the hardness underneath the soft curves. He is there, he thought. My son grows strong. He is there. Darkness fell upon his thoughts once again.

_____

The next hours were some of the worst Gelvira had ever experienced. Caracalla’s fever worsened and he became delirious. Various Roman doctors and priests came and went, muttering about humors, bodily fluids, and offerings to Serapis. Gelvira did not want to leave his side, but she knew stronger medicines were needed. Caracalla was developing strange blisters around his mouth and on his tongue. Gelvira knew if he didn’t drink he would be dead by the morning, so she coaxed fluid into him as gently as she could, patiently dripping mead or water into the side of his mouth with a spoon so that swallowing was less painful. When Decimus stood in the doorway, unable to attend to Caesar with his usual duties, Gelvira bade him sit by his side and take over the task. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, gathering her shawl around her. “If he wakes, tell him I am in the next room fetching more water.” Decimus nodded somberly.

Gelvira made her way into the long hallway of the abode, praying that the sisters of the Circle would speak to her, when Julia Domna stepped into her path. Even though the hour was late she remained impeccably dressed, the jewels in her hair and around her neck glowing in the light of the wall sconces. 

“What is your plan, healer?” she asked imperiously, but Gelvira sensed her anxiousness. Without one of her sons holding the reins of the Empire her own place was tenuous, her power only permitted by her connection to her firstborn. 

“I must confer with my Circle,” said Gelvira. “They hold the wisdom of 1,000 years. If this disease is known to our people, they will know of medicines to cure it.”

“Your people cannot make an offering to Serapis or to Asclepius,” Julia answered. “Only the Gods can heal my son, so that he may rise from the ashes of this disease and fulfill his destiny.”

Careful of what you speak of, thought Gelvira. She had heard the stories of the sick and nearly dead burned alive, to ward off contagion from the plague that had swept through the land in her forefathers’ time. Even now, pits of ash were scattered through lower Alemania, Roman soldiers and barbarian farmers alike. The Suebi would not plow plants in these fields, afraid that the roots would bear bitter fruit and spread death. 

“He needs medicine,” Gelvira said again, clenching her jaw in frustration. She daren’t speak of her darkest fear - that Caracalla had somehow contracted the storied plague from before, for his symptoms were troublingly similar.  “Please,” she said quietly, “let me help him the way I know how.”

Julia drew a deep breath and her nose flared in disdain, but she stepped aside to let Gelvira pass. “Do your best, healer,” she called after Gelvira. “For my son cannot die.”

—--

Caracalla runs, panting, through the narrow alleys of the northern spur. The Coliseum lies ahead, the roar of the crowd wafting from the distance. They cheer for him but not me, he thinks. I must run faster, be stronger. He overtakes the boy, shoving him aside, and the boy trips and falls. Caracalla looks back triumphantly and the boy raises his head and his face is hauntingly familiar. “Wait,” he calls out. “Wait,” and then vanishes into the mist.

____

Upon the direction of Julia Domna, Gelvira rode to her village with Caracalla’s prefect. “Wait here,” she bade the soldier as he helped her to dismount from the horse. Gelvira ran to the dwelling on the edge of the village. 

“Sisters,” she called as she entered. “Sisters, I need your help!”

Gelvira stood, panting, as the women turned toward her silently. None spoke as they gazed upon her, and Gelvira felt her face flush hot with anger. Finally, one of the leaders stepped toward her. “What is it you seek?” she asked. 

“Knowledge,” answered Gelvira, “for the plague has returned.” There was a murmur among the women and several backed away from Gelvira. 

“Gelvira,” said a voice, and the Eldest made her way slowly toward her, leaning on her walking stick. “Tell us everything.”

Gelvira nodded and sat near the hearth as some of the others gathered around her, but most stayed away. Gelvira spoke of Caracalla’s fever, his delirium, inability to eat or drink, the white sores that appeared around and inside his mouth. She feared they were in his throat and inside his body as well, drawing strength from him. 

“Do they spread upon his body?” asked the Eldest. “Have others fallen ill?”

“No,” said Gelvira, feeling her exhaustion come across her suddenly. She hugged her arm around her belly, as if she could protect the life growing inside from the threat. 

“If the blisters turn black he is dead,” said the Eldest. She intoned the rhyme that had been passed down, Sister to Sister, so that the knowledge was not lost:

Black and blood grows the heat

Until the body covered complete

Eyes are dazed mouth is full

Until the gods of death pull

None should live unless they leap

Into silvery scars that heap

Along the skin that slivers and cracks

Life returns but strength not back

Gelvira scowled at the fire, her mind working furiously in concentration. “So if the blisters fill with blood it is too late, but if they remain white, he will live?”

“I cannot say,” said the Eldest. “I remember it was capricious. Some would suffer terribly and yet recovered from it, others barely showed symptoms but dropped dead without warning. I thought I was spared until the end. I never recovered enough strength to run again.” She looked down at her walking stick for a moment.

“How many died in the village?” asked Gelvira. The Eldest shook her head. “Too many.”

Gelvira wrung her shift in her hands, staring into the fire. She felt lost and unsure what to do. The Eldest laid a soft bony hand upon her lap, startling her from her reverie. “Gelvira,” the Eldest said softly, “you must protect the life you carry. You cannot tend to Caesar in this fashion. I fear it may already be too late.” Gelvira began to shake, and the Eldest took her hand and comforted her as tears began to flow. “We must perform the ritual, without delay. Prepare yourself.” Wiping her face, Gelvira nodded.

_____

Gelvira clung tightly to the bandage around her arm, held (ironically) in place by the golden cuff. She was anxious to get back to the fort, fearing the ritual had taken too long. In her hands she held a small leather pouch. The Praetorian noticed it as he helped her back onto the horse. “Is that for Caesar?” Gelvira shook her head. “No, it is too late. But it is for you, and for others who have touched him. It was given with great sacrifice.”

The Praetorian pursed his lips and muttered something that sounded like ‘barbarian’ but Gelvira had lost any concern of what Caracalla’s prefect thought. Her mind was racing furiously. The Eldest had given the most, but a few others in the Circle had also survived the plague as children, and they too opened their wrists to mix their blood into the pot. Gelvira had gritted her teeth as her arm was sliced and the mixed blood dabbed into her wound. The Eldest spoke to her as another Sister poured the liquid into the pouch. “You must perform the ritual on the others when you return. They all will fall ill but will not die from it. Your Caesar is too far gone to benefit from it. I’m sorry, Gelvira.” She patted her shoulder, and her eyes were kind. “We will pray for you. And pray that whoever rules Rome remembers this kindness from the Suebi. We are counting on you, Gelvira.” Gelvira nodded, too tired to respond. 

—--

Caracalla crouches in a thicket of nettles, just beyond Hadrian’s Wall. He’s on the north side, the rugged side. Braver than the others. Let the Caledonians come, he was ready. The nettles itch, the fire from their stingers traveling up his back and surrounding his neck. He has to focus, to concentrate. He senses movement ahead and throws his knife, hitting a young boy in the chest. He rises, making his way to see but the boy sinks into the ground. The nettles are all over his skin, stinging, and the pain begins to take over his senses, driving him mad. 

_____

When Gelvira returned to the fort, it was eerily silent. Even on the darkest night there were always one or two soldiers busting about, attending to some matter or drunkenly going about their business, but now it was as still as a tomb. The prefect looked around nervously as he led his horse to the stable and Gelvira ran to Caesar's abode.

She entered Caesar’s chamber to find Decimus sitting next to him with a glazed look in his eyes, sweat pooling down the back of his tunic. I must not delay, she thought. “Decimus,” she said softly, touching his arm and finding it too hot for her liking. “Please fetch Julia Domna and anyone who has entered Caesar’s chamber.” Decimus blinked and nodded, standing unsteadily and making his way out of the chamber as if in a daze.

Gelvira turned to look at Caracalla and she had to clap her hand over her mouth to stop from screaming. In the hours since she had been gone the blisters had spread to his face and neck. She lifted the coverlet to see they were on his back and shoulders as well. His skin was red but the pallor on his face was white. 

“What have you brought us, healer?” Gelvira turned as Julia Domna and her retinue entered, followed by Decimus. Gelvira gestured to the pouch in her hand. “Life.”

____

Gelvira worked feverishly over the next hour, dabbing the blood mixture into the arms of more than a dozen people. Decimus went first, holding his arm as the prefect cut it with a knife and Gelvira used the flat of the blade to dab the Sisters’ blood into it. “Rest now,” she said to Decimus, and then attended to the prefect and several of the Praetorian guards who had ridden with Caracalla. Julia Domna and her priests observed as the guards were treated and then Gelvira looked up at them. “Please hurry,” she said, feeling a panicked urge to cover Caracalla’s body with her own. She wanted to lie down on the earth and rest forever, for she was tired beyond imagining. But she could not stop. 

“The Praetorians trust you,” said Julia. “You have earned their respect.”

Gelvira said nothing. The sound of Caracalla’s labored breathing filled the chamber.

Julia looked over at her son, and Gelvira saw a torrent of emotions flicker across her face - fear, anger, sorrow and disdain. Finally she turned and sat on the stool placed near Gelvira, and offered up her arm. “I place my faith in your medicine, healer. Rome itself is in your hands tonight.”  Gelvira nodded, and carefully took Julia’s arm to make the cut. Julia hissed through her mouth as the blade went through her olive skin, and watched as Gelvira repeated the ritual with her. Gelvira hoped it would be enough, for the blood was beginning to congeal. 

“What of my son?” asked Julia as Gelvira bound her arm with a bandage. She shook her head. “He is too far gone. The blood is only for those who have not succumbed yet. You may get sick but will not die, for the blood is taught to fight with this.” 

Julia nodded and rose to exit the chamber. Several of her priests followed but one lingered behind. Gelvira waited, to see if he would accept the ritual, but he eventually followed the others. Very well, thought Gelvira, as she looked at the bottom of the bowl. The last of the blood had dried.

_____

Without Decimus to help, Gelvira lugged water from the bath back to Caracalla’s chamber, and continued to dab his skin and trickle it into his mouth. The blisters continued to spread. A strange odor filled the chamber, and Gelvira feared it was the smell of bodily fluid. I must stop the blisters from forming, she thought. But how?

Tired, she put her head into her hands. I must pray to the All Father. But it is so hard to find the words. Closing her eyes, she formed a simple prayer: All Father, please give me wisdom. Please save him, the father of our child, who is the future of our tribe. The gods favor this child, you must spare him. Please, All Father. Give me a sign. 

Her exhaustion overcoming her, Gelvira lay her head on the bed next to Caracalla and took his limp hand in her own. “Come back to me,” she whispered. She dozed off to the smell of peppermint combined with the sour stench of his sweat. 

—--

Caracalla is lost, crashing through the undergrowth of thick trees, he can’t find his way out-

—--

Gelvira jerked awake. Caracalla had called out, she was sure of it. She leaned forward to hear if there was more, but he had curled away from her, exposing more of his back. Slowly she traced one of the blisters with her finger. If only I could be a balm for him, she thought. Suddenly, the answer came to her in a flash. Her tiredness gone, Gelvira stood up so quickly the stool clattered against the floor, causing a guard to rush into the chamber. “Fetch me your prefect at once,” Gelvira commanded him. “We have work to do.” The guard looked at her for a moment, then bowed his head. “Yes, healer.” 

A short while later, the wind was rushing against her face, as she rode with the prefect and several soldiers into the forest. The morning sun had risen, and Gelvira spotted what she was looking for growing in a large patch near a birch grove. A sign from the All Father, she thought. It must be. Dismounting, she rushed to the field, her knife already in her hand, and gathered up the lemon balm quickly, cutting the stalks and tossing them into her basket. The soldiers followed suit. After gathering a good half of the patch, they hastened back to the fort.

Gelvira led the soldiers into the kitchen, startling the cook. Gelvira cleared the table so the men could quickly begin to cut the plants into pieces. Gelvira stirred the chopped leaves into a large pot mixed with oil. She bade the cook to boil water and commanded the kitchen slave to gather dozens of cloths and to make sure they were clean. When the kitchen smelled like lemon, Gelvira knew it was time. “Go, bring these to the bath house, and keep them warm,” she said and the slave nodded. Gelvira turned to the soldiers. “Come with me. Hurry.” They ran to Caracalla’s chamber. 

The chamber was dark and the air thick with incense, but it did little to mask the foul stench. Julia Domna was on her knees before the rekindled fire, muttering incantentations to a clay figurine. Several of her priests were gathered around Caracalla and Gelvira saw they were preparing to bleed him. Gelvira summoned every bit of authority she had accumulated over the past months into her voice. “No!” she said firmly, and the priests paused in the dim light. 

Gelvira turned to the soldiers. “Soldiers of Rome. You must trust me. I have spent many moons healing your brothers. I know a better way. Please. Have faith in my gods and my people. Help me carry him to the bath house. The wounds must be washed.”

There was silence in the chamber, and Gelvira held her breath- Would the soldiers listen? Would Julia and her priests yield? 

Without a word, the soldiers moved forward in formation and shoved the priests aside, lifting Caracalla from the bed. Julia Domna rose to standing but said nothing. Caracalla hung limply as the guards carried his naked body out of the room. Gelvira ran after them, followed by Julia and the priests. 

When they arrived at the baths, all eyes turned to Gelvira. The Romans were silent as she inspected the pot of simmering lemon balm and the pot of boiled cloths. It was now or never. Gelvira turned to Julia. “We must bathe him, so that his blood will not become poisoned.” Julia nodded and signaled to the soldiers, who lowered him into the water. Gelvira fetched several of the boiled cloths and waded into the pool after them. She began to gently clean the blisters along Caracalla’s face and neck as the men held him. Caracalla’s eyes fluttered open and he seemed disoriented, but he didn’t protest.

Julia waded in as well, and the women worked together, dabbing the hot cloths against the blisters. As they worked, Gelvira called out for the slaves to bring fresh linens and to lay them on the tile. As soon as they did, she bade the men lift Caracalla onto the sheets. Caracalla’s eyes were darting from side to side and his tongue was lolling out of his mouth, but he did not seem to see them. Gelvira knelt down alongside and gestured for the lemon balm leaves to be brought to her. Carefully, she dipped one of the cloths into the pot, wrung it carefully and placed it against his blisters. The Romans watched as she slowly covered Caesar’s body with the bandages, layering them over each other until only his face was visible. She then wrapped the sheet over him tightly, sealing in the steam and balm oil. Her work done, Gelvira wiped her face and sat up. 

“It will cool into a salve, to prevent more blisters from forming. He must be kept clean, so the blisters do not fester. If they turn black his blood is poisoned. If they remain white he may-he may live.” She fell forward onto her hands, her braid undone, and let out a shuddering breath.

Silence. Only the sound of water lapping against tile. Gelvira realized that Caracalla’s breathing appeared less labored. 

“It will be done, healer.” Julia’s words echoed across the room, and Gelvira felt a surge of relief before she collapsed in exhaustion. 

—---

Caracalla was standing in brackish water, green slime gathering along the edge of his toga. The mud between his toes was sticky and he had to fight to lift each foot as he staggered forward. Each step was more draining than the last. After toiling for what seemed like an eternity, he knelt down in the water to rest. Just for a few moments, he thought. I only need to rest a few moments.

“You’re too stubborn to ask for help,” said a voice, and Caracalla turned to see a young girl, barely old enough to be on her own, her shift torn and dirty, standing at the edge of the brackish pond. Though her face was streaked with dirt she had a regal air, and Caracalla saw the wildflower crown in her hair. I know this face, he thought. “Gelvira,” he whispered. “Help me.”

“What’s the magic word?” asked the child. 

Caracalla sighed, and black water wafted under his chin. It was soft, and he wondered if he let his head slip underneath whether it would feel like drifting off to sleep. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, my love.”

“Thank you and you’re welcome,” said the child, and tossed him her flower crown. Caracalla held it in his fingers, until the flowers unwound into a long thread, and the child pulled, and Caracalla was lurching forward, climbing, until his feet touched the hard pebbles underneath the surface that led to the edge. He crawled out of the swamp and flopped onto his back. The child stepped over him, her face and long curls blotting out the sun. “You’re silly,” she said, before running back into the meadow.

Caracalla sighed, and drifted off.

____

Gelvira woke at dusk. Slowly, she sat up from the bench in the corner of the bath house, stretching her stiff neck. The slaves were re-applying fresh lemon balm cloths to Caesar’s blisters. Gelvira rose to inspect their work, and she noticed that Caracalla’s coloring seemed better. She knelt and grasped his hand as the slaves continued their ministrations. 

“He rests easier,” said one of the slaves. Gelvira nodded, and prayed silent thanks to the gods. Looking around, she asked quietly, “What of the others?” 

“They have succumbed,” said a slave, “but it is not as it was with Caesar.”

“Decimus?” Gelvira whispered, afraid to hear the answer.

“He fevers, but no blisters my lady,” answered another.

Lady, thought Gelvira. If they only knew. 

Later, after tending to all of the afflicted, she stepped out into the twilight, and took a deep breath of misty evening air. A night swallow flew overhead, and Gelvira took it as a sign that the worst had passed. Quietly, she laid a hand on her belly.

The sound of footsteps startled her, and she turned to see Julia Domna approaching, followed by two priests. Only two, thought Gelvira. Julia’s sharp eyes glanced down at Gelvira’s hand on her belly as she strode past her, followed by the priests and several men carrying a body wrapped in a cloak. They slowly filed toward the courtyard, where soldiers were erecting a pyre. 

The body burns until it meets the fire, thought Gelvira. But my Caracalla lives. My lover lives.

[sugxrslushy]

hi <3 think u could make a monet (from punk hazard) x female reader drabble? just a fluff-ish scenario between the two, and both being assistants of caesar clown. i adore her a lot lol. thank you in advance! :)

➪ a/n: I have never written for Monet previous to this and frankly I'm disappointed in myself also partly the only reason I paid attention lol but ahhh hope I did well! enjoy <33

➪ details: SFW//Monet x fem!reader (mostly just implied I couldn't fit pronouns//w.c:

Peering into the microscope, you jot down your observations in the journal beside you and checking them over ever so often. It was quiet, not like there was much going on at Punk Hazard. There wasn’t a thing left alive after the incident, yet you didn’t find yourself complaining. Peace and quiet was all you needed, perfect conditions for testing experiments.

A chill runs across your skin, making your hair stand on end and you become aware that you may not be alone as previously assumed. The room was still dead silent but colder than before. Not too alarmed, you finished the last note in your journal then shot a look over your shoulder.

“No need to worry about me, I’m only looking at what you’re up to.” Monet answers cooly, her feathers brushing against our back and sending shivers down your spine. Wrapping her wing around you, she steps in closer to look into the microscope with a curious smile. Her big round glasses cover her eyes but you can just narrowly catch how they weren’t looking into the microscope.

“It’s really… nothing. Caesar proposed a new drug idea that I agreed to look over. Not sure if it’ll do much but it sounds like a good idea.” You weren’t sure whether it’d work but Caesar wasn’t one to pick a fight with. You hoped a second pair of eyes would help you decide where to go with it. 

Monet hums and zooms in, contemplating a thought although she seems more concerned with pulling you closer with her wing. You shudder again, the coolness of her presence not yet something you were used to, especially on the already chilly part of the island. But when she'd wrap you up in her wings while in the Burning Lands, the dim cold radiating off of her kept you from boiling alive.

You may have been cold, but warmth rose in your chest with each touch of her skin against yours.

“Am I making you cold?” Pushing her glasses up to rest in her hair, she shoots you a genuinely concerned look. It felt like her golden yellow eyes could read your every mood and emotion.

“No, I just need a new jacket.” You tug it to cover your blushing face, disguising it as a poor attempt to get warmer. Something that Monet doesn't miss at all.

“Well, I could always buy you one if needed. We should have an opportunity this upcoming weekend.” She ignores your blush, playing into your lie but files it away for later as she swoops in dangerously close to your face. “In the meantime, I may have one you can borrow. Can't wear it anymore for -y’know- obvious reasons.” She waves her wing in the air.

You laugh after jotting down another quick note. “Such a shame, it was so pretty. Especially on you.”

“Don't you think it'd look cuter on you?” The chill returns as she stands in front of you, lips narrowly touching yours. Your face is on fire and she's quelling it, making you want to step closer into her presence and finally press your lips against…

“I have to finish the experiment!” You sputter out in a flustered mess, fumbling to pick up your journal and refocus yourself towards the work at hand. Monet laughs, shaking her head and slipping behind you, making you think she was going to leave until the soft feathers of her wings rush against you, curling around you in an embrace.

Lips brush against your neck just as light, climbing up till she leaves a proper kiss on your cheek. ��You've worked hard enough, we can go through my closet to find you something warmer. And don't worry about Caesar, I think I can get a good excuse for my darling.”

tag list: @lawscorazon @portgaes

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: vomiting, light angst due to body image issues (pregnant!reader)

A/N: i have been working on a WIP all day! it’s going to be my longest one-shot by far. if you would like a hint, click here (another hint: it’s not a retelling of the episode)

Masterlist

Chapter 28

Gradually over the summer, your bump started to peek out just a little bit. The bottom of your belly would poke out of your tank tops slightly.

Spencer loved it because it gave him better skin-to-skin contact. He would constantly be rubbing and kissing your tummy while whispering softly to the baby.

He would often visit you in your office for lunch so he could bring whatever you were currently craving. You learned this the hard way once when you packed a chicken caesar wrap for lunch one morning and by the time it got to noon, it made you nauseous just looking at it. Spencer brought you watermelon that day because it was the only thing that sounded good.

You were just finishing up an email when there was a knock at the door.

“It’s open,” you announced.

“Hi, love. How are we doing today?” Spencer inquired.

“Better now that you’re here,” you looked up from your computer to give him a kiss.

“I brought you your fruit salad with extra watermelon and your prenatal vitamins. Also, I don’t know how your stomach is feeling but I would like you to try to have some protein because fruit does not have much sustenance for you and little one. I brought tofu, peanut butter crackers, or a protein bar, whatever you think you can get down,” Spencer unloaded his bag.

“I finished the whole 64 ounce water bottle before noon. Aren’t you proud of me, babe?” you beamed, proudly displaying your empty bottle.

“So proud, I’ll go refill it right now so you can take your vitamins,” Spencer lifted your blouse up and placed a gentle kiss right on your belly button, “Daddy will be right back, little one.”

-

You awoke to the sickly twisting feeling in your stomach and you carefully rose from the bed in an attempt to not upset your stomach any more.

Spencer was up and out of the bed as soon as he heard the first retch. He grabbed a hair elastic and tied your hair back, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Spence, I can’t be sick today,” you cried.

“Jo will understand, love. I’ll tell her you are taking care of little one.”

“I don’t want to miss her first day of first grade,” you sobbed into his chest.

“I will facetime you and take so many videos and pictures, you won’t miss a thing,” he promised you.

“I’m going to call you out of work. Then, I’m going to get you some tea, plain crackers, and iced water,” he kissed the top of your head.

“Will you be okay in here by yourself for a little?” he asked quietly.

You sniffled and nodded.

“Okay, shout if you need me. I’m going to go get that stuff for you and wake Jo up.”

“I want to at least say bye to her. I want to see her in her first day outfit,” you insisted.

“Of course, we’ll be back up in a little,” he assured you.

About 15 minutes later, Spencer returned with a tray of just about every drink and food you had been craving for the past week.

“I love you,” you smiled.

“I love you more,” he replied, setting the tray down on your nightstand.

“Mommy, brother or sister is being bad?” Jo asked.

“No, baby,” you motioned for her to climb up on the bed with you, “They are just growing and it is making Mommy a little sick but it’s okay. I’m sorry I can’t drop you off with Daddy today. But luckily, I heard your new teacher is super nice and you have Henry in your class again this year.”

“Bye, Mommy. I’ll miss you,” she hugged you, “Bye, brother or sister,” she waved to your belly.

“Bye, Baby J. I am expecting a full report on everything that happened as soon as you get home,” you smiled.

“I’ll be back in 30,” Spencer helped Jo off the bed, looking at you worriedly.

“Spence, I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” you assured him.

“Call me if anything happens like even if you just think you’re about to throw up, call me,” he insisted.

You nodded, “Have fun!”

-

“There’s my big first grader!” you smiled with open arms.

You were waiting on the couch for Jo and Spencer to come home from pick up time.

“Mommy!” she ran into your arms, “Ms. Moore is so nice. She let us color whatever we wanted for an hour during craft time today and she had a whole bin of dinosaur books in the library. And, me and Henry played on the big kid swings at recess today and I jumped off into the air!” she exclaimed.

“Oh my gosh! What a fun day you had!” you smiled.

“And you didn’t even hear the best news yet, Daddy signed up to be a classroom helper,” she beamed.

“Did he now?” you grinned, turning your attention to Spencer.

“Ms. Moore had the sign-up sheet out at pick-up time. How can I resist spending more time with Jo? I’m going to get lonely when both my girls are at work and school,” he plopped down on the couch and squeezed you both.

-

You couldn’t find a single cute blouse that still fit you that morning. You had to wear an ugly wrinkly gray one from the back of your closet that you bought a while back and hated but never got around to returning. You brushed through your hair quickly and forwent any makeup because you already felt like utter crap.

You would have called out sick but you had an important department meeting today that you had to sit through. Luckily, that meant little to no talking but you just had to pray that your stomach would settle.

At the end of the long day, you went home and changed into sweats. In an attempt to cheer yourself up, you drove to Jo’s school to see Spencer in action. It was his first day as class assistant.

You approached the classroom to see Spencer surrounded by a group of moms. They were all over him, practically swarming him like bees to honey. These were the exact moms that were horrible to you last year. They were all dressed in high heels and skinny jeans, stuff you couldn’t wear anymore.

You turned around and headed back out to the car.

-

Spencer immediately noticed your car wasn’t in the driveway when they got home.

“Love?” Spencer called out, setting his keys on the table when they entered the front door.

No response.

Spencer tried your cell but it rang out.

He immediately had Garcia on the phone next, “Penelope, I need you to track Y/N. She’s not home yet and not answering her cell and I’m worried.”

“Oh, McDonald’s? Okay, yeah thanks. That’s been one of her cravings recently,” Spencer hung up the phone.

“Why did Mommy leave school and now she’s not here?” Jo questioned.

“Mommy wasn’t at school today, Princess. I think you are confused,” Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Daddy, I saw her,” Jo stated.

“Okay, I believe you,” he picked the little girl up and exited the house once again.

-

You didn’t want to be the crazy pregnant lady in a McDonald’s crying with a chocolate milkshake and a large fry but that is who you had become.

You heard the bell chime but you didn’t look up, dipping your next fry into your milkshake.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

Spencer was standing over you, looking very concerned and carrying Jo on his hip.

He set her down and whispered, “How about you go play in the play place for a little, Princess. Daddy will order you a happy meal.”

Jo looked at you with the same amount of concern in her eyes before deciding it was best to just follow what Spencer said. She ran off and Spencer took the seat across from you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he spoke softly.

“Not particularly,” you took a long sip of your milkshake.

“Jo said she saw you at the school today,” Spencer stated.

It didn’t take a profiler to see the way your face sank even more and you stopped sipping your shake.

“What upset you so much, love? I need to know if I’m going to fix it,” he grabbed your hand and kissed it.

“Nothing fits,” you stated.

“We’ll buy you more maternity clothes,” he replied quickly.

“I look ugly,” you protested.

“Completely and unequivocally false,” he answered sincerely.

“Those moms are going to steal you away from me,” another tear slid down your face.

Spencer’s face softened, he moved from the seat across from you to right next to you.

“You are probably feeling some residual feelings of abandonment because you had to do this alone last time,” Spencer stated softly.

You buried your face into his shoulder as confirmation.

“Love, I am never leaving you or Jo or little one ever again. There’s nowhere else I want to be. This is what makes me happy,” Spencer looked around, “I’d gladly stay in this crusty McDonald’s forever if you and Jo are here.”

Your giggle was muffled by his cardigan.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Spencer smiled, wrapping his arms around you.

A/N: i named Jo’s teacher ‘Ms. Moore’ as a little shoutout to @homoose !!! moore...moose, close enough. she was one of the writers who inspired me to start writing my own fics

taglist: (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

[severelytalentless]

Stacey’s Mom Part 5

PoolBoy!Yuuji x Cougar!Reader

This one was really hard. Love is hard to write. I got very much into my feelings.

I think it might be the last chapter in this series. They're breaking my heart. I'm fully in tears.

Find the rest of this series here

18+ content: sexual scenarios & strong language, aged up yuuji, age gap, confessions of love, angst, consensual adulterous sex, creampie, *the L word*

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

(japanese denim - daniel caesar)

"We don't need these.." Yuuji stands before you, staring down into your eyes, slowly removing the cuffs you just put on yourself. He hears the disappointment in your little huff, he smiles and shakes his head.

“I don't want to fuck you..” he drops the cuffs on the floor and rubs your wrists in his big hands. His fingers brush your hair behind your ear. Your heart drops and embarrassment creeps up your neck.

Did you go too far?

Shit, we're the cuffs too much?

The look of disgust on your husband's face when you showed them to him flashes in your memory and your cheeks flush. You drop your eyes, feeling shame burn your face.

He holds your blushing cheek, lifts your chin and presses his lips to yours before you can ask forgiveness. You close your eyes. He never fails to make your heart swell. He breaks the kiss and pulls you into him by your waist. That genuine beautiful smile dimples his cheeks.

“I want to make love to you..”

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

His sensual words send a wave of chills flowing through you. His lips meet your neck and you swoon, holding onto his strong shoulders as he kisses down to your collarbone.

“I wanna go slow..” you love the way his rough hands rub gently over your body as he whispers into your skin.

“Yuuji..” you smile and breathe his name, running your fingers into his hair as he continues kissing down along the lacey edge of your bra. He unclasps it behind your back and it falls to the floor with the cuffs and your robe. He kneads your breasts as your hands slide down his strong arms.

“I want your hands on me..” he takes your hips and lifts you off the floor with ease. You grin down at him and wrap your legs around his waist. His strength makes you feel so weightless and giddy. He loves the cute giggly squeal you let out when he gently tosses you back onto the bed. You stretch out naked over the sheets, arching your back and rolling your head.

Yuuji just looks at you.

He’s never seen anything as beautiful as you.

He wants you like this all the time.

“You're so fucking perfect..”

“Yuuji, baby, you’re too much..” you tease because the way he’s staring makes you bashful.

Your husband doesn’t look at you like this.

Like he’s seen an angel.

Like you’re made of gold.

Yuuji keeps going as he climbs onto the bed.

“I never stop thinking about you..” he starts at your feet and runs his palms slowly up your legs.

“You're always on my mind..” he squeezes your thighs and the fat of your hips. You squirm and huff, blushing like mad at all this affection. It’s abundantly clear that this boy is crazy about you. He leans down and kisses your hips, then your belly, trailing his lips up your soft skin.

“Honey..I—“ he sucks at your nipple making you sigh. He continues his confession.

“I have dreams where you're mine..and we don’t have to hide this..” he’s making your heart hurt, but his slow needy hands soothe the ache and send it to your core. You spread your legs and let him lay between them. He kisses up onto your neck and your breath drags heavy next to his ear as he presses his hips to yours. His cock nudges at your entrance then slides up along your folds, bumping your clit, making you whimper. He takes your face in his hands and the yearning in his eyes stops your heart from beating.

“I want you all to myself, Y/N..I can’t help it..”

He kisses you. You swoon and caress his neck. Then his cock pushes into your tight cunt and you moan into his mouth.

He rocks against you, slowly sinking in inch by inch until you’re full of him. He breaks the kiss and you both groan as he bottoms out and holds himself inside you.

Your hot skin feels like silk against his.

Your velvety walls hug him so perfectly.

He wants to stay here forever.

“Yuuji..I want you too..but I—“ he kisses you again. He drops his weight down on you as he begins to thrust slowly inside you. He cradles your head and whispers in your ear.

“Does he make you happy?” You let out a whimper, too afraid of the answer. His steady movements drag his cock in and out of your slippery cunt. He sucks on your neck sending chills vibrating down your body. You’ve never felt so much passion.

“Does he make love to you like this?” You don’t need to speak, your moans tell him the truth. His pelvis grinds pressure against your clit and you roll your head back, dropping your jaw to release more gorgeous sounds. You hug him tight. He’s buried so deep inside you, spreading you wide with his pulsing cock. Tears prick your eyes at the sheer pleasure of his weight and warmth wrapped around you.

You feel treasured, wanted, needed by him. It’s all too much.

“He doesn’t deserve you..” his thrusts become stronger, evidence of his frustration with the man you call your husband.

Yuuji knows he can treat you better, he can make you happier.

“He could never love you like I do..”

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

(death & texas - daniel caesar)

Yuuji has always known.

This was never just a crush.

Crushes are fleeting. They burn white-hot and eat you up, but quickly exhaust their fuel and fizzle into nothing.

This was never a crush.

His feelings for you have been smoldering like glowing coals at the bottom of his heart for years, ever since he met you that day at school.

But he was so young, and you were untouchable.

Those feelings may have been covered in ashes over time, invisible from the outside, but he could always feel the heat.

He dated a few girls in high school and got loads of attention his first year in college, being the sweet handsome guy that he is. But no one ever set him on fire, not like you did that first day by the pool.

He can’t put it out. He’s burning all the time for you.

He doesn't know what he's gonna do if you don't feel the same way.

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

You're trying not to lose it. The mixture of hot sex and his blunt confession is making it so hard to think straight.

What are you supposed to say? You can barely speak with the way he's splitting you apart like this.

"Ohh..Yuuji..baby-please.." you pant and moan as he thrusts into you. He nips along your jaw and down your neck. Your sweat melts together with his and you slide against each other.

"I know you feel it too..please don't deny it.." he sounds so sincere, tears well up in your eyes, he rolls his hips and kisses you again.

Your heart twists. Your body tenses. You know it's true.

You do. You love this boy.

Your world crumbles and you drown in the overwhelming emotions.

“Yuuji-Yuuji..cumming—‘m cum-cumming! I’m cumming! Uhh please!” He lays into you with everything he has and you tumble from the peak of your climax, wrapping your legs around him, pulling him deeper into you, clawing at his neck and shoulders, crying out for him.

Your desperation sends him over the edge as well and he digs into you, filling you with his cum, driving it up inside you like he wants you pregnant. His forceful moans only make your cunt clench tighter around him. You can't catch your breath.

(messages from her - sabrina claudio)

He collapses, heaving breaths against your neck.

You burst into tears. He tries to lift off you, but you're holding him so tightly.

What are you gonna do...

You love him...

But you can't be with him..it's just not possible..

Your soft whimpering cries shatter Yuuji's heart into a million pieces. You don't have to explain, he knows what they're for. He just holds you, stroking your skin. You hiccup and nuzzle into his shoulder, calming yourself enough to speak.

"I love you.."

The whispered words are a blessing coming from your lips...

"but..I-"

"I know.."

"Yuuji.." the tears keep rolling down your cheeks.

This hurts so much. Why does it have to hurt so much?

He brushes the tears from your face and looks into your eyes.

He smiles through the pain because he finally knows you love him too.

"Y/N..I know I can't have you..but I'm always gonna love you.."

You sniffle and kiss him, still clutching him like he might disappear at any moment.

"I still want to try.."

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

@himiko-omikami @ambiguous-something @darkrose1989 @angelalje

[wri0thesley]

Language Barrier - Caesar x Fem!Reader (Kinktober Day #12: Sleepy/Morning Sex)

NSFW. 18+ ONLY. AFAB reader. Fem pronouns. Explicitly chubby reader. PIV sex, sleepy sex, light language barrier. 2k

The language thing really isn’t a problem. Not when you both love each other. And not when he sounds so goddamn sexy when he slips into his mother tongue. 

The language of adoration is universal. Love blooms in people’s hearts whether they share a common tongue or not; and certainly, that was the case for you and Caesar. It is down to him that you wake up every day tangled in sheets in the beautiful Italian sunshine, dappling and warming your skin. It is down to him, too, that you wake up with the heavy weight of a muscular man beside you and an arm draped protectively about your midsection. 

It’s down to him, too, that sometimes you wake up to a . . . morning visitor. 

You awaken that morning with heat pressing flush against your back, hard and wanting - you’re half asleep as you move against it, yawning, trying to work out what uncomfortable thing has been left in your bed - and then, Caesar groans and rocks his hips into you. You realise with a feeling like warmth spreading over you exactly what it is that’s awoken you.

You roll over onto your other side so you can face your boyfriend, whose perfect face is still screwed up from sleep. He sighs at the feel of the rush of cool air as you move, and slowly - very slowly - he opens his eyes to reveal baby blues that always feel like they are looking all the way through you. The shiver that the honeyed look he gives you sends down your body is a pleasant one - a reminder that, even in his sleep-addled state, he wants you. 

Who’d have thought Caesar Zeppeli would ever want you?

“Good morning,” you breathe, and he rumbles low in his chest, reaching for you. You welcome his arms as you’re pulled into the embrace - his scent wraps over you, his warmth something you feel down to your bones. You love being trapped between his strong arms - the reminder of how much strength there is, beneath the surface. You kiss his cheek and he sighs, moving along his cheekbone, the triangles marking his face--

“Good morning to you, amore,” he replies. “It seems I’m not the only thing you’ve woken up.”

You rest your head in the crook of his neck, your lips soft as they mark out more kisses. Your face buried against him, you make sure your mouth is at least briefly free so you can murmur;

“Oh, that was awake long before I was. It woke me up, actually--”

“That’s flattering,” Caesar teases, as the arm on you moves down, stroking across your bare back and down the curve of your ass, which he takes a generous handful of, squeezing so that you bite back a sigh. “That it’s prominent enough to do that . . .”

“Oh, you know it is,” you tell him. Slowly and deliberately, you move your leg up, letting your thigh rub against the place between his thighs that his cock is hard and straining - after last night’s activities, neither of you had bothered to put on any clothes. In fact, so many of your mornings begin like this, that you two really don’t see the point at all--

Caesar pulls you closer and lowers his head to kiss you. He’s not fierce - not so early in the morning - but you can still sense the rising heat and passion behind what he’s doing, and not least with the way his stiffness throbs and twitches against your bare skin. You feel the wetness of his precome on your leg and smile against him - a movement that makes Caesar nip at your lower lip, bringing you back to where you are. 

“You don’t mind helping me out with it, do you, principessa?” He asks, a low, throaty purr. There’s that pleasant shiver again, pooling like liquid heat between your legs. 

Still. For a moment, you pretend that you’re thinking about it. You win the quirk of the corner of Caesar’s lips - and then, you’re clambering up, straddling your boyfriend’s generous hips. You’re still slightly more awake than him, after all - as the one in more possession of your senses, it stands to reason that you should be the one setting the pace - right? 

“You know I love seeing you up there,” Caesar says, his eyes very soft as they look up at you. All of your inhibitions melt away under Caesar’s gaze when you’re like this - you feel powerful and beautiful, when his cock is hard and straining and he looks at you like he can’t believe how lucky he is. You need not worry about the curves of your skin or being too soft or too heavy. Caesar can handle you like you weigh nothing at all, and he’s certainly (as you’ve learnt) likely to pull you against him in the night and snuggle, murmuring about how soft you are and how he loves the pillow of your stomach and thighs. “You know what you do to me.”

“Well, that was the thing that woke me up this morning,” you remind him, but your cheeks are warm as you move your hips, letting the head of his cock catch against your entrance. You’re still slick from both last night’s endeavours and the way that Caesar looks at you and speaks to you, sleepy and lust-darkened of eye and voice. He stretches you out - a man that size always will - but the stretch of his cock as you slowly lower yourself down is pleasant instead of anything else. 

Your pace is lenient, but it doesn’t stop Caesar’s hands from coming and holding your hips, fingers sinking into plush flesh. You’d have hated how that felt, once - but now, you just feel . . . beautiful. You feel even more beautiful when you lean down and capture Caesar in a kiss this time and the man groans into your mouth, his hips undulating in a lazy roll that sees him hilting entirely within you. You stay there for a moment, kissing him, your clit pressing against his skin, feeling stretched wide. 

What a way to wake up. 

You begin to move your hips in little circles - Caesar, still lazy in the morning air, watches you and holds onto you but lets you set the pace as you will it - and the pace you will is meandering, languorous. You could have cuddled up against him and warmed his cock inside you and been comfortable, but this is good too - this, and the way it feels to arch your back and circle your hips and have Caesar grunt and groan chest-deep in ways that echo around the bedroom.

Neither of you are particularly in the mood to fuck like rabbits - you had your fill of rutting one another last night. So instead, you simply enjoy how it feels to be looked at and enjoyed. You enjoy the feel of Caesar’s hands all over you, taking handfuls of flesh and squeezing them, teasing your nipples, stroking over your thighs with feather-light touches. In return, you rake your own hands through his mass of blond hair, stroke his cheeks, his chest - trace the muscles in his biceps, wondering at how hard they are. 

And you fuck him, of course - but slowly. The rocking of your hips is an indulgence. More, you enjoy the closeness and the feeling of his hands on you. There’s a breeze from the open window. You stare down at Caesar and all you see is someone you love. You listen to the wet sounds of yourself as you move a little, the hitches in his breath - and you feel safe, and happy. 

But you cannot live with just that for long. Not when you are wet, and you do want him - and not when Caesar is groaning, moving his own hips more and more as moments past, waking up and clearing his head some. You begin to get faster; your body lifting almost off his cock and then back. You used to be afraid the slamming of your hips would hurt him - now, Caesar grabs ahold of them and assists you in moving faster. 

You feel his cock rubbing against your walls, brushing the sensitive spot that has you seeing stars. His hard body grinds against the swollen nub of your clit, already crying out for attention. The ball of heat in your stomach does nothing except grow, and grow - a fiery asteroid waiting to crash. 

And Caesar begins to speak, low, in Italian that you can’t quite catch. He always gets a little bit carried away when he’s close, and you bite your lower lip, trying to make your hips move faster. The fast fever-pitch of his words, low-cadenced and indistinguishable to your beginner’s grasp of the language . . . that always gets you going. Everything he says sounds so passionate.

And he knows, too, the effect that he has on you when he slips into his native tongue. 

You feel your channel clench around him, the way that your body sings out for stimulation - and, gasping, you move one of the hands leveraged on his shoulder to slide down your body and toy with your clit. Caesar’s eyes do not leave you for a moment, drinking in the way your body moves with the force of your thrusts, how your throat bobs and swallows. You might have been afraid of how your chest moves with the motions, how your stomach does - once. But now, you meet his eyes with your own as your fingers toy with the nub of your clit and you see nothing but adoration--

“Bella,” he murmurs, “bellissima--”

And you know what that means. It’s Caesar’s raw appreciation for your body, hunger for you, that pushes you over the edge - you come, gasping and whimpering, riding out the waves of your orgasm with trembling thighs. 

Caesar’s hands, still gripping your hips, let you sag on him slightly as he takes control of the situation, your body pleasantly pliable and overstimulated as little aftershocks of your orgasm run through you. You can feel your slick running down your thighs with each thrust and know if he hadn’t been inside of you, you’d have made a mess indeed - but Caesar is groaning, growling out your name, feverish whispers of Italian like a prayer - and, on cue, he makes his own mess of you. 

The feel of his come inside you is a hot rush, coating your insides, making you feel claimed and his. He is not ashamed of you - not now, not ever, and especially not as he pulls your face into a messy kiss as his bucking hips chase the final dregs of his orgasm. The light drags of his cock against your sensitive walls send you tumbling again, your second orgasm milked from you with whimpers and the burying of your head in his chest. Your legs feel as if someone has filled them with carbonation; they fizz, making you feel weak and spent and sore in only the very best of ways. 

Both of you are panting. Both of you are sweaty and messy, you laid atop of him with hair plastered to your face. His chest is heaving, his heart beating a rhythm in tune with your own where your cheek is pressed to his chest. You manage to gather some of your strength to lift your head.

Caesar’s cock is beginning to soften inside you, as you get enough leverage to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“What a way to wake up,” you mumble to him. “Buongiorno.”

“Buongiorno,” he repeats to you, breathless but teasing. You know that much. You can speak to him a little, order in a restaurant - but when it comes to the babble that comes out when orgasm approaches? You may as well be listening to a list of numbers, for all the sense you can make of them. 

It doesn’t matter. You rub along very finely indeed, despite the brief blips in understanding. And as he moves to touch you more, you feel like you’re entirely where you’re meant to be.

A hand strokes along your back, taking in the way you curve. Caesar’s mouth eases into a smile - and you feel a stirring in your lower half, something twitching and hardening, as those fingers once more trace the round shape of your ass. “But . . . we still have the rest of the morning to make use of, don’t we?”

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 4: The Interviews

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 8.1K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2, 3

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Very little was said throughout the rest of hearing the other tribute’s scores, and as soon as that was finished you were hurried into a car to the studio to begin getting ready. You were pleased to discover that each tribute was granted their own dressing room and you didn’t have to share with your district mate. You wondered if this theatre was uniquely built for The Hunger Games given the twenty-four individual dressing rooms. As you were ushered into the make up chair and had a black cape draped around your neck, you thought about all the other female tributes from district four that could have been seated in this very room before you. You wondered how many of them had lived beyond the next week.

Before you could fall into a depressive spiral you were yanked back into reality by the team as they began to work on styling your hair with an array of wands, brushes and sprays. From the corner of your eye you could spot a rack of dresses two of the stylists were arguing over, but you couldn’t turn your head to properly look at the options with the way your hair was being pulled.

Unlike the chariot ride, where your hair had been pulled into a partial up-do and styled with various decorative clips, extensions, and a tiara, your stylists were discussing with each other how best to show off your “natural beauty”. Their reasoning seemed to be that in the arena you would not be wearing make up, so they wanted to create a look that could somehow capture your beauty and still transition from the stage into the games.

They had chosen to leave your hair down and loose, the treatment from a few days ago still feeling soft and looking healthy. They had elected to tame your natural wave into a smoother style, running a straightener through your hair before going back over it once more to apply a very soft curl towards the ends. With the hair finished the team quickly moved on to make up as the two stylists, who had previously been arguing by the clothes rack hurried over with the dress they had decided on.

“Isn’t it perfect!” Garnet sighed, holding up the white gown that seemed more fitting of a bride than a teenager, but you couldn’t help admitting that the dress was indeed very beautiful. Made of lace with a pattern of flowers and vines crawling across the fabric, the dress was adorned with shimmering crystals that resembled snowflakes throughout the fabric. Although you didn’t understand how it was supposed to fit a “natural beauty” aesthetic. You didn’t bother questioning it, the logic from Capitol people was something you had far given up on trying to understand.

Ruby and Quartz chimed their agreement as the rest of the team all chorused their approval whilst hurrying to start picking out matching accessories and select coordinating colors for your makeup. The fact no one had bothered to ask for your opinion wasn’t lost on you, but it’s not like you could see anything else on that clothing rack, or anywhere else around the room, worth arguing to wear instead. You were forced to shut your eyes so the artist could begin applying your eye shadow and in the resulting darkness you imagined yourself walking out on to the stage in the casual attire you were still dressed in, no make up, and damp hair still not properly dried from your earlier shower. You smiled to yourself at the imagined scandalized reaction from the audience, pretend Caesar sputtering as he somehow tried to carry on with his interview, and imaginary Finnick watching backstage with his head in his hands. If only you were allowed not to care about all of the showmanship of these stupid games. You dress up, smile and wave, and still get slaughtered anyway, so what good did playing along with their little show do?

'Sponsors!' Imaginary Finnick answered your own thoughts, although this time his voice in your head was an echo of a real memory.

From what time you had spent strategizing with him, the most important thing he had reiterated was always the importance of sponsorships, and the repetition of how he acquired his stupid trident. Easy for him to say when he had his carved face and had nearly been six foot back when he was fourteen. But Finnick had also been quick to rebut your snark with his reports and clips on how well received your chariot appearance had been in the Capitol. With training and the nightmare of dealing with Hoseok keeping you otherwise occupied, you hadn’t had any time to monitor the reactions of the people who were supposedly going to be betting on you. According to Finnick over the last few days, you were by far the most popular female tribute. As he walked you to the dressing room before, he told you that your surprisingly high Tribute score had done even more wonders for your odds, and all you really had to do now was show up on stage and look pretty. If everything worked out, you may actually have a shot of surviving this thing.

Was it fair that your only chance of survival in these games depended on outside interference?

No.

Did you care when a fair game would mean a guaranteed death?

Also no.

So you passively sat in the chair and allowed the team to work, until they told you it was time to stand up and change into the dress. You were lead to a privacy screen in the back corner of the room, and told to put the dress on as far as you could before you required help. You wondered how hard putting on a dress could be, but as you stepped into the lace and put your arms into the sleeves you realized the garment had a corset in the bodice, and you would need someone to pull the threads. You took a moment to enjoy the last few easy inhales and exhales you would enjoy for the next hour before calling on someone to assist. One of the triplets – you weren’t capable of telling them apart on their own – had you brace yourself against the wall as they set to work tightening the ribbons around your torso.

When she was done you fidgeted, trying to adjust to your newly restricted range of motion. Thankfully the corset was only under the bust so it wasn’t pressing upon your chest as badly as you were expecting. You uncomfortably stepped out from the privacy screen and ignored the staff reaction to your dress. You had already seen them fawn over you before, during the chariot parade, and you couldn’t care less how pretty they thought you were. Instead you looked around before spotting the pair of shoes that went with the dress; glittery silver pumps, with a modest heel so you could easily walk on stage. They were next to a full length mirror, so you walked over and slipped them on, before taking a step back to assess your appearance.

Oh.

The dress had appeared as merely a nice piece of fabric on the hanger, but actually being worn, it truly was stunning. The garment looked like a whimsical winter garden, the various jewels glimmering like snowflakes on the lace patterned white leaves and flowers that crawled across the fabric. The bottom part of the gown was long and flowed to the floor, with extra fabric underneath to create more volume. The corset cinched your waistline in tightly before ending just below your bust, pushing your breasts up, in the sweetheart-neckline bodice. The dress had below-the-shoulder sleeves that were sheer, with snow embellishments ending at your wrists. Your makeup was flattering; a neutral lip with a little gloss, and a focus on the eyes. Shimmery pearls and purples were used to create a smoky eye and crystal gems had been placed on the outer corners. You looked like an ice princess.

A knock at the door broke up your self assessment, before Finnick walked into the room.

“Show’s starting now, District 1 will be on in five, you’ll be up in about another fifteen minutes.”

Finnick stopped to take in your appearance, nodding his approval to the team, before coming over to stand before you.

“You look wonderful,” he spoke softly, reaching to pick up one of your hands and hold it both of his. He gave it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you,” you whispered, with a mild squeeze back.

“The Capitol already adores you after your chariot ride, so tonight just seeing you again, looking this beautiful will be all they need. You’ve done the hardest part with your tribute score, so just try to relax as much as possible.”

“Easier said that done,” you replied with a shaky laugh.

“I know that all too well,” Finnick conceded with a lop sided smile.

You envied him and his natural charm. But you supposed you had to have some of your own to have caught the Capitol’s attention, not to mention Hoseok’s too. You hadn’t been trying for either of those, so perhaps that was your best tactic to use with Caesar.

“How’s Namjoon?” You asked, your district-mate hadn’t said a word to you since the scores were read back in the living quarters.

“Calm.” Finnick replied honestly.

“Can’t even tell you what his plans are ‘cause he barely even tells me anything. Makes it hard to try and strategize, but if he doesn’t want the free help then I’m not going to force it.”

“But I thought you guys spent heaps of time together?” you frowned. If Finnick wasn’t helping you much, and Namjoon didn’t want his help, then what had he been doing? You guessed he had work to do with trying to gather sponsorships or trying to extract information out of the other mentors.

“Hardly. What little time you may have felt that we spent together is more than twice the time I’ve spent with him.” Finnick dismissed with a shrug.

“For the record, you’re my favorite between you, and I’m not just saying that based on your scores tonight. You’re humble and you listen. Arrogance doesn’t go far in games like these.”

“It did for you.”

Finnick huffed out a laugh.

“Keep that wit with you on stage and you’ll be swimming in sponsors. But to be clear, my arrogance was tactical, and I took outside help when it was offered.”

You nodded, not really knowing what more to say.

Finnick stepped past you to turn on a TV in the top corner of your dressing room. Krystal appeared on the screen, wearing a silk red dress and matching lipstick, laughing at something Caesar had just said. From the looks of it, her interview was nearly finished.

“Interviews are usually three minutes each, so not that long. There’s twenty-four of you and they have to keep the show under two hours,” Finnick explained as Caesar bid Krystal farewell.

Yoongi was quickly announced and stepped up on to the stage, to a round of applause from the audience.

“It’s worth paying attention because Caesar can be very tricky. He’s a showman and he needs to extract interesting information and reactions for ratings. Sometimes a tribute will accidentally let too much of their game-plan slip, and you can take advantage of that in the arena. Some of them crumble and you can pick out the easy targets, others become too hot headed so keep an eye open on people to avoid too.”

Finnick explained, as you simultaneously listened to Yoongi explaining how he volunteered upon hearing his sister’s name being drawn. Much like you had already suspected, his goal was to ensure that Krystal is the one to survive. You wondered how Hoseok, Athena, and Namjoon felt.

Once your supposed final six broke down there would already be a team of two. Knowing Hoseok he’d have to have some plan in place, especially given he was goading Yoongi over Krystal earlier. You didn’t like how his plan had involved you in it, immediately making you a threat to the alliance the same way Yoongi and Krystal were. But at least you had a friendship with Krystal. Maybe that’s what Hoseok was banking on. A team up of the two teams, to take out the outliers of Namjoon and Athena, then a fight between the duos. Hoseok could easily take Yoongi, but if this was his plan, he was giving you far too much credit against Krystal, who had kicked your ass most of the time in spar training. But he had been watching you and had to have known that too. Maybe he was planning to take her out another way? Maybe Krystal’s entire reason for being kind to you was to bring you into a team of three with her brother for their added protection, which also gave you a better shot of surviving against the likes of Hoseok and Namjoon in a final showdown. Or perhaps you would all be taken out by some rogue from an outsider district. You had seen a couple of pretty respectable scores of 7s and 8s.

“I’m going to go make sure Namjoon is ready, I’ll be back in a minute.”

You nodded in recognition at Finnicks words, whilst keeping your glazed over eyes in the direction of the TV. You weren’t actually paying attention to Caesar starting to wrap up Yoongi’s interview, too busy lost in your thoughts of how impossible this whole game was. Having strategies for the arena almost felt entirely pointless given how many things had to go right in order for them to work out vs the millions of ways something could go wrong. Alliances stab each other in the back, other districts are underestimated, the Capitol always throws out insane and deadly traps. Hoseok had to be insane to think he could somehow plan for all of these factors. But perhaps insanity would be the biggest advantage in the arena.

Finnick’s knuckles wrapping against the door broke your reverie and you turned to face the sight of him and Namjoon in your doorway.

“Let’s get this over with,” you muttered, walking out to join them and following along as Finnick started on a path through the corridors.

“That’s the spirit,” Namjoon sarcastically cheered at your monotone, clapping his hand over your shoulder to give it a shake.

You immediately swatted his hand away with an annoyed twitch of your nose. Finnick sighed, not even turning around as he continued to lead you, but you could see him pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He didn’t have time to stop and scold, as you could see you were approaching the backstage area. Several Capitol workers were busily rushing around each other, clasping clip boards, coffees, headsets, camera equipment, and a range of other items. A woman dressed in black impatiently waved her hand in Finnick’s direction with a frown. You weren’t sure if he was late or if she just hated her job.

You quickly found it was a combination of the two when she immediately scolded Finnick for showing up ‘one minute’ late as per the official schedule, before launching into snapped instructions on where you and Namjoon were to stand, how you would be called on stage, and where to go after. You didn’t say anything, and neither did Namjoon, just nodding docilely as additional staff hovered around you both; clipping on a tiny microphone, putting a small listening piece into your ear and applying last second touch ups to your hair and makeup. From here you were then escorted into a waiting section, at a wing on the side of the stage.

You swallowed a lump in your throat at the feeling of claustrophobia that the wing created. You were surrounded by large black curtains that hid you from sight and created a backdrop behind the constructed stage pieces. At the very end you could faintly see a tiny part of the stage, and a crop of short blonde hair you recognized as belonging to Athena. A few feet in front of you, behind a section marked off with red tape on floor, were the tributes from District 3 and their mentor, and at the corner of the curtain waiting with his own mentor and a stagehand, was Hoseok.

You vaguely recognized his mentor from a Hunger Games a few years ago. You didn’t recall her name, but from the sharp teeth you could see, you remembered her as the victor who had literally ripped a tribute’s throat out. You swallowed thickly thinking about Hoseok’s earlier bloodthirsty threats against your own alliance.

He was peering out from behind the curtain, watching his district mate with a bored expression, the angle giving you a view of his sharp side profile. He was dressed in a suit; fitted black pants, a white shirt with a thin black tie, topped off with a black jacket that was covered in black sequins. His outfit was completed by a pair of bronze boots, which complimented the shade of his russet hair that was styled in loose curls that framed his forehead.

His head turned at the sound of your heels on the floor, piercing brown eyes making contact with your own. You instantly froze, as if his eyes somehow were capable of inducing paralysis. He was eerily stunning, handsome beyond belief, but there was something more about him that sent shivers of fear down your spine. Memories from merely a few hours ago of him trapping you in the hallway, isolating you from the others, and forcing you into a kiss came to mind. You hated yourself for how weak you had felt, not even capable of pushing him away, again you still weren’t even sure that you wanted it to stop. Even now you could still feel the lingering tingle upon your lips, like a remaining taste of electricity that he had sparked. That same electricity was hovering in the air as the two of you stared at one another. But did you actually want him? Were you actually attracted to him, or was your fear of the games causing you to project these feelings?

“Two! You’re on!”

The stagehand’s instructions caused Hoseok to break the eye contact, nodding to the staff before turning to walk out. But not before he could look back at you once more, leaving you with a final wink. You shuddered uncomfortably, suddenly feeling cold and raising your arms to cross over your chest. You glanced up between Finnick and Namjoon, the latter watching you with a look of amusement whilst Finnick was staring out at the stage with a concerned frown. You knew he didn’t like Hoseok from the details you had already told him, so you could assume that little display didn’t help with his impression.

It was clear very early that the Capitol had taken a liking to the District 2 male. Hoseok walked out to loud applause, cheers, and a few whistles. He took it all in his stride, waving to the people, and smiling in a way that flashed his dimples and almost made his mouth look like it was in the shape of a heart. He charmed Caesar and answered his questions about his home life in two confidently (“We work hard to provide The Capitol with the finest weapons and masonry we can provide, in return the Capitol provides us with everything we need”), along with providing some details of his family life (“what can I say, I’m a momma’s boy at heart”). His mentor watched on stoically by the wings, the barest hint of a nod every now and then being her only reaction. You could tell Finnick was trying to get a read off of her, but she wasn’t giving anything away. Meanwhile the mentor for Three was doing all they could to try and reassure their tributes they weren’t going to die on stage.

“What are your expectations?”

Caesar’s question brings your focus back to their interview and you pay extra attention for this answer, given Hoseok has always been extremely vague with his actual game plan besides ‘kill everyone except you’.

“You know, it’s funny Caesar, the thing about these games is you can never truly expect anything. I spent eighteen years of my life training myself for this moment to come. I’ve studied all the arenas, prepared as much as I could for wherever we may end up, but nothing could prepare me for who was going into that arena with me. I showed up to the chariot ride and training, expecting to meet people who I would just see as targets to kill. Instead I’m now going into the arena with the love of my life.”

Oh no.

You feel your stomach drop as you instantly realize Hoseok is about to talk about you.

“Three days is an awfully short time period to fall in love with someone, don’t you think?”

“It took much less time than three days, Caesar. I was in love the second I saw her.”

Shit.

“So what was it about these games that made you realize your dormant feelings for Athena?”

Hoseok balks at Caesar’s assumption, his eyebrows raising, before he quickly moves to smooth his expression over with a laugh

“No, my feelings are for YN.”

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

“Mother fucker,” Finnick curses beside you. N

amjoon merely looks amused, whilst you also notice Hoseok’s mentor has now turned her attention from the stage to you. You feel even further unnerved from the fact she doesn’t seem remotely surprised by his words. She is far from an expressive woman, but you somehow get the feeling from her as she assesses your appearance, that it’s out of interest to know who her tribute has been talking about the last few days.

Meanwhile you wish that the floor would somehow open up and swallow you whole. Away from Hoseok’s advances, all the unwanted attention it resulted in and away an imminent painful death.

“But this is The Hunger Games, surely you know only one of you will come out alive?”

“I’m faced with an impossible task, but I’ve never felt more certain of anything in my life. Maybe we will both die in that arena, and that will be our way to live together in eternity in the next life. However, I do have one idea, and it’s a crazy long shot, but for her I have to to try.”

“Well I am just dying to know what that one idea is, but I have a feeling if I asked you wouldn’t tell me anyway!” Caesar exclaims with his trademark uproarious laugh at the end.

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok shrugs and shoots him a grin.

Caesar’s laugh continues and the audience joins in before the host bids him farewell and Hoseok leaves the stage.

You’re still lost in your desire to no longer even exist anymore that you barely register anything that has happened. You vaguely hear Hoseok’s concept of a long shot plan but it seems so unrealistic that it’s not even worth considering what it might even be. It’s not like you were planning on going along with it anyway, especially not after how he had just thrown you to the wolves in his interview.

You realize that Finnick is talking to you again, he’s trying to process Hoseok’s interview just as much as you are and has quickly taken to offering advice now. “This may not actually be too bad, maybe we can work this to our advantage. Hoseok is the top betting favorite, so potentially this can boost your odds too” … “Caesar loves gossip so the more time he spends talking about Hoseok in your interview, the less time he’s trying to extract things that could make you slip up” … “talk about your loved ones back in four” You’re not sure if you’re capable of processing his advice but you nod along anyway.

Namjoon continues to say nothing, but you don’t like the expression on his face. He has a smug air about him, similar to the one back in the apartment when his scores were read. You have an eerie feeling from him and you don’t like it.

The time district three takes for their interviews passes in what feels like seconds. Before you know it you have the stage hand waving you on stage and Finnick whispering a rushed “good luck” as you’re ushered out.

The first thing you realize is that you can barely see the audience, the bright lights being directed upon the stage are nearly blinding and you can’t see much from behind them besides a warped blur. The next thing you realize is that although you cannot see the audience, you can definitely hear them. You are met with a loud reception of applause and cheers as you make your way over to the directed couch. You attempt to take it in your stride, smiling and waving before you dip to a curtsy as you take your seat.

“Isn’t she lovely folks!”

You turn your painted on smile to Caesar, who is even more green in person. His hair is shockingly vibrant, his emerald suit reflective in the stage lights and you can see the sparkling details of his matching contacts.

“Now YN,” Caesar immediately launches into business and you mentally begin a countdown clock of the 180 seconds that you will be forced to remain in his presence. “I simply must say that you are gorgeous on camera, but even more stunning in person! I almost can’t even believe you’re a real person and not some divine creature!”

You respond with an awkward shrug and humbly averting your eyes to the floor, your hair flows down over your shoulder at the movement. The audience cheers again and whistles their approval at Caesar’s assessment of your appearance.

‘Shallow cunts.’ You remember Finnick’s words from the train, and you huff a small laugh to yourself in agreement. You allow this to bring a more natural smile to your face as you raise your eyes to meet Caesar’s once more.

“Oh Caesar, you really are too much. I assure you that much of this is the work of my talented stylists and make up artists.”

“Now, now don’t be so modest. Surely your beauty must still exist without these glamorous outfits for you to have District 2 so enamored with you!”

You have to mentally restrain yourself from scowling at the mention of Hoseok and his interview. Instead you settle for attempting to coolly rebuff him.

“I’m flattered, but really I don’t even know him.”

Caesar isn’t deterred and continues with his angle.

“But yet Hoseok still fell in love with you. And who could blame him folks I mean look at her everybody isn’t she gorgeous!”

At this the crowd launches into another round of applause. You attempt to appear bashful, yet flattered. You pretend to hide behind one hand whilst waving to the audience with the other.

“Now come on YN, tell us what you really think of Hoseok,” Caesar begins to press and you find yourself becoming increasingly frustrated with how he’s making your interview about another competitor. As if you are only in these games to exist as a romantic interest for a man.

“I don’t.” You reply bluntly, and if you weren’t in a fight for your life that relied upon being likeable you would have folded your arms and left it at exactly that. But instead your force yourself to continue on.

“At least not in an emotional sense. These games are so intense, from the parade, to the three days of training, the assessment, and now this interview, and that’s before we even step inside the arena. I barely have time to breathe, let alone develop a romantic connection.”

You hope this is enough to get him off your back.

“She’s really not going to give us anything!”

You’re confused for a moment before you realize that Caesar thinks you’re lying.

“I swear, it’s the truth,” you try to implore, looking at Caesar in the eyes before trying to see into the audience as if begging them all to believe you.

“The only man I love is back home in four, my father. I can’t allow myself to get distracted by anyone when I need to win to see him again. My mother died a few years ago and I’m an only child. All we have left in this world is each other.”

You have to stop and take a deep breath as by the end your throat is starting to choke up. You’ve barely allowed any thoughts of home to enter your mind, as you know it will only lead to you becoming upset and you have to remain focused for any chance of survival.

Sensing your distress Caesar finally starts to change the topic.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry about your mother,” he coos and you hear similar hushed “awes” from the crowd.

You refrain from snapping that they’re clearly not sorry about the loss of life to prevent the annual slaughter of twenty teenagers. Instead you settle for a demure “thank you”.

The remainder of your interview is spent talking about your parents, your home, your work on the boat and ends on a final note of your skills with a knife. By the end you are exhausted; emotionally spent from the topic of your parents and feeling like Caesar had somehow drained the energy out of you through his exuberant and overbearing presence.

After your final courtesy to Caesar and the audience, you are directed to an exit on the opposite end of the stage from which you came. You don’t stick around to watch Namjoon from the side, all you want is to be by yourself and you figure that your dressing room is probably the best place for that. Following signs that are up on the walls of the hallway, you easily navigate yourself back to your room. Though you pass some of the other tributes who are approaching the stage for their interviews, you are relieved you don’t see anyone you really recognize.

Entering your room, you head straight for the chair you had been sitting in before, noticing that the TV had been left on from before. The camera was focused on Namjoon who sat comfortably on the lounge, and gave the impression that he was totally at ease.

“…doesn’t know what he’s talking about when it comes to Y/N.” you catch him mention your name and frown.

“He thinks he’s fallen in love with her at first sight just because she’s beautiful, which of course she is, I mean come on Caesar we all have eyes.”

He pauses to look to the audience with his arms outstretched, as if he’s stating the obvious, and they respond with a laugh. Caesar cackles along, clearly please to have a guest that is hamming it up for the cameras.

“But she’s my teammate. We’ll work together in the career pack as long as we can but when that inevitably reaches the end I’ll be the one protecting her, not him. He’s known her for less than a week, we grew up together.”

What?

“Why Namjoon, is there a bit of a love triangle going on here!”

“There just might be”

Whatever relief you were hoping to find upon your interview being over and finally having some time alone was absolute gone. For the second time in less than half an hour, you feel as if your stomach is made of lead and plummeting to the floor.

“Tell us more! You simply have to tell us more! When did you first realize your true feelings for our darling YN?”

He doesn’t!

“There was no moment, no instant spark, because that’s not how love really works. Love is the familiar, the regular presence and comfort she brings just from knowing she’s in my life. Her name was never meant to have been called at the reaping and I wish when I volunteered it could have been in her pla-”

“What a load of bullshit!” Your cry at the television, cutting off the sound of Namjoon’s lies, as you threw the remote at the screen.

Perhaps the Capitol had experienced tribute outbreaks in the past because it merely bounced off the surface, however it thankfully turned off the stream. You bunched the skirt of your dress in your hands, preparing to storm out onto the stage and call out Namjoon’s bluff yourself. You turned towards the exit of the room, only to swirl into a hard surface. You grunted at the impact of hitting a muscular body, the toned figure made you think it was a Capitol security guard coming to investigate your TV tantrum, but a familiar drawl suddenly caused your blood to run cold.

“What’s the rush, darling?”

Even in all his terror, Jung Hoseok truly was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. The television cameras failed to do him justice. They didn’t capture the warmth to his skin, the softness of his hair, nor the addictive scent you were being forced to inhale from his sudden presence.

“What are you doing here?”

Your voice was unintentionally soft as a whisper, almost as if you were praying he wasn’t really in the room. But your hands on his chest from where you had collided reminded you he very much was real, as you tried to push yourself away. He only hummed in contentment upon feeling your touch on his body, locking his hands upon your wrists to keep them there. Hoseok’s long fingers were like iron chains, grasping so tightly you couldn’t even think to try and push past him.

“Get out, or I’ll scream,” you hiss, trying to sound threatening, but the instinctual fear that Hoseok’s presence set off only caused your breath to shake and your words to sound pleading.

The corner of Hoseok’s lip raised upwards into a cruel curl as he stepped forward, you instantly took a matching step back. But this only continued until your back collided with the wall, his body pushed against yours and your wrists held tightly in his clutches.

“I thought you were going to scream?” he taunts, cocking his head to the side, his eyes seeming to sparkle with glee as he mocked you. You were trembling, you had wanted to scream, but the second he started to advance upon you all of your thoughts had instantly turned into flight mode, foolishly backing away until there was no space left to go. Oh god, you truly were dead once you stepped into that arena tomorrow. Over his shoulder you could see the door shut on the other end of the room, with no way for anyone to see him inside of your room. How had he even managed to get inside without being noticed?

“HEL-”

Before you could even get a word out, his forearm was pressed against your windpipe, cutting off your cry. Your already panicked eyes blew wide open in fear, unable to move or breathe.

“Shhhh,” he coos, leaning in so his lips were ever so slightly hovering over yours as you tried to push him off – your lungs starting to burn from the lack of oxygen.

“You know I promised not to hurt you love, but if you’re going to be that fucking stupid then you leave me no choice.”

Restricted between his body and the wall, it was all you could do to vainly scratch your nails against his grip on your wrists, desperately trying to get him to release his hold. But all Hoseok did in return was gently brush his lips to yours, in a move that contradicted his violent chokehold, before pulling back to watch you struggle.

“C-a-nt … br-eee…” with no air, you barely made a sound, eyes watering in pain. You try to kick, but Hoseok’s body is too close, his hips and thighs pressing against yours making it impossible to move.

Finally, his pressure relaxes, although his arm still remains resting upon your throat.

You inhale a choked gasp before letting out a broken cough. You weren’t sure how long he had cut off your airway, every second burning in agony had felt like a minute, and the impact left you struggling to regain your breath even after he had backed off. Meanwhile Hoseok released his hold on your hands to snake his arm behind your waist and pat against your back, as you continued to splutter trying to suck in air with tears streaking down your face.

“You’re insane,” you wheeze, voice raspy and barely audible, but Hoseok’s quirked lip breaking into a wicked smile showed you that he had heard.

“Only because you drive me crazy,” he grins, moving his arm away from your throat to catch a tear rolling down your cheek with his thumb.

Your head was spinning and your vision was filled the kind of black spots you would get if you stood up too fast. Your throat was sore and your lungs still burned as you tried to regain your breathing. Too weak to fight back, it was all you could do to try and lean as far away from him as you could, turning your face to the side. But Hoseok wasn’t having any of that, tightening his hold on your waist.

A choked whimper escaped from your lips, the sound similar to that of an injured animal. You were frightened by the ease he had overpowered you, contrasted by his sickening affection. With his arm holding you around the waist, he gently rubbed his palm up and down against your back. His other hand came to rest on the side of your head, tenderly running his fingers through your hair, as if soothing a child woken up by a nightmare.

“I hate you.”

Your voice was a strained whisper, as your eyes deliberately focused on the ground to avoid his burning stare.

Hoseok merely hums in recognition, content to remain in this position for as long as possible – trying to ingrain everything into his memory. The softness of your hair was like liquid silk passing though his fingertips. Despite the thickness of the bodice, he could still feel the warmth of your body beneath his palm through your dress. As he looked down, he had a direct view of your exposed cleavage pressing against his chest, watching the swell of your breasts heave with every breath.

‘Soft, soft, soft’ his mind repeats over every little detail. From your hair, to your skin, to your breasts and your scent, everything about you was so delicate and enticing. He almost felt bad for how roughly he had handled you, except that doing so had resulted in you becoming so pliant in his arms. ‘a necessary evil’

“Good,” was his eventual reply.

“I hate you,” You repeat again, raising your chin to glare at him for dismissing your anger so flippantly.

He only smiled at you fondly in return.

“I love you.”

It was somehow like he had knocked the winds from your lungs all over again. In his interview it was possibly an insane strategy, but seeing the burning intensity in his eyes as he stared at you like you were the only thing in the universe, made you truly realize that this was what he actually believed.

“That’s impossible, we’ve known each other for three days,” you hiss back. “And you don’t hurt someone you love!” 

Hoseok closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slowly.

“Oh but darling, you hurt the ones you love the most”

As if to emphasize his words, his hands in your hair tighten into a painful grasp, causing you to whimper. You reach both of your hands up to hold onto his grip, trying to get him to release. In turn, he does, but only ever so slightly, just so he can enjoy the feeling of your hands touching him.

He leans further in to press his lips to the shell of your ear, the tickling feeling of his breath causing you to shiver.

“I love you so much it causes me far more pain than whatever you’re feeling now. I looked at you for one moment and you were like an insidious vine that crawled inside of my veins to wrap around my heart. So now it belongs to you, beats for you, burns for you and craves only you.”

“Please, I didn’t do anythi-”

You tried to beg, but he immediately cut you off.

“That doesn’t matter.” He snaps and you flinch.

“The instant I saw you it was like every tie that once bound me to this earth was cut, and then every thread was tied to you. In just a second you become my oxygen, my gravity, my entire reason for being.

Every night since the moment I saw you, I have dreamed of you. I dreamed of kissing you senseless at the chariots, like how I wanted to do the moment we met. I dreamed of you during training, that it was my bed you came back to at night. When I saw you in this dress I instantly knew that tonight I will dream of making you my wife. And I have a plan that will make that dream a reality.”

Finally, he released his hold on your body, stepping back to watch as you slump against the wall and slowly fall to sit upon the ground in a combination of exhaustion and horror. Your eyes were wide in a shell shocked daze.

Slowly, he steps backwards towards the door, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. But you don’t even notice. You’re no longer even looking at him anymore, just staring emptily at the room, but not seeing anything inside

“If you try to run from me tomorrow, I will find you. I will hunt you down and drag you back to me, where you belong.”

For a brief moment you regain a sense of clarity to ask him the question that has been burning in your mind ever since he started his insane proclamations.

“What happens when we’re the last two? Who dies?”

Stepping out of the room, his answer offers you no sense of closure before he shuts the door behind him…

“You leave that for me to deal with. All you need to know is that you will leave these games by my side, or not at all.”

 ***

 After Hoseok had left you in your dressing room, you had immediately scrambled to your feet to lock the door behind him. From there you rushed to strip out of your dress and back into your lounge clothes. Grabbing wipes from the counter, you angrily scrubbed off all the make up from your face. You weren’t sure if you had to go back out on stage at the end with all the other tributes, frankly you didn’t care.

“Hello?”

You’re startled by a knock at the door.

“It’s Finnick, can I come in for a moment?”

You suppose he’s only asking to be polite, given he very likely has access to any room you’re in as a mentor. With a huff you storm over to the door, unlocking it and wrenching it open.

“Did you tell him to say that about me?” You snap, referring to Namjoon and his earlier interview. Finnick hurriedly enters the room and pulls the door shut behind him.

“Is this part of your little fucked up plan for the tribute with the better prospects to actually win, by using me to try and humanize that bastard?” You continue to yell.

“No!” Finnick replies, vigorously shaking his head.

“Then what the fuck was that?” Your pent up frustration and anger comes out in a harsh shove, causing Finnick to stumble backwards, though he quickly regains his balance.

“I only told him to show that he cared about you as a teammate” Finnick sighs, holding his hands up in a surrender gesture, whilst emphasizing the word ‘teammate’ slowly. “I swear I never told him anything about acting like he had romantic feelings.”

You immediately feel bad for pushing him.

“Whatever rage you feel at me, and especially at him, save it. Save it and use it tomorrow the first thing you wake up because that is what you’re going to need to become a killer.”

“Can I kill him tomorrow?”

The question slips out before you can think it might be a bad idea to confess to your mutual mentor that wish to kill your district partner.

“If you think you can, that is the game after all,” Finnick shrugs with a lopsided grin.

You’re too stressed to properly laugh, but you let out an amused hum at his quip. You’re grateful for Finnick’s good nature towards you.

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” you apologize.

“It’s fine,” Finnick quickly shrugs it off.

His relaxed demeanor quickly tenses though, before he turns back to the door to make sure it’s locked behind him. You mentally kick yourself for not doing that earlier.

“Listen, I’m here because I wanted to tell you that it appears the president has taken a liking to you.”

You blanch.

From all the ridiculous shit you have heard today, the president joining your little fan club is the least thing you expected.

“President Snow? But why?”

“I’m not one hundred percent certain, but if you remember when we first met on the train I told you that the Capitol loves beautiful things. I wanted to at least warn you.”

You nod to show you remember the conversation, but you’re still confused as to how this involves the president.

“But isn’t this a good thing? Maybe I might even be able to survive if the president wants me to. All those ‘natural disasters’ that game makers can cause and all”

“Yes, it’s very likely you won’t be impacted by that in the game. I especially wanted to tell you that alone, because I feel Namjoon would be too short sighted and threatened by any idea of favoritism, to see the long term benefits of keeping a protected tribute in his alliance.”

You nod again.

“Is that all?”

“No.”

Finnick pauses.

His intended break slowly extends into an uncomfortable silence. You want to ask him what he’s trying to say but you can tell he’s struggling to find the words, so you remain quiet and let him think.

“If you win, you don’t just survive the games and retire in peace in the victor’s village.” He eventually begins. “You have to keep coming back; for the victor’s parade, as a mentor, for visits to the Capitol for all your adoring fans”

“I… I could do that,” you respond, but the pained look in Finnick’s eyes tells you that there is more.

“But you don’t deserve to have to.”

It’s a strange moment to watch your mentor, the person you trust to be strong, the survivor of these games, appearing vulnerable before your eyes. The six foot one man in front of you is suddenly just another teenager, around the same age as you.

“As a tribute, what I wish more than anything my mentor had warned me about, wasn’t what was inside of the arena, but what awaited outside. I can forgive you for being preoccupied and not noticing but I haven’t been spending any of these nights in my own bed since we’ve been here and that’s not by my own choice”

“Why?” you whisper, although a sickening sensation in your gut tells you, you can imagine the reason why.

“The Capitol loves beautiful things.”

You don’t know what to say. There’s nothing you ever could say to express your sympathy for his situation. You’re torn between wishing to offer comfort that you cannot, and a newly awakened fear that this could be what awaits you should you somehow make it out alive.

“I wish I could say that you are too young to hear this, but I needed to hear it at fourteen, and I have spent every day since winning those games regretting the fact that I did. There are fates in life that are much worse than death. By all means fight to protect yourself in that arena, no child or barely legal adult deserves a painful death, but if an opportunity presents itself to go in peace, seize it, or else you will spend every waking moment of your life outside in regret.”

[tealquacks]

They Share a Kitchen 4: Breakfast in Bed

Originally posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317644/chapters/69731439

It’s been many months, I know, but I hope you all like this chapter! 

Remus knew he should get out of bed. 

Out of bed, down the stairs. 

Down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He owed Janus rabbit, and he wanted to talk to Logan.

Logan…

It had been a few days since they’d gathered ingredients, and they’d talked almost every single day since. They met in the kitchen. Talked at night. Sought one another out. But it would never last. Logan would say something about the light sides and then scurry away, or get all quiet if he thought he heard footsteps. It never felt like it did when they were alone, truly alone. 

He rolled over in bed, curled in on himself. 

Come on. Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen, make something with rabbit, then find another reason to talk to Logan. Maybe they could find a good paella recipe. And that would get Logan to come into the kitchen and talk to him. He could talk to Janus, too, and cook as he did so.

Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen.

Remus stared at the wall. 

Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen. It was 7:30 am. Janus would be in the kitchen soon. And if he wasn’t in the kitchen before he left, he’d get that look from Janus, one of those looks that said ‘are you okay?’ And made him feel all queasy and miserable.

The long and short of his situation was that the bed was nice and soft, and he didn’t see a point in getting out of bed. Even though there was food to be made and conversations to be had. Remus sat up, but didn’t get out from under the covers.

He got like this sometimes. When was the last time? Remus looked down at his hands. Maybe he could paint his nails. In bed. Then he’d get up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen. What had he been—

—yes, when was that last time he couldn’t— right after Thomas decided to skip the fucking callback. He’d spent most of the wedding laying in bed, marinating in a horrid, heavy feeling that he couldn’t quite identify. It was like trying to pin a still flapping butterfly to a board. Remus flopped back onto bed.

Now it was 9:00 am. Where did that time go? He must’ve fallen back asleep, or zoned out. He sighed. At least he had a reason to feel heavy then. Now he was just being stupid.

“No, you feel heavy because he abandoned you,” a deep voice echoed, “like all the others.”

“Shut the fuck up, Orange,” Remus grumbled, “I’m tryna fucking sleep.”

“No you’re not.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Orange laid his hand on Remus’ head. It was freezing cold against his skin. He gently ran his fingers through the brown strands. They stayed like that for a few minutes, in a cold, uncomfortable silence.

“Green, you know they’ll never apologize to you,” Orange whispered, “they’ll never accept you. They’ll never stay by you. It’s a fact of life, it’s alright-”

The words drifted away as Remus shut his eyes, mind wandering far, far away. It left the room entirely- bed, stairs, kitchen, Logan- and found itself back at that night on the dock, Logan’s pale skin under bright moonlight. He’d offered him a castle, a cottage. He gave him a pearl. Had he kept that pearl? Or did he throw it away? 

Orange chuckled darkly, hand still in his hair. He pet him slowly, as if consoling a dying animal.

“You poor little creature.”

“I’ll kill you,” Remus growled.

“You can’t even get out of bed.”

“I’ll still kill you.”

It had been several days— four, maybe— since Logan and him dove into the cool black of the ocean. He returned to the dock just yesterday. Slow waves lapped against the shore, illuminating the night in a bright blue bioluminescence. If Logan had asked, he would’ve made him a cottage on the beach. He would’ve turned the black sand to glass. He would’ve destroyed it all. 

“You’ve let yourself change too much. Remember, Green,” Orange mumbled, playing with Remus’ hair, “you are nothing but one part to a whole, a scrap, a husk. You’re empty and hated, hated by Red, by Purple, by Indigo—“

Remus moved without thinking, hands wrapping fast around Orange’s throat, squeezing with whatever might he had. Orange toppled off of the bed, and Remus went with him, slamming his knees into Orange’s chest as his back hit the floor, hands clasped around his throat like a prayer.

“Don’t you fucking dare say anything about him you goddamn piece of shit,” Remus snarled,  "He is nothing like them— nothing like me! And that’s… that’s none of your business! That’s what it is! Do you hear me?”

Orange just grinned, his unreadable face flickering. Remus throttled him back and forth, slamming his head into the dirty floor of his room. Orange’s face never shifted. Still cold, unreadable. Remus dug his nails into his throat. His breath came in shallow puffs.

“Do you fucking hear me?”

Someone knocked on the door quietly. Janus, probably. Remus held fast to Orange’s neck.

“Do you hear me, motherfucker? He doesn’t hate me! HE DOESN’T HATE ME!” Remus screeched. All Orange did, the absolute bastard, was raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Look at that, I got you out of bed. You should thank me, Green.”

Remus punched him in the nose as hard as he could, a loud crack echoing through the room. Orange’s blood dyed his knuckles a shifting cascade of color. 

The door quietly creaked open.

“I heard something fall, and then yelling,” Logan began carefully. "I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Remus looked up from where he knelt on the floor, hands clasping at nothing but air. Cowardly bastard had up and vanished without a trace. Even the blood had vanished from his knuckles. Logan was still looking at him, tray in his hands, angelically haloed in the light of the hallway. Remus coughed, attempting (and probably failing) to not look like he had just tried to brutally murder someone.

“Hi, Logan, what’cha got there?”

“Janus said he didn’t see you at breakfast, so I, um. Grabbed some pancakes Virgil made, and made you a little plate. Are you alright?”

Remus stood, brushing dust off of his dirty pajama pants. He hadn’t washed them in… had he ever washed them? He sat back on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m perfectly peachy, Logan.”

Logan frowned. “It’s 9… 9 something. I didn’t check the time before I came up. But I thought you’d be hungry.”

Remus tilted his head, sloshed the sludge of his brain around trying to find coherent thought. The urge to scream at Logan welled up within him, a thick feeling in his throat as if he was about to puke up a torrent of slugs. He wanted to ask him for so many things- stay with him, hold him, tell him he doesn’t hate him. He gingerly pat his bed. 

Logan stepped inside of his room, closing the door behind him. Remus turned on the lights with a clap of his hands. Logan sat (on the bed,) facing him, and set the tray between them. There was a plate of pancakes— probably banana nut, knowing Virgil— as well as two glasses of water with lemon on the rim, and an orange. Two glasses of water.

“Were you planning on eating with me?” Remus asked quietly. Logan picked up one of the glasses.

“If you wouldn’t be averse to that,” he muttered. Remus snorted.

“You know I love spending time with you.”

Logan sipped his water, the slice of lemon bumping his glasses a little. Remus couldn’t help but stare. He wanted. He wanted. He didn’t know what it was, but whatever it was, he wanted. 

“How have you been?” Remus asked. Logan swallowed a mouthful of cold water. 

“Well. And you?”

Remus picked up the fork and knife on the tray, gingerly cutting into the stack of pancakes. He poked one with a fork, and lifted it to his mouth. Banana nut, just as he’d expected. He hated the taste of banana nut, but Logan didn’t know that. 

“Good, I’ve been doing good. I couldn’t get out of bed this morning, but besides that, I’m all good. I haven’t washed my sheets in close to twenty years and I’m so glad I’m not a human or else they’d smell absolutely horrible and be covered in dead skin.”

Logan looked down at the blanket. Remus chewed slowly.

“That’s okay,” Logan mumbled.

Remus chewed, then swallowed.

“Do you still have that pearl I gave you?” He asked.

Logan sipped his water. Remus’ heart started to pound.

“Do you still have that pearl I gave you?” Remus repeated. Logan lowered the glass from his lips, then nodded.

“Of course I do. It’s beautiful, Remus.”

“Just beautiful? No little scientific quip about pearls?”

Logan opened his mouth, then closed it. He cleared his throat.

“Cleopatra, according to legend, dissolved crushed pearls in vinegar to drink them. The pearls would dissolve in the vinegar, since pearls are 85-90% calcium carbonate, which is also the main component of snail shells, and eggs. Calcium carbonate is also suspected to be found on Mars.”

“Space oysters!” Remus said between bites of pancake, “speaking of Cleopatra, how has Roman been doing? Get it, since Cleopatra fucked Caesar and Caesar was Roman, though I doubt Roman is getting any. Did you know Cleopatra made a vibrator by sticking a bunch of bees in a dildo?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched up.

“That is quite an interesting fact.” “So how is he? Roman, I mean.

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, he’s been hanging out with Virgil a good deal. They were working together. I… don’t know if Roman is feeling any better, though. The two of them, surprisingly enough, seem to bring out the best and worst in one another. Roman makes Virgil brave, in an odd way.”

Remus nodded.

“I regret teaching him to cook.” 

“Who, Virgil?”

“Yes,” Remus said, “cooking’s my thing and I hate him so much and I hate Roman too, they left me, they hate me, and I hate them.”

Logan went silent.

“...Virgil made those pancakes. Do you want to move downstairs? We could make pancakes, and they wouldn’t be his.”

Remus nodded. 

“That sounds great! Are you sure the others won’t be there?”

“The kitchen has been mostly empty since Roman and Virgil’s little… escapade. It would be just the two of us.”

Remus stood, leaving the tray of food on the bed.

“Alright then! Race you to the kitchen!”

He lept off of his bed and burst through the door of his room, almost slamming into the wall before turning and running down the stairs on all fours. He toppled over his arms, and slid down the rest of the stairs on his back. His feet touched the floor, and he sprinted into the kitchen, only to find Logan already standing there.

“How the fuck?”

“I teleported,” Logan said, a small smirk lighting up his features. He still held the glass of water with a lemon slice on it, “we’re not real, remember?”

“You little shit,” Remus said with a smile. Logan raised his glass in a mock toast. Remus walked over to the cupboards, keeping his eyes on Logan the whole time. He wanted.

“The griddle is still out at least,” Remus observed, “Virgil never was one to clean up his own goddamn messes. Now sit down, unless you have an award winning pancake recipe!”

Logan sat, and said “your pancake recipe has won an award?”

Remus snorted.

“No, but Janus once told me it deserved an award.”

He knew the steps. Get the flour. Scoop some into a bowl, then baking powder, eggs, sugar… it felt like too much. He’d made it so many times. Now it felt like too much.

Logan stared at him.

“...do you wish for me to help you make them?”

“Yes, please,” Remus said, absolutely relieved, “get the flour.”

Logan stood from the table, and went over to the cabinet. He reached up, and Remus couldn’t help but stare at his arms as he got the milk and eggs out of the fridge.

“You should wear less clothes,” Remus said, “you have nothing to be ashamed of, really, you’re just as handsome as everyone else here.”

“Nobody else is here except you.”

“Are you saying I’m not handsome?” Remus teased, conjuring a bowl.

“I certainly am not.”

Logan pulled the flour down, as well as the baking powder. 

“Is there anything else we need from the cabinet?” He asked. Remus grabbed the milk, eggs and butter from the fridge.

“Salt and sugar, and the rest is moist ingredients!”

Remus used his fingers to squeeze 3 tablespoons of butter from the stick, watching Logan get all the ingredients lined up on the counter.

“How much of each ingredient do you need?”

“One point five cups flour, like, four teaspoons powder, tablespoon of sugar. You seem much more alive today, is that because the others aren’t around?”

Logan sighed.

“I constantly remind you that I have to keep up appearances in front of the others—“

“And I constantly tell you that you don’t have to listen to them. You can make them listen, too.”

Logan took out the measuring cups, starting to measure the ingredients. Remus melted the butter into the bowl with a snap of his fingers, then cracked the egg into the bowl.

“How would you suggest I go about making them listen?”

Remus giggled quietly.

“Patton’s afraid of death, right? Just threaten him. Say you’ll tear his throat out. Or stomp on his neck until he dies. And then when he comes back up you explain everything to him! Or you just scare him! Make your face all scary and spook him!”

Logan frowned.

“I don’t think that would do much for the situation, especially considering that Patton doesn’t listen to you because you scare him.”

“Have you tried asking Patton and the others to listen to you?” Remus asked, stirring the butter and eggs together. He wasn’t really focused on the recipe, just on Logan. That odd heaviness still lingered, but he tried to push past it.

“No, I don’t think so. If I did, it didn’t work.”

Remus sighed.

“My offer still stands, you know. A cottage, a castle, anything you want.”

Logan looked up at Remus, then back down at the measuring cups.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. With how much Thomas’ emotional state has been spiraling, I can’t leave him or the others unsupervised. Relations between the sides can move from arguing to breakdown inducing levels of tension.”

“When has that ever happened?”

Logan frowned. All of the ingredients sat neay measured in front of him, sat on the counter.

“Besides the memorable incidents concerning the wedding, Janus was the one who encouraged you to become more present in Thomas’ day to day life, was he not?”

Remus shrugged. He walked over to Logan, grabbing all the measuring cups and dumping them into the bowl, one by one, haphazardly mixing them together with a summoned spoon.

“I’ve always been in Thomas’ life, and I always will be. I just decided to become more present in his life, to piss off Patton and Virgil. So I’d wait until he was about to sleep, and scream my ideas into the imagination, which certainly terrified Patton and Virgil.”

Logan raised his eyebrow.

“You did all that because Janus told you too?”

Remus stared at Logan blankly.

“He’s the only person that’s always been there for me.”

An awkward silence fell between them. He mixed the contents of the bowl until all of the chunks of flour and baking powder were mixed in, making a liquid smooth batter. He considered adding blueberries or chocolate, but Logan liked simple things. Water with lemon, saffron crocuses. Remus looked over to Logan. 

“A cottage, would that be nice for you? Or would you want a more modern house with lots of bells and whistles? A smart house like that one Ray Bradbury short story, you know the ones with the lions and the kids and the lions ate the parents? I could make it in the crocus field you helped me make and you’ll have infinite saffron— you’re frowning, is that not nice? It sounds pretty nice to me.”

Logan shook his head.

“I’ve told you many, many times, I can’t.”

“Because of how your little light sides would feel?” Remus snapped, “What about how I would feel?”

“And how do you feel?” Logan asked sharply.

“I want to eat your heart,” Remus blurted. He felt his face burn. Logan blinked, staring right at him. 

“I don’t have a heart, Remus,” Logan whispered.

“What if you had a heart, if you were human? Would you let me eat it then?”

Logan looked away from him, staring down at his hands.

“If you wanted to,” Logan mumbled.

“I do,” Remus exclaimed, “with saffron and sea salt!”

Logan’s face burned bright red. His hands pressed flat against the counter, and he turned to Remus.

“It’s a damn shame I’m not human then,” Logan spoke, “because I would love every second of that.”

Without thinking, Remus dropped the bowl and the spoon, letting batter splatter all over himself and the stove. He turned, pressing himself close to Logan, placing one hand on his chest where his heart would be. It covered his shirt in batter, but Logan didn’t seem to mind.

“Then let’s pretend we are human.”

Logan turned to face him, eyes wide, and face flushed.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Remus smirked. He leaned in, just enough to smell the coffee on Logan’s nervous breaths.

“Do you want me to?” He asked. Logan swallowed. He looked over Remus’ shoulder, then grabbed his wrist. 

“What about the others?” Logan whispered. Remus’ face fell. He set his hand on Logan’s cheek.

“If this makes you happy, the others won’t care who kisses you,” he promised. Logan smiled softly. 

“Then I want you to, Remus. Kiss me,” Logan said breathily. Remus leaned just a little closer, foot happily tapping against the ground.

Remus leaned in closer, closing the distance between them, and gently pressed his lips against Logan’s. He tasted like coffee, warm and inviting, and something very familiar. Probably spit. But it was good, because it was him, it was Logan, Logan kissing him and moving his hand from his wrist to the small of his back. Wonderful, so wonderful. Remus pulled back, just for a breath he didn’t even need, and pressed his lips to Logan’s cheeks, then his nose, his brow bone.

“Is that necessary?” Logan mumbled. Remus laughed quietly, pressing a small kiss to Logan’s eyelid. They fluttered open. Remus stared into his eyes, and cupped Logan’s cheek in his hand.

“A cabin,” Remus muttered, “a cabin where we can be alone and I can kiss you all the time, and you never have to be scared again.”

Logan sighed, leaning closer to Remus. They bumped their foreheads together, Remus wrapping his arms around Logan possessively. 

“I can’t leave. But we can still kiss,” Logan whispered.

“I’m so glad I got out of bed.”

“What the fuck is going on?!?”

Remus turned his head quicker than he ever thought he had before. There, standing in the middle of the kitchen, Virgil glared at them.

“Oh, hi Virgil, don’t you look cheerful as ever,” Remus crowed. He looked back, Logan’s face as pale as a pearl. 

“Get the fuck away from him,” Virgil ordered. Remus tilted his head.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll fucking kill you.”

Remsus’ brows shot up. 

“Over what, you perpetually pissed purple pussy? Just because Logan wanted me to--” “I doubt he wanted anything from you,” Virgil growled, “what could he possibly fucking want? Get away from him. Now.”

“Why don’t you just ask--” “Get. Away.”

Remus glanced back at Logan. Any trace of emotion had vanished, replaced with that cold, stony stoicism. Remus wanted to grab him. Grab him and scream at him to say something, scream until something got through to him, scream until Logan realized that even if he did piss the light sides off, he wouldn’t be alone, they’d always have the ocean and the kitchen and one another--

“You are a really, really shitty person, Virgil. And the worst part is that I don’t even think you see it. I mean, what gives you the goddamn right to come wandering in here and tell me what to do, and assume what Logan wants?”

Virgil took a step forward. “I know that he wants nothing to do with a shitbag skunk-cunt like you.”

“Oh, what an original insult!” Remus exclaimed. He laughed, then the smile suddenly dropped from his face. ”Actually, it isn’t. That was the same thing I called you when you left me, left me behind to rot, you and fucking Roman, and you know, I know what you want with him. You want everything about him, you want to leech off the love he gets from the others since none of them fucking love you, and you know that deep down, don’t you? That nobody likes you!”

Remus reached behind him. He grabbed Logan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Logan’s hand was limp in his grasp. Virgil glared at him. “Wow, I’d sure be hurt if you weren’t such a fucking hippocrite. At least I’m wanted. I may have my moments, sure, I can be paranoid and snappy, but that’s not my constant state of being. You’re just a rabid dog. Sure, Janus may tolerate you, but once he really figures out how useless you are, he’ll leave. I’m sure that’s why he suddenly decided to play nice with the light sides, he realized that you couldn’t do anything for him anymore-- you certainly can’t scare me or Patton-- and you’re useless to him, time to throw you away like the shitsack you are. You’re useless to everyone, you know? If you just locked yourself in your room for the rest of Thomas’ life, nothing would change. You’re Roman’s lesser half, his fucking shadow-- are you crying?”

Remus touched his face. It was wet. His feet felt like they were glued to the floor. 

“What,” Virgil mocked, a shaky smile on his face, “Can’t handle the heat? Then get the FUCK out of the kitchen!”

Remus raised his arm to throw a punch. Logan’s grip tightened on his hand.

“That is enough, both of you,” Logan said calmly. He stepped in front of Remus, letting go of his hand.

“Virgil, thank you for being vigilant, but I assure you it’s fine.” Virgil stared at Logan’s chest. His usually neat dress shirt had a messy stain in the shape of a hand, right over his heart. “Did he hurt you?” Virgil asked.

“He didn’t hurt me, I’m okay. We were having a simple conversation, nothing more.”

Remus stared at him sadly. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. They weren’t just talking, they had something. They kissed, for gods sake, they kissed--

Remus grabbed Logan’s shoulders and spun him around. He slammed Logan against the table, and kissed him deep and hard, desperate. Logan’s hand pushed against his chest. Remus could feel Virgil’s hands grab his shirt and yank, the collar choking him, but he didn’t need air or water or food, he didn’t need anything but Logan, his Logan--

Logan shoved him away with both hands, staring at him sadly. As if he was nothing but a hurt animal. 

“I--” 

“Virgil, let go,” Logan said. Virgil let go of his shirt with a quiet grumble.

Remus stared at Logan. He backed away, until he could feel the stove against his back, the heat of the griddle.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Virgil shouted. Remus stared at the floor. If Virgil said anything else, it was lost in the dark tidal wave of emotion that hit Remus. He didn’t even know what it was. He was drowning, and the water was devoid of any life. Dark, too dark, too cold. He shook. A sudden heat jolted up his arm-- when had he set his hand on the griddle? He could smell his skin cooking. Bubbling. He watched Logan. He said he wanted to kiss him, he said he wanted him to, and they kissed and it was so wonderful. Virgil left. Logan walked out behind him. His palm burned on the griddle.

“What’s cooking?” 

Remus looked up. Orange sat in front of him at the kitchen table, straddling a chair. Remus stared at him, trying to see past whatever Orange did to make himself imperceptible, but his form kept on shifting in dizzying spirals of color, like oil on water. Remus slowly raised his hand from the griddle. If he was human, the skin would be white and blistered, maybe even peeling in a few places. But just like Logan, he wasn’t human. His hand was fine.

“A heart,” Remus mumbled, “and I’m eating it with saffron and sea salt.”

Orange tilted his head.

“There’s no need to repeat yourself, Remus. I heard everything. And I’m here to say that I told you Indigo would leave.”

Remus moved without thinking. He rushed at Orange. Instead, he collided with a chair, sending it clattering to the ground.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Remus screamed. 

“No you won’t, because you know I’m right. I’ve always been right.” This time, Orange sat atop the counter. Remus summoned his morningstar with a flick of his wrist.

“No you’re not, you’re not right,” Remus growled. He swung at Orange. Orange vanished into thin air before it could even come close to hitting, the heavy iron ball instead slamming into the counter. It cracked the counter, and sent flour flying.

“I’ve always been right, Remus!” Orange said from in front of the fridge. He leaned against it oh so casually, “I’ve been right that you’re only playing house because you think they’ll all leave. Well, look at you now. Making pancakes, right? How sweet.” Remus swung again. The morning star collided with the fridge. It dented the door, and made a horrible screech of metal on metal. He pulled back, ready to strike again.

“You believe that Indigo deserves to be listened to no matter what, correct?” Orange asked. He laid on the table. Remus swung. The morning star collided with wood, splintering the wood.

“I take that as a yes,” Orange said. He was back on the table. Remus swung again. It hit the table in the same place as last time.

“Fucking stay still!” Remus screamed.

“You think he should be listened to no matter what he says or does. No matter who he truly is. And yet, you hold yourself back.” For the third time, the morningstar slammed into the table. This time, it broke through, splitting the table in two. Splintered wood flew in every direction.

“You cook because that makes you palatable,” Orange repeated. He sat on the stove. Swing. The griddle broke under the force of the morning star.

“But you aren’t.”

Swing. Miss. Break.

“You are a monster, that’s how you were made, that is who you are.”

Swing. Miss. Break. 

“You’re really good at swinging that thing around. Did you know that Lucifer was called the Morning Star? And he got punted out of heaven for defying God. His brother was an angel, I believe.”

Remus stilled, panting. Orange stood on the countertop, back pressed against the cabinets, 

“You’re nothing like them. You are the parts of humans that they hate, the beast in the brain, a reminder that humans evolved from animals. They hate you, Remus. They all do. Because they don’t understand you.”

Remus’ hands tightened around the morning star. Orange tilted his head.

“If Indigo loved you, wouldn’t he have said it by now?”

He hefted up the morningstar, and swung recklessly at Orange. The wood of the cabinet splintered and cracked. Glass shattered with a massive crash, like a wave hitting the shore, and millions of glinting shards flew at him, some sticking in his skin and others harmlessly bouncing on the tiles. 

“You are so much more than what they think you are,” Orange said, breath tickling the back of Remus’ neck, “so why try to make them like you? Do you really care that much about them? They’ve done nothing but abandon you, Remus. Over and over again. Nothing has or will change that.”

Remus whipped around, morningstar in hand, but Orange was gone. Remus dropped the morningstar. It clattered to the ground with a thud. He opened his mouth to scream, but no words came out. Nothing came out. He shakily walked to the destroyed table, and sat down on a chair. He looked around. Broken glass littered the floor. The stove had a massive dent in it, and the griddle had been snapped in two. The fridge had a dent, the counters had a dent and harsh scratches from his mace’s spikes, and the realization that he did that just because Orange made him angry made bile rush up his throat.

He didn’t scream or cry or vomit. Just stared at the mess he’d made.

Really, he’d made a mess. Maybe Logan didn’t want to kiss him. Maybe it was an experiment to him, like that stupid fucking schedule that had started this all, made Logan come to the kitchen, see him cooking…

Remus closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he sat on the edge of his dock, watching the glowing waves crash against the shore without end. The place he’d shared with Logan, offered him everything he wanted. Their skin was pale under the moonlight. Remus pulled his knees up to his chest.

He still owed Janus rabbit. He’d make it, then that would be the end, and he’d never set foot in that fucking kitchen again.

He watched the waves.

Tag list: @alexalexisalexej @breezy-skribblz @the-real-comically-insane @gravestone-monarch @heartwitchhouse @appleflavoredkitkats

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (Part 3) The Main Character

Feels. If opportunities were broad sides of barges, the Devs couldn’t hit them.

I’m enjoying the heck out of this, and its not even hard to write.

Enjoy!

“MC!” Caesar’s voice startled you, even though you were awake. How could you sleep when your emotions were in such roiling turmoil?

You had just woken up in a strange place where people exploded everything that was inside themselves and doused the flames in showers of liquor. They poured it on each other, hugged, touched, screamed! If you grew up in the polar north, this was the tropics with its searing heat and blazing sun. You were calm about it, but like a sunburn, as you lay in the dark and closed your eyes the images of flashing lights and heaving bodies was turning into a strange red mark on your brain that you couldn’t ignore.

So you quickly get out of bed and open the closet.  It was Caesar. His expression was serious.

"Ten minutes, dress yourselves up, the store manager wants to see you." Caesar was once again dressed in full costume. He wasn’t wearing the same tight-fitting suit. It was replaced by a see-through silver shirt, tied a rhinestone neck scarf. The back of his tight pants wrapped his buttocks so that the muscle was visible.

“Why?” You ask, as you’re drawn out of the closet in confusion. The other boys were also dressed.

“While you were resting, we went into our interview. The Whale doesn’t want to make a decision without seeing you first.”

Your mind briefly flashes back to the Whale in Siberia. “Whale?”

Chu Zihang spoke. "Japan is surrounded by the sea on all sides, so the Japanese worship the ocean. In the sea, the whale is the most powerful animal, and whale meat is also an aphrodisiac food, so the man with the title of ‘Whale’ should be said to be the most powerful of men." 

“Here, get dressed.” Caesar had produced yet another outfit.

This Cheongsam was different, black. The chest was still covered, but your skin shined through lace roses on your chest. The skirt only barely covered the front and the back. The slits in both sides of the skirt rose all the way to the curve of your butt.

Mingfei peeked through his fingers. “Boss…”

“No time to worry about anything. You have to nail this.” Caesar said.

“Yes.” You held out your leg so he could help you into your fish nets, his fingers gently sliding up your calves and thighs.. “What do I have to do?”

“The Whale interview isn’t difficult, but it’s pass or fail. You have to open your heart to him and be as honest as you can. You can’t hold back or lie, because he’ll see through it. If he likes what he sees, he’ll let you stay.”

He stands behind you and removes the comb from your bun. The hair falls over your shoulder and he starts running a brush through it, pulling through the tangles roughly in his hurry.

“What is he going to ask?” You’re not minding his yanking. In fact, it felt nice to have your hair pulled like this. It gave you a tingly feeling in your scalp.

“I don’t know. If you do your best though, I think, you’ll be fine. But you’re very closed up. You can’t be that way in front of him. So just prepare yourself to be open.”

“Okay…” 

He turns you around. “Lu, get me the make up case.”

“Yes, boss.” 

He’s crouched in front of you, eyes sharp. His eyes search your face. “Your skin is good at least.”

You smile, but you feel nervous. He was right. Being open wasn’t your strong suit.

Lu Mingfei returns with the make up case and Caesar paints your eyes, sweeps a brush through your eyelashes and paints your lips. “I think simple is best in this situation.”

“Little sister… if you don’t feel comfortable. I understand…” Mingfei mumbled.

“I cannot do anything else, right now. If we’re thrown out, it’s over! So please just believe in me.” 

You glance up at him. Mingfei’s cheeks turn a little red. “I… Okay.”

As the four of you rise through the elevator, Caesar continues to explain to you. “The first floor is a stage and dance floor, a place for grand performances and female guests to drink and dance; the second floor is a spa and beauty salon; the third floor is a kaiseki restaurant called "Barnacles" and a tea house. The retired performers have their own suites on the third floor. We can only live in the basement as interns.  Well, it’s more accurate to say that we live in that bathroom.”

“No wonder you’re always bathing.” Your heart is leaping in your chest, but you stay calm on the outside, ever humorous.

“The fourth floor is off limits. Only those invited by the store manager can set foot here. They call it The Sea.”

You step out of the elevator. Fourth Floor.

Doors painted with blue acacia flowers opened one after another and, by each door stood tall, sturdy, black-clad bodyguards. You clasp your hands in front of you, just like you did for the man in the striped suit. Just like the high school student in the manga, you keep your eyelashes low, and your back straight. Only now there was no breeze to lift your skirt or hair.

Of course, the giant whale should live in The Sea, so this whole floor is the residence of the store manager. The main color of the whole floor is sea blue -- sea blue walls, sea blue carpets, sea blue curtains, even the table porcelain are sea blue. The bodyguards have turtles, starfish, and sea crabs tattooed on their bald heads.

In front of the last aquamarine door, a man, tall with a body overflowing with mounds of fat, stood. If this was the sea, and you were going to meet a whale, this man was truly like a male seal. The Baikal Seals live in Russia, in the great lake. They could reach five feet and length and weigh 290 pounds. But this man was far bigger than even the biggest seal you’d ever seen. You look up at him, jaw dropping. This man would probably rule the beaches of Baikal as a seal!

He looked down at you. “The only way to impress the store manager is to show your true self.” He rumbled. “I have never seen a woman do this before. So who knows what might happen? But it will be a clash of heart upon heart. If your woman’s heart can reach him then…”

The Seal Man trailed off into silence and stepped to one side.

The last door slowly swung in. The fresh scent of seaweed comes to your nose, and your ears are full of the sound of water, as if you were facing the undulating sea. 

Behind the door was a rotunda, with a huge ring-shaped transparent fish tank as the wall. Clusters of soft coral grew on the rocks. Sea grass swayed in the artificial waves. Sea turtles slowly floated up, to just touch their noses to the surface. The two-meter long tiger shark has swam around the hall. 

The ocean… again. You think bitterly. The Arctic Sea, then the Deep Sea of Japan, and now this? Most people were overwhelmed by the sight of such a magnificent office. After all, the amount of money to maintain something like this had to exceed the yearly salary of an ordinary person every month! But your eyes grow cold and your frown with annoyance. You’re sick of the ocean.

The hall was very open, with two rows of bookshelves behind an oversized desk. In the light sat a stout man that reminded you of a giant bear. His whole body bathed in aquamarine - from his aquamarine satin suit to his aquamarine leather shoes, with a huge aquamarine ring on his ring finger and a red coral brooch on his chest. He sat on an aquamarine velvet sofa, smoking a thick Churchill cigar, gently stroking a famous breed of Himalayan cat, and shaking a cup of golden alcohol on the rocks, which reflected a splendid light. 

True to his name, the store manager Whale is even more dominant when he appears in private marine settings. He wore huge sunglasses. The top of his head shined like bright tile. Were it not for the blue whale tattooed on the side of his head, you would have thought that he too was part of the yakuza. But seeing it took away from the seriousness of it all.

He looks at you and quirks a single eyebrow. He eyes you up and down once and then nods, looking over to Caesar, Zihang, and Mingfei. “It looks like you weren’t kidding me about her.”

What did Caesar say? You wonder and glance over your shoulder, but the three men were already moving to the aquamarine sofas near the glass walls.

This was it. You take a deep breath. Whatever the question, you would answer with your truth. No matter how difficult, no matter how dark, no matter how cold. If he didn’t like it? Tough. Such rich and privileged men could rarely handle a truth, especially a woman’s truth. Such was reality. You doubted this sort of tactic would let you win, but you had to trust Caesar.

And yourself.

The Whale picked up a brush and dipped it in ink. Instead of writing he froze, looking up at you once again. His eyes behind the tint met your cold challenging ones. He slowly lifted the brush, looked down at a small parchment.

He wrote in quick elegant calligraphy, two characters which he held up for all to see. “Lost Love.”

“Ms. MC. The question I am asking you is about lost love.”

You inhale sharply through your nose and your eyes widen. You’d opened your heart and now, it was like he had taken a long sword and run you through with it! Your ears tingle. Your eyes burn. Your hands, still clasped in front of you, jerk tighter to dig your nails in, a reflex to stem the emotional pain.

“In this line of work, we deal with many women who have no love or have never experienced it. Caesar says you have never experienced the love of a man. So tell me. What can you say about Lost Love?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. The memories spiral up from your heart and through your mind like a long sleeping geyser that had finally erupted, flooding your body and rendering you speechless.

The darkness of the winter solstice comes again, but it’s midday in the arctic. So the pale blush of the reminder of sun was just starting to appear on the low horizon. The sky is full of stars. The green aurora dances over head like a parade. The lighthouse in the distance peals its church-like bell, slowly rotating its sword of light though the thick night air. A flock of white snow geese pass by, in V formation, calling encouragement to each other on the journey.

Renata is sitting alone on stones swept free from the fallen dry snow. Her blond hair is tucked up in her fur lined hood and her body is covered head to toe in the thick coat that was patched over and over in many colors. 

Your breath fogs in front of your face as you sigh and make your way up.

A whale always passed by here this time of day on Christmas. It was a secret you shared only with her and you came up here every year to see it. As you go to sit down next to her, the whale appears, a black shadow moving under the ice.

“Make a wish.” She whispers.

Normally, people wished on stars. But the stars were frozen and inert in the sky, stuck here, just like you. The whale, however, was free to roam as it liked. It had the power to make dreams come true.

After a moment, Renata looked up at you, her pale blue eyes sparkling. Her skin was good, her lips bright and her cheeks flushed against the winter frost. “What did you wish for?”

“The same thing I wish for every year.” You reply warmly.  “I want to be just like the whale. To be free and live in the ocean."

Renata grins and giggles. "If that day ever comes, I hope that I'll be standing right next to you. I'm very happy to have you... by my side.”

Your breath suddenly flies from your lungs and your eyes rise again to the sea of blue around you. The fish, the shark, the coral and the tortoises. It is just like you were once again miles under the sea. 

Your hand goes over your mouth.

You’re speaking with a whale.

“Renata…” Your voice squeaks and your knees shake.

Whale doesn’t understand your words and his confused look brings you back to earth. But you can’t school your expression. You feel like you’re bleeding out and you can’t stop it. Your mind is in a daze of joy and pain. Even though your eyes are swimming with tears, the joy stretches your face into a rapturous smile!

You were swimming free, like the whale in the ocean. You’ve been to the big city. And even though you could no longer hear her voice, you can feel her with you, like a shadow that held the warmth of her hand in yours. Never had it been so strong as now.

“Lost Love?” You look him with this blaze of emotions pouring from your cold dark eyes. “Oh, Whale… there’s no such thing!”

The Whale’s jaw drops. His hand goes limp. The ink brush drops from his hand and falls to the carpet, spraying the ink on his aquamarine shoes.

For a moment, there is silence. And then a wail, like a roar of an injured beast!

The fat man who had greeted you is weeping openly, one arm over his eyes. He’s moaning out something in Japanese that you don’t understand.

Lu Mingfei quietly translates. “That guy's name is Fujiwara Kanousuke. Before he went to The Sea to become a male performer he was a Daiguan-level sumo wrestling star, just shy of rising to the top 'Yokozuna'. His previous girlfriends were all Japanese drama stars, and he was considered a hot and beautiful man in Japan. But then a female fan heard the news that he was getting engaged and desperately jumped to her death. This is the first time he understands how she felt." 

His eyes lower and he falls into silence while the man sobs.

Chu Zihang stands up and wanders away from the group, raising his eyes to watch the sea turtles swimming by.

Whale slammed his fist on the desk and everyone jumped. The cat hisses and flies off his lap in a blur to hide behind the bookcases. “This… this…” He croaked, shaking. Beads of sweat were rolling down his bald head. They moistened his nose and his glasses slipped down his face. “This power… I thought I’d never see it.”

Power…? Your emotions are almost calm but the effort of control has left crescent moon bruises in your aching hands.

“The power to move a man’s heart to action, to reach out and to embrace another woman’s heart, uncontrollably! Yes! YES!”

He leans on the desk, glaring at Caesar, “BasaraKing… I want to keep her here but I cannot accept your offer to make her do something as crass as bidding up fish. I want her to be a challenge to my precious performers! To pour out their love on her to the superlative degree!”

Your eyes widen and you freeze in place. What did that mean?!

Lu Mingfei was equally appalled but as soon as he opened his mouth, Caesar’s hand slapped over it to silence him. “Yes, sir. I’m glad her answer pleased you.”

“I cannot give you an Ikemen persona… you are not Ikemen… no… the opposite. You…”

He pointed a shaking ringed finger at you. “You! Are!”

He swept out his hands and raised his eyes to the ceiling, shouting like an evangelical preacher. “YOU ARE THE MAIN CHARACTER!”

[scribble-games]

Scenario ask regarding everyone’s favorite evil spy! F! Angel and 180 run into each other on assignment at a fancy ball and end up dancing. what can I say, I love me my tropes.

This got way longer than it was supposed to be, and also I was having trouble ending it so it does end a bit abruptly. But I hope you like it!

---

The music changes, and an irresistible idea comes to your mind. "Care to dance?" You stretch out your hand - an invitation, a challenge.

She takes it. You knew she would.

---

Music drifts across the driveway from the open double doors. Behind you, a valet drives away with your car, leaving you to make your way towards the house. You have to hold your skirts up, picking your way daintly across the gravel. The dress is huge, and the panniers took some time to get used to moving in them, but they have their advantages. You feel like you could stow a rocket launcher under this skirt. Not that you've gone quite that far.

Some guests are lingering outside; Abraham Lincoln deep in conversation with a Greek philosopher, and as you politely squeeze past the philosopher laughs and says, "Got any cake?"

Inside, you are ushered into an anteroom, where you take a moment to exchange niceties with your hostess, an excitable Elizabeth I. Thankfully, there are a lot of people wanting to talk to her, and you are able to slip away again after a moment, alert for your target.

There he is, in the rather cheap Caesar costume, waving a wineglass around to punctuate his conversation. You sigh. He's hard enough to put up with when he isn't drunk. But, the mission is what is it. You move in. Smile. Talk. Learn enough to know that you're going to have wait until later to get to what you want. At least that means you won't have to stick this close to him all night, but you hate waiting. How boring.

You're heading to the buffet table, when the crowd parts, a tall woman in top hat and tails turns, and your eyes meet her blue ones with a moment of mutal shock.

Shock gives way to calculation, and then a rueful smile. You're sure your own face shows the same journey of emotion. You both begin moving at the same time, meeting in the middle.

Angel's suit is monochrome, and though not revealing or overly tight, it follows the lines of her body closely, making her legs look even longer. The top hat sits at a jaunty angle on her head; her hair is scraped back, emphasizing her cheekbones. She takes in your costume with wry amusement. "Marie Antoinette? Bien, ç'est charmant."

"Merci," you say, inclining your head, infusing your voice with a ton of sugar and an ounce of venom. "How nice to see you."

"Shouldn't you curtsy?"

"I'm the queen," you say, locking eyes with her, your lips curving into a deliberate, challenging smile. "Shouldn't you kneel?"

Delight flashes in her eyes. "Careful, chérie. You know what the French do to queens."

"And who are you supposed to be?"

She gestures at her suit and gives a theatrical shrug. "A historical figure, can’t you tell? Honestly, I already had this in my wardrobe. It was a last minute invitation."

"Oh really? And who were you invited by?"

"A friend," she says lightly. "And you? Or are you here for me?" It's said like a joke, but her eyes remain on you and there's a tension in her jaw.

"Believe it or not, there are more important things in the world than you." Even as you say it you're wondering whether what you see on her face is an act. Is she here because of your mission, and the surprise just an illusion?

Of course, you have to stick with her and find out now, don't you? Alas, you literally have no choice. Such a shame.

The music changes, and an irresistible idea comes to your mind. "Care to dance?" You stretch out your hand - an invitation, a challenge.

She takes it. You knew she would.

"Who's leading?"

You didn't mind until she asked the question, but now you have to say, "Me."

Her smile widens.

You step close to her, take a breath of her perfume, and trail your fingers up her spine to her waist. She brushes her hand ever-so-lightly across the skin bared by the neckline of your dress before resting it on your shoulder. You're not looking up to meet her eyes, but you can feel her gaze on you, like you always can. Like you just stepped into a spotlight. And you're about to give one hell of a show.

You notice she's not so sure of the steps at first, glancing down at your feet to copy your movements, but she picks it up quickly. Of course, that means you have to up the ante. You break apart from her, your skirts flaring out around you, and lock your right arm with hers. She picks up your intent immediately, and you circle around each other before moving apart for a breath, fingertips stretched out, just touching.

"So I have a question," she says. "Not about work, just a little curiosity I have, you know." She spins elegantly back into your arms, once again close enough for you to feel the heat from her body.

"Yes?" you say, wary.

"I heard once that with the old-style dresses," she says, leaning in still closer, her head lowered into the curve of your neck, "to make it easier for the ladies to use the toilet, they would not wear anything underneath." Her breath caresses your ear. You can hear the grin in her voice. "So I'm just wondering... how accurate is the costume?"

You concentrate very, very hard on the next few steps, and manage to not trip over your feet. It doesn't help that your brain decides at that moment to make you very aware of her hand in yours, and all the things you know she can do with those hands...

But then, warns a last bastion of common sense, you really don't want her finding out what gear you actually have hidden under these skirts.

"You really want to know?" you say, lowering your voice seductively.

"Mm-hmm."

"First, tell me why you're really here."

"That's it?"

"To start with."

"Mostly, it's just a social event. There's people I need to keep contact with, in case I need them for the future."

It sounds plausible enough. There are faces in the crowd you recognise. The coincidence is possible, given the circles you're both running in. The question is, how much overlap is there between the people you know and the ones Angel knows? She'll never give away the details; there's no point in even asking. Really, just as long as your Caesar isn't mixed up in her business, it shouldn't be a problem, right?

"Satisfied?" she purrs. "So, what are you really doing here?"

You consider an outright lie, but it feels unfair to her. That's not how your game goes.

"Honestly? If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

She gives a soft laugh. "You'd have to try." You move together for a few more bars in silence, then she says, "You know there are people here who are protected?"

"Give me a list of them, and I'll try to avoid any clashes," you say dryly.

"You know what I'm saying."

"I do," you reply with a sigh. The music winds to an end, and you both come to a stop. "Business before pleasure, I suppose?"

"Why not both?" she says, and leans in to kiss your cheek. "Come find me if you want to get in more trouble." She adjusts her hat, flashes you one more brilliant smile, and then just before the dancers around you start to move again, threads neatly through them and is gone.

[curvedbrushking]

Buy a Curved Hair Brush for Wave

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[taehyungs-perm]

strawberry girl pt 4

taehyung x reader; college au; childhood best friends to lovers au; jock!fratboy taehyung

genre: fluff; major angst lol

word count: 11k

summary: i can pretend i don’t miss you. i can pretend i dont care. all i want to do is kiss you. what a shame you’re not here.

Part 1 here ; Part 2 here; part 3 here; part 5

playlist vibes

i like me better | lauv 

get you | daniel caesar 

japanese denim | daniel caesar 

lovers | anna of the north

comfort crowd | conan gray

idontwannabeyouanymore | billie eilish 

It was probably not ideal to start your morning by sobbing in the lap of your best friend, but it be like that sometimes.

Hana was softly combing the little strands of hair out of your face, “_________, it’s okay. Why are you so upset about this?”

You rolled over so you could see Hana, brushing the hair out of your face, “Because Hana, I told you what happened last time. I fell for him and it hurt me so much. I was trying so hard to avoid this.”

She looked at you with a serious look in her eyes, “__________ you can't choose what feelings you feel. But you can choose how you act. You have to tell people how you feel when you feel it. You missed that chance two years ago but you have it again now. This is a good thing. Tell Taehyung how you feel.”

You sat upright, looking at her seriously, “Hana, it’s not that simple. He probably doesn’t like me back. And if I confess and he says he doesn’t like me like that, then what? I’ve ruined our friendship over something that doesn’t even matter.”

“It does matter! Your feelings do matter. And that won’t happen. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you aren’t paying attention. He definitely likes you. Stop over thinking.”

“I’m not overthinking. If anything, I’m not thinking enough. I just should keep my mouth shut and hope this goes away.”

Hana shook her head, “What the fuck will that do? You’ll just sadly pine over him from a distance while he continues to fuck the rest of campus. Will that make you happy? Seeing him do that?”

“Hana, if Taehyung and I were meant to be, we would have been by now. But we aren’t. We are two different people and he just doesn’t see me like that.”

“And I’m telling you that he does! Even Jungkook has noticed the way Taehyung acts around you. It’s obvious to everyone but you.”

“It was just like this last time too, Hana. I thought he was so into me, but he wasn’t. He was into some other girl the whole time. It made me feel like a piece of shit. Like I was worthless and that I created this romance all in my head. I’m sick of waiting for love and I realized my life isn't anything special.”

She put her hands on your shoulders, “You have to start romanticizing your life. You have to start taking risks and do things for yourself. If you keep being afraid of what could happen, life will continue to pass you by and all the little things that make it so beautiful will continue to go unnoticed. You can’t keep wallowing in self pity. You need to do something about your life and for once not let it fuck you over. This isn’t just about Taehyung. This about how you live your life. I know you better than you think __________.You have to start thinking of yourself as the main character. You need to change your mentality of thinking you’re worthless and not enough.” 

You sighed deeply, knowing everything she’s saying is so true, “I know it okay. I know it’s the fucking capitalist misogynistic society that cultivates these ideas of insecurity and women and profits off of it to create an endless cycle of ‘I don’t feel enough’. And I want to get to that point where I can feel like I’m enough on my own. But it’s hard.”

Hana pulled you into a hug, “________ I know it’s hard. I just don’t want all of your fears and insecurities to stop you from achieving your dreams and going after things you want.”

You pulled away from her, “Do you really think I should tell him?”

She nodded excitedly, “I really, really do. Tonight is the perfect chance.”

You let out a deep sigh, releasing all the pent up tension in your body, “Okay. Tonight.”

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

You and Hana made your way through the somehow already crowded lodge.

“God, Jungkook is such an idiot. I told him not to invite too many people because he only has one house, but guess what?” Hana said huffing as she firmly gripped her duffle.

“What?” You were following closely behind her so as to not get stuck in the crowd. 

“He somehow got permission to use his neighbor’s lodge too. As long as everything is exactly how it was. Which there’s no fucking way that’ll happen.”

You nodded in agreement. There were already too many fucking people here. But to be fair, you and Hana did arrive late. Most people arrived in the early afternoon to go skiing and tubing. You and Hana decided to catch up on homework and studying and arrived in the early evening instead. Hana ensured that both of you dressed in cute outfits because she really wanted to take photos for her Instagram. 

Hana was wearing an emerald green satin tank top with black skinny jeans with black strappy heels.

You rarely wore dresses because the lack of practicality with no pockets infuriated you but Hana somehow convinced you to buy the maxi length black floral dress you were wearing. It had thin straps so you paired the dress with a black long sleeve shirt and white sneakers.

She dragged you upstairs. “Jungkook gave us this room,” Hana said, taking you down the hall. 

“Us?” You asked snarkily. 

“Okay, in theory I’m supposed to stay in this room with you.” 

“But?”

“But...I’ll stay with Jungkook and Jungkook’s roommate will stay here.”

You already knew where this was going and you felt your anxiety growing. You rubbed your temples, “Don’t tell me..”

“Taehyung said he’s perfectly okay with it so...”, she said through a large grin.

“Hana, I told you. I just-”

“And I told you! He likes you too! This is your chance. Your opportunity!! You two are so cute together. You just need to talk to him about your feelings,” she said pushing you into the room. Thankfully, there were two beds. You felt like you couldn’t handle another night next to Taehyung. You might literally have a heart attack, feeling his body that close to yours again. 

“I don’t know Hana. I don’t know if tonight is the right time,” you said, setting your duffle bag on your bed. 

You were about to continue before you heard a knock on the door. At the doorway was Taehyung and Jungkook, the causes of your incoming migraine.

Jungkook walked over to Hana and enveloped her in a big hug. “I missed you, love,” he said as he kissed her forehead.

“Miss you too,” Hana mumbled from his embrace.

Your heart yearned with longing at this interaction. How you so badly you wanted someone to love you. How so badly you wanted Taehyung to love you back. You then remembered that he was in fact standing right in front of you.

You smiled awkwardly at him. His fluffy curly hair was covering his eyes a bit. He was dressed in a somewhat sheer black floral shirt tucked into black skinny jeans. He looked like a model. He waved recognizing that you were a bit uncomfortable.

Jungkook, still with Hana in his embrace, left the room, saying something about how she needed to see the beer pong table in the basement.

“Hey,” Taehyung said casually, leaning against the door entrance.

You felt your heart beating fast. God, did he always make you this uneasy?

“Hi,” you squeaked. Oh my god. Why are you acting like this? Can't you just be chill?

He laughed, “Are you okay?”

Be chill. Act normal. “I’m fine. Just tired. I was at the library since you left this morning.” You were trying to distract yourself as you started unpacking some things from your duffle. He walked over and sat on your bed next to your duffle.

“Hmm. Seems like we’ll be spending another night together,” he said, grinning wickedly. 

Your cheeks reddened at his words. You cleared your throat, ”Well, you’ll be sleeping in your own bed. So not really.” You continued to take out items from your bag, so you didn’t have to make eye contact with him. 

He angled his face in front of your bag so you had to look at his doe eyes, “Oh really. It’s just that after last night, I don’t know if I can sleep without you next to me again. By the way, I usually sleep shirtless.”

You immediately felt your face flush and the textbook that you were holding (you brought it just in case you got bored) slipped from your hands, thudding loudly on the wooden floor. 

He gave you an infuriating smile as he leaned down and picked up your textbook. 

“Sure everything is fine?” He said handing you the book.

“I’m perfectly fine! We should go downstairs,” you said hastily as you set the book on the bed.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said standing up.

“Wait lemme fix my hair,” you said glancing in a mirror. It looked like you just woke up. Which to be fair, you kinda did sleep the entire way to the lodge.

You undid your braid and pulled it into a ponytail. You turned to him and he frowned. 

“What?” You said, feeling self conscious.

He walked over to you and pulled the hair tie out of your hair, “I like it when your hair is down.” He secured your dark pink scrunchie around his wrist. 

Your heart fluttered. Wait, did that mean he didn’t like when your hair was styled in other ways?

He pulled your hand and gave you that contagious smile, “I know what you’re thinking. I do think you look good in different hair styles. I like it when you wear braids or ponytails. But you rarely wear your hair down. I want you to know that I like that too.”

You looked down at the wooden flooring, trying to hide your smile, “Fuck off. I could care less what you think.”

“Ayy, there’s my girl. Now c’mon you look pretty let’s go!” Taehyung said, leading you down the stairs.

It seemed like time had no concept here as everyone was drinking and dancing as if it were midnight. Taehyung led you to the basement where there were somehow even more people. The colored lights were flashing and the music was blaring.

You found your friends sitting on the couches towards the back. Hana was sitting on Jungkook's lap next to Yoongi and Hobi. Even though you technically came with him, Taehyung’s presence was making you overly jittery so you opted to sit in the free seat next to Jimin. He gave you a cheerful smile and you tried not to look at Taehyung as he sat opposite of you two. Hana glared at you in frustration when she saw your seat choice. You responded by flipping her off and turned to talk to Jimin.

Your conversation with Jimin was cut off by Jungkook exclaiming, “Okay, let’s play truth or dare.”

Hana scoffed, “Are you kidding Jungkook? That game is for children.”

“Not the way we play it,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

You immediately shook your head, “I’ll sit this out.”

Jimin whined at you, “Cmon ________ you have to play.”

You shook your head, laughing, “In your fucking dreams.”

Jimin stroked his chin with his hand, thinking hard, “You have to play otherwise...”

Hana chimed in, “Otherwise I’ll hide your textbooks.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, “You wouldn’t dare.”  

“Try me bitch” Hana said with a smirk. 

You sighed, giving up because you knew she actually would do it, “Fine but if it starts getting fucking weird I’m leaving.”

The dares got weird pretty fast. 

Jin was dared to lick whipped cream off of Yoongi's leg. Hobi and Namjoon were dared to go skinny dipping in the pool. Taehyung had to sit on Namjoon’s lap for the rest of the round. Jungkook revealed almost too many truths about himself, talking about his fantasy threesomes and his kinks. Hana was dared to do body shots off of Jungkook (she seemed a little too excited for that). Jimin was dared to remove his shirt for the rest of the game.

Luckily you had only been asked two times and chosen truth both times. Namjoon and Hobi were nice enough to ask questions that weren’t too exposing. However, things started going downhill once it was Hana’s turn again. You swore you saw her eyes glitter with mischievousness. 

“_________, You already used up your two truths, right?”

Fuck, you forgot about the two truths only rule. 

Jimin piped up, “Yep! She did.”

God, fuck Park Jimin for being such a boy scout. You nodded weakly. Your heart started to pound. You knew she was going to say something stupid. You uneasily glanced over at Taehyung. He had been suspiciously quiet to you all night, but you also were actively avoiding him. 

Hana cleared her throat, making sure to get everyone’s attention, “Okay so _________ I dare you,” she smiled widely and you knew you were fucked, “I dare you to make out with Taehyung.”

Your mouth gaped open. She didn’t. You looked at Taehyung and his face was almost as shocked as yours. 

You chuckled nervously, side eyeing Taehyung, “No, no.” 

Taehyung spoke softly, “Nah she doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to.”

Jungkook laughed loudly, clearly having a great time at the expense of your misery, “It’s the rules. She has to. Other people had to do way worse tonight.”

You felt your face heating up and your heart was beating faster with anxiety. 

Jimin was trying to help the situation, “How about they go in the guest room so it won’t be as awkward.”

Hana pondered this for a moment, “You have to send a picture then. We need evidence that you guys actually kissed.”

You tried protesting but Jimin physically pulled you off the couch while Hobi did the same to Taehyung.

“Guys, guys, how about you give me another dare? I promise I’ll do that one. Just give me a pass,” you pleaded as Jimin dragged you to the guest room.

Your pleas went unheard as Jimin and Hobi pushed you and Taehyung into the guest room with the rest of your friends following behind. Once Jungkook slammed the door close, you tried pressing against the door but it wouldn’t budge. You sighed and dropped to the ground. 

“C'mon guys just let us out,” Ttaehyung tried to say in a serious voice, leaning against the door. 

“Kiss and then we will let you out,” Jungkook shouted through the door. 

Taehyung ran his hands through his hair and sat next to you, “We can just wait it out. They’ll let us out eventually.”

You nodded and buried your face in your hands. Then you heard chanting outside the room “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” 

Oh my god, I’m going to literally murder Hana. I am not going to do this right now.

He leaned next to you and whispered quietly, “I know you don’t wanna do this so let’s just sit here and wait. It’s okay, don’t let what they are saying get to you.”

You looked at him and felt your heart swell. God, you were so in love with him. 

The best you could hope for was that they get tired and give up. However, It had been like 10 minutes and the chants were still going strong 

You looked at him, desperate, “What the fuck do we do?”

He chuckled nervously, “Um...we could kiss?”

You looked at him. You could but this isn’t what you wanted. You wanted him to want you because he liked you, not because of some game.

You felt your anxiety come to a point where it was overwhelming and you weren’t thinking properly so you said rather forcefully, “No!”

His puppy dog eyes lost its spark. He dropped his head, “Oh.. ok. I know you think I’m really annoying or whatever but I didn’t think you hated me.” He sounded hurt. 

You groaned, shutting your eyes in frustration, “Ugh it’s not like that.” God, he was totally misinterpreting the whole situation.

Taehyung looked at you, clearly confused, “Then what is it like? Cause it seems like you’re so repulsed by the idea of kissing me.”

Then without thinking, you frustratingly yelled, “Oh my god, I just don’t want it to happen like this!”

Your eyes widened in realization of what you said. 

You began to stumble out your words, “I mean like I just think it’s weird because we are so platonic and like it’s weird and I think we can forget everything I just said.” 

Your words were becoming a train wreck and you couldn’t watch the disastrous scene unfolding in front of you.

He stared at you, wide eyed. He leaned his head against the wall, completely silent.

Oh my god, I need to fucking get out. You looked around the room and saw a small window at the top of the opposite wall, next to the bed. Bingo.

You glanced over at Taehyung. He was on his phone, texting. He probably thinks I’m a fucking psycho. 

You tightened the laces on your shoes and walked over to the dresser next to the bed. You climbed on top of the dresser and then you pushed on the window hard. It creaked open 

You heard Taehyung's voice behind you, “_________, what the fuck are you doing?” 

“I just need some fresh air you know. I just need to do this really fast.” You pushed the window fully open and you felt the cool air of the night press against your face

You were able to reach your arms through the window and once you got a good grip on the grass, you began to hoist yourself up.

“_________! What are you doing?” You couldn’t look back at Taehyung, but he sounded very confused and shocked.

“Um I just really need to go. I'm feeling so claustrophobic,” you struggled the words out as you pushed yourself through the window. Once one of your legs made it through, you began crawling out the window, “Ow! Why are there so many fucking rocks?”

You hadn’t realized that while you were struggling to crawl out the window, Taehyung had shouted to your friends on the other side of the door about your antics. 

You heard voices fill up the room and Hana’s voice yell, “_________ get the fuck down here! You could get hurt! What are you doing?”

Great, this is exactly how I wanted the night to go. But it was too late, you were already more than halfway out.

“It’s fine.” You shouted back, “I’m okay!” 

You exclaimed a cheer of victory once you were able to make it through the fucking window. You stood up and looked down at your clothes. Your dress was caked in mud. This is so great. Your life was a fucking mess. 

You looked around and realized you were by the pool. You desperately hoped none of your friends would come up looking for you. You dusted off the dirt from your dress and walked around the pool. You walked into the kitchen and breathed out a sigh of relief when you didn’t recognize anyone there. Then you heard Taehyung’s familiar voice and immediately ducked behind the kitchen island.

You glanced up and sighed when you saw him with Jennie. She was smiling and had her arm wrapped around his neck. He was keeping his distance with him trying to pull her arm away from her. You didn’t wanna stick around any longer because you were worried you would see something that would upset you. You made your way back to your room upstairs. 

Obviously seeing Taehyung with Jennie hurt you, but what could you do? They had history, real history and you were simply Taehyung's friend. How could someone like you ever complete with someone like Jennie? You loved Taehyung but how could that even compare what Jennie could offer him. He said to you that he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, just sex and Jennie was giving him exactly that. It was so fucking stupid of you to think you could confess to him.

Once you got to your room, you changed into black sweatpants and a simple gray tee shirt. You grabbed a towel and headed to the empty hot tub in the back of the house. 

Finally a spot where there’s no one and where no one will find me.

You rolled up your pants and soaked your legs in the hot water. You pulled out your phone and started reading the new book you started this week, Malcom X’s autobiography.

It felt really relaxing and peaceful to simply be by yourself for a while. Being social situations always drained you out a lot. You became so absorbed in your reading that you didn’t notice Taehyung walking up to the hot tub. 

“Hey strawberry girl,” he said right into your ear.

You got startled by his closeness, almost dropping your phone, “Oh my god, you’re so annoying.”

“So...what happened? Why the fuck did you crawl out of a window?” He asked, concerned 

The million fucking dollar question. Time to play it off chill. “I dunno. It just got kinda overwhelming. I told you I was getting claustrophobic.”

You obviously couldn’t tell him you were so fucking afraid of your feelings toward him and how you couldn’t possibly kiss him (game or not) because he most likely doesn’t like you back.

Luckily, he didn’t press further “Yea, it’s actually really nice and quiet out here. Can I sit with you here?”

You nodded and he sat next to you, not dipping his feet in the water.

“I’m so fucking sore from all the practices and games this week,” Taehyung said, stretching his shoulder.

“You should get in the hot tub. It'll relax and soothe your muscles,” you said still reading on your phone, not looking up at him.

He stood up, “That’s a good idea.” 

You assumed he would agree and then go and grab his swim trunks. Except Taehyung didn’t do that.

You heard a light clanking noise and looked up at him. He was taking off his belt and unzipping his pants right in front of you. You felt your entire face redden, mortified at what he was doing, “Taehyung. what are you doing?” You said averting your gaze.

“I’m getting in the hot tub?”

“Go and get your swim shorts!”

“Nah, fuck that. Don’t worry _________, I’m not going in nude.”

Thank god. You don’t know what you would’ve done if he decided to do that.

You peeked at him from the corner of your eyes. He was wearing blue boxers and he was unbuttoning his floral shirt. He luckily was wearing a black short sleeve shirt underneath. He had really nice calves, tanned and well defined. 

Taehyung stepped into the hot tub and let out a deep moan. Your face reddened at the sound. 

Then, your eyes met. Then, all while giving you a deep stare, Taehyung reached behind his neck to pull his shirt off. You felt your face flush even further. He has to know what he’s doing to me. He has to know that he’s riling me up with all of these moves. 

You gulped at the sight of his prominent collar bones and honey colored skin. You tore your eyes away from him and tried to concentrate on your book. 

It didn’t work because Taehyung's suspiciously quiet presence unnerved you. 

You set your phone done and raised your eyebrows at him, “What?”

“What? I haven’t said anything”

“Exactly. You’re being quiet. Which is weird.”

“You said you liked how peaceful it was out here. So I wanted to let you enjoy it.”

“Whatever. It’s weird when you're quiet,” you sloshed your legs in the water.

“_________?” Taehyung wasn’t looking at you anymore, he was staring at the water. 

“Yea,”

“Why haven’t you had a boyfriend?”

Ouch. 

“Why are you asking me that?” you said a bit hurt.

“I didn’t mean it to come off as mean. I’m just curious. Because, I don’t know, you say you want love. But did you go after it?”

“Why are you thinking of that?”

“Well, cause I dunno. I never thought about love. Or getting a girlfriend. But on the way here Namjoon hyung and Jungkook were just talking about how great it is. Being in love and having someone to love. And someone loving you back. And Jin hyung said he has met someone as well but he’s keeping it lowkey. And then you talked about how you want love too. That’s why you’ve waited. I know you've had crushes. But I don’t know why you haven’t gone for it yet. Or why you haven’t had a boyfriend yet.”

You stared at your feet in the water. He wasn’t trying to be mean. He just wanted to know about your life. You felt like you should be more honest with taehyung. He was always so genuine with you.

“I don’t know Taehyung. There’s so many reasons.”

“What are they?”

You gave a cold laugh, “No one has ever liked me like that. So there’s that. Then I’m scared. I’m scared of opening up to someone and they leave me. I talk a lot of shit I guess for someone who has never been in a relationship. I want love but I guess I realized love doesn’t come without heartbreak. So that’s what scares me. But I guess it’s fun to romanticize something that’ll never happen for me.”

“What are you talking about? Are you saying you’ll never fall in love?”

“I’m saying no one will ever love me like that. So I can say whatever I want about wanting love and a boyfriend. Because that won’t happen.”

He looked at you, astonished, “________ what the fuck? Are you being for real?”

You exhaled deeply. You knew he wouldn’t get it. Taehyung has never been in your situation. He’s always been wanted, adored, loved. You’ve never experienced anything like that.

“Yes Tae. I’m being serious. I’m not really looking for sympathy or anything because I’ve accepted it but I know guys don’t really like me. I know why, but I’m not going to change myself for a guy. It’s just the facts are there, Taehyung. I’m almost twenty and no guy has ever been interested in me. So it’s just whatever now. It’s kinda blessing though. I can just focus on school and not get distracted or sidetracked by any guy.”

He scooched over time where your legs were dangling. He held your hand that was planted firmly against the concrete. 

“________ please don’t think like that. You deserve love. Stop saying that you don’t. And you will find it. I promise you. I don’t know why you think guys don’t like you but I swear, you are literally perfect the way you are and I’m so glad you didn’t change for anyone. Your strawberry boy is out there. And he’s probably the most perfect guy to exist.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes. Your strawberry boy did exist. And he was the one holding your hand. You didn’t want anyone else. You wanted him. You wanted Kim Taehyung.

You reflexively made a joke, just to move away from the fact that you were about to cry over his words, “I guess. You’ll have to beat his ass if he doesn’t like strawberries tho”

Taehyung laughed, “Don’t worry. I’m always here to beat anyone’s ass for you.” 

He rested his back against the edge and looked up into the night sky. 

“So... are you into Jennie? Is that why you’re thinking about love and girlfriends?” you asked cautiously. You honestly had no idea why you asked this question. You didn’t even want to know the answer. 

“Haha no. It’s just...I dunno I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ve always said I didn’t want a girlfriend but I don’t even know why I’ve had that mentality. But now.. I think I want that.”

“Want what?”

“That closeness, that dependability, that love”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“The right girl I guess.” 

You winced at those words. Were you not the right girl? 

Trying to distract yourself, you pressed further, “I mean you dated Yeji did that not count?”

“No, it counted. But our relationship was definitely highschool. It wasn’t....deep I guess. The way Jungkook talks about Hana...I know I never felt that in my relationship with Yeji.”

“I’m sure you can find a girl who makes you feel like that.” You hadn’t meant for that to come out as sneakily as it did.

He chuckled, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well...you’re literally the most adored boy on campus. And Jennie really wants to date you. So it’s not like you don’t have options,” you said truthfully.

“Yea, but none of that matters,” he said, sighing. 

You gave him a quizzical look.

He continued, “If I’m going to date a girl, I want to be friends with her first. I want to fall for her. And then I want to date her. I don’t want to be unsure of my feelings for her.”

Friends first? We’re friends. Could this...no. Taehyung and I have been friends for so long. If he had caught feelings, he would’ve said so by now.

You kicked your legs in the water, sad because it just seemed this talk with Taehyung just showed you to your face that he didn’t like you. 

You spoke softly, “That’s a good idea. No point in wasting anyone’s time.”

“Exactly.” He stretched his arms out, “Aren’t you going to get in the water?”

You shook your head no

“C’mon, get in. It feels so good.”

You continued to shake your head, “I didn’t bring swim clothes.”

“I’m not in wwim clothes,” he said, looking down at himself.

“If you think that I’m going to go in the hot tub in my underwear, you’re fucking insane,” you said cackling. There was actually no fucking way in hell you would ever do that even if it was your own hot tub, much less with Kim Taehyung right in front of you.

“Okay, just come in with your clothes on.”

“Tae I literally didn’t bring clothes for this. These are the only pajamas I have.”

He pulled your arm and your legs slipped into the water, your pants getting soaked.

“Taehyung!” You exclaimed, shocked at what he just did.

“I have clothes here, you can wear mine. Now please, relax for a goddamn second” he said, laughing.

You narrowed your eyes at him and flipped him off, “I can’t believe you did that.”

He was still laughing and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

You eased your back against the wall of the hot tub, your shoulder touching Taehyung. You didn’t know if your body was heating up because of the water or because of how close Taehyung was.

He perked up, his eyes dancing with excitement, “Guess what?”

“What?” You couldn’t help but feel endeared at his cuteness.

“I finished the second season of Avatar!”

“For real? Oh my god. Wasn’t the ending insane?”

“Bro it was fucking insane. I can’t believe Zuko sided with Azula. And I can’t believe she shot lightning at Aang! That was crazy,” He ranted ecstatically.

You and Taehyung had given each other anime recommendations since you both were looking for new ones to watch.

He rambled on, “I don’t get why you’re in love with Zuko. Like he literally betrayed his uncle, the one dude who was on his side. Maybe for a minute when they were in Ba Sing Se when he was a cute tea shop boy, I understood, but now?”

“Patience Taehyung. You’ll understand soon enough. He’s just lost and confused okay? He just needs someone on his team.”

“Ugh whatever I guess. I’m still not convinced.”

You shook your head, he would understand once he finished the show.

Then you remembered his recommendation, “I’m almost done with the first season of My Hero Academia.”

“Bet. Isn’t it good? Who’s your favorite character?”

“It is good. I like seeing Class 1A interact with each other. They are all so angsty teens, it’s so funny. Umm it would be a tie between Todoroki and Bakugou.”

He looked shocked, “Bakugou? You like him?”

“Yes okay! I believe in him. He just is confused. I'm rooting for him. I think he’s a sweet boy.”

Taehyung shook his head disappointed, “Do you just like all the broken boy characters?”

You opened your mouth to retort something back but couldn’t come up with anything. He was right, you really did love the broken boy arc. It was just the fact that you desperately wanted to help them and show them the love they deserved. Your eyes caught Taehyung and you couldn’t help but feel the same way. You wanted to be the girl that gave him those feelings of real love, to be a real girlfriend to him.

You and Taehyung continued to talk for a while until you realized you two were probably in the hot tub for way too long. 

Wrapped in your towels, you and Taehyung trudged upstairs, shivering from the cold.

Taehyung dropped you off to your room and mentioned that he would be back with clothes. You sat on your bed, buzzing with a warm feeling. Even though the voice at the back of your head was doubting every moment, telling you that Taehyung doesn’t like you like that, you couldn’t help but hold a feeling of hopefulness. He was here, with you right? Didn’t that count for something? 

He came back, dressed in shorts and a black t-shirt, clutching clothes for you. 

You took it from his hand and went to the bathroom to change. You smiled when you saw he brought your favorite sweater of his, the soft gray one, for you to wear. His pants were obviously way too large but you managed to fold up the pant legs so you weren’t drowning in his clothing.

Taehyung was laying on your bed, stretched out scrolling through his phone. He sat up when he heard the bathroom door open and grinned, “You look so cute wearing my clothes.” 

“Shut up,” you said trying to hide your smile.

You walked around the room and noticed the glass double doors between the beds opened. You pushed open the doors and the coldness of the night sent shivers up your spine. You walked over to the edge and rested your elbows on the railing.

The back of your mind was still spinning with Hana’s voice, “Just tell him how you feel!” But you couldn’t do that. There was just too much you were risking: your friendship with Taehyung, your heart.

You tried to calm your waves of nausea and anxiety by taking deep breaths. Was this even worth it? You looked up at the night sky and saw the moon above your head. You sighed, your gaze fixating on a dim star by the bright moon. It actually was quite a beautiful night. It was quiet, a comfortable temperature warm with a light breeze, and the stars amplified the moon's beauty. 

You heard Taehyung's voice behind you, “Damn jungkook really gave us the best room.”

You turned your head and saw Taehyung's boxy smile leaning against the railing right next to you. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him. You immediately turned your head back to the star.

“Maybe he felt bad for making Hana ditch me,” you smirked.

He gave you a teasing smile, “C’mon ________ you didn’t want another night with the most handsome guy on campus?”

“And you wonder why I don’t shower you in compliments like everyone else on this fucking planet,” you said shaking your head.

“It’s ok. I don’t need the verbal confirmation from you. I know what you think of me.”

You glanced over at him, “And what’s that?”

“Even though you find me annoying, you also undeniably find me endearing. And you also think I’m hot.”

Your jaw dropped in shock at his words, “You’re so fucking full of it.”

He leaned in and brushed away the strand of hair covering your eyes, “Deny all you want but I know it. I can see it in your eyes.”

“My eyes?” you said, scoffing at his ridiculousness.

“Yep, your eyes give away everything.”

“Oh really? What else do they give away?” You said playing along with his game.

“They give away that you definitely don’t know how beautiful you look right now.”

You rolled your eyes. He exclaimed, “See! Right there. You don’t know that. I got that fr-“

You interrupted, chuckling lightly, “From my eyes, right? You’re so full of shit. I bet you use that line on all of the other girls.” 

“What other girls?” he said innocently.

Taehyung was definitely something, creating his own understanding of you, pinpointing things you didn’t even notice about yourself. He looked at you, his big puppy dog eyes glittering in the moonlight, his fluffy curly hair ruffled by the soft breeze of the night. Everything about him made your heart ache with want. 

He cleared his throat, grabbing your attention, “_________ why did you climb out the window? You weren’t getting claustrophobic in a bedroom.”

Oh, so he didn’t believe your answer. You tried to answer as calmly as possible, trying to not let your nerves show, “Um..I just didn’t wanna play the game anymore.”

“What did you mean by when you said ‘I don’t want it to happen like this?’ ”

Oh fuck he didn’t forget you said that. You dropped your head, desperately not wanting to make eye contact with him, “Huh? I don’t remember saying that.”

“Well, when I asked why you didn’t want to kiss me you said that.”

“I think you misheard. I said ‘nope not this’ ”

He said in complete disbelief, “I misheard? With you standing right in front of me?”

“Yep. It’s okay. You should go see a doctor about it though.” You quickly tried to divert his attention, “The stars are really beautiful tonight.”

Luckily, he seemed to understand that you were obviously not answering his questions.

“Guess which star is my favorite?” his head tilting in the direction of the night sky. 

You laughed, “I don’t know. There’s so many out there.”

“Just guess. I have one that’s my favorite.”

“I don’t know. I guess that one” you said pointing to the brightest star in the sky. It was quite far from the moon. 

“Nope. Try again”

“Taehyung, I’m never going to guess it. I give up, just tell me.” 

“That one.” He said pointing in an area near the moon. 

You tried pointing it out with your own finger, “That one?”

He leaned over and placed his hand over yours and guided it in the right direction. He looked at the star for a second and then looked at you “That one.”

You were fixated on the star and when he pulled your hand in the right direction, you realized he was talking about the star you had been staring at the whole night. You turned your head to exclaim to him the coincidence and you found his head only inches away from yours. 

The words got stuck in your throat. His jet black eyes were staring into your soul. 

“That star is my favorite because it’s the most beautiful. It might not be the flashiest star out there and it’s trying to be hidden in the brightness of the moonlight but I see it. And I think it’s the most beautiful star in the entire night sky. “

You realized you had been staring into his eyes for too long. He took both your hands that you hadn’t realized were trembling and enveloped them in his. 

You were panicking. Your heart was beating insanely fast . Your palms felt sweaty. You tried to back away from Taehyung, pulling your hands away. You took a couple small steps back.

He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t want me. Why would he ever kiss me? I’m not even half as pretty as Jennie. You needed to get yourself out of this situation before you get your hopes up and it fucked you over completely.

Your thoughts were interrupted by your arm being tugged back in his direction. You spun into Taehyung's arms and he caught you in his embrace.

His hands were placed firmly on your waist and your arms were wrapped around his neck. You never realized how tall he was. You were on your tippy toes and you still had to crane your neck slightly to clearly see his face. Tilting downwards, his face was centimeters from yours. His eyes were sparkling with a mischievous glint and he was smiling.

It felt like your whole heart was going to explode. 

What the fuck? Why did he do that?  Is he not completely revolted by me? 

You were attempting to speak the thoughts running through your mind but your brain had completely stopped functioning the second you got a whiff of his cologne. Your mouth was just slightly open trying to breathe because you truly were so confused as to what was happening. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered. 

The only thing you could manage was a small, shy nod. 

Then his soft lips molded against yours. You closed your eyes as you felt your brain short circuit. The way his lips pressed against yours for the first time didn’t feel like electricity struck you. Instead, it felt comforting. It felt like home: his embrace, his lips, his hands on you. Like this was always meant to be. He tasted like strawberry chapstick and spearmint His right hand crept up to the side of your face

and cupped your cheek. Your breath hitched. Taehyung tilted his head at an angle to open your mouth further.

You took this opportunity to push away for a second and breathe. “Taehyung,” you breathed out.

“Shut the fuck up,” he pulled you back into a needy kiss. His plushy lips sucked on your bottom lip and you moaned for a second. Your cheeks reddened at the sound you made. 

“That was so fucking hot,” he said in a shaky whisper. Your hands shift from his neck into his curls, balancing on your toes. You tugged on his curls, pulling his head closer to yours, something you’ve daydreamed about.  He cupped your face and brought you even closer to him. the kisses became deeper, more fervent. As if he couldn’t get enough of you. 

Your mouth opened in response. He took this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. His tongue gilded against yours.  It was better than you ever imagined, better than you hoped, the feel of him; it was making you lose your fucking mind. 

One of Taehyung's hands remained at your waist and the other moved to the small of your back, pushing the front of your chest onto his. 

It seemed like time had stopped. Once you realized you were completely breathless, you pulled away. You were breathing very hard, your heart hammering, and your mind completely numb. He placed two more soft, sweet kisses on your lips. His pupils were completely blown out and his hair was a fluffy mess.

He breathed out, shakily “This is what you meant right?”

Before you could say anything, you heard a knock on the glass door.

“Hey, Taehyung, we need you downstairs.” Jungkook’s head poked out the door. 

Tae’s eyes looked apologetic when he looked at you. 

“I’ll be there in a sec,” he called to Jungkook

You were still kinda breathless. His hands were pressing into your hips as if he didn’t want to let go.

He leaned in and kissed your cheek softly. He whispered in your ear, and you felt a shiver trace down your spine, “I’ll see you soon.”

You nodded and he nuzzled your neck for a second, his lips barely grazing the mole on your neck. 

He slowly let go of your hips, his hands skimming your elbows and then your hands.

You watched him leave as your legs wobbled beneath you. You stood there, in complete shock as to what happened. Your whole body was buzzing, your arms covered in goosebumps, chills from what just happened. 

A cold burst of wind finally snapped you out of whatever trance Taehyung put you in. You softly closed the glass doors behind you as you re-entered your room. You laid down in your bed with a stupid grin that you couldn’t get rid of. You curled up into a ball and relaxed against the pillows. For the first time in a long time, you fell asleep with no thoughts of insecurity or worry plaguing your mind.  

You slowly opened your eyes and felt a familiar weight on you. You carefully looked behind you and saw once again Taehyung completely enveloping you in his embrace. His body heat felt so inviting and comfortable. Your face heated up when you saw he was indeed true to his word and was in fact sleeping shirtless with you. You grabbed your phone and saw a text from Hana.

Hana: leave by 10:30?

You: yep

It was almost 10:30 so you shifted in the bed to get up. Almost immediately, Taehyung pulled you back and whined sleepily, “Where are you going? Sleep with me.”

You giggled at his cuteness, “I have to go. Hana is waiting for me. And I have to get shit done today.”

He nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck, “Okayy. My smarty pants girl has to study.”

My girl? Does that mean...? No, he used to say stuff like that before. God, you and Taehyung really did need to talk about whatever this was. But for once in your life, you didn’t feel insecure. He must like you somewhat, right? He kissed you. That has to have meant something. You slid your hands against his broad chest, tracing his well defined muscles, “Yea, I do. But you can text me once you get back to campus. You should sleep in for now.”

He nodded and lifted his head from your shoulder. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on your cheek. You couldn’t hide the smile that was blooming on your face from him.

You packed up your stuff, got ready, headed downstairs after saying bye to Taehyung. 

You texted Hana to let her know that you were ready to go. You sat on the empty couch in the living room, patiently waiting for her to join you. You were scrolling through Instagram when you heard a petite “ahem” in front of you. You looked up and saw an overly cheerful Jennie in front of you.

“Hi _________!” She said planting herself in the seat next to you.

“Hey Jennie,” Why the fuck is she talking to me?

“So, Taehyung was with you last night?”

“Uh ya,”

“So how was it?”

You wrinkled your eyes in confusion, not understanding her question, “How was what?”

She squealed, “The sex silly! How was it? It was your first time right? That’s such a big deal. Can’t believe you let taehyung be your first! You know he doesn’t get feelings for the girls he fucks right?”

You opened your mouth to say something but she kept going, not stopping once to take a breath, “Oh my god, wasn’t it so good though? I mean actually it might not have been that good since it was your first time but Taehyung is so caring, especially when it comes to sex. And oh my god, isn’t his dick so big? I know I shouldn’t really talk about that but since you guys hooked up I can talk to you about it. But his dick is so huge like you don’t even know since you haven’t been with other people. I’m honestly so surprised you guys fucked though. Like Taehyung usually likes girls with experience. And I guess girls who are...more into the party scene. Like it’s totally cool that you are into school but you're just like not really his type. But it’s okay because you guys fucked so his type might have changed, but I seriously doubt it. Anyways, I’m rambling. So tell me how it was!”` 

You blinked a couple times to fully process every word she said. Every single feeling of insecurity that you thought had disappeared came rushing back into your mind. 

What the fuck. What the fuck was I thinking. I never even told him I liked him. And he never told me. Taehyung is a fuckboi; he doesn’t catch feelings. He could have just kissed me because he was bored or some shit. Why would he trade a relationship with an average looking girl like me for fucking hot girls every weekend. I’m so stupid, what was I thinking!

You took a deep breathe and gave her a smile, “We didn’t fuck. We aren’t together. “

“Oh. Well. Then like girl to girl, I just wanted to let you know that Taehyung and I will probably be together officially very soon.”

You raised your eyebrows at this comment, trying to stifle a laugh, “Does he know this?”

Jennie looked offended but before she could ramble on again Hana texted you that she was outside. You immediately got up and headed to her car.

She squealed, “Soo what happened last night?”

You tried to act nonchalant, “uh, nothing much. We kissed.”

She almost crashed the car when you said that. 

Hana berated you with questions and you gave her the sparknotes of what happened, including Jennie’s weird little monologue in the living room. Hana was almost in tears when you recapped the embarrassing moment of you crawling out a window so you didn’t have to kiss Taehyung. She apologized for her stupidity in suggesting that dare but she insisted you needed the push.

You told Hana how you were feeling, especially how unsure and insecure you felt about the situation with Taehyung. She agreed that it was definitely unclear because neither one of you actually said the words “I like you” to each other. 

You and Hana came up with the plan thay the next time you were to hang out with Taehyung alone, you were going to confess. 

You only piped up the courage to do so because Hana made the convincing argument that Taehyung must like you back. 

However, once you returned to campus, the entire week, you were absorbed with finals and studying. Because of this, you and Taehyung were unable to find time to peacefully spend with each other. Also, your finals were finished a day earlier than Taehyung’s, so you went home early. 

This proved to be working against you as with all the free time at home was only more time for you to worry and overthink about Taehyung. Then, once again you were back to avoiding Taehyung and his messages because you were too scared to actually tell him how you felt.

Tae: hey. just got home last night. wanna hang out? 

Tae: ??? 

Tae: ur so annoying u don’t even have school what could u be doing 

Tae: im literally going to come over i live in ur neighborhood in case u forgot 

You didn’t think he would actually follow through but Taehyung did indeed ring your doorbell that evening. You pressed your ear against your bedroom door to hear the conversation between Taehyung and your mom.

You heard his deep voice, “Hello Mrs._________. How are you doing?”

You rolled your eyes at your mother's overly cheery voice, “I’m doing good, Taehyung. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. You’ve grown up so much!”

“Yes it has been awhile. I’m glad that _________ and I are good friends again. Speaking of __________, is she home? I tried texting her but she didn’t respond. Is she alright?”

“Oh, you’re so sweet! She is feeling a bit under the weather. She’s barely left her room since she’s come home. I’ll let her know that you stopped by.”

“That would be great. It was nice seeing you again Mrs. _________.”

“You too Taehyung. You should come over more often! I know _________ missed you a lot.”

Ugh god, your mom was embarrassing you. 

“Of course I’ll try to stop by once _________ gets back to me. Bye!”

You heard the door close and you groaned. You had to face Taehyung soon. 

Your mom ended up coming to your room and went on and on about how Taehyung was such a nice boy. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. That’s what he needs, more praise.

You laid on your bed, trying to fall asleep but of course it didn’t come easily. As you were trying to focus on the white noise, you realized you kept on getting distracted by a loud pitter patter sound. You got up and heard the sound coming from your window. You walked over and peered out your window.

“You have got to be fucking with me right now” you said, rubbing your temples. 

There was Taehyung, standing outside, throwing pebbles at your window. 

You opened your window, the cool air immediately giving you goosebumps. 

You yelled in a hushed tone, “What are you fucking doing?”

His body smile immediately lit up, “Hey strawberry girl.”

“Taehyung, are you stupid? What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I’m here to see why the fuck you’re ignoring me.”

“I’m uh sick,” you gave two fake coughs, hoping he would be convinced. He was not.

“Cmon _________ I know when you’re lying.”

You heard some clatter coming from downstairs. Fuck. Your parents would be pissed if they saw taehyung outside your window. They obviously thought he was a good guy but your parents had a strict no guys rule. Taehyung was the only exception since you two grew up together but even he wasn’t allowed to come up to your room. 

“Taehyung, I have to go. My parents will see you and we will both get in trouble. We can talk later.” You were about to shut the window but he called your name again. 

“__________! That’s such bullshit. You keep avoiding me. Can’t we talk now?”

“Tae, I can’t keep shouting from my window. I’ll call you. Just go home.”

He stood firmly planted out your window, “Nope. You won’t do that. I’ll stand here all night throwing pebbles at your window. I don’t care if I get in trouble with your parents.”

Fuck. fuck. What should I do? Then you remembered. You went to your closet and found it stored on the highest shelf. Taehyung had actually bought you a rope ladder a long time ago for this very reason of sneaking you out. But you never ended up using it because you were always afraid of getting caught. You threw down the ladder and climbed out of your window quietly. 

Once you landed on the ground, you walked over to Taehyung, arms crossed, pissed that he made you do this. Before you could start yelling at him for being so fucking annoying, he pulled you into a giant hug.

“Missed you. Don’t ever ignore me again,” he whispered into your ear.

And with that hug, you realized how much you missed Taehyung. His warmth, his embrace, his cute smile, his fluffy hair. 

You mumbled, “Missed you too,” softly, hoping he would hear.

You pushed away from him and tried to hide your smile, “My parents are literally going to kill me. I hope you know that.”

“__________ you’re in college. You’re legally an adult. You don’t need to be afraid of getting in trouble with your parents.” Taehyung said, chuckling. He shoved his hands in his hoodie and pulled up his hood, shivering in the cold.

“Okay but you know my parents. They don’t give a shit.”

“Actually, that is very much true. I don’t think they like me very much.” He tugged your arm, leading you down a familiar dirt path. 

“Nah, they like you. For some reason they think you’re like a good kid.”

His mouth opened in shock, “What do you mean for some reason? I’m a great influence on you.”

“Oh really? Like sneaking me out or taking me to frat parties or..” you were trying to think of more dumb shit Taehyung had fully encouraged you to do.

“Or sleeping with you?” He said with a wink.

“Shut up. But for real. They can never know. They would bury us both alive.” 

“Man, we’ve known each other since forever and they still don’t trust me around you.” 

“Don’t take it personally. You’re a guy. They are just strict about boys in general.” You began to recognize whereTaehyung was leading you to.

“Is that another reason why you haven’t dated anyone?”

“Yea I guess. My parents think dating is a distraction. Unless it’s for the intent of marriage then what’s the point. Which I understand. “

Taehyung gripped your hand as he led you down a rocky path, “That sounds lonely.”

“It is. But like I said, it’s not really something I chose. It just kinda happened to me and it’s whatever.”

“I guess I understand in my own way. Dating does take up a lot of time. And I guess I’m afraid it’ll end the same.”

“Same as what?” 

“Same as Yeji. We broke up and I was so upset over it. It hurt a lot because we realized we had no future together. It was just sad that we made all those memories together and now we barely speak.”

“Fuck, that sucks.” 

He nodded, fully agreeing.

Suddenly the path opened up to a clearing, a grassy field with a large tree planted by a shimmering lake. 

He still held onto your hand as you made your way to the tree. You sat down, leaning your back against the tree and Taehyung laid his head on your lap. You started to ruffle his curly hair, playing with the strands.

“Remember how we used to come here?” Taehyung said, softly smiling.

You nodded, recalling how you and taehyung would come here on the weekends, having picnics, reading stories, playing cards. This tree by the lake was filled with precious memories for you and Taehyung. You kept coming even when Taehyung and you weren’t friends.

“Why were you ignoring me _________?” He asked looking up at you with his big brown eyes filled with worry.

“We were both so busy with finals I just wanted us to focus on our studies,” You said, only being partially honest.

“Sure, it’s not cause of anything else right?”

“What else could it be?”

“Maybe the fact that I kissed you and we haven’t spoken about it all.”

You closed your eyes, regretting opening your mouth. Fuck, you really didn’t want to talk about your feelings. You felt the familiar anxious feeling creep up into your heart. You took a deep breath and tried to remember Hana’s words, “___________, this boy likes you.  A lot. He kissed you. He spends time with you. He texts you.. He cares about you. He treats you like a girlfriend and he wants to do boyfriend things with you. He likes you, there is no doubt about it.”

You snapped back to reality, “Yeah that has to do with it.”

“Okay so let’s talk,” He said sitting upright, leaning again against the tree, his shoulder brushing yours.

“Um. Why don’t you go first?” You said as you felt your heart race in your chest. You were going to do it. You were going to finally tell him how you felt.

He gave you a cute little smile, “Well it was a really nice kiss. How did you like it? It was your first kiss.”

“Um uh yea it was really nice. Really sweet,” You babbled out.

“Okay cool. Well then that’s that. We don’t need to be awkward around each other right?”

You nodded. It was now or never. He seemed to have such a chill response to the kiss. He didn’t freak out so he must have enjoyed it. So that means he likes me, right?

Your voice got quiet, “Taehyung.”

His eyes met yours. You whispered out, heart pounding, “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” He asked, earnestly.

“I um...” you were racking your brain trying to find the right words to say. You were fiddling with your hands, hoping it would calm you down.

Taehyung looked at you, wide eyed, and took your hands into his.

He leaned in close, his breath tickling your ears, “Hey. You can tell me anything. I'm listening.”

Your brain shut off the second He held your hands. “It's you. It’s fucking you. I like you. I like you a whole fucking lot Kim Taehyung. I think I might love you at this point. And I just really needed to tell you.” 

It went dead silent. All you could hear was Taehyung's soft breathing, the rustle of the wind, and the quiet ripples from the lake. 

Then he smiled and let out a light laugh.

Your heart immediately lifted. He’s smiling. That’s a good sign. He’s going to tell you that he likes you too and then you could be a couple. You were freaking out over nothing. 

“Are you being for real?” He said shakily.

You narrowed your eyes brows, confused at his response.

He laughed nervously. Your confidence was going down rapidly. 

“__________ you aren’t being serious right?”

“What do you mean? Of course I’m being serious. I meant what I said.”

“Cmon ________ why would you do this to me?”

Your heart dropped. Oh my god. It was slowly becoming clear to you. He doesn’t like me. He’s mad that I told him how I felt. This was literally your biggest fear. He doesn’t want you. He never did. 

You couldn’t look at Taehyung anymore. You tore your gaze away from him, “What are you saying? You don’t have feelings for me?”

“__________ I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. But you literally do know that I’m not interested in dating anyone. I’ve told you this.”

Your voice was faltering as you tried to maintain a calm demeanor, “But...you said that...you were thinking about it.”

“Yea I was thinking about it. That doesn’t mean I want to involve myself with someone right away. I’m honestly not ready for a relationship again.” He sighed, clearly frustrated, running his hand through his curly hair. You were frozen, you felt hot tears well up in your eyes but you were determined to not let him see you cry.

He continued, sounding somewhat angry, “I just told you how much my break up with Yeji hurt me.” 

You closed your eyes, letting yourself absorb all of his hurt words. It was too late now. You couldn’t take it back. You let it all out, all your thoughts and feelings and it turned out to be exactly how you feared. You were an idiot. You let your guard down again and you let him in again. And he broke your heart. Again. 

You voiced another nagging thought, “But you kissed me...”

His words were sharp and cold, “It was just a kiss __________. It’s not that deep or that big of a deal.”

This is exactly what you were afraid of. Losing these meaningful moments with someone who not only doesn’t care about you but also someone who finds them unimportant. The kiss meant everything to you and absolutely nothing to him. 

Taehyung's voice softened, “I’m sorry ________ but I don’t know how I feel okay? I’m confused. I do like you but I’m just not sure if it’s the way you want me to.” 

You felt his hand cup your cheek and he tiled your face towards him, finally making eye contact. He saw your teary, red eyes that you tried so hard to hide. “I’m sorry,” he whispered out. The way your heart was thudding against your chest made you realize no matter what he did, no matter how he hurt you, no matter how many times he would take your heart and crush it into tiny bits, you would still love him. God you were so fucked.

You whispered back hoarsely, staring deep into his dark eyes, feeling brave enough to speak your mind to him one more time, “Don’t be. I just...always had this hope in my head, I guess. Maybe that with time...you could love me the way I wanted you to. But if we were meant to be, we would have been by now. Someone like me doesn’t end up with someone like you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You got up abruptly and left. You heard him distantly calling your name but you couldn’t turn back. Every muscle in your body wanted you to turn around and just say “forget it” to Taehyung and have things return back to normal. But for once, you listened to your head, it was over, you told him how you felt and he didn’t give a shit. 

You walked home, alone, feeling comforted by the coldness of the night. You climbed back in your room and threw the ladder deep into your closet, knowing you would never need it again. You laid in your bed, processing what just happened. You believed in something that wasn’t even real. You glanced at your tear stained face in the standing mirror across from your bed. You couldn’t help but wonder what it was about you that wasn’t enough for him. The truth was you couldn’t be mad at Taehyung. You didn’t even love yourself. And that’s how you understood why Taehyung didn’t either. You closed your eyes, finally letting the exhaustion set in and breathing slowly, as if all of the pressure of stress and anxiety were dissipating from your body. 

The reality settled in your brain and your heart: being lonely fits you. 

author’s note: part 5 will definitely be the last part. i was writing this and i realized it was getting very lengthy and there are some plot parts im still working out lol. anyways i was very inspired by some tv shows and movies i rewatched recently for this part (new girl, princess diaries 2, & ofc to all the boys). lmk what you think and if you would like to be added to the taglist!

tags: @fleurmoon @tangledsparkles @chocolatebelievercrusade @brokenobserver @ncitydreamies @soulstaes @bonnyskies @thelilbutifulthings @busansgloss @imluckybitches @xlectrahearts @embrace-themagic @bts-dreamybaby @belshka @trinbin039 @xxlostinseoul @sheislikearock @madjammil @guksflavor @yn-the-reader @kingjvngins @ggukkieland @waves-and-woods @aa-ronpa

[darlingsdevil]

Of The Valley (Joel x Reader)

Chapter 2: Bullet Memories

Summary: Life in Jackson is never easy. Consoling angsty teenagers, wading through the mysterious waters of Joel’s romance language and with a child of your own on the way? Life is about to get a lot harder.

Chapter summary: A test is administered. Did you fail?

Tag list (please comment to be added or removed): @sidepuff @joelsheartache @fangirl-inthe-us @cowboyfrazer

RDR2 Masterlist

Of The Valley Masterlist

A/N: Hi everyone. I’ve been really happy with how this story is going so far! I hope you will stick around!

Please tell me if you see any ‘Mike’s’ — I keep accidentally writing Mark’s name as Mike lol.

:readmore:

•••

You rode in silence for the rest of the way. That didn’t help with calming you down either. Every inch of you was burning up at the thought of being outside Jackson again. Having to relive that nightmare all over again. At least it was nice out, but the hollowed out homes and burnt cars were anything but soothing.

Joel’s silence was disheartening. You knew he was upset at you. In truth, you hadn’t really talked to anyone you were close with in the past three months. You blissfully shut out everyone you were close to and had meaningless conversations with mere acquaintances at the bar. People came by and checked in on you, but you almost always pretended you weren’t home, or you lied and said Mark was sleeping.

Joel deserved an explanation for your disappearance, you were avoiding him, but you weren’t avoiding him because of something he had done. The explaining section was the hard part, you weren’t sure where to begin or even when you should. Joel would listen. That was given, you just weren’t sure you were ready to open up just yet.

When you finally arrived at the nest after a solemn ride, your breath hitched at the side of your old spot. It had been longer than three months that you had been there. It was your favorite nest to shoot out of. Secluded, hard to get to, views of all roads leading to the small perch.

Joel hopped down from Caesar and hitched him on the tree, you followed suit. You took a small sugar cube out of your old saddle bag and gave it to her. Levia was a spoiled horse.

You walked up the steep hill to where Tommy was waiting, when you finally saw him you smiled. Your worries drifting away momentarily.

“Damn girl, didn’t think you would ever show up,” Tommy joked, holding out his arms for a hug.

“Didn’t think I was going to either. Maria convinced me to,” You laughed, hugging him tightly.

“My wife is a convincing one, that’s for sure,” Tommy chuckled as he began walking over to the nest. Joel leaned against a tree watching you two interact. Tommy nodded to Joel. You pulled the rifle off your shoulder and kneeled down on the wooden hut that was on the side of the hill. Tommy kneeled down next to you. The rifle’s weight was strange and clunky. It used to feel so natural in your hand, but now it felt like you were holding a stick.

“See them over there?” Tommy pointed towards the tree line. You pulled out your binoculars and looked at the group of infected. A couple of runners and two clickers.

“That’s all of them?” You hissed out. Why were there so few?

“So far. Spotted some more earlier, but they disappeared into the forest, we might be able to draw them out from the gunfire.” Tommy eyed you, speaking quietly.

“There’s six infected and it’s a two man job? Come on Tommy, you could have taken these out within ten minutes,” You huffed, pulling your rifle up to your shoulder and looking out the scope.

“I promise there’s more. I saw at least three.”

“Three? There’s only three more?” You stared at Tommy. Things were beginning to make less and less sense..

“There’s more by the north lookout,” Tommy explained. You sighed and picked up a bullet from the box Tommy had brought over. Feeling a bullet in your hand sent your nerves racing. There was suddenly a loud buzzing in your ear, growing increasingly louder and louder.

“You have to stay silent. If they see you, they’ll kill you.”

You blinked and it was gone. Whispers of a memory that would forever be etched into your mind. “Tommy, will you, take the first one?” You looked up at him with wide eyes, your voice vacant. Tommy nodded with an understanding look and took his own rifle and lined up his shot on a runner near the tree line. He pushed out the breath from his lungs and shot. You looked away, wincing, as the bullet hit its mark.

“Your turn,” Tommy said, resting his rifle on the wooden perch.

You gulped and slowly picked up your rifle, hiking it up to your shoulder. You gently picked up a bullet from the box without looking, you loaded it into the chamber. You looked out into scope, staring down at the infected below. It had been a while since you had seen infected. They were almost hard to look at, their bloody torn faces and mechanical moving bodies. It was saddening. They were people once too.

You lined up your shot. You let out all your breath, your finger over the trigger, and pulled it. You felt the recoil before you heard the shot. The burst of noise sounded like a scream. A warning. You weren’t supposed to be out here.

You immediately pushed the gun down, you fell back to the floor, crawling away from the gun. Panic rose in your chest, you tried your hardest to quell it, but nothing worked, fear outweighed everything when there was nothing else there. Tommy rushed to your side, he was concerned.

Your eyes were wide, and terror ripped through you like a wave, pulling you under. Joel noticed too, he came over quickly. Joel or Tommy asked you something, but you could barely hear. It was too loud, the ringing in your ears sounded like a terrible screaming alarm.

“Oh my god,” You choked out, eyes unfocusing. Tears threatening to spill from your eyes in heavy droplets.

“Hey, hey, snap out of it,” Joel gently shook you. You pulled your arm away from him quickly. You glared at him without thinking.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened,” You said, you put your hands on the cool grass in an attempt to ground yourself.

“Well it’s okay, I think we’ll head back to the north lookout for a little while, until you calm down, that okay?” Tommy asked you, looking at you with sympathy.

You still weren’t calm, it felt like a scream was waiting to be pulled out, but if you tried, no sound would come. Instead there was silence. Not a single sound in the world.

“Yeah, yeah,” You replied quickly, springing yourself up from the ground and brushing the dirt off from your pants. Tommy and Joel shared a look. Tommy picked up the guns from behind you, you reached out to take yours but Tommy resisted.

Joel unhitched the horses for you while you waited, holding your arms and taking in deep shuddering breaths. You knew exactly what came over you, it was foolish to agree to this stupid patrol. Tommy could have easily done it himself and you wouldn’t have had to make a mockery of yourself.

Joel led Levia over to you, and helped you up to the saddle. You had something to hold on to now, which was much better than before. Tommy got on his own horse and waited for Joel to hop on Caesar. When everyone was situated, you headed off towards the north lookout.

•••

The ride was silent on the way there, luckily it was only an hour away. Anymore silence would have made your head hurt. You still weren’t entirely calm, you were still outside of Jackson, your job wasn’t done here yet.

When the large building came into view you suddenly remembered all the good times you had there.

You hitched Levia at the front of the lookout and walked in, Joel and Tommy following you.

“You wanna tell us what the hell happened back there?” Joel asked while you walked down, setting your bag down at the table.

“No. I don’t want to talk about it,” You sighed. You weren’t in the mood for another argument. Why did Joel always have to pry?

“Okay well, Joel and I will get out of your hair for awhile, I think Ellie should be nearby, actually, we’ll go get her,” Tommy said from behind you. He hit Joel on the arm for that last comment.

“Ellie’s nearby?” You asked, plopping down on the couch. You noticed her guitar then.

“Yep, she’s been waiting to hang out with you, you know? Been awhile since she’s seen you,” Tommy responded, you could hear him grabbing something from the kitchen.

“She has?” Both you and Joel said at the same time. You glanced over at Joel, your eyebrow raised, he simply shrugged.

“Course she has. You’re like a mother to that girl,” Tommy said, looking through the cabinets. That was true of course, when things got rough in general for her, Ellie was the one she came to talk to. Someone who wasn’t related to Joel — or an in law, someone who wasn’t close with her friends, just an outside force in her life. It was good to have someone like that.

Tommy threw something on the couch next to you, you were startled for a moment. Upon examination, you realized it was a candy bar.

“Found Mark’s stash up here a few weeks back. Hid it for you,” Tommy told you. Joel was silent.

“Thanks.” You opened up the candy bar. It was Mark’s favorite. He always said that a person could be having the worst day of their life, and all they would need was a candy bar to make it good again. You weren’t sure how true it was — but candy did make you happier.

“We’ll be going out now, you best not go anywhere, alright?”

“I won’t be going anywhere, Tommy.”

•••

“Seriously Joel? The hell is going on with you two?”

“Ask her. She’s only avoided me for the past three goddamn months, and suddenly on my first day off in weeks, I have to escort her to a place she knows damn well where it is? Seems pretty damn fishy to me,” Joel scoffed. Caesar galloped besides Tommy’s horse, they were getting closer to the Ottawa Lookout, where Ellie was at.

“You know what today was supposed to be for her, Joel?” Tommy asked Joel.

“No, you really think I’m told much of anything that goes on about her anymore?”

“Today was supposed to be a test. See how well she could do back on patrol, ease her back into this, and Joel, you aren’t making this much easier for her,” Tommy glared at his brother as they traveled across the forest to the lookout.

Joel’s brow furrowed, “A test? The hell for?”

“You really are as dumb as rocks, big brother. It’s not my place to say. Maybe you should confront her about it instead of bickering and causing her to panic. Even a goddamn clicker could see that you were making her uncomfortable.”

“And you think I haven’t tried asking her where she’s been for the past three months?”

“Knowing you Joel, I’m sure you didn’t ask. More like yelled,” Tommy bit back. Joel was more than willing to continue the argument, but the Ottawa lookout came into view. It was a smaller building, that was once a home, on a steep hill that faced Jackson.

Ellie’s horse, Shimmer was waiting outside. Ellie was on the front porch with a journal.

“Hey guys,” Ellie called out.

Joel and Tommy waved to her as they got off their horses.

“Let’s go inside for a bit. Got some things I want to discuss,” Tommy said.

“Sure,” Ellie grabbed her notebook and headed in. She sat down at the table that faced the many windows, Joel and Tommy pulling up a chair to sit with her.

“How’d it go? Didn’t expect you guys to be back so soon.” Ellie rested her hands on her thighs, waiting for an answer.

“Can’t say it went well so far. I think we’ll go back out tomorrow, or maybe later today,” Tommy shrugged. Ellie gave him a knowing look.

“Wait, you’re telling me Ellie’s on this too?” Joel asked, leaning forward onto the table.

“Yeah? I mean, I thought you were too,” Ellie said, raising her eyebrows in confusion.

“Maria decided two people would be enough. She wanted to ease into it, get her around people who don’t piss her off immensely,” Tommy replied, glancing over to Joel.

Joel huffed before replying, “We butt heads sometimes, sure, but I don’t piss her off all that much.”

“All that much? Joel, I saw how uncomfortable she was riding with you.” Tommy shook his head. The sun was high in the sky now, the windows allowing light to come through.

“And Mark couldn’t have come out here instead of me, why?” Joel asked Tommy. He was only becoming more and more confused.

“Mark’s out of commission right now, but it don’t matter. I know you care about her Joel, I know she cares about you too but Maria just wanted to test the waters first. It was supposed to be your day off too, she didn’t want to assign you to a small job like this.”

“Yeah, why are you even here?” Ellie said curiously.

“Maria asked me to escort her. If Maria didn’t want me out here, why’d she ask me to come?”

“Y/N insisted you come. Maria told me that she said that she needed someone she could trust out here. Someone who she could count on,” Tommy said.

“Count on? And she can’t count on you guys?”

“She can’t count on us in the way only you could,” Tommy replied slowly, he leaned back into his chair.

Joel nodded, it was all starting to click in place.

“Still doesn’t make much sense why she doesn’t want to go on patrols anymore.”

“I’m not really sure either,” Ellie chimed in.

“Not mine or Maria’s place to say. If you want to hear why, maybe ask her, but be careful, I hear it’s a delicate subject.”

•••

[moody-blues-requiem]

i hope this is okay but could i get some nsfw of the reader having their first time with caesar? idk i just feel like he'd be so sweet in such a scenario and i 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 feel free to delete if this is too vague 💕

This got kind of long-ish, like 2k?? Me, writing a long fic?? It’s less likely than you think but it still happened 

n/s/f/w under the cut

“Lie down, carina. Let me take care of you.”

Caesar’s massages felt divine. He saved them for special treats, and you were always excited for the next time you got to feel his heavenly hands press and knead over the muscles of your back and shoulders, melting their tension away like butter in a hot pan. He was already unbelievably strong, built like he would be weightlifting for Italy at the next Olympics, and with the careful use of a little hamon, your whole body felt rejuvenated like never before. Every ache, pain, worry, and frustration was no match for a strong pair of hands and a little hamon magic. 

You’d been with Caesar for a few months now, but had yet to move past second base (barely, most times were clothed). You wanted to keep going, and you were sure Caesar did too, but the first-time jitters held you back, and Caesar never pushed, nor made you feel pressured to go further. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy, cara.”

Tonight, though, after you laid down on your stomach, excited for Caesar’s famous hands to get to work, you could feel him hesitate. “What’s on your mind, babe?” you asked him softly. 

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he explained, “and I won’t feel bad if you say no. But… I was thinking, perhaps tonight we could take the next small step, and you could take your shirt off for this?”

You weren’t sure if Caesar could see just how hard you were blushing in the low light of the room (he could), but you nodded. “I think I can do that. But… you take your shirt off too.”

Caesar smiled, a surprised chuckle escaping his lips. “I like the way you think,” he replied, pulling the thin white fabric over his head, ruffling up his messy mop of blonde hair. “I’m ready when you are, darling.”

Now topless, you laid back down on the bed, sighing comfortably as you felt the weight on the bed shift from Caesar climbing on. His strong hands cupped your neck, thumbs slowly digging into the muscle where your neck met your shoulders. The hamon flowing from his skin to yours was wonderfully warm, it felt a bit like soaking your tired muscles in a hot tub, but even better. You groaned happily into the pillow beneath you, earning a chuckle from blonde. 

His hands worked over your shoulders and down your back, gently but firmly loosening his muscles with carefully-placed fingertips. On his hands’ way back up your body, you stopped him as he pressed over the clasp of your bra. 

“You can undo that,” you said. Caesar wasn’t sure if he heard you right, muffled by the pillow. “I want you to.”

“It would be a pleasure, love,” he replied softly, snapping off your bra easily. You lifted your shoulders slightly, shrugging and allowing the garment to fall to the floor. Caesar started to rub your back again, but you rolled over. “I… Caesar! I want to take more than just one step tonight!” you blurted out, anxious as all hell, but you really were ready for more. Your boyfriend only smiled kindly, nodding his head. “Are you sure?” he double-checked. He knew you’d never gone so far with a partner before. “You can ask me to stop at any time.”

“Just go slow,” you replied. “But yes, I really, really want this.” 

You rolled over to your back, staring up at your boyfriend who practically had stars in his eyes. You could see him looking up and down your body in wonder. “You’re beautiful, mia vita, every inch of you is beautiful.” 

Just as he’d promised, Caesar took things very slowly. He kissed you, what felt like every inch of your face was covered with a gentle kiss, and kissed your lips until you both ran out of breath, panting a little and giggling. Kisses and some feather-light nibbles were trailed down the column of your neck, but stopped as he approached your chest. His hands, currently resting on your hips, scooted upwards. “May I?” 

“You may,” you reassured. “You don’t have to ask about *every*--”

“I want to.”

Soft, warm palms cupped your breasts, squeezing lightly, continuing his massage from earlier, without the hamon (you’d be a liar if you dais you hadn’t thought about taking hamon beyond massages, but now wasn’t the time. Now you wanted Caesar and Caesar alone, no magical enhancements). He leaned down, hot breath brushing over a nipple before he slowly took the sensitive skin into his mouth, tracing around it with his tongue and pulling squeals from you. You could feel his lips quirk upwards into a smile before he detached from the first nipple and moved to the second, showering it with gentle attention. Your hips twitched almost instinctively, seeking out more, more, more of Caesar. He happily complied, his own hips rolling down, the tent in his pants rubbing your thigh deliciously. 

His fingers hooked in the waistband of your shorts, Caesar looking up at you sweetly, eyes asking a silent question. “Go ahead,” you replied. Your shorts were peeled away, revealing a cute pair of sheer pink panties. Caesar ran the pad of his thumb over your slit, making you squirm. It was your first time going this far with Caesar, but you were no stranger to arousal and that feeling of excitedly soaking through your panties. Caesar’s eyes stared at you hungrily. 

“May I take your pants off, Cae?”

The man nodded. “I would love that, thank you”.

His briefs were soft cotton and light blue, the exact same shade as his favorite jacket. You made a mental note to ask him later if he did that intentionally. His cheeks flushed pink when he saw you checking him out. “You like what you see, bella?”

Like was an understatement. Caesar was drop-dead gorgeous. Defined muscles and tanned skin practically glowed in the dim lighting of the room, his blonde hair looked angelic, and the tent in his briefs was tantalizing. You swallowed. “More than like, yeah. Caesar, I’m ready. Please.”

He leaned back down to kiss you, tongue sliding past your lips as he pulled your panties aside, circled your hole a bit, and slid a finger inside, then another. “Oh, cara, you’re so wet it’s near unbelievable,” he whispered, pushing and pulling his fingers in and out of your sensitive folds. “You feel amazing.” All you could do was moan in response, trying not to lose yourself to pleasure too fast, but the way he curled his fingers and rubbed your walls was intoxicating. “C-Cae, more,” you moaned softly. “I’m ready Caesar. I want you.” 

You politely pretended not to notice just how eagerly he tore his underwear off, letting his erection spring free, and you were sure he noticed you staring. Medium-brown, curly pubes framed his length. He was long, but not worryingly so, and uncut, his tip flushed pink and dripping precum. You took a moment to stare as Caesar rummaged through his bedside table for a condom before passing it to you. “Care to do the honors?”

You tore open the wrapper before taking his shaft in one hand, taking a moment to feel your boyfriend and give his shaft an experimental little pump (he bit his lip as more precum dripped from his length), and rolled the condom on. Caesar carefully bent your legs up over his shoulders, lined himself up with your entrance, and at a snail’s pace, he pushed in. It felt like he just kept going and going, but eventually, he bottomed out, a shudder of pleasure passing through you both. Caesar swore under his breath, something mumbled in Italian. You stayed like that for a minute, enjoying the warmth and closeness of one another, before (with your blessing, of course) Caesar began to move. 

Despite how wet you were, you still felt tight around Caesar’s cock, a combination of residual anxiety and pure pleasure causing your walls to contract around him. He gasped and groaned, pulling out slowly before pushing back in and repeating the process. You wanted to ask him to go faster, but needed to savor the feeling of slow, sensual penetration. You swore you could feel every ridge and vein on his cock as they rubbed against you, in and out and in and out again. 

Caesar knew that, if your first time was anything like his, you weren’t going to last long beneath him. Fortunately, the love and trust and intimacy that came with taking your virginity-- no, being given your virginity-- had taken him to his own edge quickly. “Babe,” he whispered, “can I go a little faster?”

“Yes, please Caesar, I just need a little more--”

His hips were shaky as he sped up, but not rough. The tempo was perfect, the air was filled with the heavy scent of sex and the sound of your bodies colliding and Caesar’s sweet moans filled the room as he moaned out “cara, I’m about to cum--!”

You came just a fraction of a second after your boyfriend, and it felt like pure ecstasy. Your vision went white and stars danced behind your eyelids as waves of pleasure coursed through your body like the ocean in a storm. Faintly, you could hear moaning and panting and “I love you”s, but you couldn’t quite make out which noises were yours and which were Caesar’s. 

As you came down from your high, Caesar’s hand gently tapped your leg. “Babe,” he said softly. “Can you, uh, release your grip, please?” 

You came to your senses, and realized you had Caesar’s head squeezed between your thighs like a vise. “Cae! Ohmygosh I’m so sorry-- did I hurt you or--”

He stopped your worries with a kiss. “I’m fine, bella. Any normal man might’ve been crushed, but you’re lucky I’m so tough~” he teased before flopping down on the bed next to you, pulling you into his strong embrace. 

“You sure you’re not gonna be too sore?” you asked. “You know, if you were, I’d be willing to give you a little massage…”

Caesar’s eyes sparkled devilishly, a little smirk lighting up his face. “And maybe a couple steps more?”

“Most certainly a couple steps more.”

[milf-harrington]

a re-write of a piece i wrote for my year 10 horror unit

warnings: mentions of a noose (but in a metaphorical sense), creepy statues, implied death

no cats were harmed in the writing of this piece

Thunder rolled across the sky, a loud rumble that he felt in his bones as apprehension began to tighten his throat like a noose around his neck. With the a thick blanket of clouds covering the sky, it was practically pitch black around him, his phone sitting useless in his pocket with 0% battery.

It had died as soon as he'd reached the cemetery which was just his fucking luck.

A loud crack split the air, making him jump in fright as a burst of blinding light illuminated his surroundings for the briefest moment, and in the following darkness he stood frozen. His heart pounded in his chest, sendings waves of adrenaline laced blood through his body that seemed to freeze in his veins as he stared into the blackness with mounting horror.

The image the lightning had shown was burned into his eyes: marble faces twisted in agony, mouths open in silent screams as their stone fingers reached up as though searching the sky for salvation.

A noise to his left made him flinch, muscles aching in protest as they tensed in fear, blood rushing in his ears.

"C-Caesar?" He whispered, hoping that it was his cat and he could finally grab the furry asshole and leg it back home. It was his younger cousins fault for leaving the back door open but in her defence no one was expecting Caesar, in all his thunder-hating glory, to run out into a storm. And now his poor owner was standing in the dark, surrounded by a bunch of creepy statues.

Another noise further in front of him; the rustle of plant life, a scrape that sounded an awful lot like stone, and then the thunder was reverberating through his ribs again. Seconds later there was a shift in the air and another crack like splintering wood had him jumping again, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as the lightning lit up his surroundings again.

Lips curled in snarls, eyebrows bunched and furrowed, smooth marble eyes wide and furious and desperate. Their bodies were twisted unnaturally, necks arched and shoulders lifted at angles that would have been painful had they been human. His heart was pounding twice as hard, jolts of pain following every harsh beat as it attempted to climb up into his throat. The noose of fear tightened with it, his body moving on instinct as he stumbled backwards, crying out at the brush of cold stone against his bare skin.

They had been reaching for him this time, looking furious and pained and hungry for something he wasn't sure he wanted to provide.

Another scrape of stone, harsh and loud, the thump of something hard and heavy hitting the ground so hard he felt it through his shoes. He tried to turn, intending to sprint back the way he had come, and instead found his clothes getting snagged, shoes tripping on things that hadn't been there before, until he finally slammed into a hard surface.

Another flash of light showed the snarling, screaming face of a marble woman inches from his own, the stone cracked and stained with dark smears of moss and ageing. What felt like a hundred painfully hard fingers were digging into the backs of his legs, his shoulders, and then suddenly his throat.

His scream was swallowed by the next roll of thunder, the following silence deafening.

[deans-mind-palace]

Suspirium (Pt.4)

Pairing: Prof!Sam x Reader

Summary: You’re in your last year of your Classics and Mordern Languages studies and you’re majoring in Latin and English. Then you get assigned to a different Latin teacher. And damn, he loves his subject. Too bad that he’s also hot. What is just a childish crush soon develops into something way more complicated.

Word Count: 1,891

Warnings: Latin & Slowburn

Author’s Note: A lot of Latin and Catullus but I wanted you to show Prof Sam’s lectures and the reader’s life besides university. And there’s a surprise at the end. Enjoy.

Suspirium - Masterlist

You slammed your locker shut and hurriedly stuffed the white blouse into the waistband of the black skirt, when the door to the changing room had already been opened. You stood up straight immediately. Chest out and stomach in. You took a deep breath and tried to appear confident, while you were getting ready for a reprimand. A man in a black tuxedo came rushing through the door. "Y/N! Where the hell were you?" The man was a little fatter and his head was all red. His expression was ugly and distorted and he was dabbing the sweat off his forehead with a white cloth from the pocket of his jacket. "François. I am sorry. I really am. I-I lost track of time!" you tried to explain yourself. Your self-confidence was gone. "What is this, Y/N? You work in a star restaurant. I expect discipline. I'm trying to rely on you. Tonight is a night with important guests and I need you. We're behind schedule. The reputation of the restaurant -" the man with the French accent complained. But you already finished his sentence. "depends on each one of us. A grain of sand in the clockwork will stop the whole movement. I know." You knew that speech by heart. Normally you would have taken that motto to heart, but... "Mon dieu." He brushed across his moustache and massaged his temples while his anger subsided. "We'll talk about it later. I need you now. The kitchen is a mess because the food is not being served quickly enough." He pushed the door open and you followed him out into the hall and into the kitchen. There were all kinds of steaming from different pots. Jacques waved a frying pan in which he was flambéing something and blurted orders around. A kitchen boy pushed some plates into your hand in a frightened way. His eyes were wide open and he didn't seem to be used to the harsh tone that prevailed in the kitchen.

He had red hair and countless freckles adorned his face. The plates swayed in his hand and his arms trembled under the weight. You gave him a sympathetic smile and took the plates away. "The roast beef with sesame crust on mango chutney and the sea urchin cores with green asparagus to seventeen. Hop hop!" François directed you out the door and into the dining room. Immediately, the soft murmuring of the guests, the clinking sound of wine glasses being clinked together, the clattering of cutlery on dishes and the gentle tones of the piano floated through the air. With calm and firm steps you brought the food to the white-laid table and set it down in front of a couple wearing chic evening gowns, as is obligatory in this expensive restaurant. With a professional but reserved smile, you silently handed the food as you had learned it, and with an elegant gesture of your hand you poured some water.

It was shortly after one o'clock when, after almost seven hours, you stuffed your skirt into your locker and slipped into your jeans. In one flowing movement you brushed the hair out of your forehead and took a deep breath. Your body ached from a hard day, your head was buzzing and you longed for your bed. Tomorrow you already had a lecture at 9am.

In a hurry you took a look at your mobile phone. You could hear the clinking of plates, which had been washed and dipped into the sink, sounding muffled from the kitchen. Brooks had written to you a few minutes ago. He knew your working schedule by heart and knew that you had just finished. Actually, you were too tired and didn't feel like talking to your best friend on the phone, but you knew the longer you delayed the call, the worse it would get.

Quickly you dialed his number. After the ringing tone he answered immediately. "Hey, Brooks." You had trouble suppressing a hearty yawn. There was not a hint of fatigue in Brooks' voice. "Y/N, what secret are you keeping from me?" he demanded amusedly. Your friend was a man who came straight to the point. You should be fine.

"How was your first lecture with Professor Winchester?" Brooks asked. It took your tired brain a moment to realize that he meant Sam. "The typical introduction. Sam seems nice." You were biting your tongue when his first name left your lips. Brooks, of course, noticed this little detail right away. "Sam, huh?" repeated his name with a smirk, almost as if he had to test it on his tongue first. "Did he offer you his first name because he is so young himself?" the man on the other end of the line asked curiously. This time you couldn't suppress the yawn. "Hmm, exactly." You told Brooks everything he wanted to know about the lecture. After a while, he settled for the information and decided to let you go to bed. The last night bus spat you up a block from your stop and you were glad when you fell into your cuddly bed and could pull the fluffy blanket up to your chin.

The auditorium was already filled with students talking wildly, but Sam hadn't appeared when you sat down. The day before yesterday, right after the first lecture, you had gone to the university bookstore and got the materials he requested. You put Latin for the Illiterati, a dictionary and a small book of poems by Catullus on the table. Your pens and your notebook followed. All heads turned to the door as Professor Winchester entered the room and walked forward with long, determined strides past the filled rows of seats. The red sweater stretched across his sturdy stature and a grey jacket hung over his shoulder. There was silence in the lecture hall as Sam prepared his lecture.

He cleared his throat, which was completely unnecessary as he already had all the attention on him anyway. His gaze glided briefly to you and you gave him a smile. He winked at you in a friendly way before his gaze wandered over the rest of the students. "We will begin today with Catullus." he began today's lecture. Your fellow students listened to him eagerly.

"Who can tell me something about Catullus as a person?" he asked. Immediately your hand shot up. But he called a student a few rows behind you. "Gaius Valerius Catullus was a Roman poet from Verona. He was probably born in the first century B.C. He aspired a political career at first, but he was not satisfied with the opinions of the triumvirate consisting of Caesar, Pompeius and Cato, so he began to write insulting poems about the three great men of Rome." Sam raised his hand and the student stopped his monologue. He cleared his throat again and walked up and down in front of the first row. "Who can tell me when Catullus died?" he asked the next question. Again your hand shot into the air. But again he did not call you. "Whatever dates you wish to give me, ladies and gentlemen, I doubt very much they are correct." You lowered your hand and listened carefully. "For the fact is, we know almost nothing about Catullus' life. We can only make guesses. So who can tell me about Catullus?" He raised his hands in invitation.

"Come on. Call in your answers, don't be shy, pretend we're in the ancient senate of Rome. Do you think it was organized that way? Come on, let me hear you." Your fellow students looked at each other in surprise. For a moment there was hesitation in the air, then they started calling in. "He wrote a life's work of 116 poems." "Catullus admired Sappho." "Exactly. And his best friend was Nepos." "He was also one of the Neotericists." "Not to mention that he died when he was 30. Circumstances unknown." "Nonsense. He died of lovesickness." Sam just nodded, but that sentence made him stop and listen. He lowered his hand, a simple gesture, and the confused cries ebbed away, almost as if he was the fixed star of the lecture hall. He was the sun in your star system and you were just meaningless planets circling around him and drawn to him by higher powers like moths to light.

His gaze wandered over the students, who waited attentively for his next words. He took the thin volume of poetry from the desk and held it in the air. "As mentioned earlier, Catullus wrote 116 carmina." He paused and looked at the book. "Page 38, carmina 85, please." Immediately, the rustling of book pages could be heard. At that unobserved moment, he glanced at you. His hazel eyes pierced yours.

He averted his gaze and raised his voice. Like a Roman rhetorician, he stuck out his chest and began to read the poem with perfect accent. For a moment you thought you were standing on the Forum Romanorum listening to the Roman messenger telling about Caesar's victories.

"Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris. Nescio. Sed fieri sentio et excrucior."

Sam looked up. "Who can translate this for me, please?" Again you raised your hand and this time he noticed. "Ms. L/N. Please do us the honor." "I hate and I love. Wherefore would I do this, perhaps you ask? I do not know. But I feel that it happens and I am tortured." you translated the ancient words fluently. "What do you feel when you read these words?" Sam asked and his eyes were only on you. It felt like for a moment there was just the two of you in this room. The other students around you disappeared. "Pain, unrequited love, despair but also anger," you replied. "Why did he write this?" You took a deep breath. This was your specialty. Now you had the chance to prove yourself. "Most of Catullus' poems are about his love for Lesbia, a married woman with whom he had an affair. The name Lesbia is only a synonym. There are speculations that the beloved is the elder Clodia. She was the wife of a consul. Even though they loved each other, Catullus was not sure of her love. He was torn apart by her failure to return his love unconditionally."

I heard whispers behind me. "Her name was Lesbia! You can see by her name that it was never going to happen." You rolled your eyes, and Sam snorted in amusement. "Well, Mr...?" "Winter, sir." the student helped him. "Mr. Winter. You're not wrong. Homosexuality was not uncommon among the Romans. It was frowned upon, but nobody really cared. Especially the patricians could do what they wanted. But I think that's not true in this case." Sam smiled before he talked to everybody. "Now, I want you all to analyze this poem as homework. Are there any hidden messages? Innuendoes? Stylistic devices? I want to know everything. I want the papers on my desk next week. Good? Then you're dismissed for today."

Sam was standing at your level and you were about to pack when a little note landed on your desk. 4:00pm. My office. S. Surprised, you looked up, but you only caught a glimpse of Sam's fluttering jacket as he disappeared from the lecture hall.

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