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e1dritchjackal0pe · 3 months

Text

𝕮𝖚𝖕𝖎𝖉'𝖘 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖞𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖘

Summary: You've been pinning for Farleigh for years. But you've never been able to manage in finding the courage to confess. It isn't until a friend of Felix, who's visiting for the summer raises up a mirror to your longing that you force yourself to admit your feelings.

Warnings: 18+ content. Minors DNI. AFAB. American! Reader. Unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, oral (F!receiving), guided masturbation, overstimulation.

Notes: 21.6k words (this one got away from me a bit!) Not proofread. Banner by @saradika-graphics

The heat that hung over Saltburn was almost unbearable. Parching and thick; some days it felt as though it was choking you by filling your lungs with a heavy, muggy air and peppering your skin with perspiration. The sweat beading your body was near constant, and it was close impossible to escape the swelter. And the Catton's, who are dreadfully old fashioned at times didn't have any air conditioning to speak of, and if they do, then the units weren't a fixture in any of the rooms that you had ever personally been able to frequent.

The servants have taken to opening as many windows as they could around the house to achieve even the faintest semblance of airflow, but their attempts, even though appreciated, were hardly successful. Often times you'd catch glimpses of them stealthily slipping around the house or standing around in vacant corners with drops of sweat glinting on their foreheads and necks. Even you have had to start shoving the window of your temporary quarters open, tacking an unused bed sheet that you had soaked in the bath with cold water to the sills in a desperate strive to get even the faintest hint of a cool breeze. Luckily it does work somewhat. But it's hardly enough to make much of a difference. Most of time you feel as though you want to crawl out of your own flesh. It's like it's been sewn on too tight. Suffocating and restricting. And the only reprieve that you get is when you fill up the bath with water chilled enough to keep ice solid and lie in it.

It was awful. And despite being in a literal castle in England for the summer, surrounded by low, slopping green hills and ancient stone walls that were older than your grandfather's father, there were times where you felt as though you had unknowingly accepted an invitation into the lowest pits hell.

It was because of the absolutely demonic heat that you had all taken to spending the majority of your days alongside the pond. Filing away hours of the day with the support of a colorful pool floaty underneath your body while you drift along the rippling surface of the makeshift pool or sit beneath the shade offered by one of the patio umbrellas while you reclined on a lounge chair. It was the only respite from the heat. The only thing that kept you from feeling as though you might actually die.

But honestly, if death was going to greet you at Satlburn then it wouldn't be by the dealings of the temperamental summer weather. It would be at the hands of a someone rather than a something. And that particular person had you wondering if maybe you had done something to warrant a punishment. If perhaps you were a bad person in your past life. That this might be some form of karma. Some sort of cosmic retribution for a crime that you had committed once long ago. Maybe reincarnation was a thing, and this was your sentence for . . . stealing a loaf of bread or something.

But unfortunately for God or the universe or whatever, you were a hopeless and pathetic masochist because this was an absolutely beautiful punishment as much as it was a torturous one. And if you were going to spend the golden months of the year perpetually slick with sweat then at least you'd spend it being able to see him.

Admittedly, you'd often make yourself look away from him. You didn't want to be a creep, and even though you were pretty sure that he hasn't even noticed your blatant admiration, you couldn't fight off that little bit of self-loathing that would seep into your bones whenever you'd catch yourself staring for too long. It was honestly sad, the way that you've just been helplessly pining after him for all of this time and he hasn't as so much as batted an eye in your direction. Hasn't noticed your pitiful little crush. It's probably a blessing that he hasn't though. You aren't sure you'd even survive it if he ever was to become privy to your feelings.

It would be cataclysmic. It would completely alter the very foundation of your friendship with him entirely and forever. No doubt a terrible rift would rip between the both of you and you don't think that you'd survive that. You've always been so close to Farleigh for nearly as long as you could remember, ever since the early years of high school back when he was still unsure of how to navigate it, having spent a decent amount of his life receiving his education in a private, preppy facility. But then his mother had begun to lose more and more of her financial stability and as a result he had been enrolled in your school. He had been clearly unimpressed with the state of the building and the students that made up the body, but for whatever reason he had intrigued you. Maybe it was all of his snark and bite, but regardless the both of you had just seemed to seamlessly gravitate towards each other then and it's remained that way to this day. If a divide were to suddenly rip through your relationship all because of your silly feelings then, as sad as it sounds, you wouldn't even know what to do with yourself. He's been such a constant fixture in your life and for so long, that his absence would no doubt leave you scrambling.

But just because Farleigh himself hasn't noticed, that doesn't mean that the other's haven't. They never spoke of it, at least not whenever he was around - thank God for that. But you could see the knowing side long glances that they would give you whenever the both of you happened to be in the same room. The way that Venetia and Felix would conspiratorially lean towards each other and whisper and giggle amongst themselves like a pair of awful, gossiping old ladies. Even James has taken notice. You could see it in the way that he would squint at you from the head of the dinner table whenever Farleigh would pull your chair out for you to take a seat beside his own. The silent judgement searing from his eyes whenever you could barely contain the helpless, cheerful smile that would always grow on your face from Farleigh's presence.

Even with James' apparent distaste for you it never kept Farleigh from repeatedly inviting you over for vacation, always so persistent. And the family's patriarch could never keep you away, not with his glaring and skulking. Not with the younger Catton's always backing you in your corner, insisting that you come. Even Elspeth, as airheaded and admittedly two-faced as she could be, had apparently taken a liking to you and you know that it must absolutely drive James up a wall to know that his entire family is always vying to get you to stay over at the estate. After all, the last time that you had visited he had somehow come to the conclusion that you were just here to seek out the family fortune. According to the bits of gossip that Venetia had slipped you, he had referred to you as 'a lazy American,' and a 'leech.'

As petty as it may be it is always a little nice to know that you get underneath his skin so badly. The old, cranky bastard that he is. It could almost a highlight of your trips to Saltburn if it wasn't for the fact that little bit of satisfaction was constantly being upstaged by Farleigh and the torrent of pathetically overwhelming and warm emotions that bubble up every time you see him.

Much like the sugared, mushy heat that flutters inside of your chest now. A stark kind of joy. Something happy and entirely too secret and tender for a person that's so unabashedly bold and outspoken. But you really just can't help yourself or the emotions that seem to drag you behind them by your heart and head and limbs like some sort of powerless marionette.

It honestly has to be one of the most humbling reactions, to be embarrassed by your own emotions while also being unable to do a damn thing about them. It has you strung up in some perpetual state of exhaustion and it seems that you're not the only one that's become exasperated with your pathetic yearning, because a long, weary groan drags out from Felix's throat and makes you force your gaze away from Farleigh who is currently relaxing along the placid surface of the pond. Making the water glitter in flashes of champagne and silver from the wake of his legs dragging in the gentle current while the side of his floaty brushes up against the lily pads scattered along the peaceful body of water.

And when you glance over at Felix, he looks tired and ragged, and the cigarette dangling from between his lips is a good sigh away from falling from its perch and falling onto his lap. You go to warn him, but he saves your breath by quickly plucking it between two fingers while he snaps his book shut with a huff and carelessly tosses it onto the mini table beside his lounger.

You can't help the furrow that pinches between your eyebrows while you scoff amusedly. Felix has never been good at handling his irritation or anger and seeing him get upset is almost akin to watching a toddler wrestle with their feelings. It's always been sort of entertaining to observe, if it wasn't also so draining.

"What's up with you?" You ask, shifting along the fabric support of your chaise to evaluate him better, squinting when it briefly has you tipping out from underneath the cover of your umbrella and into the harsh glow of the evening sun. He shakes his head like he doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to waste his time, but you can tell by the way that his top lip scrunches up that he won't be able to contain his complaints for long.

"It just between you with Farleigh, and Venetia and Eddie, I honestly don't think that I'm going to survive this summer." He grouses, glaring at something to the both of your rights from over the rim of his sunglasses. And when you lean up in your seat and track his line of sight it has your own taking in the previously stated pair who are huddled up on the grass, leaning into each other and laughing while they clutch a bottle of chilled beers in their hands.

You're surprised that they haven't noticed the way the Felix is outright scowling at them. Though, you're sure that Venetia has grown accustomed to his displeasure with the way that he's been openly upset about her infatuation towards his friend. He's been uncomfortably overprotective of Edward this summer, though you suppose that you can't blame for it, considering that Eddie has been outright ignoring Felix in the favor of loving on Venetia during his entire stay.

And you too, can't deny that you too have been a little disgusted with the blatant flirting that has been near constantly exchanged between Venetia and the newest focus of her ever-shifting intrigue. You were just waiting for the fall out once the wonder finally wears off and she finally discards of him the favor of something fresher and shinier. And she, much like her brother, will grow bored of him eventually. They both burn through people like they're dolls and trinkets.

The two of them nearly go sprawling in the grass from Venetia knocking Edward onto the wrinkled picnic blanket in a playful lunge and the both of them fall back with a burst of laughter, just narrowly avoiding spilling their drinks all over themselves. It would be sweet if it were genuine, but this was just a passing fancy for the girl. Not that you could fully blame her. As wonderous as the estate is, everything can get boring if you spend enough time in it, and you can't even remember the last time that she was able to sneak away from the grounds for longer than a week. You have to entertain yourself somehow.

"Oh, come on, I'm nowhere near that bad with Farleigh, " you turn the page of your own book even though you've hardly paid it any attention. You're on page sixty-two and you still have no idea what the plot is.

"That's because you aren't able to be, " he counters without an ounce of delicacy. " I think my only saving grace is that he hasn't noticed the way that you've been helplessly pining after him. Either that or he's just playing stupid. But I think if the two of you managed to get together it might actually do me in."

You scoff to try and distract yourself from the prickle of shame and hurt that dances across your skin. You hope that Farleigh isn't just playing dumb. You hope that he hasn't noticed your feelings at all. If he has been pretending to not see the way that you've been harboring a crush for him over all of these years, then you might actually keel over the weight of the embarrassment alone.

Even then, you can't fight the way that your eyes flicker up from the pages of your book to admire Farleigh as he floats along the pond. Taking in the way that the sunlight emphasizes the edges of his hair into a light bronze hue and sparkles along the droplets of water that decorate his skin like flecks of gold and pale, bright diamonds. Looking at the way that his happy trail traces down from his navel and vanishes underneath the band of his swim trunks. He hasn't noticed your staring and based on the way that his body seems to be completely lax, and his head is lolled back against the rounded edge of the floatie, he might have passed out from underneath the warmth of the balmy air.

"Christ, you've got it bad, don't you, " Felix's voice says, breaking you from your horrid little trance like a gun shot. It wasn't a question at all, but a simple observation. You want to refute it regardless. To try and deny it, but the way that your heart flutters in your chest like some trapped, homesick bird makes you lose your half-baked argument.

"Shut up," you snap dumbly. You drop your focus back down to the novel in your tightening grip and this time you do actually try to read it and make sense of the words lined up along the page.

"Have you actually thought about talking to him?"

"Excuse me?" Your head jerks up and you pin him with an incredulous glare and for a moment you think that you might have misheard him. But he doesn't look intimated in the slightest. He just shrugs, careless and relaxed while your body bunches up nervously.

"Farleigh," he reiterates, tone light and conversational. "Have you thought about talking to him about it?"

You can't help the way that you're openly gawking at him now, staring like he's gone insane. "No!" You almost shout it out, and you flinch as soon as the word makes its way from your chest. The volume of it making you glance back over towards Farleigh to check and see if he's perked up at the sound of it and looked over to investigate, but you're relieved to see that he still seems to be in the clutches of a nap and completely (thankfully) oblivious to the conversation happening just a few feet away from him.

"Well, why not?" He asks.

"Are you kidding me?" The laugh that leaves you is entirely humorless, devoid of a single ounce of joy or amusement. "And put the friendship that we've had for literal years at risk? No. Nope."

"Oh, come on." Felix sighs, and that exasperation that had tinged his voice before is back. He lets his head fall back on the head rest of his lounger and he shifts to get more comfortable, taking another drag of his cigarette like he needs it to keep dealing with you. "You don't even know if it'll effect you badly. You're just letting your nerves get to you."

'Well, I'm sorry that I don't want to let something like a stupid crush get in the way of my relationship with my best friend."

" 'Crush,' " he repeats it like it's a foreign word, nodding his head slowly; clearly unconvinced and it has irritation skirting up your back. "Is that what you're calling now?" He scoffs. "I mean, honestly, the two of you are practically dating anyway. Just without any of the fun stuff."

You visibly bristle at that. It was true that you and Farleigh are quite close and at times physically affectionate. Touching has never been something that neither of you had ever shied away from, but that didn't mean anything. That's what friends do. It's completely normal.

You can stop the scowl pulling at the corners of your mouth, not bothering to hide the weight of your clear vexation, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood to back down from whatever this is. The sudden need to berate you and give you unsolicited relationship advice. And honestly, it's almost ironic, the fact that Felix Catton, the man who goes through women like they're tissue paper and is virtually allergic to healthy dating, is trying to get you to confess your feelings - your crush. That's exactly what this is. A crush. Just a simple, dumb crush.

"I am not in love with him, if that's what you're implying," you say. And the look that he fixes you with unsettles you. It makes you harshly vulnerable and delicate with the gentle, almost pitying glimmer in both of his eyes. And the light but firm way that he speaks your name just drills those emotions in deeper, teetering you on the edge of confronting something that you aren't ready to face yet. The weight of it has you trying to swallow around your tongue which suddenly seem too thick and sticks to the roof your mouth. And all you know is that you need to switch gears before you're forced to finally notice something that you won't have the strength to handle and your eyes flicker around helplessly, searching for something to change topics.

A light smile graces your lips when you land on Venetia and Edward. A part of you does feel bad for throwing her under the bus, but to be fair, her brother's exasperation won't be anything that she hasn't delt with before.

"Besides, I don't think that my love affairs should be the one that you're worried about," and the nod of your chin has him looking back over to the pair who appeared as though they might be a few good moments away from making out.

He sighs through his nose, stamping out the burning end of his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table, all while he's mumbling something underneath his breath that's too low for you to hear. And then he's sitting up from the lounger with a small huff. " Let's go inside, yeah, " Felix calls, gathering their attention and making them scramble off of each other to focus on him. And you could see Edward's skin flush, most likely from embarrassment rather than the heat, no doubt feeling like a kid who got caught with their hand in a cookie jar. "We can go get started on watching that film you wanted to see earlier. Which one was it?"

You have to smirk when Venetia and Felix pin each other with brief but angry glares and Edward has definitely caught sight of them based on the awkward way that he seems to deflate from his place on the ground, like he wants to curl in on himself and vanish. Poor guy.

"Eh, Anchorman, I think it was," he responds with an unconvincing smile and Felix does his best to return it, though his is much more relaxed and less strained. And then he's turning his focus to you as he shifts on his feet to walk back towards Edward. "Go get your lover boy, we'll see you both inside."

You don't bother hiding the way that you flip him off, but he unfortunately looks completely delighted by the gesture, jogging away from you with a low laugh trailing after him as he heads towards his friend, slinging his arm around the shorter man's shoulder in a subtle way of dragging him from Venetia's side. And the perturbed sneer that she sends him doesn't dull his grin either. What a complete bastard.

You watch as the three of them head around the bend of the pond towards one of the rear entrances of the castle as you hop up from your place on the chaise, making sure to dog-ear the corner of one of the pages before you snap the book closed. Even though you plop it on the lounger and you're sure that you won't even finish reading it. Not this summer, at least. But you don't dwell on that for long before your attention flits over to the pond, and you start of towards the glittering water, padding across the soft grass until the bare soles of your feet meet the aged boards of the dock.

Your focus immediately zeros in on Farleigh who still appears to be asleep, or at the very least dozing off, but it is difficult to tell by the Burberry sunglasses propped on the bridge of his nose and obscuring his eyes from your view. He looks entirely relaxed like this. Practically lazing upon the puffed up cherry red plastic with his head tilted on his neck, chin nudged up against his shoulder. And when a gentle, buttery breeze pours across the face of the pond, perfumed with the scent of summer flowers and fresh cut grass from when the gardeners had trimmed the lawn earlier this morning, it has his floatie rotating over the water. From this angle you can see the closed delicate curl of his eye lashes peeking out from the cover of his shades, and that paired with the steady, measured breathes expanding his chest confirms that he is indeed asleep.

Damn, he looks so peaceful. You really don't want to wake him up yet . . .

You suppose that you don't have to. Not right this second at least. You lower yourself at the edge of the dock, letting your legs slip over the edge and your feet dip past the layer of lily pads and into the cool, crisp water underneath, supporting your weight on the palms of your hands. And you just sit, basking underneath the warmth of the sun, which for the first time for this entire week feels soothing instead of scalding. Probably because you've been spending the past thirty minutes underneath the cover of an umbrella and the real scope of its heat has yet to sink into your skin yet. But for now, you're just able to relax and enjoy it. Savoring the sound of the syrupy breeze shifting through the trees and whispering over the leaves, and the enthused trill of some bird singing in the distance. The silence is nice now that Venetia and Edward are gone and are no longer here to chase off the peace with their squawking and laughter.

But maybe you're just being bitter and jealous.

Jealous. Jealous of what exactly?

The acidic, harsh feeling stirring in your gut eats away at the tranquility that had just nettled around you, tearing it from you like the warmth of a blanket being pried from your skin and it leaves you reeling. Like you've been left bare and exposed. You don't have anything to be envious of. It has you struggling with your own emotions; they're completely foreign and unrecognizable. Sharp and pungent like a lime. And that all-knowing, perceptive part of you rises up from the fringes of your mind, and you suddenly do know why you're jealous. Of why watching them playfully insult each other and openly flirt had left something bitter in your mouth and a hollow pit tearing at your chest.

It's because a big, burning piece of you wishes that you could be that open and unabashed with Far-

Ugh, God, not right now. Please, not right now.

But even with you trying to explicitly ignore the welling of emotions rising up within you; shoving them to the side and burrowing them down deep, you can't fully fight of the aftermath of them. The sensation almost akin to nausea that remains in its wake. Like you've taken one too many shots of vodka back-to-back.

"Farleigh," you say suddenly. And for a moment you haven't even caught up with the fact that you've said it. You clear your throat once you realize, sucking in a deep breath to collect yourself. You look downward, eyes roving over him to see that he hasn't heard you call for him. That he's still sound asleep and for some reason it soothes you to know that he hadn't picked up the sound of his name from the dredges of his unconsciousness. But now that the peace that you felt before has been effectively shattered by your own internal struggles you can't really bear the idea of just sitting out here to stew within your own mental hellscape, and it has you leaning forward towards Farleigh, who has drifted closer to you thanks to the brush of the light wind.

"Farleigh," you call, but with time there's much more intent behind it, even from within the gentle hold of your voice.

He doesn't so much as move an inch. The breathes making his abdomen rise and fall remain soft and calm, undisturbed from his nap. You shuffle closer on the edge of the dock, and the front of your legs brush against the rounded edge of his floatie and you can feel the seam of the plastic press against your skin.

"Farleigh," you try again, much firmer and this time it seems that he does hear you. He sucks in a deep inhale, and a grumpy, low groan follows closely behind. Clearly upset to have been roused from sleep, but instead your body outright thrums at the raspy sound. Prickling with an embarrassing heat and you try to focus on the cold water soaking your feet as a distraction.

"And just why are you waking me up?" He grouses, shifting on his floatie as best as he can to stretch his back, rolling his head on his shoulders to peer at you from over the rim of his shades, squinting a little underneath the unforgiving shine of the sunlight. But 'peer' might be too soft of a word. Glare was more accurate, even though there wasn't much bite behind it. It was more playful if anything. Purely impish and good-spirited.

"Everyone's headed inside. They're waiting for us." You reply, swirling your feet along the water, watching it shimmer around your skin.

"And that requires my presence because . . ?" He lets the question hang open in the air, and you smile at the little bit of snark seeping through his tone.

"I suppose it doesn't. But your cousin is struggling to keep Venetia and Edward from jumping down each other's throats, and I think he could use all of the help that he can get."

He just hums, idly tapping his fingertips across the plastic, disrupting some of the droplets of water that have sprinkled it, sending them down to slip into the face of the pond. "You know I'm not one to cockblock," he says, making amusement puff from your chest. "If they want to fuck then let them."

You have to laugh at his bluntness. He's always been so candid and plain-spoken, often to the determent of others. And despite how sharp tongued and often downright rude he could be to those who he doesn't inherently gravitate towards or find a kinship with, it's always been one of your favorite attributes of his. "While I share your sentiment, Felix said that if one of us manages to hook up that it might actually 'do him in.' "

"What a drama queen," he scoffs, and you hum in response. But then he's pausing, tilting his head down to fully make contact without his sunglasses entirely blocking his view. "What do you mean 'one of us'?"

It makes your stomach drop a bit. Like you've doused with a bucket of ice even though there's sweat dampening your skin and the sun is beating down on your scalp from above. "Did I say that?" You speak casually. Or you try to sound that way at least, but your voice isn't smooth enough. There's something almost shaky about that even you can pick up, and a part of you hopes that you're just being too self-conscious. That he hadn't noticed the mild tremor that taints your inflection.

"You did, " he assures quickly.

"Slip of the tongue." You shrug, doing your best to act normal but you feel too aware of your own limbs and the fluttering in your chest. For a fleeting moment he just stares at you. And in truth you know that in real time it was only for a few scant seconds, but in your mind, it felt as though he was staring at you for hours. Scrutinizing you and searching for something. His eyes gazing into yours like he's trying to find an answer that you won't verbally give. And you have to say something, literally anything to ease the tension. "Are you going to go be a cockblock with me, or do I have to go suffer alone?"

A smile perks at the corners of his lips. "Oh, I don't know." You can hear the teasing lilt in his voice, and he shuffles his hips in further within the ring of the floatie like he's getting more comfortable, making the water cradled within the divot between his lower stomach and thighs splash a little. "I'm enjoying my time out here."

"Come on!" You groan with exaggerated chagrin. "What? Do you want me to beg?"

You can the delight flare in his eyes; full of mischief and it has that sugary, buzzing warmth dipping back over your body and seeping into your bones.

"I mean, I wouldn't be opposed," his eyebrows briefly perk up and he tilts his head with a playful smirk. It's awful. Because as disgruntled as you're pretending to be, you would actually get down on your knees and beg him if he actually pressed you about it, as shameless as you are. But fortunately, you're able cling on to your shredded sense of pride because you don't pull yourself from your seated position and kneel. Instead, you're fixing him with a stare of your own and for a minute it feels like you're both challenging each other, with something intangible but heavy and vinous passing over you. And you do lean towards him just a bit, or as best as you can with the height between the dock and the pond keeping you apart. But even with the distance, this strange tension doesn't break, if anything it seems to build.

"Please," you nearly coo, tone dipping down into something low and soft. "Please, Far."

His mouth slightly parts when he draws in an inhale, and you swear he nearly takes the plush of his bottom lip in between his teeth and you can tell that his eyes are roving over your face. The dark bronze shade of his irises skipping over each of your individual features. And you think that you see his eyes drop down to your breasts where they're held from the material of your bikini top. It makes you feel as though you're being studied. But it isn't invasive or uncomfortable. It feels so much more intimate than that. It feels more like admiration. It's a look from him that you've caught in the past here and there, but you've never fully been able to place it until now. And you tell yourself that you're just imagining the cherishing quality to his gaze. That you're just projecting your own feelings into the moment. It sobers you up somewhat, and you pull back, straightening your spine to create some distance, hoping that it'll clear your head.

The huffed sort of laugh that he lets out is almost awkward, somewhat strained and the smile that perks at the corner of his mouth nearly looks forced.

"You know that I can only survive them for so long when they get like this" you say, desperate to disrupt the weird energy that has taken over the air. "Please," you bat your eyelashes, coquette and dramatic and jesting to dispel the remaining bits of self-consciousness.

" All right," he concedes. And then he lets the back of his head flop back on the floatie. "Just give me a minute. They're going to be unbearable."

You both chuckle at that before a nice silence falls back over the pond, and you're back to listening to the gentle sounds of nature chiming around you. And there aren't any expectations hanging on your shoulders or the responsibilities of your life back in the States looming over you anymore. It's just peace and quiet. And honestly, as bad as it sounds, as spoiled as it may be, that's what Saltburn has always been for you; not some weak attempt at make believe, or a game to try and pretend to be one of the one percent; it has always just been a break. A brief reprieve from the constant stress and the dog eats dog mentality of real life. But truthfully. You weren't here for all of that either. You were here for a someone. A very certain someone and not all of the champagne and parties and frivolous display of wealth that the Catton's constantly show.

You feel something brush against the outside of your leg and glance downward has you taking in the sight of Farleigh who has rotated towards you by the guide of the water. His head is settled near the edge of the floatie, close enough for his hair and forehead to graze your skin and his eyes have closed again. And you can't fight the fuzzy, peachy sensation that takes root inside of you. Something that you easily recognize as pure fondness.

"Did you have any good dreams?" You ask, tilting your head on your shoulder, trying to make simple conversation to hide away from the weight of your own endearment. His eyes flutter back open, immediately landing on you and you have to crane your neck to meet his gaze from your place above on the dock.

He hums again, soft and a little gravely, and you can tell by the way that he nuzzles against your leg that he's still only half-awake, nosing along your skin, still caught within the web of that soft, velvet grip of sleep. "Yeah, I did, " he answers with an almost dopey grin on his face while he watches you. And for a moment, as masochistic and sick as it may be, you pretend that he feels for you the same way that you feel for him. That he too is constantly being consumed by want and desire and lov . . . Devotion.

"Tell me about it," you say.

It's almost as though a flip is switched. That hazy, clouded look in his eyes clear and his muscles become rigid, no longer relaxed and lounging. He's reaching to grip the edge of the dock, taking ahold of the last board, right next to your knee. It has you scrambling to rise up to your feet, trying to assist him onto solid ground, but by the time you're up on your feet he's already pulled himself up from the floatie and onto the front of his legs. And once you're standing, so is he. Your eyes meet for a moment, and one of those unexplainable, odd impressions trickle over you both, and you can tell by the unsure look on his face that he feels it too. You want to speak. To say anything - what, you aren't entirely sure, but then he's speaking, filling the void and saving you both from the awkwardness.

"Shall we go inside?" He offers, already moving past you towards where the dock meets the grass, but he looks back over his shoulder at you with a smile on his face. "I'll race you there. "

That's the only warning you get before he's setting off into a run, using the distance that he had already created between the both of you to give himself a head start.

"Farleigh!" You call, mirth and disbelief melding through you as he bounds off around the pond in the direction of the castle. You push yourself in a sprint, set on trying to win even though a part of you already knows that he's got you beat. And sure, enough by the time you're dashing up the steps of the back entrance he's already disappearing into the threshold. And when you meet him in the house, already a little winded from the quick run, you can't help but to playfully shove him, desperate to restore a sense of normalcy with that little bit of awkwardness still tinting your dynamic. He does give you a smile, snickering underneath his breath before you both part your ways without an exchange of words. You take your time in in the bath, washing off the pond water and sweat without hurry; entirely thankful for the break from whatever that was. But all too soon you've changed into more comfortable clothes and are walking into the library where the TV has been set up. The chatter and noise that clamors within the room is uninhibited and Venetia and Edward are piled up together on one of the couches, leaning into each other while they watch the movie playing on the screen, like they're caught up in their own little world, entirely ignorant to the happenings ensuing outside of their bubble.

Your eyes scan over the room, noticing Felix who's settled on the floor with a lit cigarette smoldering between his fingers while a heavy scowl mars his features. And it's a knee jerk reaction to want to go over and try to soothe him as best as you can. But then you catch sight of Farleigh who's seated on the other coach, leaning against the far end with his back to the arm rest like he's trying to get away from Venetia and Edward even though they're on an entirely different piece of furniture.

He's spotted you too, if the pleading, disturbed look that's aimed directly at you is any indication. And as awful as it may be, it has you forgoing any urge to comfort Felix and moving over towards Farleigh. You plop yourself next to him on the sofa, shoulders brushing from underneath the fabric of your respective shirts. He curls towards you, moving so he could whisper conspiratorially into your ear. " I'm with Felix on this: If they start fucking on the couch, I'm killing myself."

The laugh that leaves you is unbridled and free. It rises up before you realize it's leaving your chest, and you find yourself easily leaning into each other, like the strange air that had come over you both outside at the pond had never existed. "No, " you chuckle, breathing in the scent of the fresh laundry detergent on his clothes, lavender and vanilla, crisp and smooth. "You can't do that. We have to suffer together. I mean, they can't be that bad, can they?"

And almost with a humorous sense of timing, Venetia leans forward to nip at the lobe of Edward's ear, her teeth briefly snag on the diamond earring pierced there and she all but coos at him while they giggle amongst themselves. And you can catch bits and pieces of their conversation from your place on the couch, fragments of "oh, Eddie," and playful but secretive "quit it's." God, they make you feel like some kind of sick voyeur. Not that you could be paid to watch this shit - Jesus, this is awful.

You look up at Farleigh whose top lip has raised in naked revulsion while he watches the pair. And if it feels bad for you then it must be downright horrid for Felix and Farleigh being forced to endure. Venetia and her new toy aren't even watching the movie, far too caught up in their own affairs to pay attention to the movie that Edward wanted to see.

"How about a game?" You blurt.

The sudden sensation of everyone's focus on you makes you feel like you've been strapped to an operating table and flayed open for inspection, but the warmth of Farleigh's body heat seeping into your skin helps ground you somewhat.

"What sort of game?" Felix asks, intrigued and no doubt thankful for the reprieve from Venetia and Edward's sickening flirting.

"I don't know. Never Have I Ever?" You say with a shrug, grasping at straws. It's an admittedly somewhat juvenile game, one that you haven't played since you were at least a late teen, but at this point, you'll take any excuse to disrupt the pair from fully kissing in front of the three of you. "Break out the alcohol, we'll think of something."

The five of you have curled up on the floor, situated between the space made from the gap where the TV and the couches are set, creating a somewhat odd sort of circle. Felix had long since made Edward go and raid the kitchen cabinets for liquor, and he had returned with a few bottles of booze clutched to his chest, whiskey and wine and brandy and vodka individually. And of course, Venetia had managed to tag along, returning with a few cans of Tango and Coca-Cola held in her own grasp, meant for chasers. As a collective, you were all quick to toss back a few rounds of alcohol. All in the attempt to loosen up. And you and Farleigh and Felix were unquestionably trying to get rid of the residual discomfort of bearing the horror of Venetia and Edward's blatant flirting.

You were already feeling a bit tipsy with the buzz of a couple of shots fizzling at your fingertips and toes and making your head covered with a thin but pleasant haze. The past few rounds of Never Have I Ever had all passed by quickly, with all of you participating with your own stories and playfully being berated by laughter and comments. And the game had led to some startling revelations, like how one of the old servants had caught Felix when he had nearly lost his virginity during an old New Years party, or how Edward had disrupted his old cantina sometime during primary school by setting off a round of fireworks that he had lifted from his older brother, which had resulted in a few students getting first and second-degree burns.

And the questions had dipped all over the spectrum, from the more lighthearted 'never have I ever stolen from a store' to somewhat heavier topics like 'never have I ever cheated on a partner' or 'witnessed a crime.' But despite the subtle morbidity of some of the questions they had helped in shifting the energy hanging over the room into something jovial and affable, with a near constant string of delighted howling and giggling bubbling up into the air.

You and Farleigh had taken to reclining on the floor, using one of the sofas for back support with some of the decorative silk and cashmere couch pillows to cushion yourselves. Though for you, the pillows almost weren't necessary with how you've practically draped yourself across Farleigh. Settling your cheek against the stretch of his shoulder with your legs tangled with his own. But you don't feel too guilty over it considering that he's secured an arm around your waist, effectively keeping you pinned against his body while he uses the crown of your head to prop his chin up.

It's a position that you've found yourself in a million times with Farleigh. The gravitation towards physical touch came naturally to the both of you, and as a result you always seem to make some form of contact with each other to some extent. It's been this way with him for as long as you could remember, and it was easy as breathing for the both of you. It's normal. Whether it be by walking side by side with your arms looped together or by sitting in his lap, you both wind up in each other's space somehow. But even with how common it is, the brush of his body against yours never fails to make that flutter in your chest stir up and run wild. It didn't help either, that you could smell his body wash still fresh on his skin from the bath that he had taken, musky and rich with notes of chamomile and amber.

You do your best to focus past it and participate with the game and conversation flowing around you. Laughing at Felix's jokes or nodding and smiling at Edward and Venetia in response to their quips and witticisms.

"Never have I ever gone streaking," Venetia says.

"What a complete lie," Felix scoffs from her left, propping his elbows on both of his knees. "You literally striped down and went swimming in Arthur Lennon's pond."

"That's skinny dipping, " Farleigh corrects. You can feel the tremor of his voice vibrating over your back from your place nestled against his chest. "Streaking is more public. Like running down a street. "

"Oh, sorry for confusing the politics of public indecency, " Felix replies with a light glare furrowing his eyebrows.

You raise the bottle of alcohol to your lips but pause once the rounded glass brushes against your skin. "Does it count if you were only topless? And the street I was on was vacant." Thank God, for that too. You could vividly remember waking up the morning afterwards with that bitter, awful taste that comes with a hangover covering your mouth like a film and the memories of the previous night had nearly bulldozed you. The mortification and shame that came with them had been so unbearable that you hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol for a good month or two afterwards.

"Wait. When was this?" Farleigh asks, and even though you can't see him from this angle you can tell that he's probably got that cute, confused scrunched up look on his face.

"I told you about that, remember?" You roll your head back on his shoulder, shifting yourself to the side a bit so that you're able to actually look at him. Sure enough, his eyebrows have pinched, and his top lip has curled like he's trying to force the memory to come to the surface. "On Halloween a few years ago? Me and Amelia got shitfaced on Lemon Drops and Green Tea shots."

His mouth parts and you can see the realization come back to him, like a light sparking and reflecting in his eyes. "Now I remember," he nods. "You sent me pictures. That was the year you dressed up as a slutty Hex Girl."

You hummed lowly in confirmation, and take a swig from your bottle, forgoing the need to clarify on if your public display of nudity fit the criteria of 'streaking.' But then someone is snickering from across from you and a quick glance has it revealing that the sound came from Edward, who was smirking sharply over the rim of his cup. "She sent you pictures, huh? I'm sure you used those to have a good wank or two, didn't you Farleigh? So much for just 'friends,' am I right?"

For whatever reason the comment has annoyance flaring inside of you. It feels unusually mean spirited, whether it was the particularly resentful tone that he had used or the petty glint in his gaze, you don't know, but it has an irritated heat prickling at your stomach. There's a subtle shift in the room too, barely noticeable but still skimming under the surface. It's touchy and thorny.

"At least I have people sending me pictures to jerk off to," Farleigh sneers. It's an obvious sore spot for Edward and he shifts uncomfortably where he sits. It's never been a secret that he struggles a bit when it comes to love and even sex. There wasn't much of anything to draw in the attention of the opposite gender. He didn't have many prospects in life and overall, his personality isn't the most inviting. And as much as you often feel pity for him, he's usually insensitive and obtuse, and the jokes that he often tells are usually told with poor timing and a lack of a punchline. And it hardly helps his case that he's best friends with Felix who overshadows him with his generational wealth and modelesque looks.

You suppose that's why he's started to cling to Venetia, with her being one of the first people to seek his attention out, even though a part of him has to be helplessly aware that she only uses him as means to pass the time. As a short, fleeting form of entertainment. But he's been hopelessly pining after her since the day that he arrived about a month ago. You suppose that the both of you have that in common. And you don't miss the way that Edward's eyes flicker over to Venetia, like he's waiting for her - silently pleading with her to defend him. But she doesn't do anything of the sort. She just takes a drag from her cigarette, tapping at the bits of the ash building at the burning end to shake them loose into her empty cup while her eyes scan over everyone, like she's enjoying the sudden spike of drama.

"Anyway, who's turn is it?" Farleigh asks, tilting his head to lean it back up against you own. "I think it's yours, isn't it, Eddie? Try to pick a fun question. You are here out of pity anyway. The least you could do is be entertaining."

"Farleigh, mate," Felix hisses, eyes glaring and reprimanding. "That's enough."

"What? It's the truth," Farleigh says with a somewhat suppressed laugh. It has you leaning to the side again, gently nudging him with the point of your elbow. And as much as you're enjoy watching Edward get torn into, it really was only a small joke that he had made. A little bit condescending but it didn't necessarily warrant him getting bashed the entire night. And when Farleigh glances at you, you can see something soften in his eyes, features molding into something that is reluctantly apologetic. Though you know that the little bit of repentance in his expression wasn't for Edward, at all. He sighs somewhat in a somewhat exasperated way, like not being able to pick on Felix's friend truly was the worst inconvenience.

"No, it's all right," Edward clears his throat, gulping down mouthful of his beverage. "I might have deserved that a bit."

Farleigh hums like he's agreeing with him, a low and thrumming ' mm-hmm, ' and you can hear the patronizing quality of it. Even while it's a little wrong, you struggle to fight off the smile forming at the edges of your mouth, and you try to hide it by taking another generous swig from your bottle. Hoping that the mild burn will serve as some sort of distraction, but it does little to dull the bit of amusement flaring inside of you. And the way that Farleigh huffs a few, small breaths of laughter into your hair doesn't help. It makes you feel like a couple of mean old gossips, but luckily no one else has noticed your shared mirth, with the three of them being too caught up in trying to revive the game.

Edward's focus shifts around the room, unsteady and a little embarrassed but he's putting on a strained smile regardless, like he's trying to convince himself to be in a good mood. "Uh . . . well. Never have I ever had sex in a car."

And after that the evening veered back on track. The little bit of animosity that had previously bled over you all had gradually dissipated until it was as though it had never been there in the first place. But even with the energy returning to its carefree and lax state, you couldn't fight off the bit of weariness that has begun to seep into your bones. The closer that the sun drifted towards the horizon the more weighted down your eyelids had become with the temptation of sleep, until soon the soft champagne hue that had been casted across the room from the windows had melted into something dim and lavender. Combined with almost an entire afternoon of swimming underneath the warmth of the summer air and the alcohol coursing through your veins you were extremely close to passing out on top of Farleigh.

"All right, " you relent, speaking loud enough to be heard over everyone's voices and the volume of the second film of the day playing over the speakers. "I think it's time I turn in for the night." You begin pulling away from Farleigh's chest, shuffling onto your knees, making to pick yourself up from the floor as you sit your unfinished bottle a few inches away from you.

"You're leaving?" He asks, allowing you to slip his arm from around your waist, though he keeps his hand on your thigh.

"Yeah," you confirm, and there's the playful, scattered sound of protests from the other three sitting across from you. You just meet his questioning gaze with a soft look before you lean down to plant a soft goodbye kiss onto his cheek. "I'm just getting a little tired. I don't think I'll be able to keep up with all of you. Not tonight, at least."

You stand up on your feet, feeling how his fingertips brush free from the skin of your leg, just above your sleep shorts and he lets his hand fall back onto his now vacant lap. You turn to give everyone a half-assed wave as you start to make your way out from the room, but not without throwing a quick, "have fun!" over your shoulder as you go. And the echoed calls of returned "goodnights!" follow you on your way out.

And the entire way to your room, up the high winding staircase and down the twisting, turning hallways you had this awful, nauseating feeling in your stomach. For a moment you had feared that it was all the alcohol that you had drank. But you hadn't consumed nearly enough to have a bad reaction to it. And honestly, the queasiness burrowing at you was more of gut feeling - an intuitive one - rather a physical sensation. It hangs over you like a confusing, horrible cloud and it follows over you through your entire night routine. Making you feel oddly self-conscious while you brush your teeth and do your skincare. Once you're done you all put storm out of the bathroom, desperate to get away from your own reflection in the mirror.

It's driving you absolutely crazy because you can't figure out just what it is. It also doesn't help that your brain keeps fliting back over to Edward's snide little joke from earlier. Replaying those words over and over again like some broken record. Repeatedly showing the image of how his features had twisted up in clear indignation and what may have been . . . envy.

Envy over what, exactly?

And you could remember the way that his eyes had flickered over you and Farleigh throughout the day. You figured that it had just been unintentional. That he hadn't meant it. But then he kept doing it over and over again. Something about a quality in his gaze had been awfully familiar, and as to where that familiarity came from you aren't sure. You can't place it. It leaves you completely bewildered and for a quick second some part of you dreads that idea that maybe he was jealous because he could have been secretly harboring feelings for you, or maybe even Farleigh this entire time. But that doesn't feel right either. That doesn't fit.

You try to shrug off the constant humming rattling around in your mind, flopping back onto the plush cushion of your bed in the hopes that it'll soothe the disquiet running rampant within you, but it doesn't. Not even with the dark, velveteen breeze sweeping through your open window, carrying in the scent of the night helps to put it at ease. You try to funnel all of you attention onto small, tangible things. Like the distant singing of the crickets trilling outside in a gentle chorus or the distorted, aged shapes that you find within the old wooden ceiling above you. But neither does much to anchor you down. You aren't sure how long you just lay there for, trying to distract yourself as best as you can, but it's enough passage of time for that last remaining sliver of lavender casted in the horizon to officially melt into a dark black and for the final remnants of your alcohol induced buzz to officially drain from your body. And frustratingly, that initial desire to sleep that had saturated your limbs before has vanished. Fully replaced by what could only be described as a type of chaos and the alarming sense of being helplessly awake. It has you prickling with frustration.

And a little scrap of your subconscious zones in on the that one word, 'familiar.' You had referred to the gleam in Edward's eyes as familiar, and it really was. Almost startingly so. It was almost affronted. Hurt. Like how he had looked when Farleigh had insulted him - defended himself, really . . . kind of - and he had turned to Venetia as though he had been waiting for her to do that same. And he had all but outright deflated when she hadn't. Like the hope inside of him had been singlehandedly snuffed out by her indifference. That little bit of yearning that he has to have for more. The wish that perhaps, she too would recognize that maybe she had developed feelings for him and would try and pursue something more. But he has to know that there was no way that would ever happen. That he was waiting on a pipe dream. That much like you, there wasn't ever going to be a real future with the people that you both long for.

That simple train of thought pours over you like a metal pail full of frigid water. It shocks through your system, sobering you up and it has your mouth running dry. Jesus, are you going to end up like Edward? Helplessly latching onto the coat tails of a person who just sees you as a means to an end. But that wasn't right. Farleigh does care for you. And even with how brash and sarcastic he can often be, you know for a fact that he does covet your friendship. But that's just what it is, isn't it? Just a friendship.

Fear sparks inside of you. A worry that you'll end up like Edward. Bitter and resentful while you watch the person that you hold your affections for move on and live. That you'll be perpetually cursed to loom within Farleigh's shadow, watching from the place at his feet as he falls in and out of love, experiences heartbreak and infatuation. But one day he might meet someone who he doesn't break up with. Maybe he'll actually marry that person. Maybe he'll start a family with them too. And you can honestly admit to yourself that you aren't sure if you'll have the strength to sit in the pews of an old church and watch while he takes someone else hand, while he slips a ring onto their finger. It might actually gut you, completely bittersweet; pleasant and paradoxically regretful to watch him grow old with someone who isn't you. But you know that you'll just be there on the sidelines regardless because you're too scared to move on or admit to yourself that . . .

Admit what?

You know what, some deep, unforgiving part of your subconscious whispers.

An uncomfortable sense of gravity rises up over you, nudging you over to the edge of some daunting, profound precipice. Some deep chasm, that if you choose to take the plunge and dive in, you might not be able to crawl back out of. But if you're going to be honest with yourself now, then that endless, spiraling abyss has always been there, directly underneath your feet this entire time. And you've just been dangling yourself over it, precariously balancing yourself on shaky limbs with a blindfold willingly tied around your own eyes.

But the bottomless pit underneath you isn't dark or cold or vicious. It's the complete opposite. It's inviting and warm and candied. It makes you want to give in to it. To just relent and stop fighting. To quit pretending to be so blissfully ignorant and to finally just tear the self-imposed blinders off and accept that burning, wanting part of yourself before it dies out and takes you along with it. Eventually the sweet longing inside of you will turn sour and twist into something marred and nasty; mutating into something diseased and festering and it'll infect you. Make you into someone distant and loveless.

And that's what all of this has been about. All of this self-made torture and the prison that you had fashioned yourself out of fear and the dread of possible rejection, it's been because of love. You're in love with Farleigh Start. Always have been. Helplessly and pathetically in love.

The acceptance of it is like breathing after suffocating. Like being caught up in a supernova and feeling the heat and cosmic light engulf you. It has an almost dopey smile taking over your face, and you can feel an elated laugh bubbling up in your chest. It has you scrambling up on your bed and sightlessly reaching for one of your pillows, desperate for something, anything to ground yourself while every facet of your being is swept up and drowned over with can only be described as pure exultation.

But as absolutely free as you feel, you know that it's only temporary. The sense of peace and bliss that taken over you will only keep you afloat for so long and eventually you'll be dragged back down to the dredges again. Pulled in deep while you watch Farleigh from the murk and dark. You'll only be able to live off of his friendship for so long before you all but starve, drinking up the scraps of his affection like it's sacrosanct. But that type of survival doesn't promise forever and eventually your devotion will catch up with you and eat you alive once you fail to feed it with something more substantial. Something real and returned.

And that. That terrifies you. But there's a way out. Maybe if you can't have Farleigh - if he doesn't want you like you want him, then you'll just have to learn to live without him.

But a little bit of hope bleeds through you like a second heartbeat. Low and fragile, but alive and steadily pulsing, accompanied by Felix's words from earlier. The faint echo telling you that you don't even know what the outcome may be. That the prospect of rejection isn't absolute. The reminder of it is enough to have you eyeing the door to your room and contemplating on slipping outside and searching for Farleigh. But even then, that trepidation is so great, hulking and dipping over you like a layer of ice, sinking into you like a set of frigid, steel talons.

You flop forward on your bed, going face first into the mattress while defeat sags at your shoulders and gnaws on you from the inside out. You groan out loudly, an exasperated, weary sound that claws up from your lungs with a ragged huff, in an amalgamation of a tired laugh and a dry sob follows after it. But despite how utterly lost you feel, one thing that you know for certain is that you're going to have to confront whatever this is. You're going to have to confront Farleigh.

You prop yourself up with your hands, once again looking over to your door warily while you try to get a grip on the deluge of emotions swirling around in your head and chest. You try to latch onto anything, searching for that little bit of hope that you had felt earlier. Weakly tethering yourself down while you guide your whirling consciousness into something still and motionless. Your grip on your emotions is shaky, held with a delicate but determined hold and it's enough to have you slipping out of the comfort of your bed despite the nausea bubbling in your stomach.

You cross the floor in a hurry, trying to outrun yourself and your insecurities before they can get to you. It has you twisting the doorknob sharpy and shoving the door to your room open, making it creek on its hinges in a dull, weary cry. It has you cringing and peering down the hall like you're expecting to see someone. Fearful that one of the servants might materialize out of the shadows and pin you down with a judgmental glare.

Once you're officially outside of the security of your quarters a sense of relief blooms. Small and light, but there. And it makes you feel that much more confident in confronting the single thing that has haunted your dreams for years.

The door clicks shut behind you with a sense of finality and it's enough to get you moving. You steel yourself with a long inhale, swallowing around the nervous lump in your throat before you head off down the hall in the direction of Farleigh's room. And suddenly a single step feels like a thousand. You know that it must be a trick. Made from your mind or the oily cast of the lamps that are fixed to and lined down the walls but it's as though the corridor is expanding; stretching long and far until it feels as though you've been walking for an hour and not a few minutes. It's dangerous. It gives you too much time to second guess yourself and you find yourself glancing back over your shoulder and towards the direction of your room more than once. But when you turn back around the face the hall, suddenly you're standing in front of Farleigh's door. And now something so ordinary and rudimentary seems so daunting. It's like being in the presence of Goliath. The panel of glazed wood blocks a threshold that you've passed through a number of times, but never has it felt as nerve-wracking as it does now.

Your heart is heavy inside your chest, like stone and yet it's beating so quickly. It almost makes you feel pathetic and small. God, you're a grown as woman and something as simple as a confession of feelings is making you so unsecure and astray. It's more of a kneejerk reaction when your hand raises to knock against Farleigh's door and you nearly cringe when the sharp, repetitive rap cracks out across the hallway. It almost sounds like a gunshot, but then again, your mind is probably amplifying the sound from all of your anxiety.

For a moment you wished that he wasn't even in his room yet. That maybe he's still downstairs in the library, drinking and partying with the others and that you can just return to your room and pretend that this never happened.

"Yeah?" His voice calls out, muffled and distant from behind the shield of the door.

"Fuck," you hiss under your breath quietly. You bite at your bottom lip nervously while you try and fight off the barrage of anxious butterflies that go off in your stomach. Maybe if you slip away now, he won't even notice. The old walls and bones of Saltburn are constantly shifting and creating noise. Groaning in its old age while drafts and pipes creak. It also isn't uncommon to hear mice and servants silently rustling down the corridors at all hours of the night, slipping around the shadows and corners like phantoms. Farleigh probably wouldn't think anything of it if you ran back to your room before he could catch sight of you. The knock at his door would just be another bump in the night.

No.

You aren't doing that. You owe this to yourself. And to him.

"It's me!" You shout before you can officially convince yourself to turn tail and flee. And it isn't long before a hushed, "come in!" greets you through the door, prompting you to clasp the doorknob and twist. When you enter his room, your eyes immediately zone in on him from his place on his bed where he's sitting up in a crisscross fashion with his laptop open in front of him. It relieves you to know that you didn't wake him up at the very least, but the expectant look in his gaze is quick to snuff out any sense of solace with a quickness; unpleasantly reminding you as to why you're even here.

"What's up?" He asks. But even the sound of his voice, something that you usually react positively to, it doesn't help you function. Your words are lodged in your throat and suddenly everything is too real. And it clicks into place harshly, that you're here. You're actually going to do this. God, you don't think that you can breathe, it's as though all of the oxygen has been stolen from the room and it makes it difficult to even think. You want to be delicate about this. To try and have some tact, but now that you're in his room, you don't even know where to begin. There's no plan or angle of approach. You're completely lost and you're floundering underneath the pressure, and you're so caught up within your own turmoil that you don't even realize that you've just been standing dumbly in the center of his room.

"Are . . . you okay?" He says slowly, closing the screen of his laptop and sitting it on the edge of the bed. His eyebrows perk up and he scans over you from his place across the room like he's searching for the source of your apparent discomfort.

It's too warm in here. Too stuffy with the summer humidity that the breeze from the open widow has yet to drive out. It makes it difficult to focus on anything. And then all of your thoughts are clamoring. Crowding within your skull with the chaos and sharpness of plates breaking, of cymbals clanging together, of a million people all shouting as a collective. Just say it. Say it! Jesus sweet fuck, just say it!

"I'm in love with you!"

You just blurt it. Spitting it out into the universe without fully registering that you have. It isn't until you notice the absolute shock shifting into Farleigh's expression that you understand that you had just thoughtlessly confessed. His lip's part, dropping open with what can only be bewilderment. And you know that you've completely blindsided him. Hell, you've blindsided yourself. The gravity of what you've done settles deep into your bones and threatens to buckle your knees. The deafening silence that falls over the room is worse than if he would just laugh at you. And for a moment you wish that he would just say something. Make a joke or try and brush it off, but he doesn't. He just continues to stare at you like you're a complete stranger, leaving you to struggle and trying to cope with the new trajectory of your reality. That you have just completely altered your entire relationship with Farleigh forever. Nearly a decade of friendship gone. Obliterated and tossed aside all because of your feelings.

"I have to go, " you mumble, more so to yourself than to him. You twist on the balls of your feet, rushing towards the door like the walls of his room are closing in and might crush you. And the entire time you're already planning your escape. Thinking about how the first thing that you're going to do once you get back to your quarters is pull out your computer and look up the cheapest and earliest flight back to America. And all you can do is hope that everyone else won't ask to many questions about your sudden departure back home.

But as soon as you start to twist the brass knob and the door begins to slip open from the threshold a hand comes out from behind you and shoves it closed with a heavy slam. You almost flinch at the jarring nature of the sound.

"Wait," he says. Firm and somewhat breathless. You're very aware of his presence standing behind your back with the pleasant, buttery heat of his body brushing against you. "Jesus, you can't just drop something like that on someone and then just leave."

Guilt takes root at those words, and it has you squeezing the doorknob in your hand to try and build some semblance of resolve. "I'm sorry, " you gasp, staring straight ahead at the paneling in the door.

"Can you look at me?" He asks.

You immediately shake your head. "No. No, I don't think I can," you answer truthfully. You really don't think that you'll be able to meet his eyes right now. It might actually tear you apart.

"Please. Please, just look at me." His voice is soft. Probably the softest you've ever heard it and almost pains you to hear it this way. It makes you want to crumble. To lean into him and soak in the feel of him. You can't resist the urge to obey his need despite the discomfort rippling throughout your entire nervous system. You find yourself turning, leaning yourself up against the door for some stability as you rotate on your feet until you're fully facing him. Even then, you can't meet the weight of his stare. You won't. Instead, you focus on the fabric covering his chest. It's one of those quote shirts he wears every now and again, and you find yourself studying the lettering on it with a rapt fascination, as forced as it is. Tracing the words with your eyes. 'You Wish' the tee declares in a bold, bright yellow font. Just a playful, sarcastic statement. One that's pretty in theme with all of the other text form shirts that he can be seen wearing, and on any other day it wouldn't have gotten any other response out of you other than some mild amusement. But here and now, in this specific moment, the statement feels so oddly and coincidentally personal, an omen of sorts. Like the universe is waving up some bizarre warning, an you could laugh if you weren't so on edge.

You hear him say your name. Low and gentle. His hand raises until the curled cusp of his fingertips are nudging underneath the point of your chin, delicately influencing you to look at him. The movement is unhurried and light, giving you ample time to pull your face from his hold if you wanted to, but you don't. You let him direct you until your eyes are meeting his in an unsure gaze.

And it's startling, the vulnerable and stunned expression on his features. But paradoxically, it's also almost a relief, to know that the shock riddling your body and mind is shared. That you aren't the only one who's completely lost and struggling. It comes with a sense of guilt, too. Stinging and unforgiving. You fight to forgive yourself to know that you're the one who's completely knocked him off kilter. You want to soothe that little bit of confusion wavering in his gaze. To try and right the dazed sort of panic that's choked the air.

"I'm . . . in love you," you repeat, swallowing around the tightness of your throat and luckily, you're able to speak with a bit more conviction. And once you get it out, it's like a dam has broken. Fracturing down the middle before it gives, cracking and tearing apart from underneath the frothing weight and turmoil slamming up against the damaged concrete. "I love you. I think I always have, but it finally caught up with me and I had to say something about it, and I'm sorry if this has fucked up what we have - " you're outright rambling now. Caught up within the slew of your own emotions. Honestly, you're too scared to stop speaking; terrified of what may come after with the silence. But it also keeps you from focusing on Farleigh, the sound of his voice seems too distant, like it's miles away, but you just barely catch onto a bit of calming words, the way that he tries to reassure you with your name and a soft "it's okay."

"No!" You almost shout it, looking at him with something fervent and afraid. "It's not! Because when I'm around you, there are times where it feels like I can't even breathe-"

"Hey, it's all right, " he tries to soothe you. And you can feel him gripping your forearms, rubbing sweeping circles against your skin with the swipe of his thumbs, trying to coax you from your thoughts. It doesn't pull you from their hold completely, but you can feel your body responding regardless, going lax and a little pliant underneath the warmth of his palms. "It's okay."

But it isn't. None of this is. You've completely ruined it. Everything.

"I love you."

Except it wasn't your voice that said it this time. It was his.

It all pauses. Like the world has simultaneously gone still, shifting into something hushed and private, like every individual life on the planet has put their priorities on hold to suck in their breath and wait. For a moment, it's like you and Farleigh are the only two beings left alive. Held within a small pocket of time around the walls of his room. It's only the gossamer breeze rolling in through his window; perfumed with the velvet fragrance of summer blossoms and a distant petrichor that reminds you that the earth is still rotating in its orbit around the sun.

He said it with so much conviction, but even then, you could pick up the worry fraying the edges of his words. Like he's waiting for a pen to drop. Like something is going to break.

"What?" You almost gasp.

A smile perks at his lips and you can see something relaxed melt back into his posture which had turned rigid during your panicked babbling. "I guess I should be relieved. I was always worried that I was being too obvious."

A breathless sound leaves your chest, both a sigh of release and a joyful laugh, all bubbling and soft. You shake your head minutely, a gesture made from disbelief rather than refusal or frustration. "I don't . . . Why didn't you say anything?"

Farleigh steps a little closer to you, reminding you that you're fixed between him and the door, but it isn't suffocating. It's pleasant. Comforting. You find yourself leaning towards him, your body seeking out the presence of his own in a subconscious pull; like how the moon affects the tides.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replies with a low laugh melting through his tone.

Your body suddenly feel weightless, like the gravity keeping you pinned down to the world has vanished and left you floating. You tip on your feet, leaning into Farleigh's chest easily. His scent surrounds you. Billowing over you with notes of something buttery and earthy and subtly sweet; creamy. And he moves closer towards you until his face is nosing against your head and his hands come to cradle your waist. You've been here a thousand times. Held just like this in his arms before. It's familiar. It feels like safety. Like home. But there's something decidedly different now too. An element that you've never felt before. It's new. But not uncomfortably so. It's nice. It's warm and accepting but simmering; driven by a sort of hunger.

You aren't sure who makes the move first. Suddenly both of your faces are angled towards each other, the tips of your noses brushing. You can feel the heft of his gaze when it meets your own. Your eyes transfixed upon the others like they're being guided by some invisible string, a magnetic pull. So many different emotions are passed through the exchanged stare. Something asking and delicate but also wholly wanting. It's all-consuming and fizzling at your skin, prickling like hungry, coveting teeth.

Your body thrums, blood singing when you feel the brush of his lips over yours. But he doesn't go any further than that, and you can feel that heat of him hovering over your skin. There's a question in his eyes, bright and burning and it leaves you feeling a little bit breathless; a little drunk. You want to answer but you can't bring yourself to speak. The words are stuck inside your chest, left useless and idle in your lungs in the form of shapeless air. But he must see the answer in your own eyes. Just as strong as his own desire because suddenly his lips are molded against yours, soft and plush with an ardent type of need.

You moan into it, and in his enthusiasm, he shoves you back against the door, but you're too swept up the sensation and emotion of it all to even register the dull throb in the back of your skull. Instead, syphoning every bit of your being into pouring your attention onto him. Soaking in the press of his body against you own, the subtle nip of his teeth against your lips and the low sound of his pleased, rumbling sighs. You can't manage to pull yourself away from him. Entirely focused on learning the shape of him through the layer of his clothes, running your hands across his hips and chest like you're mapping him out. He's got you pinned to him by his palms on your upper waist and the back of your neck, securing you to his chest like he's worried you might vanish.

It's zealous and a little desperate, but it isn't inherently rushed. Neither of you are fueled by the sort of urgency that comes with a time crunch or the expectations of meeting some inexistent due date, it's more like you're both trying to make up for lost time. Moving against each other like you couldn't manage to be apart.

It has you slipping a hand underneath his shirt, unable to ignore the need to feel his skin underneath you, even if it's in such a small way. He gasps against your mouth at the tepid sweep of your fingertips running over his ribs, nearly holding his breath once they travel up his chest. You jerk against him, body running hot at the almost whiny moan that rises up from his lungs in a sharp rasp. And when you both sway back against each other, you're the one who winds up gasping into him when the feel of him, heavy and rigid grinds on along your front through the barrier of your respective clothing.

You consider teasing him over it. Of making a joke over the fact that he's already hard because of a little making out, but the steady throbbing from between your legs keeps you from doing so. You're sure that if you were to slip your own fingers into your heat that they'd come up wet.

Suddenly he's backstepping away from the door, pulling you along with him by the cradle of his arms. You don't separate from each other for a single moment, too caught up in the drag of his lips, and you nearly go breathless when he licks into your mouth. You blindly follow his sightless lead, trusting that you'll both successfully reach your destination - the bed probably, and you nearly trip on the borderline of the center rug in your blind shuffle across the floor. If it wasn't for Farleigh's hold on you, you definitely would have fallen and busted your ass in an embarrassing, clumsy heap.

He's slipping his hands underneath your shirt, rucking the material up your body when the backs of his knees hit against the edge of his mattress. As your body follows his downward, he uses it as leverage to slip the article of clothing free from your torso and carelessly flings it somewhere across the room. You don't think that he was expecting you to be braless based on the way that his attention dips down to your chest, scanning over the swell of each breast and the rigid bud of your nipples with a rapt sort of fascination.

"Fuck," he whispers lowly, watching as you shift to settle your legs around his waist. And you can't contain the pleased chuckle that leaves you as you lower yourself over him to reconnect your lips, rekindling the fervent kissing that had transfixed you both before. You brush your tongue over the plush swell of his mouth, silently asking for permission and he gives it with a heady moan, parting his jaw to let you taste him. Caught under the spell of your need you haven't even noticed that you've both started to hump against each other like a couple of horny teenagers. Seeking out the pleasure of each other's bodies in any way that you can get it.

"Farleigh," you keen suddenly. God, you can feel him, the head of his cock nudging against the slick, sensitive nerves of your clit through his boxers and the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. It's already so good. And you chase after it while you continue to nibble and pull at each other's lips, steadily churning your waist in deep, sweeping grinds against the hard shape of him.

His hands are traveling again, moving from your ribs and upwards until he's taking your nipples between his fingertips, rolling and plucking at them until you're panting. You pull back just enough to look at him, ignoring the way that he whines, airy and pitchy, so that you can admire him. Marveling at the lustful, clouded over sheen in his eyes, how they shimmer, dark like melted amber and bronze underneath the buttery, golden glow of the lamp. His lips are parted, a little puffy and glimmering with all of your kissing, releasing deep, labored breaths from his chest while he gazes at you.

God, he really is gorgeous like this. It isn't fair.

You settle one of your palms on his sternum, making sure to shift yourself to bear most of your weight on the balls of your feet and the muscle of your thighs so that you can drive powerful, teasing thrusts over the rigid swell of his cock. His mouth drops open a little bit more, eyebrows pinching close as something liquid and carnal drips over you both like melted sugar. You could make you both cum like this. If you just kept on with this steady, torturous pace that you've set. And it would feel so, so good. You know it would, with how that sinful burn is climbing deep with the apex of your thighs. But you can't. Not like this. You need to feel him. You need him inside of you.

"Farleigh," you cry again, leaning over to breathlessly moan in his ear. "I need you. Please, please. Fuck me - "

He's grabbing you by your ribs and flipping your places in a disorienting blur, slipping a hand underneath one of your knees to spread you open around the circumference of his waist. He dips his face underneath your jaw, sucking at the hallow of your bared throat with the hint of teeth and tongue before his voice sounds out in husky rasp, making you arch into the weight of his body above yours. "Is that what you want, baby? "He hums, a little low and somewhat condescending. "Need me to fuck you?"

His knuckles brush over your abdomen, dragging around the band of your shorts in a teasing glide. You groan out in frustration, impatiently writhing in the hopes that it'll make him do something, but he just pulls back enough to stare down at you with a satisfied smirk. You don't hide the irritation in your expression, but your clear vexation doesn't do anything to dull his delight. You shuffle your hips, working to grind them in a heavy, agonizing swoops over his cock. And you feel a little surge of delight when you see that bit of arrogance in his eyes shift back into something eager and carnal, urging him one step closer to just giving in and taking you.

"God, you're so fucking desperate," he mocks, but there's almost a kind of wonder in his voice too. You find yourself preening underneath the tiny little shred of awe, nodding in agreement, well past the point of trying to cling onto your pride. Not after wishing and waiting for so long to be in this exact position. You'll have plenty of time to knock him down a few pegs later. As of right now, you just want him inside of you. He chuckles lightly at your desperation, nosing along your cheek like he might kiss you, though he stays far enough away to keep you from being able to join your lips with his.

"Stop teasing me, please, " you gasp, peering up at him from underneath your lashes, hoping that you're conveying all of that searing, devouring want that's clawing up inside of you and threatens to consume you, bones, flesh, body and soul. You don't even have the mind to acknowledge the blow to your pride that you're taking. How pathetic that you've become from nothing but his touch alone. And it must work, because something in his expression breaks, crumbling away until he looks as dazed and starved as you feel.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He promises and straightens himself, removing his own shirt and discarding it somewhere on the floor before he's finally taking ahold of your shorts, ripping them down your legs and slipping them from around the heels of your feet. As soon as they're off of you, his mouth settles on the inside of your knee, hot and wet in its ascent up your thigh, nipping the sensitive skin with his teeth and soothing the sting with the lave of his tongue and lips. The sensation has you sighing out into the humid, balmy air, reaching down with your fingers to grip onto his hair, trying to softly guide him back up and over you. But he's clearly in the mood to take his time, or maybe he's just determined to drive you up the wall. He plants a kiss on your mound, just above your dripping cunt and your body prickles and vibrates in anticipation, waiting for him split you open. To lick and take you into his mouth.

Then something sweltering and wet runs up the expanse of your abdomen, leaving a chilled trail in its wake, and it isn't until Farleigh's head raises up from your chest that you realize that it had been his tongue dragging over your skin, tasting the fresh salt on your body. He continues to shift upward until his lips seal back over yours and he notches his hips above your own, dragging them down to rub against your clit in a wicked grind, making you whimper into his mouth. And you're ready to start begging again when some distant, tattered part of your mind registers that the feverish, silken warmth pressed up against you is the shape of his bare cock.

You aren't sure when he had managed to slip his boxers off, but you don't bother dwelling on it for long, too focused on him to care. It has you keening and grabbing onto his shoulders, tossing your legs over his hips in the hopes of urging him to finally relent and give you both what you want. He grunts against your lips before he tilts his head back enough to look into your eyes, and you immediately recognize the glint that flickers within them, that silent question. It's all you can do to manage a simple nod, whispering 'please' over and over in a broken, windless request.

And then you feel him, thick and warm slipping against the entrance of your cunt. He doesn't glance away from you for a single moment, attention fastened to you like he's gauging your reaction. The whine that's pushed from your lungs is one of pure elation from the way that you're stretched around the length of his cock, eyes nearly going cross as he works in every inch. It admittedly has been a little while since you've last had sex, and the girth of him nearly burns while it buries in deep, but it's not enough for you to ask him to stop. It actually feels gratifying. Giving you a pleasant ache that has you feeling full. And the ragged moan that he releases makes you all the more worked up, pussy clenching tight around him, making his face twitch in a way that almost looks wounded.

He just grinds against you without pulling out, rocking his pelvis on you like he's struggling to keep still, trapping the buzzing nerves of your clit between the shifting press of his groin. "Baby," he warns, voice thin and a little shaky. "I don't know how long I can hold back."

It takes you a moment for your scattered mind to even grasp onto what he's said, but once you do, you're able to gather that he's trying to let you adjust to him. To get used to the weight of him inside of you. While you appreciate the consideration, you have absolutely zero patience to wait any longer than necessary. It has you reaching up to take ahold of his face, pinning him with a stare that you hope is sufficient enough to telegraph what you want. What you need. "I don't want you to wait," you say with as much conviction as you can while he's balls deep inside of you. "I want you to fuck me."

Something that looks like relief flows over his expression, and he drops all of his weight onto his arms, caging your head in between both of his elbows while he pulls his hips back from yours, slipping his cock from the slick of your cunt before plowing back into you with a thrust that steals all of the oxygen in your body. Pure white-hot ecstasy sizzles throughout your nerves and muscles, setting you alight with smoke and honey from the ardent pace that he's set. But despite the pleasure coursing through your body, your gaze is stuck on Farleigh the entire time. Captivated by the way that his face twists up in bliss, eyes fluttering and threatening to roll back; engrossed from the choked-up moans that pour from his mouth with each wild cant of his hips.

"Oh God - fuck," he huffs, leaning into your touch while your caress his face with your thumbs, fingers smoothing over the shape of his jaw and cheekbones with complete adoration. And he allows you to guide his head downward for your lips to messily meet, moaning into each other, utterly uninhibited and shameless. He whines, brazen and lecherous when you take his tongue into your mouth to suck on it. You can feel him twitch inside of you and his hips jerk for a split second, choppy and dazed, before he's able to fall back into the smooth, relentless rhythm that he had created while he pants into your mouth.

You work your own body to meet his thrusts, trying to create as much pleasure between the both of you as possible. You can feel his spit slick against your lips, but you can't be bothered to care, releasing his tongue from the suction of your mouth to nip at his bottom lip; swollen and soft. Somehow it makes him drive into you all that deeper like he's absolutely hellbent on ripping you apart and filling you, building you up again in his own image until the only thoughts in your head revolve around him and solely him. It has your brain going fuzzy, liquifying in your skull and your head rocks back on your shoulders until it plops back on the mattress. Your spine bows, arching sharp and tight until your stomach melds against his. The laugh that leaves you is already a little fucked out; slurred and mindless.

"Far - I - shit - " it's all a scrambled mess. You can't even form a sentence. Your tongue is lax and useless, unable to make a single syllable, and the only noises that rise from your lungs are moans and cries of total rapture. But a glance upward confirms that he isn't fairing much better than you. He looks just as gone as you feel. Skin glittering with a sheen of sweat that sparks low in the luminescence of the lamp in the corner, shinning like a layer of dusted gold and his eyes are glazed over and dark, ensnaring you completely. It's a little nasty, the outright lewd wet repetitive smacks of skin hitting skin coming from where your bodies meet; the scent of sex in the air, tainting the delicate summer wind like a depraved aphrodisiac. But you can hardly focus on any of that when you've got Farleigh suspended over you, looking outright debauched.

"You're s' pretty," you manage to weakly say between your panting.

You can tell that he heard you. You see the recognition flicker across his face, the space between his eyebrows furrowing when he looks down at you. There's a smile too. Faint from the way that his mouth is dropped open in pleasure, but you can still make out its influence around the shape of his lips. "I love you," he whispers it with reverence. The confession is still so brand new. Delicate and tender, but it has your body thrumming with something intense and feverish, bleeding into your chest, fluttering and wild. A fiery, dazzling heat courses its way throughout your entire body, making your toes curl and your fingers scramble for purchase; bunching up the bed sheets.

You want to return the sentiment. To tell him that you feel that same, but as soon as you go to speak, he's punching into you, making you feel the thick drag of his cock, effectively ripping the breath from you, choking you on it. He takes ahold of one of your thighs, securing it tighter around his waist like he's trying to get as close to you as he physically can without disrupting the flow of his thrusts. You can already feel that giant wall of heat and electricity rising, looming up like a violent ocean or a storm, giving you a taste of what's about to sweep over you. You can distantly feel yourself reaching onto Farleigh, drawing him closer by looping an arm around his back and latching a hand around his forearm, clawing for anything to center yourself. As much as you want to be doused and consumed by the shifting, liquid nirvana quickly forming within your abdomen, you also don't want to lose the sensation of his body pressed against yours.

You settle your mouth over his throat, not biting but tasting. Tracing your tongue over the tendons flexing underneath his skin, smelling and taking in the salt and vanilla and spice there. And you can feel the vibrations of his moans and whimpers humming against your lips. He's saying something, but you're unable to make out the words through the intoxicated stuffing that's been packed into your skull. But you do catch a ragged groan of your name and few scattered swears that follow after. You smile around his throat, trailing your lips down to his clavicle to lightly nip.

Your muscles start to seize, body winding up tight in preparation for the melted heat that's burning at you, about to set you alight. You slip your hand free from around its grip on his upper arm, lowering it down between your shifting bodies. Your mouth drops open when your find your clit, sensitive and slick, aiding you in drawing compact, heavy circles around it, making your cunt clench around him. The way that you squeeze him steals more whimpers from his chest, pitchy and wanton, tipping him closer to his own orgasm.

You try to warn him. To tell him that something raging and overwhelming is cresting over you, but not a single word makes it way out. Your lungs are caught and drawn tight, keeping you silent. In your daze, you haven't even noticed that you've begun to drag your fingertips across his back, scrambling for some sort of security to keep you in place and present, grounded to the bed and Farleigh's body without your mind turning into complete mush and drifting away. Your nails are slipping down just above his spine, leaving marks down the expanse of his skin. It makes him lurch his hips into you sharply, not disrupting his rhythm, but deepening it into a thick grind and it has them pressing into your knuckles, nudging your fingertips over your clit with more pressure.

"Far-" you choke helplessly, voice ragged and near raw.

"Come on, baby," he coos around his own shaky breath. "Just let it go. Cum for me."

You feel it everywhere; in your hands, your toes, soaking through every piece of your body, down to your nerves and bone marrow. But regardless of the utter weight of it, your mind still hardly has time to compute the scope of what you're feeling. That tight coiling band in your abdomen snaps like a frayed rubber and rope, releasing a deluge of bliss that devours you like a burst of flames and embers, taking away all of the oxygen in your lungs to feed the fire searing through your entire being.

You aren't sure how long you're suspended in that state of rapture for. Lost and wonderfully held captive to the pure ecstasy saturating every inch of you, wracking across your muscles in full delicious tremors like your body is determined to ride out every ounce of possible pleasure. You seize tightly, cunt gripping around his cock, and clenching over and over again, effectively shoving him over that sinful precipice along with you. And you distantly register him hunching over your body, bucking his hips deep to chase after his own orgasm with scattered moans. He cums with a strained grunt, spilling himself inside of you with a gentle rush of a pleasant warmth that makes your toes curl.

The comedown is syrupy and soft, settling over your skin low and mellow, like curling up underneath a blanket. It's the feel of Farleigh over you that guides you back to a state of coherence, the sound of his labored breathing leveling out close to your ear and you find your heaving lungs working to mimic the pace of his own. He's gone boneless over you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck with a pleased sigh that puffs over your skin. It has you relaxing your thighs, unwinding your legs from their hold around his waist to let him sag against you further. And the two of you just stay that way for a long peaceful moment. Basking in each other's presence and the afterglow.

You absentmindedly drag your fingertips over his back, tracing the faint divot of his spine in gentle sweeps. But your eyebrows furrow when they feel thin, long raises in his skin, and it has you lifting your head to try and peer over his shoulder. He grunts in objection when it has you shifting him a little from where he's tucked himself snuggly into the junction of your throat. But you can't be bothered to pay it any mind when you spot the light but angry scratches that decorate his back, spanning around close to the nape of his neck and down past his shoulder blades.

"Shit, I'm sorry," you apologize with something close to guilt settling in your gut. He hums questioningly but doesn't make any effort to articulate a response, so thankfully it must not hurt that bad considering that he doesn't seem to be paying them any mind, though you find yourself elaborating regardless. "Your back. I scratched it all up."

Another low vocalization leaves him, it's close to a purr almost, something that sounds suspiciously satisfied as he presses a kiss to your neck, just over your pulse. "Don't be sorry. I liked it."

That makes you feel a bit better at least, even though you can't help but to playfully roll your eyes at the comment. Then he's moving, pulling back from you and you suddenly find yourself as the one who's protesting when he shuffles from your body. You hiss underneath your breath when he slips his limp cock from you, making you clench around nothing, still sensitive and a little tender. He whispers something that sounds like it might be an apology, bending down to kiss the inside of your knee. You let yourself relax again, allowing your limbs to dip back into the plush of the mattress while you enjoy the pleasant buzz of endorphins still rushing around in your veins.

The bed shifts, leaving you to assume that Farleigh is probably getting up to go and clean himself in the bathroom and retrieve you a towel so that you could wipe yourself down. But instead, the shape of what feels a lot like a pair of shoulders nudging between your legs and spreading your thighs apart is what pulls you from your buzzed headspace. You shift yourself onto your elbows, lifting your head back up on your neck to glance down your body and you're somewhat surprised to see that Farleigh has nestled himself between your hips. His eyes have fluttered closed while he's begun to trace kisses along your inner thighs.

"Farleigh," you say, a question hanging heavy in the air.

You get another hum in response, but he does focus on you enough meet your gaze.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He asks, nuzzling a little closer to the apex of your thighs where you're still a little sore and soaking and admittedly a little filthy with your shared release. And there's a fleeting little thought that bounces around your head, a quick, disbelieving: There's no way he's going to do what I think he's going to do.

"I'm not sure," you reply, swallowing around the thickness in your throat, even though you've got that heavy suspicion looming over you. But he's not going to do that surely. And almost like a sort of answer, his lips curl into a smirk, dark eyes twinkling with what could only be described as mischief. He plucks the delicate skin of where your groin and thigh join between his teeth, not enough to be uncomfortable but just enough to tease before soothing it with the brush of his tongue.

"Oh, I think you do." That's all he says before he's leaning forward and sealing the searing wet heat of his mouth over your cunt. It's like a shock to your system, the blazing warmth suddenly basking over the sensitive nerves of your clit, and it has you gasping. You jerk helplessly underneath him, still raw and recovering from the intensity of your previous orgasm, but Farleigh doesn't budge so much as an inch in your body's mindless writhe. He just tosses one of his arms across your waist in an effort to keep you pinned down, and it works in successfully fixing you to the mattress, keeping you splayed open underneath the unforgiving drag of his tongue across your frayed, thrumming nerves while he chases after the faint, impeded rock of your hips. It's torturous and entirely too much, with the pleasure feeling so raw and direct that it might split you down the middle and it actually has you sobbing.

"Farleigh!" You cry, latching your fingers onto his curls like you don't whether to pull him closer or away from you. "I can't!"

"Yes, you can," he insists, pulling back just enough to speak. "But just say the word and I'll stop. Just tell me ' no.' "

But you can't do that. You don't want to, you find, even while it feels like you're being set on fire and every little atom that makes up your existence is being pulled taught and dipped in a melted vat of wax. And there's a moment where he stops. Waiting patiently for that single little word and when it never arrives, he's scooping you back into his mouth. Dipping his tongue down inside of you and taking the mixture of your combined cum into his mouth and drinking the both of you down. It's so dirty. Filthy and utterly debauched, but it's so good, too. And you just hardly manage to glance down and observe him from the gap made between your outstretched arms, and you can't help but gasp when you find that he's already watching you. His eyes are shimmering with a deep satisfied copper and the dark of his irises have been eaten up by his pupils; now overblown with hunger and want. There's an intensity that leaves you so completely breathless and captivated.

Honestly, your body is already so hypersensitive that you aren't sure that you'll even be able to cum a second time, not on the back of your first orgasm at least. Not so close together. But you don't even really care if you do or not. He looks so beautiful between your legs. His expression is drunk almost, a little blissed out and glazed over.

It takes you a moment to even recognize it through the satin smoke and fog covering your own mind, but you can see past the view of your own body and his head that his hips have begun to thrust against the mattress, moving his cock against the bed sheets and covers in an attempt to achieve his own pleasure. The sight alone has liquid heat cascading down your spine and humming between your legs, making your clit throb underneath the perfect lashing of his tongue.

It's all so desperate and charged, you can practically taste the atmosphere sizzling at your skin like something electric and alive. You can feel the dampness of tears beginning to trickle down past your water line, from the overstimulation or the sheer gravity of the pleasure taking over your body, you aren't entirely certain. And then he's removing the hand that had been gripped around one of your thighs so that he can slip a finger into the entrance of your cunt, groaning when you clench around him wildly and cry out from the overwhelming sense of torturous ecstasy. Your eyes roll, mouth dropping open in a silent sob and then you can feel it again, prickling at your toes and scattering over your skin. You were wrong. So, so wrong. He's going to make you cum again.

It's hurtling towards you with a speed that's jarring, threating to eat you up and leave bare bones behind. And you want it. A part of you wishes that he would just use you up until there's nothing left. It has you chasing the ceaseless curl of his finger, and gasping out when he slips a second in alongside the other, shoving you that much closer to the edge with the stretch. "Oh, God, " you whine in a jagged whisper. "You're gonna make me cum."

He moans against you heavily, sparking electricity over you with the ripple of his voice. You let one of your hands move from his hair, using it to prop yourself up, ignoring the way that the muscles in your arm tremor and shake with the exertion, but you can't find it in yourself to give in, not while you're completely enraptured in the way that his hips continue to steadily grind into the bed. His breath is snags with each inhale, frayed and bordering on a whine with each grind as he pleasures himself on the mattress, desperately seeking out his bliss. It has your body locking up tight, and that's the only warning that you get when you're absolutely blindsided by your orgasm. It isn't as searing or all-consuming as your first, your body already too sensitive and worked to give much, but that doesn't make it any less euphoric.

It has you thrusting yourself against his face, using his nose to prolong the molten heat simmering throughout your veins, and then his mouth cradles around your clit, sucking at the tender nerves until your jerking against him and sobbing. The fingers that you still have in his hair clinch tight when you drop back against the bed in a useless heap, losing yourself to the sensations spreading over you and burning you alive.

He laps at you a few more times, cleaning up the taste of you on his tongue and moving away only when you start to shift your hips in an attempt to get some reprieve from the stimulation. For a moment you dangle within that in between of consciousness and unconsciousness, simply existing without a thought. It's just that sugared, voltaic thrum coursing over every inch of you, making you hazy. But then you hear it. The sound of his labored, breathless breathing and it has you perking up to look over at him from his place on the bed. He's readjusted himself, having shifted onto his knees, and he's taken himself in the hold of his own hand. Stroking his grip down his girth, using the cum that's smeared across the velvet skin of his cock to aid himself in his movement.

But what gets you the most is the way that he's watching you. Almost as though he's enthralled by how fucked out he's made you. Using the sight of how he's reduced you to a panting, boneless mess, to get off.

You have had trouble with making eye contact with partners in the past, having always found it too . . . invasive almost. Too embarrassing. But now you're meeting his stare head on. Unwavering, emboldened by your own lust. You collect yourself until you're shuffled closer and place yourself into a sitting position. His eyes are glued onto you the entire time, a heady anticipation burning within them that would have had you tempted to go for another round if your body wasn't already so spent.

He leans towards you, the both of you drifting close to each other's space but never touching, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, soaking against your skin. He's already close, the way that his eyebrows are furrowed has already become familiar. The low pitchy moans that are steadily pouring past the pout of his mouth are an obvious tell. And that desperate, starved look has clouded over his gaze again and he almost looks drunk, fogged over with pleasure while his hips chase after the warmth of his own hand. He groans when he squeezes the head of his cock while he strokes, pressing his thumb down over a vein that throbs across his shaft, and it makes his thrusts skip shakily before he's able to regain his rhythm.

A part of you wants to reach out and touch him, to bat his hand away and take over, to feel him pulse in your hand. But there's also something that's undeniably arousing about watching him greedily chase after his own release, too captivated to do much else other than just sit and admire. Quietly roving over how his chest rises and falls in an entrancing pattern, the sweat glittering on his forehead and how his thighs subtly clench with each upward stroke from his fist.

"Please, " he's suddenly gasping and it's so faint that you barely hear it. It has you leaning even closer until your noses brush and the scent of him is thick and heavy in your lungs. That pleading look in his eyes gives you a pretty good indication of what he wants, but you want to hear it from him directly.

"What is it?" You ask softly, moving yourself just a little bit closer until your knees are pressed against his.

His breath snags, lashes fluttering when he gives himself a particularly firm tug. "I want- " he swallows heavily, thrusting deep into his hand and temporarily distracting himself with his own bliss. "I want you to touch me. "

And as much as you just want to remain an observer, you can't deny his supplication. It has you reaching out to place your palm on his stomach, basking in the way that the muscles underneath jump in surprise from the contact, and something in his stare focuses just a bit, zeroing in on you through the haze with something that looks a lot like anticipation. You brush your fingertips over the spars happy trail the leads down to his groin, moving slowly to tempt. "Yeah? " You tease. "Your own hand not doing it for you?"

He shakes his head; panting. "No, " he answers, voice wavering before he nearly starts to chant. "Need yours. I want it, I want it -"

You hush him softy, brushing your lips over his and you can't help the coil of satisfaction that winds tight when he chases after the press of them. But you pull away, a little cruelly to be honest, before he could join his to your own. He almost whimpers at the loss but falls quiet as he watches you move across the mattress, slipping down past the edge of the bed until your knees settle on the floor. You nudge both of your hands on his thighs, and he silently listens to your request, shifting around until his legs are draped over the mattress and you're settled between them.

You're still resisting that urge to knock his first aside and take him in your own hold, but something tells you that with how wound up that he is he'd probably cum as soon he feels your fingers slipping around his length, and as hot as that'd be, you also don't want this to be over just yet. You want to drag this out just a little bit longer. You lean close enough to smell the salty musk of him, letting the low rush of your breath caress over his throbbing cock.

"Baby, come on," he pleads, still pumping his hand over himself, and it has another trickle of precum slipping over his knuckles. You gaze up at him through your eyelashes, a little coquette and sweet but the smug smile on your lips the exact opposite.

"You're going to jerk yourself off," you say, firmly but not without affection and you can tell that he wants to argue with the way that his face twists into something petulant. "And you aren't going to stop until you cum in my mouth."

Whatever bratty quip he had at the ready seems to die on his tongue. He swallows heavily, adjusting his feet on the floor so that he's able to get the leverage to thrust up into his hand with a new vigor. And yeah, he definitely isn't going to last much longer at all. Not at how passionately he going at it. And even with sweat and saliva and cum smeared across your skin, and the rush of oxytocin still thrumming around in your system and your muscles lax and warm from your previous orgasms, reality is finally settling over you. That you really are here in Farleigh's room, sat up on the floor with the Persian rug underneath your legs doing little to dull the sting in your knees while he jerks himself off just a few scant inches from your mouth. But your confession hangs heavy over the atmosphere - his too - dulcet and balmy like the summer weather outside.

It has that consuming, fuzzy sensation back and glowing within your chest, even with the lewd sound of his cum soaked grip and hitched panting filling the air. It's utterly filthy and yet, it's completely intimate and gentle. It all bubbles up inside of your chest, puffing all of the endearment and devotion upwards until it takes shape into the three little words; the ones that have been already spoken several times tonight, but that didn't make them any less felt. Any less true. "I love you." You all but whisper. You aren't sure if it's the statement itself or if maybe there was a certain expression of your face, but something seems to push him all that closer to his release. It makes him groan, ragged and a little gutted while his hips stutter.

You run both of your hands up his thighs, letting him feel the warmth of your skin on his and it makes his eyelashes flutter, mouth dropping open. "Baby - I'm - "

"Do it, " you say, leaning closer until your bottom lip smears against the leaking head of his cock. "I want to taste you."

And then you're suddenly gripping onto his erection, taking ahold of him right above his own hand in a firm, smooth grip. That seems to be enough to finally push him over the edge because he's punching his hips up into both of your fists a couple more times, hurtling himself into his orgasm with a long grunt of your name. His abdomen clenches, toes curling, and his balls draw up tight. But his vison doesn't stray from you for a single second, keeping his eyes fixed to you while he watches you with rapt attention when you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out and up against the head of his cock just in time to collect the cum that spurts from it. He gasps out a string of frayed curses, a few strained "oh, fuck's" and a low call of your name while you squeeze his length a couple more times, dragging out the waves of his pleasure even when his own grip slacken around his girth. You only let him go before it tetters on the edge of being too much, obediently settling your palm back onto his thigh.

"Swallow," he commands shakily, admiring the opaque fluid still collected on your tongue with a filthy kind of fascination. You don't deny him, closing your mouth and tilting your head back so that he can see the way that your throat bobs when your drink down his release, savoring the taste of the earthy salt of him.

He doesn't even bother catching his breath. He's leaning down and gripping your forearms to help haul you up onto your feet and back against his body until you're both falling back onto the security of the mattress. You can't fight off the delicate, twinkling laugh that leaves your chest when he rolls you onto your back, showering your face with quick but loving kisses. You wrap your legs around his hips to draw him closer, eager to feel him against your body, to soak in his warmth and scent. And that's how the both of you stay, idlily skimming your fingertips over each other's skin and pressing your lips to whatever places that you can reach, scattering them over the others neck and the apples of both of your cheeks. It's almost disgustingly sweet, so much so that you feel as though you might choke on it.

But honestly, that might also be from the muggy heat that still clings over the room, sitting on your skin like a layer of steam. Even the breeze from the open window and the steady current coming from the oscillating fan that's chugging along in the corner, spitting out air from the rotating head, does little to help chase out the stifling warmth. It has you groaning into his chest, a little annoyed. "This heat is awful," you complain.

"If you think today was bad then you're going to be psyched about tomorrow. It's supposed to be worse." He says, drawing shapes on the back of your shoulder.

The news nearly makes you sob. "Why don't they get an A/C?"

"Some bullshit about it damaging the house," he replies. And admittedly, you can recall James mentioning something about that in the past. And he had gone into an explanation about it possibly warping the flooring or causing corrosion and wood rot. "But they've got one in their bedroom."

You fucking knew it, but the admission still makes you bristle, propping yourself up enough to look down from his place against the pillows. "You're kidding."

He shakes his head, eyebrows perking in a way that tells you he's just as exasperated about it as you are. Even more so, considering that he's here at Saltburn more than he's back in the States, and is left to deal with the sweltering weather on a semi regular basis. "Nope," he sighs.

You let your head rest back on his chest, finding comfort in the sound of his heartbeat steadily thrumming underneath your ear. You hum lowly, trying to settle but the sweat prickling at your skin suddenly feels awful and disgusting. "We should go swimming again," you propose. Right now, the idea of the cool water lapping against your skin sounds like absolute heaven.

"Skinny dipping," he supplies quickly, humor melting over his words, but that doesn't make the offer any less true.

"What about Venetia? Doesn't she usually go for her little walks on the grounds around this time?" You ask, absentmindedly playing with one of the curls close to the nape of his neck.

"So? You see each other naked in the field all the time," he responds. You can't exactly argue with that logic. You've probably seen her and even Felix bare more times than you can count on your fingers, so if she were stumble across the two of you it really wouldn't be all that shocking. "And Duncan? I've seen him out this late more than once."

Farleigh scoffs, tilting his head down to peer at you from your place settled over him. "He's probably up in the attic, jerking off to some porcelain dolls or something."

"You're such an ass, " you say, even with a smile nudging at the corners of your lips. He's quick to return your amusement, a light chuckle bubbling from his lungs, racking your body with small tremors.

"You like it." He smirks, nose wrinkling a bit with his mirth. "It keeps you on your toes."

You can refute that. Not even if you wanted to. You nuzzle against him instead, planting a kiss onto his cheek before lifting yourself up from the comfort of his body, swinging yourself onto the floor. His eyes track you while you search for your discarded sleep shorts, and you pluck them from their crumbled-up state near the base of the fan with a small 'ah-hah!' And when you turn around towards the bed, you've noticed that he's sat himself up now, observing you with his head slightly tilted and some indiscernible glint in his eyes, but it's soft and undeniably fond.

"What?" You ask as you slip your feet into your shorts, slipping them up until they're hanging from your hips.

"Just watching," he answers.

You glance away from him long enough to snatch a shirt from near your feet, and gauging from the familiar scent of vanilla and amber and the sight of the familiar sunny yellow words, it seems to be his, the same one that he had been wearing earlier. But you don't let it stop you from pulling it past your head and slipping your arms through the short sleeves until the fabric is draped over your body. It feels good against your skin, like it belongs there, and the pleased expression on his face tells you that he's enjoying the sight of you in his shirt. And the moment that's slipped over this little private space between the both of you feels so profound and mellow. But you find yourself stepping backwards towards the door, knowing that even if you leave the comfort of the room now that you have no reason to fear that this little bit of safety and adoration that's been built between the both of you won't shift or leave. That it'll always be there.

He tracks your movement, eyebrows raising in a silent question as you cross the floor without turning, placing your hand on the knob.

"I'll race you there," you announce before twisting the door open to slip out from the threshold.

You see the realization slip onto his face as you dart out into the hallway, the shouted sound of your name following after you as he scrambles to collect himself from the surface of the bed. "That's not fair!" He calls after you, but you're too busy padding down the hall with laughter bubbling up from within you to shoot anything back at him, determined to reach the pond before he does.

It looks like you'll survive the summer after all.

#farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh start #farleigh start smut #farleigh saltburn #saltburn #saltburn x reader #saltburn fanfiction #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh x you

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lawchwan · 1 month

Text

love alphabet (law)

note: i found this alphabet template but i can't find the original creator since i found it. if anyone knows, please inform me so i could credit.

Disclaimer: its mostly sfw but P, K, and Y, as p and y are nsfw and k is suggestive. also, i tried my best to keep it as gender-neutral as i could but some may be referenced as fem... but the majority is gender neutral.

crossposted in ao3

A = Affection (PDA, what sort of affection they give)

as many as one would say about him and pda, i’m also a firm believer that law is not a big fan of pda. however, that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t enjoy showcasing his love for you. everyone has a love language and law has one, and its quality time. your mere presence calms him down, so he puts in the efforts to incorporate you in all activities he’s in in the modern universe, and all adventures in the canon universe (as long as you’re not injured and are nowhere near in danger).

however, he’ll only do any form of pda if he’s feeling jealous and possessive and sees someone trying to make a move on you, so it's not like he minds it, it's more of his comfort.

furthermore, he’s EXTRA affectionate in private. I’d even argue that he’s much more clingy in private than he is in public. he’ll never showcase that clingy whiny side of his in public and if you so mention it to anyone, then trust you’ll lose all privileges.

B = Babies (Anything you want about babies)

for law, I don’t believe he’s the type to want kids. I don’t think he’s against it, I just think he’d rather have pets/plants than actual babies. I can see him being a cat dad honestly.

but you best believe that if you were to have his kid, he’d be such an attentive and overprotective father and if anyone ever so lay a hand on his child, he’d sure cut their limbs into pieces. (both literally and figuratively)

C = Cuddles (How they cuddle or are cuddled)

it truly depends on the mood and who initiates it. if you saw him lying in bed or on the couch and you got on top of him, he’ll just wrap his arms around you as you lay on his chest. he’ll probably also have a book in his hand, so in true law fashion, he won’t say much so he’ll just do the action more than say anything.

simultaneously, when you lay on the bed and if he’s really tired due to work, he’ll just groan and pull you into him and let himself lay on top of you with his face nuzzling on your neck without suffocating you. you’d simply ask him how his day went and he’d just grumble back an “nghh” which means ‘I don’t feel like talking, let me just lay in peace’ and you just simply rub his back as he falls into a slumber.

TLDR; he can be a baby when he’s tired

D = Darling (Pet names)

He's not the biggest pet name guy but he’s the type to call you “babe/baby” if not by your name or how he’d call you “(y/n)-ya”

E = Enamored (how hard do they fall when in love)

you know the trope “they fell first, he fell harder”? I feel like if law was a trope, he’d be that.

law is nowhere near affectionate or emotional, but once you came into his life, you’ve impacted him in ways no one would think of, and yet you’re all he thinks of. he would even “subtly” mention you from time to time, and he wouldn’t notice how much he talks about you until Shachi and Penguin call him out on it and make fun of him for it (and he’d be in denial about it of course)

“y’know, (y/n) would love this necklace because it has their birthstone on it and I know how much they—“

“We know, bro, you’ve talked about them in the past hour.”

“NO, I DON’T!”

F = Firsts (A first on anything you pick)

if one would ask the two of you how your first kiss went, you’d get different responses from you and Law; with you finding it adorable and endearing, and him finding it embarrassing.

you two were in his room, alone, and watching a movie that you two have been wanting to watch but never got the chance until now. but despite the desire to watch, the two kept glancing at each other (mostly initiated by law, but he could never admit it), one hoping the other to just make a move.

law was never that experienced so he was nervous. using his knowledge from his time as a medical student, a little bit of his general psychology course, and the shows and media he consumes, he just went for it, and to say he went in deep would be an understatement.

although you were shocked at first, you kissed him back but you noticed that he suddenly went stiff and didn’t move as smoothly as he first did, so you pulled away and asked him if he was okay. and he looked at you like a deer in headlights.

“… I froze, didn’t I?”

law refuses to retell that story and is embarrassed every time you mention it.

G = Good Morning (How do they wake you up)

you’re dealing with an insomniac man, you tell me how it goes.

no, but in all seriousness, he’ll be very groggy so he’ll probably be the type to oversleep, so you have to wake him up. but if he ever woke you up, it’d probably be if he accidentally made his presence loud and you crave him.

but if you two happened to oversleep, then you got Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo barging in, yelling, and jumping on the bed to wake you two up like they’re overgrown children.

(in the modern universe; he’ll just push them out and glare at them to get out. meanwhile in the canon universe; he’ll simply use his devil fruit powers and just switch them out with specs of dust around the polar tank)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs?)

oddly enough, for a cold individual, his hugs are warm and soothing to have around. again, he doesn’t give out hugs to anyone except you and maybe Bepo, but with that fact, his hugs just hit different with you.

he rarely asks for it, and he’ll give it to you if you want it… however, remember how I said he’ll participate in doing PDA if he’s feeling possessive? yeah, you best believe he’s the type to hug you from behind as you talk to the individual in front of you.

think like this:

I = In Labor (Labour and Delivery)

oh, you’re highly blessed to have law by your side. As a doctor, he’s very much prepared to take care of you while in labor and knows how to keep calm in your delivery process.

but deep down, as your boyfriend, he’s highly concerned and scared for you and your baby.

suffice to say, underneath that stoic, calm, and collected doctor, is a very scared man who wishes he could get rid of the pain of his significant other.

J = Jealousy (Are they jealous? How do they handle it?)

I’d say Law is a very secure guy in his relationship and once you’re in a relationship with him, you’re expected to be loyal to him as he is to you, so he has nothing to worry about if you fulfill that promise.

however, he does have his moments where he needs to step in to showcase to the person in front of you that you’re off the market and that you have a boyfriend who’s not afraid to cause chaos for their sake.

I’d say he’s more possessive than jealous.

K = Kisses (How do they kiss? How often?)

oh, his kiss just hits differently as much as his hugs.

while he hates PDA (or so he says), he is the type to give you a quick peck before leaving somewhere for an entire day, whether privately or in front of people. just a quick peck on the cheek or forehead in public, on the lips in private.

speaking of privacy, his kisses are also very loving in private. he loves to get into full-on make-out sessions with you on the bed, sometimes it does get sexual, but other times you two can’t get each other off of each other.

L = Loyal (How loyal are they?)

the law would kill for his crew, and you’re as special as his crew. law gives me the vibes of “I’ll take a bullet for the one I love, and if I survive, I’ll kill whoever tried to hurt the one I love” and it's a big claim since law is a very distrustful person and doesn’t let ANYONE in his life that easy.

so if you ever thought of breaking your loyalty and betraying law in any way, you’re practically dead to him.

M = Memory (Their favorite memory about you?)

when asked about your favorite memory, you’d say “Your first kiss with him” and he would yell at you, “NO!”

all jokes aside, his favorite memory is possibly when you two started working together. he can’t pinpoint why, it's not like you guys met under the best circumstances, but when you two started talking and getting to know each other through work, he started to get enamored by your presence and just wanted to know more about you.

N = Never! (Dealbreakers)

breaking your loyalty to him and you deliberately expose his vulnerable side to other people. Any betrayal is a big dealbreaker to him, but these two would set him off. like I’ve mentioned above in the loyalty section, do either of these and you’re dead to him.

O = On the Rocks (How do they make up?)

law is not the most emotionally intuitive but that doesn’t mean he’s not emotionally intelligent. While Law is not the most talkative, he does try to communicate with you and you two mainly hash out your problems and apologize if needed.

however, law is a levelheaded person, so as long as you don’t pull any dumb stunt like a certain someone, *cough* luffy *cough* you’re fine.

P = Playtime (Any headcanons on sex)

While Law’s not the most vocal, he’s the type to let out groans and slight whimpers in your ears when he reaches his climax.

and while he enjoys being dominant during sex, he does want to tap into his submissive side sometime in the future (which includes pegging), but his pride wouldn’t allow him. maybe it's a trust issue thing, so once he can trust 100%, he can reconsider

Q = Quiet Time (How do they wind down?)

just simply having your presence calms him down, especially when you two cuddle on his couch/bed, that sure puts him at ease.

R = Rapture (What makes them happy?)

your judgment-free perspective and your ability to hear him out without outright criticizing and mocking him makes this man feel so at ease. and with your loving smile, it sure makes his dopamine levels go up.

S = Soulmate (What do they think of soulmates?)

I don’t think Law would be a firm believer in soulmates. I don’t how to explain it but he never came off as someone who believes in such things due to him feeling like each time he gets close to someone, he loses them. so finding a “soulmate” doesn’t sound like something he’d be interested in.

however, with having you and his crew, he believes there’s something deeper to it, just like how he felt with Corazon… but he’s afraid that with that deep feeling, that would mean he’d lose you guys…

it's very complicated and he can never give you a direct answer, so oftentimes he’ll either say no or I don’t know.

T = Together (What do you like to do together?)

lounging around and reading a book together. sounds very typical of law, but what else could he do? he’s not the most extroverted individual and he certainly doesn’t like loud environments so having some quiet sessions with you is ideal for him.

U = Unyielding (How do they handle interlopers in the relationship?)

law is the king of being unbothered and masters the art of not giving a fuck. not to toot his own horn, but Law is hyper-aware that he’s good-looking and anyone would wish to be in your position. while he doesn’t see what you and others see in him, he understands that people do fawn over his intimidating and mysterious aura.

so he does get girls (and sometimes guys) to throw themselves at him and try to get in between you and him, only for him to embarrass them by apathetically rejecting their advances. no amount of luring could ever get to him as he would just hit them with his signature scowl and roll his eyes at them. his love for you is THAT deep.

meanwhile in your case… I’d be a broken record so go back to the jealousy and the whole PDA discourse.

V = Vulnerable (Are they vulnerable often? How do they handle it?)

law is not always vulnerable, thanks to his pride, trust issues, and trauma, but when he does become vulnerable, you better keep that shit to yourself and bury it in your grave. That's an oath you need to keep.

you’ll see him sometimes start tearing up and talk about how much he misses his family, old friends, and Corazon. his face would become red due to his crying as he pouts and starts to talk about his feelings.

you’d comfort him and eye him with a loving and supportive look. he would make eye contact with you through teary eyes and witness your look. that look solidified his trust in you and how comfortable he is talking about his feelings.

W = Wedding (Wedding headcanons)

law is not a big celebratory person, but he doesn’t simply want a courthouse wedding. not because he doesn’t want it, but because he knows that his crew would pester him for it and you would just laugh at their arguments, even if you don’t mind having a courthouse wedding.

so he’ll just have a small wedding, think kind of a backyard type of wedding where only the closest people are in attendance. while it's not big, you two would wear your elegant wedding attire and you two would shine together.

he just loves the small intimate ceremonies where all his favorite people gathered around and no one to disturb this beautiful moment.

X = (E)x (How do they handle exes? What do they do if they see them)

law is not that experienced in relationships so it's not like he had many exes and if he were to have one, he’d not acknowledge them if he saw them from afar. if they did walk up to them, he’d simply just apologize and walk away. it's not that law is not confrontational, it's just, what the hell was he supposed to do? the relationship’s done, there’s nothing to reignite.

I feel like Law’s the type who would not go back to his ex, even if he fell hard for them and still has slight feelings for them.

Y = Yearning (What do they do when they miss you?)

he’ll never admit it, and no matter how many times you’ve caught him, he’ll still not admit and deny it, but this man takes your clothes and/or pillows and constantly smells them until he sleeps.

it started with your pillow from your shared bed. you left to hang out with ikkaku and you may have lingered a bit longer than expected, and you came back later than you should have. you expected to be lightly scolded by law as you walked into the room, but instead, you were met with the sight of him sleeping with your pillow (and your discarded hoodie from earlier?), wrapping its arms around it like how he’d usually do with you.

it was an adorable sight, and when you call him out on it he’d be like “Huh? What are you talking about? I probably moved in my sleep” Yeah sure, Jan.

**NSFW**

furthermore, law has stolen your panties previously. when you were gone, Law, unfortunately, caught himself in a position where he desperately needed you. he eyes down at the imprint between his legs through his sweatpants.

he palms it as he hisses out a light cuss, wishing you could just walk in and take care of him, but he knows you won’t be here anytime soon. so he’ll take the closest thing to having you, he gets up to your drawer and fishes out your lace underwear.

he stared at it as he went back to his chair and he proceeded to palm himself through his sweatpants once again. he gripped your panties as he lowered his pants and boxers, revealing his hard cock, gasping at the air making contact with his sensitive skin.

he cusses at himself and calls himself a pervert for doing what he’s about to do as he wraps your panties around and starts to stroke it.

little does he know, you came in earlier than expected and walked into the hottest sight you’ve witnessed.

Z = Zzz… (Sleeping headcanons)

law is a small spoon, argue with the wall. he loves to lay on your chest as he enjoys the sound of your heartbeat (no pun intended), while he wraps his arms around your middle. he also loves it when you stroke his hair, it makes him go to sleep almost instantly as you see him roll his eyes and began to let out a tiny snore as he falls to sleep.

he sleeps like a baby all in all, and you love to take care of him.

characters are owned by oda. i will not tolerate nor accept translation, reposts on other websites, or plagiarism. divider made by mmadeinheavenn.

#one piece headcanons #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law smut #trafalgar law one piece #sage's trafalgar law #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law #trafalgar law fic

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theconstantsidekick · 11 months

Text

Randy's Donuts In A Suit Of Armor

Pairings: Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings), Natasha Romanoff x Stark!Reader (little bit of flirting)

Genre: A bickering fluffy look back at the good times.

Summary: Tony just wanted a goddamn donut after wrecking the shit out of his birthday party by being an asshole. He tried to throw himself a donut-themed pitty party but the universe is never that kind.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, codename—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Death, Hints of Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Past Trauma.

a/n: dedicated to my dear reader @third-broparcelicito who wrote a whole-ass essay for me which kept me going through a rough time. Thank you so much.

sidenote: I just missed Tony a lot, ok?

“Sir! I’m gonna have to ask you to exit the donut.”

And man if that doesn’t throw Tony for a spin, cause when he looks down on the source of the voice, there stands a man in an all-black ensemble with a fucking eye-patch. If you don’t know where this is headed, in some ways Tony’s fucking jealous of you.

Reluctantly, he makes his way down and into Randy’s Donuts.

Seated opposite Fury in a booth that feels all too suffocating in his fucking suit made of gold-titanium alloy, with a coffee that was brewed at least two days ago sitting in front of him, and a giant-green-monster-who-tore-up-Harlem sized hangover crushing his head, he makes his displeasure at the situation known. “I told you I don’t wanna join your super-secret boy band.”

“No, no, no. See, I remember, you do everything yourself. How’s that working out for you?” Fury challenges.

“It’s… It’s… It’s…” Does it really look like he’s in the mood for a challenge? So, he deflects. “I’m sorry. I don’t wanna get off on the wrong foot. Do I look at the patch or the eye?” Lowering his sunglasses, he adds, “Honestly, I’m a bit hungover. I’m not sure if you’re real or if I’m having—”

Leaning in, Fury replies, “I am very real. I’m the realest person you’re ever gonna meet.”

Well, fuck, he thinks.

“Just my luck.” He looks over at the counter, “Where’s the staff here?”

The movement gives a full on show of his… situation? Yeah. Situation, let’s go with that. Fury gets a view of the situation he has at hand.

Fury’s hand comes flying to his neck, where he presumes his situation has become evidently concerning because then Fury says, “That’s not looking so good.”

“I’ve been worse.” He’s lying… kind of. The only thing he’s seen worse than this was back in the cave, which as is infamously known, not the best so, yeah. He’s kinda lying.

Anyway, what Tony sees next makes him want to spit his coffee out. Only thing stopping him is the fact that he might spit it on Fury and he doesn’t really wanna die in Rusty’s Donuts, hungover and shamed. He’d rather let the palladium poisoning take him out.

“We’ve secured the perimeter but I don’t think we should hold it for too much longer.”

Well, fuck times two.

Looking over the top of his glasses in complete and utter disbelief, trying and failing awfully to contain his shock at this absolutely, “Huh,” he says. “You’re… fired.”

“That’s not up to you,” Replies Natalie—who is definitely not Natalie, from Legal, cause she’s wearing a full on S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent bodysuit and currently in the process of taking a seat next to Fury.

“Tony, I want you to meet Agent Romanoff,” Fury introduces her with what seems like giddy excitement? Who even knows. He’s a fucking spy, Tony trusts nothing about him. Fuck Tony thinks maybe he doesn’t trust anyone anymore, especially since Natalie Rushman is actually Agent Romanoff, who says the perimeter is secure.

“Hi,” Tony replies, while facepalming in some more shame.

“I’m a S.H.I.E.L.D. shadow. Once we were informed that you’re ill, I was tasked to you by Director Fury,” Natalie, fuck! No. Not Natalie. Agent Romanoff explains.

“I suggest you apologize,” Tony says looking her dead in the eyes.

“I agree, Nat,” Comes another voice, and like, honestly? At this point he’s DYING to die at the hands of the palladium cause living has brought him no joy whatsoever. Not when his sister is just… everywhere. “You deceived me,” She says as she slides in to sit next to Tony. “You made me fall in love. I was going to marry you. We were going to have two adorable little children and live a long happy life as that weird family at the end of the most suburban lane with the lesbian moms and their adopted asian babies. You really should apologize.” She steals his coffee and takes a sip, stopping only for a second to make a face of pure disgust. “You broke my heart. Oh and, the perimeter is very much not secure… The north exit? Wesley I think his name was? Yeah, he’s down.”

“How did you—” Natali—fuck. Not Natalie is about to ask something that Y/n can very obviously not answer honestly, so he cuts in.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted a donut,” Y/n replies easily, like it’s the most boring thing in the world.

“You wanted a donut?” Huh?

“It’s a Pavlovian response; whenever I feel a deep, profound sense of disappointment I crave a donut, because you give me a fucking ‘apology donut’ everytime you disappoint me… which is really often.” She says it with air quotes and all.

“I don’t do it that often,” Tony tries to defend.

“You do it often enough for me to develop a fucking Pavlovian reponse to it, don’t you?”

“You’re making shit up, there is no chance in hell that I do it that often. I’m the pinnacle of siblinghood. I’m absolutely the best brother anyone could ask for, ever, and you know it,” He argues because well, he is.

“A pinnacle?” She scoffs. “The only thing you’re the pinnacle of is being a self-destructive asshole.”

And what kinda shit is that to say to your beloved brother? Honestly, that’s just disrespectful if you ask him.

“Guess who I learned it from,” He throws back… like a self-destructive asshole.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” Fury shouts as if he’s trying to quiet the two bickering children. Which, yeah, he might as well be doing just that. “I’m not here to take part in your bullshit. I’m here, cause you’ve been very busy. You made your girl your CEO, donated half your shares to your sister, you’re giving away all your stuff. You let your friend fly away with your suit. Now, if I didn’t know better—”

“You don’t know better,” Tony cuts him off. “I didn’t give it to him. He took it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Fury exclaims in the most mocking tone known to mankind. “He took it? You’re Iron Man and he just took it? The little brother walked in there, kicked your ass and took your suit?” He turns to Nata—Agent Romanoff (fuck!), adding, “Is that possible?”

Ever so slyly, she replies, “Well, according to Mr Stark’s database security guidelines, there are redundancies to prevent unauthorized usage.” She looks right at him, with a challenge in her eyes that unsettles Tony… this might just be the start of a beautiful friendship.

“What do you want from me?” He asks. Cause, come on. He’s doing the best that he can, given the cards that have been dealt.

“I don’t want anything from you—” He shrugs, almost reassessing his statement and deciding to roll with it. “Mostly nothing. You should be asking her instead.” He points to Y/n, meanwhile Nat—(motherfucker!) Agent Romanoff gets up and walks out. “She’s the one who called us in.”

“YOU DID WHAT?” Tony’s about to blow his fucking gasket.

But Y/n is calmer than ever, which if you know her is the most normal thing for her. “You’ve been behaving exactly the way you did when you got chicken-pox and thought you were going to die.” She turns to face him. “You’re exacerbating the problem by scratching away at the poxes like there is no tomorrow meanwhile giving away all your toys to people you love and leaving goodbye notes.” He almost forgot about that one, fuck. “I hate to break it to you, but Howard might have returned your G.I. Joe action figure, but Rhodey sure as shit not giving the suit back.” He remembers that. He had to beg Dad to give the toy back. Howard had only given it back because he’d made mom intervene.

She shakes her head with a sort of disappointment then. “I don’t even want to think about how concerning it is that your self-destructive patterns haven’t changed a bit since you were four fucking years old.”

Before he can respond, Fury cuts in, “You have become a problem, a problem I have to deal with. Contrary to your belief, you are not the center of my universe. I have bigger problems than you in the southwest region to deal with.” What happens next, Tony has no time to register. There’s barely a second long pause before Fury looks up and commands, “Hit him.”

Suddenly there’s something being injected into his neck and his body is almost on fire from it. “Oh, God, are you gonna steal my kidney and sell it?” Fidgeting with his hands around the neck he looks up at Nata—goddamn it! He looks up at Agent Romanoff who holds the now empty injection in her hands, he says, “Could you please not do anything awful for five seconds” He looks back at Fury, “What did she just do to me?”

“What did we just do for you,” He corrects. “That’s lithium dioxide. It’s gonna take the edge off. We’re trying to get you back to work.”

“Give me a couple of boxes of that. I’ll be right as rain,” Tony says.

“It’s not a cure, it just abates the symptoms,” Agent Romanoff explains.

“Doesn’t look like it’s gonna be an easy fix,” Fury comments.

And you know what? He’s been ambushed twice in this conversation by people he thought he knew. And that’s not even counting the random injection of a so-called cure into him. So yeah, he’s a little short on patience. “Trust me, I know,” He says, with enough distaste that it makes Fury lean back. “I’m good at this stuff. I’ve been looking for a suitable replacement for palladium. I’ve tried every combination, every permutation of every known element.”

Fury leans back in, looks him in the eyes and says, “Well, I’m here to tell you, you haven’t tried them all.”

That stumps him for a second. Because, well you see, Tony’s been convinced he’s dying of this thing, this thing in his chest that while being absolutely foreign is an integral part of him now. He’s dying of the thing that he made to save himself and that’s been consuming his every waking (and most of his sleeping) hour. He had prepared himself for the worst, ready to face the bitter end, rotting from the inside out. It was a fitting way to go, he’d thought. The rot outside of him will have matched his insides. But that was his hubris.

How could he have thought he could decide to give up on his own life, as if he didn’t share it with someone. That too with someone who was just a little bit more stubborn than him.

Suddenly, “All that remains is the matter of your signature,” Na—Agent fucking Romanoff says from next to them as she places a document in front of Y/n. “Just sign here and here, and we’re good to go.”

The tone of the room changes in an instant. He has seldom seen his sister uncomfortable, so you best believe he senses the change coming from miles away.

“Signature for what? What the hell is this?” Tony asks, completely confounded.

Y/n shifts uncomfortably in her seat, “I gave you my word, we shook hands—that should be more than enough. I don’t do documentation. You know that,” she says looking at Fury.

“You don’t do digital documentation,” He pushes the papers closer to her. “This is analog.”

Tony’s had enough.

“What the fuck are these for?” He asks, loudly.

“Integration of Y/n Stark as a S.H.I.E.L.D. Liaison,” Agent Romanoff replies easily.

He turns to his sister. “Ah. Of course, I’m the self-saboteur in the family. The only one.”

“Tony—”

He’s not in the mood to listen to her bullshit. “What the actual fuck, Y/n? Have you fucking lost your mind? You want to be a fucking liaison for S.H.E.I.L.D?”

“Are these rhetorical questions or are you hoping for a response?” The nonchalance in her attitude pisses him off even more.

“Where is all this attitude coming from, young lady? You really think this is a situation where you should be running your mouth—”

“Oh my fucking god! Tony! What the hell was I supposed to do? You were dying, literally being poisoned by this thing in your fucking chest and I was supposed to do what? Sit back and watch?”

“Do not put this on me. This is not on me! How is this on me? This is a decision you made! By yourself!”

“I didn’t make it in a fucking vaccume, did I—?”

“Everything is my fault? All of it? I am not taking responsibility for your stupidity—”

“—MY STUPIDITY?!! You’re the one who put decided to put a fucking magnet in your chest, jerkface—not me!”

“I’m sorry my solution to being blown up by a missile was inconvenient for you—a missile which by the way had my own fucking name on it—I didn’t have much choice in the matter—”

“UUUGGGGHHHHH! FUCK!! Here we go again. Here we go for the millionth time—”

“—On account of me being held prisoner in the fucking desert!”

“Are we still milking that? Really? Are all your future crimes absolved cause you were kidnapped‚—”

“I wasn’t kidnapped, I was abducted! And do you think I liked—”

“You did like it! You said it yourself, you narcissist—”

“That was a fucking joke, Lincoln Lawyer!”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“You’re telling me you can’t gauge tone difference now? Really? You childish little shit—”

“You’re a fucking childish little shit—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Fury shouts. “Shut up—” he cuts off any protest from the siblings before it even forms, “—the both of you. I’ll make you regret it if you don’t.” He fixes them with a look which makes the two Starks silently climb back off of each other and take their seats; once again a part of polite society. This must please Fury to some degree, because he clears his throat before continuing, “Now, here’s the deal, you both will sort this little quarrel out on your own damn time.” He looks over at Y/n, “And you have to sign this, we need proof of some sort. Besides, you will have access to some of the nastiest secrets known man, there has to be some sense of accountability? If you catch my drift?” Reluctant as ever, Y/n just grits her teeth in displeasure but remains otherwise silent. Fury takes this as her assent and moves on to him, “And you! She did this cause you were being a little shit about all of this. So, just be a little nicer maybe?” When Tony remains silent as well he takes that to be an agreement too. He gets up and out of his seat, brushes himself off and then begins to walk away, stopping only for a second to say, “I’ll see you crazy kids back at your place.” With that Fury is gone, and Agent Romanoff along with him.

There is a short silence between the two. It’s something like tense, but not really.

Tony decides to break it. “You didn’t have to do this, you know?”

He can feel her shrug next to him. “Eh, it was for the best.”

“How?” Tony questions. “You hate all this spy stuff.”

She leans back, hands back in her pocket. “I actually kinda love the spy stuff. I just kinda sorta hate S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Then why go back?”

There is a beat before she replies, “You were suffering. I hate watching you hurt.”

Af if he didn’t know that. The woman burnt the books that gave him paper cuts.

He sighs. “We could’ve fixed it… found a way. We would have.”

“That was the whole problem, Tones. Ever since you’ve put on the damn suit we haven’t been ‘we’. It’s been you in the suit, you in the lab, you alone.

“That’s not—”

She cuts him off even before he has the chance. “And I understand that I can’t be there all the time and I understand that maybe it wasn’t your intention to cut me off, but none of what you’ve done with regards to all this has been a unanimous decision.”

“I—” he takes a second to reassess before he says anything further, because yeah, maybe she isn’t wrong. Cause right now her breath smells of cigarette smoke and she did just decide to sign herself away to an organization she had come to despise. That would all seem like an overreaction if Tony hadn’t been acting alone, especially from Y/n who is, for all intents and purposes, the most chill person he knows. So, yeah, maybe he fucked up a little bit. So he says, “I—I’m sorry.” He licks his lips. “I was a little too focused on not pulling you back into all this that I just ignored that fact that I was pushing you away all together.” Fuck. He takes a breath. “It’s always us against the world.” He knocks on his suit,”This tin-can won’t change that.”

She looks over at him then, “I know.” She smiles a little “We’re good.”

Nodding, he smiles too. “So, what now? You gonna sign these?” He asks, pointing at the papers in front of them.

“Yep,” she replies, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“You think Fury will back out of helping me if you don’t?”

“No, no I don’t,” she answers. “But I’ll sign it anyway.”

“Why?”

“I need the access to the intel that they have.”

Tony has to laugh at that, “Oh yeah, you need them to gather intel. It’s not like you have a whole secret network of informants around the world or anything”

She rolls her eyes with a fond smile. “Yeah well, it’s more than that, okay? There’s something going on at S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury’s planning something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I need this,” she pulls the papers towards her. Pulling out a pen, she signs them. “I gotta be on the inside to figure it out.”

Reaf the next part here. Find the series masterlist here. Find the Static Verse Masterlist here. Read The Avengers (ft. Static) here.

tag list : @aryksworld @freeflyingphoenix @arikarapli @just-anotherstan @justab-eautifulmess @ceo-of-daichi @roxannejblack @liketearsintherainn @paintballkid711 @starkleila @heyitsmereading @fairlygothparents @euphoria-svt @sidepartskinnyjeans @mini-kunoichi @third-broparcelicito @siwiecola @haleybutnotthecomet @mvaldez7821 @rockybutmakeitlame @romanoffswoman @ashpeace888 @hopeofwinter @percabethfangirl987

hit me up if you wanna be added to the tag list.

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starillusion13 · 1 year

Text

Please! Listen to me

Pairing: college student! Jaehyun x college student! Reader (mention of NCT Jaemin x reader)

Genre: Angst, Romance, fluff, slice of life, university au, non-idol au, a very emotional au (read with caution) W.C : 3.5k

Warnings: Isolation, depression, past traumas, death of loved ones(major character which will really make you sad and am sorry) and Jaehyun’s dimples with his cutest smile(major warning)

Summary: “Will you listen to me?”, looking upward with a soft look on the face , eyes searching for the answers deep inside the opposite brown orbs which are staring directly to her. “You really thought I was joking back then? I meant every words honestly and trust me, you are the MOON amid my ocean of star”, confessing the heart out with a adorable smile revealing tiny dimples which causing the eyes to twitch tightly.

I recommend you to listen to ( That's okay by D.O.)

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @vvshere

Well this story was supposed to be something else but now it ended up a bit different from the original plot because I didn't feel okay with writing that plot.

I hope you kindly show some love with reblogs and likes and feedbacks are always appreciated.

*under the cut*

The streets are lonely just like the heart of yours. The street lights are not illuminating the place much as needed similarly just the way you always put up a smile on your face which is not enough to decrease the ache in your heart. ‘The people around me are so happy even if they had a rough day at least they could go back home in a relief to get back to someone’s warmth.’ They enjoy the warmth and can rely on it to ease themselves. Well unlike you who has to face a cold world when you return back to your place after a long day which you can’t even call it a ‘home’ anymore. The place which once seems a warm paradise to you is now like a cold abandoned Hell.

No one is going to listen to you anymore.

Once for you coming back home was the best thing ever you desired. Coming back to see the smile which erase your every tiredness from your body. The warm hug which made your home a paradise and then “How was your day my love?”. This was enough for you to calm down from a stressful day and forgetting all the problems in your life and just focusing on HIM.

Today is different from those days. It’s now similar to the days you are spending for last 6 months. LAST 6 MONTHS AFTER HE LEFT YOU. Now you longer want to go back home early. No longer the surroundings feel fresh and enchanting to you which once you both cherish a lot. The surroundings are to your likings full of flowering plants and open fields with some old trees which give a place a soothing and calmness. But now you feel suffocated passing through it because its no longer the same to you without him by your side. The park came into the view and a sad smile appeared on your lips oblivious to your sense. “I MISS YOU” this park is the place where you both first met and shared so many memories which you didn’t thought back then to be the sad ones later. Tears welled up in eyes but you didn’t bother to wipe them away. At least the tears were warm unlike other feelings in your life.

Standing in front of the apartment still you don’t feel like to enter into. ‘If I go back today, Will he be waiting there for me just like those days?’ But deep down you know no matter how long you wait, he wont ever come back to even if he wants to.

Unlocking the door, you are welcomed by the cold darkness of the living room. You didn’t even bother to switch on the light rather turned towards your right and entered the bedroom and switched on the bed light. You placed your bag on the study table and chose to fresh yourself to brush off your mind. It took almost 20 minutes to complete yourself drying off after the shower and plopped on the bed. You don’t know why suddenly all your past thoughts are flooding your mind today.

It was supposed to be a usual day like other but the batchmates ruined your day by telling

“You, ugly bitch is not the one to be loved you know.”

‘Yes, I know and that’s why parents left me when I was too young as well as he.’

This is the reason you felt so low with your emotions. Six months back when you finally realized that he won’t be back in your life ever, you never felt the warmth in yourself. You tried to move on, to forget about your past life but somehow you still miss him.

‘Wish you could have died in that accident too with him.’

People around made you such an emotional mess with their consolations which sometimes seemed fake to you. You tried to move to a different place and to start a life from a fresh beginning but his smile reminds you that this apartment is the only last place you can feel him. You isolated yourself from the outside world even skipped meals but you know all these could never give you anything else other depression. So without getting involve in any conversations you put up a smile every time you went out and try to keep yourself busy in your part time jobs so that you have to come back home late and keep your mind off of HIM.

Unfortunately for you, his brother JUNG JAEHYUN is in same university and some of the classes with you in your university and that’s why classmates pick on you even more.

“You, bitch look at him. How you have killed his brother and left him all alone.”

‘Really, I guess I should have died in his place at least he would not have to lose his brother.’

JUNG JAEHYUN and NA JAEMIN, they are not brothers by blood but step-brothers. They are of three years apart in age but the bonding between the brothers were beyond anyone can imagine. No one can even have a doubt that they are not real brothers. Jaehyun’s parents adopted Jaemin when the younger one’s only parent, his mom died due to a chronic illness. Since, then they are brothers and were being called JAE BROTHERS.

Starting of the university, you fell in love with Jaehyun because of his heart laugh and dimple smile with a kind gentleman personality. You didn’t tell him about your feelings scared to get rejected and then bullied by those mean classmates. You and Jaemin were in the same year and were best friends. He had a sneaky personality but a gentle one like his elder brother. Jaehyun was one year senior than you both and you all often meet in the cafeteria or in the common classes. One day Jaemin asked you about your feelings for his brother.

“Y/N, tell me honestly.”

“What?”

“Do you like Jaehyun?”

You didn’t know what to reply like if it is right to say that to him. What will happen if he tells this to his brother and then the next everybody in the college will somehow know about it.

“I don’t know….”

“Look don’t try to hide it from me at least when we are like…..best friends.”

“See I don’t-”

“You are afraid to get rejected and then bullied because of the rumours that will be spread.Right?”

“Hmm…” You no longer denied your true self in front of him when he knows you more than yourself.

“I knew it!!!” He smiled at you and added “Well I have a silly idea that we can work out and please don’t deny because to know your feelings for him, you have to do this. I know my brother very well and how much he likes you so its better I try this plan to better solve the problem between you two.”

It was a shocking news to know from him how his brother loved you every moment you three met at your usual spots but neither of you ever let the other to know about your feelings.

“I don’t trust your ideas but I give it a chance. So what’s the idea?”

Jaemin again gave you his heart smile and in return you smiled at him.

“Jaemin please come back……I can’t handle this without you….Please…..I am lost…..I don’t know what to do anymore….Should I give up?...” You glanced to the bed side table and took the phot frame in your hands and the tears rolled down your eyes. You sat up and looked at the picture. The two brothers enjoying their day for their weekends. It was the last picture he had clicked before that day. Jaehyun clicked him that picture so that he could send you.

Who thought it would be the last time. The last time to be the part of the game you both started to make Jaehyun realise his feelings which you both didn’t realise to have turned into a reality. Yes, starting the game, you both were enjoying it as best friends but eventually you both started dating officially when one day you both get to know that Jaehyun has to take over the business so parents won’t allow him to date now so that he won’t get distracted. You were heartbroken on hearing that but Jaemin was there for you.

He was always there for you. He is still there for you but just you can’t see him, touch him, feel him and say your every problem to him. There is now no one to listen to you.

The daylight is so strong for your view that you have to twitch your eyes often. You have noon classes today and you are making your way towards the building. ‘My day is no longer special without you.’ Last night you cried a lot and you don’t remember when you fell asleep but found the frame you were still holding in your grasp when you woke up. ‘I will try to be happy for you, you always wanted the best for me. And I will prove you that how a strong girl you have made me.’ Crying the whole night you realize its better to keep his soul and pay off his hard works he did for you back then. You smiled today, a genuine smile.

“Y/n?” you were lost in your thoughts and didn’t realise that someone has approached you and calling you. But the second call broke your thought.

“Jae…Jaehyun? Oh hello…I will be going to my class…Bye” you avoided his eyes and turned on your heels when he suddenly grab your upper arm and faced you towards him.

“Why?” this is the first time you both are having a conversation in six months after the incident. You ignored his gaze as much as you could because without Jaemin you didn’t have the confidence to face him and after his death, you think he will blame you for all the cause. Somehow you have felt his longing gaze always following you in class and he was upset whenever the classmates bullied you. Whenever he tried to speak, you thought he will cause more scene so you ran away.

“Why what? Leave my hand Jaehyun. I am not in a mood today to be bullied again. I came early so that I could sit in the front so that I don’t have to sit around those girls so please leave.”

He held you even tighter when you tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

“I am not ignoring YOU but the scene you will create for blaming me for your brother’s death.”

“I don-”

“I know you will blame me for everything. It was really a stupid idea to start the game who knew the consequences would be like this.”

“Why will I blame you?”

“Because like everyone else you also think, I am not a person to be loved and I should have died that day instead of him.” You are crying mess now because standing in front of your first crush and speaking about a cursed day…..without Jaemin by your side.

“So, you really think I will blame you. Even if I should, I can’t blame you, I can’t leave you now. You are suffering like this for past six months and you think I will leave you knowing how broken you are.”

“I am okay. I know how to take care of myself…Everything is okay.”

Jaehyun tried to speak when you both heard approaching footsteps down the stairs towards the hallway so he pulled you to a nearby empty classroom which only used for some major student project works. When you both entered, he hugged you tightly seeing how badly you were crying and not even trying to control the tears.

“That’s okay. Let it out to me. Just don’t say to leave.”

“Why?” now its your time asking him the reason for being so affectionate to you because he should blame you for his death as if you both didn’t went to have the date then everything could have been fine.

“Please Y/n let me...let me hold you…I- I don’t want to lose you again…please” he is still hugging you and could feel him snuggling in the crook of your neck. You slowly picked up your right hand and patted on his back while the other hand was still crumbled on his shirt. You have stopped crying now and waiting for him to explain what does he meant now by not losing you again.

This is the first you and jaehyun are so close with each other and you could feel the heat his body was radiating.

“Jae, what do you mean? Why are you suddenly like this? I-” You broke the hug and went to nearby bench to sit on it. Shaking your head you spoke again,

“I don’t understand why are you suddenly listening to me? Why are you even speaking to me? Are you feeling pity for me? Please let me remind you I don’t need any of this. We should go in our separate path.”

“I should have listened to you before Y/n… I should have listened to him before.”

“Jae….”

“Hmm… I think I am the real stupid one here. I didn’t understand what was he trying to say to me and what was he trying to do but still chose to believe my other self that I should become an intruder in his happiness.”

Jaehyun looked at you with a sad smile but now holding an eye contact with you. You never imagined to spend such a time with him all alone without him. He is really looking so down and broken unlike the other times when you three used to meet and he would be the one to be the brightest among you three and whenever he used to laugh on his brother’s joke, your heart skips a beat. Today it’s different it’s no longer that happy meet but a sad and confused one. You thought all these months that you are the one affected by his death but what about Jaehyun. He lost the most precious part of his life, they both were not close enough with their parents and usually always stick by each other. How is he feeling all these months? How is he keeping him off of this empty space in his heart?

“That day…That day when you both returned from the club and I called Jaemin for an important purpose. I got to know about the truth between you both. Jaemin was too drunk to listen about the business stuff and suddenly he rambled on the things between you both.”

Now your full attention is on the boy standing in front of you. You never knew all these months that Jaehyun knew about your feelings for him but he knew, he knew but still he kept it hidden but why.

“ He told each and everything since the first day you both started the game and how he tried to make me jealous. But the last thing he told me really was not expected.”

“What did he say?” You are hoping to hear how he had begged his brother to understand him with false accusation or made another horrible plan one with his brother.

“He loved you but you still love me. It really used to hurt him to see the one he loves to always have feelings for someone else. He didn’t realise when playing the game when he got attracted to you. That’s why I fake a problem of my parents and business deal. I wanted him to get the happiness he deserves.”

“Why did you joke about protecting me every time I will be in need. You will never let my world to be shattered in pieces like this. You were drunk that day. It was another reason I was ignoring you all these months you know.” Tears again rolled down your eyes but now you didn’t make any sound.

“I want to listen to you Y/n. The same way Jaemin used to listen to you. I have already so many regrets within me and now losing you will add up to it” he took your hands in his and make you stand up. He gave a gentle squeeze and said “Please, Listen to me and trust me I craved to listen to your voice and you to share your problems so that you don’t have to face this harsh reality all alone.”

“Will you listen to me?”, looking upward with a soft look on the face, eyes searching for the answers deep inside the opposite brown orbs which are staring directly to her. “You really thought I was joking back then? I meant every word honestly and trust me, you are the MOON amid my ocean of stars”, confessing the heart out with an adorable smile revealing tiny dimples which causing the eyes to twitch tightly.

This smile gave you the warmth you were missing all these days, all these months. All these years you thought Jaehyun to ignore you only for his brother’s happiness. Jaehyun’s eyes are shining the same way you saw stars in Jaemin’s eyes. No matter how much Jaehyun loves you but his every move is reminding you of Jaemin. You can see yourself the brightest star in their life.

‘You were Jaemin’s sunlight who left you in the dark and now you are Jaehyun’s moonlight who will show you the light to your life again.’

“Please let me continue your life where he left it. I don’t want you to start from the beginning but to hold onto the string where he left. He was a wonderful chapter of yours and I don’t want you to forget about it. The rest will be you and mine’s chapter. Please let me hold your hand forever.”

“I don’t know Jae. I don’t know what to do anymore. What to feel anymore. Everything is shattered within me. I am barely holding within myself.”

“That’s why I want to be the support. I want to be the one you can trust upon and I want to listen to you just like the way he did. I want to be the warm place in your life. The warmth you lost the day he left us.”

“Jae……I trust you…” Just this is the only thing he wanted to listen from you. He suddenly crashed his lips on you. Your hands were in his one hand and the other one holding your neck gently. Your free fingers take hold of his shirt and squeezed it. The kiss was sudden but not rough, it was gentle and passionate and for a second you thought about kissing jaemin when he suddenly broke the kiss.

“I’m sorry….I’m really sorry…” he closed his eyes but you both were still in the same position. His forehead was resting on yours.

“That’s okay Jae. Let’s give it a chance. He did so much for us at least we could be together. All these years of my university were special because of him. He is a precise and wonderful piece of my life. But Jae, you can be the one whom I can share my memories with him. He would be happy to know that his plan worked.”

Jae hugged you again, “I’m really happy that my brother got someone like you. He deserved to be loved by someone like you. I hope you both get each other forever in your next life.”

“Let’s first continue this book. You have started my book, he had made me realize the things and to feel them in a different way and then he left. Suddenly you came into it again and promised to continue till the end.”

Both of your classes are long forgotten. You can catch up with your topics some other time but you can’t give another chance to reduce the weight of your heart like this like here and with him.

“No. He has never left us, he is always with us that’s why we are here together standing like this. We were always three and will be three until the end. His smile and his soul is always between us keeping us warm.”

“Thank You Jae.”

“I love you Y/n. I know you can’t forget him but at least we can take small steps.”

You hugged him tight and loose a bit to look into his eyes. He smiled at you and gave you a peck on lips.

“I love you.”

‘I’m sorry Jaemin but I want to continue rest of the book but remember you are still a part of it.’

You and Jaehyun finally smiled a genuine smile today in all these months. Maybe somewhere Jaemin is also smiling for you two are together now.

Your world is again warm and also you three are together.

#nct au #nct jaehyun #nct jaemin #nct fluff #jung jaehyun x reader #jaemin x reader #nct imagines #college au #fluff #angst #nct angst #a star 🌟#nct x reader #nct scenarios

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surveilenceysystem · 2 years

Text

「 EVANESCENCE 」

Characters: KIM MINGYU (SEVENTEEN) X READER

Synopsis: He was left alone. Once again.

Trigger Warning: Major character death, injury, drowning, implied su!c!de

● 1.5k words

It's comical how fast someone's life can change, you know? Like a switch being flipped. One second you can have it all, be on top of the world and lose everything you ever knew in the other. It's like God playing a fucking cruel joke on you. Mingyu felt the same. All it took was a simple fucking text message to change the trajectory of his life.

Everything was fine. Or so he had thought. He had woken up feeling refreshed, made the perfect eggs, reached office in time. Everything was ok. Now if he thought about it, all of it was too perfect. Nothing went wrong. Maybe the universe was giving him the last bit of happiness before scathing it away forever.

"I love you."

It would've been a normal text coming from anyone. But it triggered a primal fear in him when he realised who the sender was. You were never the type to say 'I love you' so easily. You never texted him these things. Your confessions of love were reserved for those intimate moments with him. Those nights where both of you were too tired to speak to eachother so you'd always whisper it to him as he was at the edge of drifting off. It always left him wondering if you truly had said that or had his tired mind conjoured up the words of affection to ease itself. It was rare, you affirming your love through words, that is. He knew you loved him. He didn't need you to tell him what already was established. You loved him and he loved you. It was as universal as the Sun setting in the west. Yet when you had said something so simple and loving thing to him, he couldn't push the fear that had started to bubble up in his stomach. It felt wrong. Like...like something in his reality had shifted. He had a feeling, a sinking feeling. He felt as if he knew what had happened but he didn't want to be right. He wanted to be proven dead wrong.

He wasn't a religious man. Never truly understood the whole 'praying to something that you can't see' and yet here he was, praying to whoever was listening. He realised how fear can make even the strongest man's legs buckle. Faith was nothing in that perspective. A man will pray to anything if he's desperate enough. And right now, Mingyu was so fucking desperate.

His desperation slowly converted into panic as he waited outside your house. He had knocked on the door twice. He didn't want to jump into conclusions but somewhere in his mind, something told him to hurry up. To be as fast as physically possible. And he did just that.

He had always wanted to break a door down, look like those cool superheroes while doing so. He finally got to do it. For an unfortunate reason. He must've hurt himself in the process as he could feel his left arm go numb but he honesty could care less about himself at that moment. He had already dialed the emergency services. If it were anything to worry about, they'll take a look at it but right now you were his top priority.

The apartment was quite. A deafening silence that suffocated Mingyu as he ran upstairs to his and yours shared bedroom. He felt like his ears were ringing. He didn't know why but he felt sick to his stomach, like he'd get violent sick any given moment. It felt like there were thousand of spiders skittering around him. Under his skin. He had started crying without realising it. But suddenly he heard it.

The sound of running water. And before he could completely comprehend what was happening, his body took him straight to the bathroom. Where he could see nothing but darkness. The lights were switched off.

The next few moments were a blur to him. And honestly, he have it that way. He'd rather not remember anything.

The bathroom floor was flooded as he stepped in. He took a second to turn the light on, hoping that you had just taken a bath and forgotten to turn the tap off in a hurry. Instead, he was faced with you, floating facedown in the tub.

People never really realise how hard it is to do certain things under immense pressure. Mingyu could hear the 911 operator giving him instructions but all he could do was hold onto your cold body and scream. Holding you against his chest and hoping that all of this hell to be a freakish nightmare of his.

He kept screaming, he didn't know for how long. He remembered wailing and begging you to wake up. He remembered having you in his arms, shaking you, begging and begging for you to just wake up and say that it was some cruel joke you played on him and when that didn't happen, he prayed. He prayed to God to spare you. To give you back to him.

His prayers and cries were left unanswered as the paramedics declared you dead on spot.

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

calculated iii, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You wanted to say that you were able to control yourself around him and not to have wild sex at school. But this is Jeon Jungkook we’re talking about. And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets. You wore that pencil skirt for a reason, after all.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, semi-public sex, dirty talk, nipple play, choking, m-receiving oral, gagging, pussy spanking, fingering, penetrative sex); fluff; non-idol!AU - university!AU; dom!Jungkook x sub!noona!reader, ft Jimin once again, lol

–

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

Career Week was somewhat of a nightmare.

So much running around, prepping tables, setting up presentations, helping the guests with their computers before their seminars, and you had to be dressed professionally too. Not just ‘nice’ clothes, but white dress shirt, slim black tie, tailored black vest, and matching fitted black slacks. It had to be monotone, it had to be hyper professional, and you had to wear heels.

Why had you agreed to this again?

Oh, yes, Kim Namjoon on his knees begging for help because he was overworked and they needed volunteers. And you, being far too responsible, accepted.

Not only were you also overworked, but Jeon Jungkook was staring at you across the auditorium.

In all-black – leather jacket, high-necked shirt, slim-fit jeans. Sharp jawline, tanned high cheekbones, piercing dark brown eyes, his black hair pushed back with a few strands on his forehead, revealing his clean undercut.

And he was smirking at you.

You highly doubted he was here to investigate prospective career paths. Actually, you were a hundred-and-ten percent positive that that was not the reason he was here and the soreness between your inner thighs proved it. You were willing to bet Park Jimin’s right nutsack.

Yeah, sorry Jimin, but you needed all your body parts.

For one reason, really, and that reason was staring you right now.

Who was going to hire him when he was dressed like that anyway? You certainly wouldn’t. Mostly because it was distracting. No one could work with Jeon Jungkook looking like that. You couldn’t, anyway. Well, maybe if his work was wrecking your–

Get back to your damn task, you scolded yourself.

You were setting up chairs for the cardiologist that was arriving soon. All the doctors always had tons of students listening, so the administration instructed you to pack as many seats that could be crammed into the space without causing a fire hazard. You unfolded the metal chairs, arranging them neatly, already knowing they would be an incomprehensible mess when the students left and that you would be the one cleaning up after them.

Sigh.

Come to think of it, it was all Park Jimin’s fault that you were being violently undressed by Jungkook’s eyes right now. If he had kept his trap shut and let you live in blissful ignorance, maybe you wouldn’t be trying to hide your wincing every time you bent over. You snuck a glance at Jungkook.

He cocked an eyebrow, highly amused.

Never mind, you probably still would have been accosted at Calculus I office hours, except instead of the door being closed and locked and having Jimin’s warning texts, you two probably would have been caught and expelled.

You grumbled and slid a chair into place, taking back your former thoughts and thanking Jimin in your mind. He wasn’t even here to witness your inner struggle.

Jimin probably would have found it funny.

You went back to your chairs, not addressing Jeon Jungkook’s presence anymore because if you looked at him again, you probably would have abandoned your post. And he knew it.

The next day, you already knew Jungkook would show up again. Mostly because he texted you a winking face of a semicolon and parenthesis, to which you didn’t respond, because you would probably get roped into phone sex in under twenty seconds, and you had to help this extremely riveting lawyer set up his laptop for the projector.

As in, you were ready to tape his mouth shut as he blabbed on and on about his work and how important it was to society, which it was, because defense attorneys were very important, but this guy’s laptop was a fucking hot mess of icons all over his desktop. This was a personal pet peeve of yours, as you liked to be neat and organized, with everything clearly labeled with dates. You didn’t care about most people’s personal habits, but it was annoying when you were trying to assist and the owner of said laptop was not shutting up and demanding noises of affirmation that you were listening.

If it wasn’t Jungkook demanding you to swallow his cock, you honestly couldn’t give a single shit–

You finally got his PowerPoint working and had him scroll through the slides to make sure it was the correct one. He thanked you and you realized the older man was looking at you up and down, the same way Jungkook usually did, except in this case you were not even remotely interested.

Guess everyone had the right to get a good look before they die.

You were wearing a white chiffon blouse with a black silk neck scarf, with a tight knee-length black pencil skirt, sheer tights and sleek black heels. You knew how good your ass looked in this skirt and you had worn it for a specific purpose.

“We will be letting the students in five minutes early to get settled,” you stated briskly, cutting the older man from his daydreams. “You will have forty-five minutes for your presentation, and then we’ll have a fifteen-minute question session, led by my associate, Kim Namjoon here.”

As if on cue, Namjoon appeared, cheerful smile with cute dimples, handing the lawyer a mic.

“Let’s test the microphone and the backup to make sure you don’t have any hiccups,” Namjoon instructed merrily, instantly captivating the man’s attention and diverting it from you.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ behind the man’s back and Namjoon gave you the tiniest of nods as you excused yourself. Hmph. You knew people would notice – you were wearing makeup for once and would be around students and professionals all day, after all – but to be so shameless and gawk like that was annoying. Plus, the guy probably had a wife and kids.

You made your way to the bathroom to check your appearance. Maybe your makeup was a bit off or something. You had Jimin check you over this morning. Surprisingly, he knew a lot about cosmetics and how to look good in all lighting. Must be a dance major thing.

Ah, the door to the women’s bathroom. You hiked your skirt up a bit do you could use your damn knees to walk, because they had been suffocating for the past two hours–

Long fingers suddenly gripped your upper arm and yanked you around the corner, slamming you into a muscular body and black biker jacket. You nearly stumbled in your heels, but a second hand came to practically lift you off the floor and shove you into the wall.

“Good afternoon, noona.”

A clear, silvery voice.

You couldn’t possibly guess who it was.

“Why, fancy seeing you here, Jung–”

You were abruptly cut off by his lips crashing into yours, one hand grabbing the back of your head and disturbing your perfect bun. You whimpered, feeling him shove you into the wall again, your shoulder blades hitting the painted brick. His tongue slid into your mouth, exhaling into your throat and forcing you swallow his breath. Your hands clutched your skirt, moaning as his hard body pressed yours against the wall.

Jungkook drew back, panting a little. Looking so handsome with his slightly slicked-back hair, black strands around his right eye, chiseled jawline, silver hoops glinting in the hall light. He arched a sculpted eyebrow at you, smirking. His pink lips had a little red on them from kissing you.

“Now, you know you can’t be looking so delicious and not expect me to want to eat you up,” he purred, licking your lips. Your breathing hitched at the touch, unlocking your death grip on your skirt.

“What are you talking about?” you answered evenly despite your panties literally turning into Niagara Falls with the way he was looking at you like a carnivore at an all-meat buffet. “I have to dress like this for Career Week. Everyone has to dress professionally.”

Jungkook nodded, not believing a single word coming out of your mouth. His right hand came up, ink black tattoos against tan skin, and reached around to your bun, slowly pulling the hairpins out. Your skin tingled at the sensation of your hair gradually unravelling.

“A professional that I would hire to sit on my dick,” he mused.

You raised an eyebrow at him, your hair tumbling around your shoulders. “Subtle.”

Jungkook showed you the removed hairpins, opened his jacket, and tucked them in his inner pocket.

“I wouldn’t work for you anyway,” you added haughtily.

With each passing moment, Jungkook was becoming increasingly amused and aroused. You could tell by the way he was shoving his crotch into your thigh and by how wide his smirk was getting. The slacks he was wearing did nothing to hide his erection and you had a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t care.

“Oh? Why not?”

“I don’t know if I could trust someone younger than me to do a good job.”

He was unbuttoning your chiffon blouse now, humming. “I’m good at many things.” His dark eyes flickered to yours. “I think you would know.”

Your hands grabbed his despite him already having all the visible buttons completely open. Cold air drifted onto your heaving chest and white lace bra.

“Jungkook, we’re in a public place, again,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don’t recall that being a problem,” he drawled, removing his hands from yours and squeezing your ass. “I’m beginning to think you like it.”

You sucked in a breath as his strong hands kneaded you through your skirt. Your hormones would absolutely let Jungkook rip off your clothes right here and let him fuck you, but the sliver of your brain that had any sense at all reminded you that you had to find a closed space. Jungkook slapped your ass, loudly, the sound echoing across the empty hallway. You nearly moaned, but bit your tongue, glaring at him.

“I have to get back,” you snapped. “And look presentable.”

Jungkook licked his teeth. “Hm. You have an hour before you have to appear to the public eye.”

Who the heck told him that? He smirked slyly at you as he saw your reaction.

“I could drag you to the bathroom–”

“At least give me more class than the woman’s bathroom,” you interrupted.

Jungkook looked annoyed that you had cut him off and also looked like he was going to remind you later. His fingers dug into your hips sharply and you gasped, back pressed flat against the wall. He inhaled a deep breath and began again, voice dangerously low.

“As I was saying,” he continued. “I’m going to take you into this classroom that I stole the key for.”

You frowned as Jungkook hoisted you up swiftly, princess-style, shirt still wide open. Fuck, what was he so strong for? He carried you down the hallway to the classrooms. You tried to close your shirt, but he growled at you, so you rolled your eyes and pushed the sides open, letting your bra-covered tits hang out. He seemed satisfied about this.

“Why would you steal a key?” you muttered as he deftly kicked the door open.

Jungkook slid through the door sideways. “So I could fuck you, of course.”

He dropped you and you had to catch yourself on your heels before you broke an ankle and ate shit. Half the lights turned on. You could hear him locking the door as you smoothed your skirt.

You turned to face him, saying, “You shouldn’t be a thief just because you’re horny, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turned around slowly from the now locked door. You were about to say something else, but your words died in your throat as you witnessed the overwhelming lust in his dark piercing eyes.

“I would be a thief, a murderer, and evade taxes for your body,” he snarled, advancing on you.

You pulled your blouse out of your skirt so he wouldn’t rip it, backing up into the desks. “You’ll get caught with the last one,” you said quietly, already removing your blouse and letting it fall onto a spare seat. “First two are acceptable.”

Jungkook grinned devilishly, licking his pink lips.

“Come here.”

You chewed on your lower lip, staring at his beautiful eyes, finding yourself already walking to him, heels clicking loudly in the empty room, but it didn’t matter, because he was the master now and you were the willing servant. Or slave.

Take your pick.

He smirked at your obedience, placing his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. His dark orbs lingered down your body, focusing on all his favorite spots, pressing his fingertips into your skin.

“One day,” you said quietly. “We’re going to get in trouble.”

Jungkook’s powerful dark orbs shifted upwards, capturing yours. Time slowed down. You stared into his dark brown eyes, unable to look away, your heart beating in time with his words.

“You’re already in trouble.”

Voice haunting you, teasing smirk on his lips, and perfectly in command.

“From the second you let me have my hands on you.”

You gasped as his nails dug into your skin, scratching down your collarbones, leaving red marks. He snapped the straps of your bra, hard, and you whined, eyes pleading for him to take it off. His palms pressed into the lace cups, squeezing them roughly. Tongue dancing in between his lips as he felt your nipples harden, barely covered by the lace.

“You’re so dirty, noona,” he purred, lowering his palms and pinching your nipples through the thin fabric, smirking at your wanton moan. “Wearing such slutty underwear under these professional clothes.”

You whimpered as he tugged on them. “No one’s going to see them but you, Jungkook.”

He clamped your nipples between his thumbs and knuckles, dragging you to him. You sank your teeth into your lower lip, pussy throbbing as you collided with his firm chest. His breath was scorching hot against your skin, making you shiver.

“What if someone finds out? Some idiot like a perverted old man staring at your ass in this skirt?”

You snorted. “I’ll rip his head off.”

Jungkook snickered, flicking your nipples with your answer. “You wouldn’t let me do it for you?”

Your hips rolled into his, hands on his waist to keep yourself up as he played with you. “I’ll reattach it for you so you can do the same.”

He laughed, almost a little too jovially for the part he was playing, but then he was back, tipping his head close to yours, blowing soft air onto your lips. You frowned, glaring at him for the lack of kiss.

“If possible, you’re even hotter dressed like this,” Jungkook murmured, his forehead against yours. “So prim and proper, even with a cute gag tied around your neck,” he added, playing with the ends of your neck scarf. “You could be a CEO, and I could be the janitor fucking you on your penthouse-floor desk.” He was undoing your scarf now, teasing it apart, making you breathless. “Maybe fuck you against the window so everyone can see how good I make you feel, noona.”

“Give yourself a little more credit than a janitor,” you muttered, stiffening as Jungkook ran his fingertips over your throat, nails grazing your skin.

“True, I would rather be your secretary so I can follow you around and stare at your ass in this skirt,” he chuckled, lacing his fingers around your neck. Thumb under your ear, the other four fingers under your other ear. You made eye contact with him. He looked almost bored, one of his eyebrows raised, but he was watching you, predatory and attentive.

“I know what I’m doing.”

His whisper was so soft that you barely heard it, but the words were there.

His grip tightened around your throat.

You gasped, feeling the blood flow thinning, hazing your mind. Jungkook watched your expression, reaching around with the hand that was holding your scarf, unclasping your lace bra. You could feel it fall down your arms, but your thoughts were rapidly being clouded by lightheadedness and lust, Jungkook smirking at you as he lifted the silk scarf into your vision.

“J… Jungkook…” you choked out.

The mole underneath his lower lip winked at you as he grinned, brushing the silk against your hard, abused nipples, touch so light, and yet it made your whine, wanting more stimulation but unable to ask because you knew he was toying with you.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook taunted. “Not intense enough for my naughty noona?”

He choked you harder and you couldn’t respond, eyes rolling back into your head as black spots danced in your vision, the sensation intensifying but still not enough, not enough, and you shoved your hips into his repeatedly, whimpering, hands clutching his black shirt, nails digging into his abs.

“So needy for me,” he breathed, feathery touches of silk against your nipples. “Are you only mine?”

He leaned forward, loosening his grip a little. The blood violently rushed back into your head and all you could hear Jungkook’s cruel whisper of your name, tearing a moan from your lips, a raspy yes, yes, fuck, Jungkook, I’m only yours.

He chuckled darkly.

Then he forced you to your knees, tits bouncing uncomfortably as you slid on your heels, knees hitting the tile floor. You clutched his clothed legs, panting, brain only half-functioning due to the lack of blood and the relentless teasing. You lifted your head back up to look at him, panting hard.

Jungkook cracked his neck sharply, a harsh pop. “I want to believe you, noona, but you’re dressed so fucking sexy that I can’t.” His dark eyes bore into you, tearing you up, and you were dripping onto your inner thighs. He emphasized his words with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Letting other people fantasize about this body that belongs to me isn’t acceptable.”

His hands reached down, fingers of his right hand playing with the button of his pants, tattoos dancing with his movement. He smirked as you watched him, eyes darting from his face to his hands. Shit, you were nearly drooling with anticipation. You swallowed as he teased the button free.

“You gonna show me that you remember who you belong to?”

You nodded quickly, maybe too quickly, but it was doomed now anyway because Jungkook was lowering the zipper, pushing down his pants and underwear, past his muscular thighs. It was obvious this was getting him off as much as it was getting you off, because he was rock-hard, leaking, tip already a dark red. Jungkook grabbed the back of your head and shoved his hips into your cheek, smearing his pre-cum onto your skin, all the way up to your cheekbone. He hissed, using his hand to press the head against your temple, nearly into your hair.

Fuck, he was so fucking close to your mouth, but he wasn’t letting you have it.

Damnnit.

Your tongue snaked out and softly licked his balls, eyes on his face, watching him tip his head back and moan. You licked more, creeping your head closer, pressing your lips against his hot skin. He was letting you do it, holding his cock out of the way as you wrapped your lips around his balls and sucked, pushing them around with your tongue, pleading noises in your throat, begging him for his cock as you bobbed your head up and down under his hips.

Jungkook’s dark eyes shifted down to you, triumphant grin on his lips.

“You want to swallow my cock, noona?” he teased, smacking it against your face, leaving a string of pre-cum connecting your cheek to his cock. You narrowed your eyes at him, as if to say, no fucking shit, you punk ass bitch, and he chuckled deep in his chest. He looked past your head, down your back.

“Such a nice ass.”

You smacked his leg, aware that he was doing it on purpose to piss you off. He smirked knowingly, placing his palm on your forehead and pushing you off his balls.

“Swallow it all and don’t choke,” Jungkook snarled, shoving his cock into your open mouth.

Your eyes widened at the sudden intrusion, relaxing your throat muscles as Jungkook forcefully pushed into your lips, sighing with satisfaction as he buried himself to the hilt, his strong fingers tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, so good,” he moaned, making his cock throb into the roof of your mouth. You whined, hands on his hips, waiting for him to let you move. “Your throat feels so fucking good, noona. If only they knew how good you are, how perfectly slutty you are for me.” He snickered, releasing his hand, glaring down into your eyes.

“But they’re never going to know, because you’ll never service another cock ever again.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his thighs.

He ticked his chin at you. “Go on, noona. Show me how much you love my cock.”

You began to move, pressing your tongue against the bottom as you slid up and down his length, moaning at his taste. So good. You generated more saliva and ran it all over the head, sucking hard. He inhaled sharply as you teased the sensitive underside, tongue against the opening.

“That’s it,” Jungkook breathed. “Give it to me like you mean it.”

You gripped his thighs and began to bob your head back and forth, ramming the head into the back of your throat and squeezing it before arching your neck so it ran across the roof of your mouth and then back down so it hit your throat again. Was this going to make you hoarse? Probably, but you didn’t a single shit, because Jungkook moaning for you and telling you how good you were was much more important. The pace was slow at first, but you went faster and faster, tighter, your breasts bouncing with every movement, eyes closed to savor his taste and steel your concentration of not gagging because Jungkook was so big, so thick, so perfectly rough, and your tongue could feel him throbbing inside your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled above you, nearly feral with desire. “Fuck, I’m going to cum down that perfect throat of yours, noona.”

His thighs tensed under your hands and you knew he was close. You increased the intensity, neck straining, already aching with how fast you were going.

“Drink it all and don’t fucking waste it.”

Jungkook grabbed you by your hair and thrusted his hips into your face, moaning lustfully as he shot into your mouth, hot creamy strings into your throat. You swallowed fast to avoid choking, gulping loudly as he gave you more, more, fuck it was so delicious that you gasped, swirling your tongue around his jerking cock and lapping it all up. Whimpering, you wrapped your lips around the head and milked it dry, rubbing your lips against the skin where the head and length connected.

“You’re so fucking good,” Jungkook sighed, running his fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face. “So messy and dirty. I love it, noona.” He pressed your mouth down his entire length and held you there.

Your name drifted out of his lips, a sweet exhale.

He kept you there. You felt some of your spit drip down your chin and hit your breasts. You flinched at the coldness, still holding onto his hips. Jungkook finally looked down at you, chest heaving, panting. He looked like he wanted to say something. You shot him a questioning look, unable to respond, mouth still full of his cock.

He released your head, untangling his fingers from your hair. You drew your mouth back, rubbing your jaw and throat a little. Jungkook had a strange expression, lips parted, brows furrowed, the muscles in his neck tensed. He seemed a bit spaced out. You tilted your head.

Something felt off.

You stood up with as much grace as you could, knees aching, heels snapping to the tile floor. He still wasn’t looking at you. You backed up, to the desks, finding a study one.

“Jungkook.”

You smacked the wood loudly with your flat palm.

He whipped his head towards you, dark eyes flashing. Perfect. You smirked, placing your hands on your pencil skirt. Sank your fingers in, gripping the fabric. Jungkook’s voracious eyes watched your movement, each hike revealing more and more of your legs. A slow smirk formed on his lips. You yanked your skirt all the way up to your waist, revealing your white lace panties and sheer pantyhose, black fabric bunched around your waist.

Jungkook reached down and pulled his pants up, raising his eyebrows as he walked over, lower lip in between his teeth as he grinned at you.

“That’s a dangerous position to be in, noona,” he purred. “You know I love fucking you on a desk.”

You bounced your ass up onto the table, closing your legs, knees together. Placed your hands on your lap, pushing your tits together. Jungkook licked his lips, the predatory glint back in his eye. You kept your tone stern, with a hint if disapproval.

“Really? Because for a second there, I was beginning to think you lost your nerve.”

The menace in his eyes made your shiver with anticipation. You could tell Jungkook liked it too, your word selection, your tone, your defiance. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, and it fell to the floor with an oppressive thump. You sucked in a tight breath. The shirt was short sleeved, exposing his tattooed right forearm and his equally beautiful tanned left one. Some of his long black hair was falling down, brushing against his right cheekbone.

His eyes were so dark that you felt like they were devouring you.

Jungkook placed his large hands on your knees and vehemently shoved them apart, spreading your legs wide. He gave you a cold, expressionless stare as he placed a hand on your stomach, putting you onto your elbows, hips tipped up towards him. You were embarrassingly wet, juices soaked into your inner thighs, lace panties already molded to your soaked folds, the sheer pantyhose doing nothing to protect you from him and his hungry eyes. His voice was icy, making your pussy throb with need.

“Noona, if you close your legs, I’m going to punish you,” Jungkook warned.

Part of you wanted to know what the punishment was, but the other part of you really wanted to orgasm, so kept your snide remark to yourself and simply nodded.

Jungkook removed his hands from your knees and placed them on your shuddering breasts. Fuck. You hadn’t realized you were so horny until Jungkook touched you. A pained whimper strained in your throat.

The side of his lips curved upwards.

“Does my dirty, slutty noona want to be fucked?” His nails sank down, digging into your skin. “Do you want to be used by me, your tight little pussy stretched out and pleading for more?” Jungkook leaned forward, breathing into your face, growling whisper against your lips. He pinched your nipples and you moaned, wanting to kiss him, but knowing he wasn’t going to let you. He chuckled darkly, seeing your desperation.

“Do you want to be a slave for Jungkookie’s cock, noona?”

Fuuuuuuuck.

Your heart was beating so fast that your breathing was coming out in little gasps as he twisted your nipples harshly, rubbing the tips with his thumb. Your legs shook, threatening to close because the lack of friction was killing you.

“Y-yes, Jungkook, fuck yes.”

He yanked on your nipples and slapped them, making you hiss with pain, flinching as the sting shot up your chest. Jungkook reached into his back pocket and produced the silk neck scarf.

“Keep quiet for me noona or everyone will know how much of a slut you are for me.”

And then he shoved your own scarf into your parted lips, gagging you. Not a second too soon, because, without warning, Jungkook immediately spanked your barely clothed clit. You yelped around the silk, thighs quivering. He gripped one of your thighs, digging his nails into it, tearing the sheer pantyhose a little.

“Don’t move and take it,” he snarled.

Your back arched as Jungkook began to slap your pussy, hard, unforgiving, loud, and making you wetter and wetter, so much so his hand was slipping a little with each smack. You screamed around the scarf, hips trembling as they rose to meet each hit, flaring pain in between your thighs but so, so good. He clenched his jaw, dark eyes on your quickly reddening pussy lips that were sucking your panties deeper and deeper into your slit.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Fuck, you’re so hot and so fucking perfect for me.”

He removed his hand from your thigh and ripped the center seam of your pantyhose apart.

You started, eyes widening as you watched him tear through it, yelling at him through the scarf. You still needed to wear those! The small tears were one thing, but a full-on giant rip at the crotch was not going to be comfortable to wear for the rest of the day.

Jungkook smirked, raising a hand to his ear. “What’s that? Can’t hear you.”

You glared at him and was about to remove the scarf from your mouth to scold him, but his smirk turned into a roguish grin.

“Hm? Slap you harder and abuse your clit?”

You paled.

“My pleasure.”

You threw you head back as Jungkook mercilessly spanked your now only lace-covered clit, impossibly fast, towering over you and hooking his arm under your back, dragging you to him, arching your spine more, more, so your tits were straight up, bouncing right in his face as he changed from smacking your clit to rubbing it just as fast, rougher, so intense you were hoarsely wailing into the gag.

All of a sudden, your orgasm violently rammed into you, pleasure racking your entire body, amplified by stinging pain. Your pussy clenched around nothing, wetly squelching as Jungkook breathed hotly down on your nipples, still rubbing you through your orgasm, not letting up. You shook your head furiously, trying to tell him it was too much, that you were too sensitive, but you didn’t lift your hands to stop him, only spreading your fingers against the table, palms flat as your hips raised to his fingers.

You felt his hair brush against your nipples as he licked your cleavage, smirking up at your face.

“One more and then I’ll fuck you the way I want to, noona.”

Your legs were losing feeling from how hard you were locking them in place as you felt Jungkook pry your lace panties out of your pussy, shoving them to one side. Oh shit. You moaned as you felt him shove two fingers into you, eyes squeezing shut as he added a third, scissoring them as he smiled cruelly at you, eagerly watching your reaction.

“Such a greedy pussy, sucking in my fingers like this,” Jungkook drawled, your walls clenching around them, feeling every callus and every joint, all the way to his knuckles. “All mine, my beautiful, slutty noona.”

You would have asked Jungkook what the time was if your brain could still function, but your brain timed itself out, because Jungkook was thrusting his fingers into you now, filling you up, and feeding your need and desperation, assaulting your pussy with pleasure. The pain of your stinging, puffy lips rubbing against his hand added to the ecstasy, heightening it, your moaning now unintelligible behind the silk scarf that was saturated with your saliva. The sound was obscene, sloppy smacking sounds of your drenched hole getting pounded into the desk.

You threw your head back and choked out his name around the makeshift gag, throbbing pussy clamping down on his fingers. Thick, viscous liquid gushed out onto his palm, the back of his hand, dripping down to his wrist. It was so intense that your entire body jerked up into Jungkook’s face, hitting him with your tits.

If Jungkook was mad about it, he didn’t show it. He wrenched his slick fingers out and you whined, watching him with glazed eyes as licked them off, ferally growling at your taste. He released your back from his arm and you slid down, laying against the desk, panting.

“You taste extra delicious today, noona,” he chuckled. “Candy always tastes better in cute packaging.”

You barely had time to register that Jungkook had just compared you to a fucking convenience store snack before he yanked down his pants again, whipping out a foil packet and ripping it open. Less than a second and the condom was on, and then Jungkook shoved his cock into you, a startled gasp dying in your very over-used throat.

Jungkook moaned your name above you, softly and lustfully, pulling your hips closer to him so he was all the way inside you. You clenched around his length and he sighed, small smirk on his pink lips, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re going to kill me one day with how perfectly tight you are for me,” he mumbled.

Your eyes found his and he grinned, looking down at you through his lashes, his hair obscuring half his face.

Fuck, you could stare at him all day.

Jungkook placed your legs around his waist, finally letting them rest from the forced spreading. He roughly jerked his hips into yours and you whimpered, nails clawing into the desk. His fingers dug into your hips and he set his jaw, beginning a hard, fast pace, slapping your hips together, fucking you into the desk. It scraped noisily into the floor, but neither of you cared, you abused pussy lips rubbing against his crotch every time his hips met yours, carried to new heights of pain and pleasure, loving every second, every moment of Jungkook using you to chase his own orgasm, his cock swelling and dragging against your tight walls. So much. So full.

You could never be satisfied with another cock.

“Fuck.”

Jungkook hissed, grip on your hips tightening, bruising you with his fingertips.

“Fuck, noona, I love you.”

Your heart stopped.

And then your orgasm crashed down, overtaking you completely, your head smacking the desk and seeing stars, clenching around Jungkook’s cock and pulsating violently around his length, soaking his thighs with your juices, scent so strong you were sure whatever class that was going to use this lecture hall next was going to smell your cum splattering to the floor.

Jungkook gritted his teeth and rammed his hips into you, dragging you down to meet every thrust, intensifying your orgasm, ripping your pantyhose even more. Once, twice, three times, and he groaned, shuddering as he spilled into the condom, cock shivering inside you as he came. You could feel how much it was, pressing against your walls.

His long hair was all over his face, black strands clinging to his tan skin, sweat dripping off his chin, pink lips quivering, dark eyes roaming over your fucked-out form. Panting hard, matching your heavy, grating breaths behind your now saliva-drenched neck scarf. After a long moment, Jungkook reached down and held onto the condom, slowly pulling out of you.

Holy fuck.

You reached up with a shaking hand, pulling the silk out of your mouth. It came out in a long strip of fabric, smacking against your cheek as your removed it from your lips.

Holy.

Fuck.

You sat up, your body screaming at you, seeing Jungkook breathing hard, tying up the condom.

“Did you just tell me you love me?”

Jungkook’s ears turned bright red. He chewed on his lip, biting it hard before facing you. Dark brown eyes suddenly vulnerable, scared. It was the most uncharacteristic expression you had ever witnessed on Jeon Jungkook’s chiseled, handsome face.

“Uh… yeah.”

There was a moment where you realized both you two were mostly naked in a random classroom, clothes thrown everywhere, having made a mess once again.

“Sorry,” Jungkook added quickly. “It slipped out.”

You blinked at him. “Why are you apologizing?”

He rubbed his nose, looking away.

“Well… aren’t you just fucking me because you like to be dominated?”

You frowned. “No, I’m fucking you because I’m in love with you.”

You saw Jungkook freeze. He turned his head robotically, eyes wide and doe-like. “R-really?”

You looked down to notice that your heels were on the tile floor. When had you lost those? You grumbled, trying to straighten out your panties and the remains of your pantyhose. It was doomed. You shrugged, dangling your legs over the edge of the desk as you looked back at Jungkook and his surprised expression. You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you really that much of an idiot?” you muttered, your own cheeks burning, letting out a puff of annoyed air. “Yes, I love you. Why else would I tolerate you staring at me like I’m some kind of zoo animal? Why else would I risk getting in trouble by running around like this? Why else would I let you fuck me at school, in the middle of the damn day, again?”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck. “Erm… because I’m hot?”

You rubbed your forehead and sighed exasperatedly, standing up, instantly wincing. Jungkook took a step forward to catch you, but he almost tripped on his pants down his ankles. You caught yourself against the desk and raised a hand, shaking your head.

“Pack your damn dick,” you muttered. You yanked your tights down your legs, removing them and balling them up. They were useless now anyway. You found your bra and put it back on as you eyed your chiffon blouse. Good thing it wasn’t ripped. It only took you a moment to slip it back on, rebuttoning it and tucking it into your skirt. You pulled your pencil skirt back down, straightening it, thighs immediately sticking together from your own fluids.

Yup, still no more comfortable than yanking your pants back on after a session with Jungkook.

You noticed him putting his leather jacket back on and picking up the condom wrapper. He took the silk scarf from the table and shoved it in his back pocket. You went back to him to gather your shoes, but he knelt down, holding out your black heels as if you were Cinderella.

“I can just–”

“Step.”

His tone was sharp and you immediately obeyed, raising your foot and stepping into your shoe. First one, then the other. Jungkook stood back up, exhaling a little. You looked up at him. His chocolate eyes flitted about tensely. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Do you… uh…”

You cut him off. “Jungkook, if you cheat on me, I will personally castrate you with a spoon.”

He cringed. “Ouch.”

You took the used condom and the wrapper bits from him, shoving them into your balled-up pantyhose. You marched towards the door confidently, pain shooting throughout your body with every step. Jungkook called after you.

“Your hairpins.”

You turned your head back a little.

“You can drop them off at my apartment later.”

And then you unlocked the door and stepped out of the classroom.

Park Jimin waved at you, grinning. Plump lips curved into a mischievous smile, wearing a denim jacket and jeans. You almost jumped seeing him standing there. What the fuck is with this guy’s timing? He eyed your hand holding your ruined pantyhose and you put it behind your back, glaring at him.

“I told Namjoon you had a lady emergency.” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows at you before holding up your phone and black purse, the belongings you had left in the back room. “You took longer than you should have.”

You felt your ears burn. “Shit. I need to get back.”

“To Jungkook, yeah,” Jimin chimed teasingly, making you glower at him.

Of course. Jungkook had turned Jimin into his scout for your escapades. Fantastic. You suddenly felt a strong presence behind you. The door had opened and Jungkook’s arm snaked around your waist, yanking you possessively to his side. He placed his chin on top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You wanna go on a date, noona?” Jungkook purred, his free hand playing with the ends of your disheveled hair.

You pursed your lips. “I have to get back and help Namjoon.”

Jimin waved a hand. “He’ll be fine for one day. Plus, you’re being kidnapped.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jungkook slapped his hand over your lips, marching you in the opposite direction of Career Week, Jimin skipping behind you two, cheerfully humming.

part iv

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

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adamfoolcry · 3 years

Text

i hate you, i love you (k.dy)

it's valentine's day and you try your hardest not to fall back in the arms of one kim doyoung - your former boss, recluse and closed off, your fuck buddy - whom you are completely in love with.

pairings: CEO!Doyoung x Fem!Reader, Johnny x Fem!Reader rating: 18+ genre: angst and smut warnings: swearing, explicit sexual situations - hate sex, dirty talk wc: 3k+ prompt: 'i hate you'

a/n: This is a part of Candy Hearts Collab hosted by @127-mile . Text in blockquote are text messages.Thank you for beta reading simmi(@sly-merlin ) and indi(@ncteaxhoe). Not proofread excuse the mistakes please contact me if you would like to do so. Enjoy! - xo aria

Doyoung:

I don't know if you'll even read this but if you do, I want you to know that what we have for two years was not a game for me. Maybe we can't start being honest with each other. When you make up your mind you know where to reach me.

Mina really knows how to dress you up to the nines, you'll give her that.

"It's not bad," you nod at your reflection approvingly as you examine the dress you wrestled yourself in, clinging to your body in the right places effectively enhancing your silhouette. The soft silky texture of satin feels exquisite against your skin however you can’t exude the confidence the dress might have channeled you with. You don’t feel grand in fact you feel the opposite;

You want to cancel the date.

"Oh for christ's sake, ______. Maybe try to put some enthusiasm into this," Mina spun you around to face her, your back to the whole body mirror where a while ago you two were examining the outfit she picked up from the back of your closet - where dressier clothing of yours reside not seeing the light of the day unless for special occasions.

Placing both her hands on your shoulders, "You were so excited when you called me to pick something to wear. What happened?" She further inquired.

You heave a sigh, "I don't know I am just not in a mood to go out on a date with a stranger," you admitted.

Mina pulls your eyes back to hers, gleaming with determination. "You are ______, an economics major who graduated on top of her class, who landed a new job as a senior financial analyst despite being in the industry for only three years. Now repeat it," Mina orders you.

"What does it have to do with -" you rolled your eyes, and whined dramatically.

She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth in displeasure, "Go on say it"

"I am ______, graduated on the top of my class and landed a new position as a senior financial analyst despite my tenurity," you mumble in a low voice.

"Good," Mina coddled you as if you are an infant who uttered her first word, "now add I am young, smart, and men want me."

You open your mouth to protest but Mina only pinned you with a hard look and you know you will not be getting out of this until you do as she says.

"I am young, smart, and men want me." You did as she told you.

Begrudgingly you did feel a lot better.

This is the third step of banishing Kim Doyoung in your life entirely.

First is to send a resignation letter - done.

Second, secure a new employment - done.

Third is to pursue a romantic relationship.

"Now let's get you ready for your date." Mina pulled you to the present, squeezing your bare shoulders to comfort you.

"I know that what you did is really hard. The sudden big change and all but today's Valentine's day you need to have a little fun today."

"I know Mina, now do my makeup." You pulled her to where your vanity table is located as you paste a smile on your face in order to placate her worries.

--------

If people were to know why you are doing this they might have called you silly.

After graduating from university you were offered the position of financial analyst in his company - a small but budding start up in Tech. Never would you have expected to land a job in your chosen field straight out of college. You are doing what you have envisioned yourself doing: analysing the trends and forecasting sales of the company's cloud solutions. You are comfortable with your current living situation, not what you have imagined after your parents cut you off no longer sending you an allowance. You thought you'd be working your ass off to make ends meet. Thankfully, the pay was high enough for you to live in an apartment in the city, pay your bills in time, and afford luxuries you knew that most people your age wouldn't have the money for.

Everything seems perfect right? A job that you genuinely love, good pay, living in the heart of the city but of course you just have to develop feelings for your boss: Kim Doyoung. And that complicates everything; enough for you to decide to completely start over again.

Kim Doyoung has managed to worm into every nook and cranny of your life.

Kim Doyoung is a magnetic man, of few words, stern straight brows, and wide shoulders swaddled in elegant suits. He runs the company based on data-driven decisions unafraid of taking risks that produces the highest profitable outcome. Working at his company where all ten workers directly reports and closely works with him, you and your colleagues have developed quite a personal relationship with him. It was not conventional per se but you guess this is how all start-ups operate with a slightly different work culture. Unlike big corporations there is no bureaucracy, filling for leaves can just be a phone call or a visit to his office.

As his only financial analyst almost never leaving his side. You'd like to think that Doyoung might have developed a soft spot for you, maybe not in a romantic sense but in a platonic friendly way. He values your opinion enough that he asks for your input in any pivotal decisions either in work or his personal life. Whether to facilitate the migration to cloud as external contractors of big corporations or to oversee the renovation of his penthouse. And in small things too honestly, after all he asked for your help to decide whether the decor should be a Bohemian vibe or modern minimalistic black and grey.

That was until you fucked after the in-office celebration of closing a big contract. One moment he is talking about the vase that serves as a centerpiece of his dining table that you helped him pick, the next he was pulling your arm leading you to a dimly lit room.

Yes, you did drink but you were sober enough to protest if you didn't want it; who are you kidding? Of course you wanted it to happen. Not one word of objection was uttered as he pinned you to the wall with your legs circling his waist. Instead of protests what left your lips was series of moans and his name in breathless pleas that he had to stuff your mouth with his fingers or else your colleagues will hear the two of you having sex two rooms away from them.

Doyoung slipped out of you stepping back to let you down.Your stilettos made a clicking noise as it came in contact with the tiled floor that echoed in your eardrums; deafening. Coming back down to earth and from your high is also the moment when you realized the mess you put yourself into by fucking Doyoung - your boss - in a storage room.

You righted both your disheveled appearances - to look as normal as possible - in order to go back to the pantry where the celebration was still in full swing. The tense silence that wrapped the atmosphere makes you want to shrivel in shame, both of you were aware of the line that you have crossed.

The unspoken words were hanging in the air -

It was a mistake. Let's forget this ever happened. - and you refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room, the stillness making you uncomfortable by the second.

"_______ -," Doyoung started.

"We don't have to talk about it Doyoung."

You moved for the door, not looking back to peek at Doyoung's expression. You just wanted to get out of the dusty storage room, the stuffy air and Doyoung's proximity, suffocating you.

You thought you were smart enough not to make the same mistake again but you seem to have a penchant for getting hurt because you did it again and again every chance you got. When the effects of orgasm are wearing off and you are left naked and vulnerable you always find yourself swearing that it will be the last time but you already knew you were lying.

You just can't get enough of Doyoung even though it hurts to pretend that each encounter was meaningless.

Sleeping with someone where you never knew where you stand at is excruciatingly painful.

You can't be jealous when you hear about the new girl he's with because you have no right.

It is painful when Doyoung gives you some false hope. Visiting you almost everyday in your small office bearing lunch for the two of you. He often spends half of his day loitering in your space, perching himself on the corner of your desk pushing around the knick knacks around your desk while you are busy with work.

Only to dash it when he tells you about the latest girl he's seeing which would mean your ears would bear the brunt of his relationship woes until it falls apart only for the vicious cycle to repeat again when he found himself in another one of his flings.

Everyday as he asks for relationship advice you feel yourself getting worn out and the green eyed monster roaring it's head, you try your hardest to tamp it down with your rational thinking.

What hurts the most is he started his series of flings a week after you hooked up, rubbing on your face that it means nothing to him at all.

So after countless hours, days, and months of anguish you started planning your escape.

--------

There are so many thoughts running through your head it starts with: Did I overdress? Is Johnny having a good time?

Then drifts into completely unrelated manners.

Did I manage to say goodbye to all of my co-workers? Clear out my desk in my office? Surrender my elevator pass to the friendly security guard? Retrieve my favorite mug in the pantry?

Will everything be ok? Will I excel at my new company? Will I fit in a big corporation?

Will I miss Doyoung?

Am I doing the right thing?

Johnny cleared his throat which broke your reverie, your eyes settling in his face but Johnny seems to find the table napkin worthy of his attention rather than maintaining eye-contact with you.

"I had fun today but I think -," You see Johnny hesitating to continue his sentence, linking and unlinking his fingers instead.

You get it and you can't blame Johnny for his lack of interest. You were barely with him today after the small talk had died down and the two of you had finished your meals. You didn't make an effort to get to know him, the conversation was one sided as you barely threw the questions back at him; replying in terse short sentences as if you would rather be anywhere but having dinner with him.

"Yeah me too but it's really nice to spend Valentine's with you though and getting all dolled up. Makes me forget I am single," You joked and flashed him a smile; relieved, Johnny finally met your eyes as his actions mirror yours curving his lips into a smile.

-------

You hailed a cab for a ride back to your apartment, settling in the backseat you instructed and gave the address to the driver as his radio blasted cheesy romantic songs in your ear, making you feel more disappointed with how bad your date with Johnny went.

As the cab speeds through the city, the citylights intermingle with each other creating a spectrum of colors that bounce back at the cab’s windows, the scenery of skyscrapers blurring past your eyes and your mind returns back to musing which you know is a dangerous territory because somehow your mind always returns back to him.

Doyoung

What exactly did you want to be with Doyoung?

You want him to like you? No, You want to mean something to him, to be the special person he runs to whenever he's devastated, to be the first person he calls when he's completely utterly bursting with joy. You want him to be completely aware of your presence that even just a mere mention of your name will evoke something in him, make his heart beat a little faster and cause some flush to bleed through his cheeks.

You want him to be endeared with your habitual tics - how you drum your fingers in every surface when you are in deep thought, a line maring your forehead between your brows and make his lips itch to kiss it. You want him to be captivated with your idiosyncrasies and find it charming, you want him to adore everything about you that made you, distinctly you.

You want him to want you.

Your phone vibrated and interrupted your stupor and upon seeing Doyoung’s name attached to the notification. Your fingers quickly unlocked your phone, fingers ringing from an adrenaline rush just from the sight of his name.

Doyoung:

Come over?

And just like that you inform your cab driver to make a detour and drive to Doyoung’s instead.

Doyoung opened the gigantic door of his penthouse where he found you on the other side of the door, shifting your weight from foot to foot, nervous to be in the same perimeter as him. When the gap was big enough to see you his eyes roved over to your body and noted that you were dressed up nicely for a date. His eyes then turned into slits as he glared at you.

“Have fun with your date?” He questioned and you can see his jaw set - the muscles clenching tight.

You didn’t answer, you don’t want him to know the pathetic evening you spent with Johnny as your mind drifts to thoughts of him; instead of actively participating with Johnny’s effort of back and forth.

As if knowing that you wouldn’t answer, his arms went to grab your forearms pulling you inside and leading you to the stairs up his loft where his bed is, you followed meekly behind him. Reaching his loft you look around and try to commit to memory the layout of the room; promising yourself that this will be the last time you will set foot in this room.

Doyoung attached his lips to your neck which drew a soft moan from you, spurred by your sounds he continued to ravish your neck oscillating between harshly sucking and peppering soft kisses on the expanse of the skin of your neck. His hands running at your sides smoothly and gradually getting closer to the underside of your breasts with each pass, when he finally cupped your mounds you arch in his palms further pushing yourself closer to him, greedy for his attention from all the teasing that he has done.

When he spoke again it fanned over the nape of your neck making your skin tingle from the warmth, “Why can’t you understand that I am the only one who can make you feel this way.”

You can smell the residue of whisky on his breath and you wanted to taste it on your tongue even though from all the times you have slept with him you two have never kissed. You have drawn the line there for kissing is much more intimate than slapping bodies againsts each other for satisfaction. Kissing can be done without sexual notions but a simple act between couples and it is a glaring truth that you two were not.

You found yourself naked and sprawled on his queen size bed where you have lain your back many times but never spent a night in. Even the off white color of his ceiling is familiar to you as if mocking you for all the times you said you wouldn’t see it again. As he slips your dress down your body, your eyes water and it pooled in your eyes ready to spill over. ‘This is the last time,’ you tell yourself again, 'this is the last time that I will be Doyoung’s beck and call.' When he was finished trailing his lips down and also discarding his clothes at the other side of the bed you managed to swipe the tears that gathered in your eyes and look at him.

Towering over you he was a sight to behold and you trace the line of his body with your eyes, caressing the dips on his collarbones and the line that leads down to his cock as his face coil into a smirk smug with the knowledge that he can turn you into a whimpering mess.

“What do you want?” He asked while splaying his hands on your stomach, his thumb drawing circles on your clit which made your moans even louder and your pussy clench on nothing. You hate that he was the only one who can make you feel this way, reducing you into a pleading mess as you move your hips to the rhythm that he has set.

You don’t have to tell him your guttural whines already told him what you wanted and he obliged inserting his length into you slowly, while you gripped his sheets until your knuckles turned white. You loved the way he filled you and the burn that accompanies when he stretched your clamping muscles on him.

So you let all your reasoning go because Doyoung’s cock pumping inside you felt good, too good.

He knows your body like an instrument, putting the right pressure and hitting the spots that makes you throw your head back repeatedly. You can feel the falter in his quick thrusts and knows that he is near his end. Doyoung makes this one sound at the back of his throat when he orgasms … and you follow suit too as he falls apart.

It took a few seconds for him to untangle his legs and arms from your figure and it took you a couple of minutes of staring at the walls, waiting until you felt your legs can support you before you stood up and searched for your dress and undergarments. You can hear the rustle of the sheets as Doyoung sits on his bed watching your back as you slip on your panties and pull your dress back in its place.

“So tell me why did you leave the company?” Doyoung asked, his voice ringing loudly in your ears.

“I told you already I want to work in a big company,” You try to answer nonchalantly.

“Really? Or does it have something to do with me?

“Oh for fuck’s sake Doyoung. The world doesn’t revolve around you!” You shouted at him as you turned around to face him. Your ire rising as you see the cold stoic look on his face - unaffected by your outburst.

“Then why does it feel like you are running away from me?” He stood up from the bed and warily approached you as if you will lash at him any moment.

“I hate you,” (I love you) you whispered under your breath the words not meant from his ears but he heard it anyway. Disbelief painted his features he cannot grasp the reason why you are suddenly acting like this.

He reached out to touch your arm but you swerved his hand like a hurt animal nursing a wound and Doyoung then noticed your bloodshot eyes and defensive stance.

“Don’t touch me. Whatever destructive thing this is Doyoung, I am done. We’re done,” You stated bluntly your voice devoid of emotions a complete contrast with how you hugged yourself tightly with your arms.

“You don’t mean that,” Doyoung said adamantly as color drained from his face, making his pale complexion - paper white.

“You can’t just walk away,” He added more to convince himself than you because he can see that hard look in your eyes - already set in the decision of walking away from him.

“Watch me Doyoung,” your lips curved into a cruel bitter smile.

You leave him with those words as he watches your retreating figure until it completely disappears from his line of vision.

--------

That night when you received a text from Doyoung, you never bothered to open it, opting to delete it and completely block all communications with him. You need to move on and in order to do it you need to sever all ties that might delude you to come back in his arms again.

You need to escape from Kim Doyoung for it's been due too long.

a/n: Read more of my works for NCT here:masterlist

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angelguk · 3 years

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this prompt: jock!jaykay and namjoon running into each other at a party or sth and namjoon being like ‘you finally grow a pair and ask oc out yet?’ and jks just like 😧 and joons like ‘seriously dude? 😑 i’ve been waiting for you to ask her out since before i even dated her’. but make it more angst!!! namjoon is kind of an asshole here. there’s smoking, drinking and jk getting a brief lapdance. oc is a LIAR. jaykay deep in his feels tbh. roughly 1.5k. listen to all i wanted by paramore

Jeongguk's crossed too many paths with people during his life to remember every face his eyes have ever seen. But there’s one he will never forget, no matter how hard he tries to scrub the memory from his brain, ignore the muted forlorn twang in his heart, the low ache that ebbs from the base of his skull. It sparks up again despite years of never seeing the individual who caused the problem. How could he forget those broad shoulders? The sharp analytic eyes. The man whom you’d attached yourself too for a good chunk of your joint high school careers. It surprises him, honestly, because Jeongguk’s got a girl grinding on his lap but his eyes are locked on Namjoon, ears trailing after the sound of his deep laugh instead of the sweet nothings Nayeon (or Naeun, or Nayoung — he can’t fucking remember) is murmuring into the hollow of his neck.

For one, he’s fucked out of his mind. Taehyung probably laced the joint; he liked doing that shit even when it messed up Jeongguk’s trip. He should have known not to take a hit, but he was already ten shots in and nothing sounded better than smoke in his lungs. Maybe not nothing. This girl feels good in his hands, responds to the lightest of his touches, moans in his ear like she wants him to fuck her.

He could. He has before. Probably. She knows exactly where to nip his neck for this to have not been a repeat hook-up. But in the haze of the low living room lights and the spinning headiness of the drinks he’d downed, he couldn’t make out her face. It’d shift and twist and turn into an image that almost makes him want to cry because, at some angles, when the shadows form right, he thinks he can see your face. It could be you in his lap, you whimpering whenever your crotches aligned just right, you clinging to him like the sun hangs onto the evening sky.

But it’s not.

And for some unfathomable reason, Jeongguk’s ruined mind recognises that sucks.

Because it should be you.

He doesn’t know how he gets that girl off. Probably some lie that he needed to pee. In reality, he needed to breathe, because those thoughts surface with malicious intent, purposefully drawing him closer to deep dangerous waters. If he’s not careful he could easily drown, suffocated by desires he can’t even string together into a comprehensible sentence.

The night air hits sharp, seeping through his loose shirt. It grounds him enough for his steps to stabilise, feet following a slow trudge to the edge of the balcony. He doesn’t even know whose house this is. Somebody he’s probably never met honestly. But he wanted you to come. Everyone was coming out tonight. Even your elusive roommate Sohee was somewhere in some bathroom with a head between her thighs. You probably are doing that too, to be far. Even the name evokes bile from his throat, bitter and violent, full of jealousy he’d never really learnt to contain.

Lee Eunwoo. A graphic design major. Slightly taller than Jeongguk (only when Jeongguk is having a bad day) and somehow he can make you giggle like he’s getting paid for it.

You’d mentioned it so softly that Jeongguk didn’t even hear it at first. But then your cheeks had heated up, that stupid sparkle melting through your gaze. You wanted to spend the night with him, take advantage of an empty apartment, perhaps watch a movie or two.

It's obvious that you were going to sleep with him. The thought itself irked something visceral inside of Jeongguk. But he’d given you an easy smile, laughed at the modesty of your demeanour and wished you well with a tight hug. The same low buzzing of frustration that he got when you were with Namjoon was already waning through his system as he completed his sets at the gym with more force than needed.

Which is why he can’t help but release a bitter laugh into the night. Ironically, Namjoon was here while you were getting your back blown out by another idiotic guy Jeongguk did not like.

“What’s so funny?”

He can’t spin around to face him, Jeongguk knows he’ll throw up if he does. But he can’t forget a timbre like that. Not when you nearly wrote a poem about how wonderful Kim Namjoon’s voice was. A poem which you recited to Jeongguk before he begged you to rip it to shreds and never talk about again.

(Subconsciously Jeongguk had adopted a deeper voice whenever he talked to you since then. It came out more when he was drunk, but it’s not like you paid any attention anyway).

“Nothing,” he returns. He hopes Namjoon gets the hint and goes away. The bastard joins him on the balcony instead.

“No, seriously, what’s funny? You look like you’ve got a lot going on in your head.” Namjoon was always so concerned in talking about emotions and putting your feelings into words. It’s one of the reasons why you loved him and probably reason one thousand why Jeongguk hated him.

“Hello to you too, Kim Namjoon. Don’t you think we should catch up on the pleasantries before you start psychoanalysing me?” He retorts, forcing his gaze onto the other man. Namjoon looks good; golden skin, broad shoulders and his hair cropped short. There’s an ease to him that Jeongguk could never replicate no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps that’s what happens when you’re born sure of yourself. Like Namjoon was.

The laugh he receives is empty. Namjoon is busy rifling through his pockets, fingers emerging with a joint and a lighter. “Nice to see you too, Jeon. Didn’t think I’d ever bump into you after high school but the universe works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?” The jay slips between his lips, followed by a swift flick of the lighter before a deep inhale that Jeongguk swears he feels in his lungs. The smoke floats out pretty, fading into wisps of nothing but grey as the breeze sweeps it away. Namjoon offers it cordially, a simple raise of his defined eyebrows and even though Jeongguk’s legs are melting through the floor he can’t say no.

“You sure?” The doubt tinting his tone makes him take it. His overestimation in his maintenance capabilities leads to a rather rough inhale, and an even worse hacking cough that he wants to be mortified at because Namjoon fucking laughs. But he can’t when the world feels like air in his fingertips, slowly slipping away. Almost like you feel at times.

“You should stop taking the shit Taehyung rolls. I don’t even know what he slips in there but last time I smoked with him I thought I was on Mars.”

“Taehyung offers, I never ask.”

“You never ask for anything to be frank.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Namjoon returns, smoke falling from his lips.

“Yeah, I fucking did. I was giving you the chance to pretend you didn’t say it.” Jeongguk’s all in his space in an instant, the itch to smash Namjoon’s face tingling beneath his skin. Namjoon doesn’t even back up, gracing Jeongguk with a quizzical look that leaves him bewildered. “You don’t fucking know me—"

“I do.” There’s a scoff that riles him up even further. Namjoon’s still incredibly unbothered as he talks. “You think being Y/N’s boyfriend I didn’t hear everything and anything about you? Jeongguk this! Jeongguk that! You know that’s the reason we broke up, right?”

That halts him, a lag in his brain as he attempts to process the words leaving Namjoon’s mouth. The older man just stares at him, the sigh that drifts in between them bordering on pity.

“She didn’t tell you that, did she? Y/N lies about a lot more things than you think, Jeon. Where is she by the way? I’ve seen all her friends but I haven’t seen her.”

“Why would you know her friends?” It’s a stupid question but in the jumble of his thoughts it’s the only thing his mind is capable of plucking out. A question that doesn’t leave him bare and vulnerable like the other one’s racing through his head.

“We don’t have each other blocked on everything. Sometimes we talk,” Namjoon supplies easily. And just like that Jeongguk crumbles. He’s not even aware of it but the first crack spears deep enough to leave the rest of him unstable, wavering as he falters away from Namjoon. You never told him any of this. As far as Jeongguk knew you ended the relationship hating him (a thought that briefly consoled Jeongguk if he’s being truthful). But apparently, you felt comfortable enough to share your life with the person Jeongguk thought hurt you the most.

“Man, fuck you.” It’s a release, to say it. Because honestly fuck Kim Namjoon. In the span of a few short sentences he’s tipped everything he’s ever been sure of upside-down, stomped on Jeongguk’s heart like it was bendable and ducked his head right into the ocean he was afraid of diving it, keeping it under until the water filled his lungs and Jeongguk ceased to function.

Namjoon shrugs, not even looking as Jeongguk stumbles back to the door. He needs to find you, ask how much of Namjoon’s words were true. He doesn’t care if Eunwoo is over he’ll kick him out if need be.

But then Namjoon opens his mouth one more time, the final nail in the coffin.

“You should have asked her out. I was waiting for you to it — she was probably waiting too.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #yeah yeah this is bad but um! i tired #sorry i took away the wholesome couple trope... i think jj oc and jk have shit to work out tbh #au: jock!jaykay #thank u for the prompt annonie!!#bts x reader #bts angst

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xxcalista · 2 years

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bruna marquezine, she/her + cis female, 22 | well of course you’ve heard of CALISTA REIS, right? they are a third year student living in linacre taking history at rye university, and as per the blinds, they are like the taste of rose water, tears made of tiny diamonds & poison scented perfume.

hello hello! my name is alex, i’m 23 and you can find me in the cst. this is the most i’ve WORKED on a character before actually playing them gdfsh so i’m excited to be here & to meet all of you !! here's a little something about calista because as i said, i wrote a bunch and don’t expect anyone but me to read all of it

if you’re feeling curious here’s her doc (it’s a google slide because i hate formatting google docs, sorry), it’s got pretty much everything but keep in mind i’m still thinking of wanted connections!!

here’s a pinterest board i have yet to organize :)

and at last, some bullets for miss calista (you can listen to this is me trying by taylor swift while you read):

her dad’s a very important business man in brazil but they moved to the usa for the children’s higher education.

when she was little she wanted to be a princess (still does) and i think that’s funny because she’s probably doing better than most princesses at the moment.

eldest daughter of three, loves her brother and pretends her sister isn’t a thing. (speaking of, if you want to bring her brother hmu, he’s of age).

she’s her family’s most precious jewel and her one task is to make sure she shines bright. on paper it sounds like a great deal but she’s just so sad all the time.

don’t get me wrong she loves loves loves the attention.

calista just has a lot of love to give and as she grew older she came to realize people she thought loved her, only wanted her for her beauty or her money or her last name so that’s still a hard pill to swallow.

[SEXUAL ABUSE TW] when she was 14 she was abused by the person she called her best friend by the horse stables and she hasn’t told anyone but she also hasn’t been the same person since... or been able to even get close to the smell of horses. [END OF TW]

it’s gone downhill since then, every day that passes she has less of an idea of who she is, all she knows now is to follow her mother’s instructions but she’s honestly suffocating.

she’s a charmer when she needs to be but really, once she understood the world is built on bullshit, she figured there was no point on wasting the little love she’s got left on people who don’t care for it.

so calista can be a cold bitch if it’s not in her best interest not to be. if you want a pretty girl to hold your hand as you stroll through campus, she can do it but there’s really no need to fake pleasantries when you both know you’re only doing it for the status.

she’s a history major because daddy thought it a good idea to have her go to college but... she’s honestly kind of enjoying it, too bad she’s not expected to do anything with her major.

a cool, absolutely beautiful and poised exterior, little do people know she’s about to crumble.

how she deals with it all? maybe talking to somebody? oh hell no, instead she sometimes switches on the “bella swan in new moon” mode and does something reckless to let off some steam. she’s careful not to be caught by the cameras though because she does have a reputation as the pristine princess to keep.

she’s a romantic at heart though, still hopes she’ll some day find true love and somehow find herself in the process. if you try to fool her... your chances of succeeding are high honestly but watch out because she’s got a 0 tolerance policy on people who wrong her or those she cares about.

she has a talent for spotting the thing you love most and finding a way to destroy it for you so thread carefully.

super jealous, super vengeful little angle. tell her she’s pretty once in a while and she’ll go easy on you.

if you read that whole thing i want you to know i love you very much !! for connections i can do it all please! she has a hard time trusting people but we can also do fake-ish friendships so please come come, we’ll think of something.

#… intro ♡#affluenceintro

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supersonic-womanofyou · 4 years

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My first attempt at an interview fic! Read this on Ao3, or under the cut.

Spotlight on Eric Bittle

Interview by Elizabeth Chu

Photographs by Jack Zimmermann

The internet personality, author, and baker talks about his childhood, his relationship with Providence Falconers captain Jack Zimmermann, being a LGBTQ role model, why he struggled with his overnight success, and his upcoming cookbook.

I meet Eric Bittle in person for the first time on a Saturday afternoon, in a trendy coffee shop in downtown Providence. Even though I’ve heard of it in passing, I’ve never been inside. Eric obviously has, since when I approach the table where he’s chosen to sit, Eric is already chatting familiarly with one of the waitresses.

But after a couple minutes talking to Eric, I mentally revisit that assumption. Eric Bittle has a way of putting people at ease, of making even the most distant strangers feel like long-lost friends-- through his warm personality, but also through his seemingly-never ending supply of homemade baked goods. By the time I sit down across from him, I’m already in possession of a whole pie and two jars of jam.

Most of the celebrities I’ve met have on screen personalities that are vastly different in person, but the Eric Bittle I meet that Saturday could have been pulled directly out of his Netflix series or one of the episodes from his vastly popular vlog. He’s perennially bright and cheery, with a Southern drawl that’s been blunted by years in New England, but is still very present. When I mention it, Eric laughs. “I used to hate my accent, but I think it’s become as part of my brand as pies are. I’d probably lose all of my followers if I started talking like a Yankee,” he jokes.

The source of Bittle’s accent is his hometown-- Madison, Georgia, a town of barely four thousand people. When I ask what drove him to move up north, he gestures to himself as a whole. “Not too many opportunities for a baking, skating, Beyonce-loving gay boy in Morgan County.” He turns more serious, though, when he continues: “I was bullied a lot as a child. When I think back to my childhood, to living in Georgia-- for people who looked or acted different, it could be suffocating. I remember feeling like my future was just so starkly outlined for me-- going to a state school, settling down with a nice girl, spending the rest of my life just pretending. It sounds like overdramatic teenage angst now, I know, but I always knew if I wanted to live honestly, I needed to get out.”

And so Eric applied-- and was accepted to--Samwell University in Massachusetts, which touts itself as one of the most LGBTQ friendly schools in America, under the motto “one in four, maybe more.” According to Eric, it’s where he began to come to terms with himself and his identity, where he finally said the words “I’m gay” out loud, where he continued to bake and vlog and began to think seriously about a career in both, and where, perhaps most famously, he met his now-husband, Providence Falconers captain Jack Zimmermann.

“We both played on the hockey team, but we weren’t exactly friends at first,” Bittle says about his relationship with Zimmermann.

So, of course, I have to ask him-- what is it like, being a baker married to a hockey player? Eric and his husband seem like almost comical counterpoints in every aspect of their careers and personalities. Eric makes his living through baking and cooking, Jack plays in the notoriously-macho NHL. Eric has built a brand and a food empire off of cheeriness and Southern hospitality, Jack has a reputation of being a “hockey robot,” with his cold, generally disagreeable demeanor during interviews.

“Well, with it all laid out like that, it really does sound like we’re night and day,” Eric laughs. “But honestly? We just work. We both love skating-- that’s what we bonded over in college, actually. We also both technically majored in history, even though we have very different specialities and did so for pretty different reasons. But even our differences are compatible. Like, I love talking, he doesn’t, so we’re never talking over each other or silent. Also, pro hockey players have to eat an insane number of calories, so Jack’s always there to eat my cooking, and that’s really all I can ask for.”

Eric and Jack, who played on a line together briefly at Samwell, took the sports world by storm seven years ago when they kissed on the ice after the Falconers won the Stanley Cup, making Jack the first openly LGBTQ player in the NHL. The pair broke yet another barrier for LGBTQ people in hockey soon after, when Eric became the first openly gay NCAA Division I hockey captain.

When I ask Eric if he ever thought about following in his partner’s footsteps and pursuing a career in professional hockey, he just laughs. “Oh, definitely not. I love being on the ice, but I don’t think I would have made it very far in the NHL or AHL.”

His fame may have started out in the (relatively niche) world of professional hockey, but since graduating from Samwell, Eric has found incredible success beyond the legacy of that historic kiss. His first book, published five years ago, spent several weeks on the New York Times Food and Diet bestseller list, and was applauded as a fresh, vibrant take on Southern cuisine and desserts. Check, Please reads as seventy percent cookbook, thirty percent memoir, with every page infused with Bittle’s indomitable, ubiquitous personality. His vlog, which he started in high school and has updated continuously ever since, has millions of subscribers, who tune in every week to hear Bittle talk about everything from pies and cookies to relationships and family. Finally, and perhaps most famously, Bittle hosted his own Netflix series last year, applauded as a combination of Marie Kondo and Queer Eye, in which he taught baking with his usual brand of positivity and universal appeal, interspersed with feel-good moments and life lessons.

It strikes me that while Bittle’s career may have been jump-started by his relationship with Jack Zimmermann, he’s certainly managed to make a name for himself in the years since. To the hockey world, he may still be an afterthought to Jack Zimmermann, but to the baking world (and a good portion of Netflix’s viewership), the name Jack Zimmermann is an afterthought to that of Eric Bittle.

“Jack definitely gets a kick out of it when we’re in public together and I get recognized, and he doesn’t,” Eric says. “It’s kind of crazy, actually-- I definitely couldn’t have imagined all this ten years ago, back in college or in high school.”

And what did Eric imagine himself doing? “To be honest, I don’t think I had any idea. When I decided to go to Samwell, I didn’t even have a major in mind or anything. I just wanted to get out of Georgia. And at Samwell-- I mean, I majored in American History, of all things. Talk about a useless degree! I literally just chose the major that let me take the most baking or baking-adjacent classes.” He pauses, and laughs. “It drives Jack crazy, actually-- I never have a plan for anything, really, big or small. I’m the kind of person who just crosses my fingers and hope it all shakes out for the best.”

His husband’s opinion aside, this tactic seems to have worked out pretty well for Eric. His next, eagerly anticipated cookbook, which follows much in the vein of his Netflix show, is due to come out in two months this August. “It’s going to be focused on easy, cheap cooking and baking that’s still healthy and fulfilling. I think there’s a mindset that to make tasty, healthy food you need to have expensive ingredients and tools, or a lot of time on your hands, or have a lot of experience. But like-- I made food for an entire hockey team in a frat house on a college student’s allowance for four years, so I know something about cooking healthy on a budget,” he jokes. “I really just want to make good, healthy food accessible for everyone.”

Well, he’s managed to do that, and more. Eric Bittle’s career so far has certainly been a whirlwind. He’s gone from publishing his first cookbook to hosting his own show in what’s only been a matter of years.

“I do have to pinch myself sometimes, “ Eric says about his dizzyingly quick ascent to fame. “Like, Carrie Underwood tagged me in a tweet about hockey husbands the other day. Carrie Underwood!” The disbelief is clear in his voice. “I mean, Jack’s always been the bigger fan of country music, but the Georgia boy in me had to lie down for a moment when I saw the notification. So I think-- I still can’t really believe all of it, you know? It feels like yesterday I was still about to graduate college, with barely any plan and procrastinating on my thesis. And I guess sometimes-- sometimes I do feel a bit guilty, you know? Like-- there’s so many people fighting for this, fighting for what I’ve got-- getting books published, getting a show, everything else. I definitely had a leg up in name recognition because of Jack and hockey, and even when Jack and weren’t married yet, I never had to worry about having a roof over my head if the vlog wasn’t bringing in enough money or the cookbook wasn’t selling well enough.” He pauses, pensive, and it’s not the first time in this conversation that I mentally reassess my first assumptions about Eric Bittle. Behind the nationally famous smile and welcoming accent is a thoughtful young man still grappling with becoming a public figure and a role model, with a sprinkling of imposter syndrome, who doesn’t understand exactly what millions of people across the country see in him.

But perhaps that as well is an unfair assessment. It’s clear that Eric has a refreshing genuiness that few public figures possess, and that this is part of what has managed to speak to so many people from all backgrounds. That on some level, his modesty about his own fame is part of what constitutes his appeal.

When I mention this, Eric flushes a bright shade of pink. “Oh, aren’t you a flatterer. Well, I suppose so.”

So after this cookbook, what’s next? Is fatherhood on the horizon?

“I did mention that I never have a plan, didn’t I?” he quips. But he does confide that he and Jack have been talking about having a family. “We’ve always wanted kids, but there’s always been something going on. Jack’s job and being on roadies all the time, me trying to get my career started. We don’t want our kids to be raised by babysitters and nannies, you know? We want to be there for them, so while it’s definitely something we’re considering, we’re trying to balance timing. But it has been a couple years, so.” He blushes. “We’re revisiting the idea.”

“But other than that-- I have been approached about the possibility of some other projects and shows in the future, but I probably can’t talk about those,” he says. “And though it’s always been a dream of mine to own a bakery, that would be a pretty huge commitment. So I guess I’m just trying to say that I’m not really sure exactly what comes next.” Nevertheless, he grins, as if to say, and isn’t that exciting ?

Fatherhood or his own bakery-- I’m sure that no matter what comes next for Eric Bittle, he’ll forge ahead with his characteristic positivity and Southern grace, with plenty of baked goods along the way. *

#omgcp #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #interview #multimedia fic #art #magazine #fic #omgcp fic #zimbits #pov outsider #omgcheckplease

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jjk-biased · 4 years

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jungkook x reader

requested by @atulipandarose (oooh soulmate/jungkook/one shot!! it's been big missing jk hours over here)

genre: fluff, soulmate au

words: 2.5k of dumb jungkook pining

warnings: none >< cussing here and there, also my first time writing just fluff so please be kind. unedited!!!

synopsis: jungkook never loved the idea of soulmates because he liked you and he wanted only you.

masterlist | events masterlist

There it was, the panging he felt in his heart even if he wasn’t the person in pain. As his chest throbbed, it was emotional pain he supposed, the song began to play in his head. He gritted his teeth, upset to have been reminded once again of the world he lived in.

The world had to be so stupid to believe in such nonsense. It was idiotic. They had to be so naive to rely on this whole scam - to the point where they even revolve their lives around it.

It isn’t true. It’s far-fetched. This whole soulmate system wasn’t reliable.

He lived in a world where the universe decided who each person’s other was. Soulmates existed. It was everywhere. And he didn’t like it one bit.

Whoever made the world like this had to be an utter idiot. Why would anyone allow something like this to take over people’s lives? This bullshit soulmate system gave people a false sense of hope that someone out of the millions and millions of people would be the only right person for you. That somehow, out of 7.5 billion people, someone would be the perfect yin to your yang.

It shouldn’t exist. Soulmates shouldn’t exist.

Come to think of it, how can the universe even be so sure that the person they have “destined” for him is the right one? And, honestly, who even gave the universe the right to choose for him?

Fuck the universe, Jeon Jungkook wanted to pick for himself.

He thought this whole sham was an inconvenience. Unlike almost every love-crazed and soulmate-addict person, he thought otherwise. Jungkook felt suffocated at the thought of being tied down to someone who he probably didn’t even like. He didn’t need whoever they had for him. He didn’t have to meet this so-called pre-destined love of his life to live happily.

Actually, he did. Or else he would forever be haunted by it. He’d go crazy.

People had different “soulmate indicators” -- basically something in their body that gave them a hint on whoever they were destined for. Namjoon, his writer friend, had a tattoo of his soulmate’s name on his collarbone. Jimin, the short friend, had a ring on his finger with the initials of his soulmate and would even change colors depending on the mood of his other. One part of Taehyung's hair is the same color as his soulmate’s, regardless if he tried to dye it along with his locks.

To say the least, theirs were easy to find, to discover - much more convenient than what the universe had in store for dear Jeon Jungkook. His had to be the most vague indicator of this whole scam.

A song.

The universe gave Jungkook one specific song that only he and his soulmate knew. Not a name, not a ring, not even a hair color. Just one fucking song.

Jeon Jungkook didn’t want to believe in this obviously fraudulent scheme that the universe set up. Despite his woes and resentment towards the system, Jungkook couldn’t exactly ignore it. The song, somehow sung by both him and the soulmate, always played in his head whenever he or the other would feel down. Somehow, it only played when any of them were sad. Not when they’re happy. Not when they’re angry. Not when they’re bored. Only when one or the other wasn’t feeling well.

But hey, at least he knew when it would start.

There would always be a pang in his chest before it began. It was akin to when the dog dies in the movie, or when someone relayed bad news, or when the character in a book had to leave. The weird feeling would be eased immediately as soon as the song played in their head. It would lull him to sleep, he guessed it held the same effect for whoever was on the other side, and would make him feel at home.

But he did not like this soulmate bullshit.

Not one bit.

Even if the song brought him great comfort. Even if it was the only thing he looked forward to when he had a bad day. Even if his soulmate’s honey-like voice blended well with his.

Wait shit, he should be hating this nonsense. Why did he just think that his soulmate sang nicely?

Fuck it. Forget what he thought. It didn’t matter anyway.

He had other things to think about anyway, especially how to gain the courage to ask his friend out.

Jungkook is currently and sadly a college student, who, aside from drowning in student debt, studies fine arts. He hopes to become a renowned artist someday, and in pursuing so, had to disobey his typical Asian parents’ wish for him to be called Dr. or Atty. someday.

Soulmate hatred aside, art had always been his passion. Despite growing into a family full of doctors, lawyers, and judges, he knew his heart belonged in fine arts. When his brother would play with the toy syringes and stethoscopes, he would be seen getting himself dirty with the washable markers. That love for coloring grew into something more, and so Jungkook decided he would become an artist in the future.

It was always so freeing for him to dabble in the blues and greens and create whatever he visualized in his mind. The pencil in his hand could easily convey the emotions he had trouble vocalizing. All of his troubles would go away faster than you can say worldwide handsome Jin-hyung with the aid of his drawing tablet. Everything about art just intrigued him. Art was easy. Art was comforting.

Art is where he felt free.

It wasn’t suffocating. Unlike his family that wanted him to be someone he couldn’t become and this soulmate shit that wanted to cuff him down to one specific person he doubts would even go well with him.

He wanted the soulmate system gone. For reasons that seemed justified to him and only him.

He could live without the incessant nagging of his very traditional family who wanted to sped things up. Jungkook would finally stop seeing some of his soulmate-less acquaintances miserable. He could finally go on with his sad day without the song that would automatically play in his head.

Wait… that last thought made him feel sad. Perhaps he would miss the song after all.

Anyway, and above all, he could finally court his cute friend without having to worry of the soulmate shabang.

Jungkook didn’t want whoever the universe paired him with. He wanted his cute seatmate and friend, Y/N Y/L/N.

Y/N Y/L/N. Your name was perfect.

The way your name rolled off his tongue felt just right. The way your nose would scrunch as you focused on sketching the naked dude who had to pose in front of everyone. The way you would tilt your head when the professor never made sense with his discussions.

Everything about you was just so… perfect.

You were kind-hearted, considerate, and intelligent. Your humor was unmatched and you were very enthusiastic when you conversed with Jungkook. From a small crush, his liking towards you grew into something he couldn’t exactly ignore. He liked you more than he liked to listen to the duet in his head.

Okay… scratch that. Maybe he did like his significant other’s singing voice. It eased his worries after a troublesome day. Admittedly, he had found comfort in it.

If only the universe allowed him to converse with whoever was on the other side, then maybe he didn’t have to loathe this system so much. He could’ve gotten a friend out of it, not a soulmate… but a friend.

Somehow, his thoughts wandered back to you. God, imagine if you were his soulmate. Jungkook would be more than happy if that happened. But he didn’t need the universe to act on his feelings for you. Jungkook will do something… He knew he had to do something about it. He just didn’t know when.

All of his thinking made Jungkook revert to airplane mode, so it was only then that he noticed you concernedly waving your hand in front of his face for a sign of consciousness. He found your scrunched up face painstakingly cute but holy shit… why are you so close? Please don’t be so close. Jungkook would malfunction if you decreased the space between you two even more.

“Are you okay, kook?” You luckily stepped back once he locked eyes with you.

Ah… that sweet voice of yours that could rival the comforting honey-like singing in his head.

“Y-yeah! Sorry, was spacing out,” Jungkook’s words were jumbled as he noticed he was staring at you like a gaping goldfish instead of answering like a normal person.

Your giggles rang throughout the room at his predicament. He crookedly grinned then laughed along. This must be heaven. Your happiness was always contagious and he’d often mirror the smile on your face whenever you were happy.

You made him feel giddy as much as he did on the days he finished his artworks. You made him complete.

But that damn soulmate thing had to ruin it.

How he wished you were his soulmate.

“I thought something happened to you, kook! Mr. Kang dismissed us some time ago but you were still frozen in your seat when everyone left. I was so… worried,” You chuckled, though quite red and hesitant at the end.

Well did that instigate the butterflies in Jungkook’s tummy.

“Concerned for me?” Jungkook teased, it was his go-to response because he couldn’t exactly flirt in straight sentences.

Your eyebrows furrowed but the pink hue became much more evident. Jungkook didn’t even mind the kick you gave him because he made you feel a bit flustered. Success :D

“Taehyungie’s been busy, hasn’t he?” You said, trying to change the subject so everyone could forget the embarrassment.

Taehyung, the theater kid and drama major, was friends with the both of you. He had been busy for the past month because their project was to create a series of plays to showcase to the school. Their show will be on Tuesday, days away from now.

Right! He could invite you to the play.

“He is… Hey,” You tilted your head and hummed when Jungkook’s voice sounded a bit unsure.

“Do you wanna go with me to the play?”

The red on your face and the shy nod you did made him swell in accomplishment. He can’t wait for Tuesday to come.

Fuck. He should’ve waited for Tuesday to come. Now it is Tuesday and he was too nervous to even stand in a five-meter radius near you. Slapping himself to forget the momentary faltering of his confidence, he shakily waited at the foot of your doorstep with an album in his hand.

You two bonded on music and he knew you well enough to know you’d rather have the CD of your favorite artist than some flower that would wilt after awhile. He was right. The beam on your face when he handed over the gift made him so happy that all his nerves were washed away. You always had a way to ease him, even if you weren’t aware.

“M’lady,” He jokingly tried to replicate a british accent as he offered his arm, waiting for you. And as you always would, you took his arm along with an accent-laced, “M’lord,”

Jungkook forgot his worries for a moment and it was always because of you.

You two sat near the stage to support Taehyung with his play. You two remembered him sharing that their play was about a soulmate-driven world with much more darker consequences. It was about the fictional hanahaki disease, he said.

And boy did it feel so sad. Taehyung acted so well, as if he was really losing his character’s best friend onstage. Jungkook peered at you for a moment and saw your eyes glisten as Taehyung’s cries grew louder and louder.

The story was really heartbreaking.

To the point where Jungkook felt the familiar pang on his chest and the song began to play in his head.

How peculiar. His soulmate was sad just as Taehyung’s scene played out. Perhaps they were in the same auditorium as well. But that was impossible. His soulmate was probably watching some soap opera.

Not that he minded. Jungkook had other things to think about, especially how to comfort you as your tears flowed down from the actors’ amazing performance. As slick as he could, he draped an arm around you and let you rest your head on his shoulder. His heart was beating faster than he could comprehend. Even more so, when you scooted closer to him.

Fuck. You were cuddling. Oh my god. Jungkook is gonna die out of happiness.

He had to play it cool though. Jungkook ignored the warmth in his chest and face as he rubbed your arm in consolation. He was surprised you reacted well. Nothing prepared him for what happened next.

You were humming.

You were humming his song.

hOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT YOU WERE HUMMING HIS SONG.

You… were his soulmate.

Okay universe… Unfuck you, Jungkook guessed. Apparently the universe was on his side after all… All he had to do was somehow tell you…

Jungkook, his face now an uncontrollable red, nervously turned towards you and successfully got your undivided attention. God, he could die then and there. Gathering courage from glob knows where, he smiled and sang the first line of the song.

Universe might have been laughing at him for suddenly changing his views. Jungkook would’ve laughed at himself if he found out the double-back on his opinion. But this was you.

You and your cute nose scrunch, you and your adorable head tilt, you and your witty comebacks.

This was you.

Everything about you was perfect, and he couldn’t believe that the universe liked him enough to grace him with you as his soulmate.

何故こんなにも涙が溢れるの

[Naze, konna ni mo namida ga afureru no]

Your eyes widened as he sang the song that felt like home to the both of you.

ねぇ側にいてそして笑ってよ

[Nee, soba ni ite soshite waratte yo]

You joined in on the singing and everything just made sense. None of the leaving people in the auditorium mattered at the moment.

君のいない未来は色のない世界

[Kimi no inai mirai wa iro no nai sekai]

Jungkook was so happy. It seemed like the world was brighter than before.

モノクロで冷たい

[Monokuro de tsumetai]

He shouldn’t have doubted the universe’s plan. Everything was better with you.

見つめてる暗闇さえも so beautiful

[Mitsumeteru kurayami sae mo so beautiful]

You smiled shyly as your soft honey-like voice harmonized with him.

僕を信じてほしい

[Boku wo shinjite hoshii]

Jungkook’s smile grew wider, encasing your delicate hand in his.

まっすぐに君だけを見て

[Massugu ni kimi dake wo mite]

For once in his life, he was happy and it was better because he was happy with you.

どこにも行かないように

[Doko ni mo ikanai you ni]

You two shared a kiss that afternoon, on a Tuesday, at the university’s auditorium.

permanent taglist: @luvinseokjinnie @97faerie @amoreguk @bbyjoonies @borednia @tanumiki @taescake

[Extra]

Jungkook: Hey Taehyung! Congrats, that play was amazing

Taehyung: ...yeah… but why did you two make out when I died onstage?

You: ahahaha bye.

#bts x reader #bts #jungkook x female reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #soulmate au #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #your eyes they tell

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dxncingwithastrxnger · 3 years

Text

Train Wreck (*MAJOR TW*)

Sooooo, this is story poem that’s revolving around Bucky Barnes. I was inspired to write it while listening to the song, you guessed it, Train Wreck by James Arthur.

Pairing: None

Summary: Bucky’s been spiraling down a dark rabbit hole for a long time now. He’s at his worst and darkest moment. And that’s when he makes a decision that no one’s around to stop him from making.

Tags: Attempted suicide, mentions of blood, heights, depression, mention of death/dying, suicidal thoughts, just all angst

There’s like...nothing good in this honestly. It’s just all awful things. Enjoy? Lemme know if I should turn this into a full on story? I’m considering it. Let me know what you think of it. Let’s cry together 😀

Not beta’d, all mistakes and errors my own.

It’s now that he wonders

What if it was different?

What if I went a different way?

Too late to look back

It’s cold

So cold

His mind is frozen

Nothing is processing

Why was it so far down?

His life isn’t flashing by

He isn’t reliving his best moments

He isn’t thinking of happy times

He doesn’t imagine holding those he loves again

He thinks of the darkness

He sees the last time he fell this far

Physically

His metaphorical fall was a completely different thing

He remembers it now

So clearly

The cold

Ice and snow everywhere

The wind whipped so hard it burned

The rattle of the tracks

As the train steered around the mountain

And his friend

His friend so desperate to save him

His own screams had echoed throughout that canyon

But now

Now everything was silent

So cruel of the universe

He spends so much time with too much noise

The moment he decides to take action

Is when the sudden silence is suffocating

He knows the moment of impact as soon as it happens

It’s so different then how it was before

The fall was mostly the same

But the landing was almost the complete opposite

The moment his body hit the ground

Destroyed in so many different places now

He knew this much

His entire body was on fire

Such a contrast to the solid ice he knew before

His eyes were wet

He wasn’t sure what made them that way

But that was warm too

What the biggest difference was

The thing that surprised him the most

Was the absolute sense of dread

That surrounded him

Why am I still here?

What did I do wrong now?

He wasn’t supposed to still be here

Last time he fell

He was trying to stay alive

But this time

This was all wrong

I’m trying to die

Why can’t you just let me die?

He felt a sob bubble up in this throat

It tried to strangle it’s way out

But all that escaped was a blood filled whimper

And that’s when the noise returned

People yelling

Feet hitting the ground as they ran

Scrambling to do something

Sirens were coming

How long had he been there already?

He couldn’t tell

Seconds

Minutes

Hours

He didn’t really care

His vision was clouded

But light pierced his view of the stars

Red and blue and yellow

Flickering all around him

Lights were shined above

He could barely feel anything

Hands were ghosting over his broken body

He just wanted the fire he felt to devour him

For the flames to lick up every piece of his existence

This world had no more place for him

So why did it insist on keeping him here?

He felt himself floating again

Sometime later he was somewhere new

Softer

But still on fire

But now everything was heavy

He felt like lava was being poured over him

Thick

Heavy

Slow

Burning

There’s a flash of white

A flash of red

And then everything goes black

#purple_strxnger #dxncingstrxnger #bucky barnes #depressed bucky barnes #suicidal bucky barnes #tw #angst #purple_strxnger_stories

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ineloqueent · 4 years

Text

Starstruck: Part 7

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 7 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 6 / Part 8

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.

Warnings: swearing, drinking, angst

Historical Inaccuracies: none that I can think of!

Word Count: 4.3k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The sun made you wonder. Made you wonder why it was shining in the first place. How wretched of it to shine so prettily when you felt so miserable.

It was a misery too out of reach to be pacified, for it was not the obvious sort, the kind in which you cry and shudder and feel like you’re suffocating. This was the kind of miserable in which you mope, staring out the window in a daze, and the only thing you are aware of is the frown on your lips; you opt for bitterness with every word and thought. This is the miserable where you feel detached and lost, like you exist in one universe and your feelings in a neighbouring dimension.

Brian hadn’t spoken to you for over a week.

It had rained every day since.

When classes had resumed the following Monday, Brian didn’t smile at you when you chanced a ‘good morning’. He merely pressed his lips together and ducked beneath his curls. That was how you knew he was avoiding you.

On Tuesday, Brian failed Carmichael’s test. This you knew because he ripped it in half as he stormed out of the door, following the lecture And he was glowering. You’d never thought that timid Brian could even have the ability to glower.

On Wednesday afternoon, Deacy called you.

“I was wondering if you’d like to join me and Rog for tea today?”

You bit your lip slowly. “Just you and Rog?”

“Yep!” he said. “I’ve told you that Veronica’s just gone up to see her parents for a couple of days, and that I’m working so she thought it best for me to stay behind, haven’t I?”

“Yes, you’ve told me,” you replied. “And Heather went with her.” Heather and Veronica had grown up in the same town, and so Heather, behind due to visit her own parents, had boarded the train with Ronnie.

“Oh, yes.” John paused, then asked hesitantly, “Are… are you okay with just me and Roger, for tea I mean?”

You breathed quietly in relief.

“Y/N? Who are you avoiding? You haven’t fallen out with Heather, have you?”

“Oh, no no,” you assured him.

“With Veronica, then? Surely not.”

“No, Deacy, she’s lovely.”

“She likes you too. You get along well. Maybe you should go shopping together or something sometime,” he babbled.

“Yeah,” you answered distractedly.

“Well, you have our number. And you know you’re always welcome over.”

“Thanks, Deacy—”

But Deacy was still trying to work out who it was you were supposedly at odds with. “Not Roger!” he cried. “That’s why you’re not sure about lunch. You and Roger are arguing, aren’t you?”

“No, Roger and I are fine, John.”

“Oh, good,” he sighed. “I was worried for a moment. And I’ve already had to diffuse so many fights this week, in the band, y’know.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he sighed, “you wouldn’t believe it. So many. It’s like cats and dogs at the moment. Not sure why. Yelling and throwing various instrumental gear. Drumsticks, microphone stands, cables… clumsily. Almost an amp, yesterday.”

You winced, “That sounds, uh, violent?”

“Actually,” he considered, meanwhile you pondered the reason he was jabbering nineteen a dozen, “they’ve all sort of been started by… Oh dear.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, Y/N, dear,” he said in a pitiful tone. “You’re avoiding Brian.”

“Am not!” you exclaimed.

“Are you not?” He sounded genuinely surprised this time.

“If anything, he’s avoiding me,” you grumbled, because at this point, Brian deliberately turned his head away when you passed him in the mornings. He seemed so pained by your presence that wondered if perhaps there was something more to the death of his aunt, if you had unknowingly poured salt on a second wound.

“Well…” began Deacy, seemingly at a loss. “Well, why, if you don’t mind me asking?”

You rubbed your eyes tiredly. You’d not been sleeping well for the past few nights, awake and alone with your pestering thoughts. “I asked where he’d been, when he disappeared off to god knows where the other week.”

John’s puzzlement was apparent. “And?” he said.

“And nothing. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“That’s terribly odd, Y/N. I asked. We all asked. He said he’d been up to visit his parents when they lost power in a storm. Whole phone lines came crashing down, apparently. Too much of a mess to get any sort of communication through to anywhere, and he figured we wouldn’t worry badly.”

You shook your head, then remembered that you were on the phone. “That can’t be true, Deacy. And even if it were, we did worry, remember?”

“I suppose we did worry,” Deacy conceded. “But what do you mean, that can’t be true? Did he not tell you the same thing?”

The air gasped from your lungs.

He hadn’t told anyone.

Except you.

“No, Deacy,” you said. “He— he said… His aunt died.”

“What?”

“His aunt died.”

“Yes, I heard you, Y/N, but… He lied to us?”

“Or he didn’t tell you the whole truth,” you suggested. It was something you did often; you didn’t like to lie, but naturally, you didn’t want everyone to know everything.

“I suppose. That’s just so terribly unlike Brian,” John said concernedly. “He doesn’t like lying.”

“Um… who do you know that actively enjoys lying?”

“Oh, Freddie’s near-pathological,” Deacy said off-handedly. “But Brian’s got more of a moral compass than I have!”

“That’s slightly concerning…” you remarked. “So, how is Freddie?”

“I talked to him and he said he was well,” Deacy related, “but now I’m not so sure. He’s seemed a bit off lately. Something to do with Mary, I think.”

You frowned. “Yeah, I think something’s wrong.”

Deacy sighed. “I’m beginning to think the only people who are okay are Veronica and myself.”

“Roger isn’t okay?”

“He’s usually the person Brian takes his temper out on.”

“Oh.”

“Tell you what,” said Deacy, “come to tea at mine at seven tonight and we’ll talk more then. I imagine you’ve got lectures to get to.”

“Just finished with the last one for today, but some studying wouldn’t hurt,” you replied. “I’ll see you at seven.”

“Okay, see you at seven. Bye bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Deacy.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You spent the rest of the afternoon studying. Or rather, you tried to study. The formulas and theories and diagrams mostly swirled across your page today, as much a spiral galaxy as the Milky Way. You speculated your lack of sleep and your lack of water could be the cause. Or maybe your lack of interaction with other humans. No Heather, no Freddie, no Roger, barely John. And no Brian. It was a wonder you’d not yet become a total hermit.

At six thirty you threw on your scarf and coat and went out the door, a bottle of wine in one hand.

At six thirty-two, you had boarded the tube and remembered that the scarf wasn’t actually your own. It was the rainbow scarf. You nestled your face into the wool and fibres tickled the tip of your nose, subtle scents of coffee and lilies shrouding you in their homely warmth.

You missed the owner of that scarf.

At seven precisely, you rang the Deacon-Tetzlaff doorbell.

The door swung open and John Deacon beamed at you. “Ah, Y/N! You’ve made it to my little party.”

“Careful, Deacy,” you admonished, “you’re beginning to sound an awful lot like those old film villains.”

“I think I’ll need more evidence than that,” Deacy kissed your cheek in greeting. You returned the gesture and went on inside, offering the wine bottle which he accepted cheerily. He was just closing the door when there came a shout from the street.

“Hold the door, will you, Deacy?”

Roger had arrived, dressed extravagantly in a fur coat and thin, orange-tinted sunglasses.

“Bit over the top for tea at mine, Roggie?” Deacy laughed.

You nodded to Roger’s sunglasses. “Surely those aren’t necessary.”

“They just complete the look. And honestly, you two are daft. Coat’s for warmth. It’s bloody well snowing.”

“Snowing?” you and Deacy repeated, leaning out the door.

Roger was right; little flakes fluttered down from the dappled grey sky, dusting his hair, and now yours as well.

“And so it is,” John said with another laugh. You held out your hand and let the glittery while specks fall into your palm. Despite your love for warmth, you liked snow. It was like catching stardust.

“Brimi would love that analogy,” Roger kissed your cheek as well, and you realised that you’d spoken aloud. You swallowed, settling your features back into a mask of nonchalance.

“He wouldn’t love that fur coat, though,” you tapped Roger’s sleeve.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” grumbled Roger.

“At the moment, he doesn’t love much at all, really,” Deacy remarked as he shut the door when you were all inside.

“Yes,” Roger echoed the sentiment, “can we discuss that? He’s a right bore.”

“More than usual?” John joked.

“God, yes. Thinking of throwing my bloody hi-hat at him next time.”

“He didn’t get the message from the drumsticks?”

“Apparently not. Went past his house this afternoon. He’s still moping.”

You tried not to think about the fact that you were the reason why Brian was moping. Meanwhile, John and Roger bantered on as you hung up your coat and— and the scarf.

You missed the majority of the conversation, having drifted into the abyss of your own thoughts once more. It was becoming a bad habit.

“Champagne? Oh, perfect!” John was saying. You’d reached the kitchen. “And it’s Moët et Chandon, too. Fred would be proud of you.”

“Funny, it was actually his idea,” Roger mused, closing his sunglasses around the collar of his shirt.

Deacy’s eyes widened as he pulled a tray from the oven. “Freddie better not have suggested anything else.”

Roger raised his eyebrows. “What would he have suggested, John?”

You wondered whether Roger was alluding to Freddie’s dampened temperament of the past many days, his tearfulness on the floor of a public bathroom, his obvious discomfort when you spoke of Mary.

Deacy waved an oven mitt and squinted through the steam that rose from the loaf of bread he had pulled from the oven.

“Deacy?” you said when the latter did not answer.

“Food’s ready!” he said brightly, and you all gathered around the kitchen table, Roger’s question forgotten.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You’d eaten your fill of John’s homemade risotto and bread, which was quite a large portion. Deacy was an excellent cook, in contrast with the likes of Freddie and Roger, neither of whom knew how to boil an egg.

“That was lovely, Deacy,” you said, positioning your knife and fork at twenty-past four.

“Agreed,” Roger nodded from beside you. “I’d ask you to give me the recipe,” he addressed Deacy, “but you know I can’t cook.”

“Oh, yes, we all know, Roger,” John sniggered.

“Freddie can’t cook either,” Roger pointed out petulantly, as though this made up for his own downfalls as a twenty-four-year-old who had moved away from home without learning certain basics.

“So, why are we here, Deacs?” you said.

“Mm,” said Roger. “You never call meetings, John. That’s always Freddie. And if it was about Queen, you would have actually invited the other two idiots over. Not Cinderella, here,” he elbowed you in the ribs.

“Ow!” you yelped. “Better Cinderella than an idiot, though.”

Roger narrowed his eyes at you. “Then dress the part. Otherwise I’ll have to take back the title.”

“Dress… in cinders and dirt, like you have?”

“This is an expensive shirt!”

“Hey!” Deacy interjected, but you and Roger only paid attention after he stood and tapped his knife to his wine glass.

You looked at Roger and grinned. Roger waggled his eyebrows; he had the same idea. You took a breath—

“Speech! Speech! Speech!” you cried together.

Deacy rolled his eyes. “How I put up with any of you is a wonder. Might as well not tell you, now.” He made to sit down.

“Well, I wanna hear it,” Roger pouted.

“Yeah, go on Deacy,” you patted his side of the table.

He tried not to smile, but he couldn’t. He glanced down at the tablecloth instead, adjusted the cutlery on his plate with two fingers, then inhaled slowly.

“You’re not dying, are you?” said Roger. You elbowed him to shut him up.

“Right then,” Deacy straightened up. “Y/N, Roger,” he toasted you each with his glass and you smiled back bemusedly. He paused for dramatic effect. Then, “Ronnie’s pregnant!”

Your mouth fell open.

“Oh, Deacy, you sly bastard,” Roger stood and clapped his friend on the back.

Deacy rolled his eyes again, but he was still beaming.

“John, that’s wonderful!” you said. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Deacy replied, pleased as punch. “Freddie and Brian found out by accident, and they were both busy tonight anyway, and I wanted to tell you before Veronica came back because she was going up to tell her parents,” he gushed, “and by then Freddie wouldn’t have been able to keep the surprise a surprise anymore.” Deacy practically shone, he was truly so happy. You couldn’t imagine more of a family man than John Deacon would be. He doted on Veronica and would dote upon his children even more.

Roger suddenly laughed, and you and Deacy looked at him. “Now I get it,” he said.

“Get what, Rog?”

“The champagne.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Thursday, you woke up with a violent headache. You had definitely overdone the champagne last night.

You rolled over to turn off your alarm clock, but instead rolled over the edge of a sofa.

And kicked Roger Taylor in the face.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Roger groaned, pulling his fur coat up over his face. He had used it as a blanket for the night, rejecting Deacy’s offer of actual bedding. “If you wanted to sleep on the floor, you could just have said so, not kicked me awake to take my spot.”

“I was perfectly fine with the sofa, thanks,” you mumbled, rubbing your temples.

Roger sat up blearily. “God, what a headache,” he complained.

You nodded in agreement, your eyes screwed shut.

“Good morning!” John appeared in the doorway to the living room.

“Shhhhh,” Roger hummed.

“Not my fault you never learnt to be responsible,” Deacy shrugged. “Can I interest anyone in coffee?”

“May I order some silence?” you asked. “And a black coffee, please.”

“On my way,” Deacy left for the kitchen.

“Yes please, I’ll have a cup,” Roger called hoarsely after Deacy. “With one and three-sevenths sugars.”

“One black, one with one sugar?” John called back.

“One and three-sevenths sugars, please.”

“Three sugars, Rog?”

“No, one and three-sevenths.”

“Seven sugars?!”

“DEACY. One and three-sevenths!”

Laughter trickled through the kitchen door. “I’m just winding you up, Roger,” Deacy returned to the living room.

Roger sighed. “Well, thank god. I was beginning to rethink our friendship. You should know how I take my coffee.”

“We’re not married, Rog. And if you really felt so fondly about me, you should have told me so before I took my girlfriend to bed sometime last year.”

“Which was far too long ago.” Roger took his mug of coffee when Deacy offered it to him. “You take a long time to fall in love with, Deacs. Couldn’t possibly have beaten Ronnie to that chase.”

“Speaking of rethinking our friendship…” John muttered.

After finishing your coffee, you swore at the time the clock on Deacy’s mantlepiece displayed, made your apologies, and rushed off to your morning lecture.

And still Brian would not even look at you.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

At nine o’clock that night, you sat down in your armchair by the fireplace and made two phone calls.

First, you called your mum.

Then you called Brian, who had neglected to turn up for the evening’s derivatives-and-guitar session.

Three guesses as to who took your call and who did not.

You went to bed soon after that, but sleep would not draw you away until two hours past midnight.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

On Friday evening, two of your housemates decided to get shit-faced. As Heather and Roger had taken up residency in your room, you decided to join in the getting-shit-faced.

Joan and Paulie were waiting for you in the kitchen and cheered when you entered.

“Our favourite Y/N!” Paulie hugged you, and Joan grinned from where she sat atop the kitchen counter, already holding a poured drink.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked. But this was apparently the wrong question, because Paulie’s bright eyes turned suddenly tearful.

Joan hopped down from the counter and wrapped an arm around Paulie’s shoulder.

“Just some hypocrite called Paulie a slag,” Joan sipped her drink. “Now we’re celebrating the fact that little Pauline here packed her first punch, eh, sweetheart?”

Paulie blushed crimson, and it was clear that she was not on her first drink either.

She turned to you, “What’ve you come to celebrate, Y/N?”

You laughed bitterly. “Perhaps my wasted heart.”

“It’ll be a large drink, then?”

You nodded, and Paulie frowned sympathetically. Joan stuck you a glass, filling it to the brim with alcohol.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

It was midnight, but tonight, there was no magic in the hour.

You sat in the window seat and leaned your head against the wood of the window frame.

The heating was broken and it was raining ice outdoors. Sleet. Yes, that was what it was called. Your muddled brain struggled to keep up with your racing heart.

You’d left Joan and Paulie in the kitchen, because the thing about Joan and Paulie was that they were mad for each other, though they appeared to be the only two people in the world who were blind to the phenomenon. Tonight, however, they’d made some discoveries regarding that area of their lives. They’d stopped drinking early on and had begun snogging instead, so you’d taken a bottle of mulled wine with you to the window seat and now sat drinking alone in the darkness.

Or perhaps the darkness was what you were drinking, and what was drinking you.

From the cinema next door to the house, you could vaguely hear laughter, and the smell of popcorn lightly permeated the air that drifted in through your open window. It was no longer raining, and the sky with its spatter of stars was once more dimly visible above the silhouettes of London in the nighttime. The mulled wine was made of elderflower and blackberries, and it had heated your cheeks and filled your head with poetry and your eyes with a mist.

Swirling the wine in your glass, you imagined this was what it would be like to live on the cusp between tragedy and comedy in a Shakespearian work.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire,” slipped the words of Hamlet from your lips, “doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.”

You sighed and wished for the night to grow day as you stared out the window, searching for planets and solar systems you knew very well could not be found by the naked eye.

The rainbow scarf warmed your skin.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Saturday, as went without saying, was characterised by a fierce headache. Again.

And with Sunday came the Sunday Blues.

Well, really, you’d had the All-Week Blues, but Sunday did not care about this; you could now add the coming week of studying and assessments to your list of worries.

You listened to Freddie’s records and mindlessly memorised every word, every line. The music was your anchor, as it had always been. But it was now more so than ever.

You hated feeling worthless, but there was nothing you could do to not feel so.

Freddie and Roger and Deacy and Brian, they had each other. They wouldn’t have missed you, you told yourself, and it was only fuel to fire that Freddie did not trust you enough to tell you what it was that was going on with him. Then there was Heather, and Heather had Roger. And then Joan— Joan had Paulie. And Kate’s friends were Amélie and Jenny. No one was yours alone.

No one was yours at all.

And the fact that Brian May so actively avoided you just proved it all— who needs you?

Who needs you, it was in his lowered eyes.

Who needs you, it was in his silence.

Who needs you, it was in your head.

It was all only in your head. But sometimes, it was difficult to discern the world from your head.

So you picked up your guitar to prove your head, the world, wrong.

The strings stung your skin, and the memory of gentle smiles ghosted along your pulse where fingers had once applied their tender touch.

Your misery rose a wave and crashed as anger.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Two more weeks cycled past on bell-less bicycles; they passed utterly without consequence.

February had yielded March, and snow had melted to an incessant rain. But the rain fostered new leaves and flowers, and turned London to all the colours of the rainbow in the glory of Spring.

It would have been pleasant, to leave classes and hurry through warm, sprinkling rain and spots of sunshine, for but the claustrophobia that the gaze of a tall and blushing young man provided you with, in every waking hour of your life, whether in person or by way of imagination.

You waited for everyone else to enter the lecture hall, hanging back so that you would be the last.

When the final dawdler had passed into the hall, you approached Brian, who, of course, was holding the door.

“Bri,” you began gently, willing him to look at you. He didn’t. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already said that.” He radiated hostility, but you felt uplifted by the fact that he’d acknowledged you at all.

“I know. But I meant it. And I mean it.”

His eyes flicked over you. “We’re going to be late.”

He let go of the door.

You grasped the handle before the frame could smack you in the face. The edges of your patience were tampered with by his gaze; they had now become short and sharp.

If he was going to behave so pettily, then you would stoop to his level.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

It began as stealing Carmichael’s questions before Brian could answer them.

Then it was politely saying ‘good morning’ to everyone you encountered, except Brian.

Then you temporarily overcame your hatred for mornings in order to arrive at the lectures early, before Brian. You held the door for everyone. Until he arrived. Then you let go and went inside.

On the third morning that this occurred, Brian glared at you and you sneered back.

How quickly you had gone from friends to… to rivals was slightly disconcerting.

Freddie seemed to think so too. He invited you to rehearsal one evening, and though you clenched your jaw at having to be in the same room as Brian Harold “Petty” May, Freddie begged and pleaded and wore you down.

But when you arrived at one of Imperial College’s unused lecture halls that evening, Brian was the first person you saw, and at the sour twist of his lips, you huffed and stormed back out the door.

Freddie and John were calling after you, and you vaguely heard Roger ask Brian what the hell was wrong with him. Yet, you kept walking.

And then you ran.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

I’d had it with Brian. I really had.

So caught up in that bloody head of his, and for what? What had Y/N even said? What could have been so bad? She, like the rest of us, had naturally been worried by Brian’s disappearance, and he owed it to us, to her, to let us know that he had been at least physically all right.

I’d gotten it out of Deacs that Brian had lied to us about where he was the other week, and I’d been furious— how could he lie to us? Brian never lied.

I’d been good and well ready to knock him about a bit, that was what I’d been, and I had threatened to do just so, before Freddie materialised, as he often did, and pushed me back onto the drum stool before I could go anywhere. He demanded to know why I was so pissed off, and John explained.

Freddie frowned. “Yes, that is rather unlike him. And he’s utterly miffed, constantly. Looks about as cross as a cat caught in a rainstorm. Has done for fucking weeks.”

“Yes…” John folded his arms over his bass. “It’s got to stop. We’re not getting anything done.”

“We need to start working on the next album, and with him in this state, he won’t write anything of use,” said Freddie in agreement. “His muse is sadness, not anger.”

“That makes one of us,” I grumbled. “Gimme his guitar and I’ll write you a song, right here and now.”

“I would, darling,” Freddie sighed, “except that you’d probably destroy it, and you know he never lets it out of his sight anyway.”

“Hmph.”

Deacy ran a hand through his hair. “We have to intervene.”

“Mm,” said Freddie. “There’s only room in this band for one hysterical queen.”

“Any ideas?” Deacy asked. “Freddie?”

“Not a thing, dearie. Got enough troubles of my own, right now.”

“Rog?”

I was about to shake my head, no, when I remembered a trick I’d pulled on two of my mates back in school, years ago.

I smiled. “Oh yes. I’ve got a plan.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: I definitely wrote Joan and Paulie to resemble John Lennon and Paul McCartney, oops :)

taglist: @melting-obelisks @hgmercury39 @stardust-killer-queen @topsecretdeacon

Masterpost / Part 6 / Part 8

#tina’s writing #starstruck #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may x y/n #brian may x you #queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #queen fanfiction #1975 #1970s #fic

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