#i need to grab his rabbit ears so bad maybe. if i was abnormal

[noecoded]

u always get everything that u want

[baeklination]

Dark Matter; alt.pt.1

Pic: still from gif by bondejongin, slight editing

So this is an alternative scenario to DMpt1. The reason being I fell down the rabbit hole and this train of thought latched on like a mf, and I wanted it in this story, so... The larger break is where the alt. start and stop. And let me make it abundantly clear: in no way do I condone abuse (phys. or psych.) out in the real world, ‘cus that shit’s fucked up, okay?

Warnings/Contains: (au) Angst (first class, grade A) , smut, a touch of daddy kink, dom.Baek, cruel Baek, general a**hole Baek

Pairing: Baekhyun x F.Reader

Word Count: 1500

Date:200328

pt.1    pt.2

                                           ¤¤¤

“He can’t be this angry with me, there has to be something else…work maybe?” you think when getting out of the elevator. Partly to calm the anxiety (fuck that, it’s fear ) you feel, partly because this doesn’t make any sense. What the hell kind of reaction was that back there on the phone?

…………………………………………………………………………….

“Why is there some guy sucking your face off all over the internet?”. Why did he click his tongue like that?

“Some guy? What, Tae-jun? You know him, what the hell are you talking about -  you know he’s gay. And he was biting my cheek,’cus…’cus we just do that stuff. Baek, why are you picking a fight? Stop it, it’s ridiculous.”

“I’m not picking anything. Come home.”

“I am, I’m not staying over at -”

“NOW.”

By the tone of his voice you knew there wasn’t any room for arguing. Anxious embarrassment; you’d now have to tell your friends you were going home “because your boyfriend is mad”. This wasn’t even how the two of you interacted with eachother - that dom/sub - shit is left in the bedroom, or at least at home. Then why were you leaving? Why did you have a knot the size of Texas in your stomach?

…………………………………………………………………………..

   When you open the door he’s already walking towards you, his white shirt half unbuttoned, as if he was stopped mid-way by that picture (that god damned picture..!). You don’t have to read his expression, it’s fucking screaming at you: He. Is. Pissed. What ever hope you had of him having calmed down is out the door, and enter does that queasy feeling of having to endure a fight. He grabs your upper arm, a bit too roughly, and walks into the bedroom.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Sit down.” 

Holding your jaw with his left hand he unzips his pants with his right and shoves his cock in your mouth, making you gag and recoil.

“Are you done?” 

“I’m sorry, I was just surp-”

He grabs the back of your head and guides you forward again. You take a deep breath and remind yourself (you know every smooth inch and vein of him, you’ve got this). With your middle finger and thumb you firmly grab just behind his balls, and when he lets out a moan you smile in you head. But his tempo today is alot; you’re not sucking his dick - he’s beast-fucking your mouth. So between trying to breathe, trying not to gag, blinking tears away, and feeling your nose starting to run, your normal focus isn’t there. 

“Get off me”, he hisses with discontent, pushing you back. He noticed. He looks down at you while you wipe saliva from your chin.

“Well, that was fucking pathetic. I guess you don’t feel like being a good girl today...” He yanks your trousers off, nearly dislocating your ankle “But don’t worry - I only need that hole”. When he steps out of his trousers he gets a look, a bad twinkle in his eyes, and bends down to pick up his belt. A small part of you gets excited, but the rest is scared. Fucking, sucking, being called names, thats’s one thing - but whipping when he’s, obviously, in the red zone is a whole  other game. One you’re not trying to play.

“Baek, you can’t...not when your this mad...”, you manage to stutter.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something? The part where we decided that you tell me”, he throws the belt into the wall with a thud and a clank “what to do!?”. The look on his face is enough to pin you down and shut you up. How can your mouth be so dry when you have to keep swallowing saliva? How can you prop yourself up on your elbows when your body isn’t a solid anymore? How can he climb on top of it?

   Barely supporting himself, esentially making him dead weight, he puts his mouth to your ear: 

“Running around with guys, don’t know how to give a blowjob, telling me what to do...”. He lifts his head, hovering just inches above your face: “Have you turned into a real princess, hm?” 

“Daddy”, you start, but he clamps his hand over your mouth: 

“You don’t have name privileges.”

  You can’t tell if he’s in mode. The way his cock is twitching against your belly suggests that he is; very much so. But his eyes, like beads of jet, speaks of an icy rage he - the real him - has let slip out. He bends down, his lips pressing hard against yours, the taste of him slightly intoxicating despite your nerves. His hand travels downward, brushing your pelvic bone and inner thigh before rounding up to your entrance. If you feel it so can he. Slightly pushing his finger in he looks at you: 

“You don’t get wet for me anymore..?”.

 Considering you’ve been shaking since you walked through the door it’s no  surprise and he damn well knows it, yet he takes it as the most grievous of insults. What ever abnormal wave he’s on right now, you’re just gonna let him ride it out, no objections raised. So you clock out.

  He leans back and spits on his hand to lube himself up, giving you a few moments to collect yourself and put on your best good girl-face: glassy eyes and an expression of awe and hunger at the sight of his cock. But he doesn’t look at you. He opens his mouth to let a ball of spit fall down on your pussy, making you shiver as it runs down and leaving a cold trail. He rubs it around a bit with his tip, and you can’t lie, it feels good. So does him slowly (thank god) pushing himself inside, a little at a time until he feels that you’re stretched enough for the switch up. Then he leans forward on the left hand, right hand pushing your pelvis down on him as he slams into you, no holds barred. He bites his lip and lets out a moan, but immediately looks at you with dark eyes, as if he’s been caught enjoying himself. He lets go of your hip and puts his hand over your face, fucking leaning on it while keeping the same relentless pace. You turn your head to catch your breath and alleviate the pressure (what the fuck is he doing!), and he lets you. You don’t know if it’s because he reads your face or because he wants a better grip, but he instead bends his arm under your neck, pushing your shoulders downward and again grabs your hip. After a series of groans into your neck his pace becomes more irratic (he’s coming...). 

“Ah, shit...fuck, baby..!” he lets out when he comes and pushes even deeper a final time, giving you a jolt. With his chest heaving on top of you he seems calmer, like the Baek you know, so you decide to test the waters: 

“Baby? I thought I didn’t have privileges” you jokingly say and run your fingers through his wet hair. He briskly pushes it away and slips out of you. Without so much as a look he gets up and walks out, leaving you to shiver from cold sweat and increasing fear.

When he comes back he gets into bed and turns off the lamp on the nightstand, again without neither word or look at you.

   How long should you sit like this, (is it a test?). After what seems like forever, but probably is closer to 20 minutes, you quietly edge yourself off the bed to do your own washing up. You’re hands and legs are trembling as you enter the bathroom, and your mirror image confirms what you already know: you look like a scared kid, a destroyed girl. You take a deep breath, but hearing how choppy it is only adds fuel to the fire. Pulling your towel from the hanger you sit down and bury your face in it, crying. Never has he - anyone actually - made you feel so weak, so unworthy. There’s a difference between punish and violate, and it’s not a thin line; it’s a signal horn, a warning sign - type-of-difference. How could he not’ve seen it? How come you didn’t, until just now?

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

  (Shh, don’t think about it, about anything. Just wash up and go lie down, tomorrow is a new day). Finished, you open the door and tiptoe out into the hallway where his figure almost scares the wits out of you. Baek’s leaning on the door frame, holding (smelling?) your pillow.

“I didn’t say you could move, you.” He drops the pillow by the door and raises his eyebrows, telling you what to do. (Why do you do it..!?!) He looks at you for a second and kneels down, brushes your hair out of your face:

“And if  you’re not still here in the morning…”. With a sadistic smile he gets up and closes the bedroom door.

[mintchocolateleaves]

On The Nature of Daylight (2/3)

Summary: Years ago, he should have asked for an answer, but he didn’t. And now they’re here – Shinichi crashing on Ran’s sofa, the night of their best friend’s wedding, and everything is horrible because he can’t stop thinking.

A/N: Wow! Look, I uploaded it when I said I would. I feel really powerful with the update schedule. I hope you all enjoy part two!

[Part One]

Shinichi can’t stop thinking about it.

He returns to work, tries to focus on the case but finds that his mind is blank. He can’t figure out a murder when he’s this focused on Ran – on how he’s ruined everything, how she’s probably never going to talk to him again, let alone consider being with him.

“Oh man,” Hattori says, when he notices Shinichi come back in, “you two so busy that ya forgot my coffee?”

“We didn’t get any coffee,” he says, and his voice sounds strange to his ears, almost hollow. Strange, considering how only seconds ago, when he’d been kissing Ran, he’d felt full.

He should have better control over his emotions. Now, he feels vulnerable, and Shinichi’s never quite understood how people like Hattori and Ran can allow themselves to be open to feeling… everything.

“Too busy for that, eh?” Hattori says, with a wink. Insinuating.

God, Shinichi hates that insinuation. He almost wishes that he could fall into a happy mood, that he could go along with it, as if that’ll make it real but… Shinichi can’t.

“Nothing happened, Hattori.” Shinichi says instead. He straightens his expression, into something stern, something less amicable, something that says he doesn’t want to talk, not if it’s about this, not if it’s about anything but their case.

Hattori sees the barrier go up and blinks. His own expression turns sour and he says, “Sure, whatever.”

“If you want coffee,” Shinichi continues, “then there’s the breakroom. Or you can go on your own break.”

“Right,” Hattori bites, and Shinichi should feel guilty for lashing out, but he doesn’t.

All he can focus on is the taste of Ran against his lips, how tiny her voice had been as she’d said everything is okay and he can’t…

Shinichi doesn’t really want to think of anything else.

-

Perhaps it’s a testament to how much of a good guy Hattori is, but he doesn’t hold it against him. Hattori goes for his break and when he comes back, he’s leaving coffee at Shinichi’s desk, and offers a sympathetic shrug.

Shinichi cannot do much else but mutter a thanks and feel like more of a dick.

They work in silence for a while after that, wracking up hours, only really saying anything when Shinichi voices a theory, or when Hattori asks for clarification on a bit of evidence.

It’s almost the end of the work day when Shinichi says, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Hattori lifts his eyes from his monitor, stares at Shinichi and offers a half-hearted shrug. He says, “I knew you were a dick the minute we became friends. It’s alright.”

Alright, so he kind of deserved that. Shinichi’s not about to get offended by it. Instead, he sighs and looks back down to his monitor. He says, “I can’t think straight, so I think I’m gonna head home for the day.”

“Shouldn’t have even been here in th’ first place,” Hattori says. Then, “Yeah, I think it’s ‘bout time to call it a day, too. Want me t’ drive ya back?”

Shinichi shakes his head. He doesn’t want to go home, not really, not when he’ll only be left alone with his thoughts. He says, “I… I know we’ve just got work again tomorrow but, you want to stop for drinks before we head back?”

The Osakan sizes him up, takes a moment to consider the question and then offers a small nod. He says, “Somewhere we can eat, I’m starvin’.”

Shinichi supposes that’s reasonable. He’s not exactly eaten much today, either. “Sounds good.”

-

Hattori drives them. There’s a place, he says, nearby the hotel he’s staying in, so he drives them there in his rental and they walk the rest of the way.

They’re on their second beer, Shinichi still picking at his food, even though Hattori’s practically devoured his own in a manner of minutes, when the Osakan finally says, “So what’s eatin’ at ya?”

Shinichi doesn’t know if he wants to go into it, but Hattori is his best friend, and he’s also the kind of person who’ll keep nosing around until he gets an answer.

“Nothing,” Shinichi starts to say, and then, stopping himself, tries again: “I dunno, I just – Fucked things up, I guess. With Ran.”

He pushes more food around with his chopsticks, picks up a clump of rice and chews. It feels like he’s forcing himself to swallow.

“How’d ya manage that?” Hattori says.

Shinichi squirms in his seat, takes a large gulp of beer. Then, he gulps down another mouthful, wary of Hattori’s gaze on him. He sighs, “I may have – Well I – I kissed her, I guess.”

“Ya guess?”

Shinichi shrugs, because well, Hattori knows what he means. He finishes his beer, signals for another and looks down at his bowl. He pushes it away, clearly done with it.

“Okay, so ya kissed nee-chan…” Hattori’s obviously trying to figure out why this is such a bad thing. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, it’s how every argument between him and Kazuha managed to resolve itself. He’s never been scared to say what he wants. “I don’t see how this is a bad thing?”

Shinichi mumbles into his empty glass.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he glances away, “doesn’t matter. Drop it Hattori.”

“No, really,” Hattori continues, “I don’t get it. You’ve been wanting to kiss her for years. Like – you’ve been in love with her for years, and now, ya finally kiss. And this is bad?”

The waitress replaces the empty glass with a filled one. Shinichi glares down at foam, at the beer beneath the frothy layer. He hates that he’s been wanting this for years, hates that he can’t move on, can’t think properly when Ran is around, and how now, he can’t think because she’s gone.

“Hattori–”

“Is it really all that bad?”

Shinichi’s voice wavers as he says, “It wasn’t exactly, erm, the right time. She wasn’t expecting it, I guess.”

Hattori watches him for a moment, weighs the words up and thinks it over. He’s quiet, abnormally so, as if trying to decipher the words and then, then, he finally seems to get it because his eyes cloud over ever so slightly and he says, “Oh.”

A half shrug is all Shinichi can offer him. He frowns into his beer and offers Hattori a short look that he hopes translates roughly into ‘what a fucking mess, right?’

“Do I uh,” – now, Hattori looks uncomfortable, uncertain – “on nee-chan’s behalf, do I need to punch you? Or something?”

Shinichi, who would rather not be punched, shakes his head ‘no’. Because while Hattori might be able to kick well, he can punch much better.

“I’m – no,” Shinichi shakes his head, “Ran reserves the right to that.”

He wishes Ran had hit him or gotten angry. Her voice, as tiny as it had been, sends chills down his spine, lingers with him more than any punch could.

“Maybe ya should talk it through with her,” Hattori says. The idea sounds reasonable, Shinichi knows it’s reasonable, but he doesn’t… No. He’s already broken down the wall, the hidden cell keeping all his wants for Ran hidden and now…

Now Shinichi wants.

He wants to be with Ran. He wants to please her, to take her out – he wants to be greedy and let his hands roam all over her. He wants every inch of her, wants to claim her as his, in a million different ways and…

He sighs.

“That,” Shinichi says, because he doesn’t exactly want to get into the myriad of reasons why he can’t be near Ran again, “is a smart idea.”

It’s just not one he’s going to take.

-

He doesn’t see Ran again, and it’s frustrating.

The week drags on, and Shinichi’s certain that she’s avoiding him just as much as he’s avoiding her. Which would be great, fine, except maybe Hattori’s sort of right. Maybe they should be talking about this.

Get the rejection, the dismissal over with and Shinichi can pretend that he’ll move on.

Shinichi throws himself into his work, not that it helps. He’s far too distracted, and everything seems to remind him of Ran. The station? Oh, he’s just imagining when she used to pick him up after cases. Murders? They used to frequent them together a lot.

Everything leads back to Ran, and it would be easier, if she was at the end of the rabbit trail.

The days go on, and Shinichi watches his phone to see if she’ll ever phone. She doesn’t, and soon the week is over with, and they have to start anew. There’s a tense radio silence with his best friend, and Shinichi has never felt more out of it.

It continues.

And just when it feels like it’s going to last forever, Sonoko returns from her honeymoon and their tension cracks again.

-

Shinichi doesn’t actually know that Sonoko’s back from her honeymoon until he’s answering his phone, half-asleep, from where he’s practically collapsed against his desk.

He jumps up, ignores Hattori’s small laugh – they’ve all been there, serial killer cases are rough – and grabs his phone.

He doesn’t even look at the caller id, simply presses answer and hopes that whatever phone call he’s receiving will be quick at least.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sonoko asks, after a fairly sleepy ‘hello?’. Shinichi is mid-stretch when she asks, and his shoulder clicks as he brings it down.

“Welcome back to Tokyo, Sonoko.” Shinichi says in response, because how else is he supposed to answer? “Did you enjoy your honeymoon?”

Sonoko harrumphs on the other side of the phone, lets out a small hiss and says, “It was magnificent actually. Both Makoto and I had a brilliant time in Hawaii, those restaurants you suggested, begrudgingly, I admit they were lovely. Past that, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ah, so eloquent.

“You know,” Shinichi says, “some people say that those who swear only have little vocabularies.”

“Shinichi,” Sonoko says, voice low, “if you keep pushing me, I will strangle you.”

He doesn’t doubt it. Not that he thinks Sonoko would actually succeed in strangling him, but well – the intent is there at least.

“Is this about Ran?” He sighs.

“Of course, it’s–” He can practically see the way she pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’ve done something, and I swear, I’ll strangle you if you don’t tell me what you’ve done to–”

“Jeez,” Shinichi huffs, “Sonoko, chill out.”

By the sound of her indignant spluttering, his words don’t exactly do much to help her calm down. If anything, they frustrate her more. Shinichi can practically hear the gritting of her teeth.

“Just tell me what you did,” Sonoko says.

He considers briefly telling Sonoko to butt out, but it’s Sonoko. Firstly, she’ll never back off when it’s including Ran, the two have always considered each other sisters. Secondly, Sonoko is too stubborn to just drop an issue when it’s right in front of her.

“Nothing,” Shinichi says. He stumbles over the word, and of course Sonoko picks up on it, she’s not stupid, she’s a business woman, trained to pick up on people’s reactions and work them to her own ideals.

“Shinichi, I swear–”

“Ugh, fine. We may have, uh,” – he avoids Hattori at the other desk – “kissed. It was stupid, I won’t do it again.”

Sonoko huffs on the other side. She’s not satisfied with his answer.

“We’re going to talk about this,” Sonoko says. “Six o’clock. I’ll send you the address in a minute. If you don’t show up, I’ll get Makoto to hunt you down.”

Shinichi groans, but minutes later, when he receives a text message with the address, he figures out the route there.

It seems there’s no reason for him to stay late at the station now.

-

Shinichi makes it to the restaurant with seconds to spare. He’s not late, but he’s not early like he’d wanted to be. Still, he wanders inside, feels underdressed in his work clothes and glances around for Sonoko.

He can’t see her – she must be sat upstairs instead.

“Can I help you?” A waiter asks, popping up from nowhere. Shinichi rattles off Sonoko’s name, states she’s the one who’s reserved their table and within a few seconds, the waiter nods, pointing to the next floor.

He leads Shinichi up the stairs and towards a table by the window outside. A table, where Sonoko is most certainly not sat.

Shinichi freezes.

Ran turns at the sound of footsteps heading towards the table, blinks as she notices Shinichi. Then, she flushes a bright red, something that Shinichi would take enjoyment in, if things weren’t so tense, if his cheeks weren’t the same colour.

“You’re not Sonoko,” Shinichi says.

“No.” Ran takes a moment to look down at her phone, as if wondering whether it will light up and explain the situation. “Oh, I can’t believe her.”

Shinichi squirms at the exasperation. Then, he says, “Well, I’m – yeah, just gonna–”

He wants to turn away, to run and leave but his feet are like concrete. Because, really, that’s not what he wants to do at all.

Shinichi wants to sit down and have dinner. He wants to listen to Ran tell him about her day, wants to hear her every interest, to listen to whatever secrets she wants to share.

He wants to take her hand across the table, wants to brush her hair out of her face, loop it behind her ear.

Shinichi realises he’s selfish, all he does is want.

“Oh jeez – don’t just stand there,” Ran sighs. The exasperation is back, “Sit down Shinichi, we need to – we obviously need to talk.”

Obviously.

Yes, this is a conversation Shinichi has been dreading.

“Right,” Shinichi says, stiffening up, and moving towards the chair opposite Ran as if he’s a marionette. He sits, pulls his chair in and waits. He opens his mouth to say something, but the waiter seems to appear before he can get into the crux of why they’re here.

“Can I get any drinks for you?” The waiter asks.

Ran seems to send him a look that says he should go first. So, Shinichi does the first thing he thinks of, looks up at the waiter, and says, “A glass of wine. Red.”

Ran lets out a visible sigh of relief. She says, “I’ll have the same.”

Fuck it, Shinichi thinks, why not make it a bottle?

He says as such to the waiter. Ran looks positively scandalised, as if Shinichi acting weird is so outside the norm. It’s almost as if she’s forgotten how his acting weird got them into this situation in the first place.

“A bottle of wine got us into this,” Shinichi mutters after a second, “might as well see if it can’t get us out of it.”

-

They order before the break into the conversation. It’s the only time Ran gives him to prepare, and it’s not nearly long enough.

“The other day,” she starts, “when you – when we…”

Kissed, Shinichi wants to say. When you made me feel complete.

“Yeah,” he says instead, like the amazing wordsmith he is.

“I don’t… you never implied… Shinichi, what was that meant to mean?” Ran says. “You don’t just kiss people in the street.”

Shinichi wants to argue that they were having a moment, or that it wasn’t people in the street, just Ran, only Ran, but it seems like a moot point. Like he’s just grappling for excuses.

“I know,” Shinichi says. He swirls the wine in his glass, stares at it, remembers the way it had stained Ran’s lips and closes his eyes. He’s not sure what his expression must be, but when he glances back to Ran, she’s frowning.

He supposes that maybe he looked pained. As if he was remembering something he didn’t want to.

“Do you,” Ran asks, “because I don’t. I don’t know Shinichi, and I just – if you do, then, God, can’t you explain this to me, because I’ve never been more confused.”

More wine. Shinichi says, “There’s only one explanation Ran, it’s not difficult to figure it out.”

Ran’s eyes widen. It’s as if he’s watching the neurons fire the realisation through her mind, synapses jittery as they scream, finally, that Shinichi is – and always has been – inexcusably in love with her.

“But you’ve never… You never indicated that you were interested, Shinichi.”

Or maybe not.

Shinichi squints, tries to release the tension in his shoulders. It’s impossible, the muscle is taut, aching. He says, “I literally… Ran, I confessed to you in London.”

Ran flushes red again. Then, she says, “You showed interest once, and that was… Shinichi, that was seven years ago.”

Admittedly, Shinichi shouldn’t be expecting the same confession from years before to apply now, but it does. His feelings haven’t changed, so the confession still stands.

“You never responded to it, so I left it.” Shinichi tears his gaze from her to his wine glass, swishes it around to watch something rather than her. “It doesn’t matter, I get it. I shouldn’t have–”

“It’s been years, how was I supposed to know the confession was still…” she lets out a strangled noise, as if she can’t find the words she’s after, “…in effect.”

“I dunno,” Shinichi mumbles, “but it is. Sorry if that’s awkward for you.”

Ran kicks him under the table. He barely feels it, and part of him registers that it’s not a violent one, but rather one that’s designed to capture his attention. It’s almost playful, but he doesn’t let himself admit to that.

“You’re such an idiot,” Ran sighs. “Why didn’t you just say? I would have said yes.”

Shinichi hardly registers the second half. It’s almost as if his brain can’t comprehend the idea of having his feelings returned and so he focuses on the first part of her words.

“Why didn’t I say?” Shinichi echoes. “Why couldn’t you have just responded? I confessed and you never answered me at all.”

Ran frowns. She says, “You’re blaming me?”

“Well, it’s not my fault.”

“Why are you being so defensive,” Ran hisses, “I just said I liked you, you fucking nerd.”

Shinichi pauses.

He takes a moment to consider her words and says, under his breath, “Oh.”

Then, he squirms in his seat again because fuck, now he has an answer, and it’s almost like he’s been given permission to want what he does.

Ran lets out a small laugh, as if she enjoys watching him realise. And then, she blushes, overwhelmed because Shinichi throws his best smile her way, overjoyed.

“So, I–” He pauses, tries to think about how to say it without sounding like a dorky teenager. He wants to sound like the adult he is. “So, I guess we… do we – Fuck, I don’t want to sound like a teenager.”

Ran rolls her eyes. Something about the way she shakes her head at him screams that he’s doomed to fall into the role anyway.

“A date,” Shinichi says finally, “let me take you on a date.”

Ran’s gaze flickers around the restaurant. She purses her lips and raises a hand, as if to say, ‘why else are we here?’

He scowls, “One that doesn’t exist because Sonoko likes to meddle. Let me take you on a… a date. An official one.”

Ran dips her head into a nod. She says, “alright.”

-

They keep drinking the wine.

This time, Shinichi doesn’t feel so guilty about letting his gaze linger on Ran’s lips when it stains her lips. He considers leaning forward, kissing her, running his tongue against her lips, tasting the mix of Ran and the wine, but they’re in public.

He shouldn’t.

But still, he wants to.

-

“I’ve got more wine,” Ran says at the end of their meal, once they’ve paid the bill. They’re heading toward the subway station, and Shinichi wants to lean over and grab her hand, but still, he’s hesitant. “If you want to…”

They head down the stairs towards their train, and the station seems… dead. It lacks any form of life but them, and the random stragglers at the other end of the platform.

Shinichi reaches forward, takes Ran’s hand and pulls her towards him. He stares down at the bridge of her nose, smiles and breathes, “yeah?”

“If you want to, uh–”

“I can go for more wine,” Shinichi says, since she’s bright red. He pauses, gaze flickering from her nose, to her lips, then back up to her eyes. “Can I...?”

Ran offers a small smile, and instead of saying anything, tiptoes up to face him, bringing a hand up and weaving it through his hair, pulling him down to her. Shinichi wraps an arm around her waist, pulls her closer and smiles against her lips.

The sound of the train behind in his ears sounds almost distant, far away. He supposes that maybe they should be turning, boarding the train before it leaves, but Shinichi is too wrapped up in Ran to even consider moving.

It’s alright, Shinichi thinks, they can always catch the next one.

------

(A side note: If you’re not the type for mature content. This is where the fic ends! If not: [Part Three])

[illyriantremors]

Beneath the Stars Chapter 6

Chapter: I II III IV V

AO3 Linkage

Summary: In an effort to get to know herself better, Feyre decides to take him up on his offer to join the Student Body Council where she helps Rhys's friends, including a particularly perky cousin, plan the upcoming Winter Formal dance.

Chapter 6

Amren was a vision in wicked delight when I pounced at her Monday afternoon. The prat had ignored my texts all weekend. She took one look at me, tucked her tongue between her lips right at the corner, and darted down behind her canvas.

Thankfully, there were no dragons nor mustaches littering the tableau on this occasion.

“Amren - what the hell!”

A gleeful, self-indulgent giggle unlike any sound I’d ever heard from Amren burst forth. I sat down like a lead weight. “Seriously - you gave him my phone number?”

Another giggle.

“And my address?”

Now she cackled.

“Amren, if you would please,” Mrs. Weaver said from her desk.

Amren settled back in, but didn’t reel the amusement in one bit. “Oh lighten up Feyre. He doesn’t bite and you could use a little shaking up in your life.”

“If this is about Tamlin-”

“Pft!” she scoffed. “Of course it’s about Tamlin. You don’t have to date Rhysand, but I’m tired of watching you moon over that boy when better options are out there. Trust me - I know.”

My eyes widened.

“No way! Did you two-”

She shook her head, but mixed some dark greens on her palette - if the earth could storm and brew as the oceans and skies. “No, but he certainly tried.”

A gasp escaped me. The thought of Rhysand entreating Amren - Amren who’s only romantic pursuit that I was aware of in recent history was a foreign exchange student from Germany who popped up two years ago with a devil’s tongue and jewelry to match that Amren simply couldn’t resist - was simply comical.

“I hope you gave him hell, Am,” I said blatantly beaming at her.

She looked up at me, the cat coming out to catch a mouse caught in the trap chasing cheese. “Rhysand may not bite, but I certainly do.”

“Girls, much as I do enjoy the stimulation one finds in another artist’s eye,” Mrs. Weaver said coming over to peek at us, “I suspect this conversation is not particularly relevant to your AP examinations?”

With a mumbled apology, I stared at my canvas.

Blank, blank, blank.

“Feyre?” Mrs. Weaver looked from my empty tableau to me and back. I sighed, sinking into my chair.

“A self-portrait? Really?”

Her look was kind - understanding. “It does not have to be quite so literal, my dear. I highly doubt the examiners expect ten unique representations of your face. Art is universal across the board and no one would ask for anything quite so literal nor predictable. You have to surprise them.”

“How?”

“Try surprising yourself first and see what happens.”

Whatever that meant.

“Really, Feyre. Just put something down for now so I can see you’ve tried.”

She moved on to another student and I continued to stare blankly at my canvas while Amren popped her headphones in and mixed the swirls of green onto her own piece. There was still something of a dragon hidden in the abstract of what she painted.

Surprise myself.

How exactly did someone surprise themselves when they’d known everything there was to know about who they were their entire life?

Then again, did I know myself? I thought I did. My life had never felt quite so unbalanced - mutable since mom left. There was a piece of me missing without her - and Elain, and Nesta, and maybe even dad too when he drank.

I was so proud when we finished unpacking in the new house and he hadn’t even opened the box with his liquor inside. That was the only time my dad disappeared and the hole inside my heart widened, was when he allowed the bottle to swallow him whole into his miserable depression without mom and I had to hope the lid hadn’t been magically re-sealed atop trapping him inside forever.

But I was still… Feyre, right? I was - damn, who the hell was I?

I painted and I went to school. I supposed that made me a painter and a student, but how obvious was that? Surprise them, surprise them, surprise them - surprise myself. How the hell was I supposed to -

“Amren? Amren!” I tugged on her shirt - plain black and capped at the shoulder - and whisper shouted Pst! At her until she took an earbud out. I could hear classical music playing through it - a soundtrack to murder by.

“What?”

I gulped, but forced the words out of my mouth. “There’s a - a student body council meeting today… isn’t there?”

The corners of Amren’s lips curled up like a fox’s ears spotting a rabbit across a snow-strewn meadow. “Why yes, Feyre. There certainly is. Why do you ask? You don’t fancy yourself coming,” and she set down her brush with obvious finality, my answer decided for me, “do you?”

I tried not to let the steam leaking out my ears become visible when I quietly asked to accompany her to the meeting.

I stood outside the administration building after school and texted Tamlin, apologizing for not being able to meet up with him like normal. I felt bad about our disagreement over the move and he was absent at lunch - abnormal for him. Food was not something he found easy to resist.

When I sent a follow up text five minutes after asking if I could make it up to him later that night, he replied back not a minute later: Absolutely. My place.

An arm rested over my shoulder - softly to give me space, close enough to feel a little warmth.

“You know you have to actually go inside to get credit for attending,” Rhysand said. “Unless you were planning on sending the family house ghost in your stead.”

“Why must you always insist on being so dramatic? Get off.” I jerked until his arm fell away. “You’ll ruin my hair. That ghost spent a good deal of time fussing with it this morning before I left.”

Rhys snorted and opened the door for me with a wide sweeping gesture. “After you, Feyre darling.”

I inhaled deeply, but walked forward. What the hell was I getting myself into?

A loud bark of laughter met me as Rhys led me into the administration conference room where the Student Body Council met every Monday for after school meetings. Cassian sat kicked back in one of the chairs with his legs propped up on the table while Azriel quietly recounted some odd joke or other that prompted the booming sounds coming from Cassian.

Their conversation didn’t stop as I stepped through the door, but Cassian took one look at me, then Rhys, then back to me and I swore his eyes sparked with a glint of fiery knowing. Azriel simply nodded at me before concluding his story.

“Feyre,” Cassian said. He slapped his hands together to rid them of the crumbs from the bag of Famous Amos cookies he’d been eating. “How’s your sister?”

“Ask her yourself,” I scoffed. “Didn’t you get a date? Or did she wise up and ditch your sorry ass after all.”

“You mean you don’t know?” His eyebrows rose, considering my ignorance. “Interesting.”

“Where’s Morrigan?” Rhys cut in, for which I was grateful.

“Getting out of Cheer,” Azriel said, staring down at the open binder in front of him and - I suspected - merely pretending to flit through it. “She’s meeting Amren on the way.”

So that’s where my friend had disappeared to after AP Studio Art. Part of me wondered if she’d done it intentionally for my embarrassment.

“Who’s Morrigan?” I asked, looking to Rhys.

“She’s-”

“Here,” Azriel said, cutting him off. Azriel must have been psychic because it was a good ten seconds before the blondest head I’d ever seen waltzed into the room like sunshine through a field - and came straight at me.

“You must be Feyre!”

“Morrigan,” Rhys hissed.

Morrigan swallowed me whole and over her shoulder I spotted Amren enjoying the sight of me cornered. There was no escaping now.

When she pulled back from the hug, Morrigan was all red lips and teeth grinning like a wildcat at me. Hell - she looked like a wildcat in that cheerleading uniform hugging her every delicious curve.

“I’m so excited to finally meet you. You have no idea!” Morrigan stamped her foot as she prattled on a million miles a minute, beaming the whole way through. I felt like I’d drank liquid gold. “You’re just - ugh, look at you! You’re everything I thought you’d be. My dear cousin has told me all about you.”

“He has?” I asked, not really sure what that would mean. We both looked at Rhys.

“You’re… perky today, Mor.”

She snorted. “When am I not?”

“You two are cousins?”

“Woefully, yes. But it has its perks - like planning this damned dance. Can we start yet?”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the principal and-”

“Nah!” Morrigan chirped. She walked past Cassian and slung her backpack over his feet still draped on the table. “Can we not?” Then she grabbed a seat and plopped down right between the two boys, Azriel sweating through his shirt while he tried to keep his eyes high at the worst of times and on his binder at the best. He frowned when he caught me looking and turned away from all of us.

“Ooh, Famous Amos,” Mor said snagging Cass’s cookies. “My favorite.” Cass didn’t protest the steal, much to my surprise.

I sat down on the opposite side of the table, Rhys sliding behind me to sit on my right while Amren took the seat on my left.

“We need a theme,” Rhys started, but Mor grunted indignantly.

“Aren’t you going to introduce her?”

Rhys’s eyes looked up and almost - just almost - rolled to the side. My jaw slackened slightly. This was possibly the one person in all of Prythian High who got under his skin, maybe ever.

“She already knows everyone,” Rhys replied dutifully, “including you, as you clearly just indicated.”

“Still.”

“Alright, fine.” He gave her a begrudging look, which she returned with enthusiasm, and said, “Everyone, this is Feyre. Feyre darling, this is everyone. She’ll be our Arts and Drama Chair.”

“Minus the darling,” I clarified, “because as I told you the first thousand times you said it, that’s not my name.”

“No it’s not,” he agreed. “Feyre is. The darling is just a perk.” He winked.

“Prick. Pri-ick.”

He smirked viciously and swiveled back around. “We need a theme-”

“Masquerade!” Mor interjected. “It’s perfect. We can do a black and white scheme - that’ll really make the dresses stand out like little pops of color in the crowd - and have low-lit lantern lights strung up everywhere. Very Phantom of the Opera.”

“I don’t know how I ever forget you two are related,” Cassian said, propping a single foot back on the table that Morrigan regarded very carefully. “Neither of you never shut your faces for a single damned moment.”

“Cassian,” Azriel said, obviously tense. The glare Mor had been about to unleash upon the Russian general’s son died when she looked at Az and put her hand on his.

“Don’t fuss, Az. We won’t fight,” she said the softest I’d heard her yet. She removed her touch and Azriel immediately placed both his scar-encrusted hands under the table.

“Much as I agree the masquerade concept is an enchanting one,” Rhys resumed, “the senior class did it our freshmen year. We’ll need something fresher.”

“Blood is fresh.”

We turned collectively to Amren who sat picking at one of her perfectly manicured nails.

Silence.

“You’re fucking creepy, Amren. I hope you know that.”

“Thank you, Cassian. I’m well aware.”

“Just trying to be helpful.”

Rhys rifled in his backpack for a moment and took out a scrap of paper he’d printed off. “This is the suggested list the principal gave us of approved and within budget themes. Much as I love lantern lighting, we don’t have hundreds of bucks to blow at Hobby Lobby.”

The sheet passed to Azriel who immediately passed it to Mor who naturally took the longest time with it. Cassian gave it no more than a glance before brushing it over to Amren who studied it carefully for no longer than was necessary to have it memorized and passed it on to me.

It was a fairly typical list of party themes ranging from casino night to circus carnivals and everything in between. But there wasn’t really anything… exciting. Nothing that suggested magic or whimsy or surprise. Nothing that made you want to feel the romance.

“Well?” Rhysand asked. When no one answered, I looked up from the paper and found them all staring at me expectantly.

“Well what?” I asked.

“You’re the Arts and Drama Chair,” Cassian said. “Figure it out.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down there, Sassy Cassy. You can’t expect me to pick the theme? I thought I was just here to play with poster boards and paint so things at least looked pretty when you made a mess.”

“Part of art is having a vision,” Rhys said. He took the list from me, crumpled it up, and tossed it behind him without another look. “Right now we currently have no vision. But we could use it sorely. This is one of the last big moments of our adolescent careers. We should make it memorable.”

His gaze was thoughtful, pressing even, as his violet eyes reigned down so intently on me. He actually trusted me to do this. A dance was trivial in the long run, but we all knew it meant a lot more than the one-off jokes between us would suggest. A kernel of pride blossomed in my chest at what he was asking of me.

I had to shut my eyes and lean back in my seat with my lips pursed to pretend I was merely considering ideas rather than just trying to escape his gaze.

Dance themes, dance themes…

Well, for starters, it was a winter dance. So anything summery and more upbeat was out. Winter was a cold season, but not without a little refinery. This dance needed to feel sophisticated and just a touch whimsical.

“What do you think of when you think of winter?” I asked. “What words come to mind.”

I kept my eyes closed as the room obliged me with answers, everything from Christmas and spiced apple cider (Morrigan) to ice and snow (Azriel) and weather cold enough to freeze your balls off (Cassian). And in the middle of it, I heard a velvet voice beside me whisper of the cold, cold dead of night, when the skies close and snow glides down.

A snowfall. Though that was a horrible name for it.

Almost as horrible as the way Rhys described it like there was a hidden pain somewhere there.

I remembered once when I was little my parents drove my sisters and I up to Big Bear for the weekend, one of the few places in the southern half of the state that got snow. It was my birthday and I’d told them I wanted to see what it looked like not to be able to see the grass anymore. I couldn’t have been more than five, but I never forgot the moment my dad woke me up at two in the morning in that little cabin in the mountains and told me it was snowing outside.

Mom tried to wake Nesta and Elain, but they couldn’t be bothered to move from their beds, too warm and cozy to see something that would still be there in the morning waiting for them.

But I got up. I went and I sat on the porch with my parents drinking hot cocoa while the snow fell and when it was over some time later, the clouds parted back and you could see the stars. They glistened and burned so bright even under a California sky and it was the most peaceful I’d ever felt. I wanted to reach up and touch each one.

“Starfall,” I said suddenly and my eyes popped open. And for some reason, I only looked at Rhys.

“It’s perfect.” I didn’t even have to explain.

Mor was teetering on the edge of her seat. She stole a sheet of notebook paper right out of Azriel’s hand and started scribbling furiously. “We can hang Christmas lights and get those little paper lamps that people hang candles in - and gold! Everything in gold and maybe little accents of silver here and there…” and on and on she went.

I didn’t say much for the rest of the meeting - if you could call it that. It felt more like a family dinner of sorts with occasional bickering before overwhelming laughter and wisecrack jokes. And at the center of it all were Rhys and Mor, the ring leaders casting fire and light down upon us all.

It was nice.

“When are we going dress shopping?!” Mor asked as we walked out an hour later, the initial details for planning the dance set.

“Dress shopping?” I shot her a look. “I’m not going to the dance.”

Mor’s face shattered. Five steps ahead of me, Rhys’s head jerked.

“What do you mean you aren’t going, Feyre Archeron?”

“When did you learn my last name?”

“Feyre,” Mor said, her head tilting to one side as she frowned. “I sit three rows behind you in Calculus.”

“You do?”

Mor tipped her head back and roared with laughter. “You’re a little clueless, hun, but that’s okay.” She laced her arm in mine and if it weren’t for my sluggish pace, I had a feeling we’d be skipping ahead full speed. “And I’m going to get you dress shopping whether you like it or not. I need an opinion from someone who doesn’t wear black for a living.”

“I wear color plenty,” Amren said behind us sharply and I almost jumped. I hadn’t realized she had followed so close.

“Grey does not count!” We stepped outside into the warm sunshine and Mor paused to close her eyes, basking in the heat. “It’s so nice and warm. Don’t you just love how the sun dances on your skin when it’s hot like this?”

It had to be nearly a hundred degrees out, but she opened her eyes and gave me the brightest smile, pure happiness radiating out of her at 110%. A few feet away, the boys stood talking, but neither Rhys nor Cassian noticed the shy face staring blatantly at the long golden locks in front of them.

I could see why he was so smitten. Morrigan was a force of nature designed to orchestrate us all into living.

When everyone got out their car keys, it felt like an illusion had cracked inside me. I’d forgotten about life for a little while inside that room with all of them and I liked it - a lot. Slowly, I fished my own set of keys out and made my excuses for not joining them all when we got to the student lot.

I was excited, for once, to tell Tamlin everything. There was suddenly this very warm spot in my life where maybe I could carve out a little niche for myself - one that wasn’t isolating like my art.

“Well?” Tamlin asked when he opened the door to his home for me, this sad little sort of smile playing out on his lips. The bright, happy words I’d been bursting at the seams to keep secret in the car - to save and hoard for him lest even the air snatch their excitement - cut off in my heart at the sight of him.

Truthfully, he looked awful and I felt even worse than he looked for ditching him.

“Well nothing,” I said and grabbed him, leading him upstairs to the room I knew all too well. I realized about halfway up that I hadn’t actually told him yet where I had disappeared to this afternoon or who I was with. My stomach knotted guiltily.

And for the first time maybe ever, we had sex and none of the sick, self-loathing feelings went away - not even a little bit.

We had sex - and I felt nothing but a guilt I did not understand.

xx