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chanluster · 4 years ago

Text

10/10 | {m} ; {c} ; {f}

oneshot | friends with benefits! au | 18.7k words

“Because what you feel for your best friend cannot be described in words, but in numbers.”

s u m m a r y > > you and bang chan had no secrets between one other. each detail of your life would be discussed with your best friend of forever, no matter how insignificant it may be, through a little system you both had concocted — through a small rating. a number out of ten. a simple concept, used from being a child and rating your cookie a solid eight out of ten to your later years in high school, giving your first kiss a measly five. however, when you confess an average rating of your sex life in one hazy evening, chan decides this dilemma cannot be solved with buying you consolation cookies. he must simply raise that rating, all by himself.

w a r n i n g s > > friends to lovers! au, college! au, music! major chan, music! major reader, you both are literally soulmates, came out the womb holding hands, so much teasing, sexual! tension! chan has a massive fucking cock (i mean isn’t it obvious already), shit loads of making out, aggression, fingering, oral (f. and m. receiving), unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!!), kinda hate sex, orgasming left and right, ex! hyunjin, who’s also really bad at sex lmfaoaoao sorry king, chan is hella soft dom at the start but goes !!! hella hard later!!!! (i mean idk but) shit ton of fluff, friend! jisung which chan gets soooo jealous of, reader is so fucking annoyin, teensy weensy bit of angst, and yeh basically me venting out my love for chan once again

p l a y l i s t > > here!

a u t h o r ’ s n o t e > > this is dedicated to my dear friend chloe, boo i love u so much and thank you for that insane prompt :( also help this feels so rushed to me at the end but i hope y’all do enjoy <3

t a g l i s t > > @hanflix @thatonepieceofpineapple @kimkailover @decembermoonskz @smilesohwas @missskzbiased @illicit-roses @embroideredstarz @freckledquokka @moonluvbunny @aliceu @coupscarat @maedesculpaeusoubi @baby-wolf @multi-fandom-kpop-stan @minaamhh @leescrt

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“I’M SORRY, BUT I DON’T THINK I CAN DO THIS ANYMORE.”

Hyunjin’s face faltered completely at your words. It was expected, really. The poor boy was not anticipating this news.

“Wh-what?” he asked, a little too loudly, catching the stares of a few others in the coffee shop. You immediately glared at him, and he retracted back into his seat, but still had a befuddled expression on his face.

You sighed a little. “Look,” you started, swirling your latte with a thin, wooden stirrer. “I’m going to be completely honest with you. I just think we’re much better off as friends.”

“Friends?” the boy flinched at the term, and even you had to hide your self-distaste. God, ____, at least try to be a little nicer! “Damn it, we’ve been dating for nearly three months, and you think we’d automatically become friends?!” he leaned in, knitting his eyebrows in growing desperation. “What the hell happened?”

You fought hard to not scratch the back of your neck. And possibly run away from the shop. Taking a long sip, you tried to feign the most sympathetic expression you could muster. “Hyunjin, please…”

“B-but, babe—” he started, and his eyes widened, trying to grab onto your hands which cupped the latte. “I don’t understand, we were so happy!” He huffed a smile, trying to convince you of your oh-so heavenly times spent with him. “Why are you thinking like this?”

You tried not to retract your hand from his — not only because it was hard to console him, but because they were embarrassingly sweaty. “Don’t think I have just done this on a whim. I have thought long about this decision.”

Finally, something out of your mouth which wasn’t a blatant lie. You had been thinking of breaking up with this goon — had the notion in your mind for half the time you dated him.

“____,” he said, and the melancholy you heard in his voice had you silencing your tongue. “What’s happened?” He began to caress your hand with his fingers. “Have I...have I done something wrong?”

Oh no. There it was. The reaction you dreaded.

Well, kind of. But still. Not the reaction you imagined in the perfect situation.

Reluctantly, you put a hand over his fingers, hoping that your face was a painting of sympathy.

“Hyunjin.”

Don’t say it, girl! Don’t you dare!

“It’s...it’s not you.”

You put your hand on your heart.

“It’s me.”

Oh, Jesus.

Your eyes raised to his own, wide and glistening.

Now, you knew Hwang Hyunjin was not the brightest kid on campus. The boy, who once asked you what the purpose of a spork was, may not have possessed the most intelligence, but you were scared that he may be smart enough to figure out that what you just said was complete, utter bullshit.

Face it, ____. You’re done for.

A few tears spilled from his eyes, and a pang of guilt shot through you. “I-I see.”

He did not let go of your hands. “We can still be...friends, right?” he sniffled, blinking at you rather irritatingly. “Like, we can still hang out together?”

You raised a brow, but reigned in a sarcastic reply. The boy would probably not even understand. “Of course,” you replied, a saccharine smile on your face. “But I think it’s best if we had some space from each other, okay?”

That was not the answer he seemed to be looking for, but he nodded, a little sadly. “Okay.” He still refused to take his hand away. “Does that mean I can’t rock up at yours midnight anymore if the junior needs a little taking care of?”

Your brows could not help furrow in absolute exasperation. “Yes, Hyunjin,” you monotoned, unable to believe that you put up with this man for three months. “Now can you let go of my hand?”

Realising his clammy hold on you, he flushed, looking away from your directory gaze. “I...should go, then.”

“No, no,” you insisted, getting up from your seat as you grabbed onto your drink. “I shall leave. I’m the one who dumped this news on you.”

You debated leaving without paying for the latte — you knew the boy was still infatuated enough to cover your expenses. Sadly, shame coursed through your veins, and you cursed yourself for feeling a little sympathy for your now ex. “Here,” you offered, fishing out a little cash from your jacket. “For the drink.”

When you nearly stepped past him, you stopped, looking down at him as he tilted his head upwards. Your hand itched to put upon his shoulder, but you knew better. Hyunjin would only take that as a hopeful sign.

“I’m sorry,” was the last thing you said before you left the coffee shop.

Upon falling into a leisurely step onto the street, you let out a harsh breath, an endless amount of relief washing over you.

You were almost delighted to let Hwang Hyunjin go.

Now, it was not like he was a monster who had caged you into his two-feet-squared, dingy flat. In fact, the boy was, in almost every way, a decent boyfriend, whose stupid personality earned him a few laughs.

Although extremely corny, the problem was not truly all him.

It was partly you as well.

Hearing your phone vibrate, you brought it out from your jeans pocket, already having an inkling on who the sender was, spamming you with messages.

CHRIS THE PISS :

bitch have you done it?

CHRIS THE PISS :

helloooooo??

CHRIS THE PISS :

hoe answer the phone i’m dying!!

CHRIS THE PISS :

or prolly hyunjin at this moment lmaooo

You could not help the eyeroll which escaped from his words, and you decided to ignore him until you arrived at your destination.

Which, evident from the persistent vibrations still, you figured you could not do.

CHRIS THE PISS :

i KNOW ur reading my messages DAMN just tell me!!

CHRIS THE PISS :

unless this is hyunjin and u killed her FUCK

CHRIS THE PISS :

haha dude whats poppin!! best man for ____ by far don't know why she was breaking up w u

YOU :

chan i will kill u :)

CHRIS THE PISS :

hyunjin i promise i didn't mean it when i said u looked like a cheese string w ur new hair

CHRIS THE PISS :

that was ur girl putting words in my mouth

YOU:

omfg chan STFUUU i’m coming

CHRIS THE PISS :

PLS HYUNJIN I SWEAR UR SEXC

Letting the man panic, you turned a left into student residence, buildings lined down the street, providing accommodation for hundreds of people like you in need of a place to sleep, eat, party, and contemplate the inevitability of death under.

Smiling at a few acquaintances, you entered the designated building, finding yourself with dozens of doors of the same, dead colour. Walking along the hallway, you stopped right at the very last one, bringing out your keys.

With a single twist you unlocked the door, but before you wrapped your hand around the knob the door swung open, catching you completely off guard.

“Funny, Hyunjin, how did you manage to transform into a little bitch so quickly?”

You cursed at the man who welcomed you.

“Damn it, Chan,” you said, hand on your chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sad it didn’t kill you off, then.”

You heard him splutter into laughter at your sad attempts to pinch his shoulder, glaring daggers into his crescent eyes. The bumbling idiot was Bang Chan, the one man you managed to keep for your entire life. That too is purely because none of you could manage a stable, healthy relationship — which was a shame, of course, when your best friend, with his fluffy, raven curls, black-oversized hoodie and sweatpants, was admired by so many. You often wondered how you had not fallen at his feet when he smiled at you, but then he’d open his mouth and all would be understood, as your anger would flare up, and rush to hit him as hard as possible.

He gave you such a smile then, fingers gripping the doorframe. “How is Rapunzel, then? Sent him back to the tower?”

Wrenching his hand off the frame, which nearly had him falling onto the floor, you side-stepped past his stumbling figure, peeling off your jacket. “Rapunzel is never stepping in our lands again.”

After regaining his step, he muttered a cursed endearment your way and sat himself down on the couch, instantly settling his laptop upon his legs. “Oh, God. How badly did you break his heart, ____?”

Smiling, you dumped the jacket on the side table as you entered the living room, settling on the other end of his sofa. Propping your legs upon his, you pondered over the answer, and said, “At least a good seven.”

Chan let out a little whistle. “Oh, he’s definitely causing a shitshow on the groupchat tonight.” A huffed laugh was his answer. “Want Chinese or Indian tonight?”

“Surprise me,” you said as he brought out his phone. He dialled a number, and then you added, “Actually, can we please get Chinese?”

“No, we’re getting Indian.”

You raised a brow. “Didn’t you cry the last time you had their special curry?”

The man stared at you for a minute before sighing, putting the phone to his ear. “I’d like your least spiciest dish please.”

He groaned as you pushed his legs off the couch, laughing at his pathetic tolerance towards spice. As he carried on with his order, you grabbed the TV remote, surfing through the channels.

Even after all these years, you still found it endearing how Chan understood the depth of the numbers you tell him. The system between you two had been created during kindergarten, when, on the last day, you both had received such delicious cookies that words could not express the joy you felt when having the first bite. It was a mere joke at first, rating random classmates despicably low in middle school to even more serious situations, when you moaned to your best friend of your mundane kiss, expecting fireworks and butterflies yet were only met with an over-enthusiastic tongue.

Chan himself used this system — it was the reason you knew of his distaste towards spicy food, and certain girls he had dated in the past. Even now, when the two of you had started college together, working on the same projects and going to the same parties, this concoction had not been shelved in your memories. Although this may be something which others might deem insignificant, the concept had become a pillar of your friendship with this absolute loser.

The food arrived within the hour, and you both continued your box set as the plastic containers were cracked open, the pungent smell of curries and biryanis filling the room. Chan provided the plates and cutlery while you poured him the sufficient amount, and you rebuked his whining as you added the spicier dishes onto his plate.

“I refuse to let you eat only korma, Crispy,” you scolded. “Prick, careful! Don’t spill it on your laptop!”

“Bitch!” he yelped as a bit of the residue nearly stained his sweats, but was saved by his hands. “Just ruin everything I wear, why don’t you? Now I got curry on my fingers!”

You propped your legs over his again, eyes upon the screen once more, and the action occurring. “Just lick it off?”

“How about you do it for me?” the boy then simpered out, and you nearly tossed your entire dish on his head.

“Let’s just focus on Tommy and his cocaine problem,” you dismissed him, but returned his impish smile as you elbowed him, nearly causing his food to stain his hoodie.

The two of you seemed to settle down after a bit and watched the show, commenting on the terrible choices the characters were making, and then boasted of how you and him could easily be the better leader from the protagonist. Soon, you had finished your takeout, and after Chan followed, he got up, hurrying into the kitchen situated behind the doorway in the lounge. He then came back, you delighted to find his hands occupied with two tubs of Ben & Jerrys’.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” you sang, snatching one of the tubs from him and pulling open the cover, digging straight in. “I didn’t know you brought ice cream!”

“Thought it’d help with the breakup,” he confessed, settling back into the sofa, shuffling closer to you. “But it doesn’t look like you need it.”

“Oh, I can’t believe Hyunjin broke my heart like this!”

Chan shook his head at your melodrama. “You may fool the looney princess, but you’re not fooling me.”

“You know me too well,” you said, which he agreed to with an absent-minded hum, eating his dessert.

There was a short pause, a comfortable silence reigning upon you both for a little before your best friend broke it, gulping down his ice cream.

“____?”

“No, you’re not having any of mine.”

Chan prodded you lightly with his foot. “No, I don’t mean that. I was just wondering something.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re not...upset, right?” He took a bite of his ice cream. “Like, I know you always complained about him, but breakups can be difficult.”

You looked at him, and saw genuine concern painted on his face — along with a little vanilla stain on the corner of his lips. “You don’t have to pretend to be happy if you’re not, okay?” he continued. “Especially with me.”

Your heart melted slightly. “Of course, Chan, don’t worry. I wouldn’t ever lie to you.”

Turning to the TV screen, you sighed as you thought of your recent relationship. “There were good moments for sure. He was still a sweet guy, you know?” You then stabbed the creamy plains inside the tub. “It was just so...dull.”

The man beside you took in another bite, if a bit slow. “What do you mean?”

Following him, you relished the chocolate goodness, swallowing. “Dates were kind of boring. I carried most of the conversations because he’s too thick to talk about anything.”

Chan let out a soft snort. “I remember you telling me about it. I can certainly believe it.”

“Well, you won’t believe what I’m about to tell you next.” You focused on your ice cream, a sarcastic smile plastered upon your face. “Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin was terrible at sex.”

You did not need to see your best friend to sense his shock. “What?”

A small chuckle escaped you. “First time he fucked me, I think I cried. Not because it was so good, no, but because it was so bad.”

“No way,” Chan said, brows furrowed. “Didn’t you say he had a big dick or something?”

“That’s the downside, bud,” you countered, halfway through your tub. “Because he had a massive cock he thought that was enough for me to enjoy. But it’s not. He just did not know what to do with it!”

The man had been silenced. He took another bite of his ice cream, in disbelief. “So you were...deprived of pleasure?”

“Deprived?” You scoffed. “Chan, I thirsted for a crumb of pleasure. God, can you believe I’ve faked nearly all my orgasms with him?”

This time, your friend glanced at you in horror. Carrying on, you said, “The only real orgasm I had was not even because of him. God, I was thinking about Lee Donghyuck singing between my legs.”

A soft growl entered your ears. “Oh Christ.”

“Bastard was so proud when I came all over him,” you crowed, trying to sweeten your bitterness with the dessert. “If only I told him I undid myself for an idol I’m never going to meet.”

Your friend did not say anything. The episode finished, and when you noticed his further silence, you used it to your advantage, starting a romantic comedy before he could even complain.

Even with the movie on for about twenty minutes, and the romance you thoroughly enjoyed, the man stayed quiet, idly stirring his melted ice cream in the tub. You ignored his rather odd behaviour, assuming he was either thinking of his assignment or had gotten a brain freeze. Either way, it let you watch your movie in peace, swooning outwardly at the man’s teasing to the girl.

One hour in, and you asked if Chan was okay. “Yeah...yeah, I’m good,” was his answer, sending you a second-long smile before going back to his brain freeze. You raised a confused brow, but went back to the chick flick, gasping when the boy went back for his love.

This was it. The fireworks, the passion which exuded from the mere actions of lips enveloping lips, hands holding onto waists or necks or locks and refusing to let go. You craved for your heart to drop down in lust as you let yourself fall, be wrapped up in another as you undid yourself. Where was this? Where was this for you?

Did you not deserve your desires to be fulfilled? Did you not deserve to have your entire world turned upside down in pure exhilaration?

Before you knew it, the credits rolled, and you let out a long, laboured sigh, leaning into the cushions. “Maybe it’s time I find myself a millionaire who’d pay me to have sex with me.”

The man was still looking at the now black screen. “Do you mean a prostitute?”

“Well, yes, but—” you groaned. “You know what? Maybe I’m meant to stay forever displeased.”

It was after a long time your best friend spoke. “Or…” he cleared his throat. “You find yourself someone who would pleasure you.”

You turned to him. “Wowie, thank you for a perfect solution! I really wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.”

Then, you saw his eyes darken. “____.” He propped the tub upon the coffee table. “Why search for other alternatives when you have options right here?”

Confusion marred your mind, not just from his words, but his entire change of character. “Chan, what are you on about?”

“____,” he said, and his hand inched closer to yours. “ I’m saying you should have a friends with benefits.”

The silence was suddenly heard. You did not realise the sheer weight of this man’s gaze till his very stare gravitated you to him. The lights were dimmed, and all you could see from the laptop’s light was his face — his beautiful face.

What was all this? Why was your best friend looking at you like that? Why were you being affected by his gaze?

“I…” You could barely get the words out. “I never thought about that before.”

Chan had no such problem. “Well, maybe you should. There are many who would gladly be that person for you.”

You gave him a look. “And who would they be?”

A slight cock of his head. “____, who is your best friend, in the same class as you, share the same interests and would help you out in any way whatsoever?”

The question rather befuddled you. Why couldn’t the man just say the answer already? You thought of the few viable options, tossing, turning the names.

Then it occurred to you. Your friend’s face sparked a little in what could only have been hope.

“I know!” you exclaimed, holding onto his arm. “I should ask Jisung!”

The little sliver of hope in his eyes morphed into annoyance. “What the fuck?”

Raising your brow, you asked, “Is that not the right answer?” You listed out the evidence. “He’s basically my best friend, is in music with us, we like similar things and would be willing to help me in any situation. I think.”

When you were done, you found yourself more confused when Chan closed his eyes, shaking his head. “What?” you demanded.

“Oh my God.”

His fingers caressed yours, and you gasped to find your skin prickling at the touch. You raised your eyes to his, and found yourself lost for words.

“You dumb bitch, I should be your friends-with-benefits.”

Your mouth dropped.

Perhaps you would have said something, but then his thumb began stroking your skin, and you figured it was better to relish that instead. Thus, you looked at him, gobsmacked, not entirely sure what to say to his declaration.

It seemed Chan was a little nervous too. “Look, I can tell you’re surprised…” he paused, a little lost for words as well. “Fuck, I guess I shouldn’t have suggested so early into the breakup, but you just…”

He pinned you with his gaze. “I couldn’t have my best friend miss out on the pleasure she deserves. And if that means giving you the pleasure myself, then I will do it.”

Bang Chan. Not just the best friend you’ve ever had, but the man who proposed benefits to this certain friendship.

“Well,” you got out, after what seemed like eternity. “Well damn.”

“We don’t have to do anything right now. Or even anytime soon.” He let go off your hands, and you did not know why the touch was missed so greatly. “Just...think about it for me, will you?”

You didn’t really have it in you to refuse. “Of course,” you said, feeling the need to touch something. Your eyes fell upon the remote, and figured you should distract yourself by watching the next episode of the series you previously watched.

You needed a clear distraction, or else Chan would not need to wait long for his answer.

The episode began, and you watched, clamping your lips together as you felt the man shuffle closer to you, one hand sprawled on the top of the couch with his other hand idly surfing on his laptop. You rooted your eyes to the screen, finding yourself engulfed in 1920s England, trying to forget that your best friend left no space between you two.

Managing to somehow distract yourself from the lack of distance, you even began to relax, swooning softly of the gangster’s mannerisms towards his love interests, their intimate dancing in her bedroom. It was touching, and you even let yourself lean into your friend, who, too, glanced every now and then, a little smile upon his face.

Everything was fine and dandy until the characters started to kiss.

Now, there was nothing wrong with kissing. You were a hopeless romantic, and adored to see the actions of love on screen, the final breaking of barriers between two characters.

The problem was, the kissing did not seem to end there. The bigger problem was that this lust on screen made you all the more aware of your best friend beside you.

You froze, watching with no small amount of confused shock as the characters increased their desires, unbuttoning their clothes, discarding them as their lips moved against each other’s. Your eyes widened at the nudity, once never a bother but suddenly extremely embarrassing, as they collided, bare chest to bare chest.

The matters did not help at all when you sensed the increased beating of Chan’s heart, almost as loud as the instruments harmonising in the background. His searching on his laptop had ceased, as frozen as you were as his eyes refused to look away to the man and woman making love.

It was too much. You had seen much worse scenes in your life before, but never had one made you so hot and bothered. Of course you knew why, though. Of course you knew, when the man you laid your head upon was breathing harder than you do when you walk up a flight of stairs.

You did not waste a minute longer as you pointed the remote to the TV, and switched the screen off. Completely black, void of further lust radiating through the glass.

A shuddered breath escaped Chan. “Well...double damn.”

You did not answer back. Only distanced yourself on the sofa, his fingers on the couch brushing against the back of your head. His touch may have been the last thing you needed then.

But that was not true. Seeing that sex scene, all glorified and affectionate, had you craving his touch. Your eyes could not bear to meet him, but his presence was suffocating enough. God, if you did not leave that couch now, you would dare to do something quite unimaginable.

Chan did not seem to move either. Your presence, too, had him nearly choking out a pained sob. Anymore time spent, and he would have another problem erecting soon.

At last, when a few minutes seemed like hours, you felt your friend stir. You were surprised to be devastated at the prospect of him leaving.

You were further shocked when, as Chan mustered all the strength in himself to get off the couch, he was stopped by your hand encircling his wrist.

Whirling his head at your direction, his eyes widened. He was met with your own aghast ones, as your hand tugged him back to the couch.

You did not let go of his wrist as you whispered the words you never thought would have left your mouth that night.

“Let’s do it, Chan.”

His hand went limp in your hold.

For a second you thought he died under your grasp, but the way he parted his mouth went against your judgement. Perhaps you had sent his living soul flying out of his body, but you could not blame him — you did not feel at all like yourself just then.

“I wanna do it,” you murmured, refusing to let go.

Chan’s eyes darted to the tight hold upon his wrist, and then to you once more. He opened his mouth, closing it straight after as he glanced away.

With a heavy sigh, he looked to you once more, an abundance of emotions swirling in his usually mischievous, soft eyes.

“Are you sure, ____?” He leaned a little closer, causing your heart to malfunction for a second. “You don’t have to think about it now—”

“Well, it’s all I can think about,” you cut him off, eyes never leaving him, despite the reddening of your cheeks. “And I want to do it.

“Like I said, Chan.” You shuffled a little closer, and your knees brushed against his. “I am deprived of pleasure.”

The man blinked once, twice, taking your declaration all in. He had to tell himself that this was not a dream, but a very much a fortunate reality, and that you were asking him of something he had been wanting to give you for a very long time.

There it was. Something he wasn’t quite ready to admit. You wanting your desires met by him was so much more than enough.

Dreaming still, he slithered one hand around your waist, almost like second nature as the other found refuge upon your face. His fingers were tender, softly caressing your cheeks as his eyes beheld you in a way he had never before..

This change of sight had you unable to look away from him.

“If you feel uncomfortable with all this…” he swept away a stray curl. “I will stop. That’ll be the end of it.”

You nodded, finding solace within his eyes. “I know.”

But there was no discomfort. Rather an impatient welcome, a growing urge for your needs met. Promises fulfilled.

When you sensed him lean closer, so shy and yet so determined, hands still holding you, those vows were sure to be carried out.

You found out in the best way possible — the second when Chan brushed his lips against yours.

His touch had you flying out your skin; well, not really, but it sure felt as such, when his mouth moulded with yours, a confirmation that he was strangely perfect for your own two lips, that he was meant to embed himself upon your mouth.

You closed your eyes, heart climbing up your chest as your hands skimmed around his neck. Chan began his movements, and you were so unaccustomed to the actions that you could not help but be led by his kiss. The man had a way of making you listen to his every order, vocalised or not.

The kiss was so...unreal. It was all that rang in your mind, over and over as the man took his time; he carried out a sensual rhythm upon your lips, not only to avoid overwhelming you, but to fully take in his situation — that he was kissing you, and no other girl who he had never dreamed of.

He had all the time in the world for this.

The hand upon your waist gripped onto you a little harder, nails skirting around the hem of your shirt. His tongue teased you now, running along for entrance, to delve inside and drink in your every essence. Your mouth practically begged the man to prowl inside, opening up to him completely, a signal of full trust.

You wanted this as much as he did.

His elated rush was expressed through his tongue, when it slithered inside your mouth. Butterflies erupted in your body at the way he swirled it along with yours, almost playing with your tongue as if you both did. Of course, this is slightly different, because your gimmicks with Chan never had you salivating at the mouth. Nor feeling like you’re about to leak into your clothes from his touches.

Which really was the situation you ended up in; Chan, his hand now skimming under your shirt, revelling the skin of your abdomen, warming beneath his touch. The hand, once upon your face, had latched upon your locks, while you ran your fingers through his own velvety hair, nearly undoing yourself over the soft feel.

Just when you thought he was going in for more, he broke away, hands still upon you — your breathing was ragged, the man in front of you panting slightly as well. His eyes, with no small amount of surprise, seemed a little feverish, whether that be from a random cold he contracted during the minutes he kissed you, or…

Or, as you found yourself biting your lip, he took an intoxicated toll over you, and how exquisite it was to drive his tongue in your mouth.

“Better than Rapunzel?” He whispered, so close his breath fanned your lips, spit-slick thanks to him.

You made sure he was aware of your fingers threading in his locks, eliciting a low murmur. “Rapunzel better not leave the tower again.”

Chuckling, he wasted no time before he was upon you again, an invisible leash on him threatening to snap. He drove the shirt higher, skirting up your sides until he broke away from you for a mere second before peeling the shirt off of you and tossing it beside him.

Heaving, the sight of you in a bra was making the leash all the more tight, hands never leaving your sides as he latched onto your neck. Leaving open-mouthed kisses, down and down until his lips trailed past your collarbone, you let the moans leave your mouth, heightened and quick and unexpected. Suddenly he descended on you, kneeeling on the floor with hands following suit.

Pleasure. You were oozing with pleasure as you hurried for the hems of his black hoodie, needing to have it off and run your hands on the expanse of his chest. Chan, a little preoccupied, did not realise your demands until you whined out your request.

“Chan—!” you gasped out as his lips left your belly, fingers upon the buttons of your trousers. “Hoodie, I need it off!”

The man only continued with his task, taking the zip down. “Up,” he rushed out, gesturing with his hand.

Dazed, you replied with a confused murmur, only understanding the need to take his stupid hoodie off.

He looked up from his endeavours, and the sight of him hovering between your legs nearly undid you. “I mean your hips, baby, put them up.” He grabbed onto the sides of your jeans. “I wanna take this off.”

Gulping, you raised your hips, giving Chan ease to pull your jeans, all the way down until your legs were bare, save for the soiled underwear which he instantly landed his eyes on.

His mouth slipped out an uneasy fuck, which was just the right way to have you leaking even further. “Chan, come on,” you hurried, seething at the throbbing.

His hands pushed you back on the couch, travelling down until they caressed the back of your knees. Pulling you closer from there, he leaned in until he was a few inches away from your moistened cunt, hurting more the longer he made you wait.

It wasn’t his fault, really. He still felt as if he’s living a dream he did not deserve.

Fingers drumming against the back of your knees, the man blew a little upon your folds, and you let out a strained hiss at the soft breeze. This hypersensitivity was going to be your undoing, but even the smallest of actions brought you such thrill.

“I’m about to spoil you good, ____,” he whispered, and before you could reply, he descended.

The first kitty lick along the surface had you in shock.

Tendrils of pleasure gushed inside you, lurking all over your body as Chan swiped his tongue along the outside of your cunt, teasing, shying away, awaiting your reaction. You answered him with an indecipherable noise, a sound which had never escaped you before.

Maybe because no one had ever played with your cunt like this.

You truly had wasted your time with Hyunjin — this man, tasting your arousal, let out a satisfied hum, and when he dug deeper with his tongue, spreading your legs further, the moans you let escape were, for the first time, absolutely real. No acting, no bullshit.

Just like your best friend promised.

“Chan—!” You stuttered out, when he began circling your clit. “God, just like that!” You encouraged further, hips shaking at the way he made a mess of you.

In response his hands left your legs, pressing them upon your hips. To your horror he paused his actions, peering up from your legs.

The slick shining upon his lips could well have made you cum on his face right then and there. “I need you to stay still, baby,” he said, his hands on your hips keeping you in place, as his eyes did the same. “So I can do this properly.

“I don’t want you getting half-assed pleasure, okay?”

His soft demands, his calm explanations brought you in a further state of frenzy. You could not nod faster, chuckling emitting from him as his hands travelled down once more.

“Good girl.”

And his mouth was upon your cunt again, this time the leash finally snapping as his tongue hardened against the seams. Your moans could have been heard in the hallways, but you didn’t particularly care when Chan, in the midst of his ravenous lapping, introduced the prospect of his fingers, caressing your dripping folds, swiping them over around the edges.

You didn’t know what to do — your hands scrambled to fist the fabric of the couch, laying back against the pillows. The hold grew tighter when your best friend slid his middle finger inside of you.

The journey may have been slow, but that was what made it all the more delightful. Feeling it go deeper and deeper had a particularly loud groan flying out of you, but the rhythm he adopted, pulling it out, but then diving it back again without leaving your cunt, had you delirious.

A once foreign, unimaginable feeling you never thought you’d experience, was back inside — the heavy sensation deep within your gut, like a dull ache which grew more known the harder Chan worked between your legs. The feeling you had only ever experienced when you imagined Donghyuck instead of your ex-boyfriend in this similar situation.

Fuck, there it is, you thought. The feeling of your incoming orgasm.

And it was not going to go if this man worked harder than the devil tonight.

“Chan—fuck—” you got cut off when he increased the speed of his finger inside of you. “I-I��m close.”

Never ceasing his finger, he looked up at you, hooded eyes welcoming you despite the tenderness on his face. “You’re doing so good, ____. So fucking good for me,” he cooed, melting your heart despite the situation.

This time, he accompanied his fingering with a second digit, stretching out your walls and working harmoniously together in making you submit to him. Already you felt as if he’d filled you up, and the actions of his digits practically scissoring inside of you had every muscle in your body readying for release.

He dove back in, merciless to your clit, and all this work, everything at once, was so much that when you cried out, your release had to follow through. You couldn’t control yourself as you let your cum escape, staining the couch and the floor — most importantly, how most of it landed in Chan’s mouth.

Breathing unevenly, and louder than you ever thought possible, you closed your eyes, slumping further into the couch. You sensed an emptiness inside you, and figured Chan had taken out his fingers. Opening your eyes, you saw him close your legs together, propping his head upon your lap, hands supporting his chin. He looked up at you, licking his lips free of your residue.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

The man smiled at you. “Satisfied?” he asked, fingers caressing your skin.

Oh, of course you were. Damn it, you were more than satisfied — you were positively elated. If he had managed to make you cum with his fingers and tongue alone, imagine what he could have done with his dick.

You blinked.

Imagine what he could have done with his dick.

“____?”

Perking up, you looked to the man kneeling before you still, anticipation brimming in his stature. “Please tell me you didn’t fake it.”

Embarrassment engulfed your body at the idea. “Chan, if you really think I faked all of that then I deserve an Oscar.”

Pride washed over his features. “Good.”

You then watched him slowly get up, climbing over you, hands skirting up your figure till he captured your face in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. You had enough strength to kiss him back, but failed to exceed him when he began nibbling upon the swell of your lip, making you revert to stage one of your growing need all over again.

Breaking away, you glanced up at him, holding onto his hoodie. “I want...more.”

The man stilled his actions, hands going limp upon your skin. You had about three seconds of panicking as you tugged on his clothes, whispering, “Wait, Chan, it’s okay if—”

But suddenly, his hands left your face, and the panic increased with you being lifted into the air, his hold under your knees and back as he brought you close to his chest.

His eyes upon you were a hazard to your well-being. “God, ____, you could really ruin me.”

Your flustered nature was interrupted by Chan rushing to his bedroom, kicking the door open with his feet and pressing quick kisses upon your mouth, your cheeks, all over your face as you giggled out in reaction, arms locked around him.

His room was the same as his attire, black on black on even more black, save for a few gold corners and grey instruments settled in the far end of the space. His bed, however, was vast and comfortable, a place you have slept in many a time when late night recording sessions turned into sleepovers.

Gently, he laid you down on his bed, feeling the cool sting of the night air on your cunt, making you shiver. Your bra was useless in keeping you warm, but when Chan began to take off his hoodie, shirt dragging out along with it, you suddenly began to feel a lot hotter.

Discarding the clothes, you were rewarded with the image of shirtless Chan, slightly disheveled due to his endeavours between your legs. His smile revealed a hint of arrogance as he acknowledged your blatant staring, slowly taking off his sweatpants.

“Careful, baby, or you’ll cum right there,” he mused, noticing the way your legs shivered in ecstasy. He dumped his clothes along with the others, catching sight of his Calvins barely containing his erection.

You felt the mattress press down as he prowled to you upon the bed, the more chaos erupting in your gut the further he came closer. You could barely contain yourself when he hovered over you, lips mere inches from yours. A powerful force within you halted your very breath — you knew, though, that at this particular moment, your entire soul rested in the hands of this man, looking at you through long lashes.

He enveloped your lips, grinding his clothed erection against your cunt, drinking in your whines, your silent pleas of replacing it with the real deal. He smirked against your mouth, opening the seams as his one hand grabbed onto yours, leading it to the waistband of your boxers.

Your fingers fumbled to take peel down the fabric, Chan parting from your lips to take it off entirely. His cock sprang free, and you let out a god-awful, shrill-like noise at the way it stood, red and angry and so very fucking big.

“Fuck me,” you slipped out in a breath, earning a chuckle from him.

“I very much plan to,” he had the nerve to reply, you wanting very much to slap his shit-eating grin off of him. Or perhaps kiss it till your breath was lost.

Embarrassed, you tried to look away, but his fingers gripped your chin, leading your eyes to his. Other hand holding onto your hip, he gently positioned himself between your legs, precum already staining your folds. Breathing stunted, your stare reflected subservience, a request to bury his dick inside you already.

He read your every plea.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he let out a shuddered breath before beginning the final descent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Chan slid his cock inside — your mouth parted from the transition, at the tightening sensation as he kept going, burying those inches until your eyes were as wide as saucers, unable to look away from him. You dared not move, fear of snapping more a reality in your head than some far-fetched delusion.

Dragging his stare from your slit to your face, he caressed your cheek, offering you a small smile.

“Don’t be quiet, okay?” he asked, hand on your hip like iron.

Nodding, it was all the signal he needed.

Just as gradually, he began to slide out, and, with his words in mind, you let yourself be shameless. The rhythm of his hips, the pain-stakingly tempered movement, made you whine profusely, and when the man slithered inside once more, moaning lewdly was your only reaction. It was all your brain could think of, when his cock was the sole deity which mattered in this moment.

His pace began to fasten, though, grunting erratically as his grip on you tightened. Your cunt was taking a toll, your second orgasm of the night a great possibility as you felt it inside you, as tangible as the dick being pushed and pulled out into you.

“F-faster!” you wailed out, and God bless Chan, for he obliged you completely, increasing his rhythm, practically abusing your slit with the way he fucked into you. Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you let them fall, for there was no hiding your emotions with this man.

Your best friend could see right through you anyway.

Chan’s strength seemed unhuman as he thrusted his cock into you faster and faster, and you knew if he did not stop then you would cum all over for the second time. The very image had you on the edge of your sanity.

When his cock hit your g-spot you really believed yourself hitting seventh heaven of delight. White spots blurred your vision, tears now your beloved companion as they trailed down your cheeks. “I’m c-close, fuck—” you tried to voice, but were cut off when slid out once more, tip never leaving your folds.

His hair stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat peppered on his face as he crushed you with his lips, relishing your whines. His tongue befriended yours, and the swirling of your muscles with each other had brought a new form of high bubbling within you.

You moaned his name onto his lips, hands sliding around his neck, pulling you as close as physically possible. This was it. You could not wait any longer. You wanted your undoing, and you wanted it now, in these sheets, within his arms, within his hypnotic presence.

It was incredibly fortunate that Bang Chan could read you like the back of his hand.

Parting from your mouth, he kissed a sloppy trail all the way to your ear, lips grazing against the lobe.

“Go on, then,” he purred, leaving a small kiss to your skin. “Cum for me.”

His words were all you needed before you let yourself go, crying out as release poured from the tight spaces your cunt offered, and onto the sheets below. You wheezed in a few breaths, tired gasps gripping your body.

Chan, within the second, pulled out, just in time for him to let out a pained growl as he came onto his bedsheets. Some of the fluids sullied your legs, but seemed the perfect time as he collapsed right beside you, breathing as heavily as you were.

You and Chan were the only noise in the room — however, if one could translate emotions into sound, that would be an entirely different matter.

At least for you. You could barely contain your elation.

An emptiness may be present inside of you, but it was now replaced with a full heart. Fuck, you could not believe you had finally been given pleasure, such unadulterated satisfaction that you wondered whether it truly occurred, or was just another fantasy — this time with Chan’s face plastered rather than your infatuation of the month.

Sensing the said-man move, you turned to your side, smiling to see his stare fixated on you. Shifting closer, he curled a stray lock from your face behind your ear. “How’re you feeling?” he asked gently, hand on your face still.

You laid your head against your arm. “I am so pissed I didn’t break up with Hyunjin sooner.”

Laughing, his fingers trailed downward, sketching onto your collarbone. “You…” he paused, biting his lip with what you saw, surprisingly, as apprehension. “You really liked it?”

Your eyes darted to the surroundings, smirk spreading across your lips. “I mean, I am an insanely good actress...”

His shock horror had you spluttering into laughter. When he tried to turn his back to you and sulk, you held onto his arm, keeping him in place. “Oh, stop! You know I’m joking, you big oaf.”

Pouting, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “You better be,” he muttered, earning further giggles from his truly. The laughter was replaced with your yawning, which Chan instantly picked up on. “Hey, ____, you should sleep.” He began stroking your hair. “You’re really tired.”

You tried to object, but your intended groans become more deep yawns, proving his point. He passed his fingers over your eyelids, fluttering them close. “I’m not hearing anything else!”

Stinging out your tongue in what you hoped was at his direction, you grudgingly obliged. “Fine.”

You felt him sigh upon your face. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, Hyuck.”

“Nevermind, I hope you have a terrible sleep.”

With your last round of exhausted laughter, you let yourself fall into oblivion, safe in your best friend’s arms.

YOU WOKE UP WITH CHAN ALREADY GONE.

It was not such a huge disappointment. The man had warned you before that he had to leave early to meet up with his supervisor. In all honesty, maybe it was good he was not there, next to you in his sheets.

Your hands gripped those very sheets, raising them right under your chin as you looked up to the ceiling, watching the dried swirls of black paint overlapping each other.

“Oh my God.”

Indeed. Here you were, in your best friend’s bed, basking in his scent, in his world. Of course, you always seemed to smell of him, considering you both never seemed to let go of each other, but last night was different.

Obviously, because Bang Chan had never rocked your shit before.

Your legs began to tingle at the thought. Even the mere memory had you feeling a mysterious sensation all over your body, reminders of the places Chan had looked, touched, tasted. God, you did not think, did not let yourself think further or you’d be calling that man this second.

You knew you had to get up at some point — you had some recording to do today, and more assignments to hand in. You had tasks, obligations to take care of. Unfortunately, the warmth of your best friend’s bed was much too enticing for you to submit to the requests of reality, and so you let yourself lay there for moments longer, in hope you can recreate the scene in your head once more.

There was no lie about this. Bang Chan knew how to fuck you into another dimension.

Just when you were about to dream into last night, your phone vibrated harshly against the bedside table. Curious, you stretched out your hand, grabbing the object and checking who so rudely disturbed your shameless manifesting.

CHRIS THE PISS:

just stopped by the medical room,,, want me to get a wheelchair?

CHRIS THE PISS:

cause im sure asf u can’t walk rn

You rolled your eyes until it hurt. Stupid prick.

YOU:

i haven’t gotten out of bed actually

CHRIS THE PISS:

oh damn

CHRIS THE PISS:

i PARALYSED u??

CHRIS THE PISS:

why am i so powerful

“This asshole,” you muttered.

YOU:

STFUU COCKY MF

CHRIS THE PISS:

It’s ok you’ll cute in a wheelchair

YOU:

?!?!?!?!!?!

CHRIS THE PISS:

but tell me

CHRIS THE PISS:

how good was it

This had you pausing.

CHRIS THE PISS:

outta ten

Now here was a rating you couldn’t bring yourself to confess.

All you wanted to do was give him a solid ten — the man finally offered you a better view of sex and how it can be appreciated, and the way he guided you through it was more than just adequate.

But the thing was, you and Chan hadn’t ever given each other 10/10s.

A perfect score was a rarity in your dynamic; possibly a rating never revealed before because you and Chan had promised each other never to exaggerate on this system. The only time you had ever used the solid ten was when he made you his first ever song at the tender age of nine. At the time, it was a terrible tune, with beats all over the damn place with no form of rhythm, but because he made it especially for you, you voiced your true opinion and rated him the perfect score.

Again, the situation here was different.

So, instead of the truth, you resorted to irritation.

YOU:

2/10 :)

You waited for his text.

However, you did not receive it.

Only the shrill ringtone of your phone, snapping you further into consciousness.

Groaning, you swiped right onto the screen, pressing the speaker button.

“Now I know you’re lying!”

Laughing, you propped the phone beside you on the bed, upon the place where Chan would have been. “You got a big ego there, hun.”

“That may be true, but my cock is bigger, so I still win.”

You were glad he was not here — the man would have sensed your embarrassment in an instant.

It was worse because he was not lying. “Now tell me, Pinocchio,” he continued, voice interrupting as the noise of the students around him came through the receiver. “Out of ten.”

“I already messaged it to you, buddy,” you said impassively, or at least you tried. “A solid two would suffice.”

God, you could almost feel your nose growing.

Perhaps he felt it too, for he answered, with no small amount of pride, “I’m gonna pretend I fucked you so good you forgot how to think properly.”

You could not help gulping, raising the sheets over you. It wasn’t exactly hard on boning, but even so...you really thought for a second you’d lose all feeling in your legs last night.

“Shut up, Chan.”

“Shut up, Chan,” he parroted, which had you threatening to hang up. “Don’t think I’ve let you go on this subject.”

“Try me, buddy,” you jeered.

“And for Christ’s sake, stop calling me ‘buddy’,” he demanded. “Or else I’m pulling a Hyunjin.”

“A Hyunjin?”

“Yeah, a Hyunjin.” You heard the sound of horns blaring at the end of his call. “Ruining your sex life.”

That nearly made you freak. “Damn, I won’t say it again, Christopher Bang, musical name Bang Chan, nicknamed Chris the Piss—”

You heard his chuckling through the phone. “All that for my dick. I must have changed your life, ____.”

Heating up from his stupid comments, you grabbed the phone from the table. “I’ll see you in the studios, asshole.”

His smugness ran rich in his voice. “Buh-bye, baby.”

The minute the call ended, you sighed heavily, clutching the phone to your chest.

He did change your life.

Not necessarily your entire life, but certainly a huge aspect of it. A small part of you was horrified at how easily he shifted your daily balance, making you ponder over him more often, with much more intensity than before. Were you a sex maniac? Were you so deprived of being touched that one night of fun had you begging like a woman starved?

“Whatever,” you groaned, swinging your legs to the side of the bed, and upon the carpet. “Fuck Chan.”

Hopefully tonight.

FUCKING AROUND WITH CHAN MIGHT HONESTLY BE THE BEST DECISION YOU HAVE EVER MADE IN A LONG, LONG TIME.

And you weren’t the one to make good decisions. You get up an hour before the afternoons, drink Pepsi Max to compensate for your lack of water drinkage, and worst of all, you would gladly sell your body for Colin Firth, especially if he dressed himself up as Mr. Darcy at his age. Whatever setbacks you possessed, you knew that this, at least, was a step in the right direction.

Bang Chan may have been as big a loser as you were, but the man made you feel like a powerful entity. Hell, in all the state, with the way he made you act.

Never before had you become so daring — libraries, which were once your place of study, became a rendezvous for his slender fingers inside your cunt. The living room had become a breeding ground, and even your shower was stained of your promiscuity. There was no place left where you and Chan hadn’t done something scandalous, and you wondered, with no small amount of excitement, on how this new side of your friendship with him would progress.

These thoughts accompanied you as you walked to your destination. It was not far off as you entered campus, and smiled at the few students who passed by.

Soon, you found yourself in the music department, and walked through the familiar halls, littered with posters of different artists and singers in their peak careers. A few trophies were boasted of behind a glass screen, but the surroundings all became irrelevant when you approached your designated music rooms.

Expecting Chan to be inside, headphones adorned, you did not bother knocking, strolling straight into the room. However, you stopped completely when a giant, hoodie-clothed back did not greet you.

Instead, it was a tinier hoodie-clothed back, faded yellow over the trademark black. Although not your best friend, you instantly recognised the alternative, and smiled.

“Jisung!”

The boy did not seem to hear, for he kept bobbing his head, no doubt trying out beats.

You tiptoed slpwly until you stood right behind him. Then, in a flash, you snapped your hands upon his shoulders.

“Boo!”

A shrill, terrified yell erupted, chair being swivelled suddenly as the back hit against the controls. You took a step back out of shock too, a choked giggle escaping when you beheld the face of Han Probably-shit-his-pants-Jisung.

“Oh my fucking God,” he rasped out, hand on his chest. He then locked eyes with you, and suddenly his quivering mouth melted into a smile of relief. “Ah, ____!”

“The one and only.” You sat down on the neighbouring chair. “Sorry if I made you shit your pants. It was fully attended.”

“Stop,” he insisted, taking off his headphones and scooting a little closer to you. “These are new jeans as well.”

“Not my fault if you’re a pussy,” you chanted, picking up the headphones, settling them upon your ears. “Can I listen?”

“Of course!” Jisung pressed a few keys on his laptop, and the music began.

Your eyes widened in surprise to hear pleasant, almost lo-fi background before his voice flooded in, comforting you with his soft lilt and meaningful lyrics. On instinct your head bobbed along to the rhythm of the beat, smiling at the wordplay and the rising vocals.

“Jisung, this is really good!” you exclaimed. The boy waved off the compliment, but you instantly saw his face reddening. “Oh, stop it, you know that you’re one of the best out here.”

If you thought he couldn’t get more flustered, he proved you incredibly wrong. “Don’t say that,” he shrilled, propping his feet up on the chair and hugging his legs tightly. When he saw the look on your face, though, he smiled, teeth and all. “Thank you, ____. It means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, I’m no musical genius,” you said, pressing the play button to hear his music. “Just a motherfucker who can appreciate a song of the year when she hears one.”

Jisung nearly passed out from your compliment, but you did not take it much into account as you focused all your attention on the piece. It was an undoubted fact that Han Jisung was an extremely talented dude. You already knew you could never compete with him, but he was certainly up to Chan’s level of musical expertise. With all this talent brimming around you, you made a mental note never to make more gifted friends in the future.

Once the song ended, you took off the headphones, propping them gently upon the table. “I think you’ve inspired me to do some actual work.”

The boy was still smiling as he reached his hand out, planting it upon your own on the table. “Well, I’m honoured to be your inspiration.” His eyes reached yours, and you were engulfed with his warmth. “The feeling is more than mutual.”

You offered him a grin, and were about to say something when the door opened.

Turning, you were welcomed by Chan’s dark figure at the studio entrance, holding two cups of coffee. Despite his black attire, you found yourself admiring a little too brazenly the bare face he never exposed in public, the beanie hiding his curls, and the tick in his jaw, which heightened further when he took in the scene.

The actions were quick — the darting of his eyes as they started on you, then travelled to your hand, engulfed with another’s. He raised them to the man guilty of the touch, and found himself staring at Jisung, beaming not only from you anymore, but at the arrival of his friend.

The joy was not returned.

“Chan!” Jisung greeted, letting go of your hand innocently as he ushered your best friend over.

He nodded in return, gaze back to you as he walked, a little too slowly, to the two of you. He put the two beverages upon the table next to the keyboards. “I didn’t know you were in as well,” he said. After a pause, he added, “I would have gotten another coffee.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” he assured him, even though it did not look like he needed any reassurances.

Catching onto Chan’s attitude, you slid your coffee to the boy beside you. “I don’t want any right now. You take it.”

You took note of the pursed lips, and ignored it as Jisung widened his eyes. “No, no, it’s okay—”

“Ji, I insist,” you pestered him, driving the cup within his grasp. “You look so tired.”

He offered you a lovely smile before taking the beverage. “Thank you.”

Chan, watching this little conversation, had him clamping his lips together, possibly to not say something stupid. It was a little habit of his, thankfully in action. He slid the other cup to you. “You can have mine.”

You looked up at him. “I’m good, buddy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Share.”

You rolled your own, taking a sip of the coffee, and thanked yourself for not being petty enough to refuse him. “Fine.”

Jisung swivelled his chair so he faced Chan, fingers upon his laptop. “Do you wanna listen to the demo?” He grabbed the headphones, holding it out to him. “I’m nearly done with it.”

“You can send it to me later,” was his curt answer, as he took the cup from you and drank.

You looked at him in exasperation, but the boy nodded in satisfaction, picking his bag off the floor. “That’s chill!” he said, heaving off the chair. “I got all the time, so don’t worry too much about it.”

He then turned to the two of you as he strolled to the door. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you both something.”

“Spit it out, then,” Chan jeered, which had you glaring at him. What the fuck was his problem?

Jisung did not catch on, continuing. “So, later this week, Changbin and I are throwing a party, and I was hoping you both would like to come.”

You perked up at that piece of information. “That’s something I like to hear!” Snatching the coffee cup from your friend, you purposefully took a huge gulp. “Any specific date?”

“I was hoping Friday night.” A small sip of his drink. “We just wanted to have some fun after a difficult week, dissertations and all.” His gaze never faltered from yours. “You in?”

Chan, noticing, settled in the space previously taken, and raised a hand in objection. “Sorry, Ji. ____ and I always do something Friday night. Gotta uphold the tradition.”

You turned to face him, a brow raised. He wasn’t wrong, in all honesty. But why did he mention it now?

Jisung, too, was a little curious. “Oh?” He fixed the strap of his bag. “I won’t get in the way, then.”

He turned, and you made to open your mouth only to have Chan press a finger to your lips. His brows were furrowed, which you matched until he left the finger as the boy looked back once more.

“I’ll see you around, guys!” he exclaimed, eyes sliding to you before opening the door, and leaving the studio.

After a few seconds of silence, you faced your friend, who had the audacity to sigh in relief. “What the fuck was that?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do!” you finished the last of the coffee, throwing the empty cup in the bin nearby. “Why were you being such a dick to Jisung?”

“No I wasn’t,” he only said. “I was being the perfect gentleman.”

“Stop it, man!” You couldn’t believe his stupidity in the situation. “He was being so lovely, asking for your opinion on his music, inviting us to his party and shit. Why were you being so mean?”

Chan only shook his head, turning away from you as he made to put his headphones on. You, on the other hand, were not going to be satisfied with silence, and grabbed his arm, wrenching him toward you. “Chan?!”

He turned to look at you, and you hitched in a breath — you had never really pondered over your friend’s angered face, nor really drank in his heightened features before. However, in this moment in time, with his eyes darkened, bare face twisted, frizzy morning curls all over the place, you had to stop yourself from the butterflies fluttering downwards. You’re supposed to be mad, not horny.

Your hand upon his arm — his tensed bicep, specifically — seemed almost feeble now. Still, you were glad it was on there, if only to feel his muscle bulge.

Chan studied you and your dazing, and made you jump when he guttered. “What?”

Instantly getting back to the situation, you cursed yourself silently for letting your desires try to take the reins. “I said,” you continued, trying your hardest not to be fazed by his eyes, “Why are you being such a massive prick to Ji?”

He cocked his head slightly, and if he leaned any further his lips would brush against yours. “I’m being a massive prick, ____, because he really fucking likes you.”

You felt hands upon your waist, tugging you off your seat. With a yelp you found yourself upon the man’s lap, hands encircling you fully.

Even though you looked down at him, his stare had you shaking. “And that really fucking pisses me off.”

You couldn’t suppress a shudder, an action which had not gone unnoticed. A smile ghosting his face, he craned his neck upwards, catching your lips and rendering you completely at his mercy. Your fingers went straight in his morning curls, carding through the locks as he captured your bottom lip in his, sucking on it to the point a whine escaped you, helpless and shameful.

He left a trail of heated kisses down your throat, fingers skirting underneath your cardigan, your shirt, and savouring the skin. His mouth landed on a particular part, grazing his teeth against it as he softly nipped at the skin. Your breath quivered at each flushed kiss he branded upon you, but when his free hand began undoing the top buttons of your shirt, you finally called out his name.

“Chan!” you gasped out, shivering at the lovebites stinging your throat. It did not seem like the man would stop, unbuttoning your shirt just so he could glimpse the sliver of your lacy bra, humming with satisfaction. “Chan, w-wait!”

He paused his actions, tilting his head upwards in irritation. “Do you mind?” he asked, pouting too cutely for his words.

“Yes, I do,” you answered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Why are you so mad, buddy?”

A harsh scoff was your reply. “Well, first of all, because you never stop calling me that.”

You pinched the back of his neck, but when he pursed his lips, you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his. “Chan, you’re overreacting. He’s just a motherfucker trying to gain your approval.”

“I think it’s more your approval,” he countered, nuzzling his head against your shoulder. “With the way the asshole can’t keep his name out of your mouth. God! And the way he held your hand? Like you were his one and only?!”

“Jealousy isn’t a cute look on you, hun,” you mused, but in reality, you were lying through your teeth. His jealousy was like fuel to your turned on fire.

“Permission to punch him in the face?”

“You might have to put a hold to that.”

“Fuck.”

Raising his head, his agitation grew in his eyes as you beheld him. “He just...goddammit, he just makes me so angry at times.”

You played with his curls. “How angry?”

He held onto you tighter. “9/10.”

That certainly made you do a double take.

9/10. A rare rating, you noticed with quite some surprise. It did reflect the fury which Jisung unintentionally ignited, but you did not realise how much it truly affected him. The two had always been friends, as far as you were concerned, but you had to admit that Chan never really felt as easy with him as he did with you.

Of course, because you were his closest friend.

“I know,” he said then, snapping you out of your thoughts. “It’s...unreasonable...but I don’t care. I really don’t give a shit.”

Clamping your lips together, you watched him look away, swaying you back and forth upon his lap. Well, you couldn’t have a dear friend sulking away when you knew Jisung meant nothing and less to you.

Suddenly, a very pleasing idea came to mind.

“Chan,” you murmured, fingernails grazing against his neck.

Sensing goosebumps form there, you were met with his undecipherable gaze. “Yeah?”

You brushed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “How about,” you began, trailing down to his nose, “I help…” you carried on, another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Soothe your irritation?”

Although completely compliant to your touches, he grumbled, “The only way you can do that if you consent to me giving Jisung a broken nose.”

“Hmmm…well...” you peppered another kiss, and felt his hands wander lazily once again. “This is a very close second.”

Catching the implications dwelling in your gaze, you could have sworn the man’s breathing halted. His tongue swept along his teeth, and you had a dire wish to replicate that action with your own tongue.

“Come here, then,” he guttered.

The lower octave had you nearly squealing as you pressed your lips fully onto his, giggling when he responded with twice more ardency, the desperation lurking beneath his physique. He pried your mouth open with his tongue, swirling it along with yours as he pressed your body completely against his, refusing to let you go.

On instinct you grinded against him, sensing the outline of his boner beneath you with no small amount of excitement. He groaned into your mouth at the friction, digging his fingers into your skin.

It was a dire shame you had to break away from the kiss, catching his disappointment. “Tease,” you heard him mumble, which had you pecking his lips quickly before sliding your own down his neck, leaving his skin altogether.

Slumping downward, you kneeled before Chan as he spread his legs before you, struggling down his black trousers till he revealed the angry outline of his erection underneath his dark boxers. You noticed, with pride, how the top of the fabric was stained with arousal.

“I think your dick is angrier than you around Jisung right now,” you said, failing to contain your amusement.

Chan’s eyes promised murder. “I’m so glad my cock will shut your stupid mouth up,” he jeered.

Thank God you were kneeling, cause that comment alone would have made you fall.

Shuffling closer, you raised your hand to his boxers, feeling his clothed length between your fingers. The touch had your friend growling much too loud, a reaction you enjoyed thoroughly.

“How about a little less teasing,” he seethed, gripping onto the arms of his chair, “And a little more sucking, baby?”

Baby. You didn’t know why now, of all times, it struck a deep chord within you. His command had you reaching for the waistband, pulling his boxers down until his cock sprang free.

The image had you remembering your Lord and Saviour.

You don’t know why you kept forgetting how insanely big Chan’s cock really was. Its length was inside of you on almost a daily basis, so maybe all this foolery had finally gotten to your head. Observing it now, hard and veiny as it curved against his stomach, the only reaction you could offer was your mouth breaking its seams.

“Staring at it won’t be enough, ____.”

Gulping, you planted one hand upon his leg, the other wrapping around the shaft. Even the slightest contact had the man hissing, making you smirk at his helplessness. Slightly gurgling, you spat on the head, lubing his member with your fingers, and then you began.

A string of groans escaped him as you commenced, a slow rhythm of pumping his cock as your hand moved up and down. The repetition was constant, neverending as Chan’s grip on his chair threatened to snap the plastic, but you dared not slow down. You knew this was not how he gained his satisfaction — he needed a perfect graduality, a refined art-like stroke or else he’d lose his high. Fortunate for him, though, you never let him down.

You increased your pumping, sensing him containing his moans. You could feel him holding back, but that didn’t stop you at all. In fact, that only had you progressing to the next step, an action that would have him screaming your name.

Shifting even closer, you spread his legs further, Chan’s eyes rooted to you as you directed the tip to your mouth. Letting your tongue free, you swept it along the shaft, and sure enough, an obscenely loud moan emitted from his truly. Chuckling, you carried on, trailing all the way up to the head and ending your journey with an ironically chaste kiss. Staring up at him, you smugly observed his lust-struck face, mouth releasing irregular breaths already. You couldn’t wait to have him curse at you.

Eyes back on the task at hand, you grabbed the base of his cock, opening your mouth. Slowly, aggravatingly slow, you sunk down, taking in inch by inch — Chan pushed his hips forward, and you nearly gagged at the impact of his head hitting the back of your throat.

“Shi-shit baby,” he sputtered, watching you in awe at your work. “You better tell me if you don’t want your throat fucked.”

You answered him with your progression, slowly releasing his cock from your lips, tongue licking his slit before descending back on him again. You tried to be slow — you didn’t want to go straight to deepthroating, but the way Chan choked out his curses was sweet encouragement. Holding his dick still, you began bobbing your head and down, shallow at first, testing the waters.

When the man instinctively began bucking his hips, pushing his cock into your mouth further, you opened your jaw wider, taking in the remaining inches. The gag reflex kicked in like a bitch, but you refused to cease your labour as you increased your pace. Chan leaned in a little, caressing your cheeks as he rutted against your mouth.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, baby,” he cooed breathlessly. “So good for taking my cock like that.”

Unable to smile, you answered him with your hands, now playing with his balls, slapping them slightly to make him groan out in pleasure, head laid back against the chair. “I’m close, ____,” he warned, never stopping his own thrusts. You hoped he never would, when his end was so near.

Taking all of him in, you pressed your hands on his legs, urging you to look at him. With one final home run, you hollowed in your cheeks, surrounding his entire cock in your mouth as you imprisoned him with your hooded gaze.

The image of you, a beautiful ruination, was his undoing.

Chan let out a vicious string of curses as he released, ropes of cum spilling inside your mouth. He slumped into the chair, breathing in the entire county’s worth of oxygen as all energy left him. This time, to add to his lust-driven shock, you swallowed his release, thanking your lucky stars that your friend finally listened and ate some fruit. His cum, at last, tasted more than bearable.

After a few silent moments, the man finally raised himself from the dead, sighing as he beheld you kneeling still. “I think I can’t live without you.”

Chuckling, you heaved yourself up, legs unsteady. “That’s just your inner horny speaking,” you said, nearly falling over on your own feet. Quickly, Chan brought you back onto his lap again, creating an iron grip around you.

“Think what you like,” he began, peppering small kisses on your neck. “But your head game is stronger than my will to punch Jisung, that’s for sure.”

You hummed as he plunged his teeth upon a certain spot, pressing your legs together. “It better be.”

Finding your lips, he lazily kissed you, hands skirting higher as you move your mouth against his, never tired from his touches.

“Have we christened the studio yet?” The man asked in between kisses, pushing his chair forward till your back hit the table.

You shook your head no, already sensing his unbearable grin. You could not help returning his enthusiasm.

And as you both continued in your shameless arrangements, there was one thought that lingered in your head.

There was absolutely no way you were going to that party.

OF COURSE YOU WERE GOING TO THAT PARTY.

You looked to the building, the whole ground floor alight with different, ever-changing lights, and a dim pandemonium welcoming your ears. Your phone pinged with messages, but you dutifully ignored them, taking a deep breath as you took a step inside.

Greeted with a half-full hallway, it was not hard to find the party house, greeting awkwardly to a few drunk acquaintances before entering Jisung’s dorm. You were instantly hit by the smell of sweat and alcohol as the noise of popular music made your ears ring in discomfort. An abundance of students were cramped as they danced along to the tunes, screaming and laughing and simply enjoying themselves.

While observing the scene, a small part of you wished your best friend was with you, an arm slung around you as he makes a comment on the specific people dancing rather terribly in the centre. You could already imagine him in his Friday attire, midnight-kissed with gold chains dangling off his belt, rings adorning his fingers and a little makeup to elevate his already exquisite features. Maybe, if you had insisted, he would have let you paint his nails, something which you adored on him.

Fuck, you thought, searching through the crowd for a place to get a drink. Maybe you shouldn’t have come.

You shook your head, though, beginning to squeeze through the partygoers. No. You can’t let Chan win in this.

And so you found your way to the kitchen, cans of beer, vodka and tequila stacked in broken pyramids to drink away. Just as you made to grab the Smirnoff your hand brushed against another’s. You turned to the direction, and beamed to see Jisung holding out the can for you.

“____!” he exclaimed, barely heard from the commotion yet could feel his joy radiating from him. “Don’t you have a thing with Chan on Fridays?”

“Well, that can happen every Friday, Ji, but your party was only today,” you answered him, and he was more than satisfied.

He grabbed the same drink as yours, cracking it open as he looked at you, stare lingering upon your black dress. “I’m really glad you came, love.”

You blinked at the sudden endearment, but before you could say anything Changbin had interrupted the both of you, threatening to bring the roof down with his whining.

“Pleeease Ji, get me away from her!” he begged, holding onto Jisung’s arm and rocking it back and forth. “She keeps tryna drag me into the bedrooms and I can’t do it with her, bro!”

The boy adorned hints of irritancy, but he let himself be led by his friend, glazing at you. “Wait for me,” he requested.

His answer was a little wave, which he returned dutifully as he began to berate his friend for tearing him away from you. Raising your eyebrow, you turned back to the alcohol, finding some soda water and pouring it into the empty cups along with the Smirnoff. You would have drank the vodka straight from the bottle but you decided against drinking your tits off tonight. You didn’t really have a great desire for intoxication.

You cursed at a few passersby as they bumped against you, nearly knocking the drink off your hands. Fixing your dress, you took the first sip, relishing the strong taste. The songs kept changing, the dancing getting wilder, and at this rate you knew someone was going to get handsy soon.

Drinking away, you snapped the cup on the table beside you, waiting for Jisung to come back.

Why did you even come here?

You instantly soured at the thought.

Still, you could not help pondering further.

You should have stayed home. With him.

You groaned out loud.

It was ridiculous how you were unable to have any idea which didn’t centre around that prick. If he did not want to join you that was on him.

Then were you feeling miserable?

Great. You poured yourself some more diluted vodka. Now you’re a full-time simp.

That helped you down the drink some more. At least this time, in fortunate circumstances, you were not a lightweight, and so were still completely aware of your surroundings.

Aware enough to see a more tousled Jisung stagger toward you, giggling like a little child.

You watched him lunge towards the tequila cans and crack one open, downing half the thing in one go. “Careful, Ji, or you’ll fall to your death!” you warned him, laughing as he exhaled with great exaggeration.

He staggered to where you were standing, slumping against the wall and taking another can. “I’m so sorry!” he simpered, much too loudly for your sober ears.

You raised a brow, about to ask him for what but he was already answering your question. “I made you wait so looong!” he dragged, drinking some more. “Look at you! Leaving you all alone.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly, crossing your arms, drink still in hand. “Just say I have zero friends.”

“Hey, don’t say that!” You were taken aback by Jisung grabbing onto your arm, pulling him to you. He looked you dead in the eyes, wide and alive. “You do not have zero friends!” he declared, louder than before. “I’m your friend.”

Your poor ears hurt like a bitch, but you smiled at his words. “Yes, indeed you are,” you said in earnest. “Thank you, Jisung.”

It was then he blinked slowly, parting his lips as his fingers upon your arm began to wander. “But I wish you didn’t think like that.”

His touch did not go unnoticed at all. You looked at him, raising a brow, but that action went unnoticed. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, you’re a smart girl,” he slurred, voice still soft and innocent as his hand travelled to your shoulder. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Freezing up, you felt the pads of his fingers caress your face. When he tilted his head, you finally saw what he had been trying to show you since the start of the year, the emotions he was too drunk to hide any longer.

Lust. Pure lust swirling in his eyes.

It was like a lightbulb had finally switched on in your grape-sized brain.

“Oh my God!”

Instantly, you pressed your hands to Jisung’s chest, pushing him completely off. He nearly fell flat on his ass, but grabbed the table just in time to stagger back to balance. He glanced upwards, and you saw his eyes widen.

“____?” he got out, but you raised a finger, which he was still intelligent enough to figure out to shut up.

“Ji, what the fuck?” You slapped your drink down on the table, making him jump.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he exclaimed, taking another can. “But it’s the truth, damn it, and I’m tired of having to pretend all the time about it!”

Fuck, you suddenly thought, realising that you needed to get out of this crammed residence. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Jisung, look—” you started, but he groaned out loud, waving off your answer.

“No, no, I know what you’re gonna say.” He then did a terrible impression of you, simpering, “Oh, Ji, I can’t go out with you because I’m soooo in love with my best friend in the whole wide world!”

You snapped your head to his direction. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me clearly!” He finished off his nth can. “Okay, maybe it isn’t a Romeo and Juliet shit going on, but I know something is going on between you two!”

A laugh huffed out of you, but the boy was not convinced. “We’re just friends. Good friends, that’s all.”

Your answer was a hysterical bout of laughter, confusing you even further. “Come on, ____. I’m stupid, but not completely braindead.”

He took a step closer to you, careful of your hands still. “I know Chan practically adores you.”

This little statement made your shit freeze. “Stop it,” you murmured.

“Why?” he demanded. “Because I’m saying something the both of you refuse to listen to?”

“It’s none of your business,” you snapped. “Don’t get mad because I don’t wanna go out with you.”

“I’m not mad because of that.” With one last tequila can, he grabbed it, turning on his heel. “I’m mad because the both of you keep lying to yourselves.”

Before you could counter back, the boy stumbled away from you, hollering to the crowd to leave some space on the dance floor for him. You wondered for a second how he’d handle dancing when he could barely walk properly, but then your thoughts drifted back to the more dire subject at hand.

“Fuck,” you cursed out loud this time.

There it was. The question you should have addressed ever since you started this arrangement with Chan.

Were you really just friends?

You knew the question to that yourself. Both you and him had transcended past that point now, and in a horrifying realisation, you didn’t mind it that much. After experiencing his touch, his whispers, you doubt that you could ever see him as a friend again.

But...to be more?

Fuck indeed. You had a lot to think about tonight.

“But first,” you muttered, “To be out of this stupid party.”

Quickly, after taking two Smirnoff cans, you squeezed past the million drunkards, making your way to the exit. When you were out of the residence, you breathed in the cool night air, a rarity in these sweaty dorm rooms.

You had a small hope, as you walked down the lanes, that Chan would be there, right at the entrance as you left, but he was not there. He had a little habit of going wherever you were supposed to be if you were not home at the expected time, worried sick if you had drank or done something more stupid than usual.

But he was not here today. Maybe going to Jisung’s party made him extremely pissed.

There was a reason he rated it 9/10.

Soon, you were at your building, entering inside and finding your door at the very end of the hallway. Fishing out the keys, you slid them into the lock, careful of the cans, hearing the click! of the unlocking.

Your hand rested upon the doorknob. Eyes staring at the lifeless colour of the door, you closed your eyes, letting out a deep breath.

Stop worrying. Chan is your best friend.

You turned the knob.

Your best friend.

Pushed the door open. Stepped inside.

Right?

“Back so soon?”

Your body shivered at the words. Quickly walking inside the living room, you found the back of the sofa greeting you as per usual, with Chan’s head peering on top as he watched the TV. Walking further, you noticed yours and his favourite show playing on the screen.

“Yeah, it was quite boring, but the real question is,” you began, irritation marring your features, “Why are you watching this without me?”

He didn’t even glance back at you, nor pause the TV. “Oh, I don’t know, ____, maybe because it’s Friday night, and it’s our thing to do this every time? Do tell me if I’m wrong!”

“Shut up, Chan,” you seethed, dumping the Smirnoff on the coffee tables in front of him. “This is the one time I missed this, so stop being such a baby.”

“Oh, so you tell me to shut up,” he jeered, snapping the remote on the table, making you jump slightly. “Fine, I’ll shut up. You won’t hear a word from me again.”

You took a glimpse of his face, and caught this cold fury simmering beneath his skin. Oh no. Had you going to Jisung’s party made him this angry? It was beyond nonsensical now. Bang Chan was the most reasonable man you ever befriended.

Taking in the emotions inhabiting on his face, however, proved otherwise.

I know Chan practically adores you.

The memory brought chills all over you again.

Making your way into the kitchen, you figured to make yourself a midnight snack, hearing the crack! of a can opening behind you. Asshole, you refused to voice out loud, but opened the fridge, taking out leftovers and heating it up in the microwave.

“Anything interesting happened, then?” you heard the dry question travel to you.

Scoffing, you turned, taking out your food. “Oh, I thought I wasn’t hearing a word from you again.”

Your best friend’s smile was anything but sweet. “Well, I figured if you weren’t going to tell me things, I had to ask you myself.”

That snatched any faux amusement you might have harboured. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“You know what the fuck that means!” he snapped, getting up from the couch, pausing the screen. “I can’t believe you’re not telling me.”

“How about a little less attitude and a little more truth, you prick,” you rebuked, putting the cartons on the kitchen counter.

“Fine, I’ll tell you the truth that you’re too much of a pussy to say yourself!” He thundered into the kitchen, Smirnoff still in hand.

You backed up against the counter when he caged you with his glare. “Since when did you start going out with Jisung?”

Instantly your brows furrowed. “Who the fuck told you that?”

“Shit, I knew that bastard wanted to get in your pants,” he roared. “And you let him use you!”

“Woah, woah, buddy, slow down there!” You raised your hands in objection. “I’m not dating Jisung!”

“What?” He took a gulp of the vodka, confusion mixing with his fury. “You’re not?”

“Of course not, the fuck?! Who told you this?”

“He—” but then the cogs turned in Chan’s head, and suddenly it made sense to him. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

“What happened?” you asked, but he was drinking some more, cursing himself for even believing such nonsense. “Chan?”

“That son of a bitch called me before you came,” he started, swirling his drink in the can. “And I don’t know why he did, but he kept telling me to back off from you.”

You let out a low curse, but your friend was not finished. “I told him to get some sleep, cause clearly he wasn’t right in the head, but then...he said some words which literally shut me up.”

Then, you saw him hitch in an uncertain breath. “____, he bragged that he asked you out and...and you said yes.”

His reaction had you widening your eyes, mouth parting just a little. “And, damn it, I thought that this is why she’s so nice to this little fucker, giving him my coffee, or missing Friday night for his stupid party. Hell, even suggesting him first to be her friends-with-benefits.

“Because maybe she liked Jisung all along.”

You watched in horror as he finished his drink, crumbling the can and throwing it in the bin beside you. A shuddered breath escaped you at the explanation, but you sucked it in once more when you blinked back the sheer intensity of this man’s stare.

“So...yeah.” He ruffled his hair, breaking the stare as he looked away, face flushing with colour. “That’s why I just...yeah.”

A small part of you melted at his words, and his now embarrassment after expressing his desperate worry for you and your potential relationship.

Still, you had some problems that needed solving. “Chan, then why were you so angry at me?!”

You crossed your arms. “You didn’t even wait to hear what I had to say on the matter.”

“I don’t know, okay?!” he exclaimed, propping his hands to his sides. “I heard Jisung saying all that bullshit, and at the time I was so pissed that…”

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d go out with him, you dumbass!”

“Well, I don’t know, he’s just such a nice guy like you keep saying, and all that flowery poetry for him just went straight into my head!”

The situation almost seemed comical now. “Oh my God, did you really think I liked him?!

“Of course” he cried out, slapping his hands on the counter top next to you, unable to let you escape. As if you even wanted to. “Of course I thought that or else I wouldn’t be shitting my pants all night!”

“Then you’re the dumbest fucking prick I’ve ever met!” you screamed, as you grabbed hold of his hoodie, pulling him closer to you. “Because I don’t like him!

“I like you!”

“Well, I like you too, you stupid bitch!”

The confession had you both stopping, preventing the two of you going deaf from your shouting. The whole fight was completely ridiculous, but when you looked at each other, drinking in the words that just left your lips, the realisation finally dawned on you.

I like you too.

Well, shit. There it was.

The one thing you’d been hiding ever since you decided to fool around with him.

Maybe this was the last way you wanted to tell him, shouting out your declaration to prove his suspicions wrong. It was almost like something out of an unfunny American sitcom — this weird, comic deflation, but at least it was out in the open now.

You had finally told him of your feelings.

A pinch of that anger brewing within his features settled a little, hands still fisted on your sides. His eyes darted on every point of your face, as if he’s trying to memorise every inch, every detail etched upon your skin.

Although his blatant awe made you flustered, the aching inside spoke for you. “Are you going to keep staring all night or just kiss me already?”

God, you were such a bitch.

Chan seemed to think so too. “Nevermind, I fucking hate you,” he snarled, capturing your lips with his in an instant. You smiled against his mouth as you kissed him back with the same intensity, the same need which spread like wildfire in your body.

Kissing him should have become a routine with the amount of times you did it, but every locking of your lips with his sent you in a frenzy, lust-driven emotions spiralling out of control. You welcomed his tongue inside your mouth, the strong taste of tequila and desperation enlivening your inner workings, heightening your need for him, him, and only him.

His hands had no restrictions — the pads of his fingers had their very own needs, their own desire to feel every crevice of your body, your every curve and corner till you have no secret stored in your figure which they did not know of. You welcomed their ravaging, embraced their interrogation as they tried to uncover everything you held dear.

Once these hands found a weakness in the form of your dress altogether, they cleverly found an opening, reaching for the end of your dress lined at your thighs. His fingers hitched the hem upwards, skirting it higher until it bunched at your waist, revealing a red, silken thong, embroidered with black thread. You relished in Chan practically salivating all over the image, but his lust slapped him out of his dazing, and hurried to get it off, hands slipping it down your legs until it was discarded on the kitchen floor.

In an instant the man thrust two fingers inside of you, stretching your walls and creating a hypnotic rhythm of removing and inserting them back again. Your moans could bring down the whole residence, but none of you cared when Chan was scissoring you with his digits on the kitchen counter, desire radiating off his stature, and a determination to completely ruin you stark on his face.

“M-more!” You begged, knowing you could take it, and you were rewarded with a third finger, filling you up as you cried out in pleasure. His mouth quietened you, sucking on your lower lip and then taking all of you, had you delirious, but this insanity only progressed as the thrust of his fingers hit lighting speed.

The three digits had quickened your potential release, right on the tip of your cunt if he did not stop. “I’m g-gonna—fuck—!”

You were interrupted as Chan’s lips left yours, trailing down to your neck, collarbone, brushing his teeth between your chest as he fell to his knees. Pulling you forward, on the edge of the countertop, he spread your legs apart, cock twitching at the drenched cunt which awaited him, like a feast displayed for a starved, wild animal.

Looking up at you, he growled, “Cum when I say so, understand?”

Your hurried nods was all he needed as he dove right in, tongue sliding up your slit, lapping up your arousal as if it was an eternal cure. He fastened his stroke as he welcomed in his sight your clit, swiping his tongue along the bud.

You moaned out his name like a cry for help, and he answered at first ring when his fingers still laboured, faster and faster, along with his heavenly tongue licking your clit like ice cream on a summer's day.

“Chan, please—!” You choked out, one hand carding through the man’s hair, driving his face deeper into your cunt. “Please, I need to cum!”

Completely ignoring you, he carried on his ravishing, making you shake your legs to a point your body was beyond your control — you were at his mercy when his head was between your legs, when he prodded at your core as if it was no one else’s but his.

When Chan brushed against your g-spot, it took every muscle in your body not to cum on his face then and there. He was being cruel; this was punishment for going to that party, justice for choosing Jisung’s company over his.

You did not know punishment felt so pain-stakingly amazing.

Calling out his name for the last time, you knew that if the man carried on, you would go against his wishes and free yourself of the burden pushing down on your gut. Gripping onto his hair hard enough to rip right off, Chan spared a single glance at you from above, licking his lips off your mess.

“Cum for me, baby.”

That was the first time you came that night. Shaking as you freed your juices unto him, he gladly accepting the release. It was like you possessed a vessel of your release, the way you kept it inside for so long. He could never refuse though, when he knew he was responsible for driving you down that road of vulnerability.

However, even with all of that, you still wanted more.

And as Chan ascended on his feet, yanking his fingers out of you, he saw it in your eyes. The uncontainable passion. The unadulterated desire.

All for him. All. For him.

Your best friend’s smile was positively wicked.

“I will completely ruin you, ____.”

He was upon you like a beast, no mercy upon your lips as he bruised them with his teeth, your pleas drowned out by his mouth as he lifted you in his arms. His kisses never ceased as he led you in his bedroom, nearly ripping the hinges at the sheer intensity of slamming his door shut.

Throwing you on the bed, your breath whooshed out of you at the free fall, heart running miles as you witnessed Chan take his shirt off, his entire chest glistening with sweat, no doubt from the work he put in mere minutes ago.

Upon you in seconds, his mouth robbed you of any more oxygen, prying it open as he attempted to unzip your dress from the back. Then, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, he tried to loosen the zipping, but the damned thing got stuck in it’s trail, unable to satisfy.

Letting out an angry growl, he damned the dress when, using his hands at the front, he ripped the fabric in half, completely down to the hem.

“My dress!” You gasped out, watching him discard the torn fabric as if it were a minor inconvenience in his path.

You were cut off by his mouth, scorching you down to the bone. “I’ll buy you ten more, baby,” he muttered, skimming his hands down your bare sides.

You had the audacity to roll your eyes at his words. “Why do you keep forgetting you’re a college student?”

It seemed Chan did not take kindly to your comment. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped, resulting in you leaking right onto his sheets.

That kept you wilfully obedient, and rightfully so, when he unclipped your bra, tossing it to the side, and settled upon your breasts. Grinding his clothed cock upon your bare slit, he licked your right nipple, making you whimper out at him. His reply was swirling his finger on your left nipple, toying with your body as if it was his plaything. You would have had a right mind to shout at him if he didn’t bring such euphoria along with it.

“Chan,” you whispered, gripping onto the sheets as he continued sucking your breasts. “Chan, I...I need you to fuck me already.”

He paused his assault on your bud, raising a groomed brow. “What do you say to that?” He asked, too calmly in a crazy situation like this.

Of course, he wanted to make you beg. Considering you did not care the least for your self respect, or lack thereof, you completely obliged him, rutting your bare cunt upon his trousers.

“Please, Chan. Please.”

Hearing the little pleases had him kissing you insane as he urged you to take his pants off. You willingly obeyed, tossing the clothing along with his Calvins, and when his cock sprung me you felt the inside of your mouth water at the sight.

The man hovered just above you as he positioned his dick right at the entrance, poking between the folds. “Say the magic word, now, baby,” he commanded quietly, and just for the last time, you had to be the most annoying person in the world.

“Donghyuck!”

The second that damned name slipped out of your mouth, you completely regretted it as instead of making sweet, slow love to you, Bang Chan thrusted his cock so hard into you your whole body flinched with the impact. You couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped, tears settling in your eyes, but alas, your best friend had little sympathy for you.

“Bitch,” he seethed, pulling out, widening your eyes only to have him slam his cock back into you, sending you into another universe entirely.

You envied his strength — you could barely hold onto his arms while his grip on you could probably compete with the Earth’s gravity, stable and safe and inescapable. He imprisoned you in his hold as he pulled out slowly, and then drove back inside, but you wanted to be in this cage, to never leave his midnight eyes that offered something other than rage and lust and humour. You dared not wonder what it might be, but when you closed your eyes, your mind began to ponder, float amongst the stars of ideas and questions which defined your relationship.

As Chan began to fasten his pace, thrusts more erratic, you held onto his dark curls, mouth never refraining every moan and whine which he fucked out of you. There he was, the man who deemed you worthy of being pleasured, despite risking your decade old friendship to see you have the same advantages as any old person who was sexually frustrated.

But this man did not just give you any old advantages — he offered the whole world in his hands to you, knelt before you, fulfilled your every waking desire, held onto you before you could ever slip away into the chaos of your mind. Even now, with you getting lost into the galaxies of his eyes, it was solely his hands which were the anchor to reality, a reality he made better by his offer.

Bang Chan, your very best friend.

When he caught the tenderness radiating on your face, he could not help stealing a little for himself, moulding his lips upon yours as he pistoned you in the bed. It was perhaps this small warmth, along with his perfect rhythm of his cock that had you crying out, barely able to contain your second release.

You broke away from the kiss, and uttered his name like a prayer. “Chan,” you whimpered, not needing to say anything for him to realise that you were so very near.

He pressed his forehead against yours, unable to keep away from you. “Fine then,” he grumbled. “I’ll go easy on you.

“Cum for me, ____.”

The words weren’t fully out when you stained Chan’s bed with your release, pushing through the tiny spaces in your walls. He, too, let out an aggravated cry as he spilled into you, most mingling along with your cum upon the sheets.

A heavy silence fell upon the both of you, both of your breathing harmonising with each other in the cold midnight. Chan toppled on the side of the bed next to you, closing his eyes as he breathed from his mouth, chest rising unevenly.

For minutes none of you said anything to each other, simply basking in each other’s peace. You felt the eyes of your best friend, and locked them with yours.

You decided to break the silence first.

“I’m sorry for saying his name.”

Brilliant. Why would you mention that stupid idol once again?

Chan, surprisingly, burst into laughter. You were caught completely off guard, but seeing his smile lighten up his face had you reflecting his happiness.

“You are,” he rasped out, holding onto his stomach, “The most annoying bitch I’ve ever met.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed, smacking him on his arm, which he responded with threats of pushing you off the bed. “You wouldn’t dare!”

His hands were upon you in seconds, steering you at the edge of the mattress. He cackled at your shocked yelping, and you glared at him as he pushed you away from the edge, and into his arms. “Asshole,” you murmured, burying your face in his chest, which he gladly welcomed as he stroked your hair softly with his fingers.

You both found solace in each other’s embrace for a little while before Chan let go of you. “Hey, I completely forgot, but...I got you something while you were out.”

Your eyes perked up at the idea of a gift, which the man tutted when he noticed. “Greedy whore,” he crowed, getting out of the bed as he strolled to his desk, grabbing a brown paper bag. His marble-cut ass was out for you to see, and you took full advantage, watching it with no small amount of admiration.

“Enjoyed the view?” He asked innocently as he slithered right back into bed again, offering you the paper bag. Sticking your tongue out at him, you took the offer, opening it up to see what was so special inside.

Catching sight of the gift had you bursting into a smile.

“Chan!”

You whipped the goods out of the bag, hand on your mouth.

The man bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too wide. “You like it?”

“You like it?” You parroted, already digging in. “Where did you even find these?”

“Oh, I visited my mom earlier in the day, and she got the cookies from the old shop,” he explained, taking one of the sweets for himself. “I instantly thought of you as she gave them to me, so I saved them for you.”

You widened your eyes in affection. These sweets may have been normal, bakery cookies, but they held a significance for the both of you: these cookies were what started the whole trend of you and Chan rating certain objects or situations for each other, and whenever you were on an academic break, you made sure to drag your friend back to our hometown, where you could always grab a dozen of your favourite snack.

“Thank you for these, bud,” you said, eating away the first cookie. “I think they’ve become better than an eight now.”

Chan hummed in agreement, finishing off his one too. Licking the crumbs off his fingers, he then turned to you, a question riddled all over his face. “Hey, ____?”

“Yeah?”

When he didn’t say anything, you focused your attention on him, propping your head on your elbow. You saw with slight surprise that his cheeks were reddening by the second.

“Chan?”

“It’s just…” he raised his hand, holding your own. “I’ve been thinking about…all of this.”

You raised your brows, refusing to reveal the dread rising in your gut. “Us?”

“Yeah, us,” he confirmed, stroking his thumb across your fingers. “Now, remember that you’ll always be my best friend, okay, like I don’t want you thinking that this would be the end of us or something—”

“Get to the point, buddy,” you hurried along, earning a glare from him.

Then, he licked his lips in anxiety, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Hand never leaving yours, he pinned you with a stare, making you even more nervous.

He parted his mouth.

“____, would you like to go on a date with me?”

You blinked.

Your delayed reaction had Chan groaning. “Fuck, nevermind, just forget I said anything!” He swiped his hand away from yours, holding his head in shame. “I should have kept my big mouth shut, your bad habits are really growing on me—”

“Yes.”

Your best friend paused.

Turned, ever so slowly, towards you.

“What?”

You could not contain your smile as you took his hand once more. “I’ll go on a date with you, you big oaf.”

For a second you truly believed you had killed off Chan with that declaration. Then, his face exploded into pure joy, and he tackled you in a massive hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Oh my fucking God!” he cursed, “Don’t do that to me again!”

You laughed heartily as you put him at arms’ length. “You were the one doing mental gymnastics!”

Refusing still to let go of you, he played with your hair as he clamped on his lips. “One more thing.”

“Shoot.”

“How good was I?” He looked at you, a vulnerable expression etched onto his beautiful features. “You know...with all of this.”

You stared at him, drinking in his face, his every detail, as if you had all the time in the world. Firstly, you had a right mind to pull his leg one more time, but you feared that if you made fun of him again, he might die of a heart attack.

And you still had many more years of tormenting your best friend.

So you brought him towards you, pressing your lips onto his. He seemed very much obliged to go deeper, but you pulled away just as quickly, offering him a ghost of a smile.

“I think you were a 10/10,” you whispered. “From start till finish.”

Hearing the score, and sensing your sincerity along with it, had him in near tears. He enveloped your mouth with his, backing you against the divan as he expressed his affection within the rhythm of his lips.

When he pulled away, still mere inches from you, he said the words he’d been meaning to say since the day he first laid eyes on you — since the day you two contacted this system, since the day he knew your rating as if he knew his own name.

“Well, baby, you’ve always been a 10/10 for me.”

#stray kids smut #bang chan smut #stray kids oneshot #bang chan imagines #bang chan oneshot #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids dark hours #bang chan dark hours #bang chan hard hours #stray kids hard hours

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Midnight in the Desert 1/1

Title: Midnight in the Desert

Summary: Coffee + tiny bladder + long motorcycle ride = the best sex of your life

Rating: Smut, fluff, fun sexy times. My usual fare, you know what’s up.

Pairing: Captain ‘Sy’ Syverson x YOU (AU)

Companion piece to The Road to Paloma

‘I have to pee!’

You leaned against Syverson’s broad back and shouted at him above the roar of the bike’s engine.

He turned his cheek against the wind.

‘What?!’ he shouted back. ‘Again?? We just stopped an hour ago.’

‘I got a tiny bladder!’ you laughed as he decreased the bike speed.

It was easier to talk now that the warm night air had stopped whipping away your words. You nuzzled fondly against his shoulder and eased your hands down over his belt buckle.

‘There ain’t a place for miles,’ he said and lay his hand over your hands. ‘Can you hold it?’

You thought a moment and although that second cup of truckstop hazelnut coffee was a surprising delight to the senses, it was a mistake currently wreaking havoc on your bladder.

‘I cannot. Nope, not in the least,’ you replied and left it up to your problem solving husband to figure it out.

Up ahead on that long black stretch of barren backcountry Arizona road stood a high-mast sodium light which cast a broad oval of yellowy illumination across the road. Syverson slowed the bike even more and drew close to the tall wood pole. You peered up at the ring of industrial bulbs and then down at the shadowy dirt area just at the rim of bright light.

When he shut off the engine the world plunged into a kind of silence that only an evening on an empty road in the middle of a desert could create. Nothing but crickets, and the occasional nocturnal animal cry. You liked it.

Syverson kicked the bike onto the stand and let the machine ease to one side. He got off it and turned to face you as he thumbed through his mobile.

‘No signal,’ he grumped and then pointed to the saddle bag near your thigh. ‘Get out the map. Let’s take a look.’

You did as you were told. He always kept a big book of state maps in the bag for when the online maps failed. You paged through it, landed on the appropriate state and after a quick skimming search, you put a finger on a thin jagged red line.

‘Highway 373,’ he said, looking down the length of your finger and rubbing his hand over his beard. ‘Yeah, see? Town’s at least another 60 miles.’

With your finger still on the map, you looked up at him and pouted. Syverson smiled fondly and used the tip of his index finger to push up your helmet visor so that he could see your eyes. He stroked the edge of his thumb back and forth against your cheek.

‘Sure you can’t hold it?’ he asked in a tone that said come on baby you can do it.

But you shook your head and unstrapped your helmet. He removed his own in response. Might as well get comfortable.

Handing yours to him, you rummaged about in your rucksack and made a noise of triumph when your fingers closed about a small plastic baggie. You pulled it out and held it up.

One of the most valuable tips that you learned from women who were constantly on the road was that a ‘fuddy’ or a female urination device was a godsend and a life saver.

Yours was pink.

‘Looks like your girl is gonna have to make do,’ you said and groaned as your bladder protested the exertion when he helped you climb off of the bike.

‘Awright,’ he said. ‘Don’t accidentally piss on anything that I’m gonna have to fight, okay?’

‘Always my knight in shining armour, Sy,’ you called over your shoulder walking to the edge where the darkness met the light.

He laughed and sat with his rear against the seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

‘Just do it where I can see you,’ he said.

You stepped across that hard bright line and into the pale darkness.

It seemed cooler there for some reason and you strained to look into the distance. The moon had gone in behind grey streaky clouds and backlit the jagged mountain range in the distance. You glanced back at the man leaning against the bike. He was still aware and watching and that comforted you.

Always your protector.

Unzipping your loose heavy canvas trousers, you pressed the rubbery funnel into place and relieved yourself into the dirt.

As the pressure subsided, your mood lifted and the thought of maybe another coffee didn’t sound so bad. Drying yourself and the funnel with a little bogroll, you tucked everything back into the baggie, righted your clothes and returned to the bike.

Syverson’s keen gaze skimmed over you.

‘Better?’ he teased.

You stored your bag into the rucksack and stood back to look fully at him.

‘You’re turning into a grizzly, you know that?’ you asked fondly, reaching up to run your fingers over his beard and then up over his jaw and to the back of his neck.

‘I thought you liked me like this,’ he replied in his easy joking manner.

He caught his thick facial hair between his thumb and forefinger and gave himself a thoughtful stroke. You smiled and reached up to gently caress the back of his well shaped head with both hands. His eyes softened immediately and a knowing look crept into his warm gaze.

‘What are you tryin’ to do?’ he asked.

There was that soft, gentle laughter in his voice that you loved so much. It was the sound that had come to mean that he was settling in to play your game.

You caught the corner of your lower lip between your teeth and looking away you lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

‘What?’ you asked innocently, ‘I’m not doing anything.’

Syverson hooked his thumbs into the side belt loops of your trousers. He drew you closer but when you resisted he shot you a quizzical expression.

No play? asked that expression.

He looked nearly betrayed that you would deny him access to the trouble he so dearly wanted to get into. He wanted to get into you.

You moved a few steps away and when you held his full and undivided attention, you unzipped your trousers. With an insolent pause to gauge his reaction, which was immediate and intense, you shimmied, let them drop and then stepped out of them. You wore his long tee shirt, and when the trousers dropped, the hem of it fell against your bare upper thighs, covering you.

Syverson made a low, greedy noise in his throat. He grabbed you by the waist and in a smooth motion, he straddled the bike’s seat, and swung you effortlessly into the air before planting you firmly astride his lap with a solid thump.

You felt him move against you as he shifted in the seat and the tough material stretched taut across his muscular thighs scraped along the tender flesh of your inner thighs. A pleasurable shiver rushed through you and you put your hands flat on his heaving chest. Sy wet his lips and looked up at you. There was want and heat and desire in his blue eyes and your lips curved into a delighted smirk.

This man, this beast of a man was yours and yours alone to do with whatever you pleased.

‘I’ve never met a woman who was so exciting,’ he groaned, voice quiet, as if he didn’t want to break the spell you’d woven over him.

You took the compliment in stride. Leaning in, you opened his mouth with your tongue and slid your hand down to his belt buckle. When you drew back, he looked down the length of torso and watched in breathless panting silence as you unbuckled his trousers and eased out his stiffening cock. You glanced at him, noting the colour rising high in his cheeks as he shuddered, put his head back and moaned.

He slid up the lower edge of your tee shirt and massaged your bottom rhythmically, eagerly as you stroked him once, then again, curving your fingers around his thick girth and teasing his glistening head with your thumb.

‘Yeah, baby. Good girl. Just like that,’ he groaned. ‘Oh, yeah, you know what I like.’

You warmed with the pleasure at being praised by him.

And gleefully, you twisted your slick fist and he arched, and tightened his grip on your hips.

‘C’mon baby, c’mon… you’re teasing me.’

I love to tease you baby, I love how you respond to me.

With his big hands supporting you, you rose to your knees opening yourself to him and you whispered his name when he undulated and pushed up into your sweet quivering heat.

As usual, you were unprepared for him, unprepared for the size of him. But you relaxed, closed your eyes, and clenched when his cock slowly stretched you to fit him.

Between his competent, loving hands, Syverson held you still and lifted his face so that you could kiss him, softly, gently, as if the two of you were hidden away in your bedroom, and not fucking like unrestrained lusty beasts by the side of a silent desert highway.

Sy thrust up hard into you, laying claim to you from the inside and an unnamed feral fire seared through you. You arched, sucked in a breath and your intentions of keeping quiet were obliterated. The throaty cry that erupted from you started but did not shame you.

A roll of your hips elicited the same response from him and you hissed with pain when he dug his fingers into your vulnerable flesh. But he soothed you with warm honeyed kisses and the promise of ever increasing delights. You clenched your thighs about him and Sy encouraged you to ride him harder and faster until you couldn’t withstand the plunging shudder that rocked you. Safe in the strength of his embrace, you surrendered to him, clutched at him and shuddered through the white-hot scalding gush of lust and molten fire through your veins.

Syverson held you against him until you finally stilled and draped yourself over him to cover his face with kisses.

After cleaning up and dressing, you settled yourself behind him again, wrapped your arms about his waist and rested your cheek against his shoulder. You gasped when the engine roared to life as the sudden vibrations shook you intimately and the sensations made you smile.

‘You ready?’ he asked, breaking you out of your muse.

You squeezed him.

‘Ready.’

A hotel room, a hot shower and another round were in order along with some downtime to rest. There was a secondary reason why you had to pee so much. Your husband was going to be a father.

-the end, you naughty little things. I love you ;D

Tag list: @lightsidecalling @omgkatinka @igotkatiepowers @the-soot-sprite @harrysthiccthighss @little-green-love @foxyjwls007 @angreav @maizyistrash @liquorlaughslove @supernaturallymarvellous @whiskey-cokenstuff @laketaj24 @october505 @inlovewithhisblueeyes @foodieforthoughts @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @singeramg @sapphirescrolls @emyearns @brandycranby @zealoushound @eldarwen333 @beck07990 @lunedelorient @henrythickcavill @kalesrebellion @angrythingstarlight @lavitabella87

#henry cavill #captain syverson #syverson #the witcher #geralt #clark kent #fanfic #henry cavill x you #captain syverson x you

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pars-ley · 4 years ago

Note

hi! i just came across your page the other day and i’ve read all of your drabbles and stories multiple times lol! so for my ask, i would love it if you did a college AU with popularjock!jk and have it be similar to the movie ‘A Cinderella Story’. some angst with smut and a happy ending if possible! oh and bestfriendjimin! as well :) hope this is not too much to request! ily

At the stroke of Midnight

Pairing: Jungkook x f reader

Summary: One popular boy + One 'uncool' girl + One school dance + One necklace left behind = A cinderella story.

Genre: Angst / Fluff / Smut / Cinderella au / A Cinderella story au / comedy / popular jock jungkook / best friend Jimin

Warnings: Suggestive language / sex

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Word Count: 4k

Beta reader: @casuallyimagining

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken me so long! I had no clue about this film, so writing this entailed some research and me watching the movie...twice haha. I really hope I did it justice for you and you enjoy it. Thank you for the request!

"So, what's prince charming saying now that's so much more important than your best friend?" Jimin pouts, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

You flush slightly. "He wants to meet." Grimacing at the words.

"And that's a problem, why?"

You bury your head in your hands. "Because I'm me and I'm certainly no one special, what if he's disappointed?" You groan, the dilemma churning your gut and making you feel like your breakfast could make a second appearance.

"Hey," Jimin scoots closer to you along the bench and throws an arm around your shoulder. "No best friend of mine gets away with speaking about herself like that. You are lovely, and if he thinks you're anything other than amazing, there's something wrong with him and he needs to be studied in a lab."

You laugh in spite of yourself, hearing Jimin’s words rattle around in your brain, knowing that you should not be this hard on yourself. You lean into his snug embrace.

You open up Tumblr and stare at the conversation between you and @gameoverguk. Your favourite gaming blog you’ve followed for ages, by chance seeing your gaming fan art and following you back was one thing, but conversing with him and finding out that he also attended your school was a completely different matter. Trying to solve the equation of who this mysterious creator might be is harder than you thought. And the way he converses with you, so open and honest and sweet, that had to narrow it down surely?

Something slams into your back, pain immediately in its wake. You and Jimin turn to see the popular boy of your university, Jungkook, gawking at you and his best friend Taehyung in hysterics.

Jimin looks down in the grass behind you at the offending apple and calls, “Hey, watch it guys.”

“Really sorry!” Jungkook calls over, a slight dusting of scarlet across his cheeks but looks like he’s also fighting a laugh. It burns you how someone so smug can still be so handsome, and you hate yourself for even thinking about him in any way other than the airhead jock that he is.

Taehyung jogs over and picks it up, still somewhat amused. “What, didn’t your crystal ball tell you that was gonna happen?” He says to you, loud enough for everyone in a mile radius to hear.

You cringe inwardly, attempting to fight your embarrassment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the top athletes in this university? And you can’t even catch an apple.” Jimin snarks in your defense.

His face drops as he looks like he’s about to take a step towards you both.

“Tae!” Jungkook calls, an air of command in his voice, breaking the tense air as he looks away from you ruefully. Walking off with Taehyung following, eating his apple and laughing between bites.

“Ignore them.” Jimin says sternly. “Speaking of, are you working tonight?”

Your face falls into an unamused expression, as if he even had to ask.

You were working so much you were almost taking residence at your step-mums 'magic shop', as everyone called it.

He smiles at you, his nose wrinkling, and you can’t help your face softening.

“Ok, ok, my bad. Can I swing by later? I need some more incense.”

You shrug, grabbing your bag and chucking it over your shoulder. “Sure. I’d be glad of the company to be honest.”

“Ooooh, maybe we could do a seance?”

You glare at him and head off to class causing his melodious laugh to ring out around you.

Sitting in the bleachers after class, with your sketchpad and pencil, the perfect view of the city line and the departing sun staring back at you, you sketch away. The pencil etching fast across your paper as you manage to block out the sounds of the team practicing and their bodies crashing against each other.

Long after you've lost yourself in your landscape, fingers grey and shiny from shading, you neglect to hear some of the team members leaving, climbing over the seats and headed in your direction. That is until your pad is snatched from underneath you as you frantically grapple for it, without success.

"You know, this isn't where the nerds hang out." Taehyung smirks at his two other buddies, clearly impressed with himself.

You let out a bored sigh. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you owned the bleachers." Your words drip with sarcasm.

His face drops and a mean glare spreads across his features as he throws your drawing pad in the air. You watch helplessly as the pages flutter in the wind as it flies away and disappears under the stands.

"Have a nice night." He says quietly, an attempt to be intimidating, as him and his friends leave.

Your veins alight with fury, hands balled into fists at your sides. You wanted to stamp your feet like a petulant child. This isn't fair. Why you?

It's only then you notice Jeon Jungkook standing on the field watching. Embarrassment suddenly extinguishes your angry flames as he breaks your gaze first, walking off under the bleachers. You grab your bag to leave for work before you suffer any more humiliation.

As you reach the last step you yelp with surprise as Jungkook appears suddenly in your view, you manage to steel yourself before tumbling into him.

You stare at him, wishing he'd get on with it and tease you so you can go...but it doesn't come. Instead he hands you your sketchpad, gently dusting off the pages.

You take it, a hesitant, "thanks," ghosts from your lips.

"I'm sorry about him." He says quietly.

You shrug. "Not your fault, I guess."

Seconds tick by as you both stare awkwardly at each other, unsure what else could be said.

"You're pretty. I-I mean, it-it's pretty." He stammers, tapping the unfinished sketch in your book. "You're very talented."

Your cheeks flush an undignified fuchsia as you duck your head slightly, letting your hair hide you. "Thank you."

He offers you a weak smile before giving you a halfhearted wave and jogging off across the field, leaving you watching his back, perplexed at the exchange you've had.

You stare at your messages, every moment he can see you're online and not replying makes your cheeks flush crimson and makes your mind run frantic.

Meet me at the Happy Holidays dance.

Could you?

It’s the first holiday dance your university has put on--one you had no intention of going to, because you frankly didn't need the added teasing from the popular kids. It is a masquerade ball however, so no one had to know it was you, you could fall pleasantly under the radar.

Were you really considering this?

What did you have to lose? You can hide behind the comfort of your mask. If he discovers it's you, it's his problem if he doesn't like that, Jimin is absolutely right.

Ok. Where will I find you?

You press send and chuck your phone down, throwing your head in your pillow to scream. Did you actually just do that!? No taking it back now, it's out there.

When you hear your text tone sound you scramble quickly back to it.

By the old sundial outside. At 10.00?

You grin dorkishly at your phone, typing a quick reply.

Sure. See you then.

You call your number one speed dial, two rings in and Jimin's voice sounds.

"I was just going to call you, how strange. Listen, do you remember that time I-?"

"I'm in need of some urgent assistance. I just agreed to go to the holiday dance!"

He cackles excitedly on the other end. "I'll be right over!"

As you step out of Jimin's car you have to lift your ice blue dress up to avoid the floor...and tripping. How Jimin pulled this costume together in time, you'll never know, he's taking that secret to the grave.

You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and adjust your matching lace mask, making sure it's comfortable.

"Ok, go get him tiger." He roars, as he swipes a clawed hand in front of you.

You giggle at his silly antics and take a deep breath before giving him a final nod and heading into the dance.

From the moment you walk in, you want to go home. This is a bad idea. He won't be interested when he finds out it's really you.

You have no time to continue your anguished thoughts as you get swept up in the crowd, fighting your way through to grab a drink. Standing to the side and surveying everyone's costumes, noticing a lot of dark or bright colour choices, you being one of the only people in a pale colour, making you stand out more. Something you were definitely hoping to avoid.

A few songs later and the clock in the hall catches your eye, noticing you had fifteen minutes until you meet your mystery man.

You head outside, footsteps echoing along the cobbled floor, and see that the outside is empty save for a few smoking and talking.

You get to the large, metal sundial and wait. Stomach churning from the butterflies that swarm wildly inside.

"Blue hour artist?" You hear your Tumblr tag spoken behind you and freeze.

You're about to meet him, come face to face with the person who understands you more than anyone, who opens up to you in ways most people wouldn't and who's creativity knows no bounds.

You turn slowly, not knowing who to expect but definitely not who you're faced with.

"Jeon Jungkook!? You're 'game over guk'?" You ask, your mouth popped open in shock.

He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's not fair, you're wearing a mask. How will I know who you are?"

You stare at him, trying to find words to answer his question, but the fact that it's him stood before you blows you away.

How could this be? The person you've been talking to online is the complete opposite to Jungkook and yet, here he is, one and the same.

"You'll h-have to guess." You try to get yourself together.

His mouth stretches into a toothy smile. "Ok, how about we play '21 questions' to help me guess?"

You nod, playing with your fingernails out of nerves.

"Do you want to sit down?" He asks, looking over at one of the benches.

"Um, no, I'd rather walk, if you don't mind?"

"Oh, sure." He agrees eagerly and you head off down the pathway around the building.

A few awkward side glances between the two of you and he finally asks, "Do we have any classes together?"

"No."

"Ok, narrows it down slightly."

You take this opportunity to look at what he's wearing and he's every part the Prince charming. In a white satin shirt, with light blue trousers and a one shoulder half capelet to match, complete with silver, trim detail. Surprisingly similar to your choice of dress, what a strange coincidence.

"You take art I assume?" He asks, into the comfortable silence.

You nod. "That's an obvious one." You refer to your Tumblr page full of your fan art and projects.

He smiles bashfully and your stomach flips at the sight, feeling like a true-life Disney princess with heart eyes and birds singing above your head.

"I don't know many girls in art." He admits,

"Ok, what about outside uni, do you go to any popular hangouts?"

Your cheeks flush, knowing you're admitting how dorky and uncool you are. "Nope."

"Ok, harder than I thought." He laughs, revealing his perfect teeth again. "Do you have a job?"

Nodding again, you play with the hem of your lace sleeve, channeling your nerves into the action.

As you're about to answer, your heel gets stuck in between the paving stone, causing you to buckle. Panic strikes you. You cannot fall over and embarrass yourself! Not when finding out who you are will be embarrassing enough. Luckily, you steady yourself against a nearby lamppost before falling on your face but at the cost of leaving your shoe stuck in the ground.

You tuck your leg up under your dress, steadying yourself against the street light, directly underneath the assaulting brightness, illuminating you like a spotlight.

Jungkook rushes over to your lonesome blue stiletto and retrieves it before crouching on one knee in front of you.

You stare at him, eyes wide and alarmed by his sudden closeness as he holds out your shoe in the most sincere way.

You bring your foot down and arch it back into its rightful holster. As you do, his fingertips graze your ankle, sending a flush of heat cascading up your body and neck, stopping only at your hairline.

He lingers there, looking up at you with huge doe eyes, but with a severe intensity you've never noticed from him before.

His fingers skate up your leg slightly as he rises, sending a delicious shiver through you. His fingers tips hint at your hand, you yearn to reach out and hold it, as he stands mere centimeters away from you. His intoxicating scent swirling around you like your own personal hurricane, taking your composed state and tearing through it, leaving it whimpering weakly on the ground. His face is too close to yours and yet not close enough. You feel feverish from his proximity and yet you need him closer to sate your heat.

Your breast vibrates from the aggressive pounding of your heart. Having him here on his knees in front of you, something not even acceptable in your wildest dreams and yet, here he is.

The person you've gotten to know so well, such a contrast to the person you've seen around campus. But then again, he seems to like the person he's gotten to know too, maybe he won't be as disappointed when he realises who you are? Maybe you can kid yourself into thinking that.

A chiming sounds in the distance, barely there and yet it creeps further into your subconscious.

"Your phone is ringing." He whispers, his breath tickling your face, as his eyes still blaze into yours.

'My phone. My phone? Oh, my phone!' Your muddled thoughts clear themselves enough for you to understand his words. You pull it out of your little silver handbag and see Jimin's number on screen.

"Hello?" You ask, staring dreamily at Jungkook who is rooted firmly in his spot.

"Ok, I apologise if you're throat-deep around prince charming’s dick but I really need to make it home before midnight so my dad doesn't turn me into a pumpkin...and by that I mean, pounded, pulped and pressed into pumpkin pie."

You snap out of it suddenly, realising Jimin's words and not wanting him to get in trouble because of you. "Of course. I'm coming, right now."

Jungkook's eyes flit back to reality with a deep frown. His hand clasps yours as you hang up and tuck your phone back into your bag. Your legs, already moving towards the front entrance where he would be waiting.

"Wait," Jungkook's pleading pierces right into your chest, feeling your resolve bubble up to the surface, enticing you to stay and see where the night takes you. But you don't.

"I can't, I have to go." You say, gently slipping your hand from his and jogging elegantly to the front parking lot.

When you see Jimin's dads silver Rolls Royce, you're suddenly eager to get in and share your news.

"So...did you meet him!?" An excited Jimin shakes your arm as you close the door behind you.

"Yes. You will never guess who he is." You fasten your belt and Jimin pulls off quickly, both of you wincing as he narrowly misses a barrier post on the way out of the campus.

"Who?"

You smile to yourself, heart fit to burst. "Jeon Jungkook."

Jimin's foot taps on the brakes, lurching you forward.

"I'm sorry. What?" He turns to you, eyes wider than you've ever seen them. "As in, popular boy, sex god Jungkook?"

You scoff. "Who told you he was a sex god?"

"I'm making assumptions. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He grins as he elbows you in the ribs and sets off driving you home, while excitement rapidly blooms inside you.

You dropped your necklace.

You read the words over and over, unsure what your response should be. You needed that necklace. The simple silver chain holding the tiny teardrop pearl. It was all you had left of your dad. When he died, your step-mother sold most of his things, including gifts he bought for you. This was your last, most cherished item. The only reason you were allowed to keep it is that you were wearing it at the time and you haven't taken it off since. Losing it had your chest aching. You stared at Jungkook's last message until sleep over took you.

Monday morning. Eyes gritty and burning, you wake to the sea of sleep trying to entice you back to its darkening depths but you fight your fluttering eyelids and get ready for a new day.

How are you going to look at Jungkook now? You should tell him who you are. Yes, you'll do that and get your necklace back and it'll be happily ever after.

Only it won't.

From your experience happily ever after doesn't happen for most people, even accomplished, brilliant, beautiful people. You're entirely average and ordinary, why would it happen for you?

By the time you get to campus, your manic mind has been changed numerous times. You decide to wait until you see him, which you spend every moment of your arrival scanning the faces that pass you.

"Hey, hey, Jelly Bean. Looking for me?" Jimin's cheerful face comes into full view, distracting you.

He's clearly unimpressed with whatever expression you're portraying currently, as he pouts and turns to the sea of faces. "Clearly, I no longer matter, now you've got big dick Jungkook."

You hush him loudly, looking around to ensure there were no listening ears. "Firstly, I'm begging you, stop talking about his dick and secondly, stop being stupid."

He laughs at your stressed rant. "Ok, ok, jeez. Is he meeting you this morning?"

Your body tenses, knowing, already hearing the lecture he's about to scold you with.

"You didn't tell him, did you? He still has no idea it's you!?" He sighs, throwing his hands in the air dramatically, typical Jimin fashion. "I swear to god...If you don't tell him, I will."

Your head snaps over to him as you walk side by side into the building, glaring menacingly in his direction. "You wouldn't dare."

He shrugs. "Try me, scaredy cat."

You huff and scrub at your tired eyes. "Let me just get through my classes then we shall discuss this."

He laughs as he tussles your hair and heads off in the opposite direction.

Your day passes fairly quickly, even though your struggle to stay awake during lectures only grows.

You do not see Jungkook, which is not unusual as you're not even in the same wings of the building most of the time.

Jimin's frantic waving has you puzzled as a deep frown creases your brow as you walk towards him, his jumping and pointing most unusual. It's only when you see a set of hands directly in front of you and feel your necklace land on your chest as it's draped across your collar bones, that you stop in your tracks.

Those hands, warm at the back of your neck and a mouth next to your ear saying, "I told you I'd look after it and return it." Unmistakably Jungkook's voice whispers in your ear making you quiver.

When his hands are gone you look down and find relief washing over you with the familiar feel of your necklace, having felt bare and empty without it.

"Why didn't you reply to my messages?" He asks, stepping in front of you with a big bunny smile.

Wide eyed with shock, your mouth gapes open with the slow realization that he is, in fact, talking to you. "How-how did you…" Words fail you as you frantically think of any way you might have let slip your identity but coming up empty.

"How did I know it was you?" He asks, mouth pulled on one side in a smile. "When you dropped your necklace as you left the dance, I recognized it instantly. "

"Wh-what?" You squeak out. You attempt to swallow your confusion enough to form a coherent sentence. "On what planet would someone like you notice anything about someone like me."

A look of hurt flashes across his face, almost as if you'd slapped him as he takes a step towards you, a hair's width away now. "How could I not notice you? You're beautiful and smart, you don't follow the crowd and you're kind to everyone, I've noticed everything the last two years. I've just never spoken to you properly because….well...what do I have to offer someone like you, with endless talents and interests, a charming personality to boot and just when I think that's all there is, I discover something else about you. I'm just the school jock, popularity gets me opportunities, I don't have to work hard for anything...I feel...inferior to you. Worthless."

Your heart aches, hearing the words you feel escaping his mouth. How could that be possible? How on earth could he be so utterly mistaken, so completely wrong about himself?

"But gameoverguk is nothing like that person you're describing. If that's truly who you are?" You question quietly.

He nods, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to him.

"Hi, I'm Jeon Jungkook, I'm a gamer geek, I'm good at sports, I enjoy bike rides on the weekend and finding new food spots and I'd really like to take you out sometime...if you'll let me."

You feel your lips stretch into an undeniable grin. "Nice to finally meet you Jungkook. I'd love to."

As you aim the plastic machine gun, keeping it steady in your armpit and pointed towards the screen, you and Jungkook race through the game, taking down your enemies at every chance. When your team name, "Blue Hour Gamer" flashes in neon letters on screen as the winners, your hollering and hooting fill the arcade.

You don't even care that people are watching, not when you jump up and high five each other or when that high five turns into a hug, or when that hug very quickly turns into a kiss. You don't care.

You pull away quickly, embarrassment finding its way to dust your cheeks scarlet. Until you feel his hand press your lower back to him, your bodies crushing together and moving in perfect sync, making their own rhythm and inviting you to sing with it.

Heat blazes inside you like a wildfire, capturing everything else in its path and turning into thoughtless ash in the wind. Nothing else mattered, just him, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, caressing so gently and yet setting your skin aflame.

Before you knew it, you were at his small, studio apartment, realising you had no clue he lived alone but thankful for that just the same.

When your back finds the bed, you sink into it, disappearing into a cloud of euphoria as he roams your body, slow and meaningful. Every touch makes you feel things you never have before, and every movement brings you closer to the edge of the precipice.

The way his mouth feels on you as he explores your body sends sparks of electricity racing through you. The way he feels inside you with each perfect, controlled movement lights you up like the sunrise after dark, warming you with its rays as you stare off the cliff edge and brace yourself for the impact. His hand caresses your cheek as he looks deeply into your eyes, something so sweet and pure in the action that your chest swells with emotion. His forehead touches yours as he moves in perfect time with your pounding heart. Suddenly you're falling, everything going past in a rush before crashing onto a sea of ecstasy, writhing and moaning until your climax subsides and his has joined in unison.

A tender kiss on your head, his arm winding around you, pulling you to him and encasing you in the perfect safety net is enough. Maybe he'll be your happily ever after, after all.

589 notes · View notes

fukurodaze · 5 years ago

Text

tryhard

pairing: suna rintarou x fem!reader genre: flangst wc: 3.2k warnings: cursing!!, uncomfy vibes, it’s the ‘good friend but shitty boyfriend’ type beat synopsis: inarizaki high’s second year trip to kyoto is infamous for its many rendezvous. you just happen to want to follow the trend.

special thanks to kei @keistays for beta reading! ily <3

LISTEN TO: gimme love - joji; cool girl - dodie; bags - clairo

“hey.” your hands are shoved in your coat pockets, your boots hitting against the asphalt as a small puff of smoke escapes your mouth. you meet him at the back entrance of the inn.

he looks up from his phone. “oh, hey. let’s go.”

his shoulders are lax, but his feet tell you otherwise. he scurries along the street, then stops to wait for your slower footsteps. the stoplight is green, but he doesn’t mind waiting for you.

you don’t say anything as he looks at you with tired eyes, a light red across his cheeks. you wish it wasn’t so cold - maybe then you’d know if it was you who had that effect on him.

the light is red now, and you feel your heart pound in your chest as you stand beside him, eyes flickering every now and then to check his blank face.

“where are we going again?” you inhale a bit of the cold air, nuzzling your face into the thick scarf around your neck.

“kamo river.”

“can we walk along gion too?”

suna shrugs. he tells you, “sure. whatever you want.”

the cars are less at night. only the bright green-yellow-red of traffic lights and the faraway warm glow of street lamps stay behind. kyoto’s beautiful, you think. you wish you could hang around for hours here with suna without a care for anyone else.

as soon as you two cross the first road, he lets out a sigh of relief. you then see him chuckle, almost silently. the sight of it makes you smile.

“are you hungry?” he asks.

“we can get snacks, maybe.” you’re caught off-guard at his sudden change of demeanour. or maybe you just don’t know him enough yet.

you’ve had so many questions about this boy for so long, and now that you’re here in kyoto with him - when you’re not allowed to be out, nonetheless - you’re not sure where you stand with him.

you were introduced to suna rintarou as osamu’s friend and the notorious middle blocker of the school volleyball team. you’re friends with the girls on the cheer squad - the same ones who would always teeter between the lines of friendship and romance with some of the boys on the school's sports teams. you only know the middle blocker by association. your interactions were limited to random glances as you brought your math paper down the room and the rare hello’s when you’d pass by his desk in the morning.

there was also the one time when the volleyball club planned a birthday surprise for suna and just had to assign you the role of the “distraction” because you weren’t in any “important clubs.” firstly, ouch, and second, why you?

yet it seemed like suna didn’t have a problem as you awkwardly approached him on the morning of his seventeenth birthday, seeing as osamu had weirdly been absent on his best friend’s birthday.

suna talked to you like a friend, and though he seemed uninterested in you at first, you made sure to spare him the purple chuupets from the canteen, telling him that you’d rather have the white ones instead.

you didn’t really think it was a coincidence when he left you three white chuupets on your desk on valentines day. so when you texted him about it, he gladly told you they were from him. since then, there always seemed to be an elephant that entered the room whenever you were with him.

it didn’t bother you at first, but as text conversations run late and a fluttering feeling in your chest arose, there’s a question that repeats itself in your head.

you heard it the most when he texted you tonight, telling you he couldn’t sleep, and judging from the way you had stayed up until the crack of dawn texting him on multiple occasions, it only felt right for him to ask you. you told him to meet you outside, discreetly, at half past midnight, when the teachers had stopped patrolling.

suna rintarou only texts you when nobody else is awake. suna rintarou only smiles at you after the first crosswalk, when you’re further away from the inn.

but suna rintarou also follows your every word with a question. suna rintarou also gave you, only you, something for valentine’s.

the question still stands: what are we?

the convenience store is no different to any of the ones back in hyogo. bright saturated colours and white fluorescent lights make you squirm in your almost sleepy daze. but your heart beats so fast and your skin is so cold that you’ve convinced yourself that sleep is not an option.

suna’s arm brushes yours as you two walk through the aisles, and he reaches for the warm drinks.

“we’re going to be walking some distance to the gion. better not have you fall asleep.”

you pick out a pack of chips from the shelf, and you raise your eyebrows at him, silently asking him if he wanted any. he nods, and you take four.

suna offers to carry the shopping bags as you two begin your little adventure through the city, wary of the closed shops and dark alleyways but enamoured by the old town nonetheless. you’re not surprised to be the one leading the conversation, seeing as he had always been the one to listen. but you notice how he hums with every interjection, how he laughs with every sarcastic remark, and how he makes sure to look at you whenever you tell him something about yourself that he didn’t know before.

when he speaks, there’s always a quiet attentiveness to him, suddenly so interested in the most useless topics and rambles you would otherwise think he’d dismiss. you notice how he tries to prolong any and all dialogue, like silence was to be untouched. you like it.

“hey, y/n,” the two of you stop and what seems to be the umpteenth red light, the area lined with closed shops and a late market just around the corner.

he turns to you, and you look at him “yeah?”

he hands you a can of coffee. you take it, confused, and he tells you, “it’s warm. could you just hold it for now?”

a shy smile creeps onto your face, and you nod slowly. he’s sweet, isn’t he?

you watch as puffs of cold air run out of his mouth, his voice low and mellow. when you think about it, you don’t really know him. you don’t know what he likes, you don’t know how he feels, you don’t know what makes him laugh or cry.

but you want to know. you want to know everything about him.

yet, there’s doubt tugging at your heartstrings that tells you he won’t let you. (you ignore it.)

"how was your trip?” suna asks.

‘you are my trip,’ you want to tell him, having secretly anticipated his asking you out. inarizaki’s second-year class trip to kyoto was infamous for its midnight rendezvous, where people would confess and go on dates in the freedom of an ancient city before the pressure of exams in the third year would temporarily keep everyone’s love lives on hold - at least that’s what you’ve heard. though you had told yourself they were only rumours, you can’t help but grin to yourself at the idea of a late night adventure with suna.

now, as you look down at the little can of coffee in your hands, you find that they were never just rumours.

“my group went to so many shrines...” you say, “at some point it just became the same thing over and over again, and the souvenirs just had to get more and more expensive. it was pretty, though.”

suna exhales through his nose, “all my group did was eat.”

you chuckle, “that’s to be expected when you’re with miya osamu.”

“i got good pictures, though.”

“oh? can i see?”

suna stops to shuffle his phone out of his coat pocket and hands it to you. he unlocks it in your hand, and you tell yourself to keep quiet at the brush of his large hands around yours.

it’s between your shock and his photos that you’re given a glimpse of the rest of his phone before you’re scrolling through a gallery of photos. for a second, you’re close to complimenting him on their beauty - you take it back when you click on the first one you see.

“suna, these are all blurry.” you deadpan jokingly.

“wasn’t my fault we were running all the time.”

you giggle, “why were you running?”

“for some reason class two and class one have overlapping routes, so the twins met.”

you nod in acknowledgement, “they don’t ever stop, do they.”

you click away from the pictures app and instead go onto the camera. he’s off talking about something funny that happened today, and as you laugh along with him, you snap a few (many) low quality pictures of you both from below, and then a video, just barely tilting the phone so that the underside of his head is visible in frame. you hope he’ll see them later - maybe even keep them in his gallery, you know, for keepsake.

you hand his phone back to him, “here.”

he sees your little grin and questions it, but he pockets his phone and continues speaking.

you start to wonder if you’re dreaming when he holds your hand.

the air is colder when you two are seated along the kamo river.

“do you think we’ll get caught sneaking out?” suna says. you reckon it’s the first time you’ve seen him talk so much and so enthusiastically all at once.

you shrug, snickering, “i think we already have. they just don’t care because everyone goes out anyways.”

“nights of romantic rendezvous, they say.” he turns his head to you, a ghost of a smirk evident on his lips.

though you give a playful push to his shoulder, you scoot even closer.

“doesn’t that make us one of them?” you cringe at the question. you find your body turning to him, and it seems like he’s doing the same.

are we going too fast?

you don’t miss his mouth parting and his eyes staring at your lips. you can hear him breathe - he’s so close.

you hesitate a little; a lot. you succumb to small looks over his shoulder and quick glances back at the water until your mind starts to wander off into uncertainties and questions you don’t even know how to answer - because you can’t. you ponder why you’ve never really heard him laugh before tonight; if he’s keeping close to you because he wants your warmth or just simply hates the cold; why you find yourself second-guessing the moment you’ve wanted to happen since valentine’s day.

although your head is loud, your surroundings are quiet. then it becomes a matter of head and heart.

so you listen to your heart.

you want to kiss him, and that is what you know. the hunches and hesitations in your head aren’t concrete - at least not yet.

slowly, little by little, you let his lips collide with yours, closing the space in between. it’s cold and dry, yet the feeling is enough to enshroud you in a blanket of warmth. it’s short, as you expected, like a prolonged peck. you still feel a tingling sensation on your lips afterwards.

it’s then, for a fleeting moment, that you start to think that maybe you could find comfort in this fluttering feeling.

“have you seen anyone else going out?” suna asks like nothing happened.

you shake your head, “mina-chan snuck out with ayane-chan, and i think sakuragi-san with hirai-san... but that’s all i know.”

suna’s eyes widen at the mention of your friend, ayane. not that he cares about her, of course. he clears his throat.

“ayane? dating mina?”

“all the girls think they’re dating, but i guess it seems like a friendship for others.”

you inhale the cold air, and you feel yourself starting to regret the mention of her name. “i know ayane’s been out for a while. i’m glad that everyone’s been so accepting, too. she seems so lively all the time.”

suna’s eyes bottom into a sullen gaze, “yeah, ayane. i’m happy for her too.”

you snicker, “could’ve said that with more enthusiasm, no?”

suna shrugs, “we’re- yeah.”

perhaps he does care about her.

but suna stops himself as his eyes meet yours, “anyways, i bet sakuragi and hirai just wanna find a love hotel.”

you reply with a laugh.

“and i think akagi’s getting close to someone lately.”

you take a sip of your coffee, “really?”

“yeah,” suna zips up his coat tightly, “shit, it’s cold...”

you agree with him.

despite suna’s conscious efforts, conversation dies out when it’s meant to die. whether it be the tens of questions swimming in your head, the hundreds of i-told-you-sos that play in your mind, or the biting wind, you know neither of you can’t stall anymore.

it’s so pathetic, you think. you just kissed this boy and now you don’t know if it’s the coffee or his lips because the truth leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“suna, what are we?”

he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t even do so much as to react to your words, like if he prayed your words away, you never said them. his eyes bear holes into the ground, skimming through a mental encyclopaedia of answers he could form without hurting your feelings.

it’s then that the distance between you and him feels as wide as the river. it’s two in the morning, and you find yourself hugging your own legs instead of hugging him.

it feels like betrayal, almost.

not that he betrayed you; more like you betrayed yourself. in truth, you were tired of chuupets, always fighting your sleepiness when he texted you late at night, willing to put up with his shit talk behind everyone else’s backs.

yet you still worried that your legs wouldn’t look just right to him in the jeans you wore tonight.

you take a bag of chips from the shopping bag with snacks you two had splurged on earlier. it makes a quick pop as you open it, and suna hears a crunching sound beside him, away from his peripheral vision.

he’s frozen when you reach the bag out to him, offering him a chip. you’re relaxed, he thinks, even after asking that. it’s okay, he tells himself.

suna still shakes his head in decline and takes another sip from his convenience store coffee. he braces himself, because it’s only now that he’s realised the mess he’s put himself into.

“we’re-” he pauses.

you take another chip in your mouth, savouring its saltiness as you inwardly flinch at his hesitation.

suna takes a deep breath, “i mean, not everyone who goes out is-”

you see it now; you should’ve listened to your head.

“it’s ayane, isn’t it?” you brush it off. all of it.

he’s unmoving, not daring to even blink. but he opens his mouth to speak.

“i wanted it to be you.”

you want to laugh at him. at least he didn’t deny any of it.

“but it’s not, right?” you shake your head, bitter chuckles falling from your mouth, “and you have no choice because she likes girls, huh.”

“i’m sorry. i fucked up.”

you know you can’t cry, but you sure as hell would like to. maybe then he’d really feel bad about it, after knowing so well even back when he’d given you sweets on valentine’s that you were just a compromise.

“yeah, you did,” you pick at the grass around your soles, “what was even more fucked up is that i still thought i had a chance.”

“i still care about you.”

you exhale, hating the words that fall from his mouth. “of course you do! i’m your friend, osamu’s friend, ayane’s friend.”

you hate that you can’t hate him. you hate that you can’t hate how you genuinely get along with him, how his laughter and words hold no lies, how he’s honest with you. but that doesn’t change the way you hate how he’s led you on - and how you let him.

“is that why you were so smiley and eager tonight? because you were trying so hard to ‘win me over’ so you could forget about her?”

suna sighs. he needs to say something, he tells himself, because it’s only starting to sink in that he might even lose you as a friend. he kissed you, damn it, and held your hand, and asked you out on what everyone calls a date.

what a ‘friend’, huh?

“i’m so sorry.”

you wish he could at least say more. you feel a slash of anger, and though it stops quickly, you make a jab at him.

“you’re too lazy with your words. too lazy with your feelings.”

silence.

“i wanted to be wrong, but,” you shrug, “turns out you have a few things to work out yourself.”

his shoulders fall even lower, “i’ll stay out of your sight. i’m sorry.”

you laugh again, bitterly. your feet bring themselves to stand, and you decide to take the shopping bag and hug it. you think it’d look funny from afar, but you know it’s only to fill the hollow feeling in your chest and the burning embarrassment on your cheeks.

you look back at him, and his eyes are full of worry. they’re so wide that you almost feel flattered at his display of regret. you know he regrets it. you know osamu’s going to beat him up for it. you know the cheerleaders will talk about it. but you’ve forced all your focus on the bags of chips you’re holding and the feeling of a soft mattress back at the inn. the plan to gion is long forgotten.

suna stands up immediately, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, just trailing behind as you make no effort to slow down. you only speed up, briskly walking through the streets you remember from tonight.

you even cross the road on different green lights.

you don’t wait for him. not anymore.

the inn is a fresh breath of heated air, the reception dark and the stairs creaky. you tiptoe every inch of the way, not once looking back.

eventually, when you reach your room, you slide the door open, seeing nothing but your friend’s nightlight. you take care to place the bag of snacks in a corner of the room, hidden yet still available for any of your roommates to see. you’re quick to shed your coat and change into the gym clothes everyone’s been wearing since dinner, sliding into your futon and forcing your eyes closed like you hadn’t just drank an entire can of coffee.

you don’t cry, you don’t sob, you simply lay there. now you want to laugh at yourself, for knowing that something definitely was wrong, but having too big of a hopeful pride to even consider it.

your hands crinkle the thick futon and bring it up to your neck as you curl yourself up. warm. not electric nor addictive, just comfortable.

you wanted electric.

you wanted to take back all your words and ignore everything because he kissed you and held your hand and waited for you at the crosswalk, only for you to be some replacement for someone he can’t be with. it makes you wonder if he thought of her when he kissed you.

you hear the creaking of the wood boards and two voices. you know that it’s other people returning from their own little kyoto dates. their voices are high and squeaky and one of them had whispered something that you could hear three rooms away.

it stings even more. too bad.

“fucking embarrassing,” you mutter under your breath, turning in your futon, “so fucking embarrassing.”

you’ll tell osamu that you’ll be hanging out with the kids in class 3 for a while. you’ll ask your friends to save a seat for you on the train tomorrow. you’ll make sure to give away the snacks to everyone later. it’ll be a hassle, but you’ll do what you have to do.

at least you can let yourself sleep now.

#suna x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #suna rintarou #hq angst #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #suna scenarios #suna angst #suna rintaro imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! x reader #suna rintarou x reader #inarizaki x reader #suna imagines #suna fluff

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5thmarauderwrites · 5 years ago

Text

The Thin Line Between Loathe and Desire — James Potter x Reader [Part II] | Request.

Read Part I here.

Requests are: OPEN.

Requested by Anonymous: “Could you do a James x gryffindor reader where they have a sort of rivalry because she keeps going around to ruin the marauders pranks since she doesn’t believe in Slytherins being ‘evil’. 💖💖 “.

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor Reader.

Word Count: 5,1K

Warnings: Just cursing -- i guess.

A/N: it took me a while to be able to finish this but part II is here, happy halloween everyone! :D and yes, there will be a part III and almost certainly a part IV (and maybe a part V, i don’t know, i really got into this request lol). didn’t have the time to revise this so i’m sorry about any probable grammar mistakes and everything else. hope you guys enjoy it!

“Absolutely not! I don’t want any of you to get in trouble because of me,” Remus snarled as he eyed James, Y/N and Sirius; all three of them sending him hopeful glances, as they stood in the middle of the boys’ dormitory.

“But Moony-,“ James started to make his point, but was harshly cut off by Remus.

“There are no buts, James!” He pursed his lips firmly as he spat the words. “If McGonagall catches the three of you breaking into the library and into the restricted section to steal a book that’s strictly forbidden to students in our year, you’ll all be expelled!”

“We’re not going to steal it, Rem,” Y/N rolled her eyes. “We’ll simply transcript a recipe from it. The book will never leave the library limits. Besides, no one is going to catch us.”

“I don’t care, you’re not doing this and that is all there is to it,” Remus answered in an end-of-conversation tone and walked into the bathroom stomping his feet and slamming the door behind him.

“We’re still doing this, right?” Sirius lowered his voice as he double-checked with his friends.

“Obviously!” Y/N and James both exclaimed in unison, exchanging knowing glances as they did.

“Alright lovebirds, why am I feeling as if I’m being left out here?” Sirius quirked his brows as his index finger drew a circle between the three of them.

“Because Remus is not stupid, he’ll figure out that we sneaked into the library eventually and we’ll need someone here to stall him and preventing him from realising this for as long as possible,” Y/N shrugged as if it was obvious.

“Good point,” Sirius scrunched his face, shrugging lightly. “But why do I need to be the one staying behind?”

“I obviously can’t be the one to do so because I’m a girl and this is not my dorm,” Y/N smiled wryly. “And Potter is painfully predictable, so, he’s not a viable option either.”

“Oi! Excuse you?! I’m not predictable!” James narrowed his eyes, frowning.

“Oh, but you are!” Y/N rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms across her chest.

James opened his mouth to hit back, but Sirius cut him off. “As much as I love hearing the affectionate words you throw at each other, can we focus for a moment? What about Wormy? He could be the one to stay here and distract Moony.”

“Seriously, Pad? We all know Wormy is easily scared, it’ll only take a glare from Moony for him to break down and toss everything out,” James winged a brow, shrugging. “Besides, he’ll be doing detention for a good part of the night with Filch.”

“Yeah, you’re right…” Sirius heaved a sigh, defeated, as he massaged the bridge of his nose. “Fine, I’ll stay here and cover for you and Prongs.” He agreed, looking at Y/N.

“It’s settled then,” Y/N nodded, turning to James afterwards. “You and I are going to break into the restricted section tonight, the soon we start brewing this potion, the better.”

As soon as James voiced his agreement, the bathroom door swung open and a calmer Remus appeared, his right hand closed against the handle as he glanced at the floor. “I’m sorry I snapped at you lot. I didn’t mean to be rude nor to sound ungrateful. I’m incredibly lucky to have you as my friends; I just don’t want you to jeopardize your future for something that can’t be cured nor changed.”

“Rem, I-,” Y/N’s voice was uncommonly soft as she furrowed her brows, glancing at the sandy-haired boy.

“Please, don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong, you were just trying to help me. Let’s just not talk about this anymore,” he smiled weakly at the y/h/c girl, exiting the dormitory after that.

Sirius quickly followed his friend’s steps but, as soon as Y/N mentioned to leave as well, James gently grabbed her by the wrist. She halted and turned to face him, her brows furrowed in confusion as she felt her hair rising on her nape at his touch and her usual confidence failed to show itself. Y/N shifted uncomfortably on her feet as a sudden shiver coursed through her spine and mentally cursed herself for having left her scarf at her dorm.

“What’s wrong?” James knitted his brows, suspiciously studying her.

“Nothing,” she answered coldly. “You can let go of me now.” She added, and James realised he still held her wrist.

“Oh, sorry,” he quickly apologised, releasing his hold against her wrist. His fingertips tingled at the sudden loss of her warm skin and James rubbed the back of his neck, assuming it had something to do with the cold weather.

“So? Why did you keep me here alone with you?” Y/N quirked her brows as she stared into his hazel eyes, awkwardly rubbing her own arms.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I didn’t want to be alone with you,” James scratched his chin playfully, hoping he’d look like he wasn’t embarrassed himself. “I just wanted to ask you how it’ll all play out tonight and I figured it was best if I did this out of Moony’s sight.”

“Well, for once you actually thought before acting, colour me impressed,” the girl retorted, getting her confidence back and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Meet me in the Common Room at midnight. Bring your stupid cloak and the map and don’t be late.”

Y/N waited until he nodded before leaving to class.

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When the clock struck midnight James was seated on his bed, unsuspiciously reading his worn-out copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. The messy-haired boy had his blanket covering his legs so Remus wouldn’t notice he was wearing his jeans instead of the usual trousers of his pyjamas. James had been eyeing his sandy-haired friend through his peripheral vision and quickly let go of his book and climbed off his bed as soon as Remus dropped his quill and went into the bathroom for a shower.

James grabbed his invisibility cloak and the Marauders map from behind his pillow and hurried off their shared dorm, racing down through the steps that led back into the Gryffindor Common Room.

“You’re late, Potter,” Y/N rolled her eyes as the boy with unruly black hair entered the Common Room, getting up from the arm of the sofa she had been sitting on.

“And good night to you too, L/N,” James smiled wryly at her as he sneered. “If you had given me the chance to speak before scolding me, you’d know I was waiting for Remus to finish his bloody essay and go shower so I could sneak out.”

Y/N held a pinched expression as she folded her arms across her chest, glancing dismissively at James. “Let’s just go for Merlin’s sake!”

Rubbing his eyebrows, James motioned for her to get closer whilst he unfolded his cloak. Y/N walked towards him with a little bag in hands, stopping a few steps from him in what she considered a safe distance.

“What’s there?” James wrinkled his nose as he nodded to her bag.

“Parchments, quills and inks so we can copy the recipe,” she shrugged, unbothered.

James quirked his brows for a second before unfolding the map and mumbling the right words, tapping his wand into the enchanted piece of parchment.

“The path is quite clear so we should be good,” he announced, folding the map again and shoving it into his trousers’ back pocket.

Y/N nodded and awaited until James held his cloak high and slipped it over his shoulders to trace the final steps toward him.

“You’re not close enough,” he stated nonchalantly once she stopped.

“Excuse you?” Y/N retorted in a high-pitched voice, feeling her ears heat furiously. She thanked the poor lighting in the room as she felt a flush creeping across her cheeks.

“The cloak won’t hide us both if you stand miles away from me, darling,” he grinned mischievously and raised an eyebrow. He definitely noticed her embarrassment. “Does it make you nervous to get close to me, L/N?”

“In your dreams, Potter,” the girl spat in response, her lips pursed and her nostrils dangerously inflated. Y/N interlocked her fingers in the back of his neck and pulled him violently toward her. “Is that close enough for you?” She smiled wryly at him, ignoring the tingling sensation spreading all over her body.

James let out a gasp and blinked rapidly as he clutched on her waist to steady himself, a dazed look in his eyes. He didn’t know what he expected her to do, but it definitely wasn’t that.

“What? Cat ate your tongue, you arrogant toerag?” Y/N’s lips curled up into a smile as she surveyed him with a pleased expression.

James huffed and threw the cloak over Y/N’s shoulders. The fabric fell heavily, wrapping their bodies and hiding them from the outside world.

Y/N and James paced through the dark and silent hallways as quietly as they could, occasionally stumbling upon a prefect – but, thanks to James’ cloak, that wasn’t a problem. The two of them had to walk dangerously close together so the cloak could properly hide them both – which combined with the fact that they had to actually try to tolerate each other for the greater good, made the little incursion a thousand times more insufferable than they expected.

“Would you mind giving me a little space here?” Y/N rolled her eyes, pulling her hair over her shoulders and rubbing her neck in the exact point James’ hot breath was fanning.

James’ eyes unintentionally trailed across the bare skin of her nape, the smell of her fruity shampoo and woody oriental cologne flooding his nostrils with a mysterious and captivating scent that he caught himself inhaling deeply, almost as if he wanted to drown himself in it. He fought the sudden urge of tracing her y/s/c skin with his fingers, which were almost aching with the need of the touch.

“I gladly would, but I don’t want to get caught,” he replied drily after a few moments, stroking his own throat as he stared at the floor.

The uncomfortable silence that fell upon the two rivals for the short rest of the walk to the library, was only broken once they reached the back of the room and faced the rope that separated the forbidden books from the rest.

“We’re here,” Y/N announced almost in a whisper, frowning deeply as she studied the dusted old shelves ahead of them.

James clutched the fabric of his invisibility cloak in his hands and tossed it backwards, his mouth wide-open whilst he narrowed his eyes to read some of the book titles. He messily folded his cloak and jumped over the rope, offering his hand to Y/N to help her do the same.

Y/N, who held the same dazzled expression as James, absentmindedly took his hand and graciously passed her legs over the rope, stopping beside James and tilting her head a little to observe the long corridor of shelves.

“What now?” James asked, looking in the same direction as Y/N.

“Now we search for the Moste Potente Potions book and Damocles Belby’s potions journal.”

“Whose potions journal?” James asked, his eyebrows squishing together as he grimaced.

“Dear Godric,” Y/N heaved an annoyed sigh and rubbed her eyebrows. “Damocles Belby is the potioneer that invented the Wolfsbane Potion. We’re going to need his notes if we don’t want to kill Remus by wrongly concocting it.”

“Do you always have to sound like a bloody encyclopaedia? It’s annoying,” James rolled his eyes.

“I simply use my brain cells, unlike you Potter,” Y/N tilted her head and offered him a skewed smile.

Without further ado, the pair started to walk down the main corridor, halting abruptly once they realised their hands were still intertwined together. Y/N pulled her hand out of James’ hold violently and rubbed it as if it was burning, her face reddening furiously.

“Um, I- ah- sorry,” James stuttered after clearing his throat, feeling the inside of his ears fuming with a burning heat.

Y/N mumbled something unintelligible before turning her back on him and starting to walk further into the darkness of the corridor.

“L/N?” James called, grabbing his wand from the back pocket of his jeans.

“What?” She spat, annoyed, as she halted and turned on her heels.

“Where do we start looking?” He shrugged.

“Right…” she mumbled, shutting her eyes closed and shaking her head quickly as if trying to focus. “You take the left wing in the Potions section and I’ll take the right.”

James signalled his agreement by nodding at the y/h/c girl and walked behind her to the last section of shelves of the Restricted Section. A big, dark wooden plate with the word Potions carved in golden floated above their heads in the middle of the main corridor.

“Lumos,” James murmured, rising his wand in the direction of the hallway on his left.

“Potter?” Y/N’s voice came from behind him before he could take any steps.

“Yeah?” James looked over his shoulder whilst his body turned to her.

“Please do not touch anything other than the books we’re looking for. This is called Restricted Section for a reason,” she winged her brows, a wry smile on her lips.

“Oh, really? What do you think I am? A bloody kid?” James knitted his brows with a grimace, shrugging as if he couldn’t believe she felt the need to tell him that. He knew very well that some of those books could be incredibly dangerous and some weren’t even supposed to be touched.

“With your behaviour it’s hard to tell, darling,” Y/N quirked her eyebrows mockingly, clenching her teeth.

James rolled his eyes in response and climbed down the side hallway, his eyes avidly searching for any sign of the needed books. His wand trailed each and every shelf, casting a spooky lighting into the worn-out books. He shuddered occasionally at some of the creepy titles as he descended deeply into the narrow corridor, wishing that he could find the books required to properly brew the potion soon so he could get the hell out of there.

“C’mon, where are you…” he muttered to himself, his wand treading its light through the last bottom shelf. “There you are!” James grinned as the spine of the old copy of Moste Potente Potions shone in the dim light.

The hazel-eyed boy quickly pulled the book from the shelf and leaned in slightly, his head tilting to the side and his eyebrows furrowing whilst he studied the worn-out reddish brown cover. The book was dusty and mouldy and the hard cover presented a handful of wrinkles, granting the copy an appearance of a several centuries aged book.

James carefully held the book in his arm and climbed up the narrow corridor, his hand lifted in front of him and his wand casting a bluish light on his path.

“I’ve got the book! Did you happen to find the journal?” He asked Y/N when he approached her location, bouncing the book in the air. The Gryffindor girl was pacing tirelessly and anxiously muttering something to herself, seemingly unbeknownst to his presence. “Are you alright?” He knitted his brows, his left hand landing on her shoulder and squeezing it lightly.

Y/N jumped slightly once she felt his squeeze. “Godric, Potter! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” She gasped, a hand flying to her chest and another swatting him for scaring her.

“What in Merlin’s name were you doing mumbling there like a loony?” James winced, his head tilting to the side.

“You’re the loony here, you sneaky twat!” Y/N rolled her eyes. “I was thinking. Look.” The y/h/c girl pointed her wand to the higher shelf in front of them; the spine of a thin, black leather covered book catching James’ eyes.

“Damocles Belby,” James whispered with narrowed eyes, reading the metallic golden letters. “Oi! That’s the journal we need!” He exclaimed in a much louder tone of voice, snapping his head in Y/N’s direction.

“No shit, Ravenclaw!” Y/N raised her eyebrows and widened her mouth in a satiric smile.

“Aren’t you just charming?” James smiled wryly. “Why haven’t you picked it up yet?”

“I know you’ve got poor eyesight, but seriously? It’s too far up, I’m tall but I’m not Hagrid,” the girl lifted a single eyebrow and cocked her head.

James rubbed his eyebrows, squeezing his eyes shut. “You do realise you’re a bloody witch, don’t ya? Have you tried using a summoning spell?”

“We’re in the Restricted Section, Potter, not the Charms classroom!” Y/N spat as she flashed him a cold smile. “Summoning spells won’t work here. The higher the book, the more dangerous it is, which means it’s going to be heavily protected from preventing unauthorized students like us from grabbing them.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” James grimaced, shrugging lightly. His brows furrowed as he tried to think of a way to get their hands on the journal. “Wait!” He exclaimed excitedly after a few minutes, his features lightening up whilst a smile took over hips lips.

“Oh, no. No, no. It’s never a good sign whenever you get this look on your face,” Y/N heaved a sigh and shook her head repeatedly; her brows squishing together and her eyes widening desperately.

“It’s always a good sign because this look is reserved to my best ideas,” James tilted his head pompously, his eyes sparkling and gleaming and a wide grin spreading over his face.

“Merlin help me,” Y/N scowled as she gazed at the ceiling of the library, scrapping a hand through her hair.

“Now hear me out, L/N, would ya?” James boisterously waved his hands in the air, winging his eyebrows and leaning in slightly. “We could get this journal two ways: using a broom – which will be impossible since we don’t have one with us and summoning spells don’t work here – or I can lift you up on my shoulders so you can pick it up.”

Y/N blinked repeatedly whilst she stared at James’ smiling face, trying to assimilate what he had just said. “Excuse you? You’re not lifting me up,” she grimaced, folding her arms across her chest.

“Do you have a better idea?” James grimaced, the corners of his mouth turning downwards.

Y/N huffed and bit her lower lip before waving a hand in dismissal. “Fine.”

The y/e/c-eyed girl got closer to James and rested her hands on his shoulders, picking up steam in the hand he held up to her and graciously passing her leg across his shoulders, sitting on them. James lifted his arms up searching for her waist to steady her and gulped when his hands touched her bare skin as her jumper rose up a bit when she stretched herself trying to reach the book. Y/N jumped slightly at the feeling of his hands, the warmth it provided spreading from her waist, to her stomach and splitting across her whole body. James unconsciously tightened his grip and stiffened his posture, a sudden and sharp – but weirdly also pleasant – discomfort taking over his stomach.

“You alright there, L/N?” He asked, blatantly ignoring the unknown urge he felt inside of him.

“Dead chuffed!” The girl retorted with a wry smile as she unsuccessful tried to reach the journal one more time. “Damn it!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t reach it. I’ll have to climb up a couple of shelves.”

“Have you gone mental?” James crocked his head to the side and threw it back so he could gaze at her. His eyebrows were wrinkled and his eyes slightly narrowed. “These shelves are as old as those books; they might not support the weight and crumble down with you in it.”

Y/N stopped abruptly and quirked a single eyebrow, slowly looking down at James. “Be careful with your words, Potter. It may sound as if you were worried about me,” she teased, a playful smile on her lips.

“I am worried,” he shrugged nonchalantly, causing the girl to widen her eyes. “About the school’s patrimony,” he added, winking at Y/N and grinning.

“Sod off, you annoying prick!” Y/N smirked despite her best efforts not to, rolling her eyes and playfully smashing her foot against his ribs. “That was a decent one, I’ll give you that.”

“Ouch!” James wriggled a bit. “That was bloody brilliant and you know that. It won’t kill you to admit it, you know?!” He grinned lopsidedly, shrugging lightly.

“Yeah, let’s not go that far Potter,” Y/N looked down her nose at James, her brows wrinkled and her lips twitched. “Now would you please get closer to this bookshelf so I can climb it?”

“You know I’m brilliant, even though your enormous ego will never allow you to say it out loud,” he winged his eyebrows and his chin jutted whilst he walked closer towards the bookshelf.

“My enormous ego? Mine? You are the self-absorbed toerag that thinks you’re so much better than all the Slytherin students, darling, not me,” Y/N pressed her lips together and widened her eyes in annoyance as she carefully placed her feet on a shelf and lifted her weight from James’ shoulders. “If anyone has an enormous ego here, it’s you.”

“I don’t think ’m better than those snakes,” James shrugged and pouted with a grimace as he gazed at Y/N’s figure carefully and efficiently climbing the shelves. “I reckon everyone is better than them.”

Y/N had to close her eyes and take a deep breath as her fists clenched slightly at the edge of the bookshelf. “Your point of view is as medieval as blood-purists’.”

“You can’t be serious right now. Are you really comparing me to blood supremacists?” His mouth slackened and his eyes widened as a shocked frown took over his features. James stared at Y/N’s back for a moment before swallowing hard and turning away, walking towards the opposite bookshelf. He felt as if his stomach was dropping and his jaw clenched slightly in a mixture of anger and sadness. James knew Y/N loathed him as well, but he never thought she’d actually hate him to this point. “That was a low move. Even for you.” He said, acting on impulse as he rested his palms on the shelf in front of him and leaned in slightly, steadying himself.

“You want to talk about low moves, James? You out of all people? A prick who judge every single Slytherin student based on a stupid misconception?” Y/N spat, her lips pursing as she climbed furiously through the shelves, not really caring about the scary creaky sounds the wooden bookshelf was making.

“Stupid misconception? It’s a fact – and a bloody well-known one – that the biggest majority of You-Know-Who’s followers came from the Slytherin house!” James huffed, his knuckles white due to the strength he was using to clench his fists. He was breathing heavily and his eyes held a deadly look.

“It doesn’t mean anything! It doesn’t mean that every single one of them will choose the dark path!” She almost yelled as she finally grabbed the journal; looking over her shoulder. Then it all happened quite fast, Y/N’s foot slipped violently when she accidentally brushed it slightly on a book and next thing she knew, she was falling from a considerable height.

“Y/N!” James shouted, instinctively running quickly towards Y/N and easily catching her. Something inside of him softened when he looked at her face and saw her trembling lips and her anguished frown. His whole body relaxed and the previous anger he felt from their little argument dissipated once he noticed her pained stare and her shoulders curling over her chest. Y/N’s eyes were twinkling with unshed tears and he knew it wasn’t from the nearly fall, it could never be. She was too adventurous and brave to be afraid of heights. “Are you alright?” He asked in a soft tone of voice he had never used with her before, which made the girl widen her eyes slightly in surprise.

“Yes,” Y/N cleared her throat and jumped out of James’ arms. “I am. Thanks for catching me, Potter.”

“Oh that- that was- you’re welcome,” James stammered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and shoving his free hand into his pocket.

Y/N nodded gawkily and her chin dipped down as she stared wide-eyed at the floor, taking quick steps in the direction of the main corridor of the Restricted Section. James cleared his throat and tugged at the collar of his jumper before grabbing the Moste Potente Potions book he had left on the bookshelf and following her out of the forbidden hallways back into the library.

“Can you please copy the recipe after I read it and whilst I go through Damocles’ journal?” Y/N asked, stopping at the table where the bag with the parchments, ink and quills she had brought with them laid over.

“Sure,” James shrugged.

Y/N plunk down in one of the chairs around the said table and sunk her hands into the bag, picking up what they’d need to transcript both the recipe and Damocles’ notes. James took the seat opposite to hers and made himself comfortable whilst she slid two pieces of parchment and a quill to him, placing the inkpot in the middle of the table between them.

“Alright, here we go,” Y/N heaved a sigh as she pulled the heavy and worn-out copy of Moste Potente Potions to her, opening it and tracing her fingers through the summary page, looking for the Wolfsbane Potion recipe page.

James watchfully studied Y/N as she trailed her fingers through a yellowish page of the book, her features furrowing up slightly insofar as she was reading the black-inked words. Her y/h/c locks were falling over her shoulders and faintly touching the book pages, the scent of her fruity shampoo radiating intensely from it. Y/N rested a fist downwards her chin and, subconsciously, James mirrored her body language, tilting his head to the side and parting his lips to moisten them with his tongue. The hazel-eyed boy slid his index finger through his wet lips, rubbing them slightly, not daring to look away from the overly focused girl seated in front of him – whom was completely oblivious to his intense staring. James darted his eyes to her lips and a warm feeling burst from the pit of his stomach to his chest, arms and hands – causing an involuntary shiver to go through his spine – once the girl’s teeth bit down on her bottom lip. He squeezed his eyes shut and cleared his throat several times, shaking his head quickly as if trying to cast whatever it was that was blossoming inside of him out.

“Potter?” Y/N’s voice brought him back to reality and once James opened his eyes again, he was met by a confused stare, her brows squished together. “Is everything alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He grimaced; pulling the collar of his jumper and feeling a sudden annoyance wash over him.

“There’s no need to be rude, you toerag!” Y/N retorted, narrowing her eyes. Her features held a pinched expression.

“I’m not being rude,” James scrunched his face as he gazed at the ceiling, his shoulders heavy and tense. “You’re being overly sensitive.”

Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line and closed the book with a loud bang, practically throwing it into James’ face without a word and getting a hold of Damocles’ journal that laid aside her bag. She furiously flickered through the pages until she found a completely scribbled sheet with his notes on the Wolfsbane Potion. Y/N dipped the tip of her quill into the inkpot and started to transcript the notes, pressing the quill rather strongly against the parchment. However, the anger James had awakened in her slowly started to dissipate as Damocles’ words sat into her mind; her scrunched face turning into an anguished frown. How the bloody hell was she supposed to brew such a tricky and complicated potion? How could she be a quarter as helpful to Remus as The Marauders were when she didn’t even have what it took to concoct a potion? A potion that could save Remus’ life in more ways than she could ever dream to imagine. A feeling of helplessness clouded her mind when she arrived at the last sentence of Damocles’ notes and she did her best to hide it from James as she copied the last word onto the parchment.

“I’m sorry,” James’ voice broke the silence, his tone almost above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just…” He trailed off, not sure what to say.

“You’re infuriating. And I reckon you think the same about me so there’s no need of apologies,” Y/N shrugged, avoiding his eyes as she glanced at the table with a blank expression. “Have you finished the transcription yet?”

James simply nodded and straddled the book to Y/N, who took it and placed Damocles’ journal on top of it, hopping off her seat. She picked up the books from the table and mentioned to walk into the Restricted Section to return them, but James gently held her by the arm.

“Let me place them back,” he muttered softly, grabbing the books from her hands.

Y/N nodded in agreement, still avoiding his eyes, and watched as the boy with unruly black hair made his way over the ropes and into the darkened narrow corridor.

James felt utterly angry with himself and at Y/N for some unknown reason, but he couldn’t avoid the guilty that was eating away inside of him. As he treaded the corridors, he thought about his uncalled for outburst and heaved a sigh. Maybe he was feeling guilty because of the fragile state the girl was in earlier that night when they argued about the Slytherins in the Restricted Section. James had never seen Y/N like that, she looked like she was broken and the slightest thing would shatter her into a million pieces. For some reason, that had left him with a feeling of unease. “Or maybe I’m just losing my touch,” James thought bitterly at himself, shrugging, as he placed the Moste Potente Potions copy back where it belonged.

After climbing up a few shelves on the other end of the corridor, James had put Damocles Belby’s journal in its rightful place and took great strides, heading back to the library. Once the hazel-eyed boy crossed the rope that separated the two parts of the space, he faced a completely empty room.

“Y/N?” He called, narrowing his eyes and rising his wand above his head so the bluish light could shine further. No answer.

James dipped around the third bookshelf on his right, walking over to the table he and Y/N previously occupied. It was empty, aside from his invisibility cloak. Y/N and her bag were nowhere to be found.

Taglist: @missmulti @blackpinkdolan @badgirlrory @alice-grant-rogers @bestillmystuckyheart @brynthebulldozer

#au #writing #imagine #imagines #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #the marauders #the marauders x reader #the marauders imagine

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freckledmountain · 4 years ago

Text

Lulling comfort

By @freckledmountain for @romeoandjulietyouwish

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

Summary:

"Music had gotten an entirely new meaning after that, from Disney songs to musicals to classic rock, and everything else in between. … He´d do anything to listen to Peter sing to them again."

Or, an AU where you hear whatever your platonic soulmate sings or hums! :D

For the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1: Change

Some-

BODY ONCE TOLD ME

the WORLD IS GONNA ROLL ME

I AIN´T THE SHARPEST TOOL IN THE sHE-ED

Peter´s endearing screech and dramatics at the starting notes startles a fond laugh out of Tony, making DUM-E beep in curious surprise.

The bot has a screwdriver in his grasp and usually Tony´d chastise him for grabbing tools without permission (he has not forgotten the last lab incident, thank you) but right now he´s much too preoccupied resisting the urge to join in the kid´s slumber party via his own singing.

God bless karaoke.

Peter had looked sheepish when he´d mentioned it to him, the little get-together his scary girlfriend and Ned had planned this weekend at the latter´s place after a ridiculously long week of exams. Tony had absolutely no problem listening to his kid´s voice in his head, but it was still sweet of Peter to ask beforehand.

“You know I work best with music anyway.” He´d said, remembering all the times he´d listened to Peter perform dramatically to songs on the radio.

Peter´d hunched his shoulders a bit, smiling. “Yeah, okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure because Ned might ask me to duet to Take on me again, and last time I sang it you were on a meeting and FRIDAY sent me that video of you mouthing the words and Ms. Potts looked like the disappointed dad from that Shawn Mendes vine- “

…even if he had no idea what the kid was talking about sometimes.

He´d gasped and placed a hand to his chest, feigning offence. “Have you forgotten the time you had Call me maybe on loopin my head for an entire day?”

“…It was a dare?”

“Hmm” he´d said, raising an eyebrow playfully as Peter dissolved into laughter. “whatever you say, bud.”

His smile softens unconsciously at the memory as he methodically tweaks a few things in his nanotech suit, still listening to Peter belt out lyrics in his head. Truth be told, he misses the kid working alongside him like usual, but he knows how important spending time with his friends is to Peter.

(The parenting books say it´s imperative too, although of course he hasn´t ever read, purchased five on a whim or fret over anything of the sort. Obviously.)

He hopes Ned and Michelle´s respective other halves don´t mind the kids crooning 80´s rock on a Friday evening, but he guesses if they´re anything like them, they probably won´t complain. Soulmates are cool like that.

He remembers all the times Rhodey had told him about his soulmate´s voice inside his own head, how he´d suddenly perk up and grin at whatever melody he could hear, how he´d start humming randomly to join in.

Tony had grown up hearing nothing but his own treacherous thoughts for the longest time, almost losing hope completely at the possibility of having a soulmate right up until adulthood. Heavy metal music blasted over his speakers constantly whenever he was busy in his workshop, but he never joined in. There were moments when he´d thought his love for singing would be soured forever, since apparently the universe or whoever was in charge didn´t have a problem leaving him without someone out there to share it with him in his head.

Thankfully, he always did have Rhodey, and boycould he kick-start the fun in singing again with his flawless Mariah Carey impressions. He´d loved the few times he´d heard Pepper sing too, and there´d even been one memorable instance where he´d surprised Happy vocalizing in an unexpectedly pleasant lilt.

Hearing Peter sing though...simply put, there was nothing else like it.

-and we could aLL use a little changeeeeeeeEEE

…Yes, nothing was quite like it.

Tony shakes his head, smiling, and grabs his phone to text May about the kid´s shenanigans. She´d been more than a little concerned when Peter and him had figured out who the other was, (that was one heck of a superhero fundraiser) but now they´ve become much closer, and Tony can genuinely say they´re friends. He´s glad to have her on his side, because May Parker is, in Peter terms, a very kind powerhouse, and not someone he´d like to mess with.

He´s about to press send when the lights in the room flash red.

Tony´s up and summoning his gauntlet attentively in a second, right as FRIDAY pulls up screens around him, showing footage of the emergency.

“What am I looking at, FRI?”

“Around 30 heavily armed machines have emerged in Midtown Manhattan, boss.” She responds, as the room fills with projections. The robots on screen are huge and ugly as heck, about the width and height of three school buses together. They´re making their way through the streets surprisingly quickly for how heavy they look. People run away, steering clear of their illuminated blasts. “They appear to be releasing high frequency blasts approximately every ten seconds. Local police have just arrived at the scene and are requesting backup, since the blasts are causing structural damage to the surrounding buildings. The source of these machines is unknown.”

“Tell the team to suit up and meet me there.”

“They have already been alerted, boss, but I´ll relay your message as well.”

The rest of his suit materializes around him, and he makes haste to get to the nearest window, half worried and half downright annoyed at whoever was behind this.

“Another one for the robot bingo card on means of world domination.” He says to himself, unimpressed. Just one week without this crap…

He soars above the sky nonetheless, blasting his way towards the fight.

Please stay put kid, he wishes, even as the singing stops.

---

Three blocks.

He´s three blocks away from where Peter is making his way back when it happens.

As big and fast as the robots are, Tony can tell they weren´t exactly made by the finest of the loons who regularly try to take over New York. Not to mention they´re absolutely appalling to look at, whoever designed these things had absolutely no taste, Tony thinks, crushing his twenty-second bot with the suit´s repulsors. It hasn´t exactly been easy, since the wretched machines have no real apparent motive but to blow up everything in their path, but within an hour it seems they´re done with the worst of it.

He can see Nat and Wanda dealing with the remains of one of the last ones below, while a little way away Cap´s talking with a few cops, scoping out the damage. Even though the air is permeated with smoke and there´s rubble in some places, there are no casualties, and they´ve thankfully emptied out the buildings that got wrecked. SHIELD will take care of the rest.

He flies over the skyscrapers, keeping an eye out for any other bots, but it seems like FRIDAY´s finished identifying all of them. He activates a private line on the comms to talk to Peter.

“Done securing the area from whatever that disastrous colour scheme was?”

He can hear Peter´s good-natured groan as his location pops up on Tony´s screen, six blocks away.

“I know, right? I can wear mismatched socks for a week and rock them no problem, but blue with like, eye-melting neon? Yikes.”

“Exactamundo. Couldn´t agree with you more, kid. But hey, it looks like you might actually be able to get back to your sleepover after all. Can´t wait to hear what alarming chorus is going to keep me up until midnight.”

“Oh you just wait, we´re doing ABBA next and it´s gonna be so-“

FRIDAY tears through the conversation with an alarm, but it´s precious seconds too late.

A gasp. An abrupt thud resounding through the comms. A scream. Peter´s.

Tony´s blood freezes in his veins.

“Peter? Peter!?”

He gets there in less than a minute and sees one of the bots with its blaster pointed at Peter, still smoking from the shot.

He obliterates it without a second thought, his mind swirling with fear and rejection at FRIDAY´s next words as he runs towards Spiderman´s crumbled figure.

“No heartbeat detected, boss”.

Chapter 2

The first time he´d ever heard Peter´s voice, he´d been running on three hours of sleep, a frankly heart-attack inducing dose of caffeine, and no motivation whatsoever to sit down with stuffy board members for five hours.

It didn´t exactly come as a surprise that for the first few milliseconds of the “Itsy bitsy spider” chant in his head he´d thought, confusingly, that it might just have been his mind finally resorting to the resurface of old nursery rhymes as a way to tell him to go the frick to sleep.

His heart however, was another matter.

As ridiculous and improbable as it sounded, a new something in his chest rose even before he knew what was happening. He might not have been a machine, but something slowly and irrevocably clicked into place the more he heard that gentle voice go on about water spouts and suns.

He´d stopped short in realization. Blinked.

And then smiled wide enough to lose himself in the mirth of it.

He´d run back to his workshop right after that, laughing like mad with the absolute mayhem of emotions coursing through his whole being, almost crashing into Pepper in the process. She´d looked back at him in concern, questions already forming in her lips, before Tony had frantically mimed at her to keep quiet, wanting to listen to the soft voice´s final notes.

Once the song finished, Tony may or may not have let out a loud shriek of sheer joy and told an increasingly delighted Pepper all about it, practically bursting with excitement.

“Pep! Wait, what do I do now!? Do I- Do I sing it back to him? Do I sing another- crap I don´t even know any children´s songs, JARVIS, JARVIS!”

In the end he´d had to phone Rhodey to yell the news ecstatically to him, because he´d just found maybe the universe hadn´t wanted to screw him over after all, and he felt like screaming it from the rooftops. The little voice was sweet and shy and boyish and happy, and about the best thing Tony had heard in his damn life. He couldn´t have contained himself if he´d tried, and heck if he was going to any time soon.

(“Tones, what- “

“Rhodey!”

“…was that you or a screech owl.”

“It happened! There´s- a little kid! Somewhere! Spiders! My soulmate!”

“The- wait what-? “)

Music had gotten an entirely new meaning after that, from Disney songs to musicals to classic rock, and everything else in between.

…

He´d do anything to listen to Peter sing to them again.

Burning.

He´s burning all over.

Screaming in pain, he tries to escape from the scorching heat, but it´s everywhere, it´s everything, he´s the pain, he´s the fire, everything hurts-

And then as soon as it appears, the pain is gone.

He opens his eyes, blinking woozily.

“Oh, thank God.”

His vision blurs all over for a minute. There´s dampness in the corners, left over from tears.

Tears?

He makes an attempt to sit up, but there´s a hand holding his shoulder gently. He blinks again.

Tries to decipher his surroundings.

He´s laying down in a mostly deserted, grubby looking street. A figure kneels close to him, some sort of red and gold robot type thing. He narrows his eyes at it, trying to figure out why it feels so familiar…but finds, to a detached kind of surprise, that he can´t.

He has no idea what happened.

The robot seems to be very relieved for some reason, just staring up at the sky for a couple of seconds, taking a deep, wheezy breath.

Even with his head feeling like wet cotton, he looks at him with concern. The robot sounds seconds away from fainting. Is he…alright?

When the robot´s face opens and a man´s head peeps out (cool!), he almost jumps back in surprise.

And then…

Well. He still doesn´t have a clue who this person is, but as soon as he sees the man´s expression of utter joy and relief, something inside him settles. Safe.

He blinks in confusion at the feeling. He knows this person. He does.

But who is he?

“Pete? You´re back bud. Do you feel okay?” The man´s (man? robot? man-robot? cyborg? figment of his imagination?) smile fades slightly, looking at him in worry. “FRIDAY” Friday? Who on earth is he talking to? “didn´t you say the CPR made his vitals-“

“I´m- I´m fine” he says, because enormous confusion aside, he is. Maybe his head is scrambled, and he feels exhausted, but he has a feeling he´s been in worse shape before.

A feeling.

The man (he´s decided on man) starts going on about robots, and getting him to a tower with someone called Dr. Cho, but all he can do is blink back, his confusion increasing.

“I´m really sorry” he interrupts, knowing he´s probably going to disappoint the man, but needing to push forward even so, “who- who are you? Are you-? “

He tries to put a word on the feeling seeing the man´s face had evoked in him before, tries to remember who he is or what he has to do with the man or why he feels so…safe. So safe. With him there, even with all the questions going round and round inside his head.

“Are you my dad?”

The man´s face stills. For a second, it looks like his brain short-circuits.

Mood, a thought rings out in his head, unbidden.

That´s when he hears it.

A huge metallic…thing coming through the street towards them, and he doesn´t know why but it makes his heart thump like a rabbit´s in a cage, and suddenly he gets a flash of remembering pain, and he knows these machines, these machines are dangerous, and what if the man gets hurt too-

He pushes the man behind him as he desperately tries to look for somewhere they can hide-

-but the man grabs his hand first and hurries them both towards the sturdiest-looking car on the street, crouching so they´re out of sight.

“Uh, alright. I- this must be really weird for you, but it´ll be okay. Just stay here for now, ´kay? I´ll- We´ll figure this out. You with me?” The man holds his gaze for a second, and it´s so sincere, he finds himself nodding.

The man smiles. “Okay. Give me a sec.” And then he gets up and turns towards the robot.

What the-what´s he doing!?

He reaches out clumsily to drag him back, but the man´s face gets obscured by his robot mask once more and he…

Flies?

The frick? He thinks in bewilderment, as he sees the man lift off and attack the robot with blasts coming from his hands. My maybe-dad can fly!?

Either he lives in a sci-fi novel, or he´s going absolutely nuts.

Could be both at this point, frankly.

The whiz of gold and red fighting the robot is almost quicker than his sight can keep up with, but he persists, looking out anxiously for any opening the robot might have to take the man down so he can try to warn him about it. There is none though, the robot might be exceedingly fast, but the man remains unyielding. He takes another look at the giant machine and sees it´s blaster-

And then it´s like someone takes his brain and shakes it around everywhere, and the throbbing is so sudden he kneels and clutches his head tightly to keep it from falling apart. His thoughts feel shattered and tampered with, and the pain-

He cries out in agony, and tears fill his eyes again.

The man! I have to look out for him!

He tries to listen to the fight again, but just as he tries to focus in on it it´s like a tsunami of yells and police sirens and voices washes over him, and noise, why is there so much noise-

Overwhelmed, he kneels until his forehead touches the grainy concrete, and wishes he would just pass out.

He doesn´t, though.

Among the oversaturated ocean of noise, one adds to the mix.

Except this one isn´t grating. This one doesn´t make everything seem like too much.

Because it feels like it´s coming from within himself.

He´s at a loss for what´s happening, but the voice slowly and lightly blocks out all the other noise, grounding him in a gentle tune. In a flash, he recognizes the song. He knows where he heard it last.

Mr Stark.

And he remembers.

“Kid? What are you doing up?”

He shrugs, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. Baby Tarzan laughs onscreen.

He half expects Mr Stark to push him for more details, but he seems to understand Peter´s not in a talking mood and walks up to him solemnly.

“Scoot.”

He does, and Mr Stark plops down next to him, wordlessly extending his arms out in invitation. Peter falls into the hug gratefully and sighs. Exhaustion pulls down on his bones, but he´d rather not get back to the nightmare he woke up from. Mr Stark snorts softly at something in the movie, and then they both jump a bit at the sudden loud gorilla roar. They keep watching the movie, and Peter´s curls are brushed back gently in a soothing motion.

He wants to sleep. But he can´t.

But he´s safe here, isn´t he?

His chest grows heavier as he thinks of the dream, and when he blinks, his eyelids dampen. He hasn´t shed a tear yet, but Mr Stark must sense something again because his hand at Peter´s hair stills.

And then he starts singing.

It´s a lulling comfort, and Peter melts into the embrace, allowing his tired eyes some rest.

He´s safe.

Come stop your crying

It will be alright

Just take my hand

Hold it tight

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

He´s safe.

With a final shot from Iron man´s repulsors, the robot powers down, and Peter runs out to meet Mr Stark, almost crushing his ribs in a hug.

“Woah, woah!” The helmet´s visor pulls up, revealing a grinning Tony. “Did that actually work? FRIDAY told me you were freaking out and I thought it might help calm you down.” He says, hugging him back. “But it did more than that, didn´t it?”

Peter´s too relieved to do anything but nod happily into his shoulder, but he gets the point across.

They stay there for a full minute, just holding on to each other. Until Tony grumbles out a “and I can´t believe you remembered Phil Collins before Iron man, seriously.” and Peter bursts out laughing, lightening the mood.

“The man didn´t sing that soundtrack in five languages for nothing, Mr Stark. It slaps.”

Tony hides his smile in Peter´s curls, and hugs him close.

#Writing #The friendly neighborhood exchange #WHOOO #irondad and spiderson #I love them #platonic soulmates

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Riding High

Ch17: Welcome to Miami

Chapter Summary: Frank, Fliss and the Circle Of Truth take a Road Trip….

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW) No under 18s!!!

Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 16

June 2018

“How’s Fliss?” Gregg asked as Frank leaned back in his chair, hand curled round his bottle of beer.

Frank looked at his friend and took a deep breath “She says she’s ok. I think it’s the waiting that’s the worst. Knowing the board’s been held is one thing, not knowing the outcome….” “I know it’s hard and easy for me to say this but…well, even if he gets out he won’t be allowed anywhere near her. As I explained to her likely hood is he’ll be tagged and on a curfew and movements restricted to the state of Mass.” Gregg took a sip of his drink “And if it isn’t done automatically, through the appeal process I can file for further restrictions as well around him contacting her in any way, shape or form…but I’d be surprised if that isn’t a condition.”

“I know.” Frank said, “And she gets that…I think it’s more anger about the whole thing now you know?” “It sucks.” Gregg nodded “He spent so long abusing her and he’s still managing to do it in a way through all this.” Frank raised his eyebrows and took a drink of his beer, nodding to Jake and Simon as they approached their table.

“I know I don’t need to ask but…” Frank started but Gregg raised a hand.

“You’re right, you don’t.” he understood immediately that Frank was asking him to keep quiet, and he nodded as their two friends arrived at the table. After the greetings they all settled down reaching for a beer from the bucket that sat in the middle of them all, the conversation easy. Frank was happy to see the boys, he hadn’t in a few weeks so he’d grabbed the opportunity for a few beers happily, Fliss and Mary practically shoving him out of the door as they had some girly night in planned with Roberta consisting of popcorn, pizza, facemasks and a Marvel DVD, Fliss and Roberta assuring him whole heartedly they were watching it because it was a good film and not merely to perve on Chris Hemsworth or Evans or whoever the hell the Chris was in this particular one.

Whatever, sweetheart.

“So…” Simon said, looking around the table “Are we still on for a weekend somewhere? 22nd to 24th June?”

They all made noises, and Frank nodded. “Schedules cleared, baby sitter lined up…we just need to decide where we’re going.”

“Well, I got something to suggest to y’all…” Jake grinned “Greg already knows about this, but basically, the Company we’re doing the promotional work for has offered us up to 10 each for the Miami Rocks Concert which runs that weekend....so if you’re interested.”

“Rock music?” Simon looked at him, and Jake shook his head.

“Not just rock.” he said, leaning forward “It’s a combination of tribute acts and the real deal…and there’s different stages each with a different genre, and the main stage which contains the big acts.” “Ok, I’m interested…” Frank leaned forward.

“So the Friday night is a rewind to the 70s, 80s and 90s… headlined by none other than Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, Mr Will Smith himself…” Frank let out a snort and looked at Simon who had started bopping in his seat, clicking his fingers.

“That finishes about midnight and then Saturday is the big one. You got 5 Seconds of Summer, George Ezra and Liam Gallagher from Oasis headlining that night.” Jake continued “The other stages rage from all sorts. Mo-Town, Indie, Chart, Reggae…and then there’s a party after which continues until early hours, run by Hot Dub Time Machine.”

“Shut the front door!” Simon snorted “Hot Dub?”

Jake nodded.

“Dude I saw him one New Year’s Eve in New York a few years ago.” Simon said “He was brilliant!”

Frank sat and listened as his friends started to discuss the concert in more detail. He had to admit, it sounded like a pretty good idea, and just the distraction Fliss could do with.

“Hate to be the voice of logic…” Simon said. “But if it’s only like three weeks off, wont’ we have trouble getting hotel rooms?”

“Fuck that, I’ll sleep on the back of the truck.” Frank said, causing the rest of them to laugh. “No need Frankie-boi, I got a client who works for the Hyatt Group man.” Jake shook his head “Three rooms already reserved out in the Regency, about 10 minutes’ walk if that from Bayfront Park where the concert is…just in case you fancied it. $100 a room for 2 nights, including a late checkout on the Sunday coz, well, we’re gonna need it.”

“Three?” Frank frowned.

“You and Fliss, Simon and Bonnie, and Me and Greg…” “What about Zara and Lisa?” he frowned “I thought this was a couple’s thing, not a boys weekend away…”

“Well it was going to be…” Greg shrugged “But Zara’s away with the kids that weekend, decided to go back to California as her sister is being taken in for a C-section, and of course she has to be there…”

“And it’s Lisa’s idea of hell…” Jake supplied.

“So why don’t we re-arrange?” Simon asked.

“Fuck that!” Jake snorted “I’m got a child and fiancée free pass for the weekend.” “Amen brother!” Gregg hi-fived him.

“But you two can bring your girls, no problem…they’re cool” Jake gestured between Frank and Simon with his beer bottle. “Thanks for your permission…” Frank raised an eyebrow.

****

Naturally, Fliss was over the moon with the promise of a music festival, especially when she looked up the acts that were on. So, when the Friday in question rolled around, after dropping Mary at school, with strict instructions she was to behave herself as Frank WOULD be checking, they set off in Fliss’ jeep, Frank driving as she lounged in the passenger seat, eyes hidden by her aviators, hair pulled into a loose side pony tail as they made the four hour down the coast and across state to Florida, stopping half way for some food at a roadside diner.

Simon and Bonnie weren’t due to arrive until just gone 5 ish, Bonnie having to finish the morning’s classes before she could leave, whilst Jake and Greg were here having come down the night before, so when they had checked in they decided to freshen up and go for a walk, Fliss eager to hit Lincoln Road Mall. They spent a few hours just walking and looking in the shops, eventually finding a Pandora one which Fliss headed into wanting a new charm for her bracelet as a memory of the weekend. She paced the shop eventually settling for a silver palm tree with a small diamond in the middle of the trunk and Frank batted her hand down when she went to pay, instead producing his card. The usual argument about who was paying ensued, which eventually Frank won by telling Fliss that he wanted to be the one that filled that bracelet for her, and she relented, smiling softly. Frank didn’t miss the relieved look on the shop assistant’s face as she finally waved the out of the store.

They met Jake and Greg in a bar not far from the hotel, and they were joined by Bonnie and Simon for a drink before the two girls announced they were heading off to get changed and ready for the evening. Frank left it until about 20 minutes before he needed to be ready and headed up to their room, pulling on one of his infamous hideous Hawaiian shirts which he had brought especially. Fliss looked at him, shaking her head with a fond smile on her face as he innocently asked her what the problem was. She laughed and told him nothing at all, before she gave him a kiss and they headed down to meet the others.

The walk down to the Park took them 10 minutes. Fliss was walking slightly ahead with Bonnie, her braid swinging down her back, gently brushing against the yellow off the shoulder top she was wearing. Her bottom half was dressed in denim shorts, a pair of pink converse boots on her feet. She’d certainly embraced the Festival Vibe, opting for bright colours in honour of the fact they were heading back musically a few decades. They arrived and joined the queue to exchange their tickets for wrists bands which took them about 15 minutes, and then they joined the lines to get through the main gates. That didn’t take long at all and once they were through they followed the crowd before Greg stopped, and looked around.

“We get split up…” “We all got phones!” Jake snorted “What are you, 50?”

“Sorry, force of habit with the kids…” Greg let out a groan as everyone laughed.

“So the main stage is that way…” Jake said, pointing to his left “Right at the back. DJ stage is there, and the other stages are dotted about…anyone got any preference on where we go?” “Other than Will Smith I really wanna to go the 80s stage!” Fliss grinned and Bonnie Hi-Fived her.

“Yeah we got some Duran Duran to dance to.” she agreed. “And Erasure.”

“And Wham.” “And Culture Club….” “Yeah, we get the picture…” Simon rolled his eyes.

“Oh and I want to see the Queen and AC/DC tributes.” Fliss finished.

“Anything else?” Frank looked at her.

“Beer.”

“Well we need tokens.” Jake said, “No cash at the bar, tokens only so…the tent is over there…”

They all set off, Fliss and Bonnie hanging behind chatting away, but it wasn’t long before their chatter died down and Frank turned to see that, actually, it hadn’t died down, they’d disappeared. “Where the hell are the girls?” Simon asked, looking round as he realised they were missing.

“Knowing Fliss in some tent getting her face painted…” Frank paused, turning on the spot before he spotted them. Fliss was stood as Bonnie was sat on a stool, having some sort of Festival glitter painted around her temple and eye socket. “Yup, there you go…” Simon followed his gaze and snorted. “Fucking hell…what are they, 8?” “Leave ‘em be.” Frank said fondly “Come on, let’s go get the drinks sorted.”

He waved at Fliss, before pointing to where they were going and she gave him a thumbs up to show she understood, before Bonnie stood up and she sat down. Frank smiled at her face as it lit up and he headed off after Simon.

By the time they had gotten the tokens and ordered beers for them all, the girls still hadn’t joined them, and it didn’t take long to realise why. They were both in a tent which contained 2 electronic dance mats, right in the middle of a very energetic dance off.

“It’s like having a pair of kids…” Simon mumbled the boys stood by the entrance to the tent whilst Frank simply grinned. As they watched Bonnie made a mistake, the mat flashed red, and then another one, before Fliss made one too. The two girls’ foot work was ridiculously fast as the song gathered pace and finally the routine ended. Fliss grinned and hi-fived Bonnie as their scores flashed up, Fliss winning by 60 points.

“Yesss!” she punched the air as Bonnie shook her head and the man handed them both some really tacky bright pink beaded necklaces for taking part.

“Re-match…” Bonnie said, looking at Fliss as they both dropped the necklaces over their heads.

“Maybe later, I’m fucked now…” Fliss said, bending over, hands on her knees as she drew her breath “I need a drink!”

She turned and saw the boys in the doorway, Frank raised an eyebrow and held up the beer and she grinned.

“I knew I bought you for something.” He rolled his eyes and then Greg suggested they head off to the first stage for the start of the 80s Tribute acts. They only intended to stay for a short while but Fliss begged Frank to stay longer, and was backed up by Bonnie as the Duran-Duran band came on. Fliss told Frank if he wanted to go and meet up later he could, but truth be told he didn’t want to. This was as much a weekend for him and her as it was for him and his friends, so with that in mind Simon and Frank both decided to stay with the girls and that they would find the others later.

And Frank was glad of his decision, as about 20 minutes later, when Hungry Like the Wolf started to play, Fliss was bouncing around like a lunatic. He knew it was one of her favourite songs, and seeing her cutting loose was making him a little horny if truth be told. He moved up behind her and grabbed her hips, swaying with her in time to the music as he dropped a kiss to her shoulder, gently singing along as she danced in front of him, occasionally brushing up against the front of his shorts, which was doing nothing to help his current situation.

“Someone’s definitely on the hunt down…” she teased, pushing her ass back into his crotch whilst she turned her head to face him as the song morphed into Rio. He grinned and gave her a kiss.

“Not hunting, I already got you.” “Hmm, yeah you did…” she murmured against his lips.

The continued dancing with one another, Simon and Bonnie doing the same before the 4 of them all decided they were ready for another drink. As fate would have it, they found Greg and Jake already at the bar. They muscled their way in, grabbed another beer and then all turned to head towards one of the tall, standing tables which were dotted around not far from the bar. Frank waited for Fliss as she had ordered a bottle of water too, and the guy serving had forgotten it. When he came back, apologising, Fliss waved him off and thanked him as Frank picked the bottle up and stuck it in his pocket. He reached for Fliss’ hand, and they were making their way over to their friends when suddenly he felt Fliss yell out and she stopped dead. He turned to face her, seeing someone had bumped into her and her beer had spilt all down her top.

“Hey, come on man…” Frank looked at the guy as Fliss pulled her hand out of his to wipe at her top “Be careful huh…” But the man wasn’t looking at him, his eyes were fixed completely on Fliss. “Yes, wouldn’t want an accident now would we, Felicity?” At the sound of her full name Frank instantly knew this had to be someone to do with her ex-husband and he reached out for Fliss as he saw her stiffen and slowly she raised her head to look at the man, her eyes widening and she swallowed.

“Richard.” she spoke softly.

“Fancy seeing you here. Must be nice to be free to do what you want.” “Yeah, well, making up for lost time. I didn’t exactly get a lot of chance to have fun when your brother was beating the shit out of me.” Her chin raised a little defiantly and Frank felt a surge of pride as she stood up for herself, the anger evident on her face.

“You’re a fucking liar…” Richard said and Frank immediately stepped in.

“Ok that’s enough…” he spoke sternly, glaring at the man “We’re not here for any trouble, we’re just out for a good time with friends, and I’d like to keep it that way. So, if you don’t mind, we’re done here.” he turned to Fliss and slid his arm round her waist, making to steer her away.

“You need to be careful.” Richard spoke to Frank’s retreating back. “Now she’s got her claws into you, you’re done…first sign of trouble she’ll be accusing you of all sorts.”

Frank sighed, he’d tried to be reasonable, but the anger felt like it was bubbling from his feet and he whirled round, placing himself in between the man and Fliss. “Listen, asshole, why don’t you just fuck off?” his tone was laced with venom. “Your brother is a nasty, wife beating piece of shit.”

At that Richard stepped forward, drawing himself to full height, still a good 3 inches shorter than Frank. His fists balled as he clenched his hands at his side, his mouth curled up into a snarl.

“She’s a liar.” Richard pointed at Fliss, before his attention turned back to Frank. “She lied and because of her, John’s life and career is ruined…” “His life? Ruined?” Frank barked out a laugh “Your brother got nothing more than he deserved, and so will you if you don’t get the fuck outta my face.”

“Frank…” Fliss pleaded with him, pulling on his arm and desperately looking around for help before this descended into a fight. Thankfully, she caught Jake’s eye who hit Greg on the shoulder, who in turn tapped Simon, and the three of them plus Bonnie hastily started to jog over.

“If he was that bad why has he been considered for parole?” Richard shrugged “An appeal his lawyer is convinced he’ll win…” Richard said, taking a step back as the other men approached. “And that’s all because they finally saw through her lies…” Frank made an angry noise but Greg pushed himself in between the two men, patting Frank on the chest.

“Come on buddy…” he said. “Whatever it is, leave it…” Jake went to grab Frank’s arm, but he jerked it out of his grip.

“I’ll tell you this…” Frank pointed at Richard “If he gets out, you can tell him from me, he stays the fuck away from my girl, and the rest of my family, you got that? Or I’ll put him in a hospital, see how he likes it.”

“Big man making all the threats huh?” “It ain’t a threat, it’s a god-damned promise.” Frank snarled. Richard gave a snort of a laugh before he allowed his wife to steer him away, shooting one last contemptuous glance at both him and Fliss.

“What the fuck?” Simon turned to Frank, who completely ignored him and moved to where Fliss was stood, her arms wrapped cross her front, hugging herself, Bonnie gently talking to her.

“You ok?” he asked her gently and she gave a nod as he took her in his arms, hugging her tightly, hand falling to the back of her head.

Greg gave Frank a questioning look, which Frank answered with two words “His brother.” “Who’s brother?” Jake pressed, “What just happened? I’m so confused.” “To be fair that doesn’t take much…” Frank heard Greg say which earned him a “Fuck you” in response, and the two men began to bicker as Fliss stepped back from his arms. Frank looked down at her, taking her face in his hands. “You good?”

“Yeah…” she nodded “You shouldn’t have risen to him.” “Probably not.” he shrugged “But I’m not having that piece of shit or anyone associated with him trash mouthing you.”

“My hero…” she rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face told him he wasn’t in too much trouble. He gave a snort of a laugh and dropped a kiss to her head. “Can we go back to the dancing now please? And I need another beer, that ass hole spilt mine.” “Is it time for tequila yet?” Bonnie asked, offering Fliss a drink of her beer. Fliss took a sip, shaking her head

“I swore after last time I would never drink that shit again.”

“But that was a lie, right?” Bonnie looked at her as she passed her pint back over.

“Yup, a very big lie…” Fliss agreed, causing the rest of the group to laugh.

So they did their tequila. Several shots of to be intact and spent the rest of the night wandering stage to stage, lapping up the atmosphere. Frank kept a close eye on his girl who seemed none the worse for her encounter as she danced the night away with him and Bonnie, the 2 of them disappearing at one point for a walk around the various stalls that were around the outside, coming back with a packet of interlocking glow sticks which they proceeded to activate and make head wear out of.

Will Smith took to the stage at about 10 pm and Frank was beside himself with laughter as Fliss reverted to some kind of school kid. She seemed to know every single word to every goddamned song he had, and when it came to Men In Black she launched expertly into the dance routine that half the crowd were doing, in time to the video showing behind the stage. Simon and Jake tried to copy her before they both gave up and when she finished she turned around and Frank raised his beer to her and she bowed, as they all laughed. Deciding that they didn’t want to stay for the after party, considering they knew it was going to be a really late one the next evening, instead they agreed to head down to the beach. They managed to find a guy who was walking round with a cool box selling beer and they bought 2 bottles each, for twice the price they should be but, whatever…

When in Miami…

As they walked across the sand, Frank looped his arm round Fliss’ shoulder whilst they weaved themselves through the various mini-parties which seemed to be going on as people were set up all over with small fires, beer, drinks and music playing. Frank had a sneaking suspicion half of them were probably intending on sleeping there too. Eventually they found a clear spot and flopped down onto the sand, under the illumination of one of the boardwalk lights and then Simon stood up, heading over to a group of teenagers sat a bit to their right.

“What’s he doing?” Greg asked.

“I think he’s reverse bootlegging.” Jake said and Frank gave a snort of laughter.

“What?” Fliss frowned, “What’s that?” “Instead of selling alcohol to underage kids he’s buying it off them, look.” Frank said, nodding to him. Fliss watched as Simon slipped one of the kids a twenty and took the bottle of vodka he was offering to them, raising it up as he walked back.

“What the fuck man?” Greg snorted “That’s…”

“Shameful.” Jake nodded before he chuckled, shaking his head. “I love it.” With a grin Simon dropped down next to Bonnie, standing the bottle of vodka up in the middle of the circle they seemed to have made as Fliss sat between Frank’s legs, leaning back against his chest. His spare hand ran up and down the outside of her thigh softly as they all sat chatting about the evening, comparing their best bits and what they were looking forward to tomorrow evening. Eventually, someone, Frank wasn’t sure who, decided that they should play Never Have I Ever, and Fliss eagerly agreed, jumping in with the first question.

“Ok, never have I ever driven a boat…” Fliss smirked.

“What, that’s a crap one!” Frank snorted “Everyone here’s probably driven one…including you.”

“Nope…”

“Bullshit!” he snorted “On our first date, and several times since…”

“I sailed it Frankie, I didn’t drive it…”

He paused for a moment and then looked up as everyone in the circle grinned.

“She’s right man…” Simon conceded “I sailed mine too…” “And me…”

“And me…”

“Oh fuck you!” Frank spluttered as they all laughed at him. Fliss handed him the bottle, which he took from her with a glare taking a mouthful. Fucking hell, he could tell it was cheap as it burnt like paint stripper as he swallowed, wincing.

That was basically the way the game went. Each trying to deliberately catch everyone else out. Simon caught Jake spectacularly, forcing him to reveal a tale about how he got locked out of a hotel room, naked on the balcony and climbed down 2 storeys to go and get a spare key from reception, Simon repeatedly got Bonnie on a number of occasions before Frank caught Fliss out with the tale of how she had once called her University Lecturer “Daddy.” by mistake.

“Ok, Never have I ever…” Fliss paused, before a wicked grin spread on her face and she looked at Frank “Called anyone else’s name during sex.”

“Oh God…” Frank heard Bonnie mumble from where she was sat, but before he could even open his mouth to call Fliss an ass hole, he saw Greg reaching for the bottle.

“No WAY!” Fliss spluttered, looking at Greg “What? When!”

“I was about 21…” Greg said, scrunching up his face. “I was in bed with a girl and, well, I called her mom’s name.” The entire group fell silent before Jake, Frank and Simon all let out a roar of laughter, and Fliss snorted, grinning from ear to ear.

“That’s…impressive.” Frank nodded as Greg put the bottle down and Fliss picked it up and handed it to Frank. Everyone turned their attention to him as he narrowed his eyes and grabbed it from her.

“Spill.” Simon pointed at him.

“I err, well…look, it…” Frank stuttered over his words “I was…look we don’t need to discuss this…” he said, knocking back the vodka and avoiding Bonnie’s eyes, shaking his head “I plead the 5th.” There were various groans around the group but when they realised Frank wasn’t going to budge Greg shrugged, calling him a pussy, and picked the next category.

“Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex.” he said, with a raised eyebrow. Both Fliss and Bonnie moved for the bottle at the same time, and the boys all cheered.

“Was it each other?” Simon grinned “Please tell me it was…” “Ok,no…that…” Frank began to protest, hiccupping slightly. “That would be weird…”

“No it wasn’t each other.” Bonnie grinned at Simon “I was 17, playing spin the bottle and had to kiss this girl called Eva…” “And that’s it?” Simon asked.

“Yeah…” she nodded, taking a drink from the bottle before she passed it to Fliss.

“Spill…” Frank instructed her, his hand on her hip where she was still nestled in between his legs.

“I was 19…and, yeah, well, I experimented” she shrugged. “A few times…”

“Wait, there was…” Frank looked at her as she turned her head to grin at him “You did more than kiss?”

“For me to know and you to find out Sailor…” she winked. Well fuck me!

Another 15 minutes or go they’d exhausted the bottle of vodka and decided to call it a night. Bonnie was faring the worst out of them all, her and Simon walking a little behind everyone as he kept his arm round her to keep her steady. Frank noticed Fliss was remarkably with it considering what they’d drunk, but then for such a small person she did have quite a high tolerance, and she’d drunk a hell of a lot of water as well.

At the hotel they bid everyone goodnight and headed up to their room where Fliss decided she needed to shower to get rid of all the glitter and sand and sweat from dancing. Frank was inclined to agree so let her go first, swapping over after 10 minutes or so with an exchange of a soft kiss in the bathroom doorway. By the time Frank got out of the shower Fliss was sat cross legged on the large bed dressed in a camisole and boy-shorts set which was white with multi-coloured polka dots on it. It was the set he had bought her for Valentine’s Day, along with a set of baby-pink lace underwear. He loved seeing her in lace, but there was something about the lounge sets like the one she was wearing now that gave her an innocence, made her look so comfy and so settled that he adored seeing her wearing them around the house and to bed…even if they didn’t stay on long.

She grinned up at him as he smiled, crossing to drop a kiss on her head.

“You raid the minibar?” he asked, nodding to the packet of chips she had ripped open.

“Yeah.” she shrugged “Figured fuck it, why not?” “Well…”he crossed the room and opened the fridge which was under the TV unit “In for a penny…” he pulled two beers out, popped the tops and passed her one.

“Don’t you think we’ve had enough?”

“Can you see straight?”

“Yeah…”

“Then no.” he said and she laughed, taking it from him.

“You’re a bad man Frank Adler.” “I try.” he quipped. She shook her head, smiling before she reached for her phone which had just gone off. Frank whipped the towel from around his waist and stepped into a clean pair of boxers before he roughly dried his hair.

“Bonnie says her and Simon are hitting the beach during the day tomorrow…do you fancy it?” “Sure.” he nodded, dropping to the bed, laying down on his side, propping himself up on his elbow as he reached for a Dorito.

“At least I think that’s what this message says. ‘Going to the Bitch…’ I mean that’s gotta be beach huh?”

Frank snorted as Fliss scrunched up the empty chip bag and tossed it across the room where it settled just besides the bin. They both looked at it for a second before Fliss shrugged. ”She was trashed.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fliss said, moving to toss her phone onto the night table before she too settled on her side, facing Frank, elbow on the pillow “Simon was deliberately asking questions in that game where he knew she’d have to drink…” “Oh and you weren’t…” he looked at Fliss who shrugged, grinning cheekily “Never have I ever called anyone else’s name during sex, I mean seriously! She was right there!”

“I know, which is what made it so funny.” “Funny is not the word I would use…” “Oh whatever, and as if Greg has done that too!” she said, chuckling as she also settled on her side “He’s a dark horse…” “So are you…” he looked at her taking a long drink of his beer. “In fact….I think you need to tell me more about these lesbian encounters you experienced whilst experimenting aged 19."

"They weren't proper lesbian encounters, I was teasing you...."

"I don't care, make em up." He said and she let out a laugh.

"If I do will it get me something nice?" she grinned.

"Something very, very nice." He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Fliss grinned and then launched into a clearly made up bullshit story about some girl called Candy and Frank completely zoned out. He was simply too caught up concentrating on the childish, teasing expression on her face as she spoke. Her eyes were shining in the dim light of the room as she talked and grinned in the same manner she had been doing all night. Not even the encounter with that asshole’s brother has dampened her spirit. She was just enjoying herself, freely. And so was he. She said she couldn't remember the last festival or concert she had been to, and Frank had admitted the same. It had to have been easily 10 years ago. It felt good to be recapturing that part of their lives they had both given up (albeit for very different reasons) and making new memories together that he knew would last a lifetime.

A lifetime...huh, how about that?

He zoned back in just in time to hear Fliss' very risqué story telling, and dropped his head with a sight that was half laugh, half groan at her filthy tale.

"...and her thighs were so strong, it was ridiculous, my ears were squashed so hard, I felt like my head was in a vice. Still, I managed to-"

"Ok..." he said, taking her beer off her and setting it down on his nightstand along with his, before he leaned over Fliss, caging her with his arms "I'm getting kinda jealous...and a bit turned on...it’s very confusing.

“You asked…” she muttered as his face dropped her hers.

“Yeah, I did…” his lips brushed against hers “And I promised you something nice…” “Very,very nice…” Fliss said, her hands sliding up his arms to his shoulder.

“Well, I’m a man of my word…” he grinned, lips pressing to hers harder this time in a soft, deep kiss which he pulled away from and ran his nose against hers. “Turn over…”

“What?” she looked at him, her eyes widening slightly.

“You trust me?”

“Of course I do…” “Then turn over…”

She took a deep breath, and looked at him and he looked straight back, fully understanding what she was thinking. He’d never asked her to do that before. “Lissy, I promise I’m not gonna hurt you.” “I know you’re not…” she shook her head, before she bit her lip and he moved back so she could turn over onto her stomach. With gently finger tips he brushed her hair off her shoulders, sweeping it to one side gently dropping soft kisses down her neck as his hands traced down to her hips. He gently grasped her top and she moved to allow him to slide it up and over.

The sheets on the bed rustled slightly as he moved downwards, pressing his lips to the small of her back, watching her reaction carefully as he saw her fingers clutching softly at the pillow. He continued his affections, lips and hands exploring every part of the soft skin on her back until he was fully led over her, thighs bracketing hers, his mouth gently sucking at that spot behind her ear that drove her wild. And right on cue she let out a low groan and he felt his groin twitch at the noise. Fliss could feel his hardness against her back and as his teeth gently grazed her ear she felt her spine arch slightly.

He moved away, and his hand gently slid to grasp at the hem of her shorts, and she tilted her hips up slightly so he could pull them down, hurriedly departing with his own boxers before he resumed his previous position.

“You good?” he asked her softly and she nodded in response.

With gentle hands he reached down between her legs to finding her hot and wet for him already. At his touch she arched her back again. Frank let out a grin and moved slightly so he could part her thighs with his knee. Repositioning himself, he led flat, his arms sliding up hers so he could lace his fingers with hers, palms resting on the backs of her hands and he gently pushed into her, the pair of them giving a groan at the feeling and tightness of this angle. He gently thrust, his chest sliding up over her back, and she moved ever so slightly with him, her head tilted back slightly and she turned her face towards his where he caught her mouth in a slow, sloppy kiss. Frank continued his languid, deep movements, listening to the quickening of her breath and eventually he felt her hips beginning to rise in slow circles, her whimpers increasing.

He gently knelt up, and pulled her hips so she was perched on her knees, pushing into her slowly, deeply, letting her get used to the position that they’d never tried before because Frank knew it wasn’t one she had good memories of but right now, her body was relaxed and she was giving him everything. His hand reached up and he traced down her spine before he leaned over and placed another soft kiss on her neck before he moved and grasped at her hips again, his pace gently quickening, a low moan escaping his mouth as Fliss pushed back onto him, wordlessly telling him she wanted more. He thrust forwards again and again, pulling her back onto him at the same time, his eyes focussed on where they were joined, the sight of him sliding in and out of her made him moan with desire.

“Don’t stop…” he heard her half pant, half whisper and he picked up the pace ever so slightly, leaning over to gently nip at the back of her neck, causing her to shudder, a deep growl rumbled in his chest as her walls briefly squeezed around him.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned as her hands clutched at the bed sheets whilst he buried himself deep inside of her stilling for a moment.

“Frankie…” she whined and squirmed as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. Once glance at his clenched jaw and she knew he was trying to fight back his high as he picked up his previous movements, just a little bit faster. She was close, quietly moaning his name as she dropped her head back down, forehead against the pillows, her spine arching as he continued to thrust.

Frank groaned again “Come on sweetheart...” his voice deeper like it always was when he was in the throes of desire, “let go for me.” He rolled his hips forwards, five or six more times before she was done.

“Fuck, Frank, I…” she let out a broken cry as her core spasmed again and again and her entire body trembled as a loud lament spilled from her lips. He was done himself, and with a groan of her name his relief washed over him with an intensity he couldn’t even begin to describe.

Fliss collapsed forward and Frank tumbled with her, his chest onto her back, his weight crushing her in the best way possible for a second ot two before he rolled onto his side. Reaching out, his hand gently across her bare back as Fliss face, which was pressed into the pillow turned to face him.

He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss, brushing her hair off her face.

“Okay…” she mumbled, nodding at him “I’ll concede. That was very, very nice…”

******* “You behaving?” Frank asked Mary as he and Fliss lay in bed the next morning, the phone held at arms-length so they could both see her.

“Yeah, of course…” Mary rolled her eyes “Bill took me to the yard last night and Joanne helped me tack Monty up and then Bill walked round the field with us so the dogs could have a run and it was awesome!”

“When I get back we’ll do the full trail ride.” Fliss smiled at her “Takes a good hour, we can go one evening before it gets dark.”

“Cool!” Mary grinned, bending down and then suddenly Fred’s bemused face filled the screen. Frank snorted as he was instructed to say hi to Fred, which he did, before the cat settled down on Mary’s lap and she continued to chat to him about what she had done the night before…which was basically staying up until gone midnight with Bill watching Harry Potter in the movie room.

Eventually they got her to pass the phone over to Verity, who assured Frank she was no trouble, and then they cut the call and decided to get up and head down for breakfast to meet everyone.

The day was spent lazily on the beach. Fliss hardly moved at all, simply soaking up the sun as Frank and Simon continuously brought her and Bonnie a supply of drinks as the man remained by the bar at the top of the sand.

“I gotta ask…”Bonnie said, turning to look at Fliss “And tell me to shut up if I’m outta line but yesterday, that guy Frank looked like he wanted to kill…who was he? Simon says he’s never seen Frank that angry…” “Oh, err…” Fliss rubbed her head “It was my ex-husbands brother, he was being an ass hole.” “Oh.” Bonnie frowned “I take it you don’t get along…nasty break up?” “You could say that…” Fliss said, taking a sip of her drink, tapping the straw lightly on her lips. “John…my ex…he er…he used to beat me. Badly. He’s actually in prison, well, for how long we don’t know as he had his parole hearing about 4 weeks ago so..” “Oh shit…” Bonnie dropped her gaze “Sorry, I didn’t…” “It’s ok.” Fliss said, waving off the usual apologies that came when she told someone about her past.

There was a moment of silence before Bonnie sat up and looked at Fliss.

“Wanna go for a dip?”

Fliss glanced at her, then down to the ocean and grinned, nodding.

Yelling to the boys to watch their stuff they headed down to the waves, Fliss happily diving straight in, simply allowing herself to float. She was calm, relaxed, and couldn’t remember a time she’d ever felt so happy before.

Eventually, it hit 5pm and Fliss was hungry. So they decided to pack up, grab a bite from the bar and then go change ready for the evening. Fliss had to smile as she saw Frank and the rest of the boys stood at a table by the beach bar all clutching pints and laughing. He was dressed in a pink shirt, black shorts with a baseball cap on the wrong way, glasses shielding his eyes.

“I never realised what an overgrown Frat Boy I’m dating.” Fliss mumbled to Bonnie who snorted as they made their way up the wooden boardwalk, beach bags in their hand.

“Hey pretty girl.” Frank smiled as Fliss slid under his arm, reaching for his pint. With a roll of his eyes he watched as she took a huge drink. “You know if you want one I’ll get you one…” “Tastes better when it’s someone else’s.” Fliss shrugged.

“Yeah, why is that?” Bonnie asked.

“Because it’s stolen.” Simon looked at her “Well known fact, forbidden fruit just tastes better.”

Fliss went again for Frank’s drink and he jerked it out of her reach “Piss off, look, here…” he said, reaching into his pocket and handing her his wallet “Go to the bar.” She grinned and dropped a kiss to his lips, turning away, Bonnie following.

“Dude you’re so whipped.” Jake snorted at him.

“Yeah, I don’t much care.” Frank shrugged, burping slightly as he looked at Fliss, taking in her appearance. Her hair was falling around her face and down her back in a mass of long, messy salt and sand tangled waves and she was wearing a pink crochet slip over her black bikini. He would happily admit he was well under her spell and that she could whip him all she fucking wanted to.

They grabbed a bite to eat, headed back, changed and made their way to the park for their second night of music. It went much the same as the night before, Bonnie and Fliss taking off on their own adventures, and Frank keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of John’s fucker of a brother, but he didn’t see him.

By the time Liam Gallagher came onto the stage, Fliss was drunk. And so was he. But it didn’t stop her from going wild. Once again she knew every single word to every single song and when he launched into Rock and Roll Star she started pogoing like a person possessed. Mind you, so was everyone else on the dance floor in front of the stage, so Frank joined in. He quite liked this song and, well, if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em…

He ended the set with Live Forever, Frank’s favourite song that he had done and Fliss sighed happily.

“He’s sooo good!” she said, “Why does he have to go?”

“Because his set has finished.” “But why?” “Because it has!” Frank laughed “He’s been on for almost an hour and it’s 1 am!”

“Hey, Liss, don’t worry…” Bonnie hiccupped “Hot Dub starts in 20…just enough time for a drink…” “Yes…” Fliss agreed, pointing at her. “But I think I need some water too.”

“Pussy…” Frank looked at her and she narrowed his eyes at him.

“I’ll carry on drinking beer if you want, but you’ll be clearing up my puke later.” He snorted and held his hands up, palms out “Water it is.” Hot Dub Time Machine was surreal. He was on for about an hour and took them through a load of the best party songs from the 60s right through to the present day. One minute Frank was doing the Twist and Shout with Fliss, and the next they were all in a circle air-guitaring to Immigrant Song by Led Zep.

By the time they left the park it was almost half 2 in the morning and Fliss decided that she didn’t want to walk and insisted Frank give her a piggy back. He rolled his eyes but crouched down and she took a jump onto his back as he carried her the 10 minutes or so back to the hotel, Simon groaning at him as Bonnie kept complaining he wouldn’t carry her.

“You’re showing me up, dude!” he glared at Frank who simply shrugged as Fliss smirked.

“I like riding him.” She hiccupped, as everyone burst into laughter and Frank shook his head as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re a fucking nightmare” he sniggered and she shrugged.

*****

The next morning everyone was feeling the effects of a heavy weekend, and Frank was pleased that they had the late check out option. Eventually, after dragging themselves out of bed they managed to shower, pack up and head down to check out. There was another argument about who was paying for the room, this time Fliss winning as she put her foot down telling him he was paying for New York and that she really wanted to pay for this. She’d told Frank before about John never letting her have any financial control over anything and Frank knew that it meant a lot to her so he relented, and instead bought them brunch before they set off home.

They got back in time for a roast dinner, and then they headed back to the annex to watch a film, Fliss crashing out halfway through. She left them to it and headed to bed and was flat out by the time Frank made his way upstairs.

“I can’t believe you got the day off!” She moaned at him over breakfast on the Monday morning.

“I can’t believe you didn’t” he shot back

“I can’t…clients and stuff.” She pouted, biting into her toast before she groaned again. “I’m too old for partying all weekend…I can’t hack it anymore.” Frank snorted and took a sip of his coffee before Fliss grinned at him. “Can we go again next year?”

Frank laughed “The Circle Of Truth have already decided it’s going to be an annual thing from now on.” he said, standing up and with a kiss to her head he moved to the stairs yelling for Mary to get a wiggle on. She came down the stairs, Fred and Thor following before she ate her cereal and then Frank bustled her out of the door to drop her off for the last Monday of the school term.

Wednesday lunchtime, however, their happy little bubble burst.

Frank was actually in the sales part of the shop, discussing the benefits of different types of engines with a customer, having been asked to give some advice. He spotted Fliss’ jeep pulling up and as soon as she climbed out and turned towards him, he could tell from her face what was going on.

“Excuse me for just one second.” He politely told the customer, and glancing at his boss he jerked his head towards Fliss. His boss, a nice enough guy called Andy, knew vaguely what was going on and nodded in understanding as Frank stepped outside.

“Baby?” he asked tentatively as Fliss stopped in front of him.

“He did it.” she whispered softly, stepping into his arm, pressing her face into his chest. “He made parole. They let the fucker out.”

**** Chapter 18

#riding high #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic

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sweetwritertanya · 5 years ago

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Midnight Swim

Summary: When a famous group comes to stay for a month in the holiday inn you are working at, you never expected to start a relationship with one of the idolized guys. And you had never thought you would go out for a midnight swim ever, until he asked you to.

Warnings: this is mainly just FLUFF, with just the tiniest bit of erotic body touching by the end, and that’s it! Also, we are dealing with an insecure reader, nothing too major, but still. You are warned.

Word Count: 3571

To say you were nervous would be the understatement of the year. It all still felt so very confusing in your head, like some sort of weird dream mixing with cold reality, this unexplainable feeling of fatal momentary bliss. From the very first unexplainable moments to the very breathtaking sensual last ones.

This summer job proved to be lifechanging for you. Honestly, the only reason you even agreed to coming to this remote holiday inn, beautifully surrounded by tall green mountains and bathed by a teal lake, was to escape the stressful problems from the city you lived in. All the toxicity of the people around you, the crumbling feeling of anxiety. Yearning for a breath of fresh air, you applied to be a receptionist during the busy season.

Starting in June, all would go well until the last week of July and the whole month of August. That’s when they arrived. When you met him.

No one told you this very popular group was renting the space for a full month while filming for a music video and some photoshoots for an apparently new album in the works. While preparing for what you assumed was another normal day, a large crew with big bags and large equipment came in through the inn’s door, alongside seven good-looking younger guys.

Someone, you assume their manager, asked you a few questions but you were so surprised it took you a few moments to respond. Your eyes crossed with almond shaped dark brown eyes, ends scrunching up with a smile hidden by the black face mask. His eyes looked so happy and awake for such an early morning that they just drew you in, apart from everyone’s else, but as soon as he looked back at you, your eyes avoided him and you felt your cheeks flushing.

As a recepcionist, you expected to only cross paths with them maybe once or twice a day, only when they would come in or go out and you’d be at the front desk, but it turns out you and the rest of the inn’s staff were asked to help the guests during the day, since there would be no other costumers for the next month. Probably to keep the famous group’s location as secretive as possible.

It started out unexpectedly ordinary, catching a glance or two your way while you helped around their set, an exchanged of ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’ when bringing them food. You truly could not see any reason such a winsome man would show any interest in your bulky large person, especially in the tight white shirt and red vest that evidenced your rolls at your sides and on your back, along with the dark grey knee-length skirt that made your legs look shorter and bigger than they already were. You never liked seeing yourself in the inn’s uniform, but it wasn’t your choice.

But then, after a day or two, the honey tanned skin man would constantly come around to help you moving the chairs or lifting a table, anything you would be doing that the crew asked, he would find himself next to you, defined dark pink lips smiling at you, wrinkles at corner of his eyes angling up.

He introduced himself by the third time you met, shaking your timid hand and asking for your name. Before you knew it, Hoseok knew more about you than you shared with most of the people you worked with during the summer. Full name, age, how long you’d been working at the inn, how long would you stay, where you were from, your family members and pets. Favorite colour, favorite season and why, the way you liked your coffee.

It creeped up on you. How much you grew to like him. Hoseok was so warm and inviting, so easy to get along with. Only he would get a true laugh out of you, from the depths of your stomach, and could get you talking for hours without realizing. Of course, he was an extroverted guy and got along well with everyone. But he payed close attention to you, something even the other guys in the group seemed to notice if their smirks and shared whispers when you came in the room were any indication.

Even so, you refused to believe he had any non-platonic interest in you. You were both totally different people that just happened to get along, that was it. That was what you told yourself when you woke up every day and your first thought was of him. When you walked into the cafeteria and searched for his fit frame in the room. When your heart expanded so much in your chest that it made it hard to breathe whenever he noticed you and smiled widely.

But even with all of this denial, there was no denying the way he kissed you in the infirmary room after you fell down and hit your head while on set for a photography shoot. With only a few bruises and an ice bag cooling down the bump at the side of your head, not even you could hypothesize it was some sort of hallucination. Not with the desperate look of worry when he burst in, something you had never seen in his face before. Not with the delicate way he held your hands in his warm and slightly clammy ones as the medic left the room. Not with the tears behind his nervous eyes, even as you promised him you were completely fine and there was nothing to worry about.

And definitely not with the way he got a hold of your chubby cheeks between his hands and pulled you in, eyes closing and head leaning to the side just instants before his lips were on yours with despairing pressure. And after the shock of the first few moments, you kissed him back. To the point that what he may have assumed was a simple peck turned into a head swooning and breath impeding session of deep and ardent kisses, filled with repressed want and love and passion.

The few weeks after that transformed into more than you could ever imagine and hope for. Brushing hands while passing by each other, sharing glances that spoke louder than words, stolen kisses in closet rooms, keeping the relationship a secret to the best of your abilities. You didn’t know if it would last, if it would even go past the month of August they would be staying here, but you couldn’t force yourself to care at the moment. You just enjoyed his company and affection.

With that said, at this particular moment in time, as you walked the dirt path, your nerves returned to the life long habit of stealing any joy associated with your plans. Hoseok had asked you to meet him by the lake, at a spot you both knew was away from any prying eyes, hidden between the emerald trees around the inn. He had excitedly talked about a midnight swim.

You weren’t sure how to bring it up to him that you had no intention of going swimming. More particularly, you were dreading the thought of even having to remove any article of clothing around him. Kissing and tight hugging and wandering hands over clothes was one thing, but you could not shake the fear of his reaction if Hoseok was to ever see more of your naked skin. You had seen a lot more of him than he had seen of you, if only because he had to change clothes for photoshoots and would get very hot when practicing with the boys, removing his shirt and switching to something a little cooler. You knew the body he had, that athletic build of a great dancer. The bewitching face of an artist. The humor and personality that so many women dreamed of finding.

And yet, he had found himself curious about you. Out of all the beautiful women in the world. In your mind, not only didn’t it line up, you weren’t about to risk it all by undressing and revealing all your imperfections for him.

“What are you thinking about?”

The sudden cheerful voice coming from the edge of the path had you screaming and jumping in place, having been completely absorbed by your thoughts the whole way over.

“God, you scared me!” you yelled, taking a hand to your racing heart.

“Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to!” he apologized immediately, but instantly smiling that bright contagious smile of his and linking your arm in his as he pulled you along for the ride. “I was just wondering what you were thinking about. You looked so cute, deep in your head.”

“Hum? Oh, just some silly thoughts, not a big deal” you shrugged off, leaning in to him as you walked. You tried to keep your nerves to a minimum. “Anyone saw you leave? Asked where you were going?”

Hoseok made a face and shook his head no. “They were all sound asleep by the time I left. I already have a hard time falling asleep as it is, but knowing I was meeting you made it just impossible. I came out as soon as I could.”

“That’s sweet” you said, resting your chin in his shoulder and looking sweetly at him. “But that means you must be very tired. You sure you don’t want to go back? We can always do this another time.” As much as you tried, there was no denying your hopeful tone, wanting nothing more than for him to agree and forget the whole thing.

“Are you kidding? I already have my trunks on, I can’t wait” he excitedly shared. “We all went in the water this morning and it was amazing.”

“I noticed. Especially the way you trembled before actually getting in with Jungkook” you tease, remembering the scared and hesitant look on his face.

“Hey, I thought the water was deeper than it was!” he defended himself, back going all straight. “Turns out we have feet for almost half a mile before it gets deep, I didn’t know that.”

“They kept telling you it was safe and don’t think I didn’t hear you questioning if there were monsters in the water” you chuckle.

“And, we’re here!” he shouts in an attempt to change the subject. You laugh and shake your head before looking ahead at the end of the path, a small clearing before the earth met the water.

At night, the lake was painted a beautiful deep marine blue, water sparkling with the shine of the moonlight, tall in the starry sky above your heads. The trees reflected in the water as an upside world beneath it, silence only interrupted by the nocturnal creatures roaming around the greenery. This was exactly what a city girl like you so desperately needed.

“C’mon, let’s get in!” He propels, already taking off his sneakers and starting to undo the zipper of his hooded jacket, but your hand on his forearm stops him.

You lick your lips as you stare at the ground, heart hammering in your chest and unsure of how to say anything. Taking a deep breath, you glance back up at Hoseok’s confused stare.

“I, hum… I didn’t… bring a swimsuit” you confess in a low whisper.

After a moment of standstill, you notice Hoseok fidgeting his feet in place and scratching at his right cheek. Looking carefully up at him, you realize he is the one avoiding eye contact now, a slight colour painting his skin red.

“I don’t- I mean, I have nothing against-” he struggled with words for a moment. “Skinny dipping is cool by me if you… if you want, of course.”

Understanding he took your words in a whole different way, you chuckle embarrassed, taking your hands to hide your blushing face, before clarifying it to him.

“No, no, that’s not it! I mean, I don’t really wanna go in the water. You can totally go; I don’t mind at all! I’ll just… stay here and watch?”

That seems to confuse him even more than the notion you had any intent on going in naked.

“What? Why not? We’ll only stay in the shallow waters.”

You press your lips together and cross your arms around your middle tightly, eyes set on the lake instead of the man in front of you.

“That’s not really the problem, Hoseok…”

Maybe it was your body language, maybe it was the tremor in your voice or maybe it just dawned on him after a few more minutes of utter confusion, but when he stepped closer, took hold of your face in between his large hands and pecked at your pursued lips, his kind chocolate eyes told you he understood what was impeding you.

“Y/N, I know we just met not too long ago, but can you trust me on this? I really like you, truly, a lot, and that is not going to change if you go to a swim with me.” He smiled kindly and his eyes showed nothing but honesty, and yet it was hard to accept it.

“You say that, but…” What you wanted to say was ‘how can you like me when you are always surrounded by beautiful girls, singers and dancers that belong to your world instead of me?’.

“I won’t force you, but it’s a hot night and you are already sweating in this sweatshirt you’re in” he points out, cleaning a drop of sweat from your temple with his thumb. “How about this, I’ll go in first and I won’t look until you’re next to me. Okay?”

Taking your silence as a yes, Hoseok steps back and strips down to his swim shorts, delectable toned body on display until he carefully steps into the water and goes shoulder deep, the further his fears would allow him to go.

“It feels great, it’s your turn!” he yells, waving his hand and an open smile on his bright face before turning the other way, back to you.

Sighing, your hesitant hands give in to his wishes and you start undressing slowly, each second doubting your decisions. It felt like you would hurt him if you didn’t trust him, and it felt like he would hurt your feelings once you did and he saw you. There was no winning in your mind.

Down to your panties and bra, since you didn’t put on a swimsuit, it takes all of your courage to go ahead and step into the water, slowly pushing forward as the cold temperature cooled off your flushing skin. You called Hoseok once you were comfortably covered by the dark water, hiding you from your neck down.

He smiles when he looks back to find you in the water behind him, swimming your way with approval glinting in his eyes. He reaches his hands to you and you gave him yours in return, which he held underwater as he pulled you in and caught your mouth for a brain-shutting kiss.

“See? It’s not that bad, right?” he asks, still holding your hands and making you both float around the calm waves of the lake.

“I guess not” you concede, still unsure of how this would end.

“Just us two in a small lake, away from everyone, the bright moon and no dangerous animals around… It’s awesome!” he chuckles, splashing around a bit with carelessness.

“Yeah…” Feeling a bit better by now, you actually decide to tease him a bit. “If you don’t count the alligators, of course.”

The reaction is priceless. The carefree boy swimming around loses his stance, tripping and head sinking in the water as he gasps in surprise, hands splashing around this time in a panic, making it difficult for you to even go and catch his arms, helping him back up.

“Alligators!?” The desperate boy breathes out as soon as he stands back up, water running down his oblong face from his wet hair, a terrified look in his wide eyes and still trying to catch his breath.

“Kidding, I was kidding!” you reassure even as you are holding back your laugh, Hoseok’s hands clawing at your shoulders with how scared he got. “No animals in the lake, I promise.”

“I think I just had a heart-attack” he overreacts with a relieved expression.

“Well, now you know how I felt before coming here” it escapes you before you realize, the admission of how nervous you were.

Back on his feet and with a settled down mind, Hoseok comes closer and embraces you strongly, warm but wet arms coming around your almost submersed shoulders, water splashing around your bodies with the movement of such an act. You tense up at the feeling of skin on skin, the only barrier between your torsos being your bra. This was it, he would feel your voluptuous body and the body rolls that came with it.

“I’m glad you’re here, Y/N.” He whispers closely to your ear, one hand in your shoulder and the other tangling at the hairs at the back of our neck. “I never felt so strongly about someone like I feel about you.”

Surprised, you try and pull your head back but he doesn’t quite let you, sinking further into your arms and hiding his face in your shoulder. Butterflies flutter at the pit of your stomach and your skin tingles beneath the contact of his body against yours. The arms that felt chained to heavy sinking rocks broke free and you smile as your hands move to rest at his biceps, soothing the skin there.

“Really?” you murmur back, almost in skepticism.

“Really. It’s the first time I fell for someone so quickly. It’s also the first time I came swimming at night with anyone. You’re really special to me, Y/N.”

Amazingly appeased by his words and lack of judgement of your body type, you find yourself giggling into his shoulder and hugging him back, feet lifting from the ground and allowing your bodies to float in the lake.

Hoseok presses his lips to the spot where your shoulder meets your neck and you reciprocate by landing a kiss by the end of his clavicle. Encouraged by that, he leaves hummingbird pecks up your neck to the soft skin of your jaw, one hand still at the back of your head and the other falling down to the curve at your lower back. Your own hands run up and down his naked spine as you sigh with pleasure.

Pulling you by your head just enough for you to lift your face to him, Hoseok kisses around your jaw, up to your cheeks, before claiming you mouth, lips moving slowly over yours in the most loving ways, tongue sweeping your bottom lip in an inquire for entrance, which you allow avidly. Still an exotic flavor he was to you, becoming ever more familiar each time.

Long kisses take their sweet time exploring the recesses of your mouth, the hand not holding your head in place traveling your body and discovering every single one of your insecurities and throwing them out with delicate caresses, shameless squeezes, desperate touching. Soon you are throwing your arms around his shoulder, pulling all your weight on him and forcing him to get his feet back in the ground so your heads stay above the water.

His hands end up attaching themselves to the fluffy skin around your ribcage, sending goosebumps all over your body, slowly climbing up until his palms are cupping your covered breasts, a hesitant touch that requires your permission for him to continue. Suddenly emboldened, you grab his hand under yours and lead him to squeeze your boobs at the same time you bite down on his lower lip just enough to pull it with you when you lean your head back. Hoseok groans heavily at that and needs no further encouraging.

Bodies mingle together in the lake and explore each other wondrously, alone with nature and the small waves of the lake, enjoying each other playfully but innocently enough, until the night grows longer and the skin grows cold. Infinitely happier than when you went in, you exit the lake with your almost naked body and hair dripping water and search for your clothes, hoping they would help you keep you warm until you reach a shower.

When you look back, you are surprised Hoseok is still waist down in the water, seemingly hesitant to come out.

“Hey, are you not coming?” you ask, jumbled.

“Yeah, in a sec” he says, avoiding his eyes.

“You must be cold, come on. Want me to grab your clothes?” you offer, still not understanding why he was still in the water when the hairs in his arms where standing up with the cold.

“I, hum… I have a slight problem. Can… Can you turn around and give me my pants?” he shyly asks, pointing at the shorts he had on top of his swimwear.

It dawns on you then and you chortle, ignoring his protests of not being able to control it and handing him his clothes as you turned your back as he requested and put on the rest of your clothes too. Hoseok refused to put on his jacket and instead held it waist high the rest of the way to the holiday inn, before wishing you goodnight and leaving back to his room.

#bts #chubby reader #bts chubby reader #bts chubby!reader #chubby!reader #bts hoseok #bts jhope #hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok fluff #jhope fluff #plus size reader #kpop fluff #kpop plus size #kpop chubby reader #jeon hoseok #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction

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goneseriesanalysis · 4 years ago

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Drake Merwin

I am soo sorry, this is super late but I got incredibly distracted with reading and forgot that literally anything else existed. Drake was a really hard character for me to analyse because his characterisation was just so disappointing to me - but luckily my intrinsic desire to have everyone hear my opinions prevailed, and so here it is. I hope you enjoy!!

Spoiler Warning: Major spoilers for Gone, Minor spoilers for the rest of the series and the monster trilogy

Old Opinion: I had a sort of morbid obsession with Drake and thought he was a top-tier villain

New Opinion: So far Drake is tied with Astrid for most-changed opinion. His character has almost no-depth and could be placed in almost any story without changing a single thing about him - and it would make sense. I found myself desperately trying to make him more interesting than he is in an attempt to justify younger me’s obsession - but alas I was unsuccessful. He had a lot of potential, but instead he ended up as a copy-paste villain with no realistic motivations and no real intrigue.

1.) DRAKE’S APPEARANCE:

Drake is, I think, the character who is best (as in most thoroughly) described in the first book. Not only do we get an idea of his actual appearance beyond the vaguest possible descriptions (sorry to Sam, Caine, Diana and every minor character) but we also get some idea as to the effect his appearance has on other people.

In Chapter 14, when we are first introduced to the Coates kids, Drake is described as, “a smiling, playful, mean-eyed kid with shaggy, sandy-coloured hair.” I actually really like this description. Contrasting “smiling” and “playful” with “mean” really brilliantly sets Drake up to be a complex villain – the kind of villain we all love to hate, who cracks a joke while slitting your throat. It has the implication of a layered personality but sadly, this is not the villain we get. In fact his character in the first chapter compared to the character we get as the book continues is so drastically different that it almost seems like mg did a complete 180 on his character. An original description is supposed to give us some indication as to what a character is like – their personality and role in the story, and we know that mg can do this really well. (Sam’s non-descript description setting him up to be the underdog, Quinn’s mismatched attire hinting at his inability to fit in, Astrid’s colour scheme reflecting her innocence and religiosity), and so it seems particularly odd, not to mention disappointing, that Drake’s description gives us…nothing. No real indication as to who he is or his purpose other than to hint to him being an antagonist (which we already guessed from his affiliation with Caine.) I could go on and on about what a waste Drake’s character was, but I’ll save it for a later paragraph.

We will then skip ahead to Chapter 37 where both Howard and Lana describe a similarity between Drake and Pack Leader:

“The one time she had seen Drake Merwin. He had made her think of Pack Leader: strong, hyper alert, dangerous. Now, the lean physique looked gaunt, the shark’s grin was a tight grimace, his eyes were red-rimmed. His stare, once languidly menacing, was now intense, burning hot. He looked like someone who had been tortured beyond endurance.”

“The two of them, two of a kind, it seemed to Howard, stared holes into each other.”

This is a much better example of mg using descriptions to establish the purpose of a character. By drawing a comparison between these two, mg sets up Drake’s later role in the books, where he replaces Pack Leader as the gaiphage’s right-hand man. This almost leads me to believe that mg had decided very early on that Drake was going to desert Caine and this is possibly why he seems so out of place and underdeveloped as Caine’s underling in the first two books. Mg had already moved on from this side of his character…and it shows. Lana’s description of Drake also works as a basis for showing the reader how he has changed since losing his arm (before gaining his whip) and acts as an insight into his current mental state – which is important as we don’t get much introspection during Drake’s POV’s. But, I still have a few issues with this. First of all, his “lean physique”. Now this isn’t really a problem all by itself, but unless I have forgotten what 14 year olds looks like (which is a possibility though I doubt it) I don’t think that they should be muscly with minimal body fat. And Drake is not the only character he does this with. Quinn gets extremely muscly later on in the books (I’ll admit that there is a plausible reason behind this so this example isn’t terrible but it’s mentioned like every 5 sentences) and in Fear Caine is described as having wash-board abs. Why are we sexualising children?? Children should be pudgy and awkward and still growing into their bodies, not lean and muscly!! The attractive, damaged man who hates women for no reason at all is also a really really really common trope and tbh I’m just so bored of it. It’s not relatable (at least it shouldn’t be) and it’s just really unimaginative – although it does help us to understand Drake’s character as we’ve seen him before so many times in all types of media. My second issue with this description is the way it really really highlights how much of a waste of character Drake was. The potential of a high-school bully with a skewed world-view due to the death of his father and the later abuse of his mother at the hands of his replacement father figure trying hard to impress the charming “leader” with unimaginable power (that he so desperately wants) only to be undermined at every turn by a girl who teases him by pointing out his flaws and insecurities taking his anger out on everyone around him (especially women) as a way to cope with his childhood traumas then turning into a heartless monster who not only enjoys others pain but lives for it after being “tortured beyond endurance”, was astronomical. But we don’t get that. Instead we get a cheesy, one-dimensional cartoon villain. The change that his body and mind go through after his maiming should have been pivotal to his character, but that just doesn’t come across in the writing. :/ But more on this later.

And last but not least, the whip-hand, which is very important to Drake’s character. It turns his actual body into a weapon and his excitement over this is indicative of his sadistic nature. Again, I think this is an example of a wasted opportunity. I would have liked mg to have gone in to depth about how Drake’s body undergoing this change affected his psyche (and I’m not counting his one-off line in the monster trilogy). I think it could be argued that Drake’s “change” is a metaphor for him going through puberty. Him gaining the whip that ultimately turned him into his very own weapon shows his transition from a child [a little messed up but still just a kid] into a monster, someone who is capable of committing atrocities without a second thought. It would have been particularly interesting for Drake and Orc’s final battle to put some focus on the fact that they both suffer through monstrous physical changes that can be used to represent their shift from children to young adults but whereas one relishes in this, one is completely disgusted. The whip-hand is described as being an “impossible blood-red snake” and then that “It was stretched. Like it had been turned into dark, blood-red taffy. It wrapped twice around his body.” – Both of these occurring in Chapter 39. I don’t have much to comment about this – other than that I think red is great colour choice for Drake, thematically at least.

I know this point was mostly about what Drake could have been as opposed to an actual analysis of his appearance, but I’m just so tired of the attractive misogynistic villain that seems to appear in every single piece of media. His characterisation really bummed me out and put me into a slump so instead of analysing his appearance I decided to roast him instead. But, onto actual analysis now (I am going to further expand on some of the points I made here I promise).

2.) DRAKE’S PERSONALITY AND CHARACTER

I mentioned in the previous point that a lot of Drake’s characterisation seems like an afterthought at best and one of the things that made me think this, is the inconsistencies with his character and the most obvious example of this is the discrepancies with his birthday. In chapter 20, Diana says that his birthday is “April twelfth, just one minute after midnight.” But, in Chapter 33 we get the line “Sooner would be better,’ Drake drawled, ‘what with me having a month.” This is a really small nit-pick, I know, but it just really bugs me that mg overlooked something as simple as a birthday – especially when birthdays are such an important plot point in this book. But anyway, moving on. I promise this whole review isn’t going to be negative.

Backtracking now to Chapter 14. Drake’s character here seems to differ quite drastically from his later characterisation. He seems here to be an example of the laughably evil trope, he has a kind of dry sarcastic humour that is quite fun and seems to lighten the tone of the story a little bit. Rather than showing us the boringly disgusting misogynistic villain that Drake turns out to be, we instead see a funny, charismatic character who seems to prefer picking on those who already have power – as is seen here:

“Drake paused halfway, turned back, and spoke for the first time. In an amused voice he said, ‘Oh, um, Captain Orc? Have your people – the ones who aren’t injured- line up outside. We’ll work out your… um, duties.’ With a grin that was almost a snarl, Drake added a cheerful, ‘Later’.” – Chapter 33

Now I understand that the reason we don’t see the real Drake here is because Sam is obviously not yet aware of his true personality – my issue lies in the fact that based on just this small excerpt here, I expected so much more from his character. We get hints of his sadistic nature here, with him joking about Cookie’s horrific injury and clearly taking joy in exerting power over Orc, but it is evenly balanced by the fact that he’s kind of amusing and we don’t really like Orc at this point anyway. Can we see that something isn’t quite right with him?? Yes. But do we kind of like him anyway?? Well I did. At this point. I would have really loved it if mg had carried on this idea of Drake abusing those who already have power – him enjoying to take down bully after bully so he can be King bully, instead of him picking on people who he perceives as weak and vulnerable. Mg relying on misogyny as a motivator is just really disappointing to me because there is no depth to it, and it’s pretty lazy. He hates Diana because she is a woman and he sees women as beneath him?? Weak. Over-used. Dull. He hates Diana because she has power over Caine in a way that he never can, which makes him feel insecure in himself and the fragile sense of stability and power that he has struggled to cultivate within his damaged psyche?? Yes pls. Not only would this have made Drake a much more engaging character, but it would also have made his desertion of Caine in hunger much more impactful. And while I think there are aspects of this within his character, which I will go into later, I wish there had been more of it. Again, I’m sorry that this has become more of a “what could have been” rather than an analysis but there really is just so little to analyse without just pointing out obvious facts and statements. There’s no spice here :/

Moving on now to Chapter 16, where we as an audience, as well as the characters within the book, begin to realise what Drake truly is – an unhinged madman. We are told by Sam that Drake has been abusing his power as Sheriff – which particularly stands out as, so far at least, Drake is the only member of Coates who has shown this kind of behaviour (Caine is actually a pretty sound leader until he loses his shit and attacks Sam). And this is the first major distinction that we get between Caine and Drake and their capacity as villains in the story. Caine is a bad person who will do bad things to achieve his goals, he is power-hungry and ambitious but he is not needlessly violent. Everything he does he (in his own mind) is able to justify as it helps him to achieve his vision. Drake, on the other hand, doesn’t really seem to have an end goal. He is violent for the sake of being violent – he is a sadist who enjoys the suffering of other people as we see here, “Drake was more than a little scary. Kids who defied Drake or any of his so-called sheriff’s had been slapped, punched, pushed, knocked down or, in one case, dragged into a bathroom and given a swirlie. Fear of Drake was replacing fear of the unknown.” Now, we still don’t get to see the full extent of Drake’s madness here. Most of the crimes listed are pretty mundane bully things – they’re still wrong, but they aren’t life-threatening. He hasn’t bashed anyone’s head in with a baseball bat. While Caine is playing with politics, Drake seems unable to move past his role of high school bully. If he had played it right, the role of Sheriff would have been perfect for him. I mean, how many actual police officers get away with literal murder in the name of “upholding the law”?? But he is unable of seeing the bigger picture, unable to grow and fit the new world order as Caine does so naturally, and so, instead of properly taking on the role of Sheriff and building up his own authority in this way, he turns back to his tried and tested method – hurt them and they’ll fall in line.

I particularly enjoy this as I think it explains, a little bit more, why he hates Diana and Astrid so much. Now I know the bottom line is simply that he is a violent misogynist – but that doesn’t explain why he hates Diana and Astrid specifically. Is it because they’re both attractive women and he is unable to distinguish sex and violence in his head?? Partly yes, but then Taylor is also described as attractive (and most people find her annoying) and yet he doesn’t seem to hate her to this extent. I think the real reason he hates these two specifically, more than anyone else, is because he simply cannot understand them – and that scares him (although he is unwilling to admit it). Drake only knows how to gain power through violence – he sees this work at home, he used it on Holden, he used it to gain his reputation at Coates and, although he has the ability to gain authority in other ways, he continues to use this method even now in the FAYZ. Diana and Astrid cannot do this, they are not fit to fight, they are not able to use violence to assert their status – and yet they both have more power in the FAYZ than he does. They make him question his whole world view and, as he cannot or will not adapt to the new hierarchy of the FAYZ, he resorts to trying to destroy them, in order to return the world to what it was before. His hatred of others gaining power through (what he sees as) unconventional means is then further established with his dislike of actual powers and the people who have them:

“I’m sick of all this powers crap. You saw what we did to freaks at Coates?? Who do you think it was that took care of that?? All these kids with their stupid so-called powers. Starting fires and moving stuff around and reading your mind and all?? Who do you think it was grabbed them one by one in their sleep and beat them down and when they woke up their hands were setting in a block of cement??

[…]

That’s right. And I didn’t even have a gun then. It’s not about who’s got powers, morons. It’s about who’s not afraid. And who’s going to do what has to be done.”

We get told by Diana that it was Drake’s idea to cement the kids in the first place (and a bad one at that) and I really think that is all the evidence you need to see that Drake’s hatred and fear all stem from his complete inability to adapt. He is trapped in a cycle of abuse that started with his father, a police officer who teaches him how to shoot people (however unwillingly) and is then continued by his step-father (an actual abuser) rendering him incapable of recognising any kind of authority if it is not gained from violent means. And so of course he hates the powers – none of the kids gained their powers through suffering or through causing suffering. They didn’t earn their authority in any valid way, according to him. (This is also another reason why I think Drake was so ecstatic at gaining his whip-hand. He suffered for it and therefore, in his twisted mind, he earned it. It is physical proof of his supposed power over these kids.) It’s tragic really – but mg then goes on to make him so disgustingly unsympathetic that his story loses its meaning. I love mg’s writing but Drake’s character truly was butchered for shock value and plot convenience and it makes me so sad.

Ok back to Chapter 16. Here, not only do we hear about some of the things that Drake is capable of, but we see them as well. His beat-down of Orc is the first indicator we get that Drake is someone we should really be afraid of. Heads up, this is a long quote:

“Nobody move,’ Drake said. Orc pushed Edilio off and jumped to his feet. He started kicking Edilio, landing size-eleven Nike blows into Edilio’s defensive arms. Sam jumped in to help his friend, but Drake was quicker. He stepped behind Orc, grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head back, and smashed his elbow into Orc’s face. Blood poured from Orc’s nose, and he howled in rage. Drake hit him again and released Orc to fall to the concrete. ‘Which part of “nobody move” did you not understand, Orc?’ Drake demanded. Orc rose to his knees and went for Drake like a linebacker, Drake stepped aside, nimble as a matador. He stuck his hand out and said to Chaz, ‘Give me that.’ Chaz handed him the bat. Drake hit Orc in the ribs with a short, sharp forwards thrust of the bat. Then again in the kidneys and again in the side of the head. Each blow was measured, accurate, effective. Orc rolled over on to his back, helpless, exposed. Drake pushed the thick end of the bat against Orc’s throat. ‘Dude. You really need to learn to listen when I talk.’ Then Drake laughed, stepped back, twirled the bat in the air, caught it and rested it on his shoulder. He grinned at Sam.”

“Sam had gone up against bullies before. But he’d never seen anything like Drake Merwin. Orc outweighed Drake by at least fifty pounds, but Drake had handled him like a little toy action figure.”

Orc has already been established as the top bully in Perdido beach – we’ve already seen that our main character is afraid of him – and for good reason. And so for Orc to be defeated so casually and so easily is shocking. It lets us know that the old world order has collapsed and old fears are fading away with it, with new, much more threatening adversaries taking their place. I actually think that this scene was exceptionally clever of mg. Drake is attacking someone who has already been set up as an antagonist, at the same time rescuing Edilio, who the reader has been conditioned to like. But, through context clues, we know that this is not a good thing. It sets up the villainous nature of the Coates kids, Orc’s redemption, Drake and Orc’s rivalry and Sam’s fear of Drake. And it feels natural, even after re-reading the book multiple times. It’s scenes like these that really remind me how great of a writer mg is.

Another thing I really wanted to talk about here IS Drake and Orc’s rivalry because, yet again, I think mg missed a huge opportunity with this. Drake and Orc are very similar before, and in the early days of the FAYZ. Both have abusive fathers (a step-father in Drake’s case but still), both enjoy asserting their power over people through violent means and both are put in positions of power that they are unable to fully take advantage of – Sheriff and Sheriff Deputy. And even as the books continue, similarities can still be found. They both suffer mutations that turn their bodies into grotesque weapons, dehumanising them and alienating them from their peers and That Scene in Plague tells us that Orc and Drake sometimes have similar “desires”. Their stories are constantly intertwined, with them being played off of each other from the start and Orc becoming Drake’s jailor later on (and in turn Drake sort of becoming his). Their differences come from their reactions to the horrific acts of violence they have committed – and of course why they do them. I’m going to make a whole separate post on this because it’s long enough to be a standalone, but my I just wish mg had played up both their similarities and differences more. It would have made Drake so much more interesting.

We also get more hints at his sadism in this scene. He is later unbothered that Betty has been hurt and it seems that the only reason he attacked Orc was because it gave him an opportunity to assert his dominance over him. All in all, this is one of my personal favourite scenes in the book as it establishes characters, themes and relationships very well. I just wish some of these had been developed further – but mg dropping certain aspects of the story does seem to be a common problem.

The final thing I wanted to talk about in regards to Drake’s personality and character is this line we get in Chapter 23, “It was small, just two bedrooms, very neat, very organised, the way Drake liked things.” This was another thing that irked me slightly. It’s such a small aspect of his characterisation but it reinforced the idea that drake is just another cookie-cutter villain with no real personality, nothing that makes him stand out in the sea of white male psychopaths with a hatred for women. His whole character could be replaced with any other misogynistic psychopath at no detriment to the story. My immediate though when reading this was that even the smallest aspects of his character can be seen in other, more developed villains – this line in particular is hugely reminiscent of Patrick Bateman. Nothing seems to be his own. No aspect of his character is even remotely unique. (I think this may also be why some young fans develop an obsession with him. His character is comfortable because we’ve seen it so many times before.) He is so entirely replaceable and replicable - only reason he isn’t completely forgettable is because you are constantly plagued by the horrific things he has done. Mg sacrificed depth and development for shock value and it’s so disappointing

3.) DRAKE’S PAST

Onto Drake’s life before the FAYZ. Not only does Drake receive some of the longest and most POV time in this book, he is also the character whose life before the FAYZ we learn the most about (with the possible exception of Sam). This is especially shocking to think about seen as Drake is arguably one of the most underdeveloped characters in the whole book, but anyway. There are two scenes I’m going to talk about here, both occurring in Chapter 23, with the first being his dad teaching him how to shoot. I apologise in advance for the long quote:

“His father had taught him how to shoot, using his service pistol. Drake still remembered the first time.

[…]

He remembered the way his father had taught him to grip the butt firmly but not too tight. To rest his right hand in the palm of his left and sight carefully, to turn his body sideways to present a smaller target if someone was shooting back. His father had had to yell because they were both wearing ear protection. ‘If you’re target shooting, you centre the front sight in the notch of the rear sights. Raise it till your sights are sitting right under your target. Let your breath out slowly and squeeze.’ That first bang, the recoil, the way the gun jumped six inches, the smell of the powder – it was all as clear in Drake’s mind as any memory he had. […]

‘What if I’m not shooting if I’m not shooting at a target?’ He’d asked his father. ‘What if I’m shooting at a person?’ ‘Don’t shoot a person,’ his father had said. But then he relented, relieved no doubt to find something he could share with his disturbing son. ‘Different people will tell you different techniques. But if it’s me, say I’m doing a traffic stop and I think I see he citizen reaching for a weapon, and I’m thinking I may have to take a quick shot? I just point. Point like the barrel is a sixth finger. You point and if you have to fire, you shoot half the clip, bang, bang, bang, bang.’ ‘Why do you shoot so many times?’ ‘Because if you have to shoot, you shoot to kill. Situation like that, you’re not aiming carefully for his head or his heart, you’re pointing at the centre of mass and you’re hoping you get a lucky shot., but if you don’t, if all you’re hitting is shoulder or belly, the sheer velocity of the rounds will knock him down.”

Ok so the first thing I want to analyse here, is how important this memory clearly is to Drake. He remembers it fondly, in immense detail and seems to call back on it when he needs to clear his head (notice how this memory is placed while Drake is trying to figure out what to do, not while he is doing it.) It seems that rather than just using this memory as a source of useful information, it is also a source of comfort to him. Now there are some things that I really wish mg had told us that would help to analyse this scene better, like: How old was Drake when this memory took place?? How old was Drake when his father died?? How did his father die?? But alas, we don’t know these things (at least not that I’m aware of, and not within this book) so I’m going to try and do the best I can with the information that we have. Now, in Light, Drake makes it seem like his step-fathers behaviour has been significant in forming his worldview – which makes sense, trauma does that. But he spends half of his time away at Coates, which says to me that for this behaviour to have had such a profound effect on him, his step-father must have been around for a while. Right?? I’m gonna take a guess at 3-4 years at the least. Give Drake’s mother about a year to meet and start dating this man after the passing of her husband – this means that Drake would have been around 9/10 at the latest when this scene took place. That’s pretty young. Like, this is a formative memory and from the way it’s written, it seems like this may be some of the only bonding that Drake and his father ever did together. No wonder Drake has such an unhealthy obsession with guns as is seen with these quotes:

“He started from Astrid’s house, which was already beginning to smoke. He worked his way methodically, a hunter, looking for any movement. Each time he spotted someone walking or running or biking, he would take a look at them through the rifle scope, line them up in the crosshairs. He felt like God. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger.” – Chapter 23

“Drake kept all three guns loaded all the time. They were set out on the dining room table, a display, something to be gazed at lovingly.” – Chapter 23

“Drake could not leave the gun alone. He kept thumbing the safety on and off. He rolled down the window and aimed it at stop signs as they passed, but did not fire.” – Chapter 31

Drake shooting Sam and his gleeful reaction – Chapter 34

For him, guns are the ultimate symbol of power and authority. He was introduced to these weapons of incredible power at such a young age – of course he loves them. That being said, it seems that Drake has always been “disturbed” so I suppose we can’t fully blame his father and step-father for his mind-set – and I have to say I don’t really like this. Drake’s issue as a character is that he is completely de-humanised by all the horrific things he does. By having it seem like Drake was irredeemable from the off-set, it just adds to this idea and again removes any possible depth or character development. Imo it would have been much better to present Drake as becoming the way he is AFTER his father’s death. It would bring a sense of tragedy to his character – the way he uses his father’s advice to hunt down Astrid would seem less like a by-product of his sadism and more like a misguided attempt to feel connected to his deceased father.

However, flawed though it is, this scene does give us some insight as to why Drake is the way he is – through the characterisation of his father. Admittedly we don’t get much, but one line really stood out to me, “Because if you have to shoot, you shoot to kill.” Ummm..sir?? I don’t think that’s how police officers work. Isn’t your goal to incapacitate – not to just kill on sight?? The fact that he not only stands by this rule himself, but also gives this advice to his CHILD is disconcerting. Drake is not only receiving this harmful rhetoric from his father figure but also a police officer. Someone who is meant to uphold the law. I think this links back to my earlier point on how Drake only recognises authority if it is gained by violent means. While we get no indication that his real father was ever violent to Drake or his mother, he openly tells Drake that when he is upholding the law (in this hypothetical situation) he does it by using force. That is a dangerous thing to tell a child, especially a child who you already think is disturbed. This twisted-take on a father-son relationship nicely sets the precedent for Drake’s warped perceptions, I just wish it had been developed further. And this leads us nicely into the next scene – the shooting of Holden:

“He remembered with vivid, slow-motion detail the time he had shot Holden, the neighbour’s kid who liked to come over and annoy him. That had been a bullet to the thigh, with a low-level calibre gun, and still the kid had nearly died. That ‘accident’ had landed Drake at Coates.”

Again, first and foremost I just wish we had a little bit more information. It is not clear whether this situation occurred before or after his father’s death – which seems like a pretty important detail to me. Although, we don’t actually find out that Drake’s father is dead within this book, and this omission again makes me feel like mg adding that detail was little more than an after-thought. It feels like in Light he wanted to quickly try and make Drake more of a sympathetic character and so he added in an abusive step-dad to try and tone down or at least explain Drake’s violence and misogyny. It seems like Drake is a plot-point first and a character second and the lack of detail here really highlights that for me. What purpose did these scenes really have in the story?? They did very little to flesh out his character, they introduced no new themes or relationships. It seems like mg just wanted to let us know – “Hey! Drake knows how to use a gun. That’s gonna be important later.” That being said, there are a couple of other things I would like to quickly mention. Firstly, I think the fact that Drake did not aim to kill Holden, even though he could have, is meant to be indicative of his change between then and now. It’s done to tell us that Drake wasn’t always this bad – there was at one point some hope. For this to have the desired effect though, I really think mg should have waited until after Drake lost his arm to straight up try and murder Astrid and Little Pete. Like, you can’t tell us that Drake was a little messed up but still redeemable before his maiming and then go and have him try to kill a random girl and her five year old brother. Because that’s more than a little messed up (and that’s not even mentioning the cementing). And it also contrasts the idea that Drake has always been disturbed. An idea that was introduced to us not even a page ago!! The other thing I wanted to pick up on, which I actually quite liked, is the ambiguous “who liked to come over and annoy him.” Because this is Drake’s point of view – so “annoy” could mean anything. Was Holden actually just an annoying kid?? Was he just trying to be Drake’s friend?? Or was he actually a bully and Drake doesn’t want to admit it?? I guess we’ll never know.

4.) DRAK’ES MOTIVATIONS

For this point, I wanted to focus on three particular motivators: Caine, Diana and Astrid. These are the three people, I believe, who provide, either consciously or unconsciously, the motivation for his actions within the FAYZ. I’ll start first with Astrid and Diana, the two people who Drake hates the most. Throughout this book it is clear that Drake has no real goals – he has no desire to be in control like Caine, no desire to re-invent the world like Albert. All he wants is to cause pain, with his preferred targets being these two. And, as I’ve said before, I think this is partly because he hates the authority that they have within the FAYZ – which stems from manipulation and intelligence rather than violence.

In Chapter 20, Drake explains his hatred for Diana, “Drake had made the time to check out Diana’s psych file the day after the FAYZ came. But her file had been missing by then. In its place she had left Drake’s file lying open on the doc’s desk and drawn a little smiley face beside the word ‘sadist’. Drake had already hated her. But after that, hating Diana had become a full-time occupation.” What I take from this scene, is that Drake’s loathing stems from Diana’s ability to get under his skin, to make him feel inferior – to annoy him. (Perhaps Holden had a similar talent). I’m going to assume that his prior hatred of her can be boiled down to his misogyny and his disgust at Caine’s weakness for her, both of which have been explicitly stated in the text. His hatred after this though, comes from a pretty mundane incident. I mean all she did was get there quicker, and do exactly what he was going to do to her. And so I think this loathing is less about what she did and more about his own personal reaction to it. Diana was able to weaponise Drake’s own anger against him – to make him feel inferior and powerless. She challenges Drake’s fragile perception of authority and takes a diagnosis that he seems to not only be ok with, but is actually proud of, and makes him feel embarrassed. His whole perception of power is rooted in the idea that his ability to inflict pain on others with no guilt or remorse is what makes him better, it is what gives him his power. But she takes this idea and belittles him for it and so his initial reaction is to attack. This is an idea that is again seen with Astrid. Astrid intentionally tries to make Drake feel inferior by bringing up his biggest insecurity, Diana’s treatment of him “Doesn’t it bother you that Diana treats you like some wild animal she keeps on a leash?” And she does escape him – twice. Her and her autistic brother (and we already know how Drake feels about autistic people). She also proves herself to be more intelligent than him, in their little argument over the r-slur. Drake only gets violent after he realises that, in an intellectual sense, she has more power than him. It seems to be his defence mechanism just as much as his pleasure – and therefore Astrid and Diana’s power over him motivates him to use it.

Now onto Caine. Caine and Drake’s relationship is, for me, one of the most interesting aspects of Drake’s character and while I’ll only be mentioning it in its capacity as a motivator here, I have a whole post planed out for it. Drake seems to simultaneously hate Caine and admire him. He is constantly looking to impress him and the only time we ever see Drake think about betraying him in this book is when Caine gives his attention to Diana rather than Drake. And, because of this, I can kind of understand why people ship them (although I personally dislike the idea of Drake being gay). A lot of the time this motivation is completely unprompted by Caine himself, like in these quotes:

“Drake cursed and, again, for just a moment, felt the almost desperate fear of failing Caine. He wasn’t worried about what Caine would do to him – after all, Caine needed him – but he knew if he failed to carry out Caine’s orders, Diana would laugh.” – Chapter 23

“I got him’ Drake announced. ‘I got them all.’ ‘Yes, you did,’ Caine said. ‘Good work, Drake.” – Chapter 34

In Chapter 23, it seems that both Drake’s need to impress Caine and his need to prove to himself that he is better than Diana are his main motivators for his extreme attack on Astrid. I think it’s important to note that he only planned on trying to catch her, until Caine told him to kill her. His sadistic nature is brought out in full because he needs to prove himself to Caine. But why does he?? If he is planning on taking over from Caine in the end, why does he have a “desperate fear of failing Caine”?? Sure, part of it is his desire to prove himself to be better than Diana. But even this has roots in his absolute need for Caine to take notice of him. Drake is drawn to Caine because of his power and authority over people. Caine seems to be the closest thing that Drake can get to an equal, someone who shares the same motivations, ambitions and worldview (of course Caine and Drake do not share these things, but Drake doesn’t realise this…yet.) He seeks validation from Caine because he wants to have these things in common with someone – yet another motivation for his hatred of Diana as she constantly gets in the way of this.

We also know that Caine is, at least, partly aware of his effect on Drake. He is paranoid that Drake will turn on him (because Caine sees being equal to someone as relinquishing power) and he is able to manipulate Drake’s misguided feelings when he wants to – most notably in Chapter 36:

“It’s not Diana or Chunk or even me,’ Caine said. ‘It’s none of us, Drake. It’s Sam. It’s Sam who did this to you, Drake. You want him to get away with it? Or do you want to live long enough to make him suffer?”

This is such a clever moments as it sets up Drake’s whole character in Hunger, and it’s false. Because yes, Sam is the one who burned Drake’s arm and Drake has every right and reason to hate him. But it was Caine who abandoned him to save himself. And it was Caine who refused to let Drake die, even though he was begging for it (and let’s face it, he didn’t refuse to kill him out of any affection – it was a selfish decision.) But Drake is so desperate for that equal, for that validation that his worldview is correct and is shared by another person, that he just idk forgets?? He never brings up this conversation again and just accepts Caine’s word as gospel. I have so much more to say about their relationship but, as I said, I’ll save it for a later post.

5.) DRAKE’S MENTAL STATE

And finally, we have Drake’s mental state. Now I’m not going to try and give him an official diagnosis or anything, but I wanted to make a small point specifically about his mental state after his maiming. I think we can all agree that what Drake went through was pretty horrific, and while I personally struggle to feel any amount of sympathy for him due his own list of horrific crimes, the change he goes through after this is extremely significant, or at least it’s supposed to be. I think mg wants us to believe that Drake’s descent into madness was directly cause by the loss of his arm, and that before that he did have the chance to be redeemed. I think whether you buy into this depends on how forgiving you are, but I want to focus more on the actual proof of change that we see.

I’ve already talked about the physical changes he goes through, and the implications of this so I’m going to focus solely on his mental state during and partly after the whole ordeal. I think the first and most important thing to talk about is the fact that Drake didn’t actually want to survive:

“Don’t cut off my arm,’ Drake cried. ‘Let me die. Just let me die. Shoot me.” – Chapter 36

He would rather die than lose his arm (his gun arm to be specific). Now, while I don’t doubt that the burning was indescribably painful, I’m still not sure that the majority of people would beg for death. Especially when an alternative (in this case losing his arm) is presented. Not to mention, he doesn’t actually talk about the pain when begging for his death – what he talks about is the loss of his arm. Of course it could be argued that the reason he didn’t want his arm to be cut off is because he knew it would mean more pain, but I don’t think that this is the case. Rather, I think that Drake is so scared of losing the power that he has, that he would genuinely rather die. This 14 year old boy is so messed up that his own death is preferable to the idea of no longer being able to hurt people. And so when he gets his power back, he doubles down. He has realised by this point what he truly wants, that he would rather die than be rendered powerless, so he begins committing more heinous acts (like attacking the prees). Pair this with the amount of pain that he went through, which most definitely will have had an effect on his already damaged brain, and you can see how a high-school bully became what he did. The groundwork for an interesting and though-provoking character was right here. I think yet again the problem with his character is the execution. Interesting aspects of his personality are dropped in favour of plot convenience and shock value and it cheapens his character as a whole until all the intended nuances are lost and over-shadowed.

I’m really sorry if this is a bit all over the place and not quite as polished as my other posts. I found Drake so difficult to write about and so my thoughts kept going haywire. Thank you so much for reading (and being patient with my brain). I hope you enjoy!!

#the gone series #Drake Merwin #character analysis #gone

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cinaja · 4 years ago

Text

Before the Wall part 48

Masterlist

A/N: This chapter took ages, I'm really sorry. Last week week was kind of bad for me, so I didn't really feel like writing much.

----

Mor sits on a fence in Jurian’s camp and silently glares at Jurian, who is talking with one of his captains. Andromache’s army has been stationed here for over two days now, which means that Mor spends more time than she wants to in Jurian’s company.

As if sensing her attention, Jurian turns around to look at her. Mor quickly averts her eyes, but Jurian is already walking towards her. He leans against the fence next to her. Mor turns her head away and pointedly ignores him. Unfortunately, he seems intent to ignore the hint.

“You got a problem, Mor?”

She presses her lips together and makes herself turn around to him. “Yes,” she says, voice sharp, “I actually do have a problem.”

He is the problem. Him and his stupid nonchalance. He doesn’t even pretend to feel bad about what he did.

Jurian gives her a small smile, sharp as a knife. “If my presence is so unbearable to you, you are free to leave. No one forces you to sit around in my camp and glare at me as if my presence personally offends you.”

Mor bristles. How dare he act like she is the one in the wrong? When he is the one who did such terrible things to Clythia and doesn’t even feel bad about it. She jumps off the fence and turns her back to Jurian. She is about to walk away, but she can’t do so without further comment, can’t let him have this victory.

Over her shoulder, she snaps, “And you wonder why Miryam left you.”

She stalks off, but before she makes it more than a few steps, Jurian grabs her by the arm and spins her around to face him. His eyes are dark with anger. Mor rips her arm out of his grip and glares right back.

“You think this is why Miryam left?” Jurian asks and lets out a sharp laugh. “You don’t know her at all, do you?”

Mor presses her lips together. “She would never stand for torture.”

“Miryam,” Jurian says, each word clipped, “understands what is necessary.”

And if she gets tortured and killed because of you, will she understand that as well? Mor thinks. She longs to throw the words into his face, but both Andromache and Drakon told her to never, under any circumstances tell Jurian the true reason why Miryam got captured. So she swallows the words and merely turns around, walking off towards Andromache’s tent.

The guards waiting at the entrance are proof enough that Andromache is inside. Mor walks past them into the tent. She firmly closes the door behind herself, then turns around to the queen who is sitting in her desk.

“Why are we coddling him?” She asks, each word biting.

Andromache puts down the letter she was looking through. She looks tired – as far as Mor knows, she hasn’t slept since Miryam vanished. “Jurian?” She asks.

“Yes, Jurian,” Mor snaps. “He is the reason Miryam might be getting tortured and killed, yet you and Drakon have nothing better to do than coddle him like he’s some innocent child.”

It’s infuriating. Who cares about Jurian’s feelings? He caused the trouble they are in right now, yet all everyone seems to care about how he might suffer under the truth. Even more infuriating is that Andromache simply shakes her head like she is being unreasonable.

“Jurian,” she says, “is suffering and you know it. And making him suffer further won’t save Miryam.” She frowns at her. “It’s unlike you to want to make him unhappy just to punish him.”

Mor taps her foot against the ground in annoyance. Now, the problem is her? Jurian tortures and slaughters a woman, and somehow, she is the one to blame for being angry with him for it? Has everyone lost their mind?

“Maybe I simply do not like men who nail women to things,” she snaps.

Andromache taps her quill against the table, wincing slightly. “Sorry,” she says. “I get that this situation might be… difficult for you.”

“I simply don’t understand why you treat him the way you do!” She says. “It’s bad enough that Jurian is terrible now, but I don’t understand why everyone insists on acting like he’s the victim in this!”

It’s driving her crazy. All the lines are getting blurred, and nothing makes sense anymore. Even Drakon seems to be mostly concerned with making sure Jurian is well, and Mor just doesn’t understand.

“But you must realize that this is not the same thing,” Andromache says. “It’s not like Jurian went and murdered some poor, innocent girl. Clythia was a Loyalist commander. She killed and tortured thousands of humans!”

“This isn’t about her actions, it’s about Jurian’s.” Mor glares at her. “That she was horrible doesn’t make what Jurian did acceptable.”

How does Andromache not understand this? It doesn’t matter that Clythia was terrible, Jurian shouldn’t have done what he did. He is meant to be the good guy, a member of the Alliance, her friend. One of them. Yet what he did to Clythia wasn’t good at all, it was terrible, and he doesn’t even have an explanation for why he did it.

So that must mean Jurian is an enemy now. He did a terrible, unforgivable thing, after all. Yet she seems to be the only one who sees it that way.

“It doesn’t make it right,” Andromache replies, “but it certainly means I don’t feel a lick of sympathy for what happened to Clythia. I’m never in favour of needless cruelty, but that doesn’t mean I don’t also think that Clythia got what she deserved.”

Mor shakes her head. She can’t believe this. Clythia was the one who got murdered. She cannot, by definition, be the one who was in the wrong in that situation. Andromache shouldn’t be saying this, she shouldn’t be defending what Jurian did.

This entire situation blurs the lines. It blurs the lines in all the wrong ways.

“No one deserves that!” Mor snaps. “Just because she owns slaves – “

“Just?” Andromache cuts her off. Now, any hint of understanding, of sympathy, is gone from her voice. “Just slavery? That is how you see it?”

“No!” Mor wildly shakes her head. Dread shoots through her body, turning her blood to ice. “No, I didn’t mean that. It came out all wrong, I was just trying to –“

“And anyways,” Andromache cuts her off, “it wasn’t just owning slaves, either. She actively fought us to keep owning slaves. She spent centuries torturing humans with delight. And don’t get me started on how absolutely fucked her interest in Jurian was.”

Mor lifts her hands. Her heart is pounding. She has seen Andromache this angry before, but not with her. Never with her. She shouldn’t have said it like that. Cauldron, why did she say it like that?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Andromache shakes her head. “I think I’d rather be alone right now,” she says. “I’ll talk to you later.”

----

Drakon can’t sleep.

In fact, he hasn’t been able to sleep much ever since Miryam got kidnapped. He keeps jolting awake, drenched in sweat, unable to shake off the images of Miryam tied to the ceiling in a torture chamber, Miryam bleeding and screaming in pain as a faceless man approached with a knife.

According to Sinna’s sources, Miryam isn’t being tortured, but that knowledge barely manages to ease his worry. So he keeps tossing and turning in his bed, shifting from one position to another. The images keep rising, and no matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t manage to chase them away.

A few hours past midnight, he gives up. If he can’t sleep anyways, he’ll go for a walk around the battlements. There will surely be some night guards around and they usually appreciate having company.

But when he opens the door to his rooms, the guards waiting outside step into his way. They exchange nervous glances. Lisi, one of the newest captains in his guard, seems to be in charge of the team tonight, and she looks entirely uncomfortable in her skin.

Drakon arches an eyebrow at her. “Am I grounded?” He asks jokingly.

“No, of course not, Your Highness,” Lisi says, stepping from one foot to the other. She seems distinctly uncomfortable in her skin.

Drakon looks between her and the other guards for a moment. This behaviour has only one possible explanation. And it means that Drakon needs to have a conversation with Sinna about which orders she can and cannot give his guards. Right now.

“I’ll go visit Sinna,” he says and shoulders past his guards. At least they don’t try to stop him, although Lisi looks more than a little uncomfortable in her skin.

The room Sinna and Nephelle share is just a few doors down the hall. Drakon only remembers that they are likely sleeping after he already knocked sharply at the door. To his surprise, it flies open almost immediately. Nephelle stands in the doorway, already fully dressed.

“Drakon,” she says. Surprise colours her voice and the smile she gives him is half-hearted at best.

“I wanted to talk to Sinna,” Drakon says.

“Oh.” Nephelle winces slightly, eyes drifting over to Lisi. “Uhm.”

“Nephelle.” Drakon looks between her and the guards, who suddenly seem to find huge interest in their shoes. “Where is Sinna?”

----

Lying flat on his stomach, Rhys stares down at the fort below. His army is waiting behind him in a ridge, safely hidden from the eyes of the guards standing along the walls of the fort. But Rhys wanted to get a good view of the terrain before the battle begins, so he climbed up the side of the ridge and found a viewpoint behind a small boulder.

From up here, the fort doesn’t look like much. It’s carved into the mountain, sure, but it doesn’t seem to be much better protected than the average castle. At least the mountain is nowhere near as massive as the one the Hewn City is built under. Really, Rhys doesn’t know what all the fuss is about. Even the wards aren’t that great, at least as far as he can tell from up here.

The Heseia Fort, he decides, is far less impressive than its reputation.

Carefully, Rhys slides down the slope, wings flared to keep his balance. Little stones loosen under his feet and roll down the mountain. His soldiers stare at him as he walks past. He can feel the anger boiling under the surface, but the Illyirans under his command have learned not to question his orders by now. Strength and brutality are the only languages they care to understand, and Rhys spent the past years teaching them in that exact language that he doesn’t care to be questioned. (Sometimes, Rhys feels a stab of embarrassment at it, but it is necessary. Even if most of his current friends probably wouldn’t understand, but that’s just how they are – too soft.)

His captains are standing together by the edge of the makeshift camp. They are mid-conversation, but fall silent when Rhys approaches. They even incline their heads, although he can see the anger in their eyes.

“Is the army ready?” Rhys asks.

“We are Illyrians,” one of his captains says gruffly. “We are always ready for battle. But you had the army flying for ten hours straight to get here. Giving them rest before battle would improve their performances.”

“And any moment we wait increases the risk of being discovered,” Rhys counters. “The moment of surprise is our biggest advantage.”

Amarantha likely knows by now that the Alliance chose not to save Miryam, so she won’t expect any action from them. She’ll likely keep tabs on both Jurian and Drakon, but with both of their armies still firmly at their intended positions, she’ll have no reason to suspect an attack. And that is exactly why Rhys will succeed where no one else would.

“We attack now,” he says firmly.

His captains exchange looks. “And you are truly asking us to risk our lives to save that…” His lips curl in disgust. “…that witch?”

That is perhaps the one detail of the plan that angers his soldiers the most. They don’t fear death, but apparently, dying for a witch is a dishonour. Rhys couldn’t care less for their stupid superstitions. There’s really no difference if they die in this battle or in another.

“I’m not asking,” he says in a voice he copied from his father and that usually gets people to do what he wants. Just to top it off, he also flares his power. “I’m ordering.”

“You, or the council?” A second captain challenges. “Because so far, you’ve never been put in charge of a battle on your own. Why now?”

Rhys doesn’t have a convincing lie ready to explain why the council suddenly gave up its absurd dedication to keeping Rhys condemned to the side lines, so he simply stretches out a hand. Dark power shoots from his fingertips and wraps itself around the captain who spoke up. The man grits his teeth, a vein bulges at his temple, but he bears the pain in silence.

“Last I checked,” Rhys says coolly, “I did not need to explain myself to you.”

He might need to explain himself to the council when they find out, though. And to his father. He doubts any of them will be pleased to find out about what he did.

But it won’t matter. Once this battle is over and he freed Miryam, no one will care that he went against orders. He will be a hero. After more than six years of war spent as a grunt, following orders and never being allowed to do anything on his own, this will be his moment. After that, everyone will know him as the one who freed the leader of the Alliance, who managed to do so against all odds and when even the most brilliant generals like Jurian and Sinna did not dare.

This is his chance. And he won’t let anyone keep him from it. Not his captains or his father, not the council, and not Sinna and Drakon with their exaggerated caution.

Even if he really doesn’t understand why Sinna refused to act. For Drakon, it makes sense – although Rhys would have thought his mate getting captured would be enough to get him to give up his usual caution. But apparently, Drakon entirely lacks the edge it takes to lead an army, or a country for that matter. One of the biggest mysteries in Rhys’s life remains how someone like Drakon ever managed to get this popular amongst the young Fae (if not amongst the older ones). It’s not that Rhys doesn’t like him, but he’s… well, not quite sharp enough for his taste. But Rhys was sure Sinna would press for action.

Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he needs their approval.

He releases his hold on his magic, allowing the captain to sag to the ground. “We attack,” he says. “Now.”

----

“I don’t believe this,” Drakon mutters. He stops his pacing and turns around to Nephelle, who sat down on the couch. They are alone in her quarters, the guards happily remaining outside. “You didn’t.”

Nephelle shakes her head. “Sinna left four hours ago, together with ten of her best soldiers.”

A part of Drakon is still waiting for her to laugh and tell him that this is a joke. Unfortunately, she doesn’t.

“You mean to tell me,” he says softly, “that my High General takes a group of my soldiers on a mission to save my wife, and no one thought to tell me?”

Nephelle winces slightly. “Sinna didn’t want you to worry,” she says.

She didn’t want him to worry. Well, that’s just great, isn’t it? Slowly, he lets himself drop to the couch next to Nephelle and presses his hands against his face.

“How does she even plan to get Miryam out?” He asks, face still pressed in his hands. “Not even Sinna will be able to take the Heseia Fort with only ten soldiers.”

“There will be a diversion,” Nephelle says. She shifts around in her seat. “I wanted to go with them, but Sinna wouldn’t let me.”

On another day, Drakon would have tried to comfort her. He is about to do just that, but then, he remembers that Nephelle helped Sinna and his guards and everyone else with lying to him and remains silent.

“What kind of diversion?” He asks instead.

If Sinna took part of his army… But no, she couldn’t have. The ability to winnow is rare amongst Seraphim – it is actually not a Seraphim ability at all, but people with distant High Fae heritage sometimes get it – and Sinna would never have been able to get more than a hundred soldiers to the Heseia Fort this quickly. Which means that somehow, she got her hands on another army.

Nephelle winces slightly, looking more than a little guilty. “Rhysand and his army,” she says.

----

It takes exactly thirteen minutes from the first arrow being fired for Rhys to lose control of his army completely. It all happens so quickly that he barely understands what is going on, let alone give orders to avoid it.

The first five minutes went well. Rhys ordered the attack, and from there, everything worked flawlessly. He did everything just right. And really, he couldn’t have known that there was a trap woven into one of the wards around the fort. How could he have known? Breaking the ward was the logical choice, and what happened afterwards was not his fault.

Still, the blast of pure energy it set off killed a good fourth of his soldiers in one go and sent the rest into complete panic.

“Reform the lines!” Rhys roars at them, but now, arrows are raining down on them from the fort. Their tips are made from a blueish stone, and they pierce Rhysand’s shields easily. “Get back into formation!”

No one listens. Rhys isn’t even sure if his captains are still alive. They were likely at the front lines and got hit by the blast, while Rhys himself hung back to provide magical cover. Not that it did them any good so far.

He raises his hands and sends a wave of dark power crashing for the fort walls. It sizzles out uselessly against the first layer of wards. Their enemies don’t even bother with open combat, they just keep raining arrows, boulders and cans of burning oil down on them.

“Commander!” Someone yells far too close to Rhys’s ear. He spins around and comes face to face with one of his captains. Seems like at least one of them survived this far. “We need to retreat,” the man pants.

“No!” Rhys shouts back.

He can’t retreat. He can’t. Not after everything he risked to get here. If he returns with half his soldiers – maybe more by now – dead and nothing to show for, he will be done. They will put him on trial for disregarding a direct order, and his father will make sure he gets the highest possible punishment.

Another volley of arrow comes shooting down from the fort. One of them hits Rhys, slipping through a slit in his armour and burying itself in his arm. He hisses in pain.

“We need to retreat!” His captain repeats. “Or we will all die.”

No. No, he can’t do this. “There’s no honour in retreat!” He doesn’t care about honour, just about the consequences this might have for him, but this might convince his soldiers to keep fighting.

“There is no honour in stupidity!” The captain shouts back at him. “If you don’t order a retreat right now, we’ll all be dead within minutes!”

Rhys looks around the battlefield, then. All around him, his soldiers are dying. They aren’t even attacking, can’t manage to get through the wards, but they can’t run, either, not without his permission.

There are so many dead soldiers on the ground. Half his army. More.

The realization hits Rhys like a punch to the stomach. They aren’t getting into that fort. It is completely and utterly impossible. This entire mission is doomed, has been from the beginning. And if they stay her for a moment longer, they will all die.

“Retreat!” Rhys shouts. His voice barely manages to rise over the general noise, but his soldiers pick up the call soon enough. “Retreat!”

There’s nothing orderly about the retreat. They simply turn and run.

They don’t even make it a hundred feet before the first soldiers slam into an invisible barrier. A ward – one that surely wasn’t here before. Rhys sends his power barrelling into it. The air shimmers for a moment, but the ward doesn’t shatter.

And still, the arrows keep flying. Rhys looks around wildly, searching for a way out, but there is none. He is trapped and now, he and his soldiers will die.

Suddenly, the onslaught of arrows stops. Rhys looks up, startles, just as a woman steps onto the battlements of the fort. She is wearing black armour and a helmet, but her red hair is unbound underneath and it flies in the wind like a flag. General Amarantha, if Rhys’s guess is correct.

“Look at what we got there,” she says, voice carrying easily over the crowd. “Not quite the quarry I hoped for. But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Silence is her only answer. The Illyrians that are still alive – a bare third of the soldiers Rhys arrived with – seem to relish the pause.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Amarantha calls down at them. “Whichever idiot is in charge of this army should probably announce their surrender now, before I decide to let my soldiers use you sorry lot for target practice.”

----

“Your Highness,” a muffled voice says through the door. “General Sinna is back.”

Drakon tries to sit up too quickly, gets tangled up in his wings and nearly falls off the couch. He manages to flare his wings and regain his balance just in time. By the time he manages to get his feet back under himself, Nephelle is already on her feet and halfway to the door.

She rips the door open so hard it slams against the wall with a bang. “Where?” She asks the servant who brought the news.

Drakon is glad she asked, he doesn’t think he would have been able to get a word out. Sinna is back. That must mean she’s alive. But Miryam… She has to be alive as well. It must have worked – Sinna’s plans always work. She is simply too stubborn to fail.

“In the medical wing, My Lady,” the servant replies.

Nephelle nods and sets off at a full sprint. Drakon follows, easily keeping up with his longer legs. His heart is racing. In running, he catches a glimpse of a pink sky and the rising sun through one of the windows. Sunrise. Him and Nephelle spent the last six hours trying and failing to control their rising panic as they desperately waited for a sign from Sinna.

They round a corner and Drakon narrowly avoids colliding with a guard. “Sorry!” He calls over his shoulder, but he doesn’t stop running.

The medical wing is five stories down on the other side of the castle. By the time Nephelle and Drakon arrive, they are both out of breath and Nephelle’s wings tremble.

There is a small commotion in front of one of the treatment rooms. At first, Drakon can’t make out individual people in the chaos. Him and Nephelle just stand frozen in the hallways, desperately scanning the small crowd.

Then, Nephelle surges forward. “Sinna!” She shouts, voice rising over the noise.

A figure breaks apart from the group. Drakon barely catches more than a glance at Sinna before Nephelle crashes into her arms. Sinna catches her, stumbling back a step under the impact.

“It’s alright,” she whispers to Nephelle. She says something else after that, but it is too quiet for Drakon to hear.

Nephelle keeps clinging to Sinna, as if she’s scared that she will vanish if she lets go. Sinna runs a hand through her hair, then kisses her on the spot between her eyebrows.

Drakon remains rooted to the spot. He wants to walk over, wants to see if Sinna is alright, wants to ask after Miryam, but his body won’t obey. He is completely frozen, unable to move or speak. Even when Sinna gently frees herself from Nephelle’s grip and turns to Drakon, he doesn’t manage to get the question out. Did you succeed?

Sinna simply looks at him for a moment. Then, she inclines her head towards the room to her right. “She’s in there,” she says.

And just like that, Drakon snaps out of his stupor. He is at the door before he truly realized he is moving. He rips the door open and comes face to face with three startled healers.

Miryam lies in the bed behind them. She looks scarily frail under her white blanket, frail and far younger than she usually does. There is a fading bruise on the left side of her face. And other injuries are hidden by the blanket someone draped over her.

Slowly, Drakon steps forward, but one of the healers steps into his way. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” they say. “But you can’t be in here.”

Drakon slowly shakes his head. “But I need to…” He needs to be there for her, he can’t just go and leave her on her own. Not while she is hurt and he doesn’t know if she…

“You can wait outside, Your Highness,”

“No.” Drakon tries to step past them, but the healer gently takes him by the arm. “No, I need to… I need to see…”

“She isn’t going to die,” the healer says firmly. With a start, he realizes that he’s trembling. “None of her injuries are lethal, Your Highness, she will be fine. But I generally do not permit family to be in the room while I work unless explicitly demanded by the patient. So you will have to go wait outside while I do my job, and I will come talk to you after I am done.” They smile at Drakon. “Is that alright with you, Your Highness?”

Drakon nods numbly and allows the healer to gently push him out of the room. Sinna and Nephelle are both gone from the corridor. Somehow, Drakon ends up sitting on a chair somewhere on the hallway, staring down at his feet.

Miryam looked injured. Their spies might have reported that she didn’t get tortured, but maybe they were wrong. They might have been wrong. And then…

A pair of leather boots appears in his line of vision, making Drakon look up at the owner.

“You alright?” Sinna asks. She is still dressed in her armour, the grey leather splattered with dried blood. There is a bandage around her left arm and a shallow slice marring her cheek.

Drakon nods slowly. He isn’t sure if he can speak right now.

“We should probably talk,” Sinna says. “But not here. Come on.”

Drakon wants to object that he can’t go, that he needs to wait for the healers to finish, but he has been waiting for at least an hour now and no one came to talk to him. For all he knows, it might be several more hours before he gets any news, and he assumes that should the healers finish their work while he is gone, they will simply send someone to fetch him.

They don’t go far, anyways. Sinna pulls open the next best door and steps into a supply closet. Neatly stacked boxes line the walls, each with a label marking its contents. Bandages of varying sizes, alcohol to disinfect the wounds and dried mushrooms against the pain.

“We used our contact to get inside,” Sinna says. “It was rather easy, with everyone so focused on the attacking army that they didn’t even notice us. We had to kill a couple of guards, but that was it. In and out within just over an hour.”

Drakon just stares at her. He has no idea what to say. How is he supposed to react? What kind of reaction does she want?

“Rhysand’s army has been defeated,” Sinna announces. “Half of his soldiers are dead, the rest captured – him included, if my sources are correct.”

Drakon slowly shakes his head. “Seven hundred soldiers,” he says. He can’t manage to keep the shock out of his voice. “You sent seven hundred soldiers to their deaths?”

“I did no such thing,” Sinna says. She sounds far too detached. How can she talk about this so neutrally? “I did not tell Rhysand to take his army on some suicide mission trying to take a fort with less than half the soldiers that would be required to actually pull it off. I told him not to. I told him they would all die, and Miryam with them. But it was painfully obvious that the idiot boy wouldn’t listen. And if he was already going to get himself and his soldiers killed, why shouldn’t I at least make sure they don’t die in vain?”

Drakon can’t stop shaking his head. “You could have stopped him,” he points out, even though he doesn’t know if he would have wanted her to.

All of his morals tell him that it is wrong, completely and utterly wrong, to let hundreds of people die to save one. And Rhys might have chosen to risk his life, but those soldiers certainly didn’t. Sacrificing them was wrong. But at the same time, selfishly, Drakon is glad Sinna acted the way she did. Sacrificing hundreds of lives for one seems far less wrong when the one live belongs to the person you love and the hundreds are mostly strangers.

Only those strangers will have families and friends, too. People who care about them, people who lost their loved ones tonight.

“You’re right,” Sinna says. “I could have. But I didn’t. I chose to save Miryam, because she is important to this war and important to you.”

Drakon just stares at Sinna. He doesn’t know what to do, whether to hug her or yell. He is torn between gratitude and anger, both feelings so intense that he is nearly choking on them.

“Would it help if I apologized?” Sinna asks.

“Are you sorry?” Drakon asks.

Sinna seems to consider it for a moment. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” she says. “But as for the rest? I would do it again.”

“Then no, an apology wouldn’t help,” Drakon says drily. Now, anger is winning over gratitude, if narrowly. “You should have told me.”

“Possibly,” Sinna agrees.

“Certainly. You can’t just…” He shakes his head. “You can’t just go behind my back like this. On purpose. It’s not like I require you to discuss every little detail with me – we both know you’re better at this than I’ll ever be – but this, you should have told me about. And you knew, since you conspired with my guards to keep me from finding out.”

Sinna crosses her arms. “I didn’t conspire,” she says pointedly. “I merely asked them to keep you in your room for the night, if at all possible.”

This is decidedly the wrong detail to focus on. “You should have told me,” Drakon repeats.

“But I didn’t,” Sinna says. “And because I didn’t, you will be able to look Miryam and Morrigan and anyone else who might ask in the eye and tell them that you had no part in sending Rhysand and his soldiers to their deaths and it will be the truth.”

“Well, I’d rather be able to tell people that I’m in charge of my own country and have it be the truth.”

Doesn’t she understand this? Drakon might not care much about his reputation and what the other royals think of him, but so far, he could always safely say that the things they said about him were lies. But if Sinna is ready to go behind his back so easily…

Sinna presses her lips together. “But would you have wanted to make that choice?” She asks. “I did not send the soldiers working for Rhysand to their deaths, but I willingly accepted it. I traded hundreds of lives for one. Is this the type of choice you would have liked?” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Trading lives like this is never easy, and these choices always stay with you. Forever.”

Drakon’s stomach twists, but he shakes his head. “But making those choices is my duty.” It’s not about choice, not about what he wants. And maybe it’s stupid that he has the final say on military matters when Sinna is so much more experienced – maybe he will change it one day – but for the moment, this is his duty. “You do not help me if you try to shield me from it.”

“You are too young,” Sinna says. “You shouldn’t be forced to make these choices.”

Drakon doesn’t say that Miryam and Jurian are also young, and Andromache, Mor and Rhys aren’t that much older than the three of them. “But you can’t change that,” he says softly. “I am Prince, whether you like it or not. These choices are mine to make. Just as any guilt they might bring is mine to bear.”

----

Andromache knows she has been too sharp. She knows that what her father did to her still haunts Mor, knows that it sometimes makes her snap. When that happens, her emotions run wild with her, making her say things she doesn’t mean. Maybe a better person than Andromache would have taken it with grace, would have let the comment slide.

But Andromache also has her sore points, and one of them is Fae – especially High Fae, and especially High Fae nobles – so clearly favouring Fae over humans. And for all she knows that Mor didn’t mean what she said, she also can’t shake the thought that no one says anything like this without meaning it at least a little bit.

“What did the two of you argue about, anyways?” Yanis asks. He is lying sprawled on Andromache’s bed, which is probably his unique interpretation of being on guard.

Andromache shrugs. “Jurian,” she says. “Mor doesn’t like what he did.”

“You don’t like what he did, either,” Yanis counters.

Andromache crosses her arms and turns around to him in her chair. She doesn’t have a reply to that, at least not one she can properly articulate, and she hates not having a reply. The thing is, she doesn’t have a problem with the fact that Mor dislikes Jurian’s actions, she has a problem with the how.

“She can just…” She shakes her head. “Sometimes, she’s so…” She gestures around in the air, searching for words. “Fae,” she finishes, hoping that Yanis will know what she means.

She doesn’t fault Mor for being Fae, not at all. But sometimes, she does things that make it painfully clear that she isn’t quite like her. Which, again, Andromache wouldn’t mind, if she wasn’t so…

Yanis sighs. “Anny.” It’s her childhood nickname, and one he hasn’t used in years. At least since she became queen. "Do you really think that Mor's problem with what Jurian did is that he's human?"

Andromache makes a face. She doesn't think that, not really. Probably. At least not consciously. Mor certainly isn't like Shey and these other bastards on the council, but still, the way she judges Jurian doesn't sit well with Andromache.

"She doesn't have a problem with torture when Azriel does it," she says. "Or when Rhysand beats his soldiers because he's too incompetent a commander to get them in line through other methods."

And that's probably the core of the problem. (Well, that and the "just slavery" comment.) She would have no problem at all with Mor judging Jurian if she was consequent about it. But she is completely fine with torture when her Fae friends do it, even though their actions are arguably worse since they keep doing it and don't have the excuse of not being entirely in control of their own actions.

"Why is she fine with it then, but has a problem when Jurian does it?" Andromache asks.

"Because she can pretend that they only act that way because they don't have a choice and that they aren't actually like this," Yanis says. He has always been the more perceptive one of the two of them, the one who managed to look at things from all angles. "Rhysand has this entire thing going about how him being an asshole is only a mask, and Azriel can claim he's made to do it by his High Lord."

Andromache snorts. Of all the excuses she heard, 'I was just pretending to be an asshole' always seemed like the most idiotic one. If you torture someone, saying that you were just pretending certainly doesn’t make it right. You can’t just pretend to hurt people, you actually hurt them, and your reasons will never be able to ease the pain you caused.

“Mor,” Yanis says, “likes clear lines. Good and bad and little in between. And stupid as her friends’ reasonings might be, they allow her to still place them in the Good category. What Jurian did blurs the lines, and she doesn’t like that.”

Now, Andromache feels really stupid. Yanis is right, of course, and she can’t believe she had to let him explain her own partner to her. She knows that Mor generally sees people as either good or bad, no in-between. Anything that blurs those lines tends to make her upset, so of course she wouldn’t be fond of what Jurian did.

“Talk to her,” Yanis says. “Unless you are so upset that you want to end things, that is.”

Andromache flinches at the notion. “No!” Of course she doesn’t want to end things. It was one argument – one she already feels stupid about, if she’s being honest. She certainly isn’t fine with what Mor said, but she should have just dropped the topic instead of allowing it to escalate.

“Can you winnow me to Telique?” She asks. She originally hadn’t meant to leave the camp, but Jurian has been remarkably civil in the days since Miryam got kidnapped. He seems content to wait around for Amarantha to arrive, and he shows no sign of wanting to change his strategy, so she can probably risk leaving him alone for an hour.

Yanis slowly climbs out of her bed, yawning. “Sure,” he mutters.

Mor is in her suite in Telique, as some of the palace guards inform Andromache when she arrives. Yanis leaves her behind to go visit his sister who works in the stables, and so Andromache is alone when she stands in front of Mor’s door. She allows herself a moment’s hesitation before she knocks.

Mor opens after only a moment. She freezes in the door when she sees Andromache, then gives her an awkward smile. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Andromache echoes. “Can I come in?”

It occurs to her that this is their first real argument. They had smaller disagreements, like the one about Mor’s interest in her powers, but they never really argued until yesterday.

“Sure.” Mor steps aside.

Andromache enters the spacious receiving room that belongs to the emissary’s suite. Mor closes the door, and then, they both stand around awkwardly, staring at each other. Andromache opens her mouth to apologize, but after the just slavery comment, she actually feels like it’s up to Mor to make the first step. Which she fortunately does.

“I’m sorry,” Mor says. “That comment I made… I didn’t mean to say it like that, it came out all wrong.” She shakes her head. “I was trying to say that torture is never okay, no matter against whom.”

Andromache sighs. “I know.” Even if that comment still echoes through her mind, and will likely remain with her for a while yet. “And I’m sorry, too. It’s just… I spent the past few days trying to get the council in line, which really isn’t easy without Miryam. And all the Fae who went on and on about how horrible Jurian’s actions were only seemed to have a problem with it because he’s human.” She offers Mor a half-hearted smile. “So you kind of hit a sore spot there.”

“Oh.” Mor winces. “I didn’t know that. Sorry.” She gives Andromache a tentative smile. “So we are still fine?” She asks in a small voice.

Andromache takes her hands and squeezes them. “Of course we are,” she says softly.

Mor smiles, eyes glittering wetly. Then, she throws her arms around Andromache and hugs her. Andromache absentmindedly trails her fingers through her light hair.

Perhaps Jurian isn’t the only one who’s slowly falling apart. They are all struggling, all desperately grasping for any ways to make this world of theirs more bearable. And if Mor likes to divide things into neat categories, if she doesn’t like to see that order interrupted, maybe that is fine.

A knock sounds on the door. Mor quickly lets go of her and steps back, putting some distance between them. She discreetly wipes her eyes.

Andromache waits until she composed herself, then calls, “Come in!”

To her surprise, Yanis steps inside. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, glancing between them. “But I thought you might want to hear this.”

“What?” Andromache asks. Her throat suddenly feels tight. If there’s one thing over six years of war taught her, it’s that urgent news are usually bad. Mor silently takes her hand, as if she, too, is bracing herself.

“I just got a letter from Drakon,” Yanis says. “He didn’t give any details, but apparently, they somehow got Miryam out of the Heseia fort. She’s alive and safe.”

Andromache is silent for a moment. Slowly, she turns to look at Mor, who seems equally shocked. Then, she slowly begins to smile. Andromache begins grinning herself, and then, they are hugging, holding each other tight.

Some good news. Finally some good news.

“There’s something else,” Yanis says. Now, he is looking at Mor only. “I’m sorry, Mor,” he says, “but your cousin got captured by Amarantha.”

----

A/N: I don't like Rhys, and I hope the veiled criticism came across in this chapter lol. (I also wasn't very enthusiastic about the entire storyline of Miryam getting kidnapped, so I'm glad that's done now.) And I DO like Mor, but I still felt like I needed to hint at her having some characteristics (a certain tendency to divide into “good” and “bad” and ignore the nuances) that allow her to be a part of a government like the Inner Circle later on.

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed

#i'm still very proud i came up with a way to make rhys an ass in this entire kidnapping situation lol #it was generally set up to make him look great but I managed to turn it into the opposite #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

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thinkingoutlouddblog · 6 years ago

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Pearls // Adore You

summary: Y/N has a gift for Harry on Adore You day

A/N: this is pure fluff and feel good vibes. I should’ve written and posted it last week because the timing would be better but instead I wrote it today as I listened to Fine Line on a loop. If anyone wants to chat about the album send me asks and messages!

“Happy Adore You Day!” Harry is awoken by Y/N cheering at the end of his bed.

“What?” He grunted, completely disoriented. He rubbed his eyes blearily, looking confusedly at Y/N holding a tray with a freshly made breakfast and a small bunch of flowers, grin lighting up her whole face. “Adore You isn’t out until tomorrow,” he stated, but a smile had graced his face too as he sat up in bed.

She took a step forward and placed the tray on his lap before sitting at the end of the bed. “Well I know that but your first ever performance of it is being recorded today and it’ll drop at midnight which is basically still today anyway. So, I wanted to do something special to celebrate.”

Harry’s heart swooped. This girl was as sweet as honey. The excited energy was positively radiating from her, it was in the way she spoke, the way she could hardly sit still and the bright smile which hadn’t left her face for a single second.

“You’re too good, ya’ know that?” He asked her, prompting bashfulness to colour her expression. “Now come here and give me a kiss,” he leaned forward so that her lips could meet his own. Her hands found their way into his hair and soon the two of them were lost in the moment. Her left hand slowly traced towards his face, cupping his jaw, until it slowly drifted downwards towards his neck. As soon as her hand met his throat, all her movements halted, suddenly remembering something. She pulled her lips away, and Harry subconsciously leaned forward, needy for her kiss.

“Hold on!” Was all she said before she was darting out of the room in a whirlwind. A minute later, she was back in the room, a bunch of flowers in one hand and a small box in the other, wrapped in light blue paper and complete with a pink bow. “The other reason we’re celebrating today is because I finally picked this up yesterday and I actually can’t wait to give it to you. At first I was going to give it to you on album release day,” she ranted quickly, excitement and nervousness possessing her, “but then I couldn’t wait until then and now I can’t wait until tomorrow so,” she shoved both the flowers and the box towards him without eloquence, “here.”

She grabbed the tray of food now going cold from his lap and popped it onto her side of the bed which was currently empty. She fidgeted as she returned to her seat on the edge of his bed, Harry unable to contain the soft laughter at his girl and her antics.

He went to start unwrapping it, but Y/N quickly interrupted as she spoke anxiously once more. “Please don’t pretend to like it if you don’t. I promise I won’t be offended, and I can take it back it’s literally no problem at all and-”

“Darlin’,” it was Harry’s turn to interrupt now. “Can I please just unwrap it before I die of anticipation here?”

Y/N just nodded, not trusting herself to speak without beginning to ramble. She crossed her legs at the end of the bed, trying to contain her nervousness.

As quickly as his hands would allow, Harry unwrapped the paper to reveal a necklace box. He paused for a moment, before opening the lid to reveal a string of pearls. “Oh my god,” he breathed, mouth slightly ajar as he stared down at them, as though in a trance.

“What kind of oh my god is that?” Y/N asked, doubts clouding her mind. “I need more words please and I need them now.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she spoke first, pointing a finger in his direction. “And don’t lie to me, I know you’re good at this acting and politeness shit but it won’t work on me.”

“I love it,” he rushed out as soon as she shut her mouth, sure he only had a moment before she opened it again. “No acting or politeness shit needed because I really really really love it,” his eyes were glossy, overcome with emotion.

“You’re sure?” Y/N asked, hesitantly. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Harry to be honest with her in situations like these, it’s just that she wanted to give the perfect gift. Harry had worked so very hard on this album, she thought he deserved to receive something from her that was as special as the body of work he had created.

“I’m sure,” he crawled forwards, box still in hand, and placed a sweet kiss on her lips. “Thank you,” he whispered, as he rested his forehead against her own.

With those four words, the anxiety she felt ebbed away. The feeling was replaced by pure joy, and below the surface, a deep calm. She relished in the moment, in the thrill of the intimacy and connection they shared. Y/N was sure she had to be the luckiest girl alive.

“Can you please put it on me?” He

“Of course,” she took the box from his outstretched hand as he turned so Y/N could see the clasp at the back of his neck. Once she had secured it around his neck, he was up in a flash, off towards the en suite.

Y/N was quick to follow, shadowing him shyly as he gazed upon his own reflection. She wrapped her arms around his bare chest, linking her hands together at his front. She stood up on her tip toes to kiss the skin just below the necklace.

“I love it so much, Y/N,” he spoke softly. “And I-” he stopped short, unsure of himself. “I- I adore you.”

“I adore you too, H,” she said without pause. His hesitancy did not go unnoticed, but she didn’t want him to dwell on that too heavily. He would say it, in his own time, when he felt it. If he felt it, she tried not to think.

He hummed in response, hand subconsciously tracing the pearls as he got lost in his thoughts for a moment. Y/N just held him tighter, breathing in his scent.

“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered suddenly, he turned within her hold, unlinking her hands. He grabbed them in his own before they could fall at her side, needing the physical connection. “I love you, darlin’.”

Before Y/N could get a word out, he was rambling nervously just as she had before. “And not to be on the nose or anything, but you don’t have to say you love me. Because I get it, it’s scary and it’s- it’s early, I know that, I do. I just- it’s how I feel so I’m saying it. And I hope you feel that way too but if you’re not there yet then that’s completely fine-”

“Harry,” she stopped him in his tracks, face portraying nothing, leaving him completely on edge.

“Yeah?” He gripped her hands tighter.

“I love you too, you idiot,” she smiled, and he swears to God, his heart stopped for a second.

His hands were gone from hers in an instant, instead wrapping around her figure and lifting her up, in a state of pure nirvana. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he sang out as he spun her around. He wished he was recording the sound of her giggling and reciprocating his love. He was sure it would forever be music to his ears.

That night, and every night after that, he sang Adore You for her.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry imagine #harry x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry angst #harry fluff #fine line #adore you #eroda #harry one shot #harry styles one shot

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pandoraswrld · 4 years ago

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WARM

— in which yuna and jiyoon talk about love

characters / boo yuna, kim jiyoon

words / 1.9k

warnings / none, it’s mostly just fluff n comfort

유나나 at 01:15: can i come over?

오렌지윤 at 01:18: sure you can

Yuna was already halfway there by the time she sent the text, she knew Jiyoon would never say no to her, even if it was way past midnight and she had a schedule tomorrow.

It was only a short trip to the Jinx dorms, Yuna had made her way there so many times before that it had been muscle memory for her to just twist and turn around the streets until she arrived at their apartment building.

Jiyoon had greeted her with her usual smile, cheek to cheek with open arms. Her orange hair had faded since the last time they had seen each other, brown roots now taking over the once bright colour. With the week left of promotions for Jinx, Yuna was sure she would be invited over at some point to come help her dye it again.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jiyoon had quickly ushered Yuna into her room, Rosie sleeping soundly in the far right of the room. Yuna would be more worried about talking with her in the room but she knew that the younger girl could probably sleep through just about anything.

“How do you know I wanted to talk about anything? Can’t a friend just want to see her other friend.” Yuna’s lips pouted outwards.

“It’s one in the morning, you always have something to say at one in the morning.” The other girl deadpanned, arms crossed as per usual.

Yuna simply rolled her eyes, falling down onto Jiyoon’s bed to rest her head on her lap, “Fine, I want to talk but you go first.”

“Me go first? What do I have to talk about?” Jiyoon chuckled.

Jiyoon’s hands had taken purchase in Yuna’s hair, just like always. One tangling in the soft strands of pink hair and the other resting lightly on Yuna’s cheek.

“I saw you and Joohyuk the other day, what is that about?” Yuna was feeling cheeky that night, bringing up the scenario she had spotted at the cafe in the HJK building, one involving a particular Kim Jiyoon holding the hand of her ex boyfriend as if nothing had changed at all.

“That was nothing, he just wanted to talk.”

“And what about all the fondling?” Yuna cooed.

“There was no fondling, I just wanted to hold his hand,” she paused for a second, “for old times sake.”

“So there is something going on, hmm?”

“No silly, we only talked for like five seconds about our relationship and then he went back to his dorm and I went back to mine.” Jiyoon sounded entirely unsatisfied with her own story, there was something more, there was always something more when it came to those two.

It only took a minute of Yuna staring up and into Jiyoon’s eyes for her to crack, “Okay and he told me he’s sorry for everything.”

“What! The Oh Joohyuk apologised? What brought this on?” Yuna had straightened up, eager to hear more.

“He told me he’s been thinking of me.” Jiyoon was almost giddy saying these words as told by the smile slowly creeping onto her face. “He acknowledged that he was wrong for everything that’s happened over the last few years, he wants to make things up to me.”

Yuna observed Jiyoon as she talked, a habit she had formed over the last few months. Jiyoon always smiled when she talked about Joohyuk, even when she was mad at him, which was most of the time. She reckons it’s because she was still fond of him, recalling all the times Jiyoon had reminisced over their past with Yuna. She didn’t want to make any assumptions but she’s sure Jiyoon’s still in love with him.

“What are you gonna do with this information? Are you gonna be friends or do you think he wants to go back to how things used to be?”

“I’m going to be honest with you Yuna, part of me wants him back.”

“I could’ve told you that.” That earned a hit to Yuna’s arm from Jiyoon.

“Shut up, this is serious! Obviously I can’t let him have me back so quickly but I’ll be damned if I said all the tension between us didn’t make me want him even more.”

“My best advice is to just be cautious about things, if you really want to get back together, I don’t want you to get hurt again.” Yuna held Jiyoon's hand in her own, rubbing small circles into her palm as she spoke.

Jiyoon shook her head, “Of course, we don’t want a rerun of me crying in front of everyone in the produce dorms, that was so embarrassing.”

The two girls sat and laughed for a little bit, the memory of Yuna shielding Jiyoon off and telling the other trainees that she was just sad because of her performance coming across both of their minds.

Once both of their laughs died down a silence came over the room, Yuna assumed it was now her turn to talk now, after all she was the reason why they were having this conversation in the first place.

“Jiyoon, how did you know you loved him?” Yuna was hesitant with her words.

Jiyoon looked over to the other side of her bed, clearly in thought. After a moment she simply laughed and turned to give Yuna a soft smile.

“I wanted to do anything for him, I always got this inexplicable feeling in my chest whenever I was with him and that’s why it hurt so bad when he ended it.” The ginger girl simply sighed, throwing her hand back into Yuna’s hair, coming to brush the loose strands out of her eyes and tucking them behind her ear.

“Have you ever been in love, Yuna?”

“I think I loved a boy once.” Yuna started, her breath hitching ever so slightly and her heartbeat steadily rising. “He was sweet, kind to me but he was kind to everyone.”

“He made me feel like sunshine, I was always warm when I was around him.” She smiled, each memory she had of him was positive. It was rare that she ever brought them back up. Yuna wanted to keep each memory of him safe, away from the prying eyes of others and away from the negativity inside herself that she knew would one day overtake them.

“What happened?”

Yuna sighed, she began to recall how cold she felt when he had left, her fingertips had turned blue and she couldn’t feel her nose anymore. The worst of it was how she felt inside, sure she was physically cold but something had run through her blood and frozen each and every nerve. She knew he wasn’t coming back, she knew he never would.

“He left, I moved on.” Yuna exhaled, she couldn’t feel that same cold again.

This is why she never liked talking about him. Every word she breathed about him made him even more distant. It had been years and yet when she talked about him it only felt like days since she last saw him. She wanted to feel warm again, she did, but if the warm was followed by the sinking feeling of freezing up again she couldn’t do it.

A beat of silence followed Yuna’s words before Jiyoon began to talk, “Is this related to that conversation we had after your date with Sanha?”

Yuna sighed, she wasn’t quite sure. Maybe it was, she always thought about it when she had time to herself, she thought about how no one quite measured up to him. There was so much confusion going on in her brain that she couldn’t handle it half of the time, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to deal with all of it. That’s usually when she’d go to Jiyoon or Juliet and distract herself with their problems but she’s already here with Jiyoon, there’s no hiding for her right now.

“It’s not really a matter of if it was a boy I loved or a girl, I just can’t love like I did back then, it hurts.” She rarely talked like this, she was never one to share anything less than positive with those around her.

“The closest I’ve felt to that feeling was when I was around Somi, it probably wasn’t love but maybe even what I was feeling back then wasn’t love. All I knew was that they both felt good to me.”

The last time Yuna had met up with Somi was a couple months ago when she got her first win. She shared so much of her happiness that night and she just wanted to feel like that forever, or at least for a little longer than she had that day.

“I don’t know, things were just different with her. She makes me feel like…like when you see the sun hit the water just right and it sparkles? Like that.” Yuna always tried to make sense of her emotions by attempting to connect them to moments, scenarios, anything physical and real. Jiyoon understood her most of the time, she was the easiest to talk to when it came to explaining how she felt.

Yuna’s eyes had fixated on the ceiling light, how it was decorated with little paper butterflies most likely done by Rosie as told by the crumpled edges and jaggedly cut lines. She wanted to feel like those butterflies, she wanted to feel like everything, there was no way to explain it. Everything emanated something to Yuna, those butterflies were simply a sense of something free, crafted for nothing other than decoration but still placed lovingly in and around the room.

“Realistically though, I think that if I were to feel that same love again it would be for a girl.” Something heavy had finally lifted off of her chest once she had finished her sentence. It felt freeing to finally say what had been sitting at the back of her mind for the last few weeks, even though her hands and legs were a little jittery she felt like she could do just about anything in the moment.

“Boo Yuna are you coming out to me?” Jiyoon gasped, feeling Yuna’s elbow nudging into her side.

“I’m not saying anything! I don’t exactly know how I feel, I like girls ninety nine percent of the time but there’s always him.” Yuna saw his face clearly in her mind, every detail the same as it was all those years ago, “Maybe I’m not meant to know who I am? I don’t identify with anything I just am, you know?”

Jiyoon threw her arms around Yuna’s body, drawing the older girl’s body closer into her and resting her head on top of Yuna’s. The smell of Jiyoon’s fruity shower gel comforted Yuna greatly, if there was one thing she could always count on her for it was that she would always be there, never changing.

“That’s completely fine my love, sometimes labels just aren’t right for people and if you’re happy with where you’re at then I’m happy and I will always support you!” She left a kiss on Yuna’s cheek, pinching it right after in typical Kim Jiyoon fashion.

Yuna grinned at her friend, her eyes turning into half-moons as her cheeks rose. Jiyoon always made her feel good about herself, even in her worst moments. Yuna truly was grateful to have such a person in her life, she made her want to be the same positive influence for others, she made Yuna want to be a better person.

“I love you so much Jiyoon, you’re the best.”

#bobakocnet #aeskocnet #yuna — dev #kpop oc #kpop oc group #fake kpop idol #fake kpop group #not my best graphic but it’s still cute ig

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

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We’ll Be Home For Christmas 5.3 (Bit 2) + Epilogue

From here | 5.2 Bit 1 | 5.2 Bit 2 | 5.2 Bit 3 | 5.3 Bit 1 | 5.3 Bit 2 + Epilogue

IT’S FINISHED!!!!!!!!!!!!

::dances around the room like a loon::

Finished before next Christmas! Woohoo!

This fic is my @tagsecretsanta fic for 2019 and it is for @scattergraph .

AND IT IS FINISHED!!!! 68,000 words! My longest Thunderbirds fic!

Many, many thanks for @onereyofstarlight who geeked out with me major league on this fic and helped me with research (oh, there was soooo much research for this fic - so much I plan to post about it all in a separate post once I’ve archived this monster) and reading through whatever I came up with and cheerleading :D Also, many thanks to @scribbles97 @i-am-chidorixblossom and @vegetacide who also put up with all my crazy and wibblies and for reading through when I scream at random times ‘Does this work or it is crud?’ And, of course, to Thunderfam, who have taken this crazy whale fic on and cheered me to the finish line. Thank you alll sooo much ::hugs for everybody:: Yes, I’m a little excited. To start is fun, but to finish is ecstacy - I had that on my studio wall for a long time :D

Spoilers and warnings: A little Virgil/Kayo, a little Scott/Mel and a lot of brotherly fluff.

I hope you enjoy this last bit of the Kermadec Fic :D

-o-o-o-

Gordon had half expected Kayo’s call. Virgil had been fidgety all day. Scott had pulled Gordon aside at one point and expressed his concern, but there was nothing they could really do until Virgil made his move. Pushing him into anything would have gotten them nowhere. Virgil could be the most stubborn of them all. So, they sat back and waited, gave Virg his space and watched.

Trust Tin to kick his ass into shape.

From the moment Tin kissed Virgil it was a matter of countdown. Gordon had even dragged himself out of the pool, downed a coffee and poked Sam awake.

It wasn’t planned or conspired, just inevitable.

Sam guzzled a coffee beside him.

“You think he’ll talk to us.”

“I think he won’t have a choice. You don’t say ‘no’ to Kayo.”

“So, they’re a thing now?”

Gordon shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know he has a thing for her. He tries to hide these things but we’re family.” Which was why Gordon and the rest of the family knew there was something not right with the second eldest. He had been foggy, daydreaming and not-all-there since he had walked in so late this morning.

So, it was with both eagerness and a little dread that he stepped out onto Two’s runway, tablet in hand, and with a little hope that this could be the start of a healing process for his brother.

Tin was standing close with Virgil and Gordon’s heart warmed at the sight. His brother didn’t stand a hope.

That heart stuttered a moment later as his sister made her departure with those three words that implied possible death if Gordon didn’t look after his brother.

“Now, that’s a little scary.” And somewhat terrifying. Pranking Virgil from this point onwards may include having to cater to Kayo kicking his ass in retaliation.

He swallowed. Well, whatever made his bro happy.

Virgil straightened where he stood, determination in every line. “We need to talk.”

Gordon reflexively parroted his brother’s stance, his spine whipping to attention. Virgil may not be military, but his passion demanded respect.

“Then speak to me, bro.”

Virgil sighed and despite that determination, his shoulders shifted down a little. “I need information.” He turned to Sam. “Can you help me?”

“I can certainly try.” Sam had none of his usual bouncy enthusiasm. Something in Virgil’s agitation was communicating the seriousness of the situation.

“How do whales communicate?”

Sam opened his mouth and there began Whale Communication 101 with a minor in whale anatomy.

Sam was concise, but comprehensive. He’d obviously refreshed his knowledge overnight and even Gordon learnt a few new things.

They ended up perched on a circle of rocks under one of the palm trees, Virgil’s dark eyes fixated on Sam as he answered every question Virgil threw at him.

And there were many. How did their sonar work? What frequencies did humpback whales use to sing? What research has been done in this area? Had anyone been able to actually communicate before?

“No.” Sam’s voice was firm.

“Not even other musicians?” Virgil stared at him.

Sam shook his head. “They were all ignored.”

“What about using the right frequencies?”

Sam shook his head again. “You’re the first.” His friend bit his lip. “What is it like?”

There was suddenly a vulnerability in Virgil’s eyes that had Gordon wanting to stop this, stop this immediately, and he had to restrain himself. Virgil needed to talk it through.

“I…it’s…hard to describe.” An exasperated exhale. “In fact, that is the hardest of all of this. I can’t…express it. The colours, the shapes, the emotion…it’s all there, in my head, but I can’t articulate it, I can’t understand it, it’s just…a mess.”

Gordon’s eyes widened as Virgil waved a frustrated hand at nothing in particular, his focus drifting for just a second as his thoughts turned inward. The hand landed on his thigh and Gordon eyed those fingers as they desperately tapped out a beat on his brother’s jeans.

“Colours? Whales don’t see in colour. They don’t have the physical capability.” Sam’s eyes were as wide as Gordon’s, staring at Virgil.

His brother’s head snapped up. “Yes, they do.”

“No, they don’t. They don’t have the required cone cells in their retinas. They see in monochrome.” Sam was leaning forward.

“No, they see colour.” Virgil’s eyes focussed inward again. “So many shades of blue, green, the hot pink of exuberance, the yellow of warm sunshine, the deep midnight of sadness, the rainbow of sunset on cooling skin, white of pain, grey of threat…the black of loss. So many colours.” Virgil turned away and looked out into the caldera a moment before turning back and pinning Sam with his eyes. “It’s in the sound. You have to listen to the music.” To Gordon’s astonishment, Virgil sung a handful of notes only to break off and frown, yet again in frustration. “But I can’t…!” Virgil’s hands balled into fists.

Sam was staring wild eyed. “You can understand them?”

“Yes! No! Hell, I don’t know!”

Gordon reached out and placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey, take a breath. We have time. We can work this out.”

Troubled brown eyes latched onto his. “It’s in my head, Gordy, and I can’t get it out. I can’t sing it, I can’t paint it, I can’t express it, I can’t even understand it! It’s just…argh!” He clutched at his face, his fingers tangling in his hair.

“Virgil!” Gordon grabbed his brother’s arms and gently pulled them away from his head. “We’ll work this out. You’re not alone.” He drew in a breath. “Never alone.”

To Gordon’s horror, tears glistened in Virgil’s eyes as he stared back at him. The whales suddenly became a threat to Gordon’s family and he had the urge to protect his big brother from whatever the hell it was they were doing to him.

A window into Scott’s world was never clearer.

But Virgil composed himself. Voice rough. “It’s okay, Gords.” A dragged in breath. “I’m okay.”

Gordon’s grip on Virgil’s wrists just got tighter. “Are you kidding me? You have the t-shirt, but that is total bullshit.”

“Gordon-“

“No. They’ve gotten into your head and good or bad we are going to work through this until you are ‘okay’, okay?”

Virgil sighed and looked down before frowning at him again. “How?”

Sam cut in and Gordon startled. He had almost forgotten his friend was there. “Talk to the whales.” Virgil’s eyes hit the man and Sam’s voice became pleading. “Explain it to them. Ask them. Learn from them. Get more information and we can work it out. The more information we have the better we can understand it.” Sam’s passion rose to the surface. “This is a massive breakthrough, Virgil. You can interpret another species language.”

“No, I can’t. That is the problem, Sam.”

His friend’s pale blue-green eyes didn’t back down. “Yes, you can. Partially at least. You’ve said the words yourself. You’ve labelled colours. You’ve spoken of emotions and intent. You are communicating, Virgil.” If it was possible, the intensity in Sam’s eyes just lit up more. “And they know it. They sought you out. They responded. They know you. You’ve made a connection.”

Gordon let Virgil’s wrists go and his brother dropped his hands in his lap. “Virg, we’ve got this. John is on it. We have the technology; we have Sam and Mel and you have all of us. We can do this. Give yourself the chance.”

Those brown eyes fixated back on Gordon and the vulnerability was back. Hell, Gordon would do anything to protect his brother. Anything. “We’ve got this, Virg. Trust me.”

“I do, Gords. Always have.”

“Then let’s do this.”

The familiar phrase rang between them and Virgil responded, his body straightening where he sat. Voice still rough. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“FAB.”

-o-o-o-

Scott stood on the end of the main balcony peering out towards Two’s runway at the three figures sitting under the palm trees.

He bit his lip.

Mel was still asleep on the lounger. He should have stayed with her, but he was edgy and worried about his brother.

Kayo had walked through the comms room sometime earlier and the expression on her face made it plain that Virgil was speaking to Gordon and Sam. A long due discussion.

His brother, the whale whisperer. The whole concept was ridiculous, but apparently a thing.

“What the hell?!”

Scott jumped and Mel rolled over and off the lounger she was lying on. Scott hurried over to help her up. “Alan!”

But the young astronaut ignored him, shooting up from where he was sitting on one of the couches and dashed to end of the balcony where Scott had been standing a moment before. His game console hung from one hand. “John, you are dead!”

“What?” John’s voice wafted up from the pool deck below. “What did I do?!”

“You strip mined my sun!”

“What? No, I didn’t. How do you strip mine a sun?”

“What’s going on?” Mel frowned up at him. She was adorably mussed and dopey looking. He couldn’t help but kiss her hair.

“Hey, Dimples. Focus.” She smiled up at him.

“Oh, okay.” So, he focussed on kissing her thoroughly.

Her hand fluttered against his shoulder a moment before he gained her full attention and…hmmm.

Another squawk of anger from his youngest brother. “A black hole?! You ignited a black hole! You asshole!”

“Alan!” Grandma’s voice stabbed in from below somewhere and snapped Scott out of his pre-occupation.

Mel grinned up at him as he pulled away in automated embarrassment.

“It’s not fair, Grandma, he cheated!”

“That does not excuse your language, young man. We have guests!”

“I did not cheat.”

Really, did they have to yell across levels?

“It’s a black hole, John! You sucked in my entire solar system. If you don’t stop it, you’re going to take out the whole damn galaxy!”

“Alan!” This time it was Scott admonishing him.

“It’s not fair!”

John’s voice was puzzled. “I didn’t do that.” A scuffle of shoes on concrete and the scrape of a lounger. “Hell, I didn’t do any of that. Alan, did you set off a supernova in sector seventeen?”

“Seventeen? I haven’t even been to seventeen.” Alan glared at his game console. “You’re in seventeen already?!”

“I was. A supernova obliterated my base.”

“Well, I didn’t do it.”

Scott bit back an emerging grin. Oh, shit.

“This is impossible.” It was distracted and a sure sign John was poking into code.

He let the grin out and gave it a countdown from five.

“Virgil!”

-o-o-o-

The discussion about whales came to an abrupt and yelling-infused end as Alan jumped on comms and gave his engineer brother a piece of his mind.

John was less exuberant and ever so curious as to how Virgil had managed to not only enter the game without either John or Alan noticing, but then catch up, overtake and obliterate, all within the rules.

Virgil was glad it wasn’t initially a visual signal and only Gordon and Sam got to see his smirk when he answered that it was ‘for him to know and his space brothers to find out’.

John would, no doubt, take that as a challenge.

Alan would probably just take a note out of Gordon’s book and stick jello in his bed sheets in revenge.

The arched eyebrow on Gordon’s face was amusing.

But most of all, at John and Alan’s expense, Virgil felt the pall lifting. It was a pall he hadn’t even been aware was there. Sure, he was tired and the whale song was frustrating, but it had been a good day.

It was the heavy conversation, the focus on the issue and the confusion in his head.

It was Christmas, for crying out loud.

Theoretically, he had just kicked both his space brothers’ butt at the game they were all so cocky over. Well, technically he had simply asked Eos to act in his stead. He had taken one look at the game on his tablet that afternoon on Raoul, worked out a basic strategy, then asked Eos to sneak in and execute it for him.

He hadn’t asked her to hide it from anyone. Just to not mention it unless someone asked.

Eos really did love a good game after all.

And it wasn’t cheating if he was just smart enough to appoint a proxy who could do the job for him.

He’d even asked Eos to backup the game as it was before she entered so the entire scenario could be saved for his brothers to tackle again once he and Eos had taught them a lesson.

Virgil was quite chuffed when it took John a whole fifteen minutes to decipher exactly what had happened.

“Virgil!”

His red-haired brother was glaring at him across the comms room, fit to blow a circuit. “You coerced Eos?!”

A shrug. “No? She was bored. Gave her something to do, that’s all.” He relaxed back against the lounge. Kay found an excuse to join him and he was ever so appreciative when her hand crept into his.

“Eos!”

“I don’t know what the problem is, John. It was fun.” She snorted. Apparently, their AI could snort. “It is what you programmed me to do, after all. Virgil asked and I agreed.”

John opened his mouth, but nothing further came out for a full five seconds. Then, determinedly at the ceiling. “We will be discussing this.”

“We will? I’m looking forward to it. You should see how easy it is to strip mine a sun. The amount of energy I gained was extremely efficient and it allowed me to advance at a pace neither of you seem to have achieved. I have also developed some real-world models that you might be interested in. Application would have to be postponed until interstellar transport has been achieved. Though I have some thoughts on that as well. I would be very interested in what you think of these equations.” A bunch of numbers and symbols appeared in the centre of the comms room. “I’m not sure the energy expenditure variable is viable, however we could leverage this with some assistance from our own sun.” And she kept throwing out ideas that widened John’s eyes enough to dry them out and send them bloodshot.

Eos stopped eventually, possibly sensing an imminent explosion from her father. John was glaring daggers at Virgil.

Virgil shrugged. “She enjoyed it.”

John’s expression was somewhat comical and it was enough to set off Alan, who burst into laughter. Gordon was grinning like a loon as was Scott and Virgil found himself joining them.

John glared at all of them before settling into one of the lounges, tablet still in hand with more amused disgruntlement than anger on his face.

Maybe Virgil had to worry about jello from John’s direction rather than Alan’s?

-o-o-o-

The evening meal was a relaxed one.

Scott dragged out the barbecue and a variety of meat was charred on its hotplate. Virgil stood up to cook, as that was usually his task, but Sam shoo-ed him away and after taking one look at what Scott was attempting to do with the food, kicked him off the Tracy grill as well.

They were all the better for it.

Salads, desserts and even a bowl of marshmallows found their way out onto the patio.

Good food and good company, it was a lovely night as the sun headed towards the horizon on the other side of the Island.

Virgil sat on the edge of conversation, willing to just watch his beloved family. His brothers who had done so much just to get him home. God, he loved them.

Scott sat with his arm around Mel more relaxed than he had seen him in months. Gordon had tinsel in his hair and was chasing Sherbet around the pool, apparently trying to decorate him, too. Alan had cornered Elspeth again and was chatting away a mile a minute. Regardless, she appeared fully invested in what he was saying.

John was glaring at his tablet, no doubt attempting to out thwart Eos. Now that would be the match of the millennium. Genius father versus AI daughter. Virgil had the urge to step back just in case something exploded.

And sitting beside him was Kay, who wasn’t interested in Wayne Rigby. Kay, who smiled at him with her beautiful green eyes.

Again, the song for that colour danced in his mind.

He squeezed her hand, rolled himself off his lounger and stumbled to his feet.

Oh, so elegant, Virgil. An internal sigh as every eye in the room targeted him.

“I’m fine.”

Scott grabbed a marshmallow and threw it at him.

It left a puff of icing sugar in the middle of his chest.

Gordon snorted and Alan giggled.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “The bathroom, guys, yeesh.” He turned and trundled himself back towards the house.

“Have fun!”

He didn’t even bother to turn around. “Hilarious, Gordon.”

“You’re welcome.”

He didn’t bother to even acknowledge that.

He didn’t return to the party immediately. The ocean caught his eye and he had the irresistible need to climb down to the shore.

His brothers didn’t comment as he walked straight past them and down towards the huts, but he felt their eyes.

Really, he couldn’t blame them. He had scared them and then done a number with the whales. He owed them so much.

Something lodged in his throat and he had to swallow emotion.

His feet hit volcanic sand and sunk, grains slipping between his toes. The lagoon lapped gently at the edge of the beach. It was such a contrast to the roaring ocean of Oneraki on Raoul. There were no hot springs here, the Tracy Island volcano was long dead, thankfully. This beach was his beach. Volcanic sand marbled with coral sand and he traced the pattern with his toe.

There was a sound for sand and it was both beautiful and terrifying.

The colours were a kaleidoscope of meaning.

He let a breath out and raised his eyes towards the darkening horizon.

“Virgil?” Are you okay?

He closed his eyes.

Scott.

Another breath and he turned to face his brother. “No. I’m not. But I will be. I promise.” A half smile. “In the meantime, I’m thankful, grateful and ever so lucky. My family is more than I could ever ask for.”

That stopped his brother in his tracks and Virgil found himself smiling.

“Uh, John wanted me to give you this.” Scott held up a tablet.

John’s tablet.

John never let that out of his sight.

Scott approached and touched the device. A world globe appeared above it. Another twitch of fingers and it zoomed into the map far to the south of Tracy Island where a dot blinked. “John wanted you to know that he and Eos are tracking the mother and calf.” A swipe and Scott zoomed in even further, the tablet obviously connected to Five.

Sunset lit waves were interrupted by a spout of water and he watched as ever so far away, Mamma Whale took a breath followed by her daughter before dipping below the waves.

Virgil sucked in a breath and looked up at his brother.

Scott’s smile was soft but said everything.

God, he was ever so lucky.

Virgil turned away towards the lagoon and its gentle waters and blinked.

“Thank you.”

Scott didn’t answer, but a hand did land on his shoulder and Virgil took the opportunity to just exist beside his brother, on his beach with his family…

Here on Tracy Island.

-o-o-o-

Epilogue: The Skipper

It was late at night on Christmas Day and most of the family and their guests had retired to bed. Scott was intending on doing the same when he noticed light under the infirmary door.

Concerned that Virgil might be hiding something, he nudged the door open.

He was surprised to find Grandma staring at a hologram, her back to him.

“Grandma?”

She jumped. “Oh, Scott. Give me a heart attack why don’t you?”

The hologram disappeared.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned at her. His grandmother had been acting odd all day. Not obviously, but he knew his grandmother, something was worrying her.

To find her here, of all places, past midnight on Christmas Day…

“It’s nothing, dear. Just looking for some paracetamol for a bit of a headache.”

He stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him. “Grandma, you are as bad at it as Virgil is.”

“At what?”

“Lying.”

“Scott Tracy, how dare you.”

He narrowed his frown. “Grandma…”

She glared at him for several seconds before his glare won out. Her shoulders dropped. “You are far too much like your father for your own good, Scott.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” When she still didn’t answer his initial question, he repeated it. “What is wrong, Grandma?”

She sighed. “It’s probably nothing.”

Why was she so reluctant? “Grandma…”

Another defiant glare, but she poked at the holographic controls. “This is between you and me or I’ll cook for you exclusively for the next three years, you hear me?”

“Yes, Grandma.” But his eyes were already tracking across the hologram. A mass of wriggly lines hovered in front of him. It reminded him of a seismograph readout or one of Alan’s games stats graphs he liked to show off. It meant about just as much to him as the latter.

It had Virgil ‘s name written above it.

He didn’t have to ask.

“I did a brainwave scan when I assessed Virgil yesterday. This was the result.” She pointed at the mess of lines. “I compared it to his last scan.” She poked the hologram again and another bunch of wiggly lines appeared beside the first. It meant little to him, but undoubtedly something to his medical grandmother.

“And?”

She eyed him a moment before prodding several of the lines to highlight them. “There are differences.”

“Fluctuations?”

“No. Differences. Something has changed.”

“What has changed?”

She didn’t answer immediately and he received the impression that she didn’t want to commit to answering. “Grandma, if this is something to be concerned about, I need to know. Virgil needs to know.”

She turned to look at him. “It may be nothing.”

“But it is bothering you.”

She sighed. “There are changes in both his delta and beta wave production.”

“What does that mean?”

“Not much.”

“Grandma!”

“Scott, changes can be perfectly normal.”

“Then why is this bothering you?”

“Because John sent me Eos’ research.” She swiped at the hologram again and Eos’ graph detailing the similarities between Virgil’s delta wave production and that of the binaural beat produced by the whale song. “The delta waves matched, which leads me to believe where it started, but look at the beta wave production before the whales and after.” She highlighted the data and Scott stared at it.

The changes were obvious.

“What does it mean?”

“I’m not a neural specialist, Scott.”

“Then why aren’t we sending him to one?”

“It may be nothing.”

“It is obviously something!”

“Scott. There is no sign of impairment.”

“Except he’s talking to whales!”

She held up her hands. “Calm down. It is minor.”

“It doesn’t look minor.”

“And this is exactly why I haven’t mentioned it. I need to do some further investigation before I alarm anyone.”

Too late.

She might as well have heard as she turned to look up at him. “Scott, trust me. I will investigate. I have contacts. I will be discreet.”

He stared at her. “Grandma…”

Her glare was firm. “Trust me.”

Why was everyone asking him to do that lately? It was so damn hard to give the reins to others.

Her hand landed on his arm. “I love him as much as you do.”

Damnit.

He deflated just a little. “I know.”

“I will ask some questions. The answers will let us know if we need to investigate further.”

Her hand squeezed his arm and her eyes held his that moment longer.

He had no choice. “Yes, Grandma.”

“I will keep you advised.”

“Thank you.” He held her eyes a moment longer and he saw the worry in their depths.

“Go to bed, Scott.” He felt her urge for him not to worry, but her lack of saying proved she knew she would be wasting her breath.

“Yes, Grandma.”

She squeezed his arm again before pulling him into a gentle hug. “It will be okay, honey.”

He bit his lip and held her. He closed his eyes for just a moment.

“Yes, Grandma.”

She let him go and gave him a nudge towards the door.

His fingers drifted over her arm. A glance at the blasted hologram and he turned and left.

Mel was smiling at him when he arrived in his room and for a few moments he lost himself in her embrace.

“What’s wrong?” She frowned up at him.

He smiled. “Nothing.”

Her fingers ran tracks through his hair and she challenged him with her eyes. “Dimples?”

He smiled again and took her lips with his own.

He didn’t want to talk.

At all.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Alan Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Grandma Tracy #Sally Tracy #kermadec fic #virgil/kayo #Kayo Kyrano #scott/oc

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