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squishy-mochi-is-bright-pink · 3 years ago

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Ew The Freak’s Sister

summary: Y/N is a transfer student living with Eddie who has joined the cheerleading squad for her college application. This is where she met arguably her least favourite person, Jason Carver. The pair bicker constantly, but to everyone other than them there seems to be tension behind it.

warnings: slight cursing, none others

Word count: 2642

A/N:Written because there is a criminal lack of Jason x reader content and I am here to provide. Might be cross-posted to ao3. This is a part of a larger self-insert fic I'm working on with my friends but can be enjoyed separately. I might end up writing a second chapter if I feel like it, or there's literally any demand at all. also, I put Chrissy with Andy because I didn't want her to be single. In this AU Chrissy and Jason never dated so there isn't any bad blood.

“Sorry Nance, as much as I would literally love to get this homework done early, I've got practise after school” Y/N complained thinking about the two hours of jumping about in the autumn heat they had to look forward to.

“I’ll probably stick around in the library anyway and meet up with you after practice, I might actually be able to focus. It’s impossible to get work done with how chaotic my house is.” Nance explained as the two got closer to their last class of the day, psychology.

“You're a lifesaver Nance. Meet me by the front of the school when you’re done. I think Eddies picking me up so you can grab a lift with us.” This had become a semi-regular routine for the girls where whenever one had an after-school activity, the other would find something to keep them occupied until it was over. Then they would catch a lift to one of their houses (very often the trailer) and hang out for a while. After their plans had been settled the two took their seat and got ready for a long hour of note-taking.

After class Y/N bid goodbye to Nancy and walked down the halls towards the locker room to stash their bags and emotionally prepare for a long practice.

“Hey Y/N,” Someone said the locker next to Y/N’s opened and things began to be placed inside.

“Afternoon Chrissy.” They replied changing into a pair of trainers, “You have any clue what we’re doing today? We’ve run more than enough drills, we’ve gotta be on to choreo soon.” Y/N guessed as best as she could while they finished tying her laces.

“I don’t know what we’re doing. But, I do know we have to share a space with the basketball guys today” Chrissy casually mentioned. Y/N paused for a minute to process the terrible news she had just been told as if it was nothing was wrong. However, according to Y/N, there was a lot wrong with having to share practice space. Practically speaking it seriously limited what could get done at practice. Arguably worse than reducing productivity was the fact that Jason would be spending the entire practice making Y/N regret showing up.

“Chris,” Y/N paused for a second. “Please tell me that you’re joking. I’m begging you, tell me this is a joke.” the desperation in her voice was palpable.

“Nope,” Chrissy said popping the p and turning around to face a distraught, fully ready Y/N, “ I heard it from Andy at lunch. Why?” Before Y/N could rise out of the little pit of despair they had dug themself into long enough to respond Chrissy answered her own question. “Oh, Jason. You two are always fighting, right? I'm sure he’ll be too busy with his practice to even notice you’re there”

He was not, in fact, too busy to notice her. Nor was he too busy to bother them.

In fact, since Jason had heard about the change in practice location from his coach at lunch he had been looking forward to some entertainment. Y/N was oh so easy to piss off on a regular day. During practice when she has to run and jump about for an hour in a skirt even Chrissy complains about being uncomfortably short Y/N’s buttons were going to be easier to push than the keys on a keyboard.

Meanwhile, in the boys' locker room a very similar topic was being explored.

“You guys think we’re even gonna get anything done if we have to share a practice space?” Andy asked the other guys as they got changed.

“I honestly have no clue. I mean cheerleaders cant take up THAT much room. It's not like it's a real sport or anything.” Chance replied. Chance had a bad habit of blurting out the first thing that pops into his head. There was never any malice behind anything he said, he just always blurted out the wrong thing. Sometimes this landed him in sticky situations, sometimes it earned him an eye roll and more often than he would like to admit it landed him in lunch detentions. This time it got him a light smack to the back of his head.

“Chance shut up you airhead. You try jump about non-stop for an hour.” Andy, who had delivered the smack, countered. Everyone else got the sense that Andy was just repeating back a conversation Chrissy had very clearly had before. Generally when Andy came out with something that well reasoned it was copied verbatim from Chrissy.

“I don't know how much we’ll get done, but it should be a pretty entertaining practice,” Patrick added pulling his practice uniform on.

“Huh?” Jason looked to his friend for clarification.

“Oh yeah!” Andy said from Jason's left, making him feel like he was the only one out of the four who didn't get the joke. Even Chance is nodding along. Whether or not he was in on the joke, only he knew. “Jason’s favourite person is gonna be there. She's on the cheer team.” Andy continues. He emphasised favourite person and laughed a little under his breath.

“Oh yeah, I guess she will be.” Jason knew exactly who they were talking about. This line of teasing could only be about one person, Y/N. He and Y/N had been trading back and forth insults almost every day since she arrived in Hawkins. When she first got here they bumped into each other in the halls and while she apologised he laughed a little and the seemingly sweet shy girl in front of him, mainly because he had no clue who she was, before showing her to her first class. This sweet introduction was promptly ruined when Y/N happened to find Jason shouting at Eddie from the other end of the hall calling him a freak.

The seemingly shy girl turned to him and began berating him in the corridor in a thicker accent than he had heard her use all day. She called him every name she could think of and asked him what on earth got into his head that raised his ego high enough to call other freaks. Jason was shocked, embarrassed and a little confused why the newest cheerleader was so insistent on standing up for the freak. He later learned she was his roommate and host-sister. Y/N and Jason hadn't been able to be in the same space for more than thirty minutes without a fight breaking out since.

These little fights had become a serious source of teasing for Jason amongst his teammates. Most often just found the sight of her on her toes, finger in his face while she ranted quite funny, they found it even funnier after he found out that the best way to rile the girl up was to not respond and just look at them smugly. This led to Y/N getting more and more worked up until they inevitably stormed off, cheer-mandated ponytail bouncing with rage.

In short, Jason was looking forward to someone to aggravate for an hour. Jason began to zone the others out as he got ready he heard snippets of the conversation around him. He zoned back in occasionally to comment but he was mostly in his own world, up until he heard some of the sophomore bench warmers turn the conversation towards how they were excited to see the cheerleaders and their skirts at practice. That was when he put an end to the conversation and ordered the boys to meet him on the court in two minutes.

That was a line Jason wouldn't allow to be crossed, not on his team. Obviously, being captain Jason was first on the court and met Chrissy who was organising the girls for warm-ups. Y/N was indeed there with the others tightening her ponytail before the warm-up jog. When she looked up and accidentally made eye contact with Jason their eyes rolled so far into her skull that for a second he worried they might get stuck. Jason rolled his eyes at her just before she jogged off. Sometimes, scratch that, most of the time, he found her to be obnoxious, annoying and a bit of a bitch. He had to admit she looked prettier than he wanted to admit in her uniform.

Jason spent more of that practice than he wanted to admit distracted. However, this may just be the best he has performed at practice all year. His teammates had noticed the improvement in his playing and a few theories were spun. Some of the younger ones believed that Jason had a crush on one of the cheerleaders and was showing off to get her attention, guesses on who it was varied pretty heavily. One extremely creative freshman guessed it was Chrissy and he was trying to impress her into leaving Andy, he was of course wrong. Jason’s friends assumed it was something to do with his spiked blood pressure from being around Y/N. Patrick had a feeling that it wasn’t just annoyance pushing him to play this way. Maybe somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he was actually showing off. It had gotten to the point where Patrick genuinely had no clue if those two still hated each other or just had two years of tension that needs to be worked through. He had a sneaking suspicion that neither of them was ready for that realisation.

Y/N’s practice was relatively normal. The biggest point of difference was that anytime she made eye contact they would flip him off as subtly as possible to avoid getting in trouble with her coaches. This fueled Jason’s fire, causing him to play better. Him playing better meant him looking over to her more every time he scored to silently brag. Triggering them flipping him off, and continuing the cycle for the rest of the practice.

Jason’s effort made her want to try harder so as to not be outdone by him of all people. This led to both of them lying on the floor in a puddle of exhaustion by the end of practice, having worked far harder than a random Tuesday required. Neither team was happy about the sudden burst of energy as they all had to try and keep up with it. Most of cheer was spent on drills and the boys spent most of the day on practice matches.

By the time Chrissy managed to drag Y/N back into the locker room to get changed she was panting like a dog and Chrissy had questions.

“So why were you trying so hard today?” Chrissy was very clearly trying to sound casual.

“No reason in particular. Guess I just had a lot of energy.” They replied under their breath with her face deep in their locker, trying to dismiss this line of questioning. As lovely as Chrissy is there is no way she is going to take “I spent the whole practice competing with a boy for no apparent reason other than our tension-filled year-long rivalry” as a valid explanation that needs no further probing.

“Are you sure? Because if you were maybe trying to get the attention of one of the basketball guys, I could help. I mean I’m dating Andy and he's friends with all the seniors, so-” she paused to fix her shirt “you know I could probably set you up.” Exactly what Y/N expected.

“Nope Chris. I swear I’m good.” they replied as they gathered stuff for a quick shower, “I’m not particularly into eejits or cocky assholes.” The last bit wasn’t fully true but Chrissy wasn't close enough to know that. In fact, Y/N’s attraction to cocky assholes was not only well known amongst her friends, but often a source of friendly mockery.

Nancy had finished up in the library about ten minutes before it closed and took the spare time to grab a can of New Coke for herself and a bottle of water for her friend, who had an awful habit of not bringing any water to long practices. Before walking slowly down to meet her outside the locker room.

As Nancy arrived at the locker room practice had just ended, meaning she had at least ten minutes probably fifteen or twenty to wait for Y/N to get dressed so Nancy sat down on the floor and pulled out her well-worn copy of Carrie by Stephen King. If she was going to have to wait, she might as well be as comfy as possible while doing it.

After about ten minutes the boys started to slowly trickle out of the locker room. Lucas was one of the first and stop to chat with Nancy for a bit. Just exchanging pleasantries. Nancy hadn’t seen him much since summer ended and hadn’t found the time to congratulate him for making the basketball team last month.

By the time she was nearly done with chapter seven of her book, she was rudely interrupted by a loud scoff. An annoying scoff that could only come from one cocky blonde basketball captain.

“If it isn’t Wheeler number 2,” he said and when she looked up she noticed his blonde hair was still damp from his shower and falling messily into his face. He looked more tired than anyone else did coming out of the locker room and even Lucas had looked a little worse for wear.

“If it isn’t a waste of sperm.” Nancy retorted looking back down at her book. “You look more disgusting than usual than normal Carver, was it a long day of tossing balls into laundry baskets then?” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. If Jason had an offended look on his smug face she didn't care enough to look up and appreciate it.

“What are you even doing here Wheeler? Last time I checked this isn’t the editing room.” For some reason, Jason seemed to believe that his spot on the basketball team made him more important than the work she puts into the school paper. Social hierarchy bullshit and all that.

“Piss off Jason. I can sit where I want when I want.” her eyes rolled behind the book.

“You know, if you really wanted to check out the guys’ that badly you could just talk to us. It would be an improvement from whatever you have going on with the pervert-”

“Fuck right off asshole. She’s here to get me not stroke your mates' fragile ego” came Y/N’s voice from the door to the girls changing room. They turned to their friend “sorry I took so long, you good Nance?” clearly she had been in the shower because her brown her was tied back with damp strands framing their face.

“Yeah all good, just an annoying noise in here,” she said packing up her bag and ignoring the pissy toddler standing next to her. “Eddie still picking us up?”

“He better be or I’m calling Steve, no way I’m walking home after that practice.”

“Harrington? Please don’t tell me you guys have dragged him down to your cult nonsense” Jason seemed genuinely horrified that his old role model Steve “the king” Harrington had fallen to the level of Eddie Munson and his freak crew.

“What about it? Jealous you don't get to kiss his ass anymore.” Nancy teased having witnessed the puppy dog-like expression that Jason would often follow Steve about with during his earlier years at Hawkins High. Unfortunately, Y/N hadn’t moved to Hawkins at the time and missed that phase, meaning less material for mockery.

“You two suck.” Jason said as if it was the best comeback of the year.

“And you swallow” Y/N responded as the two walked out to the car park.

#jason carver #jason carver x reader #jason carver fluff #stranger things x reader #stranger things

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krabjoons · 4 years ago

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omg professor... what are you doing?!?!?! [pjm]

⮕ summary: park jimin is the hottest, most popular guy at school. the only catch? he also just so happens to be your teacher.

⮕ pairing: park jimin x reader, mentions of jaebum x reader

⮕ genre: smut, university!au, pwp

⮕ word count: 12.8k

⮕ rating: 18+, nsfw

⮕ warnings: hard dom!jimin x bratty-ish sub!y/n, professor!jimin x university student! y/n (he’s 27-28 ish and she’s 21-22), fuckboy!jaebum, pussy eating, fingering, thigh riding, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk (carries the whole fic tbh), degradation, edging, dumbification, impact play (pussy + ass spanking), manhandling, humiliation, exhibitionism, creampie, teasing, praise, orgasm denial, begging, overstimulation, crying, kissing/making out, jimin’s a meanie but y/n likes it (aka i go ham on the degradation and edging you have been warned), aftercare (like 500 words of it :P)

⮕ a/n: this took too long to come out and has literally been sitting in my drafts since august but here it is! writing this was definitely a rollercoaster because this was my first smut and honestly i felt like it was really bad at times but other times i was like wtf this is so hot,, ANYWAYS, i’m glad that i’m posting it and getting over that fear of imperfection. i hope that you guys enjoy this piece :). i would also like to add that please don’t hook up with your teachers… if you do, that’s on you i take no responsibility for that whatsoever lol. excuse the title i literally have no idea what to change it to but i like it the way it is tbh LMFAOOO OK I’LL STOP RAMBLING NOW BYEEE ILY ALL

University has never been when you’ve expected. When you first graduated high school and came here, you expected your late teenage years to be filled with just as much studying as high school combined with only a few parties here and there. You didn’t expect to make as many friends as you did and certainly did not expect to be known as the girl with the high grades and even higher alcohol tolerance. No longer are you the shy Y/N L/N that walked through the entrance gates on the first day of school; you’ve changed a lot.

It was a surprise to you. With academics taking precedence much of your life, the freedom university provided you with was welcomed - perhaps a little too much. You quickly learned that polar bear shots were great to keep you in a good mood at parties and that eating mangoes before smoking gave you a better high. And, you also learned about sex.

Admittedly, the first time you had a hookup, it was awkward and messy (at least for you… it was a guy, what else were you expecting?) but with more practice, you were able to get the hang of it. You’ve found your tastes and now willingly talk about who catches your eye to your best friends, something you never thought you’d do last year.

Speaking of who catches your eye, as of now it’s Park Jimin. A really hot guy, according to your friends, and according to you, an even better voice. When you first walked into your Applications of Economics class, you nearly spit out your Starbucks drink after you saw the astonishingly handsome man with silky black hair in a dress shirt and tie. Surprisingly formal for a university student, you thought, but you weren’t one to talk, considering your current outfit of business casual.

Only, he wasn’t a student. He was your teacher. You should’ve put the pieces together earlier but you didn’t. Let's just say a Coconut Lime Refresher is good for hangovers, and you needed one desperately (basically, you were drunk as hell the night before and were still in the process of recovering). It certainly didn’t take long before all of campus was talking about the new economics professor who was hotter than hell. Girls (and some guys) immediately tried transferring into his class, one of them being your best friend Lisa, just to get a glimpse of how attractive he was. You remember a couple of girls offering you literal cash to transfer out, but you didn’t.

A good call, thinking about it now. You’ve gotten closer with Mr. Park, although it’s nothing too special yet, the two of you are on good terms and have even hugged before (you still get giddy thinking about it). Y/N from 2 years ago would be screaming her head off at how bold you’ve gotten, but now, you can’t bring yourself to care. Park Jimin is a hot guy, and you’re pretty hot too (if you must admit), so it would only be logical if the two of you could hook up. Unsurprisingly, you’ve lost your shame, nothing but thoughts of your teacher filling your mind in your spare time.

So here you are, another day of university, as monotonous as ever. The only highlight of your day will be the morning, where you have a class with Mr. Park. You've started changing your style a bit recently, opting for more, let’s just leave it at provocative outfits. Walking into the room, you take your usual seat in the front, closest to Mr. Park’s desk.

The class progresses like it normally does, starting with a review of the work from the last class and a discussion about the new material. "I’m going to give you guys this last half hour of class to review the material individually if you want or you can leave early, I don’t mind. I know it's a Friday so there’s gonna be some parties around campus, if you want to prepare yourselves for that then go ahead." Your professor glances around the room, smirking at you when mentioning the parties. You flush and look away, biting your lower lip.

You make the decision to stay in the classroom while the majority of the other students file out of the room. "I'll be available for any questions," Jimin calls out, returning to his desk across from you.

Sticking to your reputation, you get a head start on the assignment and easily work through the homework. Surprisingly, you forget about Jimin for the time being, focused on finishing your assignment so that you have as little work as possible to do after classes. You don’t notice your teacher looking at you, admiring the way you put so much effort into the things you’re passionate about. Hearing a student call his name, he gets up to help him.

Surprisingly, Mr. Park has assigned a disturbingly low amount of homework, probably because of the upcoming weekend and maybe a pop quiz later next week (ugh). You’ve finished your work in a mere twenty minutes and are surprised to find that Jimin is not at his desk when you look up from your laptop. You turn around, looking for him, and see that he’s helping another student. Whipping out your phone, you text your best friend Lisa (who just so conveniently, also thirsts over Jimin the same way you do).

to lisa: hey i finished classwork for mr park and have like 10 minutes of free time now lol

Instantly, she responds as if she wasn’t in class. Then again, she has never been one to pay too much attention to her professors.

from lisa: ayo talk to him

from lisa: also save me from bio i literally cannot

Smiling slightly, you respond to her.

to lisa: i WOULD but he’s helping other students

from lisa: then be like "m- mister park, i- need help please" and use puppy eyes

to lisa: LMFAOO PLEASE he’d be like whats wrong with you since when did you struggle in this class

to lisa: but i mean, anything to hear him talk i guess

from lisa: god i'm so jealous you have him early so you can hear his morning voice it must be hot asf

to lisa: it is omg

from lisa: god what if he moans like that it'd be such a turn on

to lisa: dUDE STOP NO the way this is literally true like if he has a good sip of coffee or a pastry he likes hes gonna go all "mmmm I wish you could try this" pls its so fking hot

to lisa: like SIR I WANNA TRY YOU or you to try me no complaints

from lisa: wtf he finishes his breakfast before my class so i can't even hear it tf I hate it here

to lisa: u have him right after my block bro at leAST you have him

to lisa: what ab the people who don't even have him

from lisa: idk what i'd do honestly. imagine not having a literal sex god teaching you every day i pity those who dont

You’re about to type out a response when a smooth voice sounds out from behind you, "alright guys, you’re good to go. Have a good weekend!" You jump in your seat, not realizing that your teacher was helping the student right behind you for the past five minutes.

As the rest of the class begins to pack up, you pray that he hasn’t seen you talking about your sexual fantasies less than five feet away from him. Mr. Park doesn’t say anything, so you must be in the clear, right? You’re hoping and praying that he didn’t find out, but your heart rate is already rising and you’re getting a sick feeling in your stomach. Your gut must be trying to tell you something.

Well, your gut’s telling you that the universe must not be on your side because as soon as you stand up, he says, "Ms. L/N, can you stay a bit after class? I have a few things I want to discuss with you." Cheeks flushing hot, you squeak out a "yes, sir."

When everyone has left and it’s just the two of you left in the room, Jimin pulls up a seat next to his desk. "Sit," he commands, leaning on his desk. You scramble to your feet and walk over, mind buzzing with thoughts. Oh god, what if he tells the administration department? Then you’d definitely be punished and maybe even kicked out of the school. Maybe you could make up a story? Oh, it’s ANOTHER Park Jimin, haha. Definitely NOT my teacher. Even if you did, they could go the rest of the texts between you and Lisa and you’d be screwed. And not to be petty or anything, but being kicked out would mean that you wouldn’t be able to be in Jimin’s class anymore and wouldn’t be able to see him. Oh, and the bigger problem would be that you’d also be unable to get your degree.

You start internally panicking, heart rate picking up even when your teacher rolls up his sleeves and leans down in front of you. Stop thinking about dirty things FOR ONCE, Y/N, half of you screams, while the other half of you has already started fantasizing about things which shouldn’t be thought about, especially with one of the people in the fantasies less than a couple of feet in front of you. With his hands on his thighs, the ones you’ve thought about riding far too often, he smirks.

"So, I heard you wanna try me?"

You gulp, absolutely mortified that Jimin caught you. Yes, he was attractive, and you would do practically anything to fuck him, but you didn’t expect to be humiliated into admitting it. "Um, no sir! I mean, maybe, but not in the way you think!" you ramble. Shut up, Y/N, part of you screams. You’re only digging yourself into a deeper hole.

"Yeah, sure. Because I definitely didn’t see what you were talking about with your friend. Be honest, Y/N," he says, smirking down at you. "You think about me, don't you? I'm not new to this. I see the way girls like you look at me. I know the way they talk about me when they think I can't hear. I know the way you think. Who would've thought? Little Miss L/N, all prim and proper on the outside, would be so filthy deep down?"

"Sir, I- uh. I-" you stutter out, cheeks burning furiously hot.

"You what? You're not going to try to prove your innocence now, are you? Not when you've gotten this far, hm? Getting to do what you’ve wanted after all this time?" he asks, standing up from his desk, and walking over to you, kneeling in front of you so that you were forced to hold eye contact.

"You know, nobody else has been as daring as you, my dear," he hums softly. "Sending promiscuous texts about their teacher in the very class they're in. Rubbing their thighs together every time their teacher catches their eye." You shift in your seat, Jimin's words sparking the slightest of fires in your core. "Gazing ever so obviously at said teacher’s dick, too. Y/N, you amaze me. So, so brilliant. yet so, so naughty. You thought that nobody else would catch onto you? Unfortunately, you thought wrong."

"I'm s- sorry sir," you whisper out.

"You're just sorry that you got caught, Y/N. You'll keep doing this even after today," Jimin chuckles lowly. "Possibly even more after today," he adds on, taking note of how his words have affected you. Your pupils are dilated and your cheeks are starting to get flushed. "Such a dirty girl. I'm here trying to scold you, and here you are, getting turned on by my words. Is this why you ask so many questions, doll? To hear my voice?"

You bite your lip in a mixture of embarrassment and nervousness, nodding imperceptibly. The logical, studious side of you is thinking, oh my god, is this really happening? Am I going to fuck my teacher? I really shouldn’t be doing this. The relaxed, easygoing side of you (pretty much your horny side) is thinking, finally, it’s happening. I’m going to FINALLY be fucking Park Jimin.

"What else have you imagined about my voice, hm? How I'd whisper into your ear while pounding into you? Hear me moan as your tight cunt clenches around my dick? Tell you how good you're making me feel? Reminding you how much of a slut you are to fuck your teacher in the middle of his classroom, where anyone could walk in?" he continues, seeing you shift in your seat more. "Would you like that?" he asks.

"Y- yes Mr. Park. I- I would," you whisper. You have to consciously clench your thighs together to keep them from spreading at his words.

"Hm, I don't believe you. Try again another time, darling," he sighs, leaning back on his knees, getting ready to stand up. You don't want this, whatever it is, to be over that quickly so you make up your mind. Swallowing your pride and succumbing to the dull throb in your panties, you pout.

"But professor, I really do want you. I want you to make me feel good and I wanna make you feel good. Please," you whine out. "I wanna be thinking about you all the time because you fucked me so well in class. And when my friends talk about wanting to get in your pants, I want to be the only one who already has. Please, Mr. Park. I need you." you breathe out. At this point, the pressure in your core is rising steadily, and only intensifies when you see the way your teacher's eyes are glazed over in lust and eyebrows are furrowed. Your eyes travel down the expanse of his face to his lips, plump and pink. Oh, the number of times you've wished to kiss them, imagined them suckling on your clit. And now that Jimin knows, perhaps it's finally coming true.

"You'd like that, hm? God, you're so dirty," Jimin mutters, inching closer to you, cautiously placing a hand on your knee. Your legs instantly part to make room for him in between and he inches forward. "Does dirty talk really turn you on that much, Y/N? I can smell you through your panties," he remarks.

"Mr. Park, please do something," you whimper. And with that, Jimin pulls you over to his desk and sits you on the edge. You spread your legs and he stands in between them. He leans his head closer to you until he's next to your ear.

"Want me to get you off with my words? You seem to like that already and I haven't even tried, doll. Or perhaps," he pauses, bunching up your skirt so that it pools at your waist. "You want me to touch you?"

You nod eagerly, chest heaving in anticipation. "I want both Mr. Park. I want you," you purr salaciously. And with that, your teacher lets out a low growl and presses his lips onto yours harshly. It’s already bruising, but you just can’t get enough of the way he tastes of caramel and coffee and how ridiculously soft his lips are, so you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in even closer. He seems a little put off by how eager you are, but once he hears you sigh in enjoyment, he melts into your eager grasp.

His hands start sliding down your waist so that they are resting on your upper thighs, and he rubs comforting circles into them, trailing them closer and closer to your panties. He breaks off from the kiss to look down and smirks back at you before joining his lips to yours with even more fervor and you praise yourself for deciding to wear your lace thong today. You feel his tongue slide against your lips, asking for permission to enter and your mouth immediately complies.

The feeling of his hot breath on your lips and thumbs rubbing against the juncture of your thighs has you feeling needy for more. Jimin swirls the tip of his tongue against yours, the filthy action turning you on even more. You moan into his mouth and thread your fingers through his hair, causing him to let out a low groan.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the two of you break apart. Chest heaving up and down, you take note of your teacher's face. His lips are redder and plumper than ever before. His cheeks have the faintest blush on them. His eyes, the ones that crinkle into a happy smile whenever you answer a question correctly in class, are now clouded over with deep lust.

"Get onto all fours. On the desk," Jimin commands, and you immediately comply. Now your ass is facing Jimin and you're very nearly completely exposed to him, save the thong you're wearing.

"God, you're such a slut," Jimin moans out at the sight. "Do you get dressed up like this just so you can get fucked in class? Such a short fucking skirt that I can see whatever you're wearing underneath whenever you bend over, hm? You wanted me to give in to you, doll?" When you nod weakly, he chuckles, "I don't think so."

Arching your back so your ass sticks out even more, you whine, "professor, please fuck me. I'm so fucking horny, please." Jimin cups your pussy from outside your panties and leans over you, "I don't think so, kitten. I'm the one calling the shots here." Your pussy flutters in response and Jimin slaps it lightly, chuckling. The brief stimulation has your cunt clenching around nothing.

He spreads your knees slightly and begins trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thighs to the arch of your back. Feeling his breath so close to your core has you getting wetter by the minute in anticipation. He finally hovers over your back, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, muttering, "I'm going to wreck you, Y/N", and you feel yourself clench in excitement.

"Then do it," you whisper, and Jimin hooks his fingers around the waistband of your thong and pulls it down, so slow that it's almost painful, exposing your heat to the cool air of the classroom and causing you to shiver in response.

You don't see it, but his eyes widen seeing the strings of your slick connecting your pussy to your panties. He takes a look at your core and his mouth starts watering. You're soaking and clenching around nothing, thighs shaking ever so slightly in anticipation.

He flattens his tongue and licks a flat stripe up your pussy, from your clit to your entrance. He pauses to suck some of your juices from it, but your cunt just keeps leaking them out. He runs his tongues through your folds over and over again until you let out a wanton moan.

Encouraged by your reaction, he hooks his arms around the side of your hips, nuzzling closer into your pussy. He laps at your cunt and purposely avoids your clit, only heightening the pressure in your core.

"Mr. Park," you whine out, pushing your hips back. "Please. More," you pant out. Suddenly, Jimin spanks your right ass cheek, rubbing his hand over the fleshy globe soothingly afterward. You let out a little yelp and turn around to catch his eyes.

"More what?" he spits out, smiling at you evilly. "My little slut's gotta tell me what she wants. How else would I give it to her?" your mind is foggy, pleasure causing you to lose track of everything other than the man behind you. "W- want you," you garble out, "t- to play with my clit too."

"What's the magic word, doll?" Jimin teases, breath fanning over your slit, causing your walls to clench erratically. "Please, Mr. Park," you whine, pushing your cunt closer to his face. He smirks at you, avoiding your advances.

"Good girl," he praises before finally positioning himself just barely in front of your clit. You feel him blow cool air onto your slit, but the temperature of it is magnified even more due to how wet you are. You whine out, expressing your displeasure, and Jimin finally indulges you by taking your throbbing button between his plush lips.

"F- fuck, sir, yes! Right there, please," you squeal, back arching even more. Jimin hums, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your entrance squeezing out more and more of your arousal down to where Jimin's lips are sucking. He momentarily pauses to flatten his tongue out, letting your juices drip onto them and slurping them up eagerly. The obscene noises behind you combined with the low thrum of student life just outside the classroom door mesh together to have you realize where exactly the two of you are doing this.

You glance at the clock, and your eyes widen. "Prof- oh my god, Pr- Professor Park," you moan out, trying to keep your focus. Jimin again hums, making you jolt in pleasure. "I- uh, there’s only ten minutes until the next block of classes start. I need t- to leave in around five." When Jimin releases from you with a pop, you can feel your slick running down your thighs and some dripping onto his desk. You feel a rush of excitement at the thought of everyone walking in during class to see the mess Jimin made of you on his desk and again squeeze around nothing.

"Well then," Jimin hums lazily, "guess you better cum within five minutes if you want to cum at all." He dives back into your heat, tongue skillfully running through your folds. He cycles between kitten licking and delivering harsh sucks to your clit and dipping his tongue into your entrance. You grind against his face in desperation to reach your release, and just when you finally feel it hurtling towards you at an alarming rate, suddenly, Jimin gets up.

He leans over you, trailing a hand up your slick-ridden thigh to cup your bare heat and mutters lowly in your ear, "time’s up." Your heart drops in frustration, and you whine out. Grinding into his palm, you beg for him to touch you once again, knowing nothing but how good he was making you feel just seconds ago. "Mr. P- Park, please. Make me cum," you cry out.

Jimin spanks your pussy, a wet echo sounding through the room. You jolt forward and your cunt leaks out even more of your arousal in response to the combination of pain and pleasure. "I said no," he hisses, "you couldn't cum in time, you don't deserve to cum."

"God, look at you, you're a mess. Bent over and spread out so desperately for me. You taste so sweet, doll. So responsive, too," Jimin murmurs, lazily rubbing your slit. He's, once again, avoiding your clit and driving you insane. Your sensitive nub is now swollen and throbbing with need, slick with your arousal.

"Has anyone touched you as well as I do, Y/N?" he asks. When you shake your head, he slaps your cunt again, another wet sound echoing through the room. "Words, baby girl," he goads, fingers dancing through your folds.

"N- no, sir. they can’t make me feel half as good as you did. I’ve al- I’ve always been thinking about having you touch m- my cunt and making me cum really hard. and I- shit I’m so needy sir, I wanna cum," you garble out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You feel Jimin’s hand leave your pussy, exposing your soaked heat to the cool air of the room. Slowly, he pulls your thong up your thighs and the light touches make you clench in desperation and whine out.

He marvels at the sight of you so fucked out in front of him. The way his top student was falling apart at the slightest touches he gave you. And the words you said. God, to have you say such filthy things in comparison to your gentle demeanor, all because of him, it really did something to him.

Jimin finishes clothing you and presses a kiss to the top of your ass and walks across the room to get some tissues to clean up the mess you made. Still perched on the desk, you watch him needily, thighs rubbing together to relieve some of the pressure from being denied your orgasm. "So I really don’t get to cum?" You ask meekly, holding back a sob. "I need to cum, Mr. Park."

He chuckles, "there’s a difference between need and want, doll. You want to cum, you don't need to cum. But what you do need," he returns to you, leaning down so that his face is right in front of yours, "is to get to your next class." Your face, once eagerly lit up in anticipation, has now fallen in disappointment.

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a "fine" and get off his desk, feeling your arousal make your thighs stick together. Your panties are uncomfortably damp and you’re so wet you can even smell yourself. "Can you make me cum later?" you question Jimin, sliding closer to him and playing with his tie, praying that he’ll be the one to make you release instead of having to do it yourself when you get home.

"If you play nice I might. If not, then… we’ll see," he hums, handing you a tissue to clean yourself up while heading to wipe down his desk. "I have a lunch meeting in the second half of the lunch block, so if you really need me, I’ll be here before then."

You grin and nod in excitement. "Cool! so I’ll-" you begin before the first students from the next class start filing in, making you jump. "The door wasn’t locked?" you whisper frantically to him. "We could have been caught, Jimin! Are you crazy?!"

He smirks at you, "didn’t you say you wanted it that way? Where anyone could walk in? I only did what you asked, doll." You’re left speechless as he continues. "Anyways, you should be in your next class pretty soon. I’ll write a note to your professor just in case you’re late. But get going, yeah? I’ll see you in time for our meeting." He hands you a slip of paper and straightens up, tossing the dirty tissues into the trash can in the corner of the room.

"Okay class, we’re going to get started soon. I presume you all did the reading, so just prepare for the discussion we’re going to be having about it when the bell rings," he calls out to the class. Turning to face you, he questions quietly with genuine concern, "you okay? Did I push you too much for our first time?"

Your mind swirls with thoughts. Our first time. The words fill you with giddy excitement. It’s just the two of you that know about this, the dirty things you were doing just minutes ago, very nearly getting caught. Knowing that this won’t be the only moment you guys are doing this, fills you with excitement.

"On the contrary, actually," you tease your teacher with a smile. "It was really nice honestly, but perhaps, you didn’t do enough." You bite your lip at the way Jimin's eyes darken and he looks away. "Get to class, Ms. L/N. The bell will ring any minute," he says lowly, jaw slightly clenched. Your core throbs at the sight and you head towards the door.

"Goodbye, Mr. Park. Thank you!" you call out, catching sight of Lisa, who raises her eyebrows at you teasingly and mouths text me. Blushing, you nod at her before leaving the room to go to your next class.

Being "one of the smartest students on campus" comes with its perks. Like right now, for example. You always (somehow) come to class overprepared, so when your next teacher gives you a day to work on your project (which you've already finished), you head to the back of the room to text Lisa in private.

from lisa: dude wtf was that you were literally talking to Mr. Park outside of ur class time with him

from lisa: omg wait don't tell me you fucked him

from lisa: did you

to lisa: NO I DID NOT OMG I wish tho lmao

to lisa: I was asking him for help on the paper he's assigning us and to proofread it and stuff before I submit it

from lisa: omg I forgot he assigned us that shit

to lisa: dude lmao its due in a week or so you have plenty of time

from lisa: ugh literally he's such a hottie why does he have to be so into teaching

to lisa: sis commitment to something is hot

from lisa: omg ur right wait a sec tho

from lisa: dude

from lisa: omg

from lisa: he definitely has a boner

Knowing that you were likely the cause of it, you shift in your seat cockily, smiling slyly to yourself while looking down.

to lisa: whAT

to lisa: wait how big is it

from lisa: ok I dont think he’s fully hard yet he's like semi hard but barely

from lisa: LMFAO Y/N don't worry I think he’s packing seems kinda thick too

Taking in a deep breath, you look up at the ceiling. You imagine him slowly sinking into you and making you whimper at his size. Him seeing your face and growling, "if you’re really a good girl, you should be able to take it." You cross your legs tightly and rock up and down in a lame attempt to diminish the rising pressure between your thighs and look back down at your phone.

to lisa: pls thats so hot

from lisa: IKR I want him to r a i l me

to lisa: or eat me out… have you sEEN those lips of his wtf

from lisa: on god do not get me started

to lisa: pls i bet he’d be the type to tease you

Oh Lisa, if only you knew the truth behind those words.

from lisa: YES hes lowkey cocky bc he knows like the entire fucking population simps for him

from lisa: he’s def gonna make you beg to cum

to lisa: pls thats hot do not get me riled up in class istg

from lisa: too late i've already started babe ;)

You continue texting Lisa throughout the entirety of your class. Finally, you look at the clock and seeing that there are only a few more minutes till the class ends, you wrap up your conversation with her.

to lisa: hey btw i’m gonna be coming to lunch late… save me a seat at our regular spot?

from lisa: when ur best friend is a teachers pet :(( fiNE I guess I will

to lisa: love u!! xx

from lisa: love you too nerd xoxo

The bell finally rings, signaling the start of the lunch break and you immediately stand up and walk out the door, bidding your teacher goodbye and thanks.

Running into the bathroom, you do a quick check of your appearance. You tug up your skirt a bit higher and tuck in your shirt so that your outfit accentuates your curves. You glance at your face and notice how abnormally large your pupils are in comparison to most days. Jimin has completely ruined you today, just like he said he would. I'm going to wreck you, Y/N. His words echo in your ears as you make your way out to his classroom. Trying to ignore how uncomfortably wet your panties are, you knock on the door to his room.

You hear a smooth voice answer with a, "come in," and take a deep breath before opening the door to see Jimin sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. He scans you up and down, eyes taking in every inch of your figure. "Nice outfit alterations," he notes, patting his laps as a hint for you to sit on it. You quickly lock the door and make your way to him, placing one leg on each side of him so that you’re now straddling his thighs. "Is this all for me?" he asks and you tuck your head down, suddenly shy now that all his attention is on you again.

"Mhm, depends on whether you like it or not" you smile timidly, hands reaching out to play with his tie again. He laughs. "Princess, I’m conflicted. You do look very nice, all dolled up for me like this. It’d be a shame if I were to ruin your efforts. But on the other hand," he remarks, "you’ve very nearly crossed the line for indecent exposure. What if another teacher caught you like this? you would get in trouble, hm? And what if it were a student to see you like this? What would they think of you then?" He questions, causing your cheeks to burn at his words.

"They would think I- that I’m a whore. I- and that I dress up like this just so I can pass my classes," you whisper out, biting your lips in a combination of excitement and humiliation. You can feel yourself start to throb again and you start to rut against Jimin’s thighs. He shifts you over so that you are sitting on only one and slightly bounces his leg. The stimulation to your neglected cunt sends a shock running through your body and you squeeze your thighs around his.

"Look at you, so fucking desperate to cum. You think that you aren’t a little whore already, so needy for me this quickly, hm? Do you really think you deserve to cum?" He hums, admiring the way you’re worked up. He pushes up your skirt and slaps your thigh just underneath your ass. You shift away as a reaction, causing your clit to get the stimulation it finally deserved. The way your underwear rubs against your neglected bundle of nerves causes you to let out a groan and drop your head to Jimin's shoulder. He spanks you this time, making you yelp. "I asked you a question, doll."

"Mmhm, yeah," you whine out, "I deserve t- to cum, sir." At this point, your hips are moving on their own accord, shifting back and forth desperately against Jimin's thigh. He grabs your waist tightly, holding you still. "Look at me," he commands, bouncing his thigh. You mewl into his shoulder, the change in motion making you lose focus. He spanks you again, the sound echoing around the room. "Listen to directions, sweetheart. Or else you’ll get punished," he warns.

You lift your head to look at Jimin, faces just inches apart. His eyes scan over your face, lingering on your lips. Slowly, you lean towards him, closing the distance between you two. He gives into your eager kiss and you glide your hands up his firm chest to run your fingers through his hair. He starts bouncing you on his thigh and you groan into his mouth. Breaking apart panting, you place your forehead against Jimin’s, moving your hips back and forth harder to increase the pressure going to your clit.

"God, Y/N, you’re so wet," Jimin pants while looking down at the way your clothed pussy drags over his thigh. "I can feel you soaking through my slacks," he says, shifting you over. just like he said, there is now a wet spot on his thigh from where you just were. Thankfully, it’s barely noticeable, but if you focus enough, you can see it.

"What are you going to do about it, hm? I have classes to teach, meetings to attend. Do you want people to see the mess you made all over me?" He hisses, spanking you to elicit an answer. "N- no, sir. I’m s- sorry," you whisper out, eyes clenched, still rutting against him. You feel your orgasm bubbling up as every second passes.

"I don't think you're sorry, doll. Look at you making a mess all over me through your panties. You're absolutely soaked, so fucking desperate to cum," he tuts, clenching his thigh muscles purposely. You gasp and shove your head into the crook of Jimin's neck, letting out a low groan.

"Mr. Park, I'm so wet because of you. I- god, I wanna cum. please. I'm so close," you mewl into him, legs starting to tighten around his thigh.

You shut your eyes, feeling your impending orgasm build up. Right when you're about to let go, Jimin holds your hips in place tightly, preventing you from moving. Squeaking out, you make an attempt to shift your pussy over his thighs. It's no use because you can feel it start to drift away slowly and you look at him in need. Tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you plead, "S- sir I need you to touch me again. Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Jimin smiles cockily, lifting you onto his desk and spreading your legs after stripping you of your panties. You lean back so that you face the ceiling. Your eyes roll back once you feel him take your clit into his mouth. You moan and arch your back off of the desk, thighs involuntarily clenching around his head.

"God, Mr. Park, yes! O- oh, fuck, please," you blabber out incoherently, your mind hazy and overwhelmed with pleasure. "More," you whimper out without thinking.

Jimin disconnects from your heat to look up at you, murmuring, "Greedy little slut wants it all, huh? Won't even ask nicely for it. Tell me what you want, Y/N. Beg for it, and I might just give it to you."

"God, I- I want it all, professor," you call out, wiggling your hips in search of stimulation that never comes. "Want you to stuff me with your f- fingers and lick my p- pussy and make me cum. Want you to fuck me r- raw with your fat cock from behind and sp- and spank me. Want you to ma- make me cry from cumming so hard just as much as you have from not letting me cum. A- and I want you to leave hi- hickies on my thighs so that if I bend over, p- people are gonna know how much of a cockslut I am, just for you."

"Yeah? Well, I can tell you this," Jimin says, fingers dancing up your thigh closer to your sick-ridden core. "You are a cockslut. So fucking dirty. Most people come to class to learn but it seems that you come here to get off." He inserts a finger into you and your walls immediately clamp down on it. He moves the digit in and out of you smoothly, your arousal allowing the smoothest of motions. "You like that, baby? Finally having something in that tight cunt of yours?" You nod at his question, adding on "want more, sir."

"Not enough? Greedy little bitch. look at you, so needy. What are you gonna do when I have my cock out, hm?" He shoves a second finger into you and starts curling them into your heat. You arch your back to the ceiling and he hovers over you. For a moment, there’s nothing but the squelch of his fingers in your wet pussy and your panting as he stares into your eyes. Jimin's eyebrows are furrowed and he’s biting his lip - he’s focusing on something.

That "something" becomes apparent when, all of a sudden, you nearly sit upright and let out a loud moan of pleasure, "Fuck, Mr. Park! right there." His fingers continue rubbing that special spot inside you repeatedly and your legs start shaking ever so slightly. You look back at him to see a smug smile on his face. "I found it," he chuckles as you writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss you, lips melding together.

He keeps fingering you, bringing his thumb up to ghost over your clit ever so slightly to provide enough pleasure to bring you close to your orgasm but just not enough to make you cum. You whine against his lips and he breaks the kiss, asking "you want to cum, doll?" to which you weakly nod. "Then fuck yourself on my fingers. Show me how much of a little slut you are for me. How you’re a cocksleeve for me, so wet and needy as soon as I touch you, so ready for me to fuck you." He stills his digits inside of you and you buck your hips on them, rolling your pelvis repeatedly in an attempt to get to your orgasm. You reach down to provide some stimulation to your clit, but he smacks it away.

"Jim- professor, it’s not enough. I- I need more, please." Tears start welling up in your eyes at the thought of not cumming for the third time. Jimin kisses your temple, the gentle action reminding you that he’s not going to do something you can’t handle. "Please, Mr. Park. I wanna cum," you whine out, hips jerking back and forth in a pathetic attempt to chase after your high.

"Show me then, Y/N. how much you want it. A good girl can show me that she wants it bad enough and will make herself come on my fingers alone. She’s not greedy. She doesn’t need to touch herself too. She just needs my fingers to cum. I know you can be a good girl, Y/N," he goads. "Can you show me what the pretty little face of yours looks like when you cum? I bet you’ll look so beautiful, even more than you are right now, all fucked out for me."

"Hhngh, sir I- I’m trying," you pant out. "It’s just not enough. I promise I'm a good girl, I swear. Please let me cum. Oh god, I wanna cum." At this point, you’re nearly crying. You haven't ever been edged like this and are desperate for release.

Jimin sees this and purposefully retracts his hand from your cunt covered in your honeyed juices, glistening in the lights of his classroom. "Professor Park, please," you choke out weakly, chest constricting in disappointment. With a soft smile, he brings his fingers up to his mouth and cleans them off, savoring the flavor of you.

"Be a good girl for the rest of the day and then I’ll let you cum, baby," he hums. "You promise?" you plead, holding onto his arm desperately.

"I promise, Y/N," he kisses you gently and you taste the remnants of yourself on his tongue, the filthy action causing your clit to throb even more. Combined with the way your cunt is still clenched tight in preparation for an orgasm that won’t come soon, you can definitely say that you can't wait for the school day to come to an end.

"Go to lunch, doll. I have a meeting soon. Don’t think of me too much, hm? Gotta keep those straight A’s the way they are," Jimin teases, pulling down your skirt slowly, fingers just grazing your thighs. He grabs your panties. "Oh, and I think I'll keep these for now," he says cheekily, putting them in his pocket. "They didn’t seem to be doing their job when you were riding my thigh."

You watch him in shock, cheeks flushing red hot. "I- okay. uh, I’m going to lunch now, Jimin. Have a good lunch and meeting, I guess?" you say awkwardly, shuffling to the door with him, tugging your skirt down.

"Jimin? We’re on a first-name basis already, Y/N? Don’t let anybody hear you call me that in class, baby," he winks, holding the door open and you nod, preoccupied with the little "situation" your skirt just barely hides. You can feel yourself still leaking down your inner thighs, and pray that nobody’s going to notice when you walk into the dining hall.

"Ugh! Bitch, what took you so long?" Lisa exclaims when you sit down next to her with your lunch. You pout. "I wasn't even gone for that long."

"Ha! That long, my ass. You were gone for more than half of the break! I had to tell Jaebum and his cronies to fuck off on my own! I’m not as intimidating when you’re not around, though, so I don’t think it worked. They’ll probably come over again soon." Lisa rolls her eyes. You snort, "One of them probably likes you, that’s why they keep bothering you."

"They just like any female and will take what they can get," Lisa mutters, "but anyway! How was your meeting with Mr. Park? Did you solve his boner problem?" she wiggles her eyebrows.

You clear your throat. "No, Lisa I did not. I'm obviously above that," you say in a sarcastic tone. "I simply offered to," you tease. Lisa squeals and slaps your arm in response. "But for real though," she says. "Anyone that gets to hook up with mister Park Jimin automatically wins at life," and you hum in agreement.

You scan at the dining hall around you and catch the eye of Jaebum sitting with his friend group. He winks at you and you roll your eyes and stand up, "come on Lisa, let’s go. Those assholes are going to come over any second if we stay here any longer." You drag her to your guys’ next class.

The bell rings and the two of you burst out of the classroom. Thank god that’s over. Only one more class left, you think to yourself, gripping your books tighter to your chest in excitement.

"Jesus fuck, since when were you this eager to get to the last class of the day, Y/N? I thought you loved staying in school for as long as possible," Lisa huffs out. You steer her into the direction of your locker, right across from Jimin’s classroom.

"I'm picking up my books, you dummy. Be grateful I paid for this locker because otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to put your books here." You put in the code and exchange your books while Lisa checks herself in the magnetic mirror attached to the door. you have to be careful when bending over because otherwise you’ll flash the entire school, so you do a weird sit-squat thing. "Geeking out over lockers? You act as if you’re still in high school, Y/N," Lisa teases. "Only during the school day," you wink up at her.

Lisa spots someone through the reflection of the mirror and groans out. "Incoming," she warns, rolling her eyes and turning around. "Wha-" you begin when you get cut off by a smooth voice behind you.

"Damn, L/N. didn’t know you wore skirts this short on campus. Looks good on you," the guy winks. "But it would look even better on my bedroom floor." You hold back a gag and turn to Lisa, raising your eyebrows in exasperation.

"Wow, I see the originality," Lisa says in the most sickeningly sweet voice. "What do you want, Jaebum?" He chuckles and places an arm over your head, leaning over you. "Well, I’m having a party tonight, and it would be amazing if you two little ladies could attend. Be mine and Jackson’s plus one?" he says. You’re about to say no when he leans in closer to you, inches away from your face, "plus you can get the high-quality drinks for free, not the cheap booze we leave out for the randos who show up."

"You’re probably gonna drug them or something. No thanks, dickwad." you huff out after a second’s hesitation, pushing him away, ready to go to your next class. "Nah, baby. I may be a fuckboy but at least I've got morals. Whaddya say? You get me off, I get you off? Maybe make you cum so many times it starts hurting? You look like you haven’t been able to get an orgasm in a while, you’re so uptight, L/N," Jaebum smirks.

"You fuckin-" you start to hiss out but you’re shut off again. This time it’s by someone different. Jimin. "Mr. Lim, I don’t think it’s necessarily appropriate to discuss your sexual endeavors while in an academic setting. I’ll be letting you off with a warning for now." He turns to you, eyes flitting across your DIY skimpy outfit. You feel your cunt leak more of your honeyed juices under his piercing gaze and clamp your thighs together to keep them from dripping down your thighs. "And Ms. L/N, I expected better from you. You’re not typically one to do these things in a school environment. Get to class, the two of you," he says, turning back to his classroom.

"Oh," he adds, "and Y/N. fix your outfit. I would hate to see you get dress coded by a teacher who isn’t as lenient." You, Lisa, and Jaebum stare at his back in shock as he heads inside his classroom.

"Well, uh, that just happened," Lisa states, turning to you. "Ready to go?" you nod numbly, mind swirling with embarrassment and excitement as you tug down your skirt. The two of you walk to the last class of the day while Jaebum calls out, "my place after 11, L/N! I’ll be waiting!", making you wince. Great, now a bunch of people are gonna think you’re hooking up with him.

The last bell of the day finally rings, and you head to your locker after bidding Lisa goodbye. You put your books in your locker and head to the bathroom to fix your clothes. You decide to tease Jimin even more by adjusting your skirt so that it ends just at the bottom of your ass. It’s a terribly risky decision; if you walk too fast, you risk flashing everyone. You’ve tried to wipe the slick off the juncture of your thighs, but it keeps getting replaced with more of your arousal.

You speed walk down the halls and fling open the door to see that Jimin isn’t in his classroom - or so you think. Once you take a few steps into the room, you hear the door shut behind you and lock. Jimin looks at you up and down. "You didn’t fix your outfit, Ms. L/N. Looks like I’ll have to dress code you for indecent exposure then," he hums, heading to his desk to take out a slip of paper.

"Wait Jimin, what? I thought we were- um. You know, going to-" you splutter out, realizing he was actually serious. You can’t have this on your academic record! What would your parents think?

"Going to what? Fuck? Seems like you already have someone else for that, Y/N," he shakes his head, grabbing a pen. You reach forward quickly to stop him, hand, gripping his forearm in desperation.

"No Mr. Park, I- I never told Jaebum yes. I just-" you try to explain, but Jimin cuts you off. "You what?" he asks bitingly, taking you by surprise. "Did you think that you could just come back and hop on my dick after nearly making out with another guy? God, you really are a slut, aren’t you?"

You rub your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the steadily mounting pressure in your core at Jimin’s words. "Look at you, I told you to fix your outfit and you fucking pulled up your skirt. You pulled it up. You don’t listen to me, talk to your friends about how much you want me to rail you, and yet let other guys make plans to hook up with you. And you expect me to let you cum after all of that?" he continues, noticing the effect he has on you. "You really think I should let you cum, Y/N? I'll tell you what I think. I think I should leave you like this, dripping and needy for me. So ready to get fucked by me but not being able to."

Your eyes widen, "no, please professor, no!"

"Should I jack off in front of you and not let you touch me? Maybe then would you learn your lesson? Or maybe I should spank your ass till it’s blue you’re unable to sit. Would that work, hm? What if I just send you back to the dorms? You could ask Jaebum to touch you, even if he can’t make you half the mess I can," he continues, pushing you onto his desk. He grabs your jaw and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him, humiliated, with tears in your eyes.

"Aw," he pouts sarcastically, "is the baby crying? Because I didn’t let her cum? Well, princess, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Little cocksluts like you don’t deserve to cum so easily."

"P- professor, please. You can punish me. Teach me a lesson. B- but just please let me cum." You whimper out, attempting to cross your legs together to assuage your aching clit, but Jimin stops you by holding your knee with his other hand.

He slowly trails his hands up your bare thigh, admiring the way your soft skin seems to get chills at his touch. He pushes you back onto the desk and you prop yourself up your elbows to look at him. "Are you a cockslut, Y/N?" he asks, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers.

"Y- yes Mr. Park. I- I’m nothing but a hole for you to fuck," you whimper meekly as he pushes up your skirt. He pushes apart your thighs and tugs you to the edge of the desk. "Damn right you are. Nothing but a little whore that I can use to get off. I’m going to fuck you here in school like you’ve never been fucked before. And this dick you’ve been thinking about all this time, it’s going to finally be in you, and I better not hear any complaints," Jimin growls, pumping his length in his hand. "No sir," you whimper out.

"You on the pill?" he asks, to which you reply with a yes. He teases your slit with the pink head of his cock and your entrance flutters at the touch. "But on another note, tell me if you want to stop. I don’t want to push you too much."

You smile, "Jimin, you’re being too kind. I promise I'll tell you. But I did say before perhaps you weren’t doing enough. Mr. Park, I want you to ruin me," you bite your lips, mimicking his words from earlier in the day. He cocks his head in amusement.

"Don’t worry princess, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing." Without warning, he thrusts forward into your heart, barely giving you time to adjust to his size. The girth of his cock stretches open your cunt with painful pleasure. Once he’s sheathed inside you, you can feel him very near your cervix.

You let out a shaky breath but it’s cut off as he continues thrusting in and out of you, wet slaps echoing through the room. "M- Mr. Park-" you moan incoherently.

"Fucking take it, Y/N. You wanted me to ruin you? Well here I am doing it; be fucking grateful." he rolls his hips into yours, hands gripping your sides harshly.

"Th- thank you Mr. Park, s- so much," you nearly sob out, almost crying at the relief of being fucked. You’re so turned on that your walls are clenching around Jimin’s dick so hard that he grips your jaw harshly. Gritting his teeth, he spits, "loosen up, babe. You’re so fuckin’ tight." You whine and try to relax but the stimulation Jimin’s providing has your eyes rolling back instead.

He snakes a hand down to your stomach and under your skirt, circling your throbbing clit. Your pussy flutters at the stimulation and you bite your lip harshly. He changes his angle slightly, causing your thighs to start shaking. His precum and your honeyed juices drip out your sopping cunt, the sound of wet slaps echoing around the room.

"Mmmmh," you moan out softly, back arching slightly. You can feel Jimin hitting your g-spot with impeccable accuracy each time. Doubled with the way his thumb is rubbing circles on your sensitive clit, you feel yourself reaching your orgasm. You try to suppress the giveaway signs of your impending release, knowing that Jimin, in order to "teach you a lesson" of sorts, is likely to take it away from you, so you attempt to just breathe out, "Jimin, fuck, it feels so good."

"Yeah, you like that, baby?" he thrusts into you deeper and harder and you bite your upper lip to stop your moans from slipping out. "Come on Y/N, let me hear those pretty little moans. Let everyone else know how well I'm fucking you, how good I make you feel," Jimin urges.

As soon as he utters those words, you give in, letting high pitched whimpers spill from your lips. Your pussy lets out filthy squelching noises at each of his thrusts, your wetness dripping down your ass and onto the desk. You feel your walls tightening around his cock and try to fight it off, but Jimin can already tell of your impending orgasm. He pulls out of you, leaving your warm and soaked cunt open to the air.

"Fuck," you exclaim in frustration, bringing your hands up to cover your face so Jimin doesn’t see your face, tears starting to spill down your face. It’s frustrating you so much that he won’t let you cum. That he enjoys seeing you whimpering and teary-eyed for him. Your thighs haven’t stopped shaking and Jimin parts them after you close them. He pulls down your arms and smiles evilly.

"Well, what do we have here," he exclaims, "looks like the baby finally did start crying. Come on, Y/N, I thought you had it in you. But look at how you’re spread out on this desk for me, such a fucking mess. I bet you like it, huh? Dirtying up my desk with that cunt of yours."

"I need to cum, Mr. Park," you choke out, trying to gather your thoughts. "I need to cum now." your teacher’s eyes narrow and he grips your thighs harshly. "What did you say to me?" he asks, a tone laced with dangerous amusement.

"You heard me. I-," you hesitate for a moment, but decide you’ve already put yourself through enough teasing today. You muster up your courage before saying, "I want you to make me cum now."

There’s a moment’s silence before you add on shamelessly, "o- or if it’s too much to ask of you, I- I’ll just find someone else to help me do it. Maybe Jaebum? He promised a good time a- and said he would let me cum as many times as I want."

Jimin grabs you by the chin and pulls you up. "You’re such a fucking brat, Y/N." Shifting his hand so it’s gripping your throat, he mutters, "you don’t fucking learn, do you? I thought you were smart, hm? But has the need for sex made you lose your sense? Made you turn into a dumb little bitch, ready to bend over for anyone because you’re so horny? And here I was thinking you were better than that. That you had standards. Perhaps I was wrong, hm? Would you like to tell me?"

You try to look down, away from his piercing glare, but he turns your chin to look back at him. Humiliation courses through your veins as Jimin’s gaze wanders down your body scathingly. "Look at you," he coos sarcastically. "Y/N, baby, you’re such a fucking mess. Pathetic." Suddenly, he lifts you off the desk and bends you over it, cheek pressing the top and ass exposed over the edge to him. You whimper at the feeling of your shirt being stickied from your arousal left on the table from just a few minutes ago. You try moving away from it, but Jimin holds you in place.

"Are you afraid that everyone else is going to see the mess on your shirt, Y/N? Is that why you’re trying to move?" he hovers over you from behind. "Or perhaps," he continues, hot breath tickling over the shell of your ear, "you want to continue being a brat. Make me punish you until you’re begging for me to make it stop."

He spanks you, the sound echoing across the room before you register the sting of his action. You clench involuntarily and let out the slightest of whimpers. "Fucking hell, are you this turned on? Making noises even if I don’t touch your filthy little pussy?" he asks, smacking your behind again. You bite down on your lip to avoid giving him the answer he already knows.

"Count for me. Be good and maybe I’ll finally let you cum." he commands, spanking your right ass cheek again. "O- one!" you groan. He spanks your left side, the stinging sensation causing you to leak more arousal. "Louder, Y/N. Let me hear you," he hisses, hand in your hair, and pulls you up slightly. "T- two," you stammer. another slap echoes across the room. "Three! God Mr. Park, please." At this point, you’re not even sure what you’re begging for; your mind is numb with lust.

"T- twenty! Agh, fuck, please," you squirm under Jimins grasp. The throbbing of your clit has increased tenfold, and you can practically feel the shaking of your thighs through the desk.

Jimin slips his hand between your legs, feeling the soft flesh of your inner thighs slicked with your juices. "You’re fucking dripping, Y/N. Look at you. Did getting punished turn you on this much, doll?" He swipes up your slit, teasing your fluttering hole. You scrunch your eyes in displeasure and try to back up into him, only to be stopped by a harsh smack onto your already throbbing cunt. You yelp and flop back on the desk, cheek pressing the surface.

You feel him rubbing his dick against your folds and sigh in relief. Suddenly, Jimin slams into you from behind with no warning causing you to let out a harsh groan. "Ah, professor!" you exclaim, balling your fists in pleasure at finally being stimulated. His cock seems even bigger from this angle, and your entrance stings delectably at the way he splits you open.

"You feel how tight your pussy is, princess? How tight it is for me? Nobody else makes you feel this needy. Nobody," Jimin mutters in your ear after pulling you up. He pulls your head back by your hair, exposing your neck, which he plants wet kisses on. He reaches down in front of you, tracing an achingly slow path from your stomach to your slit with his fingers. You’re reaching your orgasm at an embarrassingly fast rate due to all of the edging you’re been through, so when Jimin finally brushes over your clit, it’s no surprise that your walls tighten even more instantaneously.

"Ji- ‘m gonna cum," you moan wantonly. "Yeah? Is my little slut finally going to cum?" He hisses out at the way you tighten around him. You nod desperately, gripping his arm rubbing figure eights over your sensitive bud.

"Oh god, Jimin, I feel it coming. Please please please let me cum. I'm being good for you, Mr. Park, please let me cum," you sob out incoherently as Jimin continues railing you from behind. You feel the ridges of his cock brushing your walls and shudder at his ministrations.

"Let go, princess, I got you. Cum for me. Tell me how good I’m making you feel," Jimin snarls, snapping his hips into yours, eager to get you to finally melt in his arms. You feel your orgasm crashing over you and you clamp down on his dick, legs shaking in relief. Jimin's grip on your hair tightens as he feels you pulsing around him, getting impossibly tight. Nevertheless, he continues thrusting into you.

You mewl, trying to shift away from Jimin's hold as his fingers return to your clit, rubbing figure eights into them, "J- too m- much," you whimper out, straining against his arms.

"Yeah?" his smooth voice asks, "but I thought you wanted to cum, princess? Didn't you? I need to cum, Mr. Park. I need to cum now." He mocks you. “Well, that's what I'm doing doll. I'm. Making. You. Cum," he emphasizes each word with a harsh thrust, jolting you forward.

You're being reduced to a mess, tears streaming down your face and slick dripping down your thighs. You can feel your gummy walls tightening more and more on their own accord, without even trying. Without even realizing it, you've changed from trying to move away from Jimin's fingers to grinding down on his dick.

Jimin, however, notices this. "God, you're such a slut, Y/N. Weren't you just asking me to stop?" He raises your left leg onto the desk, allowing him to have more access to your folds. He slaps your clit when you don’t give a response and you yelp, clenching down on his dick. He slaps you a couple more times, and your cunt drips even more, making your thighs sticky with your honeyed juices. You can feel yourself nearing your orgasm once again from his motions.

Suddenly, Jimin pushes you back on his desk and begins hammering into you from behind. "You're going to cum again, aren't you? Filthy little girl, didn't you just cum? Are you really that needy for some dick?" You try to hold back a whimper from his words but it slips from your lips. "You're really a whore, aren't you, baby?"

In response, Jimin spanks you, and you yelp. "Keep doing that," he hisses when you clench down on his dick. "You like being punished, don't you?" You nod meekly in response. He smacks your already reddened ass again and you hiss at the stinging sensation. Paired with the pleasure his cock is giving you, thrusting so deep into you, you can feel yourself practically getting high off the feeling.

Jimin feels you cumming before you realize it yourself. His hips nearly stutter at the way your walls have clenched around his dick. He opts to rut his hips into yours, no longer being able to thrust in and out due to how tight you are. He reaches under your body to rub tight circles on your throbbing clit and you start cumming again, clenching erratically around his dick. "You cumming, Y/N? Be a good girl and let go for me. Get this fat cock all wet," he commands. You ball up your fists and dig your nails into your palms, pleasure coursing through your veins. Riding the course of your high, you wish for nothing more but to be in the moment.

When you come down from your orgasm, Jimin finally pulls his hard dick out of you. You feel his precum and your cum drip down your thighs. Whining, you rub them together to get rid of the feeling but it only serves to make you stickier. Jimin parts your thighs and runs a hand up them to cup your pussy, pausing to feel your cunt still clenching from the aftershocks of your orgasm. He smacks your abused heat, jolting you forwards and causing you to grit your teeth in overstimulation.

He flips you over, spreading your legs open. He leans over you, rubbing the tip of his dick over your swollen and throbbing clit, making you shiver. "Prof- professor, I can’t-" you begin but are interrupted my Jimin quickly shoving into you. Gasping, you clench down onto his dick, eyes rolling back into your head.

"You can, Y/N, and you fucking will," he grunts harshly, snapping his hips into yours. You grasp at his arm after feeling him in you deeper than before. The head of his cock nearly kisses your cervix and his impossibly hard dick stretches your tight cunt open even more, making you wince at the pleasurable pain.

"I- oh god, I really can’t. It feels-" you choke out through your tears. "It feels too- oh!" your head rolls back as Jimin hooks your legs over his shoulders, creating a new angle of penetration. He rubs your clit ever so slightly, the abused bundle of nerves pulsing under his touch. "It feels too what?" he hisses, rolling his hips upward so that his tip just barely grazes your g-spot. Too good, you want to say, but pleasure is clouding your mind and you can’t get the words out.

"That’s it, baby," he hums, "taking my fat cock so well even though you’re so- shit, you’re so fucking tight. Are you gonna cum again, hm? Cream all over my dick and make another mess?" you’re being reduced to a blathering mess, Jimin’s name rolling off the tip of your tongue. "Yeah? Can’t even hold it back a little? Even though I let you cum so many times, you still want more? Greedy little bitch," he spits at you.

When you clench down at his words, he starts pistoning his hips into yours, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoing around the room. His cock seems to be splitting you open even more, and you can feel every pulse of his dick on your walls. "Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to cum," he groans.

"I- I’m close too, Mr. Park. It- fuck, it feels really good," you breathe out as Jimin leans down over you. He slows his hips down, opting to roll his hips smoothly and brushing over your g-spot with painful accuracy. Hovering over you, his stare bores into yours, eyes flitting down to your lips, reddened and swollen from you biting them. You whimper and tilt your chin up towards him and he leans his head down to yours.

He lets his lips ghost over yours, warm breath brushing over your lips as his hips grind into yours. "P- please," you beg, and Jimin finally relents and melds his lips to yours, bringing the two of you into a searing kiss, groaning as you near each of your highs. You break the kiss to gasp out, "I’m c- cumming again Mr. Park."

"Yeah?" he breathes surprisedly, "your little pussy’s that sensitive that you’re gonna- fuck, you’re cumming already? So quickly?" he leans down as your orgasm washes over you, this one hitting you slowly and harshly. You arch your back into Jimin’s chest, hands gripping at the collar of his shirt. His thumb continues to gently rub over your clit, causing you to roll your eyes back into your head at the overstimulation. You start shaking underneath him, squirming to get away from the overload of senses, but he holds you in place as you ride your high for what seems to be like an eternity.

"That's a good girl," he soothes as you continue to writhe underneath him. "Look at you, stuffed so full of my cock it’s making you cry. Does that feel good, darling?" you nod, sobbing. When your orgasm starts to fade away, spots of white dotting your vision, he still doesn’t stop thrusting into you.

You bite your lip, and seeing that he’s close, you whisper, "M- Mr. Park, I want you t- to cum too. I- in me." His hips stutter at your words. "Shit, yeah? You’d let me do that?"

You nod, "want you to fill me up w- with your cum and s- stuff me so full of it that it’s gonna be in me for days. And I wanna fe- fuck, I wanna feel you in me even when I’m alone, professor." At your words, Jimin lets out a slightly animalistic growl and leans in. "You’d like that, huh?" he asks. "Me fucking you so well till you can’t think straight? Putting my cum in you so that when you walk out of here, it’s dripping down your pretty little thighs, making you look like the filthy little slut you really are? You think you deserve that?"

"Please, sir, I really want it," you beg, "please." With that, Jimin attaches his lips onto yours again, grinding his hips into yours even deeper as he finally orgasms. He doesn’t stutter his hips as he continues his ministrations, even though he can feel your walls desperately squeezing around him, milking his cock of its seed. You feel the thick ropes of his warm cum painting your inner walls every second. Each time he pulls out slightly, a bit of it leaks out of your cunt, dripping down your ass onto his desk. He continues fucking his cum into you until he’s satisfied with the way you’re shivering under him.

For a moment, all is still, nothing but the sound of the two of your breathing filling the air as you stare into each other’s eyes. "Um-," you begin, and Jimin quickly looks away, brushing his thumb over his plump lips. So that just happened. I fucked my teacher. I fucked Park Jimin.

"Wait here," he mutters, making your heart drop in disappointment. You nod, offering him a weak smile. Seeing this, Jimin reassures you, "don’t worry, I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right back," and cautiously steps out of the room after clothing himself.

You take this moment to recollect what exactly happened. Okay, so you just fucked your teacher. It still hasn’t sunk in yet, and probably won’t till you leave to clean yourself and look at the marks he’s made on your thighs and ass. You can’t help the giddiness you feel, like a kid who got the best candy bar in the world. After all, you got to hook up with your crush - in fact, the entire campus’s crush. The door creaks open and Jimin returns with some paper towels and wipes.

"H- hey," he smiles nervously. For the first time, he’s the one that’s stuttering. "Let me clean you up. It’s the least I could do after putting you through so much today." He spreads your legs gently, cheeks flushed, and begins wiping off the slick and cum between your thighs.

"Jimin, you didn’t do anything bad, calm down. Well, I mean you fucked your student? But other than that you’re fine. I really liked it," you try to explain, stumbling over your words. He looks at you incredulously, but shakes his head, smiling. "I don't want to tell anyone about this," you continue, "and I highly doubt you will, so this can stay as our little secret."

"Well looks like someone got fucked a little too happy. How come you never smile this much when I’m teaching, hm?" Jimin jokes after he finishes cleaning you up, kissing your knee gently. He hands you your thong that he’s kept for half the day and tells you to put it on.

"You’re still going to the party, right? Jaebum’s?" he asks and you shrug. "You should go. Have a fun time there, drinking and all that stuff." He leans into you, whispering into your ear, "and if that rascal wants to get into your pants, he’s going to see your soaked panties covering up that precious little cunt of yours stuffed with all that cum of mine. Maybe then he’ll finally back off," he smirks.

You blush, "maybe, Mr. Park. You know, you’re pettier than I thought you’d be." Standing up, to face him, he pulls you in by the waist till your chests are touching. You wrap your arms around his neck and he leans in, whispering, "well, Y/N, I don’t think you knew too much about me in the first place." Closing the gap between the two of you, you give him a peck on the lips, which quickly turns into a more heated kiss, lips melding together and tongues colliding. When you break apart, a faint blush on the two of your cheeks, Jimin smiles fondly at you and you look away.

"Well," you hum contentedly, "if I don’t know much about you now, I’d at least like to get to know you better in the future."

"One day," he breathes out. "One day."

Your grin, disentangling yourself from his arms. "One day soon, I hope. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll see you next class. Goodbye prof- Jimin. Have a great weekend."

He smiles softly, walking you to the door. "You too, Y/N. If you do end up going to that party, have fun. Stay safe."

558 notes · View notes

amjustagirl · 4 years ago

Text

Hogwarts AU (Haikyuu!)

feat. Tsukkishima Kei

requested for by @animestheticz (hope you enjoy it bb!)

Previously:

Miya Atsumu. Miya Osamu. Kita Shinsuke. Kuroo Tetsuro.

Masterlist link here

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff

Wordcount: 2k

Genre / Pairings: Fluff, Hogwarts AU, Tsukkishima / Reader

A/N: Any other characters you’d like to see? Send me an ask!

(happy to do any characters other than Kenma / Hinata / Tendo - I don’t trust myself to do them justice!)

Oh and this is just shameless advertisement for my other fic - but I’m also writing a multi chapter fic based off Your Name / Kimi No Nawa featuring Akaashi Keiji (i.e. a bodyswap AU featuring our favourite Tokyo pretty boy). Check it out here!

——————————————————————

“P-please? Just this once?’ Yachi begs, fingers gripping your sleeve like a vice.

You’re sorely tempted to refuse her ridiculous request, but you can’t bring yourself to. This is Yachi Hitoka, your best friend, though currently she’s a nervous wreck fretting over her first date with Yamaguchi Tadashi. The sweet, freckled Hufflepuff chaser has finally worked up the courage to act on his painfully obvious crush on Yachi - both veritable balls of sunshine, so sweet and anxious and caring that you can’t imagine a better match.

So you don’t understand why on earth you’re being asked to tag along on a double date with one Tsukkishima Kei.

It’s not that you dislike the guy – far from it. You’ve had a crush on him yourself ever since Yachi started hanging around Yamaguchi in your third year, sucking you and Tsukkishima have been sucked into their orbit, reluctant moons revolving around twin suns. But you’ve tucked it away since Tsukkishima doesn’t seem to have an interest in anyone at all – in fact, half the time his snarky replies and cold silences make you think he barely tolerates Yamaguchi as a friend, let alone yourself.

Still, refusing Yachi is tantamount to kicking an injured puppy, so you swallow your reservations and agree.

‘Thank you!’ Yachi cheers. ‘We’ll have fun, I promise!’

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

It’s summer, and your blouse is sticking to your back as you dash through Diagon Alley. Tsukkishima and Yamaguchi are already waiting in front of Flourish & Botts, the former barely even granting you a nod, though he does give you the courtesy of removing his headphones, while Yamaguchi bounces on the balls of his feet to greet you cheerfully.

‘Woah there Yamaguchi – keep your enthusiasm for your date’, you joke, and he grins back at you. And he does – stuttering and blushing as Yachi arrives. Yachi herself is no better – you swear you can hear her teeth chatter as she greets all of you, though she beams when Yamaguchi presents her with a small posy of flowers with clammy hands.

‘They’re cute’, you remark to Tsukkishima as you walk beside him on the way to the first stop - Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

‘Mm’, he responds, his face blank.

You know he doesn’t suffer fools – worse still, talkative ones, so you fall silent until you reach the ice cream store. To your surprise, he pulls the chair out for you, and accepts your offer to share a cup of ice cream with you, a tilt to his lips when you automatically order a strawberry shortcake sundae – it’s his favourite after all.

Yachi and Yamaguchi seem to have gotten over their initial shyness, chatting up a storm in their own little world. You’re excluded, as you expected, but you’re glad for their sakes.

‘Excited about the last year of school?’

You glance up from your melting sundae, surprised that Tsukkishima is the first to break and initiate a conversation. From your interactions with him, he’s deliberate and methodical in his thoughts and words, so you take a few beats to formulate a response.

‘Yes and no, really’, you answer honestly.

He raises a thin blonde eyebrow, wordlessly beckoning you to elaborate.

‘I’m excited for our classes, the syllabus seems really interesting this year’, you say, wincing at how desperately nerdy you sound – but you’re a hopeless Ravenclaw, and advanced Arithmancy and Astronomy excites you. ‘But it’s scary isn’t it – knowing that it’s our last year, and having to make all those important decisions that are going to affect us, years down the road?’

He hums thoughtfully. ‘I get that’, he responds, hands steepled under his chin. ‘I’m deciding between doing further studies in magical history and going pro – just for a few more years. But I know no matter what decision I end up making, I’ll probably end up second guessing myself’.

‘Why can’t you do both?’ you find yourself saying before you can stop yourself. His brow furrows a notch. ‘You’re great at both, and I can’t see why you can’t as long as you put your mind to it’.

You cringe at your cheesiness, expecting him to snark at you for your Hufflepuff-like optimism the way he does with Yamaguchi, but you’re surprised once again when he mutters a quiet ‘thanks’, a flush high in his cheeks, and then asks - ‘And what about you?’

You wonder if he’s merely being polite, but his tone is serious, and his eyes are intently focused on you, so you tell him about your plans of taking on further studies in Arithmancy, perhaps even enroll in a Muggle university to study Mathematics for a semester or two, before working in Gringotts. The goblins may be archaic in their beliefs about the magical world, but their application of mathematics is extremely advanced.

‘It suits you’, he comments. You want to ask him what he means by that, but Yachi pipes up from across the table.

‘If you’re done with your ice cream, do you guys want to check out the magical menagerie? Yamaguchi’s going to get a cat!’

Before you can agree, Tsukkishima tells Yachi and Yamaguchi to go on ahead, drolly reminding them that they’re on a date, and they should go spend some quality time together. So they head off with wide smiles, shoulders bumping. They’re so sweet together it almost makes your teeth ache. Well, at least you’ve been dismissed as their reluctant chaperone, and you’re about to wish Tsukkishima a polite farewell when he taps your shoulder.

‘Let’s go check out Flourish & Botts. I’m sure you have books you want to check out’.

You blink – because you do, but you don’t expect Tsukkishima to accompany you, let alone be the one seeking out your company. He doesn’t even wait for your assent before he sets off, and you have to jog to keep up with the pace his long legs set. Thankfully, he notices you’re still lagging behind and slows down, though he teases dryly – ‘you know, at the rate you’re walking, I’m not sure we’ll get there before sundown’.

You pointedly look up at the sun, still high in the sky, before levelling an unimpressed glare at him. He only smirks in response – and you’re so flustered by how attractive his expression is that you nearly trip over the threshold to Flourish & Botts. He catches you with a steady hand to your elbow – and now your heart is fluttering – is this how Yachi is like all the time? If so, you should really cut her some slack – the thoughts crowding your mind so distracting that you hardly hear Tsukkishima call your name in concern until he shakes your shoulder gently.

‘Are you alright?’ Tsukkishima repeats, with a frown.

‘Y-yes’, you reply, cursing your traitorous heart again. He doesn’t look like he believes you, insistently pushing you towards an empty couch.

He clicks his tongue. ‘Don’t move’ he orders, before he disappears, probably to get the books he has his eyes on.

You sink into the cushions, resisting the urge to bury your face in your hands in embarrassment. An hour spent in his presence and you’ve already turned back into a lovesick fool. You’ve told yourself countless times to just get over your silly crush on him already because it’s not going to do you any good.

Yamaguchi’s complained to you and Yachi countless times about girls asking him if Tsukkishima is single, but you don’t see him taking an interest in anyone at all – spending all his time instead in the library and on the Quidditch pitch.

He’s the stone faced beater from Ravenclaw. People wonder sometimes if ice flows in his veins – but they don’t see the determined set of his jaw when he’s ploughing through homework and assignments because he knows he’s going to have to spend the whole day in training the next day, the glint of satisfaction in his eyes whenever he wins a match or scores a good grade, the patience he expends tutoring Yamaguchi (along with Hinata and Kageyama) in Ancient Runes –

Oh Merlin. You’re a hopeless case.

You jump when he returns and drops into a seat beside you.

‘Oi, what’s wrong with you’, he mutters a tad scornfully, though he drops the book you were eyeing onto your lap.

‘N-nothing. T-thanks!’ you answer, internally cursing yourself for even picking up Yachi’s speech patterns.

Get it together. You’re not a fool.

He hums, browsing his own book.

It’s pleasant spending an afternoon in a nook reading books. It’s not so pleasant when your heart palpitates every single time his knee grazes yours - and if you shift just a tiny bit to the left you’re pressing against his side and - oh

‘Are you sure you’re ok?’ he asks, frowning again, when he notices you’ve been reading the same page for the past fifteen minutes.

‘F-fine’, you stammer, warmth flooding your cheeks when he leans his face dangerously close to yours, bringing his palm to brush against your forehead.

‘Your temperature’s fine’, he mutters, but he doesn’t pull away – and oh gosh, you’re so close you can count every single lash on his eyes, your traitorous heart causing you to drown in the quiet concern in his eyes – and oh -

You’re not quite sure who makes the first move because your eyes flutter close, your nose bumps against his and you feel his chapped lips against yours for a split second before he pulls away.

You open your eyes.

Did that truly happen?

Judging from the blank expression on his face, the past few seconds were probably just a fever dream. But there are signs that cool, quiet Tsukkishima isn’t his usual self - a flush creeping up the back of his neck, his fingers gripping the pages of the book so tightly it starts to crinkle.

‘What was that?’ you blurt out, confused.

‘What was what?’ Though his voice remains calm and collected, his flush has traveled all the way to the very tips of his ears.

‘Nothing’, you answer, dropping your eyes back to the open book on your lap, your mind in a whirl. Surely you didn’t imagine that, right? Did you just - did he just - wait, you’re confused again, what’s going on?

Your thoughts are interrupted by elegant, long fingers slotting between your own. ‘Silly’ he mutters, but there’s a fond twist to his lips and a softness in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

‘I’m pretty sure I’m not the only silly one here’, you respond, in a sudden swell of confidence, though your pulse is sending tremors down your spine, your breath catching in your throat. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re the silly one too’. You curl your fingers over his and lean into his side.

He hums diffidently. ‘I guess it might seem that way’.

You both share a shy smile.

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

Yachi is smug when you confess to her later that Tsukkishima - no - Kei asked you out as he walked you home that evening.

‘I told you that we’d have fun!’, she says, grinning cheek to cheek. Then she starts rambling on and on about future double dates with her and Yamaguchi in Madame Puddifoots, where you can share couple sundaes and steaming mugs of hot chocolate - wouldn’t that be wonderful?

You resist the urge to tell her that Kei has sworn off any future double dates - let alone at the white and pink lace bedazzled monstrosity of a cafe, and his suggestion of a quiet afternoon spent at his favourite bookshop cafe sounds far more inviting to you.

You’ll let Yamaguchi break the news to her later, on a more appropriate date.

Instead you just smile to yourself, thinking of the quiet affection in his voice as he wished you farewell, and the suppressed delight in his eyes when you called his name just as he was about to turn away and surprised him by pulling him down to you and pressing your lips to his cheek.

Yachi’s right. You did have fun after all.

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gallavichthings · 4 years ago

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This week I interviewed someone who, despite being really new to the fandom, has already made for themselves: Arrow aka Arrowflier/ @arrowflier. Aside from several short stories here on Tumblr, they’ve also written Marriage, Mickey, and Milk of the Gods, Eighty-Seven Percent (Anatomy of a Heart), Burn Out the Sun and several others, including several on-going projects.

Also, I found out what a spectrometrist does.

A: I'm 30 years old, though when I go out I'm often mistaken for much younger. I got my PhD in analytical chemistry about three years ago, and moved from one midwest college town to another (where I currently work as a mass spectrometrist), both only hours from the city where I grew up. So you could definitely say I'm a homebody, and I like my comfort zone! That said, I've had some amazing opportunities to travel over the years, and love exploring as long as I get to go home after.

GT: I’m sorry but I have no idea what an spectometrist does. Could you explain it a bit to us and also what made you choose this career? It sounds so interesting! What was your favorite place to visit?

A: I won't get into the nitty gritty, but basically I use really expensive instrumentation to identify, detect, and quantfify trace levels of contaminants like pesticides in a variety of matrices: crops, soil, water, etc. When I first decided to major in chemistry in undergrad it was on a whim, and since then I've focused mainly on environmental applications because it's so important to the health of not just people, but everything else too.

So far I think I have to say Germany in general; I really love it there. It's also the only other country I've been to more than once--first in high school as part of a trip with other young musicians throughout my state, and then again for a three month internship in undergrad. People tend to think this is odd, but one of the things I miss the most is the public transportation...and the bakeries on every corner, of course! I lived right off the Duesseldorf Altstadt, and it was absolutely beautiful there with festivals all the time.

When I am home, I cycle through hyperfixations on several hobbies: reading, writing, and crafting, mostly. Before I decided to dive into this fandom, I spent most evenings knitting or crocheting in front of the tv, and even joined an internet-based crafting competition (reward: bragging rights).

GT: I' A crafting competition? That's cool! Have you ever made anything fandom inspired? 👀

A: Well I haven't made anything Shameless related just yet--though I've talked about making some little Ian and Mickey figures recently--but I've made things based on other fandoms. Here's a pic of one of the things I'm most proud of, my first double-knitting (reversible) project from a few years ago:

GT: That looks great!

A: What else...I have pretty major (but medicated) anxiety and am extremely open about it, like being by myself, and adore my dog (who lives with my parents a few hours away) more than anything.

GT: If you've read these interviews before you know I'm about to ask for a picture of that dog...

A: My furry baby:

Unfortunately, I just found out about an hour ago that he has a very aggressive oral cancer and won't be with us much longer, but right now he's feeling pretty good and happy.

GT: Awn, I'm so sorry about your dog. He's a cutie and I'm sure he gives you a lot of love.

Tell about your relationship with fanfiction. When did you first come across it?

A: I want to say middle school, maybe about 2005? I'm pretty sure I tried to search for something specific I was wondering about a book, and instead of a canonical answer, I found a fic and dove right in. I would sit at the family desktop in my parent's room and browse ff.net and LJ while I was supposed to be doing homework; thankfully I always cranked out assignments fast so it worked out, haha.

I read for a lot of little fandoms at first, and loved discovering that other people had some of the same thoughts I did about the characters. Back then I was mostly in it either for closure or because I wasn't ready for something to end. Now it's an immediate instinct: see or read something I like, then go see what other people have turned it into.

GT: Ah, FF.net and LJ, those bring out memories!

What was the fandom? Did you write for it too?

A: I want to say the very first one was Good Omens, back when it was just a book, but fics for video games were some of my first as well, specifically Skies of Arcadia: Legends and Tales of Symphonia because I had just discovered my ongoing love of JRPGs.

While I've had ideas for other fandoms, Shameless was the very first one I actually participated in, much less wrote for--my first fic ever was only posted on April 25th this year!

GT: I am reading Good Omens right now! I've already seen the show though.

Wow, you write a lot for someone so new to fanfiction! What made you want to start?

A: You know, I'm honestly not sure what was different to make me finally go for it! I periodically work on originals but hadn't written anything at all for a pretty long time--over a year I think.

But there's so much in Shameless that can be expanded on, and I just wanted to try! Besides that, I was lurking here on Tumblr and seeing what a great community it was, and figured writing was my way to become a part of it.

GT: The fandom is pretty great indeed, and very large nowadays. When did you start watching Shameless?

A: So that's kind of funny too...because I also started watching just this year! I don't know exactly when, but probably around February? I caught up just in time to watch the very last episode the night it aired.

GT: Good for you, you didn't have to suffer through our trials and tribulations lol

Did you binge the whole thing? What was your favorite episode?

A: I binge watched the hell out of it, haha. Totally obsessed once my coworker finally convinced me to give it a try. My favorite episode is definitely the gallavich wedding--I knew most of their story already, at least in general, so I totally cheated and watched bits of that one in between angstier episodes as a palate cleanser. I really needed that to get through season 8, especially.

GT: Is the wedding your favorite scene?

A: Hmm, favorite individual scene is much harder! I'd say it's a tie between the wedding, Mickey coming out, and "Holy fuck".

GT: What would you change in canon if you could change one thing?

A: I'd definitely get rid of Terry walking in on them and the following events. I get the place it has in the story, but it was just too much. While other things are difficult or don't seem to fit, that's the one thing I just can't handle.

GT: Who are your favorite characters aside from them?

A: That definitely varied throughout the series! Kev and V always had a special place in my heart for being such a constant even when they were struggling. But by the end, Carl was pretty high up there--I think he showed a lot of growth while still being himself.

GT: Do you write them as well or just Ian and Mickey?

A: So far they've only shown up as brief side characters, mostly because I find it harder to write them in a way that feels authentic yet. I'd like to get more into other characters though, and tentatively plan to do character studies for them at some point in the future.

GT: Do you ever include original characters in your fics?

A: I do! They mostly just spring up along the way; I start writing them and see what happens. But most of the characters in my outsider POV series (Meet the Neighbors) are original, and I started a kid!fic that will have OCs as well.

GT: What do you base them on?

A: Nothing in particular, honestly. I don't base them on real people or other characters, at least on purpose. I just start with the basic background that I think makes sense for the story, and let them grow from there. It mostly turns out ok I think, though sometimes they turn out a bit different than I expected!

GT: What inspires your stories?

A: Just about anything and everything! Lately I've mostly been letting other people inspire me with prompts, because there's something really special about writing something you know at least one person is really looking forward to. And a lot of it has been in the vein of "missing scenes", things I wish we had gotten to see on screen, or fix-its. If I can't think of something but want to write, I just sit for a bit and let my mind wander until something sticks.

I also have about a million crossover/AU ideas, because I like plunking my favorite characters into established situations and seeing how that twists it. Because most of the time you can't just merge stories like that and expect them to come out intact--it's sort of a character study on its own to discover how different stories will bend around different people.

GT: What kind of fics do you write the most?

A: Oh gosh, there's so many already I'm not even sure, haha. I'm thinking the majority of my ficlets are post-canon scenarios, which I really do enjoy, and either fluff or hurt/comfort. Because Mickey and Ian deserve good things, but they're not always great at letting themselves have them.

Most of my longer ideas are AU though; I'm just working much more slowly on them.

GT: Which fic you've written are you most proud of?

A: I think I have to say my very first one: F*ck the Stars. It's not that it's my best or my most popular, but it was a really big deal for me to put out there. I still kind of can't believe I actually did, and that I keep doing it!

GT: Which fics and authors in the fandom are your most favorite?

A: Does it sound like a cop-out if I say I can't pick? Really though, I can't--there's just so much talent, and I haven't even made my way through all the fandom classics yet. That said, whenever I see a fantasy AU it shoots right to the top of the list.

Two of my current fantasy favorites came out of you hosting Gallavich Week this year: Bad for Business by Ravenheart [@sunoficarus] and Lest They Say, Here Be Dragons by RageSeptember [@gallavictorious]. Then there's a witch in wicker park by horror_business [@damnnmilkovich], another taste of divine rush by kissteethstainred, and on a slightly different note Thicker Than Forget by @wehangout.

That doesn't even scratch the surface of works (or authors) I adore, and my to-read list is so long it's scary, but it's one little niche I'm very fond of that doesn't always get a lot of attention.

GT: You're right, it doesn't, so thanks for sharing your favorites with us!

So, fantasy is definitely one of your favorite themes/tropes, right? What else catches your attention when you're looking for fics to read?

A: Absolutely! Fantasy is all I read anymore outside of fic, so I love it when those things cross.

I'm also a sucker for just about any fic centered on misunderstandings, as long as there's a happy ending, usually where they both fall for each other and think they're the only one. It's my not-so-guilty pleasure.

Other than that, I love lots of description, things other people would probably consider purple prose, and familiar stories with unique twists. In general though, I'll give anything a shot if I'm in the mood for it, especially if it comes recommended.

GT: And what annoys you when reading?

A: Hmm, I think the biggest thing might actually be in formatting, not the work itself. If I see huge blocks of text, I tend to hit the back button pretty quickly. Likewise, if I can't tell when a scene shifts or when a flashback starts, it pulls me out of the story as I try to figure it out. I can overlook a lot if a storyline is compelling, but obvious inaccuracies--I'm talking things like physically impossible actions or timelines--throw me off as well. I do avoid some fics (not all) with medical or scientific plots for that reason.

GT: What has the reception been to your fics?

A: So much better than I expected! Sometimes I can't believe people aren't tired of me yet, honestly. The weird thing to me is that ficlets I don't think are very good (here on tumblr, I don't generally put my speedwrites on ao3) sometimes seem to be among the best received! But that's encouraging in its own way, and I think tends to reflect general interest in different topics.

GT: What kind of comments do you just love getting?

A: All of them, even though I'm terrible about replying! But I think it's really special when someone picks out a phrase or passage that spoke to them, or that they related to.

GT: What's your writing process like?

A: Never the same twice, haha. But I'd say that once I have an idea, it's usually immediately followed by a line or two that I fall in love with, and I go from there. For longer fics I attempt to outline, but if I try too hard to stick to that I tend to fizzle out very quickly. So instead I try to apply something I was originally taught for public speaking/oral storytelling: know the bare bones. Stick to those couple of impactful moments that the story wouldn't be the same without, and let the rest fall where it may.

That's easier said than done, of course, and I still struggle to self-edit and keep the bullet-point key moments manageable. I also tend to edit as I go because I'm a perfectionist, but I've started forcing myself to just leave blanks and skip around if I don't feel like I'm getting it right. I skip around a lot, in fact; instead of trying to write up to the point I just had a random idea for, I go ahead and write it and fit it in later.

For my tumblr fics it's a little different though; they're short and fairly stream-of-conscious, and generally unedited as a way to force myself to just put things out there and stop worrying about it.

GT: Do you have any writing rituals? How do you motivate yourself to write?

A: It changes from day to day, nothing concrete except an endless supply of tea and either silence or instrumental music.

When I really need motivation, I like to use my hourglass, and tell myself that I have to at least try to work on something until the sand runs out. More often, though, I try to sit outside--albeit that only works for me in a very narrow temperature range--or I get set up in the spare room that serves as my little library. Sometimes I'll hand write in a pretty journal to type up later. Atmosphere can make a big difference, as can a comfy place to sit--no desks or tables for me.

In a pinch, I take a shower--shower thoughts are creative thoughts--or go to bed extra early and type ideas on my phone, since things always seem to come to me when I shouldn't be thinking about it at all.

Also, not gonna lie, I sometimes bribe myself.

GT: Oh, bribe how? It never works for me.

A: I mean, I never said it worked well, haha. But it can be the last push sometimes. "If I finish this passage, I get to open that bottle of wine." "If I spend 30 minutes at least trying on this, I can leave the laundry until tomorrow." "If I actually post tomorrow, I can splurge on take-out as a reward." That kind of thing.

GT: Hahah, I wish that worked for me too!

Do you have a preference for writing Ian or Mickey pov?

A: In the beginning, I was more comfortable writing Ian. I can really relate to both his mental health struggles and the way he seems to think about and deal with things sometimes, so it came more naturally.

Now though, I find myself writing as Mickey more and more. I probably make him a bit more introspective than would be true to character, but there's so much depth and development there to explore. Beyond that, it's sort of cathartic to write Ian through his eyes, because he's blunt and can put things in perspective and obviously cares very deeply for all of Ian, not just the easy parts.

GT: What's the most difficult thing about writing them?

A: For me, I think it's not being too self-indulgent and keeping them in-character enough that it doesn't throw other people off. That, and dealing with their individual issues and traumas respectfully. It can be nerve-wracking to try and tackle something like bipolar disorder or child abuse from an outside perspective, because it's important but getting it wrong could be hurtful.

GT: And what's the best part?

A: How well they fit together. They've been in each other's orbits for so long, and know each other so well, and it's a pleasure to write about a couple that has their problems but keep coming back to each other to work it out. Because any kind of personal relationship is work, but it's worth it for all the fun, silly, and completely-in-love moments we didn't get enough of in the show.

GT: What are your headcanons for their future?

A: I think I'd like to see them move back to the Southside, and really make it their own. They might not have kids of their own, but their nieces and nephews hang around with their friends at the "cool uncle's" house all the time. They're the honorary parents of the neighborhood, too, and kids know where to go when they need a nonjudgemental adult or a protective force. And I don't care if they keep the same jobs, but whatever they do they find a way to do together.

GT: What are you working on right now?

A: Oh, so many things. I currently have...6 official WIPs? One is a fluff piece of them taking a delayed honeymoon and should go quickly once I get back to it, but the others are more intensive and need some worldbuilding still. There's a Jurassic World AU, a twisty sort of Snow White AU, an alternate meeting AU where Mickey is basically a survivalist, a post-canon fic about them picking up some strays, and my outsider POV series.

I'm trying really hard not to start anything else big until I at least get further into those, but I have a handful of other chaptered AUs planned for sometime in the far future, most based on fairy tales. And I'm still enjoying doing my little ficlets, too.

GT: Wow! Looks like we have a lot to look forward to!!

Ok, last question: why arrowflier?

A: Good question, no good answer haha. Arrow comes from a class I took in undergrad, where we were encouraged to choose our "storytelling" names to use for the semester. It's a character (sort of) in an original work I've been not-writing since high school.

But Arrow was always taken on other websites, so I had to add to it. In trying to think of modifiers, I think I was looking at my books and saw "Arrow's Flight" by Mercedes Lackey. So now I'm either Arrowfly or Arrowflier depending on availability!

GT: Hahah, no, it was a good answer, thanks!

Well, best of luck with all your WIPs and thank you for providing us so much content in such little time. I love seeing new people come into the fandom, it's always a boost of motivation.

Leave a message to the readers now.

A: Thank you for this opportunity, and for all you do for the fandom!

For everyone else, thank you for being such an incredibly supportive community; I'm so glad I chose this as my first real fandom, because I couldn't have chosen better. And if you ever think, "I wish I could write, or draw, or gif, or whatever," just go for it! You'll have an amazing audience, and it's absolutely worth it.💖

#gallavich #ian x mickey #shameless us #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless #gallavich fanfiction #arrowflier #writer's spotlight

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angelanimedesaray · 4 years ago

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Through the Looking Glass Chapter 11: Winter Snow

AN: Yaaassss This is one of those chapters that has been in my head since I started writing the series. Finallyyyyyyyy we’re here.

Also consider this the point that they’re not kids anymore. They’ll be full blown adults next chapter. Still teenagers here, but they won’t be in the next chapter.

Characters: Levi, Reader, Mentions of Varioud BG Characters

Pairing: (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Bullying, Depression, Bit of a Breakdown, Angst

Word Count: 12296.....Holy Shnikies, is that a new record for me with Tumblr fics? I think it is... O.o

<----Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter---->

Gif Found HERE

*Levi’s POV*

When she had shown him the little booklet of information about college, he hadn’t at the time realized just how big of a part that was going to play in her life--not so soon, at least.

It was nothing that happened right away, and not something that he noticed as soon as it started to happen. For a while, everything continued as it always had. He would show up in her world and be granted a brief reprieve from his life, with her pulling him deeper and deeper into the wonders her world had to offer, showing and teaching him new things. When she turned fifteen and was able to drive a car--he finally had a name for those damn horseless carriages--she took the time to try and teach him how to drive those death machines as well. It was rocky at first, with her focusing on how this button and this position and this pedal did such and such, starting with simply getting the car going and moving it back and forth, teaching him about basic signs, driving on certain terrains and in certain weather…

It ended up being an entire process, and it took more than a few days where they saw each other to teach him how to safely drive a car--and even then, she only taught him to use an automatic. Apparently there was another kind of car that operated differently, but she said he shouldn't worry about learning to drive the other one unless she ended up getting one of those different cars.

It had been much easier learning the emergency phone number in her world, the number to call if there was ever trouble and they needed help. Three numbers and press the green phone button, it didn't get much easier than that.

Of course, he also kept learning other things. He liked to peruse the books in her house, particularly the ones about the history of her world, or the nature and what it looked like beyond what he saw with her. Sometimes that was what he did while he waited for her to finish her schoolwork. Other times, he practiced what she'd been showing him on the piano. He wasn't as good at it as she was, but he also didn't have a piano to practice on in his world--not unless he drew all the keys in the dirt and pretended he heard the sounds of the keys while he practiced the patterns and positions.

Even though he'd practice by himself while he waited for her to finish the homework beyond his understanding, he preferred when she would help him practice. He liked having her sit so close beside him, hands over or under his to show him the keys…

She also liked to take him places. Especially after she got that car. If they had the time and it wasn't too late in the day, she would drive them to another town to see a new park. Once she'd gone bowling--and they'd both sucked until he finally got the hang of it. She taught him pool after getting grumpy over Levi getting the hang of bowling and pulling ahead of her in three or four games. Pool she'd been fairly good at, as had Levi once he got used to using the pool stick instead of a knife--he had wicked aim and accuracy, which helped him significantly in that game.

She liked to bring him places to try foods from different cultures with her, or to walk through bookstores and help her choose new fantasy or sci-fi or supernatural stories to read. She’d even buy him any books that caught his eye so that he could read them when he visited, though he usually checked with her that they were non-fiction, first, so he could still learn something about the world she came from in the process.

While all this autonomy started to appear, and they were able to do and see more things, she was also...changing.

She was always so eager to get out of the house when she saw him, looking relieved and happy for an excuse. When she thought he wasn't looking, she seemed tired. There were circles under her eyes, a slight slump to her shoulders, and the few times Levi drove the car instead of her, if he glanced over at her he could catch her with her eyes closed, like she was trying to rest a little in the brief silence between them. A few times, she'd fallen asleep on him, though Levi never said anything about it, even when she woke up embarrassed. The most she would get would be a soft 'Tch' before he went back to whatever he'd been doing to entertain himself while she rested. Considering how eagerly she always threw herself into their time together, she had to be exhausted if she was falling asleep during it.

And he didn't mind it at all when she fell asleep on him. For those few minutes, it felt like he got to be the one to take care of her for once, something he didn't get to do nearly as much as he would like to. She took care of him so much and in so many ways, he doubted he'd ever be able to catch up and return the favor to its fullest extent. Plus, he soon found out why she always seemed so exhausted. It turned out she was stressed and spread thin.

It was something he had to piece together slowly from things she said or papers he found. She was always so focused on making the most out of his visits, that she never said a word about how tired she was, or the things that were stressing her out. She wanted him to take his mind off his life, to not worry, so she tried not to mention anything that would make him worry about her.

But he paid attention when she talked to him. She was going to school five days of the week, yes, but she was also working two jobs, as well as some babysitting on the side when the opportunity presented itself. Her mother had apparently remarried, and was expecting another child soon, so she was trying to help more around the house with things her mother couldn't do due to her pregnancy. She was putting in all the work required to stay at the top of her class, namely the very top, which would be called a valedictorian. She was also keeping up with her interests, helping her mother with an out of home bakery business, keeping up with her piano practice, and she did something called skating that she felt gave her some exercise but also relaxed her. She was also in one or two school activities that took her time, and once they reached a certain age, college came back into play, and she started applying to be let in and to be awarded money to go while keeping up with everything else. He didn't know how she managed to find the energy to drag him all over creation and keep him discovering new things.

Every now and then she let slip that she wanted to leave the town she felt trapped in, and the people in it, and he could see the desperation in her eyes to do just that. The stressors he could understand her wanting to leave, but the people...it took a few more hints for him to figure that part out.

Less of a hint. He had to get her at the right moment, when she finally opened up to him about the part that worried her the most.

He'd appeared in one of his favorite ways--quietly, when he'd simply been walking down the street--and had suddenly been the private audience to the soft piano music being played in the darkened living room.

The happiness he felt to be here again, and to be hearing her music as well, was muffled when he noted the overall tone in the room.

The music was sad, melancholy, depressing, and there wasn't any light in the room to illuminate her or the piano, the curtains on the windows pulled closed, the lights kept off. He approached from behind quietly, a small frown on his face as he came up to inquire what was wrong.

Along the way, his foot crunched a paper, the sound unheard by Y/N because she was focused on the piano and what she was playing, not the rest of the room. He picked it up to look at it closer, realizing it was part of a stack of papers that looked like those applications she'd been filling out so many of recently.

It wasn't one of the applications, but rather a note--a letter--attached to the top and addressed to her parents. It was from one of her teachers, and it went on to talk about how the school she wanted to go to had a very low acceptance rate, was very far away and wouldn't have certain financial aid available for her, and how it was a very expensive school. How she 'shouldn't plan on going to the one school alone, because it was unlikely for her to get in, and even less likely for her to pay for it' and needed to apply for more scholarships and to other schools, yet she refused to apply to more than two schools, and refused to apply for some of the scholarships.

Probably not the only thing bothering her that had her playing in the dark, but it was a good hint.

After putting the paper back into the stack, he stepped a little closer, finally making his presence known by commenting on the mood in the air she'd created.

"So doom and gloom--I'm supposed to be the depressing one," Levi quipped in a flat tone and she whipped around in surprise, banging her knee on the piano in the process and turning back around to clutch at her knee and hiss.

The pain, however, was an excuse to try and hide what he'd already seen. Tears, freshly falling down her cheeks, and not from hitting her knees.

Levi’s usual closed off demeanor shifted, and he quickly came over to sit beside her on the bench. She turned her head away from him to hide the tears as she tried to--unsuccessfully--wipe them away without him noticing.

The problem was that as soon as he was sitting beside her, he realized he didn't know what to say--either to get her to talk about it or to comfort her. He simply sat there awkwardly in silence with her facing off to the side and him facing the piano, both of them unable to talk for some reason.

Hesitantly, unsure if it was the right move but knowing at least it would be something, Levi let his fingers find their way to the right place on the piano, and started to play one of the newer and more difficult pieces she’d taught him recently. It was melancholy--most of the ones she taught him had a bittersweet edge to it, or at least a part of the song that felt that way--but it felt fitting for the moment, and he thought perhaps the song would prompt her to do something in return. Maybe she’d play with him. Maybe she’d start to talk. That was up to her.

Levi quietly played out the song, focused on hitting the right chords, making sure his arm brushed against hers every now and then in the process when he reached for keys closer to where she was sitting as a way of having some contact with her. She was silent at first, just listening to him play the song before, about halfway through, she finally reached out with one of her hands to play half the song. Levi felt a little relief to be getting a response from her, and he let his hand slide over hers as she played half the song for him, feeling her fingers moving below his, able to feel the slight shake in them even though she seemed to be playing the notes steadily.

They continued like that for a while, before Levi started to worry that she might try to use the piano as a distraction rather than an opening to start talking. As they neared the end of the song, he finally spoke up, cutting right to the heart of the matter.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, fingers still moving over the keys. She shook her head, keeping her face turned away from him so he couldn’t see her expression.

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“It really is. It’s stupid, and it doesn’t matter in the long run, anyway.”

“If that was true, you wouldn’t have been crying.”

She sighed, hitting one of the notes with more force than necessary and letting her hand drop away from the piano just short of the end of the song. Levi stopped playing as well, sitting quietly on the bench and gazing patiently at her back as he waited for her to start speaking.

“It’s just...everything going on, you know? I mean, I took it all on myself, I really shouldn’t complain, and I wouldn’t, but it gets so much...harder when...Gah...I hate people…”

Her voice shook, and she sniffled rather loudly, rubbing her left eye with her palm. Suddenly, Levi realized that besides the one time he’d helped her find her home when she’d run away...he didn’t think he’d seen her cry so openly around him. He reached out to gently touch her shoulder, and a shudder seemed to go through her at the contact, and she turned on the piano bench so that she could face him, burying her face in his chest as a small, hiccupped sob escaping her as she curled up against him. He was taken aback for a moment, but after feeling his heart ache and feeling how she was clutching at the fabric of his shirt, he gently draped an arm around her shoulders, letting his other hand gently touch her shoulder in a loose hug.

“Are people picking on you again?” Levi asked, digging for information to try and figure out what was wrong so he could figure out how to properly help her. She gave a bitter laugh at his question, a sound that seemed strange coming from her.

“I think I’d prefer getting beaten up like back then to this bullshit,” she said bitterly, and Levi’s eyebrows raised. He was pretty sure that was the first time he’d heard her swear, too. “No, I...I’ve always kinda been an outcast, at school...which I guess I got used to it...somewhat...but it’s gotten really hard this year. I’ve been working my ass of, and...and it just gets that much harder when you’re constantly hearing people call you lazy, and then you come home to hear the exact same thing as if you’re not spending every hour trying so hard...and then every time you accomplish something, everyone’s back there talking about how it's not going to matter anyway.”

She adopted a voice clearly meant to mimic everyone else, a bitter and cutting edge to her tone even with how her voice was muffled in his chest. “Like you’re actually going to get accepted by any colleges or scholarships, you never get anything in on time, you’re always being told to get things in or they’ll be late, always turning it in last minute, you’re so lazy you never get anything done or doing what you’re supposed to be doing, like you’ll have enough scholarships or meet the deadlines for the places you want to go. Oh, you got accepted by that college? Well it’s not like you’ll ever be able to actually pay for it. Oh, well if you do go to this college you want, you’ll just crash and burn anyway--you’re so straight laced I bet you’re that kid that goes crazy with freedom in college and drops out. You’ve never had a boyfriend or had that many friends, you’re totally going to be that crazy cat lady with forty cats and no friends. You can’t afford to go out for an hour, you have to stay home and get all these applications done, plus your homework, and don’t forget stuff for bible study every morning, and your practices, and yearbook, and everything else under the damn sun you’re not allowed to mess up in cause you have to be the perfect child that’s the first to go to college, you have to get the perfect cushy, high paying job, perfect grades, perfect activities, don’t get snippy with me if you’re feeling stressed it’s all your fault because you’re being lazy and not doing the work like you’re supposed to, you keep screwing around. You’re tired? Same thing applies--you don’t know tired, you’re just lazy and you can’t manage your time. If you’re feeling so stretched thin, then you should just drop something. But not this, or that, I don’t care if you don’t think this helps, don’t drop it either. Oh, you’re not actually allowed to drop anything, just make it all work.”

Her grip tightened on him as she spoke, and he wasn’t sure if the trembling in her body was from sobs or rage with how bitter her voice seemed to sound despite the wobble from tears or the occasional hiccup of a sob. He didn’t interrupt with any of his thoughts, he simply let her rant and rave to him, let her vent, because clearly she needed to.

“I know it shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care about what they have to say. It's the same people who make sure anything I like is uncool schoolwide as soon as they know I like it, who thought it would be so...fucking funny to make me go to homecoming with the kid who treated me like a disease and wouldn’t even touch my arm the whole time, the same kid who told me to go kill myself in class and people just fucking laughed and the teacher didn’t even blink even though she was sitting right there. I shouldn’t give a damn about what they have to say, but after so long of hearing it, no matter how thick of a skin I think I’ve built up it still...it still gets to me, and I’m just...I’m just so tired…”

She sagged against him, like some of the fight left her after she finished speaking, curling up in his arms like a baby rabbit seeking shelter, like there was a fox right outside the burrow waiting to devour it and it knew it couldn’t run from it. Levi had stiffened at the mention of the kid who’d told her to kill herself, his expression darkening as he got a better perspective of what her life was like at school, something he now realized he’d never heard about the social side of, only ever her schoolwork and the subjects she studied. Never the people.

Now he knew why. He just wished she would have said something sooner. Did she really think that just because she wasn’t getting beat up that it wasn’t still a real problem? If it was getting this bad…

She stayed slumped in his arms for several long moments, Levi gently rubbing her back to try and soothe her as he waited for her to regain her composure, feeling like she still had more to say and not wanting to interrupt her while he quietly absorbed information. Then, abruptly, she sucked in a long breath and pulled away, arm rubbing angrily at her eyes with a fierce frown on her face.

“It’s still nothing, though,” she said as she got to her feet to start an aggravated pace, and Levi was just about to argue that yes, it was, after that long rant that had driven her to cursing and tears, but she was still talking, and she had a determined venom in her voice as she spoke. “It’s nothing, because I’m not going to let it turn into something. I don’t care if its spite driving me right now, but I swear I’m going to prove every last one of them wrong and--and--and break out of the fucking cage everyone keeps trying to put me in. Even my mom. I love her, but she’s just as bad, always demanding I be so fucking perfect and do what she wants instead of what I want. But even she’s trying to pin me down, she keeps pushing for me to go to these colleges nearby, or to stay in the area, or to settle for something else even though what I want to do...yeah, its difficult, it's a high bar, and it’s going to take me really far away, but it’s my life, it’s my choice. And I’m going to prove every last fucking one of them wrong and get the hell out of here and make something of myself.”

She finished with a huff, having worked herself up in her rant, turning to look at him with slightly flushed cheeks, looking expectantly at him for some kind of reply now that she was finished and he’d been silent for so long. It wasn’t like he had the words to say, though--he wasn’t good at words, and she’d just dumped a lot of information on him.

“All those bad words. I think I’m a shitty influence on you.”

She was taken aback for a moment, staring at him for a second before she snorted in surprise, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders and the faintest smile coming across her face. She approached the bench once more, sitting beside him with the blush coloring her cheeks and her hands locked tightly together.

“You’re the only real friend I’ve had, no matter where I’ve gone. You’ve always been here for me. I don’t think I tell you enough that I’m really thankful to have you. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t.”

Her words were softly spoken, and she stayed close to him the entire time, even if her embarrassment didn’t allow her to look him in the eyes. And to hear her say it aloud to him...it settled doubts he might have had that he wouldn’t have voiced otherwise, helped put some of the restlessness inside him at ease.

Levi looked at the piano in front of him, grasping the handles for the key lid and lowering it over the piano keys. “You’ll make it,” he said with affirmed certainty. “You’re tougher than you think. You’ve made it this far, haven’t you? What’s a little further?”

He looked over at her to catch her smiling warmly at him, a twinkle in her eyes, and he felt his heart soften in the face of that expression. Once the key lid was in place, he gently touched her shoulder to give her a playful shove like she tended to do for him.

“You need a break. I’m here. What should we do?”

She heaved a sigh, looking away for a moment and chewing on her lip as she considered what was possibly an endless list of possibilities. “It’s gonna start getting colder soon...so it should be something we won’t be able to do once winter settles in...I think it’ll be clear skies tonight…” She turned to face him, that sparkle in her eyes again and a smile on her face. “I know what we’re going to do. Come on, we’ve got a bit of a drive to make first,” she said excitedly, getting up off the bench and heading to the front door, where she picked up what Levi knew to be her car keys.

Levi got up to follow her, wondering to himself where they were going now, and how far of a drive it would be. What in-town activity would they be carrying out today?

They got into her car, Levi looking up to see the night sky as he opened the passenger side door and got inside, Y/N already starting up the car before he even shut the door and driving the car out of town and into open country. They drove in silence for several minutes, Levi sneaking peaks at Y/N the entire time, mulling over the stress she was under and her confession in the other room.

He would have beat the shit out of a few people by now if he was there, but he never showed up when she was in school, always after. He was never around when she needed him around, which meant that it was something she had to deal with on her own.

It was like he’d said, though. She was stronger than she thought. He’d seen the determination and the fire in her eyes before. She would make it through. And she would reach her goals. Even if she had to get herself through on spite right now.

He still wanted to get his hands on that one individual in particular…but she hadn’t even given him a name.

Y/N suddenly took a turn onto a dirt road that went so far into a wheat field, turning off her lights--which immediately caught Levi’s attention--before she brought the car to a stop and shut all the lights off, reaching into the back to grab a blanket before she opened the door.

“We’re actually not supposed to be here--it’s private property--but we should be fine so long as we’re gone before dawn,” she said with a spark of rebellion in her eyes.

Good. It sounded like she needed to break some rules and get outside some of the restrictions around her for a while.

Getting out of the car, Levi spoke up in a low voice, looking around at the field around him and noting that the hay didn’t reach high enough to cover the car. There was a corn field behind them that would have been high enough to cover the car, but for some reason they’d parked here. “What are we doing out here?”

Y/N got on the hood of her car carefully, scooting back until she could lean back to lie on the windshield with her legs stretched out in front of her. She gestured for him to come up onto the hood instead of responding, waiting until he’d crawled up with a sigh before she threw the blanket over both of them.

As soon as he leaned back, he understood why they were here. Leaning back on the hood of her car, he had a clear, unobstructed view of the night sky. Where the corn would have reached high enough it could have obstructed the view somewhat, the wheat was low enough it didn’t creep into his line of sight for the sky. It was just pure...open sky. And out here, where there were no lights from town, just nature, the stars shone brilliantly in stunning detail, the only light that could have ‘affected’ the view being the moonlight itself. But it was still a dazzling display above him, and all around there was the soft rustle of wind through the wheat fields, crickets, the occasional howl from coyotes in the distance--just nature, fresh air, the sky laid out endlessly in front of them…

Y/N shifted onto her side, curling up next to him with a comfortable sigh. “I know you live underground so...I figured it’s about time we went stargazing. I’m surprised we haven’t yet.”

Levi turned his head enough to look at her, noting that she was looking at him far more than the stars, probably gauging his reaction. For her, this was something she saw quite frequently, so maybe his reaction to it was more interesting to her. Still, knowing she’d chosen this because she knew about where he lived, how it wasn’t an everyday sight for him, how this was a sight that was denied to him…

Much like earlier, he put his arm around her instead of choosing to respond with words, pulling her a little closer to him as a way to show her his gratitude, that this did, in fact, mean something to him, and he appreciated her gesture. She seemed to understand, that blush returning to her cheeks as she buried her face in his chest and pulled the blanket tighter around them as if that could hide her reaction and make it seem like she was just getting warm.

Knowing she drove them out here so they could see the stars, that her idea of an escape was to show him something that he rarely got to have and to sit in silence with him for however long they wanted to…

He cared about her. Deeply. That had never been in question. From the moment she’d built that safe place for him--an image called to mind as he looked up at the stars unobstructed much like he had once looked up at them from the nest she’d created for him through the window of the tiny wooden playhouse--he had a soft spot in his heart for her. And over the years, she just burrowed deeper and deeper, that flickering flame growing stronger, the warmth getting more intense. She made him happy--made him feel like he belonged, even if he flickered in and out of the world. Even though he didn’t get to stay, he was still so grateful to have a chance to be part of her life, to know her, to spend time with her. She was a safe place for him, a place where he didn’t have to keep his guard up, where he could relax and just...be. All these things he felt for her, and one thing that had held him back recently had been a concern that she might not feel the same way.

Now, lying side by side and looking up at the stars, knowing she’d done it for him and that this moment between them was what she considered an escape from her problems, that he might be as much of her escape as she was his...it gave him the sense that maybe, just maybe, she might care for him, too.

He didn’t say anything, though, not yet. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy this as long as it lasted, with her in his arms lying next to him--eventually falling asleep, which he didn’t disrupt considering he now knew how much she needed it--gazing up at the stars in relative silence.

Sometime after she fell asleep, Levi looked down at her, the arm that had been wrapped around her all this time moving just slightly so his hand could reach into her hair, giving it a few soft, gentle strokes.

“Stay with me...I don’t want this to end…” he murmured softly for only him to hear, the stars and moon his only witness as he breathed her in for a moment before lying back down to gaze up at the sky, for once grateful to his insomnia to allow him to stay awake and simply bask in the simplistic beauty of the moment.

*Reader’s POV*

At long last, Levi finally blipped into your world during winter, when there was snow on the ground. You had been waiting years to be able to show him snow for the first time, to get to see his first experience with snow, share it with him…

As soon as you saw him appear in your room, you immediately dropped the pen you were using to write neatly on your scholarship applications and leapt to your feet, grinning widely at him and not even giving him a chance to orient himself in your world before you had your arm hooked around his and you were leading him down the stairs to the front door, where you started throwing winter clothes at him.

"Oh my God you're actually here, your timing is perfect cause right now--well, just put it all on, I don't want to spoil the surprise!" You squealed excitedly, yanking on a hat, gloves, a coat, simply draping the scarf loosely over your neck without wrapping it. You tried to jump in and help Levi get dressed as well so he would move faster, but that only made him grumpy.

"I've got it--I can dress myself, I don't need you to do it for me," he grumbled, shrugging on the flannel coat you'd grabbed for him. It was actually one of your stepfather's many coats, and it utterly dwarfed Levi...considering your stepfather was in the six foot range in height, and Levi…

Well, at least he would be well covered and warm.

Once Levi was well bundled and looking at you with a mixture of impatience and expectancy, you happily flung open the door, about to bound outside before you reminded yourself it was slick outside and you needed to watch your step. You checked yourself, stepping around the icy spots outside your door and hanging back to shut the door so Levi could just focus on the experience.

It was snowing outside. Not only that, but it had been snowing for the past few days, and there was a white blanket over the world at least a foot deep, with icicles hanging from the roof edge and ice patches hidden under the snow making the pathways treacherous.

Levi paused on the porch once he could see what the outside world looked like, with you sliding discreetly behind him to shut the door before too much heat got out of the house, quietly creeping around to his other side to watch him as he walked with slightly widened eyes to the edge of the covered porch, looking at the icicles and reaching out to touch one gingerly, head peeking out from the cover of the porch to look up at the white flurries falling from the sky. His breath fogged in front of him, making him pull back for a second before he looked over at you, watching him excitedly on the porch.

"Snow," he said simply, and you nodded at him exuberantly. You reached out to take his hand, stepping out into the snow and noting how high up to his legs he sank into the snow as he followed behind. You didn't keep a hold of his hand, only grasping it long enough to get him to follow before letting go and allowing him to comfortably walk beside you.

"There's so many things to do and see--its cold, and I honestly hate the cold, but staying warm shouldn't be too much of a problem," you said with a glint in your eyes. You knew the perfect place for sledding, knew somewhere the snow was particularly thick that would serve well for snowmen and snow forts and snowball fights. Maybe it was little kid stuff, but Levi needed the chance to cut loose and be a kid, especially since he never had the snow experience when he was actually a little kid. You might have to spend a bit of money, but you were fine with that, too, your purse slung firmly over your shoulders. You could get a good sled at a nearby store, you could afford some coffee to warm back up and restore some energy after some time outside, and, you had some money for your thoughts on a grand finale for the night.

You'd been scheming this day ever since realizing Levi hadn't seen snow yet, and you were praying he was going to be able to stay for all of it.

"Watch your step--there's ice hidden under the snow on the sidewalks because it's been so cold, so just...be mindful," you warned him, walking with arms out at your side and methodically placed footsteps for a few moments. "I always hate walking in fresh snow--everything looks so clean and pure and pretty that I feel like I'm ruining a beautiful snapshot of nature. Though, we kinda have to walk in it to get where we're going," you said with a guilty note in your voice.

"Couldn't we just take your car?" Levi asked, and you noticed his gaze was now roving over the unblemished patches of snow around you, how it really did seem like a thick and pure blanket fallen over the world.

"Well, this is the more fun, scenic route. Plus it's kinda dangerous to drive in weather like this before they've cleared the roads, especially with the ice underneath.

You could see that his cheeks and his nose were already starting to turn red, and that he'd mimicked how you had your scarf on. Not wanting him to catch a cold--especially because you knew proper medicine was more of a luxury where he lived--you reached over and wrapped the scarf around his face, causing him to pause and give you a blank stare. You coughed, hoping your blush could be passed off as a result of the cold like him.

"Besides, I want to show you this place in the forest. One of my favorite things about when it's cold and snowy like this is what it sometimes does to the plants," you said as if you hadn't just wrapped the scarf around his face, continuing forwards and trudging through the snow in the direction of the nearby park that had the forest trail.

"Why do I feel like you've got this whole thing planned out?"

"Because I do. I've been waiting for you to show up on a snow day for what feels like forever. I can think of six things I want to try and fit into this one day--six!" You shrugged, as if it was still the most casual thing in the world, attempting to adopt his usual indifferent attitude to tease him a bit. "Course, three things we can do at the park alone, so, no big deal," you said with a sniff, flashing him a mischievous smile a heartbeat later.

"And those things are…?"

"Well, we're gonna look at something. Then we're gonna build something. And then we're gonna do something."

Levi snorted. "So informative."

"What? I was more specific: looking, building, doing," you said with a pout before you pointed up at the park just ahead of you. "Besides, we're practically here."

The park itself wasn't the pristine picture the rest of the snowy fields seemed to be--there were remnants of snow sculptures and forts, a few shakily made snowmen, footprints all over the place and snow splattered along the side of equipment. The two of you trudged past that, though, and into the forest that was far less disturbed. No one wanted to be hiking in this weather, except you two crazy teenagers, apparently.

Levi’s fingers brushed against a bush, and looking back you could see that some of the branches and leaves were encapsulated in ice.

"Almost, but I'm looking for something specific," you said cryptically. There was this one tree at a fork in the forest path that you knew would look gorgeous trapped in ice like that, so you were keeping hush hush about it, leading the two of you deeper into the woods like you were the villain in a child's fairytale.

The crunch of snow and the blowing of the wind was the only sound, the icy air cutting at your lungs and making your breathing a little heavier than normal as you trudged uphill, frustrated to hear that Levi didn't seem to be struggling behind you. You didn't understand how, but he appeared to be unbothered by the physical strain, at least for now.

After several minutes of hiking where Levi admired the wintery scenery around the two of you and you navigating, you finally came to your tree.

It was a weeping willow, placed by human hands at the fork in the path for aesthetic scenery purposes. But right now, with the ice covering every branch and leaf in perfect, unclouded clarity like it had been entrapped in glass, branches swaying just slightly in the breeze…

It looked gorgeous.

"My favorite thing about winter isn't all the activities--its how the ice freezes over the trees. I think it's beautiful," you said pensively, your hand cupping beneath some of the willow strands and letting the iced over, draped branches slip through your fingers. "It's like they're frozen in time…"

Levi stood a few feet back, hands in his pockets, breath puffing steadily in front of him as he looked up at the magnificent tree that was 'frozen in time,' his gaze returning to you in time to see you disappearing behind a thick curtain of the iced over branches and leaves. While he couldn't see you, you crouched down and tried to make a snowball as fast as you could, catching a glimpse of him moving to join you under the tree, which caused you to giggle and take a step or two back, your hastily made snowball hidden behind your back.

As soon as he stepped into the shelter of the tree, you practically slapped the snowball into his neck with the close range you were at, acting before you could doubt yourself, shrieking maniacally as your dipped your hand into the snow for another one, heart pounding at what you'd just initiated.

"What the f--"

"SNOWBALL FIGHT!" you shrieked, tossing another one at him that splattered harmlessly against his side. You attempted to flee, trying to scoop up more snow as you darted out from under the willow, whipping around to see Levi already had one in his hand. You flung instinctively, the shot sailing harmlessly over his shoulder and causing you to shriek again as he tossed his at you in retaliation, the snowball hitting squarely in the center of your chest.

"You brat!"

"I got you, admit it! Take tha--shit!"

"Like this is a fight you can win!"

"I missed again? Wait, fuck, no, stop, I'm a terrible shot--ack!"

"You asked for it!"

"I've made a terrible mistake, have mercy--EEK!"

"HAH!"

"I surrender, uncle, uncle, I give, stop!"

The snowball fight had quickly turned into a snowball execution, Levi pelting you with snowballs with that ridiculous speed and wicked aim of his while your shots kept going wide and missing him while you tried in vain to run from him, ending with you laughing and shrieking, hunched over and taking a few more snowballs before Levi finally stopped. You peeked your head up warily...and he crushed one last snowball atop your head, making you do a cold shiver dance as snow slipped down inside your shirt.

"There...I think that's a lesson learned," Levi was saying smugly, watching you do the cold dance with a smirk on his face. He looked flushed though--you doubted from exertion, most likely from the cold.

"How about we do something less competitive--like make a snowman? At least one? And then we can go sledding. We can take a break after that, I know a coffee shot that should still be open."

"As long as you don't make any more sad excuses at that snowball assault," Levi teased you, and you pouted, which only made him chuckle.

He was smiling and laughing, though. And seeing snow for the first time. This day was already a win for you. Now you just needed to try and get to the end of your list of what you wanted to try with him before he went back. Who knew if the snow would still be here when he came back again?

The snowman building and the sledding didn't last as long as you might have thought they would. The snowman you two made by the willow tree was more of a monument to the fact the two of you had been there, complete with you wrapping your scarf around the snowman's 'neck' as a finishing touch, since it wasn't doing much in the way of warming you up draped loosely around your neck like that.

The sledding had been fun at first, trying desperately to guide the inflatable inner tube you'd bought at the nearest store down a steep hill before trudging all the way back up got tiring fast for you. The final straw, though, had come when you made a ramp from the snow, managed to hit it on your way down, and then promptly fell off the inner tube midair, causing you and Levi to go flying in different directions through the air with no soft landings. You were dazed after that, and Levi declared it the end of the sledding part of the day, demanding you move on to the next thing. Besides, it was getting dark, so you were running out of time to do what you wanted to.

Little did he know…

After your annihilation with the sled, you'd guided Levi towards a coffee shop while nursing an ache in your head and shoulders where you'd slammed your body against the ground, still a little dazed. You were both flushed from the cold and tired at this point, so the burst of warm air was extremely refreshing.

Levi looked around the little shop with a critical eye while you stomped snow off at the entrance mat, rubbing your hands together for added warmth. "You haven't had coffee before, have you?"

"Never heard of it."

You gasped dramatically. "You don't have coffee where you're from? Oh the humanity!" He rolled his eyes at your antics, and you walked forward towards the counter. "Well, it's a hot drink, kind of like hot chocolate or tea...but also much different. Its good for waking up or staying warm, and it can be made in all sorts of different ways. In fact, what kind of stuff do you usually drink? Besides water?"

Levi shrugged. "Tea."

"Any kind of tea in particular? Herbal, black, white, green, fruit? Do you add lemon, or sugar, or milk, or anything like that?"

Levi looked away, like something you'd said bothered him, though you couldn't pinpoint what. "Plain. I drink my tea plain. I do prefer black tea, when I can get it."

"Okay, black tea...strong, bold, dark, maybe with a bit of a nutty taste or malty...I know espresso is a different beast, but you might want something with more espresso...maybe a nut flavoring to help balance out the bitter without getting too sweet...You're not big on sweet things, right?"

Levi shook his head. "I don't get many sweet things where I live."

You nodded, chewing your lip. "Okay, so...toffee nut might be too sweet, so...either a hazelnut latte with an extra shot of espresso, or a hazelnut americano."

"What's the difference?"

"One is made with milk, the other with hot water. I mean, maybe if you were more used to coffee I'd say go with the americano, cause there's not many other flavors to block out the overpowering taste of the espresso, but the latte I feel like has more that balances it all out."

"I didn't realize picking a damn drink was such a project."

"Like you don't fuss over your tea with the leaves and water temperature and extra flavorings."

"...Tch."

"But also the americano might be closer to tea--"

"Just get me the damn latte and be done with it," he groaned, cutting you off before you could spiral further in these circles.

"Fine, fine, go find a table for us and I'll get the coffees," you said in a semi defensive voice that had the hint of a laugh at the end with how exasperated he sounded. He wandered off towards the back to a two person table by the window, taking the seat with his back against the wall so he could see the whole room and you as you went to the counter, ordering his hazelnut latte and your own coffee, as well as two fresh rolls. You waited patiently for your order, which didn't take too long because there weren't many people out and about right now in this weather--plus, this was officially dark enough the streetlights were turning on.

Taking the seat across from him, you placed the latte in front of him and reached into the little bag you brought with you, breaking apart the two rolls and holding one out to him. “Here--I figured something to actually eat would be good, too,” you said cheerfully.

For some reason, Levi hesitated for a brief second, fingers hovering over the roll before starting to retract, eyes a little unfocused before he took the roll from you. Strange, why that was a thing, but you brushed it off in favor of drinking from your cup of chosen coffee, cupping both hands around the cup to help you warm up.

“We can warm up in here for a while before heading back outside. It’s only going to get colder as night settles in.”

“This is one of those six things you wanted to do, right? Get coffee?” Levi asked, hands on the cup he had yet to drink from, allowing it to warm up his bare fingers. Actually, looking at the window you could see some spots on the window where condensation had been wiped away on the inside, along the edge of the frost that was creeping along the outside of the window. Had he been tracing the ice while he waited for you?

“It is, yeah.”

“It’s going to be dark, then, by the time we get to the sixth thing. Was that intentional?”

You nodded. “There’ll be far less people there if we go later when it’s dark out. Plus, I think it’ll be prettier.”

“Are you going to tell me what the last thing is?”

“Nope. You’ll have to wait and see.”

Levi scowled, finally taking a sip from the coffee you’d chosen for him. He made a face at the first taste, and for a moment, you were worried he wasn’t going to like it and would set it right back down. He took another sip, though, and he wasn’t neglecting the cup. He didn’t seem to think it was the best thing in the world, but at least he was drinking it.

He was probably going to stick to tea, though, based on that expression.

“Well, what do you think so far?” you asked him after the two of you sat in silence for several minutes, nursing your coffees and letting yourselves warm up while you nibbled on your respective bread rolls.

“About the snow?” When you didn’t correct him, he looked back outside the window. It was still snowing, but much lighter than it had been before--like light flurries, or something out of a Christmas movie. The snowflakes that hit the window evaporated almost instantly, revealing it had turned into the kind of snow that didn’t stick. “It’s nice.”

You gave a pleased smile and took another sip from your cup, glad that so far your little endeavor to make snow and winter a positive experience for him had worked, despite the little hiccups along the way like falling off the sled and coffee apparently not being his thing. At least he’d been willing to give it a try, though.

For the most part, the two of you sat in companionable silence, Levi asking the occasional question about the piano and what you were learning or pieces he was learning, and even giving you a tentative question about how the whole college thing was panning out. It was still stressful, and as you’d said before, your...situation, or rather the people around you, were only making it so much harder for you and really getting under your skin about it all. But Levi’s words from last time were something you were clinging to in order to help you push through these last few months before you would graduate high school and you could finally get out of here.

Just another one of the many reasons you were glad to have him in your life. You wished he could stay with you, that you could keep him here. His life in his world didn’t sound pleasant at all, and you knew he’d already been through some dark things. Maybe if he was here, he could have a better life, things would be easier for him.

And...and maybe he’d choose to spend it with you.

You were blushing at the thought, and you panicked slightly when you remembered you weren’t outside, you were warm inside, and there was no biting cold to blame on the flush in your cheeks. Finishing the cup of coffee with a rather painful swallow, you started gathering up your things, glancing out the window to see the sun had fully set and darkness had taken over the sky.

“We should probably get going. Yeah, night might be the better time to go, but if we wait too long you might blip back, or they might close, so…” you said quickly, getting to your feet and tucking hair into your hat as a way to hide the fact that you were rubbing your cheeks in a weird hope that it would make the flush go away, or maybe give you an excuse. Levi was still giving you an odd look, though, his eyebrows raised, but he got up without commenting on the blush.

Aw jeez, what if he saw, though? He was so damn observant. And what if he already knew? What if he already knew that you’d been sneaking glances of him the past year or so that he’d come to visit you? What if he knew you were starting to look for excuses to reach out and touch him, even for a moment? What if he knew that part of the reason you buried your face in his chest whenever you two hugged or were curled close together--whether it was on the hood of a car or on the couch watching a show--was to hide the furious burn in your cheeks, and to let you simply breathe him in for a few moments? What if he knew that the times that he tended to blip through into your world was when you wanted nothing more than to be around him, when you desperately wanted a friend and needed someone there to be a steady presence to help you get back on your feet, or provide a comfort that didn’t feel invasive or demanding on how you should bounce back or how you should be feeling. What if he knew your heart had started skipping a beat when he looked at you like that with those sharp steel blue eyes, his hair falling in his face…

Ah, snap out of it, stop stop stop! You’re friends! Who knows if he even thinks of you that way, just...uhg, this isn’t about you, this is about him, this is his first snow, just...just focus on that right now, you can puzzle over your feelings after he’s left alone in bed throwing out your frustrated complaints about how you don’t know how to talk to people you like into your pillow like you usually do. Later. After this. Focus, the night’s almost over, and he probably won’t be here much longer today, anyway.

Having given yourself a mental berating over the direction of your thoughts, you focused back on the present with a quick huff, straightening up and leading the charge back out into the cold snow, Levi walking leisurely at your side as usual. It was a longer walk than any you’d done so far, and you were taking him in a direction that you hadn’t taken him before. He wasn’t around a lot in the winter time, obviously, so he didn’t get to see this little hobby of yours. Well, maybe not even a hobby, more like a winter pastime. You were far from a professional or enthusiast. It was just something you liked to do on occasion when it was cold, and you were hoping that it was something that he would find enjoyable as well.

It was a simple setup, one that matched the smaller town you were in, with a regular clear plastic half-wall lining the edge, plain Christmas lights crisscrossing over the walled off area several feet into the air and anchored to the poles along the outside, or to the small booth that served as the entrance fee area and the place to get rental skates, if there were enough. Benches lined the outside of the wall, places for spectators to watch or people to put on their ice skates, and the small outdoor ice rink itself was well lit, the ice appearing to glitter between the starlight, Christmas lights, and the lightly falling snow.

There were a few people, but since it was getting dark and the weather was getting colder--it was already below freezing--most people had left or were in the process of leaving as you went to the booth, paying the entrance fee for two teenagers and getting your shoe size, then having an awkward few moments where you got to try and figure out what shoe size Levi was before you finally managed to get a pair that looked like it would fit him, passing his ice skates to him even though you still hadn’t given him an explanation about what you were doing.

You sat down together on a bench near one of the entrances to the rink, and Levi followed suit when you started taking off your shoes and putting the ice skates on in turn.

“Considering you’ve been stupidly good at anything like this so far, I sort of expect you to get the hang of this fairly quickly, but...this is called ice skating,” you explained in a low tone so no one would hear you explaining what this was to him. “It’s all about balance and such--balance on the blades on your feet, center of balance, that kind of thing. It might take a bit to get used to, but once you do, you’ll be skating along in no time. It's something I like to do in the winter, and I thought you might enjoy it, too.”

You finished strapping the skates on, getting to your feet and taking a few careful steps since you were still on concrete until you were standing in front of Levi, holding your hands out for him to take. “Here--just focus on standing and getting used to balancing on the blades, first,” you told him, pulling him up to his feet and letting him stand in front of you for a few moments, holding tightly to his hands as he wobbled slightly, feet moving from side to side experimentally, picking up one foot and attempting to keep his balance on the other, simply feeling it out for a few seconds while you held him securely in place.

His hands are warm...rough and calloused...but warm...

After he seemed to get his balance, you walked backwards to bring Levi forwards into the ice rink, making sure he kept his balance despite the awkward steps until you reached the smooth ice that the skates were meant for. The slicing sound of the skate blade against the ice felt right to your ears, and you gave Levi a moment to adjust to the terrain, shifting so that you were standing beside him on the ice instead of in front of him, holding one of his hands.

The remaining skating group seemed to decide they didn’t want to risk crashing into the new skater in the small rink and left, meaning it was just the two of you in the rink as you taught Levi how to push off with the blades, how to turn, how to stop without face planting into the ice. It was much faster than most people learned, but it was still slower than you expected. He just seemed to be a natural at so many things, it was almost weird watching him have to progress through figuring out how to ice skate.

Then again, you were teaching him piano, as well, so it wasn’t entirely something new. Maybe it was just the fact he always seemed to be magically gifted when it came to anything physical or something that had to do with aim, accuracy, speed…

With just the two of you, the rink was pretty quiet. There were your voices, of course, with you encouraging him and explaining what you showed him on how to do this or that on the skates, how to speed up and slow down, how to do a hard and sudden stop (again, without face planting). Levi occasionally made a few quips or grumbles, though none of it was mean spirited. He seemed focused on what you were showing him, and he was learning it fairly quickly. You might even dare to say he was having fun.

The other sounds were the slicing of your skates against the ice, and the music playing over loudspeakers on the poles for patrons to skate to if they wanted to. The man running the booth wasn’t even paying attention to the two of you, he was watching tv on a tiny screen you could barely see through the window in the booth, meaning that for now, it was just the two of you, despite the normally public setting.

Once Levi had his balance and he was able to skate on his own, namely in a circle, considering you hadn’t taught him any tricks yet since you were rather focused on...just skate, you let his hand go, albeit reluctantly. Still, it would allow him to get comfortable in the skates and skate on his own without leaning on you like a crutch--and the entire thing would be much more enjoyable for him if he could do it on his own without your help.

Once you were no longer teaching him the basics, you took off to go at your normal speed, skating fairly quickly around the rink, getting the feel for being in the skates again--figure skates, mind you. You liked trying to pull off tricks, and you liked trying to time them to the music. You weren’t an Olympic figure skater, but you could do some basic tricks. Not only was it something that you liked doing and that gave you a degree of accomplishment, but it was also a moment to let yourself shine and show off a bit around Levi.

Closing your eyes, you simply felt the movement, the feel of the breeze created by your movement against your face, gravity acting on your body as you leaned this way or that for a turn. You listened to the music, getting a feel for the beat and the pace before you started adjusting to try and match the music. When the beat dropped, you attempted a leap and spin--just a quick one, landing a little shakily because it had been a while since you’d done this, but still sticking the landing for the most part. Smiling slightly to yourself, you did it again with the next beat drop, the landing going much smoother. You did a few simple movements as well as a few balancing attempts--skating on one foot was a little tricky and required quite a bit of balance, but you could do it--not that you let your foot go too far off the ground--you weren’t trying to form two right angles with your legs and upper body, you had a slight fear of losing your balance forward and causing a bad accident trying to pull that off. It was simple leg up stuff that you tried. And as long as you were paying attention, eyes open and alert to your surroundings, you could skate backwards, too--which you did. It was at that point that you turned to see Levi watching you while you were skating, an intensity in his expression you hadn’t been expecting. You blushed slightly to catch him staring at you, then gave him a smile, a wave, and you turned back around to do a nonchalant figure eight down the center, cutting across to the other side, doing a little spin before you came to skate beside him.

“So, what do you think?” you asked him warmly, skating casually beside him for the time being, staying on the inside so you were the one making the tighter turns.

“Think you could show me some of those tricks?” he asked, eyes down and directed towards your skates. You chuckled, lifting one of your legs just slightly off the ice and unsurprised to find him mirroring your movements. He was a little wobbly at first, just like when he’d stood up, but he quickly evened out, and he even was able to lean into the turns without crashing. “I’d say wait for the harder ones like leaping spins until you’re a bit more experienced with the skates. Maybe just stick to movements and patterns. Lifting a leg, figure eights, skating backwards, that kind of thing.”

“What, you think that little of me?”

You snorted. “On the contrary, you have a gift for learning these kinds of things. I’m actually pretty envious how easily everything seems to come to you.”

“Not everything,” he mumbled, and you thought you saw his cheeks were flushed again. Though maybe it was the cold. It was far below freezing at this point, and the two of you were skating around, that freezing air blowing on your exposed skin in an almost cutting manner. You hadn’t really noticed that much, though. “Skating backwards shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

While you had expected him to try it, you hadn’t expected him to try it right at that very moment as he was skating beside you. His hand suddenly grasped your arm, and he did a hard turn like he’d seen you do a few times for your tricks, coming to a slightly wobbly stop--not a full stop, you were both still moving--directly in front of you, one of his feet planted between your legs and the other on the outside. He was, for the moment, skating backwards.

“It’s gonna be inverted, remember? So instead of leaning--”

“I know,” he said with a huff, glancing behind him and leaning in a mirror of the direction you moved to turn with the curve of the small rink, his grip on your arm tightening slightly and his gaze down at your feet to make sure you two didn’t get tangled up in one another.

You went around the rink like this once...twice...eventually he stopped looking at the turns behind him or the skates below, his grip on your arm going lower...lower...closer to your hand...his eyes focused solely on you as you strangely enough took over guiding the two of you in nonchalant circles around the rink, feeling that gaze of his making your cheeks burn until, after a turn into the longer stretch of ice, you turned to look at him and ask what he was staring at.

He kissed you.

There was no warning. You hardly had time to turn your head to face him before his lips were against yours. His lips were cold because of the weather, maybe a little dry as well, but just like his hands, despite the rough and cold outer appearance, it was...soft. Hesitant, even, like he might pull away at the first sign of discomfort. You sucked in a sharp breath in surprise, feeling yourself lean into him, start to put more weight on him as you kissed him back just as hesitantly.

You were both frozen like that for a few moments, cold lips pressed together, timid and unsure about what to do, neither of you having done this before and knowing what came next. But despite the freezing temperature and dry lips, it was still warm--or, it caused a warm feeling in your chest, a nervous and overeager squirm in your belly as your mind started to work again and all these thoughts started to crash down on you, realization of what this meant, what it could mean, that this was your first kiss, that Levi was kissing you, holding you a little closer to him. After that initial freeze, you both tried to keep going, the inexperience showing but neither of you wanting to pull away. If anything, you leaned into him a bit more, lips moving against his in the way you thought they were supposed to, his attempting to follow in kind. As if to help guide both of you, his hand reached up to brush his knuckles carefully against your cheek, your head tilting slightly to the side in a reaction to the touch.

He felt warm. He felt comfortable. He felt inviting--like you belonged here, right here with him, stumbling through figuring out what came next, with him holding tight to you to help keep you steady when you started to shake, and you there to return the favor.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, and you felt breathless, felt your knees start to shake, the skates wobbling beneath you as Levi started to pull away, just as gently as he came in for the kiss. Your eyes, squeezed shut a few moments ago as if that could help freeze the moment in time like the branches on the willow, started to open.

The presence you were leaning into in front of you suddenly disappeared, and with the amount of weight you’d been putting forward, you lost your balance, falling hard onto the ice with a skidding slide, palms burning against the cold ice as you pushed up onto your elbows, looking around in bewilderment.

And then you just...stayed there. Just sat there. Completely alone in the skating rink. No one around to so much as witness what had happened, or confirmed it was real.

No Levi.

Just you.

Alone.

Alone on the ice before you could even release the breath you’d been holding.

*Levi’s POV*

Levi opened his eyes not to the chilling air and the bright lights both from the stairs and the strings of lights above, not to Y/N’s face aglow in that light, that blush in her cheeks that she’d kept trying to brush off as the cold despite her lingering touches, no lightly falling snow that left wet drops like dew on her cheeks, nose, and forehead. He was alone in the silence of the Underground, lying stretched out on a couch with an arm behind his head under a pillow, staring up at the dark ceiling of his current place of residence.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to will himself back to that moment, feeling a bubbling anger rising in his chest. Nothing was happening. He couldn’t smell the fresh air, couldn’t hear the faint music, couldn’t feel her hand against his arm or her lips against his, couldn’t feel the unsteady weight of having those blades under his feet. He held his breath, eyes shut as tight as he could, trying so damn hard to get back there.

But nothing changed. Even though there was nowhere he wanted to be more right now.

Levi opened his eyes slightly, peering at the ceiling without really seeing it, hand stretching out in front of him like he was reaching out to that mental image of the girl running ahead of him, just out of reach even as he stretched, tried to grab onto her even as she slipped through his fingers like smoke, far out of his reach.

Levi’s outstretched hand turned into a fist, and he slammed it against the wall the couch was pushed up against, hearing something crack. “Shit!”

It had been so perfect. He’d been watching her the whole time, watching her move so gracefully and freely, so confident and just so...so...beautiful. And she didn’t seem to even realize that was how he saw her. Didn’t seem to realize just how much she was worth to him. He couldn’t help himself--he hadn’t even realized what he was doing until his lips were on hers. But it had still felt so right in that moment, in that single, fleeting, perfect moment.

And now he was right back here. All over again. He didn’t even get the chance to open his eyes and see her reaction, and it pissed him off. Now he had to wait, and he hated the thought. Anger and frustration bubbled right to the surface as he got up off the couch, unable to sit still as he got to his feet with a dark, sulking look on his face at how robbed he felt right now.

Though there was also a tiny part of him that was scared because he hadn’t been able to see her reaction. Especially now that he’d just disappeared on her.

He didn’t know how long he could wait--he knew he’d have to, but it had to come eventually. He’d go back soon, surely, and he could see her then, he could try to figure out what that kiss was to her when he went back, what it meant for them. Even if part of him was nervous to know how she was going to take it, even if he had no idea what this meant for them, fuck, he had to know, and he couldn’t stand to wait another hour!

What Levi didn’t know at the time...was that it would be years before he ever saw her again.

Next Chapter---->

(Strikethroughs Couldn’t Be Tagged)

Levi Tags: @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea @hauntedhousecat @peaches-and-clouds

Through The Looking Glass Tags: @artist-bby @kaz2y5-pie @tartheyes @super-peace-fangirl @huntersbunker @nefelimalfoy @soft-levi-girl-blog @honeygivemeachainsaw @regalillegal @sugas-daddy7 @cathyannecookie @chaoticshepardplaid @roayaloveslife @sanrioclit @wvnderfvllyalvne @sparkling-gayyyy @do-not-feed-sugar

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findingnemo19 · 4 years ago

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Because of Seaweed (Percabeth AU)

A percabeth AU fanfic. That I had originally made because my friend didn't believe my writing was good, and now he's refusing to read the damn thing. Oh well. You guys will read it. That's more than enough. And, Shout out to my friend, Isha. She helped me with the plot to this fic. For this (mortal) AU, Malcolm is 2 years younger than Annabeth. Annabeth and Malcolm are Athena and Fredrick’s kids. Summary: Annabeth froze. She’s heard the 8 words multiple times in a teasing voice from her brother and her friends. She’s replayed the time she’d meet her soulmate in her head multiple times in multiple different ways. But never had she thought her soulmate would manage to get seaweed on one of her favorite books.

Read on AO3

She matured early, according to her parents.

Since Annabeth was 8, she hated the idea of “soulmates”. Why does she have to spend her life with someone? Why does she have to fall in love with someone? And why isn’t it her choice?

Of course, her parents tried explaining it to her, ( “It is your choice. The soulmate idea is like… telling the future.”) but she wouldn’t have any of it.

Unfortunately or fortunately, the fateful 10th birthday of Annabeth’s rolled around. Most people would wake up on their 10th birthday, immediately looking at the inside of their dominant hand wrist. Annabeth on the other hand avoided even letting that side of her right hand in her line of sight until her dad came back from work right before dinner.

Both her parents and her 8yo brother, Malcolm, were fed up with Annabeth delaying to look at the words her soulmate will tell her. Rolling her eyes at this, she turned her wrist over, “‘ You’re more worried about your book rather than yourself? ’” She recited the words slowly to herself, the bold cursive writing, murder on her dyslexic eyes. “‘ You’re more worried about your book rather than yourself?’ ” She spoke more clearly, looking up at her family around the dining table. “That’s what it says.”

Athena let a teasing smile across her face as Annabeth’s father and brother burst out in laughter. “Fitting. Very, very fitting.” Annabeth scowled at her mom, “Be quiet.” she grumbled. Stabbing her fork in her noodles she took a bite, stuffing her face with food.

->->->->->

She’s in middle school, and maybe she’s stopped absolutely loathing the soulmate idea. Not that she’s 100% ok with Fate deciding her relationship or anything. But maybe she didn’t hate it.

Plus, the 8th-grade halls are (oddly enough) filled with people asking each other out, and then arguing over the fact that “YOU’RE NOT MY SOULMATE.”

Apart from that, at least Annabeth has friends now. (Read: Piper, Frank, Hazel, and Reyna.) And thank whatever god is up there, her friends aren’t the annoying 8th graders fighting over soulmates in the hallways.

She’s happy and content. Apart from the assload of homework she gets, content. Content with her family, her friends, her classmates, and teachers-

(Ok maybe she wants to stab that “Caleb” guy in the eye with a very sharp pencil if he says anything about Annabeth being “a dumb blond” one more time. And her Science teacher. If he says “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell” one more goddamned time-)

->->->->->

Annabeth unlocked the door to her house, wincing a little in reaction to the yelling between her parents from the inside. She shook her head, stepping inside, praying that her parents aren’t near the stairs so she wouldn’t have to face that. God must have decided to be nice to the blond-haired girl, because her parents were arguing in the living room, and couldn’t even see the staircase from there.

No. It’s not out of the ordinary for her parents to fight. They’ve been doing it almost every day now. However, Annabeth hasn’t been able to understand why they fight. But they do and it bothers her. Let a girl and her brother in high school get some rest, would you?

About an hour later, she was typing up an essay that she completely forgot about, that's due the next day, when there was a loud sound from downstairs, the sound of someone running up the wooden staircase, and a frantic knock on her bedroom door. Confused and slightly concerned, she said, “Come in!”

As the door opened, Annabeth pushed her chair back across the wooden floor, cringing at the sound. “Malcolm?” Annabeth stood up as her brother shut and locked the bedroom door behind him. “What happened?”

Malcolm rolled his eyes, sitting down gingerly on Annabeth’s (for once unmade) bed. “I went downstairs to ask mom a question about homework, started talking before getting down the stairs, and she threw a plate- I wouldn’t say at me but pretty much at me.”

Annabeth raised her eyebrows in shock. “That's- that’s new,” she muttered under her breath.

Her brother scoffed, “No shit, Sherlock.”

Annabeth chuckled with no humor, saving her word document before sitting down next to the blonde-haired boy. “You ok though?”

Malcolm rolled his eyes fondly, “Yeah I’m fine, Beth.”

“Good.” A beat of silence passed between them before, “You could’ve just asked me for help instead of going to mom.”

He pondered this, “I guess.”

Annabeth chuckled, flopping down back on her bed, covering her eyes with her arm, “I’m tired.”

Malcolm fell into an almost imitated position, staring up at the ceiling, “Of what?”

Annabeth sighed, “Everything. It’s so stressful. Homework, essays, finals coming up, college applications, our parents fighting practically 24-by-7. It’s just too much-” Her voice cracked and she silenced herself.

“Yeah, I get it. Ninth isn’t much easier. Oh god, I forgot to tell you. Remember Calissa? From middle school?”

Annabeth nodded, “Mhm. The middle school ‘Bitch Girl.’ Why?”

“She asked me out today.”

Annabeth took her arm off her eyes and sat up looking at her brother with an unreadable expression. “ What?”

“Whoa, whoa Annie. Don’t go all “protective older sister” on me. I’m 15, I can handle this stuff myself .” Malcolm sat up as well. “I told her I’d think about it.”

Annabeth raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms at her chest, “You’d think about it? Malcolm this is the same girl who bullied 75% of your middle school. Including you. Are you-”

“Beth. Breathe. I’ll say no. I just said that at the moment.”

Annabeth scoffed, getting up from the bed and walking to her desk. “You better say no.” Malcolm hummed in response, getting up from the bed and leaving the room.

The sound of a ceramic cup breaking made Annabeth flinch (don’t ask how she knows what it was. She’s a little clumsy ok?). She bit her lip, turning to face the half-closed door, “Malcolm?”

“Yeah?” her brother’s muffled voice answered.

“Work in my room.”

->->->->->

Annabeth loved reading at the beach. The light wind messing up her hair, the random, delicate spray of water refreshing her; it was calming, relaxing, soothing...As long as she was a solid 30 feet away from the surfers.

Yet today was a different day, for Annabeth had actually come down to the beach with her brother and Calissa. Turns out, Malcolm ended up saying yes to go out with Calissa because he hasn’t “actually dated anybody.” So great.

To get her mind off things, she had decided to bring a book down to the beach like she always did. Picking up “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” for the 7th time in her life, she opened the book to where she left off.

She was engrossed in her book when she heard the loud splash before she felt the water. Gasping, she stood up, facing a boy only slightly taller than her, maybe the same age. He had raven hair, which was splattered across his face from the ocean water. His eyes were a startling sea green color. Annabeth, with all the people she knew, had never come across someone with that color of green eyes.

Shaking her head slightly to get the seaweed out of her hair (and maybe that slight trance the guy in front of her left her in.) Picking up her book from the ground where it fell she winced, “What the hell!? You got seaweed on my book, damn it.”

She saw the guy in front of her rolling his eyes. “You care more about your book than yourself?”

Annabeth froze. She’s heard the 8 words multiple times in a teasing voice from her brother and her friends. She’s replayed the time she’d meet her soulmate in her head multiple times in multiple different ways. But never had she thought her soulmate would manage to get seaweed on one of her favorite books.

“Well shit.” She heard from in front of her.

Laughing humorlessly she ran her hand through her hair, “yeah shit.”

“Annie!” Annabeth looked over to her right, seeing her brother and Calissa walking over to them. “Found your soulmate?”

“Malcolm. Were you spying on me? You’re on a date, aren’t you?”

“We got bored.”

The raven-haired boy in front of her chuckled. “Annie.?”

“It’s a nickname.” She snapped. “That I will not allow you to call me.” Annabeth sighed, putting her hand out in front of her. “Annabeth Chase.”

The guy smiled, slipping his hand in Annabeth’s. “Percy Jackson.” Percy Jackson. Jackson. She recognized the name. Percy must’ve read her expression, for he laughed and said, “Yes, Sally Jackson’s son.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened, “Oh my god, her writing is beautiful. Her characters are so well written. The way she carries the series, oh my god it’s incredible!”

Percy laughed. From beside Annabeth, Malcolm gave Percy a look, “She's a little obsessed with Sally Jackson’s books.”

“A little?” Percy asked, teasing.

Annabeth glared at him, “Whatever.” My soulmate is Sally Jackson’s son. Oh my god.

Percy cleared his throat, “Uh. Sorry about the seaweed and everything. I lost control for a bit.”

Annabeth hummed absent-mindedly, wrinkling her nose in annoyance at the realization that her book was covered in saltwater and seaweed and she probably won't be able to save it. “Well, one of my favorite books is now soaked but I guess I’ll forgive you.” She then added, “But only because you're the son of one of my favorite authors.”

Percy laughed lightly, “Not surprising. All my friends love my mom more than me.” Percy reached his hand out and brushed off a piece of seaweed from Annabeth’s hair. Suddenly, it seemed like she forgot how to breathe. Annabeth saw Percy’s eyes search her face, his hand delicately resting on her cheek.

Too soon, Percy pulled back, and Annabeth wasn't sure why that bothered her. He glanced at the setting sun, “I should get going before my mom gets worried.”

Annabeth blinked, “Uh yeah, yeah ok.”

Percy smiled, turning, grabbing his surfboard from the ground, and yelled to some people in the distance, “Hey, Thalia! Jace, Neeks, we gotta go.”

“Don't call me that, Jackson!”

Annabeth smiled. “Hey, uh, Percy?”

Percy looked back at her, a smile still on his face, “Yeah?”

“Could I- Could I have your number?” Wincing, as she worried she might’ve stepped over a line.

Percy’s smile only grew, “Of course.”

->->->->->

She was happy. More than happy. In the past two years, a lot happened.

A few weeks after the beach incident, Annabeth had called Percy, asking to go out on a date, because, “we’re soulmates anyway, might as well.” He agreed. 2 weeks and 4 dates later, they had their first kiss. Under a street light that was already dying out, with a leaf or two, landing on Annabeth’s head, which Percy teased her about for weeks. ( “It was just a leaf Annabeth.” “We were kissing. Can you blame me for getting startled?” “No one’s blaming you. I’m just teasing you, Wise Girl.” “Yeah, I can tell, Seaweed Brain.” )

Oh and the nicknames. They’re stupid because they’re cliché. ( “But clichés are only clichés because they work, sweetie.” “Sure, Mrs. Jackson.” “Sally.” )

And Percy’s mother is a gem, and so is his half-sister, Estelle Blofis. Apparently, Percy’s parents are divorced, and Percy’s mother remarried, to an English teacher, Paul Blofis. Percy’s friends are great too. Thalia, Nico, and Annabeth immediately hit it off. Percy met Annabeth’s friends as well, at some point, and she found it cute how nervous he was.

Also, she got accepted to Queens College. And better yet, so did her boyfriend.

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

Thanks for reading!!

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tookishcombeferre · 4 years ago

Text

Fandom Discourse

I have many special interests, and so my blog is very eclectic. But, I wanted to stand in support of a couple of folks who are having a hard time in the fandom belonging to one of my special interests.

I don’t usually like to pile on, but ableism in this fandom is rampant, and it’s time I said something instead of just feeling sorry for myself.

More on this under the cut.

Firstly, I want to elevate the voice of @phandombigotryarchive and @your-angle-of-music who have pointed out a lot of really really important things that I am, as a white person who loves the music in Phantom of the Opera and Erik, still learning, educating myself on, and researching.

I know, for certain, that I have probably intentionally reblogged things from folks in the fandom and/or inadvertently supported folks on AO3 who are actively making this an unsafe space for POC and trans fans. For that, I am deeply sorry and want to do my homework better before supporting artists/writers who are not showing human decency.

Thank you both for the work that you, and others, are putting into the fandom to make it safer for everyone to interact with.

Additionally, I want to speak to my own relationship with this fandom as an autistic person. I knew, as I read through what was being said recently, that it was time to make my own post about something that has been bothering me about this fandom since I entered into it at the age of 13 long before my official autism diagnosis.

To me, as an autistic person, Erik’s story always resonated with me as someone who is neuroatypical. Erik was living and observing neurotypical people while not knowing how to or having the ability to enter into their community. However, he LONGED for it.

As an autistic person, this made a lot of sense to me. I, too, felt isolated from most other people, even if I was in close physical proximity. It was like a mirror where I could see out into the world, but the world couldn’t find me. So, I found the ALW imagery very applicable to the way I saw the world as early as 6.

However, as I entered into the fandom and read fics from other writers, Erik remained trapped behind an inability to communicate EVEN when he and Christine were in a long standing relationship. He was flighty, obsessive, and just down right weird. I began to wonder if that’s how my romantic relationships would be, and if I would ever be able to be “a normal person” in a relationship with someone else.

Erik in most fanfics, even in one’s I’ve mostly liked, does not get to develop beyond the way he is written in ALW or Leroux’s work. We’ve spent so much time making him “in character” without ever exploring the possibility that Erik might be able to engage in his special interests and develop into a fully functional autistic adult. However, I think, that is in part because we like to demonize and/or infantilize and/or fetishize him.

Erik is not a baby. He’s not a sweet innocent child. He has killed people. He’s done wrong. He is capable of feeling emotions very deeply, including anger. He has a lot of depth that can be explored in fic. But, we don’t. We often reduce him to the weirdly-attractive, strange speaking, Angel-man behind the mirror.

I find this most apparent in the way people write Erik’s dialogue.

The way Erik speaks, in the third person I mean, has always been an issue for me when I read fan fiction as well as the original Leroux text. As someone who talks to themselves quite frequently to help process sensory overstimulation/remember tasks, though not necessarily in the third person, I find it really uncomfortable how people use this in fic. I’m uncomfortable because Erik usually does this either when he’s super angry and beating up on Christine OR when he’s super sad and acting like a child. There’s never any mention of Erik talking to himself in the third person (or at all) when he’s pretending people are interviewing him about his latest composition or when he’s just trying to remember something important.

For me, it’s the context that’s important.

This is just one example of what the demonization and/or infantilization I’ve seen in fic in this fandom.

Others include but are not limited to:

1) Erik’s (often violent) meltdowns:

Why are they problematic in fan fiction in this fandom: meltdowns are not just glorified rage fits. They’re scary and overwhelming. I usually fall asleep on the floor shortly after having one. I don’t just yell, throw something, scare people, and then sulk. If I’m violent at all, it’s towards myself.

2) Erik’s obsession with Christine

Why is it problematic in fan fiction in this fandom: a lot of people sort of poke fun at Erik’s social ineptness when it comes to dealing with his romantic feelings for Christine (for example the life size mannequin of her). Yes, Erik loves her. However, do we really have to perpetually treat him like a high school boy? Do we have to make his crush really predatory just for character development? Is this really the only thing he loves? The answer to all of these questions is no - in case you were wondering.

You know what I’d like to see Erik love more? His music and his organ. Can we give Erik’s organ and his music the love and rightful place in his life that they also deserve? For once, can we acknowledge that Erik’s special interests are as important to him as Christine? No. We can’t. We won’t.

3) Putting Erik in socially uncomfortable positions for character development

Why is it problematic in fan fiction in this fandom: Neuroatypical people’s pain is not for you to profit off of in your fics. Period. It’s not character development. It hinders our character development. I am not a more “well developed character” for the number of socially awkward/ bullying situations that I’ve been forced into. Putting Erik in crowded spaces and giving him panic attacks sucks ass. No. Stop doing it. Find a better way, or just stop writing it all together.

This is not an exhaustive list, but it is something that I’ve wanted to bring up for years. It feels nice to get this off my chest.

TL;DR: Erik’s passions, lack of social skills, and other “quirks” of his character always made him a character I empathized with because he was like me. I don’t understand why people use these same quirks to infantilize, fetishize, and/or demonize him. I, an autistic adult, am not a child, not a fetish, and not evil.

#tw long post #the phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera #erik phantom #phantom of the opera fandom #pip does life #pip does autism #special interest #pip rambles

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zmediaoutlet · 5 years ago

Text

in support of wildfire relief, @jesusonthetortillas donated $10, and requested pre-series pining!Sam, with diary discovery. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After his little lesson from Sabrina, the hot librarian's assistant, it's not hard at all for Dean to find what he's looking for. He drops Sam off at the library the way he usually does, and flirts with Sabrina on his way out like he usually does, but instead of going to his shift at the construction site like Sam thinks he's going to, he circles back around, through the library stacks on the main floor, and waits like a dingus by YOUNG ADULT – ADVENTURE, watching the back of Sam's nerdy, nerdy head where he's hunched at the computer banks, getting up to no kind of good.

It wouldn't have come to this, Dean thinks, if Sam weren't so—he doesn't even know how to think about it. He doesn't know when to pin it down. They were doing okay. Sam ran away, a few years back, but since then he's—well, he's always bitching at Dad and bitching at Dean half the time too, but he's done good in school, he's done his part with the hunting. It was sometime at that last school. September in Maryland. Dad was gone a lot of the time, because Dad always was, and Dean went with him on about half the hunts but Sam got to stay behind, got to just call in research tips and last-minute lore checks, and Dean thought he was pretty happy, as much as Sam ever seemed happy. Chill, just doing his homework at the rickety desk, not complaining any more than usual about Dean's usual dinners of fast food or Kraft or Top Ramen. Seventeen and getting tall and mellowing out, and finally hanging out with his little brother was just fine. Dean thought.

That was two towns ago, three months ago. Dean picks his nails with his pocket knife, leaning on one elbow by the Hardy Boys. Sam's still working away on the computer. Anymore he always is. After school he's always angling for Dean to bring him to the library and if Dean won't drive him then Sam walks, even when it's raining, like it is half the time in frickin Washington, anyway. Always finding a free computer and settling in and disappearing onto the internet. Not coming home until the library closes, and moody if Dean's there when he walks in, and Dean just—he thought they were past all this crap. He thought that maybe Sam had—settled. Figured out how things were, how things had to be.

Well. Either way. Sabrina, with the glasses and the sexy dreads and the legs that very much went all the way to the floor under those wide-legged pants she was always wearing—she gave Dean a computer lesson, free of charge, and he's got a way in, now. Sam won't talk to him, won't hardly look at him. Dean chews the inside of his cheek, watching Sam type on the battered public machine. Sam's not the only one who knows how to research a case, in this family. Dean's going to figure this out. He's gonna fix it.

A bell rings, at five o'clock, like the end of a school day. Sam jerks like he's been shocked and looks up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed. He's been engrossed for two hours, typing away, reading. Real frickin' boring, on Dean's end, but he stayed put. Like staking out a house for a job—nothing to do but wait. He takes a few steps backwards, makes sure the shelves hide his face, and there's a general rustling as people leave—a mom and her kid, and tears because the kid's favorite book wasn't here—and when Dean looks again the computer banks are empty, and Sabrina's checking out the last few patrons, and Sam's—gone. Walking home in the rain, little goth that he is. Fine with Dean, if it gives him a few minutes.

When he settles into the chair Sam was in it's still warm. He opens up Netscape Navigator, the library's homepage welcoming him in a friendly kinda way—big yellow smiley face, that's fun. He goes to where Sabrina taught him, in the menu at the top: view, and then History, where it turns out the computer saves all the webpages you went to just in case you need to find them again, and there—oh, jackpot. Gotcha, Sam.

All kinds of crap. A weather website, a bunch of Ask Jeeves searches, something called DiffEQandU. Some mythology stuff, too, and Dean goes to one that turns out to be a history of kitsune. That's something, at least—Sam doing his important homework, in there with whatever other crap he's been working on.

The last bunch of results are all pages from some website called Livejournal, which Dean's never heard of. He clicks one at random and is brought to—huh. A splashy red page, with a big picture on top of kids graduating from high school in those dorky blue robes. He scrolls down, skimming, looking for the important details among the mess, but it's hard to tell what it is. A forum, it looks like. Kind of like the ones Dean's been on where people trade car parts, or swap ghost stories. A square box, dated yesterday, that says WHEN IS HARVARD'S APP REVIEW???, and a panicky paragraph where some chick might die if she doesn't get in. Another, the day before, with questions about the SAT, and a link that says 43 comments that, when Dean clicks it, brings him to a bunch of apparently teenagers all giving each other tips from some test they're worried about taking.

College. Dean's stomach curls into a knot. It's all—college stuff, applications and tests and deadlines. The usernames are all weird shit: tmntpizzadelivery, quistis4ever, willyshakes. Dean can't tell—is one of these kids Sam?

Sabrina's nearly done with her line of book nerds. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and clicks away, tries another of the Livejournal results in the history. Another forum, this one apparently about—soccer? Jesus, Sam. Another forum, this one about Conan the Barbarian, and that one's at least easy to snort at, with people's shitty drawings of Red Sonja and excitement about a possible remake. There are personal pages, though, too—one titled Delaware Sucks, in which some girl complains about her life—one titled trent reznor rules my soul, featuring a goth kid who won't shut up about Nine Inch Nails and his bitch of a mother. Another, with a plain blue-and-grey color scheme, with the title on the road, and a new post from today—from an hour ago—with the text just reading, I don't know what to do anymore, and six comments underneath, waiting.

"Hey—ready to go?" Sabrina says.

Dean jerks in his seat. Sabrina's raising her eyebrows at him, behind her glasses, a little smile curving her mouth that promises something a little better than book dust and computer lessons. "I'm always ready," Dean says, grinning, and gets her to roll her eyes—yeah, he's in there—but his eyes drag back to the webpage, the posts. He scrolls down, quick—post after post, waiting to be read. "Real quick—borrow a pen?"

She has one—she's a sexy librarian, of course she has one—and he uncrumples a receipt from his jacket pocket and writes down the URL, careful to get it right. rearviewmirror.livejournal.com. He wants to click on the comments, but.

"Come on, the movie's starting soon," Sabrina says, and Dean closes Netscape, folds the receipt very carefully into his pocket, stands up. He's got a date to make out with a hot chick in the back of a movie theater, and maybe a little more, and Sam's whole Eeyore routine has to take a number. Dean will figure it out. He's got an easy way to run a stakeout, now.

December 4

Still can't decide. Anyone else going through this?

current mood: agonized current music: motorhead (AGAIN)

Comments:

teenagehamburger: Yes!! I still don't know where I want to go. Mom wants me to stay close to home, but Delaware sucksssss. Where are you looking?

rearviewmirror: Anywhere. TBH I'm still not even sure I should apply.

teenagehamburger: WTF?? Of course you should!! College is the big escape, remember?

December 1

He's driving me INSANE

current mood: annoyed current music: motorhead (again)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: lol you got it bad

rearviewmirror: right now I just want to hit him with a brick, actually

teenagehamburger: LOL!! Sorry :( :(

rearviewmirror: Sigh. I guess it could be worse, right?

teenagehamburger: Definitely!! He could be the cute cheerleader from 4th period who doesn't know I exist….

coppertonebuttgirl: oh, sorry hammie, that sucks <3

November 29

The thing is, I don't even want anything crazy? I just want to be—me. Just me, without anyone breathing down my neck. Trig teacher says I could get in to one of the top ten, but I just want to go *anywhere that's not here*

current mood: restless current music: Pearl Jam (home alone!)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: i hear you lol. why don't they get that the rules and hovering and all that shit just makes us want to run faster?

rearviewmirror: Exactly! My teacher keeps talking about college like it's a place to expand your mind and stuff, and that's fine, but lately I just want to expand my horizons. Kind of ironic?

bloodofreptile: yeah lol haven't you lived like everywhere?

rearviewmirror: Feels like it.

teenagehamburger: Is You Know Who going to college too?

November 18

I feel like it shouldn't be this hard. Normal people have it easy.

current mood: indescribable current music: silence

Comments:

coppertonebuttgirl: feel free to talk to me anytime <3

November 3

Dad's gone again. Didn't say goodbye. We went to the movies and he gave me a beer, and we watched the stars for an hour in the parking lot even though it was freaking freezing. Happier than I've been in a while. Don’t want it to change but it has to change.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

teenagehamburger: OMG, that sounds so romantic?? I can't believe you were drinking!! Aren't you underage?

bloodofreptile: lol relax it's not a big deal

teenagehamburger: I'm just saying!!

coppertonebuttgirl: wish it wasn't hard for you <3

bloodofreptile: dude you've got to say something

rearviewmirror: I literally can't.

bloodofreptile: ok but it's gonna drive you crazy. do you even know if he's gay? start with that maybe

The posts go on, and on. Reading backwards through time, it's a strange piecing-together. rearviewmirror is active in about ten communities and Dean reads through all of them, that week, bringing an illicit cup of coffee in to the library when he doesn't have a construction shift. He reads with his hand over his mouth and by the time he has to get off the computer he's got a headache, every time, his throat dry and aching.

The journal's been active for six months. Dean clicks through the pages to the very start and reads it in the right order, his heart pounding oddly in his ears. I don't know what this place is. A journal, I guess, considering the name. I just need somewhere to talk where no one will listen.

It's not a pouring-out, like some teenage girl doodling hearts around her crush's initials. He holds back. Never says exactly where they're living, never mentions names. To figure out who it was, you'd have to be one of two other people, and Dean knows that Dad can barely turn on a computer, much less go onto the internet and pore over some teenage angst-fest. Dean spends half his time wishing he were the same. Maybe if he hadn't asked Sabrina for help.

At home, Sam's the same as he always is. Comes home after his own stint at the library, eats the dinner Dean gives him. He reads, most of the time. Does his schoolwork. Dean says, careful one night, "Hey, True Lies is on. Wanna watch?" but Sam only gives him a strange, uncertain look and says, "No, I have a paper due," and he shuts himself into their bedroom with the door very firmly closed, and Dean sits there on the couch alone with a beer and Jamie Lee Curtis being sexy as hell on the fuzzy TV, and he—he doesn't know what to do.

He remembers that day, the looking at the stars day. It was November 2. A nasty anniversary, in their family, and yeah, Dad left. Dean got it. He'd thought Sam did, too, by now. It was better to have Dad gone, on a hunt, than trying to drink himself to death at home in the apartment. At least he was working, that way, and not hurting himself. To distract both of them, Dean picked Sam up from the library and they went straight to the movie theater—the Blair Witch sequel, with Dean providing running commentary about how dumb they were about dealing with ghosts, which at least made Sam grin and elbow him to shut up, even if he was laughing too, the liar—and, yeah, afterward they'd picked up Taco Bell, and then after that Dean swung through the liquor store drive-thru and they parked out, and he let Sam have a beer, and they both sat on the trunk and leaned back against the cold glass or the rear window and didn't really talk, much. The stars, big above them. The night, quiet. Sam was pressed against his side, chilled out and not bitching about anything, and Dean tucked his hand behind his head and he was pretty content with the world, right then. His brother, here, and a six-pack waiting, and nothing happening right then that'd hurt them. Sam smiled at him, that night, before he went to bed. It was sweet—like he used to be, when he was little—and Dean had ended up falling asleep on the couch, watching the public access, but his dreams that night were—good, like they never were on the night of November 2, and it had felt… okay.

do you even know if he's gay?

The college prep—that wasn't a surprise. It hurt but it didn't shock. All his worrying, all his whining, wanting to be 'free'—whatever free meant—it was all part and parcel of the last decade. Dean should've known better. Sam wasn't mellowing out. Sam was a stubborn little shit and he'd always wanted to have a life that wasn't—this.

The gay thing. That hit different. One of the communities Sam followed was for lesbian and gay youth, talking about their coming out experiences. Sam didn't post there much but he commented, asked questions. How do you know? What does it feel like? The hamburger girl was from there, a lesbian chick trapped in some Delaware high school. Encouraging, commiserating. They talked about how college would be their big escape, their chance to go to a big city and find their way. Meet people. Only apparently hamburger girl was crushing on the cheerleader from fourth period, and Sam—

Dean makes an excuse the next day. Saturday: no work for Dean, no school for Sam. Alone in the apartment together, all day, after Dean's week of reading—he can't face it. "Where are you going?" Sam asks, eight a.m. with his hair fucked up and coffee clenched between his hands, and Dean looks at him in his pajama pants and his ratty hand-me-down shirt, skinny and tall and hiding things Dean can't handle, and he says, snappish in a way he doesn't mean to be—"Out, Sam, for christ's sake—" and sees Sam's expression shutter before the apartment door slams behind him.

He goes for a drive, out of town. Cold, threatening rain like it always is, but it won't snow. Out—past the airport, past the suburbs, out to Black Lake. They killed the nymph that was drowning people out here, him and Dad, when they first arrived. Sam stayed home. Sullen on the other end of the line when Dean called to say they'd finished the job, and they were getting burgers for dinner, and did Sam want one. Whatever, Sam had said, like even answering was an imposition. That was November, too.

He sits on the hood, heels braced on the bumper, arms locked around his knees. The lake looks cold. He wants to sink into it, wants to feel that freezing shock, like the polar bear dive he did on a dare back in Illinois. The way the brain just goes blank, tv-static filling up everything and washing all the shit away. All the weird crap you don't want to think about, frozen, and the only thing to focus on just—getting out.

He's not going to dive into the lake. It's nine in the morning and he's wearing his only pair of boots. He hasn't gone out with Sabrina all week. He's been piss-poor at the construction site and McMillan nearly brained him with a hammer yesterday, because Dean wasn't paying attention, and the foreman screamed at him in front of the whole crew. None of that feels close, right now. He breathes the wet-clogged air, cold and mossy, turning his ring restlessly on his finger.

Back at that high school they went to in Raton, Mrs. Encinas in 6th period English told Dean he'd be smart, if he didn't just give up all the time. All he needed to do was take the time to read between the lines, to actually interpret what he was reading and not take things on face value. He made some joke. He doesn't remember what it was, now. Like he didn't know what the fuckin Great Gatsby was saying, when he hoped and hoped and never got what he wanted. When happiness always felt like it was about a thousand miles away, on the other side of a lake he couldn't cross, and hope went out like a snuffed light. Dean can read what's not there. He's done it his whole life.

The problem: Sam's little online journal went back six months. They've lived in four towns, in that time. He never uses names, never puts up anything that'd really identify him. They were in Maryland, August-September-first of October, and it was a comment right at the end of August, on the community for gay kids, talking to the hamburger girl: I like someone, too. He doesn't know. He. The same he that carried forward, through all his journal entries, from Maryland to Washington across whole breadth of the country. He likes classic rock. He drives me nuts. He gave me a beer, and I wanted—

Dean curls forward over his knees, sliding his hands into his hair, breathing hard between his knees. He can read between the lines and he wishes that he couldn't. He wishes—god. What? That Sam would just meet a nice girl and fuck her and get it out of his system? Except how he was writing, it wasn't like it was new. It was something he'd been thinking about. When did you know? had read one of the forum posts, and in the responses, among all the dumb teenage crap about formal dances and jerking off to the wrong person in the music video, there was a comment by username rearviewmirror that said, I broke my leg and he carried me to the car and I wanted to kiss him.

Sam broke his leg in July, the summer he turned fifteen. He'd been trying to stay quiet but he'd had this trapped whimper in his throat that he couldn't stop, and Dad had stayed behind to cover their backs and it had been left to Dean, to scoop Sam up, his whole body quivering with the shock—to hug him close between the trees, humid Georgia night making every place their skin touched slick with sweat—to let Sam cling to his neck, shuddering, and to put a hand on his back and whisper, hey, Sammy, it's not even that bad, huh? no bone sticking out, you did good. we're gonna get you a cast and I'm gonna draw you a great picture, okay, Cindy Crawford with her tits out, right there on your shin and Sam had been so shaky that his laugh sounded like he was crying, but he'd nodded against Dean's neck and chattered out sounds cool, Dean, and when Dean got him to the car Sam hadn't wanted to let him go—so they crawled into the backseat together, Sam still half in his lap and with his arms still tight around Dean's neck. Dad got into the front and frowned at Dean in the rearview, and Dean nodded, and when the car leapt forward Sam gasped and gripped at Dean's shirt when his leg got jostled, and Dean put his hand in Sam's hair and said, it's okay, you're okay, and Sam—wanted to kiss him.

He can't square it. It's like there's some twinned version of his brother, in this place Dean never knew existed. All these secrets he's been hoarding, this other person he's been. These wants that make him a stranger.

He goes back home with stuff for lunch around noon. Sam's reading, in the bedroom. "Got pb&j or grilled cheese," Dean calls, down the shotgun kitchen through the thin-carpeted hall, and Sam calls back, "I'm not hungry," which is a goddamn shit of a lie. He grows like an inch a day, he's never not hungry. Dean braces his hands on the counter and counts to five, in his head. He puts the bread away, and puts the cheese in the fridge. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV and it's college football, which is boring as hell, but it fills the apartment with noise. He wishes Dad were home. He wishes he were hunting.

The Huskies lose. Sam hasn't come out of the room, as far as Dean can tell. He's had—four beers? He looks at the table. Five. It's getting toward dark and it's raining, a-fucking-gain, and Dean's still wearing his jacket and his boots and his ears are cold, because the heater in here sucks, and he's shredded the label of the beer everywhere, everywhere. He brushes it off his knees and that just means it's gonna get ground into the shit-brown carpet, but—who cares. He's got other things on his mind.

He gets the last beer out of the fridge. Should've bought more. "Got some spare cash," he says, to the dark hall. There's a halo of light around the half-closed bedroom door. "Thinking pizza for dinner."

Silence.

Dean pushes the beer bottle against his forehead. "C'mon, Sam. It's not going to kill you to prefer pepperoni or sausage. Just say something."

"Doesn't matter," is the response.

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, slams the bottle down to the counter. It's four steps to the bedroom and the door flies open under his palm. "Just fucking say," Dean says, and Sam's looking at him with big eyes, curled up on the twin bed with his back up against the wall, books spread open all around him. Homework, of course. "Just say it, okay? What do you want?"

Sam stares at him. "I don't care! Get—whatever, pepperoni. Jeez, what's up with you?"

"Sure you don't want sausage?" Dean says, kind of nasty, and Sam frowns, shakes his head. Goddamn it. Dean drags a hand over his face, sags against the door frame. He's—a little dizzy. Oh—okay, so maybe he should've eaten, sometime since this morning. "Damn it, Sam," he says, his stomach twinging.

"What?" Give him this—maybe he's sneaking around, maybe he's lying about half his life, but Sam doesn't shrink back from an argument. He's still in his pajamas. He shoves his notebook away, lifts his chin. "What?"

"Been doing some reading," Dean says, and watches Sam's face scrunch disbelievingly. "Rearviewmirror? You don't even like cars."

It's weirdly satisfying to watch Sam blanch. He's been so unaffected the last little while it's almost a relief to get a real reaction. His mouth parts, his eyes go big. He stares at Dean in total silence except the rain drumming on the roof, and then he says, "That's—private."

"Not that private," Dean says. "You're putting shit on the internet for any asshole to read, Sam. It's not a pretty princess diary with a sparkly lock."

Sam's face is white. He licks his lips, his back rigid against the wall. "How did you—you never—"

"I know how to use a friggin computer," Dean says, and watches Sam close his eyes. "So? Got a lot to say to a bunch of strangers. Might as well say it to me. I mean, I'm your brother, right? Family."

It comes out hard but his voice cracks, on the last word. He swallows and some of the anger dissipates. Sam's jaw flexes and he tucks his hands behind his neck and his knees drag in, like defense. Like he needs defense. Against Dean. Like it's Dean who's wrecking things.

Dean's legs go out from under him. He sits down. Right there, in the doorway to the bedroom, the frame hard against his spine. The rain's loud and he doesn't—what is there to say? "You should've told me."

That's really it. Sam looks at him. Disbelief. "How?" he says, and Dean tips his head back against the wall, looks at the popcorn ceiling, says, "I don't know, it's not my damn secret. But you should've."

"Yeah, that would've gone great," Sam says, sarcastic.

Silence. The rain. Dean drags his hand over his face again, clears his throat. "So. You're—queer." For some reason it seems like the simplest thing to start with.

Sam snorts. "I'm not, like, jerking off to JC Chasez," he says, bitter.

"Who?" Dean says, but shakes his head. "God, whatever. Jesus, Sam, I can't—don't talk about you jerking off. You're not—you don't date chicks, either. Ever. So you're—"

"I don't know," Sam says. Kind of firm. Dean closes his eyes to not look at him. "I don't know, okay? But that's not what—" Pause, while he drags in a breath that's audible across the room. Dean curls over, his forehead between his knees. It's too big to hear. Sam blows out air. "You read the whole thing?"

Frail. Cobweb soft, like if Dean breathed too hard it'd break. Dean folds his hands over his head. "I read the whole thing," he says.

"Don't—" Sam says, quick, and cuts himself off. Dean can't stand it—he looks, peeking up, and Sam's made himself small, there at the head of the bed. His mouth is small, his lips between his teeth—his eyes, big and scared. "Dean. I wouldn't—I swear. I wouldn't—"

"Kiss me?" Sam flinches like from a raised fist, when Dean's all the way over here. Dean licks his lips, dropping his hands so they dangle useless between his knees. "Or, what. Leave? Either way it's pretty fucked up, for me, Sam."

"Oh my god," Sam says, very quietly, and—christ. Looks like he's gonna cry.

"Sam," Dean says, and no matter how pissed he is, that's not—Sam fights back. Sam always fights back, he's frickin' annoying that way. He's not supposed to crack like this. Dean rolls up to his knees and Sam's looking away, neck craned unnaturally so that his face is pointed at the broken-blind-covered window so that Dean can't see, but Dean can—Dean can see his teeth so hard in his lip that the skin there's white, and his chest shaky, and his fist clenched in the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms, and, and—"Sammy," Dean says, again, and Sam's eyes close and there is—shit, shit, a tear, running fast out of the corner of his eye, streaking down his cheek so quick that if Dean could blink he might've missed it.

Dean's gut hurts, like he took a punch from a werewolf and he's gonna be bruised for the next three weeks. He doesn't have anything to say to make it better, not when it's this screwed up. This isn't Sam bitching about Dad or whining about crossbow practice or pouting about a move. Sam's been thinking about this for two years and he's managed to talk about it with people, online at least. Dean's coming at it with a week's slow raw realization and he doesn't know how to make it—not how it is.

He gets over to the bed, on his knees. Sam won't look at him, like the view of nothing through the blinds is the most fascinating thing in the world. There's a wet shining trail, down his cheek to his jaw. A damp circle on his t-shirt. Dean says, because he can't think of what else to say, "You really—you want—" and even then, can't articulate it. A kiss. Sex. A kind of close they've never been. He says, slower, "Is that why you want to go?"

Sam drags in air. Sounds like it hurts.

Dean drags his teeth over his lip. There are books all over the bed. He pushes them away, and Sam's notebook. He pushes up—knee on the mattress, and sinking down to his hip, and Sam's close enough to touch, now, and he jerks and looks at Dean like he's an alien. A ghost. Something that can't be real, only they both know that it is. Dean touches Sam's hand, fisted there in his pants, and Sam jerks again, his stiff shoulders back against the wall, and he shoves Dean's hand but no matter the crazy growth spurt Sam's been having Dean's still stronger, still has the reach—he grips Sam's wrist and yanks, gets him off balance, and then he's right inside Sam's grapple and has his hand flat on Sam's chest, pressing him harder against the paint, and Sam stares at him wild-eyed with his breath both fast and deep and Dean leans forward and presses their mouths together. It's a bad kiss—he barely hits on center, and Sam freezes—but there's the touch of warmth, Sam's lips—soft—and the shocked air hitting Dean's face—and Dean drags in breath through his nose and resettles, fits his mouth to Sam's soft open lower lip and makes it better, his head tipping, easy pressure there, just the faintest amount of suction so that when he pulls back a millimeter there's a little smooch sound, and that makes it—real.

He kissed his little brother. No getting around that. No pretending. His nose brushes Sam's cheek and Sam's not really breathing, and Dean—fuck, Dean does it again, pressing in and letting Sam's wrist go so that he can get a hand on Sam's jaw, tipping him so it's good. Sam makes a tiny noise and breathes out hard against his mouth, and when Dean kisses him for a third time Sam meets it, his lips moving finally out of that still shock, his fingertips brushing Dean's arm all careful, his heart pounding under Dean's hand.

Dean pulls back. An inch between them—not enough but all Dean can seem to manage. He swallows. His lips are tingling, and his eyes are closed and he doesn't want to open them, and his fingers—jesus, he's got them tangled in Sam's hair like Sam's some easy hot chick he's picked up at a dive bar, pressing her up against the wall in the bathroom hallway, knowing how the night's going to end.

"We can't," Sam says. Sam. His voice, steady and familiar. "We—Dean. This isn't—"

"No," Dean says, god knows why. He pulls back, though—pulls his hand out of Sam's hair, stands up. His legs wobble for a second. He has to open his eyes and so he drags in a breath and does, and Sam's sitting there with his shoulders high and tight and his hands fisted on his knees and his hair a little fluffed on one side, a little screwy. His mouth parted and his eyes—fixed on Dean's face, looking all over it. Like he's memorizing a trail map, for an unknown stretch of land.

"I'm drunk," Dean says. It's not true. Five beers—he's buzzed but he knows what he's doing. Sam doesn't contradict the lie. "Acting nuts. Sorry, Sam. I—"

"I want pepperoni," Sam says. His face isn't white anymore. He's flushed, dark pink in the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are dark, wide and fixed on Dean, and there's still that shining trail on his cheek but it's drying. "Order from that place on Melrose. Garlic knots, too."

Dean backs up a step, pins on a smile. "What, you think I'm dumb? Like I wouldn't get knots," he says, and Sam doesn't smile but he nods, brief and fast like Dean's picking up a play in some con they're running, and Dean snaps a finger-gun at Sam—fuck, what is he doing—and turns out of the room, says—"Okay, dinner in thirty minutes or less or your money back!" and walks through the kitchen and out into the living room and out the front door, and closes it behind himself, and leans against it and stares blindly out into the rain, the setting sun still sparking some tiny golden bit of light out to the west, past the horizon.

He licks his lips and tastes salt, not his own. Sam's hand, on his arm—skimming, brushing light through the thickness of his jacket. Like he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to really touch. He drags in the rain-soaked air. He'll drive, to get the pizza. He'll drive, and he'll give Sam time. When he gets back he'll offer Sam half the pie and a beer, and there'll be some movie on TV that Sam probably won't want to watch, but maybe he will. They'll be—brothers. Dean knows how to do that. It feels like it's all he's got left.

It's—not easy but it's not all that hard, either. There's a brutal week where Dean's torn between walking on eggshells and wanting to wrestle Sam to the ground, and Sam goes perfectly silent—not pouty withdrawal or furious silent-treatment, but as still and quiet as though he's not even there. Dean can't bear it. It takes Dad coming home to break it—Dad, and christ, when he calls to say he's coming back Dean completely freezes and his mind fills up with—with—but then Sam looks at him and takes the phone out of his hand and says, his mouth's full—what's up? and after that it's like things… settle. It's not okay but it's livable.

rearviewmirror.livejournal.com goes quiet. Dean checks, occasionally, over the months that pass. When he's looking up some random piece of lore for Dad, when they're hunting alone and Sam's stuck back at whatever shitty hotel they stored him at, and Dean's on research duty because Sam's in high school and can't answer his phone. Dean types in the address and checks, and it's still that last post. Anyone else going through this? He hopes, sincerely, not. It's too fucked up for anyone else to bear. At least the Winchesters have practice.

They run PT. Sam does his homework. Dean watches TV. Hunting focuses things. There's stuff to kill and people to save and things aren't falling apart any more than they ever are, so—Dean deals.

Sam leaves.

It's January. Dean's in a library, alone. Dad's working a job north of Boise and he sent Dean down to Wendover to take care of a haunting, and Dean's done and Dad called and said two more days and there's this raw wounded spot where Dean should be able to turn, to look over his left shoulder and say—but it's empty there, and so he's in a library.

Sam started posting again, when he got to school. Small stuff. That he was sorry for the long break. That he'd ended up at a university after all. The hamburger girl doesn't respond anymore but the Nine Inch Nails boy does: thought you were dead, he says, no-caps like he's so goddamn cool, and Sam says, Just working some stuff out.

Sam likes his professors. He plays pick-up soccer with some of the guys from his dorm. His roommate snores. He doesn't listen to music at all. There's nothing—real. There's none of the sadboy shit, nothing about what he's feeling, no pondering of what it all means. He picks up a few different Livejournal friends, clearly people from his classes, who crack jokes about Ancient Civ and Linear Algebra. He joins a community focused around civil rights litigation. He might as well not be there.

Dean reads it all. If Sam's not calling then Dean's gonna check in whatever way he can. When Sam left Dean made sure he had at least one good knife in his bag and he said don't forget the salt when Sam hiked his backpack onto his shoulder, and Sam snorted and looked at him like a gunshot but he nodded, and Sam's not dumb, he knows how to take care of himself, but. Dean's the big brother, here. He's within his rights, to check and make sure baby bro's not being a dumbass.

January and it's fuckin cold, in Wendover, but the library's too warm. Dean keeps his coat on anyway, scrolling through the comms. He's kinda turning into an expert, navigating the pages, recognizing the shorthand. He hasn't made an account. Doesn't know why he would. He finishes his scan of the comms Sam's part of and doesn't really see any relevant posts, and no comments from rearviewmirror that he can find. He chews his cheek and goes back to the main page, thinking—okay, he can get out of here. Beer and dinner, and finding a motel that doesn't look toxic, and waiting for Dad to call. Not the worst night he could have. He refreshes, one last time, just in case, and there's a new post. He reads:

January 23

Done with class for the week. Feeling restless.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

lawblog69: we should go out!!

bloodofreptile: go get laid

Dean snorts. At least the NIN kid is consistent. He refreshes again and there's a new comment.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

He takes a breath, sitting there at the computer bank. It's quiet in here—the good people of Wendover aren't much for the library, apparently—but he feels like someone's right there. Like he could reach out and touch, when it's just words on a glowing screen. Still—the speed of the comment—Sam's… sitting there. Right now, on a computer in Palo Alto, looking at the same thing Dean is.

He refreshes.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

bloodofreptile: still holding onto that? very hufflepuff. how long has it been?

rearviewmirror: my whole life

Dean presses his knuckles to his lips, hard enough that he can feel his teeth pressing back. Jesus, Sam. He refreshes—another comment, from coppertonebuttgirl, agreeing about the restlessness but apparently she's off to a date with her boyfriend, and Sam responds and says sounds nice :), and jesus, Sam, Dean thinks. Off to have the big college experience like he wanted so bad, off to have that new shiny life, and after five months away he's still all sadsack, still not actually living.

He clicks the comment box. He types, unaccountably mad. He hits submit, and gets a warning that it'll show as anonymous. He waits, and refreshes, and reads:

Anonymous: Just go hit a bar. Live a little. Thought you were supposed to be smart, college boy.

rearviewmirror: Since when does smart have anything to do with it?

Dean rolls his eyes. He can hear Sam's voice saying it, nettled and trying to sound like he isn't.

Anonymous: You're on here mooning after Cindy Crawford when Claudia Schiffer and Tyra Banks are out there in the real world. Have a beer, get over it.

A pause. Dean has to refresh twice. The librarian walks by with her cart of books and gives him a distracted smile, and Dean's so addled he doesn't actually process and then return it until she's already gone.

rearviewmirror: I don't think it's something you get over. It mattered. It still does, to me.

Dean chews his thumbnail. Sam's face, turned unnaturally, looking out that window at the rain. The wet track, on his cheek.

Anonymous: Matters enough that you're never going to move on?

rearviewmirror: I didn't think you could move on from family. Maybe I was wrong.

The air goes out of Dean's chest. He turns away from the computer, entirely, swiveling the chair so he's looking out at the lonely bookshelves. He flexes his jaw and swivels back around. Hits refresh.

The thread of comments is gone. He blinks, confused. He doesn't think he was hallucinating—been a while, since he was that tired and drunk. But—oh—in its place, a single comment, under the brief conversation with the NIN kid:

rearviewmirror: Tell me if it's you.

Dean licks his lips. He closes out of the browser, picks up his notepad and keys. On the steps outside it's cold, cold, fucking cold, and this town is bleak. He walks down to the Impala, waiting there in the iced-over grey snow, and braces his hands on the hood, and blows out a long purling winter-dragon breath, and then fishes his phone out of his pocket. Another new phone, but he's got Sam's number memorized, and he almost calls before he chickens out. If it's not actually wanted—he imagines that conversation and he's just not constitutionally capable, right now, of facing how goddamn awkward it'd be.

He texts: It's me.

The response, after seconds: Where are you?

The shitty part of Utah. That's saying something. Easier, like this. Like it's not him kicking down a doorway right into Sam's head.

I don't have class tomorrow.

Could be random, if he didn't know who he was talking to. Dean leans his elbows on the hood of the car, looking at the little box of black-and-white text. He chews his lips and thinks. Before he can respond, another message:

I don't want to move on.

Dean tips his head enough that he's pressing the edge of the phone into his forehead. His fingers are cold. He sniffs, his nose dripping in the icy weather, and types, careful to make sure he gets it right: I'm nine hours away.

Less, if he goes over 100 in the boring parts of Nevada, and if he doesn't stop at all for a catnap.

Stop in Reno for a nap. You get weird when you drive all night. Text me when you're close.

Dean works his jaw, standing there in the cold. He's got nothing to do, for two days. He's got most of a tank of gas. He's got—nothing. Nothing. He gets in the car, and he drives.

It's only 9:30 when he gets to Reno. There were parts of Nevada where he drove very, very fast. He pulls into a truck stop, gets more gas and parks out near where the semis are lined up, the drivers early-birding the night away. Still cold here but less so. He twists around so his back's to the passenger door and looks out the driver window at the neon signs of the truck stop, the cars going in and out of the gas islands. He ate a little but his stomach was all twisted up and he couldn't get much down. A beer would go easier but he doesn't want to be drunk. Well. He does. This is insane. This is—completely stupid.

He pulls out his phone, looks at it. Dials and holds it to his ear, and it rings three times—long enough for him to change his mind four times—before there's an answer, and Sam's voice says, "Dean?"

His voice. Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back against the cold glass of the window. "Long time, no speak," Dean says. It feels rusty.

Sam's quiet for a second, on the other end. "Not really, though. Right?"

"I guess so. It's not the same." Dean listens to the little acknowledging sound Sam makes. There's silence again, for seconds that he counts—one and then two and then three. He listens to the cooling tick of the engine, through it, and then says, before he loses his nerve, "I shouldn't come. Right? This is nuts."

There's some noise, staticky. Like something passed over the mic on Sam's phone. After a beat, Sam says, "You should do what you want to do."

"Oh, should I," Dean says, and it comes out sarcastic, but he doesn't really mean it to be mean. Sam doesn't take the bait, staying quiet on the other end, and Dean opens his eyes again, watching a huge truck muscle past the gas island, watching the normal world go by. He rubs his eye. "I've been—it's been weird, Sam."

Understatement, but he doesn't know why he says it. That kind of stuff isn't for Sam to worry about.

"Go to sleep," Sam says, instead of responding. "An hour or something, just enough so you won't drive off the road. Text me when you're close."

Same thing he said before. "It'll be like three in the morning when I'm close," Dean says, and Sam says, "I'll be awake," and then the line disconnects, and Dean's left there alone again on the bench seat, but it—feels different.

He sort of sleeps, sort of doesn't. He's got a talent for going to bed wherever and whenever he has to—on spare tires and on forest floors and in a closet, once, with a propane tank as his pillow—but his brain won't shut up. He drifts in and out, for the hour Sam asked him for, and then he gets out of the car and goes into the 24-hour c-store and buys a big cup of coffee and a Hershey bar, and points the hood west, and follows the yellow dashed line home.

He texts from a gas station outside Sacramento. Sam texts back in less than a minute with an address. Dean glances at his map of California and responds: 45 minutes, and it's more like thirty when he pulls up to the—yeah, the motel, and he makes a sound that's sort of like a laugh except it doesn't feel like one. He turns into the parking lot and the headlights flash the building, and there, sitting on the sidewalk with his back to a pillar.

Dean parks. Sam has his arms folded over his knees, but he unfurls, stands. Dean gets out of the car and Sam's—jesus, ten feet away, his face totally visible under the streetlight. His hair's a little longer. "Did you get taller?" Dean says, and Sam huffs, his head ducking, and—fuck everything else, it's Dean's little brother, and he drags Sam into a hug, folding his arms over Sam's shoulders even if he has to lift on his toes a little to do it. Sam goes stiff for half a second, but he hugs back, and Dean turns his face in, Sam's hair in his nose like it always is, and feels him—warm, and safe. All Dean ever wanted for him, pretty much.

"You have to get the room," Sam says, when they pull apart. At Dean's eyebrows he shrugs, the corner of his mouth curled. "What? My scholarship doesn't include seedy rent by the hour stuff."

"Oversight much?" Dean says, but he goes in, and he gets a room. Two queens, because that's what the tired miserable little desk clerk says they have available. Means Dean doesn't have to think about other possibilities, and it means that when he dangles the keys off his finger and Sam half-smiles at him, when they've walked down the cold sidewalk side by side, when Dean opens the door and finds the different motel room, same as the first—Sam sits on one bed, and Dean sits on the other, and they look at each other, and it's like it's two years ago and they're just two kids, waiting for Dad to come home.

Sam is taller. Taller than Dean, now. His hair long enough to fall in his eyes, which it does constantly. Newish sneakers, and old jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt, and a denim jacket over the top of that. Not warm enough for the Bay in winter, but Dean bites his tongue before he says anything about it.

"How are your classes?" he says, instead.

Sam's cheek sucks in, like he's chewing it. After a second he says, "You don't want to talk about my classes, man." His head tips. "Anyway. You read about it, right."

It was a mistake not to stop for beer. Dean needs something to do with his hands. "Your algebra professor sounds like an asshole," he says.

Makes Sam smile before he ducks his head, looking down at his lap. "I thought—" He swallows, audibly. He shakes his head, his hair falling down and hiding his face. "Only reason I started posting again was that I wondered if you might still—if you'd check."

It's quiet, honest. Dean hasn't talked to Sam in person for half a year and he's off-balance. Expecting Sam to snark, to be dismissive, to roll his eyes. Small hours of the morning, maybe he's too tired not to be honest. Maybe he's growing up. Dean's not prepared for that.

Sam looks up at him when Dean's silent for too long. His teeth dig into the corner of his mouth and he drags his hand through his hair, gets it off his forehead. "I said I didn't want to move on. You know what I meant, right?"

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot, Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes tighten. Dean leans back on his hands, tips his head back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. "Thought this was the whole point of getting out. Getting away, making a whole new life. Being someone else."

"I'm still me," Sam says, unseen. "And it wasn't the whole point. I want a life. That part—whatever, that doesn't matter right now. But I never thought the other thing was going to go away."

He stands up, so Dean can see him. Dean looks at him down his nose, and Sam's—god. Tall. That keeps being his first thought. Tall, and maybe not a stranger, even if he's real damn strange. Sam steps closer, in the little space between the two beds, chewing his lip again. He's gonna make a sore there. "Dean," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows in response. "You came."

"Yeah," Dean says, rueful. "Well. I'm Cindy Crawford."

Sam's face ripples—a frown, surprise—and then a huffed little laugh—and then he steps between Dean's knees and touches his chest, his jaw. Leans down, slow, telegraphing like they're practicing a fight, and Dean stays exactly where he is, leaned back on his hands, and Sam's mouth touches his—softly. Not hesitant. Dean lets his eyes close and feels it. Puff of air against his face as Sam lets out a tense breath and then another kiss, the damp inside Sam's lip catching against Dean's, and Dean kisses back then, reaching up and getting Sam's jaw, his jacket, fisting the denim and pulling Sam closer. There's a stagger—Sam's knee landing on the bed by Dean's hip, and Dean gets an arm around his lower back and kisses him again, tasting him. Salt, and when Dean kisses him again and presses his mouth open, licks inside, there's coffee-taste, Sam's tongue—slick, tentative—he stayed up, to wait for Dean—his kiss clumsier now, like he doesn't have much practice.

Dean pulls back a few inches. Sam's half-draped on him, his weight nearly in Dean's lap. His eyes are dark but big with surprise, like he didn't expect Dean to go with it. "Sammy," Dean says, and Sam—shudders, his hands closing hard around Dean's shoulders. Okay, Dean thinks, filing that away. He drags a thumb over Sam's jaw, where he's got a barely-there prickle of stubble. "What are we doing?"

Sam shakes his head, licks his lips. "This," he says, holding the side of Dean's neck. "This."

They peel Sam's jacket off, and then Dean's. Sam's still in that hoodie, soft black, and Dean gets his fingers just under the hem of it, barely grazing Sam's stomach, kissing him again—tangled up close on the edge of the bed, Sam's thigh slung over his. Sam keeps touching his face, his chest. His amulet, swinging forward between them when he urges Sam down to his back on the mattress, a knee between Sam's and his hand still there on Sam's belly. Sam grips the amulet and breathes out hot against Dean's face and lifts up for another kiss, which Dean gives him easy, and it's—god, it's good. The lights on, the room warm, Sam wanting underneath his hand. His mouth, slick and open, learning how to press back, how to give as good as he's getting. Dean kisses his cheekbone, his jaw, settles his hand flat on Sam's stomach to ground him, says, "Sammy, you've done this before, right?" Sam hitches breath, nods. Dean sorta laughs, lifts up so he can actually see Sam's expression. "More than once?"

"Twice," Sam says, and when Dean raises his eyebrows he frowns, vaguely indignant. "Jenny Morrison, just before graduation." He licks his lips. "And—a guy. After student orientation, here."

"Playing the field, huh?" Dean says. There's no reason it should make his stomach go molten hot. He rubs Sam's stomach, feels the rise of his breath. "You like it?" Sam nods, again. "What'd you do?"

Sam's cheeks are dark, brick-red. He licks his lips again and Dean ducks back in to kiss him, knocking his mouth open, tasting inside. Earns himself a small deep noise and Sam's hand sliding through his hair where it's too short to grab. He nudges Sam's nose and sits up, peeling off his overshirt. "C'mon. What'd you do? Didn't put that up on your journal, how am I supposed to know?"

"It was a rush party," Sam says, looking at him. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, making sure his amulet stays put, and Sam blinks heavily, his lips parted. Jeez—it's weird. Hot. Sam wants him, Dean thinks, and it sends a rush of blood south. "He's—uh. Pre-med, smart."

"Not looking for his biography, Sammy," Dean says, and spreads his hands on Sam's hips, pushing up. The hoodie moves, the t-shirt underneath rucks up—Sam's pale here but still that faint all-over tan, darker than Dean's skin. He licks his lips. "What'd you do? Jerk each other off?"

Sam nods, again, his mouth open. God, Dean can imagine it. On some dorm-room bed, their heads leaned together, Sam's mouth open just like this—panting, his hand fumbling down—fuck, fuck it's hot, Sam nervous and into it and trying, making sure. "You liked it, huh?" Dean says, stroking his thumbs over Sam's bare belly.

"Yeah," Sam says, thin on not enough air, his knee drawing up. "But I—I thought about—when you kissed me—" and Dean kisses him again, groaning. Jesus, Sam's gonna kill him. Thinking about some shitty nervous freaked-out kiss when another guy's got his tongue in Sam's mouth. Sam grabs his shoulders, sits up, and Dean accommodates him easy, letting Sam touch him back—Sam's hands sliding down his chest, around to his ribs, grasping. "Dean," he says, panting.

"Let's get this off, huh?" Dean says, pulling, and Sam yanks the hoodie off in a second flat, his hair all ruffling up behind it. The shirt comes with it and there's just Sammy's bare smooth skin, that same pale tan all over. Small brownish nipples, slim muscles. His body. Dean dips and kisses his bare shoulder, licking there, biting, and Sam's nails dig into his ribs so he does it again, swinging a leg over so he's straddling Sam's lap, taking his time. He scrapes his teeth over the swell where Sam's collarbone dips into the arch of his trap, and Sam grips his neck, his back arching. He's hard. Shit, he's nineteen, he has to be hard. Dean slides his fingers down Sam's belly to his belt, tucking under the waist of his jeans, but Sam grips his wrist, then, groaning, saying—"Wait—wait—"

Dean drops his head to Sam's shoulder, groaning back. "We waited," he says, but Sam's hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back, making him look. "What?"

Sam's pink. "Have you—with a guy?" Dean rocks back but Sam's holding him close, looking all over his face. "Dean. Have you—"

"Yeah," Dean says, and watches Sam's ears go red. Sam doesn't need to know when, but it was all in the last year. Three dudes, hookups that were way too easy. They were good—turns out that Dean just likes sex, any way someone will give it to him—and he learned what it felt like to have a dick not his own in his hand, how it felt to slip a cock into his mouth and make a man groan. He hadn't thought about Sam while he was doing it, not really, but he's thinking about it now, and Sam's eyes have dropped, his lips between his teeth. Jealous? Dean smiles while Sam can't see and breaks Sam's hold on his wrist, and slides his hand down, and cups the crotch of Sam's jeans where he's swelling them out. Sam jerks, eyes flying open. "Means I know what I'm doing. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes, and then it's—undoing his belt, and unzipping, and then—god, he's still got his sneakers on. Dean backs off and kicks off his boots, deliberately, and Sam blinks at him hot-eyed with his chest heaving and his jeans half-open looking like a friggin porno, but then he gets with the program, and the shoes thud to the shitty carpet and then they're practically racing, undressing, and when Dean kicks his boxers off to the side Sam's—naked, half on the bed, staring at him. Dean stares back, circling a hand around Sam's ankle. God, to look at him, in the lamplight. Long legs, hairier on the shins and lightly furred on the thighs, and a decent dark bush around a dick that's—jesus, that dick. Big, bigger than Dean's, bigger than—Dean licks his lips and looks up with an effort and Sam's staring right back at him, focused between his legs, his mouth parted. "Like what you see?" Dean says, and Sam doesn't answer, just reaches for him, and Dean crawls up the bed and settles on his elbow above Sam with their legs brushing bare, Sam's dick hot against his hip, and Sam kisses him with both hands on his face, his thigh dragging up against Dean's, his lips almost trembly.

Dean soothes a hand down Sam's ribs but Sam's—fuck. Shaking. They haven't even done anything. "Sammy," Dean whispers, between Sam's needing brief kisses, and Sam shakes his head and kisses him again and then ducks his head down, his nose brushing under Dean's jaw. Dean pulls Sam closer—tips, so they're on their sides—and pulls Sam's leg over his hip, pushes in, and—ah, shit, shit that feels good, Sam's big dick brushing in against his, dragging heavy and hot. "Oh," says Sam, small, and Dean slips his hand further and grips Sam's ass, the muscle tight and small—pulls in, and pulls again, encouraging, and Sam grips Dean's shoulder underhand tight enough to hurt but follows, pushing in with the rhythm Dean's urging. He's breathing fast, hot against Dean's throat, but he's got it—humping in, meeting Dean, making their dicks slide, his cockhead smearing wet against Dean's belly. Dean hums, kissing Sam's temple where he can just reach it, just enjoying the—insane way it feels. He lets Sam's ass go and Sam keeps going—good, good—and he licks his fingers sloppy, and reaches down between them, and for the first time he gets a grip on Sam's dick, feels the heft of it. Sam makes a sound like he's been shot and Dean says shh, easy, slicking his hand down to the base, squeezing hard as he pulls back up, and Sam makes another gulping strange sound, his thigh clutching hard around Dean's hip, his hand crushing Dean's lower back in closer. "That feel good?" Dean says, and Sam—comes. Fast, humping in, spurting up Dean's belly and his own, the slick getting all over Dean's dick, hot and wet, the sensation enormous. Dean squeezes him through it, knowing, and Sam humps in again and grabs his ass, nails digging in. Dean tips his head back, feeling it. God, it's good. Sam. His brother.

He swallows. His dick's throbbing, wanting more, feeling left behind. Sammy shudders and Dean licks his lips, pushes Sam back so his shoulders hit the bed. He flops—boneless, shocked—and Dean drags his hands over Sam's ribs, frames his hips. His dick is still big, flushed and wet, his balls clutched up high, and Dean licks his lips and says, "Okay," to no one, and leans down, and gets Sam's dick in his mouth.

A shock, Sam's body practically lifting off the bed. "What," he says, somewhere Dean can't see him—"What are you, oh—" and Dean thinks, oh, what if no one has done this? What if Jenny just opened her legs and she and Sam humped awkward and teenage in some backseat—what if pre-med only wiped his handful of Sam's jizz on the mattress and passed out—what if Dean's the first one, here, opening his jaw wide, careful of his teeth, slicking down, getting the whole fat length of it in his mouth. Only—he can't, fuck, Sam's too big. He fists the base, pulls off, spits and slicks the wet down. When he glances up Sam's up on his elbows, staring, and Dean grins at him, jerks it again, swallows. He can taste Sam's jizz, leftover from coming before. "Hang on," Dean says, and goes back down, letting the head bust his lips open, slicking tight down to his fist, dragging his tongue hard against the underside, suckling easy. Sam takes his statement as an order and grips his head, his shoulder, his hips cringing up into Dean's mouth, and Dean heaves in air, feels Sam firming up again, thick and needing and good.

He's only done this a few times but he—shit, he liked it. Likes it better the other way around, of course, but like this—his dick pressing into the bed, throbbing—Sam splitting open his mouth—yeah, it doesn't exactly suck. He bobs up and down, making sure to pay special attention to the soft ridge at the head, and Sam's making insane noises, now, up above him, petting his head and his shoulders and gripping, trying to shove up. Dean leans into his hip so he can't, fists his dick, pulls off gasping and licking his lips. Sam's still staring, down the length of his torso, and Dean jerks him through the goopy mess they're making—his spit, Sam's precome, what Sam's already come. "You like it?" Dean says, and Sam—rolls his eyes, the little shit.

"You're smug," Sam says, and Dean raises his eyebrows and says, "You're damn right I am," and lets Sam's dick go and goes down, down, no fist in the way until Sam's dick hits the back of his throat and he gags—breathes through it—slurps up with tight lips and then goes right back down, getting his throat used to it, learning the feel of this massive, awesome dick. Sam moans, pushes his hips up, and Dean lets him, rides it—lets Sam fuck up, lets him get a rhythm, like fucking—Sam, fucking his face—and Dean reaches down between his own legs and fists his own dick, finally, groaning in relief and making Sam shudder as the vibration rumbles through Dean's open throat. Sam grips his head with both hands, holding him down, and Dean drags in air through his nose and holds there, filled up with Sam and choking, spit flooding out of his open mouth—the world dark and just Sam's taste, his smell—and Sam makes a little sound—and Dean grunts and lifts off, breaks Sam's hold and crawls up his body, straddling his hips and dragging his dick against where Sam's is all sloppy-hot, dripping wet. Sam gasps up at him and grabs his hips, his ass, fucking up into him, and Dean grips both their dicks in two hands, fucking into the tight wet channel he's making for them both, and Sam pulls at his ass, spreading it, rocking his hips to help, moaning and looking helpless up into Dean's face, and Dean leans down and breathes against him and Sam still comes first, creaming them both, his dick flexing and twitching in Dean's grip, and Dean braces one slick hand on the bed and fists himself seriously, jerking fast, and Sam moans and kisses his jaw and pulls at his ass with those big hands, his fingers slipping low, dipping—and Dean jerks and spills, his belly seizing, his thighs clamping around Sam's hips, Sam's lips open and dragging wet against his throat, his fist gripping the bedspread so hard that his fingers cramp.

Sam's stroking his hips, repetitive and soft, when he's done panting. Dean swallows, shifts his weight. He's slumped on top of Sam, his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Wet between them, sliding, and he releases his dick and slips his sticky hand out, bracing on the bed enough to get some air between them. When he lifts up Sam's eyes are half-closed, but he focuses on Dean's face right away, and his hands stop their stroking and just squeeze, warm and tight. "You okay?" Sam says.

"My line," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes again, squeezes again. Dean sits up more but Sam doesn't let go. "C'mon, we should clean up."

Sam's eyes tighten, just barely. He sits up, keeping his grip on Dean, and Dean rocks back but doesn't tip over. He gets a hand on Sam's shoulder to keep his balance and Sam says, steady, "Don't freak. Okay?"

"Who's freaking?" Their dicks are still pressed wetly together, though Dean's basically soft, now. Sam's still plump, thick. He swallows. "C'mon, we're gonna get cemented together," he says, and Sam's mouth purses but his grip goes light, and it gives enough room that Dean can lift off, get his feet under him. Jesus, there's enough jizz on him that it's rolling down his belly—he claps a hand to it before it can drop, smearing it over his abs. "You come like a geyser, dude," he says, not really complaining, but Sam's cheeks are red when he looks back up, and he feels—shit. He doesn't know.

He goes to the bathroom. Fluorescent light, pink-painted sink. He wets one of the five-cent washrags and wipes himself up, and he's not turned on anymore so his thought is mainly that it's just gross, and that bed's going to be wrecked, and also, what is he doing. What is he doing.

Sam's hand appears, reaching around him. He jumps. In the mirror behind him, Sam's tall, looking over his shoulder. Looking at Dean, even as he wets the other rag, cleans himself up. Dean chews the inside of his lip and can't really turn away. Sam's got red marks on his shoulder, where Dean was biting him.

"Stay," Sam says. He tosses his wet rag back into the sink and settles his hands on Dean's biceps, squeezing. When he steps forward his dick presses into the small of Dean's back and his chest is warm, damp. "Tomorrow at least. We've got the room. Stay."

"You want your dick sucked again?" Dean says, and that time it is mean and he did kind of mean it to be, and Sam's eyelids dip and his jaw clenches, but he only slips his hands away from Dean's arms to his ribs, holding him. It feels… Dean shakes his head. "Sam," he says, but there's not really anything that can go after it.

A big hand slides up and over, flattening on his breastbone. "It's not just this," Sam says, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror, and it makes Dean's cheeks go hot.

He covers Sam's hand with his. He shivers, for some reason. He says, "I should take a shower, I've been in the car all day," and Sam says, "Okay," and Dean takes a shower and Sam sits on the closed toilet, watches him through the clear curtain. Gives him a towel when he comes out. Takes his hips, when he's dry, and presses him to the tiled wall, and tips his head up, and kisses him clean.

Five in the morning, or later. There's a clean bed and Dean hasn't slept in a day. He lays down and Sam lays down with him, a few inches away until Dean relents and turns over, and Sam curls up behind him, holding on, his mouth against Dean's shoulder. There's going to be a call from Dad, at some point. Dean's going to have to meet him somewhere, because there's going to be something bad that needs killing. He can't stay. He's wired and tired, all at once.

"Sleep," Sam says, and Dean turns his head against the pillow, knows he will.

"Hey," he says, and Sam makes a quiet noise. "If you put this on your journal, maybe bloodofreptile will finally shut up about you getting laid all the time."

"His name is Dennis," Sam says, and Dean laughs, weirdly glad. Dennis. Yeah, that fits. "And this isn't going on the internet."

"Probably a good idea," Dean says, and Sam says, again, "Dude, go to sleep," and Dean tips back into Sam's warmth, and does, and it's the best sleep he's gotten in a year.

#fffr #wincest #weecest #first time #long fic #my writing #--seriously this one also went too long #but idk it felt right this way

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