#> just sit there drinking fruit punch to try to get lots of liquids for like an hour while recovering from the pain

[jackrrabbit]

be a little bad /// Hawks x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: College AU 🍺 Frat boy Keigo pours you your first drink and decides he’s going to help himself to more of your firsts.

A/N: Hawks just makes so much sense as a frat bro 🤧 @koiibito​ thank you for working through ideas w/ me…& remember when I told you this was going to be short?? whoops 🤡

Tags/warnings: dubcon/coercion, inexperienced reader, fuckboy Hawks, overstimulation, alcohol, inebriated sex, problematic frat culture stuff, idk what to call it but peer pressure? to drink etc., all characters are adults

How long have you been sitting here?

You feel like there’s some kind of immense weight holding you down, making it impossible for you to stand up off this ugly couch that’s been crammed into the corner of the room to make space for the dance floor. You and this couch have become good friends over what you think has been the past hour—at first you occupied yourself by looking at the people playing beer pong, but after the fourth time you had to decline one of the players’ offers to join, you decided to stop making eye contact. So you sit on the couch, you stare at your phone, and you wish you were back at your dorm—or, better yet, back in your hometown with all your high school friends.

But you’re not. You’re here, multiple time zones away from anywhere you can call home, and all of your high school friends are asleep. And the one person—the one person you’ve managed to make friends with since orientation is the one who dragged you to this freaking frat party and then proceeded to abandon you. Apparently he didn’t feel the need to tell you that as a new pledge of this frat, he’s going to be on “door duty” checking ratios and giving sardonic responsibility talks for the next two hours.

Which leaves you here, sitting on the couch and trying to avoid the more questionable stains that you can barely make out in the seizure-inducing strobe lights. There’s a can of beer icing down your palms and you adjust your grip so it doesn’t leave a damp spot of condensation in your lap. It was your friend who gave it to you before he disappeared (“you don’t even have to drink it,” he’d said, “just hold it and no one else will pressure you to get another drink”).

It smells foul. You’ve had sips of beer before, and you can never understand why people drink it voluntarily. But maybe…maybe now that you’re in college, maybe now that you’re an adult, you’ll enjoy the taste. You raise the can to your lips and chug down a heavy gulp.

Ugh. Still gross. You wince and wipe your mouth.

“Not a fan of natty, huh? Good taste.” A hand appears out of nowhere to pluck the can away from you and you jump, nearly smacking your forehead against the stranger’s chin. He pulls back. “Whoa! Careful there.”

“…That’s mine,” you say half-heartedly as the guy tilts up the beer—your beer, your decoy drink—and takes a long draught.

“You’re not missing out. This stuff is piss,” he says, grinning down at you.

He’s not the first guy to hit on you at this party (what is it about lost-looking girls that draws frat boys in like moths to a flame?), but he is the best-looking. Long, swept-back blond hair; equally long eyelashes; a hint of scruff on his chin—he’s pretty and masculine at the same time. You let him take the seat next to you and lure you into a conversation, and he’s nice, too—laughing with you about how bad the beer tastes and sympathizing with your criticisms of your first experience at a frat party. You fall over yourself apologizing when he lets slip that he’s a brother (“social chair, actually, so if the party sucks it’s on me”) but he tells you it’s okay, that no one likes going to parties alone, not at first.

His name is Keigo Takami. He’s a junior, a marketing major, and he joined the frat in his first semester. According to him, the fraternity is a great group of guys (“I mean, they’re a bunch of jackasses, sure, but they’re well-meaning jackasses for the most part”) and all the rumors about frat parties are overblown.

“Seriously, you’d be having fun if you were drinking,” Keigo tells you. “These parties aren’t intended for a sober audience.”

“Sure,” you scoff, but it’s not serious. You are having fun, talking to him.

He gasps, mock-offended. “Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you. Stay right here, okay—don’t move a muscle.”

When he gets up, the dense crowd on the makeshift dance floor parts to let him through to the stairs leading into the upper floors. It’s kind of amazing. Everyone else (yourself included) has to wade through, pushing and shoving past the teeming throng to get anywhere, but for Keigo it’s effortless.

He’s back in just a few minutes, holding—oh god, how typical—a red plastic cup filled with a kool-aid red liquid that smells sickly sweet. Is it actually kool-aid? You take a whiff and can’t detect the tell-tale bitter alcohol fumes. “Is this…?”

“Mm, that’s jungle juice. The frat’s secret recipe. It’s good, try it.”

You raise the cup but hesitate. Is this really a good idea? You’ve been warned about stuff like this so many times. You don’t have to do it just because everyone else is.

Keigo catches your hesitation and frowns. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, I just…haven’t…”

“Hm? Don’t tell me this is your first drink? Aww, little freshman baby.” He’s mocking you, looking down on you, and you hate it. You’re not a baby. You can play with the boys.

You make eye contact with him before you tip back the cup and gulp down the juice, letting the full contents slosh down your throat. It’s syrupy-sweet and tastes like fruit punch and oranges so it goes down easy, a lot easier than you thought it would. A drop slides out of the corner of your mouth but you lick it up when it runs over your lip.

Keigo whistles. “Damn, down the hatch. That was…that was kinda hot.”

If you’re blushing, you hope he thinks it’s because of the drink.

He’s faster when he gets you the second cup. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol. Keigo won’t tell you what’s in it or how much (“secret recipe’s gotta stay a secret, y’know? It’s in the bylaws”). Halfway into the second cup you start to feel dizzy, which Keigo says means it’s working. He pulls you up off what you’ve semi-affectionately begun to think of as your couch and guides you onto the dance floor. The music is heavy and blaring loud, thudding through the speakers and making the walls shake, making you shake as it travels through the sticky floor up into your body. You sway haphazardly but Keigo’s got you by the arms, pulling you out of the way of the crowd, pulling you into him.

“Looking a little unsteady there, baby,” he says, and—and, you hear him, you do, but he’s talking to you from underwater (or, no, that’s just what it sounds like? or—) um. Beaming his voice into your brain or something?

Keigo laughs and you giggle and it feels good. “Better finish that or you’re gonna spill it,” he says, putting his warm hot hand over yours, guiding the cup back up to your face so you can finish off.

You’re in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by writhing bodies so it shouldn’t surprise you when someone’s elbow smacks into your back and jostles you so the jungle juice spills, spills out of your mouth dripping down your chin onto the dress. You process the interruption a second too late and the sticky red liquid is already staining your skin. …Feels good, you think first, because the drink is cool and refreshing and it’s so hot in here, steamy warm, everyone pressed up against everyone else like you’re pressed into Keigo, and then oh no—oh no your dress—but at least it’s a dark color, at least the stain won’t show—

“What did I tell you about spilling?” you sort of  hear Keigo say, and then you sort of feel the weight of his hand wiping away the juice from your mouth, and then he sticks his face up close to yours and oh my god oh my god he’s kissing you.

There’s something indescribably weird about it, his tongue thrashing over yours like he’s trying to lick the juice out of your mouth while you try not to flinch back from the taste of the beer he was drinking earlier. But he’s so solid, so steady, the only still thing in a room full of movement—when your eyes move away from him into the twisting mass of bodies and flashing lights you feel dizzy, so you keep your gaze locked firmly on him. He wraps his arm around your back and you instantly feel better and lean into him, lean into the kiss.

You’re drooling by the time he stops kissing you. “So sweet,” Keigo says, wiping a pearl of saliva off his mouth. “Little sloppy, but I can work with that.”

You don’t get it. You don’t even know if you would get it if you were sober. What you do get is Keigo’s hand wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you through the crowd to the staircase. Once again the people move aside for him, like the Red Sea for Moses, you think with a little laugh and he looks back at you and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

You stop, halting at the base of the stairs and squinting up at the bright yellow light in the stairwell, so invasive and clinical after the strobing darkness of the bottom floor. There’s something hard pressing into your side when you try to lean on the wall. There’s a name for that thing, isn’t there? B…ban…bannister, right? You grip the bannister with one hand to hold yourself still and resist Keigo tugging you higher up the stairs.

“W-Where’re we going?” you ask. It’s weird—your voice doesn’t sound like drunk people in movies. It’s not slurred or unintelligible. To your own ears, it just sounds high, and fast, and…nervous.

“Going upstairs,” Keigo says patiently, still pulling gently at your arm. “Gonna get some air, ‘kay? I’ll show you something cool.”

“O-Okay…” Something cool? You want to see something cool, even if you’re practically tripping over the stairs trying to stumble up them.

One of the brothers is guarding the entrance to the upper floors (no doubt ensuring that wayward attendees don’t try to take the party upstairs into the personal bedrooms). He nods at Keigo when he passes, but when he catches sight of you—you with your hair mussed, lipstick smeared, flushed cheeks and wobbly steps—his eyes narrow. “She good?”

Even in your boozy haze, it doesn’t escape you that the question isn’t directed toward you. He’s asking Keigo.

“Her? She’s fine, she’s fine.” Keigo throws his arm over your shoulders like you’re old buddies. “I’m taking her to my room, it’s so fucking hot down there I can’t breathe.”

“Yeah…” the other guy says, gaze still focused on you, but he doesn’t move to the side to let you through.

“Oh, come on.” Keigo steps up onto the same stair as him so he can look him in the eye. “I said she’s fine, didn’t I? She’s having fun. Aren’t you? Tell him you’re having fun, (Y/N).”

His tone isn’t any less sociable than before, but—are you imagining it?—he’s not really asking, is he? “Um, I’m having—having fun?”

Oh. Oh no. Why did that sound like a question?

The brother waits a moment, and then shrugs and steps aside. “Whatever, bro.”

Keigo’s bedroom is on the third and highest floor of the sprawling mansion where the fraternity makes its home. Flags are pinned to the walls—one with the colors of your university and one with the fraternity crest—and on top of his desk there are trophies lined up in meticulous rows: track and field, swimming, cross country, fencing. The bedroom is a rare single, one of only a few in the crowded house, which Keigo explains is because he earned it as a member of leadership when he was elected social chair (“it was unanimous—well, almost, a couple of the douchebags voted for themselves but—“)

You’re trying to listen, you really are. But your head is spinning. Now that you’re out of the feverish swampy heat of the dance floor downstairs, you feel marginally more sober—and also more aware that you’re inebriated. Keigo’s voice is steady and soothing like the rest of him. The timbre, the intonations, the casual lilt and dip of his speaking make more sense to you than the words themselves.

“Here, have this. It’s rum. Tell me what it smells like…” Keigo puts something in your hand—a tiny little cup, a plastic shot glass—and you have to use all your concentration to hold it still enough to let him fill it with red-brown liquid out of an unlabeled bottle.

When you carefully lift it up to your face, you can smell the alcohol. It smells sweet, too—like vanilla, vanilla and something fruity and heavy. Bananas?

But mostly it smells like alcohol.

“It smells like banana bread, doesn’t it?” Keigo asks, pouring himself a shot too. “Try it.”

You take a tentative sip but even that meager amount is sickeningly bitter in your mouth. You hold it on your tongue for a second trying to taste the ‘banana bread’ and then swallow a few moments too late, hoping you don’t look as disgusted as you feel.

“Not like that,” Keigo laughs, tipping his own shot back and downing it in a single go. “Like this. Your turn.”

“…Keigo…” You’re not sure what you want to say. You don’t want the shot, it tastes bad and you’re already drunk. You’re a smart girl, a careful girl. You should know better. You do know better. But it feels like—it feels like, even though he’s not making you do anything, somehow it’s too late to say no.

“C’mon, (Y/N). It’s just a little shot.” He taps his empty glass against your almost-full one. “And look, if you don’t want to, I’ll just take you back downstairs…is that what you want?”

Back downstairs. Back to sitting by yourself and waiting for your friend and turning down offers. Is that what you want?

Keigo’s gaze dips down to the ground and he shifts a step forward. “Now…maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think you want that. ‘Cause when I saw you sitting on that couch, you didn’t look like you were having such a good time, hm? Am I right?”

“…um, I guess?”

“Yeah…you looked so sad and lost and lonely I couldn’t leave you alone. Admit it...” He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. “You were waiting for someone to catch your interest. You were wishing a guy like me would come rescue you. If I’m wrong, I’ll take you right back downstairs and leave you by yourself for the rest of the night, okay? But if I’m right…”

You can smell his hot breath on your face—vanilla and sugar and bananas and rum.

“…take the shot.”

It’s not so bad the second time. You’re quicker and you don’t bother holding it in your mouth. The liquor sears your throat clean and when you get over the unpleasantness, it really does taste kind of like banana bread.

“Ohhhh… Not so bad, is it?” Keigo takes the glass from you. “God, you—you complain, but you really take it down like a champ.”

“Alcohol tastes nasty,” you reply, wrinkling your nose. “Why’d people do this for fun?”

“It’s not about the taste, not at first,” Keigo laughs. Weird. It’s like he’s always laughing.

“Then what?” At your next exhale, you squeeze your eyes shut and reopen them. Ah. Ah. The room is moving again, spinning, contracting and dilating. There’s something relaxing about it, like you’re being rocked on gentle waves in the ocean. You feel floaty, comfortable, pleased.

“Well…it’s nice, isn’t it? Isn’t this nice? Helps you not think so much, not worry about the consequences.” Keigo’s arms are wrapping around you again, anchoring you in place. His torso is warm and hard against yours. “Lets you be bad.”

“Mmm…” You blink up at Keigo, admire his jawline and his lashes and his pretty gold eyes. He looks like a boy you would’ve had a crush on in high school, an older boy who never would’ve given you the time of day.

His hand is rubbing circles over your back, shifting the fabric of your dress along with his palm. “So what do you say?” he murmurs. “Wanna be a little bad?”

You do. You want to be bad and naughty and reckless. You want to make dumb, drunken decisions that you’ll laugh about with your friends in a few years. You want to do things you’ll regret, because you’d rather regret the things you had the guts to do than the ones you were too scared to try.

You inch your arms up past Keigo’s shoulders and tangle them in his fluffy hair, tugging gently at the different strands until you work up the nerve to pull his head to your level and kiss him. Even though you initiated it, he immediately takes the lead and the force of his mouth writhing against yours has your neck twisting back to accommodate. His tongue pushes against yours again but you don’t mind it this time. Your spine is arched and you’d probably be falling backward if his hand wasn’t bracing your lower back before sliding down to grab your ass.

“God—“ he breaks the kiss— “goddamn, look at you.” He’s gripping your dress, lifting it, pulling the fabric up over your hips and up to your waist at the same time as he showers kisses over your cheeks and your jawline and your neck.

You lift your chin (how strange that you’ve never done this before and still it feels so natural) to let him bite and suck scarlet marks onto the thin skin of your throat. “Keigo—“

“Baby,” he sighs, his breath stirring the hair falling over your neck. “You’re gonna be a killer, I can tell… You’re sweet now, but fuck, you’ve got no idea.” His hands are under the hem of your dress giving your ass another squeeze before he pulls the skirt up.

“Killer? What do you...” He’s backing you onto the bed, kicking off his shoes, and you do the same.

“Shh, that’s for me to know and you to find out. Arms up,” he tells you, and you slowly comply, letting him take the dress off your shivering body to leave you in your panties—no bra, not in this dress. Keigo holds the dress in his hands for a second before he drops it to the floor. “This—you know what, this is how I knew you were a virgin, this little dress, who the hell wears a dress to a frat party—“

“A virgin?” Hearing him say the word hits some kind of trigger in you and your eyes go wide. Without thinking, you fold your arms over your breasts and pull your legs up to your chest.

“Not a virgin virgin, it’s just what we call freshie girls who’ve never been to a party before—“ Keigo starts to clarify, but when he catches your reaction (your overreaction), his eyes narrow and he sits on the bed over you, knees straddling your legs. “Wait. Are you—you’re not actually a virgin, are you?”

You look to the side, cheeks hot, wanting to deny it but knowing there’s no way you’ve got the mental fortitude to really convince him.

“Fuuuck,” Keigo breathes, leaning over you and framing your face with his hands. “Baby. You just keep getting sweeter, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “’s embarrassing…”

“You should be glad I asked, or you’d be…like crying and bleeding and stuff, right? God, it’s been a while since I had a virgin.” He scratches his forehead and then his hand comes down to absently stroke the soft inside of your thigh.

It tickles. It tickles and you feel goosebumps rising to attention on your leg and a silly little laugh bubbles out of your throat. An involuntary shiver passes through you.

Keigo smirks and ducks down to kiss the skin of your inner thigh. It’s light—it’s nothing—but the rough stubble on his chin scratches over your skin and you giggle again. He nudges up higher on your body, so close you can feel the heat of his breath through your panties, and his hands grip around your waist to keep you in place.

Everything’s moving so quickly. You wonder in the back of your mind, the tiny part that still has a decent grasp on sobriety, if you’re ready for all of this. Then you wonder if anyone’s ever ready. How are you supposed to know? When it’s the right time, are you not supposed to be nervous? You are nervous, but the liquor is taking the edge off, making you more comfortable, maybe even keeping your mouth shut when the sober version of you would’ve stopped this a long time ago. You don’t know.

But what you do know—what you do know is that Keigo is easing your panties down off your legs and then nosing back in to kiss up your thighs and latch his mouth over your pussy.

“Mm—oh, fuck—“ What are you saying? You’re not a moaner, you don’t even say ‘fuck’. You’ve always been able to keep quiet when you’re by yourself. It’s like Keigo’s tongue flicking over your clit is pulling the voice out of you.

He wriggles the tip of his tongue over that sweet spot and the breath falls out of your lungs in what is undeniably a whimper. You feel so tense with the effort of keeping still, blood rushing to your pussy, and your thigh spasms where it’s nestled next to Keigo’s cheek. “You ever done this before?” he hums between licks.

“N-No…ah!”

“Ever cum?” His tongue returns, licking you up and down in lazy strokes, spreading your juices all over your dripping cunt.

“…hahhh, yesss…” Yes, you’ve had an orgasm before, in your own bed on your own fingers. When you do it to yourself it’s detached and methodical, a means to an end. You keep your mouth closed and you barely move and you get it over with. It’s not like this, wet and sloppy and out of your control, teasing, giving you almost exactly what you want but not quite.

You’re moaning. You’re moaning. You can still hear the throbbing music of the party downstairs, and you’re moaning your little heart out, whimpering, crying with little ah-ah-ah’s that anyone who can hear would recognize immediately.

When you do it yourself, it’s not like this. It’s never like this. Keigo moves from slow to quick unpredictably, always pulling you down right when you feel that pressure building in your core. It feels good enough that you’re annoyed—no, not annoyed, downright pissed when he sits back up on his heels and licks the wetness off his own lips.

“What’re you—I was, I was gonna—“ you start, trying to organize your thoughts. It had felt good. You’d wanted it, wanted more, and now your pussy feels all warm and wet and needy, pulsating with the lust he stirred up in you.

“Gonna cum?” Keigo leans down and kisses you, long and slow. “Sorry…but I’m selfish. When you cum, I wanna feel it.”

His arms flex in the yellow lamplight as he pulls the collar of his shirt over his head. You’re sprawled over the sheets on your back, not sure what you can say so you just watch. It helps that there’s plenty to look at—the hard planes of his abdomen forming the tell-tale dips of a six-pack, perfectly-formed lean muscle (all those sports trophies, you think to yourself), and the V of his hipbones disappearing under the hem of his pants…which he’s currently taking off as well. There’s something to be said for the benefits of spending more time at the gym than you do at the library.

Every part of Keigo Takami is impressive—he’s a work of art in human form. And when he pulls down his boxer briefs and his cock springs out to bob against his stomach, you’ve gotta admit that that is pretty impressive too.

Impressive…and intimidating. You bite your lip looking at it. Keigo pumps himself up and down, and every time his fist moves down to expose the thick pink head, you wonder the same thing: how is that supposed to fit!?

Keigo must see the sudden anxiety on your face, because he smiles (reassuringly? arrogantly? or is he just delighting in your discomfort?) and lifts you like a kitten with his hands under your armpits. “Up, up, on your knees, legs together—perfect. Now turn and put your hands on the wall.”

It’s so much easier to follow his instructions than try to consider what would happen if you said no. His callused hands petting over your waist make you feel like you’re doing the right thing. But—still—the nagging anxiety of having something so big in your pussy doesn’t go away.

You hear a drawer opening, and you turn away from the wall to see Keigo squeezing a clear liquid from a bottle in his hand and spreading it meticulously down the shaft of his cock. Lube? That’s good, you’ve heard from your more experienced female friends that it’s good to be extra wet the first time…but there’s something else, something you’re missing, isn’t there?

You try to think, try to ground yourself and understand, really understand what’s happening to you. What are you missing? The bed is squishy and soft under your knees, the air is windy somehow (is there a fan on? you hadn’t noticed), and the music downstairs is so loud you can feel the vibrations through the wall you’re pushed up against. And. And. You try to think. What are you forgetting that you’re not allowed to forget?

You can feel his cock, too. Keigo’s hands grip the flesh of your hips and he leans his chest into your back, brushing your hair over your shoulders so the two of you can touch skin to skin. The head of his cock bumps against your mound, raw and hard and heavy. Skin to skin.

Skin to skin.

It hits you in a wave of panic and you whip your head around and push desperately back at Keigo’s solid shoulder. “Wait! Wait, Keigo—the condom? Are you wearing a condom?”

His hand wraps around your wrist and pins it back against the wall, and he bows down to nip a a little spot on the crook of your neck. “Calm down, we don’t need one.”

“No, we—we need it, I need it!” you squeak out, trying to push away from Keigo but he’s got you sandwiched between him and the wall and those perfect muscles you were admiring earlier are definitely not just for show.

“I said calm down. I’m not gonna go inside.”

“…What?”

He rocks his hips forward and his dick bumps up under your pussy again. “Ever heard of thighfucking?”

No, you’ve never heard of thighfucking, but you’re an intelligent girl and you might be drunk but you’re not so drunk that you can’t piece together what he means. Your interpretation is reinforced when you feel Keigo slathering liquid—lubricant—over the lips of your pussy and between the tops of your thighs. It feels cold and weird—slippery slick, like lotion—but even the barest second of his fingers brushing over your clit reignites the need from when he ate you out and you shudder.

“Keep those knees together for me, baby,” Keigo says, and with no further delay he pushes his cock in between your thighs, aiming it perfectly to slide between your pussy lips so the head will bump up on your clit.

“…ahh, Keigo, wait—oh!” The full weight of Keigo’s body shoves against your back every time he thrusts. You’re too weak for this, too delicate to stay in position. Your elbows buckle under the pressure and your face is about to smack directly into the wall until Keigo laces his fingers in your loose hair and yanks you back from it.

He’s got no trouble holding you down, keeping you perfectly posed with your soft thighs molded tightly around the cock driving between them. Your head is craned back from his hold on your hair and he lays hungry kisses over your mouth, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. He’s right—he is selfish, and you know that this position is about him, not you, so it takes you by surprise that the longer he fucks his cock between your thighs and your dripping slit, the more heat you feel rising up in your cunt.

It’s not right. It’s not supposed to be like this. Your first time doing anything with a boy isn’t supposed to end up with him using you like he’s humping a pillow, thrusting his slippery cock into your thighs and groaning in your ear. It’s all wrong, and it’s definitely wrong that you’re getting off to it.

But now you know why he ate you out and left you high and dry (well, not dry) without making you cum—because the heat and the friction and the feeling of every ridged vein sliding over your clit, his hips smacking with a wet slap against yours, the smooth head grinding over your pussy—all of it is making your thoughts swirl like your brains are sloshing around in your head, and not just because of the alcohol.

“Fuck,” Keigo purrs, ducking forward to bite the shell of your ear and then running a soothing tongue over it. “Fuck, baby, you like that? Is that virgin pussy getting all wet on my dick? You’re twitching, I can feel you…”

“…Mmph, ah, I, I—please—” You can’t really talk, not when he’s knocking the breath out of you with every thrust. But you need more. It’s not fair, having to make do with the uncontrolled jerks of his cock over your upper thighs and the outside of your pussy. He’s fucking you like he couldn’t care less about whether you get to cum—which, if you had the ability to think about it, he probably doesn’t. Certainly not as much as he cares about your soft, lubed-up skin squeezing so deliciously on his cock.

You grind your hips down a little, sticking your ass back toward him to get a better angle and—ugh, ugh it works, the pressure on your clit increases, and you keen desperately, begging him to fuck your thighs faster harder deeper. He yanks on your hair, snapping your head back so your whimper chokes up into a squeal, and—god, are you imagining it?—but you swear you feel the stiff length of his cock throb in between your legs with the head nudging on your belly.

“Uhnn…baby, baby, baby,” Keigo chants in your ear. His voice is heavier and jagged with the puffs of breath that are coming out in time with the roll of his hips into yours. It sounds…needy, almost. “G-Good girl, keep those legs tight, just—just like that…my good little sweetheart, angel, virgin. Gonna make me cum? Yeah? Make me cum with these pretty fucking thighs?”

“—Keigo, I’m—mm!” You can’t say it, even the thought of announcing you’re cumming like some kind of pornstar makes you cringe, but even if you don’t say it, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the electric shock that passes through you, sending tremors through your body.

You’re crying out, loud, louder than the music downstairs maybe (or at least it feels like it). There’s nothing you can grip for purchase so one hand just scrabbles against the bare expanse of the wall while you curl the other into a fist and dig your fingernails into your palms.

Fuck, is it the alcohol? Is it the liquor that’s making it feel like this, so overwhelming and heady you don’t even know where you are? You vaguely try to remember how you got here (something about blond hair, an easy laugh, and sugar-sweet liquid coating your tongue), but it’s not important, who fucking cares when the cock pistoning between your thighs is still rubbing up on your clit, still stimulating you, still sending sparks of heat up through your spine and making it impossible for you to breathe without moaning, much less think.

“Keigo…Keigo I came, please ahh—it, it hurts,” you whimper, trying to shift your hips up off his cock to relieve the pressure on your sensitive clit—but he won’t let you.

Keigo’s grip on your ass digs in deeper, harder so he’s probably leaving bruises, and the hand in your hair pulls your head back toward his. His voice is a growl, so low and scratchy that it sends a chill up through your body. “Don’t move. Don’t you—don’t you fucking move. Stay right fucking there.”

It scares you.

It scares you, but his dick is rocking over your pussy, making you crazy, making you lose your grip on whatever other physical sensations you can still feel. You’re limp except for your thighs pressed into one another as tightly as you can manage, letting Keigo hold you up. It doesn’t hurt, not really—but it’s horrible, it’s too much, it’s like you’re trapped on the edge, cumming and cumming and cumming and cumming while you squeal like you’re being tortured, and you are, you are, you are, you are—

—it's torture.

But not pain. It doesn’t hurt. It’s mind-bending, oppressive, awful, you want it to stop but—oh god oh god—you’re helpless and you don’t get to make it stop, you don’t get to make that decision, it’s up to him. He decides, Keigo decides, and Keigo decides to keep fucking into your thighs, keep spreading your pussy lips apart and teasing your clit, so you just roll your head back and stop trying to convince yourself it doesn’t feel incredible.

You barely notice him speeding up—you probably wouldn’t notice at all if you couldn’t hear the beat of your moans, paced in time with his body slamming yours against the wall, increasing in frequency. He releases your hair (you swear you can feel blood rush back into your head when you’re finally able to lean forward) and his hands go back to your hips, guiding you to rock yourself back on him so his last few rabid thrusts finish with the head of his cock rubbing firmly against your stomach.

“Ugh, goddamnit fuck, baby, yesss, stay still, stay right there,” Keigo groans, and you’re so blissed out from the overstimulation that you barely even feel the twitching of his cock between your legs and the spurt of thick, hot liquid on your stomach.

Oh.

Oh god.

When Keigo finally picks his hands off their bruising grip on your ass, you drop directly onto the bed, barely remembering at the last second to roll over onto your back so his semen (his semen, which is spread over your lower belly like a Jackson Pollock painting) doesn’t stain his sheets.

You stare at the ceiling and what do you know, there is a ceiling fan, blades spinning in lazy circles that make you sick when you try to follow them. So you close your eyes.

What are you feeling? What are you supposed to be feeling?

Anger, probably. Fear? Well, you won’t deny that there are hints of both of those emotions swimming underneath the hazy surface of your drunken psyche, but they’re overshadowed by what you’re really feeling, which is relief, relief that the stimulation is over, relief that it felt good, relief. And—since you’re too out of it to stop yourself from admitting it—satisfaction.

There’s a rustling, paper slipping against paper, and then you can feel Keigo wiping his cum off your bare stomach with a tissue and then dabbing at the smears of wetness between your legs. When he’s satisfied that you’re clean, the bed creaks as he lays down next to you. He’s panting.

Reluctantly you open your eyes and roll onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look down at him: golden hair spread out in a halo around his head, pale lashes and brows, a healthy glow of sweat over his forehead. You hadn’t seen it before, but there’s a tattoo curling over his biceps from where it must originate on his back—red feathers, wings, inked permanently into his skin.

Angel, Keigo called you earlier. But really, between the two of you…he’s the angel. In appearance, if nothing else.

His eyes drift open and the corner of his mouth tilts up, pleased to see you inspecting him. “How was that? Did you have fun being naughty?”

You and him both know exactly how much fun you had, and if you said it you’d just be stroking his ego. “You’re not a good guy, are you,” you say instead.

“Never said I was.”

“Then why didn’t you…have sex with me? For real?” you ask after a beat. The question’s been weighing on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining.” A hand comes up to comb through your mussed hair unhurriedly.

“I’m not…” You still want to know, though.

“Mmm…baby. You didn’t want this to be your first time. Believe me, you’re not supposed to lose your virginity to a guy like me. No—don’t pout, come on. Your first time is supposed to be, like, soft and special and romantic, right?”

The girl you were one month ago, before you moved away from your hometown to come to college, she would have agreed. But you’re not that girl. You’ve been to your first college frat party, you’ve had your first drink and your first shot, you’ve kissed a stranger and you’ve done…sexual things with a man for the first time. And you’re okay with it. So you roll your eyes. “I’m not some fourteen-year-old drawing hearts in my notebook. I don’t need soft,” you tell him, hoping you sound bold and sarcastic.

Keigo chuckles and pats you on the head. “Don’t knock soft fucking, it’s got a time and a place like everything. I just couldn’t do it. Not when I saw you sitting there looking so lonely—you were like, hmm…like a rabbit in a den of wolves. You looked delicious.”

Oh god, you’re blushing again. This isn’t good for the nonchalant cool girl persona you’re trying to cultivate for yourself.

He cups your chin and runs his thumb over your lower lip. “I don’t think I could’ve been soft with you if I tried.”

A sharp rap on the door has both of you tensing, and Keigo only has a second to yank a blanket up from the foot of the bed over your naked bodies before the door is slammed open so hard that it bangs against the adjacent wall. “Jesus, get the fuck out!” he barks to the intruder, and it’s weird to hear the authoritative note in his voice reminding you that within this house, he’s someone who commands respect.

You tuck your face into Keigo’s chest and hope wildly that the person who just walked in 1) didn’t see anything and 2) isn’t the friend who brought you to the party, because if word gets around that you’re the girl who ‘slept’ with an older frat boy at the first party of freshman year, you’ll never live it down. Regardless of your own sexual liberation or whatever, you’re well aware that this isn’t the kind of reputation you want to start your college career out with.

“Sorry Kei! But we need you downstairs, we’re out of alc and the music stopped and no one knows how to fix the speakers!” the brother says, shielding his eyes with his hand, but he doesn’t leave the room. At least it’s not your friend—you breathe a sigh of relief and Keigo automatically smooths a hand down the back of your head in response.

“I’m kind of busy,” he seethes, and—you’ve gotta admit, there’s something marginally funny about seeing him caught off guard like this. You bite down on a laugh and he looks at you curiously, one thick eyebrow quirked.

“I’m really sorry, man, but the President said you’ll be on puke clean-up duty tomorrow if you don’t get your ass down there. His words, not mine.”

“Tomura, of-fucking-course…shitty incel has it out for me…” Keigo curses under his breath. “Give me five minutes.”

As soon as the door is closed, you’ve got your feet on the floor, groping around the discarded articles of clothing for your dress. You smooth down your hair with your hands and hope you look like any other tipsy freshman instead of a girl who just got pseudo-fucked. Keigo winks at you and taps his cheeks under his eyes; you take the hint and wipe away the smudges of mascara and eyeliner that migrated out of place during your…activities.

Your phone is safely in the pocket of your dress and you’re all but ready to leave the room (hopefully there won’t be anyone in the hallway to see you) when Keigo, still pulling on his pants, tugs you back by your wrist.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply uncertainly.

“Aren’t you going to give me your number?”

What? Really? You’ve heard plenty about how frat guys like him operate, and nothing Keigo’s done (except the whole ‘no penetrative sex’ thing) has led you to believe he doesn’t fit the stereotype. And the stereotype doesn’t involve sleeping with the same girl twice, especially if that girl is an awkward freshman who is apparently too innocent for him to get his dick wet with. “What do you want my number for?” you ask.

“Do I have to spell it out to you?” Keigo’s fingers lace with yours and you stumble forward into him so he can kiss you.

It’s light, chaste even, but it’s not fair because he knows, of course he knows—a kiss like that is going to leave you wanting more. “Yes,” you tell him, just to be contrary.

Keigo laughs again, and you do your best to memorize the sound of it. “It’s so the next time you decide you want to be a bad girl…you know where to find me.”

[littlesniggy]

Hi! Idk if you’re already at Wano Kuni and if not please just ignore it but would you consider doing either nsfw headcanons or scenario for Kaido? Maybe some female pirate tries to take him down and he keeps her as a pet? You can make it dark if you want to!

Love your writing so so much!

There is always a first time for writing for a character and yes, I've almost caught up with the latest episode so I know enough about Kaido. It was a challenge to write for him though since I haven't really thought about his sex life, what he likes and what he doesn't, so I'm not sure if this might be a little ooc? But I hope you still enjoy it!

Warning: 18+, nsfw, dub-con!!, Master/pet, mention of humiliation, mention of violence

Pairing: Kaido x pet female! reader

Word count: 2.2k

“Worororo.” His deep voice rumbled through the huge cave, echoing from the cold walls and making you feel like you were standing in front of a monster. Well, technically he was a monster; especially in his dragon form and even like this was he simply a mountain of a man. What were you thinking when you decided to take him on? Did you really think you had a chance against the strongest creature? How foolish could you be?

The emperor was sitting on his huge throne, a bottle of sake in his hand, drinking it like it was water. You were amazed as to how he could drink this much and still be able to fight. When you tried to take him on you thought you had a chance once he was flat out drunk – but you were gravely mistaken.

“C’mon. Try again.” He laughed, his eyes watching you in amusement. You were panting heavily, stray strands of hair clinging to your face. You were sweating like a pig. If it was because of the heat or your futile attempts at hurting the man in front of you, you weren’t sure and you didn’t care. You got even angrier at his mocking tone; to the point he made you feel helpless.

Gathering the last bit of strength you had left in your body you punched him right in his face; there wasn’t even a slight crunch indicating a broken bone. But your hand hurt instead. “Fuck!” you cursed, holding your fist; tears of humiliation and pain gathered in your eyes and you averted your gaze, not wanting him to see your tears.

“So weak….it’s almost pathetic.” He chuckled, taking another huge sip of booze. “Is this all you’ve got?” when you didn’t answer, he let out a disgusted sound of disapproval, his expression changing from amused to displeased.

“No will to fight, no devil fruit power – I should just kill you to save you from this miserable life.” His hand searched for his huge mace, finding it and swinging it as a warning. You looked up, your eyes following the weapon warily but you suppressed the urge to flinch. You felt his eyes on your form, a contemplating look on his face.

Suddenly, he stroke out, the mace swinging towards you at an incredible fast speed, ready to strike you with full force. You shut your eye tightly, held your breath and waited for the impact that was sure to hit you – but it never happened. After what felt like an eternity you opened your eyes slowly, seeing the weapon only inches away from your face. Your whole body was trembling uncontrollably and your knees gave in, making you fall to the ground.

Fear clung to your body like a second skin and the tears you tried to hold back so bravely were now running down your cheeks, uncontrollable sobs leaving your body. I thought he’d kill me! You always thought you didn’t fear death; that you would welcome it like an old friend once your time came but GOD! – how much you had been mistaking! You didn’t want to die!

“Worororo.” The mace was slowly retreated and Kaido watched your sobbing form in front of him. “Are you scared of dying?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “I like the look of fear on your face. I want to see it more often.” His words made you shudder in fear. What does he mean? Didn’t he want to kill you?

He got up, weaving two steps to the side, the alcohol slightly clouding his senses. You didn’t date look up at the man in front of you, wishing he’d just somehow forget about you and let you leave but this was futile, you knew. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him reach for something out of your sight and shortly after something black was dropped in front of you.

“Put it on.” He demanded. Your eyes skimmed the black leather piece, decorated with small metal thorns. It was a collar! Incredulously, you took the collar in your hands, your fingers feeling the cold, stiff leather. Why did he have something like this?

“Put it on!” he got louder and you flinched at his demand. With shaky hands you put the degrading piece of ‘jewelry’ around your neck, the leather tightening around your throat and you felt like it was already choking you.

“Wororororo. Get naked. Pets don’t wear clothes.” Your body acted on its own and piece after piece dropped to the ground, exposing your over the years as a pirate trained body, some battle scars and slightly dried skin from the salty sea water. The emperor’s eyes wandered over your body while he took another huge chug of his sake before realizing it was already empty. Angrily, he smashed the empty bottle on the ground; you had to dodge some broken pieces that flew in all directions to not get hit.

“Bring me new booze!” he yelled at you, his furious eyes piercing you. Your body was frozen in place and you couldn’t move, even if you wanted to.

All of a sudden, you were choking in his grip, legs in the air, struggling for support, your hands clawing at his huge hand.

“Useless pet.” He growled, his grip tightening around your neck, the thorns of your new collar poking into his hand but he barely felt anything. Since his hand was so huge he was not only choking you but also crushing your upper body with his iron grip. You felt that your bones were about to break, pain rushing through your body. You couldn’t decide what you should focus on first; your lack of air filling your lungs or the quiet crunching of your body.

Kaido’s eyes narrowed at you, then they looked past you to an entering subordinate. “Kaido-sama, I-“ but he was cut off. “Bring me more booze!” the emperor ordered the man, walking back to his throne, your body like a doll in his huge hand. At least his grip eased a little, giving you room to breathe properly again.

He sat down and placed you on his thigh, his hand moving down from your neck and upper body to your hips, his grip holding you in place. You weren’t sure how to behave but you knew for a fact that any wrong movement would trigger this unpredictable man and you weren’t keen on finding out what else he would do to you.

The first time he took you it was hell. He took you to his bed and you knew what he wanted to do even without telling you. He ordered you to get on your knees on his bed. When you tried to fight him he simply pressed you down with ease. You heard a rustling noise behind you and out of the corner of your eye you saw how he took out his huge member and your breath caught in your throat. This is never going to fit! Your mind screamed and you just wanted to get away from him. But it was futile.

He wasn’t a big talker during sex and he didn’t appreciate it when you pleaded with him to let you go, to go slower and give you some time to adjust. It hurt like hell and after he was done your body was a giant ball of pain. Your body was covered in his cum and he just pushed you out of his bed, telling you to get lost.

The times after that were no better. Each time, he thrusted into your body like it was some kind of sex doll, pressing your face into the mattress to shut you up. His deep grunts were the only sounds that filled the room and to your dismay he wasn’t someone who came fast. It was an ordeal.

The first time you had to suck him off your jaw just locked and you couldn’t close it afterwards. It took a while and a lot or effort and pain to be able to close it again. Kaido just watched you in amusement, his cum dripping out of your mouth and dripping onto your exposed chest.

Kaido had also no shame in getting walked in on, just continuing with either fucking your mouth or pussy while his subordinates just awkwardly telling him the latest news. It was humiliating but there was nothing you could do about it.

Over time, you got used to his treatment and had learned to ‘always be prepared’, as bad as it sounded. You had realized that it was bearable when you stretched yourself beforehand. Was it humiliating? For sure. Was it necessary? Absolutely. Kaido once caught you stretching yourself and since then he had you do it in front of him. He liked the show.

You were on all four again, your rear exposed to the emperor behind you, your core already dripping. Kaido took his place behind you, his hand stroking his erect dick lazily. His other hand was holding the bottle of booze, taking a huge gulp. You felt his dick press against your entrance, pushing further and further until the tip disappeared inside of your pussy. You grabbed the bed sheet with your hands, trying to relax around his member.

With a fast snap he buried himself inside of your body completely, taking another gulp of his booze. Some of it dropped onto your back, the cold liquid giving you goosebumps. His hand found its way into your hair, grabbing it uncomfortably tight. His hips started to move against your body, hard and merciless. He was only chasing his own orgasm and he didn’t care if you enjoyed it or not.

A clatter echoed through the room and you saw the bottle burst into a thousand pieces. His now free hand found its way on your hip, pressing you against his body. His dick was filling you out and the sheer force of his thrusts made your body jerk back and forth on the bed.

Kaido let his nails rake down your body, leaving red and bloody streams on your skin. You arched your back, clenching around his dick in response. Kaido raised his eyebrow at your response and chuckled. His pace got faster and his hand on your head pressed your upper body down on the bed, his body leaning over yours, his other hand supporting his weight on the bed next to your head.

“Ah!” you panted, a seemingly long forgotten feeling spreading through your body – lust. The emperor’s fierce thrusts actually made you feel good! – and you didn’t know what to do. Never would’ve you imagined that this brutal man could actually manage to please you, even though it probably wasn’t his intention at all.

The small pants became more frequent and turned into moans, the sound of raw skin on skin slapping against each other made your stomach tingle in excitement and for the first time you started to actively move against him.

Kaido was moving inside of you like a wild animal, his animalistic instincts taking over and he took you like a wild beast in heat. Apparently, he was quite fond of your moans since he didn’t press your face into the mattress as usually when he wanted you to shut up.

“K-Kaido-sama!” you moaned, trying to look at him over your shoulder but he wouldn’t let you. He huffed, a low growl rumbling through his chest and his grip in your hair tightened. The good feeling inside of you grew stronger and stronger, a tight knot forming inside of you, threatening to burst with each thrust.

Even in his drunken and animalistic state he noticed how your pussy started to tighten around his dick and he knew you were close. “If you wanna cum, cum. But don’t expect me to stop.” He warned you. It was the first time he actually talked to you while he was buried inside of you. A desperate moan left your body and you tried your hardest to prolong your own orgasm but each thrust made it harder and harder.

With a specifically hard thrust he finally pushed you over the edge. Colorful spots spread across your vision, blurring your surroundings as you cam hard around his dick, your walls clenching and unclenching. A loud moan filled the room when you came, your body trembling due to the sheer force.

But Kaido wasn’t done yet. His stamina was impressive, really, but right now you hated him for it. The high you were just on slowly faded away and his hard thrusts brought you back to reality. You wanted to complain, to tell him to stop but you knew better. As uncomfortable as the feeling right now was, he was in a good mood. And you would be the most stupid person to try and change that.

When he finally came with a low grunt on your back he didn’t push you out of his bed immediately. He was lying next to you on the bed, his breath already even again. There was a silence between the two of you for a moment, before his deep voice broke it.

“Bring me more sake. I’m getting sober again.”

[zigraves]

About your recipe with the curdled milk and the brandy - there is not quite enough detail there for me to feel comfortable attempting to replicate. Can I ask you to make a step by step?

Sure! Here is a step by step that breaks the original 4 steps into quite a lot more than 4 steps, hopefully with adequate detail about each step and why you do it the way that you do. This is a LONG post, so it’s hopefully buried under this readmore.

Equipment you need: A measuring cup, ideally a set that also includes 1/4 cups and 1/2 cups, but it’s fine to just use one cup and go by eye. A peeling knife or grater (for zesting your fruit) A pan capable of holding at least 4 cups of liquid A large lidded jug that fits in your fridge A spoon with a long handle A second large jug for straining your mix into, lid not required A large glass bottle, at least 1 litre capacity, with flip or screw top, for final storage of your fancy drink. This should be sterilised ahead of time, ie in dishwasher or oven. A seive or similar strainer A funnel for convenience Coffee filters, several

The method I use is based off Mary Rockett’s Citrus Milk Punch over on splendid table, and with the same ingredients. Keep to a 1:5 ratio of milk:cocktail for the best results, but you can get away with 1:4 in a pinch. I treat cups as British cooking cups, ie around 250ml capacity. As long as you use the same measuring cups throughout, you’ll be fine: 1- Peel your lemon & orange into long strips of zest. I use one large naval orange and two whole lemons worth of zest because I like it extra flavoursome. If you have more time and also motor control, take a microplane grater and zest all the colour off your fruit. You want the zest to be able to give out all the oils & flavours it contains, hence optional use of a grater. You DO NOT WANT the pith, the white stuff under the tasty zesty peel. Leave that on the fruit, and save the fruit for later by wrapping it in clingfilm to replace to the outer skin it lost.

2 - Dump the zest/ strips into a tupperware containing two cups of your cheapest brandy. I use the bottom shelf stuff that comes in plastic bottles. Try to make sure it’s a good waterproof tupperware, because then you can pick it up and give it a violent shake to encourage the delicious oils from the zest to really infuse into the brandy.

3 - Put your tupperware container somewhere away from direct sunlight (I hide mine on top of the microwave), and come back 24 hours later.

4 - It’s now 24 hours later. Pour a cup of milk from the fridge into a LARGE and LIDDED container, like a 2 litre jug. The milk will sit in the jug warming up to a cool room temperature while you do the next bits.

5 - The official recipe says to add your remaining ingredients together and whisk till the sugar dissolves, but this is where I diverge a bit. Add your 2 cups of water and 1/2 cup of sugar together in a pan, and heat gently while stirring until the sugar dissolves. I find this faster and easier on my wrists than trying to whisk sugar into cold water and brandy that’s already got stuff in it.

6 - Take your sugar solution off the heat & let it cool a bit, then add the juice of yesterday’s bald orange and lemons and stir them together. Use fresh, not bottled stuff, even if this means you need another orange because you ate the one you zested yesterday. The original recipe says 1/4 cup each lemon and orange, but I like 1/4 cup lemon and 1/2 cup orange.

7 - Strain your brandy-with-stuff-in into the solution, discarding the zest that was in it. If you just put in strips of peel, this is easy - pick out the chunks and chuck ‘em. If you put in grated zest, you will need to use a strainer for all the little bits. Stir your liquids again to make sure everything is nicely mixed.

8 - GENTLY pour your brandy-juice-water-sugar mix into the milk that’s now a coolish room temperature. If you dump it all in at once, the milk can curdle too fast. And likewise, if you add the milk to the brandy instead, it will curdle instantly and then you lose the slow process that gives you good results.

9 - Give your horrible brandy-juice-water-sugar-milk concoction a gentle stir with a long handled spoon of some kind, so that there’s no untouched milk sitting at the bottom and no totally clear brandy stuff sitting at the top.

10 - Put the lid on your container, put it in your fridge, and WARN YOUR FLAT MATES/ FAMILY/ ROOMIE/ SPOUSE NOT TO TOUCH IT, because most people, on seeing a jug of horrible curdled milk hell, will sensibly want to throw it out. But they don’t know what we know about playing with booze and chemistry. Leave it for 24 hours.

11 - We are now on Day Three of making this cocktail. Take your horrible nasty curdled milk hell drink out of the fridge, noticing that it has settled into a thick curdy soft-cheese mass and a mostly clear liquid that’s still got some funky looking stuff. Line a strainer with a coffee filter, and begin to decant from the fridge jug into a new container via your filter. I find it helpful to stick the strainer atop a funnel for this part, since most liquid containers have narrow mouths better suited to funnels than to big round strainers.

12 - You will go through a few coffee filters, because the milk curds will start to clog it up pretty quickly on your first round. I throw out the clogged filter and replace it wth a new one every time the flow of liquid from filter into container gets to just being a very, very slow drip.

13 - Great, now do that again. Despite the loving care of multiple coffee filters, some sediment from the milk will probably have gotten into your lovely end result. The original recipe suggests two rounds, but I usually do three rounds of filtration to get the level of clarity I’m happy with. Final round is filtered into your nice bottle for storage.

14 - Done! Seal your bottle of fancy booze, and store it in the fridge (or, if you live somewhere that’s temperate bordering on cool & have access to a root cellar or similar storage location, store it outdoors in the ground away from sunlight as Charles Dickens used to do and as my girlfriend’s mountain-dwelling Welsh family still do).

note: this recipe should taste decent immediately, but the flavour develops when it has more time to really commingle so it’s totally worth coming back to after a month. If you decide you want to experiment and use other boozes & fruits as a base, just keep it acidic and note that some flavours take longer to mellow than others.

[pars-ley]

Little Blue

Pairing: Jungkook x Female reader

Summary: A wild party ends with traumatic events for your best friend but as the night continues you realise just how much your support has always meant to him.

Genre: One-shot / Triggering topics / Friends to Lovers!au / College!au / Smut / Angst / Fluff 

Trigger warnings: Drug use (spiked drink but not with roofies) / Sexual assault / Attempted rape (no actual rape) / Violence (someone gets punched)

Warnings: Unprotected sex (you know the deal, wrap it up) / Finger foreplay / Ever so slight female cum play / cumshot (pearl necklace) / Language

Word Count: 5.5k

Notes: This was a request I had serious anxiety about and wasn’t sure whether to do or not but after some careful consideration, I decided to take a serious route with it and use it to bring awareness of these situations, the repercussions and the aftermath. I wanted to highlight how these topics (that happen everyday all over the world) can be, not just for male victims but all victims. That they are serious and wrong, no matter who the affected party are and that it is the victims choice how they deal with it after these types of horrible events transpire. Please do you not read if you think you will be affected by any of the warnings.

Here are some links for anyone who has been affected by the type of events that are written about in this story:

http://www.nationaldahelpline.org.uk/  https://rapecrisis.org.uk/ https://www.victimsupport.org.uk/ https://www.rainn.org/statistics/victims-sexual-violence https://www.survivorsuk.org/ Most of these are English links but they have a lot of helpful information in them. The last link is specifically for male victims.

Beta read by @unoriginal-username15432​ Thank you so much for all your help and confidence boosting when I came to you an absolute wreck, you’re amazing. Thank you to @ditttiii​ @moccahobi​ @sugarly-laysa​ @joheun-saram​ for reading and giving me feedback and encouragement to do this right. Your help and support means the world to me 😘

You watch as Veronica slips a little blue tablet into a drink, looking on as it fizzes wildly in a spiral, inside the see-through glass. 

I had no idea she was a pill popper. That would explain a lot.

Staring after her as she carries two drinks into the living room, beyond my view, swaying her hips confidently with a smug grin stretched across her full mouth. At least, you hoped the pill was for her.

Which poor, unsuspecting soul would be her victim?

You would have to keep two watchful eyes on her tonight, as much as the thought pained you of having her not only in your sights but in your mind, it was necessary to hinder whatever evil she was plotting today.

Hating Veronica was easy. Avoiding her was not. Not only was she an unremarkably, average student at your university, she also seemed to be at every party. That stumped you however, as you had yet to meet a single person who genuinely liked her.

Her personality consisted of bullying, harassment and being the worst spoilt princess. She always got what she wanted, one way or another and she enjoyed making other people suffer in the process.

"Hey, y/n?" Hoseok’s voice calls out, lighting up your dark thoughts. He has that ability, like a gift from the sun itself. Turning and raising an eyebrow in expectation at his question.

"Have you seen Jungkook?" He asks, closing the distance between you, bringing his sunshine smile and almost blinding you with it.

Shaking your head, you reply, "No, not for a while actually." That was unlike him, usually, your best friend was glued to your hip, you were inseparable, especially at parties like this. 

"We're betting which one of us will be the first to get laid tonight, we want him in on it." He babbles excitedly and with that he enveloped the sun with a dark cloud, as you’re reminded how clich��d horny, young adults can be.

Rolling your eyes, you down your drink, wincing at the burn as the fiery liquid cascades down your throat. You welcome the numbness that follows and it makes you forget the things you should be doing. The idea of Jungkook hooking up with anyone, now overtaking your gin hazed brain, turning your insides into snakes as they churn relentlessly in the pit of your stomach. 

"I can't find him anywhere. He didn't leave, did he?" He shrugs, continuing his alcohol induced thoughts when you don’t respond.

Swallowing the snakes down, keeping your secret down along with them. "I don’t think so, I'll go see if I can find him."

Hoseok nods. "Thanks." He said as he heads off with a grin, taking the sunshine and leaving you dulled by the implication of his words.

You survey the living room, only his face in your mind as you frantically scan the crowd.

With no sign of him, you head out and away from the noise that feels like a ruthless power tool, ramming itself repeatedly into your brain.

You climb the stairs, each step causing your anxiety to grow as a thousand images of what you might find race through your mind. Even when you blink, you can still see them behind your closed eyes, like a projector flickering a private tortuous movie just for you.

Checking the upstairs bathroom, you find a girl draped over the toilet, her head in the bowl, heaving the contents of her liquid stomach and unleashing it with force. Quickly closing the door, for your sake and hers, you continue onto the other rooms. 

Please, don’t let me find him in any of these rooms with another girl. Please, don’t let my dreams and wild fantasies evaporate instantly before my eyes.

You pray to yourself as you scan the empty rooms filled with darkness and focus on the ones with closed doors and invisible ‘no entry’ signs.

Muffling an apology to a couple entwined in the sheets and with each other, a mess of limbs and moans as you quickly retreat and continue on. Unease sitting in the pit of your stomach, growing with each move  you make forward, with one less room to check.  

It’s not until you hear muffled talking in one of the end rooms, the pit turns into a volcano, threatening to erupt. You listen at the door, hoping it wouldn’t be Jungkook’s voice you heard whispering through the grainy, wooden barrier between you. 

Your hopes were dashed, when you hear him cry out, “No, let me go!” You would recognise the sound of him in distress anywhere. Your body alights like a beacon at the sound of his anguish.

Flinging open the door you freeze, unable to move, unable to do anything except stare at the sight of him on top of a girl, her legs slither and wrap themselves tightly around his waist. 

The serpent of temptation. Who was Eden’s evil mistress?

Though the two of them were fully clothed, it didn’t cease to stop your heart from shattering into tiny fragments before the scene and send them darting into the concealed female beneath him. Your eyes burning a hole into her face, covered with her long, dark hair. When she blows it away you feel like all the air in your lungs has been driven out by a ghostly fist. 

She’s not supposed to be up here, she’s supposed to be downstairs where I was surveying her. Fuck. Veronica.

Veronica. Little did you know, her unfortunate victim, or poor, unsuspecting soul, as you deemed to refer to him earlier, was none other than Jungkook. Your Jungkook.

Confusion furrows your brow. 

He hates her, he hates her as much as you do, so why on earth would he be…

“Come on Kookie, you clearly want me. I can feel your dick, it’s hard as rock.” She whines at him, her tongue hissing sin into his ear with every word. The sound of her poisonous voice makes your blood run hot in your veins.

“What I want is for you to let me go.” He pleads with her, attempting to pull his body away from her but to no avail.

You watch, rooted to the spot. Confusion muddling your mind. 

The little blue pill.

Suddenly, it all makes sense and it’s now laughable at how blindingly obvious the answer is. 

“No. I want you.” She says hard and firm, her hands snaking under his hoodie, touching his bare skin with her scaly fingers, travelling down to his crotch.

“I don’t want you.” He retorts, through gritted teeth, struggling from the vice grip of her iron clamped calves and halting her hand before it can go further.

“Whats going on?” You hear a hoarse, wavering voice interject. When both their eyes land on you, you realise the words must have escaped your mouth.

Jungkook’s eyes pop when they see you, a deer caught in headlights. Panic stares back at you, alarmed and frantic.

Veronica's legs fall open onto the bed,  immediately releasing him from his cage.

He jumps up and over to you, faster than you thought possible, unless it was you who was moving in slow motion. "Y/n, it's not what you think…" He insists, arm on yours, face in your eye-line. Does he think that will stop your angry glare reaching her?  

"What I think…" You spit through gritted teeth, as you stalk around the bed. “Is that she’s trying to take advantage of you.”

“Then yes, it’s exactly what you think.” Jungkook says quietly, somewhere behind you. Your eyes are too full of red rage to notice if he’s even still in the room.

She slides herself off the edge of the bed, her bored expression doesn’t fool you. The fact she stands to square up to you, shows you foiled her plan of getting him to bite into that bittersweet fruit.

“This doesn’t concern you, y/n.” She growls, her hands balled up into fists either side of her taut body.

“Did you drug him?” 

You wait, watching her reaction. The way her eyes widen for a moment, clearly not expecting your question. The way she no longer meets your eyes with her glare, she can hardly look at you at all, and that’s all you need, to know you’re right. 

“W-what?” She stutters, attempting to pick herself back up after faltering.

“You heard me. Did you give Jungkook the drink with the pill in?” You take one last step towards her, your limbs tense and still like stone. Every muscle in your body coiled tight and ready to spring, hands shaking with rage at your sides. 

You were so close, her rapidly increased breathing fanned your face, the scent of vodka strong enough to make your eyes water.

Tensing her jaw as she grinds her teeth, her eyes narrowing in disgust at you. 

At me!?

“He’s not your boyfriend! And it was just Viagra, jeez! One little blue, that’s all. Why don’t you mind your own business!” She shouts, face red with anger as she shoves you hard on the shoulder. 

You steel yourself, so you were ready for the impact,with feet planted firmly into the carpet.

Better luck next time, bitch.

You reel forward, lunging at her, all your power driving your fist into her face. Knuckles smashing into her cheek, hard, as a loud thud echoes across the room. She falls backwards, landing against the bedside cabinet. 

Strong arms suddenly encase you, pulling you away.

“Y/n.” Jungkook gasps into your ear but you can hardly hear him through the pounding of blood in your ears, as anger threatens to overtake you completely.

“Drugging someone and trying to force them to have sex with you is attempted rape! You sick bitch.” You scream at her, violently fighting the arms that hold you, furious tears spilling out of your eyes and leaving wet trails down your cheeks in their wake.

“Let’s go, please y/n. I want to go.” He begs. Even though the temptation to pound her face into the ground is almost all consuming, you listen to Jungkook and let him guide you away. 

It’s not about me, it’s about him. He’s my priority, not her. 

You wipe your damp eyes with your shirt sleeve as you leave the room, hand entwined with his, as he leads you away, down the stairs and out of the house. Not a second glance to anyone. 

Once outside in the cool, crisp air you can feel your head start to clear, your fury dies down into fierce concern for your friend. 

“Hey, you ok?” You squeeze his hand.

He nods, looking mournfully at the ground. “I’m sorry y/n, I didn’t mean to ruin the party.”

Your heels stop in their tracks as you tug on his arm and spin him to face you. Cupping his cheek and forcing him to meet your gaze, “It’s a dumb party, they’ll be plenty of others. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s her who should be sorry.” You practically growl. 

The corners of his mouth pull up in a slight smile. “Thank you for sticking up for me...and for being there for me, always.”

You squeeze his hand again and continue walking. “You want to stay at mine tonight?”

He nods, eyes back on the ground. 

You both walk along in silence for a few moments. He rubs roughly at his face and asks, “How did you know she drugged me?”

“I saw her slip a pill into a drink. She disappeared and I was looking for you, I put two and two together once I found you.” You look over at his solemn expression. “What happened?”

“She bought me over a drink, it was uncharacteristic but I thought maybe she was just trying to be nice. She left me to it, so I drank it. I started to feel...something, so I went upstairs into the bedroom and she burst in. She straddled me and pushed me onto the bed but when I rolled over to get up, she pinned me with her legs.” He scratches the back of his neck as you head up the stone steps in your apartment building. “I didn’t know what to do, I wanted her off me but I didn’t want to get physical and hurt her. It was kind of scary.”

Your heart felt heavy with empathy for him, like a rock slowly sinking down into the pit of your stomach, but with it rose the anger in your belly. 

If you didn’t hate Veronica with burning passion before, you certainly did now. 

She will pay for this. I will destroy her reputation and make her life hell, for Jungkook.

She should be arrested and rot in a cell, but it is not your place to do it. 

Besides, if you knew anything about Jungkook, you had a feeling he just wanted to move on and forget about it. You, however, could hold a grudge for a millennium.

You unlock your front door and head into the kitchen, relief of being back in your apartment floods you and flows like waves through your limbs.  

Jungkook heads off to the living room. 

As you boil the kettle, tea being the cure for every possible mood or trauma in your family, you peek out at him.

Where you usually find his muscular branches draped all over your couch, quite content, today was a different story. He sat awkwardly looking out the window, knee’s shaking and hands constantly wiping down his thighs, palms rubbing against the rough material. 

Once they’re done, you place the two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table and join him on the sofa. Wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your cheek against his shoulder, this wasn’t an unusual action between the two of you but today... he flinched under your touch. 

Gently, he removes your hands and slid himself to the opposite end, grabbing a pillow and cradling it in his lap. His eyes fixed onto your woven rug, as if it held all the answers he was searching for.

Although you tried not to let it get to you, you couldn’t completely ignore the pain in your chest from his rejection. Even if you wholly understood why. 

He’s been through something major tonight and he was bound to be feeling a mixture of emotions right now, it still hurt not to be able to comfort him like you yearned to.

“Y/n,” His quiet voice whispers into the silence. Cheeks flushed, knuckles white from his grip on the pillow, as he leans forward, burning a hole into your floor. You angle your body towards him and wait.

“How long...until...the pill...wears off?” He asks so quietly, you have to strain towards him to hear.

Heat inflames your cheeks as you’re hit with the realisation that Jungkook is sitting, at arm's length away from you, with a very solid erection.

You instantly clamp your thighs shut to try and halter the intense throbbing in between your legs. Your core ablaze with liquid heat, as you try to push the image out of your mind, now was, absolutely, not the time. “Um, I’m not sure.” 

He looks up at you, with eyes so intense they bore right into you, every thought you’ve had, every secret laid bare and for a moment you want to tell him, you want to tell him what you desire more than anything. But you break the stare and find yourself closing off once again.

“Why don’t we do something to take your mind off it?” You ask, not sure if your question was for his benefit or yours. “I could put on a film? Or we could play some video games?”

“Video games sound good.” 

You rush over to the playstation, grabbing two controllers and bringing the console to life with the tap of a button. 

Letting out your drawn-in breath, relieved to have something to distract you both from the penis in the room, you use this time of setting  up the game to calm your racing heart and try to extinguish the unwanted thoughts that have come to life in your mind. The what if’s and maybe’s are not a road you should be exploring, not if you wanted to keep Jungkook in your life.

Your turn to hand him a controller but as you do, your foot catches on the edge of the rug and you feel yourself falling forward, grabbing anywhere that you can to stop yourself from smashing face first into your hardwood floor.

You manage to grip onto something; his hoodie, whilst his hand, thankfully, finds your elbow and steady's you. 

Straightening yourself up and being only inches away from jungkook, you find yourself lost in a daydream of what might be. His scent swirled everywhere, fresh like the outdoors, as if you were standing in a meadow with the green breeze caressing your face and encircling you in a floral cage.

Your eyes roam up to his face. When his tongue shot out, wetting his mouth, you couldn’t help but pull in your bottom lip and pinch it between your teeth. All your blood raced down to your core, igniting a heat there that had you breathing hard. No, now is not the time to make your confession.

When your eyes finally met his, you were taken aback by the fever in them, as you stared deeper into his ebony pools, you could almost feel yourself drowning in desire.

He reaches up to your cheek and gently trails his fingertip down, stroking your moist lips. You let out a whimper, unable to hold it in, but still trying to keep your feelings enclosed in the prison you built for them long ago.

“Jungkook, I—”

His lips are on yours, smothering your important words down into a pit of lust but as your tongue dances hungrily with his, it’s not your words that feel important anymore. 

His strong hands are on your back, pulling you to him, warmth from his touch searing through your clothes but you want more, need more. 

You grab his top and pull him even closer, your wild mouths a clash of tongue and teeth. His solid erection pressed against your lower stomach is enough to make your core throb with violent need.

Is this right? Considering recent traumatic events, this felt wrong. This is not what this moment was supposed to feel like.

He pulls away, leaving you gasping for air and clarity. “Y/n, tell me if you don’t want this. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’ll understand.”

He searches your face vehemently, looking for the source of your hesitation.

“I do, I really do but are you sure you want to do this?” I press. “I want to be here for you, with everything that’s happened, I just want to make sure you’re ok?” You insist.

He meets your eyes again, pleading with you. “I want you, y/n. I need you. I don’t want to think about what happened tonight anymore. I’m ok, honestly.” He smiles at you, the sight pulls on your heart and has it doing wild somersaults in your chest. “I want this.” He brings his forehead to yours, the moment so gentle you wanted to hold him close and never let go.

You hesitantly lift your mouth to his; wondering and worrying that you’ve fallen asleep at Hoseok’s house party and all this will be a dream. His moist lips meet yours in a frenzy and as your core ignites like dynamite, slowly, you start to return his hunger. Easing yourself against him, you loosen into the kiss, your concern gradually falls away along with the walls you spent years building to hide your devotion for him.

His hands wrap around you, pulling you closer still. You break the kiss once again to lift his t-shirt off, over his head in one fluid movement, desperate to see and feel underneath. You run your hand over the smooth planes of his chest and the bumpy muscles down his stomach, moaning in sheer appreciation. 

Finally, you can show him what he means to you and how he makes you feel inside.

Your hands find their way to his belt, yanking the leather open and whipping it out of his belt loops, making a loud crack echo through the room. 

His eyes gawk widely at you, surprise glittered in them. His chest moving fast from his rapid breaths, as he closes the slight distance between you and fumbles with the top button on your shirt, giving up quickly and wrenching the material apart, buttons flying and tapping as they scatter the floor all around. 

His hands are on your breasts, massaging, tugging them out of your bra, cool air hitting them, making your nipples pucker into hard buds. He unclasps your bra with one hand, yanking it off aggressively.

“God, y/n.” He lets out a tortured whine. Before his mouth is around your nipple and all you can feel is warm and wet slowly sucking pleasure out of you. 

The noises that escape your lips shock even you. 

His hands run up the length at the back of your thighs, your feet coming out from under you as he carries you to the bedroom, with your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. 

Your hands finger through his silky hair, lips on his face, throat, whatever skin they can find.

Your back finds the bed as he climbs on top, towering over you, and all you can see is Jungkook. He glows like the large moon on an inky night, finding you and giving you some semblance of relief from the relentless darkness.

You're at the button of his trousers, popping it open and pushing them down his strong thighs with your feet. 

He gives you a lingering kiss that then trails quickly past your bare chest and down your stomach. 

Pushing your skater skirt up so it fans out across your ribs, he hooks a finger under the hem of your pale, pink panties and looks up at you with a questioning gaze. All you can do is eagerly nod your head in response, giving him permission.

He slowly peels away the lace that covers you, when the air hits you can feel just how wet you are, a coolness spreading across your exposed folds.  

This is it, everything I've fantasised about during lonely nights with wandering fingers or meaningless hookups with nameless men, picturing his face and his hands instead.

He moans, biting his lip as he stares at your most intimate area with insatiable hunger. 

His fingers sliding their way from your entryway to your swollen bud, the moment he touches it your body jolts with delight.

His digits slide into you before you have a chance to catch your breath, beckoning inside you, stroking the rough spot that sends shudders of pleasure throughout your body.

He sucks in a sharp breath with a hiss. “You’re so fucking wet, y/n.” He groans, jutting his hips against the bed. “I need you, so bad.”

He withdraws his fingers, making you feel empty and even more needy. Your body alight with electric lust and your heart aching with unspoken love.

What if this ruins everything? What if he’s only using me, in his current situation?...Honestly, do I really care? 

You didn’t. Not in this moment, watching him lick your arousal off his digits as he pulls out his generous erection. The tip pink and angry, begging to be touched and glistening with precum. 

He was your living fantasy and he was perfectly acting out every scene you’d created in your mind. 

You grip his big shoulders, fingernails making crescent moons in his skin, and pull him down onto you. Your legs wind around him, pushing him to line up to your slick entrance as his eyes boar hungrily into yours. 

He seems to hesitate for a moment, his stare searching for an answer to an unasked question but you don't want to think about regrets or repercussions right now. 

“You ok?” You ask, breathless. 

He nods, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Using your feet against the top of his thighs, you push him into you, answering with actions instead of words.

He moves slow, allowing both of you to savour the feeling. Bolts of pleasure shooting through you, like lightning illuminating the night sky. 

Your walls stretching over him is truly euphoric, a moment you have waited years for, as he slides deep into you, reaching everywhere possible.

"Oh my god." He exclaims when he's leveled in you. "Fuck, you feel incredible."

His words cause a shiver of added need through you, your hips start rocking and rotating under him on their own, you’re blind with lust, heat encasing every part of your body. 

All you can smell, feel, think is him. He is your undoing and you're more than ready to be undone. 

He groans loudly as you writhe under him, encouraging him to move, pleading with him to move.

He slowly retracts his hips, anticipation causing you to quiver before plunging deep and hard, tearing a gasp from your throat with each thrust.

“Holy shit, Jungkook!” 

He smirks at you. The sight is enough to make you clench around him, causing him to jolt and groan, biting his lip so hard you think he might draw blood. 

He moves onto his knees, tilting your pelvis higher and as he glides back into you, he reaches new places, new depths, new pleasures. 

His thumb finds his way to your sensitive button as he massages it with your slick arousal. 

Your body is on fire, his touch igniting a trail behind him.

You can feel yourself nearing the edge, torn between being eager to jump off into the precipice but not wanting the journey to end yet. 

“I want you to make you cum.” He whispers, as his punishing rhythm on your swollen bud builds the pressure deep down inside you.

The sounds coming from your mouth don’t sound like they belong to you, they’re desperate, needy sounds, full of bliss and torture at once.

He bucks into you, hitting that sweet spot with each forceful thrust, your legs trembling around him as you gasp for air. Incoherent words escorted by his name, stumble off your lips as he incessantly thrums on your clit.

“Cum for me.” He whispers again, his eyes watching your face with fascination. 

At his words, your body jolts and back arches as your orgasm ripples through you, sending waves of pleasure cascading around your nerves. 

Every fibre of your being alight with electric thrill. 

Your loud moans echo, filling your bedroom, as you grind against his rock hard dick while your walls clench tightly around him.

“Shit, y/n!” He exclaims, as he abruptly withdraws from you and spurts his warm, liquid lust across your stomach while his fist gently milks him. 

Your pulsating core eases, replaced with tingling satisfaction as you try to even out your rapid breaths. 

He collapses on the bed beside you, pants mimicking yours.

But as you come down from your high,  floating back to earth and reality, a rock lands in the pit of your stomach. 

You just had sex with your best friend. Your best friend, who you have been in love with since you were kids, unbeknown to him.

What the fuck do I do now? Where do we go from here? 

A wave of nausea washes over you as your mind is filled with an all consuming dread. 

As a million thoughts race through your crowded mind on how to try and save your friendship, he brings over a flannel and starts gently wiping his orgasm off of you, being so attentive you want to cry.

All the years of holding in your feelings and unspoken words, the love for him blooming inside you like a flowery meadow in spring, now threatens to overflow and spill out revealing you.

When he returns, climbing back onto the bed, he angles himself to the side and props himself up on his elbow, facing you. 

His fingertips skate across your stomach, tracing small circles and sending goosebumps shivering along your skin.

You look up at his perfect face, innocent eyes meeting yours and you’re overwhelmed by how much you just want to protect him and keep him safe from anything that hurts him.

You put your arms around him, hugging him tightly, as if that will be enough to fix it all.

I wish.

"I won’t ever let anything happen to you again.” You say against his chest.

His fingers come up, stroking your hair softly. “I know, thank you, for being there for me. I will always protect you too, you know that.”

You feel him kiss the top of your head and sigh. “Y/n, about what just happened.

Oh no, here it comes. I have to do something, I have to protect myself from what he’s about to say.

"Kook, listen," You cut him off, before he could tell you what you were dreading to hear; that it was a mistake, a momentary lapse in judgement, a friend helping out another friend. 

If you hear those words, you don't think you could hold back the emotion that's currently pricking at your eyes. 

I need to take control of this situation. Hopefully, I can salvage some part of this friendship.

You take a deep breath, preparing the words, when his finger on your lips catches you off guard. 

"How about you listen," he raises an eyebrow, challenging you. When you close your mouth, he continues, "I have waited for this moment for a long time, so however you're about to shoot me down, could it wait until tomorrow? So I can at least enjoy this feeling of pretending what might have been." 

There's a sadness in his eyes as he speaks, a pleading in them. 

His words run over and over in your mind, while you try to reason with yourself that he can't possibly feel the way you think.

Surely, he can't mean he has feelings for me? I can't afford to give myself hope with that thought.

You swallow it down, along with any words that were fighting to come up. 

You watch his hand, his fingertips tickling faint lines up to your chest, making your nipples pucker in response, they finally come to rest against your lips, tracing the edges.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, "One last time." 

Last!? It can't be the last time, we've only just started. 

It can't be the last time I'll ever get to feel his soft lips against mine. 

I can't go back to pretending not to want more, not to care, not to love him so much it kills me inside. Like a poisonous ivy plant squeezing my lungs and capturing my heart, I've had a taste of what it's like to live and breath free of that, with vibrant tiger flowers blooming in place of it and I don't want to stop feeling this way.

You find yourself leaning up and crushing your lips to his. 

He's frozen with surprise for a moment, before his hands wind around your waist, scooping you up and pressing onto you, bodies almost one.

His lips trail down your neck.

"Jungkook?"

"Hmm." He moans into your throat, the vibration making you shudder.

"I don't want it to be the last time." You hear the words escaping your mouth, as if you're watching from the outside and no longer in control of yourself.

His head snaps up, doe-eyed and mouth shaped in a little o. "You don't?" 

You shake your head. "Not at all."

He beams at you, taking your face in his hands and touching his lips to yours so passionately, it brings all your emotion flying to the surface. 

"God, y/n, I am so in love with you, I have been for years." he smiles against your lips and you can't help but mirror it in response. "Please, put me out of my misery and tell me you feel the same."

You can feel his hands shaking against your face and suddenly feel incredibly stupid for not realising his feelings sooner.

Who would have thought? Not me, clearly.

"I do. I definitely do." You pull him behind the neck, bringing him down to you, so close not even a sheet of paper could get between your skins. 

As you kiss, tongues dancing wildly together, hot and hungry for each other. 

His body weighing down on you, making you crazy with desire again.

"I want you." You say between kisses.

"You can have me as much as you want, I'm yours." He says, leaning his sweaty forehead against yours. "Besides, that pill hasn't worn off yet."

Arousal shoots down to your core like a bullet at his words. 

You push him, flipping him over and straddling his muscular body. "Well, lets see what we can do to take care of that."

As you lean down to kiss him once again, knowing that...he's mine. And I'm his.

[stinkfacestories]

Strange Similarities

Bull and you sat on some rough pillows in a huge leather tent. They were alone for now. Bull was daydreaming. Looking out a tear in the tent.

"Think I can get one of those axes?" He said. 

"Bull, I don't like being here, I don't really want to stick around longer to go shopping" You say back.

"Come on, Kadan." Bull said turning to you. "The Orcinar are strong, and so far neutral. If we can get even a few of them on our side well be kicking so much ass.."

The tent flap flew open and the Orcinar Delegater entered. He was nigh on twelve feet tall. All muscles. His skin a sallow tan and green. His retinue was somehow even bigger. They held axes that were so large you were sure Bull would be thinking of them for the next few rounds of sex with you. The masks they wore were made of dark blue cloth and hid their faces, all save for their mouths. Twin, or quad tusks jutted out from them. A thin river of drool running down them constantly.

"Welcome Inquisition." The Delegater said. "Let us commence trade negotiations.."

The negotiations went on for what seemed like hours. Topics ranged from food sharing, to Intel swapping. Bull was bored near to tears. Half way through someone brought in clay mugs and some sort of bean paste with bread and cheese and that seemed to perk up his spirits, but once the talking resumed he started to doze off. He wasn't the only one. You noticed the Delegaters guards also occasionally drifting off to sleep, only to snap back to attention when they realized what happened.

"It is settled then we will begin trade on the next —"

The silence was broken by a sound. A deep, almost far off sound. It was a low wet drone that seemed to grow in intensity. You and Bull looked around confused, but the Delegater knew exactly what it was. He looked back to his guards. One was trying to hold back a laugh, distancing him from the Delegater scowls. The other was Half asleep, leaning on a support post. You immediately realize what was going on with the hot and foul odor hit you: the slumbering orcinar guard had dozed off and farted.

The Delegater growled, throwing one of the clay cups at the guard. 

"You fool! You dishonor these talks!" He shouted. Big ropy gobs of spit flying through the air.

"Fuuuuuuuuck" Bull says with a laugh. "That was epic. Legendary even. I thought it was a low flying dragon"

The Delegater turned and arched his brow.

"I hope this does not befoul our talks" he said to you.

Before you could respond Bull put a hand in your shoulder and squeezed you into a hug. "Oh it's foul alright, but I think that just sealed the deal"

"Bull I can—"

"Kadan here fucking loves that kinda stuff." He tussled your hair. "What was it you said when we were walking to the tent?"

You blushed a little, giving the Delegater a coy smile.

"Oh wait I remember. You spotted that big brute, the one in the Kilt and told me: Imagine being under there when a big fucking orc like that decided to rip some thunder. Fucking steam tent ya"

"Bull that's not what I said." You correct him. All eyes were on you. There was too much at stake to try and play it cool. "What I said was: I wouldn't mind being trapped under there when he ripped some thunder—like a steam tent" You turn to look at the Delegater and give a weak smile. This had gone from great to worse.

The tension was thick in the air. No one was saying anything. The masks didn't help. The Delegater’s head starts to bob. Up and down up and down. Slowly, but surely his deep and dark, low and slow laugh comes through. His guards joined in. Bull joined in. You laughed too, mostly because you had no idea what was going to happen.

“You two are funny ones.” He said. “Truth be told We are not this formal” He motioned to the drinks, the nice clothing, the general set up of the tent. “The Orcinar are a humble people; who many would consider disgusting. It seems we have more in common than we first thought”

“Thank fuck for that” Bull let out a sigh of relief. He shifted in his seat and dropped a small grenade of a fart into the cushion he was sitting on. Nothing compared to what the Orcinar guard had done, but respectfully impressive. He punched you on the shoulder. “Sorry Kadan, I wasn't thinking, I should have asked if you wanted that one. Don't worry, thanks to that bean paste they’ll be plenty more on the ride home for you to enjoy”

The Delegator got off his sitting pillow and fluffed it up. “Well,” he looked back at his guard “Either of you grunts have one in the chamber so we can give our guest a little aromatherapy?” The second guard timidly raised his hand. “Good lad, get over here” The Delegator bade you to lay down on the pillow he had just fluffed up, facing upward. You did. To your surprise Bull joined your side. “I didn't think you were much on the receiving end of things, Bull” You say.

“Normally no, but to go through it with you Kadan, that will be special. Plus look at the guy, he must be fifteen feet tall and weigh as much as 9 Aurochs. This thing is going to be epic,” he said.

The guard lumbered over to you. He set aside his axe. He placed one green foot beside your head and the other beside Bull. You were looking straight up his long kilt. The light was dim but you could tell he was not wearing anything under it. “See Kadan, plenty of room for both of us,” Bull said. “Plus look at the size of those balls. Don't you just want to bounce your head off them?”  You can't help but laugh at Bull. He always had a way with pointing things out.

The Orc lowered himself to his knees. His big legs falling to either side of you. You were locked in now. They were like large fleshy tree trunks, slightly oily, thick, and near immovable. His kilt draped over you and you were put into near darkness. From the light coming in through the fabric you could make out the shape of his round yet muscular ass descending upon you. He wasn't trying to crush you-- though you feel like if he slipped he could-- but he wanted to lower himself just enough so that you could enjoy the sensation of being pressed into his flesh. His massive, hairy filled ass crack as right between you and Bull. you turned to face him. He was already looking at you. 

“Having fun Bull?” You say

“These talks just got a hell of a lot better if you ask me” He said. The heat was rising. The tent of the kilt was filled with the musky odor of the orcs undercarriage. You were sweating. Bull was sweating. The Orc was sweating; large drops of salty sweat cascading down his back through the hair of his ass. One drop landed on Bulls face causing him to blink. He licked at his lips and made an interesting face. “Well, now I can say I know what Orc-ass tastes like,” He spat. You laughed. “Think that's funny Kadan?” With a great effort Bull freed his arm and dragged it through the fleshy crack. His fingers found your mouth and he rubbed the wet digits inside it. “You know you're right,” he smiled. “It is funny to see someone drink liquid orc-ass” You'd be tasting that one for weeks.

The Orc shifted, and his guts growled. He leaned forward ever so slightly before letting out a slow and moaning roar from between his ass. The temperature in the kilt-tent shot up. The rough woven fabric was thick enough to keep the thick and humid stink inside. It was a deep and reverberating-sloppy blast. The ground thrummed under your back. Your nose burned with each breath, and to try to use your mouth to breathe was to taste the foul wind. It went on for near on a full minuet. Bull was trying to say something, but the deafening roar was all you could hear in your ears. It sputtered to an end. You felt tired. You felt as if you had just marched for three days straight. All you could smell was Orcine farts. You were drenched in sweat. You huffed for air. You were still being pressed beneath the gigantic ass. You turned to Bull. He looked a little worse for wear. “Bull. You. Are you alive?” Bull was huffing and puffing as well. “Kadan. I have never. Felt. More alive”

The Orc kept you pinned long enough to enjoy the fruits of his bowels. You couldn't tell if he was enjoying it, but he at least seemed practice in the art of making people suffer his farts. When he did get up you were not in any position to leap to your feet. You and Bull just lay there in the depression in the pillow. The Orc looked happy. Impressed even. When he went back to the other guard they locked fists triumphantly.

The Delegater loomed over you. “Well then it is settled. We shall engage in trade, and I shall send one or two of our biggest, and gassiest of Orcs to be stationed at Skyhold with you. Shall that suffice?” You looked at Bull, then back to the Delegater. “We can find room for two of them” “We had prepared a bed for you in our barracks, but I'm sure you won't want to spend the night with a bunch of rowdy Orcine warriors, so I shall have them prepare your cart for your journey home immediately.” “Well” You said, standing up. “I figure you went to the trouble of preparing the bed. It would be rude to say no.” “Excellent! Then let us seal the deal in proper Orc fashion” The Delegater hoarked back and spat a massive wad of snot into his hand. He held it out for you to shake. You looked a bit hesitant. “Nasty” you heard Bull say, clearly impressed. You reached out to shake. Your hand fully submerging in the warm slime. “Mind if I get in on this?” Bull said. The Delegater nodded. Bull, more eagerly reached out and joined your hand in the snot. The Delegater closed his fist and shook both of your hands. “Now we are bound. We are allies” “Fucking Gross” Bull said as he watched the snot ooze out of the fist. “I fucking love these guys.”

[honey-hippie-harper]

Little Nightmare Took a Gun...

ADSFGHSDFGHAJ OKAY, FIRST OF ALL THIS IS A GIFT FOR @chiyuki-hiro BC I SAW @healing-winston-pratt AND OMG, HAPPY BIRTHDAY :’) <3

Just wanted to do something for you :’). I hope you have a GREAT day today! <3 :’) and I know you like Winston, so I figured that...yeah.

I hope you like this <3.

It was mildly based on “Maps” by the Fun Home musical. Happy birthday, again <3 (eat a lot of cake, or whatever thing like to eat during your birthday, and always remember to have fun afsghja <3)

Little Nightmare Took a Gun...

“Captain Chromium must die.”

“Say what?”

“He must die.” While Little Jean...Nova, yes. Little Nova (Jean was a no-no. She didn’t like Jean. She had never liked Jean. If she did, she would’ve told him), spoke, Ingrid was peeling a pineapple, which was yellow, yellow, very yellow. Almost too yellow. It probably tasted like garbage because all the bright fruits had something bad in them.

Winston had something personal going on against that particular pineapple. Threatening him by saying today they would share a pineapple for dinner was one thing, but keeping their word was another.

He was going to call that pineapple Phineas.

Phineas the Pineapple. Yes.

Why were they called pineapples, anyway?

They didn’t look like apples at all.

Weird.

Ingrid kept on peeling the pineapple, using a knife, not staring at Little Nova for a second. She didn’t seem interested. But, again, Ingrid never seemed interested in anything at all, besides her own thing, like...slashing, and cutting and making boom-boom sounds.

Ingrid could create explosions at will, which was a power as pretty as her personality.

Boom-boom.

Kaboom.

That’s why nobody liked her.

Kaboom.

It’s not that the others were interested, either. In fact, Phobia wasn’t even here, because they liked to be out there, scaring people to death, or talking to Ace, because Phobia was nothing but a dirty, dirty, noisy bootlicker, who was made of smoke. Like the smoke from a chimney. Though, they more likely weren’t smoke from a chimney, because if they were, they would be made of bricks.

Ingrid kept on peeling Phineas the Pineapple. Its skin was falling off.

Poor Phineas the Pineapple.

Maybe it had a family, back at home. Maybe it had a wife and two daughters, and one of the daughters was a baby. Maybe it had been the one who had made Ace Anarchy’s helmet, and Ingrid was peeling its skin off. Phineas the Pineapple was dying, and maybe it had an abusive brother back at home who used it as a punching bag, waiting for it to come back so he could abuse him again.

Poor, poor Phineas the Pineapple.

Maybe it had a life.

But Ingrid didn’t care about that, did she?

No, she didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

“I think pretty much everyone here agrees on that. I was asking you why are you bringing that up, if I wasn’t clear enough.” She said, and Little Nova flinched.

She was so little. So tiny and so very small. She didn’t look her age at all.

Maybe it was only the fact she was surrounded by old people, in a meeting she had called in for.

They were gathered in Leroy’s wagon, and Leroy was old, and had a lot of scars, and had no brows and his wagon smelled better than Winston’s but worse than Honey’s, who was also old and was laying on the pillow mountain Leroy used as his bed every night, only to complain about having backache in the morning, like the old man he was.

Honey never complained about having backache, but she was always in pain, and her face often looked like a racoon, with all that black liquid running down her cheeks.

Leroy was drinking something from a bottle, while Honey played a boring game in a cellphone they kept in the tunnels. Little Nova had stolen it from someone and it was full of cat pictures. Pictures of very ugly cats, to Winston’s taste. Yuck.

“I mean now. Captain Chromium must die now.”

Captain Chromium must die.

Like that creepy song.

That creepy old song Winston hated.

Lizzie Borden took an axe…

“Now? As in: At this very moment?” Ingrid stopped murdering Phineas the Pineapple for a second and, nonchalantly, cracked her neck by placing one hand at the side of her head, and the hand she had the knife on by her chin. “Do you expect us to break into his house and just..?”

“No.” Little Nova cut her off. She was sitting in the center of the wagon, cross-legged. If she moved her hand a little, she would’ve touched Honey, because the space was limited.

It was like living inside of a cocoon, but less fun, Winston supposed.

At least caterpillars knew they would be pretty when they managed to escape the cocoon.

No.

At least they had the chance to escape the cocoon at some point.

“What I mean, in case I wasn’t being clear…”

“You weren’t.”

“We should start putting the plan together…”

Lizzie Borden took an axe…

“Revenge shouldn’t be denied. It’s their fault my parents are gone. It’s their fault Evie is gone. It’s their fault we’re trapped down here. Like sewer rats...”

And gave her mother forty whacks…

“And you should just let me do that. I’m old enough. I’m ready to do it…It’s what I’ve been raised for, isn’t it?...”

When she realized what she had done…

“All my life, you’ve been preparing me for this. To avenge them. To avenge us. To avenge Ace. My uncle. I’ve been training the majority of my life. Why can’t you just let me get this over with already?”

“Do you have any idea of what are you supposed to do, Nightmare? Do you have the faintest  idea of what it takes?”

“Yes.”

She gave her father forty-one.

Little Nova.

Oh, Little Nova. Dearest Little Nova.

Nightmare.

Dearest Little Nightmare, which she liked more than Jean but hated more than Nova.

But Little Nightmare was okay.

If it wasn’t, she would’ve told him. He had taught her that. He had taught her to let people know when she was uncomfortable. Because they were friends.

They were friends.

They were.

Right?

She held Ingrid’s gaze, fiercely, though Winston could see her knuckles shaking, as if she were very cold.

In retrospect, maybe she was cold, and it was pretty shitty of them to have her here without a blanket, because she was a child who happened to be cold. Hence, she needed a blanket.

Why wasn’t anybody bringing a blanket for her?

Like, Winston would’ve done it, but he didn’t know where Leroy kept the blankets, and if he tried to look for them, then they would scream at him and he didn’t want to be screamed at today, because that was rude and rude people put Winston in a bad mood, which was rude too.

Putting people in a bad mood was rude.

Little Nova...Nightmare kept on looking into Ingrid’s eyes.

“What’s your plan, then?” Ingrid smiled sideways.

It wasn’t a question, but a dare, because Ingrid was being as rude as she would’ve been if she had screamed at Winston.

Little Nightmare’s scarred brow quivered.

“We shoot him in the eye.”

“Your real plan, Nova. I refuse to believe you’re that big of a dumbass. What kind of answer is that?” Ingrid mocked her, going back at torturing Phineas the Pineapple, who would be eaten for dinner because, indeed, they were living down here like sewer rats.

Something was rotting, just like down in the sewers.

“We shoot him in the eye.” Little Nightmare repeated herself, this time in a voice that didn’t sound like hers’, but like the voice of a firm and scary persona instead.

Leroy did pay more attention to her, and so did Honey, whose fingers stopped moving through the screen. Ingrid kept on peeling, but she directed a glare towards Nova, to tell her she was listening...and, as for Winston…

He was already listening way before Little Nightmare became grey.

“Do you think I’m kidding?” Little Nightmare scoffed. “Or are you dumb enough to believe he also has chrome in his eyeballs?”

“Woah.” Ingrid laughed, arching an eyebrow in a sharp way. “You call me dumb one more time, and it’s over for you, kid.”

“I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You won’t be alive anymore if you call me dumb again, either.”

A dark shadow passed through Little Nightmare’s face, as she straightened her back, in an attempt to look bigger. Or braver. Or to compensate something that, at the moment, she didn’t have.

“I think his eyes would work.” She rephrased it, as if it hadn’t been clear enough before. “Eyes are a sensible area, and nobody has ever tried to go for the eyes. If we try to shoot him there, it could work. The impact of the bullet or the venom will enter his system, going through the chrome layer, and it will later reach his brain, which will be enough to kill him.”

And, with that being said, Winston realized how funny this whole situation was.

More than funny, it was hilarious. More than hilarious, it was hysterical.

It was every single fun thing at the same time, which caused Winston to scoff. And the scoff turned into a giggle. And the giggle turned into a chuckle. And the chuckle turned into a wheezing laugh.

Wheezing, wheezing, wheezing.

Like he was out of air.

“What are you even laughing at now?”

What wasn’t he laughing at now.

Everyone was just so funny.

But there was something right there, building at the back of Winston’s brain, kicking his way out, demanding to be expressed.

Do it, Winston.

Do it, do it, do it.

And he did, because his recurrent question always was: What would Hettie do  in this situation?

Hettie would’ve spoken, obviously.

Hettie was loud. Hettie often told him to speak. Winston liked Hettie.

Sometimes.

“Little Nightmare took a gun…” He wheezed again. “Shot the Captain forty times...when she realized what she had done...she shot the Warden forty-one.”

Little Nightmare frowned in disgust, because disgust was Little Nightmare’s favorite emotion. A few years ago, it was joy and sadness. But not now.

Now, Little Nightmare was always disgusted.

It almost seemed like she liked to be disgusted.

To be disgusted at him.

To be disgusted at everyone.

Her expression always said ew.

Winston wished it wasn’t like that.

“I’m...not even going to try to decipher what the fuck you're talking about now.” Honey started getting up, getting on her knees on top of the pillows, while trying to comb her curls with her fingers. Though, at this point, they didn’t really look that much like curls, because her hair was greasy. Little Nightmare’s was too, and that’s why she had tried to tie it, though the greasy locks of hair were constantly in her face. Leroy’s looked greasy too, as well as Winston’s. Ingrid was doing just fine. According to her, washing it daily was more damaging than it was beneficial for her type of hair.

Winston still held faint memories of the day Honey forced Leroy and him to drag a stolen bathtub down here, into the tunnels. The bathtub was still there, and sometimes they used it, by turns, when they managed to convince Winston to drag buckets of water from the surface, one by one, until it was enough to fill the bathtub. Leroy had become lazy over time, and wouldn’t help. In fact, he would refuse to help.

He also had faint memories about the nightly trip to the lake, many, many years ago...or maybe it had been two years ago. Or two days ago. Or a few days ago, though that wasn’t possible, because everyone’s hair was greasy, and it wouldn’t be greasy if they had been at the lake. Maybe it had been a few weeks ago. Maybe it hadn’t happened at all, and Winston had made it up because he could.

 He remembered having gone to the lake when the sun was setting, taking their self-care stuff with them, to use the lake as their personal bathtub. Little Nightmare’s towel remained on the floor until she got out of the water. The same water Winston didn’t get into, because he didn’t feel like it. Because he didn’t like it. Because there were too many people in there, including Little Nightmare herself, obviously.

She knew how to swim and, conveniently, she was also very short, so she had to swim in order not to drown. Ingrid was helping her wash her hair, violently scratching her scalp with her fingertips like she would’ve washed a piece of clothing by hand, until Little Nightmare...Little Nova, took a fistful of foam from her own head and slapped Ingrid with it, telling her to stop that shit (very, very nasty vocabulary. Very unkind. Not pretty. Not cool). Ingrid then defended herself, and Honey was next, while trying to separate them, because Ingrid went ahead and threw water at her, because water directly thrown into a witch’s face was enough to melt her (Winston, to this day, wondered if she was serious about it. Melting witches with water sounded fun).

Winston heard the splashing of water. The screeching. The groaning. The screaming. The screaming he later realized was laughing.

They were laughing, even when Honey fell backwards and Ingrid barely managed to catch her by the arm and pull her forward before she could dive deep into the water.

Leroy, who was next to Winston (or maybe he wasn’t. He didn’t know if the memory was true or not), asked what was happening in there when he heard the silence. Little Nightmare then laughed again. And they laughed, even Honey, as she washed the swollen scratch Ingrid’s nails had left on her skin so it wouldn’t get infected, expressing how unfunny the whole situation was while laughing her head off.

That had been funny.

Very funny.

Winston would’ve liked to be a part of it, while not wanting it to be so at the same time.

But if the memory was true, then he knew he had been part of the s’mores, with the tiniest bit of chocolate and old cookies that, fortunately, didn’t taste as bad as they looked.

When the weather became colder, they went back to the tunnels, wrapped up in blankets. And Winston remembered fun.

Though he didn’t know what the source of fun had been, nor why they had decided not to talk about how they had had fun while showering in the lake.

They didn’t go to the lake anymore these days. And since Winston refused to fill the bathtub on his own, they didn’t bathe there anymore, either. Everybody showered at night, travelling half an hour, once or twice a week, to an old gas station that had showers. In Winston’s case, not always.

No, not always. He didn’t like it.

And half an hour was too much.

Too much.

“But I must say, I’m impressed.” Honey continued, giggling gracefully. “Sometimes it’s a good thing you don’t sleep, Nightmare. Imagine if you did. I feel you would be the type of gal who would wake up in the morning and just say ‘Wow. I’m going to come up with a way to kill myself that is so dumb…’

“Kill myself?” Little Nova...Nightmare, Nova, Nightmare, spat. “Dumb?” She dragged the words out of her mouth again, this time twice as annoyed and mad.

“How...how is that dumb? Isn’t this what I’ve been training for? To take down the Council? To kill Captain Chromium in order to take down the Council? To help my uncle? The only person who’s been there for me? The only person who ever cared about my family?” Little Nova hissed.

Caring.

Caring.

Everybody wanted to be cared for.

She, in particular, needed and craved to be cared for.

Winston cared.

He did.

Hadn’t he been clear enough?

How clear did you have to be to care? Maybe clear as glass, or maybe as clear as unpolluted water, or as an unpolluted sky. When he was younger, Winston read somewhere that there were places where the sky was so clean the Milky Way could be seen at night.

Maybe you had to be one of her parents for her to finally notice you cared, and Winston wasn’t. David and Tala were, and they both happened to be dead as fuck at this point.

Caring, caring, caring.

Dead.

Bang.

Winston didn’t know where Tala was, but he was pretty sure David was in the Milky Way.

Maybe they could go together and look for him in the Milky Way.

"The Renegades took everything from me. It's my turn to take everything from them. We have to take Gatlon back and give it right back to the person it belongs. My un--"

"Hey, Nova?"

As her train of thought crashed against a dead end, Little Nova flinched and stared at him. Her frown was deep as the ocean.

Deep, deep.

Very deep.

She was disgusted.

"What?"

"Don't you wanna run away to New Mexico?"

She was frowning so deep her forehead was turning yellow; yellow as Phineas the Pineapple, and Phineas the Pineapple's blood was bright yellow. But Little Nova and Phineas the Pineapple weren't the same people, which didn’t make sense for many reasons, though Winston couldn’t think of any

Was everything inside of Phineas the Pineapple that yellow? Probably.

Maybe Phineas the Pineapple had yellow insides. Its lungs were yellow, its ribs were yellow, its stomach was yellow, its intestines were yellow, its heart was yellow.

Heart.

Little Nova had a heart too.

Winston wondered where she had inherited her heart from. Did it look more like Tala's or David's?

He could never answer that.

But he knew it didn't look like Ace's.

Little Nova's heart wasn't that empty.

Sometimes it was, when she stared at Winston like that.

But it wasn’t important, because Winston always forgave her, even if she never said sorry.

She didn’t need to.

"Are you making fun of me, Winston?"

"He is, yeah. Of all of us, actually. Why New Mexico?"

Little Nova's gaze shifted to Honey, who was still knelt down on the pillows, but this time she was smiling, as Ingrid arched an eyebrow and Leroy rolled his eyes.

"There are plenty of prettier places we could run away to, not New Mexico. We're not that desperate."

"We aren't?" Leroy crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you sure about that?"

“What do you mean we are?”

“What do you mean we aren’t?”

Winston’s eyes danced from one side to the other. First to Leroy, then to Honey, then to Leroy again.

Little Nova, on the other hand, was only glaring at Honey, because people were too used to choose who could do wrong and who couldn’t. Everyone had their person whom they thought could do no wrong. In Nova’s case, it wasn’t Winston.

In Winston’s case, it was Nova.

Little, little, tiny Nova.

They were friends.

They had been, at least.

Not so long ago.

Well…

Winston hoped it hadn’t been that long ago.

Sometimes everything seemed to be happening at the same time, and it was either too fast or awfully slow, with any sort of in between.

“We could leave the country. I travelled to Mexico with Leroy once. It was lovely.”

“You’re globally known, in case you don’t remember.”

“Pssh. Nobody cares, little Nightmare. Literally nobody but the Renegades care, so don’t let that haunt you. Still, we can live in confinement, if you like.”

Little Nightmare was so mad she was starting to pinch her own arm. Pinch. Pinch. Pinch. As if she were made of dough.

“It’s better than crappy tunnels with no water, if you ask me.”

“And what about Ace?” Little Nova challenged her, but before she could answer, Leroy took the words out of her mouth.

“We put him in the trunk so we can force him to come with us. He likes trunks. I don’t think he has any problem with being in one himself.”

“And how are you planning to illegally cross? Because I suppose…”

“We take him out and we carry him. He’s pretty underweight. At this point, even Ingrid weights more than him.”

“He’s also kinda ill. Maybe he won’t even make it. And if he does, then we get him a feeding tube so he takes his meds. If he fights, we…”

“Stop. Now you’re talking bullshit.” Little Nova seemed to be trying to remain calm, but her entire everything was quivering, along with her willpower not to lose her chill.

“Just trying to educate you.” Leroy said, shrugging, nonchalantly.  “That whole plan sounded like plain nonsense and gibberish, didn’t it?”

Little Nova clicked her tongue, chuckling a little, sarcastically.

“What could possibly make you believe that, Leroy?”

“Then, you answer my question now.” He declared in a hoarse, monotonous voice. “How are you planning to shoot Captain Chromium in the eye?”

Winston didn’t understand the question, mostly because the Mexico plan did make sense, and it could work.

They just were explaining it wrong. There were too many elements in the picture. Too many, and they couldn’t fit each one of them in there. Some had to go and that was just the plain truth.

They didn’t need Ace.

Winston wasn’t sure why, but he knew they didn’t. A thought that only became stronger when Ingrid decided this wasn’t interesting enough for her to pay attention to it, and so she returned to her task of mutilating poor, harmless Phineas the Pineapple. Swish. Swish. Swish.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

Everything was yellow.

A nasty shade of yellow.

It reminded him of Ace, to a certain extent.

Not Phineas the Pineapple.

The knife.

Caring, caring, caring.

Was he the one who cared about Little Nova?

Was he, for real?

Was he?

Because if he was, then Winston couldn’t find a reason why.

And if he couldn’t find a reason why, it must mean they didn’t need to take him with them at all.

Phineas the Pineapple was too kind to be Ace, but at the same time, it was so yellow that Winston could tell it was rotting inside, if not already rotten. Just like Ace.

Simultaneously, he was the knife. But the knife would’ve been nothing if Ace had been the pineapple.

Because if Ace had been Phineas the Pineapple, then he would’ve swallowed the knife.

He would’ve swallowed Ingrid too.

How nasty.

How awful.

“It’s not the same thing.”

“It is, Nova.”

“IT’S NOT! YOU JUST WANTED TO MAKE ME MAD!” Little Nova was red.

Skies, she was so red. And she was also blue. And she was purple.

“If we were to run away, I would’ve made sure EVERYONE could come, just like I’m going to manage to make this plan work!”

“What plan?” Honey spoke this time. Her glossy lips arching into a smile, and her nail on her chin, barely touching her skin at all.

“Uhm?” She hummed, when Little Nova was left with no response. “What plan, sweetness? We’re all ears.”

What plan, indeed?

Because, to put it lightly, Winston was lost. He didn’t know what plan they were referring to now. He didn’t know if they were talking about the running away plan, or the Captain Chromium plan. Either way, he liked running away better.

Again, everything would fall into place if they just left Ace here.

They didn’t need him.

Little Nova didn’t need him as much as she thought she did.

As for Captain Chromium…

As for the caring part…

As for the everything part…

Following Little Nova’s logic...Following Little Nightmare’s logic, also…

Somebody must die.

On that, they were on the same page.

But for all he cared, knowing Little Nova was among that “all”, Winston knew that someone wasn’t the Captain.

A little, maybe.

But not as much as Little Nova thought.

First they had to dive deep into the issue. Deep as they could.

Then, they had to scratch on the details, like panicked stray cats.

Then, they had to look into what they could see, and find a way to see what they couldn’t.

There were some things Little Nova didn’t know, not just about life, or about the surface, or about them, or about herself.

There were things Little Nova claimed she knew, when in reality she didn’t and that was dangerous and blinding like a burning, endless flame that was destroying all her insides, piece by piece, limb by limb, organ by organ.

First, she had to look into the right direction, which was also the one she refused to look into.

Then, Ace Anarchy had to die.

Ace Anarchy must die.

Ace Anarchy must die.

Because Phineas the Pineapple had a wife and two daughters.

Ace Anarchy must die.

He must die, die, die.

Harder than he had died before.

“Who’s gonna tell her?”

Because, if not them...who?

All the eyes directed towards him, again.

They weren’t happy.

Maybe they knew what Winston was talking about, which made him happy, but not that much.

He didn’t like it when people stared at him like that. Why was everyone so rude all the time?

Just...why?

“What did you say?” Nova asked.

Nor carefully, or slowly.

She just asked, in a very Little Nova way.

Fast and impatient.

“I said: Who’s gonna tell you?”

“Who’s gonna tell me what?”

“That’s exactly why you should know.” He sang, giggling and rocking himself back and forth, crossing his legs and grabbing his ankles. Little Nova seemed annoyed, Leroy was just staring, and Honey was massaging the bridge of her nose, with her eyes closed.

Ingrid, on the other hand, was squeezing the knife. Phineas the Pineapple was dead next to her, in a nasty old bowl.

Winston tilted his head to the side, staring directly at said bowl, containing Phineas the Pineapple’s dismembered corpse.

The unreclaimed grave said “Tala Artino & Evelyn Artino”, which should mean they had put Evelyn back into Tala’s stomach. David’s grave was next to it, alone. They hadn’t put any baby inside of him, because the other baby was standing right here, staring at Winston with hate.

The space around those graves was small.

Winston would’ve drawn a circle around the two, the same shape as that bowl, which was now Phineas the Pineapple’s resting place, and that would’ve been enough. They would’ve fit perfectly, the three of them.

But, no matter what they did, they would be still part of another, bigger circle, in which Little Nova was trapped too, alongside Little Nightmare.

“He’s the center of a circle.” Winston concluded, smiling widely. “...but I…” He raised a finger.

“...I can draw a circle. I can draw a smaller circle…” He formed a circle with his thumb and his index, and placed it around his right eye. “...around him...and I can trap him there, like a mouse....”

Little Nova’s expression became sharper.

“...And when I trap him in that circle...his whole life will fit inside.”

And they would all be free.

But he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“The spot where they...died…” Winston placed both his hand right in front of him, trying to calculate the distance by imagining the scale. “....is south….”

The bird nest was south.

Though, as far as Winston understood, the space in the building where the bird nest was located had been sealed, because nobody wanted to live with ghosts.

“....he absorbed their lives too. Yes. We could draw a circle around you too, Little Nova. If only you knew.”

And the sound of the bees right behind him made him straighten his back, to avoid the stingers, but the coldness and wetness overshadowed that sensation.

Upon lowering his gaze, he saw the sharp, shiny blade in which his chin was resting on.

Ingrid’s brown eyes were feeding from his soul, as the gunpowder odor emanated from her, and her knuckles became pale.

Yet, the only thing Winston could focus on, was the smell of rotting pineapple juice, impregnated on the blade.

Phineas the Pineapple.

“Don’t slash my throat with that knife, Ingrid.” He said, in an extremely high-pitched voice. “It’s already bleeding.”

He saw the fear, and saw the terror of the moment Ingrid understood. And as the knife fell to the ground, she came closer. Her cold, calloused hands around his throat, and his hands around her wrists.

“And you’re going down with them.” She whispered.

Then Leroy lifted her up.

That didn’t relief nor annoy him.

He knew he wouldn’t die today. And, certainly, not to Ingrid’s hands.

But a part of him did die, when his eyes laid on Nova, who was now faintly touching Honey’s hand, which at the same time was placed on her shoulder, running her thumb through her skin.

“Get out.” She said.

“Get out.” She commanded.

“Get out.” she pleaded.

And if she didn’t want to see, then there was nothing Winston could show her. Nothing at all he could do for her.

But Little Nova would know someday.

And when she knew, Ace Anarchy would fall.

Winston would wait for that day.

Winston would wait for her.

Because, fortunately, a circle was not enough to fit Little Nova’s life inside yet.

[doobler]

Ambiguous

Vykan was awoken by a stubborn beam of sunlight streaming across his face. He squinted, kneading at his eyes with the heels of his palms. God, his head hurt. He rolled on his side, nuzzling into the pillows as his legs twisted up in the folds of a downy comforter.

Wait.

Multiple pillows?

Large comfortable mattress?

Sunlight?

Struggling into an upright position, Vykan looked around the room. There was a desk in one corner absolutely covered in books and pieces of paper. Someone was designing blueprints but to what, he couldn't tell. There were a few pictures on the wall but his vision was too blurry and unfocused to make them out. On either sides of the bed were little nightstands. The one beside Vykan had a cell phone and a tablet. The other had a large slim case and an analog clock. It was a decently decorated room, not too fancy, but definitely well lived in. Where the hell was he?

Vykan sniffed at the air. The scent of something delicious was wafting through a gap in the door. He threw his legs over the bed and followed his nose.

A short hallway took him past another bedroom and a bathroom into a quaint little living room connected to a kitchen. There was a central island with barstools, a comfortable looking L-shaped couch, a coffee table covered in paperwork and knick knacks, and a balcony just off the humble little dining room. There, swaying and rocking within it all, was Jonah.

He looked good. Incredible even. He was bobbing along to some music playing quietly through a speaker system, dancing around with a frying pan in one hand. He sipped at a cup of coffee, sliding gracefully around on socked feet. When he looked up, meeting Vykan's eyes, his smile was blinding. There were a few more lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes and a sprinkling of grey hair at his temples.

He looked happy.

"Ooh, morning, babe," Jonah grinned around a laugh. "Should I disrobe too? We doin' sexy breakfast?"

Vykan barely registered that he was, in fact, naked and strolling around the-- apartment? Condo? House? He moved slowly, as if the very air was fragile.

"I'm making your favorite," Jonah continued. "But you gotta be patient or you get nothing."

"What is this?" Vykan finally spoke, his voice soft.

"Breakfast?" Jonah's face screwed up in confusion. "Steak? Eggs? Fruit salad? Maybe a mimosa or two, if you're good."

"Where are we? Whose dwelling is this?"

Jonah furrowed his brow, looking annoyed now. He set down the pan and turned down the heat. Crossing the room in a few quick strides, he pressed the back of his hand against Vykan's forehead.

"You don't have a fever," He muttered. "Maybe you're just more hungover than I expected. Figures. Thought I married some hot warrior babe and you can't even hold your fucking liquor."

"M-married?"

Jonah snorted. The affectionate and dreamy smile that crossed his face left Vykan's stomach doing backflips.

"Crazy, right? I can't wait for the pictures and video to process, gonna watch that shit on repeat every day for at least a month. We better send Rtas a nice gift bag, he was a fantastic officiate."

"Rtas?! Rtas 'Vadumee?!"

Jonah looked concerned now. He took Vykan by the arm and gingerly steered him to the dining room table. Two of the chairs were clearly human sized while the other two looked more fit for a Sangheili body. Vykan took the latter, trying not to flinch when two hands reached forward to cup his face.

"Are you ok?" Jonah asked, kind yet firm. "Did something happen last night? Did I say something to upset you? Please tell me what the fuck is going on, babe, I'm getting worried."

"... The last thing I... Remember was..." Vykan squeezed his eyes shut. Why were his memories so fuzzy? "We... Were on the UNSC Charon... Rebuilding after the Schism, trying to bridge the gap between humanity and Sangheili... We... You and I were..."

"Nightmares?" Jonah tutted, bumping his forehead against Vykan's. "PTSD'll do that to you, hon, fuck up your perception of time and memories. It'll pass. We'll take it easy, ok? I don't have a lot to do today, I'll tell the gang we'll do lunch another day."

When he broke away, Jonah was smiling but there was a touch of sadness in his eyes. He squeezed Vykan's shoulder before moving back into the kitchen.

"As sexy as it is, you should get dressed," Jonah teased, kicking the heat back up on the stovetop. Warmth slowly leeched back into his voice. "At least some pants or something."

Vykan shuffled back into the bedroom; their bedroom it seemed. Now that he was more awake, he could make out the framed pictures more easily. He recognized Melissa, Pike, and Rod grinning ear-to-ear, arms interlocked. Jonah stood shoulder to shoulder with Master Chief in the next. They were both in full armor. Vykan felt his breath punch right out of his lungs. There he was beside Rtas and Thel. They looked rather serious, as Elites were want to do, but seeing two old friends by his side soothed an ache in his heart. The Arbiter's armor suited Thel and Rtas looked as proud as ever.

Vykan wasn't sure if he was recognizing things now or if something in his brain was making accurate assumptions. The case on Jonah's side of the bed was for his prosthetic. The tablet was Vykan's, no doubt packed with footnotes and journal entries. He picked up a little soft plush animal from the floor. Jonah had won this for him at a carnival, using his incredible sniping skills to a rather unfair advantage.

Ok, so that was a proper memory. But was it real? Was any of this?

"Vy! Breakfast!"

Vykan lurched towards the closet. Wow. Everything was so well organized. The flat was homey for sure but everything was rather clean. Two military men would undoubtedly uphold a pristine living condition. Vykan tugged on a nice dark colored bodysuit, one with a high neck and short sleeves that cut off mid-bicep. He shuffled back down the hall and into the dining room, trying not to act embarrassed when Jonah whistled.

"I've always thought green looked good on you," Jonah smirked, playfully swatting at his ass when he walked by. "Sit, get some food in you, it'll help."

Vykan did as he was told. The steak was perfectly cooked, still pretty rare in the middle. The eggs were gooey but not liquid. The fruits were tart and plump and juicy. He was amazed how little bits and pieces of the flat were adapted to his alien physique. First the large bed, then the chairs, now a slim long-necked bottle for him to drink out of; it all felt so natural, so easy.

Jonah watched him as he ate, taking his time. He chugged two mimosas before he even touched his eggs. When Vykan finished eating, Jonah reached over and intertwined their fingers.

"Last night was... Incredible," He breathed, his high cheeks dusted a rosey red. "I had a lot of fun. I think everyone did but... Just you and me was... Amazing."

Vykan watched his face, trying to will the memories to come back. Dinner, drinks, a nightclub; they were all fuzzy and danced behind his eyes. A birthday? No, something else. Something more important.

"I know this's been a pretty... Unconventional honeymoon," Jonah chuckled, offering the Sangheili a lopsided grin. "But I wouldn't trade it for the world."

Vykan looked down at their hands, joined together on top of the table. On one of Jonah's fingers was a ring. There was a little black diamond inlaid in the simple band. Vykan wasn't sure how but he knew the inscription inside was written in his mother tongue. He lifted his own right hand and set it atop Jonah's. He had a ring too, a basic titanium band with a series of dots engraved around the center. He knew it was a code of some sort but he couldn't quite make it out.

"This must be a dream," Vykan breathed. "This. This cannot be real, I must. I must be dreaming."

Jonah rose from his seat and leaned across the table. He pressed a soft open-mouthed kiss against Vykan's mandibles. He smelled like smoke and citrus and aftershave and iron. Every kiss set Vykan's blood on fire, leaving his heart to skip and stammer in his chest.

"Then it's a good dream." Jonah replied.

[kthstrawberryshortcake]

BTS Reaction: finding out their s/o is a mythological creature

REQUEST (from anon):  For short scenarios how about the boys reacting to you being a mythological being??

Here you go! I did my best, this was very out of the box and challenging though so I hope you guys like it.

_____________________________________________________________________

Namjoon | s/o is a cat shifter: 

You and Namjoon had been dating for over six months now and he still didn’t know what you were. It was a little difficult to explain to an average regular human. Not to mention that time he said he was “more of a dog person than a cat person.” That made you more nervous than it probably should’ve. Eventually he started questioning where you disappeared to for three hours or so every afternoon. You hated outright lying to him, but unless you wanted to reveal yourself, you had no other choice. The rules of being a shifter were very clear. You must spend at least 3 hours a day in your animal form or a lot of things would start to go wrong with your body. You didn’t enjoy being a small and vulnerable creature out alone at night, so you elected to spend your cat form time during the day. That was also, unfortunately, more conspicuous than night, which would’ve been easier to hide. So one day you decided to test it. How did Namjoon actually feel about cats? You started hanging out by his front door in your cat form when you knew he’d be coming or going. To your pleasant surprise he was quite taken with what he believed to be a random stray, to the point of trying to figure out whether he could adopt it. Feeling more secure after that, one night when you were sitting together watching Netflix, you paused the show you were watching and looked at him. “You know how you’ve been asking me where I run off to during the day? I know you’ve been suspicious about that for a long time…” you began, watching the color drain from your boyfriend’s face. He was clearly expecting something bad. “It’s okay, it’s not a bad thing. I just wanted to say I’m ready to tell you…. Just watch me for a minute, okay?” You said tentatively, getting up and standing in front of him a few feet away. You shifted to your cat form and his jaw dropped in shock. You watched his expression carefully, worried as to how he’d react. After the momentary shock wore off a huge grin appeared on his face. “I’d been wondering why I got so attached to that cat so quickly,” he laughed, and you shifted back to your human form before he engulfed you in a hug. “You’re the cutest kitty, love. I’m glad you told me.” He said, and you felt relieved that he finally knew and fully accepted you.

Jin | s/o is a flower fairy: 

You’d been with Jin for a year at this point, and you’d never been happier in your life. The biggest problem was the struggle to keep your secret about what you really were. You couldn’t exactly walk up to him and say “by the way babe I’m actually a fairy! Fairies are real, too, I’m not crazy or making this up!” You shuddered at the thought of how badly that’d go. You were grateful for the ability to conceal your wings, which was possible but took a lot of energy to maintain. There was one thing you couldn’t resist doing, though, that was kind of suspicious and difficult to explain, if you thought about it enough. Jin loved flowers, so he was always buying indoor plants to keep scattered around his apartment. He had a bit of a brown thumb, though, being quite talented at killing houseplants even as he tried to keep them alive. Every time a plant of his had deteriorated to the point of being almost dead, you’d wait until he wasn’t looking and would use your powers to revive it to its original blossoming glory. The flowers made him happy, after all, and it was the least you could do considering what you were hiding. One evening you were in Jin’s apartment getting it tidied up for his return from a trip. He didn’t ask you to do anything but get the mail, but you didn’t mind straightening things up while you were there. It also gave you time to work on some of his poor plants. He was supposed to be arriving home late that night. Relieved by the freedom to be your full self without hiding, you sang quietly to yourself as you hovered over the plants, wings out, using your powers to heal the wilting flowers. Little did you know that Jin was arriving home early, deciding not to tell you in order to surprise you with his early return. Imagine his surprise when he entered his apartment to find his girlfriend with wings attached to her back, magically healing his plants. You stopped, finally realizing you weren’t alone. You jumped when you saw him, startled by his sudden appearance. “……you’re early!” You said with a nervous smile on your face. Jin looked amazed. “The wings…. they’re real, aren’t they?” You nodded slowly. “Why do you have…..?” He trailed off as you replied “I’m a flower fairy.” He blinked at you, still in a bit of a shock. “Why haven’t I seen the wings?” Jin asked softly, more confused than upset. “I can hide them. It drains me, it’s hard to do… But I can hide them.” You explained. He approached you and carefully pulled you into a hug, careful not to squish your wings. “You don’t have to hide anymore, at least not with me. I can see why this is a secret overall but I love you, and I want you to be your full self with me. Okay?” He asked, and you gave a slight nod, tearing up. You’d never expected him finding you out would go so well. Your heart was warm.

Yoongi | s/o is a witch: 

After being with you for nearly a year, Yoongi had accepted the fact that sometimes things…. happened… around you. They were difficult to explain, like items appearing to move on their own and mysterious sounds being heard sometimes when you were near. You also had a lot of cooking utensils, especially pots, considering you didn’t cook. He kind of just thought you were a bit of a weird girl, though, which was fine by him. He loved you and the unexplainable things didn’t matter really. One night you’d declined having dinner with him, explaining that you had a project for work that you wanted to get ahead on and that you planned to stay home. Yoongi accepted this readily, having no reason not to. In reality, you were running low on several of your most commonly-used potions, so you needed to replenish your stash. You were in your kitchen working with one of your “pots” as Yoongi called them (it was a cauldron), standing over it as you added ingredients one by one. You said the necessary words and channeled your magic into the brewing potion. You had no idea that Yoongi had brought takeout to surprise you, thinking you were working like you’d told him. He had a key to your place so he just walked right in, finding you in the kitchen and stopping abruptly. “Are you trying to cook again?” He asked apprehensively, sniffing the air and observing the strange smell. You turned to face him, frozen in place. “Um… it’s not food….” Yoongi stepped forward and peered into the cauldron, seeing that its contents were a thick gooey grey sludge. “Well I guess it’s lucky I brought takeout,” he said, trying not to gag at the sight of it. You just stared at him, silently blinking as you debated how to proceed. “It’s not food. I’m not cooking. It’s…. a potion…. I’m a witch….” You trailed off looking down at your hands as you fidgeted nervously. “Wait what? You’re serious? Thats…. not possible…. is it?” He asked in awe, and you looked back up, but not at him. You used your magic to move a bowl from the kitchen counter into the sink. You turned the lights off and on with the wave of a hand. You opened and then shut the front door from where you stood in the kitchen, the slamming of the door audible from where you were. You’d never seen Yoongi’s eyes so wide. He grinned at you. “This is insane.” He said excitedly. “I thought you were just this cute weird girl but you’re actually a badass witch? What did I do to get a girlfriend who’s this cool?” He enthused, giving you a quick peck on the lips happily. It was official, you thought. Your boyfriend was the perfect man.

Hoseok | s/o is a vampire:

As happy as your four-month relationship with Hoseok had been, you knew it was wrapped in a massive web of lies. Your lies. But what choice did you have? You wanted to be with this man, probably forever, but wouldn’t he run if he knew you were a monster? The biggest lie was that you had a rare digestive condition that required you to consume only fruit punch plus dietary supplements to replace other nutrients. Because of it he no longer batted an eye at the fact that you never ate or drank aside from “juice pouches” of red liquid. Your fundamental lie was implicit: that you were human. No, you were a vampire in hiding, disguised, trying to live a normal life without hurting anybody. Today you were meeting Hobi at the park as you often did. You were sitting on a bench waiting for him when he walked up, flashing that beautiful smile of his. “Hi jagi! It’s lunchtime so I brought you a fruit punch.” He said, giving you a peck on the cheek before offering you the juice he was holding. Inside you were panicking, but you gave him a smile back, taking the drink with a “thank you”. He blinked at you expectantly. “You should drink it, it’s time for lunch, so that’s your equivalent of eating, right? Don’t skip meals. You make me worried about you.” He pouted. You sighed, resigning yourself to the fact that you were going to have to drink the fruit punch. You lifted the straw to your lips and took a sip, trying not to make a face. You only lasted a couple of seconds before your body rejected it and you spit it up into the grass. Now Hoseok REALLY looked worried.“Are you okay? Is something wrong with your stomach?” He asked, deeply concerned. “We’re taking you to the hospital! Let’s go right now, come on.” He took your hand and pulled you along the sidewalk like he was on a mission. “Hobi stop.” You said, planting your feet and forcing him to stop walking. “I’m not sick. It’s just that what I’m drinking all the time isn’t actually fruit punch…” You chewed on your lip nervously, watching your boyfriend’s confused expression. “….it’s blood.” You admitted, and he stared at you for a long while, trying to decide if you were serious or not. When he determined that you meant what you said, his eyes grew wide and his face paled before he fainted onto the grass. When he woke up five minutes later you were kneeling beside him, looking down at him and crying. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just… I love you. I don’t want to lose you. Please just… don’t tell anyone. Then you can walk away and pretend we never met. I won’t hurt anyone, I promise. I never wanted to hurt anyone…” You sobbed quietly, knowing from past experiences that this revelation tended to scare people and make them want to drive you out of town because of their fear. Hobi reached up and wiped your tears from your face. “I’m not going anywhere. I know you, and I know you’re kind and gentle and wouldn’t hurt a fly. This complicates things, sure. But we’re in this together now.” He smiled as he kissed your hand. “Now let’s get back up off the ground."

Jimin | s/o is a mermaid:

Everyone is familiar with the concept that mermaids can’t be out of the water for too long. That was absolutely the case with you, and it made hiding what you were a real challenge. Your boyfriend of two years was still in the dark about it. Jimin just thought that you really enjoyed solitary trips to the beach and exceedingly long baths. You felt guilty for not telling him. You’d intended to initially, but as time went on you found yourself faller deeper and deeper in love, and now you were too afraid of losing him to say anything. You should’ve known that a secret this huge would eventually come out whether you like it or not. One day Jimin was running late for a meeting and had somehow managed to leave his keys on the bathroom counter. He thought you were in your bedroom, so he walked right in to get his keys. But he was wrong. You weren’t in your bedroom. You were taking one of your super long baths, which were needed to keep yourself from getting sick from water withdrawals. So there you were, sitting in the bathtub with your long iridescent tail hanging just slightly over the edge of the tub. You froze, not sure what to do. Jimin also froze, forgetting about his original key retrieval mission because holy crap his girlfriend has a tail…?! Not even the fact that you were naked occurred to him, nor you actually. It was just your tail. “I wanted to tell you….” You said quietly, afraid to make eye contact. “I’m so sorry, Jimin. I just love you so much that I…. I didn’t want to…. You can go, I understand that you probably don’t want to -“ You rambled, tears beginning to leak from your eyes. But Jimin cut you off. “NO. No, love, I’m not going anywhere.” He knelt beside the tub, placing a hand gently on your cheek. “Calm down. I don’t mind. I don’t care what you are, because I love WHO you are.” He said gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Your’re…. I mean are you a mermaid? Is that a thing?” He asked curiously, understandably confused. “Yes. That’s what I am. I love you too.” You confirmed, a small smile forming itself on your lips. “So can I come to the beach more with you now?” Jimin asked, smiling widely. You laughed and nodded, relieved that he was okay with all this. Suddenly his expression dropped and he looked panicked. “I forgot why I came in here, I need to grab my keys and go. I’m so late.” He jumped up, calling behind him. “Beach tonight! We’ll have a picnic before sunset! Love you!” Then he rushed out the door, leaving you excited and relieved.

Taehyung | s/o is a chipmunk shifter:

Your boyfriend of nine months still didn’t know the truth about you. He was under the impression you were an ordinary human. He had noticed small clues in your features and behaviors, but thankfully he never put the puzzle pieces together. He thought nothing of the fact that you were a vegetarian. He didn’t find it odd that you ate your favorite snacks, nuts, rather often. He cooed over your cute round, chubby cheeks, finding them adorable. He didn’t even mind you disappearing for a few hours every day, attributing it to your need for quiet alone time. You were, after all, relatively introverted. The truth? The truth was that you were a shifter… one whose animal form was a chipmunk. You never strayed far when you spent the physically necessary time in your animal form, usually preferring to stay in and around the trees outside your house. That was, of course, until one day when it was thunderstorming outside and you went back into your house in animal form to get shelter from the rain. You didn’t know that practice had been cancelled for the day because of the power outage in and around the BigHit building, caused by the storm. You were shocked when your tiny furry form scurried into the living room to see Taehyung sitting on the couch. Your “son” Yeontan didn’t even blink at you, already aware of his mom’s peculiar shifting habits. Tae’s face lit up at the cute little animal in front of him. “Hi little one. Aren’t you cute? Trying to get out of the storm?” He said in a quiet, gentle tone, sitting down on the floor and holding out a hand, offering it for you to sniff. Instead you hopped into his hand, scurried up his arm, perched on his shoulder, and rubbed your tiny furry head into his neck affectionately before hopping back to the ground. You returned to the other side of the room, throwing caution to the wind and shifting back to your human form. You looked nervously at your boyfriend, who was still seated on the floor, now with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Are you serious?! You turn into a little chipmunk?” He asked incredulously, and you nodded slowly in reply. A big boxy grin broke out on his face. “This is SO COOL! You’re so adorable, no WONDER you get those precious chubby cheeks when you eat. OH! And now I can smuggle you on tour with me! This is the most amazing thing to ever happen!” He exclaimed, jumping up and pulling you into a tight hug, half squishing you to death in the process.“Tae… Too tight…” You choked out before he finally loosened his grip around you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. I got a little excited.” You didn’t know how, but you had ended up with possibly the only man on earth that would be excited about this discovery. You smiled to yourself at his comment about smuggling you on tour in your tiny form. The secret was out and the feeling of love and acceptance his enthusiasm gave you was priceless.

Jungkook | s/o is a sea siren:

Jungkook had wanted to hear you sing since you’d started dating many, many months ago. When you repeatedly refused, he had thought that you were just shy about your voice or that you couldn’t sing and were embarrassed about it. The truth was that your voice was dangerous. You hid the fact that you were a sea siren from him because firstly, who in their right mind would believe you if you told them, and secondly, your power could have catastrophic effects, and that was hardly an attractive concept. Instead you refused to sing around your boyfriend under any circumstances whatsoever and took regular trips to the beach with Jimin’s girlfriend, who was, coincidentally, actually a mermaid. At least she was fully harmless. While you had zero bad intentions, you feared the day you failed to control your power. You sang exclusively when you were alone in an attempt to keep those around you safe. You were apparently just very unlucky, however, because one day you were home alone and started singing quietly to yourself while you tidied up around the house. Jungkook was on a trip and wouldn’t arrive back for hours yet, so you thought it was safe. But you didn’t hear the door open when he arrived home early to surprise you. He heard you singing and decided not to make his presence known just yet, curious about your long-hidden voice. Little did he know how hazardous that was. The effects of your voice took hold gradually. First he felt a little lightheaded, things beginning to feel dreamlike. Reality became distorted and it was as if he couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of your singing. His vision shifted until it was as if he was falling deep into dark, cold water, sinking with no way to stop it. He finally yelled in fear, signaling to you that he was there, and you immediately stopped. You rushed to him where he was laying on the floor, completely under your power. You couldn’t help the tears that fell from your eyes, your worst nightmare coming true. Thankfully you had stopped before it was too late. You held his hand as he dreamed of drowning, tossing and turning in his sleep. Finally after several hours the effects wore off and he woke up, sweating and panicked. You calmed him down before he realized you’d been crying. “What’s wrong? Did I really worry you that much with my nightmare?” He asked in confusion. You shook your head and finally did what you’d dreaded for so long: told him the truth. After everything was fully explained, he stared at you for a minute, clearly deep in thought.“This was a freak accident. I know you, you’re a good person. You can’t blame yourself for this one instance when you’ve protected me so well all this time. We love each other and I refuse to let this get in our way.” He said firmly, pulling you into a hug.

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REQUESTS OPEN by ask or message!

I love feedback so please let me know what you think. :)

[poppibranchlover]

Nine Lives, One Fight - The Final Chapter: Part 34

The story: Deep in the forest of Troll Town, there lies a mysterious tiny purple mushroom that has a secret magical ability. King Peppy calls this mushroom forbidden for all Trolls to go near it. One day, while Branch is out in the woods doing his survival research studying, he encounters it and, not knowing it is a regular mushroom, decides to harvest it and bring it home. But in the next morning, its magic effects transform him into a small blue cat! After being sent to the animal pound, his girlfriend, Poppy, finds him and decides to adopt him, although not recognizing it is Branch. Desperate to finish his research project due for a special event invented by Poppy, Branch is forced to learn how to behave like a pet cat and must figure out what caused him to become one.

You already seen what had happened in Part 33. Now get ready for the grand finale of the story - Part 34!:

A day has passed since Branch had transformed back into a Troll, and life begins to resume normally for him. For now, he was busy doing his usual job; collecting sticks around the village to bring back to his bunker. As he walked past the crowd of Trolls, he greeted them, and they all greeted back, happy to see their beloved village grump doing his business once again.

Branch took a deep breath to admire the fresh air. “Ahhh…what a good day to walk around the village again,” he said, smiling happily.

As he walked, a familiar building with a smiling carrot caught his eye. He took a few moments to recognize it. One glance confirmed that it was Tommy’s carrot restaurant!

Branch gazed down at the restaurant door and saw his best friend cradling a bunch of carrots and surrounded by three baby rabbits. “Wiggles!” he called out to him by his bunny nickname.

Tommy saw him approaching the restaurant and waved back at him “Hi, Branch!” he said.

Branch ran and gave him a big hug. “Hey, man!” he said, shaking hands with him. “I came to see what you’re doing! So your restaurant’s back in business, huh?” He looked up at his newly-reopened carrot restaurant. It was even better than before!

“Yes, of course!” Tommy said, nodding. “I got my job back after the spell reverted, and since I want a place for my kids to stay, I let them in here, all warm and cozy.”

He started petting the little bunnies near his feet. Branch knelt down and patted their tiny heads as well. “It’s so good to see you guys again!” he said. “Now they can live with you forever since you raised them!”

“Yeah, you’re darn truly right!” Tommy agreed in his new accent. He bumped fists with Branch, like they did before when they were animals.

It was a warm and fuzzy moment to be with his best friend he had ever known, until Branch began to think what he wanted to say to him. He sighed as his hands clutched tightly to his bundle of sticks. “You know, after all we’ve been through, I just want to ask you regarding our friendship,” he told Tommy. “Is this okay for you that I’ll be your best friend?”

Tommy laughed. “Oh, you stop being so hard on yourself, kid. You’re being naïve! Times have changed, and we go to our usual business! But of course, we’re friends to the end!” 

He put his hand to Branch’s shoulder, smiling. Touched, he smiled back as well, glad to accept this Troll as one of his friends.

A baby rabbit tried reaching for a carrot in Tommy’s arms. “Uh, I could use some help here, kid!” he said.

Branch took a carrot from Tommy’s hand and offered it to the little rabbit, and the critter began chewing on it.

“So, how long you’ve started a business of your own?” Branch asked as he fed the baby rabbit.

“I don’t know...a couple years,” Tommy replied, matching his tone. “I didn’t want to hide in a burrow waiting for my life to change. After you found that magical mushroom, you did helped me along the way.”

“Hmmm, yeah,” Branch said, looking over at Tommy. “For your information, you’ve handled this farming business better than I can with my survival skills.”

“Well, you’d be surprised,” Tommy said with a smile. “I guess we know that we’re different yet we can change our own perspectives. It’s nature.”

“Really, huh?” Branch asked, raising his eyebrow. “I never thought of that.” After the baby rabbit finished eating up her carrot, she jumped into his arms.

“Ah, kid. You’re selling yourself short.” Tommy patted his tiny rabbits and offers them more carrots to eat. Then he turned to Branch and began to say what came out in his mind. “I think that you’d make a perfect invention for Poppy’s next Show-and-Tell party tomorrow.”

“What?” Branch asked, shocked. His jaw dropped when he heard these words. “But I thought it’s just one party few days ago! She’s making another one…for me?”

“According to her, it’s dedicated to you!” Tommy said, patting him on the back. “After the incident where we became cat and bunny, I was hoping the Queen would give you another chance to get on stage!”

Branch just stood there, still shocked at these exciting news. He couldn’t believe Poppy is setting up another Show-and-Tell festival, and it would be made specially for him! When he was a cat at the time the festival began, it was a complete disaster. Now that Branch is a Troll again, the party will be a success once more if he had come up there.

“Besides, she did put you back in the list,” Tommy added. “So what do you say, kid? Ready to go up on stage for one last time?”

Branch quickly began to think for a moment, rubbing his chin with his finger. “Hmmmm…so Poppy is making another Show-and-Tell festival and it will be specially made for me,” he said with resolve. “What should I be inventing?”

As a survivalist, Branch is a great expert on inventions. Soon, another brilliant idea had struck him, and his eyes widened with determination. 

“Oooh! I know what I can make!” he said proudly. “This time, my effort will be perfect!”

Then he leaned in closer to Tommy and whispered his idea incoherently into his ear. All he was whispering was, “I will make a…and it will be different than before…”

Tommy leaned forward, attempting to listen to every word he was saying. “Huh? What you saying, kid? What is your idea?”

He didn’t understand what this idea had meant, but Branch will be sure that this will settle the entire festival quite well.

Moments later, Branch went back home, with the idea still in his head. With sheer confidence, he whipped out his tools and began to build his newest invention.

Hammering, painting and using as many tools as he can, Branch worked so hard this evening to come up with an invention that will truly surprise the Trolls in the festival. For the finishing touches, he covered his face with a welding mask and used a blowtorch to weld some pieces of metal together.

After he was done, Branch took a few moments to admire his work. He stretched his measuring tape to ensure the perfect size of his invention. He was certain that he will be declared first place as soon as he finished some preparations.

“I won’t let you down this time, Poppy,” he said under his breath, ready for the main event tomorrow.

The next day, the second Show-and-Tell festival had finally begun. After the rest of the Trolls signed up to go on stage already presented their projects, it was now Branch’s turn. Poppy skipped her way to the stage and held up her microphone to address the crowd.

“Drumroll please…” she announced as drums played in the corner. “Here comes the final contestant! Our beloved village grump…Branch!”

As the Trolls cheered, Branch pushed a giant object that is covered with a big red cloth on the stage.

Poppy is surprised at this enormous material he brought out. “Whoa! And it looks like Branch’s project is something HUGE!!!” she gushed. “Something very different entirely!”

Branch took out the red cover, revealing a giant metallic machine! “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you…my homemade Fruit-Presser 2.0!” he announced confidently.

The Trolls cheered excitedly as Branch proceeded to explain about his invention. “As you all know, I made this invention as a test to ensure proper nutrition, so any of you can use it whatever you want!”

He pointed out to every part of the Fruit-Presser, explaining how it works. Then he pulled out a cup from his hair. “With this, you can make delicious fruit punches, juices, smoothies and milkshakes out of this machine! Let’s test this baby out!”

Branch started pouring some berries into a funnel and pushed a button on the machine. It began to churn as the berries got sucked into the hole of the funnel. As the fruits were compressed by the mechanical supports of the Fruit-Presser, liquid began to spin around in the tank. Poppy and the audience watched as fruity liquid dispensed out of the machine and poured into Branch’s cup. He pushed a button to turn it off, and started drinking the fruit juice.

After he finished testing his project out, Branch turned to the crowd. “Don’t just sit there and eat lots of sugar,” he said. “Just try it in my heavily-fortified bunker for free!”

Poppy took a moment to admire his project. Then, with an excited squeal, she stepped forward. “Would you look at that? Branch’s speech and project is 10 out of 10 excellent! He is declared a winner!”

Branch was astonished. “What?! Really?!” he asked. “I AM A WINNER?!” He couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing.

Poppy smiled at him and held up a shiny gold medal. “Congratulations, Branch!” she announced. “You deserve a 1st place medal and you get to be the co-leader of Troll Village from now on!”

Branch gasped, overwhelmed with intense excitement. He took the medal from Poppy’s hands and placed it around his neck. “YEAH!!! WOOO-HOOOOO!!!” he cheered happily, accepting the reward while jumping up and pumping the air with a victory fist.

Poppy held his hands, grinning. “We are all so proud of you, Branch!” she told him.

Just then, everyone starts to cheer very loud that Branch is now a first place winner in the Show-and-Tell festival. “YAAAAAAY!!! HOORAY FOR BRANCH AND HIS AMAZING FRUIT-PRESSER PROJECT!!!”

Behind the rest of the crowd, Poppy’s friends are also cheering for him. Even King Peppy and Tommy are joining the fun as well.

“WOO-HOO!!! Way to go, kid!” Tommy whooped from the audience as he congratulated his best friend’s greatest effort.

Branch looked around at the crowd, beaming proudly at them as his medal in his neck shone bright. He had never been this proud before, and now all of the Trolls are cheering for him, recognizing him as their newest hero.

They begin to chant out his name over and over. “BRANCH!!! BRANCH!!! BRANCH!!! BRANCH!!! BRANCH!!!”

Looking over at the happy crowd of chanting Trolls, Branch is even more happier than ever. He was glad that, despite of the magical trouble that had happened, everyone is safely happy and are glad to see that his invention is a complete success.

“It’s good to be me again!” Branch whispered happily to himself.

Later that day, Poppy and Branch went out to their favorite meadow to have a picnic again. This time, they gathered here in celebration of Branch’s Fruit-Presser project becoming a huge success during the Show-and-Tell festival’s next attempt.

Poppy gazed up at the beautiful white clouds in the blue sky, while Branch sat on a beach chair, wearing sunglasses and reading his favorite SuperTroll comic book. They were having a great time together as they ate their snacks, drinking up their favorite drinks and sharing moments with each other.

Poppy sighed happily as she looked up at the fluffy clouds. “I really like open skies!” she said, grinning.

Branch raised his sunglasses up to his hair to look clearly at her. “Yeah, me too,” he replied. “Never would’ve really thought it was fun to set up our picnic here once again.” Then he went back to reading his comic book, posing it like a tanning mirror.

Poppy smiled at him. Then she picked up a scrapbook that laid beside the picnic basket and approached him. “I have something for you,” she told him, nudging his arm. “I should have given it to you before, but I thought you might like this!”

Branch took out his sunglasses and placed his book down on the ground. He got up from the chair and stood up with his arms crossed. “Hah! Okay, my Queen,” he said smugly, displaying a sarcastic look on his face. “What is it you want to show me?”

Poppy held the book up for him to see, opening it to reveal the first page. It depicted miniature felt cutouts of herself and Branch as a cat on a field landscape. The title on top of the picture read:

The Adventures of MR. TICKLE

“TA-DAH!!!” Poppy cried, smiling widely. “A book dedicated to taking care of you as a cat! What do you think?” She stared at Branch, waiting for his reaction.

He looked embarrassed, grabbing his chest and groaning. His cheeks instantly blushed purple. “Ugh. Why did you make this?” he asked feebly.

Poppy grinned as she turned the pages of her new scrapbook. All of the pages she made were about Branch’s adventures that happened a few days ago. “Isn’t this so adorable?” she squealed, admiring every single one of them. “I made this scrapbook to recount my experience on adopting you!” She pointed out to some of them. “Look, see how I fed you milk and cat food, throwing a ball of yarn for you to catch, tickling your furry tummy and tugging at my dress! Look how cute you are!”

Branch interrupted her reading, looking more embarrassed at every second of it. “Uh…that sounds cute, Poppy,” he said nervously. “But I felt like these were all about my adventures.”

“Really?”

“Yeah...” Branch rolled his eyes, trying to forget what he saw, but he couldn’t resist admiring his girlfriend’s creativity. “On second thought, I…probably wanted to save it as a souvenir just in case.”

“That’s great, Branch!” Poppy said. “At least you will remember everything we did together!”

“Uh-huh.” Branch nodded, agreeing with her. “After all, it is one of your hardcore-mastered scrapbooks!” He couldn’t help but smile.

Poppy placed her scrapbook inside her hair as an idea struck in her mind. “Maybe someday, I’ll adopt a real pet of my own when I visit the animal shelter again!” she told him. “I was hoping it was another cat as cute as you!”

Branch looked doubtful. “You sure?” he said to her. “If you’re gonna keep a pet, you will need to take care of it responsibly. Give it a good hygiene, play with it inside and out, cuddle it and don’t let it run away to the dangerous outdoors…like I once did before.” He looked away, remembering his days when he was a little cat.

Poppy patted him on his back to comfort him. “Don’t worry, Branch!” she said. “Unlike you, it will always stay with me forever!”

“I hope so,” Branch whispered, looking away from her with shame. “And I hope you will do a great job as the queen throughout these years.”

Poppy listened carefully to his sentence. But it suddenly hit her and she gasped, realizing what the problem could be. “Are you okay? I never realized that you feel embarrassed about my new scrapbook.”

Branch shook his head, looking upset. “Uh, no. It’s not about your scrapbook,” he insisted. He hesitated a moment longer before blurting “It’s just I’m feeling tired.”

Poppy grabbed his hands and settled him down onto the picnic blanket. “Oh, come on. You’re doing great!” She quickly thought of a solution that would cheer him up and pulled out their love blanket she used to transform him back into a Troll. “I know what you need.”

Branch moved next to her and let Poppy wrap the blanket tightly around his shoulders.

“I know what you’re doing, Poppy!” he said teasingly.

“Just hold still,” Poppy said with a giggle as she finished wrapping the blanket around him. It wasn’t long before he yawned and laid down on her lap, falling asleep.

Poppy smiled; this comfy blanket had always known best. Without another thought, she placed her hand on Branch’s side and caressed him, just like when she used to pet him in cat form. As she stroked him, he began to purr softly. “Puuuurrrrrr…”

When Poppy heard the sound, she stopped caressing the blanket and stared at him. “Uh, Branch. Are you purring?” she asked, confused as if maybe the spell that turned him into a cat is half-broken.

Branch sat up and opened one eye. “What? No,” he replied. “What does it look like I’m purring? I’m just snoring.” He shrugged to show no problem in him at all. He was still the same old Branch as always.

Poppy ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek. She didn’t know what to make of his silly sleeping noises anyway, so she just went with a general compliment. “That’s okay! I prefer you snoring anyway!”

“Well, that’s just very simple in my opinion.” Branch stood up and playfully swished his blanket like a superhero cape. “I always made the best impressions!”

He giggled, and Poppy did the same. Then he drew closer to her and said in a sweet voice, “Meow!”

Poppy gasped at the sound of his voice, suddenly worried.

But then, Branch spoke to her in a normal voice, “Just kidding!”

He and Poppy both laugh out with joy, relieved that it was only one of the blue Troll’s mischievous pranks. She reached out her arms and hugged him. “Not bad for an adorable sarcastic mopi!” she cried out with a laugh. Then she kissed him on his cheek again. That is what Branch usually loved best about his experiences with her. He always loved to be there for her all the time.

“I love you, my sweet kitty!” Poppy said, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Grinning, Branch wrapped his arms around her, returning her embrace. He was so proud that he is able to spend a lot of time with her every day. If it weren’t for him sticking along with Poppy and listening to her warnings, he would still be a cat, but he was glad to be his regular self again. The two Trolls both looked lovingly at each other as the sun began to set, making the meadow around them even more beautiful than ever. Poppy couldn’t resist her smile as she brought her lips closer to Branch’s to kiss him under the sunlight.

Deep in his heart, Branch knew this is exactly where he was meant to be...totally free from his nine lives.

Yep, I’m actually crying. I can’t believe it’s the end! 😭😭😭

I passed a few months on that fanfiction, and I wanted to say thank you to everyone for reading this story. I remember the day I saw Eva’s drawing of Branch as a cat in a posting thread about Trolls as animals, and taking inspiration from that drawing, I never thought I can try making a story about it. And if I did work on this fanfic, it’s not only because I made up this idea for myself, it’s my self-motivation that made me do it because I would like to make the result of this story to look cute and amazing for everyone to see.

So thank you, and enjoy the end of Nine Lives, One Fight. It’s been a long and fantastic journey to make this story with any of you reblogging and liking all the parts. You are all great people! 🥰😊

[let-it-raines]

Life Meant Nothing Until You Used My Toothbrush (1/1)

If asked, Emma Swan would easily tell anyone that Killian Jones is her best friend. He makes her laugh, knows all of her favorites movies, and most importantly, he knows how she takes her coffee. Then again, he does own the diner she frequents every single day. 

But they’re just friends. That’s all. It doesn’t matter how many people in the quirky small town of Storybrooke think otherwise. They are not going to date. That’d just be weird, especially considering Killian is her brother’s best friend too. It’s simply not happening. 

Emma is very obviously a liar. 

Rating: Mature

A/N: Not a single one of my stories for @csseptembersunshine is the original fic that I planned on sharing, but inspiration strikes in weird ways! Inspiration for this little thing came from the hope for fall to be here and the obligatory watching of Gilmore Girls (obviously ignoring season seven and the revival lol) when that happens ❤️

Thanks to @captainsjedi for being a sweetheart and organizing this event!

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells ​@tiganasummertree @xellewoods @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven  @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl  @searchingwardrobes @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @shireness-says

-/-

“Coffee.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I need coffee.”

“You need to drink three bottles of water and eat about sixteen servings of fruit.”

Emma taps her coffee cup and holds it up in the air. “I need another serving of coffee.”

Killian narrows his eyes at her, the blue disappearing into black slits that are full of trepidation and suspicion as he looks between her face and her coffee mug. She knows that she’s already had two cups – two very large cups – but she spent all last night talking Ruby through her breakup with Victor and eating copious amounts of ice cream so that she desperately needs coffee before she walks across the street and has to sit in her office all day staring at a computer screen as she writes an article for the Storybrooke paper on the paving of the high school parking lot.

Riveting.

But actually boring, and she needs to be on a caffeine high right now so that she can at least make it for the next few hours before she inevitably crashes looking up the density and lifespan of whatever type of concrete they’re using.

It was debated at the town council meeting, but she can’t remember. She usually zones out of those too.

Top-notch reporting from her.

“Fine,” Killian grumbles in his usual cheery-morning tone of voice before he takes the cup out of her hand. For someone who owns a diner and is literally tasked with making charming small talk all day, he doesn’t really turn on the charms for her. Then again, why in the world would he turn on the charms for his best friend’s younger sister? That would just be weird. “But I’m giving you a takeout bag with a salad and some fruit, and I want you to check in with me to show me just how much water you’ve been drinking, aye?”

“You are ridiculous.”

He doesn’t respond to that, taking her mug away, and it’s then that she realizes that he’s taking her mug away instead of refilling it with coffee. The asshole is trying to get away without giving her another cup.

“Hey,” Emma calls out, getting up from her table and following him behind the counter, “what are you doing with my mug?”

“I’m getting you – oh bloody hell,” Killian mutters when he sees her behind the counter, and he immediately puts the mug down on the back counter and places his hands on her hips to walk her out back to the open side of the restaurant. “How many times do we have to talk about the fact that you are not allowed behind the counter?”

“I think around seventeen times, and then I’ll have it memorized.”

Killian rolls his eyes, but there’s a playful smile tugging on his lips that has Emma marking a mental checkmark in her win column of this little back and forth game that they play.

“I’m getting you a to-go cup because I know you have to be at work soon, and I wouldn’t want you to be late. It is such a far walk, you know?”

“It’s like I’m running a marathon every time.”

“Exactly.” Killian places his hand on the small of her back and moves her forward. “Go sit down, and I’m going to bring everything out to you before I have to take care of my actual paying customers.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve told you I would pay.”

“You don’t get to pay, love. It’s your own special discount.”

Emma shrugs her shoulders before pressing up on her toes and kissing Killian’s cheek. “Thanks, Jones. I want – ”

“Hazelnut creamer, I know.”

When Emma leaves the diner ten minutes later, to-go cup and brown paper bag full of healthy food in hand, she steps out the door and into the crisp fall air that has her taking a deep breath and taking it all in. Fall in Storybrooke is a magical time. Even thinking that, she knows that it’s cheesy, but she doesn’t care. There have been so many horrible things that have happened in her life, rough childhood and bad breakups that have left emotional scars that might as well be tattooed on her skin, and if she wants to be someone who simply loves when the leaves begin to change to hues of gold and red that fall to the ground so that there’s a constant crunching under her boots when she walks, she can.

And Storybrooke, well, Storybrooke is special.

It took her leaving for college and living in Boston for four years to realize that, but she did realize it.

Eventually.

This place is full of quirky characters, ones that she still can’t quite believe are real (some of them seem so much like fairytale characters that she has to blink a few times to make sure this is actually real life) and little ticks and oddities that probably exist in every small town in America but feel like they’re entirely unique to this town. Seriously, they have a festival for everything. Last week there was one because the nuns found their lost cat.

Weird but surprisingly fun.

In the middle of November, there’s a festival that celebrates the founding of the town, and there’s all kinds of booths full of games and a big firepit with a s’mores bar and all of the spiked hot chocolate in the world. Okay, so the spiked hot chocolate isn’t for everyone, but Granny makes hot chocolate and Killian brings his flask of rum and pours a heavy dosage into her mug.

Bless him for providing her with all of her liquid needs.

Wait. That sounds weird, but it’s true.

And that festival is just in the middle of the Halloween bash and then Thanksgiving, which always seems to be a town-wide event instead of something they do with all of their individual families. That’s a blessing in disguise because her family involves her brother, his wife Mary Margaret, Mary Margaret’s dad, and Mary Margaret’s evil stepmother.

Emma shudders at just the thought of that, but she pushes it down, takes a deep breath, and walks across the street to go to the newspaper’s office so that she can write the damn article on the concrete.

What a life.

-/-

“Em,” David asks from the kitchen in his loft, “do you want a beer?”

“Do you have any wine?”

“It’s the first day of October, which means we’re celebrating Oktoberfest, which means beer.”

“Technically,” Killian starts from his spot on the couch next to her, “they start Oktoberfest in September, so we’re about ten days late to the party.”

“Shut up, Quiz-master Jones. You don’t have to be a know-it-all.”

“Boys,” Mary Margaret scolds, “be nice.”

“Oh no,” Ruby sighs, very literally popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth, “let them keep going at it. I think it would be pretty hot to have them punch each other.”

Emma throws up in her mouth a little, poking a finger at her tongue to let everyone know it, before shifting her legs on the couch so that she can prop her feet up in Killian’s lap and let him massage her through her socks. She doesn’t even have to ask. She simply wiggles her toes and voila – he knows.

Like magic.

“First of all, that is my brother you’re talking about there.”

“Adopted brother so no actual genetic relationship,” Ruby corrects.

“Still brother,” Emma whines with disgust as Killian’s magical fingers start working at the arches of her foot. “And Killian is basically a brother and – ow shit,” she groans, propping herself up to look at Killian where he absolutely just murdered her foot. “What the hell was that for?”

His jaw ticks for a moment before a shit-eating grin graces his face. “Sorry? It was an accident.”

“You are a liar.”

“I most certainly am not, Swan.”

“Yeah, yeah you are.”

“I am not,” he teases, waggling his brows across his forehead, “and I’ll have you know that I do look hot while throwing punches. Or at least that’s what the woman who hit on me at the gym last week said.”

Her stomach churns, probably in want of the Chinese food that is currently on the way to the loft, and she ignores it in favor of kicking her foot out at Killian only for him to hold her still.

“When did you get time to go to the gym? You are literally always in the diner.”

“I go in the mornings.”

“The mornings? You open at five.”

“I go to the gym at four.”

“Huh,” Emma sighs, glancing over at him. “So there are secretly really buff muscles under all of that plaid?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Her eyes slant at him, wondering what exactly would be the best way for her to answer his question, and there’s a witty retort on her tongue when Ruby speaks.

“Hell, you two need to get a room and bang all of this sexual tension out before we all implode.”

“Talk about gross,” David groans, bottles of beer clanking in his hands that he passes over to everyone. She kind of wants to press the cold glass to her cheeks to cool them down since they’re absolutely flaming right now at the thought of all of that. “Killian sleeping with my sister is a far grosser thought than you saying it would be attractive for me and Killian to punch each other.”

“And just what about that is gross, David?” Emma questions, tugging her feet out of Killian’s lap since he’s stopped massaging them. “I am almost twenty-eight years old. I have sex.”

“With who?”

“Okay, now that’s getting a little personal,” Killian says in between several loud coughs. “We are all sexual human beings who think sex is great, but we don’t have to know who is sleeping with who. Unless, of course, we’re talking about Dave and Mary Margaret since they are obviously sleeping with each other.”

David mock gasps, so dramatic that Emma has to laugh underneath her breath and tuck her cheek into the couch cushions at her brother’s actions.

“Who told you that? I thought it was a secret.”

“I think the wedding rings gave it away, mate.”

“Damn,” Mary Margaret curses as she twists off the top to her beer and takes a sip, “we’ve been foiled. I knew we couldn’t keep the secret for that long.”

“You guys are disgustingly cute, and I hate it,” Ruby groans, sinking further into the recliner and pulling the gray knitted blanket up further over her legs. “Love is dumb, and you guys are dumb for finding it and being all happy.”

“Still upset about Victor then, love?” Killian question as he reaches over and takes Emma’s beer out of her hands and opens it for her since the damn twist top didn’t seem to be working. “He’s a certified asshole, and you deserve better.”

“Oh, believe me, I know that,” Ruby says with all of the confidence in the world, something the girl is never lacking. “It was just really, really  good sex.”

“But not a love connection?”

“No,” she sighs, “not a love connection. It’s…I mean, it’s dumb, you know? I have never been someone who needed a relationship. I still don’t. But there’s something nice about the idea of having someone around who I can talk to about things, honestly talk about things, but then also give me mind-blowing orgasms. Is that too much to ask?”

Emma tilts her beer back so that the cool liquid hits her lips. “Depends. Have you met men in general? They’re kind of lacking in those departments.”

“Okay,” David sighs, clapping his hands together, “let’s move on. What game do you guys want to play tonight?”

“Shit happens,” Emma and Killian both say at once, each of them reaching forward to high five the other. “You picked last time, and it is my birthday month so it’s my turn.”

“You don’t even like your birthday.”

“I do when I can use it to my advantage like this.”

“Fine,” David sighs, walking over to the television stand and opening up the cabinet where they keep the games. “We’ll play Shit Happens.”

-/-

October passes in a quick breath of chilled Maine air that has Emma layering up on sweaters and her far too many jackets and a couple of flannel shirts that she’s pretty sure she borrowed from Killian and never gave back.

(They’re super comfortable and soft and smell like cinnamon, so she’s definitely not giving them back now.)

Work is busy, as always, and Emma continues to spend her days sitting at a desk writing up silly articles about what’s going on in town and very occasionally something of substance like the economic ramifications of a new gas station on the outskirts of the town line. One day maybe she’ll find something different to write, one of those articles that ends up in the New Yorker or the Wall Street Journal and everyone becomes angry with it and sends her hate mail over it, but for now, she’s good with this. It’s relaxing to be able to slam her fingers against a keyboard and create something from nothing when she was very much used to having nothing growing up in foster homes throughout the state of Maine.

Well, it was only three, but it always felt like more.

And then there was sweet Ruth Nolan who adopted her at seventeen, right before Emma’s eighteenth birthday, because she wanted Emma to know that she was never too old to find a family and to be able to keep that family forever. The forever part always felt like a cruel joke when Ruth unexpectedly passed two years later, but Emma will always have David. She’s never been surer of anything than that.

But she’s also sure of the fact that on days when the articles simply aren’t writing themselves from her office, she can walk across the street and around the town square to go into Killian’s diner and bug him while he’s in the middle of the late lunch rush. She used to do this with Granny at her diner, but then Granny very legitimately kicked her out for causing too many distractions with Ruby because they’d talk too much, and she’s only allowed to come back during non-busy times.

(Emma always goes whenever.)

Right now, though, she can’t focus on this preview article for this year’s town-wide haunted house for Halloween, so she closes down her laptop and picks it up before telling Sydney that she’s going out to do research. He knows that it’s a lie. He can always very clearly see her across the street sitting at a barstool, but he never says anything unless she misses her deadline.

She never misses her deadline.

The bell over the door rings when she walks in, and Killian doesn’t even acknowledge her presence. She knows it’s because he most likely saw her walking across the street, and when she settles down at her usual barstool – it might as well have her name monogrammed on it – he quickly slides her a mug of coffee and a bear claw.

“Hi, love,” Killian greets, leaning over the counter to brush his lips over the top of her head. “The internet is a bit slow right now, or so I’ve been very rudely told by the group of teenagers who should be in school, so you might have a bit of trouble working.”

“It’s fine. I was having trouble working and was coming over her to tease you about your never-ending collection of flannel shirts and baseball hats anyways.”

Killian rolls his eyes before taking off the Yankees cap that he has on, his inky black hair a mess underneath, and reaching over to plop it down on top of her head and over her ponytail. “Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll come chat with you to distract you. I’ve got to cook a few more hamburgers.”

“Ooh, make me one.”

“As you wish.”

In her fifteen minutes of waiting for Killian to finish working, not that he ever finishes working, she picks up her bear claw and takes a bite before swiveling around on her barstool and looking out the windows to see what’s going on out on Main Street. It’s nothing much, just the usual foot traffic, but then she notices that each and every storefront has already started construction on their Haunted House contributions, even if some of them are more cutesy than anything else.

Every storefront except this one.

And that’s when she realizes that Killian is trying to get out of participating again like the big spoil sport that he is.

“Jones,” she calls out, walking behind the counter and past the double doors that lead to his kitchen.

“Swan, you cannot be back here. We’ve discussed this.”

She has no idea when he’s ever going to learn that she doesn’t follow the rules. “Why haven’t you started decorating for the Haunted House thing? Halloween is in three days. It’s going to take time.”

There’s a sizzle as he flips over a burger, his back turned to her so that she can’t see his face, but she knows him well enough to know that his brows are likely pinched together in that annoyed way that has to cause him migraines.

“You know I’m not participating. It’s a waste of time and money, and I have no idea how I’d even decorate.”

One of those figurative lightbulbs goes off in Emma’s head, and suddenly she has an idea that’s going to waste all of her time and completely and totally distract her from the work that she’s supposed to be doing.

“Meet me at the craft store when you close.”

“The craft store will be closed and no.”

“I have ways to keep it open,” Emma sighs, walking forward so that she can see Killian’s face and the pinched brows that are, indeed, there. “C’mon, Jones. Please. Don’t be a dud. Participate in Halloween. Do it for me. You gave me an IOU for my birthday present on Saturday. This is my IOU. I’m cashing it in.”

“No,” Killian repeats, grabbing onto her hips and walking her backward out of the kitchen. “I will not meet you at the craft store after hours.”

-/-

“I cannot believe I’m meeting you here,” Killian scowls.

He hasn’t even made it to her yet. He’s still walking down the sidewalk adjusting the sleeves on his black leather jacket, and he’s already in a mood. Not that she blames him. She’s not exactly known as being happy-go-lucky herself, but when it comes to Halloween, everything changes.

It’s only the best holiday of the year.

(Though, she does love Christmas. The decorations and the snow and everything – magical.)

“KJ, we all know that you listen to what I say every single time.”

“Only because you bug me until I do listen.”

“True,” Emma sighs as Killian steps up to her and wraps his arm around her shoulder and tugs her close while a gust of cold wind blows through. “Did you bring your credit card?”

“Unfortunately. How are we even going to get in there?”

Emma digs into her jacket pocket and pulls out a set of keys. “I got the key from Anna, and she told me to ring everything we buy up at the register.”

“Of course. What else could I possibly expect from you? You can convince anyone to do anything.”

She drags Killian inside the store, her mental list already ticking off when she sees ribbons and felt paper and every imaginable size of those bags of creepy googly eyes, and even though she can tell Killian is dragging his feet, he follows along, grabbing the things off of the shelves that she can’t reach and putting them into one of the two shopping carts that they have. It’s a bit excessive, sure, and Killian doesn’t even know about all of the stuff she already bought from the pop-up Halloween store that’s currently residing in the one usually empty storefront on Main Street.

He would probably have an aneurism if he knew about all of the stuff that is currently being placed outside of his diner while they’re in here.

It’s a good thing that they’re such close friends.

There’s a box of giant paper pumpkins that would be perfect to hang from the ceiling (Killian insisted that the place stay family-friendly since he still needs to keep business), but it’s on the shelf that she just can’t reach. She could probably get it if she jumped, but then everything would knock over and she’d have to pay Anna back for all of the stuff she broke.

Writers for a small-town newspaper do not make that much money.

“Hold on, love,” Killian grunts, and before she knows it he’s pressing into her back so that the heat of his body and the overwhelming smell of the food he’s been cooking all day consumes her while he reaches up to grab the box, his fingers reaching those few needed inches above her so that he can pull down the pumpkins. “There you go.”

“T-thanks,” Emma stutters out all the while she tries to catch her breath and figure out why her body is on edge, goosebumps rising along her flesh and the slightest flickering of heat pooling between her thighs.

What the hell?

“So, what exactly are we doing, Swan?” Killian questions, snapping her out of the spiral she was just about to go down. “I’m not exactly understanding all of the things that I’m currently spending my life savings on.”

Emma smiles, the goosebumps staying for excitement now. “You’ll see.”

Killian continues to ask her questions while she rings up all of their items, swiping his credit card through the machine, and he keeps on drilling her on what her plan is as they walk back to his diner. The groan that passes through his lips when he sees the boxes outside makes Emma throw her head back and laugh, and she prepares herself for the night of complaining that she’s about to be in for.

Totally worth it. The only decorations she has at her apartment are two poorly carved pumpkins sitting outside of her front door, so she’s very much compensating by making Killian’s diner look like Halloween threw up in here.

“Isn’t it going to terrify my customers to have skeletons eating among them?”

“It wouldn’t terrify me.”

Emma shrugs her shoulders and starts buttoning up another one of Killian’s shirts over a skeleton. She promised not to use any of his favorite ones, and he’s sent her back upstairs to his apartment above the diner seven times because the shirt she has picked out is apparently a favorite. They all look the same to her, but then again, he says that about all of her jeans and boots even if they are most definitely different.

No two pair of jeans are the same unfortunately.

“It will probably terrify Roland.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“You’re so kind,” Killian huffs from his spot up on the ladder as he hangs all sorts of paper pumpkins and bats and witches’ hats from the ceiling. “Did you finish your work assignment?”

“I did indeed. Did you finish filling the stomachs of half of the people in Storybrooke?”

“I did. I even had some of Granny’s regular customers tonight.”

“No,” Emma gasps, moving from one skeleton to the next so that she can dress up the little guy that’s going to be sitting at the table by the door. “The traitors.”

“I know. I almost thought I was going to get shot serving them. Wasn’t sure if the price of the turkey melts would cover my funeral.”

“It’s still a possibility. There could be a sniper waiting outside for me to move away from you so that he can strike.” Killian hums in response, obviously not ready or willing to play along with this hypothetical situation where he’s going to get murdered, so she figures she might as well ask a question she’s been wondering for awhile now. “Hey, Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“How’d you even come to own this diner? Like, I have known you for ten years, and you’ve always just kind of…been here. But you don’t really seem like the type to own a small-town restaurant.”

“Well,” Killian sighs, clicking his tongue and climbing down his ladder to move it a few feet to the right, “that’s a bit of a long story.”

Emma motions to the half-decorated space around them. “I’ve got the time.”

“My mum,” he starts, his accent thicker than usual which is really saying something, “died when I was a teenager, you know, and my dad was so MIA that the courts couldn’t even find him. So, Liam and I were sent to live here with our aunt, who was in the country because her husband was American, and they owned this place. They live in Portland now to be closer to my cousins and their children, and when I decided not to enlist in the Navy like Liam, they gave me the business.”

“They gave an eighteen-year-old a business?”

“A bunch of dumbasses, right?”

Emma barks out a laugh and walks toward Killian to hand him the thread of fishing line that he forgot to take up the ladder with him. “I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything because it was your family but…”

“Yeah, I know, Swan. Bloody insane. Of course, Owen trained me for about a year before they left for good, so I wasn’t entirely unprepared.”

“You said this is what you wanted to do since you didn’t enlist in the Navy?” Emma questions, handing him a witch’s hat to hang. His ceiling is about to look like the weirdest Halloween store in history. “Why only the two options?”

“Lack of funds. I wanted to go to school to do pre-law, which seems batshit crazy to me now.” He holds up a bat at this, a cheeky grin on his face. “But I screwed around too much in school after Mum’s death and couldn’t get a scholarship anywhere. I didn’t want to take out a loan either because swimming in debt seemed so awful.”

“Huh,” Emma breathes out, ducking underneath the ladder because she’s fearless and doesn’t believe in superstitions before she walks behind the counter to open the glass covering where Killian keeps his donuts. “How did I not know this about you? I feel like I know everything about you.”

“I’m a very complex man, love. It takes more than annoying the hell out of me every day while I’m working to get to fully know me.”

“You love it,” she teases as she takes a giant bite out of a chocolate frosted donut.

Killian stares down at her for a few long seconds, his gaze intense, but then he’s turning around so that all she can see is the defined, stubbled line of his jaw that is so sharp it could cut the ice that’s in his freezer.

“Perhaps I do.”

Six hours and ten beers between the two of them later, Emma and Killian have finished decorating his diner so that skeletons are spread throughout the room eating fake food made to look like eyeballs and brain and every other gross thing that they could think of. Killian was stubborn as hell about it, especially when she insisted that he let her cover the front door with brown paper painted to look like a mouth so that it’s like customers are entering the belly of a monster, but she wore him down.

Or maybe the beers did.

Probably a combination of both.

And instead of walking the very long walk of five minutes back to her apartment, Emma falls asleep curled up on Killian’s bed after insisting that they’re both adults and can share a bed. It’s small, tight quarters that he’s obviously not used to sharing with other people, but when she wakes up in the morning, there’s a solid line of space between the two of them as Killian sleeps on his back next to her, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

He’s peaceful when he sleeps, which is a bit of an odd thing to think but something she’s thinking nonetheless, and his hair is an absolute mess, which is kind of endearing. That thought has her heart beating a little bit more quickly than usual, and she ignores it in favor of groggily walking downstairs to the diner to fix herself a cup of coffee (Killian doesn’t keep any in his apartment) only to come face to face with a diner full of people eating their breakfast.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

“Killian,” she yells as she runs back up the stairs, slamming the door shut behind her so hard that the frame shakes.

“Bloody hell, darling,” he groans before rolling over in bed. “We were up until three in the morning and had far too much to drink. Why are you yelling?”

“Because I just went downstairs.”

Killian quirks a brow, propping himself up on his elbows. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because that’s where you keep your coffee.”

“But you’re wearing naught by one of my t-shirts since you insisted that you couldn’t sleep in your jeans.”

“I couldn’t,” she huffs, adrenaline running through her. “They’re really tight. Why are there people downstairs?”

Killian runs his hand over his face, brushing the hair out of his face and running his hands over his darkened scruff. “Because I own a diner where people like to eat breakfast.”

“But you’re not down there.” Emma’s whine sounds like one of a petulant child, but she can’t help herself. “How can it be open when you’re not down there?”

“I had Will open it when I knew we’d be up late. You really went down there wearing that?”

“Yes,” she yells, slapping her hands against her thighs. “Do you not see the problem with this?”

He shrugs. “Not really. You’ve got a hell of a set of legs, Swan. I don’t think there’s a shame in anyone seeing it.”

“Killian,” Emma starts, beginning to pace in the room, “this entire town thinks that we’re sleeping together. It’s something that I ignore because of…reasons, but it’s true. Not that we’re sleeping together, obviously, but that people think that. Do you know what’s going to happen now that forty people have seen me stumbling down your stairs at eight in the morning on a Saturday wearing your t-shirt?”

It takes ten seconds for the lightbulb to switch on in Killian’s head, and he falls back onto the mattress when it does, covering his face with his hands. “Fuck. Your brother is going to kill me.”

“Why would David kill you?”

“Because he has described about a million different ways that he’s going to murder me if I ever started dating you.”

“You have got to be kidding me. I’m a grown ass woman. He can’t control who I date.”

“He was protecting you.”

“From who? You? You’re Killian. You’re harmless.”

“I have a pretty fucked up dating history. I’m not exactly harmless.”

“Yeah, well, we all have one of those. We can’t all be like David in our happy-go-lucky marriages. I can’t believe he told you that you had to stay away from me. I mean…wait – ”

She stops her rant and pauses her pacing, staring down at Killian. “Why did David feel the need to tell you to stay away from me?”

Killian scratches behind his ear, his tongue clicking. “I may have…when you came home from college, I may have fancied you. But that was six years ago. It was simply a fascination, and I’d just had my heart broken by Milah.”

Did her heart just drop to her stomach?

Did it?

Why would it?

It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. All she knows is that she is about to have to defuse the town rumor mill, kill her brother, and then relentlessly tease Killian about having a crush on her.

Yeah, that’s what she’s going to do. She’s definitely not focusing on the fact that Killian had feelings for her at one point in time. A crush sounds much less serious.

What has even happened to her life in these past twenty-four hours?

-/-

Killian makes her a donut shaped like a jack-o-lantern on Halloween.

And he wears a fireman’s helmet instead of his usual baseball cap as some kind of attempt to participate in the holiday.

Her stomach flutters at the sight of him smiling at her with that crooked smile of his.

She chalks it up to all of the candy she’s eaten.

(It’s not that.)

Eighteen different people congratulate her on her relationship with Killian.

She gives up trying to explain it after the seventh person.

-/-

It goes on like that for the next two weeks.

She wakes up, goes to work, gets teased by people on the street talking about how they always knew that she and Killian would get together, and then she complains about it to Killian as he supplies her with coffee and cinnamon rolls that are probably going to have her giving up her jeans for leggings if she doesn’t get back into the gym sometime soon.

The cinnamon rolls are worth it. Killian makes them like no other.

Killian is also particularly cocky about the whole town thinking that they’re sleeping together. After his initial (dumb) fears of David being mad (he was, which is still ridiculous) and then the resulting explanation, Killian has taken this whole thing in stride. He openly flirts with her when she’s eating, getting into her space and winking and making innuendos that could make even Ruby blush.

That’s saying something.

They also make her blush, but that’s beside the fact.

It’s not real. The flirting isn’t real.

Once, when she’s helping Killian out by scraping gum off of the bottom of his tables, he tells her that he usually enjoys doing more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back, and her entire body breaks out in goosebumps over the deep tone of his voice and the inclination of what it would be like to have Killian pressing into her, fucking her into the mattress with his forearms braced over her and his lips running across her jaw and…

Those are not thoughts someone who is scrapping gum off of the bottom of the table should have.

But they keep coming whenever Killian’s hands start fumbling with her fingers when they’re lounging in his apartment watching TV. He hates all of her shows, is always complaining about how the plot is too contrived and there’s no need for so much drama, and yet, he’s always waiting for her to watch the next episode. She looks forward to it as well, and it’s definitely so that she can see what happens after the cliffhanger and not because of how it feels to be tucked into Killian’s side as his fingers play with the tips of her hair, his breath warm on her skin when he speaks so that he can mimic the characters.

And they honestly, truly keep coming when she can’t sleep one night, decides she should probably go to the gym to work off all of the food that she’s stress eating, and sees Killian running on the treadmill with no shirt on.

She was right when she joked about him secretly having muscles underneath all of that plaid and black leather.

When the hell did Emma decide that she’s attracted to Killian?

Obviously, she’s noticed his looks before. He’s got that typical attractive guy look with the unruly dark hair that’s always perfectly ruffled and blue eyes that even the ocean can’t replicate. Seriously. His eyes are insane. And then there’s the sharp jawline under the stubble and the white smile that comes with it. Plus the…nope.

No.

She cannot go there.

She’s gone there.

Emma is attracted to Killian, and she’d like to partake in enjoyable activities with him on his back.

More plainly, she’d like to fuck him.

But it’s also…it’s more than that. So much more. But sex is easier for her to think about, easier for her to understand, especially when she can push away the underlying emotions that come with wanting to have sex with her best friend.

She’s not sure that she really wants to push those emotions away, though, even if she’s terrified.

“Swan,” Killian calls, knocking his knuckles against her head so that she has to look up at him and the obnoxious grin stretched across his lips, “are you listening to me?”

“Absolutely I am,” she lies.

He sighs, sitting down next to her in the empty chair at her table and kicking at her foot. “Tell me what I just asked you.”

“Um,” Emma stutters, “if you’re as devilishly handsome today as you were yesterday?”

Killian winks. “As much as I like where your head is, because I am devilishly handsome every day, I was asking if you wanted to go to the festival with me? It’s dead in here, so I think I can close down early so we can head out.”

“But you hate the Founder’s Day Festival. You call it a waste of time.”

“I call every festival a waste of time unless it involves sailing.”

“Well, this does not at all involve sailing, so why do you want to go?”

“Because,” Killian starts as he drums his fingers on the table, “you like it, and I want to go with you.”

That familiar heat flickers across her cheeks, the staccato beating of her heart picking up, and she bites the inside of her cheek so hard that the taste of iron fills her mouth.

“Only if you buy me a box of fried oreos.”

“Those are entirely unhealthy, love.”

“Says the man who serves me unhealthy food every day.”

Killian clicks his tongue. “Ah, ah, ah. That helps my business. This is different.”

“You’re buying me oreos. Grab your coat, KJ. I have money to waste on the weird trinkets that Mary Margaret’s students have made and are selling to fund some kind of new project for the school that inevitably involves a garden that we’ll be forced to eat vegetables from later.”

“My vegetable supplier will be so upset.”

The two of them put their coats on. Emma tugs her beanie on over her ears to keep the mid-November chill from nipping at her ears, and Killian does the same, exchanging his baseball cap for a knit one. His doesn’t have a giant poof ball at the top like hers does, but he’d probably look ridiculous wearing one anyways.

Or not. He could pull off a lot of things.

(She wants to pull a lot of things off of him.)

Killian holds his arm out for her to take, and she does, looping her forearm through and walking by his side as they step out onto Main Street. Gone is the open road for cars to drive by and for people to walk across to get from business to business. Instead, it’s lined with booths, each of them identical except for the items that are being sold inside, and white bulb lights hang from storefront to storefront to add a mythical element of light to the place besides the lampposts that stand ten feet apart. She shouldn’t be so impressed by some simple strings of lights, but she is.

She’s long ago learned that the little things in life are the important things, and that’s exactly how she feels about string lights.

And the fried oreos that Killian buys her despite the fact that he complains about them the entire time.

Seriously. The entire time. It’s almost like this wasn’t his idea to come out here or something.

Once they get some of Granny’s hot chocolate, though, Killian stops complaining so much. It helps that he spikes them with his rum, something she’s thankful for, and even with his penchant for healthy eating, Killian does always cave for the s’mores bar.

Chocolate and marshmallows and graham crackers oh my!

“Is your brother staring daggers at us or is that just me?”

“Hmm?”

Killian nods his head over to where David and Mary Margaret are sitting at a picnic table with Graham and Ruby, who seem to be getting along pretty well. They’ve been on a few dates this month. Good. Ruby deserves that kind of happiness. Graham is much less of an asshole than Whale.

And David is definitely staring Killian down from across the fire pit, and that’s a more terrifying than she thought it would be. Something about the shadows of the light from the fire making David look evil.

Emma knocks her knee into Killian’s. “What’s that about? Did you drink the last beer or something when you guys hung out last night?”

“God, no. I don’t have a death wish.”

“Is he still irrationally mad over the entire town thinking that I was getting some good, good loving from you?”

Killian tilts his head back as he barks out a laugh and lifts his arm to pull her into his side so that he can rest his cheek against the top of her head. “Just to be clear, it would actually be good loving, but no,” he sighs, “we talked that out, as you know. It was bloody annoying, but David finally realized that you and I are adults who can make our own decisions. In fact, I’m pretty sure he gave me permission to sleep with you.”

“Shut up.”

“No, no, I’m serious. He is on board with me making it so that you can barely walk the next day.”

“Stop,” Emma groans, burying her face in Killian’s jacket, breathing in the leather. “I don’t want to talk about me having sex in a context where David is somehow also thinking about it. That’d be like me telling you Liam has – ”

“Okay,” Killian quips, cutting her off. His hand squeezes her shoulder before rubbing up and down and bringing her more warmth than the fire pit. “We have to talk about something else. I don’t like that you’ve brought my brother into it.”

“Exactly.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and Killian’s hand never stops rubbing up and down her arm. People keep passing by, laughter on their lips and warm drinks in their hands, and all Emma can think about is how this night is one of those nights where everything just seems perfect.

Perfect doesn’t exist, but this comes close.

Her ass is starting to hurt from sitting on this wooden bench.

And she’s feeling a little fearless.

“Hey, KJ?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about it?”

Scruff scratches across her forehead. “Think about what?”

“Us,” Emma whispers, terrified of the words that she’s saying but unable to stop herself. “I mean, every single person in the town thinks that we’re good enough together that they think we actually are together. Have you ever thought about it?”

His hand stills, but it’s only for a second. “When I said that I was attracted to you when you moved back to town, that wasn’t a lie. It’s still not. But the timing never seemed right. You’d just broken up with Neal, and I wanted to give you some space. Then, you started dating Walsh, and as much as I hated that asshole, you seemed happy.”

“He was an asshole. You should have said something.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to break your heart.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“I would have.” Killian’s thumb caresses her chin, a gentle touch that has shivers running down her spine, before he’s tilting her head up so that she can see the blue of his eyes under dark lashes. “The timing was always off. I stand by that. I also stand by the fact that I am incredibly attracted to you, always, and that you are quite possibly my best friend in the world.”

“Even over David?”

“Aye,” he laughs, his eyes crinkling in the way she loves. “Even over David.”

The way she leans up at the same time that Killian leans down seems like the most natural movement in the world, and their lips press tentatively together as emotion builds in the back of her throat. This isn’t something that she has imagined too much, not really, but there have definitely been times, especially lately, when she did let her mind wander to questions of what kissing Killian would be like. Would it be weird? Would his lips feel soft? Would all of the innuendos and swaggering confidence live up to their reputation?

Would it make her happy?

That last one is the most important one, Emma thinks, and it’s what has her smiling into the kiss in a way that doesn’t really allow them to get any traction. But Killian is smiling too, something she can taste and feel as viscerally as the feeling of his thumb still on her chin and his hand tangling into her hair under her beanie. The only part of him that her hands can find are his sides, but that’s fine because then she’s opening up to him and letting his lips truly capture hers in all of their softness.

He tastes like a combination of hot chocolate and rum, possibly the smallest bit of s’mores, and it’s the most delicious kiss of her life.

Is this even real life?

Emma gets her answer when Killian’s tongue caresses hers, warm and wet and achingly wonderful as her skin breaks out in goosebumps, and he captures her sigh while she captures his moan.

Unfortunately, though, neither of them can capture the sound of David’s voice booming over them.

“If you’re going to do that, you might as well get a room so I don’t have to watch.”

Her laugh bursts out of her, and Emma pulls back from Killian only to bury her forehead in his shoulder while his hand rubs up and down her back. She can feel his chest vibrating with his own laughter.

“See, Swan, I told you he was on board.”

That only makes her laugh harder, the butterflies fluttering in her stomach getting jostled around so much that she physically aches from all of the emotions that she’s feeling right now.

(She kissed Killian.)

“It’s still weird.”

“Aye,” Killian chuckles, and when she finally pulls back to look at him, there’s a serious glint to the blue of his eyes.

“What?”

His smile is soft, his eyes crinkled, and all she really wants to do is kiss him again.

“Do you want to get a room? I happen to have one nearby.”

“I think I’d like to be properly courted first, thank you very much.” Killian’s smile falls for the briefest of moments, but she picks up on it and presses forward to peck his lips, one, two, three times to bring it back. “I’m kidding. If you don’t take me back to your apartment and have your way with me right now, I’m going to make you decorate the diner for every single holiday. Even the weird ones.”

“Well, if you put it like that...”

They get up from the bench then, and Emma didn’t realize just how much her legs were trembling until she stands up. Her step falters, but Killian steadies her, much like always, and the two of them grab their things before hurrying back in the direction of the diner to the sound of a wolf whistle that she knows is from Ruby.

The whole town knows that she’s about to have sex, but screw them. She’s the one getting screwed.

Killian, ever the gentleman even though she knows that he’s not one half of the time, places his hand on the small of her back, electricity sparking through his fingers and over onto her skin, and leads her up the back staircase that leads to his apartment.

She’s been in here a million times and knows every inch of this place from the dark wood cabinets in the kitchen to the plush brown couch that has two blue and gray striped pillows on it as well as a white throw blankets that Killian only owns because she insisted. He’s not much for decorating, preferring to keep life simple, but there are small trinkets and books scattered throughout the place that make it so undeniably him that her heart aches.

And maybe it beats a little faster when she sees the plaid comforter covering his bed, the one that’s barely big enough for two people.

A million times, and yet none of them have ever felt quite like this.

“Nice place you got here,” Emma jokes, a bit of her nervousness coming through with the shakiness of her voice. She tries to cover it by turning around and looping her arms around the back of Killian’s neck so that their bodies are pressed together again, arousal humming through her, but the quirk of his brow tells her that he can tell that she’s a bit on edge.

“We don’t have to do anything, love.” He says this with his hands on her hips, placed right above the waistband of her jeans but under her sweater so that his fingers are touching skin, and his touch is warmer than the fire outside. “Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to.”

There’s a gentle nodding of her head. “I want it to.”

Without any hesitation, Killian swipes his tongue into her mouth, a much headier kiss than the one outside, and all she can really think about is the fact that Killian Jones is a damn good kisser. There have been so many thoughts running rampant, so many questions and worries, but she doesn’t feel any of them as he tugs her closer and runs his hands up her sides so that his fingers are messing with the soft material of her bra and his lips can’t stop moving over hers.

She can feel him over every inch of her, this firm, warm body that has the arousal continuing to grow and is causing her nipples to firm, to ache, and for someone who wasn’t even sure that she actually wanted Killian until about two weeks ago, Emma is desperately aching for him now.

Funny how things like that work.

Killian seems to feel the same way as he carefully backs her across the apartment, familiar creaks of the floorboard happening with each step, and she can feel him through the material of his jeans in a way that has her thighs beginning to quiver.

Her calves hit the end of his bed, and Killian’s lips move from her mouth to her neck while his hands start tugging at her clothes, urging her jacket to come off as she pushes the beanie off of his head so that his hair comes out as a wild, dark mess. It’s only now that she realizes that her hat was lost somewhere along the way.

She doesn’t care.

Emma doesn’t care about anything but the way that Killian is making her feel, and he is making her feel absolutely everything. Clothes are shed, mostly easily, but there is a moment when Killian is trying to get her boots off where he can’t and murmurs something along the lines of bloody buggering fuck  that as her laughing so hard that tears start coming out of her eyes. The laughter quickly stops when Killian lips run over her breast, the soft mouth and scratchy scruff causing sensations that have the hair on her arms standing on edge.

Though, none of that compares to when he aligns himself with her and begins to stroke her with his fingers while the hair on his chest rubs against hers and his teeth bite at her earlobe. She can do nothing but hold on, her nails leaving half-moon tattoos in the skin of his back as her thighs tremble with want and the coil in her belly continues to tighten.

“Do you like that, Swan?”

“Yes,” she moans, biting into his shoulder when his thumb brushes over her clit. It’s gentle, not too rough, and later she’s most definitely going to commend him on his ability to follow instructions. Emma didn’t know that he actually knew how to listen since he never seems to.

That’s a lie.

Killian is always listening to her, always giving her the upmost attention, and she has no idea how she managed to be this oblivious for this long.

None of that matters. They’re here now.

Killian’s voice is gritty as he whispers dirty things into her ear, things that he used to say to her in a joking tone but that he says very seriously now, but it’s difficult for her to respond with the way arousal is pulsing hotly between her legs and her heart is beating so quickly that it may very well overpower itself.

Killian pulls away from her when she thinks she’s about to fall apart, and as much as she wants to yell at him for that, she can’t when she feels his cock pressing up against her – heavy and warm and thick. It’s all too much for her, especially when he rolls his hips against hers as his mouth sloppily moves over hers to kiss her. But then he slides inside, the drag of him delicious, and there’s something about all of this that feels so undeniably right.

It’s the two of them.

They’re right.

Her imagination never got quite this far. It had its moments, these quick little thoughts, but they can’t compare to how he fucks her down into the mattress in a way that’s a perfect combination of being gentle and harsh all the while his lips keep moving over hers so that the only sounds in the room are the wet slapping of skin together and the cacophony of groans and sighs that are escaping the two of them.

“Killian,” Emma whines as he rolls his hips into hers and she hooks her right leg around his back to pull him in deeper. “Just like that. Please.”

“Anything you want if you keep saying my name like that.”

If she were a betting woman, she’d bet that there’s a smirk gracing his lips, but she can’t see with the way that his face is buried in her shoulder, his labored breathing now the only sound coming out of him. But that may also be her.

That’s definitely her.

Her orgasm steals the little breath that she has left and spreads from her toes up her body, at least for a few seconds, and it has been a long damn time since she felt something like that. She wants to feel it again, to feel all of this again – the way that pleasure bursts and curls and explodes across the two of them – but then Killian is muttering quite possibly the filthiest thing she has ever heard in her ear and pulsing within her so that she knows that he’s fallen too.

This is going in the record books for the best Founder’s Day Festival of all time.

No contest.

After, her body feels warm all over and impossibly sated, but Killian still hands her one of his flannel shirts, one that he knows that she loves to steal, and she puts it on without bothering to button it up. There’s definitely going to be a round two sometime soon, but right now she just wants to bask in the glory of it all.

Having sex with someone you care about so damn much seems to have its perks.

Killian’s nose brushes her cheek when he gets back into bed and pulls her into his side before he pulls the covers over them, and Emma is soothed by the sound of his heartbeat in his chest. It’s quick, but solid, and it’s good to know that he was just as affected by all of this as she was.

“So, do you think I’ve effectively made some good, good loving to you that your brother would approve of?”

Emma groans into his chest, and her fingers trail through the thick patch of hair there. “If you ever say something like that again then all of this stops.”

“My lips are sealed then.”

“Good,” Emma sighs, looping her leg around Killian’s while his hand starts tracing words into her back through the flannel. “KJ?”

“Hmm?”

“How long exactly have you had feelings for me?”

His fingers stop their movement, but only for a moment, and then she feels the gentle press of lips to the crown of her head. “I think that’s a rather complex question, love.”

“Give it a go.”

“Aye,” he chuckles. “I think after Milah left me, I wasn’t too sure that I would ever been keen on love again. My romance with hers felt like one of those that could never be replicated, you know? And then you came whirling back into town with such a fire in your eyes that I’d never seen before. Bloody brilliant, I tell you. And at first, you were nothing more than David’s little sister who I happened to be attracted to. But then you started bugging me every day at the diner, coming in and drinking too much coffee and eating too many sweets, and one day I just realized…huh, I actually like this woman. You’ve been my best friend for a long damn time, even if we still have a hell of a lot to learn about each other, but you’ve kind of made me believe in those romances again where I feel like, you know, my life meant nothing until you used my toothbrush.”

Well, damn. She thought she was the one here who was able to weave words like that. But only in her writing after approximately ten edits. Killian can just do it so naturally, and the smile that’s on her face is so large that it hurts.

“To be fair, the one time that I used your toothbrush was an accident. Ours were the same brand, and that trip to New York had been insane.” She tilts her head up at the sound of Killian’s laugh, and she can now see the blue under his half-lidded eyes. They’re so beautiful. He’s so beautiful. “But yeah, I know exactly what you mean even if I took a little bit more time to come around to it all.”

Killian smiles as he tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’ve been more than fine waiting.”

-/-

Killian lets Will open the diner again the next day, and this time Emma doesn’t wander downstairs for coffee. She stays holed up in bed with Killian, the two of them laughing and talking and making each other sigh out the other’s name with the way that their bodies move together.

It’s the first time Killian ever completely misses a day of work.

He starts decorating the diner for holidays after that. Not small ones like President’s Day or Flag Day or anything like that, but in December there’s a tree wrapped in lights and ornaments and in March everything is decked out in green to go along with the special on beer. Granted, a lot of it is her doing and Killian definitely still complains, but the both of them know that his grumpy act is really just an act.

He’s more than happy to do silly things to make her happy.

That includes proposing to her the next year on Halloween as Emma wrestles with a pair of sheets that she’s trying (and failing) to make look like a ghost.

She says yes but only if she’s guaranteed free burgers and fries for life. Plus, her own toothbrush. Oh, and coffee. Always coffee.

It’s a tough negotiation, but Killian agrees.

[kilyra]

Need To Let Go

Tony Stark (Iron Man, MCU) One-Shot

A/N:  I jumped in on @tilltheendwilliwrite ‘s 6K Follower Challenge with a Tony fic inspired by “Innocent” by Our Lady Peace. It’s my first attempt at Tony, so I’m a bit nervous - hopefully I captured his voice!

You are struggling after a mission involving casualties, and Tony steps in to talk.

Warnings: Language (Effbomb) - NO SPOILERS, for anything. I kept everything vague and it makes sense for this to take place after The Avengers, but before Iron Man 3...or actually maybe after Iron Man 3? Hmm. Definitely before Age of Ultron though!

Keeping an eye on the TV playing above the bar, you poured yourself another drink. You weren't sure which drink you were on, but you didn't bother putting the bottle back anymore.

Blurry images of you and others on the team splashed across the screen as speculative captions scrolled underneath. The newscasters spoke like they were presenting new facts, but were just finding more insulting ways to question or repeat what everyone already knew.

There was another attack on the city. Some of the team now known as the Avengers were on site to thwart it, but there were casualties.

Taking another swig of the burning liquid, you watched footage of you dodging an energy bolt fired by one of the creatures. The bolt hit a car behind you.

The car wasn't empty.

Your stomach rolled as you set the glass down on the bar with a dull thud. With any luck, the fire of the drink would at least counter the sinking feeling that got worse each time you saw the footage.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., turn off that garbage.” Tony's commanding voice came from behind you.

“Of course, sir.” The television blipped out.

Although you hadn't heard him come into the lounge, you were more startled by the screen going blank than by his sudden presence.

Huffing out a sigh, you took another drink.

“You trying to single-handedly drink me dry here, L/n?” Leaning on the bar, Tony settled onto the stool next to you.

His dark, perfectly shaped goatee and lightly mussed hair managed to make him look put together even in his sweatpants. Brimming with his usual confidence, his dark eyes seemed to glitter as he tilted his head at you.

Dropping your eyes down to your glass, you put your entire focus on it. Staring hard, you ran your thumb across the condensation along the bottom half of your glass. The ice cubes were long since melted, but the glass still hadn't warmed up all these drinks later. They must have been going faster than you thought.

“Huh. I didn't realize your hearing was damaged. Should we get the doctors back here? Or maybe I can just work on a hearing aid. You know, I could probably get you some spy-tech level hearing if you want.”

“Stop. Just go away.”

Facing forward on his stool, Tony's eyes drifted over the many bottles sitting behind the bar. “I'm not going to do that. You might not have heard, but I technically own this building, so that means I can go wherever I want.”

Sometimes it was impossible to tell what was arrogance and what was joking. But as irritation flooded your veins, you didn't care. “Just leave me alone.”

He was utterly unfazed by your snarl. “Mm, no. No, I'm not going to do that either.”

Reaching behind the bar, he grabbed a bowl of some sort of colourful dried fruit and nut mix. Turning to face you, he slid the bowl within your reach as he grabbed a handful. You refused to look up from your fingers as you traced around the rim of your glass.

Staring you down as he popped a few pieces in his mouth, he nudged the bowl closer to you.

“Seriously, Tony,” you warned.

“Tell you what. I'll leave you alone if you let me take this and you take this,” he said as he plucked the glass out of your hand and shoved the bowl in its place.

“And you let me say what I came in here to say.” Finishing, he propped his elbow on the bar as he watched you.

Taking your glass away fanned your irritation into quiet anger. It didn't matter that the bottle was still sitting next to you. All you could picture was punching that smug face and taking your drink back.

Your hand balled tightly, and it took all your effort to keep it on the bar.

Gritting your teeth, you shoved the bowl out of your way and clasped both hands over the empty spot where your glass had been. "I'm not hungry. And why the hell do you have food stashed there anyhow? Who hides little caches of food everywhere like that?"

Shrugging lightly, he threw another piece in his mouth. “I get snacky. But you should be hungry, I don't think you've eaten since yesterday. Of course, to you, it might all be one day since you're not really sleeping either."

“You're spying on me now?”

Not even trying to cover it, he nodded. “Sure. I'm concerned.”

“You're concerned? About my sleeping habits? So you're an arrogant asshole and a hypocrite. Got it.”

His eyebrows lifted for a moment before lightly creasing together. “Excuse me? How does that make me a hypocrite?”

Feeling the tension seize the muscles down your arms, you just wanted to let the wave of anger pass. But the walls were closing in and the anger was clawing at the insides of your chest, desperate to get out. Pressing your fingers against your temple, you realized your hands were shaking slightly. “Because you should get your shit together before getting on my case.”

“Okay, again...I'm concerned...not getting on your case. And second, I'm fine.”

Twisting suddenly, you threw your shoulder back to face him square on. “Fine? Really? So if I were to talk to Pepper, she’d tell me you sleep like a baby, right?”

Frowning, his eyes darted away from yours. “Well no, because I'm not a baby. I'm a man. She'd tell you I sleep like a man.”

“Only you don't. You think no one notices you spend all your time in the lab? And I wonder why it is you don't sleep,” you said in a low, biting tone. Your pulse was racing so hard your head throbbed. Muted colours pulsated around the edge of your vision.

“Here's the thing, we're not talking about me right now. And, I really need you to eat something.”

Slapping the bowl away from his outstretched fingers, you sent it flying towards the lounge in a spray of nuts and fruit.

“I'm not fucking hungry and I don't want any fucking peanuts!”

As it loudly bounced on the floor, the muscles in Tony's cheeks flexed from his tightly clenched jaw. Turning away from you, he looked back towards the wall of alcohol as he swallowed heavily. Not once did he glance towards the lounge that was now littered with his food stash.

“So if that's all,” you growled as you reached for your glass.

Tony snatched your wrist as he continued to look forward. When he spoke, his voice was eerily calm and controlled. “No. That's not all. I never got to say what I came in here to say yet. That was part of the deal, remember?”

Blinking slowly, he finally turned back to face you with his hand gripping your wrist. There was something in his hard stare that forced everything inside you to flip. Although your heart still hammered against your chest, the reason was a blur. Fear? Regret?

His nostrils flared and he let go of you, but his eyes never left yours. Finally, you looked away.

“Well? What is it then?” The words were tough, but the tone had no fire.

“It's not your fault,” he said firmly but gently.

Letting out a sudden exhale, your eyes snapped back to his. Inwardly, your unsteadiness grew, and it felt like you had just been slapped. Your lips curled into a sneer. “Excuse me?”

“I see you, Y/n. Ever since that mission, you've been carrying around all this guilt, but it's not your fault.” His deep brown eyes seemed to be full of genuine concern as he bluntly laid out his observation.

A lump rose in your throat and you bitterly choked it back down.

“Did you not see? The people...the family...in that car? If I had kept the fight contained to the evacuated street, that car wouldn't have been vaporized. It's my fault tha-"

“Your fault?” Tony's voice was sharp as he cut you off. Your sentence died with a glare.

Getting up from the stool, he spread his hands apart. “Was it your fault that the city was under attack? Because that's why people died, Y/n. And if you hadn't been there, more people would have died.”

Tears started to sting and you quickly rubbed your eyes, refusing to let them fall. “So what? I'm just innocent?”

“Of murder? Yes. Yes, you absolutely are innocent of that.”

Sliding off your stool, you stood toe to toe to him. “Do you feel innocent, Tony? Is that why you stopped all Stark weapon production in one fell swoop? Is that why you sleep like such a man?”

His nostrils flared again as his gaze moved to the side. “That's different.”

“Is it? Business is business. It's not like you were out there killing people.”

"No, it's not...I..." Stopping with a frustrated grunt, he rubbed his fingers along his forehead.

His eyebrows lifted with a look of determination before he tried again. “See, it is different. I don't sleep because I'm working. That's it. And I stopped producing weapons because I knew I could do better. Stark could stand for something better.”

"Better than contributing to the death of innocent people?"

“You being there didn't contribute to the death of that family. What happened to them was horrible, but it wasn't your fault.”

Somehow, it felt like a slap each time he told you that and it twisted your gut almost as harshly as seeing the video. When you spoke, you had to hiss it out past your teeth. “Stop saying that.”

Squeezing his eyes closed, he let out a long sigh and dropped his arms. “Fine. Look, I don't sleep at night because I can't. And it's not exactly guilt that keeps me up, but yeah, okay fine, there's stuff I need to deal with. And there's a lot I need to let go. Happy?”

The lump threatened to reform as your moment of righteous anger dissolved. But you desperately wanted to hold onto that anger since it was the only thing keeping everything else at bay. “Happy that I'm being hounded by a hypocrite? Not particularly. We're done.”

Your voice betrayed you as a waver ran through your words.

Sidestepping from between the stools, you were ready to storm out, but he quickly blocked your path. His hand carefully found your arm.

“Don't think of me as a hypocrite, then. Think of me as your ghost from Christmas future. You carry on like this, holding on to this stuff, and you're going to be just like me. I mean, not the billionaire playboy with all the best toys on the block part, of course.”

He paused long enough to gauge your reaction. There was none. He carried on, letting his faint grin drop.

“But the rest of it. I don't sleep...I can't...sleep. Do you have any idea how detrimental lack of sleep is on your brain functions? And I never stop long enough to realize I'm hungry, so Pepper has to practically force feed me. She's the one who insisted on all the snack food everywhere. And that's just the benign stuff. I could really dig into it if you wanted me to, but the only reason I haven't wasted away is Pepper's sheer stubbornness. I mean obviously, don't tell her that, but it's true.”

His thumb rubbed over your arm as he shot you a soft smile. But there was a deep sadness hiding behind it. “So when I say you need to let it go, you have to trust that I know what I'm talking about.”

Another wave crashed over you and you drew your lips into a tight line as your chin quivered. Dropping your gaze, you fought to keep control. You were not about to let yourself break down. “How? I don't...”

You made no attempt to pick your sentence back up.

Moving to stand beside you, Tony put his arm around your shoulders in a half hug as he started guiding you out of the lounge. “Clearly, I...I don't know either. But I'm pretty sure we can at least start with food and some sleep. Some real food.”

Your stomach was still tangled in knots and a rush of emotions still sat just at the back of your throat. But as he tucked you under his arm, the knots felt a little looser and it was a little easier to breathe.

And maybe you were a little hungry.

Looking back over at the lounge, you nodded to your mess. “Shouldn't I at least clean that up?”

Not slowing, Tony shrugged. “Nah. Hap'll get it. That's what I pay him for.”

As you tried to add his comment up, you wondered if your exhaustion was winning. But you were sure that wasn't right. “N-no it's not.”

Grinning, Tony shrugged again. Reaching the door, he held it open and gently guided you from the room with his hand on your back.

“Whatever. He'll do it anyhow.”

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries  @flower-two  @getlostinyourparadise   @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami   @natsukitakama

[artificialqueens]

Cruising for a bruising, Part 4 (Branjie) - Q-Tip & TheDane

Authors note: Hello everyone. Thank you so much for the comments, love and support on this story from Q-tip and I. We’re so grateful for all the feedback, and we’re having a blast writing it together!

Thank you to ArtificialMeggie and VeronicaSanders for betaing!

If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple

Vanjie shot off the stage as soon as he got the chance, grabbing a towel and wiping his hair down, the stage lights making him sweat, stomping over to the table, Brooke finally finally finally paying attention to him.

“Babe!” Brooke lit up the moment he saw him, Brooke always a bright and happy drinker, Vanjie noticing that Brooke was on his second bottle of beer.

“You finished with the meet and greet?”

“The meet and greet?”

Vanjie looked at the stranger who had just spoken, a tall blonde man who looked about 23. There was not an ounce of recognition in his eyes, and Vanjie bristled. Was he really pretending he didn’t know anything. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing a fan had done to get close to either of them, but Vanjie was onto him.

“Justin and I are just talking about the book I’m reading right now.” Brooke looked at the stranger, Justin, the other smiling and Brooke grabbed a beer for Vanjie, uncapping it and pushing it across the table, the bottle still somewhat cold.

Brooke read, and he read a lot. Old, weird books with wrinkled pages, the things never costing much more than a few bucks each so Brooke ‘wouldn’t feel bad about losing them’. In the beginning, Vanjie hadn’t understood how Brooke would curl up during rehearsals or grab for his bag in airports. There were so many things that were so much more fun than reading, and Vanjie had just put it down as one of Brooke’s idiosyncrasies, some of the weird shit he did just because he was Brooke.

Vanjie’s opinion on it had changed though, when he and Brooke had happened to be in New York at the same time, Vanjie coming in from Mexico with Alexis afterwards while Booke was on his way to Canada for a two week tour. Vanjie had changed his flights last moment, and while Brooke had been ecstatic that they had had the time together, he had also looked almost apologetic when he had told Vanjie he was meeting up with old friends. The friends had turned out to be Brooke’s old company, Vanjie suddenly spending his evening in a bar, feeling like a midget around 6’3 ballerinas who were all reminiscing about their time at Trockadero, all loudly discussing the books they were currently reading in between shows, on flights, and in practice.

Vanjie picked up Brooke’s book, quickly casting a glance at it, “Lord of the Flies” and a lush green jungle filling the cover.

“Is that that long ass movie you used your googly eyes to try and make me watch?”

Brooke laughed, and Vanjie felt a quick flush fill his cheeks, Brooke’s bright smile telling him instantly that he had put his foot in his mouth once again. “That was Lord of the Rings.”

“Same shit, different writer, right.” Vanjie grabbed his beer, taking a sip of it, the liquid tasting just as shitty as it always did, but it gave him something to do with his hands.

“Not really.” Brooke moved, and Vanjie scooched into the booth, Brooke putting his arm around him instantly. “Justin, this is Jose.” Brooke gestured with his bottle. “Jose, Justin, Justin Jose.”

“Hey.” Justin raised his beer in salute.

Vanjie was just about to speak up, when Brooke interrupted. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend? You’re just full of surprises Brock.” Justin smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye that Vanjie couldn’t place. “The mystery truly does grow.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Brooke took a sip of his beer, and Vanjie hated the smirk that was tucked away on Brooke’s face.

“So what do you think of the portrayal of Piggy in the movie?”

“I don’t know.” Vanjie felt Brooke’s arm pull him even closer, Brooke’s hand sneaking under his t-shirt and settling on his chest. “Haven’t watched it yet.”

“You haven’t? But it’s a classic!”

“I tried with this one.” Brooke gestured to Vanjie with his head. “He fell asleep before the opening credits had rolled.”

“No! You have to watch it, I think I have it somewhere on my computer. It’s film histor-”

Vanjie had meant to pay attention, he really had, but it was hard to focus when he didn’t even know what they were talking about, Brooke’s voice warm and sure, his laugh making his entire chest rumble as words spilled from him, his thumb slowly rubbing back and forth, back and forth on Vanjie’s chest.

It seemed like the stranger, Justin, wasn’t actually a fan that was trying to take advantage, just someone Brooke had met and had an instant connection with, and if Vanjie was honest with himself, he had no idea what was worse.

/

“Yes!” Vanjie punched the air, excitement rushing through him as he had finally finally finally found the stupid movie Brooke had been talking about with his new best friend. “Brock!”

“Yes?” Brooke leaned out from the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth, his hair still wet from the shower he had taken while Vanjie had been cockblocked by the geo tracking on their Netflix account, the poor thing not having any idea what country they were actually in, Vanjie finally whipping out his wallet to buy it on Amazon.

“I found the movie! The Lord of the Flies, original edition baby!” Vanjie smiled brightly, flipping back the covers on Brooke’s side of the bed with a dramatic woosh. “Come sit your ass down, and enjoy the show.”

“You’d hate it, trust me. It’s nothing like the Notebook.” Brooke smiled , walking into their room, brush still in his mouth.

“But you really liked talking ‘bout it earlier.”

“With Justin?” Brooke looked confused for a split second. “Babe. I don’t mind that you haven’t watched it. Honestly.”

Vanjie looked up at Brooke, his heart sinking. “Are you sure?”

“We don’t have to have everything in common.” Brooke gave Vanjie a quick peck, his lips tasting like peppermint. “We love each other, right?”

“Right.”

/

“Morning.”

“Mmmh..”

“Don’t forget to take your pills.”

“Shit.”

Brooke turned over, grabbing the little orange container that was sitting on his nightstand. He swallowed them with a gulp of water from the bottle he had left there the night before.

“Thanks.”

Brooke laid back down, Vanjie crawling into his arms, sprawling himself over his chest. They were in their cabin, the morning sun shining through the doors to their balcony. Last night had gone by in a blur, the conversation with Justin so easy Brooke had talked and talked until because both he and Vanjie had been called back on stage, the evening ending with drinks for everyone and pizza after the finished rehearsals, their choreographer finally happy with them.

“No problem, bitch.”

It still felt a little weird to have Vanjie remind him to take his pills; it was intimate. Almost too intimate. It had been too much in the beginning, Brooke bristling whenever Vanjie reminded him that he had forgotten to take care of himself. Brooke had never needed anyone, had never allowed anyone to be close enough that they could help with something so private.  It had been uncomfortable to rely on someone else, the medication and his adult diagnosis of ADD almost too much to handle with the expectations of a relationship. Brooke had happily shared his diagnosis with his fans. Talking about it to them was easy, a joke or a poke easily falling from his lips in public.

In private Vanjie had been wonderful, the other man breaking down Brooke’s barriers as easily as he had everything else, navigating the trenches of Brooke’s mind with him, learning how to manage and what made him lose focus completely. Brooke had been panicked that two people with ADD, their symptoms manifesting so differently, would tear each other apart, but Vanjie had been nothing but patient, his diagnosis decades older than Brooke’s. While Brooke had been quiet in school, Vanjie had been even louder back then, a trouble maker who had managed to charm his way out of any serious problems. Vanjie had told Brooke stories of getting kicked out of the library, of skipping school and road trips to the beach in half borrowed cars, of how he never had any idea of what was going on in his public school in Tampa, but Vanjie’s ADD had been caught, and caught early, Vanjie’s routine of medication as simple to him as brushing his teeth and taking a piss, while Brooke still struggled with remembering every single day.

“Can I have my phone?” Brooke ran his palm over Vanjie’s back, gently scratching him in just the way he knew Vanjie liked. Vanjie had his own iPhone X in hand, scrolling away on Twitter. Brooke’s favorite was mornings like this, neither of them hung over or getting ready to jump on a plane.

“Mmh.” Vanjie reached out, unplugging it from the wall and handing it to Brooke, Brooke groaning when he saw the little red bubbles littering his screen. He tapped onto Instagram, instantly regretting it when the first thing he saw on his new picture was someone asking for vitamin D. Brooke snorted, scrolling through the comments that reigned from innocent “tropic like it’s hot”, to classics like “how about a good lei?” to the downright crazy, “Is @VanessaVanjie gonna deflower that ass later, and can we watch?”

“So which one is your fave?” Brooke looked up from his phone, Vanjie looking at him, an expectant smirk on his face, Vanjie clearly enjoying the entire situation way to much for his level of comfort. “‘Cause mine is ‘If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple’.” Vanjie snickered, looking at his screen again. “It’s keeping it real classy, don’t you think?”

Brooke bit his lip. “You’ve read all of them?”

“You really think my ADD ass would have stayed in bed if I hadn’t had premium entertainment?” Vanjie was laying with his head in his hand.

“This was a mistake.” Brooke groaned, covering his face, his phone hitting his forehead. “I’m going to delete the pic.”

“Uh, this one is good too babe, ‘Love the flowers, when can we see the tree trunk Papi?’” Vanjie cackled, his eyes flying over his screen, almost like he was reading.

“You’re being such a little shit.”

“You love me.” Vanjie moved, nearly kneeing Brooke in the crotch before Vanjie flopped down on his back, Vanjie settling down on Brooke’s chest, Brooke instantly securing Vanjie with a hand on his stomach, holding him tight. Sometimes Vanjie was like a toddler, happily climbing all over Brooke’s body without any regards for his own safety or the protection of Brooke’s balls.

“I do, but I don’t-”

Vanjie lifted his arm, his phone securely in his hand, the camera already open, Brooke spotting himself, morning hair and all. “Smile!”

Brooke had learned that if Vanjie’s phone was out, there was only one thing to do. Pose, and hope for the best. Vanjie posed too, his head turning for a quick peck, but Brooke wasn’t going to let him get away with this behavior. He knew Vanjie had probably planned a whole photo session, his boyfriend hoarding photos of them like a dragon did gold, but Brooke wasn’t in the mood. Not when Vanjie was being so wonderfully bratty.

Brooke grabbed Vanjie’s hair, deepening the kiss, holding him in place, forcing his mouth open with his tongue, Vanjie whimpering as Brooke bit into his lip and he smiled, finally feeling like he was regaining control of the situation, when Vanjie started laughing.

Brooke pulled back, the shit eating grin on Vanjie’s face frankly annoying. “What?”

“We’re live.” Vanjie shook his hand a little, and Brooke looked at the phone, really looked at the phone, for the first time.

“Shit!”

Brooke grabbed Vanjie’s hand, desperately trying to press the disconnect button, the clip of him grabbing Vanjie’s hair now all over the internet. /

“Have you finally fucked Brooke up?”

Vanjie looked up, her eyes catching A’keria’s in the mirror. They were all backstage, everyone getting ready for a day on deck, Atlantis hiring them to host several pool parties. They had all opted for caftans, the flowy fabrics meaning they didn’t have to tuck which was a form of torture in itself in the hot tropical weather. Vanjie was doing her eyebrows, the third layer of powder leaving two bright white circles on her face. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to play innocent.

“Cause she looks real mad.” A’keria pointed her brush to the other side of the room, Brooke sitting with Kameron and Cracker. “You have no idea why she’s brewing up a storm?” Brooke did actually look kinda mad, and she had been in their room, Brooke rolling off the bed and pacing around, clearly upset.

“No idea.” Vanjie touched her face, the powder pressed and ready. She knew she should probably feel bad about accidentally blasting Brooke, but it hadn’t been her intention. She had only wanted a bit of fun banter, maybe a peck and a cuddle, but then Brooke had kissed her like that, and Vanjie had forgotten everything. Her stomach was warm, curling in cruel delight and possession with the fact that she had managed to show everyone just how much Brooke belonged to her, even if the one she truly wanted to show hadn’t been watching. Vanjie grabbed her pencil, ready to draw in her eyebrows, when she was interrupted by Silky.

“No idea my big fat black ass. You know just what she did” Silky grabbed her phone from her makeup bag, A’keria lighting up at the mention of gossip coming her way. Silky quickly found the video, Vanjie briefly wondering how she managed when A’keria looked at Vanjie with a twist on her lips and delight in her eyes.

“She’s going in on that kiss huh?”

“Y’all just mad.” Vanjie snorted, hoping she could distract her friend.

“We ain’t the ones who’s mad boo.” A’keria laughed. “Brooke is handling that one all on her own.”

/

Vanjie was making her way across the room, when she felt Nina grab her elbow, the other queen looking at her with something almost like concern on her face. “So, are you okay?”

Vanjie felt taken by surprise, Nina rarely asking her how she was feeling. “Yeah.. Yeah, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? Because you don’t seem good.” Nina’s voice was low, and Vanjie felt a moment of true love for the friend she had gained from Drag Race, her quite compassion and discretion exactly what Vanjie needed, though she wasn’t going to accept, too unsure of her own feelings to share them with anyone.

“I’m good.”

“Fine.” Nina stood up again, clearly ready to leave Vanjie to her mood. “Just,” Nina touched Vanjie’s shoulder. “Know that you can always talk to me, okay?”

Vanjie nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thanks sis.”

/

Brooke looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting her bra. When Brooke had packed the outfit, it had seemed like a brilliant idea fitting the requirements from the cruise company perfectly, the purple chiffon light and flowy and while she did have to tuck, the regal elegance and how strong she felt in it absolutely outweighed the discomfort. She was in full face and hair, her chest bare, but she was still wearing her sweat pants, the pair slung low on her hips.

She had done her makeup, sitting with Kameron and Cracker. Cracker’s waterfall of a mouth always meant Brooke didn’t have to speak if she wasn’t in the mood, a gift she was more than happy to accept on that particular day. She still felt tingles of embarrassment run down her spine each time she thought of the accidental kiss that had ended up online. Normally Brooke didn’t mind. Had no complaints about a kiss or even a proper makeout session going online from dark club corners, their relationship a central part of what his fans loved about him, but this one was different. Brooke had been aggressive, the possessive, fun and playful part of their relationship their own, something private that was theirs alone.

Brooke grabbed her corset, getting ready to put it on. The process of fastening a corset was  a comfort in it’s simplicity, the constriction, the routine a way to center herself. Brooke loved it for the same reason she loved doing her makeup, the ritual of it straightforward and familiar. The next step however, was tucking, and she was once again confronted with the most embarrassing part of the day. She was half hard in her sweatpants, her dick fat with the memories from the morning, had been since the kiss, since that wonderful kiss. Annoyance and arousal and shame all simmering under her skin.

“Knock knock.”

Brooke turned around, worried she’d see Nina or Detox or even Raja, really anyone who would not only clock but also have no hesitation about teasing her mercilessly for her half aroused state. Instead, it was Vanjie, her boyfriend standing behind her, her face looking like an angel’s with a perfectly painted mug, her body bare except for the black pair of Marco Marco underwear that Brooke knew made her ass look like sin, the only thing falling from her lips the dumbest thing she could possibly say.

“… Did you just say knock knock out loud?”

“You have a problem with that?” Vanjie smiled, and Brooke realised Vanjie could sell her sand in the Sahara. Vanjie took a step forwards, her stuff set up besides Brooke’s at the very end of the long row of racks that had been provided for them. Brooke felt the itch again, the lust, the want, the need to finished what she had started, when she herself had stopped, but what her body so obviously craved, Brooke needing to be sure that Vanjie understood how much she cared for her. “Can I have my outfit?”

“Oh…” Brooke felt like she was pulled back to reality, surprised at Vanjie’s mundane question. “Yes. Yes of course.” Brooke grabbed Vanjie’s outfit, taking the hanger off the rack and handing it to the other. “Here.”

Brooke had expected Vanjie to leave, the two of them never getting ready together, but Vanjie was still there, looking up at her with a strange expression on her face.

“So…” Vanjie bit her lip, the sight beyond distracting, her bright white teeth burrowing into her red and full lips, her voice soft and quiet. “You done being mad?”

“I’m not mad.” Brooke knew she was lying the moment the words had left her lips, or at least leaving out parts of the truth, the arousal still swirling under her skin, making her irritable and annoyed, her entire body humming.

“You’re a shitty liar Brooke Lynn Hytes.” Hearing her full drag name from Vanjie was always an experience, Vanjie almost never using it, the smaller queen moving into her space, Vanjie poking a finger to her naked chest. “You’re mad.”

Brooke grabbed Vanjie’s head, hands on her cheeks, crashing their lips together, Brooke pouring every emotion she had kept inside into the desperate kiss, Vanjie throwing her arms around her neck, instantly accepting, loving, taking everything Brooke threw at her.

Two small steps, and Vanjie was backed up against the wall, a gasp leaving Vanjie’s mouth as she broke the kiss, their bodies shielded from view by their sisters’ dresses.

“Ssh. Sssh. You have to- Just shut up.“ Brooke didn’t know what to do, the sounds of music and chatter so loud Brooke could almost believe they had privacy, at least for a moment. Brooke was just about to tell Vanjie to be quite, the whisper almost over her lips, when Vanjie grabbed her ass with both hands, pulling Brooke even closer, forcing the kiss this time, their chests smashing together, the desperation, the want, the need in the act catching Brooke off guard. There was nothing but instinct, their lipsticks smearing as Brooke grabbed Vanjie’s thigh, hosting her up, her feet leaving the ground, Brooke carrying her weight, their cocks touching, Vanjie breaking the kiss once again, the smile on her face annoyingly cocky, flirty and playful, like she was in control of the situation. Vanjie thrusted her hips, Brooke groaning, instantly biting her lip to keep the sound in.

“That ain’t no two kiss boner I’m feeling.” Vanjie was infuriating, her eyes bright with mischeif. “Is this why you’re such a sour face? Or should I say sour cock. Poor lil Brooke Lynn.”

“You’re infuriating.” Brooke whispered, their faces inches from each other. “I told you to shut up, just, shut up, please, I-“

“Make me.”

The challenge was clear, and Brooke wanted to do nothing more than fuck the attitude right out of Vanjie, but she couldn’t, not there, not in that moment, her chest constricted by her corset, her ribs pressed together, their friends, their sisters, their colleagues right on the other side of the thin barrier of racks and racks filled with drag.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish.” Vanjie was loud, a force of nature, something almost impossible to control. She was fire, but Brooke was water, and she was not given an inch.

Vanjie opened her mouth, and Brooke did the only thing she could think of, covering Vanjie’s face with her hand, holding her jaw shut with thumb and fingers, the grip secure from the moment she latched on, and Vanjie’s eyes grew wide, a shiver wrecking her entire body with pure excitement.

“Are you going to behave now?”

Vanjie nodded, Brooke only feeling the movement because she was holding her head. Getting their cocks free was easy, Vanjie’s hands in Brooke’s pants before she could even tell her, their cocks already wet with precum, but Vanjie knew how Brooke liked it, her hand coming to Brooke’s mouth, Brooke spitting in her palm before Vanjie finally finally wrapped her fist around them, Vanjie’s other hand buried in Brooke’s forearm.

The arousal, the annoyance, the burning itch, all of it disappeared as Brooke fucked into Vanjie’s fist, their cocks touching on every stroke, the slick slide delicious, Vanjie hard against her, Vanjie relying entirely on Brooke holding her up, their gaze locked, and Brooke didn’t think she’d ever be able to look away.

What pushed her over was a single moan, Vanjie sounding so desperate, the sound barely escaping between her fingers, and Brooke only had a moment to think, removing her hand from Vanjie’s face, catching her mouth with her own, swallowing every sound as she grabbed a towel from one of the racks, only just covering Vanjie’s hand before she came, Vanjie whimpering into her mouth, a deep groan leaving her as she emptied. Brooke broke the kiss, the rush of oxygen, the pure risk of what they just did leaving her lightheaded, Vanjie’s arm sneaking around her neck, holding her close, the towel wet between them, Brooke’s sweats around her feet, Vanjie’s underwear bunched together on Vanjie’s thigh, the fabric stopped by the crook of Brooke’s elbow.

“That was…”

“That was fucking awesome!”

Brooke laughed, a loud, sharp sound, Brooke taken by surprise by Vanjie’s outburst, the entire room growing still, until it burst into complete and utter chaos, everyone yelling and laughing, Detox screaming the loudest of all that they better not have touched her fucking drag from the other side of the racks.

[prettylittlebrownskingyal]

I hv this college AU in my head where all the bat kids (of age so i guess no Damian) are in uni and meet/hang with the teen titans and young justice bunch Wally snd Dick do sports together, Steph and Duke judge from afar while fooling around with board games. Jason and Victor Stone play beer pong idk i fuck with it

Note: you know, I was just gonna say YES, I LOVE THIS and then my dumbass brain went, “Write a thing. Write a thing. Write it hoe.” so here’s 1.5k of utter madness.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Lot’s of it.

He may not remember how he made it back into his bed, with only one shoe, no socks and glitter in his hair. But he definitely remembers how it all started.

The break begins with Dick banging on his door at the ass crack of dawn, a disgruntled Tim in tow and a bellini in hand.

“Carpe diem, baby bro.”

They fumble their way through making breakfast, keeping Alfred on facetime even with all the swearing and cursing and dropped utensils. Damian pops across the screen from time to time to whine about being bored at home and mock their collective incompetence.

It’s a huge spread; they’re cooking for mostly college athletes, after all. Dick goes around forcing extra bits of bacon and pancakes and fruit onto the freshman’s plates. Bart and Jaime dig in earnestly, but Tim takes an extra dose of coaxing because he’s too stubborn for his own good. Dick persists though, roping in a sagely Steph to remind Tim that he’ll probably be the first one to pass out anyways.

“Hey. Hey! No assignments at the table, today’s about getting wasted.”

Raven flips Wally the bird, slapping her laptop closed and leaning over to slip it back into Kory’s tote.

“Do something productive,” Garfield says. “Take this and knock it back. Show us who’s boss.”

She leers at the offered beer with disinterest. “It’s not even 10 yet.”

“Exactly, daylight’s burning.”

“I seriously doubt our only goal today is to just get wasted.” Duke’s worried voice draws the attention of all the seniors. They exchange amused glances over his head.

“You poor, innocent little bean,” Zatanna says, throwing her arms around him. “You’re in a frat house full of NCAA athletes and scholastic decathlon nerds who don’t get the chance to drink for most of the semester. Today is absolutely about getting wasted.”

***

He’s somewhere between buzzed and tipsy. Happy in the warmth of the sun.

It’s the first time in a while that he’s felt the tension of school slip away from his shoulders. His assignments are done, his family and friends are all around him and he’s having the time of his life watching Cass mix extra vodka into the already triple spiked rum punch. It’s both disgusting and delicious. And judging from the way Kon’s draped himself over Tim in a nearby lawn chair, it acts fast.

Barrelling straight towards blackout drunk for no other reason than the glory of college is an utterly fascinating idea and Jason finds it hilarious how willing most of them are to participate.

Dick’s already been amped up to giggly and incoherent. He and Wally are hunched over a phone, snickering at something Jason hopes is just the front camera opened up to their stupid faces.

“Here you go, buddy.” Roy’s voice grabs his attention as he passes over a plastic-wrapped sandwich to him. “You good?”

It’s the third time he’s asked for the day. Despite the fact that Jason is kinda wasted, he knows that Roy’s probably a little uncomfortable being around most of the people he loves, watching them get hammered while he’s stone cold sober.

“Yeah. You?” he asks through a bite of tuna on whole wheat.

“Peachy. Wanna go let Steph and Babs crush our asses at poker?”

****

“Can we go get fro-yo?”

Tim’s voice is soft and buttery, the way it gets when he’s shit-faced. Jason can hear Kon murmuring in agreement and Duke’s firm denial over the base of a Rihanna song. They’re a mess of gangly legs, draped over each other on the lumpy couch. He’s so caught up in watching they way their alcohol-induced affection is driving Duke up a wall that he misses Raven taking her turn.

He groans as the ball lands in a red solo cup. Kory grins wildly, hooking her chin over Raven’s shoulder; their both wearing looks of smug victory and he just knows he’s going to have the worst hangover tomorrow as he plucks another half-filled cup between his fingers, forcibly gulping down the amber liquid it holds. Vic slides over for his turn. He throws the ball and lets out a hiss as it misses the cup in the middle of the table, completely. Garth gives Jason a sympathetic head shake as he steps up to throw back the beer.

“It’s not fucking fair. How are you both star football players, bro? You guys suck at this.”

Vic laughs, pointing a finger at him. “I’m letting that slide because you’re the one throwing back my drinks for me.”

“Hey,” Raven intones. “It could be worse, Kory wanted to do this with tequila.”

“I’m actually hoping to leave college with my liver intact. Please, and thank you.”

Steph’s laughter, bubbly and sharp, cuts over the music. “Remember in freshman year when you got high and asked me how likely it was you’d survive a liver transplant?”

“You’re in med school, I thought you would know!”

She still laughing at him when she turns back to the complicated game of jenga she and Cass have had going for the past hour. He’s way too mellow to even begin to understand it, but he strongly suspects Cass is cheating.

***

Somewhere along the lines of beer pong and pizza Artemis Crock and Cissie King-Jones, the ace co-captains of the archery team, talk Duke and Tim into doing shots. He watches for a good ten minutes before he’s suckered right in alongside them. When Tim does inevitably pass out, Kaldur— who’s sober and very amused— lugs him off to bed.

That’s right along his memory get’s fuzzy. He knows there was dancing. He remembers being tugged along by Kory, yelling Beyoncé lyrics at the top of his lungs as he’s sandwiched between his siblings and his friends.

There are flickers of Kyler Rayner doing body shots and double dog dares with Mia Dearden and Connor Hawke. He has a video on his phone of Bart doing a keg stand while Wally looks on with a mixture of horror and pride plastered across his face. There’s a whole album of Dick trying to pet a stray cat, his nose red and the pictures getting blurrier and blurrier as his allergies set in.

After that, he thinks it was suggested that they all go outside to watch the sunrise. Someone— one of the redheads — had placed a steadying hand on his back as he swayed from foot to foot. He’s pretty sure he confessed his undying love to them.

****

When he does wake up, it’s because his head feels ready to fall off his shoulders and his mouth tastes like ass. The whole house stinks of sweat and the floors are sticky with spilt drinks. He bumps into Kon in the hallway, they exchange withering stares and a fist bump before parting ways.

He finds everyone in the kitchen— with the exception of Roy, whose a chipper bastard— in a similar state of dissonance with their bodies. Dick’s got his head in Kory’s lap and his feet in Wally’s. Tim sits across the table from them, staring at a glass of water like it personally offended him and Steph’s on the floor to the left of him, forehead pressed to the fridge. She has glitter in her hair too.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Roy laughs. “You look like shit warmed over.”

“Thanks, man.” He spares him a glance, “Did you put me to bed last night?”

“I did,” Kory answers, her voice rough like gravel.

“Thanks, dude. Where’d my shoe go?”

“Dunno. Found you without it, I think.”

In the living room, Jaime’s lying face down on the couch with a pillow over his head, Bart keeps shuffling over to check his pulse and then back to the kitchen to gulp down water. Roy feeds them all toast and grins when a fresh-faced Cass breezes in through the doors. She plops a bottle of Advil onto the table gently and then sweeps away to watch the ensuing chaos.

“Me. First.” Tim growls, snatching it out of Dick’s hands.

Steph rouses herself then, looking around the room bleary-eyed. She clocks Jason and his head full of glitter, raising one hand to twist her fingers through her blonde locks, and then her other one to point at him like, “Hey, same.”

Donna drags herself in a little bit later. She immediately flings herself into a chair and drops her head down onto the table with a clunk that surely worsened her hangover headache. Vic and Kaldur, fairing better than the rest of them, snort through their breakfast as Roy peels off his sweatshirt to place it under her head.

He finds his shoe floating in the tub of quadruple rum-punch when their cleaning that evening. Garfield laughs so hard at him for a good ten minutes before clutching his skull and dropping down onto the porch steps, weakly.

At a quarter to four, Duke walks down the steps wearing the face of a man who knows nothing but utter betrayal.

“I’m letting you all know,” he calls. “I am not doing this again next year. I feel like death and I wanna call Alfred and cry.”

“Aw, Duke,” Dick coos. “Same.”

[bangtanbabeloveyourself]

I Want To Come

Author’s Note/Warning: PLEASE READ. Sexual Abuse warning(ish), use of alcohol and marijuana. I was very torn on how to tag this. I don’t feel it’s as bad as I’m labeling it. But I’m also very much desensitized to a lot of scenarios. This was taken from a serious moment in my life where I was in much of the same situation as the reader. This isn’t meant to upset anyone, but to give hope to those that are in such a toxic situation. You can get through it. I’m here for you. I purple you. 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female reader (ft Kim Namjoon and Min Yoongi.)

Word Count: 2.9k

Genre: Angst, little bit of smut, beginning steps of self love 💜

Summary: You wind up at the same party as Jungkook, whom ghosted you two weeks ago. So the best solution you can think of is to get hammered. You vent to a stranger, and have very [potentially] public and degrading sex with a fuckboy. Which then spawns an epiphany. 

You closed your eyes as you downed your third cup of the mystery liquid that was being served at the party. It tasted faintly of fruit punch but mostly of tequila. The first cup was dreadful, but by now, it was going down as smooth as butter. You held onto the cup as you swayed slightly to the blaring music. The bass was so loud the entire house shook. It caused your entire body to vibrate which was a rather pleasant feeling in your current state.

You were interrupted from your thoughts when you felt something cold tap your thigh. Your eyes flashed open and you clenched your fist, ready to hit whomever had decided to fuck with you. But you held back when you were met with a big dimpled grin. He handed you another cup of the mystery drink and leaned down to talk in your ear.

“Careful there slugger. I know you’re pissed but there’s no need to hit me.” Namjoon said cheekily before leaning back to take a swig of his drink.

You rolled your eyes as you held the cup in one of your hands, letting your finger from your free hand trace around the edge. He was right. It wasn’t his fault. Granted, he probably should have warned you before you got to the party. That’s what a good friend would have done. You shook your head. Namjoon was a good friend. He just happened to be Jungkook’s friend too. He’s also been his friend longer. Bros before hoes or something like that.

At least if he had given you a warning, you wouldn’t have shown up. By the time you had realized that Jungkook showed up with another girl, it was too late. He had already seen you and you weren’t going to let him think he had that much influence on your decisions. Even though he most definitely did. That’s why you were getting drunk, but Jungkook didn’t need to know that.

With that thought, you quickly downed your fourth cup.  Namjoon seemed to let out a sigh but he didn’t say anything. He was always ready to listen to your problems but he never pushed you until you were ready to talk, which you clearly were not. You were in self destruct mode and he was just here to make sure you didn’t blow up.

When a girl finally came up to Namjoon, trying to get him to dance, he looked at you with a worried expression. You waved him off and gave him a smile, reassuring him that you would be fine if he was able to actually enjoy himself.

For a while you had just stayed sitting on the armrest of one of the couches, looking at everyone dancing and drinking. Everyone was having a good time from the look of it. It made you sick.

You got up and went over to the makeshift drink table. You grabbed two cups, dumping them both into one before taking a drink and making your way outside for some fresh air.

You had no idea whose house it was, but you had to admit, it was a nice house. The inside was two stories and a basement. It was huge. The backyard was just as big; a full sized swimming pool, large fire pit, and a volleyball net. Drunk people were everywhere: yelling, screaming, singing, and playing games. But you were tired of being around other drunk people. You just wanted to be alone and brood. It was a speciality of yours.

You walked out past the volleyball game, making sure to avoid getting hit by anyone playing. You walked your way to the front of the house where it was surprisingly more quiet. There was a spacious porch and only one person sitting there.

You walked up slowly, giving a sheepish smile and a raise of your glass to the stranger. “Mind if I sit up here?”  

He raised his in return before shrugging. “It’s a free country. Do what you want.”

You snorted before sitting down. “If that were true, I’d probably be in jail for murder.” you said before taking another drink.

He eyed you curiously before pulling out a long rolled cigarette, lighting it and taking a hit off of it before passing it to you. You accepted it instantly, putting it to your lips and sucking in. Oh. Not a cigarette. You thought. You were grateful regardless.

“Bad night, huh?” he asked as the smoke billowed out from his pouty lips.

You passed the joint back to him, holding the smoke inside your lungs for a few more seconds before you finally let it out. “I feel pretty great now. But started off kind of rough.”

He nodded and took another hit, passing it back to you and taking a sip of his drink. After your second turn, he put the rest of the joint out while you downed your drink and leaned back against the bench. “Guy troubles, huh?”

You shrugged  “What makes you say that?”

He tried to fight the smirk that was appearing on his lips. “Only a girl with a broken heart drinks like that.”

You blushed slightly, but nodded. He wasn’t wrong. “Fine, yes. It’s because of a guy. We talked for months, messing around and all that jazz. But then he up and stops messaging me out of the blue two weeks ago. Then he shows up to the party with another girl. Like what the hell?”

You set your empty cup on the ground before cupping your head in your hands. You had so easily confessed to a stranger. That’s alcohol for you.

“Sounds like a grade A douchebag. Seems you’d be better without him.” He said before standing up and stretching a bit.

You nodded. “I know I would. But the sex was amazing and he was so attractive. I thought he really liked me.”  You sighed and looked up at the man in front of you, finally looking him over. You blushed softly when you realized how cute he was too. And you were just babbling about another guy. You were pathetic. “I’m sorry, this isn’t any of your business. I should stop.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. Just seems like you’re a real chill person. You don’t need that kind of shit in your life.”

He was right. Jungkook never treated you right. He never even took you out places like he did with this other girl. So why did you even bother? You leaned back against the bench, resting your head against the wall of the house.

“You’re right. I don’t need that shit. I need someone who’s actually going to treat me like a person.”

He gave you a gummy smile as he nodded. “You’re damn right you do. Now I just need you to remember that. Okay?”

You smiled for the first time all night and nodded. “I will. Thank you… uh. I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“It’s Yoongi.” Yoongi turned when he saw a car pull up and a group of guys walk out and up to the house. “Hey, those are my friends. We’re gonna head inside. Wanna come in with us?” He asked, a hint of hopefulness sprinkled into his words.

You leaned back and let out a deep sigh. “Nah. I’m just going to chill out here for a while longer. I’ll see you later though” And with that, Yoongi and his friends and went into the party, leaving you completely alone on the front porch of the house.

“Y/N?”

Well, you thought you were completely alone. You knew who it was before you even turned. You knew the sound of his melodic voice anywhere.

When you turned, Jungkook was peering in-between the railing of the porch, trying to confirm your identity. Once he did, he hoisted himself up and over instead of using the stairs.

“You could have just used the stairs like a normal human being.” You scolded as you crossed your arms.

He grinned and shrugged. “That's not as much fun.” He leaned on the edge of the railing, looking down at you.

It always seemed like he was looking down at you, and not just because he was taller than you either. He always seemed to put himself above you. So why are you even giving him the time of day?

“So I hear you're having guy troubles. That wouldn't be about me, would it?” He asked innocently.

You shrugged. “So what if it is? You don't seem to care. You seem pretty well taken care of.”

“By Lindsey? Hey, I mean, she's hot. But she has nothing on you.” He said before pushing off the railing and moving to stand closer to your sitting form. “There's just something about you that I can't resist.” He said in a hushed tone as he reached to let his fingers skim over your cheek.

You held back the gasp that was coming up your throat but you couldn't hold back the blush on your cheeks.

“That's my girl,” Jungkook said. “You love it when I touch you. You always react so easily. And you're always so wet for me. Are you wet for me now, baby?” He asked as he looked at you through a hooded gaze.

You bit your lip and shook your head. You weren't going to fall for his shit. You couldn't. You deserved to be treated like a person, not a sex toy.

That's what you wanted to say. That's what you should have said. But it's a different story when he's staring at you with those 'fuck me’ eyes and you can clearly see the bulge forming in his jeans.

You looked up at him to see a frown on his face. “You're not wet for me, baby? Tsk tsk tsk. That just won't do. Let's fix that, shall we?” he asked.

You didn't move. You were in an internal argument with yourself. You didn't know if it was the liquor, the weed, or just being in his presence, but you were suddenly horny as hell and wanted to please Jungkook in any way possible. But you also wanted to tell Jungkook to go fuck himself and his Playboy bullshit. You knew he didn't really care about you. That didn't make you stop him.

You could feel his fingers glide across your cheek before moving down to grab your chin. He pulled it up and made you look at him. It put a pout on your lips, one that wasn't lost on Jungkook.

“Fuck, you look so hot like this baby. Are you going to be my good little slut?” He asked before licking lips.

You nodded and he smirked. “Use your words, slut, while you still can.”

His threat sent a surge of electricity through your body and straight to your aching cunt. You looked up at him with big eyes, “Yes sir.”

With that, his lips were crushing against yours. He tasted like cherries and you loved it, letting his tongue invade your mouth whenever he wanted.

He started to push you onto your back, letting you lay against the bench you were sitting on as he climbed up onto you. You could feel his bulge pressing against you as he spread your legs and started to grind against your crotch.

He moved his lips to your neck, biting and leaving as many marks as he could. He liked to mark his territory. He reached down to the waistband of your shorts, slipping his fingers quickly inside your panties.

“Mmmmm. You are wet for me, baby. So, so wet for me. I love how slutty you are.” He said as he slipped a finger into your hole, causing you to moan. “You’re getting fucked out in the open. Anyone could come see you. But you'd love that, wouldn't you?”

“Fuck, yes. I would. Please.” You begged as your hands moved down to tug at his pants.

“I love when you're so desperate for my cock. I bet you want me to come fill you up.” He said as he slipped another finger in your hole.

You moaned louder this time, fidgeting with his belt. You could hardly move your hands the way you wanted to at this rate from the alcohol, let alone the intense finger fucking.

You weren't going to last long. You knew your orgasm was coming. You could feel the knot building in your stomach.

He retracted his fingers, causing you to whimper. You could see the grin on his beautiful face. “You really think I'd let you cum that easily? Especially with how you talked about me to that stranger? Oh no baby. You don't get to cum at all.”

You tried to protest but were interrupted by his sudden and quick thrust into you. It caused you to cry out and he hushed you with his mouth. He slipped his tongue in easily as he continued to thrust into you, tugging at your hair.

You ran your hands up his biceps, your nails digging in. He moved his hand down to your throat, giving it a squeeze as he leaned down towards your ear.

“You love being treated like this. Like a little whore.” You could feel the smirk on his lips before he tugged on your ear with his teeth.

You let out a groan and he squeezed your neck a little tighter. You could feel the tightness in your stomach coming back and your walls were tightening around his cock.

As soon as he felt the tightening, he slowed his pace before stopping completely until you could feel your orgasm slipping away. Your eyes pricked with tears and you whimpered.

“You look so pretty like this.” He smirked. “But not pretty enough to get to cum.” He said mockingly. You tried to blink away the tears but he slammed back into you harshly, causing you to cry out. He started to pound into you fiercely until he could feel your walls tightening again.

Once he did, he reduced his speed to an agonizingly slow pace, dragging out each thrust into you for as long as it took for your orgasm to disappear and then he’d pick up the pace again. You lost track of how long he kept it up. Your body was aching for a release that he wasn’t going to give you.

Jungkook wasn’t going to give you anything. He never did. All he did was take from you and you let him. Every. Single. Time. No matter how much he upset you, no matter what he did to you, you always let him come back. You always had plenty to give; your time, your thoughts, your body. And what did you have to show for it? Nothing. He proved that enough tonight.

No. There was one thing he was able to give you. Your orgasms. It may be shallow and more for his benefit than yours, but that was the only thing he was ever able to give you. He had become so selfish that he wasn’t even letting you enjoy the only thing he’s ever managed to give you.

You had become so self absorbed in your own thoughts that you hadn’t even released he was almost done until he gave your throat another tight squeeze before shoving his tongue down your throat as you felt his cum fill you. You continued to lay on the bench as he stood up and buttoned his jeans back up.

He then walked off the porch, giving you a shit eating grin as he walked around the porch. “You should probably go get cleaned up baby, before everyone realizes what I know about you.” He stopped and leaned in closer to the railing of the porch. “That you’re a dirty little slut and this is all you’ll ever be good for.” And with that, he was gone.

It took you a few minutes before you finally mustered up the strength to sit back up. You held your head in your hands as you let yourself cry. You needed to. You felt broken, used, and unnecessary. Jungkook didn’t care about you. Tonight proved this. Fuck Jungkook.

You winced at how sore your crotch was as you clenched your thighs together, trying to keep his cum from spilling all over the bench. Normally his parting words and your cum filled panties would be enough to keep you waiting for him. You loved it when he degraded you. But something changed this time. You changed this time. It was a small change, but a change nonetheless.

You knew you deserved better than Jungkook. You realized this tonight. There was more than Jungkook. Fuck Jungkook. You finally stood up and shimmied off your shorts and panties, throwing your panties out towards the trash cans before slipping your shorts back on and heading inside the house and straight to the bathroom.

Once there, you stared at yourself in the mirror. You were a mess. You tried to clean yourself up the best you could with what limited supplies were in the bathroom. After you finished, you sat down on the edge of the tub, head cradled in your hands. Your head was pounding now, a constant knocking.

No, that was the door. You got up and opened the door, seeing Yoongi standing in front of you. He looked a little shocked, but you were soon met with a big gummy smile. “There you are! I thought you had gone home. Come on out, we were about to go sit out by the fire. Do you wanna come?”

You laughed at his choice of words, making him give you an odd look. You waved it off as you nodded. “Yes, I’d love to come.”

[missymariee]

Costume Party - Noah Centineo

A/N: this was requested by the lovely @irishfangirlxx as part of my Fall Blurb Week! hope you like it girl x.

The large LA mansion was packed full of drunken young adults. It was a real who’s who of the entertainment industry. From actors to musician, models and social media stars. Literally everyone you followed on Instagram was at this party.

Luckily for you, your friend had gotten casted in a new show that became quite popular almost overnight. You’d met a few of her cast members back when you’d visit her on set and most of them were here. Including the very sweet and talented Lana Condor, who already felt like a close friend. It hadn’t taken long for you and your friend to spot Lana amongst the groups of people.

“Hey girls! Are you having fun?” she greets you both with a quick hug and a large smile.

“We just got here, but it’s definitely the biggest party I’ve ever been too” you didn’t know anyone in your hometown who lived in such a big house so tonight was for sure a new experience.

Lana tugs your friends arm to grab her attention. “You have to come meet some of the cast from Riverdale! They’re really fun”

“Sure! Wanna come Y/N?” your friend asks turning to face you.

“No thanks, I’ll think I’ll go get a drink” as much as you did want to meet them, you still felt a bit out of place and needing something to calm you down.

“Okay, the kitchen is that way” Lana turns and points to the left. “We’ll be by the pool, come meet us after” she chirps and you nod. The girls walk away from you so you start to make your way to the kitchen, trying not to hit anyone with the fake wings strapped to your back. Since it was a costume party, you and your friend had dressed up as fairies. You wore a tulle skirt, fairy wings and had glitter all over your eyes & lips.

You got to the kitchen and spotted the large bowl of what you assumed what spiked fruit punch. It was a deep red and had fake eyes in the bowl making it look slightly gross. You grab the ladle and pour the bloody looking liquid into your plastic cup. You take a large sip of the drink and shudder as the strong taste of vodka hits your tongue.

“That looks awful” you look up and see a cute guy wearing a Spider-Man costume, minus the mask. He was looking at the punch bowl with his lips curled in disgust.

“Doesn’t taste that great either”

“It’s not tequila, is it?”

“Nope, vodka” the boy sighs with relief and reaches over to grab a cup.

“Had a bad experience with tequila?”

“Who hasn’t”

You chuckle and nod. “So true” you then take a second to really look at him and realize that his charming smile and messy curls were familiar. It hits you that the cute boy who was now slowly sipping his drink in front of you was Noah Centineo. Ever since the movie with him and Lana came out back in August you’ve had a huge crush on him. Of course, you never told Lana that, not wanting her to tell him. You had this weird thing of running away from the guys you liked, never wanting them to know you liked them. It wasn’t the best thing to do but you were working on it.

You nervously take another long sip of the fruit punch and hope that the tipsy feeling would hit you soon. Noah places his cup down next to yours and clears his throat.

“So, a fairy huh?”

“Yeah,” you feel your body heat up as he takes a longer look at your costume. “It was easy to put together and turns out I really like putting glitter all over my face.”

Noah lets out a laugh and you giggle along with him. “Well it looks great.”

“Thanks” you look into his eyes for a second before glancing away, feeling like your heart would jump out of your chest if you stared for too long. He truly was a lot hotter in person, if that was even possible.

“And you’re Spider-Man”

“You know it” He grins and sticks out his hand to do Spidey’s web-hand thing. “I’ve got some competition though” he cocks his head to the right where you see another guy in a spidey costume.

“Oh definitely.

“So, what are you up to?”

“Well currently I’m drinking a very strong fruit punch with Spider-Man in the nicest house I’ve ever been in.” you smirk and he chuckles.

“I meant, why are you alone in the kitchen” he takes a step closer to hear you over the loud music.

You sigh and move a stray piece of hair away from your face. “My friends went to go meet the Riverdale cast and I wanted a drink, so here I am. Plus if I’m being honest, this place is so crowded and I wanted some space”

“I get that. Parties like these can be overwhelming at times”

“Yeah, especially since I don’t know anyone. My friend is the actress, I’m just a lame college student.” You shrug sadly and he frowns.

“Being a college student isn’t lame. You’re learning important stuff.”

“I guess so, I just wish I knew what I wanted to do with my degree. Life after school seems a bit daunting” you look back up at him. “You’re lucky you get to do what you love.”

Noah sighs and leans back against the counter, looking effortlessly cool. “I know. It was a lot of work though. Finally being able to get some roles that I connect with.”

“Of course. I bet things got a lot better after To All The Boys”

He cocks his head slightly. “So you know who I am”

“Well…you’re all talented and cute and stuff…um…I mean…yeah” you mumble feeling flustered. Noah chuckles and runs his free hand through his hair.

“Mhhm, so you think I’m cute AND talented?”

You groan and hide your face with your hands, feeling embarrassment crawl up your skin. “This is so embarrassing”

“Woah, woah, whoa. No, it’s not” he gently removes your hands from your face and you timidly look up into his eyes. “I think it’s cute. I think you’re cute, fairy girl”

“Oh thanks” you grin at his compliment before realizing that you hadn’t told him your name yet. “I’m Y/N by the way” you stick your hand out for him to grab.

He shakes your hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Noah.” He grabs his plastic cup and takes a quick look behind him. “Do you want to bring our gross drinks outside? There’s a cool gazebo in the backyard, we could sit and talk if you want” he offers sweetly.

“Yeah, I’d like that” you reply with a wide smile.

Masterlist | Fall Blurb Week Prompt List

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[panickedvulture]

Leftovers

Summary: “I fell asleep on your couch after a party but you didn’t complain and made breakfast for the both of us” + Steam

Pairing: Brendon Urie x Reader

Warnings: Language, Sexual Themes, Mentions of drinking

You’re not sure of the last time you’ve woken up feeling this bad. There’s no remnants of a nightmare, not an ache or a cramp, no rumbling stomaches to hear, but everything about you is beyond dry and groggy. Squinted and crusty eyes, chapped lips and dry mouth, dry skin this blanket isn’t doing very much to help…And when your own groaning and choppy whines aren’t enough to exasperate the pressure building up in your head, one shift to lay on your left reveals it, as it’s laying on an old and crunchy, case-less pillow. But it is cold so there’s something.

You start to think last night you was just a rowdy ass. You’d woken up in all sorts of strange positions, tossed blankets off your bed, pulled sheets up from their confines between the mattress and the wall, and awoken on a mattress-that’s all, just a mattress. To be fair those were late nights coming home feeling sick and tired, and too tired to pick up your blankets and belongings from dipping halfway onto the floor.

The reason why waking up this morning is such a contrast to the wonderful night sleep you’re sure you had--if we’re not counting the strange figure looming over you as you wake up on this day--is because, wait, what the hell—

“Oh my god I’m sorry!” The boy quickly takes a step back from the couch it’s now evident you’ve been sleeping on, his hands in the air beside his head and shaking like mad in some sort of defense.

You jump from your (somewhat) comfortable resting position and press your back into the couch and the blanket previously wrapped around you.

He seems to have overestimated just how frightened or angry you’d be, as his face full of fear falls and is replaced with quirked eyebrows and pursed lips. He leans forward a bit and kneels to try and get a better picture of your face—to try and gage your reaction but he’s not sure he can tell.

He was already quick to cross mad off the list, and you didn’t look particularly sad either. You don’t look fearful, you don’t look too confused but that’s really the only thing you were. Confused.

The situation has died down quickly, and he looks relieved.

While he sways back and forth in place, his arms swinging at his side before his hands come to his front and clasp together, you get a look at the room. You and him are the only ones inside of it, both fully dressed, your hair just a little disheveled and your cheeks wet, from sweat or those weird morning tears you’re not sure. The half of the room on your left is relatively clean, just as messy as a typical basement, the right side of the room however sees a mound of beanbag chairs littered with crumbs and the carpet they lay on now housing an assortment of different stains—liquids leaking out of some cups seemingly chucked to the floor.

Oh that’s right. It was a party…

While you’re having your inner monologue, a series of thoughts that are bitter at you and the few friends who convinced you to go to the thing paired with visuals of the night in question, the boy continues to sway uncomfortably.

He’s trying to not move at all, but he’s clearly itching to move as every so often he makes a drastic change in his posture. You see him out of the corner of your eye, and take some time to observe him as he tries desperately to look anywhere but you. He figures he’s been assertive enough, he’ll answer any questions you have when you ask them.

You work your way down, starting at his hair, thick and a bit fluffy, clearly neatened up with a quick hand through it. A look at his face isn’t the easiest, he keeps changing angles every second that you eye him but he’s handsome enough. He’s wearing this wrinkly white T-shirt that’s riding up a bit in the front, and he has on a pair of tapered grey sweatpants. To finish the look he’s wearing slip-on shoes, something you wouldn’t be so opposed to just seeing the floor of this basement.

What happened last night is up to anybody to decide, really.

You groan as you run a hand through your hair and drop your feet to the floor. You grip the sides of the couch and think oh my god why the hell did I go to the fucking party as some events replay. There was the inevitable standing around, of the awkward sort, lazily gripping a solo cup full of some booze at some points, juice from the fridge in others. Then there was the dancing, both the begrudging swaying side to side and the full on ‘popping and locking’. There was the journey down to the basement where truths were told and dares were done—you already fought being here so you took the easy way out and crafted a ‘truth’ to every time you chose that route, which was every time. Then there was the party-goers dispersing, more going upstairs when the drinks were less crowded, more coming downstairs when whatever they were smoking got to them.

You sat on the couch—this couch maybe? Those beanbags could be plausible but you’re not sure if those styrofoam beans inside of them could withstand the make-out session you’re positive you had.

Oh. Oh no.

You look up cautiously at him, much more head on then sneakily staring. And he freezes when he recognizes your gaze. He uncups his hands, slides them into his pockets, and stops swaying.

He clears his throat and nods his head at you.

“Hey…” he says uneasily, stuttering out that single word. You push yourself up from the couch, not forgetting to watch his every movement. He instinctively takes a step back as you stand across from him and look over the couch and area near it. A few pats to your person and you find your phone tucked into your jacket pocket, the jacket wrapped around your waist.

“Hey,” you say back, nodding your head at him.

“You um,” he starts, but can’t find the words as he gestures the couch. You flash him a closed-lip smile and nod.

“Slept on the couch? Yup, I know. What other conclusion would I have come to?”

He pulls his hands out of his pockets, hugs himself for a second, then shoves them back in. “I uh, I don’t know but hey, I’m, you know…sorry for earlier I was just coming to check on you.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What for?”

“To see if you were awake.”

“What for?” You repeat, a bit more cautiously as you shake out the blankets on the couch, making sure you won’t be forgetting anything.

He takes his hands out of his pockets once again, then shoves only one back in immediately. He uses the other to run it through his hair, where it sits, elbow outstretched and pointed to the ceiling. He twists his mouth to the side then quickly explains. What he explains, you don’t know. You’re too busy staring at his hair, watching the way his fingers fiddle with it, twirling strands and pulling at clumps.  

And though you can’t see this situation unfold you remember snippets of a memory. One of something steamy and a fascination with hair. A lot of pulling and tugging on your end, as the pressure against your body, against your chest increased and the dim lights of the finally empty basement floor obscured their face from your vision. But you remember the pressure, internal and external, as your hands found their way into the locks of the person on top of you. Fully clothed and friction evidently present by just how unsatisfied you felt when their presence was pulled away and they hurried upstairs. The bliss silence of the situation was tainted by yelling and screaming from the floor up above. They went to go check it out.

“You good?” He asks, and you jump.

You blink at him, then look him up and down.

“I’m sorry, what?” You finally speak. Even see seems taken back by your voice. There’s a small smile on his face knowing you’ve finally acknowledged him after what he knows what quite a long time.

“I made you—us, breakfast. I made us breakfast, so I came to wake you and see if you wanted any.”

“Oh…” you bite into your lip and nod at him. “Yeah alright.”

He smiles and leads the way up the stairs. He skips a few steps, you can’t find it in you to even try. By the time he’s reached the kitchen you’ve reached the top of the stairs, and make it just in time to see him wiping crumbs off the countertop onto the floor and bring the plates with you ‘breakfast’ to the small kitchen table.

He sets it down in front of you as you sit.

A plate party food. Chex Mix pushed off to one side, some steamed vegetables neatly placed to the other. There’s also egg rolls, and he hurries over to set down a solo cup of red fruit punch. You chuckle at the meal and pick up some of the Chex Mix, examining it.

He spots you and sits down, holding his own cup. He shrugs and gestures your plate saying, “That’s all he had. Party food and takeout leftovers.”

You look around and nibble at some of your food. “He?”

He nods quickly, chewing some pieces of Chex Mix up then quickly washing it down with the fruit punch. “Yeah yeah. This isn’t my house. Just a friends.” He sighs deeply, taking another sip. Before you can ask where his friend is, he waves his hand to the side and explains, “He went off with some girl. I’m always in charge at the end of these things.”

“Are you now?” He hums. “Well I guess you’re not very good at it if you forgot to kick me out.”

He takes a bite of his egg roll then looks incredulously at you. You shrug at his mildly disappointing glare, but then it turns into a good one as he just barely is able to suppress a chuckle and and opts out doing it on his own to cover his mouth with his hand. He palms at his face then shrugs back at you.

“Why would I want to?” He mumbles with a full mouth.

You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, eyeing him then your food. “Why wouldn’t you? You don’t even know my name,” you spit with a little more venom than intended.

He doesn’t look too offended though. He looks up at you, finishes his bite, takes a swig of fruit punch, makes a refreshing ah sound, then points the fork he’s been using to pick up his egg roll at you. “That is true. However, I remember you.”

“Oh really?” You challenge.

“Yup!” He tilts his head and smiles. “From the party. I uh, don’t remember too much. The details are, lets just say…blurry, but I remember I had a good time with you so why would I wanna kick you.”

“If you had such a good time with me I think it’s best if you know my name. I’m Y/n.”

“Brendon.”

“So Brendon,” you start, leanings against the table. Brendon drops the pretzel bits he’s lifting to his mouth, and leans in as well, arms folded on the wobbly wooden surface. “First I fall asleep on your couch after a party….you don’t complain…and instead decide to make us breakfast?”

He thinks for a moment. “Well, yeah. After last night you think I’d toss ya?” He raises an eyebrow as if to say think about it while he takes another sip of fruit punch.

But, what happened last night? You stare at Brendon, shooting you his cocky glances albeit mostly overwhelmed by his ignorant adorableness as he munches on his egg rolls, mushes up his veggies, and drinks his juice. You sigh in relief as you watch him, then join in finally accepting the meal.

Breakfast is quiet. You give him quick glances paired with a small smile, and he’s less discrete about it but his cheeks flush whenever you catch him.

As you eat silently you think back to the night before.

A friend and her friends drug you out of the house to his party. You begrudgingly agreed, putting on the fastest, most comfortable thing, and drove with them fully expecting to be cooped up on some dusty couch beside two drunks making out. No biggie, it was just routine. So you arrived with them, you joined them on the ‘dance floor’ made up of a now heavily stained carpet and a stereo shoved into the room’s corner, and spent your time swaying your arms by your side. When you got tired of that you wandered the house until you found the kitchen finally void enough to squeeze past the crowd and make it into the basement. It was a bit foggy, clearly, but the fog and it’s origins pooled in the corner again the hastily finished drywall where the beanbags were lined up. You stretched out on the couch, joined in on some games of Truth or Dare where you proceeded to only choose dare and your fellow players did not care because everybody’s else’s dares were crazy enough, before they dispersed, some going upstairs to stand on the dance floor, others heading out to take the fun times somewhere else.

By—fuck if you know the time—o’clock, you were alone in the basement, swirling the drink you’d poured yourself after raiding the basement’s mini fridge around in your solo cup.

You laid on your back, your cup resting on your chest, when you turned your head hearing the sound of footsteps coming down the creaky staircase with dark spots between the wooden planks.

You sat up cautiously, setting your drink on the side-table.

The boy that came down looked cautiously at you. The bags under your eyes were so heavy (truth be told you’re not sure you ever got buzzed, but you’re not sure where else that pressure in your head could have come from) he was at first sure you were on something, until you mirrored his polite head-nod of a greeting and mouthed how the beanbag gang was gone. He chuckled a bit uncomfortably then poked his head around the corner.

And wow, you were right. He held a hand up as a sort of apology, trying to walk as softly as he could manage for the sake of whatever state you were in at the moment.

Of course sitting across from who you’re sure is him now—Brendon—you don’t remember the details. You remember the basics, the blocking of the interaction and the way he moved back and forth through the room.

You said something humorous, or maybe it was sarcastic, but whatever it was he found it funny.

You two sat on the couch together, one void of blankets and pillows, and your humorous rantings turned into coy whispers. His knees a good foot apart and his back hunched. He held a can of beer in his hand, and turned his back to you for a second to set it somewhere it’d be safe. He turned around and there you were, sitting closer than before but where you were didn’t matter because where you were next was on his lap, his hands supporting you as you joined him in a feverish kiss that didn’t get any time to deepen before you would both pull away in search for a more comfortable position.

He picked you up and hovered on top of you, your back against the couch and your legs wrapped around his torso. His chest pressed to yours as you rode up the side of the couch, the kiss finally being able to deepen without frequent interruptions.

Your hands clung to the other behind his neck while his hands pressed into your back, and your fingers crawled their way up to the top of his head where they continued to twist and pull at his hair.

You pressed your lower half against his, appreciating all of the weight on your upper half, when the commotion came to your ears. You both stopped, well, really the kissing gradually slowed to a stop as the commotion just kept going. You grunted in frustration, then giggled and palmed at your face as he jumped up. He gestures a finger towards you and say something along the lines of “I’ll be back,” then skipped up the stairs.

Evidently he wasn’t back fast enough. But he was back when you were in deep enough sleep to stay as such when he lifted your head to put a somewhat comfortable pillow under your head, and deserving enough to retrieve a blanket draped over you, mostly likely from his friend’s bed.

Now that you’re a lot less tipsy, a lot more sober, and all of those good things, you wonder if you should just continue talking to him or get this off your mind. Get to know him more or take in what you’ve learned in the past twenty to thirty minutes to heart and continue what you two started.

“What happened last night?” You ask suddenly.

He doesn’t choke but for the second he freezes you worry he had. Instead he clears his throat and looks up to meet your unwavering gaze. He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and, “Well, a lot of things,” he says with a grin. “I had to keep this guy Greg from trashing my friend’s computer, I had to hunt down the key to lock up his bedroom, some guy chucked this lamp at this group of boys—they all ended up dodging and it hit this girl in the—“ Brendon’s eyes widen as he sees your soft glare.

He clears his throat again and pulls at the neck of his shirt. “Ehm, sorry,” he says, running his tongue over his lips.

“Don’t be,” you say. “Just…you know what I’m talking about.”

He squeaks almost.

“I do but…do you know?” He asks.

You shrug, “I know just enough. Mind telling me the details?”

He nods slowly and pushes his plate to the middle of the table. He leans back in his chair and hugs himself. As he explains he palms at his face, ghosting the tips of his fingers against his lips, pressing his knuckles into his cheek, everything.

“Well…” he starts, “I went downstairs and you were there.” You nod. “The stoners left so I sat down and we uh, yeah, we hung out for a bit.” You nod. “ We were joking around, telling dad jokes.” You chuckle at the concept. He smiles warmly before covering it up with his hand. “Then we both got equally sultry, started flirting.”

“And then?” You bite into your lip and smirk at him.

“And then…we made out,” he says it quickly, his voice a bit muffled by his sleeve.

“And then you had to go because more lamps were being thrown?” You cross your arms over the other and lean into the table. He shifts in his seat and does the same. He hums and nods.

“Yup yup, that’s…” he takes a deep breath, “What happened…”

You lick your lips and laugh a bit. Brendon looks at you confused, but there’s definitely some interest in there. Your voice starts off soft and low, a little raspy, but it gradually softens as you internally struggle to get your point across. It doesn’t come out that way. Brendon finds himself uneasy with how sultry your voice is managing to be again.

“So…you wanna continue where we left off then?”

Brendon furrows his brow and leans back in his seat as you stand. You come to his side and stretch your hand out to him. He looks down at his meal, takes a deep breath, runs his palms over his thighs, suppresses his smile with a bite to his lip and even forgets to breath.

He looks up at you, and places his hand in yours.

“Alrighty then,” he says as you pull him up from his seat, and lead him into the basement.