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sparkliingcrown · 3 years

Text

— my worst nightmare.

Summary: You know the saying that goes 'Keep your friends close but your enemies closer?' How much closer can you get to your enemy than being roommates?

Request: Brownies + Dark Irish Coffee

Genre: Roommates AU, College AU, Enemies to Lovers

Words: 6.1k

Warnings: Lots of swearing. I didn’t hold back in that aspect. Uhm, mentions of drinking, yn kinda panics at one point... I think that should be all! If not, pls notify me ^^

Note: An Eishi Café special. Yes, this is because it was last minute requests and it took too long for me to get to and open up the café again. ALSO TO THE ANON THAT REQUESTED THIS, I’M SORRY I MISREAD THE ORDER AND WROTE IT AS A LIGHT REQUEST! I hope you still like it nonetheless... Sorry it took so long T^T Also, this is my first time writing something like this so I really hope that it fits.

You were hauling your bags and boxes up to your new dorm room by yourself. That wasn’t exactly the greatest way to start the day, considering you had to stay up packing the last of your stuff, rushing to the nearest train station, riding the train, and then driving all the way to your new dorm room for college yesterday. You didn’t even get to sleep a wink on the train and you sure as hell can’t sleep while on the road. So, in short, you were tired, hungry, and really fucking pissed.

You mocked your naive and excited self, making faces as you tugged your bags closer to your body, pulling the strap of your backpack higher up your shoulder to keep it from falling on the floor. Go to college, they said. You'll have the time of your life, they said. Who's they? The many, many movies you watched growing up. And where exactly were you now?

"Can you at least try to help me move my stuff inside?" You drop your bags at the door, stretching your arms out.

"Lemme think about it." He closes his eyes for a second, letting out a deep breath. "No."

That's right. You were stuck with him. Choi Seungcheol. The bane of your existence.

That motherfucker.

His majesty was sitting comfortably on the couch, a cup of boba in his hand. Oh, how you wish you could just reach out there and squeeze it to make it explode in his face. Instead, you huff. You turned away and stomped your way down to the elevator to get the rest of your luggage. Muttering to yourself, you hauled the last of your luggage in, just wanting to collapse onto your bed for the day having barely gotten any rest the previous day.

You were expecting your best friend, Jiwoo, to greet you at the door. You were expecting her to greet you with that enthusiastic squeal when she sees you. You were expecting her to give you a warm hug that would last probably longer than 5 minutes. Alas, the universe decided to be rude to you and give you your worst nightmare.

Seungcheol stares as you drag your bags and feet to the nearest room, raising an eyebrow when he thinks he heard you utter his name. He did not help whatsoever. Asshole. Once you get to your room, you don't even bother cleaning up and unpacking. You sank to the floor with a loud whine, not caring at all if Seungcheol could hear you from outside.

You were so excited to live out your college dream. Going to the library, going to parties you know Jiwoo would drag you to, midnight talks with your roommate, binging series you’ve been eyeing for a while. The universe just really had to ruin it for you by placing him as your roommate. You didn’t even know he was enrolled in Hybe University. It seemed like he didn’t know either. You recall the shocked look on his face when he opened the door.

“You’re my roommate?!” You both exclaim in unison.

You feel your lifespan shorten by 30 years when it fully sinks in that you’re stuck with him for a full school year. If it wasn’t enough that the bags you carried were heavy, the ones under your eyes felt even heavier. Seungcheol frowns.

“You look like shit,” he states, taking a long sip out of his cup.

You manage to send your iciest glare at him, chucking the heavy luggage inside to make him move. “No shit, Sherlock-”

“The name’s Seungcheol.”

You ignore him. “I just drove a fucking half hour just to get here.”

You kick the bag, moving it to a corner then go to get a smaller one waiting by the door. Seungcheol moves out of your way, walking back to the couch. “Don’t fucking test me, Choi.”

He puts one of his hands up in a surrendering gesture. You sigh, closing the door behind you to get the rest of your things.

You let out a groan, deciding to unpack your things a little later. Eyeing your bed, you get up to move to your bed. You easily drift off into sleep. You would’ve loved to say it was dreamless but you actually quite enjoyed the chaos of it all. You awoke at 2 in the morning, lost and confused. You frown at your waste of half the day yesterday, smacking random items in your room to figure out where you had placed your phone.

Once you located it, the screen lit up your face - blinding you a little in the process. Jiwoo had excitedly messaged you. Well, excited was an understatement when she sent you 102 messages in the span of one hour and 17 missed calls for the rest of the time you were unconscious on your bed.

Your stomach growls, shocking you. “Yeah, I should get some food then start unpacking. Probably message her back as well…” you mutter to the air, dusting off your jeans as you finish up the process of fully moving into your new home for the next school year.

You sigh, “Fuck, this is going to be a long year.”

You bury your head in the reference book that you picked out to help with your assignment. It wasn’t doing it’s job of helping. You shifted in your seat. With a groan, you lean back in your seat, not understanding any of the material so far. Jiwoo pats your back encouragingly, nuzzling her cheek on your shoulder.

"There, there," she says, running a hand through your hair. "Hold on, I'll just return this book because it didn't have what I was looking for."

With a solemn nod, Jiwoo rises from her seat. She skips away with the book in your hands leaving you suffering all alone. You mentally slap yourself for sulking when it's literally only the second month of college. Living in the dorms has not been any easier ever since you arrived. Seungcheol took any opportunity to get a rise out of you and you would bite back with just as much sass.

It was like a competition between you both. Over what exactly? No one could really tell. Jiwoo came over often so she's very much used to seeing the two of you bicker like little children out of the smallest things. This was the reason as to why she dragged you out of the dorm.

"Come on, ever since you've arrived, you're either staying in your room or going to that boba place!" Jiwoo was tugging you by your wrist while you used your other hand to cling onto your bedpost. "You need to live! To breathe!"

"I do that just fine over here!" you complain.

Then, it was just a competition of whining. Jiwoo won that one easily. Her bright, sparkling puppy eyes were too much to resist. You sighed. You were too soft for Jiwoo sometimes. You mumble, cursing the professors for giving a bunch of work already. It was to the point that you could barely keep track of any of your subjects anymore.

You stare at your laptop screen, a half blank essay staring back at you with a menacing aura. You turn your head. An open textbook sat atop several other books of the same subject stared at you too. You could hear it calling for you, yelling at you to study for the test next week. With a silent cry, you drop your head down onto the table. You hear a snicker from behind you. One that you've heard way too many times that you didn't even need to turn around to see who it was.

"Hello to you too, Choi." You let out a tired sigh, head rising from the table.

"You look pitiful like that," he comments, eyeing the multitude of books surrounding your laptop. "You need any help?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Do you need help?"

"The Choi Seungcheol is offering me help?"

"Ah, good, so your ears can work," he gives you that shit eating grin that you just want to punch off his face. You can already feel the fire burning inside just ready to burst. You feel like a boiling kettle to say the least. It's his turn to raise an eyebrow now.

"Well?"

"No way," you huff like a child, turning your back on him.

He sat across from you. It really just had to be the only fucking unoccupied seat left. You mentally cursed all the students who came to the library. Then you felt bad and instead cursed Seungcheol who just had to come to the library when you were at the peak of the stress rollercoaster, just ready to dive into the depths of despair and bad grades.

Your eyes flutter back and forth between the laptop, the books and Seungcheol himself. With a defeated sigh, you turn the laptop so the screen could face him. "Please."

That same grin never left his face, he tauntingly cups a hand around his ear. "What's that? I can't hear you."

"Old man," you retort with a snicker. Just as he was going to open his mouth to protest, you repeat yourself a little louder. "Please help me with this damn assignment so I can finish it already."

"That's more like it." He pulls out the chair next to you, pushing away the books to help you.

You would never admit it out loud but you were actually grateful that Seungcheol had offered his help. With every small pointer he gave you, you were able to fly through all of your workload like a breeze. He even lent you his notes for that test you were so worried about. You leaned back, tipping your head back as the most relieved sigh anyone could muster slipped past your lips.

“What? No ‘Thank you’?” he asked, a small pout on his lips.

“I didn’t kill you. Is that enough?” He rolls his eyes at you, returning to his own seat. Guilt started to take form in the pit of your stomach. You sighed. “I gotta go. Thanks. I’ll see you at the dorm.”

You didn’t see it. He didn’t want you to see it. He didn’t even want to acknowledge it; the heat rising up and painting his cheeks pink from when you sent him that small smile before leaving. Seungcheol mentally slapped himself, shaking his head and trying to focus on his own essay he put off while helping you. Safe to say, he never really did finish that stupid essay.

"Joo, do I have to go?" you complained, tugging your shirt downwards. It's a little too much for your taste.

"You deserve it, babe," Jiwoo replied. "You got good grades after studying for so long! Loosen up a little! Please?"

You give her a skeptical look.

"Just this once?" She gives you her best puppy dog eyes that shimmered under the light of her dorm room. She puts up a finger and juts out her bottom lip in a pout, ultimately stealing your heart with how cute she is. "For me?"

"Ugh, fine. You're too cute not to."

"Yay!" she wraps her arms around you and gives you a light kiss on your cheek, dragging you out of her dorm and to her car.

She drove you to the party, that sweet smile never leaving her face. She talked about a blend of many topics she was interested in. You heard her mention something about talking to that girl in her class. You only stared out the window, humming in response as you dreaded arriving at the party.

Alcohol. It reeked of alcohol. You just arrived but there were already so many people that just smelled like sweat and whatever was served in the kitchen. Jiwoo took you to the dance floor, which was clearly just the living room of the house with the couches pushed to the side so there's space. She introduced you to a couple of her friends. You give them a small wave. It probably wasn't the best idea to try and have a conversation this close to the speakers.

After just a few minutes of walking in, you already lost Jiwoo. She was probably just with one of her friends. Come to think of it, she was clinging on to one of them really tightly and just being very clingy. But she was almost always like that with anyone. You brush it off your mind, heading to the kitchen to get something to drink.

"They look pretty," Seokmin stated, sipping from his cup and making a slight face at the bitterness. "Wait... Is that Y/n?"

Seungcheol's ears seem to perk up at the mention of your name. He turns to the direction his friend was staring at, seeing you hover over the kitchen island with a drink in your hand. You looked bored. A little lonely too. He deduced that your friend had left you to fend for yourself. He snickers to himself.

"Oh yeah, I think that is," Jeonghan was suddenly by his side, eyeing Seungcheol for his reaction. Seungcheol pulls a face.

"What are you looking at?" he sneers.

"Don't you think they're pretty, Cheollie?" Jeonghan giggled, obviously already a little tipsy. Seungcheol scowls. An old conversation flashed by his eyes.

"Where are you going?"

You raise an eyebrow. "And why do you care about where I'm going?"

"Because I'm your roommate? What if something happens to you?"

"Awh, does Seungcheollie actually care about me?" You jut your lip out in an exaggerated pout.

"No, I- Wait..." He takes in the outfit you decided to wear, and breathes in the scent of that perfume you always wear on special occasions. "Don't tell me... You're going out with that guy again, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, adjusting the straps of your shoes with a groan. "So?"

"Are you that blind that I have to fucking tell you? He's not good for you!"

"Why do you give a damn about who I go out with? Why would I give a damn about who you think I should go out with?"

"That's not the point- Stop going out with him!"

"What are you? My dad? Fuck off, Cheol."

"That guy is not good for you." He crosses his arms against his chest. "Hell, even I would be better for you and I'm your enemy."

“Yeah, you’re my enemy. That doesn’t explain why you’re butting into my love life like this. Literally, just fuck off!” you exclaim, losing your cool with a stomp of your foot.

You fall silent. He falls silent. Seungcheol is worried for that second that passes. He didn’t know why. The silence was uncomfortable. It was like the chill of realizing there’s a spider in the shower with you. He felt chills run down his spine. He didn’t even know why.

You say nothing more, picking up your purse. The silence was odd. It was new. Especially to the both of you. Seungcheol was just about to speak up again, voicing his opposition to you going out with the sketchy guy you met when you walked out and slammed the door on him.

His mouth hung ajar, disbelief spread all over his features. He scoffs, “Ugh, whatever.”

He turns to look at you again. You were by the dance floor now, the neon lights surrounding you. He always thought you were pretty whenever you two wouldn't be bickering until the day's end. Seeing you next to the lights, seeing you like this, it made his heart race a little. He blames it on the alcohol.

Seungcheol ignores the way the rest of his friends start teasing him. It was mostly Joshua and Jeonghan ganging up on him but it was teasing nonetheless. He rolled his eyes, shoving them off him when Jeonghan started giggling a little too close to his face. Sure, he thinks you look pretty, and sure, he doesn't deny that he did find you attractive when he first met you after the summer. That doesn't matter, though, right? Right?

So, what was this feeling festering in his heart when he saw another guy walk up to you and ask you for a dance?

Seungcheol watches as the anonymous guy takes your hand and graciously leads you to the dance floor. His friends would be dramatic and say that he glared daggers at the dude. To be fair, he was. Seungcheol wasn't going to admit to that, however. He crushes his cup in his hand, startling the rest of his group but leading to only more teasing from all of them. With a roll of his eyes, he decides to shift his attention elsewhere.

Your weight shifts from one foot to the other. Maybe situating yourself near the dance floor wasn't the best idea you ever got but you needed to search for Jiwoo in the sea of sweaty, horny, drunk people. What better option than to sit right next to the speaker? You mentally facepalm yourself when the neon lights blinded you from identifying anyone. You blink once. Twice.

Who is this stranger in front of you?

Alarms blare in your head, telling you to get away. Your grip tightens on your cup, anxiety filling your stomach. He notices your worried expression and immediately flashes a smile. "You don't come here often, do you? I'm Eungwang."

He extends a hand out to you, asking you to join him on the dance floor. You shyly follow him, his hand never leaving yours. He twirls you around, telling you to smile a little bit and relax. You could feel all eyes on you, the blinding neon lights and booming music slowly becoming unbearable with each passing second.

"You okay?" You nearly didn't hear Eungwang calling out your name. "You look stressed. Are you okay?" You did your best to shake your head no, breath stuck in your throat.

A worried look passes his eyes, the corners of his lips turning downwards. It was becoming too much. You knew you shouldn't have come to this party. Jiwoo just had to bring you along. Jiwoo... You still haven't found her. The pounding in your heart and ears were getting worse, getting louder. You twist your head, trying your best to scan the crowd for a glimpse of your best friend.

"Get your hands off of her," a more familiar voice speaks up. With wide eyes, you see Seungcheol with his hand on Eungwang's shoulder.

Without an answer, Seungcheol rips him away from you and grabs your wrist to pull you into a more open space. It was weird. You always thought Seungcheol's hands would be rough, yet his touch felt so light. It felt like feathers. It was almost as if he was afraid to break you in your state. If you weren't too occupied with panicking, maybe you would've been trying to fight your way out of his grip.

You hadn't even noticed. Within minutes, the two of you were seated in the front lawn. The cool air brushed your cheeks, slowly pulling you out of your trance. Seungcheol tosses you a water bottle which you catch with trembling fingers. You take a sip and let out a breath. With pursed lips, you turn to look at him.

"Sorry.”

"What for?"

"I probably ruined the mood, right?"

He rolls his eyes, tucking his hands in his jacket pocket. "Whatever. The party was shit anyway. We should get you back to the dorm."

"But Jiwoo--"

"Your friend will be fine." He tosses his jacket to you. "Wear that. It's cold."

"I will not."

"Suits you." He snatches it out of your hands almost immediately. "Don't come crying to me when you get a cold."

Like a child, you stuck out your tongue.

You're sick.

You don't know if it's fate trying to trick you or something. Whatever it was, it definitely isn't funny. Thank goodness, it was still the weekend. You definitely would have lost it if you got sick in the middle of the week. Good news was Jiwoo got back to her own dorm safely because her roommates dragged her back. That made you feel a little better.

Swaddled in your blanket, you begin your travel to the faraway land of the living room where you met your roommate looking at you amusedly. You sent him the best glare you could muster with a bit of snot dripping down your face. He only snickered.

"I told you, you should've worn-"

"Shut it. I'd rather be sick than wear that sweaty jacket of yours."

"Oi!" He stands up, pointing at you who was rummaging through the fridge. "I'll have you know my jacket isn't at all sweaty and gross! I wash it often!"

You let out a snicker, taking some leftovers out of the fridge and shutting it close with your hips. Seungcheol drops his plate in the sink. He stares at you for a fleeting moment; your hair was a mess and there was a bit of snot running down your nose. Nonetheless, you were wrapped up tightly in your blanket that reached the floor. You peek your head to see what's playing on the TV when you see a familiar character.

"You watch...Link Clink?" You sniffle slightly, bringing your blanket back up to rest on your shoulders.

"Oh? You know this show?" Cute. He shakes the thought out of his head immediately.

"Yeah...It was on my watch list." You didn't think that he'd watch something like that. "Not like you need to know."

He rolls his eyes at you, ignoring your last comment. "You wanna watch it together sometime?"

What in the fuck? You don't know if it was your cold, if it was just the air conditioning or literal chills went down your spine at his offer. Maybe it was just the first option. Caught off guard, you stare at him. His eyebrow was raised at you while waiting for your response.

"Uhm...yeah, sure... why not?"

"Oh, yeah." He opens up a cabinet, your curious eyes following his form as he searches through the cupboard. He pulls out a green plastic and hands it over to you. "I figured you would get sick, so I bought some stuff this morning that could probably help."

"Oh, uh, thanks..."

"Don't mention it." You weren't too sure but you thought you saw him blush a little. Perhaps it was your brain playing tricks on you. Nonetheless, despite being your enemy, he was nice enough to buy you something. Though, it really was just a small cold.

He clears his throat, snapping you out of your trance. "Get some rest. Jiwoo will probably drop by here later."

"Yeah, okay."

“You’re telling me he took care of you while you were sick?”

“And you’re telling me you didn’t threaten him at all to take care of me while I was sick?”

Jiwoo takes a long sip of her bubble tea, taking her time to chew the pearls while you wait for an answer. She simply shakes her head no. You sigh.

“It’s not like he, like, took care of me. It was more of, like, he just made living together less of a living hell, I guess,” you state, taking your own sip of your tea.

“Less? What do you mean?”

“I mean, he still teased and taunted me. Like, he kept bringing his friends over. You know how loud all of them could get. Finished a bunch of my snacks even though they had my name on it. He broke my third favorite mug, too. One time, he placed my shit on top of the cabinet when he knew I couldn’t really reach it.”

You almost let out a laugh when you remember it.

“Awh, you need me in your life after all."

"Shut up, I can replace you with a step ladder."

"Too bad you won't. You love me too much."

You hadn’t even noticed the rosy pink that started to bloom on your cheeks and creep up to your ears. Jiwoo did, however, and would not let you live. Her eyes grew wide, dramatically placing her cup down. She shook you. A big grin was plastered on her face once you turned to look at her.

“Oh my goodness, it all makes sense now,” she cheered, enthusiastically shaking you around like a maraca. “You guys have been talking a lot lately… When I visited there was no sign of chaos anywhere.... And you were just giggling!”

“Giggling?”

“Giggling, Y/n, giggling! You!” she squeals. “Oh my god, you’re blushing! They’re blushing! Don’t tell me… you actually like him, do you?”

You let out a snort. “Me? Like him? Jiwoo, love, he makes my college life a lot less bearable. My petty ass won’t even let that go by, either. There’s no way I like that asshole.”

Okay, maybe you liked him a little bit.

It would be hard not to like a guy who stops in the middle of a walk just to pet some dogs he saw on the way. It would be hard to ignore the way he smiles whenever you see him with his friends. It was most definitely hard to pretend like your heart wasn’t racing at all when your drunk roommate, also known as your enemy, snuggled closer to you on your way to the couch.

“Seungcheol.” A groan. Try again.

“Seungcheol.” Same response. What is this bitch on?

“Choi Seungcheol.” A loud whine escapes his lips. “How much did you drink? You reek.”

“Just a lil’ bit,” he hiccuped, swaying back and forth on his feet. “We were having so much fun I didn’t even notice the time!”

You softly threw him onto the couch as he started to flail his arms. You rush to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. He throws his arms around the pillows and tightly squeezes them as he starts babbling nonsense you couldn’t quite make out. You hear something along the lines of peaches, weird foods they tried, and someone jumping into the pool. You smiled. They always were such a rowdy bunch. All 13 of them. You would know. They trashed your room once and ate your leftover ice cream.

“You look pretty.” You snorted, covering your mouth with your free hand. “You look just like my roomie, you know. They’re like-” A hiccup interrupts him. “They’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” he slurred.

“Oh? Is that so?” You make him sit up properly and hand the cup over to him. “Here, drink some of this.”

He gulps down the water. “You're really kind, too! Ah, just like Y/n~ But they have a little- no, no- a huge temper.” Oh, wow. The audacity. He giggles and you suppress the urge to smile. Failing, you laugh along with him, shaking your head.

“Come on, let’s get you to your room, you ass,” you say, slinging an arm around him to try and get him up. “Why are you so damn heavy?”

“Because of my love~ for Y/n~!”

“Why are you cheesy when you’re drunk-”

You finally arrive at his room, which took a lot longer than expected because of dragging a very intoxicated Seungcheol around who would not stop trying to cuddle you. You struggle to open his door, ignoring the loud beating of your heart. Wanting to go back to sleep as quickly as possible, you let him crawl onto his own bed, turning around to leave.”

“Get some sleep.”

A hand wraps around your wrist, preventing you from leaving. He pulls you closer. You lose your balance. Oh look, now you're on top of him. You hold your breath. You try to push yourself away from him but to no avail. You were trapped.

“Where’s my goodnight kiss?” He croaked out, quickly leaning up to peck you on the lips.

“You kissed?!”

“Shh! Joo, not so loud!” Your eyes darted around the area, several heads turned to look your and Jiwoo’s way. “Everyone’s looking at us. I don’t even know what to say, Joo. I haven’t seen him at all for the past few days.” “You haven’t seen him or you’re avoiding him?” She raised a skeptical brow at you, popping some food in her mouth. She points one of her chopsticks at you with a big grin that makes you want to hide in a hole and never come out. “I think… you’re just avoiding him.”

“Well, what are you supposed to do when-” you lower your volume, casting your eyes to the ground. “I’m not finishing that sentence. Argh!” You hide your face in your hands, Jiwoo’s thrilled laughter coming from beside you.

You spent the following week trying to evade Seungcheol’s presence. You’ve been getting out of the dorm far earlier than you used to and he could never catch you anywhere. He seemed more than eager to talk to you nowadays, usually looking for you in the hallways or trying to spot a glimpse of you in your favorite spots. The library, the boba place, outside your classes. Nothing. It always seemed like you were one step faster than he was, one second too late for him.

He went around the campus grounds one last time. He even asked his friends if he’s seen you to which they replied with skeptical looks for fair reasons. He even tried to ask your friend, Jiwoo, to no avail. He retreats back to the dorm in defeat. His shoulders slumped over as he fished the keys out of his pocket. The door clicks and he becomes visibly confused. He still has his keys in his hand. The door opens wide and Seungcheol yelps, faced with none other than the roommate he was looking for.

Without thinking, he grabs a hold of your wrist as you go to shut the door on him. You snap yourself out of your thoughts from that night. "You're coming with me."

"What the fuck?" You tug your wrist back. His grip only tightens. "Yah! What the hell do you think you're doing?! I'm going to miss the next episode of-"

"Mmm, don't really care."

"Tch." You look down, suddenly ashamed of your get-up. He opens his car door for you. "Did Jiwoo put you up to this?"

Seungcheol smiles. Your heart... Did it skip a beat? Woah. Maybe he actually doesn't look too bad when he's not being a dick to you. Maybe he actually, dare you say it, looks cute when the two of you aren't at each other's throats every 5 seconds. You reluctantly get in, buckling your seatbelt while you wait for him to start up the car.

You look out the window, appreciating the beauty of the night. It's serene. It was still pretty bright with all the lights and buildings yet it looked beautiful. You opted not to speak to Seungcheol for the rest of the drive. You still didn't even know why he dragged you out of your room. You don't even know why you actually got in his car.

Realization hits you.

You're in his car. Seungcheol's car. You willingly got into Seungcheol's car. A small gasp leaves your lips, calling his attention.

"Is something wrong?"

You look at him. "Uh, no... No, I'm fine." The car suddenly holts, snapping you out of your daze. 7/11. Your eyebrows furrow. What?

"You dragged me out of my room... to go to 7/11? This late at night?" you asked, disbelief laced in your tone. He only chuckles at you, getting out of the car while leaving you bewildered and still strapped to your seat.

"Technically, it's like morning but sure." You unbuckle the seatbelt and step out, the cold breeze hitting your skin. Right, you still looked like a mess in the middle of a crisis. "I owe you ice cream since Soonyoung couldn't control himself the other day."

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious of why he decided to be nice to you today. Before you could open your mouth to speak, he interrupts you, "This is just so you won't bitch about your lost ice cream."

"Hey!" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He picks up a few items and checks them out, you follow behind him like a lost puppy. "I thought we were just getting ice cream... why are you-"

"Can you just enjoy this quiet we have right now?" That made you shut up for the rest of the night. Not really. You started complaining about the cold a few minutes later while he laughed at your misery.

"Your fault for not bringing a coat, idiot."

"You fuckin- You dragged me out here!" you exclaimed, exasperated. "The audacity of this bitch, I swear."

Now sitting outside the 7/11, you rub your arms in a feeble attempt to warm yourself up. Not much luck. He slams a cup of instant ramen in front of you. You jumped slightly at the noise and he sent you a sheepish grin. "Enjoy, loser." You stick your tongue out at him yet pick up the cup nonetheless.

A sizzle breaks the silence between the both of you. He has a cheeky grin plastered all over his face as he teases you with the sight of the can of beer. He tosses one in your direction. You caught it, thankfully. You take a sip after opening it, letting out a content sigh. You searched your brain for something to say to fill the silence. It wasn't exactly everyday you get to sit quietly under the night sky on a school night with your worst enemy.

“I...uh... also wanted to apologize if I weirded you out while I was shit-faced drunk that one time. I didn’t- the words… they just slipped out,” he says.

“That’s it?” you ask. “You don’t remember anything else?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “I don’t remember anything other than babbling nonsense. Why? Did I do something?” Your cheeks flare up, memories flooding back in that you’ve tried so hard to avoid. He stops and looks at you, noticing how you wouldn’t look him in the eye. Your eyes were trained on something else, your cheeks burning crimson. He blinks once, twice, trying to recollect the events of that night. All he remembers was you pissed and greeting him at the door, muttering some embarrassing shit, and being dropped onto his bed. Everything else was a blur.

“We should… Let’s get going. It’s getting really late,” you say, turning your head so you’d stop staring. The two of you finish up your ramen and drinks, heading back to Seungcheol’s car after discarding the trash.

On the way home, he recalls a few memories. The day you first met, the time you embarrassed him in front of the whole 8th grade, the time he gave you an oreo cookie filled with toothpaste. A good trip down memory lane later, the two of you were laughing obnoxiously in the wee hours of the morning. The laughter dies down as Seungcheol unlocks your dorm door.

“Come to think of it, why are we enemies again? We didn’t really do too much to hate each other,” you say, removing your shoes by the door.

“Do we hate each other?” You shrug. He laughs. “Why don’t we start over then? We’re not too different, apparently.”

“Yeah. Sure, why not?”

He sticks out his hand. “Hi, I’m Seungcheol.”

You gaze lingers on it for a few seconds. You never thought you’d be doing this ever. You look up at him and back at his hand. There’s a chance you’ll regret your next move but you doubt you will.

With a simple, soft kiss, everything felt like it changed yet stayed the same. The feeling of his lips on yours felt like a simple gift from the universe as a sorry for everything the two of you went through together. Seungcheol was frozen in his spot, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly pulled you closer. His memories start getting clearer. He slowly pieces together what happened that night. You pull away with a grin, completely red in the face.

“Hi, I’m Y/n. Seungcheol’s worst nightmare.”

“Is that what I get for making you suffer in silence when I couldn’t remember anything?”

“Oh, so you remember now? Damn, you really are old.”

“We’re the same age!”

“To answer your question, yes. Yes, it is.”

For the second time that night, you kissed.

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #svt #svt fluff #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt x reader #choi seungcheol #s.coups #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups fluff #seungcheol fluff #eishi.cafe

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ethanharli · 4 years

Text

Resentment: Jujutsu Kaisen x Male Reader

[Ch.1|Episode One]

___________

“Ngh” A small groan slipped past my parted lips as I rubbed the scar on my neck, feeling it itch and burn as I tried not to scratch at it. “Does it still hurt?” My gaze flicked down towards Itadori, his sudden presence not much of a shock to me since him popping up out of no where is a regular occurrence to me. Yet the slight worry in his eyes caused a small smirk to tug at my lips as he rested his hand on my shoulder, “Jus’ itches, nothin’ more than that.” My voice came out low and gruff, with a bit of strain, something I still haven't gotten used to after I had damaged my vocal cords years ago. However Itadori just smiled and patted my shoulder, “Don’t forget to take care of it okay? I don’t wanna keep slapping your hands if you try to scratch at it” I couldn’t help but laugh along with him at the memories.

“Ah- Yuji I forgot to mention that I wont be able to come with you to visit your grandpa, I promised I’d stay with Sasaki and Iguchi after school today” I couldn’t help but frown at the slight waver in his smile, and the hint of disappointment in his eyes. I’d always go with him to see his grandpa, as emotional support and for the fact that his grandpa and I always had a father-son like relationship, but I couldn’t tell my classmates no when they looked at me with such excitement about the surprise they had for me. “It’s alright, I’ll tell him you said Hi!” His smile seemed a bit fake at this point, and in hopes to make him feel a bit better I rested my hand on his head, ruffling up his hair like I used to do when we were younger. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, but you really should go, it looks like coach is waiting for you?” I spoke awkwardly, finally noticing the coaches piercing gaze behind us.

“Oh yeah! I’ll see you later then!” Itadori turned to leave, but before he could I gently took ahold of his wrist, catching his attention with slightly widened eyes. “Remember, I’m always a call away if you need me” I smiled softly, finally letting go of his wrist as he stared at me for a moment, before breaking into a wide grin with a happier aura now surrounding him. “I know, but be careful okay? I’ll see you tomorrow!” I merely nodded and waved as he ran off alongside the coach, knowing exactly how that was going to end. Yet, before I could take another step a familiar disgusting stench made its way to my nose, along with some unsettling memories that I quickly pushed back down.

“What the hell was that..?” I couldn’t help but mumble it out, my hand instinctively moving toward the scar on my neck, the raised flesh once again started to itch and burn, irritating me to no end. Taking a deep breath I stuffed my hands in my pockets and headed towards the occult clubroom, deciding I’ll just wait out in there until Sasaki and Iguchi got back.

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An hour or two passed since I got to the clubroom, and since I already cleaned the room when I first arrived I decided to lean back in one of the chairs and read the books we have in here, actually finding most of them quiet interesting. However I nearly doubled over at the familiar scent that I had smelled earlier as a prickly feeling danced over my skin, sending an unpleasant shiver up my spine. My ears immediately perking up at the sound of footsteps approaching the clubroom. Something felt off, and as it got closer I couldn’t help the small growl that reverberated throughout my chest, the sudden alarm of my flight or fight responses kicking in as the door slid open, revealing Sasaki and Iguchi. The familiar faces not doing anything to help calm my nerves as I glared at the object in Sasaki’s hand.

“What’s that?” I didn’t hesitate to voice my thoughts, my tone now surprisingly harsh as I continued to glare at the medium sized object. My fellow second years looked at me in shock before a wide grin spread across Sasaki’s face, “Itadori grabbed it for us! it’s supposed to contain an evil spirit” Even though she spoke with a carefree tone I couldn’t help but tense up when she held it up to me, the alarms in my head continuing to rattle my core as I got a better view of it.

That’s.. a special grade object.

“I don’t think that's a good idea, what if something goes wrong and someone gets hurt?” I tried to be a voice of reason, hopping she’d put the damn thing away, or at least hand it over so I can get rid of it. It didn’t help that my hands were practically trembling under the desk as I glared at the object with unease as she pulled up a chair and sat in front of me. “Simple! Nothing will happen, and if something does happen then we got you here Mr. Underground boxer” Her teasing smirk caused my unease to settle for a moment, and the mention of my old hobby causing a blush to spread across my cheeks. However she’s as stubborn as a mule, so if I can’t convince her not to open it then I’ll at least be here when it happens, “Fine, lets get to it before I change my mind.”

So for the next ten minutes we moved the desks around and turned off the lights as I took a seat besides Sasaki, watching carefully as she slowly unwrapped the talisman, keeping my guard up until finally the talisman came off, “A finger?” I mumbled softly, looking closely at the decayed limb. Until finally it clicked, “Move!” My nose twitched at the new scent approaching and reaching behind me I grabbed my chair and threw it up at the curse above us, grabbing both Sasaki’s and Iguchi’s wrists to force them out the room. ”Run!” I growled out, a small hiss slipping past my lips as I slammed the sliding door shut, feeling the hands of the curse crash into it behind me. ”And I thought I was finally done with this shit-” Taking a deep breath I pushed against the door and sprinted down the hallway, searching for my classmates.

I have to find Sasaki and get that finger from her, at least that way I know she won’t be the main target. With that in mind I tried tapping back into my own curse as I ran down the halls, but every time was a failed attempt. I stopped when I heard a high-pitched scream, I wasted no time bolting towards the sound, Sasaki and Iguchi both coming into view, however my blood nearly ran cold at the sight of the curse on their trail, it’s hands reaching out towards them, successfully grabbing Iguchi, “Fuck!” In an desperate act I ran towards Sasaki, a light green glow surrounding my body as I managed to make it to her in time, pushing her out the way as the hand that tried to grab her got to me instead, slamming my body into the wall besides me. The air got knocked out of my lungs from the impact, black spots slowly clouding my vision as my teeth gritted in pain.

“Run..” I managed to mumble out, the curse dragging me back into its body as fatigue slowly weighed me down. In the blur of my vision I caught a glimpse of someone new standing before the curse, a sigh slipped past my lips as I used the last bit of my energy to reach for Iguchi, the faint green glow returning to my body as I grabbed Iguchi’s arm, the flow of my cursed energy managed to make the curse shy away from my body a bit as I yanked Iguchi out of its body and threw him onto the titled floor. The shattering of glass and a familiar blur of pink hair being the last thing I saw before it all went black.

--------

The cool air nipped at my skin as I shifted a bit, a groggy groan slipping past my lips as my eyes fluttered open, being met with a familiar plain, cream colored ceiling. “Y’know it was a surprise to see you there,” Almost instantly I bolted up, the familiar voice causing my eyes to narrow as I glared at the masked male, a smirk playing at his lips as he leaned back in the hospital hair. “It’s good to see you again, wild child” The old name caused my nose to twitch in irritation, a few strands of my [H/c] hair falling in front of my eyes, as a dull ache started to appear in my lower back, “Wish I could say the same.. Satoru.” His presence unsettled me for the simple fact that I knew my finally normal life would go back downhill once again, yet I can’t deny that seeing him again made me a little bit happy.

Like hell I’d tell him that though, his ego’s already to big.

“Wait, what happened after I passed out?” I asked, remembering all the events until after that moment, however I didn’t like the amusement in his smile as he leaned forward, slowly beginning to explain the situation to me. The image of Itadori eating Sukuna’s finger made me wince in disgust, but it felt like my whole world came to a stop at the mention of his future execution. Anger slowly bubbled up within my chest but I made sure to bite it back down as I glared at my fists, “The higher ups are nothing more than pathetic little insects.. I hate them, all of them.” I couldn’t help but grit my teeth, my fists slowly beginning to tremble as a low growl slipped past my lips. “Then come back to Jujutsu tech, you’ve been gone for about six years now, if they hear about your return it’ll cause an uproar.”

Before I could answer him the door opened, revealing Itadori, and I couldn’t help but jump out of the bed and make my way towards him, startling him slightly, “[Y/n]! You’re Okay-!” He tensed in my arms as I engulfed him in a hug, my fingers desperately gripping onto the back of his shirt as I hid my face in the crook of his neck. Not caring that Gojo was watching in amusement behind me, or the fact my body still felt so heavy after what happened. The felling of his arms finally wrapping around my waist catching me off guard, but I didn’t make any act to move as everything I learned slowly came to mind. A small sigh slipped past my lips as I pulled away, looking at Itadori’s face for a moment, noticing the new marking under his eyes, that must’ve appeared after eating Sukuna’s finger.

“I’m glad you’re okay” It was all I could mumble out in the moment, the pit in my stomach growing at the thought of the higher ups executing him someday. “I should be the one saying that, you’re the one in the hospital” He laughed and I couldn’t help but laugh along with him, “Touché.”

Taking a step back I turned towards Gojo, my eyes narrowing in determination, “I’ll go back.”

And I’ll protect him too.

#x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #itadori yuji x male reader #itadori yuji x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x male reader #itadori yuji x top male reader #fushiguro megumi x top male reader #Resentment; JJK

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

Text

Take Anything From Me

Pairing: Geralt x Eskel Warning(s): knotting, oviposition, belly bulge, non-human anatomy Rating: explicit

Summary: Geralt and Eskel have been friends for years now following a contract-gone-wrong where Eskel saved his life. When they meet up again and Eskel is suffering, Geralt is more than willing to help however he can.

I have been so excited for this one, you guys!! Nel did some amazing art for this that can be found in the fic on ao3 or on her twitter!! Please go and check it out, it’s AMAZING!

Geralt's heart thumps heavily in his chest and he refuses to admit that Eskel has anything to do with it. But he can't help but smile when he sees the little island appear through the mist. It's a fairly small island, not even large enough for a lighthouse and easily missed, just outside of the ships' path in and out of the harbour. But a few years back, Geralt almost perished on those same rocks he's so happy to see now. The villagers had lied about the sirens, had said it was one or two attacking ships when it was an entire colony. Eskel had stepped in (so to speak) and saved him, and Geralt had spent the following week repaying the favour when Eskel's face was slashed in the process.

Geralt has been back to visit him often since. It started out as a means to pay Eskel back for his sacrifice, but it was clear after the first couple of visits that there was more than just a sense of obligation there. Geralt likes Eskel and he enjoys their conversations, infrequent as they can be. He looks forward to seeing him again and it's been a few months this time, so his heart beats too quickly and he finds his fingers itching against the rudder, wanting to urge the boat forward faster.

When he does come closer, he sails around to the back of the island where it's sandier and he can pull up further onto the shore. He does so, tethering the boat to keep it from drifting with the tide, and sets off over the rocks to the entry of Eskel's cave.

On the southwestern side of the island, there's a gaping hole in the rock. The sea fills it halfway but during their first interaction, Eskel showed Geralt where to go to reach a hidden ledge inside, lit by an opening in the roof of the cave. It's sandy toward the back - likely from sand falling in through cracks in the roof - with a short ledge where it meets the sea. It's where they always meet because Geralt can't remain underwater for long - even with killer whale, he doesn't have the ability to talk or breathe underwater - but Eskel can stay above the surface for long stretches of time if he's careful about it. So it works and Geralt is relieved to have a place to come back and meet with him.

Most of his belongings have been left at the inn in town, but Geralt keeps a dagger on him at all times, just in case. He jumps into the water in his clothes, swimming in from the entrance and towards the back where he knows the shelf of rock sits hidden from sight. When he reaches it, he pulls himself up, immediately kicking off his boots and stripping out of his wet trousers and shirt. He lays them out in the thin stretch of light and stretches out next to them, hoping they'll dry quickly.

He's usually the first to arrive - Eskel often waits until he hears him, then comes to the surface - but this time, Geralt finds he's waiting for much longer than usual. He tries not to worry about it, but out here in the open, who knows what could happen to Eskel. He knows there's a mer settlement further out, that this cave is just a place Eskel likes to visit, but he's never been late like this before.

So he gets up to his feet, regretting not bringing any of his potions, and peers over the edge of the rock. But the thin light streaming in isn't bright enough to illuminate beneath the surface and Geralt frowns. Reluctantly, he sits down and slips into the water.

He takes a deep breath and dives down, opening his eyes as he pushes beneath the surface, but he can't see anything in the dark. Then, from behind him, sharp hands wrap around his chest, hauling him back up. He breaks the surface and squirms, kicking his feet to avoid hitting whoever has him but to try and get away. But they don't let go and Geralt is shortly lifted out of the water and placed gently back on the rocky ledge. He turns to complain and finds Eskel, submerged up to his chin and watching him.

"Sorry to startle you," Geralt grins, "you didn't show, I got worried." At first, he's distracted by the happiness of seeing his friend again, but as Eskel doesn't respond, Geralt starts to notice a tightness around his eyes. He sits down with his arm resting on one raised knee.

"Something wrong?'' he asks and as Eskel averts his eyes, Geralt notices the aura of… sadness around him. Although it's not just sadness, it's regret and worry and something that brushes against shame and Geralt doesn't know what it is. "You're in pain," he presses but Eskel just bobs a little higher and shrugs at him.

"'S nothing."

"Doesn't smell like nothing."

"Gotta stop doing that," Eskel mumbles, flicking his tail up so it just breaks the surface of the water.

"Who's gonna look out for you if not me?" Geralt teases, but Eskel just stares down at the water. Geralt frowns and readjusts so he's propped up on one elbow, right at the edge of the ledge. "Hey," he says, "what's up?

"Told you, it's nothing. I shouldn't stay today."

"Eskel," Geralt says firmly, "I will come in there after you." Eskel huffs a soft, humourless laugh and flips his tail again.

"It's just not a good time."

"If you want me to go, I'll go, but I won't leave you if you're suffering."

"Geralt."

"Eskel. You risked your own life to save me and you think I'm just going to let you stay here alone and suffering?"

"That was years ago." Geralt just shrugs and Eskel huffs.

"Can I help?"

"No." The answer is abrupt and sharp and Geralt is taken aback by it. Eskel must notice the look on his face because he swims a little closer and ducks his head. "Sorry," he whispers, "it's just… not something you can help with." Geralt nods silently and Eskel flicks his tail again before continuing, seemingly reluctantly. "It's… our season," he explains. Geralt just looks at him in quiet confusion until Eskel lets out a huff, looking away from him. "Mating season."

"Oh." Geralt mumbles, "there has to be something I can do."

"Geralt," Eskel bares his teeth and looks surprisingly vicious for someone so bashful, all sharp teeth and anger.

"Is there nothing? I think I know you well enough now, you can tell me."

"It's not something we talk about with other people, it's… private."

"Okay." Geralt backs off, watching Eskel sadly as he swishes the water around him. "Would you tell me if there was something I could do? To help?"

Eskel is suspiciously quiet. Geralt doesn't expect him to respond, but he doesn't expect the total silence and Eskel's refusal to even look at him. He thinks back to everything he knows about mating rituals - not much outside of the monsters he hunts - to try and come up with a way to help. He knows a lot of egg-laying creatures build nests but he doubts the lack of a nest is the problem here. His own problem is that he knows very little about mer and there are so many different subspecies that any knowledge he does have is probably unhelpful to Eskel.

But there are a few things that are inherent to breeding, the most important of which is the drive to do it, an ingrained need to do it, to fuck, to nest, to reproduce. And the way Eskel is squirming, he has a good feeling that might be part of it.

His stomach clenches at the thought of it and his prick stirs in his trousers. It's just a means to an end, to help a friend in need, but he could do that. If Eskel needs to fuck, it could get painful denying himself and Geralt is here and, well, the thought of fucking Eskel is not unwelcome. It's not even strictly the first time he's thought about it. Especially during those first few weeks, Geralt would catch himself staring, enamoured with the curve of Eskel's tail or the thickness of his chest.

He catches himself now, staring at the plush curve of Eskel's lips and he forcibly drags his eyes away. Eskel is suffering and just because he's fucking stunning doesn't mean he wants Geralt drooling over him.

"If you need to fuck," he says, dropping onto his chest and swirling his hand in the water, "I can help with that." Eskel's eyes immediately snap up to his and he squirms a little, stirring the water around him.

"It's… more than just that," he mumbles, dropping his eyes again. Geralt just rolls off the ledge, splashing into the water to swim over to him.

He floats in front of him, but Eskel immediately snatches him up, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him close. He's unreasonably afraid Geralt will sink or something and while it's incredibly sweet, it's also a little frustrating when he's trying to talk to him. But as he shifts to try to push away, he can feel the swell of Eskel's cock, fully unsheathed and pressing against his thigh.

Geralt lets out a little gasp of surprise and presses against it. Eskel leans into the touch, eyelids fluttering shut and when he doesn't pull away, Geralt reaches down, brushing his fingers along the seam of his slit.

"Geralt," Eskel chokes, "it's not just- fuck. It's not just about fucking." Geralt leans in closer, reaching up with his other arm to rest it on Eskel's shoulder.

"Whatever it is, I'll do it. I don't like seeing you suffer."

"I can't ask you to do this," Eskel says and he sounds genuinely distressed.

Geralt leans back, still trapped in the strength of Eskel's arms. He smiles at him and brushes his fingers through his hair, taking in the expression of pain and frustration on Eskel's face. He's reluctant to offer a solution that doesn't include his own involvement (he doesn't look too closely at that), but he finds himself offering anyway. Anything to make Eskel feel better.

"Isn't there someone else then? Another mer? You said the colony isn't far from here."

"I can't," he says too quickly, ducking his head and turning his head so the scar is mostly hidden from Geralt's view. "They wouldn't want me."

A rush of guilt and pain washes over him and Geralt shuts his eyes. He reaches out unthinking, cupping the scarred side of Eskel's face in his hand.

"That's their loss," he says softly, brushing his thumb over the uneven skin. "Eskel, just tell me what I have to do and I'll do it."

"Geralt, it's-"

"It's not too much, I want to help."

"I need someone to take my eggs," he mumbles and Geralt bites the inside of his lip to keep from seeming too eager, but at this point his own cock has picked up and Eskel is sure to notice soon enough.

"How do you mean?" he asks, "you need to deposit them?" Eskel nods and Geralt's mind helpfully supplies the image of being filled full of eggs. His cock twitches in his soaked shorts and Eskel gives a short huff of laughter.

"I don't think that's the reaction you're supposed to have to that," he mumbles. Geralt shrugs. "This should be weird for you, humans don't take eggs, Geralt."

"Humans do a lot of things their bodies aren't made for," he hums, reaching around to tangle his fingers in the loose hairs at the back of Eskel's neck. "And I'm hardly human anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"More than sure. Anything I can do to help," he says but at this point is becoming less about strictly helping out a friend and more about fucking Eskel. He leans in tentatively and Eskel doesn't pull away when he kisses him.

The arms around his waist cinch tighter and Eskel groans against his lips, kissing him back hard. Geralt's head swims with his eagerness, and he's barely able to drop his arm to circle Eskel's neck before they're moving and he's pressed up against the stone ledge. Eskel makes no attempt to put him back on land this time though, pressing right up against him and shifting his hips to rub his cock against Geralt's thigh.

He reaches down with one hand, slipping under the waistband of Geralt's shorts and pulling them off of him. Once they've been discarded back on the rock, he slides his hand under Geralt's thigh, lifting it up so Geralt can wrap his legs around him. The first brush of their cocks together has Geralt squirming, groaning against Eskel's lips even as sharp claws press into the underside of his thigh. He wants him so badly he can hardly breathe.

Eskel nips at his lip and Geralt hadn't realized how sharp he is until now. But the pain only serves to send him higher, travelling straight to his already needy cock. He manages to get a hand between them, taking both their cocks and stroking them together as Eskel's mouth drifts down his neck and along the expanse of his shoulder. He nips and sucks at the skin and Geralt is helpless in his grasp to do anything but moan and rut into his own fist, pressing hard against Eskel's cock.

"Fuck," Geralt mumbles, "that's good, don't- mm, don't stop."

Eskel presses a little firmer with the following bite and Geralt groans loudly. He'll break the skin if he's not careful, but a part of Geralt likes that, welcomes the idea of a scar from Eskel, a mark to remind him of this in case it never happens again. And he's certain it won't.

But Eskel writhes against him, rutting up into his hand and squirming with every press of Geralt's fingers. He wants it so badly Geralt isn't sure how he held out so long, especially having him pressed against him like that, and he's determined to make it good for him.

Tentatively, he slips his fingers to the tip of Eskel's cock, pressing against the slit. Eskel groans softly, burying his face in Geralt's neck. Geralt presses further, letting the tip of his finger slip inside and Eskel's hips jerk hard.

"You like that?" Geralt asks breathlessly and Eskel nods against him.

"Yeah," he groans, "please, yeah."

"Shh," I got you, "Geralt hums, "he slips a hand around the back of Eskel's neck, rubbing gently at the base of his skull as his finger pushes deeper into his cock. Eskel jerks again, pushing up, forcing himself onto the intrusion with a gasp.

Geralt lets him, rubbing along the inside of him and testing out various speeds and pressure. When he switches to his thumb, Eskel bucks against him, apparently eager for the thickness, and Geralt wraps his remaining fingers around his cock, stroking him at the same time as he fingers him. Eskel squirms and moans and Gerslt's own cock throbs with need against Eskel's hips, even the coolness of the water isn't enough to deter it. But he keeps his attention on Eskel, revelling in the pressure when Eskel jerks against him.

"Is that good? Geralt asks, "do you want more?" Eskel looks up at him with pleading eyes and Geralt tips forward to kiss him as he slips off his cock entirely.

Geralt rubs at the head of his cock with two fingers, until Eskel starts rutting up against him and he huffs softly as he pushes inside. Eskel moans, biting down on Geralt's bottom lip and a bolt of pleasure goes straight to Geralt's cock. He lets out his own responding moan and Eskel presses close, wrapping one arm around his neck and pushing webbed fingers up into his hair. They shift against each other, neither moving much but to rock forward into the other and Geralt moves only automatically, so overwhelmed by the press of Eskel's body all around him.

He aches for more, to have Eskel's hand around him, his mouth, to feel that cock pressing into him and splitting him open. Fuck, and Eskel is big. He's not highly educated on the size of mer cocks, but he's willing to bet Eskel is above average. And the thought of him stretching him and shoving into him is incredible.

He lets out a little whine and Eskel shoves him back hard. The rock bites into his back, but Geralt barely notices it as the hand that was firmly wrapped around his side pulls away to wrap around his cock. And Geralt could cry at the relief it brings, rutting up hard against his palm and moaning into his mouth. Eskel is normally so careful when they touch, always aware that his claws are much sharper than human fingernails and doing his best to keep them away from Geralt's skin as much as he can. But in his desperation, he's clumsy and his claws brush along the underside of Geralt's cock as he moves to wrap around the head.

Geralt can feel the way he moves to pull back, but he brings him closer again, groaning to assure him it's fine. More than fine, even, but Eskel pulls away, breathing heavily as he breaks the kiss.

"Geralt," he breathes, "fuck, please-" he lets out a shuddering moan as Geralt presses into him again, "I need to fuck you, I need you-" he devolves to rambling as he presses his face into Geralt's neck, stroking him and squeezing hard as he nips at his skin.

"Yeah," Geralt huffs, tipping his head to the side, "yeah, give me that cock, please-" Eskel snarls against him and in one swift motion he's got his hands on Geralt's hips, lifting him back up onto the rock.

Geralt sits with his feet in the water as Eskel abruptly changes his mind. His fingers dig into Geralt's hips and he holds him forward as he rises up and presses his face between his thighs. He nips at Geralt's skin, licking over the marks and making his way up, temptingly close to Geralt's aching cock.

Precome beads at the tip and Eskel flicks his tongue out, licking it away before pushing himself up further and sinking down on him fully. Geralt doubles over, fingers pushing through Eskel's hair to steady himself as he rocks up involuntarily, seeking the wet heat of Eskel's mouth. As Eskel pulls up, his teeth graze the length of Geralt's cock and he almost loses it completely, moaning and twitching under his grip.

He still wants more, wants to feel Eskel inside of him, feel anything inside of him, so he reaches down, spreading his thighs to press a hand down between them. He nudges against his hole, testing the openness and it's dry, but doesn't hurt when he presses against himself. He doesn't bother with soft touches as he might normally, too impatient to do anything but press into himself.

He gets a finger in up to the first knuckle before it's too dry to continue and thrusts shallowly like that, groaning at the twin pleasures. Eskel, Evidently, is also encouraged by the thought of it, sucking harder so Geralt's eyes roll back in his head. One of the hands on his hips disappears, shortly pressing against his hole, dripping with Eskel's own slick and Geralt groans at the idea of opening himself with it. He moves aside so Eskel can spread it over him, then rubs it into his hole, pushing deeper now than before.

He makes himself slick with it, pressing two fingers in as soon as he is able, but it'll take more than that before he can comfortably take Eskel's cock, even as slick as it is. But it feels good fingering himself as Eskel plays with his cock in his mouth, rising up so suckle at the head before taking him all the way down again so Geralt's weak thrusts push him into Eskel's throat.

Abruptly, Eskel pulls off completely and Geralt thinks he's done something wrong until he's pushed back against the stone and Eskel lifts one thigh, draping it over his shoulder. He pulls Geralt toward the edge of the ledge, sinking further into the water as he presses his face back between Geralt's thighs, flicking his tongue against his skin before licking over his hole.

Geralt goes limp, letting Eskel shove him any which way to better access his hole, licking over it and teasing the ring with the tip of his tongue. When he finally pushes in, Geralt cries out, fingers clenching in his own hair as he tries with no luck to push further onto him.

"Eskel," he groans, "please, I need you-"

Eskel just hums against him and plunges deeper, deeper than any human tongue could reach, and Geralt whimpers, arching off the stone. Eskel's palm presses against his stomach, holding him down and Geralt can only squirm against it as he's taken apart from the inside out.

"Please," he gasps, "fuck, please Eskel, I can take it." Eskel hums against him and Geralt's pleas turn to unintelligible rambling as Eskel's tongue thrusts into him again and again.

Then, carefully, Eskel withdraws, kissing the base of his cock and down his thighs. He lets Geralt's legs drop again, smoothing his hands up them. He hauls Geralt closer and pushes himself up out of the water, bracing himself on the rock on either side of Geralt's torso. He shifts to lean on one arm, brushing the knuckles of the other hand against Geralt's hole and testing the stretch.

Apparently pleased, he reaches down to grip his own cock, stroking himself slowly before pressing the thin head against Geralt's hole and pushing in. He takes very little time to adjust before shifting back onto both hands and rocking forward. Geralt groans as Eskel slides into him, stretching him further as he settles against him. The burn is faint, eased by the cool slick coating Eskel's cock and seeping from his slit and Geralt inhales deeply, shutting his eyes as Eskel shifts impatiently.

"You can move," Geralt rasps, "I can take it. Fuck, I want it." He knows how desperate the urge can be, has been under spells meant to mimic the same urge, and he wants Eskel to take what he needs, not to restrain himself for Geralt's sake.

Eskel pulls back and snaps his hips forward hard and when Geralt just moans and reaches up to grasp at his shoulders, it seems to be encouragement enough. Eskel keeps his pace even, steady but hard, and Geralt squeezes around him, pushing himself further onto his cock. Eskel fills him more than he could have thought and Geralt's foggy with lust, spurred on by the stretch of Eskel's cock inside him.

Eskel leans low over him, kissing him again, but the motion is jolted by his thrusts. Their lips brush and Eskel nips at him, sharp teeth just barely catching so he doesn't risk cutting him and it sends a shock straight through him. Geralt wants him to bite him, wants to feel those teeth sink into his shoulder, right where it connects with his neck. And he's not an idiot, he knows enough about mer culture to know what that means and to know Eskel wouldn't, least of all in the heart of the moment, but he wants it.

He groans softly, wrapping his arms around Eskel's neck and pulling him against him. His thrusts slow and Eskel hums when Geralt kisses him. He knows this is a one-time thing, but feeling Eskel's mouth against his own, slow enough now that he can kiss him properly, is something he won't ever forget. And maybe he's been trying too hard to not feel anything, but when Eskel looks at him, something rises to the surface that Geralt has been carefully avoiding for years now.

He loses himself in the kiss to keep from thinking too much about it, sliding one hand down over Eskel's hip to bring him closer, deeper. But the angle's a little off and he can't get as deep as he wants him. And he wants to feel Eskel's cock in him for the rest of the month.

"Fuck."

Eskel snaps his hips and Geralt whines against his mouth. He pushes his hips down, trying without any luck to push Eskel deeper and Eskel seems to realize what he's angling for. He pulls out and for a second, Geralt is devastated until Eskel leans over him, kissing his stomach.

"Roll over for me?" he asks and Geralt immediately squirms into place, turning onto his stomach. Eskel hums happily and sinks a little lower, pressing his tongue between Geralt's cheeks and licking over him briefly before hoisting himself back up.

He fits himself against Geralt's body, sliding his prick between his cheeks and Geralt shudders at the touch, pushing up to meet him and clenching his hands into fists.

"Please," he whines.

He offered to help because he knows Eskel needs it and because he likes sex - with anyone - but he wasn't expecting it to be like this. He feels empty without Eskel's cock in him, wants him to fill him and fuck him until he can't breathe anymore. When Eskel pushes in, Geralt stills, holding his breath at the first press of Eskel's cock against his hole. He only remembers to breathe when Eskel runs his knuckles down his back tenderly.

Eskel pushes in, sinking deeper than before and Geralt nearly cries when he feels the base of Eskel's cock slip in, spreading him even further. There's a ridge there that he couldn't feel before, but it's obvious now, swollen and right at the base of him. Eskel has a fucking knot. Geralt's own cock hangs heavy between his legs, twitching at the thought of Eskel buried inside him and swollen. He moans into his own arm and nearly chokes as Eskel rocks into him.

He's much deeper this time, deeper than Geralt's ever taken anything before and it makes his head spin. Eskel starts slower this time, letting Geralt adjust to the new position and even though he wants it quick and hard, he's happy for the brief change of pace. Because Eskel leans over him like this, draped over his back with his nose pressed into Geralt's skin. His breath comes in hot, wet puffs and it feels good.

He keeps one hand on Geralt's hip and the other remains planted on the ground, bracing him. The hand on Geralt's hip presses into his skin, holding tight but careful not to puncture, and it steadies him, keeps him calm as the power of Eskel's hips threatens to drive him insane.

Geralt's already dizzy with lust but when Eskel picks up the pace, he nearly collapses against the ground, unable to do anything but moan and shove his hips back against him. His thighs spread, knees scraping against the rock, but it's all a blur; he hardly even notices he's moving until his cock is brushing against the stone as well and he gives a weak little thrust, desperate for any friction. Eskel shifts above him and the hand on his hip slips around to his stomach.

"Can I touch you?" he asks and Geralt lets out a low moan, nodding.

"Yes, fuck, please-"

He doesn't realize how worked up he is until Eskel gets a hand around him and he barely touches him before Geralt's coming, rocking forward into Eskel's hand and spilling all over the ground beneath him.

"Shit," Eskel groans, "fuck, Geralt." He presses his face between Geralt's shoulder blades. His hips jerk and he plants both hands on the ground, claws cutting into the layer of dirt. "I'm gonna come, can you-" he jerks hard, whining against Geralt's skin, "can you take my knot?"

"Yeah," Geralt huffs and Eskel thrusts hard.

Geralt holds his breath as the knot catches on his rim and then with another forward thrust, it slips in. The stretch burns a little, but the thought of being filled so completely only makes him want it more. To know this is Eskel inside him, all around him.

Eskel shifts behind him and while the press of his cock feels amazing post-orgasm, Geralt's head is clearer and when his knees scrape against the stone, it's uncomfortable. Eskel isn't light where he's draped over him, and while Geralt wouldn't in a million years ask him to move, he would like to shift a little. Eskel seems to notice and wraps an arm around his chest, fingers slipping through Geralt's chest hair as he hums against his shoulder.

"Come on," he whispers, and Geralt doesn't know what's happening until Eskel lifts him and pushes off the rock, landing softly in the water. He keeps Geralt's head above water, submerged about halfway up his chest and Eskel nuzzles at his neck.

"Might be a bit," he hums, "tell me if you get cold." A shiver runs down Geralt's spine as Eskel's lips brush the shell of his ear, but he doesn't think he could ever feel cold wrapped up in him like this.

Eskel's arms come up under his thighs, keeping him buoyant so the position isn't uncomfortable and Geralt finds it's quite nice to just lean back against his chest and shut his eyes. Like this, his hearing is his main focus; the gentle crash of waves, sea birds in the distance, Eskel's heartbeat under his head. He breathes lightly, though every little shift has him gasping as Eskel's knot catches pulling against him.

And it's not long before he's antsy again, shifting intentionally to try and press his cock up against his prostate. And when it does hit, Geralt melts into him. He stretched so full of Eskel's cock he can barely think and his own cock bobs with the swirl of the water, hard and needy after only a very short time.

"Sorry," he mumbles but Eskel just hums.

His thumbs rub against Geralt's thighs, soft and gentle and Geralt tries to focus on that instead of the want that fills his veins again. Eskel is soft and gentle with him, despite what Geralt can only manage is an overwhelming orgasm.

"What does it feel like?" he asks and Eskel just makes a non-committal mumbling noise at him.

"Incredible," he breathes, "not like before. 'S like-" Eskel pauses, taking in a shuddering breath, "like reaching the peak and just… staying there. Goes down gradually but- fuck, Geralt it feels amazing. 'S been a long time."

"Glad I could help," Geralt teases. Eskel shifts, bringing Geralt's thighs together and scooping one arm under him so the other is free to wind around his middle, one webbed hand slipping up his chest. He runs his fingers through Geralt's hair, and Geralt hums softly with each pass of his hand, stretching up to nuzzle into Eskel's neck.

"Glad it was you," Eskel murmurs, dipping to kiss the top of his head. "Didn't know what you'd think of me if you knew."

"'S hot," Geralt huffs and Eskel scoffs at him but presses into the touch when Gerlt raises a hand to cup his cheek.

"Thank you."

"Wouldn't do it for just anyone," Geralt breathes and it feels like a confession. Even as the words leave his lips, his heart is hammering in his chest.

"Geralt-" Eskel starts but Geralt interrupts. He pulls Eskel's face down to him, twisting awkwardly to press a kiss to his lips.

"I'm glad it was me, too."

Eskel kisses him soft and slow despite the awkward angle, but there's a heat beneath it, a neediness that returns despite Eskel's softening cock.

It doesn't take much longer for the knot to go down, but Eskel keeps him firmly in his arms and when he shifts to lift Geralt's leg again, his cock thrust deep and Geralt realizes he's still hard. He sinks all the way into him, hooking his jaw over Geralt's shoulder.

"Are you ready?" he asks and Geralt is hot and hard and aching for anything Eskel can offer him, so he nods and throws his head back, turning to meet Eskel's mouth in a brief kiss. "It's a lot if you've never done it before, are you still okay with this?"

"Yeah," Geralt huffs, "yeah, I want this."

"Okay."

Eskel gets both arms under his thighs again, holding him up so he can't sink all the way into him when he thrusts and Geralt groans at the denial. He tries to push his hips down but Eskel just laughs softly and nips at his shoulder.

"Patience," he mumbles, "you'll get it soon enough." But Geralt wants it now and Eskel's promises hardly stop his cock from aching.

This time, when he squirms, Eskel gives him a warning bite and pleasure jolts straight through him, making his cock twitch and his back arch. For a second, Eskel is still against him before leaning down again pointedly and pressing his teeth to Geralt's skin. Not, he notes, close enough to his neck to be considered a mating mark, and something about that is disappointing. Eskel bites down and he forgets all about it, squirming on his cock and reaching down to grab his own.

"Wanna come," he mumbles, stroking himself, but Eskel stops him with a half-growled not yet. Heat rolls up his spine and Geralt lets go of his cock immediately, reaching back to wind his arms around Eskel's neck.

Eskel fucks into him at a maddeningly slow pace, and although Geralt savours the drag of his cock, he needs more. But Eskel seems to be building up, his hips pushing a little deeper, a little quicker. Then, just as Geralt thinks he'll lose his mind before Eskel fucks him properly, he stops altogether.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Now?"

"Mm. It's… fuck, Geralt it's never felt like this before, I don't know- I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," he promises, smiling back at him. Eskel squirms a little, his hips snapping forward seemingly unintentionally. "You need to release them," Geralt guesses and Eskel nods.

"Yeah, it's-" Eskel groans and jerks against him, "fuck, Geralt-"

"I'm ready," Geralt confirms, "do it."

Eskel pulls out and Geralt groans at the loss, but then he's being turned around and pulled back into Eskel's arms. They're chest to chest now and Geralt forgets to breathe when he looks up at Eskel like this. The pure need shows on his face and Geralt reaches up, wrapping his arms around the back of Eskel's neck while his legs wrap around his waist.

"Okay like this?" he asks and Eskel nods, breathing slowly.

"Yeah. 'S good. Like being able to see you," he smiles bashfully and Geralt presses up to kiss him even as he reaches behind him to wrap a hand around Eskel's cock.

Eskel groans low, thrusting awkwardly into Geralt's hand and he breaks the kiss to huff, now. It's urgent and desperate and Geralt's cock throbs between them at the sound of it. He doesn't know much about this process, but Eskel sounds pretty adamant. He guides the head of Eskel's cock to his hole again, pressing him in just a little and Eskel growls low in his throat.

He slides in deep, settling as far as he can reach, and Geralt feels like he's choking on it. For a moment, there's nothing, though he can practically feel Eskel vibrating around him. He feels the instant the egg passes, stretching him open and pushing all the way up into him. It's a heady feeling, like having another cock shoved in him while he's already being fucked, only it doesn't pull out. He tries to focus on the egg, to feel when it leaves Eskel's body and settles in his own, but he can't feel it and soon enough he's distracted by a second.

It stretches him in the same way as the first, and Geralt can feel himself expand just a little to make space. They come consistently after that and Geralt's cock has taken a very serious interest in the process. He aches for any touch, but all he can do is thrust weakly against Eskel's stomach. Strong arms hold him in place and Eskel has his head on Girl's shoulder, eyes clenched shut as he deposits the eggs inside him.

But, as Geralt takes them, Eskel's hips start to roll just a little, thrusting into him lightly and he can feel Eskel's breath become heavy again.

"Does it feel good?" he asks and Eskel groans against his shoulder.

"Not normally, doesn't normally feel like this. Guess normally I'm not with someone-," he mumbles, and Geralt is quick to pick up on the meaning.

"Feels good with me?" he asks and Eskel huffs a laugh and turns to kiss his neck.

"Feels incredible," he breathes. "Never understood why mer travel so far for breeding festivals, but- fuck yeah, it's really good." He punctuates the words with another sharp thrust just as another egg is released and Geralt isn't sure how many more will fit.

He's experimented with toys and fucked people with every sized dick imaginable, but he's never felt so full like this before and when he glances down, he can see the result of it. His stomach swells and he slips his hand over it, he can feel the individual eggs inside him. It should be weird, should make him squirm with discomfort, but the only thing he feels is a vague sort of satisfaction and pleasure.

He likes the look of his stomach, swollen with Eskel's eggs and he can't keep from touching it, feeling as the eggs shift inside him when another is added. And Eskel has noticed. He hums encouragingly as Geralt touches his skin, gently feeling the outline of the eggs though it doesn't show from the outside. He knows Eskel is watching, can feel him looking at him when he does it, but he seems pleased, kissing Geralt's shoulder and neck and nuzzling against him.

Geralt doesn't get much warning when it's over, and it's hard to tell because Eskel's thrusts are nearly constant now, the roll of his hips and Geralt can only imagine his cock inside him, slipping between the eggs that fill him. Something about that is stupidly arousing and he leans forward, pressing his lips to Eske's collar bone.

"Wanna come," he groans, "please, touch me."

"'S too late," Eskel hums apologetically, "you have to expel them first and it can take a lot of energy, I don't want to risk you like that." He brushes his knuckles against Geralt's cheek and Geralt whines softly, shutting his eyes.

"Are you gonna come?" he asks.

"If you want me to. If you think you can take it again."

"Gonna knot me again?" Geralt asks, pressing back onto him, "gonna fill me up and breed me?" He's rambling now, needy and being denied even as he rocks his hips against Eskel's stomach. Eskel groans and wraps a hand around the base of Geralt's cock, squeezing him and holding his cock away from his body.

"Fuck, you don't make it easy," he breathes.

"Then fuck me," Geralt hums, "fuck me, please."

Eskel squeezes his ass, claws digging into the flesh, and hauls Geralt against him, thrusting quick and hard. Geralt can tell he needs it too, can feel it in every shift of Eskel's hips and in the way he clings so tightly to him.

"You're gonna-" Eskel gasps and groans, dropping his forehead against Geralt's shoulder. "You're gonna have to expel them soon if you want my knot. Not gonna be able to hold out much longer."

"I wanna keep them," Geralt breathes, "for a little longer." Eskel moans and his hips stutter and Geralt wants him so fucking badly. Wants Eskel to knot him with the eggs still inside. "Please," he whines, clenching around his cock, "Eskel please."

Eskel growls low and with the next thrust, Geralt can feel the swell of his knot growing. It bumps against his rim and Geralt pushes his hips down to try and take it, but Eskel pulls back again. The next thrust pushes a little deeper, stretching Geralt around his knot but not pushing all the way in. He pushes a little deeper with each thrust until Geralt's thighs are tight around his waist and Eskel holds him so tight he can hardly move.

Geralt's cock throbs between them, so hot and needy that he can hardly stand it because Eskel refuses to touch him. And when Eskel finally pushes inside him, Geralt can feel the eggs jostle inside of him as Eskel's knot spreads him wide again.

Geralt is so unimaginably full he can barely think. His cock throbs and Eskel slides in and out and he's barely aware of anything else. He wants to come but Eskel holds him in such a way that he can't rub his cock on him anymore and it's maddening. Eskel's nose presses into his neck and he's breathing hard, grazing his teeth against Geralt's skin.

"Gods," he groans, "wanna mark you up, make everyone know your mine-" he growls and Geralt clenches around him, biting hard on his own lip to keep from coming. He shudders in Eskel's arms, whining and vaguely aware that he's asking Eskel to bite him.

"Please," he moans, "Eskel please, I want it. Make me yours- I'm yours, Eskel fuck-"

Eskel nuzzles against him, nipping at his shoulder but refusing to bite harder and Geralt groans with it. He needs it like he's never needed anything in his life and he might go mad without it. Eskel soothes him, biting down on his shoulder, dragging his teeth along the line of his neck.

"You feel fucking amazing," Eskel hums, "so fucking good around my cock, Geralt. Fuck. I'm not gonna last long if you keep it up." Geralt doesn't care. He wants Eskel in him, wants to feel that full-body shudder that runs through him as his knot swells and he spills inside him. He shoves his hips back again, clenching intentionally this time. He didn't realize how close he was until Eskel's prick rams up against his prostate again and he cries out, dropping his head back with a whine.

"I'm gonna come," he rasps, "Eskel please let me, please- I can push them out, I can, please, I want to come-" Eskel bites down on him, growling against his skin and Geralt's cock jerks hard.

"Hold on a little longer," Eskel breathes, "you feel so good like this. Just a little longer-"

Geralt hangs on as long as he can, squeezing hard around him and clenching his hands in Eskel's hair to try and hold himself together, but as Eskel's knot slips into him again, he shoots off, coming uncontrollably. Eskel shifts to let Geralt rut against him and he does, working himself through it and pressing down on Eskel's knot.

When he's finished, Eskel's chest is while with come and Geralt can't even hold his head up on his own. One of Eskel's hands slips up to the back of his head, holding him up with a soft little kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Gonna come," Eskel warns him. "Gotta get you somewhere-" he's cut off by his own moan and his hips snap forward hard.

Eskel tips onto his back, flicking his tail to propel them back toward the shore. There's a lower ledge in the rock, only covered by a couple of inches of water and he pulls them onto it, rolling them onto their sides and pulling Geralt up against him. Geralt shivers at the air against his skin but then Eskel's kissing him, soft and sweet but demanding and urgent at the same time. He bites his lips, wraps his arm around Geralt's waist and pins him against him.

"Fuck," he whispers, lips parted and breathing against Geralt's mouth, "gonna come."

"Come," Geralt whispers, "I want it." And he does.

Eskel jerks against him as he buries himself deep, spilling inside him. Geralt's eyes flutter as the knot swells inside him and he shifts to get comfortable, adjusting to the size of it. His body is heavy, but he wants this to be good for Eskel. He winds his fingers into his hair, kissing his neck and his mouth and sliding a hand between them to play with his nipples.

Eskel writhes against him, bucking hard and groaning and Geralt holds him closer. When Eskel finally stills, he kisses him. There's no heat this time, no need or want, just pure tenderness and the softness of exhaustion bleeding into his motions. Geralt melts into him, making no attempt to move other than to fit into the space Eskel makes when he moves.

He nearly falls asleep before Eskel nudges him, humming softly.

"Hey," he breathes, "don't pass out on me yet. We still gotta get those eggs outta you."

"Hmm," Geralt mumbles, "talk to me, tell me how it feels."

"Incredible," Eskel whispers, "Geralt you have no idea. 'S never been- never been like this, you feel so good. Wanna bury myself in you and stay there forever."

"Not gonna complain."

Eskel huffs a laugh and kisses him again, bringing a hand up to brush the hair out of Geralt's face. It's fallen out of its tie and is sticking to the sweat and water on his face, but Eskel pushes it away, smiling softly at him. He shifts closer, pressing his nose to Geralt's and shutting his eyes.

Geralt doesn't sleep, not really, but he drifts, only vaguely aware of Eskel still against him, talking him softly through it and then-

"Geralt," he breathes, "love?" Geralt stirs, opens his eyes to look at him and Eskel smiles. "Hey, told you you'd be tired. Are you ready to push them out?"

"Are you-?" he asks and Eskel nods.

He shifts, slipping from Geralt's body with a moan, and Geralt can feel his come dripping out of him. He squirms and his cock stirs where it's been lying soft against his thigh. Geralt pulls himself up to his knees, but Eskel reaches out to stop him.

"It'll be easier in the water," he says and Geralt doesn't get a chance to respond before he's scooped back onto Eskel's arms and they're splashing into the water again.

Eskel holds him close and Geralt stretches out, enjoying the feeling of the cool water on his skin. Eskel's hand comes down to rest on his stomach, rubbing soft circles into the skin. He turns Geralt around and Geralt rests a head on his shoulder, letting Eskel's hands roam over his body. Eskel presses down on his stomach just lightly and Geralt groans.

"Ready?" Eskel asks, "you just have to push."

The eggs feel strange coming out of him, similar to having a cock slip out of him, but again and again. He's stretched by each of them and it doesn't take much before his cock is twitching to life again, firming up without so much as a touch.

"Keep pushing," Eskel hums, "just a couple more and I'll touch you. Do you want to come again, Geralt?"

He nods, unable to find words as another egg slips from his body. They sink as he expels them, and Eskel continually rubs his stomach, kisses his neck. But Geralt is exhausted and his body begs for rest and Eskel has to readjust him. He presses one hand to Geralt's stomach, helping to push the eggs lower and make it easier.

When the final one slips free, Eskel wraps a hand around his cock, stroking him quick and hard until Geralt jerks and comes, arching off his chest with a cry. Eskel turns him and kisses him. He nips at Geralt's neck, right where he'd put a mating bite and Geralt waits for a pain that doesn't come. But he can't expect that from Eskel, not after keeping silent about his feelings for so long.

Eskel lifts him up, sitting him on the rock ledge and Geralt immediately lies back and rolls over. Eskel gives a soft huff of a laugh and pushes himself up after him. shuffling over to curve around him. He's warm and solid and When Eskel's tail winds between his legs, Geralt shuts his eyes and hum.

"'S good," he mumbles and Eskel laughs.

"You're incredible." Eskel nuzzles against the back of his neck, throwing an arm around Geralt's waist and it's the last thing Geralt knows before he falls asleep.

When he wakes, Geralt is stiff and aching, back on land again, but Eskel is pressed against his back and Eskel kisses the back of his neck. His nose traces a line down his neck and along the back of his shoulder.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?"

"You asked me to mark you," Eskel says softly, "why?"

"I- I know how important it is to you - to mer - I didn't mean to make light of it, I just- You're important to me, Eskel. I haven't been as open as I should be, but you're… I wanted you to. Not just to bite me but to claim me- fuck, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Eskel hums. "Geralt, I couldn't- to tie you to me, to this place and nowhere else-"

"Eskel?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want… this?"

"Do I want to fuck you until you literally pass out? yeah. Yeah, that was incredible. You're incredible. Shoulda told you before, didn't think you'd be interested."

"You saved my life and that week I spent here," Geralt huffs a laugh, slipping his fingers between Eskel's. "I didn't want to leave."

"Don't have to," Eskel hums, "not now, not ever if you don't want to."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Geralt mumbles, settling again against Eskel's chest.

"'M not. I like having you here."

"Mmhm, must be really popular having a Witcher for a friend."

"They feel safer with you around. I feel safer with you around." Geralt snorts and Eskel muzzles up against him. "What do I have to do to prove it to you, hm?" He kisses the back of Geralt's neck and slides to the junction of his neck and shoulder, kissing the skin there.

"Stay for a while," Eskel hums, "maybe we can talk more about that bite."

Geralt's eyes flutter shut at the light touch and he sighs as Eskel pulls him close. He doesn't know how to make this work and maybe that's part of the reason he never said anything until now. But Eskel seems convinced and after tonight, Geralt is willing to trust him with pretty much anything.

#geralt x eskel #mer!eskel #fic with art #rex writes

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: yoongi x reader // word count: 15.8k // genre: smut

summary: your idea of a good night certainly doesn't involve being stood up by yet another blind date and finding yourself alone in a fancy bar; fortunately for you, there's an attractive man playing the piano to keep you busy, instead.

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), cursing, minor consumption of alcohol, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, pet names, slight exhibitionism, slight praise kink, light dom/sub undertones if you squint ig (reader is kind of subby)

– –

Throughout the years of your life, you've learned a few things. Some of them are pretty obvious (buying suspiciously cheap sushi from a petrol station is like playing Russian Roulette with food poisoning and diarrhoea), some of them are less so (just because something is 'on sale' doesn't actually mean that it's cheaper if they'd increased the overall price beforehand), but one thing that you're only just starting to learn is that— for all that Jimin says otherwise— blind dates will always stand you up.

jiminnie is he there yet??

you to my entire lack of surprise, no. i'm starting to wonder if this 'hoseok-hyung' of yours even exists tbh i should have been suspicious from the second you called him a 'friend' bc that implies that you HAVE friends

jiminnie ok RUDE. we're friends??

you suddenly i can't read

The two of you had been outrageously drunk after a night out on the town, once, and Jungkook had come to collect his tipsy boyfriend, and you'd seen the fond way he'd watched Jimin despite his messy behaviour— how he'd given Jimin a piggyback even though it must have been hard with the way Jimin had been squirming and laughing and kicking his legs back and forth— and your heart had squeezed tight in your chest. (You'd been so drunk.)

It had honestly been a slip of the tongue when you'd revealed to Jimin that you were kind of maybe feeling somewhat lonely, a little bit, potentially. You'd had one night stands and short flings but it's been a long time since you've been in an actual relationship, a long time since you've really clicked with someone. Maybe part of you had been missing it, that connection with another person. Normally you're fine with being single, but Jungkook and Jimin are so in love that it spills out from them and you guess in the moment you'd wanted to feel that, too.

You blame the alcohol. You also blame your own loose lips. And Jimin, you blame him too, for persuading you to go clubbing in the first place. You don't even remember what you'd said, waking up with a headache the weight and size of a tectonic plate, groaning at the pain of the morning light stabbing into your eyes, but with no recollection of your admittance that maybe you were tired of being single. Your best friend, however— despite having drunk more than you— could recall the previous night with crystalline clarity, much to your horror and embarrassment. And, because Jimin is Jimin, he'd latched onto what you'd said with the tenacity of a dog with a bone.

Fast forward to where you're sitting now, on yet another arranged date that he's planned for you— and once again, you've been stood up.

you i'm starting to wonder if any of the people you've tried to set me up with are even real

jiminnie omg they ARE you had a nice time with lisa??

Okay, so you hadn't been stood up for every date. Lisa had been the only person who'd shown up, and she was cute and friendly and you got on like a house on fire, but you'd very quickly found out that she was actually head over heels for her best friend Jennie. You being you, your first date had rapidly turned into you giving your new friend a pep-talk and hyping her up— and suffice to say you've been having weekly girl's brunches with Lisa and her now-girlfriend Jennie ever since. So, yes, technically you haven't been stood up every time, but still.

you yes, my ideal first date involves telling the other person that their best friend is definitely in love with them too :))

jiminnie I'VE ALREADY SAID THAT I'M SORRY :(

you LMAO it's fine, it's always nice to make friends but seriously minnie, like,, if your friends are going to stand me up, could you at least have had the decency to organise the date somewhere less fancy? i spent ages getting ready and noah fence it kind of feels like i just wasted a bunch of my time,,

Jimin doesn't fuck around. From the outside the bar, Dionysus, exudes a quiet aura of exclusivity. Inside, however, it has a surprisingly understated atmosphere despite its namesake being the Grecian god of Getting Turnt, the sleek interior paired with soft lighting and stylish fixtures, elegant.

Either way, it's the kind of place that warrants you actually pulling out the stops with your outfit and makeup; you rarely have a reason to doll yourself up like this and it makes a nice change of pace, but it seems like you shouldn't have bothered. What's the point in putting on a cute dress and nice heels, or doing your hair and opening your expensive Too Faced eyeshadow palette for the first time, if you're just going to be sitting alone at a bar all night? At least you don't stick out, which is good, you guess.

You are the only person who's alone, though. It's midweek and everyone else is seated around one of the tables, couples and groups that are engaged in quiet discussion or watching the show— there's a small stage where there's a quartet performing live music— but you're perched on one of the barstools, tapping away at your phone, alone. If anyone were to pay any attention it would be obvious that you've been stood up, but they're all too busy having an enjoyable evening to spare a glance at the girl sitting by herself at the bar.

The only person who's paying attention to you is the bartender. He's clearly good at his job, keeping an eye on you and making you feel welcome without seeming like he's hovering; he doesn't act like you're being an inconvenience, but you give him a hefty tip each time you order a new drink anyway. Hoseok might not be turning up tonight but if you've gone to the effort of dressing this nicely and getting a taxi here then goddamn you're going to make the most of it.

It takes forty two minutes and three virgin cocktails before the handsome bartender speaks to you, saying something beyond the customary back and forth you've had so far as he hands you your next mocktail.

"Are your friends usually this late?"

You let out a little huff of laughter. "Something like that." Normally you'd be more hesitant to speak to a stranger like this, but the bartender's eyes are warm and his smile seems genuine and from what you can tell, he's just making that sure you're okay. "Seems like it'll just be me for tonight."

"You're welcome to stay and wait as long as you like," he says, and you can't help but quirk a grin at him.

"I bet you say that to all the paying customers."

He laughs and raises his hands in surrender. "You got me." And then: "If you want another drink, just give me a shout. I'm Seokjin, but everyone calls me Jin."

"As in, Jin and tonic?" You smile. "Sure. I'll be sure to remember that. I'm Y/n."

"Nice to meet you, Y/n." Jin gives you a grin before disappearing down the other side of the bar to make drinks for some other customers. Your own smile slowly fades, and then turns into a frown, eyes landing on the clock on the wall; Hoseok is forty five minutes late at this point. (You know he's not going to show.) It's been so long that the musicians on the stage have finished their set and are leaving, a different performer about to step on, and you sigh. You'll finish this last drink and then you'll go.

You use your straw to stir the mint leaves and ice cubes around, muddling the flavours in your glass. You haven't really been paying attention to the music before now; you couldn't name the songs that have been performed so far, but they're common enough that you'd recognised the sound of them, the sort of music that most people could hum along to but probably wouldn't know the origin of. Easy listening. Pleasant, but nothing new. It's clearly more about setting a nice backdrop to the bar rather than music for music's sake. A background noise, rather than acting as the focal point of the bar.

You assume this is going to be the case for the next musician, and so you barely pay any mind as the he takes to the stage alone; you're looking down at your glass as he sits at the piano and puts his feet on the pedals and places his hands on the keys, but then, he starts to play.

Your eyes snap up. A chord hangs in the air, extended, haunting; a crescendo into a light melody; the chords dip, waters dark and deep while he weaves the higher notes with infinite softness, ebbing notes that fade into each other, his fingers dancing across the keys with grace and ease. You notice with a throb in your chest that he has no sheet music. He's pulling this music from inside him, his mind, entirely from his own memory.

His eyes are cast down as he watches his hands, but you can see how they slip shut whenever he tilts his head back, fringe hanging over them. His hair is bleached blond but he clearly hasn't been maintaining the look, with dark roots starting to show through. His posture is horrible, his spine a little curved as he slouches forward, and he's not dressed as sharply as the other musicians had been— there's no tie around his neck and he has a multitude of earrings in, rings on his fingers, changing his outfit into something a little messy and different and entirely unique.

He's fucking breathtaking.

Without realising, you've swivelled away from the bar to watch him. Your drink is still clutched in your hand but you pay it no mind, condensation gathering on the cold glass and dripping down your fingers the longer you sit there, ice cubes melting as he finishes his first song and moves onto the next. Same as the first, you don't recognise it, the melody echoing deep in your chest, speaking of some feeling that you can't put a name to, each sliding arpeggio and chord reaching inside you and hanging there, little glowing droplets that shine out like moonlight.

Each of his pieces are entirely different and yet they all feel like him, somehow. Strong and soft and lovely and aching. The water from your glass has pitter-pattered onto your lap, darkening the fabric of your dress in some nameless constellation, but you don't notice. Your world has narrowed down to: the sound of his music, the motions of his hands, the way he bends into the notes, him.

Your eyes trace his profile, the cat-like eyes, the round of his nose, the pout of his lips, falling into the way he lifts his chin and tilts his head; thoughtless, gorgeous.

You don't realise that it's over until it's over. The final notes hang in the air, crystallising, and then they fade. He finishes with little fanfare, tilting a polite nod at the audience that claps for him, and then he slips off the stage and is gone just as quickly as he had come. You blink, coming back to yourself; you feel like you're rising out of deep water, motions slow and heavy, and you don't know how long you've been sitting there, entirely entranced. You'd been too distracted to clap. You'd just sat and watched in silence as he'd turned to leave, barely sparing the room a glance.

"Good, isn't he?"

Normally you would have startled at Jin's sudden appearance. Instead you just blink again, still trying to shake off the daze you've found yourself in. "Yeah." Your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat and suck in a breath and put your drink down, dripping wetness that leaves a ring on the smooth wood of the bar, and try to speak normally this time, willing your voice to be level. "Yes. He's very good."

"Yoongi is here at the same time every week," Jin supplies, tone conversational, like he's just having a regular chat. Yoongi. His name is Yoongi. You wonder if Jin can hear how your heart is pounding, the galloping hooves of a wild horse that tumble in your chest. You try to keep your expression stoic as you look at him, scared that he'll be able to read what's written across your face— but he's smiling at you in the same way as before. Just a barkeeper who's trying to get a return customer. (Although, you'd swear there was a glint in his eye for the briefest moment, but then it's gone.) "He changes the set each time, if you're interested in coming back to hear something new."

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow, trying to wet your lips. Dionysus is too fancy of a place to ask customers for tips for the musicians, but— "Can I buy him a drink?"

Jin cocks his head at you. "A drink? For Yoongi?"

"Yes," you say. You feel a little shy when you spot his expression, biting your lip. "I just really enjoyed the music, and I'd like to tip him somehow? Is that a normal thing that people do?"

Jin pauses, and then smiles. This smile is a little wider than the ones he's given you before, different, but he seems pleased. "Who cares about what's normal? I'll get a drink to him. What would you like?"

"Um, whatever he prefers," you say. You figure that Jin would have a better idea about what that is than you, which is proven true by his almost instantaneous reply.

"He likes red wine, or whisky, neat. I think tonight is a whisky kind of night." He's already going through the motions of putting the drink together, and you slide him money as he begins to pour. You know nothing about Yoongi but you can't help but feel like the drink suits him— simple, classic, masculine. "Do you want me to pass on a message for you?"

"Um, you can just say that it's from someone who enjoyed the music, I guess?" You giggle a little, feeling awkward and off balance. Jin is looking at you like he's expecting you to say something else, but you just want to express your enjoyment of Yoongi's music and nothing more. You don't— you don't want to be weird, you just like the sound of his piano playing.

Jin disappears into the back with the glass of whisky, and you finish the watery remnants of your drink before you leave, ice cubes completely melted in the— wow— forty minutes that Yoongi had been playing. It hadn't felt that long at all.

It's not until you're stepping through your front door that you realise you haven't looked at your phone since before the beginning of Yoongi's set. Jimin's messages have been changing from apologetic to concerned to downright frantic.

jiminnie Y/N BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP

you how many times should i blink if i don't need help?

jiminnie omg you're ALIVE where were you?? i was starting to get worried

you sorry i got distracted! but i'm fine, i'm at home hoseok never showed

jiminnie yeah i know :(( he messaged me saying he had an emergency and couldn't make it tonight but he's free this weekend??

you … remember when i said that this was the last blind date i was going to go on?

jiminnie it doesn't count as a date if hyung never turned up!!!

you that isn't true and you know it omg minnie… i appreciate what you're trying to do but pls bb. let it rest

jiminnie i just want you to be happy :((

you i don't have to be in a relationship to be happy

jiminnie you said you were lonely!

you omg i was DRUNK let it GO besides being stood up by multiple blind dates isn't going to help me feel less lonely lmao i get that you're happy in your relationship with kookie and you want to spread that happiness but you don't have to!! i'm fine!! yeah i get lonely sometimes but what single person doesn't?? i'm happy being by myself hhhhh

jiminnie fine :(( but if you change your mind, hobi-hyung would still love to meet you!

As you kick off your heels, humming a bar of Yoongi's music to yourself, you think that Hoseok probably shouldn't bother holding his breath.

(That night, when you sleep, you dream of dark eyes and the press of a sinfully perfect cupid's bow against your own lips, a pair of large hands drawing noises from you like a glissando, rings cool against your heated skin.)

–

Wednesday nights become a ritual of sorts. You get dressed, do your hair, match your makeup to your outfit and shoes, coordinating your look into something that doesn't look out of place in Dionysus before you hop into a taxi and make your way to the bar.

You're a firm regular by now. Your seat has become just that, your seat, the same one you'd been sitting in the first time you'd been there; it's towards the dimmer lights at the back and so you're sitting further away from the stage than you might like, but at least you can see the whole room from here. You turn up twenty minutes before Yoongi's set and Jin always greets you warmly when he sees you: you've quickly come to enjoy your chats. Jin is always unashamedly himself and the two of you joke and laugh as he works, but he always knows to leave you alone as soon as Yoongi steps onto the stage.

For the next forty minutes the rest of the world fades away as you drink Yoongi and his music in, listen to the lilting notes he coaxes out of the piano, watch how his fingers rest on each key before he slides into his next piece, reverent.

You never ever explicitly mention Yoongi in your conversations with Jin, though. The bartender seems to bring the musician up anyway; he does it smoothly, in a way that's utterly casual, and he seems to know a surprising amount about someone who is, by all accounts, a very private person. (You're not complaining about the fact that you now know that Yoongi wears Kumamon slippers because his feet get cold easily— "he's cold blooded, like a lizard," apparently— but you do wonder how Jin knows that.)

The Yoongi that Jin describes is just as beautiful as the man you see on stage, but less mysterious, less distant— and yet he still intimidates you.

Jin might be his friend but to you Yoongi is unapproachable. Untouchable. To him you're just a nameless face in the audience, nothing more. His eyes will slide across the room before he starts his performance, but he never seems to notice you; it's no surprise, sitting where you do, in an area of relative darkness in comparison to the rest of the bar, and once he sits down he only looks at the piano under his hands. He has no eyes for anything else. You're far enough away and his lashes are cast so low that even when his eyes are open it's hard for you to see where he's looking, and the shadow of his fringe hides how his pupils scan his hands as he plays, anyway.

Every week, when the set draws to a close, Jin is already pouring Yoongi's whisky or wine and you slide him the exact amount of change. Every week, Jin asks if you want to pass on a message, and every week, you say the same thing: that it's from someone who enjoyed the music. And that's that. Jin will disappear to give Yoongi his drink and you'll finish your own drink in quiet solitude before you slide off your barstool to go home.

(The only thing that's changed over the weeks is that the music Yoongi plays seems to be a little lighter and— dare you say— happier? He still looks down at the piano with the same intensity, still lays his hands on the keys with the same delicate pressing weight before he begins to play— but with some songs he seems to be teasing the music out, flirting with each note, eyelashes fluttering as he lifts his chin and moves his hands.

You're not a musician by any means, so you don't know how to describe it with any sort of accuracy or terminology, but to you it's like the deep waters of Yoongi's music have been cut through with light, beams of sun rippling through the dark blue. You don't know what's caused this change, the slow uplift in his mood throughout the weeks, but you hope he manages to keep hold of it, whatever it is.)

Between work and studying and volunteering and making time to see friends, you don't often have time entirely to yourself, and so Wednesday nights are a rare moment of peace during your otherwise busy week. That's why when Jimin says that he's had to rearrange your weekly film night to Wednesday— because he and Jungkook are going down to Busan to see each other's families this weekend— you decline.

Jimin is rendered speechless and demands to know why.

"I'm busy," is your answer. Jimin doesn't buy it.

"You're never too busy for movie night," he says. "Wednesday is the only night we're all free."

"Well, I'm not free, Minnie. Sorry," you say. His head is in your lap, your fingers gently stroking his hair, and you can easily see the way his face contorts with disbelief as he stares up at you.

"Do you hear that, babe? Y/n is too busy for our weekly tradition." Jimin sounds scandalised.

Jimin is stretched out between the two of you— while his head is in your lap, his feet are in Jungkook's, the younger man idly massaging his boyfriend's ankles and feet. "Yes, babe, I heard," Jungkook says, indulgent.

"What's more important than movie night?" Jimin lifts one of his legs and Jungkook turns his attention to that one, digging his fingers into the arch of Jimin's foot. Jimin sighs in relief, but then turns the full force of his stare back at you. "We were going to watch Spirited Away. You love Spirited Away."

"I'm just busy," you say, and that had been your mistake. You should have had some sort of credible reason but you hadn't been prepared, and while he hadn't made it obvious at the time, Jimin had latched onto your vague excuse, sniffing out weakness like a shark with blood in the water. If you'd been paying attention you'd have noticed, but you hadn't paid attention and so you hadn't noticed. (Whoops.)

And so, Wednesday night that week is the same as always; Yoongi plays his music, you fall a little bit more in love, and pass your compliments to him with Jin as the mouthpiece. You go home, wash your makeup off, and arch into the touch of your own hand while imagining it's someone else's fingers sliding across your skin. Routine. Normal. Uninterrupted. Peaceful.

The next week, however, it all goes to shit.

Okay. Maybe that's a little dramatic. It's not as bad as all that. The night starts as normal: you're on your stool, and you have your drink, and you have ten minutes until Yoongi is due to play, shifting to get comfortable, crossing your legs.

But then:

"Oh my God, you're wearing your come fuck me heels," comes Jimin's voice from behind you, and your blood turns to ice.

You turn on the barstool so fast you almost fall off it. You come face to face with Jimin who has an expression of what can only be described as sheer delight on his face. He's even dressed appropriately for the bar, a silk shirt tucked into his Very Tight jeans and a subtle smoky eye to top it off; Jungkook looks nice, too, but you have no doubt that he's only here under sufferance, if the infinitely apologetic look on his face is anything to go by.

"Jimin?" Your voice comes out as a hiss. If you were a cat your back would be up and your hackles would be raised and all your fur would be on end, your entire body going into fight mode. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see for myself what was more important than movie night," Jimin says simply, like it's obvious. "So here we are."

"Sorry, Y/n," Jungkook apologises from over his boyfriend's shoulder. Jimin ignores him.

You can feel how your face is starting to flush, your skin crawling with embarrassment. You change your outfit every week and your friends have managed to turn up on the one week where you've cycled into what could probably be considered your most promiscuous one, the hem of your dress high and the cut of it low, along with shoes that Jimin had rightfully named as your Come Fuck Me heels. It wasn't because you were trying to seduce anyone but you only have so many items in your wardrobe that are appropriate for Dionysus.

"How did you find me?"

"I have my ways," Jimin says mysteriously.

"He stalked your Bitmoji on Snapchat. Ow." Jungkook pouts as Jimin slaps his arm. "Sorry, again. I said we should leave you alone but Jimin said we should check in case you'd been kidnapped because you never willingly go into bars."

You're interrupted by Jin, who'd been busy serving someone when your idiot friends had turned up; he leans across the bar and touches your shoulder and fixes Jimin and Jungkook with the most intimidating look you've ever seen on his face. You know Jin as a light-hearted pun master, harmless and goofy and approachable, a great friend— but right now he looks like some sort of beautiful guardian angel, broad shouldered and narrow eyed and honestly, pretty menacing.

"Are you alright?" He keeps his eyes on the other two men as he speaks. "Are these guys bothering you?"

Jimin, rather than looking cowed, looks like he's reached a stage of absolute euphoria, eyes darting between Jin's hand on your shoulder to your face. Jungkook's face, meanwhile, is doing that thing it does whenever someone issues him some kind of challenge, his sweetness abruptly being swallowed by his competitive side and his stubborn refusal to lose anything. You're the only person who has the power to save this situation before it goes absolutely tits up, and you swallow down a resigned sigh.

"I'm fine, thank you, Jin," you say, looking at him with a smile as you pat the hand on your shoulder. "Unfortunately these guys are my friends, much to my infinite suffering. Well, Jungkook's alright. Jimin is the one who's the pain."

"Hey," Jimin whines. Jungkook looks quietly pleased, but pretends to scowl when Jimin looks at him, offended on his boyfriend's behalf.

Jin still seems unhappy but pulls his hand back. "Alright," he says, but then he pitches his voice low so that only you can hear: "If you need any help, just ask me for a rum and soda, okay?"

You always order mocktails whenever you're here, wanting to stay completely sober so that you can enjoy Yoongi's playing with all the attention it deserves. You've never asked for anything alcoholic, least of all a rum and soda. Although you really are okay, you can't help but be warmed by Jin's concern for you and how he's offering you this careful, considerate lifeline in case you need it. "I will do. Thanks, Jinnie."

He smiles at you and then gives Jungkook and Jimin one final frown before going to deal with a gaggle of customers who've gathered at the other end of the bar. While Jungkook remains standing, taking in the interior of the bar with wide eyes, Jimin slides onto the stool next to yours.

"He's fucking hot," Jimin says with no preamble, eyeing Jin without shame as the bartender starts to pour and mix different drinks. Jungkook makes a disgruntled noise but settles when Jimin pats him fondly on the butt. "I'm not surprised you're wearing those heels. I would too if I were you."

"Oh my God, Jimin." You hide your face in your hands. "Jin is just a friend, please don't make this weird."

"Come on, Y/n, it's okay," Jimin says reassuringly as he pats your shoulder, replacing Jin's touch with his own. "The blind dates might not have worked out, but you've met someone nice so that's good! I mean, you did meet him because I organised the date here in the first place, but I'll let that slide. Also I can't believe you missed movie night because of a boy and you didn't tell me, but I'll let that slide too because I love you."

Park Jimin is your best friend. Park Jimin meddles in your life despite your protestations and isn't beyond being passive aggressive to get his way, but Park Jimin is also one of the nicest people you know and everything he does is because he loves you and will do whatever he thinks is necessary to reach his end goal of making you happy. He's magnanimous and kind and caring, and he also has absolutely the wrong idea right now, clearly under the impression that you're attracted to Seokjin and have been flirting with him for however many weeks it's been since you were meant to meet Hoseok here.

"No, seriously, Jimin, it's not Jin." You look at Jimin through the gaps in your fingers. "He's cute, yeah, but I don't come here because of him."

Your friend looks genuinely baffled, hand stilling on your shoulder. "Then why are you here?"

And, with perfect timing— as if your life is some badly written film or romantic drama— the clock ticks over to 8pm and Yoongi steps onto the stage. His hair is dark, blond replaced with black a few weeks ago, though it's still long enough that it hangs in his eyes; he looks a little ragged around the edges, a little messy, a little tired, and altogether beautiful. You want to touch the coolness of your fingertips to the dark circles under his eyes, want to press kisses across each of his bony knuckles, want to let your tongue settle in the hollow of his neck that shows each time he leans back and tilts his head up just so.

You hadn't even meant to but you'd turned away from Jimin the second you'd heard piano notes begin to play, drawn in by the sound like a moth to a flame. Jimin's hand falls off your shoulder and you hear him breathe out a quiet oh of realisation. You tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi at the piano and turn on your stool to face the bar again, gripping your glass with both hands, shoulders hunched.

"I like to watch him play," you say, and your voice is near a whisper, so as not to detract from the music.

"It's beautiful," Jungkook says, speaking before Jimin can say anything. His voice is quiet, too, not wanting to break over the sound of the piano.

And so you hear with absolute clarity as Yoongi shifts mid-song into something different and it startles you. Yoongi always varies his music, always has something new, but you've been here often enough that you had recognised the opening song— it was one of your favourites— and you know that he's cut himself off before finishing, soft melody jumping into the opening bars of something different, sharper, a little angry, maybe sorrowful. Something that pulls at you and demands your attention.

Of course you give it to him. You swing your head away from your drink to watch him once more, watch how his motions have changed, the way he surges forward and presses his weight into his arms and down into his hands, his fingertips, the keys. You turn your entire body at this point, settling in your usual position for when you watch Yoongi; you see how his head tilts and he shifts from a minor into a major key, the same notes and chords transformed from something pensive into something joyful as he leans away from the heavier hands he'd been forcing the keys down with.

"How long does this go on for?" Jimin asks.

"About thirty or forty minutes," you answer. Though you turn your head back over your shoulder so that Jimin can hear you, you keep your eyes fixed on Yoongi. It's probably entirely coincidental, the sudden change in his music coinciding with when you turned away from him and when you looked back. He's not playing for you, he's playing for the whole bar, and besides, he's been looking down at the piano the whole time. He hasn't been looking at you.

And yet. The idea that Yoongi has noticed you and wants you to watch him has something hot settling low in your belly.

Jimin leans forward so that his chin is on your shoulder, talking directly into your ear as his hands wrap around your waist from behind. "This is the guy?"

Yoongi finishes the song and you watch in captivation as he swallows and runs a hand through his hair before he starts the next one. He's never done that before. Fuck. "Yes. Yoongi's the guy."

"Do you wait until he's finished so you can speak with him?" Jimin asks, ever curious.

You pause. "No," you admit. "No, I've never actually spoken to him."

Jimin doesn't ask why you've been coming back to see a guy you don't know and haven't talked to. He just hums gently. Jimin is pushy but he's also understanding and empathetic and knows what to say, when to press forward and when to hold back. It's one of the reasons you love him so much.

Jimin lapses into silence as Yoongi starts the next piece. It's one you haven't heard before and it's a little fiercer than most of Yoongi's recent songs. Rather than each note sliding into the next, he hammers them out separately, each note a statement that builds into something larger, a provocation. A storm gathering above Yoongi's waters, threatening to pull you in, pull you under.

Behind you, you hear Jungkook and Jimin briefly murmuring to each other, then Jimin's hands slide from off your waist and you hear the sound of him shifting so that Jungkook can sit down, Jimin using his boyfriend's lap as a chair instead. You have to wonder if the barstools can actually support that kind of weight, but Jin doesn't come over to tell them off, so you figure it must be okay.

On stage, Yoongi's hands pause, an uncharacteristic caesura that breaks the flow of the notes he'd been stringing together before he resumes playing as if this hiccup had never occurred. To anyone else, it would sound like that break was meant to be there, but you know better. You know Yoongi had faltered.

No way.

No way?

He's paying attention to you.

(Oh, shit.)

No way.

You're suddenly so overwhelmed that you actually feel nauseous. You've been consumed with thoughts of Yoongi for weeks, had images of him playing you just as easily as he does that piano, thoughts of him laying you out bare beneath him, but the idea that Yoongi actually knows who you are? Is aware of you on some level? Wants your eyes on him?

Fuck.

It's too much.

You're already off kilter from Jimin and Jungkook's arrival— as harmless as their appearance was meant to be— and this is the cherry on top. You don't know if you can keep your composure right now and you need to get away from Yoongi before you end up walking onto the stage and pulling him off that stupid piano stool to show him exactly how much you enjoy his music.

"Jimin? Jungkook? How about you say we go to a club and get absolutely shitfaced?"

You haven't looked away from Yoongi in the time that you've said this, but you can just feel the confusion emanating from the men behind you.

"But you—"

"I thought—"

"We're already dressed up, aren't we? Besides, I still owe you for film night, so drinks are on me."

There's little argument from them after that. For the first time since you've been coming here you leave before Yoongi's set is done, slipping out of the bar without noticing Jin's confused gaze on you.

It's not until much later, once you've drunkenly fallen onto Jimin and Jungkook's couch, that the sober part of your brain whispers to you: you didn't buy Yoongi his drink.

(That night you dream of stormy skies and tattered sails and a capsizing ship. Once you wake, the memory of the dream quickly leaves you, and the last thing you remember is the sight of someone reaching towards you, pulling you out of the water, skin pale and head ringed with blond hair, a halo— and then you forget that too, slipping through your fingers like quicksand.)

–

Of course you go back to Dionysus the next week. You make Jimin promise that he won't turn up without warning again, and then you make Jungkook promise that he'll at least send you a heads-up message if Jimin changes his mind. Despite both these promises, after the debacle last week with your outfit, you've actually bought new clothes, so at least today you don't feel as scandalous. (You still look hot, though.)

You're grateful when Jin doesn't press you for details or ask why you left early last week. He just greets you like he normally does and predicts your order with his usual aptitude, and as you stir your drink with your straw, you have to wonder at what happened. You're probably overreacting, overthinking things, grasping at nothing; there is not a chance in hell that Min Yoongi, reclusive piano savant, has noticed you. No way. Nuh-uh.

He's probably only aware of your existence because of the repeated drinks you've had Jin foist on him. If anything he's probably annoyed at you after not tipping him with last week— he's probably come to expect them by now and you'd forced him to miss out. Maybe you'll get Jin to give him two drinks this week? Ooh, then again, maybe not. Is two shots of whisky a lot? People drink doubles, don't they. How strong is the wine he likes, anyway?

Yoongi's appearance on stage pulls you out of your thoughts. He makes his way up the steps, towards the piano, scans the room— and then for the first time since you've been coming here to watch him, he stops.

He stops because he's looking at you.

It's only for the briefest moment, eyes resting on you for maybe five seconds, and then you breathlessly watch as his mouth twists into something that can only be described as a smirk, pleased at the sight of you.

Oh, God.

He looks away and sits at the piano like he normally does, but you would swear that his back is a little straighter— something in his posture that reads as cockiness, even. He launches into a song that starts light but then almost immediately dances into something flirtatious, seductive, and tonight whenever Yoongi glances at you, he makes sure that you know. He turns his head just so, looks at you through the curve of his lashes, each touch of those dark eyes against your own sending little shivers through you, punching the breath out of your lungs.

You've always been entranced by Yoongi and tonight is no different. The minutes slide by as easy as water, liquid, music gliding over you like the rising tide, kissing your skin like the ebb and flow of the waves. It feels like he's barely started when his set is over and he's finished, standing up with as little ostentation as always before he vanishes off the stage.

You already have the money counted out before Jin has made his way over. You slide it towards him as he pours the whisky, but rather than asking if you have a message to pass to Yoongi, a look of consternation passes over his face.

"The price has gone up," Jin says, and you blink.

"Oh, that's no problem. How much is it now?" You're reaching for your purse to get more money out when Jin puts the whisky on the bar in front of you.

"No, don't worry, I'll just go out back and get the right change for you," he says. He says it with such confidence that it takes you a beat too long to realise that what he's just said makes no sense— why is he getting you change if you haven't even given him enough money? Isn’t there change in the till?— but by this point he's already gone, the staff door swinging shut behind him.

You tilt your head, beyond confused.

Someone chuckles from behind you, the sound quiet and low. "Ah, cute."

You twist in your seat to see who's talking and then freeze. Yoongi is standing right there, looking at you with his dark, dark eyes; it's the first time you've been subjected to the full intensity of his gaze, from this close, and your pulse picks up. He looks a little softer without the lights of the small stage throwing him into sharp relief but his aura is just as intense; your eyes dart across each feature of his face as you drink him in— the mess of his fringe hanging into his sharp eyes, the faintest freckle on his nose, his surprisingly cute cheeks, his pink mouth.

The mouth that's curving into a sly little smile, now, your eyes flying back up to meet his own.

"I'm guessing this is for me?" He points at the whisky. He takes it before you can answer, and there's something unfairly erotic about how he drinks it: the way he holds the glass, swirling the whisky over the chilled rocks inside; the way his mouth falls open as the tumbler touches his lips; the way his head tilts back as he lets the liquor flow into his mouth, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

You shamelessly watch him the whole time. He lowers the glass from his lips, still a little parted as he takes a breath in, and then he's looking back at you. You have to bite back a noise that's risen up in your throat, unbidden. Does he know how much he affects you?

You adjust your position on the barstool, thoughtlessly uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you regain your balance. Yoongi's eyes fly down to watch the motion and you're close enough to him that you see how his pupils dilate at the movement. A breath escapes your mouth, a little pant of air that you desperately mask as a cough as you try to calm the racing of your heart, the flood of arousal that's pulsing through you.

"I'm glad you like the whisky," you say, your voice steady despite how your legs feel like they're about to give out. (Thank god you're sitting down.) "I'm sorry to have deprived you of it last week."

Yoongi's shifted so that he's leaning against the bar. He's standing while you're still sitting and you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "You did seem like you were in an awful hurry," he says, a teasing lilt to his tone, and yet his voice is still so low, deeper than you'd imagined.

Despite the levity in his words there's something heavy in his gaze. "Oh?" You can't help but react to it, helpless and unable to resist. "You noticed me leaving?"

Yoongi's eyes sharpen. Hooked. "Of course," he says. "You're the only thing I pay attention to when I'm here. You have been from the first night you walked in."

Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn't expected Yoongi to say something so forthright, to be so direct, more used to coy flirtation from the other people you've met in the past; it's like you've been dipped in cold water, a shock to the system, bracing and invigorating and refreshing.

"Oh," you say, at a loss with how to respond. Yoongi seems pleased to have gotten this reaction out of you, the corners of his lips curving upwards in a self satisfied smile.

"Besides," he adds, "I find it flattering that not only do you come here every week to watch me, you always make sure to make your appreciation known, too." He lifts the glass up and takes another drink, but this time he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he does, gaze unwavering as he finishes his drink. The rocks tumble over themselves as he sets the glass down on the bar, lower lip wet with a drop of whisky that lingers; his tongue sweeps across it and leaves a sheen, catching the light, shining. You can't tear your eyes away from the sight. "It would have been hard to ignore that even if I'd wanted to."

A shiver trickles down your spine. You'd really only ever meant it as a compliment, a quiet way to express your admiration about his craft, and you have to ask— "How long have you been playing the piano?"

This question seems to throw Yoongi off kilter. You see the way his lashes flutter as he blinks with surprise. "For as long as I can remember," he says, and then a small smile appears on his lips. "When I was young I had a toy piano that I constantly used to hammer at, so when I grew up a little, my parents bought the real thing so that I could learn how to play."

He sounds nostalgic and your heart squeezes in your chest. "You're self-taught, right?" You ask, remembering something Jin had told you before.

Yoongi looks briefly startled. "Yes, I am," he says, and then his eyes narrow. "Did Jin tell you that?"

"Um, yeah." You squirm a little on the barstool. "Sorry, should I not have said anything about it?"

"No, no, you're okay. It's just that Jin says a lot of things, and I'm just wondering what else he said to you." Yoongi's tone is weirdly pained.

The concern is obvious on his face, and you wonder if Jin is to Yoongi what Jimin is to you— well-meaning but maybe a little overwhelming in their approach.

"All good things, I promise. I love dogs, too." You smile up at Yoongi, who seems a little taken aback, and the smile starts to drop off your face. "Um. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." For all that Yoongi was smirking earlier, he seems a little unsure now. You feel confused, waiting as Yoongi clearly turns some thoughts over in his head, and then he says: "What exactly has Jin told you?"

You smile. You recognise that tone, the nonchalance that hides a little worry— it's exactly how you sound whenever you find out that Jimin has been speaking to someone about you, even if it's always positively. "Oh, just bits and pieces," you say. Feeling bold, you pat the barstool next to you, tilting your head invitingly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself instead so we can see if Jin was lying to me?"

Yoongi looks genuinely startled, his eyes widening imperceptibly before the expression wipes off his face as if nothing had happened. "Why not," he says, as if in equal parts to himself and to you, before he takes a seat.

Here's what you learn about Yoongi: he's intense, yes, and soft spoken, but as you continue to talk, he begins to loosen up, bit by bit. When he laughs he smiles so wide that his eyes squeeze shut and you can see his gums and you're so fucking endeared at the sight. He's sharp and smart and witty and just so, so intriguing.

You prop your elbow on the bar and rest your cheek in your hand as he talks, wanting to take everything in, and you rapidly realise that Min Yoongi is less of an enigma than you'd thought, but just as complex as you'd expected— and you want to unravel that complexity. If he'll let you.

You've been talking for so long that the bar has started to empty out, patrons trickling away, the two of you so engrossed with each other that you barely notice. You find out that Jin and Yoongi are actually roommates, best friends, and that Jin is as chaotic as you'd expect and is also very good at drawing Yoongi into his shenanigans; you throw your head back to laugh at one of his stories, and when you catch your breath you find Yoongi looking at you, watching you with an expression on his face that makes you pause. He's been watching you intently all night, listening quietly whenever you talk, but this expression, this is new. He swallows.

"Can I ask something?"

You blink. "Sure, go ahead."

"Why did you keep coming back?" Yoongi asks, and that's not a question you'd been expecting at all.

"Uh," you say eloquently. "Well. Honestly? I couldn't stay away, I guess. I'm not really a musician, and I don't know a lot about the piano, but there's something in your music and the way you play— every song makes me feel something different and new, or reminds me of something I haven't felt, places I haven't been to, but I feel like I know somehow. Like I'm nostalgic for something that I haven't experienced, that doesn't exist. It's almost like you're taking my hand and showing me around some hidden part of the world that only you can see— like you've made it into music because that's the only way you can communicate it. How could I not come back after that?" You pause. "Um. Does that make sense? I feel like it didn't. Sorry?"

Yoongi's been watching you as you've been talking, silent, and by the time you've finished his mouth has fallen open a little. He stares at you for a few moments longer, and then he says: "Holy shit." And then he says: "Oh my God." And then he says: "What the fuck."

"… I guess it didn't make sense, then?" Despite the ease of your earlier conversation you suddenly feel awkward, laughing a little as your legs uncross so that you can shuffle to the edge of your barstool. Ready to hop up and make a quick get away if you need to. Run away from the embarrassment. "Um."

"Y/n," Yoongi says, and you realise with a start that you haven't introduced yourself to him throughout your whole conversation— Jin must have told him your name— but then he keeps talking. "I thought you just— I don't know, that you just kept coming back because of me. Not the music. Then Jin kept talking about you and—"

He makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and runs a hand through his hair; you stare at his bared forehead, and it says about how attracted you are to him that the sight of his forehead is enough to set your heart racing. "I thought that maybe if I let this happen just one time that it would be enough, but now I don't think it will."

"Yoongi." You're confused, unsure if you've correctly understood what he's just said. "Let what happen one time? What are you talking about?"

"Touching you," Yoongi says. "Fucking you." His voice is a rasp and the sound of it, the sound of his words, shoots straight through you and into your core. "I thought the drinks were— I don't know, an invitation. But they weren't, were they? You really meant it. You really like my music. And me."

Yoongi's voice is hoarse and you come to the realisation that he feels tense. Like he can accept that you want to have sex with him, but he's bowled over by the idea that you're attracted to the other parts, too, as few of those as you know. That you genuinely enjoy what he plays. That you think it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

"Yoongi," you say, tone deceptively gentle. "I really, really like your music, and I think you're an incredibly talented musician, and I've been memorising everything Jin's been telling me about you because I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever come across and I'd really like to get to know more about you. So I'm really glad to have had the opportunity to talk to you like this." You gesture between the two of you, sitting as you are, facing towards each other on your barstools. And then you brace yourself to take the leap, to throw yourself into uncharted waters. "However, I am also insanely attracted to you and I've spent the past I-don't-know-how-many weeks picturing you bending me over that piano and fucking me so hard that I can't walk straight."

Yoongi freezes in the middle of rubbing the back of his neck, a clearly nervous habit. Though your voice has kept steady while you've been talking, your heart has been thrumming in your chest the whole time, feeling as nervous as Yoongi looks. Something flickers across his face, and his hand drops away from his neck as he straightens, pushing himself off from where he's been leaning against the bar.

"Oh?" He leans towards you. Your legs unthinkingly part as he moves, the material of your dress hitching up as you spread your knees so that he can get closer. "So you do want me to fuck you?"

His nervousness seems to be entirely gone, emboldened by your words. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair as he holds you in place, at his mercy. He's barely touched you but the feeling of contact makes you bite back a whimper. Even though it's darker here and you're away from the tables, away from the few remaining patrons of the bar, the two of you are in plain sight even under the dimmed lights; you're not doing anything illicit or inappropriate but a little thrill trickles down your spine at the idea.

"Yoongi," you breathe.

"What is it, babygirl?" He tips his head down as he moves closer, his nose brushing yours, each of his words a warm curl across your lips. "Tell me."

The pet name sends a shiver through you. Your hands rise from your lap, sliding over his chest to touch lightly at his neck, a little shy, a little bold. "I want you to kiss me."

"Oh?" Yoongi's mouth is so close to yours, and when you tilt forward to kiss him, he stays just out of your reach, leaving you wanting. "You think you deserve a kiss, do you?"

You can't help but make a little noise, a petulant whine at the back of your throat. He has you entirely at his mercy and he knows it. "Please," you say. "Please, Yoongi, wanna kiss you so bad."

The smile he gives you in reply is wicked. "How can I say no when you've asked so politely?"

Yoongi finally, finally dips his head down and then he's kissing you with such intensity it steals the breath out of you. It's open-mouthed and wet and dirty, his tongue sliding into your mouth in between taking your top and bottom lips between his own, alternating, sucking on them and lapping at them with his tongue. You chase after his mouth with your own, roll your tongues together, hands sliding over the smooth skin of his throat as they circle behind his neck, but then Yoongi pulls away; you bite that needy whine back again, kiss cut short far sooner than you would have liked.

Yoongi is taking the sight of you in, eyes lingering on your shining lips, and then he's rising to stand. You're shaken out of your kiss-induced haze when he does, a little confused, but he takes your hand in his and you let him lift up, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Do you want to get out of here?" His voice is pitched low, deep with a promise of pleasure to come, and you shiver.

"God, I thought you'd never ask," you say in a rush, and he just laughs quietly at your obvious desperation.

"Come on, then." He helps you off the barstool, your hand still in his— god, his hands are so big and his touch is so warm. His eyes are dark as he watches the way you reach to rearrange the hem of your dress with your free hand, but he beats you to it, palm flattening the material against your legs; his fingers dance just under the edge as he straightens it, hand sliding over the skin of your inner thigh and lingering before he pulls away.

"You're shameless," you say, a little breathless, and Yoongi just smirks at you. Tease.

Your fingers remain tangled with his as he leads you behind the bar and through the staff door. Jin's out back, scrolling through something on his phone, but as soon as you walk in he abandons whatever he's doing and raises his eyebrows. He looks surprisingly severe. "Customers aren't allowed back here."

Your eyes widen, but then Jin's serious expression cracks and he starts to laugh. Although he's joking and clearly doesn't care, you feel a little guilty at breaking the rules and duck behind Yoongi, shy. Yoongi snorts and holds a middle finger up at the bartender.

Jin gasps theatrically, clutching his chest while looking askance. "I raise you from birth and this is the thanks I get?"

"You're one year older than me, hyung."

"I carry you in my womb for nine months and birth you into this world and you— oh, okay, you technically shouldn't be doing that either," Jin says, stopping mid-sentence as Yoongi decides his hyung has been talking for too long and turns away from him to start kissing you again, shameless as he tugs you close to him and licks into your mouth; you immediately fall back into him, unable to resist. "Jesus Christ, Yoongi."

Once you part, you bury your head into Yoongi's chest as his arms come around you, hiding your embarrassment in Yoongi's dress shirt. "Sorry, Jinnie," you say, muffled.

"You are absolutely not to blame here, Y/n, you are an angel and a sweetheart." Jin's tone is soothing. "Yoongi, however, is a tiny evil gremlin who needs to learn how to control himself. Though I can't blame him, you are very cute."

"Hyung, I need the apartment tonight," Yoongi says without preamble. You wriggle in the circle of his arms. You're not normally this timid but Yoongi is just so direct and blasé with Jin that you can't help but feel a little shy, as hot and bothered as you are.

"I'll crash at Joon's," the bartender says. He’s obviously not surprised. You lift your head from Yoongi's chest to look at Jin and find that he's smiling at you. "If Yoongi starts to bother you, just whap him on the nose. I find a rolled up newspaper works best if you have one to hand."

"I'll kill you, Kim Seokjin," Yoongi says.

Jin just laughs as he waves the two of you off and you take the initiative to start pulling Yoongi towards the back door. He comes easily, but once the door has swung shut behind you he takes the lead again and guides you towards his car. He lets go of your hand so that he can unlock it, swinging the passenger door open for you, and he's unabashed in how he watches you step in and eyes the way your dress hitches up again as you slide into your seat; he leans against the car and just stares at you.

There's honestly nothing sexier when someone clearly wants you as much as you want them. It makes you feel bold, drunk on the way he looks at you.

You glance up at him through your lashes. "The sooner we get to yours, the sooner you can have me," you say.

Yoongi curses under his breath. "You're going to be the death of me."

Surprisingly enough, though, he keeps his hands to himself when he gets behind the wheel. You can't help but feel a little surprised; you don't know how close Yoongi's home is to the bar, but you very rapidly tire of waiting to feel his hands on you again and so you lean over the centre console and press a fleeting kiss just behind his ear.

Yoongi doesn't outwardly react, continuing to stare at the road, so you take this as a challenge. You slide one of your hands onto his thigh— for balance, of course— and kiss behind his ear again, tug his lobe with your teeth, mindful of his piercings, and then proceed to trail little kisses down his neck and the little slither of his collarbone that you can reach without his shirt getting in the way. You finally get to lick your tongue in the hollow of his neck that you've been thinking about for weeks.

Yoongi's hands tighten on the steering wheel. Jackpot.

"Y/n," he says, voice low, and you're so close to his throat that you can hear the rumble behind his words. You love it. "You should stop now, or we're not going to make it to my apartment."

You go still. Yoongi continues to look at the road but his knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping the wheel, and when you glance down you can see how much you've affected him, cock hardening in his slacks. It would be so easy to slide your hand up his thigh and finally touch him, have him pull over and wreck you, but you want something more than a quick fumble in the seat of a car.

So you just press your lips lightly against the line of his jaw one last time. You let yourself breathe in the dark scent of his cologne— pinewood and pepper and something deeper— before you pull back, folding your hands in your lap demurely, trying to force yourself to be content with waiting.

"Good girl," Yoongi says. You can't help but preen; you don't normally respond to praise like this, but something about Yoongi just makes you want to please him, hear him compliment you again. Yoongi glances at you, a little flicker of realisation as he sees how you've just reacted to his words, and his eyes darken. "You like that, baby? Like being a good girl for me?"

Fuck. "Yes." Your pulse is rising. You've been craving Yoongi for weeks, but god, if he asked you to go home right now, sent you home without touching you, you'd go, just to hear him call you a good girl again. But you don't want him to leave you untouched, you don't want that at all. "I want you to touch me, Yoongi," you say. "I'll be a good girl, please just touch me."

"Fuck." Yoongi's foot presses down on the accelerator. He's never wanted to live closer to the bar before, but the sight of you staring at him from his passenger seat and rubbing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to give yourself some relief is making him rethink his housing location. "I will, baby. We'll be there soon."

Soon turns out to be less than five minutes, scarcely any time at all, though each second is torturous in how long it feels. Yoongi's careless in how he parks the car, wonky within the lines of his spot, but neither of you notice or care. You fumble with the buckle of your belt, climbing out of the car as quickly as you can and slamming the door shut with more power than you probably need to, noise loud in the quiet of the night.

Before you can react, however, Yoongi is rounding the car and grabbing you, pressing you against the metal and glass of the door. One of his hands slips under your thigh, lifting your leg and shoving the hem of your dress out of the way so that he can grind against you; you gasp at the feeling of his growing hardness against the dampness of your underwear, and Yoongi leans forward to swallow the sound into his mouth.

The kiss is rushed and desperate, but you love the messiness of it. Yoongi pulls away to press his lips against the side of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, mouthing at the jumping pulse he finds there. You start to make small ah-ah noises when he laves his tongue over it, one of your hands tangling in his hair as you tilt your head back, each of his touches fizzing like electricity on your skin.

"P-people could see," you stutter, struggling to catch your breath with how good his mouth feels on you.

Yoongi smirks against your skin. "I thought you wanted me to touch you," he says, but immediately relents, pulling away from you so he can lead you into the building. You miss the heat of his body against yours but he keeps hold of your hand as you follow him; it's late and the building seems quiet, so you're mindful of just how loud your high heels sound as they clack on the floor, though Yoongi doesn't seem to care.

When you step into the apartment you reach down for the straps on your shoes so you can kick them off but Yoongi stops you with a hand to your shoulder. It's a light touch but you stop immediately, glancing up from your feet to his face.

"Let me," he says, and a hot trickle of arousal runs down your spine at the tone of his voice.

You straighten up and watch as Yoongi gets down on one knee, hands circling around your ankle and lifting your foot. You rest the toe of your shoe lightly on Yoongi's knee, watching as he undoes the strap around your ankle and slides the shoe off, setting it to one side, before he presses his lips to the inside of your knee. You shiver at the light touch and Yoongi smirks, letting your ankle go so you can move and he can take your other shoe off, too.

He barely takes his eyes off your face the whole time, only glancing down when he has to. His motions are slow and unhurried despite his earlier rush, carefully setting the second shoe next to the first, and you can't help but feel like he's teasing you— drawing out your reactions just because he can. Before you can say anything about it, though, his hands trail up from your calves to your thigh before he hitches your leg over his shoulder, one hand staying on your thigh as the other grips at your hip.

You bite back a gasp. From his angle Yoongi can see everything and he's looking up with hooded eyes, staring at the dark patch on your underwear, wet for him; his gaze trails across the lace of the lingerie you're wearing, the small colourful flowers blooming across the dark material. It was something you'd put on to complete your outfit, the matching panties and bra making you feel expensive and pretty— even if you hadn't expected anyone to see it.

"Look at you," he says, hand lowering from your hip to trace lightly across your slit; it's a barely-there touch, sensation dulled by the material in the way, but you still jolt at the feeling of it. "Did you wear this for me?"

"Of course," you confess. You've wanted his eyes on you for so long. "Always dress up pretty for you."

"Fuck." He sounds reverent. "You've always been such a good girl for me, haven't you?"

A needy noise rises unbidden at the back of your throat when Yoongi spreads your leg wider and leans forward to mouth at you through the lace of your panties. Your knees go weak and you have to lean back against the wall for balance, grateful at how close you are to it when Yoongi draws his tongue upwards, wetting the fabric, your toes curling.

"Yoongi." One of your hands is resting in his hair and you can't stop your grip from tightening. "Yoongi, please."

He gives you what you want, fingers hooking into your underwear and pulling it down; he lets your leg drop so that you can step out of them, but as soon as you've finished he throws the panties to one side, one hand splaying across your stomach as the other lifts your leg again so that you’re spread open for him, immediately pressing his mouth to your clit.

"Oh!" You gasp. Yoongi seems to have tired of his teasing and is eating you out like a man starved, the slick sound of his tongue and lips filling the apartment as he laves attention on your dripping pussy, staring up at you as he drinks your reactions in. He dips his tongue into you and your hips try to buck forwards but the hand on your stomach holds you in place, firm, and you let out an embarrassingly loud keen at how good it feels to be this powerless.

You slap your free hand across your mouth and try to swallow the noise down. Yoongi frowns and stops, leaning his head back as he looks at you; his mouth is shining with evidence of your arousal, opalescent. "I want to hear you."

You bite your lip, forcing your hand away from your mouth; you don't want to be too loud, too noisy, but you want to be a good girl for Yoongi. He wants to hear you so you'll give him what he wants.

"O-okay," you breathe, and Yoongi smirks up at you; it's filthy, how he's looking at you like that while his lips are wet with you. You tilt your hips towards him, desperate to have his mouth on you again, and he immediately complies.

He's lapping at your clit when the hand on your stomach moves and slides down. You watch as he takes his tongue off you so that he can curl it around his fingers instead, before running those fingers across your lower lips to gather the slick there, wetting them even further. You roll your hips into the sensation, loving the press of his slightly rough fingers against your silken folds, wanting more, eyes wide as you watch how Yoongi's hand trails between your legs.

He puts his mouth back on your clit at the same time as he presses one of those spit slick fingers into you. You're so turned on that the initial slide in is easy, but he still takes his time; he's distracting you with the way he's sucking at your small bundle of nerves but you still feel when he presses his second finger in, longer than yours, the sensation of it even better than you'd dreamed.

He crooks his fingers and you throw your head back against the wall, dull thud barely registering over the sensation of Yoongi inside you. He sees how you react and continues to move his fingers in the same way, thrusting his fingers in and curling them as he pulls out, watching as you writhe; the pleasure inside you has been growing, the feeling building, and if Yoongi keeps doing that then you're going to cum. "I'm close," you gasp.

Yoongi responds to this by pushing a third finger inside you, rubbing his fingertips directly over your sweet spot. The stretch burns, just a little, but God, you love it. He purses his lips over your clit and flicks his tongue over it at the same time as he curls his fingers again and it undoes you; your spine arches away from the wall as you cum, ripples of pleasure sparking through your body as you tighten around Yoongi's fingers, sobbing almost deliriously at how good it feels.

Yoongi watches you the whole time, keeps his mouth on you as you ride out your high. He only moves away when you start to jolt from oversensitivity, pulling his fingers out carefully as he does. You feel empty without them inside you and you can't wait for him to fill you up with something better instead.

Yoongi holds you steady, his grip firm as you slip your leg from his shoulder and shakily push yourself off the wall. Once you've gotten your balance he stands up— his knees must hurt but he doesn't complain, too busy watching you lift his fingers to your lips, sucking them into your mouth so you can lick the taste of yourself off him.

"Jesus Christ." Yoongi stares at the way you flick your tongue across his skin, glancing at him coquettishly through your lashes. You reach out for him, hands moving towards his belt, but he shakes his head. "Bedroom," he says.

Of course you follow him. At any other time you'd be taking in the details of the apartment, the glimpses you get into the other rooms, but you're too busy looking at Yoongi to have a mind for anything else. He's been hard for so long by now that it must be driving him crazy and you want to give him what he wants. What he needs.

He swings a door open and flicks a light on. Yoongi's room is what you'd expected: neat and organised, with dark furnishings, the only mess being a few scrunched up balls of paper that have overflowed the trash-bin by his desk, which has a pile of notepads next to his laptop and a set up of musical equipment that looks far too complex for you to make heads or tails of.

You forget about this instantly, however, when Yoongi captures your lips in another kiss, a hand splaying across your jaw so that he can control the pace, crowding you towards the bed until the back of your knees make contact with it and you fall onto the mattress. Yoongi cages you in with his arms and keeps kissing you, though when you palm him through his slacks he hisses through his teeth.

"Want you, Yoongi." You use your hand to stroke over the hardness of him as you nip at his lower lip. "Please."

"Fuck, of course, babygirl." Yoongi leans back and you move with him, sitting up as he stands straight. He unbuttons his shirt and you help him slide it off his shoulders, using it as an excuse to run your hands over the pale skin he reveals to you, sliding your palms down his chest and over his stomach; you dip your head to kiss where your hands have traced, letting your tongue flick across his skin. You lick shamelessly at one of his nipples and feel drunk on the way he lets out a surprised little breath, turning your head to do the same to his other nipple as your hands finally reach their goal: his belt.

You deftly unbuckle it, fast enough that the leather makes a snapping noise when you pull it, and Yoongi bites back a laugh— under normal circumstances you might be embarrassed by how obvious you're being, but you're desperate to finally touch him, especially after he'd made you cum as hard as he had. You look up at him as you reach for his zipper but falter when you notice that he's staring at you with something akin to awe, lifting your lips off his skin.

"What?" You ask, suddenly feeling shy.

Yoongi doesn't respond verbally. Instead, he quirks a little grin at you before he cups your face with both hands and bends down to kiss you again, deeper and slower than he has before. You match his pace, the two of you tilting your heads to get a little closer, but when you continue to pull Yoongi's zip down he laughs against your lips and you smile. He gets the hint, stepping back so he has room to kick his trousers and underwear off; he's not trying to be sensual about it, moving fast so he can get close to you again, but you're enraptured nonetheless.

You swallow at the sight of his cock when it’s finally freed. It's flushed red from neglect, fully hardened, curving up towards his stomach, and you can see how the head glistens with precum, slick and wet. Saliva floods your mouth. Yoongi looks briefly startled when you put your hands against his hips and lightly push him backwards, but then you slide off the bed and onto your knees in front of him and the shock immediately disappears from his face, tangling a hand in your hair as you settle in place.

He's so hard that you don't feel like teasing him. Instead, you take the precum that's gathered at the tip of his cock and rub it down his length, hand wrapping around and twisting as you dip forwards and take the flushed head into your mouth. You can't swallow him all the way down, thanks to your gag reflex, but you give it a damn good go— you relax your throat as much as you can as you lower your head, using your hand to touch the parts of his cock that aren't in your mouth. You tongue at the vein on the underside as you lift back up, using your free hand to cup his balls, and Yoongi curses, his hand tightening in your hair as he pulls you off.

You blink up at him in surprise, mouth still open after he's slid out of your mouth— you feel like you'd barely started— and you can see how his cock twitches as he drinks the sight of you in.

"That mouth of yours is downright sinful," he says, running his thumb over your lower lip. You go lax under his touch, which seems to please him. "As much as I'd like to cum down your throat, I think you want something else instead, don't you, babygirl?"

Your breath shudders out of you and you nod. You want Yoongi's cock inside you, itching for him to finally fuck you stupid, the way you've been yearning for so long. "God, yes, please."

Yoongi's lips twitch at your shameless desperation. "Stand up then, baby," he says, and you comply. "Turn around."

You turn towards the bed to show Yoongi your back, and he slowly unzips your dress; it slides off your shoulders easily, slipping down your body and pooling on the floor as Yoongi drags his hands over the revealed skin. You tremble under his touch, sensitive to each of his motions as he unclasps your bra, and finally you're entirely unclothed, lingerie carelessly tossed to one side before Yoongi pulls you close.

Your back is pressed to his chest, and you can feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against you, but you forget about that when his hands move to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. You tilt your head back against his shoulder and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck, using his tongue to lick down the bared length of it, and your breath hitches in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers, the perfect mix of careful roughness.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Yoongi breathes into the crook of your neck. You whimper and grind back against him, feeling the wetness of his cock as it slips against your skin, and he bites back a groan.

"Yoongi, I need you," you say, so close to finally getting what you've been craving for so long. "Please," you add, voice high with desperation.

You feel how Yoongi bares his teeth against your skin in a silent snarl before he's turning you around in his arms, and you squeal in surprise as he hitches you upwards onto the bed, your head falling onto the pillows. It wasn't a rough motion, Yoongi still careful even when he's clearly as hungry for you as you are for him, but you find yourself whimpering at how he's manhandled you, loving it. Seems like he's helping you discover things about yourself that you hadn't realised before now.

Yoongi settles between your legs, staring down at you, bare and helpless underneath him. You reach out your hand to touch his chest, sweeping your fingers down the line of his stomach and over the trail of dark hair that leads down to his weeping cock, still shining with your spit. He curses, leaning over you to paw at his nightstand drawer; he fumbles with the lube and condom when you wrap your fingers around his length again, stroking him hard and slow.

"Yoongi, please," you say again, practically begging, wanting him inside you as quickly as possible. He curses under his breath again but then wraps his fingers around yours, pulling your hand off his cock. You pout at him. "I've been a good girl, haven't I?"

"Good girls are patient." Yoongi leans back on his heels and you make a small whining noise, but you quieten when you watch him rip open the condom packet; you reach forward again to help him roll it down his cock, wanting to keep the feeling of his hardness and heat under your touch, but he fixes you with a stern gaze. "Hands."

You pause, wondering exactly what he means. You settle on pulling your hands away and stretch up to let them rest on the pillow above you. You must have done the right thing because Yoongi smiles, and you give a squirm of delight. He shifts closer and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss your inner ankle.

"So perfect," he says, and you squirm again, pleased. He reaches for the bottle of lube and uncaps it with a quiet click, drizzling it directly onto his cock and biting back a noise at the coldness of it— but then he squirts more into his hands, warming it between his fingers. You make a small questioning sound, and Yoongi smiles before kissing your ankle again. "This is for you, baby."

Your eyebrows raise in quiet surprise. You're already so wet, dripping with a mix of your own cum and Yoongi's lingering spit, but he's still being this careful and considerate. He dips his slick fingers between your flushed lips and draws them upwards, making you arch your back as he grazes over your pearl of nerves, pleasure shooting directly into your core.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp. "God, please, Yoongi, please."

"I've got you, babygirl," he murmurs, and you marvel at his self control, his restraint even now. He grips your leg with one hand and uses the other to guide himself into you. Finally. You moan as he sinks in, stretching you, slowly pushing in inch by inch; you can feel the way your walls stretch, parting for him, until he's bottomed out, and you feel so full.

"Holy shit, Yoongi." You've moved your hands and you're digging your nails into his back, trying to pull him closer even though it's not possible, Yoongi's cock so long that you can feel it filling you completely. "Oh, God."

Yoongi's fringe is hanging in his eyes but you can see how his pupils have almost swallowed the dark of his irises, the way he's drinking in the sight of you beneath him— your pupils are blown too, hair a messy halo against the pillows, nipples hard from arousal, chest heaving as you hiccup in air. He pulls out, just as slowly as he'd pushed in, the drag of his cock against your inner walls sending electricity shooting through your nerves; he stops before he's completely out, only the head of him still inside you, and you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for the next slow thrust in.

You're completely blindsided when Yoongi snaps his hips forward suddenly, fucking sharply into you, and you choke on a surprised breath. He sets a brutal pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours almost drowned out by the way you wail. Your hands fall away from his back and to the sheets, fingers gripping at them, twisting under your hands. His brows are drawn together with focus, but when you raise a hand up to touch his face he goes easily, letting your leg slip off his shoulder so he can kiss you.

His motions slow somewhat as you kiss each other, but he keeps the roll of his hips just as deep, and you end up all but panting against his mouth instead of kissing him; he swipes his tongue across your lips and you let them fall open so he can lick into your mouth, sloppy and wet. You can feel an orgasm building again, surprisingly fast— especially as he's not even touching your clit— and you clench around him, wanting to hit that peak again.

Yoongi stops kissing you to rest his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he slows his thrusts, grinding into you each time he pushes all the way in, hips flush with yours. "Such a good girl." His voice is a low rasp, dark and heavy. "So pretty for me."

Yes, yes, yes. "Wanna be your good girl," you breathe. "Make you feel as good as you make me feel."

Yoongi actually growls, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you up. You grab his shoulders for support, legs spreading so that your knees hit the mattress, his cock still inside you as you look down at him, both of you kneeling now. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, stomachs flush, and Yoongi grinds up into you. His hands slide from your waist, to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you up; the change of angle has the curve of his cock dragging right across your sweet spot and you gasp. "Oh, yes, there, just like that."

You press down as Yoongi's hips snap up, and you can feel how his motions are starting to get a little jerkier, staccato, the way he speeds up. With the drag of your nipples against his chest, and the way he's hitting your g-spot dead on each time, you're close to hitting your peak, pleasure riding up into a crescendo— and then Yoongi slides one of his hands between the two of you to rub at your clit and you're gone again, gasping and shaking as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, all the air escaping your lungs in a drawn out, shuddering wail.

"Fuck, baby." Yoongi's motions grow a little more hurried and sloppy, thrusting up into you as your walls pulsate around him. You try to match his pace, drinking down the way his face twists as he chases his own release— and then his grip on you grows tight enough to bruise and he cums with a surprisingly quiet moan. He grinds upwards, his cock twitching inside you as he empties himself into the condom; you shiver at the sensation, squeezing your legs around his hips in an instinctive attempt to draw him as deeply into you as possible, as futile as that is.

Your legs are shaking. You remain tangled around each other, sweaty and panting, but then Yoongi is grasping your chin and tilting your head down so that he can kiss you. It's soft, and gentle, and you melt into it, going lax and boneless in his hold as you tighten your hands in his hair.

You feel how he smiles tiredly against your lips, and when you pull back, he looks thoroughly fucked out; his hair is a mess from how you've been running your hands through it and lips are kiss swollen, parted so that he can suck air in and try to catch his breath. You must look similarly wrecked. You feel hazy, though Yoongi feels solid beneath you, grounding you as you slowly come back to yourself.

"I'm going to lean you back, beautiful," he says, and you entwine your fingers together behind his neck so that he can tilt you onto the mattress, careful and reverent. He slips his softening cock out of you and you let out a small sigh at the sudden feeling of emptiness, though as soon as he's done tying the condom off and throwing it in the bin he comes back to you, lightly kissing you as he draws a hand gently between the valley of your breasts. Despite the tenderness behind the motion you're suddenly struck with wondering if he's about to ask you to leave, but then he asks: "Do you want to come wash up?"

You pause. "Oh, God, my makeup," you say with sudden realisation as your fingers come up to touch under your eyes. Your eyeshadow and mascara must be a mess by now. You splay your hand across your face, as if trying to hide it— which you know is stupid, especially considering the fact the rest of your body is naked under Yoongi's gaze. He huffs out a laugh and takes your hands with his own, pulling them away. "Nooo," you whine. "Don't look at me."

One of Yoongi's eyebrows rises. "Why would I ever want to look away from you?"

You wriggle. "Yoongi," you whine again, equal parts pleased and embarrassed, but you let your hands go limp and Yoongi pulls you to your feet. "You're shameless."

"And you're gorgeous," he says, simply. "Come on, you'll get cold."

Yoongi lets you clean up first. It's weird how comfortable you are as you navigate your way around Yoongi and Jin's bathroom— you pilfer one of Jin's makeup wipes to clean your face— and how natural it feels to accept the shirt Yoongi gives you, an oversized, stretched-out old thing that's gone soft from years of wear. You're perched on the bathroom counter as you slide it on, glancing down at the design on the front, and you instantly perk up when you see what it is.

"You do love Kumamon," you say with delight.

Yoongi stops in the middle of brushing his teeth, looking a little ridiculous with the minty froth around his lips but still just as kissable. He rinses his mouth and spits, wiping his lips with a towel before he makes a face at you.

"Jin told you about that, too?"

"I want to see your slippers," you say in reply and Yoongi groans. You can't help but giggle, feeling sleepy and soft and affectionate, and you touch your fingers under Yoongi's chin so that you can press a quick kiss to his lips. "I think it's cute."

By the time you've both finished your ablutions and you slide off the counter, you feel tired, what little energy you had after being fucked by Yoongi completely gone from you; you slide onto Yoongi's bed gratefully, glad to be off your feet. You hold your hands up and beckon for him to join you, but then let out a sharp laugh of surprise when he tugs his rumpled blanket off the bed from underneath you and lets it drop to the floor. "Yoongi!"

"I'll be right back," he says. While you wait, you decide to stretch, eyes slipping shut as you extend your limbs. You know you'll feel the ache between your legs tomorrow, a little thrill skating through you at the knowledge that Yoongi's touch has left a physical reminder, something only you can feel and no one else can see.

When your eyes flutter open again, you see Yoongi standing at the bottom of the bed, a different blanket gathered in his arms. He's staring at you, and you realise that the material of his shirt has moved as you've stretched, hitching up over your hips. Even though you're both tired, Yoongi's eyes still darken when you shift your legs, and you bask under his attention.

"A different blanket?" You ask, curious, and Yoongi's eyes slide away from your still-bare core back up to your face.

"It's Jin's," he says. "I wasn't about to let you sleep on sweaty sex sheets."

"I don't mind," you say, honestly, but Yoongi proceeds to lay Jin's blanket across the bed anyway. "Jin's not going to be happy about this," you add, but you say it with a laugh, instantly curling up into Yoongi when he lays down beside you.

"He'll live." Yoongi's arm comes around you, fingers trailing over your shoulder; you lapse into silence and let your eyes shut, focusing on Yoongi's movements. It feels like he’s pressing piano keys down and playing a silent song against your skin. You can't help but smile, starting to drift off, when Yoongi speaks again. "Let me take you out for breakfast."

"Hm?" Your eyes open and you blink away your sleepiness to look up at Yoongi, who's still watching you. "Breakfast?"

"Yes." Yoongi's fingers still on your shoulder, and then he slides his hand down to tangle your fingers with his. "Or lunch. Or dinner. Whichever you prefer." He pauses. "Unless you don't want to," he says, and though his voice stays steady, you see a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. He's worried that you've gotten what you want and now you'll be done with him.

"You're so silly," you say softly, and you can see how Yoongi's face twists with confusion, unsure about how to react to being called silly— you can't imagine many people have said that to him, as outwardly intimidating as he can be. You squeeze his hand. "Of course I want to. But how about we plan it tomorrow? I don't know how long it's going to take me to be comfortable with walking in a straight line, so breakfast might be off the cards for now."

After a moment, Yoongi's face takes on a satisfied expression. "That's what you said you wanted," he says, and you huff out an amused breath.

"I technically said I wanted you to bend me over a piano, actually," you point out, letting your head settle in the crook of his neck again, and Yoongi brushes his lips against your forehead.

"There's a piano in the living room," he states casually, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you, even as your eyes start to fall shut again.

"I'll keep that in mind."

–

jiminnie y/n!! tae said you called in sick for work? are you okay??

you i'm good! just a lil busy

jiminnie with what?

you [image attached]

jiminnie … why have you sent me a photo of a piano?

you yoongi's gonna fuck me on it omg on that note i've gtg BYE LOVE YOU MINNIE xoxoxo

jiminnie WHAT??? OMG??? GET THAT DICK QUEEN!!!

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts x reader #bts smut #suga x reader #joy.masterlist

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bokutoslittlebird · 4 years

Note

hi~ can i ask for hcs?

uhm older sister s/o with kids and deceased husband who died just a week ago? lmao i watched a hentai wherein the s/o is his older sister and she have two kids and a husband. i just thought of this since there are requests with bokuto being the older brother, now I want to know how bokuto and kuroo would corrupt their older sister. thanks so much bb!

I’ll admit this is a lot and I’ve never really considered onee-san with these boys, but there’s a first for everything! Also drop the deets anon-chan 🥴

Mission : Corrupting Onee-San !

Bokuto

> It was an unfortunate accident that caused your husband to die and really, you needed a lot of time to grieve for him. He was a good man and never mean to your or the kids, so his death really tore you apart. Your sisters offered to watch over your kids when you came back home, your son going to live with one while your daughter lived with the other.

> It was decided that was best and they’d visit you every weekend when they came home. You were the eldest, so you were the “favorite” amongst your sisters, but all of you were loved. Your mother coddled you and refused to let you live along after all that, especially in the house you had with your husband.

> This meant you’re home when Kōtarō is! He’s attending college and he’s almost always home and he gets to see you again! He’s missed you a lot and that’s his excuse for why he’s always around you. He’s usually not this overly touchy with his sisters, but you need comfort! Hugs and cuddles!

> It hurts him, though. The cries at night and the somber aura encompassing your body. It hurts him because you should be happy to see him! He understands your husband is no longer here, but that’s different.

> When your face glows up a bit when his nephew and niece come over, he gets a bit upset. He likes the kids, but they make you feel happy and he can’t. It’s a competition. He doesn’t want to lose.

> There’s no way he can compare to your husband, but he tries! He does things you mentioned your ex would do and tries to make you feel better. Eventually, it works. It’s a routine you’re used to.

> There’s a connection he feels when you open up again. You’re still grieving, but you’re confiding in him. You ask for hugs and don’t turn down cuddles, letting his arms wrap around you as you relax in his hold. It’s sweet and it’s completely innocent.. in your eyes.

> To Kōtarō, this means you’re finally understanding his feelings. He’s missed you for so long and now he has you back. When you try to leave, believing you to be fine and can go back home, it’s world shattering as he realizes it’s not what he thought.

> He makes it look like an accident, of course. A stranger running you off the road? With your children almost dying? Your daughter is in a critical condition and not expected to survive, another round of grief hitting you. Your son is better than his sister, but is put in the care of your mother as you grieve in silence.

> Kōtarō joins you, hoping to make sure you’re okay. It’s a sweet gesture, but you’re broken and alone. There’s no one to say what you’re doing is wrong, nor him. When the news of your daughter passing reaches you, Kōtarō is there to hold you and shush you, carrying you in his arms to the bedroom.

> If you’re so upset about your daughter passing, you can always have another child. He’ll replace the husband that left you. In your state, you had no energy to push him off of you nor to tell him it’s wrong. You just have to let it happen.

Kuroo

> Different situation. Your husband was an asshole who knocked you up in high school. Your father forced you to marry him and you had another daughter with him. It was an unfortunate situation, but the news of your husband in the hospital due to a damaged liver didn’t surprise you. Didn’t surprise you when the doctors said he’d most likely be dying in the next week.

> However, the bills and necessities that you needed to make were higher than expected. Not only that, but you needed to pay for his funeral “as the wife”, which forced your budget to strain. You were then treated as a horrible wife by others because “what kind of woman can’t pay for her husband’s funeral?”

> Your older sister is there to help you, but she mainly is there for moral support. Her own husband won’t let you live with them because it would strain them and you understand. Tetsurō is your only hope. Tetsu is rich now and has a secure job, but you worry. You haven’t seen or talked to him since your ex-husband, then boyfriend, got you pregnant.

> It was pitiful, really. Walking to his fancy house and knocking. You called him and he said he’d be home, so you could come on over. You felt like a hopeless little girl again, waiting for him. You should let him turn to you, not be turning to him for help.

> Tetsurō, on the other hand, is thriving. The asshole finally kicked the bucket and you’re free. He knew you’d be struggling and you’d need someone, so he of course would be there for you. He’d finally have his sister back in his life, the sister that was taken away from him. You were the only good family member he had, your father turning to the drinks when his divorce was settled. When you left, he really felt alone. But now you’re back.

> When he opens his arms to welcome you, you cry and sob as apologies spill out. How you’re weak, how you’re sorry for leaving him, everything that makes you feel worse and makes him feel worse as well. What matters is you’re here now. With him.

> your daughters don’t see Tetsu as their uncle, just “Tetsu” because that’s what you call him. He’s the positive father figure in their lives and that’s what matters. They get the loving family they needed and they get good education, they get to see you happy again.

> Well, happy as you can be. When Tetsu finds you drinking a bottle of alcohol per day, he gets real pissed. He lost his entire family to the bottle and he’s starting to lose the only sister that was there for him, he doesn’t like that. So, he enforces rules.

> You’re not allowed to drink, you need to be a good mother. No smoking, you could get lung cancer. No dating and bringing home random guys, he’s the positive male influence your children need. It’s just him being a caring brother! He wants the best for you!

> At least, that’s what it is at first. It’s him being protective of you. It’s him wanting to not lose you again. As he enforces rules, it’s hard to not see the parallels between him and your ex. The only difference is Tetsu is smart enough to force you into submission in privacy. Your daughters don’t see the ugliness behind closed doors.

> What would they think of him if they saw the bruises along your wrists and the hickeys on your skin? You won’t tell them because Tetsurō can easily pinpoint blame elsewhere. This isn’t the same as your ex. Tetsurō is much more powerful and possessive. He will keep you, no matter what.

#haikyuu x reader #Mr. Kōtarō #BB.Dark #Mr. Tetsurō #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #tw.incest #Kuroo.hcs #Bokuto.hcs #BB.Requests #cw.death #tw.death #tw.alcohol #tw.dubcon

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years

Text

but it is sunlight

Fandom: Kamen Rider Agito, Kamen Rider Kabuto, Kamen Rider Gaim, Kamen Rider Ghost Characters: Tsugami Shouichi, Hikawa Makoto, Tendou Souji, Kagami Arata, Kazuraba Kouta, Kureshima Takatora, Tenkuuji Takeru, Fukami Makoto, Alain Song: "Sunlight," Hozier (playlist here) Warning: Mildly NSFW--not especially explicit, but people do have sex in this story

a buried and a burning flame – i

A shared day off is rare, but it does happen sometimes, and today the weather is so warm and perfect that Makoto is content to sit on the step drinking a lemonade and watching Shouichi garden.

Their garden space here isn’t as big as the one Shouichi got used to at Professor Misugi’s house, but it’s been expanded upwards with poles and frames and other contraptions that Makoto isn’t quite clear on. Really, they’re lucky to have a plot at all—the restaurant has its own rooftop space, so it’s not like Shouichi’s hurting for plant contact, but he needs it for himself as well. Makoto’s not sure he’ll ever understand the way Shouichi craves the presence of growing things. But then, he’s just happy to see Shouichi enjoying himself.

He glances around the garden briefly as Shouichi’s murmuring over a cucumber plant and frowns. “Aren’t sunflowers always supposed to face the sun?”

“Generally, sure.” Shouichi smiles but doesn’t look up from his work. “Why?”

“Well, if they don’t then doesn’t that mean they might be sick? The sun’s south of us right now, but your flowers are facing west.”

“Our.”

“Mm?”

“It’s your garden too.”

“Well, sure, but I mean it’s really—”

“Anyway, don’t worry, if they were sick I’d know. They’re probably just a little slow today.”

Makoto’s dubious, but he nods, and Shouichi beams at him for a moment and then goes back to fussing with the cucumbers. Once he finishes with them, he does something with a tomato plant nearby, and then hurries over to a small patch of green onions on the other side of the garden.

The faces of the sunflowers move to follow him as he walks. Makoto almost misses it, catches their motion out of the corner of his eye as he, too, is turning, and then freezes as they continue to shift. “Do—did you just see that?”

Shouichi frowns. “See what?”

“Ah…no, never mind.” Makoto settles forward, elbows on his knees, watching in soft fascination as Shouichi continues to work. “It’s not that important, I probably imagined it.”

---

the icarus to your certainty – i

Tendou doesn’t make demands most of the time, but he doesn’t make suggestions either. He makes statements and then continues on in the calm assumption that they’re true.

When he gets back from his trip abroad, for example, the first conversation Arata has with him ends with, “We’ll see you for dinner at six.” It’s not an invitation, or a request, or a question. It’s just a statement of fact, its truth etched into the fabric of the universe, and so Arata gets to the house at six precisely.

There are other statements that follow, of course. Like, “I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow,” and, “Other people address me by surname, not you,” and, “It’s late, you’ll stay the night.” The thing is, Arata wants to bristle at this casual certainty, but he can’t manage it, because so far Tendou—Souji—hasn’t said anything incorrect. When he makes these statements, Arata wants them to be true, and so they becometrue by default. He shows up at the same time the next day. He says, “Souji,” instead of, “Tendou,” and is shaken by the faint, surprised smile he gets in response. He stays the night.

Tonight Souji’s making some kind of crab risotto thing, and Arata is helping, which is to say making a salad. This is already strange, since it used to be that he was barely even allowed in the kitchen. Hiyori, visiting for the evening, is sitting on the couch with Juka while Juka talks about one of her classes at Jounan University. It’s very domestic.

He finishes slicing cucumbers and is reaching for the lettuce when Souji turns to him holding a small spoon and says, “Taste this.”

On automatic, and because his hands are busy, Arata just leans forward and eats the spoonful of risotto, letting it spread out creamily over his tongue. “Mm.”

Souji is looking at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

“I think—wait, you’re actually asking me for my opinion?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“You just…don’t usually ask for opinions.”

“Not from other people, no, but other people aren’t you.”

Arata laughs in warm surprise. “Really? What makes me so different?”

He’s not really expecting an answer, but Souji looks at him for a long moment and then says, “If all of humanity were alchemically distilled into one specimen exhibiting only its finest qualities, that specimen would be you.”

Arata stares at him. “I. You. Are…is this a quotation, are you quoting something?”

Another one of the faint, surprised smiles he’s gotten to like seeing. “No. But perhaps someday, someone else will quote me, and rest assured, the recipient of the quotation will not deserve it nearly as much as you.” And, before Arata can really process that, “I would appreciate your opinion on the risotto now.”

“I…it’s really delicious, but. Maybe it could use a pinch more salt?”

Souji nods firmly. “I’d suspected as much. Thank you.”

He returns to his cooking, reaching for one of the little pots of salt next to the stove, and leaves Arata to cut up lettuce and try to figure out what just happened.

---

i had been lost to you – i

Kouta’s visits are infrequent, inconsistent, and never announced. The most warning Takatora ever gets is a sudden, powerful waft of flowers and fruit, moments before a zipper opens in the air in front of him. He’s gotten used to it, as much as one can get used to something like that.

(Kouta always comes to him. His house has more privacy than most other spots Kouta knows in Zawame, and anyway, according to him, “You’re always easy for me to find.”

Sometimes those visits are for “work,” as Kouta calls it, and he stays only for a brief moment before rushing off to whatever world-ending crisis has caught his attention. More often, though, the reason is nothing more than, “Things are aligned correctly right now, and I missed Zawame.”

He’s sitting in the park now, on a bench under a camellia tree. A casual observer wouldn’t look at him and see a god, just a smiling young man in a plaid shirt and dark jeans, shoes kicked off so that he can curl his bare toes in the grass. Maybe he’s waiting to meet a girlfriend, or a boyfriend; maybe he’s just enjoying the good weather. As Takatora watches, though, a squirrel runs down the trunk of the camellia tree and leaps onto Kouta’s shoulder, and he turns and beams at it, apparently listening intently to its chattering. A jay is perched on his knee. Two stray cats are sprawled on the grass flanking him like indolent sentries, and a dog with a collar, probably lost, is curled up against his hip on the bench.

He lifts a hand, cupped, and Takatora knows without being able to see it that his palm is filling with seeds, manifesting as if from his skin. He’s done it before. The squirrel runs downs his arm and begins to stuff itself, the jay hopping from his knee to his fingertips to do the same. With his other hand he reaches up absently to catch a gleaming red apple that drops down from the camellia tree and begins to eat. Only the plants nearby lean away from him, which seems strange until Takatora realizes that they’re not really leaning, they’re growing, extending outward from his presence like an aura, the grass increasingly tall around his ankles.

How strange to see him at peace. And what an astonishing thing, that he should turn his face even for a moment from the new world he guides and his cosmically-designated beloved to walk once more in the city that treated him so poorly.

(She doesn’t visit. She can’t set foot outside of her hallowed forest now. But Takatora did get to speak to her, once, and he knelt and begged her forgiveness for all that he allowed to happen and received in return a kiss so gentle and yet searing in its benediction that even now he can feel it on his skin, and sometimes has to look in the mirror to see if she left a mark on his forehead.)

“Hey!” Kouta is waving to him with the hand holding the apple core. “Takatora! Are you done with your meeting thing? Come on over, I want to hear everything that’s happened since the last time I was here.”

Takatora blinks and nods, shocked out of his reverie, and heads over to the camellia tree. The stray cats scatter as he approaches, but none of the other animals move, so after barely a moment’s hesitation he sits down in the grass at Kouta’s feet, unmindful of his suit, and says, “Well, reconstruction work is nearly finished, we’ve only got two or three more buildings left to repair. Did I tell you about the dance classes at the new community center?”

“The ones that Zack and Peko are running? I think you mentioned them a little last time, did those finally start?”

Camellias bloom out of season over their heads. “Yes, only a few weeks ago. There may be a few other Beat Riders assisting as well, possibly by running additional courses, apparently enrollment was well past what anyone had anticipated.” Takatora leans against Kouta’s shin as the grass slowly creeps up past his knees, comforted by his radiant warmth. “And Mitsuzane’s continuing to enjoy university, he’s going to be working for one of his professors next semester as a teaching assistant…”

---

love and its decisive pain – i

Being around Takeru is a strange experience now, because by simply existing he exerts a spiritual pressure unlike anything else Alain’s ever encountered. The pressure isn’t negative, but it is constant, the weight of a higher reality radiating from his skin. Or, not a higherreality—Alain isn’t sure what it is, but Takeru’s certainly of the human world.

Alain isn’t sure if people who aren’t from the Ganma World even notice it. Certainly he’s seen Javert twitch minutely when handing Takeru something, he’s seen how Igor goes tense around him, even Alia’s been known to flinch away from the intensity of his proximity. Are they unusually sensitive, or are the people of the human world just numb to it?

Perhaps it’s nothing new, and he’s just always been like that and that’s why people don’t notice. Makoto would know—he’s of the Ganma World now, even if he came to it late. “Has Takeru always had such…presence?”

Makoto glances at him, and then over at Takeru, who’s crouching to offer a rice ball to a child sniffling on the temple steps. The child takes it, hand brushing Takeru’s, and relaxes in the same way that Igor might tense at the same contact, perceptibly basking in that unseen but powerfully felt aura.

“No,” Makoto says. “No, this is new. He wasn’t like this before. Or at least he wasn’t like this when we were young.”

Somehow this answer isn’t reassuring at all. “I see. That’s…it’s a lot.”

“It is, isn’t it.”

That’s the point at which Takeru hears them and looks up, face transformed by delight at the sight of them. “Makoto! Alain! When did you get here?” Behind him, Narita comes forward to walk the sniffling child over to a quieter corner, asking her as they go whether she knows either of her parents’ phone numbers. Takeru waves goodbye to her, beaming, and then hurries across the room to crash into Makoto’s arms, and Alain can see Makoto being overtaken by that benevolent pressure. “You didn’t tell me you were coming! Nothing’s going on, right? Everything’s ok? Who’s taking care of things in the Ganma World?”

“Everything’s fine,” Makoto says into Takeru’s hair. “Alia’s got everything under control.”

“This is a social call,” Alain adds, and is favored with an embrace of his own, knees almost buckling under the warmth of Takeru’s presence. “We just missed you.”

“I missed you both too. I hope you’ll be here for a couple of days, at least?” The weight of his joyful expectation is so much that Alain can only nod. “Wonderful! Here, come on, you’re both probably hungry, let’s go get takoyaki.”

He’s human, Alain realizes as Takeru’s fingers wrap around his and he feels that shiver run through him again. That’s all it is, and also everything that it is. More than anyone else in this realm, he is human.

What an extraordinary thing.

“I’d like that,” Alain says out loud, and Takeru is already grabbing Makoto’s hand as well. “It’s been a while since we shared a meal.”

“It has, hasn’t it? Let’s go, you two can tell me all the news while we’re eating.”

---

a buried and a burning flame – ii

For the most part Shouichi doesn’t initiate. It’s not that he’s not enthusiastic about sex, he’s just an awful tease. Little gestures, bumps and brushes, obvious double entendre that he then winkingly denies; he’d rather drive Makoto to distraction and pretend innocence until Makoto finally loses patience and backs him up against the nearest wall. He even admitted to it once, in an unguarded moment of drowsiness. “I like when you do that, it’s fun. And it’s not like I can just ask you to.”

“You could, though,” Makoto had said, but Shouichi had already drifted off.

They’ve been together all day, but Makoto can barely remember any of it clearly except Shouichi. Everything else fades into the background when faced with the vividness of his smile.

Makoto’s shirt is somewhere back in the living room, he thinks maybe on the couch. They’ve been trying to get Shouichi’s shirt off, but that’s been a tougher prospect, because it’s a pullover. Finally, though, it comes off over his head and lands on the floor, and Makoto presses him to the wall again. And now, even more vivid than his smile is the feeling of his skin, burn-hot against Makoto’s lips and hands and chest, his fingers like a brand curling around the back of Makoto’s neck as Makoto kisses his throat.

They barely make it to the bedroom.

The heat of him is extraordinary, feverish, it would be frightening if Makoto wasn’t used to it. He is, though, they’ve been together for years now, so instead his own thoughts can melt away in the face of Shouichi and his pleasure, the taste of him, the sound of his breathless cries, Shouichi arching up against him. Sure, he gets off somewhere in there too, but the important thing is Shouichi, climaxing underneath him with a gasp of, “Makoto,” and a kiss that Makoto would be willing to end the world for.

Afterwards, they lie wrapped around each other in a state of abstracted bliss until Shouichi mumbles something about being thirsty, at which point Makoto extricates himself despite the attendant sleepy protests and heads to the kitchen with a blanket around his waist to get drinks. Passing the bathroom on the way back, he pauses, frowning, at the sliver of his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

It hadn’t been sunny enough today to get a real sunburn, but there’s a sunburn on the back of his neck nevertheless, bright red although not painful. He sets down one of the glasses, reaches up and covers it almost perfectly.

When he realizes what it is—although Shouichi’s palm is slightly broader than his, Shouichi’s fingers slightly shorter—he blushes and picks up the glass again, heading for the bedroom, hoping that his hair is long enough that no one at work asks about the handprint burned into his skin.

---

the icarus to your certainty – ii

It’s not always so precipitous.

Normally they have to be quiet, because normally there’s at least one other person in the house. And in any case, Souji dislikes rush—he’ll approach anything and everything with a plan in mind, sex included.

Tonight, though, after dinner finished, Juka distributed a round of cheek kisses and then gathered up her bag and headed out, to meet up with a university friend she’s doing a project with. Hiyori left shortly after that. (She rarely stays the night anyway, she doesn’t like to leave her parakeet alone.) They’re alone in the house unless the Zecters are around somewhere, and they mostly keep to themselves, they’re hardly company in the same way.

But.

Precipitous.

They do dishes together, in comfortable silence, and once that’s done and his washing gloves are off Souji turns to make one of those true statements. Except that Arata decides he doesn’t feel like hearing one right now, so before Souji’s even gotten through one word Arata takes a step forward and kisses him, bracketing him against the edge of the counter with both arms. Souji makes one of those little surprised noises and drapes his arms over Arata’s shoulders and pulls him closer, and a couple of minutes later Arata’s hands shift down to lift and Souji’s legs wrap around his waist, and.

It’s good that they have the house to themselves.

They can’t stay at the kitchen counter, because it’s a bad height and also that’s not sanitary, and the dinner table won’t support their weight, which is a lesson they learned the hard way. The couch is an option, though, and it’s not easy to get over there with another person wrapped around him, but it is doable. He sits, or more lands, with a thump, Souji in his lap, Souji’s hands on the sides of his face tilting his chin up, and for some while lets himself be overwhelmed by having all of Souji’s considerable attention focused on him.

A pause for breath, for the removal of at least some clothing (and if Souji fumbles Arata’s shirt buttons, Arata’s going to save the memory for himself and certainly never mention it), for—“Are you all right?”

For Souji looking down at him, dizzy-eyed, and saying, slowly, “Your depths are such that I think I could drown in you.”

Arata reaches up, takes hold of his wrists, thumbs rubbing gently across the pulse points. “I mean, I can’t get poetic about it like you can,” more quietly than warranted given that they’re alone, “but you’re so much that sometimes I feel I could burn up, so that seems like a fair trade.”

He’s expecting that surprised look, but it doesn’t come, because what he gets instead is a kiss that would definitely have him on his ass in seconds if he wasn’t already sitting down. “More than fair.”

---

i had been lost to you – ii

Even before his apotheosis Kouta was a man built for pleasure. It must have been a glorious accident of his birth, Takatora thinks, that on his mouth smiles are so natural, that his body responds to any rhythm with grace, that he laughs so easily. Takatora has lived his entire life on the far other end of that spectrum—at best, he might call himself austere—but he can’t bring himself to be jealous of such an infectious and in-born joy. He can only hope to increase it, in whatever way he can.

So he kneels.

It isn’t worship, because Kouta will not accept his worship. Or anyone else’s, for that matter, he may be a god but he refuses to be treated like one. But love, as a great man once said, is a sacrament best taken kneeling, and while there are many points Kouta will argue, Takatora’s esteem and affection for him are not one of them.

Really, though, Kouta isn’t saying anything especially coherent right now.

His unnecessary but habitual breathing is coming short, and his hair flickers from deep brown to unearthly gold as his concentration disintegrates. If his eyes weren’t squeezed shut, they, too, would be flickering. His fingers, curled on the edge of the bed, have flowers blooming between them. And Takatora, the indirect cause of this riotous growth and rendered speechless for more immediately physical reasons, continues until his lips are numb and Kouta is pulling him up and flattening him to the bed with a kiss.

“You don’t have to stop me, you know I wouldn’t mind if you—”

“No,” and a kiss, “no, we don’t know if it could—” and another kiss, “so no, even though you know I, you know—Takatora, I—” and the dissolution of coherence once again, now for both of them, as Takatora dizzily allows himself to be subsumed by Kouta’s passion and enthusiasm.

The first few times he was able to visit, afterglow involved actual glowing on Kouta’s part, which was the cause of some mutual hysteria—Takatora doesn’t want to call it giggling, but that’s really the accurate term. The glow’s under control now, and Kouta lies against him, asleep, and does not look more divine than any other beautiful man in repose.

There are still flowers blooming on the edge of the bed, red and orange against the plain bedspread. They’ll be scolded away later, but for the moment they are bright and strong and vivid. Takatora, drowsy himself, drifts off gazing at them, Kouta’s arms tight around his waist.

---

love and its decisive pain – ii

They are devoted partners, and thus Takeru’s anger is their anger, Takeru’s sorrow is their sorrow, Takeru’s joy is their joy, and, most crucially in this moment, with the dawn not arrived and the day yet to start and make them all busy, Takeru’s pleasure is their pleasure. And because he is who he is, because he feels everything with such strength and fervency that it radiates from him like sunlight, it is such pleasure. On his back, hands above his head, eyes bound, he has given himself over to their loving mercy and yet the weight of his existence is still enough to envelope them both.

Alain leans down to kiss the smiling mouth below the blindfold and say, softly, “Is there something you want?”

“Isn’t the point of this that you two are making the decisions?” Takeru sounds like he might laugh.

Alain glances over Takeru’s chest at Makoto, who is already looking over at him, and who raises an eyebrow before saying, “Is that a serious question or are you just being difficult?”

It’s definitely suppressed laughter. “A little of both, really. I want you to do what you want. I trust you.”

So they do what they want, which, gloriously weighed down by Takeru’s unconditional trust, is what he wants too. And what they want is to kiss, to touch, to take their pleasure in ways that render him arch-backed and breathless and crying out as they take their turns on him. They take their pleasure until he’s coming in an unexpected avalanche of laughter which, like all avalanches, overtakes them as well.

Dawn is breaking, light spilling in through the open window for Takeru to flinch against as they uncover his eyes. He buries his face against Makoto’s chest as soon as his arms are free and he can move, mumbling, “It’s too bright, I’m going back to sleep, you both have to keep me company since you’re the ones who wore me out.”

“Right,” Makoto says drily, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Alain is draping himself over Takeru’s back, “humans need sleep, I forget that sometimes.”

He can feel Takeru’s smile like a separate presence in the room, even though he can’t see it. “Oh, like you’re so inhuman.”

Alain presses his face to the back of Takeru’s neck and finds that, at least for the moment, the pressure of his reality is not so much a weight as it is an embrace, enfolding the three of them as they lie together drowsing. “It’s not that we are less, perhaps.” A yawn against Takeru’s warm skin, occasioning a ticklish wriggle. “It’s just that you’re so much.”

#tsugami shouichi #hikawa makoto #tendou souji #kagami arata #kazuraba kouta #kureshima takatora #tenkuuji takeru #fukami makoto #ganma alain #fanfiction #30 day shuffle challenge #god this took so long

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sokkascroptop · 4 years

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traitor. (sokka x f! reader) pt 1

part 2 | part 3

Azula was good at that, doing and saying things that made you want to yell back. It was her favorite thing to do on purpose and had become like second nature by accident. Y/N, in response, had become very good at holding her tongue over the years, and very good at calming herself when she wanted to lash out. More than once when they were children Azula had lobbed a fireball in her direction that had singed the clothes or skin it was aimed at.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Azula asked. She was lounging on a chaise near the window cleaning her nails with a sharp blade. The sun was setting behind her basking her in a glowing, warm light. It made her gold eyes brighter, gold eyes that were staring intensely at her, waiting for an answer.

“Of course I do. I came to the palace for a party with my parents,” Y/N responded. She was a ways away on Azula’s bed lying on her stomach. She flipped over and hung her head off the bed letting the blood rush to her cheeks. Azula was smirking at her.

“No, at school. When I chose you.” Azula tossed the knife she was using and it thudded into the dark wood of her door frame. A door frame that was sliced with notches of where the girls–her, Azula, Ty Lee and Mai– would measure their heights when they were younger; or where Azula would stab her knife deep in the wood, for safekeeping, she would always say.

Chose. That was a word that Y/N was familiar with. It usually meant that you were special, but to her, to Azula and the girls and Y/N’s parents, it just meant she was lucky.

“Of course I do,” Y/N repeated.

Y/N started at the Royal Fire Nation Academy for Girls later than most. She was already nearly ten and had always had a slew of private tutors. But her father had been recently promoted to Commander and it was insisted that his daughter, his progeny, had the right type of upbringing–and apparently that meant not running through the forests of Ember Island barefoot.

She not-so-fondly remembered the heavy uniform they wore, so different than her thin cotton pants and tunic she was used to. The Capital City was in the same climate as Ember Island, so why did they wear silk? It was so hot. Y/N had hated moving back to the Capital City, and out of their summer home that had become her year round home the minute her mother decided it was much better to be away from the city.

“That first week was hellish. I’d never had to listen to authority before, or hang out with children my age and suddenly that’s all I had. You saved me.”

“Saved you,” Azula scoffed. “I do remember you being quite the little heathen.”

“Hey! I just meant from lashings from the teachers,” Y/N laughed and threw a decorative pillow at Azula’s head. She caught it quick as a cat-snake with one hand and brought it to her chest.

They sat in an easy silence, Y/N wondering why Azula had brought up the moment they met. The first words that she’d ever said to Y/N echoed in her mind. “We’re going to be great friends.”

Azula wasn’t wrong when she prophesied that they were going to be great friends. Azula wasn’t necessarily the ‘welcome with open arms’ type, but she did whatever was closest to that with Y/N. She became a part of them, almost instantly. They had class together, they ate lunch together, they went back to the palace and trained together. Everything, together. Ty Lee was the most friendly of them all, she often braided Y/N’s hair over and over, taking it out and braiding it back, just to have something to do with her hands. Mai was sweet once you got past her glum exterior. Azula was, well, Azula. She was cold one minute and hot the next, literally. Her emotions changed as quickly as the weather. She might throw a fireball at your head if she was mad. But the next moment she’d sweeten you up with fruit tarts she’d stolen from the kitchen and all would be forgotten.

Y/N kept thinking about Azula’s words as she trained with one of the palace guards later that evening. He wasn’t the best with a sword, but he was a fire bender, and that gave her a better workout.

Y/N was a non-bender, but masterful with a sword. It was her father’s favorite hand to hand weapon and he had insisted on her training with it even at a young age. By the time she started at the Royal Academy, she was able to beat her trainers regularly.

Becoming friends with Azula gave her access to some of the best fighters in the Fire Nation, and even that was becoming boring.

Y/N slashed at the guards neck. He threw a fireball at her that dissipated harmlessly where she once stood. She landed in a crouch and kicked her leg out at the back of the guards knee, it buckled and he fell. She bounced to her feet and pointed the tip of her sword at the back of his neck. She saw a swatch of pale skin there which dripped with sweat. A small part of her wanted to dig her sword in and draw bright red blood.

A slow clap echoed through the courtyard that awoke her from those dark thoughts. Y/N smiled at her friend and patted the guards shoulder. “See you later.”

She jogged to join Azula who was starting to walk away. “Come to watch and fawn over me for old times sake?” Y/N giggled and wiped the sweat off her brow. She sheathed her sword and felt the familiar weight bounce against her hip.

“You give yourself far too much credit.” Y/N could tell Azula was in a good mood. A better mood than she’d seen in a while. They reached Y/N’s room and she dropped her sword on the bed.

“Why are you so chipper, ‘zula?”

The left corner of her mouth tilted up in the ghost of a smile. “Father wants to speak to you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Me?”

“I think I know what it’s about but I won’t ruin the surprise. Come on, we don't want to keep him waiting.”

Y/N’s stomach turned. She’d only stood in front of the Fire Lord a handful of times. The first being the first time she traveled to the palace when she was very young. At the time she didn’t know the weight of what she was doing, now she did and she was filled with terror. What in Agni’s name could he want with her? She was just a Commander’s daughter who had befriended his daughter.

The throne room was cold despite the summer heat outside and the fire burning around the Fire Lord. It was dark as well, the black marble floor and columns absorbed the only light from the flames licking upward to their Master. The only sound was the crackling fire and the click of Y/N’s boots; Azula was always so light footed she hardly made a sound.

A drop of sweat leftover from Y/N’s workout dripped down her spine and she shivered at the feeling. Ten yards away from the throne, Y/N dropped to one knee and bowed her head. Azula bowed slightly and stood behind Y/N’s right shoulder.

“Fire Lord, it is an honor to be in your presence,” Y/N said. She could feel the heat from the flames now that she was closer. Whether from nervousness or the warmth that filled her face, she began to sweat.

“You may stand.” The Fire Lord’s voice was higher than she remembered. It didn’t fit the aura he gave off and he sounded bored. Y/N stood with her hands behind her back at attention. She didn’t want to have any excuse for Azula to chastise her when they left. “Azula tells me that you are gifted at sword fighting.”

Y/N fought the urge to send a questioning look to her friend. Azula talked to the Fire Lord about her? She stared at the black outline of his tall figure seated in his enormous chair. “I’m adequate, sire.”

“Beating every single one of my palace guards is more than what I would call adequate,” the Fire Lord remarked.

“Your palace guards are extremely well trained in fire bending but not in sword fighting, sire.” Y/N grimaced and ducked her head, cursing internally at her mouth that was too quick for her brain.

Azula chuckled softly behind Y/N. Now she did turn around to stare at her friend. She whipped her head back not knowing how disrespectful it was to turn your back on the Fire Lord.

“Azula will be leaving tomorrow for the Earth Kingdom to capture my brother, General Iroh and the Fire Prince Zuko. I want you to go with her.”

Y/N paused for a beat. Capture them? The last she heard was that they were on a pointless mission to catch the Avatar. Iroh was disgraced and went with Zuko when he was banished because Iroh couldn’t face his brother when he abdicated the throne for his failure at Ba Sing Se. What could they have done searching for a dead Avatar that could get them into more trouble? Y/N could feel Azula’s sharp nails dig into her arm behind her back and she knew she had waited too long to speak.

“It would be an honor to accompany Fire Princess Azula on this mission, My Lord.” Y/N clasped a fist in her left hand and held it below her right palm and bowed deeply.

If the Fire Lord was pleased with her, his tone didn't show it. “Wonderful. You’re dismissed.”

Y/N couldn’t get out the room fast enough.

Azula was more excitable than ever on their walk back to their rooms. She grabbed Y/N’s arms and tugged like she was a small child. “This is going to be so amazing for me, Y/N! For us!”

Azula seemed to notice Y/N’s hesitation to agree with her. This earned her a sharp look. “Don’t you want the honor and recognition that bringing home two traitors would give you? You’d be promoted higher than your father. Agni knows you’d be more deserving of the title.”

Y/N gave Azula the smile she was waiting for. “Of course. I guess I’m still a little shell shocked at the Fire Lord giving me such an amazing opportunity.”

“Well you can thank me for that.”

Y/N stopped at the door to her room. “Thank you, Azula,” she said before she could snatch the words back. Azula rounded the corner to the stairs that would take her to her room and Y/N took a deep, calming breath, working hard to push away the anger the Azula had incited.

She slid down the wall inside her room. Did Y/N want the honor and glory that Azula talked about? She should, with how she was raised, but now that it was offered on a silver platter, Y/N wasn’t so sure that it was for her. Recently, it became all Azula wanted to talk about. Training and war meetings had become her life so suddenly. And if they were Azula’s life, they were Y/N’s life as well. Y/N wasn’t allowed to sit in on the war meetings but it didn’t matter because Azula always came back to relay what happened in them. ‘Relay’ was the wrong word, more like brag about them. Azula was anything but informative when she spoke. Y/N tried to find some interest in the things the Fire Nation was accomplishing but to Y/N it just turned her stomach. She’d never admit it to anyone, especially Azula but she was sickened by the war.

When did life become this way? All about war and capturing cities and cleansing the world? She wished things were back to simpler times when the girls ran the palace wild and teased Zuko and the maids. She knew that in the past three years since Zuko’s banishment, Fire Lord Ozai had been calling on Azula more and more frequently, upping her firebending training to half the day. But Y/N never thought it would come to this.

Y/N skipped out on dinner that night, just told the maids to take the tray of roast turtle-duck back to the kitchen. Her stomach had been in knots since leaving the throne room. Her and Azula were leaving. Sure, Y/N hadn’t lived with her parents in years; this would be her fifth year of calling the palace home, but for some reason, she didn’t feel like she was going to come back.

Y/N instead slid into a hot bath that she drew for herself for once and mulled in her thoughts. As if the steam in the room was steeping her memories like tea leaves she thought of what this mission was supposed to entail. Things that happened around the palace and behind closed doors were usually hidden from her unless she heard gossip from the servants or occasionally, Azula. But she didn’t seem like she was going to give up any information about it. What did Iroh do to betray the Fire Nation? He was one of the best General’s they’d ever had, even after his defeat at Ba Sing Se. And what did Zuko do that was even worse than his banishment?

None of that matters, she told herself. Her previous ideas about the kind of men they were didn’t matter anymore. If the Fire Lord said that Zuko and Iroh needed to be captured, then that’s what needed to be done.

A/N: uh oh, settle in for more inner angst as y/n tries to figure out where her heart lies. what is more important? honor? friendship? peace?

#atla #a:tla #avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #sokka x reader #sokka x female reader #suki #katara #aang #zuko #azula #toph #toph beifong #ozai sucks #avatar resurgence #sokka x y/n #uncle iroh

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iballisticcatt · 3 years

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Old and New Friends

Note: Some of this writing is not my own. rainbows-fanfics let me have a draft and create this. Thanks!

Louis’ POV

It had been a bit over a year since the Delta. Violet had started to get social again and Willy ended up making a prosthetic for Clementine. Life had been good, great even. I was in the piano room, playing away anything I could remember or any sheet music I found before the other music room burnt down. The door creaked open and scared me, making me jump and scream like a girl. Clementine came in laughing.

“That scream was amazing Louis,” Clementine chuckled, “Do it again!”

I became defensive but playful, “I was in the middle of playing piano when that door decided to creak in the middle of me playing!”

Clem made her way over to the bench and sat down on my left, putting her head on my shoulder.

“I was thinking back to that card game we played when I first got here. You remember when I talked about that baseball player I met?” Clem seemed to be a bit brighter than usual as she spoke.

I responded, clawing into my memory to see if I could recollect, “Very, very vaguely.”

“Well, I was wondering if we could take a trip down there, the wars going on in the area are sure to have died down by this point, and Javi would be glad to see me. It’s where Richmond used to be, It’s called New Richmond, It is pretty far from here, but we can make good time if we find a car. It’s 300 miles from here to there. It should be about a week’s walk from here.” Clementine seemed excited at the prospect of seeing these people again, how could I say no to a face like that?

“Sounds like a hard trip, but I’m in. Who’s coming with us?”

Clem smirked and looked right into my eyes, “Just us.”

That was unexpected, to say the least, but I was all for it. I nodded and smiled at the thought of being alone with her for so long. We both got up and went outside and explained the idea to everyone. Clem did most of the talking while I sat there and looked dumb. The idea eventually passed through and everyone helped us pack, we were going to head out in two days.

The two days passed, and with several goodbyes from A.J and Violet hugging me out of nowhere, we were off. Those days on the road were harder than I had ever expected, it only made me feel more guilty for leaving Clem and A.J to die in the forest, before the Delta. They were also some of the best. The cuddle sessions were amazing by the fire each day as one of us was on watch while the other slept. Seven days on the road and we finally arrived at gates with spikes on the ends of it and a control platform above it. As I first saw the gate, my mind forced me to blurt out, “This gives off medal music vibes to me.” Clem chuckled and said simply, “That’s kinda the point, don’t you think?” I replied quickly, “Yep.” As we approached the gates we saw a boy in an orange beanie, tallish, and holding an AK-47.

Clem yelled out at the boy, “GUESS WHO’S BACK GABE?”

The boy jumped and looked at us, gun raised, then lowered it after looking a bit longer.

“Clementine? Is that seriously you?” The boy seemed shocked and happy

“In the flesh.”

The gates opened as Gabe came out and approached, I was walking beside Clem as the boy came and eyed me.

“Who are you?” He asked, strength in his voice.

“I am Louis, Clem’s boyfriend, she wanted me to meet you and Javier. I’ve heard about you guys from her.” I replied with strength above his own, subconsciously asserting my dominance over him.

His face dropped a bit at this realization. The face he made confused me a bit, but I brushed it off as Gabe spoke, “Well Clem, You are always welcome here to New Richmond, so let’s come in and find Kate and Javi, I’m sure they will be as glad to see you as I am and meet a new face.”

We were guided through the gates and a clang followed as they shut, seeming to trap us here. I hoped they wouldn’t kill us, I was sure they wouldn’t though. We followed a road down through the city, the buildings tall and unlike something I had seen since I was ten. We stopped in front of an apartment complex, the building standing tall with a raven or a crow standing in the front. We entered the building and climbed a flight of stairs before arriving at a door.

“Well, here is their apartment, I need to go back and get on watch, have fun.”

I quipped and smirked, “We certainly will!”

Clem looked at me and turned bright red, “Louis!”

I just chuckled and knocked on the door three times. We waited for a second before the door opened and a tall man with black, moppy hair and a beard opened the door.

“Guess who’s back?”

“Clementine?”

A woman’s voice came from inside the house, “Wait, are you talking to Clementine? Is she back?”

The man, whom I assumed to be Javier, called back and said excitedly, “Yeah, it is! I can’t believe it! Wait, who is this?”

Clem responded, warmness in her voice, “Javi, this is my boyfriend Louis! Been with him a year and I adore him, I brought him along to meet you guys.”

Javier eyed me before sticking his hand out, I took it in kind, giving a firm grip to return his own.

“Well come on in, Kate can’t wait to see you, Clem!” Javi seemed to be ultra excited, it had been a while since they had seen another.

The one I assumed to be Kate stood up, her bangs split into thirds on her head with a braid in the back. She hugged Clementineshe was caring before eying me.

“Who might you be?” Kate seemed slightly concerned at my presence, her protective mode seemingly kicking in.

I replied, trying to defuse the tension, “I, am Louis, Clementine’s boyfriend.” I laid a kiss on Clem’s forehead as Kate relaxed a bit.

Javier spoke up, “Well, the last time I saw Clem she had the personality of an aggressive rock.”

I laughed, too long for Clementine’s liking.

“I can’t imagine her like anything else but a teddy bear!” I replied between laughs and wheezes. Man, I like this guy already.

A knock came back to the door, Three taps. Javi moved over to the door and there stood Gabe.

Gabe spoke, “My watch shift just ended, figured I’d hang out with you guys.”

Javi looked over at Clem, “Well Clem, Kate and I would like to show you some of the newer things here in New Richmond,” Javi turned to face me, “You sure you’ll be okay with Gabe here?”

I replied with humor, “Of course, I have to be on my best behavior for my teddy bear here!”

Clementine punched my arm and chuckled.

Kate entered the room, “We’ll get going, see you guys in a bit.”

They left without another word, stranding me with Gabe. We turned to face each other and I gave him an honest grin, nodding once in his direction. He smiled and awkwardly copied the gesture. We were then left in silence, our eye contact slipping as neither of us dared to start talking. I twiddled my thumbs under the table as I thought of what to say.

"So..." I whistled under my breath. "You're an old friend of Clem's?"

He looked surprised as I started speaking, but nodded in regards to the question. "Yeah, you could say that."

"How do you know her?" I pressed.

This may be awkward, but I was least getting to know him some more. I felt that was appropriate to do in this time frame until Clem got back. Gabe looked startled before going quiet, staring at the table and messing with his cuticles in thought. He looked up and shrugged, not bothering to make eye contact with me.

"Clementine helped us with overrunning the New Frontier. I helped her with some things and Javi said we made a great team together. Whether it was taking out walkers or playing a card game. She was just nice to be around."

I arched my eyebrow in interest. "Card games?"

"Oh, yeah, I, uh, taught her one." He squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again. "I think it was euchre."

"How about you and I play one, then?" I offered, grabbing the deck out of my usual pocket and holding it in my hands. "While we wait for them to get back, of course."

His eyes lit up. A good sign. "Shit? You carry a deck around with you, too?"

"You bet! Never know when the opportunity is gonna' come. I find that card games help lighten the mood." I dealt him a pile. "How about we play...war? Easy and shouldn't take that long."

"You seem to have a lot of confidence," He commented as he took his pile. I shrugged.

We started by focusing on the game first, easing into it by dealing with our cards. We had the same rank right out of the bat and, after turning them over, I found Gabe had the higher cards. I winched watching him take them and tuck them under his pile. Not a great start on my end, but I was sure I'd be doing better as the game progressed. We did a couple more rounds before I decided to speak again, clearing my throat.

"You said Clem was fun to be around with. Why's that?" His eyes looked into mine. They were too tense, so I followed it with a joke. "Didn't she, like, scare you? She has this aura about her, doesn't she? Freaked me out when I first met her."

"Oh, yeah." He gave a pitiful laugh. "I thought she hated me. Didn't think she'd ever talk to me."

"Right?" I laughed along. "I thought she'd stab me in my sleep when I first met her."

"She's intimidating, but I think that's why I liked her, you know? She's...interesting, once you get to know her."

He wore a shy smile as he flipped his card. I didn't say anything about it, not even when I won the round and took the cards. Gabe was right, after all. Clementine was a tough shell to crack, but when you got to know her, she was caring. To those, she liked, anyway. I admired her toughness as much as the next guy, and as much as it fazed me, I still didn't let it stop me from flirting with her.

"You're pretty good," He told me. I nodded back to him.

"You, too."

"So, Louis, uh..." He drummed his fingers against the table. "How do you know Clem? How did you guys meet exactly?"

"I think it was about a year ago. My friend, Marlon, found her and A.J. in a car crash near our boarding school. They treated Clem, but A.J. was a lot to handle without her there. He didn't exactly warm up to us at first. He was giving my friend Ruby a lot of issues. He even bit her on the hand just because she walked up from behind him."

"Oh, shit." Gabe cringed. I nodded and followed with a shrug.

"Yeah, well, I calmed him down by playing the piano. I don't know how long it was until Clem came into the room and met with him again. When she told me her name, I couldn't help it." A shit-eating grin grew on my face. "When she asked for another song, I sang her 'Oh My Darlin' Clementine'."

"How did she feel about that? She'd have punched me."

"She told me she loved that song. So I kept playing. I thought it would get on her nerves but it didn't. Not like that's an issue; I've found other ways to get under her skin."

I saw I had won the round and collected my share. By this point, we were getting closer to the end of the game. I was winning right now; Gabe's pile got smaller while we were talking. I grinned as we flipped over our next set of cards, hoping to get this meaningless victory just so I'd have something to talk about later. I noticed Gabe's sudden silence and glanced up. He was staring at his cards, a troubled expression on his face.

"Sorry, I meant to go easy but my cards were just too good." I rubbed my hand along my coat conceitedly.

He looked up in surprise. How do I manage to keep startling him just by talking? Either that or he was spacing out a lot. "O-Oh, uh, I was just...thinking."

"Well, then. Penny for your thoughts? They're not back yet and, as good as I am at winning, the game isn't exactly over just yet."

"Yeah." He chuckled nervously, watching as I won the round again. "I, uh...I was just wondering something. Like, um, how you and Clem are...together." His hesitation made me quirk an eyebrow. "The last time I saw her, she was really serious and kind of, well, hard at times. You're the exact opposite. How did she...fall for you, exactly?"

My eyes widened in surprise. I wasn't sure how to respond to that question. Juggling the card box in my hand, I thought about it seriously for a moment. "Well, I guess making her laugh a lot helped."

"How do you do that, though? It was hard just to get her to smile when I last with her." His frown deepened. "But you do it so easily...you don't even have to say anything and she still smiles."

"Heh." My chest warmed at that. "I don't know, honestly. It's usually me making a stupid joke and just hoping someone will laugh. If she finds it funny, she'll laugh."

His look didn't change. "Yeah. That makes sense."

It grew tense as we ended the game, all the cards in my pile. I expected to feel triumphant for winning, but the look on his face made me feel guilty for naturally doing so good at the game. I knitted my eyebrows together as I stuffed the cards back in, wondering what went wrong in our conversation. As I closed the lid and slid it back in my pocket, I faced him again.

"Well, that was fun! We should play another after dinner." It encouraged me to see him nod slightly. "I'm sure Clem will want to join, too."

He perked up. "Really?"

I wondered why he reacted that way so quickly. Before I question anything about it, we heard footsteps coming. Gabe smiled looking past me and stood from his seat, moving faster than I could get off of the bench. The door opened as we saw Clem, Kate, and Javier coming in. They were smiling, but I could tell just from the look on Clementine's face that there was something important. Gabe greeted them and I followed behind, slipping my hand into Clem's.

"You guys are back quicker than I thought," Gabe commented.

"Everyone's doing their job. We just checked in on things. We saw Jesus too." Javi explained. "What have you and Louis been up to?"

"We played a short game of war."

"And I won. Naturally." I added. Clem shoved my side as she rolled her eyes. I noticed Gabe watching us intently through the corner of my eye. As I turned, he faced his uncle.

"I can help you get everyone for dinner. And set things up."

"Thanks, Gabriel."

Dinner was a blur, everything blends together when everyone is laughing. The next day Clementine and I left, giving our goodbyes. I was sad to go, Gabe was a cool dude, but that’s just how it goes. Seven days later and A.J tackles Clementine and then me. We were home.

#clouis #louistine #gabe #kate #javier #a.j #violet #louis #clementine

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tocrackerboxpalace · 3 years

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Le Rêve - Part 3

Summary: John demands an explanation for what happened in part two. The only problem is the response that the explanation is met with.

Warning: NC-17-rated (Buckle up!)

Paul was a bloody mess.

He and John had not directly talked to one another since the car ride. Their interview answers had been chaste and polite, and they had sat as far away from one another as possible, ignoring the persistently quizzical looks from George and Ringo. Paul had desperately tried to act as typical as possible but had felt overwhelmed with humiliation and confusion—and the concerned looks of the interviewer coupled with the “get-it-together” jabs of George’s elbow didn’t do much to reorient him.

They had finished the interview in a hurry, tensions high. On the way back, the boys wordlessly altered their seating arrangements as Paul crawled first onto the floor, curling up as much as possible as Ringo now took his spot on John’s lap. Paul held his face in his hands the entire ride, murmuring a flurry of “I’m all right” and “Maybe a sort of stomach bug, that’s all” to the others’ concerns.

John didn’t seem upset with him, just… indifferent. Which was almost worse. He didn’t scowl at him or try to hit him or mutter bitter, backhanded comments in the interview. He also didn’t curl up next to him tickle his ear or thump the back of his head or straighten his tie, as was typical. He just sat there, as if Paul had never existed. A bad reaction, Paul felt, would be better than this. He had absolutely no clue whatsoever what was going through John’s mind. Was he angry? Confused? Paul’s breath hitched. Disgusted?

Maybe he was just waiting until later to confront him. Away from the others.

The thought of being alone with John made Paul’s stomach churn. God, he had royally screwed up this time. He was alone with John more than anyone in the world, and there was no way he could wholly avoid his songwriting partner for too long. A discussion was inevitable, but that didn’t mean that he wanted it to come any sooner.

Paul threw the pen and pad down on the carpet in a sudden burst of frustration, running his hands through his hair. As soon as they had exited the car upon arrival back at the hotel, he had hurried to his room, buttressing his distress with an “I’m going to be sick” call. He had been hunched over on his bed ever since, staring at the utterly blank paper pad in front of him. He had immediately locked the door—not that he thought John would try and come in anyway, after earlier. Just to be safe.

In all fairness, Paul did think he was going to be sick. His sudden infatuation with John pulled at him from every which way, filling him with questions. Notably: What did all of it mean? For him and John, yes, but more importantly: for him. For his own sexuality and future. His mind was racing at the prospects.

He had tried to get some writing done, but it was no use. Usually, it was a soothing process for him, but he was stuck at a particularly heavy part of the song and couldn’t bring himself to ask for John’s help on the verse, especially after John had approached him with the task. He had had something earlier, but today’s—ahem—disastrous turn of events had left him distracted and empty-handed.

Paul stood, pacing the room frantically and kicking John’s strewn-about clothes to the side. God, what he would give to shamelessly watch John strip them off—

No. Paul’s mind snapped in response. He gave himself a light smack on the forehead, as if to swat the thought away. That’s John, your best mate. Your best male friend. You can’t think about him in that way.

It was one thing for him to show up in the dream, and for the dream to taunt Paul’s waking thoughts. He reckoned if it had been George or Ringo in the dream, he’d be in the exact same struggle—with something that sensual and realistic and wrong playing out in his unconscious, it’d only be right to worry. To obsess over. To over-analyze.

But he just couldn’t start thinking of John in that capacity, outside of dream-state John. He had started off as a bird, anyroad. The real John could never be so eager an interested in Paul in-in that way. Paul had watched his mate bloody lads up time and again for calling him queer when they were younger. So, it would do him no good to start fantasizing about Real John. Dream John would have to be compartmentalized until Paul could get over whatever the fuck was happening to him.

Paul suddenly sighed defeatedly and gathered up the pen and paper from the ground. He rehearsed the incomplete ballad in his head, hoping that with the flow of the song would come the next few lines.

If I fell in love with you

Would you promise to be true

And help me understand?

‘Cause I’ve been in love before

And I found that love was more

Than just holding hands…

Paul groaned in frustration. Nothing. John’s verse was so natural, so pure and beautiful: hey, love isn’t what I’ve always thought. Could you help me figure it out? Paul felt he was dirtying up the ballad, every thought paling in comparison to the vision he knew John wanted. But they’d both been stuck there for a reason, and it was now Paul’s duty to push them forwards.

Than just holding hands…

“Any progress, mate?”

Paul’s head whipped around at lightning speed. He had never heard the door open, but there John stood in its frame, leaning against it with the most casual aura Paul had ever felt. His heart was pounding, chest rising and falling theatrically, almost offended by the carefree picturesque model of John in front of him.

“I—uh, no. Sorry,” Paul spluttered, holding the pen and paper out to John as an offering. “I thought I’d locked the door.”

John ignored the latter comment, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “It’s all right. I kind of dug me self into a hole, there. Sounds like a definitive ending.” He took the items from Paul and set them on the bedside table.

Paul nodded, his voice shaking as it rang impossibly loud in the small room. “Yeah. Maybe launch into a pre-chorus or something, I don’t know. Shake up the rhythm a bit. But I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“Doesn’t always matter what I want,” John answered. Plainly.

“It’s your ballad,” Paul countered. “I know how you can get with these things. Ask me for help and expect me to read your mind, you do.”

John chuckled, almost to himself. “Sometimes,” he started, toying with the pen on the nightstand. “I’m more interested to hear what you want.”

His eyes found Paul’s, and they were curious. There was something testing in them, and Paul began to panic. He had a feeling they weren’t necessarily talking about the song anymore.

“Why?” was all he could think of to say.

John shrugged. “Because sometimes it’s something new, and daring. Something… that I didn’t think you were capable of.”

Paul cocked an eyebrow at what felt like a backhanded compliment. He almost hoped they weren’t talking about the song. Because, if they were, he was pretty sure John had just called his writing boring. A stubborn defensiveness rose in his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean, now?”

John blinked. “What the hell happened in the car, Paul?”

Paul froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. They were stuck in his throat, every word that had ever been. The entire alphabet circling his mind, the infinite possibilities of combinations, the skill of language on the tip of his tongue. But it all eluded him.

John continued slowly when it was clear he wasn’t going to receive an answer. “Because, based on the way you’ve reacted since then, I don’t think I’ve misinterpreted it. I think I know exactly what happened, but what I want to know is—why. Or-or how.”

Paul could lie. He could tell John that he didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Or that it was a misunderstanding, and he had thought John was acting strange. Or that he had popped a magical pill that was also an aphrodisiac, and it wasn’t anything personal or weird, because it was magical. Or he could tell the truth.

With his options laid out side by side like that, the answer felt quite clear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Paul’s voice came out about eleven octaves higher than normal.

John quirked an eyebrow at him. His eyes surveyed the whole length of Paul’s body skeptically, as if trying to read his inner thoughts and feelings and desires. Paul squirmed under the gaze.

“That’s not true,” he decided finally. He was still standing across from the bed, his looming presence beginning to feel like one of dominance and control. He had the upper hand now, and whether Paul liked it or not, he was going to tell John the truth.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Paul tried. “But then you were acting strange, so I got nervous and reciprocated.”

“Wrong again.”

Paul was beginning to feel desperate. “I took a pill—”

John laughed suddenly, bizarrely. He cast his gaze to the side and bit his lip. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Macca.”

Paul was quiet for a long time. The words were there, it wasn’t a matter of lexical access anymore—now he had to get his heart to say it. Because there was only one right answer to John’s question, and it wouldn’t answer a thing.

“I don’t know.”

Now it was John’s turn to be quiet. He simply stared in wonder as Paul continued unsteadily. “I-I had this dream. A few nights ago. And in the dream, I was getting on with a bird, and we were in the room, y’know? A-and we were. You know. But she was real strange at some parts, like she-she kept changing, and then…” He hesitated. “And then it was you. And you were doing everything that she was. And I woke up, w-with you, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I try, I swear, and I-I’m not gay, it’s just—”

“Why don’t we give it a go, then?” John said softly.

Paul’s words died in his throat. “I—what?”

“You heard me.”

Paul blinked wildly. “John, if this is some sort of sick joke—”

“No.” John stepped closer now, his expression impossible to read. “If it was so damn good that you can’t get it out of your head, and you can’t even control yourself around me… Let’s give it a go, then.”

Paul swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was small. “What if I don’t want to?”

John thought about this for a moment. “You can stop me at any point. We act like it never happened. You say the word, mate, and it’s off.” He paused. “But I don’t think you want that.”

To his dismay, John was right. Paul didn’t want that. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears and almost drowning out the unbelievable things that John was suggesting. John had no idea what happened in the dream, and yet he was a wholly willing participant in the recreation? The idea, despite the whirlwind in Paul’s mind, sent a shock of tingles to his crotch.

“But… it’s… I’m not gay,” he tried again.

“Don’t think so much,” came John’s voice, gentle, as he caught Paul’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Paul’s breathing slowed. This was that side of John that he rarely got to see: soft, comforting, calm. Loving. It felt bizarrely out of place in the situation. “Just… just don’t worry about it. If you think, you’ll ruin it.”

Paul nodded quickly, his mind buzzing.

John lowered himself onto the bed, his gaze never leaving his mate’s face. “What did she do first?”

The question caught him off guard. “Who?”

“The bird.” John chewed his lip tentatively. “What did she do first? In the dream?”

“Oh! Erm…” Paul thought for a moment. He knew very well that the dream had started with them making out, but part of him held that thought back. For some inexplicable reason, kissing felt more intimate, more queer, than whatever was about to happen. So, he refrained from mentioning it. “She—um, sort of got in me lap, like.”

John’s eyes flashed in recognition. “The car.”

“Yeah.” Paul winced. “The car.”

“Oh.” John’s voice was curious, and he looked down at himself for a moment before his eyes reconnected with Paul’s. They were wide, intrigued, but somewhat shy, too. A nervousness that Paul had never seen in his friend before. A tremor ran through Paul’s body as he recognized that same piercing stare from the dream.

“Why don’t ya…” John scratched his face apprehensively. “Erm… move back. Against the headboard.”

Paul gradually obliged. He swung his bare feet over the side, shifting himself higher on the bed until his back comfortably rested against the cushioned headboard. John kicked his own shoes off as he did so and climbed up after him.

Both boys paused for a moment, eyes locked, and something passed between them. An understanding that wherever this was going, it was all right, because it was John and Paul. Lennon and McCartney. And everything would be all right.

Emboldened by the exchange, John swung a leg over Paul’s outstretched body and planted himself directly in his lap.

“Like this?” He breathed.

Paul’s fingers found their way to John’s hips, watching the scene in wonder. His voice was ragged and humiliating, cracking at the sudden contact that flooded his mind with millions of filthy thoughts and images. “I—yes. Like that.”

“Then what?” Their faces were mere inches apart, John’s face flushed and almost eager. His eyes continually darted around Paul’s face and body, as if he too couldn’t believe the position they were in. His lips were wet and parted, slightly swollen from his nervous chewing habit. He sucked in the tiniest breaths of the shared air between them, as if he was terrified that Paul would pull away and he’d be left to his own solemn airspace once more.

In the moment, Paul wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

But no, that was too far. The desire in his crotch could be written off as greedy, randy, sexual—a biological need, perhaps. It could be satisfied, and maybe that was all Paul needed to get over the fantasy. The wild, twisted pull in his heart was not so easily dismissed.

“Paul?” John repeated. His pupils were dilated, his chest slowly heaving.

“Right. Erm… then she started, sort of, rocking a bit, I suppose.” He cringed inwardly as the words spilled out now, both humiliated at his own forwardness and betrayed by the almost desperate response his body was giving to John’s presence.

John didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, however. He simply shifted to where his knees straddled Paul’s hips and placed his backside directly on Paul’s hardening member. A whisper of a groan escaped Paul’s lips as John slowly began rocking back and forth, grinding down into him.

“Like this?” John said again.

“Just like that.” Paul murmured as his eyes fluttered shut, cocking his head back against the bed. The feeling was all too familiar and quite simple to deal with—if Paul closed his eyes, he could nearly pretend that it was a female. One of those ladies from a Hamburg club giving him a lap dance. While the thought was entertaining and calming, part of Paul was alarmed at how easily John mimicked those movements, how convincing it all was.

“Paul,” John said suddenly, halting his movements.

Paul’s pulse quickened again. “Hmm?”

His friend broke out into a reluctant grin, chuckling at his own perplexity. “I can feel it. Already.”

Paul looked at him uncertainly. He knew he was hard as a rock now, all of the blood having rushed dizzyingly fast to the lower half of his body. The arousal and sudden shame made it hard to think. “Is it bad?”

John took a moment. “No.” He gave an experimental twist, slotting his body against Paul’s as he grinded down again, his face in the crook of Paul’s neck. A hand laced its way up the back of Paul’s neck and into his dark locks, giving a quick tug.

Paul couldn’t bite back the “ah, fuck,” that was pulled from his throat. The dizzying combination of sensations sent buzzing shocks through his dick, which now felt as though it was frantically trying to push its way out of his slacks.

“What next?” John asked, pausing the shift of his hips. There was an edge to his voice now as shaking fingers reached up to tease at Paul’s shirt buttons. “Maybe… she got you a bit undressed, is all.”

Paul nodded lazily. Why the hell not? It would make sense. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t really recall that happening. “Yeah… yeah, I think she did.”

John continued to rock in Paul’s lap, letting out curious hums at the minute twitches and moans coming from his friend. His long, delicate fingers struggled to successfully pop Paul’s buttons free, but Paul refrained from offering any assistance. He was amazed, shocked even, by the submissive display John was putting on show. A sudden jolt shot through his chest as he realized that John might do anything he asked him too.

John inhaled sharply as he undid the last button. Paul leaned forward a bit to shrug the white dress shirt off of his shoulders, casting it to the floor as it joined its friends.

John’s eyes wandered over his shirtless frame. They had seen one another in the most compromising of positions before—hell, they’d walked in on each other in the middle of a good shag countless times—but something was different now. This looking, feeling, touching… it was intentional, and it was just them. And it felt strange: an intoxicating concoction of arousal and desire and fear and confusion. Paul couldn’t help but wonder if he had wanted this for much longer before now and simply never realized it.

John’s calloused fingertips traced their way down Paul’s jawline, onto his neck, chest, stomach. Paul simply watched and felt, felt the way the touch that ran over him made his skin prickle and his face warm. John was regarding him cautiously, deliberately, as if he was a work of art that John was afraid to mar.

“I’m sorry if she teased you for this long,” John’s voice came, breathless. His fingers found the waistband of his trousers and hooked inside them. “When do I come in?”

“Right about now,” was Paul’s reply. His mind had entirely disregarded the remainder of the dream, not recalling and not caring. It was just him and John now, real John, who somehow really wanted to do this with him just as much as he wanted it to be done. Perhaps Paul had fallen asleep again while working on the song, and this was just a recreation of the first time. Another lucid fantasy.

The feeling of his cock popping free as John undid his zip let him know that this was all but a dream, though. He arched up off of the bed to help John shimmy the remainder of his trousers down his legs, kicking them off with fervor. The sudden change in John’s mood as the reins were passed to him caused Paul to check any reserved guilt or shame at the door. The tent in his boxers was no longer a burden but a beacon, an invitation for an inexplicably fervent John to do whatever he desired.

Then, the boxers were gone too. Tossed to the side with a particular carelessness that made Paul’s skin prickle with sweat. And that was that. Paul laid there, entirely naked and exposed under the watchful gaze of his best friend, his partner. John.

“I’m going to try something, Macca,” John started nervously, shifting so that he was directly between Paul’s thighs. Paul’s eyes went wide at the implication, at the scene. John’s mouth was only centimeters away from his flushed cock. And he eyed it, almost hungrily.

The sight made Paul moan, and John’s eyes flicked up fearfully. “You can stop me, Paul. Just tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to stop…”

John almost sounded like he was talking to himself.

“Go on,” Paul whispered hoarsely.

John shot him one last daring glance before reaching out at grasping at Paul’s dick. The sudden sensation caused Paul to arch forward, brow knitted in roused concentration. His hands clutched at the bedsheets to steady himself as John began wanking him in an encouraging rhythm. “Bloody hell, John,” he groaned.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” A note of confidence, arrogance even, laced John’s voice.

“Y-yes. Very.”

Paul forced himself to open his eyes and jerked at the heated gaze that met his in return. John’s expression was dark with arousal, and his tongue flicked out teasingly between his teeth. The dynamic had wholly changed, John’s assuredness growing with every new step he was allowed to take, every dirty sound that was elicited from Paul’s throat.

When a bud of precum began to spill over, John wrapped his lips around the head and dipped his tongue over the slit, sucking it dry like the last few drops of an ice lolly.

Holy fuck.

“Shit. Ah, Christ!” Paul was babbling now as the sensation and notion struck him at once: John was giving him head. And it felt damn incredible. “God, John.”

The feeling of his throbbing member inside of John’s mouth was unreal. He could see it pulsing against the inside of his cheek as John bobbed his head, tongue and cheek muscles massaging him slowly to insanity. Paul cocked his head back and tossed it back and forth, unaware of how to respond to the situation.

Paul decided he had never gotten a blowjob before this. All those others were a silly game. Maybe it was John’s willingness and enthusiasm. Maybe it was that he, a male, probably knew how to best please another male. Maybe it was the taboo nature of the extremely explicit act they were engaged in, adding further logs to the fire. Whatever it was, Paul didn’t care. This—this was head.

John pulled off for a moment but continued stroking, the mixture of saliva and precum making the slide all the more easier. Paul felt lightheaded at the immense pleasure. “Christ,” John murmured, his voice unsteady. “Look at you, Paulie.”

Paul only moaned in response, hoping to draw John’s wonderful mouth back down.

John happily obliged, licking a long stripe up from his balls to the tip of his dick and swallowing it all down once more. Paul could note his inexperience, from the length he could take in and the variety in his movements, but somehow, the knowledge made it all better—the idea that John was doing this for the first time (or, one of the first times) to Paul. He made extra sure to gasp and groan loudly when John did something he particularly enjoyed, as if to almost teach the man what to do.

When John began to pull back for a breath, Paul hooked his ankles around the small of John’s back without thinking, pulling him closer.

“Fuck, Paul,” John groaned back. “God, I want you. I want you, Paulie.”

Paul hardly paid the confession any mind. John was babbling now, just like him, but Christ he would be lying if it didn’t turn him on more.

He let out another broken string of incoherent curses as John took more of him into his mouth than he thought possible. He grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and pulled him up aggressively, relishing in the light “Ah!” of surprise that escaped John’s lips.

“Dirty-talk me, John,” he practically begged, whispering into his mate’s ear. “Just—fuck—tell me what you want.”

Paul could feel John grin knowingly against his jaw. Uh-oh. The lad had an idea.

“You know, Paul, you’re not very quiet during sex.” John spoke into his ear teasingly, sensually. He began to pepper his jawline with kitten licks and nibbles. Paul only whimpered in response as John’s hand slowed to work him lazily. “Actually, you get quite loud. Make a whole fuss of it.”

“I—hadn’t noticed,” Paul panted.

John’s eyes glinted dangerously as he momentarily lifted himself. Their faces were only centimeters apart. “Paul? Do you want to know a secret, Paul?”

Paul’s mind barely registered the question. He nodded hazily, letting out another soft moan as John bent back down to lick at his earlobe.

“The thing is,” John started slowly, his hand beginning to pick up speed. “Sometimes you bring a bird up. Usually at a hotel, just like this. And we all know—me, George, Ritchie—we all know what’s going to happen when we see her come up.” John moved downward and began paying special attention to the junction of his neck and jawline. “But knowing what’s going to happen is different from hearing it.”

Paul immediately blushed, trying to discern where John was possibly going with this. Did he want him to be louder now? Or quieter later? Did he… Oh God, was John suggesting that they should—

“So here’s the secret,” John interrupted. “The other night, in Glasgow. I’m sure you remember.” He paused, as if to give Paul a chance to recount the night. His hand began pumping furiously, and he bit experimentally at Paul’s jaw. The mix of pleasure, shock, and pain, coupled with the words John was saying and the way he was saying them, was beginning to feel overwhelming. A string of filthy moans and groans were drawn out of him as he began to feel a familiar pull in the pit of his stomach. John looked at him expectantly for a moment, and Paul wasn’t sure if he was gauging his reaction or waiting for a response. Paul opted for the latter.

“I—fuck—remember.”

“Good. I do too,” John replied simply, sounding almost like a schoolteacher. Suddenly, his voice dipped low, and he placed his mouth directly in Paul’s ear to whisper the next bit. The second the words flowed out, John grinded down hard into Paul’s thigh, and Paul could feel an erection perhaps more pressing than his own.

“I gave me self a wank to it. And it wasn’t the girl.”

“Shit, John.” Paul’s mind instantly flooded with obscene images of John touching himself to the sound of Paul’s broken moans. His cock twitched in John’s hand and another series of moans and curses spilled out. He felt so close, John’s firm fist feeling so good around him, but part of him wanted to hold back. He began to panic.

If Paul let John touch him, that was one thing. It didn’t have to mean anything. They’d seen each other jerk themselves off countless times. He could convince himself that this was basically the same thing, just a slight shift of hands. He could ease his conscience by saying nothing had really happened.

But if Paul came on him, by his hand? He didn’t know if he could reconcile that one.

Paul bit his lip and tried to focus on anything but the image of John that was now burned onto his eyelids. It didn’t help that John was now rutting against his thigh and letting out involuntarily groans of his own. He couldn’t hold off much longer.

“John,” Paul started insistently. Before he could speak again, however, John pulled his face from where it was buried in his neck and pressed his lips against Paul’s own.

Paul was struck with surprise, but John wasted no time waiting for him to adapt. His tongue forcibly parted Paul’s lips and he licked into his mouth with fervor, as if this had been something he’d needed his whole life. Paul hesitated momentarily, but the roughness and intensity was impossible to ignore. He let his own tongue dance around with John’s. In a spur of dominance, Paul pushed back against John and licked into the other’s mouth, running his tongue along his mate’s teeth as if he wanted to trace every part of the man. Teeth clashed as both impossibly fought for more. When John retreated for air, Paul bit down on his bottom lip and grabbed him by the waist to pull him back in.

“Fucking hell, Paul,” John mumbled against his lips. He thrusted down particularly hard against Paul and moaned into his mouth, and Paul decided in that moment that it was the most sensual thing he’d ever experienced in his life.

“John.” He pulled back as much as possible from the kiss, turning his head so that John was met with his cheek when he went back in for more. “John, I can’t—” He thrust up weakly into John’s fist as if to emphasize his point. “John, stop, I-I’m gonna come—”

Just then, the door flew open.

Paul and John froze in their compromising position. Although it was only seconds later when John pushed himself off and scrambled to the other side of the bed, Paul grasping at the bedsheets to cover himself, it was too late.

George stared at them, open-mouthed, his hand still on the doorknob. No one spoke.

Paul, in that moment, solemnly decided they had no alibi. His mind ever-so-helpfully constructed an image of what they must have looked like: Paul, completely naked, his cock trapped between John’s skilled fingers, tongue-fucking each other as John dry humped his leg.

George’s eyes flitted between the two as their chests heaved. He made no motion, no effort to speak. Paul almost begged him to say something, watching as his mind worked furiously to come up with some excuse for what he just saw his mates doing.

Without a word, he turned and shut the door behind him.

“How could you not lock the fucking door?”

Paul turned his head towards the voice. His fingers trembled as he pulled the sheets tighter to his chin, twisting onto his side so the tent in the sheets wasn’t so humiliatingly evident. He felt dumbfounded. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” John’s gaze looked frighteningly angry. “Are you absolutely daft? Are you actually just the pretty one? Paul, how could you not lock the fucking door?!”

Paul felt his own anger begin to rise in his chest. He felt helplessly defensive. “Are you mad? You started this! You’re the one that closed us in here. If anyone should’ve locked the door, it should have been you!”

“How was I supposed to know you were begging me to shag you? I just wanted to know what the hell was up with the car ride.”

Paul was aghast. “Begging you to shag me? I didn’t want to fucking tell you, John! I knew what would happen. You forced it out of me.” His voice grew cold. “You wanted it just as much as I did.”

John stared at him for a moment, his words faltering. Paul wondered if he had learned something tonight about John that he wasn’t supposed to know. He felt a sudden sick pride in his ability to shake him. The feeling, however, was short-lived when he noticed with a start how glassy John’s eyes were.

John sat up and ran his hands through his hair. His voice was shaking. “Shit, shit, shit. I bet he’s in the other room talking to Ringo right now. Telling him everything. There’s no other explanation for what he saw, Paul. They’re gonna tell Brian. Someone must have heard us, too, and they’ll get ahold of the press. Or the police. It’s over, everything we have is all over—”

“Hey,” Paul interrupted, softening his voice. He couldn’t bear to watch John spiral, especially in the tornado of emotions that was tearing through the room already. If John lost it, he would too. “It’s not going to get out. We’ll go get George and Ringo, and tell them what really happened, and—”

“What really happened, Paul?”

John was quiet now. His eyes were burning into him, pleading. Paul tensed up at the question, feeling his mind falling blank on any possible response. He didn’t know what answer John was pleading for. So he didn’t answer.

John met Paul’s eyes with the iciest stare Paul had perhaps ever seen. It suddenly felt as if a chill had come over the room.

“You’ve ruined everything.”

Paul watched numbly as John bent over on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots. He knew John was furious and spewing things he would soon regret, but another part of him knew that John was right. He had ruined everything.

“Where are you going?” He asked quietly, already fearing the answer.

John paused by the door. When he turned to look at Paul again, his expression was hard and unreadable.

“I’m not fucking queer.” And he slammed the door behind him.

Paul could only stare.

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #beatles smut #mclennon smut #mclennon #part 3 #chapter fic #ao3 #smut warning

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Never Satisfied [Chapter 4]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language

A collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“there’ll be a next time...right?“

Corpse and Cora have found a nice secluded picnic table outside the restaurant, out in the sun rays’ path enough for the warmth of the day to be caressing their skin while simultaneously being a safe distance away from the other people enjoying their lunch. Their meal has just arrived, bringing a large grin to Cora’s face.

“So?” She asks as she chews the bite she took without waiting even thirty seconds. Her feet are on the bench, legs crossed, elbows rested on her knees as she chomps down, happily perched in front of him.

Corpse is enraptured by her. He’s staring a little, desperately trying to keep it subtle, hands still holding the small bag of food as he peers at her, a hood over his dark curls. Even in this quiet little part of town, he still doesn’t feel safe showing his whole face - no mask, no eyepatch, no privacy and sense of security. But as his eyes take in his lunch partner, her calm aura and leisure attitude, he can’t help but admit that his heart quickens a little. The girl moves with the grace of someone not afraid to kick ass and he is simply awestruck by her beauty and outward powerful aura. He’s never before been so captivated by a person - someone so different and so similar to him simultaneously.

Swallowing nervously, he reminds himself that she has taken on the role of his checkpoint, something like a friend, a hand to hold if he starts feeling anxious. Even if it’s just for today, he appreciates it wholeheartedly. It’s more than he’s ever been offered by others. That type of comfort is something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Surprising himself when his hand reaches out to touch her free one, he’s surprised yet again when he finds the touch so familiar and welcoming, so natural. Despite it being just a brief movement, his knuckles softly brushing against her wrist before withdrawing and returning his focus to his meal, it is so meaningful and soothing, he’s afraid he might get used to it. Addicted to it.

Half expecting a comment or a look, he is taken aback when she doesn’t give any sort of reaction. No movement, no expression change, just curiously watching him while she eats, waiting for his response to her previous dubious question.

“So?” He rumbles softly, fishing out his lunch from the confines of the little paper bag. He isn’t sure what type of answer he should be expecting but he’s sure he won’t be disappointed regardless.

“Tell me about yourself! You’re not all rumbles, fear and BONES, right? You’ve gotta have a personality under that black hoodie.” She says enthusiastically, her eyes glimmering as though she’ll dig the answers out of him with her gaze alone. He’s not sure whether he’d prefer that or not. He doesn’t like talking about himself but he has an even stronger distaste for the idea of her seeing some information he’d rather keep hidden. Good thing she doesn’t seem to be capable of telepathy, but even that wouldn’t be too odd for her.

His cheeks flush faintly and he looks down for a moment to take the first bite of his food, buying himself some time to think and formulate a proper sentence. He racks his brain, looking for what would be the most vague yet satisfactory answer.

What am I? I mean, all she stated is true, I definitely am all that...but I have a hard time coming up with what else I am? What else makes me me? Youtube? Anxiety? Suicidal ideations hidden underneath liquor?

“I um...dropped out of school at, like, thirteen.” He finally speaks, mumbling around the small bite he worked on swallowing.

Cora’s eyes widen and her brows shoot up. Now he is nervous, his anxiety slowly starting to creep in as he’s worrying if he has said something wrong. Or something that she could be disgusted by.

Who would want to talk to some grown ass man who couldn’t even make it to highschool? How fucking sad is that? She has all right to judge me for it.

However, unlike everybody else in his life who’s given him a frown of pity while internally thinking of how absolutely fucked up he had to be to drop out so young, Cora spared him from the pitiful glance he has grown to hate so much. Instead, he sees something alike amazement on her face as she sips her drink before saying:

“Damn dude, that’s intense. I mean, it sucks cause I can’t imagine you had a normal childhood if you’re bailing from school that young but, nowadays, who among us actually had a real childhood? Very few, I’d say.” She grins, putting down the soda can, her eyes leaving his for only the briefest of moments instead of the familiar awkward eye-contact avoidance he’d face when this topic would be nudged during a conversation. Still, the relief and skepticism in Corpse can never end their war so easily - there’s still that shred of doubt that she’s just good at hiding her pity or judgement. Nevertheless, she continues, “You’re doing well for yourself, you’re in an ok place right now, right? Isn’t that what matters?.” She concludes, touching his fingers as a form of yet another subtle reassurance.

He looks down and finds himself ever so carefully curling one of his fingers around hers, just briefly before he draws back fearfully. “Yeah...guess having an apartment in a shitty part of town, and a car that seems to attract criminals could be considered ‘doing okay’.” He smiles faintly under his hood and she laughs, that bubbly little noise that he is slowly realizing he wants to hear more of.

“You got a car, that’s more than I have.” Cora pokes her tongue out with a little growl before leaning down to take another bite of her lunch. “So, you like music and aren’t a narc. What else you got up your sleeve?”

Corpse smiles a bit and takes a sip of his drink before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I like video games too.”

That seems innocent enough, right? Everyone likes video games...or people tend to be okay with them, at least. Video games are fun.

Another bright, sun-like smile. “Yeah? Well in that case I’ll have to kick your ass in Mario Kart some time.” She threatens playfully.

So she might want to hang out, he thinks to himself, the thought causing his heart to do a little flip and he smiles an almost shy and timid smirk. “Challenge accepted.”

“What do you do for work?”

That question catches him off-guard, causing his eyes to widen a bit. He doesn’t know if it would be better to lie or just tell the truth. He narrates stories on the internet and makes and puts out music people have constantly been telling him wouldn’t be enjoyed. He doesn’t see how that would leave a bad taste in her mouth exactly but because of his inability to stop himself from overthinking he doesn’t want to run the risk of repulsing her. Then again, he doesn’t want to lie either, he’s been so honest with her thus far, why would he derail now and because of such a simple question. That’s why he chooses to answer truthfully but keep his answer relatively vague: “I do online work and make music I haven’t released yet. I honestly dunno if I ever will.” That last part felt like a harsh hit of reality coming on too suddenly, forcing him to look away from her to gather his composure and put it back together.

“I bet it’s good. You’ll have to let me hear it when you get something done. I’ve got a clearly refined taste in music, but I bet you already figured that out.” She exaggerates a wink, reaching over to wiggle the straw in her drink.

Feeling a bit less tense now, he clears his throat and picks up the conversation once again. “What about you? You keep asking me all these questions, but all I know about you is that you’re a klepto with no car.”

That signature bright and bubbly laughter leaves Cora’s chest, sending Corpse a millisecond away from swooning over her completely. “I’m actually a starving artist. I’m a pet photographer and I'm going back to school for advertising graphic design. When I’m not off goofing around with people getting their dogs birthday documented, I’m working at ye good ol’ Starbucks, serving all the...” Her voice lifts to a higher pitch and is now coming more from the back of her throat as she takes on the most preppy tone she could muster, “Beckys their venti mocha caramel frappuccino with TWO extra pumps of caramel, but with SOY because they’re all on a diet. Funny how that works, no? All those women with the exact same order and exact same attributes - I almost laugh whenever one of them walks in. You can smell them from a block away.”

Corpse chokes out a laugh as he covers his mouth, hiding his half chewed bite from view. He definitely wasn’t expecting that. Then again, he can’t help but acknowledge the warmth that has spread across his cheeks at how she giggles along with him. “And to be fair,” Cora quickly interrupts herself, “I am not a klepto, I just really liked the belt I found and thought forty five dollars was a rip off.” She smirks, finding herself absentmindedly looping her pinky with his. Corpse doesn’t look down, doesn’t comment, doesn’t want her to know he noticed, because maybe she’d put an end to their so small yet so meaningful contact. Instead, he smiles a little and swallows the last bite of his lunch, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and he briefly entertains the idea that he maybe wasn’t the only one awestruck.

Anyhow, that thought gets pushed down real quick when he considers how absolutely out of his league she is, and how...well, how he’s in absolutely no league whatsoever. The world has done plenty to prove that to him real fast. Corpse sees himself as a nobody; he believes he doesn’t matter and everybody likes to remind him of it. But, as Cora’s pinky curls a little and one of her thumbs brushes against the arch of his wrist, all that bitter venom in his cold soul starts to slowly ease up, loosening its typically firm hold of his mind. Maybe, just maybe, one day, he would matter to someone. Someday.

@fockingwhore @vixenl @annshit @wineandionysus @wiseflamingoqueen

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fnf-brain-rot · 3 years

Text

the grief between two powers

Note: This story is based off of the scenario of CosmicCove's "I didn't think it would end this way" on A03 where Pico goes through with killing Boyfriend. This is my spin on how they would handle it. It's kinda sad.

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Unbelievable..

Her parents had the audacity to actually go through with killing the one being on this god-forsaken planet that made her so unconditionally happy. She almost couldn't process the rage building up in her chest from the mere thought of ever seeing their faces again.

And they won't.

A snarl rested permanently on her face as she replayed the scene over and over again in her head. Boyfriend dropping onto the cold concrete, his blood splattering against it from the hole in his chest. All because he was so caring. So sweet.

"Hey Pico! Long time no see! What are you doing here man?"

Pico...

"Pico.." The name seeped between Girlfriend's teeth like venom from a snake. The anger she felt was so intense that she couldn't even hide her purple skin and sharp claws. So what if someone saw her like this? It didn't matter. Not anymore.

For them to know each other, most likely knowing what person he was taking out of this world, and to still go through with it. And for what? Money?

She found herself stumbling aimlessly through the city, but not so much so. Her surroundings showed the train tracks they were waiting for.. Pico... at.

That bastard..

The gleam of her red irises cut through the darkness of the empty lot, and she walked over to her.. deceased Boyfriend's blood spatter. Her anger almost faltered. She almost dropped to her knees and sobbed like she had before, overwhelmed with grief.

Then she smelled it.

It wafted up to her nose, subtly, but she quickly sniffed it out again.

His scent.

Pico's scent.

It hit her like a truck, the sudden desire for bloodshed. For revenge. She followed the path between the dark alley it came from, making her way to him. She was going to make him regret even stepping foot of his house this night. She was going to make him hurt.

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He wasn't faring much better himself.

Pico felt the regret. He knew what he did was wrong, but shit, most of what he did was wrong. It wasn't wrong in the normal sense though. Boyfriend.. He didn't even hesitate. He shot him almost automatically.

He figured if he didn't think about it, it wouldn't haunt him as much, as if Cassandra's voice wasn't already taunting him from beyond the grave.

He just tried to relax on his worn down couch, in his empty, lonely little apartment. He tried to avoid looking at the gun he set on the table. The same gun used to take Bee's life. The same gun sworn to protect his own.

Pico clasped his hands on either side of his head, staring blankly at his sock covered feet pulled onto the couch.

Ha.. He shot him and didn't even say hi. Barely even looked at him.

Moments of the past flashed in his mind, like a flickering slide show of old memories. When they dated back in middle school. Sure it was a long time ago, and middle school was ass. But who helped him through it? Boyfriend.

Bee would purposefully make himself look stupid if Pico did anything of equal value, so he would never deal with anything alone. He would always come over to hang. Nene and Darnell.. They loved him like a brother. They laughed together, cried together, fought together.

They would have graduated together.

Probably even live together.

if not for...

Pico's thoughts were cut short by the abrupt sound of shattering glass. He shot up from the couch, grabbing his uzi off the table without a second thought. He pointed it toward the door of his bedroom, his blank eyes focusing on the open door.

He could see the silhouette of a woman.. It looked non human. Not the first time he dealt with monsters, however the aura of this one.. It was so intense, like he could suffocate in it.

He cocked his gun at the sound of creaking floor boards, watching the purple demon slowly reveal herself. He damn there had a heart attack.

"You.."

As if they could read each other's minds, they both spoke, but he could feel the malice in her stare alone. "You.. You're.. " He was flabbergasted, taking a couple steps back, though his leg hit his broken coffee table. Girlfriend began to advance, clenching her clawed fingers into fists. "You son of a bitch." Her voice was low, almost in a whisper. "You fucking knew him!!"Her voice came around quickly, bouncing against the thin walls in projection.

"Look I.." Pico began to speak, but lost his words. He did know him. He knew him so well. "I.. I know." He breathed out, slowly lowering his uzi. He looked away, but quickly looked back as he heard her boom with laughter. "I'm sure you know why I'm here then?" She smiled a little. She had teeth that could easily tear flesh apart, and he was sure that's what she wanted to do to him.

"Listen, I'on wanna fight you, jus-'"

"Too fucking bad!" Girlfriend spared not another moment talking if it meant she could have the head of her Boyfriend's killer. She rushed at him with a speed he hadn't seen in a while. Pico quickly kicked out the leg of his coffee table, causing it to topple over, and giving him an easier way to jump over to get behind it.

He could try talking to her, but he was sure she wouldn't stop until she's claimed his life. The gun was knocked from his hand in a blur, and he felt a pain against his chest. She scratched him. He grit his teeth and made more space between them, but the apartment was only so big. "So you can murder but you won't fight, huh??" Her growl assaulted his ears, and he tried his best to pin point her. She came up on his right, lunging at him full force. He grabbed both of her wrists, his back pressing against the rotting wall behind him. She snarled and bit at the air, as if trying to bite his nose off, but he managed to push her off, kicking her in the leg. She buckled from the force, and he slipped out from under her.

Fine, she won't stop. He'll just make this easier for himself. He slid back over to the coffee table, snagging his gun and hopping back up in one swift movement, making a dash for the bedroom. He doesn't do well in small spaces, so he'd just make more room. He dove feet first out of the window, almost not catching the loud thumping of Girlfriend chasing him.

he made sure to grab the emergency ladder on the side of the building to lessen his impact, rolling and stumbling into the dirt. It was only three stories, he's jumped from higher. She launched herself out the window after him. She damn there flew. "Shit.." He took a moment to breath. he couldn't call Nene or Darnell, his phone was inside.

He ran through the trees behind the complex, using the darkness to mask his presence as he usually would for a hit. "Oh Pico! Why delay the inevitable?" She rolled into the dirt under the trees herself, ignoring the ache from such a hard fall. Pico hid behind one of the trees as she scanned the area, then hopped out and fired a shot into her leg, specifically her calf.

She roared out in pain, gripping her dirtied dress with one hand, but she continued fairly well, using her less dominant leg to move in the direction it came from. Pico held his breath, quickly shifting around the trees. She was so sensitive to the sounds, the rustle of leaves, ruffle of sweatpants. before she knew it she was shot again. her other leg. they buckled under her weight, but she refused to fall. Pico ran at her from behind, using this opportune moment to subdue her, but without warning, she turned and grabbed him by the neck.

She moved him so he was in front of her, and slammed him into the dirt below him. "Figured you would be sharper than that.." He choked against her strong hold, gasping desperately for the air she deprived from him. She squeezed so hard he was convinced his neck was about to snap. Without another option, he fired two shots in her stomach, which made her gasp and let go.

She scooted off to the side, clutching a hand to the wound, black ooze pouring out of the holes. Pico took this moment to regain his breath, rubbing a hand along his already bruising neck. He coughed and sputtered, and she did the same. "I...I'm sorry.." His voiced rasped through their moment of silence. She could only let out a growl in response. "Sorry won't bring him back." She scoffed, beginning to move again, crawling back over to Pico. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and punched him right in the jaw. he deserved that.

She punched him again. He deserved that. Again. he deserved that too.

the taste of iron flooded his mouth. "You fucking.." He felt wetness against his shirt. He couldn't tell if it was from her tears or his. She dropped him back on the ground. He could only let out shallow, uneven breaths when she collapsed against his chest, beginning to sob quietly.

He allowed her to. He even let some tears of his own fall.

She wanted to kill him, consume his soul, damn him to Hell for eternity. She couldn't. All she could do was cry. It wouldn't bring him back. Nothing could bring him back.

#fnf #friday night funkin #fnf bf #fnf gf #fnf Pico

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secret-engima · 4 years

Note

I’ve had a bad day so... anything about any of your rwby aus you wanna share? ❤️

Awwww, I’m sorry to hear that Anon! Would a few snips help? I think I have a few snips around here somewhere *dives into doc* *reemerges* I come bearing snips! I apologize that most of them are angsty! But I have what I have ^^;

Always I Dreamed:

“You don’t actually have a plan do you?” Raven hissed to Summer as they pressed their backs against the same piece of cover, trying to catch their breath.

Summer leaned around the corner, snapped off a shot to keep the Grimm from punching Qrow off the cliff, “I do! It’s just a work in progress! And it would have been a lot easier if that pillar hadn’t crumbled the wrong way.”

Raven knew what was likely to blame for that, but didn’t bother to say, “Pro tip? If you can think of some way for your plan to go really, stupidly wrong, assume it will and have a backup plan.”

They rolled away from cover and dodged the rock fragments as the Grimm angrily shattered the stone they had been hiding behind, Summer snapped off another shot without looking through her scope and made a face, “Well I don’t see you coming up with any ideas!”

“I’m not the one who insisted she had a plan.”

Taiyang slammed his feet down onto the Grimm’s head from where he’d jumped off a high ruin, front flipped off its skull with another hard kick, and rolled under it’s answering fist, “Well you’re one of the people who might die without one, so maybe give it a shot?”

...

Wolfcury (in which Taiyang attempts to tame a smol child large wolfdog:

“Well,” Taiyang managed once his ears had stopped ringing, “that could have gone a lot better.”

“It could have gone a lot worse too,” Summer pointed out, “he retreated rather than attacked.” They both shared a solemn look. They knew that if Taiyang had kept pushing, had gotten too close, the wolfdog would have attacked him. Taiyang ran a hand through his hair, he didn’t know if he could fix something that broken. A trust that shattered.

But the wolfdog had saved Ruby, and Ruby was still asking about him every time Summer went out to check on him. He owed it to the wolfdog to at least try to salvage whatever trust the animal’s previous owner had shattered into feral terror. And if he really, genuinely couldn’t … he wasn’t looking forward to explaining that to Ruby. Or dealing with the tears and fallout that would follow. They kept trying. Summer still checked on the bandages and brought water, but Taiyang was now in charge of the food. They hoped that associating him with food would help take the initial edge off, but while the howling and snapping didn’t make a reappearance after the first time, the wolfdog still strained to stay as far away as possible, and refused to eat while he was in the shed. Taiyang decided he needed to escalate just a bit, because it was quickly becoming clear that no amount of food bribery would help if the wolfdog was too terrified by his mere existence to eat around him and get the positive association.

Taiyang brought home some supplies, sturdy wire fencing and wood to build a dog house, and soon Summer was gently leading the wolfdog out of the shed and into his new, fenced off area of the yard while Taiyang hid in the house to keep the wolfdog from panicking. Ruby was ecstatic to finally be able to see the wolfdog, even if she wasn’t allowed inside the fenced off area or to stick her fingers through the bars. Taiyang watched from a distance, letting Summer directly monitor the “visits” of their daughters to the wolfdog through the fencing. So long as the animal didn’t know Taiyang was nearby, the change in behavior was obvious. Still skittish and a touch wild, but shyer. Gentler. He even limped up and wagged his tail at Ruby through the fencing. It was just Taiyang that he was so mindlessly terrified of, and it made Taiyang feel angry in the pit of his stomach.

This animal had been brave enough to try to fight off a Grimm to save Ruby, and while he seemed to have no idea what to do with affection, that shyly wagging tail and ginger acceptance of dog treats through the wire fencing proved the poor thing wasn’t naturally aggressive and hateful. Someone, some man, had beaten that fear into the wolfdog, that wild-eyed hate he could see in big grey eyes whenever Taiyang came too close. People like that could get eaten by Grimm in Taiyang’s opinion, and if he ever had the luck to run into the man who had hurt this dog… He shook that thought away —not for the first time and not for the last— and put the next stage of his plan into action.

The first time he wandered out and sat down just on the other side of the wire fencing with a lap desk and a stack of school papers to grade, the wolfdog fled to the other side with a brief, swiftly cut off scream of fear. It stayed pressed into the farthest corner of fencing the three hours Taiyang sat with his back to the fence, grading the papers of his students at Signal and listening to his daughters play. Taiyang only looked at the animal to call a soft greeting when he got there, then to call a soft goodbye when he finally got up and went inside to cook dinner.

He repeated the ritual three more times before the wolfdog finally dared to leave the corner and instead skirt furtively around the far side of his fenced in area, watching him with his grey tail tucked tight to his belly and hackles raised in something akin to anger. Taiyang just kept grading papers and writing up schedules and working on whatever other paperwork he could find. He’d thought about doing weapon maintenance out here, but chances were high the wolfdog would know what weapons were and be even more frightened of them, so he stuck to paper tasks, or just sitting with his back to the fence for three hours watching the girls play. He did his best to keep it to the same time each day, for the same amount of time.

Day five and he heard it creeping closer before fleeing again several times. Day seven and he briefly felt hot breath against the back of his neck before it retreated. The wolfdog stopped fleeing to the far corner when Taiyang came outside, just hunkered down wherever it happened to already be and watched him with wary eyes. Day eight and he started bringing jerky with him, sliding a piece through the wire right where he usually sat before turning around and going back to his usual routine. It took until day ten before the wolfdog actually crept up close enough to snap up the jerky and flee to a “safe” distance again.

...

Dragon Yang:

“Yang, wait! It’s me! It’s Qrow!”

She hesitated. Stared at him, poised to go after him again, eyes flickering red, nostrils flared. She looked like she was on the edge of either a panic attack or trying to kill him again. Her fingers flexed, then her fists lowered. He wasn’t stupid enough to think she had relaxed. Her nostrils flared again, hair rippling almost like fire, which he hadn’t known it could do before now, “…Uncle Qrow?”

Qrow nodded, tried to pitch his voice into something soothing, “It’s me, kiddo. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that. But- Brothers, Yang, we’ve been worried sick.”

Yang’s jaw worked, her face was almost eerily blank —like Raven at that age and older, and he didn’t like that thought or what it implied—, “Prove it.” Qrow faltered and her lips twitched like she wanted to bare her teeth at him, “Prove it. Prove you’re- that you’re my uncle.” Something bleak flickered over her face, hollow and fractured, before it was gone again, “Prove it to me.”

Qrow dared to let go of Harbinger’s hilt. Yang was … he had no idea what had happened to her, but she looked cold and hard, scraped raw and hiding it for her own safety. Someone had torn his niece apart and molded her into something that could smash right through an experienced Huntsman’s Aura in three strikes and he seethed just thinking about it. But he couldn’t afford to be angry right now, not with Yang sizing him up as a potential enemy. So he spread his hands placatingly and scrambled for decent proof. I need a drink for this-, oh. “When you were eight, you wanted to make me a ‘welcome home’ gift. You decided to make brownies. But the house was out of milk, so instead of using tap water, you got it into your head for some reason to use the bottle of whisky that you weren’t supposed to know was under the sink. Your dad just about skinned me when he got home to find you and Ruby passed out drunk on the floor from ‘testing out’ the brownies.”

Yang stared at him. Her hands slowly relaxed out of fists, “I was sick for the whole night and most of the day after. I hated it. Ruby kept throwing up. She was afraid to eat brownies for years after that…”

“Because she thought they were cursed,” Qrow finished gently. Yang kept staring, expression so blank it was almost a cry for help. Qrow dared to take a step forward, “It’s me, Yang. I promise.”

The tiniest shudder ran through her frame, like she was holding back from some greater response. She inhaled, exhaled slowly as the last of the glow faded from her hair, “I believe you.” Her voice cracked for just a moment before he saw her visibly wrestle it back under control, “I believe you.”

Qrow dared to take a few more steps toward her, picking his way around the furrow he’d left in the ground, making sure that each movement was slow and obvious. She let him approach, didn’t tense up or turn wary as he came to a stop just in arm’s reach. She stared up at him with a mask of porcelain, fragile and dangerous, and Qrow pushed down both his fury and the urge to get drunk until he wasn’t angry anymore. Instead, he tried to smile, “Hey there, kiddo. We missed you.”

She closed her eyes, her breath shook before she opened them again, “Missed you too, Uncle Qrow.”

Qrow held his hands up a little higher, from placation to the offer of a hug, “Can I hug you, kiddo?”

She swallowed, he caught the glimmer of longing in her eyes, “…Just … don’t touch my shoulders.”

Qrow nodded and made a point to move slowly. He wanted to pull her close and squeeze her as tightly as he could, but he didn’t need to be a wise, quasi-immortal wizard like Oz to tell that was a bad idea. So instead of that, he very slowly stepped in and rested a hand on the small of her back and the back of her head, tucking her against his chest, head under his chin, like she was something fragile. She tensed in his arms, but didn’t pull away, and when he tentatively ran his fingers through her tangled mane of hair, the tension in her frame unwound so that she was slumped against him. They stood there for a while, Yang trembling faintly in his arms but not crying like he thought she probably needed to, her skin under his hand almost fever hot and worrying as Qrow tried not to hug too tight and ignored the burning in his own eyes.

#SE asks #anon asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Run Wolf Warrior verse #Dragon Yang verse #Always I Dreamed verse #Melodies and Manuscripts

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writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL Chapter 49- The Underground

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block (new computer and I still can’t fuckin at you)

Turns out the hermits aren’t the only ones who wish to get rid of Magistrate Dolios.

____________________________________

Etho drops into the canal below, water rippling without a single drop to disturb the silent cave. Heterochromatic eyes rove across the dark, dank tunnel, waving one hand for the others to follow. Scar comes next, much less gracefully as he misses the last rung and tumbles into the canal with a heavy splash.

They were beneath the noble district of the city. Grown above the canals like most of Milliara, they built up beyond the lifeblood of Lairyon. Left it behind, to pass through in these underwater canals, until they lead to a fountain, messenger canal, or the rest of the city.

Once Xisuma’s boots are in the water, he sloshes forward without pause. He knows who he saw, he’s just not sure if he believes it. Ex never gets involved with anything. He always waits, watches from the sidelines. When X wanted to fight, it was Ex that stayed behind. When X wanted to be a guild, Ex went on his own.

He continues on, following the distance sound of scraping and scuffling, harsh against the soft patter of water and trickle of running water. Xisuma rounds the corner, white light reflecting in the distance off the damp walls. He’s so focused on the light at the end he doesn’t notice the movement in the shadows. At least, not until it’s too late.

A warm hand claps over Xisuma’s mouth, muffling any attempt for him to cry out. Another arm drags him into the darkness, and a wave of fear keeps Xisuma from trying to escape. A warm, low voice growls in his ear, full of menace. “You had your chance, now let the big kids play.”

“Tris, we’re just supposed to stop the guard, not-” A second, similar voice fractures through the darkness, and Xisuma notices a lock of pink hair, bright against the stone wall.

“I’m Nightshade!” The one holding Xisuma snaps, loosening his grip on him. “Do you want half the city to know who we are?”

Xisuma manages to wriggle free, and instead the twin faces wrestle each other into the water. Tackling and pulling hair, calling each other names that grow louder and louder. Loud enough for the other hermits to find them.

Stress realizes who she’s looking at first. “King Sor?”

“What am I, chopped liver?” one of the two growls, his blue scarf soaked.

“The king?” Tango splutters, snapping his fingers. A flame appears in his hand, and he raises it higher. Sure enough, wrestling in the muck and mud of the swampwater was the King of Lairyon and his twin brother. Yin and yang, dark and light. Their tan skin and rainbow hair- though the king’s much brighter- was instantly recognizable, even if the all white and black suits weren’t enough.

Grand Advisor Tris, currently holding King Sor in a headlock, glares at the hermits. “Do you mind?”

“We are in the middle of something.” Sor adds, looking at their audience as he grabs hold of Tris’s fingers and yanks.

“What are you-” Xisuma starts, confusion clouding his prerogative. Why is the Twin King, monarch of Lairyon, in the canals beneath his own city, tackling his brother and arguing over codenames? Xisuma shakes his head, trying to avoid the fact that he’s standing in front of the king. “Where did he go? My brother?”

“Where’s Doc?” BDubs adds, bouncing from foot to foot. They have to find their friend. Is he still alive? What do the kings want with a criminal? Why all this, when King Sor has more power than even Dolios?

“Three lefts then a right, there’s a staircase carved into the wall. It’ll take you to-” Sor has gained the upper hand, sitting on top of Tris, but the advisor isn’t afraid to kick his brother into silence.

“You are, by far, the worst spy ever.” Tris hisses, but the hermits leave the twins to their squabble in the sewer. Following Sor’s directions, they wind through the secret caves, Tango, Grian, Ren, and Iskall illuminating the darkness. Jevin can’t help but think about when they first began this journey, way back in Gildara. How they wandered dark, wet caves like this. Only to become enraptured into something so much bigger than they could ever have known.

But rather than a corrupted crystal at the end of this dive, they find the carved steps Sor had mentioned.

They also find the trail of blood up the rough hewn stairs. Every step up is slick with the ochre, a different size and shape from the one before. At the top of the stairs, a hatch remains closed. Xisuma presses up against the metal hatch, but finds it too heavy to lift. Looking up, he notices a symbol burnt into the metal.

Ex still uses their shared mark. Even after their estrangement, the swirl and the star remain easily visible. Not like how Xisuma scratched it off everything he owned. “It’s blocked. Stress?”

“Not a problem, dearie.” The ice mage squeezes her small, limber body between Xisuma and TFC, rolling up her sleeves. Without even breaking a sweat, she forces the hatch open. Light blinds them for a second time, though this much softer than before. Lamplight, enough to illuminate the wooden building, but still soft enough to cast shadow. A chest full of books has been tossed aside, the rug covering the hidden hatch flipped over.

The hermits crawl out, like an army of ants from the seams in the wood, filling the small bookstore. Ex’s arrival surprises no one, and neither does the twenty something mages in his bookshop. The twin brother of Xisuma looks up, purple eyes meeting the hermits. A lock of pure white hair covers over one eye, and the red fabric of the cloak covers Ex from the nose down. But even with his face covered, the hermits can see the discontent in his expression.

“He’s in the back. I’d… I’d be prepared.” Ex’s voice remains low and tempered, a bit deeper than Xisuma’s own. He turns away, running fingers across the shelves of books around him, before pulling free an encyclopedia of medicines.

Scar doesn’t wait, bursting through the curtain into Ex’s living quarters. He follows the trail of ash and blood, until he stops dead. The other hermits crowd in behind him, desperate to see their friend. For a week, he’s been in jail. Just being able to be in the same room was a blessing.

Doc was rested on a cot, bandages covering his legs, his arms, his chest, his face. Blackened skin beneath white gauze. He lays still, eyes closed, clothes in burnt tatters. For a minute, everyone holds their breath, waiting to see Doc breathe his own. When a shallow rise of his chest, followed by whisper of an exhale, escapes from the puppeteer, relief floods the hermits.

Doc is alive. Hanging on by a thread, but alive. Scar grabs Grian, yanking him to the front and shoving him into the room. “Fix him!”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Grian may be rivals with Doc, but they’re still friends. Family. He walks across the silent room, each step a loud creak through the wooden building. The hermits follow in after, a concave audience watching, hoping for a miracle.

Grian’s eyes begin to glow, and another set of wings appear from his back, and another. A halo rings above Grian’s blond hair, sharp shafts of light piercing the air around him. The archangel kneels beside Doc, lost in the overwhelming power of his magic. A mere pass of his hand over the unconscious criminal begins to heal him. An angelic miracle, Grian simply brushes a wing, and it eases the blackened burns across their friend.

Doc’s breathing deepens, though he doesn’t wake. Brought back from the brink, from the precipice of death. Mumbo carefully sidles up beside Grian, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Grian, you can let go of your aura.”

The soothing voice does the trick, as light fades and wings disappear. Grian’s exhausted but forces the glow and sleep from his eyes to see his success. Doc was alive. Doc was stable.

Doc was safe, with his family again.

Ex appears in the doorway, hands full of books, potions, herbs, and crystals. But when he sees his patient, no longer bleeding out and struggling to hang on for dear life. He looks at Doc, then Grian, then Xisuma. Dropping his armful of supplies, he waves his hand. “You really have one of everything, don’t you?”

Xisuma takes a deep breath. He hasn’t spoken a word to Ex in years. What does he say, after so long? What does he tell him, or yell at him, or cry to him? But only one word manages to escape from X’s lips, through his mask. “Thanks.”

The word surprises both twins, blinking back in surprise. Ex’s lips press into a thin line, and he turns his head away. A white ponytail of hair cascades over his shoulder. “Never say I didn’t do anything for you, brother.”

“Xisuma, this is your brother?” Keralis questions. They were almost identical twins, in fact. From the structure of their face, the intensity in their eyes. The only difference between the two was Ex’s snow white hair. Hell, they even had them both in ponytails.

“If he still considers me a brother.” Ex snips, picking up the mess on the floor and carefully placing the books in a stack.

“I thought you said getting into things would only lead to trouble.” Xisuma looks down at his friend, then to Ex.

“And by the looks of it, I was right.”

“But you saved Doc. You used your magic in front of half the city, to save him from burning at the stake.” Xisuma shakes his head, still in disbelief. “Why?”

Ex stops moving, going silent. His shoulder tense forward, until his head drops. “Because he means so much to you. You may not consider me a brother, but I still care about you. Whether or not this disaster could have been avoided, we’re all in on it now.”

“We?” Cub picks up on Ex’s words, raising an eyebrow. Of course, there were the royals, but he also remembers the water magic appearing from nowhere, the cactus growing from the woodwork, the black wings in the smoke.

Ex snorts. “What, you think you guys have been this lucky the whole time? That it was only you idiots taking on the magistrate?”

He turns, walking out of the room. Assuming the hermits will follow. He assumed correctly. Only a few stay behind to keep watch over Doc, the others squeezing through the aged wooden shop, up the rickety stairs and into a dining room.

They aren’t alone. Inside, three people are sitting. One with short brown hair, cropped to the side and laying on the top of the table, earthy colored clothes and scarves wrapped around her. Sitting crosslegged in the seat is a small kipling, rocking in place with curious eyes as he looks upon the large group entering into Ex’s study. Finned ears flick against black and orange locks, a slight glow appearing under the kipling’s clothes in the dark room. And in the corner, perched on the flat booth’s backrest, a blonde mane drapes around a serious face, and a pair of jet black wings rustle against the wooden walls.

The last faces they expected to see were those of the Wanderers.

“Red? Ecto?” Zedaph tips his head to the side, surprised. The last time they saw the three of them, it was before the labyrinth challenge. When the hermits celebrated with Team Crafted, they had already left. Disappeared just as fast as they appeared. And now, they’ve reappeared. Sitting in the middle of Ex’s kitchen, sipping on tea. As comfortable there as they were in that ratty old inn. ‘How do you guys know Xisuma’s brother?”

“It was you three who rescued Doc.” Scar whispers, his voice soft and almost reverent. Water, desert, and dragon.

“Ex approached us while you and Team Crafted were within the labyrinth. He told us about things we already had suspicion of, but no connected dots.” Avon tips her head back, looking down her nose at the hermits. “We decided the best way we could help Lairyon was to cause as much nuisance to the magistrate as possible, as well as handle certain missions.”

“This entire time, you were helping us?” Xisuma turns, looking at his brother. They’re the exact same height, purple eyes locked in some years long argument.

Ex snorts. “What, you think you idiots did that all on your own? But it wasn’t just the wanderers that have been helping. Team Crafted has had their hand in this underground rebellion as well. Turns out, they make a lot of trouble all over the place for the arcane guard to deal with, as well as encourage people to tell their stories and speak out against the magistrate.”

“But then that leaves…” Mumbo trails off, and he turns around at the sound of bickering behind them. Sure enough, the twin rulers are still arguing over their codenames. Mumbo bows, his hands shaking as he remembers all the rules he was taught when in presence of the king.

King Sor presses one hand over his twin’s mouth to shut him up, and uses the other to wave off Mumbo’s bow. “Please, there’s no-” Sor’s interrupted when Tris retaliates, licking his hand. The king curses, rubbing the spit on his white outfit. “You’re disgusting, brother.”

“Go on, finish the story. Don’t forget to tell them who’s idea it was to reach out to the mysterious white haired man with connections to Eremita.” Tris scoots in beside Red, and Ecto pours tea for the royal advisor.

“It was Tris’s idea to contact Ex. I honestly don’t know how he found out about him, but he’s been the conductor of it all. We help fund in any way we can, and he does the research before sending the wanderers and Team Crafted to play support roles.” King Sor doesn’t look like the man the hermits are used to seeing. The king, the ruler of Lairyon. He’s thriving with people, just another person, another friend.

“But...you’re the king. Why can’t you just depose of Dolios?” Beef questions, the confusion in his voice matched by all of the hermits. Only Ex and the wanderers act as if this was evident.

They expected Sor to answer, being the king, but with a loud crash of a metal teacup against the wooden table, all attention is turned to Tris. “That monster, that....bastard has been using us all against Sor. Especially me.” Tris grits his teeth hard, jaw tight and set. “You’re too damn soft, Sor.”

“Soft?! Tris, he was going to kill you!” Sor gasps, tears beginning to streak from teal eyes, across tanned cheeks. His breath hiccups and catches in his throat. “Dolios made sure he had control over everything, including me. In order to do that, he… he tortured Tris. My brother. Threatened both our families. Hurt our closest friends in the royal guard. Sometimes… I had no choice but to let it happen. The things he would have done to the kingdom were so much worse but...at what cost? Did I make the right decision, letting him do that to my own brother?”

Sor’s knees fall out from under him, and in the aged wooden floor of a bookstore, the King of Lairyon is brought to kneel. Tears fall, all he’s been forced to endure breaking down. And the hermits, despite hardly knowing King Sor, understand and sympathize with him all the same. His family is at risk, the same way their own is. Dolios will stop at nothing to tear both families apart, all for his gain and rise to power.

Red clambers over Tris’s lap, breaking every taboo and rite to approach the king. She runs over, and hugs the king tight and close. A warm hug, like a mother’s embrace, just enough to calm down the monarch. Such a young man, forced to make so many horrible decisions. After a moment, the king recollects himself. Through puffy, tearstained eyes, he looks to the hermits. “Lairyon needs a hero. There are no chosen ones, there is no prophecy. No knights in shining armor, no kings and our awesome power. This time, the heroes need to be made. And you, the Order of Hermits, were the brave souls to choose to be heroes.”

“Dolios is using his darkness to gain power. After what you dealt with, we were sure you’d give up.” Tris adds, standing and placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Now, the scars on the royal advisor’s body are clear as day. “But you really are the heroes that will bring back the Light of Lairyon.”

Silence falls over the room. The hermits, heroes? Just for wanting to help, to do what no one else knew to do? They were caught up in all of this, and multiple times death waited to claim them- if Dolios had his way. They weren’t heroes, just people who chose to fight back. Who chose to make the stand.

“Dark magic isn’t new.” Ex breaks the silence, hefting a massive, ancient book onto the table. The wood rocks, dumping Avon off it and into Ecto’s lap. “There have been insurgences all throughout history, though the past thousand years have been relatively quiet. Unfortunately about that, almost all information how the dark magic was defeated has been… lost to time. To make matters worse, no reported insurgence has ever been so prolific as this time around.”

“Alright, how does this help with anything?” Xisuma rolls his eyes. His brother always has such a flair for the dramatics, always getting way too deep into history and his books. Next to the massive tome that Ex is flipping through, Avon stops pestering Ecto. She goes still, even when the desert wizard dumps her onto the floor. A look of fear spreads from her eyes, rippling like a drop of water across a lake.

“Well, if this happened before with the ancient ones, then it’s likely the answer may lie with the history of Lairyon itself. Perhaps if you-” Ex is interrupted when a massive black pair of wings extends, one smacking him in the face.

“The spirit dragons are in danger.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #light of lairyon #wizard au #wizard hermits #lol #wizard grian #wizard ex #wizard doc #wizard scar #wizard bdubs #wizard etho #grianmc #evil xisuma #docm77 #gtwscar #bdoubleo100 #ethoslab

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cant-blink · 3 years

Text

Half-Life, Ch. 3

Summary: Gigan takes Ghidorah on their first “date” to the bar. We learn a few things about this three-headed dragon.

Normally, the flight from a planet into the void of space was the most satisfying part of his mission.

The thought of the carnage he left behind, a planet burning beneath him and rendered completely uninhabitable. The complete extermination of life, the knowledge that it was all from his own hard work. He adored the strength of his wings fighting the gravitational pull, the feeling of the air thinning, and at last, the weightlessness of space.

The sight of the stars all around, promising more worlds for him to destroy. So many lives to toy with.

The wave of cosmic energy that would hit his scales, rejuvenating him. Feeding off the energy through the membrane of his wings, healing his wounds and restoring his strength for the journey ahead. Under normal circumstances, he would then cocoon himself within an asteroid produced by his own body, reducing himself to a pure energy form. Content and happy, he would fall into dormancy, his asteroid drawn towards planets one after another until his moon-shaped crests would pick up signs of life to awaken him once more.

But this was not normal circumstances and as he flies higher through this world’s atmosphere, the only thing that coursed through him was not satisfaction, but anger, hatred, frustration...

And dread...

Breaking free of the planet’s hold, Ghidorah felt the cosmic waves flowing over him, speeding his regeneration to be almost instantaneous. The pain coursing through his back with every stroke of his wings had disappeared.

The pain in his middle head, however, remained. The injury there has healed, but the newly-active chip gave a very uncomfortable sensation. He wanted to chew at the spot, scratch at it with a foot, but he knew it was useless. Even if he could will his body to perform the action, chewing and clawing it out would only result in his own death.

Granted, death would probably be preferable to what fate the half-life had in store for him.

He kept glancing back towards the planet. He wasn’t used to leaving a world only half-destroyed. It went against every fiber of his being and his impulses fought against the mind-control in vain. Always in vain.

His glare fastened on the cyborg, and the light from the blue giant star that reflected off the metal armor was almost blinding. It was obnoxious, as was the look of expectation given to him. He wanted to just fly off in the opposite direction, just to spite him, but of course, he couldn’t. Absolutely infuriating, being trapped in a body that was no longer his to control.

At the silent order, Ghidorah felt his wings fold close and his tails moving to curl around himself. All three of his heads lowered, his legs tucked in and wings wrapping around himself. Red wisps like flames came from his scales, until it engulfed him and his body became energy. Stone began forming around him, its minerals perfect for holding his vast energy and absorbing in more cosmic rays to ensure he did not weaken during his hibernation.

At least in said hibernation, he can forget...

“Your name is Ghidorah. You were created to be ultimate weapon.”

Those telepathic words have been imprinted in his mind for as long as he could remember. Repeated over and over, his Masters would put these thoughts into his mind, to the point where it provided some level of comfort to the young dragon.

And at this stage of his development, comfort was very important.

There was darkness around him, even in a well-lit sterile room beyond the membrane that held him. His eyelids were still sealed, having not yet opened to experience the light he would instinctively seek out as an adult. His ears were still closed, and his scales were soft. Occasionally, one of his tongues would flick out, but the only scent he would pick out was his own, in the nourishing goo around him.

His only real sense was that of his well-developed crests. He could feel irresistible auras, all around him. Every so often, several of these auras would get closer, more potent, so close that his three jaws would snap open through instinct. Muscles in his chest would tighten, but the organs housing his gravity beams has not yet fully matured and held no energy within.

He would calm when the auras faded back into the noise. He still desired them, though, and every time he woke from his sleep, he would test the boundaries of his egg, kicking at the membrane uselessly. But the day will come closer, when he will be ready to emerge. Then he can snuff out those auras, and it would be amazing.

"The Universe is a terrifying place,” the message would continue. “You will make it safer, for all of us."

Safer.

He felt pretty safe now, growing steadily within his warm confines. He had never experienced fear, or pain, and it would take several more weeks before he had his first taste of it...

He had grown substantially, easily twice the size he once was just weeks ago. His wings were growing the fastest, wrapped tight around him like an extra blanket within the membrane. Said membrane was expanding, stretching over his scales. Those scales were more developed, a distinct keeled look to each one. His eyes were open, sleepy and unfocused, but he saw the light.

He wanted that light...

Especially when he felt the aura growing stronger. His red eyes can make out movement, a blurred shadow looming by him. The impulse to lash out at it was powerful, and already two of his three jaws had opened. By now, only sparks escaped and deteriorates into the goo.

“The Universe is a terrifying place,” the message replayed again, but this time, it added more. “It’s filled with violent races that seek to destroy those who only wish to live in peace. You will be the savior that fights for those innocents, that cleanses the universe of those dark forces. But first...”

He felt something odd, brushing against the mane of his middle head. The first time a foreign object touches him. It lacked an aura, but nonetheless, his left head automatically moved to bite the thing with tiny fangs, an-

A stabbing pain came from the back of his middle head. His legs kicked out, the membrane stretching from the movement, but not yet giving out. His wings and tails push against his home, his prison, as he tried to escape the pain.

The sharpness left just as quickly as it had appeared, but it left the pain behind, as well as a very wrong feeling. Like something foreign on his body. IN his body.

“You will hold great power and to focus that power, we have given you a gift...”

Ghidorah snapped awake even before the half-life gave the signal that they have arrived. It was not often he had dreams like that, reliving such old memories. It honestly pissed him off.

A gift, that’s what his old Masters called it. Even back then, he knew that was completely false. By ‘focus’, they meant kept under THEIR control. This damn chip and all the trouble it caused has plagued him even before he hatched! If he had lungs and the concept of sighing, he would have done so at this moment. Seems even in hibernation, he cannot be left in peace.

It takes a moment before he was calm enough to notice the presence of lifeforms, many more besides the cyborg that held him hostage. He felt the vibration of his stone cocoon, hears the muffled voice of the half-life calling out to him.

Wait, hear him? That means there has to be an atmosphere. He didn’t feel the impact of striking a planet or another celestial body.

“Wake up!” the half-life continued, still banging against the asteroid for no reason other than to annoy him, he’s sure.

Ugh, just hearing that stupid voice made him wanna go back into hibernation, much less the damn incessant knocking. But alas, he felt his own energy escape the stone, rendering it to dust before he took form. He opened his eyes, and his sight was immediately assaulted with pink. A vivid purple-pink everywhere.

Where was he?

He looked around, the haze stretching in all directions with no sign of an end. All six of his eyes swept the area before all meeting right at the cyborg.

"The bar is over there," The half-life told him, pointing a claw towards a nearby asteroid. "Clean yourself up. I want you looking your best. Y’know, before I ruin you."

Ghidorah lets out a growl at those words, and that growl gets even louder as he automatically moved to groom himself. He always took pride in his appearance, as a dragon should. But as much as he enjoyed grooming, the fact he wasn’t doing it because he wanted to took away all enjoyment.

It isn’t made better by how the half-life was watching him. Damn thing enjoying the show? He wanted to gravity beam that face. Especially when he starts flying closer. Ghidorah felt himself go on edge, wanting to move away to keep the distance, but his body refused to stop cleaning itself.

Unfortunately, it was the half-life himself that stopped the grooming session, one of his claws once more hooking around the back of his middle head and pulling him down.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” came the retort. “Especially with any of your damn back-talk.”

Ghidorah narrowed his eyes, especially when the crest on his forehead was touched by the half-life’s other claw. His crest was glowing quite strongly, as it tended to do when a high concentration of life-energy was nearby. They were quite sensitive and he did not like the sensation of anyone touching them, much less this disgrace of a kaiju.

He nonetheless held still as the half-life examined his crests for whatever reason before he caught a whisper.

“You feel them, don’t you? This is what you mean with your crests ‘filtering’ my presence. They never glowed this brightly for me.” The half-life’s voice had a very odd edge to it. It almost sounded like this fool was...

Was he jealous?! That didn’t make sense to the dragon. Why in the void would he be jealous over something like this? He can’t control how brightly his crests glowed; it all depended on the size and number of the lifeforms in the area! It’s not his fault this idiot had his aura tainted so badly and was hardly considered alive! But Ghidorah didn’t respond with these sharp words no matter how much he wanted to, the chip rendering his tongue frozen. All he can do is hide a wince when the claw tapped against the moon-shaped structure.

He heard a grunt before the cyborg continued in a cold tone, despite the foul smirk on his beak. “Remember when I said we can kill a few folks here? I lied. For once, you’re going to have some damn self-control and not kill any of them. Got it?”

There was a slight widening of his eyes. Never before has he been given an order that so blatantly went against what he was created for. His old Masters, every other alien race that took advantage of him, wanted him to kill. Sure, they wanted specific targets killed, but killed nonetheless. But this... IDIOT decides he was going to waste his time, waste his talents, for... WHATEVER it was that one did at these ‘bars’. He was convinced the cyborg was only doing this to irritate him further, and it was working! If he wasn’t pissed off before, he definitely was now!

“Yes.” That word still escaped him, monotone and lacking any of the anger fuming within his mind. And it only gets worse when it rouses a snicker from the half-life and he felt that metal-coated beak touch the scales of his snout. The left mandible seemed to caress under his jaw, the cyborg moving it side-to-side against his skin. He wanted to pull away, willed every fiber of his body to get him away, but he can’t move.

“You missed a spot.”

What was that supposed to me-

He froze when he felt something wet and warm slide against the scales of his face. His right head could see the half-life running his tongue along his snout and lips. He had no idea what to do with this, as nobody has ever made such moves towards him before. He didn’t like it, at all! He wanted to bite, to blast the half-life in the face, push him away with his heads. ANYTHING!!

But he can’t do anything, except endure.

He closed his eyes, all six of his eyes, just counting the seconds for this to be over. He felt the creature’s tongue push into his mouth, and the urge to bite down and tear it off was through the roof! It was so damn frustrating, and the seconds crawled slower in his mind before finally, the half-life pulled away.

“Hm,” he heard from the cyborg, his middle-set of eyes opening to see the face just inches from his own. The glare he gave was intense, but the other kaiju doesn’t seem bothered. If anything, the half-life seemed encouraged to rest his beak on his nose as he chuckled. “We’ll work on it~.”

Ghidorah didn’t want to work on anything except this thing’s death. How DARE this inferior creature pulled such a stunt with him, and to think, it was only going to go downhill from here! Swear, for every second he had to wait during that, he was going to make the cyborg suffer ten times longer when he breaks free from this! But he couldn’t speak any of the thoughts going through his mind. Damn this chip, taking away everything including his voice!

He felt the claw holding his head down slide off, the edge teasing the fur of his mane before the creature turned away.

“Let’s go.”

He flew towards the asteroid he pointed out the bar being on. Ghidorah lingered where he was for a moment, but alas, his wings gave a flap through the atmosphere and followed after him.

“Hey, McLegsalot!”

“Don’t call me that,” came the retort as Gigan sat down and made himself comfortable. A winged centipede-like kaiju squinted ten beady eyes at the cyborg, his antennae brushing over his face and chest. The four pairs of arms cleaning the glasses slow to a halt. “Gigan?”

“Scolopendra. Long time, no see. Loving my new look?”

“This is what you’re doing to undo your ban? Slap on a new paintjob and pretend you’re someone else?”

“Nah, if I was going to do that, I’d put on chainsaws instead of these,” Gigan responded, lifting the blades on his arms. “Less obvious that way. Anyway, what’s a little ban between friends, huh? Mind giving me the usual?”

“I’m not giving you anything. I-” The centipede cuts himself off, glancing off to the side before muttering. “Look, man, I ain’t losing my job over this. Last time you were here, we had to rebuild everything from the ground up thanks to your little drunken tirades. Like hell, we’re doing all that again.”

Gigan waved a claw dismissively. “Don’t worry your pretty little antennas over it-”

“It’s antennae, you dumb fuck.”

“-I’m not here to make a mess. I just want a nice, quiet time. Honest. So-”

“HA!”

“-Soooo,” Gigan drawled, refusing to back down from this little game. “Why don’t you just give me a drink and we can carry on the night like usual.”

“What part of ‘you’re banned from this establishment’ do you not understand? Hell, if Mr. Mavex finds you here-”

“And I told you, not to worry about it. Your boss won’t even have time to think about you, much less fire you.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how this works.”

“It will, trust me. Y’see, I brought along a date an-”

“Oh, for fuck sake, Gigan,” the centipede interrupted, shaking his head as the cyborg glanced over his shoulder and gave a loud shrill whistling noise. “How many times do I have to say this, I’m not going to...”

The centipede’s voice trailed off, as all the patrons within a ten-mile radius suddenly went quiet. A very large three-headed silhouette loomed at the entrance towering above all other customers, long serpentine necks lowering as Ghidorah entered the doorway. Gigan found the silence to be amazing, and he gave a smirk as the many-legged kaiju reared up to eye-level with his four clear wings fanned out. Typical defensive stance, never gets old seeing it.

“I’d like you to meet Ghidorah,” he started in a smug tone. “King Ghidorah. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, yes?”

At once, everyone made a hurry to vacate the vicinity, as Scolopendra glared at the cyborg. “You led that thing right to us! Are you insane?!” Gigan knew he didn’t have to answer that, but he does anyway with a cheeky little grin.

“Only a little.”

He glanced back at Ghidorah, whose six eyes were locked on the smaller creatures fleeing from him. He can see the spark of bloodlust in those eyes, the familiar instincts to give chase and end them all. But as expected, the dragon could do no such thing. At least-

“Now, about that ban...” Gigan continued casually, as everything ran amok behind him. “I told him not to do any harm to anyone, but if you really insist on denying me drinks...” He reveled in the angry look the bartender gave to him and he settled his blades on the bar, propping himself up a bit as he leaned closer. “I’ll take the usual, yeah? For two.”

Those eyes stay locked on him for a long moment before Scolopendra finally backed off and went to prepare his drinks. That’s more he liked it and he leaned back on his seat. “Glad you can listen to reason, Legs. I’m sure your boss will too.” He heard a nasty grumble from the bug but he disregards it as his eye returns to his golden prize, who was now staring at the bartender intensely.

“Hey,” he called out, earning the dragon’s attention. He nodded towards the chair beside him. Ghidorah glanced towards it and wandered over. It was adorably awkward, watching the dragon attempt to sit on a chair that was too small for him. Gigan couldn’t keep in a chuckle. “Lean on me~”

It still delighted him, that Ghidorah could do nothing to resist his orders. He felt the hydra press up against his side, those scales felt cold compared to their surroundings, but the cyborg didn’t mind. He nuzzled his beak against that golden hide, his mandibles nipping playfully before the bartender returned with his order.

“Good man,” Gigan snickered, his tail moving to clasp onto the glass. He caught Scolopendra eyeing at the dragon as he placed the glass down in front of him, and he was quick to show off his prize. “Told you I had a date.”

“A date?” Scolopendra responded skeptically. “Or another one of your meatshields?”

“Hey, hey, no need to be like that.” Gigan gave a chuckle as he took a sip of his drink. Ah, still tasted the same as he remembered. He took a bigger gulp. “And what do you mean, ANOTHER meatshield? Don’t act like you don’t miss those old days. All the plundering and pilfering, great times.” Another gulp. “Not my fault you got yourself trapped in here.”

“Pretty sure it was,” the centipede grumbled. “When you threw me under the bus while you ran away like a coward.”

“Like a pirate~.”

“Like a coward.”

“Meh, don’t take it so personal, Legs. I was going to come back for you, but you were already gone and now...” Another swig. “Who am I to tell you this ‘honest’ life is boring? After all, you're giving me free drinks.”

“This piece of work...” Scolopendra hissed with another shake of his head, before looking to Ghidorah. “And you’re dating this? What do you even see in him?”

The cyborg gave a short, sharp laugh as he brought his glass back up to his beak for another go, intending to respond for his partner when-

“No, I’m not ‘dating’ him.” Gigan heard Ghidorah growl softly and he sputtered mid-gulp. But the dragon doesn’t stop, maintaining direct eye-contact with him with all six eyes. “The half-life coward did the same to me, tried to abandon me in a fight. Watching Godzilla blast him out of the sky was the single most satisfying thing I’ve ever seen.”

Moment of silence, as Gigan glared towards his slave harshly. Didn’t he tell this asshole not to speak unless spoken t-

Dammit, Scolopendra spoke to him and now this bastard was taking every advantage of it to ruin everything! Well, two can play at that game. Glancing at the centipede, who was now giving him a Look, he pushed the drink closer to his partner.

“Heh, stop kidding around, babe. Tell the bug you’re joking.”

The smirk returned to Gigan’s face as Ghidorah did as told immediately. “You’re joking.” AND that smirk died just as quickly as it appeared.

Oh, this smartass mother-fuckin’ piece of-

Without warning, he struck a blade across the chest of the dragon, who jolts back and loses balance from his chair. The ground trembled from the impact as he fell, and Gigan gave his partner no time to recover as he stomped a foot onto the gash he left. This earned a pained snarl from the dragon, but Ghidorah does nothing to retaliate as the cyborg once more hooked a claw around that middle head, leaning in to hiss directly into this asshole’s ear.

“How about this: You don’t speak, at all, unless I directly address you. Now shut up, and drink your damn glass.”

They continued to lock glares for a moment, before Gigan lets him go and sits back on his seat. Ghidorah took a moment to get up, blood seeping from the wound but he does nothing to tend to himself. He instead looked at the drink, glanced at Gigan’s glass, then back to his own. The middle head leaned down and a forked tongue slips out his mouth and barely brushes the surface of the drink.

“Well?” Gigan persisted impatiently. “I said, drink.”

The dragon growled but said nothing as he began lapping up the drink. And no sooner had he done that, that he began gagging and what liquid he managed to swallow came right back up, seeping from the corners of his mouth. He opened said mouth and allowed it to spill its contents onto the bar.

“Oh, what the hell!?” Scolopendra barked, jumping back as the puddle sparked for a moment before petering out. The multi-legged kaiju shot a glare at the cyborg. “You said no messes!”

“Oh, ho~!!” Gigan chortled, ignoring the bug. “Didn’t take you to be THAT much of a lightweight! Or does it really taste that bad?” He shot Scolopendra a teasing look, but the centipede was having no more of his shenanigans, leaving the mess with them as he resumed cleaning glasses on the OTHER end of the bar. Meh, whatever, Gigan had better entertainment next to him. “Drink the whole thing, babe. It gets better as you go.”

His tail clasped Ghidorah’s glass, holding it to the dragon’s lips. Of course, Ghidorah couldn’t refuse and opened his mouth to receive the drink. And no sooner did it go down his throat than his stomach gave another heave to expel it. Well then...

“Seriously, it can’t be that bad,” Gigan grunted, glancing at the glass. He was a little bit annoyed that his new partner was having this reaction to his favorite drink. “Is the taste too strong for you?”

Ghidorah glared at him with venom before responding in that beautiful monotoned voice. “I taste nothing.”

...

Gigan would blink his eye if he could; he wasn’t sure what answer he was expecting to hear, but that certainly wasn’t it. Was this dragon serious? Who’s he kidding, of course this dragon was serious! He really can’t taste anything? Then why was he spitting it all out? Can he not drink alcohol? Did the hydra’s body take it as a toxin and thus something to be rid of? Time to find out...

“Hey, Scoli!”

“Clean it up yourself.”

“Not that, you idiot. I need you to give a glass of water. Just. Water.”

The centipede doesn’t even turn to look at him, continuing to clean before placing one of those glasses down and filling it with ice water before sliding it over to the cyborg. Gigan stopped it with a blade before pushing it pointedly towards the dragon.

“How about this one?”

“I said, I taste nothing.”

“Don’t care. You’re still going to drink this.”

Ghidorah sneered at him as he turned to the water. This time, he took it with one of his jaws, teeth closed over the glass delicately yet firmly. It looked a bit awkward to the cyborg, but he imagined the hydra didn’t have many situations where he would need to manipulate objects. Ghidorah took a sizeable gulp from it, and just as the alcohol had done previously, so too did this water. The dragon heaved and out it all came, all over the floor with more sparks.

Gigan watched this for a moment, less than amused. So the dragon can’t consume ANYTHING at all; did his creators not see a purpose in it? Well, isn’t that just great! Ghidorah really was being a pain in the ass right now, wasn’t he? All he wanted was a night of fun with his future mate, show him off, get them both plastered before the main event. But of course that can’t happen, can it? The dragon just had to make fools out of both of them. He lets out a huff, forcing a crooked smile onto his beak. He will have his fun, Ghidorah be fucked.

“Fine, more for me. Keep ‘em coming, Legs! We’re gonna be here a while.”

#ghidorah #king ghidorah #gigan #godzilla #gigadorah #mah random thought of space booze returns!!#also my joke kaiju is now real #gigan is a space pirate :3 #ghidorah is not having fun right now #it'll only go downhill from here

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