#So he resorts to closing his eyes and pretending to be dead. He's done this before as a kid and it's comforting for him.

[bloodbathfortwo]

It's currently 6:41 AM at where I am and I've written tooth-rotting fluff for our boys — With Nigel being the weirdo he is — first thing in the morning! I wrote this on my idea notes and I've edited it for better understanding.

Here is the unedited version, it's a draft and please excuse my chicken handwriting. I know it SUCKS!

Here is the edited version!

Nigel had such tantalizing Blue eyes, the way it glows as the sun reflects from it: an iridescent glow that makes his supple white skin twice as cold. Alex continues to stare at the dead weight on top of his chest, admiring every little detail of Nigel's sleeping face. Somehow it reminds Alex of a cat, specifically a Mainecoon: Black lustrous fur a stark contrast against those blue irises that gives the feline such intimidating yet regal looks.

Nigel begins to stir in his sleep, tell tale signs of waking up. Alex's hand situated on Nigel's back, gently rubbing delicate to coax him awake.

"I see that you've taken a keen interest in watching me sleep" Nigel says, Making Alex jump in surprise.

"Jesus christ, Nigel, were you awake this whole time?" He watches Nigel stretch his sleepy body, smothering kisses along Alex's collarbones.

"You could say I've been awake since 5:30 AM" Alex glances at the digital alarm clock: 8:17AM. He's been awake for more than 3 hours and yet he looked like he slept a log. Alex stares at him with such perplexion. How the hell can he close his eyes and wait for him to say those words?

"How the fuck do you do that?" The question seemed so sincere that makes Nigel chuckle, he is so innocent.

"I like to imagine that I'm dead, a lifeless corpse lying beside a living, breathing one. It gives me such clarity that you don't know of" Nigel watches Alex's contort from peaceful to something more conflicted from his reply. Oh the horrors in his face makes him guffaw.

"Fucking hell you are so weird!" He pushes Nigel off of his chest as he continues to at his reaction, holding his stomach. As Alex untangles himself from Nigel and the covers, he mumbles something along the lines of: "I can't believe I'm in love with a freak" as he walks away from the bed.

Once Nigel's cries of laughter dies down, a warm feeling in his chest brightens his heart: a smile occupies his face.

"I love you too, Alex." He whispers to himself as he lies on the side of Alex's bed that smells just like him.

He gets up and follows suite to the kitchen where they usually bicker in the morning.

[nadvs]

bittersweet (one-shot)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning alcohol use

summary rafe both loves and hates that you’re his sister’s best friend. he gets to see you all the time, but it’s a constant reminder of what he can’t have… until one night, when his jealousy takes over and he can’t keep himself from you any longer.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Rafe wonders if you know that he can hear you. It’s just false hope, but maybe you’re trying to make him jealous.

You’re in the bathroom getting ready for tonight’s party with Sarah, your pretty laugh reverberating through him as if he’s right next to you.

But he’s not. He’s never been as close to you as he would like to be.

His bedroom is right next door, where he’s sitting in bed, wasting time scrolling on his phone, eavesdropping.

“You’re lying,” Sarah says.

“I’m dead serious,” you reply. “I’ll read it to you.”

Rafe overhears you reading out a text you got from your ex last night… he loves you, he misses you, he shouldn’t have ever broken up with you.

He remembers seeing you in tears a few weeks ago when you visited his sister. Admittedly, he lingered by Sarah’s closed door, hearing you sniffle through your words about how he had dumped you out of no where.

It made his blood boil knowing someone did that to you. But like always, he pretended like you have no effect on him, later passing you by in the hallway without a single word exchanged.

“Do you think you’ll get back together with him?” Sarah asks after you finish reading the message.

“No way,” you reply. This makes Rafe’s heart feel a little lighter. Until he hears your next words. “I hope that guy I was talking to last weekend shows up tonight.”

Rafe fucking hates hearing you talking about guys you like. His crush on you is too big to not let it rattle him. And tonight, he might have to watch you flirt with someone that’s not him in his own fucking house?

He can’t take it anymore, rushing to the bathroom to see you standing by the mirror, your makeup halfway done.

“Do you have to be so loud?” Rafe snaps.

The only way he can talk to you without throwing any flags up is by being a dick. And admittedly, it kind of feels good getting his sexual frustration over you out like this, even though it’s severely misguided.

Sarah only rolls her eyes, having fully resorted to ignoring him at this point, but you smile at him in that way that makes his heart jump.

“Okay, grumpy,” you laugh. You’re in baggy sweats and big t-shirt and still manage to look fucking stunning. “You’re one to talk.”

Rafe knows you’re referring to the many fights of his that you’ve witnessed, both with his family and with people at parties.

He hates that your smile and your teasing make him want you even more.

He scowls at you but before he steps away, his eyes linger on you a little longer than you think they should. Wishful thinking, you tell yourself. You gave up on the fantasy that Rafe will look at you as anything more than his sister’s annoying best friend a long time ago.

“Sorry,” Sarah says, apologizing on behalf of her brother like always.

“Don’t worry about it,” he hears you respond. “I know what he’s like.”

Rafe shuts his door. What he’s like. You don’t fucking know what he’s like at all.

If you knew that you’re his first thought in the morning and his last thought at night, you’d realize he’s so fucking grumpy because he doesn’t get to talk to you how he wants to. Or touch you how he wants to.

He’ll have to avoid you at his party tonight. He’s not interested in seeing you flirt with some jackass.

That night, Rafe is halfway into a beer, zoning out of the conversation his friends are having around him.

You’re on the other side of the room, arm linked with Sarah’s. You’ve changed out of your comfortable clothes, wearing a dress that leaves little to the imagination. Man, what he’d do to you if he had the chance.

But he knows he doesn’t. You’ve seen him at his worst. Who in their right mind would want him?

As you chat with Sarah, your eyes drift to Rafe every so often. You can’t help it.

There’s something about his presence that’s so magnetic and dominant. And why is it when he’s wearing his hat backwards like that, your stomach does somersaults?

You need to get your mind off of him. It’s never gonna happen.

Then your eyes land on your ex-boyfriend, who just entered the room.

Rafe watches your face drop and your eyes lose their light. You turn to look at Sarah, whispering something to her, then disappear into the crowd. When he realizes your idiot of an ex just showed up, it takes everything in him not to crush the solo cup he’s holding.

He told himself he’d avoid you. He needs to keep his own promise.

Later in the night, you’re filling up your cup at the keg when you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Don’t hog it,” he says, a joking tone to his voice. You turn to see your ex standing behind you. You only furrow your brows, in disbelief that he thinks he can speak to you so casually.

You don’t respond and he awkwardly shuffles in place.

“Did you get my text?” he asks.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you say. It’s been weeks, but being with him again brings it all back, the way he told you he doesn’t see a future with you anymore. Instead of sorrow, though, you just feel anger.

“Can you just… can you give me five minutes?” he asks.

“Leave me alone,” you tell him. Rafe appears behind your ex, his blue eyes fixed on you. He’s angry like he always is, his jaw clenched.

You figure he’s annoyed that you’re using the keg when he wants to top up his own drink.

“I don’t get why we can’t just-” he continues, but is interrupted.

“She said to leave her alone,” Rafe mutters. Your ex turns around to face him.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks.

“This is my house.” Rafe has to duck to talk to him. The image stirs something in you. “Either stop bothering her or get the fuck out.”

Your ex turns to look at you, shaking his head in confusion.

“This your new boyfriend?” he asks, voice thick with envy.

“What? No,” you reply. The way you look almost appalled by the prospect makes Rafe feel like his heart is being wrung out.

You almost laugh. As if Rafe would want you.

Your ex turns to face Rafe again. In the tension of the moment, you feel a lump form in your throat. Anger from what your ex did to you. Embarrassment that he won’t leave you alone. Excitement that Rafe is defending you, followed by a sharp sadness that he’ll never see you the way you see him.

Rafe is about to swing at him. But then he sees the look on your face and his anger dissolves.

“Fuck off,” Rafe says sternly.

Your ex looks at you incredulously. You’re sure he knows Rafe would take him down in a second.

When he walks away, leaving you and Rafe just a foot apart, you flatten your lips as you look up at him.

“Thanks,” you say quietly. You never thought you’d thank him for anything.

Rafe’s eyes soften when he realizes your eyes are wet with the threat of tears. You feel mortified to be crying in front of him, so you leave your drink on the table behind you and brush past him, stalking upstairs to the same bathroom you did your makeup in.

Your hands grip the counter as you look at your reflection. You managed to swallow down your tears, determined to have a good night.

Three knocks thud against the door.

“Someone’s in here!” you say, weak voice echoing through the small room.

“It’s Rafe,” you hear.

Your heart leaps. What the hell could he have to say to you?

You swing open the door to meet his gaze. He’s wearing an expression you haven’t seen before.

Rafe can’t fucking take it anymore. He steps inside, shutting the door behind him, boxing you in between his body and the wall. His arms are crossed to keep himself from touching you.

“Why were you with him?” he demands.

“What?” you ask. He’s mad. Of course he’s mad. This is Rafe. Mad is his default setting.

“He’s obviously a fucking idiot,” he snaps. “And an asshole.” You’re not sure if this is some cruel display of annoyance, but you don’t have the patience for it.

Still, a part of you is buzzing to be alone with him.

“Why are you giving me shit right now?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose. He brings his hand up to yours, pushing it away from your face.

It’s the first time his skin has ever touched yours.

“Why were you with him?” Rafe repeats. He’s so close to you that you can smell him. His aroma is earthy, like a comforting campfire. But nothing about him is warm. Never has been.

“How do you even know…” you mumble in confusion. You realize you have no clue how he knows that the guy he almost fought downstairs was your ex. “You don’t know anything about the situation.”

“I heard you,” he says. “I heard you crying over him. Why were you with someone who said that shit to you?”

Rafe recalls the way you told his sister that your ex called you names during your last fight. It made him sick.

You freeze for a moment. He heard you? Why the hell would he care to listen?

“Well, sorry I was being loud,” you say, still a little bitter about how he talked to you earlier tonight even though you had laughed it off in front of him. “Can you just… give me a break? It’s been a shitty night. I don’t need you judging me on top of it.”

“God, that’s…” Rafe steps back, taking off his hat just to smooth his hair back and put it back on again. “I’m not judging you.”

“Then what are you doing?”

A few heavy, tense seconds pass between you. Rafe is looking down at you, at how pretty you are, at how badly you need to be appreciated.

Then he leans down to press his lips against yours.

You were wrong. Rafe does have warmth to him. He’s nothing but warmth right now. The way his hot mouth captures yours and the way his hands cradle your cheeks fill you with need and happiness and a whirling sensation of unsteadiness.

Is this actually happening?

Rafe’s whole body buzzes when you kiss him back, your hands hooking up around his arms, palms on his shoulder blades. He’s pressed up against you, deepening the kiss, his tongue running over yours.

He wasn’t annoyed. He was jealous. You feel dizzy from the revelation.

Your back is flush against the wall, Rafe’s body curved against yours. He bites on your bottom lip for a second, sending an arousing pinch of pain through you, as if he’s punishing you for making him yearn for you.

The contradiction between your mind and your body is jarring - you thought he was annoyed by you, but he’s kissing you like he was annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t kiss you before.

Tasting and touching you like this makes Rafe harden, and he perches his hips back, unsure if this is too much for you. When your hands slide down to roughly pull his hips back towards you, he doesn’t need any more signals. You want him just as bad and it makes every inch of his skin burn.

Rafe shifts back, forehead pressed against yours, unable to open his eyes for a second.

“I need…” His voice is hoarse. He can’t do it like this. Not with you against a wall in the bathroom. “Let’s go to my room.”

You nod and follow him, letting him lead you onto his bed.

Your eyelashes overlap as Rafe hovers over you in his dark room, kissing you again. Tucked away from the crowds and music downstairs, all you can hear is the sounds of your lips smacking together and his fast breaths.

You spread your knees apart so he can settle between your legs. Desire consumes you as he grinds his cock against you. The sensation awakens the need you’ve had for him for so long but always told yourself you’re not allowed to feel.

You can’t help but feel a gnawing fear that this is just a meaningless encounter to him. You’re not equipped to deal with being just a piece of ass to Rafe. Sex with him will change everything. It needs to be worth it.

You gently push against his chest and worry floods through Rafe that he did something to make you uncomfortable.

He’s looking down at you in the shadows of his bedroom, his breaths shallow and fast.

“We shouldn’t…” you begin, and he nods quickly, arms straightening to sit up. Shit. He fucked up by kissing you. He’s not worth the risk to you.

But again, you pull him back in, this time with your hands cupped on his shoulders.

“Rafe, wait,” you breathe. “I’m saying… we shouldn’t if you don’t…” You take a beat to gain some courage. “I like you. For real. I’m not doing this if I’m just a hook-up to you.”

Rafe didn’t realize how heavy his heart sat in his chest until he hears you say that. He looks at you with wonder.

“You’re not just a hook-up,” he says, as if it’s obvious to you. “I like you so fucking much. I have for so long.”

“You mean it?” you ask. You realize this man has the power to break your heart.

He kisses you like you’re so damn delicate, like you could break in a second. The way you just said that, the edge and fragility of your voice, makes him feel like the luckiest man alive. You feel it, too. It’s not just him.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I mean it.”

Your lips meet again with even more heat this time. He grinds against you with more pressure than before, his erection hard and big.

The fact that you’re the reason he’s so turned on is unreal.

Rafe’s hands dip under the hemline of your dress, fingers ghosting over your thighs. You tilt your hips up off the bed to offer him the space to pull your dress up. He immediately takes the invitation, watching you in awe as the fabric slides over your chest, your shoulders, finally off your body.

His open mouth attaches to the flesh of your breast, kissing and sucking. He pulls the cup of your bra down to close his lips over your nipple. The sensation makes you tremble and moan.

Your pretty sounds are better than anything he has ever heard.

His tongue flicks and wriggles over your nipple, then he moves to your other breast, eager to give all of you the attention you deserve.

“Let me eat you out,” he stammers. “Please.”

“Yes,” you whisper.

For so long. He said that he’s liked you for so long. Your mind is rustling with excitement and disbelief, your thoughts tangling together as you think back to every time he looked at you. Every time he spoke to you.

It’s crazy to think you can now reframe all those memories, knowing what you know now.

Rafe pulls your panties down and wishes his lights weren’t off so he could see you better. But what he does see in the dimness confirms what he always knew - that every part of you is beautiful.

You feel his fingers spread you apart, the cool air pressing against your core. The image makes his stomach numb with infatuation.

“Fuck,” he says, nearly whining. “Fuck… I can’t tell you how many times I wished I could do this.”

“Me, too,” you admit breathlessly. “I never thought you… wanted me.”

“Of course I do,” he half-chuckles. He regrets ever making you feel like you’re not desirable. You’re perfect.

Rafe dips his head. You’re like sugar on his tongue. You gasp when he presses his mouth against your clit. He can’t believe how much arousal is pooling between your legs as he starts to lap at you.

“You’re so wet for me,” he praises, planting a kiss on your cunt. His tongue twists and curls and when it dips inside of you, you feel like you’re on another planet.

He readjusts his hands to spread you even wider, wanting to pamper every fucking inch of you.

You bunch his hat between your fingers and throw it off of him to feel his hair. You dreamed of touching his hair for so damn long. You can’t help but tug at his roots as he gifts you with the best feeling you’ve ever had.

The thick, wet sounds of him slurping fill you with bliss. His mouth is giving you so much damn pleasure, the same mouth that would snap at you and frown at you and make you wonder why he disliked you so much.

It was all an act. He wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

You felt how big he is when he was grinding against you. You need him to fuck you. Now.

“Rafe,” you moan.

“Hmm?” he says, mouth still closed around your clit, sending a vibration through you.

“Get inside me,” you whisper. “I can’t wait anymore.”

His heart is thrumming with exhilaration. He still can’t believe that you want him.

He pulls off his t-shirt and unbuttons his jeans with such fever that you smile in endearment. He’s moving like you’ll change your mind or come to your senses or something.

He sits over you on his knees, holding his cock at the base. It’s big and curved so fucking perfectly that you start to ache for him even more.

This will change everything and you’re so glad it will.

Rafe slowly drops to rest on his elbow on top of you, his other hand guiding him into your soaked entrance. You shudder in near unison as he pushes into you slowly, every inch feeling better than the last.

“Damn,” he groans, unrestrained. “You feel so fucking good.”

“What you expected?” you ask, a small hint of insecurity in your tone.

“Baby,” he laughs. The nickname makes your body tingle. “Even better.”

He pulls back slowly, then buries into you again, a deep, languid exhale leaving his lips. He ducks to kiss you as he fucks you slowly and lovingly, stretching you out, your chests pressed together.

His pace begins to quicken, the curve of his cock hitting deep inside you so perfectly.

“Can I go harder?” he asks against your mouth.

“As hard as you can,” you request. He shudders as he pulls back and slams into you with all his force. Your body jolts, his bed squeaking.

“Be mine,” he says between thrusts. “I need you to be mine.”

“I am,” you say. “I always was.”

This sends him over the edge. He’s about to cum, but he needs to get you there first.

To your disappointment, he pulls out, but when his mouth is back on you and his fingers are scissoring into you, you lift your feet off the bed and throw your head back.

Your walls start to flutter around him as you cum and he quickly shifts to stuff his cock back into you so you’ll finish around him. He feels his gut tighten and he explodes into you with a string of oh, fuck’s, your pussy squeezing around him in pulses as he spasms through his orgasm.

Rafe loves the way your arms and legs are wrapped around him. He feels so needed by you. It’s like a drug.

He collapses on top of you, holding himself up the best he can so not to crush you.

You’re both sweaty and breathless and smiling. He dips his head to press his warm cheek against yours as you remain wrapped up in each other.

“So was I,” he mutters against your ear.

“What?” you breathe, your legs numb from pleasure.

“I was always yours, too,” he says. He kisses the side of your neck, wishing he could never leave this moment. You let out a sweet laugh, squeezing his big, hard body tighter.

He’s never going to make you doubt if he really likes you ever again. He’s sure of it. He silently vows it as he kisses your neck countless more times.

inspired by this anon! if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Day 19, 27, 28, 29

Sobbing | Dissociation | Stairs | Display | Last Resort | Numb | Gag | “I’m so cold.”

Please heed the warnings. Dead dove: do not eat.

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Contains: lady whump, aftermath of noncon/SA, dissociation, helplessness, hopelessness, restraints, gag, suicide attempt

WC: 950

Wet-paper petals

The body on the bed was still. It could move, but moving hurt. Moving dragged skin, reddened and burned by friction, over wool and cotton that mercilessly scratched. Moving shifted the light, illuminating blossoming bruises.

Bruises—broken blood vessels—temporary, violent purple in their prime, but not eternal.

Involuntary shivers wracked the body, however: the tiny tremors of limp, exhausted limbs. Bluish lips formed soundless pleas to no one: Please. I’m so cold. Please.

If there was only stillness, then there was no pain. Frigid numbness, perhaps, but numbness was bearable.

It was a body on garish display: arms spread wide and bound in place, showing off tender skin now marked. Adorned. Pink and abraded beneath the ties.

A body, and nothing else.

A door crashed open, casting a resounding clang throughout the room, and the illusion was shattered.

The maidservant stirred, bringing her knees as close to her chest as she could, her eyes squeezed shut. Please. No more. No more.

Footsteps slowly approached.

She tried to hold back a sob and failed, mewling into the leather tied around her mouth. It tasted foul: dust, sweat, oil. She couldn’t remember when it had wound up there, or where it had come from. A belt from a uniform, perhaps? It didn’t matter. It had served its purpose, stifling her frantic cries when her enemies decided they’d had enough of her tongue being free—after it, too, had served its purpose.

The footsteps halted, and her eyes flew open.

The soldier. He’d promised to kill her one day. He’d dragged her before the prince. He’d kept his distance, he hadn’t touched her. But he’d stayed silent.

He’d done nothing.

He reached toward her now, and she flinched, unable to disguise how she wept, condemned again to the indignity of freely flowing tears while he stood by and watched.

“No,” she begged. Some dried substance at the corner of her mouth cracked with the movement of her lips. “Please.”

He didn’t answer, but simply reached for her bound hands again; silently, he untied them. Torn strips of red fabric, ripped from a mass that had once been a gown, fell away. The soldier stepped back.

The maidservant fumbled with frozen, clumsy fingers and found she could not untie the leather belt. She pulled it from her mouth instead, letting it hang slick and dripping around her neck.

“Get dressed.”

Two words, a simple command, brimming with unbridled disgust.

She coaxed her unwilling limbs off the bed, stumbling toward the heap of once-ravishing silk, now ruined, stinking of pond-water and sweat. She struggled into it anyway, hungry for the scant warmth and comfort it would bring.

Her arms screamed, as unhappy free as they had been restrained. Her legs ached. Trembled. Burned.

The soldier said nothing, offering no release from . . . wherever she was. A dungeon cell? Perhaps. Likely. She dimly recalled stairs and windowless corridors. She’d fought and screamed and cried. Earned welts and bruises for her efforts.

Efforts ultimately in vain, like everything else she’d ever done.

An unexpected weight, hidden in the depths of the dress, bumped against her leg.

“Come here,” the soldier said. She looked up to find him watching her with narrowed eyes. The scratches on his face had clotted to perfect, parallel scabs, muddy brown in the poor light. “Move.”

She obeyed.

“Give me your hands.”

She did.

He tied them together in front of her, not torturously tight but securely enough that she could not wriggle free. She watched numbly, pretending those dirt-and-blood-stained fingers belonged to someone else. He thought he was being clever and cruel, lording his power and control over her yet again, protecting himself from another attack.

Didn’t he realize? She was done fighting.

Another tear slid down her cheek, splashing against his hands as he tied the final knot.

With a scowl, he shoved her away from him, back onto the cot with its mattress still damp. She caught herself clumsily, whimpering in pain. “Sit still and stay quiet while I find out what to do with you.”

He turned away.

When the lock clicked, that means of escape barred—not that it had ever been within her grasp—the maidservant felt for the makeshift pocket she had made what seemed like lifetimes ago.

I’m sorry.

She’d whispered those words to the food taster, and she’d meant them. What had become of him? Had the prince found him? Was he dead? Imprisoned? Coerced into bending to the prince’s darkest whims?

I’m sorry.

If only she’d had the chance to say those same pitiful, inadequate words to her brother.

Her stiff fingers struggled with the knots in her skirt. She wept, forcing them to keep working until, at long last, the knots came free.

She laid out the crushed flowers methodically, inspecting each. They were beautiful, even in death: wet-paper petals of soft yellow, like summer sun dimmed by mist. That colour, warm and lovely, hearkened back to golden days of long, long ago—before her life had been upended, ravaged, and utterly destroyed.

Back when her life was worth something.

She found two flowers with their poisonous spines intact and lifted them reverently from among their fellows.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but there was no one to hear, no one to see, and no one to mourn.

She sank the two sharp, spindle-like thorns into her fingertip; a cool sense of numbness spread outward. One prick, he’d promised, and you’ll be on the floor. What about two?

She fell, matted hair fanning out over the soiled mattress, poison coursing through exhausted veins.

A body, still living, but only just.

A broken heart, pulsing with strength enough to decorate her finger with a single, welling drop of blood.

June of Doom Masterlist

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@juneofdoom

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

[happilybredbellies]

“Thanks for choosing me mister,” Heather said, smiling up at the man as she opened her jacket to give him a good look at her bikini-clad curves. “I promise you won’t regret it! I’m allllll yours till morning, so just tell me what you’d like to do to this curvy little body of mine first!”

Inside, Heather was trying her very best not to vomit. As a cop, pretending to be a ditzy high-class escort for this snobby businessman was just about the most humiliating thing she’d ever done, but there was no way around it. This man was supposed to have ties to the local cartel, the same cartel that her partner had been looking into when she disappeared close to a year ago. The brass might've written the woman off as dead, but Heather wasn’t about to give up on her friend so easily. While it pained her to resort to playing the part of a prostitute, it was the only way she knew of to get at the files he kept in his penthouse safe.

So Heather swallowed her pride, making sure to keep the vapid smile plastered across her face as she stripped off her clothes and spread her legs wide. This man was nearly twice her age. It shouldn't take long to tire him out, and once he'd blown his load and fallen asleep Heather would have free reign to start snooping around.

“C’mon big guy,” she teased, steeling herself internally, “take me for a spin and show me what you got!”

2 Years Later

Heather groaned, rubbing a hand over her bloated dome of a belly as she plopped down on one of the communal beds she shared with the other cows. Her twins were overdue and had been kicking practically non-stop all week, but that wasn't a valid reason for taking time off work. If anything, the constant stimulation her children provided only served to make Heather more productive, as the dark stains currently forming on her shirt could well attest. The door to their living quarter swung open barely a second after she sat down, revealing one of the cartel’s goons.

“Mornin’ ladies,” he called, gesturing back out the door. “Better get moving. The Boss wants you girls in your pens and pumping as soon as possible today. Word is he’s just snagged another cow for the herd and is looking to give her ‘the tour’.”

Heather stood, grunting with the effort of heaving her gravid figure up off the bed. She made no complaints as she waddled out the door along with a dozen other women, all former cops, all now in varying stages of pregnancy. The businessman Heather’d been looking into two years ago had turned out to be the hidden leader of the cartel, and he had a…unique way of handling any women who got too close to that truth. The memory of Heather’s own ‘tour’ was seared into her mind. She could still remember the terror that’d gripped her heart as the Boss walked her down the rows of pens, letting her see the heavily pregnant women inside squealing in pleasure as industrial grade milking machines pumped streams of sticky white liquid from their swollen tits. But that hadn't been what broke her. Rather, it'd been the sight of her old partner, the very person she’d been trying to save, staring out at Heather with unfocused eyes as she climaxed from labour pains, the head of her child already poking out from between a pair of thick, motherly thighs, that ended up shattering Heather’s fragile hopes for rescue. Well, that and all the aphrodisiacs, fertility boosters, and growth hormones laced into every meal she was given.

Thanks to that cocktail of drugs, Heather’s breasts soon expanded into a pair of proper udders, and it wasn't before she found herself hooked up to a milking machine of her very own. Despite her initial reluctance, Heather ended up settling quite nicely into life as the cartel’s newest dairy cow, enjoying days spent mewling in pure delight as each spurt of milk sent pulses of pleasure shooting up her throbbing nipples. The breastmilk of captive policewomen was apparently quite the hot commodity within the criminal underground, and the Boss’ ‘open pen policy’ when it came to fucking them had made him quite popular, both among the guards and their increasingly needy livestock.

Today, as the men fastened cups around her dark, swollen teats, Heather simply leaned back against the stall and let out a happy sigh, already feeling the pressure in her milf-stuffed tits beginning to ease as she reached around her giant belly to finger her dripping snatch. She didn’t even notice the Boss entering the pens until he was right on top of her, but the slim young woman at his side looking strangely familiar. It took a moment to place the girl, but then it clicked. She’d been one of the station’s newest recruits, fresh out of the academy and always pestering Heather for advice during her last few months on the force. 

Now, judging by the horrified look the girl wore as she stared down at the fertile cow her old mentor had become, it seemed as though the girl was starting to regret her decision to follow in Heather’s footsteps. Heather simply smiled up at the slender girl, trying to communicate to her the wondrous future that awaited her once she’d plumped up a bit and finally had a baby or two rounding out that flat tummy of hers. But the smile twisted abruptly, becoming a grimace as there was a sudden pressure between Heather's legs, accompanied by the sound of something splattering onto ground beneath her. Her water had broken.

“Understand? This is what happens to women who stick their noses where they don’t belong.” Boss said, forcing his newest pet to watch as Heather began pulling herself into a squatting position. “That’ll be you in a few months, just another fat breeding cow for my herd, happy to spend the rest of your pumping out milk and babies for the cartel. Don’t worry, the drugs will make sure you end up loving every second of it, even during childbirth.” He turned to Heather. “Isn’t that right, cow?”

The first contraction slammed into her as if waiting on his cue, the pain converted into a wave of indescribable pleasure that washed over her entire body. Heather came immediately, squirting all over the floor as the former policeman let out a long, throaty “Moooooooooooo!”, already feeling the first of her babies starting to slide out of her womb and into her birth canal.

The younger girl tried to recoil in disgust but the Boss just laughed, holding her in place by her hair. She'd soon learn to obey, just like Heather had before her. Like it or not, she was a cow now, a member of the herd, and cows like them belonged on a farm.

[leakywright]

ogden task 005: the hart of the matter

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. leaky didn’t want to be here. why did he agree to this? the funny thing is when he pictured college, he pictured press conferences. joking with reporters, celebrating wins, mourning losses. discussing plays and next-time strategies. projecting the what if’s of the draft. that espn would say his name followed by compliments about how he was one to watch. but they never came, that wasn’t his reality. 

this was. sitting in khakis and a button down across from jesse’s dad feeling like he might actually shit himself. something he hadn’t done since third grade when he got food poisoning. but it might happen again, and this time it would be recorded. he smiles at leaky, how responds weakly, crosses his foot over his knee, nods as a cameraman counts down, and then turns to leaky. serious smile this time, a man all about business. 

“it’s a tough year to be a student at ogden college with the tragic passing of penelope klein. and of course, we can’t forget the ongoing missing persons case surrounding beloved student, greer morrison. i know that dean zuko insisted on free on-campus counseling set up for all students. have you made use of it?”

oh, yea. well therapy was something that had been mandatory for him his first year at ogden, so honestly, the habit kinda stuck. dropping from once a week to once a month, leaky never really tells them anything, always afraid it would somehow get back to the dean, but it’s a nice habit. plus he knows what it looks like. “yea, well i was already using our therapy services prior to all of this. it’s always been available, but glad to see that the support has been amped up. students need it to begin with, and uh…” his goody-two-shoe answer faltering slightly, “well, i think we all need as much support as we can get these days.” he gives a nod, knuckles rapping against the cushion of the chair he’s seated in. dean zuko would like that answer. 

and so does donovan hart, who gives a smile and nod, pleased and already moving on. 

“there was that nasty storm that knocked out the power at the resort, i remember. that got a little dicey, huh? parents and staff all congregated in the faculty chalet, but you kids were on the other side of the resort. we’ve been told that penelope organized some things for people to complete to make it through that night together. were you one of them? what did you get up to during the blackout?”

his blood runs cold, thinking back to that night. he’d been entirely too drunk to do much of anything, but was still sent out and found…a bloody glove. that he didn’t report because by the time they were back to the chalet penny was dead, leaky was hunched over a toilet vomiting and dean zuko had already sent him short email to see him once he was back on campus. “uh, yea. penny didn’t really give you a choice,” he kinda chokes on her name, they hadn’t even been close but she was dead, “and so she sent me on an assignment. to collect firewood.” that he didn’t bring back because it was wet and he was freaking out. this isn’t a police interview, though leaky is half expecting dr. hart to make a note and lock eyes with someone as if they’ve found something. he doesn’t do either. 

“in the wake of tragedy, it can be hard to recall things in detail. the brain has its own ways of protecting itself in high-stress situations, and i know that the police have been a near-constant presence on campus this year.” leaky gulps, their presence hasn’t really done much to make him, or anyone frankly, feel safer. “this is not that; i want you to feel safe and comfortable enough to share whatever you want about that night. did you see anything? hear anything?”

he freezes, eyes widening as he glances up, trying to pretend like he’s thinking it through. trying to remember. but he knows, knows exactly what happened even behind the haze of the alcohol. “yea…” he croaks out, his voice sounding different, like it wasn’t his. like he was outside of his body and someone else had taken over. “i found some wood, but it was wet. cause of the snow, so i knew it wouldn’t be good to bring back.” why is he retelling this? so easily? dr. hart didn’t even have to push that hard and leaky was already breaking. “i completely forgot about this, cause i’d been worried about the firewood and then everything happened so…quickly…” he pauses, as if wading through his memories, it all available again because dr. hart had asked the right questions. “i saw this glove, in the distance, a few yards away from the wood…” he squints, the memory picture perfect in his mind, but he’s trying to play it off like it was hazy. “and maybe some footprints? or probably animal tracks. it was hard to tell but i didn’t think much of it.” he leaves the part out about the blood, that was something he should have reported. “cause like, maybe someone had dropped it and was coming back for it? all of us were just following penny’s orders.” he swallows, as if guilt is now settling with him, like it hadn’t been there the entire time. “or maybe someone lost it skiing? A lost glove doesn’t seem like that big of a deal in the moment ya know? and i just…” he stops, looking down, defeated. as if his memory had betrayed him, as if this glove could have been a clue in the mystery. and maybe it would have been, if leaky had told the whole truth. now, he hoped, people would write it off and just give sympathy to a kid who was being too hard on himself. 

dr. hart blinks, gives a small nod and leans toward leaky. as if to comfort him, to coax out more answers. leaky kept his eyes down, afraid that if he looked up the guilt would overwhelm him and he’d be spewing the god-awful truth all over the floor. 

“obviously, we all want to get to the bottom of this and work through whatever lingering effects it might have left behind. if you were paired off with anyone that night, can you remember what they were doing? would it have been possible that they might have been behind anything you saw?"

leaky shakes his head, alex had been the one to persuade them to turn around instead of getting any closer to the glove. to make the smart decisions, maybe if they had inspected it more they would have ended up in penny’s position. or worse, witnesses to it. “nah, i was with this kid alex, and he was by my side. kinda hard to wade through snow alone.” fuck, now they knew it was deep, what if they picked up on the idea that the glove hadn’t been covered? leaky hadn’t mentioned it either way. “he didn’t do anything.” and neither did i! not this time! but he didn’t, that would be too much. 

“now, if you’ll direct your attention to this screen here, i have something that— barring appropriate authorities— no one has seen until now.” a picture of Greer suddenly appears on screen, all eyes trained on this new piece of information. all eyes but donovan’s which are locked onto the face of the person he’s interviewing, watching for any and every reaction. “this photo is shocking, i know. it was found in the faculty chalet the night of the blackout. do you know anything about the day it was taken or who might have taken it?”

suddenly he's slammed back into his body. his insides were practically crawling, eyes looking over at a beautiful greer, her eyes crossed out, but it was still so obviously her. and it was hella creepy. he gulped, almost comically. “y’all…found this?” what did the dean say? no wonder he let leaky off with just a talking to, he had more on his plate than a drunk footballer hitting on his daughter. what did her parents think? he hopes that seeing this show won’t be the first time they see this. “i…greer and i aren’t close.” weren’t, but he pretends to have hope. “so i have no clue but…” he trails off, his stare saying everything else. this is fucked up. and yet this is how the school is dealing with it? that might be even more fucked up. 

“do you have any idea why this photo might have been left with faculty that night? or, most pressing, what reason someone could have for vandalizing it in such a horrible way?” dr. hart is looking at him so intensely he might just pop right out of his seat and hightail it across campus to hide under his bed. but leaky stays seated, popping his knuckles instead to release any sort of tension he can. 

with a sigh he opens his mouth, “maybe a cry for help? that the students can’t do everything alone? we were trapped and no one came to make sure we were okay, and penny died. and greer…” his voice fades as he tears his eyes back toward the camera and then to dr. hart. “who knows what she was going through...is going through. but i think it’s clear…the adults need to help us too. help her, help us on the trip, on campus, friends with penny…” a far different cry from his praise of the therapists on campus too. “y’all are responsible too.” this was mentioned so quietly leaky is unsure if the boom mic can pick up on it. dr. hart makes no indication that he’s heard him either. 

"finally, it's been discovered that penelope, shortly before her untimely death, had mentioned to someone that she knew why greer had left. do you think that has anything to do with this photo? do you know why she might have left? even though being honest about it may seem scary, i promise you, it's the right thing to do. it's the only way we can protect you."

“no.” he states flatly, hands now smoothing across his pants. god, he’s getting antsy. he needs to call his mother, his father, his granny. anyone to remind him that life isn’t all of this. It’s not all mystery and death and disappearing acts and accusing old white men. but what if this is his life now? the choice he made to come here, to do what he did, to be who he was and…it all led here. was this his destiny? or his hell? looking up, he meets dr. hart’s eyes, almost pleading. “i don’t know why greer left. i’m not sure anyone does.” and he meant it, if they did they would have come forward by now right? that’s the right thing to do. what does leaky know about that. “but i…i don’t think this will help us find her.” it certainly didn’t feel like it would. “i just hope she…she knows people miss her. that we miss her. things obviously ain’t the same and-” he stops with a shake of his head, hand now wiping across his face as all words begin to fail him. 

“that’s it?” dr. hart looks expectantly.

“yea,” leaky nods, “that’s it."

[contact-guy]

okay some fav moments and thoughts:

-Agatha saying “give us a kiss” and Holmes says “I don’t know how” and there’s this weird pathos to his delivery because like. he really doesn't know how. it’s okay I’m okay

-in parallel, this moment with Watson at the burlesque show:

watson needs a version of those 'emotional support animal do not pet' vests that conveys 'ma'am i'm here to support my husband in his vendetta please do NOT attempt to flirt with me'

-Holmes pretending to be a plumber and being bad at it:

-Watson dressing up nice to go to an art show. no thoughts I just like it.

-this episode LEANS into the domesticity of Holmes and Watson. Many examples, but them talking as Holmes takes a bath with the door open is the chief one.

-Holmes hiding amongst his best friends the horses:

-Holmes and Mrs Hudson teasing each other (and the tiny smile he grants her at the very end of the episode)

-the dog that starts barking aggressively when Agatha kisses a very unenthusiastic Holmes…that’s me

-the scene where Holmes, Watson, and Milverton sit down and negotiate - okay I adapted this one very closely so I know it well. To have Watson deliver almost all of Holmes's canonical lines is such a CHOICE. It shows that they act for one another, shows the trust between them at this advanced stage in their partnership, shows that Watson can be the firm hand while Holmes sits back to observe...but it also shows that Watson - the more straight passing of the two - has a certain power in this situation, while Holmes as a very clearly queer man has a unique vulnerability. On a related note: I'm so glad I waited to do my version before watching this one, because it's SO masterful.

-getting ready for the burglary: "I see you have a natural talent for this kind of thing" "I WONDER where I learned it" please they're too much someone stop them

-I think what ultimately fascinates me about this story - and what this episode does really well - is that it is very atypical for a Holmes story. Usually Holmes has knowledge that the reader and Watson do not. He maintains a level of control over the situation, no matter how dire. But in Milverton, he's up against the simple and devastatingly blunt force of a man who will use shamelessly use societal norms to make money. "There's no reasoning to be DONE, Watson!" Holmes fairly screams. He has no choice but to resort to crime. "The cudgel before the brain," as Watson puts it.

-miss thing showing up in this outfit to commit murder (next to the bust of Athene no less). i don't say this lightly, but: mother.

-not to be egotistical, but the fact that both my adaptation and this one dwell on Milverton's glasses being broken when he dies...his all-seeing, shining eyes that peered into everyone's secret lives being destroyed...hell yeah visual storytelling

-okay and then Holmes purchasing the bust of Athene - and smashing it - and an ember from the fire landing on the piece with the eye, as if to signify that although this odious man is dead, there is still a societal surveillance that will forever watch him as a queer man.......who the FUCK gave them permission to do this

Actual footage of me watching the Granada Holmes episode of The Master Blackmailer

like I knew there was a gay subplot to the episode but no one prepared me for. no one prepared me for Holmes looking at his own reflection in the etching of Reichbenbach falls that hangs eternally over his mantelpiece, while contemplating a gay man who took his own life due to being outed. like. 1992 granada holmes who gave you the right?

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Three Doors Down

Title: Three Doors Down

Word Count: 11,000

Warnings: Bullying, descriptions of blood, a little bit of a slow start.

Summary: Alright, so maybe pretending to be Jeremy Gilbert's neighbor wasn't all that bad. After all, the kid's gorgeous cousin lived just three doors down. She stutters, but it's kinda cute... || Kol x Disabled!reader || Here lies my Masterlist

A/N: No, I am never going to stop with the disabled fics. Please note that any misrepresentation of Hypoxic brain injury and speech aphasia in this fic was done on purpose to make things clearer for those who are unfamiliar with the condition. Thank you!

"Dude, we can do anything you want, but not before we get some lunch. I swear, if I don't eat something soon, I'm gonna drop dead," Jeremy said, a little out of breath as he tugged his helmet off and placed it back on the shelf. 

"You're worse than me, mate," Kol chuckled. He twirled the wooden baseball bat in his hand and shook his head, pushing himself off the wall. Turning around, he moved over to his locker and opened it up. He messed up on the lock code the first try, not because he was trying to seem more human, but because he simply hadn’t bothered to memorize it and just resorted to listening for the click of the tumblers. No one would be able to tell the difference, however, so like most things, this just served to work in his favour. He stashed the bat and helmet in the locker and retrieved his camera bag, slinging it around his shoulder before closing the locker door. 

Kol Mikaelson was in Denver on his brother’s orders, posing as Jeremy Gilbert’s friend and neighbour from across the hall. He was here to serve as a proverbial axe poised just over the boy’s head so the kid could be used as motivation for a Benett witch to unlink him and his siblings. Kol despised following orders of any kind, even more so when they came from his brother, but he also liked not being dead so self-preservation was trumping his grudges and personal feelings for the time being. Besides, Nik’s doppelganger and her friends had the white oak stakes, and they were in Mystic Falls - easily 1,500 miles away from him - thus he was quite alright with leaving Nik and Bekah to handle that task. That way, if one or both of them messed up and they all died, then that was one less thing for them to pin on him in the afterlife. Anyway, Kol was there playing the part of Cole Mitchell, a British photography student shooting photos for a project about something to do with America and culture and whatnot. Though it had originally been a prop, Kol had actually come to enjoy photography beyond just playing pretend.

Jeremy raised a brow. "And what's that supposed to mean?" He asked, falling into step beside him.

Kol shrugged. "Well, my sister claims my mind is occupied solely with the thought of food, but I think you make me look tame. Do you ever think about anything else?" He teased. Jeremy just snorted, giving his newfound friend a playful shove which he returned in kind, naturally.

"Is this you telling me you wanna pick what we eat?" Jeremy demanded, ducking Kol's attempt to whack him upside the head.

"That is exactly what it is, mmhm," The taller boy stated matter-of-factly.

Jeremy rolled his eyes. "Okay, then what do you want?"

What he wanted wasn’t exactly something the human would like very much. He would just have to go find himself someone to snack on later.

"I wouldn't say no to never ending breadsticks…" Kol drawled, glancing at the younger boy with hopeful eyes and a cheeky grin.

"No way, man," The younger Gilbert scoffed. "I'm seriously too broke for Olive Garden."

"I'll pay!" The taller boy offered. 

"You don't have a job," Jeremy pointed out.

"Nope!" Kol cheered, flinging an arm around his shoulders. "But I do have two loaded parents who hate my guts!” The dysfunctional family was part of his cover story; no acting required there. “Thus, I get all the money I want as long as I stay far, far away from them. You know what that means?" 

"Drowning your emotions with spaghetti?" The kid guessed.

"Yeah, pretty much."

Jeremy laughed. "Alright, man, whatever you say. Let's just-" Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he stopped. “- Hold on just a sec…” He was staring at something at the other end of the batting cages. His relaxed disposition vanished and the smile on his lips morphed into a thin line. "There’s something I gotta take care of,” He muttered.

Kol stopped and caught his shoulder, frowning. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

The Gilbert boy didn’t answer, he just sighed and shot Kol an apologetic glance. “You know what? Why don’t you just go on ahead, I’ll be right behind you.” He started moving and Kol followed without a second thought.

“You look like you’re about to start a fight,” He remarked, trying to hide his amusement at the thought.

“I might,” Jeremy grumbled, his eyes still fixed straight ahead.

The vampire nodded and shrugged easily. “Well, you know what they say. Friends don’t let friends go to prison for assault and battery alone!” That comment earned a huff of a laugh and Kol turned his attention to what the other boy was so focused on.

Towards the other side of the batting cages, there were these three girls all standing around a fourth girl who was clearly their victim. The fourth had her back to a wall and the other three stood one on each side, boxing her in like a pack of hyenas. Though none of them were much taller than the girl they were ganging up on, they each wore these enormous heels that allowed them to tower over the girl in her grey sneakers. Now that he paid attention, he could hear them talking. The voice of the girl that was doing most of the talking - Kol would assume she was the leader - was high pitched and piercing and her tone was sickly sweet.

"You know, I actually really love what you've done with your hair, Y/N," The leader said. The other girl, Y/N, shifted her feet, tugging on the strap of her satchel. She stood sort of curled into herself and her eyes flicked nervously between the three girls as the first one continued to speak. "I mean, I think it looks really cute on you, yeah. Just makes me wonder why you did it." Y/N shook her head, shrugging a little. Kol wasn’t sure why her hair mattered but girls always seemed to make a big deal about stuff like that. "I mean, did you do it 'cause you want attention? I know I’m not you, but if I were then I don’t think I could handle any more than what you have to deal with all the time. Though, now that I think about it, that’s probably not the right kind of attention so, like, is there someone you're trying to impress? Oh! Or are you just attempting to go blonde so you can try and keep with the whole blue eyes, blonde hair, dumb ass thing you got going on?"

Y/N hung her head, shuffling her feet as the girls around her did nothing but laugh. Kol raised a brow and scowled. They  were within human earshot for that last bit, so he had to keep in character, though doing so wasn’t very difficult. For whatever reason, something about the situation just bothered him; he didn’t like seeing the shy girl getting ganged up on. It reminded him a little bit of his own family, and he didn’t like it. Clearly, Jeremy didn't have an ounce of patience for this sort of thing either.

"Well if she's dumb then, man, I'd hate to see your IQ scores," He remarked, comming to stand behind the girl doing most of the ridiculing. The leader turned around with the sort of smile Kol had seen more times than he could count. It probably would have been attractive had he not been able to see right through it. Now he just found it equal parts pathetic, hilarious, and revolting.

"Oh! Hi, Jeremy!" The lead girl's gaze flicked from the Gilbert boy to where Kol stood just behind him and she paused for a moment. Her eyes raked up and down Kol's figure and that smile of hers sharpened. He was used to reactions like hers by now, they amused him. "Who's your friend?" She asked, twirling a lock of hair around her finger in an attempt to be cute. He knew exactly what sort of thoughts were running through her head at that moment, he knew the game girls like her loved to play. He could play that game too, and he was much better at it.

"Someone way out of your league, darling,” Kol said, sending her a smile that was all teeth. The lead girl blinked and her smile faltered. She glanced at her little minions, clearly shocked.

"How many times do I have to tell you to leave Y/N alone?" Jeremy demanded, glaring at her. The lead girl recovered and shifted her attention back to him, rolling her eyes with a huff.

"I don’t know, maybe until I see a good reason why I should.” She smirked.

“Oh, I’ve got your reason,” The younger boy sneered, stepping forward. The other two girls took a step back, but the leader didn’t flinch. From behind them, Y/N looked up with wide eyes and shook her head at him frantically.

“What are you gonna do about it?” The leader challenged. “Ya’ gonna hit me?”

“Maybe,” Jeremy growled, taking another step. That was something Kol liked about Jeremy Gilbert, the boy reminded him a little bit of himself. He was an all-or-nothing sort of person and if he was going to confront someone then he wasn’t afraid to take it all the way. Kol, however, was older and he’d been raised better… in a way. He held a hand out to stop the kid.

“You don’t touch a lady, mate,” He muttered, shoving Jeremy back. The lead girl folded her arms and gave a prim little huff. Kol glanced up at her, raising a brow with another very fake, very threatening smile. “That being said, you, darling, are far from what qualifies as a lady and even further from deserving to be treated like one. You are a sad, pathetic little girl who preys upon the weaknesses of others to make herself feel better about her own insecurities. You are terrified that no one will ever have any respect for you and thus cannot stand it when another person has even a little bit for themselves. Now, if you have a modicum of intelligence, I would suggest you go home, rethink your life, and decide to do as my friend says and never come near this lovely young woman again.”

The girl’s mouth dropped open in shock. Then she clenched her teeth and hissed. “Or what?”

"Or I'll fetch an eraser and remove those eyebrows you drew on yourself this morning," The older boy supplied, not missing a beat. That seemed to have an effect. The ugly-pretty girl blinked and tried to hide her complete demoralization with a scoff.

"We-we were just kidding!" She defended. "Don't take things so seriously!"

Kol's smirk grew.  "Duly noted. Have a lovely day, darling." The girl pouted and slunk away, dragging her minions along and he waved at them as they left. It was quiet for a moment before Jeremy let out a low whistle.

“Dude…”

Kol just waved him off. “If there’s anything my parents ever taught me, it’s how to offer an insult. Now, are you going to introduce me to your friend or what?” 

He shifted his gaze to the girl left standing before him. Now that he actually took the time to look at her he noticed several things. The first being that she was beautiful, no question about it. Her’s wasn’t the show-stopping beauty of some, but rather an endearing sort of beauty. It was less something found in her face and more something he caught in her sparkling E/C eyes that gave him pause. Her eyes were deep and soulful and, good Thor, he could stare into them all day. Those eyes were so full of life and enthusiasm that he found himself wanting to smile; he could see why any woman - any person, really - would be jealous just looking at her. 

The second thing he noticed was her heartbeat. Her heart was racing as she now took the time to look at him. The reaction was similar to those of millions of other women when they first saw him, but the expression she wore was completely different. She was smiling, yes, but not in the way he had grown so used to. Her smile was enthusiastic and flattered, though a little bit shy as if she was surprised he could even see her but ecstatic that he could. She smiled at him like he was a dear friend, not like he was an object she was trying to appraise. The cynic in him wanted to call her a fool but, oddly enough, he found himself enjoying the change of pace. 

The third thing he noticed was the crescent-shaped devices perched over her ears. Hearing aids - as they were apparently called. They were bright green and she’d clearly had them for a while, which led him to wonder when she’d first gotten them and why. Although, the scars that caught his eye next led him to believe her hearing loss hadn’t been natural. Whatever the accident had been, he could tell it had happened a long time ago. The scars were pale and stretched from where she’d grown, they crisscrossed her cheek and jaw bone, moving down the right side of her neck where they disappeared beneath her shirt. Yet, they did nothing to mar her beauty. This girl had him looking twice… and that was a first.

“Um, sure.” Jeremy’s voice pulled him back to reality. “This is my cousin Y/N,” He said, gesturing back and forth between them. “And uh, Y/N, this is my friend-”

���Kol Mitchell,” He lied easily, stepping forward and offering his hand. Y/N smiled and took it, but instead of shaking, he pulled her hand to his mouth, leaving a soft kiss against her knuckle. She grinned, and her nose crinkled up in a way he couldn’t help but find adorable, and the laugh she made was more of a snicker than a girlish giggle. She surprised him - another first. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, darling.” Y/N nodded enthusiastically but said nothing. He tilted his head. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

There was a sharp pain sprouting from his side as Jeremy elbowed him in the ribs. “Aheh! Aheh! Shut up! Ahem!” He coughed, trying without success to disguise his words.

Kol shot him a questioning look but didn’t have time to ask. 

“It-it's al-alr-right.” 

The girl was the one to speak. It was strange, the way she said the word - as if she was learning how to say it out loud as she spoke. She nodded and smiled, waving her hand a little in a dismissive gesture. "H-hello, K-Ko-ol. Thank you for… for… uh, for, um…" She frowned and flicked her eyes upward as if trying to remember something. "For-for, um…" She started snapping her fingers. "What-what's the word? Gimme the word." 

"Defending you?" Jeremy suggested.

"Yeah!" She exclaimed. "Yeah, that's it! Thank you for de-defending me. A-and for ke-eeping Jer-rr out of pr-risio-on."

"Eh, it was nothing. What are friends for?" He shrugged. 

"B-bail money," She replied.

Kol snorted, that was actually pretty good. He was surprised by her quick wit because she didn't seem like the sardonic type. "So how exactly are you two related?" He asked, gesturing between them. He didn't actually care, he just wanted to ascertain whether or not the girl was aware of the supernatural. The two cousins looked similar in age, though Y/N seemed just a little older and he knew the Gilbert family had a legacy but was unsure if their sense of duty had spread through the family tree. He thought it unlikely considering how clueless the kid seemed to be, but he couldn't rule it out.

"Uh, on my mom's side," Jeremy answered. 

"Sh-she was my Da-ad's sis-t-ter," Y/N added. Alright, so he would label her awareness as a loose maybe.

"You know what? No, I just can't see the resemblance," He joked. "You're much too gorgeous to be related to him." He jabbed a thumb in Jeremy's direction, simultaneously dodging another jab in the ribs from the same while his cousin just snorted.

"I've seen you," She said. "I-I've seen you places a-and h-here when I'm doing. I-I should - no, uh, I wanted to… I-I wanted to… um…" The girl started snapping her fingers again, bouncing on her heels. "What's the word? It's, um, what is it?"

He frowned. Again, that stutter irked him. Women often struggled to think clearly around him - an occurrence he enjoyed thoroughly - but she didn't seem nervous. A little shy, maybe, but not enough to be stumbling every other word. Then there was her speech pattern. While her voice was pleasant, it sounded almost hampered by something; she spoke in a halting way that put emphasis where it wouldn't typically belong. If he didn't know better, he would have thought her brain and her mouth couldn't agree on what they were trying to say.

"Help? Uh… talk?" Jeremy tried. 

"No, no!" Y/N cut him off. "L-Let me get it! It's uh…" She scowled. "Ugh… it's… GREET! Yeah! I sh-wanted to g-reet you w-when you come, er, came. Your eyes- I saw them a-and th-thinking you were ni-ice. But there's a… there's a…"

"Reason," Her cousin muttered.

"Uh, huh. There's a reaso-on I don't ta-alk to… to, uh…"

"People." 

"To people." Y/N's voice faltered to a whisper and she looked away, fixing her eyes on her shoes. 

Kol nodded. "I see. Darling, not to be rude, but I can't help but notice the way you speak. Am I allowed to ask about that?" He wondered.   

Jeremy shot his cousin a sidelong glance. She smiled slightly and nodded at him. "Um, I don't know what it's called…" He trailed off.

"It's spe-ech a-apha-aphasia. From, uh, from H-Hypox-Hypox-oxia," She told him quietly.

"And what is that exactly?" He wasn't strictly familiar with modern medical terms. 

"Oxy-Oxygen def-deficie-en-ency in-in the brain for an exten-en-ded period-d of time that caus-s-es perm- uh, u-um… perma-perma… um…"

"Permanent."

"Yeah, perma-nent brain d-dam-damage," She admitted in a whisper. So Y/N was like him then, damaged beyond repair. That was something he could understand.

"Yeah." Jeremy reached out and draped his arm around her shoulder, comfortingly. "Car crash. Happened when she was six. Y/N and her mom were driving home one night and a drunk driver ran 'em off the bridge and into the water. A lot like what happened to my parents, 'cept my aunt was able to get out and she got Y/N out, but she'd been under for too long." He sighed. "She ended up with hearing loss too but the doctors said it was a miracle she made it at all."

"Ah, I see." He nodded. The girl just fixed her eyes on her feet ashamedly. Not that there was any reason she should. Losing a part of one's self wasn't something to apologise for, he knew that better than most. "Well, I'm glad you did, darling," Kol said, offering her a small smile. 

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." He smirked and figured he would try his luck. "May I just say you have the most fascinating eyes I've ever seen?"

Y/N shook her head, blushing and hiding her face in her hair. 

"Here we go again," Jeremy muttered. Kol shot him a cheeky smile before reaching out to touch Y/N gently on the hand. She had soft hands. 

"We were just about to grab something to eat, would you like to come with?" Because he was actually rather enjoying not having to be anyone and as long as he was faking one friendship, he might as well go for two. Besides, Y/N was interesting and for some reason he couldn't quite place, Kol found himself drawn to her. 

The girl lifted her head, blinking in surprise. She glanced between the two boys, seeming almost confused. "Y-you want me t-o?" She asked. 

Kol raised a brow. "Well, I am inviting you so… obviously," He said with a charming smile.

Y/N's eyes gained a suspicious gleam. "Wh-why?" He opened his mouth to answer when Jeremy spoke for him.

"'Cause he's a nice guy, Y/N/N," The Gilbert boy reassured his cousin. "I mean, yeah, he flirts with anything that breathes, and I apologise in advance for that, but he's not inviting you along just so he can make fun of you." The girl didn't seem entirely convinced but she nodded anyway, deciding to trust him.

"I'm sorry but… do people do that often? Stab you in the back like that?" Kol wondered. The idea seemed unnecessarily cruel to him and certainly uncalled for. 

Neither of the cousins answered, but Jeremy looked up with an expression that told him all he needed to know. He gave Y/N's shoulder a little squeeze and Kol could tell that the boy was extremely protective of her, which wasn't hard to understand. What he couldn't seem to comprehend, however, was why he - Kol bloody Mikaelson - suddenly felt the same way. Perhaps it was something about her frail stature or the way she'd been ostracized by her peers. She was small, like Henrik had been, and with the same willful yet vulnerable heart as Rebekah. 

"Well, those people are clearly idiots," He replied with an empathetic smile. "Do you like Olive Garden?"

The girl's eyes widened. "Olive Garden? Yell heah!" She cheered, grinning. He snickered at her little mistake, perhaps some would find it annoying but he just thought it was cute. "Sooo… we fr-riends?"

"Of course, darling. I defended your honor and now I'm inviting you to lunch - that practically makes us cousins," Kol mused. Her enthusiasm made him smile. Y/N's eyes flew wide and she gawked at him, then she turned to Jeremy in disbelief. 

"Fr-friends!" She squealed. Her cousin chuckled and nodded, clearly not as shocked by this as her. She turned back to Kol and threw her arms around him. He froze, unsure what the girl was hugging him for before accepting her embrace. She tapped his back softly.

"One," She muttered. "No, no… that's wrong… Start?"

"Do you mean first?" Kol guessed.

"Yeah! Yeah. You're my… my first! That's it." She hugged him a little tighter. "You're m-my first."

The one-thousand-year-old original found himself smiling then, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “In that case, I’m honored.”

***

Food is always good; however, it’s even better when someone else is paying for it. You had offered to pay for yourself but Kol had adamantly refused. You had been wary of tagging along with your cousin and his friend, having no desire to be the third wheel but you were pleasantly surprised when that wasn’t the case at all. Kol gave you the same attention he gave Jeremy and that surprised you. People didn’t really do that outside your family because everyone else didn’t care enough to put forth the effort. Yet, Kol did and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. He was animated and lively when talking and an equally engaged listener - he was fun! The three of you talked about all sorts of things while eating breadsticks like there was no tomorrow. 

So far you had learned that his favorite color was purple (he insisted there was no such thing as a ‘girly’ color), he was insanely good at close up magic (the guy was wearing short sleeves and he disappeared a pen right in front of your face), his family was apparently wealthy but he didn’t like rich people, his favorite animal was the fox, his favorite dinosaur was the velociraptor, he was claustrophobic (for reasons he would not expound upon), he spoke multiple languages (because his parents were apparently unpleasable and once you learn one of each type you can figure the rest out pretty easily), and when he was a kid he had wanted to grow up and become a professional wizard. 

“A-are you lov-ved?” You asked next, mentally cringing a second after the words left your mouth. That was just your condition; you knew what you wanted to say but could never find the right words to say it how you meant. Often your words offended people, it was one reason why you’d never really had a friend outside of your family. Over the course of your conversation with him, you had put together that Kol came from a dysfunctional family; thus, it wasn’t exactly hard to see how your words could hurt him.

The British boy choked on his drink. “Excuse me?” He strangled out. You saw a twinge of hurt flash through his eyes and you wanted to run and hide.

“No, no! That’s not… I m-mean are-are you, uh… Do you… Do you, um…” You started snapping your fingers, trying to remember and looked desperately to Jeremy for help. He just shrugged, equally as confused as Kol. “What’s the word? It’s… It’s, uh… Where did it go?” You couldn’t remember the word you were looking for and you could feel your cheeks begin to burn as you grew more and more frustrated and flustered. You bit your lip and tore your fingers through your hair - another one of your nervous tics when you struggled, like snapping your fingers or bouncing your feet. A lock of hair got caught around your birthstone ring, tugging painfully and giving you a sudden idea. You gasped and slipped the ring off your finger. “Ring!” You exclaimed. The two boys glanced at each other, still confused and you huffed. Kol made a shocked noise when you suddenly snatched his right hand off the table, pointing first at his ring finger and then at yours and then holding up your ring. “Ring!” You said again.

Then something seemed to dawn on him and he smiled. “Wait, are you asking if I have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah! Yeah.” You relaxed, feeling a shy smile flutter across your face which was surely flushed. 

“Well, no, actually, I don’t have one - not at the moment - but I’m open to auditions.” A slow but very cheeky grin spread across Kol’s lips. The boy was a thousand miles beyond cute and he knew it. “Why is it that you ask, darling?” 

“‘Cuz she’s into you,” Jeremy said through a mouthful of breadstick. Now it was your turn to choke on your drink. 

“N-no! I just-” Jeremy cut you off, pointing his breadstick in your face.

“Liar,” He deadpanned. Then he turned to Kol. “She never makes this much of an effort to talk to anyone. Not even me. I mean, I think this is the most I’ve ever heard her actually speak. Most of the time she just uses google translate or this funky text to speech thing to talk for her.” 

You glared at him and made a show of pulling your phone out of your bag and turning it on before typing something in. Thankfully, you had fast fingers. “It’s pretty hard to type while you’re eating, dofus.” Your phone said in the monotone voice of a computer.

“Is it really?” He challenged. “I bet I could do it.” You typed another message. 

“There is no way you’re touching my phone, butterfingers.” 

Your cousin rolled his eyes. “I dropped that lego set one time,” He insisted. “And that still doesn’t explain why you’re so chatty. I haven’t heard you talk this much since you were six!”

You raised a brow at him. “It's a little thing called being polite. No one has bothered to engage me in a conversation since I was six, outside of our family, but I don’t have to be polite to you maggots.” 

Kol laughed at that but quickly tried to cover it with a cough.

“Why don’t you just admit it?” Jeremy pressed, leaning over to ruffle your hair. You moved to smack his hand away but he used the opportunity to snatch your phone out of your other hand. When you reached for it back he held it out of reach. “Nope!”

“Give!” You demanded. You reached for it again but he quickly slid it over the table to Kol who swiped it up. He glanced from the phone to you and back with a very satisfied smirk. 

You raised a brow. “Not girl talking with you. I’m a gir-rl. Not you.”

“Well, you certainly have the figure of one,” Kol pointed out. His eyes wandered to your neckline and you knew he did that just to make you blush and of course, it worked. You weren’t used to being noticed.

Jeremy groaned and dragged a hand over his face. “Dude, this is Olive Garden. Could you not?”

Kol shrugged. “You’re the one who brought this up,” He retorted. 

“Well, someone had to. I know a good thing when I see it, but you’re too stupid, and she’d never admit it,” Your cousin claimed. You scoffed, that boy wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit him on the rear. “If I’ve learned anything this past year, it’s that drama sucks. So, yeah, just kiss but not here and not in front of me. Get a room.”

“I have one.” Kol smirked. “It’s right across from yours.”

Jeremy frowned and turned back to you. “Nevermind. Stay single, please.”

You groaned and put your head down on the table. A waitress must have seen because a second later, one was kneeling beside you.

"Are you alright, miss?" 

You glanced up and nodded before picking up a breadstick from the basket.

"How many of, uh, of these to cl-clean-cleanse a sou-l."

The woman frowned. "The jury's out on that one, sweetheart."

You hummed and sent her a thumbs up. She walked away. When you finally worked up the courage to look back up at Kol, he was staring at you which didn't help your confidence in the slightest. He seemed a little out of it, though. His eyes were glazed over and they fixated on your shoulder… or was it your neck he was staring at? He was probably just lost in thought so you waved a hand in front of his face. 

The boy blinked and met your eyes with a slight frown.

"I'm sorry, but I just remembered that there's something I need to take care of. I need to go," He said, standing up. His tone was remorseful but there was a trace of something else… something uncomfortable. You frowned.

"Oh…" You knew you would probably never see him again. At least, nothing more than a brief encounter on the street. You were a fool to think he actually tolerated you - a person who was a burden simply to talk with. "I'll look ar-round."

"It's 'I'll see you around'," Jeremy muttered.

"I mean, I'll see you ar-around," You corrected yourself in a whisper. You expected him to just leave then but he lingered. 

"You really do have the most captivating eyes, Y/N," He said. You just kept your gaze on your lap and nodded, not wanting to watch him go. Then, you felt a finger lifting your chin, guiding you to look up. "You know, when someone calls you beautiful, it usually means they like looking at you." He smiled a little and all you did was nod. You were trying really hard not to let him see you cry. "When can I see you again?" He asked softly. 

You blinked and finally met his eyes. "Y-you want to see me?"

Kol chuckled. "As a matter of fact, darling, I do."

"A-any-t-time. Jus-just hit," You said. He raised a brow.

"Oh, we didn't tell you?" Jeremy asked, leaning forward. 

"Tell me what?" The British boy asked. 

"Y/N lives three doors down from you. She means knock, by the way, not hit," Your cousin supplied.

"Uh, huh," You agreed. Kol grinned and you were surprised by how genuine it seemed. 

"Well, you can be sure I won't keep you waiting long." Then he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead. Kol's lips sent bolts of electricity down your spine and through your limbs. Then he turned to leave.

You gasped. “Game nigh-t-t?!” You suggested. He stopped at the door and glanced back, spreading his arms.

“Why not? There's always time for games!”

So three nights later, that’s exactly what the three of you did, deciding to play board games instead of video games, at your suggestion. The event was held in your apartment, on your kitchen floor because you didn’t have a table big enough, and Kol had shown up wearing one of those tacky poker vizors. After getting your butts handed to you in Monopoly, you and your cousin decided to play Uno and unleash the full power of all the draw four cards you could find on Kol who had been less than amused. Currently, the sun outside your window was sinking low in the sky and the three of you had moved on to the Game of Life. Evidently, Kol had never really played board games before because his parents were jerks so explaining the game took a while.

See you were quickly approaching 8:00 PM and by nature that meant things were very dark, which was a problem because your apartment didn't have enough light to see the game you were playing. Luckily, you were prepared. 

"Y/N, your lights in here are awful," Your cousin declared, squinting in an attempt to see his cards.

"I hate to agree with him, darling, but I can't even see how badly I'm losing," Kol hummed.

"You got anything to fix that?" Jeremy wondered. You nodded vigorously and scrambled to get off the floor, moving over to the cupboards. You reached in, pulling out a long tube and a bowl full of little plastic pieces. 

"Sn-nap light!" You cheered, pouring a few hundred glow sticks out on the floor in front of you. 

"Glow sticks, Y/N/N," Jeremy sighed. "They're called glow sticks."

"Uh, huh. Yeah." You giggled a little and glanced at Kol who was studying the multicolored rods as if he'd never seen one before. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe British people didn't have glow sticks - you'd been born and raised in Denver so you wouldn't know - or maybe his parents had just been truly awful. You grabbed three of the sticks and cracked them, watching Kol's eyes widen as they began to glow. Then you used the plastic pieces to fashion them into a ring, which you proceeded to place on his head. He went a little cross-eyed, grinning as he tried to look at it.

"A crown fit for a king," He announced. He reached forward and grabbed a handful of sticks from the pile, copying what you had done. "And one for a queen." Kol placed the so-called crown on your head and you smiled, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek. It was a quick, impulsive thing and both parties involved were equally surprised. Your insides felt all tingly.

"Do I even wanna know where you got all these things?" Your cousin demanded, cracking two handfuls of the little rods. Glow sticks may not give off much light but you had a lot of them, like a LOT.

"Uh…." You snapped your fingers a few times. "The… The groove?"

"You mean that dance a few weeks ago?" He guessed. "Why would you-"

"Free!" You claimed defensively. The people running the thing had been desperate to get rid of all the extras so you had done your part. You weren't one to turn down free stuff no matter how unnecessary it was. 

You continued to play the game, all the while making more and more rings with the glow sticks. Your cousin wouldn't permit you to make him into a human light fixture but Kol just laughed and let you hang as many glowing rings on him as your heart desired. There were quite a few by the time you were done.

"Ph-phone!" You held out your hand expectantly.

"What do you need mine for?" He asked, regarding you with a somewhat cagey expression. You could feel a throbbing ache beginning to build at the base of your skull but you didn't want the night to end so you decided not to start a wrestling match with your frontal lobe. Instead, you opted to make a rectangle with your fingers and a little click-click sound with your mouth. "A picture?" He clarified.

"Yeah."

"Alright then," He grinned, shaking his head. "Just be sure to get my good side." He handed you his phone and you took the picture, flipping it around to show him when you were done. "You're going to steal my career, darling," He said. You just snickered. "Hey, why don't you send that to my sister? I think she's under the contact name: Fingernails."

"Fingern-ails?" You repeated. What kind of contact name was that? Kol just smirked.

"Yep. Fingernails."

"Okay…" You went searching through his contacts and Jeremy came to lean over your shoulder.

"Dude, what is with your contact names on here? I mean first Fingernails…and here's uh… Rover… The Stick + The Mud… this one's just an eyeroll emoji…" Your cousin laughed and Kol shrugged, taking his turn. "What, do you have something against using names?"

"Yes," He replied with a smirk. There was something behind that expression but you didn't know what.

"What d-did you ca-call me?" You asked.

"Oh, I don't think I have your number," He replied. "Which is a criminal offense on my part, now that I think of it. Here, put your number on that while you've got it."

"Okay." You did as you'd been told, sending the picture to his sister and putting in your number. "Back." You passed it back to him. He thanked you with a soft smile and glanced down to read what you'd sent along with his picture.

"Really, darling?" He sighed, though his lips were twitching. "I'm a pretty, pretty princess? That's what you choose to send?" You just nodded vigorously, a cheeky smile spreading across your face. Kol glanced up and his chocolate eyes met yours. He was just looking at you but no one had really done that before, you weren't used to attention that wasn't annoyed or pitying. Your cheeks heated and you tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear.

"W-what?" You mumbled. Was there something wrong? Had you done something? 

"Nothing." He shook his head. "You're just adorable."

You ducked your head, unable to keep the smile off your face. Why was he so kind to you? People didn't do that. So why did he? You didn't get it.

"Your turn, Romeo," Jeremy interrupted, snacking on a bag of pretzels. 

Kol just laughed and took his turn. He moved his piece along the board and his face fell. "Tree falls on house, pay seventy-five thousand if not insured. Great." You snickered and reached up to ruffle his hair.

"Sucks to be you," Jeremy supplied. "So what's my contact name on your phone?"

"Han Solo," Kol replied without missing a beat. Jeremy nodded.

"I can live with that."

"Me?" You asked hopefully. Kol hummed.

"Let me think…" His eyes skimmed up and down your figure and you knew he did that just to make you blush. A smirk spread across his lips when it worked. "Candy," He decided.

You tilted your head. "W-why?"

"Because you're sweet," He answered with a shrug. "And eye candy," He added under his breath.

Kol's response made you laugh, which subsequently made you flinch at the pain that jolted through your skull. That migraine wasn't going away. Your heart sank, you had really been enjoying yourself. Now you had to be the one to end things. This was why no one wanted to be friends with you; geez, you were always such an inconvenience.

"Whoa-" Jeremy placed a hand on your shoulder. "You good, Y/N?"

You shook your head, rubbing your temple. "Mi-migr-ra-raine," You stuttered out, guilt taking over your features. "I'm sorry. I just- I can't-"

"You want us to leave?" Your cousin asked. Kol was watching you intently but you couldn't meet his eyes. Always an inconvenience.

You shook your head. "I'm so s-sorry."

"Well that's just bloody fantastic," Kol spoke up. You flinched a little at his words, though they didn't sound particularly angry or even annoyed. "How convenient of you to make friends with possibly the only person on the planet who knows how to cure a migraine." You glanced up and there he was, smiling at you as though this changed nothing. As though this wasn't just another reason to prove you were more trouble than you were worth. He smiled as if - No. That wasn't a thought worth entertaining. You weren't going to delude yourself into getting your hopes up.

"A, uh, a cure?" You asked, a little bit skeptical.

"Not for the cause, I'm afraid - just the pain," He said. But that was enough for you. "Would you like to try it? It's back in my flat but I can go and get it, if you'd like."

"Apartment," Jeremy muttered under his breath.

"Flat," Kol affirmed, eying you with an expectant gaze. You just shrugged.

"Y-you had me a-at-t pa-ain."

Kol blinked. "That's… good to know." You could see the smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth and you groaned, hiding your face. He barely withheld his laughter as he patted your arm and got up, moving towards the door. "It's alright, darling, it's cute - part of your charm. I'll just go get that out of my flat. Be right back."

"Apartment," Jeremy grumbled.

"Flat!" Kol countered.

"This is America! It's called an apartment!"

"I'm British! I'm calling it a flat!" He shut the door sharply behind him, effectively ending the debate. You would have found their ridiculous banter amusing if not for your migraine. The harsh bang of the door reverberated painfully through your aching skull and you whimpered. The door opened just enough for Kol to peak his head back in with a sheepish expression. "Sorry 'bout that." He closed the door again, much quieter this time, and you sighed.

As far as his supposed migraine cure went, you weren't exactly convinced. You had been dealing with frequent migraines since the accident and though you took medication for it, it could only decrease the frequency of your migraine days. The pain was the real problem and nothing, it seemed, could make the vicious combination of searing, pounding, and ringing sensations disappear completely. But that was your lot in life. Your bedside table was a pharmacy and you knew the local hospital staff on a first-name basis. A normal life just wasn't in the cards for you and you had given up hoping for one a while ago.

"Do you think this migraine cure will actually work, or are you just humoring him?" Your cousin asked, taking his turn. You lifted your head just enough to look at him, lifting a very weary eyebrow. "No, huh? Is it 'cause you think he's full of crap or 'cause you just don't wanna get your hopes up?" You clicked your tongue and shot a finger gun at him. "Little bit of both?" He clarified. You nodded; non-verbal communication was just easier, especially when it was just you and Jeremy. You didn't have to perform for him, anyone else was another story.

"You know… you're allowed to like him, Y/N," Jeremy tried, sounding a little hesitant but convinced. "I mean, there's no law that says you can't." You huffed a bitter laugh. It must have been so easy for him to say that.

"Yes, there i-is," You muttered, a sour smile creeping across your face.

Jeremy sighed, giving you that same look as so many others. It was pity and you hated it. "Y/N, what those girls say-"

"I-I-I d-don't care, really. I-I don't-" You shook your head. "I'm a… uh… um… I'm not-not… um… what's the word?" You tapped your hand softly against your thigh, not wishing to insight further wrath from your migraine. "Bird? No, no…. Burden! Yeah. I'm a bur-burden, Jer. I-I'm not gonna ma-make him, o-or any-o-one, de-eal with me." That wasn't his responsibility. You couldn't expect anyone to actually like you and you weren't going to put Kol in a position where he would feel obligated to cater to a silly crush on your part. You knew he only hung around you because of Jeremy - you knew that - but as long as he wasn't actively protesting your presence, you would enjoy his. You had learned to be a scavenger by now. 

Before Jeremy could say anything else, the door opened and Kol appeared with a steaming mug of something or other. "You two better not have stolen anything from me while I was out," He warned playfully. You rolled your eyes and he sat down on the floor across from you again, sliding the mug over. "There we are. I hope it's not too hot." The liquid inside the mug was a questionable peach sort of color and question it you did. "Oh, come on, darling! It's not going to hurt you, I promise it'll help." The expression on Kol's face seemed sincere, so you sent him a soft smile.

Lifting the cup to your lips you took a small sip. The taste was earthy, yet sweet with a hint of something you couldn't quite place. "What's in h-he-ere?" You wondered, enjoying the drink's pleasant warmth.

"It's herbal tea." Kol shrugged. "With a secret ingredient, of course."

"Sp-spill," You demanded. The boy scoffed.

"And give you an excuse to get rid of me? I don't think so, darling. Now take your turn." You rolled your eyes but did as you were told. You passed two payday spaces and found buried treasure so you weren't going to complain. Play moved around the board two more times before Kol spoke up again. "So how do you feel?"

Well, you felt a little tingly but other than that-

Wait.

The pain was gone. Just gone. You hadn���t even noticed it leave.

"G-Good… I'm… I'm good!" You exclaimed with a bright laugh. "No h-hurt!"

Kol grinned and there was something unusually soft in it that made you feel something strange. You felt… special. "See? What did I tell you?"

You didn't give him time to be cocky, opting to tackle him in a hug before he had a chance to react. He seemed surprised but wrapped his arms around you a moment later. You buried your face in his neck and hoped how tight you were holding him could communicate the gratitude you could never say.

"Somebody's enthusiastic," Kol chuckled. You just held on tighter. "Ah! I'm being strangled! Jeremy, she's trying to murder me!"

"Don't act like you don't like it," Your cousin scoffed. 

You snickered and Kol shifted your weight easily so he could glare at your cousin over your shoulder. "Load of help you are." 

"Thank you, Ko-ol," You whispered. For once, you really truly meant it. 

You felt Kol's hands smooth over your back, settling around your waist as he turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "My pleasure, love." He sounded like he meant it too.

"Seriously? Right here? Ugh, just take your turn, Y/N. You guys can make out when I leave," Jeremy grumbled. Your cheeks flared with heat and you let go of Kol, moving back to your seat to take your turn. The game ended a few turns later and Jeremy won, only because he'd stolen your salary card at the last second so you had ended up coming in second. Poor Kol had come in last and suffice it to say, he wasn't too happy about that. 

"I still think you cheated," The British boy insisted as he helped clean up the game.

Jeremy shrugged. "You're the one who chose to skip college, man."

"It's his first time playing, give him a break." You had your phone out and let it do the talking.

Your cousin just shook his head with a smile. "Well, guys I gotta go, I've got work tomorrow. This was fun, though."

"We should do it again," Kol agreed. 

Jeremy moved over to you and gave you a hug. "Be good," He hissed in your ear. He didn't give you time to smack him before he went for the door. Then he turned to Kol. "Hurt her and I'll kill you."

Kol nodded, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips. "Noted."

Jeremy sent him a thumbs up and you a wink. "Also, keep it down. 'Night!" He closed the door before you could throw anything at him and heaven knows you would have.

You groaned. What was his problem? Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? He probably thought he was being funny, but he really wasn't. His words just hurt, really because you knew you were hopeless. Kol would never like you that way, no one ever had and no one ever would, least of all him! He was so far out of your league you couldn't even see that far. He was handsome, witty, well-spoken, and British! And what were you? A broken Plain-Jane with speech aphasia who takes glow sticks from parties to make up for the fact that no one asked her to dance. Oh yeah, you had it all going for you.

"So, just you and me now, eh? Whatever will we do to pass the time?" Kol drawled, throwing himself down on the couch beside you. The grin he wore reminded you of a puppy somewhat, full of energy. You gave him your best attempt at a smile in return. 

"It's okay, Kol. You can go now, if you want." If you spoke, you were sure your voice would betray what you really felt and you hated crying. 

Kol's face fell. "Darling, is everything alright? Did I do something?" He seemed oddly sincere in his question and a tad bit nervous if you were reading him right. You had thought he was just a flirt for the fun of it but maybe… No. Getting your hopes up would only hurt. But Kol reached out and placed a hand on your knee and hope started to creep into your heart without your permission. 

"Jer-Jeremy's go-one. You-You don't have to put u-up with-with me any-any-any-m-more." You stuttered and stumbled but perhaps it was better to say this yourself. "I know-ow you o-only h-h-hang out with me be-because of-of him." You looked away, letting your hair fall over your face like a curtain.

"Y/N…" His voice was soft and had you been looking you were sure you would have seen pity drawn across his features. "That's not true."

A bitter laugh escaped you as you shook your head. "D-don't say, uh, that. Don't, um… um… w-what is it? Uh… Don't, uh… Lie. Yeah. Don't lie." That sounded harsher than you meant it to but you could barely get it out at all. "P-pity doesn't h-help me. Don't do it."

"I'm not pitying you," He insisted.

"You-You al-already did. Not-not trying though," You sighed. It was always the same. Everyone thought that they were being helpful or kind but their attempts only served to burn you further. It would be better if they just did nothing at all.

"Y/N, please look at me." His tone was patient but you shook your head, content to hide behind your hair. Apparently, such a response wasn't enough for him. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as Kol's hand trailed higher on your leg. The pressure of his fingertips was all you could register and your eyes shot up to meet his. He watched you with concern and it… it looked real. "I'm not lying to you, darling. Jeremy and I are mates, but that has nothing to do with you and me. What I think of you, how I behave in your presence, that's for me to decide - it has nothing to do with him. If I choose to spend my time with a beautiful girl, it's because I enjoy her company… simple as that."

That wasn't an idea you could comprehend. People didn't enjoy your company, that was just part of your life. You were used to being ignored and pushed away. Anything else didn't make sense.

"No…" You shook your head. "No that's not-" Then it hit you. It hit you like a ton of bricks. Kol had just called you beautiful. The thought gave you pause and you frowned. "I-I'm not pr-retty." You had scars from the accident. They covered your shoulders, neck, chest, and back. Some even crossed your cheeks. They didn't make you beautiful.

Yet, Kol lifted his other hand and brought it up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing along one of those old scars. There was something in his eyes - it was focused and real. "Pretty? No." He smiled. "Gorgeous? Absolutely."

"No-no one else…" You struggled to find the words in your scattered, damaged mind. But as he stroked your cheek, your thoughts were consumed by the warmth that seemed to overtake you. You couldn't stop yourself from leaning into his touch, and when you did, the joy - the excitement - that flickered to life across his face made your heart pound. The guarded quality he always kept melted away, leaving his eyes kind and innocent.

"I think you'll come to find-" He began softly, leaning in closer. His right hand shifted ever so slightly higher and you swallowed deeply as his fingertips tenderly clinched your thigh. "-that I'm quite a bit different from other people you've met."

"Wha-what, um… speaking like?" You shook your head, unable to make sense of it - of him. Everyone always wanted something. What was it that he wanted from you? "How? How dif-different?"

The boy sighed, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Well, for one thing, I understand what it's like to lose a part of yourself," He claimed. You nodded, encouraging him to continue, and with a shaking breath, he did. "Something happened when I was younger and-and I lost the thing that made me… that made me. It-It was just… in a snap -" He snapped his fingers. "- it was gone. Gone and I couldn't have it back." 

You could hardly believe it. He understood. He understood. He wasn't lying. In your lifetime of people trying to sugar coat things, you had gotten quite good at spotting a liar. But Kol was telling the truth. You could see it in the hurt contained in his eyes and feel it in the tremble that wracked his hands. 

He really did know, and for the first time in so, so long - longer than you could remember - you truly weren't alone. It felt wondrous. And that boy, he leaned in closer to you still. 

"I know what it's like to yearn for something you can't have; something just out of reach, so close you can taste it on the tip of your tongue..." Your foreheads were nearly touching and you hadn't realized it until now, but his eyes were fixed on your lips and he was still talking. "So close but you just can't have it and you keep reaching, keep hoping, but every time it dissolves in your grip, a little piece of you dies. And all you want is what's right in front of you…" His voice was so soft, just a dull mutter and you couldn't really hear it - so soft your hearing aids couldn't pick it out. But you could read the words on his lips and feel them in the air he breathed as it ghosted over your face. His eyes were on your lips and his breathing was heavy. It was like a spell and you wanted to kiss him. "So close… but not for you to keep…"

Kol's lips brushed over yours so gently you wouldn't have sensed it had you not been so hyper-aware of him at that moment. Your eyes fluttered closed and though there were butterflies filling your whole being, you felt oddly relaxed. Maybe it was the way he held you - as if you meant something - as if you were something he wanted. The feeling that flooded you then was odd - it was pure and blissful and right, right, right! What was it? You didn't know, you had no word for it.

"What i-is this?" You asked breathlessly. The lack of air was marvelous.

"Something I shouldn't do," He replied, too low for you to hear. You felt the words against your lips, reading them like Braille. And Kol shifted his hands to your waist, squeezing lightly. 

"No?" You breathed. He was so close.

His lips nipped at yours just the slightest bit. "I shouldn't…" He shook his head a fraction and nipped again. "I-I shouldn't…" It was almost as if he were fighting something. Your hands moved on their own it seemed and fisted his shirt. It was something to feel - something you could believe in. You didn't know what he was fighting but you wanted this moment to win.

Kol cursed.

"But I want to." 

And he was kissing you. He closed the space between you, setting your senses on fire. His lips were soft and warm and the way he moved was so sweet. You gasped against his mouth and he just kissed you harder. The experience was so strange, you had never kissed anyone before but Kol felt so safe. You felt so safe with him. The way he cradled you like you were something to be cherished sent something beautiful burning through your soul. It was real, he was real, he meant it - you knew it. He tangled one hand in your hair, tugging on the roots just a bit because he needed to make sure you were real too. Kol's mouth lingered, but one kiss wasn't enough for him and he was right - it wasn't enough for you either. He came back for more, pressing you closer to him. Each kiss seemed more adoringly hungry than the last. For each time his lips captured yours and for each time he pulled away, you counted: 

One… Two… Three…  

A quick breath in-

Four… Five…

Kol moaned sweetly, slipping a hand beneath your shirt - just so he could touch your skin. He didn't want anything else at that moment, only you.

Six… Seven… Eight…

He broke away, only for a moment and only so he could speak. You opened your eyes to look at him and he was perfect. He licked his lips. His voice was hoarse and pleading, his breaths ragged -

"Lay back." 

And you did. Because Kol was safe. His lips found yours again and he positioned himself over you.

Nine… Ten…

Kol's perfect kisses left your lips, moving lower. Over your jaw, down your throat. He tugged at your shirt to leave a trail of tantalizing bruises along your collar bone and back up. He stopped at your jugular, pressing his lips against your pulse and groaning as if he were in pain… Why was he in pain?

"This wasn't in the plan," He murmured against your neck. "I should stop… I need to stop." Words spoken absently, as if to convince someone else.

You frowned and opened your eyes. "My f-fault?"

"No." He sighed heavily and his grip on your waist tightened. “No, it's not your fault.” With one final, lasting kiss to your lips, he shifted his hold on you and moved over so he could lay by your side. Twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, he smiled at you. "If anything, you're a little too fantastic." You weren’t sure what he meant and for a moment you wished you could read his mind. You wanted to know everything he was thinking.

"I don't see in-inside," You said, frowning. You ran a hand through his hair because you could and to tell him what you meant.

Kol laughed softly. "I'm saying I fancy you, darling.” He slid his hand away from your waist, over your hip, and down your thigh, squeezing carefully - as if asking permission. You shivered but didn’t protest and he repeated the motion over and over. “Was that not obvious?" You blinked, searching his face for any sign of a lie. You couldn’t find one.

"You… like… me?" It was real. He really did. That was more than your brain could process. "Why?"

And Kol just smiled, his sweet grip on your thigh tightening just a little in a way that told you he wanted you to pay attention. "Because you see with more than just your eyes. You look deeper and… you like what you see." He sighed, shaking his head with a laugh that held a ring of pain. "Not many other people do."

"We-we dance," You muttered, nodding. “Per-per-f-form.”

"It gets a little old, doesn't it?" He agreed.

"Yeah." 

"You don't have to perform for me," He promised. Kol smiled in that crooked way he always did and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, pressing a butterfly kiss to your hair. "Come here, darling." He wrapped his arms around you and guided you to rest your head on his chest. It was warm and you could hear his heartbeat and this was all a first for you but it felt like the first of many.

He was so warm and you could have sworn you only closed your eyes for a second…

But when you opened them again, Kol wasn't there, and you knew you'd been fooled. It was ten AM and you were all alone. He hadn't even bothered to say goodbye!

You sighed to yourself as you sat up, burying your face in your hands. You kept your eyes screwed shut to keep the tears at bay but a small sob escaped your lips without your permission. As much as you wished you could shrug it off like you had every time before, you just couldn't, because it was different this time. This time it wasn't just a little scratch on the surface of your heart. This time it was a gouge the size of the Grand Canyon and it hurt like hell. It was different this time because Kol was different - at least, you'd thought he was. For once, you thought someone had actually meant their words to you - he'd had you so convinced. But you'd been wrong about him. He was just like everyone else.

To be honest, you should have known better. Kol was a flirt and he always would be. That was just who he was and maybe he couldn't help it, you thought.  Maybe he was still a decent person, maybe he hadn't really meant to hurt you the way he had. After all, the boy had the attention span of an adult child and the impulse control of a- 

Nevermind. He had no impulse control.

You just should have known better than to think he'd see something in you worth sticking around for. You were lucky to have gotten what you had from him. Guys like Kol didn't look at girls like you. Sure, you weren't ugly, but you were damaged beyond repair. Just a burden you couldn't expect him to bear.

That didn't make it hurt any less though. The way Kol had kissed, and touched, and held you - it had all seemed so real. But maybe you were just a fool to have believed it. No one had showed interest in you like that before, you should have known better that to think anyone ever would. Kol had been the first, yet you wished you'd never met him because you knew now that he would be the only one. And if he was the only one, then you could be sure you would never forget him. You would never forget his kisses, the gentle way he spoke to you, that playful glimmer in his eyes, the laughter he could coax from you, or the bruises he'd left along your collarbone. Even when those bruises faded, they would leave a sweet pain behind.

Resigning yourself to that fact, you stood and started with your day. You got dressed, made yourself breakfast, washed the dishes, and then checked your phone. You were somewhat surprised to find fourteen missed calls from Jeremy, though you weren't much in a talking mood, so you ignored them.

You really shouldn't have.

Because sometime around eleven-thirty, there was a knock at your door. You ambled over - a little listlessly if you were being honest - and answered it, fully prepared to tell whatever salesman was standing there to go away. The door swung open and your jaw dropped. There, leaning in the doorway, stood Kol. Now, normally that fact alone would have been shocking enough, but that was the least of your worries at the moment. 

Because Kol was covered in blood.

"Good morning, darling. How are we today?"

He was smiling at you - beaming really - but his shirt was soaked in crimson, along with his jeans. It almost looked like he'd been laying in a pool of blood. His face seemed slightly ashen and in his shirt, right over his heart, was a large, jagged hole. Like he'd been stabbed. Yet the flesh beneath that hole was completely intact, without so much as a scratch.

"Kol? W-w-wha-what?" Your eyes were wide and you shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. "W-what ha-ha-happen-end?" You demanded.

"Funny story about that, actually." There was so much blood. Yet he laughed. "Jeremy and I had a bit of a falling out, if you can believe that. One if his other friends stabbed me."

You gaped at him. He shouldn't have been standing. He should've been dead. "Y-you-you can't… You can't be h-here…" You whispered. You wanted to ask how he was still breathing but the words were lost on you.

Kol grimaced, but not as if he were in pain. "Sorry about that disappearing act earlier, darling. I think there's something you should know," He declared. "I haven't been entirely honest with you, and I promise I'll explain everything, but first…" Kol pushed himself off the door frame with a slight groan and stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder and trapping you in a vice-like grip. He looked deep into your eyes and you found yourself unable to break free. 

"First, you're going to do exactly as I say."

Tagging: @yn-ymn-yln @r13mar @rootbeerfaygo @iiskittles16ii @fandomrulesall-blog @dark-night-sky-99 @railingsofsorrow @apolloroid (Tell me if you want on or off the tag list!)

[sarasapen]

Among the Blues and Greens

Another installation of the Little One series.

Summary: Meditation often allowed for Jedi to discover and learn about their thoughts and feelings, aiding them in solving their problems. This meditation session unfortunately reveals more than you’d like.

Or the one in which Obi-Wan’s Padawan realises she loves him.

Warnings: Language, meditation, slow dancing, yearning, revelations, forehead kisses, Past Obitine relationship mentions

Word Count: 3k

Star Wars Masterlist

-------

 You were a fraud.

 Whenever you felt particularly emotional, you meditated, as any good Jedi was supposed to do. Before daybreak, the gardens at the Sundari Royal Palace were relatively uninhabited, at least by people. You didn’t mind the plants and animals. Their energies were soothing, incorrupt, they just were. That’s how you find yourself there, for the third day in a row, trying desperately to calm the tempest that’s seen fit to take up permanent residence in your mind.

 Why were you a fraud? A fake? A poser?

 Because here you were, years of training under your belt, pretending to meditate. Fraud.

 It was an old ‘trick’ that young Padawans- very young Padawans, you added- resorted to when they were made to meditate. Sitting there with your eyes closed, trying to keep your breathing even. No actual self-exploration or deep diving into your mind, just putting up a facade that any force insensitive being wouldn’t see through.

 Unfortunately for you, Obi-Wan Kenobi was Force sensitive.

 “You’re pretending,” He muses, lowering himself beside you and crossing his legs, assuming the same position you were in. You keep your eyes closed, forcing your breaths to remain even as if he hadn’t even spoken. He sees right through it, amusement weaving into the deep blues that were his signature.

 Oftentimes you wondered what it was like, to be in the middle of all that was him. Observing one’s signature from the outside was very much different than actually experiencing it. Each individual’s signature was different, and his signature was always so wonderful… You wanted to learn more about it, about him. But you knew you wouldn’t ever dare to be brash enough to even brush your signature against his, let alone delve into him fully.

 His signature morphs, from the vibrant, rich hums to a gentle, soothing wave. He’s meditating.

 You scowl.

 He’s barely been sitting down for a minute, and he’s already accomplished what you’ve been trying to do for the past three days.

 “Focus your thoughts on something,” He suggests quietly, sending out a wash of calm over your prickling irritation. He’s guiding you, as he used to do years ago when you were a young and distractible little thing, and you let him.

 You’d let him do anything.

 You’re swept backwards into the deep abyss that’s your mind, and you fall freely, watching Obi-Wan’s signature withdraw slowly from yours. It’s like watching waves upon the shore, gently sweeping backwards and away, taking with it such tiny, essential parts of you while simultaneously shaping you into a thing to behold. It was always, before anything else, soothing.

 He didn’t like studying others’ energies too closely. It was a common trait amongst blue sabers, whilst reading people's energies were crucial for the Jedi, studying them at great lengths could often prove to be uncomfortable. But yours, he had said. He wouldn’t mind spending days traversing the inside of your mind if you’d let him.

 When you were younger, you’d asked him what your signature looked like to him. He said it was a mass of shades of green that were so beautiful he doubted the mere names of the colours or any other descriptive words would be able to do them any justice.

 Beautiful, was the word he’d always use.

 And he was…gentle, and kind, and smart. You exhale slowly, no longer stiff in your posture. He’s always been so patient with you, even with his occasional sarcastic comment. The perfect Jedi.

 Even as a youngling, you’d hear exaggerated stories from Padawans slightly older than you, or, at least, he insisted they were exaggerated. A few years into your training with him, you began to think that maybe the far-fetched stories weren’t so far-fetched after all.

 You’re so lucky, younglings would say shortly after you had become his Padawan. After all, Master Kenobi’s previous Padawan was the Chosen One. You’d have to be something special to attract his attention.

 And you were lucky. But not for the glory and the awe that sparkled in people’s eyes at the mention of his name. It was for his undivided attention on you, his genuine interest in the things you enjoyed, his efforts to shift your training to aid in what you wanted to specialise in, even if it was wildly different from what he was good at.

 Not that there was much he wasn’t good at.

 You loved the way he carried himself, not with arrogance or pride (both of which you thought would have been deserved), but with a humble sort of almost shyness. You loved that he pushed to do better, to be better, not for himself but for you and Anakin. You loved the way he conducted himself with people, even those considered to be the lowest of the lows, he treated them with so much respect and kindness.

 Perhaps it was just that he was a decent human being, but that didn’t mean you loved him any less.

 You loved the way he’d throw in a sharp remark when facing an adversary, or the way he’d stand tall even in the face of-

 Hold on.

 You loved him.

 You loved him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

 “What are you thinking about?” Obi-Wan calls from beside you, his voice no louder than a low murmur, and it still makes you flinch. “You’ve grown tense.”

 Play dumb. You could do that. Just… blurt out something random and leave it at that, and then you can-

 “She seems nice.”

 FUCK. Not that fucking dumb oh stars above you were so fucking screwed-

 “She… The Duchess?”

 “Yeah, your Duchess.” Oh kriffing hells, if you could just. stop. talking.

 “Duchess Satine is not my Duchess,” His force signature dips suddenly, as if he’s reeled everything back into himself. It pulls you along with it, and you can no longer pretend that you’re meditating. Not with the way your Master turns to face you, studying your features with a concerned curiosity. You tense up again, keeping your eyes trained on a lone tree, a distance away. There’s a caterpillar crawling on one of the branches, and you focus on that. You can tell that he can tell. He’s always been so good at reading you.

 “You…” He starts, but stops himself, straightening and regarding you once again.

 “Sometimes I find myself having to meditate more than usual. Even up to a few times a day, if I’m…” Obi-Wan’s gaze flickers down from your eyes for just a split second, a movement so quick he doesn’t even realise he’s done it. “Distracted.”

 There’s a stutter in your signature, one you try to hide by slamming up your walls, but the brush of Obi-Wan’s hand against your arm has you faltering. The waves of him approach slowly once again, waiting patiently beside the storm that’s your signature.

 “What’s gotten you so tense?” He probes gently, the weight of his hand against your shoulder mirroring the gentle reassuring taps of his signature against yours.

 “Do you love her?”

 You know what. There’s a ledge. Right there. You could just jump off. If you were dead you wouldn’t be facing this amount of embarrassment.

 “...I used to,” Obi-Wan reveals, and his admission surprises himself more than it does you. Not that he wasn’t aware of what the extent of feelings for Satine used to be, but admitting it, out loud? It was something he had never done before.

 “Used to?”

 “It was a lifetime ago, when I was still a Padawan.”

 It’s strange. Neither of you want to continue talking, to keep delving into dark and murky uncharted territory, between the blurred depths of what’s allowed and what’s forbidden. It scares you. It scares him too. 

 “So… what? You decided to give her up?”

 He should say something about the way of the Jedi, that attachments were forbidden, and that had anyone else known, they would’ve expected him to leave Satine. If it were anyone else asking him this, he would’ve said it, accompanied by a deserved lecture on subtlety and manners.

 But you’re the exception.

 You’d always be his only exception.

 So, instead, Obi-Wan says, “The Duchess, while a remarkable woman, has a very different outlook on life than I do, even back then.”

 There's a stretch of silence that he feels like he needs to fill. “Besides, it gave me the chance to meet people even more remarkable.”

 “Not many people can compare to the Duchess of Mandalore,” You mutter, closing your eyes to block out the sight of him when he gets to his feet.

 “No,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Although the Duchess couldn’t come close to comparing to you.”

 And with that heart-stopping revelation, he leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

 “Focus,” Obi-Wan whispers in your ear, and then he’s gone.

 Now you really couldn’t concentrate.

——

 “Breathe,” Obi-Wan had instructed you, sitting beside your fidgety body with his own long-since perfected form.

 It was the second week into your Padawan training, and it had taken Obi-Wan twenty three minutes to get you to sit still. Not including the sixteen minutes it took to get you past the normally three minute walk from library to your room, or the seven minutes it took for you to pad over to him and sit beside him. Not for your lack of trying, Obi-Wan mused, watching you fidget once again.

 Your eyes fly open at his words.

 “If I stop breathing during meditation will I die?”

 Yeah, okay, that one was on him. It takes a lot of control for Obi-Wan not to choke on his overwhelming surprise at your words.

 “Meditation can only occur when you stop speaking, little one,” He hints, keeping his posture straight. Thirty two minutes now, he’s been sitting in this position, not meditating, but focused on your wild little signature.

 “Oh, yeah,” You concede, shifting again and screwing your eyes shut.

 Master Kenobi, the whisper-shout in his head very nearly startles him, and Obi-Wan can’t keep pretending his focus is impeccable. He turns to regard you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. If I stop breathing during meditation, will I die?

 Again, to your credit, you weren’t exactly… speaking.

 Perhaps that’s why, with a self-indulgent smile, he sends back a quick no.

 Okay, you accept happily, shifting again in your seat. Your early days were so much like Anakin’s. Both of you, filled with a curiosity and outlook on the world that only children could view, and it baffled him to no end that both of you viewed him in exactly the same way.

 You just accepted everything he said without much thought, readily eager to believe that your Master was always right, because what else could he ever be? It was perhaps that specific period of time during both his Padawans’ training that Obi-Wan was the most stressed. The first few years were the years he felt as though he could disappoint you the most, to fail to protect you and teach you and nurture you.

 He didn’t fail. He didn’t even come close. You’d tell him if you could. Anakin would tell him too. But it just wasn’t a conversation Jedis had.

 And…there.

 You’re not meditating. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat when he feels you oh so carefully reach out your signature. He follows along at a distance, careful not to alert you, and he watches as your signature gingerly approaches the plant situated outside your apartment door.

 The plant. You were connecting with the plant.

 You’re calm, he realises. Nearly ridiculously so, if he didn’t know any better he’d think your signature was that of a fully trained knight. The spurts and bursts and branches that were usually your energy flutter gently down, acting obedient and serene.

 It’s… for lack of a better word, beautiful.

 So with your thoughts centered around that little plant outside, all Obi-Wan has to do is give you just a little nudge that blocks out all other distractions for you- maybe it’s cheating, but he wants to see what will happen.

 And then you’re meditating.

——

 “It’s the first time I’ve worn a dress!” Swishing the fabrics of the skirt around you, you’re easily entranced by the movement. It’s a pretty dress, courtesy of the Mandalorian court, floaty and airy with barely there off-the shoulder sleeves. It reveals more of you than Jedi robes would ever, but you’re so enraptured with such innocent curiosity that Obi-Wan doesn’t even try to suppress the affectionate smile he gives you.

 “You look lovely,” He responds honestly, pushing himself off the couch and taking slow steps towards you.

 “I feel like a… like a…” You pause, glancing up from your skirts to fix your eyes on him, mind racing.

 “Like a?” Obi-Wan prompts.

 “Like a cloud!” You settle for, twirling around as if to emphasise your floaty feeling.

 “A cloud?” He confirms, voice laced with amusement. He takes your hand, twirling you around once more through your giggles.

 “Yeah.”

 “Well, you’re the prettiest cloud I’ve ever seen,” Folding his hand over your own, he steps into your space mid-twirl, his other hand coming to press flat against your back. He doesn’t know what propelled him to do this, to press you against him and pull you into little steps around the room. The giggles he gets from you are enough to diminish any second thoughts he gets, so he hums softly, pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

 Your little impromptu dance session is made to end as quickly as it started, a knock on his door reminding the both of you the reason for such fanciful dressing.

 A dinner.

 It was exciting to you, as most off-world mission events were, so different from the usual routine of your life on Coruscant. Your excitement is blindingly obvious, and yet Obi-Wan, who’s long since tired of having to accept invitations lest the Jedi be perceived as discourteous, Obi-Wan says nothing at all. He gives you a warm smile and gestures for you to move towards the door.

 And oh, what a dinner it was. The food was marvelous, the company a little less so, but the moments you’d glance up at your Master to find him already watching you made up for it. If only he weren’t seated so far away… and so close to the Duchess. You don’t turn your head in their direction again.

 Apparently a royal dinner on Mandalore was not just dinner, so after an hour of sitting at a table several seats away from your Master and surrounded by boring politicians, you’re ushered into a ballroom. Several ask for your hand to dance, but you turn them down with a polite smile and even politer excuse. You want to dance, you do. Just… not with them.

 Then you see her.

 She had changed her dress, and she was gorgeous. Elegant and beautiful and carrying herself with such grace even on the dancefloor, she looked every bit the Duchess she was. You sort of hated her.

 “The prettiest, huh?” You mutter bitterly under your breath, taking a moment to try to calm yourself. You take another breath when you turn to face Obi-Wan, expecting his eyes to be on her. Everyone’s eyes were on her.

 He’s looking at you.

 You immediately curse yourself out for the snide comment, hating that you’ve revealed yourself, your insecurities, that he’s going to admonish you for a silly little comment that just slipped out.

 Instead, he holds his hand out towards you, and bends down a little in a bow.

 “If I may have this dance, my dear?” The words come out as a low murmur, and even with the loud applause of everyone around you signalling the end of the Duchess’ dance, you hear him perfectly. Your cheeks are flushed and you’re trying impossibly hard to keep your breathing even as you slide your hand into his, letting him lead you to the middle of the dance floor.

 It’s strange, you think.

 The two of you have been in arguably far closer quarters than you were in now, with a decent amount of space between your bodies, joined only by your hand in his and his other hand on your waist. You’ve trained together, sparred together, been forced into close confines in the middle of missions and on occasion even slept in the same bed together.

 Obi-Wan’s grip on your hand tightens, the tips of his fingers skimming up your back and brushing tantalisingly against the skin that’s uncovered by the dress.

 No, this… this, in front of a whole room of people from all over the galaxy, this was far more intimate than anything ever before. It’s almost as if you’ve been transported back in time just a couple of hours ago, when it was just him and you in the privacy of your quarters.

 “The prettiest,” he confirms, voice low in your ear. Your breath hitches at his statement and all its implications. “It’s not even a competition.”

 Good things, as all things do, must eventually come to an end. Obi-Wan guides a slightly tipsy and very giggly you back towards your room, laughing despite himself when you trip over your own two feet. The last thing he wants after a successful mission is for you to get concussed by falling.

 He bends and effortlessly sweeps you into your arms, letting you swing your legs in the air. It’s not the first time he’s been in this position with you. Perhaps he’s carried you like this a little too often. His thoughts don’t linger on that topic for long.

 You change out of your dress and sit cross-legged in front of him, letting him brush out your hair and pull it back into a braid for you to sleep in, actions so practised that they’re not even spoken about.

 And on the floor of your room, discarded almost carelessly at the end of the bed, lay two weapons beside each other, one green, and one blue.

-----

The next one will be Obi-Wan’s revelation ;)

-----

Obi-Wan taglist:

@allinmymind @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mugoi-usagi @babymango-writes @fluffyhales @whinsical-ash @filthy-thots @altarsw @mando831 @ruleroftides @soft-and-lush @softlikefairydust @bumblegadget @stafskislava @torihester @shedobeclownin @satikryze @buwnni @mando-amando @mrskenobi19 @butch-medusae @fandomtrxshh @a-c-lee @neji85 @reejero @silverpuppi @thereluctantherosrose @shinybananapastanickel @hey-there-angels @grumpymuffinmama @hufflingpuffling-blog1 @kyle9no @qt-ane @arsowon @aesthelliec @lovelyweepingrebel @marvelranger @lovelylostminds 

[ghostbustermelanieking]

7 or 11 jmart for the kiss prompts??

thank you so much for the prompt!! asdfgghjkll i swear i didn't mean to post a post 200 separation fic on the same day as you (i was actually working on this last night).

this is a version of the scenario i wrote in love letters where martin and jon are separated after 200. but there is absolutely no need to read love letters to understand this.

warning for discussion of the panopticon scene in 200, and for a moment of jon wishing for the Eye to return (limited to the first section).

7. “I’ve missed you” kiss & 11. “I almost lost you” kiss

Waking up without Martin almost feels like dying all over again. That horrible moment where Jon opens his eyes in the hospital, on the other side, and doesn't see Martin… he'd take being stabbed a dozen times over this. 

When he wakes up and finds Martin gone, he thinks he's lost him. That Martin's died, that he's trapped on the other side buried in rubble, dead because of Jon, and Jon's survived somehow when he really doesn't deserve to… or that Martin's alive, maybe, just maybe, but he's somewhere else entirely. One of the other worlds Annabelle spoke of, or their original world—which maybe Jon should hope for; Martin would have the others, assuming they survived, and he'd be safe from the fears, safe from whatever horrible things they've unleashed on this world with one quick motion of a knife.

Jon should hope for this, that Martin is safe and that he has the others. But he's selfish, and they promised together, and he misses Martin with everything in him. 

He's at a hospital in London, he figures out eventually. The hospital closest to where the Magnus Institute was, in another world. The nurse reports that they found him on the site where Millbank Prison used to be, and isn't that weird? And that they found him there alone. (Jon's throat closes up at that, his eyes stinging, and he pretends he's tired so the nurse will leave, so he can cry in peace.) Martin wasn't with him. Martin didn't come through.  

But after a few days lying in the hospital with nothing but his thoughts, nothing else to do, Jon starts to question this. They have no idea how this all works, the tapes and the Web and the crack between the worlds… Surely he wasn't the only one to come through. Annabelle Cane thought she'd come through or die, and if Jon came through… and they didn't find her where they found Jon, either. (Of course, maybe Annabelle ran off before Jon was ever found, but somehow Jon suspects she wouldn’t. She strikes him as someone who likes to be at the center of things.) 

If there's a possibility that Annabelle came through, and landed somewhere differently than Jon, then there is a possibility that Martin came through, too. That he is somewhere, here, and maybe he is alive. 

It's a small possibility. But Jon clings to it with everything in him. 

He can't Look for Martin ( or for Annabelle, really). The Eye is gone. If it is here in this world, it has left him. Jon tries to be grateful for this, and a part of him is—he's been reaching for humanity for so long, all while sinking further and further into something he never wanted, he should be beyond grateful that it's gone, that he is alive and can live, without fading, somewhere else. (Although a part of him insists it doesn't matter if Jon hasn't made it.) But after so long with the Eye as a captor, a safety net, a part of him he thought he couldn't cut away… trying to live without it is strange. It hovers like a phantom limb, something severed by the gaping scar in his chest. He keeps reaching for it, for the horrible comfort of Knowing, and he hates it, but he wants it back deeply. Wants it because he knows he could find Martin with it, just maybe. He keeps thinking, Give it back, just for a moment. Thinks, I'll use it to find Martin and then I'll let go, I won't ever again, I hate it but I need it, I NEED to find him…

It doesn't come back. If Jon is ever going to find Martin, he'll need to do it on his own. 

He asks all the nurses and staff, anyone he comes in contact with, if they've ever met a Martin Blackwood. Asks if there's anyone in his files with that name, or a name like it, begs the nurses to please look around for anyone like that. No luck there. Jon asks for a phone book and gets an odd look; he guesses phone books are out of fashion in this 2018, too. He can't do much while he's in the hospital, and he's about to give up hope on making any progress until he's been discharged. 

But then he manages to get a hold of a laptop. After days of asking, a nurse offers to lend him one, if he promises to keep it quiet, and not to exert himself.  

Jon searches the Internet for hours. There are dozens of Martin Blackwoods, actually, more than he ever could've guessed, and none of them seem to be Martin. He has to consider the fact that Martin may not have existed here—just like Jon didn't exist here, or doesn't seem to have, before they woke up. Which will make it nearly impossible to find him using the Internet—using anything, until Martin has been here long enough to establish a paper trail—if Martin was ever even here in the first place… 

Desperation. Panic. Jon's last resort is to write a letter. To write down every single thing he's wanted to say to Martin, the things in his head when he woke up, the things in his head when he realized Martin wasn't here. He writes it all, says the things he knows only Martin would know, so Martin will know it's him if he ever reads it. And then he spreads it across the Internet. Posts it every single place he can think of. Every social media site. A lot of forums that are frequently visited. Comments on blogs he thinks Martin might read. Anywhere he can think of. He even prints off copies and mails them to every address he can think of that Martin might be at: his Prentiss flat, his post-Prentiss flat, his mum's care home, Upton House, the safehouse. He puts his real name on it, at the very top, and Martin's, hoping that if Martin is searching on the Internet, it might come up…

Jon's desperate. He'll try anything,  any desperate, silly scheme like spreading a love note all over the Internet. Anything to get Martin back.

-

By the time Jon leaves the hospital, his letter has gone viral. Plastered all over the place. There's people picking it apart, speculating about whether it's real, calling it an excellent work of fiction, speculating it's all a joke. There's even some commentary from other Jonathan Simses and Martin Blackwoods, swearing it's of no relation to them. 

None of it is what Jon needs. He checks every iteration obsessively: every comment, repost, retweet. None of it is Martin. None of them are Martin. 

He's still looking. Every single day, he looks, in places beside his letter and its hundred iterations. He searches as far as he can, in every record he can think of. He tries to find places in London that he and Martin frequented—the ones he can find. He even goes back to the Institute, or where it should be. It isn't there, of course. Probably never was. Jon can't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

It's all he can do, to look and to keep hoping. It's all he can do. 

It's hard, being alone again, after so long always being at Martin's side… They'd craved space sometimes, and they'd had it, he supposes, but now… Weeks without Martin, one, two, three weeks, and it's excruciating. Jon had said together at the end, he'd promised , and he'd tried so hard to believe it, and now he's here, impossibly, alone. 

He has nightmares almost every night. Nightmares of the Panopticon and the end of the world, the ritual, words forced up through his throat—being at the center of the Eye, at the center of the world with Jonah Magnus at his feet and Martin dying in his arms. Martin forcing the knife into his chest. Jon hasn't dreamed of anything but the statements of others for so long, and he'd thought he missed it, but now… He wakes up almost every night shaking and crying, reaching for Martin. Like clockwork. He thinks he'd do anything for a dream that isn't his, a dream that's not an endless reminder of what he's done. 

He checks the forums. He searches in familiar places. He lies in bed and thinks of Martin, tries to look for Martin, silently begs for help from anyone who might be listening (the Web, the Eye, anyone). Nothing works. Nothing.

The reminders come like clockwork: Jon might be looking for no one, might be shouting out to someone who isn't there. Martin might be dead. It might be too late to get him back. 

-

Three weeks in, Jon finds a comment on the original forum, the original place he posted the letter on that first day. A comment from an m.blackwood . 

Jon reads it with his heart in his throat. Trembling with hope. Unable to hope completely. There's a dozen different things it could be besides him. 

The comment says I thought you were dead. It says, I'm sorry. It says, I love you, says, I'm coming. 

Jon's chin trembles, his eyes stinging. He fumbles at the keyboard with shaking fingers to instant-message m.blackwood, types out his address immediately, without thinking. (He has to type it out three times before he gets it right, his hands are shaking so hard.) And after that, I miss you. Even though he said it in the letter, even though it might not be Martin—it could be someone else fucking with him, a troll or whatever it's called; it could be the Web or the Stranger, luring him into a trap. But Jon doesn't care. He doesn't care. If there's any chance, any chance it's Martin… 

The reply comes a few minutes later: I'm coming. I'm so sorry. I miss you too. I'm coming right now. And Jon wipes his eyes, presses his face into his hands, and allows himself to hope. 

-

An hour and a half later, someone is buzzing for his flat. Jon runs so fast to the door that he almost slips and falls in the hall, hits the button with entirely too much force and breathes, " Martin? " into the intercom. 

Silence for a moment, long enough that Jon starts to wonder if this is just some random person he's practically sobbing down the line at. And then a voice answers, tear-choked: "Jon?" 

Jon nearly collapses with the weight of this voice, Martin's voice. He leans hard against the wall, his eyes burning, and says, "Martin, I-I'm buzzing you in," wiping his eyes frantically. 

He doesn't move from the door, stays leaning against the wall like it is the only thing keeping him up, until he hears a tentative knock on the other end. And then he's yanking it open, as hard as he can, and on the other side is Martin. Not something pretending to be Martin, not another Martin Blackwood, but his Martin. His Martin, standing there with the faded marks of bruising, his left arm in a cast and a new scar across his forehead, tears pooling in his eyes. Martin. Jon can't breathe for a moment, can't move, can't go to Martin because it doesn't feel real, none of it. 

And then Martin's saying, "Jon?" and bursting into harsh, frantic sobs. And Jon's rushing forward. He's rushing forward and letting Martin collapse in his arms, gripping Martin tightly, his fingernails digging into Martin's shoulders, his face pressed into Martin's neck. He's trying to hold on without squeezing or holding too tight, in case Martin's hurt worse than he knows—he's saying Martin's name over and over again, a senseless litany into Martin's skin: Martin, Martin. He's crying, too, hot tears dotting the fabric of Martin's shirt. He's burrowing as close as he can, pulling Martin into him, desperate to feel every part of him—it's him, he's here, it's Martin, they haven't lost each other. 

Martin's holding on just as tightly, trembling in Jon's arms where they've sunk to the ground, right in Jon's doorway. He's crying so hard, it's difficult to understand what he's saying, but eventually Jon begins to make it out. He's saying I'm so sorry. Again and again, muffled into Jon's hair: I'm so sorry.  

"No," Jon says, suddenly desperate. " Martin. No." He pulls back to look Martin in the eye, to try and wipe the tears off of Martin's face (even though he is crying, too). Leans up to press a kiss against Martin's forehead. "Martin, please, please… p-please don't apologize, please…"

"I killed you," Martin chokes out, his eyes shut, his dark lashes wet against his cheeks. "I killed you, Jon, I hurt you, a-and I… I thought you were dead, wh-when I woke up here, w-without you, I thought I'd never see you again, because of me… "

"I thought I'd lost you, " Jon says, quietly, through his own tears. He wipes the tears from Martin's face again and again. "A-and it really would've been my fault, because I lied to you, I-I was the reason you were up there… Martin, please. " 

" Jon. " Martin tugs him a little closer, burrows closer still, his face pressed into the juncture between Jon's shoulder and his neck. 

"It's okay." Jon kisses Martin's forehead again, his temple, his cheek, the top of his head. "Martin. Martin, it's—you're here, it can all be okay now…" 

Martin leans up abruptly to catch Jon's mouth with his. It's salty and lingering and desperate, every single thing Jon has felt in these long horrible days without Martin, every single kiss he wanted to give Martin while he was gone. Jon sinks into it, gripping Martin as tightly as he can, gripping onto his shirt, kissing Martin fiercely, with the panicked relief of being alive, of finding each other again. 

Even when the kiss finishes, they don't let go. They stay there, clinging to each other in the doorway, leaning against Jon's open door. Martin's still crying, still trembling in Jon's arms; he says, I missed you too, I missed you so much; Jon says, Martin, I missed you every single day. Every single moment. 

Martin whispers I love you against Jon's hair. Saying it back is as easy as breathing.

[saturnsummer]

helpless.

han joon hwi does all he can to save kang sol a. kang sol a, for the first time, realises she’s not alone.

ao3 link

notes: this has been manifesting in me ever since i saw the scene of sol a fainting. i’m sorry it’s so long, but i hope the law school fans like it! it’s my first time, but i’m open to request and improvements. do share with your fellow solhwi fans if you like it! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me.

edit: this is written by @inactiverat , which is MY secondary account. i did not copy this from someone else. both accounts belong to ME. i am republishing this on my primary blog to better manage.

words: 4130 words.

it’s been a terrible day for sol.

forget about a terrible day, it has been a week of horror.

she can’t remember the last time she laid her head on the pillow of her clean sheets and mattress. with her semester test coming on friday, she has spent the entire weekend cramming for her test. she has opted to sleep at her desk for no more than 10 minutes at a time. her eyes sting from the roll-on muscle relief ointment that she rolls on every few hours under her eyes. her head pounds and the only things she has eaten are ramyeon and black coffee. (no sugar, extra shots.)

sol sighs as she fixes another highlighter in her top bun. she’s been staring at the same question for hours. she looks over her desk, hoping to find peace by seeing a sleeping sol b, but only remembers that she went home. her tiger mom’s orders, since “she shouldn’t study with her roommate, who is at the bottom of the cohort.”

sol visibly frowned as she thought of that sentence. she doesn't need to be reminded every minute and second of her life that she’s the worst. that whenever she fails a test, the smarty pants are cheering due to the bell curve. that she barely scrapes through every class. that she blubbers and mutters answers like an idiot in every lecture.

that’s why she works so hard. to show that she doesn't need money or connections to succeed in this school. that a single parented girl, making enough to get by, holding a part time job can be like the rest. for her mom, she tolerated years of violent abuse, yet still being so strong for her children. for dan, who she so desperately misses and wants to find, even though she knows dan may never want to see her. for byeol, the reason why she decided to study law; the only human she loves in this lawless world.

sol knows she’s pushing herself too hard. yeseul made an effort to remind her to sleep via text. bokgi teased her once during a study group after mentioning she looks like a disheveled panda. even professor kim pulled her out of lecture to give her a talk to remind her to eat.

but joon hwi hasn't.

she internally scoffs. she doesn’t expect him to. (what does a second round judicial exam passer want to know about the worst student?) and maybe, she doesn't want him to. she wants to show him she can do it on her own. she can’t count the number of times he helped her with her grades and cases. studying alone without help was the smallest thing she can do to show him her independence.

thus, she found every moment to stay away. well, from him, in particular. she only came to lectures on time, sat at the back (as opposed to next to him) and left immediately. she returns to her dorm to study (ditching study groups with him in it) and only leaves in the odd hours to get drinks and food when she’s absolutely starving. she hears the buzzes and rings from yeseul and joonhwi, but only smiles when they ask about her inactivity. (“it was dead. i must have forgotten to charge it again.”)

she sighs in frustration and stands from her chair, grabbing her phone and keys out to the pantry area. she needed more caffeine, if she was going to survive this night.

what she doesn't expect to see, is han joon hwi, devouring his late night snack of ramyeon at the table. the shuffling of her furry slippers raises his head from his precious bowl.

“you’re still up?” he asks.

it’s too late to turn around and pretend she didn’t see him. so instead, sol just nods silently as opposed to her defensive remarks. joon hwi stops slurping his noodles and sets the bowl aside. preparing to walk to the staircase, his next question freezes sol in her steps.

“why have you been avoiding me?”

his voice is gentle and nowhere near angry. but concerned and fearful, as if he’s done something wrong to upset her. for a moment, sol feels like she’s in her first lecture with professor yang and is left speechless. (only now, there is no where to hide.)

joon hwi wasn’t blind to her actions. he noticed her absence when she didn’t sit next to him in lectures. he noticed that whenever he was there for a study group session, she wouldn’t; but when he would ask the others, they would say she was there for the ones he wasn’t. joon hwi was certain that sol was avoiding him.

and he couldn’t understand why.

until now.

joon hwi’s eyes examine the young woman in front of him. he’s certain that a middle school student could figure this out; kang sol a is overworked. her dark eye circles are prominent, puffy and her bloodshot eyes do nothing but intensify her lack of sleep. he noticed just how pale her lips look, as he walks over to her. how has she gotten skinnier too?

joon hwi’s certain that she’s avoiding him not because of something he said that annoyed her. but because he knows that she doesn’t want him to see her in this state. his eyes soften and heart aches from the amount of effort she's putting in to her tests.

for sol, he knows how much the tests meant. it was like her entire life depended on it. that’s why he always wanted to help her. he didn’t want to see such a talented person fall behind. she has already proven herself worthy with all the cases she has participated in. but joon hwi knows that no matter how many times yeseul or bokgi or him say how smart and talented and how she’s doing great, she will never be satisfied in this cold, competitive prestigious school. she will always think she’s the worst and has no potential.

“sol.” his voice firm and serious. sol swears she felt a chill run down. she mentally braces herself for this conversation that she has tried all means to avoid. only one person dares address her as just ‘sol’.

“when did you last sleep? or eat proper food?” his eyes are serious, yet soft and glassy. his voice is gentle and soothing. she closes her eyes and lets out a silent sigh. she is nowhere the mock court, yet she feels like she has taken the witness stand and the oath. lying is perjury, she hears herself say.

“i’m doing fine. i just need to do well on this test.” she lies through her teeth. well, it’s a half true and a half lie. it’s just up to him to pick out which is the lie and truth. joon hwi isn’t an idiot, and can read her emotions with just a single look. it’s an utter lie.

“i’m getting coffee.” she mutters to herself. it was the whole reason she came out, anyways. her sleeve is caught by him but she yanks it away forcefully. she doesn’t even know why she’s being so harsh and angry to him. all he’s done is just ask how she’s doing.

“you need sleep. not caffeine.” he spins her around by her shoulders, his eyes serious and almost frustrated. she fails to meet his eyes, afraid of falling apart before him.

“joon, just let me be.” she says harshly and pushes his hands off before running to get that extra potent coffee. it was the first time she has ever called him that, and it falls out just as naturally as the word ‘sol’ does out of his. sol doesn’t notice how wet her eyes are until she’s downstairs, grabbing cans of coffee from the vending machine. (pathetic, she thinks, getting teary because of lying to her best friend.)

joon hwi doesn't follow. and sol isn't one bit affected.

not. at. all.

-----

the next time sol sees joon hwi is in the morning. he’s carrying his books and has his backpack slung over his shoulder, leaning against the wall. sol braces herself. she knows joon hwi to be protective and caring. but for him to be waiting at the entrance of their dorm was downright surprising.

sol’s not doing any better. when the caffeine and sugar stopped her from staying late, she resorted to stabbing her hand to keep herself awake. when her hand got too red and bloody, she switched to another spot on her arm. underneath her hoodie is her arm with dried blood and bruises all over. she’s surprised she hasn’t had blood poisoning yet.

sol flashes the most natural smile she can on her face, pretending as if her argument with him did not happen a few hours ago. her head was numb, but hanging on with the ointment she applied at her temples. she needed to act okay. just so he would stop worrying and leave her alone.

“sol.” joon hwi’s voice calls, going forward and grabbing her arm to support her. sol is about to create a joke, laugh it off and pretend everything is okay, hopefully convincing him she’s doing better (even if she’s far from it.). but what she doesn’t anticipate is his hand accidentally squeezing the sore wound of hers,

she hisses as his fingers dig into her wound and he immediately lets go. joon hwi’s eyes well in concern, not knowing what he’s done that caused her so much pain. sol’s eyes meet his, uncertain and afraid, as if a secret has been exposed. she pulls her sleeve down and is almost regretting that when joon hwi gently lifts her arm and lifts her sleeve up slightly to expose her arm and hand.

joon hwi takes her good hand in his and drags her to an empty staircase not far from where they were. joon hwi notes the dried blood on her hand and gives a disapproving sigh. just what was she doing to herself? she draws her hand back and pulls her sleeve down, hiding it away.

“sol, you need to take care of yourself.”

“joon, i’m doing okay, i promise. it’s not a big deal.” her voice upbeat and slightly more energetic. joon hwi is about to call her out from lying, but she flashes a smile. “come on, how can an exam defeat me?”

“i’m going to be late.” she says and runs ahead of him, joining yeseul and yebeom in front. sol feels a gnawing guilt in her heart for lying, but she momentarily forgets about it as yebeom sweeps them into a conversation.

i’m sorry, joon. i really am. but i’m not going to burden you any further.

joon hwi is left, helpless and broken, watching the back of the woman he loves stray further.

-----

it isn’t a secret that joon hwi and sol a are good friends. everyone on campus is always shocked. joon hwi, the school’s top student. sol a, the school’s worst student. everyone would have expected sol b when they heard ‘kang sol’. after all, it made sense, didn’t it? the two best students in school.

but what would be even more shocking is that han joon hwi, second round judicial exam passer, is deep in love with kang sol, the klutz with the top bun.

joon hwi couldn’t deny the joy he felt whenever sol was around. it started with study group and tutoring and messages about school. then it became lunches every moment they could. now, he couldn’t go a day without seeing her, hearing her voice or even a simple text. he can’t remember the moment he started falling for the clumsy woman, but when he realised it, he knew it was too late. he was in, deep.

and that's why he can’t bear to see her suffer. that’s why he spends late nights studying with her even though he doesn't need to. that’s why he insist walking her home, even though he installed the camera. (“i miss byeol! that smart cookie...” would always be his excuse.) that’s why he calls her ‘sol’, and he lets her call him ‘joon’, even though no one calls him that anymore.

sol locks herself in her room and buries herself under multiple books after her lectures. sol admits it, she’s tired. she can barely keep herself together and her body is so weak she doesn’t know how she managed to survive the week with less than two hours of sleep combined per day. she can’t remember the last nap she had that lasted more than half an hour.

the guilt from lying is eating her inside. when she closes her eyes, she can only see how hurt joon hwi’s face looks when he saw her arm. taking a shaky breath in, she doesn’t notice the tear running down her cheek. what was she even crying about? lying? hurting her best friend? fatigue? she slams her head against her books, shaking her thoughts out. it’s already 3am, and she doesn’t have much time left.

“kang sol a, you need to do this exam, you hear me? if you want to pass out, do it later on in the afternoon! you have 9 hours till the test.” she scolds herself out loud. stabbing her arm once again, she jerks herself awake and writes her notes over and over. just 9 more hours.

later on in the day, sol finds herself seated next to joon hwi. but she doesn’t notice him. her eyes are too out of focus to concentrate on anything but the paper and pen she holds. when the teaching assistant makes an announcement to start, she races against time and scribbles furiously. her head throbs, but she clings on to her last ounce of sanity keeping herself awake.

-----

she’s worse. joon hwi thinks. much, much worse. her skin is paler than normal and her eyes are fluttery. with her sleeve pulled up slightly, he notices the wound on her hand more bloody than it was. he visibly winces. but it’s nothing to the hurt in his heart. he knows that he should be busy scribbling, but his eyes are slightly glassy and all he can think of is her bloody hand.

all he wants to do is to drag her away. to take her far from this school. he wants to hold her small body in his arms and cradle her as he tends to her wounds. he wants to tuck her into a soft bed and stroke her brown hair. he wants to tell her how he feels, how she’s perfect, smart and beautiful in his eyes. how sol has already had his validation, and no matter how many kang sols there are, he will only have one in his heart.

as the clock leaves a minute or so to the end, sol struggles to keep her head from falling. she just needs to finish the last sentence. her eyes are blurred and her head has never felt more tight and woozy. her ramyeon from 4am is threatening to make an appearance.

“sol, you’re bleeding.” she hears an familiar echoed voice say next to her. instinctively, she brings a hand up to her nose, and wipes it, revealing the bright red blood. she can’t care for her jacket sleeve and carelessly wipes even though her arm aches. just a bit more, she tells herself.

the voices around her blur as she feels hands on her shoulder stopping her. she pushes them off weakly as she finishes the last word on her paper. she lets out a breath of relief and pushes her paper away from her. she’s finally done. she can finally breathe and have that nap. someone calls her name, but she’s too tired to respond.

then her eyes rolls back and she crashes into oblivion.

joon hwi manages to catch her head before it hits the table as she slumps sideways. he scribbles his name on his paper before chucking his paper and hers towards the teaching assistant. yeseul passes a tissue over to joon hwi and shakes her, eyes getting teary. he gently blots her nose, soaking up the blood. the other students leave unbothered, with only their study group crowding around them.

the next hour is a mad rush in joon hwi’s head. they are frantic for an ambulance, but joon hwi just cradles her body in his arms and runs outside. “it’s faster to run.” he says before taking off. she’s light, way too light for her frame, even with the layered coats that she’s wearing. when he reaches the hospital, she’s laid on a stretcher and sent for checks while the nurses ask him to wait for short while outside.

and for the third time, he stands outside, clutching to a bloody tissue, helpless.

-----

joon hwi wants to beat himself over and over. he should have been more forceful with her. heck, he should have done more than just watch silently. he should have sent packed lunches, compiled his notes, offered to stay up with her. even after when he knows how much sol is suffering, he only stood by.

his eyes are teary when he is allowed to see her. she looks so small under those white sheets. the doctor mentions that they had to take her hoodie off to patch her wounds and insert her IV drip. “dehydrated on caffeine, lack of nutrients and fatigue.” the doctor tells him. he only nods as the doctor leaves him.

his group chat is pinging with endless messages and he takes a moment to update them. he sends a quick text that he’ll let them know when she’s awake. his hand brushes the stray hairs out of her eyes and as best as he can, arranges her bangs the way she likes. his touch is as light as a butterfly as he lets his fingers brush pass her bandages.

with the curtain closed around him, joon hwi lets himself crumble silently, as tears run down his face, hands gripping sol’s stained hoodie sleeve. he wishes he could do something then just watch sol lie on the bed. he knows she is okay, but knowing that he could have prevented this worse case scenario from happening makes him upset. he gives himself a few minutes to compose himself before taking his own hoodie and layering it on her.

and for hours, joon hwi sits by her bed in his own thoughts, once again helpless.

-----

when she wakes up, her head pounds worse than the time she got the worse hangover in school. her eyes flutter, drawing the attention of joon hwi. her mind is cloudy as she starts registering the antiseptic smell and bright lights. her eyes come into focus as she turns over to find a pair of warm brown eyes looking at her.

“joon hwi...?” she says with barely any energy.

“you’re awake.” joon hwi lets himself sigh in relief knowing that she’s awake. it’s already 6pm. the others should be on their way over soon. he sends a quick “she’s awake” to the chat and shuts his phone.

“i... finished my exam right?” the words come tumbling out of sol’s mouth.

“that’s all you are thinking of now?” the anger in joon hwi’s voice catches her by surprise. she lowers her hand and avoids his eyes. she’s really done it, then. she’s really pissed him off.

“aren’t you one bit concerned about your health? you could have literally died being so overworked.” his eyes are glassy. realising that he’s frightening her, he lets a sigh out. joon hwi helps her sit up and props a pillow for her. her fingers fiddle with the thin blanket of the bed. there’s no point being strong in front of him now, after all this.

“you know how much every test means to me.” she mutters in a voice so soft, it’s unlike her to be so...small. joon hwi knows under that strong woman with a fiery passion for justice, there’s a vulnerable little girl, insecure and uncertain. but this was the first time, he realised, that she’s opening up herself.

“i’m so tired, joon. i’m so tired of running this stupid rat race that i’ll never win. i’m so sick of putting everything into my grades and not receiving anything back.” her voice so small, staring at the bandages on her hand. was the pain worth it? she’s not sure now.

joon hwi doesn’t say anything back. how could he? this man was born for this system, to bring law back to the country. he can’t compare to her, who spends countless nights studying, while taking care of her family. all he can do is sit by her bed and provide comfort.

“my head hurts. my body aches all over. yet, i can’t seem to do well in my exams. tell me, joon. just how long must i suffer?” his heart is pierced with every word she says. she’s so broken. joon hwi then notices the small pearls of tears dripping down her face.

his hand reaches out and his thumb rubs away her tears on her cheeks. he doesn’t know what prompted this, but sol doesn’t swat his hand away. she lets him as her hand wipes her remaining tears away.

“i’m here now. you can rely on me.” he says softly to her. suddenly, he takes her small hand in his and squeezes it in comfort. sol’s slightly taken aback, but she doesn’t know why she feels fuzzy inside. she feels warm and for the first time, she feels her burden lifted. with much courage, she gives a small smile.

“noona!” they hear a familiar panicked voice ring and they instinctively draw away from each other. if joon hwi’s face is slightly red, sol doesn't notice. sol is swept away into arguing with bokgi with her health and a teary eyed yeseul. even jiho and sol b came, but stood by silently. (jiho notices joon hwi’s flushed cheeks and his too-bright smile that he finally realises is meant for kang sol a. he makes a mental note about it.)

joon hwi leans back as he watches yeseul and bokgi fuss with sol’s health. he suppresses a smile as he looks at sol’s light laugh, knowing how her burdens are slowly fading and lifted. that he’s finally managed to reach out for his soulmate as she sinks further. it was going to be a journey, but joon hwi will drag her, his sol, out from her darkness every time.

i’m going to be there, no matter what, kang sol. you will not fight alone. i will stay with you, even when you think you don’t deserve it. it doesn't matter if you feel the same towards me or not. if i can see you smile and laugh, it’s enough for me. your happiness is all that matters.

because kang sol, i just love you so damm much.

-----

sol doesn’t notice the switch in her jacket. when she leaves about an hour later with her friends to eat jjajangmyeon (extra pickles, she orders.), she assumes the jacket she has by her bed is hers. she doesn't notice the sandalwood and jasmine smell, as opposed to her pine scented fabrics. when joon hwi teases her and she argues back in annoyance, she’s carefree and light.

when joon hwi smiles at her with his sweet smile, she can’t help but think she’s so lucky that she has him, of all people, by her side. her heart skips a beat, and she’s certain that she feels more than friends towards him. that all this time, she has finally fallen for the cheeky and charming joon hwi behind his intellect.

she smiles back, teeth bared and eyes crinkled as they walk back.

after all, who is to stand against her now, when she has him by her side?

joon hwi, thank you for finding me no matter how much i try to hide away. thank you for believing in me when everyone didn’t. i know you like someone else, and it’s okay. because whoever that is will be so damm lucky to have you. to see you smile your charming smile is enough to put me at ease.

because han joon hwi, i admit, i have fallen for you. i’m in love with you.

-----

bonus:

“noona, they like each other, don’t they?” bokgi watches as sol a barks at joon hwi. joon hwi only runs ahead and buries his hands in his hoodie pockets while letting out light laughs and continues teasing.

“oh, they are so whipped for each other.” yeseul triumphantly says as she walks with the rest behind the not-so-obvious lovebirds.

well, this would be an interesting relationship to see unfold.

[boldlyanxious]

Light in the Window

Jasonette July prompt 10: light

Jasonette July

My masterlist

Marinette jumped as there was a crash outside her window. She cursed loudly as she realized she ended up with a long, jagged line of stitching going off the wrong direction. At least she had just started this part and it would be on the inside so no one would see the mishap. She glanced over at the window. It had gone very silent but the crash was too loud for it to have been something that would have crept away without her hearing it.

She supposed she could use a stretch anyway. It wouldn’t do to not check out something hitting her window at this hour in Gotham. Too many possible things to go wrong. She didn’t want to test her luck against the City of Crime. But test it she had apparently, she thought with a sigh as she looked through the curtains.

She pried the window open to check and see if the form outside her window was breathing. She didn’t know all the characters that ran around on the rooftops in this city. They seemed to have a full cast of rotating characters. It was basically a vigilante soap opera. Too many of them used red as a main color. Perhaps it was inspired by Deadpool. They couldn’t show weakness so they had to camouflage the blood from any injuries.

The man moved and groaned slightly as his arm flopped off her window as she pushed it up. He jolted when his hand landed on his chest. She sucked in a breath as he went from laying there appearing dead to shooting his hand out to grasp her wrist in a death grip instantaneously. She backed away and started what would have been a surprised squeal if his hand hadn't covered her mouth muffling any noise she would have produced. He slipped through the window and closed it and curtain in a quick motion. He pushed her against the wall with his hand that was still covering her mouth. He made a quiet shushing noise before removing his hand and then walked over and turned off her light leaving her apartment in total darkness.

Marinette should have looked for a pamphlet or guide to the rooftop cast. It was something she had thought about but hadn’t done yet because she had hardly left since moving in. She had supplies and groceries delivered and there was a trash chute in the hallway. She hadn’t needed much yet and had a lot of work to do. Learning about the outside world here was not that high up on her to do list. She would have to hope that since he hadn’t already attacked that he would not find cause to do so.

She could have done a better job decluttering her pile of boxes that she hadn’t unpacked. She realized this as she tripped on a stack and then nearly fell over another. She hadn’t realized how close he had left her to the hazard. But before she tumbled all the way to the ground he had caught her mid fall and pulled her off her feet. She was awkwardly against his chest and thrashing until he set her down somewhere else. He moved her hand to the counter so she could tell that he had put her down in the kitchen. He must have some sort of night vision in his helmet.

“Do you have a light in here?" he asked.

“There is a switch by the fridge.”

A brief shuffle of feet and a flick and the soft glow of the kitchen light brought them out of darkness. Marinette still wasn’t sure what to say. He seemed to be moving around a bit, possibly checking for injuries. Now that there was enough light to see, she could see that he had guns on him. So, probably not one of the less dangerous ones. She didn’t think they used guns much. He righted himself a moment later, she could tell he was still on high alert and looking around her apartment. She moved herself closer to her abandoned place setting from earlier and tried to pick the quickest route to the door just in case she needed to escape.

“So, umm, who are you?” Marinette tried to sound casual.

She, of course, couldn't see his expression when he turned his head to look at her, but she imagined it was a quizzical expression on his face. Probably most Gothamites, native or otherwise had a good idea of most of the players around. Maybe he was one of the main characters and was offended that she didn’t know him.

“Are you new here?” he asked.

“Yes, not quite as new as you seem to be right here in my apartment. But I moved here recently.” she paused, not able to help a bit of snark in her current state. “The packed boxes are not just my choice of decor.”

She was glad to hear what she thought might have been a chuckle under his helmet.

“Most would probably tell you to leave them packed and just leave.”

“Everyone I know told me not to come at all, but my work is here.”

“Guess you can’t fault that.”

“So you aren’t offering a name, but you also don’t seem to be heading out. I was making some tea. Do you want some?”

“That sounds really nice. I would love some. Since you are so graciously offering your hospitality.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

She turned away to start the water and went about getting some snacks while waiting for the kettle to boil. He seemed to have no issue helping himself to whatever she had put out after removing his helmet to reveal a lensed mask beneath it. She ended up having to go in search of additional offerings because she hadn’t considered how much the man would eat. She pulled out noodle bowls she had made ahead to have easy food for herself and offered him one. It was simple to do with the kettle already freshly boiled.

She turned back around and slapped his hand away from the last macaron. Then gasped in shock when she realized what she had done. She still had no idea who he was. He laughed at her again before he picked up the macaron anyway. But instead of eating it he walked around to where she was sitting and lifted it up to her mouth. Marinette blushed as she took a small bite of it. He must have still been laughing at her because he leaned his face close to hers before he put the remainder in his own mouth.

“These are very good. I couldn’t just let you have the last one.”

“It's fine,” she said, her cheeks still burning. “I was due to make more soon anyway.”

“You made them? It is definitely settled, I will have to come back for more.”

“I don’t even know why you came here now. Unless you just didn’t have any food and needed some of mine.”

“I followed the light. I needed to lose someone following me.”

“Are you in danger?"

Her unasked question was whether or not he had put her in danger. He carried his tea and bowl of noodles and sprawled out on her couch before answering.

"They will have moved on tonight or will soon. I'm relatively certain no one saw where I went."

She set her own food on a tv tray and sat down on the other side of the couch. She was trying to pretend that this was all perfectly normal. She went about setting her food and tea up how she liked in silence. She didn't know what to say and he was content to remain silent. She could feel him watching her but she didn't want to turn and make eye contact with his mask lenses.

“Tell me about yourself.” He said breaking the silence.

“There isn’t much to tell. I moved here to expand my client base.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Originally I’m from France but after fashion school I took a semester in New York to get additional skills and help with understanding the language.”

“Fashion?” He raised his eyebrow at her.

“Not everyone can be as confident as you and run around the rooftops every night in an outfit that looks like that.”

He leaned close to her when she said that. She was pretty sure he was trying to intimidate her but she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Apparently her could tell though.

“Are you laughing at me?” she shook her head and bit her lip harder. “I like you. You either take no shit or you have no self preservation.”

“You have been here for a bit and you seem to have developed a vested interest in keeping me alive.”

“Did you not notice that I am carrying guns? I’m very good at using them.”

“I did. But you also ate all my food and decided you want to come back for more of my macarons.”

“I could get cookies anywhere. I’m a crime lord. I get whatever I want.”

“You probably won’t get better than someone who grew up in a French patisserie. But maybe that doesn’t matter if you are a crime lord resorting to hiding out in the apartment of a lowly fashion designer.”

“I like this. I don’t get a lot of people willing to talk to me like this.”

“Maybe its just because I don’t know who you are.”

“Could be. But I think you just can’t help yourself.”

He stood up and began walking around her apartment looking around. He spent a couple minutes looking at her designs in progress and then picked up her sketchbook. He held it up silently and she nodded, giving him permission to look in the book. When he got to a blank page he doodled a little picture and then closed the book without showing her. He looked back out the window and seemed to come to a decision.

“Thanks for the shelter and the hospitality. I guess I never got your name.”

“I didn’t get yours either.”

“I’m the Red Hood.”

Her eyes widened slightly. He chuckled. “So you have heard of me then.”

“I’m Marinette,” she said while nodding.

He walked up to her and brushed her hair from her face gently.

“I hope to see you soon Marinette. Its been a refreshing experience.”

With that he put his helmet back on and left through the window her came in and disappeared into the night. Marinette decided she was finished working for the evening and went to bed without bothering to put anything away. That certainly had been an interesting encounter. She wondered if he really would come back. She would have to buy more groceries if he did.

Taglist

@jasonette-july-event | @theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf | @vixen-uchiha | @trythisagainlove | @trippingovermyfeet | @tbehartoo | @adrestar | @zynna

[hellothere-generalangsty]

Gloved hand (Crosshair)

Summary: Crosshair found a way to get rid of his chip, and went looking for his brothers in the depot, fully aware of the confrontation that would follow.

No pairing or reader description, only the member of the Batch

Word count: 2761

CW/TW: ANGST; Death, trauma, guilt, violent memories/ nightmares, burns/scar, some swearing; I don’t know how graphic my style is, so if I forgot anything please tell me!

Tags: @allamarisss @loth-wolffe @imalovernotahater (you all asked 🤧)

@razena88 @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s (non of you asked but I thought you'd want to check it out since you reacted to my Crosshair post; if you don't want to be tagged just tell me and I'll remove it !)

Notes: I had to. Because you’re all nice and I love pain, so here is the Sad Hour: Crosshair Edition™; Enjoy! (aka, I hope you’ll suffer a bit)

PS: sorry about the little dots when I skip a line, it’s the only way I could well...skip a line. I’ll try to find another way for the future!

PPS: The Neighbourhood - Roll Call is the song I listened to while writing this 🤭

______________________________________

He knew they were waiting on him, on the move he would make. They didn’t know about his chip being removed – not yet – and he knew he only had one shot.

How ironic.

He was still wearing the Imperial armour, face covered by his helmet, rifle attached to his back. He could see the way Hunter tightened his fingers around the trigger, and he recognised that look; the one he usually gave to his opponents before he killed them. He could get away; Hunter was a good shooter and his senses did helped for that; but Crosshair was the marksman. He guessed by a simple look at the scenery that the shot would crush through his pectoral plates, and given the distance and the type of blaster, it would surely shake him out, but it wouldn’t kill him.

As much as he sucked at it, he had to resort to words. He wasn’t the Empire’s puppet anymore, and trying once again to threaten them…It was simply out of the question.

Slowly, he raised his hands to his helmet, grabbing the lower part of it. He waited a second, not sure about the short moment where his vision would be obstructed.

Come on, you don’t get to worry about getting shot. Take the damn bucket off.

He pushed it up his head, briefly closing his eyes as a ridiculous way to sooth his morbid thoughts. When he opened them up again, Hunter hadn’t moved an inch. He didn’t know how much time he had, so Crosshair dared to take a step forward. Then another, holding his helmet in one hand, keeping the other one on the plastoid covering his chest, gently taping it with a gloved finger.

He stopped at the fourth step. The Batchers tensed up, unsure of what his next move would be. Crosshair knew what he was doing.

T’s your time to shine, Cross.

“DC-17. Round it down to a 7 meters distance from the target, slightly move your arm to your left.” He taped on a small spot of his chest plate, never breaking eye contact with Hunter. “Make me proud.”

It was a bold move, he knew it too damn well. He forced himself to maintain eye contact with them, with him, as much as it scared the crap out of him. As much as he hoped, deep down, for his brother to take pit-

.

 It was quick, bright. Finger pressed against the trigger, Hunter noticed every wave in the sound of the shot as it echoed in the depot. He followed the blue deflagration as it got spit out of his blaster, sliding the air in a thin whistling, brushing past Crosshair’s left arm, hitting another clone further behind.

He didn’t know if it was the right decision; but he knew enough about Crosshair to try it.

“I said ‘to your left’” was the only thing that came out of Crosshair’s mouth as he turned his head to look at the man lying on the floor a few meters behind him. He wasn’t dead, and now they had to quickly evacuate.

But Cross was alive. For now.

“Tech, get in there and be ready to take off when I tell you to! Wrecker, you cover us. Crosshair.”

The sniper pulled out his own blaster, back turned to the Batchers, ready to shoot any intruder trying to rip him away from his family once again. He soon felt a firm hand grasping his shoulder and dragging him back. He didn’t fight it, didn’t look at it. His focus was on the men running in the depot, on the way he hit them with such precision it almost felt too easy.

He was the last one to get in the Havoc Marauder, still shooting as the door closed shut in front of him.

.

 “…Crosshair?”

His heart pounded so hard in his chest that for a moment, he thought it might go through the plastoid armour and crush against the wall. There was the next move. So easy to execute, yet so terrifying.

“Crosshair, look at us.”

It was the tone; too formal, almost polite. He hated it. But he obeyed anyway, slowly turning around to face his tattooed brother.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down and cut that crap.

Hunter remained silent for a moment, examining Crosshair’s face scarred by burns, his new shaved side and white patch on the side of his head. The violent pumping and barely shaky breath told him more than the stoic eyes he was staring at.

“How’d you do it?”

“A droid helped.” Hunter’s nod was the only answer he got.

Keep talking, di’kut.

“I-”

“I missed you.” confessed Wrecker. “I think we all did.”

Now it was his turn to nod. What could he possibly answer? ‘I missed you too, but mostly because my chip made me want to kill you.’?

You didn’t wanted it, you had no choice.

“You didn’t have a choice,” Echo got a bit closer to him, even though he couldn’t tell if it was a good idea. “We know you didn’t.”

“Now that you removed your chip, you’re out of risks.” commented Tech, trying to comfort him a bit.

Each second passing was getting him closer to the edge. He wasn’t looking at faces, he was looking at phantom targets, still feeling the stings stabbing his brain every time he hesitated before shooting at them. Their voices were hardly getting to him, they were so distant, probably a faint memory from a time where he still had control.

“…get you something to eat, and you’ll go take a shower. Works for you?”

“Yes, Sarge.”

He knew the small clap on his shoulder was more of a friendly kind than a brotherly one. He hated it. He deserved it.

.

.

 He never felt that uncomfortable while eating with someone before. Even lunches on Kamino’s cantina weren’t as awkward. Tech tried to initiate a small talk, mentioning their next mission, the supplies they would need to get, and Omega tried to keep him going by nodding and asking questions he knew were useless.

But really, it was just an excuse to avoid the talk. Given the situation, it would probably hurt less to just… confront him. Tell him he scared them, when he callously ordered Hunter to stand down and surrender, told his troopers to “aim for the kid”. Not that he didn’t know; he found the confession in their eyes every time they would look at him.

He barely ate, rolling a fresh toothpick between his gloved fingers as he weakly chewed on his food.

“I’ll take the first round tonight,” Hunter muttered, mostly for himself.

Crosshair slowly got up from his seat, putting his ration away, trying to avoid the stares. He slid his toothpick between his lips, nibbling a bit harder than usual on the wooden texture. All he had to do was turn around and leave the cockpit. He had done it countless time by the past, what’s one more?

He wanted to lay down and sleep his pain away, get drowned in the pillows and forget all about what happened. He took a few steps, pretended he didn’t flinch when a hand caught his own, but couldn’t bring himself to smile at Omega when she gently rubbed his knuckles.

She didn’t say anything, she simply followed him to the bunk beds. Crosshair could barely look at her, because every time he did he could only see the scared look she gave him when he ordered it.

Aim for the kid.

It was haunting; she was just a child, a mixture of a little sister and a daughter for the Batchers, and he tried to rip that away from them too.

His attention shifted to the beds when he noticed the lights around his. He could also see a glimpse of a plush – oddly familiar – and a soft blanket nicely pulled over the mattress.

“We – she needed a place to sleep, and you were gone so…”

Wrecker, who followed him too, was uncomfortable; he was the one who came up with the idea. As much as he missed Crosshair, he knew he needed to take care of his little one because she was here. But now, Cross was back.

“Keep the bed,” he murmured, “I don’t mind.”

And he meant it. He would have done the same if Wrecker, or Echo or whoever went missing like he had. The kid deserved a comfy place to rest, her life with them already being chaotic enough.

“I can sleep with you, I don’t mind. I can stay at the end of the bed if you’d prefe-”

“It’s fine, Omega.”

He painted a weak, yet gentle smile on his face, hoping for it to convince her. It did, because she nodded and held his arm against her for a few seconds as to hug it. Wrecker – and Echo later that night – offered him to sleep in their bed. “I can sleep with Tech if you want it all for yourself” the 501st vet assured him. But Crosshair declined each time, pretending that he would probably not sleep anyway tonight, just tonight, because he needed to get used to this place again.

In a way, it was true. He needed time to find his footing here, to get back to the way things used to be.

Don’t pretend it will go back to ‘how it used to be’. It could never.

.

 When everyone headed to bed, Hunter returned to the cockpit and found the sniper sitting on his own.

“I’ll take the first round, Crosshair. Go get some sleep.”

“I don’t have a bed,” he barely confessed, his usual sarcastic tone nowhere to be found.

“Take mine for now, I don’t need it before a few hours. Don’t discuss it,” he pursued when Crosshair tried to reply, “I’m not giving you a choice.”

It took him a second to realise how clumsy it sounded, but Crosshair spared him the embarrassment of an apology when he got up and nodded.

“Alright, sorry.”

Hunter grabbed his shoulder, unsure about his next move, but trying anyway.

“It’s…We can’t pretend nothing happened, but we’ll work through this. All of us,” and when he heard Crosshair’s heart pumping harder and his breath getting heavier, he added, “as a family.” Before letting go of him.

Crosshair couldn’t even speak anymore. If he tried, all that would come out would be confused babbling and an awkward throat clearing. He hoped on his brother’s heightened senses to read through him like an open book, throwing back one last look before he got back to the bunk beds. All the Batchers were already sleeping, peacefully wrapped in their blankets or holding their plushie against their chest. He sat on the edge of Hunter’s bed, his blacks still on, eyes locked on the soft lights emanating from his old bed.

.

 Hunter woke up when he felt a soft weight landing on his lap. The smell got him almost immediately, a mixture of gunpowder and iron.

“You should have surrendered.”

His eyes shifted to the slim shadow standing a few steps away, lurking on him with cold determination.

“Crosshair?” He looked down at the soft plush laying on him. Lula. Her head was almost ripped in half by a now barely fuming hole. He couldn’t hide the fear splashing his eyes, neither could he refrain his voice from breaking when he asked “what did you do?”

“I did what had to be done. This is why they put me in charge to track you. I’m efficient.”

Hunter shivered at the sick smile he could hear in Crosshair’s voice. His thoughts ran from the plush to Omega, to the bunk beds at the end of the hallway, to his brothers left unarmed at the mercy of a sniper who had none.

“You should have killed me in that depot.”

“Crossha-”

A quick thud filled the cockpit as a red, bright light stroked Hunter right through the chest. He fell back into his seat, unable to breathe, but way too aware of the burn on his skin, of the nerves flaming up under the chock and the heat, of his heart rapidly pulsing then slowing down in a macabre countdown. He got dizzy, eyes blurring out despite his desperate attempt to get them focused.

He struggled to keep his head up, until a gloved hand grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look up. He could guess the shapes of the helmet, the green and grey shades melting altogether as his eyes barely held open. As he felt his own heart stop, his last breath making him chock, he heard his brother’s voice taunting him, one last time.

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

.

.

  Pitch black. This is all Crosshair could see when he abruptly opened his eyes. The blanket was rolled up at his feet, his blacks soaked in sweat, and his head aching. A sudden terror grasped him as he held his temple, tripping off the bed as he tried to get up, muttering Hunter’s name. He choked up on the syllables when he realised he was sleeping in his brother’s bed, while the tracker was nowhere to be found. He found himself struggling for air, the same way he would if someone stabbed him repeatedly in the chest. He dragged himself to the refresher, locking the door as soon as he got in.

The bright light forced him to close his eyes for a few seconds, but once he got used to it he reached the tap. His hands, usually so precise and steady, where uncontrollably shaking, to the point of him getting cramps.

The cold water did nothing to help; he shivered to the wet contact, lightly gasping when he splashed his face, but did it again, and again, trying to wash off the pain of his body.

Did I killed them? Did I? What if I did, what will I do, what if I killed them, I can’t- I can’t lose them, not again, not this way, I-

His head was buried in his hands, and it demanded all his strength for him to look up in the mirror. He quickly regretted doing so.

He hated those scars. Mostly, what they represented, what they meant.

It means you tried to get them burned alive; you ordered for them to be burned alive by an active propeller. This is what they mean, this is what you did.

He hated his reflection, lurking and haunting him the same way his memory did. A phantom pain none of them could imagine.

You like to pretend they don’t get it, but they do. Their own brother tried to kill them. You did that, Crosshair; don’t put the blame on your victims.

“Kriff,” he bitterly chuckled, tears burning his eyes.

You did this to yourself. Take some responsibilities.

He tried to maintain eye contact with himself, fingers gripped so tight around the edge of the sink he could feel his muscles quiver. He didn’t have a choice, he knew that. The chip forced him, the Empire used him to do these terrible things.

If a gloved hand kills you, will you blame the glove, or the hand?

You’re the hand, Crosshair. Nothing you will ever say or do will change that.

Nothing.

“Shut the kriff up,” he gave up, angrily pushing himself away from the sink, but still catching a glimpse of tears running down his cheeks before he turned his head, defeated. “Keep the snide to yourself.”

He jolted when someone softly knocked on the door. He took a few deep breaths to calm down his pumping heart, wiped away the tears with the back of his hand, and opened the door.

“I didn’t find you in the bed,” Hunter explained while analysing his expression, “I thought you’d be in here.”

“I can take the next round.” Crosshair calmly responded.

“Mine’s not done yet.”

“Hunter, please I- let me take the next round.”

He couldn’t say which of the two, his muffled “please” or his begging eyes, convinced Hunter; but it worked and that was enough for him. He didn’t flinch this time, when his brother gently patted his arm; he even wished for a quick, warm embrace. But he doubted Hunter was ready to get affectionate with him so easily. Truth be told, he didn’t feel that comfortable either. It was a crave he couldn’t fill.

He still cracked a weak smile as Hunter nodded and returned to his bed to get some rest.

Crosshair dragged himself to the cockpit, his stomach twisting at the sight of the empty seat on his right. He fell into his own, a long sigh slipping from his lips.

.

Don’t fall asleep.

[ikeromantic]

Loyalties

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic. Approx. 1700 words. Takes place in the romantic epilogue - spoilers!

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Hero's Welcome

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Kyubei kept busy running messages between Mitsuhide and his city contacts, and fetching items for the chatelaine. Though he supposed she didn’t really hold that title now. Now she was . . . well, a princess of the Oda. Soon to be Lady Akechi, if the two lovers had their way.

In all the years he’d served Mitsuhide, Kyubei never saw his lord so at peace. Though he was confined to the manor and still under suspicion - officially - and they had years of work to make the ‘new’ shogun fit, he seemed . . . happy. He spent hours in the garden or in his room with his fiance. And in the halls, the servants could hear their laughter. It was such a change. One Kyubei firmly hoped would continue. But life had taught him that these moments were treasures because they were ephemeral. Sweet because they were rare.

He waited for the axe to fall because it was inevitable.

When trouble finally arrived, it came bearing a box of sweets and an angelic smile.

Kyubei welcomed Ranmaru with a slight bow, and showed him to the chatelaine’s room in Mitsuhide’s manor. Though she spent her nights with his lord, her days she spent here - sewing. This was her passion, and it showed in the quality of her work.

Ranmaru thanked Kyubei, and as the door slid shut, he was already chattering away about his day and the sweets he’d made.

***

Mitsuhide folded and sealed the last of the days missives. He stared at the pile of letters and sighed. As the left hand of Nobunaga Oda, his work was never really done. There would be more reports, more letters, more planning and orders to send . . . and his lands needed him as well. He had projects to authorize and titles to bestow. And all he wanted to do was to curl up beside his little one and remind her how much he loved her with a thousand kisses.

He stood and stretched. This time of day, she was probably in her room working. His little one didn’t know that he already knew about the haori she was making for him. It was her surprise and he wasn’t going to ruin it by admitting he’d seen it, albeit in pieces, already.

As Mitsuhide approached her room, he heard the sound of another voice, high and young and full of forced joy. Ranmaru. He knocked lightly before sliding open the door.

His beloved sat across from the page, a little tray between them. There were sweets and tea. A little wooden box sat open beside her.

“My little mouse, I didn’t know you had a guest.” Mitsuhide smiled at Ranmaru.

The page stood. “I was actually just about to leave. I only came to drop off this gift for the princess.” He gestured to the box of sweets.

“They’re really good,” she picked up a small, colored sweet. “Do you want to try one Mitsuhide?”

Ranmaru pretended a gasp. “My lady! Those are only for you.” He glanced at Mitsuhide out of the corner of his eye. “I made them myself - so you could enjoy them.”

She laughed. “Well then you can’t complain if I share.”

“It’s alright. Such things are wasted on me.” Mitsuhide kept smiling but something in his chest tightened at the glib expression on Ranmaru’s face.

“Well good. I want you to eat them all up! Then I’ll bring you something else next time I try out a new recipe.” Ranmaru tittered.

His glee was grating on Mitsuhide’s nerves. He knew the boy was a spy for the Kennyo and this forceful mask he wore in his role here was bothersome. Still, Mitsuhide had all but promised he wouldn’t out the abbot’s protege. “I’m sure she would like that,” he said, “now, let me walk you out. I want to send a message along to Nobunaga.”

“Bye Ranmaru! I hope you can visit again soon,” the princess called as they left.

Mitushide walked alongside Ranmaru, his mind turning over the facets of this relationship. He wanted the page to stay away but did not want to make an unsubtle threat. This needed a cautious touch.

“She’s a very trusting girl,” Ranmaru said into the silence between them. “She thinks the best of everyone. Even you.”

“And you.” Mitsuhide stopped, looking down at the bright-eyed page. “Why were you really here today?”

Ranmaru smiled wider. “To bring her a gift, as I said. She’s used to accepting things from my hand. She doesn’t even question where it came from. Or what might be in it.”

Mitsuhide felt something in him turn hollow. His mouth curved in a sharp smile. “I see.” He gestured toward the front entry. “Thank you for stopping in. I do hope you have a safe walk back to the castle. Azuchi can be a dangerous place.”

“I’m not worried.” Ranmaru’s fixed grin betrayed nothing. “Didn’t you have a message for Lord Nobunaga?”

“I’ve decided it would be best to speak with him in person.”

Ranmaru shrugged, his smile going a little crooked. Then he turned and left.

Kyubei appeared from a nearby doorway. “Should I . . .”

“No. But I will bring you what remains of these sweets. Check them carefully.”

“Yes my lord.”

Mitsuhide returned to his beloved. She appeared fine. In high spirits after her visitor, even. She didn’t mind it when he sent the remaining goodies to the kitchen, suspecting nothing.

“Do you like Ranmaru very much?”

His little mouse laughed softly. “He’s really sweet. And I think a bit sad. Why? Are you jealous?”

Mitsuhide pulled her into his lap and nipped at her neck. “Mmm, no. I know you are mine. But, do you trust him little mouse?”

She straightened, her expression suddenly serious. “Why? Is there a reason I shouldn’t? Do you know something?”

It was tempting to tell her. Afterall, he’d promised no lies between them. But he’d promised Kennyo that Ranmaru’s secret was safe with him. It seemed he would never be free of conflicting promises and unintentional betrayals. Mitsuhide sighed. “Has he told you anything? Mentioned his past or his friends? His family?”

“No. He doesn’t talk much about himself at all, actually.” She was thoughtful, still in his arms. “I don’t think he would hurt me but . . . I don’t think he likes you very much either.”

Mitsuhide nodded. “I have that impression.”

“So . . . maybe I should find out more about him.” She sighed. “I guess as your wife, I can’t really trust anyone. Well, except maybe Hideyoshi. I don’t think he’d ever do anything underhanded.”

“Not well,” Mitsuhide laughed.

“It’s hard to think about people that way. I want to believe everyone is good.”

Mitsuhide gently combed his fingers through her hair. “I want you to still see the world that way. But please, little one, be careful.”

“I will be.” She smiled and kissed him. Her mouth was sweet and hot and what started as a light kiss deepened quickly between them.

No matter how many times Mitsuhide tasted her, it felt like the first time. New and exciting, forbidden. His desire for her only grew with their time together.

“My lord?” Kyubei called from just outside the closed door.

Mitsuhide reluctantly broke the kiss between them. “Come in.” His little one tried to slide off his lap to sit beside him, but he held her in place. Damned if he was going to let go just because they were interrupted.

“I am sorry to interrupt, my lord. I came to let you know dinner will be late today.” He glanced toward the princess. “I should have left you those candies awhile longer! If you want to eat the rest, the box is in the kitchen.”

His little mouse shrugged. “That’s ok, Kyubei. I’m not that hungry yet. Thank you for dropping in to tell us.”

“Of course, my lady.” Kyubei bowed again. Then he left.

Mitsuhide felt a coil of tension release inside him. Ranmaru might be an enemy by loyalty, but he hadn’t hurt his little one. The conversation between them was a warning. He leaned his head against his little one, inhaling her scent. “I think perhaps we need to get away from the city for a time. Would you like that, little one?”

“Hmm, where would we go? There aren’t any Sengoku resorts or amusement parks.” She laughed. “Where do warlords go on vacation?”

“Vacation? Another word from your time? It means to get away?”

“From work, yes. Like, to take a break away from the place you live.” She relaxed against him.

Mitsuhide considered. “We could visit my lands. You’ve yet to see them. Or, is there some place you want to visit?”

She closed her eyes. “I wish . . . I wish I could show you my home. All my favorite places. There’s a coffee shop by my flat where they make a cat face in the froth and the barista always gives me a free cookie. And a movie theater with the best soda. And I could take you on a roller coaster!” She laughed. “I’d love to see your face on the first hill.”

“I would like that.”

“Yeah. But we can’t.” His little one took a shaky breath. “I can’t regret deciding to stay here with you. I love you more than anything. But I sometimes wish that you could meet my mom and dad. My friends. I wish they could know how happy I am. How lucky. I mean . . .”

Mitsuhide waited for her to continue, but she said nothing for several long breaths. “What is it? What do you mean?” He tilted her chin up so that he could see her face. She was fighting tears.

“It’s just, I don’t want to cry. There’s nothing to cry about.”

“Little one, if you need to cry, then do. You don’t have to pretend in front of me.” He pulled her closer. This sudden sadness surprised him. He’d thought she was as pleased as he.

“They probably think I’m dead. My parents. My friends. Or worse. I wish I could at least tell them I’m ok.” The words came in little gasps as she let her tears out.

Mitsuhide stroked her back. He wished he could do something to cheer her, but this was beyond his abilities. Or was it? The ninja from Echigo - the one from her time - he might know of a way to get a message across at least. It was a long shot, but the kitsune warlord would not let his beloved taste more sorrow than her share. Not if he could help it.

Next: Lunches with Friends

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

hungry eyes (pjm)

Summary: Jimin's summer job is more often than not a pain in the ass, but you seem different than the other girls who need dance instruction at the resort.

A/n: A commission for @kpopnoobsstuff​! 

Warnings: dirty dancing au, some prejudice given race relations for Asian Americans in the 60′s but not a lot of detail, unprotected sex, public vaginal fingering, praise, dirty talk, Jimin is a jackass like over half this fic, a serious ankle injury, angst, mention of sex work (with an age gap), alcohol, smoking

Word Count: 8767 (i have a lot of feelings about this movie)

Rating: Mature

hey, hey hey baby

Of all the things Jimin had dreamed he'd end up doing, working as a dance instructor/gigolo at an expensive resort wasn't one of them.

Julliard wasn't cheap, though, and so every summer he ended up here at Sanders resort, teaching salsa and letting old ladies put hundred dollar bills into the back pocket of his slacks as tips.

Jimin fucking hated the crowd at the resort, hated the way they smelled like new money and champagne, how they looked at him like either a side of meat (the women) or like something that they needed to scrape off the bottom of their shoe (most of the men).

It's better than before, digging ditches during the summer and shoveling snow during the winter because no one is going to hire a Korean boy for an office no matter how good his English.

His hands had cracked and bled, forming callouses where they'd been smooth before and he finds himself running his thumbs over the ones on his palms while waiting for his cue in rehearsal.

When his coworker tells him of a gig he'd done, Jimin's eyebrow raised at his friend's paycheck.

Having to go by "Jimmy" instead of Jimin because the supervisors think his given name is too hard to pronounce puts a bad taste in his mouth, but he needs the money. It isn't as if he can tell his parents he's decided to be a professional dancer instead of a doctor or lawyer like they'd dreamed, and they didn't have the funds to help with tuition anyway.

So he spends every summer rolling his hips for the hungry eyes in the crowd, smiling and pretending that them purring, "Jimmy" in his ear doesn't make him shudder. It's the third summer before anything truly interesting happens.

Jimin didn't even like salsa or ballroom dancing or the mamba or any of the stupid easily learned dances he was forced to perform. He was a classical dancer, ballet being his forte, but this pays the bills and it's a way to keep his father off his back about his choice in colleges.

The older women weren't so bad, they'd give him anything if he whispered "noona," in their diamond decorated ears, but the younger girls, the ones who came there with daddy's money, those are the ones he doesn't fuck with.

The only woman he'd fucked with outside of work, in fact, had been Sunmi, his best friend since childhood, and even that not for years. Sunmi had followed him to Julliard and to the resort but they'd gone their own way after that and it wasn't as if they were ever in love, after all.

Despite the rumors among the staff, Jimin hasn't touched Sunmi outside of dancing in going on three years. He knew they looked like a couple, moved in tune with each other's bodies, and that's why they got paid the big bonuses.

Maybe he still got a little worked up after performances, liked to work up a sweat after at the dancer's barracks, and who could blame him when he sees you slumming it, tapping your toe to the music with your nose wrinkled and a little smile on your face.

He doesn't even have to say anything, just smiles at you, quirks his finger and you bounce forward ungracefully enough to make him laugh.

Sunmi snickers at him but he waves her off, knows she makes her rounds among the male staff that work in catering so she can't judge.

 You know of Jimmy before you ever see him, having several members of the staff tell you in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, that he's trouble. You're surprised by how good he is, you can't take your eyes off him during the first dance performance of the summer. Jimmy Park certainly looks like trouble, with his sly smirk and the way he’d effortlessly flipped up his partner, Sunny, her skirt flipping up to reveal a pair of boyshorts stretched across her perfect bottom, and you’d swear he’d winked at you after.

You don’t think about the dancers for a while, busy touring the resort with your sister, who’d dragged you to the resort in the first place. You’d wanted to stay home and study, but your father had insisted that you join the family for the summer.

It’s boring, more for the older crowd than someone like you, a junior in college. You’re studying business because that’s what your father wants, but you like to write poetry, and you’re usually content to stay in your room and scribble.

It’s hot, though, the air conditioning not doing much to help the humidity, so you go for a walk, hoping there’s a bit of a breeze.

While you’re out, you run into a staff member, a dancer you think, but you aren’t sure, you’d been so busy watching the instructor. 

“Girl shouldn’t be out this late at night alone. Might get in trouble,” he teases.

He’s cradling bottles of alcohol and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for stealing those?”

He laughs, loud and open. He’s cute, dressed down in a white tshirt and jeans, not like the stuck up staff members that do catering and management in the resort.

“Not if you don’t tell, baby.”

You bristle, but only a little. That’s what everyone calls you, after all, Baby might as well be your name. You’re the youngest and you’ll admit you’ve always been spoiled.

He shuffles the liquor bottles around to stick out his hand. “I’m BamBam.”

You shake his hand, a bit awkwardly because of all that he’s holding. “Interesting name.”

His face falls, just a bit, but then he smiles again. “You don’t know the half of it.” 

Bambam pauses for a moment, and then cocks his head. “You wanna help me with all this? I’ll show you something.”

You’d been warned about being alone with men, you’d had some experiences in college that you’d never tell your family about, it’s not as if you’re a prude, but especially here, so many staff members whispered about how “dangerous” the dance crew was, but you’ve been bored out of your mind, and Bambam seems sweet, if a little flirty.

You shrug and take a couple of bottles, giggling when he sighs dramatically in relief.

It’s such a long walk that you start to get worried, but eventually you start to hear the music, a surprising amount of bass given the attitude of the resort in general, juggling two half liters of expensive vodka likely pilfered from the resort bar.

BamBam kicks the door open, nearly dropping the liquor, and you manage not to laugh but it’s a near thing. The heat almost hits you in the face, the music louder than you’d imagined, and you find your mouth dropping open, looking around at the dancers.

You recognize a few members of the dance team, but none more than Jimmy, the dancer you’d been unable to keep your eyes from earlier that week.

His partner, she’d introduced herself as Sunny and you’d noticed she was nearly as beautiful as him, is practically riding his thigh, her head thrown back as he moves to the music, and you turn your eyes away, embarrassed.

It seems intimate in a way that makes you feel a pang of envy. You’d had flirtations here and there, even a few flings at college (which you pray your father would never catch wind of), but here? In public, in front of everyone?

You try to tell yourself the heat in your stomach is from embarrassment instead of arousal.

When you look over, Bambam is looking over at you with a sly grin. He juggles the liquor bottles.

“You wanna try it?”

You gasp out loud and hope he can’t hear you over the music.

“The dancing,” he explains, all but yelling over the beat.

“Oh!” You exclaim, and his sly grin widens.

“What did you think I meant?” 

“Nothing! Nothing!” You insist, and finally find somewhere to put down your cargo on a large table next to the wall, just to have something to do rather than be embarrassed.

Bambam shrugs and moves to do the same, and you’re just standing there, looking around at everyone and how free and happy they look, so different than the way they look during performances and during instructions.

Bambam is about to say something to you, leaned in toward your ear, when Jimmy walks up to the table, and you freeze like a deer in headlights.

“Hey baby,” he says in this low but melodic tone, and you have this weird sense like you always do when someone calls you that, as if they know you somehow, know you’re the baby and daddy’s little girl and are somehow judging you for it.

To be fair, Jimmy looks like he’s judging everyone, even when he’s pasted on a smile during a rumba class or smirking during a resort wide performance. You’re not sure if it’s confidence, arrogance, or anger, but you have to admit it’s a little attractive, the way his dark eyes flash when you put out your hand for him to take.

He doesn’t just lead you out onto the dance floor, he tugs at your arm, pulls you close to his chest, looks down at you as if you’re lovers and you suppose the way the others dance, that’s just how this goes, that’s how the dance goes, but when he slides his thigh between yours you can’t help but gasp.

He laughs right at the shell of your ear and it makes goosebumps pop up on the flesh between your neck and shoulder.

“You gotta move your hips, baby. Nobody likes a dead fish.”

It takes a few moments and more of your face feeling hot but you manage to get a rhythm and it’s hotter in here than you’d expected, sweat rolling from the fine hairs at your temples to your neck, his hands on your hips and his eyes on yours and it’s intense, makes you wonder if this is what you’ve been missing out on when you refuse to go with your sister to the staff parties that she’s been trying to drag you to the whole resort stay.

His face is so close you can see the sweat on his brow, the way his full lips are parted, leaning closer and closer in and you could swear he is going to kiss you, you even tilt your chin up, part your own lips, close your eyes.

Then he spins you, instead, and you feel dizzy, open your eyes, and see him striding off toward the back of the building.

You huff out a long breath, torn between storming out into the cool night air or following him, deeper into the humid building, like descending into hell if you were to believe the way your father’s pastor preaches at your hometown church.

You look back at the open door, the breeze cooling the sweat on your body and making you shiver, before you follow him, weaving between the people on the crowded dance floor with murmured apologies.

You follow him all the way out into the night, just on the other side, and you feel a little stupid for your dramatic thinking earlier, watching him exhale smoke from his nose, leaned against he back of the barn.

He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t make any indication that he knows you’re there.

“Jimmy?” You call, and you’d meant to be flirty, aggressive even, but it comes out small in the cold air.

He scoffs, takes another drag from his cigarette, glances over at you.

“What, you gonna pay for a lesson? Bet you didn’t bring daddy’s wallet with you when you followed Bam.”

“I-I didn’t-I don’t,”

He smiles then, not as much of a smirk, and it softens his face.

“Don’t worry,  baby. I'm only teasing. I’m not gonna tell your daddy you’re out here slumming it.”

“I’m not-” your voice raises and he turns his head to face you, one eyebrow raised, and you lower your tone. “I’m not slumming it.”

He shrugs lazily, offers you a drag of his cigarette and you don’t smoke but you place your lips around the end anyway, wonder if you can taste his mouth on it, inhale and manage not to cough.

“Jimmy-” you continue, and he rolls his eyes and your heart races, feeling like you’d said something stupid, and maybe you have because he flicks his cigarette into the night, turns, bracing himself against the wall and when he’s closer you wonder if he’s drunk, you can smell some type of acrid liquor and the leather of his jacket.

“My name is Jimin,” he says, and there’s no slur at all around his words so maybe you’re wrong about that last part.

“Jimin,” you repeat, the name rolling around your mouth, feeling thick on your tongue like the red wine you sip at your father’s dinner parties. You find yourself tilting your chin up again as he nods sharply and your eyes keep flickering between the sharp line of his jaw and his full mouth.

“I know your kind,” he continues, and you haven’t even partaken in any of the liberally spiked punch at the party but you’re the one who feels drunk, your head light on your shoulders.

“My...kind?”

Jimin does that sharp nod again, shifts his body so that he’s standing in front of you now and your shoulders brush the back wall of the barn.

“Mmhm. Come out here on Saturday nights to see what all the fuss is about, you college girls with fur lining your purses, I swear to God I could taste the silver spoon in your mouth if I kissed you,” he breathes, his words rude and harsh but you don’t move, don’t push him away, can’t stop staring up at the flash in his eyes.

That’s what they’ve been missing, you think. That’s what all those college boys you’ve let put their hands up your skirt, grab your tit too hard in the backseat of their muscle cars, even let them fuck you over the hood of said muscle cars, hoping for some kind of thrill because it’s wrong and dirty but all you got was their cum seeping down your inner thigh and their murmured apologies and this ache between your legs. Because they didn’t have this, this energy you can feel in the air, the light in his eyes, something like anger and lust and yearning all wrapped into one.

It isn’t even for you, not really, you’re not dumb enough to believe that, but god, is it something.

“You could test that theory,” you mumble, sure that your words sound slurred, leaning into him, and his chuckle is bitter but it still sends a hint of a shiver down your spine. He traces his finger under your chin, the corners of that full mouth turning up.

“What makes you think I want to, baby?”

You’re cute, he supposes, in that way that all little rich girls are cute, with your bouncy ponytail that you almost always wear, your conservative dresses. After he’d left you outside with just the smoke from his rolled cigarette hanging in the air, he prided himself in not giving in.

He’s positive he could have fucked you, could have coaxed you to his room with a few short words, but he knows from the rest of the dance team (especially from Bambam, who’d bagged his fair share of the rich daughters of CEOs, bank owners, lawyers, doctors, and the like from the resort, considered himself a bit of an expert in the matter), that taking one of those types to your bed leads to nothing but drama. 

Drama wasn’t something Jimin needed, especially since all the odds were already stacked against him in this job (in life, really, but who’s counting?) Jimin wouldn’t consider himself a bitter person, in fact throughout his childhood and most of his adolescence, he’d been positive, optimistic, always smiling. He’d gotten stellar grades, always did what his parents wanted, had even planned to work on law school after graduation. The one class he took was mind numbingly boring, and he had no aptitude for debating. He’d been naïve, foolishly thought that his father would support whatever he wanted to do, and since he felt most alive when he was with his friends, dancing, making their own choreography, he’d approached his father with an application to Julliard.

Needless to say, Jimin became less naïve day by day, after that. It was gradual, his fall from grace, as some people might say. He thought of it more as growing up, as becoming more who he should be - and if that was a bitter asshole who manipulated rich older women into his bed for extra funds, so be it.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t feel shame about it sometimes, or even guilt, especially like with Mrs. Jensen, nearing fifty but with the most beautiful  green eyes and the way she called him “Jiminie,” had insisted on learning his real name, traced the line of his spine in bed before he got up to dress and murmured how he was the most beautiful boy.

“If I were twenty years younger, Jiminie. Hell, I were only ten years younger,” she’d mourn, those green eyes almost liquid, and he’d smile and tell her she didn’t look a day over thirty and she’d scoff but she’d also smile, and when she smiles sometimes Jimin thinks that if he isn’t careful, age gap or no, he might just fall in love.

In the end, though, he felt okay about what he did, it was a means to an end, and if he judged the denizens of the resort too harshly, that’s because they could take it, no skin off their teeth with their millions of dollars in the bank. They could dry their tears with hundred dollar bills.

It isn’t until daylight the next morning, when Jimin wakes up slightly hungover and chugs a glass of water, when there’s this flash of your face in his head, tilted up to his, this almost hungry look in your eyes.

He’d like to say he’d seen that look before, but he hasn’t. Not quite in the same way.

Jimin doesn’t want to think about it long, and for a while he’s able to distract himself with his morning workout and then rehearsal, but for the first time in several summers, he misses a couple of steps and Sunmi looks at him from the corner of her eye with a sly smile.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and she laughs and does a little piourette.

Jimin thinks later maybe she was hungover too, or had taken too many of those codeine pills she claimed were for her periods, but she loses her balance and goes down, too quick for Jimin to catch her, off the stage, her foot caught under her body.

She cries out but then bites her lip, hard, knowing that the supervisor was just around the corner, gorging himself on snacks and champagne while they all worked for hours to get the steps just right.

Jimin tries not to show it, but he knows as soon as he hops off the stage that Sunmi’s ankle is broken, and badly. It’s already swollen, already turning a bit purple, a bit of bone poking through, a streak of blood down her foot.

“Fuck,” Sunmi says in a pained whisper, eyes liquid when she looks up at him. “Jiminie, what am I gonna do?”

Jimin knows she doesn’t mean the ankle. He knows she means the next rehearsal and the next, the big dance they’ll be doing at a nearby resort, representing the dance troupe and the hotel. He knows she means her whole fucking life because if she loses this she can’t pay for Julliard.

“We’ll figure it out, jagiya,” he says softly, lifting her into his arms. Sunmi buries her face in his chest and Jimin makes hand signals at a wide eyed Bambam to distract the supervisor while Jimin carries her back to the barracks.

There’s nothing but nervous energy throughout your body the rest of the week, as you sit through your father gorging himself on shrimp, your mother chugging champagne, your sister flirting with the staff members at the buffet. You’re barely able to make conversation, not that anyone notices. You’re used to being ignored, as the baby of the family. All you can think of is the dance instructor’s full lips inches from yours, his finger trailing up your throat before he’s just gone and you’re all but swooning with the smell of him around you like a haze.

You’d seen him a few times that week, watching from far away as he twirled a few women around the dance floor, once at a resort performance, right in front and center, seen the way his nose wrinkled when they introduced him as “Jimmy Park.” He hadn’t given you a second glance, and while it stung, you weren’t one to give up easily, not after how you’d felt when he’d looked at you, really seen you.

You’re sneaking out of the resort room when it’s barely ten pm on the last Sunday, unable to wait any longer and shimmying out the back window just as you had the other night. You manage to remember the way to the barn, and even if you didn’t you can practically feel the music booming under your feet, the faint sound drawing you closer.

Your heart rate increases as you get closer and you stand near the edge of the building, a wallflower as always, but your eyes are searching the floor. You don’t see him anywhere, and after a few moments you’re sure your lip is turning into a pout. You do spot Bambam, your ambassador from the other night, and you figure he might know something about Jimin’s whereabouts.

Bambam goes uncharacteristically quiet when you bring up Jimin’s name, though, face blanching slightly.

You look at him curiously. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No. Fine, everything’s fine.”

“Bambam?”

He won’t look at you, rocking back and forth on his heels, and then he freezes. “Hey. Baby.”

“Hmm?” You’re distracted, looking around at the crowd in hopes that Jimin will show.

“Didn’t you say your father was a doctor?”

It’s a whirlwind after that, your brief panic wondering what might be wrong, the internal struggle to know if you should wake up your father or not, knowing he’ll ask what you’ve been doing out and about, waking your father and having Bambam lead you both to the dancer’s barracks, where you see Jimin sitting on the coffee table, getting up when Bambam bursts in with your father, who is carrying his doctor’s bag.

“What the fuck-” he hisses in a low voice, looking right at Bambam and not even acknowledging you.

Your father, for his part, rushes to the couch, where Sunmi is bundled in blankets but still shivering, sweat on her brow, and when your father yanks back the blanket you gasp because her right foot is dark purple and swollen.

For the first time, Jimin looks at you, and there’s nothing but dark fury in her eyes. “Get her out of here,” he demands, and Bambam’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“Jimin-” you start, and he scoffs, turns away from you, toward your father, thanking him for coming and explaining what happened, ignoring you as if you were never there at all.

You wait anxiously in the living quarters, and you wince when you hear Sunmi cry out as your father works on her ankle. It takes hours, and while you wait, Bambam explains what happened and you just cock your head, confused.

“Why didn’t she just see a doctor?”

Bambam frowns, but before he can answer Jimin is stalking into the room.

“Yeah, why didn’t she just see a doctor?” Jimin mocks, staring at you with glittering eyes. “It’s that easy, princess?”

You don’t know how to answer, your face feeling hot, and you want to look away but you can’t. “Explain it to me.”

Jimin laughs, bitter and low. “You’d never understand, Baby. We can’t all call daddy and have him throw money at the situation.”

“Jimin, she brought him here to help us, we should be kind-” Bambam protests, and Jimin waves a hand at him.

Jimin turns to you, takes your hand and even though his eyes are still glittering with anger, your breath catches in your throat at his touch.

You’re perched on the arm of a chair and he leans down slightly, brushes his lips just barely over the back of your hand, all the while looking into your eyes.

“Thank you, princess, for deigning to help us peasants,” he says, voice low and charming and absolutely dripping with venom.

Anger rises in your chest, tightening in your throat but you stay quiet, jerking your hand from his and looking away.

Your father tersely gives instructions to Jimin after both Sunmi and Jimin refuse a hospital, and Jimin nods, but you see his face fall when he says something about how she is not to bear weight on her ankle for six weeks at least.

Your father is escorting you out with a blank expression but you’re looking back at Jimin and he’s watching you with those dark, glittering eyes.

It’s only a few days before your father has to go back and visit Sunmi, and he’s barely spoken a word to you, angry that you hadn’t told him about your friendships with the staff, you suppose. You can’t bring yourself to care, you’re an adult and even if he’s paying your tuition, he doesn’t have the right to tell you with whom to spend your time.

You insist on going with him to check on Sunmi, and you do sit with her for a few moments before you hear Jimin and Bambam arguing.

“Can’t someone else do it?”

You know Jimin’s scoff well by now, it seems like that’s what he’d been doing most of the few weeks you’d known him.

“No, Bam, someone else can’t do it! No one else knows the routine, it’s a special stage for Sunmi and me. Maria’s on maternity leave and Sooyoung can’t learn it in two weeks on top of the final rehearsals for the final show.”

“Do what?” You ask softly, standing in the doorway and shutting Sunmi’s door behind you.

“Can’t go a week without princess butting her head in,” Jimin mutters, and you huff out a breath.

“It’s a special dance stage,” Bambam explains. “Sunmi is expected there and so far she’s been able to get out of rehearsals but if the performance doesn’t happen, the supervisor…” he trails off, and you fill in the gaps.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Can’t fix this with daddy’s money,” Jimin snaps.

“I wasn’t trying to-” you cry out, and then lower your voice. “I wasn’t trying to fix it, I just...I wanted to help.”

Jimin laughs. “Help? How? You shivered when I so much as brushed my hand across your hip when we danced.”

Bambam raises an eyebrow at that and you keep trying to fight down anger.

“I could...I could learn,” you insist.

“You are a dance instructor,” Bambam reminds him helpfully, and although Jimin is still incredulous, that's how it happens.

That’s how you start to spend three days a week at Jimin’s small bedroom, learning the steps to the most complicated dance you’d ever heard of. That’s how you start to fall in love with him.

I wanna know, oh

This is stupid, he thinks, over and over. This is so fucking stupid and it isn’t going to work and I’ll fail and Sunmi will be fired. Hell, I might be fired.

You keep stumbling in the heels you’d be required to wear for the dance and you’re taller than Sunmi so that throws off the whole performance and you only have just a touch of rhythm and you have an attitude and the list goes on and on.

The two of you are two weeks into rehearsals when it all comes to a head. You’d huffed out a long breath or given him a withering stare before, when he’d snapped at you or corrected your steps roughly, but usually you let it go.

There’s not enough room in his tiny space, and it’s not like the two of you were exactly friends, so it’s tense, for the most part.

One day, at the last rehearsal of the week, he spins you and you miss a step, stomp down on the top of his foot with your heel and he cries out and curses.

“This is never going to work,” he mutters when you try to help and you let out an annoyed almost growl that, in other circumstances, he might find kind of cute.

“You could give me a little goddamn credit, you know!” You yell, and he stops rubbing his foot and looks up at you.

Maybe he’d been a little dramatic, it didn’t hurt as much as he’d put on, but if that happened during the performance….

“Credit for what?” He bursts out.

You put your hands on your hips and you’re wearing this barely there white croptop and a flowing skirt and (not for the first time), he notices the swell of your hip, the outline of your breast.

“For one, bringing my father to help Sunmi-”

Jimin barks out a laugh at this, his eyes returning to your face. “Takes a real saint to call daddy-”

“Second,” you continue firmly, voice raising over his, “for working three days a week for hours to try and help you and your girlfriend keep your jobs!”

He opens his mouth to correct you but your voice keeps rising, your eyes full of fury.

“And last of all but most importantly, putting up with your constant bullshit! I can’t do anything good enough for you and I really just want to punch you and leave.”

Jimin pauses, stands up straight and looks at you for a moment. As much as he hates this situation he can’t let you quit. He needs you, more importantly Sunmi needs you, and he’ll never forgive himself if he fucks things up for his best friend because he can’t control his temper.

“Do it, then.”

Your eyes widen. “Do what?”

Jimin pats the middle of his chest. “Hit me, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You look at him incredulously.

He smirks at you, makes a little come hither gesture with his hands. “C’mon, princess. You scared?”

There it is, that flash in your eyes that he’s come to know well even during such a short time, and it makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand up.

You punch him, just at his diaphragm, weakly, and he laughs.

“C’mon, Baby. You can do better than that.” 

He takes a step closer and you just keep looking at him, your canine piercing your bottom lip, still breathing hard from the rehearsal.

He can’t deny it makes his dick twitch in his sweats, the fire in your eyes, the way he can see the outline of your erect nipples through that croptop.

He leans down closer to your face. “Still wonder if I could taste that silver spoon on your tongue,” he whispers, and then you slap him across the face, hard, making him stumble back with a laugh.

He nods, and you start to gasp out apologies but he holds up a hand. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

It’s been hot all week, and there’s on and off summer showers that come from nowhere. The thunder rumbles as you reach the parking lot and Jimin’s car, a clean but beat up Mustang. 

You dance around a bit as Jimin reaches into the pocket of his sweats for his keys but he curses instead. When you look in the window, cupping your hands, you see the keys in the ignition.

You sigh and stand up to tell Jimin but he’s removing his leather jacket and wrapping it around his fist as you watch, open mouthed.

He busts the back quarter window as if he’s reading the newspaper and unlocks the door, leaning over to pop your lock before cranking it up.

You stand there for a moment, shocked and oddly aroused.

“You coming?” He asks, looking up at you from the driver’s seat, and you scramble inside.

“You’re crazy,” you mumble as he pulls off at a speed that should have scared you but instead filled you with exhilaration. 

He looks over at you, as if confused. “What?”

“I said you’re fucking crazy!” You yell, laughing, and he starts to laugh too and you’ve never heard him like that, open and loud instead of derisive and bitter and there’s rain pouring into the back window but he doesn’t care and you can’t imagine ever feeling that free.

You have that feeling again, the one you’d had standing outside the barn with him, that energy like he’s wanting and hungry all the time and just like then, you want more.

You push that out of your head, though, he’s made it clear where his thoughts lie, and that’s with Sunmi. That’s the whole reason you’re doing this, to help her, help them. It’s certainly not because you just want to be near him, because even when he’s angry at you the way you feel with him makes you feel like you never have before, not because you want to memorize the bow of his lips, the line of his jaw, how his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles.

“Where are we?” You finally ask when he’s pulled off into a clearing in the woods.

“You’ll see.” He grabs your hand and tugs you behind him and your heart skips a beat.

You end up practicing at the river for hours, and you ask questions and he answers them, about his family, how he started dancing, Juilliard and why he’s doing this job.

You’re not surprised that he wants more, he’s too good for this place and you can see it, even though you’re no expert.

He talks a lot more than he ever has, tells you so much about himself and you have fun, laughing and talking with him, he’s barely teaching you anything at all.

Finally, he’s sitting on a high log, swinging his legs and looking down at you as you sit on the shore.

“We haven’t practiced the lift because it’s best to practice in the water,” he says, and that’s how you end up waist deep with his eyes on yours and his hands on your hips.

“Ready?” He asks, quietly, as if there isn’t only the woods and the river and the birds to hear him.

You nod, your mouth dry, but then his hands slip up to your waist and you’re not sure you’re ready at all. Of course he’s touched you during rehearsals, here and there, but not like this, not this close.

“Jump,” he commands, and you do, think you’d have done anything he told you, but he lifts you up effortlessly and you try not to stare down at him as your heels lift off the riverbed, try to look ahead like he’s taught you but it’s impossible and when he lifts you over his head, telling you to hold the position, you go straight into the water, coming up sputtering.

He laughs, pulls you close, and does it again, and this time it works, this time you hold it and he slowly lowers you back down.

Your body slides down his, your nipples brushing his chest, his breath on your throat, and surely this is too close, surely you won’t be doing this on stage in front of people.

“Baby,” he murmurs, close to your ear, like it’s your name, and you shake your head.

“Call me Y/n.”

He says your name and you watch how his lips shape it before you tilt your chin to kiss him, pressing your mouth to his without thought, your lips parted.

His tongue in your mouth is hot, hungry just like you knew it would be, and your arms tighten around his neck. You hear the water moving and gasp into his mouth when you feel his hand slide up your thigh, under your skirt, sliding along the river water soaked crotch of your panties.

“Jimin,” you moan into his mouth, and he just kisses you harder, presses his hand harder against your cunt and you want more more more.

You’d imagined it, late at night, sore and exhausted from rehearsing and you could feel his hand on your hip as he’d turned you, slid your hands down your body imagining they were his, but this is so different, so much better than you’d ever dared to dream.

Suddenly, he pulls away from you, and you whine. 

“We should...we should get back,” he says, voice slightly hoarse, and he wades back to shore while you’re left wanting and aching.

would you be my girl?

You’re quiet in the car, your head spinning, and he doesn’t say a single word until he pulls back up.

“Want me to walk you back to the resort?” He asks quietly as he turns off the car.

You blink at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He doesn’t  look at you, his eyes down in his lap, and you open the door and slam it when you get out.

Jimin knows he should stay put. He should stay put for so many reasons. It’s too much drama, you’re a guest of the resort, you’re a little rich girl with daddy’s money, you deserve better.

But he sees your shoulders shaking and he can’t help himself from getting out, rubbing your shoulders as he leads you inside. You’re shivering now, it’s after sundown and you’re soaking wet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on your shoulder. “I’ll get you some tea and some warm clothes.”

He turns to go and heat the kettle but you grab his wrist, tug him back.

“Nobody makes me feel the way you do,” you say in a quiet and shaking voice. “Even when we argue I-”

“Baby. Y/n. Don’t,” he pleads. He feels like he’s right on the edge of something, like he’d fall over with just a single push from you.

All these things are flashing through his head, moments where he’d let himself notice how he felt when you’d do this little growl in frustration when you missed a step, the way your mouth turned down at the corners when you were focused, how you set your jaw when he said something to make you angry. After just a few weeks he’s all but memorized the lines of your body and he’d blamed it on being focused on the performance but he knows somewhere that it’s something else, that you mean something else to him.

“Why?” You ask, sounding almost pained and he can’t stop looking into your eyes and he can’t speak either so he kisses you first this time, one hand at the nape of your neck to pull you close.

We aren’t from the same world, he should say. It won’t work and I’ll break your heart or you’ll break mine and I don’t know if I can take it.

He should say so many things but instead he says nothing at all, just kisses you and kisses you until you jump just like you did in the water, wrap your legs around his waist this time instead and he carries you to his bed, peels off your soaked clothes while you keep kissing him in between, his mouth, his throat, his chin, and it makes him laugh.

You’re bare beneath him and he doesn’t even realize that he still has his wet clothes on until he slides over you to kiss you again and you hiss.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and smiles at you and you blink, have this expression he can’t quite pinpoint. “I’m usually better at this,” he finishes after pulling off his tshirt, and you open your thighs with this slow smile.

“We’ve got time.”

His breath hitches in his throat because that’s probably not true, after tonight you’ll probably avert your eyes when he looks at you in public, come to him late at night like all the others.

Instead of saying that, he curses under his breath and looks down at you, slips his fingers through your slick, sliding two fingers inside you as you arch your back.

You’re so wet already and he’s barely touched you and it makes him groan.

“Look at you. Such a pretty baby,” he praises, moving his fingers because he loves the way your face goes slack, your mouth parted as you writhe against his hand.

“God,” you whimper, voice a little slurred. “Please.”

Jimin feels like he might burst before he even gets out of his sweats, wants to make you come before he does but you lock your legs around his waist, surprising him and he falls forward, catching himself on his palms.

Before he can catch his bearings you drag your tongue along his throat and he groans.

“Baby, you’re full of surprises.”

You smile against his mouth and push down his sweats with your feet and it makes him laugh again, he’s found himself biting back smiles so often with you that it feels good to let it out.

Then his cock is sliding against you and you’re so hot and wet that he bites down on your lip. You cry out softly and rock your hips against his, panting out his name and then he can’t do anything else but slide inside you, burying his face against your throat.

He thinks, too late, that he should have flipped you over, focused on your ass and the line of you spine instead of like this, looking down into your face and the way your eyes focus on his. He knows better, but you’re rolling your hips up to meet his and biting your lip and you keep moaning his name and he can’t stop now.

Your nails rake down his back and he leans up to fuck you harder, hoping to focus on your breasts bouncing instead of how pretty you look beneath him. 

“Baby,” he breathes. “I’m gonna-” 

He doesn’t get to finish because you’re making the prettiest sounds, moving your head from side to side and your cunt clenches around him like a vice.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

It’s been fast and sloppy and he’s almost embarrassed when he comes inside you, but you lock your ankles around the small of his back and pull him down again.

After he’s made that tea he promised earlier and you’re sitting crosslegged on his twin bed, facing him, you call his name softly.

“Hmm?” He asks, distracted by how you look now, your hair mussed, skin slightly flushed.

“Does my mouth taste like silver?”

He frowns until it hits him, what he’d said to you that first night, and then he’s laughing again and tackling you to plant kisses along the side of your face.

Jimin is gone when you wake up, leaving you a note to lock up. No heart drawn there, not even his full name, just a -J at the end. You assume he must feel guilty about Sunmi, assume maybe he never meant for things to go too far and now here you are, heartbroken, and you still have to keep your promises and finish rehearsals and this dance with him.

You stay in your room at the resort for two days, until your scheduled next rehearsal with Jimin, and you feel like you’ve cried enough that when you see him, it’ll be easier.

You walk into the studio already dressed in your leotard and shorts, and he’s standing at the record player and even the set of his shoulders looks stiff, and it makes your heart ache.

You don’t speak, just start taking off your sneakers to put on the heels that you have to practice in, and it’s Jimin who says your name, softly. 

Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and it seems like all the tears you’ve cried the last two days are stuck in your throat.

You take a deep breath before looking up and the words come out before you know what you’re saying.

“I know you’re going to tell me that it was a mistake. I know you’re going to tell me you love Sunmi and I understand. Let’s just not, okay? Let’s just not talk about it because I’m embarrassed and I’m sad and I feel stupid-”

Jimin sits on the floor with you, moves close and presses his forehead to yours.

“I don’t love Sunmi. I mean...I’m not in love with her.”

Your heart does a backflip. “But I’m a mistake.”

Jimin lets out a heavy sigh, shakes his head softly, looking into your eyes.

“Jimin,” you whisper, and then he kisses you and you forgot what you were going to say.

There’s two weeks until the performance and you spend all of those days irrevocably in love with Park Jimin.

“Why do you stay?” You ask him one night while you’re lying with your head on his chest after he’d bent you over the arm of the recliner in his room, rough, and you love it but you  know he’s angry because they wouldn’t let him change the choreography of the final dance, wouldn’t let him do anything but teach old ladies the foxtrot.

He’s been stroking his fingers along your spine and you wonder if that was a stupid question when he freezes just for a moment.

“It’s not like it’s easy, Baby,” he says, simply.

“It should be,” you insist, and you press a kiss between his pecs, knowing it isn’t something you can understand.

You know you’re privileged, know that your father would flip his lid if he knew you were getting  fucked by the dance instructor four nights a week and most days too, because your father didn’t think he could provide for you. You’re sure that if he found out, your father would disown you and you’d lose your tuition money and your apartment back home.

So when you and Jimin are walking back to the resort from the studio, holding hands and laughing and you catch sight of your father in a golf cart, you gasp, tug Jimin’s hand to hide behind a nearby building.

Jimin lets you lead him there, doesn’t protest, but his face is like stone when your father passes and you can relax.

“Jimin-” you start.

“Tell me again how it should be easy, Baby,” he says, his voice like ice, and when you try to take his hand he pulls away. 

You make up, eventually, it only takes a day before Jimin gives in to your apologies, the kisses you plant along his shoulders while he’s trying to stretch before practice, but in the end, he’s right.

It’s not easy at all.

just a fool to believe

Jimin knew this thing with you wouldn’t last forever. In fact, he’d been preparing for the performance to be the last night, the last time he’d see you look at him like that. He starts to dread it, starts to stay awake later at night to watch you sleep so that he’d have more memories of your face pressed against his pillow.

He’s always known you’ll leave him, whether it’s in the middle of the night because you realize you can’t let your father find out, after the performance when you’ve done what you’ve said you would, or at the end of the summer, when you’d return home to your college and your friends. Hell, maybe even a boyfriend. He tried not to entertain that, it made his throat feel tight to wonder if you have some Ivy League jerk with a letter jacket waiting for you, but it’s crossed his mind.

He knows he’s not good enough for you, knows that if his own bosses can’t even use his real name to introduce him he’ll never have someone like you, not long term, anyway. He’s used to being someone’s dirty little secret, with this job.

He’s always thought that you’d leave him, but in the end he has to leave you.

You’re full of nerves, counting down the days to the performance, and it’s only three days away when Sunmi comes up to you, sweating on her crutches, and your eyes widen. She’d barely left her room, knows that if the supervisors find out it’s her foot instead of an illness like your father had told them, she’ll be cut from the team.

“Sumni, what-”

“Jimin’s gone,” she bursts out.

“No. No he’s not gone,” you say confidently, but you can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Sunmi is near tears and she nods her head sadly. “He’s gone, they fucking fired him!” Her voice breaks and you put out a hand to steady her. It feels like you’re moving underwater.

“He wouldn’t leave without...without telling me,” you say, less confident with every word.

Why wouldn’t he? Why would he come to you, a summer fling, someone he doesn’t even know that well?

Because he loves me, you think. But does he? He hasn’t said it. He hasn’t made you any promises.

“What about the performance?” You ask, feeling like you’re floating farther away from her as you speak.

“They replaced him,” she chokes out, crying openly now, and you hug her, comfort her so that you don’t break down yourself.

You find out from Bambam why, and it’s all your fault. Apparently one of Jimin’s so called students had caught you and Jimin in the studio, seen you through the window and in a bout of jealousy reported him for “cavorting with a guest.” It was against the resort’s rules, even though Bambam says all of them had done it, at least once and usually more.

It doesn’t matter. Jimin had been caught and he’d lost his job and probably his tuition and it was all your fault. You’re like a zombie the last three days, your mother asks if you’re okay and your father keeps ignoring you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can’t care about anything. You don’t have any idea where he lives, you can’t even write to him, and you lie in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about how he joked that your mouth must taste like the silver spoon you were born with and how it used to make you laugh.

The night of the performance, your mother demands that you go, dresses you in this stupid pink dress you’ve never liked and rolls your hair, and you’re picking at your food when they announce that the performance is about to start. You’re sitting in the corner, against the wall, hanging your head.

Tears are welling in your eyes as you hear the familiar opening bars, but then there’s a loud feedback sound as someone kills the microphone and you look up, startled.

Jimin is standing at your family’s table, wearing a white tshirt and jeans, a leather jacket, similar to the outfit you’d first seen him in, and you wonder for a moment if you’re dreaming.

Then he says your name. Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and you blink up at him, shocked.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” he says with a smirk, and takes your hand to pull you up.

this could be love

You don’t leave him after the final dance, like he’d thought, but he was right that it wasn’t easy. Nothing worth it ever was, he supposes. You run away with him, live in his tiny college dorm on his twin bed, and he still doesn’t think he deserves you. 

You still apologize for getting him fired from that shitty job and he still cops an attitude and tells you that you’re spoiled sometimes but it ends in hot and hungry kisses or an impromptu dance session around his record player.

It isn’t easy but he wants it, and so do you, and he hopes that in the end, that’s all you need.

[realcube]

pillow fights!

characters ♡ bokuto, nishinoya & suna

content warning ♡ fluff, violence, mentions of death & minor injury 

kōtarō bokuto

♡ bokuto had been really fixated on practise recently so the time he spent with you was sparse. and what little time you did get with him, he was way too worn out to be his usual, chatty self

♡ finally though, he was able to take a few days off so could make up for the last few weeks with you :))

♡ he took you to a spa resort so you could both relax and spend time together in a calm, non-hectic environment.. but ofc y’all started a pillow fight in your hotel room

♡ so y’all are in your shared hotel room, admiring how soft and comfy the pillows are until he throws one right at your face and it almost knocks you off your feet

♡ he’s on the floor cackling so ofc you take this opportunity get a bit of revenge and smother his face with the exact same pillow he tried to take you out with 

♡ you purposefully don’t press it against his face too hard but he frantically squirms underneath you, before suddenly stopping after 10 seconds, pretending to have passed away

♡ unimpressed, you remove the pillow from his face but only so he can see how you rolled your eyes at his poor acting skills, ‘no one dies after 10 seconds with no oxy--’

♡ unbeknownst to you, he had led you straight into his trap

♡ now that your grip on the pillow had loosened, he snatched it from your hands before slamming it down against the top of your head 

♡ he doesn’t know his own strength so if you’re not on defence then your head will be wiped clean off hjkxjhkx (/h)

♡ ‘bokuto!’ you yelled through gritted teeth, clenching your fists and gluing them to your side so you didn’t use your knuckles instead of a pillow 

♡ he wasn’t a fan of you using his legal name rather than the cutesy nicknames you gave him, so his blood ran cold and his perked up slightly, clutching the pillow to his chest, ‘who is bokuto? you mean ‘kō’ ? you mean ‘babe’ ?’

♡ you couldn’t help but scoff at how he gazed up at you with longing, puppy-eyes, complemented by a pout —as if he was your innocent, sweet boyfriend who didn’t almost give you a concussion a few seconds ago. ‘no. i meant bokuto.’

♡ before he could respond with more whining, you swiped the pillow from his clutches and slapped him across the face with it, to the tune of your chaotic, somewhat sinister laugh

♡ after that, bokuto literally pounced on you with cuddles- it had gone to far, in his opinion. you had gone mad with power so the only way to bring you back down to reality was with hugs <3 plus, he hadn’t found the opportunity to spend quality time with you in ages, so ofc he tried to make the most out of this situation

♡ ‘babe!’ he cried, pressing his lips against your as he picked you up and dumped you onto the bed, jumping on shortly after to smother you with his affection, ‘i missed you!’

♡ your eyes widened, slightly shocked at his sudden change in attitude but you weren’t too surprised as bokuto always ends up doing this after weeks of dedicating himself to work. and honestly, you anticipated it. 

♡ ‘we’ve barely talked because i’ve been so focussed on practise and i’m so sorry! i still love you — i always have and will!’

♡ you weren’t too sure how it went from a pillow fight to this, but either way, you were now reassuringly stroking his back while he cradled your head in his arms, ‘it’s fine, kō.’ you giggled, placing a kiss upon your considerate boyfriend’s temple, ‘i never thought you didn’t love me but it’s always nice to hear it. i love you too.’

♡ absolute bliss was the only visible emotion on his face after you placed a kiss on the tip of his nose, ‘great! oh!’ his eyes lit up as he whipped his phone out of his pocket, ‘do you wanna watch that show we started?!’

♡ it took you a moment to realise, but once you did, you blurted out, ‘oh, that show? babe, we started it like months ago; i’ve completely forgotten what was happening.’ 

♡ he shrugged, his usual boyish grin gracing his features, ‘that’s fine! we can start from the beginning.’

♡ you smirked, prying your gaze off his cheerful golden eyes to search the beside table for the tv remote, ‘sure. but we’re not watching it on your phone. i mean, we paid for this expensive hotel room so we may as well use--’

♡ then, you felt a sudden yet soft tap against your shoulder. your eyes immediately darted to look at bokuto, who was wearing a mischievous smirk while holding another pillow 

♡ ...

♡ y’all stayed up to 2AM- and no one on your whole hotel floor got a wink of sleep that night due to both of your chortles and screams

♡ but y’all had fun ^^

yū nishinoya

♡ just bc you are his boo, the love of his life, his bitch, his guardian angel, the reason he gets up in the morning and the deity he pray to every night, does NOT mean he’s going to take it easy on you during a pillow fight 

♡ it not even a pillow fight tbh.. it’s a pillow WAR

♡ his whole love language is decking you while you’re trying to pound him into the mattress with a pillow

♡ and he screams a lot too pfft like war cries

♡ he just goes absolutely feral when you try to pillow fight him

♡ and you better be ready to go hard bc if you light hit the back of his head with your cushion, with the thought that the pillow fight would be playful, sweet and fun- you could’ve been more wrong 

♡ it’s only fun for the person who’s not getting the daylights smacked out of them 

♡ but since it’s only pillows, y’all never usually get hurt or sustain injuries from it 

♡ nishinoya was close tho- flashback to that one time he fell off the bed and missed hitting his head off the sharp corner of the wardrobe behind him by like..a millimetre

♡ that could’ve been a trip to the infirmary :o

♡ but one time, the metal part of the zipper on the cushion scratched the back of your hand

♡ it wasn’t anything awful, there wasn’t even blood. it was just a scratch. it was on the joint of your finger though so it hurt slightly to move your thumb..

♡ ‘ouch..’ you muttered, staring down at your hand which you cradled with the other. you were quick to back out amidst the chaos of the fight with noya

♡ nishinoya quirked a brow, hesitantly setting his pillows down to approach you, peering over your defences to see what you were looking at that was concerning

♡ ‘what’s up, babe? are you o--’ he cut himself off with a sharp gasp as he laid his eyes on the small mark on your skin. his hands instantly shot up to cup yours, ‘did i do that?! i am so sorry!’

♡ you shrugged, smirking slightly at how his whole ‘warrior’ exterior had now fallen, revealing the soft noya who genuinely cares too much for his own good, ‘i’m not sure. it’s no big deal though, i’ll just put a plaster on it.’

♡ before you could even head in the direction of the drawer with plasters in it, nishinoya had already dashed over there and back, brining the whole whole of first-aid stuff with him

♡ ‘are you okay? does it hurt? do you need a painkiller? should i call someone?’ he asked, frantically looking through the tray until he found two boxes of band-aids, ‘ok- do you want the cars one or the plain one? wait- should i disinfect it first? and how big should the plaster be?’

♡ needless to say, your whole hand was wrapped in bandages once dr nishinoya was done with you-

rintarō suna

♡ he can’t even fight with you playfully for long with getting tempted to pull you in for a kiss

♡ also he doesn’t get as into the fight as the other two- like night time is for sleeping and the fact you are trying to start a fight with him just results his natural instinct to play-dead kicking in

♡ the way he just lays there while you ruthlessly hammer him with your pillow is honestly quite funny

♡ what he doesn’t know though is that there is a tiny grin tugging at his lips since he gets a whiff of your sweet scent on the pillow whenever you slam it against his face, which is reason you continue bc you can tell he’s enjoying it

♡ he doesn’t put up much of a fight tbh

♡ eventually gets tired and pulls you into his embrace with one arm while snatching the pillow from your grip with the other 

♡ he chuckled as you struggled against his chest, bonking your head with the pillow lightly before loosen his grip on your head slightly, allowing you to finally breathe instead of being suffocated by his chest, ‘are you done yet?’

♡ you shook your head, which he reciprocated when he noticed your grabby hands towards the pillow — aka, your weapon. 

♡ ‘your not getting this back.’ suna replied monotonously, petting your head with a honeyed smile and slipping your weapon behind his head to relax on.

♡ ‘sleep.’  was the final thing his said before his eyes fluttered shut, looking exactly how he did while you were attacking him..but more serene

♡ and that’s usually how it ends when you try to start a pillow fight with him- it ends with nap time 🙄

♡ UNTIL he gets an energy drink in him

♡ then it’s a different story 

♡ the roles quite literally reverse

♡ except suna is now chasing you through the house- 

♡ his pillow swings aren’t even that hard but he has a really freaky expression on his face so you just run lmao 

taglist: @scftfairyking @the-astrumnauta @thefutureastronaut @itsmeaudrieee​

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I Knew It (AJ Styles x Reader)

SMUTTY SMUTTY AJ STYLES X READER

Requests are open! 

“Fancy seeing you here.” You heard from behind you.

AJ… AJ Styles.

Where does one begin with this man? You secretly adored him. That sweet, sweet southern charm, those ocean blue eyes, and that strong physique. You would be lying if you said he didn’t cross your mind from time to time… or maybe, a little more often than that. It would be a cold day in hell before you showed him that, though… His ego was big enough as is. You were not gonna be one to add to it. You always showed him that he annoyed you beyond belief, and honestly, you were not sure whether he bought it or not. You made him wait for a minute, before you finally turned around to face him, making sure to roll your eyes.

“Can I help you?” You asked him, the annoyance crystal clear in your voice.

“Relax, kitten.” He took a seat next to you. A little too close.

You quickly scooted away from him, creating space between you two.

“Don’t call me that.” You scoffed.

AJ and you had booked a quick weekend getaway at the same resort. You had seen him while you were checking in, much to your surprise. He had been making moves on you here and there, but this coincidence raised your existing suspicions. You couldn’t tell if this was happening on purpose or if it was truly coincidence. Regardless, he was being a pain in your butt this whole trip, or so he thought.

“Darlin, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Yeah, I’m aware… old man.” You nodded, studying his face. “And what’s that supposed to mean, anyways?” You added.

You were only 22. While you liked how much older he was than you, you’d never admit it to him. Something about an older man...especially one like AJ. The experience, the charm… he could teach you so many things. You didn’t like the younger, immature men. Never did.

“Old man?” He questioned, raising his eyebrows as a small chuckle escaped his lips.  

“Yeah, old man. What, you’re like, 21 years older than me?” You shook your head, still wondering what he meant by not being born yesterday.

“How do you know exactly how old I am, Y/N?” He smirked, locking eyes with you.

“I… we work together, AJ. People talk. You didn’t know?” You countered, heat flooding your face as you looked back into his eyes.

It was dark now. You two were sitting on a bench by the resort pool. There was a nice breeze, one you were able to thoroughly enjoy before he sat down next to you. It definitely wasn’t helping you cool off, now. He made you so nervous, your heart secretly raced everytime he was near you.

“Just curious.” He said simply, scooting closer to you. His thigh was touching yours now. “Let’s give up this act, Y/N. I might be an old man, but I know you like it.” He whispered, his words making your heart beat even faster.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrugged, trying your best to keep your composure. You turned away from him and stared out at the pool, watching the reflections on the still, clear water. You knew he was studying your face. You were hoping you looked as calm as you were pretending to be.

He reached out and grabbed onto your thigh, squeezing it gently.

You reacted quickly, standing up and grabbing your bag.

You didn’t plan on playing these games with him. At least not now, not here.

“I’m going to head to my room, AJ. I have a few things to do tomorrow, I should get some rest.” You tried to convince him, looking down at him. “It was nice talking to you.” You added sarcastically.

You began walking away before he even had time to respond, your heart beating at a million miles per minute. You bit your lip, thinking about his words and implications. You wanted to groan when you heard him following behind you.

You soon reached the elevators to head up to your suite, and not too long after, AJ was waiting for one beside you. The wait for an elevator had never felt so long your entire life.

“Are you just going to bother me this whole trip? I’d love to know.” You asked him once you two were inside the elevator.

“Botherin’?” He questioned.

“Yes, bothering, not leaving me alone. I’m on a trip, you know? I’d like to enjoy some quality time by myself.” Your attitude was evident now.

“I’m just trying to go up to my room, just like you.” He laughed.

You let out a little sigh, wishing you had chosen a room on a lower level.

“But, if you don’t mind, I wanted to ask if I could borrow a few teabags from your room. I drank all of the ones I had, I really don’t want to go ask the front desk. You know, they lag, it takes forever...” He tried to explain, albeit poorly. Yeah, cause AJ gives a fuck about whether or not he has tea tonight.

“I do mind, actually. Call room service.” You rolled your eyes once more tonight as you swiftly exited the elevator. He was hot on your trail, keeping up with your pace.

“C’mon, Y/N. What’s with the attitude? I just want some tea, I’ll wait by the door.”

“You’re so annoying, AJ. Did you know that?” You asked him as you pulled out the room key from your bag, holding it against the doorknob. As soon as you opened the door, he gently pushed you inside and followed suit, shutting the door behind him.

“AJ! Wha-” You squealed, knowing you were in some deep shit when he closed the door behind him. The darkness in the room aided him, making it difficult for you to act fast. How were you gonna push him out now? “You said you were gonna wait out-” You continued, before his large hand covered your mouth.

“I don’t give a fuck about tea, Y/N. But surely, you knew that.” He smirked.

You didn’t know what to say, you simply looked up at him. You grabbed onto his wrist, trying to move his hand away. It didn’t budge, you weren’t expecting it to.

He slowly moved closer to you and as you backed up you were eventually pressed up against the wall.

“Right where I want ya.”

“AJ…” You mumbled into his palm. “I…”

“You what?” He asked, amused. “I wanna know.”

He moved his hand away from your mouth. It was dark and dead silent. You didn’t know what to say, you just felt yourself melting against his hard body, and fast.

“Y/N, if you don’t like it, you can say it.” He told you, right before his warm lips pressed against your neck. He left a trail of wet kisses from right below your ear all the way down to your collarbone.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop.” He whispered, effortlessly lifting your smaller body up off the ground. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. You tried to stifle your moans, unsure of whether or not you were going to give into him tonight.

“I can stop…” He reminded you, as he squeezed your ass.

“Oh.” You let out accidentally. You felt him smirk against your neck, the butterflies in your stomach growing rapidly.

Before you knew it he had you on the bed, his hungry kisses covering your chest as he hovered above you.

“I’m..” You whispered, trying your best to form a sentence. “Hm?” He asked, enjoying the horny little mess he had turned you into.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the way he was making you feel. You were in the clouds. Sure, you had been with many different men... and sure, many of them had you in this position, but something about this man was different… all you could think about was having him inside you as soon as possible. You didn’t answer, only tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, eager to touch his body. He obliged and pulled it off, tossing it to the floor. You ran your hand down his strong chest, peeling your eyes away from it for a second only to look at him. He caressed your full bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes fixated on yours. You took the moment to lick his thumb before taking it into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. You don’t know what overcame you, what he was doing to your mind and body… You didn’t care anymore. He groaned as he watched you tease him, exciting you even more.

“I knew it.” He whispered, smug. You smiled at him with your eyes, releasing his thumb and placing a small kiss against it. He grabbed onto the front of your tank top, ripping the thin piece of fabric down the middle. Your breasts greeted his hungry eyes, his large hands soon covering them. He squeezed and massaged them as he crashed his lips against yours. You moaned softly, finally getting to taste his sweet lips. “AJ…” You whispered, as your tongue danced with his. After a few minutes he pulled away, pushing you onto your side. As you took the time to catch your breath, you felt his arm wrap around your waist from behind. He pulled you closer to him, your back pressed against his chest as his lips found their way to your neck again.

“You’re a slut, Y/N.” He whispered, sending chills down your spine. You felt him poking your ass, driving you insane. You began to grind in circles against him, earning you a hard slap against the ass. “Ow.” You cried out.

You turned over in his arms, absolutely needing to see his beautiful face.

He looked hungry… and dangerous. And you wanted him to use you.

“Bite me.” You teased, grabbing at him through his pants.

“I thought I was an old man, Y/N…” He whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. You shivered. “Does it turn you on? Does it turn you on to think of an older man getting off on your tight little young body?”

“Please.” You breathed out, pulling on the waistband of his jeans.

“A bunch of bullshit, huh?” He asked you, wrapping his large hand around your throat. “Your stupid little fucking act…”

You gave him a small nod, given his hand was restricting your movement.

“Undress.” He demanded, squeezing your throat slightly tighter before letting you go. You nodded again. You sat up, tossing your ripped tank to the ground, followed by your leggings and panties. He watched you closely as he undressed too, making your stomach flutter. Before you knew it, he had you bent over the bed and was standing behind you.

“You don’t get to cum, Y/N. Not after all the teasing you’ve done. Not after how long you’ve made me wait to fuck you.” He said, followed by a hard spank.

You whimpered, impatiently waiting for him. “Not after wasting my fucking time. You’re just my little fucktoy.” He continued.

You heard him curse under his breath as he slowly slipped inside you, holding onto your hips firmly. You moaned out once he filled you completely, the dull ache finally ceasing. He felt amazing. Warm, thick, full. Like he always belonged there. He was gentle by no means, actually, borderline hurting you. But hurting you so good.

“AJ..” You cried out, turning around slightly to look back at him. He looked so sexy, sweaty, with messy hair. He looked like he was in pure bliss. He grabbed onto a handful of your hair, giving it a gentle tug.

“Who do you belong to?” You heard him ask.

“You, you, AJ.” You whispered, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continued to hit the sweetest spot.

“Fucking whore.” He groaned, giving you another slap on the ass. “So tight…”

He flipped you over onto your back, giving you needy kisses before continuing his sweet assault. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly as you felt yourself growing closer and closer.

“I…” You mumbled against his lips. “I’m gonna-”

He slowed down in response, so much so that he was barely moving.

“No, please.” You begged. “Please…”

“I don’t think you deserve it, baby.” He whispered, looking into your eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to see you lose control… but you’re a bad slut. Do you want to?” He teased, his thumb now rubbing out gentle circles.

Your breath hitched as you felt him touch you, your eyes locked onto his.

“Pretty.” He said simply, picking up the pace again. Your moans became uncontrollable, your eyes squeezing shut.

“Control it.” He warned you, applying even more pressure with his thumb.

“I can’t.” You whimpered, all of it becoming too intense.

He brought his lips down to your ear, his warm breath sending shivers across your whole body. “I’m going to cum inside you.” He whispered, his thrusts becoming sloppier by the minute. “Deep inside you.”

His words were enough to send you over the edge, his name leaving your parted lips. He rested his head against your shoulder, giving you a few more thrusts before you felt his warm release fill you up completely.

“Fuck.” He sighed, slowing down and riding it out as long as he could.