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kissmetae · 4 years ago

Text

Hope

❧ AU: x Taehyung || Friends to Lovers (Lowkey slow-burn)

You felt distressed, caught up in your own emotions and confused by your over-thought thoughts. Going through a rough patch as some would say, where everything felt hopeless and you found yourself scrolling pinterest till 1am looking for "angsty" core aesthetics to fit your new "vibe" of life. But it was easier said than done to dig yourself a hole when your best friend constantly stood by filling the hole back up as you dug in an attempt to stop you, help you and make you feel better, despite having his own issue to deal with... his crush on you.

|| ANGST + SMUT | 11k | x reader | masterlist in bio ||

❧ Disclaimer: This is fiction. Actions and events in these stories are often exaggerated and to a certain degree unrealistic. Please have this in consideration when reading fiction, especially if it includes sexual content.

❧ Rating: EXPLICIT || sexual content, unprotected sex || Warnings: mention of feeling hopeless, "deep reflection", (reader is troubled by something going on in their life but it's open for interpretation/unspecified)

❧ Smut features: Vanilla, desperate, first time together, unprotected, reassuring/concent asking/'checking in' (is this ok? Does it feel good?) top!Tae and a power outage.

How do you know when you've reached the complete state of hopelessness? Do people ever become 100% hopeless? You inhaled deeply and sighed it out. Gaze to the white ceiling, back on the bed and legs up against the wall. The tingle in your feet from the lack of circulation made them look somewhat less alive and feel cold. With a tilt of the hips you allowed your legs to slowly fall to the side, forming a new pose in the shape of a 90 degree angle on the bed and allowing for the less zombie-ish color to return to your feet. Hopelessness. Feeling like there is no point yet still stubbornly aching in the inner crevice of the head with a wish for there to be a chance for something else. A change, a plot twist a sudden eureka to make the entire world loose it's zombie color pallet and become lively and vibrant again. Hope. Or a wish for hope. It's probably some basic programming, like survival instinct, hope instinct. But at this point you didn't want to believe. You wanted to be grumpy, upset, frustrated. To curse society and curse what isn't fair and curse all the norms and expectations around you regardless of who made them up! Curse the media, curse the mold for perfect and the lip filler ads, curse the restrictions planted by your own beliefs and curse the cause of said belief! But feeling frustrated and angry is hard. Not only is it exhausting but it's the hardest emotion to let out fully and feel satisfied by after. If anything anger and frustration feels like a self-fueling fire that keeps burning more and more until you get exhausted and slump down on the bed with your legs up the wall. Crying would've been easier. You sat up, feeling a brief spin in the head due to your advanced modelling poses and reached for your water bottle. Water, Zen, calm rivers, refreshment, sound of clucking water in the harbor... rain. You turned towards your bedroom window at the sudden raging pattering sound outside. Even the sky needed to cry today. You reached for your phone, having it be faced down for the past hour or so after giving up on ranting about your dilemma to your friend. You had two types of friends. Those who were there for you when convenient and those who were there for you regardless. Taehyung was one of them. 3 missed calls. 15 texts- make that 16. A sting of guilt washed through realizing he must've been worried sick the past hour. Too exhausted to use your vocal chords you opened the text chat. Taehyung was the definition personified of a caring person. Sometimes to the extent where you'd question if it was more than anyone deserved. Did the world deserve Taehyung? You didn't make it through the second text before your doorbell rang followed by a loud bang. It sounded urgent... You got up from bed and slipped your feet into your white fluffy slippers and made your way to the front door of your apartment. You unhooked the clasp and unlocked your door to see one of the rainstorm's victims dripping water onto your doormat. Taehyung, Dressed in a green raincoat and hair clinging to his forehead and temples. His chest was rising unnaturally with his attempts to regain his breathe. "Tae-" He stepped in, an arm wrapping around your side and the other pressing your head to his wet shoulder. "If you didn't make me so worried... I would've removed my raincoat before hugging you." He squeezed. "See this as my revenge." His heart was beating fast. He pulled back after a few seconds, breathing stable and his red hands reaching to unbutton his raincoat. Did he not wear gloves? He pulled the door shut behind him and gently kicked off his boots. Apparently not. "I'll... go hang your raincoat in the bathroom for it to dry" you said, taking it from him. He was quick to address the elephant. "Why didn't you reply to my texts?" He followed behind you. "I... I left my phone to charge and I got distracted..." you made up, hanging his raincoat up in the shower. "I didn't come here to scold you, but when you tell me you're feeling hopeless, you get that it makes me worried right?" His voice was gentle and he looked at you with concerned eyes, stood in the door to the bathroom. Actually.... you didn't. Why would anyone worry... everyone seemed to always take it as nihilistic comedy or something and swat it away with something along the lines of "you’re just hungry" or the classic "are you on your period?" Maybe you were or maybe you weren't but why would that matter? Just thinking about it made you feel annoyed. As if any deep emotion only was caused by a period, it's just a period, why would anyone, let alone someone with a period themselves ask someone else that in a way that minimizes the reason they feel upset or angry or whatever emot- "Hey?" Taehyung pulled you back out from inside your head. "I don't know..." He crossed his arms over his chest and you knew that look far too well. "We'll talk about it, but right now, I'm here to make it better and take care of you. Did you eat?" You shook your head. "Great! Because I stopped by at the shop on my way... before the rain attacked me and picked up some stuff, including~" he said with an eager tone and walked towards the grocery bag you hadn’t noticed until now. He picked it up and dug his hand in for something. "Du du du du" he sang dramatically and slowly pulled out the familiar dark blue packaging. The love of your life, the source of all things good. Chocolate. The good one! Not the weird orange wrapping one you hated, but the blue one, the holy blue one, your favorite one. "I remember your frustration when you saw the empty shelf of horror last week and it was restocked today so i picked up three just in case." "THREE?!" "Mhm!" He nodded proudly. You could cry, finally, but for other reasons. "TaeTae you're the best." You walked towards him, hugging him tight. He was the bestest of the best, the hero, the savior, chocolate delivery man. Oh what would life be without him. A blush spread across his cheeks. "You did it again." He said shyly "Hm? Did what?" "You called me TaeTae." "You don't like it?" "... I do." -- Taehyung had you stationed at the kitchen table while he cooked. With a focused gaze he scrolled on his phone, reading the next step for the recipe while stirring the pot. You were pretty sure he knew this recipe by heart now, he'd cooked it for you before and he should be confident in it but seemingly not enough yet to put the recipe down. The kitchen smelt amazing and you could feel your hunger cry out for whatever was simmering in the pot. Taehyung gently tapped the wooden spoon against the pot as he added another ingredient. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" He asked. That's where you'd left him hanging in your texts when exhaustion took over... "I just..." "Is it /that/ thing?" Taehyung asked, very much knowing of your source for distress already. "Kinda... but this time it feels different... I’m not nervous or eager, I just felt like I was waiting and waiting and what if I waited so long for nothing and I.... it doesn’t make sense but I just feel numb at this point and like I'm losing hope. Like every odd is set against me and I'm the only one dumb enough to still bet on myself." "And me. Except I'm not dumb, nor are you and I'll always bet on you. Always." Oh Taehyung... "Well, as your personal doctor and advisor and therapist and nurse, care-taker, comfort teddy and so on, I am going to prescribe you with some stuff." You chuckled. "Please go ahead." He placed a plate in front of you and another on the opposite end of the table. "Firstly, a good healing meal." "And you’ve already done everything in your power right now, you’ve been working hard. Maybetoohard." He mumbled under his breathe followed by a fake cough. "That said, let me distract you." "How?" "Well, some old school friends wanted to go out clubbing this weekend and-" "You don't like clubbing." "Hold on, let me get to the point. My suggestion is that you can come too, it won’t only be them. There will be the general club people too of course and I think most of them were bringing other friends or their girlfriends too so... it might be fun? If it sucks, we'll ditch and go to the midnight bowling place or noraebang, yes?" Maybe having some social interaction, an excuse to dress up and good music wasn't such a bad idea? The only thing bugging you was the potential mess there could be... and lately with your stressed mind you hadn't been the best at handling those environments, but after all this was just a club, with dancing people... it couldn't be that bad right? Bowling did sound fun too though... But you knew distraction and fun was what you probably needed. Maybe it wouldn't solve the issues but maybe it'd make it weigh less. The small distractions did a lot, a big one should do even more. "Sure." "Really?!" You could've sworn you just witnessed his ears wiggle from excitement. "I'll come." -- When Taehyung said "clubbing" you expected big flashy neon signs, a red rope and a guard and pulsing music coming from inside... not a giant base, a sax and a set-up of almost 4 different types of synthesizers. A jazz club. You should've known. The band was some sort of electro jazz fusion sprinkled with funk type band, as they introduced themselves as and they weren't bad, not at all. In fact this was a lot cozier than an uncomfortable packed nightclub. You just wish Taehyung told you so you could've worn your comfy flowy favorite dress rather than your tight little black one, wanting to fit in with the scene... Taehyung was dressed in black slacks, a green sweater and a brown coat that was hung over his chair, paired with his trademark assortment of bracelets on his wrist. Including the one you gave him for his birthday two years ago. He never took it off since the day he got it. It made you smile seeing it on his wrist. Taehyung's old school friends, the few you had managed to great during the evening were all really nice and most of them had their arm either around another or a hand held by another. You couldn't help but feel a little awkward, the questioning looks that didn't need to be vocal for you to understand. "Is this your girlfriend?" Taehyung just smiled, maybe playing it off was best... or did he just not notice the silent question? At first you expected a shrug or something but nope... "Would you like something more to drink?" Taehyung asked, leaning in so you'd hear him over the music and pointing towards your nearly empty glass. "I think I'm alright." "What?" "I'm ok." You leaned in closer. "Do you want to dance?" You and Taehyung were seated alone at one of the many tables as the majority were occupied dancing to the beats of the band and the rest drinking at other tables or mingling around. You had been up there at least twice, maybe even three times dancing the best you could and Taehyung always being by your side but your brain was starting to get a little drowsy. "I think I'm going to call it a night. But you can stay if you want." "No no, if you want to go home I'll come with you, let me walk you home." "I'll take a taxi its ok" "I insist." "So do I" the few drink he had had were enough to make his words braver and bolder. "It's late, I don't want you to go back alone regardless of if you take a taxi. I'll walk you." Fine. "Ok" Taehyung swept the remainder of his wine and grabbed his coat and waved some quick goodbyes. It was cold outside. Dark and empty... maybe it was good Taehyung insisted after all. He stumbled slightly, alarming you. Your hands instinctively reached for him and he giggled. "You only had two glasses I doubt you're drunk right now." "Maybe I wiwwle tipdie" he giggled, clearly acting up. "Does wiwwle tipdie Taehyung need help? Should I carry you on my back?" "No! I should be carrying you, do you have a blister on your heal from your shoes? Sore feet? Sore legs? Anything I can use as an excuse?" You laughed, patting him gently on the back. A cold breeze travelled through the street and you pulled your jacket tighter around you. "You're cold?" Taehyung asked "A little... my choice of dress wasn't the best." "I think you look beautiful." The sudden compliment caught you off guard. "... thanks." "Thanks? For what?" "The compliment" "I'm simply stating the facts." He said, looking to the side and slipping his hands into his pockets. "It sure is cold..." Why was it feeling awkward suddenly? Silence between the two of you would usually be comfortable... "Thanks for bringing me too." "Did you have fun?" He turned to face you again. "Yes, it was better than I expected." "I'm glad to hear that." "But let’s go bowling next time." "Sure!" He smiled widely. A source of warmth suddenly surrounded you and you looked up to see Taehyung's face turned away yet again but his arm resting around your shoulder, wrapping his coat around you and urging you closer into his side till your hips almost brushed against each other. The rest of the walk back home was a few minutes of silence, but luckily you didn't live far. "Home sweet home" "How will you get home?" You asked, concerned. "Ah..." he checked the time on his phone. "Well I've missed the last train... so unless I can find a taxi which so far I've seen none I'll have to sleep at the station." "No you're not, come, you can call a taxi from my place and at least wait inside instead of out in the cold." You said, grabbing his arm and pulling him with you through the entrance. "Nobody's picking up?" You asked Taehyung looked down at his phone with a confused look. "It keeps hanging up on me? I don't know if maybe their line is down or something?" "It would explain why we didn't see any on the walk back." "I guess so... so now what?" He looked up at you. "Guess you'll have to stay the night." He grinned. "Can't remember the last time we had a sleep-over" he chuckled and removed his coat. He was right, it must've been years ago... the last time you could remember was a movie night gone sleep over during winter when it had snowed so no traffic was able to move at all. You grabbed a spare cover and a pillow and handed it to Taehyung, sleepiness already present in his eyes. "Hey." Taehyung said, laying out the pillow and cover on your sofa. "If I have a nightmare can I come lay next to you?" He grinned. "If you have to." He replied with a puppy gaze. "Good night TaeTae." His eyes widened and he looked down at the couch. "... Good night." -- The question was when would you wake to the sound of birds chirping instead of the aggressive rasp of the snow plow dragging across the street? It almost sounded like it was more ir less plowing the asphalt off the earth rather than the snow. More irritating was that it just added to your unsatisfying sleep and rough awakening streak. One good morning was all you asked for... You sat up, slid off the edge of the bed and slipped into your slippers that were neatly set up by its side. A scratch of the head and an adjusting pull of the bun on your head and you headed to you first destination; tea. With heavy steps you dragged yourself out of your room and were met by the surprise you had forgotten was left on your couch from last night, sprawled across the sofa... in only boxers. Oh god. The covers were halfway on the floor, only covering his legs, barely. It was cold too but should you just ignore him... no, you couldn't... but what if you woke him up? He was only in boxers and you were already trying your best not to look but your brain had already registered that they were black and Calvins... please no more information... thigh muscles NO! Chest, focus on the chest. He was breathing, he was alive. Inhale, exhale. You carefully made your way towards him. His chest was toned... the type perfect to rest your head on NO! Messy hair... It really didn't help that your best friend was as attractive as he was. You bent down and carefully picked up the cover, pulling it back up over his upper body. He must've been really cold, his nipples- NO. You shook your head furiously to get rid of the thought. You turned around 180 degrees and marched to the kitchen. Tea. Tea. Tea. Tae. TEA! You could hear the covers rustle as he shifted, followed by a soft groan. Oh no... Please no. Although... why was it so dangerous for him to see you in your own home, making tea. I don't know! But regardless it felt like an action movie stealth scene for the grand heist judging by your heart beat. The boiler was too loud, the accidental clink of the mug as you set it to the counter too, the rip of packaging of the tea bag, the wind whistling outside! Sweat? You were sweating, stress consuming you yet again over the moist pointless little thi- "Hey?" The tea cup smashed against the kitchen floor along with your gasp and you grabbed the door handle of the kitchen cupboard for support. Taehyung starred at you with wide startled eyes. Maybe your screech scared him as much as his sudden presence scared you. "Sorry." He chuckled, voice so deep and raspy you could practically feel his vocal chords vibrate. Your heart was pounding hard. Could he at least have been swaddled in the covers and not in his boxers right now... You diverted your eyes to the porcelain shards across the floor. "Wait wait wait!" Taehyung yelped, holding his hand out to stop you from moving. But it was too late. The dark kitchen along with your giddiness had of course resulted in the unfortunate miss step. You sighed, lifting your foot from the chard as you felt something wet trickle down your foot. Taehyung quickly reached to turn the lights on, the bright shine blinding both of you briefly and making the view of him even clearer. "Stay there." Taehyung ordered. Your kitchen was pretty small so there wasn't much space to move without risking another wrong step. A cup of tea and now all this. You slapped your arms to your sides in a deep pout. Making a new cup now just felt wrong but you craved a cup so bad and it was cold... the floor was cold, you were cold... and not to mention everything hanging in form of heavy weights on your shoulders and chilling on top of the imaginary storm cloud above you right now. It's like your issues were mocking you and just making everything worse. Maybe the issue was that you related to the once-was intact mug. You felt split and unorganized, all over the place and dependent on things you knew you shouldn’t be depending your hope and happiness on but yet day after day you’d lose yourself in a visualization of a scenario of perfection were everything would be ok until again the door was slammed in your face and you had to start all over again. No matter how many times you felt like this time would be different and this time you were ready, this time it'd all go your way because the past was forgiven and your time wasn’t right but again and again .... Your patience was running out. You sniffed, wiping the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand. Taehyung came back holding a broom and a dust pan when he saw your face of tears. "No..." he sounded panicked. He leaned down quickly sweeping the chards to the side of the kitchen and tossing the broom and pan into the pile so he could approach you. Strong lean arms embarrassed you like out of a 6 different angles k-drama scene. A hand found its place on the back of your head, softly petting you as the other pressed you closer to his warm chest. Never had you expected that hugging Taehyung would feel this safe. May it be because he was the one you could be truly vulnerable with or that he was the one that knew what was going on right now, but whatever he did... he did it just right. "You don't need to say anything." He whispered. "I know." He squeezed you a little firmer. "I know." He reassured. "Sssh" his hand felt so gentle as it caressed you. "It's going to be ok." He felt so warm. "I'm here." His skin felt so soft against your hands. "I'm not going anywhere." Your heart calmed down. Taehyung didn't pull away until you became silent and your breathing stable. But even then he didn't pull away completely, only enough to look at your face and caress his thumbs under each eye gently. "I'll reheat the water for you." He smiled softly and reached for the switch on the kettle. You didn't want to let go, not just yet. But he slipped away carefully and kneeled to sweep up the shards and discarded the pieces into the bin. He briefly disappeared and came back holding his sweater, arms slipped in and pulling it over his head as he entered, causing his shoulders to naturally flex slightly as he slipped it on. He grabbed two mugs from the cupboard, added a bag in each and filled them with the hot water. You tugged and fidgeted at your sleeve as you watched, feeling unusually shy in his presence. "Come, let’s sit on the sofa" Taehyung said and grabbed a mug in each hand but quickly came to a halt. "Your foot!" You had forgotten about it too. He placed the mugs back down and watched you as you lifted to check the cut. "Fuck." Taehyung said and quickly ripped a piece of kitchen towel off and handed it to you. Holding one hand against the fridge for support and the other wiping the smeared mess on your foot you watched as Taehyung quickly disappeared and reappeared again with your med kit. "Does it hurt?" He asked, rummaging through the kit. "No, it just stings a little." He pulled out some disinfectant solution and eyes you quickly up and down. Before you knew it he was stood in front of you, kneeling slightly as you felt his large hand grab a hold behind your thigh and his arm scooped you up on him. Your heart was back to its rapid pace again. He set you down on the sofa carefully and went back to grab the disinfectant and the tea mugs. He sat on the floor in front of you, soaking a cotton pad with the solution and gentle pulling your foot towards him by the ankle. "Ah, thanks goodness it doesn't seem to be deep." He said with relief, gently dabbing the cotton pad to the wound. It stung a little but it wasn't too bad. "All nice and clean, do you have cute band-aids?" "Only boring plain ones I'm afraid." Taehyung scrunched his nose. "Boo." With a band-aid beneath your foot and your longed for tea in your hands you sat next to him on the sofa. "An eventful morning." "I should become your fulltime caretaker at this point." Taehyung joked. "Not that I'd mind." "Will you pay me?" He raised his brows as well as the mug to his lips. "No way." You smiled. "Charity work is good for karma." "I already have good karma!" Taehyung protested, pretending to be offended. He laughed that trademark warm laugh that was like a smooth cackle that somehow always triggered a little firework to go off in your chest. You smiled, looking into your mug as if it'd tell you a fortune. ... you swallowed and looked up. In winter the sun rose late and had begun its voyage above the horizon, painting the sky a bright warm orange tone as it shined in through the window behind Taehyung. No. You didn't have feelings for him. You just felt some post-event shakiness and nerves and for the matter of a fact you finally got your much needed cry. It must just be your chest feeling lighter thanks to the cry. "So, do you have any planes today?" Taehyung asked. "I don't even know what day it is." "Good, I don't have plans either and it's Saturday for your information. But I do have a potential plan and that is, since I'm already here, to spend the day with you unless you have important to do's, which you shouldn't, because you need a break." He whispered towards the end. "A fmnn break." He repeated, biting his lip on the word to censor himself, but he got his point across. "A break would be nice... but when I try, I feel distressed as if I shouldn't be doing it because I'm wasting my time. I need-" "A distraction" Taehyung filled in. You nodded. "Then thou shall sit here and watch my live-in-action cooking show live from your kitchen." He said cheerfully, slapping his hands to his thighs as he stood up. "Do you have strawberries?" He asked. "In the freezer." "Yes!" He made his way to the kitchen, worth to mention is the open floor plan of your apartment so you could see him well enough from where you were seated. The soft messy curls on his head bounced with him as he walked. He dramatically pointed at you with a spatula in his hand. "Welcome." He said, speaking deeply into the spatula. "The pancake and strawberry smoothie extravaganza extraordinaire show with your host." He point his thumb and index under his chin. "Kim Taehyung." His goofiness never failed to bring a smile to your face. He went to grab his phone on the sofa table. "I need background music...." he hummed as he scrolled, spatula still in his other hand. "Jeopardy music 10 hours?" He looked up at you for an opinion. "Please no." He giggled and a calm upbeat song started playing from him phone as he put it back down and resorted to the kitchen. While frying up the first batch he was spaced out, humming on the theme tune to jeopardy anyway. You had made yourself comfortable on the sofa, lying down. The sofa smelt like him now. The same sweet comforting scent as the hug had... and his coat the numerous times he'd wrapped it around you when it was cold or shielded you from the rain with it. But speaking of memory, thinking back at those often occurring times you were also reminded about how a previous "friend" used to try and provoke you into being nervous and shy in Taehyung's presence. You'd been close for years and maybe she had an issue with that or something but she'd always find ways to tease you in way. Claiming Taehyung was giving you "looks" or "checking you out" in ways she as a self-declared expert in men deemed were of more than friendly nature. And since she as expert of men by that likely thought all men were the same, proves how reliable of a source she was. Taehyung he just.... you were close. She just wanted to make you feel embarrassed and self-conscious and make it awkward between you. You hated thinking about that. It made you overthink and feel awkward. Like an evil loop. You looked up at the breakfast chef, catching his eye as he quickly looked back down to the pancakes. You could get used to this view. Handsome man in boxers and sweater making you pancakes when you’re feeling blue, the headline in your head spelled out. The Zen experience of the kitchen fan being turned off brought stillness and Taehyung emerges with a plate of pancakes, disappearing and re-appearing again after denying your offer to help with the strawberry smoothies, plates, forks, knifes and every suitable pancake topping he had been able to locate in your kitchen. And a tube of mustard as a joke that you only kept in your fridge for when your dad came over to dinner and his weird obsession with having mustard on everything. It was probably even expired. "Enjoy your meal." "You're my hero Taehyung." You said, stabbing a pancake. "I can be your hero baby." You froze. "What?" "Haven't you heard that song?" He smiled. Oh.. "Hero? By Enrique Iglesias?" "Ah, now that you mention it-" "With the weird music video were goes on this road trip with the girl and then he's suddenly rubbing money over her body in this random stone house." "Is this what you binge on youtube at 2am when I wake up to 15 links and emotional texts." "Do not judge me!" You giggled. "I'm not, I like waking up to those texts from you. You sent them to me for a reason." Taehyung smiled shyly. "Yeah... anyhow! I have a suggestion, a proposal, a-" "Go on" "Since I'm your hero, but even I weren't. I thought maybe I could stay here a few days? Only if you want me to, of course. I just-" he became shyer. "I like to think that you seem to feel better when I'm around and you're going through a rough time so I'd like to be there for you, like you are for me." Your heart made its presence in your chest known yet again. "You should think.... because it's true." "So?" "It'd be nice." He smiled widely. "Great! But I do need to go home and pack some clothes and... some pajamas and Yeontan! He is a great comforter trust me, he has cheered me up many times when I've cried." "Cried? What were you crying about?" "Oh- uhm it's nothing, it's ok now so." He swatted it away. "Boys cry too." He joked, but it tasted weird. "But he's staying with my parents this weekend, but if you want I can go pick him up." He suggested. "It's ok, he needs time with his grandparent." Taehyung chuckled. "Well they love their grandson so I'm sure they wouldn't mind having him stay an extra day or two." -- You couldn't help but feel bad that Taehyung had to sleep on the sofa... His bag with clothes and necessities was placed in the hallway and the covers neatly hung over the backrest. "We could take turns and sleep in the bed every other day." "I told you it was fine." Taehyung insisted, again. "I just feel bad..." "Then let’s both sleep in your bed and call it even." "...." your cheeks felt hot. "See, so I'll sleep on the sofa. Don't worry about it!" What does he mean "see"? ... you were simply imagining what excuse to use as to how your head would coincidentally end up on his chest instead of your pillow. "Or we'll both sleep on the sofa, but it might be a bit cramped." He continued. "Maybe this was a bad idea..." "Hey no! No, I'm just joking. Don't feel bad ok." Taehyung's hands smoothed down your arms. "Beds are better at healing wounds on the feet too." You exhaled deeply. "Oh TaeTae..." "Doesn't this feel like we're having a pajama party or sleep over?" He smiled. "Kinda, should we build a blanket fort and watch movies?" His mouth dropped open. "I'm just kidding!" You laughed He pouted. "Oh you want to?" A nod. "You want to build a fort and watch movies?" You asked with more excitement. More enthusiastic nodding. You both cracked up laughing on the sofa together. "I'm serious though." Taehyung grinned. -- You lied awake in your bed, eyes to the ceiling. For some wild reason you both thought it would be a great idea to binge through the entire twilight saga series as a source of comedy but you only made it up to half-way through eclipse when it became too much to handle for both of you. The first movie was easy to mock and laugh at and make fun out if but once it got more serious and romantic in new moon it started getting a little awkward. To say the least, feeling flustered from watching twilight but not due to the movie itself but from the presence of Taehyung right next to you in your make-shift sofa blanket fort. You couldn't stop thinking about him. And he was out there... on your sofa, right now. And who knew if he was in cute polka dot pajamas with his hair a mess on the pillow or his tight fitted boxers and his hair tied up.. You bit your lip, crossing your legs at the visual. You remembered the first time you witnessed Taehyung tie his hair up and how it felt like being punched in the gut. It's not possible to be that attractive. "Then aren't you attracted to him?" The voice echoed in your head. Just because you find someone attractive doesn't mean you're attracted to them! Which is very much true. But Taehyung's personality was attractive too which was harder to justify the same way. And his person. And him. The entire package. You sighed. Maybe the stupidest thing you could do right now was reach for your phone and google "do I have feelings for my best friend?" Ah yes. A quiz. Maybe it wasn't so stupid after all, it'd say maybe you like him but you're not into him at the very most. Question 1, do you find them attractive. Well who wouldn't? And like mentioned it doesn't mean you're attracted to him. Yes. Question 2, do they like you? Pfft... what kind of question is that? How would you know? I don't know... or yes I guess? I mean he clearly likes you as a friend or he wouldn't be up to making all this effort for you but do they mean platonically? You ticked maybe. Question 3, Do you stalk them on social media? What the??? He's your best friend! The algorhythm shoves his posts in your face weather you like it or not. Sometimes. Question 4, Do you see them a lot? Yes. Question 5, Do you want to know more about them? You already know everything ... but what he cries about to Yeontan is something. Yes. Question 6, when you see them with somebody else who isn't considered their friend, how do you feel? Jealous. Question 7, when they're around you how do you feel? Nervous or self-conscious or nothing or i don’t know... well nervous AND a little self-conscious depending on the situation and if he's dressed or in just his boxers. Nervous. Question 8, Do you think about them? Yes. Always. Question 9, Do you laugh at their jokes? Another weird one but yes. Question 10, are they your ex? Huh? No. Definitely. A lot. You placed your phone screen down on your chest and let out a sigh. Maybe visualizing a kiss or two while in the shower was a crime after all... or was the question why were you in the first place? He was amazing in every type of way and you wanted to know if he was amazing at kissing too andmaybeinbed but you can't just ask him that or try it out, so you had to resort to imagination.... Who were you even trying to convince at this point? You liked him. Definitely. And a lot. The realization did nothing to help you fall asleep unfortunately. Another 15 minutes in dark silence passed when you suddenly heard the floorboards squeak. Maybe Taehyung was going to the bathroom or grabbing a glass of water... But the soft pats of his feet should've stopped by now... Your half open door pushed open a bit more shyly and Taehyung peaked in. Dressed in pajama bottoms, but no shirt. "You're awake." He said, whispering. "So are you." "I can't sleep..." he rubbed his arm. "I feel lonely." As if you'd deny him looking all shy and vulnerable in your door. You scooted to the side in your bed, making raise his brows in hope and anticipation, fingers fidgeting. "Come." You said, patting the bed next to you. The bed dipped gently as he lied down and you put the covers over him. He shifted onto his side, placing his head on your pillow. This was better. But since you just took an online quiz to realize you had feelings for this man currently shirtless in your bed, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly awkward. "How come you're feeling lonely?" You asked, trying to conceal your stiffness "To a start I sleep better when I get to hold something." He said shyly "Who?" You asked, intending for it to be a thought. "When I'm at home, Yeontan." Of course... "He lays on the bed and I feel less lonely and hearing him walk around or do something makes me feel soothed knowing I'm not alone... for the most part." "Are the tears you cry... tears of loneliness?" You could tell it triggered something in him. He bit his lip and nodded gently, eyes glossy. "For the most part it's just me and a pillow." He confessed. "But you could say-... it's something like that, yes." Face to face, mere inches apart. You thanked the darkness of the room that he couldn't see you blush right now but unreasonable fear that he'd somehow "sense" it in the atmosphere still worried you. You shouldn't have taken that stupid quiz it only made you start overthinking and it was probably rigged and the questions were weird so why should you listen to it? Get back to your senses! He's your best friend and you're comfortable with him! Calm down! "... I know it's dumb" Taehyung mumbled. "I know it seems like I'm this easy-going social butterfly with lots of friends who can find someone to hang out with within seconds... but when I'm alone at home, I just feel so empty. Like if nobody sees me, I don't exist. Thus when I'm alone, I'm not real anymore." "That's very philosophical, but what if someone thinks about you while you are alone? Then wouldn't you exist since somebody has you on their mind?" "But it'd be impossible for me to know and people have better things to do than walk around and daydream about me." It stung a little inside hearing him say this. "People are actually capable of multitasking you see, they can do these better things you speak of and think about you at the same time. I think about you a lot, sometimes I think about you while doing the laundry, riding the bus or taking a show- that sound's wrong." Taehyung chuckled. "But you get what I mean." "What do you mean?" He asked "That I think about you and that you aren't alone TaeTae, you never are. If you're ever feeling lonely, maybe think about me. If that helps. Or get to know yourself more, become your own friend or create an imaginary friend!" "I already do that." "Have an imaginary friend?" "Think about you." Oh. "... does it help?" You asked shyly. He shook his head. "It just makes me miss you and want to come to see you." Is it possible to experience a softer heart attack than you just did? Rather than a heart exploding in saw gore-level mess it gently poofed and became a small cloud of red feathers gently falling to the ground. Since when had you become a softie? Two hours ago you were all if there's no sex in the romance novel, it's not worth my time but now you suddenly felt an urge to ransack the romance section of the nearest library to read every cheesy romance story you could find until you could find one similar to your own. Your... own? What? With... with Taehyung? ... not that you’d visualize every male lead character as coincidentally similar to him regardless of how their looks were described in the book.... "Maybe I do need to spend some time with myself to get over it..." No! Stay here with me! "I can spend more time with you." Taehyung looked up. "I think that could benefit us both." He sounded more hopeful now. "Well, you're already here so it's also convenient." Despite the darkness you could make out the smile on his face that appeared. Cute. But wait... did Taehyung suggest he could stay here for you, because he felt lonely? He shifted slightly and the sheets rustled. His leg accidently brushed against yours and your first thought was to tangle your legs with his in a leg tackle war... but you still felt too on edge to act casual and playful with him like you normally could. You swallowed. "How long have you felt this way?" "A while... a long while. At first it was nothing but then it got worse and even more worse when I realized this one thing." "What thing was that if I may ask?" He sighed. "It's hard to explain... but, say a friend." "Mhm?" "A friend feels kinda lost, existentialism and stuff going on, doesn't like to be by himself, then he finds this person and they make him forget it all but once they’re apart it all returns to him again like they were his escape but only for as long as they were together." "Is that only with that one person or all?" "No no, only that person. And then he realizes he might be in love, or he's addicted to the person in a way, but in a good way not an obsessive way just-" "In love?" "Something like that." "You're in love?" "Huh?! What no! This was about a friend! I'm not talking about me!" "Then what did you realize Taehyung?" You could tell his mind briefly blanked in panic. "I realized that maybe I, as said friend need to find that person for me." "A person?" He nodded shyly. "You want to fall in love?" "I don't know... something like that." 'Something like that' seemed to be his catchphrase this evening. But in love? A person? His person?... that couldn't be you... could it? Did he want you to be his person? Were you his person?? The questions and confusion kept spiraling through your head, (finally) making you feel tired and exhausted. "I think... I just want to tend to someone else than myself, to not have to think so much about it and instead take care of somebody else." "Is that why you offered to stay?" "Yes and no, I want to take care of you because I am genuinely concerned and worried about you, I want to be there for you. But also, sleeping on the couch last night, hearing you tiptoe around the kitchen... it made me feel comforted." His voice sounded drowsy. "If you want... I can be your person in this scenario." You suggested. "You've already become.. person." He mumbled, sinking deeper into his half-awake state. -- You stretched your leg out one at the time, twisting your body gently and inhaling deeply into a stretch, gently batting your eyes open. You pushed a palm against the bed to get up into a seated position when something suddenly restrained you, heavy over your abdomen. Surprised, you raised the sheet to see the reminder of what you had forgotten last night. Over your waist, a lean arm with faint thin dark hairs and a few subtle veins travelling up the forearm from the large hand clung to the side of your waist... all attached to the source of warmth to your left, Taehyung. His dark locks a mess on the pillow, his bare upper body now fully on display in the daylight and his polka dot pajama pants haven travelled down a bit too far low for your sanity... Cursed be the eyes in your skull for travelling down the view. You would've noticed it sooner or later regardless, especially since your thigh was a hair between touching it. It, being the weird relief of knowing he got some deep relaxing sleep in... but with an awkward morning surprise... and his arm wouldn't grant you freedom without you accidentally or intentionally having to wake him up. You carefully shifted to at least have your thighs at a safer distance, but your bed wasn't intended for two people, so it was easier said than done. His grip suddenly tightened and a low groan escaped him as he shifted. Why did you feel fear as if you shouldn’t be present in your bed in which he entered himself. If anyone Taehyung should be the one fearing his life right now. His thumb caressed your side gently and it felt nice... soothing. Until his eyes suddenly opened wide with a soft gasp as you felt his morning hard on grace against your thigh. Eyes that pleaded and begged you didn't notice pierced into yours and you decided to play along. "Did you sleep well?" His hand quickly retreated to your disappointment. "Sorry i... I did it in my sleep it wasn't-" "It's ok, you said you sleep well holding something and being held didn't feel too bad..." "Well, in that case, I actually slept better than I have in a really long time." He said, voice raspy and deep still. He rolled onto his back, thankfully, and placed his hand behind his head. "Did you?" "Huh?" "Did you sleep well?" "In fact, I did." You said, answering truthfully and resisting the urge to put your head on his bare chest. If only the lord or whoever would stop testing me... "Hungry?" He asked. You nodded. "Great, I'll fix something ok, but close your eyes." "Why?" "I'm shirtless." ... right. You covered your eyes with your hands and the warmth left your side as he got up and escaped the room. You slowly got up, trying to win some time for him but a few brief seconds later heard the sound of the bathroom door down the hall closing and locking. Yikes. That went smoother than expected. You set up some tea, knowing Taehyung described coffee as the closest to unlethal poison you could find, you knew he'd prefer tea or hot chocolate and that there was no use to ask. You knew him too well. It was nice having him here. And waking up with a strong arm around your waist wasn't too bad either... if only you could've let yourself enjoy the moment instead of freaking out, what if he grew cautious now and you'd never experience it again? You sighed softly, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard. After a while, the kettle clicked and you poured some water into each mug. It had been a while now... ... was he meditating in there? There was no sound of the shower, or anything, not that you were listening. Would it be weird if you asked if he was ok? Since the kettle was off the entire apartment became significantly more silent. You heard a faint mumble. "Fuck..." You swallowed. Ear please momentarily turn off, mind and imagination too please. You reached to put the kettle back on but since the water was already hot it clicked off again after 5 seconds. The bathroom door opened and you braced yourself to not look down. Luckily, he was now wearing his oversized sweater or else you would've failed immediately. He let out a soft chuckle. "I spaced out." His cheeks were flushed red and glowing. Right. "I made you some tea." -- Why were deep topics always easier to talk about at night? Were people like clams? You wake up and it opens a little and once we hit the night the clam is fully open and then closes during sleep to a new no-talk-me-I-not-have-tea-yet to ask-me-about-how-i-view-existentialism cycle? Or were nights just vulnerable with the darkness? In that case you should metaphorically speaking be an open clam all day during winter when the sun goes into its own hibernation. But here you were again, just like last night, except... 20 minutes into the sudden power outage that made your impromptu movie night come to a halt. And it was getting really cold. Bundled up under a cover together, staring at the flicker of the candle on the coffee table in silence. "I was going to offer to make you tea to warm you up but the kettle..." Taehyung said with a soft chuckle. "The power will probably come back any moment soon." He said optimistically. As you looked out of the window earlier, you noticed it wasn't just your place, but the entire block seemed to have an outage. Unusual. But the current roaring rain storm outside likely had something to do with it. The wind was aggressive, the windows shook, it whistled in a creepy way and the trees outside rustled loudly. "How about we play a game?" Taehyung suddenly suggested, breaking off the silence again. He was feeling awkward, you could tell. He always rested his hands in his lap, fidgeting or poking at the cuticles of his nails when he felt awkward. "Sure, what should we play?" His face lit up. "Questions and answers? I can start!" "Shoot!" You folded your legs and shifted to face him on the couch. "What's your ideal type." ... he... immediately went there. "Looks or personality?" Taehyung shrugged. "Both." "Well it depends on the vibe they give off of course... and mainly. I guess tall, but it's not that important, wide shoulders are always nice." You paused to think, how can I describe Taehyung without it sounding like I'm describing Taehyung. "Funny, caring, optimistic, outgoing..." "Like me!" He smiled widely. You leaned back, squinting while caressing your chin, examining him playfully. "Hmmmn" He placed his hands under his jaw, like he was displaying his face and batted his eyelashes. "Not bad, not bad." He looked disappointed. "Just not bad?" You playfully nudged his arm. "It's your turn to answer. "Fine." He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest but cracking a giggle. "I'll ask you the same question." "Very original, you." "It's called recycling, so tell me." "I did." "Huh?" "You." Your heart froze briefly before beginning to pound. "Me?" "Mn!" He said confidently. "You're not bad" he mocked. You swallowed. "I have a question about the rules." "Go on" "If I ask you anything, do you have to tell the truth?" "Yes! Nothing but. So you better tell me what you actually think rather than 'not bad'" "Is the friend you talked about actually you? And am I the person?" He tensed up, swallowing. "I guess it was obvious..." he mumbled, rubbing his arm and looking down at his lap. "I just..." he began, but reluctance interrupted him. "I understand." You said. He looked up, seemingly surprised yet still tensed "I make you feel less lonely." He nodded slowly. "Which makes sense. After all we're best friends." You continued. "... right." He looked away. "Best friends." Taehyung reached up to move his hair away from his eyes, still facing down as if he was considering something. "So... what do you think of me?" His voice sounded more serious. Where to start of course he was gorgeous! Wide shoulders, a build you'd die to slide your hands down, dark big eyes, a sweet smile with plump lips, sculpted perfectly and his honey skin. Person wise... he was someone you'd want to have as your person. "A nice person" He scoffed. "Seriously?" He seemed upset. He finally looked up, meeting your gaze. There was a sparkle in his eye. The warm light from the candle made his face glow even more. "I mean person as in the person you have, a your-person" "A nice your-person?" He tilted his head. "You told me yesterday in bed that you can feel like someone is your person because they bring you comfort and make all your problems go away and you feel better just by being in their presence! A nice that-type-of-person." "But I was talking about you!" He pleaded "And now I'm talking about you." "You are my person, what do you mean?" He asked, placing emphasis on "my" "That you're my person too. Am I being unclear?" "No, not at all. I just wanted to hear you say it." "So you tricked me?" You scoffed. "Not really." He leaned closer. "But maybe I set you up and you simply walked into my trap." "So now what? We're just going to sit here in denial over the fact that we both admitted to being each other's person?" You questioned, feeling slightly panicky and picking at your nails. Was this platonic or not? "We don't have to" he grinned. "But to be clear, I'm not talking about you being my person as in my other half, my best friend type person, even though you are that too bit this isn't it." "Are you trying to tell me that you're in love with me?" He tensed up again. Fuck it. "Then just say it, stop confusing me with your riddles and metaphors and I won't do the same. Just tell me-" His hand pressed against the back of your head as he leaned in almost all the way. He caressed the back of your head gently and your gaze dropped to his soft pink lips with the tiny freckle to the side. You leaned in close enough to brush a gentle touch before Taehyung pressed you closer for your lips to finally collide. It started off desperate yet a little shy. You pressed back, grabbing at his sides and the kiss deepened. Your heart was pounding. Never did you expect he'd just go for it and kiss you when you showed some bold courage towards him but you didn’t have a slightest regret because he tasted so good against your mouth. His plump pink lips so passionate, so needy but also so gentle and triggering an explosion in your chest. Taehyung leaned over you, making you lay down on the couch as he crawled on top and it turned into an even wilder heated make out. Your hand tangled into his hair, his hand rubbed against the side of your waist under your top. Fearing it'd be the first, last and only, you wanted every single piece of this moment you could have. Unintentional, his touch triggered a soft moan to escape your throat, which subsequently triggered a groan from Taehyung. Making a sound like that with his voice should be illegal. It did things to you, things you didn't want to confess. But the box of secret confessions was torn open within seconds as Taehyung, a heavy breathing mess suddenly pulled away from your lips and landed by your ear, exhaling deeply. "Fuck, I'm hard." He groaned and you knew the box was flying out the windows with your filthy confession floating aimlessly around for him to hear but all you managed to stutter out was a choked "huh?" "If you knew how long I've wanted you for." He whispered. "How scared I've been of being rejected because I knew it'd shatter me." The hopeless romantic you knew he was made his attendance known. "A friend?" You chuckled. "Maybe I set myself up with that one, I admit. But I was hoping you'd catch on." He chuckled, still breathless. He planted a kiss against your neck. Were you about to have sex? Would it lead to that? Did you mind? Certainly not... Taehyung pushed up slightly, looking down at you. "May I?" You nodded and he smiled widely, pressing a kiss to your lips. Shifting, he easily found his place between your thighs and grinded up against you slowly with pressure, causing both of you to exhale into a sweet needy moan. Your feelings felt scattered all over the place but this wasn't the time to pick them up. You wanted to let go, to surrender, just for this moment. Let go of everything clawing at your back, clouding the sunny skies and draining you. There is nothing more exhausting than smiling pretending everything is ok while whatever inflated issue in beast form is clawing its nails across your back and the scars sting like lemon juice was just rubbed all over you, feeling disgusting and sticky, let alone in pain and with a sore back from the held tension. He grinded again, sensually this time as the tip of his nose travelled up your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. "Mmm" he hummed softly. Your hand made its way to his nape as he settled by your neck. "I could fall asleep here." He chuckled. "Right here in your neck, it's so warm and smells so nice. It's more effective than lavender." "Are you enchanted by my odor?" He laughed his trademark bubble laugh. "I wish you knew how much fun you are." He squeezed you, rubbing up firmer to you with a desperate grunt. "Fuck I can't take it anymore." He stood on his knees, crossing his arms in front of him and grabbing the hem of his sweater, pulling it up and off, exposing his soft skin and toned chest as it fell to the floor. His hand reached for the button on his pants but before making it to the zipper his attention returned back to you with his hands sliding up under your top and pulling it up over your head. "I just want to make sure again... is it ok?" He asked, eyes big. "Yes, touch me, kiss me, do whatever you want just don’t leave the couch. At least not without me." He smirked at this, finally able to surrender to his greed. Taehyung reached for the waistline of your pants, unbuttoning, unzipping and pulling them down your hips with your underwear going off with them. His fingers softly rakes over your skin as he travelled down your legs, your hips lifted to assist him and then they were tossed onto the floor. He reached for his own zipper again but you sat up, quickly swatting his hand away and reaching for it yourself. He was on his knees between your thighs. You pulled them down, sliding your hands over his soft curved hips, revealing his tight fitted boxers with little to any space left for his hard on. You swallowed. He blushed. Relieved that Taehyung took over the lead again you lied back down as his hands gently pushed you back, slipping the bra straps off your shoulders and reaching behind you to unhook and free you from your final piece of clothing. But with this one he wasn't in a rush. He slowly tugged at the lacey fabric, revealing your chest to him as he bit his lip. "Wow." He mumbled and his patience was gone. One hand grabbed your left boob, feeling it and squeezing it softly as the other slipped into his boxer to touch himself. He whimpered, seemingly trembling as a result of his desperation and the discomfort he must be feeling in those tight pair of... he let go of your boob, quickly pulling his boxers down and himself out. You felt your core twist and ache and his boxers joined the pile of clothes on the floor. Taehyung fell forward onto all fours on top of you. Fully exposed, fully erect and a full sight to take in in the dim light in the dark. Distracted and eyes travelling all over him, his hand suddenly cupped your chin, tilting it up for you to face him. His nose graced over yours in a sweet eskimo kiss before his lips, just as gently pressed to yours. Taehyung's hand slid down your neck, your chest and down until he found himself. Your toes curled as you felt his touch where you wanted him the most in this moment, the tip of him slowly sliding up and down your slit, triggering your need even more. Taehyung let out a shaky exhale. His lips were parted and eyes staring right down at your exposed curves. He positioned himself, slowly sliding the tip in, just to feel... just to get some urgent relief... he leaned his head back and his hands landed a tight grip of your waist. He couldn't take it anymore. Slowly and carefully he began to push. Making sure by studying your every expression that he wasn't hurting you and that it felt good. A sweet whimper escaped you, causing him to grin in delight as he pushed in deeper. He was thick... the gentle stretch he caused felt amazing and you couldn't stop yourself from clenching around him, making him moan and managing to make you even wetter just by the sound. With a soft grunt he slipped in all the way. Giving you a moment to adjust to his size, he moved his hand up to caress your cheek with the back of his hand. His touch felt like magic. Like a gentle feather smoothing over your cheek, but slender and strong, with long dainty beautiful fingers. You leaned into his touch. "Does it feel ok?" He whispered. You gave a reassuring nod. He pulled his hips back and thrusted back in, not too soft and not too hard he picked up a slow but deep rhythm for his movements. Your hands felt their way up and across his back, studying every curve and where he naturally flexed as he moved. His hands were firmly holding you in place at the waist, every desperate exhale and every shaky inhale sending almost an ASMR like tingle down your spine via your ear until your name suddenly slipped his lips. Most people feel a fuzzy like feeling inside hearing their proper name be called but this... this was unlike no other time. His deep voice, following a whimper, exhaling your name like a magic spell and it fading into a shiver-causing moan. To put it simply it was the sexiest thing you've ever heard and it activated a whole new part within you that felt foreign but so so so good. Like your blood had suddenly turned into liquid gold, all happy hormones releasing in a firework spelling the world "nothing else matters" in an imaginary sky. You wrapped your arms tighter around him, moaning his name out felt liberating. And it clearly triggered an equal reaction. His cheeks were already flushed and his eyes went wide. He smirked, growing more desperate, fucking your harder and deeper, chasing release. "Please cum for me." He whispered, pleading. "Please." He didn't need to place a formal request, you were already loosing yourself. The only sound echoing in the darkness being the roaring wind and rain along with your breaths and groans and the sound of his hips and your thighs. Wet, heavenly sounds to you. His sweet moans, his broad back, his dick... everything about him made you feel euphoric. The ever building tension below, the sweat forming on his forehead... "I'm gonna cum" he whimpered. Thinking your body couldn't possibly react stronger to him than it already was, it did. The thrusts grew faster, grunts louder and you could feel yourself leak even more. Back arching, tension growing... it felt even tighter now... you could feel him so well, every movement until you suddenly came un-done with a loud whimper to his ear, setting him off into his own orgasm, cumming deep inside with a string of "oh"s and groans, gritting his teeth together and tensing his face in a greedy expression. He slowed down to a halt, remaining inside, breathless on top of you. The light on the sofa table had reached its end and the faint scent of smoke filled the air as the flame went out, making the room completely pitch black. Taehyung's face nuzzled softly against your neck, inhaling the scent of you deeply and being soothed. "Wow." He coughed, followed by a groan. "Wow." You repeated, happy that the light went out so he couldn’t see your flushed face. "You ok?" He whispered, vulnerability present in his voice. "I didn't go to hard right?" "It was amazing." He let out a breath of release and an awkward chuckle. "I'll pull out.." he said shyly, moving his hips back slowly and gently, slipping out. To your surprise, Taehyung climbed off of you, standing on his feet. The cold air made your nipples ache and your skin shiver. You wanted your human blanket and source of heat back. But you didn’t have to wait for long. A pair of strong arms slid in under you, lifting you up with ease. "The sofa is too tiny." He carried you into your bedroom, gently putting you back down on the bed and laying down on his side next to you, pulling you close to his chest where his heart was still pounding hard. He hugged you tight, caressing the back of your head. His lips pressed against the crown of your head gently. "My good girl." He whispered, sounding almost proud. Your cheeks burned and a weird sense to cry bubbled up but you quickly swallowed it and hugged him tighter, burying your face against his chest. Never had you thought being called a good girl, specifically "Taehyung's" good girl would be able to move you to tears. But maybe it's what you needed to hear, mixed with the hormonal serotonin cocktail your body just released upon you. "You'll always have me." He nuzzled his nose in your hair. With a click the power came back on, including your pink hue nightstand lamp next to the bed. Taehyung's cheeks were deeply flushed, amplified by the flattering pink light cast over him. You giggled. Had this really just happened? Because it felt so right. Or was it just the relief of sex? But masturbating had never made you feel this emotional before... You looked up at Taehyung's face again and he smiled softly, his hand caressing your bare back up and down. It was definitely him.

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cashmierathoughts · 4 years ago

Text

Red Light Special

RED LIGHT SPEACIAL (Short Story)

Allow me to preface this by saying, I’d never done coke before and I’d never kissed another woman before last night...

It was the end of the year and I let my roommate convince me to go out with her and her eccentric friends. I asked where to and all Maxine said was that we’d probably hit Deep Ellum and then a friends’ after set. It sounded like Max’s normal Monday through Saturday night to me; we have a strict policy on going out on Sunday nights, we don’t. We party during the day on Sundays and although I don’t get out nearly as much as her, I make it a point to participate in what we like to call “Sunday Funday”.

One of Max’s homegirls, Sam, owned a bar and was our liquor plug. She came over around seven and immediately started pouring drinks while Max and I were still getting dressed. I finished dressing before Max so I joined Sam in the kitchen for drinks. I prefer a cocktail over a shot simply because I have the worst gag reflex in all of Mesquite but Sam could care less; if she was pouring, it was shots for everyone. I took one or two or four and started rolling up. I was the only stoner in the group and I was thankful for that. Max finished getting dressed after changing a million times and then we headed out.

We hit a few bars and that’s when shit got interesting. Sam, Max, and I were leaving downtown and headed to one of Max’s friends’ house when he called her and gave her directions to a different party. By this time, I was feeling all ten shots of whatever was clear and strong and the choice to smoke backfired. Instead of mellowing me out, the weed started smoking me! I was in the backseat having the dizziest most carefree time of my life as I grinded and twerked on the leather interior of Max’s beamer.

Her car came to an abrupt halt and she lowered the music and called the mystery friend back.

“Hey, we’re outside. What’s the phrase again? Okay. Here we come.”

What phrase was she talking about? Looking back, that should have been my first clue that some unusual shit was about to happen.

We parked and walked up to a building no bigger than Starbucks and were approached by a lady wearing fishnets and a leotard. She took our phones, gave us a locker key with the number 86 written on it, then led us to the basement of the building. I could hear low music thudding through the walls as we got closer to our destination. When we got downstairs I knew exactly where we were. Max was a frequent flyer here.

The room was sectioned off by different colored lights. There was a red, blue, purple, and green room.

I quickly observed that I was indeed at a swingers’ party.

My hands were clammy and I could feel myself sobering up. I had two options: either I was going to drink and smoke my way back to zen or I was going to catch a Lyft back home. There was no way Max and Sam were leaving and I wouldn’t dare ask. Fuck, I should have driven.

I stuck close by Max like white on rice. We went in the green room first. I was attracted to it for two important reasons. One being that green is my favorite color and the other is that the closer we got to the green light, I could see marijuana shrubs. It was literally a green room. The shrubs were the least of the most visually captivating things happening in that room. Did I mention that we were clearly overdressed for the occasion? Women were either in lace and satin lingerie or nothing at all. The men were mostly clothed in cigar robes, if anything at all. I was extremely intimidated.

I pulled on Max’s arm, “Girl why you ain’t tell me you was on this tonight? You know I don’t even be with the shits.”

To be honest, I was too intrigued to be maintain an attitude. There was so much to see.

A bold black hand with an even bolder wedding band reached my way and passed me an unsolicited blunt. I looked to see who the hand belonged to but I didn’t know that man. He was barely making eye contact with me; probably because his other hand was between the thighs of some woman and his tongue was down her throat. I had no choice but to take the blunt or let him pass it to Casper and set the whole building on fire. I hit the blunt and leaned up against a small space on the wall, hoping to evaporate into the drywall. The weed was damn good. I felt relaxed immediately and then my mind got to wandering.

I looked around and noticed that my friend who shared the blunt with me wasn’t the only person on the verge of fucking in that room. In fact, there were people actually fucking in that room. I was starting to blush. The weed was making me horny too. I hit it some more and then stared at a couple in front of me go at it. I watched as his penis moved strategically in and out of some lady’s vagina. She had on a wedding band, he didn’t. I could feel my head tilt as I gazed at them and wondered when I’d feel raw dick again…

I was brought back to my senses when I felt a small hand grab mine. It was Max.

She took me across the hall to a different room. The red room. Sam was sitting on a sofa topless with her shirt saving one seat for Max and her clutch saving one for me. I’d seen Sam’s breasts more than plenty times before so I wasn’t as shocked as I should have been, plus, did I mention that weed was really, really strong?

We both plopped down on the couch and at that moment, I realized how fucked up I was. The room started spinning and my first thought was to focus all my energy and attention on not seeming as fucked up as I was. So when Max and Sam were talking to me, I was telling my drunk self to not look drunk and I missed everything they said. I only remember nodding yes to them and saying, “Daammmn, that’s crazy” at the end. Go figure.

A light skinned, middle aged man with a beer gut and premature penis walked buck naked toward us and stopped. He never made eye contact with any of us. He just stood there and looked at Sam’s boobs. The weed had me stuck like chuck. I couldn’t strum up a good cuss out for the nigga. Sam started to rub on her breasts and put on a show for the stranger. She caressed them and in return, the preemie penis grew into a pretty decent half chub. Like I said earlier, the weed from the green room made me super horny. Pheromones were flying blindly all throughout that room and I was caught in its crossfire.

Max leaned behind Sam to get my attention and disrupted my show.

“Come sit down here.”

I went.

“Ex-squeeze me...” I slid over Sam and sat in between her and Max.

Max got her palm mirror and Big C out. Her night was just beginning while mine, on the other hand, was heading towards its end.

She leaned over and asked, “Want some?”

I gave her that look you give someone when they know the answer to some unbelievable shit they just asked or brought up. I like my drugs and I don’t judge, but the Big C, ain’t fo me... or so I thought. Before I could turn Max down, I saw a drink being shoved in my face. A woman in red latex chaps with her ass completely bare and titties to match was passing out drinks. I took the one she gave me and handed it to Max, who then shoved it right back in my face and urged me to drink.

It didn’t take much convincing on her end. I downed something that I could only guess was some version of a cognac and coke. I was still feeling drowsy. Without even asking, I grabbed Max’s mirror and went to town. As I dragged my nose across the cold and shiny pallet, I instantly regretted my sudden act of bad-assery. Thinking back, the shit was completely unnecessary.

When I came up and looked around, I expected to immediately feel wiry and freakishly energized. I didn’t. A grinning Max pulled my face close to hers and gave me a sloppy and unsolicited kiss on the cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut when she did this and when I opened them, I saw the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in real life. She was leaning on the bar wearing a designer birthday suit and stiletto heels. Max was talking a mile a minute in my ear about how she got stood up tonight and how she wanted to go home, but for some reason now, I wasn’t in such a rush.

“Dammnn, that’s crazy.” I managed to mutter.

Our naked friend in the red chaps returned to our end of the couch with a single glass of champagne. She handed it to me then walked away, leaving a squeaking sound trailing behind her. The woman at the bar intentionally caught my eye this time and raised a glass identical to mine in the air. I matched the energy and went over to talk to her.

That’s when Big C kicked in. I could feel myself tweaking. Almost as if I had a tick. I took a huge gulp of champagne to calm my nerves and the closer I got to the bar, the more confident I grew. She was a little taller than me, had a cinnamon skin tone and almond eyes to match; older too. Said her name was Amber. I think she lied. Hell, I lied.

I quickly learned that this wasn’t the type of place where there was much talking being done. I looked back at the couch for some reassurance and saw that Sam was getting her ass eaten on the sofa while Max was headed towards a curtained room with some couple sharing a satin pajama set. The man had on the bottoms and the woman had on the button down top to match, only she purposely left several buttons open, leaving her breasts nude and exposed.

Amber asked me to join her behind a curtain of our own.

I did.

“How old are you?”

I hesitated. My heart was racing, my thoughts were loud, my body was doing things I didn’t authorize it to do, and that damn twitch was back, which was so unfucking-becoming of me.

“Twenty-three.”

Amber scoffed and said, “Old enough”.

We went behind the curtain and started to kiss. They started off as soft, hesitant kisses. She removed the straps from my shirt and let them hang lazily on my shoulders and I felt something cold graze my skin.

A FAT ASS DIAMOND. She was married too.

I didn’t say anything and I’d hoped that she didn’t notice me noticing her ring. Our once childish pecks were now maturing into heavy Frenching. Kissing a woman felt more natural than I thought it would. Her tongue danced with mine and we took turns leading. Amber leaned me back and started to give my nipple piercing attention with the tip of her tongue.

“Just one?’, she laughed.

“I bitched out. The shit hurts!” I laughed back.

I didn’t know what she expected to happen next. I was new to this, definitely not true to it and I didn’t care how fucked up I felt, there was no way I could dine on vagina. I just won’t.

My thoughts were dismantled when I felt her cool hand creep up the inside of my thigh. I trembled and could feel my pussy slightly gush. She moved my panties to the side and slowly rubbed two fingers back and forth. I could feel the grooves in her acrylic against my vulva as she applied the right amounts of pressure on my clit and the extra tension turned me on. I let out a soft moan and felt my thighs getting wet.

Amber removed her fingers from inside of me and placed them in her mouth. My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe any of this was actually happening and had I not woken up with the worst hangover of my life this morning and a stamp from Deep Ellum, I wouldn’t have.

When she took her fingers out of her mouth, she spit out her wedding ring and put it on the tip of her index finger. She removed my panties completely and started tasting me. I felt something cold massaging my clit in sync with her tongue. It went back and forth. I could feel her soft lips kiss and slurp. My body convulsed and I let out what I tried to maintain as the most excruciating quiet noise of arrival.

I was delirious.

Amber sat up, wiped her face with her palm, and kissed me. I felt something sharp touch my lip when they touched. I opened my eyes and Amber spit out her wedding ring and whispered, “Bye, Riley.”

She got up and headed towards the curtain and disappeared back into the dark red room.

THE END

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samwrights · 5 years ago

Text

Plastic Flowers [ 5 ]

Chapter 5: The Poison I Need

Katsuki and Kohta get to spend the whole day together, getting to know each other.

WARNINGS: Slight NSFW, mentions of sodomy, and implications of rape(?)

Katsuki Bakugo had woken up Sunday in the late morning; attempting to hide his eagerness by taking his time to complete each individual task as he got ready. His morning cup of coffee consisted of not only washing his mug after he was finished, but even washed the pot as well as the brew basket. Not necessarily strange for some humans morning routine, but definitely for Katsuki. Even his morning shower took longer than normal; instead of just slopping whatever he could on his messy blonde mop, he took the time to massage product into his roots and ends and scrubbing every inch of his body with a fragrant body wash rather than a plain bar of soap. Simple tasks such as picking out an outfit even came to be a meticulous event—Katsuki was doing all that he could to pass the time before he could leave and head to the Upside Down to pick up Kohta, even if it meant tapping into the grooming lessons he had picked up from Best Jeanist during his internship many years ago.

After finally settling on a fitted black button up, jeans, and an orange lined black hoodie, Katsuki laced up his brown leather boots and locked his the door to his tiny one bedroom apartment, exiting with a bit more enthusiasm in his usual saunter. He would never say it out loud or to himself, but Bakugo was excited to have actual one on one time with his soulmate. While the thought of having to explain to her the bonding process of soulmates was something he was dreading, every other aspect of being alone with Kohta—he didn't mind it at all. Though, he blamed his compliance entirely on the hormones that were released during their brief session in the back room of the Upside Down.

Opting out of driving, mostly to take time to arrive fashionably late, Bakugo decided to walk to the cafe to pick Kohta up. Not that it was a lengthy walk by any means, maybe a half hour at most since Bakugo didn't live too far off from the heart of the downtown area. He didn't want to appear too eager by showing up as soon as he'd left his apartment with only a ten minute drive. Not that Hitoko would have known that, but regardless, Katsuki was over thinking anything and everything. He knew of his own personal faults—his narcissism, his pride, his attitude; Katsuki was overly aware of it all. It was his pride that over shadowed his worry that Kohta would not be able to see past his faults. Now that the two of them had met and at least kissed, forming their bond should be a breeze.

That's what Katsuki thought, anyway, as he rang the buzzing doorbell on the outer brick wall of the Upside Down. When no answer came, his confidence began to waver. Maybe Kohta was still sleeping, his quiet optimism chimed. But his gnawing anxiety kept trying to convince him she was bailing. It felt like hours were passing until he finally saw his soulmate emerge from the back of house door. Kohta's long brown hair swayed in their natural waves, the ends of her locks tickling her bare tattooed midriff. Her loose, black cropped tee revealed the bottom half of some sort of canine tattoo, though the rest of the design was covered by her ripped up white jeans. Despite the amount of exposed skin, Kohta was also sporting a large maroon cardigan that nearly swallowed her tiny frame and covered all else. "Uh, hi." The brunette says with caution as she locks the front door to the Upside Down.

"Hey." Katsuki returns, entirely unsure of how to greet her. Couples usually greeted each other with a hug or a kiss, but they weren't necessarily together. Not yet, anyway. And shaking her hand just seemed...odd. Instead, Bakugo opted to hold out his hand for her to take. His face was rather calm, his confidence making a quick recovery from his budding doubt; even more so as Kohta takes his hand. It was entirely foreign to her—she couldn't even remember the last time she held hands with someone. Maybe when she was a tiny child.

"Where to?" She asks with as much casualty as she could muster. Bakugo had begun walking more towards the heart of downtown as he tried to avoid staring at his soulmate. Seeing her when she wasn't working or having to converse with a bunch of other people, having her undivided attention, made his heart race. Why was he so vehemently against her being his soulmate, he asked himself quietly. Sure, she was more on the plain side, but Bakugo would be lying if he didn't appreciate her beauty for what it was.

"I know a place." He responds as he nudged her towards a little upscale diner just a couple blocks from the Upside Down. It surprised Kohta, not by much but regardless, that she had never been to this place despite how close it was to her home. Katsuki tugged her along gently; doing all the talking to get them a quiet booth away from people and the door. The blonde took the seat facing the entryway, while Kohta kept her back towards it. Their waitress grabbed their drinks—waters and a pot of coffee to split with a side of cream for her.

"So, what brought on the idea to go take me to brunch?" Kohta asks almost meekly, as if she were trying to be smooth and hide the throbbing butterflies in her gut. She was nervous. The last time she had sat down for a meal with somebody had been almost, if not longer than, a year ago when her cat had passed away. Dabi had chosen to take little Kohta Ohta out to breakfast in hopes to perk her up a bit.

"You and I have a lot to talk about. Figured this would be the easiest way." Katsuki huffs out at he flips through the menu, though it didn't take long for him to settle on something to suit his tastes. Something savory and salty with lots of protein, and a side of pancakes to balance out. He had learned early on in the dating game two things: forming a friendship or bond or relationship of any sort was easier when food was involved and that Bakugo was a nervous eater. In his younger years, he never realized that all of his disaster dates were ones that didn't involve some type of meal or going to a theater and munching on popcorn. Since he learned the habit, Katsuki couldn't think of the last time he had a date go wrong.

But relationships that last more than a couple dates was a different monster entirely.

Kohta was flipping through the menu eagerly, completely forgetting she was sitting across from her soulmate as her stomach growled. Having such an eclectic pallet, she couldn't pin down any one thing she wanted to eat. "Do you two need a minute?" Their waitress asked kindly, tipping her head ever so slightly that her sleek chestnut brown hair spilled over her shoulder.

"I think we're ready." Kohta said, matching the tone of their server with her business professional voice. The brunette looked up at the waitress, pushing up her glasses as she did so, before giving her order—a skillet with ham, sausage, mushrooms, green peppers, eggs over easy with a side of pancakes. Katsuki gave a slightly confused, if not impressed, glance to his soulmate.

"I'll have the same, but no peppers and add bacon." The waitress nods before collecting the menu and scurrying away, leaving the two soulmates to gaze at each other. Despite the vortex of emotions overwhelming the couple for a brief second, neither pulled away.

"So, where would you like to start?" Kohta asks as she takes a sip of her coffee—a rich caramel color contrasting her partner’s black cup.

"I feel like I should be asking you that," Bakugo starts evenly, mirroring her actions with his own. "You're the one who doesn't understand how this works, remember?"

"Right...but if we're soulmates or whatever, this should just happen naturally, shouldn't it?" The blonde mulls over her words while silently sipping down the remnants of his first cup of coffee before immediately pouring himself another. It was blatantly obvious the two were going to need another pot, he mused, at the rate they were drinking.

"Fair enough." Bakugo goes quiet for a second, observing as Kohta sets down her mug. As a reflex, he fills it up again, making sure to leave an inch for any fix ins she might have needed. "Then let's not talk about that right now. How old are you?" Kohta let out a soft snort, followed by breathy, whimsical laughter. Such an oxymoron that is difficult to describe and put into words, but was entirely Hitoko. Ever the plain looking woman, who's attitude was anything but.

"Katsuki, you can't just ask a woman her age. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" She jokes, the light-hearted chuckle a clear indication that she hadn't been remotely serious. "Twenty five. What about you?"

"Me too. But what month are you?"

"August."

"April." Bakugo gave a small smirk, triumphant in his victory that he paid no contribution to. As he was about to open his mouth again, ready to fire off the next question that came to his mind, the brunette woman before him cut him off.

"You asked the last question, I get to ask next. Isn't that how twenty questions works?" Bakugo conceded, shutting his mouth to let his soulmate speak. Conveniently enough, their waitress had come back with their food as well as a fresh pot of coffee. Needing nothing else, the two resumed their little game, neither being shy when talking to each other with their mouths full. It surprised the blonde how much he was learning about her—being an orphan and not going to school, how her parents died when she was merely a toddler, and even simple things like her favorite color was specific shade of blue or that her favorite tattoo was the sword on her forearm, touching the outside length of her elbow and wrist on the arm of her soulmate mark.

Hitoko had learned many things that she hadn't expected of Katsuki. He spoke of his strong desire to the absolute best—the number one—she learned that his talk was far from cheap, according to him. Much to her surprise, he spoke of many of the struggles he faced in school, learning that just because he showed such promise at a young age, didn't mean he knew everything and still needed to understand what it meant to be the best. Katsuki also talked about how his slowly budding friendship with Kirishima turned into being each other’s shoulder to lean on, though he didn't quite phrase it as such. "We have each other's backs—we have for over ten years." Somehow, in the short time that Hitoko has known him, she was able to decipher the blonde's vocabulary to know that he was grateful for their decade long friendship. But as the small talk dwindled and their eating had slowed due to their filling bellies, the reason for their afternoon meeting began to increase the tension between them. "So do you wanna ask or do you just want me to sit here and give you textbook excerpts?" Katsuki nearly grumbles, the gruff tone of his voice making its way to show he was far from relaxed at this very second. And though he sounded much more vicious than he had for the last half hour, Kohta stood her ground, not in the least bit intimidated.

"My mark is still red, so I'm assuming yours is as well. Why is that?" The blonde let out a silent sigh of relief—at least she was starting off easy, he rejoiced in his mind.

"We haven't bonded. Our little...episode, a couple days ago just calmed down the negative affects." Snippets of Katsuki grabbing Hitoko's hips while their lips danced flashed through his mind and had him running warm, warmer than normal.

"Okay, so how do we actually bond then?" At this moment, Bakugo wished he hadn't cleared his plate, or that he had a sudden appetite again. Only his half empty cup of coffee served as a defense mechanism for his nerves, and it wasn't nearly enough. Not even his stupid sex education course with former pro hero, Midnight, could have prepared him for this exact conversation. Sure, it was easier to suffer in silence in a class full of awkward, hormonal teenagers. But telling his own soulmate, the thought was absolutely daunting. It was now or never, though, and he figured his soulmate appreciated brutal honesty as much as he did.

"Intercourse." Bakugo's crimson eyes held Kohta's violet orbs as he spoke so bluntly. "Sodomy and insemination in one's rectum." Silence bloomed between the two. While Kohta might not have received the education that Katsuki did, her lexicon was well versed to know what each of the words that spilled past his lips meant. The entire time she spent processing the information, the blonde stared at her stone faced. If she's my soulmate, she can deal with this, he thought. Cruel omniscient beings above or not, Bakugo knew that anyone good enough to be his life partner would be able to handle such an awkward situation with grace.

"And, ever the gentleman you are, I'm assuming you're not going to just drag me into the backroom and shove it in my ass." Had it not been such a serious conversation, Bakugo might have laughed.

"The fuck do you think I am?!" He snarled instead, his pride wounded at the thought of him raping someone. But Kohta just let out an airy laugh before downing the rest of her coffee. The brunette woman could tell how difficult this conversation had to be for him and soothed him in the only way she knew how—endless jokes at his expense then show appreciation and praise. How she had learned such tactics in such a short time is a mystery to them both; maybe it was just natural for her.

"Kidding, kidding." Kohta chimes before her eyes soften at him. "Besides, if you actually wanted to get this whole bonding process over with, you would have just done it in the back room the other day."

"Shut the fuck up, woman!" Once again, Kohta laughs. When did the two of them get this comfortable with each other? It couldn't have just been from their exposure for the last hour. If anything, it felt as if they had already met once before, maybe in a previous life. "In all seriousness though. Now you know what we have to do, what we're supposed to do. This is your chance to back out if you're scared." The softest snort left Hitoko's nostrils as she tossed a wad of cash on the table to cover the check. Neither of them remember their server ever bringing it, but seeming that this conversation was coming to a close, the brunette figured they may as well relinquish their booth too.

"I have nothing to be afraid of, Bakugo."

Katsuki Bakugo couldn't even recall the last time where he had relationship as lax as his one with Hitoko Ohta. Instead of going separate ways after their brunch date, the two of them ended up at a local pool hall just a bit further into the heart of the downtown area. Since the destroying of Kohta's snooker table, she had frequented the little dive on her days off. With Bakugo's constant strive for perfection, it came as no surprise to her that he was a worthy adversary in eight ball.

But Kohta was slightly better.

"How are you so fucking good at this?" Katsuki drawls as the brunette sinks the eight ball again.

"No school, no parents—I did nothing but play for five years." Under his breath, the blonde let out a grumble before resting the house cue on the table as Kohta packed hers up. "We should probably get going." Her words gave finality, as if to signify that their day together was over. In retrospect, Katsuki probably should have agreed. But, despite being together and alone for the last eight hoard, he wanted to be with her. The two of them left the pool hall, Kohta giving a loud goodbye to the bouncer, hand in hand as they walked back towards the Upside Down. This time around, it was much easier for the two to talk without things being tense—much more laughter was present this time around. But their impending expiration date on their evening was gnawing at Bakugo.

"Hey, do you wanna come over and watch a movie or something?" The blonde's calm voice was present once again, holding no abrasiveness. If only Katsuki were always this calm, Kohta mused internally. Only focusing on his words and the tone of them, she missed the slight sweat that began to build between their hands, namely coming from the number two hero. He was nervous; what if she thought he was just trying to get their bonding process over sooner? Or what if she was already tired of him after spending majority of her day with him? Bakugo was nervous.

"Sure." Hitoko says softly, quieting the buzzing, argumentative voices in his head. It had taken him a moment to even process her word of affirmation, to the point where he remained silent. As she took notice to this, she continued to speak. "You walked here, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Katsuki replies mindlessly, his thoughts still reeling that she had agreed.

"Okay, let's stop by my place then and I'll take us there." By now, Kohta was taking the lead, guiding the two of them back to the Upside Down—an easy ten minute walk. With Bakugo being as quiet as he was and the clamminess in his held hand, she tried her best to ease his nerves with small talk. "Have you ever been on a motorcycle?"

"Huh?" A small laugh bubbles from Kohta's chest as she tugged him toward the alley next to the Upside Down; the alley she could always be found smoking in. Further back behind the building was a one car garage that no one would have ever noticed if they didn't already know it was there. Kohta released his hand to open the garage, finally relieving the both of them from the other's sweaty grasp. Not that Bakugo cared—he was always sweating anyway—but the absence in his hand was a feeling he could not ignore. He missed her hand.

Tch, he mentally scoffed. He was no fucking pansy.

Hitoko was shuffling a couple things around in her garage, pulling up the cover on her motorcycle and grabbing helmets that were sitting on a shelf to the right. The rest of the garage was nearly empty—no actual car for the brunette—save for a paint can that was filled with cigarette butts. Kohta got on her motorcycle with her teal helmet over her head, backing up carefully as she could barely reach the ground before bringing the bike to life. Her head turned towards Bakugo, outstretching her right arm with a black helmet for him. Carefully the blonde sat behind his soulmate, anchoring his hands at her waist for security.

Bakugo almost wished the two of them had a further destination than his little apartment that was only a couple miles away. Even with the borrowed helmet on top of his head, he could feel the rush of wind billowing through his blonde locks, filling him with a sense of freedom he had never known before. A feeling he didn't want to stop. Bakugo had held onto Kohta the entire ride, only letting go with his right hand to direct her with silent gestures since words would fail.

The couple stopped just outside of a small, three story brick building, one of many in a row. Between each apartment building was a small, narrow stone driveway and a wrought iron fence, separating the tiny lots. After parking her bike, Hitoko planted herself onto the ground, offering a hand to Bakugo to steady himself as he dismounted himself. The two were silent as he grabbed his keys, unlocking the front door to his apartment and leading the brunette woman up the stairs to his second story apartment.

It was simple and plain, a tell tale sign to a single man. But, much to Kohta's surprise, the apartment was spotless. Katsuki took off his shoes and placed them neatly on a short shoe rack by the door, prompting the brunette to follow suit. Making herself at home, Kohta walked through to the living room and plopped down on the couch. The blonde stayed behind for a moment, rummaging around his fridge loud enough that she could hear the clinking of glassware. Bakugo emerged, carrying two empty wine glasses and holding a bottle in his left hand.

"Ooh, special occasion?" She jokes as Katsuki sets the objects down onto coasters. With steady hands, he pours each of them a half full glass of the deep crimson liquid before grabbing the remote to his television and sitting back on the couch with her.

"Any movie preferences?" His voice was smoother than the motion of him slipped his arm around her shoulder, glass of cabernet in his free hand. Hitoko gave a soft chuckle before leaning forward to grab her own glass before settling into the warmth of her soulmate. She sipped her glass thoughtfully, a small hum escaping as she did so.

"Either thrillers or Disney movies. There is no in between." The blonde looked at her in disbelief. "Unless you're down for some crappy rom-com."

"Absolutely not. Silence of the Lambs it is." Kohta laughed before carefully wrestling the remote control from Bakugo, switching on the first Disney movie she saw pop up on the streaming service of his choice. Thankfully, it happened to be one of her favorites—Hercules. "At least you picked one of the better ones." He grunted out, conceding to their makeshift battle by taking a swig of his wine. This evening was far from how Bakugo planned it from going. Sure, he was certain the two of them would meet for lunch and discuss what the two of them needed to do next. But the laughter and ease the two of them shared was not something Bakugo anticipated. Hence the call for wine—a beverage typically used to embody celebration and romance. So far, he'd say their day together had been a success.

"So," Kohta chimes quietly, shifting ever so slightly to face the blonde fully with a devious smirk dancing on her lips. "Was this your plan all along? Wine and dine me, hoping the bonding process gets done and over with so you can get back to your hero work?" Despite the playfulness in her tone, Katsuki could sense the tiniest, remote twinge of malice painting the tail ends of her words.

"What's that supposed to mean, stupid?" He grit out, not pausing the movie, but no longer paying attention to the film.

"You mentioned that you were beginning to lose control of your quirk. Am I wrong to assume that you want to fix that as quickly as possible?"

"Fuck yeah you are." A snarl left the blonde's lips as he downed the rest of his glass and slammed it onto the coffee table before them. "You're absolutely fucking wrong. I don't even give a shit how long it takes for us to bond, I just—" Bakugo cuts himself short, realizing that his anger and quick reaction time had made him much more honest than he was ready to admit. "...I like spending time with you." He grumbles after a brief pause. Kohta too remains quiet for a moment before nuzzling into him further.

"I like being with you too." Her voice was quiet and raw, the most vulnerable Katsuki had heard her since their meeting. With both of their glasses out of their hands and the movie long forgotten in the background, serving only as white noise, the blonde gingerly grabbed her chin, tilting her upwards so her lips could meet his in a mutual delicate fashion. This time around, no shock or surprise filled Kohta; in fact, she welcomed the gesture. With no resistance, she wrapped her tattooed arms around Bakugo, bringing him as close as their flesh would allow until their chests pressed together. One of his arms wound tightly around her waist to bring the rest of them together, his free hand gripping her thigh to ensure she had no room to escape.

Not that Kohta wanted to—not in the slightest.

Asserting his dominance, Bakugo guided the two of them forward until her back was pressed into the cushions of his couch, holding contact the entire time. But mere touch was not enough; Hitoko's faint scent of nicotine, mint, and coconut wafted through the blonde's nostrils. That in conjunction with soft mewls and heavy breathing leaving her sent Bakugo into sensory overload. In that moment, the blonde realized how different everything felt when his companion was his soulmate. In previous years, he had fooled around with plenty of women, but not a single one held a candle to the way Kohta ignited fire and passion within his chest. Desire and lust were no foreign concepts to him as they were for her. But both parties were smart enough to realize that, as their limbs tangled into each other after removing most of their clothes, this was so much more than lust.

Was there such thing as a good poison, Kohta wondered absentmindedly, for a fleeting moment. That was the best way she could describe the feeling of Bakugo's lips biting and nipping at the bare flesh of her neck and chest. Soft, airy moans left her lungs as he traveled further downward, tortuously unbuttoning her jeans. These overwhelming emotions pumping through her veins began to teeter into a necessity. "K-Katsuki." She calls out softly as he discards her white, distressed jeans and tossing them onto the ever growing pile on the floor. His name sounded divine coming from her lips, like tasting the forbidden fruit, and once she began to call it, it became the only word she knew.

"Fuck." The blonde grit out, unable to suppress his arousal any further; he needed her. Despite his previous gripes about her being his soulmate, having her here now, just like this, completely changed the game. Poison or not, he needed her. As soon as possible, if not now. "You look so fucking beautiful like this." With his lips suctioned around the bare flesh of her navel and her clouded judgment, Kohta could barely make out his words.

"Hm?" She chimes teasingly when she finally processed his statement. "Like how?" The three gentle words that came from her, though simple and holding no meaning, invigorated Katsuki. With no filter, no fear, no worry to hold him back anymore, he brought himself to be level with her violet gaze as soft pants left his own lips. Involuntarily, he ground his hips against her, letting her feel how turned on he was by her while his fingers danced the on the edge of her underwear.

"You look so fucking beautiful underneath me—so ready for the taking. But I'm not doing anything until you say so." Kohta's back arched further into his touch in attempts to feel him even closer. While Katsuki knew nothing of what was in her mind, his soulmate was silently mulling over her plight. She had never done this before, but man did she want it. Despite her ever-growing lust and desire, there was one thing Kohta was afraid of—the bonding ritual or ceremony, whatever it was called. Having never slept with anyone before, she feared being sodomized as her first experience with sex.

Hitoko was dwelling on her feelings even further as the two of them stripped of their remaining articles of clothing. While Katsuki was trying to hold her gaze during such an intimate moment as they laid bare on his couch, he could almost feel the metaphorical gears turning in her head as she looked right past him. "Hitoko." The blonde's voice came as molten lava—smooth, velvety, and soft while also being hot and rough; the dichotomy not going unnoticed by the woman in question as he spoke her name.

"I want this." She says firmly, her own soprano not nearly as captivating as her soulmates, but still music to his ears nonetheless. "B-but, I just don't think I'm ready for...that." It took a few moments, coupled with the reassuring nips to her neck, for Katsuki to realize what she was saying.

"We don't have to bond right now," Peeling himself off of Kohta, Bakugo attempts to look at his soulmate once again in hopes his eyes could reveal the transparency of the emotions running through them. With one arm supporting him over her, he brought his free hand to delicately dance along her cheek. "But I want this—I want you." The brunette woman laying below him, hair spilling and splaying all over the couch cushions, leaned up enough to capture his lips once again as she mirrored his hand gesture and cupped his cheek.

"I'm yours." Hitoko whispers, pulling away from him enough so that her words could be heard.

"You're mine.”

Plastic Flowers Masterlist

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Thank you guys for checking out this story! I’ll be updating the chapters every Saturday! Chapter title taken from The Front Bottom’s song “HELP” off their album “Back On Top”.

Why sodomy? Because everyone has an asshole, regardless of gender.

Taglist:

@guzmagirl @bubbzibubbles (I am so sorry bb, your handle hasn’t been working for me) @wwwwyamd

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l1ana · 6 years ago

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Dating Peter Parker while being Eddies' younger sister would include...

Dedicated to @gaynessnyoom for giving me this idea tysm bb

———

You had moved in with Eddie, claiming that you needed a place to crash at for some time

Which was odd since you were in college

Whatever, Eddie loved you with his entire being. Obviously, he let you in without hesitation

To be quite frank, he was getting tired of being alone accompanied with a blood hungy parasite every day

You staying at his place clearly made days much more brighter

You both loved exchanging stories about one another during your time apart and laughed it up

When Venom came into the picture, things didn't really change much besides you and him having constant arguments on which sort of sweets were better

Venom made an oath at the moment he saw you to protect you from whatever harm may come your way with the same amount of force that he protects Eddie with

They both loved you like a daughter — In spite of Eddie being your older brother

Your pictures of different monuments and various attractions served as good fuel for his career

Photography was your more proficient skill

One day while you were walking around the city, snapping a few pics, you saw it— Or rather, him

Spider-man, the hero of Queens

Lounging in an alleyway, sat in a hammock made of spiderwebs with a pair of headphones on

His red and blue color pallet immediately caught your eyes and you took a picture with no second thoughts

While you were fawning over catching a picture of someone so famous, the camera flash had caused the spandex-attired male to turn in your direction

Oh dear how he felt his heartbeat speed up three times than usual

Good lord you were a goddess in his eyes

He was stammering and tripping over his own words, unable to get anything out

There goes his spiderman charm

“So you're the real deal, huh?” You asked, stepping into the alleyway while looking up at him

“M-mhm, yup. In the flesh— whoa!” He stood up in his hammock but immediately lost balance, slipping and falling into the dumpster besides you. His head popped up from the pile of garbage bags

“More like in the spandex...” A gag came from your lips. “...And rotten foods.” You giggled, plucking a half-eaten banana from off his head

‘Im in love’ He thought then and there

From that point on, a beautiful relationship formed between you and Spiderman, the both of you meeting up in secluded areas of the city and exchanging joyous words every day

The time you and his geeky self -aka Peter Parker- met up was when you and Eddie paid a visit to the Bugle, in search for some juicy news to cover and report on

Peter had intentionally bumped into you in hopes to start up any sort of small talk. It was then that he found out that you wanted to dig deeper into Spidermans background and find out more about him

He promised to take you out, claiming that he had some “interesting spots that Spiderman likes to hang out at”

Of course, you took his words and set off with him

Eddie and Venom were definitely cautious of Peter

‘We should bite his head off.’ “Venom, no.” ‘What if he takes advantage of her?’ “He seems like a nice guy. Besides, [Name] can take care of herself.” ‘He's checking her out, Eddie.’ “...” ‘Exactly.’

Eddie sighed, speaking up to call your name. “Hey, uh, [Name],” You whipped your head around, grabbing Peters hand to stop him from walking off without you. “Yeah? What's up?” Eddie sighed again, probably anticipating you to feel offense to what he said: “I know that you're, uh, grown and all but... Y'know, be safe out there. Don't wander into the unknown, kay?” But instead you laughed at him in the most innocent way possible. “Don't worry, don't worry. I can stand my own.” And smiled so brightly it made his worries wash away.

And just like that, you were gone

‘We should follow them’ “Can you not? I'd like to respect her privacy as a grown woman, thank you very much.”

Sightseeing new places was definetly checked off of your bucket list

Peter practically dragged you everywhere he found to be a great site for dates

Yes, he was trying to find a way to turn this into a date

And yes, he was worried on whether you'd catch on to it or not

Most of the places he went to, he was commonly known in

“Hey Peter, who's the lucky girl?”

Que the blushing nerd

“She's, uh, new in town. I'm just taking her to some places Spiderman likes to stop by to. A-also, we're just aqquantices.”

“Haha, yeah. Well try not to confuse where the line ends at, okay?”

You and him were pretty much already talked about to be a couple

It was extremely embarassing for Peter, whilst you displayed no problem with what they were saying

Soon enough, you earned a spot in the Bugle as a worker, right in the same position as Peter

“[Name]? Wh-what are you-” “Guess who found a new job?~” He swore his heartbeat could be heard from miles away

You and Peter poking fun at one another

When he first grew the balls and finally asked you on a date, your affirmation had him absolutely ecstatic

Him taking you to one of the places he told you that his alter-ego liked to hang out at, which to say was spotted at a high-up place where you could see the city sparkle beautifully

“D-dude... This is awesome...!” “Not as awesome as you.” Peter would whisper under his breath, to which you'd clocked your head round and ask him to repeat what he said. “Nothing.” He replied with a sweat

A devious grin grew on your face. “Peeeeeettteeerr~” You sang. At that moment, the brunet knew he was screwed. “You like me don't you?”

Welp

Time to jump off the building and hopefully land into another dumpster ans roll away never to be seen again

“I-I-I mean, well, I guess if you mean by having a strong sense of attraction towards you then... M-maybe I...” “Awww, you totally do~” You have him a quick peck on the lips, then ruffling his hair. “Well, I like you more so don't start thinking that I don't!” Poor boy fainted on the spot

Eddie and Venom getting a tad bit worried of you whenever you claimed you were going out late at night

‘Where is she going?’ “To mind her own business, much like you should be doing.”

Most of the time when you did do so, you'd be skipping to Peters apartment

q̶u̶i̶c̶k̶ r̶e̶m̶i̶n̶d̶e̶r̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ y̶o̶u̶ a̶n̶d̶ p̶e̶t̶e̶ a̶r̶e̶ a̶d̶u̶l̶t̶s̶, l̶i̶k̶e̶ i̶n̶ y̶o̶u̶r̶ 1̶9̶s̶

Whenever Eddie heard you enter the apartment at such a late time at night, he'd just start fearing that you would walk right back out

He loved you so much and really didn't want to see you leave his life again

The concern on his face when he'd found out you brought your own appartment room had mortified you

“You're honestly... Gonna go?”

“Oh chill out Ed. I'm just down the street, okay? Nothing bad is gonna happen to your little sister so quit whining.” You'd reassure with a light kiss on his forehead. “You too, Venom. I know you're worried about me and as flattering as that is I'd appreciate it if you saw me capable to take care of myself, thanks.”

Of course, you paid visits to them every now and then just so that neither would get this feeling of loneliness again

Peter helped spruce up your apartment room with some of his own decor

“You sure this okay?” “Of course, I've always wanted a part of me inside you—” He mentally slapped himself to stop something he knew was inevitable. “I-I-I mean, like, I uh.... I...”

Quick and steamy makeout sessions to stop his stammering

Very gentle™ when having sex

Like, neither of you are virgins and are aware of what goes on during intercourse but still

Also, he made sure to put a condom on so dw

Remember kids: You can't make love without a glove

Don't be a fool, cover your tool

Don't be silly and wrap your willy-

You loved running your fingers into his hair w̶h̶i̶l̶e̶ h̶e̶ r̶e̶a̶r̶r̶a̶n̶g̶e̶d̶ y̶o̶u̶r̶ i̶n̶s̶i̶d̶e̶s̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ h̶i̶s̶ d̶i̶c̶k̶ because of how soft and curly they were

Apparently he was sensitive to you tugging his hair cuz the moment you did he was melting into your body

G̶u̶e̶s̶s̶ w̶h̶o̶ f̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ a̶ w̶a̶y̶ t̶o̶ t̶u̶r̶n̶ P̶e̶t̶e̶r̶ P̶a̶r̶k̶e̶r̶ i̶n̶t̶o̶ a̶ s̶u̶b̶?

Eddie would drop by your job sometimes just to check in on you, and would usually catch you in mid-talk with Peter

‘Is this the guy she's been going out late at night with?' “Can you at least try to be supportive of her decisions?” ‘You're worried for her... WE'RE worried for her.’

He always came in unnoticed and left unnoticed, much to his relief because he didn't want to seem like a stalker in your eyes

When you finally decided to let both Eddie and Venom into your house, they had devoured a quarter of your food that was meant to be for Peter for tomorrows dinner

Not like you told him that you and Peter were a thing

“We're sorry for eating all your food...” “It's okay. I understand. We all get hungry sometimes.”

Later that same night after Peter dropped by, you both setteled for pizza with a side of takeout

“So do I wanna know about the how, where and why a majority of your food is gone?”

“No,” You took a bite of your pizza “No you do not.”

Romcoms were tonights theme

“Do you think we'll ever be like those guys on TV?” “Peter, we're even better than them.”

Smothering him in smooches whenever he's feeling down

Lots of snuggles

Always coming through the fire escape part of his apartment and greeting him from there

Too bad big brother Venom and Eddie were stalking you

“When were you going to tell us about your male companion?” A familiar voice asked as you unlocked your apartment door and walked in, the lights clicking on

Oh fuck

Okay I've reached the limit, time to make a part 2

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alloveroliver · 6 years ago

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Amon x MC “In The Grand Scheme Of Things.”

Fluff; Amon Jabberwock

WC: 2,861

When Alice is found by Amon first, what role does she play within his ultimate goal?

Chapter 1

Ikemen Revolution Fanfic

Amon stared straight ahead as he purposefully past her workstation. He wasn't going to look at her but was doing his due diligence to keep an eye on her. “You did good, boss,” Alice called out to him as he walked past her. Amon jerked his head around, eyes wide. His jaw ticked when he stopped dead in his tracks to face her. Her special work zone was towards the outer wall of the large open room, away from the scholars that were sure to bore her. Her delicate hands pulled apart pieces of a broken magic crystal, still glowing while dipped in a sparkling blue essence. The liquid crystal proved to keep they stone alive long enough for someone with magic-canceling powers to pluck it apart. Separating the pieces on small disks, keeping them submerged for days at a time proved fruitful. This technique made new smaller crystals they could grow, helping immensely in multiplying their production. “You don’t have to praise me. I know what I’m capable of.” Amon straightened his spine, fixing his posture. His long silvery hair hung around his face in tendrils. Amon observed her minute movements as she carefully filled the circular disks with the fragments. A knowing smile curled the ends of her lips when she caught him staring out of the corner of her eye. “It’s not praise,” She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “I’m merely stating facts.” A sliver of light from above glinted in his natural topaz eyes, watching Alice continue her work. He was glad she was willing to help even after his men treated her like scum the first night. Amon saw the hope in her eyes and ran with it, becoming protective of her. The men that captured her weren’t allowed near hear, and the cell block they initially threw her in was avoided at all costs. Simple hospitality and a warm smile every once in a while made her quite an agreeable guest in his tower. After a few weeks with the girl, Amon finally trusted her enough to fulfill a job for him. The only job none of his other subjugates could do unless they held her special powers. He could kill two birds with one stone, testing her abilities while also using them to grow more crystals for their cause. Amon's goals were to have buckets full of new crystals to bring with him through the looking glass by the time the next full moon arrived. “Well,” He cleared his throat after a long pause. “In that case, I suppose I will allow you to speak your mind as you wish.”

She looked up at him through thick lashes, biting back a smile. “Amon, that’s awfully kind of you to say.” She giggled, and the sound warmed his chest. Moving his head a quarter to the right, his hair blocked his face from exposing the deep blush that settled over his features. “It’s not kind. It’s self-serving, even the densest cupcake could see that.” “Are you comparing me to something sweet?” Her face lit up, white teeth sparkling at him. Amon looked away, wondering why she wasn’t even the least bit scared of him. Even though he was hospitable, he remained stern towards her to make sure she was kept in line. The audacity that she would flirt with him sent his heart throbbing in his ears. She enraptured him. His eyes wandered over her gorgeous features, noting the curve of her lips, the dimple on her cheek, and the way her silky hair framed her round face. Seeing her bite her lip, his eyes shot back to hers capturing him in a silent gaze. “Speaking of food,” Amon averted his curious eyes. “Dinner will be ready soon.” “What’s on the menu for tonight, boss?” “Roast beef, a charred vegetable salad, and layered shortcake piled high with strawberries.” His mouth watered as he listed the menu, empty stomach echoing. “That’s my favorite!” “I know- I mean good.” He turned away from her, heading back down the path he was leading before. “It’s enough energy to make sure you can finish your task before bed.” “Now that I think about it... that kind of sounds like your meal.” Alice looked quizzically at him for a long moment. He turned back after a few steps. Typically every one would eat out of the cafeteria, all the same, meal eaten whenever hunger would strike. It was never a fancy meal like Amon listed, and desert was rarely served. “It’s what we will be having if you will join me in my private dining hall.” Amon felt immediately awkward. He wanted to spend more time with her, endlessly curious of the inner workings of her mind. It was the curiosity any scientist would have of their test subject, was it not? Still, he couldn’t help the blush that dusted his cheeks when she gasped. “I will! Thank you for the invitation.” “Meet me in the dining room at 7.” He continued his exit, quicker this time. Poor girl, she was far too happy to be in a place like this. Amon was beginning to grow slightly concerned for her. Anyone could take advantage of her kindness, draining Alice’s giving heart until she was nothing but a shell of her former self. He knew her well enough to know Alice wasn’t the kind of person to let the needy starve. He reflected on the night he and his men found her, watching the young lady float from the sky as if she were a feather adrift in the wind. If he knew what kind of person she was from the start maybe he would have never allowed them to take her by force. Once he figured out how much easier it was to sway her with honied words and basic kindness, Amon had no need for threats. Maybe it changed him, going out of his way to make sure she wasn't scared or harmed. The kind gestures suddenly came to him easier the more he used them on her. This kindness made his men think of him as weak, however, all but stepping on their neck proved to put them back in their place. No one was to cross him, and his kindness towards her was soon understood to them as a rouse to keep the new Alice in line. He hoped that's all he was doing. There was no need for distractions when his goals were so clear to him. This world they lived in was corrupt. Amon was born into a war-torn country, one side dead set on absorbing the other. The anxiety’s from his childhood clouded his mind, forgetting anytime he spent playing outside with the other children, remembering only the spurts where he and his family had to hastily pack everything and evacuate due to a battle that had a chance to set their entire town on fire. Living on the outskirts of the cradle was their families only option due to his father's simple job as a goat farmer and his mother's joint help producing butter from their milk. Twice in his life, he remembered the armies decimating their miniature farm entirely with only a magical outburst, killing their goats and the small number of chickens they had for personal use. It was clear to Amon from a young age he would never be able to attend the prestigious schools like all the other kids. With his family having to start over from scratch countless times, money never stayed long in their pockets. However, he was determined to make it into a position of power any way he could, unlike his father. The armies ruined his family's lives but furthermore destroyed the Cradle itself. He didn’t know one person that wasn't touched the horrific realities of war. With an iron fist, the Cradle could flourish. No one else seemed to have the foresight he did when it came to the future of the Cradle. That left him, a simple man gifted with magic that was desperate for change, to make sure the future of everyone was safe. Concise boundaries and strong laws were the only way. Knowing the obvious consequences, everyone would stay in line making sure war would never break out again. The current armies were even more idiotic than their predecessors. He found it most helpful to keep any knowledge of the troops away from Alice to protect his vision. If she knew how incapable the armies were at sharing the Cradle, Alice might use her big heart to try to join them together to a singular goal. However, that wasn’ t Amons vision anymore. Decidedly, neither of the armies had a strong enough hand to rule the Cradle in the way it needed to be. With a long sigh, Amon prepared himself for dinner. He changed out of his usual attire into a button-down shirt and navy slacks. Rolling up the sleeves, he exposed the end of his intricate tattoo that snaked all the way up to his shoulder, covering his entire right arm. The swirling smoky design of the ink was littered with the symbolism of his life goal and his magical status in the tower. Being the most powerful person here came with many badges, all of them permanently inked into his skin. As he proceeded to leave his bedroom, cluttered with half-open books and dimming crystals, he spotted his reflection in the full-length mirror. His glistening copper eyes stood out against his pale hair. The deep iris’s held many dark secrets that, even to him, should always remain buried. Smooth skin stretched over high cheekbones, glowing iridescent under the large crystal lighting his room. Amon tucked in his shirt, giving it a firm tug to smooth creases, then fixing the collar before finally leaving. To the footman that served him in the dining hall, he requested a complimentary wine to pair with dinner. Suggesting something on the sweeter side to make sure it would please Alice’s pallet. The room was tinged in blue due to the color of the chandelier, scattering twisted and curled shadows on the walls. He sat, waiting for her. Seven O’Clock came and went. The ticking of the clock on the wall grated on Amon's nerves. Every tick felt like a crack of the whip, and every tock was like a hammer pounding his skull. She was late, but why? Of course, she didn’t want to be around him. He never treated her the way she deserved. His words were always curt and actions bland. He didn’t blame her really. There was no need for niceties when his goal was so close he could taste the ashes on his tongue. The timepiece ticked deafeningly loud, slicing through his nerve endings. Every second that past was a reminder of how unworthy he was of her affections. Many found him to be a despicable lowlife, useful to only the maggots that would eat his corpse one day, Alice would soon think the same. The echo of the bolt disengaging jolted him back to reality. His heart pounded louder than the clock while, as if in slow motion, Alice's face appeared behind the heavy door. All sounds disappeared when she moved into the dining hall. An apologetic smile framed her painted red lips. “The um,-” Her laugh filled the room and tousled curls swayed away from her face. “The halls are confusing out this way. I got lost. Sorry!” Words were caught in his throat as she came closer, her heels echoed in the chamber with a satisfying click. When her brows scrunched with concern due to the lack of response, he shut his agape jaw and cleared his throat. “It’s fine. I hadn’t noticed you were running late.” Adjusting his collar, he stood to pull the chair out next to him. He couldn’t keep his eyes from raking over her form, drinking in her unearthly beauty. The long silk dress accentuated Alice’s frame, flowing down her back and smoothing over the curves. He held the chair for a moment as she sat. His hands were so close to her he could feel the warmth radiation onto his fingertips. “Oh,” She exasperated. “I was worried you’d start eating without me.” Smiling while looking down at the empty table in front of her. He helped push her chair in, then took his seat by her side. Gulping down a large swig of wine, he spotted her eyeing his exposed forearm. Alice’s eyes followed the swirling designs of the ink wordlessly. “I will call for the footman to serve us at once.” He averted his eyes, feeling hot as he gulped down the last of his wine. Alice played with a piece of her hair while the footman filled their glasses again with the intoxicating liquid. “This wine is sweeter than I’m used to. It’s closer to a dessert wine.” The glass chimed when he hit his silverware with the stem by accident. Alice’s eyes sparked, taking a sip of the cooling liquid. The footman placed the first course in front of them silently. “Mm! The wine is divine!” She peered down at the entree. “ and this smells amazing!” “It does, feel free to being.” He tried to keep a smug smile off his face. It was hard not to feel a bit proud that he picked the perfect combination of items that Alice loved. Of course, he asked her in the weeks prior what she preferred, but hitting the nail on the head swelled his chest. “So, you must really like chess.” She asked, silverware tapping against the plate. “What gave you that impression?” He cocked a brow. “Well,” She finished chewing, wiping her face with the cloth napkin. “Your tower is littered with many different decorative game pieces. I figured you are a huge fan, that’s all.” He grinned, catching her in a hypnotic gaze. “It’s a game of wits, but also strategy. You have to look beyond your opponent's motives to predicted what they would do, instead of what they’re currently doing, to win the game. It’s intriguing. That’s all.” “Do you like playing, or watching more?” Alice asked quizzically as she broke the gaze to take a sip of the deep red wine. She sat down the glass, leaving an imprint of lipstick on the rim. Amon stared at the crystal glass, at the ghost of her lips. “I-” He pulled his collar, suddenly hot. Her legs uncrossed and crossed again. “I enjoy both. Why?” Alice rubbed the back of her calf with the toe of her heel slowly. “Just wondering. You seem to me like the kind of man that would oversee others as they played their games. Coaching many people during several games at once, perhaps.” “You see me as a leader?” “Of course, you lead all the people here. Do you not? It isn’t that far fetched of an idea.” She shrugged, taking another sip from the glass. “I suppose not.” Amon hid his grin behind his own wine glass. He watched her fidget in her chair as dinner went on as if something were on her mind. Her chest was rising and falling slower the more comfortable conversation became. Alice glanced at him several times, the fire in her gaze catching him off guard. She bit her lip when he didn’t look away, stirring the butterflies in his stomach. Alice was gorgeous, dazzling, beautiful, “Exquisite.” “What?” Her brows shot up, pink dusting her cheeks instantly. “I’m sorry.” Amon gulped. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” He used his cloth napkin to wipe his mouth, tossing onto his plate absently. At the sign of his plate being finished, the footman rushed over to take his dishware. “Are you done, Sir?” The footman plucked the plate from its spot at once. “Sure,” He fumbled with his wine glass, heat searing his cheeks and ears. “Would you like for me to bring the dessert out now?” The footman asked, picking up Alice’s plate as well. “Yes.” His voice echoed into the crystal cup.

The waiter's body blocked Alice from view as he took her plate. Once the young man moved out of the way, Amon and Alice were caught in another stare. She eyed him curiously. Silence stretched as the waiter left them alone in the dining hall. “Is this a date?” Her red lips parted, sitting up straighter. “No, no of course… not” He cursed himself inwardly. This evening had all the workings of a date. Amon wanted this to be a date more than he’d ever admit. “Oh,” Alice’s face fell, the sparkle in her eyes dimming. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I mean, if you want it to be, then yes.” “I only want this to be a date if it’s consensual between both of us.” Her eyes cut to him poignantly. “I want it to be.” Amons stomach flopped. The space between them seemed to fill with static electricity. Finally, Alice's lips perked up again. Oh, how he missed that smile as if it had been gone for ages. “So do I,” Alice spoke softly.

[Read Chapter 2- Cathartic] - Coming Soon

New Years resolution #1, write my first multi-chapter fan fic. I’m giving him a backstory and keeping him the villain! Honestly, this was just a simple request for Amon fluff that ran away from me sooo Thanks, Anon!

Chapter 2 will feature adult content. I will be released later this week!

ML // KOFI // AO3

𝔸𝕊ℍ - 𝔸𝕝𝕝𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕆𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #ikemen revolution fanfiction #amon jabberwock #amon x mc #amon fluff #Chapter 1

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recentanimenews · 6 years ago

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5 Answers To Pokémon Questions That You've Always Had

The Pokémon world is full of mysteries. Heck, most of the endings of the original anime said so, with the narrator being like "Once again, Ash learned that the Pokémon world is a mysterious one, but one thing is for sure: He'd never forget Leon and his wonderful Metapod circus." And while Ash Ketchum would immediately forget Leon and every person that wasn't currently within arm's length of him, that mystery part still holds true.

When I was a kid, most of my life dealt with trying to sift through Pokémon urban legends, usually distributed by my friend Trevor, who would come to fifth grade telling us stuff about Pikablu and Ash's Dad like an old timey snake oil salesman who rode into Western towns on a wagon filled with "miracle elixers." Only in Trevor's case, those elixers were just torn-out pages of Nintendo Power.

But if you ever had a Trevor in your life, you probably wound up with more Pokéquestions than Pokéanswers. And that's where I come in. See, I've gathered up a few notable Pokémon questions from over the years, and I'm going to do my best to answer them here. And I'm gonna start off with something that has plagued Pokémon anime fans for nearly two decades:

WHY WAS BROCK REPLACED BY TRACEY SKETCHIT IN THE ORANGE ISLANDS?

For most of the Indigo League portion of the Pokémon anime, Brock was a steadfast companion to Ash and Misty. Sure, he got crushes on, like, everything, but it always seemed like he'd be around. And then the crew saw Professor Ivy on Valencia Island, and all of a sudden Brock was like "The Pokémon in this lab need me more than you do, Ash! I gotta leave indefinitely" But do they, Brock? You meet attractive anime ladies who hang out with Pokémon every other day. But for some reason, this one makes you abandon your literal only friends in the world?

He's quickly replaced by Tracey Sketchit, who likes to draw Pokémon if you couldn't infer that from his last name. Tracey isn't bad, but he definitely feels like an RPG character that someone got bored making halfway through. He seems like the kind of dude that would order a sandwich and then take off all the best parts. "Yeah, could you hold the mustard, and the pickles, and the meat and actually just give me two ice cubes on a paper plate?" Tracey only lasted around thirty episodes, too, before they switched him with Brock again, much to the delight of everyone with a pulse.

So why would you suddenly replace Brock with a man whose most notable personality trait is "Wears a t-shirt"? Well, according to former Pokémon anime director and storyboard artist, it's because they were scared that Americans would think Brock was a racist stereotype due to his eyes. But then they realized that everyone liked Brock anyway and drafted him back in. So there you go.

WHY DID THEY REMAKE POKEMON BLUE AS POKEMON LEAF GREEN?

I love the Pokémon Red/Blue remakes for the Game Boy Advance, Pokémon Fire Red and Leaf Green. The buttons on my GBA SP were practically destroyed due to the hundreds of hours that I put into them. That said, when they originally came out, I wondered why they went with Leaf Green? Didn't this one line up as a remake of Pokémon Blue? I don't mean to sound pushy BUT I WANT POKEMON TO BE THE WAY THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS GOING TO BE AND IF YOU MESS THAT UP, I'LL GET DUMB AND MAD.

Well, in Japan, the original pair of Pokémon games was Pokémon Red and Green. But they also decided to go with Leaf Green because, according to video game producer Junichi Masuda, the leaf is a symbol of peace and it's an easy symbol to understand internationally. Also, the developers wanted to put a colorful member of the Bulbasaur family on the cover, and I totally get that. Bulbasaur is great, and anyone who disagrees is not only wrong but also probably a cannibal.

COULD YOU EVER GET MEW IN THE ORIGINAL GAMES?

Long before the number of Pokémon nearly reached 1,000, the world was stunned by the reveal of #151: Mew. Of course, Mew was hinted at in the ruined mansion in Cinnabar Island, but among my friends, it was always treated like it was folklore, like Bigfoot or a good Fantastic Four movie. And, like some folklore, there were numerous tales of sightings. Of course, you could get it with a Game Shark (For the young kids reading this, the Game Shark was an item that you could load onto your console's memory so that when you put the actual game in, you had all the cheats available to you) if you were the one dude on the block in 1998 that owned a Game Shark, but most of my friends had their own bizarre methods.

You could also find it with a glitch, but the most famous "strategy" was locating it under the truck that's sitting near the dock in Vermillion City, around where the S.S. Anne is. This was probably the first conspiracy theory that I was ever exposed to, and man, did it not work. You can try to use Strength on that truck all day and you will never once find a Mew. So yeah, tell this to any friends who are still, twenty years later, trying to catch #151 under that automobile. Save them from their nightmare. Be their hero.

WHO IS ASH KETCHUM'S DAD?

We're all very familiar with Ash's Mom, a wonderful woman that only wants to hang out with Mr. Mime and remind you to pack clean underwear. But who is Ash's Dad? Is he someone that we've already met, or is Ash the product of, like, Pokémon immaculate conception where Ash is the chosen one to save the world by...walking around with his monster pals for years? Nah. It's probaby Professor Oak, or the guy in Pallet Town in the original games that's like "Technology is amazing!" That dude sounds like an interesting first date.

But if you absolutely must know who Ash's Dad is, just know that...no one knows. One of the original writers of the Pokémon anime, Takeshi Shudo, has even said that while Ash definitely has a father, he hasn't shown up yet and "has yet to have had a true meaning."

So Ash's Dad isn't lurking in the background, keeping tabs on his son from afar. And that totally dashes all of my fan theories about it being Lt. Surge. It makes sense, right? He has a Raichu, Ash has a Pikachu. He...no, that Raichu thing was about it. Back to the drawing board.

WHAT'S THE INSIDE OF A POKEBALL LIKE?

When a Pokémon trainer has sufficiently battered a wild Pokémon using their own laser pet, they can throw a Pokeball at it and try to capture it. But aside from the ethical dilemna of throwing a round piece of metal at a defenseless animal, the biggest question is this: What's it like inside the Pokeball? What do they do in there? We know they become some type of data or energy, because you can trade Pokémon over the internet and when you let the Pokémon back out, it isn't just a crushed lump.

Well, according to Junichi Masuda, it's a "very comfortable environment" and "Maybe the equivalent of a high end suite room in a fancy hotel." Honestly, that's the most pleasant answer that we could've gotten. I remember someone in middle school told me that once Pokémon go into their Pokeballs, it's like they get put in a temporary coma, and that's horrifying. You go unconscious until you're tossed out into the world to fight, and this process repeats until you expire? I don't like that very much. In fact, and I know I'm taking a controversial stance here, I think that sounds quite bad.

So, there you have it. I hope I've helped in some way, and if you have any other questions, please let me know. I'll be watching Pokémon on Netflix and studying up if you need me.

Do you have any pressing Pokémon questions and concerns? Did this list answer any of your questions? Let us know in the comments!

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

Daniel Dockery is a writer for Crunchyroll. Be his Pika Pal on Twitter.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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missbrightsky · 5 years ago

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Velaris National Park

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

The next day dawned clear and crisp. Birdsong twirled through the air, weaving through the leaves that blew in the breeze.

I stretched, groaning softly from the night on the sleeping pad. My bag kept me warm enough throughout the night, but the thin pad did little to cushion against the dirt.

Elain was sprawled, taking up half the tent forcing Nesta and me to the sides. Her mouth was slightly ajar, small, whistling snores escaping her. Nesta was already awake and scrolling through her phone.

I groped above my head for mine, the screen flashing just past 7:30. Only a few notifications from my uni friends congratulating me on graduation and a good morning Snapchat from Alis. After firing off a few responses, I pulled my bag towards me to sort out clothes for the day.

I settled on hiking shorts, an old painting shirt, and my worn Prythian U sweatshirt to keep out the morning chill.

“Want me to get breakfast started?” I asked Nesta. She only grunted a confirmation; it was useless to try to get a word out of her before coffee.

I unzipped the tent, the slight amount of dew that had collected on it slid down in a few drops. The prejudiced neighbors that refused to socialize with the rest of us seemed determined to finish their breakfast in record time.

“Good morning!” Ray greeted, raising his cup to me. “Kevin is still asleep but I’m sure I’ll be able to rack his ass out of bed soon.”

I chuckled, “I’m sure you will. I’m going to grab our breakfast stuff, mind if I join you?”

“Of course! I’ve got a grill warmed up already.”

Smiling, I turned to our car, which thankfully survived any curious animals, and grabbed our cooler.

Ray gestured for me to use the pan that was already hot and in no time, the smell of frying bacon filled the air. I got a pot started to boil water for coffee.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, his eyes twinkled over the edge of his mug as if he knew that the ground was more unforgiving than it looked.

I groaned and twisted my torso, popping my spine, “I’d say my back is forever ruined but years of hunching over easels and desks already did that.”

“Very true, I remember my days of late nights spent in the library and not being able to stand up straight the next day.”

I grinned at Ray, “Now that is one thing that all majors can agree on.”

The water was finally boiling so I poured some in a mug and dropping in a bag of coffee to start steeping. I walked over and tapped on the tent frame, “Nesta, Elain, coffee, and bacon is ready.”

Elain burst of the tent, stumbling and blinking in the early morning light. She was still in her PJs but had managed to add a hoodie and her hair up in a messy bun.

“Bacon?” she mumbled. I pointed over to the picnic benches where Ray was barely holding in a laugh at her disarrayed sister. Nesta followed more gracefully, already dressed for the day and her hair in a tight ponytail.

“I have a cup of coffee ready for you on the table,” I added to her. Her only response was to beeline to the cup and wrap her hands around it, inhaling the fragrant fumes.

I followed and poured more hot water into mugs, setting tea bags in for Elain and me. The rest of the water got a healthy dumping of oats, brown sugar and dried berries to complete our hot breakfast.

We made small talk with Ray as we all woke up and Kevin eventually joined us. He gave Ray a peck on the lips in greeting and plopped down beside him to start inhaling his own coffee and food.

“What’s on the agenda today girls?” Kevin asked once all of us were thoroughly alert. The cold-shouldered neighbors had already left and packed up their car. It looked like we wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore.

Elain spoke up first, “We’re going to hike to see the Starfalls! Mor from the front office already pointed out the best field.”

“I’ll be taking my sketchbook and watercolor pencils with me to draw them,” I chimed in before Kevin and Elain could go off on a botany tangent.

“I saw a nice stream with some fallen logs on the banks on our hike yesterday. I think I’m going to head there and do some writing,” Nesta finished off.

“And for you guys?” I asked.

“I’d like to join Elain if that’s okay?” Kevin said, looking to her for permission. Those two would keep each other busy for hours with flower and plant discussion.

Elain currently had a mouthful of bacon but nodded vigorously, excited to be able to share her passion with another enthusiast.

Ray contemplated the question, “I think I’m going to go to the head office and chat with Mor about designing a new dam for one of the streams. I think I may be able to convince her to make a natural swimming hole.”

Ever the engineer it seemed, we all thought with shared smiles.

Breakfast was over too soon and cleaned up quickly after. We all parted ways to start our adventures in the park. We agreed to meet for dinner later to share our days.

I let Elain and Kevin lead the way to the field, the two going back and forth over the merits of some root plant. I preferred to catalog the surrounding forest, wondering how I could pattern the shadow of the leaves on the carpeted floor.

And maybe look for a certain ranger hidden in the foliage.

I shook my head to clear it, trying to refocus on my surroundings. Every shade of green seemed to exist in this place. The leaves, the moss, the ferns. Trees were covered with vines and flowers, algae-covered stones surrounded the creek beds. Birds flitted through the canopy on their daily tasks of living free.

After an hour of hiking, the world began to brighten with pure sunlight, we had come to the end of the trail and to the edge of the meadow.

Elain and Kevin had already gotten down on their hands and knees, babblings almost incoherently about the elusive flower they had come so far for that now stretched far and wide.

I let out a gasp. The Starfall was the purest white I had ever seen in nature; veins of almost metallic purple ran through the petals with spots of gold weaving between them. It was like a star had gone supernova and a god had captured it in this flower.

My fingers fumbled with the latches on my bag in the rush to bring out my pad. The world was forgotten as my pencils flew across the pages, capturing every curve and color.

Elain and Kevin wandered further into the field, which stretched out up and over a hill. I wasn’t able to follow them until I had filled at least five pages with sketches of the flowers.

When I was able to tear myself away from the beauty before me, I started to climb the hill. The view at the top took away what was left of my breath.

Blue-gray mountains climbed towards the sky where clouds had to bow to them to make their way across the sky. More green forests flowed towards them before thinning out on their slopes. A river cut through the scene, throwing off rainbows so it looked like the whole surfaces was more colorful than any pallet I could ever mix.

The other two had made their way partly down the hill, stopping here and there to make more observations. Elain turned around and waved, gesturing for me to rejoin them.

“I’ll stay up here! You two go on!” I shouted down to them. The scene in front of me demanded my immediate attention.

About twenty yards to my right there was an outcropping of boulders that would give me the perfect vantage point of the valley.

The rocks were already warming in the late morning sun and curved perfectly to fit my body. My sketchpad was once again in my hands, fervently bringing the day to life on the paper.

Hours or minutes could have passed by and I wouldn’t have known if not for the sun making its way across the sky.

The only thing that was able to break me out of my trance was the solid thumping of hooves on the ground behind me. The reverberations of them made their way through the boulders and into my body.

I paused; the butterflies that were flitting through the flowers suddenly found a new home in my stomach. A low, bracing breath was all that could comfort me as a smooth voice cut through the day.

“Gorgeous, is it?” Rhys asked.

I peered up at him. He was wearing the same uniform as last night, only with his hat now completing the ensemble. His horse was barely out of breath despite the fast stride it just came out of.

“Yes,” I finally managed to answer. Hopefully, he took my pause as admiration of the scene.

Rhys slid off of his mount and hooked a stirrup through the reins. He patted the horse and walked over to me.

“Is it okay if I take a seat?”

“Of course,” I moved my bag to the ground so that he could join me. I managed to find my thoughts again and asked, “Will your ride not leave you here?”

“I think if she did, I would be in good enough company that I would not mind,” he said with a smile in my direction.

A harsh blush betrayed me, and I turned my eyes back to my drawing.

“Mona knows better than to wander too far,” he amended, “She likes sugar cubes too much to leave me.”

I released a chuckle, some of the butterflies went with it. We sat in silence for a few minutes, the day too perfect to interrupt with meaningless chatter.

I continued to outline the curve of the river, erasing the lines a few times because my hand was still shaky with the nerves her caused me. If Rhys noticed, he gracefully didn’t comment.

“Did you like seeing the Starfalls?” he broke the silence but didn’t take his eyes away from the valley.

“They are…. beyond words for me. I’m an artist, not a poet. Anything I say couldn’t do them justice.”

“I felt the same way when I first saw them. I can’t draw or write, but I can sit and appreciate them,” he agreed, his deep voice rumbling and somehow perfectly complementing her thoughts.

My hand finally steadied enough to capture the river and I moved on to try to convey all of its colors.

“That drawing is already perfect, and you’re not even done yet, it’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” I nearly stammered, caught off guard by his praise. I need to get a hold of myself before I become a complete fool in front of him. “I can’t seem to stop drawing here.” I flipped through the pages, showing him my other sketches of the flowers and forest.

As fate would seem to hate me, I accidentally stopped on the page that had a rendering of him on his horse when I first entered the park. It was borderline messy and almost abstract but there was no mistaking the violet-blue eyes that pierced through green leaves.

“Ah,” he let slip out, “I bet I can guess who that is.” I refused to meet his gaze and quickly flipped back to my current drawing, hoping that he would let it go.

“I just realized I never got your name,” he commented, “I’m Rhysand, but my friends all call me Rhys.” He offered his hand across what little space separated us.

I tucked my pencil behind my ear and clasped his hand. It was warm and rough with calluses.

“Feyre,” I replied, meeting his eyes with my own. Up close and in the daylight, I could see that they were a dark blue-black around the rims that lightened into a purple near the pupil. There were what looked to be silver flecks in them, making them glow like a night sky.

Too late I realized I was staring, and a new blush stained my cheeks. My gaze returned to the page and I fiddled with the pencil behind my ear.

“Feyre,” he said, his slight accent gently rolling the ‘r’, making my name sound much sexier than it is. “I like it.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. It seemed like the gods were determined to stop all rational thought when I was around this man. At least he had the good grace to be polite and ignore my idiocracy.

We continued to enjoy the warm sun that played hide-and-seek behind the clouds. I started up my sketch again, trading out pencils constantly to color the drawing. He seemed content to just watch the river go by. I guess as a park ranger, you have to be able to entertain yourself with your surroundings. It honestly didn’t sound too bad to me.

“Feyre, can I ask you a question?”

I hummed yes in response, the gray of the mountain currently absorbing my attention. Had I not been so caught up in my drawing, I would have seen the uncertain expression that crossed Rhys’s face.

“I was wondering if you—,” a rumble of thunder interrupted his sentence.

I whipped my head up and around, looking for the source of the disturbance. Clouds had begun to gather behind us, out of sight where they were able to sneak up.

Great big masses of grey that quickly overtook the sun and dimmed the day. Lightning flickered not too far in the distance, followed by more thunder that echoed in my chest.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I cursed and began to throw all my supplies into my backpack. The wind picked up and nearly threatened to tear the paper out of my book.

I managed to shove it into my bag and latch it closed. Rhys looked alarmed at my actions.

“Feyre? Are you afraid of thunderstorms?”

“No, I love them actually, but my bag isn’t waterproof and I can’t lose all my work.”

His eyes widened at the information and set his mouth in a grim line.

“Come on,” he grasped my hand in his and pulled me towards Mona who had returned to her master at the sign of rain.

“I’ll take you to the front office so you can save it.”

“What? Me? On a horse? I’m not sure—.”

“It’ll be okay, I won’t let you fall.”

I scanned the incoming cloud and looked down at my backpack. I couldn’t bear to lose all my work but the thought of being on the massive creature had me hesitating.

“What about Elain and Kevin? Will they be alright?”

Rhys’s face softened at my worry. “I’ll radio Az and see if he can get them under cover. If they stick to the trail, they should be safe. Storms out here don’t last too long and just dump a bunch of rain on us.”

His reassurance dashed away my last excuse. “Okay, how do we do this.”

He smiled, “I’ll have you ride behind me, it will be a tight fit but I think you can fit on the back of the saddle. You’ll have to hold on tight,” he instructed with a humorous glint in his eyes.

My stomach did interesting flips in response and I had to remind myself that this was not the time to be thinking about anything but saving my sketchpad.

I slung my bag across my back and secured it best I could.

Rhys hopped into the saddle first and left the stirrup closest to me open.

“Grab my hand and use the boulder as a stepping stool. Put your foot in the stirrup and swing your other leg over.”

I did as he instructed and soon I was situated behind him. It was a tight fit, but I was mostly able to squeeze onto the saddle. Rhys inserted his foot back into the stirrup.

“Hook your legs around mine the best you can and wrap your arms around me tight. We’re going to canter back to the office.”

I gulped and tried to tamp down my fears. The last time I had ridden a horse was at a petting zoo when I was 7 and the pony had barely wanted to move.

“Mona has a very smooth stride so it will be okay. Just try to move with my body,” he said, the tips of his ears turning red at this insinuation. At least I wasn’t the only one who could make a fool of themselves.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” I breathed into his ear, sending a small shiver down his spine. I could get used to this.

“Let’s go, Mona.”

The thunder was barely audible through the pounding of her hooves. Rhys was right that her gait was very smooth, once I fell into a rhythm, it was easy to relax a bit and enjoy the ride. The smell of the green forest wrapped around us, wind brushed our cheeks. We followed the wide trail, which only had gentle curves and no roots to slow us down.

Thunder sounded again; this time easily audible over the din of hooves. A drop of water splashed my nose, breaking through the canopy.

“We’re almost there!” Rhys shouted over his shoulder. I pressed against him harder.

We burst through the growth into the front parking lot as the sky began to open up.

What had taken me an hour to hike had only taken Mona 10 minutes to cover. I hoped Rhys would give her extra sugar cubes for saving my sketchpad.

I slung my leg over and dropped to the ground, my knees slightly giving out from the stiff position they had to hold. Just as the downpour began, I got myself under the cover of the awning, saving my backpack and its contents.

Rhys had dismounted too and tied Mona to the front railing. Water dripped off his hat as he came to stand before me. He removed it and ran a hand through his hair, further messing up the wild blown locks.

“Mission accomplished?” he asked.

“Yes,” I showed him my bag that had only a few spatters of water on it.

“Good.”

We stayed there, breathing a bit heavily through the rush of adrenaline that was fading from our systems.

“Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say that enough for saving my art.”

A grin split his mouth, the dark spark lighting up his eyes again. “It was my pleasure, Feyre darling,” he nearly purred, his eyes resting on my lips before returning to mine.

For the millionth time that day, a blush spread across my cheeks. I was starting to get tired of my body betraying me to a man I had just met and had no reason to believe he would think the same as me.

“And I know just the way you could say thank you.”

My breath caught in my throat, thoughts spinning through my mind, each dirtier than the rest. My tongue flicked out to wet my lips, his attention caught on it and stay there until he was able to refocus.

He broke his stare, looking out into the rain, an almost embarrassed expression rested on his face, a blush of his own highlighting his cheekbones.

“Would you like to go stargazing with me tonight? The rain and clouds will clear up for a perfect night and you’ll get to ride Mona again and I know the best spot in the park,” he started to ramble. “You don’t have to stay yes, I mean we just met but I thought—.”

“Yes, I would love to,” I saved him from his train of thought, holding back a giggle at his cute display.

A look of surprise followed by excitement flashed across his features. “Wonderful, I’ll pick you up after dinner?”

“Perfect.”

“Well, I’ll see you then, Feyre darling.”

Next Chapter

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjm #sjmaas #sjmaas books #sjm books #feyre #feyre x rhysand #rhysand

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heretherebefandom · 7 years ago

Text

Throw Like Pollock

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender Paring: Lance x Shiro Words: 3933 Rating: M Tags: Mild Sexual Content, Mild Language, Mostly Fluff, Lots of Fluff, Established Relationship, Moving In Together, Did I Mention Fluff?

Summary: The sputtering pause and adorable look of confused shock on Lance’s face would have been enough. But the way that shock begins to slowly morph into hope and excitement and eventually unprecedented glee makes the possible loss of their deposit worth it.

Read on Ao3

So!! Couple of things.

Firstly, I've been listening to Lewis Del Mar's Painting (Masterpiece) pretty much on repeat while writing this, so here check it out. Legit.

Secondly, I'm half Mexican and used quite a bit of inspiration for Lance's love of color from family and friends who live in Mexico, El Paso TX, and Miami. So if what I've implied doesn't work for a Cuban heritage, please let me know and I'll make some much needed adjustments.

But to be honest, this was mostly just my way of embodying what I love most about owning your own place and/or sharing a home with someone. Not just in the financial sense, but in the "decorative" sense. In my ideal fantasy, living with someone I love, we paint each room a different color. And while I might be projecting, with the right person to urge him on, I think Lance might feel the same.

Anyway, hope you're in the market for some fluff, my dudes! Enjoy!

“Shiro! You have to come and see this!”

The voice echoes from somewhere towards he back of the apartment. It’s a giddy outburst of excitement that Shiro feels himself responding to without hesitation, legs carrying him towards Lance as if on preconditioned autopilot. When he finds his boyfriend, it’s in their soon to be guest room, a faded, blue stuffed cat clutched firmly to his chest.

“The last residents must have left him behind for us. Isn’t he cute? I’m gonna name him Blue!”

Despite the undeniable cuteness of the spectacle, Shiro can’t help but frown, eyeing the stuffed animal’s weathered fur and slightly protruding right eye. “You know, this is the sort of thing that gets couples killed in horror movies right?”

With an overdramatic gasp Shiro has grown overly familiar with (and possibly a little fond of), Lance clasps both hands over the plush’s ears. “How dare you insult our baby! You keep those blasphemous words to yourself, mister!”

The exaggerated pout and the mischievous look in Lance’s eyes do Shiro in. They always do. So, taking care to offer Blue a soft and heartfelt apology on the way, Shiro steps in close and places a teasing kiss right on that jutted out bottom lip of his.

“You can’t just kiss away your transgressions, you know,” Lance mumbles, refusing to drop the pout. So Shiro kisses it again, this time taking Lance’s lip between his teeth and pulling just so. As expected, Lance gasps softly, façade crumbling the more Shiro lures him in, releasing his bottom lip to kiss him more fully on the mouth. When Lance’s hold on the little toy cat gives way, the plush bouncing off of Shiro’s feet and a few inches across the floor, he considers the mission a success. Even as Lance breathes out a quiet, “Cheater…” against his lips.

He can practically taste the word on his own tongue, Lance pressed firmly against every inch of his chest, his waist. He wants nothing more than to spread Lance out right here, make him breathe every word into Shiro’s lungs, let loose every moan into Shiro’s mouth. Problem is, they won’t have a bed until tomorrow. So Shiro pulls back a bit, letting Lance bury his face into Shiro’s shoulder, Lance’s arms coming to wrap around to Shiro’s back in a way that could be described as clinging.

“You can keep Blue,” Shiro murmurs into Lance’s hair after a moment, content to simply continue cradling him in his arms. “But if it turns out she’s possessed by the spirit of a dead tenant, we’re burning her in the fire pit out back.”

As if a switch has flipped, Lance pulls away from Shiro’s chest with a grin almost too big for his face. “The complex has a fire pit?” He beams, nearly bouncing in place even as his arms never leave Shiro’s back. It’s impossible not to chuckle at the level of over abundant cuteness, so Shiro smiles and laughs, offering his excitable boyfriend an affirmative.

“God, Shiro…” Lance sighs, face-planting right back into Shiro’s chest with a muffled but undeniably excited squeal. “This place is seriously almost perfect.”

“I know, we really lucked-” Shiro starts to say before the words really register. When they do, he pauses, clearing his throat in confusion. “Wait.Almost perfect?”

“Well yeah,” Lance sighs, and thankfully, when he finally pulls back enough for Shiro to see his face, it’s not one filled with disappointment. Or worse, Lance’s feigned happiness Shiro has learned over time to recognize and pick apart.

No, this happiness is real, a contentment that Shiro had been hoping for (and let down by) at every open house until this one. It appears Lance’s appreciation for their new home hasn’t dwindled, so then why-?

“The walls are white.”

“The… walls?” Shiro blinks, caught off guard.

A light blush begins to spread across Lance’s cheeks as he shrugs. “Yeah, you know. The walls. I’m just more used to color I guess, I don’t know. White walls just feel a bit… impersonal.”

The embarrassed uncertainty isn’t unfamiliar to Shiro, but that makes it no less endearing, his hands tightening around Lance’s waist on instinct. But before Shiro can say much of anything in response, Lance barrels over him with a fresh wave of dismissive rambling.

“I know, I know. We can’t paint the walls or anything because the apartment is a lease, and I don’t even know why I brought it up, I mean. This place is perfect because it’s ours and walls shouldn’t matter, so they don’t matter, really. I was just thinking of how nice it would be if the walls were a little warmer, like yellows or maybe even shades of green, but we can’t so I don’t know why I’m still-”

“How about we paint them anyway?”

The sputtering pause and adorable look of confused shock on Lance’s face would have been enough. But the way that shock begins to slowly morph into hope and excitement and eventually unprecedented glee makes the possible loss of their deposit worth it.

“Really, Shiro? Really?”

Shiro nods, looking around at the bare walls of their guest room. “Down the road, when we move into an actual house, we’ll just paint over it. I’m sure it’ll be-”

The rest of his sentence is abruptly cut short by the feel of smiling lips pressing firm and unapologetic against his own. The kiss is hurried by Lance’s enthusiasm but no less deep, no less intimate. When they pull away, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are practically shining.

“You really mean it?” Lance asks, voice softer than the eagerness clearly bubbling beneath his skin. Giving Shiro a final out, it would seem. So Shiro just shrugs, hugging Lance back to his chest.

“What’s a little paint if it means getting to make you smile like that?”

Shiro feels the snort more than hears it, Lance’s shoulders shaking against him in a quiet chuckle. “You cheeseball.”

No more than an hour later, they find themselves roaming the aisles of the local paint supply store. And Shiro finds himself pushing a cart now filled to the brim with eight different colored cans of paint.

“Which do you think will make a better accent wall against the Forest Green?” Lance asks, holding up two color pallets. “Evening Burgundy or Gentleman’s Grey?”

“Uh…” Shiro leans forward as if that will help him decide, but honestly, he has no idea what he’s looking at. Lance seems to have a color scheme in mind for every room, sometimes broken up by accent walls, other times by windows or molding. Shiro just assumed they’d be painting everything one color. Thankfully, and as has been the norm for this venture, Lance makes a decision before Shiro has to admit his own defeat.

“I think the Evening Burgundy will pop better, don’t you?”

And the eight cans of paint become nine.

“Lance,” Shiro follows as they embark upon another set of color pallets for the kitchen. “Do we really need so many different colors?”

“If we’re going to be painting the walls,” Lance states matter-of-factly. “We’re going to be doing it right.”

“But don’t people usually just… I don’t know, go for one or two?”

“Maybe novices do!” With a flourish, Lance puts down the color pallets and begins to paint a picture in the air in front of him, arms gesturing at the empty space between them. “You should have seen my abuelita’s house in Cuba. Even the outside door was a different color, a bright red to stand out against the yellow of the front. And inside? It was like every room had its own personality, and the colors were the foundation of that.” His voice softens and warms a bit as he shifts gears. “You saw a little bit of that when I took you to visit my family in Miami. For as long as I can remember, every room in the house has been different. When I was old enough to have my own room, it came with a paint brush. My room, my own color. I guess I just want us to have our own colors too.”

Shiro thinks back to that visit, standing in Lance’s bedroom, the walls a soft, inviting blue. His heart warms at the memory, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips in what feels like acceptance.

“We still have the kitchen and the master bathroom left, right?” Shiro asks, watching with fond amusement as Lance’s enthusiasm resumes full force.

It’s with eleven paint cans and only seven hours left before nightfall that they finally arrive back at the apartment. With the movers dropping off the rest of their furniture the next day, they both opt for painting the living room first. That way they’ll have somewhere to pile the biggest of the furniture while they paint the smaller rooms.

After laying out the tarp and taping up the moldings, Shiro hikes up his sleeves and grabs a paint roller. Three walls of the living room are going to be painted a bluish green the pallet had called Teal Ocean, the accent wall a grey tone called Silver Song. Ridiculous names aside, Shiro decides to start there. Before he can even dip his roller in paint, however, Lance steps in front of him, hands on his hips. He’s using a neon pink headband to keep his bangs back and wearing a muscle tee with the words “Started From The Closet Now We’re Queer” written across the chest in purple, pink, and blue. It’s adorable and very Lance, especially when paired with his expression.

“What are you doing?” Lance asks, an eyebrow raised in a way that seems almost chastising. Shiro puts the dry roller to the floor and leans against the long handle.

“Painting the accent wall.”

“Not like that you’re not,” Lance clicks his tongue, pushing past Shiro to grab two brushes from the bucket in the corner. He pushes one into Shiro’s chest and proceeds to dip his own in the grey paint. “You’ve gotta have a little fun with it, Shiro. That’s, like, half the process.” And then, without further ado, Lance paints a giant heart on the wall, finishing it off with an overly flourished “L + S” in the center.

It’s as adorable as he is, but Shiro can’t help awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck instead of joining in, because… Well… “We’re not just leaving it like that though, are we?”

“What?” Lance balks, looking absolutely affronted. “Hell no! Who do you think we are, heathens? We put a little personal touch, have a little fun, and then paint over it. No one else will know it’s there, but we will.” He’s grinning bright and proud, a smile that only grows when Shiro relents, dips his own brush in the paint, and draws a really, really awful smiley face that’s obviously meant to be a cartoonish version of Lance.

“Like that?” Shiro says, smirking. Lance blushes, punching him in the shoulder and subsequently smearing paint across a part of his arm and his prosthetic.

“You jerk!” He starts to say, but then his face falls into something a bit more sheepish once he notices. “Oh. Whoops. Sorry, Shiro.”

“Mhmm?” Shiro hums, looking from his arm to Lance and watching the look of trepidation bleed into his expression. Without a word, Shiro reaches down to dip a finger into the paint.

“Shiro?” Lance clears his throat. “Think about what you’re doing. I have a ridiculous amount of siblings. Do you really wanna start this fight?” But the waver in his voice is evident, so Shiro continues to approach, wet paint brush in one hand and paint dipped finger of his other outstretched towards Lance’s face. Lance takes a step back, but he’s too close to the wall, no escape. “Wait, wait, wait-!” Lance squeaks, closing his eyes tight when Shiro gets undeniably close. Shiro just smirks, hardly unconvinced, and leans in to draw a grey line down the length of Lance’s nose.

There’s a brief pause as Lance stills, cautiously opens his eyes, and looks cross-eyed down to the line of grey. “That’s it?” He asks as his eyes flick back up to Shiro.

Shiro just shrugs, still smirking, and says, “Yup. That’s it.” Then proceeds to drag his paint brush across Lance’s exposed collarbone and shoulder, the thin strap of his muscle tank caught in the fray. Lance jumps, though whether in surprise or at the chill of the paint, it’s hard to tell. Either way, it leaves Shiro laughing, a hearty sound that he feels vibrate all the way across his own chest.

“Oh, it’s on,” Lance tries to scowl, but Shiro can see the ghost of a smile trying to break through. He doesn’t get to dwell on it for long, though, because Lance jumps into his own vengeance with surprising vigor and haste.

By the end of it, Shiro’s shirt is ruined, Lance looks more grey than tan, and they barely have enough left to paint the accent wall.

“We’re not even going to finish this room tonight, are we?” Shiro half laughs, half pants against Lance’s neck, still pressing him into the hardwood floor where their fight finally fizzled. Lance just shrugs, equally as breathless.

“Not with that attitude we aren’t.”

“What if I’d rather just stay here?” Shiro hums against the grey-speckled bronze of Lance’s skin, settling himself more completely against the lithe body beneath him. If they weren’t pressed so close, he might have missed the shudder that wracks through Lance, a soft gasp crawling up his throat and reaching Shiro’s ears like a call to duty.

“Then we really won’t finish the living room by tonight.”

“Mmm doesn’t seem like a bad trade off, you know?” Shiro continues to murmur against sweat salted and paint slicked patches of Lance’s neck. His loose clothes have rumpled, revealing more of that beautiful brown skin he’s become so addicted to.

Lance arches against him, hips grinding up for a blissfully heady moment before rolling back down, his chest heaving. “W-We haven’t painted a single wall yet, Shiro.”

Shrio just responds to the movement with one of his own, a hand dragging down from arm to hip to waist before finally inching beneath Lance to cup the side of his ass. “I painted you, does that count?”

Lance snorts, but even that sounds breathy, a little fractured by the way his throat clicks on a swallow. “Sh-Shiro…” It’s obvious the name is supposed to be chiding, but the way it comes out as more of a whine, the way Lance turns his head just a bit to offer more of his neck, is a delicious contradiction. So Shiro reaches between them to gently, teasingly skim against the waistband of Lance’s shorts.

“Maybe the painting can wait,” Shiro purrs, dipping his tongue out to lick a quick stripe from collarbone to shoulder, teeth nipping inch for inch in its wake just above a line of grey. “Doesn’t this,” he reaches between them further to cup the growing bulge between Lance’s legs. “Seem like a more… gratifying use of our time?” Lance bucks up into the touch instantly, his eyes rolling back as his mouth falls open on a whine.

But that whine morphs quickly into a breathy chuckle, Lance’s eyes fluttering back open just as his right leg locks behind Shiro’s knees. In a sudden and surprisingly effective motion, Lance has them flipped, Shiro falling to his back against the floor with a surprised grunt. Before he can properly react, however, Lance dives in to capture his mouth in a heated kiss, tongue delving deep without warning.

Shiro melts into it almost instinctually, the feel of Lance on top of him, grinding against him, now almost as familiar as breathing. He can read Lance’s arousal almost as clearly as his own, and right now, it’s practically a tangible force. Lance’s hands tangle in Shiro’s hair, his hips creating steady, consistent friction with each needy roll of his hips.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when Lance pulls back, sitting up to straddle Shiro’s hips as he splays his hands out across Shiro’s chest. Both of them are panting, obviously hard, but Lance just sits there catching his breath, completely motionless.

“You’re right, Shiro,” Lance says after a moment, voice still a bit low and husky. Match that with the way Lance’s eyes are heavy lidded, blown wide, and Shiro can practically feel more blood rushing south. “This would be more gratifying.”

Something about the way he says that sounds off, though. Not so much the tone of his voice as the way it leaves the smirking shape of his parted lips. So he shouldn’t be surprised when Lance stretches his arms over his head in the perfect display of nonchalance.

“If you want the first thing we christen in this apartment to be a tarp on the living room floor.”

Shiro blinks, completely flabbergasted by the sudden one-eighty the situation has taken. Honestly, if it weren’t for the feel of Lance’s erection still digging into his thigh, he’d believe Lance was thoroughly uninterested in what they’d just been doing.

He really, really must want to get these walls painted.

“Fiiiiiiiine,” Shiro groans, not even bothering to mask his own petulance as he lets his head fall back to the floor with a thunk. “Painting walls instead of sex it is. But the moment that bed is set up tomorrow, your ass is mine. Movers be damned.”

“Hmmm,” Lance grins, leaning in to steal one more frustratingly hot kiss before pulling himself to his feet. “I was thinking more, finish the living room, maybe the kitchen, and then make the first thing we christen in this apartment the air mattress I already set up in our new bedroom. But whatever. You do you.”

Shiro doesn’t get out much in the way of a comeback to that, but he does manage to give Lance’s ass a nice swat the moment he’s back on his feet.

Surprisingly, they manage to get the entire living room, kitchen, and half the guest room done before they call it quits. Unfortunately, they’re both too tired to christen much of anything after that.

The apartment ends up taking two weeks to be finished, filled every inch with the colors Lance chose out. Their colors. And with their furniture set up, boxes of knickknacks and art unpacked, it’s exactly as Lance had described it. Each room with its own personality, the paint on the walls a definite foundation of that. A sturdy and heartfelt foundation. Shiro has to admit, it feels like them.

“Alright, last step,” Lance declares once their hectic few weeks of painting, unpacking, and decorating are supposedly complete. It’s because of this that Shiro can’t quite help the wince.

“There’s more?”

Thankfully, Lance just laughs, seemingly unperturbed. “It’s an easy step, but the best one. And I’ve already done most of the work for you, so all I need is your hand.”

And as if that’s explanation enough, Lance grabs Shiro by the wrist and leads him into the living room without preamble. Shiro has to admit, with all the walls and moldings painted, it really does look cozy. Lance even managed to pair the decorative pillows on the couch. It’s like a scene from a Pottery Barn catalogue, and yet, somehow, already lived in, already home.

“Okay, go ahead. Pick your color.”

Shiro pulls himself back to the task at hand only to find himself faced with multiple tubes of different colored paint, a few paint brushes, and an empty place on the wall marked by lines of pencil. At the top of the empty square lies a frame hook.

“What am I doing exactly?” He asks, but Lance just rolls his eyes.

“I picked blue, so you can’t choose that one, but pick any other color. Then I’ll explain.”

“O…kay?” Shiro looks from Lance back to the rainbow of paints and grabs the black one. Lance snorts, snatching the tube from his hand and popping it open.

“You would,” he smirks as he squeezes a fair amount onto a paper plate next to the makeshift work station. Then, without further ado, he grabs Shiro’s hand, readies a paint brush, and proceeds to paint streaks of black along Shiro’s skin. Shiro can’t help but jolt under the cold and frankly bizarre sensation, but after a few seconds he settles in. And when he does, the pieces start to fall into place.

Once Shiro’s whole palm is black, Lance lets go with an eager, “Alright, just pick a spot in the square and go, anywhere you want. Middle, corner, whatever.”

Shiro smiles, chuckling softly to himself at the way Lance’s eyes shine, his enthusiasm contagious. After a moment’s deliberation, Shiro decides on a spot just off center, fingers splayed wide.

“Interesting choice,” Lance nods, fingers to his chin as if analyzing a piece of fine art at the MoMA. Shortly after, however, he’s right back in the moment, shoving his own hand in Shiro’s direction. “Alright, now do me.”

“Okay, okay,” Shiro laughs, gently gathering Lance’s hand in his own. A dollop of blue paint and a few strokes of his brush later and Lance’s palm is primed and ready. “Go for it.”

Expectedly, Lance takes longer to decide where to put his print, even going so far as to carefully hold his hand above potential spaces first. Eventually, he settles on a slightly diagonal approach, settling his print right over Shiro’s. Almost like they’re holding hands.

“Now we’ve just gotta sign it,” Lance instructs, plucking the blue dipped brush from Shiro’s hand and scribbling his name in one corner. Shiro follows suit, opting for the corner across, and then takes a step back to admire their work.

“Perfect,” Shiro smiles, leaning in to kiss Lance on the cheek. Before he can, however, Lance bounces out of the way, reaching over to the couch where he’s stashed something else.

“Not just yet,” he says, pulling out a dark, wooden frame and hanging it on the wall, the handprints nestled perfectly within its edges. “There,” Lance nods, inching his way into Shiro’s space and tucking himself easily into his side. “Now it’s perfect.”

And it is. A perfect finishing touch to what has been a perfect project. This apartment, this home is theirs now, plain and simple, each room an undeniable testament to that.

For a moment, Shiro feels overwhelmed at the realization. A perfect home, nestled in warm colors and warmer company. A perfect home made perfect not by what’s in it, but by who’s in it.

It’s not the handprints that make this home perfect, it’s you, Shrio could say. It’s not the colorful walls and the decorative pillows, it’s the fact that you thought to put it all there.

You’re what makes this all perfect, he could admit. You’re what makes this place home.

But if the way Lance snuggles into his side is any indication, the relentless, adorable, over dramatic love of Shiro’s life probably knows all that already.

So.

“Cheeseball,” Shiro whispers instead, placing a kiss into Lance’s hair as he wraps an arm around his shoulders, careful not to get black paint on his shirt. “But you’re right. It’s perfect.”

#shance #lance #lance mcclain #takashi shirogane #voltron #voltron legendary defender #shiro x lance #keylimepidge #fluff #almost smut? maybe? a little?#i just want them to be happy in a colorful and comfy apartment that's all #thank

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lady-divine-writes · 7 years ago

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Klaine fic - “Blaine’s Muse: Chapter 3/3″ *COMPLETED*

Blaine is an artist with the perfect life, hopelessly in love with his husband and his muse, Kurt. But when a tragedy takes his muse away, how will he find the strength to go on?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Read on AO3.

The voice told him to paint what he wanted. Now, Blaine had to decide what that was.

The answer was simple.

Blaine wanted an ending.

That’s what he had thought right before he heard that silent command.

He wanted it all to end – the pain, the sadness, the hallucinations, but mostly, his life without Kurt.

So that was the secret then. He would paint an ending to it all – his ending. How this all plays out starting with Kurt dying, these days of torture, and then … well, however Blaine thought to do himself in. He hadn’t given it any thought. It was a simple thing to say that he wanted to end his own life, but the logistics of it were another monster entirely. Here he had spent the past few days feeling like his days were numbered, that his body would tear itself to pieces, but he was slowly getting better.

So the task fell on him.

Blaine returned to his easel. He tossed the ruined canvas aside and replaced it with a longer one, one with enough room to create a multiple panel work. He collected up his pallet, satisfied with the acrylics that were left and not giving a second thought to the puddle of paint he was standing in. He picked up a brush, not particularly concerned with whether it was camel hair or synthetic, medium tip or broad, and held it over the churning sea of tacky paint. He needed to choose his first color, one that would tie together the overall theme.

That should be relatively simple. He was painting a triptych of his own death. He would start with black or red.

But when he tried to dip the bristles into one of those two colors, he found the brush called somewhere else. He clenched his teeth and tried again with the same frustrating result – he’d reach for the red, but the brush was pulled to the blue.

“Fine,” he growled. “Fine, fine, fine, fucking fine!” He pulled up a huge dollop of Ultramarine Blue and hurled it at the canvas, letting the paint drop carelessly with an obscene sounding sploitch, the hulking mass crawling grotesquely down.

“Well, that’s mature,” Kurt said, watching as Blaine put the finishing touches on his latest painting. “I don’t think the gallery is going to want that one.”

“I don’t care,” Blaine returned, not bothering to look at his husband standing by his side. “Paintings are all about emotion, how they make you feel, and this one’s making me feel better.”

“A painting of us barbecuing the neighbor’s dog?” Kurt tilted his head to the side to take in the vivid imagery of a smug Blaine, dressed in a toque and a gingham apron that said ‘Kiss the Cook’ across the front, tongs raised triumphantly, and in their metal grip, the charred leg of Roy and Sylvia Harding’s Airedale Terrier, Mitzy.

“You know, I would think you would have more sympathy. The little jerk bit me,” Blaine griped, indicating his bandaged hand.

“You bit him back!” Kurt chuckled. “I think that makes you even.”

“I don’t,” Blaine mumbled.

Kurt inched closer to the painting, appreciating quietly all the detail Blaine had put in – the grain in the wood of the red washed picnic table; the springy hair on the carcass of the dead dog; even Kurt’s own ensemble of capris pants and a tailored Marc Jacobs shirt, with his signature hippo broach affixed to the lapel.

Blaine watched his husband’s eyes as they traveled over his work, his lip pinched between his teeth, his brow furrowed in concentration. Kurt turned his head suddenly, blushing at getting caught admiring his husband’s handiwork on such a gruesome subject.

Owing to love, knowledge, and familiarity, added with a dash of the fact that, after so many years of sharing the same heart and the same mind, they often thought alike, both men moved in at the exact same time for the kiss that seemed to linger in the air, waiting for them to experience it.

Kurt gave a sidelong look at the painting and chuckled when he noticed how close his face was to a screaming and horrified Sylvia Harding, rending her clothes in an expression of her grief.

“Okay, I’ve got to get away from this thing.” Kurt ducked his head and caught a glimpse of Blaine’s bandaged hand, a spot of red blossoming on the wrapping. “Oh, sweetheart!” He took Blaine’s hand in his and started to undo the gauze. “We have to rewrap this so it doesn’t get infected.” Kurt tutted disapprovingly. “I wish you would let me take you to the hospital.”

“Why? When I’ve got you here to play my nurse?” Blaine put his pallet down and wrapped an arm around Kurt’s waist, dragging him close.

Blaine wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Kurt pulled a face of mock horror.

“Come on, Kurt,” Blaine whispered. “I think I need to undress so you can take my temperature.”

Kurt threw his head back and laughed. Then he kissed Blaine on the mouth, chuckling when his husband released him to undo the buttons of his shirt one-handed.

“You know,” Kurt whispered against Blaine’s lips, grimacing at the confession he was about to make, “charred dog notwithstanding, it really is an excellent painting.”

Blaine stepped back to view his work, but once again, what had started out as one thing had developed into another. He had painted several paintings within a painting – an image of himself standing and staring at a painting with Kurt by his side, staring at a painting of Blaine staring at the same painting with Kurt by his side, standing and staring at the same painting on and on for infinity. In the painting, Blaine wore the same clothes he did now, his untidy curls plastered flat on one side of his head, his pallet dangling from his hand with the paint swirled together in a blotchy mess. Blaine regarded the painting closely, his heart racing. If Kurt was standing a behind him and to the right in all these paintings, could that possibly mean …

Blaine jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. He turned, and a face closed in on his - cool lips pressing gently against his mouth. Blaine’s heart stopped when the face pulled away and he saw those blue eyes that he missed more with every passing day.

Kurt looked perfect, his ethereal beauty completely intact, the way Blaine remembered him. Kurt smiled at his husband, sorrow shifting his features.

“It really is an excellent painting,” he said, motioning to Blaine’s artwork with a nod of his chin.

Blaine didn’t want to look away, but he felt compelled to look back at the painting when Kurt mentioned it. Blaine had painted forever - the two of them together, stretching on into the future for an eternity. If he had to be honest with himself, that’s what he wanted.

He didn’t want to die. He wanted his husband.

He turned back to Kurt, to ask him how he could make that happen, but Kurt was gone.

***

Blaine spent the following three days straight at his easel, the words paint what you want repeating in his ears. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep. All he did was paint. He wanted his life with his husband back, so he started from the beginning, when he and Kurt first met. Blaine painted Kurt on the staircase at Dalton Academy, the sun shining in from the glass dome ceiling creating a halo effect. He looked like an angel in his leather blazer and sunglasses, trying to sneak his way into the “lair of the competition” as he had put it on many occasions. He painted the way Kurt’s eyes held his the first time he sang to him – Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream” in the senior commons. He painted the blush that had risen to Kurt’s cheeks when Blaine sang a particularly racy verse, and the admiration in his expression when he was done and Kurt applauded.

He painted a young Kurt auditioning for NYADA, emphasizing those say something hips that never failed to capture Blaine’s imagination.

He painted the phone call they shared over Thanksgiving after Blaine had cheated on him, showing Kurt sitting on his fire escape in New York City with Blaine standing beneath a ladder on the McKinley High School stage, waiting to perform. Then he painted every phone call after on a wall-size canvas in multiple panels, changing their features as they aged, and on their respective ring fingers - faint at first, but becoming darker as time passed and they fell deeper in love - a single red thread that connected them.

During the course of those days, Blaine burned through his acrylics and had to call in a favor to another local artist to get more. While he waited for his shipment to arrive, he sketched. He went through sketch pad after sketch pad, finally resorting to paper from his printer, and after that, the newspapers stacked by the front door, waiting to be recycled. He painted and sketched his and Kurt’s entire life together, and when he was done, when the final painting was set aside to dry, he waited for something to happen. A voice. A giggle. Another kiss.

Anything.

Blaine climbed into bed, his muscles sore, his eyes crossed from exhaustion. He fell asleep waiting and awoke the next morning to the sun warm on his face, his skin and clothes thoroughly stained, and his husband nowhere to be seen.

He felt like a fool. A grief stricken fool, but still a fool. He had made it all up in his mind. He had indulged in this fantasy for far too long, missed his deadlines, and pushed aside his plans.

Well, not any more.

Blaine knew what he needed to do, and he had the adrenaline coursing through his body to actually do it, along with a bottle of Xanax, a bottle of Halcion, and two bottles of vodka.

With any luck, it would be quick and painless.

He hurried into a living room littered floor to ceiling with pictures of Kurt, paintings of Kurt, charcoal sketches on every possible surface of Kurt, moving to the walls when he ran out of paper and his replacement paints and canvases had not yet arrived. There were so many images of Kurt throughout the room that Blaine almost missed him, wandering through the paintings, fingers hovering over, tracing the outlines of his own face. Blaine came within inches of him on his way to the kitchen, stopping short at the intense look in his shimmering eyes.

Kurt still looked ethereal, but he also looked real.

“They’re beautiful,” he gasped, gazing at them in awe. “Every single one is just … beautiful. They may be your finest work.”

Blaine felt himself choke. This had to be a dream, because the reality was too fantastic to believe. But Kurt��s eyes looked sad, and Blaine didn’t understand why.

“Are you really here?” Blaine asked. “Or are you going to haunt me forever?”

Kurt quirked an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

“I want you here,” Blaine said. “I need you, Kurt. I need you to come back to me.”

Kurt looked at the paintings and drawings. “You painted my past, Blaine.” He reached out to caress an image of the two of them locked in an embrace, eyes closed as they kissed, caught up in their own little world as parents with children and park vendors raced by, eager to get out of the sudden downpour. Even Blaine had to admit that it looked so real, he could almost see the people move, the children struggle to break free and splash in the puddles, Kurt’s lips against his.

It was their first kiss as New Yorkers.

It was an epic kiss.

“I need you to paint my future,” Kurt explained, beginning to fade. “Then, you can have me.”

Blaine shook his head, exhaustion turning desperation to anger. He had painted for three days straight just to have Kurt. Now here he was, disappearing again because Blaine hadn’t done enough.

“What future, Kurt? You didn’t get a future! You didn’t get a future because of me! Because I fucked up!” Blaine was screaming, even though he didn’t mean to. He was lost, lonely, and felt like he was going crazy. He was standing in the center of what could easily be labeled the creepiest memorial to his dead husband ever, arguing with a ghost. But none of that mattered because Blaine was tired of waiting, tired of being tested and taunted. He had a future planned for him and Kurt, and he was ready to get back to it.

“You’re here now! I don’t care if I never paint again! I don’t want to paint! All I want is you!”

But Kurt shook his head, backing away, his body becoming more and more faint with every step. Blaine panicked. He rushed at Kurt, determination in his blood-shot hazel eyes, ready to claim back his life and his husband, but as Blaine reached Kurt, he dissolved before Blaine’s eyes. Blaine stood alone in the mid-morning light, listening as the rest of the world sprang to life outside – birds singing, insects chirping. Blaine hadn’t realized that while Kurt was there everything had gone quiet, like time had stopped. But now it marched back on with absolutely no respect at all for Blaine’s frustration and pain.

“Fine,” Blaine said, a scowl souring his features. “If that’s the way you’re going to be about it, then we’ll play this game your way.”

Blaine put a blank canvas on his easel and grabbed a different pallet. This pallet contained various bright oils – a medium he wasn’t all too fond of, but he didn’t want to waste time rummaging through his acrylics for the colors he needed when this one was so readily available.

Besides, Blaine considered oils a bitch to work with. It seemed fitting.

Blaine didn’t even take a moment to regard the canvas, to try and search out the painting hiding within. He knew what he wanted. He wanted Kurt, in his bed, naked and panting with want, skin flushed with desire, writhing against the sheets as he dreamed of Blaine joining him beneath the covers and relieving him of his agony.

Blaine attacked the canvas, and not just with a brush. He moved through the paint with his fingers as he defined the muscular lines of Kurt’s arms. He cut through the oil with his pallet knife, giving depth and dimension to the comforter on the bed. He sliced and manipulated, the colors blending till what he had intended to be a simple portrait of his husband lying in bed became the culmination of all his passion, bleeding through his pores and coursing from his fingertips. Unlike his other paintings, which took a matter of hours, this one he worked on all day. He didn’t notice when the sun began to sink into the horizon and the room became black.

He knew Kurt’s body so well he could paint it with his eyes closed.

And the image was perfect – Kurt’s alabaster skin glowing against a frame of red satin sheets, plump lips parted, hooded eyes searching, his arm outstretched, pointing to where Blaine stood beside his masterpiece.

Blaine stared at the painting, and the more he looked, the more he could swear that Kurt’s image was breathing.

Blaine set his pallet down and ran a grungy hand through his hair, spreading paint along with it over the strands. He was worn out, breathless, almost completely spent, but one word from Kurt, his beautiful Kurt, would have sent him running to their bed.

If Kurt were there.

If Kurt was still alive.

He touched the frame of the canvas as a breeze spiraled through the room, carrying with it the most incredible sound.

“Blai-ne,” a voice called to him. “Blaine, when are you coming to bed?”

Blaine wasn’t breathing. He couldn’t. A single noise, a single movement, and the voice on the wind might be scared away.

But he needed to know.

“K-Kurt?” Blaine stammered, sure that only the silence of the house would answer him.

“Blaine …” The voice - so light, so fair, so enticing and heartbreaking and miraculous - answered instead. “Please, stop painting and come to bed. You have all day to paint. We only have the night to spend together.”

Blaine backed away from the painting, gazing at it in reverence, expecting it to do something other-worldly … or maybe disappear. But it didn’t. The painting remained, and so did Kurt.

“Blaine Anderson-Hummel! I am going to count to five and if I …”

Blaine made it to him in three seconds, and that night, while making love to the man he thought he’d never see again, he realized something so incredible, so indefinable, he felt no reason to try and explain it.

He could spend the rest of his life with his husband, as long as he painted it that way.

***

“Oh, Blaine!” Kurt whispered, clutching tightly to his husband’s arm. “They’re gorgeous! Every single one of them is your best work, hands down!”

“You say that because you’re in every single one of them.” Blaine walked Kurt from painting to painting, stopping long enough in between so that his husband could examine each and every intricate detail of the individual pieces.

Kurt bobbed his head from side to side before he answered. “True, true. I do lend a certain, how do you say, sophistication to your art. I won’t lie.”

Kurt didn’t go out in public often – at least, not where anyone knew them. But being photographed by the paparazzi couldn’t be avoided. Blaine had shot from semi-famous to superstardom in a few short months, all thanks to his muse.

Blaine tried his hardest to make Kurt as inconspicuous as possible so he could accompany him to the gallery and see his artwork hung and lighted, properly on display. That was a magical moment, Kurt always said - wandering through the paintings the night before the public got the chance to see them, knowing that he was one of the first people to ever lay eyes on them.

Kurt was dressed in head to toe black by way of a gorgeous Vivienne Westwood-esque suit of Blaine’s design, his head covered in a stylish Asian-inspired silk scarf, with large Jackie O sunglasses obscuring his face. Blaine and Kurt walked huddled close together, appearing like a normal couple to anyone who saw them. Speculation circulated quickly when Blaine emerged from his cottage after months of isolation, with a stack of new paintings in the back seat of his Mustang, that Blaine Anderson-Hummel, no longer the grieving widower, had found himself a new muse.

At first, the art community criticized him harshly, but they quickly forgave him, falling completely in love with his newest work – an homage to the brief but brilliant life of his fashion designer husband and high school sweetheart, Kurt Hummel. Only Kurt and Blaine’s overjoyed families knew the truth. They might not understand completely, but they didn’t care, as long as they got Kurt back … especially Burt, who’d said he didn’t care if Kurt were the devil himself. He was just ecstatic to have his son, in whatever form, on earth.

“How many are there?” Kurt gazed down the line of paintings, trying to take them all in at once, including the one that made this trip possible – a painting of him and Blaine strolling through the gallery, dressed the way they were now, admiring Blaine’s art. It was the painting that greeted visitors on their way in, and was titled (appropriately) “An Afternoon at the Gallery with Kurt”.

“Right now … about one-hundred and fifty.”

Kurt snapped his head left to look into his husband’s proud face, jaw dropped in disbelief.

“One-hundred and fifty? That’s almost …” He did some calculations in his head, coming up with an answer that was mind-boggling “… five months we get to spend together!”

“Try two-and-a-half years,” Blaine corrected, preening with delight at the wide-eyed stare his revelation earned him.

“Two and a half years?” Kurt gasped. “But … but how?”

“This is how.” Blaine escorted Kurt through a set of double doors to a larger room, where the walls had been re-painted white to better display the art. The room held easily eighteen wall-sized murals, each with a multitude of different panels depicting Blaine and Kurt vacationing in Paris, sitting in a gondola in Venice, exploring the Grand Canyon, or just ‘living’ – washing dishes, walking a dog, shopping at the supermarket … and quite a few of them making love.

Kurt was quiet for a long time, staring at the next few years of his life as Blaine had planned them, and for a moment, Blaine started to fear that this wasn’t what Kurt wanted.

“Kurt?” Blaine felt an unnerving weight settle in his chest. He didn’t want to lose Kurt. Not again. But what had he forgotten? What was missing? “Kurt? For the love of God, Kurt! Tell me …”

“I love them!” Kurt sniffled, throwing himself into Blaine’s arms. “I love it! All of it! Our life together! It’s wonderful!”

“You really like it?” Blaine asked, a little overwhelmed by Kurt in his arms, surrounded by images of their future.

“I do!” Blaine wasn’t done holding him, but Kurt pulled away, eagerly leading his husband farther in the room to examine those paintings as well. “But now we have to start planning farther ahead,” Kurt insisted. “I mean, where are the paintings of me sewing and designing? I fully intend on working.”

“What?” Blaine looked dumbfounded. “How do you …?”

“We’ll cross that bridge later,” Kurt said, dismissing Blaine’s objection with the wave of his hand. “And if you get a dog, I want a cat. And I expect you to make me age gracefully - no premature balding or pot belly. I mean, you’ve seen my dad.”

Blaine rolled his eyes, but he listened carefully, setting Kurt’s notes to memory.

“Of course,” he said, placing a kiss to the top of Kurt’s head, over the scarf, wishing it was Kurt’s beautiful, walnut-colored hair tickling his nose with its sweet scent of jasmine and vanilla. “But, what would you like to do now? The show doesn’t open till tomorrow. We have the whole day.”

Kurt’s lips curled into a devilish grin. He walked straight to a painting done in muted, neutral shades, of the two of them in bed, Blaine hovering over Kurt’s body, looking down at Kurt with lust blown eyes, occasional highlights of black and red suggesting exactly what moment of desire the painting portrayed.

“This one.” Kurt’s voice turned silky, a wash of subtle seduction that made Blaine burn to take his husband right there, right then. “I want this one.”

“You just want to have sex,” Blaine teased, taking Kurt’s arm.

Kurt’s eyes twinkled as he pulled Blaine towards the door.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said, biting his lower lip and giving Blaine the perfect inspiration for his next painting.

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #frankie writes

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