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kingofbodyrolls · 7 months ago

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My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | twelve

🐴Chapter summary: Life with Jimin is perfect— he is the man of your dreams and you feel like you’re living the perfect life. Until someone from the past shows up, scatters your world and leaves you utterly heartbroken.

🐴Chapter title: Broken Dreams

🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc

🐴Characters: female reader (she’s more like an OC, but isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jiimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters.

🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst

🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

🐴Chapter warnings: angst, unprotected sex, spanking, nipple play, fingering, oral (female), scratching at back, hair pulling, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, a lot of crying and heartbreak I am so sorry 😭 there is also a mention of pregnancy (not reader!!!) and a lot of jealousy— I’M SO SORRY 😭

🐴Status: completed 🥳

🐴Word count: 14.4k

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Broken Dreams” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?]

🐴Author’s note: I’m just gonna come out and say it: you’re gonna hate me again (and OC too), lol. This chapter is bittersweet and I’m really really sorry for the ending! 😭 It was very tough to write with all the angst and heartache.. But please know that the sun will shine on them again ☀️ And all the angst is almost over!!! 🥹

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

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“It’s so fragile Easy broken It’s so fragile, and it goes so slow” - ‘Broken Dreams’ by Rebecca Lavelle

As the months whirl by in a blur of blissful moments, you find yourself lost in the sweet rhythm of love with Jimin. Each passing day is a testament to the depth of your affection, from the shared laughter in your work endeavors to the cozy nights spent intertwined in each other's embrace. Tonight is no different, with Jimin nestled beside you, his presence a comforting reassurance of your bond.

You find yourself roused from sleep earlier than usual, a rare moment where you get to simply observe him in his slumber – typically, it’s him stirring you awake. Yet today, the tables have turned, affording you the chance to marvel at his serene form. His face appears angelic, though you’ve also witnessed the mischievous glint that occasionally dances across his features. As he rests, a tranquil air envelops him, his face a study in tranquility; closed eyes, a delicately proportioned nose with a hint of mischief in its slight bump and ample nostrils. It’s an endearing combination, rendering him undeniably charming – a concoction of cuteness, handsomeness, and raw allure that leaves you spellbound.

Your gaze lingers on his flawless lips, plush and inviting, reminiscent of those on a Bratz doll – soft, pouty, and undeniably cute. It’s a marvel how lips can exude such innocence and allure simultaneously. The urge to kiss him swells within you, a magnetic pull drawing you closer with each passing moment.

His bangs cascade delicately across his forehead, a tousled masterpiece that you contributed to last night, a testament to the passion shared between you. Even in disarray, his hair frames his face perfectly, accentuating his captivating features. Every glance at him only deepens your admiration; he's a vision of beauty that leaves you utterly spellbound.

As he breathes, delicate moans escape his lips like whispers of contentment, each one painting a serene smile across your lips. Gently, you reach out and brush aside a stray strand of hair, revealing more of his peaceful face. In slumber, he appears almost otherworldly, his features softened by the tranquility of rest. Cupping his cheek, you feel the weight of his sigh resonate within you, a symphony that sets your heart aflutter with adoration.

A gentle stir ripples through his sleeping form, and you find yourself pondering whether he’ll awaken soon. With a day brimming ahead, perhaps it’s time to rouse him from his slumber?

You tenderly cradle his cheek once more, and in a soft, breathless murmur, your name escapes his lips as he nuzzles deeper into the warmth of your hand.

His eyes remain closed, yet he stirs with a newfound awareness, his voice filled with the warmth of morning sunlight. “It’s always a treasure waking up next to you,” he murmurs, his words like gentle caresses against the dawn.

Your smile blooms like a secret garden, unseen but felt in the air, as his words weave a tapestry of affection around you. Each syllable resonates deep within, echoing the sentiments you hold close. The days without him stretch like barren deserts, devoid of color and life, longing for the oasis of his presence.

“Kiss me,” his voice, a gentle whisper, carries a subtle plea as he utters those two simple words, a request laced with anticipation and tenderness. Though his eyes remain veiled behind the curtain of sleep, the soft curve of his lips tells a story of affection, inviting you into a moment of shared intimacy.

With a soft chuckle dancing on your lips, you lean in to meet his lips, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours in a delicate exchange. Each kiss is a symphony of tenderness and desire, a silent promise of unwavering devotion. Straddling his hips, you lose yourself in the sweetness of his lips, savoring every moment of the intoxicating lust between you.

His touch is a gentle caress, his palms radiating warmth as they cradle your cheeks. It’s as if his hands are a sanctuary, offering solace and reassurance in their tender embrace.

You draw back, gazing at his flushed face, captivated by the softness of his lips, irresistible in their plump allure. Unable to resist, you lean in once more, your lips meeting his in a fervent dance. Beneath you, his laughter ripples like a melody, adding a playful rhythm to your intimate symphony.

Finally, he unveils his eyes, locking onto your mesmerizing gaze. In that moment, you are a breathtaking masterpiece, his heart’s sole desire reflected in your every feature. You are his everything, his world encapsulated in your presence.

“Good morning,” he rasps, his voice a delicious blend of morning huskiness and raw desire, sending a shiver down your spine. With a tender touch, he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear, his fingers lingering as if savoring the sensation of your skin.

“Good morning, babe,” you chirp, your voice filled with morning cheer and affection, eliciting a chuckle from him that rumbles beneath you, unveiling those endearing crooked teeth of his, adding to his irresistible charm.

You press your hips against his, feeling the unmistakable hardness of his dick, and a needy moan escapes your lips. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, a testament to your insatiable desire for him, leaving you yearning for more of his intoxicating presence.

His hands eagerly grasp your hips, his gaze locking with yours in a fiery intensity and so much love. The depth of emotion swirling in those captivating brown eyes renders you breathless, and it should be illegal.

“Babe,” his voice, teasing and laced with desire, sends shivers down your spine as you continue to grind against him, a mischievous smirk dancing across your lips.

“Hm?” You respond with a low, seductive hum, your teeth sinking gently into your plump lower lip, your eyes smoldering with desire as you lock gazes with him. Your expression, a tantalizing blend of need and longing, silently conveys your hunger for him.

“Weren’t yesterday enough?” In his chuckle, there’s a playful tease, yet his hands, now firmly gripping your hips and gently sliding to caress your ass, speak volumes of his unspoken desire.

“No. I can never get enough of you Jimin,” you declare with a breathy whisper, your voice laden with longing and desire, as you lean in to capture his lips once more. With every kiss, the hunger between you intensifies, driving you to press your clothed core against his now fully hard cock, seeking the electrifying friction that ignites fireworks between your bodies.

He releases a primal moan, his desire echoing through the room as he draws you closer, his arms enveloping you in a fiery embrace that ignites every nerve ending in your body.

“I see. I can’t get enough of you either,” he murmurs, lifting you gently, his gaze fixated on you with an intensity that makes your heart race. You’re a fucking goddess, hair tousled in a captivating disarray, cheeks flushed with desire, and eyes ablaze with a hunger that mirrors his own.

He delivers a firm slap to your ass, eliciting a gratifying moan from you. “Take your clothes off for me,” he commands, his voice laced with a potent mix of desire and authority.

You gaze down at your form, clad in the silky, provocative pajamas consisting of a camisole and shorts. With a deliberate motion, you seize the edge of the camisole and peel it off your body, allowing your breasts to spill out in a tantalizing display that elicits a deep groan from Jimin. His hands eagerly encircle your breasts, reveling in their softness and warmth.

“Fuck, I love your breasts. So beautiful like the rest of you,” his words send shivers down your spine as he admires your breasts with an intensity that ignites desire within you. You can feel his dick against you as you grind yourself further into his cock from outside the thin duvet.

His gentle tugs on your erect nipples send electric currents of desire surging through your veins, igniting a primal heat within you. The rush of lust floods your senses, pooling between your thighs and making you ache with need. You moan again, as you keep grinding yourself down on him.

“Now take your shorts and panties off.” His command is firm yet enticing, echoing in the air with a promise of untamed desire. You comply eagerly, shedding your shorts and panties with a sense of urgency, revealing yourself to him in all your naked splendor. As you hover above him, vulnerable yet empowered, the raw intensity between you crackles with anticipation, igniting a primal hunger that begs to be sated.

You sway your body tantalizingly above him, a seductive dance in the dim morning light. His laughter rumbles beneath you like a low, smoldering fire, igniting the already charged atmosphere. With a playful yet possessive touch, he spanks your ass gently, sending a thrill coursing through your veins.

“Now it’s your turn,” you murmur in a husky tone, a symphony of desire dripping from your lips as you seize the edge of the duvet, unveiling his chiseled form beneath. He’s just sleeping in his boxers and god, his physique, handsome and strong, so sculpted with his dedication to all the hard work around the ranch.

You’re practically salivating as your fingers dance over his skin like eager flames, tracing the lines of his physique with a hunger that betrays your longing. From the inviting curve of his collarbones to the sculpted landscape of his abdomen, your touch ignites a trail of sensations that leave you breathless. Finally, your fingertips linger over the tantalizing bulge straining in his boxers.

With a teasing smile playing on your lips, you press yourself against him once more, the wetness from your pussy seeping through the fabric of his boxers, igniting a symphony of shared moans between you.

You shift into a seated position, your eyes glinting mischievously as you playfully tug at the waistband of his boxers, “These are in the way.”

You gracefully slide to his side, giving him room to remove his boxers. As he swiftly tosses them aside, he playfully pins you down onto the mattress, eliciting a joyful giggle from you. In that moment, amidst laughter and desire, your heart brims with a potent mix of love and lust.

He descends to kiss you with a fervor that ignites every fiber of your being, his lips meeting yours in a tantalizing dance of desire. As the intensity of his kiss deepens, you feel his cock pressing against your lower stomach.

“Babe, you’re so pretty,” he breathes out, his voice laden with desire as he reluctantly withdraws from your lips. With a deliberate slowness, he embarks on a journey down your body, pausing at your neck where he showers you with a cascade of tender kisses, each one igniting a new wave of sensation within you.

You giggle and squirm in his embrace, his fingertips dancing along your skin, sending delightful shivers down your spine as his touch tickles you relentlessly.

“Jimin, stop teasing me,” you giggle, though the playful plea in your voice betrays just how much you relish these moments of playful torment.

He trails down your neck, leaving a tantalizing path of kisses and nibbles, his warmth spreading like wildfire. Lower, his touch becomes more urgent, igniting every nerve as he caresses your breasts, his lips a tender contrast against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he takes a pert nipple into his mouth, sucking gently yet with an intensity that leaves you gasping for more.

Your breath hitches at his touch, a symphony of pleasure escaping your lips as your body instinctively rises to meet his, every nerve alive with anticipation. Fingers dig into his sturdy back, craving the closeness, anchoring yourself to the intensity of the moment as he sends waves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

His lips and tongue dance with fervor on your sensitive nipple, coaxing out gasps and moans that echo through the room, your body writhing in ecstatic response beneath his touch. Each flick of his tongue sends shivers of pleasure coursing through you, your senses ablaze with the overwhelming sensation of his intimate caress.

You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with each tantalizing brush of his dick against your slickened folds, igniting an insatiable hunger for him deep within your core. Your pussy throbs with an urgent need, aching to be filled by his cock as you yearn for the exquisite union of your bodies, desperate for the intoxicating bliss only he can provide.

With his deft touch, he lavishes equal care and devotion on your neglected nipple, ensuring that both peaks are stimulated. Each tender caress sends electrifying sensations coursing through your body, heightening your arousal to dizzying heights as you surrender to the intoxicating pleasure of his ministrations.

“Jimin—,” you moan out his name, your voice a symphony of pleasure. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle nip of his teeth, sends waves of ecstasy coursing through your veins. God, you love his mouth so fucking much.

He releases your nipple from his mouth, transferring his attention to its twin with a hunger that sets your senses ablaze. His lips and tongue work in tandem, igniting fireworks of pleasure that dance across your skin. Each delicate nibble sends a surge of arousal pulsing through you, your body responding eagerly to his every touch, every caress.

You writhe beneath him, your back arching instinctively as desire courses through every fiber of your being. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving faint imprints of your longing etched upon him. The hunger within you grows insatiable, a primal need driving you to crave more of him, more of his touch, his passion, his everything.

Understanding your unspoken desires, he trails kisses down your abdomen, his lips igniting a trail of fire along your skin. Arriving at your pussy, he pauses, taking in the sight of you with a reverence that sends shivers down your spine. Then, with a flick of his tongue, he indulges in the exquisite taste of your arousal, sending waves of pleasure cascading through your body.

You feel so sensitive down there, but fuck, his tongue is nice. Every nerve ending tingles with sensitivity and when he moves further into your pussy, his face fully buried between your thighs, he explores every inch of your cunt, teasing, sucking and slowly lapping up your juices.

He’s loud— god, the noises he’s making as he eats you out are sending shivers down your spine. The noises are obscene, and you can’t help but want more.

As he devotes himself to your pleasure, the world around you blurs into a haze of ecstasy. The intensity of his ministrations on your clitoris sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being, rendering you powerless against the overwhelming waves of sensation. With each exquisite movement of his tongue, your senses heighten, your body thrumming with an electric current of desire. You grasp onto his hair, unable to contain the primal urge to draw him closer, to merge further into the abyss of passion he’s guiding you into.

“Fuck, Jimin. I’m gonna come already!” Your words spill out in a desperate plea, the raw intensity of your impending climax building like a tidal wave ready to crash over you. Every nerve ending ignites with a fiery ecstasy as your body quivers in anticipation. With a primal cry, your orgasm surges forth, a torrent of pleasure engulfing you in its embrace. Jimin’s skilled tongue works tirelessly to capture every essence of your release, his devotion evident in every fervent lick and tender kiss, amplifying the euphoria of the moment.

You gasp for precious air, your chest heaving with the aftershocks of ecstasy, as your senses reel in the aftermath. For a fleeting moment, your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind, lost amidst the haze of pleasure that envelopes your being.

As Jimin withdraws from your pulsating core, a single digit replaces his tongue, teasingly probing your slick folds. With effortless ease, it slides into your depths, igniting a symphony of sensations that echo through your body, eliciting a soft, involuntary moan from your parted lips.

Jimin’s soft chuckle fills the room, a symphony of delight as you clutch the sheets, your expression contorted in euphoric pleasure. Every furrow of your brow, every twist of your lips only adds to your beauty, a captivating portrait of ecstasy that leaves him utterly mesmerized.

He delves deeper, skillfully working his finger within you, each movement calculated to send ripples of pleasure through your core. As he adds another finger, your breath catches in your throat, a euphoric mixture of surprise and anticipation flooding your senses. With a soft gasp, you part your thighs more, offering yourself fully to his expert touch.

Still riding the waves of your first orgasm, every touch from Jimin feels like an extension of that euphoria, amplifying the sensations coursing through your body.

As Jimin adds a third finger, a delicious stretch accompanies each movement, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. With each thrust, he delves deeper, igniting a symphony of moans and gasps that fill the room.

Jimin skillfully explores the depths of your pleasure, his fingers questing for that elusive sweet spot, and you’re transported to another realm of sensation. When he finally strikes gold, a kaleidoscope of stars bursts behind your closed eyelids. “Jimin!” you cry out, surrendering to the rhythmic dance of his fingers as you eagerly match their movements, every stroke pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

His voice, dark with desire, sends shivers down your spine, matching the intensity in his eyes. “Are you going to come again, baby?” he murmurs, his words dripping with anticipation, his gaze locked onto yours, igniting a primal fire within you.

You bite your lip, a silent affirmation as your head nods in agreement, unable to form words amidst the throes of pleasure that consume you.

With his other hand, he returns to your clit, expertly rubbing it in tandem with the rhythmic thrusts of his fingers. The dual stimulation sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, rendering you utterly powerless to its intoxicating effects. It’s as if every nerve ending is ablaze, your mind and body consumed by the overwhelming sensations, unraveling at the seams and short-circuiting under his masterful touch.

“Come on my fingers, babe,” he urges, his eyes ablaze with primal desire, and you surrender completely. As the tension inside you reaches its breaking point, you convulse beneath his touch, releasing another wave of liquid ecstasy onto his fingers, your body trembling with the intensity of your release.

You pant desperately, consumed by the heat of the moment, yet hungering for even greater heights of pleasure. Your body thrums with an insatiable desire, craving more.

“Fuck. You alway look so beautiful when you come,” his words ignite a fire within you, sending waves of validation and arousal crashing over your senses. As your body responds eagerly to his touch, you can’t help but yearn for more, your inner walls clenching around his fingers in a silent plea for something more substantial, and oh god you wish it was his cock instead.

He keeps thrusting his fingers in and out of you as he lets you ride out your orgasm. Just when it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of sensory overload, he withdraws his fingers, allowing you to catch your breath. With a tender touch, he descends to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, his own desire evident in the intensity of his embrace.

Your breathless plea hangs in the air, laden with desire and longing, as you lock eyes with him, your fervent need laid bare. “Jimin,” you implore, your voice a whisper laced with urgency, “please, I need you inside me. I want you to fuck me. I want your cock so bad.”

His chuckle dances in the charged air, a mix of amusement and arousal, as he watches your desperate expression. With a tender touch, he guides his dick to your pussy, aligning it with your entrance.

“My baby is so needy,” his laughter, a symphony of desire, echoes in the room as he teases you with the tip of his cock, each gentle touch igniting a fervent ache within you. Your moan, a melody of longing, fills the space, a plea for him to quench the fire he’s stoked.

“Don’t tease,” your plea, laden with urgency and desire, hangs in the air, a desperate cry for him to fill the void he’s created. With a soft chuckle dancing on his lips, he obliges, parting your trembling thighs further as he eases himself into your dripping pussy. The sensation, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and bliss, envelops you like a warm embrace from the heavens.

Gasping for breath, you surrender to the overwhelming ecstasy coursing through you. “Ah, Jimin, fuck! Your dick feels incredible,” you pant, fingers curling around your legs as you draw them closer, a desperate attempt to deepen the electrifying feeling between your bodies.

His nose scrunches with intense pleasure as he thrusts into the depths of your walls, his hands bracing on either side of your body. A sharp intake of breath escapes his lips as he buries himself completely within you. Your inner muscles clench around him, eliciting a soft hiss of satisfaction from his lips.

His chuckle is breathless, a telltale sign of his struggle to maintain composure amidst the overwhelming sensation. “Who’s teasing now?” He manages, his voice laced with desire, a playful retort to your earlier plea.

He delves deeper into you, every inch of him enveloped by your warmth, the closeness of your bodies igniting an intense intimacy that sends shivers down your spine. This position, so raw and intimate, resonates deeply within you, a sensation you cherish with every fiber of your being.

With each withdrawal and thrust, he sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, eliciting a passionate cry of his name to escape your lips.

Your senses are ablaze with the overwhelming sensation of him, each powerful thrust sending ripples of ecstasy coursing through your body. With a fervent grip on the sheets, you surrender to the rhythm of his movements, the way that he fills and stretches you out, every thrust a symphony of pleasure that resonates deep within your core.

His hands firmly anchored on either side of your body, the intensity of each thrust ignites a kaleidoscope of sensations, sending you spiraling into the cosmos. With your legs entwined around his hips, you invite him to delve deeper, to explore every inch of your being as he plunges into you with an insatiable hunger. As he descends to capture your lips in a fiery kiss, you’re consumed by the raw passion coursing between you, lost in the euphoria of your love.

Fuck, you love this. The sensation of him filling you up, the fusion of love and desire coursing through every fiber of your being, it’s intoxicating. With each movement, each thrust, you’re consumed by a rapturous ecstasy, savoring every moment of him being deep inside you. As your lips meet his in a fervent kiss, you pour all your passion into it, matching his tenderness with an equal fervor, lost in the symphony of pleasure that only he can orchestrate.

You abandon the sheets and grasp onto his back, your nails grazing his skin with each powerful thrust, lost in a whirlwind of sensation. “Fuck. Jimin,” you gasp, the name slipping from your lips like a fervent prayer amidst pleasure surging between you.

He chuckles softly, his warm breath caressing your skin as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, teasingly nibbling at the sensitive flesh. Each gentle bite sends a shiver of delight coursing through your body, igniting every nerve ending with delicious anticipation.

Breathlessly, he murmurs against your neck, his voice laced with desire, “You’re so tight, so pretty.” He pulls out only to push himself back in again, seeking out that elusive sweet spot that sends waves of pleasure cascading through your body.

Every inch of him inside you feels like a perfect fit, igniting an exquisite symphony of sensations that leaves you gasping for air. As you feel him twitch within you, a surge of pleasure courses through your veins, prompting an instinctive clenching of your walls around him, drawing him deeper into your embrace.

The room is filled with the rhythmic symphony of your bodies colliding, the wet, intoxicating sound of skin meeting skin in a passionate dance. This must be one of your favorite sounds.

As he molds his body against yours, his weight pressing deliciously into you, almost laying flat against your stomach, you’re enveloped in his warmth and passion. His lips dance across your neck, alternating between tender kisses and playful nips, igniting a fire within you. With each stroke of your nails down his back, he responds with a symphony of pleasure, his breathy hisses a testament to the fire between you.

You feel him deep inside your pussy, and you sense the impending rush of another climax, building with an intensity that threatens to consume you entirely. This time, it surges through you with a force that defies containment, coursing through your veins like a wild river breaking free from its banks.

“Jimin, I’m gonna come again,” you pant as he drives into you with unrelenting force. With a wicked smirk, he rises, seizing your right leg and pulling it flush against his shoulder. As he presses down, stretching your body to its limits, each thrust plunges deeper, igniting sensations that border on divine.

His fingers find your throbbing clit once more, sending electric shocks of pleasure coursing through your body. You’re so sensitive, teetering on the brink, knowing that it only takes a whisper to send you cascading over the edge and come again.

His touch on your pulsating clit is electrifying, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through every fiber of your being. With each circular motion and gentle tug, you’re propelled into a whirlwind of ecstasy. Your senses overload as your vision blurs into a kaleidoscope of white, gasping for air as waves of euphoria crash over you. Your body convulses in rhythmic spasms, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. It’s a symphony of sensation, leaving you utterly consumed by the intensity of pleasure, lost in a euphoric trance as your body dances to its own primal rhythm.

“Fucking hell, babe,” Jimin groans, his voice strained with the intensity of his impending release. You feel him still inside you, his body tensing with each pulsating wave of pleasure. Then, with an adorable scrunch of his nose, he reaches his climax. His grip on your leg tightens as he thrusts into you, his warm seed spilling within you. In that moment, you’re both lost in a haze of ecstasy, drenched in sweat, and gasping for air as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through your bodies.

He pulls out of you and collapses beside you on the bed, his chest heaving with each labored breath, the aftermath of passion evident in his flushed cheeks and glistening skin. With a soft chuckle, his hand finds its way to his stomach, just resting there.

“What’s so funny?” You turn your head toward him, your lips curving into a smile as you catch the playful glint in his eyes.

“You squirted, and we made such a mess,” he laughs, pulling himself closer to you again, his warmth enveloping you. “It was... hot,” he adds with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, his playful tone laced with affection and desire.

As you kiss him, you can’t ignore the sticky sensation between your legs, and it starts to feel slightly uncomfortable.

“I’ll clean you up babe, don’t worry,” he reassures, noticing the faint furrow on your brow, his voice tender and comforting.

He gets up from the bed, slips into his boxers and steps out of the bedroom. After a few moments, he returns, carrying a warm washcloth, a blush on his face and his eyes flickering with a mix of bashfulness and affection as he meets your gaze.

“Why’d it take you so long?” You groan, parting your legs to offer him easier access for cleaning.

He chuckles, his face flushing even more, “I met your sister, she said to keep it down next time.”

You sit up, a stern look etched on your face as you scoff, “Who is she to talk? She and your brother keep me up all night with their loud noises!”

He chuckles softly, drawing nearer to you on the bed, his fingertips dancing along the curves of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine.

“Then we should just be louder, no?” He suggests playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes, though his cheeks remain flushed. His fingers hover tantalizingly close to your folds, teasing but not touching. Instead, he delicately applies the warm washcloth to your slick pussy, the comforting heat soothing against your sensitive skin. With careful motions, he begins to cleanse away the remnants of your shared passion, his touch gentle yet purposeful.

“Jimin, it’s not a competition. But we should totally do that next time,” you chuckle, enjoying the tender care he showers upon you in the aftermath. The gentle touch of the washcloth against your skin is soothing, and you bask in the intimacy of the moment. Despite the tasks waiting for your attention, Jimin’s unhurried ministrations make you want to linger a little longer in this tranquility.

As he completes his task, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns on your thighs, you rise from the bed, feeling a sense of contentment envelop you. Scanning the room for your belongings, you locate a pair of panties and slip them on, then reach for Jimin’s abandoned button-down shirt, relishing in the comforting warmth it offers as you slide it over your shoulders.

When you pivot to face him, adorned solely in the delicate lace of your panties and his oversized shirt, a low, guttural groan escapes Jimin’s lips, his gaze trailing over your silhouette. With a languid movement, he reclines on the bed, his expression a mix of desire and admiration.

In a playful tone, you announce, “I’ll just paint a bit and then we can head down and get breakfast. You lay back and enjoy the view.” With a sly grin, you tug the curtains open just enough, anticipating how the morning sunlight will caress your skin as you immerse yourself in your artistic pursuit.

Allowing the brush to dance freely on the canvas, you let your mind flow with the strokes, creating another abstract masterpiece adorned with vibrant red hues. Glancing over your shoulder, you catch sight of Jimin reclining, wholly entranced by your artistic process, his gaze brimming with an unmistakable blend of affection and admiration.

Pausing mid-brushstroke, you shoot Jimin a playful smirk, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Like what you see?” You tease, the hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Jimin’s groan reverberates in the room, his voice laced with desire. “Yes. You look so fucking hot in my shirt and with the bottom of your ass peeking out, and your tits out like that… are you sure we have to work today?”

You can’t help but burst into laughter, the sound bubbling with warmth and affection. Oh, how tempting it is to lose yourself in the allure of Jimin. Yet, duty calls, and as much as you crave his touch, completing this painting beckons with its own urgency and the rest of your work later.

With a playful sway of your hips, you tease Jimin further, the brush in your hand an extension of your artistic vision. Each stroke brings you closer to completion, the canvas soon to be adorned with your creativity and passion.

“It’s not fair,” he chuckles, rolling out of bed to retrieve his pants, “I’d like my shirt back, though I must admit, it looks ten times better on you.” His playful banter carries a hint of sincerity, his eyes lingering on your form as if the shirt were an afterthought compared to the allure it lends you.

You chuckle mischievously, relishing in the moment as you turn around and let the garment cascade off your body in a slow, tantalizing motion. Jimin’s eyes widen in awe, captivated by your confident display. With a sly grin, you saunter over to your dresser, effortlessly commanding attention. Retrieving a bra and shirt, you dress yourself with effortless grace, leaving Jimin momentarily spellbound. As he picks up his shirt from the floor and dons it, the air crackles with the lingering electricity of your playful teasing.

“Let’s get breakfast and then head to work,” you suggest, crossing the room to Jimin, where you plant a tender kiss on his plush lips, lingering for just a moment to savor the touch of him.

Side by side, you descend the stairs, the anticipation of breakfast fueling your steps. Rushing through the meal, you devour your food with a sense of urgency, knowing that the day's responsibilities are already waiting impatiently for your attention.

With the morning sun casting a golden glow, you embark on your daily routine, starting with the tender care of the garden. Jimin joins you, his hands deftly plucking out weeds, his laughter mingling with the chirping of birds. Together, you gather the bounty of carrots, spinach, cabbage, and peas, the vibrant colors a testament to nature’s generosity. As the day progresses, you transition to the stables, the scent of hay and earth enveloping you. With practiced hands, you feed the cattle and horses, their eager whinnies and low rumbles a symphony of farm life. Loading up the pickup truck, you set off to tend to the animals in the paddocks, the rhythmic rumble of the engine accompanying your journey across the sprawling landscape.

“How does this thing work again?” You inquire, gripping the drill with determination. Both hands are occupied, grappling with the weight of the tool and the precision needed to secure the bolts just right. You’re on a mission to ensure every detail aligns perfectly, a blend of determination and mechanical finesse guiding your every move.

Jimin’s chuckle dances in the air beside you, his hand enveloping yours on the drill. “Let me show you,” he says, guiding your fingers to the trigger, igniting the powerful hum of the machine. “And if you don’t screw it in at a level, you can push this to make it reverse,” he continues, demonstrating the reverse function. His touch, warm and reassuring, sends a gentle thrill down your spine, mingling with the anticipation of mastering the task at hand.

He shifts his focus back to holding the wooden plank steady for you, ensuring a smooth process. With determined precision, you position the bolt and wield the drill, its power humming to life as you secure the bolt in place. Success! The satisfying click of the bolt settling in sends a surge of accomplishment through you both.

Grinning, you glance at him, exhilarated by the teamwork, “This is actually fun.” With newfound enthusiasm, you reach for another screw, eager to continue the satisfying rhythm of progress.

Jimin’s eyes light up with genuine delight, his smile spreading warmth, “My babe with power tools. Absolutely love it.”

Together, you and Jimin finally tackle the long-awaited project of assembling the shed you'd spent months gathering wood for. Despite his initial plans to complete it sooner, life seemed to intervene, leaving the project on hold. But now, as you both hammer and drill, laughter fills the air, mingling with the satisfaction of progress. Working side by side, you relish the closeness and love, finding joy in shared achievements and the simple pleasure of each other’s company.

For months now, life has been a whirlwind of joy and contentment, leaving you with a constant flutter of butterflies in your stomach and a perpetual grin adorning your face. Even your sister, with her keen eye, has teased you about looking like a lovesick fool. But can you blame her? You’ve finally found everything you’ve ever yearned for: the warmth of family, a place to call home, and the embrace of the one you love more than words can express.

Startled by Yoongi’s sudden presence behind you, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a gentle breeze, you turn to find him standing there, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Can you lend me a hand down in the pen?” he asks, his tone carrying a hint of urgency that you can’t ignore.

When you fully face Yoongi, you notice the subtle glow on his face, a telltale sign that things with Hoseok must be going swimmingly. It warms your heart to see him so content, and in turn, fills you with joy. “Sure thing, just give me a moment,” you reply with a smile, ready to assist him with whatever task he needs help with in the pen.

Jimin’s affirmative nod accompanies a gentle smile, his eyes reflecting understanding and support. “I can handle the rest, love. Go lend Yoon a hand,” he says, his tone brimming with reassurance and affection.

You pass the drill to Jimin with a quick exchange, his fingers brushing yours in a fleeting touch that sends a jolt of warmth through you. Following Yoongi’s urgent call, you head down to the pen, where the sight of a spirited horse galloping about greets you, its untamed energy palpable in the air.

“What do you need help with?” You inquire, arching an eyebrow in curiosity, ready to assist Yoongi with whatever challenge he's facing in the pen.

Yoongi’s voice carries a hint of desperation as he explains the mare's skittish behavior. You notice the weariness etched on his face, his energy drained from his futile attempts to coax the horse. “Could you give it a shot? See if she responds to you?” he pleads, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion, revealing just how long he's been grappling with the elusive mare.

“Yeah I’ll give it a shot,” with a confident smile, you accept the challenge. Carefully climbing over the fence, you land softly on the sand, your boots sinking slightly into the ground. As you approach the mare, her wild movements seem to echo the chaos in her mind. Standing in the center of the pen, you observe her graceful gallop, realizing she's in a world all her own. Patience becomes your ally as you wait, understanding that time is your greatest asset in this endeavor.

Lost in the mesmerizing rhythm of the mare’s movements, time becomes elusive, and a sense of dizziness begins to swirl within you. As you watch her graceful strides, a heavy sigh escapes your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the passage of moments slipping away unnoticed.

As the mare continues her captivating dance, your attention wanders to Yoongi, realizing you’ve been standing idle for what feels like an eternity. “How are the other horses doing?” You inquire, your voice carrying a hint of fatigue from the prolonged stillness.

A soft chuckle escapes Yoongi’s lips before he responds, “They’re doing fine. We actually got another one picked up yesterday.”

You flash a warm smile, your voice laced with genuine regret. “That’s great news. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

Your heart swells with pride at the thriving success of your shared venture. “But I’m thrilled about how smoothly things are going. We’ve moved so many wild horses into new roles as stock horses.”

A sudden force jolts against your back, sending you stumbling forward, your heart racing as you struggle to regain your balance.

A radiant smile illuminates Yoongi’s face, brimming with pride and joy. “You did it!” he exclaims, his voice filled with genuine excitement and admiration.

As you pivot, your eyes meet the gentle gaze of the wild mare, standing before you with humility in her stance, her head lowered in submission. A soft whine escapes her lips, a sign of acknowledgment. Tenderly, you extend your hand, brushing it gently against her head. “Good girl,” you murmur, feeling a surge of connection and triumph in the air.

“You’re amazing. Thank you so much. I’ve been struggling with her for hours, making no progress,” he expresses, weariness evident in his tone as he perches atop the fence. “I’ll take her to the stables. She’s been out for too long; she deserves some rest. And you, you should rest too. Thank you once again.” With a grateful smile, he leaps down into the pen, effortlessly guiding the mare back to the stables without the aid of halter or rope.

“No problem,” you reply, stepping out of the pen and heading towards the main house. The day is winding down, and you’re hopeful that Jimin has prepared dinner that you can enjoy together.

As you open the door, the tantalizing aroma of home-cooked goodness envelops you, instantly awakening your senses. The savory scent beckons you forward, drawing you into the warm embrace of familiarity and comfort. With eager anticipation, you make your way into the living room, where Jimin lounges on the couch, adding to the cozy atmosphere with his relaxed presence.

“Did you finish work?” He inquires, tearing his gaze away from the mindless chatter on the TV, his eyes lighting up as they meet yours.

“Yeah, and I’m starving. Did you whip something up?” you inquire eagerly, closing the distance between you and him with each step.

“Yeah, it’s in the oven,” he responds, his fingers intertwining with yours as soon as you’re within his reach, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Didn’t you already eat?” you ask, a hint of disbelief creeping into your voice, your eyebrows arching slightly as you await his response.

“No, I was waiting for you,” he says, his smile warm and genuine, eyes sparkling with affection as he gazes at you.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t have to, but we can eat together now,” you say, your voice carrying a mixture of sadness and affection, “come.”

You coax him up from the couch, intertwining your fingers as you head into the kitchen to uncover the delicious meal he’s prepared. The flavors dance on your taste buds, a testament to his culinary skill. Amidst bites and laughter, you savor the intimacy, sneaking playful touches and caresses, entwining your legs beneath the table, deepening the love between you.

“Long day?” he asks, his voice soft with concern as his foot finds yours under the table, the gentle pressure of his touch sending a tingling sensation up your leg, a subtle reassurance in his gesture.

“Yeah. I’m so sore and tired. You?” you ask, sinking deeper into your seat, the weariness evident in your voice as you release a heavy sigh, your body yearning for the comfort of relaxation.

“Me too,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion as he stretches his body, a silent testament to the day’s wear and tear. “What do you say… if you clean up in the kitchen, I’ll make a bath for us in the tub?” His offer, infused with a touch of intimacy and care, promises a soothing respite from the day’s toils.

Your eyes sparkle with anticipation at the mention of the tub. The thought of sinking into its welcoming depths has been a quiet longing in your mind for so long, and now, the prospect of finally indulging in its comforting embrace fills you with eager anticipation. The promise of soaking away the day's stresses in warm, soothing water feels like a luxurious treat, beckoning you towards a moment of serene relaxation.

“Deal,” you respond with a hint of eagerness, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. His laughter fills the room, accompanied by the soft warmth of his affectionate gaze, reminding you once again of the deep bond you share.

With a swift nod, you rise from the table, eager to fulfill your end of the bargain. The prospect of sinking into a warm bath lures you into action, and you quickly set to work clearing the table and storing the leftovers. Meanwhile, you delegate the task of drawing the bath to Jimin, trusting in his ability to create the perfect oasis of relaxation.

“Hey babe! Do you want some wine?” Your voice carries from the kitchen, punctuated by the clinking of dishes nearing completion.

“Yeah, sure!” Jimin’s response echoes from the bathroom, filled with anticipation for the cozy evening ahead.

As you open the cabinet, your eyes catch the glint of a bottle of rich red wine tucked away. With a soft pop, the cork relinquishes its hold, releasing the tantalizing aroma of aged grapes. Carefully, you select two delicate glasses, pouring a generous amount into each. The anticipation of sinking into the warm embrace of the bath, wine in hand, fills you with an unexpected giddiness, turning a simple soak into a moment of luxurious indulgence.

You enter the bathroom, and the soft glow of candlelight dances across the walls, casting an enchanting aura over the otherwise dark room. Your breath catches as you take in the sight before you: the bath, filled to just over halfway, exudes inviting warmth, while Jimin stands before you, his form illuminated by the flickering flames, his nakedness a captivating sight. The glasses of wine tremble slightly in your grasp as you carefully set them down beside the tub, feeling a surge of anticipation mingled with a hint of nervous excitement.

Jimin’s allure is undeniable, his presence commanding attention as you step closer to him. His complexion, a velvety blend of creamy hues, emanates warmth beneath the soft glow of candlelight, accentuating the rugged beauty of his form. Your fingers trace the contours of his sturdy pectorals, reveling in the strength they exude. “You look like pure sin,” you murmur, unable to resist the temptation that radiates from every inch of his being.

His laughter fills the room, a melodic accompaniment to the gentle caress of your hands on his chest. As you lean in to kiss him, the warmth of his lips against yours ignites a fire within. “I better get naked too,” you jest, your voice laced with anticipation and a hint of playful mischief.

With eager hands and shared anticipation, you shed your clothes in a flurry of desire. As Jimin assists in revealing your body, he helps pull your shirt off your body. He unclasps your bra and lets it fall to the floor, which makes his breath catch at the sight of your breasts, a primal reaction that ignites a hunger within him. With each garment that falls away, the space between you crackles with an electric tension, building toward the moment when you stand before him, naked and unapologetically yourself, basking in the raw intensity of the moment.

Like magnets drawn together, your bodies intertwine in a passionate embrace, igniting a fiery exchange of kisses that speak volumes in the language of desire. As your lips meet in a fervent dance, you sense the primal response coursing through him, evidenced by the subtle quiver of his dick beneath your touch. With a tender stroke of your hand, you coax forth a soft, involuntary moan.

“Let’s get in,” he urges, his hand enveloping yours as he guides you toward the inviting embrace of the tub. With graceful ease, he eases himself into the warm, welcoming waters, settling against the back while you follow suit, finding your place nestled in the curve of his lap. As you lower yourself into the tranquil depths, the subtle pressure of his dick against your back sends a playful shiver down your spine, eliciting a soft chuckle to escape your lips. The gentle caress of the soothing water envelops your skin, melting away the tensions of the day, cocooning you both in a blissful sanctuary of relaxation.

“Do you like it?” He inquires softly, his fingers expertly tracing soothing circles over your shoulders, coaxing out the tension that had been knotted within your muscles. With each knead and stroke, a contented sigh escapes your lips, a testament to the sheer bliss of his touch.

“I love it,” you murmur, surrendering completely to the sensations coursing through your body as his skilled hands work their magic. With a satisfied smile, you reach for your glass of wine, the cool liquid adding another layer of indulgence to the moment. Placing the glass back on the table, you sink deeper into the warmth of the bath, letting Jimin’s fingers weave their spell over your back, melting away every ounce of stress.

It’s an exquisite sensation, one that sends shivers down your spine as his hands glide from your shoulders to the front, delicately caressing your breasts. The moment his fingers encircle your nipples, your eyes flutter open, a soft gasp escaping your lips, betraying the sheer pleasure coursing through you. His touch ignites an urgent longing within you, echoed by the telltale twitch of his dick pressed against your back.

His touch becomes more fervent, his fingers skillfully rolling your nipples between them, sending waves of sensation coursing through your body. As his lips find the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his bite is both tender and teasing, perfectly complementing the tugs and pinches of his fingers.

Within moments, a surge of arousal floods your senses, igniting a fiery desire deep within your core. Each breath comes quicker, matching the rapid pace of your escalating lust.

As his skilled fingers work your nipples, you arch your back, pressing into his touch, the sensation sparking through your body like wildfire. It’s almost overwhelming how good it feels, sending waves of pleasure coursing through every inch of your being.

You lean back into his chest, letting your head rest beside his, and he teases your nipples, sending bolts of pleasure coursing through your body. “Jimin, fuck—” you moan, the intensity of sensation almost too much to bear.

He hums softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin, sending shivers of lust down your spine. As he nibbles on your earlobe, a rush of desire floods through you, igniting every nerve ending with longing.

“What do you need baby?” His voice, a velvety whisper in your ear, sends a surge of heat coursing through your veins. As you roll your hips into his, seeking closer contact, the air between you crackles with electricity, fueling the flames of desire.

“I need you Jimin,” you gasp, surrendering to the intoxicating pull of desire that consumes every fiber of your being.

“You have to be more specific babe,” he breathes in your ear, while one of his hands travels down, “Do you want me to touch you here?” He asks, his fingers hovering just above your clit.

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you bite down on your lip, the anticipation building as you part your legs further. “Yes, please,” you murmur, your voice laced with need and desire, your body trembling with anticipation for his touch.

As his fingers trace delicate patterns over your clit, you gasp at the gentle touch, every stroke sending shivers of pleasure through your body. With each soft moan that escapes your lips, his touch becomes more insistent, his fingers pressing down with increasing urgency, driving you to the brink of ecstasy real fast.

“Jimin!” You pant, your voice a breathless plea as the sensation intensifies, sending a surge of heat coursing through your veins. Your thighs quiver with anticipation, a tidal wave of pleasure building deep within your core, threatening to overwhelm you in its euphoric embrace.

“Are you gonna come so fast?” His taunt sends a delicious shiver down your spine, igniting a firestorm of desire within you. Despite the teasing, you find yourself powerless against the intoxicating allure of his touch. You know it’s pathetic how fast your body unravels for him, but you can’t help it.

“Your hands are so good, I can’t help it,” you gasp against the sensitive skin of his throat, fingers gripping the edge of the tub for leverage. Every touch from him feels like an electric current, igniting sensations that leave you breathless. As the tension inside you reaches its breaking point, you surrender completely to the blissful release washing over you.

As the waves of ecstasy surge through you, you surrender to the primal rhythm of your body, yielding to the intoxicating sensations ignited by Jimin’s touch. With every nerve on fire and every muscle tensed, you gasp for precious air, your head finding solace in the comforting curve of Jimin’s neck. “Jimin, I…” you whisper breathlessly, words catching in the throes of pleasure.

He nestles his head closer to yours, his warm breath brushing against your skin. “What is it, babe?” he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing melody.

Your body quivers under his skillful touch, a symphony of sensations coursing through you as he continues to tease your nipples and caress your clit.

“I want to fuck you and for you to fill me up,” you murmur, your voice laden with desire, as you press yourself against him once more.

“Fuck, yeah,” he gasps, urgency lacing his voice as he withdraws his hands from your sensitive nipples and clit, firmly gripping your hips with a hunger that mirrors your own.

You lift yourself up, the anticipation electrifying every nerve as you easily find his dick and slide down on it. “Oh, fuck!” The words escape your lips in a gasp of pleasure as he effortlessly fills you, stretching you to the brink from the very first inch.

With his firm grip, he guides your movements, each thrust a symphony of desire and need as you ride him, fucking yourself on his cock.

You feel his warm breath against your skin as he whispers, “So pretty, baby,” before tenderly pressing his lips to the delicate curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

You tighten your grip on the tub’s edge, seeking leverage, as you rise and descend in slow, tantalizing motions. With each movement, water splashes out.. “Looks like you overfilled it,” you pant, a breathless admission, met with a soft chuckle from him.

As he peppers you with kisses, you strive to maintain your rhythm, riding him with all your passion. Yet, despite your efforts, fatigue begins to set in, and the discomfort in your knees becomes increasingly noticeable. This position, once thrilling, now feels taxing and hurting.

“Babe, my knees are hurting,” you plead, reluctantly pulling yourself off him altogether.

“Come, turn around then. I’m sorry,” he suggests, his tone apologetic as he shifts deeper into the tub, creating space in the middle. You turn around and comply, straddling his lap. As he effortlessly enters you once more, a soft moan escapes your lips, reverberating through the intimate space as he resumes his rhythmic thrusts.

“This is so much better,” you murmur, intertwining your legs and arms around his body. “And I love being able to see your face.”

With a chuckle, he leans in to tenderly kiss your lips, igniting a passionate rhythm as he thrusts up into you. Meeting his movements eagerly, you ride his cock with abandon, the water swirling around you in a sensual dance as the wine long forgotten.

You sense him pulsing within you, sending tremors of pleasure through your core, as your inner muscles start to contract in anticipation of another climax.

“Just let go baby,” he murmurs huskily into your ear, his every movement igniting a wildfire of ecstasy within you. You echo a breathless rendition of his name as your essence cascades around him. Clinging to him desperately, you surrender to the torrent of sensations as he intensifies his thrusts, sending waves of passion crashing through the water.

“Shit, Jimin, are you gonna come too?” You gasp, feeling his urgency mounting with each thrust of his dick, until he finally succumbs with a fervent moan, filling you with his essence and with a groan of your name.

You press your lips to his, savoring the sweet taste of him as you both stay still in the water, letting your orgasms wash over you. Feeling his warmth enveloping you, you start to gently rock your hips, coaxing another shiver from him, lost in the lingering sensations of bliss.

“Babe, it’s too much,” his breath comes in ragged gasps, his hands gently restraining your fervent motions. Looking into his eyes, you’re met with a torrent of desire, the heat of his gaze mirroring the flush that paints his cheeks.

“Let me wash you up and take care of you,” his voice, a soft whisper against your ear, promises comfort as he retrieves the soap, its fragrance mingling with the warmth of the water. With practiced hands, he massages the lather onto your back, each stroke a tender caress that elicits a contented moan from your lips.

You let him massage you with the soap all over your body, all while he stays deep inside your pussy. Occasionally you feel the twitch of his dick and you realize he hasn’t gone fully soft yet, and now you can just feel him getting harder again.

He washes the soap off your body and you feel so nice, so cleaned and cared for.

“I want to return the favor,” you say, a soft smile gracing your lips as fatigue begins to settle in. Despite the weariness weighing on your body, the desire to care for your boyfriend burns brightly within you, compelling you to offer this small gesture of love.

You slide off his lap and reach for the soap, lathering it in your palms before trailing your hands over his body, mirroring the care he bestowed upon you. With each stroke, he emits soft moans of pleasure, surrendering to the sensation of your touch. His physique is a masterpiece of strength and grace, every muscle defined under your fingertips. As you work your way across his body, his biceps bulge with strength, his abdominals ripple beneath your touch, and he melts into your hands like pliable clay, yielding to your every caress.

“Babe, this is so nice,” his voice, a husky whisper, caresses your ears as he savors the sensation, lost in the bliss of your ministrations. With a tender smile, you rinse away the soap, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Drawn to him like a magnet, you lean in, capturing his lips in a kiss filled with affection and desire.

“This was such a good idea, Jimin. I loved it and I love you,” with a contented sigh, you express your gratitude, nestling into his embrace. The soft glow of candlelight flickers around you, casting playful shadows as you lean in for another lingering kiss, sealing your words with an affectionate embrace.

“Yeah. I love you too.” His voice, filled with warmth and sincerity, reverberates through the room as he gazes into your eyes, where he finds solace and home. In that moment, he realizes the depth of his feelings, the unspoken promises whispered between your shared glances. Perhaps it’s time to let the symbol of his devotion, the ring he’s carried for months, find its rightful place on your finger.

You linger in the embrace of the warm water, savoring the intimacy shared in those precious moments, until the realization of time nudges you both back to reality. Reluctantly, you rise from the soothing depths, cocooned in the lingering affection of the bath. With gentle care, you tenderly dry each other off, the soft caress of the towels becoming a silent exchange of love and tenderness.

The comfort of spending the night at Jimin’s embraces you like a warm blanket, lingering even as the morning unfolds into a delightful breakfast shared together. With hearts light and minds focused, you dive into the tasks of the day, knowing that the warmth of your shared moments will linger like a sweet whisper in the air.

The gentle breeze caresses your skin, carrying the scent of blooming flowers, while the sun bathes everything in a golden glow, infusing you with an invigorating energy that seems boundless. In this moment, with the world painted in hues of warmth and possibility, you feel an unstoppable surge of euphoria coursing through you, propelling you forward on the wings of boundless optimism.

You’re idly gazing out the window when the distant rumble of an approaching car catches your attention. As it draws nearer, a sense of unease prickles at the edges of your consciousness. Then, recognition dawns like a lightning bolt striking through the air. It's Deiji’s car— Jimin’s ex. The sight sends a ripple of uncertainty coursing through you, stirring up a flurry of thoughts and emotions.

As you watch the car pull up, curiosity interlaces with a thread of apprehension. You feel compelled to step out into the yard, a sense of obligation mingling with a twinge of discomfort. Greeting her with forced politeness, you battle the tide of memories that surge forth with her presence. It’s not that you hold anything against her personally, but her arrival serves as a stark reminder of a painful chapter— a time when Jimin's silence cut deeper than words.

You step into the sunlight, its warmth caresses your skin, momentarily blinding you as you squint against its brilliance. Deiji emerges from her car, her form obscured by the glare, until you draw nearer and discern the telltale curve of her belly.

Pregnant.

The realization washes over you, mingling with a spectrum of emotions, from surprise to a begrudging twinge of hurt. Good for her, you think, though beneath the surface, a ripple of complex feelings threatens to surface.

“Hey,” Deiji greets you with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes as you draw nearer. “Is Jimin around? I really need to talk to him.”

You nod in acknowledgment. “He’s inside,” you reply, gesturing towards the house.

“Cool,” she replies, her voice tinged with a hint of discomfort, her hand instinctively cradling her swollen belly. With a slight waddle, she makes her way towards the house. You follow closely, holding the door open to usher her inside.

As you step into the house, you find Jimin, who’s visibly taken aback by Deiji’s unexpected presence beside you.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin’s voice is tense, his gaze flicking towards the elephant in the room: her swollen belly.

As she gently caresses her belly, her words hang heavy in the air. “I came to tell you something,” she begins, her voice trembling slightly. “This baby... it’s yours.”

Your jaw practically hits the floor, and you can feel your heart somersaulting in your chest, threatening to burst out like a cartoon character. Glancing at Jimin, you see his shock mirrored in his wide-eyed expression, a reflection of your own disbelief.

“But we used a condom?” He blurts out, the disbelief and irritation palpable in his voice. It's as if he's trying to grasp at any rational explanation for the bombshell Deiji just dropped, his tone a mix of incredulity and denial.

“You know, sometimes accidents happen…” She utters those words with an infuriating calmness, her hand caressing her belly once more, a gesture that grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Every fiber of your being rebels against the notion that she’s carrying Jimin’s child. It feels surreal, like a nightmare you can’t wake up from, as if the ground beneath your feet is shifting and you’re teetering on the edge of a dizzying precipice. In the midst of your own tumultuous emotions, you can’t help but wonder what Jimin is feeling, how he’s processing this bombshell that threatens to upend your world.

Jimin stands before you, an image of stunned disbelief etched into every line of his face.

“And you came here for what, money?” Jimin’s voice trembles slightly, his words laced with a mix of anger and confusion.

A peculiar mix of emotions swirls within you, a tumultuous blend of anger and sadness that leaves you feeling unsettled.

“No. I just wanted to let you know. I know how important family is to you,” she starts, her voice tinged with sincerity as she settles onto a nearby stool.

You’re still standing there, dumbstruck, your emotions swirling like a turbulent storm. Deiji’s words echo in your mind. Jimin values family. Could it be that he wants to be a part of this child’s life?

“Can we get a paternity test, I’d like to be sure, if you don’t mind?” His voice quivers with uncertainty, his gaze flickering between Deiji and you. Despite the tremor in his voice, there’s a glimmer in his eyes, a hint of hope. You can sense it, that if this child is indeed his, he’s ready to embrace it. You just know.

Despite having rarely broached the topic of children and family, you’ve been unequivocal about your stance: kids aren’t part of your immediate plans, perhaps not even in the distant future. Yet, as you observe Jimin’s gaze, tinged with uncertainty, it's evident he’s treading carefully, mindful of your feelings.

“Yes, we can do a paternity test,” she responds, her hand instinctively drifting to her swollen belly once more, a gesture that feels almost possessive.

Jimin exhales deeply, his frustration palpable. “If this child is indeed mine,” he begins, his voice tinged with both uncertainty and a glimmer of resolve, “I want to be involved. I want to be there for them.”

His words hit you like shards of glass, each one piercing deeper than the last. You anticipated his decision, yet the reality of it cuts through you, leaving a raw ache in your chest.

“Great,” she replies with a smirk playing on her lips, as if she’s just achieved her ultimate goal with ease, leaving you feeling like a pawn in her twisted game.

Jimin scratches his head, a nervous habit you’ve noticed before, and turns to you, his expression torn between concern and uncertainty. You find it hard to meet his gaze, your own emotions swirling in a tumultuous storm. This situation feels overwhelming, like a weight you’re not prepared to bear. You're not ready to take on the role of someone's stepmother, to navigate the complexities of raising a child. It's all too much, too soon, and you're not sure how to process it all.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” she says, her tone dripping with faux innocence. As she looks between you, her eyes betray a subtle flicker of mischief. Even through the haze of your sadness, you can’t help but notice it, prompting a flicker of suspicion. What could she possibly be up to?

You’re enveloped in a storm of emotions, each one crashing against you with relentless force. This isn’t how it’s supposed to unfold, not in the grand narrative of your life. It feels like the carefully crafted script has been torn apart, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and dismay.

As Deiji departs, she leaves behind a lingering tension, promising to return with the verdict of the paternity test. In her wake, she leaves you and Jimin standing amidst the shattered remnants of what was once your certainty, the world around you now feeling as if it’s tilted on an unfamiliar axis.

In the abrupt aftermath of Deiji’s revelation, it’s as if an unbridgeable chasm has opened up between you and Jimin, leaving you stranded in a silence fraught with uncertainty. Each passing moment stretches like an eternity, filled with the weight of unspoken words and uncharted emotions, leaving you grappling for the right thing to say.

“I’m sorry,” as the tension hangs heavy in the air, Jimin’s voice breaks through the silence like a fragile whisper, laden with the weight of regret and uncertainty. His hand finds yours, offering a gentle reassurance amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions swirling around you both.

A cold numbness settles over you like a heavy shroud, dulling your senses to the world around you, even to the touch of Jimin’s hand clasping yours. Words elude you as you meet his gaze, lost in the hollow void of your own emotions, feeling hollow and devoid of purpose.

“It’s… okay. I know how important family is to you,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper, drained of its usual warmth and vitality. Each word feels heavy on your tongue, laden with the weight of resignation and sorrow. You force a semblance of understanding into your tone, masking the turmoil brewing within. Yet, beneath the surface, you’re crumbling, feeling like a mere echo of yourself, hollowed out and devoid of the vibrant spirit you once possessed.

“Do you think we can do this?” he implores, his gaze probing yours with a desperate intensity, as if seeking a lifeline in the depths of your soul. Yet, you can’t meet his eyes fully, for fear that he’ll uncover the barren expanse where hope once flourished. In the silence that follows, the weight of uncertainty hangs heavy between you, casting a shadow over any flicker of optimism that might have remained.

“I...,” you start, your voice quivering with emotion as tears threaten to spill from your eyes and your throat constricts with the weight of unspoken fears.

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, the words hanging in the air like a heavy fog, obscuring any clarity or certainty that might have once existed.

After about a week, Deiji returned with the results of the paternity test, confirming that the child was indeed Jimin’s. It felt as though the ground had shifted beneath your feet once more, leaving you reeling in the aftershocks of this irrevocable revelation.

Since then, you’ve thrown yourself into anything and everything to keep busy, desperate to avoid encountering Deiji altogether. But it seems like she’s practically moved into Jimin's place, and every time you catch a glimpse of them together, it's like a knife twisting in your gut. They’re playing house, oblivious to the turmoil they’ve caused you, and it's tearing you apart inside.

Jimin has been making an effort to keep you in the loop, updating you on the baby’s progress. He tells you that Deiji is now seven months pregnant, and it’s a girl. But with each piece of news, it’s like a dagger to your heart. Part of you doesn’t want to hear it anymore because it’s a constant reminder of the life you never signed up for, the pain you never asked to endure.

It’s not entirely Jimin’s fault; accidents can happen even with precautions. He’s made sincere efforts to include you, but despite his attempts, you can’t shake off the growing chasm between you. It’s like watching two continents slowly drift apart, unable to bridge the gap that keeps widening with each passing day.

Every time Deiji crosses your path, she exudes an aura of radiance, almost as if she's dipped in the fabled glow of pregnancy. You can’t help but notice the adoring glances she casts at Jimin, the lingering touches that seem to extend beyond mere familiarity. It's a bitter pill to swallow, witnessing these subtle gestures, and you wonder if Jimin perceives them as you do. Yet, you’ve kept your silence, letting the unspoken tensions simmer beneath the surface.

Confronting Jimin feels like stepping into a storm, knowing the tempest of emotions brewing within you. It's a conversation you know you should have, to lay bare the tumultuous whirlwind of feelings raging inside. Yet, the words stick in your throat, heavy with uncertainty and fear. How do you articulate the overwhelming doubt, the gnawing apprehension that this path isn't meant for you?

The thought of navigating this intricate web of emotions with Jimin and Deiji looming in the background feels suffocating, like grappling with shadows that threaten to swallow you whole.

The prospect of parenthood is daunting enough on its own, a weighty responsibility you don’t feel prepared to shoulder. Yet, the thought of co-parenting with another woman adds a layer of complexity you can scarcely fathom. While you acknowledge that blended families are a reality for many, you struggle to envision it as your own. The mere idea of navigating this uncharted territory feels like venturing into a labyrinth with no clear path forward, leaving you grappling with uncertainty and a profound sense of unease.

The green-eyed monster rears its head within you, its claws sinking deep into your heart every time you witness Deiji’s presence beside your boyfriend. Watching her cozy up to him feels like an intrusion, a relentless assault on the sanctuary of your relationship. With each stolen glance and tender touch, it's as if she’s encroaching on sacred ground, threatening to snatch him away from the haven of your love.

You’ve been drifting apart from Jimin, caught in a whirlwind of avoidance and busy distractions. Despite his efforts to reach out and bridge the growing chasm between you, you’ve been hesitant, grappling with conflicting emotions. However, when he extends the invitation, promising to cook for you, you find yourself unable to resist the pull any longer. It’s a chance to reconnect, to confront the mounting tension between you, even if it means braving the storm of uncertainty that awaits.

As you pull into the familiar driveway of his ranch, the weight in your chest seems to grow heavier with each passing second. Dread coils around your heart like a suffocating vine, yet you know deep down that this conversation, however daunting, is inevitable. You sit in the car for a moment, grappling with the turmoil within, torn between the comfort of avoidance and the necessity of facing the truth head-on. With a resigned sigh, you steel yourself for what lies ahead and step out into the uncertain terrain of your emotions.

As you swing the door open, a tantalizing aroma envelops you, weaving its way through the air and tickling your senses. Stepping into the kitchen, your eyes meet Jimin’s, and though he greets you with open arms and a warm embrace, the sweetness of his gesture fails to penetrate the thick fog of your unease. His lips press against yours in a tender kiss, but the connection feels hollow, as if the weight of unspoken words hangs heavy between you.

With a gentle gesture, he pulls out the stool for you, a silent invitation to join him. As you settle onto the seat, your gaze falls upon the meticulously arranged plate of food before you. Despite the rumbling of hunger in your stomach, an invisible barrier seems to stand between you and the meal, rendering it unappetizing despite its savory allure.

“How are you doing, babe?” He inquires, settling into the chair opposite you. With a tender gesture, he reaches for the water pitcher, his eyes never leaving yours as he fills your glass, a silent act of care amidst the weight of unspoken emotions.

Your gaze remains fixed on the plate before you, yet your mind races like a frantic symphony, each thought clamoring for attention amidst the chaos. Your heart quickens its pace within your chest, a drumbeat of apprehension echoing in the silence. Your palms grow clammy with the weight of unspoken words, and your head spins with the tumult of emotions swirling within.

“Babe?” His voice, soft yet insistent, pulls you from the depths of your swirling thoughts. Leaning in, his eyes search yours, brimming with concern, a silent plea for understanding in the midst of your internal storm.

“I...,” your voice falters, tears threatening to spill anew, a familiar ache settling in your chest. “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” the words tumble out, heavy with the weight of uncertainty and fear. As you speak, each syllable feels like a burden, your body tensing, constricted by the weight of your emotions. It’s as if your heart is trapped, pounding relentlessly against the confines of your ribs, suffocating in the tightness of the moment, each breath a struggle against invisible restraints.

“What do you mean?” His voice carries the weight of concern, etched with worry lines that deepen with each passing second. His eyes, a mirror to his troubled mind, search yours for answers, pleading for clarity amidst the fog of uncertainty.

“It’s tearing me apart, Jimin,” you confess, the words tumbling out in a rush, as if trying to escape the weight of your emotions. “Seeing you and Deiji together, it’s like a constant reminder of what I’m not ready for. I can’t handle it—I’m not prepared to step into that role, especially not with someone else’s child.” The heaviness in your chest threatens to suffocate you, each syllable a battle against the turmoil within.

Despite the softness in his gaze, your mind is too consumed by turmoil to fully register it. “I’m sorry, babe,” Jimin murmurs, his voice laced with genuine concern, but it feels distant, overshadowed by the weight of your confession.

His words, though well-meaning, falter as they leave his lips, carrying a hint of uncertainty that mirrors your own inner turmoil. “I’ve been trying to include you in everything... it’s going to be alright. I think we can do it together,” Jimin says, his voice wavering slightly, echoing the uncertainty that looms over your shared future.

With a heavy heart and trembling resolve, you muster the courage to speak your truth. “That hasn’t really helped me... and,” you draw in a deep breath, steeling yourself for the words to come, “I want to break up.” As the weight of your decision hangs in the air, you can almost hear the echoes of your heartbeat, each pulse a reminder of the profound shift unfolding between you.

His face registers the shock of your words, a flicker of hurt crossing his features as though caught off guard by the abruptness of your revelation. The surprise in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent testament to his obliviousness to the silent turmoil brewing beneath the surface for weeks. Amidst the whirlwind of impending fatherhood, perhaps your distress remained invisible, eclipsed by the overwhelming anticipation of a new chapter. It’s a bitter realization, yet you find no solace in casting blame; after all, his preoccupation was understandable given the circumstances.

His words tremble with uncertainty, mirroring the quiver in his voice that betrays a vulnerability you hadn’t fully anticipated. As his gaze meets yours, laden with a blend of confusion and desperation, you grasp the gravity of your decision. His untouched meal sits forgotten, a testament to the weight of your revelation. “You... you want to break up with me?” The question hangs heavy in the air, laced with a rawness that pierces through the silence. “I don’t want us to break up. I love you.” Yet, amidst the turmoil, his declaration of love resonates, a fragile plea tethered to the hope of salvaging what remains of your bond.

With a silent nod, you feel the lump in your throat constricting, stifling the words that threaten to spill forth, and tears blur your vision like unbidden raindrops on a windowpane.

“But I can’t do this anymore, Jimin. I love you deeply, I really do. But this… it hurts me so much, I can’t take it,” you express, your fingertips tracing a path along your arm as tears carve rivulets down your cheeks, your voice quivering with emotion and your breath hitching with each sniffle.

“Babe, I’m truly sorry. I had no idea you were carrying this weight and feeling like this,” his voice drips with sorrow, each word heavy with remorse, and it only amplifies the ache in your chest, pulling you deeper into the vortex of sadness.

“It’s okay. I should have talked to you sooner, it’s just been so hard. A lot has happened and you’re going to be a father and that’s great!” You force enthusiasm into your voice, the artificiality of it chafing against your soul, leaving a bitter aftertaste that lingers uncomfortably.

A furrow deepens upon his brow, betraying the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. His lips, usually so quick to speak, now maintain an uneasy silence, concealing the torrent of thoughts and feelings poised to spill forth.

“I really think it’s best to break up,” you reiterate, sensing a fleeting calm settle over your racing heart.

“But I can’t bear the thought of losing you,” he pleads, his voice cracking, tears glistening in his eyes. It’s agonizing. You tighten your grip, desperately searching for any semblance of resolve.

“I know, I don’t want to lose you either. But as much as it pains me, I can’t go on like this. I need to break up,” you say, trying to hold firm, though every word feels like a jagged shard piercing your heart.

“If that’s truly what you want,” his voice barely audible, almost drowned in the weight of the moment, “then I... I understand.”

“It is,” you respond, the finality of your decision echoing in the stillness of the room.

Tears cascade down both your cheeks, reflecting the pain and sorrow shared between you. With a heavy heart, you rise from the stool, your voice quivering with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Jimin.”

His gaze averts from yours, perhaps overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. You share the sentiment; the intensity is almost suffocating, tears obscuring your vision like a torrential downpour.

“Thank you for dinner. I’m sorry I couldn’t eat, and I’m sorry it had to end like this,” you manage through tears as you step out of the house. Each word feels like a boulder on your chest, weighing you down with the enormity of the situation. Behind you, Jimin’s sobs echo in the air, tugging at the fraying edges of your resolve. You yearn to turn back, to embrace him, and promise that somehow, everything will be alright. But deep down, you know that this pain is inevitable, and your heart, already fractured, can’t bear any more.

As you park your car at home, the weight of the evening’s emotional storm presses down upon you. Tears blur your vision as you lean back in your seat, surrendering momentarily to the overwhelming tide of sadness. Suddenly, a soft knock on your window breaks through the solitude. Startled, you glance over to find your sister standing there, her concerned eyes peering in through the glass, offering a glimmer of solace in the darkness of your despair.

You attempt to staunch the flow of tears with the rough fabric of your sleeve, and you take a deep breath and gather your courage before opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air.

Her eyes widen with concern, scanning your face for clues to the turmoil within. “What happened?” she asks, her voice laced with apprehension, mirroring the anxious furrow of her brow.

You collapse into her embrace, tears flowing freely as you surrender to the weight of your emotions. “I broke up with Jimin,” you confess, your voice choking with sorrow and regret.

She envelops you in a comforting embrace, whispering soothing words into your ear as her gentle hand traces comforting circles on your trembling back, offering solace in the warmth of her presence.

The solace she offers feels like a balm to your wounded soul, a fleeting moment of respite amidst the storm of emotions raging within you.

As she absorbs your tears with her embrace, she gently queries, “Why did you break up with him?” Her voice carries a blend of concern and curiosity, inviting you to share the weight of your heartache.

Amidst your tears and sniffles, you pour out your heart, “I don’t want kids and I can’t be in a relationship with Jimin and Deiji, because she’ll always be there now.” The weight of your words carries the burden of your decision, punctuating the depth of your emotional turmoil.

With gentle reassurance, she guides you across the yard, her comforting touch a lifeline in the storm of your emotions. Though your steps falter, you find solace in her presence as she leads you back into the sanctuary of the house, your tears mingling with the memories of what once was.

“I’m so sorry,” with heartfelt sincerity, she utters words of empathy, her voice a soothing balm to your wounded spirit. As you both settle onto the familiar embrace of the couch in the living room, she enfolds you in her arms once more, offering solace in the warmth of her embrace.

“Me too,” you manage between choked sobs, the ache in your chest palpable with each word. “I still love him so much. It fucking hurts!” Your voice rises, echoing the turmoil within, tears streaming down your face unabated. As your body trembles with emotion, you wonder if this pain will ever relent, if time will ever heal this shattered heart.

“It’s going to be alright, sis,” she murmurs, her voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. With gentle strokes, she caresses your hair, guiding your head to rest against her chest. In the warmth of her embrace, you find a fleeting solace, a momentary respite from the tempest of emotions tearing you apart.

“I don’t know, Jess…” You manage between hiccups, the weight of your words heavy with sorrow. “Jimin is the love of my life. I’m just not ready for kids... and I…” Pausing to gather the fragments of your shattered heart, you let the raw ache of longing spill forth. “I can’t do it. I feel jealous all the time. And now he’s going to be a dad?” Each syllable quivers with the agony of uncertainty, a plaintive cry echoing the turmoil within.

She gently pats your head again, a soothing rhythm against the tempest raging within you, yet the storm of emotions refuses to settle.

“I hate myself for feeling like this. For not being ready to have kids… but I just can’t,” you confess, your tears flowing erratically, echoing the tumultuous turmoil within.

“Perhaps my love isn’t strong enough,” you suddenly ponder aloud, lifting your gaze to seek solace in your sister’s eyes, hoping for clarity amidst the storm of doubts swirling within.

“I believe you love Jimin with every fiber of your being. But sometimes, prioritizing your own well-being is necessary. If you can’t fully commit, it’s better to step away before you’re consumed by the pain,” she offers, her words a balm to your wounded heart. Despite the anguish tearing you apart, her reassurance provides a glimmer of clarity, even though the thought of moving on from Jimin feels like an insurmountable task— and deep down you know that you’ll never get over Jimin.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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#jimin x reader #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts x reader #my heart's home series #reader: female #au: cowboy #au: ranch #au: soulmates #au: childhood friends #au: friends to lovers #au: slice of life #theme: summer #vibe: smutty #vibe: romcom #vibe: angst #vibe: fluffy

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lamb-bait · 6 days ago

Text

I realized something about myself sooner than my parents did, sooner than my friends did, and sooner than anyone I managed to lie through my teeth and convince to love me.

I was a wolf.

Selfish, jealous, vile. The mask I wore to comfort those around me, the tendencies I had when I saw something or someone wanted - all those years of repressed urges. It's hard. I was born in the wrong century, the wrong millenia, the wrong era. Imagine if I could just take what I wanted? If bashing in someone's skull was an action people looked up at, all these violent and disgusting desires weren't socially frowned upon.

Thankfully, tumblr has been a lovely faucet to expell my thoughts. To share some things before I imploded. Even if my physical, innate horrid nature was left unattended, and my emotional capacity was shallow to hear empty, feeling my heart race and obtaining a genuine and pure emotion for someone other than myself - through rape, father figured smut and vile fantasies - felt as though my mask was finally off. Chasing something I don't deserve, something I can never have. lying to myself, convincing myself that it was possible. yeah right. as if.

my ranting aside, today's topic is about emotional selfishness.

I often claim that I'm obsessive and possessive, and while that's true, it only happens once I make a connection to someone. An emotional one. Expressing weaknesses, smiling at the messages, longing for the painful distance of someone who finally understands me for who I am. A creep putting on the front of a polite, somewhat normal guy who wants to be loved for the person he doesn't have the audacity to present to the world. I urge people to get close to me, I tease and smile and laugh, I worry and comfort, I ask them to tell me their secrets, their concerns, their lives - while holding every part of me back. Would they waste their time with me if they knew what I was? If they knew that my fantasies and desires were innate and not just built off of things I saw online? Could I truly take off the mask and still be accepted? Or, present myself as the engima and play along with that concept until they find someone else to make them feel the same way I once did? Can I handle watching someone I've grown attached to slowly drift away? The sick and twisted thing I call my heart, has it always been that fragile? It must have. The single most thing I despise being done to me, was easier to do to others.

I understand, more than what anyone may think I do about the fear of abandonment. And, it's one of the greatest hurdles I hope to jump through one of these days. But, I really need to put an end to dumping my insecurities online - but hey, it's my blog. I'm sure you'll get a more vile post later tonight. Until then,

With love, lust and everything inbetween,

Shepard

#1cky puppy #br33d1ng #cnc blackmail #cnc kidnapping #forced intox #intox #intox cnc #intox kink #rough cnc #corruption kink #1cky #1cky princess #1cky daughter #1cky d@d #1cky baby #doll

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2nd2ndalto · 1 year ago

Text

You Can Lose Sight of It All

Nico turns his face into Will's shoulder. "I don't want you to come," he wants to say. But even as the words form in his mouth, he realizes they're not true.

“I want you to come. And I hate that I want you to come,” he whispers.

___

Nico has a bit of a crisis about Will coming along to Tartarus, pre-TSATS. Re-posting here because I don't think I shared to Tumblr when I wrote this.

____

Will walks Nico back to his cabin that night the same as always, leaning in to kiss him at the foot of the stairs.

“Did you want me to… I can stay, if you want?” Will asks shyly.

They've been doing this more often than not lately, the two of them curled together in Nico’s bed, slowly falling into sleep together, waking hand in hand, or with Nico’s head pillowed on Will’s chest. Warm. Safe. And it’s good. It’s the best Nico can ever remember sleeping, but…

“Um. Maybe not tonight. I’m really tired,” Nico says, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible, not wanting the other boy to feel rejected. He's painfully aware that he’s given a similar excuse several times this week.

He’s never been quite so close to someone else or someone else’s feelings before, never had to weigh his actions so carefully, worry about their impact. But that’s good, too. He feels close, connected. Cared for.

Will smiles. “Okay.”

Will’s just as careful, Nico knows, trying not to make Nico feel bad for needing a little space now and then. Trying not to push too hard. Will squeezes Nico’s hand. He leans back in to press his lips to Nico’s forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nico watches the other boy until he arrives at the Apollo cabin. Will turns and waves before closing the door behind him.

Nico enters his own cabin, toeing off his shoes and dropping to his bed immediately. He is tired. But in the sudden absence of Will’s sunny energy, the other feelings seep in too, washing over him like a wave now that he’s alone. He feels guilty. Heavy. Will’s words to Apollo keep coming back, even louder in this quiet space.

We’ll go together.

And it felt good hearing them. He loves that Will wants to be with him, marvels at the way Will automatically assumes each of Nico’s battles belongs to the two of them now. He craves Will’s company and his energy and his warmth. But how can he, in good conscience, let Will come with him? Or more importantly, how is he going to convince him not to?

Nico gazes into the darkness of his cabin. He thinks of Will, strong and sunny and whole. Who could blame Nico for wanting him to stay that way?

He thinks of himself: sharp edges, broken, cobbled together. He feels more whole now than he has in years, but it seems precarious, especially lately. As if he could crumble to pieces at any moment, maybe even worse than before, now that he’s begun to let his guard down.

It’s been three nights now since Will’s slept over. And Nico doesn’t want the distance, doesn’t want to wake up alone and uncuddled… he doesn’t really want those things ever again, if he’s being completely honest. But it feels more and more dangerous lately, allowing himself Will’s comfort. Will’s become his anchor, his rock. But shouldn’t he be able to manage on his own?

The memories of his mother, Bianca... Jason. Everyone he’s lost, everything he might have done to keep from losing them, every way it might be his fault… it’s all come back with a vengeance the last few weeks, torturing him in dreams and stubbornly lingering throughout the day, dragging him down, sapping his strength. And more recently the dreams are of Will, too. Will, pale and lifeless. Will, ripped away from him, lost in the void.

Nico’s been keeping these nightmares to himself, hoping the memories will fade into the background again, but it's been making him short-tempered and irritable. Fragile. As much as he’s been trying, he thinks he's probably not doing a great job of hiding it.

Twenty minutes later Nico’s still exhausted, but now he’s twitchy and antsy and still so heavy. He pulls his shoes back on, carefully checking for onlookers as he opens his door and walks out into the cool night.

___

The walking keeps the voices away, but hours later, Nico’s beyond exhausted, not to mention cold and mosquito-bitten. He drags himself back to his cabin just as a faint light touches the horizon, hoping that at least in his weariness he’ll be able to keep his sleep to himself.

It works for a while. Will and Kayla arrive to wake him only a few hours later. Nico pretends not to notice their matching looks of concern when he arrives at his cabin door, likely looking more tired than he did when he went to bed last night. He manages to wave them off for the time being, telling them he needs to shower and he’ll meet them at breakfast.

And now, in the daylight, he allows himself to think - maybe it will be okay. Maybe they can do this. He’s been through Tartarus before, after all. He was younger then, and completely unprepared. He’s stronger now, smarter. Will is too. Why couldn’t they do this together? After all, Percy and Annabeth managed it.

But the spark of hope dims too soon. There’s Will across the dining pavilion, looking so bright and alive, the sun catching the gold in his hair, and Nico’s back to square one.

He can’t allow Will to do this. There’s just no way. He’s gotten too comfortable over the last year, allowing others in - especially Will, but so many others at camp too. He suddenly realizes it’s a trap. He feels a painful twist of nausea.

“Hey sunshine,” Will grins, bumping their shoulders together as Nico sits down. Will can’t help the way his gaze darts to Nico’s plate, the way his face falls, just a little. Will quickly pretends he didn’t look, and Nico pretends not to notice.

Normally Nico doesn't mind the gentle chiding to eat more, to take better care of himself. It's helped, honestly. He's managed to get his weight up to a number that Will deems acceptable (he'd informed Nico, with a brilliant, fond smile). Nico has more energy. He finds, to his surprise, that he can recover more quickly when he's tired or injured.

But he's also been a wreck lately, his stomach in knots, and he's snapped at Will twice this week in response to Will teasingly adding more food to his plate. The last year has brought Nico so much further towards being happier, healthier, more settled. Now he feels as if it's slipping away to nothing.

Will drops a reassuring arm around Nico’s shoulders, leaning in for a quick kiss. Nico’s stomach lurches, pleasantly this time. Always, even after months of such kisses and touches. Will tastes like maple syrup and sunshine and he’s so warm where they’re pressed together. Surely they don’t have to talk about Tartarus right now, anyway.

They don’t. There’s a game of capture the flag happening later, and the Apollo kids are deep in discussion about tactics. Nico lets himself be lulled by the familiar voices discussing familiar, smaller problems. He doesn’t contribute much, instead making an attempt to eat some of his meal - as much as Will’s pretending not to pay attention, Nico thinks he might be one of the least stealthy people Nico’s ever met. He'd tease Will about it if he had the energy. Nico leans into the other boy and lets Will’s warmth wash over him. Will pulls him in tighter.

Peace, at least for a moment. ___

Nico’s been perched in the branches of a sturdy oak with Harley for the better part of an hour, and it’s starting to wear on him. They’re supposed to be spying on the other team - quietly - but this kid cannot seem to shut up. Normally Nico can find it in himself to be patient with the younger boy, but today the constant chatter is grating on Nico’s nerves, and that makes him feel like shit too. He just can’t seem to get a handle on his mood.

“Shh,” Nico says suddenly, grabbing Harley’s arm.

There’s a scrambling in the underbrush below and sure enough, several of the other campers are trying to breach their defenses. It’s exactly what Nico’s been waiting for, and he closes his eyes, concentrating on extending his mind into the earth below them, running down the roots of the tree they’re sitting in, deeper, deeper.

It works. Half a dozen skeleton warriors emerge from the ground just as the Demeter and Athena campers emerge from the trees.

It’s over in an instant, and soon Nico and Harley are dropping back to the ground and trading high-fives with the Apollo campers. And for a moment Nico spirits lift and he appreciates how nice it is to be doing something normal. No voices, no visions, just dumb camp stuff. But then -

“Hey, where’s Will?” Austin asks. He turns to Nico. “I thought he was with you.”

It’s nothing, Nico knows it’s probably nothing, but it’s like a stone drops into the pit of his stomach.

“No,” he shakes his head. “He wasn’t with us.”

He can already feel his pulse pounding in his throat.

Will. Your fault.

No.

Get it together, di Angelo.

Nico presses the feeling down, trying to keep his voice steady. “He was with Jake. Last I saw them, they were heading east towards the oak grove.”

No one panics, but the mood shifts tangibly to less celebratory and more urgent as the group makes their way through the forest. Nico has to force himself not to sprint.

“Jake! Will!” Kayla yells, over and over as they make their way through the trees. Her volume sometimes grates on Nico, but he’s grateful for it in this moment, and he follows close behind her, heart in his throat.

“Over here!” a voice calls in response, finally, and the group turns in unison. Sure enough, there’s a flash of bright orange in amongst the greens and browns of the forest, just barely visible in the faded colours of twilight.

Austin gets there first, and Nico hears him curse. His blood runs cold. He and the rest of the group come upon the clearing a second later.

“Shit,” Nico breathes.

“Harpies,” Jake says, sounding out of breath. “I’m fine - I think Will is too. But he hit his head.”

Jake’s got a scrape across his face and a couple of deeper ones on his arm, blood dripping down his wrist. And then there’s Will on the ground, unconscious and looking deathly pale. Nico’s stomach twists. There’s blood, too. Nico can’t bear to look closely enough to see where it’s coming from. His chest feels too tight.

Coward.

And Nico should do something, right? But he’s frozen, useless. The best he can do is try to swallow down the bile rising in his throat and move out of the way so the other Apollo campers can crowd closer to help.

Nico finds himself standing next to Jake, who’s being expertly bandaged by Austin while Kayla assesses Will’s condition.

“He’s okay, Nico,” Jake murmurs, maybe taking in Nico’s expression. “The cuts aren’t that deep. But when we were running back to base he tripped over some roots. That’s when he knocked himself out.”

Nico nods mutely, watching. Sure enough, it’s only a moment before Will’s eyes flutter open. He tries to sit up, but Kayla presses him back down.

“Just hold still until I get you bandaged up, you klutz,” she mutters.

Nico should go to him. Everyone will expect him to go, right? Will will expect him to go. But he just can't breathe, and instead he finds himself taking a shaky step backwards, then another, finally turning and running into the woods, into the shadows.

___

Will jogs up the steps of the Hades cabin feeling anxious. He tries to shake it off. Sure, Nico's been stressed out lately, but they're still fine, right? It's going to be fine. Hearing random voices would put anyone on edge. Will tries, yet again, to convince himself that it doesn’t mean anything, that Nico disappeared after capture the flag last night. That it’s fine that he didn’t stop by the infirmary while Will was recovering. That it's not a big deal that Nico missed breakfast this morning.

He knocks on Nico’s door, trying for a positive, upbeat demeanor.

The door opens, and Nico returns his gaze for barely a second. Will’s heart sinks.

Nico doesn’t say a word, merely leaving the door open and crossing the room to collapse onto his bed. Will can't see his boyfriend's face now, but from the brief glimpse he had in the dim light of the cabin, Nico looked awful. Tired and drawn. Nico’s worked so hard - with Will’s insistence and encouragement - to get his weight up over the last year, and Will's terrified the other boy's losing every hard-earned pound of it now. But that seems to be just one more thing he’s not allowed to mention.

"Um. Can I come in?" Will hovers uncertainly in the doorway, finally entering and closing the door behind him when Nico doesn't respond. It's really dark in here with the door closed and all the blinds drawn, especially as Will’s eyes try to adjust from the bright light outside.

“You, um." Will clears his throat. "No one knew where you were last night. After capture the flag,” he says into the quiet of the cabin. “Kayla said you were there when everyone found Jake and me, but…" he trails off, uncertain.

Will doesn’t say that he spent all evening compulsively glancing up every time he heard anyone come near his room in the infirmary. That he walked up to the door of the Hades cabin before returning to his own cabin last night, but that he was too scared to knock.

There’s a long pause. “Yeah. I was just… walking,” Nico says.

"Oh." Will crosses to the bed, hesitantly sitting down. “So… what are you up to?”

“Reading,” Nico says flatly, though that’s clearly not the case.

Will’s never felt so unwelcome here before, and it’s making his stomach ache. He reaches out for Nico’s hand, squeezes it. Nico lets him, but gives him only the smallest squeeze in response.

Will swallows. He’s not going to participate in this, he decides suddenly. He’s not going to let Nico shut him out, and he’s not going to tiptoe around this. He squeezes Nico’s hand again.

“So, obviously you’re not okay,” Will tells the other boy. His voice sounds weird, too loud, breaking the silence of the cabin. He clears his throat.

“Nico.” Will shifts so he can see Nico’s face better, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. “You’re clamming up,” he says firmly. “I thought we weren’t doing that anymore.”

He realizes, even as the words leave his mouth, that this is the wrong thing to say - or at least the wrong way to say it. But it’s too late. Nico turns towards him, his gaze intense and incredulous in a way that Will barely recognizes.

“Really? We aren’t doing that anymore?”

Will shakes his head, “I’m sorry, that came out wrong -”

Nico sits up, snatching his hand away. “No. I don’t think it did.”

“Nico -”

“No. Stop it, Will.” Nico’s voice is tight with anger. “I know exactly what you meant. We don’t clam up anymore. We clean our plates at every meal. We sleep eight hours a night.”

“No, Nico, please, I -”

“I’ve had enough, Solace. Maybe this is just who I am. Maybe it’s you who needs to finally realize that you don’t want that.”

Nico’s on his feet now, and Will thinks he probably should be too, but he feels paralyzed.

“What? No! Nico, you know that’s not true!” Will reaches out a hand, but Nico takes a step back. It’s like a punch to the gut.

Will can see the other boy is fighting tears, and all he wants to do is to hold him, make this all better, but -

“You and Mr. D. keep trying to tell me that I don’t know what’s real,” Nico croaks. “Maybe that’s not my problem after all. Maybe it’s yours.” Nico turns, reaching for his sword and then bending to pull on his shoes.

“Where - where are you going?” Will finally manages to get to his feet, unthinkingly reaching out to the other boy again before dropping his hand.

“I don’t know.”

“Nico. Please.” It surprises Will, how broken his own voice sounds, and Nico must notice too, because he turns and his face softens, marginally.

“I just need some time, okay? I’m - I think I’m gonna go see Hazel.”

And then he’s gone, enveloped into the shadows of his cabin. It’s been months since they’ve parted without a kiss or an embrace, and Will can feel the cold sinking into his heart as he sinks to the cabin floor. ___

Once he’s shadow-travelled to the Berkeley Hills, Nico can’t quite force himself to go any further. He knows in his heart that he’s screwed up, again, and surely Hazel will tell him the same. After a restless night and several hours the next morning spent wandering and wallowing in guilt and regret, it’s finally hunger, frustratingly, that compels Nico to journey further.

It’s still early, and when he knocks on the door of Hazel’s room in the barracks, she answers immediately.

“Nico! What on earth are you doing here?” Hazel wraps him in a hug and then steps back, her brow furrowed.

“I - I’m not sure,” Nico says, suddenly feeling even more lost. Now that he’s arrived, he realizes he doesn’t know why he came. Except that he told Will this was where he’d be, and that, at least, means something.

Hazel frowns, inspecting Nico’s face a little too closely. He looks away, feeling exposed.

“Come in,” she says, more softly.

Nico’s not sure who designed Hazel's living quarters, but it certainly wasn’t whomever was given free rein with the Hades cabin. The space is small - it’s just Hazel, after all - but the walls are light and the space is sparsely decorated with bright jewel-tones. Hazel’s already made her bed and tidied, and it makes Nico feel even more disheveled. He’s sweaty, tired and wearing the same clothes he’s been in for several days.

Hazel closes the door and turns to her brother. “So, it’s wonderful to see you, of course. But… what’s going on?”

Nico swallows, staring down at the wood-plank flooring. “Um. I told Will I was coming to see you, but… I think I’m leaving camp for good.”

It’s the idea he’s been turning over in his mind ever since the evening of capture the flag, and it’s pressing against his skull, swelling until there aren’t any other options that make sense.

To her credit, Hazel doesn’t shout or scold. She just sighs. “You better sit down.”

Nico does, collapsing onto Hazel’s desk chair and dropping his head into his hands.

“You look kind of awful,” Hazel says after a long moment.

“Yeah,” Nico says. “I haven’t been sleeping. Or eating, really. The - the voices I’ve been hearing… they haven’t gotten any better. They’re louder, if anything.”

“Oh, Nico,” Hazel says softly, and great, that’s just what he needs. The chronic lack of sleep combined with the stress of the last few weeks has tears rolling down his cheeks before Nico has any chance of fighting against it. Hazel’s there in a moment, though, bending over him awkwardly to embrace him, her hair ticking his face.

“Sorry,” Nico whispers, trying to catch his breath. “I swear I didn’t come here to cry all over you.”

Hazel laughs. “It’s okay, big brother. That’s what I’m here for. Now tell me everything.”

So he does. It helps, somehow, that Hazel’s a bit more removed from everything else that’s been going on. Everyone back at camp, worrying about him. Especially Will. He tells Hazel how he feels as if he’s losing himself again. He tells her about capture the flag, how Will’s injury sent each and every alarm in him blaring. He tells her about the nightmares. The voices.

“You think the voices are real, then,” Hazel says. She’s sunk to the floor now, seated cross-legged at Nico’s feet.

Nico swallows. “I - yes. I know they are. And there’s the prophecy, Hazel.” He repeats the lines again. It should get easier with each retelling, but it aches every time.

“Something of equal value,” Hazel muses, staring into the middle distance.

Nico nods tightly. “I think… I think that’s what’s worrying me most.”

“You think it’s Will.”

He shrugs, tears pricking at his eyes again. “How can I not? Hazel, I’m so scared,” his voice comes out in a whisper, throat tight as he finally allows himself to say the word out loud. “He says he’s coming with me, like it’s not even up for discussion. How am I supposed to live with myself if I let Will come, and he - he…” Unable to voice the rest of the thought, Nico buries his head in his hands again.

Hazel’s quiet for a long moment. “You know you can’t ever take these prophecies at face value,” she says finally.

“Yeah, of course I know that," Nico mumbles. "But what else am I supposed to do? I just… I can’t let Will come. It’s not safe.”

She shrugs. “Probably not. Is it safe for you, though?”

Nico gazes at the purple curtains, fluttering gently in the breeze from the open window. The air smells like life, and light.

“I guess it doesn’t matter. I need to go.”

“I think what you need to do is talk to Will,” Hazel says after a long moment.

Nico sighs. “I don’t even know if he'll want to talk to me. He - he caught me at a bad moment. Yesterday. Not that it's his fault, but... I - I was so worried. And so tired. And I was just a complete dick. I should have just been straight with him, but instead I lashed out about really stupid things, and then I left.” He groans. “I’m so bad at this, Hazel."

It’s weighing on him more and more the longer he’s away. He hates that he left things the way he did, hates knowing that Will’s hurting, worrying. Because of him.

"You're not as bad as you think you are, Nico."

Nico huffs out a laugh.

“Will cares a lot about you. I've seen the way he looks at you, Nico. I know it's hard, but don't shut him out now.”

Nico nods. His throat feels tight.

"If the situation was reversed," Hazel says gently, "how would you react to Will telling you he was going on a quest like this by himself?"

Nico frowns. "Well, obviously I - I wouldn't let him. That wouldn't be right. I'd do anything I could to help."

"Mmm,” Hazel agrees. “You'd probably find a way to go with him even if he insisted you stay behind."

Nico frowns. "I know what you're doing, okay? And I didn't come all this way for you to side with Will," he says, trying to summon a little indignation.

Hazel reaches for his hand. "Sorry," she laughs. "But just think about it, okay?"

Nico sighs, closing his eyes. Hazel’s hand is warm in his. He can already feel his mind beginning to settle towards sleep. He’s just so tired. He opens his eyes, leans back, blinking.

"Do you really want to leave camp?" Hazel asks.

Nico shakes his head. “No, of course I don’t. I just - I don’t know. It seemed to make the most sense.”

“Okay. Well, I need you to know that it doesn’t.” Hazel watches him carefully and Nico nods.

“You can’t make any big decisions in this state anyway, okay? You’re going to come with me and have something to eat, and then I’m putting you to bed,” Hazel says firmly, and Nico is reminded so violently of Will that his heart aches. Gods, he misses the other boy so much already. ___

Nico’s still not sure what to do next, but he and Hazel agree that Camp Jupiter will make a fine refuge for the day.

It’s nice, actually. He eats breakfast with Hazel and then she tucks him into her bed. Nico naps the morning away, mostly peacefully, his dreams muted and less troubled than they have been. He trains with Hazel and Frank in the afternoon and stays for dinner.

And then, because he’s an idiot and a coward, he lingers until after nightfall, trying to tell himself it’ll just be easier if he doesn't have to shadow-travel in the daytime.

Nico arrives back at Camp Half-Blood once it’s well and truly dark, and he hesitates at the border of the woods, irresolute. Should he head straight back to his cabin? Find Will? His stomach is still in knots, but at least now he’s moving forward. Whatever that might mean.

In the end, the decision is made for him.

“Nico.” Will’s voice is hard and determined, and it startles Nico a little, the sight of the other boy striding towards him. At the ferocity in Will’s gaze, he almost takes a step back.

Will stops a foot away, suddenly looking less sure of himself, and Nico feels his heart constrict. He suddenly realizes he can’t remember the last time they greeted each other without some show of affection. It’s crushing to see Will uncertain whether it’s allowed.

Nico tries to swallow down his nerves. “Hi,” he says softly. “Um. Can I…” Hesitantly, he reaches out his arms, and Will’s there the next second, crushing Nico to his chest.

“I didn’t know if you were coming back,” Will whispers, and Nico can hear the tears in his voice.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles into Will’s shirt. “I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot and I love you so much and I don't want to lose you -” his own voice breaks and Will squeezes him a bit tighter, turning his head to press his face into Nico’s hair. "I love you too," he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” Nico mutters again when they finally part, his head down.

“It’s okay,” Will says. "I think we should talk, though."

Nico nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

They gaze at each other for a long moment. “Um. My cabin?” Nico asks hesitantly.

They cross the green together. Nico aches to take the other boy’s hand, but something holds him back. Things aren’t quite right with them, and it’s his fault. It’s his fault he can’t sleep, his fault he can’t eat. And now this.

They’re silent as they enter the cabin. Nico crosses to his bed, turning on the lamp and sinking down gratefully. The past two days feel as if they've lasted several months. Will takes a seat on the bed across the room. The space between them is like an endless gulf, and Nico feels himself automatically leaning forward, as if that will bridge the gap.

“I need to apologize,” Will says, twisting his hands in his lap.

Nico glances up, surprised. “What? Why?”

“Before you left - I pushed you to talk to me when you didn’t want to. I should have given you space. That was... I wasn't respecting your boundaries, and -”

“Will, no.” Nico’s across the room before he’s even registered that he’s moving, coming to a stop in front of Will to wrap his arms around the other boy’s shoulders.

“It's my fault. This is all my fault. I was an asshole.” Nico mumbles into Will's hair. “I’m just so scared Will,” he says, his voice breaking. It’s a bit easier to talk this way, without those kind blue eyes gazing into his, that beloved freckled face etched with concern.

Will tries to pull back, but Nico doesn’t let him, and after a moment he winds his arms tighter around Nico’s waist.

“I don’t understand. What are you scared of? You mean the voices?” Will asks, his voice muffled against Nico's chest.

Nico swallows. “I can’t lose you.” And gods just saying the words makes him feel as though he’s going to crumble to pieces. He can’t do this again. Not with Will. He couldn’t save his mother. He couldn’t save Bianca, or Jason. But maybe he can save Will.

“Nico.” Will goes to pull away again, and this time Nico relents. Will yanks him down so Nico’s sitting in his lap.

“You are not going to lose me,” Will says fiercely. “You couldn’t lose me if you wanted to. Is that what this is about? I thought you were mad at me for… you know. Being overbearing, and pushy, and…”

Nico half-shrugs. “I mean, you are,” he says weakly, and Will rolls his eyes and finally, finally smiles.

“Yeah, I know. And I’m really sorry about that. I’m trying to tone it down, and I’m going to keep trying. I’m probably still going to screw up sometimes, but please don’t ever think that I want you to be anything other than what you are, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Nico asks, his throat tight.

“Yes. I want you. And if you don’t want to eat or sleep or - or talk… I’ll still love you just the same.”

“I do want to eat and sleep. And talk,” Nico says, his voice wobbly. "It’s just been really hard lately. I don't - I don't usually mind when you bug me about those things. I know it’s because you care. It's just… the last week or so… my nightmares have been… really bad -” his voice breaks again and this time he can’t pull himself back fast enough and the next thing he’s aware of he’s sobbing, hard enough that he can’t catch his breath. Will doesn’t flinch, though. He gathers Nico in, holds tight. Nico’s not sure how long they stay that way, but Will keeps holding on after the tears have eased, his face pressed into Nico’s shoulder, like if he holds on tight enough, he can will all of Nico’s broken pieces back together. Nico wants him to.

“I wish you’d told me,” Will whispers, and then he pulls back, his eyes searching Nico’s. “Not that - not that you have to tell me everything if you don’t want to. Just - I’ve been worried about you and I wasn’t sure what was going on. I thought it was probably something I’d done.”

Nico shakes his head immediately. “No, it’s not your fault. I’m just the worst.”

Will frowns. “You’re definitely not.”

“I’m sorry you thought it was your fault,” Nico whispers. “And I’m really sorry for losing my temper. And for leaving.”

Will offers him a half-smile. “It’s possible we could do a better job of communicating with each other.”

Nico huffs out a laugh. “Maybe.” He leans his forehead against Will’s. They stay that way for a long moment, Nico following the rise and fall of Will’s breath until he feels himself start to settle. Gods, he could sleep right now. But there are things that need to be said first.

“Okay.” Nico takes a deep breath, pulling back. “You ready for some communication?”

Will grins. “Lay it on me.”

Nico laughs. He loves being in Will’s lap, he’s learned over the past few months. It feels vulnerable, but in a way that’s warm and safe. A way he can’t remember feeling before. But at the moment he finds he needs a little space to collect his thoughts, and he gently extracts himself, moving to sit next to the other boy, their thighs pressed together.

“I’ve been having a lot of dreams, lately, about um… people I’ve lost,” Nico begins, and Will makes a soft sound of understanding.

“My mom, and Bianca. And Jason,” Nico says softly. “And then… I’ve started dreaming about losing you, too.” His voice is rough, and he’s not sure how much of this he’s going to be able to get out before breaking down again. Will reaches for his hand, lacing their fingers together. And yeah, that helps.

“When you got hurt the other night, at capture the flag…” Nico finds he needs to take a moment to master his breathing again and Will, bless him, waits patiently, holding tight to Nico’s hand.

“It really threw me,” Nico says finally. “I saw you lying there, and you were bleeding, and you…” Nico shakes his head, trying to get rid of the image in his mind. “I couldn’t handle it. I just ran. I’m sorry I didn’t stay, and that I didn’t come to see you in the infirmary.”

“It’s okay, I get it,” Will says softly.

“Anyway.” Nico clears his throat. “The nightmares got even worse. After that. It’s been really hard to get them out of my head, even when I’m awake. And I’m actually really freaking out, Will. About Tartarus. And the prophecy,” he finishes, finally glancing at the other boy.

Will nods slowly. “I’ve kind of been freaking out too.”

Nico blinks. “Really? But you’ve - you’ve been so cool about it.”

Will's lips quirk up. “That’s just because I’m cool,” he says, bumping his shoulder against Nico’s.

Nico rolls his eyes.

“And also I didn’t want you to worry, or like… think that I wasn’t tough enough,” Will adds more quietly.

Nico shakes his head. “Will, it’s not that I don't think you're tough, or brave. It’s about… I just can’t lose you. Especially if it’s my fault,” he finishes in a whisper, watching their joined hands instead of Will’s face. There’s a long silence.

“How do you think I’d feel,” Will says quietly, “if you went down there alone, and you… you didn’t come back? If something happened to you, because I wasn’t there to help?”

“Um. Bad?” Nico says weakly, and Will snorts.

"You can’t control everything Nico." Will's voice is gentle, but firm. "People are going to make their own decisions. Sometimes they'll make those decisions because they love you. And you still can’t control that. And the consequences of those decisions are not your fault. We're going to do this together, and we're going to be fine. I'm not going to sacrifice myself to fulfill some stupid prophecy. But I am coming with you."

Nico turns his face into Will's shoulder. “I don’t want you to come,” he wants to say, but even as the words form in his mouth he realizes they’re not true.

“I want you to come. And I hate that I want you to come,” he whispers.

Will leans his head against Nico's. "I'm really glad that you want me with you. But ultimately, it's not your choice. It's mine," he says simply.

Nico pulls back to look the other boy in the eyes. "But what if it's a bad choice?" he asks, a little desperately.

Will shrugs. "Then I make a bad choice. But I'm not planning on dying, and I'm not planning on you dying. My plan is for us to have many, many years of bad choices. Together." He bumps his forehead gently against Nico's.

Nico can feel his eyes welling again. "Really?"

"Yes," Will says, firm. "Well," he amends, "mostly good choices."

Nico laughs wetly and Will gives him that bright, beautiful smile, the one that's just for him, before pulling Nico into his arms. After a moment Nico wiggles himself back into Will's lap and Will hums happily.

Nico sighs, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, losing himself in Will's warmth and Will's breath. He’s finally, finally, starting to feel the tension in his body begin to ease. Will’s hand rubs soothingly against his back and he just wants to forget everything else. He almost manages it.

"But what if..." Nico begins hesitantly after a moment.

Will sighs. "I know," he says, and then he's quiet. His hand stills on Nico’s back and he takes a deep breath.

"So, this is maybe... kind of dark, but... also not. I don't know." Will pulls back to look at Nico. "I'm gonna tell you what I tell myself, anyway. After Lee died, and Michael... other people too. It's hard not to dwell on that, right? But we're in this... we're in this life where that shit happens. The way I've made sense of it for myself is... if I only get a year with you, then I'm going to love you as hard as I can for the time I have you." Will's voice breaks, and he takes a second to collect himself. "And if a year is all we get, I'm going to cherish that time we had for the rest of my life. I hope we get a lot more time, but if that's all we have, I'm going to be grateful for that. But I don't want to imagine a life where I didn't get to know you and love you," he finishes, his voice rough.

Nico raises a hand to brush the tears from Will's cheek. "That's really beautiful," he whispers.

Will's lips quirk up. "No, you are."

Nico rolls his eyes. "So cheesy."

Will beams, and Nico leans in to kiss him, tears and all. He tries to pour everything he hasn’t yet said into the kiss - his bone-deep gratitude for this boy and the stubborn, steadfast way he loves Nico. The unwavering way he lifts Nico up and holds him together. His comfort and his strength.

"It's been a few days since I've stayed over," Will murmurs when they finally part. "Not - not that I have to stay. I was just um... making an observation."

Nico smiles. "I'd like you to stay. It's just - like I said before... the nightmares have been bad." He makes a face. "I didn't wanna subject you to that."

"I don't mind," Will assures him.

"What if I wake up screaming?"

"It wouldn't be the first time, right? I'll rub your back until you fall asleep again. Or we can talk about it. Or we could make out some more," Will shrugs, going pink.

Nico lets out a giggle.

"I'm just throwing out suggestions," Will says, not quite making eye contact. “I mean. It always makes me feel better.”

Nico laughs, wrapping his arms around the other boy. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Will giggles. He leans forward, taking advantage of the fact that Nico is already in his lap to scoop him up, carrying him across the cabin and depositing him gently onto his own bed.

Nico can't quite keep the stupid smile from his face as Will pulls off Nico's shoes, then his own, climbing into the bed and covering them both.

Will snuggles against him, draping an arm over Nico’s waist and nuzzling into his neck. And for the first time in weeks, Nico realizes he can imagine a time past this. Past the prophecy and Tartarus and the knot of worry in his stomach. He turns his head against Will’s and sighs.

“After Tartarus,” he says, “do you wanna like… go to Disney World?”

He can feel Will’s soft laugh against his skin, can hear the smile in his voice, “Definitely.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Will agrees.

"I should really change. And brush my teeth. And shower," Nico says reluctantly as Will snuggles even closer. Gods, he's so warm.

"Mm mm," Will disagrees sleepily. "Stay with me."

Nico presses a kiss to the mess of blonde hair next to him. "Okay. I will."

___

Title is from True Colors by Cyndi Lauper. Thanks for reading! :)

#nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #angst #hurt/comfort #post-TOA #hazel levesque #fic exchange #my writing #rated teen for language i guess #wasn't crazy about this when i wrote it but i think it's growing on me

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sysmedsaresexist · 3 months ago

Text

Mod Quill with some feelings tonight as I scroll the syscourse tags in the usual pits of despair with a bag of popcorn and too little free time. As always, that show I sometimes stumble upon and leave running in the background while I do laundry is on, 24/7 it seems like. The TV station really loves running that particular producer’s re-runs.

I watch for a little bit, but the main character is just… painful to watch. She constantly pushes people away in some sort of way to get her goals each episode — but the series has never ended. It just is the same exact plot line each episode. It gets spicy sometimes when there’s a recurring plot line, or a story arc. They’re all a little… circular sometimes though. She gets sassy too, but that’s few and far between nowadays.

This latest arc, she’s clearly blue.

…

Okay so now that I’ve rambled enough on this metaphor about Sophie-

Her latest bait for trying to hurt a clearly traumatized person is just as painful to see as it always is. Just... god forbid she do something to actually further plural acceptance. I find it so ironic how she peddles that goal to her followers — The Future is Plural, right? — while consistently and actively working against it. She consistently tries to bait people who are against her in an attempt to prop herself up higher, never realizing that all the outside world is seeing is her stomping on others.

Blue-Bubonic is very clearly fragile, at least in my eyes. I haven’t forgotten their (pronouns unsure, but please feel free to correct me) first foray into syscourse. And yet she sees it as more acceptable to continue needling them -- and taunting that fact and touting it as a badge of honor -- in order to... do what? She's said she's painting herself as a villain, she's being the Bad Guy, but genuinely, how is that helping plurals? How is this helping further her goals?

She is quite literally attacking her own with this and further aggravating an already clearly traumatized individual. And she constantly does this. From my perspective, it must almost be fun for her, and if I remember correctly, she's admitted it's fun. She revels in it. I can't condone people who sit and just... soak in other people's misery. I have literally been working on overcoming some doubts of mine today due to harassment I received, simply because I said I thought people deserved better than literal death threats. And here she is, just... spreading negativity for negativity's sake. How is that helping anything? Isn't it just putting more negative into the world?

The worst part is, I agree with her on so many things. I have to restrain myself from reblogging her posts to my real blogs (you’re welcome, SAS, this blog isn’t real anymore, you’re free) simply so I can avoid syscourse there as much as possible. I’m also scared too. I’m scared of her. I’m scared to reblog something, both because her eyes might be on me if I do, and because the entire system community on tumblr that touches tulpamancy with a 5 foot pole is watching too. Every single action I do is not only scrutinized by her; it’s scrutinized by the community.

I just… wish there was a better way to spread positivity. I wish there were more The Plurality Of… posts, ones that aren’t written with the direct correlation of “let’s stick it to those anti-endos!” I would love more plural headcanons with the goal, “let’s uplift all plurals!” I try to do this as much as possible, but I’m one man.

I see her with her 😈 rightful anger (and I do believe she is justified in that anger, please don’t think I am saying she shouldn’t be angry, she has gotten so much shit that was undeserved, something I regret deeply playing any part of in the past, and something I want to apologize for now again)… I see her with that anger, and I just wish there were a way to help. I wish there were a way to turn that negativity away. I’ve managed it! I’ve managed to escape it in little ways. What am I doing that’s so different? It’s not because I’m a DID system and she’s not — lord knows I’ve had my fair share of harassment for my existence. It’s not because we’re different syscourse stances — I’m as pro-endo as they come in everything but label. Hell, shocker of all shockers, I’ve come to accept I have willed-to-life alters, so I can even relate to her way of existence, at least to some degree.

And yet, I feel so different from her. And it’s sad to see someone you agree with, someone who you know is just doing their best, causing so much harm for the things you also believe in.

…

So I turn off the TV. And I try not to watch. But in my head, my stupid writer brain gets the monkeys and the typewriters out. And it goes to town.

In my head, I’ve written a story where I sit down with her. Sometimes it’s discord, sometimes it’s via tumblr asks back and forth, and too often to count it’s some nebulous cafe somewhere where I’m drinking hot chocolate and she’s drinking some sort of white chocolate coffee. Not sure why that’s what I imagine, but it makes sense to me.

And I just… talk to her. Like a person. We set aside syscourse entirely and have a proper sysconversation. We talk about plurality and our feelings about it; we talk about how my disorder impacts me in similar and different ways to her tulpamancy; we even discuss how this very fanfiction-like-dream is, in a way, plural in of itself, because i don’t control what she says, not willingly. I guess she got her dream, an anti-endo (in a way) with a Sophie introject (in a way).

And I laugh, and she laughs, and it’s good.

And then I go online and see the latest callout post about why Sophie is a bad person. And I sigh, because I know they never work, and I personally know how traumatizing it is to have a callout post detailing everything you’ve ever done wrong.

And then I write up this, feeling like a hypocrite. But I want her to know, I’m not trying to paint her as evil. I don’t think she is. I think she’s just… a person, trying her best, and this is me publicly saying I disagree with her methods.

I hope the show reaches a final season soon. Maybe a spinoff series will get made. Crossover episode when? I vote for Sophie Through The Looking Glass as a sequel series name.

#sophiecourse #shit quill says #Mod Quill #look I’ve got a lot of feelings and Mod Dude said my words were good #❤️❤️❤️ Sophie coffee date when? 🤷‍♀️😈👀

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bylightofdawn · 11 months ago

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2023 Wrap Up.

It’s officially New Years in Texas. 2023 has been a weird year for me, one that both dragged and flew by way too quickly. There’s so much pain and awfulness going on the world right now that it’s hard to not dwell on or carry that into 2024 but I’m going to try and keep this relatively light-hearted and positive if only because I want to try and start the New Year on a positive note. For me personally? I didn’t really do anything big or notable but I had some smaller but meaningful victories.

I made a New Years resolution (something I’m pretty vehemently against because I always feel disappointed in myself when I don’t follow through) that I was going to start writing again and I would try and write every day. I didn’t manage every day but boy howdy did I still keep up that resolution. The major project of course being Seeds for the Future which I clocked in at 176,456 words minus I want to say around 10,000 words which I’d previously started like 3 years ago before abandoning it. So we’ll call it 165,000 to make it even-ish.

Holy. Shit. 165,000 in one year. I did not in a million years think I had that in me. And it’s been a wild ride. At points I felt like I was being ridden by a damned demon that was demanding I write this NOW. I was especially busy the first six months or so and then I burned myself out which….completely understandable when you consider your standard basic fiction book is around 70,000+ so I wrote two fucking novels in six months length-wise. But I also wrote a bunch of other stuff. I wrote A Fragile World Between Sharp Teeth which I’m still absurdly in love with. Wrote two whole-ass Witcher fics this month and one Star Trek fic as well as some other WIPs.

By my calculations I wrote -drum roll- 233,383 words in 2023.

223,383 WORDS WRITTEN ARE YOU SHITTING ME

And actually followed through on a New Years Resolution.

I also forced myself out of my comfort zone in little ways. I pushed myself to take action on my health to try and figure out the cause of my chronic pain and while the diagnosis was a bummer as was getting diagnosed with diabetes on top of everything else this year, I am proud that I forced myself to do it. I also did silly things like bleached my hair and dyed it all manner of crazy colors.

I think for 2024 I’m going to try and hold myself accountable for my health. I desperately need to go back to therapy and as much as I hate to admit it, I need to join a gym and strengthen my body. It will be the best thing I can do for my RA if I can help strengthen my muscles and I think it will help with my pain levels. It just...it sounds like so much effort though and it scares me so we’ll see how that journey goes. I’m going to keep plugging away slowly but surely.

I’m also going to keep trying to write in 2024. I have so many fic ideas I want to write. I’m definitely not going to do anymore crazy fucking 100K fics again. It definitely takes a toll on me creatively and not going to lie, after a while it feels like I’m just kinda screaming into the void because the sad truth of the matter is, long-fic will turn readers off and they won’t click or interact with it. And eventually my imposter syndrome reared its ugly head and the last half of this year and trying to finish Seeds has been a slog for the most part and not one I enjoyed.

Now, I’m going to go pour myself a glass of Moscato, eat some stupidly expensive caprese salad and I think edit the first chapter of my Gallahir sequel. I think I might be able to get it up and posted today if I can edit the first chapter tonight. Thank you to all my tumblr buddies, both new and old who have stuck it out with me through everything. I love and appreciate y’all and I am hoping you all have a happier, more kinder year than 2023.

#life of el #out with the old #in with the new #ngl I'm glad 2023 is over it's been a slog the past six months

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the-archangel · 1 year ago

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Riders on the Storm

Hello again Tumblr, my inspiration has been stalling so sorry if it's been a while since I posted. What follows is very NSFW, I didn't know it was going that way until it did, but I'm not sorry!

V is not having a great night’s sleep – he rarely did to be fair, but tonight is particularly bad. He fell asleep just fine, snuggled up against Kerry’s back with the regular movements of his chest against V’s hand lulling him into slumber, but the familiar feeling of pre-dawn unnameable dread causes him to pull away from his partner, suddenly feeling too hot and claustrophobic, and he lays on his back, covers pushed away, staring into the dark.

He searches his mind to try to identify which of his many ‘challenges’ is keeping him from sleep this time, it’s a long list to work through. His medication is at least partly to blame, Vik is still finessing the dosage but in the meantime night-sweats and weird, lucid dreams are not unusual. Pressures of work can be factored in too, he loves the Afterlife and will be eternally grateful to Rogue for trusting him with it, but it’s a lot, he leaves the bar side completely to Clair, but every busted job or lost merc weighs heavy on him, he needs to find a way to deal with it better, maybe take Kerry up on his offer to introduce him to Khian?

There are some things that are an easy fix, he resolves to call Mama Welles in the morning, it’s been a while and she’ll be starting to worry, he also decides to reply to the not entirely friendly email he received from Ted Eurodyne a week or so ago. He’d debated back and forth about whether to show it to Kerry, but his and Ted’s already fragile relationship would not be improved by him seeing it, so V decides to find a friendly, but firmly non-negotiable way to tell him that he wouldn’t be ‘fucking off and leaving his dad alone.’ As the first hints of a sunrise hover on the horizon, V ponders that Ted is going to be really pissed off when he finds out that Kerry has sold the villa and that they are moving into a condo they’ve bought together in the heart of the City.

Moving house is supposed to be stressful so V has heard, but it’s about the only thing that he’s not worrying about on some level. Up until pretty recently, everything he owned would’ve fitted into the boot of his car and apart from a couple of keepsakes he’s not one for coveting stuff, Kerry can deal with all that, in fact Kerry thrives under pressure, so he’ll be in his element.

Ah Kerry, V glances over smiling at the dishevelled white hair and gentle snoring coming from the unlooked-for saviour that changed his life. V had engaged in dalliances with both men and women but could never see himself in a relationship with either, liking his own space and company too much to give it up for anybody he’d met – until Kerry. In less than three months they’d gone from never having met to living together and sharing everything. V wonders sometimes if his defences had been lowered due to no longer ever having his own space anyway, like he said to Misty that one time, it was a rare thing to be alone with his thoughts in those days but he and Kerry had just clicked, resonated as Kerry inevitably put it, if V believed in such things as soul-mates then Kerry was definitely his.

The sun is beginning to peek in at the window, V decides that he’s done with trying to sleep and silently slips out of bed, pulling on some shorts, shoes and a vest top and making his way downstairs and out for a stretch and a run in the relatively fresh, North-Oak air.

Kerry feels the coolness on his back as V pulls away, he is used to V’s broken sleep patterns and usually manages to drift back off pretty quickly, but the silence and dark are conspiring to keep him awake, finally a sigh comes from behind, proof of life so Kerry drifts back to sleep.

He’s very aware of all the things that buzz around V’s mind keeping him from sleep, they talk about it often and Kerry does his best to offer comfort and help. He really wishes that V had refused to take on the Afterlife, the jump from merc to fixer is a huge one, and much as V was the best at what he did, paperwork and people skills were not particularly assets for a mercenary, though essential for a fixer. He tries so hard, wanting to look out for his mercs and do the best for his clients, but Kerry can see how worn out he is by it all sometimes and wishes he would talk to somebody about it.

Kerry also knows about the situation with Ted, Kim had called him a couple of days ago telling stories of Ted’s rants and aggressive stance towards V. When they’d all met last year, Kerry had been worried by how quiet Ted had been, not his usual forthright self. He’d spent a lot of time watching V, how he interacted with Kerry or with Kim, how he acted with Kerry’s fans or with his staff, what he did when he was by himself – clearly he was on some sort of self-imposed reconnaissance mission and the info he’d collected had led him onto his current path. Kerry would have to have a word tomorrow, he and V were going to be together whether Ted liked it or not, but for everybody’s good it would be better if they could get along.

A sleepy hum escapes from Kerry’s lips as he hears V leave, he should probably get up himself, there’s the last of the packing to do, moving day is tomorrow so it’s no wonder V is restless. He’s letting Kerry deal with most of it, but contracts are V’s new specialty and he’s all over the paperwork – it’s making everything take twice as long of course, but it’s worth it, Kerry is proud as hell at the things V can do.

On his way to the bathroom, he catches sight of V just as the gates are opening for him, still looking hot as fuck despite the baggy grey shorts and tatty running shoes, Kerry spends a moment leaning on the window watching as he disappears into the surrounding hills, he’ll be back in a couple of hours tired, sweaty and ravenous, Kerry can hardly wait, but in the meantime he’ll have a shower, make some coffee and get ready to go out.

V looks at his holo as he rounds the last bend of the road before reaching the villa, 17 Km today, not his best but not bad. The rain had started about 4 Km ago, it had been a welcome break from the too humid summer air, but enough is enough, squelching sneakers are never a good look so he’s heading back in for a cool drink and a warm shower. V stretches his calf muscles as he waits for the gates to open, curling up first his left leg, then the right and then takes his shirt off to wipe his face and so fails to notice the figure sat on the edge of a lounger, dripping in what has become a torrential downpour, until he is almost on top of him.

“Kerry, shit, what’s going on?”

“I…dunno.” admits the older man, “I was going out, then the rain started. Kinda thought it’d be nova to let it, y’know just wash over me for a while, splash on my face and stuff, then just sorta got to thinkin’ about the rhythm of it and…”

“Here we are?”

“Yeah,” chuckles Kerry, “here we are.”

“C’mon inside, you’re soaked through Ker,” V says gently, pulling Kerry up by the hand, but the Rockerboy has other ideas and wraps his arms around the fixer’s neck.

“Ever done it in the rain?” he breathes into V’s ear. Kerry’s rich growl sends V’s knees to jelly at the best of times, him just asking for a cup of coffee can be enough to cause the rest of the day to be spent in bed, but this close, with his breath on V’s cheek, suggesting something so exquisitely desirable, V loses the power of speech and manages only,

“Nu-uh…”

Despite the rain, which has now settled into a steady, heavy-dropped downpour, it’s still warm enough for V not to be concerned that he’s already down to just his shorts, having toed his shoes off previously. Kerry is concerned only that his input still has too many clothes on and slides his hands down his shoulders and rain-slicked chest before finally hooking his thumbs into the waistband of V’s old, frayed pants and letting them fall to the floor, his already half-hard cock to slipping into his hand as they kiss allowing Kerry to finish the job.

The rocker’s silk shirt, open to the waist, is plastered to his chest the outline of his golden implants clearly visible, V traces them now with his fingertips gasping into the other man’s kiss with every stroke of his eager cock. The real target for V’s fingers is down below, so the delicate material of the peach-coloured shirt is torn open to allow access to the buttons of Kerry’s soaking jeans which V unfastens easily with one, well-practised hand, the other being occupied at the back of Kerry’s head holding him fast into a deep kiss.

Wet denim, especially tight wet denim it turns out, tends to stick stubbornly to skin. No amount of cajoling from V gets Kerry’s waistband past his hips, so lifting the rocker easily in his arms he carries him laughing throatily over to the closest outdoor couch laying him down on the soaking wet vinyl and pulling his pants down by the ankles, finally working them free and crawling up the other man’s slick body, catching the downpour on his back.

Both grinning into a very wet kiss, hands run over silk and skin, V keeps himself slightly raised as his deceptively heavy body would crush the other man otherwise, but where they are connected, chest, hips, groin and thighs, fills them with heat and want. Burying his head in Kerry’s neck and worrying at the tender skin there, V grinds his hips sliding their cocks over each other and making the area even slicker with mingled pre-cum and rain. Kerry groans gently with every exhalation, it’s exquisite but he needs more,

“I want you to fuck me,” he pants into his mainline’s ear, “rail me so hard I can’t sit still for a week.”

V doesn’t need telling twice, bounding off the bench he easily flips the rocker over dragging him to the end of the seating and positioning him on all fours, tantalisingly wiggling his perfect ass like as if he needs to persuade V to come over and nail him. V swipes his hand over his eyes to wipe away the rain dripping from his eyelashes and brows and enjoy the view for a moment, he runs his hands over the tight orbs of his ass cheeks, runs his thumbs down his inner thigh and back up, parting them to lean in and flick his tongue around and into his fluttering hole delving in as deep as he can before licking a stripe up the bones of his spine and positioning the tip of his twitching cock at the entrance, “You ready?” he asks huskily, already sliding himself into the deliciously tight hole, “you sure you want it hard?”

Feeling a gulp under the hand which has found its way to Kerry’s throat, V sinks fully in and waits for a response, “Don’t make me ask again,” Kerry growls, “fucking mess me up.”

Shit, who gets an offer like that every day? Keeping one hand on his lover’s throat, the other rakes its fingernails down the wet, golden skin of Kerry’s back raising red, angry welts in its wake before settling with a bruising grip on his slender hip holding him fast against the already punishing rhythm.

The Rockerboy’s gasps fill the garden and could be easily heard from the road, in fact they could be easily seen through the gates should anyone pass by, but a trip up here by foot was rarely made, especially in a rainstorm so they’re relatively safe. V grunts with every thrust, his fingers tightening on Kerry’s throat and hips, the noises coming from beneath him – gasps and groans, flesh on flesh – are turning him on so bad but not as much as the sight before him, Kerry Eurodyne on all fours, eyes closed, glistening with sweat and rain, water dripping from the tips of his hair and mingling with the drool sliding unhindered from his chin. Shit this man is hot.

“You…OK…Ker?” V manages without slowing.

“Uh…yeah. But…wanna…see you.”

A smirking V slides his hand away from Kerry’s throat and down to his hips and after a couple more thrusts that bring him dangerously close to the edge, he slides out gently and flips the other man deftly onto his back. A brief gap in the rainclouds allows V to tenderly wipe the rain from Kerry’s face, they look into each other’s eyes, the usual fondness there overlaid with want and need. Eyes and hands soon wander, Kerry’s gaze falls to V’s hard-on, subconsciously his tongue darts out wetting his bottom lip as his finger traces rain rivulets down V’s stomach. He’s always loved dick, the velvety feel, the smell, the taste, but V’s is next level, not long but thick and he’s drawn towards it as it bobs there between his man’s thighs. Both men groan as the tip disappears inside Kerry’s mouth, he sucks at it gently, tenderly, eagerly swirling his tongue over the tip to taste the pre-cum waiting there and sinking down lower until his nose is tickled by the ex-mercs pubic hair.

Enjoyable as this is, V isn’t done with Kerry’s ass just yet and the sight of Kerry’s eyelashes fluttering up at him as his cock fills his throat is in serious danger of finishing him off. He puts a hand on his shoulder, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away eventually choosing the latter, kissing away the string of cum mingled spit.

Panting, V breathes into Kerry’s ear, “I’m gonna fill your hole so full of my cum, then I’m gonna watch you jerk off while it runs down your ass.” Kerry whines, nodding eagerly. V awoke in him a kink for being dominated that he never knew existed until they met, so like the good boy he is he pulls up his knees biting down on his lip to stop the whimpers as V lets a trail of spit coat his ass and rubs it in with his thumb before pushing his twitching cock mercilessly inside. Lightning illuminates the obliviously rutting pair making hairs rise on already over-stimulated skin, it’s closely followed by a thunderclap which covers V’s curses and groans as he finally is able to pump his load into Kerry’s ass. True to his word, V pulls carefully out watching his cum ooze from the Rockerboy’s asshole while Kerry finishes himself off with a scant few swift strokes, the ropes of cum on his stomach and chest being almost immediately washed away by the returning rain, much to V’s disappointment.

Another burst of lightning creates a tableau, V standing between his lover’s thighs resting his forehead on his chest, Kerry with his hands around V’s neck, putting his lips to the top of his head. This more than anything is the true snapshot of their relationship.

“C’mon Ker, storm’s nearly overhead, don’t wanna see your hot butt fried.” V says throatily, softly kissing the slick skin of Kerry’s chest.

Kerry hums and raises himself up onto an elbow allowing V to haul him up by the other hand, leaving their soaking clothes behind they run giggling back to the warm, dry villa and straight into the shower.

Later, snuggled in matching towelling robes V quietly goes about his business listening to Kerry put together the tune that had begun to come to him on the step in the rain earlier on. To V’s untrained ear it certainly sounded like a hit, the rhythm evoking the rain from the recently departed storm, but it’s something quite different he will be thinking of when it’s on the radio in his car or office. The thought makes him grin as he gets ready for work.

#kerry is my muse #kerry eurodyne x male v #cyberpunk kerry #v cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #kerry x male v #kerry eurodyne #cyberpunk v #kerry x v

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veritable-trash · 2 months ago

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warning! this is about to be a rant post ramble below the cut about my life, fanfic writing, and other bullshit and is kinda personal so if you aren't interested it's ok! but you've been warned! weary tumblr travelers beware!

i tried to sit down tonight and write some fanfic because i've just had such a want to write fanfic for so long and literally just nothing came out of my brain. like i am actively!!!! thirsting over a multitude of fictional little guys and yet my brain is like lol no. it's just frustrating because i miss being creative in this way and like getting to write about these things and now everytime i try to write something it just feels beyond clunky and weird and not well put together and i hate it!!!! especially cause i've been reading such amazing fanfic lately that has been so inspiring because the writers on here are so kick ass!!! and like i remember how much fun it was to write my little stories and fantasize about my little guys and put all that together and i just don't have it in me even though i want to so bad! UGH CURSES YOU UNWILLY GODS!

also just like my anxiety has been so out of wack recently and like somedays i just sit and breathe and have to be like there is literally no reason for you to be anxious right now and my body is like but we are and i'm like yes but we don't have to be and my body is like but we are and i'm like YES but we DON"T HAVE TO BE and the rage cycle continues and i'm just like why the FUCK can't i get a grip on my shit right now

also i'm trying to start dating again and like being back on dating apps feels so weird and like clunky and i forgot how shy and nervous i get when like feelings and romance and other yucky shit like that is involved like i literally feel like an 8 year old boy saying ew cooties sometimes like i'm a full grown woman in her twenties somebody call the intimacy police on me! i just like sometimes still feel so immature when it comes to dating and intimacy and i can really leave me feeling really fragile and unsure and i am really bad at handling those types of emotiions

ok anyways will be shutting up now i just like need to scream into ze void for a moment cause i'm just feeling a bit tender today and the feelings have been a lot and well why the fuck not ok anyways anyone who has read all the way to here firstly wow big hug for you secondly i hope you have a lovely day <333333 ok bye

#v's trash heap #v rambles #rambles #no one ever taught me to shut up clearly #possible trigger warnings for #anxiety #dating #literally wanting to yeet off this mortal coil because i can't write fanfiction #tad dramatic but i digress

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gravityknife · 2 years ago

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Battle Gear Bros. Ch. 2.5.3: What You Know About That?

It was 0800 at Belfett Army Base Camp. 2nd platoon, commanded by Army 2nd Lieutenant Greeshaw, was at parade rest taking closing orders from Greeshaw for the weekend.

"Plato~o~o~on! Atte~e~ention!" The platoon stood at attention and saluted leadership. "Di~i~i~ismissed!"

"Hell yeah! Spaghetti for dinner!" Yelled PFC Carter.

Carter and his squad broke into tears of laughter while everyone else fell out, headed back to their barracks, watching the cackling squad as they walked past, most of them wearing smiles ear to ear. The weekends—you couldn't beat the feeling.

"Carter, what are y'all laughin' about?" Asked PFC Duffey.

"You didn't see the spaghetti post?" Carter asked, still chuckling out of breath.

"Spaghetti post?" Asked Duffey, confused. "What the h$ll is a spaghetti post, mang?"

Cpl. Reed tried to explain, "Duffey, it's a dumb as f$$$ post on tumblr about this guy—"

Pvt. Sanders rushed in, "Reed, no!— Reed! Just text him the link!"

Pvt. Ferret was adjusting her belt, loosening up. She added, "The link is still up in the forum, too, bro."

"Yo, Duffey, go to the 'LGBTQ+ Freedoms of Speech' link—," began Carter. There were some snickers from the squad. "—in the Army members website and look for a post titled Random Shitpost Dropship, then on the last page, look for a tumblr story called— The Final Spaghetti Countdown."

"Why?— Yo, why would there be a countdown to spaghetti?" Asked Duffey, trying not to laugh while confidently pushing back against the joke. He stood there like he was being challenged.

"And why so final, Carter?" Joked Ferret, giggling next to Duffey. Duffey didn't budge.

Carter insisted, "You want to know why we were laughing then f$$$ing look it up!"

Pvt. Jones tagged on, "Yeah, b$$$$!" He chuckled slowly.

Another soldier, Pvt. Moose, walked up to the squad and asked, "Are you guys laughing about spaghetti?" He then forced, "There's nothing funny about spaghetti!" They all started laughing.

"I don't know why, but I don't trust you guys. What the f$$$ is a final spaghetti countdown?!" Pushed Duffey.

Ferret ordered, "Look it up, Duff! Jeez!"

"IS IT NOT—," Duffey yelled, causing another break of laughter. He caught his breath and continued, "IS IT NOT... OKAY TO ASK—."

"NO!" Moose, Carter, Sanders, and Ferret yelled in unison.

"Wow, you guys really want to r$pe poor Duffey's fragile, civilian brain, don't you?" Inquired Cpl. Reed.

"Pull rank, then, Corporal Reed!" Yelled Sanders dramatically.

Sgt. Wyatt walked over at that comment. He snapped his fingers a few times and waved his pointer finger saying, "Hey! No, sir!"

Sanders cried out hysterically, "Why can't we all just have spaghetti for dinner?!"

Sgt. Wyatt repeated himself, "Hey! No, sir! And no spaghetti!" He tried to play along with the group.

"You want my spaghetti, boy?!" Jabbed Moose in a fake, Southerner's accent.

The squad was entrapped in laughter while Sgt. Wyatt looked on in smug disappointment, shaking his head. Everyone fell silent for Wyatt when he said, "You greenhorns got some balls. All this talk about spaghetti and you don't have any to serve."

"I'm good on spaghetti, sir," snickered PFC Carter, cueing more heavy laughter and snickering.

Wyatt—all testosterone amped like usual—boomed, "You ain't GOT no spaghetti— SON!! Who you trying to play?! I'm getting HUNGRY talking about spaghetti— SON!"

The group laughed while Pvt. Jones and Pvt. Sanders stood on the side, watching. Jones told Sanders with a reluctant smirk, "I'm not sure sarge knows— anything about the kind of spaghetti we're talking about." Jones chuckled.

Sanders dramatically hissed out like a snake, "He knows nothing about the spaghetti, Jones."

"He doesn't, yeah?" Jones responded, grinning and laughing from the throat.

"You guys,TONIGHT, are going to make us ALL some good G$ddamned spaghetti!" Now the group was laughing hysterically out of breath as Sgt. Wyatt was still unaware of the content of the story, though strangely coinciding with it. "YOU HEAR ME PRIVATE FIRST CLASS?!" Wyatt boomed again toward Carter. Wyatt was smiling like a militant maniac.

Jones and Sanders looked at each other in wild disbelief, holding back from cracking up, with Jones biting his fist and Sanders grabbing Jones's collar yanking him back and forth, patting against Jones's chest.

"You would want that spaghetti made, wouldn't you sir?" Carter whimpered to Sgt. Wyatt, holding back his laughter, while the other squad members were literally rolling on the floor laughing. Ferret was in a state of 'Oh my God, I can't believe what I just heard.'

youtube

#Youtube

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wasabi-gail · 2 years ago

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Touching on my Pretty Fears

My intention with this post is to openly and honestly reflect on my negative emotions that whirl within my body/mind. Most importantly, I want a space where I can come to terms with these feelings and honor them as I do with my lighter ones. A space for self-compassion and self-love to blossom.

As I release these unpleasant emotions, my hope for you -as a reader- is to meet yourself where you are and open the valve on anything or anyfeeling that has been closed for a long time.

To open, I can't say I have ever felt comfortable acknowledging the emotions that aren't ones of happiness. As the years have passed, I have suppressed these emotions deeper and deeper into the chamber of secrets residing within my belly. I figured the longer that I pushed them down, the easier it'd be to begin to stack them like shelves in an old dusty basement storage plane- no windows, no airflow.

Anger, sadness, fear, and depression all residing in one storage unit that I could open and close whenever I wished. Let's open it up today for my stomach has begun to growl uncontrollably and desperately for release. Here lies the items that make me human.

Anger- when I check out the components of the items labeled as anger, I find memories of abuse (verbal, physical, and sexual). I find times where the people I have loved were treated as inferior, left to digest the trauma of their ancestors alone and singlehandedly. I find moments where my weakness, my shortcomings, and my fragility were used against me. Bullying has always awakened a phoenix residing within my bones. Anger boiling.

Sadness- the box of sadness lay dusty and untouched for years. The largest box of them all. Let's look through a few items within. Immediately I feel my eyes warm as I begin this section of writing. As if I have nudged something or someone that felt forgotten, isolated from the rest of the world. I feel such sadness surrounding a childlike energy, my younger self. My younger self was coated within sadness and depression. A music box that I got tired of winding up and listening to over and over again within my own head. A sadness about the way my mother allowed herself to be treated and treat another. Growing up in a toxic household, in which the toxicity could never be properly acknowledge really does something to ya. And to see some of those same patterns being repeated in the present, unnanouced and unremorseful in their presence. Today, I feel sad that I no longer wish to have a relationship with my father. Yet through that detachment, I find myself more capable to express respect and compassion with him as well. What a concept. I feel sad that I couldn't make my first relationship work with someone I love deeply. I feel sad that after college, I was unable to handle the unpredictability and confusion that came from post-graduation. I feel sadness for my inability to let people go and prioritize myself. I feel sadness that I had deserted my own sadness in favor of other people's presence.

This is gonna be it for today, tumblr. I have to go pick up dinner for the family tonight. My dad really wants chili cheese fries and I love when I get to pick at them with him. As you can see, my life is very complicated and messy but I do best in challenging environments. At least that's what I tell myself haha. I can't wait to do this again sometime.

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bereft-of-frogs · 4 years ago

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discourse under the read more

me: okay, it seems like this depression fog has lifted a little bit, I’m feeling way more solid, able to actually do things, maybe I can ease back into tumblr scrolling

[five minutes in]

“This post is hidden because it contains your blocked tag #gagnarok”

me: yeah, I’m not ready for this

#i just feel weirdly fragile with my fandom experience right now?#that like...if the discourse wind blows too strongly I'll be blown to bits #i do kind of wish when you blocked a tag it just didn't show it to you at all #because i just want to float around in my fandom experience with absolutely no knowledge that ragnarok discourse is still happening in 2020 #i just want to be on my little sailboat writing more and more sakaar fics and post-ragnarok 'vikings in space' fics #so yeah i'm going to give it another day or so before i start scrolling tumblr too much #i might be considering trying to write tonight but i think that depends on me not being on tumblr #ragnarok discourse #i'm sorry and i do miss you all but also i need a tiny break from fandom #also i paraphrased the blocked tag message i don't remember what it actually is

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awritingarrow · 2 years ago

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skitters in here like a feral little beast

so first of all it’s a good time to mention i have a content sideblog @aroacearrowace for my fics n art bc i have like 6k posts on this blog and none of them are coherent. that blog is the one u will see coherency on. this one is chaos and horrors and a tag system that only i can navigate. as u can see, i’m posting on this one. so we’re going to be crazy tonight

usually i’m like not active on tumblr at all bc discord is My True Home. so usually u will just see me going feral on discord BUT i am currently thinking abt @andizoidart‘s boy and idk their discord/if they have one/what kind of servers they’re in so now i’m just going to b going feral on here for the next however long it takes to fic idea.

normally i am only this unhinged on private discord servers with 10 people including me inside. u are all about to witness the horrors sooo badly get exposed to my mental illness get consumed by my chaos

normally i would put long posts behind a read more but when u read more u can only find the posts on the Account It Was Posted On and unless u archive.org it u literally cannot find it if ur blog is deleted for whatever reason. also i get really annoyed when ppl put things behind a read more bc i wanna see the content i don’t wanna GO TO A SEPARATE PAGE. also this is my blog i do what i want. so anyway no read more bc again, i’m feral!

anyway i spent so long just explaining my incoherency so now u will witness the me

first of all: ghost apples! they’re really cool. i want to squish one in my hands like soap. watch it break like glass. very stimmie very gender very ogh. my immediate keyword associations: ice, glass, ghost. i could EASILY make an oc sans that’s all of those things and then shove them in to kiss dream and nightmare on the mouth but that’s the easy route. what i want to do is use ghost apples as a theme to an overarching story full of slowburn and suffering.

(prepare for technical writing terms that were literally made up by me and never elaborated on)

i usually write in a very metaphorical, emotional way. when you read each line of my work, i want it to make you feel an emotion and carry you to the next paragraph, which makes you feel a different emotion, guiding you on a journey of my very own design. metaphors. i like metaphors

now the keywords i chose were “ice,” “glass,” and “ghost.” i have two options here: make each segment of the story pertain to a different keyword, or make each character pertain to a different keyword. i like metaphors! so i’m doing the latter.

easily, i come up with:

nightmare - cold like ice, frozen to the touch. standoffish. you know elsa from frozen? like in that one scene the do u wanna build a snowman scene? yeah yeah that.

dream - glass. instantly, glass, bc of the statue thing. fragile, delicate, easy to break. i really really like a dream who can kick ur butt for no reason whatsoever so i have elected to put my own twist on this: dream is treated like glass, but he’s made of stone. (see what i did there?)

with that, nightmare feels like ice, but is treated like fire. dream is treated like glass, but feels like stone.

then, somnus.

definitely. would b very fun. if somnus felt and was treated the same, as a foil to dream and nightmare.

somnus’s keyword was ghost. i’m realllyyyy torn on what to do with this one bc there’s so many options.

i could literally kill him off, and then make him a ghost, but that’s like, obvious. there’s not a metaphor in that. also what’s the point of writing a fic about a character if u kill them off in the first five seconds.

according to andi’s post, he has dysfunctional magic. instantly makes me think of a disabled metaphor, i like it. he searches for artificial magic, and he’s a little worm guy. goes digging in the dirt and pulls out a fistful of worms. brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

it might be a lot of fun to change the dreamtale story around a lot. i want nightmare to get corrupted, that’s definitely staying. maybe i want to give them wings, for funsies. not for any particular reason, just funsies. buuuut idk if i want dream to get stoned in a physical sense.

my metaphor was that nightmare feels like ice, is treated like fire. dream is treated like glass, is made of stone... so i think what if i made that metaphor really really apparent with the apple incident part of the story

i really like the idea that in like, any dreamtale au, both dream and nightmare get abused. nightmare is physically abused, yeah, but dream is emotionally abused. with somnus, it might be fun to include neglect as a third form of abuse, just so we get all of the abuse. i never said i was going to be nice to these characters

i think that, with somnus left in the dust, and dream being treated as though he’s made of glass, and nightmare being treated like a threat, dream would be the first to act. dream eats the apple, first.

i’m guessing the sort of idea behind somnus is that he’s the wood? dream is the gold apples, nightmare the black, somnus is the wood. so i’m not doing a shattered dream scenario bc i wanna stick with each of those themes. idk what the positive apples would do to you if you ate one, bc like in canon they just make you really lucky?? i guess???? but in this i want something DRAMATIC to happen. since this is just a fic outline i’m metaphorically inserting brackets that say [something dramatic happens that get all three triplets fighting against the villagers]

nightmare gets corrupted like ice, dream like stone, and somnus..? hm. i mean i have to figure out what somnus does to the tree bc i don’t think it’s good to just up and eat tree bark from some random apple tree. i don’t think that’s healthy. there was a mention of a palismen in the post i think unless i read it wrong so i think,,,,, mb the tree starts falling apart bc the other two are eating the apples so then the tree just goes YOINK ur getting stolen into the tree now.

and since somnus’s prompt is ghost i think. i think. i think it would b very fun if the fic was about dream and nightmare trying to find their brother.

welcome to my brain everyone xD

#long post #so anyway i'm normal

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fitgothgirl · 3 years ago

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Been a little MIA on here the last week or two. I accidentally found out that I had lost about 15% of my followers in the last 2-3 months, and I’m not “tumblr famous” by any means to begin with lol (for reference, I’ve had this blog for like 9 years). I don’t normally pay attention to that number at all and the way I “accidentally” found out is complicated but it is what it is. That nosedive correlates with when I started working out more and posting more personal posts again. I also had never been a really a selfie person on here even when I had been more active in the past, but I had been trying to show my face more often too. So that was a super fun realization.

I try to not let strangers on the internet make me feel bad, but I can’t deny it didn’t catch me off guard and hurt. Just came up at a hard time when I’m already dealing with feelings of rejection and inadequacy for other reasons. So I just pulled away inadvertently from feeling a little burned. And honestly regardless of the reason, that’s always a beneficial thing to do with social media.

But if you’re reading this, you’re here and I appreciate you ^_^ And yet, this is also a good reminder that I’m here for me and because I want to be.

Anyway, I’m not doing too great because of other reasons. Today was a hard day in particular. I had just started therapy about a week and a half ago finally, after wanting to but it falling through for one reason or another over the last year or so. But I saw my claim was processed as out-of-network with my insurance. I called them today to check because I thought I had been told they were in-network. The rep said the clinic was contracted with them, but not my specific plan, so it was processed as out-of-network, and I owe like $200 instead of $50. And that was just for the intake appointment, where we didn’t even get into treatment. I can hardly afford my $50 copay for in-network as it is. So I can’t go back there and cancelled my next appointment. Back to not having therapy. It was a punch in the gut. I just want to get some fucking help without paying hundreds of dollars that I don’t have.

One thing that we did touch on in that one appointment was that I probably need to talk to my psychiatrist because even though I’m on meds, it’s still a really low dose for what is normally effective for depression, and obviously I’m not doing well. So I went to make an appointment today with my telehealth doctor that I’ve been seeing once every three months (which also costs me like $120, but it’s only once in a long while at least), and low and behold, he’s not with the service anymore! I can schedule with someone else, but it’s just another obstacle. It would be no big deal for someone neurotypical, but I am not that.

These things all legitimately suck for someone who is struggling, but my sick brain is blowing them out of proportion on top of that of course. I’ve already not been doing so great the last couple weeks and I’m so fragile right now so this just sends me off the edge. It’s so hard to get myself to seek out help so when I do, it’s devastating and exhausting to have it be fruitless and to be turned in another direction. Even though I know the technical reasons why, in the back of my mind is the childish reaction of “why will no one help me, I just want help.”

And as much as I desperately want help from a professional, which is a good person to get help from for my array of issues, I can’t get myself to bring up anything with my bf or friends. I feel like such a burden and a broken record at this point. But since I’m not even talking to a therapist let alone loved ones, it’s all just staying bottled up. But I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t know what I need or where to start. I’m so overwhelmed by the layers or web of issues, I can’t even put it into words. I feel like I’m drowning.

I grabbed an old stuffed animal from my closet that I haven’t slept with in years and I’m sleeping with him tonight. I need the comfort, I feel so alone.

#i've basically been teary or crying all day #of course this stuffed animal was given to me by my mom when i was in the behavioral health hospital when i was 16 for self harm #my mom has the same issues and has been in the same situation and knows all she wanted in those times was something soft and comforting #and she was right #and yet i also have problems with my mom #so quite the symbolic stuffed animal lol #i would not be spilling so much if hadn't had some drinks tonight i think lol #or if i had a fucking therapist #mine #4/7/22 #depression

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iguessricciardo · 2 years ago

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it was one of the most chaotic qualis of this boring season and all i wanted was to look up tumblr while it was going on bc what a mess then it kept saying connection lost or things like that then i kept getting mad then norris was p1 and i get madder then daniel was out and it was once again chain of absolutely disasterous decisions and i got even more frustrated. all i wanted to get in this site and feel surrounded by ppl who are feeling me. but no. then they sent leclerc on inters. i got even more angrier. bc someone who loves you wouldnt do this. i kept watching then i saw mag having provisional pole. i was like damn ok, hope norris doesnt get it. but at the same time i was like, its raining anyways he'll find a way to fuck it up. and at that exact point george was out. red flag. he put it on gravel so sexy with that lil drift i was like dayumm boy. but i was sad too. again i tried to log in to this stupid site bc im lonely and have noone to talk to but i couldnt. i was boiling at this point. then it started raining. they didnt go out. magnussen took the pole? sounds like my absurdly weird dreams. anyways. then i still tried to log in but wasnt able to which in the next 2 minutes i found out fucking tumblr is banned in my country. i swear it was working in the morning and now its gone. now im angry and sad and fucking hate everything. here with a vpn, looking through posts and see mclaren actually fucked up daniels setting. at this point life is a prison and existence is a curse. sorry, i know this isnt theraphy and wouldnt want to bore you with my first world problem but im mentally fragile and tonight was hard on me. who the fuck bans websites anyways what a joke whatever in summary i hate mclaren its all their fault im going through this

oh im so sorry you had such a bad day bb :( hopefully tomorrow will be better and you’ll have a great day!!

#why did they ban tumblr for you tho😡??? who do i need to talk to to fix this #ask.txt

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hihimissamericanbi · 2 years ago

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The Watcher and the Dancer

Rating: T

Pairing: F/F

Relationship: James/Sirius

Wordcount: 9,857k

Summary: Walburga was still talking too loudly, unaware her eldest daughter had paused her Fall Out Boy playlist minutes ago, but Siri did nothing to disabuse her. She wanted to exist in a few more moments of precious liminality, fraught with fragile expectation: the “before” of a summer vacation, dreaming of memories caressed like worn sea glass before having to go and actually break the bottles that make them.

AKA: Dreamy sapphic summer crush fic set in New England in the aughts with a side of sister feels

Notes: Hi! Hello! I am old and don't know how to use Tumblr at all but decided to try to post this here while I wait to join AO3? For context: Wolfstar is OTP but I wrote this with OCs originally (like not as a marauders fic), then decided it could work as Prongsfoot so I made some tweaks and here we are. Fem Siri and Jamie because it's my fic and I said so. Based on my experiences so please be nice? Also kind of my love letter to Maine. Promise to write Wolfstar and Jegulus in the future, as it should be (actually, very big believer in Jegulily, might do that first...)

So wear me like a locket around your throat, I’ll weigh you down, I’ll watch you choke, you look so good in bl—

Siri paused her pink iPod mini as she felt the rental car slowly swing off the paved road and decelerate onto a bumpy dirt path, dusty granite crunching beneath tires while low-hanging birch boughs screeched against the windows.

“Alright everyone, electronics away, we are almost there!” Walburga yelled unnaturally loud from the front. Siri winced but didn’t say anything. Leaning against a pillow on the window opposite her, Regina blinked her eyes open and frowned. Red patches flushed high on her pale, nap-creased cheeks as she wiped a bit of dried drool from her chin with the heel of her palm. Siri snorted. Regina flicked her off, holding her hand down low so their mom couldn’t see in the rearview.

Siri rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to the window, where the trees were thinning to make way for one of the strangest views she had ever seen.

Life-sized gingerbread cottages, painted pale gumdrop colors and trimmed with lacey eves reminiscent of piped frosting, lined the street one after the other like tin soldiers in an old-fashioned Christmas movie. They stood sentry to welcome the Black family forward, Range Rover groaning as it crested the pebbled hill, Dorothy stepping from her black-and-white world into a sugar-bright alternate universe. Just beyond the houses, the Penobscot Bay shimmered blue and magical; it winked at Siri between each latticed cornice and Victorian spire as the car trundled bravely onward, following the gray-gravel road deeper and deeper into the Azure City.

“Welcome to Bayville, girls. Your father and I trust you both will be on your best behavior, and that you will remember you are young ladies. We are taking you on this very nice, very expensive vacation; we expect you to act accordingly.”

Walburga was still talking too loudly, unaware her eldest daughter had paused her Fall Out Boy playlist minutes ago, but Siri did nothing to disabuse her. She wanted to exist in a few more moments of precious liminality, fraught with fragile expectation: the “before” of a summer vacation, dreaming of memories caressed like worn sea glass before having to go and actually break the bottles that make them.

“Do I hear a ‘Yes, ma’am?’”

Siri physically startled at the warning tone in her mother’s voice. She and her sister chorused the required reply automatically.

The car squelched to a halt alongside one of the cookie-cutter dollhouses, patchy green grass muffling under tire treads. Siri took her headphones off and reached for her seatbelt; chipped silver nail polish flashed in the afternoon sun as she unclipped the buckle, and she made a mental note to redo her nails tonight before her mother saw.

She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

And oh, the smell; it wasn’t like anything she had ever experienced. It wasn’t just briny ocean and wet grass and fallen pine. It wasn’t just heady florals and baked limestone and fecund soil. This scent was far greater than the sum of its parts: stirred up in a summer-sun cauldron and poured out across the coast, it smelled like familiar laughter and promises to be kept.

It filled Siri’s nose and lungs only after it filled her heart.

It would be remembered for the rest of her life.

After claiming the upstairs room to the front of the little house, with a window box full of geraniums peeking from behind billowing white curtains, Siri found herself wandering down the main road, away from her father’s loud complaints about a lack of cell service for his Blackberry and her mother’s backhanded comments regarding the cleanliness of the cottage. She wanted to be long gone by the time either of them decided to turn their attention to her.

Regina tagged along. Siri ignored her.

Less than a quarter of a mile later, the knot of strange little cottages leftover from a different century opened into a semicircle, proudly overlooking a sailboat polka-dotted bay where sapphire waters faithfully reflected the cloud-clear sky.

The Black sisters stood on Bayville Beach, such as it was, only about 30 yards wide and covered in rocky pebbles turning to treacherous boulders. Primary-colored canoes and kayaks were tied up along the mouth like obedient Labradors, waiting for their masters to take them for a swim. A dock rose to the right and jutted out into the water; a cerulean-painted covering sat square in the middle of the old wooden planks. To the right of that, a tiny yacht club perched on the cusp of the ocean, triangular emblem flown modestly above the slated roof. Behind the sisters, a sloping center lawn with a few ancient oak trees and wrought-iron park benches guided vacationers down towards the water, verdant arms swept wide, beckoning, those cotton candy cottages lining the edges like flagstones.

With a toss of her dark wavy hair, frizzing fast in the ocean breeze despite the John Frieda serums and mousses with which she had diligently coated the strands, Siri hopped up onto one of the bigger rocks along the beach and picked her way across the shore. She held her arms aloft for balance, paying special care not to slip. Tiny crabs skuttled within sunken tidepools; salted kelp rocked back and forth with the waves. The fabled Maine sun caught on the edges of everything, lighting up the cove like a glittery disco. She could hear Regina whining warnings from the safety of dry land. Siri ignored her.

When Siri got as far as she could before the shoreline sheared off into untamed wilderness, she turned carefully, Rainbow flip flops catching on the occasional barnacle, and made her way back to her little sister. She was almost to the beach before she looked up.

On the path behind Regina, appearing from behind the blue structure in the middle of the dock, were a group of teenagers making their way up the grassy hill. They were in various states of swimwear; boys with baggy trunks and loose tee shirts, dampened in places by saltwater clinging to not-fully-dried skin, girls largely in cutoff jean shorts and bikini tops. All had beach towels around their necks and were laughing loudly.

Regina whipped her head around at the commotion and stared. Siri felt her cheeks flush; she was perched precariously on a boulder several feet from land, suddenly faced with a bunch of unknown peers. From behind Regina’s mop of raven curls, longer and fluffier than her own, Siri locked eyes with the tallest of the pack, a pretty girl who looked about Siri’s age, black hair piled high in a messy bun.

The girl flashed a criminally blinding grin and waved. Siri startled and snapped her eyes away.

The sudden movement caused Siri to lose her footing. She scraped her ankle on the rough granite as she stumbled ungracefully off the rock into the shallow water.

Regina laughed. Siri ignored her.

Two days later, and Siri was bored. The rain arrived in Bayville almost as soon as her family had, crowding out the finnicky northern sun with dull clouds and a frustratingly steady drizzle. There was only so much War and Go Fish a rising junior could play with her eighth grade sister before one became a sore loser (eighth grader) and the other got hangry (take a wild guess). So now, Siri was sitting on the front porch, stomach growling, watching the rain muddy up the gravel while pretending to do her summer reading. Huckleberry Finn. It was brutal.

Siri perked up at the tell-tale crunch of a car about to pass slowly in front of their rented cottage; honestly, she was like a dog left home alone, staring out at the street, desperate for any stimulation. The car in question pulled into view from the left, heading in the direction of town. It was a beat-up black SUV, rap music thumping over the drone of the rain. As Siri watched, a pretty face with a mess of black hair and oversized glasses appeared in the front passenger window. The face saw Siri and did a double take, craning her neck to keep Siri in her vision as the car went by.

“Young lady, what do you think you are you doing?” Walburga stuck her immaculately coiffed head out of the screen door. Her pink lipstick shone lurid in the overcast light. “Come inside before your hair is ruined.”

Siri blinked, closed her mouth. “Yes, momma.”

For the next three days, the pretty girl with the wild hair could be seen passing the cottage on a morning run. For the next three days, Siri sat on the porch to eat her breakfast, Huckleberry Finn laying uselessly on the side table.

Jamie Potter, Siri would soon learn, was the owner of the pretty face and the blinding smile and the morning runs that happened to take her past the Blacks’ cottage.

Almost a week into their stay, Siri was once again sitting on the front porch, sipping her coffee and pretending to read. The sun had mercifully returned; she and Regina had spent some time exploring, wearing swimsuits underneath shorts and tee shirts, venturing to the beach or the dock or the little corner store out by Route 1, faded sign reading “Cote’s Old-Fashioned Ice Cream and Burgers” hung reverently against Nantucket red siding. They had seen the group of teenagers here and there, sunbathing on the dock and flirting shamelessly with the college-aged lifeguard, or gearing up outside the yacht club for a sail, or playing basketball on the courts near the central lawn after dinner. The tall, pretty girl seemed to always be in the very middle, laughing the loudest, touching the most. Like she was the sun their little social circle revolved around. Siri had watched the group hungrily, desperate to be included but far too terrified to make any moves. Regina, meanwhile, was too caught up in having her big sister all to herself to much care about hanging around even more moony high schoolers.

Siri took another gulp of coffee and watched the morning sun catch on the graveled hill, flecks of mica sparkling beneath lingering dew. She imagined a dark ponytail swinging into view from over the crest, followed by long, powerful legs, propelling their body impressively up the incline. Then, she wasn’t imagining it; she was watching it.

Only this time, the powerful legs slowed and the girl trotted to a walk, breathing hard. A hand reached up under the hem of her tee shirt, stopping at the waistband of rolled Soffe shorts to pause the iPod Shuffle clipped there, flashing a sliver of tan skin in the process; her other hand tugged out her headphones.

Siri immediately looked down and picked up her book, not wanting to embarrass herself by inviting any sort of acknowledgement of her existence. She could feel her face turning red and her pulse picking up.

“Hey!”

Siri continued to pretend to read. There was no way this girl was actually calling to Siri.

“Hey!!”

Siri looked up with a start. Fuck. The girl was leaning over the railing of the porch, grinning right at her. It wasn’t entirely innocent, somehow.

“Hey,” Siri choked out. How were this girl’s teeth so white?

“You’re new this year, right?”

Siri’s vision was tunnelling; she was having a hard time processing the girl’s words. She wished she would stop blushing.

“Sorry?”

The girl seemed to smile even more at Siri’s confusion. It made her deep rosy flush from exercise pop beneath her complexion.

“It’s just, we’ve been seeing you around, but no one knows who you are—”

No no no no no people have been noticing her?!

“—and you haven’t come said hi.”

Siri was going to die, simply pass away from embarrassment. “Um, no, yeah, I mean, we haven’t been here before…um, so…” Siri barely remembered to smile. It probably looked more like a grimace.

“Exactly!” The girl’s eyes narrowed playfully. They were dark brown and incredibly expressive. “I would definitely remember if I had seen you before.”

Siri wasn’t sure what that meant, but the girl didn’t pause long enough for her to work it out.

“Don’t you want to hang out with us?” The girl craned her neck and leaned farther over the railing, peering into Siri’s lap where her book split open, still on page 10. Siri could pick up the fruity scent of her deodorant. The girl’s eyes flicked back up to Siri’s. “Or do you want to sit and read…"

“…Huckleberry Finn.”

“Yikes.” The girl’s teasing smile was replaced with a look of horror.

“I know.” Siri felt her mouth relax a little, a small quirk of her lips.

The girl shook her head, like a buck huffing in annoyance, bordering aggression. She cracked her knuckles, continued. “…Or do you want to sit and read books by dead white guys on your porch all summer.” It wasn’t said like a question.

“Um. Okay?”

“Okay what?” She was bouncing up and down on her toes, hunched over the porch railing. Sunkissed shoulders poking up from rolled tee shirt sleeves. Deep-sea dark eyes boring into dawning-sky gray.

“I—” This girl was very disorienting. “Sure. Let’s hang out.”

The girl’s face split back into a grin, like that was its natural state. Though her cheeks were made round and even more rosy by the smile, her eyes didn’t crinkle with it the way most people’s do, Siri thought.

“I’m Jamie.”

They stayed sharp and honed.

Siri’s summer looked very different after that. Following her introduction, Jamie Potter had promptly asked for Siri’s cell phone number (written on Jamie’s inner forearm with a sharpie Siri found in the little kitchen) and told her “they were having a dock day, after sailing,” whatever that meant. But Siri had agreed to meet outside the yacht club at 1pm that afternoon, promising to bring snacks and a moderately-behaved thirteen-year-old.

“Dock days,” as it turned out, consisted of spreading towels on the far side of the dock, behind the little blue gazebo (every square inch of which, upon closer inspection, was covered in scrawled names, dates, hearts and the like: a living history of summer lovin’), and eating chips and salsa while soaking up temporal sunbeams and wearing as little clothing as possible. Flirting was a prerequisite, Siri had gathered from her week-long observations from afar, but there wasn’t much of anyone she felt the need to devote such attention to. She was thrilled just being included, happy to sit quietly on her hibiscus-printed towel and follow Jamie’s cues, laughing at the right places and inserting a quick one-liner here and there where she felt confident enough to deliver.

The group ranged in age, which gave Regina a few peers to talk to while Siri fell into Jamie’s orbit. Jamie was a year older than Siri and had her childhood best friends Remus and Peter staying with her (“Their families ship them off to Maine with us every summer. They are a pain in my ass—ow! hey—but I love them.”). Then there were the twins, Gillian and Fabian, also a year older than Siri, then Tuney and her little cousin Lucy, who were a couple years younger. Tuney’s older sister, Lily, was away at some competitive chemistry program for the summer, and apparently things were much more subdued this year without her around to get everyone into trouble.

“The definition of chaotic evil,” Jamie had explained with a twinkle in her eye and a faraway grin tugging her lips. Siri was glad Lily wasn’t here this season, but she wasn’t sure why. Probably just because she didn’t like getting into trouble—at least anywhere her mother might find out.

Siri soon learned the ins and outs of the little group that pulsed the beating heart of the magical seaside village. Most had been coming here every summer since they were little, growing up on bowline knots and July sparklers and Gifford’s blueberry ice cream. They had a hearty skepticism for “renters,” as they called them: part-time vacationers who came and went without getting much involved in the community. When Siri had asked why they had befriended her, since she was a “renter,” the boys had looked away sheepishly and Jamie had scoffed. “Please,” she had said, bumping her bare shoulder into Siri’s, “Like my idiot brothers-from-another-mother would ever forgive me if I didn’t introduce you.” Remus and Peter had turned bright red and then shoved a cackling Jamie, whereas Fabian had met Siri’s gaze, unashamed, and smirked. Siri hadn’t known how to react, besides blush furiously. Were they making fun of her? She felt rather exposed. Regina had squeezed her hand protectively. Siri had squeezed it back.

By this point, Siri had already analyzed everyone’s physical shapes and quirks in comparison to her own, a foible of adolescence she couldn’t wait to grow out of. She tanned easily and had a flat stomach, badges of pride for any teenager under the tyranny of Laguna Beach and Abercrombie, but she was self-conscious about her small chest, wide hips and unshapely legs. Jamie was a star athlete back home in Massachusetts, championing in soccer and tennis, and was lean and strong, everywhere. Siri envied the way she filled out her bikini top during the day and her low-rise jeans at night.

Siri’s hair was rather untamable (“Mia Thermopolis hair”, the other cheerleaders called it), especially in the humid sea air, and never dried soft and silky like the most popular girls’ seemed to. Jamie’s hair was a paragon of that effortlessly messy look: never frizzy, but piece-y and wavy, jet-black with shots of caramel laced through from days in the sun, it reached passed her shoulder blades even when pulled into a high ponytail. Siri would discover she loved playing with it, braiding its dampened ends while Jamie lay on her stomach on the dock, water droplets sliding down the soft skin of her back, or gently brushing it out after a day of sailing, working through the knots with careful fingers.

Then there was Siri’s face. People commented on Siri’s face a lot. She generally refused to leave the house without makeup on, and had even packed waterproof formulas for this vacation. None of the other girls in Bayville seemed to wear makeup.

Siri wondered how they still looked so pretty.

She wondered why Fabian was looking at her like that.

Dock days turned into movie nights and lunches at Cote’s, which turned into card games on front porches and excursions to the Coffee Pot in town for “Potts” sandwiches, a play on Jamie’s last name that seemed to have existed longer than some of their younger siblings had been alive. Siri couldn’t believe that not only had she been included in this tight-knit group who were so wary of outsiders, but that their central star paid so much attention to her. Jamie, as the leader, was the one who texted Siri when plans for an adventure were being made to ensure sure she didn’t get left out. She always spread her towel next to Siri’s, yellow stripes beside pink and orange flowers, and was the first to whisper jokes and confidences into her ear. She made sure to get an extra side of ketchup in addition to her mayonnaise—“Mayonnaise is white people’s greatest invention, I’m telling you,” she would say, while mixing in pinches of extremely hot spices she kept tucked away in her bag for such occasions—when she ordered fries, in case Siri wanted some, and punched the boys wordlessly when they inevitably crossed the line (which was about seven times a day).

They took Fabian’s battered SUV inland to go blueberry picking, blasting Panic! At the Disco and Kelly Clarkson and singing along with the windows down. Despite their parents’ explicit instructions to collect more than they ate, they spent most of their time horsing around in that green-and-gold field, sated with fruit, laughing freely and dreaming loudly beneath a buttercup sun and bluebird sky.

Predictably, Fabian got bored and started throwing blueberries at Siri. Jamie got irrationally irate every time he did so, eventually turning it into a competition to pelt him with as many blueberries as possible in return. Somehow that turned into an argument over who was taller; Fabian was also athletic and played lacrosse, but was on the shorter side for a guy. Jamie insisted they go back-to-back and demanded Siri be the judge. Siri felt uncomfortable for some reason, but acquiesced. Jamie’s sparked eyes stayed trained on Siri the entire time, something plaintive behind them. When Siri objectively announced Fabian was taller, the plaintive glint hardened sharp and heavy. Neither girl smiled when Fabian whooped with victory.

Siri sat next to Gillian on the ride home.

Evenings in Bayville took on a completely different tone, exchanging sun-soaked shimmer and the smell of No-Ad sunscreen for the heliotrope haze of dusk, citronella wafting heavy on the night air. Those summer nights weren’t just dark and twinkling, they were laden with potential energy, the silver ball perched at the top of a physics experiment, a penalty shot lined up against a tied score and less than a minute left.

One navy night, Jamie had taken Siri by the hand, identical sailor knot bracelets scratching against each other’s wrists, and dragged her to her mom’s porch. This was an important ritual in Bayville: hopping from porch to porch after the sun sets to receive parental praise and affection and, if you were lucky, leftover lobster meat or a fresh-baked whoopie pie. This was the first time Siri had been included.

Mrs. Potter was sitting in a rocking chair, reading glasses perched on her nose and a cup of chai on the little table beside her, paperback novel splayed open in her hands. A generous lilac bush off the corner of the cottage steadily pulsed out its sweet perfume, writing itself into Siri’s memory like a madeleine on the tongue.

“Hi Mommy!” Jamie rushed up the steps and then swooped down to give her mother a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Mrs. Potter didn’t even have time to respond before Jamie gestured proudly to Siri.

“Mommy, this is Siri!” Jamie stepped back with that Cheshire grin, the one where her eyes stayed sharp, vibrating with excitement as she directed her mother’s gaze.

“My goodness, she is beautiful, isn’t she,” Mrs. Potter commented, surveying calmly. She was smaller than her daughter, with a weather-worn face typical of New England parents, dark hair shot with gray. Siri could tell, however, where Jamie got her eyes: Mrs. Potter’s were piercing and narrowed in an eerily familiar fashion. The breeze picked up; lingering sea-salted air blended dizzyingly with the evening florals and spiced tea.

Siri stammered through her blush. “Oh! Um, thank you… it’s nice to meet you.” She really wasn’t sure what she did to deserve getting double-teamed by the Potter Stare.

“Ugh, Mom, I told the boys to stop being gross about her!” Jamie whined.

“I didn’t hear it from the boys,” Mrs. Potter replied, still calm, still piercing. “There are whoopie pies inside on the counter. Help yourselves, girls.”

For some reason, Jamie flushed almost as deeply as Siri.

One rainy afternoon, Jamie and Siri perched across from each other on Siri’s bed, beat-up Vera Bradley toiletries bag sitting between them on top of the multi-colored patchwork quilt. Tuney and Lucy were in town at the movies with their families; Gillian was back home at a women’s lacrosse camp for the week. Regina had whined to be included, but Siri had kicked her out unceremoniously.

The two friends were meticulously stroking colored paint onto their toes: crimson red for Siri and metallic gold for Jamie. Siri’s mother would kill them if she saw they were using nail polish on the bed without a towel, but hey, Siri’s a rebel.

“Can I ask you something?” Jamie ventured without removing her focus from the task at hand—er—foot.

Siri’s breath caught a little at the change in tone. Just moments ago, they had been talking about their respective AP Lit reading lists and decrying the lack of women authors. “Sure,” she replied, keeping her voice light.

Jamie eyed the concealers and eyeliners spilling from Siri’s bag. “Why do you always wear makeup? I mean, it’s Bayville.”

Siri bristled automatically. She got teased a lot back home, either for wearing too much makeup or not enough. Always, it came back to her face, and the expectation Siri accepted unquestioningly that she owed the world perfection, and she better not dare present their judgement-day eyes with anything less than that.

She continued applying the blood-red paint to her toes, not looking up. “I mean, everyone wears makeup in Georgia,” she began defensively. “And I cheer, and I’ve done pageants—"

“Shut up!” Jamie interrupted, jaw dropped, pedicure abandoned, gold bottle of polish eagerly twisted shut and tossed carelessly onto the bed. “You’re a beauty queen?!”

Siri chanced a glance upwards. Jamie looked like Christmas had come early. It was not the reaction Siri usually got from other girls when that bit of information got pried from her.

“I mean… I never won or anything,” Siri shrugged, looking away, out the rain-splattered window. The nail polish brush in her hand hovered precariously over her left foot, threatening to drip red all over her careful paint job. “But yeah, I’ve done some of that, and like, modeling, for like department stores and stuff…” The geraniums bedded in their little window boxes outside were getting absolutely pummeled by the downpour.

“Do you like wearing makeup every day?”

When Siri returned her gaze to the room it caught on Jamie’s fish-hook stare, already angling to snag her. Siri didn’t look away.

“I like feeling pretty.”

Jamie held her gaze. “That’s not the same thing.”

Siri searched Jamie’s face for the inevitable cruelty that always slipped in front of jealousy like a vicious guard dog, brutally defending young girls against the pain of insecurity, the fear of rejection, of abandonment. Siri had wielded it thoughtlessly as much as she had been hurt by it, time and again.

But in Jamie’s brown eyes there was no trace of green, only curiosity, and maybe something a little softer? A little… safer? Jamie blinked, tilted her head and let a tiny smile crease the corner of her marble-carved mouth, encouraging Siri.

Siri sighed and dropped her eyes back down, finally closing the bottle of nail polish. She wouldn’t be able to say this next part if she was looking directly into the face of the prettiest girl she had ever seen. “I don’t like how I look without make-up. Sometimes, it’s… it’s all I can think about. How I look.” Siri had never confessed this to anyone before, this shameful, vain secret. “I wish I could be like you… you don’t need make up.”

The next thing Siri knew, warm, soft hands were gently but firmly holding the sides of her face, tilting her jaw up, making her breath catch with the sudden contact. She kept her gaze downcast until the last second, and when it finally did rise it was swallowed immediately by entire galaxies.

Jamie and her swirling orb eyes were maybe a few inches away from Siri’s, staring intently. She spoke with conviction.

“You don’t owe the world shit.”

Siri couldn’t rollerblade. Normally, that wasn’t much of an issue for her. It only became one when Jamie, accomplished athlete with a doe-like grace and the stubbornness of a young buck to match, found out.

So, on a Friday evening around the summer solstice, Siri agreed to let Jamie teach her. In exchange, she had bargained for minimum one hour with Jamie’s stunning face all to herself and her Vera Bradley makeup bag. Siri was chief makeup artist on the cheerleading bus for a reason; it was a creative outlet, painting on shadows and colors and creases to create a work of art you can smile and blink and laugh through. Putting makeup on others allowed Siri to embrace the artistry of it, rather than fight against the compulsivity that overshadowed her own complicated experience.

Jamie had arrived at the Blacks’ cottage around 6pm, just after an early dinner, and followed Siri up to her room where she could work her magic. Siri had been glad her parents were out for the night—she had heard enough off-color comments from her mother about “that Potter family” over the last few weeks and didn’t want to put Jamie at risk of hearing any of it. Regina, the better hairstylist of the two sisters, had been permitted to give Jamie two long French braids that showed off the subtle variations in her thick dark hair, shiny onyx strands rippled with chocolate and auburn.

Now, Siri was starting to regret her actions; the dramatic smokey eye she had indulged in creating electrified Jamie’s laser-beam gaze to the point of distraction.

It made it all the more difficult to stay upright on two thin rows of wheels.

“Jamie!” Siri squealed with a jolt of adrenaline, windmilling her arms out as she lurched forward, gaze ripped from Jamie’s face to the fast-approaching ground. The taller girl cackled but caught her with one hand all the same. Siri clutched at it like a lifeline, heart still pounding.

Their hands stayed clasped. Siri’s heartbeat stayed elevated.

They had found a bit of paved road, out closer to Route 1, and slowly made their way along the empty stretch before them, rolling farther from the safety of the familiar cottages with their slamming screen doors and sneaky garden gates, venturing onwards as the sun sank fast into an approaching dusk.

Both girls were clad in denim miniskirts; Siri’s was dark wash and kept riding up her hips as she maneuvered along the asphalt in a pair of old skates borrowed from Jamie. She had to keep tugging at it from underneath an oversized gray college-branded hoodie, so large it threatened to swallow her petite frame all together. Jamie’s mini was a light wash and fitted tightly to show off her strong thighs and butt. Paired with white and yellow layered tank tops that she filled out so enviously well, Jamie Potter looked like nothing less than Roller Derby Barbie. When Siri had told her so, Jamie had almost skated into a tree.

“We’re close to Cote’s,” Jamie commented after a stretch of not-quite-comfortable silence. Siri was grateful for the interruption; she got along better with Jamie than anyone else in Bayville, but one-on-one hang outs with her were becoming threaded with something unsettling, an uncomfortable crack of buzzed-out current that kept Siri’s body tipped on the edge of fight-or-flight. “Want to get an ice cream?”

There was something in the way she said it that made Siri look over at her friend in the fading twilight. Jamie’s eyes were practically glowing, the whites phosphorescent against her dark irises and the looming forest shadows, but there was still enough light to see her cheeks were darkened. Siri didn’t think she had put that much blush on her; she hadn’t wanted to pull focus from her eye makeup. Furthermore, in a way that didn’t usually accompany casual suggestions of ice cream, Jamie’s eyebrows were oddly drawn together. Siri wanted to reach out and smooth them, trail her fingers down her cheek, maybe hold her jaw tenderly and—

Oh.

Shit.

Siri gulped.

When they rolled up to Cote’s, however, the two girls were not alone. Fabian, Remus, Peter, and a couple more boys Siri didn’t recognize were sitting at one of the picnic tables out front, eating burgers and fries and making a general ruckus. It was late enough that a street lamp had flickered on, bathing the scene in artificial light. It made the faces of the boys glow eerily, joker grins and flinted eyes.

Every pair landed on Siri and Jamie and stayed there. Grins growing wider.

“Oh shit, look who it is!” Fabian was the first to crow. Remus groaned, no doubt annoyed by the unwelcomed intrusion of the two girls.

The two new boys made no pretense about continuing to stare openly.

Jamie’s grip on Siri’s hand tightened briefly before dropping.

“I was just teaching Siri how to skate. She’s never tried.” Jamie sounded uncharacteristically defensive. Territorial, even.

“What happened to your face?” Remus deadpanned. Fabian snickered.

Jamie drew herself to her full height, even taller than usual with the roller skates, and looked down her nose at the entire table. “She did my makeup. I love it.”

“It looks like you got punched,” Peter offered.

Fabian chimed in, “Why do you even wear that stuff? Girls look better without makeup, anyway.”

Siri and Jamie let that comment hang in the air for a beat or two. Watched Fabian squirm a bit.

“Gross,” Siri pronounced, once she had determined their point had been made. Jamie cracked her knuckles.

“Anyway, we were just here to get some ice cream. Come on, Siri.” Jamie made to grab her hand again and stomp them both into the tiny store, skates and all, when Fabian grabbed Siri’s other hand.

“No, Siri, stay with us. Potts’ll get your ice cream, right Potts?” He grinned up at Jamie, laying on the charm. A strange, fiery look passed between them before they turned to the girl in question.

Siri, not wanting to draw out—whatever that was—quickly agreed, pulling herself free of their grips. “Yeah, you go, I’ll wait out here.”

But at Siri’s response, Jamie’s face immediately clouded over into something downright murderous. Her eyes flashed as she turned and clomped into the store. A beat passed before Remus hopped up and announced he wanted some ice cream, too, and dragged Peter along with him. Fabian called to get him a cookie dough. Remus flipped him off without turning around or loosening his grip on Peter.

Siri carefully lowered herself to perch on the spot vacated by Remus, next to Fabian. She had her back facing away from the table along with the two random boys and was angled towards the door of the shop. She picked at a hangnail. Fiddled with a coil of long hair, dried curly after a day of dock jumping. Hoped her stupid fucking red cheeks could pass as exertion from roller skating.

She felt Fabian scooch closer. He muscled a tricep into her shoulder blade to get her attention. When she turned to look, he was leaning in, face close.

“Uh, these are my buddies from home, Benji and Caradoc.” Drew gestured to each boy across the table. “Guys, this is Siri.” He was hunched over and not quite making eye contact. He fidgeted with a few cold fries.

The weird energy pushing uncomfortably around them had Siri too agitated to remember to smile, but she did at least adjust her body to face the boys. They were built similarly to Fabian and both sported flowing locks peeking out beneath baseball hats.

Siri was outnumbered three to one by lax bros. She looked around for Satan, wondering why he wasn’t present to welcome her to what was clearly hell itself.

The boys still hadn’t stopped looking at her.

“Shit, dude, you weren’t kidding about this place,” one of the boys—Caradoc, maybe?—smirked cryptically. The other boy snorted, nudged the first.

Fabian’s eyes widened and he threw a soggy fry across the table. “Shut the fuck up,” he mumbled.

They were all saved by the tinkling of the shop door as Jamie, Remus and Peter returned, ice creams dripping from their hands. Siri scrutinized Jamie for a sign of what might be going on, but the taller girl kept her eyes averted and mouth set in a determined, hard line. Remus appeared frustrated, Peter nervous.

“Thanks, Jamie.” Siri spoke sincerely, trying to catch her friend’s eye, as a cone piled high with fruit-flecked ice cream was deposited emotionlessly into her hand.

“Welcome.” Jamie replied. She grabbed a stool from the outdoor counter, carried it over, placed it across from Siri and Fabian so the three of them formed a triangle of sorts, and threw herself onto it with her legs splayed despite her skirt. Somehow, she held onto her strawberry ice cream effortlessly throughout the process—rollerblades be dammed.

Remus, meanwhile, leaned on the end of the picnic table next to Fabian and handed off the requested cookie dough cone. He began eating his own chocolate ice cream quietly. Peter skulked behind him and slurped a milkshake.

“What flavor did you get?” Fabian asked Siri, low like he was only talking to her.

“Black cherry.” Siri spoke loudly as if it were a group conversation. “Jamie knows it’s my favorite.” She punctuated the statement with a smile in her friend’s direction, rolling over, a submissive flash of soft white tummy.

Siri’s tail went between her legs when it wasn’t returned; Jamie’s stare was trained on Fabian.

“Wanna try mine?” Fabian proffered his cone to Siri. She could hear more snickering from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum behind her.

Siri whipped her head around. “Oh! Uh—”

“Come on, it’s good.” Fabian cracked a shit-eating grin. “My cone needs to be tasted.” All four boys, minus Remus, were snorting heartily.

But before Siri could vocalize the acerbic reply forming in the back of her throat, Jamie suddenly leaned forward off her stool and licked Fabian’s cone herself, tongue wide and pink against the creamy vanilla. Her eyes met Siri’s as she flicked the tip of her tongue up at the crest of the cone, cream dripping down into her mouth, before pulling the clever appendage back behind her teeth, swallowing, and finishing off with a final swipe of her full lips.

Oh.

Shit.

“There.” Jamie concluded, sitting back. Siri’s mind was blank. “Your cone has been tasted. No one else needs to be subjected to it. Besides,” —a cocky wink to Siri, a shrug to the boys— “it could have been bigger.”

Everyone, even Remus, howled with laughter; it was peak “that’s what she said” era.

Everyone except Siri.

“Truth.”

Siri and Jamie were laying on a blanket in the grass, flat on their backs, looking up at the stars. After they had finished their ice cream, Fabian had given the girls a lift back to Bayville. He had offered Siri shotgun but Jamie had complained her long legs meant she needed the front seat more. Eager to please and wanting to get back into Jamie’s good graces, unsure why she had even fallen out of them in the first place—must be an only child thing—Siri had acquiesced and sat in the back with the rest of the boys. To her relief, it seemed to have worked. Jamie was back to her usual loud, joking self as soon as Fabian had dropped them off.

They had stopped at the Blacks’ cottage to change out of their skates and grab a blanket—hot-blooded Jamie refusing to borrow a sweatshirt—before wandering down to the central lawn ostensibly to stargaze but really to giggle and gossip. It hadn’t taken long to strike up a round of Truth or Dare; Siri had just selected truth.

“What’s your number?” Jamie asked in the direction of the North Star.

Siri turned her head, traced her eyes over Jamie’s profile outlined in the moonlight. Her nose was elegant, fit perfectly to her face, her top lip pouting prettily just beneath it.

“Zero,” Siri answered after a beat. Unashamed, but also unsure.

Jamie turned her head as well, brow furrowed almost in offense, eyes deep and searching of Siri’s face.

“You can tell me.”

Siri smiled with only half her mouth, derisive. “Trust me, I would.”

Jamie’s gaze refused to let up. Siri could feel heat prickling along her hips, under her arms. “I…yeah, there hasn’t been anyone worth it, I guess.” Her pulse was throbbing harder the longer Jamie looked at her like that.

“What about you?” Siri asked, looking for relief: Jamie’s stare was like an exacting silver needle, threading the two of them together without mercy, sewing them closer and closer.

Jamie made a strange face; a little sad, a little hopeful. “Just one. My ex-boyfriend. Sophomore year.”

Siri took a breath, to work out how she felt about that. “Did you love him?” Siri decided she hoped she loved him. Hoped he loved her, more like. Jamie deserved love, all of it.

That needle-eye stare punctured the night with quiet catching sounds as it stitch, stitch, stitched away, pricking spindled fingers with gift and curse alike as Jamie Potter thought hard before answering.

“In a way, yeah, I think so.” She turned back to the stars, pulling but not snapping the immortal threads. “I definitely thought I did.”

Siri didn’t respond, but redirected her gaze skyward as well. The two girls simply breathed together, laying side by side, woven and watching as the earth turned. Nature was serenading them ardently, crickets and frogs awake and amorous, calling for mates. The gentle lapping of the bay against well-worn rocks and weathered boats and steadfast pilings and rooted banks beat in time to steady stolen hearts; the rustle of oak leaves in the trees above, caught dizzy in a midnight breeze, blew secrets in and out of seashelled ears.

Siri felt like Ariel, floating in a blue lagoon. Just missing a crooning crab.

Then, to the moon: “Was it good?”

“It hurt,” Jamie replied, also to the moon. “But I wanted to do it. I just, haven’t really wanted to… since then.”

The wind picked up and Siri looked over in time to watch Jamie shiver. Goosebumps erupted all down her toned arms and chest, across the gleaming tops of her breasts gently swollen against the moonlight. Siri allowed her eyes to continue trailing downwards, clock the evidence of Jamie’s chill even through her bra and layered tops.

Siri turned and sat up, pulled off her own sweatshirt with crossed arms, pink Abercrombie polo getting caught up a bit in her effort. When her vision reappeared from the tangle of cloth and curls, Jamie was staring at her.

“Here.” Siri tossed the sweatshirt, still warm with her body heat, into Jamie’s lap. Jamie didn’t move. Siri raised her eyebrows. “I know you’re cold, Potts, I just watched you shiver.”

Jamie didn’t smile, but sat up slack-jawed and put on the sweatshirt without protesting. That’s a first, Siri thought.

“Your turn.” Siri said once Jamie was bundled up. She missed the sight of her smooth shoulders, her sculpted clavicle, and okay, yes, her tits in those tank tops, but there was something pleasant about seeing Jamie in Siri’s clothes that made it worth it. Plus, in their new semi-seated positions Jamie had her long legs stretched unendingly in front of her, ankles crossed, as she leaned back on her hands. The top of her shin bone seemed to fucking glow, radioactive in the mirror-blue night. Siri’s legs were curved under her as she sat slightly hunched toward Jamie, close to the bend of her waist. “Truth or dare.”

Jamie surprised Siri by picking truth.

“Ok…” Siri’s eyes flicked to Jamie’s perfect mouth. She took a risk. “What’s the deal between you and Fabian?”

Siri was braced to get told off, or for Jamie to dissolve in girlish denial. Instead, she was serious, considering carefully before replying. “He used to have a crush on me.” She twisted her neck, popping the joints. Looked out towards the water. “Followed me around all last summer, like a lost puppy.”

Siri snorted at the image. “Did you like him back?”

Jamie pulled her mouth to the side, lifted a shoulder. “Not really.”

Siri thought of the boys back home, a few in particular… always lurking around hall corners and by lockers and on sidelines. She could relate.

“So what’s different this year?” Siri pressed, slightly afraid of the answer.

Jamie leveled Siri with a look, ancient amber sparked with starlight. “Well, you’re here.”

Ah, fuck.

Siri sighed, looked away. Forced herself to ask, “Are you jealous?”

“Maybe a little,” Jamie whispered.

Siri’s heart sank like the Heart of the fucking Ocean. She turned her head fully away from Jamie, looking over her shoulder at the dark trees and shadowed cottages in the distance. Most of their lights were out.

“Well I don’t really like him, like that, so,” Siri mumbled into the darkness, giving Jamie the green light. At least now it was out in the open. Maybe now they could go back to being normal friends.

Well, normal-ish, for Siri.

Jamie, however, perked up, excited. “Yeah? You don’t?” She shuffled forward, angling her face to try and catch Siri’s avoidant eye.

To Siri’s horror, she felt heat press into her sinuses, her throat, her eyes shimmering and shaking, threatening to spill at any moment. She really didn’t like Drew, so why did she care so much if Jamie did?

You know why, Inner Siri whispered.

Go to hell, Denial Siri muttered back.

She took a shaky breath in, forced her emotions back down—stomped on them with gusto, really. “It’s your turn to ask. Go.”

“Truth or dare.” The pleased smile in Jamie’s voice carried, although Siri still hadn’t turned back around to face her. Hearing it in this context felt like falling from a stunt; a deeply unpleasant drop in your stomach followed by getting the wind brutally knocked out of you.

Siri sighed again. “Truth.” She had learned long ago never to pick dare. At any rate, she found people fascinating, their secrets, their fears, their dreams: learning those intimacies and sharing them back helped her love deeper, love specific, when she chose to. Like right now, Inner Siri noted, smug. Shut the fuck up, Denial Siri replied, pissed.

“What about just kissing? How many guys have you kissed?”

Siri should have known Jamie wasn’t going to let the general topic go. She groaned and rolled her head back, exasperated, before finally lolling it around to glare at Jamie, whose braids were still holding her thick hair tight away from her face, fine baby hairs whisping in front of her ears and over her brow. Dark eyes rimmed in charcoal smoke glinted with intent: mischief, and something else Siri couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Siri inhaled, nostrils flaring. This one was less fun to talk about.

“None.”

Jamie’s jaw dropped. But her eyes. They positively lit up, bright and keen.

“None?!”

Siri shook her head. Thought, again, of the simpering boys back home, of Fabian and his friends from earlier. Sure, those guys were hot, but the thought of trusting them enough to hold her, touch her. It just didn’t make sense.

“I’ve only kissed two guys,” Jamie quickly offered. There was something unspoken behind her teeth. “My ex, and a random boy at the 8th grade dance.”

That seemed odd to Siri. Jamie was friendly, popular. Confident. Girls like that had no trouble kissing for fun.

“Okay then.” Jamie sounded like she had decided something, God help us all. She angled her body, taking Siri’s silence as some sort of invitation, and gave her an uncommonly brilliant demonstration of the Potter Stare paired with her signature smile.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Siri gaped; blood coursed through her ears. No, no, no this wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t like that—a pity kiss, or, or an experiment or something silly to giggle about—

“It’s not your turn!” Siri sputtered. “And… I didn’t pick dare! I never pick dare.”

Jamie was leaning towards Siri, head tilted down so she could quite literally bat her thick, darkened eyelashes up at her. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” she pouted, smiling. Cheeky. Siri felt a shiver ignite down her helpless spine.

The problem was, Jamie had no idea how badly she did.

Siri was powerfully reminded of the first time they met. “Don’t you want to hang out with us?” She was so sure, so confident. Easy. Everything Siri was not.

Now, Jamie’s face had turned on a dime from flirty to focused. It was a little terrifying.

Because behind that carefree ease and sunlight smile, Siri knew, there was a deep and raw hunger. An ache to be needed. To be seen, and delighted in, just as she tries so hard to see and delight in everyone else around her.

Siri saw Jamie.

“I… I don’t.” Siri swallowed, tore her eyes away. “I don’t want it to be a dare.” She was grateful for the darkness, knowing that for once her berry-red face was getting some camouflage.

Jamie, meanwhile, changed tack. Siri could still feel the intensity of her gaze, but she also felt her sit up a little, square herself, blend her characteristic curiosity into that swirling stare.

“What about not guys?” Jamie asked evenly.

Siri frowned, mirrored Jamie’s body language, met her eyes once again. “What?”

She repeated, patient. Dead serious. “How many not-guys have you kissed?”

Was Jamie asking what Siri thought she was asking? Siri was silent, could only stare, searching her face for clues.

It had gotten closer to her own, somehow.

Stitch, stitch, stitch.

Jamie took a deep breath, eyes locked on Siri. “I’ve kissed… a few not-boys,” she confessed.

Did Siri imagine it, or did Jamie’s eyes flit down to Siri’s mouth when she said it?

Then, slowly, unbelievably, Jamie reached out a warm hand. Siri’s breath hitched and something flipped pleasantly low behind her tailbone as with the backs of her knuckles, Jamie tenderly brushed a lock of hair from Siri’s forehead, fingers turning and tracing down her cheek, so impossibly soft and delicate. Ice and fire whooshed simultaneously along Siri’s face where the tips of Jamie’s nails caressed her skin; Siri’s eyes fluttered shut. She leaned into the touch.

“I don’t want it to be a dare, either,” Jamie whispered, honey-glazed, low. Assured.

Siri’s heart stopped. She opened her eyes.

And Jamie’s were dancing, burning waves of desire, a whirlpool and Siri was drowning. Jamie’s fingers slid from Siri’s cheek to grip deep within her hair, hold her firmly around her jaw and neck.

She was so close now there was hardly any space left between them. Siri’s lips parted with soft pants. She could feel Jamie’s breath on her tongue, creamy and sweet.

“Siri, I—” Jamie murmured against Siri’s open mouth, nosing into her. “I want to.” She gripped the other side of Siri’s face, fierce, desperate. “I want you.”

Siri closed the distance.

And it was… Fireworks? A revelation? Angels singing Handel’s chorus in four-part harmony?

It was so easy. So easy to revel in the feel of Jamie’s lips on her own, to slowly open her mouth for her, willingly, taste her, gently. So fucking soft and warm and wet and sweet, a delightful echo of the ice cream she had so lustfully watched Jamie lick away at earlier, sugared vanilla and tangy fruit, filling up her mouth and tongue.

Jamie expertly maneuvered Siri’s face sideways with knowing hands still holding her neck, sending Siri’s stomach swooping down to her toes (though it felt more like a well-executed tumbling pass than a dropped stunt), and deepened the kiss.

It was incredibly sexy.

Jamie’s tongue was down her throat and butterflies were rioting through her body and congregating between her legs and in her pelvis and Siri pushed in, gripped the front of that damn sweatshirt, wanting more. She felt their teeth bump and their movements fall out of sync, but then Jamie merely giggled into her, the corners of her mouth pulling with her smile and pushing that fucking tongue out of her mouth just that little bit to meet her own outside their lips.

So they did that for a minute. Just took turns carefully, slowly pushing each other’s tongues back and forth, fingers dancing over smooth cheeks and warm necks and warmer waists, peppering in soft licks and nips to bottom lips, growing plumper and redder by the minute. Siri was pretty sure she was remembering to swallow, because nothing felt too sloppy, just really fucking hot.

So hot that she somehow ended up straddled on top of Jamie, skirt hiked up by those confident hands dangerously high on her thighs, rolling her hips hungrily, even aggressively, against Jamie’s body and feeling her so fucking soft underneath her.

She wasn’t sure who came up for air first. It might have been Siri, but only because Jamie tugged deliciously at the roots of Siri’s curls, forcing her head back and making her moan out to the stars and the moon above while Jamie collapsed against her throat.

“Holy fucking shit, Siri.” Jamie panted after a beat, looking up into her face, wild-eyed. Shocked.

“Sorry! Jamie, sorry, I—too much?” Siri struggled to catch her breath. She wasn’t sure how, in the span of twenty minutes, she had gone from never having a first kiss to rutting into the hottest girl alive in a semi-public area. Her underwear felt uncomfortably wet.

She didn’t hate it.

“Jesus Christ, no,” Jamie breathed through a maniacal grin. And Siri saw then that the shock was really pride.

Smug, cocky, balls-a-swinging pride.

And under that, a deep and radiant and joy-filled relief.

Siri figured it was probably reflected incandescently on her own face.

Inner Siri agreed.

She was sprawled on her tummy in bed, heart still pleasantly in her throat and head very much still on the lawn under the stars, when the unmistakable feeling of being watched prickled across Siri’s already-sensitive skin. Sure enough, she rolled over to find a familiarly slender shadow quietly darkening the small crack in her bedroom doorway, belied only by the faintest creak of old floorboards beneath socked feet.

“You’re back,” the shadow said.

Shortly after midnight, Jamie had walked Siri home, hand protectively around her shoulders and Siri nuzzled happily into Jamie’s chest, arms encircling her waist like a needy koala, enveloping each other in the smell of hair and skin and laundry soap as they had stumbled up the hill. Siri had taken care not to wake her family when she crept back inside the cottage, parting kisses stolen behind blind-eye hedges after giggled insistences to keep it, I like seeing it on you.

“Obviously,” Siri whispered, waiting.

Wordlessly, Regina pushed Siri’s bedroom door open enough for her to slip inside and pad over to the bed. The wrought iron frame groaned, unnaturally loud in the still of the night, as she wiggled beneath the covers next to her sister.

Regina’s copious curls spilled across the pillow, taking up half the bed with untamable tendrils and tickling Siri’s nose and neck. Siri pushed them away, pressed her icy toes under Regina’s calves.

Their breathing evened as they settled next to each other, Siri on her back, looking up at the moonlight cast in scattered shapes across the ceiling, Regina on her side with her head tucked in like a burrowed kitten.

“How was it?” Regina whispered into the covers.

“Good.” Siri replied, guarded. The butterflies she had been enjoying were flying right up her throat and out her mouth with each exhale, leaving just plain nerves in their wake. She wasn’t sure what Regina would say about, well, everything.

“I talked to Remus, after y’all came back from Cote’s.”

Siri glanced down at her sister. “Oh?” Remus wasn’t particularly intimidating, but he was a boy several years older than Regina, and Siri didn’t think they had had any direct conversations before.

“He said it got a little… awkward,” Regina tried delicately.

Siri sighed. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

Regina’s eyes opened and batted up to look at Siri, eyebrows and lashes dark on her pale face. She looked impossibly young, tender, like a fawn waiting patiently for its mother in the wooded thicket. “And that someone likes you.”

Siri thought of Fabian, and Remus, seated next to each other on the picnic bench, their reactions when she had rolled up. Fabian’s immature behavior. She groaned.

“Yeah… I figured.” Honestly why did it always come back to a freaking guy? Was this really what it was always going to be like?

“So… did something happen?” Regina pressed.

Siri never lied to her sister, so she didn’t say anything.

Regina could read her like a book anyway.

“Did you guys kiss?”

Siri breathed out, barely a whisper. “Yes.” Her lips quivered. “But it’s not with… it wasn’t who you think.”

And all the emotions and the overwhelming bigness of just, everything, came crashing back, and the tears Siri had stomped down earlier finally spilled hot down her cheeks.

Regina was calm, steady. Blinked her fawn eyes gently.

“Was it Jamie?” She had always possessed a wisdom beyond her young years.

Siri turned a tear-streaked face to her sister. Cried a little harder. Nodded.

Regina shrugged. “Remus said he and Peter were pretty fed up with how she was acting. Wanted her to just go for it already. He asked me if I thought you liked her back.”

“Really?” Siri smiled, watery, hopeful. “What did you say?”

Despite her sensitivity, Regina was still a sassy little shit. She rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

And there, in the soft quiet night with silver moonbeams carrying dreams and desire back and forth across a star-strewn bay, Regina hugged her.

Siri hugged her back.

On the easternmost tip of the country, dashing up 95 or lazing along Route 1, over tiny suspension bridges and past sleepy lobstering towns and through fields alive with black-eyed susans and purple clover and Miss Rumphius’s famous lupine,

down dusty country roads that crunch under car tires and kick dust behind sneakers,

between paper-white birch trees and evergreen pine lined with split-rail fences and wild rose bushes hiding monarchs and honeybees,

tucked among rocky, cragged coastline where red quartz cliffs break squally sprays over pebbled stones warmed gray by the sun,

following the call of seagulls and dinghy bells and misplaced rhotic consonants within winter-gruff voices (ayuh),

where the smells of white bar soap and mineral-crusted pipes and salt, salt, salt mingle with those of lilac and bug spray and ozone,

there lies a fairytale village on a wishful blue bay.

And if you make pilgrimage to its venerable wooden dock, last stop before plunging into ocean deep,

and perhaps rest on its cerulean-bright benches, look out in wonder at how blues so blue can exist, and whites so white, and greens so green, and breathe what feels like nothing, the air so crystal clean,

and sigh and turn your head, look north, you might see

written in black sharpie, bubble letters marking permanently chip-worn paint,

the initials JFP + SOB.

And somewhere to the left of that, your curious eyes tracing, find that same sharpie and youthful handwriting among the various inking and carving,

SOB + RAB

#marauders #prongsfoot #sirius x james #twatd #sirius and regulus

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