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thrillridesz · 4 years ago

Text

[ to start from the prologue - click here ]

n/a: unedited!

“Ah, I was just asking.” You said, trying not to let your smile waver as you watched Jacob’s shoulder drop, the expectant look in his eyes giving way to disappointment for just a split second before he smiled gently.

“Oh, okay.”

“I’d be down to hang out anytime you want by the way!” You hurriedly added in an attempt to clear the awkward tension in the air and Jacob must have sensed it when he gave you a reassuring look to alleviate your worries at the possibility of accidentally blowing him off.

“That would be great. I’d love that,” He said softly, his tone warm and kind and you felt your heart skip a beat. You had just met this guy but you already knew you liked him. There was something so soft spoken and almost angelic about his demeanor that you can’t help but want to get to know him a little bit better.

“Would you like to exchange numbers?”

“Sure thing.” He grinned and you handed him your phone for him to key his number in. As he did, you couldn’t help but notice how his soft hair fell over his eyes and how he seemed to simply radiate a naturally ethereal and soft aura. The butterflies in your stomach were beginning to flutter wildly and you wondered if this was what ‘having a crush’ felt like. You had never had one since fourth grade.

You still remembered how it all went down. Despite your best efforts to make him like you, all he did was trample heartlessly on your good intentions and feelings. You stiffened as you recalled how he had ran away from you the moment you presented him with a handmade card on Valentine’s Day which you had spent a lot of time designing. The process had been gruelling for a young kid your age, to stay up late just to get yourself covered in glitter, glue and paint only to be rejected without even an answer. That day, you had felt so devastated and upset that you refused to even eat dinner until your grandmother threatened to bust down your door herself.

Over time, you kept the memory at the back of your mind, refusing to remember as you chose to place your focus on things that more greatly deserved your attention. Was one guy really going to change all of that? It felt a little ridiculous, seeing that you have just met Jacob but you could feel that was this sort of chemistry between the two of you. There was something so innately pure about him that you really liked. He exuded such warmth, unlike the boys you’d usually meet. This was one boy you could seriously like.

“Y/n? Y/n?”

You shook out of your daze and realised that Jacob was peering down at you curiously and you felt the embarrassment start to creep in.

“Sorry, were you saying anything?’

“Um, I was asking if you wanted me to key my number into your phone as well.” He said, looking a little confused. “Was there something on your mind?”

“Ah, it’s just… School.” You laughed it off and he chuckled, a deep yet soft laugh coming from within his chest.

“I can relate! I have that expression when I think of school as well.”

Pressing your number into his contacts, you handed his phone back to him and he smiled, “I’ll text you soon.”

“Didn’t he say he was going to text?” You wondered as you stared at your phone for the nth time.

The subway train slowed to a stop and as you alighted, you kept your eyes glued to your phone, feeling your heart sink with each passing hour. Even as you slipped it into your pocket, you could feel yourself being on high alert for any notifications, pings or vibration. As you walked down the streets and felt the slightest tremor, you could feel the anticipation coursing through your veins as you checked the notifications only to sigh deeply.

[ (1) notification from emma🔥 ]

hey are you there yet? i might be a lil late

yeah im actually already here

You texted back, pushing open the double doors to find the place still relatively calm and serene. There wasn’t anyone else except for an eldery couple at the booth in the far corner and a hooded figure hunched over a chocolate smoothie by the bar. The lunch crowd wouldn’t be here until another half an hour so it was plenty of time for you to relax and prepare yourself for an afternoon of unadulterated chaos and rushing lunch orders.

As you tapped your employee card against the electronic reader, you barely noticed someone creeping behind you and before you knew it…

“Y/n!”

“Oh! Fu- Kevin!” You scolded, slapping him lightly on the back as the boy doubled back, shaking with laughter. Your phone had clattered to the ground as you jumped and immediately, you doved for it, inspecting it for any damage and turning to glare at him.

“You… You should have seen your face! I’m dying!” He wheezed, his laughs almost coming out in pants at this point.

“Ugh, go annoy someone else.” You rolled your eyes, pushing past him while he trailed behind you.

“C’mon, it was just a joke.” He said, following you out to the cash register where you started your first duty of counting all the money in the till. Leaning on his elbows, he peered up at you curiously. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“I’m not that petty, Kevin.”

“Didn’t think you were,” he grinned and as your phone vibrated for the second time, you rushed to check it again, the excitement in your expression not going unnoticed by Kevin. As you deflated and stuffed your phone back into your pocket and resumed your duty of counting the notes, he asked, “Who was that?”

You purse your lips. “Just Emma telling me that she might be really late.”

“Huh. You were clearly expecting someone else to text you, I can see it. Come on, spill.” He said, his voice bearing a teasing tilt to it and you knew you could hide nothing from him.

Kevin was a friend you knew since you were in first grade. The two of you had hit it off almost immediately and grew to become a very close duo. In a way, he was the Watson to your Sherlock, the Joey to your Chandler, the Key to your Peele… You get the idea. He was your closest friend, someone you could confide in without needing to fear any judgement on his part. He was someone you told your deepest darkest secrets to, even ones that you kept from everyone else so that only the both of you knew about it. The bond the two of you shared was strong and almost unbreakable and there was practically nothing that would escape the notice of either of you.

“It’s just some guy.” You relented, feeling the heat on your face coming back.

“A guy huh?” Kevin mumbled, his expression one of mild surprise and something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Not going to lie, I didn’t expect that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, you’ve always been so invested in school and school only.” He shrugged before continuing, “When did you meet him? Where is he from?”

“Firstly, I’m not always ‘so invested in school and school only’. Let’s make that clear,” You retorted, “I met him yesterday at the bleachers before class so he’s from our school.”

“Interesting. What’s his name? Maybe I know him.”

“Jacob. Jacob Bae.”

“Wow, you even know his last name?”

“That’s what he keyed into my phone, dumbass. I’m not a stalker.” You rolled your eyes, showing him the contact information which he squinted at.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday?” He asked, frowning.

“We didn’t have a chance to talk. You had extra classes, Belle wasn’t in school and Simmi had some debate club meeting.” You replied nonchalantly, slipping the money back into the register.

“Still.”

“Alright fine, stop acting like such a dad.” You laughed, patting him on the back and his eyes darkened for a second before he reverted back to his previous carefree state.

“By the way, didn’t Bec say we’re expecting someone new today?” Kevin asked as he disappeared into the back of the house. You nodded, rearranging and organising the condiment bottles by the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, we are. They should be here any time soon.”

“Sorry, I’m new here. This is my first day on the job, do you work here?” A voice asked as you kept your head down, focused on the task at hand. That must be the new guy, you thought.

“Ah yeah, I do! You must be-” The smile on your face fell sharply as you saw who was in front of you.

The guy in front of you stared back, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and surprise in his expression as his mouth hung open. He was tall and had a lean figure with a handsome face that you would have recognised anywhere or rather anyone from school would have recognised, not just you.

He was the school football team’s quarterback and also the one who had broken your heart way back in first grade - Lee Juyeon.

“You… Y/n…”

“He’s here?” Kevin called from the kitchen, jogging out from the kitchen with a bright smile, ready to greet the new arrival only to skid to an abrupt stop as he saw who it was. His reaction practically mirrored yours and quickly, the smile disappeared as he stepped forward, his eyes blazing with barely concealed irritation.

“What are you doing here?” He asked Juyeon, who looked extremely ill at ease.

“I-”

“Ah, yes! You’re here! Juyeon, is that right? I see you’ve met my other two servers?” Bec, the restaurant manager interrupted as she walked forward, blissfully unaware of what she had just walked in on and shook his hand. There was still a startled, ‘deer caught in headlights’ look on Juyeon’s face as he shook her hand weakly, unable to get a word out.

“Y-yeah…”

“Excellent! Come with me, let’s get you settled here. You all will have a lot of time to socialise later, don’t worry.” She winked and you exchanged a look with Kevin that very clearly indicated that none of you wanted to have anything to do with Juyeon. The quarterback casted the both of you a nervous glance which neither of you returned before he followed Bec into the employees’ room. There was no time for any conversation as the two of them disappeared through the doors and immediately, you and Kevin erupted.

“Why the fuck is he here-”

“Of all people-”

You drew in a deep breath as you rubbed your hands over your face. “Ugh, why is this happening?”

Kevin placed a hand on your shoulder gently, concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You sighed. How ironic to have finally run into Juyeon in a place you’d never expect to run into him ever. You could still recall that very day…

Shaking your head, you shook the thought out of your head. No, you can’t. It’s best to keep these memories buried.

“I don’t get it. I’ve been trying all these years to avoid him and now I meet him here?!”

“Yeah, I know. I totally get it…” Kevin coaxed, his voice soothing and reassuring. You looked up at him and instantly, you knew that the both of you still remembered very clearly what had happened that day despite your best efforts to forget that embarrassing moment.

You had given him your handmade card that first grader you had stayed up to craft and instead of even giving you a proper answer, he had chosen to run away in front of everyone else. When you tried to talk to him, all he did was shy away and refuse to even utter a single word to you which would always hurt extra bad whenever you saw him getting along with everyone else in elementary school. In a way, his reactions had a domino effect such that other kids who were also his friends began to catch on to what he was doing and started to follow suit. The only friend you had with you then was just Kevin. Eventually when everyone in the same grade progressed onto middle school and subsequently high school, you tried everything in your power to avoid Juyeon at all costs.

You would never join any clubs he was in, you would not sit in the same area as he did when it came to lunchtime and you would not sign up for the same classes in the same time slot as he did. When you said ‘everything in your power’, you quite literally meant ‘everything in your power’.

Till today, the memory of it still haunts you one way or another. On one hand, it wasn’t really a particularly traumatising experience but on another, it totally was. What he did totally trashed your confidence and it even made you swear off crushes until well, maybe recently… But none of that mattered. Here he was in the flesh, at your workplace of all places and you are now expected to work with him? How bad can your luck get?

As lunch service began and the crowd began to stream in, you tried your hardest to avoid him as well, moving away whenever he came close. Kevin, knowing what your agenda was, made every effort to minimise any interactions between the two of you which you were also extremely grateful for. This was what best friends were for, and perhaps your luck wasn’t so terrible after all because Bec had him attached to Emma for most of the time thereby further minimising any form of potential contact or communication.

For the rest of service whenever you had to pass by Juyeon, you never once lifted your gaze to look him in the eye or face to face. You could feel his eyes on you and it practically took everything in your power to not look back or do anything that could possibly give him a signal that you were open to a conversation or any form of interaction. Whenever he walked into the kitchen, you would leave and when he came near, you would retreat. It was like avoiding the plague. It didn’t matter to you how hectic lunch service was when your heart and mind was so preoccupied with Juyeon’s presence in the same confined place.

Why had he come? Why here of all places? Why this job?

There were so many questions that floated around in your mind and before you knew it, the shift had ended. Before Bec could even dismiss you, you bolted and made a run for the employees’ room and as you made your escape, you could see Juyeon looking at you from the corner of your eye. Once you were in the safety of the employees’ room, you breathed a huge sigh of relief and realised the tension in your shoulders dissipated as well as you did.

What a service. Was it because Juyeon was there that you barely felt like any time passed at all? You must have been so caught up and self conscious with him around that it didn’t even feel like an entire afternoon had just passed.

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the cold metal of the locker door. As much as you hated to admit it, he was still so deeply attractive to you even after all these years. It wasn’t like you hated him but you definitely did try to. After all, it would have been so much easier to avoid someone you truly hated.

Whipping out your phone, you immediately perked up as you scrolled through the notifications.

[ (1) notification from Jacob Bae ]

hey y/n, i was wondering if you wanted to hang out later for dinner? at bloom mall?

The message was sent more than an hour ago and you could have kicked yourself for missing it. What if he no longer wanted to hang out? Was it still too late to reply?

You could help but smile to yourself as you recalled the moment the both of you had shared yesterday. Though brief, you really did feel a connection. Everything about him was so sweet, innocent and angel-like. All in all, he was your ideal type unlike a certain someone…

A knock on the door almost made you drop your phone and your heart was in your mouth as the knob turned.

“Y/n? You still here?” Emma’s voice could be heard and you felt your heart relax.

“Yeah, I am!” You answered, walking towards her. “What’s up?”

“Can I ask you for a favour? Pretty please?”

“What is it?”

“Could you please help me coach that new guy on how to refill and operate the sanitising machines? I would have done it but I really have to rush to meet my boyfriend for our anniversary dinner and I might be late!” She pleaded, clasping both hands in front of you in a begging motion.

Instantly, your heart dropped and frantically, you tried to deflect her request.

“Can’t you just ask Kevin?”

“Bec has him clocking in for an additional hour because supposedly, Dana would be coming in late due to traffic. If you’re worried that it would be awkward, it’s not! Kevin will be there, I know how close you guys are and that Juyeon guy is actually super easy going and I think you two would get along really well!” She said with so much vindication that you wanted to laugh but covered it up quickly with a cough.

“Would you please do me this favour?” Emma asked once more. “I mean… Don’t feel pressured! I understand that you might have plans so if you can’t, don’t feel worried. If you do though, I will literally buy you breakfast, lunch or dinner… Your choice!”

You looked at her with a defeated expression on your face. Do you tell her no and go on your dinner date with the new guy in town, Jacob whom you have a budding crush on? Or do you agree to help coach Juyeon as a favour to Emma and stay behind for an additional hour with Juyeon and Kevin in the diner, thereby forgoing your date?

What will you do?

➳ Say no

➳ Agree to help

#tbznetwork #deobiwritersnet #tbz imagines #tbz #the boyz #the boyz imagines #tbz scenarios #tbz oneshots #tbz fics #the boyz fics #the boyz scenarios #the boyz oneshots #cyoa #kpop choose your own adventure #the boyz choose your own adventure #choose your own adventure

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kendricksendrick · 4 years ago

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12, 30, and 39!

Ok so im a piece of shit and have no idea what these were referring to anymore so imma just write some random stuff for you!! (Sry in advance for spelling mistakes!)

-2012-

“Help us turn our dreams into a reality?”

Beca smiles, halfheartedly at the pretty redhead offering her a flyer. Shes seems nice, way different than her friends back home, but still theres something about her that caught her eye and had her wandering over to the booth in the first place.

“Sorry i- I dont even sing. But thank you.” Beca offers one last smile before quickly turning and walking away from the booth.

It wasnt that the girls she had just talked to made her uncomfortable or anything, (well, the blonde that scowled at her throughout the entire exchange certainly made Beca uncomfortable) but that redhead? There was just something about her that felt so familiar to the freshman.

She shook her head, trying to wipe those sparkling blue eyes from her mind and headed back to her dorm.

-30 (or so) hours later-

“See you at auditions!”

And with that, the redhead (and boy toy) turned on their heals and left Becas shower stall.

What. The. Fuck. Had just happened??!

Obviously Beca knew what just went down, the redhead from that stupid acapella group had just invaded her shower and checked her out, thats what happened. She had to admit, although the entirety of the exchange was probably ranked currently at Number One on Becas lifelong list of ‘what the fuck’ moments, there was something inside of her telling her she had to see this girl again, this time on her own accord.

Beca let out a deep sigh as she turned the water on hotter than it needed to be. She just needed some time to think. And maybe do other things to a certain area of her body.

-39 days later-

“You guys waited up for me?” Beca was shocked upon arriving to a dorm filled with Bellas after her short trip to jail. Immediately making eye contact with Chloe after Kimmy Jin left, a smile painted itself onto Becas face.

“Of course we waited up for you.” Chloe was practically beaming at Beca.

—

Eventually the Bellas filed out of her rom, one by one until there was just one left.

“Thank you.” Chloe said in a soft voice. The two had been sitting in an awkward silence for only a few seconds after the last Bella left.

Beca shot the older woman a questioning look, raising an eyebrow and turning in her chair to face Chloe who had spread out on the bed.

“For you know, punching that dude, protecting us I guess.”

“Oh yeah, of course Chloe. It was nothing really.” Beca offered an awkward smile and got up, heading towards her closet as she realized she was still in her flight attendant uniform. “Sisters, right?” She turned and met bright blue eyes as she said that.

“Yeah.” Chloe sighed, she almost sounded lost in thought.

“Um Im just gonna change real quick i-“

“Yeah no, I won’t look, dont worry Becs.”

The younger woman blushed and the smile on her face grew as she watched Chloe turn away and pick up her phone. Something between them was off a little, like the air was filled with electricity or something, she couldnt quite put her finger on it though.

“Nothing you havent seen before Beale.” Beca pulled on a pair of sweatpants as she heard Chloe chuckle behind her.

“You do have a rockin’ bod, what can i say.”

Now was Becas turn to snicker. Pulling an old tshirt over her head she turned back around, a sweet smile on her face when she met Chloes eyes again immediately.

“Ya think?” Beca wasnt sure what exactly was spurring her on in the moment, but she quickly decided it didnt really matter.

She enjoyed Chloes company, while this was only the second time theyd ever hung out alone (first being a coffee date a few days after initiation, Chloe had wanted to apologize for the whole shower thing). There was still something about the senior that drew Beca in, made her want to know everything there was to know about Chloe Beale. Making her way over to where Chloe was seated on her bed she plopped down next to her new friend.

“Well, I have seen you naked.” Chloe winked, causing Beca to blush. “And I have to admit, youve got a nice rack, Becs.”

“Shut up” Beca erupted into giggles and shoved at Chloes shoulder. Never one to accept compliments it was a natural response.

“Im just saying.” Chloe shrugged it off. “But if you want me to shut up youre gonna have to try a little harder than pushing me Beca. I dont know if youve noticed yet but I talk. A lot.” Chloe smiled at that, and Beca once again took note of the sparkle in her eyes. “So just telling me to stop talking isn’t necessarily going to do the trick.”

“Are you trying to tell me to-“

The sly smile and way the seniors eyes darkened said it all.

“-yes” Chloe cut her off mid sentence.

And that was all Beca needed to lean in.

I hope you enjoyed this!! I really had a good time writing it, i know its kinda garbage but it was nice to get lost in my head and create this little fantasy world again. I havent written in a while but whenever I do something short like this I’m always in a better mood. Thank you for sending this, im so so so sorry jt took me forever to reply to it (writers block, school, work, the pandemic, yall know whats up hahaha) but I do enjoy writing once in a while even tho I cant articulate everything as perfectly as I like.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #anon #my fic #honestly might post this one to my old wattpad i came up w it out of nowhere it was so fun!!#pitch perfect #barden bellas #Beca and Chloe

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rockhoochie · 5 years ago

Text

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean insists he has a talent of tongue. You decide to to put him to the test.

WC: ~1400

Warnings: light bondage (use of restraints, blindfold), voyeurism if you squint, no actual sex just lots and lots of dirty talk (which includes: masturbation, oral sex, squirting, ass play)

A/N: No set up, no plot, just Dean talking all kinds of filthy in a drabble that got away from me .@the-chocolate-moose, thanks for the prompt/request! Obviously got my juices flowing...Thanks for reading and enjoy!

Dean insisted he could make a woman come without actually touching her.

You insisted he was full of shit - it takes a lot more than dirty talk to actually get a woman off.

But he wouldn’t let it go, adamantly proclaiming it to be true, so sure of himself that he quipped, “wanna bet?” Never one to miss an opportunity to be right, you accepted with an incredulous “talk is cheap, asshole, you’re on.”

And that’s how you found yourself in the dungeon, wrists and ankles gently but firmly bound to the chair you sat on, fully clothed, and one of Dean’s neckties stretched over your eyes.

He’d been quiet for a few minutes now...you could hear his footsteps walking circles around you, hear his steady breathing. He was probably waiting for you to stop giggling like an idiot.

You had to admit, you wondered if he was actually as good at this as he claimed to be. His looks alone were enough to whip any woman into a frenzy; add in some naughty words and saucy phrases tumbling from those plush lips, carried by that sexy, gravelly voice, and…

“You sure look pretty like this, YN, all tied up and eager. Like you’re ready for anything. Then again, you look sexy as hell all the time.”

Your eyes rolled up into your head, lashes fluttering against the silky blindfold. This wasn’t fair - you didn’t think he’d literally be muttering into your ear, the heat of his breath warming the skin just behind it, the lightest vibration of his lips buzzing against your flesh.

“You got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, sweetheart...to have a chance to tell you how much I think about you, tell you all the dirty things I think about…”

You exhaled, a little surprised at how ragged it sounded. And when you breathed in again, the air seemed warmer, thicker...it made your limbs feel a little heavy and your skin seemed to be covered with goosebumps.

“I think about you all the time, YN,” Dean continued, dropping his voice lower. “So beautiful...you got no clue how beautiful you are to me. Everything about you... the way you laugh, smile... I just love watching you do anything. Sometimes you drive me damn near crazy.”

All those words were somehow seeping into your pores. You could feel your nipples harden against your bra and you suddenly felt hot.

“I got a confession to make... walked in on you in the shower once. You didn’t see me but I saw you, all wet and naked, hot water running over your perfect tits and down the crack of your tight ass... Christ, just the sight of you got me so fucking hard...thought about that for weeks. Still picture it when I’m jerking off, thinking about all the things I wanna do to you…”

You licked your lips and swallowed - your throat felt dry. And there was a tension crimping in your belly and you felt the faint the beat of your pulse between your legs.

Damn it.

A whimper escaped your lips - you couldn’t help it.

“You make the prettiest sounds, YN... you know, I can hear you when you’re fucking yourself. All those little moans and sighs...and I imagine you’re laid out your bed, one little hand playing with your tits while you have the other working between your legs, wet fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy... then I start wondering what I could do to get you to make those noises for me.”

You squirmed in your seat, a flush spreading all through your veins.

“I know I’d kiss you first. Long and hard, just taking in the taste of your lips. And once I get my tongue in your mouth I’d start taking off your clothes, strip you down to your panties, and touch every single inch of your gorgeous body... sweetheart, you’re so soft and and smell so fucking good, but touching you ain’t enough...I gotta kiss you everywhere. Your neck, shoulders, fingers, your tits...I’ll spend time on your tits. Maybe suck on them for awhile, give those pink nipples a little bite.”

“Dean…” you whispered, hips rolling of their own volition, your core reaching out and coming back with nothing.

He hummed, planting little kisses behind your ear, lightly pulling your earlobe between his teeth. “Bet you’re getting so wet right now…”

“Please…”

His lips found a heavenly spot on your neck, and you felt him smile right before his teeth grazed your flesh.

“Your skin tastes so good...bet your hot little pussy tastes even better.”

“Holy fuck, Dean…”

“I knew it,” he growled, “You love getting eaten out, don’t you, YN? Love a head between your legs and a thick tongue fucking your tight hole...It’s so perfect cause when I’m jerking off, and gettin’ close to blowing it, I just imagine what you taste like...probably like fuckin’ honey, all sweet and warm. I think about gettin’ on my knees while you’re all spread out, legs wide open, that beautiful pussy on display just for me, and I can see how soaked you are...fuck, it drips out of you, and when I get closer I can smell how bad you want it, so I get myself a slow, sweet taste and lick up your cream…”

You were completely gone, lost in the haze of Dean’s voice and the pictures he was painting with his sinfully delicious words, your breaths coming faster while your limbs strained against the ropes.

“Mmm, fuck baby, you taste so good...so fucking wet and I’m just devouring that pussy, licking up every drop... I just can’t get enough, can’t get my tongue far enough inside of you so I’ll slide my fingers deep into your hot cunt, find that sweet spot and fuck you with my hand...and you keep begging for more so I’ll bury myself three fingers deep...maybe slip one in your ass…”

The noise you made at that was beyond pathetic, but you just didn’t care. He was making you insane.

Dean chuckled, nibbling at your neck, and running a palm along each of your thighs.

“Oh you’d like that, huh? Such a dirty girl ...yeah, I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll squirt, YN... I’ll keep nailing that sweet spot over and over, fucking your tight asshole with my finger and sucking your clit until you cum all over my face…”

You were trembling, back arching, moaning and sighing and begging. Slick had pooled at your entrance. Your clit was throbbing. The muscles of your cunt twitched and grasped at nothing, begging to be touched and filled and fucked…

“Then I’ll flip you over on your hands and knees, fuck you from behind and make you cum again... give you my thick cock so I can feel you clench and quiver all over my dick…and you’ll take it so good, baby, you’ll take every single inch of it nice and deep and you’ll be screaming it feels so good, the way I’m fucking you so hard...you’ll beg for my cum, sweetheart, beg me to fill up your pussy ‘till it’s dripping out of you…”

“Oh god Dean, fuck!” you cried, and almost out of nowhere, your climax flooded through you, hot and needy and electric, spreading from your core to the tips of your fingers. Your blindfold was lifted, restraints loosened and removed as you panted, satisfied from release but wanting and needing so much more. When you were finally able to focus, you noticed Dean staring down at you, his bottom lip tucked behind his teeth and his hand palming at the bulge in his pants.

Without preamble you rushed him, crashing your lips against his as he grabbed the back of your thighs, hoisting you up in arms. You were vaguely aware of being carried down the hallway, and soon you were laid out on his bed, legs wrapped around his waist as Dean stared at you with dark, emerald eyes.

“YN, I -”

“Shh,” you hissed, placing a finger over his lips. “Talk is cheap. Now put up or shut up.”

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#dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut #spn smut #dirty talk #spn fanfic

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skaylanphear · 5 years ago

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Doorways to the Truth

Summary: After the events of Reflekdoll, Marinette finds herself rather preoccupied with the fact that Chat’s real eye color is, in fact, green. A familiar green--too familiar, perhaps. While Adrien slowly begins to come to his own conclusions, if only because Marinette might have made herself a little too obvious.

A story in which they both think they might know something, but have no proof, so what else is there to do but continue testing the waters?

Part 1

"Your eyes are green."

It was a downright stupid thing to say and Marinette knew it was stupid even as she said it. Because she knew perfectly well that Adrien's eyes were green—she'd known from the very first day that his eyes were green with very vague amber flecks. She'd written a poem about the very same eyes and stared at them regularly via the pictures she had stuck up all over her walls.

"Uh, yeah," Adrien agreed, looking a bit dubious as he stared down at her. "Always have been." He said it kindly, but even so, Marinette found herself blushing at her own idiocy. Turning away, she ignored how he continued to watch her for a moment, before he returned his attention to the conversation that had originally been going on between the four of them—him, Marinette, Alya, and Nino. Adrien had turned to her to ask her about something, but she found that she couldn't remember quite what.

It was probably for the best that he hadn't pursued it further. She was having a bit of a crisis, as it would turn out, despite the fact that she was doing a pretty good job of hiding as much (or so she hoped).

Chat Noir's eyes were green too.

This, of course, she'd always known, because his miraculous changed his eyes so they matched Plagg's. She'd found this out when they'd been fighting Reflekdoll the day before, when she'd used Chat Noir's ring herself. Her own blue eyes had been masked in the same green, any and all traces of her natural color hidden away.

And though they'd been far too preoccupied by their enemy at the time to show it, she'd been startled when she'd finally encountered Chat Noir using her own miraculous. Not because the sight of Mister Bug had been alarming, but because as she'd leaned in enough times to talk to him, she'd come to the realization that Chat Noir's real eyes were green too.

But so what? Plenty of people had green eyes. Well, not plenty. It was one of the rarest eye colors in the world. The bright vibrant color that Adrien had inherited from his mother was even rarer than the normal. Yet, somehow, Chat Noir had eyes of an almost identical hue.

It could just be coincidence, of course. Of all the people in Paris, there were sure to be some that had a similar eye color to Adrien no matter its rarity.

None of this had really occurred to her at the time, but it'd burrowed into the back of her thoughts without her realizing it, which was what had left her so stupidly startled when Adrien had turned to look at her.

Though she was far more familiar with Adrien and his face than she was Chat Noir's without the mask (obviously), Mister Bug had flashed through her thoughts the moment Adrien had turned her way.

Which was what had her in a bit of a panic.

What, exactly, had Mister Bug's eyes looked like? They'd been very similar to Adrien's, she'd noted that at the time of Reflekdoll. But how similar? As similar as his height was to Adrien's? And his hair?

What about his voice? Did they have similar voices?

Why couldn't she remember?

She saw both Adrien and Chat Noir at least every other day. If they had similar voices, certainly she'd have noticed.

Right? Right?!

"Hey, Marinette, you okay?"

She released an incoherent noise as she flailed back, once again startled by Adrien, though this time in a more physical sense. He'd placed a hand on her shoulder, which she'd slipped out from underneath, and was now watching her with concern painted over his expression.

Imbedded in those green eyes.

"Oh yeah," she said, laughing uncomfortably as she did. "I was just dinking—I mean, thidracted—I MEAN, DISTRACTED!" She smiled. "I was just thinking…"

Adrien laughed lightly, looking at her as he often did when she couldn't be understood—with total sympathy, if not with some underlying puzzlement. Like he just didn't quite get her, but had made peace with the fact.

She supposed that was her own fault.

"Everyone's headed to class," he explained, gesturing toward the stairs.

Which was when she saw it, that flash of silver.

Reaching out, she found herself grabbing him by the wrist before she pulled his hand up so she could get a better look at his ring. There didn't appear to be anything special about it—just a silver ring with a circle carved in the top. There were four tiny prongs that surrounded it, the same as the black cat miraculous when it was active. But different from what the ring had looked like when she'd worn it. Hers had been rose-gold and more delicate in shape.

All this flitted through her thoughts in but a second, before Adrien was yanking his hand rather harshly out of her hold.

Looking up at him, she saw unease apparent in his expression as he held his other hand over his ring, hiding it.

"Where did you get that ring?" she blurted.

"I… uh… It—It was a gift," he blundered out, before tossing her a smile that was clearly quite fake, even for Adrien. Adrien, who smiled even when there was nothing to smile about in that soft, understated way that Marinette had long since realized had been hammered into him by constant politeness and expected manners.

"From who?" Marinette pushed.

Adrien's smile faltered, his expression finally beginning to harden into something akin to defensiveness. "Why do you want to know?"

Which was when Marinette realized that perhaps she'd gone a little too far. "Oh, no reason," she lied, supposing it was her turn to throw out an exaggerated, fake smile. "I just notice you wear it all the time and was curious."

"It's really important to me," he said steadily, still looking quite defensive as he flicked his attention back to the stairs. "We should go to class or we're going to be late."

"Oh, right, of course," she agreed, laughing stupidly as Adrien finally dropped some of his guard to smile back. He headed for the stairs shortly after, Marinette following silently behind. She held the strap of her purse rather tightly, if only because she knew Tikki was inside.

Tikki knew Chat Noir's identity. Just like Plagg knew her identity. Certainly if Chat Noir was… was Adrien Agreste, Tikki would have given her a hint or something. But, then again, kwami weren't supposed to compromise the identities of their owners. Perhaps this rule stretched to the identities of other miraculous holders, even if the spell that kept them silent didn't.

Ugh, there was no point in thinking about Tikki. Her kwami was strict with the rules and even if Marinette had a suspicion, she wouldn't verify it one way or the other.

Besides, she was getting ahead of herself. There was no way Adrien was Chat Noir. They were totally different, even if they did look a little bit alike (a lot alike, but whatever). Chat had said it himself—he was the "cunning, ultra-charming Chat Noir," full of humor and rash decisions.

Adrien… Adrien wasn't like that. Adrien was charming, sure, but in a totally different way than Chat Noir claimed to be. Adrien was kind and considerate and… and Chat Noir was those things too, but that was beside the point! Adrien wasn't cunning… even if he did sometimes sneak out or come up with excuses to get out from under his father.

Okay, the main point was that Chat was a goofball with a bad sense of humor and Adrien, well… if he had a sense of humor (which he did, obviously because everyone did, Chat Noir's opinions aside), she had no idea what it was like.

Adrien never told jokes or goofed around or…

Had much of any fun, really. The most fun he seemed to have was when he was hanging out with his friends, and even then he was more subdued than most. Always trying to do the right thing and always stepping aside to let other people have a chance.

Despite being a model, he was always happy to let someone else take the lead and have the spotlight. Just like Chat was always doing for Ladybug, seemingly with little qualms on the subject.

Ugh, now she was just getting confused. So maybe Adrien and Chat Noir had a few things in common, yet they were also very different. She wasn't exactly sure how they were alike or different, because the longer she thought about it, the more convoluted the whole thing became.

She just needed to stop thinking about it. So they had the same eye color and both wore a ring on the same finger. Big deal. That didn't mean they were the same person.

But what if…

Personality differences aside, Marinette found as she sat through class that day that she'd opened up a rather big can of worms as far as what her brain was willing to entertain pertaining to Adrien and Chat Noir.

If—and this was wholly fictional, or so she told herself—Adrien was Chat Noir, then it'd make sense how their miraculouses had gotten switched. She'd had to remove her earrings for their shoot and since Adrien had ended up modeling, he'd have removed his ring to wear her own line of jewelry. After all, she couldn't advertise jewelry that she hadn't designed.

So that would mean he'd have had to keep his miraculous close by, just like she had. Maybe… Maybe Tikki and Plagg had been in the car together? Could that—No, that couldn't possibly—No way.

It was just too… surreal.

Adrien wasn't Chat Noir. No matter how any circumstances lined up, that was just… It'd be too serendipitous.

Determined this had to be the truth, Marinette squashed any active thoughts on the matter. Or she attempted to, once lunch came around. Yet, as soon as their regular group of four came together, her brain was making constant comparisons between Adrien and Chat Noir. But even with all their similarities, she couldn't completely prove her theory one way or another.

Probably because it wasn't true.

But what if…?

"Marinette!"

"Huh?! What?!" Whipping around on Alya, Marinette was wide-eyed as she stared at her disapproving best friend, who had her hands on her hips and was giving her the stink-eye.

"We were trying to decide where to go to eat," she explained. "Are you okay with going to the park?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, that's fine," Marinette replied. "Sorry, I was a bit distracted."

"We could tell," Nino muttered, clearly looking between Marinette and Adrien. Which had Marinette blushing while Adrien looked on in confusion.

"Then let's go! I'm starving!" Alya announced, grabbing Nino by the hand before leading the way out of the school doors. Marinette followed about a step behind Adrien, her finger pulling at her lip thoughtfully as he walked on in front.

Those jeans he wore really were tight. It really provided her a good view of his… "figure."

Did they have the same butt? Adrien and Chat? She'd never really paid much attention to Chat's butt, despite seeing it all the time. Adrien had a cute little butt though. For sure Chat had a—

"Hey, is that your bodyguard waving at us?" Alya asked, jarring Marinette's thoughts as the group looked over at the curb, where Adrien's gorilla of a guard was waiting beside his car.

"Yeah, but I didn't think…" Shoulders slumping, Adrien pulled up his phone and checked his schedule. "Oh…" he said, his spirits dropping even further. "I guess my father rescheduled that press conference the akuma messed up last week for today."

"So you gotta leave?" Nino asked.

Adrien sighed. "I guess so. He'd be really angry if I skipped out on it."

"You know, your dad sure expects a lot out of you all the time," Alya observed. "It wouldn't be the worst thing if you skipped out once in a while."

"Maybe not, but the more I screw up, the less I get to do the things I wanna do. Besides, it'd be irresponsible to start skipping things like press conferences and I don't want to mess up my father's reputation."

"You really do have a lot of responsibilities, don't you?" Marinette found herself saying, her own spirits dropping alongside his own.

He cast her a small smile. "It's okay. I don't mind most of the time." Yet his words didn't sound the least bit convincing. Still, he waved to them in farewell before breaking away, the three of them watching as he met his bodyguard and ducked inside his car. Soon enough, they were driving away.

"He won't be back for the rest of the day, probably," Nino said, sounding quite irritated himself. "I feel like I hardly see my best bud most of the time."

"He is busy," Alya said. "I wonder if he ever gets to relax. I know that if I lived with Gabriel Agreste, I'd be uptight all the time."

"Yeah, that's true," Marinette agreed, her tone sounding somewhat hollow, even to herself. "It must be hard, having to live up to those standards all the time."

"His dad thinks he's perfect though," Nino pointed out.

Marinette frowned and turned to continue walking on to the park. "That makes it even worse," she muttered to herself, the worry in her gut so heavy it felt like she'd swallowed a dozen stones.

oOo

"Good evening, Kitty," Ladybug said as she plopped down on the ledge beside him. He immediately turned to look at her, his smile wide as he beamed.

"Hello, Bugaboo. Fancy meeting you here."

"We always meet here."

"Still, I'm grateful."

Rolling her eyes, Ladybug hummed in amusement, ignoring the urge she had to stare at Chat in the same way she'd been staring at Adrien all morning. She looked out over the rooftops instead, the sun beginning to set and casting the city in a vague, orange glow.

"So where are we patrolling today?" he asked. "The next section of the city on our map? Or did you wanna go over last night's locations again, just in case we missed something? You seemed a little uncertain about that neighborhood at the end, since we were both getting pretty tired. Then again, Hawkmoth isn't exactly a subtle guy, so we'd probably have notice—"

"Do you like being Chat Noir?" she asked suddenly, only having been half-listening to his chatter. Her question seemed to take him by surprise, his lips pulling into a frown.

A frown that looked just like the frown Adrien had worn earlier that day…

"What I mean is," she continued, "do you like having the powers that you have?"

"Uh…" Chat pooched his lips as he thought. "I mean, sure. I think the powers I have fit me pretty well. You said it yourself that I'm a simple, straightforward guy."

"You wouldn't want my powers then?"

His previous thoughtfulness turned to unease. "Why do you ask?"

"I just… You've used my miraculous now. I guess I just wanted to know what you thought about it."

He was quiet for a moment, clearly needing time to think of an answer. "I think that… that your powers are amazing, and it was fun being you for a bit, but I don't really think I'm cut out for it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He grinned good-naturedly. "I wasn't exactly as good at using your powers as you were at using mine."

"But your lucky charm did work," she pointed out.

"After you told me how to use it."

"I guess…"

"My Lady… What is this about?"

She stared down at her lap. "I don't know. Nothing, really. I've just been in kind of a weird… mind-space today. It's probably best to just ignore everything that I'm saying."

"I'd never want to do that."

She flicked her gaze back up to his, taking in his sincere expression despite how it had her heart fluttering inside her chest.

"Why do you pretend like you're some irresponsible hooligan?" she finally dared to ask.

Her question clearly took him aback, his head rearing a bit as he digested her question. A series of expressions crossed his face then—surprise, confusion, offense (that was short-lived), before confusion again. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, but then no words came out.

"I know you're not," she continued, when it was clear he didn't know what to say. "You act like being Chat Noir is easy and like everything we do is a joke, but if you really felt that way, you wouldn't work as hard as you do."

He gaped again for a while longer, before finally managing to gather some words together. "I feel like I'm in trouble for something," he admitted. "But you're not exactly saying bad things about me."

"You're not in trouble. I'm just trying to understand, I guess."

"Well… it's like you said. I act like it's easy, but we both know it's not. I guess I figure that being serious all the time doesn't really help anyway, so why bother?" Another frown pulled down on his lips. "I have to be serious all the time, when I'm not Chat Noir. And it makes life pretty miserable. We're already fighting akumas, so why make it worse than it already is?"

"I have a hard time imagining that you could be serious all the time when you're not transformed," she admitted.

"You wouldn't recognize me, I promise you that."

"Why do you have to be serious all the time?"

He shrugged, seeming to mull over her question before he answered. "I guess there's just a lot of pressure for me to be perfect all the time. Anytime I mess up, it's like—like…"

"Chat?"

"I just have to be careful, because if I mess up too badly, I might—My father—It's complicated. He's not exactly known for being lenient when he thinks things aren't going his way. I feel like I'm on thin ice with him most of the time as it is, just for doing normal things everybody else my age is doing. And I don't mean bad stuff. Just going to the movies or hanging out after school. Stuff like that. And it's stupid because I do exactly what he says all the time and he has this huge schedule with all this stuff I have to do every day and if I even let my grades slip a little or if I complain that I'm tired, he assumes it's because I'm hanging out with my friends too much or staying after school too long, even though I barely ever do those things anyway. So I can't ever be less than perfect because if I am then he takes away everything that I do like doing and blames my friends. So… yeah… that's why, I guess…"

He was clearly frustrated, but also seemingly embarrassed by his rant, his cheeks a little redder than usual.

"Sorry," he said, voice quiet. "I shouldn't have said so much."

"It's okay," she replied softly, her own thoughts running over everything he'd said, though likely for different reasons than he was imagining.

"You have enough to worry about," he continued, before managing a small smile. "After all, I know what it's like now, to be you. Being Ladybug is no easy job."

"Your job wasn't easy either, for the record," she countered, before winking. "Even if I made it look like it was."

"Coulda fooled me," he admitted. "You were doing everything right even when I was screwing up."

"You weren't screwing up that badly," she comforted.

"I was," he insisted. "But it's okay. I screw up all the time as Chat too."

"You do not!"

"I do too!" He laughed. "You're the one always pointing it out!"

"Well…" She bit the inside of her cheek.

"I said it's okay," he replied.

"I don't want to make you feel bad…" she admitted, which sobered him immediately.

"You never make me feel bad," he said straight.

"You were just saying how your father—"

"You're not my father," he interjected rather sternly. "I mean, I'll admit, I was a little worried when we first met, but you don't—you're not…" He sighed. "I guess I feel like I can screw around with you and you're not going to be mad about it. Most of the time anyway."

"Sometimes you enjoy it a little too much."

He grinned. "Gimme a break! You're the only person I get to goof around with."

"Why don't you goof around with your friends?" she dared to ask.

His grin went a little sideways with unease. "Ah, I dunno. I guess because, like, when I'm not Chat Noir, I always… have to be careful?"

"But if your father isn't there…?"

"I guess…" He turned away, as if he was trying to hide from her in plain sight.

"Chat," she said sternly.

"When I'm, you know, me, I can't just—I have to be careful—If someone sees me and I'm not doing exactly what my father expects…"

"How would he even know?"

He cringed. "I can't really explain. If I do, you might figure out who I am."

An admission that took Ladybug by surprise despite the fact that she was already sniffing out more than he was likely anticipating that she could. But maybe she'd kind of tricked him with her questions, even if he had no way of knowing that.

She felt a little bad.

"Alright. But you shouldn't be so paranoid about your father. Your friends are missing out, not being able to be as annoyed by you as I am all the time."

He leaned closer, bumping their shoulders together. "That just makes you even more special."

"Uh huh, sure."

"It's true, Bugaboo. You're the apple of my eye. The light of my life. The yin to my yang. The—"

"Alright, I get it," she cut in, shoving him playfully away as she did. "I guess you do deserve your miraculous—sounds like you'd have a mental breakdown if you had to deal with my responsibilities on top of your civilian life."

"Yeah, probably," he agreed, before whipping around on her with concern behind his mask. "Don't let anything I've said change how you treat me," he said quickly. "I know your miraculous is way more important than mine and I always want to help you in any way I can. I don't view being your partner as a break from real life or anything like that—if you need anything from me, you tell me."

She couldn't help her own smile then. "Oh I will, don't worry about that," she promised, which visibly relieved him. "And just because you can't purify akumas doesn't mean you're not as important as me. I need you here with me and I wouldn't have it be anyone else." She reached out and patted him on the thigh, which had him practically purring as he leaned back into her personal space.

"I'm irreplaceable?" he asked coyly.

"Of course," she agreed. "I don't think I could ever find a Chat Noir that's as much of a clown as you. It takes special talent to mess up as smoothly as you do." Reaching up, she tapped him on the tip of his nose.

"Good thing you always fix everything afterward, huh?"

"Someone has to clean up your messes."

"Now, hold on, sometimes you make the messes too," he argued. "Your plans do get a little out of control sometimes. And who was it that broke the Reflekdoll and sent it rampaging?"

She scoffed. "You'd have done the same thing."

He looked down at his claws far too innocently. "Doubtful."

"Whatever," she said, waving him off as she did. "I did what I thought you'd do."

"And you did it beautifully," he assured.

"You'd trust me with your miraculous again, then?" she asked teasingly.

"If I had to. Though I must admit, I prefer you as Ladybug. I'd rather gaze into those blue-bells Tikki gives you than the same-ole green I'm used to." He cocked his head then, looking curious. "Weird that Tikki didn't turn my eyes blue though."

It took Ladybug a moment to digest his words. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"Your eyes," he said. "I thought back when we first got our powers that they were your real color, but then I realized it was probably a perk of your transformation. You know, like how my eyes change. Not that I'd prefer your blue eyes to whatever your natural color is—I'm sure you're stunning no matter what."

"Uh, while I appreciate that, what makes you think Tikki changes my eyes? She didn't change yours, so why would she change mine?"

"Well, because you—I thought—" He appeared abruptly uncomfortable. "I just assumed because you're, you know…"

"I'm what?" she asked, laughing lightly as she did.

"You’re… Asian?" he asked, flinching back some as he did.

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him the stink eye. "So I can't have blue eyes?"

"No! Of course you can! It just occurred to me that it was unlikely your natural eye color was blue. But obviously I'm an idiot and you can have blue eyes if blue is what you actually have. Do you have blue eyes? Is that your natural eye color?"

"Well now I don't think I should even tell you."

"Reasonable," he agreed. "I understand. Honestly, you could have no eyes and I'd still think you were the most beautiful girl in the world."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she warned flatly.

"But, wait, how do you know Tikki didn't change my eyes?" he asked.

"Because she doesn't change my eyes!"

"So your eyes are actually blue!"

Ladybug groaned.

"Wow," he said then, leaning a little too close again and causing Ladybug to shy back. "It should be super easy to find you then. How many Asian girls are there in the city with natural blue eyes, really?"

"Enough that you clearly haven't found me yet," she said, a warning clear in her tone.

Not that he heeded it. "Obviously, I was looking for the wrong clues."

"You're so oblivious, you wouldn't know me if I was standing right in front of you."

"I don't know," he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "This new information is pretty important."

"No, it's not," she said hastily, scrambling back and onto her feet as she did.

She'd said too much. She'd said way too much. Not that she should be at all surprised. She'd been the one to start it, asking him all sorts of personal questions in her quest to somehow debunk her own stupid theory. A theory that she was quite sure wasn't so stupid after all. And while Chat could be pretty dense and Adrien even more so about some things, she wasn't sure she was going to be able to escape this mistake.

She should have just agreed with him and said Tikki changed her eyes. She was so stupid! If Chat's eyes could lead her to his identity, then of course her own would do the same for her. Yeah, green eyes were rare, but blue eyes on a Chinese girl—even a half Chinese girl—were a dead giveaway.

And here he'd been assuming they were fake. An obvious thing to agree with and she'd totally blown it.

"Ladybug?" he asked, clearly picking up on her distress.

"C'mon," she said, throwing her yoyo out as she did. "We should have started patrolling a long time ago."

Vaulting off the edge of the building, she didn't dare look back.

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

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy my drabbling after Reflekdoll. I’ll probably write more soon.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ladybug #ml #mlb #doorways to the truth #chapter 1 #part 1 #my fics #fics

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hibiscuswrites · 5 years ago

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Jacob Seed NSFW Alphabet

**Sorry babies. I meant to have this up last night and I fell asleep 😕 **

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s not overly lovey-dovey. He inspects you, makes sure that you’re ok. He can be rough sometimes, and sometimes he gets caught up in the moment and doesn’t recognize his own strength. So he checks you over after, looking for any bruises or bites. He cleans you up, never forgetting to playfully run the washcloth over your clit just a little too roughly so he can see you jump. Once you’re clean, he’s back next to you, tugging you into his side, having you rest your head on his chest or shoulder. He wraps one arm around you, thumb grazing over the skin of your back and arm. He doesn’t talk much other than to make sure you’re ok.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you, it sounds odd considering how intense he can be, but he loves your back. Sure, your breasts and ass are easily close favorites, but there’s just something about your back that does him in. The curves and lines, the softness in some parts and the rigidity in others. He loves being able to lean forward when he’s taking you from behind and kiss long your spine when he’s being gentle, or bite marks into your shoulder when he’s not. He runs his fingers gently down your spine when you grind down on top of him softly and he rakes them down leaving angry red lines when you’re riding him like a wild bull. Your back is just his favorite.

On him, it’s hard to pick. Even though your body is different, to him a body is just a machine. Meat with a purpose that needs to serve practically. But now that he has you, his chest is his favorite because it’s your favorite. He sees how your pupils dilate when you look at it, how you trace your fingertips over it when you lay in bed together or even when he’s just standing in front of you. He loves the strength of it, the muscle and how so much power comes from it and that easily makes it his favorite.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

It’s a toss-up between finishing inside of you or on your tummy. There’s just something about seeing himself painted across your skin, the vulgarity of it plus how proudly you wear it. Finishing inside of you is up there too though. Now that he knows you’re completely his, he wants to make it known and putting a baby in you is for sure one way to do it. Granted, it’s the act that gets him off more than the actual prospect of being a father. It really just depends on the day.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s thought about fucking you in Joseph's church once or six times. He just loves the idea of it. He’s extremely hesitant to do it because he’d never want to disrespect Joseph, but the thought is definitely one that gets him going. It’s not too much of a secret though because he whispers it into your ear when he’s leaving the sermons with you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s got a little. He probably enjoyed his freedom when he finally got away from the Duncan’s and decided to enjoy life both then as a free man and as a soldier. Of course, it likely stopped when he was discharged and found himself homeless and now with all of his responsibility, sex wasn’t something that held importance until you. He likes to explore and find what you like so he can be good for you, and both his stamina and intensity will more than make up for any lack of experience he may have.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Taking you from behind period. Whether its doggy style or prone bone, he loves hovering over you, being in full control, having you submit to him. He loves towering over and calling the shots

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He can be playful and teasing if the moment allows. He’s never overly serious unless it’s a quickie or he’s teaching you a lesson. He likes to tease you, throw in light degradation if you’re into it and heavy degradation if you really love it. He will sometimes chuckle at you, usually when he finds a wet spot on your panties or when he gets you whining and pouting because you’re so needy.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He’s a mountain man. He will trim up just a little if he knows it’s becoming a red jungle, but it’s always more for your sake really. Enough to not be messy, but still noticeably clear that he’s a man. Ya know, the whole animal thing.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He can be romantic when he puts thought into it. He wasn’t given the privilege to experience relationships and intimacy on the levels that John and Joseph were. It takes a bit more work and thought for him and he’s romantic in how own way. Taking you for hikes, taking you hunting, taking you shooting. Those are ways that he bonds with you. Coming home with a deer slung over his shoulders for you to make stew is a romantic gesture in his eyes. He knows he is likely not the most romantic dude ever, but he does try, and he adjusts depending on what he sees does it for you. If he’s really in for the long haul, he’ll do what he has to do to provide you with the intimacy and romance that works for you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’s got no problem rubbing one out on his one. He’s a busy man, has a lot on his plate. Not only is he the main protector when it comes to his brothers and Faith, but he’s also in charge of training those who are to protect the Project and that isn’t a job that he takes lightly. Whether Joseph is right or not, whether the collapse is coming or not, he has a job and he’s going to make sure that he does it well. That being said, he’s a man with needs and he doesn’t want those needs to get in the way of serving his purpose. He jacks off whenever he gets hard and you aren’t there, sometimes even when you are. He reserves sex for when he knows he has the time and availability and it isn’t uncommon for him to tell his men not to interrupt him for a little while then the need does strike.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise kink, orgasm denial, overstimulation, degradation, breeding kink, use of literal pet names

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He literally doesn’t care. At home? Cool. In his truck? Fine. On the floor in the woods? Alright. On top of his desk? A-Okay. When he wants you, he’ll have you, no matter where you two are. Now of course if that’s something that you aren’t into then he will go somewhere more suitable for you. If he had to pick a favorite, he’d probably go with the kitchen counter. He likes having you bent over, feet dangling, completely at his mercy.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It doesn’t take much. He’s so into you, always ready for you, he can get hard from your smile. You touching him softly, babying him even if he says he doesn’t like it, seeing you with a gun,

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He wouldn’t share you with anyone. He may be ok with someone catching a glimpse when he’s so hot for you he can’t bother to really hide, but over his dead body is another person going to have their hands on you, touching what’s his.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

It's 50/50. Sometimes he loves nothing more than having you on your knees for him, hearing you gag while he thrusts into your mouth, thumb reaching out to brush away a tear. But the others, being in your mouth doesn’t even occur to him because all he wants is to bury his face between your thighs and leave beard burns on the sensitive skin while he tastes you.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s usually more rough and fast. Sometimes his pace will be slower, more about working his hips as opposed to pumping straight in and out of you, but the force behind it is often still that rough, deep technique that gets your thighs shaking.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s cool with them. Due to how busy he can be, he likes being able to take you quickly when he doesn’t have much time. Whether it’s you surprising him at the Center for lunch or offering yourself up in the morning before he heads out, he’s more than game to have a quickie. Sometimes, depending on how much of a dick Rook is being that week, he may have a handful of quickies with you just to relieve the stress and anger.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He loves to experiment. He loves trying new things, touching you in new ways, in new places. He’ll take you on his desk in the Center, on the floor in the woods, somewhere in or around John’s ranch just to piss him off. He isn’t nearly as put off by being discovered as the other two. Sure, he would never want someone leering at you and watching outright, but the thought and thrill of being caught do spice things up a little.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Though he may be older, his stamina is still very much that of a younger man. He still keeps in shape, works hard, and knows how to master mind over matter. Being in the sack is the same. He always makes sure to leave you satisfied and since he is a little old fashioned, he always makes you come first. But he has no issues trying to go again if you want. He includes excessive foreplay as well as denial, so encounters last for a good while.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He’s more of a “what do you need that for when you have me?” kinda dudes, but once he does include one in bed with you, he’s hooked. He loves using a wand on you until you’re begging him to take it away, or stroking himself while he sits in a chair, watching you try your best to satisfy yourself with the toy pretending it’s him. He gets off on it then, loving to include toys because he sees the frustration and how much you wish he was inside of you instead.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

On a scale of 1-10, good old Jake is a solid 13. He loves hearing you beg for him. He’s notorious for making you wait forever to come, only to force orgasm after orgasm from you once he does. He teases you physically and he teases you verbally. It depends on your taste and limits how far his verbal teasing goes. It can be mild and more condescending, “Look how wet you are, pup. Doesn’t take much does it?” to being more degrading and vulgar, “Such a little slut. Can’t even last a few minutes without needing to be stuffed full.” No matter what, he’ll find a way that works so he can tease.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make

His voice is quiet, low rumbles in your ear that makes shivers run down your spine. But his noises are much louder, full growls and deep moans that leave you feeling the vibration of his chest against you. He’s animalistic both in technique and vocalization during sex.

W = Wild Card (Random Headcannon)

He loves when you surprise him at the Veterans Center, perched up on his desk with no panties. You showing up anywhere with no panties is more than welcome but on his desk? Right there on top of his papers? Bare feet resting on his thick thighs while you spread yourself for him? As much as he likes to believe he doesn’t have any, it’s a weakness of his for sure.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

You know damn well he’s packing. He’s god BDE without trying and it isn’t without accuracy. Probably curves up just a little.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His drive isn’t the issue, its more a matter of time. He wishes he had more time and freedom because his drive is still where it was in his 20’s. It doesn’t take much to get him ready for you and not having sex a few times a week is rare. Even when he’s tired and just wants to sleep, he’s rather easy to work up.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

It depends. Sometimes he’s out quickly, snoring before you even have settled your breath, while others he lays there forever, sleep evading him. Sometimes he reflects on you and your love and how different but good his life has turned out. On those nights sleep finds him easily. Sometimes his mind returns to the war, and Miller, the beatings he took as a child, and all of the suffering he endured so that he could find his purpose. On those nights, the sun is coming up once again and he’s barely gotten a wink.

FC5 @belle82devart

General @a-dorky-book-keeper @jigsawlover10 @titty-teetee @crushed-pink-petals-writes @felicity-x0 @vibranium-soul @ateliefloresdaprimavera

#jacob seed #jacob seed x reader #headcannons #far cry 5 #fc5

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spnfanficpond · 5 years ago

Text

June 2020 Angel Fish Awards

(New Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE IN THE POND CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. While the Pond was founded to support the Guppies, everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that by opening this up as a Pond wide system, we’ll be able to share the love as far as it can go.

NOTE: WE’VE BEEN HAVING OCCASIONAL PROBLEMS WITH ASKS GOING MISSING. Please use the Submit button when submitting your nominations and make sure you’re signed into Tumblr or your URL won’t show. (If the form asks for your name and email address, then you’re not signed in.) If you like, you can also send a message to Michelle @mrswhozeewhatsis or Mana @manawhaat to check and make sure we got your submission.

Be sure to read through this whole post as people who were nominated more than once only had one tag activated for tumblr tagging purposes!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE JUNE’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Nonimated by @thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters

I Thought You Were Going To Die (oneshot) by @fun-and-fandoms

My nominations for the month wouldn’t be complete without a little bit of angst. Though this one isn’t just that. If you’re easily triggered by mentions of depression and its symptoms, this one’s not for you. But it’s an important topic and I will always encourage any creator who uses their art to remind people it’s okay to talk about it. (Note from Kale, this was actually submitted in May but I missed it.)

More to Me (oneshot) by @becs-bunker

No spoilers, but I’m so glad this ended the way it did. So sweet <3

Help (oneshot) by @blushingjared

I came across this fic and was immediately intrigued. Then I started reading and I was captivated from the first sentence until the very last. The author did such a good job with setting the scene and painting the right picture.

Talking Bodies (oneshot) by @ne-gans

This AU-Sam is such a huge weakness of mine. That, in combination with this dangerously filthy masterpiece, is nothing short of perfection.

Nominated by @focusonspn

Into The Woods (series) by @amanda-teaches

So well written, interesting plot and great development. The chemistry between Y/N and Dean is also amazing, and I loved how this mini-series could be so easily part of the show. Totally worth reading.

Nominated by @thoughtslikeamindfield

Stranger Than FanFiction (series) by @cherry3point14

The premise is similar to the film Stranger Than Fiction – a story about a story being written about you – and it’s just as hilarious. Also, Cherry Pie is still one of the funniest writers in this corner of SPN fandom.

“You’re not supposed to move your head if there’s someone trying to murder you, probably…”

No, I wouldn’t think so, but lollllll

“You’re being insane, out loud.”

Omgggg

“It tried, oh, how the door tried to divert her attention from the unknown men who could be terrible, rule-breaking influences on her. However the door was only wood and she was a stubborn woman made of free will and limbs—a woman who refused to be deceived.”

“Your hand is on the doorknob before the mention of your limbs has finished rattling around your head. Realistically you don’t want to encourage the voice by doing what it says. After all, the voice’s ultimate goal seems to be killing you.”

BAHAHAHAH omfg you guys

I need to stop quoting from this bc I probably seem insane to those of you who haven’t read this, so stop being judgy buttheads and go read!

Nominated by @flamencodiva

The Choice (series) by @superfanficnatural

A couple of things. 1) this is an amazing fic that highlights Dean unwillingness to let himself go until it’s almost too late. and 2) the smut in this is hot hot hot hot! not for anyone under 18 years of age.

Mert has a way with words and can literally pluck you into one and make you see it as it comes to life in your head.

Mine (series) by @holylulusworld

Lulu has an abundance of different stories she tells and this one is my favorite of her ABO’s at the moment. (although I love all of them) I think this one deserved a mention. I am glad she joined to Pond so I could help nominate and spread her amazing work!

One Night at a Time (series) by @crashdevlin

Another great fic by Cassie! This one shot full of Angst, Smut, and if you squint just the right amount of Dean fluff. She has a way of capturing your attention and putting you in the world as you read.

What He Lost (oneshot) by @jensengirl83

This short story by Brandy is sure to rip your heart out. she leaves just a bit of hope where you think there is a chance only to crush it completely with the ending. This one is sure to bring you to tears if you are looking for the most delicious angsty story to read.

Nominated by @risingpheonix761

Down The Rabbit Hole (oneshot) by @dontshootmespence

So, this was hysterical. XD I love crack fics, and bad smut in particular, and this one hits the spot. (I’ve also learned several new horrible euphemisms lol). The ending, though? Golden!

Nominated by @myinconnelly1

The Affair (oneshot) by @holylulusworld

I love how well all the characters are portrayed I truly hate everyone except the reader! Well done!!

Red Riding Hood - or how you ran into a wolf... (oneshot) by @holylulusworld

I have nothing to say about this. I will simply allow the puddle I have become to speak for me.

Last Omega On Earth (oneshot) by @holylulusworld

This was a great entry in the ABO world. and we need more of this and more like !!!!! Great work!

My Beta (oneshot) by @holylulusworld

I am a greedy little bitch with this fic. I think I've read it 3-4 since i first read it this month!!!!!! READ THIS FIC!

Third Period (oneshot) by @fictionalabyss

Some truly inspiring smut. Inspiring to change my panties.

Gods of Twilight (series) by @thecleverdame

I think i posted this fic in my rec before, but it is so amazing and intricate that i can't stop gushing about it. Fucking awesome.

Apple Pie (oneshot) by @bad268

The amazingness of this is great, check this guppy out!

Deal (oneshot) by @bad268

Comedy at some of its's finest!!!

Confession (oneshot) by @idreamofplaid

THE FLUFFFFFFF!!!! I don't read straight fluff. So get the tissues ready.

Fallen (series) by idreamofplaid

My therapist has told me i'm not longer allowed to talk about this fic during our sessions. So instead i shall now talk about it here... *pulls out soapbox* ahem... *gets pulled away with hook*

Memory (oneshot) by @idreamofplaid

This fic is older, but i love it so much. I recently went back and reread it, and the angst and reconciliation in this fic are heartwrenching.

Home (oneshot) by @emilyshurley

My dentist bill the month was higher than normal, due to the new cavities caused by this fic.

Imperfectly Yours (oneshot) by @emilyshurley

Cuteness overload as you get Dean's perspective of Home ^^

Second Hand News (oneshot) by @emilyshurley

Alright listen. I am a glutton for punishment. And this fic, I asked for. Also i had it set within one of the universes we now own. That all being said, reading this was like a dose of my own medicine and it fucking hurt.

Honesty And Lies (oneshot) by @crashdevlin

This was super dirty, and great. Totally recommend.

Nominated by @deanwinchesterswitch

The Classifieds (oneshot) by @talesmaniac89

This is rip your heart out and stomp on it angst right here. So well written, but so, so heartbreaking.

So Much More Than Perfect (oneshot) by @imagineteamfreewill

This fic is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever read. It made me tear up a bit, but who doesn’t love Dean being the most protective, most adorable dad ever?!

Nominated by @mariekoukie6661

Dear Dean (series) by @smol-and-grumpy

It’s one of those series that makes you wants more after every chapter. It’s a brilliant story.

Left Behind (series) by @kittenofdoomage

It’s the only John Fic I can read over and over and over again. Its hot, the plot is awesome! And it makes me wants more each and every time I read it.

Not Much Left (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

I think Beka tries to kill her readers every time she writes smut… or she just tap into our mind what we want or what we fantasize about. Every single time I’m speechless by her talents!

Yes Professor (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

It’s a Misha fic, there’s no one who write Misha the way Beka does!!!

Owe You One (series) by @supernatural-jackles

It’s such a great series! The friends with Benefit and Mechanic!Dean… I just love this so much and I don’t have words to describe how good this one is!!

Flirty In French (oneshot) by @fictionalabyss

This is brilliant, and I know its an old one, but from someone who finally decided to read more and from someone who is from Quebec, this is absolutely brilliant! The flirty french pick up line are so hilarious!

Nominated by @moosekateer13

Watching for Comets (series) by @holylulusworld

This fic beautifully captures the song that it was inspired by.

It also showcases things that when things are meant to be.

I’ll will all fall into place.

Please Trust Me (oneshot) by @holylulusworld

This fic beautifully emotionally captures what it’s like to have trust issues.

Nominated by @fictionalabyss

Last Call (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

It was everything we needed and wanted.

Culinary Exploits (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

Too utterly ridiculous not to get a mention.

His Omega (oneshot) by @iflostreturntosteverogers

A sweet little comfort fic of Dean being utterly perfect caring for his Omega. Carrie also pulled off keeping this gender neutral, which isn’t something I see a lot of, and probably something I’d struggle with, so hats off to you, babe.

Poison (oneshot) by @supernatural-jackles

YES omg i feel this on such a level. I’ve gone through that shit myself. A friend who lets you down so profoundly but then acts as if you’re the most toxic person in the world. Nothing feels as good as letting go of that shit and moving on to better things. This was beautiful, and perfect, and TRUTH.

Amara (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

This one hurt. It really hurt, but it hurt so good that I’m left wanting more.

Take Me Now (oneshot) by @sorenmarie87

If Dawn doesn’t continue this, I’ll riot.

Stuck On You (oneshot) by @kittenofdoomage

I rarely read a fic this long (I just don’t usually have the time) but it looked too interesting for me to scroll past, and it had me completely captivated. I needed to know what would happen as if I needed air, even though I could guess how it ended, I needed to read the words. Phenomenal.

Thank you all for the awesome work and great feedback!

These are not actual awards! This system is set up so everyone in the pond has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, and the more everyone remembers to submit their own fics after posting, the better this will be :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

#afa masterlist #afa awards #angel fish awards #spn fic rec #spn fanfic #afas #fan fiction #fanfiction #fan fic #spn fan fiction #spn fanfiction #spn fan fic #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #fic rec #supernatural fic rec

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dinosaurtsukki · 4 years ago

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across the sea | a bokuaka fanfic (act. II)

inspired by the movie ‘portrait of a lady on fire’ by celine sciamma which is sad and lesbian

pairing: bokuto koutarou x akaashi keiji

word count: 21.8k words

contains: historical setting (actually the setting is vague bec if i tried to describe it more it would take 5 extra pages), heavy angst, slight fluff, greek mythology references, implied smut

summary: when Bokuto accepted a portrait commission for the young, engaged Akaashi Keiji, he never expected him to be so beautiful. he knows it's a mistake to be attached, a mistake for them to fall in love in a time when they know it's impossible for them to be together.

a/n: i’m a sad gay who loves sad lesbian movies and portait of a lady on fire is peak film. a lot of the things here are based on the film so i suggest you check out this beautiful movie, but i added a few tweaks here and there to make it my own.

chapters: act. I, act. II., act. III

The next day, Bokuto found Akaashi in the kitchen, of all places, kneading what appeared to be a bread dough next to a distressed looking Kageyama. Bokuto paused for a while, standing by the kitchen door with his arms crossed and a smile on his face, as he watched the young master, who was probably forbidden from working in the kitchen, and the house butler, who was probably worried there were repercussions for allowing Akaashi to do what he was doing.

“Akaashi-san, please allow me to take over from here,” Kageyama pressed.

“Nonsense,” Akaashi chuckled. “I never knew bread-making was this fun. And the dough texture isn’t even near what you described.” Just then, Kageyama had discovered Bokuto was already there.

“Bokuto-san! Please tell Akaashi-san that I can handle preparing breakfast myself!” he demanded. Akaashi lifted his head slightly to greet him.

“Good morning, Bokuto-san. I hope I’ll be able to make you a good enough breakfast with my limited cooking skills.”

“I’ll be making breakfast!”

Bokuto chuckled and approached the wooden table where they were walking. “Kageyama’s right you know. You shouldn’t be the only one making breakfast.”

“Right,” Kageyama nodded. A look of slight annoyance crossed Akaashi’s features. Up close, Bokuto see that a corner of his cheek and a bit of his brow was streaked with flour.

“In fact, I should be helping Akaashi out!” Bokuto grinned cheekily at an even more flustered Kageyama. “Come on Kageyama. Sit this one out just this once. We won’t burn down anything. Promise.”

“And as owner of the estate, I demand that I get to cook breakfast in my own kitchen,” Akaashi backed him up.

“Alright, I guess I’ll sweep every inch of the manor,” Kageyama huffed.

“Nope, not even that,” Akaashi shook his head. “Don’t you have some kind of hobby?”

“Well… I,” Kageyama cleared his throat and looked away with a slight flush in his cheeks. “I suppose I can work on my embroidery.”

“That’s the spirit,” Bokuto grinned. Akaashi had finished kneading the dough and was now shaping it into a bowl on a wooden board. “I’ll scrounge up something to fry,” he said, heading into the larder. A moment later, he came up with some unsliced bacon and a basket of eggs.

“That should go well with the bread,” Akaashi remarked as he slid the unbaked dough into the oven before dusting off his floury hands on his apron. Seeing him without his usual jacket and scarf with the sleeves on his shirt rolled up had a certain charm that stopped Bokuto from looking away as much as he should.

“Would you like to do the frying?” he asked, plucking a knife from where the kitchen utensils were to slice the bacon into thick strips.

“You’ll have to show me how first,” Akaashi said. After slicing the bacon, Bokuto ignited the stove and instructed Akaashi to place a pan over it. As it turns out, Akaashi was a quick learner, even with Bokuto as a mediocre cook and instructor, and in a short while, all the bacon had been fried perfectly and all he had left to do was to crack eggs one by one into the pan.

“You’re not that bad of a cook yourself, Akaashi,” Bokuto commented. The two of them were standing next to each other by the stove, barely inches apart.

“If I’d have known I should have told my mother earlier,” Akaashi smiled wryly. “I feel guilty for saying this but I’m glad she isn’t around. I wouldn’t be here cooking bacon and eggs if she was.”

“Well, not be an instigator but…” Bokuto shot a sidelong glance at him. “Would you want to… do some things you wouldn’t be able to do?” Akaashi raised his eyebrows at him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t think I was already planning to do such things.”

After the bread finished baking and the eggs finished frying, they lay their breakfast out on the kitchen table and brought out plates and forks for everyone. Kageyama, who seemed to have finished a good amount of his embroidery and was no longer distressed, thanked them for the breakfast. Bokuto couldn’t help but watch Akaashi eat with his hands: picking up bacon with his fingers and mopping up egg yolk with bread. His master told him that hands were the hardest things to sketch so Bokuto spent an entire year on hands until sketching them became second-nature to him.

After finishing breakfast, Akaashi met Bokuto again in the dining room to continue the portrait. This time, Bokuto decided to paint more slowly, taking the opportunity to perfect mixing his colors. He hadn’t foreseen needing to paint a second portrait so he noticed that he was running low on oil. ‘I could ask Kageyama to buy some for me from the town nearby,’ he thought, before glancing up at Akaashi. ‘Unless…’

“What are you thinking about Bokuto-san?” Akaashi spoke up, as if reading Bokuto’s thoughts.

“I, uh…” Bokuto stammered. Akaashi cocked his head.

“You had that look on your face again,” he said.

“What look?”

“The one where you’re deep in thought and you raise your left hand to your chin,” Akaasi smirked as Bokuto realized that he was in fact holding that pose. “I do have an excellent view of how you work from here and while I’m not adept at painting, a lot of your habits have been noted down in my mind.”

“Most subjects wouldn’t even pay any mind to the painter,” Bokuto raised his eyebrows.

“You’re not just a painter,” Akaashi said simply. “Back to my question, what are you thinking about?”

“Well, since I didn’t prepare for painting two portraits during my stay here, I seem to have run out of oil,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his hair, no doubt leaving streaks of paint there, not that he particularly cared. “I was thinking about asking Kageyama to pick some up for me at the town tomorrow, but I’m also curious about the town here.”

“So am I, I’ve never been,” Akaashi said. Bokuto felt a smile play on his lips.

“Your tone suggests that you know exactly what I’m planning.”

“Kageyama would forbid it.”

“As if that’s going to stop you, Akaashi.”

“You know me well,” Akaashi chuckled. It sounded like music to Bokuto’s ears. “Are you always this chatty with the people you paint?”

“I do try to get into some casual conversation to put the model at ease,” Bokuto said, dipping his paintbrush in a lighter color to highlight the edges around the portrait. “And I can’t imagine how boring it must be for them to have to sit completely still for hours.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Akaashi cleared his throat. “Have you ever had to paint nude models?”

Bokuto chuckled. “Almost everyone asks that. And yes, I did. My master sent me to classes on nude painting with live models in front of us. Though, it’s not as erotic as most people think. At one point, while painting a woman, I found myself sobbing because it had been more than an hour and I couldn’t get the shadows right and I had run out of paint.” Akaashi laughed again.

“That certainly clears up a lot of mystery,” he said. “Although, I can’t imagine you a sobbing mess.”

“Oh, I was very moody growing up,” Bokuto grinned. “I’d easily feel down when I couldn’t do something right. And that was often.”

“How did you readjust your mindset?”

“Well, I took a step back to look at how far I’ve come. Once I remembered that years ago, I couldn’t even sketch an apple but had reached a point when I can paint one in less than 10 minutes, I knew I could do so much more with practice. And now, I’m here.”

“Now, you’re here,” Akaashi smiled. And Bokuto knew there wasn’t any place he’d rather be.

That night, they convinced Kageyama to let them go to town the next day and that Bokuto would know doubt watch over him and that they wouldn’t let Mikoto-san know. Kageyama agreed, and the next day, after breakfast that was once again cooked by Akaashi and Bokuto, the three of them headed out to town. Something about the day and occasion made Bokuto bring out his nicest shirt which was powder blue in color, with pristine, white buttons. Akaashi looked more casual in his appearance than usual dressed in suspenders and a light, cotton shirt that he had left unbuttoned from his chin to the top part of his chest.

The town near the estate was quite different from the ones Bokuto visited in the city. For one, it was much cleaner, less-populated, and less noisy. Most of the houses and buildings were low, at most three floors in height, and the pathways around town were in cobblestone. The townspeople however, were busy and hard at work preparing for what seemed to be a summer festival. ‘It is the first of May,’ Bokuto remembered and paused during their walk to watch a group of men erect a tall, twelve-foot maypole that had colored ribbons tied around it. Bokuto took a mental image in his head of the scene, eager to recreate it.

“It’s a May Day Eve festival,” Akaashi said, standing beside Bokuto. “Right, Kageyama?”

“Yes sir,” he nodded.

“Have you ever been to one?”

“My hometown celebrates it,” he said, a faint smile crossing his face. “We have a similar way of celebrating as the people here, actually. There will be stands serving blackberry wine and cold drinks. Special stew and fried food made with fresh, summer vegetables. The flower sellers would be weaving flower crowns and selling them for people to wear. And at night, the dances will begin.”

“Is it true that the young girls dance around the maypole?” Akaashi asked.

“Yes. It is a sight to see,” Kageyama nodded.

“If that is so, maybe we should stick around to witness it,” he said. Bokuto raised an eyebrow and smiled at the suggestion.

“But—”

“Come on, Kageyama. Even you want to stick around,” Akaashi nudged him, smiling playfully. “My mother is a boat ride away. The worst thing that can happen is that I get the flu again.”

“We’ll return home before midnight,” Bokuto added. A conflicted look came upon Kageyama’s face.

“Eleven o’ clock,” he finally said.

“Deal!” Akaashi said quickly before turning to Bokuto. “Now, where to?”

The festival was still hours away from starting so after Bokuto purchased his oil, the three of them roamed around town, being dragged off to wherever Akaashi pleased. But neither Bokuto nor Kageyama minded much, seeing as how happy Akaashi was to finally get a glimpse of the outside world. They visited dress shops, groceries, a woodworker’s studio, and florist’s shops where people had already begun making flower crowns. They lingered in a shop selling fabrics and yarns where Kageyama had perused and bought different threads for his embroidery before passing by a bakery to buy bread for lunch.

By the time the sun was close to setting, the town had come to life as the May Day Eve festival began. The town was lit with lanterns everywhere and a bonfire in the town square. “Well, it has started. Anything you want to do first?” Bokuto asked Akaashi.

“Well, the blackberry wine seems interesting,” Akaashi said, looking at one of the stalls.

“Have you ever drunk alcohol before?” Bokuto asked.

“I have the occasional glass of wine when my mother lets me.”

“Just, make sure not to get too drunk,” Kageyama muttered. But Bokuto was feeling mischievous and he was curious as to how a tipsy Akaashi looked like.

“You heard him, Akaashi. Let’s drink to our heart’s content!” he cheered, slinging an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder as they made their way to the stall with Kageyama following behind them. Bokuto had never tried blackberry wine but it was much cheaper than usual wine and sold by the bottle. He bought all of them one each. The wine was sweet, much sweeter than grape wine, but packed more of a punch. Kageyama only finished half of his bottle before retiring to one of the benches to sit down and most likely take a nap, leaving Bokuto and Akaashi to roam around the different stalls by themselves. They passed the rest of Kageyama’s wine between them and Bokuto was highly conscious of the fact that their lips were touching the same bottle. Bokuto knew that at some point, he’d have to stop drinking if he wanted to make it home with Akaashi and Kageyama, but it was a summer night and summer nights were dangerous and recklessness hummed through the air and Akaashi’s smile was dangerous and his hands were warm, and both of them ended up visiting the blackberry wine stall a few times.

By their third bottle, Bokuto found himself standing to the side and watching Akaashi peruse the flower crowns being sold by a vendor. Both of them were sweating from the summer heat and Bokuto could see that Akaashi’s cheeks were especially flushed by the alcohol. “Bokuto-san, how does this look?” Akaashi asked, looking up at him with a daisy crown on his head. Bokuto chuckled, noting that Akaashi seemed to be a bold, impulsive kind of drunk.

“This suits you better,” he said, gently removing the daisy crown and placing one of golden chrysanthemums on Akaashi’s head. “The gold brings out the green in your eyes.”

“You sure seem to like looking at them,” Akaashi scoffed. Bokuto could tell he was teasing him. The blackberry wine made him bold too, and two could play at that game.

“I’m supposed to. I’m your painter, aren’t I?” he raised an eyebrow, nearing closer to Akaashi’s face. By the way his eyes darted, he was caught off-guard for a second, but quickly regained his footing. Just as he was about to respond, a loud call echoed throughout the square.

“The maypole dance is beginning now. If you would like to join, come up front,” a young man yelled. Almost immediately after, people began skipping over to the maypole to claim one of its long, colored ribbons, most of them being young girls. But there were a couple of men as well.

“You should join,” Bokuto blurted out, nudging Akaashi with his shoulder. “To make the most of your May Day Eve festival experience.”

“You think so? What if I get the dance wrong?” Akaashi asked.

“You won’t,” Bokuto grinned.

“Alright,” Akaashi agreed, stepping forward, and turning around to say “But your eyes better be only on me,” he said, fixing Bokuto once again with that piercing stare of his. ‘Dangerous, dangerous,’ the insides of Bokuto hummed but he could only nod and watch Akaashi walk over to the maypole to claim a ribbon. He held it in his hand, taking position with the rest of the dancers. When the music began, Akaashi keenly observed the dancers’ movements, moving slowly at first to copy them, before slowly gaining confidence to not have to look at the others around him. As he danced close to the maypole before spinning outwards, Akaashi caught Bokuto in his gaze once again for one second, before smirking and turning around. Again and again, their eyes would meet, almost as if Akaashi was making sure Bokuto was looking at only him. ‘No, he’s definitely doing that on purpose,’ he said to himself. But with the way Akaashi looked tonight, he shouldn’t have even been worried about Bokuto looking at other people in the first place. His movements were graceful and elegant, especially for someone who had just learned the dance a few minutes ago, and the light from the lanterns and bonfire nearby made his tanned skin appear to glow.

Finally, the dance ended and Akaashi rejoined Bokuto. He was flushed, breathless, and his clothes were in disarray, but he looked more alive than Bokuto had ever seen him. “How was I?” he asked.

“It was as if you were on fire,” Bokuto answered.

They rejoined Kageyama by one of the benches and headed home, occasionally laughing and jostling each other like the young men on the way to serenade a woman. Only, Bokuto had never in his life been interested in women. Not even the most beautiful models that he had encountered during his apprenticeship. Rather, he found himself more drawn to men: those in famous paintings recreating Greek myths and stories from the Bible. His first time had been with a male model he had been working with. It was no secret among painters that homosexual relationships do occur, but it was scandalous enough to be kept secret and away from prying eyes.

Except now, Bokuto could tell that something was different about his feelings for Akaashi, the same way he knew to destroy his first portrait of him and delay the wedding. As a painter, Bokuto was only ever concerned about whether his paintings captured every lifelike detail of the model. But as he progressed through the portrait, he found himself constantly wondering whether Akaashi would accept the final product as a reproduction of himself. Bokuto found himself hating Mikoto-san and Akaashi’s arranged suitor, wherever in the world she was. How could they expect Akaashi to be married to someone who only saw a portrait of him? Especially one created by someone who had actual feelings for Akaashi.

“Akaashi-san, please be careful,” Kageyama said, helping up his master who had tripped once again inside the house. The alcohol seemed to have taken full effect as Akaashi could barely stand and his eyelids kept drooping. Kageyama put an arm around him and attempted to help him to the stairs.

“I can do that,” Bokuto volunteered, quickly lifting Akaashi in his arms. He weighed very little, most likely because of how sickly he was, and he groaned a reply before leaning his head against Bokuto’s chest. “It’s alright, Kageyama. I’ll put him to bed.”

“Alright, you can definitely handle him,” Kageyama nodded. “Well, good night, Bokuto-san,” he bowed, before leaving for his own quarters.

“Mmm… tired…” Akaashi mumbled.

“I know, I know. I’m getting you to bed now,” Bokuto said gently before going up the stairs. He struggled a bit with getting the bedroom door open with one hand before finally making it inside. Gently, he lay Akaashi down on his bed and lit the oil lamp on his bedside table to prevent himself from bumping into anything. Akaashi was still wearing the flower crown and Bokuto plucked it from his head and lay it gently on the table when Akaashi stirred awake.

“Bokuto-san,” he blinked, sitting up.

“You’re in your room now,” Bokuto smiled, lifting the blankets to tuck Akaashi in. “I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve gotten drunk.”

“How could you tell?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe you’re still like this even though you’re drunk,” Bokuto chuckled and shook his head.

“This was the best day I’ve ever had,” Akaashi sighed happily, looking up at Bokuto with sleepy eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” And, without him thinking, Bokuto found himself bending closer to Akaashi and gently stroking the side of his face. To his surprise, Akaashi didn’t pull away, rather, he raised a hand to press Bokuto’s against his cheek. It felt as if there was something he should say at this point, and so he said “You were an amazing dancer.” His voice was surprisingly hoarse and deep, even in his own ears.

“And you kept your eyes on only me,” Akaashi whispered in return, he was sitting up on his elbows and their faces were even closer.

“How could I not? You were the most beautiful one there.”

Bokuto had always read that summer evenings were wonderful, magical, and passionate. A time when the impossible crosses into the realm of the possible But, they were also dangerous. As dangerous as the look in Akaashi’s eyes, as dangerous as the heat that radiated outside and inside Bokuto. Not only were summer evenings dangerous because of the air of recklessness and impulse, but because anything good that happened lasted dangerously short. ‘I’m going to regret this someday,’ Bokuto knew. He could tell Akaashi knew. But that still didn’t stop them from closing the distance between their lips, for Bokuto to instinctively wraps his arms around Akaashi to pull him closer, for Akaashi to, in turn, wrap his arms around Bokuto’s neck. It was a kiss as passionate and dangerous as a summer evening, but nowhere near as short. When they emerged, both of them were as breathless as the maypole dancers.

Bokuto sucked in a breath and stood up, swallowing hard. Akaashi was wide-eyed, seemingly snapped out of the drunken state he was in. “I…” Bokuto stammered. “Should I…?”

“I think, it’s time we said good night now, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi nodded, sounding back to his rational self. Bokuto couldn’t agree more, muttering a hasty ‘good night’ before leaving the room, the summer evening’s kiss still on his lips.

…

Both of them were quiet the next day, even during breakfast that Kageyama woke up, earlier than both of them because he wasn’t hungover, to make. Bokuto couldn’t help but glance up sat Akaashi as he nursed his cup of strong, black coffee, only to find the young man distractedly looking out the window. ‘He couldn’t have forgotten about last night, could he?’ Bokuto wondered. He wouldn’t help but feel disappointed if Akaashi had. It couldn’t just have been the wine doing the talking, or rather, kissing.

Finally, it came the time for them to work on the portrait. Akaashi came into the dining room dressed once again in the same expensive suit with his hair fixed and yet, Bokuto couldn’t help but remember the wild-eyed, breathless Akaashi from last night. Wordlessly, the Akaashi in front of him sat down, got into his pose, and waited for Bokuto to start. Only, he was only able to get a few strokes of paint in before putting his brush down and confronting Akaashi.

“Are we not going to talk about last night?”

Akaashi’s eyes widened a fraction at the sudden gesture. “I…” he began and trailed off.

“Was it just… the wine?” Bokuto asked, feeling the wave of disappointment begin to wash over. “Because if you think that’s the case—”

“I was scared that you’d think that,” Akaashi suddenly interrupted him. There was a conflicted look on his face. This time, Bokuto waited for his full response. “I may have been drunk but, kissing you, that was fully intentional. I think, I think I wanted to do it for some time.”

“Y-you have?”

“I was just unsure if you felt the same way,” he continued. “That night, when you told me about you being a painter, I wanted to see if you befriended me because you saw me as someone worth being with. And when you said that you did it just to get the job done, I was disappointed.”

“I’m sorry, I lied,” Bokuto sighed. “I was, I didn’t want to finish the painting at that point. I thought it would be better if you hated me and I moved on from this whole thing.”

“But you didn’t finish the painting,” Akaashi said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Why?”

“Because it wasn’t you I painted. It was so different from the you I know and it didn’t feel right for me to turn that portrait in,” Bokuto answered, stepping forward. “Why did you finally choose to pose?” he asked, walking to Akaashi. Although, at that point, the answers were falling into place.

“Because I didn’t want you to leave. I wasn’t ready for you to leave,” Akaashi said, his smile growing until Bokuto stopped in front of him.

“I’m here now.”

“I know.”

“Can I kiss you again?”

“You know the answer to that.”

And Bokuto did. Bending down, he cupped Akaashi’s face in his hands and kissed him. Gentler this time, gentler than their summer evening kiss last night. He felt Akaashi’s hands on the sides of his waist, clutching at his shirt as if he was scared of him letting go. Bokuto gently circled his thumb on Akaashi’s cheek, as if to say ‘don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,’ and the grip on his shirt relaxed. It didn’t matter that what they were doing was taboo or that Akaashi was engaged. In this estate, one that villagers didn’t visit and was bordered by the sea, no eyes were on them. They were in a world of their own.

“Where have you been all my life, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi murmured once they parted, their foreheads pressed against each other. “It’s strange. One of the reasons why I’ve never run away from this place despite the engagement and the constraining feeling is because it felt as if I would get a moment of liberty if I just waited. And it has come, in the form of you.”

“I don’t know about that. All I know is you’re the most beautiful and hardest thing I’ve ever had to paint,” Bokuto whispered.

“That beautiful?” Akaashi laughed, his breath tickling Bokuto’s nose.

“They say you’re more beautiful than your suitor.”

“Who’s they?”

“The ferryman of the boat I came here in,” Bokuto chuckled and stood up.

“Is it true?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

“You are a self-indulgent man, did you know that?”

“And you are the one who indulges me,” Akaashi grinned. “I don’t feel like posing for the portrait today,” he sighed. “Can’t we do something else.”

“We did something else yesterday,” Bokuto said. “But I think an extra day can’t hurt,” he smiled.

“Can we go to the beach again?” Akaashi brightened.

“Of course,” Bokuto chuckled.

This time, when they walked to the beach, they walked hand in hand, laughing and talking, stopping once or twice to kiss again. Years later, Bokuto would find himself unable to recall what it is they were talking about and instead, remembering only sights and sensations, which was more than enough for him. By the time they reached the beach, instead of Akaashi exploring the tide pools and wading in the water with Bokuto sketching in secret, they both sat down in the sand and spread their jackets out to lie on. Akaashi rest his head on Bokuto’s lap and handed him the volume of Greek Mythology book that he had snuck out.

“Read it to me again,” he said.

“Demanding, are we?” Bokuto raised an eyebrow but opened the book nonetheless.

“Of course,” Akaashi smiled and closed his eyes.

“Any particular story you have in mind?” he asked, thumbing through the pages.

“Look for what interests you,” Akaashi waved. Bokuto shrugged and went through the book until he came across a beautifully illustrated picture of a man staring at his reflection.

“The Myth of Narcissus,” he read aloud. “Am I saying the name right?”

“Yes,” Akaashi nodded. “Read on.”

And so Bokuto read aloud, feeling much more confident now than when he first read to Akaashi. Maybe its because he knew that the young man lying on his lap enjoyed the sound of his voice, something Bokuto never thought he’d bring. After a good half hour of reading, Bokuto himself felt tired and lay back in the sand. “Your turn,” he nudged Akaashi’s shoulder gently.

“Me?” he sat up, smiling sleepily at him before laying down on his chest with the top of his hair tickling Bokuto’s chin. It was a welcome, warm, weight on his chest and Bokuto circled an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder, pulling him close.

“Tell me a story.”

“Another Greek myth?” Akaashi asked. “Which one do you want to hear? I don’t even need to read aloud from this book.”

“Hmm well then. I’ve never really understood that epic poem. The one about Troy with Achilles and Hector,” Bokuto said. “I tried to read it once to study on Greek myths since they were so popular with painting commissions but it gave me a headache.”

“Ah, the Iliad,” Akaashi said. “Well, I’ve read about a million times. You’ve come to the right person.” Bokuto planted a kiss on his forehead. “There are many ways to start the story, but I like to take it back to when the goddesses Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite appeared in front of a poor boy named Paris.” And so, Akaashi told the story of the Iliad. His voice was nice and calming, enough to make Bokuto’s eyelids grow heavy, but engaging enough to keep him awake. Akaashi colored the tale with his own inserts and opinions, sometimes going to into detail about a particular hero’s story. And then, they came across the part of the story when Achilles had heard of Patroclus’ death.

“According to the story, he mourned for days and days on end for his dead lover,” Akaashi told.

“Wait, his lover?” Bokuto jerked his head up in surprise. “No one told me that his lover was Patroclus.”

“Well, in most translated versions of the text they describe Patroclus as a companion and a close friend. In the original text however—”

“Wait, you know Greek?” Bokuto sat up, disturbing Akaashi from his resting place. Akaashi raised an eyebrow at him.

“I can speak quite a few languages, Bokuto-san. I didn’t just twiddle my thumbs right here.”

“I should have known then,” Bokuto chuckled. “Anyway, you were saying…”

“Right. In the original Greek text, or as much was restored of it anyway, Patroclus is described as Achilles’ lover. And in fact, homosexuality was quite normal in Greece. There was a special troop of soldiers who fought in pairs with their beloved. They say they were won of the best fighters out there, because they always fought for their beloved. Additionally, it was believed that unions of the same sex were the only true kind of romantic love since it is not based on procreation unlike that of a man and a woman. And let’s not forget Sappho’s poetry and the Island of Lesbos,” Akaashi enumerated.

“Wow. So, why have I never heard of it before?” Bokuto said.

“The usual. The Christianized, civilized societies frown upon the practice so they conceal it in the translations,” Akaashi shrugged. “But I’ve always liked Achilles and Patroclus.”

“It’s all the more tragic then,” Bokuto sighed.

“Yes, but upon Patroclus’ death, Achilles wished for his ashes, when he died, to be buried with Patroclus’. So that they’d meet in the Underworld even after he died,” Akaashi smiled wistfully.

“So, that was after Achilles got shot in the heel, right?”

“You’re skipping ahead,” Akaashi nudged him.

“Tell me the rest of the story then,” Bokuto nudged him back.

“It’s getting dark,” Akaashi shook his head. And true enough, Bokuto looked up to find that the sun was just about to set. He always loved watching for sunsets and yet, he didn’t notice it.

“Tomorrow then,” Bokuto pouted slightly and stood up, dusting the sand off his trousers before picking up his and Akaashi’s jackets.

“Unless… you would be content with reading by the fireside in my room.” Akaashi had said it almost nonchalantly but even in the dim light, Bokuto could catch the hopefulness in his gaze. And who was he to refuse?

“Alright. But let’s have dinner first. I think we’ve worried Kageyama to death staying outside this long.”

Although, it seemed that Kageyama wasn’t worried one bit as he was doing his embroidery by the small fireplace in the kitchen when they came in. Bokuto wondered if Kageyama was doubtful of how much time Akaashia and Bokuto had spent together that day that wasn’t related to the portrait. Either he wasn’t that perceptive or he just didn’t care. Akaashi and Bokuto finished dinner quickly and locked themselves in Akaashi’s room. Instead of going to bed, he stretched out on the carpet by the fireplace and patted the spot next to him. ‘Just like the beach,’ Bokuto thought with a smile and stretched out across the carpet with his head tucked on Akaashi’s lap. He closed his eyes and felt a hand gently run through his hair.

“Aren’t you going to continue the story?” Bokuto mumbled.

“I may have decided to preoccupy myself with,” Akaashi hummed and Bokuto felt fingers lightly skim over his cheeks and forehead and down his nose. “I wish I had your eye and skill to capture a subject through a painting.”

“How do you know I have skills with painting? The first portrait was a ruined one and you haven’t even looked at the one I’m painting now.”

“I just know,” he felt Akaashi shrug. “What goes on in your head when you paint me?”

“Well,” Bokuto opened his eyes to look up at him. “First, I sketch a basic outline on the canvas, just so I know where everything is in relation to each other. And then, I pencil in your features. You have really delicate features so I try to keep a light hand,” he said, raising his hand to brush against Akaashi’s cheek. “And I spend as much time as I want to on your hands.”

“And then?”

“Then I start mixing my colors. That was always my favorite part when it came to learning how to paint. It’s how my master trained me too. I would sit for hours scrutinizing something and mixing the right shade,” Bokuto chuckled at the memory. “I take my time too when I mix the color of your skin. Browns and yellows and a bit of red. And then I make different shades from that color with white or mixing in a bit more brown for shadows, and a bit more red for that healthy flush on your cheeks.”

“At least I look healthy in my portrait,” Akaashi said dryly.

“You look absolutely stunning in your portrait,” Bokuto laughed as Akaashi playfully swatted at him.

“Once I have your healthy complexion, I move on to other bits. Like mixing the perfect color and shades to match your green robe. The dark brown for your hair. And then I paint it all in, adding colors and blending in shades so that it looks as realistic as possible. And by far,” Bokuto ran the crook of his finger near Akaashi’s temple. “Your eyes are my favorite thing to paint. Actually, I could spend hours just looking at you and sketching you.”

“Haven’t you already?” Akaashi smiled.

“Eveything I’m doing now feels slightly different though. I guess it’s quite task having to paint someone you love.”

The word left Bokuto’s mouth before he even knew what he was saying. He could feel Akaashi tense slightly under him and he sat up quickly. “I—I didn’t mean, I mean I did but—I’m sorry, let’s pretend that never happened,” he stammered, seeing the shocked expression on Akaashi’s face.

“There’s no need for you to apologize,” he shook his head with a slight laugh. “Actually, I thought I was the crazy one for thinking that.”

“Wait, you mean…?”

“Would it be crazy for me to say that I think I’ve loved you ever since the day we first met?” Akaashi asked. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve always had the feeling that you were someone I’ve always known would come into my life.”

‘What a naïve thing to think,’ was what Bokuto knew he and Akaashi were thinking of. But Bokuto had also witnessed it happening. There were friends he knew back at the studio or met in bars who would talk about the ease they felt when falling in love. ‘I’ve been with many women before, but this one felt coming home after a long journey,’ one friend had told him.

“When you think about it, what were the chances of me being chosen to paint you, out of all other painters? What were the chances of me having to paint you, out of all other subjects? What were the chances of me arriving here safely out of all the accidents that occur at sea? What were the chances of the days we’ve spent here happening smoothly in perfect succession out of all other outcomes?” Bokuto said. He saw his questions answered in the look on Akaashi’s faces. “Maybe we were meant to meet each other.”

With that, Akaashi leaned in close to kiss him again, and again, and again. It was no longer that summer night kiss but one of longing and elation of having met and knowing that they were both on the same page. Bokuto could feel Akaashi’s hands cupping his face and sliding down his torso, thumbs hesitating near the buttons of his shirt until Bokuto permitted them to undo each one. Meanwhile, his kisses trailed down from Akaashi’s mouth to the side of his jaw, down to his neck, and in the center of his collarbone, just under his throat, lingering like a question mark. Akaashi adjusted his position, lying back onto the carpet, and slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, baring his chest.

“I’m yours… Koutarou,” Akaashi whispered, beckoning him closer. Bokuto ran a finger tip down from Akaashi’s throat and down to his sternum. For once, he couldn’t imagine sketching nor painting this scene because there was no way it would be complete without the warmth and heat in their stares and beneath their fingertips. Sometime after Bokuto leaned down to kiss Akaashi and before they fell asleep in each other’s arms with only a thin blanket pulled from the bed to cover them, the image of the ghostly figure of Akaashi that Bokuto saw a few nights ago flashed in his mind.

…

The next few days were spent like so: Akaashi would pose and Bokuto would work on the portrait for a few hours each day before they’d go to the beach, or walk through the fields, or stroll through the town. At night, after dinner, they’d retire to Akaashi’s room with the door locked and their clothes ending up on the floor on more than a few occasions. Bokuto had never been happier waking up feeling Akaashi buries his face in the crook of his neck or waking up in the same position they had fallen asleep in when morning came. He’d always wake up before Akaashi did and held him tightly in his arms, praying that the sun would rise a bit more slowly or that Kageyama would wake up a bit later each day.

And the portrait was almost finished. Bokuto could feel himself subconsciously painting less each day or tweaking things like changing the color or painting over a finger again. He remembered one of the stories that Akaashi told him about Odysseus’ wife, Penelope, who had been left in their home island when he went to fight in the Trojan war. She was courted by many suitors and in order to delay having to marry someone until her husband came back, she excused herself by weaving her bridal train and unraveling the works she made each night. In the end, it felt pointless because delaying the portrait wasn’t going to do anything. Akaashi’s mother would return in a few days and leaving the portrait unfinished would just leave Bokuto without a job and having to cross the sea to go back home.

Bokuto took a small brush with a bit of the dark brown color he used to draw in details and scanned the canvas for anything left that he could possibly fix only to find nothing else. He was done. Bokuto stepped back and put down his paintbrush and palette.

“Do you need to take a break, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked.

“It’s…finished,” Bokuto shook his head. The look of concern on Akaashi’s face dissolved into his usual stoic expression. “Would you, uh, like to have look?”

“Alright,” he nodded, standing up from his chair and walking over to look at the canvas. Bokuto knew that it was a lot better than the previous portrait that he made and destroyed. While looking at it, he couldn’t help but feel that everything about the portrait was truly his because only he could look at it and know that he captured more than Akaashi’s likeness, but everything he had come to know about the young man over the past weeks.

“Is that really how you see me?” Akaashi asked.

“Yes.”

“I look beautiful.”

“You do.”

“Do you think my fiancée would be pleased?” he asked. Bokuto felt a lead weight in his stomach.

“She should be. I could imagine this hanging over your mantle in the parlor.”

“I heard she lives in Kyushu, the place where my Mother is visiting now. It’s quite far from here,” Akaashi kept talking, his voice sounding dead in Bokuto’s ears.

“I’ve never been to Kyushu but my master has. He says its beautiful during the springtime with all the cherry blossoms in bloom. There are wonderful art museums to visit and there’s a local theater nearby that places traditional music ensembles,” Bokuto trailed off when he saw Akaashi looking out of the window where the sea was.

“I know you’re saying all these things to comfort me Bokuto-san, but to me it all just sounds like you’re trying to console me. Like how mothers would talk to their toddlers about giving them a treat to stop them from crying,” Akaashi said.

“What else am I supposed to say, Akaashi?” Bokuto sighed. “You know as well as I do that this can’t last. The hate and the scorn we’ll have to experience. I could lose my credibility. Your family would disown you.”

“Then let’s run away! Can’t we? We could just pack our things and leave on a boat and get out of here,” Akaashi exclaimed. Bokuto saw so much hope in his eyes and was loathe to crush it. The world that he wanted to live in existed in the pages of a book.

“They’re going to do everything to find us. Do you really want us to live our lives on the run? And what will we do when they do? I don’t know if your parents would still force you into an engagement but they’ll throw me in jail for kidnapping you,” Bokuto argued. He didn’t notice that his hands were balled into fists.

“Why does it sound like you’re just willing to let this pass?!” Akaashi suddenly raised his voice, shocking Bokuto. “After all this you’ll still find someone to love and warm your bed, maybe in secret but you’ll still have that chance. Once you hand over that portrait to my mother, there’s nothing more for me!”

Bokuto stepped back. In front of him was the Akaashi who had grown up in a lonely manor surrounded by books, who had seen himself in the love that Achilles and Patroclus shared but knew that it was frowned upon in the world outside, who had purposely delayed his inevitable engagement by putting off any painters who came. “I’m—”

“I need to be alone,” Akaashi cut him off, walking around and past him to leave the dining room. With nothing left to do, Bokuto sat back in his stool and stared at the painting of Akaashi as if it would give him answers. He received no answers, only the knowledge that this may be the best painting he had ever created.

…

Akaashi had locked himself in his room for the rest of the day, and the day after that, so it came as a surprise when Bokuto saw him in the kitchen with Kageyama. The two of them were seated at the table, sifting through grains of rice to find tiny insects, rice weevils, that hid themselves among the grains. Kageyama looked up to greet him first.

“Bokuto-san. Dinner won’t be ready until an hour from now. Do you need anything?” he asked.

“No, it’s alright,” Bokuto shook his head, eyes unable to help themselves from glancing at Akaashi whose head was bent over in his task, before sitting down at the table. “Actually, I’ll give you guys a hand.”

“It’s not an immediate task. Although, I find it quite relaxing to do so,” Kageyama explained.

“I could use some relaxing,” Bokuto nodded, looking down at the bed of rice grains that had been spread out on a large platter made from woven leaves. He spotted a weevil, as small as a rice grain but standing out due to its black color, and picked it out quickly before crushing it in between his fingernails. Akaashi still said nothing.

“The madam is coming back in two days,” Kageyama said. “She didn’t entrust me to check on the portrait but personally I do wonder about how it’s doing.”

“It’s already finished. I think she’ll be happy with it,” Bokuto answered.

“I’ll definitely miss this place,” Kageyama hummed to himself as he sifted absentmindedly through the grains with his fingers. They were long and elegant too, but not as fine or delicate as Akaashi’s was.

“Where will you once we leave?” Akaashi asked, looking sideways at Kageyama. “If ever you need a job, I’m sure I can lend a hand.”

“Thank you, Akaashi-san. Actually, my family comes from Kyushu. My grandfather and older sister run a small bakery and I was thinking of working there from now on until I get bored,” he said.

“That sounds wonderful,” Akaashi gave a small smile. “I’ll be nearby then.”

“I was also thinking of working at a library.”

“A library?”

“Yes,” Kageyama nodded. Bokuto smiled slightly to himself at how chatty Kageyama was being today. Maybe it was all that time they spent talking to him and trying to make breakfast in the kitchen. “My sister works as a governess and she made the effort to teach me how to read and write. Sometimes I…” he glanced at Akaashi and blushed slightly. “Forgive me but, sometimes I borrow a few books from the library to read at night.”

“You don’t need to be ashamed about that,” Akaashi chuckled. “That makes me happy, actually, knowing that I’m not alone reading all those books.”

“I also browsed through your favorite book once. The Greek mythology one…” he added shyly.

“What was your favorite story?”

“The one about Hercules because it sounds so amazing,” Kageyama smiled. “What about you, Akaashi-san?”

“I have a lot of favorites,” Akaashi smiled wryly, picking out a weevil and crushing it between his fingers. “But the one that resounds quite a bit with me now is the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.”

“I don’t think I’ve read that one.”

“It’s quite the tragic love story, actually,” Akaashi said. This time, when Bokuto looked up, he caught his eye and held his gaze for a few moments. “I could tell it to you if you like.” It was directed not only to Kageyama but to Bokuto as well, so he nodded his head almost imperceptibly.

“Once upon a time, there was a man named Orpheus. He wasn’t a man though, not really, because his father was Apollo, the god of the sun and music and medicine, and his mother was a Muse. Because of that, he was gifted with the art of music. He traveled with a lyre and his voice was so high and sweet that anyone who heard it couldn’t help but stop and look for where the sound was coming from.

“Now, Orpheus fell in love with a woman named Eurydice. But their love didn’t last long for Eurydice died from being bitten by a snake. Orpheus was distraught with the loss of his wife that he resolved to save her. So, he took his lyre, and plucking it with his fingers, he sang a song so beautiful that the ground underneath him opened and he could walk all the way down to the Underworld. He kept singing on the way down and his voice lulled Cerberus to sleep and kept the monsters guarding from attacking him, all the way until he came upon Hades, the God of the Dead and Ruler of the Underworld, and his wife Persephone. And Orpheus sang a song about them that was so beautiful, they both bowed their heads and let him pass to greet the ghost of his dead wife, Eurydice.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Kageyama said.

“But it doesn’t end there,” Akaashi shook his head. “Hades allowed Orpheus to travel to the surface with his wife and for her to come alive once they returned to Earth. But he gave one condition: Orpheus wasn’t allowed to turn around once during their walk on the way up because if he did, Eurydice would return to the Underworld.

“Orpheus agreed to these conditions and set off with Eurydice following behind him. As he neared the surface, his heart was overcome with fear that he was walking alone and longing to see his wife again. And in a single, tragic moment of weakness, he couldn’t help but to turn around to see his wife tumbling back into the darkness.”

Everything was silent for a moment, except for the shifting of fingers through the rice grains. And then, Kageyema spoke up: “That’s pretty foolish of Orpheus to do.”

“Maybe,” Akaashi chuckled. “But there are different versions to the tale. In some, they say that Hades tricked the both of them, not intending for Eurydice to be let go, and so designed an impossible task for them to fulfill. In another, Orpheus instead chooses the memory of Eurydice and so turns around to have one last look at her. And in another, Eurydice knew that the test was impossible in the first place and whispered ‘Turn around’ to see her lover one last time.”

“It’s a tragic story,” Kageyama said. Bokuto silently drew swirling patterns in the rice when Akaashi said,

“All the real ones are.”

…

This time, it was Akaashi who knocked on Bokuto’s bedroom door. It was nighttime, almost an hour until midnight, and they were both far from the shores of sleep. Bokuto wordlessly stepped aside and let Akaashi in. He scanned the surroundings of the room curiously before choosing to sit at the edge of the bed where Bokuto joined him. “I… wanted to apologize,” Akaashi spoke up. His head hung down and he played with his hands on his lap. “It was unfair of me to ask unreasonable things of you when both of us knew where this was eventually going to head. I knew it even before I kissed you. I just… wanted to hope, that’s all.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I wanted to hope too,” Bokuto reached over and took Akaashi’s hands in his. “I knew a fellow painter, we both attended classes together, who was caught sleeping with one of our male models. Both of them were kicked out of their respective guilds and blacklisted from ever being able to take commissions or enter another guild. I saw him in the street once with slurs being hurled at him while he begged around for alms.”

“That’s terrible,” Akaashi shook his head. Even recounting that memory left an acidic feeling in Bokuto’s stomach. He felt Akaashi clutch his hand gently with both of his, as if he was cradling a bird, and press it to his chest. Akaashi hung his head down and from the shake of his shoulders and the dampness on Bokuto’s hand, he knew he was crying.

“I don’t see what’s so wrong with us being like this,” he sobbed, his words coming out in hiccupped breaths. “I’ve had to deal with knowing this all my life and the one time I’ve found someone to love, it’s all going to be taken away again.” Bokuto wrapped both of his arms around Akaashi and pulled him close. Akaashi clutched at his arms and buried his teary face on Bokuto’s shoulder.

“I just want you to know that I regret nothing from these last weeks. Nothing at all,” Bokuto felt his own voice breaking.

“I regret locking myself in my room for so long. Who knew that an entire day could be wasted so, so much?” Akaashi hiccupped. Bokuto pulled away and brushed the hair that stuck to Akaashi’s forehead, cupping his face in his hands.

“Let’s make the most of the time we have left then,” he said, leaning in to kiss him. Akaashi’s mouth was soft and warm and wanting as they both fell down into the bed. They rushed through nothing, taking their time memorizing as much as they could of each other’s bodies and as much as they tried to fight it off, sleep came eventually.

…

“You know, you’re probably the only person who’ll ever get to touch me like this,” Akaashi said, breaking the silence of the muggy, summer morning air. It was the day of Mikoto-san’s return and they hadn’t left the bed yet. Bokuto wasn’t sure if he had really slept that night, only that Akaashi was continuously stroking his hair and their breathing fell into the same pace.

“I’m probably the only one who knows how to touch you,” Bokuto rolled over to press his face against Akaashi’s bare chest.

“Yeah, that too,” Akaashi said sarcastically. “If only we could stop time and let things just pass like this.”

“If only, if only,” Bokuto sang, propping himself up by his elbows on the bed to look down at Akaashi. His hair messier than usual, mostly due to Bokuto’s wandering hands, and there were a few marks on his collar bone, also due to Bokuto. He liked seeing him like this and knew he would keep this image in his head to save for his future mornings.

“I could draw you like this,” he mumbled, dragging his fingertip lightly across Akaashi’s cheekbone.

“Then draw me like this,” he smiled.

“Alright. So, I have something to remember you by.” He got out of the bed and walked over to where he kept his sketchbook and drawing charcoals before coming back.

“How do you want me to pose?” Akaashi asked.

“Just like that,” Bokuto smiled up at him as he flipped to a fresh page and started sketching an outline. Akaashi held his position: head propped up with his hand with an elbow on the bed, the curves of his body just barely covered by the thin blanket. Bokuto made sure to capture everything, going in with a heavier hand to make Akaashi’s facial features as stark as possible. He prayed that termites or insects wouldn’t eat at his sketchbook, that the charcoal lines would never fade, that the paper would never tear. Finally, he finished and showed it to Akaashi.

“It’s beautiful,” he smiled, running his fingers on the paper around the sketch, careful not to smudge anything. “Make one for me too. Something to remember you by.”

Bokuto unhooked the small mirror that hung on the wall above where he kept a basin of water for washing his face. Akaashi took it from him and held it steady in front of his chest while Bokuto peered at his reflection in between sketching. He had opened his sketchbook to a fresh page when Akaashi stopped him.

“Wait, can you sketch it here?” he asked, handing over his book of Greek Mythology that had somehow made its way to Bokuto’s nightstand.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure.”

Bokuto thumbed through the pages until he landed on one with a good amount of free space. He had been trained to create self-portraits and could do passable ones. This time, he took extra care in capturing the details of his features. It was the only thing Akaashi would have left of him, so Bokuto wanted to capture himself as accurately as possible. ‘Remember this, and everything that happened here,’ he whispered into his sketch. Finally, he passed the book back to Akaashi.

“Page 57. I’ll remember it,” he smiled, sitting up to kiss Bokuto on the lips. It was sweet and wonderful and made them both long for more, but they knew it was there last. “I’ll always love you. No matter what happens,” Akaashi whispered, taking Bokuto’s hand and pressing his lips against the knuckles. “My beautiful painter.”

After dressing up and going downstairs for breakfast, they passed the time playing chess in the library, barely speaking except for when Akaashi was teaching him how the game was played. Finally, they both heard a knock at the door, the sound of Mikoto and other people coming in, and knew that their time had come.

The rest of the events that happened were a blur for Bokuto. He nodded and smiled as Mikoto gushed over the portrait and praised his skill before sealing the canvas away in a wooden box, much like the one Bokuto traveled with. The sound of nails pounding into the wood to seal it shut made Bokuto think of coffins. Mikoto called Akaashi to his bedroom upstairs to present him with a gift. After making sure the portrait was safe and taken care of, he headed to Akaashi’s room to bid his goodbyes.

Before that though, he clearly remembered Kageyama approaching him to say goodbye. He had said something along the lines of ‘Thank you for coming here. Akaashi-san was happy these past weeks,’ to which he nodded and smiled, giving him a hug before saying his goodbye to him. Bokuto threw his things into his suitcase before finally going to Akaashi’s room.

What happened upstairs wasn’t a blur in his memory either. Bokuto remembered, knocking politely on the door, hearing Mikoto inviting him to come in, going inside to receive his payment from her. He was aware of Akaashi standing in the middle of the room but couldn’t raise his head to meet his eyes. ‘Aren’t you going to say goodbye to me?’ Akaashi had said out loud, calling to him. Bokuto could hear the slight crack in his voice. As much as he knew it would be more painful for him to do so, Bokuto walked forward, his eyes still downcast, to wrap his arms around the man he loved with all his heart. He closed his eyes to remember this last feeling of warmth before quickly disentangling himself and heading out the door.

His own footsteps thundered loudly in his ears, especially because of how little he could see in the dark interior of the manor. Bokuto almost slipped on the carpet but caught himself using the stairway railing. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was suddenly aware of another set of footsteps but it was only when he opened the manor’s door that he heard Akaashi speak:

“Turn around.”

He didn’t even need to be told twice. Bokuto turned around to find Akaashi standing in the middle of the parlor, illuminated by the single shaft of light spilling into the slightly ajar doorway, wearing a new, navy blue suit that his mother bought. The suit he was going to wear for his wedding. Akaashi’s eyes betrayed the words ‘Keep this memory.’

Bokuto let out a single, choked sob before leaving the manor, shutting the door, and losing Akaashi to the darkness.

#across the sea #bokuaka #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #bokuaka fanfic #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fanfic #portrait of a lady on fire!au #across the sea: act. II

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chloebeale · 5 years ago

Note

I was rewatching episodes of AF and the scene where Brittany tells Roxy she doesn’t want her there, that gave me major idea vibes of Chloe Beale having an argument with Beca’s father and kicking him out of their home at Thanksgiving for disapproving of their relationship and never supporting his daughter, spending much of Beca’s life absent from her life except to show up and pass judgement. Cause nobody belittles or upsets Beca and gets away with it.

TURNING TABLES

RATING: T.WARNINGS: Homophbia.PAIRING: Bechloe.WORDS: 3.3K.NOTES: Let’s pretend Beca’s father isn’t the same one from Barden pls. Thank you for this, I could totally see it too!

Chloe can count on one hand the amount of in-person interactions she has had with Warren Mitchell. (She’s willing to bet Beca could count hers on two.) Beca doesn’t really talk about him, and given the way he didn’t even walk Beca down the aisle at their wedding, and instead sat in the back with his wife and proceeded to leave before the reception, Chloe already has a pretty clear picture of the type of person he is.

So, Chloe understands why Beca is currently so jittery, why she’s seemingly lost in her own world as she rearranges the place settings at their Thanksgiving-ready table for what feels like the millionth time, and Chloe finds herself watching the other woman sympathetically from across the room.

“Bec, everything looks great,” Chloe states in a gentle tone—though not quite gentle enough apparently, because Beca jumps slightly along with the sound of her voice.

“Yeah,” Beca nods, clearing her throat somewhat awkwardly. Her gaze scans over the table, and while Chloe can’t actually read her mind, she knows she’s still questioning the seating arrangements. Almost like she’s forcing herself away, Beca slowly turns from the table, and Chloe catches sight of just how exhausted she looks. It’s worrisome, considering the day has barely begun yet, but again, Chloe understands it. “I just feel like I need to be doing something, you know? You won’t let me help with the food.” Her brow wrinkles in that familiar way Chloe can’t help but adore, and prompts a subtle smirk in return.

“You remember the green beans last year?” Chloe reminds her, auburn brow arching knowingly. “We were still finding them under the fridge at Christmas.”

“Fine,” Beca grumbles, turning back toward the table without missing a beat. Her hand outstretches to pick up Warren’s name label, though Chloe decides it’s time to intervene.

“Hey, stop,” she mumbles soothingly, pale arms wrapping delicately around Beca’s middle. While she hears a sigh fall from her lips, she also feels the way Beca’s body relaxes into the embrace. “It’s going to be fine,” Chloe continues, her chin resting gently against Beca’s shoulder. Her heartbeat drums gently, hopefully reassuringly, against Beca’s back. Slender fingers settle on top of her lightly freckled arm, and Chloe allows herself a brief glance down toward the wedding ring on Beca’s finger, painted lips tugging up into a contented smile.

Soft fingers squeeze delicately onto her arm, and Chloe tightens her hold slightly. “You just…” Beca’s shoulders slump, volume lowering some, “You don’t know my dad.”

READ THE REST BELOW OR ON AO3!

Given how genuinely wonderful her own parents are, Chloe really can’t relate. She does know she’s glad they’ll be there to act as some kind of buffer today, though. But that doesn’t help Beca’s situation, that doesn’t help to calm her nerves, so Chloe simply pulls her body closer to her own, pushing a gentle kiss into the crook of her neck. “I know,” she whispers softly, “But it’s going to be okay.”

If it were up to Chloe, Warren wouldn’t be joining them at all. But he’s in town for the first time since they moved into their new home, and when Beca had panicked and invited he and Sheila to Thanksgiving dinner, Chloe had been nothing but supportive. She’s very protective of her wife, but Warren is her father, and if Beca wants to try to salvage some kind of relationship with him, then Chloe isn’t going to stand in her way.

Over the years, Chloe has learned to read Beca Mitchell. She knows when she should try to coax something more from her, and when she should leave her to her own thoughts. Right now feels like the latter, and Chloe realizes she’s correct in thinking so when Beca finally releases another soft sigh of defeat, before twisting her body to face her again. Chloe’s arms loosen slightly, though they remain wrapped around Beca’s middle, while Beca’s rise to drape comfortably around Chloe’s neck.

“You look pretty, by the way,” Beca comments, the corner of her lips tugging up into a half smile. “Have I told you that yet?”

Chloe’s soft smirk returns, shoulder shrugging gently. “Mm, once or twice.”

Even after spending the better part of ten years together, it’s easy for them to become entirely wrapped up in one another, completely consumed by the other’s presence alone. And that’s fine when it’s just the two of them, though the sound of the front door opening promptly pulls them back to reality, with Beca freezing in Chloe’s arms.

“Knock knock!” Marie Beale chirps, bright grin plastered across her face as she comes into view. With her dark green dress and small bow holding back her red curls, she’s essentially just an older version of Chloe. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

Chloe’s arms unwrap from around her wife, and she can see the clear look of relief on Beca’s face. Still, even in the company of the most approving of people—Chloe’s parents very much fit that bill—Beca doesn’t love PDA, and tucks a chunk of hair almost shyly behind her ear as she steps out from Chloe’s embrace.

“Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Be—” Beca begins, though corrects herself upon seeing the warning glance shot her way. “Uh… Marie, Andrew.”

“That’s better,” Andrew grins, stepping forward to wrap his daughter into a welcoming hug. Marie quickly pulls Beca into her arms, too.

“Girls, everything smells great,” Chloe’s father comments, stealing himself away toward the kitchen to admire their work.

“Oh, that’s all Chloe,” Beca corrects, following dutifully behind.

Marie shoots Chloe a knowing look. “Green beans incident?”

Chloe nods her head in response, smirk settling onto her lips. “Green beans incident.”

For about ten minutes, there’s a very relaxed, cheerful atmosphere surrounding the four. The food is pretty much ready, and everyone takes the time to huddle on the couches, chatting casually amongst themselves. Beca isn’t a big wine drinker, but she accepts the glass Andrew pours for her, and drinks it perhaps a little too quickly, Chloe notices. However, she chooses not to comment; she knows Beca is stressed, and if a little liquid courage will help her to relax, then who is Chloe to stop her?

For a brief moment, that stress seems to leave her, though the sound of the doorbell almost has her dropping her empty glass, and Chloe quickly glances toward her, offering her a reassuring smile. “Want me to get it?”

Beca shakes her head, handing the wine glass over to Chloe. “No, it’s okay, I’ve got it.”

Chloe responds with a short nod, though exchanges a knowing glance with both of her parents, trying hard not to focus too intently on the sound of Beca greeting her father and step-mother. However, Warren’s first words (“That’s your Thanksgiving attire, Beca?”) are hard to ignore, but Chloe bites her tongue, and proceeds to stand in polite greeting, just in time for Beca to lead both Warren and Sheila into the living room.

“Mr. Mitchell,” Chloe beams, focus shifting to his wife momentarily, “Mrs. Mitchell. You look really nice. Can I take your coat?”

The energy shift between the arrivals of the Beale’s and the Mitchell’s is incredibly apparent, though true to their nature, Marie and Andrew make a point of welcoming the two newcomers warmly into their small party, and both swiftly ignore the judgmental looks they receive in return.

“What are you drinking?” Warren questions, blue-gray eyes moving between the two glasses in Chloe’s hands.

“Oh, just water,” she explains, shaking her glass gently.

“And the wine?”

“Chloe’s favorite!” Andrew responds for her, though Warren has already made his way over to the table, and proceeds to peer curiously at the almost empty bottle.

“This is what you’re serving?” Warren’s brow arches, head tilting as he studies the label, before quickly dismissing it. “Never mind, Sheila and I brought better stuff.”

It’s those comments, the ones that prove Warren Mitchell thinks he’s of a much higher class than everybody else in his vicinity, that cause Beca’s shoulders to sag and her cheeks to darken a shade, but Chloe knows how to play nice, and simply responds with a kind smile.

He doesn’t stop there, of course. He has comments to make about every little thing, it would seem. His chair is uncomfortable, the table is too small, the potatoes aren’t properly mashed. Fortunately, for every negative comment Warren has, both Marie and Andrew have something positive to say, and Chloe does well to bite her tongue. It’s a little upsetting, the way she feels Beca tense up whenever Chloe’s hand slides into her lap reassuringly throughout their meal, but yet again, Chloe understands the resistance. She knows Warren isn’t the biggest fan of their relationship, and while Chloe doesn’t care much for his comfort level, she doesn’t want to make Beca uncomfortable in her own home, too.

“I see you got your mother’s culinary skills,” Warren mumbles as he inspects a shred of turkey. Not for the first time, Beca looks entirely embarrassed, and turns to shoot Chloe an apologetic look, though she’s met with another kind smile, and Chloe gently shakes her head.

“Actually, Mr. Mitchell, the food was all on me this year. If it isn’t good, you don’t have to eat it. I can go whip up something else for you, if you’d like?”

Warren’s brows raise in what Chloe perceives as an entirely judgmental way, and a sickeningly smug look overtakes his weathered features. “Leaving the cooking for someone else? Even more like her mother,” he sneers, turning to shoot his wife a look. Sheila responds with a small snicker.

Again, not for the first time, Chloe bites her tongue, and it’s Beca’s turn to reach for Chloe’s hand under the table this time, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. The feeling of Beca’s wedding band, the way it sits so comfortably on her finger, only adds to the gentle reassurance.

Apparently, Mr. Beale senses the tension. “Hey, why don’t we do gratitudes?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea, Andrew,” Beca chimes in quickly, clearing her throat. Her father, meanwhile, practically chokes on his food.

“Mr. Beale,” Warren corrects, “Have some manners, Beca.”

“Oh, no, Andrew is fine,” Marie pipes up, her kind smile the same one Chloe wears. In many ways, Chloe and her mother are very much alike; their fiery red hair, their piercing blue eyes, both with gentle demeanors that will quickly switch when triggered. They both know how to play nice too, though—something Beca is incredibly thankful for. “We’re Beca’s in-laws. We like her to call us by our actual names.”

Warren simply picks up his wine glass, shoulder shrugging briefly, before taking a long swig from his glass. The bottle sits beside him, and he seems to notice the contents are not going down very quickly.

“You know, when someone brings wine to a meal, it’s polite to at least try it,” he says, glare pointed toward Chloe. It doesn’t surprise her that he isn’t her biggest fan, and if her reluctance to try his wine offering is the most he has to throw at her, that’s fine by her.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure it’s great,” Chloe nods, though motions toward her glass. “I’m fine with water, though. Thank you.”

Her choice in beverage hasn’t been an issue until now, though unlike Beca, Chloe is a wine drinker, and the conversation seems to catch her parents’ attention.

“Is everything okay, honey?” Her mother questions, a look of concern filling her eyes.

“Just try the damn wine,” Warren urges, standing from his seat and picking up the bottle to hand it across the table.

“Dad, no,” Beca interjects, “Chloe…” She trails off, gaze moving toward the woman beside her. Chloe sees clear fear filling her eyes, and honestly, the sight is heartbreaking. Yet again, she shoots her a reassuring smile, hand reaching out to take ahold of Beca’s beneath the table.

“Chloe?” Marie pipes up, that same look of concern still filling her eyes. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

Now’s not the time, not with Beca’s very judgmental father seated at the same table, but all eyes are on both Chloe and Beca, and the two exchange an almost cautious glance, before Chloe gently nods her head.

“Uh, yeah,” Beca proceeds, fingers wrapping tightly around Chloe’s. She clears her throat, and Chloe swears she can feel Beca’s palm beginning to sweat. “Everything’s fine. Great, actually.” Blue eyes point downward toward the food, and something they’ve been so excited about for the last two months now suddenly feels like the most terrifying thing in the world. So much so that Beca can’t even continue, not with her father’s stare burning into her the way it is, so Chloe decides to take over.

“Okay, we weren’t going to say anything yet,” Chloe continues, strong gaze shifting between the four sets of eyes on the two of them. “I’m not drinking because,” she glances toward Beca, a softness filling her eyes. “Well, we’re going to have a baby. I’m pregnant.”

“What?” The response is one of shock for the briefest of moments, before Marie rises quickly from her seat, an excited yelp sounding from her throat. “Pregnant? Oh, Chloe! Andrew, we’re going to be grandparents!”

Despite the prior atmosphere, despite the presence of Beca’s father, Chloe can’t help the wide grin that spreads across her lips as both of her parents pull both she and Beca into their arms in congratulatory hugs. She can even hear Beca chuckling softly from the middle of Andrew’s bear hug, and for just a moment, it’s easy to forget that there are two other people in the room, neither of whom has said anything thus far.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Warren suddenly pipes up, the newly stern tone to his voice catching everybody off guard.

Even Sheila reaches out a hand to settle gently on his arm. “Warren, don’t,” she warns quietly, though he promptly shakes her off, clear anger written across his face.

“No, Sheila. It’s bad enough that she insisted on marrying a woman, but now they’re going to bring a kid into this? Mess up your own life all you want, Beca, but a child’s, too? Really?”

For a second or two, it would seem everybody is in shock. Beca opens her mouth to speak, but swiftly closes it again, and Chloe can just tell how hard her wife feels like she has just been punched in the gut. She doesn’t like what Warren says, but it’s that look on Beca’s face, that sheer, undiluted pain, that has Chloe finally seeing red.

“Excuse me?” Apparently, Chloe is done biting her tongue.

“Chlo, leave it,” Beca whispers, hand reaching out to settle on her arm the same way Sheila’s had on her father’s only seconds prior.

“No,” Chloe shakes her head, brows tugging together. Both Marie and Andrew have taken their seats again, and it’s clear that nobody else is going to try to stop her, so Chloe continues. “Mr. Mitchell, we invited you into our home to spend this holiday with us, something Beca won’t admit, but that she has wanted to do for the past only God knows how many years. Her whole life, probably.”—Beca doesn’t correct her, so Chloe proceeds—“We invited you to our wedding, because Beca wanted you to be apart of one of the most special days of her life, and you didn’t even have the decency to stay and actually celebrate with us. You’ve come into our home and basically insulted your own daughter any chance you’ve gotten, and now you think it’s acceptable to talk that way about our unborn child?”

As taken aback as Warren looks, he evidently still has his own strong—and in Chloe’s mind, wrong—opinions, and continues with the same conviction. “A child is supposed to have a mother and a father. You realize it’s going to be bullied, right?”

There’s a rage deep within Chloe that she hasn’t felt before, not like this. While she’s normally the epitome of respect for her elders, Warren Mitchell has lost his right to that by now, so Chloe chooses not to hold back.

“Right, the same way Beca had a mother and a father? I don’t know you, Mr. Mitchell, but I do know that I have spent more holidays, more celebrations, more time with your daughter than you ever have. And the way Beca has been so terrified of you showing up here today, so desperate for your approval, I can guarantee that our baby will never feel that way. Our baby will never have to fight for our affection, because we are going to be incredible parents. Beca especially, and you want to know how I know that?” By now, Chloe has risen from her seat, and again, nobody has tried to hold her back. She hasn’t exactly lunged toward Warren, she’s still in her place, but she towers above him as he glares up at her from his seat, and it’s clear who has the dominance in the situation. “Because you’ve given her the perfect example of what not to do.”

There’s a surge of venom behind Chloe’s words that is almost unrecognizable even to her, and it has Warren glaring back at her, red-faced. “How dare you—” He begins, though Chloe cuts him off abruptly.

“No, Mr. Mitchell, how dare you? This is our home, and I’m sorry, but you’re just not welcome here anymore. I think you should leave,” Chloe states firmly, never breaking eye contact. “That’s not a request.”

It’s not often that Chloe loses her temper, not really. But this is an exception, and honestly, she feels like she’s well within her rights. However, her blinders are up, her pointed glare on Warren and his wife as they rise from their seats, so much so that Chloe doesn’t even think to check on Beca, to make sure that this is okay. Instead, she pushes back her chair and quickly escorts the two toward the front door, ignoring the grunts and grumbles sent her way. It’s only once the door is closed on their unwanted guests that Chloe finally comes back to her senses, back pressed up against the hard wood of the door.

And suddenly, she wonders if perhaps she went too far.

Even more so when the sight of her wife, wide-eyed and almost disbelieving, comes into view.

“Bec, I’m so—”

“Do you know how much I love you?”

The words catch Chloe off guard, stop her in her tracks. It’s not like she doesn’t know it, but a part of her had been expecting a hysterical Beca, or at the very least for her to yell. But she doesn’t. Instead, Beca takes a few steps forward, until small hands are rising to delicately cup Chloe’s blush-covered cheeks, blue eyes meeting blue.

“Of course I do,” Chloe nods, finally finding her words. “I’m sorry, I know he’s your dad, I just—”

“No, you don’t have to apologize.” Beca’s voice is gentle, kind. It’s like all of the fear, all of the hesitation built up inside her has suddenly dissipated, and Chloe suddenly recognizes her again. She’s her Beca again.

“He doesn’t get to talk to us like that, he doesn’t get to talk about our baby like that. And everything you said, it’s all true. You’re going to be the most amazing mother, Chlo. Our baby is so loved already.” She pauses, one hand falling from Chloe’s cheek to rest feather lightly against the small, barely visible swell of her stomach hidden beneath the loose fabric of her dress. “We’re both in the best hands possible.” Beca stretches up slightly, soft lips brushing against her wife’s.

“Seriously, Chloe,” Beca whispers, closing the gap between them. She doesn’t care that Chloe’s parents can see, doesn’t care that there’s anybody else in the room with them. It’s just the two of them in Beca’s mind—or three—and she chooses not to hold back, the same way Chloe hadn’t only moments before. “Thank you.”

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe au #bechloe fic #mine #mine:writing #anonymous #question #turning tables

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timextoxhajima · 4 years ago

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HOSTIS, Chapter XVII: Et Universum Parallel, A Parallel Universe

Previous Chapter (XVI: Adsumo)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz) ft eric

Genre (by chapter): drama, angst

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

A/N: *this is a sad hours warning send me an ask if you cried or smth idk bec i’m pretty i’m gonna cry writing this chapter :”)*

“where has my other ares gone?”

“morning!”

the nurses and staff nearby look up at your greeting, and they say it back with such cheer and wonder in their voices, though you were sure they wished they were in bed.

the dress shirt that wasn’t yours was folded nicely into a plastic package in your briefcase, and you didn’t want it hanging around your house like a ghost reminding you that lee hyunjae was a person who had to deal with for the longest of times.

he was staring at his computer screen with his chin in his palm when you walked in without knocking, and you were expecting him to throw something at you, maybe even call you a name that would hurt your pride.

but he doesn’t.

“this shit is yours,” the plastic crinkles loudly when you pull it out. for a moment, your heart winces because you spent a considerable amount of time ironing it.

it was a dress shirt after all.

“take it back.”

the item was held out at arms length, and again, you wait for him to snap at you, to bring it over to him so you had an excuse to throw it instead.

but he doesn’t.

the look on his face was blank, emotionless, tired.

the chair creaks when he removes his butt off the leather and he slides the white coat off the backseat, turning on his heels to walk towards you.

his silhouette against the light coming in from the window behind his desk floods out his features, but he keeps a safe distance from you when he takes the wrapped dress shirt from you and places it on the small sofa seat right next to the door.

“thanks,” he says, with absolutely no weight of sincerity or energy. “i gotta go for my rounds so get out of my office.”

he brushes past you without physically running an arm into your shoulder, and he doesn’t wait for you to leave by holding the door open.

he just walks off.

a parallel universe, also known as a parallel dimension, alternate universe, or alternate reality, is a hypothetical self-contained plane of existence, co-existing with one's own.

and you were convinced that not only did you just wake up in one, you were now living in it.

someone must’ve kidnapped lee hyunjae and replaced him with someone else.

every second ticks by relentlessly, and those seconds become hours, and hours become days.

it’s been days since hyunjae has said anything remotely mean to you.

it’s been days since hyunjae has had some kind of a conversation with you.

maybe it was his rounds.

maybe he lost a patient to another doctor because of a worsening condition.

the pantry door whirs open while you were filling your flask up with warm water, and the soft sound calls for your attention.

he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say anything to you, only walking past you to that refrigerator he had you up against not too long ago, stealing kisses when doctor kim walked in on the two of you.

now he was just treating you like you were invisible?

“you look like shit, just so you know,” your lips meet the mouth of the flask as you turn and lean your hip against the counter.

“didn’t know i dressed to impress.”

a box of eclaires was removed from the refrigerator and he stuffs one into his mouth.

what game is he playing now?

why was he so distant all of a sudden?

“busy with work? i haven’t heard your annoying ass much in the last... what, three days? or did you fuck up along the way and couldn’t bring yourself to show your face?”

not a muscle in his face twitched as he finishes the eclaire in his mouth, and he slides the box back into the refrigerator.

“you have your problems to handle, and i have mine.”

a frown crawls itself onto your forehead, and something in your heart cracks.

where has my other ares gone to?

“but i suppose for old times’ sake i could send you home today, you seem like you miss me.”

that was more like it, but why does he sound so... sad?

“i’ll see you in the carpark after work tonight.”

not once do his eyes look at yours when he speaks, and he leaves without another word.

you should have known it better; you should’ve known yourself better, but you don’t.

what was this difficulty you were finding in your lungs that was preventing you from breathing? what was this feeling of dissatisfaction in your gut when he doesn’t bother to rebut you?

you were so used to listening to him cutting you open with his words after you start a fight with him, so much that now when he doesn’t, it feels like he’s playing you. it feels like you’re just talking to a wall.

it feels like he’s done entertaining you.

it should’ve felt better. you should’ve felt happier that the fight or war you’ve been fighting for a decade is seemingly coming to an end.

but you don’t.

was he simply becoming the more professional one at work? did he finally realise that it wasn’t worth it for him to consistently try to break you? was he the first of the two of you to decide that this fight has gone on way too long, and that it was time to stop?

no.

he’s not that quick to resign.

not to me.

how much does god hate you to put you into the same space as him again, even after ten years, for you to realise that you missed it?

no, it can’t be.

i just missed the free ride home, that’s all.

the lamps along the road paint the asphalt ground a bright amber, but the heavy weight in your chest refuses to remove itself.

like a tumor nestling itself into your heart, you worry if your knowledge of neurology was enough to fix whatever was wrong with you, provided you could even figure it out first.

again, the silence buries itself in the back of your skull like a piece of metal, like you had split your skull open and you needed it as an implant to help you recover.

you were drowning in the lack of exchange, the absence of physical touch, the loss of rivalry.

there was absolutely no reason for you to be so destroyed when everything you hated had finally stopped.

really, grinded to an abrupt stop.

the vehicle pulls up to your house and he clicks the gears into parking, both arms tightly gripping onto the steering wheel with his eyes looking dead ahead.

the gentle whirring of the air conditioner in the car was the only thing you could hear besides his heavy breathing, or yours, you couldn’t really tell anymore.

you hesitate for a moment, watching the lines on his forearms come alive again. any other day and you would’ve felt like he was trying to rile you up, but there was something wrong with his energy tonight, you just couldn’t put a pin on it.

“are you okay?”

the words come out so soft, like a whisper goodnight, like lovers afraid to say goodbye, and you struggle to recognise your own tone, your own choice of words, the very fact that you even bothered to ask him that.

but he turns to you without removing his grip from the steering wheel, and the way he digs into your eyes nearly made you want to throw up.

not from hatred, not from resentment, but because that tumor in your heart responded to his gaze.

the moment freezes, leaves rustling outside your open window, an occasional dog barking in the distance; nothing but him looking at you like you were a statue and you searching his face for any sign that you could decode.

nothing.

he turns away.

“why wouldn’t i be? anyway, we’re here now, so get out already.”

a bodily reflex sends a scoff up your throat as you pull your head away, one hand already on the door handle.

yet a warm mass lands on your arm to hold you back and some part of you disintegrates into his lips when he kisses you for the first time in almost a week.

his grip on your arm loosens before he pulls away, and strange, unfamiliar chills down your back, shiny, glimmering eyes looking into yours with just inches between your faces.

he turns back to the steering wheel and looks ahead, his still manner telling you that he was just waiting for you to get out of the car.

so you do just that.

but why does it feel like you were walking away from him, when you were just going home?

he says something so softly as you shut the door, and you forget about it, thinking that if it was important, he’d text you about it anyway or find some way to get his message across if he really didn’t want to face you anymore.

but why doesn’t he?

you were sure he said something, but he doesn’t bother yelling at you for closing the door in his face when he said it.

the car drives off and you notice the moon for the first time in a long time.

you’ve spent so much time looking down at your feet, making sure that you don’t trip over his shoes, that you’ve completely forgotten that the moon existed.

you’ve spent so much time trying to be wary of pride and love, that you’ve lost control of what either meant.

the car disappears in the reflection off the window of your backyard as you walk up the stairs to your front door, the grave feeling of loss and confusion starting to engulf you the same way you were worried your parents were going to choose their careers over their own child.

but that was because you were scared they would love their profession over you.

what were you scared of when it comes to lee hyunjae?

the moon hung outside your backyard glass panes like a round, yellow ball in the sky, the dark hallway that led you into the living room pushes you back into some situational memory.

his hand around your throat, pushed up against the wall, and you were nothing less than happy about removing his report.

“son of a gun deserved it anyway,” you hum under your breath, throwing your keys into a small container sitting on top of the shoe rack.

the air in your apartment was eerily still, the switch clicking when you pushed it down with the lightest of efforts. every little sound, every little move, felt so overwhelming for some strange reason.

sensory overload was the correct term.

you would’ve covered your ears to cancel out your thoughts but it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.

not when you couldn’t even decipher what was going on in your head.

the device in your back pocket rings, and you watch the screen light up when you grip it in your hand.

unknown number: y/n! it’s eric!

unknown number: i just wanted to see if you were available tomorrow night for dinner?

unknown number: and also to make sure that this is your number

eric?

pleasant surprise, but your heart no longer does a little jump like it would’ve done four weeks ago.

you: omg eric

you: how did you get my number?

eric: you didn’t hear this from me

eric: but i managed to hack into the hospital database and dug out your number

you: hack into the database? should i be worried that an intern can hack into the system?

eric: oh, god no. i didn’t hack, i just didn’t realise my account could get me into the database. i tried, and got in.

you: an intern account gets you into the system? strange...

eric: anyway, are you available tomorrow for dinner?

you: yeah, i’m clear

eric: alright, cool. i’ll totally head over to the nrd to get you at 6pm

you: where are we going?

eric: you’ll see tomorrow ;)

you: mysterious, aren’t we?

eric: you’ll see tomorrow, i’m sure you’ll love it.

you lock your phone and leave it on the kitchen island, the cold, hard surface not a stranger to your back and your skin where it shouldn’t have been in the first place.

the thought shoves itself around in your mind, the stubbornness of such an intangible object so difficult to remove, you wonder if it was ever going to go away on its own.

the night sinks into your blood as the moon hung itself to bare. you try to recall the last time you looked at the moon without thinking about anybody, and it hurt to feel like you should’ve been with someone else under this gorgeous moonlight.

the familiar corpse that displayed itself across the sky comes round again, and it soon gets hidden behind all the windows of the building.

sanitizer and disinfectant’s become your own scent, the only thing that greets you when you push into the office.

there was nobody next door, but you could tell he was already in because his briefcase was sitting on the floor by his table.

again, you don’t even see his shadow today.

eric sends you little text every now end then to encourage you on your rounds. you found it a little redundant because there was nothing much to “encourage”, nonetheless, you felt motivated.

the corpse was staring at you in large, red, digital numbers every time you were at a lift.

faces that brushed past either earned a polite smile from you or zoned-out eyes.

the research department greets you like a home you didn’t want to return to, the only thing there that yearned for your attention was eric.

“are you excited for tonight?” eric’s bright, child-like eyes were flitting gorgeously across the span of your face, and for a moment you feel like you were his most important person.

“can’t i know where we’re going?” you pout and notice hyunjae coming out the lift with a file of research material, and he walks to another research officer nearby to ask something.

“no, of course not!” eric rolls his eyes and squints at you. “unless you don’t eat beef.”

hyunjae nods and has the file opened out in his palm, his pupils flying across the page as he flips it.

“uh... no, i’m not...”

hyunjae struts past your row, attention still mounted to the file while he walks to his cubicle behind you.

“not what?”

he sees you for a moment.

but he drops the file on his table and sits down, the clacking on the keyboard sounding like a nightmare from not long ago.

“i... don’t don’t eat beef.”

“oh, that’s a relief.”

“you do realise that question literally tells me we’re having steak or something tonight, right?”

the intern blinks at you innocently before nodding his head, and you give him a light punch to his shoulder, light chuckles run through your throat in soft vibrations.

eric talks to you about steak back home in LA, but you don’t really absorb anything. he sounds like you when you were begging for your parents’ attention; talking about unimportant things.

were your parents like this too?

the lift dings and a familiar faces comes out between the metal doors. he looks tired, less spirited, but somehow more at ease.

“lee,” he calls out, and you hear the clacking on the keyboard halt. “come with me on my rounds in fifteen, i’d like to introduce one of my patients to you. he just came out of an operation and i’ll be transferring it to you.”

doctor choi reaches hyunjae’s cubicle and the younger male stands up, his jawline suddenly looking extremely glaring to you.

“okay, i’ll go back to my office to get my patient files.”

they continue the conversation, and eric continues his.

later that day, the pantry door greets you like the gates to hell, and you see hyunjae standing inside, mug in hand, back against the door as he looks out the window.

why am i here?

the door whirs open when you find yourself pressing your staff ID to the scanner and you grab some tea sachets.

“you look stressed, messed up a report or two?”

silence.

confusion tightens your facial muscles, and you struggle to find something to do with the tea sachets.

he doesn’t move, he doesn’t say anything, only the slight heave of his shoulders when he breathes.

“am i talking to a ghost now? or did you finally realise that you were just fighting a losing war?”

again, nothing.

hyunjae gives his mug a rinse in the sink next to you, his warmth almost within reach. he avoids your eyes, avoids looking at you altogether, and he leaves.

you wanted to yell at him for ignoring you, but it was a hospital, and you are a professional.

the sky starts to cry for you, for your confusion, for your lack of grasp on the situation.

it really feels like you were a lost child in a maze, and you were nowhere near figuring the way out.

droplets of rain were trailing after each other on the window of your office, the orange sun completely disappearing behind those dark, dark clouds despite the rain having stopped.

each drop hits another and it runs down the glass.

knock knock

“come in,” you call out without looking over your shoulder.

“hey! you ready to go?”

the greeting earns your attention and you watch eric holding onto his bag like a child. the sight puts a smile on your face and the rain on the window pane bids goodbye to you as you walk over, fingers coming round the handles of your briefcase.

eric holds out a hand for you, like he was asking you to dance.

your spirit ascends a little at the contact, and eric’s grin was so gorgeous.

his warmth was gentle, comforting; it does feel like you were holding a child’s hand.

“are you interested on eating anything else? since you already know we’re going to a steakhouse,” the reflection of the two of you was staring back at you, your hand in his and he was just about a head taller than you.

if you were with someone else, you’d need to tilt your head higher to even meet his eyes.

“mm... how about--”

ding

the light from the lift pours out around the person inside, and the look on his face crushes your spirit in ways you couldn’t understand.

“hyung!”

hyunjae’s left eye brow twitches, but nothing else moves.

his legs tear him away from the lift and the wind that brushes across your face when he walks past you offers his scent.

the only scent that took you away from sanitisers and disinfectant.

why was the day so draining when you barely did anything?

you didn’t go out of your way to do anything big or tiring.

the private room of the restaurant was providing you a gorgeous view of the city outside, and the food was nothing less than great.

yet for some reason, you don’t feel whole.

eric spends most of the dinner talking about his life in LA, why he came back, how he became a neuro-research intern... his life in LA, why he came back, how he became an intern... his life in LA, why he came back and how he became and intern.

my life here, why i’m here with eric, and how i became one half of two areses.

i am half full, but i feel half empty.

half. fifty percent.

my aphrodite is sitting right infront of me, but why do i feel like i need ares more?

i am ares, so why am i not enough?

if i am brutal, then he is cruel.

and ares is both.

ares is nothing without the two.

the scent appears in your nose against your will, and the warmth on your thighs melt through your skin into your bones. the taste on your tongue pushes you into a loss of control, and your press your peach tinted lips against each other. your fingers brush your neck where foundation was no more because you didn’t need it.

half of two is not whole.

i am not whole.

not without him.

“eric--”

“and i was just so psyched to--”

“eric.”

he stops, the brightness in his face doesn’t fade but his hands start to droop when he notices your eyes staring into the table cloth like you had just seen a dinosaur on it.

“...are you okay?”

your heart is shaking in your chest like it was having an earthquake, and the nerves in your head start to spark like they were malfunctioning gears.

“i... i need to go.” the briefcase gets wrapped in your hold again, and you pull out a credit card to hand to him. “pay for it with my card and i’ll get it back from you tomorrow--”

“wait, y/n, where are you going?” he stands up, and you realise you were already turning on your heels.

your body was reacting to your feelings faster than you could process them. comprehending that on its own was enough to uneven your breathing, much less keep your composure in front of him.

where am i going?

the silence was deafening, and you see that split second that eric’s eyes softens into something more mature, something more understanding.

like he knew.

“are you going to look for hyunjae hyung?”

there was a throbbing inside you, but you couldn’t tell if it was from your head or from your chest anymore. eric eyes bury themselves into your soul, and you realise that he was never your aphrodite.

aphrodite was never yours to begin with.

you were half of two for a reason.

eric crosses the space between you and pulls you into a tight hug. a gulp forces itself down your throat when your chest huffs itself against his.

he pulls away and steps back, giving you a small punch to your shoulder.

“i’ll see you at the office tomorrow, and i’ll pay for the dinner. we’re still friends, right?”

your card gets extended out to you, your teeth grinding against each other in your mouth as you take it from him.

“of course.”

eric nods with satisfaction, sending you off on your way.

“y/n.”

the handle of the door was cold, and you turn to see that you were leaving aphrodite alone in the room.

“your number? i didn’t get it from the system.”

a pause, like he was trying to read your face.

“he gave it to me.”

how much does god have to hate you for you to spend ten years fighting a war, only to have you wish you weren’t...

because you were in love with the person you’ve been fighting?

the whitening knuckles on your fist urges you to release your hands, the cab coming up around the corner.

the living room light was dimly lit, so maybe the only thing that was illuminating the house was the kitchen light.

you pay for the cab and your shoes get damp from stepping into a puddle on the pavement.

water dripping from trees and plants into puddles ring like bells in nature, the gravel crumbling behind you as the cab drives off.

the skin on your fingers come into contact of the wooden door, and you stop yourself, wondering if this was right.

your pride. your ego. your desire to win.

what was it worth if you no longer knew was love was?

love was younghoon carrying your bag when he knew he didn’t want to.

love was eric trying his very best to find some way to contact you, sending you texts to encourage you.

love was him leaving you alone after he realised this was no longer a war fuelled by hatred.

the sound that emitted from the contact shivers through your fist as you knocked on the door.

i need my other ares, for we are not whole without one another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 17.5: Inevitibilis

A/N: WHOOO LONG CHAPTER BUT ARE YOU GUYS ALRIGHT HAHAH

#hyunjae #lee hyunjae #eric son #the boyz #the boyz lee hyunjae #timetohajima hostis #the boyz eric

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imagine-avengers · 5 years ago

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Biker Part Four- Bucky Barnes Series

4/10 This is part four of my Biker Bucky series. The previous parts can be found on my masterlist, as will the other parts once they come out!

The week seemed to drag on but by Friday Elizabeth was completely settled in. Which is exactly why she had decided that it was finally time to visit her brother and his family. Driving over to Manhattan in Bucky’s truck wasn’t ideal for Elizabeth, as she hadn’t mentioned to her brother that she was in contact with Bucky again. Arriving in Manhattan, Elizabeth showed up at the small café that they had agreed upon.

“Aunt Liz!” Elizabeth heard the voices of the twins that were her brothers children as she entered the café.

“Timothy, Hannah.” Elizabeth grinned at the thirteen-year old’s, before hugging them both. “Gosh I missed you two.” Elizabeth then moved towards the table where her brother Adam and his wife Delilah were sitting. “Adam, Delilah.” Elizabeth hugged Delilah first before turning to her big brother and her eyes immediately filled with tears.

“Stop that, you’re gonna make me cry.” Adam said standing and pulling his sister into a tight hug. “Don’t you dare leave for that long ever again, do you understand me?” Adam pulled away as Elizabeth nodded wiping her tears away. The group sat around the table for an hour chatting before Delilah announced that she had to get the kids to their soccer game, she bid both her husband and his sister goodbye before leaving. “So.” Elizabeth stared at her sad salad in front of her.

“I’ve seen James.” She mentioned. “More than seen, I guess. We’ve talked.” She looked up at her bothers disappointed face. “Don’t look at me like that Adam.” She stated. “You knew damn well that the minute I moved back in four houses away from Steve I’d see James eventually.” She told him as Adam sighed.

“Well I had hoped you’d moved on and wouldn’t continue being involved with a gang that does illegal activities.”

“Adam, the stuck-up lawyer is coming out.” She teased at the fact her brother was a lawyer. “I’m not falling back into my old life Adam.” She told him. “But I do have to accept that I am still in love with James Barnes.” That was the first time since their breakup that Elizabeth admitted that.

“You still love him?” Adam asked as Elizabeth nodded sheepishly. “Lizzie, if you love him, really love him, be with him, hell there wasn’t a week that the man didn’t call me or my office to find out how you were, he clearly still loves you.” Adam stated. “Now, I may not like James Barnes and I never have,”

“That’s because you always lost the fights against him, brother.” Elizabeth grinned as Adam rolled his eyes.

“But he makes you happy and that’s all mom and dad ever wanted.” Adam smiled at his sister. “I have to get back to work, I have a meeting with a client. You need an escort back to the subway?” He asked as the two stood ready to leave.

“Uh no, I drove.” She stated.

“You drove?”

“Yeah, James doesn’t want me taking the subway, so I’m driving his truck as my car basically is totaled.”

“Wait, you’re driving his car?” Adam asked. “Elizabeth, no, you have no clue what he’s been involved in with that,”

“Adam.” Elizabeth cut her brother off. “I guarantee any ‘illegal activity’ is not done in that truck. The only thing even remotely illegal that has happened in that truck was the fact that I lost my virginity in the bed when I was seventeen and we went camping.” She stated causing Adam to groan.

“Lizzie tmi.” He whined causing Elizabeth to laugh.

“Liz.” Elizabeth heard the voice belonging to Clint. Turning with a sigh she nodded to her old friend.

“What’s going on?” Adam asked before Elizabeth could open her mouth. “You wouldn’t just show up here if,” Adam paused when Elizabeth touched her brothers arm.

“What is it Clint?” She asked stepping towards him, knowing the only reason he’d show up in Manhattan would be if something bad had happened. “What happened?” Elizabeth asked grabbing her purse and her coat and kissing her brothers cheek. “I’ll call you alright, love you.” She stated before she and Clint disappeared out the door.

“Nothing happened Liz.” Clint stated as they headed towards her truck. “We need you back in Brooklyn, things are tense with Hydra and it’s best you stay where we can watch you. He doesn’t want you leaving Brooklyn without an escort.”

“So, James sent you to be a babysitter.” She stated as they got to the truck. “You be sure to tell Bucky that you were a good boy, but he can shove it.” She stated before slamming the door of the truck and driving off.

Elizabeth spent the rest of her day angry that Bucky thought she needed to be watched. So, she humored him and stayed in Brooklyn inside her home. She did some cleaning around the house and organized the few medical supplies she had, knowing at some point Bucky or Steve would show up at her door hurt. Before she ventured down the street to visit Peggy. The two talked well past the time the kids went down for bed and up until Steve strolled in around one in the morning, they bid each other goodnight and Steve took her home before heading back to his wife.

Saturday was no different than any other day, Elizabeth sat around the house searching for jobs on the internet. She cleaned her house, cut her back lawn, and even fixed the leaky hose in the backyard before calling it a day and relaxing on the couch with a book. Around one in the afternoon she received a call from Steve letting her know they were having their typical barbeque at Bucky’s place. With a groan, Elizabeth readied herself for the day and took the twenty-minute drive to Bucky’s, walking in well after everyone else had arrived.

The backyard was spacious, you walked in through either the garage that opened to both the driveway and the backyard or through the side gate. In the center was an above ground pool and to the right of it was a small patio area where two separate grills were sat, Clint and Sam manning them. To the left of the pool were a few tables and chairs for everyone to sit at. All around sat the group of bikers, probably thirty to forty, all drinking. There were children running around playing, a group of teens swimming in the pool or playing on their phones, and toddlers playing in the corner where there were some toys set up for them.

“Lizzie!” Steve grinned seeing the girl enter through the side gate holding two cases of beer. “And you brought gifts!” He hugged her before taking the alcohol and passing it off to Thor whom took it and put it in the fridge. “We were afraid you weren’t coming.” He stated grabbing the two cold beers from Thor and handing one to Lizzie before leading her towards where Peggy was sitting on a small couch on the patio talking to Natasha and a few women you didn’t recognize.

“No way to get out of coming Stevie.” Elizabeth teased. “Peggy would have had my ass if I hadn’t shown up here.” She stated as they laughed. “Anyways, I wanted to come.”

“Good good.” He grinned as Elizabeth opened her beer and they neared Peggy, Steve passed Peggy the beer before winking at Elizabeth and disappearing into the crowded backyard.

“Hey gorgeous.” Peggy wiggled her eyebrows at Liz.

“Hey Peg, where are the kids?” She asked falling into the chair across from Peggy and giving a smile to the women around her before taking a drink of her alcohol.

“Sorry, but who are you?” A blonde-haired woman asked as she eyed Elizabeth’s choice in outfit, a white sunflower sundress and white gladiator sandals.

“Elizabeth Smith, and you are?”

“Fiona Gregory. Funny, I’ve never heard of you.” The women sneered as Peggy elbowed her.

“Play nice Fiona, this is Bucky’s girl.” Natasha stated leaning against her own chair. “Besides, she left before you came around. Fiona is with Pietro.” Natasha stated.

“Nice to meet you.” Elizabeth stated glancing around, her eyes unconsciously searching for Bucky.

“He isn’t here yet.” Peggy stated. “Ran out to pick up Becca.” Elizabeth’s head snapped towards Peggy.

“Rebecca is coming?” Elizabeth asked as Peggy nodded.

“Every week.” Fiona stated. “Bucky always goes to get her. You look sick.” Fiona noted as Elizabeth had paled slightly at the mention of Rebecca.

“Rebecca and I aren’t on the best of terms.” Elizabeth stated taking a long drink from her beer.

“What do you mean?” Before Elizabeth could answer Peggy, she was being tackled by Emma and James.

“Aunt Lizzie!” They grinned at her as the others laughed.

“Hey kiddos.”

“Liz Smith.” Rebecca’s voice came from behind. “Thought you weren’t ever coming back.”

“Go play.” Elizabeth ushered her niece and nephew away from her. “Wasn’t planning on it Becs, but things happen.” Elizabeth stood and turned towards the women that was once a sister to her.

“Yeah I heard you got fired. What was it for? Sucking your boss off?” Rebecca asked moving closer to where Elizabeth had been standing.

“You’re hilarious Becca.” Elizabeth said with a deadpan tone. “But as I remember that was actually you.” Rebecca moved towards Elizabeth.

“Rebecca. Enough.” Bucky stated touching his sisters arm before whispering in her ear, she disappeared in the crowd as Bucky stared at Elizabeth before nodding towards the house. The two walked into Bucky’s small living room, still decorated from when the two redecorated months before Elizabeth left.

“You kept them?” She asked scanning the wall of pictures, most of were her and Bucky, others of them and their friends. But the wall was full of memories. “You added some new ones.” She stated, her hand running across one that they had taken after they said their first ‘I love you’ to each other.

“It’s better to hold on to memories when you can’t hold onto a person.” Bucky stated as Elizabeth turned towards him.

“Buck,”

“No, you left for you reasons, I know, trust me.” Bucky stated leaning against the doorway that separated the kitchen and living room.

“You had Clint following me.” She mentioned continuing to look around the room, her eyes stopping at the small painting that hung on the wall, it was of Bucky, Steve, Peggy, and Elizabeth after the boys had taken over the club, Elizabeth had gotten it painted for she and Bucky’s anniversary. “I don’t appreciate it Bucky.”

“I need you safe Liz. There’s been some threats since you came back to town, they know who you are to us.” He told her with a sigh. “Steve and I think it’s best you guys don’t leave Brooklyn.” Bucky moved towards the fridge and grabbed himself a drink.

“You two think it’s best? And whom exactly are you tell me I can’t leave Brooklyn, and how do you plan to stop me?” She asked stepping into the kitchen where Bucky had been drinking his beer.

“I dare you to try leaving Brooklyn, you won’t make it out of city limits.” Bucky told her as Elizabeth smirked.

“And you expect me to stay away from my brother and my family?” She asked. “Adam doesn’t come to Brooklyn anymore, you know that.”

“I don’t care about Adam, Elizabeth!” Bucky’s voice grew before he turned to look at her. “I want you safe, and you can’t be safe where I can’t see you!” Elizabeth took a step away from Bucky as he rose his voice.

“You want me safe, fine. But that’s my family Bucky, my blood, yeah, you guys might be my family but I’m not blocking Adam out of my life because you don’t think it’s safe. If this threat is from Hydra, they know me Buck, they know my family, I won’t be safe if they aren’t.” Elizabeth stated. “Buck you never understood that, you never understood why I had to stand with my family. You of all people know I won’t leave my family behind, not again.”

“You didn’t leave your family behind,”

“No, you pushed them away from me! You pushed him away! You and the damn club! You threatened him,”

“Oh, hold on. Threatened?” Bucky laughed as Elizabeth’s hands were on her waist. “No, your brother borrowed money, he needed to pay it back.”

“And you broke his leg!”

“In my defense that wasn’t necessarily me,”

“No, you just set the order for Clint to do it.” She stated. Their arguing had been heard throughout the yard, thus causing Steve to enter.

“Knock it off!” Steve’s stern voice came up from the sliding glass door. “It wasn’t Bucky’s order for one, it was mine. Your brother, owed us over a hundred grand and was avoiding us.”

“So, you broke his leg? You’re both unbelievable!” She stated throwing her hands up. “If he owed you money you should have come to me about it Steven.”

“Figured you might want to know; he still owes about fifty grand.” Steve stated as Elizabeth groaned.

“I’m leaving, you stop me from leaving Brooklyn and you will never see me again, you got it?” Elizabeth’s eyes landed on Bucky, then Steve. “Stay away from my family, do you understand me, because if you don’t, we’re all done.” Both men nodded before Elizabeth turned and headed out the backdoor and heading towards the truck.

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