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milfgritty · 4 years ago

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constellation of asters | m. frost & j. farabee

❀ ⇢ requested: yes | no ❀ ⇢ genre: poly!au | soulmate!au | gender neutral reader ❀ ⇢ word count: 12.9k ❀ ⇢ a/n: yea i have no excuses for this. enjoy.

everyone has a soulmate, it’s just a simple known fact. a red string, a soulmark, first words tattooed on the inside of your wrist, there’s something to help every person find theirs. except, well, you never had any of those. growing up, you (kinda) came to terms with the fact that you might just not have a soulmate at all. it’s not until you meet morgan and joel that you begin to reconsider the possibility that you actually have not one, but two.

⇢ posted: 02.07.21 . | . masterlist

There are the lucky ones in the world who are born with an identifying soulmark. Something that leads them straight to their soulmate, whether it be a red string of fate, or the date of their other half’s birth, or even a tattoo shared only by the two of them.

You, though?

You wish you were one of them. But alas, no string, no tattoo, no drawings, not even a damn clock. Nothing to ever even allude to the existence of your supposed other half. When you were younger it terrified you, made you think that something went wrong wherever soulmates were paired. Left you alone, destined to never be the perfect match for anyone. You used to watch in envy of all the kids in the schoolyard proudly displaying their tattoos, showing off whatever new their soulmate drew on their skin that morning. Knowing that they would remember that you were one of the unlucky ones soon enough, the ones people whispered about under their breath, never loudly as though terrified if someone heard them their own soulmate would vanish.

Not having a soulmate was kind of a big deal, if you couldn’t tell.

And still years went by and you grew up with half-assed reassurances of ‘don’t worry, I’m sure your soulmate is out there somewhere, you’ll see’ and ‘maybe you just have an invisible soulmark, didn’t you know those are a thing?’. Years went by, and you grew up, and you rationalized.

You didn’t need a soulmate. People without them got along just fine, and sometimes people lost theirs without ever meeting them in the first place. Hell, you were actually luckier than everyone else because you had the free will, the agency, to pick who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. So what if they weren’t handpicked and perfect for you, you would be happy, dammit.

That’s what you told yourself, at least.

Done with a particularly rough day of classes, you figured it was only fair to reward yourself with your favorite drink from your favorite cafe near campus. It was a special treat that you rarely afforded yourself, what with you fitting the stereotypical broke college image to an almost painful extent. Dodging other people on the sidewalk, you clutched your jacket closer around your body to protect from the harsh wind. The bag on your back straining under the combined weight of your single (five subject) notebook, textbooks, and laptop, you cursed yourself under your breath for not at the very least putting it in your car before making the five minute trek.

Slipping into the tiny cafe nestled on the corner, you allowed yourself a sigh of relief. You took the moment to drop your stuff at a vacant table before making your way to the counter. Waiting in line, your eyes scanned the menu despite knowing exactly what you would get, as you did every time you let yourself come here. Back aching and your hand attempting to massage it from the worst possible angle, the line continued to shorten until you could order and retreat back to your table.

You were tempted to stay, even after getting your coffee. Free wifi, decent music, and minimal noise? Easily get through at least homework for one class. But a larger part of you yearned for your warm bed and cozy blankets, preferably with pajamas. And so, it was with maximum effort that you picked back up your bag and coffee and slipped out the door and into the windy outdoors once more.

The walk back to your car was more bearable with the addition of a hand warmer, so much so that you took the longer way through the small park you had walked past on your way there. With the trees above and around you and the dancing leaves raining down, their colors slowly changing from their normal shade to the yellows and oranges of autumn, a smile slipped onto your lips. Your eyes lingered on the flowers lining the pathway, your mind trying futilely to identify which ones they wer—

A body slammed into yours, shoulders knocking violently as you were shoved off balance. Your still mostly full coffee fell from your hand, lid flying off and spilling onto the ground. You landed miraculously not in the growing puddle of hot coffee, but still flat on your ass as you stared up in shock at the man who had somehow remained standing.

Seconds ticked by as you stared at each other, uncomprehending. The tall and outrageously sturdy stranger broke through his shock first.

“I’m so sorry, holy shit,” he rushed out, hand reaching down to help you up. Gazing unblinking at the outstretched limb, you allowed him to pull you up. Bare skin touching yours, you only allowed a split second of disappointment when there was no discernable reaction before smothering it back down.

Really, you thought, what did I expect? A mark to show up on our hands linking us together? How naive. You really thought you had gotten passed doing that.

“It—it’s fine,” you mumbled, sparing a despaired glance down at your spilled coffee, “don’t worry about it.” How neither you nor your bag didn’t end up in the puddle was beyond you, but you’ll take it.

His gaze followed yours, landing on the pitiful cup. “Fuck, your drink, I’m so sorry.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. Stop apologizing,” you told him, adjusting your bag and turning to leave. There was no way you were going back to the cafe and getting another drink, this one was already indulging yourself.

“No, hey,” he lightly grabbed your jacket, stopping you. “Let me buy you a new one, make it up to you for spilling that one.”

Suddenly much closer to his tall frame, your eyes caught on his brown ones. There was just something about him that you could already feel your resolve chipping away.

“I was on my way to Starbucks anyway, it’s no problem,” he continued, as though sensing he was breaking you down. At the mention of Starbucks, though, your nose involuntarily scrunched. Something he definitely caught. “Or wherever it was you got that,” he laughed, his smile making your heart catch a beat.

You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Not when he’s oddly pretty and he could have a soulmate who’s not you and—

“Yea, sure.” You smiled, “Luckily for you, it’s pretty close to here.”

His smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corner, and his hand dropped from your sleeve. It was strange how much you felt its absence, but you pushed the thought away. “After you then,” he stepped aside, gesturing you forward.

Moving around him, you fell in step together, going back the way you came.

“I’m Morgan, by the way,” he—Morgan—introduced himself after a beat. Studying him for a split second, you thought the name suited him.

“Y/N,” you said in response, ignoring the way his smile made you want to smile, too.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” And the two of you kept walking.

Two months. It had been two months of hearing Morgan talk about Y/N this, Y/N that, and Joel still wasn’t quite sure if he liked or hated you.

Depends on the day, really.

It wasn’t anything against you as a person; it was just, well. He wasn’t sure what it was if he was being completely honest. Maybe it was the way Morgan brightened at the mention of your name, maybe it was how he always brought you up in conversation, maybe it was how obvious it was that he liked you.

But he definitely wasn’t jealous. Of course not. How ridiculous.

He watched Morgan move around in their shared kitchen, rambling on and on. Something about how you joked earlier when you were hanging out that you would wear his jersey if he bought it for you. At that moment, he couldn’t hold the thing he couldn’t quite identify in anymore. “So have you brought up how you feel, yet?”

Morgan stopped and closed the fridge door that he had half his body shoved inside and digging around in as he turned to face him. Brows furrowed, he shook his head with a look of poorly feigned confusion. “I—what? No, it’s not like that. Why would you even ask that?” he questioned, staring him down.

Joel shrugged, fidgeting on the stool he had perched himself on when Morgan went into the kitchen. He really wasn’t sure why he had asked. He just had. A part of him didn’t want to know why.

“Just feels like the two of you have been hanging out as much as you can. The way you talk, it’s pretty obvious how you, at least, feel,” he replied. He picked at his sweats, avoiding his roommate's gaze.

Morgan cleared his throat, turning back to the fridge. “I don’t—not like that, man,” he told him over his shoulder. He gave the fridge a second glance before closing the door, walking past Joel and out of the kitchen.

“It’s not a big deal if you do,” Joel said as he followed him back into the living room. “You haven’t found your soulmate yet, plenty of people date before they do.”

“Why are you so concerned about it, Beezer?” Morgan pivoted on his heel to face him, forcing Joel to stop in his tracks unless he wanted to run him down.

“I—I don’t, I’m not,” he answered, mind racing, “I just think you’ve been practically obsessed with them for months and I haven’t even met them—”

Morgan laughed sharply, cutting him off, “Is that what this is about? Seriously?”

“I mean, kinda? It’d be nice, at least.”

“Fine, then I’ll ask if we can all do something together this weekend. Is that good for you, Joel?”

Ignoring the sarcasm in his last sentence, he maneuvered around his body and flopped down onto the couch. “It is actually, thanks.” In his head, however, he was less certain. How was he gonna be able to interact with you? Would his jealousy—no, not jealousy—be obvious to Morgan, to you?

Aside from the noise coming from the TV, the next few minutes passed in relative silence after Morgan crashed down next to him. Their previous conversation already partially forgotten, Joel became focused on the shitty reality show that had started to play without them noticing earlier.

“Look, it’s not like I’m an idiot,” Morgan started suddenly, scaring him slightly. Joel’s head turned toward him, brow lifting in question. Morgan glanced at him before returning his gaze to the TV and continuing. “It’s just, yea. Maybe you’re right.”

He trailed off, leaving him to wait. “And?”

Morgan rolled his eyes and shuffled further into the couch. “And, I don’t know if I even have a soulmate,” he steamrolled on, “Just because I might not doesn’t mean—doesn’t mean no one does, you know? I don’t want to be the selfish asshole who gets into a relationship with someone who might have a perfect match waiting for them, someone that isn’t me.”

“You don’t know if you have a soulmate?” The piece of information stuck out to him. Hit him in the gut and made his heart jump into his throat.

His roommate shrugged, continued to steadfastly ignore him. “Never had a mark or any of the other shit people had. It’s not—not that big of a deal. But I don’t want to be with someone and always be afraid that they’re going to find what I can’t and leave me behind.”

Joel swallowed roughly, his heart racing. “Oh,” he mumbled, voice as quiet as Morgan’s had become by the time he had gotten done speaking.

“Yea,” Morgan huffed a bitter sounding laugh, “Oh.”

“You know,” Joel spoke lightly, softly, as though worried that talking too loud would ruin everything, “People always say that things work out in the end, even if it’s shit getting there.”

This time the laugh that escaped Morgan was more real, less cold. “Is that your way of making me feel better, Beezer?”

“Depends,” he smiled, bright at the sound of his laugh, “is it working?”

Morgan threw a pillow at him, it bouncing lightly off his head. “Dude, shut up,” he told him, the smile on his face softening his words. Following his advice, Joel adjusted himself on the couch, heart feeling just a bit lighter than it had previously.

“So I was thinking,” Morgan started as you walked down the street together.

“Absolutely shocking, continue,” you cut in, rewarded with a shove as you laughed.

“As I was saying,” he stressed, “You should come over for a game night or something this weekend.”

“Uh,” you stuttered out. “Yea, sure. Sounds fun. Will Joel be there?” You hadn’t meant to sound so shocked, but as it was, you most definitely were. In the what, two, three? Months since you had known Morgan, you never went to his place. Never met his elusive roommate. Sure, you had heard about Joel. It was hard not to when Morgan could—and had—talk for hours about his teammate.

But you had never met him. And to be honest, at this point you were kinda scared to.

Sure, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Except he clearly meant the world to Morgan, and well, Morgan meant the world to you. And yea, you weren’t sure when he began to mean so much, but he does. And you want Joel to like you. What if he doesn’t?

“Yea, Beezer’ll be there. Finally get to meet him.” He nudged you lightly, shooting you a smile. Smiling nervously back, you ducked under his arm and into the cafe as he held the door open for you.

Coming to the little cafe on the corner had become tradition, Morgan falling in love with the shop just as much as you had. It didn’t bother you in the slightest since he pays for you whenever you two come. Which is, to say, far too often.

Placing both of your orders and finding a table, you turned to your friend. “Do you think,” you began nervously, picking at the edge of the table, “do you think he’ll like me? Joel?”

Morgan looked up from his phone and tilted his head. “Of course he will. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, lying through your teeth. “It’s just, he’s your roommate—and your teammate—and wouldn’t it be, like, a little awkward if he actually hates me?”

Your question seemed to stump Morgan for a minute, his mouth opening and closing, eyebrows scrunched up as he looked at you from across the tiny table. You sat quietly, watching him think over his answer. Eyes wandering his face, your lips quirked as you just managed to pick out the way his lashes curled at the ends. So unfair, you thought, why does he get the long eyelashes? Finally, he seemed to get his words in order.

“Even if he doesn’t like you, which he definitely won’t,” he rushed out the last half, “But if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like we would stop hanging out or anything. We would just, just keep hanging out the way we have been.”

Watching him, you chewed on the inside of your lip. “Promise?” you asked, voice coming out quieter than you had wanted. You hated the way you feared losing Morgan, scared that he had wormed his way into your life so quickly.

His foot nudged yours under the table, breaking you out of your thoughts. Eyes meeting yours, your heart gave a tug at the sweet smile dancing across his lips. “Yea,” he told you, “I promise.”

Breath catching, you smiled back. “Then this weekend it is.”

The weekend came far sooner than you expected.

“But you’re on your way, right?” Morgan questioned you over the phone. Figured you were running late today of all days. It was Saturday, dammit, you slept in late. That wasn’t a crime.

“Yes, Morg, I’m on my way. Leaving right now,” you reassured him, grabbing your keys off the counter and making your way to your door.

You heard his—frankly, exaggerated—breath of relief even on your end, gaining a fond eye roll out of you. “Okay, good,” he replied, “See you in like, twenty?”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered halfheartedly in response, more focused on locking up behind you. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

The only downside, of course, is that twenty minutes was definitely not enough time to settle your anxiety. And so soon enough, you were at Morgan’s shared apartment, and walking up to Morgan’s shared apartment, and oh god you were in front of his door, oh no—

This is fine. This is fine. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that no matter what, even if Joel didn’t like you, Morgan wouldn’t drop you. He promised.

Christ, that sounded lame even in your head.

Psyching yourself up, you raised your hand to their door and knocked. Ignoring the way your hand trembled lightly, you almost jumped when the door swung open faster than you expected.

“Hey,” Morgan appeared in the doorway, beaming down at you, “You made it.”

A snort left you without your permission. “Yea, you dork, I made it.”

Catching his eye roll, you grinned as he stepped aside and swept his hand out. “Welcome to our apartment.” Your grin widened at how dumb he was and moved past him, brushing lightly against him as you entered.

Walking in, your eyes caught on the form draped against the couch. Heart stuttering, all the anxiety that had briefly left you came flooding back. Morgan stepped around you, guiding you over to the living room.

“Hey, asshole, you gonna say hi or what?” he asked, picking up a pillow and throwing it at Joel. It thumped softly onto his chest and rolled off the couch, causing him to glare up at Morgan.

You stared wide eyed as Joel huffed and slung his legs over the side of the couch, standing up and unfolding to a height similar to Morgan. Giants, you scoffed lightly under your breath, they’re literally giants. Casually, you maneuvered until your body was just barely behind Morgan.

“Sup,” he did a weird head nod thing, his eyes roaming up and down your body. “I’m Joel, it’s uh—it’s nice to finally meet you.”

You smiled weakly up at him. “Y/—” you tried, cutting yourself off and clearing your throat, “Y/N. Nice to finally meet you, too.”

The two of you stared the other down, silence filling the room as Morgan watched the two of you watching each other. Rocking on your heels, you alternated between looking at him and around the room.

“You know, uh,” Joel started abruptly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweats, “Frosty talks a lot about you. Can’t shut up, I don’t think.”

“Dude,” Morgan hissed at him as a laugh slipped past your lips. You felt your cheeks warm, your smile finally feeling less forced and more genuine.

“It’s funny,” you told him, ignoring Morgan, “he talks a lot about you, too. Once he gets started, it seems like he can’t stop.”

“I hate both of you. Why did I think this was a good idea,” Morgan said, throwing his hands up and slipping in between the two of you into what you assumed was the kitchen. The sound of yours and Joel’s laughter followed him, the pair of you sharing a conspirator’s smile.

Joel was the first to break, his smile lingering as he spared you a glance and followed Morgan. “Don’t be like that, Morg. We’re getting along already. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Giggling, you walked in after them. “I don’t know what I was worried about,” you teased, sidling up to the counter, “Joel is great.”

“Oh, you would think so,” Morgan rolled his eyes, pulling a sweet tea out of the fridge and handing it to you. Smiling in thanks, you opened it and took a sip.

“Wait,” Joel stopped and shook his head, “were you actually worried about meeting me?”

Eyes widening and head shooting up, you were positive panic flitted across your face. “Uhhh,” you started, shifting from foot to foot and shrugging, “A little? I mean, you’re his roommate and teammate and he talks about you all the time—”

“—I do not—”

“Yea, you do, Morg,” you laughed, glancing over at him before returning your attention to Joel. “But, yea. After so long without meeting, I guess I kinda built you up in my head and I got worried you wouldn’t like me and things would, I don’t know, be awkward for Morgan. It’s dumb.”

It was dumb, you realized, standing there. Joel was...you didn’t even know how to describe it. He was soothing. Calming in the same way Morgan was to you, like a balm to your anxiety. Easy to talk to, joke with. It had barely been ten minutes and already you could tell that. It was the same feeling that made you let Morgan buy you another drink when you first met.

“It’s not dumb,” he told you, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug, “I guess I felt the same way.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised. For some reason, you didn’t really expect him to feel much of, well, anything when it came to meeting you.

Grinning, he nudged your foot. “Don’t look so shocked. Even NHLers have feelings, you know.”

“Shut up,” both you and Morgan chorused, glancing at each other before laughing. It was then you realized how close the three of you were, the kitchen not exactly the largest room. If you moved one way, you’d bump into Morgan. If you moved the other, it would be Joel.

“Wanna play fortnite or something?” Morgan asked, clearing your thoughts. He knew you well enough to figure out what the scrunch of your nose after his suggestion meant. “Or not fortnite, you have a better idea?”

“What else do you guys have?” You asked, hoping against odds they would have something that wasn’t completely awful.

Joel and Morgan shared a look, communicating silently.

“Uhh,” Joel started, “I think we have like, Skyrim? Never got around to playing it, though.”

Eyes immediately brightening, you straightened. You almost didn’t notice how the move brought you that much closer to him. “Dude, Skyrim came out like ten years ago. How have you never played?”

“Looks like Skyrim, it is,” Morgan muttered, squeezing past you to the living room.

“I don’t know,” Joel tried to defend himself, “It’s not what I usually play.”

“Well, that changes today, buddy.”

“Did you just call him buddy, oh my god,” you heard Morgan’s voice distantly, covered mostly by Joel’s shocked snort.

Thirty minutes later found the three of you sprawled across the couch, limbs just barely intertwining as Joel tried still to make his way through the character creation screen.

“Is that a cat? Do they have fucking furries in this game?”

“I swear, I’m gonna throw my sweet tea at you,” you threatened while swallowing down laughter at Joel’s commentary.

“Do it, I’m not getting you another one,” Morgan told you, his hand lying lightly on the bottom of your calf.

“Yea, you would,” you smiled over at him.

A snort came from Joel’s direction, followed by, “Dude, you would.”

“Shut the fuck up, Beezer, I didn’t ask you.”

Mock gasping, you reached over and hit Morgan’s shoulder, eliciting a sharp ‘hey’ from him. “No being mean to each other,” you laughed, settling back down, shoulder brushing against Joel’s side.

“You heard the lady, Frosty,” Joel smirked, sticking his tongue out at him.

“I’m never letting the two of you hang out again,” Morgan groaned, throwing his head back. His thumb had paused in the motion of rubbing circles into your leg.

Exchanging a glance with the boys, you smiled. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

“You know,” you had innocently told Morgan and Joel a few days ago, “it’s kinda funny that two of my closest friends are professional ice hockey players and I’ve never even gone skating before.”

He was shocked at the revelation. Horrified, even. And definitely planning on rectifying that minor fact, something Joel fully supported and helped plan. Sadly, it took a few days before he and Joel were both home and didn’t have practice or a game and you didn’t have classes or homework, leaving the three of you able to hang out.

He always counted it as a minor miracle when all of your schedules lined up. In the months he and Joel had known you, it happened far less than he would’ve liked. But as much as it felt better, more…more right, for it to be the three of you—which was normal, you were best friends; he didn’t like one of you more than the other—he took what he could get and didn’t complain.

Much.

That’s how Morgan found himself at an ice rink with his two closest friends on his day off, watching one of them tie the other’s skate.

“You could’ve done this yourself,” Joel told you, fingers making quick work of your laces.

You beamed down at him, a satisfied little smile on your face, “But you do it so much better than me.”

Morgan laughed to himself, bending down to finish lacing up his own skates. Joel had gotten his done first and found himself helping you, not that he exactly put up a fight. Finishing up, he stood and leaned against the boards, peering down as Joel worked.

“You waiting for us? That’s so sweet,” you smiled up at him, resting your weight on your hands behind you.

Joel huffed a laugh and half turned to look over his shoulder at him, flashing him a smirk, the asshole. “Our Morgan? He’s just a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

Morgan reached out and kicked him, mindful of the blade of his skate. Rolling his eyes, he maneuvered around both of you and stepped out onto the ice.

“Just for that, I’m going without the both of you.”

Hearing the teasing calls of his name accompanied by laughter, he smiled and went to do laps around the rink. Slowly he went through the motions, glancing behind him now and then to see if Joel had finished yet.

When he finally did, Morgan made his way back to the two of you. “You ready to see what you’ve been missing out on?” He teased, eyes catching on the way you wobbled unsteadily and clutched tightly to Joel’s arm next to you.

“Quick question,” your laugh came out high pitched and as unsteady as your walk, “just how hard is skating?”

“Please, don’t worry,” Joel scoffed, shortening his steps to help you. Morgan watched his teammate stabilize you, the steady rock to your choppy sea. “Skating is one of the easiest things in the world.”

“Okay, let me rephrase,” a cheeky smile flitted across your lips, “how hard is skating for us normal people?”

He shared a fond look with Joel, laughing quietly. “Trust us, you’ll be fine.”

“I do,” you responded without a moment’s hesitation, pausing in your baby steps before continuing. “Trust you, I mean.”

The breath left his lungs in a quick rush, not expecting that, not expecting how sincere and matter of fact you had said it or how it affected him. It wasn’t fair, how quickly you could throw him off balance with what seemed like barely a thought.

Joel cleared his throat, his hand tightening around yours. “Good,” he told you, voice remarkably soft and low before returning to normal. “I guess it’s time to get you on the ice, then?”

Morgan had to laugh a little at the fear that filled your face at Joel’s words, the way you immediately clung somehow even tighter to him. Smiling, he reached out to you, offering you his hand.

“You said you trusted us,” he told you, “So trust us. We’re not gonna let you get hurt.”

He watched your eyes meet his and fly down to his outstretched hand, back and forth between the two. One of your hands slowly let go of their iron grip on Joel and settled into his.

“Promise?” You looked from him to Joel, eyes painfully doelike.

Once again, he shared a soft glance with his teammate before looking back at you.

“We promise.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and appearing to steel yourself. “Okay, alright, I’m good. Let’s fucking do this.”

Laughter peeled out of him and Joel. “There’s our Y/N,” his teammate grinned, helping you out onto the ice. The two of them kept their grips on you tight as you shakily stepped onto the ice, making sure you didn’t immediately fall.

Your first steps were wobbly, with the only thing keeping you from eating ice being him and Joel. Slowly, the three of you made your way across the ice. “There you go,” he encouraged you, “just like that. Slow and steady for right now—”

“Head up, try not to look down so much, alright? We’ve got you,” Joel reassured, the two of them going back and forth, offering advice and making sure nothing happened.

It took a bit, but soon you were giggling and flashing them pretty smiles, your grip on them loosening slowly but surely. It was enough for Morgan to speed up and swing around to skate backward in front of you.

Catching your worried glance, he smiled. “Still here, just letting you skate more on your own,” he squeezed your hand, now being held more for assurance than to help keep you up.

And so the three of you kept skating around the rink with you getting more and more confident until you were on your own and no longer needed them to hold on to. Morgan watched proudly as you went from wobbly steps to actual skating, though your arms still stayed out by your sides for balance.

“Show off,” you yelled and laughed, attempting to shove Joel when he went to skate in wide circles around both of you.

“What?” Joel threw his hands up, laughing loudly and dodging you. “I’m just skating circles around you.”

“Ha ha,” Morgan grinned when you sarcastically laughed at Joel’s antics. “You’re simply hilarious, you dork.”

“I know,” Joel smiled happily, swooping in to smack a loud kiss to your cheek before speeding away. The kiss nearly knocked you over, leaving you gawking after him.

Morgan observed the two of you as he glided in front of you, a wide smile stretching across his lips. Small huffs of laughter left you as you skated—still not great, but definitely better—over to him, grabbing his hand and trying to tug him.

“Morgan, come on,” you giggled, “help me avenge my honor.”

“Oh, of course,” he replied, nodding his head in mock seriousness. He pulled you along in chase of Joel, the three of you laughing as you went around and around the rink.

It wasn’t until you two caught him—Morgan suspected Joel had let them catch him, like they wouldn’t have been able to eventually—and Joel decided to try to teach you how to skate backward as Morgan followed that he realized something.

He realized as he watched the two of you smiling and laughing, as he skated behind while Joel held your hands, as both of you made corny jokes and looked back at him to make sure he was still with you, he realized that—fuck.

He was fucked.

Because he looked at you and heard your laughter and felt his heart tighten. Because he looked at Joel and the way he looked back at him with a fond look and toothy grin, and his heart stopped.

Because he looked at both of you and felt the same exact thing. And he realized it didn’t feel right when all three of you were together because you were just his closest friends.

It was because when he was with the two of you, his heart skipped beats and all of these feelings weighed him down and lifted him up and—and—

Fuck. He was well and truly fucked, that’s what he realized.

Humming quietly under your breath, you picked up the plates from the table and made your way back to the kitchen. Stepping around Morgan, you reached down to put the dishes into the sink for him to wash. After you let them sit, you hoisted yourself up and onto the counter next to him and watched as he grabbed for one of the dirty plates.

“You think Joel will be back soon?” You asked him, tilting your head and pursing your lips.

Morgan met your gaze and held it as he washed the plate. “Hopefully, we can’t start the movie without him.”

Dinner and a movie at their place. It was almost like a date if you let yourself think about it. But you didn’t, because they’re just your friends.

Your tall, attractive friends that you had completely platonic feelings for. Okay, mostly platonic feelings for. Fine, not at all platonic and actually very romantic feelings, but you refused to think about it. There were two of them and one of you and that, that was weird. Right?

Right?

Kicking yourself mentally, you shot him a tiny smile. “Do we even want to know what he chose this time?” Every movie night, a different one of you had complete control over the movie. Tonight was, regretfully, Joel’s night to choose and he refused to tell either of you what you were watching.

It went without saying that you were a bit scared.

“I don’t think so,” Morgan made a face, putting another plate in the dish rack. You laughed lowly to yourself, watching a smile creep over his face as he glanced back at you.

“Either way,” you told him, “he needs to get back soon, I’m starting to miss the weirdo.” Shimmying down from the countertop, you walked over to the fridge to get a drink.

Morgan made a noise of agreement, finishing up and turning off the sink. He turned to face you, grabbing a hand towel from next to him and leaning against the counter. He stared down at you without responding; the action causing you to grin slightly in confusion.

“What’s up?” You questioned him, stretching your foot out to lightly tap his.

Head shaking slowly, his mouth opened a bit. Closing it, his eyebrows squished together in what seemed like deep thought.

“Do you ever think about your soulmate?”

The question caught you off guard, making your body physically recoil just a touch. You shook your head, mouth hanging open. “Uhhh,” you stuttered, a startled laugh making its way past your lips. “Not if I can help it, why?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, brows still furrowed and an intent look painted across his face.

Shrugging, your eyes flitted around the room. At your side, your fingers twitched against the counter, creating a muted tapping noise. “Nothing, just...I don’t know. It’s not my favorite subject. You?”

“Yea,” he said with a forced smile, “Same thing, I guess. Not if I can help it.”

You hummed softly, trying to figure out his expression and the change in subject. You couldn’t recall ever, ever, talking about soulmates with either Morgan or Joel. Not in the entire time you had known them. It was like some sort of weird unspoken taboo topic, never brought up, never talked about despite how popular it was for everyone else. Never asking what your soulmark was, or what date was splayed across your skin. Like there was a sense of fear lingering around it, which made sense for you but never for your boys.

The boys. Not—not your boys, you scolded yourself.

“It’s just, you and Joel,” Morgan started, scaring you a little. “The two of you get along really well.”

Was he? Was he implying that you and Joel? Soulmates?

For a split second, your mind ran wild with the thought. To be soulmates with Joel, with his smiles for just you and Morgan, and his wild hair and dumb hats, and horrible facial hair and horrible jokes and—

How nice it would be. How irrevocably nice it would be.

But even as you let yourself think about it for that split second, you knew it wasn’t what you wanted. Not entirely. Because it wasn’t just Joel in your daydream, but Morgan, too. With his pretty eyes and the look of exasperation he always had when he was with the two of you. The three of you.

Always the three of you.

Shaking your head before you knew what you were doing, you replied, “Me and Joel? No, no, I mean—”

“You’re always happy and smiling around him,” Morgan cut you off, not making eye contact, “maybe the two of you—”

“I’m always happy and smiling because I’m with the two of you, you idiot,” you rolled your eyes as you cut him off in return, ignoring the way your heart pounded in your chest.

He pursed his lips, about to retort when the sound of the door opening caught your attention.

“Alright, assholes. I’ve got the goods,” Joel’s voice called out, the door closing behind him and keys clattering loudly into the horrible gritty tray you had gotten them. You and Morgan remained quiet as Joel made his way into the kitchen, digging around in the bag he was holding.

He paused upon entering, eyes lifting to look from you to Morgan and back. His arms slowly fell, his face screwing up in cautious confusion. “So, uh, what did I...miss?” he asked, stepping inside apprehensively.

“Soulmates, apparently,” you told him sarcastically when Morgan kept silent. You made grabby hands for the bag, reaching in to grab your bag of peach rings.

Joel winced, a just barely audible ‘oh boy’ falling from his lips. “What got you on that god awful subject?”

You snorted, already shoving a peach ring into your mouth, “So you agree? It’s an awful subject?”

“Oh yea,” he nodded, reaching over and tugging at the peach ring balancing between your teeth before it tore in half, shoving his stolen half into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

Pulling back, you batted at his outstretched hands, “you should’ve gotten your own. Stop stealing, thief.”

“I prefer the term rogue,” he replied, shooting you a cheeky grin. A soft ‘oh my god’ left you with a groan as you rolled your eyes and set the bag down.

Morgan’s continued silence worried you, and you could tell it unnerved Joel just as much. You stole glances at him, his posture tense and face troubled. The whole soulmates thing wasn’t your favorite, but what was going on inside of his head that had him like this? Was he still thinking about you and Joel—which was a ridiculous idea. But maybe that’s just because you knew the truth you resolved yourself to. That you just didn’t, for some unknown reason, have a soulmate to begin with.

“What’s going on in your big boy brain,” Joel nodded at Morgan, eyebrow quirking as he watched him.

Morgan startled almost imperceptibly, his attention shooting to his teammate. He shook his head, “Nothing, just the whole soulmates thing.”

“Still?” You frowned as you crossed your arms, puzzled.

“Dude, just move on already,” Joel told him.

Morgan rolled his eyes, shifting his weight from foot to foot. You saw his grip on the countertop behind him tighten for a second before relaxing again.

“What’s going on?” You asked him, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm.

He flinched back, a tiny movement that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already watching. Swallowing roughly, you stopped and let your hand fall, hurt coating your insides. Morgan licked his lips and rubbed at his chin, face screwing up.

“Don’t either of you ever think about the people you have feelings for being a perfect match for someone else? That it doesn’t matter what you feel in the end?”

Taken aback, you share a look with Joel as you grasped for words. Because you do think about that, about how Joel and Morgan have someone waiting for them that isn’t you and you don’t know when it’ll happen, only that it will and you’ll end up left behind like you always are. Alone. It wasn’t often, but late at night, the knowledge crept over you like thick sludge, refusing to move or leave.

“All the time,” Joel spoke before you could string together a sentence, his voice weak and a frown marring his features. “But it does matter, doesn’t it? Because you still have time with them now, and you can’t waste it for something that might happen.”

“But it will,” Morgan stressed, the hand that had rubbed his chin flying out to his side with a look of helplessness. “It will happen.”

“But you don’t know that,” you countered, fighting to get the words out. Your throat was tightening up, your heart pounding away. “No one really does. You don’t even have to end up with your soulmate.”

“Why wouldn’t you,” Morgan laughed without humor, “why wouldn’t you leave to be with the person hand picked for you?”

“Because I don’t have one,” slipped past your lips without your permission, the truth behind your words hitting you like a brick. Tears pricked behind your eyes as you swallowed harshly, stepping into yourself.

Morgan moved back and hit the counter behind him with a dull thud, staring at you with an unreadable expression. To your other side, Joel looked down at his feet, hands shoved into his pants.

“I never had one,” you continued, softer, quieter. Weaker. “I’ve always been the person without someone made just for me, but I’ve moved on. Because it doesn’t matter. It’s what I make of it, and it’s the scariest fucking thing, but it is what it is.”

“What if I can’t move on?” Morgan whispered, unable to meet your eyes.

“Then the people you were scared of leaving weren’t worth it to begin with,” Joel told him, gazing at him sadly.

Morgan’s face dropped forward into his hands, rubbing harshly. The three of you were silent, the tension nearly suffocating. Waiting, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I can’t just get over it,” Morgan said, shaking his head.

“Why not,” Joel questioned just as quietly, running a hand through his hair.

“Because I just can’t,” Morgan threw his hands up, voice raised as he stepped forward. “I can’t stop thinking that my feelings are a waste. That all of this is just a waste.”

“All of this?” You asked, uncomprehending.

“Yes, all of this,” he told you, gesturing wildly between the three of you. “Us. This. It’s a waste.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Morgan,” Joel was the one to ask this time, his voice low and daring. Daring Morgan to say it, to tell you exactly what he means.

“That I look at both of you and see two people who are going to leave me. Two people that I care about, that I want to be with, and know that it won’t last.”

The shock that came from him admitting his feelings and finally giving you the knowledge that you weren’t alone in your pining all these months still wasn’t enough to overwhelm the rest of his confession. The part that said that we were a waste, that cut a part of you that you kept hidden.

“Did you ever stop and think about how we felt?” The words left you as you stepped away, needing to get away. “That we might, for just a second, feel the same?”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Morgan nearly cried, voice shaking. “It never did.”

Nodding, you swallowed down tears. “Okay,” you whispered, maneuvering around Joel, who had remained quiet. “Okay.”

“Where are you going?” Morgan asked, reaching toward you.

Nearly laughing, you told him, “Away. I’m sorry, Joel, but I can’t be near someone who thinks everything about us, our friendship, our relationship, our feelings, are a waste. Not right now.”

Joel nodded, glancing back at you and offering a weak smile. “Don’t worry, I get it.”

Returning it, you turned and went to grab your things.

“Wait,” you heard Morgan before you saw him try to follow you, looking between you and Joel. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter, Morg,” you whispered, shrugging lightly. “I’m gonna go for awhile. I need to go.”

“No, please—”

Dodging him, you left the apartment. Vaguely, you heard Joel tell Morgan to stop, to let you go. Silently, you thanked him. You just couldn’t be near them right now, constantly reminded of your feelings and knowing at least one of them thought it was all useless.

All of this is just a waste. Us. This.

You nearly ran out of the building and to your car, just barely making it in before a yell forced its way out.

“Fuck,” you hit the steering wheel, letting your head droop forward to rest on it. You gave yourself a minute to pull yourself together and turn your car on, starting your journey back to the apartment you had slowly considered home less and less.

And so you drove away from the one you had begun to consider home, and from the boys that made it feel like that, and to the place you could finally let yourself break down.

Day after day became a week and then two. There was now this tension between him and Morgan, you weren’t replying to his texts the same way, and he wasn’t even sure if you and Morgan had talked at all since that night. He hated it.

Joel hated this.

It didn’t help that everything was bleeding over onto the ice and he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop making rookie mistakes, couldn’t do anything when Morgan got yelled at for fucking up on a play. Couldn’t do anything.

The two of them were this close to getting benched, they both knew it. He knew this couldn’t keep happening, but he didn’t know how to stop it.

He saw his phone light up on his nightstand out of the corner of his eye. Mentally, he debated leaving it and continuing his inner dilemma, but a glance at it convinced him otherwise.

Sitting up in bed, he struggled against the blankets tangled around his legs to reach over and grab it. He crashed back down, lifting his phone above him and pulling up the text.

[10:38pm] armrest ; coffee tomorrow?

Seeing the name he had you under brought out a grin. You hated it the moment you saw it and argued that everyone was short next to a group of hockey players, which is exactly why both he and Morgan had you listed as it. In a sense, it was a reminder of better times.

[10:40pm] bumblebee ; yea ofc

[10:40pm] bumblebee ; the two of us?

He didn’t miss the fact that you texted just him and not the groupchat—the one aptly named the 3 stoiges, because Morgan made it with a typo and you and Joel kept it there to bully him. Time after time, Morgan tried to change it, and yet every time he went back, there it was once again in all of its dumbass glory.

[10:43pm] armrest ; yea i wanted to talk about everything. just the two of us for now

[10:44pm] bumblebee ; im there just lmk when

You texted him back the time, and that was that. The entire exchange left him feeling underwhelmed and anxious. It felt wrong. Stilted. He missed the jokes and subtle digs at each other. The goodnight texts that just kept on going.

He had a hard time going to sleep after that, not that he was doing a good job of it before. Tossing and turning, knowing that his teammate was his roommate and just a door over and that it didn’t matter because they hadn’t actually talked since the fight. And probably wouldn’t, since that was how things seemed to be going.

But tomorrow, maybe tomorrow would change things.

Morning came and went and he woke up to his alarm, feeling the opposite of well rested. He had slept like shit, just like he had been for the past two weeks. Getting out of bed, he got ready to go meet up with you, ignoring the absence of Morgan in the kitchen or on the couch. The lack of a good morning and a smile from his arguably favorite teammate.

He left the apartment in a rush, something he had found himself doing a lot of lately. Not on purpose, he didn’t think. It was just like a lot of other things in his life now; it felt different. Less warm, duller. Void of life, of everything that made it home to him.

An open bag of peach rings still abandoned on the kitchen counter, never moved. A little shittily made origami crane knocked over on the coffee table, never fixed. Hoodies missing, never returned. Reminders.

He made it to the little rinky dink cafe on the corner soon enough, refusing to admit he hesitated a bit before he went in. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you at all since that night, but he would be lying if he said it was the same as before.

You were at their usual table, wearing a recognizable sweatshirt—one of theirs, but at this point he wasn’t really sure if it his or Morgan’s—and clutching a cup in your hands with a cup sitting across from you. Hearing the bell ring, you looked up and spotted him, giving him a tiny smile.

He didn’t want to think about the way the sight made the tension bleed from his body, the familiarity filling him with a rush of warmth. He made the short walk to you, slipping into one of the open seats.

Both of you ignored the still empty third seat.

“You’re late,” you told him, with just enough of a smile to take the edge off.

He grinned back. “You telling me you weren’t, too?”

Your laughter rang softly through the mostly empty cafe. “No.”

“Thought so,” he replied, taking a sip of the coffee in front of him. His go to order, just the way he always got it.

God, he missed you.

A few beats of silence passed with the two of you just soaking up the other’s presence.

Clearing your throat, you looked down at your hands and picked at your nail. “I think it’s probably time we talk about…”

“That night?” he finished for you. “Yea. I think so, too.”

Another pained smile passed between both of you. Another beat of silence.

“You know—I mean—” you tried to say, taking a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I care about you and Morgan. About both of you. Not—not platonically either.”

He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading, the heat creeping into his cheeks. “Yea, I figured.” You deadpanned at him and he had to resist the laugh bubbling up inside of him. He nudged your foot under the table. “Me, too. Non-platonically care about both of you.”

“Yea,” you rolled your eyes, grinning, “I figured.”

Letting the laugh out, he shook his head. “Ass.”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink, “You started it.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you whispered back, smile gaining a sorrowful edge.

Staring at you, he felt so many emotions. So many things, and yet something was still missing.

Licking his lips, he risked a glance to his right, at the empty seat next to him. “It doesn’t—things don’t really feel the same without him, though.”

“Yea,” you looked at the chair for a second, pain flashing across your face so fast he almost didn’t catch it. “They don’t.”

Hearing you agree, he let the breath he had been holding go. He picked at his cup, resisting the urge to down it. Dimly, he realized you had gotten his coffee before he got there. Which meant you bought it for him. The broke college student who rarely gets anything from here got him coffee without thinking twice. That feeling in his chest grew, fondness for you radiating throughout him. It was a small gesture, one you probably barely thought about, but it made him fall even harder.

“You know, I keep,” you stopped, tilting your head with a jaded smile before steamrolling on, “I keep hearing him say it in my head. ‘Everything’s a waste.’ And I know he didn’t—didn’t mean it like that, but…”

“But it still hurts,” he finished for you quietly, watching you and the way your shoulders hunched forward.

“Yea, it still hurts.”

“We’re all just miserable anymore, aren’t we?” he asked, knowing the answer and asking anyway.

You laughed softly, glancing up at him. “That we are.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“No,” you held eye contact, steady and intent, “It wasn’t.”

The bell above the door jingled, your conversation dying down. The two of you nursed your drinks, avoiding the painful subject. Pushing it off and dragging it out just a little more.

“I don’t want us to end here, Joel,” you told him, voice barely a whisper. “Not like this. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“I don’t think I could either,” he replied. He could handle not being everything he wanted with the two of you. He resigned himself to that a long time ago. Could handle not being in a relationship, unable to hold or kiss either of you, to look at you and know both of you were his.

He could handle that. What he couldn’t handle?

This.

These past two weeks, the three of you barely talking. The tension, the awkwardness, the lack of everything that made you work. Not having either of you really, truly, in his life anymore.

“I’m gonna talk to him,” he told you, not letting himself think too hard about it. He nodded, ignoring your unreadable expression, and kept talking. “I’m gonna talk to him and then we’re gonna—we’re gonna—”

“We’re gonna fix things?” You croaked out, gnawing at the inside of your bottom lip.

“Yea,” his throat tightened, making him force out the words, “Yea, we’re gonna fix things.”

He cornered Morgan later that night in the kitchen when he finally came out of his room to get something to eat.

“We need to talk.”

Morgan jumped, keeping his back turned to Joel as he dug through the fridge. “About what?” He asked, the forced casualness of it shining clear.

“I think you know what.”

He slowly drew himself up and closed the fridge. “I don’t think—”

“Yea, we do,” he cut his roommate off, his arms folded across his chest. “We both know we do.”

Morgan turned around, facing him with his eyes closed and shaking his head. “Please—”

“We can’t keep going on like this, none of us can,” Joel forcibly told him, refusing to back down. He was doing this for them, for you and for Morgan and for him. “I was with Y/N earlier.”

Morgan flinched back, ducking his head. “Yea? How—how is—”

“Good,” he softened his voice, uncrossing his arms and taking a step toward him. “Come on, let's go sit down.”

“Okay,” Morgan whispered, nodding and following him slowly to the couch. They sat further away than they usually would, a space left open for the one not there with them.

Joel opened his mouth to start, but Morgan cut him off before he could.

“I’m so sorry,” he told him, avoiding eye contact. Clenching his hands tightly on his lap, he squeezed them periodically. “I didn’t—didn’t mean anything I said that night. Not really. Not like that.”

“I know.”

“I was just scared,” he kept going, still not looking at him, “I still am. Fuck, I wish I could go back and just—”

“Morgan,” Joel stopped him, getting up and moving to sit down on the table in front of him. “Look at me.”

It took a second, took him reaching out and nudging his face toward him.

“We know. We’re all scared. And we can’t take back what was said, but we can move forward. Together. The three of us.”

Morgan shook his head, tears lining his eyes as he leaned imperceptibly into his hand. “How?”

He almost laughed, but stopped himself in time. “I don’t know,” he shrugged helplessly, smiling at him. “But we will. Because we care about each other. That’s all that matters.”

“Yea?”

“Yea,” he laughed this time, his hand pressing further into Morgan’s face, the other coming up to rest on his knee.

Morgan’s hand found his, and they stayed like that for a while, taking comfort in finally being near each other again. Mentally, physically.

“I missed this,” Morgan told him, blinking softly up at him.

Joel grinned back, “Well, I don’t know if we’ve ever done anything like this before, but—”

Morgan scoffed, rolling his eyes and pushing him away. One of his hands came up to subtly wipe at his eyes and Joel pretended not to notice as he reached out and pulled him back to him.

Hand threaded in his hair, he tugged him in to rest his head against his neck. “Kidding,” he laughed, turning to nuzzle into Morgan’s hair. “But seriously, I did, too.”

Morgan’s hand squeezed his side, the two of them lapsing back into silence. At least, until he broke it.

“So, which one of us is gonna text our better part?”

[8:17pm] frostbite ; come over?

The text from Morgan lit your phone screen and sent your heart into a steady gallop. You knew Joel was going to talk to him, but for some reason, you hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

Was it bad that you didn’t feel ready?

Honestly, if you thought about it, you didn’t think you would ever feel ready. In a way, this was the buildup of months of dancing around each other. It was terrifying, that tonight everything would be out in the open.

You would be lying if you said a part of you couldn’t wait.

[8:19pm] armrest ; omw over

Rushing around, you put on shoes and threw back on the hoodie you were wearing earlier when you saw Joel. You grabbed your keys and locked the door behind you, making your way to your car.

The drive to their apartment was short, though it still took everything in you to obey the traffic laws on the way there. The walk up filled you with even more anxiety, your hands shaking despite your best attempts to settle your nerves.

You knocked lightly on their door, unable to manage more than a mediocre tap. Luckily, it was Joel that opened the door, beckoning you inside with a hand on your waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, sending heat into your cheeks.

“He’s in the kitchen making tea,” Joel told you, closing the door behind you.

You nodded, dropping your keys onto the Gritty tray. Together, you made your way to the kitchen.

Seeing Morgan for the first time in two weeks, after not having spoken at all was...was strange. It hit you like a fist to the gut.

You saw how exhausted Joel looked earlier, disheveled and messy. But compared to Morgan, he looked only a bit different from usual. Morgan, though—

He looked rough.

Heavy bags under his eyes, hair wild, clothes wrinkled. Even his shoulders were hunched in more than usual. Your heartstrings tugged just looking at him.

“Hey,” he mumbled when he looked up and saw you, mustering up a weak smile.

Slowly, you made your way to where he stood. He set down the cup of tea he was reaching out to offer you, worry plastered on his face.

He took a deep breath and started to talk, “Look, I’m so sor—”

You caused him to stop mid-sentence, throwing your arms around him and gripping tight. “You’re such an asshole,” you told him, voice muffled in his shirt. Burying your face deeper, his arms came up and wrapped tightly around you.

“I know,” he said, laying his head on yours, “I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t respond, taking the moment to really let everything sink in. Giving him one last squeeze, you let go and stepped back, picking up the mug that you claimed as yours on one of your first visits.

“Living room?” you asked, smiling at the two of your boys—because you finally let yourself give in and call them that, because they were yours and you didn’t plan on letting go so easily.

“Living room, it is,” Joel answered, reaching around to grab his mug and guide you over. Morgan followed behind, staying close.

Like none of you could bear to be more than a few feet anymore. It was just a tad ironic at this point.

The three of you settled down in your usual seats, with you in the middle, Joel to your right, and Morgan on the left. You put your tea down after taking a sip, smiling when it tasted exactly how Morgan always makes it for you.

“So, I guess this is where we talk about everything,” Morgan said, putting his cup down next to yours and turning to face the two of you.

Joel followed suit, nodding. “That it is.”

For a second, the three of you sat there in silence, looking around at each other.

“Any volunteers to go first?” You ventured finally, raising your eyebrows. Your question earned you a pair of laughs.

“I’m the one that started this mess, so I’ll go, I guess.” Morgan darted his tongue out to lick his lips, glancing between the two of you.

“That night, I let my fear take over. And I know I’ve already told both of you, but I’m sorry.”

“Morgan,” you tried, but he stopped you.

“Let me talk,” he smiled, so you let him. “At that point, I just really let myself consider that I had feelings for the two people I thought of as my closest friends. And it made me scared, because there are soulmates out there and I know—I think—I don’t have one. But as far as I knew, both of you did. The thought of losing you to someone I had no chance against, it made me lash out.

That was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. We’re adults, mostly, and I should’ve handled it better. I’m sorry.”

You were aware you were gaping a little, but you were unsure on how to stop. Joel got his bearings back before you.

“Yea, you definitely handled it like shit,” he said, shrugging and getting a snort out of you and a ‘fucking hell’ from Morgan. “But it is what it is. It got the ball rolling and we can’t go back. We can only go on.”

“When the fuck did you get good at talking about your feelings?” You turned to him, an incredulous look on your face. “Seriously, you were like the last person I expected to be spouting off relationship wisdom.”

“What can I say,” he grinned, “I’m a man of wisdom. Isn’t that why you care about me non-platonically?”

“Why do I like you,” Morgan muttered to himself, covering his eyes, “Literally why.”

“Moving on,” you announced, choking back a laugh, “On the subject of soulmates, as far as I’m aware, I don’t have one either, so there’s that. And right now, I don’t know if me having one would even stop me from wanting to at least see if this is something worth having. Which I think it is.”

“Yea, I remember you mentioning the soulmate lack,” Joel nodded, “And I agree, with the second part.”

Bumping his shoulder, you went to pick up your tea.

“So that’s two out of three?” Morgan asked, looking at both of you.

“Make that three out of three,” Joel butted in, raising his hand. “Like 99% sure I don’t either.”

“So none of us have soulmates?” You looked between Morgan and Joel. “Really?”

“Lucky?” Morgan hazarded a guess.

“I’ll take it.” Joel grinned.

“And to clarify, there are mutual feelings here? Threeway feelings?”

“Don’t—don’t call it that,” you replied to Morgan, wincing. “That’s just bad.”

“I don’t know,” Joel told you, grinning, “I like it. Threeway Feelings. New groupchat name?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You glared at Morgan, repeating, “No, motion overruled.”

“You’re two to one,” Joel teased.

Smiling sweetly back, you told him, “Cute that you think this is a democracy.”

Laughter rang through the apartment. It was almost like the past two weeks had never happened at all.

“But let me clarify,” Joel started, sitting up straighter and holding up a hand, fingers up, “All of us think we’re soulmate-less, and even if we’re not, it’s something we’ll deal with when we get there,” one finger down, “All of us have feelings for the other two people in this room,” another finger, “and we’re not dating yet?”

“Correct,” you confirmed.

“Sounds about right so far,” Morgan nodded.

“But we should, though,” Joel said, glancing at you, “Date, I mean. It’s the next logical step, right?”

“Kinda worrying when he uses logic,” you leaned over to stage whisper to Morgan.

He nodded, leaning close, “I agree.”

“I’m right here, jackasses,” Joel threw a throw pillow at Morgan, apparently taking the name literally.

“Were you? I couldn’t tell,” Morgan replied sarcastically, throwing it back.

Closing your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath and tried not to laugh.

“I agree with Joel, though,” you told them, stopping them in their tracks. “About dating.”

“You wanna date us?” Morgan asked you, Joel pointing at him to back up his question.

Rolling your eyes, you smiled, “Yes, I wanna date you. Do you wanna date me?”

You felt ridiculous for asking, like a flashback to kindergarten with a note saying ‘do you like me? yes or no’.

“I don’t know, what are the options?” Joel asked, pretending to think about it.

“Yes or yes,” you deadpanned.

“I think I’m gonna have to go with yes on that one,” Morgan told you, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

“I’m gonna have to go with yes, as well,” Joel nodded, kissing your other cheek.

“Okay,” you tried to ignore the pulsating heat in your cheeks.

“Wait,” Morgan stopped, clearing his throat and looking over at Joel, “Are we? I mean—”

“Dating?” Joel asked, lips quirking into a soft smile.

Morgan nodded, staying quiet.

Joel shook his head and laughed, “Yea, I think I could manage dating both of you.”

“Yea?” Morgan smiled.

“Yea.” Joel returned it.

“Cool,” Morgan said, running a hand through his hand before stopping and frowning. “I know that all of that shitshow was my fault, but we’re never doing that again, right?”

“Oh, seconded,” you immediately replied, “Never again.”

“Thirded,” Joel agreed, nodding wholeheartedly.

You looked at your boys—now officially yours—and smiled.

Their first date, it was decided, would be dinner at Morgan and Joel’s apartment, just the three of them. Private, no pressure.

You showed up, dressed up but not too much, as per Joel’s vague instructions, at 8pm on the dot, making it the only time you were ever on time for something. You liked to think that if it wasn’t at your boys’ apartment, they’d be late, too.

“Well, don’t you look lovely,” Morgan let you in, bending to kiss your hairline.

“I could say the same for you,” you replied, taking him in, pressing a kiss to his chin.

Not the usual pre-game suit, you noticed, unable to decide if it was disappointment or relief in your stomach. He was clad in a nice pair of pants, his dark blue button up undone at the top and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Sans shoes, because of course.

On the whole, a very nice look, in your humble opinion.

He noticed your glance down at his lack of footwear and grinned, “Footwear optional.”

“You should’ve mentioned that sooner,” you groaned, bending down to remove your own shoes that had already begun to pinch at your toes.

He laughed, waiting for you to finish and take his hand, leading you to the kitchen.

Joel waited for you there, bent over a pot on the stove. Shirt completely unbuttoned, tie hanging around his neck. Shaking your head, you stepped up behind him to wrap your arms around his back, kissing his shoulder blade.

“Who let you be in charge of dinner?” You teased, catching his eye as he turned around in your embrace to return it.

“Say the word and we’ll order pizza,” he whispered back into your ear, lips lightly brushing it.

A tingle ran down your spine as you withdrew, sharing a secret smile and ignoring Morgan’s snort.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” you told him, leaning against a counter.

A laugh bubbled up and out of you at Morgan’s subtle wince. “Dinner’s just about done, anyway. Guess we’ll find out,” he said, getting out a few plates.

“So, what exactly is on the menu?” You questioned, unable to quite tell.

Joel looked up at you, opening his mouth and closing it quickly. “You know,” he answered, hand bracing on the countertop, “I’m not sure if I can pronounce it right.”

Giggles flew out of you even as you felt a sense of apprehension take over. “This is gonna be good.”

Sharing a laugh, you got to work setting the table and bringing over the food, which you cautiously noted smelled somewhat decent. Not—not really entirely good, but decent.

“Not gonna lie,” Joel told both of you once everyone was seated with a plate, “Kinda scared to eat this.”

“You’re really not filling me with confidence here, babe,” you replied, getting a tiny forkful of food.

“On three?” Morgan proposed.

“On three,” you and Joel agreed.

“One,” you started.

“Two,” Joel continued.

“Three.”

You shoved the food into your mouth, barely giving yourself a moment to reconsider. Slowly, you chewed, watching your boyfriends’ faces.

It seemed the general consensus was…not good.

“I think we fucked up somewhere,” Joel swallowed loudly, grimacing.

“Oh, we definitely did,” Morgan agreed, pushing back his chair and standing. “I’ll get my phone.”

“Pizza?”

“Pizza.”

“We’re only here to get essentials,” Morgan reminded the two of you, grabbing a cart.

You and Joel followed behind, hands swinging between your bodies. “Yea, totally,” you smiled, “Essentials.”

“Of course,” Joel nodded gravely, before turning to you and whispering, “We’re definitely getting the stuff for ice cream sundaes, right?”

Giggling, you nudged into him. “He said essentials, Joel. Obviously, we’re getting the stuff for ice cream sundaes.”

“I can hear both of you, you know,” Morgan called back, looking over his shoulder at the pair of you.

You shot him a smile and blew him a kiss, knowing Joel was beside you doing something just as cheesy.

The next thing you knew, Joel was speeding up and dragging you along to catch up to your other boyfriend. “I’m getting in,” he dropped your hand, lifting a leg over the side of the cart.

“No—Joel—oh my god,” Morgan tried to jerk the cart away, laughter spilling out of him.

“Joel, you’re not getting in the cart,” you shoved him, blissfully ignoring the stares coming from the old lady down the aisle.

Joel pouted exaggeratedly, turning to face you. “Why not?”

In a quick motion, you propelled yourself into the cart. “Because I am!” Your giggles came out maniacal, joined with Joel’s bark of laughter and Morgan’s groan of disappointment.

“Where’s the food gonna go?” Morgan asked, continuing to push the cart with you in it.

“In the cart with Y/N,” Joel told him, bumping lightly into his shoulder with a grin.

You pointed at Joel, agreeing.

Morgan shook his head, that exasperated fondness prevalent on his face as he sighed and tried not to smile. “Fine,” he relented.

“You know, that monkey kinda looks like you,” Morgan overheard you tell Joel as he paid for the cotton candy.

“You’re such an ass,” Joel pushed you, laughing.

“Speaking of asses,” Morgan said, coming up behind you and handing over the cotton candy, “Do you think they have donkeys here?”

You threw your head back with a loud laugh.

“This is the zoo,” Joel replied, grabbing his hand, “...I actually don’t know. We should check.”

“In the whole zoo, you want to see donkeys?” You asked in bemusement, leaning into him.

He shrugged, wrapping his unoccupied arm around you. “What can I say, I’m a man with taste.”

“Oh, for sure,” Joel retorted, snorting and squeezing his hand in his own.

Limbs tangled, you relaxed on the couch with your boys.

A book in one hand, you carded your fingers through Joel’s hair with the other. Sprawled across your lap as you rested against Morgan, he was the perfect image of relaxation. Rain pattered against the windows as a romcom played in the background, the volume just low enough to zone out. Morgan and Joel—okay, just Morgan, because you were pretty sure Joel was half asleep at this point—were watching, attention set on the tv.

All in all, an excellent night.

Seeing your boys over the summer was difficult, but you made it work. You always did.

It was one of those incredibly rare days where you lounged about in the midsummer heat with them, Morgan and Joel taking a slight break from offseason training to just be together. It was nice, and it was quiet and exactly what you needed.

You had made the mistake of putting on one of their thinner, more threadbare hoodies last night and the decision was catching up to you. You untangled yourself from the pile of limbs on the bed belonging to your two boyfriends, ignoring their cries of protest, and just barely managed to get up.

First, you were gonna turn up the air conditioning, and then you were gonna take off this damn hoodie.

Meandering over to the A/C, you accomplished one mission and moved on to the next one. Pulling the hoodie over your head, you felt your shirt slide up and refuse to separate from it.

“Hey,” you heard Joel call from behind you, “Did you get a tattoo without telling us?”

Confused, you yanked the hoodie the rest of the way off and turned back to them. “No?” You answered, but it came out less sure than you would’ve liked.

“I definitely saw something on your back,” Joel insisted, reaching over and swatting at Morgan to get his attention.

“Hmm?” Morgan grumbled, switching sides to look at you.

“Come here,” Joel beckoned, an action you reluctantly obeyed. His hand on your hip turned you to face away from him, your back in his line of sight.

You shivered, feeling his fingers glide across your skin as he lifted your shirt. In an instant, you felt his grasp waver, a choked gasp slamming out of him.

“Holy shit,” Morgan breathed, the bed creaking as he shot up.

Spinning, you turned to face them, grabbing at your back. “What?” You demanded, terrified of their answer, “What it is?”

Adrenaline poured through your veins as Joel lifted his gaze, now wet with tears, to meet yours with a wide smile.

“It’s a soulmate tattoo,” he told you, standing up and cupping your face. His lips came down fast and hard to yours, the emotion behind the kiss slamming into you.

You felt Morgan come to stand behind you, lifting your shirt to look. His fingers traced down your spine, almost reverently, sending shiver after shiver through your body.

“Liar,” you croaked when you and Joel split, refusing to believe it.

Joel shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, “I’m not. Go look in the mirror.”

You pulled away, making your way slowly to the mirror by the door, your boys close behind. You twisted around, craning your head as you pulled up your shirt. Your breath stilled to a halt when scrawled writing along your spine become visible out of the corner of your eye with every inch of skin shown.

And there, once your shirt was all the way up, was an indisputable soulmate tattoo curving down your spine.

morgan frost ~ joel farabee

The names of your boys—your boys, you nearly cried—written in calligraphy on your body, separated only by three flowers.

“Soulmates,” Morgan whispered, finger stilling on the flowers.

Recognition sparked deep in your mind, a memory surfacing behind your eyes.

Your eyes lingered on the flowers lining the pathway, your mind trying futilely to identify which ones they wer—

“I know those flowers,” you mumbled, lips parting as you stared uncomprehendingly.

Joel laughed a little, fingers running up and down your side. “I didn’t think you were into flowers.”

You shook your head, fixated and unable to look away. “No, I know those flowers. Asters. They were—”

“In the park by the cafe,” Morgan finished for you, catching on, “The day I bumped into you.”

“The day we met,” you said, smiling. “I was trying to figure out what kind they were, it’s why I was distracted. Why we—”

“Met,” Morgan gaped, a smile slowly spreading across his lips.

You nodded, unable to talk just yet. The sight of those flowers, ones that you hadn’t really given any thought to after you had googled them one day after being curious. Flowers that were now imprinted on your body, a permanent reminder of everything you gained in such a relatively short amount of time.

To your side, you watched Joel take off his shirt and turn around, revealing flowing names down his spine separated by three dainty flowers.

y/n ~ morgan frost

Morgan mirrored him on your other side and sure enough, there were your names in identical print and the same tiny three flowers.

joel farabee ~ y/n

A perfect set.

~ fin ~

190 notes · View notes

hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years ago

Note

Smut, you say 👀

You're this cute, kinda innocent woman that gets the help of this handsome gigolo to not be as... innocent.

💕 The Professional: Chapter 1 💕

Chapter Two

Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter only)

Pairing: Danma Takeru (Hatter)/Reader (she/her

Tags: flirting, suggestive conversation, alcohol consumption, smoking, kissing

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

Notes: This is a kind-of sort-of AU—in the show, Hatter references his involvement with the host club business, and mentions that he “would do anything” to be the best. Although host clubs do not usually involve sex work (as far as I know), I believe that he would definitely offer that “off the books” in order to win over his clientele.

You’re nervous. Nervous and jittery and—oh, dear, there’s a lot of feelings going on in here, and all of them seem to fall under the umbrella of ‘mild to moderate discomfort.’ Not that feeling uncomfortable is anything new; in fact, there are very few times where you happen to feel truly comfortable outside of, say, the warmth of your bed or the soothing calm of a late-night bath. Places where you feel safe. Places where you can let yourself breathe and be, unhindered by expectation.

The place where you currently find yourself—this strange little pocket of a room in the buzz and bustle of a Friday-night Kabukicho—is full-to-bursting with expectation. From the polished wood floors to the glittering gold chandelier that hangs from the center of the ceiling, there is an inescapable sense of opulent whimsy that is tinged pink with a blush of sensuality. There are even fresh flowers on the table in front of you—a vase of ranunculus, blooming bright and orange like a green-stalked bunch of tiny setting suns.

Something like an itch tickles your sweat-damp palms, making you ball your hands into tight fists around the fabric of your skirt. Oh, you should have worn something different! Something sexier, maybe, with a deeper neckline and a shorter hem, that hugged the shape of your body as opposed to ghosting over it in fluttering chiffon. Not that you actually, you know, owned anything like that, but—

The pop! of a champagne cork makes you jump. Hell, you feel like you’re about to pop, too, from the nervous energy boiling and swelling in your chest. It’s so very difficult not to fidget, to keep your toes from tapping out a frantic little rhythm on the rug.

Looking back, you realize that the paperwork had been the ‘easy’ part. Not that it had been particularly easy—who knew there would be an application process for this kind of thing?—but it was less stressful to fill out a (surprisingly comprehensive) questionnaire in the privacy of your own home as opposed to this agonizing waiting.

And what, exactly, are you waiting for?

Why, you’re waiting for him.

His name is Takeru—or, at least, that’s what he’s asked you to call him. Whether or not it’s a stage name is difficult to tell; but what you do know is that it sounded so very nice in the deep clear of his voice. The only thing that sounded better was your name, which he said in a gently-sultry half-whisper that made you feel…many thing, and not all of them innocent.

In a devastatingly well-tailored suit of lipstick red—a vibrant pop of a color you would so often consider buying at the makeup counter but always put back—it’s nearly impossible to look at anything but him. A small collection of rings glisten from his fingers, most of them delicate little things that wink a tiny gleam when the light hits them just right. The dizzying black-white-gold pattern of his shirt is unbuttoned just a smidge too low, offering you a tantalizing view of his chest.

And although his back is toward you, concocting some kind of magic at the bar cart along the far wall, you can all but feel the warm-dark of his eyes on you. Oh, he has beautiful eyes, dark and warm with the glitter of laughter—or perhaps mischief, if the situation calls for it. A slim nose leads down to a shapely mouth, handsomely framed by a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache.

Also, his hair—oh, that man has a great head of hair.

Aesthetics aside—he has been undeniably lovely. Slipping the coat from your shoulders when you walked into the room, fingertips skimming the slope of your shoulders with only the barest of touches. Offering you a glass of champagne (“Yes, thank you”) as he leads you to sit on the green velvet settee, hand hovering above but never touching the small of your back. A serene smile on his lips as he talks, as he tells you that your dress is lovely (“Blue is definitely your color, darling”) and letting out an airy chuckle when you mention that this was as good occasion as any to dig it out of the back of your closet.

It is impossible to ignore the way he is so very provocative—subtly so, in a way that makes you second-guess whether his flirtations had happened at all. Did his eyes really linger over the shape of your legs, or was he simply taking a moment to admire your (new, very cute) shoes? Did his fingertips slip over the curve of your shoulder as he removed your coat, or were you just imagining it?

His gaze tiptoes over your shape as he sits down beside you, two flutes of pink-tinged something in hands.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making something a little special,” he says, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say as he hands you one of the glasses, “it…it looks nice.”

“Know what it is?”

“Uh,” you say after a moment of silent deliberation, “Maybe alcohol?”

He huffs a short laugh at your half-joke—a rather polite response, and it manages to soothe the bubble of regret that had risen up your throat the moment you’d said it.

“You’re not wrong. More specifically, though, it’s a Kir Royale—or, my take on one, at the very least,” he watches the bubbles fizzle to the top of the glass, “I find myself more or less incapable of keeping with convention, even when it comes to alcohol.”

“Well, uh,” you say, “it’s pretty. I like the color.”

You taste the drink, bubbles like tiny fireworks tickling over the surface of your tongue. There is a dry bitterness, no doubt from the champagne, but it’s softened by a fruity sweetness. Something familiar, something that reminds you of summer and shaved ice and walks along the river and—

“Cherry,” you say, half-lost in the hazy-warm memory of days gone by—until you remember where you are and snap back to reality, “it’s, uh, it tastes like cherries.”

“Very good. Usually, the drink calls for creme de cassis, but I used Kijafa instead. It’s a dessert wine from Denmark, made from cherries,” his brow raises just a smidge, “I thought it appropriate, given the situation.”

And it takes you a minute to understand what he’s talking about. Cherries. You. Ah. A rather crass comparison, but accurate all the same.

“Oh,” you say, picking a very uninteresting spot on the rug to look at in an attempt to avoid meeting his eyes, “I, uh…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he adds, “In fact, virginity isn’t even a real thing. Completely made up. Means nothing, really.”

There is a kind of lag—he’s speaking, you know he’s speaking, but it takes your brain a few extra seconds to figure out what he’s actually saying. It’s strange, hearing someone talk to you so openly about sex. Not unwelcome, by any means, but you need a moment (or two, or ten) to adjust.

“That being said,” he continues, as if he’s discussing the weather, “just because it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life doesn’t mean it’s nothing to you.”

He’s fishing. He’s fishing, and you kind of want to take the bait, but…well, you’re finding it difficult to get your thoughts in order. He’s the very picture of calm, all while you’re floundering over a simple conversation.

“Apologies if I’ve overstepped,” he says, taking a slow sip of his drink, “I thought you might prefer to talk it over a bit. ”

“No, uh, you’re fine,” you answer quickly, “I’m just…I thought the paperwork kind of covered all that.”

“More or less,” he answers, “however, I’ve found that the person who fills out the forms and the person who ends up sitting across from me are not always of the same mind.”

He reaches a hand into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a silver-plated cigarette case. Although he is not gentleman enough to ask your permission to smoke, he is gentleman enough to offer you a cigarette before taking one of his own. You decline. He shrugs and quickly snaps the case shut before laying it on the table.

“In fact, it’s not uncommon for my clients to have a complete change of heart the second they walk through the door,” he continues, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “Or, sometimes later on, for that matter. Depends on the person.”

Cigarette held between his teeth, he retrieves a lighter from his right trouser pocket. With a sharp little snick, he ignites it, pulling the little orange flame towards his face and hiding it behind his hand to let it catch.

“Really?”

You watch him intently, the way his eyelids flutter closed at the first inhale. The way his lips pucker around the filter and release, the red-pink sticking slightly as they pull away and let smoky white flow out and fade into the air.

“Really,” he confirms, “once, I had a client step inside, take one look at me, and promptly walk right back out. Never saw them again, which is fine. I’ll never fault someone for doing what’s right for themselves.”

“Are you, uh, trying to talk me out of it?”

“Not at all. Just making you aware of your options,” he says, “Doing anything for the first time is scary. Driving a car, swimming in the ocean, traveling abroad—sex is no different.”

“Yeah, well,” you respond, “you also get to do most of those things with your clothes on, so…”

“Depends on who you’re with.”

You can’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I still want to…you know,” you answer, “uh, do it. The…the sex part.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists, “I can’t imagine anyone being upset at the thought of having a pretty thing like you in their bed.”

“I’m not—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, taking on a tone that brokers no arguments, “I will suffer many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You are an attractive woman and I refuse to be told otherwise.”

“Sorry, I,” you say sheepishly, “I guess I just…wasn’t expecting you to…like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his cigarette and takes another long, slow drag, “You’re very sweet. A bit shy, maybe, but I happen to like the shy ones.”

And there is something about the way he says it, the way his voice wraps around the words—oh, there are implications to those words, and you find yourself growing warm at the thought of what exactly those implications could entail.

You sip your drink. He smokes. The quiet between you is almost comfortable. Maybe it’s the alcohol working it’s bubbly magic, but you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease in this strange little place.

Moreover, you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease with him. The thought of kissing him crosses your mind, then doubles-back and crosses it again. Oh, that sounds nice. He would be good at it, too; starting gently, mouth pressed soft and sure against your own, and then just the tiniest tease of his tongue—

“And there you go, biting your lip again,” he says, snapping you out of your impromptu fantasy, “You have no idea how sexy that is, do you?”

He is sporting a devilish grin—not only is he aware that you had been daydreaming about him, but he’s relishing the fact that he was able to catch you so off-guard.

“Didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you admit with a shrug. But you can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of being considered ‘sexy’—you never really let yourself feel that way, but now that it’s happening…oh, it’s nice.

“It’s absolutely delicious, darling. Makes me wonder what else you do when you’re turned on…”

And he’s got you—like a knife held under your chin, his sharp gaze pins you in place. He is impossible to avoid. Not that you particularly want to avoid him—there’s something irresistible about this man, something that you can’t quite name but definitely want more of.

It’s scary.

It’s exciting.

“I’m,” you say with a nervous chuckle, “not really sure, myself. Guess we’ll have to, uh, figure it out together.”

His gaze darkens. He takes one last lungful of nicotine before stubbing out his cigarette.

“I suppose we shall.”

And he’s moving now, sliding himself down so that he’s closer to you. He stops when there is barely an inch of space between the outside of his thigh and your own. His right arm has draped itself over the back of the sofa, the fingertips of his hand now skimming the skin of your shoulder in loose, mindless sweeps.

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

He plucks the champagne flute from your grasp and sets it on the table in front of you.

“I, uh—“

The fingertips on your shoulder continue to make their idle little circles, almost hypnotic in their swirling pattern. His left hand catches your right wrist, his thumb pressing above where your pulse thrums beneath sensitive skin.

“Bit fast,” he observes, pulling your arm closer as if inspecting it, “Could be nerves, but I think it’s more from excitement, don’t you?”

You have no choice but to lean into him as he brings your hand closer. Your shoulder presses against his arm, and you feel the solid shape of him through the smooth of his suit. He’s strong underneath all of those layers—warm, too, judging from the heat that radiates from his person.

“I’m—“

The thumb that had been testing your pulse inches higher, stopping when it’s pressing into the center of your palm. His eyes lock with yours, a heartbeat of a moment, and brings your wrist closer and closer until his lips are ghosting over your flesh. When he finally decides to make contact, you gasp—it’s a delicate sensation, but sends your heart skipping in a shaking staccato.

And, then.

Then he sucks.

The sound you make is halfway between an oh of surprise and a desperate little moan—oh, wow, that’s really weirdly unexpectedly hot—and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed by your own reaction. He’s not even doing much, not really; just a little bit of pressure, lips parted just enough to let his tongue slip out and have a taste of you.

But, oh, it feels…it feels filthy, it feels decadent, it feels like something you should not be doing but very much want to keep doing for the rest of your life. Takeru’s eyes have since fluttered shut, and he hums the tiniest sound of pleasure as he maintains his seductive tease.

“Please,” you manage to sigh, sounding as breathless as you feel, “please, I, I want you to kiss me.”

His lips release from your wrist with a pucker-pop noise—which was no doubt intentional on his part, and does nothing to quell the thrill of desire in your belly.

“Hm. I’ll make you a deal,” he says, shifting a bit to the left so that he can turn to face you better, “I’ll kiss you for the rest of the night, but right now…you kiss me.”

And what a deal that is—you don’t even have to think about it, head bobbing in an affirmative nod as you wet your lips in anticipation. The hand that had so lovingly held yours is now guiding you to rest your palm just above his knee. You reflexively reach your other hand out to steady yourself, and it lands against his chest before you can stop it.

He’s so close now. There’s barely any space between your faces, barely room to breathe—

“Go on, darling,” he whispers, “if you want me, have me.”

And you do.

You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The anxiety that has plagued you since the moment you entered the room hasn’t completely dissipated—it would be foolish to think it’d be that easy to banish those feelings completely—but all that is now secondary to the feeling of his mouth on yours.

Kissing Takeru is warm. It’s soft and it’s sure and it’s…comfortable, in a way. Safe, even. He does not press, doesn’t do much of anything except mirror the way your lips slide against his own. A gentle rhythm, a push and pull between the two of you that feels as natural as the moon guiding the tides to shore—yes, kissing him is good and right and something you want to do many times over.

Unfortunately, you have to pull away to breathe. He doesn’t let you go far, though, one hand cupped behind the nape of your neck and the other pressing into the small of your back.

“Oh, you are sweet,” he purrs, his gaze dropping to your freshly-kissed lips, “and, seeing that I’m a man of my word…”

As it turns out, being kissed by Takeru might be better than kissing him, yourself. He is still so very careful when he presses his lips to yours, but this time…this time, there’s fire. He tastes like the best part of a cigarette, like warmth and alcohol and cherries, and it only intensifies as he tests the seam of your lips with his tongue.

Little by little, you begin to test him, too. Hands cradle the curve of his jaw, feeling the way his face shifts as he moves against you. Fingertips run through the soft dark of his hair—oh, he likes that, if the half-sigh that slips from his throat is to be believed. And when you nip at his lower lip with your teeth (he had, after all, very much enjoyed the way you bit your lip earlier), he genuinely moans and pulls you even closer to himself.

It’s when he begins to wander lower, with his mouth skimming the sensitivity of your neck and his hand splayed across your lower back in a way that flirts with the idea of indecency, that you begin to want more. Fear—and maybe that’s not exactly the right word for what you’re feeling, but it’s the only one that comes to mind—begins to creep up the column of your spine.

The “what-if’s” start filling your brain; what if you mess something up? What if you do something he doesn’t like? What if you freeze up later and—

“Alright, darling?”

His voice is a low soothe against your ear; he’s retreated, just a bit, and his hand has wandered to a chaste and respectable area of your mid-back.

“I—“

You want him to take you to bed. You want him to take off your dress and kiss you in all the places you thought weren’t worth kissing, to let his hands trace sparks along the curves of your shape and let him be close to you in a way that no one else has. You want him, despite the uncertain ache that burns between your ribs and bids you to hide yourself away and leave behind the pleasure of his touch.

…But all you can manage is a nervous glance to the bed behind you (the one you had been avoiding thinking about up until this point) and a stammered “Can we, uh…?”

“Ask me,” he says, his index and middle fingers idly skimming the notch in your collarbone, “I’ll give you anything you want, as long as you ask me.”

It’s difficult to make eye contact with him—every time you try, you feel embarrassment swell up beneath your tongue.

But Takeru is, as you have come to learn over the last hour or so, decidedly patient. He shows no sign of relenting, appearing to be perfectly content with giving you an expectant grin and continuing his little touches as you try not to squirm in your seat.

“I,” you gulp, “I want…“

You bite your lip—oh, wait, he likes that too, and he’s staring at you with those sharp and sultry eyes, and it makes something behind your heart squeeze and unsqueeze itself and punches the air from your lungs and—

“Take me to bed,” you manage to spit out, and it all sounds like one word with how quickly you pushed the words into the air. The “uh, please” you tack on at the end is an afterthought, but perhaps it’s polite enough to pass muster.

“Was that so hard,” Takeru asks with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you asked so nicely…”

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a kiss—and even that, after everything, still has you feeling a flutter of something giddy in your stomach.

“Darling,” he says, “it would be my pleasure.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

…and now, you’ll have to wait until chapter two to get to the “good stuff!”

It’s been a challenge writing this—I’m trying to make the scenario believable while still keeping it vague enough to allow for people to make up their own little details. It’s also been unexpectedly difficult to write him, since he’s kind of being himself while also playing a character who’s trying to mold themself into their client’s fantasy…it’s a lot of layers, but it’s been fun trying to figure things out!

#alice in borderland #hatter #danma takeru #writings and such #spicy boy #alice in borderland netflix #takeru danma #we did it fellas. we finally wrote the first chapter.#I’ve been working on this for WEEKS #now to write the actual spicy stuff lol oh geez

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dreamsmp-au-ideas · 4 years ago

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I was going to actually post this before asks closed (didn’t get the chance), but Teddy Bear Anon, you are one of my favorite people and a magnificent creature. You get my vibe.

About Bad canonically being Sapnap’s dad I feel like that has so much extra angst potential when we consider the rest of the found family. Like. Sapnap, Tommy, and Fundy all have dads who started with the best of intentions but for one reason or another ended up slowly becoming a danger to them. I imagine Tommy and Fundy one day showing up with a cake and telling Sapnap “We regretfully welcome you to the shit dad club” and Sapnap is torn between being upset still and laughing over the absurdity of the situation.

Bonus points if Tommy made the cake using a recipe book that Niki gave him, the last gift Niki ever gave to Tommy. Tommy was originally a really bad cook/baker but after the egg really started to take over he went full survivalist. Leaning to cook was necessary but learning to bake was something he did as a way to raise everyone’s spirits. He’s never gotten the flavor quite to match with Niki’s perfectly but everyone agrees he’s gotten pretty decent in terms of skills. He and Fundy in particular will sometimes just spend an entire day in silence baking and then quietly eat their creations while reflecting on the friends they’ve made and lost over the course of L'manberg’s lifetime. When the group got back to the past and Niki made cookies for Tommy and Fundy the pair very nearly started crying.

Tommy is in an interesting position as a character since he did commit a lot of minor crimes and acted as a general nuisance but he was also still a child. (A very traumatized one considering I canonize SMP Earth with its unlimited lives but even more wars. Including against God. Tommy fought God just let me have this.) He acknowledges the moments when he went over the line and has tried to apologize. In particular at some point before the egg fully takes over he pulls aside Jack and tells him that he’s sorry for the way he acted when he was still in exile, taking one of Jack’s lives and all. Jack and Niki in particular are an interesting subject to address and a painful one for immune!Tommy to think about when he sees younger Niki because the three never fully tossed out the hatchet but it was obvious in the eyes of someone like Sam that both of them were growing more and more hesitant to hurt Tommy. It was made worse by the fact neither were even marginally immune, and it didn’t take long for the egg to get to them.

He never stopped being chaotic. Tommy at his core is just that kind of person. He did, however, grow up enough to act in a more mature manner. Started to recognize what’s too much. In particular he became a lot less violent and willing to lash out after Sam Nook in essence reparented him. He’s still an absolute wild card of a person, which in the eyes of Sam and Sapnap is a good thing. For this au I think we should actually address Tommy having severe ptsd and during the building of his hotel/the early days of the egg before it becomes a noticeable threat it shows. He’s a lot more subdued. Shows of aggression all carry a kind of desperation and his typical jokes feel flat. Lashing out at people slowly becomes more of a defense mechanism to see if someone’s going to leave or betray him, to test the limits of how nice they’re willing to be. After all, nice people have only ever been nice to Tommy when they wanted something from him. His eyes, especially after L'manberg is blow sky high, are well and truly gray. The first time Tommy genuinely laughs after filling Sapnap’s room with chickens is considered celebration worthy to them. His pranks take on a more hermitcraft-esque feel to them which honestly makes them more funny.

By the time they get to the past Tommy has recovered, but he still carries the kind of maturity that like Teddy Bear mentioned is reminiscent of age swap Tommy. When he gets especially stressed though, Immune!Tommy will slip into moments where he acts as tired and done with the world as age swap Tommy. With that said, most of the time he just acts like a more mature Tommy. Nothing could ever completely erase his unique vibe which Ranboo has gone on record as describing “Willing to fight God deaf, blind, and backwards just to prove a point."

Immune Fundy and Tommy get on really well once Fundy manages to catch up with the rest of the group. It gets to the point where everyone from the past is kinda shocked since smp Fundy and Tommy do not get along. At all. Literally the first night Fundy’s back someone goes to wake them up and they find Fundy asleep on top of Tommy which is a wild experience since this Tommy is a goliath who often refuses to take off his full Netherite max enchant armor. He really becomes a "looks like he could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll” kinda mans.

Also, yeah, this is Dream’s retirement arc. He is literally just sitting in the corner watching Tommy dote on his younger self and Tubbo before completely pile driving two of the most powerful people on the server straight into the dirt. At some point Tommy sits down with past Punz. He tells this Punz that their Punz died protecting him and Tubbo and that Tommy never got to properly thank their Punz so he’s going to thank this Punz. Tommy then gives Punz an entire stack of Netherite. If we’re gonna go ahead and agree on Phoenix Tommy then Tommy is fire proof, meaning he probably spent a large amount of time in the nether to avoid the egg crew and get rare supplies. Meaning he also probably did a lot of mining just to distract himself and it resulted in him being loaded. Tommy used to have a fear of tnt and explosives but he seems like the type of mad lad to say “exposure therapy” and make a massive cavern in the underbelly of the nether.

I think it would also be really interesting to dedicate like, a couple of chapters to other people’s perspectives. I kind of want to set the time they arrive in the past partway through the Pogtopia arc since I like mildly unhinged but not completely gone Wilbur. Plus then it also makes more sense for Techno to be there. Just prefer the aesthetic really. I want to have Wilbur see this version of Tommy and come to a sudden “oh” moment. I want to have a moment where Tubbo looks between his Tommy and this new Tommy, seeing himself nowhere to be found, and has enough what the fuck moments to become aggressively protective of his own Tommy. Especially if immune!Tommy ever admits to the past Tubbo why he is the way he is, what he faced under the thumb of the people he trusted. Which, out of everyone on the server, Tubbo would be the first one from the past to actively learn.

I am fully on board with Tommy knowing how to sew. That should just automatically be canon in literally ever AU. Tommy for all intents and purposes is still Phil’s child for me. Survival runs in the family the same way that chaos does, so he’s got a ton of basic survival skills that he just doesn’t show off because it’s still Tommy. He would have been completely fine in exile if it wasn’t for Dream. Whenever someone ruins their clothes in the Immune group they automatically go to Tommy and at first the past versions are very confused (except for past Tommy and Tubbo obviously) and then Tommy’s just “Sapnap this is beyond ruined it can’t be saved, let me make you something new” and within a couple days he makes Sapnap a completely new outfit. Like maybe Sapnap fell into a lava pool because Blaze Sapnap Supremacy and his clothes are beyond saving and everyone is beyond baffled when Tommy just acts like this is a weekly occurrence. He’s memorized Sapnap’s measurements and style tastes and already had a new outfit in the works for him that Sapnap immediately adores upon it being presented to him. It takes about a week for past Eret to learn that Tommy stress sews new clothing and he cannot think of a better model. Eret has never had such a full closet. Eret has everything from three piece suits to ball gowns now. Eret lives in terror of the days where Tommy disappears god knows where with Fundy and the two reappear with a new wardrobe for the entire god damn server.

Speaking of disappearing I really like the idea of part phoenix and part tanuki Tommy for a couple reasons. Being a Tanuki he’d have access to enough magic to hide his hybrid traits, which if they’ve been present for long enough would be a necessity to him. Additionally think about Fundy and Tommy building a den under Church Prime that slowly turns into a maze. Think about it. It starts off simple and then they both start digging more and it gets deeper and deeper and more complicate and the two just refer to it as their den and the only ones who are fully aware of the connotations of that word are Sam, Sapnap, and Ranboo who remember the absolute hell that was trying to navigate the original. Just Fundy and Tommy bonding over the fact they are literally the only creatures on this server that have this catacomb memorized and at the end of the catacomb is their saferoom which connects to rail way that the two spent a month straight on. It goes at least 25k blocks from spawn and it’s a final emergency resort in case they can’t stop the egg and the Immunes needs to regroup and essentially try again (if they keep bringing their younger selves with them then hopefully they’ll finally get an army large enough to stop this, but everyone really hopes it doesn’t come to that.)

I’m working on the first chapter of my fic right now actually if I’m gonna be honest and phoenix Tommy is absolutely without question canon to it but I’ve still been going back and forth on if I want him to be part tanuki as well or just blessed/favored by one like Teddy Bear mentioned. I’m also tucking away the whole thing about the magma blood for later use. Phoenix Tommy just makes sense. They used to call him Zombie Kid for a reason back on SMP Earth, he just literally does not die ever unless he decides he does.

~Snapdragon & Firefly

#dream smp #dream smp au #immune au #tommyinnit #fundy #sapnap #eret #the eret #awesamdude #dream #dreamwastaken #wilbur soot #submission #snapdragon & firefly #long post

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skzafterdusk · 4 years ago

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kim seungmin + “I Love It”

This was requested from the Dean Title Track Prompt List I posted where you can pick an SKZ member and a song for a drabble fic

Word Count: 2.9k (idk if that’s considered drabble length)

Tag: kitchen sex, college!au, photographer!Seungmin

Summary: You and Seungmin rent a high-rise apartment for his birthday weekend. And, well, birthday sex...’nuff said.

You and your boyfriend checked into the apartment earlier this morning, wanting to spend some time together before he headed to the one class he had on Fridays. It was no burden to him, of course; an intermediate portrait photography course that he’s been so engrossed in.

But that only meant, shortly after you guys settled into your home for the weekend, Seungmin was pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before leaving you there alone.

You had taken painstaking care looking for the best apartment to rent, wanting something with tons of natural light that you and Seungmin got drunk on, but also a view of your fabulous city, Seoul. This was the gift you settled on for his 20th birthday which, unfortunately, fell on a weekday where both of you would be too busy with classes.

The view, as you hoped, was incredibly lovely. From the wall of windows in the living room, you were able to see the sun as it continued to rise over the city. It was so calming, in fact, that you decided a nap would be in order after you took the time to unpack Seungmin’s and your stuff. The close you brought, the fruits and vegetables you washed, your favourite ground coffee sat next to the coffee machine.

It’s almost as if you guys actually lived there. Having a dream be a reality for so short of time could definitely be the spark to motivate you once you had to go back to the real world.

And so, a couple hours later, you finally went to the bedroom, laying on top of the covers so as not to disturb anything too much, and allow the unfamiliar serenity of the new place lull you to much needed rest…

Maybe you’ve been slowly coming to for some time now, the room just as silent as it had been when you fell asleep. But even with your eyes closed, the presence of another life redistributes the quiet, makes an empty space feel more full.

And it’s the familiar sound of a light shutter that makes you blink until your eyes flutter open.

The room is much warmer than it had when you initially fell asleep. Even in the shadows of the bed frame, Seungmin seems to radiate the glow like the sun that is clearly setting from the windows behind you.

And, much like you had expected, Seungmin’s white camera is in his hands, a soft smile on his lips as he inspects the photo before looking up again.

He’s crouched down so your faces almost entirely leveled, close so he doesn’t have to raise his voice.

“You just looked so peaceful and beautiful,” he explains. “Wanna see it?”

You lift yourself onto your elbow so you can lean forward as he shows you the camera screen. And there’s a grin on your lips before you even notice.

Despite the subject, it’s still a wonderful composition, the sun a vibrant and warm orange spilling rays through the floor to ceiling walls behind the bed. The burst floats above your darker silhouette, but your relaxed features are still distinguishable.

“I love it,” you say. Your hand is already reaching for his face, wanting to kiss him while the serenity of the moment is still present.

You both drink in the moment, both are slow to press your lips to eachother’s and even slower to pull away.

“Happy Early Birthday, Minie.”

“What do you have planned for me this weekend?”

With that question, you readjust yourself, sitting up. Seungmin follows suit, coming to sit next to you on the bed while you explain the plan for the night.

“I figured we would cook our meal for tonight. So we’ll need to go to the market to buy meat. And we can get you a cake, as well.”

With the plan set, you both went about freshening up, Seungmin wanting to rid himself of the simple clothes he’d worn to university for the day, and you adding the smallest of makeup just to make yourself more put together.

Going to the market together reminded you of when you’d first started dating, Seungmin insisting on cooking for you because you were both young college students that didn’t have the means to always eat out. When you got back to his dorm, that was when you discovered that maybe his cooking skills relied more on ambition than technique.

Even though it’s been a year and a half, it feels like so much has gone down since then. From sharing classes to being on opposite sides of campus, from late night study dates or photography adventures, you’ve grown to know Seungmin to a point where imagining him not in your life is kind of impossible.

“I’ll start prepping the vegetables,” he states matter-of-factly once you guys are back at the apartment. By now, the sun is further behind the city. You need to turn on the ceiling lights for proper illumination, and you’re seeing this space in a (literally) new light.

“Hey,” Seungmin calls to you, putting a hand on your elbow. You realize, then, that your mind had begun to wander, staring at your reflection in the window across the room. “What are you thinking about?”

It was a commonplace question for the two of you. Similar in the way that both of you tended to stay in your own heads, you both understood that all it took was a simple question to bring you back and converse with each other. You’d be lying if you hadn’t spent some nights just appreciating that aspect alone.

When you look at him, you smile wide, quickly popping up to kiss him on the jaw.

“I’m just really happy we met.” There is no other way to put it, even if it comes out bluntly. Even though the confessions of being in love with eachother have come and gone, it wasn’t common for you to just say those words. It was said in different ways; in the way he told you to worry about an assignment late and focus on yourself now, the way you asked him about whatever project he was working on in his photography class. Sometimes, like now, though, the words just need to be said as plainly and complex as they are.

“I love you.”

With his hand still on your arm, he pulls you into his chest. “I love you,” he repeats.

The moment passes easily and smoothly, and soon the kitchen is filled with a cacophony of sounds: meat sizzling in a pan, the overhead fan whirring to combat all the steam and smoke wafting the air. A jazz playlist blares from his phone on the island. Everything is so picture perfect, you think absently.

Seongmin must think this, as well, as he holds his camera up to his eye. You don’t even know when he retrieved it, but now he’s having a shoot of his own, taking shots that you can’t fathom look all that nice, but they’re endearing.

You turn the stove off as the meat finishes cooking, impatiently grabbing a piece to taste.

“Hey! Already starting without me?” teases Seungmin as he puts his camera down.

You scoff. “Head chef always gets to taste first.” At the playful pout on your boyfriend’s lips, concede easily. “But siux chef gets to taste, too.” And you feed him a piece he eagerly takes.

You don’t even bother taking the food over to the dining table, nor do you bother with using plates and dishes. Possibly you didn’t realize how hungry you both were, but there’s something so nice about just standing there, talking in between bites, laughing about random anecdotes.

“Is it time for birthday cake?” Despite phrasing it as a question, you’re already rounding towards the refrigerator where you’d put it once you got back from the store.

There’s arms suddenly wrapping around your waist, his chin hooking on your shoulder from behind.

“We have all weekend for cake. Kinda want you for dessert.”

Despite his words, you scrunch your nose up, looking at him awkwardly from where his face is. “Your reasoning is flawed, sir. You can have me all weekend, too.”

And, really, he shouldn’t look as adorable as he does when he raises his brows and widens his eyes. “Really? All weekend? It really must be my birthday.”

Your elbow is light to jab him from behind at his cheesy words. But he only gives enough room for you to turn in his hold. Your hands slide to rest on the back of his neck, your fingers having a mind of their own as they start to play with the hair there.

“And you ‘kinda’ want me? You’re gonna have to know for sure, Min,” you playfully reprimand.

His eyes darken, smile falling from his lips. It’s an expression that commands attention, and you obey effortlessly.

“I’m still hungry, (Y/N),” he starts, his voice low. “How about I eat you, instead?”

You hum. “Cannibalism. Sexy.”

Luckily, he doesn’t pay much attention to your words, only swoops down to pull you into a heated kiss that leaves you breathless. He’s quick to lick his tongue along your bottom lip, dives in when given the slightest entry. Even though this is nowhere near your first time, your body always ignites with desire at how strong his passion drives him forward.

You lock your arms around his neck when his grip on your waist grows stronger, begging your body to be flushed against his. Pesky clothing aside, you can feel the heat of his body, the way his chest heaves with yearning for oxygen that comes as second priority to just consuming you.

But when he does break away, it’s to switch your positions, the island digging into your lower back as he goes back in. He tilts your head, licking into your mouth behind your teeth. He swallows the moan his actions illicit. They taste sweet going down, if it wasn’t obvious by the way he does it again and again.

You beg him softly. “Do something, please.” Sometimes he makes you impatient, makes you need him now. And just as you obey him, he never denies you what you want.

A normally gentle man turns quite wild, his hands heavy as they work to rid you of your shirt and bra. Your chin tucks into your shoulder while his lips trail down the other side, biting and kissing at your exposed skin. Your half-lidded eyes catch that reflection you admired earlier. The night now almost completely blackened with a sunless sky. Even though a world lives outside that window, all you can see is the scene it showcases.

You with your man buried in your neck, his fist clenched to the edge of the counter beside you.

Just as quickly, he brings you back to this moment in your own skin when he brings his lips back to yours. Now it’s your turn to work on his shirt, immediately going for his pants next. Without much fanfare, you wrap your hand around his hardening length, feeling a chill run down your spine at the harsh gruff it sparks from his throat.

“Later,” he says after some time of you languidly squeezing him up and down. “Worry about that later. Hop on the counter.”

You listen wordlessly, pulling yourself up until you’re sat on the edge of the surface. You start with your pants as Seungmin goes to a bag sitting on the floor next to you, where he pulls out a bottle of lube.

The moments slow, or maybe you’re just so focused on your boyfriend, but every move he takes, you register it in anticipation. Even as he fills your space, somehow crowds around you, you can hear the click of the bottle cap,

What doesn’t cross your mind is how closely he’s watching you, as well. Surely, some of it is making sure that he takes care of you, but it’s also just because you can be much more expressive than you are verbal. And it’s so delicious to watch the way your brows twitch when he slides the first finger in, quickly following with the second.

On some other nights, he’d take his time. Maybe you can save that for tomorrow, or when you make it to the bedroom for the night. Right now, however, his thumb is already on your clit, pleasure shooting through your nerves in the best way possible. It’s the type of pleasure that brews underneath the surface, and you can feel the way it bubbles up in your core.

He opens you nice, spreading his fingers inside you while rubbing circles on your bundle of nerves. When he curls his fingers inside, you jerk forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers carding into his strands and fisting there.

He groans at the way you clench around him, the way you feel so wound up. Should he let you cum now, with his fingers alone?

“Cum, baby. Cum for me,” he whispers into your ear. You nod senselessly, feeling your walls fight to suck him in so you can never let him go.

When your orgasm finally comes, soft whimpers tremble from your open mouth. He removes his fingers slowly, knowing you’re still sensitive.

Slowly, you come to, sensing the world around you. The jazz music still lulls on, quiet sounds of brass and string instruments.

But you don’t want to come down so soon. So you lift your head from where it rests on his shoulder. His gaze is still lustfilled, and your muscles jump, still wanting more.

“Fuck me, please?” It comes out as a question, though you both know it’s a given. One of your hands slither between your bodies, going back to your earlier action of stroking him. He’s already hard, and your mind drifts to the thought of him fucking you.

In that moment you take over, mind still foggy from your orgasm. You fumble for the bottle of lube, unceremoniously putting some on your hand and wrapping it around his cock to slick him up.

With his eyes clenched shut, he rests his forehead against yours, taking a second to breathe before letting you guide him inside, taking him in entirely.

And your body never gets used to him, never gets used to how he seems to encompass you, makes you forget where your body ends and his begins. He must be magical to make you incoherent in this manner.

His thrusts start off slow and hard, almost like he’s savouring the feeling of you around him. And it’s tantalizing, the way his cock feels. Your body just wants to inhale him in any way possible. So you wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him even closer so he can just grind into you. The moan you let out is long and sweet to his ears, makes him want to hear more, taste more.

You kiss as best you can, one hand digging into your waist to keep you steady, while the other makes its way between your bodies.

“Fuck, fuck-” you moan out at the feeling of his fingers rubbing at your clit. It’s painful the way the pleasure gets dragged through you again. But you love it, love the way it confuses your senses to the point that you can’t help but breathe out an airy laugh.

“(Y/N),” groans out Seungmin into your ear. “Shit you feel so good.”

His thrusts become irregular, and soon you find yourself trying to hold off, counting down the breaths until he finally cums, fucking into you so hard that you know you’ll be able to feel him.

And when that happens, your orgasm cums out through the trembles of your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. He kisses you breathlessly as you both come down, still connected and basking in the moment of you intertwined.

When you pull back, you grin. “Happy Early Birthday,” you say again. You’re sure he’ll hear it a few times this weekend.

He smirks, finally pulling away. It always feels weird at first, to be empty. But he still remains close, and it’s enough.

“Happy, indeed.” His gaze stays on you, searching.

It’s your turn to inquire, “What are you thinking about?”

He gives a heavy sigh, and you ready yourself for some heartfelt words that will sound incredibly cheesy.

“I think I want cake now.”

You shove his chest automatically, giggling just as he does.

“How about we shower first. You never like the feeling of bodily fluids drying on you.”

He turns his nose up. “Why do you have to call them ‘bodily fluids’? That just sounds nasty.”

“Should I just say you need to clean your dick, then?”

Your legs feel like jelly when you slide down from the counter top, but you regain your strength quickly, walking back to the bathroom down the hall. Seungmin follows close behind, complaining about your phrasings.

When he grabs you from behind, your peripheral catches the reflection coming from the window in the bedroom. To feel so free in this way, you know this kind of life you could easily acclimate to. And just as you suspected, this is the plan for the future: to love him as he loves you, to be in your own world with him as everything around you keeps going.

Val’s Note:

Somehow this ended up being perfect timing since our Seungmin’s birthday is coming soon! It seems like the Seungmin smut tag is lacking, and I understand why. He’s normally just this adorable guy, even when he’s not meaning to be. But we’re not about to just fly by him during this era in particular??? Hello????

If you’d like to make a request for the Dean Title Track fic, you can do so, here!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #kim seungmin smut #seungmin smut #stray kids x reader #seungmin x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #seungmin fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids headcanons

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seanfalco · 3 years ago

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The Going Away Party | Misfits Timeline Anomaly’verse

an oc x oc collaboration between @seanfalco & @super-unpredictable98

Word Count: 5k Warnings: Smut, Jealousy a/n: The quad’s last night in London before starting a new chapter in their lives.

[ masterlist ]

“Okay, so... is that everythin’?” Win’s Nathan asked, trying to peer over Lyddie’s shoulder at the list in her hand.

"I think so, it's not like it's gonna be a ton of people, the flat can’t really fit more ten people sitting down, fifteen, if they’re standing up..." Lydia murmured, checking the list once again, her people-pleasing reflexes kicking in trying to remember what each of their guests liked.

"Good thing Natty told us, I'm so happy to help you guys," she mused, following Win's Nathan while texting Win to say they would be home soon. "I'll miss the Estate. I know we're not going forever, but it feels weird... I've been living here my whole life.

“Yeah, I hear yeh, but it’ll be a nice change of scenery,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, pushing the trolley for her. “I’m excited for yeh to perform,” he said, flashing her a grin.

"Me too, I think I'm kinda numb at this point, if I actually access my feelings, I might faint," Lydia laughed as she put the groceries on the conveyor. "Do you think that's enough beer? Should I get more?" she mused at the four cases in front of them.

“We can tell people t’bring their own too,” Win’s Nathan’s laughed. “Oh.... shite,” he breathed, quickly ducking down behind Lydia.

"What?" she almost instinctively made a force field around them, but thankfully she held back — that would've been hard to explain. "Is it someone that tried to kill us?" she asked, looking around.

“No, even worse!” Nathan hissed, the checkout girl giving them a strange look. “That’s Win’s evil stepmum. The queen bitch, herself!” he exclaimed, gesturing toward the blonde woman nearby, who bore a rather striking resemblance to her daughter, Delilah.

"Ah, who cares, I'm not scared of her... If she tries me, her and her daughter will have matching scars," Lydia said, bagging the groceries with a chuckle. "Nothing can ruin my mood today, not even the queen bitch supreme."

“Yeah, y’say that now...” Nathan mumbled, eyeing her warily. She hadn’t seemed to see them... yet, but with the determined way Lydia was moving, it wouldn’t be long til she noticed them, having just gotten all her bagged groceries back into her own trolley.

"What is she gonna do? Call the manager and say 'the girl with blue hair assaulted my daughter'? The worst she can do is bore me to death, you shouldn't be scared of a gold-digging slag with ego problems, you're basically a superhero," Lydia pointed out, turning to kiss him before loading the groceries into the car Simon managed to borrow from their parents.

Win’s Nathan spluttered, but accepted Lyddie’s kiss. “I guess,” he muttered. “I don’t always feel like a superhero though.” As soon as the words would out of his mouth he swallowed thickly, Win’s stepmum having clearly spotted him, her head swiveling his way and suddenly her trolley was changing directions. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark sunglasses she wore, but he swore she was glaring bloody murder at him.

“You!” she cried, running her trolley right into his shin as he yelped in pain. “You and you!” she amended, venom dripping from her voice as she turned her glare on Lydia. “You’re the miscreants that got my Delilah sent to the hospital!” she cried.

“Oh hi, Karen,” Nathan drawled, “So y’remember me? I’m flattered!”

"Hey, Karen... name suits you," Lydia added under her breath. She was probably the only one able to understand the joke from the future, but she didn't care. "I didn't do anything, Delilah's mouth sent her to the hospital, it wasn't me... and if you touch my boyfriend again you'll see who goes to the hospital next," Lydia growled. She tried to be civil, but seeing her run into Nathan like that was too much.

"You okay, sweetie?" she cooed, running her fingers through his curls as he nursed his bruised shin.

“Oh please, he’s fine!” Karen snapped, giving Nathan a disdainful look as he pouted, rubbing at his shin. “I want you to tell my ungrateful slag of a stepdaughter not to contact us again. Her father was willing to overlook her past transgressions, which is more than she deserved, honestly, but no longer. He wishes to have nothing further to do with her and it’s about time.”

"I'll really appreciate if you wash your fucking mouth before talking about my girlfriend," Lydia snapped back, flashing her a hollow grin before taking Nathan's hand to avoid slapping the woman. "Maybe watch what your own daughter is doing in her spare time. You know, besides committing crimes, terrorizing children... but it'll be my pleasure, I'll tell Win that her shitty family is finally leaving her alone, she'll be enthused!"

Nathan let Lydia pull him away. He knew, though, that she was bluffing. She wouldn’t tell Win what Karen had said, it would hurt Win too much. She’d always held out hope that her dad might finally come to his senses and try to make up for everything, to be the dad she needed him to be, and anger bubbled up inside him.

“But what about me?” he called, catching Karen’s attention once more. “Am I still allowed t’call? I mean, how else are we supposed to continue our illicit affair, Karen? You were the best cougar I’ve ever had! I thought what he had meant somethin’! And now you’re just throwin’ me away like a old rag?” he cried dramatically, drawing more onlookers’ attention and causing a scene, Karen’s mouth falling open.

"Oh my God! You're saying that you're cheating on me with this crusty old cunt?" Lydia cried, dramatically falling to her knees, crocodile tears running down her face. "Tell me now! She's the one who gave you crabs wasn't she? WASN'T SHE?” she sobbed, turning next to Win’s stepmum.

“You homewrecker, I’m pregnant with his child and you stab me in the back, stealing my boyfriend, Karen? You'll pay for what you did, you monster!" Lydia knew that would probably end up somewhere in some tabloid, but Karen's expression was absolutely priceless, totally worth the damage control afterwards.

Snickering, Nathan pulled Lyddie to her feet and jumped into the car, leaving Karen gaping after them as people stared and muttered behind their hands.

“Oh my God, that was priceless!” he laughed. “Lyddie, you were amazing! Absolute perfection!”

He knew it wouldn’t be enough to make up for the fact that Win’s dad was finally cutting her off for good, but it had felt good to humiliate Karen one last time.

"Thanks... I gotta practice for my big Broadway debut," Lydia laughed, taking Win's Nathan's face in her hands and kissing him lovingly. "Once we get home, Winnie can borrow my power and get rid of that bruise — speaking of that! I don't know what to say to her, she's gonna be devastated; I wanted tonight to be perfect for her."

“Maybe... we shouldn’t tell her?” Nathan ventured hesitantly. He didn’t want her to be upset either and he had a feeling hearing about this would completely ruin her night.

"Yeah, maybe it's best, at least for now..." Lydia agreed. "Maybe in New York, if I were to receive bad news, I'd rather be on top of the Empire State than a flat in Wertham."

——

“Jeeze what’s taking them so long,” Win muttered, checking her phone. She and Lyddie’s Nathan were on decoration duty while Lyddie and her Nathan had gone to the supermarket to grab the food. Smart idea, Win thought ruefully. Though Lydia had been teaching her some things, she still struggled in the kitchen and didn’t want to ruin the party with her subpar cooking skills.

With Nathan’s powers and Win borrowing them, it had taken them almost no time at all to decorate the flat for the party.

"They're shaggin', they have t'be!" Lyddie's Nathan groaned, throwing himself down to the couch. "It's almost time for the party and they’re shaggin' in her mum's car!"

“Maybe they just got held up,” Win murmured, sitting down next to him on the edge and running her fingers through his hair. “I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

"Hey, loves!" Lydia exclaimed, shouldering open the door while carrying two huge paper bags under her arms. "Sorry we took so long, the line was crazy..."

"The line, uh huh..." her Natha teased, getting up to help. "Let's pretend I believe you."

“Oh sure, like you weren’t gettin’ frisky with Win while you were waitin’ for us,” Win’s Nathan teased, carrying the beer in.

"How dare you! We did no such thing!" Lyddie's Nathan gasped. "We've been workin'..."

"I wish we had time for that," Lydia mused, looking over at Win's Nathan, he was really sexy dealing with the whole Karen thing earlier. "But looks like I'll have to wait until after the party, the guests will be here any second."

“Why didn’t we do that?” Win teased, following Lyddie’s Nathan into the kitchen to help unload the food.

"Cause I'm nervous..." he admitted, it was a little scary, every time he remembered he was moving across the world, he felt slightly sick to his stomach. "But after the party I'll take care o'that," he pushed that fear aside and smiled.

“Aw, Nats,” Win murmured, wrapping her arms around him, momentarily surprised at his moment of vulnerability. “I’m nervous too,” she whispered. “But the important thing is we’ll all be together.”

Since the flat was so tiny, they only invited a few people — their closest friends, but Lydia was still freaking out. Being anxious about being a good host, on top of leaving for New York the next day, on top of the unpleasant (to say the least) encounter from earlier made her run and hide in the bedroom for a moment, not sure if she was doing everything right.

“Hey Lyds, you alright?” Win asked, pushing the door open a hair, having noticed her hurry out of the room.

"I-I don't know... I think I'm having a little bit of a panic attack, but I'll be fine," Lydia assured her, kissing the back of Win's hands. "Don't worry, baby, go have fun, I'll be right there."

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind if you want me to keep you company,” Win insisted.

"Maybe just for a second..." Lydia admitted, curling up against Win, trying to breathe properly. "I love you, Winnie. You’re amazing, you know that? If anyone ever says you're not, the problem's with them," she insisted heatedly.

“Oh Lyddie, I love you too,” Win murmured, holding her girlfriend while rubbing soothing circles against her back. “Did someone say I’m not amazing?” she asked with a laugh.

"I just wanted you to know, that's all," Lydia mumbled. "You're the best girlfriend I could ask for, and I don't ever wanna be without you." She said, looking up and placing a gentle kiss to Win's lips.

“Oh babe, you’re so sweet,” Win murmured, kissing her back as she caressed her cheek. “I don’t ever wanna be without you either, Lyddie.” She could hear the Nathans’ raucous laughter from the other room and was glad they were out there entertaining. “Everything’s gunna be alright,” Win assured Lydia. “Like I told Nathan... the most important part is we’ll all be together.”

"Yeah, that's all that matters..." Lydia agreed, getting up. Before opening the door, she hesitated, looking in the mirror to make sure everything was in place. "Let's do this."

"Hey, are you okay, Lyds?" Simon asked, pulling her to the corner as soon as he noticed her coming out of the room.

"Yeah yeah, don't worry, I was just a little scared, but I feel better now," she smiled.

Win gave Lyddie’s hand a squeeze before Simon pulled her off to the side to talk to her and she waded into the small sea of bodies, looking for a tall curly head.

“Hey! There yeh are, Winnie,” her Nathan exclaimed, his twin not too far off. “Where were ya?”

“I was talking to Lyddie, she got a little overwhelmed, but I think she’s okay now,” she murmured, looking around at all their friends. Most of them seemed to know her somehow, more like a faint memory, and though it made her a little sad to think about, it was bearable. At least they knew her at all.

Lydia tried to forget all the foggy thoughts getting in the way and tried to have fun. The Nathans worked really hard on planning the party, she didn't want to upset them by not enjoying it. Grabbing a beer, she sat down with the rest of the gang and her partners. Everyone seemed happy, chatting about anything and everything.

"So, what are you guys talking about?"

"Not much, just gushing about you," Win answered, leaning into her side as she joined them, resting her head against her shoulder for a moment.

"About me?" Lydia blushed, laughing as she imagined what they could be saying.

"Yeah, we were talkin' about your sexual prowess with three lovers," her Nathan mocked.

"Nathan, Jesus Christ..." Simon shook his head with a wince. "How many times have I told you not to do that? I don't wanna know!"

"Actually we were talking about the musical, and how excited we are to be spending time in New York again," Win cut in, giving Simon an apologetic grin.

"It feels so odd to think about it, it's like a dream, I'm really excited, you know even in the future there has never been a female Lonny in Rock of Ages, I have no idea how this happened!" Lydia was always so excited to talk about the musical. She knew she’d never be able to repay them for getting her to audition. "Of course, everyone's coming to the City to watch me when the night comes... I need everyone there," she insisted.

"Of course!" Alisha exclaimed excitedly, grabbing onto Simon's arm.

"Don't worry, we'll make sure everyone's there, Lollipop," Win's Nathan assured her with a grin, his hand resting on her thigh.

"Win? Hey, Win!" A voice through the crowd drew her attention and she looked up to see her bandmate, Max making his way over. She'd been a little surprised that the Nathans' had thought to invite him, but she was glad to see him.

"Max, hey!" she exclaimed, getting up from the couch to greet him with a hug.

"Who's that?" Lydia whispered to her Nathan, feeling just the tiniest hint of jealousy, not that she would ever admit it...

"That's Max, th’other Nathan had the idea to invite him," he explained.

Lydia watched that with an indecipherable expression. She didn't really understand why she felt so off.

"You alright?" Kelly asked, following Lydia's eyes.

"Yeah, sure," she answered distractedly, getting up to introduce herself. "Hey there."

"Hey!" Win exclaimed. "Oh, that's right, you guys have never been introduced before," she remembered. "Lyds, this is my bandmate Max. Max, this is my lovely girlfriend, Lydia," she said, wearing a bright smile.

"Nice to meet you," Lydia murmured, shaking his hand. "Make yourself at home, get a drink, a snack... I think I remember seeing you at the music festival that Winnie and I played at together, is that right?" she asked, taking her seat with a smile that made Simon and Lyddie's Nathan exchange a look.

“What's wrong with her?” Simon mouthed while Nathan shrugged, but he was wondering the same thing.

Win frowned as Lydia hurried away again before even really waiting for Max's response, but she couldn't exactly ask her about it right then.

"Hey, Win, d'you think we could go somewhere quieter?” Max asked, interrupting her thoughts. “There’s, uhh... there's something I need to talk to you about.”

"Uh, yeah, sure..." Win said awkwardly, looking around for a quiet spot. She didn’t exactly like the sound of that.

"I don't like him," Lydia announced suddenly, bouncing her leg nervously as she sat back down. "Not one bit..."

"Aww, is someone jealous?" her Nathan teased, poking her playfully.

"So what if I am?" she demanded, folding her arms.

"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, Peanut..." Simon took her hand.

"Yeah, the Nathans should be jealous, but you're much hotter than that guy," Alisha assured her with a grin.

"I feel like I should be offended, but I don't exactly understand why," Lyddie's Nathan muttered with a twist of his lips.

"Don't worry, Lollipop, I may have been a little jealous of the guy back in th'day, but he's good people. Surprisingly," Win's Nathan exclaimed.

"C'mon, we can talk on the balcony," Win suggested, opening the sliding door and ushering Max outside. "So, what did you wanna talk about, Max?"

"It's actually somethin' I've been wanting to tell you for a while, and when I heard you were leaving to go to the States... well, I couldn't put off telling you any longer.”

Oh no, Win thought with a grimace. This can’t be good.

“Winrey, I'm in love with you," Max blurted out, taking her hand.

"What?" Win exclaimed in response, nearly ripping her hand from his.

"I've been in love with you for years, don't you remember that night we spent together once? Didn't that mean something to you?"

"Being 'good people' doesn't stop him from hitting on our girlfriend..." Lydia huffed. "Did you see the way he looked at her? I'm telling you, I have an eye for these things."

"Win has three partners, I think that's more than enough," Kelly laughed.

"Wow, Lollipop, haven't seen you like this ever since Ruth..." Lyddie's Nathan taunted. "Remember?"

"Yeah, granny fucker, very funny!" Lydia replied, shifting slightly closer to the balcony to hear their conversation.

"Max, what the fuck are you talking about?" Win exclaimed. “I never slept with you!”

“I know we were pretty drunk that night, but you have to remember.”

“Oh my God,” Win groaned. It must have been the other her, the one originally from this timeline before she showed up.

"I'm already in a relationship. Please don't do this, Max," she begged, saying anything to get him to back off.

"Do what? C'mon Win, I know you feel something for me too."

"Max, I—" Win sighed, unsure what else to say. This was not the conversation she wanted to be having right now, or ever to be honest. Max was her best friend outside of the ASBO group, and she didn't want to lose him, but there was no way she was gunna jeopardize her relationship for him, for something she didn’t do.

"Just, please Win—" Before she could react he leaned in to kiss her.

In a flurry of events the sliding door suddenly flew open and Lydia’s angry voice echoed over the Estate. "BACK THE FUCK OFF MY GIRLFRIEND" she cried, fuming.

The two Nathans looked at each other surprised, Lyddie wouldn't act like that without a reason... she must've heard or seen something they didn’t.

"You come to my flat, in the middle of my party, and you try to kiss my fucking girlfriend? What the fuck, man?" she shouted angrily. The rest of the gang was taken back, Simon’s eyes widening — it had been a long time since he'd seen his sister that angry.

Turns out she did have a good eye for that stuff.

"Get the fuck out!" Lydia snapped, pointing at the door. "I've had a pretty hard day, I don't need this shit. Take the hint and leave."

"But, Win, please?" Max stuttered, hesitating.

"Max, I'm sorry, but you need t'leave," Win said, giving him a pointed look. For a moment she didn't think he was going to, but finally he stormed out and Win slumped into the nearest chair, hiding her face in her hands.

"Very well done, Nathan, brilliant!" Lydia snapped at both of them, thought they couldn't have possibly known this was going to happen. "Very memorable last night in England!" she cried, throwing her hands up.

She wasn't mad at Win, of course not, it wasn't her fault, though the thought of her — any version of her — sleeping with him made Lyddie's stomach churn and she slumped down next to Winnie.

"Hey, it's okay," she whispered. "I'm so sorry this happened, I... wanted tonight to be perfect for you."

"It's not your fault, Lyddie," Win murmured, completely embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think he'd... I had no idea he felt that way," she said, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm gunna... uh, I'll be right back—“ Before anyone could say anything more Win made a b-line for the bedroom, away from everyone's prying eyes.

Lydia was pretty much used to sharing her entire life with the gang, but she’d known them for a long time, Win had only known them since Community Service and she suddenly felt bad for making such a scene in front of everyone. "

“Winnie, baby," Lyddie exclaimed, hurrying to the door and knocking gently. "Can I come in? I just wanna talk and hold you, I'm sorry for all the yelling, I just couldn't help it."

“Yeah, you can come in,” Win said, her voice muffled. As soon as Lydia shut the door behind her Win quickly scrubbed at her eyes, trying to hide her tears.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea he felt that way... I can’t believe he tried to kiss me— I can’t believe he actually thought I’d leave you guys for him. I’m just... I’m sorry, I don’t want you t’think—“ She shook her head and sank to the bed.

"There's nothing you could've done, baby, it was completely delusional of him to come here and pull this stunt," Lydia joined Win in bed and pulled her close. "I love you, I would never judge you because of that. I was really jealous and I embarrassed you, I'm so sorry about that."

“You were jealous?” Win asked softly, glancing over, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Yeah, of course..." Lyddie felt her cheeks burn slightly. "I saw th’way he looked at you, I saw you hugging him, I was bloody jealous."

“Aw babe,” Win drawled, her embarrassment forgotten for the moment. “Is it terrible that I kinda like that? It makes me feel special,” she laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m terrible.”

"No, you're not terrible and you are special..." Lydia felt happy for being able to make Win smile after that shitshow. "I just love you too much, and thinking about someone else with you made me lose it, you're mine."

“Someone other than a Nathan?” Win teased. “I like how fiery you got babe, it was pretty hot,” she admitted, sliding her hand along Lyddie’s jaw as she leaned in to kiss her.

"I've never seen you get jealous over me..." Lydia mused, kissing her back, one hand firmly squeezing her thigh. "But that's good to know, I should get jealous over you more often," she joked.

“I’ve been jealous before,” Win admitted softly between kisses. “Though it wasn’t like some asshole was about to try to shove his tongue down your throat,” she said with a small laugh. “But I’ve definitely been jealous,” she said. “It’s usually when fans flirt with you and you don’t realize it, or when guys at the bar check you out...”

"Yeah you're right, it does feel good," Lyddie murmured, using her thigh to part Win's legs, as she pushed her back, grinding against her. "To know that you're scared of losing me, it's cute..." she moved to kiss Win's neck. "I think we might be getting a little outta hand here, do you want me to stop?"

“No, please don’t stop,” Win moaned, tilting her head for Lyddie to keep kissing her neck.

“Win, are you oka—?!” her Nathan exclaimed, cutting off as soon as he saw Lyddie with her. “Oh! I... sorry. I came t’check on yeh... I knew that guy was bad news!”

"Hey, go on, sit down," Lydia bit her lip. "That is if you'd like to watch…” she drawled before turning her attention back to her girlfriend. "Don't worry, we'll be back at the party in no time, but you gotta be quiet, okay, Winnie?" Lydia purred next to her ear, one of her hands sliding under Win's shirt as her thigh kept rubbing against her girlfriend's sex. "Come on, baby, you know what to do..."

Win nodded, careful not to make a noise as she reached for her Nathan who joined them without having to be told twice.

"So beautiful like this..." Lyddie breathed before capturing Win's lips, one hand sliding between her legs, gathering her arousal as lube to tease her clit. "Say you're mine, Winnie," she commanded.

“I’m yours, Lyddie,” she breathed, her breath catching, and she rolled her hips against her hand.

"You're so good, baby," Lydia pumped one finger inside of her while nipping at the tender skin of her neck. "I love you so much."

“I love you too, please Lyddie,” Win whimpered, jumping as she felt Nathan’s thumb circle her clit as Lydia’s fingers pumped into her. “Oh—“ she sighed, writhing at the pleasure that coursed through her at such two simple touches.

"Please what? You wanna come for us? Is that what you want, baby? Cause I wanna watch you..." Lyddie added another finger, moving faster, while leaving a trail of hickeys down Win's neck.

“Yes, please, I’ll be quiet,” Win whined, threading her fingers in Lyddie’s hair, her other hand seeking Nathan’s.

"Good girl, come for me," Lyddie smirked, by now all the anxiety and sadness had faded, the only one she could focus on was Win.

As if Lyddie’s words were a switch Win climaxed, her body tensing as pleasure took over and she was floating for a moment. When she came down from her high, her chest heaving, she looked up at her two lovers and gave a tremulous smile. “I love you both, so much.”

"I love you too," Lydia licked her fingers clean and gently kissed Win's forehead. "Are you ready to go back? Can't leave Natty out there by himself for too long," she laughed.

“Yeah, you go on, I’ll be there in a sec,” Win murmured, sitting up, her eyes trailing over to her Nathan who seemed rather quiet.

"Okay," Lyddie stole one last kiss before leaving. When she came out, she found exactly what she expected: Nathan being Nathan, cracking jokes and pulling tricks that only made everyone roll their eyes, while Lydia laughed.

“Did you ever have a thing with Max?” Win’s Nathan asked quietly.

“No,” Win answered truthfully. “He’s a good friend, but I never thought of him that way. Though, if what he said tonight is to be believed, apparently my clone from this timeline did…”

Nathan nodded reluctantly. “Guess he’s been in love with you ever since, huh? Or at least… well, you know...”

“Yeah, I guess,” Win murmured. “This is just so fucked up.”

“I know,” Nathan exclaimed, reaching for her and Win let him pull her into his arms. “But it’s not your fault.”

“I know, but I’m still sorry...” she insisted, her words muffled against his shirt.

“Y’got nothin’ to be sorry for. I’m sorry he did that t’yeh.”

Win stayed there for a long time, just letting Nathan hold her.

“C’mon, let’s go back out there and put all this behind us, huh? Don’t wanna keep our lovely Lyddie waitin’,” Nathan said, pulling Win to her feet.

“Yeah, definitely not,” Win agreed, seeming better, and they left the room to rejoin the party.

"So you were right about Max after all," Lyddie's Nathan let his head rest on her lap while they all watched a movie.

"Yeah, as usual..." she teased. "But I thought you were used to it by now." She grinned as Win and the other Nathan joined them. It felt so odd to know that tomorrow she would have to say goodbye to all their friends and her home.

"Hey, Simon?" a voice came from the door, Max having left it ajar as he’d left and Lydia looked at her brother, tears springing to her eyes as she recognized the voice.

"In here, dad!" he called.

"I was hoping this was the right address, you know how I am sometimes..."

"Yeah," Lyddie laughed as she shed a tear.

"The car, right... I'll get the keys. Dad, you remember my friend Lyddie, right?" Simon asked, taking her hand as he got to his feet. "She's going to the US tomorrow to perform on Broadway."

"Wow, that's amazing! Congratulations! I remember how talented you are," he exclaimed, holding his hand out to shake hers, but instead Lydia threw her arms around him.

Win watched Lydia hug her dad from her spot on the couch and she was overcome with a sudden wave of emotion. She really wished that Lyddie could tell him the truth about her identity some day. She wanted her to be happy. And a part of her wished that she and her own dad could work things out. For a moment she thought about giving him a call, but what would she say?

"Do you wanna stay? We have plenty of food and beer," Lydia asked hopefully, fixing her hair to cover the birthmark on her shoulder.

"Thank you, but I can't, I'm supposed to pick my daughter up at the library. It's getting a little late, don't want her walking around alone."

"Yeah, that's... yeah, it's dangerous at night, thanks for dropping by," Lydia stumbled over her words.

"Well, congrats again on the Broadway thing," he said, giving Lydia a tender look and waved at the rest of the guests. "Have a good night you lot, sorry for interrupting your party," he chuckled before leaving.

"Goodbye," Lydia waved back, falling into her Nathan's lap. "—Dad," she added softly after he’d already left.

Win looked over as Lyddie returned, slipping her hand in hers without a word and giving her a squeeze. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

"Just a hug," Lydia murmured, wiping the tears from her face as she took Win in her arms. "Let's just finish the movie, yeah?"

“Of course, babe,” Win murmured, pulling Lydia into her arms. As they watched the movie, the Nathans cracking jokes and quoting random lines Win idly ran her fingers through Lyddie’s hair, feeling strangely at peace, despite how the evening had gone.

———————-

Tag list: @magic-multicolored-miracle @santacarlahorrorshow @messengeronthemoon @the-freckled-luba @firstpersonnarrator @spanishmossmagnolia @salvador-daley @forenschik @a-ghoulish-tale @love-is-dirty-baby @vonkimmeren @violetrainbow412-blog

#misfits #nathan young #nathan young x oc #nathan x win #nathan x lyddie #otp: green apple lollipop #timeline anomaly’verse #collaboration

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meltwonu · 5 years ago

Text

s n a k e | e y e s [chapter 3]

pairing; snakehybrid!woozi x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; 🥺💕thank you for all the interest in snake eyes!! I can't believe it!! y’all don’t know how happy that makes me because I love this au!! 💕💕💕 in this chapter: jihoonie makes a small oopsies 🥴oral(female receiving), minor switch!woozi, hehehe... im sorry, im mean and u will know why 😭😭💕 also this chapter is long, strap in for the long ass ride!! yeehaw

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - x - x - x - x

It takes a week and a half for you and Jihoon to really fall into a rhythm that suits his and your needs.

Jihoon is still shy around you, only spending an hour or two with you while you work until he feels too awkward again, slinking away back into his room. You wonder, periodically, if he happened to hear what you were doing in your bedroom the night he came to stay with you and if that was the reason he’d been so shy and quiet around you. But you quickly shake the thoughts out of your head, preferring to believe that he hadn’t, for your sake and his. Jihoon had never mentioned anything to you anyway, so you had no reason to believe he’d heard anything.

But it’s a rainy Sunday afternoon that has you bundled up in an oversized sweater on the living room sofa, laptop haphazardly on a side table while you take a break from writing. A movie plays quietly on the tv in front of you, but you don’t really pay attention to it. Jihoon emerges from his room, covered up in a big sweater and his sweats as he takes a seat on the opposite end of the sofa.

“It’s… r-really cold today…” His voice is soft, almost a whisper, as he pulls his legs up onto the sofa, crossing them as he tries to cover his skin. “I… kinda had a h-hard time sleeping.”

“Did you need more heaters? The forecast said it’s supposed to rain for the next couple days, Jihoon…” You trail off, already sliding off of the sofa as you fetch a blanket for the cold male. “I can go pick you up another one tomorrow, if you’d like?” Draping the soft blanket over him, he thanks you, snuggling into the soft material. “If it’s okay… I don’t want you to go out of your way if it’s too much.” You chuckle, settling into your spot on the sofa again as you pick up your laptop to get a bit of work done.

“Nonsense, I want you to be comfortable here.”

Jihoon’s stomach grumbles 45 minutes later as he sinks deeper into the plush blanket, hiding the flush that covers his cheeks. You laugh slightly, already hopping off to make him and yourself a snack to eat.

“You’re more than welcome to rummage the kitchen whenever you want, y’kno. Or if you want me to make you something to eat, you can always ask.”

“Sorry I’m just… still getting used to it. You’re definitely nicer than my past owners.” You hum, curious about how his previous owners treated him for him to be this shy, or if he was just naturally always this timid. “It’s okay! Take your time. I know it’s weird but I’m… I’m still getting used to it too.” You feel your body heating up, suddenly reminded of a questionable dream you’d had the previous night; the cute snake hybrid invading even your mind when you slept recently. God I really need to get laid somehow, you think, maybe that cute barista from down the street would be interested? I think his name was Jun. Reminder to self to get his number next time.

You grab a pan, setting it onto the stove as you gather ingredients to make ddeokbokki; something that Jihoon really loved to snack on. “Hey, Jihoon? Did you wanna help me make this? I can teach you a bit!”

There’s a shuffling from the living room before the blonde haired male steps into the kitchen, a curious look on his face.

“I’ve never cooked before though…”

“It’ s okay! I can teach you. Just so that.. Um, just in case I’m not home or something and you get hungry?” He nods, stepping closer towards you as you set various ingredients onto the counter top. “Okay, I’ll just... Watch you.” You smile at him, urging him to come closer as you begin explaining what to do. But Jihoon’s mind fixates on something else, your voice getting drowned out when he feels the warmth radiating off of your body when he steps closer. Unbeknownst to you, Jihoon decides to stand almost directly behind you as you continue to explain how to cook to him.

When his hands start to slide up the hem of your sweater, you pause, setting the measuring cup back onto the counter top where it was before. Jihoon’s cold fingertips begin traveling up your sides, delicately caressing your skin under your sweater. Your breath is caught in your throat when he then leans his head over your shoulder, his tongue softly lapping at the exposed skin of your neck. A moan catches in your throat when you realize your body’s already rapidly heating up at his touch, the snake hybrid behind you also letting out a tiny moan of his own when he realizes how warm you’ve gotten.

But you snap back to reality, panic taking over when you let out a garbled noise, pushing back against Jihoon.

“Oh my g-god, wait--wh--”

Jihoon panics, pupils shaking as he pulls away completely, pressing himself into the fridge for a second before immediately bolting out of the kitchen without a word; only a door slam in the distance letting you know where he is.

A couple hours pass, the rain still pattering against the window as the moon rises beyond the clouds.

The ddeokbokki from earlier went unmade; ingredients going back to their original places as you decided to retreat to your own bedroom to catch your breath and cool yourself down. You really hadn’t hated what happened earlier, but it was quite the shock, and you could only imagine what Jihoon was feeling as well. But you set those feelings aside, making your way down the hallway to his bedroom to ask him about dinner. Fuck, he must be starving. He didn’t even eat earlier, you think.

You knock on his door, a muffled “yes?” coming from the other side.

“Jihoon did you want to eat dinner with me or will you eat later?”

“Uhm, hmm, I’m…um, I’ll.. I’ll eat with y-you.”

You set up the dinner table, setting Jihoon’s food across from you. You were glad that he just ate normal human food as it made it easier for you to take care of him; unsure if you could sit and watch him eat what snakes normally did. Hearing a door click, you break out of your thoughts, seeing him walk towards the dining table with a blush on his face.

“I… um…”

“Yes Jihoon?”

“I just… about earlier, I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have… um, stuck my hands in y-your shirt like that…”

The memory alone has you blushing, his delicate and cold fingertips brushing against your ribcage had a tingle traveling up your spine and down to your fingertips. You hadn’t hated it; just the shock from his touches had you initially recoiling, sending Jihoon running straight for his bedroom where he had holed up for hours.

“I… It was okay. I, um, didn’t hate it actually…”

“O-oh, uh, so… um, is it okay? If… If I do that sometimes? It’s… you feel nicer than, um, the h-heaters in my room so…”

“Y-yeah, I mean… y-yes, that would be… okay.” Shock momentarily flits over his features before a genuine smile etches onto his face. “Okay… U-um I mean, it---it won’t---I won’t, y’know, stick my hands in your shirt but maybe like---like we can, um, cuddle? Sometimes?” You almost choke on your food at his suggestion, suddenly too shy to make eye contact with him at how innocent it all sounded.

“Yeah that… that would be fine!”

The two of you have normal dinner conversations, you asking him about songs he’s been working on while he asks you about work. You remind him that you’ll pick up a new heater in the morning and begin clearing the table with his help.

When the dishes are cleared, you bid Jihoon a good night; thankful that the snake hybrid wasn’t too awkward after everything that had happened earlier in the day. He calls your name as you turn away from your doorway to face him again.

“Yes, Jihoon?”

“Um, I was wondering… If it’d be okay if I slept in your room? It’s just… Uh, it’s cold and raining and... yeah.”

You contemplate it for a second, wondering if that was really the best idea, all things considered. But you mentally shrug, thinking, it’s just sleep.

“Sure, why not. Why don’t you get ready for bed and just… come in when you’re ready?” He nods, thanking you before he slinks down the hallway to his bedroom to change. The entire thing feels a little questionable, but you shrug it off, getting ready for bed before Jihoon shows up.

Admittedly, you normally would sleep in a big shirt and panties since you slept alone. But since Jihoon would be joining you this time, you slip on a sweater and some pajama pants, opting to be completely covered in order to prevent any potential mishaps. You could only pray your dreams were normal.

There’s a knock on the door when you slide under the bed sheets, adjusting your pillows before you reply.

“Come in!”

Jihoon opens the door, shutting it behind him as he stands in front of it awkwardly. Much like yourself, he stands there in an oversized sweater and pajama pants, hands digging into the material of his sweater as he takes in the features of your bedroom. When his eyes finally land on you already under the sheets, you pat the side of the bed that’s empty, inviting him in.

“C’mon let’s sleep. I still need to go out tomorrow morning to get your things.”

The extra heater is forgotten the next morning when you wake up in his iron grip.

It’s not uncomfortable, but he’s only got one arm wrapped around your waist and you find it almost virtually impossible to escape his hold as he snores softly into your neck. So you lay there, listening to the pitter-patter of the non-stop rain and his soft breaths, thankful that the two of you had fallen asleep without a hitch and that your dreams were normal.

Jihoon had quietly slid into the large bed with you, muttering a ‘good night’ before your radiating warmth under the sheets had lulled him to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes as you lay there, but eventually Jihoon decides to wake up, a yawn and a simple ‘good morning’ muffled into your skin before he pulls away, turning to face the opposite side. You sit up, rubbing your tired eyes as you check the clock. 11:09am.

“Did you want breakfast?”

You never buy the heater; Jihoon happily moving some of his personal items to your bedroom after that late morning breakfast. And you didn’t mind, as long as the snake hybrid was happy, so were you.

He had dragged in a heater, using it on nights when you came to bed late, only for you to shut it off when you finally slid underneath the covers. He would easily find your warmth, rolling over to lock you into his grasp as you fell asleep.

It became routine over the next couple of weeks, even when the clouds cleared and the days and nights were warm. Jihoon opened up to you more as well, dragging his keyboard into the living room to play you some of the songs he’d been working on in his old bedroom, now a work space. You’d often work in your spare room but recently you’d been spending more time in the living room with Jihoon, finding the space more comfortable to be in. Setting your work away, you lay down on the sofa, a yawn on your lips.

“Hey, can I, um, ask you something?”

His voice breaks you out of your train of thought as you adjust your body. Jihoon sits on the floor near the window, fingers tapping random keys on the keyboard as he avoids eye contact.

“Yeah, what’s up?” There’s hesitance written all over his face before he nods to himself, exhaling sharply before he replies.

“I… I know maybe I’m asking for a lot and, I mean, feel free to say no because I know you probably will! And that’s--that’s okay but I was wondering… if--if I…” Jihoon pauses for much too long as you raise a brow.

“If you what? Jihoon, is everything okay?”

“I, yeah, everything’s fine, I just.. I’m sorry, I… It’s okay if you think it’s weird and I’ve never really done it before either but I just, I noticed when… when I touch you, you get really, um, warm and I… I like it a lot so I was wondering if I could try something?”

A million different thoughts float through your head in a millisecond and you can’t stop the blush that creeps up your neck and paints your face red.

“Um, I guess… it would depend? What exactly… did you want to try?” You bite the inside of your cheek, already trying to keep yourself from squirming around.

“I… can I try… eating you out? I wanna see something.”

The formality of Jihoon asking so politely if he could go down on you sends your brain short circuiting quicker than lightning.

He’s convinced at this point you hate him and will probably send him back to the adoption home the next day when he sees the blank look on your face as you process.

“Shit, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked that, I---”

“Y-yes…”

“Wait, what, hold--” Jihoon turns into a sputtering mess, his palms clammy against his sweats as he squirms. “Wait, did you say… yes?” You nod, already feeling the heat pooling in your lower abdomen as you shift awkwardly on the sofa. “Yeah I… um, I’d… be okay with that…” Trailing off, you try to look at everything but Jihoon, mildly embarrassed at how increasingly wet you were already getting.

“O-okay, um, when should we… do it?” Jihoon’s voice is shaky and to anyone else he sounded nervous, but inside he could barely contain his new found excitement.

“Now is okay? I… I’m okay with right now.” You finally look at him, finding him already crawling over to you on the floor before moving the coffee table enough to sit on his knees in front of you. “I guess, let’s start…?” He trails off, the blush never leaving his face as he twiddles his thumbs. You nod, sitting up to slide your shorts off, shimmying to the edge of the sofa as you spread your legs for him.

“Interesting.”

“W-what?” You stare at him from between your legs as he slots himself in front of you, cold palms holding your thighs open as you shiver from his touch. “Nothing, just… you’re already wet.”

If there was a sinkhole underneath you, you’d like for it to take you right about now. The embarrassment sets your body on fire as Jihoon chuckles under his breath. “And now you’re really warm? Interesting.” You bite your lip as he leans in closer to your clothed mound, his tongue peeking out from between his lips.

“Ready to test my theory?”

Gulping, he doesn’t even give you a chance to reply before he’s licking you through your panties, his tongue adding pressure along the wet patch growing on the fabric. Your thighs threaten to clamp shut around his head but his grip on you is too tight, prying your legs wide open as he continues to lick at your clothed entrance.

Jihoon pauses for a second, a groan leaving his lips. “Fuck, you taste so good, I need to get these panties off of you now.” Agreeing, you hook your fingers into the band of your panties, ready to get them off.

“Ah, ah, not like that.” There’s a ghost of a smirk on his face before he lets go of your thighs, fingertips pushing your hands away and replacing them with his before he tears them in half, the soaked material sliding off of your body as you stare at him in shock.

“Jihoon, what th---”

“What? Didn’t think I was capable?” You’re at a loss for words; the sudden change in his demeanor from shy to slightly dominating, intoxicating. “I’m just… wow.” He laughs at your lack of response, gripping your thighs again as he leans back in, his tongue already on your slit as he licks up a stripe from your clit to your entrance. Your hands immediately tangle into his hair, moaning as his tongue laps at your wetness.

You feel like you’re floating on clouds, warm and dreamy while Jihoon eats you out. He hadn’t even used his fingers on you yet, only sliding his tongue through your folds and prodding at your entrance and you were sure you could cum just like this.

“Ngh, Jihoon… Can you… make me cum?”

The male between your legs hums in response before his tongue flicks at your clit, a groan leaving you when he draws harsh circles around the nub. You can feel the pressure in your body cresting as you try to grind down on his waiting tongue.

“Jihoon, I’m---”

When you wake up, Jihoon is still by the window, notebook full of music related jargon as he glances up at you. “Oh hey, I was wondering when you’d wake up. You fell asleep so fast after you laid down, I was gonna ask if you wanted to hear some of the stuff I was working on but you were out like a light.”

Your head is void of any thoughts as you stare blankly into Jihoon’s face; the entire thing had been a dream. A cold sweat coats your body as you sit up, the wetness between your legs insanely real.

“I… yeah, I guess I was tired… I--I didn’t say anything weird in my sleep, did I?”

Jihoon ponders for a moment, lips tilting cutely up into a pout.

“No, I mean, you made some weird little squeaky noises but… that was it. Why? Did you have a weird dream or something?”

“Uh… no, just… wondering.”

Fuck.

#snakehybrid!woozi #woozi smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios

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spicycreativity · 3 years ago

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Howl- Ch. 3

Chapter: 3/10

Add'l Notes: Fic is posted in full on my AO3, WizardGlick

Chapter content warnings: Depictions of alcohol use

“Nothing,” Remus pronounced. His breath ghosted over Virgil’s ear and he shuddered, pulling away so he could look Remus in the face. Remus was still in his work clothes and he smelled, not wholly unpleasantly, of sweat and dirty water.

“Nothing?” Virgil ran his pointer fingers behind both ears, just barely resisting the urge to dig in with his nails and see for himself, dammit.

“I think you’d know if aliens had stuck a tracking chip in your head,” Remus said, his own fingers dancing across the countertop toward the basket of enamel pins by the register.

Virgil ran his fingertips across his temples, still feeling for something, some marking or scar. “But if it wasn’t aliens...”

“Far be it from me to be the voice of reason,” Remus said, “but are we sure you weren’t just sleepwalking? Or high on peyote?"

Virgil continued to track Remus' fingers as he stuck his hand in the basket. "If you steal anything, it comes out of my paycheck." Not strictly true, but it would make Remus pause.

"I wasn't gonna steal!" Remus exclaimed, holding up his hands. "But now I kinda want to."

"Please don't." Virgil sighed and put his face in his hands. He'd noticed a strange metallic taste in his mouth after waking up properly, and even the desperate mouthfuls of Monster he'd been forcing down his throat couldn't seem to touch it. It hadn't touched his exhaustion much, either. Whatever Virgil had been up to last night had not been a restful activity.

"Oh, c'mon, don't freak out." Remus' hand sat heavy on Virgil's shoulder, warming him through the thin fabric of his Baphomet t-shirt. "You were probably just sleepwalking. It happens all the time. Roman used to sleepwalk all over the place when we were kids. One time we even found him asleep in the yard. Naked, just like you."

Virgil peeked over his fingertips. "Really?" Remus was not the type to lie to make someone feel better, but this story seemed a little far-fetched.

"I swear," Remus said, eyes wide with childish solemnity.

The only customer in the store stepped up to pay, and Remus stepped aside to let Virgil deal with them. He made faces behind their back, contorted himself into absurdly sexual poses and stuck out his tongue and wiggled his hips like Elvis in his prime. Virgil pursed his lips to keep from laughing. It had been a hard decision to ask Remus for help with this, but Virgil was glad he had chosen him.

Patton was a big softie and nearly as prone to panic as Virgil was. If he didn't escalate Virgil's paranoia about aliens then he would probably end up pressuring Virgil to make a police report. A useless endeavor, since no crime had actually occurred as far as Virgil knew. Roman and Janus would just make fun of him for being a tin foil hat-wearing loony. And Logan… Well. He might judge. He might not. But Virgil didn't want to look stupid in front of him. Not to mention that Logan would ask questions, force Virgil to face something he wasn't ready to face.

So Remus it was.

"Thank you," Virgil said when the customer had left and Remus had stopped gyrating his hips. "I know I'm being dumb and it was probably nothing."

"Janus isn't here right now," Remus said, pouring out the basket of enamel pins. They scattered and clicked across the countertop. "But if he was, I think he'd say--" Remus shifted his weight and crossed his arms, "'Now what did we say about negative self talk?'"

Virgil chose not to remind Remus that Bienvenue was only a few blocks away and he could easily go get Janus if he wanted. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I know it wasn't aliens."

"But if it was peyote, you do have to share," Remus said, his attention already back on the pins. He poked through them with one dirty fingertip.

Virgil watched for a moment, then joined in, turning the pins to face Remus so he could get a good look at them. Remus seemed particularly fixated on one shaped like a death's head moth. "That one's six dollars."

Remus braced his elbows on the counter and clasped his hands under his chin, lashes aflutter. "You know how you could repay me for checking your skull for alien trackers?"

Virgil nearly reached for his wallet before he realized what Remus was actually getting at. He sighed, biting back his smile all the while, and made a show of turning to inspect the rotating sticker display. "Uh-oh," he said in an exaggerated monotone. "I'd better make sure all the stickers are properly organized. Gee, I sure hope no one shoplifts while I'm doing that."

There was a brief moment of silence. It was broken when Remus, presumably done pocketing the pin, said, "So bowling night?"

"Huh?" said Virgil, trying to find the dirty joke. Maybe something about balls?

Remus pulled his phone out of the pocket of his work pants and shook it at Virgil. "Pastor Patton's little group bonding venture?"

"Don't call him that," Virgil muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, of the messages he'd been ignoring all morning, one was a new group chat. He read through the messages. "How did Patton get your number?"

"Roman gave it to him."

"How'd he get Janus' number?"

Remus grinned. "I gave it to him. No way am I suffering through some corny adult bonding shit without backup."

"Am I not backup?" Virgil asked, unsure whether he should be offended.

"You can't be backup," Remus said dismissively. "You're the bridge. You forced me 'n' Roman to reunite, you made us all hang out. You're the bridge. You won't be as mean as I need you to be."

"I'm mean!" Virgil said. "I'm so mean!"

"Say something bitchy about Patton right now. Quickly!" Remus began to snap his fingers.

"Um," said Virgil. "Uh. Sometimes-- Well, sometimes he can be kinda… Smother-y?"

"Oh, please." Remus rolled his eyes. "That was almost healthy communication."

"Fine." Virgil crossed his arms over his chest.

Remus let him pretend to be upset for roughly three seconds. "But you are coming, right? Or are you gonna spend the night playing with Data's joystick?"

Virgil's cheeks went hot. "Of course I'm com--" He paused and reconsidered his choice of words. "Of course I'll be there. And Logan will, too."

"Wonder if I can start a betting pool," Remus said thoughtfully.

The bells on the door tinkled and Virgil leaned over to see past Remus. "Hi, welcome in," he said in his best customer service voice, which wasn't very good. "Let me know if I can help you find anything."

"Just browsing."

"Alright."

"Well," said Remus, affixing the moth pin to his hi-vis vest. "See you tonight?"

"Yeah," said Virgil. "Please be nice to Patton."

Remus winked and started to back out. "Sorry! Hazing is mandatory."

He slipped out the door, leaving Virgil to marinate in his anxiety.

Although he was exhausted, Virgil went for a short walk after work. He wandered by Bienvenue and stared at the fancy suits in the window and wondered how Janus always had the audacity to dress like he was attending a funeral at a high-end night club. His feet took him forward and he smiled a little. If there was one thing Janus had in abundance, it was audacity.

He stopped again by the reflecting pool at the Plaza and read the plaque. It had very little information and devoted barely half a sentence to the supposed curse. A shiver ran down Virgil's spine. He took a deep breath and carefully did not panic. As Logan would say, he shouldn't jump to conclusions. He needed more data.

Virgil didn't want more data. He would happily chalk his misadventure up to sleepwalking and banish it forcefully to his subconscious, if only it would never, ever happen again. He shivered again despite the balmy weather and muffled a yawn behind his hand. Time to go home and get whatever sleep he could before the inevitable disaster of bowling night.

He managed to get home without hitting any potholes. Whatever stormy weather had threatened Vaillant earlier in the week seemed to have passed, and he was treated to a spectacular view of a great blue heron flying low over the road. He even managed a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up and get ready.

He chose his outfit with care, scrutinizing it through Logan's eyes. What would Logan like? What did Logan like? Virgil had no idea about his preference in men or how he slotted into it. Was it his height? His body shape? His eyes? What should he play up to make Logan like him? So Logan wouldn't regret choosing to be with him?

He dithered over this until he made himself late, and chose an outfit that he felt good in: long sleeves, long pants, the reassuring weight of his hoodie on his shoulders.

He kept it zipped up to his neck even after he entered the warmth and light of Vaillant's singular bowling alley, Gator Lanes. His friends were already seated. Waiting. For him.

Despite the wash of guilt, Virgil slowed and surveyed the scene. Patton and Logan sat on one of the low, pleather couches with a pair of bowling shoes between them. That left Roman, Remus, and Janus wedged on the other couch. They all looked like they were getting along, which was good. Roman and Remus were speed-eating French fries while the others talked.

Virgil approached from the back, gesturing for Patton and Logan to be quiet. He didn't miss the way Logan's eyes lit up; it sent a pleasant little rush of adrenaline all through his veins. When he was close enough, he leaned over and stole the pineapple off the rim of Janus' hurricane glass. It was dyed red from grenadine and tasted vaguely of rum.

"It's fine," said Janus, casually flipping Virgil the bird. "I wasn't saving that or anything."

"Guess you'll have to get another one," Remus said.

They started bickering about how drunk was too drunk for bowling night, so Virgil came around to Patton and Logan's side of the table. He kissed Logan hello while Patton explained about the shoes: "They were out of your size, so I got a size down instead of up, because I know you wear those really thin socks and I didn't want you to slip."

"Thanks, Pat," Virgil said. His hand found Logan's, somehow, and he smiled. "I wouldn't have put that much thought into it."

"That's why you have me!"

"Can we start now?" Roman asked, wiggling in place.

Patton stood up to fiddle with the control, and Virgil forced himself to nuzzle Logan's jawline with his nose. He wanted to do it, but the idea of being witnessed while he did so made his skin crawl.

Logan turned his head so they were nose-to-nose and smiled before pulling away. "Do you want me to order you a drink? We were going to, but we weren't sure what you'd want."

Roman threw a straw wrapper at them. "We're just about to start!"

"You're up second, too," Patton said cheerfully, flopping back down on the couch. "I put us in alphabetical order."

"I'll go, then," Virgil said. He squeezed Logan's hand and let go of it, stood.

"Don't forget to put your bowling shoes on," Janus said, eying Virgil's ratty leather ankle boots. Janus himself had somehow done the impossible and matched the colors of his suit to the dull red and blue of Gator Lanes' bowling shoes, making his whole outfit look deliberately tacky.

"When I get back."

"I'll go with you!" Roman got to his feet. "I already know I'm gonna lose. What's one more drink?"

"That's the spirit!" Remus said.

"Ha," said Patton, "I get it."

They turned to go, Roman bumping Virgil with his hip to prompt him forward. "So you and Logan, huh?" he said once they were out of earshot. "How's that going?"

"Fine," Virgil said, feeling the blush crawl onto his face. It was a short walk to the bar, but it suddenly seemed like miles and miles.

"You sure keep things close to your chest, don't you? Didn't say a word to me." Roman crossed his arms and looked sideways at him.

"I didn't think I had a chance!" Virgil exclaimed. "Wait. Did he say something to you?"

Roman winked at him, shushed him, and bellied up to the bar so he could order. Virgil hung back, one hand on his wallet, but Roman waved a hand. "Janus has a tab going," he said, turning back to Virgil.

"Does Janus know he has a tab going?" Virgil asked.

"Uh, yeah, it's not like I stole his card."

"It's not you I'm worried about," Virgil said, thinking of Remus and the moth pin.

"Ugh, you worry too much."

"This shouldn't be news to you, Roman, I have 'Worry Too Much' Disorder." Virgil flicked at his zipper pull. "Wait, so did Logan say anything to you?"

Roman smiled, even laughed a little. "Uh, yeah, he practically asked me and Patton for permission to ask you out. He made us promise not to tell you. Honestly, it was kinda cute how nervous he was."

"Nervous?" Virgil repeated. It was obvious now, but it hadn't occurred to him that Logan had lost just as much sleep over Virgil as Virgil had over him.

A harried-looking bartender popped up behind Roman, slid their drinks over, and vanished again practically before Virgil could force out a 'thank you.' Roman passed him his vodka Red Bull. "Let's go."

"Alright." Virgil sighed. It was probably better not to try to wring the details out of Roman, especially since he'd said that Logan had told him not to tell.

They reached their lane and he scooted in next to Logan, snuggling up a lot closer than was necessary, especially given that Patton was currently up to bowl. "Welcome back," Logan said.

Virgil set his drink on the table and began to change his shoes over. "Having fun yet?" he asked Janus. He was still a little resentful that Remus and Janus didn't think he could be mean anymore. Just because he didn't want to shit-talk Patton behind his back. Sure, Remus had been the one to say it, but Virgil had no doubt the sentiment originated with Janus.

"Sure, I guess there's a sort of primal thrill in hurling a 14-pound ball at a target," Janus said primly.

"10 pounds," Logan said.

Virgil bit down on his lip to hide his smile.

"I'm sorry?" Janus tilted his head.

Logan gestured at the bright yellow ball sitting in the ball return. "10 pounds, not 14." Patton's ball came back, followed shortly thereafter by Patton. "16 pounds," Logan said.

"Pat's strong," Virgil said, elbowing Patton as he sat down. Janus bit down on an ice cube. "By the way," said Virgil, feeling a spark of pure evil manifest inside himself. "Have you guys made cutting boards yet?" To Janus, he said, "It's kind of a tradition."

"I'd heard," Janus said, shooting him a covert dirty look.

Virgil smiled at him and turned to Patton. "Janus would rather die than say so, but I can tell he's excited."

"Oh, good!" Patton said. To Janus, he said "I was actually a little worried you wouldn't want to do it."

Virgil's killing strike was delayed slightly by Remus' reappearance and Roman's subsequent disappearance, and he knew he had to act quickly or Janus would wiggle out of it when Virgil was taking his turn. Remus finally sat and stopped crowing about his spare, which no one had witnessed. Virgil pounced. "Bienvenue is closed on Sundays, isn't it?" he said to Janus, as though the shop hadn't kept the same hours for years. "Maybe you guys could do it then."

"The weather should be clear, too," Logan chimed in. Virgil looked at him, trying to gauge if he had picked up on the game, but his face gave nothing away.

"Works for me!" Patton said. "I'm putting the finishing touches on a coffee table for somebody down south, but I can make time on Sunday."

"Great," said Janus with a plastic smile Virgil knew he usually reserved for difficult customers. The daggers in his eyes promised a thorough bitching-out later, but Virgil didn't even care. So he wasn't mean anymore, hm?

"All you," said Roman, tapping Virgil on the shoulder.

Virgil nodded and took a long swallow of his vodka Red Bull. It was stupid, but walking up to bowl always felt like walking out on stage. He knew full well none of his friends were paying attention and even if they were, their friendly teasing was nothing to worry about. They knew when to stop. But still, his heart quivered as he approached the lane. By sheer luck, he managed not to get a gutter ball, then turned and hovered awkwardly as he waited for his ball to come back.

Logan caught his eye and winked at him, not even pausing in his explanation of the physics of bowling. Virgil smiled back, and suddenly everything seemed that much lighter, that much more bearable. He really had to stop worrying so much.

#ik the aesthetic boards are reminiscent of mid 2000s livejournal fic covers but whatever it's camp and i like doing it #sanders sides #analogical #virgil sanders #spicywrites #spicywrites howl

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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years ago

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Gateway Drug | Part Eighty-Five [PT. 1]

Part Eighty-Five [PT. 2]

Words: 5.5k

Warning(s): explicit language, explicit sexual situations, mentions of drug abuse

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NIKKI

My lawyer looks completely unimpressed with my lack of shoes, shirt, and dignity as he leans back in his chair behind his desk, rubbing his temples.

"It doesn't work like that, Nikki, I'm afraid." He informs me finally, sitting up and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk.

"I was declared dead for two minutes. I died. My wife's technically a widow."

"You can't annul a four year marriage on the basis of 'I died for two minutes.' Some cases of actual death, it can take an act of congress for widow or widower to have an annulment for a marriage where their spouse is no longer alive, legitimately." He explains and I roll my eyes.

"So, what, I just get some divorce papers or something?"

"Unless I declare mental incapacity given that you went through a traumatic series of events within the last twenty-four hours and this could possibly be a very serious lapse in judgement." He argues and I stare at him.

"Stop pulling my dick."

"I'm not 'pulling your dick.' I just don't want you to make this decision and then regret it when your head clears."

I managed to wear him down and by the next morning, he left the papers by Tommy's door after Vince mentioned to me that Viv stayed over there with Tommy and Heather.

When I get home, Karen opens the door and looks at me, wide eyed and confused.

"H-Hey?" She says as I push past her and go to the phone, opting to change my answering machine.

"Hey, it's Nikki." I say. "I'm not here because I'm dead."

Karen just looks at me, astounded, and I go to my room, slamming the door.

I was good and tired and glutton for punishment because I got home that night and loaded up the biggest shot of smack I could muster and pulled the trigger.

I wake up with a sharp pain in the crook of my arm, a needle still in my skin as blood trails my forearm to collect in my palm...Jesus fucking Christ, I've officially lost it.

I take the needle out and force myself up to trudge to the living room to check my messages.

Things like, "You're an asshole," and "that's not funny," tend to be the common theme.

I guess I need to change my answering machine.

I comb through to see if I have anything from Viv.

Now would be a good time to hear her bitch me out for almost making her kill herself--because, lets face it, she's gonna blame it on me, anyway.

Nothing's found, though.

"Fuck, Vivian." I sigh out, sitting on the carpet in the living room, rubbing my forehead as a new message comes on…

"You fucker, you would be the one to fucking OD and die and then get up right after and file for divorce as if she doesn't have enough shit going on, already."

I furrow my brows at the voice.

"Axl the Twat?" I say aloud, confused, as he finishes with, "fuck you, you fucking fuck."

He hangs up and I raise my brows.

Did I die and wake up in a parallel universe? Axl defending Vivian?

Is this hell?

It cuts to the last message.

"Hey, umm...I don't know if you'll get this or not or if…" Vanity. "...I don't know what's going on but I heard something terrible on the radio and I suppose it was true--well, kind of, um…" she sighs. "We're not together anymore and I get that I just hope you're o--"

"Fuck that." I grumble, hitting delete.

I fall back and I look up at myself.

It's fucked that I bought this fucking house for Viv, and she's not even staying in it anymore.

I feel like I promised her so much and haven't given a damn thing to her except reasons to want to throw herself off of balconies.

I look down at my arm, dried blood still on my skin.

I'm fucking tired of this shit.

I let my complete exhaustion of being sick fuel me to dig through everything I own and throw out all of my rigs, any other drugs in my path, and even pour everything to get drunk off of down the sink--even the fucking cooking-wine.

Vivian's somewhere catching the holy spirit, probably, just sensing I'm finally fucking done.

Or she's somewhere in tears over me finally taking the final step to end our relationship.

I feel like it's dead in every way aside from legal.

Whisky's laying by the door, whining when I step over him to go throw the big garbage bag out.

I'd get down there and whine for her, too, but I know this is what needs to be done.

Our entire relationship has just been one giant clusterfuck, and I don't want to put her through the bullshit of having to try to forgive me and trust me, again.

I think I've already stolen enough of her peace of mind.

She'll be happier with Duff, anyway. He's a good guy. A hell of a lot more suited for her than I am.

My hand rubs the back of my neck and I realize I'm still wearing the small crucifix of her's.

I'm tempted not to give it back.

I just sigh and throw the trash out and get back in the house, getting in the shower.

When I get out, I ruffle a towel through my hair, seeing the light blinking on my answering machine.

I go over and try to keep myself from getting too excited at the thought of it being Viv before I hit play on my messages.

"Nikki, it's Doc. I know you feel like horseshit right about now but I need you to come down to the office at 5:00p.m., we're getting you guys together because we need to talk. See you then--preferebly kinda sober and coherent."

Turns out I'll have my ass chewed by Doc before Viv, after all.

I know he came down to the hospital and tore Slash and the guys new ones while I was unconscious.

I'm digging in my garbage for a couple pills to dull down my future shakes that I just know are gonna be coming before sundown.

Despite being not in shape to fucking drive anywhere, I still go because I know if I don't go, Doc will come here and I don't need him here.

It's morbid walking into the office to see Vince, Tommy, and Mick sitting and waiting for me while Doc sits behind his desk.

"Fuck me." I complain out loud, dreading what Doc's about to go on about.

"Sit." Doc tells me and I plop down beside Tommy, sighing, and Doc waits a minute before saying, "I canceled the European tour."

"What?" Vince asks and Mick furrows his brows.

"What the fuck, Doc--"

"--Shut the fuck up and listen." He cuts me off while Tommy nervously shakes his leg. "If you bastards go to Europe, one of you will come back in a body bag. And I'm not gonna be the fucking manager that runs Mötley Crüe into the ground." He states harshly.

"That's a fucking first." I laugh out, meanly, and Doc glares at me. "Guess dead rockstars don't make as much money as alive ones, huh? I coulda told ya that after Razzle--"

"--Nikki." Mick states.

"Where's my wife?" I snap next.

"Oh, the one you so stupidly filed for divorce from without giving me a heads up first? Probably with her friends that haven't put her through the ringer and fucked her over time and time again." He states.

"I didn't know I needed permission to make decisions in my personal life--that have nothing to do with Mötley Crüe."

"Are you two just gonna argue or are we gonna actually talk about why we're here because I have things to do." Vince grumbles.

"Tommy came to me and told me he's thinking about rehab." Doc tells us and I glance at Tommy, who's avoiding looking at anybody. "I'm not taking Mötley Crüe on tour again, in a studio, whatever, until you guys get your act together."

We all look at each other, exhaling, and I rub my lips together.

"Fine." Vince sighs, and Doc looks at Tommy.

He nods.

"Nikki?" Doc asks and I just stare at him.

The guys are gone in a few minutes, leaving just me and Doc and I stand up.

"I wanna see Viv." I tell Doc as he digs through some files, and he looks up and blinks from behind his desk,

"She said she's not seeing you until you get help." Doc states.

"She says that but I bet I could find her tonight and still get her under me in less than three minutes."

"Assuming she's not still under Duff." Doc says and I tense up. "You think I didn't notice how questionably close they got on tour?" He adds.

"She's going through a crisis." I reply.

"Can't imagine why." He mumbles.

"Just tell me where she's at, Doc." I snap.

"You look like shit. You need to go home and get some fuckin' rest because you're all checking in tomorrow afternoon." He adds.

"I'm not going anywhere until I see my wife."

"You mean the wife you filed for divorce from?" He questions and I roll my jaw. "Your wife is resting. You should, too."

1981

I fumble for my key to the apartment, cussing under my breath when I can't get the door opened.

"Motherfucker." I hiss, finally getting it unlocked and shoving it open…

I slam it shut and toss my keys across the room, hearing Tommy and Vince's room door creak open.

Vivian crosses her arms, a scowl on her face, her hair tousled from sleep.

"Could you be any louder?" She snaps, shutting the door behind her, going to the kitchen.

My eyes run up and down her long legs as she heads that way, only in one of Tommy's t-shirts and panties.

Fuck. Me.

I go to grab the bottle of Jack on the counter, taking a sip as she gulps some water down, a droplet escaping the glass as she drinks, rolling down her chin to her neck and I watch it, my burning throat getting dry as I try to pull myself together, my prick starting to push against my pants.

Damnit.

It's like the sane part of myself is trying to slap the hopelessly horny part of me.

She's fucking evil, dude, fuck off, I tell myself.

She's hot.

You hate each other.

I wonder what weird shit she's into in bed.

She's a bitch. You know she's a bitch. Leave her alone.

Oh, I forgot she's supposedly a virgin.

Go to bed, dumbfuck. GO TO BED.

That means I get to watch her experience stuff for the first time.

I end up chuckling, amused at the thought of seeing her pretty eyes roll in her head as pleasure bombards her for the first time.

"What?" She snaps, and I realize I've been staring at her.

I'm about to answer until I get caught up at the sight of her nipples peering through her shirt...fuck me.

"Nikki," she shoves at my shoulder, making me take my eyes off of her chest.

She just scoffs.

"Go touch yourself in the bathroom or something. Jesus." She puts the glass down and walks past me to go back to Tommy's room.

See? Evil.

I ignore the voice of reason and I catch her wrist and stop her, yanking her closer to me.

She looks like a deer in headlights for a minute before I'm grabbing at her hair closest to her neck and pulling her to me, kissing her.

It's a pretty clean kiss, no tongue, no mess, just testing the waters.

She doesn't push me away or beat me up like I always thought she would do, instead, when I pull away for a moment, she takes a breath, wide eyed, before grabbing me by my jacket, pulling me back in.

I'm surprised but I don't let it get in the way, taking lead a little to guide her.

For someone who's never been kissed before (again, allegedly) she's not awful at it like I expected--well, I didn't expect her to be awful because she's never kissed anybody, I expected her to be awful because she's so mean to me.

Her hands push my jacket off my shoulders and I push my tongue past her lips, coaxing a quiet moan from her.

Holy shit.

My hands go to her ass and she grasps at my hair as I pick her up, her legs wrapping around me.

Just to see if we're on a standard starting basis of common interests, I lift one of my hands and bring it back down, not too hard, but hard enough, and she hums, fucking biting my bottom lip and grinding into me a couple times.

I have to keep from creaming my pants just by her moving against me.

You're being stupid, I tell myself, but I can't bring myself to leave her alone now.

She's been the forbidden fruit or whatever for months now and I just gotta have it.

I take her to my room and kick the door shut with my foot, taking her to the shitty mattress on the floor.

I drop her onto it, seeing her in the glow of streetlights.

"Take your shirt off." I say, lowly, and she rubs her lips together and slowly pulls it over her head, her bare chest exposed and my dick's practically throbbing at this point.

I take her crucifix in my hand, and she looks down at it as I lick my lips.

She unfastens it and throws it aside.

I lean down and kiss her again, trailing down her neck, my tongue against her skin and she gasps out a sharp breath, her hands pulling at my shirt.

I take it off and she's sitting up and running her palms over my shoulders, down my chest, and I grasp her around her throat, pushing her back to the mattress and I feel a little shiver go up her spine.

My tongue circles one of her nipples and she lets out bated breaths as I take it between my teeth.

She moans, loudly, and I move my hand to her mouth.

"Shh!" I say. "You're gonna wake them up." I add and she nods.

I do the same to her other breast, with my hand over her mouth, but then I get an idea.

A glorious, completely selfish idea.

I take my hand off of her mouth and smirk before kissing the middle of her chest, one of her top ribs, biting into it, hard, making her scratch at my shoulder while covering her own mouth as a sharp moan is forced from her.

I run my tongue over the bite mark and continue down her stomach, stopping at the top of her panties, glancing at her.

She's still breathing heavy, hands covering her chest, tilting her head to see me.

I run my hand over her clothed core, a little noise coming from her throat, feeling a big wet spot over her cunt.

She lifts her hips and starts pulling them down and I take them and discard them, running my fingertips up the inside of her thigh before I rub my thumb around her clit that's slickened wet.

Her hands jolt to mine between her legs, her back arching, trying her hardest not to be loud.

I tug her to the edge of the mattress, and grab one of her hands, replacing mine with it before I'm looming over her for a moment. "Touch yourself." I tell her, my lips brushing against hers and I can tell she's blushing under the dark of the room. "C'mon, it's hot, just do what feels good." I add, my lips pressing against hers for a moment before I feel her hand move, a delicate gasp coming from her and I pull my lips from hers to watch her face.

Her eyes close, her head tilts back while her other hand tangles in her hair.

I stand up to take my pants off, grabbing at my painfully hard cock when she bucks her hips against her frail fingers.

"Nikki," she says, eyes still shut, head back, and I rub my hands down my face.

We haven't even fucked yet and I can already tell she's gonna make me a fucking idiot.

I get my pants off and run my thumb over my tip and get some precum on it, leaning down and holding it up to her lips.

"Hold your tongue out," I tell her and she opens her eyes and looks at me, before doing as I say.

The pad of my thumb rubs it over her tongue and she lets out a satisfied sigh, looking up at me as I lick her spit off my thumb.

I get back up on my feet for a moment and she gets up and crawls to the foot of the bed, her eyes on my prick, hunger in her eyes…

Nice try, evil bitch, you're not stealing my soul by sucking it through my dick.

I grab her hair and make her look at me.

"Lay down." I tell her and doesn't argue, eyes still ravenous…

I kiss up her kneecap to her thigh, sliding up and up until--

"Oh, fuck!" She whimpers out when my tongue swirls her clit around, getting the first taste of Saint Viv.

My eyes are the ones to roll back, now.

Holy shit.

It's good because she's Satan and needs something to trap you with, that little voice comes back.

Her hands find my hair, her lips find my name and if I don't get ahold of myself, I'll be finding God based on this experience alone.

Apparently she's finding him right now because all she can muster out is, "oh, God."

I find a good rhythm with my tongue, her pussy starting to grind against my face as teasing, little sultry moans flutter through the room.

After a minute I feel her body tense up, and I pat myself on the back as she comes, my tongue lapping at her entrance to get drunk off of her, my hands running over her stomach and thighs.

Vivian claims we just went right into sex without doing anything aside from making out before hand but I distinctly remember going down on her. She must've blacked out once she realized we were about to fool around or something but I remember that happening because it was something I'd dreamed up doing ever since I met her, creepy but honest.

I pry myself from her to grab a rubber behind the head of the mattress, the both of us pulling ourselves up there.

I get it on and turn over, getting on top of her.

She's already hooking her legs around me before I even line myself up with her.

She looks like she's high or drunk, eyes nearly shut, her lip between her teeth, her head tilted slightly, exposing her neck.

I lean down and kiss her neck, her skin damp with sweat and she sighs.

I rub my tip against her opening and she closes her eyes.

I push into her, having to coach myself through because fuck her pussy is tight, and she winces, her mouth opening but nothing coming out. I'm about to ask her if she's alright when she speaks first.

"Take it off." She tells me.

"What?"

"The condom, take it off."

"Are you trying to trap me or something?" I snap at her.

"I wanna feel you." She tells me softly, and I guess it's kinda sweet, or primal, whatever.

I pull out of her and take the condom off, dropping it by the bed before I'm pushing back into her.

We both moan, and I can feel her body stretching to accommodate my entrance, her face showing pain.

I pullout again, but before I can get out completely, she pulls me back in with her legs, letting out a high pitched breath.

More of her juices coat over my cock.

"Fuck, Vivian," I say it, thrusting into her again and she wraps her arms around my back, hugging me to her, and my lips find hers as I push into her again, and again, roughly, the feeling of heaven washing over me each time I go back inside her.

I make her take every inch, forcing myself to fit the last inch and a half despite her body not having room, and she writhes underneath me.

"I think I'm bleeding." She tells me breathlessly and I think she wants me to back off or get off her, but when I go to, she says, "No, keep going, it feels good."

The look on her face is a clear indication that she's into it.

I'm kind of shocked that churchy Vivian is into the same shit I'm into, and I grab her throat, again, and kiss her, our tongues moving together.

"I wanna get on top next." She tells me through moans.

"Why?" I ask.

"I wanna see it." She says and I furrow my brows for a second before I catch on.

I'm rolling off of her and onto my back, my hands running up her thighs and waist when she gets on top of me, and I grab myself as she straddles me, pushing it against her before my hands pull her down onto me.

She screws her eyes shut, as she sinks down to the hilt, her thighs shaking, and I hit her ass cheek as hard as I can and she gets so tight around me I can't pull out until she relaxes.

"You can't do that shit." I tell her harshly, biting back my urge to go ahead and come, and she relaxes a little more as my hands hold at her waist, guiding her movements since she's never done this before.

"Does it feel good?" I ask her, her little moans and whimpers getting me even more hot and bothered.

"Yes," she nods, tipping her head back. "So good."

I look between us, clear view of her pussy taking it, and I sigh.

"It looks good, too." I tell her and she leans down over me, her forehead against my chest as she watches me fuck her for a moment before looking at me, kissing me sloppily, her chest pressing against mine making her sigh when her nipples brush against my skin.

When she pulls away, I'm sticking two fingers in her mouth, taking her by surprise but she starts sucking on them in a second, and I force them down her throat, making her gag, as I start pounding into her, making her nearly shriek out but I gag her with my hand around her throat.

"You're so pretty." I tell her, spit all down her chin from choking on my fingers, eyes nearly shut, my hand around her throat, and I glance down between us, licking my lips. "That pussy's pretty, too." I add and she cries out when my other hand starts rubbing at her clit.

I take my hand from her throat and she gasps for air.

"Nikki, I'm--"

She can't finish.

I roll onto her again, getting on my knees and lift her hips, continuing to hammer into her roughly and her eyes go to the back of her head, as her cum soaks the both of us.

Why the fuck didn't she tell me she can come like that?

I feel myself reaching my own end and go to pull out but she tugs me onto her, kissing me, her legs snaking around me.

At first I don't think she realizes I'm about to blow my kids everywhere, then when I try to pullout, she says, "do it in me, I've heard it feels good."

I look at her like she's crazy because it's something I'd never expect her to say.

"Please, Nikki, let me have it."

I don't have time to argue because I'm finishing with a grunt and a satisfied smile at the sight of tears of pleasure in her eyes before her lids screw shut, her mouth open as a moan leaves her, her body sparking off with shivers.

I let her have it.

"You're a slut." I tell her, thrusting into her a couple more times and she hums at my words.

"Shut up." She says next and I kiss her one last time before rolling off of her.

She pulls the covers over her chest and closes her eyes, tired, and I watch her for a moment.

Okay, she may not be a slut, but I know she's gonna be able to get away with murder and I'm gonna let her because she's fucking Vivian.

I ran myself into my own grave, but heroin and Vivian were major catalysts, but I know I was a catalyst for her own rock bottom, too. We were just too fucking young to know better, I guess. We fell in love and got hooked on playing house without actually stopping to think what all it would look like. Of course, neither of us expected me to be on smack, neither of us expected me to reach the level of stupidity that I reached with Vanity, and neither of us expected her to be conceiving a lovechild while I was next door dying, and I certainly didn't expect to file for divorce first, if at all. I remember that first night together in that shitty apartment got me hooked on her. Not just sex, I actually started listening to what she had to say after that, and wanting to have conversations, and hangout...I fell in love and she made it easy for me to. It was like boiling a frog. Things got worse and worse slowly overtime until BAM! I had Vanity, crack, and junk, and Vivian had Duff and a secret savings account she didn't think our lawyer would get record of. I was pissed, but I knew it was my fault.

All of it was.

I had promised her the world and instead stole everything from her like a life-sucking demon.

She wasn't the evil, manipulative bitch.

I was.

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction #gateway drug

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trans-shuichisaihara · 4 years ago

Text

fake it till (we) make it - Scene 3

it’s been over two years but here we go again

just in case, a warning for brief mentions of internalized homophobia

(read on ao3)

---

Later in the afternoon, his phone rings.

He slows on his treadmill and glances across the room to the offending device, wondering if he should answer. His manager called earlier and chewed him out, so he really isn't in the mood to deal with any more of that. Still, on the off chance that it's something important, he reluctantly hops off and crosses over to at least pick it up and check it.

He's glad he does; the caller ID shows his best friend’s name. Without any further hesitation, he answers the call, pinning his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he grabs a towel to mop up his sweat. “Hey, Shuichi! What’s up?”

There's a brief, shuddering silence from the other side. He waits patiently and is soon rewarded with a meek greeting of “hey, Kaito.” Then, there's an audible swallow. “I hope I'm not bothering you, but... Um, I tried texting, and, um, it didn't look like... Anyway, how, how are you..?”

He hardly pauses to think about Shuichi’s stuttering; that’s normal, after all. “I’m good, sorry I didn’t answer your texts; people’ve been blowing up my phone all day, so I kinda got fed up and just muted ‘em all.” The brief thought about Shuichi’s own reason for calling crosses his mind, but he quickly sets it to the side.

“I, I see.” There’s a long pause. “What, what are they bothering you about? Is... Is it about your Twitter, perhaps..?”

Kaito sighs; guess it was too much to ask for one unrelated conversation. “So you heard too, then.” He crosses the room to his computer desk, spinning around the office chair placed in front of it so he can plop himself down in it.

“Um, well... Kinda hard not to... Kaede said she and her friends were speculating that your account got hacked? And I wouldn’t be surprised if Kokichi can Photoshop, so... So, um, you, you shouldn’t stress too much if that’s the case? I’m sure Sakakura can fix this.”

If only. “Nah, all he’s done is yell at me.” He snorts, shaking his head. “Because, uh, my account wasn’t hacked. That photo’s real, and, uh, well... The caption was accurate..?”

There’s another long pause. “So, you, you and him are..?”

“Dating, yeah.” He remembers the story they agreed to place down. “About two weeks now, if I’m rememberin’ right.” Then, to make it slightly more believable, he edits it to, “Maybe three?”

Shuichi yet again goes silent for a moment. “... That long?” There’s the faintest hint of hurt in his tone, and panic flutters in Kaito’s chest.

“Hey, don’t say it like that. It, uh, it just...” He struggles to articulate his thoughts and trails off.

“Sorry,” Shuichi finally sighs. “I just... Thought you would’ve told me.” He swallows, and Kaito again regrets doing this at all; of course he would’ve told his best friend the second he started dating.

“I, I meant to- I wanted to,” he lies, the words feeling sour as he forms them, “It just, you know, it was something that just happened.” Literally. “Neither of us were sure it was gonna be more than a brief fling, but, well, here we are.” He forces out a laugh that he hopes sounds real enough.

“Oh, I see... Um, I’m happy for you, then?” He sounds unsure, not that Kaito can blame him for that. “Just... Be careful. You know how Kokichi is.”

He definitely knows. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry; I got this.” He certainly doesn’t, but he won’t worry Shuichi with that.

Shuichi doesn’t respond to that, and Kaito changes the topic to something lighter, something that won’t make him feel like his stomach is eating itself. They talk about Shuichi’s band, about the upcoming tour, about both of their workout regiments, about meals they've cooked recently.

By the time Kaito glances at his watch and finds it to be nearing 3pm, he reluctantly ends their call, hoping that the pain he caused Shuichi has been remedied enough. If it was up to Kaito, he would’ve let Shuichi in on what was really going on, but he knows he shouldn’t just tell someone without consulting Kokichi. No matter how much he trusts Shuichi, he knows how easy it is for information like that to spread.

It’s hard enough work keeping a secret between two people, after all.

He sets those thoughts aside as he hops into the shower, washing off the sweat from his workout and mentally preparing for the interview. A week ago, he would've said the questions were going to be about his latest role and those in upcoming films, but he can rightly assume they were scrambling to create a new set of questions at this very moment.

At least he wouldn't be able to complain later about the interview being boring; he's sure he'll have to keep on his toes to avoid screwing anything up.

Once the water is too cold for even him to stand, Kaito hops out and dries off, skipping on styling his hair and going straight to his closet. He scans the line of suits, rolling his choices in his head before settling on his favorite: a rather flashy purple suit that pairs nicely with the bold galaxy patterned tie his grandparents got him. As he begins to tie it around his collar, he stares at his reflection in the mirror.

Will I need to get some new clothes to match Kokichi’s flamboyant style?

As he mulls the question over, he crosses the room to grab his phone to call for Sakakura, pausing when he notices a text from Kokichi - or rather, a series of texts that Kokichi spammed instead of putting everything in one message.

Kokichi: [so boreddddd]

Kokichi: [mom is being]

Kokichi: [SO NITPICKY]

Kokichi: [plz send help]

Kokichi: [ASAP!!!!]

Kaito snorts at the absurdness and opts not to respond. Kokichi knew what he signed up for when he chose to be a lead role in Toujou’s film. He switches to Sakakura and shoots him an “I’m ready” text. As much as he’d rather drive himself and avoid another lecture, Kaito knows that’s not gonna happen.

He idles until he hears the doorbell ring, grabbing a hair tie and pulling his hair back into a quick ponytail as he makes his way to the front door. Juzo Sakakura stands menacingly in the doorway, displeasure creasing every inch of his face.

“In the car,” he orders with a sharp jerk of his head.

Kaito thinks about saying something along the lines of “what, I don’t even get a hi?” but decides against it; Sakakura was already beyond pissed at him and saying anything unnecessary would only make it worse. So, he does as he’s told, trying not to let his own hot-headedness get flared up at the daggers digging into his back. Even when Sakakura makes sure to slam his car door as he settles down in the driver’s seat.

He drives in silence for a few minutes until they hit their first red light. “You understand what you’re doing, right? This is a serious matter that you won’t be able to back out of, even if you decide later on that you’re not going to humor whatever bullshit that Ouma brat’s pulling.”

Kaito crosses his arms. “I’m sure about this. ‘Sides, it was bound to come out eventually that I like men; as much as I don’t want people all up in my personal business, that’s just how life as a celebrity is.”

Sakakura’s fists clench around the steering wheel. “So, you’re really dating him then?”

“Is it hard to believe?” he asks, genuinely curious if it’s as unfathomable as he’s imagining it would be - though he isn’t sure his manager is the best person to ask that question. The people they’re actually trying to fool aren’t so close to them.

“It’s hard to believe anyone would want to date that entitled brat, let alone a guy like you.” Sakakura sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I wish if you had to do this, you would’ve picked someone quieter about shit like this.”

Kaito reads between the lines on that one. “Look, I’ll handle all the media shit about me coming out, so you don’t have to deal with it. You won’t have to make any public statements or acknowledge it, just don’t be an ass about it. Hell, you can quit if it makes you that fuckin’ uncomfortable.”

He clicks his tongue. “It’s not like that. Do whatever the fuck you want, but don’t bring it to work and we’ll be good.”

A disgusting feeling boils in Kaito’s chest, some crude mixture of shame and anger. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but certainly not one he’s felt in a number of years. He refuses to give Sakakura a response, glaring out the window as he talks himself down from acting rashly. He knows he’s pushing a problem to the side that’ll need to be solved before it explodes, but he doesn’t have the patience for this fight right now.

Dammit. While he was initially more worried about how the public was going to react to all this, it was now looking like he should’ve been more concerned about those around him, huh. He’s starting to feel more and more like a fool, and he’s not confident that that’s going to change before the day ends.

#oumota #kokichi ouma #kaito momota #shuichi saihara #juzo sakakura #drv3 #my post #celebrity au #fanfic

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

Text

Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 7: The Hierophant

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ⥽

They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaius still won anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.

They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to him alive. So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means, now would be great!

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

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⥼ Summary ⥽

In Prague, Nadya and the others seek the audience of the most famous name in histories both mortal and vampire. It's probably for the best that she doesn't get her hopes up.

content warnings: language

[READ IT ON AO3]

Prague is cramped roads and buildings of all sizes and heights all mostly the same four or five different earthy, rusty tones. Cobblestone streets and narrow alleys she can’t help but look at even in passing and think, with the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention, there goes another hiding place for something wicked and foul.

That isn’t to say Prague isn’t beautiful. Because it is. One of Nadya’s favorite things about living abroad in college (and only in the very smallest back of her mind in Paris and the other cities they’ve hopped to and from here while on the run for their lives and the very fate of the human race) was all the old architecture she got to walk past every day like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Prague is full of opportunities like that.

In her most Nadya-esque fashion, she chooses to focus on that instead of what may or may not lurk in the shadows. She chooses to look at the beauty and history around her because you don’t see stuff like this every day.

That, and because she knows it doesn’t matter what hiding place she might spot — doesn’t matter whether that alleyway or this abandoned road is empty or not. There are things out to get them — out to stop them — regardless of whether or not she’s lucky enough to catch a glimpse.

That’s just their new reality.

Prague is chillier; a fact not made any better by the fact none of the bodies she can cling to in the cold have an ounce of warmth for her to leech. Prague is also kinda rainy; and more often than not when she has the chance to push back the curtains of their modest hotel room the sky is the same shade of grey it was the day before. That’s totally fine — just add some snow and it’s almost like home.

Prague is also the long-time home of Vlad Tepes, the vampire more popularly known around the world as Dracula.

Don’t forget that bit.

Lily certainly hasn’t.

“C’mon,” she’s brought this up half a dozen times now and it always ends the same way but when has that ever stopped her before, “he can’t really be that bad.” Because she’s convinced herself that Kamilah, Serafine, and Adrian are all being a touch too dramatic when it comes to their biased opinions on the most (in)famous vampire in history.

And part of Nadya is inclined to agree… but it wouldn’t be fair not to take into account how literally none of the aforementioned vampires are prone to excessive hyperbole. So maybe he can really be, well, that bad.

Kamilah simply sighs and continues sipping her wine in idle silence. She stopped entering the discussion early on; probably of the mindset that Lily will see exactly what they all mean when the time comes. Whatever that means.

At this point the only one who will actively engage with her is Adrian. Which says a lot — that’s really out of character for him. “I thought much the same before I met him in person, but the truth is much stranger than the fiction when it comes to Vlad.” He’s said something to this effect every single time, too.

And don’t think Nadya hasn’t noticed how he usually ends up shifting where he sits and-slash-or stands. Or how Serafine is usually there to offer him an affectionate touch in some form or another. There’s a story there, she’s certain of it. But she trusts him to bring it up if or when it becomes relevant to their current dilemma — and if it isn’t then she looks forward to teasing him when the world is safe and Gaius is dust in the wind.

Because it’s important to note that truth and fiction are as different as oil and water when it comes to the man, the myth, the legend. Who apparently did his fair share of noteworthy conquests in his human years and even his first couple of decades as a vampire; but somewhere down the line wound up going from famed ‘impaler’ to something that — based on Serafine’s general description anyway — is shaping in Nadya’s mind’s eye to look something like a cross between Vegas-sensation Mario Bautista and KISS without the face paint.

“There’s something to be said for the measure of success Vlad has been able to attain while living in the heart of the Order’s battleground,” says Serafine almost absently, “but any praise for him should live and die there — even that I find myself questioning from time to time.

“He has been widely reviled from the moment he brought that ridiculous novel to light. Not only for placing us in the public eye but for doing so with such utter… disregard for our truths.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “You’d think spreading a bunch of lies that humans end up believing wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” But everything on Serafine’s face disagrees.

“One might think, perhaps. But if anyone was less suited to such an ill-fitting ego…”

“So he’s got a big head,” Lily shrugs, “what’s the big deal?”

The Big Deal is, apparently, how Vlad Tepes has gone from boasting ass to full-on diva in the centuries that followed. Something Serafine seems to take more than a little personally. “And one could suffer his endless tales when they revolved around little more than himself. When he shifted his focus to the Church of the First things became… complicated.”

Needless to say the entire premise of ‘Vlad Tepes—the Dracula—considers himself to be a prophet for the First Vampire in all but official theophany, and serves as Europe’s go-to for all things related to the devotion of Rheya Herself’ is something Nadya has been struggling to wrap her head around for… this whole time.

Maybe seeing it all with her own eyes will do something about that, she thinks, if only so Lily will finally stop trying to poke and prod for answers their friends don’t seem eager to provide.

Unlikely, but, you know.

“How a person takes in faith is unique to them, and a deeply personal experience. Regardless of their…” Serafine purses her lips for the right words. Or at least ones that are a little more in English and a little less like curses. “… unchecked vanity.

“While I cannot speak with certainty as to whether or not Vlad was a true believer in the ideals of the Goddess, whatever he did feel was enough to earn him a place at Gaius’ side during the pivotal years he spent spreading Her belief.

“What he lacks in all else he makes up for in his ability to sensationalize anything that comes tumbling out of that vacant head of his.”

Which explains the whole ‘singing Gaius’ praises’ thing; the largest source of disagreement when it finally came down to whether or not they were willing to risk it all for what Vlad might know.

And while it was unanimous that they would have preferred to wait and see what more concrete information they could dig up, time isn’t on their side. “Still an awful lot to risk on a mere hunch,” comments Cadence — whose natural affinity for research has made spontaneously vanishing away to Prague more than a little stressful for him.

“I just can’t understand how anyone would even consider believing his claims to have seen the Eternal Tree for himself when there’s literal published proof he’s a pathological liar.”

But this is something they’ve been over, too. Not that Nadya doesn’t totally understand venting the same frustrations in the wake of inaction. But it’s not faith in Vlad Tepes that she has.

Her faith lies in Kamilah. That is more than enough.

“Time and time again I witnessed retribution served by Gaius unto those who claimed to have been touched by the First in some divine form or another. He would not suffer anyone speaking falsely of Her — for good or for ill. Vlad’s claim to have seen the Tree with his own eyes wasn’t exactly kept quiet, yet he remained untouched and, unfortunately, very much alive.”

Which pretty much confirms it’s the one impossible thing he’s actually telling the truth about. This is a good thing!

“And you’re sure you are up to the task, petit?”

Nadya knows Serafine only asks because this is something they can’t do without her. Serafine could try to suss out the truth from him on her own but it would only waste more time.

For once though, Nadya feels… not-as-uncertain as she usually does about these things. She wouldn’t be so bold as to call it confidence, but how hard can one ordinary (fame aside) vampire be after she literally pulled Gaius’ oldest memory out of thin air?

“I am.”

“And if your way doesn’t work, we can always go my route.”

And perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all is how those who would normally oppose Jax’s methods of sword-related threats and violence remain pointedly and purposefully silent. Not that anyone is particularly inclined to draw attention to it.

Just like they don’t draw attention to the way Kamilah tactfully uses the rim of her wine glass to conceal the barest twitch of her lips.

Though none of them are surprised at his offer however, Serafine seems to have outright expected it. She throws him a coy smile across the table; a devious glint in her eye.

“Actually Jax, I’m glad to hear you are up to the task. As what I have in mind will not be possible without your help.”

Sometimes the best plans are the ones that take the most direct route to get to where you’re going. And there’s really nothing more direct than what Serafine has in mind.

The estate is a little under an hour away from Prague itself; swathed in lush and vibrant countryside — or that’s what Nadya imagines. It’s kind of hard for her to see out of the tinted limousine windows as they venture on their lonely road after dark.

Not that the place itself is hard to see. Like a beacon in the night the Tepes manor and surrounding land is lit up in the night. Even with the moon hidden behind roiling clouds the moment their car pulls in and begins ambling up the long gravel pathway they are met with what’s practically a battalion of lamp-posts to show them the way.

All she can think about is how long it must take someone to travel the grounds and light up every single one.

The rest of Vlad Tepes’ lands are hard to see properly. On account of the towering and neatly-trimmed hedge walls that flank their path. “Vlad’s labyrinth is somewhat of a popular novelty,” Serafine explains quietly, “though our heightened senses take most of the intrigue and mystery from the search from start to finish.”

But some well-manicured bushes are nothing compared to the splendor of the actual castle itself. With its sprawling Gothic architecture in spires and buttresses it’s truly everything one would expect when they hear something like ‘the Castle of Vlad Tepes.’

Flickering flames in old stained-glass windows somehow both perfectly preserved and still allowed to age with grace. Not unlike vampires themselves, Nadya thinks fleetingly, and lets herself drink in the passive appreciation of it while she can.

Before something inevitably goes wrong and, much like in the way of Marcel’s castle back home, has her thinking back on it with a sour taste in her mouth.

“I still can’t believe you just called the guy up.”

Jax has barely paid any of it a second glance; not the journey or the destination. He’s stayed in pretty much the same position the entire drive; arms never uncrossing from his chest and, to literally no one’s surprise, with his sword never leaving his lap.

“How would you rather I have gone about arranging this little parley then, hm?”

The two vampires stare one another down in silence. Suddenly the cabin feels a lot more cramped and heated than it did just a moment ago. Nadya tugs at the collar of her shirt in discomfort.

“I’m not saying I had a plan, but if I’d had time to make one it wouldn’t be walking through his front door.”

But the younger’s irritation only seems to amuse Serafine, who purses her lips into a thin line to keep from smirking at him too obviously.

“Ah, oui. I suspect you would have gone looking for a secret entrance of some kind… perhaps a sewage tunnel by which to secret yourself in and out undetected?”

Jax just shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t.”

“I can.”

Two words and just like that all the mirth is sapped from the air around them. Nothing fills the void left behind; it stays hollow and empty with foreboding.

“If such a passage did exist, which I can assure you it does not, would the Order not have used it long ago in much the same way?” She raises a single eyebrow at Jax, continuing before he has a chance to answer her.

“While your modern methods are indeed a fresh eye on an old war, Jax, they seem to blind you to the full scope of the kind of life we have lived here for all these centuries. Safety is but a fleeting dream to us. No shadow goes undisturbed for signs of the enemy. Every shelter — from a boarded-up chapel on the wayside to a sprawling manor house such as this — has been deemed safe only after proceeding with the utmost caution.

“Even someone as brazen as Vlad would not dare risk his own life by doing anything else.”

Nadya swears she can hear Jax’s teeth grind in his set jaw. That may be the gravel under the tires though.

The limo starts to slow down as they pass through a break in the hedges to reveal a wide arcing roundabout that stops just shy of the castle’s imposing front doors.

“So what you’re saying is if this goes to shit tonight there’s really no escape plan, huh?” Jax finally asks, and with a much softer voice than either Serafine or Nadya would have expected.

It makes the vampiress throw him a sympathetic look. One he pointedly ignores, but when has that ever stopped her before?

“Have you such little faith in my charming disposition?”

It’s a meager attempt to lighten the somber mood at best, but it’s enough to at least ease his suddenly white-knuckled grip on the sheath of his katana.

“More like a lack of faith in your judgment.”

“Inspired by?”

“Whatever the hell you see in Raines.”

It’s as though the driver has been taking his sweet time waiting for a break in their tension to finally get there. Which can’t possibly be the case; since the partition has been up from the moment they pulled away from the hotel and the ones they left behind… can it?

He cuts the engine abruptly. Something about the reigning silence makes Nadya’s heart start to inch its way up into her throat. Jax, sitting closest to her and no doubt hearing the spike in her pulse, reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

“You okay there?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug, glad when he doesn’t drop his hand. “Situationally or existentially?” The joke, unfortunately, doesn’t quite land.

“At least this one is above ground.” He tries to reassure her. But apparently neither of them are allowed the luxury.

“The parts you can see…” Serafine says; her last words before the door opens to signal their arrival.

The night air is cold and makes Nadya’s eyes water as she steps out between her companions. She would have rather had Kamilah or Adrian at her side but that just wasn’t possible.

Serafine had made a point that couldn’t be denied. Between Kamilah’s assumed death and Gaius’ known ability to hold a grudge longer than most modern civilizations had been around, those two were pretty much screwed if anyone just so happened to recognize them.

With Antony and Isseya off the radar since Kamilah’s return and none of them having any hint or clue as to whether or not Gaius had started extending his reach overseas yet, they were better off housebound (metaphorically speaking) for the time being.

As it is they’re risking enough bringing Jax along, but apparently the fact he hadn’t made “much of an impression” on Gaius, to put it in Kamilah’s own words, was to their benefit. They were playing safe over sorry with Lily and her newly-acquired quirks too.

It was easy to write off the fact that Serafine hadn’t even allowed Cadence to volunteer before shooting him down as being, well, Serafine and Cadence being Serafine and Cadence. But there’s still a lot they don’t know about whatever had happened to their friends when the group split up — whatever it was though was enough to ease that tension in ways nobody would have expected.

“The intention is to meet with Vlad as quickly as possible, and ideally without arousing suspicion from him or any who might be in his entourage.” Serafine had explained. “Seeing as Cynbel of the Trinity has been famously dead for over a century now, seeing him suddenly reappear in the midst of Gaius’ ascension might as well be the definition of suspicious.”

The argument was fair and valid and lucky for them to have that kind of forethought, honestly. But when Nadya thinks back to the vague air of their talk back at Ahmanet in London and pairs it almost absentmindedly with the way Serafine and Kamilah exchanged a long and almost nervous glance at one another when Cadence’s back is turned…

Let’s just say at this point she’s just waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Or the other-other shoe. Like the kind of shoe an octopus might wear or something.

All of that and only Nadya is left; always the odd one out. But the Bloodkeeper can’t not do this, so what choice does she have?

They just have to hope Kamilah was right when she assumed Gaius would want to do everything in his power not to let Nadya’s name and face spread too far or wide. That he wouldn’t dare run the risk of someone else getting to her before he could.

Neither option appeals, for the record. But at least she’s not the only one risking her neck.

The driver gestures for them to wait at the base of the castle steps, letting them know they will be shown in shortly. He doesn’t linger, job completed, and soon Nadya is throwing a glance over her shoulder to catch the bright red tail lights before the car disappears back around the hedge line and out of sight.

Serafine’s hand comes down in between her shoulder blades somehow both heavy and comforting. A simple touch that eases the tension beginning to knot there that Nadya hadn’t even realized existed.

“Your heart is racing, Nadya,” she states the obvious with a gentle smile of her own, “we may be able to account his notoriety for your nerves but please… try to control your breathing.”

She nods, wide eyed, and swallows through her dry throat before inhaling deeply through her nostrils, holding, and letting it out as a warm breath on her lips. In, and hold, and out, and in, and hold, and out several times before she glances and sees the tiniest nod of approval from the vampiress.

“You’re pretty calm, given everything.”

“Why would I not be?” asks Serafine in obvious surprise. A little too sincere, in Nadya’s opinion.

“The way you’ve been talking about him sounds a lot like you guys aren’t old friends.”

Her rouge-tinted lips purse wryly. “No, I would not associate myself with him so plainly.”

“Then why did he agree to meet with you?”

A fair question, too. One that has Jax listening attentively even if he doesn’t look away from the doors still not yet opened to greet them.

Given the gravity of the situation, Nadya’s grateful that the woman doesn’t seem to need the time to carefully choose her words on this. Hopefully that means she isn’t sugarcoating it.

“The truth is that I did not reach out to him, but rather chose to finally accept a long-standing invitation.”

“Invitation to what?”

Serafine’s answer is drowned out by the sudden opening of the front doors; old heavy wood on ornate hinges designed more with the aesthetic in mind. Their harsh squeal cuts into the trio’s ears and makes Nadya flinch violently.

Soft yellowing light spills out into the night. A haze that stretches down the stone steps and all the way to where they stand gathered on the gravel. Nadya quickly throws the back of her hand over her eyes as she blinks away hazy colorless dots in front of her sight.

It’s just one big gaping hole of uninterrupted brightness… until a shadow starts to cut a long path through the din. It stretches longer and longer until it nearly reaches all the way back near the break in the hedges; a towering figure that, once her eyes adjust to the new lighting, doesn’t quite match the reality that stands before them.

“As I live and breathe — what be this vision before me? It could not be the captivating sight of one Serafine Dupont, surely!”

There’s so much to unpack there but Nadya’s brain is already frozen and buffering on account of the singular thought that consumes her entire being.

Those are some tight leather pants.

The fact that Vlad is wearing all black only adds to the formidable, if shapely, shadow he cuts across the front path. He gestures widely and exuberantly and with no small amount of purpose; the kind of motion that makes sure his large billowing sleeves move in precisely the right way and give him the perfect amount of flair.

Even without the combined warnings from Kamilah and Serafine prior to this exact moment, Nadya’s certain this first impression is all it would take for her to know exactly the kind of man Dracula is.

A one-hundred percent unrepentant drama queen.

Neither Jax or Nadya miss the sight of Serafine quickly steeling herself. How she tucks away any lingering distaste (though maybe it’s the whole psychic-connection thing but Nadya swears it’s not that hidden if she can still feel the remnants of it) and slips on what could very well pass as a genuinely sincere smile for how natural it looks.

Oh, she’s good.

“Vlad,” she coos, somehow both a greeting and an endearment both with one meager syllable. “I see the years have remained kind.”

With his hands on his cocked hips Vlad lets out his own rich bellowing laugh. The kind that has Nadya looking subtle as she can over her shoulders to see if there really is anyone able to hear him waiting in the shadows; witnessing them all like a permanent audience for his constant theatrics. Her senses may be perilously human but Jax doesn’t seem to notice anything off… hopefully he’s got a better grasp on their surroundings while their host holds Serafine captive with a gaze.

“Whereas you, my exquisite creature, look absolutely radiant. Perhaps even glowing as much as I am!”

The ‘Count’ is definitely younger than Serafine, which makes his comment more than a little suspect. About as suspect as the fact that he hasn’t moved from his place at the top of the steps… nor has she moved from her place here below.

They’re having a good old-fashioned stand off. Each one waiting for the other to yield their ground and move things along. But it’s different between the pair of them, that much is obvious.

Vlad shifts on the heels of his boots with an expectant lilt to his smile. He’s used to being greeted with respect and reverence — which Serafine isn’t not giving him — but it means he makes others come to him.

And everyone (Vlad included) knows quite well that Serafine only does what she wishes and nothing more. Hence the way she stands graceful, calm, and poised. Hands folded lightly over the bodice tight against her blouse.

She tilts her head to the side so gently her hair falls around her shoulder in a dark pillowing cloud.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks bemusedly, “aren’t you going to come give us a kiss?”

With his hand forced and no time to find a reasonable way to turn the tables Vlad has no choice but to acquiesce. “Of course, of course!” Then he’s skipping down the worn stone steps two at a time, the rhythm of his heels following him all the way down. “I just needed a moment to take all of you in, darling. Alive and well and vibrant as ever.”

He embraces his fellow survivor with open arms and a kiss to each of her cheeks.

Another good reason Adrian didn’t come with, Nadya finds herself thinking — the only distraction she can muster to keep from cringing at how he gets a little too friendly on her face with his lips, we need Vlad alive after all.

And after that display… that might have been something up in the air.

Vlad coaxes Serafine back to hold her at arms’ length; only he doesn’t actually let her go. Some small attempt to reconcile his failed power play, maybe.

It doesn’t matter. Just as she did before Serafine breezes her way through anything he might do to her — a simple gesture and roll of her shoulders to adjust her hair has Vlad all but staggering back like she’s thrown him backwards with all of her strength.

“You say such things as though they may have been in doubt.”

His recovery is a meager and tight-lipped smile. “My ears on the ground have a lot to say about changes abound on your side of the continent. Absolute chaos, from what I’m told.”

Tension ripples through Jax and has his hand drifting to the sword affixed to his belt. Nadya throws him a worried look; all wide eyes and silent pleas, but from the looks of it she didn’t need to bother.

They might as well be invisible for all the attention the famed vampire gives them. Not when he has whatever old grudge fuels the calculated exchange between himself and Serafine to put his energy into. But never in her life has Nadya been more glad to be considered chopped liver.

Serafine doesn’t immediately answer. The inaction makes Vlad’s eyes flicker in ruby shades of delight; makes his smile grow wider and a little more meaningful — he thinks he’s won somehow.

“Surely you know of what I speak,” hand over his heart and eyes downcast in cheap, tacky grief, “as I can’t begin to imagine why you wouldn’t have been in Paris during the Dark Solstice. A morbid affair, from what I’ve heard. Almost no survivors to speak of.

“Save yourself, of course.”

Tension crackles between the vampires like electricity. It amps up the long pause that lets his words settle in like a rot; one he’s content to let spread so long as he can’t see it, or as long as nothing of his is damaged by it. Though if he lets it fester everyone’s gonna succumb eventually… or some other metaphor like that.

“You’ve always given credence to such boisterous tales, Vlad.” The woman replies a mite too calmly.

“You deny the Order has reared its fearsome head on your side of the continent?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did not say otherwise.”

“No…” Her voice trails into something soft; hand coming up the brush the back of her knuckles over the high arch of Vlad’s almost alabaster cheekbone. He could bat her hand away, step out of her immediate reach; anything to abate the way he’s shaking very obviously now in his boots. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch.

He just takes it.

Topped with the cherry pink of Serafine’s angelic smile.

“No I did not.”

And just like that she’s restored some sort of hierarchy between them. One that existed long ago and that Vlad Tepes had apparently forgotten in the intermission that followed. There’s less fear in him when he finally relaxes, when she lowers her hand to clasp his with a gentle little squeeze. But there’s a difference between showing fear and being afraid.

Serafine continues with a newfound confidence. “But your concern warms my heart, old friend. Such as my heart warms to know that with our differences aside we can remember the one thing that binds us. That which is more important than anything else.

“By the Will of the Goddess.”

She takes their joined hands and twists them gently. The darkened copper of her skin in stark contrast to his as she coaxes his palm facing upwards.

Nadya watches intently. She wonders for a moment if Serafine intends to draw blood from the bright vein under her thumb… but it passes over like a kiss and nothing more.

“By the Will of the Goddess,” Vlad repeats — far more winded than he had been mere moments ago.

To Serafine’s left Jax shifts on his boots restlessly. Not that anybody asked but Nadya’s seriously impressed with him right now; given his track record with these kinds of things the fact that he can resist rolling his eyes and looking for all the world as though he’d rather take his way through this in favor of the bare minimum of neutrality is worthy of some serious accolades.

Not that he gets any. But Serafine can take a hint.

“Vlad, ma puce, let us move this inside, shall we? I’ve yet to introduce my delightfully stoic American friend here; and he’s been so patient with us hasn’t he?”

It isn’t hard for Jax to pretend to be utterly disinterested in Vlad as the man finally seems to acknowledge his presence — simply because he’s not even pretending. But Vlad had been; that much is obvious. As he looks the younger vampire over with a lazy enough eye.

One that makes it abundantly clear that he had noticed Serafine was not alone; but that he simply didn’t see why he ought to make the effort to care.

“American you say,” — oh of course he says it like that; snooty upper crusty and like he’s actively trying to get Jax to put him at the top of his hit list; maybe even higher up than Gaius at this point — “how… bold of you.”

But his attitude aside, it’s impossible to miss the shift in the way Vlad’s eyes rake over Jax to take him in fully and as a person, less like a piece of Serafine’s luggage left aside.

His eyelids lower a fraction, likes like smoldering embers as he drags his gaze up to finally take in Jax’s handsome features through thick lashes. If there was any doubt left as to what the man’s mind conjures up with the sight before him — there really isn’t though — that’s pretty much dashed the moment he swipes a hint of his tongue out to wet his lower lip.

“Yes, bold indeed…”

Before he can say anything else there’s a loud noise from just beyond the castle doors. A heavy thud that sounds an awful lot like heavy furniture or something else being dragged across a floor.

Jax’s shoulders sag in visible relief as the sound jostles Vlad out of his thoughts and back to the present. He turns back to Serafine.

“Yes yes, do come inside! The American too, I suppose… You can even bring your little snack.”

It takes Nadya entirely too long for her to realize she is the snack. That doesn’t sit well, to be honest.

But it’s the first time Vlad’s even acknowledged her existence and… it’s a little underwhelming if she’s being honest. Not that she wants to earn Vlad’s attention in any form — especially with how touchy-feely he’d been with Serafine — but maybe by this point she’s just gotten so used to strange reactions from vampires that being completely and utterly ignored is… a whole lot of strange for its own reasons? If that makes sense?

It does make sense, if Serafine’s face is anything to go by. How she darts a quick look between Vlad and Nadya and just barely manages to wipe the confusion from her face before it becomes something worth noting.

It could be worse… so she counts her blessings.

Without further pleasantries the man takes long strides back up the steps. He assumes they will follow right at his heels, and they do. Though if the looks shared between the three of them are any indication nobody is feeling as confident about this whole mess as they did before they exited the car.

And they can’t even mention it. What with the whole vampires having supersense-hearing and all.

Vlad doesn’t stop at the top of the stairs. He continues striding right on through the doorway and immediately he’s met by an attendant on either side. Each face is pretty in the way model runways are pretty; with a sharpness to their features that makes them look almost feline and, these two at least, with some kind of gold-colored highlighter that accentuates the sharpness of their umber skin in the distant candlelight.

One steps behind him to catch the suit jacket he shrugs off of his shoulders, while the other who places a fresh glass of a brown liquor in his waiting hand.

“I hope you can forgive the mess of the place,” Vlad pauses to sip his drink and thanks one of the pretty faces with a knuckle stroked along their long throat. They remain impassive to the act but the intimacy can’t be denied.

“You know how crazy things can get when planning the social event of the year and all that.”

Only it’s not a mess so much as it is just a bit… bustling. From the front walk Nadya’s human hearing hadn’t caught onto the noises coming from inside the place but seeing it all now she’s considering getting her hearing checked.

One would expect an estate that looks like that on the outside would be no less decorated within, but decorated is pretty much an understatement. Though if anyone were to make sure any place they lived was decorated to the nines regardless of the time of year it would be Vlad.

Despite knowing that, the hectic bustle of bodies between propped open grand doors and up and down a staircase that branches off on three of the castle’s main floors, though the staggering height of the place from afar tells her there are more levels than what she sees here.

Everything is decorated with the kind of taste that comes from old and inherited wealth and is topped off with a modern edge.

Banisters roped with thick twines of velvet in various shades of reds and golds and what look like real diamonds acting as little more than baubles dangling from the tassels at the hems; furniture scattered around the large foyer in plush cushions and couches that look at first like the genuine antique but on second glance are gold-inlaid replicas built with modern crafting techniques and with longevity in mind.

Another thud comes from a handful of attendants moving a large chaise from one side of the hall through another doorway.

On the ground floor there’s a giant ladder propped up against the far left wall and an attendant balancing atop it. They hold themselves perfectly still, almost delicate, while they secure dark nearly blood-red ribbons around the bottom rungs of a chandelier. They must be nearly done, judging by the same material already wrapped around the chain securing it to the ceiling, and the dark color of the fabric dulls the light and leaves the room hazy both from the continuous heat of the flames that don’t quite permeate the thick texturing.

By the time this place — or this space at the very least — is done being decorated it will certainly be beautiful. But it will be a dark kind of beauty — gothic in a way.

Exactly the kind of event decorations you would expect from Count Dracula; but there’s a respect to be had for the fact he leans into the aesthetic with gusto.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Tepes,” praises Serafine through a hitch in her throat. She’s looking around the foyer with a wistful kind of wanting; a small sparkle held in her eyes that has nothing to do with the lavish decor and everything to do with the invisible hand squeezing her heart up into her throat.

Given recent events especially, the vampiress is no stranger to grief and longing.

And Vlad beams like the way she speaks is more of a compliment than the words themselves.

“Only the best for the best of us, as I’m sure you remember.”

“All your earlier words about the Order, yet you insist on throwing your bal masqué.”

“It is specifically because of these troubling times that we must continue with our most important traditions, Serafine!” He feigns shock with a hand on his chest. The ice in his tumbler tinks together delicately in his grasp. “I thought you, of anyone, would agree.”

He’s goading her and getting more obvious in how he does it by the second. She’s taken it with grace up until now but there’s a tight edge to her tone starting to chip through her armor.

“Tradition, in times of war, can be put aside if that’s what ensures it has chance to be continued.”

“When are we not at war? The Order is no less vicious now than it was before…” He stops and sips his drink again. Casting a passive appraisal around the continued decorating.

“Unless,” with a click of his tongue, “there is a different war you speak of.”

Nadya doesn’t know what’s scaring her more right now; the fact that Serafine had let something that dangerous slip to begin with or the fact that Vlad had caught on so easily. She risks a look at him out of the corner of her eye… much to her relief his sights are still set on Serafine.

An easy grin curls his mouth. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment; let me make sure the parlor’s been made to greet us.” And when he takes his leave of them off to the right and around a set of double doors there’s a saunter to his gait that wasn’t there before. His smugness lingers in the air like a bad perfume.

The moment he’s out of earshot Jax rounds on Serafine with barely-restrained frustration.

“What the hell are we playing his games for? We don’t need to do any of this to find out what he knows.”

With pursed lips Serafine continues to watch the preparations taking place around them. Jax’s frown deepens.

“Serafine.”

“I heard you Jax, don’t worry.”

But that’s still not an answer. Before he ends up raising his voice even more, Nadya reaches out and lays her hand over Serafine’s where she wrings her fingers together at her waist.

“Serafine…” If only she didn’t sound as worried as she is; as the woman’s continued silence makes grow inside her. Serafine doesn’t push her away, but she doesn’t seem welcome to the touch either.

She finally lets her head hang with a weary sigh. “I had thought that given all that transpires around us, Vlad might have chosen to postpone this for the sake of his own safety.

“If not because of Gaius, then because of the Order.”

“Because they’ve been attacking more often, you mean.”

She nods. “But that’s assuming far too much of him. Cunning though Vlad may be, he isn’t very bright.”

“He’s certainly…” Jax’s growl drips with venom, “something.” Nothing good.

“So are we keeping with the plan?”

Squeezing the woman’s hand is enough to finally wrench Serafine’s attention back to Nadya. “No, we are not.”

Jax tenses. “Why the hell not?”

“Because this —” Nadya’s hand falls to let her offer a sweeping gesture to the foyer’s decorations, “— his bal masqué? It changes things. It changes everything.”

She says it in a way that has Nadya feeling like she’s missing a few key facts. She and Jax exchange equally confused glances, and make Serafine sigh heavily for it.

“There’s too much to be explained here. We must leave while we still are able.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he knows who you are, Nadya.”

It’s like a large gust of wind blows out every candle in the room. Not literally — but the warmth of them is sucked from her bones easily enough. It leaves Nadya feeling hollow as much as she is cold; makes her wrap her arms around herself like that will somehow protect her. She shakes her head slowly… but the disbelief isn’t as intense as she would have hoped it to be.

“But he —”

“— is a performer before he is anything else,” interrupts Serafine; and she’s not wrong. “While he may not have guessed you would be at my side tonight, he has likely known your face and who you are for as long as Isseya and Antony have.”

“So Gaius has been in contact with him then.”

Serafine doesn’t even have to give Jax a verbal response.

“Then we need to go. We need to leave the city; regroup somewhere else.”

“We’ll take our leave of him tonight, yes… but—” —there shouldn’t be any ‘buts’— “—we will be back. We’ll be here for the bal masqué, with the others; and, Goddess-willing, better prepared.”

Uhm… what?

“Why the hell would we do that?” And Jax just barely manages to check his volume, though he’s no less angry. “It’s a party for fucks’ sakes. What’s the big deal?”

“Not here.”

The swordsman throws a look over his shoulder towards the doors Vlad should be coming back through any minute now. “He’s not just gonna let us leave. Especially if —”

Especially if he knows.

But Serafine seems to think otherwise.

“He will. He knows we’ll return; I would even hazard to say he is counting on it.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Unsurprising.”

Before he can try and push the issue Serafine wraps a strong arm around Nadya’s shoulders and all but shoves her towards Jax. “Take her and go. I will deal with Vlad and give you what time I can.”

He just barely manages to catch Nadya before she falls into him. Reaching out to steady her and make sure she has her feet before rounding on their companion. “What the he—”

But he’s too late. Serafine is already five long strides away — far enough that he’d need to raise his voice to catch her. And they both know he won’t take the risk in alerting Vlad’s house staff. They’ve all been dutifully working this entire time, but if the woman dusting picture frames or the couple laying down ornate Persian rugs are anywhere as deceptive as their boss they may be ready to strike at any time.

That thought does not sit well with Nadya’s meager dinner.

“We should try and leave.” While we still can.

His jaw visibly tenses, but already he’s starting to slowly nudge the pair of them back through the open doors. “Fine. But she and I aren’t done with this.”

They catch the distant sound of Serafine’s laugh just as they walk through the doorway. The cold bites Nadya’s hands and face harder than before but sheer panic is more than enough to keep her putting one foot in front of the other. When they’re out of the building and back in the darkness, Nadya and Jax don’t hesitate to pick up the pace. Any faster when they hit the gravel and they’ll be full-on running into the night.

Well… they are running into the night. That’s the point.

“What’s with all the vampires on this freaking continent and the fact they can’t give a straight answer to save their lives?”

“Well they can’t all be like you.”

At the glower he gives her Nadya just barely manages a smile through chattering teeth. It definitely helps her feel less panicky.

“And that means what exactly?”

“They can’t all be bold Americans, obviously.”

Jax groans, fully under-appreciating her brand of awkward humor, and takes Nadya’s hand to bring her along as he speeds away.

#bloodbound #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #kamilah x mc #jax matsuo #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #serafine dupont #vlad tepes #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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