#but that's all the more reason they're sticking right beside him

[silverskye13]

Hello! I was just wondering but what would happen if Tanguish died for the last time/was running out of time right in front of Helsnight?

Good afternoon! You seem possessed of the desire for heartbreak! This made my hands shake to write, so thank you for that! If you need me I will be pretending it's the coffee jitters!

Helsknight has seen this before. It's been awhile since he's felt it so closely, though. The fainting. The listlessness. The lost time. He's seen it all before. Dead eyed paladins wandering like sleepwalkers through their tasks. The strong made weak by the jaws of the universe as they're eaten away. The long sleep. The watch for waking. The hopeless vigil. The waiting, waiting, waiting, for inevitability. The knowledge that soon, inexorably, like the setting sun, night was falling.

The sun would never rise again, and there would be no stars.

To be swallowed whole by something that doesn't care, that doesn't notice, what it's taking.

Tanguish sleeps more than he wakes now. He looks deceptively peaceful, laying there in bed. Helsknight moved him from the couch weeks ago. He deserves comfort. He deserves peace, and warmth. He deserves... Well. He deserves better. Helsknight can't give him better. Even if he knew what to give, he couldn't bring himself to leave Tanguish's side. Not anymore.

"I would fight the Universe for you if I could," Helsknight tells him, kneeling beside the bed during one more of those long, silent, lonely vigils. He has Tanguish's hand cupped in both of his, the scarred knuckles pressed to his lips. Helsknight doesn't cry. He never cries in front of Tanguish. It feels rude. Disrespectful. This isn't about him. If anything he is just a helpless bystander. He is not to be comforted. "I would pry back the jaws of the Universe if I could reach them in a way that mattered. You know I would."

Tanguish doesn't respond. He's been asleep for a long, long time. Helsknight knows the pattern. The ebb and flow. The drowning slip. Last time it took Tanguish days to wake. He doesn't think this time there will be a waking, but he waits for it anyway. All he has left now is the hope, however fleeting, to see those eyes flutter open, the tired smile and soft voice. Tanguish saying reasonably, as though Helsknight were making a big deal about nothing, "Why are you still here? I'm alright, Helsknight. You don't have to wait for me."

They talked about it, in that rare glimmer when Tanguish was lucid. Helsknight had explained what he knew of what was happening, what he'd seen. He explained the sleep would last longer. That if Tanguish didn't get himself killed, the Universe would simply take him one day, quietly, in his sleep. Tanguish had seemed relieved. He didn't want to die painfully. This was the best possible scenerio for someone who feared hurt and wounding. To slip away, unnoticed, uncaring. It had been a soft conversation, and it had taken all of Helsknight's strength not to be angry. Not to rage in the face of fear and loss. He wanted to be kind for Tanguish. He wanted his friend to leave thinking everything would be okay. He wanted him to feel loved, and looked after, and like the world would mourn his passing but not be broken by it.

This time, there will not be a waking. Helsknight can feel it in his bones. It makes his heart sick. He feels like, if he convulsed hard enough, his soul might vomit, riot out the tangle of emotions he has long grown weary of feeling, that stick in his ribs like claws.

This time, there will not be a waking.

[Tanguish always hated being a burden.]

Helsknight was broken. He sighed a lot. There was something wrong with his stomach and chest, like if he exhaled deeply, smoke and despair would come spooling out of his lungs. He wished he could purge the empty ache buried inside him, calm the nervousness of mourning. There was a little animal inside him that wanted to run, which felt his pain and fear and said something fatal must be happening, and fight or flight should move him to self preservation.

He couldn't bring himself to leave the house. Every moment they had left felt stolen.

Besides, he could run for the rest of his life and never outrun this. He could slay every god and saint in hels and it wouldn't change a thing. Impotence was a poison in his soul.

He felt sick.

"I'm sorry I couldn't fix it," Helsknight whispered, kissing Tanguish's hand gently. "I would have tried harder. You know I would have."

Tanguish had asked him, in one of those rare, lucid moments, not to bother Tango. Just let it happen, he'd said, brushing strands of hair out of Helsknight's face. It's okay, I'm not afraid.

Helsknight didn't know what time it was. He stopped caring about things like that awhile ago.

He kissed Tanguish's knuckles again, and wished he could pour his own life through his skin. Tanguish's hand was warm in his, he'd been holding it so long. It felt stupid, but he spent a lot of time washing his hands now. His hands and his hair. He put on lotion, and honey-scented oils, because Tanguish told him once his sealing wax made him feel safe, and this was the closest smell to it that he had ready. Every time Tanguish woke, he wanted him to be held in kind, gentle hands. To card his fingers through clean, soft hair. To smell safety and comfort. Helsknight kissed Tanguish's knuckles again. It was all he could do. It was all he could do.

Time crawled by like a wounded animal. Helsknight sat very still. He kissed Tanguish's hand when it seemed necessary, the gentle brush of lips against fingers that never moved. Sometimes he would press his thumb to Tanguish's pulse just to remind himself he was still alive, only sleeping. He didn't cry. He said only kind things; whispered poetry, soft platitudes. When his helpless anger abated and left him hollow, in the ebbs and tides it lived in, he prayed. They were hopeless, stupid prayers. He didn't know what to pray for anyway. Only the repeated mantra please, please, please, begging for his Saint to listen to... Something. Please save Tanguish. Please end the waiting soon. Please don't make Helsknight suffer the waiting alone. Please, if he must suffer this, take the feelings away. Take the pain away. Make it stop. Make it stop...

Helsknight knew he fell asleep only because he woke up hours later, and when he woke, he was alone. The bed was empty, blankets barely disheveled. Still, Helsknight was filled with the half-mad thought that Tanguish had woken and crept past him, leaving him to sleep. Helsknight got to his feet, joints protesting after so long waiting in stillness.

"Tanguish?" Helsknight called into the empty room, searching every corner, as though he would be hiding. "Tanguish you shouldn't be up by yourself. Where--?"

Helsknight rubbed sore eyes and walked into the living room. He felt disoriented, not all there, like he'd woken from a bad dream. His mind dragged behind his body, thoughts tilting haphazardly through sleep and stress. He was exhausted. Had he not been sleeping lately? Gods. It was hard to remember.

Helsknight looked quietly around the living room, suddenly confused as to why he'd come in here. He was looking for something... right? Something important. His hands were shaking. He felt sick. Something very, very important. His stomach twisted in knots. His chest hurt. Was he having a panic attack? Why in hels was he having a panic attack?

"I need to lay down," Helsknight said to no one, because no one else was here. When had he gotten into the habit of talking to himself? His chest hurt. He felt sick. He wanted to cry. What the fuck was wrong with him?

[Lost something. Lost something.]

Helsknight stumbled back into his room, his mind a hazy mess. His bed was an oasis of calm in a storm. He needed to lay down. He felt raw and wounded, like someone had reached hands inside him and started pulling out entrails. It was a despair so thick he wanted to vomit. He placed his hands on the bed, steadying himself, trying to convince himself if he could just crawl in--

The bed was cold. Colder than was normal. A tear rolled down his cheek. He could cry now. He was allowed to cry now. No one was here to see.

Why would someone be here? Why would he even need to cry? Helsknight rubbed at his face, and he searched his bed, his nightstand, for anything that made sense.

A little black stone, obsidian, hard to carve and harder to break. There was a name carved there that wasn't his. Memories that had been floating away like fading dreams, fast into the jaws of the void, slammed back into him so hard he staggered. It was a blow that should have killed him. He'd felt gentler wounds from blades in the Colosseum.

Helsknight's reaction was immediate. His breath left him, half gasp, half groan. And he was sobbing, great, wracking, gasping sobs that were halfway screams. Helsknight grabbed the little stone, carved with Tanguish's name, and clasped it to his chest. He clung to it like it could somehow pull Tanguish back to him, like it could tether his soul, already gone. Then Helsknight did scream, because his chest hurt, his soul hurt, and he was powerless, powerless, powerless to do anything about it.

"I didn't mean to forget," he sobbed, his whole body bent in apology, like a sinner at an altar. "I d-didn't mean to forget. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I--"

The night was long.

The world was dark.

Somewhere, a bright, bright star dimmed and died, and no one seemed to notice.

And the Universe said, I do not love you, for I did not make you

And the Universe said, You were never meant to exist, so you do not

And the Universe said, All is right with the world.

Isn't it?

[ddejavvu]

tyler owens who has the fattest crush on someone who’s the complete opposite of him

poor girl is terrified of literally everything (me irl) and he’s just head over heels in love with her

come participate in tyler owens night !

--

"Baby," Tyler croons, eyes a mixture of pitiful and amused, "It's wind."

"And it's rain," You urge, standing firmly in the doorway and refusing to budge, "I'm not driving in a storm!"

"It's not a storm," He insists, "Baby, my truck can withstand EF-4s. There's no way a little rain's gonna shake us."

"But we could spin out," You reason, "Or someone else could, and they could hit us, or an EF-5 could strike, or-"

"Or the ground could open up, swallow us whole." Tyler lowers his head, gaze steady on you as the amusement-pity deepens.

"You're right." You nod, clearly missing his sarcasm, "It's safer at home. Let's stay."

"No, that's not- what I meant." Tyler grabs your bicep, and you're useless against his strength as he drags you out towards his truck, "Baby, a tornado could whip through the farm and blow you away anytime. But y'gotta live despite all that. Come out with me, I'll drive real slow and I'll stick to the main roads."

Tyler stops to give you a boost up to the seat of his truck, his strong hands framing your hips and raising you to the lifted vehicle, "Just get all cozied up in that blanket of yours, and we can listen to your music on the way there. Nothin' that I like, none of that rowdy country stuff. M'kay baby?"

You're still nervous about driving in the rain. Maybe you always will be, no matter how many times you do it unscathed. But Tyler's eyes are soft and sweet as melted chocolate, the same color, too, and they stare pleadingly up at you where he's watching you from the ground. Slowly you settle into the seat of his truck, reaching for the blanket he keeps in his glovebox for you, and click your seatbelt firmly into place.

"I'm gonna use the harness," You warn, and Tyler reaches up to help you fasten your seatbelt despite your complete ability to do it yourself, "No making fun of me."

"Never, baby," He promises, hands lingering at your lap far after the click of the seatbelt, "You do whatever makes 'ya feel safe, and I'll handle everything else. Just a nice, slow ride into town for some hot chocolate."

"Just get in already." You plead, but it's a pity to lose contact where his hand stops squeezing your thigh, "The longer you wait, the more time I have to run back inside and hide under the bed."

The truck rocks as Tyler gets in, shutting the door firmly and gripping the steering wheel more gently than when he's tornado wrangling, "It's alright, baby. You're safe with me. And I'll get you whipped cream and marshmallows on yours for bein' so brave."

"Even though they're extra?" You glance up at him with what Tyler's pretty sure are better puppy eyes than he's seen on any dog before.

"I'd pay for you to get gold flakes on top'uh yours, darlin'," He smiles, not a grin but a real, warm smile, and he leans in to nudge his nose beside yours, "No amount of money I wouldn't spend on you."

[malereadermaniac]

Someone Older ~ Sukuna x Male Reader

Meeting a sexy, tatted up, older guy at a bar DISCLAIMER: I haven't watched JJK! I've written Sukuna using context clues I've gotten from reading other fics! I've written him as: cocky, mean, dominant, and not all lovey-dovey for the reader word count: 2.4k Top!Sukuna x Bottom!Reader Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI

Your local club was your second home. You had gone to it many, many times with your friends, even though you weren't that much of a drinker; the atmosphere was just fun, it relaxed you after a week of college. Plus, the club was the perfect place to get the dick that you had been craving and thinking about since the last time you had been blessed with it's presence - that dick belonging to a certain pink-headed man.

You had first encountered Sukuna at the very same club you were in right now. You really fucking hated him to begin with, your first encounter being the muscular man literally shoving you out of his way to get past you; his massive hand jarring you as he grabbed your shoulder. After that, every time you caught the giant man in the corner of your eye, you would give him the smallest glare. What accelerated your 'relationship' was pure coincidence - the two of you ending up out-front of the club at the same time, alone. You innitially ignored him, breathing in the fresh air you came out for and taking a few hits on your vape, but a small scoff and deep chuckle from the pink-haired figure beside you caught your attention.

"What?" You say, looking up at the taller, clearly older man with small squint of your eye and raise of your eyebrow - you were quite ready to sass him if he made any out of pocket comments

"I just don't get why people your age insist on using those colorful, sweet sticks ha... Just smoke a cig ya pussies" The large man commented, barely even sparing you a side-glance

" 'cause they're better for you than whatever the fuck you're rolling right now" you respond, turning your body to face the dickhead which was now rolling his second cigarette

"oh yeah? ya' shure 'bout that?" Sukuna volleyed back, his speech ever so slightly muffled from holding a filter in his mouth

"Yeah.. um... studies have- oh fuck off" you mumble back, your body growing hot. For some reason, you could now understand the sex appeal of the man in front of you: the way his hair slightly fell on his forehead as he looked down to roll his cigarette, and fucking hell the way that Sukuna glanced up into your eyes as you talked, a small, smug smirk on his lips as the white filter parted them slightly. This man was sex on legs.

After that first night actually talking to the muscular dickhead, you didn't give him much thought. That was until the following weekend, when you bumped into him again, at the same club. He initially only acknowledged you briefly with a chuckle and a mumble of 'you stalking me or somethin'?', however as the night progressed and the alcohol hit you both a little more (you more so), Sukuna and yourself ended up alone once again. In a more quite area of the club, ordering yourself another drink, you recognised the veiny, tattooed arm on the bar next to you, and a sexy voice you could briefly recount ordering some sort of spirit or beer. You roll your eyes and chuckle to yourself when your eyes make contact with his, which resulted in the pink-haired man sitting down next to you; he was already drunk, pretty horny, and he couldn't deny that you piqued his interest just the smallest bit.

"So what's ya name, pretty boy" The older man asks after downing the shot he had just been handed

"As if I'd tell you" you say with a roll of your neck towards the taller man, your eyes looking up into his as Sukuna clearly checks you out with half-lidded eyes; darting between your exposed skin, back to your eyes, your curves, then back to your eyes again.

"Hah... You know you want to" The giant man chuckles out, briefly rubbing his neck and showing off his ginormous biceps and triceps, his arm covered in line-like tattoos

"(Y/n)... What about you, handsome?" you say with a small, horny smile; stretching in a nonchalant way, which showed off your body just perfectly in the club lighting

That's all you really remember about your first actual conversation with Sukuna, things got a bit blurry after that. Oh, and how at some point after that conversation, the two of you hastily made your way to the men's bathroom and started desperately making out. With you shoved against the bathroom wall, Sukuna's massive arms holding your waist and cheek as he dominated your mouth with his tongue and rubbed his knee against your crotch in a teasing manner. Briefly, the taller, stronger man breaks the kiss and sports a smug, horny smirk on his chiseled face; his hand still holding your cheek to look up at him as Sukuna lets out a small, breathy chuckle at your panting form.

"Y'know... you don't wanna get involved with me, squeak" Sukuna says in a playful tone, looking down at you and the way that your body looked so fucking sexy against his

"Oh yeah? And why's that, tough guy?" You volley back at teasing nickname, pressing a finger against his muscular chest, his shirt already pretty much unbuttoned

"Hah... 'Cause I've got tattoos older than you" The pink-haired man mumbles in your ear, alcohol and expensive cologne flooding your nose as well as heat pooling into your face and dick. Sukuna moved away from your ear and let go of your face, positioning his arm above you and not only showing off his buldging muscles, but also emphisising the very tattoos he was referencing; FOR FUCKS SAKE HE WAS SO HOT.

So... Against your better judgment, that night you decided to live a little. In the very same bathroom, after making out for another solid ten minuets, allowing the man you had only just learnt the name of to ravage your mouth and roam his hands around your body, you dragged the hunk into a stall. Luckily for you, this club was very well known for being a little more tolerant to people enjoying themselves in the bathroom, ergo you were on your knees in front of Sukuna within seconds; drunkenly roaming your hands across his thick thighs and rubbing your head against his inner thigh and crotch - your hands landing on the sexy man's zipper and belt buckle very quickly. From what you remember, and from what the smug man had recounted to you the morning after, you gave that man the sloppiest head in the world in that stall, his hands gripping your hair and forcing you to deepthroat kinda head; and you ended your night in his apartment, having fucked at least twice judging by the bite marks and hickeys on your body and Sukuna's. Having woke up in a strange apartment didn't faze you as much as it should have, what really shocked you was the amount of scratch marks you somehow left on the muscular man's enormous, muscular back! But anyway, you went on your merry way home after not being able to deal with the pink-headed man's cocky attitude about you putting out; but damn, this time, you really couldn't stop thinking about him!

Which takes us back to the present moment. Loud white-girl music was currently blasting through your eardrums, and after singing along and dancing with your friends, you found yourself trying to spot a certain someone; a tatted-up, muscular, older someone. With whatever substance was in your system at the moment, you make your way to the bar and order another drink, just waiting for Sukuna to turn up like he always did; the man could deny taking a liking to you all he wanted, but he was always the one who approached you on nights like this. Your plan goes accordingly, the muscular man had sneaked an arm around your waist and whispered some dirty talk in your ear already, and after some boring chat and minute flirting you both started to get riled up. After some dancing and making out on the dancefloor, Sukuna called you both a cab. You said 'bye' to your friends and made your way over to the pretty damn fancy car which the older man had called, and after a short journey to his apartment complex (which you two spent sloppily and desperately making out in the backseat) you both made your way inside.

The horny man immediately took control of the situation, Sukuna's muscular arms either wrapping around your body and holding you against the tall man, or roaming your hot, sexy body; it was no secret that the pink-haired man was a big fan of the way you looked, he'd never say it out-loud though, unless his walls had crumbled due to an oncoming orgasm. Dominating your mouth and body, the older man holds you in his arms, your legs around his sluttily small yet muscular waist and your arms around his thick, veiny neck. Eventually, the two of you end up on Sukuna's king-sized bed, the muscular man above you, showing off his ripped body, his sexy scars and tattoos; god damn he was so hot, just oozing confidence and dominance wordlessly. By the time you were both naked, Sukuna's thick, masculine fingers were already inside of you; spreading you out and curling into your prostate as the man hovers above you and watches you wiggle around and let out the smallest of grunts in pleasure. Sukuna fucking loves to finger you, watch and listen to you as your pleasure is fully in his control, his dick gets so hard at your actions; hell, Sukuna sometimes even gives your twitching, hard dick a couple of licks just to push you closer and closer to ecstasy. But of course, as cliche as one can be, Sukuna rarely lets you cum from his fingers and tongue alone, removing his fingers instantly if he catches you arch your back; something he's learned indicates your orgasm approaching quickly.

Without easing in at all, Sukuna likes to wrap his hands around your waist and shove his massive dick inside of you; bottoming out straight away, 'cause why would he need to be gentle after prepping you for so long? Such a cunt. The sigh which follows is always one that the two of you like to remember, just raw lust and desperation as the two of you fuck like rabbits; Sukuna thrusting his hips violently against your ass, ramming his dick against your gummy walls and prostate. The sounds which circle the older man's apartment are nothing less than erotic and vulgar - your whines and moans along with breathy gasps of Sukuna's name, skin slapping and panting, and Sukuna's rough grunts as he puts in all of his effort to fuck you ruthlessly; the man getting off on the way you look and sound from his rough pace. The muscular man fucking you can also last a solid while, which luckily for you means you get to experience plenty of different positions - yayyyy.... your poor fucking ass. From doggy, to missionary, to a full fucking nelson, Sukuna loves either to get his dick deeper inside of your tight, warm hole, or to be able to see you at different angles, struggling to keep up with the tattooed man. And by the time Sukuna is finally on the brink of shooting his thick cum inside of you, you've already came twice; your body twitching from every thrust of Sukuna's, and your eyes dripping tears down your cheeks and rolling back, which just turns the man on even further.

Just as he is normally, Sukuna is rough as fuck when he cums. His hands gripping your body tighter or his arms holdings you closer to his muscular body as the man moans your name ruggedly, biting and marking your body as his hips stutter as he keeps thrusting into you - coating your ass with his warm spunk. It's only during his orgasm or during the afterglow when Sukuna finally lets a few nice words slip past his lips, compliments of your body or face, or endearing nicknames contrasting his dirty talk from before - i.e. calling you a fucking slut and grunting in your ear how your body is begging for his huge dick. And it's as Sukuna recovers from the aftershocks of his violent orgasm that he admires you, kneeling on the bed above you and between your legs, his massive build on full display as the man pants and sweats just, simply, looking at you. His hands rub up and down your body, massaging your aching muscles as you lay on the soiled sheets, your body still twitching and your eyes still clearly hazy with lust. Your body covered in his cum and yours, Sukuna's cum leaking out of your asshole as you pant in a moanish tone, your body limp and sweaty; cockdrunk was the perfect word to describe you in this moment. The sight is enough to get Sukuna to crave a second round, but he holds back, for once thinking about you - however the small signs of empathy displayed by Sukuna couldn't hold back his sharp tongue no matter what.

"Looks like you got a thing for older guys or somethin', darl'"

You giggle, unable to respond from the pleasure still assaulting your body, but the cocky and smug comment from the man who just rearranged your guts was somewhat sweet in the moment. And that's why you keep coming back. Sure, the sex is killer and you don't stop thinking about Sukuna's dick. But you also enjoy the moments after, from the moment the man stops shooting his load, to the moment you have to leave the morning after - you feel comfortable, somehow. And on the flip-side, Sukuna can't deny that he's for some reason taken a liking to you. He is the one that keeps coming over to you in the club and the one that calls the cab, so he must like you a little, right? The man can't say that he doesn't enjoy waking up next to you in the morning, your body perfectly against his, your sharp wit when you two banter, and the sex is so fucking good! Guess you two will be stuck in a game of cat n mouse for a while, cause neither of you is leaving any time soon; it's up to one of you to take the next step for the other and at the very least put a label on the two of you, whether that be 'weirdly close friends with benefits' or 'lovers'

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Shaken and Stirred.

I was really inspired by this fan art and was plagued by thoughts of a pathetic whiny lil meow meow 🥺 I don't drink myself, but I love the mature aesthetic of it and wanted to... write a drunken confession... to close off 2024...

… DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT OTL wait no please J WORD I CAN EXPLAIN

***Content warning: Alcohol consumption, though Leona is the only one drinking. (The legal age is 20 in Japan; I’m going to assume this for Twisted Wonderland.) Everyone else is having sparkling juice :v***

Imagine this…

"Feel like joining us for dinner? For old time's sake.”

The invitation had come so casually, the same way a housecat might drop a mangled rat or bird at your feet. To them, an easy, everyday act. To you, a surprise you weren’t quite certain how to feel about.

You didn't have plans for the evening, nor a reason to refuse, and while you were busy weighing the pros and cons, you found yourself strung along in their outing. Muscular arms wrangling you into the herd, boisterous yells welcoming you back. An honorary member, the Savanaclaw students had branded you, recognized by their king.

Now you sit in a barstool, fingers on the rim of a cup clouded with condensation, absentmindedly swirling its contents. Juice, its sweetness stifled by melted ice.

Some would call you a lamb willingly waltzing into a lion's den. They're wrong. You are no beast, but a curious observer of them. This is a prime opportunity for that.

It’s dim, the glowing jellyfish set low, faint lights swimming overhead. The music is loud, a departure from the Mostro Lounge’s usual soft jazz. The bass is even louder, rattling your bones like a set of steel drums. Rowdy patrons clink cups, chant at their friends to chug, belt out laughter straight from the bellies. You can barely hear your own heartbeat. The sounds of nightlife drown it out.

Jack lurks in a quiet, shadowed corner, his back against the wall. Muscled arms folded, he has assumed a stern stance but wears a small, fond smile in spite of himself. Ruggie has climbed onto a table, raising a jet-black card to the waiting mob. It’s their golden meal ticket.

“All-you-can-eat food and drinks on Leona-san! Long live the king!!” he roars, and the others echo his excitement.

“LONG LIVE THE KING!!”

You chuckle to yourself. First he rents out the entire lounge, then he decides to feed everyone for the day? How generous of him. Guess the big guy’s going all out.

You scan the restaurant in search of him, seeking out his familiar visage. Long, wild tresses. Sharp eyes, emerald flecked with golden flakes, like the sunlight shining through verdant leaves. The scar that speared his left side. A noble aura, his lazy feline grace.

Leona Kingscholar always sticks out in a crowd, commands too much attention with his mere existence. “That man is only good for his face,” Vil would bitterly hawk, “his only redeeming feature.” And he was right, to some extent. Tall, dark, and handsome are all apt descriptors for Savanaclaw’s dorm leader. Leona is all that and more.

Your pulse quickens.

His shape—you can’t discern it from the myriad of bodies collected in the lounge. A puzzle piece missing from the box of your most treasured memories.

“Looking for someone?”

The question is low and nonchalant, almost musical in its own right, yet you can so clearly hear it rising above the bumping bass. Your blood hums in anticipation, already knowing who the voice belongs to.

Leona has slipped into the open seat beside you, nursing an Old-Fashioned filled halfway with a strongly scented amber liquid. An orb of ice chills it, so clear cut you can see through to the other side. He sits with an effortless confidence upon his throne, as though he—not Azul—owns the damn place. You'd believe it too, from how the patrons are shouting his name like a mantra.

There’s no greetings to exchange. No need to.

"I think I've found what I was looking for," you tell him teasingly. “Nice of you to throw this little get-together. What’s the occasion? Don’t think I remember when you were in this good of a mood.”

“Who said I was in a good mood?” he grumbles, leaning onto the counter. “Didn't feel like being left alone with my thoughts tonight is all.”

“You, brooding? Never."

He makes a sound as if repressing a dry laugh. “You think yourself clever for an herbivore, don’t you?”

“Maybe. Not as clever as you, though.”

“Hmph. You really know how to stroke a guy’s ego."

It’s comfortable, this trading of quips. Safe. The conversation flowing so easily, like wine poured. It is the only true way you can stand on the same level as him.

Leona lifts the glass and downs the rest of his drink. From the way he winces, it must burn on the way down. You wrinkle your nose at the sharp smell that meets it. Earth spiced with hypnotic smoke and the acrid pang of sorrow.

“They serve alcohol here? I thought those jars on the shelves were full of tea blends.”

Leona scoffs. “If you know the right people and the right strings to pull. The cephalopunk said his establishment was more than happy to provide for me as long as I shelled out and signed some liability waiver.”

“… Does the headmaster know about this?”

“He doesn’t need to know.” Leona smirks, placing his newly drained drink down. Immediately, a staff member appears and replaces it with a fresh glass. “What’s he gonna do, anyway? Sue me? I’m of legal drinking age, and ‘s not like I’m passing out alcohol to minors”

“Unbelievable.” You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re so bad.”

“The worst,” he agrees sarcastically. “And you choose to keep me as company.”

“I’m but your humble accomplice, sir.” You jokingly salute to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. Rough day?”

He sighs in a way that gives the impression of saying, Like you wouldn't believe. But that tail of his swings back and forth like a patient pendulum, refusing to reveal his secrets. “This isn’t about me.”

“It literally is.” You pass a not-so-subtle glance at his second helping of whisky.

"I'm the host. It wouldn't do to bring down the festive atmosphere of this celebration with my feelings, now would it?"

You don't miss how he proceeds to take a swig right after his claim, how readily he consumes poison, even when it hurts him. Alcohol, insults. Pain, self-inflicted.

He has an arsenal of tricks and techniques to deflect—partaking in vices, one of them. Leona's magic rendered fortresses to sand, but he is an expert at building his own structures just the same. Studier, even. Imperious.

Attempting to scale the walls directly, you know, won't get you very far. Not when he has gone to such great lengths to guard his heart. There's a moat with leering crocodiles, barbed wire decorating the gates, a drawbridge firmly closed.

You attempt to breach the subject, toeing the line between testing his patience and challenging it. “What is it that you want then, Leona?”

He falls quiet, staring at the remains of his beverage. It’s like the sphere of ice the whisky swims with is a crystal ball, and he’s peering into it, seeking answers. His verdant eyes shift a shade deeper, darker.

When he’s solemnly silent like this, he’s contemplating. His next move in a game of chess, his next words in a debate. Plotting, scheming.

"A distraction," he declares at last, in that resolute tone he uses when he’s set on capturing a prize.

"A... distraction."

He nods, angling his head toward the noisy lounge. Ruggie is rallying some of the guys for a round of root beer pong. Jack’s trapped in a headlock, the hyena urging him to join in. They’re rowdy and ruddy from the exhilaration that comes with competition.

“Get my mind off of things. Take me away from all of this for a spell."

“How, exactly…?”

Leona drains his second glass. The server slides him a third. "Let's start with your day. From there, ramble about whatever.”

Amuse me, he seems to say, even if his mouth doesn’t. The twinkle has returned to his eyes, brightening them like the stars do the milky way.

You gulp, feeling compelled to obey.

Gathering your thoughts and wetting your lips, you begin. "This morning..."

The story opens like a newborn finding its footing for the first time: clumsily. Granted the space to expand, you do. Slowly, the conventions come to you. Balance, coordination. Each sentence is like a step, taken one at a time.

You run through your daily schedule and, reciting it out loud, you realize how terribly mundane it is. Classes, chores, chums. The usual. Worry flickers through you—Will he be satisfied with this?—but he only gestures for you to continue.

“Ah, so I picked up this new hobby recently…”

Leona props his face up on one hand, curled fingers resting against a cheek. He watches you with a look that isn’t quite predator on prey but isn’t quite human to human either. It’s intimate in a way that makes you feel exposed even when you avert your gaze, calculating enough to make you feel like a complex equation he has yet to solve.

“When something’s hard to get, it makes you want it all the more,” he had once told you. The memory surfaces like bubbles in a flute of champagne. Then it pops, fizzling away in a fine mist, and it is gone.

Moments like this are magic, you think.

You slip into a cadence, a rhythm. You lose count of how many stories you tell, how many whiskies Leona slams down in the span of them.

And still, the glowing green of his irises never seems to stray far from you. Vibrant and pulsating, like plants with heartbeats of their own, swaying in time with a stray breeze. Seeking something.

You don’t know if that concerns or thrills you.

"Ahahah…” You allow yourself a chuckle as you stretch in your seat. “This is so strange, isn’t it? I never thought I'd be rubbing elbows with a prince this time last year.”

Leona responds with a noncommittal “Mmmmm.”

He lowers his gaze to his drink number who knows?, his honey-colored reflection gazing back. When he blinks, his lashes seem to fall and flutter in slow motion.

You wonder what he's thinking, why he's thinking.

You reach for him. Carefully, gently, as if approaching a wounded animal. He is wounded--in that frightening way that leaves no visible marks, no scars.

"Leona..."

You hear your name being called before you can tap his shoulder. You look--there's Jack, waving at you. Ruggie has his hands cupped over his mouth.

"Wanna participate in an arm-wrestling contest? Jack's the reigning champ!"

"Oh, um--" you try to respond, to explain that you're preoccupied. The blaring music washes you out.

Ruggie makes a face of confusion and shouts again: "What?!"

You start to rise from your stool and turn to him, raising your volume. "I said..."

You stop. Your wrist is ensnared in Leona's grasp, cuffing you to the spot.

“… Don’t go." His command cuts through the noise, startling you with its softness, its contrasting clarity.

"It'll only be a second. It's too hard to talk over the--"

"You must've not heard me the firs'time," he interrupts, his words slightly slurring together, one melting into the next. Leona pouts like a child. "I’m orderin' you to stay. Stay here, with me."

"You've been awfully bossy today."

"Cuz you keep bein' a pain in my tail. How'm I supposed to..." The more the man babbles, the more confidence drains from his voice. His proud lion's roar shrinking and shrinking to a kitten's mewl. Tiny, vulnerable. "Don't go. Don't... leave. Everyone else has. They always do."

Non-sarcastic pleading? From Leona?

You eye him in concern. "Being serious for a sec, are you okay?"

He winces, like speaking or touching you is a considerable effort. You're set free, his body slumping as he lays down at the bar. His mane spreads out around him like a pool of chocolate. Leona cradles himself against the cushion of an arm, groaning into it.

Definitely not okay.

You pass Ruggie a firm shake of the head--a no to his offer--then settle back into your seat, returning to Leona.

"I'm here," you reassure him with a soft push against the middle of his chest. "See? I'm not going anywhere." Then you poke him on his forehead. "What's up? You're thinking of something."

He peers at you from behind an arm and snorts. "Thinkin' about how you run your mouth a lot."

"You told me to. I'm just following orders--don't you like that? You're so hard to please."

"I have high standards," he says simply.

"Well..." You lift a brow expectantly. "Am I meeting them?"

This manages to draw out a bark of laughter from him, however strained it sounds. He fixates on you, the start of a scowl upon his searching expression.

Assessing you.

“… Why?” Leona asks suddenly. No proper answer. Instead, an inquiry thrown back in retaliation.

“Why what?”

“Why d’you bother stickin’ around? Why d’you…” A pause, as if the verb that comes next is capable of killing if not handled correctly. “Why do you care so much?”

You shrug. “You don’t really need a reason to care about someone. Anyone with a heart would, right? You’d do the same for me or any of your dorm members.”

“And what do you know about heart?” He fumbles for his drink, but you slyly slide it out of reach. A growl of frustration. “All I got’s a big black hole where my heart should be.”

“That’s not true,” you protest stubbornly. “Your students say so many good things about their dorm leader. They all really look up to you.”

“Hah, as if.” He lifts his head and slams it on the table. “I failed’m. What good’s a king if he can’t produce results? What good’s tryin’ if all there is at the end of the tunnel’s darkness? Can’t even dispatch the damn lizard or beat ‘m at his own game…

You frown. “Hey. hey! Don’t talk about yourself like that… and stop doing that, you’re going to injure yourself.”

Leona doesn’t seem to register anything you say. He continues deliriously mumbling to himself, the alcohol having wiped away his inhibitions and all the cards he so often kept close to his chest.

“I never get what I want,” he complains, dragging himself up—but he sways and is forced to hunch forward on his chair, elbows on the counter for support. “Never, ever. No matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I work… It all comes crumbling down eventually.”

His hair covers his face the same way the strands of a weeping willow do. You can’t see what kind of an expression is making. Do you want to see it?

He’s sinking, you realize. The same claws that struggle for a firm grip on the rocky ledge he dangles from, the same claws that render enemies to ashes—they don’t help him against crashing waves, the swamp that drags him down, down, down, into its murky depths. No sunlight, no air.

“The crown… the interdorm tournament... love, respect, admiration... Everything slips through m’fingers like sand. It’s some cruel, sick joke. Must be m’fate as the prince with naught.”

“Leona..."

Is this what haunts you every time you're alone in your room? The thoughts that you're scared of visiting you every night... What you needed a distraction from?

“Get my mind off of things," he had said. "Take me away from all of this for a spell."

There's an ache in your chest. The dull, throbbing pain that comes at the end of reading a sad story. His story.

But it's not the end of it, right? It can't be.

Your fingers tangle in his tresses and brush them aside. From behind the curtain, he peers at you like some stray cat having retreated into its cardboard box. And you meet him without hesitation.

"... Hey," you manage. "I think you've had enough. You're starting to say all this... unkind stuff about yourself, and you're not having fun anymore. Can you walk? Let's get you back to Savanaclaw and have you lie down."

Leona sways slightly. Even drunk, his tone is haughty and shreds into you like claws. "You can't tell me what t'do."

"You're the host," you insist with a smile. The words are his, borrowed, sharpened, and repurposed in your possession. "It wouldn't do to bring down the festive atmosphere of this celebration with your feelings, now would it?"

He stares at you, eyes blown wide. Then his lids lower, lashes shading his view of you.

"Why... Why d'you hafta be like thish? This would be sho much easier if y'didn’t look at me like that."

"L-Like what?"

Leona inches closer. He usually smells of sun and soil, but all of that has been smothered by the reek of booze. Heat radiates from his face, flushed from liquid courage, and hits yours.

"Like there's still a chance for me." He speaks clearly and concisely, each syllable a brick laid out and sandwiched with mortar to the next. Pouring all his energy into them. "Like you still believe in me."

"Because I do. Is that so wrong?" You're unsure of the answer--a part of you, dreading it.

Leona counters with another question. It is tinged with anger, irritation. "Why can’t you be like the others and just give up already? It'd save you a lot of trouble."

"I can't bring myself to leave you hanging on the edge of a cliff. We all want a hand sometimes to lift us up when we're down, so... I want to be that for you. And it seems like you could use that hand to get you out of your troubles right about now."

His lip trembles. Leona's voice comes out huskily. "I hate that dumb, wide-eyed look of yours. So full of hope. When you look at me like that… it makes me think I might still be able to have you.”

“You already have me, dummy. I’m right here, remember?”

“No.” His gaze is intense, almost pulsating. He has a way of scrutinizing that lays you bare before him, pinning you in place and making you inadvertently squirm. “Not in the way I want you t'be.”

Your heart stops, as if he has seized it in his grasp. One squeeze, and he can crush it. It's a mercy he doesn't, even as you erupt into a flurry of confusion, an inferno engulfing you.

"What?" you whisper, scarcely believing your ears. "Wh-What do you mean by that...?"

THUNK!

His balance caves. Leona keels over, the weight of his large body toppling onto yours like a domino crashing into the next one in a sequence.

His head lands on your shoulder, neatly nestling into the junction of your collarbone and neck. Arms loosely snake around your hips, hugging them, his tail wrapping around a leg like a ribbon decorating a pillar. A throaty groan escapes him.

Panic bolts through your muscle and bone.

Your immediate instinct is to shove him off—but he’s heavy and inebriated, and it’s hard for you to fend off the warmth pressed against you. He’s not playing fair. Is he doing this on purpose? You shouldn’t be surprised; he never does.

His low purr tickles you, his breath feathering across your bare skin. He sounds half asleep, caught in that magical twilight realm between the waking world and dreams. “Is it okay… for someone like me to fall in love with someone like you?”

Love?

Four letters, one simple word.

Your surroundings dullen, the chatter and the laughter and the music floating far away. You become acutely aware of all of the places where he touches you, of every spot where you connect. There are so many people gathered in the lounge, but all you can perceive is him: Leona, Leona Kingscholar.

Your mind races, set to a frantic pace like wildebeests rampaging.

Love, the thing with wings that soars high above the clouds. Love, the golden light that brings life to the lands. Love, the wellspring so many drink from.

He feels all of that for you?

It feels like I'm dreaming. Am I dreaming?

"D-Do you really mean that, Leona?" You need to know. You must confirm it. "That you... love me?"

Silence.

“L-Leona…?” you stutter, lightly tapping his back. It rises and falls, rises and falls, like the tides lapping the seashore. Soft, at ease.

But not a response.

One, two, three.

Three seconds. Three seconds is all it takes for Leona Kingscholar to knock out--and he is out like a light.

The party and its twisted beat carry on, the bass blasting in your bloodstream, uncaring. And you remain, cradling a snoozing cat in your arms.

... Ah, seriously. How did it turn out like this?

Upset, annoyance--you think that these are, perhaps, what you're meant to be feeling in the moment. They are missing, not so much as a phantom present. Instead, there's an excitable fluttering that doesn't have a name to it yet.

You swallow, still slightly shaken. The confession, raw and revealing, stirring emotions you didn't think possible before. Emotions that burned red hot, with serrated teeth and talons.

A hand goes to the back of his head, stroking his mane and smoothing it out. It's comforting to him, you imagine, but it's comforting to you as well. Grounding.

You're here. He's here. The both of you are here, together.

There is it again, that unnamed, excitable fluttering kicking up back up. It fans out from your core, from your head to the tips of your toes. You feel like you're lighter than air, flying to the moon and playing among the stars.

He loves you.

Leona Kingscholar loves you.

The fingers trapped in his hair stiffen.

You draw out a sigh. It mingles with the music and stretches thin, a string of fabric pulled from a spool.

Until the clock strikes midnight… Let’s just stay like this for a little longer. That much would be okay, wouldn’t it? We can figure out the rest of the story once the sleepy prince wakes from his slumber.

[junedenim]

knackered converse

a tea & a donut

warnings: fluff monster, smut, piv, fingering, blowjob, the works

word count: 10.1k

His Converses stick against the beer-soaked wooden floors. His plastic cup of his own beer has run to the bottom leading him back to the kitchen-turned bar to fill it up to the brim. The place has already been fairly trashed and he's just thankful he doesn't have to clean it up, even if that means he has to avoid the packet of smashed Jaffa Cakes all over the tiled floors and the bottom of his shoes will be left with a beer residue for the next month.

A guy he doesn't know fills up his cup. This place is filled with people Alex doesn't know, which is mainly the reason he came. It's the whole "making friends" part of university. He has a few mates here helping him not feel completely gangly and awkwardly alone but still he's gangly and awkward and currently alone, even if he's being smushed up against the refrigerator.

He shimmies his way out without spilling any liquor and manages to make it over to the open window for some fresh air. The place feels like a furnace and he's been charged with keeping it burning. He knocks his fingers against the plastic of his cup, listening to the rhythmic beats, memorizing them, and the strange way it makes things feel a little quieter.

The creeping autumn breeze brushes on his back in a gift of relief that prevents a giant sweat patch on the back of his shirt. His shoulders curve forward as he gives into his bad posture in favour of some comfort. He knows that in order to meet people he actually has to talk to them and seem approachable. Right now he probably gives off the appearance of a hunchback with his night off from the bell tower.

He gazes outward to the crowd of people as he tries to find someone to latch onto. There has to be another weirdo here. A person who doesn't knock his insides and intimidate him with their steroidal muscles or caked-on make-up. Honestly, he's just insecure and he knows it. He's still trying to figure out how to live within his skin and meanwhile, it feels like everyone else has.

Alex looks down at his shoes. The front of the left one is about to split open and his mum told him to get new ones before school started but he didn't. He should listen to her more often.

"Did you go to the kitchen?"

"Huh?" His eyes snap up to see where the contributing voice came from. He thinks there's a mere possibility he made it up when his eyes find you standing before him. You have your own plastic cup in hand and a smile that he would definitely deem "approachable." The kind that people gravitate toward.

You giggle at him, probably finding him goofy with his bug eyes and the way his ears stick out with his new haircut. "I stepped on the Jaffa Cakes in the kitchen. Messed up my shoes."

You stick out one of the orange-chocolate-covered messes. You're wearing Converses too, the same kind as his, and he thinks that makes me a bit cooler just by association. They're just as knackered as his pair. Graffiti-covered by friendly scrawl and shoelaces that are missing their aglets.

The bottom cuffs of your jeans have denim threads ripping out of them. You wear a black leather belt that seems to be the only thing that oozes luxury off of you. Your shirt advertises Great Heights Space Camp with a tiny astronaut sitting on top of your left breast.

"Oh." He chuckles with you and lifts his shoe with the slow sound of stickiness. "I've only got beer on mine."

"Yours?" You take a step closer to him, refreshing yourself with a sip of beer.

Alex scoots over as an invitation for you to sit beside him. He watches as you lower yourself. With your face now right beside him, he grows nervous of you seeing him up close and personal. He can't stop thinking of the pimple on his flaming cheeks. "No, I haven't been that clumsy yet."

"I once fell down the stairs when I was drunk. I think I've still got a bruise from it." You spread your knees and sit the same way his dad does when he watches football. You turn your foot out and knock the rubber lining of your shoe with his. It's clearly intentional, enough to make his cheeks flush from the recognition.

"I rarely have control over my body," he tells you. It makes you laugh and his stomach contorts itself at the thought that you found him funny. "And that's not even when I'm drunk." You laugh harder and it's one of those contagious laughters that grabs everyone in the room and makes them want to laugh too.

"I like your shirt." He points to the little spaceman before sipping his drink to hide the embarrassment of having just pointed at your boob.

You gaze down on it and shake your head in shame. "Thanks. I've had it for years. When I was younger I thought I might be an astronaut or a pilot."

"Why aren't you?"

"I'm terrified of heights."

He shares a laugh with you. He feels infected. You've contaminated him from here on out. "I've always liked space. Looking out at the stars with me dad. So close yet so far." It's the way he feels with you now. How easy it could be for him to reach out and touch you but what a terrifying idea.

"We're looking at them and they could already be gone, bursting into a supernova." He doesn't want you to go. Please don't go.

*

Outside the Eastman building, there's a coffee shop where Alex sits and reads—attempts to read. He often gets off-course. Sometimes with more productive things like writing, sometimes with less productive things like doodling. It helps kill time between classes. They also have good donuts but that's neither here nor there.

The most important thing is that on Thursday after the party, you walk over to him. He's doodling by that point with the closed copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man sitting across from him. His head is down so intently paying attention to his pen drawing across the page that he doesn't see or hear you approaching.

"Are you taking that Joyce class?" Once again your voice snaps his head up. You're dressed the same except for the light hoodie you wear unzipped and the backpack hanging off one of your shoulders. Your fingers quickly flick through the book's pages.

He closes his notebook full of nonsense and devotes himself to you. "Yeah, yeah, but I'm kind of regretting it now."

"I almost took it but I went with the Virginia Woolf class instead." You drink out of your cup and warm both your hands on the cardboard. He imagines a world where you two share a class. You'd sit by one another and Joyce wouldn't seem so boring anymore. You could liven up any discussion and you'd make fun of the way the professor spat every time he tried to say Künstlerroman.

"How's that going?" He asks.

You shrug. "Considering I finished Mrs. Dalloway last night and you're here ignoring Joyce, I think I made the right choice."

"Do you want to help me ignore him some more?" He reaches across and clears Joyce away from the table, dropping it into the deep end of his bag.

You accept the seat, placing your cup where the book once sat. "What else are you doing?"

"Just killing time before the Joyce class," he explains. "I forgot about the fact that I would actually have to do work at uni."

"Yeah, they never tell you that," you joke, leaning your head on your hand.

He laughs embarrassingly. "I don't mind it for the most part but I'm terrible at time management."

"I'm the opposite. I hate being late, especially to class. I feel like everybody watches you when you walk and you're the loudest person ever. It makes my skin crawl."

"You would hate me then."

"I doubt it," you reassure with a smile.

You do these things to him. Things that make him feel all funny inside and question what he was thinking and what he was doing before you sat down in front of him. He felt that way at the party too. And after, when you had left with your group of friends and he questioned why he didn't ask for your number. But then you cropped up here. You fell into his lap. He can't help but think that means something.

"I've got a planner and everything but, I don't know, my internal clock is off or something."

"Hm. Mine is perfectly aligned. Biological and the moon and all that."

"You mean like your period?" He read about that once. How women's menstrual cycles are connected with the moon or tides or something.

You laugh into the palm of your hand. "Yeah. I guess so." Your face is red. It's nice to know that he isn't the only one on edge. "I didn't mean to get on that subject."

"That's fine. I'm not afraid of blood or anything."

You double over, completely shielding yourself from his view. "Don't worry. I won't free bleed on you." You lean back with pink cheeks. "Is this the modern equivalent of Joyce writing about shitting for 20 pages in Ulysses?"

Alex shrugs. "I don't know. I never read it."

"Neither did I."

He smiles without a care for how wide it looks. "What else are you reading?"

"I'm taking this Shakespeare class. My group has been assigned to put on a production of Hamlet. Since I'm the only girl I'm both Ophelia and Hamlet's mother."

"Sounds like Hamlet has a complex."

"Yeah, we're going to lean into that whole Oedipus thing. I'm just hoping that I don't butcher the whole thing. I'm not very good at memorising things. Do you like Shakespeare?"

"I love the guy," he fibs. Alex hasn't ever bothered with Shakespeare. Not even in school. "I'm sure you'll be great in it. You'll at least be there on time." He's about to be late for James Joyce. It would be worth it too. But this teacher has already scolded him twice and Alex can't give him any more reasons to hate him. "I have to go to class but if you'd like to give me your number."

"Yeah." You're smiling, which is a good sign. You grab a pen out of your bag and snatch a napkin. "I have to go to this student production of Romeo & Juliet if you'd like to go."

"With you?"

"Yeah. If that's alright. It's Saturday at 7. We can meet outside Neumann."

"That'd be perfect." Alex stands up nervously, swinging his bag over his shoulders.

You stuff the phone-number-covered napkin into his hand. "Good luck with Joyce, Alex."

*

Shakespeare is funny, at least this production is. It lies somewhere between an attempt to retell Romeo & Juliet as a comedy and tragically awful and that's without the whole death part. He tried to keep his laughter under wraps because you seemed engrossed in it but then you let out a snort in the middle of the nightingale and lark scene. Or he should just say sex scene with the way the two actors maul each other.

Alex and you give the production a standing ovation because A for effort. You start whooping cheers just to make him laugh, which he joins in on. Every other attendant gave questionable looks but the cast members looked pleased as they gave their final bows.

"Do you think we encouraged those poor kids too much?" You ask as you leave the theatre. You swing your purse around your finger. You've dressed far too nicely for a production so poor. Your dress falls just above your knees with flowy fabric adorned on it that only the last few days of warm weather will allow. "They're going to go home and think they're the next Laurence Oliviers."

Alex walks with his hands in his pockets. He wore a dark pair of khakis because they are the only trousers he owns that don't have holes in them. "They won't make it far. We gave them one night of glory."

You flash him a smile. It charms him, shooting arrows through him, endearing him to Cupid's uncontrollable spell. "Thank you for coming with me," you tell him. "Sorry that it was so bad."

He shakes his head. "No, no. I had fun." 

"Good then you can come with me when they do Macbeth," you joke. "No, I wouldn't do that to you. I'll let you pick what we do next time."

"That's a lot of pressure."

"It can't be much worse than what we just watched. What do you like to do for fun?" 

You're staring at him with eager eyes like he's expected to say something like skydiving but for the life of him, he feels like the most boring person alive. "I don't know," he says with a weak chuckle.

You take your eyes away with a nod. "Okay. I'll let you think on that. This is me." You point to the building behind you, inching away, out of his reach. "Thanks again for coming. Text me if you think of anything. See you 'round, Alex."

"Bye." He feels dull and foolish. You looked like you were trying to escape his grunts and indecision. He supposes that it's his fault for feeling so nervous for no reason. He needs to be put at ease. He sighs and walks back home.

*

On Monday he spots you reading To the Lighthouse in the corner of the cafe. You look up and wave with no hesitation. He walks over with his donut and copy of Dubliners. "I've got something for you," he says. "If you'd like."

You stare up at him with a smile. It’s like lightning with the way it leaves him feeling singed and searing and hollowed out. "Is it a gift?"

"Maybe. It's an invitation." He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out two pieces of paper. "I don't know if you like them but Nick Cave is coming in on Wednesday and I was looking for someone to go with and, well, this is what I do for fun."

"I love Nick Cave."

*

You're in the swell of the crowd, pressed up against one another and about 2,000 other people. The music is good but all he can concentrate on is the vicinity of your body to his body. Half his chest touches half your back, which means half his crotch touches half your ass. He shouldn't be expected to pay attention to whatever the fuck Nick Cave is singing about when that's occurring.

"Can you see alright?" You turn around and ask.

"What? Yeah, yeah. Can you?" He can't see for shit but he could give less of a fuck right now.

"Uh, kind of. It sounds good. I guess that's all that matters."

You're moving, you're shimming, you're beating on his bones, knocking on his soul, inviting yourself in. Sure, there's a tall, smelly guy pushing up against his ass but that only pushes him closer to you and you're not inching away. There's no attempt to escape. You lean back into his chest and smile like this was all part of your plan.

He reaches for your hand when the show ends. It's under the excuse of not wanting to lose you in the crowd but you're two blocks away from the venue and still holding hands. "Did you have fun?" He asks. "I thought they were great."

The street is clear but you lean close to him and knock your shoulder into his with only pleasure on your face. "It was wonderful. Thanks for taking me."

"Thanks for coming with me." He looks over at you and feels like he's been knocked off his feet. He's not letting things slip through his fingers again. "Do you want to get a drink or something? Are you hungry?"

You pull from your soda by the straw without lifting the cup to drink, leaning forward with your burger still in your grip. Alex finds it, quite honestly, adorable. He is irrevocably fond of this girl. It's hard for him to believe that he got you here, sitting across from him in a tacky red booth at some shitty 24-hour diner.

"So, Alex, how often do you go to concerts?" You ask before taking a bite out of your burger.

"Depends," he replies. "I've got friends who've knocked about in bands and I go to their shitty little gigs sometimes. Doesn't cost much and makes for some fun nights."

You've already vowed to pay for the meal since he paid for the tickets, though he might insist on paying for his half of the receipt because it's the gentleman thing to do and his mother told him to always be a gentleman. 

"Do you work?" You ask.

"I had a job back home, but I haven't found anything here. I'd like to. What about you?"

"I work in the school's mailroom."

"Oh, so you're the one who's been stealing all my mail."

You laugh into a napkin, trying to prevent spitting your food out. "I've done no such thing. Half of the mail is junk anyway. I'm saving you from all the adverts."

"I like the little adverts. Seriously," he says when you pull a face. "I like the bad slogans they have and sometimes they come with a coupon."

You squint at him all playful, elbows on the table, not even close to prim and proper. You are messy, in the way you move, in the way you speak, in the way you eat, and he loves it. "I'll be sure to stuff your mailbox full of them next time."

He wonders if you've noticed how close you've gotten, how you're both leaning across the table. He can see directly into your eyes—into your soul. They are earnest, all intrigue, bright and reflecting light the way the moon does. He thinks he could stare forever and never get tired of the sight. Cars streak past, the city bustles, and he is oblivious to it all. It’s just this, just you. 

*

The next time he opens his mailbox it's flooded with adverts, most not even addressed to him. In the middle of the mess is a postcard of the Virginia Woolf quote "I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one’s own, with pictures and music and everything beautiful." Written on the back of it in beautiful cursive penmanship is "Do you really go through all the adverts? Next donut on me if so."

*

He slides the postcard across the table to you on Monday morning. He crosses his arms with a smirk as you pick up the card. You roll your eyes and slide the card back over to him before standing to purchase him his signature glazed donut.

"I think you're single handedly keeping this place in business," you say as you drop the donut in front of him.

He unwraps it with a shit-eating grin. The glaze melts in his mouth. "They're good. Here. Have some." He breaks off a piece and hands it to you.

You try to refuse but he pushes it closer and closer to your mouth until the sugar flakes are brushing against your lip. You finally oblige, taking the piece into your mouth, the tip of his thumb rubs against your bottom lip. It feels like he's touched the forbidden fruit. 

Alex plays it as cool as possible and focuses back on the donut before him. You hum, "Okay, it's good."

"I have good taste. Is that hard to believe?"

"Maybe," you hold your thumb and index finger a hair apart from one another, "just a little."

"You're the one who took me to that shitty Shakespeare production."

"Hey, that was for a class and Shakespeare is classic no matter the form he is done in." It's cute how you get all wound up over this as if it's anything more than a joke. It's in the same vein as you drinking that scalding hot tea with no care for your tongue. All these perplexities about you that he finds deeply entrancing. If there is an end to this fascination, he hasn't found it yet.

"Do you know what classes you're taking next term?" You ask, licking your lips clean of the glaze. The pink shine of them smacks against one another. They are staring him dead in the eyes with no remorse. "'Cause there's this British literature class I was thinking about. I thought, maybe, it would be cool if you took it too."

You look nervous. He's never seen that before. You hug your arms around yourself, leaning on your elbows, and staring down at the black tabletop. "I'm not very good at reading," he says like a dope. Like he's five years old and you're teaching him the alphabet.

You anxiously giggle. "Then you can cheat off of me."

"Sounds like a good plan."

*

Friday nights Alex tends to end up drinking with his mates. It's sloppy and informal, stuck in someone's dorm with a pack of beers snuck past security. Sometimes someone rolls a joint. Other times they stink up the room with cigarette smoke. One day they'll probably get caught but it hasn't happened yet.

Matt's room tends to be the best. He's got the most chairs and this bean bag chair that the guys fight over who gets to sit in and, with the lifelong advantage of knowing Matt, Alex tends to win the claim over it.

He slouches down in it with a beer can wetting a circle into his jean-clad thigh. The guys are having some pissing contest that he can't follow but laughs along with anyway. Matt spins around in his chair and faces him. "Alex has got a bird," he says. "Don't ya?"

"What?" He chuckles with faux obliviousness. 

"Oh, come off it. We've all seen her. The way you ogle."

"I do not ogle. We're just friends for now." He toys with the beer can and doesn't dare make eye contact with Matt. 

"For now?" Matt questions with a raised eyebrow. "Alright, Al." They back off after that. Thankfully.

*

On a December morning, there are ringlets in your hair. Tight ones that he wants to pull at and watch bounce. You're zeroed in on a stack of papers, one hand fiddling with one of the corners, the other clutching your cup of tea.

"Hey there, Ophelia," Alex says while sitting down with his donut and a hot chocolate. (What can he say? He's feeling festive).

"Shush," you loudly sound off. Your eyes laser in on the paper as if you're trying to scan it with your eyes.

"Shall I get thy to a nunnery?"

You look up with a death glare. "If you're not going to be quiet, you have to leave."

He's amused, a smile crossing his face, which he's sure isn't pleasing you one bit. He reaches across and tugs at your pages. "Come on, let me help you. I'll play Hamlet."

You hum. "You'd be a good Hamlet." You give in and let him take the pages.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You chuckle at his offense. "You know, you're all brooding and melancholic."

"Wow, thanks."

"You can't deny it if that's how you come off."

"Well, you're certainly no Ophelia."

"Thanks, I don't plan on drowning myself anytime soon."

"'Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love,'" he recites.

Your face flashes with surprise. "You know Hamlet?"

He shrugs. "Some." Yeah, he totally looked up quotes the night before and memorized them in the hopes of impressing you.

"You're a total Hamlet."

He pushes his eyes away from your gaze and stares down at the script. "Okay, come on, you only have thirty minutes until you have to perform this."

You groan. "Why did I ever take this class? I don't want to act. I don't even give a shit about Shakespeare."

"Alright, Ophelia, quit your whining. 'Let the doors be shut upon him that he may play the fool nowhere but in ’s own house...'"

*

He doesn't see you again until the barren cold of January in the frigid Felton Hall for British Literature. You're there on time, of course, and you've saved him a seat. With a wide smile and a wave, you summon him over to you. 

"Good, I was thinking you wouldn't show." You pat the chair beside you and it's hard for him to wrap his mind around the excitement you show. So endlessly pleased to see him and he wonders why he's ever questioned your sweetness toward him. (He wonders why he won't just suck it up and make a move).

"Now, why would I do that?" He questions as he takes the seat beside you, taking the winter coat off his shoulders.

"'Cause you're a cruel man. But then I remembered you're always late. In fact, I'm shocked you showed up before class started."

He wonders if you know it's because of you. This isn't a regular thing to arrive early. It's for these spare minutes that he can sneak a conversation with you. "What can I say? I'm improving."

"New Year's resolution?"

"Something like that." He smiles.

The professor starts speaking some boring gibberish about the theme of the class and the supplies you'll need. Alex isn't focused on that. You'll give the rundown anyway with all of your note-taking. God. You're taking notes. What a nerd. He's gonna marry you.

Alex spares you one last glance, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the way he’s looking at you this time. The sweater you're wearing is really working for you, fuzzy blue angora that doesn’t quite reach your waist, riding up to expose the small of your back and dipping in a sharp V at your clavicle. He knows you know he’s looking, teeth around his pen, and the thing is… the thing is, you look back. With dark eyes, no care for the way it makes him feel in the middle of Charles Dickens and the Brontës.

Your eyes meet. His lip quirks up. Yours does too. You both look away. What the hell is he doing?

*

Alex takes you to one of his friend's concerts. It's at this shitty bar that you marvel at the whole time like it's the Taj Mahal. You come back from the bathrooms that smell like vomit and talk about the stickers plastered on the door for fifteen minutes. He loves it. Loves that you love all this little detail. How you won't shut up about the PJ Harvey poster hanging behind the bar and how much you'd kill to see PJ Harvey live in concert.

You sip your rum & Coke in tiny segments and you giggle after you burp with a quiet "'Xcuse me." And he's in love. He's deeply entrapped in the prison of you and there's no need to escape. It's quite a lovely thing. He thought it would scare him for the longest time. He always found love to be daunting and the idea of giving it away to someone felt like this massive overwhelming thing but now he feels it with no hesitation. There are no attempts to fight it off. It's the cozy thing. It's not a steaming fire. It's a fuzzy blanket on a snowy day. It's easy. That's the biggest relief of all.

"I always thought these kind of places would be louder!" You shout into his ear over the banging music.

"This isn't loud enough for you!" He yells back. 

You shrug. "I thought my ears would be bleeding."

"And you wanted that to happen?"

"It'd be a cool story." You're so close, your breath right up against his ear. He turns his head and stares at you. "What?" Like you're oblivious. As if he isn't obvious in his longing stares or in the way he casts his eyes down to your lips. Like he hasn't been waiting for this moment, for this chance since you approached him with Jaffa-Cake-smeared shoes. "What?"

He moves in. He finds you and he keeps you for himself. His chapped lips land on yours, those smooth glossy pink things that have been staring at him for months. He's careful with it. He doesn't want to come off as forceful. He wants to take this with grace. He wants to lock it in and show you he can take care of you.

You pull back, mildly stunned. He's worried he's misread this whole thing until you let out a little giggle. "I like that."

"Do you now?" He chuckles back.

You nod fervently before pulling him back to you. He wants to take you apart with his teeth. He feels in control now with no worries of rejection. It’s a rough thing, a raw thing. You fall into it, into him, your mouth tastes like cherries and rum and moves against his own with the same ease he feels. He holds your face in his hands and you tug at his lower lip and it’s fireworks in his chest, its sparks flying and embers glowing. It runs like an electric current down the rungs of his spine, felt from the soles of his feet all the way to his scalp. Warm.

*

You don't wait around because he's been waiting for this for months and he gets the feeling you have been too. So, when it's time to go home, you don't resist when he holds your hand and pulls you in the direction of his dorm. 

He feels like something within him has been awakened. There's no need to quiet the feeling down, he can just let it flourish. You slot your head on his shoulder while you wait for the elevator and it's crazy how this morning he woke up from a dream about this and now he's here with you beside him in the flesh.

Inside the elevator, you're the one to act first. It makes him take three steps back, his body forced against the metal walls, the leaning bar pressing into his back. He can't help but smile into it, his teeth skimming yours. 

When the elevator doors open, you pull away from him like you've been zapped. It makes him chuckle and then he's tugging you down the hall with a skip in his step that is so rushed it makes you laugh. "Eager much?"

"Yeah," he sighs, "I'm beat. Can't wait to go to bed." He leans against his door with an exaggerated yawn, covering his mouth with his hand.

You pull him off the door. "Very funny. I'll just head home then." He's got a hold of your hand before you're even able to take a step. He pulls you to him, knocking your hips against one another. He digs his keys out with one hand and keeps his touch on you with the other.

It's a crash from there. A race to his bed. A tsunami plummeting its way to shore. Your hands tug on the hem of his shirt and his unbutton your jeans. Your touch cascades over his torso and it's a balm to the skin. It feels like no one has ever touched him there before and no one ever will again. That this feeling will only ever exist at this moment with his body up against yours and his lips kissing under your ear, making you squirm.

You pull away to kick your jeans off the rest of the way and he takes the opportunity to do the same. Your blouse flies somewhere over to his desk and then it's just him in his underwear and you in your bra and underwear and he just wants to take this moment to look and not touch. He takes it in and looks so long that you start to shrink under his gaze, covering yourself up with your hands.

"No," he promises, "I just wanted to look."

"You're allowed to touch. If that's alright with you?"

He nods and takes a step forward, one that reconnects, and soon you're back in the swing of things, wrapped up in one another, twisting around one another in some desperate example of making love.

He unclips your bra and it falls to the floor and then you fall onto the bed with you on your back and him hovering above, his hand slipping down, thumbing the hem of your underwear until he slips under and allows himself to touch.

He kisses at your bare chest and you tug at his hair. You raise your hips when he mouths at your breasts, your face tucked away in his neck, his hands on your ribcage. You reach down to rub him over his underwear and, god, he’s hard. You stroke him over the cloth and he moans a little, which makes you grin. 

You rid yourselves of the rest of the cloth between you and from there, it’s a sweaty haze. He fills you all up, it makes him feel whole, and you're intoxicating with the way you look at him—all blown pupils and messed-up hair, alternating between rabid and rapt, pulling your hair back to kiss your neck.

It's just right and he hopes it's just right for you too. He tries his hardest. Flicks his hips just right in the way that has you fighting back, tugging on him, digging crescent shapes into his back. You pull him closer and you're moaning in his ear so he thinks he's doing it right.

You utter a tiny "Fuck" and he can't help but come then. He dumps his head onto your collarbone and you moan and tighten around him, arching up and letting go.

"You okay?" He asks, wrapping his arms under your back, holding you close. He kisses your temple, something divine.

"So okay."

You ask to spend the night like there’s even a possibility he’d turn you away. And whether because you don't want to sleep naked or in your underwear or maybe you just want to wear his clothes, you ask, “Do you by any chance have something I could sleep in?”

And so, after a quick rifle of his drawers, he produces a ratty David Bowie t-shirt that’s long enough to cover everything and a pair of boxers.

"I can’t believe we’ve known each other for this long and I’ve never seen your room before," you say. "I was expecting clothes everywhere and posters of half-naked girls. Is it always this freakishly organised?”

He clears his throat. “Helps me think.” He lays back on his bed as he watches you walk around his room, inspecting every corner.

“But you can't show up to class on time?” 

He shrugs. His hand lay on his bare stomach and he tries to think of something funny to say but you're too distracting. "What's your room like? Are you messy?"

You snort and point at yourself. “You think I'm messy?”

"I don't know. I thought maybe we'd be the opposite of one another."

"No such luck, mister. I'm too anal. Frustratingly so." You're plucking through his CDs. He wonders if you'll comb through each one, giving them each a rating.

"You're perfect. That's what you are," he says.

You turn around and shake your head. "Don't put that on me. I'd only let you down."

"Doubt it." He stands up and shakes the stiffness out of his limbs. "I'll be back." He heads to the bathroom, half because he needs to use it and half because he wonders what you'll do while he's gone. 

When he returns to the room, he finds you sitting on his bed like something that belongs there, like it’s the place you retire to every night. He leans against the doorjamb. “Hi.”

You look up from the book you're skimming. The side of your mouth quirks. “Hi,” you whisper back. “Come here.”

And it’s so easy to listen to. He doesn’t wanna be anywhere else, after all. He joins you on the mattress and you curl up to accommodate him, but he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

You turn to him and start saying, "You write little—"

"Your nose is bleeding." 

A little red stream escapes out of the left nostril and your hands rush up clutching it. "Fuck. Sorry."

"It's okay," he reassures. He reaches across his bed and grabs a tissue. You clutch it to your nose, pinching the bridge with a giggle erupting from you. "What's so funny?"

“Nothing, just noting the conveniently placed Kleenex box and,” you check over your shoulder, “oh, look at that, a bottle of lotion. Wow, you really are just like every other boy.”

He snorts a laugh and says, “Shut the fuck up, you’re making your nose bleed more." He reaches out and holds your hand to your nose pressing the tissue to it.

“Do you keep glam mags under your bed?”

“No.”

“Computer porn then?”

“None of your business,” he says shortly. “I've already exposed enough of meself to you tonight.”

“Alright,” you say. “I just like thinking about you that way.”

“Stop." He falls on his back and stares up at the ceiling and tries to think of anything else imaginable. Dirt bikes. The Strokes. Shit. Trees turning into paper. "Don't say shit like that."

Your eyes are bright. “Why?” You toss your tissue away and lay down beside him.

"'Cause I'll never be able to go to bed again."

You shrug, all amused. You lay down beside him. “I wouldn't mind." You reach out, tracing his jawline. “I had fun.”

“Me too.” 

You reach over him to yank on the lamp chain and stay there after the darkness floods in with your head on his chest, your leg hooked over his hip. He pulls the covers over you and just holds you.

*

Everything you do is the same, except with a kiss. Coffee and tea at the cafe but your feet are entangled the whole time. Class but he sits with his arm around you. Concerts but you rub up against him with no shame. Partying but you leave early to fuck.

He loves it all. He loves how you seep into every inch of his life. He actually starts paying attention in class because you make him. You sit down and read together. Sometimes Alex or you read aloud, sometimes he reads over your shoulder, sometimes you read on separate ends of the couch. But you love coming together and talking about it. You speak with such passion that he wants to get to the end of a chapter just to hear what you have to say about it. And sometimes the end of the chapter never comes because he distracts you with, you know, other things. He likes that best.

Dates happen. He's not sure what qualifies as one and what doesn't—like do all those cafe visits count?—but he knows for sure that the one where he took you out to dinner and you wore that low-cut dress definitely does. And he knows this party that you're at now definitely isn't.

It's a rowdy one where everyone has gathered in the living room to watch two guys arm wrestle on the coffee table. You're sitting on the arm of the couch with your arms wrapped around his waist, cuddling him to you like one of your teddy bears.

When one of the guys pins the other's arm down, you shout out, "I bet I could beat Al in an arm wrestling competition."

And everyone is oohing and awing and Alex is standing bug-eyed and afraid. He taps your arm with a nervous, "I'm sure you could, honey."

"No, no, no." You're so drunk. He's never seen you like this. Part of him is amused and finds it beyond adorable. You scrunch up your nose like a little bunny and he just wants to kiss you all over. He's also terrified of you. You flex your arms out like you're the Hulk and all he can think about is his little noodle arms and Matt shouting, "Oh, come on, Al."

So, you're kneeling on the ground with your arms propped up on the coffee table with a look of determination in your arms. "You have to let me win," you slur your words.

"Why's that?"

"I lose, no kiss for you." You wag your finger and seal your lips.

"No kiss for the winner?"

"Only if I'm the winner."

He goes limp and allows you to instantly push him down. "I win!" You shout.

Alex picks you up off the ground with you cheering behind him. "We're going home now," Alex tells a laughing Matt. It's fun. Going home together. Even if it's his shitty dorm.

*

One night in his room while you're sitting on his bed criss-cross flipping through your flashcards on the Enlightenment and he's trying to focus on his psychology homework but he's more occupied by you, he says it. He kind of can't help himself. It just rolls out. "I love you." It's massive and too soon and for a long time he probably would have shrieked, covered his mouth, and ran out of the room, but he doesn't care. It's more relief than panic. Like it's out and not buried in his ribcage anymore.

You look up, your hands with your flashcards dropping into your lap. Your lips part at first before breaking into a small smile that so softly plays on your lips. "I love you too." It's there. It's funny how so much emotion can be stuck in with so few words. Still, he feels it all. Cupid's arrow and everything.

*

Right when spring begins to crack through the bitter winter chill, the realization of spending a summer apart hits. He used to find people who complained about that to be dramatic. It's only a few months not years but the term break feels dull when all he's returning to is Sheffield without you around.

You've promised to visit, maybe sometime in July, but it won't be long and it won't be the whole summer. The separation aches at him and he feels like such a loser until one night you curl up beside him and say, "I don't know how to function without you anymore."

You're the Sun. Everything revolves around you, at least it feels that way. Maybe it's being young and in love but the idea of going from every day together to nothing at all pulls him. He's a sap, he knows.

For now, you both avoid it—that inevitable terrifying passage of time. You read Wuthering Heights for British Literature and the whole time he does his best Kate Bush impression in your ear. 

He starts finding post-its around his room and crumbled-up in his pockets after you hang out. They're covered in quotes from the book like "If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day" and "Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!"

And no matter how many romantic quotes you write down from the book, you both agree you hate everyone and it's not a love story. His favourite post-it is the one he finds stuck to his alarm clock reading, "I love you as much as I hate Heathcliff." It's dorky and makes him laugh so he leaves it there, swearing to get it framed.

It's the first day where it's bearable to go outside without a huge winter coat, so you suggest taking your tea and his donut out onto the grass. You remark how you wish that you could have a picnic with a blanket and a basket instead of risking grass stains on your jeans but nonetheless, you sit against a tree and he sits in front of you, leaning on your crossed knees, and you talk about last hurrahs. 

"We could go somewhere," he suggests. "Maybe take the train somewhere?"

"In the middle of finals?"

"We could go to a theme park."

"I'm scared of roller coasters."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I'm scared of heights," you remind him. "You know that."

Alex nods. "Right. Right. But that could make it a lot more fun. You could cling to me the whole time."

"I'll pass. We could go strawberry picking."

"And pay to do manual labour?"

You sigh. "Or we could just hang out with each other. How lame."

Alex leans closer. His nose brushes against yours. "I know." He puckers out and plants a kiss on your lips. He wraps his arm around you, pulling himself into you. "How lame."

You let out a heavy sigh. "And with nothing to occupy us."

"We could always just barricade ourselves and fuck until break is over." He moves closer, almost straddling you like he's about to take you right here on the grass.

You laugh. "You'd like it that way."

"Yeah." He smirks. "And I have a feeling you would too."

*

You don't quite barricade yourselves. But you get pretty close. 

With final exams looming, Alex is able to reason that sex is the perfect kind of stress relief. You're sitting in his lap with his hands running up the back of your thighs to cup your ass over your jeans, and you give a hint of a grin, sitting up. "You're going to have to study at some point."

He hooks his finger through the belt loops, yanking you closer. "I am. I'm studying for anatomy."

You roll your eyes. "You don't take anatomy."

He ducks his head closer and places his forehead against yours. He talks in a soft voice, one that shakes your insides. "I'm getting a head start." He closes the remaining gap, locking lips, and reeling you in completely. You don't refuse then because there's no way to refuse this and how good it feels.

You move your ass just enough to have him groaning into your mouth. He has to do something with his hands. He can't keep trying to feel you up, he has to commit action. He fiddles with the button of your jeans, snaking his hand through, not even bothering to push them off. He has to fight back.

He gets you moaning with the mere touch of his fingertips to your clit. You curl your arms around his neck and duck your head into his neck, whimpering against his neck. Chills run down his spine as you say his name into his skin.

He moves his hand lower, slightly pulling your jeans down to be able to enter. He enters two fingers. Your grip tightens in response. He's confident now. He's done this enough times to know what works. He knows how to please you but this feeling—clutching, moaning, begging—never gets old.

Alex holds your body to him as you squirm. He works quicker, pumping his fingers in and out, flicking his thumb against your clit. You mutter, "Fuck," and he whispers back, "I know, I know" like he can feel it too because he does. He feels like you're conjoined in this pleasure. That making you come is a far greater feeling than his own pleasure (well, almost, you have a very talented hand...and mouth...and pussy).

You buck your hips into him. The open zipper of your jeans grinds into his boner and he’s cursing too just like you are as your orgasm crashes. Your breathing is heavy and you've placed permanent wrinkles in his shirt with how hard you've been clutching it. 

"Good?" He checks.

You nod against his skin as you try to figure out how to properly breathe. "You certainly know where the clit is."

"See. I'm guaranteed at least a passing grade for that."

You sit up and look him in the eye. You still looked dazed with flyaways and an unbeatable smile. "I don't think they teach you that in school."

"I'm a prodigy then."

Now is when you would usually tell him to not be so full of himself but your lungs are heavy and he considers that to be a 100% if you're unable to scold him for being pompous. 

He lifts up one of your flashcards. "The form of theological rationalism that believes in God on the basis of reason without—"

You smack the cards down. "Shut up," you laugh.

"Come on," he says, lifting them back up. "You're going to regret not going over..." He checks because, of course, he doesn't know the answer. "Deism with me when you get it wrong on the exam."

You straddle his hips. "I'm sure I won't forget it now." You snatch the cards out of his hands, flipping through a few until you ask him, "What are the common features of the Romantic Period?"

"Wordsworth and stuff," he answers."

You slap his chest. "Alex, you can not write 'Wordsworth and stuff' on the exam. Come on this is easy. Give me two more."

He falls back on the pillow with a groan. "An appreciation of nature."

"Okay. Good. And?" 

He shrugs.

You scowl at him. "You act like this sometimes," you hint.

"Stop that. I am not a Byronic hero."

"Well, it'll help you remember," you reason. "Now, what are some works within the Romantic period?"

He groans. "I don't want to do this."

"Would you like to fail the class then?"

"I'm not going to fail. I'll wing it and be fine."

"Alex," you whine.

"Let's do something else. Let's go to Matt's or something." He'll try any possible way to get out of this. He's getting a headache from this and he can't pay attention with your boobs in that top.

You cross your arms. "If you do this, I'll give you some incentive." Your brows quirk indicating to him clearly what you mean. Your lips in a tempting smirk.

Yeah, okay. "Lyrical Ballads, Pride & Prejudice, Keats, Byron, Shelley. Do I get my prize now?" He blasts a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes but shift down to his thighs and pop the button out of his jeans.

"You'll thank me for this one day," you say as you pull down and free his cock.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll thank you after."

You snort and wrap your hand around him. "I meant studying, idiot."

"I did too!" He lies.

You hum and wrap your lips around the head of his cock. It's ecstasy. This is what humans were made for. Your tongue licks delicately and you move in an infuriatingly slow manner that he knows you're doing just to torture him. He raises his hips to signal more, instead, you move with him never going past the head liking it as if it's an ice cream that will never melt.

"Come on. I've been kind to you."

You pop your mouth off of him and move your hand up and down the shaft of his dick. "I never asked you to do that."

"You weren't complaining." He needs more. He can't handle this. He's just a boy. He doesn't have patience. 

You raise an eyebrow as if to threaten him but you take him into your mouth again. You move slowly still but this time you take one more inch in each time until, eventually, you reach the base of him. He tickles the back of your throat and your nose brushes against his skin. 

You pull off with a string of spit connecting. Taking a deep breath while you pump your hand, you say, "Good enough?"

He's moaning and biting his lip, trying to not give you complete satisfaction of being right that sometimes that torturously slow start does make for better head and he should not be arguing with the expert. He nods. "Yeah, yeah, keep going."

He shuts his eyes, unable to ignore the pleasure. He hears you laugh before your mouth reattaches. Warmth engulfs him, taking him over completely. He thinks he's going to lose it. That this pleasure will kill him. His grave will be marked Death by Blowjob and you'll be convicted for your deadly talent.

Alex clutches the back of your head just to have something to keep him grounded. He feels like he's floating as you take him completely in your mouth again. He mutters curses and lifts his hips, forming an arch, and being taken over. He empties into your mouth, trying to control his movements and not force his dick straight down your throat. He chants, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

You wipe your mouth and laugh at him like he's your little clown, which he's fine with. He'll put on the makeup and the garb if it makes you laugh like that, especially if he's coming like that. "Thank you," he mutters.

You giggle again. "You're welcome." You reach across him to his nightstand. "Now. From what poem is 'Thou still unravished bride of quietness' the first line?"

He groans but he'll say the blowjob was worth it.

*

On the last weekend of the term, he convinces you to leave your studying nest. You've been holed up inside ignoring the beautiful weather in favour of your exams. His studying has still been scattered but he's managed more than in years past because of you and your incentives.

He drags you out of town toward seclusion. Mainly because he wants to be alone with you but also because people online said this place is supposed to be pretty beautiful. He holds your hand as you walk toward the spot. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of that. Your warmth wrapped around him, fighting off that cold from within.

"Is this the part where you kill me?" You joke. He wanted to surprise you, something he has been notoriously bad at in the past. He has a blabbermouth when it comes to you. He's spoiled presents and date nights, but he just wants to tell you everything. Nothing feels real until you've heard about it.

He squeezes your hand. "No, that'll be next fall."

"Okay, good. I'm glad you're giving my parents time to say goodbye."

Alex breaks into laughter then, nervous and unable to keep up the bit. "Should we stop here?" He asks. The sun is shining just enough through the trees and little flowers pop up in the grass around you.

You shrug in your adorable overalls and hair woven into two braids. He could stay looking at you like this forever. There's no other need in life. "You're the one with the plans. I don't know where we're supposed to be going. Is this the surprise?"

"Kind of." He's nervously laughing. "It's kind of been with us the whole time."

You smile and your eyes shift down to his side. "You mean in that bag, right?" The one you've been trying to peek into the whole way here. "Is it a dog?"

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a blanket. "I couldn't find the proper basket but I thought we could have a picnic."

You’re staring at him. You have glassy eyes, ones he can't quite read but he thinks is a good sign. "We're having a picnic?"

"Yeah," he says, "if you'd like."

You quickly nod, your lips breaking out into a smile that exposes your teeth. You clutch a hand over your mouth to head the glee. You break eye contact away from him and look around as if to process the whole scene. 

He lays the blanket out and sits down on it. He pulls on your hand for you to sit down next to him. "I can't believe it," you say. 

"I had a good idea for once. Well, I guess it was more your idea."

You shake your head. "You planned it. You listened to me and some stupid comment I made and you made the best last weekend possible."

"I win?"

You kiss him. "You win."

"Wait until after you've had the food. It isn't the best. Just sandwiches and store-bought things."

"I don't care. You could give me anything and I'd love it."

He pulls a container from the bag. "How 'bout strawberries?"

You hug your arms around him and nearly knock them over in the process. "I love you," you whisper in his ear. "Thank you."

"Of course." He holds you back, never tiring of it. "Love you too."

You pull back and pluck a strawberry. You pop it in your mouth and moan. He tried his hardest to find the best English strawberries possible. Ones so sweet they could ruin any other food for you. "I really love you."

*

On the morning before you leave, he sits at your desk chair and watches you finish packing the remainder of your things. He watches as you struggle with the zipper of your suitcase until you exhaustively ask, "Can you sit on it?"

He plops down on top of it with a chuckle. You pull in the zipper and it finally reaches its end destination. You sigh with relief and lean back on your heels. You clap your hands together before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

Alex stands up and reaches his hand out to help you up. "Is that the last of it?" He keeps his hand in yours even after you've stood up.

You look around with one last gaze at your room, stripped completely of you. "Yeah, I guess so."

He wraps his arms around your waist, bringing your hips to his. "Should we do it on your bed one last time?"

You pull a face and giggle. "Ew, no. Not without any sheets and my parents waiting in the car."

He tilts his head back heavenward. "Ah, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I'm leaving it here. Besides, we were never that adventurous to begin with." It's easy to have the plain locale of a bed when the sex is so good.

"Next year, I guess. We'll have to finally do it in the showers."

"Yuck, stop. I know people who've shit in there."

He shakes his head sarcastically. "You're no fun."

"I know." You lean closer, tapping your forehead against his. "I'm lame and boring and I'm gonna miss you."

"Yeah." He can't even say it. The words have consumed him for days, every conversation ending with "Miss you." He's tired of it and it hasn't even begun. If he speaks it now, his voice will crack. He'll crack. He'll break in two and there will be nothing of him left here, except a puddle and you.

So, a kiss will do instead. He wants it to sear into you. Tattoo it onto your skin, imprint, force it onto, mark you, make you remember him. He wants them on him too. He wants to look down and see a lip gloss mark. He wants a freckle to remind him of his picnic. He wants the taste of cherries to be permanently set on his tongue. He wants the stickiness of a glazed donut on his fingers. He wants you.

On the walk to the car, you talk about a trip to the beach you took when you were ten. It's filled with your laughter and your humour and it dulls the throbbing in his bones. He kisses you goodbye once more before you run off with your parents.

"See you in the fall," you say.

He smiles. "See you in the fall." 

*

Before he leaves he finds another Virginia Woolf postcard in his mailbox. This time it's just a portrait but the back reads, "Woolf wrote to her lover Vita, 'It gets worse steadily – your being away. All the sleeping draughts and irritants have worn off, and I’m settling down to wanting you, doggedly, dismally, faithfully – I hope that pleases you. It’s damned unpleasant for me. I can assure you.' I've tried to say my feelings better than that but I can't. I miss you and I love you."

*

a/n: i might do a part two to this. maybe. probably. ignore any errors. i'm lazy. sorry. thanks. bye.

[esamastation]

Gamer girl gets transmigrated into a farm boy Chapter 1 [<<Prologue - Chapter 2>>] Ao3 link

-

Katie wakes up with a face full of hay, which is so far from any experience she's ever known that it takes a moment for her to even categorise the sensation as what it is. Prickly pieces of straw stick against her neck and cheeks, and there's something crawling in her hair that makes her sit up with a shriek, flailing frantically to get it off.

It's an ant, she finds out, as it crawls over her fingers and she flings it into the hay with a shudder and a "Eurgh!" that sounds… a bit off.

Everything about this is a bit off.

There's a ceiling of rough wood above her head, with thick wooden beams crossing from left to right. They've got a name, she's pretty sure - crossbeams? Probably not. She's distracted by how rough they look. Like they're handmade. Are those… are those axe marks?

There's stuff hanging from them. Farming tools.

Did… did she get drunk and get out of the city somehow and then… break into someone's barn? Or maybe she'd allowed herself to be picked up by some handsome farmer and they'd ended up fooling around in a barn. She can't quite recall…

Sitting up, Katie does a quick inspection of her surroundings, but there's no one else in the hay with her. It's just her, in her - actually…

What the hell is she wearing?

Also - what the hell has happened to her everything?!

Alarmed, Katie does a quick patdown on herself, her hands moving over the rough shirt. The chest beneath it does not feel like her own. Her breasts have been replaced by a flat expanse of muscle, and that's just the start of the changes. Now that she's looking, her hands are huge, her legs look weird in their rough woollen trousers and her feet are enormous. She's only wearing one shoe, too - well, it's more of a leather slipper, actually. But that's beside the point, because - is that -?

With a quick glance around to make sure no one is watching, Katie sticks a hand between her legs.

Yep. It is.

That's a dick.

"Oh, sweet," Katie says, brightening up. "This is a dream!" Either that or she'd just gotten isekaied into the body of a dude. A huge dude. 

Sadly, a dream is way more likely.

That cleared up, Katie looks around with new interest. She - or rather, he - seems to be in a hayloft. That's what it looks like to her, at least - and there's the piles and bales of hay there to prove it. There's also a wooden ladder not far from him, leading down from the little hay-filled attic.

Carefully Katie scoots over to the edge of the hayloft to look down. There are two carts parked on the ground below the loft - old timey, wooden, probably horse drawn wagons. And it's really the ground down there, rough brown earth, not wood or stone. There's tools on a rack, there's poles sticking out of a wall,, with saddles and girdles and all manner of leather straps hanging on them, there's buckets and barrels and boxes and, and…

Katie's heart begins to beat with excitement. It all looks very medieval. Like something out of a fantasy movie or a show! Sex change and a fantasy dream - that's like getting two for one!

Quickly ruffling his hands through his hair to clear out the hay, Katie glances around for his other slipper and finds it buried in the pile, not too far away. Quickly he pulls it on, making a face at the feel of bare and not exactly clean leather on his bare foot, before standing up.

And promptly almost hits his head on the rough-hewn ceiling beams. The loft, Katie finds, is not terribly high - he has to bow down to keep his head from scraping against the ceiling. 

Well. All the more reason to head down.

As he starts making his way down the surprisingly sturdy wooden ladder, the barn doors clatter and open. Like a deer caught in headlights, Katie freezes mid rung as a young woman steps inside the barn, already calling loudly, "Good morning!"

She's like something out of a videogame cutscene or a renaissance reenactment. She's blond and pretty, with freckles and the permanent blush of someone who doesn't tan but spends a lot of time in the sun. She's wearing a dress made of thick layers of sort of orangey-red wool with white apron, both of which go all the way down to the ground, belted at the waist with thick leather. There's at least two knives hanging off her belt, and three satchels.

She looks amazing. Also, very familiar.

"Oh, you're awake already! Good morning, Van," the woman says as Katie just gapes at her. Throwing her very long braid over her shoulder, the fantasy woman gives him a smile. "I'm working on breakfast, but Daddy wanted me to get you up and ask you to get the cart out - he's going to the town today."

"Ah - right, I'll just - uh -?" Katie manages, before everything tilts slightly sideways. 

Van, did she just call Katie Van?!

Above the woman's head, the air flickers and white text appears like a hologram out of a sci-fi movie.

[Farmer's Daughter] [Janelle Gylcross] [Lvl. 4 Commoner]

Katie gapes at the text and the woman laughs. "What, were you hoping to sneak out?" she asks, amused. "Better luck next time! Get the cart set up, okay? I'll have porridge ready by the time you're done."

"Uh," Katie says, intelligent, but Janelle is already heading out of the barn, humming as she goes, her braid swinging down to her hip. Still hanging on the ladder, Katie is left staring at the open barn doors as they slowly drift shut behind Janelle.

Katie knows that name. Janelle Gylcross. Janelle was a sympathetic NPC killed early in Age of Tales… along with just about everyone else known by the player character. Their death was a trigger for the very first moral choice in the game - the player was questioned about it and could choose to lie or tell the truth.

Well… it's not the first time Katie has dreamed about video games. And it explains the sex change - she'd just finished playing the game, too, so it makes sense it would be Van. It's not even the first time she's dreamed of being Van.

Van is kind of her favourite.

Something about this is off, though. It feels like Katie's forgetting something.

Then another flicker of white text catches Van's eye. Over a pitchfork, it tells him, [Pitchfork, Lvl. 1.]

It's like an oil stain spreading over the water's surface - or like one of those virtual reconstruction scenes from Katie's favourite cyberpunk movie. The whole barn seems to ripple, and suddenly everything is subtly different. Or maybe not different - added on.

Everything Van can see has a tag of white text floating above it. [Hoe, Lvl. 1.], and, [Saddle, Lvl. 1.], and [Wooden Barrel, Lvl. 1.], and [Bucket, Lvl. 1.] Everything is level one, except for the two carts, sitting in the middle of the barn. One of them is a [Cart, Lvl. 4.], and the other is a [Cart, Lvl. 6.]

"This is some prime isekai shit," Van says, grinning.

Testing things, he jumps off from the middle of the ladder. After all, there's no fall damage in dreams, right?

Well, there is in this one. Ow, his foot - he landed on a piece of rock, and the leather slippers aren't exactly thick-soled. Actually, they don't have any soles at all, they're more like socks, which does not seem useful as footwear goes - and that's when he sees a pair of wooden sandals, waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder. [Overshoes, Lvl. 1.] the white text informs him, and inspecting the leather slipper-things, Van finds that, yeah, it looks like they've been worn down in the pattern of the sandal straps. Okay then.

The sandals are surprisingly comfortable, as Van slips his enormous feet into them. They fit like they've been made for his foot. They also make very satisfying clip-clop noises as he walks.

Katie is starting to get the picture here. This is Van just at the start of the game. Van's grey, woollen trousers - Lvl. 1 - and the huge tunic he's wearing - also Lvl. 1 - are exact match to the game's starter gear, as is the belt hanging off the second bottom rung of the ladder. It fits him snugly, the belt loops worn at the exact perfect length to fit around his thickly muscled waist. He's got a couple of satchels and a knife hanging off the belt too, like Janelle did, though there's just the one knife.

And, just like he expected, one of the satchels has nothing but mostly round pebbles in it, the other has a long strap, thin but firmly woven cord with a little leather bit in the middle. Van's starter weapon, a Shepherd's Sling, Lvl. 1.

Exactly like in the game.

"This is so cool. I always wanted to get isekaied," Van muses and then looks around. "Okay, here's hoping I don't wake up anytime soon."

Now. What was Van's first quest…?

Promptly, a white-framed quest window pops up in front of him.

[Market Preparations, Lvl. 1.] [Janelle has asked you to prepare a cart for a trip to the town. Prepare the Reins, the Collar, the Saddlestrap and the Straps.] [Quest reward: 10 exp, 1 Bowl Of Porridge, 1 Apple.] [Accept?] [Yes.] [No.]

Looking around, Van finds the four necessary items easily enough - they're hanging off a pole in the wall near one of the carts. Approaching them eagerly, he finds another window popping up, asking him [Prepare items?]

"Yeah, sure, why not," Van answers with a grin and hits [Yes].

His body takes over for him then, moving with a weird sort of automation. Katie is not exactly out of control - she can feel Van's body moving and taking the straps and untangling their bundled up mess, but it's not Katie making the conscious decisions to move. Van's fingers work expertly, doing work Katie has no idea how to do, and then his body turns and his big feet carry him over to one of the carts, moving to belt the straps into their proper place on the wooden poles sticking out of the cart.

It's beyond trippy.

In a few minutes, the cart is ready for a horse, or an ox, or whatever it is that will pull the thing. It's… cool in a kind of detached creepy way. Van's body can just run on automation.

Boy, would've that come in handy in the warehouse job. Just, hit here to load up the pallet, and off her body went, automatically finding every ordered item. Probably would've wrapped the pallet up and filled the shipping manifest automatically and everything. Now that would've been something.

"Hey Van, Janelle said you were getting the - oh, you're done already?"

It's a guy this time, a big broad-shouldered farmboy type, with brown hair and blue eyes and everything, wearing the undyed peasant garb and wooden sandals similar to Van's. The white text even confirms it.

[Farmboy] [Josel Berndal] [Lvl. 3 Peasant.]

It's kind of funny, seeing Josel from Van's perspective. Josel was designed to be a gentle giant, obviously intended to be big and impressive - and he would've been… if Katie hadn't absolutely maxed out Van's height, making him about head's worth taller than Josel. It's not why Katie made Van so big, but it certainly added to her amusement.

"Morning," Van says, smothering the urge to ruffle Josel's hair fondly.

Josel is leading a horse, holding it by the bridle. It's a huge animal, with massive hooves covered in thick hair - a proper workhorse. "I got Bell ready," he says. "Should we strap her in?"

[Bell] [Lvl 6. Workhorse.]

"Uh -" Van says and another quest window pops up.

[Extra mission! Market Preparations Lvl. 1, Part 2.] [Janelle has asked you to prepare a cart for a trip to the town - meanwhile Josel has been getting Bell ready for the cart. Strap Bell in front of the cart.] [Quest reward: 5 exp, 3 Slingshots.] [Accept?] [Yes.] [No.]

"Sure," Van agrees and hits [Accept] on the quest window and [Yes] for the [Prepare items?] prompt. Again his body begins moving on its own, taking the huge leather collar as Josel brings the massive workhorse in, making her walk in a circle and then leading her back towards the cart. She's docile, for such a massive animal, Van muses, as his body moves to get the thick Collar around her huge neck.

Josel gives him a surprised look, watching him. "You've gotten strong," he comments and then, with a shrug, turns to work on the wide, cushioned Saddlestrap, which should apparently go over the horse's back. "I guess you're getting used to the work."

"Heh, yeah," Van answers, grinning. The height dial wasn't the only one Katie had maxed. Van is, to put it mildly, built.

Guess it translated to reality, so to speak. Dream reality.

Between Van's automatic proficiency and Josel's practised motions, they get Bell the workhorse ready and properly strapped into the cart. Josel rewards the horse with pats and pieces of a carrot he has in one of his satchels, grinning with good-natured farmboy happiness as she nudges at him hard enough to almost knock him over.

"Oh, right, here - picked these up for you yesterday while I was out by the river," Josel then says and from another satchel digs out three almost perfectly round pebbles. "They're good, right?"

[Quest Market Preparations Lvl. 1, Part 2 complete! You gain 5 exp and 3 Slingshots!]

"Yeah, thanks," Van agrees and takes the pebbles. Aside from being very beginner level, this dream is really looking up.

"Van, Josel!" a female voice comes from outside. "Breakfast is ready!"

They head outside, Josel at the casual pace of a young man well used to everything around him and Van trying hard not to stare at everything like a tourist.

It really is the Gylcross farmstead, exactly like it was in the game - which Katie had rather figured it would be. There's four buildings in a ring around a square of dirt, with farm fields peaking just past the buildings. One of them is a pretty impressive two storey farmhouse with shuttered windows and a big old porch. There's a pen full of chickens not far from them, and close to it there's a white goose, running loose and pecking at the ground. Behind the barn, Van thinks, he sees some goats in a pen.

Janelle is waving at them from a table set in front of the farmhouse, with a pot and plates and a pitcher of something. "Come eat while it's hot!"

"Yes, miss," Josel calls, humble, and Van follows him to the table.

"I told you, it's just Janelle," the farmer's daughter says. "Go on, sit."

They sit and she serves them pretty hefty helpings, handing them wooden spoons. The porridge is hot and thick, but a bit bland - like plain rice in milk, or something. Josel eats without saying anything and Van takes his example, wondering if it's always like this if you try to eat in a dream, if everything is tasteless.

Then Janelle pours them both a pint of what has to be beer - or ale? Whatever it is, it smells thick and tastes… kind of weird and not at all like Katie expects beer to taste like. It's not bad, though.

"Daddy is heading to the town to pick up some things," Janelle says as they eat and Van tries to place the taste of the not-beer. "One of you will go with him and do all the heavy lifting - do not let him do it," she says firmly. "His back is acting up again. Now, which one of you will it be?"

"Van can go," Josel says before Katie can even begin to wonder which would be better. "I went last time, it's his turn."

Yeah, and the heart eyes the farm boy is giving the farmer's daughters have absolutely nothing to do with Josel's eagerness to stay, uh-huh, yep.

Van grins and covers it with his pint. It's pretty cute - though the crush Josel had on Janelle made their inevitable deaths even sadder in the game. It was always kind of obvious what would happen to them, but still…

"Great - here," Janelle says, handing Van a perfectly red, plump [Apple]. "A snack for the road."

[Quest Market Preparations Lvl. 1 complete! You gain 10 exp, 1 Bowl Of Porridge, 1 Apple.]

This dream is pretty damn cool, Van decides and accepts the Apple with a nod as thanks.

"Finish your breakfast - Daddy will be here soon," Janelle says and turns to Josel. "Do you mind feeding the goats for me today? The big one almost knocked me over last time. Please?"

"I got it, miss," Josel agrees earnestly. "Don't you worry about it."

"Janelle," she corrects.

Josel nods very seriously. "Miss Janelle."

Janelle stomps her foot and Van chuckles into his not-beer. As he does, the door to the farmhouse opens and man steps out, patting at his chest and checking his clothes. He's dressed much fancier than they are, in a vest and dark brown slacks that look like they've been pressed - and he has actual shoes rather than sandals or leather socks. The shoes even have heels and everything.

He's also got one hell of a moustache.

[Farmer] [Jaques Gylcross] [Lvl. 8 Landowner]

"Morning, boys," the man calls, straightening the lapels of his vest. "How y'all doing this morning?'

"Good morning, Mr. Gylcross!" Josel pipes up. "We're doing just fine, thank you."

"Good, good," Mr. Gylcross nods. "Janelle, sweetheart, make sure the fire doesn't go out in the kitchen - I want the house nice and warm when I get back."

"I will, Daddy," Janelle promises. "When do you think you will be back?"

"Before sundown, with any luck," Mr. Gylcross says, casting a look up at the cloudy sky overhead. "If it starts raining, we might have to stay the night." He looks over their table. "All done with breakfast? Let's get moving then. Drakner is in town, and I want to bring some of the winter grain with us to sell, get us some spending money. There's a lot to do before harvest, a lot to do!"

A quest window pops up immediately after.

[Trip to town, Lvl 2.] [You have been asked to escort Mr. Jacques Gylcross to town for a spot of shopping. Load and drive the cart from the farmhouse.] [Quest rewards: 15 exp, 3 silver pieces.] [Accept?] [Yes.] [No.]

Josel nudges at Van and quickly he sets his pint down. "Right - right away, Mr. Gylcross," he agrees, and accepts the quest. Here's hoping driving a cart worked on automation too, else they'd end up in a ditch real quick.

- [<<Prologue - Chapter 2>>]

-

Proofread by @nimadge, many thanks.

And so it begins.

I would like to post this somewhere other than tumblr, for archival purposes, because tumblr sucks for archival purposes. AO3 is the best for that, but, eh, it still feels weird to me, the idea of posting original fiction on ao3. Even though lot of people do it. Idk.

What do you guys think?

[ttshihiro]

pspspps.. totally not golden groovy woops

ANYWAYS HII!! heard u were open for requests. may i request tammy + qiu with and an artist reader :00

requests of my favorite fandoms are my catnip good gof woa who could this be‽‽ my reqs and my ask box are like always open btw >◡<

extra note/s: I refer to step 1 Qiu as he/him. Uhhh take this as platonic or romantic, I'll add an indicator for romance (𐙚) ^^

more under the cut > o

✧ At 10 years old, QIU's fascinated. How he discovers your interest and skill in arts varies but his reaction doesn't. He's impressed! Whether digital or traditional, Qiu would love to participate especially if you asked him yourself.

For this reason, he carries an extra pen and even those colored ones just in case you get bored or if you're suddenly struck by creativity when you two are playing :3

✧ The first time you show him one of your doodles you made during class, he's compelled to do the same whether or not you actually give him it. And ever since, you two've been exchanging these sketches during class. It's the cutest scene to walk into.

✧ URGH AND THE THINGS HE DOES WHEN YOU TELL HIM ABOUT ART BLOCK DEPENDING ON HOW AND WHAT YOU DRAW

You're into drawing sceneries? Trust that he starts telling you and Tamarack about more "special things" in the forest and/or the town.

Like the sky? There's this clearing a lot further into the forest at your backyards. Stargaze, watch the clouds and the sunset together?

✧ It's also necessary for me to mention that unlike his notes, lazily pressed against eachother and constantly on the run, anything you give him goes to a safe space probably in between a books pages, under the the matress of his bed or inside a drawer/container.

"They broke into my backyard accidentally, 'cause they were on a crazy investigation about a paper airplane. Plus, they got here a day ago and they're already looking out for me. Normally, I'm the one doing that."

"Besides, they're pretty. And they make me pretty. Look! Look how they drew me!"

✧ As for 10-year-old TAMARACK, she's curious. The things you draw, are they based on actual places? Actual people? Oh, you draw based on your imagination? Elaborate.

✧ At some point in the prologue, she says "All the forests in the world are different, and some places don't even have forests. I can show you good spots to find things since you're newer to this forest than me."

And I can't not think of her running up to you to give you all of what she gathered for you to draw like omfg

With all those leaves and tiny branches sticking out of her hair and sweater, she smiles brightly with her hands filled with her treasures. AUGH SHE MAKES ME SO SICK I LOVE HER

✧ Like Qiu, she has her own safe spot designated for only your drawings if you've given her any.

She shows off all of them. Especially if you've drawn her?? It'll be the only thing she talks about during literally any time for the rest of the month and the few months after.

"Out of all the friends I have here, you're the best one. We came to the same exact neighborhood, almost at the same time, and are he same age. You have fun outside and I do too."

"I think you're pretty. How you draw me is pretty! I've never met a kid who was just like me. That's important. That's serious."

✧ Now, 14-year-old QIU's pretty much no different. They're even more impressed when they see just how much you've improved. Nonetheless, they treasure your old drawings just as much as they do they new.

They take the liberty of providing you with both a pen and paper to draw on when you're together, in case you don't bring your sketchbook (if you own one).

On those days where you two just sit in silence in their hideout, their gaze drifts to your side quietly a few times to watch your progress. After a while, they settle with sitting right next to you and watching the stroke of your pen against the paper as the scene forms with each hatch.

✧ As a teen, they've actually been a tad bit farther off the town when they feel like taking a ride on their bike. They've seen many sights and burn the route into their brain for them to tell you about. They'd even be happy as to bring you there themselves.

✧ If you ask them to be your muse, good god you'd need to tell them what to do.

It's almost a funny sight. Qiu, the kid who knew what to do their whole life asks you, "Should I pose? Where do I look? Ah- what's my good side?"

𐙚 They can feel their breath hitch under your scrutiny. Suddenly, they're concious of every single thing about them. Where do their eyes go? Should they move their hands? Is their hair in the way?

They avert their gaze flusteredly, their head ever so slightly moving to the side when they do so.

And good god do their hands clutch the fabric of their pants when you tell them to look at you properly.

✧ Same goes for TAMARACK at 14. She's as intrugued as ever to hear about your work. She admires (you)r style from then till now and has learned to appreciate the time gone into things as simple as this, whether or not you've made it with her in mind. BUT GOD IF YOU TELL HER IT IS, it's always sitting on her desk and she thinks constantly about what you've done for her.

✧ And while she doesn't exactly bring you a pen, she's more than glad to hand you hers when you need it.

✧ Unlike before, she'd now be at your side when you two hung out at her backyard. She'd be sitting across from you, practicing the cello. The hum of her instrument accompanied by the sound of nature and the scratch of your pen against paper gives her a sense of calmness.

This may also be when she realizes she's been your muse! Her fingers trace over where your pen has been and boy appreciate isn't even enough for her to describe how she felt. It was definitely happy, but that wasn't the word either.

𐙚 Her heart pounds alarmingly as she admires your work. It's almost concerning to you that she sits silently with a blank expression as she held your sketchbook in her hands.

But that concern washes off you as soon as a warm smile curls the corners of her lips, tender adoration displayed all over her face.

[eashgirl]

If anyone remembers that one episode from season nine where Peri got Mrs crocker for a godchild(slight spoilers for a new wish and Peri's relationship with Dev)

She was depressed because she felt like Crocker didn't love her back,and she tried to use wish after wish to quell that emptiness,leaving Peri so exhausted because no matter how many wishes he tried to grant she never seemed to get happy

It got so bad from what I remember they tried all ways to get her to break the rules just so Peri would be free from her,she only truly lost him when she reconciled with Crocker who admitted he did indeed love her

I can't help but compare this to Peri's new godkid in ANW, Dev tried to do something similar,all he ever wanted was to have his dad's love which he never got because Dale literally cares more about money and his literal boots more than him,hence similarly no matter how many wishes he kept asking for hardly any of them were able to geniunely make him happy beyond the surface level, I'd argue the only times he was truly happy was when he and Hazel were friends but that's for another post.

Peri did try his best to adhere to the rules and to grant his wishes,but this in turn just made Dev get even more frustrated because in all fairness he doesn't really NEED a fairy to give him little things like a cupcake or something like a game he's rich he can get an AU pair to bring him that anytime,and the more riskier wishes that can be deemed as more fun is against the rules. Heck I'd even argue that initially Dev may not have seen Peri as anything besides an AU Pair but with magic given that he only really used him to make wishes. Dale probably just told him to ask the au pairs anything he wanted as a means of neglecting his own parental responsibilities. That and Peri wanting to do his absolute best at his first job to impress his parents and stick by the rules along with Dev's frustration and lashing out is the core reason why it fell apart so quickly.

This difference in opinion led to all of this, they're both at fault and both have legitimate reasons for it,Peri had the excuse that this really is his first job he's just doing what he was taught at the academy just grant the kid's wishes and make them happy,he probably did not anticipate the need for severe emotional understanding when it comes to troubled kids(honestly who decided to give a newbie a kid that needed way more help from a seasoned fairy godparent though? I blame whoever made that decision)he did care about Dev in the end but by that time it was too late.

With Dev it's he's a hurt kid and he lashes out at others which I'm not trying to justify it's still wrong,and people can get hurt because of that but given his circumstances I really understand him, he's not used to allowing people in and builds walls around himself even the slightest gesture is enough to make him to increase his guard even more like when he thought a single argument with Hazel meant their friendship was over and tried to go back to being his old self until Hazel pointed that out to him,the sunglasses being a literal metaphor for it,he takes them off a lot during his friendship arc with Hazel and starts putting them on all the time near the end during his downward spiral. He acts the persona of a bully as a means of gaining control of his situation,when it's obvious that is not how he truly is lost and founders day being a prime example,he was genuinely getting better until he found out about project H,and I can understand his reaction his dad who's always absent,hardly ever pays any attention to him literally won't look him in the eye unless it concerns bussiness,cares more about his son's friend then he cares about his own son,did Hazel deserve to get yelled at though?no she didn't, it's still not her fault.

Then immediately after Hazel leaves Peri comes back and tries a feeble attempt to cheer him up by persuading him to make a wish,which really wasn't the right call to make in that specific moment which further aggravates Dev into telling him to leave before having a mental breakdown.

And later in best of luck he ends up getting in a vulnerable position when Peri declares he's quitting,and Irep ends up being a bad influence,he gets manipulated and tries to take over fairy world as a desperate means of getting Dale to finally, finally pay some attention to him which he does initially until he immediately shifts his focus to Irep instead. Literally leaving Dev in the dust on the ground. Alone again.

(I really want to make this post a bit more detailed but I'm six days away from an exam so I can't find the time,any grammar mistakes is because of how rushed this one was might edit it later)

Cosmo phrases it best what he wanted was something no fairy could ever give him,he wanted a parent's love and that is something no amount of wealth or magic is ever going to amount to,which is ultimately the final straw in making Dev abandon everything and accept the consequences without any persistence.

Peri couldn't really relate to or understand Dev because he always had the love or his parents even when he was anxious of messing up they were always supportive and loving, I don't think it's a coincidence that the panel always shows the three of them hugging infront of Dev and Hazel the latter trying to talk to him after everything that transpired. A physical metaphor of what he doesn't have and has to see Infront of his eyes all the time. Again I don't really blame anybody(except maybe Dale but if I'm blaming Dale I'm also blaming Vicky),Peri is a rookie he just graduated so it's unrealistic to expect him to be the best right away, I actually think he might need to ask Wanda and Cosmo for advice in season two how they dealt with certain kids and how he can improve himself.

Because neither Dev or Peri were perfect they were horrible to eachother,but that doesn't mean they can't be better.

It's clearly setting up an overarching story, I actually have faith in the new writers they didn't throw in that scene of Peri saying he cared about Dev and leaving it ambiguous whether or not Dev actually still remembers because of that one theory for nothing.

My reason for bringing in Mrs Crocker is to point out that the only way Dev can really quell his own emptiness is by attaining the love he always wanted, I think by off chance he does indeed remember everything- which I believe is the better option to retain his charecter development-,he may have finally come to understand that no matter what he does his dad would never care about him the same way he cares about his Business and himself,maybe this will lead to him forming better connections with other people, reconciling his friendship with Hazel and befriending Winn and Jasmine and maybe even getting Peri back as his fairy.

Another reason slightly crack that inspired me to make this post is this

This is Peri's eventual state/reaction every time he gets a godchild, boy's been bad at this from the very beginning it's that and simultaneously always gets a hard case on his first try

[nirvanawrites111]

Set My Wings on Fire (DPR Ian x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You're smitten by the love of your life, Christian Yu and he's being painted as a dangerous person. But, you don't care cause that's your man and you're going to stick beside him. You're pretty much in love with a villain, but he's super sweet to you. Non-celebrity AU.

Pairing: DPR Ian x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2024

Warnings: Smut, PIV, oral sex (male rec), mentions of murder, praise kink, good girl, unprotected sex, creampie

This is part of a NEW SERIES called Duality. It's all about embracing switch!energy. Part 1 will be sub!reader and Part 2 will be dom!reader. Some of the stories will be 2 idols x reader, and some will be just 1 on 1.

Smut below the cut.

"You need to leave him alone," Your best friend voices as they stare at the large television on your wall. The dim glow casts a shadow across your living room.

You press your lips together and cross your arms. A tightness crawls up your chest. This is the last thing you want to hear right now. You are tired of hearing this comment right now. You feel around your couch for the remote. You can't bother to listen to the news channel any longer.

"Look," you begin, forcing yourself to meet their gaze. "I know Christian very well. The media is trying to make up stories about him. He's not the monster they're making him out to be," You speak up and express your feelings. You twist his ring that he gave you a year ago, and you decide to wear it as a necklace.

You know Christian better than anyone. Everything he does has a meaning and purpose behind it.

You stare at the image of his picture plastered on the television. His usual neat dark brown hair is a mess, and his eyeliner is smeared. Underneath his picture are large red letters "WANTED" that contrast against his pale complexion. Sure, he might seem dangerous to someone else, but to you, something magnetizes you to him.

"The man is a killer, Y/n. If he comes here, you need to turn him in. You don't want to go to jail for housing a fugitive, do you?"

"He isn't a killer. I don't care what the media is saying."

You pick up your phone off the couch table and see that he texted you five minutes ago that he was on his way. You quickly text back and tell him to wait until your best friend leaves.

"This man has brainwashed you. Hopefully, you realize the truth before it's too late." Your best friend raises their hands in defeat and stands up. "I gotta go. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"He's not, but thanks for stopping by," you reply, trying to smooth things.

Your friend stands up and hugs you. You're glad they are leaving. There is nothing that will convince you that Christian is a bad person. Even with everything you know about him, you would never turn on him.

You walk with them to your front door, and the soft patter of your bare feet echoes against the polished hardwood floor.

Once they leave you close the door only to be slightly pushed open, revealing Christian.

There he is.

The only man that can make you melt to your knees. You want nothing more than to feel his hands all over you.

"Beautiful," Christian, your accented lover, whispers your favorite nickname. He steps into your home. His words allow you to fall to your knees and please your man. But, you don't want to act too thirsty.

He removes his hood with both hands and reveals his hair in messy, shoulder-length loose curls. The two of you stand in your foyer, and your eyes connect.

Christian has such a dark energy around him that it attracts you to him for whatever reason. It pulls you in so closely, like a moth to a flame. Regardless of what others say, you can still see the good in him. He's been nothing but kind, patient, and loving to you. So, really, that's all that matters to you.

"Are you okay?" You ask him.

Christian removes his sweatshirt, and your eyes trace over his tattoos. You run your hand over the one tattoo over his heart, your name.

"I'm so much better, now that I'm with you."

"I'm sure you know they're looking for you."

"I know," Christian sighs. "I'm also wanted for something. What is it this time?"

"Murder."

Christian stares into your eyes, and he can heart your heart beating fast. No one has ever cared about him more than you. Your unwavering loyalty is something he's searched for many years. Now, he's found exactly what he needs within you.

"Do you think I'm guilty?" Christian asks you.

"No, but if you did it, I know there was a reason."

"Good girl. You know your man oh too well," Christian praises you. He knows it's exactly what you need to hear in this moment.

Your lips curl into a smile, and you haven't looked away from him. He knows that nothing about him scares you. He's told you his deepest, darkest secrets. Because he knows he can trust you.

"I do. My best friend was just running their mouth talking about how I need to leave you alone. But, they don't know you like I do."

"Do you need me to handle that?"

"No, never that."

"We have some catching up to do. Don't we, angel?"

"Yes."

***

You turn on the shower and step into it first. Christian follows behind you. He presses you against the shower wall from behind. "My angel.. so pure. So innocent," he whispers into your ear.

Christian runs his hand down your back, enough to give you chills. You've missed feeling his touch against your skin.

"You know I'm far from innocent."

"Compared to me. You're a saint."

Christian attacks your neck with kisses. This instantly sends a warmth throughout your body. You've missed the way his lips feel against your skin. You don't care what happens when he's out of your sight. Because this man adores you, he'd do anything to protect you.

"Sweetness, tell me.." Christian pulls away from you and turns you around to face him. His gaze penetrates your eyes, searching for something unspoken. "Do you really love me?"

His eyes are full of emotions, and you can see the pureness in his question. But, at the same time, why would he question you this way? You've always supported him no matter what.

"Of course, I do. Why wouldn't I?"

"Even if I had to leave you for a bit?"

Your breath quickens, and you can feel your stomach churn. Is he going to up and leave you? Does this mean he's going to end things with you?

"Where are you going?" You twist your necklace.

Christian picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist as the warm water cascades down the two of you.

"I'm not sure. But, I'm leaving in 48 hours."

"Because of what I saw on the news?" You try to piece everything together. Did this mean that it was true? You didn't want to ask him what happened because you trusted him.

He promised you he would never do anything that would jeopardize his time with you. He stated that from the beginning. But, now, it felt like things were going differently.

"Yes."

"I'm coming with you."

"Hell no. I will get this sorted out. I will come back for you."

"No, I'm coming with you."

"Angel?"

"Yes."

"Don't I always come back for you?"

"Yes.. but."

"No, buts. Listen, you have to trust me. I will come back for you, okay?"

You nod. But, your fear is he's going to leave you.

"Angel, don't look so sad. I wish I could take you with me. It's going to pain me to leave you."

"Well let me taste you for the last time."

"Of course, angel."

Christian releases from his arms, and you get down on your knees. You look up at him.

He strokes your face and looks at you in such a loving way.

You hold your hands behind your back and swirl your tongue around his dick until he's halfway in your mouth.

You hum your favorite song and move your mouth up and down his length. This could be the last time you taste him, so you want to savor the moment.

You close your eyes and move faster and hear him moan. You love hearing him vocalize his satisfaction for you.

"Go deeper for me, angel," Christian instructs you, and you have no problem following instructions.

You take him deeper into your mouth, and he cradles the back of your head. He's moving with you to the point where you two are rocking as one.

At this moment, you are breathing through your nose because you only want to please him. You live to serve him. You are hopelessly devoted to him.

"Fuck.. just like this," Christian groans. "Don't stop, angel. God, you're so beautiful like this."

"Mmmhm," you barely manage to say because you have your mouth full and wouldn't want to have it any other way. Tonight has to count and hold you over.

"No one else can suck me the way you do. You're so amazing, angel," Christian continues to praise you, which encourages you to keep going because you know he's so close.

"You want this nut don't you?"

You nod without missing a beat, and both of his hands are on the back of your head. He's practically fucking your throat at this point.

He cums down your throat, and you swallow all of it.

Christian pulls you up to kiss you. He slips his tongue into your mouth and kisses you. As the kiss deepens, you can't help but run your fingers along your pussy only to find that it are dripping for him.

"Thank you for that amazing blow job, angel. You're always amazing."

"No problem."

Christian wraps his arms around you. "Mhmm.. I'm ready to feel all of you now. You want that, baby?"

"Yess.."

"How do you want me?"

"From behind.. like this." You turn around, place your hands against the shower wall, and arch your back.

Christian places his hand against your lower back and moves his dick along your entrance. "You know I love taking you from behind. Do you want me here or do you want back door."

"Here.. I want to feel you deep inside me. I prefer anal when I'm pegging you."

Christian kisses on the side of your neck. "I know baby.. next time when I come home. We can celebrate with pegging." He sucks on your neck and inches himself into you.

Feeling him inside of you feels like home. There's nothing like having him deep inside of you.

"You're so tight for me, angel," Christian whispers against your neck, kissing gently against the spot he just sucked on.

You moan out his name and enjoy him being inside of you again.

The feeling is euphoric, and you get lost in the moment of being one with your lover again. His hands cover and clasps with yours as he strokes into you.

You hope you celebrate with him, but you want to enjoy this moment. You arch your back a little more as he increases the pace. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure throughout your body. It feels too good. You deserve to experience this type of heaven on earth.

Christian holds you in place as he slows down with each backshot he gives you, and he reaches from behind and runs his hand down the front of your love nest. He moves to your clit and strokes it.

"Yesss, baby! I love when you rub my clit," you moan out.

"I know you do." Christian continues to rub it while you tighten around his dick. "My baby is close. Are you going to cum on my dick?"

"Mmhmm," you moan. But, at the point, you're already trembling from the combination of his teasing your clit and being buried inside you. The sensation is perfect. It's a feeling that never gets old. No matter how many times he gives you an orgasm, it always feels as good as the first time.

"So, be a good girl and cum for me."

"That's it.. baby. Cum on dick." He instructs you and talks you through it. You obey him easily. You release onto his dick. He's right there with you as he pumps into you until he cums inside you.

"Mmm.. thank you, baby," you say, trying to catch your breath.

"No, thank you angel. You were wonderful as always. I can't wait to celebrate with you when I come back."

If you enjoyed this please reblog. It helps other find my work.

Part 2

[moonbrewerr]

snily will forever be the most interesting platonic relationship to me.

the idea of severus growing up in an abusive home, feeling as though his mother is just standing by because he's too young to understand the abuse for what it is, not feeling as though he's worth love or protection. lily, growing up different from her family. a "freak" who doesn't fit in with them and who hasn't felt loved the same since her first burst of accidental magic.

snily meeting each other in cokeworth as young children and instantly connecting - severus showing lily that she's not a freak, that there are others like her and giving her a hand into this world, whilst lily shows severus that whilst his dad is bad, not all muggles are. they show each other that kindness does exist in their alternate worlds, you just have to find it.

then they go to hogwarts, and they're so sure that they'll end up together, that they'll both be placed in the same house or, even if they're not, their friendship will persist.

only to be placed into opposing houses.

severus, a child who's never had a sense of belonging besides lily, is placed into the house that hates hers, into a house that becomes flooding with anti-muggle rhetoric and he's been told that he belongs here. he's told that he belongs and all he's ever wanted is to belong, so he changes. consciously or not, he morphs himself to fit him.

lily who joins a house that has anti-slytherin rhetoric, watching as severus makes friends with the wrong crowd, lily hanging out with gryffindors that resent the slytherins but sticking by severus anyway. because she knows him, right? she knows that no matter what they say about his house, she knows him.

until she doesn't anymore. she lets his actions slide for years, lets herself pretend that the boy she met in cokeworth all those years ago is still in there somewhere and that they'll be able to pull through - until SWM.

and then it's two people who showed each other that they belonged, and that kindness existed and it's just gone. he joins the alliance that is actively working against her.

and then it's severus bringing the prophecy to the dark lord - another place he feels as though he belongs and can be worthy of something more than darks rooms and empty bottles in a small house - and not knowing who it's about, only for everything that those two have been through to come flooding back at the last minute when it's too late.

and he just has to persist. he has to persist knowing that he played a part in her death, and that his deflection doesn't change that. maybe, if lily were alive, his position in the war wouldn't have been the only thing to deflect, but his person too - maybe he could have reverted back to that kind boy in the park if she were still here, but what's the point? what's the point of redemption if the one person whose opinion actually mattered to you is gone? so he doesn't change. he has no reason to, not really.

and then he teaches her son and has to cope with the fact that he's the spitting image of james, besides the eyes. and he has to look into these eyes every single day - and he's expected to protect them. he's looking into eyes that he failed to protect once, and it's torture to know that once again, he has a change to redeem himself, yet she'd never know.

and isn't that so tragic?

that he manages to protect harry for years and give him the final pieces of the puzzle, yet lily never knows, and it doesn't feel complete. it doesn't feel like redemption to save a part of her rather than all of her.

[goquokka00]

The Roomie Effect

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Summary: You're roommates with your friend Jisung and his boyfriend, Minho. The downsides? You're attracted to both of them, and they're a fairly...active couple. Little do you know; they're also attracted to you. And they want you to be in their relationship with them.

Pairings: Jisung X Reader (F!) X Minho

Genre: Fluff, humor, non-idol au but Stray Kids still knows each other, smut (MDNI)

Warnings: Mentions of sex and alcohol, "vaping" (reader uses diffuser sticks like pure and cloudy, so no nicotine), reader is a bit of a perv! at some points, anal sex (male x male), Sub! Jisung, Hard Dom! Minho, handjob

Word Count: 4.3K

You still remember when Jisung brought up rooming with him. It had been a pretty calm day, the two of you deciding to hang out because of that reason. You did as you both did, causing mischief, being unhinged, the works. After all, you two were really close friends. Sure, you both had your friend groups, but they weren't the same as when you two were hanging out.

Then again, both of your friend groups were more like one big friend group you two had accidentally created. But, everyone got along. And it was always fun when everyone decided to meet up.

Even so, you and Jisung still loved hanging out together, just the two of you from time to time. And that's what you two did that day, before deciding to grab some lunch. You both decided on that one cafe that you both always enjoyed, sitting down and ordering before visiting with each other.

It was your usual conversation. How classes were going, how life was going. You always asked how his relationship with his boyfriend, Minho, was going as well, mainly because you loved seeing how Jisung's face always lit up whenever he talked about him.

His face only seemed to do that for Minho.

While it stung, you always chose to ignore it. Sure, you liked Jisung, but you had accepted that he just didn't see you like that. And it's not like Minho was a bad boyfriend. No, no, no, Minho was an incredible boyfriend. Loving, considerate, loyal. It was everything you wished for in a man. Course, he was really handsome, too. Jisung deserved someone like that in his life.

But as the conversations went on, and after receiving your food, a new topic spurred on how you were looking for somewhere to live. You had previously been living in the dorms of the college you and Jisung were going to. You were a freshman then anyway, so living at the dorms was a requirement for first years. But you weren't about to live there again. No way in hell.

And the moment that you started complaining about how much you loathed the dorms and wanted to live anywhere else, but apartments were too expensive, Jisung hopped at the opportunity that he saw open right up in front of him.

"Why not just live with me and Minho?" Jisung offered. He had a bright smile on his face, eager to talk you into this idea.

"What?" You asked, raising a brow. "No, I can't do that to you two."

"You make it sound like you're going to burden us." Jisung responded, laughing a bit.

"Don't I already since I always bother you with questions on homework?" You asked again, Jisung shaking his head. While it was true you went to him a lot, since he was a year above you going for a similar major you were (He was going for Music Production, you were going for Music Performance), but it never bothered him.

"You already know I don't mind. And besides, wouldn't it make things easier since you'd have me just down the hall?" Jisung asked you, stuffing some more food into his mouth. "Just think about it. It would lower the rent payments for both Minho and I, and it would be low for you, too. You'd have your own room and bathroom, access to me who can help you with stuff right away, and you'd get to eat Minho's cooking. You'd have room to bake and people to eat what you bake, two people who could buy you alcohol, and you'd get to see me every day!"

"Oh god."

"Hey! Don't make me sound like a nuisance!"

"You kind of are though."

"No, I'm not!" That just made you laugh, Jisung just laughing with you. Once you two settled down, he continued. "In all seriousness, we'd be happy to have you. Especially if it'll make your life easier."

"I don't know..." You responded. You just didn't want to burden the two, especially since you didn't know Minho as well as you knew Jisung. "I mean, I don't want to intrude on you or Minho. Does Minho even know you're offering?"

"I can talk to him about it. I'm sure he'd be perfectly fine with it." Jisung told you, smiling proudly. "Besides, I'm pretty convincing when I want to be."

"So you're gonna let him fuck you, right?"

"NO!"

"You totally are."

"Y/N!"

Again, you laughed at his red face, finding how he hid it in his hands adorable. Jisung was always adorable in your eyes, though. But after he let out a sigh, he lifted his head, giving you a pleading look.

"Could you at least think about it?" Jisung asked, which made you sigh. He knew you couldn't say no to him.

"I'll think about it."

And think about it you did. You spent days deciding if it was really a good idea to move in with Jisung and Minho. Jisung had a lot of good points, but the fact of the matter was that you already secretly liked Jisung, you had for a while now. And you knew Minho was attractive too. So it would probably only be a matter of time before you caught feelings for him as well.

You also knew just how...active...the two were. Any time you and Jisung would drink together, Jisung would be a lot more open about him and Minho, which meant you heard quite a bit about their sex life. And it seemed that they did it often. And that meant that more than likely, you'd be hearing your friend whining and moaning some nights.

And you knew that would only make your little crush get worse.

But, after writing down all of the pros and cons on an index card, the pros that Jisung mentioned, as well as the ones you thought of, outweighed the cons. And so, you let Jisung know the following morning that you'd be willing to move in. So long as Minho was okay with it.

He was.

And so, you found yourself meeting with both of them a few days later to go over some paperwork, chores list, all sorts of stuff. You were actually pretty surprised when Minho asked you if there were any rules you'd like to have, as you weren't expecting that.

"Rules?" You asked, Minho nodding as he kept his arm around Jisung, who was currently scrolling through some form of social media.

"Yeah, y'know, like those terms and agreements you had to fill out at the dorms." Minho said, pulling out his and Jisung's agreement they had made. You were shocked they even had one. "Ji and I decided to write one when we first moved in together. We may be dating, but we both still have our boundaries."

With that, you took the agreement, reading over everything that was currently on it.

If you're gonna invite people over, make the other person aware and make sure it's okay first

If you make a mess anywhere, be sure to pick it up

If it's labelled with a name, don't touch it

Be sure to knock before entering

Make sure to turn lights off in the bathroom and leave the door open so others know it's available

Shoes stay at the entryway

Anytime there's finals week, apartment is to stay as quiet as possible

"I mean, I don't think there's anything I'd want to add." You tell him, smiling up at him. "It seems pretty fair."

"You sure? Nothing about privacy or needing us to tone things down?" Minho asked, pulling Jisung closer to him. He was pretty surprised that you didn't have much to say about that. "We do tend to get kinda wild."

"No, it's fine. I mean, I have noise-cancelling earbuds for a reason." You tell him, giving him a kind smile.

"She had a roommate last year that would always bring people in and would be loud, so she had to resort to that method of studying." Jisung told him, kissing his cheek. Minho then shot you a concerned look.

"Really, if you want us to dial down, we can--"

"Minho, it's fine, really. I'm the one moving in with you guys, you two don't have to change a thing. And if you get loud, I can just plug in. It's not the end of the world." You tell him. That was the end of the conversation.

And before you knew it, you were moved in and all set for the next fall semester.

Jisung could hardly wait for you to move in, so as soon as you were able, him and Minho helped you out. So you ended up moving in a few weeks before school actually started. That way, you could adjust to your new surroundings, as well as get to know Minho a bit better.

All in all, their apartment wasn't bad. Actually, you really liked the place. You had been inside of it a few times before, but usually just in the entryway to pick Jisung up before going and hanging out. But now that you'd be living there, you were really able to take in the beauty of their-well, your home.

They had a really nice sized window in the living room, which brought in a lot of natural lighting. Their kitchen was a nice size as well, having an island and two ovens. Perfect for baking. They also had a decent sized TV with a switch, a nice coffee table and coffee set up, and some greenery and blankets tossed over the couches.

Your room was really nice, too. You spent a lot of time on it, hanging fake vines on the wall of your desk, a nice whiteboard calendar just above your face so you could see the upcoming days. Pens and pencils and markers and all sorts of utensils were put into holders alongside your desk, as well as your laptop stand and a few other things to make it more home-y.

Your bed was made neatly with a few pillows with mushroom decor, an LED mushroom light hung near your own window, and a few other decorations were scattered here and there to really make the room feel like yours.

It was when you were just finishing up with getting everything on your bed figured out when Jisung knocked, getting your attention. You turned and opened the door, only to find Jisung and Minho carrying Jisung's old Clavinova keyboard.

"Hey! Thought you might want this to tie your room together!" Jisung said, carrying it in with Minho, setting it against a wall.

"Wait, are you serious?" You asked, looking at him in awe.

"Jisung bought a newer one over the summer, and he figured that since you always wanted a Clavinova, he could just give it to you for your birthday or something." Minho explained.

"But since you're moving in, I figured that it could be your move-in gift! So, do you like it?" Jisung asked as you gently scooted it up to your wall, admiring it with everything else.

"I do. I don't even know what to say." You said, smiling to Jisung before giving him a hug. "Thank you so much, Ji!"

You missed the blush that covered his face, as well as the big smile that he gave Minho, who smiled just as widely back.

||

"I told you that she'd love it." Jisung told Minho as they settled back onto the couch. They were waiting for you to finish up with getting settled, as Minho wanted to make sure you were done before cooking.

"I never said she wouldn't, Ji." Minho replied, pulling his boyfriend close. "I just thought that it might take up a bit of space, was all."

"But did you see the look on her face? She was so happy, Min!" Jisung told him, Minho just smiling as he moved Jisung to his lap. Jisung happily went into it, making himself comfortable.

"She was, yes." He said, kissing Jisung's forehead. "I'm still so surprised that she didn't have any rules against us messing around."

"Y/n's like that. She never really wants to make anyone mad at her, so she usually goes with what she thinks other people would like best. She's a people pleaser, I guess you could say." Jisung explained, moving Minho's hair out of his eyes. "It's why she compensated for the noise in her dorm rather than telling them to knock it off. She does voice her complaints, though."

"But I'm assuming it's to people who aren't involved?" Minho asked, Jisung nodding.

"Yeah." Jisung responded. "I heard about how much she hated her last living arrangements a lot, and when I brought up that she should ask them to tone it down, she just responded that she didn't want to make them mad, so she'd just put up with it."

"Hm." Minho turned back to look at your room, seeing that you haven't left it, yet. He turned back to Jisung, bringing his head down to kiss him lightly. "Then let's make a new rule. We can only fool around when Y/n isn't here."

"I was gonna say we should do that." Jisung smiled, kissing Minho again.

But something deep inside both of them knew that the rule wouldn't last.

||

It was the 2nd week of the fall semester. You were already stuffing your nose into books, listening to music to memorize it, doing Music Theory and pitch practice, everything that required your full attention. Then again, that's how college seemed to work. They bombard you with homework, drowning you so deep that it's hard to come back out on top.

But, in your time of living with Jisung and Minho, you had actually started getting more and more comfortable around them, as well as living with them. You and Jisung seemed to get impossibly closer, spending time at the counter working on homework, as well as in either of your rooms working on things for the one class you both shared that involved singing.

Your feelings also grew for him, as well as his boyfriend.

Minho, as you thought, was much more down to earth, but was kind and caring. He always made sure you had eaten, gotten good rest, and would always be willing to listen to you if you had to vent. He was also sarcastic, a little bit of a trickster, and would threaten to either stuff your mouth with tissues or stick you in an airfryer and cook you at 390° for 15 minutes.

Jisung had a setting, too. 325° for 20 minutes.

Minho was also very blunt. He said what was on his mind whenever he pleased, and he didn't care how it made others feel. Whether that be insulting certain people he went to class with or complimenting you.

It was one thing to be complimented by Jisung, since he did it so much and it was usually just as a joke-like way. Then again, you could tell when he was genuinely complimenting you, as he would always sound awe-struck, no giggles or funny looks coming from him.

Minho was a completely different story.

When Minho complimented you, it was 100% serious. How did you know that? Because it was fucking Minho, he never complimented anyone or anything unless he thought they needed to know.

And that only made your feelings grow for your friend's boyfriend.

It made you feel awful. For one, you liked your friend. And he was dating someone. You knew that, and yet you couldn't stop your feelings. You couldn't accept that he was your friend, for whatever reason. What's worse is you liked his boyfriend, too. You wanted to be with both of them. Really badly.

Sometimes, late at night, you'd think about it. What it would be like to be in a polyamorous relationship with the two of them. Sometimes, it really felt like that. But, you knew it wasn't true. They were together, you were just their roommate and friend. But most of the times, you'd table your feelings. Well, you tried to, anyway.

Such as nights like this, when you'd be working on your homework. Peacefully doing Music Theory, trying to figure out chord progressions and whether you could use a Contrary Motion or a Common Tone to change it. You were focused in, moving steadily along.

Until you could hear Jisung whining.

You knew you should've reached for your airpods, pop them in and ignore the sounds being made. They weren't for your ears. You knew it would make your feelings worsen. But...you couldn't help it. Hearing Jisung whine like he was, it made your chest tighten. He sounded so pretty, even if it was because he was whining for Minho to do something, anything to him.

You decided that you'd take a break then, just-just wanting to listen. Hear how things would play out. You wouldn't do anything, you wouldn't touch yourself, you wouldn't distract yourself with blaring music.

Jisung's whines turned into moans. A gasp, and then a long groan of satisfaction. You didn't know why he sounded so pleased, but you could assume some things. Perhaps Minho entered him? Maybe Minho was actually complying and jerking him off? You didn't know, but soon, Jisung's moans picked back up, sounding so beautiful.

You could feel yourself gushing at the sound.

God, you hated yourself. You felt like a pervert, listening to them like this. This was private, this was supposed to be intimate between the two of them. You had to stop. You needed to stop.

It was hard to, but you did.

You ripped yourself from listening, grabbed your airpods, and stuck them into your ears before playing Lofi as loud as you possibly could. You then reached for one of your diffusers, putting it into your mouth and taking a puff before breathing in and letting it out, watching the vapors leave your mouth.

It always looked so satisfying to you.

You repeated the process, leaning back on your chair and closing your eyes, taking the time to remove those dirty and perverted thoughts from your mind.

||

"Fuck, Min, I--mmph!" Jisung was immediately cut off by Minho's hand going right over his mouth. Jisung was folded in half, his cock being jerked off by Minho as he slammed into him, hitting right up against Jisung's prostate, making Jisung's hips buck.

"Shut it, unless you want Y/n to hear you." Minho warned. Instead of Jisung doing so, he just moaned louder. Minho could feel his cock twitch at the mention of Y/n being able to hear, his tight little hole clenching around him. "You like that idea? You want Y/n to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock?"

Once again, Jisung moaned out, tears going down his face as Minho continued to fuck into him. He practically cried out when Minho gripped his cock's head, gently applying pressure to it with his thumb. Jisung's hands shot up to Minho's hands, holding on tightly.

"God, I know you like her, but you know she's studying. You don't want her to get distracted with me fucking you so well, right?" Minho told him, removing his hand to hear Jisung. He knew full well that you could probably hear him, too. Well, unless you hadn't put your airpods in yet.

"Min--oh my god, Min, feels so-so good, you're cock...oh my GOD, your cock is so good, s' so big, it-it's...ugh it's rubbing my prostate so fucking well, Min--" Jisung's babbling was immediately cut off with a kiss from Minho. Their kiss was so sloppy, their tongues dancing as Jisung's drool dripped from the side of his mouth, but he didn't care.

Jisung liked things messy.

"P-Please, Min, y'gotta--gotta go faster...please, harder...M-Min, god, pppllleeeaaassseee!" Jisung begged, only to be met with a slap to his dripping cock, which wanted release so desperately.

"You're such a fucking brat, you know that? I'm giving you a good fuck and you can't be grateful?" Minho then gripped Jisung's cock, a tad bit roughly, but Jisung didn't seem to care. Instead, he wailed, his hips bucking as Minho kept a tight grip on him, not moving his hands. "Does Y/n know how much of a brat you are in bed? Hm? Maybe I should take a video and send it to her, see how she'd react."

"M-No, please, M-Min I--...s-sorry, please, I-I'm so sorry, just--I need it, please..." Jisung whined, Minho just smirking, slowing his pace, just barely pulling out before slamming all the way it, making Jisung cry out, a sob following when Minho didn't move.

"You're going to stay there and warm my cock while I jerk you, got it?" Minho growled. His hand slowly started to move, his thumb brushing over Jisung's cock, which made Jisung moan out loudly, his hips squirming.

"N-No, no no no, I--please...m'sorry, want you to move, p-please, Min..."

"Why should I? You've been a brat, thinking about your best friend while you're boyfriend's right here, fucking you good just like you wanted." Minho stated, pressing firmly onto Jisung's cockhead again, making Jisung cry out, bucking his hips up, only to be held down more by the weight of Minho's body. "Not to mention how you tried to order me around."

"I-I'm sorry, please, I just--"

"You just what?"

"Y-You've been think--ah...thinking about how it would be to be with her too...Oh, fucking--Min..."

He had been. Minho thought about it a lot, actually. Through the time he had gotten to know you, he couldn't help but notice how much he was attracted to you. Your laugh, your smile, your gorgeous eyes. The way you were so sweet, and while you were a people pleaser, you weren't scared to voice your opinions about certain things to those who were uninvolved.

He didn't even realize how his dick twitched at the thought of you under him until Jisung pointed it out.

"S-See? Minho Jr. agrees with me--Oh, fuck!" Before Jisung could even laugh at the joke he had made, Minho went right back to ramming himself into Jisung, which made him wail out. His hands flung to Minho's back, scratching him as Minho made sure to hit his prostate over and over, sending Jisung through the roof. "Fuck! I-I'm gonna cum, please oh please oh please, Min, gotta cum, need to--"

"Then fucking cum." Minho growled out.

And who was Jisung to disobey?

Jisung immediately wailed, his hips bucking up as his cum spurted out in thick white ropes, going onto his lower abdomen and chest as Minho rode him through it. The second Jisung's orgasm ended, Minho felt his quickly arising. He was quick to pull out, hovering his own cock over Jisung's as he pumped his hand over it, his brows furrowing.

"Oh my god, Min, please...cum on my cock, please, make it pretty just like you always do, want it so bad..." Jisung begged. And that was the last straw for Minho to blow, shooting his load onto Jisung's cock, just as he asked. And soon after, Minho fell beside Jisung, trying to catch his breath as he took Jisung into his arms.

"Don't...Don't EVER refer to my cock as Minho Jr. again. Ever." Minho growled, Jisung just smiling innocently.

"What, you didn't like me calling it that?" Jisung asked, looking down at Minho's softening cock, gently dragging his finger over it, making Minho hiss. It made Jisung smile.

"No. I didn't." Minho told him, before kissing Jisung's head. Jisung smiled at that too, going to rest his head on Minho's chest, his smile slowly falling. Minho caught that, which made him concerned. "What is it?"

"Are you mad that I thought about Y/n?" Jisung asked, looking up at Minho. Minho just sighed, pulling Jisung closer.

"I'm not mad, Ji. I'm about as guilty as you are." Minho told him. "My cock betrayed me as much as yours did for you. And if that didn't, then me constantly bringing her up sure as hell did."

"I feel bad, thinking about her while having sex with you." Jisung told him, nuzzling his plush cheek into Minho's chest. "But...she's so nice, and kind, and-and she's pretty. She's really funny, and she deserves everything that I'm getting with you."

"But you want to be the one giving it to her, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I was in that same position?" Minho asked him. Jisung lifted his head up, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Really?" Jisung asked, watching his boyfriend nod.

"I am, yeah." Minho told him, kissing his forehead. "It's like you said, Y/n is a people pleaser. And she does one hell of a good job if she caught you and I into her trap."

"So then, do we go Polyamorous?" Jisung asked. His eyes immediately shimmered with hope, wanting to do that so badly. Being able to be in a relationship with both you and Minho sounded like pure heaven to him. "I can go and ask right now, and--"

"Hey, calm down, baby." Minho laughed a bit, patting Jisung's head. "It's late. And as much as I'd love to go Poly with you and her, it's better we wait until I know her better, and we both know what she's comfortable with. We don't want to rush her into making any big decisions too quickly."

"Yeah, I guess you have a point."

"And we both know that I always give you wobble-leg whenever I fuck you like that."

"Minho!"

"What? It's true, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but--"

"Then you're gonna be patient, baby." Minho concluded. He leaned down and pecked his lips, before getting up, leaving Jisung confused.

"And where are you going?"

"To start a bath for you and new sheets. You can't sleep with jizz on you, and you already got a lot of it on the bed. Hot water also helps with--"

"With soreness, yeah, yeah, yeah." Jisung mumbled. With that, Minho smiled, going over to Jisung and pressing his lips to his, making Jisung hum contentedly.

"I love you, don't forget that. Okay?" Minho asked, Jisung nodding.

"I love you too."

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Honkai Star Rail A/B/O: Express Trio

Characters: Caelus, Dan Heng, and March.

CW: omegaverse, implied nsfw

A/N: I thought about my fave trio for a second too long :3c

-------

Caelus

People often get confused on his secondary gender and are torn between a strong smelling Beta or a weak smelling Alpha, but he's truthfully an omega. Another reason this is, is because he has little idea on how to be an omega so he just does whatever feels right to him.

He also just refuses to wear a collar, finding it uncomfortable even with the softer kinds.

Smells like citrus, specifically oranges including the bitter peel regularly but during his heats the sweetness of sugar gets added. He smells delicious.

Prefers to spend his heats surrounded by stuff he's found on his travels...and trash cans. At least he cleans the items up before he adds them to his nest?

Has a favorite blanket that MUST be in his nest or he'll freak out. It was one of the first gifts he received from his dear friends since he joined the Astral Express and thus one of the very few things he can call his own.

When he's with his partner, regardless of their secondary gender, he loves to build his nest with them and include their own bedding with his.

Wants to spend his heats with his partner no matter their secondary and gets sad when they need to leave his nest even for short periods. Don't worry he bounces right back into being a content omega once they rejoin him, just give him extra cuddles for leaving he deserves it.

Dan Heng

He's an Alpha but his pheromones are a bit of a mess due to his...past so he mostly keeps his scent glands covered up as much as possible.

Smells like rain and fresh ink on parchment but covers it up with scent patches and high collared clothes.

If he has an omega partner he prefers for them to scent him rather than scent them himself, though he won't mind scenting their bedding should they need it for their nest.

His ruts don't' come consistently which is inconvenient but at least they only last for a few days. Prefers to deal with his rut alone as he's so uncomfortable it's hard for him to be in the mood. Though if his partner wants to stay by his side he'll let them and hide with them under his sheets as they lay beside him.

On the rare chance he's in the mood he's not gonna leave his bed or their nest for anything besides necessities.

Once he bonds with his partner his ruts become more consistent and he finds himself in the mood more often than not so

During his partners heats he'll tend to them but he won't treat them like they're like fragile glass. He'll stick by their side reading a book beside them and occasionally get up to get what they need. He's more open to helping out during their heats than dealing with his own ruts because he prefers to focus on his partner over himself.

March 7th

An omega as well though her scent tends to be more on the stronger side. It can get a bit overwhelming when she's upset but smells like heaven when she's content or happy.

She smells like a cool desert of marshmallows and strawberries with mint.

Likes to wear collars over wearing just scent patches as she can get super cute ones that match her adorable aesthetic. She has a whole collection of cute collars she likes to use daily and for special occasions.

Struggles with building her nests as she wants to add multiple things to it at once in one spot but give her some time and she'll eventually figure it all out. Welcomes her partner to help build her nest with her but each piece's must get her approval before it goes in. Her nests are filled with soft toys and tons of pillows.

Likes to spend her heats with her partner just cuddling rather than having fun, not that she's opposed but she mostly feels kinda achy and gross so she'd prefer some comfort until she's feeling better. Once she's ready for fun her partner better spoil her rotten!

Doesn't care too much about her partners presentation though I feel she might prefer an omega partner since they could relate and bond more.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's Slasher Fictober Apple Crumble NSFW Alphabets Day 21: Billy Lenz

Day 21! Welcome to the final day of the third week of Fictober! Thus that means we will be winding down the NSFW alphabets shortly but we still have one more week of Fictober goodies to come!. I do also plan to do more NSFW alphabets in the future including in the fun things I have planned for November and December <3

Notes: Minors DNI, Smut, NSFW

A is for Aftercare (What they're like after sex):

Not gonna happen, sorry but it's the truth. If anything your going have to be the one who takes care of Billy afterwards if he even sticks around. Though most times he ends up just going back into the attic.

B is for Body Part (Favorite on them and their partner):

On him he likes his hands, he likes how good he makes you and himself feel with them. Though that's about it, Billy has never really thought of his own self long enough to have a "Favorite part"

On you though he likes just about everything. If he had to pick he'd probably choose your ass or your thighs for obviously sexual reasons. Though like I said he really likes everything.

C is for Cum (Anything to do with cum):

Everywhere, literally everywhere, and if you try to tell him otherwise he's not going to listen to you. So be ready for there to always be a mess. The messier the better in Billy's opinion.

D is for Dirty Secret:

Billy is really just one big dirty secret and whether you actually know about his secrets or not is questionable but as long as he thinks you don't know that's fine with him. He does everything from stealing your underwear to watching you shower.

E is for Experience (How experienced are they?):

If creeping on sorority girls while they had their boyfriends over counts then sure, but if not then Billy is the most inexperienced person on the planet when it comes to actual sex. Don't let all his dirty talk fool you, Billy is all bark no bite.

F is for Favorite Position:

He likes cowgirl and reverse cowgirl the best. Mainly because he can just lay there and not do having and have you do all the work for him.

G is for Goofy (How serious are they?):

I don't think Billy is capable of taking anything seriously. Like anything at all really. So expect him to be cackling and talking your ear off pretty much the entire time.

H is for Hair (How well groomed are they?):

Contrary to popular belief and the fact he lives in an attic I do think Billy keeps himself at least slight groomed. He's not the best at it but he doesn't let himself get unruly.

I is for Intimacy (How are they during the act, romantic etc):

This is something I feel like could be up in the air. Like Billy is capable of being at least a little romantic but whether you see romantic Billy or not is up in the air. It depends on his mood and a lot of other factors including if baby Billy wants to throw a fit or not.

J is for Jackoff (Do they masturbate and how often?):

Very often, like almost everyday whether he has you nearby or not. It's almost his favorite thing in the world besides you... and well being a creepy peeping tom murderer, but who's counting.

K is for Kink (Their kinks):

Mommy or Daddy Kink

He has a major choking kink. You'll sometimes have to pry him off if he ever gets a little too into it, but he would never actually hurt you too terribly bad.

Knife play is real big for Billy too. Another instance where he may get too into it but again he would never cause major injury to you.

L is for Location (Favorite places to have sex):

In your bed pretty much always. He likes in the attic for god sake it's not like he ever leaves the house to begin with. Sometimes he might take up a couch or floor somewhere if you can't make it to the bed but he's mostly a classic bed kinda guy.

M is for Motivation (What turns them on?):

If you catch him right after a kill that's when he's most ready to go. He's still got all his adrenaline pumping and also make sure to show up in a slutty outfit. Something about seeing you in barely there clothes drives Billy up the wall.

N is for No (Something they won't do):

There isn't a lot that he wouldn't do, like I said he never wants to cause you any actual severe injuries but they do happen. It's basic as fuck but a big no for him would be anything you wanted to do that involved leaving the house. If you have to leave the house he isn't interested.

O is for Oral (Oral Preferences):

Billy loves to give, like LOVES it. He lives for giving you pleasure and making you happy. He likes to receive too but nearly as much as he likes to give.

P is for Pace (How fast or slow? Are they rough?):

It's a spectrum for Billy. He can go at literally any speed at all depending on his mood. Sleepy slow morning sex to fast hard rough sex after he's killed somebody.

Q is for Quickie ( Do they like quickies?):

Half your sexual encounters with Billy are quickies. Billy loves them, he'll tackle you onto your bed and you won't be able to get him off of you until the both of you have finished about three times each.

R is for Risk (Are they down to experiment?):

Billy is totally down, bring up whatever you want to him and he's entirely down to try it. Bonus points if he ends up hardcore liking it.

S if for Stamina (How long can they go for?):

Billy's good for a few hours, he gets tired and cranky after a while but when he's got full stamina he can go like a rabbit.

T is for Toys (Do they use toys and do they like them?):

Another thing he's entirely down for. I don't think he would use them on himself as much as he would like teasing you with them. Another thing were he loves seeing you writhe with pleasure.

U if for Unfair (Do they like to tease?):

Billy can get mean, especially with his words, but he never ends up teasing you long as it always ends up backfiring and ends with him working himself up and giving you both what you want.

V is for Volume (How loud can they get?):

Billy is loud as hell, he moans, groans sometimes even yells. Hope and pray you don't have any roommates or Billy won't be a secret for long.

W is for Wild Card (Random things):

Billy may not be one for aftercare but you'll get him to stay around longer if you pull his head to your chest and hold him. Billy loves to be held especially by you.

X is for X-Ray (What are they packing):

A good 5 or 6 inches, though he's really skinny without much girth. There's also a curve towards the end of that makes him appear bigger then he actually is.

Y is for Yearning (How high is their sex drive?):

Extremely high though if it's obvious your not in the mood he'll backoff and go jerkoff somewhere.

Z is for ZZZ (How fast do they fall asleep?):

Billy like never sleep really. He's bouncing off the walls pretty much 24/7. So he might leave after you guys are done but sleeping is the last thing on his mind.

[suhnflowerstay]

game night

bang chan x afab!reader

a/n: this is based on a real life situation so it might not be super relatable (no description of what reader looks like besides the fact that they're afraid of sitting on his lap)

and it is not representative of any characteristics the idols have or anything lol it's moreso therapeutic. it does require the knowledge of Jackbox Games. quiplash is a game where you get a prompt and you anonymously write down what you think is the funniest answer and everyone votes for the funniest one. i'm posting this twice because i originally wrote it for mark but my sister thought it was well suited for chan as well soooo yeah!

wc: 2.9k

tags: toxic situationship vibes (like really toxic), smoking, high emotions, angst, smut, sad ending

You and Chan had known each other for a few years. You had initially met on vacation and got each other's contact information to keep in touch. You were talking all the time and FaceTiming nearly every day. You were friends, such close friends that you decided to go to the same university. Once you moved to his area for college, you were spending all your time with each other. Eventually, the sexual tension between you began to build and before you knew it, your situationship began.

A few months before your friends with benefits relationship with Chan began, he had been sharing with you how messy his previous arrangement was. You had seen other girls come and go because they could never handle him sticking by his word and refusing to commit to them. You were also not interested in commitment, so you felt comfortable going into it. You knew exactly who you were friends with, so you assumed you would be fine. You were just friends who had a sexual attraction to each other. There was no reason that having sex would have to complicate things, right? Wrong.

Yes, there are people who can have a healthy friends with benefits style relationship. Sex is easy to detach from for some more than others. Your relationship with Chan was anything but detached. You were best friends who had sex, and the gray area was extremely gray. You were practically dating without the label, and that brought a lot of negative feelings bubbling up. But you both didn't want commitment. You were terrified of being vulnerable in that way and he, well… he just loved the attention.

Chan's cousin Felix was hosting a game night with some friends, and he wanted you to come along and meet everyone. When you two arrived at Felix’s house, you introduced yourself, and the first words out of his mouth were:

“Are you the one that called on Christmas?”

Immediately, Chan jumped into action to try to shut Felix up. He stood in front of you and blocked Felix from view, mumbling, “No, that was someone else.” You knew he had a previous situationship leading up to your current situationship with him; this was no secret. You knew this because you were the one to talk him through the end of that relationship. You just hadn't realized how intense it must've been if Bang Chan was bringing that "friend with benefits" to meet the family.

You had small talk with Felix, asking him what his major was, and he asked you yours. He offered you drinks and snacks, and you took a seat on the sectional with Chan taking the seat right next to you. You two were in your own little world, giggling about god knows what while he had his arm around you, when all of a sudden the door behind you swings open.

“CHAN PLEASE TELL ME YOU HAVE DONE THE ENGINEERING HOMEWORK!” the disheveled boy yelled. You giggled because of how insane this random man appeared with his backpack barely slung over his shoulder, hair a mess, running up to take a seat on the couch diagonal to you two.

“Y/N, this is Minho. Minho, this is Y/N.”

Minho’s brain is going a million miles an hour, and the first thing he thinks to ask is:

“Are you two dating?”

You and Chan look at each other, and he says, “No, we’re just friends.”

“Oh," the disheveled man says, "Well, it looks like you two are dating.”

Minho proceeds to talk to Chan about whatever homework they had, and his whole demeanor has you nearly falling off the couch with how hard he has you laughing. He has major himbo energy and says everything with so much passion. At one point, he ends a story he's telling with, “WHATEVER FUCKOOO!”

Soon, more of Felix and (kind of) Chan's friends start showing up. A taller guy who catches your eye greets you. He says his name is Hyunjin and makes light conversation with you, asking how you know Chan and Felix and asking how long you've lived in the city. There are also three guys in the corner smoking, and one of them catches your eye as you hear his distinct giggle while he laughs with his friends. Is Chan only friends with hot people, you think. The last guy walks in and very quietly says hi and immediately walks across the room to sit between his friends. Chan lets you know that the shy guy, also known as Jisung, is really shy with strangers, but he's sure Jisung will warm up by the end of the night.

Felix loads up Jackbox Games, and your group plays Trivia Murder Party for a few rounds, and then, a guy named Seungmin says he thinks the group should play Quiplash. There are a few rounds where you make some pretty good jokes, and all of the guys hype you up, telling Chan he brought someone super funny to game night. You even make a quip at Chan's expense, and Minho high-fives you for doing so. At this point, you've had a few drinks, and you aren't drunk, just tipsy. But you absolutely need to pee. You ask Chan where the bathroom is, since this is his cousin's house, and he leads you to the bathroom, waiting for you outside the door. Once you’re done, he drags you to the empty bedroom across from the bathroom and lays back on the bed, pulling you down you on top of him.

“Are you having fun?” he looks up at you.

“Mhm," you hum, "are you?”

“Yeah."

"Your friends are nice. Minho's super funny. I can't believe he's real,” you giggle.

"Yeah, he is... ok, c'mon. Let’s go back before they think we’re having sex or something," he says abruptly. You thought his response was weird, but you didn't think too much about it.

Upon returning to the living room, you see your seat on the couch was stolen by a few of the guys, and you are now forced to sit on a recliner in the corner to watch the game from there. There’s only one seat though, so you just stand while Chan takes the seat.

“What are you doing?" he questions, "Come on. Sit down.”

You pause. “I-I'm okay. I don’t want to like hurt your legs or anyth-”

Chan pulls you down on his lap, so you’re forced to sit down on him. He asks if you want to smoke, and you take a singular hit, not really interested in doing that, and watch the game from afar. Minho has his eyes trained on you two, and you feel his stare. You turn to look at him, and he yells from across the room, “Are you sure you guys aren’t dating?”

You giggle saying, "Yes, we’re sure we aren’t dating."

He tilts his head to the side like a confused kitty and proceeds to ask “So, are you guys cousins?” and you cannot stop yourself from keeling over because what does he MEAN?? What kind of line of questioning is that? Why would his brain jump from dating to cousins? You look at Chan incredulously as you both laugh and confirm once again that you are just friends.

You two keep watching the game, rather than participate, and go back to your own little world until Chan decides he’s ready to go home. You follow him out, saying a single goodbye to everyone in the room. Everyone bids you goodbye in their own way with many of the guys saying how nice it was to meet you and how you should definitely come to game night again. You two walk out and Chan unlocks the car before remembering he has to go back in to get something from Felix. You sit and wait in the car, smiling to yourself, and text your best friend about game night. You make sure to mention the beautiful man you met and how funny it was that he asked if you and Chan were cousins.

Once he enters the car, he slides his hand onto your thigh.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, leaning in to give you a kiss.

“Yes, actually. I really didn't think I would, but that was so nice and all of your friends seem so cool! Minho is such a himbo it’s so funny... I can’t believe you guys are taking the same classes.” you add.

You don't notice, but Chan's hand clenches the steering wheel. He doesn’t say anything and begins the drive home. You stop by the grocery store on your way home to pick up some snacks, and everything between you and Chan seems pretty light hearted.

You get back to his place, shower, and change into pajamas. You two sit on the couch for a bit longer watching shows and just snacking, cuddled up together. You get up to go to the restroom, leaving your phone behind on the coffee table, and when you come back, Chan is in a noticeably different mood. His body language is tense, and he’s moved away from your original spot.

“Channie… what’s wrong?” you ask, still standing.

“Nothing. What are you talking about?”

“It just seems like... like there’s something bothering you,” you insisted.

“Why would anything be bothering me? You’re literally making something out of nothing!” he snapped.

Now, you're officially in a bad mood.

“Fine then! Forget I even asked,” you huffed, collapsing onto the opposite side of the couch to go through your phone.

Half an hour later, your anger has subsided, and you're back to being invested in the show you’re watching. Then, the leading man betrays his love interest.

“Ughhhhhh," you drone, "Why does every man suck? Like even him? You have to be joking.”

“I bet Minho would never do that…” Chan mumbled mockingly from his side of the couch.

“What the actual fuck did you just say?” you snarled.

“Nothing.”

“Please do not fucking tell me that you’re upset over Minho, a man I only just met a few hours ago,” you scoffed.

“Oh, so you’re counting the hours,” Chan said, not even looking at you.

“Chan, shut the fuck up! What are you saying right now? What is your deal? I don’t even know or care about Minho!”

“You sure seemed to care when you texted your friend about how hot and funny you thought he was,” he said, finally looking up at you to see your reaction.

“Motherfucker, you went through my phone? Again? Are you fucking joking? Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t! I saw you texting it,” he tried to say, but you knew that was a lie because you had texted your friend right when you got into the car. He absolutely went through your phone, but this was not the first time.

“You’re a fucking liar, Bang Chan. I know you didn’t see me texting it. And either way, what does it matter to you? Newsflash! In case you weren't aware, I’m not your girlfriend! You made sure of it, and you also made sure everyone knew that tonight!”

Chan scoffed, “What did you want me to say to them? 'Oh yeah we’re fucking’?”

“it doesn’t matter what you say to them because we aren’t anything. And that means you don’t get to be upset over me texting my friend that i thought your friend was attractive," you emphasize, "You’ve done far worse or would you like me to remind you about your sexting with Soyeon or sending good morning and goodnight texts to Sana when you couldn’t even find two seconds to text me back even if it was just to let me know you were busy?"

Chan sits there knowing he can't say anything to that.

"You have even less of a right to be upset because of all the shit you pull all of the time, so I’m not going to apologize for sending my friend one text about a cute boy I will probably never see again." you finish.

“So you would want to see him again?” he tries to say steadily, but his voice cracks.

You look up and see that Chan is looking at the ground now and has tears in his eyes.

“Chris…” you put your arm around him and embrace him.

“I get it, though, like he’s so much more than I could ever be," he sniffles, "He’s so funny without even trying, and he’s just so cute and attractive and everything about him screams 'y/n's type.' I don’t blame you for being interested.”

He pushes himself up to lock eyes with you. “It’s only you, you know? I know you saw the texts or whatever with other girls, but I only care about you. No one else could ever be you. I promise that at the end of the day, no matter what, I only want you.”

He looks down at your lips and hesitates before he kisses you. The kiss starts off slow and slowly progresses into a more passionate, needy one. Chan is grabbing at your hips, your stomach, your arms, whatever he can get a grip on. He starts whining and pulls away, “Please take off your clothes, babygirl. I need you.”

You both strip down in his living room. Chan carefully lays you down on the couch and lines himself up with your pussy before slowly pushing himself in all the way without any issue. You guess high intensity and emotional situations just make you wet now after all the arguments you've had with this man.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight," he praises, "You always make me feel so big. it always feels like the first time.”

You moan and beg Chan to move, and slowly, he does. While there’s still a desperate neediness in the air, Chan is moving slowly and intentionally. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours while caressing your body. He praises every inch of you that he touches, littering you with compliments. He traces a finger along every curve and focuses on tracing circles on your tits, teasing your nipple ever so slightly before finally taking the buds between his fingers. He squeezes them, eliciting moans from your "pretty little mouth" as he calls it. He keeps one hand focused on your breast while he uses the other arm to hold himself up as he leans down to kiss you, maintaining the slow but steady rhythm. You wrap your legs and arms around him, pinning him to your chest. This position makes it so much more intimate, and you swear that he's hitting even deeper. The combination is pushing you right up to the edge. By the way Chan starts moaning, you can tell he feels the same.

“Fuck baby, I'm so close,” he groans

“Please cum inside me, Daddy. I need it so bad.”

“Ugh, f-fuck, beautiful, I can’t until you do. Please cum with me baby girl and- fuck- and I’ll fill you up as much as you want.”

His words send you over the edge, catapulting you into a strong radiating orgasm. Your hands are grasping at his arms and back, leaving scratches in their wake, you're sure. It’s very different from what you’ve previously experienced, muted but long lasting, and you can feel it all over. Your orgasm triggers his, and he continues to fuck you through it until the overstimulation becomes too much. He pulls out of you and grabs some wipes to wipe you and himself down. He lays you down in bed and makes his way to lay down right alongside you. He sits up and places his hand on your cheek, turning your head to make you look at him.

“I-" he hesitated, "I’m sorry I went through your phone again,” he says, rubbing his thumb back and forth along your cheekbone.

“It’s okay, Chan,” you reassure him.

“I just- I knew you’d like him. I could tell from the way you were looking at him and how he was looking at you. Minho is never interested in other people let alone other people’s relationships. I knew if he was asking if we were dating, it was so he could ask you out, and it made me freak out," he sighs.

“You have no way of knowing that, Channie,” you reason.

“Regardless, I meant what I said. I know we aren’t official, but I'm only loyal to you.”

He lays back down, and you say nothing.

You say nothing because this is a conversation you have often.

You say nothing because as much as you want to commit to Chan, you probably also aren’t ready.

You say nothing because the previous statement is probably a lie you tell yourself to make yourself feel better in this relationship you have with him.

You say nothing because you know there will be more instances of you finding text messages with other people in which he gives them more compliments/attention/time than he gives you.

You say nothing because you know he isn’t loyal to you at all, and you’d rather not start another fight tonight.

You say nothing because there is nothing here to fight for.

You say nothing as he falls asleep in your arms, and you see his phone light up with a text.

minho: hey can i get y/n's number

[welcometogrouchland]

I feel like for the first few years of guardianship Darius and Hunter really struggle to figure out how to refer to each other.

Like it's easier for Hunter, he pretty quickly settles on "guardian" for explaining their relationship to other people and just referring to Darius by name when talking to the man himself. Overtime the phrasing gradually warms, becoming "foster parent" and eventually, once Hunter's already an adult old enough to move out, "Dad".

(Sidenote: he doesn't move out til he's in his mid to late twenties, bc he's under no obligation too, Darius low-key doesn't want him too, and the two of them want to make up for lost time in a sense, since Hunter only had 2 years of legal dependency on Darius before aging out of the system. Darius adopts Hunter retroactively as an adult)

Darius on the other hand has a real conundrum on his hands for those first few years. He has a lot of options! But "ward" is too formal and makes it sound like Darius picked him up off the street like after his parents were murdered, "apprentice/student" isn't really accurate considering the focus of Darius and Hunter's relationship has less to do with Hunter learning magic and more to do with Hunter being housed and fed. "Kid" and "foster son" are there...but...

Look, Darius isn't going to refer to Hunter more familiarly than Hunter refers to him! He's not gonna make it WEIRD. He's not a dad, because Hunter doesn't want/need him to be (and also parenthood is scary <3). Darius doesn't know the first thing about being a dad, despite how his friend group teases him.

Eda and Eberwolf are the two who are worst about it. They torture him with how 'fatherly' he's allegedly being (allegations Darius will DENY til his GRAVE!!!) And Eda specifically compares his journey to hers, saying it always starts off with you referring to them as your apprentice (again, Darius doesn't plan on doing that), as your roommate (...kinda weird in Darius' opinion? But okay Eda), or even your pet (????HELLO???). But eventually, they always become your dumb kid when you least expect it.

She's had a couple cups of appleblood by this point, but Darius knows on some level she's right and he's steadfastly ignoring that fact, even as Eber continues to refer to Hunter as his "cub" (kinda cute but Darius doesn't know how Hunter would feel being compared to an animal). The only people who are even remotely reasonable about all this (besides Lilith who's a bit disinterested in kid talk) is Raine and Alador, who both sort of neutrally, a bit awkwardly refer to Hunter as Darius' Boy.

Darius referring to Hunter as "my boy" is funnily enough what sticks the longest before it evolves to son boy. Hunter's crushing it at a derby match? Darius is whooping and cheering, yelling "THAT'S MY BOY!!!" At the other parents in the stands. Hunter is doing something dangerous or inadvisable where others can see him? "Darius, your boy-" "AHH! MY BOY". Hunter, a year into his stay with Darius finally comes clean about everything to do with him being a grimwalker, and is afraid that he's going to go back to seeing him as just an inferior replacement for Darius' beloved mentor? Darius (who has just had to process some of the most bonkers, emotionally heavy information in his life) gently, hesitantly puts a hand on his shoulder (the 'good' one Hunter doesn't mind people touching), and says that Hunter's much more than that. He's Darius' Boy and he's not going to kick him out or get angry or love him any less for things out of his control. It's good. They're good.

Like I said, it evolves over time and 'boy' becomes somewhat obsolete as the two get caught up in the joy of finally feeling able to explicitly refer to each other as family. But unlike "guardian" or "ward" the word never gets fully retired. Even when Hunter is 30 and is arguing that he's more of a man than a boy now, he is still getting referred to by Darius as "his boy", the way some parents never really stop calling their adult kids baby or kiddo (Camila and Eda respectively btw).

Hunter makes one of those corny matching shirt sets at some point for a father's Day gift when he's 17/18, where the two shirts say "if lost, return Boy to me" (Darius) and "I'm Boy" (Hunter). Hunter mostly did it so he could own a funny shirt that says "I'm boy". Darius openly weeps upon seeing them. Like Oh my Titan he's boy. He's my boy. Oh wow

[seventeenlovesthree]

Character/Relationship Analysis: How Taichi's and Sora's arcs in the late Etemon/early Vamdemon arc are intertwined, how they (in)directly activate each other's Crests and how they're the most important plot drivers/leading figures at this point in the series.

One of my early theories regarding the character line-up in Adventure was how Sora could have potentially been the secondary main character besides Taichi (instead of Yamato). And I still believe that nothing makes that theory more apparent than taking a close look at how the "Crest activation period" frames these two as main plot drivers that are the reason why the group sticks together - and also why they all found their way back together after Taichi's disappearance. So let's break this down, shall we.

As pointed out in the analysis post above, when you just watch the opening of the series without any context, you might assume that Sora is the secondary/female main character anyway, because she (and Piyomon) are basically always coming after Taichi (and Agumon). And if you look at Sora's impact in the series, that isn't even too farfetched - especially when you consider that she is LITERALLY stepping up to be leader in the Etemon arc in the novels while Taichi is in a dark spot, whereas Yamato is later on declared to be "too emotional to be a leader".

That aside, let's dig into the set-up here: In the Etemon arc, Sora's Crest is the last to be found. We do not know a lot about the characters' singular arcs at this point, so watching her worrying about the situation doesn't strike the viewer as too weird yet. While it astonishes her that Taichi is so keen on finding her Crest for her sake (despite knowing how selfless he can be too), Taichi himself doesn't see any reason to falter and reassures her instead. This is important, because these two have known each other for quite a while already; they have been in the same class together since elementary school, are also partners in their football club - thus, Taichi's view on Sora is pretty settled. He is very vocal when it comes to "words of reassurance" towards people he cares about and so he repeatedly mentions how caring and selfless Sora is to him, how she always worries about others first and how she shouldn't doubt herself and her qualities - neither because of her own perception of herself nor because of the lies PicoDevimon had been feeding her. Because Sora's perception of herself is indeed slightly skewed, but we will get to that.

Taichi's road to (re)discovering his personal sense of courage is irrevocably linked to his wish to save Sora; initially, his recklessness had repeatedly caused trouble, not only by letting his own Digimon partner go through a dark evolution, but also because he let one of his longest and best friends get captured by the enemy. He initially promised that they would find her Crest for her - and now he is being humbled once more, threatened by an electrical fence right in front of him that could potentially kill him, punishing for losing his way once again. He is aware that something important was lost, referring to both his "brave heart" - and Sora.

Why is that so important?

Not only is Taichi fulfilling both of his promises in the end - saving Sora himself and personally giving her the Crest they've been looking for -, but this is (in)directly mirrored in Sora's arc as well.

Once Taichi disappears after defeating Etemon, the group starts to search for him - for two whole months, while some of them already start to lose hope and drift apart. Sora realizes that the group is torn on how to proceed, but can't stop herself from wishing to find Taichi. Because, once again, something important was lost, indirectly referring to both Taichi - and the sense of togetherness in the group. One might argue that her leaving the others behind may not look very sensible at first glance - but just like she was the one who enabled Taichi's Crest to glow, her disappearance indirectly has an impact on (almost) everybody else's arcs as well. (Additionally, they would not have learned the meanings of the Crests, if Sora hadn't overheard PicoDevimon talking about them to Vamdemon...)

As a complementary force to Sora, Taichi's return reunites the group bit by bit. It almost feels like they're acting as fairy godparents to everyone else, each in their own way - while Sora is hiding in the shadows, giving everyone advice (Agumon, Mimi) or physical aid (Jyou, Yamato) to protect and guide them in the right direction, Taichi directly tries to pull them out of their corrupted viewpoints (Takeru, Yamato, Mimi, Koushirou rather indirectly), whether through words or actions. It's absolutely no surprise that the scene where Yamato tells Taichi that he was the one who brought them all back together (episode 28) is basically a direct mirror of them all coming together to agree to save Sora (episode 20). Because these two are the glue that keeps it all together.

And so, of course it puzzles Taichi that Sora doesn't want to reveal herself to the group again. Of course it surprises him that the girl, whom they all came together for to rescue, who secretly protected all of them behind the scenes due to her kind heart and selflessness and who never gave up looking for him - once again, doubts herself like that. Not only that, she screams at him, tells him that he has no idea who she really is. That her "love" is a facade, that she has no idea what love even means - that she had lost (or never even possessed) her personal sense of love.

(To go on a small tangent here, their framing is just endlessly interesting to me, because the misunderstanding and miscommunication between them is a red thread that spins throughout the entirety of the series. And it is rather tragic, because throughout it all - they actually never really seem to be drifting apart, but due to their lack of means of communication, they cannot be close for some reason. Whether you think of them as platonic or romantic doesn't even matter, the general idea remains the same: They are on each other's minds, they are incredibly important to one another and never stop feeling that way, consciously or subconsciously. It's why Taichi encourages Sora to be with Yamato, but still goes observing the black spore kids together with her in 02, it's why Sora still feels comfortable being physically close to Taichi in DSB and Tri, it's why she gets upset that he ALWAYS gets her - somewhat - right despite not finding the CORRECT words in OWG and Tri, it's why the connections never vanishes in Kizuna... But they're also both awfully insecure about certain parts of themselves, especially when it comes down to decision-making towards their futures and selves. Since neither of them can be fully open up to each other about that, things kinda feel like they are on hold.)

In the end, Taichi (mirrored by Pyocomon's words below) had been correct to tell Sora not to believe in PicoDevimon's lies, not to give in to her own self-doubts - and eventually, she realizes that, just like her mother, she simply did not want anyone else to get hurt even more.

The way Taichi is framed here, smiling at her with absolute glee and satisfaction marks the end of this arc - while he wasn't directly triggering her Crest to be activated, he still believed in her best qualities just like her Digimon partner did, refusing to let her get corrupted more. And even if the infamous sentence "I want Sora's love too" is more of a light-hearted little throw-away line, it's intriguing to look at the potential implications overall here: Since Taichi's arc of Courage was fueled by his wish to save Sora, since Taichi was the one who eventually gave Sora the Crest of Love, since both their arcs were initially sparked by their wishes to find each other again as they took the others under their wings like proud parents... Let's say, after all this time since Taichi had successfully saved Sora, after all the searching leading up to finally being reunited (after several months in Sora's case), they both must have been incredibly relieved that it had all turned out nicely. To see each other again alive and well.

It started with his Crest - and ended with hers.

Long story short, the Adventure would have stopped rather early if it hadn't been for these two, their bond and loyalty toward each other - and also their sense of leadership.

Last note: Shout-out to the third most important character in this arc - if it hadn't been for Koushirou, Taichi would not have found Sora, may not even have found a way back to the Digital World and they also would not have been able to solve the card riddle to get back home.