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dandyxrandy · 4 years ago

Text

After-Shoot

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3k

Warnings: Protected Sex ; My Spanish sucks so Google translate helped. If a phrase is wrong, PLEASE reach out to me so I can correct it. Also not beta read. So if mistakes found, again, reach out. The easier for you to the read, the happier I am.

Gif Credit: @pedrospascl

It couldn’t get any worse, you told yourself. It really, really couldn’t. This was the first time you were invited to have coffee with another in God who remembers how long and you ended up being late. Not only were you late, but you were cold and soaked to the bone from the rain that ended up being a whole hour earlier than the forecast predicted and really, you should've known better than to listen to any predicament of weather because it was usually wrong anyways.

You checked your phone again and it was still dead as a door nail. You had dropped it in a puddle earlier when you tried to answer the call from Pedro, no doubt wondering where you were, and it shorted out the motherboard. You would have to replace it whenever you got home and you honestly had half a mind to just turn around and do just that. That would seem silly, however, with you being more than halfway to Pedro’s apartment where he had invited you for an afternoon coffee get together the day before when you worked together on the Style Magazine photo shoot.

You were really, really tired of having a shit day. Frustrated and in near tears you saw the place that Pedro was staying in for the time being while he was in your state. It was a nice condo type home with large front windows that overlooked the city, the style modern and sleek.

You let out a small breath, even as the storm crackled above you, and tried to muster your resolve up. You were a mess, but hey - you were here, right? Hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset with you. It wasn’t exactly your fault that you had to park six blocks away because there wasn’t any closer parking nor was it your fault the weather was wrong.

You took a deep breath and rang the doorbell and before the small chime even ended the door swung open, Pedro filling the entire frame. Oh. He looked absolutely stunning. His soft curls were slicked back against his head and he wore one of the outfits from the shoot the previous day. One of the ones you had commented on, to be precise. His eyes took a long drag over you, from head to toe, his jaw working from one side to the other. His irritation seemed palpable.

“I see the coffee isn’t the only thing that’s cold.” His hand slid down the door frame before dropping to his side, a hefty sigh heaving from his lips. “Come on, let's get you inside and warmed up. I have some spare clothes that you can wear.”

You felt sheepish following him inside. He didn’t even give you time to explain and once the door was closed you were able to try.

“Pedro, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to be late.” You, shuffled in behind him, following him to the bathroom where he grabbed you a towel. “There wasn’t any parking and my phone died and I just - please don’t be mad.” And you did feel like crying then. You could tell he wasn’t happy with you and that on top of being cold and tired, you felt a little part of you break.

He reached out with the towel and brought it to your face, gently wiping away the raindrops that stuck to your cold skin.

“You have nothing to apologize for, guapa.” He brought his other hand to your cheek and you couldn’t help but lean into the touch a little. You blame it on how he was so warm and you weren’t. “I was worried that something had happened. And then worried you stood me up.”

“Stood you up? Yeah - okay…” You laughed at him but when you caught his gaze you saw it had softened considerably. He looked relieved and you noticed the slight part of his lips as he turned away, going to another room and reappearing a moment later with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that looked like it would even be big on him.

“Why don’t you change into some dry clothes. We can throw your wet ones in the dryer.” He nodded to the clothes dryer that was in the bathroom. “I’ll go make us some new coffee while you swap out.” He set the clothes down on the toilet seat and gave you a half smile. “Mi casa es tu casa.”

He left you then with a soft closing of the door and you felt a flood of relief course through your body. He wasn’t mad or upset or hell - anything that you thought he may be. Instead he was kind and courteous and worried, and you’d be damned if that didn’t make your heart melt even more. You thought of the moment when he had opened the front door and the dark look in his eyes and the tick of his jaw. It made a low heat curl in your belly at the memory.

Was it wrong to think those things of someone who clearly wanted what was best for you at that moment? Pedro was, in all essence, taking pity and caring for you and all you could think about was warming yourself up by crawling into his lap. You were horrible, you decided, but the kind of horrible that could be forgiven later.

You did change out of your clothes then, pausing as you tried to decide if you were going to keep your bra and underwear on but argued they would just soak the dry clothing. Off those went and joined the pile in the sink. You did a quick rub down with the towel to at least try to get most of the water off and then squeezed it through your hair before you stepped into the sweatpants and large tee-shirt, silently thanking the world at how warm they were. You wrung out your clothes as best as you could before you tossed them in the dryer and pressed ‘start’.

When you opened the door the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit you and it instantly set you at ease. You padded your way into the kitchen but didn’t find Pedro there and instead turned to find him sitting on the couch without his red suit jacket on. Two cups of coffee set on coasters in front of him and a small spread of sugar and cream were there, too. The entire set up screamed ‘casual but obvious effort.”

“Hey…” You rounded the side of the couch and sat next to him, unsure if this was alright. It was just your nerves.

“Hey. I see everything fits well!” He teased lightly. “I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee so I figured I would let you do your own. I also turned the heat up a little to help get you warm.” Which would explain the missing jacket.

Pedro took one of the cups and pressed it into your hands, his own wrapping around yours for a moment. “If you’re still too cold I can grab you a blanket or a sweatshirt.”

“I think I have enough of your clothes on. If I end up with more I’m afraid that you might not get something back.”

“Is that so?” The corners of his mouth quirked up in a devious smirk, hands coming to his own cup of coffee to lift to his lips, eyes peering just over the rim of his mug. “Well, I will have to take inventory of all articles of clothing before and after you leave.” Was he flirting with you?

You hid behind your own cup of coffee, blushing. “What I mean is that it looks expensive and I could never afford some of the clothes you wear.” Even though you were pretty sure these ones were borrowed from the wardrobe department from the shoot.

“Hm. Here I thought you were wanting a little memento from me.” He chuckled and you nearly choked on your coffee as you inhaled it a little too quick and it went down the wrong pipe. He was flirting, now, you decided as you tried not to die.

“Hey, hey now…” His hand came to your back, patting you lightly to help you cough up the coffee. “Didn’t mean to make you choke! You okay?” He was finding far too much amusement in your predicament and you were caught between laughing with him and locking yourself back in the bathroom to wait for your clothes to finish drying.

It took you a minute but you finally stopped coughing, your eyes burning and your pride non-existent. Pedro’s hand, however, was still on your back. He was no longer patting in efforts to help you but now his fingertips were stroking over the gentle curve of your spine, thumb pressing into the muscle just beneath your shoulder blades.

“Sorry.” You croaked, voice scratchy from the coughing fit. “I wasn’t expecting to be called out so quickly. You certainly know my end game.” You hid your embarrassment with sass and you had to put the coffee down before you did any damage. Pedro’s hand stilled as you moved, but he didn’t stop touching you, not even as you leaned back again.

“You’re still cold. I can feel it through the shirt.” His arm slid across your shoulders as he tucked you closer to his side. You both sat in a stretch of silence as he waited for the silent permission of his touch. You realized he was stiff and not as at ease as you thought he would be. You rested your hand on his knee, fingertips curling against the red cotton of his pants as you leaned in against him, nose tucking against his side. You felt him relax then.

“Thank you for this.” You whispered as you let your fingers trace his kneecap.

“Of course. I couldn’t let a damsel stay in distress.” He let his other hand, now coffee less as he set his mug on a side table, come to yours on his knee, fingers lacing to hold your hand. “But I do have a confession to make, if I may…”

“Hm?” You felt warm and cozy. You hadn’t quite expected that you were going to find yourself cuddling with this charming man today, but you weren’t going to complain either. The weather had taken a toll on you and you were quite ready for a nap. Pedro wasn’t helping either with the slow inhale and exhale of his breath that rocked you like a boat on a lake. Gentle and lovely.

“I would very much like to kiss you.”

He squeezed the hand on his knee before unlocking their hold and bringing his fingers to your chin, turning your face to his. He bumped your noses a moment, lips ghosting just over yours in a teasing breath.

“May I?” He whispered. “Please, tell me what you want.”

You shifted, your thighs rubbing together as you felt the curling heat span in your belly and you suddenly felt very, very hot. Pedro kept his gaze steady on yours, never once faltering as he waited for your consent. He was so close that you could smell the hint of coffee on his breath, the smell of the aftershave and cologne on his skin.

“Please...yes, Pedro.” He tilted your chin a little higher, lips just touching. A mockery of a kiss as he smiled wickedly. “Please, kiss me.”

He did then, his lips pressing firmly into yours as his hand slipped to cup your cheek. Neither of you moved for that moment, letting each other take in the press of your mouths until you let your hand slip a little higher, fingers tracing the seam of his pants on his inner leg and it broke the reserve he had. Pedro groaned low and he all but lifted you into his lap, your legs splaying on either sides of his hips.

His mouth never left yours as he moved, his hands coming to grip the gentle curve of your hips, pulling you closer to him, yours breasts pushing steady against his chest. He groaned into your mouth as his hips rolled up and you felt the sudden hard length of him against your thigh.

“Fuck -” You moaned out at the feel of him. “I've wanted to do this since the moment I saw you, hermosa.” Pedro’s voice was husky against your skin as he moved his hands under your ass, fingers tight as he shifted your hips together, pushing his clothed cock up into your hand. “You lit up the room, you know. The moment you stepped foot into the light, I was taken away. Captured.”

You couldn’t help but let your fingers curl around his length and give a gentle squeeze, testing the size of him and oh - oh, he was large beneath your fingertips. Pedro tipped his head against yours, lips ghosting along your nose.

“Take off your clothes.” He breathed and you moved with him to pull your shirt over your head, his hands immediately coming to undo your bra and let your breasts hang free. His head dips to take a nipple in your mouth and you arch into the wet heat and you hiss when he sets his teeth against the sensitive skin.

“Shit - Pedro. I need - “ You needed him out of his shirt, too. But it was hard to coerce him out of it when he was attached to you like he was. You pushed him away a little, trying to create space enough to get him out of his shirt, your fingers working at the buttons in a clumsy haste.

“Bed.” Pedro grunts and you two move off of the couch, peeling from each other. You still kept your hands on him as he guided you to the bedroom and you both all but fell into the large bed. Pedro rolled to the side to flick on the bedside lamp to fill the room with a soft glow and the light highlighted the deep amber in his eyes. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

“C’mere.” You motion to him as you lay back on the plush pillows, arms stretched out to take Pedro in. He comes above you and rests on his forearms as he slides a knee up between your legs, making them spread wide and he settles there, his hips rolling into the crux of your thighs.

You arch up to meet him again and he presses a kiss against your mouth, licking you open. He tugs at your pants insistently and you lift your hips up to let him shimmy them over your soft curves and down your legs. You kick them off in a haste and Pedro pauses, lifting himself to lean back on his knees, staring down at you. You blush under his gaze because it's so heavy, so slow. You don’t remember any man, any person for that matter, who looked at you like that. It was so needy.

“Eres tan hermosa. You are so beautiful.” He reaches out and drags his fingertips along the side of your face, down your neck and across your collarbone. He keeps going lower and lower, mapping your body out with his touch until he comes to touch your between your legs. His fingers tease your outer lips first, a gentle drag of his knuckles and then he moves in deeper, pressing a thumb against your clit and circling.

You moaned as he pressed a little more firm to work you into your pleasure and the tip of a finger teased you open and curled. Gods, he was good at this. You clenched around him and he added a second finger, curling up to rub against the textured spot inside you.

“Pedro.” You moaned out as he continued to work you and you felt your climax climb, your body taught with need. “Pedro, I’m - fuck, I’m close. Don’t stop. Don’t -”

“Por favor, mi amor. Cum for me.”

You did as he told you, your eyes closing and head tilting up to close out the world as you focused only on your orgasm. He continued to stroke you inside, his thumb continuously applying the delicious pressure on your clit and only eased up after your thighs stopped trembling, returning to a soft stroke.

Pedro caught your gaze as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, slipping them against his tongue, sucking in, tasting your orgasm that he brought out of you. He left you breathless. You parted your legs again as an invitation and his gaze dropped to the movement. Pedro shimmied his pants off, tossing them over the side of the bed and you wanted very much to touch him but he instead fumbled with the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a condom.

You watched as he rolled the condom on with an ease and he moved over you again, taking your hands in his, twining your fingers together. It was an intimate gesture and one you adored. Pedro seemed like he couldn’t get close enough to you, even as he pressed his flush skin against yours.

He slid into you easily with how wet you were and he bottomed out in you almost immediately, stretching you full. Pedro lets out a groan, his head dropping to yours as he rocked into your cunt. He was so intimate in this, so incredibly loving, and to a person whom he only just met. You felt him love with his entire being and it was a gorgeous act that he gifted you.

“I won’t last long, I’m afraid.” He grunts out between thrusts. You bring your legs up and around him, pulling him closer and his thrusts turn into a grind. You were still blissfully sensitive from your climax earlier and you were more than okay with his admission. He took care of you first, above his own pleasure. “Please, Pedro. It’s okay. Please, just...it’s good.” You didn’t know what to say in his softness but you knew it was the right thing because he ground into you harder, his hips snapping as he tightened his grip. His mouth dropped open in a silent moan as he came, his rhythm breaking into stillness.

“You will have to forgive me.” Pedro breaks into a wide smile against your neck as he relaxes against you, his weight dropping like a blanket. “You are far too soft for any man to last long.” He pulls from you and glances down to take off the spent condom and set it in the trash that was next to the bed. He settled beside you, his head propped up on his hand, his other tracing along your stomach.

“You flatter me far too much.” You giggle, smacking his hand away. It instead settles against your face, his thumb brushing under your eye.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” He asked.

The offer wasn’t one you were expecting. In all honesty, you didn’t really expect any of this, but perhaps you were naive when it came to what coffee dates entailed now, not that you were complaining.

“Of course.”

You didn’t think he could light up any more than he already was, but he did. His face became childlike and gleeful. He was adorable, really.

“Fantastic. I’ll make sure we get some proper coffee in the morning. Promise.”

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #writing #well shit looks like i finally banged out another one.#ill throw this on Ao3 later #pedro #pascal #randywrites

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phantom-curve · 4 years ago

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49 or 50 for willex, and au of your choosing!

“Also happy second birthday!! Hope you have a wonderful day”

Thank you! This was an absolute joy to write so I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it! From the gimme a chance AU (which I guess now officially has spin-off lore about Willex) I give you Alex and Willie’s first date.

#49: holding onto the other’s shoulders for support & #50: putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up

When Willie had asked Alex if he wanted to go on a date to the art museum, Alex couldn’t help but picture something cute and romantic. The two of them wandering around bright, airy rooms with the sunshine streaming in, bathing them in an ethereal kind of glow. Long moments standing in front of different paintings, fingertips brushing as they exchanged meaningful side long glances with one another. Maybe they would even kiss. Alex had been nearly breathless with the thought. Which was why he said yes without hesitation.

Willie looked like an absolute dream when Alex first caught sight of him outside of the museum, his long hair fluttering in the breeze behind him under his helmet, the loose, slightly cropped t-shirt he wore rising up every now and then to reveal tantalizing glimpses at tanned skin and toned abs. He came to a graceful stop on his skateboard right in front of Alex, grinning from ear to ear as he raised his eyebrows up and down teasingly.

“Didn’t run ya over this time. This date is already going better than our first meeting.”

Alex couldn’t stop the slightly high-pitched embarrassed laugh that slipped through his lips. Willie’s cheeks stretched impossibly wider, and Alex felt his own cheeks warm.

“I didn’t really mind so much.”

Willie smirked like he thought Alex was lying, which, fair. Alex had been pissed when Willie had crashed into him, ready to absolutely lose it on whatever dumbass had knocked him down and then had the audacity to complain about his stupid fucking skateboard. But then Willie had been scrambling to apologize, his brown hair tumbling down from his helmet in a mesmerizing cascade, and Alex had forgotten about his injuries completely because he was entirely focused on remembering how to breathe and getting his brain to restart. And then Willie had asked him out and it became the best day of Alex’s life. So, in the end, he didn’t really mind.

“C’mon, I got us tickets already.”

Willie tucked his skateboard under one arm and held his other hand out like he was offering it to Alex. Which, he was, Alex realized after a long second. He felt the blush paint his cheeks again and rushed to pull his hand from his pocket so he could place it in Willie’s. Willie didn’t say anything, but Alex caught the way his lips curved a bit on the edges, like he was holding back a smile.

Willie, it turned out, had an extensive understanding of almost everything art related. He named off artists without having to read the little cards by their work and talked about different periods of art styles and the evolution of art as it related to history, explaining how the two were inextricably linked which wasn’t something Alex had ever really thought about before, but was fascinating, nonetheless. Alex let himself be led around, impressed and in complete awe as Willie pointed out his favorite pieces and waxed poetic about Jean-Michel Basquiat, who Alex had learned was his favorite artist. It was everything Alex had hoped for in a date, especially when Willie led him down a set of stairs and into a basement gallery that was practically deserted.

There were large abstract sculptures throughout the room, concrete benches spaced out along the wall. Willie walked over to one and sprawled out, Alex sitting down next to him in a bit more conservative manner.

“Man, I wish they had let me bring my board in. How dope would it be to skate through this place?”

He traced his fingers through the air like he was mentally mapping out exactly how he would maneuver around all the obstacles. Alex laughed.

“I’d be way too worried about running into a priceless piece of art and ruining it.”

Alex shuddered as he thought about how awful it would be to destroy someone’s artistic creation. He still remembered how heartbroken Luke had been their senior year of high school when their former bandmate Bobby had stolen his songs and sold them to a record label on a solo contract. The pain had been unbearable, and Alex hadn’t even been the one dealing with the brunt of the hurt. Something must have changed on his face because Willie leaned over to nudge him softly with his knee. Alex blinked, startled back into the present and looked into the warmest pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen.

“You’re wound a little tight, huh? Where’d you go just then?”

Usually, Alex didn’t really open up to people. He’d learned from a young age that emotions were best kept in a bottle locked in a safe shoved into the farthest reaches of his brain. Alex and Reggie had unpacked some of that throughout the years, slowly gaining his trust and teaching him that it was okay to express himself. But Alex never really let other people in like his boys. Except, there was something about Willie, some innate goodness in him, that made Alex feel safe and calm and like maybe it was okay to let him in, too.

So, he did. He talked about Bobby, and then that spiraled into talking about the band and his homophobic parents and their silent rejection that stung all the more because it was like they weren’t even mad, they just decided that he suddenly no longer existed. Willie didn’t interrupt or judge. And when Alex had finally exhausted himself and felt a little less bogged down by it all, Willie reached over and placed his hand on Alex’s knee, skin to skin through the hole in his jeans.

“That sucks, man. I’m glad you’ve got a better family with your friends now. Luke and Reggie, right? So, you all moved down here from San Fran together?”

Alex had mentioned that when they first met. It shouldn’t be a big deal, the fact that Willie remembered and had clearly actually been listening to the things Alex had said then and now, but he was so used to not being heard that it felt monumental. His lips curved into a small smile.

“Yeah. They’re my best friends. Luke swears someday our band will take off now that we’re in LA, but I’m just happy I get to be here with them, living in a house that doesn’t feel so unwelcoming all the time and whaling on some drums whenever I need to.”

“I’m happy you’re here, too.”

The way he said it, with a little smirk and some bouncy eyebrows, Alex knew Willie meant more than just being in LA. He meant here in this museum, with him. Suddenly, Willie jumped to his feet, holding both hands out towards Alex.

“I think I know something else that might help you loosen up. Wanna give it a try?”

Alex was pretty sure he was willing to give anything a try if Willie asked him to. He slipped his hands into Willie’s and only stumbled slightly when he was pulled to his feet. Willie let go so he could catch Alex by his shoulders, their faces so close Alex could count every one of his eyelashes. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, something crackling in the space between them. And then, Willie threw his head back and yelled.

Alex jumped about 10 feet in the air and immediately slapped a hand over Willie’s mouth, muffling the sound of the other boy’s voice. He whipped his head back and forth, thankful that there wasn’t another museum patron around or worse, a security guard.

“What the hell was that for?!” He whisper-yelled, feeling the need to compensate for Willie’s vocal volume by lowering his own.

Willie laughed, his lips moving under Alex’s palm. Alex let his hand drop, not wanting to think too long about Willie’s lips touching his skin.

“It’s stress release!”

Alex raised a judgmental brow.

“Yelling in a museum is stress release?”

“Yeah, man,” Willie was still laughing, his smile easy and eyes sparkling. “There’s something about letting everything out all at once, especially in a place where it feels like you shouldn’t. C’mon, you said you would give it a try.”

Alex glanced around the gallery again. They were alone, and he had said he would try it. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. Willie grinned and nodded encouragingly, so Alex inhaled again and tried to copy him.

“Ahhhhh!”

It was pretty pitiful in comparison. Willie doubled over with laughter for a moment, but when he straightened his smile was patient and kind.

“Nah, dude. You gotta mean it. Here, we can do it together.”

He stepped close, the tips of his shoes touching Alex’s, hands fisting into the shoulders of Alex’s favorite pink hoodie. He looked down at where Alex’s arms were dangling limply at his side and cocked his head, so Alex grabbed onto Willie’s shoulders as well. He felt Willie lean against him, letting Alex support some of his weight, and did the same. It weirdly felt almost like a hug, the way they were each clinging onto each other, trusting the other one to hold them up. Alex copied Willie when he sucked in a deep breath, but this time, instead of lifting his head towards the ceiling, Willie maintained eye contact. That same tension from earlier pulled taught between them. The moment built until all the sudden Alex felt a huge rush of emotion and opened his mouth at the exact same time as Willie, their voices overlapping and blending together in one loud, messy shout.

The resulting rush was incredible. Alex understood immediately what Willie had meant. He let out a laugh, absolutely delighted, and yelled again. Willie yelled back, and Alex felt like his head was spinning, drunk on adrenaline and release and Willie himself. He opened his mouth to yell again when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Willie glanced over his shoulder towards the doorway they had come through and then he grabbed Alex’s hand without hesitation, giggling as he pulled him through the room and out a second doorway at the back of the space before they could get caught. They raced up a different set of stairs, only slowing to a walk as they reentered the main level gallery space. Alex was breathless and giddy, the feeling of Willie’s hand in his making him feel brave and reckless. When they finally came to a stop in a hallway between the main gallery and a doorway to the outdoor sculpture park, he used their joined hands to pull Willie close.

“You are insane, and I cannot believe I let you talk me into that.”

His words were too soft to be a real admonishment. Willie leaned in, his hips brushing against Alex’s and the feeling was overwhelming. Without letting himself think about it, Alex reached up to move a few errant strands of hair out of Willie’s face, letting one hand rest against his jaw and bringing the other around his neck so he could tilt his face up. Willie’s eyes were shining, gaze dropping to Alex’s lips as the tip of his tongue peeked out to wet his own. It was all the invitation Alex needed.

He swooped down, Willie stretching on his toes to meet him halfway, arms sliding around his waist and pulling their bodies close. Alex’s mind went blissfully blank, focusing on nothing but the taste of cherry Chapstick on his tongue and the feeling of silky hair slipping through his fingers. Willie made a little noise in the back of his throat and Alex pulled back slightly, feeling shy and nervous. Their foreheads were still touching, breaths comingling in the tiny space between them. Willie leaned in to press a soft kiss against Alex’s cheek, leaving a burning mark behind as he moved so his lips grazed Alex’s ear.

“Totally worth it.”

He pulled away with a satisfied grin, dropping his heels as Alex felt himself blush from head to toe. Willie laced their fingers together and started to retrace their steps back towards the front of the museum, pulling a dazed Alex along in his wake.

“Wanna go grab some food? There’s a pretty good hotdog stand around the corner we could hit up.”

That broke Alex out of his spell.

“Ugh, no. Literally anything but hotdogs, please.”

He shivered, his stomach clenching like it still remembered the time Luke had convinced them they could totally trust the dude selling food out of the trunk of his car at next to a venue they were playing at. Willie laughed and quirked a brow.

“Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell, Hotdog. Let’s go.”

And Alex went, groaning the whole time about his new nickname but secretly loving the fact that Willie had given him one. Nicknames said familiarity, affection. Maybe by the end of their next date he could earn a different title: boyfriend.

#mads writes #gimme a chance #jatp #julie and the phantoms #send me prompts for my birthday!#willex #willex week #jatp ficlet #willex ficlet

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star-killer-md · 4 years ago

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Hello!! May I please request “I’ll keep calling for the rest of the night if i have to, until you answer me.” with our boi Kylo? Could it be sweet with smut? Thank you so much!!! DALDOM is such a joy to read, like thank you for quenching my thirst in this drought of a time

Thank you so much for all your support babe!! Soooo, remember when I said this would be just drabbles. Well I went and wrote like what could potentially be considered a one shot and it’s probably not at all what you were looking for but it left my brain and its here now.

This is loosely based on the Mobster!Kylo x Lawyer!reader AU I’ve been fantasizing about writing for awhile, so you can just read it as modern Kylo to simplify things.

Prompt: “I’ll keep calling for the rest of the night if I have to, until you answer me.”

Warnings: nsfw, angst which y’all just need to expect by now, breaking and entering, feelings, sorta soft Kylo I think, possessive vibes

Word Count: 2k

Message number 27:

Kylo’s voice crackled out of the answering machine sounding warped as the signal cut in and out.

“You’re not getting away that easily,” he rasped. “I’ll keep calling for the rest of the night if I have to, until you answer me.”

Your inbox was well and full by now. He’d made good on his promise though. Your phone had vibrated itself off the counter at one point with the amount of incoming calls. An hour or so ago, you’d just turned it off, hiding away under a blanket in the living room and trying to control your breathing.

You knew it had been a mistake to get involved with him professionally. His business was not exactly of the ethical sort and you couldn’t have any stains on your reputation. But he’d paid handsomely, and you did enjoy the extra funding to spruce up your rundown apartment.

But it had been a grave error to ever be romantically involved with Kylo Ren. If you could call it that. There was nothing truly romantic per to say about it, possessive was a more appropriate word for him. Ren kept a collection of spoils and you simply couldn’t bare to be just another trophy anymore.

Although it seemed your greatest blunder was in trying to break things off amicably. You should have just skipped town. Should have broken your lease, took the hit to your credit and changed your name. Should have, would have, etc...

But you didn’t.

And now you were facing the consequences.

The consequences which were currently trying to break down your front door.

Footsteps, loud and heavy, pounded up the narrow hall and what was almost certainly a foot connected and splintered the wood of your lock on the first impact.

You jumped clear off the couch, landing in a heap on the floor and crawling away from the door as it swung on its hinges. The knob left a hole in the drywall as it burst open and standing in the remains was the last and first person you wanted to see.

There was a reason you’d only left a message with his assistant and slipped quietly home. There was a reason you’d taken the week off so you wouldn’t accidentally run into him looking for you at your office.

Because, no matter how much you detested what he did, you couldn’t deny how easily he’d drawn you in. Not just with money but with his air. The cloud of mystery and intrigue, risk and reward that clung to him was intoxicating. And you knew if you had to look him in the eye, he’d pull you right back to him. Have you laid out on his expensive mahogany desk, pussy dripping and cock pounding into you.

You could hear it now:

“Your fucking cunt better not take the finish off,” he’d growl into your ear, fingers down your throat to muffle any noise. “Gonna lick it clean when I’m done aren’t you?”

He was staring at you now with that same dangerous look which had enticed you in the first place. You shuddered from your place cowering in the corner.

Kylo’s massive hand wrapped around the door and slammed it back into the ruined frame before crossing the room and backing you further into the corner where you sat.

“What the hell are you—?!”

You were cut off when he yanked your upper arm harshly dragging you to your feet and caging you to the wall with his chest.

“Why the fuck didn’t you pick up?” he hissed, lips working over themselves when his jaw twitched.

“I left a message,” you stated calmly, eyes focused intently on the ground.

“No that’s bullshit and you know it,” he pounded his fist into the wall by your head.

“I meant it,” you tried to keep your voice level but your hands were shaking at your sides and he was too close and too loud. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His hand found your jaw, forcing it up towards his face, “Look at me and say that again.”

It was a challenge. A dare. Calling your bluff.

You took a breath.

His eyes were so pretty though when you finally met them, all the nerve drained out of you. Kylo looked so...enraged, enraptured, betrayed. And you just couldn’t. But you had to.

The words were soft when they slipped past your lips, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do what?” he demanded.

His eyes were flicking all over your face, from your mouth to your eyes and back again.

You didn’t know how to explain that he scared you. Not him entirely, but what you felt for him, what he did to you was terrifying. It was an addiction you couldn’t shake and you needed to go cold turkey or you’d be stuck in this back and forth forever.

“What?!” his voice cracked as the shout left him. “What am I not paying you enough? What more do you want?”

“I don’t want anything—“

“No, no, no,” he cut you off again, hands wrestling against you until he gripped the outside of your thighs and hoisted them around his waist. Your skirt rode up your back and left you nearly exposed to the chill of the apartment.

“Kylo, please,” you struggled in his grasp.

Your hands were so small on his chest, barely contained by the blue dress shirt he wore. He was hard in his pants, you could feel the length of him pressing into your core. Your name left his lips right before they crashed into yours.

You tried to push back, to seal your mouth shut and turn your head but his kisses were your weakness. Few and far between and gut wrenching every time and he knew it. Knew what he did to you. And you couldn’t help but yield to his onslaught, letting him lick into your mouth and trace your teeth.

He was like a fine wine, or what you imagined people meant when they said that. It all tasted the same to you, but Kylo was more delicious than any of it. And you drank him down despite the little voice in your head telling you to bite his tongue and get as far away from him as possible. Somewhere he couldn’t track you down.

But really, you knew that was futile, because Kylo Ren could find you anywhere. Once he sunk his teeth in, there would be no getting away without blood on your hands. So you kissed him back and didn’t protest when his lips wandered down your neck, leaving a trail of marks in his wake.

“You can’t,” he mumbled into your skin.

Kylo’s hands shifted, fumbling in between your bodies until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your underwear. He ran his thumb along your slit, groaning at how your pussy dripped for him.

“Can’t what?” you gasped, as he circled your clit through the cotton.

He tore his hand away and fumbled with his belt buckle, freeing his cock from the confines of his pants. You felt him push your panties to the side and rub the hot head of his length against your lips. He was so warm, so big, so right, so exactly what you always wanted.

His face was pressed firmly into the crook of your neck, and there was a distinct wetness there and his chest shook when he breathed in the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume.

“You can’t leave me too.”

The words were nearly lost in the fabric of your shirt, muffled and strange in his mouth and whatever inkling of resolve you’d had earlier that day shattered like glass in the path of a bullet. You’d never heard him sound like that before. He didn’t say things like that, didn’t tell you things like that. Things that mattered. Things that hurt.

Kylo rutted his hips against you, coating his cock in your essence and making you squirm as he pressed against your clit with every stroke.

“Say it,” he sounded so far away, “say you don’t want me.”

You knew you should. You should tell him to go or call the cops—he had broken in after all—saddle him with legal fees, make some other lawyer get him out of his messes. But there were a lot of things you should be doing, like drinking more water or getting eight hours of sleep or covering your face in pureed cucumber or any number of other things on all those stupid self care lists that normal people absolutely couldn’t have the time for.

So you said nothing, just shook your head and rolled your hips to meet him, tugging on his hair until he pulled back to face you. His eyes were rimmed red, dark circles puffy underneath and you thought it might be nice to slather yourself in cucumber smoothie if he was there with you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’ll stay.”

And you choked on the next words out of your mouth as Kylo dives into you, thrusting straight in to the hilt. You feel the sweet sting of him stretching you open, filling you to the brim and you know you’ll never feel this with anyone else. No matter how shady and unethical and terrifying he is, Kylo is not the kind of man you find twice.

He isn’t taking his time, the way he’s fucking you into the wall—bucking his hips into you at a frantic pace and making you whine—it isn’t for pleasure. No, you can tell by the way he’s keeping you close, not trying to change his angle to get deeper, he wants to be as near to you as possible.

You realize distantly, as he’s rubbing quick circles around your clit with the pad of his thumb, that this is the first time he’s ever been to your place. You're not entirely surprised he knew where you lived despite that. Maybe you’d invite him to stay the night, maybe he'd actually be there when you woke up.

But that was probably just a pipe dream.

It didn’t really matter, not when he was bringing you so close, not when he was still kissing you and biting at your lips like a man starved. His pace began to stutter, rhythm faltering as he neared his climax.

“Kylo—oh fuck,” you moaned low and long as he bounced you on his dick.

“Cum for me,” he rasped out.

And you would.

And you did.

Because you always did what he asked, no matter how dirty it made you feel.

So you came screaming his name so loud the neighbors had to have heard it, and he tumbled right over the precipice at the clenching of your cunt around him. You felt him deeply, painting thick ropes of hot release along your walls until it dripped out around his cock. He didn’t move for a while, just dropped his head back down to your shoulder and waited for your breathing to even out.

After a few moments, he unhooked your legs from his waist, letting his softening length slip from you as your feet landed back on solid ground. You looked up at him, hands resting on his forearms and took him in—dark waves frizzy around his head with sweat and shirt wrinkled from where your nails had gripped the fabric. He tucked himself away, fastening his belt and you watched how his fingers moved nimbly on the buckle.

“So,” you mused.

There was still some hint of more in his gaze, something that hadn’t quite been blocked out. And he cleared his throat, humming in response.

“Does that offer for a higher salary still stand or?”

All the tension melted from his face as it fell back to the familiar deadpan, blank stare you’d become so accustomed to over the last few months. Kylo shook his head at you, eye twitching almost imperceptibly. You couldn’t help but smile, even as his frown deepened.

Who were kidding? This was the best gig you were ever going to get, and Kylo was a ride you weren’t willing to give up quite so soon. You were sure now you couldn’t escape him even if you tried.

‘Never get involved with the Mob,’ that was a thing people said right?

People also told you to ‘go to law school,’ and look where that had gotten you: involved with the Mob.

Oh well, at least you’d never be bored.

#kylo ren x reader #obsessionprofessional #dr. b answers #dr. b talks #mobster!kylo #lawyer!reader #kylo ren x female reader #kylo ren smut #drabble night #requests #I wrote this at work and it was wayyy longer than I meant it to be #I hope you like it dear

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khuns · 5 years ago

Text

who else is there to love but you; a khunbaam au

He tastes like Baam has always thought of and more, lips slotting into Baam’s the way he has slotted himself into the space between Baam’s heartbeats, and Baam isn’t sure if he ever wants Khun to pull away.

“Come on, Baam, it’s our graduation. It’s the last time any of us are gonna have time to travel before we settle into jobs and fall victim to the monotony of everyday li-“

A snort crackles through the speaker, and Hatz’s voice rings clear, “Speak for yourself, Isu. Some of us still can’t find jobs-“

A jostle over the phone, then: “-anyway, as I was saying, it’s just one last hurrah before we officially start adulting. Please just say yes, Baam, nearly everyone else has agreed-“

Baam sighs and sets down his pencil. It’s literally the week of finals; every time he rubs his eyes he sees syntax trees tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. How does Isu expect him to make big decisions when his entire brain is clouded with theta roles?

He opens his mouth, about to ask Isu to please just ask him when he gets back to their dorm room because his brain really can’t handle thinking about budgeting and accommodations, but Isu’s sly voice beats him to the punch. “Khun’s coming.”

Baam lets his head drop into his hands and groans.

Damn Shibisu.

The first time Baam meets Khun, Baam is splayed out on his stomach on Hatz’s kitchen floor, honey dripping from his hair.

The laughter on his tongue dies out; Isu stops flinging flour at where Hatz is crouched, taking cover.

Baam watches in dismay as the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life stands at Hatz’s doorway, mouth pressed into a thin line and eyes as hard as flint. The man’s fingers are still curled around the door handle as he surveys the mess before a clipped, “Hatz.”

He feels Hatz tensing up from where he’s knelt beside Baam, hands braced against the fine dusting of flour on the floor.

“I’ll make sure the kitchen is spotless,” Hatz bites out, tone frosty.

Baam’s eyes meet the man’s through a slow tangle of honey, and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. Even backlit and haloed in the artificial hallway light, he reminds Baam of someone royal, hair pulled away from cheekbones high and regal and bangs barely covering eyes cool as glass.

An eternity stretches before the man breaks eye contact with him and makes out a curt nod, “Make sure you do.”

And then he’s gone, door locking behind him with a neat click.

Isu is the first to break the silence- “Fuck, Hatz, when you called to tell me your new roommate was an ass you didn’t say he was a beautiful one-“

“Shut the fuck up, he’s a royal pain in the ass, that’s why I called you to come over- “

“His eyes, Hatz, did you see them-“

“I hardly feel the need to look into the eyes of someone who pisses me off from day one-“

“You ask me to come over and make cookies for you, but you just neglect to mention how beautiful-“

“You saw for yourself, he’s so fucking pretentious - look, Isu, if you’ve done quite enough salivating over my arse of a roommate, do you mind helping your poor roommate up?”

Isu squeaks and slides through the flour to Baam’s side, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Baam says. “Yeah, no, I’m alright.”

As Isu helps Baam pick himself off the floor and sends him into the bathroom to rinse out his hair, all Baam can think about is the man’s cool blue eyes and the way the image keeps sending his heart back up his throat.

It’s ten in the morning after his last final and Baam barely has time to stuff his duffel in the trunk when Rak calls shotgun.

It sets off a squabble between Hatz and Isu about who should drive and devolves into an argument over whether Rak can navigate (he cannot) and when Isu will even let anyone else drive his precious car (never).

There is a soft huff of amusement from where Khun is leaning on the side of the car, hands fiddling through what looks like a GPS, and Khun looks up at Baam, grinning. “We’ll never set off at this rate.”

“We’ll have to spend the first night back in our dorms and leave tomorrow instead,” Baam returns, biting back a smile. Khun laughs at that, his eyes sparkling through his bangs and curved into crescent moons, and Baam has to tamp down a familiar flare in his chest.

Keep it under control, he tells himself. It’s just a weeklong road trip, after which Khun will move somewhere in the big city for a job at his father’s company and Baam will move back home, despairing over what little job prospects a linguistics major brings. Useless crushes are just that, useless.

He watches as Khun pushes off from the side of the car and tosses the GPS to Isu. “Keyed in a place for lunch,” Khun grins as Isu squawks and fumbles to catch it, “Now you won’t need either of those two idiots up front.”

Hatz splutters indignantly and the rest of them just laugh, scrambling to get into the car so they can finally, finally get on their way and maybe get a decent cup of coffee.

(Rak, much to his disgruntlement, is relegated to the backseat, sandwiched between Khun and Baam.)

The second time Baam meets Khun, Baam neither is on the floor nor has any sticky substance in his hair (thankfully).

He knocks on Hatz’s door, ready to deliver Hatz’s notebook from where Hatz left it in Baam and Isu’s dorm room during an earlier study session.

(A ‘study session’, Baam has learnt, is just an excuse for Isu to bother his best friend into coming over to their room so they can talk about everything other than homework. Not that Baam minds, of course - conversations between Hatz and Isu flow like water, stories from their shared childhood spilling out as they try their best to embarrass each other in front of Baam.)

There’s a click as the door unlocks and Baam’s mouth opens, ready to remind Hatz that even though they only live just a few floors above him, it’s best not to leave his Physics notes behind ever again for Isu to doodle senselessly on, but when the door swings open, it’s Blue Eyes.

Oh.

“Looking for Hatz?” The man prompts, after a beat of silence. “He’s in the shower.”

Baam flushes and makes the conscious effort to shut his jaw. He holds Hatz’s notes out to Blue Eyes, “Hatz left this in my room earlier, could I leave this with you please?”

Blue Eyes raises an eyebrow at the dick drawn in Sharpie on Hatz’s notebook cover. He looks back up at Baam.

“It wasn’t me,” Baam blurts, suddenly anxious to inform Blue Eyes that no, he wasn’t the one childish enough to draw dicks onto other people’s notes. “My roommate and Hatz, they’re pretty close, I guess it’s their thing-“

He’s not sure why words are just tumbling out of his mouth, but Blue Eyes just snorts, corner of his mouth turning up in amusement. He takes the notebook from Baam and nods, “I’ll leave it on his desk.”

“Thank you...” Baam trails off, because for the life of him he absolutely cannot remember what Hatz has called his roommate other than ‘The Royal Ass’ and ‘That Fucking Asshole’. Neither of which, Baam is sure, Blue Eyes would like to be called.

“Thank you,” he manages, and turns to hightail it out of there before he embarrasses himself for the third time in a night.

“Hold on,” Blue Eyes says, and he waits until Baam fully turns back around to meet his gaze. “Who should I say left this for him?”

“I’m Baam.” Baam pauses, then tacks on, “From the twenty-fifth floor.”

“Alright, Baam-from-the-twenty-fifth-floor,” Blue Eyes says, and grins. “I’m Khun.”

Khun, Baam repeats all the way back up to his room, Khun. He tucks the name into the pocket of his cheek the way a child savours hard candy - Khun. Khun, Khun, Khun.

(Baam makes it all the way to the lift lobby before he realises that Khun has in fact cracked a dad joke, and when he tells Isu this Isu can’t seem to stop cackling.)

They stop for lunch at a cute diner at the edge of the city. The lights are dim and the booth seats are cracked, stuffing leaking out from where legs have over the years worn the leather down, but the food is warm and the coffee is strong and that’s all that matters.

“More coffee?” The sole waiter nudges Isu’s coffee cup with the jug.

Isu nods. Might as well, if he’s going to be driving for the rest of the day.

He takes a sip and leans back. Rak and Khun are arguing over routes, phones opened to Google Maps and fingers jabbing at the highways. Baam is listening intently to the road talk, slowly pulling the pickles out from his sandwich and setting them in a pile on the edge of his plate, ready for Khun to pick at later.

Isu smiles softly to himself as Rak leans over him to holler at Hatz. He’s glad they cobbled together this trip - it seems the perfect way to end four years of living together before they disperse and are only able to meet on weekends, or worse, every couple of months.

He’ll miss them, of course - if there’s one thing the university did right, it was their random roommate pairings freshman year. Isu’s heard horror stories of roommates going out partying and coming back to puke on rugs, but Baam clicked with him on all sorts of levels, from cleanliness to sleep schedules to taste in films, and it was only natural they applied to continue living together all four years.

And Hatz, despite his deep loathing of Khun during their first month rooming together, quickly warmed up to him too; they were both quiet and studious, were complete night owls and were quite alright with Isu coming to blabber their ears off every once in a while.

(Hatz also strenuously denies this, but after The Physics Lab Incident halfway through the first semester freshman year, Isu is pretty sure Hatz would follow Khun to the ends of the earth and back. And Hatz’s loyalty is hard-earned; he would know.)

Rak was a lucky happenstance in their second year, a constantly sexiled sophomore from across the hallway who more often than not ended up sleeping on their couch. When Isu found out Rak could make a mean beef stew, well? Isu adopted him into their little family straight away.

“What do you guys think?” Khun turns to his left, spearing a pickle off of Baam’s plate. Baam hums his approval and Isu shrugs. He hasn’t really been listening, but he trusts that Khun’s come up with a good route. If anything was weird, Rak and Baam would have pointed it out anyway.

“Doesn’t matter to me where we go,” Hatz says around a full mouth of fries, “As long as we make it to the hotel tonight.”

“Alright then,” Isu says, brushing crumbs off his shirt, “Where has the Great Rak and Khun planned to bring us next?”

“The Museum of Turtles.”

Rak is grinning so broadly Isu can’t help himself - he laughs.

The third time Baam meets Khun, it’s for dinner with Hatz and Isu.

They’re crowded around a table heavy with pizza Hatz must have grabbed on the way back from class. It’s somewhat towards the middle of their first semester - Khun and Hatz must be getting pretty close if Hatz has invited him to eat with them. So much for Hatz’s obstinate declaration that he’d never be friends with someone “that stuck-up”.

“-completely winded because as I said, I fell on my fucking back, and the crazy girl goes, “Oh my god, you’re looking up my skirt!” Like, I’m the one you knocked over literally half a second ago and you’re accusing me of looking at your ugly ass?! How fucking ridiculous is that?” Hatz waves his slice of pizza in the air, pepperoni somehow clinging to the cheese by sheer force of will.

Baam winces in sympathy. He’s not sure what he would have done in Hatz’s place. Maybe die.

“Then Khun - bless Khun - leans over from his bench and says- oh man, I think you better tell this part-“

Khun huffs and wipes his mouth. He sets his half-eaten slice back down, eyes sparkling with mirth, and continues, “So I’m quietly working on this stupid Physics lab sheet when I hear this idiot fall flat on his ass behind me and when I turn around to laugh at him-“

There’s something that resembles a protest from Hatz but it’s covered by Isu’s guffaw.

“-his lab partner looks like she’s about to scream bloody murder to the whole class so I lean over and - see, ordinarily I’d just laugh at Hatz and turn back but this was the girl who looks down on Hatz because she saw that his textbook was second-hand, and more importantly, she insulted my earrings once-“

“Your earrings! How dare she!” Isu is cackling even louder.

“Right?” Khun smirks, and Baam thinks his heart skips a beat, “Anyway, I lean over and I go, “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve fallen again,” and Hatz is on the floor looking at me like I’m some kind of fool instead of his damn roommate trying to get him out of trouble, so I have to tack on, “Sorry, my boyfriend is such a klutz, he’s always bumping into things. And don’t worry about him looking anywhere at you, he’s not interested.” The look on both their faces, priceless-“

“Boyfriend!” Isu howls, pounding the table, “Straight-as-an-arrow Hatz! Boyfriend!”

Hatz grins, “Whatever, you idiot, you missed the best part - then Khun says to her, “Not that there’s much to see anyway!” Oh man, her face must have been some seven shades of purple-” This sets all of them off and as their laughter dies down Baam is pretty sure if he laughs anymore his cheeks might just split in half.

But through his bangs he sees Khun looking, looking at him, and he instantly flushes. He reaches for another slice of pizza, just for his hands to have something to do, but he brushes against something cool and sees Khun retracting his own hand. Khun gestures for him to go ahead, eyes fixed on him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, then as an afterthought, “Thanks.”

Khun’s smile is absolutely blinding.

Baam hums happily, flicking through photos from the museum exhibit. They were nearly kicked out for being completely obnoxious, yes, but he got the absolute best photos and he knows Isu has more.

“We’re nearly there,” Rak says from where he’s finally wrangled shotgun. Sure enough, Isu turns into the gravel driveway of a small hotel.

Hatz is the first to tumble out of the car, stretching and nearly knocking Baam in the face. It’s been quite a ride from the museum to the hotel, including a boisterous karaoke session, and Baam can’t wait to check in and dump their stuff so they can grab dinner.

“Bad news, y’all,” Isu says, not even ten minutes later. “They have two rooms, but they’re all big beds instead of those individual ones. Hatz and I can take one - we shared beds during sleepovers - but two of y’all have to take a bed and someone has to take the cot.”

Rak, of course, lays claim on the cot instantly. “I kick in my sleep,” he points out, and everyone groans. He does.

Baam nods, but realises with a sinking feeling-

“That leaves Baam with Khun, then,” Isu says, satisfied. He shoots Baam a barely-veiled triumphant look as he hands him a key card and Baam can’t help but flush. This is a terrible, terrible idea, and Isu is a terrible, terrible friend.

He nearly groans in despair when they finally head to the rooms - even with the bed taking up most of the space, it looks barely big enough for two.

Khun clears his throat.

“I can take the floor,” Baam blurts. He doesn’t want to make Khun uncomfortable. With his luck, there’d be some sort of accident in the night and... he’d rather just take the floor and nap in the car tomorrow.

Khun glances sharply at him. “Don’t be silly, you’re going to ache all over tomorrow. We’ll just, you know, set boundaries.”

Baam thinks about the photo Isu once took of him starfishing all over his own bed and clinging to his pillow like a lifeline. Boundaries. “Um,” he says. “Um.”

“Fantastic.” Khun says, already dropping his duffel on one side of the bed.

Fantastic.

Khun eventually loses track of the number of times he meets Baam. It seems like he’s always there whenever Isu comes downstairs to go bother Hatz, or whenever Hatz pulls them all outside for dinner.

(Not that Khun minds, of course - Baam is... interesting. Khun refuses to explore why.)

He ends up seeing Baam outside of the dorm too, sometimes waving to each other across the street between classes. It’s not until Hatz pulls all their schedules together to find a time to go cake-shopping for Isu’s birthday that Khun realises they share a lunch time most days.

Baam volunteers to get the cake the day before Isu’s birthday, since Hatz has classes until late. Which doesn’t quite make sense to Khun, since they agreed on hiding the cake from Isu in Hatz’s and Khun’s room anyway, so he makes an executive decision to join him.

He leans against the wall, picking at his nails, until he hears shuffling from inside the classroom. A few minutes later, Baam emerges from his Phonology class, scarf tucked messily around his neck.

He raises his hand in a half-wave, and waits for Baam to make his way over.

“Heard from Hatz you’re going to pick Isu’s cake out and thought I’d come with,” Khun says in lieu of greeting, and Baam beams at him.

“Great! We can put it in your fridge right after.”

“Exactly why I came,” Khun returns easily, but it seems like the wrong thing to say - the light in Baam’s eyes shutters a little, but before Khun can think about what he said, Baam’s hitched his backpack a little higher and takes the lead out of the linguistics building, waving goodbye at the security guard.

Huh.

He scrambles to catch up, long legs bringing him back up to speed with Baam easily. “I’m thinking chocolate?”

“Isu only ever eats chocolate cake,” Baam informs him, and flashes him a smile. “The only time I ever get to eat a full slice is when I get strawberry or some other fruit flavour.”

“Strawberry? Good taste,” Khun offers, and Baam’s beam returns.

If Khun waits by the exit of Baam’s phonology class the next week just to see that beam again, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Time melts into months, and Khun and Baam’s weekly lunches melt into nearly daily lunches.

Sometimes Khun stops by the linguistics building to wait for Baam to end class; sometimes Baam finds himself waiting outside their agreed-upon dining hall before Khun shows up, waving goodbye to one friend or another.

Khun’s relatively popular, Baam thinks, until Khun corrects him one day with a, “No, it’s just that business majors have to network a lot. I expect we’ll either end up being employed by each other or buying up each other’s businesses ten years down the road.” He laughs at the mildly terrified look on Baam’s face.

Baam tells Khun about the calculus class he’s been forced to take for his math requirement, and Khun gripes about having to take a Physics class to fulfill his science requirements even though he’s a business major. Conversation flows easier than Baam expects, and the more he talks to Khun the smoother it flows.

He learns about how Khun is a business major because he’s expected to take over the family business. He learns about how Khun is interested in a Computer Science minor because he’s convinced the future of the world lies in tech, and Khun learns how Baam might be taking a Psychology minor because he just wants to learn more about the people around him.

Baam learns how Khun talks with his hands, long fingers swirling and jabbing as he maunders around his point. He learns how Khun’s laughs runs from derisive chuckles to laughter as bright as moonlight on icicles. He learns how Khun would rather carry around a hair tie than have to go to the barber’s every two months, and Khun learns, after an incident where his hair tie snaps and he can’t lean forward without getting hair in his soup, that Baam has taken to carrying a spare one around for him.

Baam learns how Khun takes his iced coffee with milk but no sugar, and Khun learns about how Baam’s favourite boba order is lychee green tea. Baam learns about the way Khun doesn’t really believe in dating for fun, not since he watched his sister run away from home with a boy and come back, badly bruised and begging to be loved again as though her family would have ever given up on her the same way that boy did. And Khun learns Baam is a hopeless romantic, and laughs at the way Baam flushes while admitting he believes in love at first sight.

They talk and talk, and as November melts away and Khun introduces Baam to someone as his best friend, Baam grins and feels as though he’s known Khun all his life.

(“It seems as though,” Isu remarks to Hatz one day, “instead of Khun-and-Hatz and Isu-and-Baam, we’ve become Isu-and-Hatz and Khun-and-Baam.”

Hatz throws a pen at his head. “We’ve always been Hatz-and-Isu, you fool. Ever since I saved you on the playground-“

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you swapped the order of our names, you bitch!“)

They’re settling in for the night, Hatz and Isu on the bed and Rak on the fold-out cot.

Rak is tapping away on his phone, setting his multitude of alarms for the next morning, but Hatz doesn’t bother. He’s sure Isu will shake him awake somehow.

He wrestles a good amount of blanket away from Isu’s octopus grasp, and gets ready to close his eyes when Isu suddenly says, “We really need an intervention.”

Hatz frowns. Did he take too much blanket?

“About Khun and Baam.”

Oh. Isu kicks all the covers off in his sleep anyway.

“Khun prides himself on how perceptive he is,” Isu is saying, “But it’s really stupid how he hasn’t cottoned on about Baam.”

Rak bursts out laughing. “We’ve has this conversation before, yes.”

“It’s so slow burn it feels like one of those frog-in-hot-water kind of stories, you know? One of them makes a move, but the other thinks it’s just bros being bros, one of them slips up but the other blames it on fucking Mercury in retrograde or whatever-“

Hatz snorts, “Pretty sure neither of them believe in astrology-“

“Point is, they practically orbit around each other and everyone, everyone, sees that but them. I mean, have you seen the way Baam picks food he doesn’t like off of his meals and Khun just straight up swipes it off of his plate, no questions? Who does that? Every time I swipe food from Rak he threatens to kill me-“

“It’s because you swipe the food I like, you stupid turtle-“

“Anyway, I pointed it out to Baam once and you know what he said? You know what he said?” Isu rubs his hand across his face. “He blinked and said he didn’t even notice! He doesn’t even remember when they started doing it! Khun does the exact same thing and you know how he hates people touching his food! I tried picking carrots off of Khun’s plate last month because I know he always sets his carrots aside and he fucking hit me so hard with his fork I bruised!”

Hatz hears the slight whine in Isu’s voice and finds himself suddenly unable to hold bubbles of laughter in. It’s ridiculous, it really is, four years of Khun being the absolute softest for Baam and Baam not noticing, and he hears Rak’s low rumble of laughter from Isu’s other side.

“The worst thing,” Isu says over their laughter, “is that you know Khun’s the type of person to not do anything if it might put his friendships in danger. Bet you he thinks Baam doesn’t like him like that.” That sobers them up pretty quickly.

“And you know what the absolute kicker is?” Isu’s voice is quieter now, as Hatz’s and Rak’s laughter die down. “Baam won’t do anything about it because - and I know this for a fact - the fool thinks the same.”

Rak groans and rolls over. “We really need to do something before everyone moves home, huh.”

“Damn right we do.”

(They don’t manage to figure out any sort of concrete plan before Rak drops asleep, but Hatz and Isu agree in the vaguest sort of way that Something Must Be Done, Even If We Don’t Know What.)

When their very first set of finals are over, Isu insists on dragging everyone out for drinks.

They find themselves in a small, dimly-lit pub a short walk away from their dorm, teeming with college students temporarily freed from the shackles and chains of higher education. It’s loud and it feels like there are too many people than there should be on a snowy weekday night, but Isu snags them a table and leaves them there to guard it while he goes to grab their first round.

Khun leans across the table, “How were your finals?”

“Glad they’re over,” Hatz says, unwinding his scarf. “I never want to see a physics formula again. How were yours?”

Khun shrugs. “Same about that physics requirement, I suppose. But we’re taking statistics together next semester, right?”

Baam looks up. “Which professor? I’m taking statistics too.” He’d like to take a class with friends, he thinks, and a small flame blooms in his chest at the thought. Friends.

Cheesy as it is, he’s glad he’s come out of his freshman semester with a group of friends to call his own.

“-Yoo, I think,” Hatz is saying, “The Monday and Wednesday morning one.”

“Neat,” Baam grins. “The three of us can study together then?”

“I leave to get drinks and you’re already plotting to take a class without me?” Isu plops a tray down on their table, sounding more amused than affronted.

“You’re the engineering major,” Hatz points out, but Isu waves him away.

“Enough school talk,” Isu says, and raises an eyebrow. “Let’s talk about more fun things.”

Isu’s idea of fun things, apparently, includes a list of get-to-know-you questions, and he grills each and every one of them as if he’s about to have a final on the details of his friends’ lives.

“-past relationships in three words, go.”

Hatz winces, “She… wanted… fencer?“ Isu groans at Hatz’s poor summary, then gestures for Baam.

“Um,” Baam says. “She… wanted better.” Not technically true, he thinks, but that’s as clean as he can get to describing Rachel without prying open a can of worms he had trouble closing in the first place.

Isu pats his hand in sympathy, “One of those, huh? One of my exes dumped me because he had his sights on something higher too. I’ll go for the other one then… his gay experiment.”

Hatz hisses at that, and drains the rest of his beer. “Deserved every last punch I gave him.”

Isu laughs, light and hollow and carefully wiped of emotion, and the sound, emptier than the thud of Hatz’s glass on the table, rings in Baam’s ears. He’s glad Hatz was there to dole out the hits all those years ago, because tipsy on three whole glasses of beers, he’s ready to go out and start a new fight himself.

Isu gestures for Khun’s turn, but Khun’s eyes are on Baam. His gaze has a sort of scrutinising air, as though he’s trying to figure something out, and Baam feels his scowl disappear and a tremble run under his skin.

“I don’t believe in dating,” Khun says, after a measure of silence, and Baam’s heart gives a soft thud from where it has sunk somewhere near the floor.

He isn’t sure why he’s disappointed; he’s known about it ever since Khun told him about his sister, of course, and he’s not even sure what he’s hoping for - they’re great friends and it’s already more than Baam could ask for. Khun is kind and smart and pays attention to the people around him and he has a sort of determined dedication that Baam has never quite figured out how to instil in himself. And even if Khun was up for dating, Baam thinks, he’d be too many leagues above Baam; just in the time they’ve been sat down, there have been countless looks thrown at their table, soft giggles about the boy with the messy blue ponytail and eyes like sapphires, quiet and not-so-quiet whispers daring each other to go up and talk to him.

None of them have, though. It’s just something about the way Khun’s eyes have never wandered from their table that has kept everyone away.

“-couldn’t press charges against him,” Khun is saying. The napkin between his fingers has been torn to shreds, and Baam wants nothing more than to be able to curl his hand around Khun’s in comfort without the tug in his heart begging for more.

He keeps his hands to himself.

“Well, I thought I was the most miserable story, but fuck,” Isu says, and stands up. “I’m going to get another round.”

He comes back with a tray full of soju bottles, and they end up drinking all the way through Isu’s list of silly questions.

They learn that Hatz would name his hypothetical bunny General McHoppers, and that Khun would rather fight a duck-sized horse than a horse-sized duck. Baam can’t remember if they decided on hot dogs being tacos or sandwiches on their way out of the pub, but somewhere along the way his gloves have been fumbled onto his hands and his beanie jammed onto his head.

Isu has his arm around Hatz, talking a mile a minute about how the flat earth theory could theoretically be true while Hatz is struggling to support his weight. Baam could laugh at the way Isu’s stumbling, but come to think of it, he isn’t so sure about the structural integrity of his own legs.

He feels an arm slide around his waist and a laugh, low and breathy in his ear. He shivers at the sound and the way it feels so achingly close he could just turn and- he decides to blame it on the wind chill.

“You’re a lightweight,” Khun accuses. There’s a ribbon of a laugh in his voice and Baam mutters out a stubborn, “I’m not,” that goes unheeded.

“So when are you coming back?” Khun asks, voice light and conversational. “We can probably do something together before winter break is over and the next semester starts.”

Baam squints at him, as though it will make Khun’s voice amplify through the cotton wool of his brain. “Mm not leaving for break,” he says carefully. “Staying here.”

Maybe taking phonology was a good idea, Baam thinks. Makes his enunciation clearer and all that. Maybe Khun will stop thinking he’s drunk and unhand him.

Khun just snorts, and if anything, his hold on Baam gets tighter. His voice is tinged with amusement as he leans closer, lips brushing Baam’s ear. “You are drunk,” Khun informs him, “and you’re saying all your thoughts out loud.”

Baam flushes and immediately clams up. That’s enough thinking and thoughts for tonight, he decides, and is rewarded with a silver peal of Khun’s laughter.

Khun tosses and turns.

There’s no reason why he can’t sleep - the curtains are drawn and Baam’s breathing is even and quiet. He can only imagine the storm coming from Rak just next door.

Khun groans quietly. This is the worst time for his insomnia to act up - they’re planning to go to an amusement park tomorrow and damn if he’s going to be tired through all the fun.

He gropes blindly about until he finds his phone. Isu and Baam sent photos from the museum earlier; he might as well use this time to go through them and save them.

He thumbs through them quickly. Most of them are shots of Rak staring open-mouthed at the exhibits, but there are some silly shots of them looking absolutely ridiculous.

There’s a mirror shot with all of them crouching in front of four huge turtle shells, with Rak standing in the middle, cackling his head off about them finally being “turtles”. Isu’s holding the phone and yelling at them to stop squirming and to please align themselves so they all show up at the correct angle in the mirror or god so help me, my arms are gonna fucking fall off. The photo is slightly blurry with his efforts and Khun can almost hear Hatz’s helpless giggles ringing through the photo.

His thumb stills.

Picture-Baam’s arm is half-raised, fingers coming up to brush away his bangs, and picture-Khun’s arm is slung over his shoulders. PIcture-Baam’s eyes are crinkled up, mid-laugh, smile bright and golden as sunflowers and not quite as radiant as Khun knows it is in real life, but radiant all the same.

And picture-Khun is looking at him, smile soft and head slightly bowed, eyes brimming an emotion Khun does not yet know how to describe.

His thumb swipes to save the photo before he realises it, and there is a flash of an idea about setting it as his wallpaper before he is distracted by a sleepy snuffle. By the light of his phone he sees Baam spread out on his side of the bed, face-down on his pillow.

Khun frowns. There’s no way that’s good for respiration.

He reaches over and gently tugs on the pillow, enough so that Baam has to shifts his head to accommodate for the change but not enough that it wakes him up. He waits until Baam resettles, head tilted and eyelashes brushing his cheek. His mouth is slightly open, lips soft and parted, and Khun is dimly aware of the urge to brush Baam’s hair away from where it is falling across his face.

Beautiful.

The word springs, unbidden, to his mind and he freezes.

Baam. Baam, with the biggest heart of anyone he knows. Baam, with his thoughtful smile and easy laugh and the quiet way in which he lights up the room.

Baam, with the way he finishes Khun’s sentences and laughs at all of Khun’s stupid puns, with the way he understands Khun without either of them having to exchange a word, with the way his loyalty to his friends is fierce and burns with the heat of a thousand suns. Baam, with the way he fits, just right, into Khun’s side, like two hands made to hold.

Baam, with all his kindness and his constancy and his optimism and all of his warmth.

Baam, his best friend.

Khun breathes out shakily, puts his phone down, knots his fingers together, and wills himself to go to sleep.

Baam yanks his chair out from his desk. He’s sopping wet and his bangs keep dripping in his eyes and his goddamn bag is soaked and he feels that awful discomfort of clothes sticking to his skin and really, all he wants to do is take a warm shower and curl into his bed and forget this day ever happened.

“Your mood,” Isu remarks from his bed, “seems to be absolutely foul.”

“You think?” Baam snarls.

Isu blinks, then shuts his laptop. “Wanna talk about it?”

Got caught in the rain, he wants to say. Got called out in class to answer a question about the reading I didn’t do. Got leered at by some creep on the street. But everything is stuck on the top of his tongue, dwarfed by a bigger truth threatening to slip out.

Got stood up for lunch by Khun again.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen,” Isu says, voice soft and gaze even softer.

Just like that, Baam feels the angry knot in his chest loosen, gently unwound by the unquestioning kindness in Isu’s voice. He lets his backpack tumble to his chair, then sinks, wet clothes and all, onto the floor.

He opens his mouth, intending to apologise for snapping at Isu, but all that slips out is a sob.

Immediately Isu is on his knees, hugging him tight and cradling Baam’s head. Baam tries to bat him off, tries to say through a nose full of snot, I’m getting your clothes drenched with rainwater, but Isu just swipes Baam’s bangs away from his forehead and hugs him again.

“Go take a warm shower,” Isu says, “I’ll make tea, and you can tell me what happened.”

Baam nods, and Isu herds him off the floor and into their bathroom.

He tries to get his shit together in the shower, and emerges ten minutes later, red-eyed and sniffly-nosed, to Isu’s promised cup of tea. It takes five minutes for him to gloss through the shit-show that was class, then another five for him to meander around the topic of Khun.

Isu leans back, finally. “You were meant to meet Khun for lunch, but he stood you up and you’re upset because it’s the second time this week he’s done it without warning.”

“I mean... yes, but now that you put it like that, it sounds like such a stupid reason to be upset, I sound so stupidly clingy-“ Baam falters.

“Do you know why he didn’t show up?”

Baam looks down at the chip in his mug. It fits the shape of his fingernail exactly, almost as if he could have, at one point, dug his fingernails in so deep he chipped the mug himself.

“Yeah,” Baam says at last, “He was meeting his partner for their marketing project.”

“The marketing genius? The one he’s been nattering on about for the past two weeks?”

Baam swallows the bitter taste in his mouth that really has no reason to be there. There’s an uncomfortable knot in his throat, and he sighs. “The first time, I waited twenty minutes before I called and he picked up and apologised for losing track of time because he was talking to her. Which is fine, you know, we all do it.”

“And this time?”

“Called a couple times but he didn’t even pick up the phone. And it was raining, so I thought he might have been trying to wait out the rain and lost battery or something, or maybe something important popped up, so I ran through the rain to the business building to look for him, but he was just standing in the lobby of the building talking to his project partner and laughing with her and-“ Suddenly there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t speak around, and he falls silent.

It’s so stupid, he thinks. He’s acting like a spoilt child, crying because he doesn’t have someone’s undivided attention. It’s so, so stupid that he thought he had a monopoly on Khun’s time, that he thought he was so important that-

“It sounds,” Isu says carefully, “like you’re upset that he didn’t respect your time, and that he temporarily held time with his project partner in higher regard than time with you. Combined with the rest of your day, it’s understandable that it’d be a last straw.” He’s squinting at Baam, as though he doesn’t expect to be right, as though he expects there to be something more but can’t quite put his finger on what it is.

Baam nods at him anyway, but there’s an unsavoury, wiggling feeling at the bottom of his stomach that laughs at that.

If it wasn’t Khun, you wouldn’t have minded as much, it taunts him. If it was Hatz, you’d have just brushed it off as his scatterbrain and just waited out the rain. But it was something about seeing Khun with that girl that made you so upset you had to run home in the rain, wasn’t it? I think you’re-

“You’re jealous,” Isu says, slight incredulity colouring his tone as he arrives as the same conclusion. He rocks back in his chair slightly, and repeats, “My god, you’re jealous.”

Baam chokes. He briefly considers denying Isu’s scarily accurate mind-reading, but his head is so, so heavy, and there’s a tiny bloom of relief now that the nasty knot in his throat has finally been given a name.

He lets his head hit the table, and his question comes out more like a smothered whine. “How do I make it stop?”

He feels Isu’s fingers tap along the table as he works out the answer to Baam’s question.

“You’re acting like you’ve just got your heart broken,” Isu says, after a while. “I think that should tell you something.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Baam says, protest dulled and muffled. “I’m not.”

Isu remains silent.

“I’m not,” Baam insists. “He’s my best friend.”

He waits for the familiar bloom of pride he gets whenever Khun introduces him to someone as his best friend, but the words ‘best friend’ no longer taste like they used to.

“He’s my best friend,” he says again. As the words leave his mouth, Baam no longer quite knows who it is that he’s insisting to.

(Khun knocks on his door that night to apologise. Baam takes a deep breath and they both ignore his red eyes and pretend nothing ever happened.)

Baam shifts. It’s warm under the blanket and really, if someone could turn that fucking alarm off and let him sleep a couple more minutes, it’d be great.

There’s a slight shift behind him, and a small whine comes from the crook of his neck.

Baam freezes, suddenly more awake. There’s a heavy, warm sort of weight around his waist and a cool press against his calves. He doesn’t dare open his eyes to see what they might be.

This can’t be happening, he tells himself, then nearly laughs aloud. Of course it’s a dream, Baam thinks. His unconscious must have lifted something out of all the things he’s never allowed himself to consider, much less daydream about, and stuffed them all into a dream-

Lips brush the back of his neck and Baam’s mind stops working.

He’s sure his heart is thumping loud enough to wake Khun up, but Khun just mumbles against his neck again, whispers of a breath making Baam’s hair stand on end. “The alarm-“

He feels Khun still. Stars burn and burst and civilisations rise and fall in the spaces between Baam’s heartbeats. He can almost hear the cogs in Khun’s brain turning, and he’s so busy trying to keep his heart still and his breathing even that he thinks he imagines the barest press of lips on the back of his neck before Khun pulls away.

He nearly whimpers at the loss of contact, but Khun has already shut off the infernal alarm and is shaking him awake, hand warm against his shoulder.

Khun’s voice is rough with sleep and something else as he tells Baam to get up and get dressed for breakfast. Baam tries not to think about it.

Isu is convinced Baam just needs to go out more and meet people that don’t live with him and are not Khun.

Baam disagrees.

He doesn’t understand why Isu is squeezed onto his bed next to him, flicking through Tinder and showing him faces that frankly, look nothing close to Khun’s. “I’m not interested in dating anyone,” Baam mutters for the fourth time.

“You’re not interested in dating anyone that isn’t Khun,” Isu corrects. He swipes left a couple times, then frowns. “How about this one?”

Baam groans, and shoves him lightly. “Get off my bed, Isu, your bed is literally three feet away.”

“You can’t see faces on this screen from three feet away-“

“I don’t want to-“

“Listen, Baam, you want to get over Khun? Go on some dates. Seven billion people on this earth and you think that blue shrimp is The One?”

“I don’t think he’s anything, he’s just my best friend-“ Baam falters under Isu’s withering look. He has to admit that even to himself, his repeated denials have sounded particularly pathetic as of late.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Isu says finally, setting his phone down. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, and frankly? It reminds me of the way I used to look at Hatz.”

Baam’s eyes widen. “Hatz?! But-“

Isu waves him away. “Briefly thought I fancied him way back in ninth grade. Had a whole dramatic little crisis about pining after my straight best friend too, it was a nightmare for my mum.”

“And then what happened?” Baam’s voice is smaller than he intends.

Isu snorts, tipping his head back and letting it hit the wall, “Then I went on a date with someone else and realised that I was an absolute fool and Hatz wasn’t all that great, that’s what happened. My mum’s theory is that since there wasn’t anyone else in the picture, my brain went for the only one who would show me affection. Which was really stupid, because something in me already knew that even if Hatz and I were soulmates, we’re in no way relationship material, you know? It just took me a little nudge to better figure out what I wanted in a relationship and realise that Hatz wasn’t it.” He chances a look at Baam, and exhales a shaky laugh, looking back up at the ceiling. “Don’t tell him, though, don’t want to get his ego to get more inflated than it already is.”

Baam looks up at him. He sees how Isu’s biting his lip and avoiding his gaze, and he sees how Isu’s sharing a part of himself that he’s never told anyone, how Isu’s just really and sincerely trying to help. “I’d never.”

And so he agrees. He agrees to let Isu set him up on dates and he agrees to sit down and figure out what it is he wants. Because it can’t be - and it shouldn’t be - Khun. It can’t be Khun and his smart quips and his messy bangs and the way he smiles at Baam like Baam’s the only thing in his world and the way that makes Baam’s heart skip a beat every time.

(Khun catches him, one day, stumbling out the dorm, running late to a date with some girl named Endorsi? Androssi? “Where you headed? Wanna get dinner?”

“Maybe later,” Baam mumbles, distracted and looking at everywhere else but Khun, “I’m late to a… to a date.”

Then he slips away, like sand between Khun’s fingers, and Khun tells himself for the rest of the day that the hollow feeling in his chest is because his professor only gave him an A- on that marketing project that he and Yuri slaved away over.)

“If I have to go on another rollercoaster, I’m going to throw up,” Isu warns the group. He’s bent over heaving, hands on his knees, and his glare just makes Hatz laugh even harder.

Khun chuckles and takes pity on him. “You all go on ahead, I’ll take this one and get us snacks. We’ll meet you at the exit of the next coaster.”

It takes all of two seconds for Hatz and Rak to cheer and haul Baam off to the next one.

“You didn’t want to get on another one too, huh?” Isu whispers conspiratorially, bumping his shoulder against Khun’s.

Khun snorts, “I can handle a couple more-“

“Liar!” Isu sings, and winds his arm around Khun’s shoulders. Khun bats him off, laughing, and they head over to the nearest concession stand.

Isu orders them hotdogs, but the churros in the display case catches Khun’s eye. A vague memory of Baam mentioning churros flashes in Khun’s mind and he makes a quick decision.

“And a churro,” Khun tacks on, then fishes out his wallet.

Isu eyes him. “Hungry?”

Khun shakes his head. “Baam likes churros, he hasn’t had them in a while.”

Isu just looks at him strangely, then turns to collect their orders from the operator.

Khun frowns. Should he have gotten all of them churros? Hatz doesn’t like sugary things, though-

As they walk back, foil-wrapped hotdogs and churro in hand, he hears Isu whistle quietly. He bumps his hip against Khun’s, and nods over to their right. “Look at that guy.”

Khun glances up, trying to keep the mini hotdog-churro mountain in his hand from toppling. The guy in question has short silver hair barely covered by a backwards cap and eyes red as a snake’s. The flimsy white tank top he has on leaves little to the imagination, and from the way he looks positively sculpted, Khun can see why Isu singled him out.

“Right Baam’s type, isn’t he?” Isu says, and Khun nearly drops the churro.

“Baam-“ he splutters, trying to salvage the churro from where it’s clamped in the turn of his wrist. “Baam’s type?”

“Yeah. You think he’s Baam’s type?”

“I don’t know, he’s only ever dated girls-“

“You’re his best friend and you never once asked? Also, he’s only had one girlfriend, but I set him up with all genders-“

“You set him up?!”

“For the whole of freshman spring, you fool, did you never catch on?”

“He’s never mentioned it-“

“That’s because he wasn’t interested in any of them, and I tried my best, mind you-“

“And that’s Baam’s type?” Khun twists slightly to look back at the man.

Isu bites his lip, grinning, and Khun has a strange feeling Isu’s just making it up in his head.

“He isn’t, is he?” Khun says, and ignores the way his heart lifts slightly.

“You’ll just have to ask,” Isu sings, and Khun groans.

Before he can think too much about why he even wants to find out in the first place, they see a brown blur barrelling towards them, and Khun has to take a step back to avoid being ran over by Rak.

Hatz and Baam are slower to head towards them, still talking about the animatronics in their last ride. Isu hands Hatz his hotdog, and Khun is about to tell Baam that hey, the concession stand was selling churros and I remember you mentioned a while ago-

“The animatronics were really cool, Khun, you should have seen it. You would have liked them.” Baam’s eyes are shining, soft muted gold, and Khun finds himself smiling softly back.

“I’ll go with you next time,” Khun promises, and is rewarded with Baam’s breathless beam.

(“Gross,” Hatz mutters, mouth full of mustard. Isu isn’t sure if he’s talking about the way Khun and Baam can’t stop looking at each other or if it’s the obscene amount of mustard he slathered onto Hatz’s hotdog as a joke.)

As it turns out, Baam gets along with all the people Isu sets him up with like a house on fire.

Not in the way Isu expects, of course. Baam finds out that Wangnan was forced to do it by his friends too, and they spend an hour commiserating over meddling friends with good intentions before realising they share their sociolinguistics class and move on to commiserating over that too. Ehwa is slightly clumsy with her words, but is completely endearing, and when she admits to Baam that she’s not really looking for a relationship because she’s still hung up over an ex, Baam finds himself equal parts relieved and sympathetic. Urek confesses that his main motive for downloading the app is to convince people to join his school’s flailing LGBTQ club, but it backfires when they realise they attend different colleges. Baam laughs and agrees to attend some of Urek’s club events anyway.

He ends up great friends with all of them, and with the flow and ebb of the semester, ends up spending less time in his dorm than usual.

“Getting popular, huh,” Khun says one day, as Baam taps out a reply to Ehwa that absolutely yes, he‘d love to hear about the new boy she’s been seeing. Baam hums distractedly in response, and sets his phone down when Khun sighs.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out of the dorm,” Khun tries again.

Baam blinks. “Some of my friends living in different residence halls.”

“You’ve been spending less time with us,” Khun clarifies. Baam wishes he could see Khun’s eyes to figure out what he’s thinking, but Khun’s frowning down at his nails.

“You jealous?” The words slip out of his mouth before he can help it, and he nearly laughs at their irony.

Khun glances sharply at him, full force of a blue stare wiping away Baam’s smile. He’s looking straight at Baam with a seriousness that they’ve never shared in their nearly-two semesters of friendship, and there follows a moment of silence so loud that it echoes in Baam’s ears and with each beat of his heart Baam knows that Isu is wrong, Isu is wrong, Isu is wrong and that there will never be anyone for him but Khun.

Suddenly Khun blinks and he’s pouting, lower lip jutting out in petulance. “So what if I am?”

(When Hatz walks in, he says Baam laughed so loudly he could hear him all the way from the lift.)

Rak eyes Baam’s hotdog. He’s long since finished his, but Baam’s been stuck, starry-eyed, on the churro Khun bought for him, and Rak grumbles to himself that if Baam doesn’t get started on that hotdog soon he’ll rip it out of Baam’s hands and inhale it himself.

“Baam? Is that you?”

An unfamiliar man is standing behind them, head cocked to the side and unzipped hoodie barely clinging onto his biceps. Rak winces as Isu grabs his shoulder and whispers, “It’s him!”

Before Rak can ask Isu what he’s talking about, Baam has burst into a smile - “Urek!”

“Baam, baby, I knew it was you!”

Rak blinks. Baby?

He wants to ask Isu about this strange man with silver hair, but everyone’s mouth hangs open as Urek envelopes Baam in a bone-crushing hug and lifts him off the ground.

“Thought I wasn’t going to see you again, not with my club leaving for our trip two days before your finals ended, but I’m so glad to see you, babe-“

Isu issues a faint squeak as Urek plants a loud smack on Baam’s forehead, and clutches Rak’s shoulder even tighter.

Rak turns to Isu. “Explain,” he demands, under his breath.

“I thought he looked familiar when I saw him just now, fuck- I set up him with Baam ages ago, back in freshman spring, I thought nothing came of it since Baam talks about him like he’s just a friend but-“

“But babe?” Rak hisses. Khun isn’t going to like this, he thinks. He’s going to go into one of his infamous sulks and Baam’s going to be the only one who can pull him out of it, and good fucking luck to whoever gets the job of explaining to Baam why Khun was sulking in the first place.

“So you gonna introduce me to your friends, Baam?” The man says, slinging his arm around Baam and smiling genially at everyone. Baam’s smile is so wide it nearly cracks his face in half, and Rak wonders faintly how Khun is faring.

“Everyone, this is Urek, he goes to the college uptown. Urek, these are my best friends Hatz, Isu, Rak and... where’s Khun?”

Rak pauses as everyone turns to look around. He swears Khun was right beside Hatz half a second ago, but there’s absolutely no trace of him now. Half of Rak is relieved that he’s not on the other end of one of Khun’s patented glares, but the other half of him knows Khun well enough that he can smell the Brood building just right round the corner.

He sighs, and gently disentangles Isu’s arm from his. “He mentioned something about needing to run to the washroom, I’ll go see if he’s there.”

Rak waves a friendly goodbye at Urek, and as he walks away to search for a flash of blue hair, he hears a sly, “Oh, Khun? Your Khun?” and Baam’s flustered spluttering.

Ah.

He spots a messy blue flash a little ways down from them, and hurries over before Khun can see him.

“So,” Rak says by way of greeting. He clamps a hand on Khun’s shoulder as Khun turns, blue eyes flashing in surprise, “Our mighty Khun has run away.”

“I’m not running from anything,” Khun mutters, turning away again, “I just... saw this really interesting... thing and came over to look at it.”

“Terribly fascinating, these... uh,” Rak follows Khu’s gaze, “these trash cans.”

“They... they might talk.”

“Talking trash cans.” Rak is unimpressed, and he makes sure to let it into his tone.

He crosses his arms and lets Khun avoid his gaze for a few more seconds. Khun’ll start talking soon, Rak knows - he hates awkwardness, especially when they’re centred around him.

“He’s… he does seem close to Baam, isn’t he?” Khun says, eventually. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off the trash cans, and Rak briefly considers tossing Khun into one.

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re his best best friend.”

There’s a flash of a wince before Khun’s cool mask is back. “He hasn’t told me anything about that guy.”

Rak waits.

“He’d… he’d tell me if they were dating, wouldn’t he?” Khun’s eyebrows are furrowed. “Why hasn’t he said anything about being someone’s… someone’s babe?”

Khun spits out the last word with so much disgust that Rak nearly laughs. “You’re an idiot,” Rak chooses to say instead.

He waits for Khun to look up before continuing, “You’re an idiot and lest you forget, you're his best friend-“

“Just his best friend-“

“-and what that means is that if he hasn’t told you anything about this guy giving him pet names, it probably isn’t significant enough to him and he hasn’t feel the need to mention it. To you or to any of us. Whoever Urek is, he doesn’t mean anything to Baam other than a friend, and you, of all people, shouldn’t worry that Baam is keeping anything from us. He’s your best friend, Khun. Trust him.”

Khun lowers his head, worrying a fingernail between his teeth. They remain silent for a moment, until Rak finally processes what Khun has said.

“Just his best friend?” Rak tries not to smile too widely. “You looking to be something more, then?”

Khun freezes slightly, then lets out a laugh that is far too cheery. “Course not.”

Rak isn’t as smart or perceptive as Isu is, he knows, but he likes to think that after more than two years of friendship, he can read Khun pretty well too. He kicks lightly at the trash cans, and offers quietly, “I know his friendship is valuable to you - I know all of our friendships are - but I don’t know if you see the way Baam looks at you sometimes. There’s… there’s something different there. There’s something there that Hatz doesn’t have with Isu. And I know you’re afraid of losing him, and you’re afraid taking the chance that one day he might leave you behind but… for what my opinion is worth, I think Baam might be a chance worth taking.”

He watches Khun take one breath, two, three. Khun’s hands are balled up into fists and Rak can see the cogs turning as Khun processes and reprocesses what Rak is presenting to him.

When Khun speaks, his voice is small. “The way Baam looks at me?”

“You’ve been walking around him with your eyes closed, haven’t you - he looks at you the same way you look at him.”

Khun’s mouth opens, as if in denial, and Rak huffs. “He looks at you like if you were to hypothetically be more than best friends with him… he looks at you as if he might like that.”

Khun shuts his mouth. He stays lost in thought for a while, and Rak feels an itch on the back of his neck like someone is watching him. He suddenly remembers the way they have left Baam and Hatz and Isu standing, waiting for them, and curses. “Come on, they’re looking for you. Should I tell them you were jealous that someone called Baam baby or should I tell them you were entranced by talking trash cans?”

Khun flushes and turns to walk away from said trash cans, tossing Rak two fingers.

Rak just cackles.

The first snow of sophomore year falls on a Tuesday.

Baam wakes up to a flurry of white outside his window, and as he trudges through the ankle-high slush and the snowflakes that threaten to glue his eyelashes together, he realises he forgot to bring gloves.

Ah, well. He’ll just suffer, then.

His phone buzzes with non-stop texts from Hatz and Isu all throughout his second lecture of the day, and he fumbles to set it on Do Not Disturb when his TA starts glancing over at him.

Best Roommate Ever: snowing!!!! Fencing Champion: snowball fight in the park, 2pm Best Roommate Ever: bring it on bro I’m not scared of you Fencing Champion: yeah, not scared of me keeping my winning streak alive Alligator Overlord: get ready to get SMUSHED, cowards, the Great Rak is coming Khun: good lord, y’all couldn’t wait until classes were over?

Baam bites back a grin, heart oddly warm, and he finds himself unable to sit still for the remainder of the lecture. He ends up counting down the minutes to the end of class, and as soon as it hits 1.45pm he tosses his notes into his bag and his scarf around his neck.

He is the first one out of the building, and nearly blows by the person leaning by the entrance. The person reaches forward and tugs on his backpack, and Baam turns around, startled, only to come face to face with Khun.

“Woah there,” Khun laughs, arms reaching out to steady him. “In a rush?”

Baam grins in response. “Left my gloves at the dorm, thought I’d go grab them before meeting everyone for the snowball fight. Wanna come with?”

Khun raises an eyebrow, and produces Baam’s gloves from his own pocket and holds them up to Baam.

“Absolute hero,” Baam beams, and he tries to tamp down the wonderful sort of warmth curling out from his heart all the way down to his toes. “How’d you know?”

Khun shrugs. “You always forget your gloves. Thought I’d just let myself in and check if you did.”

He hands Baam his gloves, and wait for him to put them on before they begin the cold and slippery trek to the park.

Isu and Hatz are already there, wrapped in beanies and scarves and long winter coats.

“Get ready to get wrecked, losers!” Isu calls out, waving to them.

“Where’s Rak?”

“Rak’s here,” comes Rak’s voice, somewhere near Baam’s feet. He’s lying on his back, limbs spread out and tongue sticking out. “Mm trying to catch snowflakes.”

Baam just laughs, and helps him up. There are already multiple groups spread across the grass, flinging snowballs at each other with peals of laughter carrying in the wind.

“We’re thinking a three versus two game,” Isu offers, now that Rak is back on his feet. “How do we want to split?”

They decide on rock, paper, scissors, and by some feat of magic (“Manipulation,” Hatz insists), Khun emerges on top.

“You get first pick,” Hatz tells him, “but the other side gets the third person.”

Khun twists to look at Baam. “How’s your aim?”

“Terrible,” Baam answers honestly, and Khun grins with far too much delight.

“Great. I want Baam.”

“No cheating,” Hatz warns. “Just the both of you.”

Khun bumps his shoulder against Baam’s and grins at him, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Always been us, hasn’t it?”

And when Baam laughs, full and delighted, Khun swings, hidden snowball hitting Hatz right between the eyes.

(Baam dreams about us sometimes. He dreams of an us, a universe in which Khun is ice and he is fire, and they burn together in an endless firework instead of melting into a tepid puddle.

He dreams of a Khun that hurtles through space and time, and of a Baam that will rip rifts into the fabric of the universe if it means he can follow wherever Khun goes.

He dreams of a Baam that spins illusions out of thin air in a circus for those without a home, and a Khun that tells the future and flips cards and is the flip side of his card, the way people are in the best sort of love stories.

He dreams of a Khun that wraps his hand around Baam’s and tips their foreheads together in soft moonlight, and of a Baam that is brave enough to rest his head against Khun’s heart, finally brave enough to dance with him to the quiet song that is three o’clock.

He dreams of a Baam that charges into battle, cloaked in red, sword drawn and burning with the rage of a thousand souls, and of a Khun that grits his teeth and charges in right behind him.

He tells Isu about the latest of his strange dreams one day, and Isu just laughs.

“Of course he would,” Isu says, picking up his book again. “Khun looks at you as if he’d follow you around anywhere.”)

“Come on, eat faster, we’re gonna miss good spots for the fireworks!”

“What good spots?” Khun snorts. “In case you forget, fireworks are in the sky. Anywhere’s a good spot.”

Rak levels Khun a glare, and brandishes a fry in his face. “Not if the only place left is under an awning and all our views are blocked. Remember junior year?”

Everyone groans at the memory and starts eating slightly faster - they waited for the fireworks to signal the end of the pride parade, but when the fireworks started and they finally clambered outside of the coffee shop they were waiting in, all they could see was the red underbelly of an awning that desperately needed a clean.

“So,” Baam says, “Urek asks if we want to meet his club for lunch tomorrow.”

There is instant reaction around the table - Rak drops a fry on the ground and squawks, and Isu chokes on his soda. Hatz has to thump him hard on the back before Isu inhales, red-faced. He flashes a grin at Baam, “Why don’t you ask Khun?”

Khun looks up from where he is staring daggers at the table, and frowns. Why me? He wants to ask, but Baam has already turned to him, eyes hopeful and fingers poised over his keyboard.

He swallows hard. As much as he doesn’t like Urek (Which doesn’t make sense, by the way, a small voice in his head tells him primly. Urek’s been nothing but friendly to you.) he doesn’t want to be the one to deny Baam anything. “If you want to, sure.”

Hatz huffs in annoyance, and Khun shoots him a look. What’s with all his friends today, he wants to demand. First with Isu joking about Baam’s type, then Rak being uncharacteristically insightful about things Khun doesn’t want to think about, and now Hatz? But he sees an opening to get answers, and he goes in for the kill.

He turns to Baam, and slaps on a smirk. “So he’s your type, huh?”

Baam’s mouth hangs open, a faint blush painting his cheeks. “He’s- what- he-” Baam flaps his hands in Khun’s direction. “What made you think that?”

Khun affects a casual shrug. “Looked like you were pretty pleased to see him.”

“He’s a friend from uptown,” Baam says. “Nothing like my type.”

“And what would that be?” Khun says, then makes the mistake of looking into Baam’s eyes. Like honey, he thinks, dazed, the kind that is sweet and sticky and impossible to ever escape once you’ve fallen in.

He nearly misses Baam’s nonchalant answer, delivered as if he’d rehearsed in his mind a thousand times before. “You know, kind, smart, resourceful. Takes the time to get to know me. Same sense of humour. Always knows what to say. Remembers the small details about me, stuff like that.”

There’s a snort from the other end of the table that sounds suspiciously like sounds a lot like Khun, but the tips of Baam’s ears are red as he breaks eye contact with Khun and he’s pouting so fiercely at Isu that Khun’s mind nearly goes blank at how… how cute it is.

But Rak is growling at them about how if they don’t finish eating in five minutes he’s going to head out to see the fireworks without them, and so Khun’s mind shuts up pretty quickly.

(They manage to find a good spot, of course. Not many awnings in amusement parks.)

The first firework to go up is red, and the crowd oohs and aahs as their video cameras capture the peony bursting into a thousand tiny stars. The next one is a yellow brocade, and as the golden stars fade away, Khun can’t help but think that it doesn’t quite match the golden of Baam’s eyes.

Baam.

He turns to his side, shoulder brushing Baam’s, and is stunned to see Baam already looking at him.

Baam blinks rapidly at having been caught, and Khun can see a small flush making its way up his face in the dim light. Khun’s eyes unconsciously trail down, a small part of his mind wondering, wandering-

Khun finds himself leaning in, and his eyes dart back up to Baam’s, suddenly closer than they’ve ever been. They are full of… hesitance, Khun thinks. Hesitance and a quiet sort of yearning and something that resembles hopefulness that makes Khun’s heart flip in a peculiar sort of way.

He opens his mouth, but under the bursts of the fireworks and the thunder of his own heartbeat, he finds that for the first time in his life he cannot think of anything to say to his best friend.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like this, encased in all the things Khun doesn’t know how to put into words, a frozen bubble of their own, but all too soon the lights are flickering back on in the park and everyone is cheering for the fireworks display. There is a resigned sort of smile on Baam’s face as he raises his hands to join the applause, and Khun notices too late that Baam never pulled away.

“They were beautiful, weren’t they, Khun!” Hatz is saying, and Khun snaps away, shoulders jolting away from Baam’s and mouth fumbling through a yes, of course, of course.

When Khun is five, his sister tells him about her first boyfriend. What kind of person do you want to date in ten years, Khun? Khun thinks about it, and tells her, with all the gravity a five-year-old can muster, someone who eats all my carrots so I don’t have to. His sister bursts out laughing, then hauls him onto her lap. My boyfriend is tall and smart and handsome, she says, tickling his sides. Will you be tall and smart and handsome too? But he’s wriggling around too much to answer, answering shrieks of laughter echoing down the hallway.

When Khun is eight, he comes back from school with a backpack full of chocolates on Valentine’s Day, and when his mother laughs and asks him who he got them all from, he shrugs. Here and there, he tells her, and he hands her the stack of letters he gets along with them for her perusal. You didn’t open any of them, she says, but he has already wandered off. He ends up stuffing some chocolate into his sister’s jacket pocket, and when she disappears that night he wonders if she ever finds them.

When Khun is ten, his sister comes back home, bruised and empty. She sometimes forgets the motions she needs to go through to love herself again, Khun’s mother tells him, so he needs to love her extra until she remembers. He hears - he can still hear - the quiet, trembling way she tries to rebuild herself and when he climbs into her bed to hug her and pepper her forehead with kisses the same way their mum does, he tells her it’s okay to cry, and he tells himself that he will never let someone consume him the way that monster has consumed her, because even at the age of ten Khun has come to learn that sometimes the wounds that hurt the most are the ones that don’t show scars.

When Khun is fourteen, Novick gets a crush for the first time. He tells Khun all about her after school one day, and Khun nods politely in all the right places while trying to solve a rubix cube. How do you know? Khun asks, hands fiddling with his cube. How do you know you like her? Novick flops over onto his bed and sighs. Can’t get her out of my mind, Novick says. I can’t stop wanting to make her smile.

When Khun is seventeen, Dan applies to the same college his partner does. You’ll regret it, Khun and Novick tell him. Think about what college is best for your education, not who’s going to go there, but Dan just laughs. It’s a reach school anyway, he says. He might not make it in. But he’s test-savvy, and he does, and when it comes down to the decision between Khun’s school and theirs, Dan chooses them. Don’t sacrifice your future for someone you might not even remember down the road, it doesn’t make sense, Novick tells him, and tosses a pen at his head. Love isn’t supposed to make sense anyway, Dan grins, and that’s that.

When Khun is eighteen, he comes back to Dan and Novick for the summer with one name on his tongue. He tells them all about Baam and the way Baam’s eyes sparkle when he’s excited and the way he hates pickles and the way he laughs at all the bad jokes everyone else groans at. He talks about Baam until Novick swipes him on the head and laughs. You talk about him so much it’s insane. You in love, bro? And Khun remembers the flames that burned his sister, the way love ate and ate and ate away at her until she had to build herself again, and he bites his tongue and shakes his head, insistent. I’m not.

When Khun is twenty two, alone in a hotel room crowded with his own thoughts at two am while his best friend lingers outside, he calls Dan and Novick. They hear the worry of fingernail between his teeth, and they ask him what’s wrong, Khun, what’s wrong, and joke about how they’ll help him hide the body. He takes a deep breath, and whispers, I think I’m in love with him.

And just like that, the dam breaks.

He tells them about the way he cannot stop thinking about Baam - the way he has never stopped thinking about Baam since the day they met - and the way he’d do anything to make Baam smile. He tells them about the way Baam’s eyes shine a soft, subdued gold when he’s thoughtful and a fierce, flashing gold when he gets worked up, and the way Khun has tried his best but has never quite figured out if it’s the gold of dusk or dawn. He tells them about the way something inside him aches when Baam looks away, the way Khun’s hands itch to hold his every time they touch.

He tells them about the way Baam eats his carrots (Novick laughs) and the way Baam has a stupid sweet tooth that can only be satisfied with copious amounts of chocolate and the way he walked forty blocks once just to find the sort of chocolate Baam likes because he knew that Baam’s beam at the end of it would be worth it. He tells them about the way Baam looked, under the dim light of the fireworks, the way Baam looked at him, hopeful and yearning and sad all at once, and the way Khun wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment. He tells them about what Rak said, about the way Baam looks at him, and the way he looks at Baam and how the past few years suddenly clicked and made sense.

He tells them about the way he’s discovered that Baam has dismantled him, piece by piece, and has diffused through him so thoroughly that everywhere he looks, it just echoes Baam, Baam, Baam, and as a tear rolls down his cheek he tells them about the way it doesn’t make sense, because he’s told himself that nobody is supposed to cut through him like this.

Love isn’t supposed to make sense, Dan says. Now go, go and tell him.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Baam looks up. He watches as Khun emerges from the shadows, hair almost pearlescent in the sharp moonlight. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he looks almost nervous waiting for Baam to allow him to sit.

Baam shifts, and he settles down next to where Baam is sitting on the curb, hugging his legs and chin on his knees. The curb is narrow, and Khun is nearly totally pressed up against Baam by the time he’s fully sat down, adopting the same pose Baam is.

Baam swallows. He feels the warmth of Khun’s leg through his own jeans, and the dangerous brush of Khun’s hand on his.

“Nice night.” Khun comments.

Baam hums in response. It is - the stars have all come out in this dark distance between them and the city, and the only things Baam can hear is the song of the cicadas and the low buzz from the neon sign outside the hotel.

“What brings you outside at 3am?”

Everything, Baam thinks. You. Me. What I want us to be but daren’t ask for.

The way I keep replaying that moment under the fireworks in my head. The way that when I close my eyes, I keep seeing the way you looked at me, keep feeling the brush of your shoulder against mine, but knowing it doesn’t mean the same thing to you as it does to me. The way that even if it did, you’d never act on it, and oh, the way I wish you would.

“Too stuffy,” Baam says instead.

“Me too,” Khun says, and his voice is so close, so close to Baam’s ear that he’s sure if he just turns his head a fraction Khun’s lips will be there. “Too many thoughts for one small room, you know?”

Baam swallows again, and stays still.

“Baam,” Khun murmurs. His voice sounds slightly strangled and all sorts of breathless, and it takes everything in Baam not to shiver in response.

“Baam, look at me, please.”

And so Baam does, because he never can resist when it is Khun asking. He turns, and he sees the way the moonlight dances between Khun’s eyelashes, the way it brushes Khun’s cheeks and makes him glow, makes him look so ethereal that it makes Baam’s chest hurt.

He sees the way Khun’s eyes are soft and open and willing Baam to understand, but fierce and determined and brilliant all at once. They shine, and Baam’s breath stutters.

He wants to look away, wants to pry himself away from the trainwreck of a memory he knows he’s going to form, the memory he knows will replay in his mind’s eye over and over again when he lays down to sleep at night.

But Khun is beautiful, and Baam cannot take his eyes off of him.

Beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

And suddenly Khun is leaning over, hand warm on Baam’s jaw, eyes questioning, pleading, and Baam feels himself melt into Khun, carried by the ache of want he has hauling around by himself the past four years.

Khun tastes like iced coffee, like sunlight glinting off of fresh snow. He tastes like the crackle of lightning, like a multitude of city lights, like the sound of snowballs skimming across a frozen pond. He tastes like Baam has always thought of and more, lips slotting into Baam’s the way he has slotted himself into the space between Baam’s heartbeats, and Baam isn’t sure if he ever wants Khun to pull away.

And when they do break apart, it is with the feeling that everything in the world has snapped into place, brighter, clearer, right.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long,” Khun murmurs. “But I’m here now, and I don’t think I ever want to leave.”

====

anyway i just graduated and now i miss my friends and i don’t know what to do with my life what’s up with y’all

#tower of god #tog #khunbaam #khunbam #vivi writes #what's up folks i haven't written a full fic in close to two years #anyway i'm not posting this on ao3 firstly bc . i don't have an ao3 acc #if anyone could help that would be very helpful #used the morpheme help twice! i'm never going to write 15k words ever again #chopped some too bc i was so scared this wasnt gonna fit in the tumblr character count #catch my old fandom references LOL #but also if you know where the title is from high five ayeeeee jj lin ballad king #除了爱你还能爱谁 is a masterpiece and none of you can tell me otherwise

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capricornus-rex · 4 years ago

Text

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (1)

Chapter 1: A Child Can Dream | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: I AM SO HAPPY TO BE BACK! Our house is clean, power and wifi is back on, and we’re slowly getting back on our feet now! ❤ It was a tough 2 weeks, but we survived. My neighborhood is getting back on its own feet as well. We just need more time in flushing out whatever trace of the flood remains. Thank you so much to @glxy-otter and @someoneovertherainboww for sending me lots of love & support! It really made me smile 💜🥺

Also in AO3

Previous: Prelude | Next: Part 2 | Masterlist

2 of ?

The garage was filled with the same perpetual noise. For a seven-year-old, this is no suitable place for a child—but this is the normal she grew up in.

“Hurry up with that chassis!” barked a male Twi’lek with orange skin in Huttese.

The girl answered, in the same dialect, “Can’t you see that this thing is twice my size, Pelug!?”

“You’re lucky you’re faster than those pit droids, otherwise, I would’ve put you in concessionaire duty!”

A pair of hazel eyes shot a piercing look at the humanoid, a scowl forming in her eyebrows.

The orange Twi’lek’s pair of lekku wagged along with his finger pointed at the girl, his threat didn’t scare her as much as he wanted to—though it’s common knowledge that concessionaire duty was the worst, one is essentially demoted if put there. But she thinks she’s proved herself highly unlikely of being in that position.

Not receiving help—not expecting to either—she hauled up the chassis on a crate while shooing the doddering pit droids. When the path was clear, the hatch had already been opened—thanks to those little ones—to screw in the part before the big race. The speakers crackled and echoed across the entire garage, reminding us that the participants have less than thirty minutes before the racers are required to bring their rides on the starting block.

“Irele,” Pelug called in Basic, but immediately went back to speaking Huttese. “You got tiny hands, hold this open for me while I close off the hydraulic seals.”

Irele obeyed. She had a few seconds of relaxing her fingers one seal after the other.

After the tech work, their contender—a male Togruta named Gelesh with uneven lekku—hopped onto his podracer. A few switches and clicks, the Brazen Bullet roared to life—lights flickered across the entire dashboard, the engines belched, and the turbines thrummed.

“Hey, if Sebulba fights dirty—”

“I’ll fight filthier!” he cuts Irele off laughing, but she let it pass. The exchange was somewhat tradition for both of them.

The speakers in the garage crackled again, startling many who are inside, and the croaky announcer prompted the racers to prepare at the starting block; in less than a second, a second translates everything to Huttese. The announcer was the two-headed sentient of species she still doesn’t know the name of.

Gelesh’s entourage—including Irele—strolled out of the garage and made for the exit. The Tatooine sunlight abruptly blazed its rays over their heads, luckily, they were wearing headgear. Gelesh was confident although the nervousness was somehow getting to him, the girl can sort of sense it—along with a few more emotions that she didn’t want to point out to make it worse for him.

“Hey, Gel?”

“Yeah, Irele?”

“Relax.”

That took a load off of his chest, his lips stretched to a friendly grin, he pulled himself together first and then his goggles next. To each racer, they followed the instructions as the two-headed sentient said so. All the technicians began scrambling back to their pit stop when the mufflers have fired up. Little Irele went further into their pit stop, crawling through spaces that only she can enter; she then scaled a spire with makeshift handholds she herself installed until she could reach a ledge on the spire that apparently supported one of the spectator boxes.

The seven-year-old was small enough to seat herself on such a narrow edge; from there, she has as good as a view of the spectators in the towers and stands. If the crowd was already rowdy before the racers lined up on the block, the noise got wilder and louder that perhaps one can hear it all the way to Mos Pelgo. Each podracer had their characteristic noise for each action: ignition, acceleration, compressor activation, and what have you—Irele can identify the Brazen Bullet and its every sound with her eyes closed.

“Alright, racers, rev up those engines because we start in five…”

A collective of podracers engine noises rung and rumbled the circuit. Three seconds in, their ignition sent dust clouds flying over the heads of the poor people in the bottom row of the stands. The people in the bleachers joined the countdown, and so did Irele as she kept her eye on the single podracer whose body plates are forged with bronzium.

“ONE!!”

One by one, the vehicles zipped past—their noises abrupt like the firing of a blaster, the mufflers thunderous as they pulled the accelerators—some of the audience members had the hems of their clothes flying to the direction of the podracers, nonetheless arousing their secondhand adrenaline.

Irele’s little heart went with Brazen Bullet speeding right in the lead, the bronzium finish of the vehicle were fleeting specks of light over her glossy, hazel eyes. She scaled the spire some more until she could sneak a peek on one of the watchers’ tablets to see who’s in the lead and dead last. For everytime Gelesh completed the lap, Irele could almost feel her heels floating, as if she was the one driving the pod and feeling the exact velocity, the thrill, the sheer focus—driving one was a dream, though her mother forbade her, begged her even not to try it, but said so with a softness that compels Irele to obey, despite her desires.

Everyone had their eyes on the rising star, Gelesh, who was also leaving Sebulba in the dust. Hot on his heels, the Dug desperately cranked every possible lever his hind legs could grab on—in the hopes of catching up to the Togruta. The Dug, unwilling to accept defeat after the destruction of his streak by the victory of that one human boy years ago.

That boy was Anakin Skywalker.

Irele had heard stories of him: how he defeated the Dug despite all odds, and snagged the top place in the race, and how he was an underdog in everyone’s eyes. She wondered if they might have been friends somehow, given their mutual penchant for podracing albeit preferring different aspects.

“This is it, people! This is the last lap of the circuit—Gelesh Odibra and Sebulba are practically neck-and-neck! Who will cross the finish line first!? They’re all so close now!! It’s Gelesh!! No, it’s Sebulba!!”

The sentient argues with its Huttese-speaking head, looping what the Basic-speaking head kept saying in a continuous effort in riling up the crowd. Irele was literally on the edge of the tier when the Brazen Bullet and Sebulba’s podracer were within view. A twin-trail of sand, clouding the tail-ends of the podracers approach the starting line—with the third light blinking green, eager for the victor to zoom through it.

It was all such a blur. The crowd cheered, nonetheless, believing that their eyes didn’t deceive them and that they saw their contender stay ahead of the other by a hair. Not long after, a scuffle was developing when two differing spectators argued on whose champion went through the finish line first. Irele spotted it across from where she sat, but she didn’t watch the scuffle for long; she turned her attention to the announcer’s tower.

“Wow, did you see how close that was! Everything was such a blur I’m not even sure if I saw it right!”

The second head agreed, speaking in Huttese, in the same enthusiasm as the Basic-speaking one.

To finally calm the crowd, and settle it once and for all, the sentient clicks a pattern of buttons on their control panel to project a snapshot of the two racers at the finish line—determining who was closest to the line. Showing images from all angles, it’s clear that the Brazen Bullet’s nose was basically under the sensors of the light—thus triggering all three lights to indicate that a racer has completed the circuit.

“I don’t believe it! This is Gelesh’s third win in the streak—cementing his record just right above Sebulba’s!”

By the hum of a gong echoing across the circuit, a large portion of the crowd jumped and roared in a united cheer—ribbons and petals of sorts flew in congratulation, showering the youthful Togruta in his victory. He hopped out of his podracer, his entourage comes sprinting out of their pit stop with Irele at the tail just getting down from her perch.

“GELESH, YOU DID IT!” squealed the girl, sprinting and shouldering her way to his view.

A host hands over a trophy to Gelesh who then let Irele—perched on his broad shoulder—hold the other side of the trophy. People have gotten out of their seats to surround the defending champion. They chanted his name, the rest of the spectators showered him with flowers, petals, and ribbons.

Every victory was wonderful for Irele. Perhaps, it equaled to the exact same thrill as driving her own podrace. This went on for two more years, and in those next years, they enjoyed the sport—win or lose.

–

24 BBY

It seemed that the garage manager was feeling gracious today. The Rodian boss let Irele go home earlier than her normal shift, in which the girl celebrated with a grin whose ends pierced her plump cheeks, a squeaking cheer as she scrambles to put away her things, and a sprint that sent the dust floating behind her heels.

Irele didn’t head home right away, she went the other direction—towards the junkshop where her mother worked, employed by the blue, pungent Toydarian, Watto. The chimes rang as she burst through the door, startling the creature—who hoped it was a customer, but much to his chagrin, it was only the girl, and so he returns to his chair with a groan.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Over there,” Watto lazily pointed and croaked with his native accent running thick in his voice.

“Mommy?”

Shmi paused at the workbench to meet her daughter, “Irele? You’re out early.”

Irele threw herself into Shmi’s arms, embracing her as tight as her scrawny arms can, “Yeah, Selek let me out early today. Good thing he did!”

Her mother simply smiled, perhaps too overwhelmed by her daughter’s energy.

“You didn’t forget, did you?”

That somehow jolted Shmi enough for her realize that she had caught herself spacing out. She shook her head and mouthed the word “no,” she saw the concerned expression in Irele’s face and took her daughter by the shoulders.

“No, darling, I didn’t forget,” she pursed a sweet smile and tapped the tip of Irele’s nose with her forefinger. “How could I forget my promise to you?”

Irele’s eyes lit up, the sihght of it delighted her mother. Shmi then finished up whatever work she’s been busying herself with before getting off of work. Mother and child strolled out of the junkshop, Irele trottd off happily while keeping her hand clasped in Shmi’s—who was walking in her normal pace, with a few occasional tugs from the child because of her prancing.

By the time they got home, Irele impatiently put her things away in her room, got washed, and eagerly waited for Shmi to join her in the kitchen. The promise was that they were going to cook something together—a house favorite of Irele: Shmi’s own, delicious recipe. They had saved enough from their wages separately, and in total, they had enough to buy ingredient for a hearty, full supper consisting of meat, a medley of mushrooms and vegetables, and fruits and pallies for dessert.

They could only do this once for their individual pay was rather low.

All of this is a celebration of Irele turning eight.

A simple celebration with fulfilling food on the table, with no one else but her mother and herself, in the coziness of their cottage—to Irele, it was wonderful. And perfect.

It was everything she could ever ask for.

–

Months after their promised celebration, Irele had been seeing a man with sandy brown hair and a scraggly stubble. Maybe once or twice, she saw him clean-shaven. She always saw him frequenting Watto’s shop, either to buy or play Sabacc—but oftentimes, the latter in which Watto had a questionable win record. One should not be surprised if the blue Toydarian won through his swindler’s methods.

This man was Cliegg Lars.

Apparently, Shmi had caught the eye of Cliegg, as he frequented the junkshop in search of parts mostly for speeders and other machines he uses. Despite being a child, Lars’s feelings did not escape the insightful Irele; in her opinion, he’d been coming over to the shop a little too often for someone who kept fixing speeders. Although, she cannot be certain if his motives are true; it’s still a lead nonetheless. Even she had drawn attention to herself from the man, shying away from his gruff yet friendly hello’s, and then curiously watching him deal with Watto whilst hiding behind walls.

It wasn’t long until Cliegg began to fall for Shmi, rooting from their day-to-day interactions with one another whenever he would stop by. He pretended that he doesn’t feel Irele tailing them, but he didn’t let that bother him—she’s a child after all, he thought.

Shmi presently being a mother with a daughter in tow didn’t trouble Cliegg. A man of ethics—a rare trait in this lawless ball of sand—he could not imagine buying off Shmi from Watto, but then leaving the child to the Toydarian. Fortunately for Lars, it was evident that Watto’s gambling—with a not-so-impressive track record to boot—had gradually collapsed his business. Little by little, Watto’s wares had either been disposed of or been sold to the lowest possible price in the hopes of keeping the business up. When there was nothing else to profit from, Watto would be forced to sell his remaining property—the mother and child slaves. Cliegg took it from there.

From a certain point of view, his proposition of buying Shmi and Irele intrigued the Toydarian.

“How much you gunna pay fo meh two slaves, eh?” rasped Watto, irreparably pronouncing “slaves” as slehvz in his thick, native Toydarian accent.

“I can pay you twenty thousand each,” Cliegg bobbed his head for the dramatics, pretending to be pensive. “I’ll pawn off my X-class landspeeder to pay them.”

A single holodisk produced a projection of the item in question. The speeder—brand new and in its prime, only seven months old—was an interesting wager in and of itself. The rusty-reddish paint job would stand out in the desert, whether up close or in the horizon, sunlight would bounce off on the sheen of the thrusters’ metallic sections. Truly a shiny new toy.

Cliegg could have sworn he heard the clinking of credits when Watto’s eyes lit up with greedy intrigue.

Good, that’s gotten his attention. Thought the man.

Watto hovered himself closer to the projection, his flimsy wings struggled to carry his weight as they flapped erratically, and rubbed his fleshy chin at the same time. To the flying sentient, it wasn’t a bad deal, at least for Lars’s expense in his mind—the ratio of the trade somewhat balances out: Lars wants two things from him, thus he wagers something in the same worth.

“You must think me a fool, Watto,” Cliegg noted the perhaps long silence of Watto examining the images. “To pay you the price of a single landspeeder for two slaves.”

The Toydarian chuckled, then gestured defensively, “No, no. I don’t that, Lars, meh friend. In fact, this is quite an int’resting investment.” His emphasis on the word “investment” made him enunciate the S into a harsh, buzzing Z.

Perhaps, it is in the nature of every Toydarian to call anything an investment—even a gamble on a card game. There aren’t many of Watto’s kind here in Tatooine, but that is the only impression Cliegg can pick up from Watto for his opinion on the species. Not having any of the suspense, the man tried to broke the deal until they can shake on it. Watto came so far as making an event out of it, but Lars insisted to refrain from the grandeur, to which his beneficiary gave in.

They finally shook on it. The two males were clueless that Irele had been eavesdropping on their exchange. It was a bad habit that Shmi had gently reprimanded her of, but just this once, she had never been invested in someone else’s conversation—only because the subject was their freedom at stake, and it was this stranger who dared to go through this length of settling an agreement with their current slaver. Irele’s mind was in a whirl—would he be a kinder slaver than Watto? More generous or more cruel? With their conversation going on what felt like hours, she had resorted to sitting on the floor, her back against the wall as she listened in on their voices.

The girl heard the door chimes followed by the silence, then she scrambled to her feet when she heard the flapping of Watto’s wings grow louder and disappeared as quietly as she could.

Two days later after that agreement had been set in stone, today’s the fateful day: Shmi finds out only now that she and Irele had been sold to Cliegg Lars. When Watto announced that he’s sold them together to this man, understandably, the woman was taken aback from her lack of prior knowledge, and she had every right to be surprised. Her daughter, on the other hand, feigned it—her false silence fit in with the mood of the room.

Shmi and Irele Skywalker watched the pouch of credits transfer from Cliegg’s hand to Watto’s, signifying that they now belong to Cliegg Lars.

“Take them,” Watto says, although somberly. He hovers in place as he watches Shmi and Irele join Cliegg out of the shop.

“I wish you good luck on your business, Watto,” Lars bade, however, it felt backhanded.

At the entrance of the junkshop awaited a pair of eopies—tall, quadrupedal animals that served as mounts for people and carriers of cargo—handled by a Jawa that Cliegg hired for a few hours.

“I’m sorry if I couldn’t give you two a more comfortable ride to your new home,” there was a sincerity in Lars’s voice, warm and genuine, something that Shmi nor Irele had not heard for a long time.

“It’s fine,” Shmi stuttered while trying to be polite. “I’m more used with the mount than speeders.”

“Ah, well, where you’re living—you’ll get used to it, but I’ll let you do it in your own pace.”

With a simple waving gesture from Cliegg, the Jawa hauled the animal pair then coaxed both to go down on their knees—level enough so the humans can hop on their backs. Each eopie grunted when they felt more weight on themselves; Shmi and Irele shared one saddle, Lars took the lead from town to their new home.

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porrokin · 4 years ago

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“SAINTS BEFORE SIXTH”

i have actually never posted anything like this on my tumblr - i'm kinda nervous ngl.

below you can find the blurb and entire first chapter of the fantasy novel i'm writing! 🤎 i'm so incredibly proud and wanted to share it with you :)

Andy was almost an adult now, not once in the past decade had she been entirely sober. This hadn't been a choice of her own; she didn't get many of those anymore after becoming a permanent resident in the Institute. She'd been permanently deprived of direct sunlight ever since her sixth birthday, on December 30th.

Meanwhile, her best friend claims to speak with his deceased parents and the Keepers found her newest ally before she did. They've been forcing him to use his powers for their selfish winnings, cruel violations like this could go unseen since the Warden disappeared.

Escaping the Keepers is one thing; they're still worlds apart from getting home - considering there's anything to come back to in the first place.

don't copy or claim this in any way; it is my work and belongs entirely to me.

THE ENTIRE FIRST CHAPTER IS POSTED BELOW !

Never once during the past decade had Andy been entirely sober, that fact would, however, become even more disturbing when you considered she was barely eighteen years old. It hadn't been a conscious choice, at least not one of her own.

Ever since her sixth birthday - almost precisely twelve years ago - Keepers had taken the freedom of making decisions away from her. What she ate, where she slept, who she talked to, and whether or not she took her meds four times per day - which she did, much to her disliking.

The Keepers no longer informed Andy of their plans for her, they used to back when she was still enrolled in the program. Christiano was, though she wasn't sure if she always believed him when he talked about what he did during those three hours every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Sunday. Nine hours each week, that's how much time they did want to spend with her roommate. She was on her own, once again.

The line scurried along. Andy hesitantly followed as she took in the newly arrived smell of potatoes and spinach. Lunch must start soon, meaning the clock could say 12:55 am anytime now. The rest of the world outside was sleeping, in contrast to this place - heavily lit by beaming, quietly zooming tubes. The grey ceiling was covered in them, leaving nothing to go by without catching the eye of at least one Keeper. Andy didn't know why they lived during the night, rather than when the sun could cast real and natural light into the long, empty hallways. Probably to keep the public from asking much-needed questions about this place, or perhaps they did know but couldn't care enough.

Another name was called out - not hers. The girl in front of the line had been injected, she swiftly turned around and started walking in against the direction of the line. Back to her room, she went, another day of the same, mundane routine. Day after day, twelve years before you got away.

Long ginger hair draped over her slim shoulders, curls bouncing up slightly with every step she took. Her face looked tense; not unusual for this place, but it was rather strange to see from this girl. When their eyes met, Andy was surprised to see an almost luminescent light grey shade. The girl's eyes were once green but now reminded her of the colour of freshly polished silverware reflecting in the light.

As she walked past her spot in line, electricity seemed to flow through Andy's spine; causing her entire body to shiver. Her eyebrows shaped themselves into a slight frown, for a moment she glanced behind her to look at this girl for an extra second. She wasn't allowed to speak to anyone in white but her roommate, though by now she'd been here long enough to recognize who slept in the same hallway and who didn't.

A loud crackling sound disrupted the silence, a moment later the automated voice began to talk through the speakers. Same time every day, the same voice at exactly five minutes before 1 am. 'Ten minutes before lunchtime, those who have not yet received their injections will be expected back in Hallway 162B in exactly 45 minutes'.

In a matter of seconds, their plan was about to be set in motion.

Right away, rummaging sounds rose from the back of the line. 'I need Andy!', a familiar voice shakily called out. 'My roommate, Andy Donahue!'

'Not up to you, get back in line or I'll make you.' Andy recognized his voice as the heavier Keeper with the bushy, unmanaged moustache. He sounded calm, he'd been quick to tase someone in the past and would most likely have his beefy fingers wrapped around the device already.

She raised her hand and started walking towards the back of the line, her body shaking entirely as if it was freezing and she walked into the cold without any clothes on her limbs.

Without expecting it, she was forcefully yanked back from behind. Before Andy even had time to blink, her arms were locked firmly behind her back, wrists pushing hard against her spine.

'You too, now? Don't think you're an exception to the rules.' Captain Keeper; not because he's the leader, but he sure did like trying to boss the others around. She didn't answer him right away but rather tried to stretch her body and spot Christiano in the hallway. She couldn't.

'I'm his roommate, that's Irvine. Sometimes he freaks out in the presence of many people-' A sweaty hand roughly pulled her head back by her hair, causing her to face the ceiling. Her body alarmed her of the pain this caused to her neck. The bright lights made her eyes tear and she struggled to swallow.

'Did I tell you to open your mouth?' Clammy Hands scoffed.

She attempted to reason with him: 'Let me take him to our room so he can calm down.'

'Get back in line. Otherwise, I'll make sure you don't get out of solitary until snow melts.'

She managed to free her arm from his clammy grasp. 'I can ensure you-'

He reached for her, his face caught between anger and frustration. He was getting impatient, little was he aware that this was exactly Andy's will. She stumbled backwards to avoid him this time, successfully, both of them were surprised by it.

'Christiano will throw up. Do you want that to happen when..' She ever so slightly raised her chin, dramatically pausing for a moment as she raised her boney finger.

Andy continued. 'About six hundred kids still need their injections in this hallway? That seems to be a big inconvenience — if I am allowed to voice my opinion.'

'Sir.' she added. The encounter would surely have been more entertaining would her head not be pounding, the shakiness of her knees increasing by the second. She knew her body needed the meds she managed to rid this morning - she would deny this dependence at any cost if someone were to ask.

He sighed and resultantly nodded in Christiano's direction. 'Go. I'll know where to find you in five minutes.'

She did as told, anxiously searching the hallway for her roommate. So far everything was going just as she so meticulously planned; she was okay.

By now she imagined the time creeping closer to 1:00 am, breaks for the Administration would start in ten minutes; she only needed three. The two minutes after that meant for racing back to their room, in case Captain Keeper was indeed determined to stick to his earlier promise.

Something as cold as ice grabbed her hand, effortlessly disrupting her thoughts. Chocolate brown eyes met hers, a feeling of relief washed over Andy's body. Squeezing his hand, they swiftly disappeared behind the corner at the end of the hallway.

'You got the key?' Andy hushed her voice. Administration breakrooms were still in the same hallway as their offices. She wondered whether they got as little sunlight as the kids here did.

'I do. Traded my last blanket for 15 minutes of borrowing the thing, this place leaks of greedy bastards.' He grinned, accentuating his sharp facial structure.

'If you're right about the Bidding we'll be out of here soon enough anyway.'

'I am right.'

'I believe you.' She extended her hand for him to hand her the key. 'I want to prepare for everything, that's all.'

While Andy gained access to Ad 348H, Christiano leaned nonchalantly against the drinking fountain, his finger push-ready on the button. If she caught the sound of water running, she needed to hide. Christiano would have to sneak her back out after their lunchtime. Not the desired option, as this would be too close for comfort with the Administration break ending at the same time.

Thanks to Christiano's contacts she knew immediately which cabinet to find; about twenty seconds had passed already. Her hands rummaged through the several files and envelopes, one of the many drawers containing surnames with "D" as their starting letter.

She gasped audibly when finally skimming across her own, "Andy Donahue" it said. As she attempted to pull it out, the cardboard folder ripped on one end; the contents spilling out like jelly beans at an overwhelmingly disorganized children's party.

She cursed to herself as she attempted to fish for whatever just got lost within the mass amount of documents and belongings. A soft texture brushed against her finger and with some effort, she managed to grab onto it.

Her journal! Andy's heart skipped a beat, who knew they would've collected this in here after confiscating it years ago. Without hesitation she dropped it into the neck of her jacket, holding it against her stomach with her other hand. What else did she need? Her file was too big to ever sneak out in its entirety and to take this heavy notebook was already a reach.

A loud cough echoed into the room as if she had her fingers in her ears this whole time to block out the noise. Finally, the sound of splashing water seemed to reach her. She slammed the cabinet shut, somehow getting her black sleeve stuck in the process. No, no, this was bad - this was so awfully bad.

While securing the journal with her other arm she put her body up against the heavy metal cabinet and made a desperate attempt at freeing herself from its hold.

'Yes!', slightly too loud.

Within a moment she smoothly turned around, slamming herself against something and stumbling onto the cold concrete flooring.

'We really don't have time anymore, why didn't you come out when I signalled for you?', Christiano grabbed her free arm and hurriedly pulled Andy back up on her feet.

'I'm sorry!'

She followed right behind him, both came to a sudden stop once they'd realized what was waiting behind the walls of Ad 348H. At least six Keepers surrounded them in the hallway, pointing that same amount of stun batons in their direction.

Captain Clammy Hands was the one to break the silence: "Such a shame, Donahue."

to read more, check out my story on wattpad @/porrokin [ same as on tumblr ]

CREDIT WHERE IT IS DUE ; THE COVER

#writing #first chapter #story #storytelling #english story #fantasy #non acnh #mine

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five-rivers · 5 years ago

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Knock Knock

Phic Phight prompt by WastefulReverie.

Portal!Danny AU!

This is almost more of a meditation on the situation? I don't know. Sorry for the lack of plot.

The first misconception would be that Danny's new situation was entirely unpleasant.

Make no mistake, it was unpleasant. Mostly unpleasant. When a ghost forced its way through him, it hurt. It hurt a lot. Even without the pain, it was almost unbearable in a thousand ways. When it happened, he could feel the ghosts inside him, pushing against the back of his skin, winding around his organs, trying to find a way out, a way up, into the human world. He could feel them in his very soul, pushing and pushing, burrowing, until they pushed through, turning Danny metaphysically inside-out in the process. He felt their claws, their teeth, their scales, their feathers, their hair, their thoughts, their feelings, them, in a single overwhelming, overpowering burst.

Then there were the changes he had endured, the ones that affected him even when no ghosts were knocking on his internal 'door.' He was perpetually just a little bit dizzy. His sense of direction had taken a hit. He was always on edge, always waiting for the next ghost, the next time his body would abruptly become alien and inhuman.

But it wasn't all bad.

Danny stopped eating halfway through dinner and carefully put his fork down. It clinked harshly against the table, arresting the rest of his family's attention.

"Is it a ghost?" asked Maddie.

Danny nodded once, tightly, jaw stiff, lips pressed together, as if so much as opening his mouth would send him to pieces. Even thinking the word 'open' wracked his body with shivers. He clenched his jaw harder.

Maddie pushed away from the table and threw open the door to the lab. Jack scooped Danny up from his seat and carried him after Maddie. Jazz brought up the rear. Jack and Maddie had tried to get her to stay away before, but she wouldn't have it.

Danny didn't object to being carried. He had tried to make it downstairs on his own before, but results had been... mixed. And not in a good way.

The defunct portal set in the wall was covered with a sheet. One corner of the lab had been turned into a containment unit for Danny. Maddie opened the door to that and pulled the door open so Jack could set Danny on the cot pushed up against the wall. Maddie sealed them in.

Danny had argued against them being in the containment unit with him during one of these episodes, but they refused to let him be alone, even if it meant being exposed to dangerous ghosts and whatever Danny turned into once a ghost started getting into him.

"Okay, Danny," said Maddie, through the little PA system they had set up for the unit. It was her turn to man the exterior controls. "We've got the shields on and we're recording. We're ready whenever you are."

Danny groaned in response, finally releasing his hard-won control. The pain hit him, then. His eyes rolled back, and his spine arched as he reflexively tried to escape. Something made of buzzing electricity and hard-edged circuit boards began to insert itself into the interstices of his being, and he blanched. He hated, hated, hated having to deal with ghosts that dealt with electricity.

At the same time, it almost felt good to let go, beneath all the pain and violation. It was a sort of tingle, in the back of his mind, like someone running their fingers up his spine. He changed, he was changed, reconfigured, and it felt good. He'd tried to explain to his parents, but he wasn't quite sure if they understood, not yet.

Electricity crackled over him, and the arc of his back became more profound. He screamed, whistle sharp, until something lodged itself in his throat, clawing upwards. The electricity stopped, and he rolled over, his body trying to expel the obstruction, even though it really didn't need to.

Earlier, they had tested this ghostly form of his, and they had found he could go well over ten minutes without breathing. That had some disturbing implications, but not ones that Danny felt obliged to contemplate.

Drool dripped off of his sharp teeth, leaving thick strings between his mouth and the floor. He always drooled so much during this part. He didn't understand why, but it was gross. His throat swelled as the ghost inside him tried to pull its way out. Danny's mouth stretch to compensate, as if it had turned to rubber. He could feel the ghost. It had hair, clothing, buttons catching on the inside of his esophagus.

Oh, jeez, this was a big one. Humanoid. He was trembling.

Jack rubbed his back in small circles, murmuring comforting words. Danny could barely hear him.

The ghost expanded from Danny's lips like a flower unfurling in fast forward, and suddenly Danny was free.

For every downside there was a trade-off. A silver lining.

He was always dizzy, but nothing made him any dizzier. His sense of direction was trash, but he seemed to make it where he wanted to go faster, even if his path didn't make any sense. He was always on edge, but he was so much more aware of everything.

He might have been forced to deal with unreal levels of body horror and ghosts, but, well, superpowers.

Flying was, quite literally, a dream come true, and when he was in this form essentially nothing could hurt him.

He was aware of certain mental changes that occurred when he was in this form. His parents and sister had worked together to quantify them. But they were much less than what his parents had feared, and they were so freeing. He could think like this, understand like this. Everything was so sharp and clear and focused. He had a purpose. A reason.

When he turned back, he didn't exactly forget, but it became harder to remember. Human things, human thoughts and feelings and body got in the way.

Phantom gazed up at the ghost that had just emerged from his mouth with wide, curious eyes and idly licked at one of his fangs. His legs shimmered into a long, coiling tail underneath him, one end of which wrapped lovingly around his father's wrist, ready to pull him out of danger if necessary.

The ghost began to laugh. Phantom assessed him. A technology based ghost. Mad scientist vibes. Would probably try to mess with the stuff in the lab, except it was all ghost proofed and beyond the shield, anyway. Electricity-based attacks would be difficult, but not impossible, to deal with. Phantom didn't like electricity any more as a ghost than he did as a human.

But it was always possible that he wouldn't have to fight the ghost. Some ghosts were surprisingly peaceful, in a twist that had his parents revising their theories almost as much as Phantom's mere existence did.

So, Phantom waited. Waited for the laughter to stop.

"I, TECHNUS, HAVE FINALLY ESCAPED THE GHOST ZONE! NOW I AM FREE TO CONQUER THE WORLD WITH MY WONDERFUL TECHNOLOGY!"

Okay. Yeah. No.

Phantom stretched his jaw in a way that wouldn't be remotely possible if his bones and muscles weren't currently made of ectoplasm. He was more of an amoeba than anything else right now. He could suck things into his body at basically any point and shove them into the Ghost Zone.

But doing it with his mouth was always so much more satisfying. He licked his lips.

This guy was so getting eaten.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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softyoongiionly · 5 years ago

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⚡️with you, i just feel rich ⚡️

In a town that never stops raining, you and your neighbor Jimin cozy up at your place and find ways to cope with the bad weather.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: language, smut, Jimin (because, he's a warning all on his own)

A/N: I hope you guys like this one! Jimin makes me feel all kinds of feelings...godspeed

CRACK!

Jesus.

That was a big one.

It’s been raging for hours and hours now.

There really isn’t a sweater thick enough to combat the bitter cold that’s seeping in through the cracks in your walls.

You remind yourself to call the carpenter tomorrow; the splitting in the oak is getting worse every week.

How can you blame it though?

The town you’ve spent your life in clearly pissed off an ancient god of some sort because; it hasn’t stopped storming for more than a week at a time in the last 50 years.

Unyielding rain doesn’t exactly pair well with an old wooden house that was clearly built a decade before you were born.

“Noodles??” You call over the crackling thunder, the house trembling around you.

You think you’d get used to it but, the thunder has always bothered you; even after all this time.

“Noodles?”

No response.

“I swear if you got out again, I’m returning the fancy feast! It will be dry kibble for the next two weeks…” You threaten, knowing full well that he can’t understand you.

Noodles, a fat orange tabby, is your bedtime companion. He usually does his own thing during the day which includes sleeping, staring, sulking and, searching for food. At night however, he nestles beside you, pressing his back side against your sleeping figure in attempt to find some warmth. Although, you’d like to think it’s because he actually likes you.

Your search for Noodles is interrupted by a knock at your front door. The sound is almost drowned out beneath the massive burst of thunder but, thankfully you catch a glimpse of it before your house shakes once again.

“Coming!”

The storm is getting worse; you can’t help but wonder why anyone would leave their home in this weather.

Upon opening the door, you are met with your neighbor; clad in a thick yellow rain coat and a pair of dark jeans. He didn’t come empty handed either because, in his arms sits a soaking wet, grumpy looking Noodles who clings desperately to the yellow plastic on his arm.

“Oh my god, Jimin,” You stretch your voice above the noise of the storm, shaking your head as you reach out towards your pesky little feline, “I’m so sorry, did he get in through your window again?

Jimin chuckles, nodding in amusement, “I heard you calling for him and, figured I’d look around, I found him under my kitchen table.” He assists in handing Noodles over to you, shaking his wet hair out of his face as he does, “Don’t put the blame entirely on him, I think he smelled the steak I was cooking…”

Noodles settles into your arms, clinging onto you as another roll of thunder crackles in the sky.

“You can’t just break into people’s houses every time you smell food, it’s not polite…” You chastise him, kissing the top of his damp head, “Thanks for bringing him home…again.”

Jimin giggles at your soured tone, adjusting his rain coat, seemingly unaffected by the monumental storm raging behind him, “No worries, I miss having animals in the house, Rosco would have loved this one...he’s feisty”

You frown at his response. Jimin lost his pitbull Rosco roughly 6 months ago after 16 long years together. Rosco had a happy ending, Jimin and his father held a funeral for him in the back yard complete with flowers, cake and a big large bone to send him off.

It's what Roscoe deserved.

“Roscoe loved everyone, he was too good for this world,” You smile, eyeing the fluffy orange cat in your arms, “...far too good for this common criminal. Thank you again for bringing him home, I’ll make sure to tell Maggie to take a look at the window tomorrow.”

Jimin nods, sending you a closed mouth smile, adjusting his raincoat once more. He goes to open his mouth but, sky interrupts with another angry clash of thunder. The brilliant blast of lightening follows soon after, signaling that isn’t far away.

“I better head back, I don’t want to be out when that gets any closer. My dad will kill me if his dinner isn’t done...” Jimin chuckles but, there is a hint of bitterness to his statement.

You nod, stepping back into the warmth of your house, allowing Noodles to scurry off into the living room.

“We’re still on for Thursday right? My co-worker agreed to switch with me so I’m free after 3:30...”

It was a bi-weekly tradition; Jimin would come over on a Thursday evening; you would bake him and his father two different pies to feast on for the following two weeks and, he would bring you free wine from the local bar. The arrangement was a simple one but, for the last six months or so, you’ve been able to get wine drunk for free and, hone your baking skills. Plus, Jimin isn’t exactly hard to look at nor is he hard to converse with; in fact, the two of you had been shamelessly flirting for quite a while now...

Jimin looks hopeful as he pushes his blonde hair away from his face, the remains of a smile still on his lips.

“Yeah of course; can you come over around six? I should be finishing up at the school around four but, I’ll need time to get the last pie in the oven...” You lean against your doorframe, trying to avoid staring at your handsome neighbor.

“Six is great yeah, that will give me time to get dinner ready for my dad.” Jimin muses, adjusting his raincoat.

“Ah yes and, then you’ll be coming home with dessert for him later on; maybe you’ll finally win son of the year...”

Jimin snorts, shaking his head at your comment, “Yeah, in my fucking dreams...”

You giggle, nodding to his house, “Get home safe ok? I’ll see you Thursday.”

He throws a smirk your way before conceding, turning to head down the stairs of your porch.

“See you Thursday.”

The storm has increased in ferocity and, if Jimin lived any further out, you would have insisted that he stay at your place until things let up.

Thankfully, his house is literally 30 feet from your porch but, you still eye him carefully, ensuring that he makes it through his front door.

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

The entirety of your small home smells of apples and cinnamon as the final pie bakes to a perfect crisp in the oven.

You and Jimin had been sipping cheap cabernet for awhile now and, although there was plenty of space in your kitchen, the two of you decided to lounge on your couch instead.

“Have you dated anyone since Cara?”

He tilts his head, looking unsure of his response, “I mean, I’ve hooked up since Cara but, things don’t really pan out after that. It’s probably for the best honestly, between school and my hours at the bar, I don’t really have a lot of time for a relationship.”

You nod, understanding how busy life can be, “I get you. I picked up a second shift at the school so, I tutor on the weekends now. My bills aren’t killing me as much but, the hours certainly are.”

“Do you still play the lottery?” Jimin smirks, a bit of fondness in his eyes

“Every week.” You giggle, nodding to the mountain of lottery tickets sitting on your side table, “I’m hoping since my odds of getting struck by lightning are so much higher than the average person, my odds of winning the lottery will also be higher.”

Jimin giggles at this, shaking his head at you, “That doesn’t make any sense…”

“Shhh_” You nudge his shin with your foot, giggling along with him, “Yes it does, just go with it.”

His laugh is adorable and, the way his eyes crinkle up with the sound is enough to make you melt.

“Alright fine, what would you do if you won the lottery then?” He challenges, tilting his glass towards you.

Narrowing your eyes in thought, you go over the hundreds of ideas that have popped into your brain over many hours of contemplating this question.

“I’d pay off my student loans and, my car.” You begin, “I’d make sure my mom was taken care of and, the rest of my family and then, I’d buy an island in the Pacific Ocean…”

Jimin smiles, intrigued “Really? You’d live there all alone?”

“Well, I wouldn’t live there permanently, just during the winter months. Every other month, I’d live in my 17th century cottage in France where I’d master the art of making French desserts.”

The matter of fact way in which you state your plans has Jimin rolling, his wine sloshing around his glass as his twinkling laughter fills the room.

“Don’t laugh at me!” You giggle, nudging his shin again, “I’ve thought about this a lot…”

“I can tell, you have quite the life planned for yourself Y/N. I think I’d be begging to join you in that cottage of yours. You can master French cuisine, I’ll attend some fancy ass French art school, it would work out perfectly…”

You scoff, “What makes you think I’d let you freeload in my cottage? You’d have to earn your keep Mr. Park…”

Jimin smirks at the name, “I’d be a good roommate. I’d do all the dishes, the laundry, the maintenance, I’d keep my shirt off too so, you know, you had something nice to look at…”

With that, you nudge his leg once more, giggling at his ludicrous plan, “Hmm I don’t think it’d be worth it. I clean around here just fine on my own…” You move to pull your foot off of his leg but, instead, his hand comes out to stop you.

With his fingers wrapped around your ankle, his hooded eyes flit up to yours, a lingering smirk still on his mouth, “Leave it…”

Your eyes narrow in confusion, “My foot?”

“Yeah,” He rasps, licking over his lips as he turns to put his wine on your side table, “You said they were hurting earlier right?”

A giggle comes from your mouth, as you wiggle your toes in his grip, “You’re really trying to get in on this cottage situation aren’t you?”

He moves so his knees are no longer bent and, your foot is resting comfortably his lap, “I’m just trying to show you what you’d gain if you took me in as your sugar baby…”

You guffaw at this, tugging your foot in his grip, “Oh so you’ve upgraded your request from roommate to my sugar baby?”

Jimin pinches your calf playfully, smoothing his hand over the top of your socked foot. You welcome the touch eagerly, not fully remembering the last time a man has touched you.

“Tell me more about this cottage hm? What’s the interior like?” Jimin’s tone shifts slightly as he tucks his fingers into the black wool and, slowly begins to pull it from your foot.

“Hm…modern amenities, classical architecture; I’m a big fan of French construction…” You note, your voice lowering with the comfort Jimin’s hands were bringing you.

He’s slow and careful as he presses the pads of his thumbs into the arch of your foot, working out the tension there. “Is there a big kitchen then? Since you’re planning on mastering French desserts, you’ll need the space right?”

Immediately you nod, settling further into the plushness of your couch cushions, “Of course, complete with a brick oven and, two stand mixers…”

Jimin’s amusement grows as he continues kneading out the tenseness in your foot.

“Would you have a garden? Fresh ingredients would make your food taste better.” He points out, his lips lingering in a smile.

“Mm…” You acknowledge, resting your head against the couch now, his touch paired with the wine, fogging up your motivation to speak full sentences; you want him to keep talking, “Definitely would need a garden; that can be part of your chores, tending to my plants…”

Jimin chuckles, admiring the way your toes wiggle in response to his touch.

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?” He inquires, tilting his head in confusion.

“What would you do if you won the lottery?”

Jimin pats your other foot as he sets the one he was currently working on back in his lap.

You hesitate for a moment but, quickly oblige, not wanting his attention on you to wane.

“Ah well,” He slips off your sock, just as slowly as he did the first time before answering your question, “I’d get my dad out of this town, maybe into some fancy old folks resort in Florida or something,” He chuckles, sighing as he continues, “I’d finish school debt free and, probably try to open up my own studio in a nice city, maybe New York or Seoul…”

His voice is music to your ears and, in such strong contrast to the raging storm shaking your house. You wish he never stopped talking.

“I’d buy a condo too and, start collecting art, like the real thing, not just the shitty reprints I have now,” He elaborates, his eyes lit up with his own daydream.

“Who’s your favorite?”

Jimin smiles as he starts massaging over your toes, keeping his touch as gentle as possible, “Degas. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He’s the guy who painted ballerinas…”

You know exactly who he’s talking about, having taken several art history courses whilst in university.

“Yeah of course, he’s a French artist right?”

“He is,” He points a finger at you, “So see? I’ll have to be in France sometimes so; I can study where Degas did; all the more reason to let me stay in your cottage.”

A giggle is pulled from your throat and, “We may be able to work something out, I’ll definitely be expecting more foot rubs though.”

He smirks, “I can do that. Do they feel any better?”

A wiggle of your toes confirms your suspicions that Jimin did wonders on your tense muscles.

You can’t help but wonder how his hands would fair on the rest of your body.

“So much better thank you…” You vow sincerely, “I think the last time I got a foot massage was two summers ago when I had my toes done for my cousins wedding.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow as your statement perplexes him, “What about your ex? He never gave you a foot rub?”

“No, definitely not,” You shake your head, tucking some hair behind your ear, “There really wasn’t a whole lot of touching in that relationship if I’m being honest…”

The wine and massage clearly leave you more willing to share the truth but, Jimin doesn’t seem to mind, taking the opportunity to learn more about you.

“Life in the bedroom went stale? Was that part of the problem?” He ventures but, he tries to keep his tone casual, hoping that his question doesn’t offend you.

A scoff leaves your lips, “If I’m being brutally honest, it was never fresh in the first place…”

“That’s something I know all too well,” He bristles, the wine clearly coating his tone, “Sex is always made out to be this passionate, jaw dropping experience and, you’re just expected to know what the other person likes and, how they feel. No one talks about it though. No one has that conversation, everyone is just aimlessly shifting around in the dark, hoping that their partner is enjoying themselves...or I don’t know, maybe that was just me...ha.” He’s not drunk but, he’s tipsy enough to start spilling his guts and, it’s got you wondering how deep this conversation is going to go.

“Is that how it was with Cara?” You venture, leaning back on your sofa

He smirks, eyes flitting over the perimeter of your coffee table, “It’s sad that my only long term relationship contributed to the worst sex I’ve ever had. I’m not blaming her either, not entirely, it was definitely mutual. We didn’t have any chemistry.”

“At least the split was mutual too,” You offer, taking another sip of wine, “Break ups can be a disaster...”

His head tilts to the side, conceding with you, “Yeah that’s true. By the time we decided to end things, half of my stuff was already back at my dad’s place.”

“Do you ever hear from her?”

Jimin nods, the blonde hair that’s framing his face bobbing along with his movements, “Every now and again, we’re still friendly towards each other. She called me last week to tell me she found a sketch pen of mine. It was one of my favorites so, she mailed it back to me. She’s a nice person but, the more I look back, the more I realize how unhappy I was with her.”

You understand the feeling; it was very similar to your own failed relationship.

“Hindsight is everything huh?” You raise your glass towards him and, he laughs, following your lead.

“Here, here...”

The two of you clink glasses, taking a long, slow gulp of your wine and, lean back against opposite ends of the couch.

“I agree with you though, about sex. I think the worst part for me was always how mechanical everything could feel. Like, when someone is trying to get you off, you want to feel like they want to see you get off; like your pleasure turns them on...I never had that. I could never figure out why.”

Your bare feet are braced against the cushions, toes wiggling into the fabric as the wine warms up your senses.

Jimin chews on his lip, nodding in consideration, “I feel that. It was like that for me too. I always assumed it was me, like there was something wrong with what I was doing. She seemed really into what I gave her but, she wasn’t very eager to return the favor. I was too young to feel confident enough to press the issue…”

You don’t know his ex very well but, right now, you couldn’t relate to her at all. Jimin’s messy blonde hair, his cheeks rosied from the wine, his toned body tucked effortlessly into his sweater and, jeans; how could one possibly resist the chance to make him cum his brains out?

“I don’t think it was you,” You assure him, “I’m sure there were a lot of things that played into why it was so stale. I get why you’d feel that way though, I felt the same way when I was with my ex…”

“His lack of foot massages could have told me that… ” He smirks, throwing back the rest of his Cabernet, the red liquid lingering on his lips as he pulls his glass away.

Tempting.

“You want to know something tragic?” You lean over and grab the bottle of wine off of the table, “We were together for 4 years and, I can count the times he ate me out, on one hand…”

Jimin’s eyes go wide, “Fuck off, you’re kidding me right? Did you ever say anything?”

He silently holds his glass out, and you pour a little more for the both of you. You didn’t know how long he would be here but, you didn’t want to risk either of you getting too drunk.

“I mean, I did but, I guess it was similar to your situation. I felt like he didn’t really like doing it and, I’m not really turned on by the idea of my boyfriend giving head because he feels obligated to…”

Jimin glances at the exposed skin of your inner thighs and decides that anyone who passes up the opportunity to bury their face between your legs, is likely insane.

“I can’t picture it, I’m sorry…” He chuckles, shaking his head, “I couldn’t imagine not wanting to eat pussy.”

Your cheeks heat but, it’s not out of embarrassment; Jimin’s lips looked really good curling around the word pussy. They look really good all the time though…

“When I asked him about it one time, he said,” You pause, to giggle at the memory, feeling ridiculous that you had bought into his bullshit, “‘I like feeling close to you babe and, when I’m down there, I don’t feel like we’re connecting emotionally.’ “

His eyes widen again as he splutters a laugh through his pursed lips, “Oh my god, what a fucking tool. That is the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard. I bet he had no issues with you sucking his dick though right? Was that close enough for him?”

You join in his laughter, nodding with the second question, “Ah yes that was pure intimacy. My throat was a one way ticket to my heart and soul.”

Jimin’s laughter grows, his head falling back as he leans into the back of your couch for support.

“I can’t believe I stayed with him for so long, he and I were so different…” You muse, as the laughter between the two of you dies down.

“You guys were high school sweethearts right? Maybe you stayed because it was comfortable.”

Your teeth have found a place on your lower lip as you nod in consideration of his words, “Yeah, that definitely played a part. It was also because everyone expected us to stay together you know? My mom loved him, my friends loved him and, I loved him too but, honestly? I don’t think I ever fell in love with him, not fully. I figured it was something I’d eventually get over or, something I’d fix but, it wasn’t on me. It wasn’t on him either. That’s why I ended things, we just weren’t right for each other.”

Jimin nods slowly, eyes scanning over you to ensure that you’re ok, “Did he feel the same, when you guys split?”

You think back to the day you broke things off. Your ex didn’t really act surprise at your announcement; in fact, he seemed pretty relieved that he got out of having to breach the subject himself.

“I think so. He knew it was time; it had been time for a while. I started ‘falling asleep on the couch’” You quote the terms with your fingers, “and, he was going out with his friends like 5 times a week. We ended things as friends and, I genuinely hope he’s doing well.”

Jimin offers up a sweet smile, impressed with your outlook on things. He felt a little bitter by the end of his relationship, although he has trouble admitting it.

“He’s still a tool for not wanting to eat you out though; hopefully he’s learned the error of his ways…” He jests, taking another sip of wine, eyeing you as he does.

“I’m hoping for the sake of the next girl that he has.” You concede, smirking over the rim of your glass.

A bit of silence moves between the two of you and, Jimin spends that time in contemplation before he speaks again, “Y/N, not to be too forward but,” Hooded eyes lock onto yours, in an incredulous deadpan, “the fact that he didn’t want to make you cum every chance he got is disturbing to me…”

Jimin’s words lick at your insides, stoking a fire deep in your belly but, you’re confused; why does he care so much?

A smirk curves on the corners of your mouth, not wanting to show that his words affect you, “I could say the same thing about your girl Cara, I couldn’t imagine being with you and, not wanting to suck your dick.”

He splutters against his glass, checking 3 different times to make sure he just heard what he thinks he heard, “Excuse me?”

A shrug of your shoulder pairs nicely with a nonchalant sip of wine, “What? I just repeated what you said...”

He shakes his head immediately and, upon noticing the darkness edging around his pupils, you feel a tightness growing between your legs.

“Your response was a little more descriptive don’t you think?”

While you’re thinking of another totally chill response, Jimin sets his wine glass on the coffee table. His tongue licks over his bottom lip before it’s tucked carefully between his teeth.

“Are you uncomfortable with my response Jimin?”

He smirks now, understanding what you’re playing at, “No, not in the way you’re thinking...”

You return his expression and, set your own glass down before the kitchen timer interrupts your lustful exchange. The heat on your cheeks is almost unbearable but, you can’t risk setting the smoke alarm off so, reluctantly, you nod toward the sound.

“That’s the pie...”

Jimin’s smirk hasn’t faltered, his puffy eyes alight with intrigue, “I figured...”

“I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t give you the chance though because, not a full minute passes after you pull out the second apple pie before you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

The breath that is due to exhale gets caught in your throat and, your hand comes up reflexively to grasp at the limbs currently encasing your hips.

“It’s me...” Jimin’s melodic voice is at your ear, his breath causing goosebumps.

“Bummer, I was hoping it was my other hot neighbor.” You tease, nails gently raking across the top of Jimin’s hand.

He snickers, face firmly situated in the crook of your neck, “Sorry to disappoint you...”

His hands are getting braver now, sliding slowly under the hem of your sweater, forcing every hair on your body to stand at attention. Without permission, your body seems to betray you as it melts back into Jimin’s embrace; the woodsy notes of his cologne are making you dizzy and, you can feel the tightness between your legs intensifying. Quickly, before you collapse onto the floor, you turn around in Jimin’s arms only to be met with his lustful smile, his hair disheveled from being roughed up against your neck.

“I want a kiss...” He whispers immediately against your lips, nudging your nose as he does, “Can I have one?”

A nod is all you can muster before leaning in and attaching your lips to his. Jimin kisses like the devil himself; slowly exploring your lips with gentle caresses of his tongue and teeth, his hands still tracing into the curves of you. He smirks into the kiss as he feels you press closer to him; he knows he’s good.

“Your lips are so soft.” Jimin muses, eyes still closed, smirk still present as he slowly backs you into the counter, chuckling darkly as you gasp when the cold tile hits your exposed skin.

“So are yours...they’re big...” You whisper clumsily, your cheeks heating as you hear exactly what you just said, Jimin’s already snickering again, having beat you to your explanation. “You know what I mean...”

“I know what you mean jagi...don’t worry about it...” He rasps, allowing his ‘big’ lips to travel down your chin and into your neck, his saliva acting as another catalyst for goosebumps. He hums low in his throat as he kisses tenderly against the junction of your neck. “I want you by the way...in case you were wondering...”

His comment causes you to giggle but as he sucks your tender skin between his teeth, a moan catches on the end of it. The sound is enough to make his dick swell in his jeans, a groan rumbling deep in his chest.

“You think I could get you to make more of those noises for me?” He challenges playfully nipping into your skin again and, his hands gripping your hips tighter.

A slow smile comes over your lips as your eyes lull back in pleasure, “You can definitely try...”

Jimin likes that answer, he likes the challenge...

Moments later, bare of any clothing, Jimin takes time admiring your body using his lips, his hands, his words:

“I’ve never been this hard for someone in my entire life...you’re so fucking beautiful...so fucking soft...” The bite of his words are pairing with the bite of his teeth, which are currently digging into your hips whilst his eager hands smooth up your inner thighs. He pauses for a moment, lips still lingering against your skin before he looks up at you through hooded eyes, “As much as I want to hold these pretty hips down and eat you til you cry...”

He pauses when your eyes close as you take a deep breath at his words, another sinful giggle coming from his lips. He bites your hip again to get your attention, “...I’d rather have you crying on my dick instead.”

Whatever Jimin wants, Jimin-

“Oh my god...” You whimper into his neck as he expertly pumps his hips against yours, his toned back flexing under the grip of your nails. “Jimin...”

“She really wants me to cum doesn’t she? Saying my name all pretty and shit...does this dick feel good baby?” He chuckles into your ear, pressing a few haphazard kisses against the shell of your ear, his stomach churning from the amount of pleasure swirling in his gut.

You nod, smiling darkly as you run your fingers through his hair, “So good...you’re going to make me cum...”

This eggs him on, he pushes into you deeper, harder, faster, his shaky breath puffing heavily into your neck, “Fucking cum for me then...”

The release you’re both chasing comes quickly, the pleasure warming you from the inside out. As Jimin gives his final thrust, he collapses on top of you, kissing your neck as the two of you come down.

Mind blowing, that’s the only word to describe him.

“You deserve to win by the way, more than anyone I know...” Jimin whispers after moments of silence, his hands still roaming over your skin.

Warmth spreads from your head to your toes as you press a kiss to his cheek.

He’s talking about the lottery...

“Still trying to sweet talk your way into my cottage?” You giggle and, he follows suit, kissing languidly across your chest.

“No,” He smirks up at you, sweaty blonde hair framing his face, “I think I found a better way to use my mouth...”

1K notes · View notes

weakzen · 4 years ago

Text

Cigarettes and Iced Espresso

Felix tries the Detective's coffee. Mason starts a research project. And Nate just sighs eternally.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: t

AO3 version

The late sunlight warms the paper beneath my hand and casts a shine on the wet ink of my half-finished words.

As the tip of my pen hangs above them, the carriage clock ticks away steadily in the background, almost as if hurrying me to just get on with it. Get it done already. Commit to it once more and don't look back. Sighing softly, I lean away from the coffee table and idly tap the end of my pen against my lips while I mull over the best way to do exactly that.

More specifically, the best way to phrase the lie I'm about to write into my report in order to cover the Agency's ass.

Again.

I suppose, at least, I don't have to worry about telling it well enough to slip it past Tina. She already knows about the latest incident. And she's helping again too, with a subtlety that no longer surprises me, even if the Agency doesn't appreciate or know about it.

…I hope.

My pen stills as my lips press together. Unease coils in my stomach, same as it always does whenever I think too much on Tina's precarious position.

The one I let her walk into, ultimately.

No matter what she says.

My shoulders begin to stiffen too—but then Mason brushes his knuckles across them, and starts skimming his fingers along the skin bared by my sleeveless top.

I exhale a small breath and lean into his touch, sagging slightly against his leg and the sofa behind me. My head tilts back and he draws his fingers up my neck in response, combing them gently into the hair above my nape.

For a moment, I let my eyes fall shut and relax into the lazy strokes he delivers from his sprawled out position behind me.

We'd settled like this at least an hour ago, me hunched over the coffee table, slowly sinking into the rug while trying to catch up on paperwork; Mason stretched out on the sofa with one foot on the floor, dozing slightly with his leg pressed against my side; and Nate curled in a nearby armchair, an old leather-bound book nestled on his long legs, one he hasn't glanced up from since he first coaxed open its creaky spine.

As though on cue, he carefully turns one of its thick pages, a content little smile resting warmly on his face.

A faint smile of my own pulls at the corner of my lips, and Mason draws it into the open entirely when he deliberately grazes a ticklish spot on my neck.

With a very soft chuckle, I nuzzle my face against his hand and he eagerly catches my jaw in return, curling his fingers along the edge of it as he strokes my cheek with his thumb. Fondness swells across my chest as he does, filling my heart to the point where it aches slightly.

I've… really come to enjoy these lazy afternoons together.

And I'm so glad to be here now.

With him.

With all of them.

Sighing again, more contentedly this time, I press a parting kiss to Mason's knuckles and lean forward once more. His fingers trail down my spine with the movement, until they come to a rest on my waistband and hook into my belt loop. He toys with it idly while I turn my attention back to my report, reading over my words again as I fidget with my pen.

I'm halfway through them when the ice shifts in my cup, and I absently reach over to take a sip of my drink. And I'm halfway through that, frigid and rich bitterness washing over my tongue, when inspiration slams into me. I quickly return my drink to the coaster, careful not to let any condensation drip onto my work or the table.

Then I start writing my lie.

For a long while, there's nothing but the scratch of my pen against the paper and the ticking of the clock, with the occasional sound of Nate turning a page.

Mason gradually ambles away from my pants to stroke at the exposed skin on my lower back.

And eventually, some time later, he speaks to break the silence.

“They're back.”

Nate perks up right away, inhaling slightly as his attention pulls away from the book.

“I'm glad. I hope it went well.”

Mason grunts in agreement and I nod softly.

Nate reaches for the bookmark he placed on the coffee table earlier. The ornate wooden one I've never seen him use before today, lacquered black and decorated with a scrolling and beautifully delicate mother-of-pearl inlay of chrysanthemums, all topped by a shiny silk tassel. The one he seemed almost embarrassed by when he caught me staring at it wide-eyed, and reminded me he did, in fact, have much nicer ones, but they were all being used in other books at the moment.

Of course, Nate.

Just oh, this old thing me with your gorgeous fucking bookmark that's older than I am and probably worth at least a few months rent.

Grinning quietly, I roll my eyes and shake my head a bit as he tucks it back into the book.

Then he sets his book on the coffee table and stretches, long arms soaring into the air as his shoulders crack.

“It sounds like it went well,” he comments, breaking into a smile.

I have only a moment myself to catch the storm of excited footsteps in the hallway before Felix explodes through the doorway.

“Good afternoon, everybody!”

He barely stops to deliver his greeting before he launches himself into the nearest free armchair, which grunts loudly beneath the force of his landing. “I'm back and you can stop missing me now,” he adds, folding his arms behind his head as he winks.

I wink back. “You're actually implying that's possible? I'm shocked.”

A loud laugh bursts from him in response and Mason flinches slightly.

“Good point,” Felix replies, grinning at me. “Continue pining away then.”

“I'll be sure to do that,” Nate says, smiling warmly. “How did it go?”

“Just fine. Easy. Incredibly boring, though,” Felix says, sighing. “Nothing happened, so I'm sure Adam is super excited to tell you all about it.” He jerks his thumb toward the doorway. “He's on the phone with Agent Black right now, but—ugh, enough about all of that,” he says quickly, waving his hands around as his grin widens. “What's going on with all of you? What have you been up to?”

Mason huffs out a breath. “Enjoying the quiet while it lasted.”

Felix leans forward in the chair to smirk at Mason. Then he cups his hands around his mouth.

“Sounds boring,” he blasts in reply like a foghorn.

Nate and I both wince beneath the volume—and Mason sits upright and growls at him so deeply the whole sofa vibrates.

“Maybe even more boring than reading,” he continues on without skipping a beat, glancing at Nate's book. His gaze slides over to my stack of papers next, and his lip immediately curls. “But not as boring as that.”

Then his eyes fall on my drink.

“Hey, what is this?” Felix snatches my cup from the table without waiting for an answer, then immediately swirls it around with a shake of his hand, rattling the ice together as the liquid sloshes dangerously close to the rim.

Nate stiffens, sucking in a breath as he reaches out a hand toward Felix. “Be careful with that.”

“Careful's my middle name,” Felix replies coolly, waggling his eyebrows at Nate. He gives my drink a deep sniff before his eyes flash to mine. “Smells weird. Can I try?”

I glance at the cup clutched in his grasp, Haley's logo emblazoned on the side, water droplets beading across it from the half-finished, half-melted iced espresso still spinning inside.

With the extra shots I'd asked for, oily foam spiraling on the surface.

And no cream or sugar to cut the sharpness of it at all.

Mason snickers quietly and settles back against the cushions again. A subdued chuckle makes his body tremble slightly.

“You haven't tried coffee before?” I ask, raising a brow.

“I've tried hot coffee—gross, by the way. And one of those frappé things, which was way better” he replies, nodding as he gives the plastic cup a few rapid, crackling squeezes before he holds it up. “But nothing like this.”

“Uh, well…” I begin, pressing my lips together briefly. “It's not that different from hot coffee, and I really don't think you'd like it. It's pretty bitter. Might be a little too… intense for you.”

Felix scoffs—but still pauses, eyeing my drink carefully before he gives it another quick sniff.

“I agree with Alex,” Nate says, frowning with concern. “And you definitely don't need the caffeine.”

“Caffeine doesn't affect us, Natey. You know that.”

Nate gives him a wary look. “Yes, but I still don't want to take any chances.”

“I think it's worth the risk to see him try it,” Mason says, dark amusement coloring his words. “Go ahead, Felix. Take a big swig. It'll put a bunch of hair on your chest—if you can handle it.”

“Really?” Felix's eyebrows shoot up.

“No,” Nate says, narrowing his eyes at Mason. “That's just a terrible and very inaccurate saying.”

“The more you drink, the better it works,” Mason continues on, ignoring the look. He claps his hand on my shoulder. “Just ask Alex.”

Felix cocks his head to the side and grins at me. “Does that mean you have a hairy chest, Alex?”

“Incredibly hairy, yes. Like a shag carpet down there,” I say, grinning as I glance at my breasts.

“Whoa! Alright then, I'm in!”

“Felix, wait—”

Nate's arm flings forward, but his protest comes too late as Felix jolts up into a stand, tips his head back, and downs such a large and confident gulp of my drink that he pretty much finishes it off entirely.

…He doesn't swallow much of it, though. Mostly just holds it inside of his now comically large cheeks.

Beneath his slowly widening eyes.

The clock ticks away as we watch him in silence.

Until a choked noise suddenly spasms in his throat.

Mason chuckles deeply—and I can't help but join him a little.

Then, in grimacing horror, Felix spits all of it back into the cup and Mason breaks into a loud laugh.

A look of wounded betrayal flashes across Felix's face, one he quickly directs toward my drink. For a moment, he appears so upset to have it in his hand that it actually seems like he's about to fling it away entirely, but then he recovers enough to pivot.

And moves to slam it down toward the table instead.

In a flash, Nate whips forward, arms gliding outstretched to both break the cup's impact and slide a coaster beneath it in one smooth motion.

And despite how often I've witnessed him make similarly graceful saves to prevent disaster, I still remain impressed as hell—

“Felix!” Nate sputters loudly, shooting him a wide-eyed look.

—although, whether the reprimand this time is directed more at the backwash, the potential water damage, or the near miss of my drink exploding across the room, I can't say.

Felix ignores it regardless, retching out coughs as he clutches his throat.

“Disgusting,” he manages to choke out, his voice hoarse. He begins pacing around in a distressed little circle, fanning his tongue. “That was awful!”

I just shake my head, unable to hide my grin. “Told ya so.”

“Feel that hair coming in yet?” Mason asks, laughter still clinging to his words.

“No,” he moans, “but I feel the barf coming up.”

Nate sighs. “Go drink some water, Felix.”

“Right.” Felix nods firmly, his brow furrowed.

Then he crouches next to my bag, rips it open, and yanks out my water bottle. In a blur of movement, he spins the cap off and starts chugging, swishing the water around in his mouth noisily before swallowing.

“That's not the water I meant…” Nate begins, then shakes his head and sighs again. “Nevermind.”

As Felix continues drinking and the moment dies down a little, I glance back at my paperwork, my amusement fading. I know I should really keep going at it right now. Just pack it up and find a quieter place to work, or else I won't get it done at all. And I did want to have it finished today…

I sigh and tap my pen against my lips again.

But Felix isn't exactly wrong in his assessment of how exciting it is.

“How do you even drink that stuff anyway?!” he cries out to me, plunking my water bottle onto the table. “It tastes like— like—” His hands flail around at the corner of my vision as he fumbles for the words. “Ugh, it tastes like a soggy ashtray full of old cigarettes,” he finishes, then shudders audibly. “No wonder you like kissing Mason so much.”

“Mason doesn't taste like cigarettes,” I mutter unthinkingly, without glancing up.

Mason shifts behind me immediately, and I can feel his smirk drilling into the back of my head just as surely as I feel the fingers he starts tracing along my arm.

“Is that so, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dipping into a low and teasing tone. “What exactly do I taste like then?”

“I'm sure that's a fascinating topic,” Nate says quickly, “but let's—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Felix cuts in loudly. “Exactly! Let's hear it! What does he taste like?”

“You don't have to answer that, Alex.”

“Oh, but she does,” Mason drawls.

“Yeah, Natey. You're outvoted.”

“Don't I get a vote too?” I ask, grinning.

Felix and Mason's shared and immediate no batters hard against Nate's yes.

“Outvoted again! Hah!” Felix's amused gaze swivels toward me, his coffee-related woes apparently forgotten. “Now spill it.”

Nate sighs deeply in resignation and offers me an apologetic look, although it's difficult to see it over how closely Felix slides in to crowd his face near mine. A sly smile unfurls across his lips as mischief twinkles in his eyes, and Mason completes the pincer with a flank from behind, leaning in so closely that his breath tickles hot against my skin.

My cheeks prickle with heat in response, but I remain where I am, pressing my lips together tightly as I try to squash down the nervous chuckle that threatens to escape me.

“I must taste like something good,” Mason whispers in a husky tone, his lips brushing against my ear as his fingers glide down to squeeze my waist, “considering how often you come in for a bite.”

A shiver ripples across my body, tearing that chuckle free in a wake of goosebumps.

Mason grins against me.

“So what is it?”

I bite my lip, but I can't stop the answering grin that bursts across my face, not any more than I can ignore his fingers teasing my hip or the anticipation building in Felix's expression.

I think I hear the faint sound of a facepalm, too.

“Well, uh…” I drop my gaze to the pen I'm waggling rapidly between my fingers. “First off, that was an amazing pun. Good job.”

Felix snorts as Mason's grin widens.

“Secondly, I, um…” Another chuckle escapes me as my cheeks flare to what I'm certain is an embarrassingly bright shade of red. “I… think I really need to, uh, do more testing before I can give you an accurate answer. So, I'll have to… get on that and come back to you later,” I finish weakly, my words trailing off into a cringey little noise of distress.

Felix peels away from me, sputtering into a cackle. “Oh, wow! That's it? Not what I expected! I thought for sure you were gonna say he tasted like you.”

Then he waggles his eyebrows at me suggestively and I break into a snorting laugh.

“Okay, okay, that's— That's actually pretty good, Fee. Wish I'd thought of that.”

We laugh together loudly. And somewhere off to the side, Nate groans in pained exasperation.

But Mason only sits up and immediately pushes off the sofa—hooking his hand under my arm to take me with him.

I stumble up to my feet with the motion, still shaking with amusement as I turn to face him. And when I do, when I finally meet those pretty grey eyes of his, he smiles down at me with playfully curled lips and that achingly familiar look of affection. That extremely inviting half-lidded gaze, where promises of pleasure smolder away intensely. That passionate stare he always captures me with right before I end up pressed against him and doesn't release until long after he's finished unraveling me beneath.

That look of resolute and fathomless adoration that I'm still falling into and have fallen into every day since that moment he first cupped my face in his hands, peered into my soul as he offered his, and told me that he loved me.

That he always would.

And despite the countless times I've glanced up since then and found him watching me with that exact same expression, my breath still catches every time.

Even now.

Even more so when he slides his hands around my hips to pull us together, and a long thrill of yearning twines around my heart.

“Well, if you need to do more testing to be sure, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips lifting with amusement, “then let's head to the lab right now so you can, uh, 'get on that before you come for me' as soon as possible.”

Felix explodes into another wild laugh, one that I have to join, but Nate just whirls towards all of us, his mouth already twisted into a disapproving frown.

“No,” he says firmly, “you can't do that in there. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Mason counters, pulling his eyes away from me to smirk at Nate. “It's research, right? That's what labs are for.” His smirk slowly sharpens. “Unless you mean we should do our research in the library instead…”

Felix rolls back onto the floor howling, clutching his stomach as he shakes, while Nate fixes Mason with such a dry, withering stare that I actually start to worry for the plants in the room.

But Mason only chuckles in response.

“So when can we expect the results?” Felix wheezes a moment later, grinning up at us as he wipes the corners of his eyes.

“Not any time soon,” Mason replies, then glances back to me. “It's going to be a long and very involved process, isn't it? Need to make sure our testing is very… thorough. And exhaustive.”

“Well, good research does take time.” I cap my pen and toss it onto the table. “Sometimes years,” I continue, sliding my hands up his chest to circle my arms around his neck. I flick my gaze to his, smiling slyly. “And it also requires a lot of repeated experimentation to ensure the results are accurate.”

He catches his lower lip between his teeth and inhales slightly. “Oh, I'm looking forward to it.”

Nate expels a loud, groaning sigh and claps his hands together a few times.

“Alright. We are done with this topic now.”

“What's wrong, Nate?” Mason flashes him another teasing smirk. “Aren't you always going on about how I need to 'broaden my horizons?'”

“Yes, but I—”

“And that I should learn new things?”

“Yes—”

“And try doing stuff I've never done before?”

Nate closes his eyes and inhales very deeply as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, Mason, I have said all of those things, and this is not what I meant by any of them and you know it.” He sighs heavily again. “But… if you insist on conducting this so-called—” he grimaces slightly “—research you have in mind, then at least do all of it in your room, please.”

Mason lets out mock sigh of resignation. “Well, if you insist. Hope it won't end up compromising our results.”

“Pretty sure they'd be way more compromising if they weren't done in there,” Felix quips, his lips thinning into a smirk.

Mason looks back to me again, smiling, and I can already hear the comment forming on his tongue.

“Oh, give Nate a break,” I say quickly before he can speak. “He's earned it.”

“If you insist,” Mason repeats, more genuinely this time.

And with that said, he gives me another lingering look before he slings his arm across my shoulder and turns to guide us from the room. I curl my arm around his waist in response as I fall into step with him.

“Wow, Natey. You're not even gonna tell them they need to stay for the meeting?”

“I'm sure we can manage without them this time,” Nate replies dryly—then adds in a more sincere tone, “and thank you, Alex.”

I flash him a quick smile over my shoulder.

“Have fun!” Felix calls out as we exit.

Once outside the living room doorway, I catch a final fragment of conversation.

“Ahhh, that totally made up for the boring patrol…”

But then it's lost to the sound of our footsteps and the anticipation stirring quietly inside of me.

We soon reach the primary juncture of hallways in the Warehouse, and I turn to head toward Mason's room, but he tugs me in the opposite direction instead. I raise a brow, but still follow his lead.

“We're going to my room?”

“Yeah. Don't wanna make a mess in mine.”

"Wow." I roll my eyes and give him a smirk. “Love that you think it isn't one already, sunshine.”

He smirks in return.

As we follow the long, bending corridor that winds toward my room, Adam whirls out of one of the adjacent hallways ahead, striding toward us with that purposeful gait of his, matched by an equally determined expression.

“Where are you two going?” he calls out as he nears.

“To make important scientific discoveries,” Mason replies without stopping, clapping him on the shoulder as we pass.

Adam turns, raising a brow in question. “We need to debrief first.”

I glance away from him as we keep walking, unable to hold back a snort.

“Yeah, that's kinda the plan,” I mutter.

Mason curls his arm around me tighter, his chuckle echoing down the hallway behind us.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc mason #nate sewell #felix hauville #adam du mortain #mason #twc m #twc n #twc f #twc a #the detective #zfic #alex/mason #alexandra black

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thetravelerwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Ichabod (Part 2) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Human/Male Demon-Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Demon, Fae Content Warnings: Multiple Sclerosis, Muscle Spasms, Temporary Paralysis, Wheelchair, Mobility Aids, Blood, Menstruation, Period, Oral Sex, Oral Sex During Menstruation Words: 4353

Commission by @littlemissmonsterfan, Ichabod sneaks into the convent after hours to explain himself to Ellis. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

“Where’s the doctor?” Liana asked as she returned with the water.

“Oh…” You said, still in a bit of a daze. “He began feeling ill and left.”

“Tch,” Liana tutted. “Well, perhaps it’s for the best. That man gives me the creeps.” She looked at your face closely. “You’re rather pale. Are you alright?” She set the pan down and took your chin. “Did he do something?”

“No, no,” You said weakly. “I’m fine. Honestly, I am a little worried about him. He did seem quite unwell.”

“Well, he’s a doctor,” She said dismissively. “If he is ill, then he knows what to do about it. Now let’s get you into some proper clothing. It’s bound to get colder.”

That night, you had trouble sleeping. The crackling coals in the hearth kept the chill from the room, though your feet and hands never seemed to warm up. You monthly bleeding did indeed begin that day, and the cramping always kept you awake. Ichabod’s medicine helped, but your thoughts were in a roil. All you could think about was what Ichabod had done: the kiss on your ankle. Even now, the skin where his lips had been still tingled.

Why had he done it, and why couldn’t you get it out of your mind? It’s true that no other man had shown you such interest, but then again, you hadn’t met but three men in your entire life. Was he taking advantage of the situation, like the Daughters always insisted he would? Did he actually have feelings for you? Or was it something else? Something you couldn’t even begin to fathom?

As you lay there contemplating, you heard footsteps in the hallway. Wondering who was up this late, you lit your lamp and peered through the darkness at the door. It opened slowly and a pale head peeked inside.

“Ichabod?!” You whispered loudly. “What on earth are you doing here so late? Eldest will have your head on a platter if she finds you here! She already thinks you’re going to spirit me away at the first available opportunity!”

“My apologies, Ellis,” He whispered back. “I…I wanted to offer an explanation for what happened this afternoon. It’s been weighing heavily on my mind and I had to see you to put it right. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“So you broke in?”

“I just scaled the gate. And climbed the wall. And maybe broke a door--it doesn’t matter!” He stepped inside. “Is your leg alright? I fear I may have bitten it accidentally. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Oh, yes, it’s fine,” You said, pulling back your sheets to show him. “It was a tiny cut. It’s practically healed now.”

“Oh, good,” He said, a hand over his heart. He looked genuinely distressed.

“Ichabod…” You began quietly as he shut the door. “Why… why did you do what you did?”

Ichabod sighed. He went and stoked the fire back to life, adding a log or two, then picked up the chair that sat in the corner of the room, placing it in front of you next to the bed and settling himself in it. He avoided your eye.

“Ellis,” He said, clasping his hands between his knees. “I greatly enjoy being a doctor. The opportunity to help people and ease their suffering gives my life purpose and meaning. Having said that, I wish I could say that it’s not in my nature to ever hurt another person, but there are… desires, you might call them… base impulses against which I have always battled. Impulses that are, to be blunt…”

“Not human?” You ventured.

His head shot up and he stared at you in shock. “How did you…”

“I guessed,” You said. “You’re not as good at hiding it as you think you are.”

“Not around you, at least,” He said, chuckling ruefully.

“Me?” You replied, furrowing your brow. “Why me?”

“Why indeed?” He asked. “Ever since I met you, I’ve been… enthralled. Perhaps it’s because I came to your rescue as if you were a baby bird, or perhaps it’s your perseverance in the face of your condition, I’m not sure. But I do feel a connection to you. I am… enchanted by you.” He looked at you again briefly with an indiscernible expression, and you found your cheeks grow warm. “Unfortunately, I also feel… those desires. Very strongly, I’m afraid.”

You had trouble parsing out what he was trying to say. “You want to… hurt me?”

His face was aghast. “Oh, goodness no! Never! Quite the opposite, in fact,” He averted his gaze again and rubbed his neck. “I want to protect you as much as I am able. You see… I… Oh, I don’t know how to say this…”

“Let’s start here, then,” You said. “What exactly are you?”

He took a deep, deep breath. “I’m not entirely sure. I fairly certain I have some fae and demon blood. Perhaps a little bit of human, too. I think.”

“How old are you?”

“Again, I’m not sure. There’s not much about my past I remember. My first memory is the cage.”

Your heart thumped against your ribs. “Cage?”

“Yes, I was kept as an… attraction… before I could control my…” He swallowed, flicking his eyes up at you and looking away. “My form. I don’t know how old I was at the time, but I don’t think I was fully grown, though I was rather large. I was billed as ‘The Demon Maneater’.” He laughed darkly. “I pulled in quite the crowd.”

“Maneater?” You echoed. “Why that title specifically?”

He scrubbed his face and sighed. “Because of my impulses. I eat normal food, drink water, sleep as humans do, and that’s usually enough to keep me sated. But underneath it, there’s this… thirst. A craving that I couldn’t control as well when I was younger. It led me to a lot of trouble.”

You hesitated before asking. “A thirst for--”

“Blood,” He said sharply. It was probably the first time his voice had ever had an edge to it. He was clasping his hands so tightly that the knuckles were completely bloodless. “The man who… owned me, he kept me starving so that the… bloodlust, I guess, was always strong and hard to control. He fed me on pig’s blood alone. Made a show of it, actually. Charged admission for people to watch me suck it down.” His face had a hard grimace of disgust and loathing on it.

“God, that’s terrible,” You said, clutching your chest. “How did you get away?”

“I got too big for my cage,” He said. “I attacked my captor as he was trying to put me in a new one. It was the first, and only time, I tasted human blood.”

“Besides today,” You reminded him.

He met your gaze and his face fell mournfully. “Yes. Besides today.”

“Why did you do that?” You asked again.

“I don’t know!” His head fell into his hands and he gripped his hair, which was out of its braid and cascading down his shoulders, obscuring his face. It was as disheveled as you’d ever seen him. “I’ve been so careful! I eat so much that I feel sick sometimes. I drink enough water to plant a field every day, just to suppress it. I’ve done everything I can, but today, I was overwhelmed. I don’t know why.”

“Can you… smell blood? Like, do you have the nose of a bloodhound or something?” You asked.

“No, no. That’s not a gift I was born with,” He said.

“That’s odd,” You replied thoughtfully.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, when you said I smelled good earlier,” You said, and he blushed. “To be honest… my monthly bleeding started today. Perhaps you…”

“...oh. Ohhh.” He breathed. “Huh. Honestly, there have been times when some people smelled better to me than others. I just thought it was because they’d used perfumes or oils or some such. Could I have been sensing…?”

“You don’t know?” You asked.

He shook his head. “I’ve spent my whole life suppressing this side of myself. It’s not something I ever wanted to explore.”

“You’ve never told your spouse or sweetheart?” You asked curiously, keeping your face and voice carefully neutral.

He eyed you with a rueful smile. “No spouses. No sweethearts. I’ve had… lovers before, but nothing serious. And I never revealed my true self to them.”

You shifted in bed so that you were sitting on the edge with your feet on the ground and looked him in the eye. “Will you show me?”

His face was all panic and he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he said, “Are you sure you want to see?”

You nodded. “I’m certainly intrigued.”

He cupped his hands in front of his mouth and furrowed his brow in deliberation. “My greatest fear is that seeing my true form will frighten you beyond the capacity for understanding, but at the same time, I want so badly for you to see me as I am. I want you to know me, all of me.”

“Even though you don’t like yourself?”

“One can only hide who they are for so long before it becomes tiresome. I suppose… I’m lonely.”

“Why me?” You asked him again.

“I’ve told you, you’ve charmed me. I am drawn to you in some way that I can’t identify. Your opinion and acceptance means more to me than anyone else’s, and I can’t say why that is.”

“Most might call that love,” You blurted, instantly regretting it.

Except, a gentle smile crept across his face for the first time since he arrived. “Love…” he repeated. “Yes. I believe you may be right.”

Your blush deepened. Was he serious? Could this man possibly love you, or was it just his impulses swaying his emotions? It’s not like you had much experience with the issue, so you could hardly tell.

“Your the first person I’ve ever told. The man who taught me medicine is the only other person who knew. He saved my life, gave me sanctuary, and showed me my purpose. I miss him.” He stood up. “Well… I’ve come halfway already. I suppose stopping now would be pointless.” His sad expression returned. “I just hope, after you’ve seen me, you might at least still consider me a friend.”

He began to change then. With your heart in your throat, you watch as his body stretched and thinned. He towered over you, his waist shrinking to be no thicker than your calf. He grew an extra pinky finger and thumb on each hand, and his ankles pushed backward into digitigrade feet, each with seven toes. His eyes went completely black and swallowed the light. He was more skeletal than lithe now, with bones jutting out all over, and his long hair seemed to be prehensile and moving under its own power. His mouth split his head to each ear, and inside were teeth that were more like jagged pieces of glass jutting out of his black gums. You imagined they had been what nicked your leg earlier.

His clothes had changed with him; his glamour must have also extended to his garments. You suspected he may have made them himself. He was longer, thinner. Sharper. Everything about him was angular and pointed, except the curve of his spine as he hunched over you.

You sat on your cot with your hands in your lap, just looking up at him. He seemed to be leaning away from you slightly, no doubt expecting you to scream or attack. You slowly stood up, blessedly needing no assistance at the moment, and took him in. Slowly, you raised your hand, and he flinched.

“Is it alright if I touch you?” You asked him. He seemed momentarily stunned by the question, but after a moment to recover, he nodded. You reached up and traced the line of his mouth, from one ear to the other, causing him to close his eyes and make a purring sound. You traced his lids, eyebrows, nose, jaw, and down his neck. When you got to his collar, he gingerly stopped your hand by taking it in his.

“You’re not afraid?” He asked wonderingly.

You shook your head. “I knew you weren’t human. Honestly, I was expecting ten arms and a tail with a stinger on the end, at least.” You laughed and stroked his hair, which wrapped itself around your wrist loosely. “Compared to what I was imagining in my head, this is tame.”

His eyes squeezed closed in relief, tears slipping down his face. Halfway down his cheeks, they crystallized and fell to the ground, tinkling like glass beads on the stone floor.

“I knew you were special,” He said. “I knew you were perfect.” He took your hands and pressed them against his nose, inhaling your scent into every corner of his lungs. His hands were shaking.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you? Or thirsty? Or… something?” You asked uncertainly.

He smiled at you gently, brushing your hair away from your eyes. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m more in control right now than I’ve ever been.”

“That’s good, but… um…” You cleared your throat nervously. “I was wondering if maybe I could help you. You’ve done so much for me, I just thought I could do something for you in return.”

He cocked his head in confusion. “What kind of something?”

You took a shaky breath and looked down, using his finger to tap the lower part of your belly. He continued to look confused for another several seconds before his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

“Are you… are you serious? Are you sure?” He asked in an awed whisper. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes,I’m sure,” You said. “I want to thank you. After everything you’ve done for me, I can’t help but feel like I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing,” He said emphatically. “The fact that you can look at my true face and still smile at me is all the thanks I could ever need.”

“I still want to do something for you,” You told him. “I feel stronger than I have in years. The therapy has helped me so much. If you don’t want to think of it as payment, then think of it as a gift.”

Though his eyes were completely black, you could feel the warmth that radiated from them when he smiled. He actually put an arm across his chest and bowed solemnly before you.

“Then I accept with more gratitude than I can express.”

You smiled and patted his head.

“You’re quivering,” He said, standing back up and taking your hand.

“I must admit, I’m nervous,” You replied. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” You looked up into his eyes. “Will it hurt?”

“No, darling,” He whispered tenderly, bending to nuzzle your cheek. “No pain. In fact, I will do everything I can to ensure you enjoy this as much as I will.”

Your heart rate shot up, but you nodded. “Alright. How do we begin?”

He put his long hands on your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss. He was careful to keep his teeth tucked away so that they wouldn’t cut you. You kissed him back, a thrill in your spine. He carefully lifted your nightgown over your head and placed it on the chair. He knelt down and pulled your stockings and the linen roll you used for your monthly bleeding. Embarrassed, you took it from him and placed it in the washing pan to clean later.

He smiled at your blushing face. “Don’t be ashamed. It’s a natural thing.”

“Oh, I know,” You told him. “The Daughters see it as a gift. I’ve just… never been naked in front of a man before.”

“For what it’s worth, you’re exquisite to the eye,” He said, running his knuckles down your spine, making you shiver. “I could look at you like this and never grow tired of it.”

“Thank you,” You replied in a small voice. “So… what should I do?”

He took your hand and led you to the foot of the bed, urging you to lie down with your legs over the end. He climbed over you, kissing your lips. Your tongue ran over his jagged teeth and you pushed him back a little.

“You’re sure it won’t hurt?” You asked dubiously.

He grinned and opened his mouth, and you watched as the teeth receded into his gums, leaving only soft tissue behind.

“Oh,” You said. You watched as something slithered out and wriggled around. To your surprise, he had not one, but seven black tongues, tentacle-like and writhing.

“Relax,” He said. “I’ll take care of you. Are you still sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” You said firmly. “I do.”

He smiled. “Lie down, then. Get comfy.”

You obeyed, not really knowing what to expect. He knelt down in front of you, kissing your thighs as he opened your legs. He pulled you down a little further and, looking down, you saw him close in on your core, his mouth opening wide and suctioning to your lips and clit with a sigh of deep satisfaction. And he began to suck.

You were shocked at the effect the pressure had on you. You’d touched yourself before, but it didn’t feel like this. In addition to the suction, his tongues worked into you and around your pearl, massaging and contracting. Your back arched and you gasped, the muscles in your stomach tightening involuntarily.

Well, he said you’d enjoy it. He wasn’t lying.

You suddenly felt a spasm in your back and cried out. He seemed to realize this wasn’t a sound of pleasure and stopped immediately, licking his chops.

“What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” He asked.

“No,” You said, wincing. “I had a twinge in my back.”

“Just a moment,” He said, standing. As he stood, you saw a bulge in his pants. You pressed your lips together to keep the startled smile off your face. He took your pillow and the extra blankets and tilted you upward, putting them behind your back so that you were sitting up a bit more.

“Where?” He asked, and you showed him. He took a few moments to massage the spot, easing the muscle down and working the twinge out. His extra fingers were magic for your muscles. “Does that help?”

You moaned happily. “Yes, very much. God, I wish I’d let you do the deep tissue massages sooner.”

He laughed. “My hands are yours whenever you want them.”

“I think I’d rather have your mouth at the moment,” You said, and then slapped a hand to your own lips, surprised at your sudden frankness.

His grin was devilish. “As you wish, my darling.” He returned to his previous position and took up his task with relish. You cried out again, but it was clear this time that it was nothing but ecstasy.

One of his hands gripped your thigh, but the other hand slipped up your torso. You bit your lip and smiled as his fingers cupped your breast, circling your nipple with his fingertips. His black eyes watched your every move, every expression, every twitch of your muscles. He watched for pain and pleasure in your face and body, changing the pressure to match. He was good at this.

Before long, you felt it: a wave of bliss that curled your toes and pulled the voice out of you. His hand covered your mouth, muffling your moans as the wave crashed into you. You reached down and ran your fingers through his hair, holding him there as you came down. As it ebbed, you took both of his hands and held them over your breasts. He kneaded the flesh back and forth with his long, long fingers as you held his wrists in place. He kept up the pressure, still sucking, and you felt another wave build and crash. And build and crash.

Finally, he pulled away from you with a long, drawn out moan.

“Incredible,” He breathed. “I’ve never felt so satisfied in all my life.” He rose up and examined your face. “Are you alright?”

“I am…” You said in a sleepy voice. “Lovely.”

“You are,” He said, bending to kiss you, but you stopped him.

“Um… maybe wash out your mouth first?” You suggested.

He ducked his head and smiled. “Of course. Forgive me.”

As he went to the pitcher of water on the table, you lay still on the bed, your body warm and tingling. You watched him swish water and a mint sprig around in his mouth several times and spit it into the chamber pot. His pants were still tented, and you bit your lip in curiosity. The feeling of cramps and bloating was completely gone, and once you caught your breath, you were feeling adventurous.

As he returned, you sat up and reached out, palming the bulge and looking up at him. He grunted.

“You… you don’t have to,” He said, though he leaned into your touch.

“I want to,” You said, reaching for the buttons. “I have a lot to learn. I want you to teach me.”

He smiled and caressed your face. “I think I like this bold side of you, darling.”

You chuckled and pulled him out. His cock was pearly and iridescent, as though it was made of frosted glass, though the skin was soft and pliable, and it was warm to the touch. You stroked it slowly, enjoying the weight and smoothness in your hand, before leaning forward and pressing your tongue to the head. He jerked and made a strangled noise. You looked up at him and held his gaze as you pulled the tip into your mouth. He groaned and tangled his fingers in your hair.

“Oh, my love, you learn so fast,” He wheezed. “I may not last long.”

“That’s alright,” You said. I don’t mind.”

Just then, he grunted loudly and released on your chest. You giggled.

“Sorry. Sorry,” He gasped, rushing to get a wet cloth to clean you up with.

“I don’t mind,” You repeated with a laugh.

After wiping you down, he helped you redress and put himself away. He kissed your lips, eyes, cheek, and neck.

“Ellis,” He said, sitting back on his heels and taking your hands. “Are you seriously contemplating becoming a nun, or would you consider another option?”

“What other option?”

“Marry me,” He said seriously, pressing your palms to his chest. “You needn’t… provide for me…” He said, gesturing at your belly. “You needn’t even love me in return. All I want is to come home to someone who accepts me as I am, to talk to someone without having to pretend. If all you have to give me is your time and company, I would consider myself doubly blessed for the rest of my days.”

You smiled at him, a little in shock, but knowing what your answer would be. You bent forward and pressed another kiss to his lips.

“I think I can give you more than that.”

You fell asleep in his arms, and he left before dawn. He told you he had arrangements to make and that by the time he returned for his next appointment, everything would be ready for you. You had a moment of self-doubt that perhaps he was absconding on you, but he seemed to sense your uncertainty and left you his doctor’s coat as collateral.

The Daughters were in an uproar when you told them you were to marry the physician, but there was little they could do to stop you. Even if they tried to lock you up for your own good, you knew they couldn’t stop Ichabod from coming for you.

Ichabod returned precisely when he said he would, having borrowed a cart from a friend to pick up you and your things and take you to his home. When he stepped down and saw you, his expression was so tender and warm, you couldn’t understand how the Daughter’s didn’t see that he was a man in love. It was obvious even to you. Well, you were biased, you supposed.

“Are you ready?” He asked, loading your chair into the cart. “I’ve got the house all fixed up.”

“Fixed up?” You echoed.

“Yes!” He said excitedly. “I made some modifications so that you can move around the house more easily. I put rails on all of the walls and a ramp on the front porch for your chair. The local woodcarvers helped me. They have a shop right next door to us.”

Your jaw dropped. “You did all that for me?”

He nodded shyly. “I want you to be happy and comfortable.”

You wanted to cry. You couldn’t believe how considerate he was. You took his hand, which hand only five fingers now that his glamour was back in place, and kissed the knuckles.

“Thank you,” You whispered.

His smile widened and he kissed your cheek. “Don’t thank me for that. It’s nothing,” He said. “For your acceptance, your understanding, it’s the very least I can do.”

You said goodbye to the Daughters, and Eldest held you for a very long time. You were concerned that she might not let you go. Eventually she released you and fixed a hard glare on Ichabod.

“I expect to hear from her regularly,” Eldest said. “If I go a month without a letter, I’m bringing a mob to your front door and kicking it in.”

“I’ll hold you to that, madam,” Ichabod said pleasantly. “I know you’re worried for this lovely young woman, but you have my word that I will treat her like a queen.”

“You’re word isn’t worth much to me,” Eldest replied harshly. “We’ll be checking in.”

Ichabod bowed to acknowledge the veiled threat. “Always a pleasure, Eldest Daughter. We will visit soon.”

You took Ichabod’s hand, and he helped you up into the driver’s box.

“Ready to go home?” He asked.

You took a moment to look back at the only home you’d known since you were small, then faced forward.

“Yes, love. Let’s go.”

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