#even though there’s a teasingly affectionate history in that part too

[roosterbox]

Inceptiversary Day 7

Your favourite quote in Inception.

Uhhhhhhhh what did I say last time? Was it the Saito airline one? Yeah, that’s still the best. So how about I highlight a lesser known quote instead. Not an easy task - we’ve been analyzing this movie to hell and back. To Limbo and back, rather. So let me see…

Actually, I changed my mind. The quote I’m picking is the most seemingly simple line (two words long), yet there’s so much under the surface. There’s history. Affection. Teasing. Familiarity. You know there’s infinitely more to the story than can fit into only two words, and yet even those words are enough to understand the entirety of it.

Mmm, Arthurrrrr…

@inception30daychallenge

[babyybitchhhwrites]

Hisoka x Reader 18+

Title: An Unexpected Surprise 

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4445

Warnings: barebacking, cowgirl position, hot tub sex

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24581845

♥♥♥♥

Finding Hisoka waiting for you in your room was not a particularly surprising turn of events. The man had a history of simply letting himself in whenever the mood to do so struck his fancy and, despite not having a keycard to grant him access, you’d never been able to find any evidence to suggest forced entry. His enigmatic response every time you’d asked how he did it had been “It’s magic”. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was infuriating and unnerving in equal measure but you’d since become grudgingly accustomed to these impromptu visits. It seemed to be part and parcel where any acquaintance with him was concerned. 

Finding Hisoka naked and waiting for you in the hot tub your room was outfitted with, however, was unexpected. The candles and the scattered rose petals floating in the water with him were especially concerning and you froze in the doorway, trying to process what you were seeing. Nude man. Cheesy romantic setting. The smell of wisteria and jasmine wafting from the burning wicks that were strategically placed on every available surface. If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he was looking to genuinely woo you this evening but you were much too familiar with his twisted inclinations to fall for that trick. 

“What are you doing?” You asked suspiciously. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He simpered and submerged one sharp nailed hand under the water before lifting it back up so that the resulting splash echoed off the walls. An errant petal cascaded down into the water again and another plastered itself to the elegant curve of his wrist, looking for all the world like a splotch of blood against pale white skin. The handful of candles floating in the tub shifted against the ripples and slowly drifted in opposite directions as he brought his gaze up to pin you with a pointed leer. “I’ve been waiting for you, love. For some time now, actually. I think I might be starting to prune.” 

“Pity.” You murmured, thoroughly distracted. “That doesn’t answer my question though. What’s with all of … this?”

Cocking his head to one side when you gestured vaguely at the bathroom, Hisoka allowed his smile to widen. “Don’t you like it? I was under the impression that most women enjoyed this sort of thing.”

“I don’t.” You shot back, sounding unnecessarily petulant to your own ears.

“Well, I do. Now get in.” 

Lifting a brow at the command in his tone, you stood your ground. Hisoka didn’t seem daunted by the look of challenge you were pinning him with though and he merely continued to stare you down with a level of patience that spoke volumes. He was willing to wait as long as it took and he would not be leaving until he got what he wanted. Typical. 

You finally gave in with a deeply bothered sigh and reached for the hem of your shirt. “Fine. But I expect an explanation once I’m in there.” 

“You know I’m not in the habit of leaving you disappointed.” Hisoka purred as he watched you jerkily disrobe, annoyance with his antics evident in every quick motion. 

Saying he was unperturbed by the prickly display would have been an understatement and, realizing that you weren’t going to get anywhere by acting like this, you dropped the pretense altogether. Your shoulders relaxed and you reached back to unclasp your bra, shrugging the straps down the length of your arms. Hisoka’s pointedly dangerous attention zeroing in on your exposed chest made your skin crawl in a way that was as exciting as it was disconcerting. You tried not to pay him any mind though, ignoring the goosebumps that erupted across your body when you slipped your fingers into the waistband of your panties so you could slide them off. 

Your nipples tightened and peaked for your audience of one as you straightened back up upon stepping out of them. Being naked in front of this particular man was always an experience, if not because he was quite possibly the most deadly individual taking up residence in Heaven’s Arena then because you never knew what to expect from him. He was capable of any number of atrocities, as violent as he was unpredictable, and here you were, nude as the day you were born. It always left you feeling indescribably vulnerable and defenseless but, in this case at least, he was just as naked as you were. 

Somehow, you found that marginally comforting and you stepped over to the hot tub without bothering to try and cover yourself. Such bashful behavior would only serve to amuse Hisoka and give him a reason to tease and bully you, which wasn’t something you usually invited. He’d have his fun with you either way before this night was through so there really wasn’t any reason to give him more ammunition to work with. 

“I’m starting to think I should talk to the staff about upping security on my room.” You said, casually offhand as you climbed over the ledge of the tub. 

“That won’t stop me, I’m afraid. You’re welcome to give it a try though.”

Shooting him a quick look, you stepped down into the water and couldn’t seem to resist issuing a quiet sound of pleasure when the warmth immediately started seeping into your muscles. It felt much too good for you to cling to your displeasure with his invasive escapades and total lack of respect for personal boundaries. The tantalizingly sweet, relaxing aroma drifting throughout the steamy room also helped and your last remaining reservations were gone before you even realized it.

Humming contentedly when you lowered yourself down to sit, you watched the candles rock around you from the resulting slosh of your added mass to the water. You probably should’ve known better than to trust Hisoka with so many fire hazards in a single space but, so far at least, he hadn’t done anything outwardly distressing enough to warrant panic on your part. Besides breaking and entering his way into your room, that is. 

You glanced across the expanse of the tub to find him watching you, a knowing smirk curling his damnably kissable mouth, and you huffed. “Spill it.” 

“Whatever could you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. What’s with this lovey dovey atmosphere? It doesn’t suit you.” 

He had the nerve to look shocked by that assertion. “How rude! And here I am trying to do something thoughtful for you.”

You pinned him with a wry smile. “I don’t buy that, Hisoka.” 

“Good. Because it was bullshit.” 

You laughed before you could catch it. That seemed to please him and, drawing a slow breath that made his broad chest puff out, Hisoka gradually leaned forward so that the candles scattered again with the redistribution of his weight in the tub. He was lythe and sleek in the flickering light, all sinewy muscle and unfairly attractive. An entirely different animal with his vibrant red hair down, the signature star and teardrop you were accustomed to seeing absent for once. Your throat cinched as you watched him close the distance between you two but didn’t try to escape; allowing him to brace his hands against the ledge so that your head was bracketed between his arms and you were effectively caged in. Trapped. 

“This,” He intoned in a sly, lilting voice. “Is all for me, love. You’re just the lucky girl I’ve decided to share this special night with, that’s all. Don’t you feel honored?” 

“What’s the occasion?” You asked thinly, idly wondering if now was a good time to start panicking. 

Supple lips parting on a breathy chuckle, Hisoka dipped his face down to brush a fleeting kiss across your mouth. You didn’t make a move to return the gesture, letting him deliver increasingly more demanding pecks to your face before eventually pulling back with a soft, reverberating groan. 

“It’s my birthday.” 

Your brows shot up in stark surprise, jerking your attention around to look into his face. “Your birthday?” He nodded, once, and you valiantly tried to wrap your head around that information. “You mean to tell me someone actually gave birth to you and you didn’t just … appear one day?” 

“What a mean thing to say.” He admonishingly chided, but the glint of amusement reflecting in those ocher eyes suggested that he found such an accusation funny rather than offensive. Rolling his shoulders back in an enticingly slow shrug that made the muscles in his chest flex, Hisoka nudged even closer and you tensed when you found yourself pinned against the side of the tub. “Isn’t there anything else you can think of that might be more appropriate for this situation?” 

You thought about that for a moment, trying to pretend like you didn’t notice the spark of pooling heat in your gut. “You’re a Gemini …” You said at last. “I’m not surprised. Actually, that explains a lot.” 

Hisoka promptly threw his head back and laughed up at the ceiling. You chanced a tentative smile, finding his good humor tonight a bit suspicious, but then he abruptly shoved himself up against you so hard that water splashed out over the side of the tub and slapped against the tile floor. Mouth opening in shock, you shuddered as he forced his way between your legs until his pelvis was slotted tightly against yours. The unmistakable weight of his cock, already straining hard, settled on your stomach and your hands flew up to blindly sink nails into his biceps. 

“Hisoka - !” 

“I was expecting to hear ‘happy birthday’, at the very least.” He cooed, peering down at you from just a scant few inches away. “Where are your manners, darling? Hmm?”

Leaning close, he teasingly brushed the tip of his nose along your cheek in a blithe imitation of affectionate nuzzling. You tipped your face up at him and brought your legs around his narrow waist in silent encouragement. It was impossible to deny the dizzying heights of arousal this incredibly dangerous man inspired within you but all he did was laugh, the puff of hot air on your skin making you tremble. 

“What a curious little thing you are. One moment you’re acting like you could care less and the next you’re so eager for me to have my way with you.” He paused to nip at your earlobe and the sharp sensation of teeth sinking into delicate flesh caused you to gasp. Mouth curling in a devious smirk, Hisoka pressed his lips against the outer shell of your ear so that his voice was the only thing you could make out over the sound of your own pounding heartbeat. “Do you really expect things to go your way just because you’re willing to submit to me? Is that it?” 

You tried to speak but nothing came out. All you could focus on was the hard length resting threateningly against your lower belly, the palpable memories of his cock carving out a space within you inspiring white hot pangs of desire throughout your core. There was a veritable laundry list detailing exactly why engaging with him like this wasn’t a good idea but you still found yourself arching into his touch when Hisoka brushed the rough pad of his thumb over your puckered nipple. You couldn’t escape his gravitational pull even if you’d tried. 

“Well?” He prodded, letting the sharp point of a single nail just barely scrape the peak of your breast. 

Sucking in a haggard gulp of air, you clung to him even more fervently. “If you want to hear it so bad, I’ll say it.” You managed to croak out.

Hisoka noised a thoughtful hum and drew back, surprising you yet again when he slipped out of your hold in favor of retreating back to his end of the hot tub. “I think I’d rather have you show me.” 

You stared in rapt disbelief as he reclined against the side, bracing his elbows along the ledge so that just the tips of those sinfully long fingers dipped into the water. It took a prolonged moment for your cloudy mind to catch up with what was happening but, at last, you grumbled something unkind under your breath before moving after him, much more mindful of the bobbing candles than he’d been.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“I’ve may have heard that once or twice before.” He said with a flippant shrug. 

Pursing your lips, you climbed up to straddle his lap. Hisoka offered you a smile that could only be described as condescending, making you scowl even as you reached under the softly rolling surface of the water to find his cock. You gave it a tight squeeze, reveling in the silky skin under your fingers, and his chest hitched at the sensation.

You let out a slow breath through your nose while you pumped him, resigned to your fate. He probably would’ve been content to take the lead as he always did if you’d just told him what he wanted to hear, but it was clear now that he wouldn’t lift a finger to assist until he’d deemed your transgression paid in full. Such bratty behavior was par the course for him though, so not at all surprising, and you angled his cock so you could rub the glans against your clit in tauntingly slow passes.

“Did you want anything else for your birthday?” You ventured quietly. 

“No. Just you.” 

You cocked a brow at that but the cryptic grin Hisoka fixed you with seemed to imply that was all the explanation you were going to get. As much as you knew better than to unquestioningly trust the things that came out of his mouth, there really wasn’t much you could do to argue the point and you grudgingly left it at that. 

Using your fingertips to guide the hard length of him to your entrance, you started to sink down. The bulbous head dipped into the flesh of your labia, forcing the meaty lips to spread for him, and you sucked in a faltering breath to steady yourself. The lack of meaningful prep added onto the resistance of the water made penetration a slow going process but you basked in the searing burn. He breached your body one torturous fraction at a time, the pressure just this side of painful, until the glans finally popped through the first barrier. You stilled above him, giving your body a chance to adjust before bearing down on him again with an unbidden moan that seemed to claw its way up your throat.

Hisoka responded with his own rumbling noise of pleasure and you choked on a disgruntled squawk when he lifted his hips to force himself another inch or so inside. You swayed above him, reaching out with both hands to grab onto his shoulders when the tension in your loins doubled and threatened to bowl you over. The stretch was exquisite, blurring the line of pleasure and discomfort so thoroughly that you weren’t sure which side you were on anymore. It hardly seemed to matter though and, biting your lip in concentration, you pushed down until he was sheathed within you halfway to the base. 

You had to stop and regroup then, taking several long blinks to clear the starbursts from your eyes. Hisoka shifted underneath you, making your pussy ache and flutter around him, but he didn’t try to force you to take the rest of his cock just yet. Instead, he nonchalantly brought one of his hands around to idly tweak your nipple and you gasped. Brows furrowing, you tucked your chin down to watch him pinch the sensitive nub between thumb and forefinger before giving it a playful tug. White hot static raced down your spine, making your cunt ooze more sticky slick, and you eagerly arched against him with a low sound of wanting. 

“Are you making those pretty noises just for me, love?” 

Groaning deep in the back of your throat, you haltingly pivoted your hips - up, down, up and down - to loosen your passage and coat him in more arousal. When you started to lower yourself again just a brief moment later, the penetration came easier and Hisoka’s cock slipped against your inner walls until you were fully seated on his lap. You tossed your head back, sighing in pleasure, and he took that opportunity to approvingly squeeze your breast in a tight grip. 

“Look at you.” He breathed. “So lovely when you’re enjoying yourself on my cock like this.” 

“Hisoka …” You whimpered and rocked against him, the gentle slosh of the water echoing in your ears. 

“Tell me how it feels. Tell me just how much you love being stretched and filled up.”

Screwing your eyes shut, you leaned into the sturdy muscle mass underneath you and linked your arms around his neck. “I love it … you always feel so good when you’re inside me. I can feel every bump and vein. Every time you even twitch it drives me wild. It’s like your cock was made specifically to fit me.”

Hisoka chuckled and nuzzled into your hair. “Maybe it was.”

You rolled your eyes at that, safely out of his line of sight with your chin docked over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind your lack of response though and when you pushed up so that he drug against your clinging cunt until just the head remained wedged inside your body, he issued a pleased groan. You sunk down again in shuddering slow motion, acutely aware of every inch of him that entered you. It was thick and heavy, pushing up on that dense cluster of nerves just right to make your breath come a little harder. A little faster. Nails sinking into his skin, you started bouncing on his cock at a subdued pace while trying to be mindful of the water level but it quickly became apparent that this wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy you. 

It was hard and fast that you needed to get off and you knew the same applied to him. The two of you had gone through the motions with each other enough times in the past to recognize what would make the cut and what wouldn’t. This slow, gentle tempo was decidedly not it and you hissed in frustration as you started bouncing with more enthusiasm. Just as you’d expected, the water churned around your heaving body and it didn’t take long at all for you to catch the sound of it splashing over the edge to hit the floor below. The thought of getting billed for any incurring cleanup costs flitted through your mind, and you were sure it wouldn’t be cheap in a place like Heaven’s Arena, but then Hisoka was working a hickey into the side of your neck and you promptly forgot all about it. 

“Oooh … shit …!” 

Slyly humming his agreement, he threaded fingers through your hair and pulled it aside, nails catching your scalp in the process. You hissed at the lingering pain and obediently tilted your head, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to him. Hisoka’s mouth immediately descended upon the pounding pulse point laid bare to him, sucking and nipping at the spot until it was minutely throbbing in time with your heartbeat. Another juvenile hickey for you to hide in the coming days, you were sure, but it was hard to be annoyed with him for that when his cock felt like it was tickling your cervix on every downward thrust. The sheer force at which you were driving down onto him seemed to punch the oxygen right out of your lungs, making you suck in one ragged gulp of air after another. You tried to pace yourself over the next few minutes but it quickly became too much and you finally had no choice but to slow to a stop and try to find your bearings again. 

Having him sitting hot and heavy inside you was too much to ignore though and you weakly ground down on him with twitching hips. Hisoka’s response was to moan right into your ear in an undulating, rising pitch that went straight to your cunt. It fluttered and clamped down around him, a warning tremor rippling through your body, and you wheezed. 

It still wasn’t enough. 

“Hisoka …” You mewled, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

He issued a thoughtful sound and pressed a deceptively chaste kiss to the mark he’d worked into your neck. “How unfortunate. Though I might be persuaded to help if you say the magic words ...” 

Knowing it wasn’t ‘please’ he wanted to hear, you scoffed. He could be such a spoiled brat sometimes. “Fine. Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy many more.” 

The way he laughed made his cock twitch inside your pussy and you jerked, starting to pant more vigorously. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Although it didn’t exactly sound convincing coming out of your mouth, I suppose I’m willing to accept it.” 

You were about to tell him to shove it when Hisoka abruptly brought both arms around your back and pinned you flush to the front of him. It made your breasts squish against the firm expanse of his chest, the electrifying jolt of friction to your nipples sending fresh waves of pleasure shooting down your back. Sucking in a faltering inhale, you allowed your head to loll to the side where it was pressed up on his shoulder and you clutched at him all the more fervently, bracing for what would come next.

Even when you were expecting it, Hisoka managed to catch you off guard when he flexed up off the bottom of the tub and drove into you with enough force to have you shrieking in delight. Your whole body shook against his and you instinctively tried to push away with your knees, attempting to escape the blinding pressure he was exerting on your pulsing cunt. His hold on you was as good as iron though and you couldn’t find a reprieve, helplessly ragdolling in his arms as he started up a brutal pace that had water violently sloshing out over the sides of the tub. You probably would have been horrified by how much of the floor was soaked if you’d had the wherewithal to care about that sort of thing while you were getting your brains mercilessly fucked out but you were too far gone to give it more than a passing thought.

“Hii - Hiso - ka!” 

The thin chuckle that filtered over you was enough to make you claw at his shoulders, his back. Any part of him you could reach. You barely had enough time to draw a single, ragged breath before he was slamming back home and knocking you senseless again, your guts quaking under the intensity of his thrusts. The pressure inside you swelled almost nauseatingly fast, indescribably better than your own attempt at getting off which seemed pitiful in comparison to this. Hisoka was a force to be reckoned with in and out of the ring, and the strength in his slim build was never more apparent than when he was pounding into your cunt hard enough to make it throb. 

Uncontrollably shaking, you blindly dropped your hands from his scratched up back in favor of holding on to the edge of the tub in a white knuckled grip. You tried to use it as leverage to push your body upward and lessen the intensity of his hips driving into you, but it was useless. Hisoka merely tightened his arms around your back and forcibly yanked you down to meet the punishing thrusts tit for tat. You wailed, unable to do anything except sit there and take it while the rapidly mounting tension in your loins continued to build higher and higher, leaving you swaying dazedly in his grasp. 

“Ooh! God!”

“Is this what you needed, darling? A nice hard fuck to get you off? Hm?” 

Hisoka, unsurprisingly, didn’t have the grace to sound so much as a little out of breath and you wanted to hate him for that even as you threw your head back, eyes rolling in your skull. The reverberating clap of skin on skin was practically deafening and the sticky wet squelch of your pussy sloppily sucking him in deep on every jolting thrust only added to the lewd cacophony filling the space of the bathroom. It was overwhelming in the best possible way, indescribably more satisfying than anything else you’d experienced before, and you twisted in his arms like something wild. Something possessed. 

“I can feel that pretty little pussy of yours squeezing me like a vice grip.” Hisoka groaned, sultry and unbearably heavy. “Are you about to cum for me?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, held it, and the coil snapped. Every inch of your body rattled as if you’d been electrocuted, the full brunt of orgasm slamming into you like a sack of bricks. You went ramrod stiff against him and screamed out your pleasure as he fucked you right through it, the pace of his thrusts not faltering for so much as a second. Hisoka enthusiastically moaned underneath you each time your palpitating cunt squeezed down around him, sounding like some wanton whore, but you were no better yourself. The two of you made quite the pair.

Your throat was raw and scratchy by the time you finally started to come down some moments later one convulsing tremor at a time. It was only when you began whimpering in high strung, oversensitized distress that he slowed down, though he didn’t stop altogether. Hisoka’s cock was sliding easily in and out of your thrumming cunt now and you could feel what a churning mess he’d made of you with every taunting push of his hips, the goopy consistency making embarrassingly loud sucking noises. Seething, you put shaking hands on his chest and pushed back to look at him imploringly.

“Hisokaaa …” You mewled, breath hitching when he brushed against the dense cluster of pulsating nerves from a different angle in this position. 

“Don’t tell me you’re ready to tap out already.” He purred and hungrily licked his lips. “That was only round one and it is my birthday, you know. That means you have to keep going until I’m satisfied.” 

You issued a frazzled groan into the statically charged air, deciding once and for all that this man was going to be the death of you. The fleeting thought that you’d die happy, at least, didn’t serve as much of a comfort.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Zeke Tyler

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I have a lot of thoughts about this greasy little man and the way he acts with girls)

- Zeke Tyler had been driving you nuts for as long as you could remember. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. He’d been driving you nuts for as long as you’d known him; that was more accurate.

- Freshman year, that was when it had all started. You were a year younger than him and had been the target of his harassment since the day you met him. You couldn't go a day without him blatantly making fun of you, trying to embarrass you or making suggestive comments towards you just; what you could only assume was, to make a fool out of you.

- You tried your best to either avoid or ignore him, mainly staying quiet since you were on the shy side; something that probably contributed to his eagerness to mess with you. Anytime you tried to respond, he found it amusing. Any curses or insults you’d give him back, or your telling of him to leave you alone, we’re all delivered in vain.

“Come on y/n/n, when are you gonna let me take you out?” He’d tease with a smirk and you’d just know that he was only messing with you.

- The thing is, you couldn’t have been more wrong. All his propositions and invitations were genuine, Zeke just didn’t know how to deal with his feelings for you.

- It was easier for him to be a jerk and sarcastic with you, that way he could have an excuse to be around you whenever he wanted and pretend like he wasn’t hurt when you’d inevitably reject.

- Because of course you’d reject him. He was a burnout before he even had the chance, a drug dealing senior who’d been held back a year. Hell, his parents didn’t even like him. Why would you?

- Funny thing is, as much as he tried to be a dick to you, even you could notice the occasional cracks in his façade, though you’d tend to try to write them off.

- An increasingly obvious crack was the fact that no one else was allowed to treat you the way he did. The minute someone else tried, he’d jump to your defense and turn on them, giving them shit or just telling them to leave you alone. He was possessive over his victims, yay!

- Okay, to be fair and honest and all that: You didn’t hate Zeke. You didn’t necessarily like him or the way he treated you, but you didn’t hate him. There was even a part of you that felt a strange attraction towards him; as much as you didn’t like admitting it.

- Which is something you ended up making known to him one day after school when you happened to be the only people left in the building. You were at your locker, he’d approached you and after he teased and once again “asked you out”, you finally spoke up.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” He’d grinned in response, waiting eagerly for your reply.

“Act like a jerk and then try to take me out. Why would I go out with you after you mess with me all day?”

“So you’re saying that you’d go out with me if I was nicer to you?” He’d asked lowly, taking a step closer as the two of you locked eyes.

- You stuttered out an objection before saying a flustered goodbye and making your exit. He should probably thank you for that advice one of these days.

- Taking your advice, Zeke “acts nice”; in his own special way. Instead of being a total jackass, he acts teasingly kind to you: always greeting you and asking how you’re doing, exaggeratedly opening doors for you, all but pleading to help you with things. He’s obviously still sarcastic but it’s …less obnoxious. It’s after a week or so of that, that things finally come to a head. 

- You were sitting outside in the hot sun, trying to do your chemistry homework while having no idea what the fuck it was talking about. Finally, you'd just about given up, putting your face in your hands while trying to get a grip before you completely lost it. That was when a quiet voice rang out from in front of you. 

- Obviously, it was Zeke and before you knew it, he’d taken your pencil and done the problem for you, telling you how to do it in a few easy steps. 

- A bit shocked but more than grateful, you thanked him quietly. He gave you a small smile and began to straighten up again, but just before he did, he met your eyes once more and asked if you wanted to hear something funny.

“I could have graduated last year, you know? …I mean if I wanted to, I could have, …but I didn’t. And I mean, I guess it was for a bunch of reasons but one of them ...one of them was you,” He’d started, looking away from you and to his hands which were resting against the table. “And I’m sure that sounds really stupid, but it’s a fact. …I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you ..a lot, and I want to know, in all seriousness, if you would go out with me.”

You froze for a moment but just as he was about to leave; figuring you were going to turn him down like always, you’d responded with a “I’m free on Friday.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at eight.”

- The two of you go and watch movies at his house for your first date. His parents are rarely ever home and that day was no exception so the two of you had the whole house to yourselves. 

- It was just after the first movie ended that the two of you shared your first kiss. He was settling back on the couch after popping in the second film when the two of you locked eyes. He slowly leaned in, his hand moving to gently brush against your cheek before his lips met yours, soft at first before becoming more passionate. 

- The movie was quickly forgotten about as he lowered you back against the couch. It was only until a loud scream erupted from the television that you were snapped out of your daze. You finally pulled away, gently holding his face in place and shyly mentioning that you should “probably leave it at that”, causing a grin to spread across his face. 

- It’s safe to say that after that, the two of you were officially addicted to each other. 

- Zeke really doesn’t whether people are watching or not, if he wants to hug or kiss you in public then they “can look away like normal fucking people”. 

- Handholding. Well, you’re sorta just holding his sleeve most of the time but that’s just how Zeke is. 

- Hugs from behind. He usually ends up nuzzling his face into your neck whenever he does. 

- Hairline kisses. He’ll pull you closer and give you one whenever you're leaving for class. 

- Soft kisses. As cocky as he acted, when you first started your relationship, he was always really nervous when going in for a kiss. 

- Cheek strokes. They’re the barest, featherlight touches you’ll ever feel but they’ll still make your heart race.

- Getting swept up in makeout sessions.

- Hickeys. He doesn’t really care about placement but if you protest, he’ll leave them in more hidden areas.

- Zeke takes it personally when you don’t want him being affectionate with you. He’s the boyfriend that asks what your problem is when you keep letting go of his hand or shrugging off his hugs/arm.

- Please cuddle him. He likes to occasionally pretend like he doesn’t like it or is annoyed by it but he sure as hell doesn’t let you go when you go to pull away.

- Him falling asleep on you. He’ll lay his head on your lap with his arms wrapped around your waist while you run your fingers through his hair or down his back.

- You get a few nicknames and pet names from him, usually things like sweetheart, Princess, and babe.

- He genuinely likes when you call him pet names. He’ll usually roll his eyes at you but then he’ll look away and try to hide his shy little smile afterward.

- Honestly, Zeke is really cute with you most of the times; especially when you’re alone together. Nose boops or rubs, forehead presses, sweet teasing comments. On the inside, he’s just a softie who really wants to be loved.

- One day, he just took off his ring and slipped it onto your finger while he was playing with your hands. He told you to keep it when you asked about it ...so consider that a promise ring because that’s what he secretly considers it.

- Massages. He’ll use any excuse to touch you honey; especially if it can lead to something more.

- Wearing his jersey. That is ...a kink, and that’s all I’m saying about that.

- Sitting on the bleachers and watching him practice after he joins the football team.

- Sharing food.

- He likes hearing you talk; it doesn’t even matter what about. You could be talking about completely meaningless bullshit and he’d be perfectly content with listening to it. He’s sort of just happy that you want to tell him things, and he just likes your voice.

- Book talk. He may or may not have found a secret love for literature purely because you were interested in it and in his English class.

- Zeke’s a smart guy, he just doesn’t try, so you tend to make sure he studies and actually does his assignments.

- Jokingly teasing him about his glasses.

- Hanging out in his lab with him.

- The two of you frequent school storage rooms and closets. You occasionally help him steal things but more often than not, the two of you just makeout in there.

- Going to junkyards and smashing stuff.

- Lighting off fireworks with each other.

- Bonfires.

- Watching somewhat amused as he plays pranks on and makes fun of people. You keep a bit of a leash on him and make sure he isn’t too much of an asshole.

- Sitting on his car in the parking lot together.

- Keeping him company as he smokes.

- Free drugs and free *all his other inventory*. That being said, he’ll occasionally refuse to give you something because he cares too much about you and doesn’t want to fuck up your life. He’ll usually say something like “you don’t want this” or laugh and tell you he “isn’t giving you any” when he does.

- I’m convinced that Zeke would actually be really good at calming people down from panic attack purely because of his history with drug users. If he can handle a doped up tweaker, he can handle you.

- Getting little surprises left in your locker, he may or may not pick your lock to put them there. But hey, if you ever need to get into someplace, he’s got it covered.

- He sort of thinks it’s funny to scare you, usually with his driving.

- Going on death rides in the middle of the night.

- Sneaking out to see him. Given the way Zeke is and; likely, his general reputation, your parents probably aren’t fans of him, and even if they were, they probably wouldn’t let you go out with him at midnight.

- Honestly, he sort of likes when you insult him; as long as it doesn’t hit too close to home. If you call him an asshole, he’ll probably just pull you into a kiss as he smiles.

- He makes sure that no one walks all over you; especially if you have a habit of apologizing for no good reason, he won’t let his girl be anyone’s doormat.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to no one. Just get in the fucking car.”

- I’m sorry but your boyfriend is a really jealous guy; mainly because he’s insecure and oftentimes feels like he isn’t good enough for you. He’ll ask what you were doing whenever he sees you with other guys and won’t forget about it unless it’s obvious that you aren’t interested in them and they aren’t interested in you.

- Zeke would wholeheartedly fucking ice an entire room full of people for you and that is the honest to god truth. The minute someone acts even the slightest bit antagonistic towards you, he’s on there ass like he’s your guard dog.

- Surprisingly enough, you and Zeke rarely ever have serious fights. More often than not, you just bicker with each other before settling things fairly quickly.

- When things are more serious, he’ll argue and curse but he hardly ever yells, unless he’s raising his voice for emphasis. The only problem that really arises when you’re fighting is the fact that he thinks it’s amusing or hot when you’re angry so he just can’t take you seriously a lot of the time.

- Zeke’s a bit of a jackass so he’ll corner you/pull you into secluded places and not let you leave until he speaks his peace when the two of you have had a fight. That being said, he does offer you a genuine apology after doing so, and usually pulls you in for a kiss once you’ve forgiven him.

- He tells you he loves you quite a bit, albeit really casually, like when you’re saying goodbye and he just says “love you” without thinking. He does get a bit embarrassed when it’s in front of other people though.

- He likes to imagine that the two of you will stay together no matter what happens but when he thinks about the future and all that comes with it, he gets a bit nervous. He thinks he’d make a shitty father; because of his own parents, even though he’s sort of really cute and good with kids.

[btgalaxy]

Moonlight - Jungkook wolf!au

➳ pairing: jungkook x reader

➳ genre: wolf!au, a little bit of everything tbh; angst, fluff, smut

➳ word count: 4.6k

warnings: oral sex, fingering

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Chapter 9

When Jungkook wakes, you’re still vulnerable in a deep slumber, weighing down on one of his arms. His eyes slowly focus in on the ceiling, feeling only the warm gusts of breath against his palm from your slightly parted lips. Why does he have to be so impulsive sometimes? It’s like he can’t hold back, as much as he wants to and tells himself it’s not the right course of action he just cannot stop himself from submitting to his inner Alpha instincts telling him to go crazy. And you thinking he doesn’t want you? You couldn’t be more wrong.

Everyday he ends up at the packhouse after leaving you in the morning, only able to envision the sight of you with strands of hair strewn across your face, sticking to your lips and your silk nightdress looming dangerously low on your chest to reveal some of the supple flesh that makes him want to reach out and trace the curve of your breast, feeling the way you automatically press into him. He wants it so badly. He agonises everyday with his hand down the front of his jeans behind his desk, rapidly searching for something to relieve this paralysing ache, but he’s never left fully satisfied. He still yearns for more, for you.

You stir slightly in your sleep, turning around to face him and nuzzle into his bare chest and his arm tightens around your form, gently running his fingertips along the skin of your arm. All he wants to do is protect you. He couldn’t bear seeing you hurt; it might nearly kill him. Even worse, the thought of you being in another man’s arms, kissing him, caring for him, loving him. He subconsciously curls around you closer. He can’t think about that.

In fact, he doesn’t want to find the Hoseok boy from your old pack; he doesn’t want to know anything about the little shit, but he’ll do it for you. If it at least stops you from contacting that damn unmated Alpha Taehyung from Crimson Lake then he’ll do anything. And he truly does want to see you happy- something he isn’t entirely sure he’s experienced much of since you got here, so, despite being angry finding you on the phone to that imbecile Alpha, he’ll do it. Stupid fuckin’ Taehyung.

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead before slipping from your grip and the security of the duvet and staggering over to the cupboard to yank a jumper from the hanger, but not before he notices a broken piece of cardboard that flies to his feet. He leans down and takes it between his thumb and forefinger, glancing at your sleeping form briefly to check you’re still dead asleep, then brings out the rest of the box.

“Shit,” he mutters quietly to himself. The lid is broken. The lid has been broken by someone, and that someone would never be Jin, he wouldn’t have the nerve, nor Jimin- he knows all about Jungkook’s history already. It has to have been you. He swallows down the bile biting at his throat when he sees a glimpse of himself and his father many years ago; a brief slice of history sized down into a tiny polaroid, coated now in a thin layer of dust. He swiftly places the broken top back on, shoving the whole thing back into the cupboard and retrieving a jumper, deftly ignorant to the reality.

It’s a good few hours later that you wake up, still feeling Jungkook’s phantom touch across your skin, lingering like twilight hues. His scent is smothered over the bed sheets, so you bury your face into the fabric and just inhale deeply, already missing his arms around, holding you protectively. How can he go from being such a gorgeous, affectionate mate to some crazy, possessive Alpha overnight? He’s not the only one suffering from migraines at the hands of this relationship.

Reluctant to leave the aroma, you groan to get up, clicking your neck back and sliding from the cushioned mattress to your feet, barely awake as you meander into the bathroom to wet your face and brush your teeth.

“Y/N?” Jin’s voice echoes from outside your room. You hum loudly in response, prompting his entrance.

“You look well-slept,” he smiles slightly from the doorframe, watching you brush your teeth with hooded eyes.

You try to mumble a retort with a mouthful of foaming water, but the most you come out with is an indistinguishable grunt with bits of toothpaste spattering on the floor.

“Red Moon’s Luna everyone,” Jin applauds sarcastically, eyes glossing with amusement.

You spit into the sink, “Funny.”

“I like to think I am.”

You pat your mouth dry with the towel, wiping away the excess on your lips before sighing, “So what’s the plan for today?”

Jin slumps against the side of the door, crossing his arms over, “Well, Alpha gave me this phone and told me-“

“He gave you your own phone?” Your eyes swell with jealousy, focusing in on the small device your guard pulls from his pocket.

He softly retreats, “Yes… he did… he told me that I should wait for his text, and in the meantime there are some board games in the cupboard in his office…”

Your eyes are still glazing over his pocket, holding the small cell, “But your own phone…”

“Why is that such a big deal?” He laughs, but you can see he’s a tad unnerved by your obsession.

You sigh, despondently, “I wish he trusted me that much.”

Jin laughs at your misery, ushering you to get ready, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Jin wins four rounds of monopoly, but you’re sure he’s stealing from the bank. Then he beats you at Scrabble too, and cards. Cheat, rummy, sevens, trumps. You aren’t particularly good at those types of things anyhow, never have been. And Jin seems to be some kind of a professional, with all of his fancy shuffling and smug moves. You nearly want to strangle him.

During one game of Cluedo, you fake going to the bathroom, to hide around the corner and peer out into the lounge to see him swiftly peeking at the result cards. You huff quietly, grimacing acutely at the sight in front of you.

“I knew you were cheating!” You jump out.

Jin’s head snaps up towards you, hands frantically recoiling from small pack of cards centre of the board, “What? Luna-“

“Don’t Luna me!”

“I didn’t cheat!”

“I watched you!”

“You were in the toilet!”

You continue to bicker like this what feels like endlessly, countering each other with even the pettiest of retorts, but you’re stubborn and he’s too proud. You, however, are also immensely lazy and can’t be arsed to fight with him for hours on end.

“Whatever, I’m sick of board games anyway,” you grumble, surrendering and taking a seat on the sofa behind him curled up on the floor in front of the coffee table.

“We could watch some TV?” He suggests, clambering to his feet.

“I wanna go for a run,” you announce, making him still, “My wolf has been cooped up for quite a while now.”

You’re aware it’s awkward, bringing this up after last time. But truly your wolf hasn’t gone for a run for nearly a couple of weeks now, and back at Scarlet Oak you were out all the time with Hobi or your father, or pack runs. Do they even have those here?

“Luna, we should wait for Alpha Jungkook’s text.” His voice is firm and official, and you hate how he’s so compliant to his Alpha’s commands, unlike you. You guess if you were at the butt of Jungkook’s wraith you might feel the same though.

You exhale deliberately loud, throwing your head back to look up into the spherical chandelier bulbs, “Well we’ve got to do something because I’ll go out of my mind if I have to play with a cheater any longer.”

Jin frowns, “So… TV then?”

“I wanna eat something.”

“I can do food,” he nods mostly to himself, turning gently on his heel and striding towards the kitchen. You immediately rise to your feet, taking a blanket from the sofa and wrapping it round your shoulders to pad behind him, trailing over to the breakfast bar.

You slide onto one of the stools, settling your elbows on the surface and placing your head in your hands, eyes scrutinising his every move like a hawk surveying its prey. It’s instantly clear cooking isn’t something new to the man, the way he glides from one ingredient to the next, effortlessly bringing about a scent that could nearly beat the one of your mate, lingering in your bedsheets.

You wait for some time in silence, watching him throw ingredients into a pot and slowly begin to stir.

“Do you like to cook?” The corner of your lips poke upwards into your cheeks slightly, blossoming beneath your eyes.

He shrugs, looking over his shoulder at you, “My mother showed me how. Said she doesn’t want my mate to be stuck with someone that can’t cook, like my dad.” You smile brighter in response, lying down your arms and placing your cheek to rest on the back of your hand.

“What are your family like?”

Jin continues to stir in the stainless steel pot bubbling on the stove, “Well, my dad’s obviously an Epsilon, like I am. And my mother was just a normal pack wolf, whose rank was raised ever so slightly by my dad. They pester each other a lot, but they love each other.”

“Any siblings?” You poke further into his personal life, enjoying the ability to pry freely, unlike your meddling into Jungkook’s family life.

“Nope, just me. I was a nightmare child apparently- enough to put my parents off having another,” he admits, and your teeth clamp over your lip as you let out a laugh.

“God, I couldn’t picture that,” you tease, tapping your nails against the marble counter.

“Shut up and eat your food,” he shakes his head, bringing over the pot and placing it between the two of you on the table then retrieving two bowls from one of the cupboards. “Hope you like soup.”

You shrug teasingly, before smiling at his grimacing expression and taking a mouthful. Your father says that soup is good for the soul, soothing for it. Then he’d make a joke about how it’s the sweat or tears of some chicken God which you used to pray to as a kid, thinking you’d be blessed with more chicken. It was a long shot, you always knew, but you still liked the idea.

You were always very prone to outside influences, picking up different habits and concepts from those around you. Hobi you took a lot from; the two of you think the same way. After years spent alongside each other, nearly joined at the hip, you became alarmingly similar, from everything down to the position you sleep in. It unsettles the food digesting to think about him though, where he is, what state he’s in. You focus back on Jin, who’s pulled out the cell-phone from his pocket to glaze over the screen.

“What is it?” You ask, bringing another spoonful of broth to your lips, “Is it Jungkook?”

Jin nods, taking a mouthful himself, “He says we should go down to him as soon as possible.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” And he begins speeding up with his food.

It’s mid-afternoon by the time you finish and clean up everything, bundling into Jin’s jeep with profound haste. You miss your mate already, his scent only lingering faintly around the house leaving you with just enough to want more. You’re trying hard not to become completely dependent on him, his love- if anything were to happen to him, you don’t want to be left empty and lonely, or just be too co-dependent either way. You value your individualism, and don’t want to be clouded by your wolf’s constant yearning for her mate, but it seems that’s easier said than done.

The town is quiet, as usual. Just a few pack wolves about a strip of greenery, hosting a BBQ for their families. It’s so unbelievably mundane you envy the whole carefree atmosphere, with some of the older wolves shifted and racing across the turf at top speed, whirring by like a blur. You sigh, resting your head against the doorframe of the jeep and running your teeth over your lower lip. You aren’t sure if life will ever be that same level of easiness again.

Reaching a meeting room in the pack house, Jungkook and Jimin are sat across from each other at a large oak table, conversing tensely over something you’re uninformed of. Jungkook spots you immediately, but he doesn’t smile, he looks concerned, agitated, and your stomach starts to churn.

“What is it?” You ask, blatantly. You can already see something’s wrong, and you don’t want to beat around the bush like he does with every other uncomfortable subject. Him and his Beta exchange a knowing look, your mate rising to his feet seconds later to come and greet you with a hand to your waist.

“Did you have a good day?” He asks, ignorantly.

You frown in response, looking past him at Jimin, “What is it?”

The Beta freezes under your glare, glancing to his lap as Jungkook sighs, pulling you closer, “We looked into the Hoseok case,” he reveals, holding you against him to soften the blow of anxiety that drains you of any other emotion.

Your skin pales, “Hobi? You’ve found him?” You swallow back the apprehension nipping at your mind, “You- Is he…” You try not to think the worst, but the whole situation speaks otherwise.

Jungkook brings you to sit down at the table, gently caressing your side, “He’s not dead.”

You can finally breathe at the words, exhaling and closing your eyes to restore your shattering heart at the thought of your best friend’s death.

Then Jungkook speaks again, “But he was seen by an Epsilon near Red Moon, with a man identified as Min Yoongi.” What?

It doesn’t make any sense. Yoongi with Hobi? You never even met Yoongi, let alone Hobi. Why on earth were they together near Red Moon? Why the hell is Hobi even near Red Moon? The last time you saw him was with your father in Scarlet Oak, perhaps upset you were leaving, but nothing insinuated he would follow you all the way here. Is that what he’s doing? Following you? But then why wouldn’t he answer his phone? Your head spins.

“With Yoongi? Yoongi as in June’s…,” you struggle to label the relationship, “June’s- June’s ex?” But June slept with Hobi, so why would the two of them get all buddy-buddy?

“We confirmed it over the phone with her today,” Jimin tells you from the other side of the table, pushing across his phone to show a text image to June. The picture isn’t of Hobi, but for the first time you see Yoongi. He’s handsome, of course. You expect nothing less of a boyfriend of June’s. But something about him looks so deadly sinister, his jaw clenched and lips pursed into a tight line as he leans against a tree, eyeing the landscape cautiously.

“What’s he doing?” You mutter, reaching for the device, but before you’re able to, Jungkook draws your attention.

“We haven’t made any correlations yet, but I have certain theories,” he mumbles, looking off to the side with a subtle anger burning behind his eyes.

You turn towards him, “Theories?”

“We’ll look into it more for you, and as soon as we have some definite answers you’ll be the first to know, okay?”

You nod slowly, numbly, unable to look him in the eye, enveloped in a hurricane of anxiety and panic.

“Jin, you can go home. I’ll drive Y/N back.”

Your mate guides you towards his car, but it all seems like a dream, the tension and confusion leaving you lost. He opens the door for you and you slide in, swallowing back the concern as you buckle yourself into the seat.

Maybe Yoongi is mad at Hobi for sleeping with June? Is Hobi safe? What if Yoongi dragged Hobi over to Red Moon so that Jungkook would deal with him? But, Jungkook wouldn’t do that, would he? Not after everything that’s happened- he wouldn’t do that, surely-

“You okay?” The voice brings you from your spiralling thoughts, like a soothing velvet to your ears. You look over at him, suddenly unsure how you feel about the situation – aside from sheer anxiety – and you don’t know if he’s telling you the full truth.

“I guess so,” you announce, exhaling deeply, “But it doesn’t make sense, why would they both be here? Why wouldn’t Hobi tell me anything? He didn’t even know Yoongi!” You know better than to expect a straightforward response, so the Alpha’s silence is what you settle for. You’re irritated and stressed, yes, but you don’t want to argue with him now. Not after today.

Soon enough, the car is pulling up in front of the house and you hesitantly open the door and follow an awaiting Jungkook.

“Is there anything you need?” The uncertainty in his tone depicts his own worries; that if he doesn’t divulge all his secrets that you’ll drift away again, and that gaping void that lingers in your past will break through again and pull you apart. You surprise him when you simply walk over to him however, and wrap your arms around his waist, his scent relaxing you as it always does, bringing you a much needed escape from the hauntings in your head. Your body begins to regain feeling, and you realise just how exhausted you are from the stress. You fall into his arms, and he’s quick to keep you up and steady.

“Do you want to take a nap or something?” He mumbles into your hair, but you press against him harder instead of responding, moulding your body into his and holding the front of his top in knuckled hands.

“I actually have something for you.”

He separates away from your body with a slight smile, jogging round to his desk to pull open one of the drawers and pull out a small box. You rips back the tape and pulls the top apart to reveal a little camera inside, with a long cable draping out the back.

“Here, I bought a webcam, so you can call your dad on the office computer,” he offers, looking at you hopefully.

You can’t help but smile, nearly distracted by the thought of seeing your father’s face again after so long. You speak on the phone with him everyday but it’s not the same as a face to face conversation, and you miss the way his eyes wrinkle when he smiles, and the lines on his forehead from frowning at books he doesn’t agree with. You can’t wait for whenever he’ll next visit you in Red Moon.

You eagerly sit in Jungkook’s office chair in front of the computer as the screen buffers and loads, till the screen pops up and your dad’s face is frozen.

“Dad,” you smile, seeing him in the lounge frowning down at his laptop like the old man struggling with technology that he is.

“Is it working?” He mumbles, faffing with the angle.

“Yes, it is,” you laugh slightly, looking up at your mate with an appreciative grin.  

Your dad squints at the screen, grazing over your form, “Is Alpha Jungkook there?” Jungkook comes into the frame, leaning down beside you.

Your mate slides his hand onto your thigh and you place yours over it, “You can call him Jungkook, I’m sure he won’t care.” Full well knowing he would care, he squeezes your leg making you squirm with a small giggle, staring you down.

“Oh, of course, Jungkook,” your father’s voice resonates through the speakers.

“He loves it.” You tell him, Jungkook’s eyes still trained on the side of your head.

About an hour later and you still haven’t run out of things to talk about with your dad. You aren’t sure that you ever will. After hanging up you still don’t feel fully satisfied, but your thankful your mate stayed and talked to him too the whole time. When you were younger, you used to go to a school with human children, and as you grew up they all started dating and your friends getting boyfriends and girlfriends, and one thing that was always incredibly important to them was their parent’s blessing. It’s slightly different in the wolf world- you only ever have one mate and so for the parents to dislike them would be unimportant anyway, you aren’t finding anyone different. It still makes you happy, though, that your father seems to like him, that they converse over the recent football game and speak casually to each other. You crave your dad’s blessing, the same way those human kids did too.

You kiss your mate hard on the mouth once your father’s face is off the screen, holding him there by his shirt till you feel contented with the thank you. He leans in again as you pull back, feeling his hot breath against your cheek.

“Thank you for that,” you tell him, “And thank you for finding out about Hobi.”

He brings you to your feet to pull your waist against him, pressing into his groin, “I’ll do anything for you.” He kisses you on the lips again, then slowly travelling to your cheeks and down your jaw along to your neck.

You become entranced in the way he feels, legs nearly failing if he wasn’t holding you up with an arm now curled possessively around your back. He gently suckles on the skin by your collarbone, flattening out his tongue against the flesh every now and then to soothe the irritation, blooming into a deep purple flower on your chest. It's at this moment that everything comes flooding back you were briefly distracted from; Hobi, Yoongi, Red Moon, Rogues- everything.

“Do you think you’ll find him?” You pant, raking your fingers through your mates hair, still firmly attached to your neck. “I just don’t want him to be hurt and it’s difficult for-“

“Stop worrying.” He pulls back momentarily to mumble at you, then going back to the mark on your neck and grazing his teeth over the bite to send a rush of endorphins pulse through you, straight down to your centre. You instinctively convulse against him, releasing a choked moan as he outlines the small indentations of the scar.

“Let me calm you down,” he mutters, running his nose up your jaw and cupping your chin to press hard against your mouth, gently caressing your lips with the silk of his own. Jungkook’s heart rate picks up when you don’t protest, and you’re slowly guided to the sofa in the lounge, pushed over the arm rest onto your back, watching as he deliberately climbs on top you.

He wantonly kisses down your chest, his hands slithering up beneath your top to your waist where his touch burns like fire on the flesh. You can barely breathe as the fabric is hitched up to your bra, and Jungkook rims your navel with the tip of his tongue, sensually rotating his jaw to mark the revealed skin. It feels foreign to have someone so close to your core, gliding down so leisurely to savour every taste of you like one would a Michelin star meal, the excitement pools in your stomach and leaves you churning for more. The wet, underside of his lips falls down your stomach to the top of your jeans and he gently pulls open the button, the zip down.

You moan softly as you push up your hips to allow for the jeans to roll over your legs, your mate falling lower with them to slide the material from your ankles and you hastily kick them away. He smirks at your eagerness, but doesn’t make any teasing comment like you’d expect. He’s far too turned on for that, engrossed in your body’s ministrations as he explores your every pleasure.

There’s a moment when he looks at you from between your legs, a silent inquiry to pull down the white thong concealing your sex, and you respond by exhaling, lulling your head back and shutting your eyes to drown in his intoxicating touch. The small strip of fabric effortlessly grazes down your thighs to rest on your knees, revealing your core and you suddenly feel incredibly vulnerable, revealed, embarrassed. You attempt to squeeze them together, but the Alpha growls and spreads them apart again with his palms.

“Don’t,” he grunts, eyes burning with a fervent lust you’ve never seen before- you thought you never would see. You never believed someone could ever look so crazy for you, driven so primitive and animalistic by a hunger for your body’s reactions.

He suddenly delves into your cleft, tongue parting the sensitive tissues and plunging into your centre. Your hips jolt at the impact, an arm slamming against the back of the couch to grip onto the pillow as you struggle away, but his hold doesn’t relent, face still buried shamelessly in your centre.

“Stop moving,” he growls again, diving into the slick flesh with his velvet tongue gently pulsing against your clit to make your back arch and hips churn. Your body yields to his every touch, rocking parallel to his movements as his hand descends to your inner thigh, and one digit gently presses into your core. You can’t think of anything but how good it feels for him to touch you, taste you, eat you  like his last meal. You could cry in pleasure, lost entirely to his silky touch, fundamentally possessive as he brings you closer to him.

“God,” you whine, teeth clamping over your lip to stop your squirming, your free hand now clutching the back of your mate’s hair to encourage his lubricious attention to your dripping centre. The finger gliding in and out of you with his sinful rocking makes you jerk suddenly, as it curls upwards to graze euphoria and the coil snaps in your stomach.

The waves of your climax rush over you in a scream-inducing, toe-curling orgasm that leaves you quaking violently, trembling as he continues to lap up your writhing cleft, tongue still thrusting against you and one finger stroking the sensitive bundle of flesh. It seems to drag on for an eternity, rolling through you relentlessly and vibrating you both as the tears spill unwilling from your eyes down your temples.

“Enough, enough,” you whimper, pushing his head back with your hands as he thankfully retreats, leaving the pink, swollen core bare and exposed to him; he’s never seen something so fucking salacious in his life, and if he could he’d carry on eating you till you physically couldn’t take anymore, unable to stand and sore the next morning. He wants to devour you.

As he pulls your pants back up your legs, you begin to come around, catching your breath and wetting your lips to see the raging boner beneath his jeans, looking somewhat painful to endure. You still feel a little high from your climax, and with a gentle pursing of your lips you lean forwards to the belt of hi jeans, but he stops you immediately. You frown, a little muddled as to why you can’t touch him.

“But- but,” you fumble over the words, “You- I didn’t-“

He smiles and interrupts you with another kiss, hands curling possessively around you bare waist to hold your form beneath him, “Baby, the second you put your hands on me like that I’ll lose it. And seeing you like that was enough for me to remember for later.” He winks and you bring your hands up to cover your face with an embarrassed groan, curling into his chest, vibrating with laughter. You’re crazy for him.

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[loveforpreserumsteve]

The Chilling Adventures of Steve Rogers: Part One (Magical Hydra Horror AU)

Twenty-Seven:

Article upon article, Steve poured over everything he could about the Stark family. So far, all he could find about a Stark daughter was a sole obituary. And even then, it was so obtuse that Steve doubted it was even the right person.

The more Steve dug and the less he found, Steve wondered why they would keep her a secret. If Howard Stark had a daughter, surely there would be something about her. She had existed. Loki had said so. And Steve trusted Loki's memory more than a lack of paper trail.

Especially since Steve was stuck scrolling through all the archived newspapers instead of finishing some homework that he left for the last minute. In the quiet school library, hidden away in a secluded corner, Steve delved into his own investigation. Desperately needing to understand why he was having these strange vis--

"Boo!" Sharon whispered in Steve's ear, poking Steve's sides.

Nearly jumping entirely out of his skin at the surprise, Steve held his chest as he looked over at Sharon with wide eyes while trying to catch his breath. Sharon held her hands up in surrender, but she was also trying not to laugh at pulling one over on Steve.

Removing his glasses, Steve rubbed at his tired eyes and deadpanned, "I guess, ya got me."

"Yeah, I did," Sharon giggled and pulled up a chair beside him. Gesturing towards the computer screen, Sharon curiously asked, "What cha up to, Rogers? Shit, I didn't forget a history project, did I?"

"Nah," Steve reassured. Hoping that she hadn't looked too deeply into the newspaper clippings that were currently on the screen, Steve casually closed the tabs, "Just… bored."

"Bored?" Sharon quirked a brow and watched as Steve logged off the school computer. Steve nodded, but Sharon didn't seem too convinced. For a moment, Steve attempted to think up an excuse, but stopped when Sharon laughed and teased, "You sure do have some funny hobbies."

"I'm sorry, but who crochets different hats for their friends' cats?" Steve snarked with a quirked brow and a good-humored smirk.

"Shh," Sharon replied, trying to hold off her own giggles as she playfully held her hand over Steve's mouth to stop him from talking.

Childishly, Steve licked Sharon's palm and earned a squealed, "Ew," from the tall blonde. Standing from the computer table, Sharon wiped her hand on her jeans while Steve slung his backpack over his shoulder. Pushing in his chair, Steve started following Sharon out of the library, just in time for the bell to ring, ending their free hour.

As the pair walked down the hallway, Steve became increasingly aware that Sharon was looking at him. A bit hesitantly, Steve glanced out the corner of his eye at the other blonde, still not entirely convinced that she had been looking at him. For a moment, convinced that he was just paranoid. Of course, that changed when Steve's observation was correct. Sharon was watching him. With a funny crinkle to her brows, she studied Steve unabashedly.

"You okay?" Sharon finally questioned, breaking the silence like a spell.

"Of course," Steve lied, nervous giggling being an easy tell.

Sharon pursed her lips like she was trying to decide if she should say something. That was one thing that Steve both appreciated and loathed about Sharon. Sharon was considerate. Thoughtful in the way she spoke. Most times, it was a relief to be friends with someone who knew when not to say something. Other times, when she decided against speaking her mind, it made Steve anxious. Made him worry that whatever Sharon was thinking would be harsh. Harsh, and right.

Wincing with his own decision, Steve decided, "Just say it."

After all, if Uncle Loki had his way, Steve wouldn't be spending very much time with his mortal comrades. So, Steve thought it'd be best to have what they thought about him out in the open. Air out all their grievances before he disappeared to a prestigious art preparatory.

"Nothing," Sharon started, casually opening her locker. With a shrug, she added, "Just seems like you're stressed lately."

Preparing for an argument, Steve felt the words on his tongue. Tasting the bitterness of his own lies as he took in a breath to steady his voice. Before he could say anything though, a mischievous glint sparkled in Sharon's eyes while an impish smirk tugged at her lips, "Especially with this being Stevie-palooza!"

"Oh god," Steve groaned and brought his hand to his forehead, as though the width of his hand could cover his whole face. As though it could hide his embarrassment. Which, it couldn't. The only thing that could do that was if the ground opened up and swallowed him whole. But that wasn't very likely either.

"Oh, c'mon," Sharon playfully pleaded.

Steve peeked through the gaps of his fingers and watched as Sharon pulled out the dreaded gaudy Stevie-palooza pin-on birthday ribbon. The custom made badge was made with different Halloween ribbons that had been found with Great Aunt Peggy's things. Wired black ribbon spotted with orange polka-dots. Beige printed wraps with yellow eyes peeking out from between a mummy's bandages. Decaying green with oozing brains and bones poking out from severed arms. Sheer white webbing with realistic black spiders that occasionally spooked their classmates if they hadn't been paying attention. All of them having been weaved and glued into something for Steve to wear.

"No," Steve backed away with his hands raised to keep Sharon at bay.

"Steven," Sharon attempted to be firm, but found herself giggling as she held it out towards Steve. Switching up her tactic, she teasingly pouted, "It's Stevie-palooza!"

When that didn't seem to work though, Sharon reminded, "We all wear ours."

And it was true. Sam, Bucky, Sharon, and Steve all celebrated their birthdays as week-long extravaganzas. Each had a personal, ridiculously crafted corsage for their own paloozas. It was a thing that they did for each other. Proudly proclaiming their births and feeling damn special for at least one week out of the year.

It had started back when Sharon felt uneasy with people teasing her about being born on the 13th. She hated being called bad luck when her birthday fell on a Friday, so the rest of the group decided to celebrate for a full week. That way, people wouldn't tease her so much. Also, the guys just thought that Sharon deserved to be appreciated just a little bit more.

It also benefited Steve too, considering everyone called him Hell-spawn for being born on Halloween. But it started with Sharon. From then, it became another thing that they did. One of their many traditions that was as easily ingrained in them as their own families' traditions.

Suddenly, sadness started seeping into Steve. How many more paloozas would he have? How many more traditions could he indulge in? How much time left did he have to be surrounded by the love of his friends?

Sharon's hand holding the frilly birthday badge dropped and her brows furrowed as she read Steve's expression like a book. Concerned now, Sharon confirmed, "You don't have to wear it if you don't want to."

Mutely, Steve shook his head. With their deadline ever approaching, Steve took the corsage in his hand and carefully pinned it to his black t-shirt. The damned thing nearly covered his whole slender chest and the tasseled ribbons at the bottom fell the length of his short torso. But he didn't care how ridiculous he probably looked.

Instead, he puffed out his chest, trying to take up more space and dramatically demanded, "Worship me!"

"Don't I always?" Bucky chuckled as he came up behind Steve, smacking a kiss to the side of his face while his arms securely snaked themselves around his petite frame.

Sharon rolled her eyes at Bucky's public display of affection and tossed a wadded up piece of paper at them. Before either Steve or Bucky could retaliate, Sam came up behind Sharon and playfully poked her sides, causing her to squirm away. As she looked behind herself to find a chuckling Sam, Sharon swatted at him and scolded him with a, "You tryin' to give me a heart attack, Wilson?" Which made the boys laugh even more.

Standing there in the noisy hallway, wearing a hideous ribbon on his frame, Steve eased into Bucky's grasp. Placing his hands on top of Bucky's, Steve laced their fingers and rested his head on Bucky's chest. Affectionately, Bucky dipped down and pressed a sweet kiss to the top of Steve's head. He knew that he would give up every last ounce of magic to stay there with his friends forever.

Until, of course, he spotted the same bleeding woman from his nightmares staring at him from across the hall.

[thetourguidebarbie]

What about Klaroline with Klaus being jealous of Caroline's close friendship with Enzo. it doesn't have to end in smut but im fine if it your choice.

Emergency fluff for one of my favorite people. @chica-cherry-lola has been reminding me for months that I promised her a mini-sequel to A Guilty Pleasure, my tattoo artist/florist au I wrote for @lalainajanes a bajillion years ago for a v-day exchange. Thank you to @garglyswoof for looking over this quickly.

This has smut in the beginning and is teeth-rottingly fluffy, so if that’s not your thing, I’d skip it. Bookshop AU will be posted once I get the edits in (sorry you’re getting a false alarm, Laine).

His chest was pressed against her back as his tongue traced a trail along her collarbone, the combination of it with his fingers curling against her walls bringing her just to the edge, but unable to tip over. Her eyes closed as he pressed soft kisses to the back of her neck, legs shaking as he brushed his fingers over her clit. “You’re so lovely,” he whispered, nipping her shoulder. “I do enjoy the sounds you make for me.”

She moaned softly in response as he pinched her clit lightly with his thumb and forefinger, her moan turning into a muttered string of expletives as she came, and she felt his stubble scratch against her skin as he smiled. She was breathing hard as she turned on her back to look at him, her lips parting slightly as she realized he was sucking her arousal off his fingers. He bent to kiss her once he was done, his palm steady on her hip, his tongue brushing across the seam of her lips. She moaned softly as he dragged his teeth across her shoulder and moved down to press kisses down to the valley between her breasts, flicking his tongue against her nipple before moving down her ribcage.

“I have a question, sweetheart,” he said, his voice muffled as his lips moved across her skin, and she arched her back as his tongue traced the flowered vine inked on her ribs.

“What?”

“What’s this tattoo from?”

She laughed. “It’s me and Enzo’s twinsies tattoo.”

Klaus froze mid-lick, pushing himself up so that he was looming over her. “Beg pardon, sweetheart?”

“A twinsies tattoo? You know, like when you and your best friend get matching tattoos to indicate that you will, in fact, be ‘best friends forever’?” Caroline said teasingly, making air quotes.

He stared at her with a look of what she considered completely unwarranted revulsion. “You and Enzo have matching tattoos?” he asked slowly, starting to withdraw his hand, clearly intent on getting an explanation. She grabbed his wrist, her eyebrows raised before groaning when she realized that he wanted the whole story before she’d get her next orgasm.

“Yeah. We were in our second year of college and Enzo and I were taking this really boring history class. It was basically impossible to study because the Professor’s study guides didn’t actually match what was on the tests or quizzes, which should totally be illegal. Anyway, the point is that it was finals week and we both knew that what ended up on the test was completely random, so we made a dumb bet that whoever scored higher could pick a tattoo for the other one. Just so you know, talking about my basically-brother-best-friend is not keeping me turned on.”

“And he won?”

“Nope, I did! I just got the same one in solidarity. I tried to talk Bonnie into it too but she said that couples tattoos were always a mistake no matter what. I thought it was kind of romantic, but she’s annoyingly practical.”

“Romantic, hmm?” he asked, and she narrowed her eyes as she watched the gears turn in his mind.

“Klaus...” she groaned, half out of exasperation and half because she wanted him to start moving again.

He bent and ran his nose along the curve of her neck. “I did tell you that I liked the idea of leaving a mark on someone’s body with my art. You even more.”

“I don’t know,” she said, the last word turning into a breathless ‘oh’ as he slipped two fingers back inside of her, her back arching. “I think you just don’t like that another guy and I have matching tattoos.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed, his fingertip tracing her hipbone before he bent to kiss her again.

“You’re such a jealous weirdo,” Caroline muttered between kisses, though there was no bite to her tone.

“You like it,” he whispered, nipping her ear and curling his fingers against her g-spot, making her gasp.

“In small doses,” she managed to pant out.

“You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy it, love. I feel that shiver run down your body when I press my hand against the small of your back as we walk, hear the way your breath catches when I tell you that you belong to me.”

“Klaus...”

“Try to deny it then,” he murmured. “Tell me you’re not mine, Caroline. Try.”

“Klaus,” she said, a tinge of warning coloring her tone.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You’re a smug jerk,” she muttered, her face half buried in his chest. She could feel his chest rumble against her cheek as he chuckled, curling his fingers against her walls, his other hand slipping between the cheeks of her ass, making her squeak in surprise.

“All right?”

“Fuck,” she hissed, unable to decide between riding his fingers or pressing against where he was touching her back entrance, her breathing growing shallow. “It’s good,” she managed.

“I’d like to take your pretty arse with my cock later,” he said quietly, pinching her ass before letting his hand travel down the back of her thigh, the drag of nails against her skin deep enough that he’d most likely leave a mark.

“After we unpack,” she said, taking a deep stuttering breath when Klaus pushed the tip of his finger into her back entrance as he nibbled at her neck and stroked her clit, the sensations almost too much for her to handle. She heard him hum against her skin when she came, clearly pleased, pulling back to look at her and brushing a damp curl from her face with his nose to press a kiss to her temple.

“I like you here.”

“Well, that’s good since I’ll be here every night for the foreseeable future,” she teased, sliding her arms around his shoulders to rub a curl between her fingers, the other hand tracing the lines of the triangle inked on his back. “But as comfortable as our bed is, I still have a lot of closet-invading and counterspace-stealing to do.”

“It’s not invading or stealing if it’s yours,” he pointed out, letting her go reluctantly as she wriggled out from under him and slid out of bed, reaching for the jeans she’d managed to half pull on before Klaus had coaxed her out of them earlier that morning. She looked over her shoulder to see him eyeing her hungrily and grinned.

“How am I supposed to concentrate knowing that you’re wearing nothing under those?”

“Like you always do,” she said unsympathetically. “I have full faith in your ability to get up and walk the ten feet to the shower without jumping me.”

He huffed grumpily in a way that probably shouldn’t have been endearing. “Later, I promise,” she repeated. “Seriously though. Get in the shower now so I can send you on a coffee mission when you get out.”

“So bossy,” he murmured, sitting up and stretching. She found herself tempted to throw out her unpacking plans and crawl back into bed to run her tongue down his abs, but at this point she’d committed to her non-sex Sunday agenda and she was too stubborn to admit defeat.

“Is that a problem?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, adjusting her bra and reaching for her blouse.

“Hot in small doses, as you’d say,” he teased, pushing the covers off and running his hand through his hair. She drank him in shamelessly, smiling when he pressed a light kiss to her temple as he walked past her to their master bathroom, his hand lingering on the vine on her ribs for a moment too long, thumb brushing along one of the leaves.

She took a shaky breath, glancing at the door as it closed behind him. Her skin was still burning from his touch, her heart pounding in her chest. They’d been together for almost a year now, counting the time she’d spent in denial pretending they were friends with benefits, and he still made her pulse race on a daily basis, made her feel wanted and beautiful and powerful.

She’d spent way too much time at the beginning worrying that his feelings for her would fade and the only thing to linger would be physical chemistry. She’d been embarrassingly obvious and he’d noticed, but instead of brushing her insecurities off with pretty words, he’d reassured her with every affectionate touch and warm smile that he wanted a connection with her that was more than physical.

Honestly, she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

She traced the swallow on her wrist that she’d gotten the week of her eighteenth birthday absently as she considered his words from earlier.

I like the idea of leaving my mark on someone’s body with my art. You even more.

She wondered if she should be scared that she liked the idea too.

“What do you want to do next week?” Caroline asked, sinking down on the couch and pressing her cheek against his shoulder, glancing at his sketchpad. He inhaled her scent, the subtle floral shampoo that now clung to his pillows on nights when he wasn’t even dreaming. It had been two months since she’d moved in and he hadn’t yet been able to get out of the habit of pulling her closer in the mornings before she woke just to savor the feel of her against him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever shake away the constant wonder that she’d chosen to stay.

“Ooh, that’s pretty,” she said, shifting so that she could get a better look without impeding his drawing hand.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, twirling the pencil between his fingers before adding more shading to the dragon’s wing.

“For a client,” he said, frowning as he inspected his work. “I think it needs something else. Been redrawing it for a few hours now, but it never looks quite right.”

“Do you need a few minutes then? For your muse to visit, or whatever?”

“Don’t be silly, love. My muse happens to be sitting right beside me.”

“You are a cheeseball,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “But seriously. Next week?’

“For our anniversary? I have plenty of ideas for all the things I’ll do to you,” he said, giving her a wicked smirk and taking a bit too much satisfaction in the flush that crept up her cheeks.

“Klaus!”

He could tell that she wasn’t actually annoyed with him, her exasperation more fond than anything else, though from the way she was shifting against him he could tell that she had something she was holding back.

“Do you have any preferences?” he asked, studying her face for any hint of her feelings, and he recognized the tilt of her chin as her mentally prepping herself to say something she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to spit out.

“I was thinking we could go to the shop.”

“For a private romantic dinner?” he asked, already planning at least ten different things they could do with her stockroom table.

She swallowed. “Yours, actually.”

“Mine?” he asked, not quite daring to believe what she was implying.

“I want you to give me a tattoo,” she said. “If you want to.”

“What do you want?” he asked immediately, reaching for his sketchbook and eagerly flipping to a new page. “Anything specific?”

“I want something symbolic.”

“The flower?” he offered, only half-joking, already trying to remember the exact slant of its petals.

“No. I want...I mean, I wanted to do something about the second I realized that I actually had feelings-feelings for you as opposed to sex-only-feelings, but that moment didn’t really have any symbolic objects that I’d feel comfortable having on my body permanently.”

“When was it?” he asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.

She blushed, unable to meet his eyes. “It was the night when we had the fight before we got together.”

“When you walked out on me?” he asked, not particularly wanting to open old wounds but needing to clarify.

She winced. “It wasn’t my proudest moment, okay? It just kind of hit me all at once, you know? I was like, in hardcore denial, and you put your arms around me and told me to stay and...” she trailed off, tangling her fingers with his and giving him a small smile. “I wanted to, and I was worried that you were just like, being polite—“

She glared at him when he was unable to restrain a laugh, setting down his pencil. “Caroline, when have I ever been polite to anyone out of obligation?”

“Well I didn’t know that then,” she said grumpily. “I mean, I did, but again, denial.”

“Right.”

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“What was your moment?”

He didn’t even have to think about it, his lips curling into a smile as he told her how beautiful she’d looked bent over her terrarium diagram in the coffee shop. How he’d watched her hands as she shaded the sketch carefully, admired the way her teeth sank into her lower lip as she concentrated. “I knew I’d enjoyed talking to you,” he explained, smiling at Caroline’s raised eyebrow. “But that moment...I was curious about you. Your story, your hopes and goals. I wanted to get to know you. I couldn’t resist.”

“That’s so cute,” she said, grinning at the face he pulled at the word. “Sorry. You’re just much more romantic than me.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” he said, tugging one of her curls between his fingers. “In any case, perhaps you don’t want a tattoo of the experimental flower Bonnie gave you, but there are other options. Chrysanthemums?”

She groaned. “My least favorite flowers that I refused to sell you so that you wouldn’t poison your sister’s boyfriend? I’d rather have the sex plant.”

“Do you still have the sketch?”

She frowned. “From the coffee shop?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. I’m sure I still have it,” Caroline said, moving off the couch and walking to the section of the bookshelf where she kept all her original sketches for her terrarium and bouquet ideas. She pulled out the one labeled ‘succulents’ and flipped through it, sliding a piece of heavy paper out of a page protector and scanning it thoughtfully before handing it to him.

“This one?”

He nodded, taking it and running the tip of his finger along the outline. “I want this here, I think,” he said, gesturing to the left side of his ribcage. “And I’ll get it in color, but I can make it subtler for you if you like. Just the outline or shadow...”

“Matching tattoos?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

“You said they were romantic,” he pointed out, and she nodded, leaning against his side and inspecting the sketch.

“I like it,” she said. “Even if it feels a little weird to have a tattoo of something I drew.”

“I can always sketch you something, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

“I think I want the orchid,” she said after thinking it over for a few seconds. “But in a purple or a blue. The real-life pink was really loud.”

“That can be arranged,” he murmured, already sketching the outline. “Where do you want it?”

“Same place as yours.”

“Doing it over bones is the most painful area,” he warned slowly, glancing at her, and she smiled, pecking him on the lips.

“It’ll heal, and I totally look forward to your inevitable weird obsession with licking it.”

“Is that another thing you’ll only tolerate in small doses?”

“No. Tattoo-licking is highly encouraged,” she said, her tone and expression so serious that if he hadn’t known her well he would have missed that she was trying desperately not to laugh.

“Noted, sweetheart.”

“Good,” she said, curling with her feet underneath her to peek over his shoulder at the orchid he was carefully outlining. “I love you, you know. A lot.”

“And I, you,” he said quietly

He didn’t need to look at her to know she was giving him the bright smile that she seemed to reserve for moments like this, when they were close and comfortable. He could see it in his mind’s eye, could have easily sketched it from memory.

He couldn’t resist looking anyway.

[yuhenglesbian]

Three Year Charm?

Pairing: Zhu Zhengting x Reader

Requested by: @august-angel0802

Prompt: “Zhengting misunderstands your brother as another boy you’re cheating on him with”

Genre: Angst with happy ending

Word Count: 3,498 

A/N: I haven’t written anything this long in my entire career rip. I broke like 2 entire personal records– crossing both 2k and 3k words. I hope it’s worth it though and that you’ll like it. It’s very different from the sort of stuff I usually write so idk if it’s up to the mark but I’m hoping I won’t disappoint you. If I do, feel free to drop into my asks again and let me know. I’ll try a make up fic. 

It was almost 3 AM when your phone rang signalling a text. Unsurprisingly it was from Zhengting, stating the usual– don’t stay up waiting for him, he was going to be late because he had to practice. You sigh, keeping the phone down not bothering with a reply– completely used to this pattern of texts– and returned to the set of calculus problems that you’d been working on.

You wonder if he even remembers that today is supposed to be your three-year anniversary. You’d been dropping hints since the beginning of last week even going as far as to ask him to free himself for tonight so that the two of you could go on a date.

“You know,” he’d smiled, “you don’t have try so hard. I remember it’s our anniversary– seriously Y/N, what do you take me for?”

You’d blushed, embarrassed at being caught. “I just wanted to make sure,” you’d said cheekily as he pressed a kiss on your temple.

“I love you too much to forget dates that important, don’t worry. I’ll be free all evening for you.”

You couldn’t help feel a little angry and hurt at the memory. Love me too much, yeah right, you thought bitterly. You’d been looking forward to spending the evening with him– both of you had been extremely stressed with finals, overworking yourselves to the edge because your overachieving needs demanded it. Especially with the minor courses on calculus that you were beginning to hate yourself for taking with your history major and his dance evaluations coming up by the end of next week; the two of you hardly saw each other even though you lived in the same flat. You understood his side, you really did– you’d been together since the end of high school and you knew how much dance meant to him once he discovered his interest in and passion for it– but you couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that he hadn’t made it and had clearly forgotten about your anniversary.

Annoyed, you slammed your pencil on the desk, giving up on both the sums as well as the thoughts you were having. “I’ve done too much calc,” you huffed. “There’s no other explanation for this sort of thinking.”

Deciding you needed a break from all the emotions and all the math you’d been doing, you decided to go for a walk and maybe– hopefully– get some ice cream and celebrate all the syllabus you’d managed cover today (and distract yourself from the reality that your boyfriend had, in reality, stood you up on your anniversary).

***

The decision is how Lin Chaoze found you at the ice cream parlour near the dance studio at 4 AM on a Friday night/Saturday morning while he was returning from a party with his friends.

It had been Yanjun who’d pointed you out to him. “Isn’t that Y/N?” he asked Chaoze. “Why is she alone at 4 AM? Didn’t you say she’s dating Zhengting– how come he isn’t with her? The two of them are almost always stuck together at the waist.”

Chaoze frowns. It is strange for you to be alone without any company– you liked company on 4 AM adventures– he would know, he’d spend a lot of high school nights going out to get ice cream with you until you’d finally met Zhengting, who’d ultimately replaced him. It was even more strange since it was your anniversary as you’d excitedly told him over the phone earlier this week when he’d asked if you were free to the aforementioned party with him.

“I’ll go check on her and drop her home,” he tells them. “You guys go on ahead.”

“How’s my favourite sister doing?” he said by way of greeting, coming up to you. “Didn’t you have an anniversary date with lover boy?”

You looked up from your phone and smiled at him before your expression turned sour at the hinted mention of Zhengting and your anniversary– clearly ice cream hadn’t helped. “He forgot about it,” you tell Chaoze matter-of-factly.

“Oof,” Chaoze winces, the evident hurt doesn’t go unmissed even with your simple reply. “That’s tough. He didn’t strike me as the type– he’s never done it before.”

“He hasn’t,” you agree, “but there’s always a first time isn’t it?”

Chaoze moves ahead to hug you and you smile grateful for the company. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “He’s probably just too busy with the upcoming evaluation showcase– you know how he is.”

“I do,” Chaoze smiles. “And not because you’ve introduced us,” he adds pointedly, “but because we’re in the same major class.”

Despite yourself, you smile for the first time in the night. “I will after these finals. Can’t have him not knowing my favourite cousin forever, can I?”

“Definitely not,” he says, laughing. “He needs to still get my written approval for dating my baby sister– he only has a verbal approval so far because he makes you happy.”

You smile as he orders an ice cream and the two of you begin on a much-needed catch up session because you hardly saw Chaoze anymore even though both of you had enrolled into the same university with full plans of spending time together like you did back in school.

***

It’s at around 5 AM that Zhengting and his evaluation team are finally done with practice. He’s absolutely exhausted but the thought of finally seeing you after such a long day is what keeps him going.

“Thank you for staying so long with us, ge,” Quanzhe, one of the first years on his team, tells him. “We’re so sorry we kept you this late.”

Zhengting smiles at the younger boy. “It’s fine, I’m glad I could help,” he says. Truth be told, he would have liked to have to returned home to you and spend it with you– he hadn’t forgotten it was your anniversary; the small wrapped gift box in his bag– stowed away safely in a corner– was proof of that.

“I wonder if it’s fine with Y/N though,” Chengcheng says, teasingly. “She seemed so sure you’d forget.”

“She’ll understand,” Zhengting says, even though he isn’t completely sure– he knows much anniversaries and birthdays and other special days mean to you but he’s hoping that how fond you are of Quanzhe and how understanding you are will win out just this once.

“Speaking of Y/N,” Justin says, stopping suddenly, “isn’t that her? Is she with someone else?”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N is not going to be out at 5 AM, she has a morning lecture tomorrow,” Zhengting says, frowning slightly.

“But ge, it definitely looks like her,” Quanzhe says, looking in the same direction as Justin.

This time, Zhengting looks more carefully and sure enough– it is you. Walking back with… Chaoze? Lin Chaoze from his dance classes– he hadn’t known the two of you knew each other which was strange because he knew almost all your close friends and guessing from the ease at which he reached out to pat your head, he was a close friend. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous at how happy you looked with Chaoze even as his heart dropped a little– it was supposed to be your anniversary; why were you out with some other guy? So late in the night.

“‘Ting ge?” Chengcheng asked softly, accurately sensing the doubts Zhengting was developing in his mind.

Zhengting smiled. “I’m sure she has a proper reason for this,” he said. Even though he could only wonder what sort of reason warranted you go going out with a different secret boy friend so late in the night.

***

The next two weeks passed in a blur. You and Zhengting hardly saw each other. You’d spend most of your time in the library studying while he spent it either at home or in the dance studio. The only communication you two seemed to have was the exchange of greetings when you met each other– which was very rare even for finals week; it was almost as if he was deliberately avoiding you.

It was driving you up the roof. Zhengting was a very affectionate boyfriend and your relationship was built on mutual communication and it suddenly seemed to be absent and you didn’t know what it could possibly be because it was not just Zhengting but his entire dance squad who seemed to be avoiding you. Last week, you’d tried to start conversation with Cheng Xiao and Fan Chengcheng in the campus cafeteria  and they’d completely ignored you.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t hurt by the sudden cold treatment Zhengting and his team had started giving you. In retaliation to the sadness you felt, you’d started spending more time with your cousin Chaoze and his friends who seemed more than happy to have you as a part of their circle– something you were extremely grateful for. The closeness to them made Zhengting extremely annoyed and hurt him in return but his pride prevented him from talking to you.

“She’s the one who should approach me because she’s the one who’s cheating,” he’d told Wenjun when the latter had tried to convince him to confront you once.

And you had tried. Except when you asked him if something was the matter, Zhengting had given a strange smile and said– “it’s all okay, don’t worry” and gone back giving you the silent treatment.

***

It was the evening of the final day of the finals week, which meant you were at the hall where the dance majors from all years were going to have their combined evaluation showcase. Truth be told, you had zero intentions of attending– each year since you’d started at the university, you’d attended the showcase, sitting in the front rows cheering for your boyfriend– the same boyfriend who, this year, hadn’t even asked you to come watch him perform like he usually did. When you’d asked him about the showcase, he’d only hummed a response– not even bothering with a proper answer.

You were attending only because Chaoze and his friends had insisted. “You have to Y/N!” Dinghao had said and you’d found it very hard to say no to him while he was being so damn cute.

“Fine,” you huffed. “But only because Dinghao is cute.” “And because you need to talk to your lover boy after the whole thing,” Yanjun had added, looking at you pointedly. “I don’t know his deal but he’s beginning to annoy me with his attitude towards you. Weren’t you guys soo in love.”

You guys were– or at least you still were. You weren’t so sure about Zhengting anymore; the last time he’d shown his love for you felt like ages ago– you almost couldn’t remember what it felt like to be in his embrace anymore– fuck that, sometimes you felt like you couldn’t even remember his voice.

***

It was at the end of the evening that you found yourself backstage, smiling widely and congratulating Chaoze and his dance crew– which was huge compared to Zhengting’s– on their amazing performance.

“I didn’t know you guys could harmonise like that,” you gushed, completely bowled over at their performance. “How did you even hit those notes, Zhangjing? Like wow I’m–”

Zhangjing blushed and grinned a proud ‘thank you’ at the compliment. “My major’s Music, actually,” he said, grinning. “So is Dinghao’s.”

The banter went on for a while– mostly you complimenting the boys– until you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around to see Chengcheng.

“Oh hey,” you said, your stomach dropping at the sight of him– it had been a long awakward time since you’d spoken to any of Zhengting’s friends and you couldn’t help but feel a little wary of what could have caused him to approach you.

Chengcheng could sense your wariness as easily as anyone near you could, he tried a smile. “Hey, Y/N,” he said. “Long time.”

And you could feel the anger burst out of you at his words but you controlled the urge to shout–knowing full well that causing a scene would be bad for both of you. “Yeah,” you said, calmly, “long time.”

“Zhengting says he wants to talk to you,” Chengcheng tells you. “He’s waiting just outside– he said it won’t take much time.”

Your eyes went wide at the message– not just because this was the first time in a long time that Zhengting seemed to want to talk to you. You turned to look at Chaoze almost as a reflex– too used to relying on your (few months) older brother– who smiled at you encouragingly, evidently glad at the chance for you and Zhengting to resolve all your issues.

“Sure,” you tell Chengcheng. “I’ll come with you.” ***

“Let’s break up,” Zhengting tells you once the both of you are alone.

You stare at him for a while– unable to  process the implications of his words. Once they do, however, the tears find an outlet before you can find words and it breaks Zhengting’s heart watching you cry– he wants so much to pull you into his arms and wipe your tears away. “Please don’t cry, Y/N,” is the only thing he says, his own voice cracking. “You know I hate seeing you cry. Please don’t cry.”

You look at him and take in a shaky breath. “At least– at least tell me why you want to break up,” you say. “I think I deserve to know as much.”

And you see him bite his lip, hesistating. “Is there even a reason?” you ask him, bitterness seeping in. “Or are you just bored of me?”

He looks at you shocked. “Wh- what do you mean?”

“You’ve ignored me all month, Zhengting,” you snap, tears streaming down your face. “All fucking month. You even forgot our anniversary. You don’t even bother to acknowledge me when we’re in class together. Hell, you don’t even acknowledge me when we’re at home– we live together for fuck’s sake.” “I–” “And your friends– they literally do the same and Fan Chengcheng still had the nerve to say “long time” to me– like I didn’t try to talk to him in the canteen last week and he didn’t act like he couldn’t hear me. Am I some sort of joke to you guys now? You want to break up with me because suddenly you’re too good to even acknowledge me?”

You’re shaking at the end of your outburst– the pain and hurt of it is all out of you and you pretty much lose energy after it’s gone and sink to the floor sobbing. “I’d never be tired of you,” Zhengting says, quietly, “and I never forgot our anniversary. I wanted to come back to you and take you out for dinner but Quanzhe needed some help. What do you care anyway? You went out with Lin Chaoze anyway– must be nice to have a backup boyfriend when the other can’t make it.” You look up at him, incredulously. “You think I cheated on you?” you scoff, getting up from the floor. “Good to know how much you trust me, Zhengting. Goodbye.”

With that you walk right past him, not even bothering to deny the false accusations. ***

It takes Lin Chaoze exactly three weeks of you being cooped up and weeping like a haunting spirit–  those are his exact words–  before he is tired enough to decide to talk to Zhu Zhengting.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” Chaoze tells you when he gets you your tenth or so tub of ice cream from the store. “I’ve had it with you crying–  what sort of dickhead makes my sister cry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, digging into the aforementioned bowl of ice cream. “He doesn’t deserve it.” “No it’s not okay,” Chaoze says. “I’m going to fix this. I’ve had it with buying you ice cream.” You laugh. “That’s the real reason.” “Of course it is,” he replies. With that, he walks out of the dorm.

***

The changes in Zhengting are too obvious for even Chaoze, who barely knows him. If he wasn’t so pissed at Zhengting for breaking your heart he’d give the boy the benefit of the doubt and say it was because he loved you enough to feel this affected–  which is definitely the case but he’s in no mood to acknowledge it.

“What do you want?” Zhengting asks Chaoze, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Who do you think you are hurting Y/N like that?” Chaoze asks. “She’s been crying in my apartment all week. It’s getting tiring.”

Chaoze’s words seem to trigger Zhengting’s emotions because Chaoze can see the anger reflected clearly in Zhengting’s eyes. “Of course she’s crying in your apartment,” he says bitterly. “What else would I expect?”

“Of course she is,” Chaoze agrees. “I mean, I am her brother, after all,” he adds quickly, when he notices Zhengting about to say something.

Zhengting can feel his words dying inside his mouth, right along with his anger. “You’re her what?”

“Brother,” Chaoze says, slowly as if he’s talking to a child. “Cousin but we’ve practically been raised together. You thought she’s cheating on you with her own brother.”

“She never mentioned…”

“She doesn’t introduce people to family easily,” Chaoze tells him. “But I’ve heard a lot about you– God, you’re like all I’ve heard of for the past three years–  it’s kind of annoying.” Zhengting doesn’t say anything–  doesn’t have anything to say–  so Chaoze continues. “She’s so disgustingly in love with you, it makes me want to throw up rainbows. So I don’t know what gave you the idea that she was cheating on you but if you don’t go and make it up to her right now, I swear I’ll punch you.” “I’m sorry,” Zhengting manages after a few moments. “I didn’t know–  I didn’t… I should have just talked to her instead of assuming.” Chaoze holds up a hand. “Save the apologies for her. She’s staying in my apartment–  the one where the first party of the year took place; I’m sure you’ll know the place.”

“I do. Thank you.”

*** When you woke up from your nap to incessant knocking at Chaoze’s flat door, you expected either the owner of the house or one or some of his friends or maybe some salesman or pretty much anything but Zhengting who pulled you into a hug the minute you opened the door.

The familiarity of the embrace makes you burst into tears as you hug him back like a reflex action and bury your face in his chest. “Oh god, Y/N, don’t cry,” he says, rubbing your back gently and planting kisses on our forehead and cheeks. “Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry.”

He says that a lot for the next few minutes as the both of you stand outside Chaoze’s apartment– he’s all gentle kisses and apologies until you finally pull away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough,” he says, sincerely. “I should have–  Wenjun even said I should but I was so convinced that it was what I thought it was, I didn’t even bother and just ignored you.” “That hurt me,” you tell him, honestly. “We promised to talk everything out in the beginning of this relationship.”

“I’m sorry. My pride got to me.”

“I’m sorry too– I could have pushed it,” you apologise. “I could have explained things instead of walking away that night.” “Wow, the douche is at Chaoze’s place.” The both of you jump, your hands automatically finding his to hold for reassurance, at Yanjun’s voice.

“Why are you here after making our dear Y/N cry all week?” Yanjun asks, looking at Zhengting– contrary to how seriously he asks the question, his eyes are literally glowing with mischief which means Chaoze has already filled him in on the current situation

“I came to meet my girlfriend because I missed her at home,” Zhengting replies, squeezing your hand gently when you look up at him. Yanjun grins. “Yeah right,” he says. “As if you’ve been home to do anything other than sleep in the past three weeks–  you practically live in the damned dance studio ever since the break-up. Y/N please take him home and make sure he gets some rest– all of the dance majors are worried even Professor Zhang asked me if he’s okay like I’d know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I should,” you agree, standing on your toes to kiss Zhengting on the cheek and feeling his growing stubble. “He’s starting to grow a disgusting beard.”

Zhengting grins happily at the kiss, letting go your hand to wrap it around your waist and pulling you closer. “I love you,” he says.

You smile. “I’ll say it back once you’ve gotten rid of the darned beard,” you reply, your voice teasing and he smiles.

“Well, let’s go then,” he says. “I miss hearing you tell me you love me.”

[puckyeah]

Gym Buddies || Puck + Evie

WHO: Naomi Puckerman & Evie Miller

WHERE: A gym

WHEN: Some time around early October (this took a while)

WHAT: Puck deals with frustration by punching things, and manages to spark some other frustrations in Evie while she does. Evie is kinda hot for Puck, is what I’m getting at.

EVIE

She’s minding her own business, she swears. Just... working on her fitness. That’s the plan, anyway. She’s taken the subway here straight from work, so as not to get distracted by the affectionate dog waiting for her at home. She’s pulled on her runners, and an outfit that earlier seemed fine enough but suddenly feels very – Shifting from one foot to the other, Evie tugs awkwardly at the baggy gym shorts and old warn out tee, the punch line to some science pun written across her chest with faded letters – very underdressed. Which usually isn’t a problem. She doesn’t come to the gym to impress people, it’s for the fitness, like she said. Except that today that’s not strictly true. Not the fitness bit, she’s still got every intention of following through with that. But between her and the treadmill she’s meant to be using, stands somebody she actually wouldn’t mind impressing… just a little bit. Puck (and that vein) in all her glory, presumably working out some aggression in the kind of slow-motion montage she swears are reserved for coming of age films – but here she is. Dressed like a teenage boy in PE class, gawking. She raises a hand, half to cover her face, half to physically stop herself from starring (and further embarrassing herself). Maybe she wouldn’t notice, she thought as she very slowly made her exit. But that wasn’t really what she wanted, was it? If she believed in things like God or luck, though, she might have thought they were on her side, because just as she was making her way past Puck a force (a person, probably, she’s not really paying attention) knocks her into Puck’s side, and well – if she did indeed want to be noticed, she certainly would be now. “I – sorry, was just –” she gestures vaguely in the direction of the, “treadmills.”

PUCK

She’s pissed off. She’s not being sensitive, like Santana said. She’s being a fucking normal person who gets pissed off when people are dicks. And she’s not talking about Santana and Mason and the rest of the ACup girls who’ve recently said (or implied) she has the depth of a puddle. She doesn’t love that, but they’re good people who can apologize or at least take a step back when someone tells them they’ve crossed the line. No, she’s pissed off about the cunt who called her a moron for all her friends to see (and, to be honest, about the lack of a response from any of them). And since she’s no longer in high school and she has a job in the NYPD she’d like to keep, beating her up is (sadly) not an option. So here she is. Punching a bag instead of her face.

It kind of helps.

And she’s resting for just a second before starting up again when someone bumps into her side, which kind of pisses her off again, to be honest. So she sort of glares when she turns around. “Hey, watch i-”

Oh.

She smiles immediately, relaxing her stance. “Miller, hey.” She pushes some flyaway hairs behind her ear, flexing her fingers because now that she’s stopped, she can feel her knuckles complain about her decision to skip the gloves. But that was kind of the point, so. “Didn’t know you worked out. What’s up?”

EVIE

Oh, great. She’s turning. She’s turning! Which is precisely what Evie was trying to avoid. She doesn’t know much about punching bags or using them to physically exert one’s aggression. She took a self-defence class back when she first moved to the city, but it never really stuck -- instead she carries mace and a whistle, but that’s not really the point, is it? No, the point is that while she may not be educated in the art of bag punching, she’s pretty sure it’s one of those thing people don’t much appreciate being disrupted during. Which is basically what she’s just done, even if it was accidental.

But Puck doesn’t scold her (much). No, in fact once she recognizes Evie she smiles. And it’s a nice smile. The kind that makes her insides melt and her heart rate increase just a little bit (are those her palms getting sweaty?). So, she does the only thing she can, she smiles back – wide (-er than usual) and just the tiniest bit sheepish for good measure. Because Puck’s her friend – her very sweaty and well-defined friend – and she really hadn’t meant to disrupt her.

She bites her lip, it’s not until a half-second later that she realizes that Puck’s talking to her and she’s meant to respond. “Pfft,” Evie waves a hand in mock offense, “Didn’t you? Then where did you think I got these guns?” She flexes an arm jokingly, and she knows it’s not the most impressive bicep but it doesn’t droop, so she thinks that’s something.

“I mainly hang out on the machines,” she admits. “They call me the elliptical queen.” They don’t, she doesn’t know why she said that, but she’s pretty sure her current relationship status as a lot to do with that impulse. She bites her lip again, eyeing her friend thoughtfully. “You all right?”

PUCK

Puck chuckles, gently poking at the offered bicep with one finger and cocking an eyebrow as if she was totally impressed. “Damn straight. I should’ve known.” Evie doesn’t have impressive guns, but she’s cute as fuck. And that reminds Puck of maybe part of the reason she’s here punching the fuck out of a bag with her gloves off. Madi was cute as fuck, too. But that was whatever, and this is whatever, too. Evie’s funny, so she makes an effort to laugh. Or, chuckle.

“Elliptical Queen, huh?” She makes a big show out of leaning to her side to take a nice good look at Evie’s ass. Not that she can see much of it in whatever the fuck she’s wearing, but you know. Puck has a very active imagination and a plentiful library of asses in her head to draw from. “Yeah, I can tell.” She nods, smirking. She knows Evie’s not interested, and she knows Evie knows she’s joking, so she plays up the ogling bit just for fun. And also so it’ll distract from Evie’s next question. “With an ass like that right there, Miller, who wouldn’t be all right? I’m just sayin’.”

EVIE

Evie giggles. A real proper giggle. Which is... uncharacteristic, she thinks. But here she is, giggling and rolling her eyes and using the hand of her proffered arm to nudge Puck’s shoulder just so. Because she can. Because it’s silly, this – Puck’s teasing. And if possible that makes the funny feeling in her chest feel… funnier.

Oh, she really hopes Puck couldn’t feel her sweaty palm through her shirt. She’s had enough embarrassment, thanks.

“You can’t even see my arse,” she accuses, brows raised pointedly. She knows. Her workout clothes are just unflattering enough to hide all her bits – pre-teen boy chic. “But it’s good,” probably, “Elliptical Queen and all.” She pauses, her face turning more serious. “You didn’t answer my question.” Now it’s her turn to poke, and she chooses Puck’s side (because those abs are something and she apparently lost her self control somewhere back there with her dignity).

“Tell you what, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…” she says, fingers teasingly tugging at the hem of her shirt as she wiggles her brows as Puck. She’s the one being silly now, Puck doesn’t want to see her ass. And even if she did, Evie’s sure she’s not about to trade her feelings for a glimpse at hers. But she’s not really trying to be convincing, is she? She’s trying to lighten the mood with humour, maybe ease some of whatever Puck is carrying on her shoulders.

PUCK

Puck cocks an eyebrow, somewhere between surprised and amused, when she hears that giggle coming from Evie. They’re friends, so it’s not like she hasn’t seen her laugh before, but she honestly didn’t think giggling was in her repertoire. Cute. Like the way she says ass with that British ‘r’ in there. Also cute. Her clothes, though? Not that cute. Not that she feels like anyone should look cute for the gym, to be honest, cause you come in here to sweat and lift and try not to slip on a puddle of someone else’s asscrack sweat, so really. Evie’s get-up is just fine.

But that doesn’t mean Puck isn’t gonna perk up at the suggestion of Evie shedding some clothes.

Or just... getting them out of the way.

“That’s not playin’ fair, Miller.” Puck winks, smirking. She’s not gonna open her heart up or whatever for a glimpse of a fully clothed ass (she wouldn’t open up even for a chance to have that ass on her face, to be honest, so there’s that), but she can play along. “I’ve got shit on my mind.” She shrugs and shows Evie one of her hands, using the other to point at the scraped knuckles. “Less shit than before I started punching that thing, so it’s all good.”

Is it? Not really. But it’s good enough, and honestly, she’s not gonna drop her metaphorical pants if Evie won’t do the same with her real ones. Fair’s fair.

“Now. About that deal...”

EVIE

Girl troubles, she wonders. Do serial one-night stand-ers have girl troubles? Every half-hour sitcom in history has lead her to believe they must have some. But before she gets a chance to ask – before she’s even had a chance to blush at the thought of following through with their ‘deal’ (honestly, it’s a joke, isn’t it? Why is she suddenly so concerned what Puck thinks about her ass anyway?) – Puck’s showing Evie her hand, and she finds she’s too concerned to be bothered with the rest.

Carefully, she reaches for Puck’s hand, cradling it between both of her own as she inspects her knuckles, red and scraped from the force with which Puck had been punching that bag. “Ouch,” she tsks, brows furrowing just so. Seems a bit reckless to her, risking potential injury to blow off some steam, but she gets it. Everyone’s got their own coping skills. And honestly, it’s not much worse than bottling things up, is it?

Evie frowns, “Must be some shit.” She turns her gaze to Puck, offering her a small smile. It’s only after a long moment that she realizes she’s still holding Puck’s hand. Probably a bit longer than necessary. So, she let’s her grasp go, cheeks warming just slightly. “I fix that up for you, if you like.”

PUCK

Puck watches Evie as she looks at her hand. It’s not a look she sees a lot. The one from before, when Evie looked like she wanted a side dish of Puck’s abs for dinner? Sure, she sees that every day. But not this one. There’s genuine concern in Evie’s eyes. Isn’t there a scene like this in Beauty and the Beast? Cause she feels like there is one, with Belle taking care of Beast’s paw or some shit. And listen, Puck is far from an ugly creature, but she can be kind of a beast, in the... destructive kind of way.

Where was she?

Right. Shit. In her head.

“Everyone’s got shit going on.” She shrugs again, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. Evie can keep it. She’s sure Evie’s got shit going on, too. Science shit, probably? She doesn’t know what smart people do. But Evie’s probably found a better way of dealing with her shit than punching bags and running laps around Central Park.

When Evie lets go of her hand and smiles, Puck can feel herself warming up. Not in a sexy way. She doesn’t wanna bone Evie. Well, she totally wants to bone Evie, but like, not right this second. It’s a different warmth. A friendly one, she figures? She likes it, whatever it is. “I thought you were a Science doctor, not a Medical one.” She winks, cause she knows you don’t really need to be an MD to take care of some battered knuckles. You don’t even need to take care of them at all, really - some ice works just fine. But she kinda wants Evie to take care of her. No reason. It’s just nice. “But I’ll trust you. You have a trustworthy person’s ass.”

EVIE

Puck’s got a point. About the shit in everyone’s head. Evie’s own head is not above shit. And just because she handles hers differently -- is throwing oneself into their work rather than their work-out really all that different? -- doesn’t make one pile of shit more or less concerning than the other. So, she decides she’ll let it go. For now. Puck is still her friend after all, and while she is right about the shit in everyone’s head... that doesn’t mean she’s not concerned about Puck and her specific pile of shit.

She really wants to stop saying shit in her head.

Besides, it’s very hard to focus on anything too serious when Puck’s teasing her, so she just sort of gives into it, smile growing. “Yes, well I am a woman of many talents.” And no, it’s not like bandaging up some scraped knuckles is all that difficult -- most mums could do it in a pinch -- but she’s good at it, she thinks. She’s got that gentle touch, and a small first aid kit in her bag in case of emergencies -- so for a science doctor, she’s pretty prepared.

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Evie slips her arm through Puck’s, gently guiding her back to the changerooms, with a cheeky, “I do, don’t I?” She’s not sure if that’s a good thing, but she’s got a pretty trustworthy face, so she assumes the ass would follow through. “Come on then, my subjects can wait,” she gestures towards the machines with a small wave to the machines just past them, “I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

PUCK

Puck lets Evie lead her towards the changing rooms without resistance. There are several teachers in her group of friends, but Evie - who isn’t actually one of them - gives off some serious teacherly vibes. She’s soft-spoken and gentle, but Puck has a feeling if she tried to escape without getting her knuckles taken care of, Evie would put her foot down and not take no for an answer. She can imagine her calling Puck ‘young lady’, and not in a kinky way.

“You could totally be a hot teacher. I’m just saying, if you ever wanna switch careers from the Science stuff.” Puck sits on one of the benches and lets Evie do whatever she needs to do. The sight of a little first-aid kit almost makes her laugh. But she doesn’t, because it’s not exactly funny. It’s... cute. Again. Yeah. So she just smirks, equal parts amused and charmed. “Is that in case you fall off an elyptical?”

EVIE

Evie smirks, fetching her first-aid kit from her locker before taking the spot next to Puck on the bench – legs straddled on either side. “One never knows when she might need to mend a scraped knee,” her eyebrow quirks, fingers digging through the contents of the kit to find the appropriate tools, “Or I suppose knuckles would be more apt.”

She lays out each item on the bench in front of her – a roll of gauze bandages, some medical tape, antiseptic wipes – nodding to herself, and once she’s confident she has everything she needs she reaches for Puck’s hand again. Holding the packet in her free hand, Evie uses her teeth to tear open the pack of wipes, dropping the garbage on the bench as she prepares to set to work.

Puck’s a pretty tough woman. If the gloveless punching wasn’t indication enough, her choice in career and general swag was enough to solidify that Puck was a total badass. But even badasses had nerve endings, and she’s pretty sure this might sting. So, she figures… she’ll distract her. With conversation.

“I am a teacher you know,” she says, voice light and airy, “Well I mean, I do teach some -- Introductory Engineering. You should come sometime, if you’re interested in seeing me in action,” her smile warm and slightly apologetic as she presses the wipe against her knuckles, cleaning the wounds. “It’s a good time. I often even wear clothing that properly fits so – much more glamorous than the queenly robes so you see now.”

PUCK

Puck watches Evie move around and prepare to work on her hand. She doesn’t normally get a chance to see any of her friends at work, so even if this isn’t really Evie’s job, it’s still fun to watch. Normally, she sees her drinking tea and talking to whoever is around. But now she gets to see her open packages and prep little bottles of this and that, and it’s pretty cool. She figures she looks even more focused in her actual lab. Is that where she works?

No. Apparently, Evie teaches. And Puck feels like she should get some credit for her observation skills, because she totally figured that shit out just from watching her. “Yeahh...” she trails off, frowning just so when she feels the slight sting of the wipe against her skin. It’s not exactly painful. It’s actually almost pleasant, in the same odd way beating up a punching bag feels calming to her. “I don’t know about that, Miller. Classrooms and I don’t really mix. Not very book smart.” She taps her temple with her free hand, and smirks, “Won’t say I’m not tempted, tho. Who doesn’t love a hot teacher fantasy come true?”

EVIE

“Fair enough,” and it is, as far as Evie’s concerned. There are thousands of kinds of smart – it’s all about find what works for you, she figures. “Classrooms aren’t for everyone.” Sometimes they aren’t really for her, either. Sometimes she much prefers the freedom of loose (questionable) clothing and physical activity.

“Mind you, I try to be very inclusive and accommodating – all about bringing STEM to the people,” she says proudly. “And I rather think I’d catch your attention on more than just the –er—fantasy aspect.” She’s not really sure she buys that the falls into the hot teacher fantasy. Not because she’s insecure, it just feels conceited claiming that title for herself. But like she said, Puck’s smart – maybe not with books, but with people, so she should probably trust her judgement.

Once the scrapes are cleaned, Evie moves onto bandaging, carefully wrapping the gauze around her knuckles, noticing only a moment too late that she hasn’t actually got scissors – note to self, buy tiny scissors – but she manages to tear the piece off the roll with a combination of brute (minimal) strength and determination.

Two pieces tape to hold the bandages in place and, “Almost there,” she smiles, leaning forward just so to gently brush her lips against the bandaged knuckles, “To make it heal faster.” That’s her reasoning. But if she’s honest she hadn’t really thought it through. It had been impulsive. Goodbye Hot Teacher fantasy – hello gran. Ah well, it was nice well it lasted. “There you are, right as rain.”

PUCK

“Maybe if you’d been my teacher I’d have graduated college.” To be fair, she could’ve graduated, it’s not like she dropped out cause she was too dumb to figure shit out. But her GPA was what it was, and it was a far cry from what she needed to be a pilot, so what was the point? Not like she was in college for any other reason. Once that particular dream was off the table, busting her ass trying to make school shit make sense seemed like a waste of time. “I’d be Captain Puckerman now. Could fly you to Aruba or Fiji.” Man, being a pilot would get her so laid. Not that she has any issues with that now, but still. Come on. She’s not much for complaining or dwelling about what could’ve been though, so she lets out a dramatic sigh and smirks, teasing. “But the City needs me to protect and serve it. What can you do.”

And she’s glad she got that out before she sees what Evie’s doctoring entails, because she’s way too distracted by the unexpected kiss to think about anything else. It couldn’t be more innocent - and, again, she knows Evie’s not interested - but it was so unexpected Puck even has to blink for a second before she can shoot Evie a look with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk. “Damn, now that I know this is the treatment I’ll make sure I come to you next time I fuck up my lip.” She winks, looking at her hands. She doesn’t think there’s much difference between one (unneeded, to be honest) bandage to the next, but she wants to make Evie feel like she appreciates her handiwork. “Thanks, Miller. Now you gotta let me buy you at least a drink as a thank you.”

EVIE

Well that’s an offer she wouldn’t refuse. A flight with Captain Puckerman. Somewhere warm and beautiful. She bites her bottom lip, her own cheeks warming just so. It’s the changeroom, obviously. All those bodies, and showers, and … warmth. Yes, definitely the changeroom and not the image in her head of Captain Puckerman.

And then. Well. Then the changerooms become a sauna -- honest, it’s not her or the innuendo that sets Evie’s cheeks, and neck on fire, little splotches of warm pink painted all over pale skin. She doesn’t have to do that. She doesn’t have to fuck her lip up. And if Evie were someone else – someone more confident and capable in social situations – she’d have tossed back a saucy comment or two about kissing her better.

Instead, what she comes out with is, “Well I mean, I don’t make the rules.” Which probably sounds as lame as it feels coming out of her mouth, but she smiles anyway. Or tries to. Something a little sheepish. I tried. But she’s never been very good at this. At people, and feelings. She’s better at explaining the chemical reactions one has when feeling the feels than actually experiencing them.

But it doesn’t stop her smile from growing gentle and wide as she nods her head. “Payment is unnecessary, but a drink would be nice.”

[ajuimaginary]

@happyseungcheol​ requested some jealous Seungcheol and considering his personality, this prompt turned out very fitting!

We might write jealously drabbles for all the members now? Let us know if you’re interested! Jealous Jun can be found here.

Jeonghan would, you hope, never stir up this much trouble on purpose. He likes the occasional prank, but he knows how to stop himself before it gets too far. Today, however, for reasons beyond his control, he kind of ends up being the catalyst in a meltdown on the part of your boyfriend.

Seungcheol has always been a pretty jealous person. It’s simple and sweet most of the time, with him worried that other guys aren’t respecting you enough, and trying to make sure they never bother you. He sticks by your side at parties, and he whines and pouts when you wear things that look too revealing in public. “I trust you. I just hate the way they look at you,” he says often. And you tell him he’s sweet and silly and, honestly, you kind of like it. It’s kind of sexy. And definitely comforting.

It’s not like he restricts you or anything. Just frets and worries and definitely kisses you a little more desperately on night when his jealously has been sparked. Respectful as ever of your wishes, but needy for attention. A brilliant combo in your eyes.

So that’s why you’re surprised when the Jeonghan thing gets so bad so fast.

You’ve always been friends with the rest of Seventeen. In fact, your boyfriend is glad you all get on so well. Perhaps it’s true that you had already been hanging out a fair bit with Jeonghan, and he had already noticed. But you didn’t really think anything of it. So when you turn up at the dorms ready for your date with Seungcheol and Seungkwan tells you he hasn’t finished getting ready yet, you head to the living room flop down on the couch between Jeonghan and Jun without a second thought.

“Y/N, how have you been?!” Jeonghan says happily, always glad to see you.

You update him on your life. Seungkwan and Jun are laughing and listening as well, and they tell you some of what’s been going on with the group while you were away.

“You look nice by the way,” Jun says then, a little teasingly. “What’s the special occasion?”

“Oh, sorry, I never mentioned,” you laugh. “I’m just here waiting because Seungcheol’s taking me out for a date later.”

“Oh, I remember now.” Jun says, nodding. “Can’t believe I forgot. He hasn’t shut up about it.”

“That old romantic,” Jeonghan says with an eye-roll, putting an arm around you and pulling you in while he waves his other hand like he’s painting the picture of his dramatic story in the air. “You know, if the way he was talking about the date was any indication, this will be a grand tale for the ages. A love story that will go down in history! Y/N and Seungcheol’s simple date to the coffee shop, remembered forever!”

“Immortalized in grand ballads!” Seungkwan adds. 

“Yes, and with all future dates for all future couples modeled after today!” Jeonghan says. “People falling at Seungcheol’s feet begging for advice on how to be a true romantic like he is. Begging to know how he managed to do his hair so perfectly in only two hours.”

Seungkwan cracks up at that, especially since Seungcheol is still getting ready and he’s starting to be late. 

“To be fair though, Seungcheol is like this every time.” Jun laughs.

“That’s true.” Jeonghan, arm still around you, peers down at you, face very close. “But I bet you think it’s pretty charming, don’t you?”

You’re flustered, blushing a little at the thought of Seungcheol freaking out about planning your date with all his friends, and Jeonghan’s x-ray gaze stays fixed on you. When you open your mouth to answer, you’re suddenly interrupted.

“Jeonghan.” Seungcheol’s voice is ice cold. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jeonghan pulls back from you, and looks up at Seungcheol in bewilderment. You also stare at him in surprise. Your boyfriend is standing in the door. Probably he’s only been there long enough to hear Jeonghan’s last sentence. And for some reason he looks furious.

Jeonghan lets out a small breath that sounds almost scared and quickly drops his arm from around your shoulders, and you realize.

“Coups,” Jeonghan begins to protest. “You can’t be-”

“You know Y/N is dating me, right?” Seungcheol huffs, looking very angry, but also a little embarrassed to have everyone starting at him. “Do you even know how to turn off you insistent flirting?” 

“Coups,” Jeonghan snaps. “That’s not-”

“Y/N?” Seungcheol growls instead, turning to you. “Was he flirting with you?”

“No!” you snap. “No, of course not, don’t be ridiculous!” you lay a hand on Jeonghan’s leg without thinking better of it. “Jeonghan would never-”

But Seungcheol’s eyes are burning hot on the place where your hands rests on Jeonghan’s jeans, and then he huffs, turns, and storms out of the room. 

“Oh crap,” you mutter, removing the hand. “Jeonghan, I’m sorry.”

Jun and Seungkwan start to snicker, dissolving into awkward laughter because they don’t know how else to respond, and Jeonghan laughs nervously as well.

“It’s okay.” he says slowly. “He’ll get over it. Maybe- maybe I should talk to him?”

“I’ll talk to him.” You promise. “See you guys later?”

Seungkwan and Jun cheerfully respond, starting to laugh more now, and Jeonghan looks stressed as he nods. 

“Don’t beat yourself up,” you tell him. “Cheol just overreacts sometimes.”

“Ya, Jeonghan,” Seungkwan says, clearly growing more and more amused by his leader’s outburst. “We knew he was the jealous type, right?”

So you leave Jeonghan’s friends to comfort him, and go to find your boyfriend.

Seungcheol is in the room he’s currently sharing with Jeonghan, of all people, ripping off his nice jacket and throwing it on the bed, hands shaking, glaring at Jeonghan’s corner of the room.

“Cheol,” you say quietly in the doorway. He whirls to face you.

“So, Jeonghan, huh? He’s pretty cute, right?” Seungcheol snaps. “I thought I was your type, but I guess you like the beautiful ones? The tall thin ones who whisper in your ear while your boyfriend is out of the room?”

 “You’re being ridiculous.” You huff, getting annoyed now because he’s clearly looking to fight, not discuss. “You know I love you, Cheol. And you know Jeonghan is my friend and nothing more. He’s your friend too, last I checked.”

Seungcheol mutters something darkly under his breath that sounds like “maybe not for long.”

“You’re acting like a child.” you say, stepping into the room and shutting the door. You watch him pace for a moment before grabbing his hands to still them. “Come on, look me in the eye, Cheol.”

He does, very grudgingly, and you can tell it’s hard for him to maintain his frown once he does. Tears start to pool in his eyes.

“Jeonghan has always been better looking than me, Y/N.” he mutters. “It’s fine. I understand.”

“What the hell, Seungcheol? Since when have you ever been self conscious about the way you look? You know how sexy you are,” you whisper. “You know I love you and only you.”

“Why’d he say that to you then?” Seungcheol says. He tries to jut his chin out and look proud, embarrassed by his vulnerability even as his tears spill over in one eye. “’I bet you think it’s pretty charming, don’t you?’ With his arm around you and all? How was that not flirting?”

“You idiot,” you say affectionately, reaching up to wipe away a tear. “He was talking about you. About me liking you.” 

Seungcheol blinks at you in utter shock for a moment, finally breaking out of his daze.

“He was?” he groans, “He was talking about me?”

You nod and he looks suddenly embarrassed, ducking his head. 

“Oh.”

“He feels bad for making you react this way.” you whisper, tilting his face up to yours. “He knows I only have eyes for you. To all the boys it’s so obvious that they would never even consider flirting with me. It’s so far from their minds they would never even realize what might be interpreted as flirting with me.”

“I know,” Seungcheol whines, edging closer to you, kissing you in return. “I’m sorry I acted so badly. It just- the idea of losing you- I don’t like anyone trying to get in the way of us.”

“It’s okay.” you tell him, and pull him in close, letting him kiss you again.

Suddenly, as his body presses against  yours, his hand tipping your head back to deepen the kiss, you feel the hard length of him against your thigh, and gasp.

“Already?”

Seungcheol flushes, kisses you like it’s a distraction, and finally mutters against your lips.

“Maybe jealously makes me more than just angry?” 

You grin, press your hips against him harder, and mutter, “interesting.”

Seungcheol turns you around and pushes you down onto the bed, climbing on top and attaching his lips to your neck.

“Shouldn’t we go and apologize to Jeonghan first?” you suggest breathlessly. 

Seungcheol frowns at you, teasing.

“Aish, why are you thinking of him at a time like this?” he says, grinding down against you slightly, and now that you know how it affects him, you can’t help thinking this will be a very interesting side of Seungcheol to explore.

“Why don’t you make it so I can’t think of anything but you?” you say.

And he does. 

[believe-that-you-can-my-friend]

Thank you for your lovely comments, darlings!!! I hope you like what I did with your prompts!! Enjoy!!! <3

Warning: Hot make-outs, smutty mentions, cute Bughead galore and just me fawning over the bae that is Cole Sprouse. 

“We have to go.” Kiss

“Hmm, in a second.” Kiss

“One day – kiss – we’ll get caught – kiss – and they’ll definitely expel us.” Hard Kiss.

“Oh, I’d love to see you, Betty Cooper – kiss – getting expelled over a steamy make out.” Bite.

Betty just let a breathless laugh, alternating the angle of her head and dropped her arms to his shoulders, crossing them by the wrists behind his head. Jughead’s smile grew more in delight against her lips and he dove in again, pecking her lips hard. They were in one of the dusty storage rooms of their high school, the smallest one and the one with no windows, exploring this new-found feeling of being in love and being a couple, mist old broken chairs and random school supplies. Betty was perched up on an unused desk that lay against the wall, dressed for her cheerleading practice in her usual white and yellow t-shirt and dark blue shorts, while her boyfriend was standing deliciously between her gorgeous legs, school bag, denim jacket and beanie abandoned somewhere on the floor, kissing her like there was no tomorrow for God knows how long now.

That was basically they daily routine. Ever since the two of them overcame their irrational fears of rejection and possible heartbreak and talked with each other about that kiss that held all of Jughead’s suppressed emotions all those years, they couldn’t overlook their mutual feeling of desiring to be together. Three weeks had passed since that day and, despite of the new challenges they were faced with every day, regarding their unconventional families and the amorality that seemed to emerge every once in a while of the core of their small town, the two teens were basking in the afterglow of their romance with affectionate gestures and heated make outs. The only cloud shading their Romeo and Juliet fairytale was that everything was being done in shadows, like a good, concealed secret.

They wanted to tell people; and they would do it. They weren’t afraid or ashamed, both emotions equally unfair to the wonderful union that it was them. They just wanted to do it in their own terms, without excited friends or controlling parents getting in their way, without having to explain themselves or put labels and boundaries in something that came and kept growing natural to them. So, janitor’s closets and storage rooms it was.

“I have to hurry for PE.” He murmured against her lips again with no indication of stopping his hungry lips anytime soon though. “Can’t have more absences.” He sighed as she swiped her tongue skillfully over his down lip. The boy was never a fan of team sports or exercise whatsoever so he used to always ditch PE, something that he regretted deeply now that he had no more absences to spare and a deep need to stay tangled up with her forever.

“Then hurry.” Betty smirked teasingly, grabbing the lapels of his flannel and urging her lips more on his demanding ones, feeling him leave a slight moan against her parted mouth and dug his bony fingers on the side of her smooth thighs, where his hands were comfortably resting all this time.

The girl just gasped and rolled her torso against his, Jughead catching her down lip between his and sucking it, causing her to whine lightly, her tiny hands travelling from his shirt to his neck and inside his mop of dark waves, tugging them lightly, while rolling her hips closer to his, her knee sock clad ankles loosely wrapping over the material of his army green pants over his knees. He moaned into the kiss and his tongue darted out to tease hers sensually, loving the taste of her bubblegum pink lipstick along with the chocolate he had previously shared with her, and his hands caressed up her legs until they settled on the small of her waist, perfectly arched for her to stay connected and close to him.

“Seriously now, Juggie” she left his lips half-heartedly and felt them dropping kisses to her jawline and neck, the girl blinking rapidly to the wall across her to regain some sanity “we need to go.” She let a quite embarrassing, needy sigh when his lips found that spot on her pulse point and gave it a wet suck, Betty shivering inside his arms and her legs tightening for a moment in reflex.

Jughead pulled back to look at her, hair a mess with raven strands falling over his eyes and a little cocky smirk intact at her reactions to his touch. “You were saying?” he teased her and she pushed his cheek to the side, snorting a laugh at his classic boyish attitude.

“Cheryl will literally scavenge the whole school if she sees I’m missing.” Her green eyes held a horror that only Cheryl Blossom knew how to inflict on people. “I’m telling you, I’ll offer you as a sacrifice for her to skin alive in her vindictive rage.” One of her slender fingers pocked his chest in warning, bodies still in the closest of proximities and her left arm curled around his neck.

“You always say the sweetest things to me, Betty Cooper.” Jughead’s chuckle quivered under his slightly raging breath, Betty offering back a funny grimace of a pout. “I can live with that.” He finally declared after a moment and a foxy side smirk decorated his lips, before he dove in once again, mouth parting over her gasping one, the force and the intensity of that new round of making-out causing Betty to fall back and take the boy with her, her perfect ponytail getting squished against the concrete of the wall. Broken sighs and wet sounds filled the room once again as their tongues continued their slow, salacious dance, Betty’s palms caressing his chest in abstract shapes over his ash grey t-shirt, her face trapped between his large hands that lay flat on the wall behind her as Jughead was lazily tasting every inch of her inviting mouth.

The most disliked sound in the history of education, the ringing bell, went off over their heads and the couple jumped, reluctantly leaving the warmth of each other’s lips with a series of small, lightheaded pecks. Jughead dropped his arms and his palms slid flat on the desk on either side of her, shoulders slouching down like he had run a marathon and he was trying to catch his breath and his now rosy, from her kisses and her lipstick, lips let a heavy cooing huff as they curled in a dumbfounded smile.

“What?” Betty’s eyebrows knitted but her goofy smile was left unfazed, amused by her boy’s reactions, as always.

He sighed again, deep in his chest. “I need some minutes to calm myself down before we walk out there.” His sly smile and mischievous baby blues made his statement somehow hotter than it already was, Betty scoffing a laugh at his misery and she went to caress the sides of his neck but he bounced his head backwards, sending her a warning glare. “Without you touching me.” He colored every word with a great amount of prohibition, because if even a single fingertip of hers came in contact with his inflamed skin they would never leave this room. Betty withdrew her hands and raised them in surrender, biting her down lip to hide how hilarious she found the situation he was in.

“Stop gloating. It’s irritating.” Jughead sardonic statement lost any meaning whatsoever with the involuntary grin that spread on his lips, his girl just shrugging and swaying her legs merilly back and forth at the sides of his slender ones. He just shook his head at her childish naivety that contradicted the persona of that sexy seductress she was minutes ago and curled an arm around her waist, pulling her off the desk and to the ground with a happy squeal from her lips.

“See you at lunch.” Betty’s sweet voice gave him something to look forward to, the raven-haired boy giving her a wink in agreement and leaning down to capture her irresistible lips into a loving peck. He reached for his security blanket, his crown-like beanie, and adjusted it on his head ready to face the world once again and grabbed the rest of his belongings. Betty popped her head out of the door to check the corridor and then two of them slipped out cautiously and headed to different directions after some more quick and needy pecks filled with adrenaline due to the fear of getting caught.

Betty arrived at cheer practice last and with cheeks flushed, due to her running and her rated R shenanigans. She joined the circle of the cheerleaders at the center of the large gym, lacing an arm with Veronica’s elbow and took a breath with a smile when the brunette girl turned to greet her. Conversation cut short immediately amongst the sea of same clad girls and Betty frowned upon seeing every one of them giving her weird glances and raised eyebrows. Even Veronica seemed to share whatever their thoughts were too.

“What?” the blonde breathed, a tad dizzy still, putting her weight on one leg, appearing girly and cheerful as always.

Veronica blinked to snap out of her tactless state of staring. “Nothing! Just your hair looks a little disheveled” she suspiciously pointed out, scanning her blonde tresses, Betty quickly running her hands to the sides of her ponytail to smooth them “and your-your lipstick is kinda smudged.” She rounded a finger over her own lips, smirking in confusion, upon seeing her friend’s skin around her natural luscious lips slightly irritated and suspiciously rosy.

Betty panicked at that, her fingers shooting up immediately to swipe any hint of misplaced lipstick, praying that Jughead wasn’t going to sport anything pink on his lips upon arriving at the gym too. Maybe she had to rethink about wearing any colored lipsticks from now on. “I-I just ate; that’s all.” She tried to reserve her calm.

“Ate? Ate what? Dick?” Cheryl of course wouldn’t leave any chance to mock Betty pass by, the cheerleaders around her shrieking loud giggles at the thought of pure, innocent, little Betty Cooper having any kind of experience in the hooking up department. If only they knew.

Veronica just flinched in disapproval, taking Betty by the elbow. “I guess you’re talking from experience, Cheryl. Good for you.” She fired back while dragging her best friend further away, the redhead’s posy erupting in a surprised oh and Betty making a grimace of appreciation at the clever comeback.  

“Thank God for Betty and her breeze of refinement amongst this herd of evil Vixens.” Jughead’s input to the conversation came out of nowhere, dangerously close to the blonde’s ear and startled her, Betty losing her footing momentarily only for him to catch her by the elbows, giving her the boyish smile she was starting to fall in love with.

“Oh, Jughead Jones, your affection towards me really breaks my heart.” Veronica said in her trademark fake romantic voice, placing a hand upon her chest, like she was wounded forever. Betty chuckled, not able to hide her lovey-dovey smile he always brought to her lips.

The boy just rolled his eyes at the brunette and jogged backwards to join his fellow classmates that were warming up around the track, not before sending a not so subtle smirk to Betty who blushed and looked down to hide it, rubbing the side of her neck awkwardly.

“One more round to Jones from me! He’s harassing cheerleaders!” Veronica shouted to coach Clayton who nodded and whistled in confirmation, earning a loud, annoyed “what?” by the raven-haired boy.

Betty’s eyes widened. “Why did you do that?” she hissed to her friend, watching as her secret boyfriend now debated his penalty with coach with animated hand gestures.

“Because I can.” Veronica shrugged. “And because it’s always fun to pester a fuming Jughead Jones.” She giggled, shaking her head in amusement, and Betty couldn’t argue with that, seeing her boy now being a funny grumpy cat running round and round breathlessly. “Seriously, though, why his sudden infatuation with you lately?” she sat down to stretch and Betty’s palms got sweaty as she joined her. “I get that you two spend a lot of time together but that boy practically follows you everywhere!” she dragged the word to indicate how often she was spotting them joined at the hip, while reaching her toes effortlessly.

“We’re friends, Veronica.” Betty shook her head with a nervous chuckle. “And we’re all of us together, not just me and Juggie.” She tried to reason but the use of his nickname and the lovely smile that involuntarily decorated the word must have given her slightly away.

“Hm.” The brunette hummed unconvinced, a perfect shaped eyebrow raised in suspicion. “Fine, I’ll figure it out myself then.” She teased and gathered her pom-poms, Betty opening her mouth to stop her and find a better excuse but shallowed hard once hearing the imposing voice of Cheryl Blossom ordering their asses to stop sulking and to finally put them in good use. Betty only hoped that Veronica wasn’t good at putting clues together.

Dinner at Pop’s was always Jughead’s favorite ritual since he could remember himself. The small dinner had sinful burgers, warm atmosphere and was always filled with friends, something that he was starting to appreciate even more lately that his home life sucked and his dad was acting off the rails, like the free spirit he always was.

Jughead looked around the table, observing everyone and everything like he always did. Archie was across him munching fries and talking excitedly and with mouth full about an audition at a pub downtown he managed to ace, whereas next to him Kevin was scolding him in amusement about his bad table manners, his requital being a generous handful of the yellow fried sticks over his perfectly coiffured hair, both boys erupting in a series of deep, chest-lifting laughter that had Jughead joining along. It was good to laugh like that, carelessly and carefree; he had missed that feeling.

The female companions of their small group appeared and his smile seemed to get bigger, not because of the extra food they were bringing along, but because she was there, sporting a delicious low-cut camisole that was high-lightening all the stunning features of her beautiful face and she was laughing, laughing with her nose scrunched adorably and her pearly whites all in full display. Betty Cooper being happy could cure every form of depression; he was absolutely positive of that.

She slid next to him on the booth and she couldn’t help but look at him, shy look under her eyelashes and dashing smile in tack, and, oh, how he wanted to kiss her right there on the spot and never pull back from her lips until their shape was imprinted on his own. Instead, he just smiled back, their eyes talking volumes and making promises for breathless moments later tonight at their usual hide-away in her room, and he drummed his fingers lightly over her bare knee under the table, before skimming her thigh briefly and draping his arm on the leather seat behind her. Betty just offered him her lovely blush, that blush that he really wanted to know how far down it went on her gorgeous silhouette and longing to make it scarlet under his touch, and hesitantly turned her head to face their friends around the table.

Jughead went back to observing but he wasn’t interested in the conversation anymore. He observed her; her gorgeous profile that shined even more with the occasional flash of lighting of a passing car, her smooth neck and the parts of it he now knew that made her weak in the knees, her gorgeous lips, full, delicious, pink, that got him every time to lose any track of logical thought and any eloquent skill of his sharp tongue. She was aware that he was observing her, of course she was; her fingers were toying with the delicate necklace on her collarbones where Jughead could still detect a faint hickey, even under the heaps of make-up he was sure she had applied on. He smirked slightly, cockily. She noticed. So she pouted her lips and blew a bubble with a pink bubblegum that Jughead surprisingly noticed at the very moment.

He watched her as her shimmery lips puckered, a coat of shiny lip-gloss making them juicier than they already were, and opened in a girly pout for a pink, round bubble to be formed against her lips before it smashed with an audible, sexy, pop. For a moment, he remembered the summer before fourth grade and a little Betty Cooper being red with anger at herself and her lack of ability to form bubbles from fruit gums like any other girl her age, him being the one to teach her how, the bubbly girl awarding his nine year old self with the most shiny, toothless grin on the planet. The feeling of the innocent tug on his chest every time he watched her pop bubbles here and there back then was totally different with what he was experiencing as a teenager now.

Hints of gum stayed glued on the corner of her upper lip and he watched as she darted her tongue out to swipe them away, his mouth agape and his eyes blinking slowly, mesmerized by the sight. Betty sent him a side, almost seductive, glare, while licking the curve of her mouth and his Adam’s apple bobbed, the boy squirming on his seat involuntarily to readjust himself.

“Hey, Jug! Hey! Earth to Jughead!” Archie’s vigorous hand movements were caught by the corner of his eyes, the raven haired boy snapping back to reality by his friend’s demanding voice, turning in lightning speed to face him, lightheaded, embarrassed and totally hooked by the miracle that was Betty Cooper. The said miracle licked her lips to hide her pleased smile, dropping her mischievous eyes on her lap.

“What?” he snapped groggily, sinking more in his seat. He was sure his cheeks were scarlet red by now; he could feel it by his sweaty palms.

“I asked you if you’ll crash to my place tonight.” The redhead asked again, frowning at his friend and his lack of paying attention.

Pop. Another smacked bubble and Jughead’s gaze felt immediately back to Betty, the blonde focused on a conversation with Kevin and Veronica. Or pretending to be focused since a teasing smile was curling her lips and that, he knew, was aiming to make him crazy. Her tongue came to lick the center of her lips this time, Jughead catching a glimpse of its wet, sensual curve upwards and losing it right there, the action bringing to his mind the plethora of times that sinful tongue curled so deliciously against his own.

“Dude, seriously?” Archie’s punch on his shoulder made him escape his hormonal reverie, the action causing him to lose focus for a minute. “Betty, stop chewing that gum at last!” Archie groaned in irritation and any and all conversations stopped right away, two teens raising questionable eyebrows and two other holding their breaths, those two being the ones that had something to hide.

Archie’s next statement made both Betty and Jughead relax, their secret being still safe. “The dork has a pet peeve or something and I need to communicate with him for a moment!” he teased him brotherly even though still slightly annoyed.

Jughead shook his head and smirked lightly at his joke, Veronica examining the boy with a scrutinizing look. “Yeah, you call that a pet peeve now.” She commended and offered him a fake smile when he snapped his head up to her, growing defensive, but she dropped the subject, turning to Kevin and asking about some physics notes.

Archie’s phone announced the delivery of a text and he focused his attention on it, Jughead finding the perfect opportunity to lean to the blonde’s ear next to him.

“Will you stop that already?” his whisper was almost pleading.

“Stop what?” Betty faked obliviousness, a hint of smirk playing on her lips.

Jughead just send her a “I know you, Cooper” look; her shoulder brushed his chest lightly as she let a soundless laugh.

“A gum? Really, Juggie? That’s your turn on?” she whispered back with a funny expression, scanning around the table for any curious eyes looking at them.

“It’s not the gum.” The boy replied in his trademark clever tone. “It’s your lips and that tongue and the fact that I want nothing more than to steal this gum and kiss you senseless until your breaths are feeding my lungs.” he finally broke, green meeting blue in a stare off and Betty’s lips formed a perfect, round O at his beautiful and incredibly lascivious choice of words.

“My mom is taking Polly to the doctor in an hour.” She blurted out, voice colored with desire and eyes shining with a burning flame.

“I’ll use Fred’s ladder.” Jughead replied in the same tone, excitement coiling in his belly.

“Alright, guys, I’m heading home.” Betty announced, quickly standing up, the others looking her at a loss; they were supposed to spend the whole evening together. “I have to study for this really impotant math test and I’m way behind.” Jughead mentally face-palmed at her excessive effort to appear convincing. Betty Cooper couldn’t lie to save her life.

“Yeah and I have to do that thing at the Blue & Gold.” Jughead blabbed away, shaky fingers gathering his laptop and text books from the table. He wasn’t a good liar either.

“Thing?” Kevin raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, thing, Kevin! Blue & Gold is a respective newspaper in our small school community and there are a lot of things to be improved still in order to shine bright and find its former supreme glory.” He concluded his unnecessary rant and his eyes scanned around for anyone that bought it. Kevin was narrowing his eyes in confusion, Archie was titling his head, totally lost and Veronica was being Veronica; witty and unable to fool. Even Betty was looking anywhere but him, certain that by now everyone had caught them in their lie.

“Whatever. You weren’t a thrill of a company to begin with.” Veronica broke the awkward silence with her usual teasing like always, all of them laughing, apart from Jughead who just rolled his eyes and pulled a strand of her hair lightly, the girl swatting his hand away, before he went to follow Betty out of the small dinner.

“What just happened?” Kevin wondered in his intrigued manner, leaning to the brunette girl for gossip.

“Something quite interesting.” Veronica smirked pleased around the straw of her chocolate milkshake.

She was drooling. She knew that she was, but really she couldn’t stop herself. It was inevitable, it was some force, it was him and that damn denim jacket. She could practically feel more than necessary amount of saliva on the apple she was chewing but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when he was looking like that and doing the thing he loved; wavering ingenious plots and intriguing murder mysteries.

It was free period and they were at the back yard of their high school, him at their usual lunch table and her sprawled on the small concrete staircase, helping Veronica with her history paper that was due tomorrow. Well, pretending to help because for a solid half an hour now her eyes were glued to the gloomy, tall boy across her. He wasn’t aware of her intense gazing, too preoccupied with the thoughts that were running inside that marvelous mind of his, Betty smiling at how even more handsome he looked with that focused frown between his eyebrows and the occasional dart of his tongue out of his lips in deep concentration to find the right words and depict strong emotions on paper.

His beanie was straight and slightly loose on his head, his raven waves at their best behavior today and his bony cheekbones looked sharper under the rich sunrays. He had his blue denim, sheepish jacket on, the one that suited him so much and Betty loved for a lot of reasons, a blue and black flannel with no shirt underneath, just buttoned until the hollow of his neck, and a pair of black jeans and combat boots. Talk about deliciousness! Betty could hardly contain herself from attacking him all day long.

“I get it, he looks good today. Can we move on?” Veronica spoke nonchalantly, still focused on the notebook she was writing.

Betty straightened her back abruptly, snapping out of her dreamy state. “Wh-what?”

“Jug.” The other girl sighed in a tiring manner, looking up at her friend. “Everyone’s talking about it; even Reggie Mantle had a good word to say.”

“Really? What-What are they talking about?” the blonde nervously asked, trying to sound aloof but failing miserably.

“You know, that he became smocking for some reason lately, more laid back.” Veronica trailed off, now both girls examining the boy across them. “It’s true, I guess.” She shrugged; she had also noticed a change in him and she had a really good theory as to why.

“He was always good to look at.” Betty replied with a shrug herself, a lovely smile playing on her lips.

“No, he has this whole new aura around him now, like he’s getting laid or something. His shoulders got boarder, if that’s even possible.” Betty raised an eyebrow at that, holding back her tongue. He had board shoulders and Betty knew that; she had seen them and held on to them numerous times while he was stealing her breath away with sinful kisses. Maybe they faded a little in comparison because he was lean and tall but they were there and they were amazing. “You don’t get it, do you? Maybe it’s because you grew up together and you see him as more of a brother and all…” Veronica played along with the game her friend started.

The blonde chocked on her apple, dropping it unfinished inside her lunchbox. “Well, he’s my friend, yeah, but, I don’t—“ she started rambling uneasily but Veronica cut her off.

“I mean seriously” she leaned closer in a gossipy manner “was it always Archie? Never second thoughts about the broody, tortured writer with the amazing fingers?” her smirk was expectant and her words colored with girly delight.

Betty opened her mouth to respond, catching a small glimpse of him, deliciously handsome, deeply concentrated and with slender fingers twirling a pen meaningless in the air. She loved his fingers too, she always had; they were bony and slim, not holding unnecessary fat like hers. They fitted perfectly at the spaces of hers fingers, they drew amazing shapes on the skin of her waist when he was kissing her, they caressed softly the sensitive parts of her neck and dug roughly into her tanned thighs during their heated make outs. And she had a feeling they would be even more marvelous in other, more intimate parts of her, as well. Suddenly, she could feel warmth spreading all over her body.

“Um” the blonde flushed red and shot up from her seat, biting her lip and gathering her belongings in a hurry, Veronica following her with amused eyes. “I forgot I have to finish this article for the newspaper and yeah, I’ll catch up with you later.” And with that she was gone, Veronica scoffing in disbelief behind her. That little shady-lady!

Jughead was walking down the empty school corridor, fidgeting with the stripe of his cross-body bag against his chest and focusing on his phone, typing a quick text to Betty asking her about her whereabouts. He had lost her after free period and he really needed to see her pretty face, even for a moment. As his thump hovered over the send button, however, he felt a hand appearing out of nowhere and fisting his flannel, yanking him left and into some room, that appeared to be the janitor’s closet. The tall boy tripped over his long limps but gained his balance easily, but before his brain was able to register what the hell was going on a pair of lips were dancing hungrily on his.

Lovely peach flavored lip-gloss and a hint of old time classic vanilla. Ah, Betty Cooper.

“If you so desperately wanted to get me alone you could have said so, Bets.” Jughead teased her with amused eyes and a flattering heart, the girl shaking her head and shushing him with more demanding lips.

It was frenzy after that, lips smacking loudly, tongues battling hotly, sucks, nibbles, wet licks. Betty pushed urgently his jacket off his shoulders, him helping her out before getting hold of her hips and dragging them violently towards him, Betty’s waist arching deliciously and her gasp mingling with his low moan, as their centers came into contact, fire, excitement and adrenaline creating a strong liquor that both got instantly drunk from. The front of his flannel became a wrinkled ball inside her strong hold, Betty pushing him forward so for his back to collide with the wall and he flinched inside the kiss, pleasure and pain mixed together, making him bite her down lip hard, before sinking his tongue more into the galaxy of her lips. Her free hand came to mess his perfect waves, pulling and tugging and caressing until his beanie was a useless cloth next to their sneakers and his hands abandoned her waist, boldly caressing down her gorgeous behind and finding the skin at the back of her bare thighs that her brown skirt left uncovered for him to enjoy.

“Stop being that ridiculously handsome and” Betty breathed against his lips before he moved further down to deliver a hard suck against her neck that made her purr “so hot.” The words came in a pleasure filled sigh, sensing him smirk against that spot on her neck, Betty leaving a butterfly kiss next to his jawline and a playful bite.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Jughead pulled back to look at her with a smirk and shiny eyes, hands coming to rest around her neck, thumps stroking her cheeks.

“The most suitable question is what’s gotten into you!” she groaned like she was in physical pain because of how good he looked. “You walk around like this and everyone is suddenly fawning over you!” Betty leaned in again, tugging his down lip with her teeth before relishing it.

Jughead’s surprised smile brightened more his smiley eyes. “Really?” she nodded, pecking him once, him pecking her back and both yearning for more. “Wait, do you mean I have game? Nice!” he breathed in appreciation and delight and she smacked his chest playfully, earning a chuckle from him “Well, you are to blame. Apparently, being with you suits me.” He gave her that boyish smirk she loved and leaned to capture her lips in a sweet kiss this time.

“I like the sound of that.” Betty declared with a lovesick smile and pushed her chest flat to him, ready to continue their previous heavy make out before the door clicked open and the two teens jumped away from each other.

“I knew it!” Veronica’s voice cried in victory, both Jughead and Betty flushing red upon seeing her, Kevin and a dragged along by the hand Archie, staring at them with a mix of surprise, amusement and intrigue. “Boys, dig in your pockets and let me see the cash, chop chop!” Veronica demanded in her usual manner, Archie half-heartedly handing her 20 bucks and Kevin doing the same without tearing his eyes from the couple.

“You were seriously betting money on us?” Betty exclaimed in shock, straightening up her skirt and insecurely closing her arms over her chest. Jughead just looked amused while buttoning the top of his shirt that Betty’s hold and frenzied caresses had unbuttoned.

“Of course we were!” Kevin scoffed like it was the obvious. “You were acting so shady, we had to find out. My guess was drugs.” He admitted with a shrug, Betty widening her eyes at him.

Archie scratched the back of his head. “Mine was worst; internet gambling.”

Betty just sent him a “what the fuck, dude” grimace.

“Guys, seriously?” Jughead retorted in his sardonic manner. “We’re just together; simple as that.” He shared a smile with his girlfriend and intertwined their hands, bringing them to his lips to kiss the back of her hand. Veronica let a cute ‘aww’ at that.

“Sooo, now that we are at it, can you like answer some more of our questions? Like how long has this been going on, who initiated what, have you gone further than first base?” Kevin kept asking intrigued, the couple sighing in exasperation at his violation of their privacy. “Cause you might be happy and all, and we’re too, congrats guys, but our bets are going strong and I really wanna see Cheryl Blossom going down.”

Betty and Jughead turned at him in shock. That was not the reaction they were expecting.

[zapiarty]

Can you write the scene where Garashir get together for Milaverse?

Takes place just after Crossover in season 2.

As beginnings to a relationship went, theirs could, Julian thought, have gone better. It could, for example, have involved less shouting, no actual physical torture and…well, at least fewer lies. It would also, ideally, involve one participant not being a genetic augment whose very existence was a crime and the other not being a former operative of the Obsidian Order who probably hadn’t been lying about all the crimes he’d committed, but Julian probably wouldn’t have been interested if that weren’t the case. Still, that was no reason not to do things the right way now they’d started. Julian had dug out the one outfit he owned that didn’t make Garak wince at the sight of it, gone to some trouble to find a holoprogramme that might appeal to both their tastes and called in a favour from Dax to get her to babysit Mila for the evening. Still, he couldn’t help but feel oddly nervous when he knocked on the door of Garak’s quarters that evening, datarod in hand. Not of Garak himself, exactly, but…well, it had taken a full-blown argument to get Garak to believe Julian was interested at all, and it still wasn’t too late for him to decide to back out.

The door to Garak’s quarters opened a moment after Julian requested entrance, to reveal Garak with a look of mild surprise on his face. “My dear doctor, you’re not only on time for once, you’re early!”

Julian grinned, “Mila pretty much rushed me out of the door the moment I got her to Dax’s,” he said, “I’m not sure what they were planning to do with the evening, but it’s probably going to leave me owing Dax another favour or two.”

“All this, just for a single evening?”

“I live to impress,” Julian said wryly. “Is it working?”

“You are remarkably unsubtle. You’re not supposed to ask…you observe to see it is or not. Asking just ends the game.” Garak teased with a smirk.

“Patience was never my strong suit,” Julian said agreeably. “I’ve booked us a holosuite - thought it might be a bit more private than dinner at Quark’s, and it’s a chance to introduce you to a genre of human literature I don’t think I’ve mentioned before.”

“Oh? Well, I thank you for opting for the more private option, though I think I’ll have a word with Quark before we start…”

Julian raised his eyebrows, “I hadn’t heard he recorded goings-on inside the holosuites.” At least, he hoped Quark didn’t - there were a few things Julian didn’t want anyone knowing, even - make that especially - Garak.

Garak offered a wide smile, “Surely not. But it’s best to err on the side of caution.”

“Great. Shall we go, then?” Julian gestured broadly down the corridor, trying to resist the urge to fidget.

As they walked the hallway towards Quark’s, Garak’s eyes never once left Julian. “Tell me, just what genre are we experiencing?”

Julian grinned. “Spy fiction,” he said, “Do you have that on Cardassia? Or - is it considered seditious?”

For once, Garak’s surprised expression seemed honest. “Spy fiction? You have…a genre of literature where you reveal the secrets of your intelligence agencies?”

“…not quite.” Julian paused, trying to consider how to explain it. “A lot of the first writers in the genre were involved with intelligence - Ian Fleming was, and John Le Carre - but the genre…evolved beyond strict realism quite quickly. Well, Fleming’s did. Le Carre is a bit more grounded - remind me to lend you The Spy Who Came in From the Cold at some point, I think you’d like it. It’s cynical enough to appeal to you.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, from past experiences of you lending me books you think I’d like…”

“You admitted to quite liking Pride and Prejudice,” Julian pointed out, stung.

“Compared to the others, yes, until the end. Really, that book is unfinished.” Garak sniffed, looking for all the world like it was a crime to leave Pride and Prejudice as it was.

Julian stared. “It’s considered to have one of the neatest endings in literature - everything’s tied up, everyone’s married off, we know what happens to everyone…It’s actually been criticised for being a bit too finished.”

“Too finished! We know nothing of what happens next, it really is very frustrating-” Garak stopped and smiled, “But I believe we’ve gotten distracted. Tell me more about this…spy genre?”

Julian nodded, and tried to marshal what he knew. “Well, the genre is divided into several…I tend to think of them as ‘flavours’? The Le Carre-style very gritty, low-key approach, which tends to focus on political double-dealing, grey morality and the awful things people have to do to serve their countries and their causes at the cost of their own morals is one…but it’s not the only one, or even the most popular.” He grinned. “Then, there’s the style I tend to think of as ‘martini-flavoured’. Wildly unrealistic, fraught with improbably over-the-top-danger…there’s usually a deathtrap or two involved…sort of the glamorised image of what spying involved, although there were one or two people out there who actually did live that way, if we’re to believe the historical record. Granted, they usually didn’t do it for very long, but-”

“Fascinating. And which…flavor…are we trying?”

Julian grinned, “That would be option number three. Affectionately referred to in fan circles as ‘dirty martini’. It’s…marrying the two, I suppose. A lot of the absurdity and glamour of martini-style, but with the heavier political themes, grey morality and a bit of the cynicism of the first kind. It seemed like a good compromise.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll withhold judgement until after the game. Though, I’ll tell you now, that I’ll likely not be interested in just the…martini-flavoured. As a tailor, I take these things very seriously.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “I am shocked,” he said teasingly, “Shocked that you mean to pass up such an opportunity to mock our absurd Federation romanticism.”

Garak slowly looked Julian up and down before give a half smile, “Well…when you put it like that…perhaps I will consider it.”

“Glad to hear it.” Julian coughed. “This particular story is actually a few centuries old, and it’s been retold so many times that no-one quite agrees on what the proper characterisation should be, so we’re more-or-less free to do as we like. The original was actually partly written by Fleming in the early 1960s, so…four hundred years ago, give or take. It’s set around then as well and, unlike Fleming’s other stories, hasn’t been updated with the times. The history is kind of vital to the plot, for this one.”

“Vital? In what way?” Garak asked curiously, looking at least partially interested in the game, even if the rest of his attention was more on what Julian was wearing. He’d apparently chosen well.

Julian took a breath. “For most of the second half of the twentieth century, Earth was engaged in a cold war between two powerful nation-states. The Soviet Union and the…well, mostly the United States, but most of Europe, a fair bit of Asia and South America got involved as well. On both sides. Both sides knew that an all-out war would mean the annihilation of pretty much everything on the planet, so they tended to work through proxies and spies for the most part. The early James Bond stories used this as a backdrop, mostly but for this story it’s actually integral to the plot, as the two lead characters are from different sides of the Cold War. Illya Kuryakin, a Soviet agent, and Napoleon Solo, an American.”

“And what exactly was this war about? The climate?”

Julian shrugged, “Officially, political ideology, unofficially…probably power, control of as much of the globe as possible. And a bit of ideology. America and much of western Europe operated under a capitalist system, whereas the Soviets…at least claimed to have something a bit more like the modern Federation. Except backed up with the threat of horrifying prison camps, mass executions and torture. Oh, and quite a lot of corruption because this was pre-replicator technology and so the ‘sharing out’ of scarce resources tended to favour the ruling elite. It’s actually what led to-” What led to the Eugenics Wars, which had put an end to the Cold War by bombing Washington and Moscow simultaneously, breaking their power and establishing a new player on the board.

Garak raised a brow-ridge at Julian’s half sentence, but appeared to decide not to press him to finish it, “So a Federation that admits to what it is. Admittedly, perhaps a bit harsher in its methods than what would be done nowadays, I’m sure.”

“I like to think we’ve moved beyond that,” Julian said stiffly, and moved on before he could dwell on it any longer. “Either way. The story we’re going to play through is set in 1963, when two agents, one from each side of the Cold War, are forced to work together to solve a problem that affects both their governments. They then get assigned together permanently in an international taskforce intended to help keep their governments from destroying each other and the whole world with them.”

Garak blinked, “Rather a lot to put onto the shoulders of two agents.”

Julian shrugged, “Most adaptations agree it was largely a political gesture. And a way of avoiding any appearance of partisanship on either side, as the two of them would both naturally look out for the interests of their own side and, hopefully, keep each other honest. If you had two agents from either side, they could be accused of advancing their own interests at the expense of the other side, which would lead to an increase in tensions and possibly eventual war. And that’s leaving aside how many maniacal private citizens with access to advanced technology and an insatiable desire to destroy the world for their own profit seem to crop up in these things.”

“And these agents did not kill each other? I hardly see how one master liar could keep another honest.”

Julian smiled, as wickedly as he could manage. “Neither of them wanted the world to be blown up?” he suggested idly. “Also, in every single adaptation there has ever been, they’re at least close friends, and sometimes more.”

Garak snorted, “And their agencies allowed this? Well, you did say this was fictional…”

“In most versions, they go to a great deal of trouble to make sure their agencies don’t know. Same-sex entanglements were illegal in both the Soviet Union and the West during this period, even if they weren’t enemy agents. There are a fair few versions of the story where it ends pretty tragically, even if they aren’t my favourite - the real world’s miserable enough without inevitable defeat in the holosuite as well.”

“I don’t quite understand humanity’s struggle in accepting same-sex liaisons. There’s not even a chance for bastards in that case, just who does it harm?”

Julian shrugged, “Not my area. I think it was mostly religious, but I’d have to look it up. So…” he grinned, “You’ve got a choice of two characters - which side of the Iron Curtain do you want?”

Garak gave him a wry smile, “Which side do you think, my dear doctor? Though, tell me more about the agents themselves, what are their…basic personality traits?”

“…that is the most complicated question in the whole game,” Julian admitted. “They’ve been changed so often over the centuries it’s pretty much a free-for-all. Some bits of backstory have stuck around, though. Um…Solo, the American agent, is a former art thief on a very, very short leash. Got captured by the CIA and decided working for them was a step up from a decade in prison. His actual personality changes a lot between adaptations, though, as do his skills. And since the holosuite version lets you choose between quite a few different options there, it’s not really relevant. The other, one, Kuryakin…” he paused, trying to remember. “Born to a high-ranking member of the Soviet government who got convicted of treason and sent to the gulags - prison camps - after which his mother turned to prostitution to survive. He…varies even more than Solo, honestly. Sometimes to the point of being barely recognisable as the same character.”

“Why keep the names if you’re just going to change the core of the characters…” Garak sighed and shook his head, “I’ll pick Kuryakin. I have a feeling you like Solo more, being from the insufferably idealist State?”

“…what part of ‘capitalist’ says ‘idealistic’? Ideologically, I probably have more in common with the other side.” Julian sighed. “But, yes, I like him.”

“Perhaps not the correct word, agreed. Though I didn’t think you’d ever want to be part of a State that had prison camps, no matter how illusory the setting may be.”

Julian nodded. They were coming up to Quark’s now, the promenade still quietly busy with evening traffic. Quark himself was at the bar when they entered, and Garak smiled, wide and slightly predatory. He turned to Julian and wordlessly asked for his hand, which Julian gave with some bemusement. Garak brought it to his throat, or rather, just below it and held Julian’s hand there for a moment before saying, “If you’ll excuse me a moment?”

Garak disappeared off towards the bar, and Julian watched him go, feeling for a moment oddly giddy. Get a grip, he reminded himself. You’re an adult, act like one. But he was almost bubbling over with excitement now, even as he watched Quark’s expression freeze at the sight of Garak. He was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he got the impression that the conversation was going all Garak’s way.

He craned his neck to try and get a better look, but before he did, Garak smiled, wide and apparently friendly, and stepped away, turning back towards Julian and snaking through the crowds to take his arm.

“Well?” he said. “Shall we, doctor?” and nodded towards the door through to the holosuites.

After choosing their characters on the panel before entering, Julian and he went different directions, to receive their briefings from their superiors. The entire situation was…remarkably close to reality, though he wouldn’t ever admit as much to Julian. Certainly not so soon after his recent visit to the infirmary. The moment his superior started speaking, his back straightened and he had his full attention on the slides as the information and his mission parameters were given.

“-the woman is, in and of herself, unimportant, but the information she holds cannot be allowed to fall into American hands,” his superior was saying. “Bring her back. Alive, if possible, but if not…we will understand. As for your opposite number-”

The slides clicked on. Julian’s face filled the screen. It was, Regnar had to admit, a clever bit of programming - Julian in some sort of military uniform of this century, smiling the familiar sweet foolish smile Regnar had got to know over so many lunches.

“-not typical of American spies,” his superior went on. “Indeed, he barely deserves the title. Less an agent than a useful tool. He joined the army at eighteen and was posted to Europe. When the war ended, he stayed on as part of the occupying forces, and soon discovered that there were vast profits to be made on the post-war black market. He seems to have dealt primarily in art and antiquities, stolen by Nazi forces and then by the Allied occupiers. He seems entirely self-taught, but do not underestimate him. His criminal ingenuity made headlines all over Europe. The police of four countries created a special task force for the sole purpose of bringing him to justice. And even then, it seems to have been pure luck that they caught him. His talents came to the attention of the CIA, who recognised that-” the next slide was put in upside-down, making his superior glare at the unfortunate projectionist, who apologised in a shaking voice. That one would be bound for the labour camps before long, Regnar thought.

“-who recognised,” his superior went on, “That this man’s extraordinary talents would be wasted behind bars. A deal was struck. Since then, Bashir has been their most successful and prolific agent. Kill him if necessary. But he must not leave Berlin with the woman.”

“Yes, sir.” Regnar replied promptly.

His superior nodded. “And, Agent Garak-”

He paused. His mind reeled and he barely resisted the urge to shake his head. Had he just- yes, yes he had, and he hadn’t even meant to… Garak’s posture changed just a bit and he turned his head to hear what the holo-superior was saying.

“-you know the consequences of failure.”

Oh, he most certainly did. “Yes, sir.”

Garak was escorted to retrieve the weapons available to him for the mission. They were all rather primitive, projectile weapons were practically primeval. They also gave him information on where he was going, which Garak was sure wouldn’t have occurred if he were really of this time period, as he’d have been expected to keep up on the state of affairs on his own. He was rather grateful for this further proof of fallacy. The city was cut in half, not for geographical reasons but political. How this was sustainable, Garak didn’t know. The basics of his mission were preventing one person from going from one half of the city to the other. Easy enough, especially with a wall as an obvious indicator of where that line was. Yes, Garak believed this could be a fun game, so long as he remembered it was a game.

Scene-transitions, in the holosuite, were always a bit unrealistic. In this case, Garak stepped out of a building in what he had been assured was Moscow, and into-

The city was grey. As grey as Romulus, almost, and Garak did not say that lightly. Grey and brown and brick and concrete and looked as if it had been levelled and rebuilt from the ground up at some point in the recent past. It was, put simply, the single least glamorous location Garak could imagine. Apparently Julian’s description of the subtypes of the spy genre had been rather more broad-strokes than he had made it sound.

There was a car waiting, and Garak knew this was the least glorious part of spy-craft, the waiting. Garak was exceedingly patient, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Thankfully, he had to have his whole attention on the people passing from one side of the checkpoint to the other, looking for Julian. When he finally spotted him, Garak had to suppress a smile, he looked even more naive and ripe for the picking than when Garak first laid eyes on him. It was surprisingly difficult to resist the urge to recreate that first meeting, the game’s plotline be damned.

Following Julian from a safe distance was simple, though the man was doing actually quite well in covering his tracks. Not enough to throw Garak off his trail, even if Garak hadn’t already been intimately familiar with his appearance, but enough to give him the impression that Julian had some real potential. Potential that only needed a bit of guidance…. Guidance Garak was only too happy to provide, and which seemed to have been paying off, since Julian managed to actually lose him. For a brief moment. The pride that caused him was a bit staggering and he pushed it down and away for the time being.

Julian’s final destination, it turned out, was a shabby little garage in what seemed to be an even-poorer-than-the-rest-of-it area of the city. He disappeared inside, and Garak hung back, and flicked on the rather neat little bug that he’d been informed that border control would endeavour to secret in Julian’s luggage. It buzzed into life without so much as a flicker, and Garak smirked. Julian had potential, yes…but only potential.

“-and a fat little dog named Schnitzel,” Julian’s voice said, coming out sharp and crackly. Garak stared, and wondered for one mad moment if Julian had actually worked out a code so completely bizarre Garak couldn’t work out what was a euphemism. The accent didn’t help - whoever had told Julian he could imitate accents ought to be shot. “All you need to do is sit down for fifteen minutes with my employers and answer a few questions as fully and as factually as you can. I think we both know it’s a step up from spending the evening with the Russians, hanging from a pipe having your toenails removed.”

Garak couldn’t resist the affronted look he gave the receiver at that, he’d be having a few words with Julian over that once this was all over. The day he needed to resort to such methods as ripping out toenails was the day he retired.

There was the start of another sentence, a woman’s voice. “And your superiors? How will they-” And then the reception cut off with a wet sort of noise, and Garak scowled. Had no-one in this insufferably backwards city thought to invent waterproof bugs yet? With a huff, he lightly tossed the now useless receiver onto the passenger seat and returned his attention to the garage. Not long after, a car left it with only the driver in view. Garak was not to be deterred, and started following them in his own. Twentieth-century automobiles were not, he decided, his favourite means of pursuit. Julian and his contact’s car, though, was going at what seemed to be an ordinary, civilised pace - trying to bluff him into thinking this was just an ordinary night driver? - and it should not take him long to draw level, except that every time he got close, they put on another little kick of speed. Nothing excessive, just enough to stay just out of his range. He considered for a moment, stopped, opened the window, leant out, and took aim at the car’s back tyre. The car skidded, half-spinning, and then-

Put on another, absurd, kick of speed. Limping, yes, half-dragging…but slowed. Slowed and obvious. Hmm. There was a small booth across the street, with an old-fashioned telephone inside it. He stepped inside, and called the police.

“Hello?” he said, using his very best ‘mild and harmless tailor’ voice. “Yes. I’d like to report a kidnapping.” He went on to report, sounding as worried as he could, the terrified, screaming child he’d seen bundled into the back of a black-and-white Trabant car with the right back tyre flat, and hung up feeling quite satisfied with himself. Julian would probably not be best-pleased by the nature of the accusations, but he was the one who brought a genuine Obsidian Order agent into a spy game. Really, it was all his own fault.

It wasn’t difficult, either, to hastily rejigger the receiver to pick up on the local police radio, as reports came in of the black-and-white Trabant being spotted, and soon enough, Garak had a location. He called up the map in his head once again - where could they be going, if their route had taken them there? And then, all at once, he had them.

Figuring that in this case the advantage really did lie with the higher ground, Garak infiltrated a building near the Wall, and made his way up to the roof. He allowed himself a sigh, yet more waiting. It took a few minutes - how long was this part of the programme meant to be? But then, on the next roof over, he saw movement. Julian, and a young woman in khaki-coloured coveralls that did absolutely nothing for her. His quarry. He took aim, but Julian’s body was between him and the woman, and he couldn’t get a clear shot at her. Julian was fidgeting with- No. Flashing a light across the wall. A signal. Garak peered through the scope of the rifle, trying to work out what the plan was. And then- something shot across, from the far side of the wall. A cable, or…yes, a cable. Garak grinned to himself. Oh, surely not. Far, far too simple. Julian offered his hand to the woman, grasped something attached to the cable, and jumped.

He was perhaps halfway across when Garak fired, and the woman in Julian’s arms slumped against him, her head lolling, her grip on him going slack. She fell.

Garak drew back, a faint, satisfied smile on his face, and began matter-of-factly taking the rifle apart. Well. That was the end of that. Julian would probably sulk at being beaten, but Garak was quite sure he could find something to cheer him up. Although, he was rather at a loss to see how this could possibly have ended with their characters becoming friends. He could hear Julian’s shocked shout as he left the roof to begin making his way back to his car, but as he opened the door leading to the street, he found himself back in the KGB base. He sighed, he hated holo-scene transitions.

“Agent Garak.” It was his superior again, the same one as before. His handler. “Report.”

“There was no avoiding the target getting across the wall, so I shot them. The American, however, got away.”

His superior nodded. “I heard. His superiors approached us recently.” He smiled tightly, and it did not reach his eyes. “However, this does complicate the situation somewhat. I thought I said alive, if possible.”

“You did. It wasn’t possible.”

His superior glared. It was rather a pathetic glare, as glares went. The memory of Tain’s smile frightened Garak more than this illusion would in a fury. “The most dangerous secret is already out,” he said. “She might be dead, but she didn’t die before telling Bashir the thing we least wanted the Americans to know. The theft of the prototype plans for the next generation of weaponry, the thing which might shift the balance of power decisively in our favour.”

“Next generation of weaponry…sir?” Garak forced himself to add the ‘sir’, wouldn’t do to be perceived as disrespectful or unable to follow orders.

“You don’t need to know what it is, Garak,” his superior said shortly. “But we need to recover those plans, and the Americans are the only ones who know who she sold them to.”

“Does this mean we’re going to have to cooperate with them? It’s very unlikely that is going to work out well.”

“It will work out as we intend it. They’ve put forward a single agent, who will bear witness to the tragic destruction of the plans before either of you can get your hands on them.You will recover those plans, while making it seem to the Americans that they are lost. If they even begin to suspect what those plans are for…” his superior stopped himself. Even that was sloppy - no-one in the Order would even begin to reveal something unless they intended the person they were speaking to to know it. “Well. What happens next will no longer be your concern. They receive very little news in the gulags, I am told.”

“Of course, sir.” Garak almost rolled his eyes, but stopped himself. “And should the American learn things he shouldn’t?”

“You will have received no formal orders to kill him. His tragic accidental death would be…regrettable…but these things happen.”

“I see. Anything else, sir?”

“Walk with me. A meeting has been set up. Best to give the Americans no reason to doubt our good intentions.”

They walked through a doorway, and suddenly he could smell the waterside. Yet another horrible transition. There were tables all along the deck, overlooking the river. Julian was sitting at one, with what Garak assumed was the man’s own handler. Neither of them looked especially pleased to be there.

“Saunders,” his own superior said curtly.

Garak took a seat directly across from Julian, who was glaring at him with a rather adorable pout. Garak let some of his amusement slip through for a moment before schooling his features.

“Vassilyovich. God, your name is a mouthful. Can’t say that curtly at all. How do you take it?”

Garak’s superior smiled, mirthlessly. “It’s my cross to bear. You’ve briefed your…agent…I take it.” He drew out the word ‘agent’, so that Garak could hear the suggestion of something else underneath it, and though he too had been thinking that Julian would never last long in intelligence, he wanted to bristle regardless.

“Oh, he knows what he needs to.” Saunders waved a hand, and Julian looked as if he bit back a sigh. “Just point him in the right direction.”

“We intend to. Now. Your half of the bargain.”

“You’re impatient. I was enjoying a nice drink, I thought we could take in the scenery. Alright, have it your way. Target’s a former member of the British Union of Fascists, arms magnate, noted collector of antiquities. Name of Sir Arthur Galt. Now, your turn?”

Vassilyovich shifted. “What you’re looking for is a disc. Blue plastic, small enough to hold in your hand. Destroy it if you have to, but it cannot be allowed to remain in Galt’s hands.”

Garak nodded and the handlers exchanged a look before standing. Julian was still glaring at him. “We’ll leave you to get acquainted.” Saunders said with a smug smile, “Play nice.” Saunders clapped Julian on his shoulder as he passed him, causing Julian to flinch slightly. Garak’s eyes followed the handler with cold fury, then widened a little as every other group of diners in the cafe stood and walked out.

“Well,” Garak said brightly, as the last of them left. “This isn’t conspicuous in the least.”

Julian glared at him. “I can’t believe you killed her!”

Garak raised his hands up in defence, “I was ordered to! What was I supposed to do, let you take her across the wall and disobey orders? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t carrying out a mission the point of this game?”

“You could have,” Julian pointed out stubbornly, “It’s a holosuite, they can’t do anything to you if you don’t obey orders. Besides, that wasn’t the mission. That was…a trial run. To get us used to the setting and how the game works before the main plot gets started. I mean, if all we’re going to do is follow orders, we might as well ‘kill’ each other here and now. I know my superiors want me to kill you, and I can guess yours want you to kill me. Does that mean you’re going to?”

“You got orders to kill me? Well that’s unfair, I wasn’t given permission to. Now if you have an accident that’s another story.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “I obviously wasn’t going to!”

“Why not? I killed your informant.” Garak looked around them and waved with an arm, “This is, after all, a holosuite. It won’t actually do anything. At least, it won’t so long as the safeties are on.”

“Yes, but…well.” Julian smiled, wide and bright and startling, “I am trying to get you to agree to another date at the end of the evening. Killing you probably wouldn’t do much for my chances.”

Garak fought the smile that wanted to break through, and instead changed the subject, “My dear- could you please stop talking in that accent. I just, cannot take anything you say seriously.”

Julian actually looked slightly disappointed at that. “If you’re sure,” he said, thankfully without the accent. “I thought I carried it off rather well.”

“I’m not sure who told you that, but they were lying to make you feel better, it is awful.” Garak sniffed and offered a small smile to take some of the sting of his words out.

“We’re supposed to be going to Venice, next,” Julian offered, and smiled again, brighter still, “It’s half of why I suggested this game - Venice is supposed to be one of the most beautiful cities on Earth. I thought you’d like to see it.”

“And then probably destroy half of it in our attempts to save the world - you have a curious notion of how to appreciate a place.”

“We don’t have to destroy it,” Julian said, shaking his head, “It just…tends to happen, in these sorts of stories.”

“Of course. By the way…what in the world were you talking about earlier, with the dog?”

Julian groaned and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You heard that?”

“My dear, of course I heard it. You were bugged, I was supposed to be hearing you. Until you shorted it, which, no water-proof bugs? Really? How low tech is this?”

“Fairly - electricity has been used for…maybe a century, at the outside? The technology’s all still fairly basic.”

Garak put his hands on the table and leaned a bit closer, “So, since you were so upset I shot my target, how was it supposed to play out, in a general run-through?”

Julian shrugged, and Garak felt…was that a foot? Yes, he thought it was…hook itself around his ankle, under his trousers and just above the top of his shoe, warm toes digging into his calf. “I was expecting a much more direct pursuit,” he admitted, “I wasn’t reckoning on you somehow working out where we were going ahead of time, which - actually, how did you work that out?”

That foot was going to be distracting, but Garak would not let Julian cause him to trip over his own tongue. “I memorized the city layout, and there were only so many places where the wall was weak, after following you and gauging your general direction, I picked the most probable that you’d take. Then it was just a matter of slowing you down so I could get there first.”

“…that does explain the police cars,” Julian said, sounding slightly dazed. Those toes flexed against Garak’s leg, and then the foot slid down, pushing at the back of Garak’s shoe as if trying to coax it off his foot. “I never had a chance, did I?”

“Not remotely.” Garak replied, his eyes staring intently at Julian. “You ought to know better than to underestimate me, my dear Julian.” Without changing his expression, Garak slipped the foot Julian had been trying to get at out of his shoe and snagged Julian’s foot with his toe-claws.

Julian made quite an appealing soft sound in his throat at that, and Garak suppressed a grin.

“I suppose I should,” Julian agreed, “Though it’ll be interesting to see how this re-shapes the plot. Traditionally, one of us used her to get at the villain of the piece - Sir Arthur Galt, I suppose. This time we’re going to have to work out another way.” He twisted his foot in Garak’s grip, brushing his toes against the underside of Garak’s foot.

Garak’s hands clawed lightly at the table, though he didn’t take his eyes off Julian’s. “Playing this by ear, are we? Be the invisible man, beneath the notice of the target to get right where you need to be to hear everything?”

Julian tapped a finger against his mouth, considering - or pretending to consider. “Well. We could do that. But this is a holosuite. And a game. And there’s at least a bit of martini in this story…we might as well enjoy it.”

“I have yet to see a martini. In fact, I’m getting rather parched.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “Well, we can’t have that. Computer? Two martinis, please.”

Two long-stemmed, triangular glasses garnished with strange round greenish fruit shimmered into view.

Julian gave an apologetic smile, “Not quite the same as the real thing, but it should stave it off a little longer. Anyway, like I was saying…this is a game. We don’t have to do what would be the sane or the sensible or the realistic thing. That’s the point of the holosuites - to do things you’ve never tried before, or would never dare in real life, like-”

“Like ziplining over an active minefield with someone shooting at you?” Garak suggested dryly.

Julian smiled, small and slightly sly. “Exactly like that.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t want to hit you.” Garak said as he grabbed one of the glasses, giving it a sniff before trying a sip. It wasn’t as good as kanar, but it wasn’t as bad as what Quark had on stock. The flavour was still lacking, as all holofoods were.

“The safeties are on,” Julian reminded him, “The bullet brushed right past me. But the point is- is that we could do this the sneaky, sensible way, or we could do it ostentatiously, ridiculously and with absolutely no self-restraint without any risk to ourselves. Besides.” His smile widened, became faintly predatory, and he wriggled his toes again against Garak’s foot. “I rather want to know what you make of the death-trap.”

Garak kept eye contact as he drained his martini glass and licked his lips to get the last of the drops of alcohol. If they were going to continue playing this game, then he needed to stop playing the other one…so he let go of Julian’s foot after he gave it a final squeeze. “Alright, I’m curious…what death-trap?”

“There’s always a death-trap,” Julian said, with the certainty of a man declaring the sky was blue. “The hero - well, one of them - always ends up getting put in it, the villain always leaves before they’re actually dead, and they are always so over complicated and take so long that the hero inevitably escapes anyway. It’s the single stupidest literary convention ever invented by humankind.” For someone talking about their world’s stupidest literary convention, Garak thought, Julian sounded surprisingly gleeful.

“I’m glad you realize just how ridiculous that sounded, and accept it.” Garak said wryly, tilting his head to look at Julian from under his ridges.

“Of course it’s ridiculous,” Julian said, “That’s half the fun.”

“Mm, debatable. But, we’ll see.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you have absolutely no interest in seeing me tied up and dangling over a tank of crocodiles?” he said in a low, purring voice that was as put-on as the accent from before had been, but rather less objectionable. “Completely helpless, bound, entirely at your mercy…”

“Not if I’m not the one who put you there.” Garak replied, “Though you paint a very…tempting…picture.”

Julian grinned. “I’ll add that to the list of future date suggestions,” he said blithely, “We could make it an actual competition - you play the villain and I play the hero and see who comes out on top?”

Garak’s smile was slow and positively devilish, “Enchanting idea, though I think it’ll always end the same… And I’m not one to beg for mercy.”

“Is this entire city floating on the water?” Garak asked, sounding almost breathless as he leaned out of the boat to watch the Grand Canal going by.

Julian laughed, and lent against the bow beside him. “It’s built on a chain of islands,” he said, “It’s mostly held up by anti-gravity, these days - it was sinking for centuries before that.” He didn’t need to ask ‘what do you think’. For once, Garak’s face was entirely readable, and alight with something like bliss.

“I would love to see it now, if this is it sinking.”

Julian swallowed a ‘maybe you will’. It was a very long way from a certainty that Garak would ever be able to, with the way things were tending on Earth right now. “Most of the city’s remained about the same for centuries,” he said instead, “The historic centre has, anyway. I’ve never actually been to the real place, but I’ve heard about it.”

Garak looked back at him for only a moment, but that moment conveyed without words his severe disappointment, “That is a crime. You were on the same planet as this place for how many years, and you never went?”

“I went to other places!” Julian said defensively. “Some of them…about as beautiful. I nearly lived in Paris, and it’s about as famous for beauty as Venice is. Just…not quite the same way.”

“Until I see this Paris, I shall continue to judge you.”

“Next time,” Julian promised, recklessly. “Or- There’s Spain. The Alhambra. I saw that on a school trip once. Or…or Cairo.”

“Cairo?” Garak asked curiously, eyes not on Julian as he was still taking in everything around them.

“I was born there,” Julian said simply. “My parents moved away when I was…pretty young…but I still remember parts of it.” He forced a smile, and added, “And it might be a more accommodating climate for you than Paris or London.”

Garak’s attention had flicked back to him and stayed there, and the Cardassian was quiet a moment. “If this temperature is accurate, then Venice is very similar to Cardassia’s winter.” Garak smiled, “Winter is the best time of year, you know.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Julian looked around, “We’re nearly there,” he added, “St Mark’s Square - come on.”

True to his word, the boat - an old-fashioned speedboat, not one of the glossy black gondolas drifting serenely down the canal - drew to a stop just minutes later, and Julian clambered out, doing his best not to slip and slide and horribly aware that he wasn’t succeeding.

Garak had an insufferable smile as he watched Julian flounder, but thankfully said nothing. “Where to next, Agent Bashir?”

“The hotel first - then, there’s this.” He produced something from out of his jacket with a flourish that he would never admit to having practiced. “My superiors have a contact who managed to wrangle an invitation for one…Julius Eaton, plus guest. Apparently Mr Eaton is a dealer in antiquities, and Galt has a passion for those.” The alias wasn’t what he’d have gone for - Julius was just a hair too close to ‘Jules’ - but objecting now would draw attention to it, and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Do you have my alias as well, or shall I be creative?”

“Nothing hard-and-fast,” Julian admitted, “If your superiors didn’t provide you with one, I’d say you have the choice.”

“Hmm. What is my character’s name supposed to be, again?”

“Illya Kuryakin,” Julian replied, slightly taken aback. “Though, this is the middle of the Cold War, a Russian name might just cause more trouble.”

Garak gave him a wide-eyed look. “I thought you wanted me to take risks, Mr Eaton?”

“I do. All right, then, Mr Kuryakin, shall we go? It’s all on foot from here, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

Waving one arm, Garak motioned for him to lead the way, “After you.”

Their hotel was, according to the travel documents that had manifested themselves during the scene change, on the Grand Canal itself, an old red building that had probably been a palazzo at some point. It was also almost offensively beautiful, with a view that even made Garak stop bitching under his breath about the utter tastelessness of mid-twentieth-century human decor.

“Should I just pause the game and let you stare for the rest of the programme?” he teased, coming up behind Garak.

“No…” Garak turned to face him with a wicked smile and looked Julian up and down, “There are other beautiful things to look at.”

Julian snorted, “And you have the nerve to criticise my lines?”

Garak’s expression turned innocent, “We’ve only seen part of the city, surely there’s more to it?”

“Definitely, I just don’t know how much the makers of the programme thought players would want to explore.” Julian leant a little against the window-frame, watching Garak as much as the canal outside. “If you like we could go and-” Find out, he had meant to say, but he wasn’t given the chance. Garak’s mouth was on his, Garak pressing him up against the window-frame and making it very difficult to concentrate on suspected Soviet weapons or the end of this whole little holographic world.

Hands snaked their way up his sides and behind his back, pressing him even further into the Cardassian’s chest. Garak’s mouth was cool, and tasted not quite like a human’s, no trace of the holographic martini he’d had earlier lingering on his lips or his tongue. His hands were cool too, even through Julian’s shirt, and when they finally broke apart, Garak’s forehead, bumps and ridges and spoon and all, fell against Julian’s and stayed there.

“I knew you’d be warm, my dear, but I didn’t think you’d run this hot.” Garak murmured, his breath ghosting over Julian’s face, “I dare say it’s going to be…very difficult to let go of you.”

Julian kissed him again, to avoid having to reply, and clung on, pulling Garak closer against him. The fork of Garak’s tongue felt strange against his own, and he could feel rough scaling as he slid a hand up and under Garak’s tunic. Just as Julian was losing himself in Garak, there was a chirp from the computer, and that was all the warning either of them got before the holosuite turned off, and suddenly there was nothing at his back.

With the wall no longer supporting their weight, Julian fell back, Garak right on top of him. Julian let out a grunt as he hit the deck’s floor, and the wind was knocked out of him as Garak’s weight crushed into his chest. This was not how he had been expecting to become breathless.

“Time’s up!” the call came from outside, “I’ve got other customers waiting, y’know!”

Garak shifted on top of him, just enough to look over his shoulder and glare at the Ferengi. Julian couldn’t see Garak’s face, but he did see half of Quark’s as the man nearly yelped and scurried off.

“Garak?” he managed to gasp out, “-can’t breathe-”

Garak’s head snapped back to him, surprised concern written all over his face, “My apologies, my dear!” He put his hands to either side of Julian’s shoulders and lifted himself up, so all his weight was now on his knees and hands and thankfully off of Julian.

“…thanks,” Julian managed, and dragged himself to his feet, tugging Garak up after him with maybe a little more strength than a baseline human should be able to muster. “I suppose we should go,” he added, “Er…” He didn’t especially want the evening to be over yet. “Would you like a drink? A real one? Holograms don’t really help, even if it feels like it. And I’d be interested to hear what you thought of the game.”

The smile Garak gave him would have been answer enough, but Julian was still glad when Garak leaned closer until their noses almost touched and said, “That sounds delightful…”

And then, of course, Julian had to kiss him again, and they were quite happily occupied right up until the sound of something metallic hitting the ground jolted them back to reality. Julian looked around.

“…oh,” he said, in a strangled voice. “Um. Hello, Chief. We were just…uh…”

“On our way out.” Garak finished for him, giving his usual respectful bow to the chief. “Pardon us.”

Miles looked so disturbed it was almost comical, but nodded gruffly and moved aside to let them through, carefully avoiding Julian’s eyes. Julian smiled and sort of shrugged as he followed Garak out, the door of the holosuite sliding shut behind him as he heard the opening chords of the Flying Aces World War Two holoprogramme filtering out into the corridor.

“Drinks?” Garak asked and Julian snapped back to where he was, with Garak’s expectant gaze boring into him.

He paused, for a moment, and then caught Garak’s hand. “I’m starving,” he said, “Do you mind if we get dinner as well? I’ve heard good things about that Klingon place at the other end of the Promenade?”

“Loud, crowded, and boisterous? Are you sure that’s how you wish to spend your evening?”

“The Vulcan place at this end of the Promenade?” Julian suggested.

Garak gave him a look as if that were no better, “And be judged for our open emotionalism?” Garak’s gaze flicked down to where Julian still held his hand.

“The Celestial Cafe?” Julian tried.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Garak looked like he was questioning Julian’s sanity. “My dear, you recall I am Cardassian? I don’t think they’ll take kindly to my being there.” Just as Julian was beginning to think Garak was just making excuses not to have dinner with him, Garak pulled Julian’s hand back up to the same place he’d put it before. “How about…my quarters? Guaranteed privacy, quiet, and minimal judgement.”

Julian smiled. “I’d like that.” One last remnant of his common sense flared up for a moment. “I have to pick Mila up from Jadzia’s quarters in an hour.”

Garak feigned a put upon look, “Oh, very well. We shall just have to rush through dinner then. One of these days, my dear doctor, you’re going to sit down for a full Cardassian meal.”

“And just what would that involve?” Julian asked.

“You’ll find out, though perhaps we’ll have to work on your table manners first.” Garak smirked widely at that.

Julian huffed. “There is nothing wrong with my table manners!”

“My dear, I have seen people flee from danger slower than you eat. You practically inhale food.”

“So?”

“So? It is terribly rude.”

Julian stared at him. “…you aren’t just saying that because you happen to dislike it, are you?”

“I’ll have you know, that on Cardassia to eat so quickly is extremely rude, as it is either a sign of starvation or disrespect to one’s host.”

Julian blinked. “Really? Where exactly did that idea come from? Mightn’t a person simply be busy? Or in a hurry for some other reason?”

“Would you like me to lecture on how exactly proper table manners are done, or shall we head to my quarters?”

“…your quarters, please,” Julian said, because contrary to popular belief he did have some idea of when to stop. “You can fill me in on the finer points once I’m there.”

Garak chuckled, “Of course, my dear, I did not assume otherwise.” He took Julian’s arm, in public, without any apparent thought for the damage to Julian’s reputation he’d claimed to be so concerned about during that desperate argument after Julian returned from the other universe, and the two of them set off back towards the habitat ring.