#he also loves to be snarky and lie so there is a solid chance his gen z students told him and he is trying to get back at me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tripleaxeldiaz · 4 years ago

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maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 3/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

The two weeks before Skate America breeze by, every hour filled with skating or conditioning or trying not to creep on message boards to see what people are predicting for the season. Buck feels good, the best he’s ever felt this early on. He tries to reign it in, that voice in his head reminding him that he could still lose it all at any moment, but it’s muffled and quiet and easy to ignore.

He’s also been seeing more of Eddie, now that he knows he’s not the douchebag he always assumed he was. They condition together, watch each other's jumping passes and offer tips, even take their lunch break together, talking about everything skating and some non skating things too. It’s easy and nice and the best parts of Buck’s days, if he’s honest. He maybe always thinks about talking to Eddie, picking his brain for his thoughts on various skaters’ programs, watching him laugh with his whole body at some snarky comment Buck makes about someone’s horrible choice in costume. Buck likes the way he laughs, likes the way he feels a little warmer when he makes him laugh.

He should have known this brief bubble of happiness would be popped sooner rather than later.

The day before they leave, he and Maddie get an email — an email — from their mother, inviting them to dinner while they’re in town for the competition. To say Buck’s surprised would be an understatement.

“How’d they even find out it’s in Reading this year? Did you tell them?”

Maddie rolls her eyes, stabbing her salad with a little more force than necessary. “I haven’t spoken to them in longer than you have, so no. They’ve probably seen ads or something.”

“We could lie, tell them Bobby’s really strict about non-skating things during competitions?”

“Sure, but then they might just call Bobby on their own and blow our whole cover.”

“We could tell them we’re sick? Food poisoning? Then miraculously get better?”

“If that didn’t work when you tried to get out of taking your SAT, I don’t think it’ll work this time, either.”

“I wasn’t even planning on going to college, why did I—” Buck huffs as Maddie shakes her head at him sympathetically.

There’s really no way for them to get out of this.

The thing is, their parents aren’t bad people — a doctor and a PR manager who are on every non-profit board in the county, volunteer at the local animal shelter, and donate plenty of money to plenty of charities. As parents, though, they somehow manage an interesting balance of using their children’s successes for their own bragging rights and making them feel like they’re always just shy of good enough. They supported them growing up, sure, paid their way through lessons and competitions before endorsements started coming in, but it always felt like it was serving their own clout more than helping Buck and Maddie follow their dreams. When they moved out to LA, it was easy to distance themselves, rescheduling calls indefinitely until their parents eventually just stopped trying.

The last time Buck talked to them was right after his leg surgery — they called under the guise of “checking in on him”, but spent most of the call figuring out the quickest way to get him back to practice, offering to pay for extra surgeries and PT to speed up the process. He’s sure they thought they were helping, but it felt more like they were eager for him to get back to winning medals so they could tell their friends about it.

As much as he loves to win, it’s not the same when someone else is pushing you more than you’re pushing yourself.

He sighs again, slumping down in his chair. He hadn’t been nervous at all about Skate America, but now the itch of self doubt has made a home right under his skin, and it wasn’t even for a skating reason. Maddie reaches across the table to grab his wrist, squeezing lightly.

“It’ll be two hours max, then we’ll make an excuse about early practice and leave. It won’t be that bad.”

Buck nods, turning back to his lunch, suddenly not hungry as his stomach continues to churn.

~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t expect to get this nostalgic, but the familiar drive toward Reading and the Sovereign Center (Santander Arena now, because capitalism is a prison) fills him with jittery excitement and a weird sense of calm, just like it did when he was a kid competing in the regional circuit. The arena was a palace compared to their rink in Hershey, and it always made him want to skate well enough to be worthy of the ice there. It’s where he won his first medal ever, his first gold, his first trip to Nationals, and would hopefully now serve as a stepping stone once again, this time leading him towards Beijing.

Eddie’s lounging on his bed, shirtless and flipping channels, when Buck gets to their room. It wasn’t a surprise this time — they’d requested to room together anyway — but seeing Eddie like this, soft and relaxed and somehow at home in a hotel room, makes Buck’s heart flip a little bit.

Buck’s heart has been flipping a lot around Eddie, and making him think about stupid things like kissing him and how his abs would feel under his fingertips and how he’d prefer his eggs in the morning. It’s taking up a lot of real estate in his brain, and it’s going to get even worse now that they’re sleeping 10 feet away from each other, he’s sure.

That doesn’t stop him from sneaking glances at Eddie while he unpacks. Just to get it out of his system so he can focus.

It’s fine.

He can totally handle this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Skata America is a much bigger deal than ACI — more cameras, more interviews, more people watching in the stands and on TV. That should mean it’s all more intimidating, too, but Buck is thriving under the lights and camera lenses. This will be the first real chance to show people — not just skating people, but everyone — what he can do, and the anticipation of how it will be received buzzes through him constantly. That buzz practically dictates his every move through practices and his short, finally ceasing as he hits his final pose. It’s quickly replaced by elation — he knows he nailed everything, he knows the resounding applause is deserved.

He knows he’s in first place before they even announce his score.

When they do, he’s right, and he’s thrilled, but there’s also a pang of disappointment, because the margin is tight — only three points between him and Eddie in second. Bobby hands him his protocols in the green room, and his stomach clenches when he sees that his step sequence and his sit spin were downgraded to level threes. His brain starts spinning, mentally combing through every revolution and edge to figure out where the hell he fucked up, when he feels a warm, solid hand on his shoulder. He looks up and sees Eddie, but instead of pity like he expected (or gloating like he feared), he just sees understanding in his eyes, maybe even a hint of the same irritation he’s feeling.

“They screwed me over too, my camel should have had a plus three GOE at least.” Eddie says, squeezing Buck’s shoulder. Somehow, he’s already feeling better.

“I bet it was the French judge, he’s always been a conniving bastard.”

“We could take him out, we have time before tomorrow.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Buck says, as Eddie offers his hand and pulls him up to stand. He tries not to miss the warmth when he lets go.

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie says quietly as they make their way around skaters and coaches in the hallway toward the press room, “I think you should be at least 10 points ahead, if not more. You were something else out there.”

Buck can’t make his brain come up with a proper response by the time they take their seats on the makeshift stage in front of the reports, so all he can do is smile and hope it comes across as totally chill and not as dopey as it feels.

Eddie smiles back, and Buck thinks he’s beautiful.

The presser goes just as expected — a few questions lobbed at the Candian skater currently in third, more for Buck since he’s in first, but the most still go to Eddie. Being the favorite for Olympic gold doesn’t go away after half a competition, and the reporters are rabid as ever. Buck’s seen Eddie’s press routine — the humble charm and gracious smiles, cracking jokes like he’s talking to friends and not a bunch of strangers with tape recorders. He’d spent years mentally rolling his eyes at what he thought was the fakeness of it all, but after getting closer to Eddie, he knows that’s just how Eddie is. Kind and patient, actively listening to what people are saying, taking his time to form thoughtful answers.

But whatever’s happening now is not the Eddie he knows — his laughs are forced and almost too loud, his smile is tight and boarding on a grimace. He keeps fidgeting with his credentials and the sleeve of his Team USA zip-up, eyes darting around like he’s charting his path to get out of the room as fast as possible once they’re done.

He’s nervous. Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen him nervous, at least not like this, and it’s honestly a little unsettling. So much so that all Buck wants to do is fix it, bring the light back to Eddie’s eyes, bleed the tension out of his shoulders.

There’s probably not an easy way to do that while answering questions about his performance.

He waits until he sees the “wrap it up” signal from the event worker off to the side, the next reporter giving one last question to the Canadian skater. He doesn’t think about it too hard, just stretches his leg a little to the right, slowly, until he and Eddie are ankle to ankle. It’s not much, but Eddie still looks over at him, first confused and then grateful, a small, real smile on his face, his shoulders falling away from his ears.

Eddie’s quiet on the ride back to the hotel, but he looks calmer, listening to everyone else talk about their events and what could happen tomorrow during free skates. He’s still jittery though, leg bouncing as he sits next to Buck on the bus. Whatever was bothering him during interviews is clearly still lingering, and Buck has to fight the urge to reach out and calm his shaking with a hand on his knee.

They make it back to their room, door barely clicking in place behind them, before Buck breaks.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Eddie freezes in front of him, half turned around like he was about to ask Buck something before he steamrolled over him. “You seemed stressed during the presser and on the ride back, and I just...wanted to make sure you’re good.”

Eddie looks stunned for a second before letting out a breath, hand rubbing over his face. “I knew this would happen, you know? The extra attention. It happened after Pyeongchang and the bronze medal, but it died down eventually. I thought I’d have more time to mentally prepare for it again, I guess.” He shakes his head, hand falling to his side as he shrugs his shoulders helplessly. “Today was just a lot.”

Buck nods, patting Eddie’s arm in understanding because he gets it. Most of the time he basks in any form of attention, but some days the lights are too hot and the voices are too loud and faking a smile through it is impossible. The one Buck sees now is real though, he knows it, and he’s happy to see Eddie relaxing now that they’re away from the vultures.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ll be out of your hair tonight, so you’ll have plenty of time to yourself,” Buck says, crossing the room to his bed, digging through his bag for his dinner clothes.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asks, and when Buck looks back at him as he heads to the bathroom to change, he swears he looks disappointed, briefly, before it shifts to confusion. “We don’t have any team stuff tonight, right?”

“Nah, Maddie and I got suckered into dinner with our parents.”

“Are Buckley family dinners always black tie affairs?” he asks when Buck comes back in slacks and a white button down, struggling to knot his tie.

“No, but they told us to dress nicely, so we’re probably going to some fancy restaurant downtown. Knowing them, we’ll also be dragged to some party one of their friends is having that’s conveniently close by.”

He groans in frustration when his tie comes out crooked again, and Eddie laughs, taking pity on him and coming to do it himself. Buck tries to keep cool, willing his cheeks not to turn red, but it’s hard when he can feel Eddie’s breath on his chin, feel his fingers run across his collarbones, and he’s so close, if he just leaned in—

“Sounds like it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Buck sighs through his nose. “I love my parents, they’re just...better from a distance.”

Eddie winces in what looks like sympathy, smoothing Buck’s tie and the front of his shirt as he finishes. Buck misses the motion as soon as it’s gone.

“Maybe they’ll prove you wrong this time,” Eddie says.

Buck rolls his eyes at that, but can’t help a small part of him desperately hoping that Eddie will be right.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie is so wrong.

Not only is there a party, it’s a party at their parent’s house, which is in full swing by the time Buck and Maddie pull up in their Lyft. Their mother opens the door, hair up, dress immaculate, lipstick-stained wine glass perched precariously in her hand.

“Evan! Maddie! Come in, so glad you could join us!” She kisses both their cheeks and hugs them quickly before taking their hands and dragging them deeper into the house. There are people everywhere, some faces Buck remembers and some new ones. There are waiters milling around too, passing bacon wrapped figs and mini bruschetta, and Buck feels his stomach rumble.

“So I guess we’re not doing dinner, huh Mom?” Buck asks, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. Judging by the look Maddie gives him, he’s not doing a great job.

Their mother, of course, doesn’t bat an eye. “Sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t realize we were double booked, and we’d already moved this party once. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen though, you can eat after I’ve introduced you to some people. Everyone’s so excited to hear about how you’re doing. Philip, there you are!” Buck spots his father too, a head above the crowd, tie loose and cheeks flushed. He shakes Buck’s hand firmly, kisses Maddie on the top of her head, and is gone in an instant when someone beckons him towards the bar set up on the back wall of the living room.

“Nice to see you, too. We’re doing fine, thanks for asking!” Buck says under his breath before their mother is whisking them away again.

They spend the next hour flitting between couples — the Whiteheads, the Culls, the Carters, and a bunch of others he can’t differentiate — getting whiplash from their mother’s flipping between actual praise and backhanded compliments.

“Evan’s one of the top skaters in the country, though not as highly ranked as he was before his accident. We’re hoping he’ll be back up there by the time the Olympics roll around so he’ll make the team.”

“Maddie’s been with her partner for about three years now, right darling? They don’t have as many golds as she had with Doug, but they do skate well together.”

“Yes, that skater from Japan is very good Rebecca, you’re right! Evan, do you know him? Maybe he can give you some pointers about your edges going into your spins? I know you struggle with those.”

On and on and on, Buck and Maddie barely able to get a word in. They see their father only a few times, and each time he’s gone as quickly as he comes, pulled away by colleagues or board members or whoever it is they’re entertaining tonight. Buck is exhausted, and not just because it’s been a long day already, but from having to keep up the good natured laughs and graciousness when he doesn’t even feel like a person. He feels more like a trophy, being shuttled from room to room to be admired for a while before being shoved into a closet where no one can see you. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen — their parents will tout them around for the night, send them back to the hotel, and not speak to them again until they need something.

Buck really forgot just how small this big house can make him feel.

Eventually, he breaks away, making an excuse about needing the restroom before quietly sneaking up the back staircase to the second floor. Maddie finds him 15 minutes later, sliding down to sit next to him in the guest room closet.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” she says, and Buck smiles weakly. He hid in here a lot when he was a kid, sometimes with Maddie and sometimes alone. When it was all too much — the pressure from their parents or his coach or himself — this is where he came to quiet his brain. The darkness and the smell of the cedar chest full of their mother’s old sweaters was comforting, and it wrapped around him like a blanket until he could breathe again.

“None of their habits have died, that’s for sure,” he says. “Is it sad that I thought they would?”

“It’s not sad to hope for better. It’s just hard when all that hope is for nothing.”

Buck sighs, head thumping against the wall. Maddie threads her arm through his and rests her head on his shoulder. They sit like that for a while, quiet, both in their own heads, though he’s sure Maddie is thinking about and wishing for the same things he is.

He shifts eventually, head resting on top of hers. “Can we go yet? We could probably sneak out the back door. If they haven’t come looking for us yet, they definitely won’t notice.”

“Should we just go back to the hotel? It’s only 8:30.”

“What else are we gonna do?”

Maddie types furiously on her phone for a minute. “Chim, Hen, and May are down to hang out. And WhirlyDome is open until midnight.”

“That place is still around?”

“Apparently, and they have half price appetizers after 9.”

The thought of mozzarella sticks and onion rings makes his stomach growl loudly again. “Alright, let’s do it. But I’m inviting Eddie too.”

Maddie just smirks at him, getting up and out of the closet before he has a chance to ask what the look was for.

It would just be rude not to invite him.

And maybe part of Buck wishes he had stayed in with Eddie tonight from the start.

[to: Eddie] tonight sucked. we’re going to play whirlyball and eat fried food. u in?

[from: Eddie] ????? What the hell is whirlyball?

[to: Eddie] omg now u HAVE to come. meet us here in half an hour

He sends the address and does not smile like an idiot when Eddie says he’ll see him soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So it’s...bumper cars?”

“Bumper cars plus lacrosse plus basketball, kind of. It’s super fun and only a little dangerous.”

“Can I watch for a bit first?”

“Sorry Eds, first timers have to play. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Eddie still looks skeptical as they get ready for the next game, carefully sitting in the car and picking up his scoop.

A bell rings and the cars come to life, rumbling around the room as everyone starts scrambling for the ball. It takes about 30 seconds for Eddie to get the hang of steering, and by the end of the first game, no one would ever guess he’d never played before. He leads their team to three victories in a row, laughing and cheering loudly along with everyone else, like he hadn’t been overwhelmed with anxiety just a few hours earlier. Something warms in Buck at the thought that he helped with that smile, and it’s a feeling he thinks he could get used to, a job he wouldn’t mind having if it meant Eddie was this happy more often than not.

Despite it all — despite good friends and good food and the feeling of Eddie’s shoulder pressed against his, Buck still feels the tendrils of doubt and panic floating around him. They’re bad enough during competitions normally, but pair them with what happened at his parents’ house — being reminded of how he’ll never live up to their lofty image of him, even if he does make it to Beijing — and everything just feels dark and cold, and he doesn’t think his lungs are working properly. He leaves the table, says he’s going to the bathroom, but ends up outside instead. WhirlyDome is in the older half of a shopping center in downtown Hershey, and the outside has been renovated since he was last here, now featuring an elaborate fountain surrounded by benches and newly paved pathways to the other stores. He sinks down on the nearest bench, the cool October air grounding him, making it easier to think, easier to try and smash down all these swirling emotions he’s trying not to feel.

Eddie finds him there, sits down next to him on the bench without saying anything. They stay in companionable silence, watching the fountain dance and the people bustle back and forth across the plaza, getting last minute shopping in before the stores close.

“I’m sorry dinner sucked,” Eddie says eventually, quiet and sincere.

Buck shrugs. “I knew it would. Just got my hopes up too high that things would be different.”

Eddie nods, eyes drifting back to the fountain. Now that they’re alone and the excitement from the games is gone, he can see the slightly weary lines of Eddie’s shoulders, see how he’s still curling in on himself, like he’s trying to escape into his own body.

“How are you?” Buck asks, knocking his knee against Eddie’s gently. “I know this isn’t exactly a quiet night in.”

“I’m alright. Better than I would be, thanks to you.”

“What did I do?”

Eddie’s staring at the ground, but his cheeks are flushing pink, and Buck wants to reach out and feel the heat of them under his fingertips.

“You were there,” he says. “I’m usually alone when I start feeling like that, and nothing makes it better. But I wasn’t alone this time.”

I don’t want you to be alone, Buck thinks, and these thoughts he’s been having — about Eddie, about being with Eddie — are getting louder and louder and harder to ignore. Especially now, when it’s just the two of them, and Eddie’s eyes are sparkling like gems under the street lights.

It’s almost hilarious that barely six weeks ago, and for 10 very long years, he could hardly stand the sight of him.

Eddie finally looks up from the ground, facing Buck, and they’re so much closer than he thought they were. He can count every eyelash, smell his cologne, watch his eyes trace over Buck’s face, from his eye to his lips and back again.

Buck doesn’t even realize he’s leaning in until his vision starts to blur, and he stops short. He tries to move back slowly, casually, but then firm hands are cupping his jaw, pulling him forward until soft lips meet his own. There’s no fireworks, no angels singing, just warm molasses in his veins, spreading to every part of him until he’s so warm he’s certain he must be glowing. His hands twist into Eddie’s jacket, pulling him as close as possible until he’s practically in his lap. They move to his shirt, feeling the abs he’s been thinking about for weeks now, and he almost melts right to the ground at the sound Eddie sighs into his mouth.

He’s not sure how long they kiss, but it doesn’t feel like long enough by the time they come up for air. He doesn’t go far, still close enough to feel Eddie’s breath fan across his lips, but he’s not sure what to do now. He wants to know what this means (if it means anything at all), he wants to know what Eddie’s thinking, he wants to memorize the way Eddie tastes and feel his abs for real.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, making them both jump. It’s a text from Maddie, telling him they’re car is here and asking where the hell they went. He looks back at Eddie, still so close, and swallows down the urge to kiss him again and tell his friends to leave them here.

“We should— we have to go,” he says, gesturing toward the parking lot. Eddie’s eyes are flitting over his face again, unreadable but still bright. He nods finally, standing up and offering his hand to Buck. He can’t fight the smile or the blush that he feels, so he doesn’t, taking Eddie’s hand to help him stand. They stay put for a minute, until Eddie squeezes his hand and drops it, smiling that soft smile again as he turns away.

Buck smiles himself, still full of warmth and lips still tingling, before following Eddie to the car.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ride back is quiet, everyone tired and settling back into the competition mindset they were able to let go of for a few hours. Buck feels it too, already running step sequences in his head again, but he keeps getting distracted. Eddie’s sitting next to him in the back seat of the Lyft, head tipped back and eyes closed, looking at peace for the first time all day. Buck tries to stop, tries to keep his focus, but his eyes keep drifting back to Eddie’s jaw, the cut of his cheekbones, the stubble shadowing his cheeks. It’s hard to remember what edges he’s supposed to hit tomorrow when he keeps thinking about how that stubble felt under his lips.

They silently make their way back to their room, and Buck knows they need to talk. He’s trying to figure out where the hell to start as he turns on the light in the small entryway, illuminating everything in a light that feels too harsh for whatever is currently simmering between them. Eddie’s right behind him when he turns around, looking just as unsure as Buck feels. It’s comforting, them being on the same page, but Buck hates that he’s responsible for making Eddie feel like this.

He can’t figure out where to start, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tries to figure out what to say. Eddie takes pity on him eventually, reaching for his hand again.

“Let’s talk tomorrow?” he asks. “After free skates.”

It’s an out that Buck is more than willing to take. Not that he doesn’t want to talk, he just...can’t. Not right now. So he nods, squeezing Eddie’s hand in thanks. He goes to pull away, but Eddie’s grip stays firm.

“It wasn’t nothing to me,” he says, tilting his head until Buck meets his eye. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing or what it meant for you, but it was something for me.”

Buck’s doesn’t know what to do with that, either. He wants to kiss Eddie again and he wants to run far away from him and he wants to skate, but he can’t until the morning. So he just nods again, and it seems to be enough. Eddie nods back, finally dropping his hand as he heads into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Buck doesn’t bother waiting for his turn, just strips out of his dress clothes and crawls into bed. He falls asleep fast, dreams of brown eyes and triple axels — taking off, rising, and falling, falling, falling…

~~~~~~~~~~

He knows he’s falling before his ass hits the ice.

It was inevitably, really — he felt like he was fighting himself through the entire program, trying to keep it from completely unraveling. He knows that to anyone else, any casual fan and even some analysts, he looked good, strong, put together right until the end. But he knows that this isn’t his best. And this fall is definitely going to cost him.

He recovers quickly, finishing the rest of the program as close to perfectly as he can manage. He smiles and bows, waves to his friends in the stands, tries to pretend like he’s okay with knowing that he’s definitely not winning this gold.

It’s his own fault. He’d let his parents worm their way into his brain again, amplifying the self doubt that was already lingering, making him second guess every move, even the things he knows are good. Pair that with the fact that he can’t stop thinking about Eddie — not just the kiss, but his smile as he took the ice, his effortless jumps — and it was a miracle he only fell once.

He takes silver, four points behind Eddie’s gold. The fact that it was that fall that did him in stings worse than anything.

At the medal ceremony, he catches Eddie’s eye for the first time all day on the podium, and surprises himself with the genuine smile he gives him. It’s certainly not Eddie’s fault, what happened today — he didn’t ask to take up most of Buck’s thoughts, Buck let that happen. And if he keeps letting it happen, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to skate clean again.

He knows they still need to talk, and he knows exactly what he needs to say, but he really doesn’t want to say it.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to say anything right away. Eddie disappears after the presser and doesn’t join him and May in the stands for the free dance. Buck tries to ignore the empty seat next to him, but it’s harder than usual.

They have a late flight back to LA, and Eddie’s already packed but the time Buck makes it back to the room. They stand across from each other in the entryway, just like last night, but the tension in the air feels wary under Buck’s skin instead of hopeful.

“You were amazing today,” Buck blurts out, not at all how he wanted to start this conversation. It’s worth it, though, for the smile and blush he gets from Eddie.

“Thanks,” he says, eyes on the floor. “So were you.”

Jesus, just tell him, Buck thinks, and he squares his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight.

“It was something for me, too,” he says softly. “Yesterday, it— it definitely wasn’t nothing.”

Eddie looks at him, waiting, and Buck hesitates.

He really, really doesn’t want to say it.

“But?” Eddie prompts, because of course he knows there’s more.

“But,” Buck sighs. “But I can’t— We should wait. Until after the Olympics. I don’t think either of us want to be too distracted before then, and I don’t know if you know this, but you are very...very distracting.” Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes, and Buck lets his gaze rake over Eddie from top to bottom, distracting himself for just a little bit longer.

“You’re right,” Eddie says quietly. “Let’s wait. And I’ll try and be less distracting, so I can keep kicking your ass fair and square.”

“Oh really?” Buck laughs, and Eddie’s laughing too, and it feels good and normal and Buck doesn’t want it to stop. But it has to. Because as much as Buck wants to dive deeper into this...whatever this is with Eddie, he wants to win more. Not much more (which is a thought he never expected to have about anyone), but definitely more.

And if anyone in the world understands that feeling, it’s Eddie.

There’s a knock on the door, Bobby giving them a 15 minute warning before they’re supposed to head to the airport. Buck moves to head toward his things so he can pack, but Eddie grabs his arm before he can go too far. His eyes look soft and sad and hopeful and a million other things Buck is feeling too, and he just wants to drown in them, in this moment, before he has to go back out into the world, alone.

Eddie leans forward, softly kissing Buck’s cheek, lingering in his space before he heads out of the room, door quietly shutting behind him.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #buddie fic #911 fic #9-1-1 #fs au #ficcery #the self indulgence really popped out on this one because i lOVE whirlyball sm #also they continue to be idiots but that's not totally my fault #they're just Like That

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

All These Things and More

Festive nature is not something Emma Swan is particularly familiar with. Even less so after nearly breaking her ankle in the middle of Central Park, and she can’t believe it isn’t someone’s job to de-ice those stairs.

As it is, her ankle appears to be swelling with every passing moment, and she can’t get her keys off the floor, and she’s pleasantly surprised she doesn’t flinch when the door across the hall from her apartment opens. Or when the guy who presumably lives behind that door offers his help. With her dropped keys, and, it turns out, just about everything else in Emma’s life.

‘Tis the season, or whatever.

----

Rating: Teen Word Count: 8.8K, let’s all act surprised that these keep getting longer AN: Today’s prompt(s) come from @illicitaffairslongingstares and while she did say “or,” my mind was like LET’S USE ALL OF THEM, so here we have: "people are jerks, but not you.""a thunderstorm is rolling through town and you’re scared of lightening/thunder so i’ll protect you.""this is probably a bad time, but marry me?" Thank you for the prompts, babe. I hope you enjoy this massive pile of fluff.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

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“Are you alright?” Emma bites her tongue. So as to also bite back the rather immediate and far too snarky response sitting there. Of course she’s not alright. She doesn’t normally walk like this — trying very hard not to bend her knee because somehow that makes everything hurt more, and she can’t quite believe that anything could hurt more than the twelve blocks she essentially dragged herself down, but there are also scrapes on either one of her palms and the lack of any creaking floor behind her means the voice has not left yet.

That only kind of frustrates her.

Hopping on the one good foot she has left, Emma nearly falls over more than once. Which is very impressive, actually. Both because she hasn’t moved very much and because the lack of stability in either one of her knees isn’t entirely biological.

He’s stupid good looking.

The voice, who she suddenly realizes belongs to that guy across the hall and she knew that guy across the hall had very nice eyes, from the few times she’d allowed herself to acknowledge such a ridiculous thing, but now she’s also got to deal with the knowledge that his hair kind of artfully falls across his forehead when he bends his neck at that very precise angle and—

“How did you manage to get up the stairs?”

Shoulders slumping, Emma lets out a breath she wishes she hadn’t been holding. She’s already running low on functioning body parts, doing any extra damage to her lungs just seems like a bad choice. Although that could be the sub-headline of her night at this point.

“Sheer force of will,” she replies, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of the words and that almost feels like a vaguely twisted victory when one side of the guy’s mouth tugs up. The one she’s inexcusably staring at.

So as to distract herself from the overall color of his eyes.

Maybe she’s concussed.

That’d make her feel better, honestly.

“Still not really an answer, though.” “I’ve almost forgotten the question,” Emma mutters, and she’ll use her injury as an excuse. For the continued sarcasm, and what feels suspiciously like a fluttering heart because the guy’s mouth is starting to twist into something that looks suspiciously like a smirk.

Directed at her. He’s wearing gym shorts, it’s absurd. And no socks.

“Aren’t your feet cold?” Absolutely smirking. Still at her. There’s no one else in the hallway, it’s two in the goddamn morning. “They are, in fact,” he nods. His hair moves. It looks very soft. So she’s probably insane now. “But you’re very loud, so—” “—Shit, did I wake you up?” “Not really. I was admittedly a little concerned you were being attacked over there, though.” “Were you going to defend my honor from unknown enemies without any socks on?” “I was seriously considering it.” Laughing somehow makes several different muscles and at least half a dozen joints ache, but Emma can’t seem to help it and the overall tightness between her shoulder blades lessens ever so slightly. “Very gallant of you.” “That’s my schtick, for sure,” he agrees, far too charming and far too easy and Emma’s keys are still on the floor. That was her problem, really.

Getting her keys out of her back pocket was something of a challenge when she was trying to balance all her weight on her right foot, and the lack of feeling in her fingers after spending the last four hours chasing a skip through Central Park made it all but impossible to get the kind of grip she needed and, well—

Cursing every single God she could think of when she dropped those keys and then was apparently unable to bend the right way to pick them back up seemed entirely reasonable.

She hopes her ankle didn’t swell too much.

She hopes that skip also trips down some ice-covered stairs in Central Park and twists one of his ankles. Either one, Emma’s not going to be specific. And she hopes every single member of the New York City Department of Public Works gets coal in their stocking. Or whoever is in charge of de-icing Central Park stairs.

God, she hates Central Park.

Navigating that place continues to be an insurmountable challenge, no matter how long she lives in this city.

“So, uh,” sockless, very good looking neighbor guy continues, leaning across his doorway and Emma can’t believe she doesn’t know his name. She can’t ask him his name now. Then he’ll know she’s as insane as she absolutely is. “Should we rehash, then?” “About your question?” “And if you’re ok.” “Oh, right, right, right, I’m uh—”

Lying should be easier. Should be second nature, honestly. Lying’s part of the gig, lulling skips into a false sense of security that makes catching them easier and getting paid inevitable, and Emma would very much like to lie. If only to try and convince herself.

She shakes her head.

So, that’s a weird chance of pace.

Sockless, very good looking neighbor guy whose shirt is actually far tighter than Emma realized, gives her a tight-lipped smile, nods his head once, like that’s that and crosses the space between them. Which also feels much smaller, all of the sudden.

He picks her keys up on the first try.

Figures, he’s still in possession of two functioning ankles.

“Which one is it?” “Hmmm?” “Your keys, love,” he says, as if that’s something he can say and it’s entirely possible Emma simply imagined that. Delirium is admittedly starting to sink in just a bit. Everything hurts.

“Oh, uh—the uh...the one with the dot. The—the green dot on it.” Humming, he somehow makes sense of her garbled instruction and neither of them try to move closer to each other, but it happens all the same and he’s undeniably solid when Emma slumps against his side.

She still doesn’t know his name, it’s ridiculous.

She swats her hand against the wall as soon as her door swings open, finally finding the light and illuminating her apartment. Which is not very welcoming. Now or ever, really — but the inherent loneliness of the place feels as if it reaches out and slaps Emma in the face, while the very good looking sockless guy with questionably jacked arms is standing next to her.

Her cheeks ache. When she forces herself to smile.

“Thanks,” Emma says, “for the willingness to defend while not properly clothed and—”

One of his eyebrows lifts. “Do you not think I’m properly clothed?” “You’re not wearing any socks.” “You know more curse words than any sailor I have ever met.” “Have you met a lot?” Lifting a shoulder in what Emma can only assume is a shrug and a wordless brush-off, the glint in his eyes dims ever so slightly, but she also should not be noticing any sort of glint and she’s got to sit down. She’ll fall over otherwise.

“You should go to the doctor,” he says instead, nodding towards an ankle Emma can’t bring herself to look at. Feels like it’s swelling. To grapefruit-level proportions. “Urgent care, or something. Like—as soon as possible.” “Are you a doctor and a knight in sockless armor?” “You might be obsessed with my feet.” “Nah, there’s a name for those kinds of people and that’s not—” Heat rises in Emma’s cheeks when she notices him smirking again, and it’s disappointing to realize this is the first time a guy has been in her apartment in months. She’s so lame, it’s ridiculous. “If I tell you something will you promise not to laugh?” “Scouts honor.” “You were not a boy scout,” Emma challenges, which is patently unfair when she also doesn’t know his name, so—“Can I insult you if I keep referring to you as sockless guy in my head?” Leaving out very good looking is a victory she will cling to for the foreseeable future.

As is his answering laugh.

Not quite boisterous, but loud enough that his shoulders shake and his hair moves and she deserves at least two medals and possibly a plaque for not pushing her fingers into the strands.

“I’d rather you didn’t insult me at all,” he says, “but it does seem rude not to introduce myself when I know your name.” “Less knight-like, honestly.” “One of your friends has a habit of kicking on your door and shouting your full name. It’s exceedingly loud and absolutely impossible to ignore.” “You’re an eavesdrop.” “That’s not the right way to use that as an adjective, but your ankle is closing on pumpkin-type dimensions and—” An arm slips around her waist, directing Emma back towards her couch before she can even begin to object and she doesn’t want to object and he smells like soap. Nice soap. The kind of soap that could help lull her to sleep. As if that’s something a cleaning product is capable of. “Anyway,” he adds, “my name is Killian Jones, we should stop discussing my sock situation and I promise not to make fun of whatever you’ve already forgotten you were going to tell me.” “Rude.” “Your friend is ridiculously loud, do you know that?”

Emma nods. “That’s part of Ruby’s charm. And, uh—I don’t know that I can get back down the stairs. Plus, this isn’t really that bad.”

Liar.

Lying liar who lies. And Killian’s other eyebrow moved that time.

“I’d hate to see what could have possibly been worse. So, fine—don’t go down the stairs by yourself, then.” “Do you see a lot of other people in this apartment?” Bitterness replaces the sarcasm, which is far too telling an emotion and quite possibly Emma’s base emotion, but Killian doesn’t blink. He smiles, waving a hand through the air and it’s only then that she notices there’s only one hand and she’s got more questions and vaguely distracting thoughts about his eyes and his face and her lungs are doing that thing again. Not functioning properly.

“And here I thought we’d gotten past the insults.” Emma’s jaw drops. And pops slightly in the process, which is one of the more embarrassing things that’s happened to her that night. “You don't know me,” she argues, louder than she’d like, but she’s so ridiculously tired and that’s a much more sweeping commentary about her life than she’s willing to admit. “I could—I could be a murderer!” “Can’t be all that good at it if your murders end with broken ankles.” “Ah, shit you think it’s broken?” Killian shrugs. “I’m not a doctor, or a murderer. For the record as it were.” “Saying it makes me more suspicious, quite frankly.” “That is frank,” he chuckles, “and it’s not a trick, or anything except the kindness of relative strangers. Which, as everyone knows, gets accentuated at Christmas.” “Not for another two weeks.”

“Christmas lasts for all of December, don’t you know that, Swan?” Last names probably don’t count as endearments. This one sounds that way, though. As if it’s easy for him to say, and that probably has something to do with the return of the glint and her growing obsession with the various shades of blue in his eyes and Emma’s nodding before she’s totally come to grips with what she’s agreeing to. He gets her Tylenol before he leaves.

It’s not broken.

So, that’s something. And about nothing else. Negative else.

Purple bruises and some other color that almost resembles black swirl across the skin covering Emma’s absolutely worthless ankle, a pair of crutches under either one of her arms that are already starting to chafe her sides, and she took a perverse pleasure in the overall circumference of Killian’s eyes when let out a deluge of curse words in the Urgent Care office.

Part of him almost looked proud, though.

Which is just—it’s ridiculous.

Emma blames his ability to smirk as potently as it does. It’s throwing her off entirely. Although that might have something to do with her inherent lack of balance as well, and this might be Bill de Blasio’s fault. None of the sidewalks in this stupid city are clear.

And that is why, Emma will eventually argue, it makes entirely perfect sense to hobble up the stairs back towards her locked apartment door, drop her keys in Killian’s upturned palm and say—“Do you want to come in? I have tequila.” “It’s eleven in the morning.” “Ok.” The smirk gains power. Festive-based power, because they walked by at least four stores with garland in their windows and Emma’s always prided herself on her ability to ignore such emotional nonsense, but now this guy who is presumably wearing socks since he’s also wearing boots, keeps looking at her like she’s fascinating and not entirely depressing and there’s this little inkling of hope in the pit of her stomach.

‘Tis the season, or whatever.

It just kind of happens, really.

Over the next five days, Killian Jones doesn’t quite move into Emma’s apartment, but he becomes something of a presence at the end of her couch and he’s very good at dialing for delivery, and reminding her to take the medication the doctor at Urgent Care prescribed, and it’s so goddamn nice she cannot begin to cope with it.

He makes her laugh with startling regularity — helpful since August had adamantly told her she couldn’t come back to work without another doctor’s note because, as he put it, he wasn’t getting sued, Emma, but that also meant it was very difficult to get a paycheck, and it’s far too easy to fall into this routine.

Even when she starts to wonder—

“Don’t you have a job?” Emma asks on day six, which also happens to be a Friday and it’s kind of insane he doesn’t have something better to do on his Friday night. Than sit in the corner of her couch and scroll through GrubHub listings.

She’d do something drastic for some Indian food.

“Of course.” Widening her eyes, Emma waits for the rest of the explanation. It doesn’t come. Patience has never been one of the virtues she possesses, though. So. “And that job is...”

“Are you worried about my ability to pay rent, Swan?” “In theory. And curious, I guess. About—” “—Me?” Killian quips, but he’s far more accurate than Emma wants him to be and the overall force of his ensuing smirk sends her flying into the metaphorical stratosphere. Of friendship, or whatever. She figures they’re friends now.

If he orders her extra garlic naan.

“I teach,” he continues, “some gen-history classes at CUNY. Finished the semester about a week and a half ago, which is why you only sort of woke me up before. Grading is exhausting, and occasionally depressing and I was trying very hard not to fall asleep on top of all the essays like a giant cliche, when you announced your presence to the hallway.” Gritting her teeth, Emma fights off the wholly unacceptable wave of disappointment cresting her consciousness. She’d sort of—well, she’s not really sure what she hoped for, honestly. Maybe something sort of sweeping.

As if he simply had a sixth sense that she was in need of a quasi-rescue, and woke up to do that. Finding out she’d just interrupted his job is almost a little crushing.

In a friendship type of way, obviously.

“How does one become a teacher of gen-history at CUNY, then?” “I’m a professor, technically.” “Shit, that sounds very fancy.” He grins. Wide and honest, and almost like he’s preening a bit under Emma’s less-than-genteel praise. She’s going to eat at least three samosas too. “It’s exceedingly fancy,” Killian agrees, “and care of the United States GI Bill, which—” “—Didn’t stop after World War II?” “You learn something new every day, love.”

Flicking her finger against his arm happens far too easily. As if this has been going on for months, or years and that’s probably not a sign. Emma’s still firmly entrenched in Ebenezer Scrooge territory.

Although, some soft and distinctly traitorous part of her mind is quick to point out, even Ebenezer Scrooge had a girlfriend.

God, if she gets visits from obnoxious ghosts any time soon, she’s going to be really annoyed.

“Is that why you knew sailors?” “Past and present tense,” Killian amends, and the grin is still there but it also looks a little forced and Emma’s leaning forward. When exactly she decided to do that, she’s not entirely sure, and it obviously doesn’t matter when Killian’s hand flips.

Against hers.

He’s very warm.

Not a sign either, she’s positive.

A million more questions jump to the tip of her tongue, and Emma’s spent way too much time thinking about her tongue in these last six days. She doesn’t voice them. The questions, or the thoughts. Not when she can see the muscle in his clearly clenched jaw jumping with an almost alarming rhythm, and she’s always been very good at reading people.

It’s what’s made her such a good bail bonds...person. At least when she’s not nursing a high ankle sprain, and she hardly notices Killian’s hand shifting against her calf. To move that same ankle back up onto the pillows piled on top of her exceedingly wobbly coffee table.

Goosebumps explode everywhere. Possibly in her heart too, just for maximum absurdity.

“What’s the most random and historic Christmas fact you know?”

Narrowing his eyes makes it difficult to see whatever shade of blue they’ve evolved into, but Emma’s a bit more concerned with the inevitable pink on her cheeks and she desperately needs Killian to move his goddamn hand. To several other places. Across her body. Ebenezer Scrooge probably didn’t want to make out with his girlfriend this much.

Would have scandalized Bob Cratchit.

That wasn’t the right timeline for the story at all.

“Jingle Bells was written as a Thanksgiving song initially,” Killian says, “and was also the first song to be broadcast from space.” “Very different aspects of this fact.” “I like to bring a lot to the table.” “The Thanksgiving one?” “Any holiday,” he shrugs, expression not quite as lined and just a hint easier and Emma’s heart sputters. Like it’s flipping and flopping and possibly expanding, which is a totally different pop culture reference and she’s starting to lose track. “I think Trans Siberian Orchestra is overrated.” “Sounds suspiciously like an opinion.” “That’s also absolutely right,” Emma promises, and she doesn’t get into specifics. For what is very obviously an opinion of the emotion-based variety, and Killian doesn’t press and they order enough Indian food for the entire apartment building.

She doesn’t know anyone else in the building.

That’s not as depressing as it once was.

“Screw Steve Jobs.” “That’s the spirit, for sure.” “What about the other one?” “What other one?” Killian asks, not glancing away from the TV screen or the streaming options that limit their Christmas movie-viewing choices. “Are you just shouting names at me?” Emma tuts, wrestling the remote from his hand. “There’s no shouting involved, I’m just expressing my frustration at whoever is in charge of Apple now, and Steve Jobs and his legacy and how it’s preventing me from watching A Charlie Brown Christmas.” “I’m not sure how those things go together, but I can get behind hating on Apple if that’s actually what we’re doing.” “It is. Do people actually pay for Apple Plus, or whatever it’s called?” “If the overall popularity of that soccer show is any indication. And that one with Reese Witherspoon got a bunch of Emmy nominations, I think.” “Why do you know that?” His shoulder bumps hers when he shrugs. They’re sitting very close. “I know everything, I thought that was obvious.” “Can you get A Charlie Brown Christmas to play on my TV without giving any money to Steve Jobs?” “Technically, I think it’d just be his estate getting the money.” “Don’t get technical.”

He nods once, all confidence and charm and there’s got to be something else he could be doing with his time, but Emma doesn’t want him to be doing anything else and he pulls her laptop across the coffee table. She will never admit to counting the minutes it takes, or the exact way his eyes flit her direction more than once during those minutes, but then the laptop dings and Killian announces “done,” and asks if she “has an HDMI cable?” She doesn’t.

It takes three minutes for him to jog back to his apartment. And back, hooking up several things that genuinely impress Emma, and the first few notes of the Vince Guaraldi Trio tug on whatever heartstrings she’s still in possession of.

He calls her out for mouthing along with the lines, laughter clinging to his voice and the crinkles she’s only just realized exist around his eyes and Emma shifts out of habit. When the Peanuts start dancing on stage, all too aware of Killian’s eyes.

And how they linger. On her, specifically.

She’s less prepared for his wrist to flip the way it does. “May I?”

Thinking seems stupid in a situation like this, so Emma doesn’t think and the calluses on his fingers are enough to inspire a whole slew of other ideas, and they don’t really dance. Neither do the Peanuts, though — so, there’s something to be said for consistency and lower-body strength and they just kind of bob in time together, content to exist in each other’s space and there’s not that much space and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Neither are the tears that sting Emma’s eyes nearly twenty minutes later. She always cries during Linus’ speech.

Going stir crazy is inevitable and happens at precisely two forty-seven on the Tuesday before Christmas. The walls of Emma’s apartment suddenly feel much closer than they were at two forty-six, and she doesn’t bother grabbing her crutches. Before huffing out a frustrated breath, hopping across the hall and effectively falling against Killian’s front door. She resists the very legitimate urge to knock with her head.

And it doesn’t matter anyway.

The door swings open, another pair of gym shorts that make Emma’s brain short-circuit just a bit and Killian’s hair is damp. “Were you in the shower?” “No,” he shakes his head.

Oh. Oh. So, she’ll probably just die in this hallway then. That will inevitably be preferable to the realization that he works out, and she kind of knew that already because there’s absolutely no way people just have biceps like that, but she also cannot deal with even the idea of him doing something as absurd as burpees in his apartment. Not when the walls were already doing that thing before. “Should you be in the shower?”

Leaning against the door frame feels like cheating. On his part. Crossing his feet at the ankles is even worse. “Are you suggesting I should?” Killian drawls, and Emma’s come to realize he’s got this habit of only lifting the left side of his mouth when he’s trying to tease her. It’s very effective.

“Maybe before we go out.” “You want to go out? Where, exactly?” “I don’t know,” Emma admits, “anywhere. Somewhere. That is not my kitchen, or like—the mailboxes downstairs.” “I’ve gotten your mail.”

That’s true. He figured out which key it was on his own too, which shouldn’t have any lasting effect on Emma’s pulse at all. “Whatever,” she grumbles, “that’s not the point.” “What is, then?” “I want fresh air and—” “—Where are your crutches?” “In my apartment.” “Did you hop over here?”

Nodding, she’s not entirely prepared for the force of his laugh or the hand that lands on her hip as easily as if there are magnets there. “You’re going to have the most impressive calf muscles of any bail bonds person in the greater Tri-State area.” “Flatter me some more when we’re outside, please.” “I should probably shower first.” Emma hums, biting her tongue until she can taste blood because suggesting anything involving Killian and water and a distinct lack of clothing is only going to get her another smirk she cannot possibly be expected to deal with. He smirks all the same. So, the world hates her apparently. Waving an arm behind him, Killian ushers Emma into the apartment like it’s not the first time she’s hopping inside. “Make yourself at home,” he says, already halfway down a hallway that must lead to the bathroom because that’s what her hallway does and the layout is almost identical. “There’s coffee too.” “Do you drink coffee while you work out?” His eyes goddamn sparkle. “Sit down, Swan. Then we’ll figure out where else you can hop.”

He’s gone before she can even consider an appropriately sarcastic response, leaving her balanced between his living room and kitchen and there are very soft-looking blankets draped over the back of his couch. Music plays softly from a nearby speaker, not quite festive, because it’s 90s rap and Emma can’t decide which part of this is the most endearing.

Probably the frames.

Lining nearly every flat surface of the multiple bookcases he has, smiling faces gaze back at Emma from what looks like a dozen different places, and several faces repeat themselves. A woman with soft brown hair and a smile that makes it clear how nice she inevitably is, her shoulders are often covered by another man’s arm and occasionally that man’s in uniform.

She has to hop to the next frame, another uniform, although it has more medals, and this man’s eyes are familiar. Not blue, but the glint in them is unmistakable. Especially when he’s standing next to Killian.

Their smiles make something ache in the very center of Emma, the kind of deja vu she doesn’t want to understand. The man’s only in a few of the pictures. He looks happy in all of them.

Overjoyed, occasionally.

The water in the bathroom turns off.

And Emma only just manages to throw herself into the corner of the couch before Killian’s back in the living room, a towel pressed to even more damp hair. “You ok?” he asks, a very symmetrical question she can’t answer.

With the wad of emotion currently taking root in the middle of her throat.

Piecing things together is one of her better skills, after all.

“Fine, fine,” she stammers, “can we go?” “Have you decided where you’re going to hobble?” “Ah, that’s mean.” “Am I going to have to carry you down the stairs?” “Don’t be a dick.” He smirks. The bastard. And doesn’t really carry her down the stairs, per se — even if there’s more leaning involved than Emma would like, but that also means she gets to take full advantage of just how warm he is, and she’s starting to wonder if Killian retains heat solely for her benefit. It’s a very dangerous thought.

This can’t last forever. Not with modern medicine the way it is, and she’s been taking the medicine and the swelling has gone way down and—

Emma gasps when she puts more weight on her ankle than she’s entirely prepared for. Spinning on the spot, Killian’s center of gravity must be better than hers and that probably has something to do with sea legs, and waves, and his hands are back on her hips.

She’d very much like them to stay there.

First kisses aren’t supposed to happen in the middle of the sidewalk.

Outside a Duane Reade.

If she doesn’t kiss him soon, she might scream.

“C’mon,” Killian says, tilting his head towards the automatic doors and this wasn’t quite what Emma had planned. She had no plan, but it did not involve Duane Reade carpet or the holiday aisle, and Killian’s hands don’t move. They direct her. Towards that aisle, and the gingerbread houses on its shelves and he grabs one that has deluxe in the name.

“Makes it fancier,” he explains, presumably when he notices the overall height of Emma’s eyebrows. She doesn’t argue. Inflating his ego anymore isn’t part of her unplanned plan, either.

And there’s not really much of a discussion, but they somehow end up back at his apartment, pieces of gingerbread strewn across his kitchen counter while he changes the music, and—

Emma tosses a sugar plum in the air. So she can catch it with her mouth. “Color me impressed,” Killian says, and it’s her imagination. There’s no allusion. Nothing passably secret or unspoken in those words, and Emma refuses to let herself consider the possibility. Not with Bing Crosby in the background.

He was kind of a jerk in real life.

“Although,” he adds, “you’re using up all our decoration.” “They give you so many sugar plums! Who would need this many?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread.” “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread,” Killian repeats, “who live in this deluxe, undeniably fancy gingerbread house.”

“Why would their last name be Gingerbread when that’s what their house is called? It’s like someone being named—” “—Wood?”

Emma sneers. “I’ll throw sugar plums at your face.” “Then we’ll really run out, and the peppermint swirls aren’t as decorative.” “Because peppermint is the inferior Christmas flavor,” Emma announces. “Tastes like you’re eating toothpaste, also they don’t make houses out of wood anymore. Learn about the industrial revolution, please.” He’s already started positioning gingerbread walls. “Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread met by happenstance. Had passed each other in the Sugar Forest before, but—” “—These are absolutely horrendous names.” “You’re ruining the flow of the story, love.” Emma mimes zipping her mouth shut. “Anyway, they’d noticed each other before, but hadn’t ever spoken, until fate and festivity intervened, and they realized they had more in common than they expected and got along very well, and eventually they got married and lived happily ever after.” “Just like that?”

Her voice likely does not crack the way she imagines it does. That would be impossible. It’s because of the sugar plum, and all that extra sugar. Caking the inside of Emma’s throat, or something and that’s a kind of disgusting idea, but Killian’s staring at her with enough intensity that her cheeks are starting to heat on their own and it’s a crime she hasn’t gotten her fingers in his hair yet.

“Just like that,” Killian echoes.

He’s moving. Emma’s positive he’s moving. Maybe that’s her. Or the entire goddamn Universe. Flying off kilter and possibly right into the sun and it’s so stupid when she opens her mouth.

“How’d they get engaged?” The left side of his mouth tugs up. “They went ice skating.” “Did that not dissolve their legs?” “It was magic ice.” “Oh, right, right, yeah of course.” Definitely getting closer. “And the future Mrs. Gingerbread had fallen over. Wasn’t used to the skates, which Mr. Gingerbread found oddly enchanting, and while she was sitting there on the ice, cursing every one of Santa’s elves, he bent down and said, ‘This is probably a bad time, but marry me?’”

“What’d she say?” “She swatted at the sugar plums on his chest, but she was also swooning a bit and—” “—Losing frosting from sitting on the ice?” “That’s not how frosting works at all.” “They don’t give you much here,” Emma says, not a perfect change of course, but she wasn’t the sailor in this relationship and she's so stupid it's painful. “Can you make more?” Killian nods. It makes his hair move. And Emma’s pulse trip over itself. “Absolutely.” They make several batches of frosting, because deluxe gingerbread houses are apparently thicker than usual and require more, and at least half of it gets wasted when Emma keeps eating it. And swiping some across the bridge of Killian’s nose.

Neither one of them mention Mr. or Mrs. Gingerbread again.

Their house turns out very nice, though.

She blames the medication.

For telling him about the one high school she went to in Minnesota where they decorated their lockers for spirit week, and how the foster house she’d been living in gave her exactly one roll of dollar store wrapping paper and a box of ancient tinsel, and Killian barely flinches at the words foster home in that particular order.

He’s a rapt audience, like this is fascinating information, and not decidedly Scrooge-like, and “we didn’t have that at my high school,” he tells her. Which just about seals the deal, as it were.

Emma nearly kills herself more than once, burrowing through her closet and calling in favors from Ruby who only furrows her brows slightly when she shows up on a Thursday morning with a bag of Christmas decorations that—

“What are we doing, exactly?” “Decorating,” Emma says, and to her credit Ruby doesn’t object. Or kick on Killian’s door. Which is in fact, what they’re decorating. Lining the frame with garland, and lights that require an extension cord and are probably breaking their lease somehow, but he doesn’t wake up and no one tells them to stop, and the whole thing turns out pretty fantastic. If Emma does say so herself.

They opt not to hang ornaments off the door. For fear that they’ll shatter. But there are window clings taped to the imitation wood now, in addition to the garland, and Emma can’t imagine where Ruby found tinsel, but it’s appropriately festive and she uses her crutch to knock.

Killian only needs five seconds to answer.

Blinking at the scene in front of him — and an almost overjoyed-looking Ruby, who still mercifully hasn’t expressed the opinions Emma can practically hear vibrating around her skull, but then Killian’s turning and exhaling softly and the press of his lips to Emma’s cheek is jarring and sudden and absolutely perfect.

“You’re blushing,” Ruby drawls, soft enough that it can’t be heard over Killian’s praise of what may be lower Manhattan’s most obnoxiously decorated door.

Emma’s crutch collides with her shin.

“Thank you, love,” Killian says. Sincerity colors every letter, that particular shade of blue like the sky and the ocean and it’s not exactly a holiday color, but it might be Emma’s favorite color now and her mouth is very dry.

“That should be the other way around,” she objects, “for everything you’ve done and—” “I wanted to.” Ruby’s still standing there. With that specific wolf-like smile on her face. “Well,” she proclaims, “I’m going to go, eventually we’ll get officially introduced across-the-hall guy who’s very cute and—” The tips of Killian’s ears go red. More festive. “Take care of Emma on Christmas, will you?”

She leaves almost as soon as the question’s out of her mouth, Killian staring expectantly at Emma because she hadn’t admitted to the inevitable singularity of her Christmas in three days, but she just kind of figured he’d have other things to do and she didn’t want to be depressing.

They’d progressed past depressing by now.

And even the thought of going back to Storybrooke made her ankle ache.

Because well...what if he didn’t have actually anything else to do? What if he was home alone too? What if she left and there wasn’t anyone here and—no, Emma’s not doing that. She hasn't asked. She’s willing to risk the answer.

Or admit it to anything. At least not completely.

“You’re not going home for Christmas?” Killian asks lightly, but Emma can hear the rest. She shakes her head. “Ruby wants me to, and I’m friends with her friends, but—” Her shoulders don’t move very easily on that shrug. “My ankles still kind of messed up, and they’ve got families and traditions and it always feels like I’m—” “—Overstepping?” “Something like that, yeah.” “You want to order Chinese food on Christmas Eve or Thai?” “Both?” Killian beams. Emma’s cheek is on fire, she’s positive. “Deal.”

“Lift with your legs!” “Would you like to come down here and help?” “Not really, no,” Emma laughs, leaning over the railing at the top of the second-floor landing, and the Christmas tree guy at the end of the block had been understandably concerned that they weren’t going to get the tree back to their apartment in one piece.

Neither one of them mentioned that they live in different apartments. And aren’t a couple. Or dating. Whatever, Emma’s too worried about Killian straining something to care about other adjectives.

“Invalid,” he calls back. Her smile’s going to stretch her face muscles.

“Put those arm muscles to good use!” “Are you ogling me, Swan?” “You show them off.” “Little of column A, little of column B.”

She clicks her tongue, the smile obvious in his voice even when there’s a tree blocking his face and they put the tree in her apartment. After getting a blanket out of Killian’s closet to put underneath it, and the guy had taken pity on them earlier, adding in the star as part of the tree cost because it was Christmas Eve and no one else was buying trees and Emma honestly does not mean to fall asleep with her head on Killian’s shoulder.

Waking with a start, Emma has to blink. More than once. To make sure she’s not still dreaming, but if she were there’d still be a shoulder under her cheek and preferably an arm around her waist, or maybe less clothing, and none of that is happening, so this has to be real.

“Are you ok?

Her voice doesn’t entirely sound like hers — still tinged with sleep and Emma’s only marginally worried there’s bits of tinsel in her hair, because obviously she’d had an extra box of tinsel from the door decorating and they’d thrown that, quite literally, at the tree. The one that almost appears to be shimmering in the bit of moonlight creeping through her curtains, Killian staring out the window at the—

“Is it thundering out?”

He nods without glancing at her. “Happens sometimes. Not often in the winter, but—” Another clap echoes around them, and that must have been what woke Emma up. Not the lack of shoulder, or her recently-acquired ability to read the exact angle of Killian’s shoulders and what that means and he flinches.

“Hey,” Emma says, almost able to walk towards him without wincing, “what’s going on?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” “That’s not a big deal, what’s happening with your shoulders?”

Turning slower than any human should be able to, Killian levels Emma with an incredulous stare. She juts her chin out. In something akin to almost romantic defiance. “Staring at my arms, now my shoulders. You’ll give a man a complex.” “Stop being an idiot, then.” “Huh.” Lightning joins the fray, snow swirling just outside that window and Emma’s not sure she’s ever been so grateful to be inside. Warm and maybe not entirely content, at least not yet, but definitely safe and even more happy, all of which seems as good a reason as any for everything that happens next.

“What happened to your brother?” Killian’s eyes widen, surprise mixing with something that’s almost dangerously close to anger. Only to disappear just as quickly, morphing into what Emma’s sleep-addled brain can only describe as disappointment. “He’s dead.”

“And?” “That’s usually the end of things.”

“Nuh uh,” Emma objects, which isn’t the worst thing she’s done, but Killian flinches again when she rests a hand on his tension-filled shoulder. “It’s depressing.” “Why’d you wake up?” He tells her. Only after forcing her back onto the couch, because “your ankle’s going to start swelling up again, Swan,” but then the story is as depressing as advertised, with storms and ships and the dead brother who has since achieved hero status in Killian’s brain. And the tears clouding his eyes don’t ever actually fall—which is probably for the best, because Emma isn’t convinced she’d be able to do anything except kiss them away, but he doesn’t look away from her either, and at some point her fingers start tracing over the blunt edge of his left arm.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t tell her to stop, or pull away. Just lets her trace over scars that are equal parts metaphorical and literal, and that’s enough. To help ease the cracks in her, swallowing once and meeting his depressing with equally atrocious, and to Killian’s credit there’s no interruption.

Not through foster home explanations, or the whole thing with Neal, meeting Mary Margaret and Ruby, and how it’s never felt like that life could be totally Emma’s, even when she wants it so much she’s certain it’ll explode out of her.

Minutes turn into hours and evolve into the middle of the night, and the snow doesn’t stop and the thunder doesn’t stop and there’s enough light lingering around them that Emma’s able to notice the flickers of blue in Killian’s eyes and the quirk of his lips and—

It was about time, honestly.

Her fingers curl into his t-shirt, all but yanking him closer because not kissing him is the dumbest thing she could possibly do right now. And she’s not dumb. So, that’s her only option, really.

And it takes him a second to respond.

Like he hasn’t also been counting down to this one, exact moment. It’s that moment that almost gives Emma pause, ancient worries rising up in the back of her throat and threatening to spill out her mouth, but then Killian’s mouth is moving and there’s more tongue than she’s entirely prepared for and fingers pushed into her hair, and she genuinely has no idea how she ends up in his lap.

Not that she’s complaining.

Makes it easier to find a rhythm, anyway. Rocking against each other with a sudden burst of friction that’s somehow not nearly enough, roaming hands and lips that trail across the side of Emma’s neck and underneath her chin, and it takes all her willpower not to groan too loudly when Killian laughs.

As soon as he notices the goosebumps on her skin.

“A complex,” he mutters, but it sounds like a compliment and something close to a promise and Emma’s rolling her hips before she can think of all the reasons she shouldn’t.

The groan she gets sends her flying. Metaphorically, literally. Some other adverb that doesn’t matter when there’s an arm around her waist and her legs wrap around Killian on instinct.

They don’t stumble once — although Emma’s feet never touch the ground, so she’s not sure she should be part of the equation, and her laugh bubbles out of her as soon as her back bounces against her bed.

Strictly speaking, the rest is a bit of a blur. Clothes are thrown with abandon, tossed this way and that, and Emma’s teeth find her lower lip when Killian pulls his shirt off, but then his eyes noticeably widen as soon as her leggings are gone and that’s a rather large boon to her confidence. And his hair is somehow softer than she expected it to be.

They’re also very good at kissing.

She considers both things very important.

And Emma’s got no idea what time it is by the time she’s flopped back to her side of the bed, only that there was no discussion about sides and that leaves her feeling warmer and safer and—

“Don’t leave, ok?” Killian flips his head. To smile at her. Like he could—no, not yet. They’ll get to that eventually, maybe. “I don’t really want to.” “Good, thunder kind of freaks me out anyway.” Sheets twist underneath them when he inches closer, and for half a second Emma wonders if he’s going to kiss her again, eyes already fluttering in anticipation. He does, just not where she expects. Not her lips. Everywhere else. The bridge of her nose, either one of her cheekbones and the edges of her eyes, across her brows and the tiny wrinkles in her forehead, each one feeling as if it stamps something onto her soul and her heart and she’s such a goddamn sap at whatever time it might be.

“I like you,” he whispers. “Yeah?” “Yeah. “Good.”

Snow covers the street when Emma blinks awake on Christmas morning, the scene looking like some idyllic version of a city that only a few weeks earlier left her with an abnormally large ankle. Now she can’t feel much except how much she loves this place, and this slightly drafty apartment and—

The noticeably empty right side of her bed.

Huh.

Flopping onto her back, Emma tries very hard not to let her mind wander, but her mind is already in the hallway and there’s talking in the hallway. The loud kind, not totally annoyed, but sounding genuinely confused and that cannot be the first time Killian has grumbled “this is not a big deal” in that exact tone.

Not thinking is really Emma’s greatest talent.

She doesn’t bother putting on shoes before she opens her front door, hair still a tangled mess and there may very well be hickeys on her neck if the look on the face of the guy standing outside Killian’s apartment is any indication.

“Oh,” the woman breathes, and there are apparently two people in the hallway. Emma’s admittedly staring pretty intently at Killian.

Who is not wearing anything on his feet either, and the whole thing is symmetrical and confusing and it takes her way too long to recognize the hallway people. From the frames. Ones that also included uniforms and wide smiles and the guy sticks his hand out like this isn’t the weirdest thing in the history of New York City.

“Will Scarlet,” he says, “and this is my fiancée, Belle. You must be the ankle girl.” Killian pinches the bridge of his nose.

“He did tell us your name,” Belle adds, and Emma’s breathing very loudly. Out of her mouth. Which is hanging open.

She can’t believe she’s not wearing socks.

“Were you stalking me?” she asks Killian, who immediately flushes and grits his teeth and it would be very easy to fall in love with him. Potential felonies not withstanding.

“No, no, no, that’s not what’s happening here.” “And what is happening?” “We’re inviting you both to Christmas,” Belle explains, “because Killian said he couldn’t come if you were here and—” “—You’re certainly here, aren’t you?” Will adds. Killian punches his arm.

Emma’s frozen. Stuck, and still breathing abnormally, eyes like pinballs as they try to figure out who exactly she should be glaring at, but none of the emotions currently churning in between her ribs resemble anger. Confusion, definitely. Possible attraction to the exact way Killian squeezes one of his eyes shut. But nothing even in the realm of frustration.

Huh, again.

“Explain what’s going on,” she demands. Both Belle and Killian’s arms move when Will opens his mouth, a soft grunt of pain that should not be as gratifying to hear from a stranger.

“Can you walk?” Killian asks.

“Are you kidding me?” “No, we kind of forgot about the medicine last night, so—” Hands flying to her mouth, Belle barely manages to contain her response, and Will doesn’t seem to bother, noise bouncing off the hallway and its ugly carpet and Killian’s hand finds the small of Emma’s back when they move. Away from his door and her door and he hisses in a breath through his teeth. “There’s no stalking involved, I swear.” “What is it, then?” “Pining, maybe?” “Pining?” Emma echoes, and the noise Will makes is way closer to a guffaw now.

Killian grimaces. “Not—I mean, not in a totally creepy way. I just...I wasn’t kidding about Ruby being very loud when she kicks on your door. So I’d seen you, and heard like...of you and—” Flustered is admittedly a good look on him. They all are, but Emma hasn’t had any coffee yet and there’s a peanut gallery watching this entire conversation, which is more accidental symmetry and Killian visibly exhales when her hand finds his chest. Still questionably solid. “Anyway, uh—you know how you’re aware of people and think they’re good looking?” “You think I’m good looking?” “Did I not make that obvious enough yet? That’s disappointing.” It’s her turn to blush apparently, ducking her gaze to stare at her bare feet so she doesn’t do something ridiculous like jump him. Emma’s ankle isn’t capable of doing that yet. “And then I heard you cursing Poseidon or whatever Gods you were beseeching that night—” “Ok, Poseidon was not involved,” Emma argues.

Killian’s thumb taps the side of her jaw. She doesn’t snap her teeth. Points. Christmas points, even. “So I opened the door, and found you there. Not being attacked, like I was legitimately worried about, and it all just—” “—Happened?” “Kind of. You kept inviting me inside.” “Well as far as I know you’re not a vampire, so that wasn’t a requirement to come inside, but—” “—I wasn’t just going to barrel into your apartment, Swan.” “No, no, I know,” she promises, waving her hands because she’s suddenly kind of flustered and she never responded last night and she’d like to respond with some emotions, but that’s never really been her thing, so all Emma can do is mumble, “most people I know are jerks, not including Ruby or Mary Margaret, who you don’t know, but—” Killian catches both her wrists in one hand. It’s patently absurd. “That’s not the point.” “What’s the point?” “You’re not.” “A jerk?” “No,” Emma says, trying very hard to smile without crying and it doesn’t really work. Tears land on her cheeks, throat apparently collapsing, and only one of those things seems like the end of the world. Until there are lips on her cheek again, following a pattern that can’t possibly be the one he traced last night.

Or this morning, she supposes.

That’s not the point, either.

“Why?” “Why?” Killian repeats softly. “Because you’re very easy to like.” “That’s not true, at all. I’m—prickly, and angry and I hate Bill de Blasio.” “Everyone does, that doesn’t make you special.”

Exhaling the way she does only ensures she sags against Killian’s chest, and he doesn’t mind all that much. If the way he smirks at her is any indication. “I didn’t want to go to Mary Margaret and David’s for a gazillion reasons, but it wasn’t just my ankle and I—” Her fingers tighten in his shirt. That helps, honestly. Makes her a bit braver and bit surer and kissing him once is more than enough to make Emma’s lungs function normally. “I like you too,” she says, loud enough that she kind of sounds like she’s announcing it and she supposes she almost is. “With or without all the Christmas stuff, but the Christmas stuff was really fun.” “That’s the first time I’ve cared about Christmas in a very long time.”

“Rude,” Will shouts, but Killian’s eyes don’t leave Emma and at some point these imaginary Christmas points became very important to her internal dialogue. He’s got, like, forty billion now.

At least.

“I would have wallowed,” Emma admits, “sat on the couch and hated on everything festive, but...well, I kept calling you good looking in my head.” “When? Before the cursing?” “Yeah, but especially during the cursing and like...now. Were you going to blow off your friends to spend Christmas Day with me?” “Yes,” he says, easy as anything and that’s absolutely, one-hundred percent a sign. One Emma is very willing to read. For as long as she possibly can. “Because he’s only a jerk to us,” Will yells. “You can come too, Emma. We weren’t going to leave you here by your lonesome!” “Except we wouldn’t call it that,” Belle adds, “because this isn’t a Dickenson’ian novel.” “She’s a librarian,” Killian explains when Emma glances questioningly at him, and his fingers are very close to the hem of her shirt.

“Oh yeah, yeah, that makes sense. I should probably shower before we go though.” Eyebrows jumping and smirk settling onto the mouth Emma is totally staring at makes it all but impossible to do anything except ignore the slight twinge in her ankle when she pushes up on her toes and kisses the ever-living daylights out of the good looking guy she hopes is her boyfriend now. They’ll get to that, eventually.

“What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?” she asks, not bothering to move away from him even as Will and Belle jeer from the other end of the hall.

“Whatever you want, Swan,” Killian says. They probably lose some Christmas-type points when he flips off his friends.

They don’t go out for New Year’s Eve.

It’s snowing again, and while Emma's ankle is the right color, it’s easier to claim sitting on the couch is a relationship-tradition when they’re both very eager to use that particular qualifier, and it’s more fun to make out that way. They'll go ice skating eventually.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #festive fic a thon 2k20 #the prompt i'm working on today may turn into several chapters because i have absolutely no chill whatsoever #and am starting a new job tomorrow so naturally my brain is like TIME TO BE INSPIRED #anyway these have been very fun i hope you guys enjoy them

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thesvenqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Jurassic Park

Rating: T (may change, who knows) Pairing: Kristanna Also on AO3

Previous Chapters ( One Two )

Note(s): a brachiosaurus are the long neck dinosaurs, or long necks, that everyone knows and loves. But our couple are scientists and they're not gonna call em long necks, they're gonna be specific because SCIENCE lolalso, seeing as Anna would get her doctorate before she married Kristoff (only by a few months), I had her be referred to as Dr. Arendelle. Plus, it's out of respect on her & Kristoff too by letting them both have the honor of doctor behind their name that they both worked real hard for; their family name. And for my sake, two Dr. Bjorgman's would be so damn confusing lets be honest lol

{Chapter 3}

Anna smiled to herself, tapping her fingers on the outside of the Jeep door as they drove along the dirt path.

She had known from the moment she walked up, arm looped with Sven’s that Kristoff was incredibly jealous. He was never good at hiding his emotions, and Anna had seen the jealousy written on his face, had felt it radiating off of him from the moment she had introduced Sven. It was laughable really, Sven was completely harmless.

Sven was a big flirt sure, thinking of himself as some smooth operator when Anna knew from experience he was not near as good as he thought. Had played witness to a few incidents that proved it too. It didn’t matter to Kristoff though, apparently, only taking the ‘angel’ comment to immediately despise Sven.

Which, in hindsight, wasn’t really fair to Sven as he did deserve a chance. Then again, he wasn’t helping his case with all the casual flirty comments and snarky remarks either.

Anna couldn’t recall if she’d ever mentioned her friendship with Sven, not really thinking of a time it could’ve come about.

There was the wedding, but that had been a small affair. Seeing as she really hadn’t spoken to Sven in years, he hadn’t crossed her mind. She had seen his name come up in the news, had heard Kristoff mentioning one of the stories too. A fight if Anna remembered correctly which was so like Sven.

Even then, she hadn’t said a word about their friendship and Anna felt bad.

Well, only a little.

It was quiet now, thankfully, she knew Kristoff could only handle so much right now. The tension in his jaw during the helicopter flight to the island said so. She glanced back at him, smiling sweetly, to see the tension still sitting strongly.

Kristoff smirked at her, gripping the handle tighter as they hit another bump.

“Jesus Christ.” Sven muttered, “Did they not think about paved roads?”

Even behind his sunglasses, Anna could tell Kristoff was rolling his eyes as he looked back out the window.

Anna giggled then, not able to hold it in any longer and turned back to look out her own window.

It was always so much fun to make Kristoff squirm, and this was no exception.

She leaned her head slightly, closing her eyes and letting the breeze from the car ride cool her off from the intense heat and humidity. She never was one for an island life but she couldn’t lie when she found it rather appealing.

Driving on an island, shorts all year round, in an open topped jeep, Kristoff grinning from ear to ear as he drove, his skin tan enough to bring out the freckles on his face. They’d explore every bit of the island they could, all the beaches and mountain areas. Maybe they’d have a little place on the beach, far enough away from everyone that they could see the stars at night. Then their kids could....

Instinctively she bit her lip.

From the beginning, from the few conversations they had had, Anna knew Kristoff wasn’t big on the idea of kids. His past was to blame, she knew that but it still hurt nonetheless to think he was so against the whole aspect. It hadn’t been in her plans either, she never dreamed she’d one day want that kinda life. Now, more than anything she wanted it, to be Mom to kids, their kids.

Kristoff hadn’t exactly said no yesterday and she knew him well enough to know he had more to say on the issue. If not for Dr. Hammond’s arrival, there was a good chance they could’ve come to a decision right there on the site.

Either way, there was more to be said but for now, as she opened her eyes to watch the trees go by, she was going to enjoy this while she could.

As they drove, Anna saw something that caught her eye. For a moment, she thought she had just been mistaken but no, there it was again.

How was that possible?

Confused, she saw another low lying branch up ahead. Taking her chance, Anna stood just enough to stretch her arm high above the car and rip a leaf from the branch.

“What are you doing?” Kristoff asked but Anna ignored him.

She sat down and stared at the leaf in her hand, not noticing the Jeep slowing and coming to a stop.

The leaf was massive, bigger than her head but that’s not what caught her attention.

She’d seen this plant, knew it like the back of her hand as she had studied the fossil of it for years.

One that was supposed to be completely extinct.

Had been for millions of years.

There was no way in hell she was holding it right now, alive and thriving, in her hands.

But the more she studied it, the more she realized it to be true.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Anna murmured, hearing someone shift in the back of the jeep as she flipped the leaf in her hand, “This plant shouldn’t even be here. Kristoff, this species has been extinct for hundreds of millions of years. I don’t--”

A hand grabbed her head and forced it to turn left.

“Hey, what are you--” She said, ready to retort but the words died on her lips.

Anna blinked.

Then blinked again.

With a start, she jumped to stand in her seat, ripping her sunglasses off as her mouth gaped in absolute shock.

There, not even a couple yards away, strolling through the trees was a brachiosaurus. A large, grey, long necked brachiosaur.

For a moment, Anna couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe. All she could do was just stare at what was before her.

A dinosaur.

A real life, breathing, living, dinosaur.

How? How the hell was this even possible?

She watched as it slowly made its way through the trees, grabbing leaves here and there as it passed through. It was so close, just up the hill now and without hesitation, Anna jumped from the jeep.

She didn’t take her eyes off of it, staring as she came around the car slowly, leaning her head back as far as she could to see as much of it as possible.

There was a sound next to her, and she didn’t have to look to know that Kristoff had joined her outside the jeep, both now walking towards the massive creature.

“Anna.”

“I know.”

“That’s--” he said, pointing, looking at Anna, “that’s a dinosaur.”

Anna huffed a laugh, tears in her eyes, “It is.”

His face broke into the biggest smile Anna had ever seen. She laughed again, giggling in excitement as she came up to Kristoff and grabbed his hand.

There stood one of the many creatures Anna had been obsessed with since she was a child; one her and Kristoff had only dreamed about. Instead of a drawing, a fossil or even a digital rendering however, it was alive and breathing.

Alive, breathing and eating the leaves from the tops of the trees.

They were beside it now, still a few paces away but close enough that Anna had to lean her head back completely to see it.

She watched, speechless as the creature continued to eat completely unaware.

“The movement,” Kristoff murmured, standing in front of her.

“The agility, you were right.” Anna said, smiling so big her cheeks hurt as she grabbed his bicep with her free hand.

“They can get rid of the rule books, they were...they were totally wrong. It’s not a cold-blooded creature, it’s completely warm blooded.”

“And it doesn’t live in a swamp.”

“The neck, it’s what? Twenty-five, thirty feet long?” Kristoff said, looking down to Anna.

“Thirty.” Dr. Hammond answered as he came up behind them.

Kristoff gaped at him, then looked at Anna and she could see the tears in his eyes.

It was a dream, there was no way it was real.

Sudden movement caught their attention, and Anna looked to see the brachiosaur stand up on its hind legs, reaching ever higher to get one branch that had been just out of reach.

It stood there for a moment, ripping the leaves off of the branch then came back down to all fours with a solid thud; one that shook Anna to her bones.

Anna felt Kristoff squeeze her hand, and looked back to him. He was still looking up at the dinosaur, eyes wide like a little kid on Christmas morning.

“How fast are they?” Anna asked, and she saw Kristoff huff a laugh.

"Always the curious one." He murmured and Anna nudged him with her hip.

“Well,” Dr. Hammond began, “We clocked the T-rex at thirty-two miles per hour.”

“Wait, what?!" Anna whipped around then, her own eyes wide now. “A T-rex. You….you have a T-rex?” She asked, astonished.

“Uh huh.” Dr. Hammond said, a proud smile on his face.

“Oh my god. Kristoff, they have a T-rex.” She said, turning back to Kristoff who looked at her with confusion and shock, “An actual T-rex!” She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, letting them fall freely.

“Holy shit.” Kristoff said, and his legs gave out. He hit the ground, hard. His face was ghostly white, his eyes so wide in shock.

“Kristoff.” Anna said, kneeling beside him. “Honey, just breathe, ok? Head between your knees.” She placed a hand on his cheek, brushing his hair back from his face with the other.

“Is this a dream?” He whispered to her, placing his hand over hers.

Anna smiled, huffing a laugh as more tears fell, and shook her head.

“Oh no, it’s real. They’re all real.” Dr. Hammond said, catching their attention, a large grin on his face, “Dr. Bjorgman, my dear Dr. Arendelle, welcome to Jurassic Park.” He turned then, facing away from them. They followed his gaze and Anna gasped.

There, just below the hill was a valley and within it were several more dinosaurs. One herd sat along a watering hole while another, a herd of brachiosaurus, were wading through the watering hole itself.

It was a site to behold, one that brought more tears to Anna’s eyes.

Somehow someway, the creatures, the dinosaurs, ones that Anna had cherished her whole life were alive. They were real and here right in front of her.

Who knew what other species were here on the island, what others that Anna had looked over countless times in books that were now breathing once again. The possibilities were endless, but she still wondered

“How?” Kristoff asked, beating Anna to the punch.

She looked up to Dr. Hammond as he turned back to them, a sparkle in his eyes, “I’ll show you.”

#kristanna #kristoff #anna #sven #jurassic park au #jessica writes #kristoff may be a gruff jealous shit but dinos and anna makes him soft af #lol

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voidsaber · 4 years ago

Note

swanto - downfall (nightclub)??? ;👀👀👀

ALRIGHT SO. (i’m grinning just thinking about this stupid au). This all started like nearly 2 years ago when my coworker invited me to go to a club with them. I’d never been to a club before (not my scene and with experience still isn’t). So I go home at a reasonable morning hour but I can’t get to sleep cause on the way back my brain is full of Eli/Cygni brainrot with the silliest idea that basically. what if Eli was undercover in a nightclub (because fanfic plot reasons). And Cygni was there. and then they flirt and hook up. and that was meant to be it. that was the plot. i just wanted random cute one-shot swantos.

and then my brain made angst happen by giving thrawn a bigger role and slapping in some one-sided thranto. so then the fic kept going and we have thrawn meeting eli in the hotel the next morning and being Concerned but also jealous and hurt. and so thrawn confesses he’s got feelings for Eli but eli basically has none of it cause he’s kinda fed up with the manipulation schtick. in this au Pryce and Thrawn never meet and thus never help one another and so eli is stuck as an ensign and we get a lot of thranto angst and possibly some very vindictive space cowboy. it was initally titled “nightclub au” for ages before I gave it the temp. name of “downfall”. I have a playlist for this au also. i just checked and there are 18k words i don’t remember writing all of :’) it’s really fun writing eli/cygni interactions with cygni being a lil snarky and eli getting riled up but also getting snarky right back at him. and also being soft n cute. and also thrawn just pining really hard. and also eli’s frustration at a stagnated career path.

uhhh select snippets under the cut?

- - -

Cygni shrugged. "Spice, Dust, people... not my modus operandi."

"And I'm to believe you?"

"I told you - I'm in no position to lie. Besides, why would I? Is it that difficult to believe I'm not keen on those who profit off of the stuff? I've seen what it does to people. And I'm just me tonight."

"Just 'you'?" A flat statement more than a question. He didn't understand Cygni's words.

"Yes." The damn smirk was equal parts infuriating and attractive and infuriatingly attractive. Clearly there was a punchline he wasn't getting. Whatever. Eli pushed it aside, not caring for games. He cleared his throat.

"So," Eli ventured. "Whatever you're doing, it's not some kind of play. Or trap."

"Of course not. How would I even know you were to be here tonight?" Cygni smiled wryly. "You think if I knew I would show up, considering our previous encounter?"

"No. I don't think you'd be that bold. Or that stupid."

Cygni snorted from across the table. "Well, I'm glad you think so, at least. I'd say we're getting along just fine, wouldn't you?"

(at the hotel)

He watched as Cygni shuffled backwards to sit cross-legged on the wide bed. He followed suit and made himself comfortable facing him. The way he leant back and propped himself on his hands was very appealing. Eli let his gaze wander, down along the scrunched creases of his shirt at the shoulder, his arms, a little more muscular than he'd first thought, pale scars catching on his dark skin that gave Eli a twinge of cold uneasy recognition, of remembrance, and to those solid hands that had felt so good on his scalp. He dropped lower down to the drape of his shirt - really if he'd wanted to blend in at the venue he could have worn something a little more... exciting - past the strained fabric of his trousers, nicely fitting, quite tight, actually, and a strange blue-green colour that Eli wasn't sure blended well whatsoever with the pale shirt or dark skin but really he was just focussed on the want for their absence; and then with rising heat down elsewhere, to Cygni's feet. Eli suddenly felt very strange for wearing his shoes whilst on the bed. He gulped, getting back to the matter at hand - that being the growing desire inside of him for the man before him. He raked his eyes back up to Cygni's wry grin, though not entirely free of tension.

He must've had a strange expression on his face because Cygni spoke up in a jovial tone. "Not going to try and weasel some information out of me are you, Vanto?"

Eli huffed quietly, tension lifting. "As if you'd fall for that. And it's Eli," he said, and leant forward to kiss him again. "You can call me Eli."

(thrawn confronting eli the morning after. which is very rude of him)

"You are well aware it is against protocol--"

"I know, sir," Eli muttered, pained.

"--and more so it was unwise. There is conduct to follow, Ensign."

Eli flinched. He knew better than to try answering that.

"However, I do not expect any individual to solely rid themselves of any desires they have. As you said, the path of duty can oft impede or interrupt chances at proper rest or indeed.. indulgence. What I wish to understand is that it seems there are those on the Thunder Wasp who would respond positively from such an advance from yourself, and despite regulations I see no reason why you could not engage in sexual activity with those you wish to, whoever they may be,//such colleagues albeit within appropriate timeframes, provided it does not impact your work. Yet you have chosen to ignore this in favour of a different party. I do, of course, notice these things."

Gods what the fucking weirdest thing Thrawn was saying.

"Oh yeah," Eli replied sarcastically, unable to help it now. "I'm sure the Empire’s finest are dying to get a shot at screwing a Wild Space hick who barely made the cut at the Royal Academy and is getting such special treatment – all for being bilingual. Care to name a few?”

"I myself, am one such example."

"What."

(after thrawn and eli’s fallout)

Oh right - Thrawn was talking to him. Of course he was. And didn't seem to care that Eli wasn't listening. It's not like he wouldn't notice. He just expected Eli to pay attention to him. Like usual, he expected Eli to give him every waking moment. No time to think for himself, about himself, lest it lead to foolishness.

"Sir?" Eli said bitterly. All of this clamouring in his head was driving him mad. He felt sick. He couldn't remember half of what he'd been driving round and round in his skull, and from the rest of it he couldn't tell if it was his own spiteful hyperbole or if it was truthful. He didn't know which was worse.

A small flicker of something crossed Thrawn's impeccable features. Eli didn't know and didn't care what. He supposed he should. He paid attention. "I was suggesting, Ensign, that you be taken as ill. I have noticed your demeanour becoming--" he paused. muttered something, or maybe just mouthed it. Eli was frowning at him, hardly trying to stop himself, and could see the word was Sy Bisti. Still on translation duty after all these years. Only useful because it wasn't worth the hour programming a droid. Eli's existence could be quantified in a measly number of credits in that regard. And yet he hadn't even bothered to say the word, to ask Eli for that translation. Was he trying to be nice, or polite? What a first. Or maybe he wasn't even worth that anymore.

tldr: what if... we hooked up in a nightclub while i was undercover on a mission... and the encounter really gets to some hidden emotional part of me for reasons unknown... and then it turned out my commanding officer has been madly in love with me the whole time but my head’s too busy with whatever spell you put on me when we had sex that one time to even look his way... haha jk.... unless..?

#confuzing #swanto #thranto #listen.... nightclub au is good.... i just need to write it #thank u for asking about it...#i need to express my feelings for this ship somehow #mine #voidfic

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prettylittlebrownskingyal · 5 years ago

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Your commentary on titans 👌👌 give us the full review

My main problem with Titans is that there is (a.) no logical and solid justification for these characters and their actions and (b.) this may just be the film nerd in me— but there’s no emotional payoff.

What irks me more is that the cast is incredible. They’re likeable and capable of handling emotion and they can clearly deal with more than they’re given.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure from writers to showrunners to directors and crew— a lot of work and time and energy has been put into the production of this show. But these characters are so iconic and in my nitwit opinion, it’s almost painful to see their potential go to waste.

And I say potential because there are moments— mystical and magical, full of hope and wonder and rich comic goodness that make you want more. But they fall flat.

“Families can be fucked up.”

Titans is supposed to be about family. They literally end the last episode with the song “We are Family.” So why would these people— who supposedly view each other as found family— abandon each other at every given opportunity?

They gang up on Jason in the tower when only moments before they were all fired up about saving the kid from Dr. Light. Gar gets left behind by himself with an unconscious, cleary dangerous super clone. Donna and Dawn fully agree to let Dick rot in prison.

These actions do not reflect people who care for each other. Who want to protect and keep each other safe. Why would this be the core emotional catalyst for any development whatsoever when no actual families are portrayed?

Also, here are two established families featured this season and there were no attempts to have them act as foils for each other even though that would have made clear sense. The Wilsons and the Waynes. Two kids that share stoic father figures that are linked to their trauma. Rose and Jericho have no relationship. No communication. No reason to trust each other. Also, why does Rose immediately give up her life for her father?

Dick and Jason’s relationship had some moments that could have been great to both of their character developments. Dick is his best when he’s being a big brother to Gar and Rachel. Why not let him be the same for Jason?

Here are some things I’d do differently.

1.) No Conner storyline

Conner, Krypto and Eve’s episode (episode 6) was quite possibly the best of the season. It’s because a family dynamic is clearly established. (It’s a little weird, I’ll admit) But these characters rely on each other. They look out for each other. They care. (“You didn’t abandon me”// “Can I call you mom?”// “Hot dogs? Get it?”– i ate that shit up)

That being said, it also feels like Conner was just created so they’d have someone to save Jason from his fall.

The introduction of CADMUS as another antagonist when Slade is a major, overpowering one feels like too many things to juggle at once. If they’d held out, Conner and CADMUS would have been great as the main focal point for a whole season.

2.) More Jericho

Jericho was essentially the highlight of the season. I can’t tell if it was the way he was written or the way Chella portrayed him but that’s what Titans really needs.

humanity. kindness. friendship and family ties.

why couldn’t he have had more time with the Titans? why couldn’t he have a relationship with Rose?

I’d have let him explore his abilities more. His relationship with his mom, with Slade, with each of the Titans.

They needed to have actual bonding with him. Not just a shoddy backstory.

3.) Better treatment of Rose

Rose Wilson could have been so much more than just a plot point. More than an informant. All she did this season was eat cereal, say “i’m out” and then solve a major fight plot point in fifteen minutes. We needed more of her training, her relationships, her justifications to just pick and fall into a life of an assassin.

She and Jason had some decent moments of believable cheesy teen behaviour between them but not enough to cover the gaping hole in Jason’s storyline.

4.) Jason needs more emotional moments!!

Not going to lie, I wasn’t sure Curran Walters could do big emotional scenes or make me care as much as he did. But he did. He’s got the bratty, troubled Jason down but he needs to be more fleshed out.

Like Rose, he feels like a caricature of a troubled teen. Where’s his interaction with Bruce? His backstory? His impulsivity and need to prove himself to Dick should be established but it’s not.

That scene where he learns that Rose has been using them all along? That was better than most of what we’ve seen him do.

5.) Donna as a big sister// Donna’s relationship with loss

You’re telling me “older smarter prettier”// “you can crash at my place” Donna Troy who took care of Dick would not look at these kids and want to help? After all Diana’s taught her? WACK

Also Donna and Garth’s relationship? It felt forced. He literally said “I love you” and then died. C’mon man, really? At least give them a pre-established relationship.

6.) Kory?? what happened y’all?

She felt so underutilized this season. Anna Diop is a star. She delivers her performance so well. The moment she heals Conner, her rushing to save Rachel— she has this essence of kindness that fits so well with her strength and the potency of her powers.

She’s a gifted, royal powerhouse.

So why give her a runaround, stretched out storyline? Why make her kill someone she cared about?

7.) Hank and Jason?//Dawn, Donna and Kory?// Dick & Gar

The dynamic between these characters whether seen or hinted at could have literally carried full episodes. Why consistently break them apart? Or make them fight or ignore each other? Why not let them play into each other, learn from each other? INTERACT??

8.) Bruce// Dick’s version of Bruce

I like Iain Glen as an older version of Bruce Wayne. I like that he’s a bit quirky, snarky, an asshole and he says things like “no shit.” But he doesn’t serve much of a purpose and he feels like an instant solution in certain situations. Plus he has no interaction with Jason.

That being said, the use of him as Dick’s voice of reason/subconscious does hone in on the question that Dick keeps trying to run away from— “What would Batman do?” That works for his character. It works for his growth. Their dynamic is wonderful but ultimately, not necessary.

9.) Donna dying?

That WHOLE scene was so out of place. Why would that have happened after the climax of the story? As an extra source of angst?

Again, the Titans are separated by death. Again, a sense of a family is built up and torn down. No one should have to die for a real sense of familial bond to be established.

10.) Deathstroke’s character//takedown

He’s supposed to be the main antagonist and they all have beef with him. Rightfully, everyone should have gotten a chance in that battle. It happened way too quickly and was very anticlimactic for the old Titans.

Also, Slade killing one of their friends with one, single bullet to the chest literally does nothing for me. Especially since Aqualad is supposed to be a Titan. There’s no real conflict, no tangible establishment of hate. Where’s the torture? the real hurt?

11.) Gar, Dick and Hank and their repeated storylines

they all went through the same arcs again. Dick with his Batman struggle. Hank and his own darkness. Gar and his struggle with control and being controlled and experimented on.

This season should have been about Dick coming into his own as Nightwing. About Gar finally having some normalcy and a place that he feels safe in. He should have gotten some redemption as a hero. Hank (and i hate to say, i hope i don’t sound ridiculous but) should have gotten some resolution with Dawn. Either they’re in or out because the back and forth they do with each other is incredibly toxic and they’ve been established as smart enough to see that.

It wasn’t all bad though and I’ll probably end up doing a re-watch sometime. Since I’ve pretty much spouted asshole nonsense, here are some of the best moments:

The end of the first episode where they’re all standing around their cars and laughing? GOLD. More of that cheesy, established friendship.

Jericho hugging Dick, Dick being unsure how to deal with warmth and forgiveness. Everybody say thank you to Chella for improvising that.

Kory and Donna being detectives and arguing over jelly doughnuts? Yes, please! I love them together. How they clearly knew each other, how they worked well together to take out Shimmer.

Kory speaking Kryptonian. Anything that furthers her development brings me joy.

Conner saving Jason. That was pretty comic book like— I liked it.

All the scenes Krypto’s in.

Hank telling Dawn that he knows what Jason’s probably feeling. That was emotional and heartfelt. Also, Hank going “Atta boy” when they were on the phone with Slade. I’m really upset they couldn’t have a brotherly relationship because their characters are quite similar.

Gar, Jason and Rachel interacting like friends/teammates/siblings. Their dynamic works. I’d love to have seen the three of them take on a challenge together.

#ar.txt #asks #prettylilanons #ar watches Titans #i have more thoughts but i can't form them right now.#Anonymous #titans #dc’s titans

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qhostqizmo · 5 years ago

Text

The Power of Suggestion

Heeheehee I finally wrote this idea after 5k years and it’s even more ridiculous than I envisioned I love it.

- - - - - - - - - -

Keeping her feelings a secret was one of the hardest things Essätha felt she’d ever done. Holding her tongue; swallowing her words, choking on a fantasy that at times she could almost believe to be real rattled her. No, it shook her. It was the first distinct sensation she felt that made her as petrified in equal levels as overjoyed. Truthfully, she always wanted a place to call home… she just never expected the impression to come from someone’s arms, and not from some residence of her own choosing.

Even now, it was a raging fight inside of her just to think of him. To look at him. No matter how many times she argued with herself, and tried to convince herself that there was absolutely positively no way in heaven, hell, or earth she could possibly love Lord Amon Thomas Illiad… The truth was he had already unknowingly stolen her heart.

She was either going to get it back in tattered pieces, or not at all.

She prayed the former, but in the warmest light; and not the heartbreak of being unable to love another again for the rest of her days.

It was almost aggravating, watching the nobleman. Why him? She’d met and been with all sorts of other people; had even had a few fancy flings where some dimwitted infatuated individual would claim to her she was the one for them… And she loved the impossible. Her hands itched for the out of reach, and out of bounds.

Just look at him, she berated her heart. He’s accomplished nobility. He’s ruggedly handsome, and clever, and strong, and creative. He dabbles in alchemy and science, and you’d chase bugs and snakes all day like an airhead, given the chance. He’s sensitive, and gentle, and considerate and you’re only as patient as your roots to the ground. That man could have offer his heart to anybody, why would he offer it to someone as plain and uninteresting as you when he’s… extraordinary.

Okay, maybe he enjoyed her company, but he didn’t love her. They were friends; great friends, almost the best of friends she’d dare to say, and nothing more. He trusted her with his past, his confessions, his vulnerabilities; but also with his happiness, his curious trial and error of the world, his jokes. Together they had built a solid foundation of mutual confidence in each other. He knew there was always a place for him beside her, or in her arms, and she felt safe enough to come crawling to him even when she felt ugly and pathetic and the back of her mind still told her to flee.

Having a friend was plenty. Having him in her life in any way she could, was enough.

Why did her stupid heart have to get in the way and ruin it?

It painted her pictures of his fingers intertwined with hers, and of his smile, and those were some of the tamest longings she had. Sometimes it woke her at night, the smell of dog and leather and deep woodlands and rose, and her mind started racing as fast as her pulse. Whispered dreams still clouded her thoughts then. Ideas of this moment never-ending; of just waking in his bed all the time, every day; his eyes lingering on her, of his hands against her, and then his mouth-

And by then she was usually too flushed and humiliated and ashamed with herself to breathe let alone let a single word of how she felt slip out.

They could stay friends. Essie could keep her mouth shut. It would hurt a bit, but she would get used to it. No strings attached, she could go where she pleased still. No commitment, no expectations…

Gods, her heartbeat stutted. What if with him is the only place she wanted to be?

She was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

Frustrated, she lifted her fist to slam it down upon the wooden cart. It startled the warlock beside her to awareness from his trance, and he immediately started to grumble to himself.

“The hell is your problem?”

“Everything!” She exasperated, pouting.

“Okay…” Penimra drawled out, looking at her with a side-glance that said ‘she’s lost her mind’.

Exhaling out raggedly, Essie placed her face in her hands. Curls of her hair were smothered against her face, and she annoyingly dropped her hands back into her lap.

“Pen I… I have a bit of a personal question for you.”

“Oh shit, personal questions aren’t really my thing. Maybe you should ask Abe-” his breath hitched- “…Adela.”

Doing her best to ignore the high-elf’s stumble over their former Paladin’s name, she twiddled her thumbs together and nibbled on her lower lip. Her eyes moved towards the hauntingly creepy bird-like beak of the man beside her. It took a considerate amount of strength not to ogle the one she really wanted to look at some yards away, speaking with Sulhadur.

“What was it like for you, being in love?”

The cursed noble elf looked shocked, and then sour, and then sad. He whipped his head away, turning his elongated nose up. No amount of snobbery could hide the hurt in his voice, however.

“I thought it was fantastic, until I realized it was a lie. Love is rarely real and true, or as dramatized as all those little plays and books make it out to be.”

“Oh.”

“… Why do you ask?” the warlock begrudgingly inquired after a few awkwardly silent seconds.

She shrugged mutely, looking back down at her hands.

Penimra remained silent for a blessed few more moments. Then, he scoffed.

“Why don’t you just tell Amon how you feel? You’ll save us all from your moping.”

Essätha’s jaw hit the floor.

“Are you serious? I can’t just- just walk up and tell him!”

“Well humans haven’t adapted the ability to read minds, so good luck with ever making it to first base.”

“Why did I ever think I could ask you anything,” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

“Because we have no dad to go to,” he sulked in answer, lowering his head.

Now who was moping?

Sighing, Essie propped her elbow up on the side of the wagon, staring hopelessly at her nobleman. If only she had the courage to tell him. Maybe she’d consider asking Adela, if the sorceress hadn’t previously held such an ugly grudge against Amon; or had such a snarky, almost degrading way of speaking to her. Abernathy would probably have a good suggestion…

Suggestion!

Perfect; that’s just what I need!

“What’s perfect?”

Oh, she’d said that aloud. Whoopsie. No matter, she thought eagerly, beaming and brimming at the edges, about to burst. She would need him anyway.

“Pen, cast Suggestion on me!”

The elf cocked an eyebrow, resting a hand upon the golden nipple-chain lying across his tummy. “Why should I do that?”

“You could order me to tell Amon how I really feel!” she squealed eagerly, leaning towards the elf with sparkly eyes. “Pleeeaasseee?”

“I don’t know; I don’t like telling people what to do…”

She deadpanned at him.

“Okay okay- but what do I get out of it?” the warlock inquired with snob, flinging his voluminous golden hair around with a twirl of his finger.

“I’ll leave you the hell alone,” the Yuan-Ti replied simply.

Pen’s eyes widened to delighted saucers, and his creepy beak seemed to appear to grow a smug grin. “Done. Now, sit still, and don’t reject the magic…”

Closing her eyes, Essie breathed out deeply. She let her guard down. A shiver of anticipation moved over her spine as Pen waved his hand in the air, and garbled an incantation that sounded frightening and inhuman. She could feel tingles in her fingertips, and to the roots of her hair.

“There,” the elf sighed, “now off with you, you’re ruining my beauty rest.”

Blinking slowly, the sorceress’ looked around. She didn’t feel any different. There was no sudden urge, no draw, no deep and unforeseen need to complete anything… She felt nothing. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary.

Essätha turned her head to look towards the nobleman, and lost her breath. Her pulse quickened. Her body almost shuddered with yearning.

Now she felt it.

Climbing out of the cart, she buzzed straight past Ravamora. The short wood-elf glanced towards her skeptically. There was a pep in her step; a charge around her that drew the rogue’s gaze. Was it from the spell? Who knew. She felt excited, and scared, but unable to refrain herself. The enchantment had a snare on her, and even if she was terrified, there was no stopping it now. One way or another, she was going to have her answer.

Her footsteps felt heavier as she approached the crimson Dragonborn paladin, and the warrior that cradled her heart. The former didn’t notice her approach, but Amon certainly did. He perked up, his head swiveling to her. The darkness of his eyes held a little twinkling light in them as he smiled at her. Especially for her.

She could melt right then and there.

“Everything alright, Essie?”

Gods, he had such a lovely tone in his voice. He had his own force of casting, but it felt like the spells only worked on her. She swayed a bit, rocking her heels into the dirt while wearing a timid smile.

“Yes,” she squeaked, her voice cracking. Very confident.

Puzzled, the nobleman calculated her expression. Whatever he found seemed to be enough for him; the slight creases of worry that etched around his eyes instantly vanished. He offered her his hand; the most natural reaction in the world. She accepted, stepping in closer. Unnecessarily closer.

Was it just her imagination, or did his breath just catch, too?

“Oh, hey Essie,” Sulhadur chimed in, looking up from the stake he’d planted in the ground to secure the first tent. A toothy grin spread across his muzzle, and a small curl of smoke as he chuckled wisped up from his nostrils as he inquired, “Were you hoping to join us in pitching tents?”

“I would not,” she laughed, offering out her free arm to flex. “Still don’t have your muscles, I’m afraid. If you really wanted someone to supervise, though…”

“That’s okay, we’ve got this, then.”

It’s now or never, idiot.

Stalling, she chewed her lower lip. Breathe in, and breathe out.

“Actually, Sulhadur,” she drew out, slowly, capturing their golden eyes before the Dragonborn could turn fully away from her, “Could you… help Pri’cha with the fire?”

The lie stumbled out, unconvincing. Less convincing still, as the Paladin craned his head to look over her, to where the Thri-Kreen cleric was neatly stacking wood.

“You want me… To help our cleric of Pelor… Who has all the means to light their candles, and summon fire, with… making a fire?”

Even Amon gave her an odd look. She tried not to sweat, or squirm too much.

“Yes!”

“… Alright,” Sulhadur agreed, heaving a grumbling sigh. He nodded to the nobleman, muttering, “I’ll be back to help with the rest in a moment.”

Amon nodded, saying nothing. His eyes trailed the red Dragonborn until he was well out of earshot, and then he turned his confused gaze back unto her.

“What was that about? Why do you want me alone?”

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no-

Breathing in sharply, Amon placed a hand to her waist. It sent spiraling waves of heat blooming through the fabric of her clothes, into her skin.

“Essätha, you’re shaking!”

This was stupid! She couldn’t just tell him! She couldn’t just shout it out of nowhere!

The concern in Lord Amon’s deep blue eyes made her stomach flip, and do somersaults. He held her gaze steady, like the rest of her. The anchor of his hand to his side, and their laced-together fingers kept her warm. His small, worried smile creeping up his lips kept her face warm in turn. Everything about him was always so grand and wonderful; his inky black hair, his sculpted figure, his chiseled face, and he was so close, now. The smell of his cologne was a bit faded compared to the aroma of sweat from many days hard work with few opportunities to do more then wash up with waterskins and stream-water, but he was still the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on.

“Is everything okay?” he ushered; gentle, compelling.

He was adorable and so gentlemanly, heavens above. Essie tightened her grip on his hand, holding it close to her face. She sighed, sweet and soft, while resting her cheek against the back of his hand.

Amon’s lips parted. He seemed like he was having almost as much trouble breathing as she felt she was. Suddenly, she found her smile. She wore it timidly, but not without pride, and not without a flicker of reverence.

“I’m going to tell you something crazy, and… I don’t want you to run from me, when I say it.”

“Okay,” the nobleman exhaled raggedly. He squeezed her hand tighter, his boots shuffling closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He was close enough that if she wanted to, she could easily lean in to kiss him without losing her balance. It made her dizzy; almost as much as his eyes did. She was falling, sinking, and there was no coming out of it. The darkness swallowed her whole.

She swallowed her nerves down. The tingling sensation of the power of the Suggestion was gnawing at her, now. It was stronger, now. Biting at her. Clawing. Ripping at her chest, her throat. The words wanted to escape her unconsciously. If it were possible to rip out a beating heart and hand it over as an expression of love, and not die, she’d probably do that, right now. But this was going to be almost as close a reference to that.

“I’m in love with you.”

The expecting, questioning expression the Briarton Protector wore suddenly diminished. His hand clasped so tightly to her, she feared what it meant. With his eyes wide, and his mouth hanging open, he stared at her with an increasing shade of pink turning red on his face.

Had he forgotten how to breathe?

As the power of the spell left her body, numb and cold, Essie tried to explain herself in quick, nervous rambling: “I’m sorry this- this isn’t what you expected. I- I understand you’re probably shocked. I didn’t want to tell you, but I was having trouble moving forward, or focusing without telling you. I thought that m-maybe if I told you…” She gasped, strangling for air before continuing, “If- If you don’t return the feeling at-… At least I would get s-some… some closure. That I could move on…”

Still speechless, he made no response as she reached for him, lightly cupping the side of his face. The nobleman did not flinch, but nor did he come closer. He was like marble; a statue to her touch.

“I’m… I’m so sorry if telling you has… has ruined your impression of me… I… I just hope we can still be friends. I hope you can still trust me, as your friend. I love you, m’lord Amon, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Stop talking.”

“What? Why? I want you to understand-”

“Essätha,” Amon rasped, squeezing her hand firmly. “I don’t want you to apologize. I don’t want you to regret loving me, or telling me you love me.”

Stunned, the lonely woman tried to absorb his words… Where was he going with this?

Pulling their interlocked hands away from her face, Amon loosened his grip on hers. The detachment burned, but not for long. He pressed her, palm up, to his chest. She gasped, feeling the thunder of his racing heartbeat beneath her fingertips.

“Feel that?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes lost in his.

“That’s how I feel, every day, looking at you,” Amon whispered.

Her mouth suddenly fell open in a long, shaky exhale.

Oh…

Oh.

Oh?

Voice straining thickly, the nobleman rasped through his chuckling, “And all this time, here I thought there was no way you could… that you’d possibly…”

He let go of her hand, allowing it to remain pressed to his chest. He slid his palm in a scorching line from her waist, around to her lower back, bringing her in closer.

If she was breathless a second ago, she was absolutely winded now. All she was aware of was her pulse, running a crazy triathlon, and Amon’s beneath her palm.

He cupped her chin, encouraging her to tilt her head back.

So close. So close oh Gods she couldn’t breathe, all there was was him and his smile and his eyes upon her-

“May I kiss you, Essätha Meduza?” he inquired, his voice a hoarse whisper.

This was utterly, completely, totally surreal. It was like dreaming, but she was wide awake, and he was right there in front of her, and she was in his arms…

“Yes.”

The brush of his beard was a bit ticklish, but his lips were soft, and incredibly patient. It was barely a layer above being chaste, but it was incredibly tender, devoted, and affectionate.

“Wow…” she breathed; finally breathed, feeling a strange buzz as though drunk, or high, or all of those things and more.

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a quirky, somewhat shy smile. He laughed softly once more, the warm of his laughter billowing over her and making her shiver.

“I love you, too, Essie.”

“Really?”

Faint, hopeful. Let this not be a dream, let this not be a dream…

“Yes,” Amon breathed, nuzzling his nose to hers intimately. He held her tighter; pulling her firmly to her chest so that her hand had no where to go but to his shoulder for support. “With all my heart, yes.”

And she’d thought…

Biting her lower lip, her gaze flickered away from the intensity of his eyes, and back again. He was still looking to her as though she put all the stars in the sky.

Wow.

Diving her fingers into the depths of his hair, Essätha cradled the back of his head; urging him closer as she pressed her lips to his in a far deeper, more passionate kiss. They parted with her shaky gasp, and Amon’s heavy, panting breathing.

“Maybe I should have said something months ago.”

Amon swore in elvish quietly. “Or maybe I should have.”

She offered a nervous grin to his cheeky one.

“Uh… Are you two just going to make-out over here or…”

Adela’s intruding voice had them scrambling apart, both covered in an equally dark shade of scarlet.

The tiefling shook her head at them, sighing. She muttered something beneath her breath, stepping away with a swish of her tail.

Not daring to meet the look of forever dancing in the want of his eyes, Essie opted to looking at the grass instead. Her gaze met his hand though, as he reached to hold hers in a gentle grip.

“… We’ll talk later,” he suggested, his voice still light and airy; as though living in his own dream.

She raised her eyes to meet his. Her lips parted again, nodding stupidly.

Amon appeared fixated on her once more. He leaned in, his eyes going half-mast.

“Amon, why don’t you actually help finish pitching the tents before it’s hellishly dark out.”

Swearing softly in elvish, he tore his gaze away. Essie was left gaping after him like a fish out of water as he almost stomped past Adela, who was wearing an amused smile as he went to join Sul.

Slowly, Essie raised her fingertips to press to her lips.

Oh dear Gods.

Oh Gods.

Had that just happened? Had he really just kissed her?

Wearing a giddy, elated grin, she let out a shrill squeal, throwing her fists up in the air. She caught both Adela and Ravamora’s wandering eye as she stopped hopping up and down. The former slapped a hand over her face, and Rava just looked disinterested.

Royally flush and embarrassed, she turned to look hopefully to where Amon was. He was gazing at her with the goofiest, fondest grin. Luckily, Sul had apparently tasked him with the deity of holding the spike steady for him to puncture it in the ground the first few hits, otherwise she felt he’d be really doing nothing at all. Pri had taken it upon themselves at this point to join them, too; the fire now roaring, the follow of Pelor was placing a spike nearby in with one hand, holding the hammer in the other.

Bouncing on her heels, Essie skipped a few steps, and then raced the remaining distance towards the wagon. She lunged against it, causing a bruising pain to her abdomen as she half ran into it, half scrambled on board as Penimra was once more awoken from his meditation with a squawk.

“ACK! What do you want, you hellish harpy of a woman?!”

“I did it, Pen! The spell worked; your Suggestion worked! I told him, and he recuperated, and it worked! Thank you!” She grinned from ear to ear, nearly feeling like her face would split in too. The smile hurt so much, her eyes teared up.

The high-elf looked her up and down. Drawling out a loud ‘pssh’, he flung his hand absently in the air, as if warding her off. They leaned back once more, throwing another arm dramatically over their eyes to block the fading sunlight.

“I don’t even know the spell, Essätha. I never cast Suggestion upon you. You needed some incentive, and you worked up the courage yourself to do it. Yay you,” he finished, sarcastically.

Her expression went entirely blank. “Penimra, I’m going to…”

“Thank me, again? Worship me? I know, I’m such a giver-”

“Strangle you, you little bastard! How dare you; you could have told me you didn’t know the spell!”

They shrugged. “This was much faster, and easier. You’re welcome.”

Her cheeks swollen with air, and bright red, she dove for the high-elf in fit of hisses and screeching.

Sulhadur, meanwhile, looking up from his work to wipe his brow, and look over at the cart being thrown from side to side as the twosome threw weak, flailing limbs and spat venomous threats at each other.

“Should we stop them…?”

Adela rested her shoulder on the Dragonborn’s head, shaking her head with a sigh.

“Nah, let them hash it out their own way.”

#qhost story #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #OTP: Essamon #softly written #ft: Noisy Bastards #ft: Penimra Korvis

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bluekyun · 6 years ago

Photo

Genre: fluff, smut, angst & humour

Word Count: 15.390

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: excessive and unnecessary swearing, dom/sub undertones, light choking, praise kink

Summary: A typical night for you begins at the library in your favorite chair underneath the lamp in the corner, only to be picked up at 3am by your best friend, Jimin. Despite having slept over in his room several times before, this certain night in Sigma house leads to far more than you ever imagined. But what is to come of your friendship once you reveal those two little lines that will change your lives forever?

Collaboration Masterlist

Every night of the week, you find yourself cramped underneath the same small lamp in the farthest right corner of the library, one hand clasped around your Totoro pencil while the other is holding down the textbook as if it’s a prisoner of war. The pages, each outlined with your fingerprints, hold every bit of sweat and misery left within you, likely an entire bucket load considering that you are well into dead week. It’s not as if this wasn’t already a normal occurrence, in fact this has been your life since the beginning of the semester. But there is something special about dead week, the week before final exams during which not a soul is left alive – and not the good kind of special. The I-would-rather-shove-an-eggplant-up-my-ass type of special. And as much as you would like to skip out and drink all night like the rest of your sorority sisters, unfortunately, you can’t. For 25 years, Delta Zeta has held high academic integrity with the highest grade point average among all the sororities at the university. To go down as the president who ruined the streak would be… an unwelcomed experience. Besides, you’d like to think that you’re doing this for yourself and not anyone else. But the extra incentive at least keeps you in check.

Staring down at the first paragraph, you realize that you have yet to turn the page. It’s been a half hour and yet nothing past the first two words has managed to stick. The number of times you have tried to stay on task throughout the night could rival the number of stars in the visible sky. Yet, you are still here, having made no progress whatsoever, solely staying with the last shred of hope you have left. In other words, you have finally reached the point of no return. Closing the book, you rub away the sleep in your eyes, leaving flashes of white in its wake. You can feel the pins and needles starting to form at the ball of your foot, crushed underneath the weight of your leg in an attempt at comfort. You are beyond exhausted, irritable and insatiably hungry.

“I should have brought a snack…” Looking across the room, you stare longingly at the vending machines. These machines, which have fed you many times before, now seem nearly impossible to reach. They are in the opposite direction of the doors and you may only have energy for one. So which do you choose?

As luck would have it, your body decides… neither. In fact, you might just spend the night at the library. It’s open 24 hours and you have claimed the comfiest chair that doesn’t contain a broken spring. The option is looking particularly lovely at this moment.

“You’re not sleeping here. I can tell you that right now.” Looking up, you lock eyes with Jimin, your loving best friend who also happens to have a knack for showing up exactly when you need him. Glancing at the clock, you realize it’s 3am. Right on time.

“I wasn’t thinking that.” Returning your attention to your things, you stuff your books and pencil case into the opening of your backpack, very casually rethinking your plans. Convincing Jimin to let you stay would be futile considering you’ve attempted many times before. He is one to do things conventionally, and sleeping over in the library is not on that list.

“I know that face like I know my own. Do you know how many times I’ve had to drag you out of here at four in the morning because you never know when to quit? Thirty one. Yes, I counted. Now get up.”

Lifting your eyes, you pout at him slightly before following orders. Before you even get a chance to move, he grabs your backpack from the floor and swings it over his free shoulder. His level of unfiltered kindness disturbs you sometimes.

“Spending the night?” He asks gently, torn between glancing at you and the floor. Without a second thought, you slyly bite your lip, moving a misplaced strand of hair behind your ear in an attempt to look as though your brain was still functioning.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Shrugging your shoulders, you walk past him, accidentally tripping and bumping the backpack in the process. He looks at you questionably before following you, deciding to let you be exactly as you are – a mess. Walking out the doors, you are met with the brisk winds of the fall night, causing you to shudder slightly as you curl within yourself. From the library, Sigma house is approximately a three minute power-walk, and with the weather continuously nipping at your bare legs, you hope to get there in two and a half.

“You know, I still can’t believe you joined a fraternity. You are the least likely person on this campus to join one. I don’t understand.” Despite knowing the answer, you reignite the years-old conversation, hoping the light-hearted banter will at least help time pass.

“I just wanted friends. You know this. And besides, your motives are so much more questionable than mine. You literally joined that sorority just to spite me.” He huffs, pulling the straps of both backpacks farther up on his shoulders.

“I never said that. If you feel upset over something as small as that, then it’s on you. And for your information, I made the better choice between the two of us. I joined because of its high academic regard. That shit looks good on a resume you know. You on the other hand are in a frat full of fuckboys with notorious reputations for being partiers.”

“The entire campus knows that’s a damn lie. The whole ‘we believe in academic excellence’ thing is just a ploy to cover your terrible drinking habits. Might as well call it wine club. And will you stop calling them fuckboys? For the last time, not all of them are like that.”

“Yeah, just your bestie Hoseok right? I’m surprised you haven’t fucked him already considering how far up his ass you are.” Picking up speed, you push your legs to their limit in the direction of Sigma house. But the effort is short lived as Jimin catches up to you in only a few strides.

“First of all, he doesn’t swing that way. Second of all, you’re so fucking short, how do you even make it to your classes on time?” From your periphery, you see the trails of a smirk adorning his face.

Stopping in your tracks you look directly up at him, wanting nothing more than to smack the look off his face. Those full two inches really inflate his ego.

“You just have longer legs okay. Stop coming at me just because you have a complex.”

“You know you started this right. Your jealousy is really showing tonight.” Rolling your eyes, you push him backwards, running as quickly as possible toward Sigma. From where you are, the house is just within your grasp, and everyone here knows that Jimin doesn’t run for anyone. Checking over your shoulder, you see him give you a small wave, and for the first time that day, you feel as though you’ve accomplished something. Upon climbing those steps, you reach out for the door, the burning in your lungs finally catching up to you. Just as you are about grab the handle, the door quickly swings open and you walk straight into none other than the king himself: fucking Jung Hoseok. The sound of you hitting his solid body absolutely mortifies you, a little something more to tear you down.

“Well look who it is. Welcome home brat.” Rolling your eyes, you try to suppress the annoyance, but when Jimin puts a hand on your shoulder, you have no choice but to present a cool smile in a wave of passiveness. Jimin is well aware of your feelings toward him, the utter fear you have that some of his hoeness will just rub off on your best friend. Hoseok is sweet underneath his odd bravado, but that doesn’t help quell the worries that constantly plague you at night. If Jimin were to ever start sleeping around, even just a little, you would probably have a mental breakdown.

“Where you off to?” Jimin asks calmly, placing a little more pressure on your shoulder.

“Out. Don’t wait up for me.” With a wink in your direction, the haughty dance major exits the large door of the fraternity. Neither you nor Jimin say a word in that moment, basking in the rare occurrence of seeing Hoseok alone. It’s not very often you get to see him without a girl hanging on his arm, and you might actually admit that it’s nice to see him so free. But just as soon as the thought crosses your mind, you quickly shove it aside, remembering every snarky comment he has ever made in your presence. With him far out of sight, you push yourself through the doorway, immediately heading toward the back of the house. Unlike the other boys, Jimin’s room is one of the few on the first level – a spot you often thank the stars that he has.

Pulling your sweatshirt over your head, you fold it neatly and set it on the corner of Jimin’s desk, the same place it always is. One thing you both have in common is a tendency toward is keeping everything neat: a code never broken even when sleeping over in the other’s room. Jimin has tried many times to keep the entire fraternity house this way, trying to rub his obsessive tendencies onto them, but that only worked to some degree. And by some, you mean that they only ever do it when they know Jimin is particularly… shall we say, sensitive?

But the reality of it is that they are all collectively a mess, and the house tends to reflect the state of its occupants. And if Jimin is to keep his space and the space surrounding his space in order, then his room definitely needed to be the one closest to the door. Less tragedy to walk through to get where he needed to be. And really, you couldn’t argue with his logic.

Shuffling over to his bed, you pull back the large comforter and throw yourself in. Finding your space against the wall, you wait patiently for Jimin to return from the bathroom, the first place he tends to wander off to whenever he returns home from a long night. Your nighttime routine tends to shift dramatically depending on your state of being, but it has become something like a ritual for him. Something he must do in order to fall asleep. With as much as he puts himself through in order to make it through school, you are grateful that something so simple can at least provide a little comfort.

As if on cue, the door opens slightly just enough for him to sneak through. The rest of the house is likely deep in slumber, other than Hoseok, and Jimin is always careful to not wake everyone up. Among the night owls in the house, which is realistically all of them, he is the one who stays up the latest, always finishing homework or studying until his brain nearly falls out. Even more reason why you both get along so well. At least you both share the same, self-destructive habits.

With the door finally closed, he releases the breath he had been holding, but all it takes is one glance in your direction, and the look on his face changes from content to absolute horror.

“You’re not gonna at least brush your teeth? You’re disgusting.” Throwing his clothes into the laundry basket, he plops into his chair in front of the computer.

“You’re not going to bed?” You ask, the answer dawning upon you the moment the last syllable leaves your mouth.

“Not until you brush your teeth. Don’t be a heathen.” Rolling your eyes, you shift further into your solitude against the wall. You are too damn tired to move an inch, and he’s crazy to think you would ever move from the comfort of his bed to do something so menial. With one eye shut, you observe him from afar – the way his eyes scan across the pages of the textbook, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the next page becoming far too natural.

“You spend more time with your textbook than you do with me. I’m offended.” You huff slightly, the desire to spend time with your best friend being far too loud in your mind.

“Sorry I can’t hear you over your bad breath.” Just as he finishes his sentence, that same, stupid smirk appears on his face, the one that no one can take seriously because it’s just so damn cute.

“I promise I won’t breathe on you. You need to sleep, you’ve been studying for hours now. Give your brain a break.” It isn’t a lie that you care deeply for him in this way. You are always concerned for his well-being, and considering he pushes himself far more than you ever push yourself, you can only imagine how exhausted he must really be. But even you know that he will never listen – he is the most well behaved rebel you’ve ever known.

“Says the one who would still be in the library if I hadn’t come to pick them up.” Pulling out the drawer from his desk, you watch as he digs underneath a pile of worn out pens. You can tell that he found what he was looking for by the way his face lights up almost immediately. But when you see the purple handle emerge from the mess, your adoration you had once felt for him turns into pure disbelief.

In his hand he holds the bane of your existence – the sleepover toothbrush. Back when you both were freshman and you had first started sleeping over in his room, he had gifted you a toothbrush that would specifically be kept in his room for whenever you were over. At the time, it was a cute a gesture, one that meant you would be spending a lot of time there. But as time passed, you realized that the toothbrush was more for him than anything. A sure way to make sure that whenever you slept in his bed, your teeth would be clean.

“I hate you. Don’t come near me.” Throwing the covers over your head, you scrunch yourself into a ball in the middle of the bed. The sound of the toothpaste cap landing on the desk resounds against the walls, penetrating the force field you imagined yourself to have.

“Come here.” He says, voice barely above a whisper. His footsteps, as they near the bed, only match the sound of your heartbeat, and as you listen in closely, you swear you can hear the track to JAWS. But then they stop.

For a moment you hear nothing, silence filling the room as if he had vanished into thin air. The only sound to be heard is the headboard hitting the wall from upstairs. Counting down the seconds in your head, you wait for his next move. But it never comes. No matter how many times you count down from ten, his hateful ass never makes an appearance. A part of you knows that this is how he plays and that this is how he wins, but the other part wants to believe that he really did vanish, and that you might get to sleep without having to actually brush your teeth. The truth is… he’s just waiting. Waiting for you to do something. Stick a hand out? He’ll grab you. Call for him? He’ll jump on you. Breathe? He will shove that toothbrush so far into your mouth that you’ll have to get it surgically removed. And just like him, you never really know which trick to pull until the moment it happens.

As life would have it, it seems that today you are just too tired for his bullshit.

“Fine!” You shout directly into the blanket, pulling it from your face while you surrender. And just as you expected, he’s simply standing at the foot of the bed with a knowing look on his face.

“That’s a good girl.” The way he licks his lips while climbing onto the bed does something to you, a cherry atop the dessert that is him praising you.

Neither of you say anything as he straddles your hips, his delicate fingers pressing against your cheek as he lines the toothbrush with your teeth. Considering this happens often, you would think you’d be used to this feeling, but much to your surprise, it elicits the same response every time. The utter disdain you feel for him and his unnecessary obsession with hygiene.

“Say ‘ahhhhh’,” he says, his pearly whites and small crooked tooth showing in the lamp light.

“Bite me.” With your final words out, you allow him to put the bristles to your teeth. As he gently moves the brush back and forth, you can’t help but think just how utterly weird and uncomfortable this whole situation is. You and Jimin are very close, that is something that can’t be argued, but sometimes his habits are on another level. You’ve even heard stories from Hoseok that there was a time when Jimin had tried to brush the teeth of the whole frat after one particular party, but the only success was brushing Jungkook’s teeth after he threw up in one of the flower pots. The poor bunny never knew what was coming.

Regardless, you are certain it all comes from a genuine place. But it’s still weird as hell.

Grabbing the brush from his hand, you roll over and force him off your hips. With one eye closed, you continue the job, watching him carefully as he looks at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“C-can you not look at me like that?” You stutter, the foam only distorting the sound of your voice.

“Like what?” Looking away, he stares at the covered window, acting entirely incredulous to the situation at hand.

“Like you love me or something.”

“I do love you.”

Choking on the suds, you jerk up in bed, collecting it all in the palm of your hand. Jimin immediately grabs a towel from one of the shelves, handing it to you while he watches in pure amusement. Spitting the rest into the towel, you realize the mess you have made, both of yourself and of the situation.

“As a friend of course. Now go wash up.” Removing himself from the bed, he walks over to his desk. With eyes following his back, you watch as he returns to his precious textbook. As you pick yourself up from the bed and walk toward the door, his words echo relentlessly in your mind. He has said ‘I love you’ countless times throughout your friendship, but something about that moment, about the vulnerability of it all, made your heart skip a beat. Shaking it off, you open the door carefully and walk across the hall to the bathroom. You don’t bother to turn the light on, in no way prepared to stare at your haggard state of being.

Even when you turn the faucet, you can already feel the chill, a small indication that the building will be out of hot water for a while. Using as little water as possible, you rinse out your mouth and splash a little on your face to rid yourself of the toothpaste look. For the moment, you feel clean and now extremely awake, both the cold and Jimin doing nothing to help you prepare for bed. But considering how tired you feel underneath it all, you only hope you will be able to fall asleep easily.

Scooting out of the bathroom, you return to his room only to find the lamp off. Through the darkness, you can see his shape underneath the blankets, and of course, directly against the wall.

“That’s my spot!” You whisper, gently scooting back to close the door behind you. He doesn’t say anything but instead shifts toward the edge of the bed as his invitation for you to reclaim what is rightfully yours. As best as you can, you tip toe across the carpet trying to avoid the squeaky floor boards. Even in the dark, you know this dance well – a little this way, a little that way, and you are in the clear. Climbing over him, you fall into the mattress, cuddling up against him for some warmth. He embraces you instinctually, wrapping his arms around your waist, his cheek resting delicately on your forehead. In close proximity, you smell the remnants of his cologne, the very one you had picked out for him when he had first asked you to help him fit in.

Oh how you miss the days when things were so much simpler.

In his need for comfort, he shifts his arm from underneath your body, his other hand temporarily landing on your ass. At first you thought nothing of it, but when he refused to move, you realized this was entirely intentional. This man was really feeling you up in the most casual way possible. As much as you wanted to tell him off, you couldn’t deny the fact that you enjoyed feeling him touch you, even in a way that was extremely intimate. He has jokingly grabbed your breasts or even smacked your ass in the past, but the feeling of this is different. And all you know is that you want more of it.

Turning around, you leave your back facing him. You want to play dirty just as much as he does, a game of cat and mouse to see which of the two will win in the end. Even though you know exactly what will happen, you are determined to stretch it out as long as possible. You are as weak for him as much as he is weak for you. You are playing with fire, and you are only anticipating the burn.

The feeling of his hot breath down the back of your neck sends chills down your spine, his body pressed against you only adding to the heat underneath the blanket. The firm grip of his hand against your hip as he holds you against him has your mind imagining every possible way in which it could be around your neck. Having never voiced your lust for him before, you have always kept yourself in check, but this night, unlike any other, you are falling victim to your own thoughts. Neither of you move an inch, afraid to disturb the other, but a part of you wishes that he would just take control – turn you around and take you as you are. Unfortunately, he seems to have other plans. From the way his breath picks up pace, you can tell he has no intention of falling asleep. His breath is ragged as if he is controlling every sense in his body. Something you already know you don’t want.

Shifting slightly, you lean farther back against him, the bulge of his erection placed directly at your backside. The hitch in his throat upon contact left something to be desired, and biting the bullet, you move again, only this time with a little more intention. The soft moan that leaves his lips is barely audible, but the sound only sends electricity shooting through your core. He does nothing more but rather buries his face into the bed of your hair, slowly losing grip on the small bit of control he has left. When it comes to desire, neither of you are professionals at keeping it hidden for long, and that fact only becomes more apparent with every second that passes on the clock.

Coming up for air, he pulls you a little tighter to him, and from what you can tell, he is painfully hard. The friction necessary to get him off is far more than what he is receiving, but begging for something, especially sex, was never his forte. If something were to ever happen between the two of you, it would be your call. But not even you want it to come so easily. Leaning in, you force your ass against him slowly, a small maneuver in hopes of making him vocal. When you hear nothing but a low grunt from behind you, you realize just how much work you’re going to need to put in. Which you don’t mind, of course, as long as by sunrise, he is between your legs.

Reaching your hand around, you palm at the front of his shorts along his strained member. The breath he releases against your ear only eggs you on, your hand slowly moving across every inch of him – painfully slow. You continue you ministrations, a constant motion against his cock, adding a little pressure upon reaching his tip. His tense muscles start to tremble under your touch, and for a moment you can feel his urge to move. But he doesn’t. He lies there, receiving every bit of torture you’re giving like a champ. Unfortunately for him, you only plan to make it a lot worse.

Removing your hand, you return to your original position against him. You neither move nor say a word, and from the way his body shifts uncomfortably, you can tell he’s missing your touch.

“Don’t tease me like that…” The husky voice that leaves his mouth takes you by surprise, the utter desire dripping from his tone only sending another shockwave to your core. You wait patiently, hoping that he will say something more just so that you could get off to the sound of his voice, but when you realize he has no intention of satisfying your needs this way, you decide to finally face him. With a quick flip over your shoulder, you find yourself directly in front of his lips. His eyes remain closed, but he can sense every bit of you. The closeness between you has nearly become suffocating.

Closing the distance, your lips find solace on his, the minimal contact already constricting your already stressed heart. Neither of you make a move, letting the kiss be exactly as it is – minimal. Leaning in farther, you press your entire body against him, pushing your lips harder against his. And just like a click, he parts his lips slightly, inviting you to kiss him with everything that you have. It starts out slowly, moving languidly and patiently at first, but as you get used to each other, you realize just how good this man tastes. Just the kiss alone is enough to send you over the moon, and it only excites you to explore the rest.

The swipe of his tongue between your lips surprises you at first, not having expected him to initiate anything. Having wanted this for so long, you try to hold out on your desire to let him in, something he realizes shortly after as you continue to deny him access. Relentless, he places his free hand behind the nape of your neck, pulling you in while he tries harder to force his tongue inside. Within a matter of seconds, you give in, letting his tongue explore your own in a series of sloppy exchanges. His grip on you only tightens as he fights harder to enjoy every bit of you, and with him fully in control, you finally relax your body to fully enjoy the experience.

With each passing second, your desire for each other intensifies, neither of you able to control yourselves as you press against each other in an act of utter need. The moment he breaks the kiss, you find yourself breathless, the feeling of air filling your lungs stinging slightly. Pushing you onto your back, he shifts himself above you so that he’s straddling your hips – a mirror image of how it had been only ten minutes prior. And yet, the air between you has entirely changed, from playfulness to unadulterated hunger. He hesitates for a moment, attempting to catch his breath, and from the sliver of light slipping through the curtains, you see the drop of sweat roll down the side of his neck. He really brings heated a whole new meaning.

Holding down your arms, he leans down and nuzzles against you, leaving small, wet kisses in his wake from your jaw to the base of your neck. The sound of lips against your slick skin drives you mad, a sound so simple yet so fucking sexy. Using both hands, he pulls at the hem of your t-shirt, and in the small moment you are able to sit up, he already has the entire thing pulled over your head. In one swift motion, he gently pushes back your hair from your face, ending with the lightest of kisses of on your forehead. Palms against your shoulders, he pushes you back against the bed, returning to where he last left off. From your neck, he continues his kisses to your collarbones, the one place you had told him in secret that was your favorite. Sucking gently, he leaves wet trails along your chest, nipping slightly against your collarbones. The feeling is indescribable, the insatiable feeling of having his lips against your skin.

Traveling downward, he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently as if it were barely there. With your toes beginning to curl at the sensation, you’re unsure how much longer you’ll be able to hold out. Taking the other in between his fingertips, he pinches it slightly, the dual feeling of him against your sensitive buds driving you mad. The growl that erupts from his throat as he pops off sends a shock straight to your core, wetness pooling at the base of your underwear. Without having done much of anything, he has you wrapped around his finger, exactly where he wants you.

His hands, starting from your breasts, slide down the curves of your body, halting at the waistband of your sleep shorts as he hooks his fingers underneath. Taking his time, he watches as you shudder against the cool air. As he pulls them past your knees, he forces your legs apart, your entire womanhood lying openly in front of him. Having them removed, he tosses the clothing to the side, rubbing his hands against the inside of your thighs. Each time, he gets close to where you want him, where you need him, but each time, he only retreats to start all over again.

“How about you stop teasing… you bitch…” Amidst strangled breaths, you try to provoke him, hoping that in the least, he will pity you.

“Be a good girl and you’ll be rewarded, yeah? You’re doing so well, baby.” The words he speaks are nothing more than venom, inflicting damage to the deepest sense of yourself. You can’t help but moan at his words, one of the many things told in confidence that you never imagined would be put into practice.

Taking your moan as an answer, he continues toward your core, the aching between your legs only increasing dramatically. When you feel the tip of his finger against your clit, you jerk forward instinctually. You want so much more and yet he’s feeding you at his own pace – he’s in charge and he will do anything to make sure you know it. You would be stupid to ever forget.

Using one finger, he rubs along your clit, gradually changing to circular motions as he feels your leg muscles subtly tighten against him. Taking a deep breath, you try to calm your nerves, but nothing can be done to subdue the fire raging in the pit of your stomach. With the addition of another finger, you realize just how painful this whole ordeal is going to be.

“You’re so wet for me baby. You’re being so good. Do you want more?” He asks in that silky voice of his, the lust not wasted on any syllable.

Nodding your head, you realize that forming any words will likely be impossible for the rest of the night. You are so overrun with desire that really, you can’t even think straight. Luckily for you, he accepts the fervent nod at an answer, and within moments, two fingers are deep between your folds. It’s been so long since you’d last had sex that this feeling is almost foreign to you, but entirely welcome. He wastes no time moving his fingers, starting with a gentle rhythm that slowly pulls you to the edge. You try to breathe evenly to hold yourself together, but when his thumb begins to rub against your clit, you damn near choke on nothing. From he his position above you, he watches your form carefully, listening to every whimper that happens to leave the confines of your lips. He’s become intoxicated on you, and as he picks up speed, he realizes just how much he loves to hear you.

“Do you like that baby?” Without giving you a chance to answer, he slams deeper inside of you, the sound of him against your wetness only fueling him.

“… Y-yes…” The breath you release turns into an unfiltered moan, resulting in a grunt from him in response.

You feel yourself reaching orgasm, the way his fingers skillfully work at you being something you’ve never experienced in all your years of sexual activity. And yet, for someone who you’ve never been intimate with, it’s as if this bastard had been hiding cheat codes from you.

“Come for me.” He demanded, the sense of urgency to make you feel good overshadowing his own desire.

“Not… w-without you.” You try your best to hold back, the immense feeling starting to wash over all other senses. It isn’t unreasonable in your own mind to want to come with him, despite how difficult the feat typically is. All you want is him, in his entirety, even if it means having to wait a little longer.

Removing his fingers, he fumbles in the dark to remove his clothing. As you watch the movement of his figure, you take a moment to bring yourself down temporarily, mentally preparing yourself for what will transpire.

After 3 years, you are having sex with your best friend. Not just your best friend, but your everything. There is a fear that you have, that if this were to ever happen, that you needed to be prepared for the worst case scenario. The possibility that the friendship you had built will crumble to nothing. You think you know him better than this, that you know yourself better than this, but it changes nothing. The very real possibility haunts you. But at the same time, this is something you’ve wanted for as long as you can remember.

Returning to his position above you, he places his hands on either side of your head. At first neither of you do anything, staring at the darkness in front of you as you prepare for whatever is next. In that moment, there is a mutual, silent understanding between the two of you. That no matter what happens after this, nothing will be broken.

Releasing his inhibition, he returns his fingers to your core, reigniting the fire that had been quelled within you. After a few swipes against your clit, he returns his hand to his cock, stroking gently to prepare himself. But in the dark, he quickly realizes how difficult it will be to figure out what he’s doing.

“Do you think you could… uh…” Unable to finish his question, he waits for you to decipher his request. But before he had even spoke, you were already prepared to help him.

Reaching out, you grab hold of his cock and guide him toward your entrance. With the tip angled correctly, you softly pat him on the shoulder as indication to continue. Moving forward, he feels your heat against his tip, taking his time to fill the space between your walls. The feeling of him inside you is something you knew you would never be prepared for, but one you highly regarded nonetheless. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you stroke his hair lovingly, waiting patiently for him to make the first move. Taking the hint he begins to move slowly, both of you finding the feeling overwhelming. Finding his rhythm, he starts to move faster, hitting deeper within you with every thrust. His movements are fluid and consistent, something you would only expect coming from him. He wanted this to be perfect or at least as perfect as a first time with someone could be. And to you, he was doing exactly that.

“Please come for me baby.” It becomes clear to you then that he stopped focusing on himself. The entirety of his focus was now solely on your pleasure, the desperation in his voice only a small indication of that. For him you would do anything, but you need a small something from him first.

Grabbing one of his hands from off the bed, you place his fingers delicately around your neck.

“I need a little more baby.” Without another word, he continues at his pace, his fingers gripping around your neck slightly. For the time being, you keep your hand against his, applying more pressure where need be until finding the perfect spot.

Falling into the rhythm, you let the pleasure take over, the sensation of his fingers only adding to the euphoria. Slight constriction is your favorite, the pull of oxygen from your lungs coupled with the pleasure from below is indeed a dangerous mix for you. The pull toward orgasm becomes something you can’t ignore, and his rapid increase in pace does nothing more than push you over the edge. The sound of skin against skin as backdrop of your orgasm only adds to the mood, and not a moment after your own, Jimin comes as well. You feel every muscle tremble as he comes down from his release. From the way he nearly collapses on top of you, you can tell he is exhausted. And rightfully so.

Turning his head, he places a kiss on your cheek only to lift himself off you immediately after. Shuffling over to the shelf, he grabs a few tissues before returning to your aid. Without a word, he focuses on cleaning you up, making sure not to miss a spot despite hitting your overly sensitive core. He can’t help but laugh at the way you squirm, and the sound only brings a smile to your face – at least the aftermath is more lighthearted than you would have expected.

After cleaning himself, he crawls into bed next to you, pushing you toward the wall where he knew you’d like to be. Grabbing your arm, he pulls you against him, holding your waist tightly. Lying his head on the pillow, you watch the movement of his chest as his breathing evens out. Even from your position in the dark, you know he likely has a peaceful look adorning his features. His post-sex glow cannot be rivaled.

“I love you… I love you so fucking much.” His words cause your heart to flutter, the weight of them missed in your current state of drowsiness. Closing your eyes, you nuzzle against his chest, the exhaustion from your sexual escapade finally catching up with you.

“I love you too Chim. Nighty night.”

Rolling into the party, you feel the vibrations of the base coursing through your blood. Based on the choice of music, the subtle EDM and sexual undertones, you realize that the DJ for tonight is none other than Jungkook. The bunny’s taste is entirely predictable, the entirety of his being have been built on his relationship with the other Sigma brothers. It’s as if they raised him, watered him like a plant the moment he showed interest in joining. More than anything, they created a monster – a well-dressed, intelligent, and deviant monster. Who, as you’ve heard from many girls in your class, provides top tier sex. They really made sure that the campus was wrapped around his finger.

In the corner of the room, you see his mop of hair, casually chatting with Taehyung while another girl feasts on him with her eyes from only a few feet away. Every time you walk in to a party of theirs, the scene is always the same. At least three girls for every one member, some of them biting the bait and some of them not, depending on the night. As of late though, the boys have been surprisingly tame. Even Hoseok has been behaving himself quite nicely as of late. All of which is extremely suspicious.

But just like every other party, the house is packed to the brim. The notorious Sigma parties are ones that students hate to miss, others only insignificant in comparison. Providing top shelf alcohol and good jungle juice along with a solid playlist is one sure way to bring people in, and so far it has worked nicely.

As you push through the crowds of sweaty bodies, you make your way to the kitchen, the red and blue cups lined across the counter adding perfectly to the aesthetic. Grabbing an empty one, you fill it most of the way with jungle juice. Just for the fun of it, you add an extra shot of vodka, a small little gift to yourself for making it through finals alive.

Chugging half of it in one go, you immediately have to stop yourself from gagging. Tonight’s jungle juice was definitely provided by Taehyung, the only one left who has yet to find his signature recipe. In comparison to everyone else’s, his tend to be the worst. His artistry lies in the fact that he dumps a bunch of things in and hopes they taste good, and as with most things, it doesn’t always work. For him, it never has.

Swallowing hard, you prepare yourself for another sip, but not even every ounce of your willpower is enough to get you to do it. Setting the failed drink on the counter, you instead grab the vodka bottle. Using a red cup this time, you fill it a quarter way, just enough to get you through the next twenty minutes. Once you take a sip, you let the burn down your throat pass before you decide that this will do for the night.

With the song changed, you can hear more people shouting, singing along and dancing the night away. The various kinds of crowds that you often see here range in variety, but just as would expect, your sisters are in to join the fun as well.

“Yo! Prez! You’re looking sexy tonight.” The angel of this university, miss Kimmy of Delta Zeta, appears before you with the brightest smile on her face.

“I’m literally wearing jeans, but yeah babe, you’re looking fine as hell too.” You say with sincerity, a casual wink her direction sending her into a fit of giggles. The poor girl is plastered.

“Awwww I love you, you’re so so pretty like really I don’t get it. The rest of us have to actually try just to be on your level. Gosh, you’re so pretty.” Closing her eyes, she sways slightly, basking in the drunkenness.

“Hun, go sit on the couch and drink some water.” Snatching a water bottle from the case against the wall, you grab her arm and lead her into the direction of the living room. The sofa, filled with sex-crazed occupants, doesn’t seem to be an option, so instead you set her down in one of the recliner chairs. Before handing the bottle to her, you take off the cap, pressing it to her lips until she gets the hint.

“Drink more than a sip, please. I don’t want to have to come back and take care of you later.” You have no doubts that you would come back and save her ass as you have many times before, but for this particular night, all you want is to have fun and not worry about taking care of the children that are your sorority sisters. This kind of duty comes with being a president, you suppose, but you also know they are grown ass adults. The last thing they need and the last thing you want is for you mother them.

“Yes prez!” You watch patiently as she takes more sips, not daring to remove your gaze until at least half of it is gone. This is a routine thing for you, something everyone in the sorority knows – you will not leave until they drink the damn water. How you ended up being the mother of twenty-two children, you will never know, but at least you know how to keep them functioning.

Once finished with her task, she smiles gently at you, handing you the bottle to screw on the cap. With it secured, you grab her hand and place it around the bottle, holding tightly as you prepare your next words.

“I’ll be back to check on you, and when I do, I better see this bottle completely empty, understood?”

“Yes prez.” Taking the bottle and holding it beside her, she stares at you lovingly, not forgetting to add her signature air kiss. Snatching it from the air, you hold it against your heart before turning around to face the crowd once again.

Standing against the wall across from you, you see Jimin holding a red cup in his hand, smiling gently after having just watched your small interaction. Sauntering over, you take one more gulp from your drink before finally meeting him face to face.

“That was cute. You’re such a good mom.” He says, his words dripping in unsophisticated sarcasm.

“I know right. I deserve an award or something. These children are a hassle and mama just wants a break.” Finishing the rest of your cup, you stare longingly at the bottom. You have yet to feel anything hit you, and even though you know you should probably wait for the moment, you still crave a little something more.

“Here, take a sip.” Looking at the cup he offered you, you can’t help but raise a brow at him. Whenever he offers you a drink of unknown origin, one that you hadn’t once seen him sip out of, you come to wonder just how awful the drink might be. For all you know, he made especially for you, just watch you suffer.

“What is it though?” When you ask the question, his hand immediately falls against his chest with his mouth wide open in mock offense. But behind it, you see his eyes light up, a sure indication that something isn’t right.

“You don’t trust me? I’m hurt.” Licking his lips and smiling, he waits for you to take a sip, and although you know better than to get yourself into this situation, you decide to do it anyway. And of course, it’s exactly what you would have expected.

“Is this water? You ass.” With a grimace on your face, you shove the cup against him for him to take. He would be the one to pull this shit, to find his own way of taking care of you after you taking care of everyone else. It’s so like him that you almost hate yourself for falling for it.

“I hate you.” Turning around, you start to walk away toward the mosh of people dancing, but not before he has your wrist secured in his grasp. Looking over your shoulder, you are surprised at what you see. The serious look on his face is unnerving.

He says nothing more for a moment, thinking more before he speaks, and as you watch the wheels turn, you only becoming increasingly nervous.

“Can we… go hang out in my room? I don’t want to be out here anymore.” For the first time in a long time, you are genuinely taken aback, words you never thought you’d hear coming from him. Parties were his lifeline, small bouts of freedom outside of his busy schedule for school. And yet, the one who seemed to enjoy parties the most, is now asking to hang out in his cramped room?

“Are you feeling okay? Yeah we can go hang there.” Leaving your cup on a side table, you head toward Jimin’s room with him following right behind. Something to you feels off, and your motherly instincts return from the depths. Opening the door, you let him enter and with you both inside, you close it quickly, making sure to lock it so that no comes in.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Looking at him as he sits on the bed, you feel the distress radiating from his tensed muscles. As he drags out his answer, your heart nearly bursts from anxiety, the worry you feel overpowering the intoxication that is gradually starting to hit.

“I’m horny.” Silence.

“Excuse me?” At this point, you are really at a loss for words.

“Dammit Jimin! I really thought something was wrong!” Throwing your hands atop your head, you spin around in circles trying to collect yourself. This bastard is really out here trying to mess with your sanity.

“Something is wrong! I’m hard and I need you to fix it.” Rolling your eyes, you realize that rather than needing space, he was really only coming in here to get laid.

“You’re such a romantic.” Scoffing, you pull from memory all the times in which Jimin had tried to win girls over with flowers, chocolates, cute little hand written letters, and yet here he is, doing the bare minimum just to get you to help him with his little ‘problem’.

“Listen, I promise I’ll make it up to you later, but really, it’s starting to hurt and every time I look at you wearing one of my shirts, it only gets worse so please for the love of God just bend over so I can pleasure you too.” Looking down, you realize that the shirt you were wearing was indeed his own, the blue one with the white pocket that he had let you borrow last year. Ever since a few days ago, he’s become an open book about his needs, something he had only shared in rarity to you prior to doing the dirty. And apparently that experience for him opened up another door, one which he seemed to be taking advantage of pretty quickly.

“Oh my God Jimin, really?” Looking at him with one last shred of hope that he’s lying, he only stares but with a deadpan expression, one that only told you he had never been more serious in his life.

“This is really happening… I cannot believe this.” Pulling his chair away from the desk, you prop yourself up against it with your chest flat against the top. In no time at all, Jimin appears behind you, nearly ripping off his pants in the process. He really was something else.

Reaching around you, he skillfully unbuttons your jeans, pulling them down your legs until they are nothing but a puddle on the floor. Reaching up, he pulls down your panties as well, grunting at the sight of your pink lace thong. The moment he taps your thigh, you step out of one of the legs, giving you more room to spread them open. And just like that, he returns to his position above you, kneading your ass with his hands. The small moans that escape his parted lips only add to the oddness of it all, the fact that you are lying there as a plaything for him in and of itself blowing your mind. As much as you would like to think that he could hold out and try to work you up to his point, you also know that he likely won’t have the patience to go through the whole process.

The moment you feel his finger at your entrance, you shift uncomfortably, realizing just how unprepared you were for this entire ordeal.

“Get lube. I don’t want to die like this.” You plead, the idea of him trying to force himself in like this only causing you to shudder.

Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, you note the extensive collection of condoms and flavored lube he had acquired over the semester. And yet, you had never seen more than two girls leave his room.

“Do you want cherry or peach? To be honest, I think they’re both pretty fitting but which do you like better?” With both of them in his hands, he scans between the two bottles as if it actually made a difference.

“You’re not going to be sucking my ass, just pick one.” The tone of your voice was far harsher than you ever intended for it to be, but you were losing patience with him just as quickly as he was losing patience with himself.

“Peach it is!” He says, throwing the other bottle back into the drawer. Opening the cap, he squeezes a small amount on his fingertips, gliding it across your heat. The cold feeling is something you will never get used to, each time feeling a little more unpleasant in comparison to the real deal. But the real deal is just not possible for today. After adding a small amount to his erection, he lines himself back up with you, one hand on your lower back with the other around the base of his cock. Pushing in gently, you feel your walls stretch around him, welcoming him in with such ease that it’s almost as if it was meant to be there. Almost.

“You still okay?” He asks gently, now suddenly hyperaware of the discomfort you might be in.

“Actually, I’m good. The alcohol is hitting. I like it. Keep going.” A small giggle escapes amid your commands, the dominant presence you once thought you had now entirely out the window. In reality, you were never one to be dominant, but acting like you were really solidified the submissive role for you.

Taking your words with sincerity, he continues to move, his pace picking up quickly as he falls victim to his own pleasure. The angle from behind is something you are known to enjoy, a little tidbit you had shared a few months ago after playing drunken truth or dare. And it seems it was something he had never forgotten, using what he knows to the best of his ability. When he starts to becoming sloppy, you realize how close he is, and as an initiator of your own pleasure, you reach your hand between your folds, rubbing your clit vigorously in rhythm with his thrusts. The sudden electricity that shoots through you is more than enough the push you toward your orgasm, the intoxication finally hitting in succession with each movement. It doesn’t take long for Jimin to find his release, a fact you knew the moment you felt how hard he was. Even as he comes down from his high, he focuses his attention on you, removing your fingers only to replace them his own. The feeling of him touching you cannot be rivaled, and having him like this, for a surprise quickie in the middle of a party, only adds to the heat between your legs.

“Come for me.” The way he whispers the command in your ear sends you over the edge, finally reaching the tip of your orgasm. For something done in spur of the moment, you find yourself coming harder than you thought you would, the little eccentricities only adding to the excitement.

When you are finally able to catch your breath, he removes himself from behind you, grabbing a few tissues to clean himself up. After handing a few to you, you both try to pull yourselves together in hopes of rejoining the party. Just from outside the door, you hear the music get a little louder, likely the doing of an overly drunk Namjoon. Sometimes you feel that he loses his hearing after drinking, turning up the volume until his own ears bleed. Not literally, but one day you only expect it to happen.

With yourself finally looking decent, at least in the eyes of Jimin, you flatten down the front of your shirt one last time.

“You ready?” He asks, his soft smile returning to his sexed-out features.

“I think so.” Walking forward, you wait for him to open the door, but when he continues to look at you, you realize he has some unfinished business. Grabbing both your arms, he pulls you into an embrace, and with one small peck on the top of your head, he releases you.

“Let’s get fucked.”

The last party marked the end of fall semester, and with the new semester following suit, you find yourself falling into the same old routine. New classes, new schedule and yet the same amount of stress plagues you. On top of everything else, recruitment is coming up, and although you have Kimmy to organize the whole event and fulfill her role as the coordinator, you know that your role as president is vital to everything. You are a representation of the sorority itself, and in order to encourage and gain the trust of potential members, you must resort to returning to the pilgrim days: no parties, no sexual affairs, and absolutely no drinking. On some occasions, you have advised the active members to steer clear of fraternity members as a way of keeping the reputation clean, but even you have found yourself ignoring this role at times.

Just how exactly had you expected yourself to stay away from Jimin?

Ever since the night of the party, you had essentially spent every waking moment together. Without having to worry about assignments or exams, you both finally got to enjoy some time off. You both even took a trip to the coast for a few days to get away from hectic Greek Life. You wouldn’t say you had become addicted to each other, but really, it was essentially that. You found yourselves tangled between the sheets often, so often that even the members on both sides became aware of your little affair. Not because you were loud, in fact no one had ever heard a thing, but because neither of you could keep your hands off each other. Flirty touches, hands underneath the table, what his brothers called “The Look”. All of it became integrated into your friendship. Everything between the two of you took on a whole new meaning, but at the same time, you were afraid.

You aren’t idiots when it comes to the dynamics of sexual relations considering you both are psychology majors who are well versed in the aspects of toxic relationships, but the thought that maybe you are spending too much time together often comes to you in your few moments of solitude. Time apart is vital to relationships, and lately you’ve had none of that. Wherever you are, he will be. And you aren’t the only one who sees it.

“Don’t you think you need to… I don’t know, spend a few days away from him? April and I are going to spend the day at that amusement park a couple hours away. We talked about just getting a hotel for the night. Come with us? Please?” You can always rely on Kimmy to be honest with you when things are getting out of hand, and her suggestion of an all-girls trip sounded like perfection. It’s been so long since you’ve gone on a trip with an all female party, and some of your best memories are from those days. But having to tell Jimin that you were going to be leaving was something you weren’t looking forward to. Not that he would tell you to stay, but the fact that you had become so dependent on each other, you weren’t sure exactly how life would pan out having to leave him on campus.

He would be fine, as would you, but you couldn’t help be feel a little guilty. Like you were abandoning him in some way.

Picking up your phone, you open the messages under ‘Chimin’.

[ 8:16 am ] you: hey I'm gonna be gone for a day or two. the girls and i r going to that one amusement park place. be back tomorrow!

Sending the message, you feel butterflies starting to swarm the pit of your stomach. The reasons behind the nervousness, you aren’t entirely sure, but the look on your face was a dead giveaway.

“Are you really that nervous to be away from him? Girl, that’s unhealthy. You definitely need this trip.” Patting you on the shoulder, she tries to get your attention, but you can’t help but focus on your phone as you watch as his name appear on the bright screen. Snatching it from the counter, you open it with the swipe of your finger.

[ 8:17 am ] Chimin: sounds like fun! tell Kimmy to send me videos if you start puking on the tilt-a-whirl. gonna need that shit for later

Locking the phone, you slam it back down onto the counter. As if she would ever do you dirty like that, who does this asshole think he is?

“What? What he say? Did he say he’s happy you’re leaving? ‘Cause he damn should be.” Glaring at her, you don’t bother to answer her questions. Clearly neither of them are on your side today. In fact, it might just be best to leave everyone behind. With your nose in the air, you head up the stairs to your room, with only one thing in mind: packing the cutest outfits you owned. Maybe then you’ll be able to find better friends.

What was originally supposed to be a two our car ride easily turned into three hours. With the number of times April needed to use the bathroom, with Kimmy needing to stop at every cute little fruit stand on the way, you had only rolled into the parking lot around noon. With it being the weekend, the crowds were clumped every which way you looked, and the idea of having to wait in line for an hour simply for a three minute ride was starting to irk you.

Taking a deep breath, you to try to remember the reason why you came, the enjoyment you’re supposed to be feeling. With just one foot out the door, you realize just what a mistake it was to come all the way out.

“It’s fucking freezing.” You state, pulling your jacket closer to your body against the chilled wind.

“What did you expect? It’s February, stupid. Now come on, let’s enjoy this while we still can.” Watching Kimmy running ahead with April reminds you so much of yourself, the person you were when you had first come to university. So naïve and full of spirit, you found the best in every experience. Only now, you have come to reality, the reality that not everything is peachy and not everything is okay. You’ve worked so hard the past few years, throwing yourself into walls just to live the life you thought you were supposed to have. But this trip, gifted to you by your sisters, was only a reminder – enjoy life while you’re living it.

Shedding your inhibitions, you run after the them, screaming at the top of your lungs. From ahead of you, you can hear their laughter, and shortly after, they join you in a screaming match. In that moment, they become your rocks, the ones who will anchor you while being away from that hell hole. You are as grateful for them as they are for you, and the only way to celebrate was with cold ciders and roller coasters.

Having bought your tickets online, you bypass the wait at the booth, grateful to have purchased the all-inclusive passes. You could ride every ride as many times as you wanted for the day, and all of you did exactly that. Much to your surprise, you even rode the tilt-a-whirl twice, and today marked the day that your childhood enemy had finally been defeated. You would no longer be defined as the girl who threw up on half the people on the ride, but as the one who conquered the beast. A little something you will gladly rub in Jimin’s face later on.

Despite the cold, the feeling of being on a rollercoaster, feeling weightless and free, was something you sincerely missed. It had been years since you were last able to ride one, and it only made the idea of having to return to reality that much more unpleasant. Even as you cracked open a can of cider, you realized that coming on this trip was so desperately needed, and it seemed the other girls were enjoying themselves as well.

“Happy you came?” Kimmy asks, already knowing exactly how you would answer.

“This is the best day ever. Thanks bitch.” Winking at her, you watch as she covers her mouth in feign shock, a small act quickly followed by the outbreak of laughter.

The rest of the day in the park follows this same pattern: ride, drink, laugh, repeat. By the end of the day, when the sun falls below the horizon by six o’clock, you find yourselves entering the doors of a small hotel nearby. The interior is nice and they have an indoor hot tub, something you definitely planned to take advantage of later.

Reaching in your jacket pocket, you grab for your phone, but when that pocket comes up empty, you check the other. Empty. Patting your body, you try to find it, only to realize that it’s nowhere to be found.

“Yo Kimmy, have you seen my phone?” Looking up at her, you hope to receive a quick answer, but when you don’t, panic starts to set in.

“I haven’t seen it. I didn’t see it in the car either when I was grabbing our bags. Are you sure it’s not just inside your bag? Did you leave it at the park?”

Looking back at all the possibilities, you realize that you have no idea when you’d last seen it. You hadn’t used it in the car, you didn’t take any pictures at the amusement park, which only means that it is either back on campus or stuffed inside your bag. As soon as April opens the door, you are the first to rush in, throwing your bag on the bed. Unzipping it, you dump the entirety of its contents, spreading everything out evenly. Unfortunately, it is not there.

“Did your dumb ass leave it on the kitchen counter this morning?” Kimmy’s knowing expression shifted from shock to acceptance in less than a second. She was right. You never remembered to make a round through the kitchen before heading out the door.

“Fuck me!” Throwing yourself onto the bed, you bury your face deep into one of the pillows.

“Don’t be dramatic, it’s fine. At least we know where it is. And besides, your phone is the last thing you need right now.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, she starts pulling out a few things from her bag to get set up for the rest of the night, one of which she throws against your head. Looking beside you, you realize she had tossed over a tampon.

“What’s this for?” You ask, bewildered at the sudden gift.

“Aren’t you on your period? We’re always synched. I started a few days ago.” Sitting up quickly, you realize the implications of that statement. Never once have you missed a period, even during your most stressful months, and now that you think about it, you can’t even remember the last time you even needed a tampon.

“What’s the date today?” In an act of desperation, you start searching your memory for the last time the red tide had come to visit you.

“February 10th. Why?”

For fuck’s sake.

“Uh, nothing. Hey, I’m gonna go get some snacks from the mart down the street. Need anything?” Attempting to look natural, you shift your gaze between April and Kimmy. Neither of them say a word, more in shock than anything, and when they look at each other, they come to an agreement.

“Nope, definitely don’t need anything.” Hearing the verdict, you quickly put on your shoes and sprint out the door. Having been placed on the first floor, you have no problem finding the exit, and before you even realize, you are sprinting down the street towards the small mart. When you enter, you try to catch your breath, quietly greeting the lady at the counter as you make your way through the aisles. At the very back, you find exactly what you’re looking for, and with that hidden underneath several bags of chips and a few drinks, you swiftly walk to the front to pay for everything.

With everything sprawled out on the counter, you hope no one else decides to walk in at that moment. Even paying in this context with one older woman is enough to send your mind reeling. Picking up the pregnancy test, she scans it quickly before placing it into the bad, the knowing smile on her face as she reads you the total only intensifying the overwhelming anxiety. Handing her your card, you wait patiently for the transaction to transpire, and when she hands you back the card with your receipt, you only nod in thanks before running out the door. The way back to the hotel is less hurried, almost sluggish in comparison. You aren’t ready for this moment, and you never thought you would be any time soon, but as you had realized the moment you joined a sorority, nothing ever goes as planned.

Facing the fronts doors of the hotel, the implications of what you are about to do becomes reality. You’re unsure how you feel about either answer, although, if you were to be honest, there is one outcome you would prefer over the other. Taking one final breath, you walk and head toward the hotel room. Your heart is already pounding against your chest and you have yet to do a thing. Entering the room, you receive looks from both Kimmy and April who shift their attention to the bag in your hand.

“I bought you guys some stuff anyway, just in case.” With a smile on your face, you place the bag down on the bed. Grabbing a few clothes and toiletries from your bag, you walk toward the bathroom.

“Gonna take a shower, be right out.” Neither of them say anything, leaving only you and silence once the bathroom door closes. Turning on the shower, you strip out of your clothes and throw them in a pile on the floor. Pulling the pregnancy test from your jacket pocket, you take it out from the box as carefully as possible.

You’re not ready for this.

Taking off the plastic cap, you stare down at the device with much discomfort. All you have to do is pee on it. But even that seems like an impossible task. Even as you sit on the toilet, you can’t seem to force yourself to pee. The immense pressure you’re feeling, the stress, the anxiety is too much for your body to handle. You can’t even relax. Taking one hand, you stick it into the shower to run it under some water. For a few seconds you do this, repeating several times until you finally feel it happen. With the stick underneath your stream, you close your eyes, hoping, praying, that by all means it comes out negative. After finishing, you don’t even bother to open your eyes, too afraid of the result that would show up moments later. But the longer you sit there, the worse you feel. Inhaling deeply, you pull the stick from underneath. The result stares you directly in the face.

Two double lines.

Throwing it against the floor, you bury your face in your hands. The laughter that erupts from deep within your chest surprises you, but is a welcomed feeling opposed to absolute tears. This whole situation is fucked, the dreams which you strove toward for so long crashing before your very eyes. In a few months, you’ll be a graduate, you’ll have your degree in preparation for the real world, but this small incident, this serendipitous meeting with fate, has drastically changed the course of your life.

Only with those two little lines.

Hearing the door creak open, you look to see both April and Kimmy staring inside. The expressions on their faces are priceless: pity. With your hands on your knees you try to look away, even as they make their way inside. Neither of them say a word at first, only Kimmy picking up the test and staring at it blankly.

“What are you going to do? Are you going to tell him?” Shaking your head, you try to form your thoughts into words.

“I think… I’m going to wait. I don’t think I can tell him yet.”

The week following your return from the amusement park, you hadn’t seen much of Jimin at all. The last message you received from him asked if you were okay after not hearing from you, but after that, your phone was silent. You didn’t have the heart to face him or talk to him for that matter – there was too much on your mind. Being pregnant was the last thing you had expected to happen, your birth control clearly failing its purpose. In some ways you felt so guilty, thinking back on the alcohol, the medication, all the poor decisions you made regarding your body in the month you didn’t know. You are not to blame, there was no way for you to find out unless you checked, but the overwhelming guilt did not let up. What if something happened to the baby? What if you end up miscarrying? What will become of you then?

All these thoughts plague your mind constantly, several instances leaving you bedridden. You’ve skipped more classes this past week than you had all last term, and it was beginning to worry everyone in the sorority.

“Y/N? It’s me, April. I brought you those small little cookies I know you like. Can I come in?” Her voice was so soft, you almost didn’t hear her over the sounds of your cries.

“Y-yeah…” Trying to pull yourself together, you sniffle a few times before she is able to enter the room. The moment her eyes land on you, though, you can already see pity.

“Where should I put them?” Trying to remain cheerful, she stands by the foot of your bed with a soft smile on her face.

“On the desk is fine. Thanks, love.” Nodding her head, she places them atop one of your textbooks. One you haven’t opened in days. Looking back at you one last time, she does her best to show her support, but more than anything, all you see is sadness. Because of you, she feels sad. And that is a feeling that is far more painful than you could have ever imagined.

As soon as she closes the door, you hide yourself underneath the covers. Your heart aches uncontrollably, a constant and consistent pain that never lets up even in your sleep. Your dreams are plagued with hospital beds and sterile sheets, your legs propped on a table with a bright light shining in your face. It all feels real, even when you know it’s not, but the constant reminder that everything is not actually a dream only pulls you deeper into darkness.

Not even you know what you need in the moment, and it is clear that no one else does either. Anything anyone has tried has only failed miserably, as you had now become someone that people worried about. Instead of you taking care of them, they had to take of you and you hated it. You loathed every moment someone came into your room to offer a hug or a gift. You hadn’t lost anything and yet it felt as though you lost everything.

From your position in your bed, you could hear screaming from downstairs. It sounded like Kimmy, shouting at someone to stop. Pulling the covers from your body, you quickly jump into action, ready to fight whoever dared to make her yell like that.

The moment you open the door, you are immediately confronted by Jimin, the combination of furry and concern on his face only catching you off guard. From behind him, you see Kimmy with an apologetic look on her face, indicating that she really did everything in her power to stop him from barging in.

Making his way inside, he closes the door behind him, locking it to make sure no one disrupts. You are terrified having to meet him like this, when neither of you are in the best shape to be discussing anything.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on?” He does his best to contain his anger, but the way he grits his teeth as he talks only disarms you.

“Nothing’s been going on.” You state, retreating toward the foot of your bed.

“You know, I’ve known you for so long that I can tell when you’re lying. I can tell when you’re hiding something from me. You don’t just disappear off the face of the Earth for no reason. Now talk. I’m done waiting.” Looking between him and the floor, you try to search through your options. A part of you knows that this needs to be talked about and talked about soon, but you also know that you haven’t nearly prepared yourself enough.

“Stop with the bullshit, Y/N. Tell me now or I’m leaving and I’m not coming back. Make your choice.” The sternness in his voice scares you, a sound you haven’t heard in all the years you’ve known him.

You have to say something.

“I’m… I just… so… fuck.” Throwing your face into your hands, you try to pull yourself together. In your head, you try to form the words, the simple words of ‘I’m pregnant’, but those words are only a million times harder to say.

“I’m what? Keep speaking.”

“I... I’m pregnant.” The moment those words leave your lips, you feel a huge weight lifted from your shoulders. However, that moment is only short lived as you are now faced with an awe-stricken Jimin, a man in desperate need of an explanation that you would never be able to give.

All around you, the air becomes suffocating, neither of you saying a word. And in that moment, you watch him snap, reality of the situation finally dawning upon him.

And for the first time in your life, you see Jimin angry. And not playfully, but genuinely enraged.

“Are we not friends?” Nothing. You can’t say a word.

“Do you hate me that much?” Nothing. Not a word can come from your mouth.

“I can’t fucking believe you. So out of nowhere you decide to stop responding to me, banning me from entering Delta Zeta, all because you didn’t want to tell me you were pregnant with my child? Our child? Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking insane?”

Holding back your tears, you try to keep yourself standing. Every part of you is ready to break down, fall apart at your very core until nothing of you is left. Under his scrutiny and the weight of his words, you can’t seem to hold yourself up. You know you deserve it. So you let it continue.

“Are you just going to stand there and say nothing? What the actual fuck!” Pulling at his hair, he tries to collect himself, pacing across the room in an attempt to control his anger. An effort only made in vain.

Every time he looks at you, he’s torn between breaking and yelling. His eyes search desperately for an answer, a sign, that maybe this whole thing is a joke you’ve pulled just to get back at him. But even he knows this isn’t something to be joked about. It’s far too serious and real just to be a stupid prank.

“I’m sorry… but I can’t right now. I’m too angry. I’m sorry.” Opening the door, he immediately rushes out, not bothering to close it behind him. In the blink of an eye, he is nowhere in sight and just like that, he disappears.

Sitting on the bed by yourself, you start to think if this is really the moment in which you lose your best friend. The moment in which three years is thrown down the drain over your stupid cowardice. If you could go back in time, would you have done it differently?

Honestly, you don’t think you could. This would always be the end result. And just like that, you lose everything you have ever cared about.

Even more than before, the anguish trapped within you manifests itself over several days. You have refused to leave your room aside from recruitment, and in your absence, the sorority has only fallen apart. No one in the house seems to speak, and not a sound is heard from anyone there. Wine nights had been disbanded shortly after you had returned from the amusement park, and it’s as if all life has been sucked out of the house. Not even Kimmy comes around as often anymore.

For much of this time, you have been kept in complete solitude. You aren’t sure if Kimmy had done this out of consideration for your feelings, or if it is really just that no one wants to be near you while you’re like this. Not that you would blame them, as you are a complete downer even to yourself. But even in this solitude, a few good things have come from it.

Over the past few days, you have accomplished a bit of soul searching. Having come to accept the circumstances, you realized that you needed to fix the mess that you had made. You started first with yourself, relearning to love yourself the way you had originally, learning to process through the pent up sadness and anger that resulted from your poor choices. This was something that wasn’t easy, but as you wrote things down, training your brain to think positively and constructively, you realized that healing wasn’t going to happen instantly. It was to be acquired through small bouts of personal reflection, something that you had only read in books but never practiced.

By creating life itself, it solidified the fact that you had a lot to live for, and to waste it like this, holed up in your bedroom of the sorority house, was something you had never planned to fall victim to. For someone who always acted so strong, you realized how much you needed to grow, and a part of growing was accepting your shortcomings and allowing yourself to be human every once in a while. As much as you hated to admit it, your absence from everyone and everything only made you miss them more. Especially Jimin.

He had made no attempt to see you after walking out, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Had you been in his position, you would be just as upset as he is now. But at the end of the day, you need to put forth the effort he so graciously put forth for you. Which is exactly why you had asked to meet him in your room. You were finally ready to talk.

The knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts, and when Jimin peaks his head around the corner, you can’t help but smile – a true, genuine smile. For him, he only smiles gently, clearly feeling awkward about the whole situation. It was something you had expected.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, he waits patiently, instead choosing to stare at the floor. Considering this was your doing, you willingly take initiative to speak. You have a lot to say to him before he has the option of walking out the door, and with how much you need to get off your chest, it’s time you finally speak your mind.

“Jimin… I mean this from the bottom of my heart when I say this. I’m sorry. I have no excuses for the choices that I made. I was terrified. I was confused. I sat there hoping that it was all a bad dream, but it wasn’t. I didn’t know how to cope but instead I threw away everything our friendship had been founded on in favor of my own selfish reasoning. I know I hurt you… and I’m sorry. I lost control. And I was really afraid I had lost you after seeing you walk out…” Before you could even finish, tears start to roll down your cheeks. “I became a mess. And I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I couldn’t rely on anyone because the whole thing was my own fault. I didn’t want people to pity me, but that was all that they did. And… I really… just want you back. Please, Jimin. I don’t think I can do this without you.” You do your best to hold yourself back, but when you notice tears brimming at his water lines, the flood gates fall open. He, above anything else, will always be your weakness.

“It wasn’t entirely your fault, I’m just as much a part of this as you are. And no, no one ever pitied you. Never once did they think that. They were concerned for you… you went from shining brightly to the darkest anyone had ever seen you. Of course they would be worried. I asked Kimmy every day to keep me updated because I hated the thought of being away from you and not knowing how you were feeling. But I don’t know what I’ve ever done to actually make you think I would leave… please don’t think that. Even if I threatened it, I could never. Especially under these circumstances.” His last sentence is nothing more than a whisper, his voice constrained by his will not to cry.

Taken aback by his response, you bite down on your bottom lip. It’s becoming so hard not to just sob and break down, calling it a day until you feel better later on, but this is the talk you both need to have. The clarity is necessary if you ever plan to mend the friendship that you nearly broke.

“So what should we do?” Afraid for the answer, you play with one of your sleeves. The loose string at the hem becomes your primary focus as a way to aid against your anxiety.

“To be honest, I never planned on being a dad this early. Okay well I don’t really plan a lot of things. But I’m grateful that at least it’s with you. I don’t think I’d want it to be anyone else.”

“You think?” You ask, raising a brow.

“I know, okay, calm down. No need to get on my ass so soon.”

Hearing his retort eases your mind slightly, knowing that even through tough times, you both can rely on humour as a means of communication.

“Sorry. I mean neither of us expected this to happen… but it did. And I guess we really just need to accept it. I just hope you know… I never once thought of getting rid of it. I want the baby. And I want you. So… I think we should make it work.” Returning your eyes to Jimin, you watch as the brightness returns to his features.

“And I know it’s going to be hard. But I think we can do it. I just don’t want this to ruin anything, alright? We can’t let this stop us from graduating either. I will run away with this child if you even dare think about flunking out. And once it’s born, I’ll kick your ass. Understood?” Nodding his head in agreement, he scoots toward you, pulling you against him as you both fall onto the sheets. The heaviness you felt in your chest lifts slightly, realizing that even against your greatest doubts, Jimin is able to bring peace to your mind.

“I’ll finally get to take care of you entirely. I’m a little excited.” Hitting his shoulder, you try to squirm out of his grasp, but with the death grip around your waist, you realize you’re not going anywhere. He has his sights locked on you, and now that he has you, he won’t let go. Both physically and metaphorically, you suppose.

“Gimme kisses.” Staring at his smallest pout, you can’t help but laugh. How someone can magically go from sad to funny to absolutely adorable is something beyond your own comprehension, but considering your major, you suppose someone like him is bound to exist somewhere.

Leaning in, you leave traces of pecks on his nose and his cheeks, purposefully missing his lips to elicit a whimper. When you finally receive what you desire, his whimper being far too sexual for your own good, you fulfill his wishes to the fullest extent. After days of not being able to kiss him, you relish in the sweet moment of feeling his warmth.

It’s been four months since you and Jimin decided on moving forward, and with summer very well on its way, you both find yourselves spending more and more time around your closest friends. As the school year nears its end, both Beta Tau Sigma and Delta Zeta find themselves becoming one big family, tied by the very being cradled within your belly.

Lounging in the sand has become a regular hobby for all of you, busy between games of beach volleyball and swimming in the water. Even during times of low activity, you all find random bets to wager on, all in fun of finding the best house on campus.

“Alright everyone. Here are the rules: no double fisting, no foul play, no crossing the line and no spitting on the enemies. Last one standing gets free alcohol from the losers for a year. Understood?”

With all in agreement, you flash the checkered flag, watching as both sides run toward the middle to grab a water balloon. From your place on the side lines, you see the smiles appear on everyone’s faces, the laughter that comes with someone being pelted with three balloons at once. Even your girls are having the times of their lives, finally able to relax after maintaining their GPA all year. Everything is peaceful in your little world, and watching everyone around you enjoy themselves only makes your heart swell with adoration and affection.

Even watching Jimin as he continues to trip in the sand is something you will never grow tired of. He is the father of your baby after all, so shouldn’t he automatically be considered the most adorable man on the planet? You’d like to think so, and you are certain he would only agree.

The sound of your phone ringing suddenely distracts you from the game, the name popping up in the caller ID only giving you a mild heart attack.

“Hi Y/N, this is Jessica calling from the office of James & Baird. Congratulations on passing the first round of internship applications. Would you like to schedule your interview?”

Oh shit.

And so it begins.

#bts collab #btswriters #armiesnet #networkbangtan #kreativewriters #bts writing squad #boy group writers net #bt-yes-network #bangtanwriters-net #bangtanbuds #jimin smut #jimin fic #jimin fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts university au

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oh-my-otome · 7 years ago

Note

Hello Amalthea! May I ask, what's the difference between SLBP and Ikesen? Which do you like the most?

Hello, lovely!

There are a lot of differences, so let’s start with a super quick (spoiler free) look at the characters!

IkeSen Nobunaga

breaks the switch off of deredere mode

undercover nerd

open-minded

straightforward

afraid to sleep alone

can hold his liquor

red eyes

SLBP Nobunaga

ultra tsundere, kamidere (god complex)

tantrum thrower

loves to climb trees

won’t hesitate to kill anyone, even children

supreme lightweight when it comes to alcohol

gray eyes

Both loves sweets to obsession, with IkeSen Nobu sneaking through the halls, in the night to pilfer them from wherever Hideyoshi’s hidden them.

SLBP Nobunaga freebases castella cake and konpeito on the regular.

They are each very flirtatious with their MC, and have an inexhaustible trust in their allies.

IkeSen Mitsuhide

cunning

loves to tease

gets reincarnated as Okita (DtL), and then again as Sid (MidCin)

Ageusia (no sense of taste)

snarky

self-denial

highly observant

wizard

yellow eyes

SLBP Mitsuhide

deredere, extra hard masochist

ALL HAIL NOBUNAGA-SAMA

hopeless romantic

beast mode: activated

rigidly devoted to Nobunaga

out-of-the-closet cat lady lord

IkeSen Mitsuhide likes to tease Chatelaine because he thinks that that is the highest level he’ll ever be afforded in terms of love, while SLBP Mitsuhide utilizes his talent as a poet to grab her attention.

IkeSen Ieyasu

kuudere, yandere, deredere

brother-like relationship with Nobunaga

has a pet deer

gets along well with fellow lords and retainers

will only eat heavily spiced foods

frequently commands the absolute smallest group of men possible

SLBP Ieyasu

tsundere extraordinaire, deredere, dandere

kisses up to Nobunaga

has a pet masochist

demi-sexual

before MC, frequently forced to give in to demands from retainers

will eat anything as long as his MC makes it

will twerk for strawberry daifuku

realistically commands one of the largest armies in Japan, at the time

SLBP Ieyasu utilizes the skills of his Four Heavenly Kings/Guardians, but they do not show up in IkeSen.

Each Ieyasu is resistant to saying what is really on their mind, a product of their forced captivity during childhood.

They each have a complicated relationship with Nobunaga, but both are loyal to their alliance with him.

SLBP Ieyasu is not particularly fond of animals, and IkeSen Ieyasu appears to only like his deer, Wasabi, although he will tend to other animals if he’s asked.

Both have PTSD, and both show a dislike of Mitsunari, but for different reasons: IkeSen Yasu doesn’t like Mitsunari because he is skillful at just about anything, without much effort, but wastes his talents.

SLBP Yasu doesn’t like how similar Mitsunari is to himself, with Mitsunari feeling the same way– he sees too much of himself in Ieyasu.

IkeSen Mitsunari

genki, dandere

ALL HAIL IEYASU-SAMA

if it has nothing to do with military tactics, government policies, Chatelaine, or Ieyasu then lol wtf is the point of even paying attention??

wears glasses

obtuse

loves to multitask

hard-working, to the point of obliviousness

SLBP Mitsunari

super tsundere, dandere

ALL HAIL HIDEYOSHI-SAMA

can only stand Ieyasu if he is literally standing on his throat

will twerk for manju

distrusting

demi-sexual

kinkier than he ever thought possible

as straightforward as a spiral

teaches children for free, in his off-hours

hard-working and diligent

Both Mitsunari’s have a mole under one eye, only theirs are mirrored.

IkeSen Mitsunari is consistently described as “angelic,” while SLBP Mitsunari summons hell fire if anyone says something even slightly negative about Hideyoshi.

Each Mitsunari is a scholar. SLBP Mitsunari is far more self-sufficient.

Both are strategists under the service of Hideyoshi, but while IkeSen Mitsunari is Ieyasu’s number one fan, SLBP Mitsunari and his Ieyasu equivalent are always at each other’s throats with knives

IkeSen Hideyoshi

invented deredere

berserker

nanny

ALL HAIL NOBUNAGA-SAMA

the IkeSen mashup of SLBP Toshiie, SLBP Mitsuhide, and SLBP Katsuie

SLBP Hideyoshi

silver-tongued negotiator

considerate

PTSD

rivalry with Toshiie

had 1,000 lovers

IkeSen Masamune

genki

battle-crazy

super confident

high energy

what even is “personal space?”

gets along well with all of his retainers

initially very casual about romance and sex

alcohol knocks him right out

only has one eye

SLBP Masamune

yandere, kuudere, dandere

passive-aggressive

quick to give up, but impressionable

Human Eeyore #1

hand fetish

hates women

demi-sexual

retainers keep trying to kill him

if he’s not careful, Yukimura will knock him right out

blue/green heterochromia

context-sensitive blindness in his blue eye

Both Masamunes have PTSD, and both are good cooks who are super tight with their inner circle.

IkeSen Masamune comes to you pre-loaded with experience, but you take SLBP Masamune’s olive cherry.

In SLBP, you get to see his family, which include his mother, uncle, one of his brothers, and his cousin related to him on both sides, Shigezane.

In certain events, Shigezane is also a date-able character.

Maeda Toshiie (Inuchiyo):

Currently, there is no IkeSen equivalent of the real-life Maeda Toshiie, who was quite wealthy, as the third largest land owner of his time (Ieyasu was the second largest).

Toshiie is one of Nobunaga’s generals, and the leader of Nobunaga’s Red Cloaks. He is a berserker in battle, and also the MC’s childhood friend.

Like IkeSen’s Hideyoshi, he’s ready to put aside his siscon ways.

IkeSen Yukimura

tsundere I guess

says “dummy” more than that green alien from The Flintstones

short fuse

lies, but gets mad if you lie to him

smartass

SLBP Yukimura

insane training schedule

genki, dandere

beast mode: perma-lock

self-imposed mother complex

kind and considerate

obtuse

IkeSen Kojuro: ancillary character, with no sprite, who shows up on occasion

SLBP Kojuro: rigidly devoted to Masamune, as one of the many Katakura “Kojuro” who have served the Date clan for generations.

Teaches his MC self defense and how to sword fight, encourages and supports her to fulfill her duties as a page and bodyguard of Masamune.

Zero house-training. Well-rounded scholar and poet. Plays the flute, names anything Bontenmaru, Masamune’s original name.

IkeSen Sasuke

genki, dandere

bisexual

time lord

ninja with experience

works for Kenshin

SLBP Sasuke

genki

ninja-in-training

highly observant

smarter than other children his age

One of the Sanada Ten Braves, working for Yukimura

Both Sasukes fight dirty, when needed, with IkeSen Sasuke employing the use of chloroform, caltrops, and smoke bombs, and SLBP Sasuke’s endless supply of shuriken and attacking from the air with his owl, Momofuku.

IkeSen Shingen

smoother than glass

considerate

sweet tooth

SLBP Shingen

genki

father complex

bisexual

aggressively stubborn

horse enthusiast

super casual about sex

IkeSen Kenshin

deredere

blue/green heterochromia

likes fighting more than Goku

loves pickled plums

impatient

prone to ennui

hates women

honestly believes that he cannot die

SLBP Kenshin

pansexual

does he even eat solids?

irresponsible

hoarder

suicidal

Both Kenshins are yanderes, but IkeSen Kenshin acts on his more, while SLBP Kenshin talks about it, but then turns it into a joke, to throw his MC off.

They each like to sneak away from their castles to wander through town. IkeSen Kenshin likes rabbits, while SLBP Kenshin is fond of swallows, which appear on both of their clan crests.

Ninja:

Saizō

kuudere, tsundere

ALL HAIL DANGO

pansexual or bisexual (context)

PTSD

mistakenly believes that he’s repressed his brocon ways

works for Yukimura as one of the Sanada Ten Braves

Kotarō

dandere, deredere, sadodere (non-romantic, only to Saizō)

ALL HAIL SAIZŌ

demi-sexual

PTSD

Human Eeyore #2

prone to debilitating headaches

loves flowers

master of infiltration

works for the Hojo

Hanzo

dandere

ALL HAIL DAYS OFF

self-denial

sadist

sometimes hoists his own petard

exasperated whenever he has to deal withSaizō

works for the Tokugawa

Heterochromia is featured in both games, with IkeSen Kenshin and SLBP Masamune having the same colored eyes, but in mirrored positions:

IkeSen tends to drop little hints about historic battles, and sometimes there is even a reference or two thrown in, in events, but no meaningful context given.

This allows the joke to fly over the heads of readers who haven’t read much about, or may have forgotten, the achievements of the Sengoku-era samurai.

Example:

Chatelaine is referring to the Battle of Sekigahara in which Mitsunari was executed for going against the Tokugawa.

His head was cut off and put on a pike. Sasuke, who is an Ieyasu fanboy, would react with no enthusiasm, seen above, when seeing Mitsunari, who betrayed his idol.

In SLBP, you are often along for the ride during important battles and skirmishes, and the Diary will fill you in on tidbits of the time, to help you keep up, but it doesn’t hammer history down your throat.

There is no way to earn free currency in IkeSen, but in SLBP, you can earn pearls to buy epilogues, special stories, attire, or closet and castle space, all for free, with no daily limit.

It is much easier to play for free in SLBP than in IkeSen, where you have to scrounge around for closet space and stamina items.

Earning the pearls is random, but having lots of coins to use in the Lottery increases your chances, and so does visiting your allies each day. You can also win pearls as prizes in events.

Energy replenishes every four hours in IkeSen, and every five hours in SLBP.

IkeSen has a monthly log-in card, while SLBP gives you one for the first month of you joining the game.

The frequency of smut is higher in SLBP, with all characters having steamy side stories, whereas in IkeSen, the smut is usually relegated to certain characters.

In IkeSen, much of the comedy comes from Chatelaine, and in SLBP it comes from frequently appearing side characters.

You get five free tickets to read the main story, in both games. In each game, there are events where reading the main story will give you free attire.

Each game has collection and story events. In SLBP, your lord is in your castle just like in IkeSen, but he has speech bubbles that you can read. There is currently no voice acting in English SLBP, but you can hear the character voices by scrolling down to the bottom of the page and clicking their pictures.

There is no time travel in SLBP– you’re born in that era. You work at your family’s restaurant, before joining your lord at his castle.

The MC in SLBP is not as world-wise as the one in IkeSen, and as such, is MidCin Princess-levels of flustered when it comes to romance.

The MC that is most like Chatelaine, to me, is Kojuro’s MC who learns to fight and fend for herself. She isn’t a push over, like some of the other avatars.

You may also like Mitsunari’s, Ieyasu’s, Yukimura’s, and Saizō’s MCs.

I really like both games. They fulfill different purposes, focus on different aspects, and each have their own place as far as entertainment value goes.

Try it out for yourself, if you like! If you do, I hope that you enjoy it!

#q&a #ikemen sengoku #samurai love ballad party

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nightblink · 7 years ago

Text

Blink Reads Oathbringer - Chapters 46-49

Chapter Forty-Six – When the Dream Dies

I did expect that whoever is important enough to have conversations like this with Hoid would indeed be interested in removing the threat of Odium from the Cosmere. Your indifference surprises me, and the stupidity of it is frankly astonishing.

More bridgeman chapters! This time with Skar, yay. I hope you get the hang of breathing stormlight soon; I don't want to see you left behind.

Now there's a high-altitude training regimen. [whistles] And an impressive time indeed when you're not breathing stomlight. That's not a comfort though, and rather mean – though unintentionally so – of Sigzil to rub it in like that.

Interesting that they know the exact amount of force they're using in a Lashing instinctually. I wonder if it works that way for some of the other Radiant Orders' abilities as well?

HORNEATER DANCE OF VICTORY. All of Bridge Four should be doing this dance. They've earned it. What a glorious sight it would be!

Skar: *I'm just going to lie here. the floor loves me more than you assholes do*

At least Teft has some love left for you, or at least chouta. Ahhhh, Teft, I'm really worried about you and those bags under your eyes don't exactly make me any less so.

Bridge Four has come so far, from never even telling the other men their names to a full support group for each other. They all needed it, not just Kaladin; those bridge runs left them all broken, bitter people, cracking a little more with each run, each day they were treated like they only had lives for the sake of expending them under Parshendi arrows.

Wait, what's keeping Kaladin? Teft, is this you displacing anger at yourself onto Kaladin. A handful of spheres says it is. But no, Skar is agreeing… Kal, what's going on here, where your own bridgemates think you're keeping aloof?

I'm still wondering how they hope this whole recruitment thing is going to work out – if they want to try to make true Radiants of some of these men, of if they simply hope for more squires that osmose their ability from Kala-Syl? To be a Radiant, one must be broken, down to one's soul, and that may hold true for the bridgemen, but recruits…? [hums]

What does Rlain think of the humans essentially occupying what used to be the last bastion of his people? He may be Bridge Four, but talk about divisive feelings. Sanderson, we'd better get a Rlain POV in one of these Bridge Four chapters, or I will have another bone to pick with you.

Highprince Reference: red and light blue are Ruthar's colours

Ooof, yeah, that'd do it, Skar. Ingenuity, yes, but also willingness to steal. That's generally frowned upon (unless it's other people's stuff, which is often the point of war, as young!Dalinar so helpfully pointed out a while ago).

Mmm, Syl can sense the soul-cracked ones.

Getting snarky there, Skar. Can't blame him for this one though, as he does have a point at the very least since they let lighteyed Renarin in, waaaay before Kaladin's eyes started showing even a flicker of blue.

Speaking of good points, Sigzil makes one about squires perhaps not necessarily being a step towards being a full Radiant. Good to know that someone is at least considering the routes and levels of Investiture-use here.

[winces] Oh, Skar

(bless u Rock for lightening the mood)

Lyn again! Good good good I want to see more of them (I think I'm going to use 'them' for Lyn for the time being, because while their initial conversation with Shallan was pretty blatant, I don't know if that's something Sanderson intended or if it was another 'oops I accidentally did a thing didn't I'. Still. The agony of being closeted trans in the world of strict Alethi gender roles would easily be enough to break a person, and that could make them a possible future Radiant...)

Ooooo, Skar saw even before the highstorm incident! Damn, he must have thought he was hallucinating, seeing light and all the arrows curving towards it.

Heh, all the thinking in the world isn't going to help you two with this. But focusing on the Ideals that makes the Windrunners what they are…. Yeah. That might do it. Skar, you really do have a knack for teaching.

YES YES YES

YOU'RE GLOWING TOO

FINALLY

Chapter Forty-Seven – So Much is Lost

Wait, admire… admire Rayse's initiative? Odium's? Dude. Seriously. What the everloving fuck.

!!!! Taln's own writings! Or at least what he said while they all thought he was crazy – and he was definitely more than a little loopy, not able to see how far human civilization advanced even when he looked around him.

Finally getting to a Jasnah chapter! WHY DID YOU HOLD OFF ON THIS FOR SO LONG SANDERSON

Ivory's at his full size while in the Physical Realm? Whaaaat. Is this something he can do because of the Oaths that Jasnah has sworn, or is it because the Elsecallers are so entwined with the Cognitive Realm via their abilities?

I'd say “paranoid much, Jasnah?” but considering all of the assassination attempts that have already been made, 'it's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you'.

[winces] Her life's work, all that time and effort and pain, now all so much common knowledge. That's…. painful. It's a good thing that they know it, but at the same time, it leaves a hollowness for Jasnah in its wake.

Shallan is definitely a topic that needs to be discussed.

Ahhh, Ivory – bonded to Jasnah and yet you still don't understand how humans can fortify themselves without that solidity running all the way through.

Oh shit, oh shit, hints of Jasnah's breaking? And it was back when she was a child? Oh no, ohhhh, that's. That's a lot earlier than I thought she'd broken. Considering how distant Gavilar seems in the flashbacks, I'll bet broams he at least peripherally had something to do with it.

“Considering what the ancient fathers are.” IVORY. IVORY YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT AND LEAVE US HERE HANGING. IV O R Y- oh. You just mean the spren lost in the Recreance. Well that was anticlimactic.

The idea of spren wars, though, now that is an interesting tidbit of dropped information.

I like Ivory. What a little rebel. You're very much like your bonded in that way, aren't you?

[winces again] Jasnah, you're going to have to confront Shallan about things sooner or later – and probably sooner. When that happens, best to have all the information you can on hand… but also keep an open mind.

All ten orders but the Skybreakers. Speaking of which, when are Nale and Szeth going to show up again?

Fuck, Jasnah knows the secret – the secret that the Stormfather said would break Dalinar and the others. Ivory believes they'd break, he knows the precedent for that…

Jasnah does not.

Chapter Forty-Eight – Rhythm of Work

The hell do you mean, 'we stand in the sea'. Is this in reference to whatever is out in the Ocean of Origins that the lighthouse-keeper mentioned in the Interludes? Maybe, maybe not, but it stinks of coincidence.

Admittedly, while I like the insight that Moash's chapters bring, I just don't care about him as much as I do our other protagonists. He's a good character, but I'm not really emotionally attached to him.

'Better than bridge duty' is not a metric by which anything should be judged, Moash, and you know this.

So. Hauling things, but where are you taking them…?

[winces] He can try all he likes to convince himself that his decisions and actions weren't his fault, but Kaladin gave you chance upon chance upon chance to drop Graves and his crew and stay with Bridge Four. At this point, you're just deluding yourself.

Shiiiiiit, they're going to Kholinar. Of course they are. As if I didn't worry about that city enough already.

Well, he's not wrong about the 'false gods' and 'ruling class whose eyes reminded them of the Knights Radiant', at least. We still need confirmation on whether lighteyes are actual descendants of the Radiants or not, though.

….you're more religious than I'd realized, Moash.

YES YOU CAN BE BLAMED, AND WE BLAME YOU. TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

!!! Are… are those Kaladin's group of Parshmen? Is his involvement with them the reason they're being treated poorly?

YEP

Oh man, oh man, are you going to go help them, Moash? YES-

-but blanket-condemning humans as you do. Not just in your head this time, but as an argument point. Hoo boy.

Chapter Forty-Nine – Born Unto Light

FLASHBACK CHAPTER YEEEAAAAAAHHHH plz give us more Evi this time Branderson

….Dalinar why are you doing moss-drugs. Are you constantly discontent since you're not getting battles and the Thrill. Also that is a disturbing comparison.

This is perhaps the most opposite of your current self that we've seen you when you weren't Thrill-murdering.

...listening to your wife is good but I don't think she meant 'you should totally do drugs'

However, you getting into a fighting ring is very likely among the things she expected you to get into when she suggested 'live in the moment', considering what you're like at this time, whether you're fighting in them or just betting on them. It's the violence inherent in them.

Yessss, you're caring about Evi, FINALLY, even if you might not love her yet. We still haven't seen evidence of that from your end of the relationship.

Gavilar might not be able to politic his way past a rebellion, but the last flashback indicated that he's certainly going to try, come Damnation or stormwaters. Dalinar, though… he's too apathetic to even care at this point. It's extremely disconcerting.

Oohhhhh, you're trying to use the drunkenness to stave off the Thrill, really…? Well, apparently you're going to fight anyway. But will the Thrill come, and do you even want it to…?

dark bar atmosphere, laced with smoke that curls, grey, melding with and making its own shadows as the raucous noise silences completely, predator's eyes glinting bright blue across the ring

“Hurting you? Storms, that's not what I'm afraid of.”

You have a reputation, Dalinar. It's not a good one.

Yeaaah, he's essentially not feeling anything nowadays. One fight he can barely remember is the last time that brought him emotion – that's not natural; something has to be damping it.

Toh! You're still hanging around! Damn, we haven't seen anything of you save for that single chapter with the highstorm. Has Dalinar simply been too emotionally-dead to notice you the entire time? But he notes 'familiar face', so you must have spent a fair amount of time together…

OH OH IT'S TIME IT'S TIME IT'S TI- ….it's early and they're not surprised. Why. Why. I demand answers.

You ran all the way there at a sprint, didn't you.

She pretty much did fight a battle, Dal. Just not the kind you're used to.

Still with the left-handed-ness – and it may not be the same sign of intimacy to her as it is to you, Dal, but still.

Dropping to his knees at her bedside! Holding hands! Overcome with emotion! Ohhh, you have come to love her by this point, haven't you?

“many men are apprehensive at first when-” NOPE. SWOOPS HIM INTO HIS HANDS INTO THE AIR AND DANCES AMIDST THE GOLDEN GLORYSPREN

ahhhhh, with thick blond-and-black streaking even as a newborn! AND DALINAR'S PROUD OF IT, PROUD THAT HIS SON SHOWS HIS MIXED HERITAGE EVEN THOUGH THAT'S A THING SCOFFED AT IN ALETHKAR AND SOME PEOPLE EVEN DYE THEIR HAIR TRUE BLACK TO HIDE THAT THEY'RE MIXED. Good on you, Dal, good on you

'May you have your father's strength… and at least some of your mother's compassion, little one.' excuse me while I go sob in the corner

this is the first true spark of Dadlinar – of the Dalinar we see in the future

'BORN UNTO LIGHT' AS A NAME MEANING I'VE BEEN CALLING HIM 'SUN SON' ALL THIS TIME AND THAT'S SO DAMN CLOSE ARE YOU KIDDING ME it's such a good name what a good name my boy my boy

please run through the city whooping for joy and proclaiming you're a dad, Dalinar, I need that image in my head

For once, Dalinar rolls a decent Insight check. What are you gonna do or say to fuck this up, Gavilar.

!!!! 'Lunacy'? Was… was Jasnah already broken by this point? With sixteen more years to go before she bonded with Ivory?

Ooooo, so crowns are mostly a Western-Rosharan thing – Gavilar compromises with a circlet, but probably not an entirely plain one, a simple band of metal. Ten-pointed, perhaps, subtle and tasteful.

Failing? The rebellion is that bad? Aaaaand you're going to send Dalinar in to crush it and that's when shit's going to go down. Ooof.

….this is that Sons of Honor organization cropping up, isn't it, or at least their overarching goals. Were you just part of them, or did you found them, Gavilar?

Oh no, oh no, Dalinar had a flash of hope, of emotion, of a different future than just battle, and now that's going to clash with his old bloodthirst and this is going to end terribly; none of this bodes well

“I… might have something that will help.” ……….I do not trust you, Gavilar. Dalinar's still the unstable barbarian here, but even he sounds more trustworthy than you right now.

This does not sound good this does not sound good this does not sound good-

“I can't help feeling words would be enough, if only I knew the right ones to say.” Okay so you're probably being tested as a proto-Bondsmith, but dude. Dude. This is not the way to go about it.

#blink reads oathbringer #oathbringer spoilers #MY STRIPEY SON HAS SUCH A GOOD NAME YOU GUYS #still not enough evi in this flashback though

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onceuponanolicity · 7 years ago

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Hello, everyone. I’m still out on vacation and I am loving it. It feels nice to get out and rest up. However, I had wanted to send this out to all of you as a Halloween gift before I left and I never had the chance. Today I did, so here it is. A special Halloween one-shot. I will be trying to have a Thanksgiving one for next month and a Christmas/Chanakuh one for December.

A Halloween one-shot. Halloween brings a lot of parties to college campuses. It also allows Oliver Queen to meet Gothic Felicity Smoak. Now they need to see if they can make it together despite all the differences between them.

College parties. Felicity hated them. Halloween parties were even worse. It gave everyone leave to hide behind their masks and act as inappropriately as possible.

“Who are you, sweet cheeks?”

Felicity turned to find a brilliant genius of a frat boy standing next to her. And she was being beyond sarcastic with that assessment. He was dressed as a Roman. Wow. She had never seen that before. Not. Felicity rolled her eyes at the concept that one of these boys might actually use their brain. “Elvira.”

The guy made a motion to her chest. “Doesn’t she show more cleavage?”

“That’s my mother,” Felicity deadpanned. Though it was true. It was her mother who tended to dress more provocatively.

“Oh.” For a moment the guy looked crestfallen. She had ruined his dreams. Too bad. But, the guy quickly recovered and looked around for another potential target. “Is she at the party?”

Felicity sighed. Obviously this guy was further gone than he seemed. Did he really think her mother would be here? Sure, Felicity was younger than some of the other college kids, but that did not mean that her mother would be here. Though, if given the chance, Donna Smoak, certainly would have been. Felicity lifted a hand and pointed off to the far corner of the frat house where a group of kids were chugging beer. “Yeah. Over there.”

The guy scurried away in search of the elusive Elvira while Felicity leaned back against the wall wondering why she even came here. She knew why. Her roommate insisted Felicity go so she could make out with her boyfriend in their dorm room. Felicity could only hope that her roommate cleaned down the place afterwards. The boyfriend was skanky.

“Are you snarky with everyone or just frat boys?”

Felicity found another male who invaded what she claimed as her own personal space. She opened her mouth to cut him down but her usual quick mind faltered. Felicity stood there and stared at the blonde guy. He was dressed simply in tight fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt. James Dean. Only a mask covered half his face. It was supposed to be a masquerade party after all. Not that Felicity paid any mind to it. She had only arrived in her usual clothes and without a mask. Felicity only wore a mask if her Halloween costume called for it and since she was sans costume that meant no mask at all.

“Cat catch your tongue?” he asked as a smile formed on his lips, making dimples appear under the black mask. He leaned forward slightly invading even more of her space and winked. “Too bad. I wanted a chance.”

Another guy came forward. Felicity sighed. Did she have a magnet or something on her?

Instead the guy barely paid her a bit of attention. He slapped James Dean on the back. This new guy was dressed in red scrubs. He had dark hair and was no less handsome than the other one. “What’s up? I just got here.”

“Tommy.” James Dean perked up considerably. He nudged the new guy and gave him a bro hug. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Tommy shrugged and smiled. That’s when his attention caught on Felicity. This smile was different. Charming in a way that was meant to get exactly what he wanted. “I’m Tommy Merlyn.”

The way he said his name it was like it should mean something. It didn’t, but she shook his extended hand anyway. “Hi.”

The two guys stared at her expectantly. They were probably waiting for her to give them her name. They would be waiting a long time. She wasn’t here to make friends. Not that it mattered. She hardly came over to this campus much. Felicity was much more at MIT nearby where she attended classes.

James Dean nodded down at her before addressing his friend. “That’s Elvira Jr. Or so she told the last guy who dared approach her.”

Tommy frowned slightly. “That makes Elvira a MILF. Not exactly how I wanted to picture her.”

“Thanks for that mental image,” Felicity said with a grimace. “I’ll never be able to fill my mind enough to cover that up.”

“A nerdy Goth.” Tommy said with an ever bigger smile. A genuine one. He nudged his friend. “Good luck with this one.” Tommy nodded off to the side, Tommy took a step in that direction to try to see something. “I’m going to go hit up Rainbow Brite over there and see if she wants to dance.”

James Dean glanced over at where his friend’s interest lie. He frowned. “I don’t think that’s Rainbow Brite.”

“Ding Ding,” Felicity said waving a finger in the air. “One for the frat boy dressed as James Dean.”

His eyes shot over to her. They felt like they penetrated right through her. It was disturbing and yet there was something about that look that had her body reacting on a primal level. “What do I win?”

Felicity swallowed hard. She wished the wall wasn’t right behind her because she wanted desperately to back away from him. Not that he scared her. It was more like overwhelmed her, especially with that laser focus that he seemed to possess. “I… uh…”

He stepped forward so she had no choice but to flatten herself against the wall to maintain some space. He didn’t even allow her that. He only moved closer so that their hips were touching with each small movement. A hair’s breadth separated their chests and their breath mingled.

She noticed his had a touch of mint to it. He must have just had a mint or brushed his teeth recently. Surprising because he looked like a guy who would have come here to drink.

He raised his hand and with a very light touch his fingers brushed over her cheek before sweeping her black hair over her shoulder. Even Cooper Seldon, who she dated a few times now, did not make her feel so totally consumed by a single touch. If she wasn’t careful, she’d combust soon.

Meeting his eyes, Felicity saw that he seemed confused by the fact that he felt the same. The playfulness of his nature had disappeared. Blue flames licked within his eyes. He raised his hand and leaned against the wall pushing himself slightly away from her. She watched as he closed his eyes under the black mask and shuddering breath escaped him.

Felicity had no idea what compelled her. She raised a hand to lay it on his chest. He was solid muscle under her fingers. She was pretty sure under that shirt was a six pack to end all other six packs. So, why the hell was a guy like this even talking to her? Was it a joke? A bet? That would explain the last guy. Which frat kid could get the Goth girl to drop her panties? And, damn, if they didn’t send in their ringer.

When his eyes opened, the blue was barely a ring around the darkness of the depths hidden there. His head dipped down and Felicity pushed up on the combat boots she wore to meet him halfway. The guy kissed like an angel. The Devil was an angel, right? Because this guy was temptation personified. It wasn’t fair.

The guy’s free hand met her waist, his fingers biting deep into the flesh under the layers of clothes she wore. Felicity was sure by the strength of his grip that it was the only thing keeping him under control. She wished she could gather some of her own.

Only she did not have to. The kiss ended fast enough when he jerked his lips from hers.

“Fuck,” she heard him whisper as his forehead pressed into her own.

Their breaths labored together as they stood there. Felicity was the first to open her eyes. When he managed to do the same they stared at each other.

It was in that moment a bubbly blonde popped up next to them. She tugged at the guy’s arm. The one that still clenched her hip tight. “Ollie. I totally have to introduce you to my friend.”

“Ollie.” Felicity rolled the name off of her tongue. It fit him and yet it didn’t. “Oliver.” That was much better.

By the way his eyes flared, he agreed. He looked desperate to kiss her again. The blonde had other plans. Oliver gave in to her tugs and straightened from his leaning pose over Felicity. However, their eyes never broke contact. Not even for a second. “I’m coming back.”

It was a promise. Felicity felt it right down to her bones. Which was the exact reason why she ran the second he disappeared into the crowd with the blonde.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

“I’m going to find her,” Oliver told Tommy almost a week later.

“You ever think she doesn’t want to be found?” Tommy asked. “What other girl have you ever had to chase?”

“I’m going to find her,” Oliver said much more forcefully. It was only a question of how and when. Oliver had not gone to bed one night and not woken up without thinking about the Goth girl he had encountered.

When he spotted Gordon approaching her, Oliver had gone over to see how badly the guy would tank. He was always great for a good laugh, especially when he thought he was being slick with the ladies. Oliver had needed a laugh. He and his girlfriend had called it quits a week before and Oliver was ready to move on. After a year of fighting, Oliver knew it was time to finally say enough was enough. When his girlfriend had called that night and tried to ask him why now, before she had been too shocked to ask, he told her he did not want to hear from her again. It was in that moment, Oliver had decided to come to the Halloween party.

Then Elvira Jr. entered his life and he had never laughed so hard. She had the perfect comebacks. He had wanted more and so he approached her. She was this bright light in his mundane world. Something completely different from what he was used to. That was what drew him to her, but that wasn’t what made him stay. No, that was something else entirely.

She made him feel things he never had before. It was an instant chemistry that was undeniable. The entire party faded away when they were close. It was not even just sexual chemistry, though they had that in spades. It was something that Oliver had yet to define. It made him want so much more, not only from her but from himself.

“You think she’ll show at the party tomorrow?” Tommy asked drawing Oliver out of his thoughts. The party Tommy referred to was being held by the largest sorority on campus. It was their yearly day before Halloween bash that gathered everyone together from their campus and MIT. It attracted students and faculty alike.

“I don’t know.” Elvira Jr. barely looked like she had wanted to attend the last party. Another reason to wonder why she was there. And why she disappeared so quickly. Oliver had spent the rest of the night trying to figure out where she had gone.

“Are you going over to that seminar over at MIT tonight? It’s extra credit for class. And you need it bad after skipping so many classes.” Tommy might be talking about school, but his mind was definitely not focused there. His eyes were trained directly on a buxom brunette who smiled and waved at him as she passed with a couple of friends.

“Doubtful,” Oliver told him as he nodded at the trio. None of them interested him. He was fully focused on one girl right now. Plus, extra credit was not going to help him at this point. He was failing computer class whether he showed up or not, so what was the point?

“I’m thinking, I’ll go.” Tommy shrugged. “Extra credit could be useful since I have a feeling I am going to fail the mid-term.” Tommy nudged Oliver and gave him a wicked grin. “Plus, one of those nerdy chicks there must be looking for some male company that isn’t spewing computer codes and Periodic Tables. I’m totally bored with Laurel gone.”

Oliver sighed heavily. He was not in search of a nerdy girl. Oliver wanted one and only one, which was a little strange for him to be so focused. “Fine. I’ll come with you.”

Tommy grinned harder and slapped him in the chest. “You won’t regret it.”

Oliver could only hope that was true.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

“Tell me again why I agreed to do this?” Felicity asked Professor Karen Smith as she rechecked the projector while the professor went over her notes. Everyone was supposed to arrive soon for the lecture and Felicity was ready to run. She hated being in front of people when she did not have to be.

“Because you’re the best and I needed the best,” Professor Smith smiled over at Felicity. “Plus, it saves you from the monotony of your term paper.”

“I guess.” Felicity finished with the projector and flopped into the other chair next to her mentor. She spun it in a circle before gazing out at the empty room. “Still… I guess it’s better than prepping for the Halloween party tomorrow over at the other campus, like my roommate wanted me to do.”

“See. Bright spot,” the professor joked, pushing back some of her long auburn hair back from her face. “But, maybe you should go.”

Felicity raised a finger to her mouth and opened it so she could put it in and make gagging noises. Karen laughed. She knew how much Felicity hated frats and sororities, let alone their inane parties. Raising her legs, Felicity plopped them up on top of the desk. She was fine until she leaned back. That’s when the chair decided to roll out from underneath her. Felicity squealed and her professor screamed.

A pair of strong hands came out of nowhere and caught Felicity before she hurt her butt and lost her dignity. When she looked up, Felicity saw that the first was definitely true, but the second was debatable.

“Felicity, are you okay?” Karen had already jumped out of her chair and gave her a once over in concern as Felicity came up on her feet.

“I’m fine,” Felicity told her professor and Oliver as she straightened her clothes that had come askew at the grab. “You can let go now.”

“I’m good,” Oliver told her with a huge grin on his face. His hands had yet to leave her waist and now with her shirt fixed, some of his fingers brushed over the bare skin that he had access to since the shirt was now over his hands. One of those fingers moved in a circular motion over her stomach, making her shiver. “Felicity.”

Shit. He now knew her name. Wait. Karen just said it. He knew no more about her than what she knew about him. That was a good thing, right? Even footing. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you, probably.”

Felicity shook him off and turned to narrow her eyes at him. “You’re helping to give a lecture on Programming Languages?”

Oliver chuckled. It was a deep, rich sound that had Felicity’s toes curling in delight. Not that she would ever admit to that. Ever. “I might if I had any idea what you said.”

Karen nudged Felicity and gave her a soft smile. “You know, I just realized I completely forgot my mouse in the car. I’ll be right back.”

Felicity was confused. She glanced over her shoulder at the computer set up. The mouse was right there. Damn Karen and her matchmaking ways. She was the one who had introduced Felicity to Cooper Seldon, the guy Felicity was currently dating, in the first place.

“We’re alone,” Oliver whispered for no reason. It drew Felicity’s attention back to him.

“Doesn’t matter.” Felicity was about to pull out the professor’s chair to sit down and work on the laptop when she turned and faced Oliver again. There was no need for him to be there. She had half a mind to tell him that. “The lecture is starting soon. Why don’t you grab a seat? The back fills up pretty fast with all the other people who decide to come here to fall asleep.”

Oliver crossed his arms and Felicity noticed the muscles that shifted with that movement. “I have no plans on falling asleep. Or sitting in the back.”

“Suit yourself.” Felicity shrugged. What he did was of no interest to her. And, yes, she was completely lying to herself. Oliver was bound to be a distraction. The last thing she needed was to look out and find him in the crowd. Though, her speech teacher had said something about looking out into the crowd and picturing them naked. However, picturing Oliver naked might just have the opposite effect that she was going for. Her mouth watered at the thought.

“I have every intention of sitting over there,” Oliver nodded off to one side, “and watching you.”

Felicity was about to sit down and stumbled at this words. Frack. This time she caught herself, but he moved back by her side. Their gazes caught and Felicity froze. What the hell was it about this guy that shook her to her very core? “I… uh… I better check to make sure everything is plugged correctly.”

She made her way away from him on heavy feet. It was like moving away from him defied some sort of gravitational pull. One that he didn’t deny because he followed her off to the side and grabbed her arm to stop her.

“Go out with me.”

It was not a demand or a request. Which is probably what led her to ask, “Tonight?”

“Okay.” His grin split his face and made two deep dimples on his cheeks appear.

“I didn’t… I mean I… It wasn’t supposed to be…” Felicity stumbled over every single sentence she tried to say to get out of this supposed date. He was beyond not her type and she was already seeing someone. Sure, there was no promise of exclusivity at this point, but Felicity was not the person who dated a bunch of guys at the same time. In fact, she never had the chance to even think about it before now. It was not like she was the most popular, or the prettiest, girl on campus.

“Felicity,” he drew her name out, making her eyes rise to his. “Please.”

There was something mesmerizing in the way he said her name, but the way he said please was even more compelling. Vampires had nothing on this guy. Hell, he could probably give them pointers. Especially as he slowly licked his lips and cocked his head expectantly to the side.

“Please,” he repeated.

It was that second request that had her nodding despite every reservation she had. He was a frat boy with absolutely no interest in what made her tick. Her computers. They were her lifeline for as long as she could remember. Even more so since her father had left when she was seven. It gave her a small link to a man she barely remembered. The first one who ever broke her heart and destroyed whatever trust she had in the male race.

Oliver’s palms slid over her face, this thumb brushing briefly over her lips. His head lowered and it was like watching some cheesy romance flick, only she was the female lead. Oliver’s mouth brushed over hers in an imitation of a kiss before he looked her in the eyes. In those depths, Felicity saw the question that lingered there. Apparently, he found an answer within her own because his mouth clamped down on hers.

Felicity began to shake at the intensity of the kiss. She had no choice but to wrap her arms around him just to remain upright. The kiss was all consuming making Felicity feel like she was on fire with a need that she did not know she could feel.

Barely, Felicity registered the sounds of people coming into the hall. It seemed so far off. A throat clearing was much closer. As was Professor Smith’s chuckle. “Right. You keep doing that. I’ll start.”

Felicity clenched onto Oliver’s shirt with every intention of telling him they had to stop. Only she used it to pull him even closer when he broke off slightly to take a precious breath. It was like no matter how much they needed to separate they couldn’t. God! She was turning into a Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode.

It took every bit of effort that she did not have to pull away from him. She ran around a chair that was sitting near them to put some space between them. Felicity clenched tight to the wood and took some well needed breaths. Looking up, Felicity saw the lower half of Oliver’s face was covered in her dark purple lipstick. His lips were swollen and, oh no, were there teeth marks near his bottom lip? She bit him? Frack!

Her own lips felt chapped and sensitive. Raising a hand, she gently touched them. They were swollen as much as his were.

It took a few minutes, and the sound of Karen’s voice, to return reason back to Felicity’s mind. She was supposed to be out there helping. Not hiding behind a curtain making out with one of the best looking guys she ever met. Felicity shook her head in an attempt to further clear her head.

“I guess I better go.” Oliver jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward where Professor Smith was giving her lecture.

“Why did you come? I mean not to the lecture, but earlier. Did you track me down?”

Oliver shook his head and reached inside his leather jacket. He pulled out a folded up piece of paper and held it out to her. “I came for this.”

Felicity accepted the paper and read it over. It was for extra credit. He needed to attend the lecture and get the professor to sign off that he had been there. There was a clause that said that Smith’s assistant could also sign the document. Glancing up at him, Felicity nodded down to the paper. “Do you have a pen? My bag is out there.”

Reaching back in the pocket, Oliver extracted a pen. Felicity took it and signed the paper, handing both items back to him the second she was finished. She needed him to go. He was bad for her mental health. Oliver accepted them and they landed in the side pocket of his coat. He also buried his hands in each.

There really wasn’t much more to say. Oliver was free to go. He had come and his paper was signed. Mission accomplished. However, the last thing he wanted to do was leave. The reason stood in front of him.

Never had he felt such an instant connection to a complete stranger. Even his friendship with Tommy took time. More because they were always pushed together because they were the same age and their families were friends. Plus, they both shared a general distaste for Carter Bowen, a fellow friend of their families. “Felicity, I…”

She shook her head and returned her hands to the back of the chair that still stood between them. She used it to shield herself from him. Not that the small wooden chair was much of a shield. He could easily kick it away without effort. “You might want to wash your face first.” She waved at her own chin and frowned. “Sorry.”

Oliver scrubbed his leather jacket over his face. It came back with dark streaks on it. A small giggle bubbled up from Felicity and Oliver glanced over at her. “What?”

“You made it worse.”

“You should talk,” he teased. “The demented clown look was so last year.”

“Frack!” Her hand raised to her face and she tried to rub off the lipstick that was streaked there. “How bad is it?”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Adorable demented clown?”

Felicity glanced around her and by the way her hands clenched, he was half sure she was looking for something to throw at him. Oliver reached out and cupped her face drawing it to his. He kissed her softly. Just enough to show her he had been teasing. If he lingered, Oliver was sure to sit on that chair and drag her down onto his lap. Something time and opportunity did not afford him.

“Please go out with me,” he said against her lips. Oliver never begged for a girl to go out with him. They were usually much too eager to fall into his plans, if he wasn’t ejecting them from a bed he never invited them to. This one… He was willing to drop to his knees before if that’s what it took. What made this one girl so different from everyone else? The answer evaded him.

“When?”

Oliver silently cheered. “There’s a party tomorrow…”

“No.” Felicity shook her head and stepped back. “I don’t do parties.”

“You were at the one the other night,” he reminded her.

“Not by choice,” she told him. “My roommate kicked me out and a friend of mine went there so I tagged along.”

“Okay. When?” Oliver hoped he wasn’t leaving her with the opportunity to back out completely.

Oliver watched her face change with each thought. She was so expressive. And, right now, he could tell she was warring within herself about why she agreed to come in the first place.

“Tonight,” she said with a sigh. “Tonight works.”

“Okay.” Oliver nodded at her. “Tonight.” He reached out and had to lean forward slightly to sweep a piece of her hair from her face. The dark strands were so soft in his hand. He rubbed them slightly before letting go. “Where?”

Felicity named the hall just off the quad from where he had told Tommy he’d find her. Oliver nodded again. “Eight?”

“Sorry,” Felicity said with a shake of her head. “My late class doesn’t end until seven thirty. I won’t be able to meet you until eight thirty. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” Oliver reached out again and tilted her face up. He gave her smile even if everything in him demanded he kiss her again. “I’m looking forward to it.”

OQFSOQFSOQFS

Felicity spent the rest of the lecture sitting in the chair completely unsure as to why she agreed to see Oliver again. Part of the reason she could not agree to come to the Halloween party was because she had a date with Cooper tomorrow. They were supposed to hit up the local cinema for a horror movie marathon before going over to the party. So, how was it she became that girl? The one who strung two guys along.

“How did it go?” Karen asked as she approached with a large grin on her freckled face.

Felicity shrugged one shoulder, anything else took more of an effort than she felt like giving right now. “We have a date. Tonight. After my class.”

“You might want to wash your face before you go there,” Karen said with a laugh. “Looks like things got interesting.”

“I know. Demented clown, right?” Felicity said with a sigh.

“Ouch!” Professor Smith knelt down by Felicity’s knees. “And here I thought Oliver Queen would have better lines and more tact than that.”

“Queen?” Felicity met her mentor’s eyes. The woman nodded.

“I thought you knew.” Karen gifted Felicity with a confused stare and motioned back to the computer where things had to be cleaned up before they headed out. “His face is on like every other tabloid. Plus, he’s always on those celebrity news websites.”

Felicity shrugged. “I don’t pay much attention to that stuff.” That did not mean she didn’t know who Oliver Queen was. People talked. Even nerds. Especially nerds.

Oliver Queen was some playboy from Starling City, a city all the way across the country. A whole hell of a lot closer to Vegas where Felicity grew up than Massachusetts. He was known to sleep with anything in a skirt, young or old. Though he had a tendency to be seen with models and actresses. Yup, Felicity knew enough to regret agreeing to be another notch on his bedpost. Not that she had any intention of sleeping with him.

“Hey.” Karen reached out and grabbed Felicity’s arm. “If he’s forcing you…”

“No,” Felicity told her shaking her head. “It’s not that. I’m still a little taken aback by the fact that he’s Oliver Queen.”

It was something that continued to bother her. If she had known… There was no sense playing that game. Her head hurt enough.

Felicity walked across the quad in search of him. He did not appear to be there yet. Figures. One of the other things she heard about him was that he was always late. Though he had been far from late earlier that day.

The only people on the quad were a couple of people jogging past. One was a brunette with long hair that bounced across her back from the ponytail it was tucked into. Felicity had no idea why she caught her attention. Maybe it was the way she squealed in excitement and ran faster to get to something or someone. Someone. Definitely someone.

She threw herself at a guy and wrapped her long tan legs around his waist while her arms entwined around his neck. The guy’s arms wrapped around her sweaty form. His hand cupped her ass to keep her secure in his embrace.

Felicity wanted that. She wanted to be so excited to see who she was dating that she had to run and greet him. Kiss him like she had kissed Oliver earlier. Like there was no one else but that person. Or no one else who mattered.

The woman carded her hands through the guy’s hair and kissed him gently. Yep. That was definitely what Felicity wanted in a partner. Something she doubted that she’d ever find with…

Oliver Queen. That’s who was in the woman’s arms. Or was she in his? It didn’t matter. Felicity froze the second she recognized him. The woman had finally settled down on her own two feet. She was not quite as tall as Felicity first pictured. It left plenty of room for Felicity to see Oliver’s face over her shoulder.

The bastard. Felicity shook her head as her teeth began to clench. She was not going to stand here and watch any more. It was not like he had any shame for his actions when he stood in the middle of the quad where anyone could see him despite the darkness of the night. It didn’t matter that the space was lit up by the lights that the college had for safety.

Ducking her head, Felicity kept to the shadows. With her dark hair and clothes, Felicity would be able hard to spot there. It did not take her long to reach her car. At least one good thing came out of tonight. She found out exactly what kind of man Oliver Queen really was.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

“Is she here?” Laurel asked as Oliver continued to search the quad for the fifth time.

“No.” Oliver glanced down at his watch. They agreed to meet at eight thirty. He even made it there right on time. He never did that. So, where was she? Was she okay? Did she stand him up? Every question put him more on edge.

Laurel laughed. “Seriously? Did she stand you up? The almighty Oliver Queen.”

“Don’t you need to finish your run?” Oliver glared over at her hoping that Tommy’s girlfriend, and one of his good friends, would just go away. He was humiliated enough.

“If you told me what Felicity looks like, I might be able to help you.”

“Fine.” Oliver swung around to face her completely. “She had black hair with a purple streak on each side of her head and wears all black. She’s into Goth or something.”

“Elvira Jr.? You had a date with her?” Laurel stared back at him in shock. “Tommy mentioned her, but he said you didn’t know her name or where to find her.”

“Jealous?” Oliver teased. He and Laurel had dated for a short time back in high school. Back before she and Tommy realized they were happier together than apart.

“Not in the least,” she told him with a smile. “I want you to be happy.” Laurel punched him in the arm. “Did you find her at the seminar? Tommy mentioned that he saw you go in to get the Professor’s signature, but never saw you after that. Is that how you found out who she was and arranged this?”

“Yes.” Oliver refused to elaborate. He did not tell Tommy and he certainly had no intention of sharing with Laurel. This thing with Felicity was delicate. Apparently, more delicate than he believed if Felicity could not even bother to show up.

“You have her number?” Laurel asked. “You could call her, because she’s definitely not here.”

“No. I don’t.” Damn it. Right now, Oliver really wished he thought of it earlier. What if she was in an accident?

Laurel held up a finger. “Hold that thought.” She grimaced at whatever passed over his face. “Actually, think of something better while I do something.” She whistled over to guy who was running past. “Hey, Lonnie.”

“Laurel.” The guy came to a jogging stop next to them. “What’s up?”

“Did you happen to see a Goth girl roaming the quad or the parking lot earlier?”

“Goth? Like dark hair, clothes and all that?”

Laurel looked in Oliver’s direction and he nodded. “Yeah. Ollie’s missing one.”

Lonnie jerked his finger over his shoulder. “One left like fifteen minutes ago in some beat up old clunker. She came from out this way.” Lonnie looked down at his watch. “Yeah, I would say a little after eight thirty.” He shot Laurel a questioning look. “Surprised you didn’t see her.”

Laurel shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying attention. I had my headphones in and then I saw Ollie and I ran to greet him.”

“How is your sister doing?” Lonnie asked. Sara had been in a car accident with a drunk driver over two weeks ago and up until now Laurel had been back in Starling City helping out.

“She’s good. Sara’s coming out of the hospital on Tuesday.”

“That’s great. Tell her I said hi.” Lonnie pointed over to the dorms. “I gotta get going. My roommate has an early exam and wants lights out in an hour.”

Oliver did not even bother to listen to the rest of the conversation. He was too preoccupied by the fact that Felicity had shown up. But something made her leave without coming to find him. There was no need for the sudden departure. Unless… Oliver swung around and grabbed Laurel’s arm. “Damn it, Laurel.”

“What?” She blinked up at him in confusion.

“You scared her away.”

“Me?” Laurel looked even more confused. “What did I… Oh!” Laurel winced. “Sorry.”

Oliver slapped a hand to his head and ran it through his hair, pulling strands along the way. Felicity saw him and Laurel. Not that there was anything happening between him and Laurel, but Felicity did not know that. Hell, Oliver had never even managed to get Felicity’s last name, let alone her number. How was he supposed to find her? “Professor Smith.”

“Who?” Laurel stood there staring at him like he had gone crazy. Maybe he had.

“Professor Smith over at MIT knows who she is. I just need to find her office and talk to her.” Oliver turned to go. He was a man on a mission. Only Laurel’s hand on his arm stopped him short. “What?”

“It’s after nine on a Wednesday,” Laurel explained. “I seriously doubt she’s even at her office at this time of night. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow,” Oliver raged quietly. “The longer I wait the less chance Felicity will even talk to me.”

Laurel let out a low whistle. “I wish you were only half this committed when we were dating.”

“I’m not dating her,” Oliver pointed out. He waved his hands around the quad. “Obviously.”

“Exactly,” Laurel said glaring at him before she walked away from him with a disgusted snort.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

“Knock. Knock,” Oliver said imitating his actions on Professor Smith’s open door at eight am the next morning. He had barely slept so coming here early was really no big deal, even if it would be any other day. Okay, so he’d miss a class or two, but it wasn’t something he had not done before. “Professor?”

She looked up from the paperwork in front of her and smiled. “Mr. Queen. Come in. Please.”

Oliver accepted the chair she indicated. Now all he had to do was follow through with the plan that had played in his head since the night before. “About…”

“Felicity.” She nodded at him. It made him wonder how much she knew about what happened last night. “How did the date go?”

“Did she tell you about it?” Oliver leaned forward in his seat intrigued to find out if Felicity had shared anything about what happened. When the redhead in front of him shook her head his heart sank a little.

“Felicity might have mentioned that you planned one. Right around the time that I accidently spilled the beans on your last name.” Professor Smith smiled at him apologetically.

She was a beautiful woman, even with the large smattering of freckles that consumed her face and the dark glasses that were perched on her nose. Oliver in any other situation would decide to flirt with her to see where things could go. That’s how Felicity affected him, because he could not even think about doing something like that. His mind was consumed with only her.

“Sorry about that,” the professor continued. “I hope it did not affect the outcome.”

“We never had a date,” Oliver told her. “I’m pretty sure she showed up, but I think she misunderstood a situation that she saw.” Oliver let out a sigh. “I think the fact that she knew my last name might have put some preconceptions into it.”

Professor Smith winced. “I don’t know how to apologize enough for that. I thought with the way the two of you were acting that she might have already known.” She fiddled with a pen in front of her not quite meeting his eyes. “She’s not exactly forthcoming about what happened, but she has some trust issues where men are concerned.”

Oliver rubbed his face as he took that in. “So, I’m screwed even before I began. Great.”

“Not necessarily.” The professor pointed her pen at him. “Tell me about this misunderstanding.”

“My ex….”

“Already not a great lead in, Mr. Queen,” she scolded.

Shaking his head, Oliver decided to continue, even if she might be right. “My ex saw me. We’re still friends and she’s currently dating my best friend. Anyway, she saw me after being away for a few weeks because her sister was in a really bad car accident when I came to the quad to meet Felicity.” Oliver flinched as he pictured how the whole situation must have looked to Felicity, or anyone else, who did not know the whole story. “She was a little too enthusiastic in her greeting.” Oliver held his hands up in order to further his case. “I swear it was nothing.”

“What kind of nothing is nothing?” She leaned back in her chair and studied him. Professor Smith did not seem like she was just going to accept him at his word. Maybe that was for the best since Felicity would also be hard to convince. But, Oliver felt like he was sitting in front of the headmaster waiting for his mother to come and pick him up after being expelled from school.

“She ran and leapt into my arms.” Yeah, he could tell from her face that he was royally screwed.

A harsh intake of breath was the only sound in the room. Finally, she shook her head in disappointment. “Are all of your friends this enthusiastic?”

“I swear this was a one-time thing. It never happened before and after Laurel found out I was waiting for a date, she felt really bad.” However, when Laurel left him the other night, she had been pissed. More because she realized how much more this complete stranger meant to him than she ever did. “I doubt Laurel is even in the mood to speak to me right now, let alone anything else.”

Professor Smith steepled her fingers in front of her. Her dark green eyes bored into him. “And where does Felicity fall in all of this? Will she just be another conquest, Mr. Queen? Because Felicity is one of my favorite students and I’d prefer to not see her hurt.”

“She’s not just another conquest. And I’ll try really hard not to hurt her again.”

The professor’s smile grew from the line of her lips. When it reached full peak, he knew he had won some sort of battle. “That was a very smart answer, Mr. Queen. No one can promise to never hurt someone. Especially ones we really care about. They always seem to be caught in the crossfire.” Once more she sat there studying him, but this time he felt like he was being measured up. It made him uneasy. He was completely unsure of where this conversation was leading. Then when she leaned forward, Oliver was sure all that he did, no matter how hard he pleaded, was over. He was surprised when he heard her words. “Okay. I’ll help you.”

Oliver’s whole body relaxed. He let out a deep breath and began to smile. “Thank you.”

She nodded at him and tapped her pen again. “What do you need from me?”

“Can I get her last name and where to find her?”

Professor Smith shook her head this time. “That’s not how I work. And, frankly, I can’t take the chance you’ll upset her school day. College is very important to her. That’s the first thing you need to know. Felicity is driven and passionate about what, and who, she loves.”

Oliver shot her a look, mainly because there was an underlining message in what she was telling him. He caught it, but he was not quite sure if he was capable of being the guy that the professor was telling him he needed to be for Felicity’s sake. He wanted to be, though. The underlining question was if Felicity already had deep feelings for someone else. “Is she in love with someone already?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know about love, but, yes, Felicity is currently seeing someone else. And, unlike you, she’s not one to divide her interests so easily. If you understand my meaning.”

Felicity would not cheat. That’s what she was saying. And Oliver was the one who came last. That made him inwardly chuckle. For once he was placed on the other side of the fence. Maybe Laurel was not wrong. It sucked over here.

“I see you do.” Professor Smith rose gracefully from her chair dropping her pen on her desk before she circled around it. She took a seat on the edge near where Oliver was seated and crossed her arms. “I will talk to her. If she decides that she’s willing to take a chance, where would you like to meet?”

“I’ll be at the sorority party on campus tonight. Everyone will pretty much be there. It’s a yearly event as you probably know.”

“I’ve been,” she said with a nod. Her eyes became distant for a moment. “I met my fiancée there.”

Oliver smiled at her. “He’s a lucky guy.”

Professor Smith returned back to the present and smiled at him. “Yes, she was but I lost her last year.”

“I’m sorry.” Oliver did not know what else to say. He never really had to do much with loss. The only person he lost in his life was Tommy’s mother.

“I’m not.” Professor Smith pushed to her feet. “I have a beautiful daughter that reminds me of her mother every day. One that’s very much like Felicity, so you see why I’m this protective.”

“Yes, I do.” Oliver knew his own mother would be the same way. She had always protected him from the harsh realities of life. Maybe, sometimes, too much.

“Good.” The professor reached out and shook his hand. “I’ll see what I can do for you. There’s no guarantees. Felicity is a very smart and resilient young woman who makes her own choices. I hope that you will respect whatever that choice may be.”

“I will,” Oliver promised. Though, he could only hope that she would choose him. He hated to admit it, but his heart would break just a little at not being able to see Felicity ever again. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for reminding me how precious love is when we have it.” She winked at him before waving him back toward her door.

Karen waited for Oliver to leave before she pulled the picture of her fiancée out of her drawer. She had hidden it there over the past year unable to look at it, even if it also contained her beautiful daughter. Taking it out, Karen placed it back on her desk. She was ready to see her love of her life again without a severe bout of sadness invading.

Oliver and Felicity might not realize it yet, but they had a great love in store for them. Much like Karen had. It was the greatest feeling ever, but you had to be ready for it. She wasn’t quite sure that they were. However, she had to see if they could handle it, because both of them deserved it.

Picking up her phone, Karen called Charles Rounet’s office. He was about to have Felicity in his class and he owed her a favor. It would be no trouble for him to send Felicity over to her without losing credit.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

Felicity flopped back on her bed. Her conversation with Karen left her with a lot of things to think about. The woman would not give her a definitive answer of what she would do if she was placed in Felicity’s situation. Which made this all the harder for Felicity. Professor Smith was her mentor and Felicity fully respected her opinion.

Oliver had not been there to meet up with someone else. It just happened his ex, who was still his friend, that was a good thing right, was there. Felicity had not dated enough to be able to understand being friends with a previous boyfriend. She guessed it was possible. Felicity did not possess a mean bone in her body, so she doubted that she would ever really hate anyone. She had even forgiven the bullies who used to tease her back in school.

However, how hard was it to say no to your ex when they acted inappropriately? Felicity sighed. Probably as hard as it was to say no to a guy you already agreed to date. Question was which guy was she going to use it on?

Felicity really liked Cooper. She could really see the two of them going the distance, way past college. They were a lot alike, yet different enough that their relationship would always be interesting.

Oliver, on the other hand, was almost Cooper’s complete opposite. No matter how you studied it, Felicity and Oliver would never match up on paper. However, there was this undeniable chemistry that sparked between them. When they touched, that spark combusted. In her scientific mind, that scared her because sparks fizzled. It lost its glow and faded away. Which was an excellent reason for her to say no to Oliver. It wasn’t meant to last.

Only every time she tried to convince herself that was the case, it felt wrong. By the time Cooper called up to her dorm room to see if she was ready to head out, Felicity was bombarded by the worst headache she ever remembered having.

“You mind if I sit out tonight, Coop?” Felicity said to him after she had slunk down to the main floor of the dorm to meet him. “My head is killing me.”

Cooper pulled her into a hug and rubbed the hair on her head. It was comforting and just what she needed at the moment. She was half tempted to ask him up to her room and just lay with him on her bed and watch television the rest of the night. “Sure. Just feel better. Okay?”

Felicity nodded against his thin chest. One that she could get used to. But did she want to get used to it or did she want to crave being there like she did with Oliver? Pulling back, Felicity raised her eyes to Cooper’s face. A handsome face for a good man. Just he wasn’t the one she wanted. “Cooper, I have a question.”

“Sure.” He indicated a nearby bench and they both sat down. “What’s going on?”

“First, I want to tell you that I really do have a headache. I’m not lying about that.” Felicity reached out for his hands and squeezed them. She noticed that Cooper shut down slightly and stiffened at her touch after her words. “Second, there’s this guy…”

“What?” Cooper pulled his hands from hers. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Felicity nodded, then shook her head before she shrugged. “I really don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“Who is it?” Cooper jumped up and stared down at her. One of the dark strands of his hair fell across his forehead right above his angry eyes. “It’s Martin Pollak, isn’t it?”

“No,” Felicity said vehemently. Martin Pollack, seriously? He was in her Unified Engineering IV class. Martin creeped her out on a good day with his bright blonde hair and his blue eyes that were almost so light that it just looked like he had small black circles within his eyes. Add into that he always tried to lean over her for answers or to catch up on notes and… Just, no. Felicity shuddered. “It’s Oliver Queen.”

“Queen?” Cooper relaxed slightly and began to laugh. “Queen?” Now Cooper doubled over in laughter. “Sure. You and Oliver Queen.”

One of her dorm mates walked past and Cooper grabbed her arm. “Want to hear something funny? My girlfriend thinks that Oliver Queen actually wants to date her.”

The pretty blonde turned to look in Felicity’s direction. The look was practically murderous. “She doesn’t stand a chance in hell of even gaining his attention.”

Not only had she gained it, Felicity made him search her out. Not by choice, but he did. Staring at the two of them, Felicity rose. She had her answer now. “You’re right. It must be the headache. I’m going to go rest.”

Felicity pushed past the two of them and went up to her room. A note was pinned there from her roommate. She had left to go to the Halloween party at Oliver’s campus. Exactly the same place Felicity planned to be very soon. There was only one problem. She had no costume to wear.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

Karen showed up an hour later with a bag draped over her arm. “You’re fairy Godmother is here.”

Felicity giggled at the seriousness in which her mentor said that. “I thought for sure fairies were supposed to be smaller than me. Not six foot tall redheads.”

Karen bopped her on the nose as she entered Felicity’s room. “Sorry to disappoint.” She nodded down at Felicity. “You need to strip.” She threw the bag on Felicity’s bed. “This requires skin.”

Felicity’s eyes fell to her minimal cleavage under the large sweatshirt she was wearing. “I don’t have much to hold stuff up.”

“It’s not that type of skin, though that helps.” Karen reached for the door and pulled it open. “Knock when you’re all dressed. I’ll wait outside.”

The second she was gone, Felicity revealed what was in the bag. Holy shit! There was no way Felicity would be able to pull this off. All it was consisted of was a black one-piece. It was studded up around the breasts and the rest was leather. A brand new pair of fishnets were attached to the hanger.

Felicity gulped. She was going to freeze even before she got over to the party. With a deep intake of breath, Felicity reached out and did the unthinkable. She put on the outfit.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

“You look great,” Karen told Felicity as she pulled up outside the sorority house.

Felicity played with the blonde wig Karen had given her to put on over her black hair. “Is this thing on straight?”

“It’s perfect.” Karen pulled Felicity’s hands down from her head. “Leave it alone and give me your coat.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Felicity admitted as her eyes began to stare out the window at the party goers that spread out everywhere.

“You can.” Karen squeezed her hands. “You have the confidence and I believe in you. More than that, the second Oliver realizes it’s you, I doubt you’ll ever have a second to doubt yourself.”

“Okay.” Felicity took a couple of deep breaths and stepped out of the car. She took off the coat and shivered at the coldness that invaded her skin. “Can I keep it at least? It’s freezing out here.”

Karen nodded at her as she ducked down to stare up at Felicity. “Give it to Oliver. He’ll know where to put it so you can get it back easily.”

“Thank you,” Felicity told her friend. “For everything. And wish me luck. This place is huge. It might take me a while to find him.”

Something caught Karen’s eyes making them light up in laughter. “I don’t think luck is needed.” She smiled softly up at Felicity. “Reminds me of meeting Dia.”

Dia was short for Brenda. Or at least that was the nickname Felicity had been told about. Dia had been Karen’s fiancée until a year ago, when she died in a car accident on her way to work. A deer had leapt in front of her car and when she slammed her breaks the car behind her never did, pushing Dia’s car down a ravine. The person who ran her off the road had never been found.

Oliver appeared out of the crowd and jogged around to the driver’s side of Karen’s car. He knocked on her window until she rolled it down to talk to him. “Hey. Did you talk to Felicity?”

“I did,” Karen told him.

“And?” Oliver stared at her expectantly. “Is she coming?”

Karen glanced over at Felicity before she went back to looking at Oliver. “That decision is up to her.”

Felicity bit one of her bright red lips. Oliver honestly had no clue she was right there. Which was good because it allowed Felicity to glean some insight into what he was thinking.

“She’s out with that other guy, isn’t she?” Oliver cursed. “I screwed up. I should have made sure I tracked her down myself to talk to her.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Karen told him. “How badly do you want to fix this?” She tapped one finger on his hand that gripped onto her door. “Are you jealous?”

“Fuck, yeah, I’m jealous.” Oliver straightened and crossed his arms. He looked ready to hurt someone. “I wasn’t fast enough. With the other guy. With meeting her. With not telling her I was sorry that I might have embarrassed her with Laurel.”

He sounded so upset and sincere in his rant. But there was only one way to really prove that he actually wanted her and not the idea of her.

Felicity draped her coat on the top of the car and sidled her way around on dangerously high heels. She had to think about it for a second, she was no actress to change her voice. “Hey, handsome.” She ran a hand over his chest that lay somewhat bare and he shrugged it off. “Want to dance?”

“Not with you,” he told her with the briefest of glances. “And I don’t dance.”

Karen tried to hide her amusement and that gave Felicity even more incentive to follow through. She pouted up at him. “Please.”

Felicity pressed her entire body against his. She shimmied slightly. She never shimmied in her life until this moment. Oliver’s eyes barely flickered down to her. In a second, she was found wanting. It stung slightly.

“You’re gorgeous, but I’m not interested.” Oliver’s eyes sparked with desire but he shook his head. He leaned against Karen’s door in an effort to escape some of Felicity’s movements. His eyes dropped to Karen. “Can you call her? I just need to talk to her. You don’t have to give me her number, just call so I can apologize.”

“What are you sorry for, handsome?” Felicity asked in her best imitation of her mother.

“This doesn’t involve you,” Oliver barely told her over his shoulder. “Please, Professor.”

Karen shrugged, but her eyes met Felicity’s. She nodded at her mentor. “Okay.” Karen dialed the phone and Felicity’s coat began to ring.

Felicity went over to answer it as quickly as she could on the heels she was not used to wearing. Digging it out of the folds of the coat, Felicity picked it up and answered. “Yes?”

“Oliver would like to talk to you,” Karen said with a smile to her voice.

“He just was,” Felicity told her. “He didn’t seem to care a moment ago.”

Oliver’s eyes slowly rose to meet hers over the car’s roof. “Felicity?”

She tapped her phone. “I thought you wanted to call and apologize.”

He shook his head and slid over the hood of Karen’s car. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling the phone from her hand. He slammed it back on the top of the car. Oliver cradled her face in his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know,” Felicity said with a shrug. “You kind of just brushed me off.”

“Because I had no idea it was you.” His eyes trailed over her body and she noticed his Adam’s apple bob heavily in his throat. “I did tell you that you were gorgeous.”

“Yes, you did,” she agreed.

“Oh, just kiss her already,” Karen called out from inside the car.

Felicity glanced around, pulling his hand from her face. “It appears we have an audience.”

Oliver’s own eyes traveled over the group that had formed around them. “Yeah. You okay with that? Because it’s kind of a regular thing for me.”

She contemplated that. Felicity might not mind occasional public displays of affection but to know that people might always be there watching her? It kind of scared her. Was Oliver worth all of that?

Felicity stared up into his blue eyes and realized he was as unsure as she was. This wasn’t a joke for him. He was seriously interested in her and by the way he hesitated her opinion mattered. It was like she had this power over him in some way. Not that she asked for it. Some women would get off on it. For Felicity it was just another hurdle to cross. “I can try to be.”

“Good, because I’ve been dying to do this since yesterday.” Oliver pulled her in tight to his chest and kissed her. Right there in front of everyone, he laid his claim. Not just on her, but to her. There were a million promises laid out in the press of his lips. Felicity returned it with a few of her own.

When they broke apart, the crowd cheered. Even Karen let out a whoop of excitement.

Oliver clenched her hand within his own. He gathered up her coat and phone and looped his arm around her waist. Knocking on Karen’s roof, Oliver bent down to smile at her. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome. Both of you.”

Karen drove away and Oliver tugged Felicity even closer. “I think you owe me a last name.”

“Smoak,” Felicity told him. “My last name is Smoak.”

“Good.” He smiled at her and pulled her forward. “Now that is out of the way. I’d like to introduce you to some friends of mine.”

“I’d like that.” Felicity smiled up at him. Professor Smith seemed like she was right. Sometimes the ones you least expected to fall in love with were the ones that you were meant to be with.

#Olicity #olicity fanfiction #olicity au #olicityfic #one-shot

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