#he looks like someone tried to tan him with deck stain

[homoeroticgrappling]

"More orange than MJF when he walked out of the spraytanning booth" got me GOOD

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

hope you feel better, eclair <3

--

Tsunagu is drunk. He’s not drunk drunk, beer’s a little bit too light for that. He’d call himself tipsy at best. Everything feels warm, and fuzzy, and his body is loose and relaxed. He hasn’t felt like this for years, with… everything going on. He’s sitting up high, in the crow’s nest, sipping on beer, enjoying the wind and how the moon lights the clouds up, staining them silver. Tsunagu sighs, leaning backwards, back against body-warmed wood and legs crossed. 

He props his head on a hand and looks at the stars. Up there was the six-headed serpent of the seas, Nilau- they were a ferocious beast, the wrath of the ocean incarnate. Storms, lighting, and tragedy followed in their bath. Nilau’s longest head, curved fangs of stars dripping nebulae, pointed towards their rival. Ichimi.

Ichimi’s myth was slightly older than Nilau’s, if only because the latter was linked to the ocean, but Ichimi was linked to the winds. She is the fortune-favoured, the remmanents of a long-dead ship, blessed and cursed by the world as a whole. Ichimi had once had a captain, crew, and they sailed her all around the world. 

Then Nilau stuck. Death. Tragedy. Two new fated rivals, each with a burning hatred for one another- and in the sky, the center of their constellations pointed in two different directions, fundamental opposites. Ichimi’s was true north, the homecoming star, and with her story that was a tragedy in motion. What was a ship without her crew? Where was the crew without their ship? 

Nilau was the ever-shifting star, forever moving across the sky. The star crowning their belly was erratic, dimming one night then flaring up the other. It was said that whenever their star flared, a storm happened. 

It had been bright, brighter than Ichimi’s star, the past week or two. The curse was affecting the ocean. 

Tsunagu takes another sip of the beer. If the star did predict storms, and it might, then the entire ocean was fucked. He supposed that it was, but, well, the sky didn’t need to call all of them out for this. 

He stands up. The beer is finished, and if he gets any more drunk, Tsunagu might legitimately need to stay up here for a few hours. The ropes of the ship are as sturdy as ever, and his hands are steady as he attaches himself to the zipline someone had rigged up. Tsunagu checks the knots, pulls once, and jumps. 

Wind rushes through his hair, and Tsunagu can’t help but let out a ringing, resounding, laugh. His momentum carries him until the end, which is when the rope stops, and oh shit he’s forgotten how to- 

Water catches him. 

“Really, Tsunagu?” It places him gently onto the deck of the ship, untying knots. 

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven’t done the same.” Tsunagu puts the rope down. “...Thanks.” 

“Mhm,” Shinya says, nursing a bottle of- 

“Is that- wind-wine?” Holy shit, a bottle was worth double its weight in gold. What the fuck, Shinya. Then again. This was the Cursed Captain. Tsunagu really should stop being surprised at the levels of 'how the fuck' he generates. 

“Yep.” Shinya takes another sip. He’s sitting on top of a wooden crate, legs dangling and with two more bottles at his side. He tips the mouth of the bottle towards Tsunagu. “Want some?” 

-

Oh, they’re both so fucking drunk. Tsunagu giggles at the sight of Shinya trying to put his hat down… or it could be the other way around. He’s not sure. “No, wait, captain- cappy-tan?” Tsunagu pauses, enthralled by this line of thought. “Capya?” He wonders out loud? 

“What?” Shinya squints at him. Over the course of the thirty minutes they’ve been drinking, he has downed more cups than Tsunagu. To be honest, if Shinya could walk in a straight line, he’d be very impressed. Wind-wine was strong. Very strong. “Who?” 

“You, silly.” Tsunagu tries to poke him in the side, fails, and almost falls of the crate, and wow was that not fun. “Ow…” His face falls. 

“Clumsy,” Shinya says. “But also cute. You’re kinda like a, like-“ He waves his hand though the air, searching for words. Then he turns and claps his hands down on either side of Tsunagu, straddling him in the process. “Deer. That’s the thing. A little clumsy baby deer.” 

Tsunagu cocks his head. “W-huh?” His voice goes high-pitched at the end there, but how was he supposed to respond to that?” Shinya hums. 

“Mhm. An infuriating little shit. But a very cute one… you’re warm.” He slumps closer to Tsunagu. 

“You know what?” Tsunagu reaches for the bottle. “I think we both need more alcohol.” 

“Yep,” Shinya sleepily says. “It’s good. Makes everything a little less sharp…”

-

“You are making- making my exis- exists- life so weird! It’s hard!” Shinya flings his arms up, pacing on the deck, back and forth. “I keep looking at you and it’s like, oh hey Tsunagu’s looking good today. And no! You do not look good! You are maddening!” 

Tsunagu pouts. “You’re not even alive alive, why are you complaining? If anything, you’re the one haunt- ghosting? Ghosting me! Don’t blame me, blame yourself and Midnight! She choked me out! I was literally kidnapped!” 

“Oh, and who was the one that got cursed again?” Shinya whirls around and stabs a finger in his direction. 

“You, from the last time I checked-“ Shinya pulls at the ocean to tug him down. “W- I- hey!” He straddles Tsunagu, sitting on his stomach. 

“You,” Shinya snaps out, jabbing a finger to his face. Tsunagu can’t help but notice the way the moonlight reflects off of him, turning pretty in to perfect. Shinya looks like he’s carved from marble, and the only thing stopping him from being a statue- cold, unfeeling, uncaring of all troubles, is the scowl on his face. Tsunagu wants to touch it. Make him mad. “And your stupid, pretty, fucking- fucking green eyes! I want to strangle you.” 

The first thought that comes to Tsunagu’s mind is Shinya’s hot when he’s mad and how the fuck and huh??. But this is what he says “Like you’re tall enough to reach, captain.” A grin slides onto his face, taunting, mocking, menacing.

Shinya makes a noise humans usually wouldn’t be able to. A mix between a snarl and a growl, and he bares his teeth. “You’ve sunk low enough for me to reach, rich boy," He snaps out. "I could just-"

Their faces are so close together. If a strong wind blew they would be kissing. Tsunagu can smell the sugar put into the wind-wine from here. "Could just what?"

Shinya responds by throwing water into his face.

--

the BANTER... i love writing these two, wish i could expand more on this scene, but alas. real life (derogatory) they have a water fight and another almost-confession and they check each other out with wet clothes (jeanist wears white, right) and then they get semi-sick in the morning, cant remember almost all of it, and then they Regret™

-story anon

HEHEHEHEHHHE >:D

Thank you- this definitely made me feel 100 times better!!!

They love each other but don’t tell them that- they “hate” one another-

The MYTHS <3333

God I love them sm-

[luxekook]

stay in your lane | jjk

⇥ pairing: jungkook x reader ⇥ genre:  e2l / college au / smut / fluff / crack ⇥ summary: in which the reader is the captain of the women’s swim team and jungkook is the “golden freshman” of the men’s swim team... OR in which jungkook is overtly whipped for the reader and acts out in any way possible to gain her love and attention - no matter the consequence. ⇥ word count: 5.8k ⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, Vine references, dirty talk, sub!jk, dom!reader, jungkook being the biggest brat, swimming lingo, college athlete party, drinking, body shots, noona kink™, smut (edging/orgasm denial, face sitting, oral [m + f receiving], unprotected sex [wrap it, plz], spitting, cum eating [i am sorry skksks])

In all your twenty-two years of living, you never encountered anyone as openly cocky as Jeon Jungkook. You stared in disbelief as the boy posed and preened from his lane of the pool, throwing his fist in the air and flexing his muscles.

“He is such a hoe for attention,” Your teammate Lina said, shaking her head next to you and reluctantly clapping along with the crowd gathered for the Regional Swimming and Diving Championships.

You nodded in agreement, plastering a fake smile on your face as you forced your hands to clap. As the captain of your college’s women’s swim team, you had to keep up appearances after all. You cheered for everyone - regardless of how infuriating they might be.

When you were appointed as captain this past fall, you were fucking thrilled.

Leadership came naturally to you, and it always felt good when it was recognized by others. For you, being a leader meant being a bad bitch - powerful, fearless, intimidated by no one.

And a bad bitch you were. You liked to quietly dominate in pretty much all facets of your life. You aced your studies, you broke records, you fucked hard.

But this year, your fucking senior year, you were consistently being pressed, your dominance constantly being questioned, your restraint wearing thin.

And it was all Jungkook’s fault.

It all started at the beginning of the swim season... You had been talking to Kim Seokjin - the captain of the men’s team - before the very first practice. You had been glad the fellow senior was chosen, not only because he was a solid swimmer, but because he was supportive and such a laugh.

The two of you had been going over your competition schedules when a boy you hadn’t seen before had bounded up to Seokjin. “Jin-hyung! There you are. I thought I was running late, but it turns out I’m just really early.” You had blinked at the energetic boy who’d been way too excited for the 6 AM hour. He had felt your stare, looked at you, and continued, “Oh, hello. I’m Jungkook! Are you a freshman, too?”

Seokjin had stifled a laugh, and, for his sake, you had hoped it was at this Jungkook’s expense. “No,” You had glared up at him, ignoring his outstretched palm, “I’m a senior and the fucking captain of the women’s team.”

The freshman had turned bright red before smiling at you with renewed vigor, “So, you’re my noona then?”

“I prefer (y/n),” Your teeth had gritted together as your hands fell to your hips.

“Jungkookie…” Seokjin must have seen something on the younger boy’s face and had tried to prevent him from speaking again. It had been no use.

Jungkook had stared down at you with stars in his eyes as he announced, “I think I prefer you, too.”

And it had been precisely at that moment you knew that someday in the near or distant future you would enjoy disciplining that boy. Thoroughly.

Now, as if he felt your attention on him, Jungkook faced the direction where your team was gathered and locked eyes with you. His smile grew infinitesimally larger, and he blew you an exaggerated kiss with a wink. Your jaw clenched. It looked like you were going to need to have yet another talk with Seokjin about teaching Jungkook his fuckboy mannerisms.

Finally, the next event began to be announced, and Jungkook hopped out of the pool. You tried to turn your attention away from him, but you couldn’t. Not when he looked like he had been sculpted by the gods and had drops of water cascading down his tanned skin.

The proclaimed “golden freshman” strutted back towards your team area. His abs moved with each step, his muscled chest heaved for breath, his tight swim suit gripped his thighs and his crotch - basically leaving little to the imagination.

You stared at him with raised eyebrows as he approached, grinning at you and running a hand through his wet hair to slick it back out of his face.

Jungkook stopped in front of you and Lina, dangling his goggles from one long finger and swinging them in your face. “Did you see me win, noona?”

[That little shit.]

You swallowed your instinct to reply with a scathing remark. Instead, you remained cool as ice, just as you always did when Jungkook demanded your attention. It was your foolproof method for dealing with brats. “You know I did, Jeon. I have to watch everyone. That’s what good captains do.”

“Ah, that’s right. Captain noona…” His grin returned as you stared (READ: glared) up at him, “Always cheering me on and watching me win.”

“God, carrying that giant ego around must be exhausting,” Lina cocked her head and frowned at the younger boy.

“Are you talking about my dick?” Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows in mock confusion, “I mean, I guess it is pretty big. Maybe noona could help me carry it...”

You saw red; and, for the first time since meeting him, your perfect control snapped. Rising to your tiptoes, you gripped his neck to lower him enough so your mouth lined up with his ear, “Listen, Jeon. You better watch that pretty little mouth of yours before I tie you up and gag you.”

You pulled back. Jungkook’s eyes were blown wide open, his cheeks stained pink, his ears bright red. “N-noona!”

Lina was cackling next to you over how flustered you made the typically overconfident boy. You allowed yourself a brief cheeky smile at your friend before returning to a straight face. You needed to go get ready for your next race.

You had been trying all season to break your personal best time in the 100 meter butterfly, and you had a good feeling that you might just accomplish that today.

“I’m going to go warm-up,” You told Lina, grabbing your swim cap and goggles from your bag.

“Good luck, (y/n)!” Lina slapped you a high-five, “You got this. You are a legend. A queen!”

“A goddess!” Jungkook chimed in, peering at you from over Lina’s shoulder with heart eyes.

“Kook,” Seokjin swooped in and tugged the boy away from you, “Not the time. (Y/n) needs to focus! Good luck, babe!”

You gave the other captain a thumbs-up and headed down onto the pool deck. Faintly from the stands behind you, you heard Jungkook whining on about how Seokjin was allowed to call you ‘babe’ but he wasn’t.

Pushing that aside, you hopped into the designated warm-up/cool-down pool that was adjacent to the competition pool and proceeded to loosen up before your race.

Visualize the victory.

Take down the competition.

Leave nothing behind.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself hovering over the starting block, awaiting the starter. The natatorium was silent. You sucked in a breath and dove into the pool at the sound of the starting buzz.

Your body felt like it was on autopilot. Kick, kick, pull. Kick, kick, pull. Each time you took a breathe you could hear a split second of the roaring crowd. You pushed yourself faster.

Two laps turned into three as you sprinted. You didn’t dare check on your competition; those would be precious milliseconds wasted. And, as you swam your final lap, you didn’t even dare to breathe, swimming your hardest right until you hit the wall.

Gasping, you clutched the wall and swung around to look at your time.

00:51.34

Your best fucking time.

You felt like crying, laughing, and screaming all at once. As you shook hands with the girls to your right and left, you smiled hugely up at your cheering teammates. They had known how much you wanted this - needed this.

The next race began to be announced, and you hauled your tired self out of the pool. Immediately, you were swept into a tight hug by your coach followed by what felt like your whole entire team. Your cheeks honestly hurt from smiling so hard.

As you thanked your last teammate, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Noona?”

You had never heard Jungkook sound so tiny; and, when you turned around, you didn’t stop him from hugging you.

“You did so good,” He mumbled, head burrowed into your wet hair. “My noona is so fucking good.”

You melted at his words. It had been so long since someone had called you ‘theirs’. And, so, you blamed your post-adrenaline spike exhaustion for your following actions.

Your arms slid around him, tugging him closer. You felt every ridge of his hard body - separated only by the thin swimsuits you each wore. Your nipples brushed his chest, and you honestly didn’t know if the moan that followed was from you or from Jungkook.

You whispered, “Thank you, Jungkook.” Calling him by his first name was a rarity for you, and the muffled hum from the boy wrapped around you let you know it was well received.

And, when you pulled away from him, you made sure to run your hands over his chest along the way.

[That one had been on your bucket list, okay?]

Still so close to you, Jungkook stared at you with an unreadable expression. “Noona, are you coming over tonight?”

The men’s team always hosted the post-meet party at their house, and that was fine with you and your team. It meant no mess and lots of free alcohol.

“Yeah,” You pulled your wet hair over your shoulder, “I’ll be there. Post-Regionals is always so fun.”

“Well,” Jungkook puffed out his chest, “This year will be even more fun since I’ll be there!”

Ah, there he was - Cocky Jungkook™.

“You promise?” You smirked, tossing you hair over your shoulder as you moved past him, “After all, this is the only one you’ll get with me, Jeon.”

You didn’t look back at him as you made your way back to your team area.

But, if you had, you would have seen him staring intently at you with determination.

The challenge you had half-knowingly thrown down had been accepted.

Hours later, you and your teammates were decidedly tipsy from pre-gaming. 

“Okay, we should get going,” You said, checking your phone, “Jin said - and I quote - the boys are going to start rioting if we don’t get our sweet asses over there.”

“I bet he’s talking about Jungkook,” One of your teammates giggled, “That kid’s been trying to get with (y/n) this whole year.”

“That’s so true,” Lina threw her arm over your shoulder, “You might as well just fuck him and put us all out of our misery. We know you want to.”

You scoffed, pushing her arm off of you, “I will not be fucking anyone.”

“That’s what you said last year,” Lina fired back.

“Wait, what happened last year?” One of the freshman whispered.

You sighed, “Two words. Lim Jaebeom.”

A collective hum of appreciation and understanding rose from the group at the mention of the now-graduated swimmer.

Your phone buzzed with an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, answering it. “Seokjin, for the love of god, we’re coming!”

“(Y/n)!” Seokjin yelled at you through the cries of what sounded like an angry mob, “My death will be on your hands if you don’t show up within the next minute!”

“You’re so fucking dramatic, Kim,” You hung up on him. Every fucking year the men’s team did this. You swore they couldn’t entertain themselves without you and your team.

“Come on,” You marched to the door, “Time to go ruin some boys.” With that, the lot of you walked across the street to the men’s team’s house.

[Yes, they literally lived right across the street. Seokjin was the king of drama.]

Not even bothering to knock, you swung open the door.

“What the fuck is up, Kyle!” Lina announced your presence for you as she hurried past, “Your better halves have arrived.”

“Oh, thank god!” Seokjin appeared by your side, clutching his chest, “My life is saved at last.”

You playfully shoved him, “Shut up, Kim. Now, where are the drinks?”

“Allow me to guide you to them, my queen,” Seokjin grabbed your hand and tugged you over towards the crowded kitchen.

You let him lead you, greeting members of the men’s team as you passed by them. Your pesky little freshman was nowhere in sight.

“Captains coming through!” Jin screeched, “Part the seas!”

You shook your head in disbelief at his antics, laughing as people actually seemed to be listening to the chaotic boy.

“See what authority we have when we’re together, babe? We could totally be a power couple,” Jin grinned at you as you finally arrived by the drinks scattered across the kitchen counter.

You weren’t going to lie, Seokjin was hot. You knew it. He knew it. The pope knew it.

But, you had done the whole alpha male thing. It was fun, but just not for you. No, you wanted someone a bit more submissive. Someone who you could gently break and build back up again. Someone like—

“Jungkook!” Jin cried, almost bursting your eardrum, “Come take a shot with your captains!”

Busying yourself with pouring shots for the three of you, you felt Jungkook arrive before you saw him. The warmth of his body seeped into you as he appeared by your side.

“Hi, noona,” He greeted you, his arm nudging yours. You turned, taking in his ripped jeans and loose black shirt before meeting his eyes.

“Hi, Jeon,” You shot him a small smile. He looked really fucking good tonight. His hair was long and messy, like he had been running his hands through it constantly. His cheeks were flushed, and you wondered how much he had to drink before you arrived.

“Yes, yes, you have now exchanged greetings. Let’s move on,” Seokjin grabbed one of the shots you poured and hoisted it into the air, “To the best captains you’ve ever had!”

You threw your head back and laughed as you played along, lifting your glass in the air beside Jin. You felt Jungkook looking at you as if he’d never seen you act so carefree. And maybe he hadn’t.

The room echoed Seokjin’s declaration, and you took the shot, feeling the tequila burn down your throat as you locked eyes with Jungkook yet again. Heat settled deep in your stomach that you fucking knew was not from the alcohol you just consumed.

Jungkook’s lips were wet from the tequila, and your tongue subconsciously darted out to lick your own. His eyes latched onto the movement before looking back at you under heavy lids. “Noona…” The honorific came out like a plea, but you didn’t even think he knew what he was asking for.

“(Y/n)!” One of your teammates called to you from across the room, “Play King’s Cup with us!” You shot her a thumbs up. Fixing yourself a drink, you gave the now pouting Jungkook a lazy smile, “Talk to you later?”

You squeezed his arm briefly; and, as you sauntered away, you felt his eyes glued to your ass. And, naturally, you made sure to put a nice swing into it. God, were you actually going to do this? Were you actually considering fucking him tonight?

[Yes.]

You cursed Lina for putting the idea into the front of your mind. You cursed yourself for having that very same idea since the very second you met him. And you cursed the boy himself for being so outwardly arrogant but so sinfully submissive.

[Or at least you hoped he was a sub. God, how you hoped.]

You greeted the group gathered around the coffee table for King’s Cup and plopped yourself down between Park Jimin and Lina. Jimin smiled at you, his eyes crinkling and his cheeks pink. “Hi, (y/n)! I’m surprised Jungkook let you leave his side.”

Your eyebrows flew up, “And what makes you think I let Jungkook dictate my actions?”

Jimin gulped, eyes searching around the group for assistance and coming up empty handed. No one wanted to deal with your wrath. “I- I thought you were getting together?”

Lina let out a low whistle, “Jimin, you’re just a little too early, my dude. (Y/n), give the poor kid a break. Let’s play some King’s!”

Jimin let out a sigh of relief as the matter was dropped. “Sorry, (y/n). Geez, you’re scary when you’re mad, but also kind of hot.”

His admission cracked you up, and you pinched his blushing cheek, “Jimin, you’re too cute. Don’t even worry about it.”

Two boys turned bright red at your actions: Jimin from embarrassment and Jungkook from jealousy.

You didn’t even know how many rounds of the game you played before someone suggested playing something else. You had a pretty nice buzz going, leaning on Jimin’s arm and laughing at a joke Lina told.

“I’ve got it!” Kim Taehyung snapped his fingers, grinning manically, “Body shots!”

Chaos ensued. It seemed half the group was down, and half the group was against it.

You knew Lina had the fattest crush on Tae, and so you reluctantly joined the side in agreement. She shot you a grateful look. 

“Let’s fucking do it,” You got to your feet, “Jin, do you have salt and limes?”

“What kind of host do you think I am?” He cried, running over to the kitchen and pulling random ingredients off of shelves. “We have salt, limes, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, cherries, sugar, orange juice, pickle juice, pepper—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” You slapped a hand over his mouth, “Tequila, salt, and limes should be okay. God, were you really just about to offer pepper? As in the fucking spice?”

“Yes,” His muffled response came from behind your hand.

“You’re something else, Kim Seokjin,” You muttered before turning back to the group. “Alright, who’s going first?”

“We wrote everyone’s names down, and we’re going to take turns picking,” Lina said, thrusting a hat in your direction that was full of slips of paper.

“No one else wants to go first?” You looked around the room suspiciously and then shrugged, “Alright, fine.”

You dipped your hand into the pile of papers and selected one. Opening it, your breath escaped you in a whoosh, “Jeon Jungkook.”

The room erupted into cheers.

“Fuck yeah! Get it, Jeon!”

“Oh, this is going to be hot!”

“Yas queen! That’s my mom right there!”

You threw the slip of paper at Lina as she screamed that last remark at you.

Searching the room for Jungkook, you found him lounging by the empty couch against the far wall waiting for you with a shit-eating grin. Did the boy think he was going to be taking the shot off of you?

[Oh, how foolish.]

You approached him, grabbing the bottle of tequila, a shot glass, the salt, and a slice of lime from Jin on your way over. Jungkook opened his mouth to say something, but you didn’t allow him the chance, “Shirt off, Jeon.”

Whistles broke out as Jungkook froze, looking confused for a second, and then he tugged his shirt over his head. You praised your decision-making skills. His body deserved to be worshipped with your tongue. It was only right and just.

“Now what, noona?” The boy grinned, crossing his arms across his chest. A move you knew he only did because it made his biceps flex.

“Lay down,” You tilted your head, indicating he should get down on the couch, “And shut up.”

Jungkook’s eyes heated at your words. He obeyed, laying down just like you asked. However, he brought his arms up and clasped his hands behind his head. The fucking brat knew what he was doing.

You would punish him accordingly.

Your finger brushed over his lips before pushing the slice of lime between them. “Hold that for me, would you?” You murmured, hitching one leg over his body and settling firmly on his lap.

Assessing where to put the shot, you decided—fuck it—and placed it right between his legs.

Vaguely, you heard the people surrounding you yelling and screaming, but you were only focused on Jungkook and how round his eyes were as they stared at your hand holding the shot glass steady, dangerously close to his crotch.

Suppressing a smile, you poured a trail of salt down the middle of his abs. Finally unleashing your evil grin, you lean close to him with your hair blocking your face from the audience, “You ready, baby boy?”

He nodded furiously.

You flicked your hair over your shoulder and slowly lowered yourself over his stomach. Keeping your eyes on his, you swiped your tongue teasingly over your bottom lip. Jungkook’s chest was heaving, his abs were tensing, his eyes were hooded.

You licked slowly down his stomach, tasting the salt and him all at once. His skin was burning under your tongue as you delved into each groove of his abs, making sure no salt was left behind. Satisfied you had gotten all of it, you shifted lower still, ghosting over the now growing bulge in his jeans to hover over the shot.

Wrapping your lips around the glass, you tilted your head back as you straightened into a sitting position. The liquid coursed down your throat, but you barely felt the burn this time. You moved up, settling right on his hardening cock, and sucked the lime from his mouth.

Jungkook let out a breathy moan as you threw the lime’s peel somewhere over your shoulder, ignoring the indignant cry in response from Jin.

You kissed him, his lips sticky with lime juice and oh so delicious. His hands finally moved from behind his head to grip your hips. You didn’t even realize you were grinding into him until his hands tried to hold you still.

[Sorry, not sorry.]

Sucking his bottom lip into your mouth, you tugged on it before releasing it to place another soft kiss on his mouth.

“Okay, okay,” Seokjin’s loud voice broke through your daze, “No fornicating on my couch, please!”

“So, if we were married, we could fuck on it? Is that what you’re saying?” You pulled away from Jungkook’s mouth and laughed at Jin’s gobsmacked expression.

“Yah, so disrespectful!” He yanked you off of Jungkook and set you on your feet, “Okay, who’s next? Tae and Lina? Me and Jiminie?”

You shook your head at your fellow captain and turned back to Jungkook; but, you found the couch empty. Whipping around to look for him, you noticed one of your teammates gesturing towards the stairs. You shot them a thankful glance and darted in the direction the boy apparently disappeared in.

“Jeon?” You called as you reached the top of the staircase. Failing to hear a response, you moved down the hallway. Your eyes and ears strained for any sign of him.

Finally, your gaze focused on the closed door at the far end of the hall. A soft light emitted from the bottom of it; and, as you crept closer, you heard Jungkook cursing on the other side of it.

You knocked once. “Jeon? What are you do—” Your words died in your throat as you threw open the door and laid eyes on a very naked and very turned on Jungkook.

“Noona, I can explain!” He jumped out of his bed, fumbling around for his pants.

You calmly shut the door and locked it behind you. 

“Shh, baby,” You whispered, crossing the room and stopping in front of him. “You don’t have to explain. It made you hard, didn’t it? Having me on top of you, licking your skin, kissing your lips… You just couldn’t help yourself, hmm?”

Jungkook’s throat bobbed, “Y-yes. I’m so hard it hurts. Noona, please touch me.”

“I can see that,” You glanced down at his cock. It was admittedly big, and it reminded you of what he had said earlier about you holding it for him. “Jungkook, I want to make you feel good, but you’ve been such a brat to me this whole year. Why should I?”

You turned and began to walk to the door. As predicted, Jungkook rushed around you to block the exit, “Please, (Y/n)! I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll stop bugging you. I’ll return the swim cap I stole from your bag...”

[That was him? You looked for that cap for weeks!]

He continued, “I’ll stop trying to get your attention! I’ll—”

You grabbed his cock - a truly effective method to shut him up. “You’ll be good for me, baby?” Your thumb brushed across his slit, collecting the drop of precum gathered there. Bringing your thumb to your mouth, you licked the droplet off, savoring the salty taste.

He let out a strangled groan as you did so. “Fuck yes, I’ll be good for you. I’ll be your good boy.”

“You know,” Your hand returned to stroke his cock slowly, before dropping it, “I don’t think I believe you.”

“No!” Jungkook looked close to tears as he tried to bring your hand back, “Please, I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” You sunk to your knees before him, “You’ll do anything, Kookie?”

He shuddered, “Yeah, I’m yours. I’ll do anything as long as you ask me.”

“Really?” You cooed, running your fingers up his toned calves and quads, “I like that the sound of that, baby. Okay, fine. But you can’t come until I say so, got it?”

After seeing him nod vigorously, you spit on the head of his cock and use your hand to spread the combination of spit and precum around.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hissed, leaning against the door, “Noona is so dirty.”

“Oh, baby,” You grinned, “You have no idea.”

And, with that, you took the head of his cock into your mouth and sucked.

Jungkook let out a choked groan, his fingers sliding into your hair.

You took him as far as you could and then swallowed around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” He chanted above you. You glanced up at him and hummed in amusement at his fucked out expression, and the stimulation from your humming only made him squeeze his eyes shut tighter.

You released him with a pop. “Jungkook, look at me when I suck your cock.”

“Y-yes, noona,” The boy blinked his eyes open and angled his head down to meet your eyes.

“Good boy,” You nodded and then licked up the underside of his cock before taking him back into your mouth.

You blew him hard, stroking the parts of his cock you couldn’t fit entirely in your mouth. Your mouth bobbed, your hands grabbed his ass, your tongue swiped over him.

“Please, please, noona, I’m so close,” he begged, looking down at you with wide eyes and a pleading expression, “Please let me come, (y/n)!”

You glared up at him, releasing him once again, “No.”

“What? Why?” Jungkook gasped above me, his breath coming in pants, “Please, can I come in your mouth?”

“No,” You repeated, your hand stroking him loosely. He whined, his hips straining to try to get you to grip him tighter.

You dropped your hold and stood, heading over to his bed.

“Nooo! Noona!” The brat moaned from behind you. You glanced back and scowled as you saw him clutching his cock in his hands.

“Jungkook, if you don’t get your hands off your cock in the next second, I won’t let you touch me.”

He dropped his cock like a hot potato. “I can touch you?” His eyes shone at the possibility.

You rolled your eyes and tugged your t-shirt dress over your head.

“Damn, noona, you’re so sexy,” Jungkook reached out to grab your waist but you smacked his hand away.

“Lay down on the bed, Kook,” You ordered, unclasping your bra and shimmying out of your thong, “I’m going to ride your face, and you’re going to make me come.”

“Hell yeah,” The idiot launched himself onto the bed and flipped over onto his back, “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.”

You pinched his nipple and he yelped. “You’re such a dweeb,” You sighed, getting into position on top of him. He grinned up at you from in between your thighs.

“I think I’m in heaven,” He said, flicking his eyes across your body and staring hungrily at your pussy.

“Hm,” You shrugged and lowered yourself down just out of reach of his tongue, “I don’t know about that, but I do know that if you make me come hard enough, I’ll reward you.”

With that, you sunk down onto his face. His tongue immediately delved into you, flicking and lathering between your folds. His hands flew up to grip your ass, pushing you harder down onto his face.

[Fuck, you had never been more thankful for swimming and its conditioning. Amazing breath control? Check. Incredible stamina? Double check.]

You arched your back as Jungkook circled your aching clit. “That’s it, baby,” You moaned, reaching down to roll your hardened nipples between your fingers, “You’re doing so well. You’re making me feel so good.”

His pace quickened at the sound of your praises, his tongue thrust inside you, his nose rubbed at your clit. You felt the pleasure building and building. “Yes, Jungkook, don’t stop,” You looked down at him and his eyes were so dilated. He was looking back at you like you were the only thing that mattered to him.

And it was that look that pushed you over the edge. You came with a scream, your legs giving out from under you and your full weight falling on Jungkook. The boy took it, tongue unceasing in its movements, lapping up every last drop you have him.

As you rode out the last of your orgasm, you lifted yourself off of Jungkook and stood.

“I’m sorry, noona,” Jungkook said, breathing hard.

“What for, baby?” Your cocked your head, confused as to what he could possibly be sorry for after making you come so hard.

The poor boy blushed furiously. You glanced over him and quickly realized the problem.

“You came on yourself?” You murmured, stroking your hand through his hair as he gazed up at you regretfully.

He nodded, lower lip jutting out in a cute pout.

“You know,” You said, rounding the bed and settling in between his legs. “Usually I would punish you for this, but I think it’s really fucking hot that you came just from eating me out, baby. I’m just sad you didn’t come in my mouth or my pussy.”

You swiped your finger across the cum gathered on across his abs and sucked it into your mouth.

“I can still come inside you, noona!” Jungkook rocketed up into a sitting position, “Look, I’m already hard again! That’s the effect you have on me!”

You looked down and, sure enough, he was right.

“What a lovely surprise,” You murmured, “Now, should I let you have my mouth or my pussy?”

“I would die for your pussy, noona,” Jungkook said gravely.

“Always so dramatic…” You pushed him back down and lined his cock up with your pussy.

He bit his lip, watching entranced as you pushed the very tip of his cock inside you. A choked breath burst out of Jungkook as you sunk down lower.

“Noona, you’re so fucking tight. You feel so fucking good,” His hands clenched on your thighs as you took him to the hilt and rolled your hips. Damn, he filled you up so nicely. Your walls clenched tightly around him, every shift of your hips brought delicious friction.

“Move, noona, please,” He begged, “Fuck me.”

You lifted yourself up and sunk back down, reveling in the moan he let out in response.

“Play with my nipples, Kook,” You panted, beginning to ride him hard.

Jungkook grabbed your ass and shifted backwards. Sitting with his back against the headboard, his mouth descended onto one of your nipples.

“Oh, yes, that’s it, baby,” You moaned, grinding down onto him as he bit down lightly.

“You’re so fucking hot, noona,” Jungkook groaned, “And your pussy feels so fucking good. I always knew it would though…”

You gripped his hair and tugged hard, “Don’t make me follow through with my gag idea.”

You felt his cock twitch, “Oh, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” He lied.

You brought two fingers to his mouth, “Suck.”

His eyes widened at your command, but his mouth opened obediently. You shoved your fingers inside. Quickening your pace, you bounced on his cock as he sucked on your fingers, moaning around them. You brought your other hand down to play with your clit as you felt your second orgasm rising.

“Are you going to come, Kook?” You panted, clenching down around him, “Are you going to fill me up? Are you going to paint my walls with your cum?”

He nodded furiously, still lapping at your fingers. His hips bucked up into yours, and you clenched down one last time before pinching your clit.

The onset of your climax set off Jungkook’s as he came hard. You tugged your fingers out of his mouth as the boy cursed and cried your name over and over.

The warmth of him filling you up felt so fucking good. “You’re such a good boy, baby. You’re my good boy.”

“Your good boy,” He smiled with his eyes still shut, “I’m noona’s good boy.”

Suddenly his eyes shot open and he frowned, “But for how long?”

“What, baby?” You shifted off of him to lay down at his side.

“How long am I going to be your baby?” His pout from earlier had returned with epic proportions, “Don’t think I didn’t see you earlier getting close with Jimin-hyung downstairs. And I know you let Jin-hyung call you ‘babe’! And—”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. “Shut up, you idiot,” You said, lips brushing over his, “You’re mine for as long as you want me and for as long as I want you.”

His pout remained, “But what if Jaebeom-hyung comes back?”

“How do you even— I’m going to kill Jin,” You growled before bringing your hand up to brush over Jungkook’s cheek. “Jungkook, listen to me. Yes, you’ve been a nuisance this whole season, but I always knew you did it because you liked me.”

You grinned at his blush and continued, “Well, guess what? I like you, too. God only knows why. You’re cocky and brash and loud and—mmmf!”

Jungkook flipped you over and attacked your mouth with kisses. “Noona, you like me?”

“Yes,” You groaned, shifting your face to try to avoid some of his affection, “I like you, you big brute of a baby.”

“Oh, this is so exciting! I’m going to have to plan the most perfect first date. Oh my god, we are totally going be that Swim Power Couple™. Holy shit, wait! Just think about how good our kids are going to be! We’re going to make a whole team of Olympians, noona!”

“Jeon Jungkook!” You screamed, “Kids?! Good god, what am I going to do with you?”

He smiled down at you and kissed your cheek, “Keep me forever, I hope, noona.”

You smiled back at him softly, “I think I just might…”

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[friendlyfrat-boy]

To Learn, To Grow, To Love

pairings: Usopp x Sanji (whatever that is called)

summary:

On Sabaody Archipelago, the nine were separated, sent to nine different locations to train, to grow stronger for the New World.

Usopp was sent to the Boyn islands, but he didn't know that. When he came there, he didn't know anything, and he was alone. No teacher, no friendly face, no one to save him and accompany him. No one to keep him from sinking into hollow isolation. He spent two years there, on an island where everything tried to kill him and all he could do was hide and try to survive. When all is said and done, he's hardly the apex predator there. No, unlike Luffy, raw strength did not save him here. But he did survive. And he does escape.

A mistake in his flying gear, aka a very large ant, left him stranded in the middle of the Grand Line. Luckily, he is found by Sanji on the revolutionary ship, and he is rescued. But he isn't alright, and Sanji notices this. Usopp needs to learn to heal, and perhaps, if things go just right, to love.

Chapter One

Two Years Apart,

One Moment Together

"What the fuck is that," Sanji muttered to himself, hand raised up to shield his eyes from the harsh rays of the sun as he peered out to sea.

He'd finally found refuge from the dozens of drag queens out for his dignity atop the mast of the ship. Why the hell had they insisted on coming along for his final journey to Sabaody Archipelago? Couldn't they give him some time to breathe out after these two horrible years?

Worst of all, they just wouldn't let him be in one place, not even on this damned ship. Sure, it was a rather large ship, fit for a whole gaggle of revolutionaries, but there just wasn't enough space to run away from all these drag queens for extended periods of time. The only place he could remotely consider safe was his private quarters, but that was only at night.

Regardless, he'd found some sort of solitude, perched up high on the main mast. Down below, he could see the dots that were his tormentors searching high and low for him. Some held dresses in their hands, others make-up. The pokers of the devils, he thought.

But he wasn't looking down there right now. No, for a while now, his attention had been focused on a little dot on the horizon. It was almost white and orange, but he could only barely tell that from the immense distance. For a while, he'd just thought it was the ship of some other crew or something. The sea was wide, and meeting other ships, as uncommon as it was, wasn't entirely rare. But something about that shape made Sanji reconsider that idea.

As time went on, soon enough, the dot became more visible, more defined in shape and colour. It seemed mostly white, with blots of orange and grey. But that's not the interesting part. No, the dot was, if Sanji still had his eyes still attached, an ant. Not in size, no, not in general shape, either. Just a straight up ant. If Sanji had been three years younger, still working at the Baratie in the mild East Blue, he would have doubted his eyes and/or sanity. Now… he really wouldn't be too surprised to see a giant ant out at sea.

Taking a drag of his cigarette (they'd thankfully let him restock every now and then) he continued observing the ant, as it was. Observation number one: it was big. Damn big. Big enough for a dozen people to ride on. Observation number two: it was dead. Dead as dust. Not one of the limbs was moving (one even seemed to be missing), the head was bobbing up and down lifelessly, and a pair of wings floated aimlessly at its sides. But the third observation, the one that made Sanji consider doing more than just observing the damn thing, was that something about it seemed to be alive.

It was still quite far away, so he could barely see it, but from his younger days, when spotting a ship was essential to life, he could make out a striking detail. Somebody was riding the ant. Well, less so riding, and more so just paddling along, using it more as a piece of driftwood than anything alive. The reason the person riding it stood out to Sanji was not how they continued paddling furiously despite barely getting anywhere, but more so their clothing.

Actually, the damn guy was barely dressed, his upper body mostly exposed, but what he was dressed in was all green. Hat? Green. Big, poofy pants? Green. The giant bag behind him, large enough to fit enough meat to satiate Luffy for five minutes? Very green. Damn green. All and all, the guy was a clear contrast to the dead ant itself.

But the final detail, the one that made Sanji willingly jump off the mast to greet the dozens of tormentors below, was his nose. Long and rounded at the tip. Not Kaku's, not anybody else's on the four damn seas…Usopp's.

The chances should have been next to impossible, the probability close to zero, but… There was no mistaking that nose. Ant aside, he wasn't about to let Usopp drift them on by. Promise to meet at Sabaody Archipelago be damned, Usopp clearly needed his help.

"Shitty Ivan!" Sanji called out, making his entrance on deck by planting his foot in the face of a surprised okama. With the skill and grace of someone who was clearly used to dealing with desperate unkillable machines of feminine beauty, he kicked the tormentor away before he had the time to try and make a grab for his ankles. A dozen other tormentors on deck turned to him with hungry eyes, sparing no sympathy for their "fallen" comrade. Sanji bit down on his cigarette and prepared himself for a long chase. He'd learnt long ago that there was no use trying to defeat all of them. One would always be replaced by two. His best bet had always been to run.

"What is it, Sanji-Kun?" Ivan asked, popping his slender, beautiful face out from the nook of some door Sanji hadn't noticed. Damn, he hated it when that shitty revolutionary used his powers to give him a female body. It was the only way Sanji had been able to see the female form for these past two years (outside of the imagination), but that didn't mean he liked it. If anything, it was more infuriating than his normal (albeit still terrifying) form. Kicking a pursuing tormentor in the face, Sanji turned to answer the admittedly sexy man. No words he'd ever want to hear himself utter, but it was true in this case.

"Turn the ship starboard, there's someone we need to rescue," Sanji said flatly, jerking a thumb at the still distant form of the ant. Ivankov trailed along his finger to gaze out at sea, where the ant was quite clearly visible. Humming, the man-in-the-body-of-a-hot-sexy-woman squinted at it, unknowingly copying Sanji by shading his eyes with his hand.

"Oh my! Inazuma, dear," the man mentioned emerged from behind Ivankov, thankfully as a man and not as a woman, "will you turn the ship starboard? Sanji-Kun, our newest member, would like to make a new friend." Inazuma nodded blankly and walked across the deck to do just that. Sanji followed his back with his gaze for a moment, before apprehensively jumping into the air to avoid being body-slammed by six okama at once.

As Sanji courageously jumped through the air, dodging missile-like drag queens left and right, the ship swerved harsly, the wood groaning just slightly as it was forced in a whole new direction. A few minutes passed, and soon enough, the ant was close enough to make out some actual details. Firstly, the man sitting on it was definitely Usopp. Tan skin, eager locks of hair going wherever they wanted to, circular eyes, and finally, long nose… Sanji was glad his assessment had been so spot-on.

However, what Usopp was doing made Sanji do a second take. He was paddling alright, but he was doing it with an oddly huge paddle. The paddle was black in tint, but where Usopp held it and where the end of it connected to the water, it was green, probably wrapped in leaves. But even more unnerving, Usopp simply hadn't noticed them. And they were close, too. In fact, they were just about to dangle down a ladder for him to hop onto.

But… he just didn't see them at all. Heavy, black bags hung from his eerily overfocused eye. Sanji could only see one visible eye, but it seemed dry, too intent on whatever he was looking for to even notice them. That wasn't all, either. No, his whole body had a strange tremble to it. His muscles, lean and toned under tanned plant-stained skin, were clearly exhausted. Sanji was no doctor, but as a proficient fighter, he knew what an overused muscle looked like. Bulging unnaturally and twitching with every movement - that was how Usopp's muscles looked like.

Furthermore, the actual movements that the muscles were executing almost seemed painful in how robotic they were. Paddle up, paddle to the front, paddle down, paddle back. Repeat on the other side. He… he'd been doing this for a while, hadn't he? Too long, if his muscles were anything to go by. Fixation. That's what it was. Usopp, as he was now, was the very image of unhealthy, self-destructive fixation.

"Oi, Usopp!" Sanji called out from the deck, where the okamas had thankfully let him do this without being interrupted. Usopp didn't even twitch at being called out to. Not a movement, only yet another paddle back. "Usopp! Listen to me, you shitty long-nose!"

Nothing.

That was enough. Sanji had been awaiting his meeting with Nami-swan and Robin-chwan for two years! And also everybody else. Meeting one of them early was a good thing! Seeing someone not in a dress, a man being a man... it made his heart flutter in a very strange way, and being met with exactly jack-diddly-squat in return did nothing to quell his frustrations. If anything, it only intensified them.

"RISE AND SHINE, SHITTY LONG-NOSE," Sanji roared, lunging from his place on deck to plant a sole in his friend's face. Even two years back, an attack by Sanji upon Usopp would send the latter man flying, but Sanji would at least have had the common sense to hold back. Now, however, he hadn't had a need to hold back for two years. Kicking an okama rarely sent them flying, and if it did, they usually came back with a vengeance and passion that reminded him of a starved Luffy. Or a sober Zoro. Both thoughts were equally terrifying.

This lack of restraint caused his empty-eyed friend to go flying at speeds nearing that of a subsonic missile. If Sanji had seen his friend's face as he flew, he would have noticed the sole-shaped burn-mark seared into the side of his face.

Sanji came to a stop on the ant itself, which was surprisingly buoyant. Usopp, thankfully, didn't fly too far, skidding to a stop only a couple dozen metres away. Silently, the man rose to the surface, his single, wide, terrified eye having regained some form of life as they scanned the horizon for whatever hurt him. And, in that scan, he caught a glance of Sanji, who was looking right back at him.

At seeing the smoking imprint on Usopp's face, Sanji couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. He hadn't meant to kick that hard, but… Nevertheless, seeing as how Usopp was looking right at him, he had to do something.

"Heyyy! Usopp, it's me! Sorry for hitting you!" he called out, smiling wryly as he waved to his blank-faced friend. The man in question did not respond. He didn't even smile. Just bobbed up and down, hazy eyes going from focused to glossed over, arms growing weak…

"Oh no you fucking don't," Sanji muttered to himself. Flexing his legs, he threw himself into the water, arms raised above him to form an arrow. He'd seen enough people drown to know what it looked like. He'd just never expected it to be Usopp. With his training, Sanji had become a very able runner/kicker/swimmer. If Usopp had been an airborne missile before, Sanji was now a torpedo, shooting through the water with little resistance.

There he was. Sanji's hunch had been correct to a tee - Usopp had bobbed right on under the surface and was currently just sort of sinking, not an uncommon sight for a devil fruit user, but odd to see in Usopp. If Sanji had been able to curse underwater, he would have. For now, he settled for an annoyed twitch of his characteristic eyebrow.

Another second passed, and Sanji was close enough to grab Usopp, which he did. One arm under his legs, the other on his back, he raised his friend to the surface in a carry he would usually reserve for the daintiest of ladies. Once his own head raised above the surface, carefully manoeuvring his friend so his head was above as well, he took a deep breath. He noticed quicker than he'd liked that his cigarette was soggy as all hell. Usopp seemed pretty out of it though, so at least he'd have no problem getting him aboard the ship.

Swimming back to the ship with Usopp in tow was easier than he'd originally thought. The only thing he hadn't braced himself for was Usopp himself. His muscles felt like coiled iron springs, permanently locked up in tension. The only thing accentuating this feeling was how every three seconds or so, a muscle would twitch harshly, in turn making another muscle twitch which would do the same thing to another, leading to a full-body shiver that almost made Sanji drop him the first time it happened.

"Stupid shitty long-nose falling off the ant…" Sanji grumbled to himself as he successfully climbed back on top of the ant, heaving up Usopp as well. He might as well grab Usopp's things while he was here. The only thing Usopp didn't have on his person seemed to be the obnoxiously large green bag, which seemed to be made of leaves or something. He kicked it aboard the ship, but gently, unlike how hed kicked Usopp. And that was it-, no, hold on, there was one more thing.

A strange, shiny black thing that almost seemed to have the shape of a hammer, right next to a hole in the ant that it had probably caused. The hammer, as it probably was, was sharp on one end and blunt on the other, the handle seemingly covered with blunt barbs on one end. Sanji picked it up in one hand, balancing Usopp in the other. It was heavy and clearly hard. It almost seemed to be from the chitin of some large insect, but that would be…

A glance at the elephant-sized ant he was standing on made Sanji feel like an idiot. Anyhow, the hole in the ant which the hammer had caused exposed flesh and some sort of yellowish goop. A quick step to the left prevented some of the goop from staining his spotless black shoes. Was he just imagining things, or was some of the flesh beneath the carapace scooped out…?

Let's ignore that. With the hammer in hand, Sanji jumped onto deck, successfully sticking the landing. The okama stared at him.

"If you dare attack me or Usopp, I will personally kick you overboard," Sanji growled, which kept them at bay. Happy with his newfound privacy, Sanji carefully let Usopp down to lie on the deck. He would have grabbed him a chair or something, but that could wait. Sanji hunched down next to his friend and did what usually worked after an event like this: pressed down on his stomach.

"Cough, splt, guhh-," Usopp spluttered, water escaping his air canals and wherever else it had been and splashing onto the deck. Propping himself up with one arm, Usopp heaved his upper body to the side to cough up more water. It felt strange that this was the first thing Sanji had heard from him. He hadn't said hello, he hadn't screamed when he was kicked, he hadn't begged to be saved… it felt wrong.

With the water expelled from his body, Usopp finally took the time to take notice of his surroundings. His exhausted, dim eye scanned the okama who had formed a ring quite a ways away, his attention eventually falling on the form of Sanji, who stood right in front of him. Sanji, bereft of smoking, decided to chew on his wet cigarette, mostly to hide his own anxiety over how… unlike himself Usopp was being. That big round eye of his stared at him, haze slowly, gradually replaced by dawning recognition.

But nothing more. This would be where Sanji would expect Usopp to say something like "ohmygodSanjiIwassoscaredthanksforsavingme" or just "Sanji! I missed you!" or even just a "the great Usopp-Sama did not need your help!" not… not this. His face was as blank as cardboard. The only part of his body that expressed anything, anything at all, was his eye. Bright and moist and disbelieving.

And then, he rose up. Slowly, stumbling, trembling and weak. No wonder, with how tense and overused his muscles were. Sanji followed his movements, rising as he did, until the two finally stood face-to-face. Usopp weak and taut, Sanji strong and stoic. Usopp as blank-faced and non-saying as Sanji had ever seen him, Sanji wearing his emotions and anxiety on his sleeve.

But it was Usopp who acted first. Sanji barely registered that first step, how Usopp practically jumped at him, arms flinging themselves around him, locked themselves around his body, his face buried into Sanji's still wet shoulder. His grip was iron, that much was for sure. Iron, and desperate. Sanji, in his surprise, could barely register how his shoulder got just a little wetter. How Usopp's trembling and uncertain fingers dug just a little bit more into his back.

Sanji could do nothing but return it. Absently, he noticed how Usopp had to stand on his tiptoes, just to reach to press his face into the nape of his neck. Two arms on his back, he held Usopp only barely. He didn't need to clutch him close, Usopp was doing all that by himself. He smelled of freshly cut grass and copper.

The second Sanji had that thought, all of Usopp's strength left him, and he fainted where he stood, falling back only to be caught in Sanji's arms once more. Sighing, Sanji manoeuvred Usopp into a princess-carry for the second time that day and headed for where he knew the infirmary was. He'd been chased around this ship dozens of times, and in this situation, he was happy, since it meant he could find his way easier.

The okama parted before him, creating a path to where they knew he was headed. Some of them shot Sanji unsavoury, knowing glances he didn't much like. He could even see a few of them eyeing up Usopp like he was a mannequin, but a sharp glare from Sanji shut them up. Some had the gall to squeal "Sanji-chan is so scary~", but Sanji didn't have the time or care to put the fear of God in them. Instead, he focused on the task of hand.

The man really was out like a light.

Soon enough, Sanji had found himself in the infirmary, where a slightly less buff man than the others was dressed as a nurse, with fishnet stockings and everything else that Sanji would never see in the same way. He decided to ignore the doctor, gingerly placing Usopp down on one of the many beds in the infirmary.

He hadn't noticed it much before, but Usopp was dressed very oddly.

His skin was as tan as it had always been, but it seemed less clear, more ashen than before. His upper body was mostly bare, and what Sanji could see was somewhat worrying. Green blotches from crushed plants and dried patches of what must have been blood aside, his chest and arms were covered in innumerable scars, most of them not having healed well at all. He could almost tell that one of the larger ones, crossing his right shoulder, had at some point been crudely stitched together. This did not mean that the wound had healed well. If anything, it almost seemed like the injury had just gotten infected by this. How Usopp had survived this at all could only be a mystery.

This aside, it seemed Usopp had switched his usual overalls for a pair of green, poofy trousers, kept in place by a pair of black leather straps spanning over his shoulders and down his back. Either these straps were made by Usopp himself, which wouldn't be too surprising, or he'd repurposed his old overalls to create them. Either way, the leather straps connected to something beneath the frilly poof of leaves that were at the top of the pants. This wasn't the only piece of clothing on Usopp that utilized these black straps.

Equally prominent was the large, spiked shoulder brace, also made by the chitin of some enlarged bug. It was connected to Usopp at three parts, one around the neck, one around the arm, and one running straight over his chest. This black chitin material could also be found as armour on Usopp's dark green pants, where they were haphazardly placed just about anywhere they could be fitted. He also seemed to have a large, more spiked piece of chitin adorning his left arm, probably to be used for defence or something, perhaps close-quarter combat?

Apart from this, he was pretty well-covered by leaves.

There was a big one on his head, a smaller one covering his left eye for some reason (Sanji really hoped their shitty sharpshooter hadn't lost an eye since that'd fuck up his vision for sure), a pair of leaves covered his ears for some damn reason, a bunch of long, bandage-like leaves covered his right arm (as well as the oar-thing he was still clutching onto), and leaves also seemed to be what made up the sheath of a machete that Sanji had only just now noticed on Usopp's hip.

Other interesting features would be the gloves and boots he wore, and what Sanji could only assume was his knapsack. The knapsack in question was almost the oddest feature of all. Calling it a sack was a bit presumptuous, and Sanji could only assume it was one because of its placement on Usopp's body. In short, it was a skull. A massive, sharp-toothed upside-down skull. Two pieces of chitin covered its eyes, and if Sanji peeked inside the hole under the teeth, he found it filled with things he had no idea what to make of.

Usopp himself was also quite different. His muscles seemed to have started relaxing now that he was passed out, but even when relaxed, it was clear his muscle-to-fat ratio was almost 1:0. It was a wiry, well-toned build, very similar to Sanji's own, clearly strong enough to do some damage in any situation. Sanji could feel a blush rising to his cheeks, but he didn't know why. Maybe it was seeing a normal, non-dress wearing man in so long. Still…

His hair was much longer. If it hadn't been tied down with an odd, orange-looking rope, it would surely have created an afro with a diameter of at least a metre. As it was, it reached down to his hips. Sanji really wanted to touch it, but touching people's hair while they slept was very rude, as tempting as it was. Somehow, he'd also grown a petite goatee, but in his face, it was hardly noticeable. No, what Sanji noticed instead, was exactly how sunken in Usopp's eyes were. Had they been open, they would have looked like a pair of eyes staring out from two black holes.

All and all, Sanji could only assume Usopp had been in a jungle for two years. A jungle with giant ants. Considering the chitin armour, giant insects, in general, wouldn't be too far-fetched. Sanji whipped out a new cigarette from the pack inside of his jacket, only to realize after snapping at it with a lighter for a few times that it was too soaked to use. He huffed angrily and crushed it in his hand, anger tugging at his eyebrow, making it twist up like a knotted muscle.

Why… why was he so angry? Usopp had survived, right? And if his own experiences were anything to go by, if Usopp's body was anything he could trust… he should be stronger now, right? So why did that gaze haunt him? Why did Usopp seem so broken? And why did that make Sanji so angry?

Kuma had done it for a reason. Ivan had said so, said they had to get stronger to survive, and Sanji had agreed. Like a fool, he'd told himself his Nakama would do well.

But Usopp wasn't well.

Usopp was scarred.

Could Sanji honestly say the scars on his body were any worse than those on Usopp's?

He almost fished out another cigarette, just on reflex. He glanced down at Usopp's unconscious body, and back at the okama doctor.

"If he wakes up, you tell me. And if he so much has a pink bow on him when I return, I'm flambéing you to hell," Sanji ordered, not waiting for a response to leave the infirmary. He couldn't stand to look at him if all it did was make him angry. Nonetheless, he did have something he had to do. Usopp's stuff. God only knew what was in that giant green bag, but whatever it was, he was sure Usopp wouldn't want it stolen by a bunch of curious drag queens.

Well on deck, he found the bag left alone, only a few okama still lingering around. One actually attempted to lunge at him, but a well-placed kick sent them flying into the Crow's nest, where they could think over what they'd just tried to do. With that done, he grabbed the bag. It was damn heavy.

If he didn't fear for its safety, he might have placed it in the infirmary with its owner, but the okama had no sense of privacy, so he hid it in his own quarters instead.

Sure, the okama usually didn't mind breaking into his house (a few unfortunate mornings where he woke up in a dress ensured that Sanji always slept with one eye open), but Ivan had told him that this trip would be different only in that aspect, and Sanji had for once actually felt grateful to that shitty queen of drag queens. His quarters really wasn't anything special, just a bed, nightstand, cupboard, and that was pretty much it. If he wanted to train making food, he'd have to use the common kitchen. At some point during the journey, all the okama had agreed that letting Sanji make food was better for everybody since he usually shared the food with them, and God was it good.

So, with Usopp's stuff secured in his room, drenched suit changed for a new, clean one, soaked pack of cigarettes switched for a fresh pair, Sanji went upstairs to the kitchen to get working on a soup or something for Usopp.

Something told him Usopp could use some good food.

[spaceskam]

He didn't know any better.

That's what Michael was going to say if anyone asked him and he was sticking to it.

He tiptoed about the body on the floor, careful not to give in to the desire to lay down beside him and kiss him until he woke up so they could have a replay of the night before. He couldn't remember a time he'd been so fucking desperate to get his hands on someone that they couldn't make it past the kitchen floor, but there was always a first for something. However, he had a final in twenty minutes and he didn't actually remember the guy's name, so nicities felt benign.

Still, considering that was the best fuck of his life, he took a few second to dig for a pen and paper in the apartment's tiny kitchenette. He settled for a napkin and a sharpie, using his leg as a counter so he didn't stain the actual one.

I had fun with you, let's do it again. Call me.

It wasn't until he was speeding to school that he realized he didn't actually give him his number. He gave himself a second to loudly yell at himself over it and didn't care if the old lady on the next car over was starting at him. Leave it him to him to fuck something so good up.

"Do I even have to ask?" Isobel sighed as he rushed into class with five minutes to spare. He looked at her with wide, innocent eyes. "You're in the same outfit as yesterday, don't look at me like that. You decided your midterm was a pitstop on your walk of shame?"

"Shut up," he said, sitting as close to her as he could without Dr. Glower throwing a fit. Still, she leaned over and pressed her thumb into a sore spot on his neck.

"You didn't even try to cover that up," she mused. He looked at her with wide eyes before pulling out his phone and staring at his reflection. Sure enough, he had a massive fucking hickey. It was only made worse when Isobel plucked at his t-shirt to peer down his back. "Did you have sex with a fucking cat? You're covered in scratches."

For the first time in a long time, Michael's cheeks flushed and his skin got hot all over. Oh, embarrassment, a punishment from God himself for premarital sex. Or was it the gay sex thing? Was it both?

"You're usually better about not getting all that on you," Isobel said skeptically.

"I didn't know any better," Michael said. Isobel snorted.

"I think whoever you slept with didn't know any better," she said. Probably accurately. As good and confident as the guy was, Michael could tell it was the first time he was really putting some things into action. But Michael wasn't about to say that. "So, who was she?"

Michael gave her a look and she looked at him with far too much delight.

"He?" she corrected, "How'd you even get at an angle for a guy to–you know what? Nevermind, don't wanna know. I do wanna know who you let cover you in fucking marks."

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't actually remember ever asking his name."

Isobel stared at him like he'd grown an extra head.

"You let a stranger do that? How hot was he? Where'd you meet him?"

"Yes, very, Fantasia."

Before Isobel could grill him anymore, Dr. Glower walked in and Michael had never been more thankful.

-

"Will you leave me alone?"

"No!"

Michael groaned, but he didn't move out of her grasp. She was busy covering up the bruise on his neck with makeup that was absolutely not his shade but he'd rather a weird pale splotch than all the judgemental looks.

"You never go to gay bars by yourself," she said, "You never go anywhere by yourself."

"Yeah, well, I was stressing about the final and I needed to relax, so I went out. It was late and I didn't want to mess with your studying," he said.

All day he'd been not-so-subtly trying to find the guy from the night before. He knew they both went to UNM because that was the one thing they had talked about. Michael had seen him, bought him a drink, asked about school, his major, and if he wanted to dance. The rest of the night was a blur of tan skin and intoxicating kisses and unrivaled desire. Names just... didn't seem important in the moment.

"You think you're gonna see him again?" Isobel asked. Michael sighed.

"I have no idea. I don't know his name and I told him to call me without giving him my number, so he probably thinks I'm too dumb to talk to again."

"Uh, yeah, about that," Isobel laughed, "Any guy who decked you out in little trophies was into you much more than a one night stand."

The idea alone had him smiling.

-

"Michael Guerin!"

Michael turned to see Liz Ortecho making a fucking beeline for him. He grinned and opened his arms, letting her bodyslam into him before lifting her off the ground.

"I missed you!" she all but screamed into his ear. He laughed and squeezed her until she gave a little squeak. He let her down onto her feet.

"I can't believe you're back already."

"I was ready to come home," she said, still smiling. Liz had gotten a fancy semester abroad in Madrid because, well, she was great at what she did. "Did you know they spoke a completely different kind of Spanish? Like, I knew, but I didn't know, you know?"

"Yeah," Michael laughed, "Man, I really fucking missed you."

"I know!" she gushed, going in for another hug. He welcomed it happily. She was the first friend he'd made in college and they had spent many nights that started as a study session but became long, in depth talks about their life and goals and now she was one of his favorite people in the universe. "Listen, we're having a little welcome-home-slash-fuck-finals party on Friday at my friend Alex's. Come?"

"You know it."

"Awesome, I'll send you the address," she said, reaching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. He couldn't stop smiling. "You owe me lunch."

"I know," he agreed, giving a small salute as she walked away.

They never said goodbyes, they both agreed that felt too final.

-

For a genius, Michael was a fucking moron.

He was frozen in his car, staring up at the apartment that he'd been directed to go to for Liz's party. It just so happened to be the same apartment that he'd left Monday morning unceremoniously. He probably should've known that from the address, but he didn't even think about it. He should've. Maybe then he would've been prepared.

"He's in there," Michael said, "And I look like garbage."

"You do not look like garbage," Isobel said, very obviously tired of his shit considering they'd parked ten minutes ago and he still wasn't moving.

"I do! He's gonna look like a fucking gothic wet dream and I look like a trash can who hasn't washed his hair in a week!"

"Because you haven't washed your hair in a week."

"Oh my god, just cut it off, maybe he won't notice."

"Michael, will you calm down?" Isobel scoffed, "Look, come here."

He reluctantly looked to her, prepared for her to have scissors to cut off the mass of grease he'd let compile itself since that night because he was too wrapped up in finals go care. Except she didn't have scissors. She instead had baby powder.

"Just stay still, you gross bitch," she told him, sitting up on her knees and pouring the powder into his hair. She spent a good five minutes making it look like she hadn't just poured baby powder into his hair, just also making sure it didn't look like a grease trap. "Now, just wash your hair when you get home."

"Do you think he'll notice if I sneak in and wash my hair in the bathroom?"

"If you do that, I will disown you."

"Okay."

Eventually, they managed to head into the apartment. Michael was struggling to pretend that he wasn't terrified. He remembered being a lot more chill when he met this guy–Alex, his name was Alex–at Fantasia. Granted, he'd been a little high and a little eager, but still.

This felt like a ticking time bomb. He didn't know when he was going to run into him, he just knew it was going to happen, and that was terrifying. He wanted to see him again. He did. He just didn't want to ruin that night in his head.

That's why, when he finally made eye contact with those black-lined eyes, Michael ducked into the bathroom.

He looked around in a panic, trying to calm down as best he could so he wouldn't embarrass himself. How did he talk to him normally when all he could see was how he looked completely strung out on the kitchen floor? How did he make small talk when he knew they couldn't even make it to the bedroom? How did he flirt when he hadn't washed his hair all week?

He would blame that last thought when he ended up with his head in the sink as Alex knocked on the door.

"Hey," Alex called, "Uh, you've been in there for awhile. You alright?"

Michael tried to think fast. His head was half covered in suds from the shampoo he'd taken from Alex's shower and he was trying really hard not to get any water on Alexs makeup and half his shirt was already wet and he didn't know where a towel was.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I'm fine!" Michael called back and cursed to himself. This was a bad idea. How was he supposed to explain his wet hair? What the fuck? Why did he do this?

"Are you sure?"

"I'm, uh..."

"You're not doing drugs, are you?"

"No!"

"Because I'd really rather not find drugs in the bathroom later," Alex went on.

Which is what prompted Michael to say, "Come in!" You know, like a dumbass.

"Uh, okay?" Alex said before the door opened. Michael stood up straight, hair soaking wet (but soap free) and face red. This was just the week of embarrassment. "Um. I'm not sure what to say."

Alex's face was slowly turning red as he fought laughter which Michael appreciated. Still, with a red face, he looked fucking gorgeous. He was dressed in all black and his makeup was done all pristine and and his hair was long and pulled back into a low bun with strands hanging down around his face. Michael didn't remember his hair looking like that. It looked good. And he looked like a wet dog.

"Do you have a towel?" Michael asked lamely. Alex slipped a small laugh, but reeled it in as he nodded.

"Uh, yeah," he said, reaching below the sink to grab one. Which Michael probably should've guessed. "You know, if you needed to take a shower, you could've asked."

Michael closed his eyes momentarily, but thankfully the towel was as to save him from painful eye contact.

"I could come up with a lie, but literally I'm already an embarrassment, so," Michael sighed, drying his hair as best he could. The towel hung in front of his eyes for no reason other than preventing him from wanting to shove his head into the wall. "I didn't realize you were the one throwing the party and I kinda didn't look my best and I didn't want to see you when I looked fucking busted, so..."

"So you washed your hair in my sink?"

"Yeah," Michael sighed, "I'm sorry."

"You're fine," Alex said. They were silent for a moment until Michael dried his hair as good as it was going to get. He was prepared for the mass of frizz it would become in the next few hours. "So..."

"So."

They both let out soft laughs and shook their heads. How did people have conversations again?

"Listen, Sunday night was... I don't usually do that," Alex started. Michael got real serious re fast. "I've slept with a guy, like, once before and it was a high school boyfriend and it went really bad and I never spoke to him again. So... That was really out of character for me and I apologize if I embarrassed myself enough to make you feel the need to sneak away."

Michael's eyes widened. "No! No, the only one of us who should be embarrassed is me. I had a final that morning and I didn't wanna wake you, so I just... I left a note."

"Without your number or name."

"I'm stupid," Michael sighed. Alex gave a sweet smile that was enough to recharge him. "I don't usually do that either," Michael said, but quickly decided to back track, "Well, I've had one night stands and stuff, but I usually don't run out like that. I promise I'm more respectful than that. And also I would like that to not be a one night stand. Hence the attempt to not look like a sewer rat when I realized I would see you again."

Alex snorted, "You look great."

"Me? No, you look like a fucking model and that willl forever be my excuse when asked why I lost all my cool," Michael insisted, "I swear, I never lose my cool."

"I know, you were pretty suave that night," Alex noted. Michael licked his lips and smiled.

"Listen, I know we met in kind of an unconventional way, but you are literally the hottest guy I've ever met. I never let anyone give me a hickey, but I gladly let you fucking wreck me and I would gladly do it again," Michael said. Alex gulped visibly, suddenly looking innocent all over again. Why was that so hot?

"I had no idea what I was doing, I'm sorry I left a hickey."

"I ready think you knew what you were doing," Michael laughed. Alex flushed a deeper shade of red and shrugged half-heartedly.

"I was going off your cues."

"Yeah, well, I wanna do that again. But, like, properly," Michael insisted, "Can I give you my number? For real this time?"

Alex smiled a bit wider and nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that."

They eventually made it out of the bathroom and Michael pretty immediately went to Isobel to let her know he probably would be staying a little later than everyone else. He wanted to get to know Alex a bit better. You know, beyond his kitchen floor. Maybe his bedroom would be a good setting.

Isobel sighed and ignored his wet hair which was honestly the biggest blessing of the night.

"Leave it to you to get laid looking like that."

[dirtyblupjeans]

on the beach - kinktober day 3

Lup wasn’t sure what made her go out on the deck that night. She certainly hadn’t expected to find anyone out in the water when she did, though.

Eight months into their vacation year, Lup had gotten used to seeing Barry out of his usual clothes. Instead of his ever present jeans, he’d been wearing long shorts that stopped just above his knees. Taako had declared them “board shorts” and highly approved. She’d wondered briefly if he’d brought them from home as part of his original packed supplies. Or maybe he’d picked them up sometime in the last two decades. She’d never seen them before, though.

Usually he paired the shorts with a t-shirt, but she’d caught him bare chested a few mornings, coming out of the water with Taako.

Other than those few brief glimpses, though, she’d never actually seen him in the water.

All she could do was stand at the railing, transfixed, watching him work his way through the water. He didn’t make it look effortless. The water sprayed up behind him as he pumped his feet, arced off his hands as he pushed forward with each stroke, sparkling in the moonlight.

No, he didn’t make it look effortless. He made it look powerful.

She watched his shoulders work as he swam. The pale length of him in under the full moon seemed magical, somehow, as if all this time he’d covertly been someone else all this time, some secret sea creature she’d never known of.

A feeling that had been growing steadily larger over the last four years fizzed inside of her. It was a different sort of magic, an ancient and powerful kind of alchemy that was producing reactions throughout her body.

The wind caught her t-shirt, the thin material fluttering over her skin in the breeze. She’d been so certain everyone was asleep that all she wore was the shirt and a pair of faded pink panties. The cool night air raised goosebumps down her thighs, sending a shiver up her neck.

The water would be warm, she thought.

Not questioning the impulse, Lup climbed up on the railing. For a moment, she only stood there, still watching Barry. Then she dove off the railing into the water below.

She broke the water cleanly, minimizing the splash. Her angle was good and her trajectory curved up beneath the gentle waves, surfacing just a couple feet from Barry.

Under the moonlight she could see the color staining his cheeks. His sunburn had somehow persisted even after months. The poor guy just didn’t tan.

She liked that constant blush of his, though, even if it had been put there by the sun instead of her. Grinning she studied his surprised expression.

It wasn’t all sun on his cheeks.

“Hey,” she said nonchalantly, as if they’d run into each other in the hallway instead of in open water well past midnight.

“Uh, hey, Lup.” He tread water, arms swirling slowly through the water while his legs kicked below him, holding him buoyant in front of her. “I, uh, I didn’t know you liked to swim late like this. I can go in and -”

“Nah,” she answered. “I just happened to come out on the deck and see you. It looked like fun.” She paused, her grin fading slightly before she asked, “Do you mind?”

“Oh, uh, of course not!”

He glanced down slightly and that stain on his cheeks deepened. His head bobbed backwards, looking up at the stars scattered above and pinning his gaze there.

Lup followed where his eyeline had gone. Soaked now, her thin t-shirt clung to her skin, the deep bronze glow of her tan evident through the material. In the dark, without his glasses, she doubted he saw much of anything below the waterline at her shoulders. But his imagination must have filled in the blanks enough to step up the level of his blush.

For a moment she just tread water beside him, her long legs moving languidly below her. She’d already jumped, how much further should she go?

She thought of watching him from the deck, seeing his body moving through the water. She thought of that fizzing feeling inside her.

Fuck it, she thought, feeling brazen and daring, even more so than usual. The sparking warmth at her core rushed hot through her. She let herself relax backwards until she was floating then paddled her hands slightly until she was right beside him and caught his arm.

She turned her head slightly, her right eye just above the water. He glanced over when she touched him and his eyes saw her body, exposed above the water and under the moon’s perfect highlighting.

His cheeks aflame, he politely turned his head again.

Worry flooded her system for a moment. Was she teasing or tormenting? Had she really caught glances from him over the years? Were they hints he wanted this too?

Adjusting again, she let her legs sink down and tread water again.

She studied his profile. He’d had his head above water long enough that his hair had begun drying a bit in the breeze. She longed to run her fingers through it.

Maybe, she thought. She could just talked to him. She could ask.

“Barry?”

He didn’t turn back to her this time. Instead he shrugged down, dipping his head back to rewet his hair. “Yeah, Lup?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He startled back up, seemed to lose track of his arms and legs and the basic principles of floating. A small swell pushed the balance of factors over and he sank beneath the little wave just enough to sputter water when it passed.

He was looking at her, though. His eyes were wide and aimed right at her, blinking slowly.

“What?” he asked, the word coming out as half cough, half speech. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “What did you say?”

Daring to interpret his reaction for surprise but not disinterest, she closed the distance. She let her arms wind around his neck. He was so warm. The wet slide of skin struck her as deeply erotic for such a chaste touch.

She could practically see the thoughts working through his head.

He was staring at her mouth.

Then she felt his hands go to her waist. Their legs kicked in sync in the dark water below them.

Barry Bluejeans nodded. “Yeah, uh, I’d like that.”

With both of them treading water, it was a little awkward to coordinate. They managed though. Her lips found his and from the moment they connected she knew she wanted more.

She pulled her head back and looked at him. His eyes were so wide and dark in the moonlight. Seeing him so close, so vulnerable somehow without his glasses, felt like she’d been given a secret.

“Was that okay?” she asked.

“Was, uh… Did you…?”

His fingers moved at her side, the water pushing the hem of her shirt aside so that his pinky found her bare skin. His hand froze and his face looked like he’d been caught doing something terrible. In response, she ran her hand over his shoulder then trailed it up his neck and along his jaw.

Swallowing, he tried his question again. “Did you like it, Lup?”

She nodded slowly, deliberately. “I did,” she answered. “And I’d like to do it some more if that’s okay.”

Instantly he moved his face to hers and brushed his lips against hers.

Their separate buoyancy was still not cooperating but Lup couldn’t begin to care. Barry Bluejeans had just kissed her. She’d kissed him first, true. But at the slightest provocation after that he’d taken the initiative and the sparking, fizzing bits inside her had gone molten and wild. She wanted to cling to him and wrap her legs around him and…

“Barry?” she asked when his mouth was no longer against hers.

“Yeah?” he asked. She could hear the worry in that single syllable.

“Can we get in shallow water, like, uh, now?”

“Um, sure,” he answered, sounding less worried but more mystified.

“I don’t want to have to waste attention on staying afloat,” she explained.

A grin spread over his face, so warm and bright it rivaled the reflected light coming from the moon. He didn’t speak, simply leaned back with her still holding him and his hands still locked at her waist and began kicking his legs, propelling them backwards towards the beach. Lup considered letting him do all the work - half lying/half floating on him was a pretty delicious sensation, after all - but instead slid to the side and off of him, twisting from his grip.

“Race you,” she said, and darted away before he could respond.

Lup was comfortable in the water, though not as Surf God graceful as Taako had become with his long hours in the ocean.

Barry, however…

Powered by his secret months of tutoring (that she was half sure she wasn’t supposed to know about) or possibly some before unknown competitiveness, he surged ahead even with her head start. Lup refocused her efforts and pushed herself through the water harder.

There was something more than tutoring and competitiveness driving him and plenty of it was at work in her as well.

A few moments later her feet were on the sandy bottom and Barry caught his arms around her, swinging her through the water for a half circle before setting her down again, the waves at their chests.

“Hi,” she said, her face inches away from his.

“Hi.”

They grinned at each other for a few heartbeats. Then Lup took advantage of the solid ground below them to do what she’d wanted to before. She leapt, wrapped her legs around him and let him support her.

His arms settled under her ass naturally, as if they’d been in this position a hundred times before.

Not even giving him a chance to recover, she locked her mouth with his. Their brief, slightly awkward kisses while floating had been nice but this kiss was not nice. This kiss was wildfire and riptides. This kiss was the birth of stars. This kiss spun time away, unrolling it like a velvety carpet in front of them.

This kiss was magic.

There might have been a future where they made out in the water, finally tipped that balance between friends and something more and took things slowly from there.

That future might have existed somewhere but it wasn’t on the path that spread out in the wake of this kiss.

Lup came up for air, panting, breathless, her mouth already kiss roughened.

“Can we…?” she asked

He was nodding before she managed the second word. Carrying her locked in his arms, he got them further ashore. Dropping to his knees at the waterline, he deposited her in water just a few inches deep, more as the waves rushed up the beach then lower as it pulled away again.

Unwrapping her limbs from him, Lup’s fingers found the hem of her t-shirt. She hesitated just a moment, drinking in the feeling of Barry’s eyes watching her hungrily. Then she pulled the wet shirt over her head and threw it behind her to the dry sand.

Her fingers went to the loosely knotted drawstring on his shorts, tugging at the ends. The loops pulled free and she trailed her fingers under the edge of the waistband to his hips. Watching his face, she saw his teeth catch his bottom lip. She wanted to be the one biting his lip instead. Pushing the waistband down his hips, she slid her hands around the back of the shorts, working them down the curve of his ass.

Unable to stop herself, she dropped her gaze from his face, checking what she’d uncovered.

If there’d been any question about Barry’s interest in the proceedings, it was erased when she saw the hard strain of his cock.

Suddenly ridiculously impatient after years of maintaining a careful distance between them, Lup scrambled back so she could slip her painties down her own legs, letting Barry free himself from the shorts.

Free of their clothing, they simply stared at one another for a moment. Lup broke the interlude, beckoning him with a curl of her hand.

“C’mere, you.”

He filled the space between her angled knees. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Hooking an ankle behind his knee she nudged him forward. “Absolutely.”

Barry bent his head to hers, capturing her mouth. The weight of him pushing her back into the sand made her feel trapped. Pinned. Caught.

She shivered and wrapped her arms around him, wanting more of that.

His kiss was insistent and demanding and she gave herself up to it, clutching at him as if she might be washed away by what was happening between them.

The sand beneath her, the water around them, the cool breeze over their wet skin, all faded away under the warm press of him on top of her.

He pulled his mouth away from her and she chased after, nipping his bottom lip. They kissed again, a string of quick, desperate kisses that ended with them panting again.

“Lup,” he said and the rough hitch in his voice on her name shot through her like a lightning bolt. She wanted to devour the sound.

“I have to tell you…” he continued. The way desire had pulled something loose in his voice was so distracting she almost missed the note of warning there.

“Yeah?” she asked, suddenly focused.

“This means something to me,” he told her. His eyes darted away from hers as if admitting such a thing were shameful and wrong.

“It does to me too,” she answered honestly. She curled her hand along the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to face her again. “I’ve known how I felt for a while now.”

“You have?” he asked, surprised. “And… how, uh, how do you feel?”

“I feel like I love you.” She’d worried for so long about saying some version of those words but there wasn’t any worry here now. It just felt right. “I feel like I want you beside me forever,” she continued. A teasing smile spread over her and she added, “I feel like I want you inside me, too, you know.”

An absolutely delicious grin took over the worried expression Barry had been wearing. Pushing forward again, his mouth found hers once more. Her fingers trailed up through his hair, following the impulse she’d felt so strongly before.

Barry’s tongue was in her mouth and her legs were curled around his thighs and her hand was in his hair and it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

Tugging lightly on his hair, Lup caught his attention and he broke the kiss.

“Is there, uh, anything you want to say?” she teased.

“I love you like crazy,” he told her, leaning forward to kiss her again.

She curled her hand on his scalp and pulled the handful of hair once more. Her other hand slid between then. “Mind if I…”

The question went unfinished and unanswered but Barry certainly didn’t seem to mind when her fingers found his cock. She whispered an incantation and slid her hand over the length of him.

His eyes shut and he groaned. “I really love that spell…”

Lup’s legs tightened around his hips, encouraging him to put the spell to use.

When he looked at her, the joking glint had disappeared from his eyes. There was a weight there she’d only ever guessed at, a depth of emotion mirrored in her own.

Her heel nudged him and he shifted. She could feel him pressed against her. Not yet pushing in. Hovering. Waiting.

“Please,” she said.

He surged forward, driving into her. She clung to him as they found their rhythm. He braced himself on one arm and reached down with his other to hike her leg higher, spreading her open further and pushing deeper on his next thrust.

Each push forward drove a needy noise out of her. They rocked together and her head fell back, her cries coming quicker and getting louder. He was slamming forward now, rutting against her harder and faster until the sounds she was making began running together, moans and ‘yeses’ and his name repeated over and over into a babble of pure want as she came.

Then, just when she was sure she was going to split apart into a shower of sparks and fly away, he pushed hard and held.

“Lup.”

Her name from his mouth was reverent.

His hips bucked and he repeated her name again, holding the syllable until he drove forward one more time, hard and then he was twitching inside her and triggering another, smaller, fluttering orgasm of her own.

He collapsed forward and she sighed in complete and absolute contentment.

She could have laid there forever, his cock still buried inside her, unconcerned about the rough sand under her ass or tide carrying away her panties.

But from the corner of her eye she saw a light turn on in the Starblaster.

Sighing again, this time not from contentment, she nudged his shoulder. “We might want to get up and get moving, unfortunately. I think we might have some company and a very awkward scene if we don’t.”

He cursed and his vehemence was another little piece of treasure she tucked away in her heart.

“I know,” she told him. “I don’t want to move either. But…”

Whatever the rest of her sentence had been going to be, it disappeared.

Barry had leaned forward and ran his tongue over one peaked nipple. Then he pulled away, explaining, “Didn’t have a chance before.”

Lup wriggled out from under him reluctantly. If she didn’t move quickly her underwear were going to be gone. She might not care except she had a feeling they’d resurface at some inopportune moment.

“Hurry up,” she told him, already dreaming of the repeat of his tongue on her breasts. “If we’re fast enough we can get to your bedroom before we have to explain anything.”

“You’re on,” he told her, already pulling his shorts back on.

Snagging the errant panties, she stood up and began wrestling them on. “Fuck, putting on wet sandy clothes is the most unsexy thing ever.” She darted over and kissed him before dashing up to the dry part of the beach for her shirt. “But it was worth it, even if I do have sand in places sand was not meant to reside.”

He laughed, and caught her arm before she could begin trying to pull it on. “I’ll have to see what I can do about that,” he told her, his voice rough.

Another shiver ran through her, one definitely not put there by her wet, shirtless state or the ocean breeze on her skin.

Lup kissed him, lightning quick, and then ran, diving back into the water with her shirt in her hand, heading for the ship, Barry hot on her heels.

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Under Moon and Starlight

Author: @aisukofi

For: @sonneka

Ratings/Warnings: T, references to komaeda’s backstory and his general self-depricating tendencies

Prompt: “Island Mode, KomaHina in a romantic (or pretty close to romantic) way”

Author’s Notes: this turned out a lot more dialogue heavy than expected, but i still hope you can enjoy it!

His world, he supposes, has always been small. But at the same time, it’s always been too big. Too many things he could do at the drop of a hat, too many things he had complete control over. And yet, at the same time, he couldn’t do anything, his life itself completely in the hands of someone, something he’d never know.

This contradictory world of his was one he traversed alone. The world swallowed up and shredded everything around him. The second something got close it was swept away, the moment someone made contact they were torn apart, limb from limb. The solution was to simply live without any relationships of any sort and without any possessions, but doesn’t that go against human desire? Was it not human nature to seek out others, to gather objects in order to make oneself comfortable? If he rejects human desire, human nature, can he truly consider himself human? If not, then what was he?

It strikes him inexplicably that his world doesn’t matter here. Perhaps it never mattered in the first place. Perhaps nothing ever mattered, and human nature made him believe things did. Wasn’t it natural to hold some things dear to you, to hold them close to his heart and make them matter? If that was the case, then he supposes he truly is human.

The pale moon - a constant, unwavering thing, near haunting in it’s unyielding presence in every hour - blinks at him from deep blue sky. Stars, too, twinkle and shimmer from the same abyss, bright and blinding unlike the ones he’d see in Tokyo. The closest he’d seen to these were in Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, where the lights and the sounds and the very ground he stood on were different yet the sky was the same, simply less clouded by the glare of modern technology. Here, on Jabberwock Island, it was the same. No light pollution or smog obscured the sky, the only thing coming close being a stray puff of white cloud every now and then.

The wind whispers harsh nothings as it brushes his skin and send shivers down his body. Distantly he hears as the waves of the beach pick up in time, begin crashing down upon the white sand in quicker succession and with more force. The filtered pool water lapping at his ankles makes him ever colder, surface near mirroresque and clear turquoise that looks silver in the moonlight. He can feel the way the skin on his feet has wrinkled up, old and unneeded evolutionary traits kicking into high gear as he submerges his feet for what feels like a long time. It dawns on him that time, too, doesn’t really matter.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been out here. He remembers, vaguely, hearing Usami’s nighttime announcement - ten o’clock exact, never a single second early or late - and preparing himself for the night, wishing each of his fellow students a “Goodnight” and “Have sweet dreams.” He remembers laying in his blush queen sized bed, staring at the wall in abstract boredom for hours as sleep refused to take him (as it often did, ever since he was a child). Remembers getting himself out of the blankets and dressing and leaving his cottage hotel room before finding himself by the pool. It’s there he lays, sprawled out on hard wood and concrete, legs dipped up to the ankle into the chlorine cleaned water. He thinks he’s been here for a while, laying unmoving and thinking about everything and nothing at once.

Wind dies down. Ocean waves calm and go back to gentle rocking, lapping against the beach in gentle beats that match the tempo of his own heart: ba-dum, ba-dum, thump, thump.The sound fills and drowns his ears - or maybe it’s the sound of his own blood bumping? He doesn’t know, nor does he explicitly care in that moment. The stars twinkle. The moon stares. He tries counting the stars for a fleeting moment before giving up after counting two hundred thirty-seven.

The constant anxiety he feels is nonexistent here. The constant desire to be prepared for anything and everything, the desire to be everywhere and nowhere at once has evaporated into the very air. It feels just a bit unnerving to be relaxed after it all, but his limbs are too heavy and his body is too comfortable for him to care or do anything about it.

The wind picks up again, bringing with it the scent of tropical flowers and fruits none of which he can name. It tousles and stirs up his hair, pale white strands tickling the skin of his face and neck. The waves rise once more, his heart keeping up with it’s rhythm: ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum, thump thump thump.

“What are you doing?”

The sounds cuts through the sound of the waves and steals the very breath from his lungs. Tan and hazel and brunette fill his vision, a pale olive green tie dangles limply above his nose. A face full of characteristic tired annoyance, with hints of fondness seeping into the corners of his mouth and in his eyes. Hinata leans over him, covering the moon and taking its place as the midnight sun, white button-up brighter than ever, the pin on the breast pocket glinting in the starlight. Nagito can’t help the small content smile that worms it’s way onto his face. He smiles up at Hinata, too breathless to even consider answering his question.

Hinata stares back, eyes flickering slightly as if searching for something he’ll never find. The two stare at each other for what’s undoubtedly decades before Hinata concedes and straightens up with the breath of a small sigh and the closing of his eyes. Nagito can feel his smile dropping slightly, expecting the other to leave him alone again. Nagito wouldn’t blame him for doing so, couldn’t blame him, as he’d do the same thing when faced with himself.

Hinata flops down beside him on the deck with a huff and takes Nagito by surprise.

He takes a moment to arrange himself. It’s somewhat endearing, Nagito thinks, how Hinata’s face twists with concentration as he leans himself to the side in order to fold his legs up under him until he’s cross-legged, how he wiggles in place in an effort to move his feet to a position where they won’t go numb. After he’s situated he rests an elbow on one of his thighs, propping up a hand and resting his head in it. Hinata stares at him once more, and Nagito finds himself feeling self-conscious. The smile on his face revives with more force regardless. Hinata quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Well? You gonna answer me or what?”

Nagito feels his smile falter once more, but if Hinata notices how often his expression has been shifting he doesn’t mention it. He decides to answer in the same way he always has when he’s asked an uncomfortable question, ever since the first time he was asked “What happened on your return flight from San Cristóbal?” He turns his head to it’s side, his mass of fluffy hair cushioning the weight, and spits the words as carelessly as he can.

“What are you doing?”

Hinata’s eye twitches slightly, his nose scrunches up for a fleeting moment, an emotion Nagito can’t name without thinking flicking across his face. As quick as it’s there its gone as Hinata schools his face back to his neutral, tired expression. “Making sure you’re not doing something weird.”

Nagito blinks - once, twice - before parotting, “‘Doing something weird?’”

Hinata nods. “Yeah, doing something weird. Y’know,” he makes a vague gesture with his free hand. Nagito just stares, because no, he doesn’t know. After a beat of silence that lasts two seconds too long to be anything but awkward, Hinata continues, “I thought you were gonna try to make something in that old kitchen again.”

“I don’t think I want to try cooking for a while,” Nagito says bitterly, face twisting up at the memory. Usami still refused to let him hold sharp objects, and Hanamura still watches him like a hawk whenever he gets near a stove.

Hinata laughs at his reaction, the sound sweet and airy as it reaches Nagito’s ears. Nagito feels himself smiling again. “But really,” Hinata starts, once the laughter in his throat grows quiet, “What are you doing out so late?” There’s concern edged into the brunette’s voice and it leaks likewise into his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Nagito answers honestly. There’s no point to lying about it. Not when Hinata could see through it anyway. Not when dark purple stains the pale skin underneath his eyes.

“There’s narcotics in the pharmacy,” Hinata points out, “Why not go and get something from there?” Nagito shrugs as his answer, a somewhat awkward motion when you’re laying with your arms spread wide.

“I’m sure they’d help more than just laying out here,” Hinata continues with a roll of his eyes. The other twists his face into a grimace.

“But they taste bad,” he says, drawing out the last word into a whine.

“Now you’re just being stubborn,” the brunette scolds as he reaches out to playfully slap at Nagito’s arm. “I’ll shove them down your throat.” Nagito can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him at Hinata’s threat. “I will! I swear,” Hinata defends, slapping at Nagito’s arm again.

“Of course you will, Hinata-kun,” the white haired boy quips, lasting giggles still left on his tongue. “I’m shaking in my boots due to fear of your might!”

“You’re not even wearing shoes!”

Nagito wiggles his toes beneath the pool’s surface. His feet may have gone numb due to the cold water, but in that moment he’s the warmest he’s been all night. “Actually, I am,” he says, pulling his face into a serious expression. “They’re just invisible, Tanaka-san put a curse on them.”

Hinata’s face blanks and he stares at the other as though he’s seriously considering the possibility. It twitches after a moment before turning exasperated. “Haha,” he laughs dryly. “So you’re a comedian now, huh?” Nagito sticks his tongue out at him playfully, earning him a true laugh from the brunette.

His own laugh rises and joins Hinata’s in a soft crescendo. The noise mixes together in the cool night air as a song that fills his heart and swallows him whole. The moon bathes them in blue-silver light, the stars shine spotlights down upon them, and Nagito wishes the night would never end.

Their song dies in time, but it isn’t until Hinata’s wiping tears out of his eyes that silence envelopes them. Nagito watches him from the corner of his eye. Watches as Hinata’s breath returns to him, as he stretches his arms out in front of him until his fingertips brush the surface of the pool’s water. He pulls them back after a moment, rests his elbows on his knees and lets his hands hang in the triangle formed by his crossed legs. Hinata gazes at the sky now, eyes flickering in every direction as he looks from one star to the next.

The only word Nagito can think of to describe the sight is “beautiful.”

Hinata is beautiful. The soft shape of his face, slightly sharp at the edges where lingering baby fat are just trimming off, is beautiful. His eyes, serene as they gaze above, hazel and positively glowing in the moonshine, is beautiful. His hair, short and soft and the shade of freshly made milk chocolate - it’s beautiful. Every inch of him is beautiful, Nagito thinks, from the tips of his toes to that onry piece of hair that refused to settle with the rest.

Oh, he must have been staring, because Hinata looks at him with that embarrassed look of his, a light blush rising and dusting his face. When Nagito flashes him a bright smile, the blush grows darker and he turns his eyes away awkwardly, pulling on his shirt collar like he’s burning up. How cute. It takes a moment for Nagito to realize that Hinata’s speaking.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” he mumbles, looking everywhere except at the white haired boy.

“You’re beautiful,” Nagito answers without thinking. Isn’t it important to let people know what you think of them?

Hinata’s reaction seems to say otherwise. He freezes, his entire body tensing and going rigid, his face flushing. He looks mortified, as if Nagito had just told that bombs all over the island were going to explode by sunrise.

Of course he said something he shouldn’t have. Of course he fucked up again. Because that’s all he does and that’s all he’ll ever do.

Nagito pushes himself up on his elbows, apologies already on the tip of his tongue, because he needs to rectify the situation, needs everything to be alright. “I apologize if I made you uncomfort-“

“You can’t just say something like that so suddenly,” Hinata cuts him off with a yell, far too loud for the situation, embarrassment sitting high on his cheeks. Was the flush from before not from fear then? “Besides,” he continues, voice dropping into a low mumble that Nagito would surely have missed if he wasn’t paying such close attention, his eyes scrunching closed like he can’t stand to look Nagito in the eyes, “You’re the beautiful one here.”

Nagito can feel the heat rising to his face, can feel the way his pale skin grows pink at the sudden compliment. When was the last time someone said such a thing to him? Had anyone ever? Hinata probably doesn’t mean it anyway. He’s just saying it to deflect the attention off of him. Surely. “Ah…” he trails off, let’s his nervous laughter enter the air, “Hinata-kun is really too kind.”

“Please don’t start with that shit,” Hinata groans with frustration evident in his voice, the embarrassment that was just there slowly leaving him, “I’m not saying it to just be nice. I really… think that.” He rushes his sentence at the end, still avoiding Nagito’s eyes. Which is a good thing, Nagito thinks, because he can’t see the tears forming in his own eyes this way.

It’s overwhelming, really. It’s truly overwhelming to be on this side of a compliment. To be complimented by Hinata Hajime- it’s almost too much. He’s undeserving of it, unworthy to even be in his presence.

“Okay,” Hinata says, awkwardness and nerves apparent in his voice as he draws out the word, “You’re crying now, what did I do?” Nagito’s quick to swipe at his eyes with his jacket sleeves, because Hinata really shouldn’t have to deal with his own inability to take simple praise.

“Ahah… It’s just-” Nagito tries to give him a reassuring smile as he wipes once more at his cheek- “no one has ever complimented me before. It really took me off guard!” He raises the tone of his voice to one that’s lighter, tacks a bout of breathy laughter at the end. It’s a joke, really, everything to do with him is a joke.

Instead of putting Hinata’s concerns to rest, his words seem to only elevate them as a pitying look fills his eyes. “No one? Ever?” When Nagito nods, albeit a bit confusedly, Hinata’s face twists into a deep frown. He’s getting upset? At what? It’s only natural that someone like himself wouldn’t get praise of any kind. So why is Hinata upset?

“I’ll uh. I’ll say it whenever you want then,” he offers, obviously still too awkward to say the words with confidence.

“Say what?”

“I’ll- I’ll call you pretty. Or beautiful. Or whatever. Whenever you want.” He’s blushing again, and pulling at his shirt collar, eyes darting every direction except towards Nagito. Nagito can feel the blush on his face again, self-doubt invading his mind. Could he really accept such an offer? Could he really allow himself to be so selfish?

“You know what? I’m going to do it anyway,” Hinata’s voice interrupts his thoughts, stern and forcibly confident. “Because I know you’re just going to tell me no.”

“Hinata-kun doesn’t have to do anything that he doesn’t want to do,” Nagito says instead of a full-out protest, because a traitorous part of him yearns to hear the words leave the brunette’s mouth again.

“Yeah? Well, I’m going to do it. Because I want to,” Hinata objects, still refusing to look at the other - Nagito really wishes he would, he wants those eyes on him. “And I don’t care what you say,” he tacks onto the end like it somehow makes it look like he doesn’t care. He fails miserably.

“Hm…” Nagito hums, already able to feel the teasing words rising in his throat, “Mioda-chan was right. Hinata-kun really is a tsundere.”

“What!?” comes the brunette’s yell, his hand slapping against the pool deck. “I am not! You’re just-” he’s sputtering now, how cute - “just an asshole!” After a beat of silence, “A pretty asshole!”

The compliment makes him flush, though he laughs at the other’s words regardless. Hinata was fun to tease. Easy to tease, too, his reactions always over the top after he realizes what’s happening. It’s adorable, really.

Hinata pushes himself up from where he was sitting with a huff. “Whatever! I’m going back to bed!” he announces loudly as he turns back towards the rows of cottages nearby.

“‘Back to bed’? You were sleeping in your clothes?” Nagito hadn’t given it much thought earlier, but considering it was the middle of the night, it is odd for Hinata to be dressed in his regular outfit of button-up and tie and jeans.

“Maybe I like wearing this to bed!” the brunette counters before shoving an accusing finger in Nagito’s direction. “You’re also wearing your normal clothes, so you can’t say anything!”

“But I didn’t wear them to bed,” Nagito’s points out with a small tilt of his head. Are they arguing about this now? Was this something worth arguing over?

Hinata makes a small noise of frustration, his face still a bright crimson. “Still!” He turns again and this time actually starts stomping away. “You go to bed too! It’s too late at night for you to be awake and doing something crazy!” He calls from over his shoulder as he turns the corner towards his cottage. Nagito hums, neither a promise to do so nor a refusal, and pulls his feet from the water and places them on the pool’s edge. They’re cold, the air making them even more so, and he can barely feel them enough to be able to feel their movements when he wiggles his toes. He’ll probably have to wait a bit before he can walk.

Accepting that fact with an subconscious nod, Nagito turns his head up to the stars again. Without Hinata’s presence, they seem somewhat duller than before, as if the very idea of Hinata Hajime makes the world shine. The moon, too, seems distant and forlorn - a haunting figure watching from out of reach. Everything feels calm, quiet, a perfect image of serenity.

A perfect island vacation with the one you love.

“Oi!”

Nagito feels his neck pop as he snaps to attention. His eyes flick over to the back deck of Hinata’s cottage, where the brunette himself is leaning against the railings. The pink slip of paper in his hand flaps around as he waves it in the air.

“Hang out with me tomorrow!”

Nagito lets himself blink blankly before allowing his head to tilt to the side. “You want to hang out?” With someone like him? The hand holding the pink ticket falters at his words.

“Um, yeah,” Hinata says, his words unsure and hesitant, “I’d like to. If you want to.” He’s looking away again, like he’s embarrassed. A soft smile fills Nagito’s face at the sight.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Hinata-kun.”

Hinata’s face erupts into a furious blush as his body tenses up. The ticket crinkles as his grip tightens against the smooth paper. “Don’t call it that!” he protests, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence.

“Huh? Is it not a date?” Nagito questions, wiggling his toes and growing satisfied as the feeling is returning to them. He takes a moment to look for his shoes before shoving his bare feet inside.

“You don’t have to call it that! We’re just hanging out!” He’s right, technically, but Nagito can’t figure out why it’s such a big deal. Isn’t it easier to just call it a date?

“So it is a date.” It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out more like a simple statement of fact.

Hinata seems to go through a lapse of internal conflict, emotions appearing and disappearing only to appear again and flicking across his face in rapid succession. After a moment of lapsing silence, he faces settled on a look of exasperation. “Fine. It’s a date. In the broadest definition of the word.”

A simple hum of response leaves Nagito’s lips as he makes his way past Hinata’s patio. Throwing up a hand in a half-wave and flashing a small smile, he calls out “I can’t wait for our date, Hinata-kun.” And just like that, he leaves and disappears into his own cottage.

He thinks, if his luck allows it, he’d enjoy letting Hinata into his world. In the end, only time will tell.

Perhaps, after all of this, Nagito will sleep well tonight.

[wildroseofarran]

Barnacles || Tristan, Oliver, & Ronan

Oliver: The day was hotter than he'd ever felt before from Edenton. Sweltering, nasty heat like he'd felt on his deployments.

Oliver felt in the cooler for something to drink. How were they out of everything? He could swear he could see the water evaporating from the goddamn ocean.

Off came his tattered gray shirt, tucked into his jeans.

"At this point I fuckin' pray for another hurricane," he called to Tristan.

Tristan: "Bite your tongue, Cole," Tristan called back. He too was shirtless, hair piled into a messy bun and sweat pouring down his forehead. "Unless you wanna put in another few days of ship maintenance."

Oliver: "So long as this thing don't have a breakdown. I'll get under the boat right fuckin' now if it got me a drink."

Tristan: He poked his head around the corner. "That a serious offer? Feel like scraping barnacles?"

Oliver: "Get me some fuckin' cold drinks n'I'll dive right now."

Tristan: "Is there any more ice in the freezer? There's a case of water in the cabin but it's at room temp. Probably hot as fuck just like everything else."

Oliver: "S'more like a slushie at this point. Toss it in the cooler n'I'll get started."

Tristan: "Done. Grab the goggles and tool belt."

Hell, maybe he'd join him, he thought as he went into the sweltering cabin to get the water.

Oliver: Back to following orders, tossing his shirt into the cabin, along with his necklace he'd forgotten to remove. He didn't need a tan line of a cross on his chest.

"Hear 'bout that tropical storm brewin'?"

Tristan: "Yeah. If it turns into another full-blown hurricane I'm gonna lose my goddamn mind. I tell you my dock at home took a beating? Gonna have to take a weekend to fix it."

Oliver: "I'll help with that, man."

Ronan: Tristan would feel his phone buzz. It would be a message from Ronan, a picture of him and the stranger from far away.

{Text} Send me $1m or I'll kill ur daughter. I have her hidden away & I've got eyes on u RIGHT NOW

Tristan: "Seriously? Thanks. I'll pay you in beer and margaritas. And actual money."

He felt in his pocket for his phone, squinting at it for a moment before laughing.

{Text to Ronan} Are you creeping on me over there?

Oliver: "Ya had me at beer." The laughter had him turning, body beginning to bead with sweat. The house tattoo on his arm was given the illusion of being rained on with his perspiration. He wiped his mouth and pointed.

"Someone ya know?"

Ronan: {Text} Bitch I might be. Whos the guy???! U have other friends??? disappointed

Tristan: "Yep, sure is. That's my friend Ronan."

{Text} The guy is Oliver, he works with me

{Text} Take a break from creeping and come meet him

Oliver: "Now that's a name." Over the side of the deck he went.

"Can he help with the barnacles?"

Ronan: {Text} I dunno. Whwt do i get in return?

Tristan: “Is he physically capable? Yes. Will he? Highly doubtful.”

{Text} My company and everlasting platonic love

{Text} Also pizza later

Oliver: "Great. What's he, a Northerner?"

Ronan: {Text} u had me at pizza.

He'll be over shortly, eyeing up the stranger the closer he got.

Tristan: “Irishman. One who’s not all that crazy about manual labor.”

{Text} Deal. Be polite, okay?

Tristan put his phone away and waved as Ronan approached. “Hey, renaissance man.”

Oliver: "Renaissance man? That your official title?" Oliver called.

Ronan: "Actually my full title is Renaissance Man De La Miguel Rodriguez the Third."

Ronan: He hadn't seen that last message, so he doesn't have to be polite. That's the law.

Tristan: Tristan chuckled and shook his head. “It’s his nickname. Ro, this is Oliver, my first mate. Oliver, this is my friend Ronan.”

Oliver: A stained rough hand was brought out for Ronan to take.

"Sup, man?"

Ronan: Gross. He smacked Oliver's palm with his own by way of greeting. "Hey. What's goin' on?"

Oliver: Uh, the fuck? His gaze remained steady despite his desire to glance at his captain.

"Anyway. Gonna start scrubbin'."

Ronan: Ronan finally looked at Oliver's face properly, having to drag his eyes away from those gross hands. He smirked. Where has Tristan been hiding this fucker?

"Or you guys stop workin' for the day an' we go out for some drinks?"

Oliver: "M'at the whim of my captain, but also wherever the beer flows."

Tristan: “The beer can flow after we scrape those barnacles.” Tristan gave Ronan a look. “No distracting my crew, you.” My straight crew.

Ronan: Ronan gave Tristan a wink. Suuuuuuuuuure thing, Captain.

"Stop bein' such a killjoy, your little boat will still be here tomorrow."

Oliver: "Could help n'get it over with? I'll buy ya two rounds of your favorite drink."

Tristan: Tristan grinned at the suggestion. Ronan doing physical labor was a delightful thought.

Ronan: "My clothes are worth a bit too much t'start... what did you say? Fuckin' scrubbin'?" Yeah, no.

Oliver: "Yeah. Ya take those off." He gestured between himself and Tristan, very much shirtless and sun baked.

Tristan: “And if you’re particularly attached to your pants, you can take those off, too. We won’t judge your choice in underwear.”

Ronan: Why is Tristan gesturing like Ronan hadn't very much noticed........ He may need to make a point of walking this way every day from now on.... What time do you start work, guys? Which days? Asking for a friend.

"I've got silk underwear on, so I'd have t'take those off too."

Oliver: Oliver's smile returned with a mischievous show of teeth.

"Tris, ya still got a scuba suit in the cabin?"

Tristan: Tristan grinned back. “Ya know, as a matter of fact I do. Goggles and everything.”

Ronan: Ugh fuck. "How 'bout I jus' support you, like, emotionally?"

Oliver: "Gonna miss out on free shots."

Tristan: He chuckled. "Go on then. You can heckle us while we scrape."

Ronan: "Heckle?" Hm... but the free rounds... "What would I have t'do if I helped?"

Oliver: "Ya take this here - or this brush - n'ya remove the shit on the sides of the boat." He'd deal with the bottom.

Tristan: Tristan was riding the same train of thought. "Just the sides, don't worry about the bottom. We'll take care of that. If you decide to help, that is.'

Ronan: He inspected the boat from where he was stood.

"Gimme your pants." He gestured to Tristan.

Tristan: "You wanna wear my pants instead of the scuba suit?"

Ronan: "It's gonna be fuckin' tight an' shit."

Tristan: "Have you ever been in a scuba suit? It's designed to be mobile and comfortable in the water. Especially this one since it's me sized and not you sized."

Ronan: "An' clingy. You tryna catch a glimpse of my cock size?" the question was directed at both Tristan and Oliver. "Jus' gimme your pants. You can wear the suit."

Oliver: Gayyyy. "They won't fit ya anyway. You're already fuckin' wearin' pants." And he was removing his own in favor of the new black, red, and blue board shorts in the cabin. The door creaked halfway shut behind him. If Ronan was determined, he would catch a glimpse of perfect swimmer's tan, accentuating the pale firm muscle of his ass.

Tristan: “It can’t cling if it’s too big for you,” he chuckled. “Also, it’s not silk. Silk clings. And Oliver’s right, my pants are too big for you, but if you insist. Just tighten my belt all the way.”

Ronan: "Yeah but mine are fuckin' clean an' nice. This is what clothes are meant t'look like. Must be a shock." Ronan would glance but nothing else... even if the image would linger with him for a moment after looking away.

"Uh huh. You're so lucky I'm even doin' this for you, you likkle prick."

Tristan: "Aww, you cut me to the quick." He grinned and kissed Ronan's cheek. "Yes, I'm very lucky. Thank you."

Tristan proceeded to strip out of his jeans. Unlike Oliver, he already had his trunks on underneath as he'd been vaguely planning to tackle the barnacles before the ungodly heat forced his hand. "Here you go. I need to get my tank on."

Ronan: Ronan was clearly very proud of himself! He smiled to prove it. The kiss helped.

"Don't start fallin' in love with me, 'kay?" He takes the jeans. Yeah. Pretty huge. He'll need to swap one pair for another... where... should he change...

Oliver: Oliver widened the door to the cabin and stretched. It seemed his favorite boss caved.

"So how pale are ya, Irish? I wanna see veins. Ya better bring honor t'Ireland," he smirked.

Tristan: "I'll try my best," Tristan chuckled, gathering his goggles and scuba tank from a storage compartment.

Ronan: Hm. He steps towards the cabin, putting a hand on Oliver's chest in order to guide him out of the way.

"I grew up in Italy an' have been around America for years. I'm tan, thanks."

Oliver: Touchy feely. Not new by any means, and not a surprise. What little he knew of the man, the touch was accepted.

"Italy, huh? Ya like the Mediterranean?"

Ronan: "Nah, fish kinda freak me out. Why the fuck do they move like that? Eugh, yikes." He stepped into the cabin to start changing. He'll have to message Matheus and let him know, too. Ronan'll also send a picture of his shirt folded up neatly and ask if he's proud.

Oliver: {Text via Matheus} Very tight fold. You've learned well.

Tristan was given a smile, humored by this random piece of information. A phobia, maybe?

"What about, ha, octopus? That do anything to ya?"

Tristan: Tristan was laughing as he strapped his tank on.

"He'd have told me, wouldn't you, Ronan? He would've freaked out every time he saw the one tatted on my arm. Speaking of, think I'll get another. Maybe a giant squid on my leg somewhere. Or a Kraken."

Ronan: "You should let Conor do it. You won't find any tattoo artist with as much experience as him." He smirked. It was a joke only he and Tristan would get.

He emerged changed, shirtless, and with the belt keeping Tristan's trousers up. "I'm fine with them. They don't move like-" he gestured the wishy-washy movement with a hand.

Oliver: The thirst which had nearly suffocated him had been quenched. Quietly, he got to work, tethered to the boat with rope and carabineer.

"I shoulda been in the Navy," he muttered, disappearing behind the port side with a wink.

Tristan: Tristan hummed thoughtfully. He actually hadn't thought of that. "Maybe I'll pop by his place and ask him," he said, smiling at Ronan. "See what he'll charge me."

He grabbed some gloves and a scraper for Ronan. "That's seriously the only thing that freaks you out about fish? The way they swim?"

Ronan: "I'll get him t'do it t'you for fre- actually you're makin' him do this, so I'm gonna tell him t'charge you double." the gloves and scraper were snatched. He put the gloves on far from gracefully. "They look weird an' move weird. An' they're wet ALL the time, or they die. It's fuckin' weird. Weird!"

Tristan: “You will not be present during price negotiations,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, I pay well. Just ask Oliver.”

He laughed again. “Ain’t their fault. They’re just trying to live their lives. All right, into the water, Renaissance man.”

Ronan: "... Are there fishes around here?" He shuddered. "Talkin' about 'em freaked me out..."

Oliver: "Get in the fuckin' water!" came from the other side of the boat.

Tristan: "Nah, not in this area. The noise and activity from the ships scares them away. Come on. Oliver will show you how to do it."

Tristan adjusted his oxygen and his goggles and lowered himself into the water. A few moments later he disappeared beneath the hull.

Ronan: "Fuck you!" He casually called back. He watched Tristan disappear into the water and... shuddered. "Ugh. Gives me the heebie-jeebies."

Oliver: "You'll be fuckin' fine! C'mere n'start scrapin' with me."

Ronan: "You come HERE!" grumpy grumpy.

Oliver: A head peeked from the edge a moment later. "What d'ya want, an audience?"

Ronan: No, he just wanted to be a brat.

"You're on thin fuckin' ice."

Oliver: "That was easy," he smirked.

Ronan: "What was?"

Oliver: "Gettin' on thin fuckin' ice." Beads of sweat and ocean were wiped from his brow. "If ya can't swim just say so."

Ronan: He scoffed. "Can't an' won't are different."

Oliver: "The result's the same." He held out his hand. "Come on. I'll help ya down."

Ronan: He squinted at the hand. "I thought you weren't a pansy."

Oliver: "Says the man afraid of fish."

Ronan: "What's that got t'do with bein' a pansy?"

Oliver: "You're a fuckin' pussy."

Ronan: "People wanna fuck me? True."

Oliver: "People wanna fuck you?"

Ronan: "Yeah. Like a pussy." Is there a fish somewhere he can throw at this fucker?

Oliver: "You're alright with that?"

Ronan: "Are YOU?"

Oliver: "I ain't into all that gay stuff. N'I ain't wantin' a conversation. Just get in."

Ronan: He gave the other a dirty look.

"You sound like-" me not that long ago. "Make me, nigga!"

Oliver: "If you were any less black you'd be clear." A splash followed his disappearance from view.

Ronan: Eyes rolled. Yeah. He's not gonna help. He'll find a place to sit and smoke some weed instead.

Tristan: It was a few minutes before Tristan's head popped out of the water again.

He looked around. "Ro?"

Ronan: "Mm? Your friend's a piece of shit. Wanna smoke?"

Tristan: "Ro, you're supposed to be helping!"

Oliver: "He's just gonna keep tellin' me why people wanna fuck him."

Ronan: "Go back t'your fish friends!"

Tristan: "Jesus Christ. Ro, if you weren't gonna get in why take my pants?"

Ronan: "I was gonna get in 'til he annoyed me, now I don't wanna help him."

Tristan: "You're not helping him, you're helping me."

Ronan: "Ughhhh why you gotta pull that shit?"

Tristan: Tristan flashed his best smile. “Is it working?”

Ronan: "Bitch it might be." He threw his joint into the water and below and shuddered. He hadn't even smoked enough to calm his nerves yet, but apparently here he goes... "How do I get in?"

Tristan: He laughed. "Nice to know I still have my charm. There's a ladder on the side there. I'll catch you if you need."

Ronan: "Uhhhh huh." he just had to... uh... do some stretches first...

Tristan: Tristan swam over to the ladder and offered up a hand to Ronan. "C'mere, renaissance man. I've gotcha."

[emoboijk]

KSJ | Photo Booth

You’re the twerpy best friend of his little brother. Or maybe more. —fluff

5,638 words

p.cred

Park Jimin. The perfect boyfriend. Handsome, cute, great body, good listener, funny. A catch, by anyone’s standards. And when you’d asked him out, and he’d said yes, you thought yourself the luckiest girl in the world. It had been nearly three months of bliss. Bliss which came crashing down around you at the words, “I’m gay.”

“What?” You coughed, snorting grape soda out of your nose and staining your t-shirt so that it looked like you’d spit up on yourself. You pushed that aside to be worried about later. “You’re what?”

Jimin sighed and ran a hand through his hair so that he looked like a model on the set of a photo shoot, “I wasn’t sure…when you asked me out, I wasn’t sure. But,” his cheeks tinted pink, “I made out with this guy at a party the other night.”

“Well,” you sputtered, feeling the ray of light that Jimin was in your life flickering out, and you reached for it like a child, desperate for it to stay, “You were drunk so…”

“But then,” he looked away from you and when you followed his gaze Jung Hoseok was leaning against his beat up, red Camaro with a happy smile on his face, his eyes locked on Jimin. Jimin sighed again, “We…um…we…well, let’s just say I know for sure now. I’m gay. I’m sorry I can’t date you anymore.”

You tried to hide your disappointment. This was big for him—he’d come out, found someone to be with. For all intents and purposes, his life was great. Who were you to ruin it for him? You were looking at the ground as you said, “It’s okay Jimin, I understand. Thanks for being honest with me.”

Jimin patted your shoulder and said, with a sad smile, “You were a great girlfriend, really, I’d keep going out with you if…”

You patted his hand on your shoulder, “It’s okay Jimin. You don’t have to apologize.”

“Okay,” he sighed, an awkward tension filling the space between you as he rocked back on his heels, “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “Later.”  

Taehyung came up two minutes later with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a happy-go-lucky grin on his face. He plopped into the seat next to you and waited a moment before stating the obvious, “So what’s wrong with you today?”

You sighed, “Jimin’s gay.”

Taehyung snorted, falling forward as laughter racked his chest. “No, he’s not! Really?” he gasped, hitting his chest to help him breathe. “Oh my god!”

You sighed and buried your face into your hands, feeling humiliated—your boyfriend was gay, you had a purple stain on your shirt, and you had forgotten to do your math homework for fifth period. Your day couldn’t get any worse.

“Call me!” This voice was shrill and high pitched and typically used to support football players on game nights. And when you looked up from your humiliation, Joy Park was bouncing up and down in her form-fitting cheerleading attire, waving enthusiastically at Taehyung’s older brother, the swim star (and the bane of your existence from 9-5, Monday through Friday): Kim Seokjin.

He shrugged at her entreaty and climbed into his Jeep Cherokee with more grace than a prima ballerina performing swan lake. He revved the engine and peeled out of the high school parking lot, waving to Tae as he did so. Taehyung just rolled his eyes.

And you had been wrong. That scene had made your day worse. Kim Seokjin always made it worse.

Kim Seokjin was a gorgeous, swimming, genius, who was a notorious flirt and who had known you since you were a baby. He knew everything about you in the same way that Taehyung did, except he didn’t care about you nearly as much as Taehyung. To Kim Seokjin you were nothing but the snot-nosed best friend of his kid brother. And to you, he was the super annoying, super gorgeous boy that you’d had a crush on since the second grade.

And second grade crushes are hard to let go of. Ask anybody.

“Okay, okay,” Taehyung said, rubbing soothing circles into your back, “It’s not the end of the world. Homework, movies, and pizza. My place?”

You sat up and leaned against his shoulder, smiling happily, “Yes please.”

The Kim Palace was a modern, two-story mansion that had an entire side of the house made of windows. Which had never seemed very practical to you, but you’d learned to let it go. Taehyung and Seokjin’s father was an extremely successful CEO of a company whose business you didn’t understand. You tried to think of it as little as possible.

“Hi, sweetie,” Taehyung’s mom said, pecking his cheek as he passed her in the kitchen. She smiled at you too, squeezing your shoulder, “Hi, pumpkin.”

“Hi, Mrs. Kim,” you smiled, following Taehyung through the maze of his house and out onto the deck. There was a massive pool outside, surrounded by lawn chairs and a wood deck with tables. That’s where you and Tae preferred to do homework when the weather was agreeable. As for Seokjin, that’s where he preferred to do laps.

You were thirty minutes into a biology assignment when the doorbell resounded through the house, and Taehyung leaped from his seat, “Pizza!” He grabbed his wallet and made for the door, which gave you plenty of time to admire the view...

Seokjin was doing broad strokes up and down the length of the pool, his muscular arms slicing through the water at a rhythmic pace. You sighed and leaned your cheek against your hand, watching as his never-ending shoulders appeared out of the water, his hair slicked back and skin bronzing from his efforts.

“See something you like?” he smirked at you, rising from the pool in one smooth motion so that he trailed water around the edge.

“Um, no,” you said, blushing anyway, “Ew.”

Seokjin chuckled and climbed the porch steps, picking up a towel and towering over you at the table so that he blocked your light. You bit the inside of your cheek, “You’re dripping on my bio homework,” you scowled.

Seokjin bent down and shook out his hair, splattering you and your homework in the process. You gasped, your mouth open and wide in shock, “Jin!”

“Oops,” he smirked, shrugging.

“Pizza!” Taehyung said, cutting off when he saw your expression. He rolled his eyes and put the pizza on the table, directing his words at Seokjin, “Can you not torment her today? She just broke up with Jimin.”

“Oh, the gay one?” Seokjin asked, opening the box and helping himself to a slice.

You groaned, “Has word already spread?”

Seokjin chuckled, “No. But I’ve known that he was gay since like the second he asked you out.”

“What!” you gasped, enraged, “You knew!”

Seokjin shrugged, “He’d stare sometimes,” he said around a mouth full of pizza.

“Why didn’t you say something!” You were practically screeching.

Seokjin smiled at you, taking another piece of pizza and walking away without another word. You slumped back into your seat, hiding your face in your folded arms, Taehyung chuckling in front of you. “I hate your brother,” you whined.

Taehyung leaned across the table and patted your hand, “You might be the only one.”

Three hours later you were standing in the doorway of the Kim Palace, saying an extended goodbye to Taehyung. You held your books to your chest and ignored Tan-ie, his little dog, as you whined, “Don’t go, Taehyung-ah!”

“I have to go,” he chuckled, “I play the lead character.”

You frowned, “I don’t see why that matters.”

Taehyung chuckled and patted your head affectionately (if not a bit condescendingly) before saying, “I think you’ll survive a week without me.”

“I would’ve thought so,” you said, “but my boyfriend turned out to be gay,” you pouted. And despite the humor you were trying to evoke, and Taehyung’s subsequent laugh, he saw the sadness that tinged your expression.

He pulled you in for a tight hug, squeezing you warmly, “You’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” you sighed, “Text me when you leave?”

He chuckled, “As if I’m not going to text you a play-by-play of my packing adventures.”

“I’m counting on it,” you sniffled, turning to walk back down his drive and around the corner, where your house was. Taehyung sighed as he watched you go, feeling as if he was abandoning you. He ground his teeth together, Jimin couldn’t have waited just one more week to break the news?

The door shut with a definitive click and Taehyung turned around abruptly, “Seokjin-hyung!” he bellowed, the sound practically echoing through the large house.

Seokjin had a hand pressed to one of his ears, the other around a sandwich when he appeared out of the kitchen. “What?” he whined, taking a bite of the sandwich, the irritation fading almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“Do me a favor?” Taehyung said, walking past him and into the kitchen. The sandwich makings were still laid out on the counter, and he busied his hands by making himself one.

Seokjin snorted, “No.”

“Come on,” Taehyung said, not phased by his brother’s immediate reaction, “She’s going to be all alone.”

“A girl alone?” Seokjin smirked, his eyebrows raising at the possibilities, “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, “Look her boyfriend just broke up with her, she’s going through some rough times. Will you just look out for her for me?”

Seokjin groaned and with his mouth full said, “Your twerpy best friend?”

Taehyung sighed and shook his head, “Dude, I know you like her.”

“Well, yeah, but she’s…my baby sister,” Seokjin said, nearly stuttering but saving himself as he paused to bite his sandwich. Taehyung looked at him skeptically but decided that this was probably not the best time to push the matter.

“Whatever,” Taehyung said, “I’ll give you fifty bucks.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Seokjin smirked.

Kim Seokjin dropped his kid brother Taehyung off in the high school parking lot at 7 AM Monday morning, accepting his fifty-dollar bribe before watching him climb onto the bus with the rest of the theatre nerds, with every intention to not do as his brother asked. And Taehyung, waving to him from one of the bus windows, knew this; but he also knew that his brother would end up hanging out with you, because of his super-secret feelings for you.

Seokjin stuffed the money into his jacket pocket before walking into the school with his backpack slung on his shoulder. Might as well get in a few laps before school started. But he paused outside the double doors into the school, a doubt creeping into his mind that annoyed him to no end.

Did you have a ride to school?

Taehyung usually picked you up in his rickety sedan before school. Seokjin turned and looked in the direction of your house—you lived twenty blocks from the school. You wouldn’t…walk, would you?

He remembered the fifty dollars burning a hole in his pocket and his annoying good-natured brother, and his even more annoying best friend. Seokjin groaned, “Dammit,” before heading back to his car.

You were just locking the front door when Seokjin pulled up in front of your place. You raised your eyebrows in surprise, your mother backing out of the driveway in a hurry as she shouted out the window, “Hurry, I’m already late!”

Seokjin rolled his eyes at you and motioned to his car and you bit back your smile, yelling at your mother, “I’ll get a ride with Seokjin!” She was out of the driveway in nearly thirty seconds flat.

“So,” you said, stepping up into the jeep and buckling yourself in, “you’re a good Samaritan now?”

“Nope,” he said, smiling despite himself.

“Thanks,” you said, scrolling through your phone to avoid looking at him, your heart racing, “I think my mom was going to have a coronary.”

Your day was…ordinary. If not exceptionally boring. You shared five of your six periods with Taehyung, and without him life was dreadful. In Chemistry class Taehyung was your usual partner, but because of his and another theatre kid’s absence, you had to pair up with Tzuyu who, while being a very lovely person, was a bit of an airhead when it came to chemistry. And then there was literature, where you were reading The Scarlet Letter and all of the insufferable jokes suffocated you. And then there was lunch, where your group of friends was found to be missing the glue that kept it together—Kim Taehyung. And so on and so on.

Until you were left, after your final period, sitting on a bench in the front of the school with your head in your hands and your mood in the dumps. And, as if to rub it in, Jimin was with Hoseok all but fucking on the hood of his car. You groaned, feeling…defeated.

Seokjin’s hair was still wet from swim practice, and the leftover water droplets made the neck of his shirt damp. He slung his duffle bag, stuffed with old sportswear that would have his mother cursing, over his shoulder as he trekked across the parking lot. Joy Park’s clammy fingers touched his bicep and she said something in a voice that didn’t really register in his mind, the words tumbling in one ear and out the other, before his eyes fell on you—disheveled and disheartened, alone on a bench.

“Pathetic,” he said, shaking his head but smiling fondly.

“W-What?” Joy Park said, her voice offended and edgy with tears.

“Oh, not you,” Seokjin said, waving his hands innocently. Joy followed his gaze to you and she snorted.

“She looks like one of those pigeon ladies at the park,” she laughed, the sound nasally and grating.

Seokjin rolled his eyes, “Now you are pathetic.”

Joy’s face was hurt, her bottom lip puckering out and her eyes welling up. Seokjin sighed and added, “You don’t have to be rude just because she doesn’t run in your circle. She’s a friend of the family’s, okay? She’s important to them, so she’s important to me.”

Joy’s pout remained the same, but her previously tear-filled eyes were now steely with determination. She flicked her hair off her shoulder and strutted away with her friends, “Whatever.”

It was a good thing Seokjin was overflowing with social capital at this school.

He changed direction and headed toward you, forgetting about his dead-set intentions to pocket Taehyung’s fifty without doing any of the promised work. Seokjin fell against the bench heavily, dropping his bag easily and resting his arms against the back of the bench comfortably. “Sup?”

You snorted, not looking up from the ground, from your tattered converse beside Seokjin’s flip-flops. Then you sighed, your breath shaky with emotion, and Seokjin’s chest suddenly filled with pity. “My boyfriend is gay, my best friend is gone, and I…” you sighed again, “I’m being dramatic. I’m sorry. Tae is only gone for a week, and Jimin…”

“Is an idiot,” Seokjin filled in, shrugging.

You laughed, wiping your cheek of the few shed tears, “No he’s not.”

Seokjin smiled, “No, he’s not. But it still sucks. Being dumped.”

“How would you know?” you joked, sticking your tongue out at him.

He shrugged again, “You know, movies and stuff.”

“Wow,” you said, slapping his chest absently. You stood up and stretched, picking up your bag from the ground and turning to him with a shiny new smile that was only half-convincing, “Okay, I’m all good. Go away now.”

Seokjin watched you for a moment before sighing, seeing through your happy facade easily. “Want to get some ice cream?” he said, standing and picking up his own bag.

“What?”

“Ice cream,” he said, “I’m craving some. And it’s a cheat day. Do you want to come?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Is that code for something?”

“Oh my god,” he groaned, “No, it really fucking isn’t. Do you want to go out for ice cream or what?”

You stared at him for a moment, in shock, “Yes?”

“Okay,” he sighed, still sounding irritated but his heart racing as his hand clasped around your wrist, “Come on.”

The ice cream shop was called I-SCREAM, which you found to be entirely creepy and led you to suspect that this was some kind of Sweeny-Todd-esque front for murder, but was otherwise completely normal. Seokjin assured you that he’d never come across any body parts or ice cream that tasted like blood or brain matter or anything.

“Although, they have a killer Halloween party here every year,” he shrugged, adjusting the strap of his duffle bag across his body as he waited in line behind a little girl and her father. She turned around to stare at him with big eyes and he wagged his fingers at her, making a funny face so that she laughed and turned away giggling.

You poked him when the woman behind the counter started tapping her fingers impatiently. Seokjin stood up straight and scanned the tubs of ice cream behind the class, sucking on the inside of his cheek. “Raspberry sorbet,” he said, poking the glass to point it out and leaving a fingerprint mark so that the woman narrowed her eyes in annoyance. You snorted and he turned to look at you questioningly.

“That’s kind of a sissy flavor,” you commented, peering through the glass before saying, “Fudge brownie, please.”

Seokjin snorted this time, “At least I’m not a chocolate whore.”

You gasped, “Did you just call me a whore?”

The woman behind the counter rolled her eyes and slid the ice cream over the top of the glass to you both. You followed Seokjin up to the register, ready to pull out your wallet when he paid in one swift motion. He walked over to a table with his spoon in his mouth, “Whore? That’s all you took from that?”

You finished off a bite of fudge brownie ice cream and waved your spoon with a flourish, “Isn’t ‘whore’ the most important part of what you said?”

Seokjin squinted. His thinking face. He’d made it many times over the years, but your particular favorite was at the end of his junior year when he was preparing to take the SATs. It was like a constant thinking face for three months. You thought he might never go back to normal.

“So,” you said, savoring the remaining ice cream on your tongue before continuing, “how much did Tae pay you to babysit me?”

Seokjin snorted, “He didn’t pay me.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed your ice cream around with the spoon. “You wouldn’t be here with me if Tae hadn’t made you.”

Seokjin’s brow furrowed and he looked at you seriously, “Yes, I would’ve.” You searched his expression for a moment, finding no deception there. But you still weren’t tempted to believe him. He shrugged, “But, also, fifty bucks.”

You left the shop twenty minutes later, trading snarky sarcastic comments back and forth with him as you did so, ignoring the fluttery, happy feeling in your chest. Seokjin, too, was trying to ignore the tugging he felt in his chest as he watched you grin and laugh and joke. Part of him wanted to get out, leave, run away, hide in his bedroom until this feeling went away. Maybe even call Joy Park to have her fuck the feeling away.

But when you passed the arcade at the end of the strip mall on the way back to the car, tugging on his hand excitedly, exclaiming, “I haven’t gone to an arcade in ages!” the other part of him, that wanted nothing more than to spend time with you and to hold your hand, the mushy part of him, won out.

You and Seokjin spent more money in the arcade, in three hours, than either of you would have ever thought possible. You played every game—air hockey, skee ball, racing games, shooting games—until you stood in the center of the room, amazed that you had done it all.

“I’m exhausted,” Seokjin whined.

You smiled over at him and exhilaration took the place of his exhaustion. There was a slight sheen of sweat on your forehead (from that second bout of intense air hockey) and your hair had fallen from its ponytail so that errant strands hung in a beautiful, inconceivable pattern. Your lips were parted and your eyes shone with enthusiasm.

He was struck, not really for the first time, by how beautiful you had become. In the early years, when you and Taehyung were just the two kids that hung out at his house, he’d never thought much of you. But by the time you were fourteen, and he was fifteen, he’d started to…notice. And then puberty hit you like a high-speed train and, despite his many attempts to feel otherwise, he was hooked.

You had your hands on your hips, saying something to him that he hadn’t heard in the midst of his trance. “Huh?”

“I said,” you pouted, crossing your arms, “You’re basically a pro-swimmer and a little arcade action tires you out?”

Seokjin chuckled, “If this were in the water, I’d be fine,” he poked your nose, making your face scrunch up cutely. “And whatever, you’re tired, too.”

You were about to argue, lips open to say something sarcastic, when you spotted it: a dinky little box with an opening on the side, veiled by a thick red curtain. You smiled and looked back to him, “One more thing and then we can leave.”

“What?” he whined, petulantly, like a child.

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist and tugged him forward, spinning him to face you as you stood triumphantly in front of the box. “Photobooth!”

Seokjin sighed, “Those things cost like ten bucks!”

“Come on,” you pleaded, “This is the first time we’ve ever hung out where,” you paused, fumbling over the words in your sudden rush, “where I haven’t irritated the crap out of you and, and you weren’t the bane of my existence.”

Seokjin was about to dispute your statement, say something completely false like, “You don’t irritate me.” But he knew that wasn’t the point of your statement. You weren’t trying to pick a fight, you were just…happy. That you were getting along.

And he was, too.

So he shelled out the ten bucks for the photos and squeezed into the booth with you. He didn’t react when the quarters were so small that you had to squish into his side. He let you lift his arm and wrap it around your shoulders until you were resting against him comfortably. He hoped you couldn’t feel his heart skip a beat when you put your hand on his chest. And, during the third of the five flashes, when he’d decided that the only he wanted right at that moment was to kiss you…he didn’t fight that feeling.

He turned to look at you, tilting up your chin so that you were looking directly at him. The camera flashed capturing your confused look as the arm wrapped around your shoulders pulled your body into his until it was tucked perfectly against him, and he leaned down to kiss you.

The camera flashed moments after his lips touched yours, feeling so much better than the times you’d practiced on the back of your hand. He tilted his head so that you were like puzzle pieces, clicking into place, a sense of belonging washing over you that could only come from finding your place.

He pulled away just as the pictures printed, depositing into the slot. He opened his eyes, feeling breathless and, suddenly, terrified. You still had your eyes closed, leaning into him, lips open, stunned. It would have made him smile if the whole thing hadn’t stricken him with fear.

“What have I done?” he whispered, touching his lips like he’d been burned.

“Huh?” you whispered, blinking a couple times like you were waking from a dream.

“I have to go,” he said, “I…I have to go.” He pushed past you roughly, running from the photo booth, out of the arcade and into his car, driving away feeling guilty. And leaving you with the photos and the necessity to call your mom.

You didn’t see him for the rest of the week, which wasn’t hard to do, you guessed. You didn’t share any classes, you didn’t live close by, you didn’t do similar extracurricular activities. It seemed that Taehyung was the only thing you had in common. Which is why it took Taehyung getting back for you to see him again.

You were sitting on the floor, Taehyung on the couch, one of his legs dangling over the edge so that his smelly feet were in your face; he was trying to distract you from the round of Mario Kart you were winning.

Seokjin walked in on the scene, immediately tensing and sucking in a breath so suddenly that it sounded like a hiss. He was in the middle of backing out, ready to go out the garage and around the front of the house to get into the kitchen, when Taehyung said, “Hey hyung.”

“Uh,” Seokjin paused, eyes watching you, your eyes never leaving the TV screen, “hey.” He nearly tiptoed across the living room and into the kitchen, struggling to keep his eyes forward instead of watching for your reaction.

As soon as he was gone the game paused and Taehyung kicked you in the shoulder. You whined, putting your controller down and taking a sip of your soda.

“What was that all about?” he said.

“What?” you asked, turning to squint at him in a perfect imitation of nonchalance.

Taehyung rolled his eyes, swallowing the water he’d been drinking before saying, “That. With Jin?”

“What do you mean?” you shrugged, leaning against the couch, “He didn’t even say anything.”

“Exactly!” Taehyung was exclaiming, “He’s Kim Seokjin! He always has some kind of pun or joke, and he said nothing. The room was ice. What happened while I was gone?”

“Nothing,” you emphasized, already feeling your resistance fade in the face of his persistence.

“Oh,” Taehyung sighed, “Is this about the money I gave him? Because I just—”

You chuckled, “No, no,” you shook your head, “But, really, Tae? I’m only worth fifty bucks?”

He shrugged, “It’s all I had on me.”

You shoved his knee playfully and paused, the confession you’d been gathering in your chest since that day in the photobooth like strands of fog you couldn’t hold onto. Taehyung sunk off the couch so that he was sitting next to you, his arm pushing lightly against yours. “Hey,” he said, softly, “What’s up?”

Your eyes moved to meet his, suddenly watery with tears, “He kissed me.”

“So?” Taehyung said, his voice just as soft as before. He was not surprised. It didn’t take an idiot to see his brother liked you. And you’d accidentally confessed about your crush on him drunk at a party one night.

“I think he thinks it was a mistake,” you whispered, clenching your jaw to stop the tears.

Seokjin leaned against the kitchen door, the soda he’d grabbed now warm in his hand, his heart breaking at your words.

After about a week and a half of playing the “date” and the kiss over and over in your head, and of absolutely no contact between you and Seokjin (except when Taehyung dragged him into it like a scientist putting a spider and scorpion in the same room to see who would flinch first), you had let go of the poor-school-girl tears you’d sobbed to Taehyung over Mario Kart and felt only irritation.

Well, rage, now. Rage because you’d been pining over him. Pining because, although you had not known it was a date, it was the perfect date and his lips had tasted like strawberry chapstick and frozen yogurt. So you’d been pining and wallowing and eating a pint of ice cream a night because it was the only thing that could sustain your soul.

And he was with Joy Park, perched on the hood of his Jeep with her claws on his chest and her hair brushing his arm and his smile trained on her. His smile that could have been mistaken for a flinch if your eyes weren’t red with anger.

“Dude, can you believe what Yoongi-hyung said to Professor Bang today because—” Taehyung didn’t finish his statement because when he looked up from digging through his backpack (for what he wasn’t sure anymore) he saw the red-rage expression on your face. A look he’d only seen twice before—first when you were six and the new girl Yeri stepped on and broke all of your crayons, and second when you were fourteen and someone had punched him in the jaw. Both times you had resorted to physical violence, something you weren’t particularly talented at.

“I’ll be right back,” you said without looking at him, the photo strip that you’d taken to keeping in your pocket crumpling in your newly formed fist.

Seokjin saw you approaching immediately because he’d developed this sixth sense when it came to you, which really meant that he was hyper-observant of you at all times. Even when he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at you.

“You dick!” you shouted, waving your fist toward him, the photo strip sticking out almost angrily.

Joy Park turned around so that her long dark hair slapped him in the face, making him blink. How did she not get whiplash when she did that?

“Excuse me?” she gasped, putting her hand on her chest in shock.

“I’m not talking to you,” you growled, your eyes darting in her direction momentarily before going back to Seokjin. You shoved your fist into his chest in a mock-punch that hurt you more than it hurt him, his eyes wide in shock. “Look,” you said, tears welling in your eyes as you started to lose steam, but speaking the truth anyway, “I know you find me repulsive or whatever, but you should at least tell me to my face,” you looked up at him, eyes fierce and angry with tears. You looked down to the photographs, smiling softly at them before saying, “So I don’t hold on to hope.” You took a deep breath and ripped the long strip in half, and then again and again until the pieces floated onto the sidewalk in front of his feet.

You didn’t look at him again before you walked away. And Seokjin felt as if he were dying.

A small part of you had hoped that this public display of heartbreak would inspire him, prompt some sort of confession, something to contradict the things you had said. But as the days past after the incident, and no word from him, you knew that it was over.

Something that had not even begun, was…over. And it shattered your world in a way that you would’ve thought was impossible.

Taehyung was sitting on the ground next to you, leaning against the edge of your bed, watching as you scooped raw chocolate icing into your mouth without a care in the world. He put his arm around your shoulder and squeezed.

“I just don’t get it,” you whispered, licking the spoon clean before diving it back into the slowly emptying container, “It was one…afternoon. One kiss. Why do I care so much?”

Taehyung sighed and shrugged, “You really liked him. I don’t think ‘for how long’ matters.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Taehyung smiled, his expression changing when there was a loud knock on the door, “I’ll go get it.” You nodded and shoveled more icing into your mouth.

Taehyung reappeared in your doorway two minutes later with his face contorted in a look of displeasure, “Look,” he said, raising his hands defensively even though all you had done was look up at him, “You can tell him to fuck off.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Don’t tell me…”

“He’s my brother,” Taehyung smiled, “I have to help him out.”

“Tae,” you sighed, putting down your icing. But he merely stepped out of the way to reveal Kim Seokjin in his best pair of jeans, toting a bouquet of flowers and a picture frame.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly, hovering in the doorway.

You sighed, “What do you want?” You stood up and crossed your arms.

You could almost hear him gulp, but he pushed on anyway, “To apologize.”

You scoffed, “Really?”

“Yes,” he said. He offered the flowers to you hesitantly, and with just as much hesitance, you took them. He licked his lips before continuing, “I’m sorry. I didn’t…react very well.

You snorted, “No kidding.”

He smiled despite himself and continued, “I know I didn’t react well. I freaked out and avoided you and was…”

“A dick,” you supplied, hugging the flowers closer to your chest as hope-filled your rib cage.

“A dick,” he confirmed, smiling so that his eyes lit up when they locked with yours, “But, you have to know, that…that night with you, the kiss…it was the best night of my life,” he whispered the last part, offering the frame to you. Inside were the torn up pieces of the photobooth pictures that you’d thrown at his feet, sloppily taped together but carefully centered in the frame.

You looked from the frame to his face, eyes searching his hopefully. He smiled softly, “I’m sorry I was an idiot.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” you smiled, holding the flowers delicately in your hands as you inspected the beautiful frame holding the pictures of your first date, “A confession would’ve been enough,” you smirked.

“Well,” he chuckled, “I used the fifty bucks Taehyung gave me, so…”

“Oh, fuck off,” Taehyung whined.

author’s note— what’s my specialty in writing, you ask? tropes and clichés, thank you very much (inspired by the kissing booth, netflix)

requested by anonmous— jin, fic, ice cream dates, fluuuuffffyyyyy

for more of my works check out my m.list

[asneakyrogue]

Just Another Night

Llywellen stood up.

He’d been in the medium-sized room for more than a few hours. When he had first claimed the little corner space, there had only been a handful of others in The Last Light. As time had ticked by, and the shadows grew longer, more had wandered over. The sounds of the building had gone from a sleepy type of silence to a rowdy chorus. The chorus part wasn’t any kind of metaphor either. Several of the patrons had had one too many drinks and once one started singing, the rest had followed in a very off-key way.

The bartender had his own hands full trying to calm some dispute before a fight broke out. The shouting match only added to the din. The few bits and pieces Llywellen could make out led him to believe that it was over a girl.

A rough looking group of elves and a few undead played cards closest to where Llywellen stood. They were the quietest group, for the most part. The only sounds they were adding came in the rustle of cards, shuffling of decks, whispered threats, and occasional loud taunts.

The short elf charted out his course before taking his first step. In the back, there was little to contend with. He had picked a chair tucked into a corner near the only set of stairs. A little lamp sat close by on the top of a nearby barrel, but he had left it unlit. The closest table, technically two pushed together, sat several feet away. The gamblers had only arrived about an hour prior. His only company up to that point had been an irritated tabby and the dusty barrels.

In the front, past the bar and near the entrance, was a different story entirely. Any and all floor and table space had been monopolized. Up to that point was mostly the same as well, but just minutely better. It didn’t make sense, the night wasn’t any different from the rest. But even so, there they all were.

While most of them were blood elves, there were at least two orcs and a large handful of undead. One tauren made an unusual sight where he sat; he’d had to duck when he came in earlier. There were no trolls in sight, and while one might expect the same in regards to the much shorter goblins…Two had actually maneuvered their way up a table. They were loudly running their own game at the center of the room.

The condition of the crowd varied as if on a spectrum. A few rather charming looking female elves were dressed up. Their hair sparkled in the soft glow of the light as they chatted away. Several others, including some other blood elves, almost appeared to have just gotten off work. While they were dressed passably, they could have used a bath. Everyone else fell somewhere in between those extremes. The undead, surprisingly enough, were cleaned up as well as they could be. Understandably, there were limits that kept them from being the golden standard.

Pale eyes flashed as Llywellen slowly progressed through the room. The gamblers didn’t pay him any notice, one of them had just laid a nice spread. The disappointed grumbles followed him as he edged past to the bar. He paused for a moment and tried to catch the bartender’s eye. Someone bumped into Lly, knocking him painfully into the hard edge of the wood.

Llywellen bit back a sharp retort as he rubbed at his ribs. Even though he was wearing his light leather armor, it still hurt. He pointedly ignored the slurred apology emanating from behind his back and slid a few coins over the dark-stained wood.

The bartender collected them, smiling apologetically. His hair was grey in the dim lighting, his skin darker from a tan that would never quite go away. Light scars stood out in relief.

Llywellen just shook his head as he stepped back.

“Have yourself a good night, Koraval,” said Llywellen. He added with a mischievous grin, “You’re going to need a few of those drinks yourself by the time it’s over.”

Koraval sighed one of his classic, dramatic sighs. He looked around the room before responding. “It will be more than a few.” The bartender’s gaze grew flinty as it settled on the two arguing friends. While not arguing loudly anymore, the angry looks suggested they could start up again. The two fell silent under Koraval’s disapproving stare.

Llywellen nodded and resumed his not so hasty retreat.

When the rogue had first returned to Silvermoon a few months prior, he had taken up residence in one of the few upstairs rooms. Even after finding somewhere more official to spend the evenings, Llywellen kept coming by. There was something about the atmosphere that he found relaxing, even on his bad nights.  

It just wasn’t so relaxing at the moment. Llywellen awkwardly squeezed his way through the tight grouping of self-appointed singers. They were no longer in-sync and weren’t even bothering with the same song. As he finally made his way out of the building, he nodded a farewell to a rather irritated ex-soldier. One of the drunken partygoers had started trying to talk to the scarred elf.

As a regular, Llywellen had slowly learned the habits and routines of the other common fixtures. He knew who would show up which nights, from the group of friends to that particular scarred, grizzly veteran. He also knew how long they would stay, and even what they would drink. The only thing he could never keep straight was the myriad of names. He never spoke to any of these people, instead learning all of this from the safety of his corner. Most notable of the establishment was, of course, the bartender/innkeeper himself.

The cool night greeted Llywellen as he emerged from the dark recesses of the building. His first deep breath of the brisk air was welcome after the stifling, stuffy lower floor. He didn’t go far from the entrance, just far enough for the sounds to die down.  

At first, Llywellen hadn’t thought much of Koraval. The greying elf stayed penned up behind the bar during the crazier hours, but busied himself later in the evening straightening up. He would talk to the few that lingered near the front, seeming to know enough details about each to actually have things to say in response or to ask about. Beyond the necessary amounts, Koraval had mostly avoided speaking to Llywellen. Llywellen had been fine with that and not interested in speaking in turn.

It had taken him some time to realize that the bartender did that on purpose. Over the weeks, Llywellen noticed little things with the way Koraval acted that just didn’t line up. Was he quiet, chatty, thoughtful, social? Llywellen had seen plenty of signs indicating each one, but nobody could be so varied. It was about that point that he finally figured it out. Koraval, used to playing the perfect role of a bartender, acted differently depending solely on whom he was talking with. He knew just how to act with each to put them at ease, or make their evening a little better.

That was also the reason he’d left Llywellen alone. The more Lly had thought about it, and continued watching, the more it made sense. While Llywellen had been busy trying to figure everyone else out, Koraval had already figured him out. Even his little corner spot had been a product of the elf’s ingenuity. The chair had been moved back a few weeks into Llywellen’s visits and immediately became his space.  

Since that point, Llywellen had made some effort to talk with him. The more he learned, the more he liked about the aging elf. Formerly a city guard, Koraval had retired several years earlier. He still trained the occasional recruits and would even let old friends convince him to tag along on important meetings. The few interactions between the bartender and any off-duty guards led Llywellen to believe he was well respected. Koraval had an adult son only a little older than Lly, and a wife that he was trying to spend more time with.

The rogue sat down on the edge of a flowerbed. Lamps lining the cobblestone path were putting off just enough light to see by. Not enough to read by, but literally enough to keep from tripping over one’s own feet. A few moths fluttered around each, fading into and out of sight with the soft beat of wings. The lane bordering several of the buildings, The Last Light included, laid empty in the ghostly glare. Somewhere above, the moons stayed hidden behind invisible clouds.

It was hard for him to imagine that it had already been four months. Four months since he first stepped foot into the city after over a decade’s absence. The city wasn’t familiar; it was a foreign thing, even before he’d left. Before the Scourge, Llywellen had avoided coming all the way to Silvermoon as much as possible. He’d just felt more at home in the woods of Eversong.  

He’d only come back because someone had asked him to. Llywellen could still recall the indecision, the hesitation, the eventual acceptance, all over the span of weeks. The trip back had been too short in comparison. And…there was surprise waiting at the end of it.

He couldn’t remember what he had truly been worried about. Standing in the streets, nothing had happened. Nothing. In some ways, it had been a relief, but also disappointing. Llywellen had avoided the place for so long and for all his worrying, there had been nothing. All the years, all the months, all the days. All wasted. All for nothing.

Where he sat now, there was still nothing. Even in the dark, the city was no different from any other place.

Llywellen had never been afraid of the dark. To some extent, he could still say he wasn’t. It wasn’t the dark he feared, but the things it brought.

With the dark, the silence would sweep in. It would settle softly over everyone and everything. The worst part of the silence was that nobody else ever noticed its familiar weight. One by one, they too would fall silent, speaking in whispers if speaking at all. Conversations would end, doors would close, lights would be put out. The silence would become a thing no one wished to break, and so they wouldn’t break it. It would stretch into the hours, reaching even into the next day.

With the silence, distraction would end. Self-reflection would become the norm. Thoughts would wander. Without the distractions, he always found his mind wandering. He would start to think about the things he wished he wouldn’t. A constant repeat. Endless cycles of clips and phrases and clips and phrases ultimately leading him to mull over the past.

A steady clip-clop came closer. The handler was walking beside the mare, reins in hand. He caught Llywellen looking and nodded a greeting. Neither knew each other. Their figures vanished just as quickly, swallowed by the shadows. The sounds of the hooves gradually died away.

Sometimes being alone was a comfort. Sometimes it wasn’t. Alone in the dark, without anyone around, Llywellen could only lie to himself. The sad part was he never believed his own words. Without being able to pretend, there was nothing else to him. He felt like a broken vase held together by pure luck, constantly threatening to realize it had been shattered and should be lying in pieces.

Llywellen remained sitting there for some time. Only when he started to grow stiff, and finally noticed the chill of the night, did he get back up. The rogue wandered away in search of an uneasy sleep.

[bunnylichqueen]

- The ones who came last pt 2-

Genzlinger enters the lab, it bares four different tables with various tools of the trade. At one of them is a man who looks to be in his late twenties with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, black hair, and wearing a lab coat that has grey splotches and coffee stains. He looks up from his notebook and says in a low voice.

" welcome to lab 56, blah blah, read this."

Pulling a black folder from under his notebook and sliding it across the table

" Inside you'll find everything on the objects pertaining to project StarFall."

Inside it details the project and what they know so far of the objects, detailing some of the tests and even going as far to name the objects.

The first object was a simple pen, Given the name, god's quill. its properties unknown, It wont even write though it clearly has ink. When the ink was removed it would dissolve the paper it was tested on.

The next object was a sword, named hephaistos's blade. Its made from a metal they are calling " Fire stone". The edges that appear dull has been able to cut through tungsten, and titanium. When left against objects they will almost immediately start to melt and burn. The sword has been left in a tank of water that is forty-eight degrees below zero Celsius, and needs to be refilled weekly. If the blade is removed from the water it starts to steam almost immediately.

"The tests that can be done are limited, however this time we know where the next item will land this time."

Genzlinger looks up from the notebook, at the sound of his voice.

The man pulls a cigarette out and taps it on the table, now that Genzlinger can actually see his face. Under his glasses are dark circles, his face unshaved and tired.

Pulling an ash tray closer to him and lighting his cigarette he turns to Genzlinger and says.

"We know the next will land somewhere out here, using the past two objects trajectory we came to this site. "

Sitting at the table Genzlinger starts writing notes when the man asks.

" What was your real name? They call me Louie."

" Ramould Geiger. What about you?"

He blows out smoke ashing the cigarette.

" Wyatt William."

Genzlinger closes his black leather bound notebook, and asks.

" The objects, what are your thoughts?"

Louie puts out his current cigarette and doesn't respond till he lights another.

" when the pen fell it wasn't found till after the sword, it was surprisingly found close to Carlet's favorite coffee shop, A book store owner found it and tried to use it to write receipt, the sword hit our radar quite quickly. You hear about the Waldbaum's Supermarket fire? "

Genzlinger nods as Louie continues.

" It was covered up because the sword was used by a group of thugs, that robbed a nearby bank and fled into the store when they got pinned down, the police downed the guy who was using it, and before they knew what happened, well you get the picture."

A thought at the back of Genzlingers mind almost makes him twitch visibly.

" How does the weapon not burn the user?"

Louie chuckles almost like a made man, saying in a tone that sounds like someone who has given up.

"Im gonna be honest, I don't know. No one here does! The hilt is made from what appears to be the same metal!"

After Louie finishes his cigarette he shows Genzlinger to his room.

Lighting another one Louie opens the door to his new small room were he finds a lab coat on a hook beside the light switch, in a dresser at the foot of the twin size bed he finds three sets of uniforms. Button up shirts, khaki pants and a tie. Besides the dresser. On the other side of the room there's a small desk and a chair.

Once hes settled in, Genzlinger starts writing about the day in his journal, as he does nightly.

" This place so far shows promise, But i have my doubts. Objects that fall from the sky and possess such abilities seems absurd, but after the dream before graduation. There's just to many things that are matching up... "

Waking up the next day Genzlinger dresses and goes to the lab, there he finds Louie sitting with two other people. One a tall tanned man with a name tag that reads Dr.Ramon. Beside him is a short red haired women with Dr.Estella on hers. Getting a cup of coffee he joins them mid conversation just as Louie says.

" Next month we move out to the landing site, from there we hope for the best."

Genzlinger sits down as Louie introduces him to the others. He asks them about what today will entail, Estella answers.

" I'm going to be working on adapting the cargo truck to hold the sword, Roman can I get your help with that actually ? You know thermodynamics better than I do."

Roman nods saying.

"Yeah I can, luckily this has been dull so far."

Estella stretches her arms up and nods to Genzlinger.

" You are gonna be pretty bored, So far this project isnt as anywhere exciting as Rosewell! My dad worked there whe-! "

Roman cuts her off by pulling her away nodding to Genzlinger with what appears to be sorrowful eyes.

"What am I doing today?"

Louie chuckles and answers as he lights yet another.

" Looking to jump right into it I see, You will be observing our final tests on the objects we have as my assistant. Today we have one test planned, Its our first test on recent developed shield and armor just incase the next one is also gonna burn our eyebrows off "

He trails off taking a long drag, looking down he pulls a clipboard out from under his thick binder and says.

" Ready to began?"

Entering the test chamber observation deck Louie sits down placing his mug and half empty pack of smokes on the table, taking one out and lighting it he turns on the intercom and says.

" Test subject four can enter the chamber. "

Genzlinger watches as a man who looks gruff and malnourished enters the room in what appears to be some sort of suit with a shield that looks straight out of a film about a mad scientist. Genzlinger mutters out

" What the hell.?" In a low voice taking note of the test so far.

Louie press the intercom button again saying.

"Test subject three please enter the chamber and engage four."

Another man enters the room, a red and silver blade in hand, sweat apparent on his face. The thermometer for the chamber spikes twenty degrees

The man stands for a second hesitate.

" Test subject three, please engage four!" Shouts Louie

Three starts attacking the shielded man, four at first seemingly with the upper hand presses the advantage, pushing back three, Just as it seems three was outmatched, the shield starts to sizzle and pop, three tries to move out of the way, he just didnt move fast enough. The outside coating flies off, chunks of smoldering metal and dry ice hitting three in the face, dropping to the ground he cries out in pain.

Four jumps on the man, slamming the bottom edge into the mans throat.

Genzlinger's stops writing, horrified with what just happened he looks towards Louie whose simply muttering something about reinforcements, and water mesh. Genzlinger goes to say something but Louie abruptly says into the intercom.

" Terminate Test subject four, and bring in five and six."

Genzlinger shaking and still terrified, looks towards Louie, who is merely puffing away and scribbling things in his notebook.

" Louie what the hell is going on! I did not sign up for fighting rings and murder!"

A shot rings out as Louie puts out his smoke, closing the book he says.

" With things like the sword, we have to prepare a world to handle this type of raw power. Now excuse me but we have two more tests, both for the god pen."

The pen and a notebook are placed on the table in front of five, hes instructed to begin writing. As usual the ink starts burning the paper, but fives eyes start to roll back. Writing faster with insane movements as he starts speaking.

" Down in the darkness she gathers, blood of the holy, and ichor of the forgotten. Murmuring tales of old, and whispering of the return. Open the gates for her! Open the gates for her!"

Security officers storm the room. The first one approaches, his side arm pointed at the man. Who suddenly jumps from the table stabbing the pen into his neck as he screams.

" three will gather under one, joined not by blood but under the damnation of another wh-!"

Before he could finish a bullet goes through his stomach and another through his heart. Genzlinger knows what the final ill words the man was going to say. Hes heard that same speech countless times now since his nightmares began.

Interrupting Genzlinger's thoughts Louie has six brought into the room, trying to recreate what just happened to no avail. Seven, eight, nine. All fail to be spoke through by the pen.

When Genzlinger turns in by 5 A.M, the day still haunting him. Opening his journal he begins writing, when he reaches the part of the man who spoke the ill words he finishes what he was going to say.

" Three gather under one, joined not by blood but by damnation of another who opened the gate to Tel-vanni."

[officialjkhogan]

STRAY: Chapter Eight

STRAY: Chapter Eight

by J.K. Hogan

Noah’s stomach cramped with hunger as he tapped the glass touchpad that controlled the holographic display. He was using the library’s public data-deck to take a practice test for his level twos. If he got the grades he thought he would, he might be able to escape his almost certain future of working in a factory or a plant, and instead become an engineer. Level two proficiencies were the highest level of education for everyday citizens—doctors, for instance, went on to level threes. Noah knew from his history lessons that back in the days of brick-and-mortar schools, level twos were referred to as “university.”

He sipped bitter coffee that someone had left sitting on the machine, obviously having forgotten about it while it was being filled. Gods, he was hungry. He hadn’t made many sales at the Bazaar last Tuesday, and a couple of his regular customers had stopped coming around, so he had literally five dollars to his name at the moment. He just had to manage not to starve to death before he took the tests, then he could get a decent job and find an actual place to live and, like, food and stuff.

At least he had a current roof over his head, as undesirable as it was. And crashing with Cousin Tom was definitely undesirable. Being a dealer meant that Tom had a revolving door for customers at any time of the day or night, and they were always eyeballing Noah real creepy-like. Sometimes even Tom did. Noah had gotten used to living with the hunted feeling, that need to constantly be on his guard and look over his shoulder. He always felt like there was someone just around the corner, waiting to grab him—be it Tom’s addict friends, stalkers on the street like that one time years ago when the blond guy saved him, or even goons from his parents’ church-cult, deciding they were going to force him to join after all. He’d never, ever felt at ease. Well, only once. With that guy. Whose name, irritatingly, he couldn’t ever seem to remember.

Noah had been avoiding going back to Tom’s, because the way the man looked at him had been making him increasingly uncomfortable. Sure, they were family—at least, he thought they were. He’d only met Tom after his parents had dumped him. They ran in the same circles, and Tom approached him one day, saying that he was the son of Emmy Cowan’s estranged brother. Noah had been so desperate for any kind of connection to another human being that he hadn’t questioned it. Still, occasionally Tom’s stare became sort of possessive, and even…predatory. Sometimes.

Noah scored nearly perfect on the practice test before his hunger started making him lightheaded. He had two more days until the Bazaar opened again, but he’d starve before then. He had no other choice but to back home—not that it was his home—and find someone to blow for a twenty. There were always some tweaked-out druggie closet-cases around to hit up. They consumed more when they got off, so it was lucrative for both Noah and Tim. As much as he hated doing it, Noah refused to let himself feel ashamed. It was survival, pure and simple.

As he walked home later, Noah passed by Sanctuary just like he did every time he went to the library. And each time, he remembered the masked man who suggested there might be a job for Noah inside. Hell, the guy probably just wanted Noah to come in because he thought he was pretty. It had been a nice fantasy, but Noah didn’t believe a word of it. It was rare for businesses to have enough capital to employ an in-house engineer to keep their tech up and running. Still, every time Noah walked by, he wondered if he’d given up before he even tried.

Tom lived in a ramshackle house on the edge of a former residential district that hadn’t survived the last purge. No one had bothered to claim the land and redevelop, so people like Tom and his ilk had colonized it, squatting in buildings in various stages of disrepair. The front door rocked on its hinges as Noah swung it open to reveal stained tan carpeting and puke green walls that were peeling enough to expose the sheetrock beneath the paint. The sickly sweet smell of ganja was a physical cloud in the hallway, so Noah followed it into the dark den with its blackout curtains and psychedelic tapestries.

Tom lounged on the threadbare couch with two men who were obviously sampling the wares, and a woman was asleep—or unconscious—in the recliner that hadn’t reclined since they’d found it on the side of the road. Tom looked over and gave him an oily grin.

“Eyy, Noah, my dude! Have you been at the fuckin’ library this whole time?”

With a sigh, Noah half sat, half fell into the only empty chair left. “Yep. Killed my practice test though. I’ll be ready for my level twos. I only came home because…I got hungry.”

Tom took a sip of his lager and eyed Noah for a moment, before jerking his chin at the guy to his left. “I’m sure Adam here can help you out.”

Noah’s stomach rebelled, and he had to swallow down the urge to vomit air—because that’s all he had in his stomach—but a guy had to eat. At least Adam was somewhat attractive, built like a tank, with a razor-sharp jawline and a crooked nose, but he also looked like he could get mean with very little provocation.

“My cuz here needs some work to make a little extra cash,” Tom said to Adam. Some kind of silent communication must have happened to inform Adam just exactly what kind of work Tom meant, because Adam gave Noah a long onceover and licked his lips.

Fuck. The guy was definitely down for it, and Noah should be happy because he would get to eat but, fuck. Noah stood up and headed for the door, looking over his shoulder and raising a brow until Adam got the picture and followed him. As he climbed the stairs, with Adam’s fingers brushing the top of his ass, Noah hated himself just a little bit more.

****

Tonight I am a creature. A man but not a man. Who dreams of nothing but murder.

****

Tuesday, the Bazaar was swamped. Noah sold half the inventory he’d brought from the crypt, and he should have been flying high on the accomplishment, his full belly, and the wad of cash in his pocket, but he was just…numb. All he could think of was the feeling of Adam’s beefy hands on his skull, pulling his hair, and Noah wondered why he did it.

He had no one. No family, not really, no real friends, only people who seemed to want to use him, so why the hell did he fight so hard not to starve. Why didn’t he save himself the trouble, and his jaw the strain, and just go fall off a bridge somewhere.

Shaking his head, he stuffed his remaining tech into his duffel. How fucking melodramatic. He’d never been suicidal…not really. Honestly, he’d always felt like there was something just offstage, waiting in the wings, something that he was meant to do but couldn’t quite see the full picture yet. Some days it was the only thing that kept him from knotting sheets together.

He piled up his boxes and crates behind an old food stand from the bygone days of the amusement park and hoped no one would steal them before next Tuesday. The back of his neck prickled as he bent to pick up his duffel, so he spun around and scanned the almost empty Bazaar. There was no one near. No one, except for a big white cat.

This time, the coincidence of seeing the cat again made Noah’s hair stand on end. He was half convinced he’d been hallucinating the creature this whole time. His fingers clenched on the leather strap of his bag, but he tried to act like he wasn’t afraid he was losing his mind.

“Hey, there, um…cat. I don’t know how you keep finding me. In fact, I’m ninety-five percent sure I’m seeing things. I’m surprised you haven’t gone home by now. Hell, I’m surprised you’re still alive.” Noah scrubbed his hands over his face, then shook his head. “I’m surprised I’m still talking to a gods-be-damned cat.”

The creature meowed, then slinked over and wove its way between and around Noah’s legs, leaving long white hairs all over his jeans. He brushed off the denim-myolene blend and glared at the cat. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

The cat purred and let out another plaintive moan.

“Ugh… I know that look too well. You’re hungry, yeah? All right, then, follow me. Today, we eat like princes.”

Eating like princes for Noah meant one of the mobile kitchens that frequented the park. He ordered some falafel, with curry chicken and rice, and hauled it all over to a picnic table. He sat down on the table part, while bracing his feet on the bench. Inexplicably, the cat followed him like it thought it was people. With a sigh, Noah spread out a napkin and spooned some chicken onto it for the cat, who eagerly wolfed it down, snarling a little as it chewed.

“Easy, killer,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t choke. Damn, you must’ve been starving. Been there, pal. Hey, at least you found a generous benefactor to keep you in curry, and you didn’t even have to blow anybody to get money.”

As if it understood, the cat froze. It stopped eating and stared at him, blinking slowly. It sat back on its haunches, ignoring the food, and waited, as if it expected him to continue. Embarrassed about talking to a cat, Noah gave an agitated wave of his hand.

“It’s nothing. When you’re homeless, you do what you need to do to get by. Every day I see people who are way worse off than me, so I try not to complain.”

The cat padded closer, curling up and pressing against the side of Noah’s thigh, purring. Noah stroked its back, running his fingers through the soft fur, and felt the knobby bumps of its spine as it arched up to chase his touch. Looking down at the cat, Noah noticed something he’d never seen before—a flash of black on the inside of its ear.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, as if the cat was going to answer him. He swiped a finger along the pink, paper-thin skin of the cat’s inner ear. It was ink. A tattoo. He knew that animals were often tattooed with ID numbers by shelters, or even their owners, but this marking was unusual. It was a glyph of a small, five-pointed crown. Beneath it, letters spelled out a word he didn’t recognize. “I wonder what this means. Basti.”

When he said it, the cat whipped his head around to stare up at him, and it let a garbled little growl. It sounded so disgruntled that Noah had to laugh. Obviously at some point, someone had cared about this cat enough to mark it, but he’d seen it on the streets too many times for it to be anything other than a stray.

“Is that your name, then? Basti? It’s cute.”

The cat narrowed its eyes, exhaled sharply through its nose, then mewed and went back to the curry chicken. That, apparently, was that.

While Basti inhaled his food, Noah ate at a more sedate pace, savoring the feeling of, for once, not being hungry. He looked at the cat, who in turn watched him. It was lithe and willowy, but not skinny. Its bones didn’t protrude past its thick coat, so it had to be fed with some regularity.

“I wonder where you normally get your food,” Noah said before he could quell the impulse. He sighed, setting down his now-empty food carton. “I know I must seem like some freaky stranger who speaks to you as if you were human, in a language you couldn’t possibly understand but…I don’t have many people—or animals, I guess—in my life, so I just can’t help myself. You’re safe.” Noah didn’t know if he meant that the cat was safe for him to talk to, or that the cat was safe with him. Maybe both.

“I have to go home. It will be dark soon.” The last place he wanted to be was Tom’s, but it wasn’t safe on the streets at night. “You should go on back to wherever you normally sleep and eat. Trust me, where I’m going isn’t anywhere you want to be.”

Noah tossed their trash into a nearby agri-dump receptacle, and set off west, toward Tom’s. The cat jumped down from the picnic table and followed. Noah sighed heavily, because with his work done and his belly finally full, all he wanted to do was lie down on his lumpy mattress and sleep for a week.

“Shoo! Get out of here! Trust me, you don’t want to go where I’m going.”

Basti grumbled and sat back on his haunches. As Noah continued through the rapidly darkening park, he pretended he didn’t know the precocious feline was still following him.

[shidoukanae]

Make a Choice (VRAINS fanfic)

Summary: 

Her brother. Akira.

Her friend. Playmaker.

"Choose," she tells herself.

Relationships: Angelmakershipping (Aoi ZaizenxYusaku Fujiki), Aoi Zaizen & Akira Zaizen

Ao3 notes and musings: Link

Warnings for: toxic sibling relationships, violence and abuse, and manipulation

~~~

Choose...

Aoi looks at her hands. She looks at her invisible choices, at number one and number two, and bemoans her situation. Her back is against the door to her room, an old-time phone dangling off its cord. An alarm clock ticks backwards, time winding counterclockwise as she shakes.

Her brother or Playmaker?

Her person of greatest obsession or the boy of her greatest affections?

“Choose,” she tells herself.

In one hand, she holds Playmaker’s greatest secret. It weighs down upon her limb, bringing it crashing through the floor. In the other is her brother’s attention, the gaze of his eyes upon her, his mere attention that she craves.

She must sacrifice one to obtain the other.

She can’t have both, she knows that.

“Choose.”

Yusaku looks at her, green eyes disinterested in the world around him. She is standing away from him, books upon books in her arms until there is no end to them because she must be studious, she must get good grades and obtain her brother’s praise.

She walks towards him, gaze down, because he is just another person, another competitor in a long line of class rankings. He is nothing of importance, a figure of ones and zeros manifested in the real world.

She trips, her infinite amount of books spilling from her arms. Yusaku pauses, his distant gaze fixated upon her, and he, to her surprise, offers her a hand.

“Are you alright?”

Aoi frowns at the insincere smile on his face.

“Choose.”

Blue Angel hops from roof to roof, her high-heeled shoes crashing down upon sun-tanned tiles. Her Duel Disk glimmers in the sunshine and she laughs, skipping to and fro as she runs down the line of houses that pile up along the street.

Across from her, choosing his board over his feet, hovers a boy in a green and black suit striped with gold. He flies with certainty, a kind of cautious confidence that has him soaring over the rooftops she strides across. His Decode Talker and Firewall Dragon have taken the field - both entities that declare themselves as his ace monsters. Holy Trickster Angel is at her side, the humanoid monster tailing behind her with exasperated sighs that only her real world self would dare utter.

Cameras prod all around her, tiny white drones hovering with the starving attention of hungry little puppies. They swarm her and Playmaker, lapping up their every movement with scrutinous gazes. She can already imagine the announcers on the TV screens shouting and cheering, can see the people beneath her waving and screaming. She can see the Blue Angel and Playmaker memorophilia enclosing around their throats, around their wrists and fingers and hands and necks and ears until, ultimately, it is a giant noose of money.

“Let’s go, go, go!” she shouts in utter glee, a light contrast to the emotions bundled upon her chest. Playmaker offers her an irritated look that speaks wonders of his feelings towards her performance. She waves her hand to a camera and it hovers closer to her (a bit too close to her chest) and she bats it away with a carefree swipe. It fizzles in shame and moves off with little clicks.

Playmaker grabs a card from his deck. It sparks with the light of the virtual sun, catching on sunlight, and is placed onto his board with little constraint.

“Choose.”

Her brother stands in a door, hands behind his back. His gaze is held prisoner by the scenery outside their mansion, by the lingering clouds that graze across the blue grass and the tiny little leaves that fly off across its depths. She stands with her bag slung across her back and her gaze to his backside. He is regal, a man of great worth and great value in the world of SOL Technology. It’s no wonder why she desperately wants his icy blue eyes to warm upon seeing her, why she wants to see him smile at her like she’s the sun in the sky. He’s a man of great accomplishments, of newspaper worth, and yet she’s little more than a spot in the corner of his eyes.

He praises Playmaker, praises the boy on the hoverboard who saved the VRAINS with his superior skills against the Knights of Hanoi. He also watches Blue Angel’s - her - duels with the fever of an obsessed man, drawn in by the Charisma Duelist’s deck and by her supreme savage strength. On occasion, if she’s lucky and in earshot, she’ll hear him sing the highest of regards for her alternate self. She hugs such words with generous affection, grateful that, for once, her brother appreciates her in some gratifying way.

Of course, that all changes when her brother gains the highest animosity for the man who stole his AI program. He becomes spiteful, vengeful, spitting like a cobra in order to make a promise to enact revenge against the man who played him for a fool.

“Choose.”

Playmaker. Her brother. Yusaku Fujiki. Akira Zaizen.

“Choose.”

Playmaker settles a duel with an agent of SOL. The man sulks and logs off while Playmaker flicks his scathing gaze across the battlefield. A screen appears in front of him with none other than her brother to shout and scream at the man in the black and green wetsuit.

“Choose.”

Her brother sends a glass cup shattering to the ground, his calm composure lost in the heated moments of his greatest frustration. Silver shards rain down to the ground, melting into little teardrops that stain her cheeks red as she picks up the pieces. Her brother, as always, wants nothing to do with her and stomps off into his room, slamming the door behind him.

“Choose.”

She challenges Playmaker to a battle, certain that, if she could be the one to finally defeat him, she would earn only the highest praise from her brother. Then and only then would she reveal her true identity to him, eager to obtain his affectionate words in person.

“Choose.”

She’s brutally defeated, sinking into the ground as Playmaker ascends to the sky. She curses and screams, angry that such an interloper, such a hero, can ruin her reputation in one straight hit.

“Choose.”

Blue Angel becomes wrapped up in the very fabrication of revenge. She will stop at nothing to defeat Playmaker, to win her brother’s love, to become someone her brother can look upon and be proud of for once in his life.

“Choose.”

Akira Zaizen, as workaholic as he ever is, strains himself to the maximum capability. He can see nothing else but the shackles on Playmaker’s wrists, the chains that will bind his ankles to silver bars as Akira drags the man kicking and screaming into the depths of jail.

“Choose.”

She tries a different approach; make friends with him. If she can’t beat him then she’ll weasel out his secret. If she can’t defeat him, she’ll find out who he actually is in the true world. So, she gets cutesy, gets involved, does anything she can to garner his trust. He’s an anomaly, someone so disinterested in Dueling that it almost baffles her how he can exist in a space meant for nothing else but Dueling.

“Choose.”

Eventually, he cracks. He lets her into his little circle, tolerating her in his presence. His little program, the little creature that her brother so desperately wants, distrusts her with malicious intent. It makes lewd comments regarding her VR form, poking fun at her real world self (while hurting her where it hurts) and overall making its intentions very, very clear. The thing is oddly protective of Playmaker, a being of digital parts and yet somehow the man’s virtual caretaker.

“Choose.”

Shockingly, she finds herself enjoying Playmaker’s presence. He’s a distant person, one disinterested by Dueling, but his passion for fighting against the Knights of Hanoi speaks well of his determination to succeed. She can admit she’s charmed by that, by the way he is able to determine the critical points of when to attack and when to defend, when to launch forward and when to flee. He’s intelligent, well-bred in the field of combat, and it’s almost scary how much Blue Angel can relate to that.

“Choose.”

There is a particularly nasty fight in which a Knight of Hanoi corners Playmaker, his monsters towering over the man with sharpened teeth and graceful claws. The man finds himself in a bind, down to the last card, and his hands shake on camera when he draws it. However, he smiles and activates it.

A trap.

Playmaker’s enemy screams as his monsters are vanquished from the field but not before he gets the last word. One of his creatures, a worm of green light, dives forward moments before it disappears to bite into his arm. It’s Playmaker’s time to scream as he is knocked off his board and sent hurtling into the depths of a Data Storm.

By the time the storm clears, Playmaker is gone.

“Choose.”

Yusaku Fujiki vanishes from class. The whole ordeal in itself is not strange - people ditch class all the time - but the fact that it’s Yusaku Fujiki, of all people, draws in the rumors that make it to Aoi’s ears. He was a boy of great attendance, always available whenever school was and very, very rarely a person to miss school even on the worst flu imaginable.

Speculation is abound when Yusaku shows up the next day with his arm in a cast. Such an item has many gossiping about the tragedies the boy has encountered, of the dog that must’ve chased him down until it could only gnaw on his hand or of the way such a careful boy must’ve fallen from great heights to land such a thick cast of white bandages.

Aoi, personally, doesn’t care what the reason is. Her mind is more on Playmaker, on how his eyes had widened as his board had tipped to the side, on how his AI program had screamed and screamed for him to “get back on, just get back on!” and how he’d fallen with his face twisted, for the first time since she’d teamed up with him, in terror.

“Choose.”

As their missions in the VRAINS get more and more dangerous, Aoi notices she’s starting to accumulate a series of injuries along her body. Bruises and scratches etch themselves into her flesh, battering her skin until it becomes harder and harder to hide any traces of injury. She’s had to wrap scarves around her neck, wear gloves on her hands and pull up her leggings any time they dipped below her skirt to obscure all the battle scars she’s obtained.

Playmaker, her partner, and Go, the other member of their team (aside from, later, Revolver and the guy with a seeming fetish for hot dogs), are in no better shape than she is herself. She’s seen them in worse conditions than herself, breath stolen, blood painted on their arms and legs, and she wonders how everything had gone from fun and games, from her wanting to exploit him for her brother’s sake, to her wanting to fight alongside him in his desperation to uncover the Cyberverse.

The news media will never shut up about it. Go Onizuka, the only one of their cast whose VR form is the same as his real world one, is constantly prodded by news reporters for tidbits about their latest exploits. Aoi, sometimes, wishes she can be right next to him, to support him and reassure him with her presence and to not hide away from the world in her stupid little self.

The self even her brother can’t love.

“Choose.”

More and more, Yusaku abandons school. Their classmates have long since stopped with the theories, clueless and unable to pry anything out of him the moment he lands in their presence. Aoi, though reasonably worried for him, finds herself distracted by the pulling up of her leggings or the extra layer of scarf that burns her in the midst of summer-day heat. It’s getting to the point where she’s begun to limp, wincing at every wrong twist of her foot. It’s also gotten to the point where Akira Zaizen, whose gaze was always (always) on his work, flits to her as if her misplaced footsteps have caused him too large a nuisance.

His gaze, always cold and uninviting, glares down upon her like a snake. His eyes flash at the wounds along her skin, not quite out of concern but out of a ruthless anger that vibrates down to his hand and sends his pencil snapping in-between his fingers.

He interrogates her. Akira Zaizen interrogates his sister with curled lips, cupping her cheeks with rough hands and jerking her head up to meet his gaze. Aoi’s grateful for the attention, honestly, it’s the first time that she’s ever seen him so concerned for her and not Blue Angel but all she can feel is the quivering of her body, the scared adrenaline that pumps through her skin and the sudden need to escape from this furious shadow of her brother.

When all is done she slumps to the floor as her brother stalks away, furious and upset and spitting with disgust. She’s unsure how she’s managed to evade his prodding for so long but she’s proud of herself for keeping her secret from him. In the past, he might have been happy to relate her adventures in the VRAINS to him. Now, however, she shied away from it, frightened by what the SOL head of security would do when he realized she’d befriended his company’s worst enemy.

“Choose.”

Yusaku comes to school one day, a noticeable bruise on his cheek. The speculation regarding him and his mysterious injuries has long since closed, however, and her peers merely passed along worrying looks to their classroom outcast. Aoi herself began to wonder what was the cause of all his injuries. She’s studied him a little in class (he was adjacent to her after all, not too far, merely a seat to her left), and he seemed too intent on the notes on the board to bother with her suspicious gaze.

However, there’s a brief moment of time, a tiny sliver in which his gaze flits to her. Her eyes widen as she’s caught red-handed but she can’t look away. There’s something about him that screams familiar, something that makes her want to rush up to him and jump and smile at him just like Blue Angel would if she was in the VR world.

Too late, she realizes his gaze has drifted down from hers to her legs. She stares at him, dumbfounded, and follows his gaze.

The bruise on her leg is showing, the one that glistens a bright purple and smattered with red. Aoi flushes, pulling up her legging so as to hide the offending injury.

Yusaku frowns at her, his eyes narrowed.

She doesn’t like that look. She really, really does not like that look.

“Choose.”

Yusaku confronts her at the end of school, pulling her aside as the rest of his classmates drift down the hallway. She hears a certain chatter that insinuates the idea that Yusaku would ask her on a date, that their outcast classmate would be asking, of course, the only other outcast in the class, for her hand. Such wild rumors made her give an exasperated sigh. She knew why Yusaku wanted to talk and she knew it had more to do with the purple on her legs than the bouquet of roses her peers thought they saw in Yusaku’s hands.

The boy is cool, cautious, nearly calculating. There are gears whirling in his head, green eyes alert and yet, somehow interested in the way she returns his gaze with defiance, ready to defend herself and her injuries with a retort that echoes of his own.

Then, he says four words that shatter her sense of safety.

“Choose.”

He’s done it. She doesn’t know how and she doesn’t know when but, somehow, he’s figured it out.

He know she’s the Blue Angel.

Yusaku pulls together an analysis from his head, listing out facts that describe how he’s identified her, and gathers too much evidence for her to find a reasonable loophole. Trapped and suffocated by the sudden appearance of a noose around her throat, she backs away, legs slamming into the chair behind her.

She falls before she can stop herself, unbalanced to the point of tipping over. However, Yusaku is faster, a hand enclosing upon her wrist and pulling her up and into his arms. She blushes furiously, knowing full well that such an action was unnecessary.

Yusaku leans down, breath rushing past her ear. She watches him with shock, uncertain as to what he was trying to pull.

His next words make everything come together.

“Choose.”

She’s numb, too numb that it almost comes to no shock to her that her brother is home early. He is present in the living room, a book laid before him. His work clothes, for once, are off and replaced by a reasonable outfit of a simple shirt and jeans. He looks up at her, closes his book, and then strides over to her with a formal spring in his step.

There’s a smile on his face, a light-hearted kind that suddenly vanquishes any feeling of shock she might have with the swelling of her heart. His gaze was so different from the cold-hearted brother she was constantly trying to impress. He seemed less distant now, less disapproving, like the brother she’d worked so desperately to find.

She inquires as to his earliness. He responds in a tact manner about how the company is forcing him - the workaholic - to stay at home - to spend time with her. He admits it’s been a long, long time since any such change has occurred and, as such, he wants to spend all his time with her.

Aoi’s too giddy to even suspect that he is lying. It’s what she’s always wanted, it’s what she’s always craved. Her brother, her cold and distant brother, is finally paying attention to her. She accepts his explanation without any suspicion and, without missing a beat, he draws up a list of suggestions of what to try.

She couldn’t be more happy.

“Choose.”

Her next meeting with Playmaker is awkward. It’s hard for her to act cutesy and cheery when he knows who she is. When she knows who he is.

Go, the only one of them whose real world self and VR self were the same, notes the seeming animosity between them with worry and concern. He inquires as to the cause and then, Playmaker (Yusaku), gives him a thin smile.

He checks for cameras, checks for the little drones that constantly follow their little troupe and ,after Ignis reports that there is nothing around them, Yusaku speaks. He tells Go his real name, reveals his identity, and then slumps his shoulders as if it is some relief to him to tell that information to his partner in person.

The wrestler admits to not knowing his real-life form, unaware of such a Yusaku Fujiki in his own school district, but he promises to meet up with the boy under some guise when the time allows it. Aoi watches their exchange with fascination, almost amazed that Go would accept Playmaker’s true identity so easily.

Then, he turnes to her, his silence speaking the question that made her heart thrum in her chest. The pro-wrestler Charisma Duelist watches her with a kind smile, curious but accepting of any choice she makes. Playmaker steps towards her, his attitude much the same, but his curiosity is less present now that he knows her true identity. In a way, she’s irritated at the knowing smile he beholds, at the way his shoulders suddenly relax now that he knows she’s Aoi Zaizen. Does Yusaku Fujiki look down upon her, now that he realizes just who she truly is? Does he see her as less cutesy, less cheery, now that he knows Blue Angel’s just a mask? Is his soft smile mocking her or encouraging her? She can’t tell; he’s too hard to read.

So, she gives in. She gives in to Go’s kindhearted stare and reveals her identity. He seems surprised to know she is the sister to their enemy’s chief of security, his lips frowning. She reassures him of his doubts, already pinpointing the cause for his concern. He takes it with confidence but she can’t help but feel he still won’t trust her completely.

She’ll never betray them though.

Never.

“Choose one.”

Her brother continues to pay more and more attention to her, treating her to things like her favorite ice cream or taking her to the zoo, at which she acts like the little child she is and gapes and giggles and points with all the enthusiasm of someone who has never had her brother come to the zoo with her before.

Akira Zaizen spends more and more time off work to attend to her and she thinks that, for once, she’s actually doing something right with her life. She doesn’t know what and she doesn’t know how but she wants to hold these moments for eternity in her arms and never let go. This happiness blooming in her chest is something that is way too rare for her to forget.

She’ll never ever forget these moments with her brother, she’ll forever cherish them with happiness for as long as she lives.

Forever.

“Choose one.”

Sometimes there are days where she meets with Playmaker and there are no expectations of Duels or Knights or SOL officers coming to take Ignis hostage. Those days are almost a miracle, ones that Blue Angel does not think of lightly. They duel each other for fun, learning each other’s decks in action until it is almost up to chance and chance alone for them to beat one another.

When not caught up in saving the Cyberverse, they’ve added another course to their daily destinations. Cafe Nagi, a hotdog stand in the center of Den City, is their common meeting place. Yusaku and Aoi are frequent visitors to the stall, with Yusaku living there and Aoi being within general walking distance. Go, on the other hand, meets up only when the media pressure has let him loose, enjoying trips here and there to pick up a hotdog and a drink.

It’s almost reassuring when Revolver switches sides. Having been betrayed by Specter beforehand, he sought no other option than to team up with Yusaku in order to reclaim the leadership he’d lost. However, after the Knights of Hanoi had effectively been recaptured Revolver, much to their surprise, disbanded the organization and chose to tag alongside them in their war for Cyverse.

Blue Angel, at first, doesn’t appreciate his company. He’s callous and cold, too critical and too calculating - much, much like Yusaku. However, he proves worthy in her eyes when he single-handedly duels against an army of SOL duelists who swarm upon them like sharks. She admits her respect for him them and takes a strong liking to him, eager to see how their partnership will occur throughout the rest of their days in VRAINS.

Playmaker, however, has something akin to a scathing look on his face whenever she interacts with Revolver, a kind of misplaced frustration that has her wondering what his mind holds. He’s not pleased, that much she understands, but for what reason is something beyond her.

“Choose one or the other.”

She reveals herself to her brother as the Blue Angel and he looks like he hasn’t expected anything less. The news doesn’t affect him in any way and he merely gives her a sort of glance that suggests “yes, so what?”.

It’d be crushing to her if she hadn’t realized he must’ve found out somewhere along the line. He was smart and, while he spent more time with her, he’d have to realize that the times she’d disappear into her room and the times that Blue Angel appeared were almost no coincidence.

His words are reassuring to her, comforting and promising that he won’t think of her any different. Instead, he becomes interested in what she can do. Can she get Playmaker to reveal his true identity (been there, done that), can she convince himself to turn himself in (unlikely, he’d sooner disappear than be captured), or can she convince him to give up the AI kept hostage inside his Duel Disk (hmm, possible)?

She feels uncertain under Akira’s sudden inquiries, uneasy and hesitant. Should she give in to his requests? Should she betray Playmaker, betray Yusaku? Aoi doesn’t even know if she has the capability to do such a thing.

“Choose him.”

Playmaker - Yusaku - grows more and more distant from her. He’s become isolated, giving her the cold shoulder more often than not and the few times he deems okay to speak to her his voice is icy. He makes it clear that he doesn’t want to associate with her or with anyone for that manner. She’s seen the way he’s hunched in upon himself, frustrated and agonized and lashing out at anyone who frustrated him in any way, shape or form.

Revolver takes notice of it with scathing remarks that call Playmaker out on his behavior. The boy retorts, unleashing a whirl of arguments that leave them all huffing and puffing. They bicker and shout and scream and suddenly there is a huge rift between them all. They stand away from each other in a bitter circle, glaring and accusing and she’s shivering because they’re falling apart and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

Go logs off first, declaring his job done. Revolver follows after him, evidently disgusted. Kusanagi, whose presence in the world shapeshifts from a hacked drone to himself in person, disables the flying camera he has hijacked with a careful mentioned worry in regards to Yusaku. The boy with the pink and blue hair spits something back at him, his cool calm lost with the anger that burns underneath him.

He glares at her, shoulders up in defiance and eyes narrowed with a crystal cold that scares Aoi. He doesn’t seem normal, he doesn’t seem like himself. She knew that, days earlier, he’d been chasing a clue to his past, something so vital that he’d up and left in the middle of the night. She hadn’t known what he’d found but, whatever it was had turned him against them, against himself.

Playmaker challenges her to say something, anything, that will rile him up. He’s so desperate to start something, itching with frustration and rage, and it takes all her confidence to withstand his spiteful gaze. He makes no move against her, doesn’t raise his hand or say anything. Instead, he slaps his Duel Disk and she watches as he vanishes from the VRAINS.

She’s alone. Alone and shivering and resentful as one little incident steals away her happiness bit by bit.

“Choose your brother.”

After their little spat, they’d all gone their separate ways. Aoi had stopped meeting up with them both in the VRAINS and in real life, unable to withstand the baggage that would undoubtedly build upon her. Yusaku attended class, as usual, and it was almost unbearable to sit beside him. He did everything in his power to pretend she didn’t exist, his gaze pointedly directed to the board or everywhere else but the space in which he existed. It hurt. It hurt much more than she had realized. She’d hated being ignored, being an outcast. She’d gone through that once before, before Blue Angel with her brother, and now she was repeating that part of her life yet again.

Her brother, however, reassures her whenever she can’t handle it anymore. The rift between her and her friends becomes too much to bare and suddenly she is lost and alone with only her brother and Blue Angel’s fans to guide her. Their separation with Playmaker had affected the entirety of their fan bases, splitting them between her and Go, between Revolver and Playmaker and the rest of their crew. She’s warned her fans against it, wanting to play nice and at least pretend that things were still the same, but the animosity that had been borne in her heart had even influenced them. Family member turned against family member, fan against fan, until it all broke out in violent riots that echoed of their own internal anger.

It was all too much.

Akira Zaizen, as if true to his change of heart, did everything he could to reassure her. She took comfort in that fact, glad that, for once, she had his support in something that tore her apart from the inside out.

Even so, that did not stop his sudden insistence for her to enact revenge. Akira would always persist in his comfortings for her to enact revenge. It was just little snippets of conversation, little bits of words of sentences that wormed their way in, but her brother was turning her against Playmaker. He encouraged her to fight back against the man, to defy him for the misery he had created insider her and her mind spun with possibilities. She listened to him, eager, and was lulled into his suggestions like they were the call of a siren.

She’d do it. Surely, she would.

She’d betray Playmaker.

“Choose Akira.”

Playmaker had revealed no intent to apologize to her in particular. He’d apologized to everyone else but her, his gaze avoiding hers as though he specifically refused to speak to her. It was painful to see him act in such a way towards her but it made her guilt all the less evident. If he wanted to act like a child then fine. Be that way.

“Choose Playmaker.”

Eventually, Yusaku does damage repair and apologizes to her. It’s curt and nearly insincere, a far cry from the apologies he’s given the rest of their cast. His sudden animosity does nothing to flatten the misery she feels, like a sudden rejection from a lover gone very, very wrong. She’s hurt more than she realizes, stung by the sudden backpedaling of their relationship and the resentment that swarms off of him for reasons she doesn’t understand.

Once, they might have been close. Aoi replays the memories of him in her mind, of all the times they’d met up early at Kusanagi’s hot dog stand and enjoyed a frequent chat that had nothing to do with Duels or Knights or her brother back before he’d made an effort to be her brother. It’d been lovely. She’d looked forward to the steaming sausages placed in-between white buns and the pleasant sunshine that grinned down upon them. It’d been different and unique and all the more fun once Go, Revolver and the rest of their cast made an attempt to join.

Now, however, their meetings are icy, chattering teeth with shivering bodies and goosebumps all along their flesh. She’s constantly cold in Yusaku’s presence, forever stuck in a blizzard that rampages endlessly past her. There is no small talk, no deck strategies or sipping casually of drinks. Instead, there is just glaring eyes, cold-shouldered words and drinks crushed slightly in-between constricting hands.

It was if everything was going into reverse. Her brother was the one who cared not Playmaker. It was Akira who comforted her, who kept her steady in a river of ice water and not the man who’d saved her from Cracking Dragon’s fire all that time ago. And, it hurt. She was repeating the horror with a different person, cursed, forever, to only have one or the other.

“Choose your brother or choose him.”

She makes her choice. She has two options: She can hide Playmaker’s secret from her brother or she can reveal it to him in return for his jail sentence.

It’s not hard, truly, to pick a decision. The guilt isn’t weighing down upon her and she has no regrets to counter her burning anger.

Or, at least, that’s what she keeps telling herself.

Playmaker’s secret weighs in her hand, dropping through the floor, splitting planks, moving farther and farther away from her eyes. Her brother’s gaze in her other hand flickers from cold to warm, from disapproving to proud, and Aoi tucks her hands against her chest until she folds into herself.

Akira. Her brother.

The pendulum swings.

Yusaku. Her friend.

It stops over her beating heart.

She tells her brother in the morning.

“I choose my brother.”

Akira Zaizen waits no time to contact the police and have Yusaku arrested. Aoi is there when they come into class, hauling him away. Her brother picks her up seconds later, back to his prim and proper self but in a flurry of excitement. He seems too wrapped up in the Playmaker to take notice of her horror, of the sudden realization of the repercussions her decision has created. Her stomach swells with fright that bubbles inside her until she is combusting from the inside out.

Yusaku, however, refuses to meet her gaze. He is taken quietly, his Duel Disk extracted and Ignis forcibly removed from its depths by a special program SOL had installed. Handcuffs are put on his wrists while her brother blabbers on about Yusaku’s acts of terrorism’ and how ‘SOL Technology would do its best to reform him’. Akira walks off with him, forgetting his sister’s presence to return to a regal and elegant posture. Her brother’s sheer words make her quail as, suddenly, it all fits together.

Aoi has been used.

“I chose my brother.”

She’s left alone in the seclusion of her home, her Duel Disk in front of her. It gleams with memories that sting at her skin, that pierce at her until all she can do is curl up and cry.

The news media reports on Yusaku’s arrest, shocked and in a flurry about why he had caused such an upset with SOL Technology. They also note the disappearance of Playmaker, of Blue Angel, and of the ragtag team left behind to fend off against the enemies of the VRAINS.

Sometimes, if Aoi listens carefully, she can hear the phantom of Yusaku’s voice. She can hear the calm and calculated words he’d say, the three-to-three pros and cons that he’d inevitably list when he’d be asked about a specific opinion. She can remember herself as the Blue Angel skipping and gliding over rooftops until it’s just a board under her feet and a Data Stream beneath that. She can remember the heat of Cracking Dragon, of arms enclosing around her waist and pulling her away from the blast so that she could avoid account deletion. It hurts. It hurts. It’s so painful, these memories, that all she wants to do is claw at herself until the itch that settles in her mind disappears.

Her former companions make it worse. They’ve come to her house, breaching the security restrictions her brother had set in place to arrive at her locked door. They’d begged, pleaded, for an understanding, for a realization, for her to just come and talk to them. Sick. It made her sick, sicker than she’d ever felt.

She’d had to choose one or the other. She’d had to sacrifice between Akira and Playmaker, between her brother and her best friend.

She couldn’t have both.

So she had none.

~Bad End~

[dirtyblupjeans]

Sex on the beach - Kinktober day 3

Lup wasn’t sure what made her go out on the deck that night. She certainly hadn’t expected to find anyone out in the water when she did, though. 

Eight months into their vacation year, Lup had gotten used to seeing Barry out of his usual clothes. Instead of his ever present jeans, he’d been wearing long shorts that stopped just above his knees. Taako had declared them “board shorts” and highly approved. She’d wondered briefly if he’d brought them from home as part of his original packed supplies. Or maybe he’d picked them up sometime in the last two decades. She’d never seen them before, though. 

Usually he paired the shorts with a t-shirt, but she’d caught him bare chested a few mornings, coming out of the water with Taako.

Other than those few brief glimpses, though, she’d never actually seen him in the water. 

All she could do was stand at the railing, transfixed, watching him work his way through the water. He didn’t make it look effortless. The water sprayed up behind him as he pumped his feet, arced off his hands as he pushed forward with each stroke, sparkling in the moonlight.

No, he didn’t make it look effortless. He made it look powerful.

She watched his shoulders work as he swam. The pale length of him in under the full moon seemed magical, somehow, as if all this time he’d covertly been someone else all this time, some secret sea creature she’d never known of.

A feeling that had been growing steadily larger over the last four years fizzed inside of her. It was a different sort of magic, an ancient and powerful kind of alchemy that was producing reactions throughout her body.

The wind caught her t-shirt, the thin material fluttering over her skin in the breeze. She’d been so certain everyone was asleep that all she wore was the shirt and a pair of faded pink panties. The cool night air raised goosebumps down her thighs, sending a shiver up her neck. 

The water would be warm, she thought.

Not questioning the impulse, Lup climbed up on the railing. For a moment, she only stood there, still watching Barry. Then she dove off the railing into the water below.

She broke the water cleanly, minimizing the splash. Her angle was good and her trajectory curved up beneath the gentle waves, surfacing just a couple feet from Barry.

Under the moonlight she could see the color staining his cheeks. His sunburn had somehow persisted even after months. The poor guy just didn’t tan. 

She liked that constant blush of his, though, even if it had been put there by the sun instead of her. Grinning she studied his surprised expression.

It wasn’t all sun on his cheeks.

“Hey,” she said nonchalantly, as if they’d run into each other in the hallway instead of in open water well past midnight.

“Uh, hey, Lup.” He tread water, arms swirling slowly through the water while his legs kicked below him, holding him buoyant in front of her. “I, uh, I didn’t know you liked to swim late like this. I can go in and -” 

“Nah,” she answered. “I just happened to come out on the deck and see you. It looked like fun.” She paused, her grin fading slightly before she asked, “Do you mind?”

“Oh, uh, of course not!”

He glanced down slightly and that stain on his cheeks deepened. His head bobbed backwards, looking up at the stars scattered above and pinning his gaze there.

Lup followed where his eyeline had gone. Soaked now, her thin t-shirt clung to her skin, the deep bronze glow of her tan evident through the material. In the dark, without his glasses, she doubted he saw much of anything below the waterline at her shoulders. But his imagination must have filled in the blanks enough to step up the level of his blush.

For a moment she just tread water beside him, her long legs moving languidly below her. She’d already jumped, how much further should she go?

She thought of watching him from the deck, seeing his body moving through the water. She thought of that fizzing feeling inside her.

Fuck it, she thought, feeling brazen and daring, even more so than usual. The sparking warmth at her core rushed hot through her. She let herself relax backwards until she was floating then paddled her hands slightly until she was right beside him and caught his arm. 

She turned her head slightly, her right eye just above the water. He glanced over when she touched him and his eyes saw her body, exposed above the water and under the moon’s perfect highlighting. 

His cheeks aflame, he politely turned his head again. 

Worry flooded her system for a moment. Was she teasing or tormenting? Had she really caught glances from him over the years? Were they hints he wanted this too?

Adjusting again, she let her legs sink down and tread water again. 

She studied his profile. He’d had his head above water long enough that his hair had begun drying a bit in the breeze. She longed to run her fingers through it.

Maybe, she thought. She could just talked to him. She could ask.

“Barry?”

He didn’t turn back to her this time. Instead he shrugged down, dipping his head back to rewet his hair. “Yeah, Lup?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He startled back up, seemed to lose track of his arms and legs and the basic principles of floating. A small swell pushed the balance of factors over and he sank beneath the little wave just enough to sputter water when it passed.

He was looking at her, though. His eyes were wide and aimed right at her, blinking slowly.

“What?” he asked, the word coming out as half cough, half speech. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “What did you say?”

Daring to interpret his reaction for surprise but not disinterest, she closed the distance. She let her arms wind around his neck. He was so warm. The wet slide of skin struck her as deeply erotic for such a chaste touch.

She could practically see the thoughts working through his head.

He was staring at her mouth.

Then she felt his hands go to her waist. Their legs kicked in sync in the dark water below them.

Barry Bluejeans nodded. “Yeah, uh, I’d like that.”

With both of them treading water, it was a little awkward to coordinate. They managed though. Her lips found his and from the moment they connected she knew she wanted more.

She pulled her head back and looked at him. His eyes were so wide and dark in the moonlight. Seeing him so close, so vulnerable somehow without his glasses, felt like she’d been given a secret. 

“Was that okay?” she asked.

“Was, uh… Did you…?” 

His fingers moved at her side, the water pushing the hem of her shirt aside so that his pinky found her bare skin. His hand froze and his face looked like he’d been caught doing something terrible. In response, she ran her hand over his shoulder then trailed it up his neck and along his jaw. 

Swallowing, he tried his question again. “Did you like it, Lup?”

She nodded slowly, deliberately. “I did,” she answered. “And I’d like to do it some more if that’s okay.”

Instantly he moved his face to hers and brushed his lips against hers. 

Their separate buoyancy was still not cooperating but Lup couldn’t begin to care. Barry Bluejeans had just kissed her. She’d kissed him first, true. But at the slightest provocation after that he’d taken the initiative and the sparking, fizzing bits inside her had gone molten and wild. She wanted to cling to him and wrap her legs around him and…

“Barry?” she asked when his mouth was no longer against hers.

“Yeah?” he asked. She could hear the worry in that single syllable.

“Can we get in shallow water, like, uh, now?”

“Um, sure,” he answered, sounding less worried but more mystified.

“I don’t want to have to waste attention on staying afloat,” she explained.

A grin spread over his face, so warm and bright it rivaled the reflected light coming from the moon. He didn’t speak, simply leaned back with her still holding him and his hands still locked at her waist and began kicking his legs, propelling them backwards towards the beach. Lup considered letting him do all the work - half lying/half floating on him was a pretty delicious sensation, after all - but instead slid to the side and off of him, twisting from his grip.

“Race you,” she said, and darted away before he could respond.

Lup was comfortable in the water, though not as Surf God graceful as Taako had become with his long hours in the ocean.

Barry, however… 

Powered by his secret months of tutoring (that she was half sure she wasn’t supposed to know about) or possibly some before unknown competitiveness, he surged ahead even with her head start. Lup refocused her efforts and pushed herself through the water harder. 

There was something more than tutoring and competitiveness driving him and plenty of it was at work in her as well. 

A few moments later her feet were on the sandy bottom and Barry caught his arms around her, swinging her through the water for a half circle before setting her down again, the waves at their chests.

“Hi,” she said, her face inches away from his.

“Hi.”

They grinned at each other for a few heartbeats. Then Lup took advantage of the solid ground below them to do what she’d wanted to before. She leapt, wrapped her legs around him and let him support her. 

His arms settled under her ass naturally, as if they’d been in this position a hundred times before.

Not even giving him a chance to recover, she locked her mouth with his. Their brief, slightly awkward kisses while floating had been nice but this kiss was not nice. This kiss was wildfire and riptides. This kiss was the birth of stars. This kiss spun time away, unrolling it like a velvety carpet in front of them.

This kiss was magic.

There might have been a future where they made out in the water, finally tipped that balance between friends and something more and took things slowly from there.

That future might have existed somewhere but it wasn’t on the path that spread out in the wake of this kiss.

Lup came up for air, panting, breathless, her mouth already kiss roughened. 

“Can we…?” she asked

He was nodding before she managed the second word. Carrying her locked in his arms, he got them further ashore. Dropping to his knees at the waterline, he deposited her in water just a few inches deep, more as the waves rushed up the beach then lower as it pulled away again.

Unwrapping her limbs from him, Lup’s fingers found the hem of her t-shirt. She hesitated just a moment, drinking in the feeling of Barry’s eyes watching her hungrily. Then she pulled the wet shirt over her head and threw it behind her to the dry sand.

Her fingers went to the loosely knotted drawstring on his shorts, tugging at the ends. The loops pulled free and she trailed her fingers under the edge of the waistband to his hips. Watching his face, she saw his teeth catch his bottom lip. She wanted to be the one biting his lip instead. Pushing the waistband down his hips, she slid her hands around the back of the shorts, working them down the curve of his ass.

Unable to stop herself, she dropped her gaze from his face, checking what she’d uncovered. 

If there’d been any question about Barry’s interest in the proceedings, it was erased when she saw the hard strain of his cock. 

Suddenly ridiculously impatient after years of maintaining a careful distance between them, Lup scrambled back so she could slip her painties down her own legs, letting Barry free himself from the shorts.

Free of their clothing, they simply stared at one another for a moment. Lup broke the interlude, beckoning him with a curl of her hand. 

“C’mere, you.”

He filled the space between her angled knees. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Hooking an ankle behind his knee she nudged him forward. “Absolutely.”

Barry bent his head to hers, capturing her mouth. The weight of him pushing her back into the sand made her feel trapped. Pinned. Caught. 

She shivered and wrapped her arms around him, wanting more of that.

His kiss was insistent and demanding and she gave herself up to it, clutching at him as if she might be washed away by what was happening between them.

The sand beneath her, the water around them, the cool breeze over their wet skin, all faded away under the warm press of him on top of her.

He pulled his mouth away from her and she chased after, nipping his bottom lip. They kissed again, a string of quick, desperate kisses that ended with them panting again. 

“Lup,” he said and the rough hitch in his voice on her name shot through her like a lightning bolt. She wanted to devour the sound.

“I have to tell you…” he continued. The way desire had pulled something loose in his voice was so distracting she almost missed the note of warning there.

“Yeah?” she asked, suddenly focused.

“This means something to me,” he told her. His eyes darted away from hers as if admitting such a thing were shameful and wrong.

“It does to me too,” she answered honestly. She curled her hand along the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to face her again. “I’ve known how I felt for a while now.”

“You have?” he asked, surprised. “And... how, uh, how do you feel?”

“I feel like I love you.” She’d worried for so long about saying some version of those words but there wasn’t any worry here now. It just felt right. “I feel like I want you beside me forever,” she continued. A teasing smile spread over her and she added, “I feel like I want you inside me, too, you know.”

An absolutely delicious grin took over the worried expression Barry had been wearing. Pushing forward again, his mouth found hers once more. Her fingers trailed up through his hair, following the impulse she’d felt so strongly before. 

Barry’s tongue was in her mouth and her legs were curled around his thighs and her hand was in his hair and it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

Tugging lightly on his hair, Lup caught his attention and he broke the kiss.

“Is there, uh, anything you want to say?” she teased.

“I love you like crazy,” he told her, leaning forward to kiss her again.

She curled her hand on his scalp and pulled the handful of hair once more. Her other hand slid between then. “Mind if I…” 

The question went unfinished and unanswered but Barry certainly didn’t seem to mind when her fingers found his cock. She whispered an incantation and slid her hand over the length of him.

His eyes shut and he groaned. “I really love that spell…” 

Lup’s legs tightened around his hips, encouraging him to put the spell to use.

When he looked at her, the joking glint had disappeared from his eyes. There was a weight there she’d only ever guessed at, a depth of emotion mirrored in her own.

Her heel nudged him and he shifted. She could feel him pressed against her. Not yet pushing in. Hovering. Waiting.

“Please,” she said.

He surged forward, driving into her. She clung to him as they found their rhythm. He braced himself on one arm and reached down with his other to hike her leg higher, spreading her open further and pushing deeper on his next thrust. 

Each push forward drove a needy noise out of her. They rocked together and her head fell back, her cries coming quicker and getting louder. He was slamming forward now, rutting against her harder and faster until the sounds she was making began running together, moans and ‘yeses’ and his name repeated over and over into a babble of pure want as she came.

Then, just when she was sure she was going to split apart into a shower of sparks and fly away, he pushed hard and held. 

“Lup.”

Her name from his mouth was reverent. 

His hips bucked and he repeated her name again, holding the syllable until he drove forward one more time, hard and then he was twitching inside her and triggering another, smaller, fluttering orgasm of her own.

He collapsed forward and she sighed in complete and absolute contentment.

She could have laid there forever, his cock still buried inside her, unconcerned about the rough sand under her ass or tide carrying away her panties.

But from the corner of her eye she saw a light turn on in the Starblaster.

Sighing again, this time not from contentment, she nudged his shoulder. “We might want to get up and get moving, unfortunately. I think we might have some company and a very awkward scene if we don’t.”

He cursed and his vehemence was another little piece of treasure she tucked away in her heart.

“I know,” she told him. “I don’t want to move either. But…”

Whatever the rest of her sentence had been going to be, it disappeared. 

Barry had leaned forward and ran his tongue over one peaked nipple. Then he pulled away, explaining, “Didn’t have a chance before.”

Lup wriggled out from under him reluctantly. If she didn’t move quickly her underwear were going to be gone. She might not care except she had a feeling they’d resurface at some inopportune moment. 

“Hurry up,” she told him, already dreaming of the repeat of his tongue on her breasts. “If we’re fast enough we can get to your bedroom before we have to explain anything.”

“You’re on,” he told her, already pulling his shorts back on.

Snagging the errant panties, she stood up and began wrestling them on. “Fuck, putting on wet sandy clothes is the most unsexy thing ever.” She darted over and kissed him before dashing up to the dry part of the beach for her shirt. “But it was worth it, even if I do have sand in places sand was not meant to reside.”

He laughed, and caught her arm before she could begin trying to pull it on. “I’ll have to see what I can do about that,” he told her, his voice rough. 

Another shiver ran through her, one definitely not put there by her wet, shirtless state or the ocean breeze on her skin.

Lup kissed him, lightning quick, and then ran, diving back into the water with her shirt in her hand, heading for the ship, Barry hot on her heels.