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floatingonalowvibe · 2 years ago

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Chapter five

This chapter mentions the use of drugs, trauma, and eating issues. Nothing too bad just a little. Drink some water today please.

I knew I had to get up, but I honestly didn't feel like it.

Yesterday Neil helped me drop out, due to recent events. I moved back from my apartment to my mom's house. Charlie was happy to see me. I have heard news that he's been getting in trouble, but when he told me why, I understood why he did what he did, and I understand why he was punished.

I finally got to the point where I could drag myself out of bed. I could smell the pancakes being cooked downstairs. I knew they were only making them because of what happened, they were trying their best to make me feel better.

I made my way downstairs, my tired body not wanting to cooperate with me.

I went into the kitchen, Niel and Charlie were sitting at the table, while mom was cooking in the other part of the kitchen.

“Hey sport....” I heard Niel say, sounding as if I was a child, “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine.” I replied monotoned. I honestly didn’t feel like speaking. It just doesn’t feel right.

“You have a letter, it's from Bernard." Charlie said, passing an envelope to me. After Niel and mom finally started to believe Dad that he was in fact Santa, I got around to telling them that I was sending letters to the head elf that works there. Mom endlessly teases me about “wHaT iF hE lIKeS yOu”. I never can get out a response, because the thought of him liking me left me speechless. I knew it would never happen, he is centuries older than me, and he would never like me like that.

I sat down next to Charlie, tearing open the letter. The familiar smell of peppermint and cinnamon wafted up into my nose, instantly making me smile. It was a subtle but comforting smell.

I slipped the letter out of the envelope, I thought about reading the letter here at the table, but maybe not, due to the fact that I don’t trust that Charlie won't read it over my shoulder. And this letter is the response to the letter I sent him about what happened. I slipped the letter back in its envelope, saving it for later.

“Aren’t you going to read it?” Charlie asked, his look of confusion was matching Niel’s.

“I’ll wait.” I spoke quickly and quietly. I watched as Mom came towards the table with a plate filled with pancakes stacked on top of one another in one hand and in the other a thing of syrup. The butter was already on the table, and I don’t understand why this family keeps the butter at the table. Oh well.

We ate, mostly in silence. It wasn't a comfortable silence though. I felt as though I didn't belong, I had been gone for so long, and now I'm back, after a really shitty turn of events, and now everyone's acting like I'm a bomb waiting to go off.And I feel that the only reason they're taking care of me is because they feel bad for me, they pity me.

I could barely eat; all my thoughts could think of was throwing up. I couldn’t even stand to look at the food. I knew it tasted good, but the thought of putting that shit into my mouth made me want to gag. Mom must have noticed that I wasn't eating, and the disgusted look on my face.

“Does it not taste good? " She asked, giving me a concerned look.

"No, no ,no! Not a all!" I said. "I'm just not very hungry."

Now I feel like a peice of shit

"You haven't been hungry these past few days, is something wrong?" I had no comment to that. He was right.

"I'm....just not hungry.." I mustered, feeling extremely guilty for somthing I don't know about.

I saw Niel purse his lips. He was getting annoyed. He's usually a pretty chill guy, but I was getting on his nerves now, just for not being hungry.

"You know that's not very healthy, right?"

All the attention of the room was on me, and I hated it. It was like a thousand eyes peircing through my skin, them knowing of my mistakes.

"I'm sorry ok? It's not my fault that I'm not hungry, I'm just not in the mood right now."

With that, I got up from the table, taking my plate to the kitchen. I went back upstairs to my room, the anger rising in me.I knew that such a small thing like me not being able to eat food was stupid. But somthing in me is pissed about it. It's not my fault, so why are they berrating me about it?

I quickly went to my closet, retrieving a small box that has been hidden from the rest of the house.I opened it, the familiar smell of marijuana filling my nose. It was comforting to me, it had a sense of calming over me.

I went over to my window where there was a little ledge, opening it. I took a deep breath of the crisp fall air, looking down into our back yard.Out there laid an old swing set. I remember the day we bought it, how the long hair I had flowed through the air as dad pushed me up and down.

I sighed, remembering those days. But I didn't miss them. Every adult I know has always told me to 'enjoy my childhood.'. There was nothing to enjoy about my childhood. From hiding my dysphoria, the divorce, to dealing with untreated mental illnesses, it was nowhere near fun. And I thought being older would be better, but I'm 19 and nothing major has gotten better. But I keep going anyways.

I took out the rolling paper, filling it with the weed, carefully rolling it up.

It took me a second to dig my lighter out of the deep abyss that is the box I keep stuff hidden in.

The only reason I'm smoking Is because of the stress. The meds that Neil gave me aren't working. They just make me super tired and numb.

I took of drag of the blunt, slowly exhaling the smoke out the window. As I watched the gray smoke drift out the window, I felt myself relaxing.

I shifted my weight over to my left side, and I felt the letter from Bernard in my pocket. I wondered how he responded to the dump truck worth of stuff I dumped on him.

I took the letter out of my pocket, taking the letter out of the rip I made earlier. And yet again, the scent of cinnamon and peppermint wafted into my nose, along with the scent of weed. I could feel my head swimming, but not in a bad way. It felt more like those colorful liquids you would slowly mix with a toothpick. I know that probably make zero sense but that's what it was like, along with a feeling of my limbs not being there.

𝘔/𝘯,

𝘔𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨��. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘬.

𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦.

𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭; 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺. 𝘋𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦!!

*𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘴*

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘦!

I stopped reading for a second. I didn’t believe what I just read.

𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦, 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦. 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.

𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘉𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘥

I had to read over the short letter a few times to make sure I read everything right. I was shocked. My dad said I could stay at the north pole.

I took another hit of my blunt, letting it sink in.This next week is gunna be fun.

A/n: sorry this one took a sec to post I procrastinated a lot.

#bernard the elf #bernard the elf x reader #bernard the head elf #bernard x reader #x reader

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lazywonderlvnd · 4 years ago

Note

*hesitantly steps in the box* Umm.. soo.. I was listening to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift again and that song (is awesome btw if you haven't listened to it already) just gives me such MAJOR drarry vibes .. like -

" And I screamed, 'for whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?' He looks up grinning like a devil. "

Like if that's not drarry I'd chomp my pillows. So .. *twiddling thumbs* could you pls write something with that line as a prompt?? Pretty please ��🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️ maybe use the song as inspiration.. idk? Whatever you like. ALSO, don't forget I STILL LOVE YOU that ain't changing yet and you haven't seen the last of me! Imma tail after you for eternity and you better take that as the threat it is! *throws love at you* BYE!! ❤️❤️ *vaults outside the box*

my sweetest most loved angel!! thank u so much for this prompt based on a BOP i was obsessed w when the album first came out. it got sm longer than it was meant to be, so it can be found on ao3 as well!! i hope u like it ilysm ❤️❤️❤️❤️

warnings for minor drug use (weed) and implied suicide of a minor character (lucius, extremely vague reference but pls be aware!)

rating: e word count: ~5k

When Pansy asked him how it started, Draco discovered that he didn’t know what to tell her.

Technically, though, it had started at Ernie Macmillan’s party in the beginning of summer, with the cloying scent of Freesias and Freedom Roses (“Imported from the States,” Ernie told Draco pompously, when he asked) and all those string-lights dangling from the cedar pergola, perennial balls of fire inside their clear bubbles like tiny trapped suns. Cheap beer in plastic cups, Marlboro cigarettes, and some stupid Muggle game ... darts.

Technically.

* * *

“Get off me, Potter,” Draco says in a failed whisper. He’s laughing and drunk and fuzzy warm under a sprawling summer’s night sky that looks like black paint. Potter tastes like Guinness every time he kisses him, and his hands are surprisingly soft. In direct opposition to his own command he pulls Potter in by the face and glues their mouths back together ravenously. The alcohol makes him sloppy (he likes it, though — the sloppiness of it) and Potter’s skin is warm where Draco slides his hand under an ugly Muggle band T-shirt to touch.

Around the corner, he can hear music coming from the patio where nearly every single one of their former classmates are gathered, drinking and laughing and getting along famously with a much-needed buffer of five years between them and their Hogwarts days.

Much-needed for himself and Potter as well. Apparently.

He sees him sometimes, at get-togethers like this or around the Ministry, once or twice at a dinner party thrown by a mutual friend. They’re always cordial. He hasn’t insulted Potter to his face in five years.

Except for tonight, when he couldn’t help himself loudly drawing attention to the similarities between Potter’s hair and one of the shrubs in the garden. But they’re kissing now round the side of the house and because of that he’s quite glad for his slip. And it’s their five-year reunion, so. What would it be without some bickering between the two of them?

Potter presses him into the bricks and snogs him breathless, only he keeps grinning and laughing and ruining everything just when Draco starts losing himself in it.

“Quit laughing,” he scolds him. “You’re the worst, Potter. No etiquette at all.”

“That’s rude,” Potter says. His breath wafts across Draco’s mouth. His eyes are excessively green behind their round frames, which have not changed since their school days. The scar is mostly hidden beneath his wild fringe, save for the very bottom where it slashes neatly through a dark eyebrow and touches his eyelid. “I can’t help it, I’m pissed good and proper.”

His hand moves to Draco’s hip and even through the thickness of the alcohol coating his brain like a muffler he feels that touch clear and ripe as daybreak.

“So that’s why you’ve decided to snog me rather than …” He waves a hand vaguely, in lieu of the proper witticism with which he might normally have trounced Potter. “You know. Beat me to a pulp.”

“I only did that one time,” Potter says, grinning. Grinning and moving his thumb in circles on Draco’s hip. “And it was because you were being a twat. And I didn’t beat you to a pulp. You’re so dramatic.”

“Semantics,” Draco says. “I had a bloody nose.”

“And you deserved it.”

“Now who’s being rude?”

Potter kisses him again.

Guinness and Freesias.

* * *

“Macmillan’s party,” he told Pansy. “He kissed me.”

“So that’s where you disappeared to.” She looked smug. Her inch-long nails were sharpened to a point and painted a glossy black, and she drummed them against her cheek, the way a cat flicks its tail. “I’m surprised you kept it from me this whole time.”

“Well,” said Draco, lowering his gaze to his glass of wine and watching it flirt dangerously with the lip as he swirled it. His cheeks felt warm, but he wasn’t embarrassed. “We snuck around.”

Right, maybe a little embarrassed. Mostly conflicted.

“Oh?” For a single syllable the laughter underneath was remarkably transparent.

He looked up, eyebrows lifted. “Yes,” he said a little defensively. “For obvious reasons. At first it was just sex. A lot of it, so he usually came here. Apparently Granger and the Weasel are notorious for popping round his place unexpectedly.”

* * *

He feels opened up all over again every time Potter fucks into him, unhurried and so careful. His hand is hot on Draco’s thigh, both of them sticky with sweat and come. This has to be their third round at least, and Draco’s sluggish brain insists it might actually be four.

An open window lets in the late afternoon air, humid and drowsy and perfumed heavily with flowers (a la Macmillan, Draco planted Freesias and Freedom Roses outside his bedroom window and helped them along to full bloom with some careful magic). Potter’s hair is damp with sweat — from exertion and the relentless heat of July — and Draco slides his fingers into it, tangles them and pulls the way he’s learned Potter likes. If he’s honest, he’s harboured a very secret and very desperate yearning to touch Potter’s hair since he was quite young. He doesn’t know why.

Well, maybe he knows why.

Potter makes a quiet, whimpered noise that curls Draco’s toes. He speeds up his hips, closing in on his orgasm and putting his face in Draco’s neck even though it’s too fucking hot for it.

“Fuck,” Draco whines. He tries to lift his leg higher, wrap it around Potter’s waist to get that perfect angle, but they’re too slick with sweat and he lets out a frustrated noise when it falls back to the bed. “Potter,” he says helplessly, arching into each thrust and shaking with the effort. This third (fourth?) orgasm is building too slowly, sitting there hard and stubborn and heavy in his gut and refusing to be coaxed to completion. He’s dripping with the effort, muscles quivering. “Please — I need —”

But he seems to have figured it out for himself. He scoots forward, lifting Draco’s arse higher off the bed and bending him nearly in half. The angle helps him go deeper and he’s suddenly nudging Draco’s oversensitive prostate every time he fucks back in.

“Right there,” Draco gasps, tensing as this new angle lights a fire under his elusive orgasm. His cock is leaking but he doesn’t have the strength or energy to get a hand around it. Potter’s grunting with the effort of fucking him, sweat dripping down his temples and making his neck and torso gleam. “Right there, god, right there, please, I’m so close —”

Potter braces himself and redoubles his efforts, and it’s like he’s reached inside Draco and sunk his claws into that building storm in his belly because suddenly it’s ripped right out of him in a colossal wave of euphoria that approaches too much, cock spurting untouched between them . Potter keeps moving inside him while he rides it out, and at some point he feels the warm, wet explosion of Potter emptying in him, mumbling incoherent things that include Draco’s name.

They come down together too. Draco is clutching Potter’s arms and trying to catch his breath and Potter is trembling and clutching him back like an anchor in a veritable ocean of sensation.

It’s like this every time.

When Potter drops down onto the bed beside him Draco rolls over and kisses him, long and deep and satisfying, and Potter reciprocates with the kind of intensity that is completely unique to him as a person.

“That one was particularly good,” says Potter, and Draco laughs.

When he feels like moving, he knows that Potter will get up and go to Draco’s kitchen and make tea for both of them, and he won’t need to ask what Draco likes, because he remembered after the first time. They’ll drink it naked in bed as the sun sets on another endless summer day and transforms before their eyes into a humid and pungent summer night, in the midst of which they will fuck at least three more times, and Potter will keep smelling like sweat and bergamot and boy, and Draco will keep feeling starved for him.

And they won’t talk about it.

* * *

“And?” Pansy said.

“And what?”

“You said ‘at first,’” she pointed out, and arched a groomed eyebrow. “When did it turn into more than just sex?”

Draco tamped down on a smile, because that would have been more emotion than he cared to show at the moment. To Pansy or to himself.

He swirled his wine again and took a long sip, stalling. He wanted — needed, really — to talk this out with her, but he was becoming aware of an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest which was suggesting to him that he didn’t want to share everything. Not because he was embarrassed, but, well … it was private. It was between him and Harry.

“There was this one night he came over later than he was supposed to because of work,” Draco said. The memory stirred some emotion. He hadn’t thought of it in a while. “He had this bloody huge takeout bag of Thai food.”

* * *

He sets it down on Draco’s desk, takes out a container, and after toeing off his shoes drops sideways onto Draco’s bed with it and uses chopsticks to shovel in a mouthful of noodles. Draco watches this in awe.

“Want some?” Harry asks once he’s swallowed (small blessings). There’s grease around his mouth. “There’s a million other things in the bag but you have to get it yourself. I’m dead tired.”

Draco thinks of asking what the hell is going on, because they’re supposed to be fucking by now, but something stops him. Harry really does look exhausted but quite content eating his Thai food on Draco’s bed, and he doesn’t have the heart to berate him for it or remind him that they’re fuck buddies, not friends, and that if he’d wanted to eat and lounge about perhaps he should’ve stayed at home.

And the food really does smell good.

He gets up and fishes another container out of the bag that turns out to be some sort of heavenly-smelling marinated beef, which he brings back to the bed. Harry’s rolled onto his back and has the container of noodles balanced on his stomach.

“They thought they found a Horcrux on a raid,” he says. His voice is perfectly casual, but Draco thinks he can see something troubled in his eyes. He has one foot crossed over the other and it’s bouncing anxiously; he doesn’t think Harry’s aware of doing it. “Wasn’t. Obviously.”

“But they needed your expert advice to be sure.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks at him, then his food. “Is that the beef?”

“Yes it is.”

“Good?”

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

He opens the container and chooses a piece, but instead of lifting it to his mouth he follows some crazy impulse and hovers it over Harry’s instead.

“Open, Scarhead,” he says. Harry blinks but does it, and Draco drops it in. He smiles, then chews.

“Brilliant.”

* * *

“We ate it instead of fucking. It was the first time I realised something had shifted.”

“And you let it shift?”

The question gave him pause. He didn’t answer right away, mulling it over. It made it sound as if he’d had a choice, and that wasn’t quite right.

“It already had,” he said finally. “It wasn’t a matter of letting it; by the time I noticed, it had already happened. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come over with the food.”

“But you did let it continue,” said Pansy. She wasn’t antagonising him, nor accusing him of anything. She looked amused, but not in a way that was at his expense. Pansy was both a twat and a fiercely good friend, the combination of which meant she would do nothing more or less than hold up a mirror and force you to look at yourself, gruesome as the experience inevitably wound up being. “Even after you realised he had feelings for you.”

Draco swallowed. He’d not heard it said aloud before now.

“Yes,” he said. “It felt good. Knowing he fancied me.”

* * *

Harry’s shameless in his staring.

He stands in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom and watches Draco like he’s been invited to do so. Draco pretends not to notice, stretched out in a tub full of bubbles facing the opposite way. There’s incense burning, and candles. Harry is completely silent, but Draco could feel those eyes on him from across a crowded hall.

They fucked a few hours ago and fell asleep afterwards. Draco pretended not to think about it, but had actually made the conscious decision to let Harry continue sleeping when he woke up and decided he wanted a bath.

When he can’t take it anymore he opens his eyes and tilts his head back and a little to the side, just enough that he gets Potter in his peripherals.

“Well?” he says.

“Well what?”

“Join me, won’t you?”

Harry snorts. Then there’s a quiver of magic in the air, and a small, utilitarian chair appears out of thin air beside the tub. Harry sits down in it. He’s holding the joint they’d only gotten halfway through earlier.

He’s in his jeans and nothing else, all limbs and sparse chest hair, and when he crosses a leg over the other one, elbow resting on his knee as he hits the joint, Draco feels a bone-deep attraction to him that’s beyond physical.

“May I?” Draco asks. Harry hands it over and Draco inhales deeply before returning it. The humidity of the room mixes with the smoke and the smell of marijuana, pungent and cloying like the flowers.

After a length of silence, Draco says, “Will you read me something?”

“Will I what?”

He takes his wand from the floor and Summons a book from the shelf in his room — one of his poetry collections comes sweeping in through the cracked door and into Harry’s lap. Harry sticks the joint between his lips and starts rifling through it with his glasses all fogged up.

When he starts reading Byron (“I had a dream, which was not all a dream”) Draco smiles and sinks deeper into the hot water and bubbles, letting Harry’s voice lull him into a pleasant stupor.

* * *

“So you led him on,” said Pansy. “Because you liked his attention.”

He stared at her, then let his gaze drop to his wine again. Had he?

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

“Well,” she said, smiling wryly, “I’m only saying it as you’ve told it to me. Maybe if it sounds bad, it is bad. Some things are that simple, darling. Unless there’s more to it.”

“Like what?” he said, not looking at her. There was a touch of pouty defiance in his voice he knew Pansy would detect instantly. He heard her sigh.

“What exactly happened yesterday, Draco? You didn’t give me any context.”

“What context do you need?” he muttered. “He told me he loved me.”

* * *

They’ve finished an entire bottle of wine between them. He’s not drunk, but he’s pleasantly buzzed. Harry’s sprawled on his back, T-shirt rucked up just below his navel so Draco can see the dark trail of hair leading below his jeans. There’s something implicitly erotic about the movement of his chest when he breathes, his hands folded behind his head, one leg stretched the length of the bed and the other bent at the knee.

He opens his eyes suddenly and grins when he sees Draco looking at him.

“That wine just made me tired,” he says.

“So go to sleep,” says Draco. He takes a last swig, emptying it, and sets the bottle aside on his night table. He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back, yawning widely, thinking perhaps he’ll give into the tempting allure of sleep as well when Harry says, “I told Hermione about us.”

So he’s not sleeping, then. His stomach clenches hard and a completely irrational sense of panic rises in his throat.

“Us?” he says slowly, sitting up straighter. “What ‘us’?”

Harry looks at him upside-down, then rolls over and rises to his knees. He stares at Draco blankly.

“‘What us?’” he repeats.

“Yes,” says Draco. “What ‘us’?”

“Us,” Harry says. His voice is lower than usual. The word is starting to sound weird and lose meaning. “You and me, Draco.”

“‘You and me?’ Harry, there’s no you and me. We’re just fucking. What do you … what do you mean, you told Granger? Told her what?”

Harry looks … well, he looks fucking crushed. And angry. Draco forces himself not to look away.

“I told her I’d been seeing you,” he says quietly. There’s something … not threatening, but close to it, in his voice.

“Sure,” says Draco. “I see you three times a week, sometimes four. I s’pose if you feel the need to fill Granger in on everything you do with every second of your day —”

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry says. “You know what I meant.”

Draco glares at him. He gets off the bed, slightly lightheaded from the wine, horrified by the emotions welling up inside him right behind the panic, and he points at his bedroom door.

“Get out,” he says.

“Are you serious?”

“Go!” he says loudly, voice rising. “If you’re gonna start turning this into something it definitely is not then get out of my flat, Potter.” As usual the window is open, but it’s the third of September and getting chilly finally and Draco’s Freesias and Freedom Roses started wilting last week. There’s a chilly breeze coming into that room that is utterly barren of the sweet smells of summer he associates with Harry these days. “It’s time we ended this anyway,” he says. “Summer’s over.”

“So?” From his position kneeling on Draco’s bed Harry shouldn’t feel imposing at all, but he does. There’s no sparkle of humour in his eyes, none of the softness Draco’s gotten used to seeing there. He looks like someone who’s realised they’ve been betrayed.

Worse than that. Someone who’s been betrayed and realises they should have seen it coming.

“What the fuck does summer have to do with anything?”

“Ever heard of a summer fling, Potter? We’re not ‘seeing each other’.”

Harry finally gets off the bed. Draco’s stomach clenches again, more painfully this time. He doesn’t feel bad, he tells himself — this is Harry’s fault. His fault for making a big deal out of something easy and fun and, most of all, temporary. For ruining this with feelings.

“That’s not what this was,” Harry says. It’s not an argumentative tone; rather, he sounds disappointed. Devastated, and disappointed. And that look of betrayal, like he’s surprised but not … that surprised.

That hurts.

“This was as real as it gets, Draco,” he says matter-of-factly. “You and I don’t have the capability of doing anything as shallow as a fling.”

“Well, Potter,” says Draco, straining to maintain his level voice, “congratulations, because that is the most disgusting, romanticised, Gryffindorian piece of shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah?” He grabs up his wand from the bedside table and stuffs it into his jeans pocket. “Well here’s another: I love you. You complete fucking prick.”

Draco stares after him as he leaves the room, cowed for the moment. He hears Harry take the Floo powder off his mantle, hears the fire start, and then the sound of Potter disappearing.

And he feels hollow suddenly.

* * *

“And he said it completely out of the blue?”

Draco set his wine aside. He was suddenly feeling too sick to put anything else in his body.

“Sort of,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “He was trying to make something out of nothing. He was just making a point, trying to guilt me, I don’t even think he meant it.”

Pansy said nothing for so long that Draco finally looked up. She had an eyebrow raised.

“Do you really believe that?” she said.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the bottle of wine on the table and thought about the way it always tasted a little sweeter on Harry’s lips.

“I don’t know,” he said. “No. But it doesn’t change anything. It was a summer thing, not a … a relationship, for crying out loud. Like I’d date Potter.”

“Why not?”

Draco scoffed. “Why not? Pansy, please. He’s a …”

“A …?”

“He’s an idiot! He’s Potter! He’s …” He couldn’t think of the right word, something bad enough to express the audacity, the gall , for Potter to think even for a second that they could …

“Draco Malfoy,” said Pansy. She was smirking. “You love him too.”

Had he felt sick before? Now he was going to be sick.

“I never would’ve imagined it,” she went on, seeming to take pleasure from his outrage and humiliation. The bint. “Look at you, you’re blushing! Oh my god,” she laughed. And then she stopped laughing, and instead the weight of her own words appeared to descend on her. “Oh my god. You do, don’t you? You are arse over tits for Harry Potter —”

He was up and out of his chair before she’d finished the last word, absurdly, embarrassingly on the verge of tears all of a sudden.

“Draco —”

“I’m glad this can serve as your entertainment for the week, Pansy,” he said. A tear rolled down his cheek — could he be any more histrionic? — and he brushed it away furiously.

“Draco, no —”

“Call Blaise, tell him!” he shouted. “You two can have a good laugh over it —”

“Draco —”

“Poor Draco’s fucked himself over again, what a stupid wanker!”

Pansy got up. He slapped her hand away when she reached for him, but she only came at him again and grabbed it this time when he swatted at her, enfolding it in both of hers. He closed his eyes and hiccoughed and two more tears came.

“Darling, will you please listen to me?” she said softly. It sounded eerily like his mother, which only made him feel young and childish. He tugged his arm away and she let him go, but he didn’t move any farther away. “I am not laughing at you,” she told him. “Blaise might, but that’s because Blaise has a black hole for a heart, Draco, the only emotion he’s ever felt is disdain.” Against his will, Draco chuckled wetly. Pansy smiled and took his hand again, tentatively. He allowed it. “ I think it’s lovely that you have feelings for him. I don’t understand what’s got you so upset, I mean … I know it’s Potter, but we’re not teenagers anymore, right? Who cares?”

Draco exhaled a long sigh.

“He let my father go to Azkaban,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. He saw comprehension dawning. “How can I be with someone who could’ve saved my father’s life and chose not to, Pansy?”

“No one could have saved your father, Draco,” said Pansy gravely. His throat was tight, swollen. He hated that he was hanging on her words, looking for truth in them, wanting to hear something that would make this okay. “He would have done the same thing if they’d let him go back to the manor. It’s not your fault or your mum’s or Potter’s.”

“But —”

“But what?” she cut him off sharply. “Draco, please don’t let your father keep controlling your life from the grave! My god, you deserve happiness, don’t you see that? Even if it’s Potter! In fact, I … I think that could be really good.”

“What, being with Potter?”

“Yes, being with Potter,” she said. “Darling, I say this because I love you: you need to grow a pair of bollocks and start taking control of your own life. I’m not finished!” she added when he opened his mouth to retort. “I understand that it feels like a betrayal of your father, I do, and I’m not saying you can’t have your cherished memories of him, but Draco … you cannot live your life in his shadow, doing things because it’s what he’d want or wouldn’t want. I think that choosing to explore these feelings you have for Potter is the bravest and healthiest thing you could possibly do for yourself.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes wet though the tears had stopped falling.

“What if it doesn’t last?” he said finally. “What if next week he realises it was a huge mistake?”

“First of all, I doubt that,” said Pansy with a roll of her eyes that was clearly meant to be teasing. “You said you’ve been seeing him all summer, that’s plenty of time to have gotten sick of you. And, even if that did happen, I still think it would be entirely worth that week of being disgustingly in love.”

“Do you?” he drawled.

“Yes! I do!” She picked up his discarded wine glass from before and held it up. “Does the effect of alcohol last forever?”

“No …”

“Of course not! And we don’t expect it to. We expect to have fun while we’re drunk and it’ll last as long as it lasts.”

“Dating someone isn’t like being drunk, Pansy,” Draco said sourly.

“Oh, that’s not the point ,” she huffed. “We don’t do things because we know they’ll last forever, we do them because we want to. In the moment.”

“Sounds irresponsible.”

“Well, of course it is,” she scoffed. “Love is completely irresponsible, that’s the fun of it, Draco. Now take this,” she shoved the glass of wine into his hand, almost spilling it. “Drink up, and then get your arse over to his flat and fix this.”

* * *

Granger opened the door. Draco sighed.

“Hello, Granger,” he said lamely. Her raised eyebrows said she was surprised and thoroughly unimpressed by his appearance.

“Malfoy,” she said.

“Is Potter in?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

She looked at him, dark brown eyes impenetrable. Then she closed the front door behind her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk to him,” he said tightly. As if this whole thing wasn’t bad enough, now he had to pass a test to get past Granger the bridge troll. “I thought he told you —”

“He did,” she said flatly. “And about yesterday.”

“Well I’m here to apologise,” said Draco. Granger’s eyebrows lifted again. Still unimpressed. “And to tell him …” He sighed again and broke eye contact, willing himself not to give up, not to take this as a sign he should just go home and ream into Pansy for giving him such bad advice.

“Malfoy.” He looked up. Her voice was softer now, and her eyes seemed a little less hard. “What are you doing? You really hurt him, you know.”

“I know,” he said stiffly. “I said I’m here to apologise.”

“Well he doesn’t need an apology,” she said. “If you’re only going to let him down again —”

“I’m not.” He rubbed his forehead and looked at her again, exasperated, defeated. “I’ve … had some sense talked into me.”

She looked like it was the last thing she’d been expecting.

“Have you?”

“Yes,” he said. “So would you please get him for me before I lose my nerve?”

It was the right thing to say. Her expression melted into something much softer and he fancied he even saw the beginnings of a smile.

“Can I ask who affected this change of heart?”

“Pansy,” he said. And, when Granger seemed taken aback, “She’s very wise when she feels like it.”

“I see. Well …” She still looked a bit conflicted, eyeing him and then putting her hand on the doorknob. “All right. I’ll tell him you’re here, anyway, but he was really hurt, Malfoy. I don’t know if he’ll want to hear it.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said.

Granger eyed him another moment and then went back inside, shutting the door behind her. Draco only had to wait a minute before it was opening again, and this time Harry came out. The sight of him made Draco’s heart feel tender and sore.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Potter.”

He waited to see if Harry would say anything else but he didn’t. He only stared at Draco expectantly, arms folded, in all ways closed off.

“I came to apologise,” said Draco.

“Well you can keep it,” said Harry. “I don’t need an apology because you told me the truth.”

“It wasn’t the truth, Potter,” Draco said quietly. “Opposite, really.”

Harry was silent. Then, “You made me feel like shit, Draco.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You freaked me out, springing it on me like that.”

A beat, then two, and then suddenly Harry was dropping his arms and sighing and he looked at Draco with so much vulnerability he nearly had to turn away from it.

“I didn’t mean to tell you …” He licked his lips, scratched his arm. It reminded Draco that beneath everything, Harry was still the same awkward dorky leader-of-the-losers he’d always been, just with a bit more confidence now and the title of Official Saviour of the Wizarding World. “I wouldn’t have said that if … I was just angry.”

He didn’t need to ask what Harry was referring to.

“I know.”

“Not that I didn’t … I mean, I … I do —”

“Please don’t say it again,” Draco said. Harry laughed.

“Right. I just meant … I really do have feelings for you, Draco. Like … mad, crazy feelings, y’know? I don’t want it to be a fling.”

“It wasn’t a fling,” he said. He moved a little closer and Harry watched him carefully, eyes flickering once down to Draco’s mouth. “I didn’t even sleep with anyone else the whole time.”

“Well that’s good to know,” said Harry sardonically. But he was smiling, so Draco found himself smiling tentatively as well.

“I wanna be with you, Potter. Properly. I thought …” But he shakes his head, deciding that now isn’t the time to explain about his father. “I thought it was a stupid idea. Now I realise that it probably is, but that I don’t really care much. I’ve decided to ignore my better judgment this one time.”

“That’s quite Gryffindor of you,” Harry commented drily.

“Yes, well.”

“So I go against your better judgment, then?”

“Potter,” Draco sighed. “Please, I don’t mean it like —”

“I’m taking the piss, Draco,” Harry cut him off. He reached for Draco’s waist and pulled him close, and before Draco could get his breath back from a short, surprised intake of breath Harry’s mouth was on his, warm and familiar and soothing. He brought his hands to Harry’s face and kissed back without bothering to hide his overwhelming relief.

Harry chased his mouth when he pulled away and Draco breathed out a laugh, holding him at bay with a hand on his chest.

“We have plenty of time,” he said. “D’you wanna come over later tonight, after your friends leave?”

“What? No, come in.” He took Draco’s hand and gestured with his head towards the door. “Please. It’s just Ron and Hermione. They know everything.”

“Really?” Draco drawled. “And you think Weasley won’t try to kill me?”

“I promise not to let him,” Harry grinned. “Please, Draco. You said you wanted to do this properly, right?”

He thought of what Pansy said about being irresponsible, and decided it was worth a try at least.

“Okay,” he said. Harry beamed and tugged him inside.

Towards his ultimate downfall or towards the beginning of the rest of his life, he didn’t know. That, as Pansy would have said, was the fun of it.

#anna writes #answered #drarry fic #god i had sm fun writing this tysm for the prompt 😩

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brightmaiden · 3 years ago

Note

Fairy tale asks: 6, 8, 12, 15, 17, 20

6. What stayed with you most from the fairy tales you enjoyed as a child? Can be a quote, a detail, a character, a moral, or a whole story arc.

I read a lot more mythology than fairy tales when I was young, and what I remember most vividly is the story of Siegfried from the Nibelungenlied bathing in the dragon's blood. Everywhere the blood touched, he became invulnerable, but as he was bathing, a leaf from a linden tree fell on his back, preventing one spot between his shoulder blades from being protected. Later, a spear pierced him there, killing him. I had so many questions about that: why would you do that? did all dragons have magic, skin-protecting blood? why didn't Siegfried notice that he'd missed a spot? As I grew older, it stayed with me for other reasons. The death of the dragon, using its death to protect yourself, the natural world and fate acting to keep you mortal—it seems fair, somehow, that invulnerability bought with another being's death would turn out to be no real invulnerability at all, and that any efforts to cheat the natural order of death would fail.

8. What poem would a kindhearted mortal have to recite to entice you into revealing yourself to them?

Any poem that struck me as true would probably accomplish the task, but I would feel particularly moved if I heard someone reciting any of Donika Kelly's "Love Poem" variations from her Bestiary collection. They strike me as love poems directed at the self rather than another, and they represent such bravery and determination and compassion in the face of all the ways we can be brutal to ourselves that I would reveal myself to a mortal in hopes of reinforcing that message. ...Though I wouldn't say no to discussing how beautifully Kelly writes.

12. Would you rather live in the cool-glittering depths of the sea, the fragrant-green meadows, or the pine-dark, blackberry-scented woods? Why?

I would prefer the desert, to be honest. It's my favorite landscape, but it's also naturally illusive, hiding places where the land dips into canyons, spreading out so vast that distances lose meaning. It challenges you to learn its ways and rewards you with colors and animals and weather that others rarely experience. (Second choice, though, would be those meadows.)

15. Which painting best describes what your personal fairy tale would look, feel, taste like?

I couldn't find quite what I was looking for, but this comes close. I imagine a woman walking down a dark stair into yet more darkness, an opening to the outside world radiating light far behind her while she stands in a circle of her own lantern light. I think my personal fairy tale would involve a journey for some important purpose that requires venturing into places that seem frightening. There's a sense of trepidation, but also determination and discovery: a cool breeze smelling of rain wafting from the depths, light catching on glints of crystal, the faint sound of birds a reminder of what awaits when this journey is complete.

17. Which magical item would you want to own - A magic mirror, a heart-shaped book, or a golden key?

A key! Where might such a key take you? What might it open? A key seems like the start to an adventure.

20. You leave the safety of your family’s home and go brave the dangers and adventures of the world. What do you seek - Love, Self-Fulfillment, or Glory?

Love, I think. I'm not much for glory, and self-fulfillment doesn't require much travel, just opportunities to learn and help others. But love—the romantic kind—I'm not finding that at home. At least, I haven't so far. ;)

#isfjmel phleg #queried #cyneburh

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yaboymercury · 6 years ago

Text

Gassy Lessons - Fifth class: Computer Technology

Jay knew his farting was getting better and Mr Watts was agreeing, but through his gassy persuasion he convinced Jay he could still get better. So since Jay's last training session with him he had been tasked with going back to basics and researching other ways to make himself fart more.

The opportunity to get this research done was in Jay's Computer technology class. His class had been tasked to do a trial run with some coding program, but Jay wasn't so invested in the class and the room was big enough for him to get a place a few seats away from anyone else so he took the opportunity to get some gassy research done.

Jay only got a chance to look through a couple fart themed webpages giving him nothing but basic information, when a notification of an email from the teacher popped up at the bottom of the screen. Mr Anderson was the one holding the class today, Jay hadn't had too many classes from the man but he was pretty sure he had a strong impression of what he was like. He had quite a twinkish build not being very muscular, covered half his cute face with chunky framed glassed and had curly pale blonde hair. He was a relatively softly spoken man and was never too assertive at least it seemed so to Jay, and the young teacher never seemed to be able to command a classroom.

Jay never really spoke to the teacher so the email came as a shock. When he opened it though his shock deepened.

'Jay Carter. Can you please keep to the schedule of today's class and refrain from any childish web searches, as the teacher we have screen tracking technology on all the computers to keep issues like this from occuring. Please start your proper work for the lesson.'

The level of polite assertion in the email surprised the student and he couldn't help but be a little embarrassed at getting caught. He gave the teacher sitting at the other end of the classroom a glare, but the man at the desk didn't notice him, he seemed to be typing something else giving the screen his full attention.

Jay gave up any attempt to spite the teacher and letting out a sigh of premature boredom, he closed his tab and went to open the coding program. However before he could even move the mouse again another email notification popped up from the teacher.

'Jay Carter. I take back my further request if you can display the fruits of your research as soon as possible, especially if you could thin out the number of students in the class. Either that or start coding.'

This was of course an unexpected turn for Jay and when he went to look at the teacher over the classroom he could see him staring straight back at him with a challenging look and a slight smile. Jay looked around the class, there were no guys in here he particularly cared about, and Jay didn't particularly care about his reputation either, and since his past escapades in his sports class maybe leaning into the gassy aspect of his personality would catch him some respect.

After a full day of classes Jay had been holding in his gas for a while anyway and it was ready to burst, so he leaned back in his chair stretching and whole doing so spread his legs apart and let loose.

FRAAAAARPP

The first reaction he got was from two friends sitting a couple seats away who both immediately looked over at him, one chuckling and the other just staring blankly.

"Oh you want some?" Jay questioned jokingly wafting it in their direction. The rancid stink finally hit them and they both started coughing in unison. Jay laughing decided to put the final nail in their coffin and aimed his butt in there direction still sitting.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAPP

Jay's newly developed brand of eggy stink made it's way to them and their coughing grew stronger. The mumbled something to eachother and stood up and left the classroom giving Jay a dirty look as they said some incomprehensible excuse to the teacher as they left the room. Jay glanced at the teacher who was chuckling lightly, the student was happy to entertain.

Obviously his gaseous fun was not as well received by the rest of the class, mostly whispering and giving him strange looks, but one of the class reps obviously wanted to take justice into their own hands striding over too Jay. The Prep was obviously caught off guard gagging a little as he entered the stinking cloud surrounding Jay who played dumb and gave the glaring class rep and surprised look.

"Is there a problem officer?" Jay asked.

Through a pinched nose Jay could make out "Mr Carter as a class rep I'm going to have to ask you to stop your expulsions they are reprehensibley rude and a distraction to our learning."

Smirking back Jay grabbed the boy's hand off his nose and in doing so made him stumble closer in a quieter voice he said to him almost seductively "I would hardly call this a distraction?" And he leaned forward in his chair and let rip.

BRRRRRRRAPPPPPT

The other boy got a whiff of the toxic blast and his face went pale as he staggered out the room with a hand over his mouth trying to stop anything escaping. As the boy left Jay thought he heard him say something stupid along the lines of "This won't be the last you bear of this. As Jay watched him leave with a smile he noticed that others were leaving but from the other side of the class, from the side closer to Mr Anderson.

Jay looked over to the teacher who was obviously pretending to be distracted by something on his screen but still wore a cheeky grin. The student took a deep whiff of the air, he was happy to take in his personal brand of month old rancid eggs gas, but he sensed a foreign fart smell growing in the mix of rotten veggies and fragrant compost assault his nose. Looking back at the teacher it didn't take Jay long to work out who the culprit was for the rival gas.

The classroom had been emptied of most of it's students filled with a significant amount of gas. Other than Jay and Anderson there were just two friends looking quite scared and ready to leave sitting pretty much an equal distance from the gassy competitors. Realising what it had come down to before the boys could leave both Jay and the teacher gave eachother a nod and a smirk and walked up to the two.

"You need some help bud?" Jay asked ungenuinly putting has hand on the shoulder of the student on the left.

"You having any trouble with the work?" Anderson leaning on the desk asked trying to keep his usual reserved demeanor to the student on the right.

Before doing anything Jay got a good look at Anderson's perky ass which had been hidden up until this point, he was happily surprised. Both of the students stammered mainly worried about Jay since he was the only obvious farter, they were probably hoping that Anderson would help them. Before Jay could get anything out he picked up on a very subtle hissing coming from the backside of the still concerned looking teacher. Jay of course wanting to contribute to the stink out quickly turned around and sat on the desk almost hitting the keyboard of the boy on the left and pointing his ass towards both.

"Get a load of this action!" Jay strained knowing it wouldn't be a small one.

PRRRRRRAAAARPPPPP

The eggy explosion rocketed out of Jay's ass into the faces of the unfortunate soon to be casualties, and right at the same time Anderson's stinky gas leak got to the boy's nostrils. The combined stench was obviously too much for the two buddies as they knocked heads as they passed out.

Finally getting drop any facade Jay and Anderson smiled at eachother in stinking solidarity as they both took a deep sniff of their joint creation. Of course the two passed out students were currently the main source of the smell, the room as a whole was now filled with a flatulent fog starting to make even Jay's eyes water.

"Impressive work Jay, it seems that it was obviously not coding I should've been pushing you towards."

"I don't know why you spend all your time with computer shit, when your stinking butt obviously is obviously far more interesting." The disguised compliment was a risky move Jay thought but Anderson seemed to respond well. He gave his ass a little smack and adjusted his glasses as he stepped towards his gassy student.

"Well I guess you've got to have a day job."

Jay watched smiling excitedly as the seemingly transformed teacher ran his hand through his hair walking past him.

"Let's leave these two here, I'm sure you don't mind taking the blame for them, I think I'll be giving you some private tutoring if you just follow me." Giving Jay a wink from behind his glasses and strolled out the room.

Happy at the direction the class had gone Jay took one last sniff of his gassy handiwork and clambered off the desk to follow him, leaving the unlucky last two victims to marinate in the stink.

Leaving the room Jay caught up to the man on the quick walk to his office only a little ways down the corridor, all the while making sure to stay a little behind him as to enjoy the view.

In comparison to the quite airy and spacious computer room, the office was tiny. There was barely enough room for the desk and chair, and with both men standing in there, there was barely any room to move. Jay also noted the lack of be ventilation with only one small window which seemed to be locked shut.

"You'll have to excuse the heat." He closed the door behind Jay who leaned against the wall. "I only got moved to the office this year and I haven't been able to find the spare key for the window, I hope it won't be a problem." He gave Jay a knowing look.

"Don't worry I think I can cope" And in spite of the uniform policy Jay began to undo his tie, which prompted his teacher to follow suit. "So Mr Anderson what will this tutoring be about, I hardly think my computing skills need any improving, and I can't seem to think of anything else we have in common." Jay made sure to finish the question in cocking up one of his legs.

FRRRRAPPP

The fart despite not being the biggest managed to fill the room in seconds making both men smile at what it's stink implied.

"Now Jay no reason to misbehave." The teacher sat on a spot on the desk and unbuttoned a few of his shirt buttons as they had both began to sweat. "I merely wanted to give you proper punishment for your unprovoked biohazardous assault on your fellow students, it's highly unprofessional." The teacher concluded by leaning over on the desk displaying his butt again to the increasingly aroused student.

Frrrrrrrrrrsshhhhhh

What the flatulence lacked in volume it made up for in stench completely dominating the room with his rancid personal stench. Both men inhaled obviously neither really expecting how bad it stunk coughing in response to its bite.

After recovering Jay responded keeping up the erotic teasing act they had going by turning around and leaning against the wall and peeled down his now stuck on with sweat trousers just enough to let his boxer clad ass show with the gray colour accentuating his now sweaty crack.

"Well Mr Anderson I think I have quite a skill and I occasionally like to show it off to my classmates I don't see the problem with that?" He stuck out his ass further in the direction of the teacher and winced.

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARPPPPP

He was impressed with himself, the gas shook the room and reintroduced his eggy gas to the room. The power of the fart seemed to shake the tiny room and make both men laugh at the sheer masculine stinky power it showed.

Again matching Jay, Anderson got up and began unzipping his trousers, the now erect student looked back at his teacher reveal his amazing smooth bouncy round ass cheeks. He made sure that Jay got a good look at them giving them a little shake.

"Now Jay I do see a problem with that, thinking your gas could even rival something like mine is worthy of punishment."

Psshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

It sounded like a high pressure gas leak and it intensified the heat in the room exponentially, but by far the worst aspect was it wretched stench making Jay's eyes fully tear up and burn his nose.

Jay managed to recover from his coughing fit relatively quickly in spite of the rancid stench feeling like a cartoonist stinky brown fog in the room. His brain was going haywire at the horrible sensation but he decided to go for one last shot.

"Well then punish this..." He back closer up to Anderson until they were butt to butt. In a brave move Jay pulled down both their boxers until their bare sweaty asses were touching and let a rippling blast straight onto the man's ass.

BRRRRAPTTTTTTT

The rank stink vibrated against the cheeks of the two men making them both gasp. The room was becoming a deadly hot box and Anderson could tell it was his place to finish it.

The teacher after letting Jay's fart finish strolled around his student toying with him and leaned against the wall pushing his ass out until it was just touching Jay's erection. The two sweaty men could tell where it was going.

Rssssssssshhhhhhhh

The heat combined with the two men's combined evil stink, either that or the pleasure Jay got from the last gassy blast from his teacher but he was out, collapsing at the other man's feet.

#eproctophilia #fart #fart story #fartfiction #gay #gay fart #male fart #stink #flatulence #man fart #fart teacher

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riyuu-bsd · 6 years ago

Text

Good Enough [Yandere!Edgar Allen Poe x Reader]

"(Y/n)-Chan!" the male smiled, approaching his close friend,

"Edgar!" the lady grinned, running up to him and hugging him tightly. He wheezed slightly, before returning the notion. His face was tinted slightly pink, a feature the (h/c)ette causing his flustered state didn't fail to point out.

"You're so cute when you blush!" she grinned bluntly, only deepening the inflamation of his face,

"(Y-Y/n)-Chan.. I-I-"

He was cut off when she changed her focus to the raccoon perched on his shoulder.

"Karl!" she beamed, picking up the small, somewhat fluffy creature and petting him softly. The jittery owner stood awkwardly, a nervous smile plastered onto his features.

"Have you been taking care of him properly?" she smiled, "Ah, who am I kidding? Of course you have, you're awesome with this little guy!"

"I-I uh.." he stammered, face still flushed and burning in embarrassment. The girl gave a supportive smile, placing his pet back on his shoulder.

"Don't be afraid to take a compliment, Edgar," she cooed, "Hey, here's another; You're my best friend, ever, and nothing can change that because you're too precious and amazing to ever be replaced!" He felt his face seer in heat, heart sinking at the term "friend" for a reason he couldn't describe.

"Y-y-you're way better than I am, (Y-y/n)-Chan.." he whispered nervously, twiddling his fingers as the girl chuckled, turning around,

"So, Edgar," she hummed, "Where we heading?"

"O-oh, t-to my place.." he answered. The girl felt a slight heat rise in her face, shaking off any thoughts of her closest friend being sleazy because of his sheer innocene.

"Okay, let's go!" she chimed, holding his far colder hand in hers and rushing ahead.

"(Y/n)-Chan! We're getting a cab-!"

Stepping into the somewhat overly large doors, she grinned and gripped onto the side of her best friend.

"Woah! This place is awesome!" she beamed, "No wonder, an awesome guy like you deserves a place like this,"

"(Y-Y-Y/n)-Chan-" he stammered, "I-it's no big deal.."

"You're so cool that even a place like this isn't a big deal," she grinned, a slight smirk tugging at her lips for a moment.

"Wh-" his face was bright red, a feature that only increased when he felt her lips press against his cheek.

"Great job, Edgar," she beamed, hugging him tightly around the waist. The tall, reclusive author couldn't process what was happening properly.

His best friend had kissed him, and was now hugging him as if her life depended on it.

She was showing him affection. Butterflies ran rampant in his stomach, his arms wrapping weakly around her as he whispered a small "thanks".

"I told you you're cute when you blush," she giggled, unlatching her arms from around his waist and grabbing his hand,

"So, can you show me around?"

They had held hands before, but both times today it felt so.. Intimate.. So different. Maybe it was the distance that had been between them for a while, or maybe their friendship was just growing more awkward, but everything she did set his heart ablaze with passion for her.

"Sure.." he managed, shuffling up the stairs to show her to her room.

"Edgar!" she gasped, looking at her room, "You set it all up and devorated it with things I like,"

"O-of course.." he whispered, "You're m-my best friend after all, I wanted to make sure y-you'd be comfortable," he stammered, feeling her hand pull away from his as she flopped onto (f/c) sheets he had picked out for her. He looked over at her, noticing that she was patting the space next to her,

"Come lie down with me, Edgar," she smiled, grabbing his wrist and pulling him over.

"(Y-Y/n)-Chan-!" he protested, "Th-that's a bit c-close don't you think?"

She stayed silent for a moment, the same warm smile tugging at her lips.

"Aww, Edgar, don't worry, I know you aren't like that," she giggled, sitting up so he'd feel more comfortable, "I just wanna catch up and talk,"

"O-okay.."

At some point, he must have dozed off, his eyes fluttering open in slight light.

"Oh, Edgar!" (Y/n) grinned, looking down at him.

Wait, looking down?

He reassessed the situation, quickly realising that he was laying down on her lap.

"I-I'm so sorry!" he apologised, "It was an accident, I promise, I never would've done that on purpose..!" he continued frantically, sitting up straight with a heavy blush on his face.

"It's okay, Edgar," she chuckled, leaning on his shoulder. His blush deepened, body going stiff from the intimacy.

"(Y-Y/n).." he whispered, inaudible to her even as she was so close to him. She simply made herself comfortable, eventually settling to lie down in his lap instead.

"C-can I introduce you to someone tomorrow?"

"Sure, Edgar, who is it?" she smiled, lifting her head from the admittedly comfortable position and looking at him.

"Ranpo," he answered, confident the two would get along. She gave him a bright grin and a nod,

"Sure!" she beamed, "But you better start sleeping more," she warned,

"What do you mea-"

"Edgar, I've known you for sixteen years, I know you dont sleep much and when that happens, you'll pass out," she fussed, "Please just sleep properly.."

"O-okay."

He finally returned to his own room, changing into some nightwear and lying down, running his hand through Karl's fur to try and quell his nerves. He was so close to her, so many times. But why did it matter? Back in America, they were usually close. But it felt different, and it was more intimate to him now. Hugging her, holding her hand, falling asleep on her. It all felt so extreme, although it really wasn't much. He couldn't help but feel elated.

"Karl.. What is this feeling..?" he muttered, looking to the raccoon as if he was supposed to answer. The creature cocked his head to the side, looking back at the author.

"What was I expecting.." he let out a dry chuckle, tucking himself in properly, "It's not like you'd answer.."

"Goodnight Edgar! Sweet dreams!" his friend called from the other room, startling him somewhat,

"G-goodnight, (Y/n)-Chan..! Sweet dreams!" he called back,

"I'd have to dream of you!" she chuckled jokingly, causing the shy male to begin burrying his face in the fluffy pillows to try and stop himself from blushing.

Why did she make him feel that way?

His eyes fluttered open, the feint smell of a freshly cooked breakfast wafting into his room. He groaned tiredly, getting up and going downstairs to see what was up.

"(Y/n)..?" he mumbled groggily, wiping his eye to try and wake himself up properly,

"Aww, Edgar!" she beamed, hugging his side, "Morning~"

"M-m-morning," he stammered, feeling suddenly awake from their intimacy.

"You want pancakes?" she smiled, stepping over towards the table, where she had already made him a breakfast.

It was the one she would always make back home in America, pancakes with syrup and a cup of coffee to help wake him up. He nodded slightly, shuffling over to the table and starting to eat.

"So when are we meeting that friend of yours?" she grinned, sitting down next to him and sipping at a mug of (f/d).

"L-later today?" he suggested,

"Sure thing, Edgar!" she beamed, "I'll go get ready in a sec,"

It was only then that the idea (Y/n) and Ranpo could get along too well.

What if they left him behind?

What if she liked Ranpo more than him?

What if they started to hate him because they had each other?

The idea hurt him somewhat deeply,

"S-surely they wouldn't.."

"Wouldn't what?" she piped up, noticing the small tears in the corners of his eyes,

"I-it's nothing," he stammered, fidgeting nervously.

"Edgar," she began, "I can tell something's bothering you; you're bad at keeping a poker face,"

"I-"

"I think I know what it is, too," she said with a small chuckle, "I'd never leave you, Edgar, don't think I'd ever forget you because of someone else,"

"H-how did you guess that..?" he stuttered,

"I've known you for ages, Edgar, I just know this stuff," she giggled, patting him on the back, "I'll go get ready, you finish up eating,"

"(Y-Y/n).. I really appreciate it but.. Aren't you acting really motherly..?"

"Well duh," she sighed, "Half the reason I came here is to make sure you're keeping yourself healthy, Edgar,"

He nearly choked on what he was eating for a moment, he lady giving him a smile and going back up to the room she was staying in.

She really did care about him.

"So, what's this Ranpo guy like?" she piped up, clinging to his arm so she wouldn't get lost. Her close friend looked at her, taking in how much effort she put into looking nice. She wore a black pencil skirt, a white blouse with small frills and lace details, as well as a pair of semi-thin tights and some black high heels. All complete with his overcoat after she complained about being too cold.

"Edgar?" she repeated,

"O-oh, sorry," he mumbled, "Well.. He's pretty laid back.. A bit childish.."

The lady giggled,

"Thanks for letting me use your coat by the way, Edgar."

"N-no problem," he hummed, blushing slightly, "I can't have you b-being cold."

"Poe-Kun! Did you finish that puzzle?" the childish detective grinned loudly from his desk, "Who's she?"

"A-ah-"

"Edgar, don't yell across an office, you'll only make yourself nervous if they look at you," (Y/n) reminded him softly, still latched onto his arm. She guided him towards the detective's booth, "Now it's easier to talk," she smiled.

"R-Ranpo-Kun..! No, I haven't finished it yet, it should be done later this week," he mumbled, face red from embarrassment, "Th-this is (Y/n), she's my friend from over in America.." he explained,

"I've heard great things about you, Ranpo!" the (h/c)ette beamed, extending her hand for him to shake.

The great detective found a smirk tugging at his lips, "Really? Just how great am I then?" he chuckled, shaking her hand.

Even though it was conpletely platonic and he knew it, Poe couldn't help but feel hurt by their contact. It was brief, but it was similar to the way he had held (Y/n)'s hand. Surely that intimacy was something she saved solely for him, right? His two more outgoing friends continued to talk, him only adding small chuckles or bits of laughter to their stories and jokes. He couldn't help but feel.. Isolated. He reached up to stroke Karl, before realising his beloved pet had hopped onto Ranpo's shoulder instead of his own. His laughter or chuckles stopped.

"Edgar?" (Y/n) whispered, "Edgar are you okay?"

"I-"

"Please say you're okay.." she whispered, leaning into his chest and wrapping her arms atound him, "I'll help if I can."

His face burned. Having her hold him so intimiately in an area so different to his own home.

"I-it's nothing.."

"..Are you two dating?.." The ravenette detective questioned, somewhat clueless,

"N-No..!" Edgar denied, face burning bright red,

"Noooo," (Y/n) cooed casually, "I just love how much of a softie he is," she chuckled, staying close to the tall male.

Other than that, Poe felt generally unacknowledged during the exchange, even though he was the one introducing them.

"Ranpo's a really cool guy!" his close friend piped up, "And he does all that without having an ability? It's awesome!"

Something about that statement made him almost jealous.

He didn't have an ability like that, and he was still competition to Ranpo. He didn't brag about it.

"Yeah, he's awesome," Edgar chuckled, feeling a small chill run down his spine at the cold, even through his many layers without the overcoat.

"Are you too cold, Edgar?" she fussed, picking up on it almost instantly,

"N-No, besides, if I take it, th-then you'll be cold!" he stammered in protest, "I'll be okay.."

"If you say so," she cooed, slipping her warmer hand into his, "But at least keep your hands warm, they're always so cold,"

"I-I-"

She intertwined their fingers, smiling at him,

"Now you're warmer and I can't get lost," she grinned, the male looking away with a blush.

Said male got them a quick ride home, sitting in the back of the cab with (Y/n) rather than the front with the driver like most people would.

He just really wanted to stay close to her.

"Edgarrrrr," the girl chimed, "Can we go visit Ranpo again tomorrow?"

"I-I'm sure he was lots of work to do," Poe lied, wanting to spend more time with her,

"Can we at least try?" she asked, giving puppy dog eyes as she clinged to his side lightly.

"Sure.."

"Yay!"

He was too soft to her, too soft that he felt he might lose her.

The same thing went on for a few days, (Y/n) and Ranpo getting along great and leaving Poe to sit awkwardly on his own.

He sighed, looking over at the two.

He felt jealousy and anger bubbling, giving him some excuse for confidence as he stood up, determined to confront Ranpo for taking his best friend.

"Ranpo-Kun!" he started, trying his best to sound angry and not scared. The ravenette's head whipped around, eyes open properly as he looked at his angry rival,

"Eh?"

"I- I-"

He hadn't thought of what to say at this point, stammering furiously as he tried to look serious.

The (h/c)ette giggled.

"Aww, Edgar!~ You're so cute when you're mad!~" she chimed, pulling the tall recluse into a hug, "Especially when you try so hard to be so serious, it's absolutley adorable!~"

His anger seemed to dissipate under her touch, her hold calming and comforting,

"I.." he went on, looking down at the floor.

She lead him out of the agency, giving Ranpo a brief goodbye.

"So, what do you wanna do, Edgar?" she smiled, slipping her hand into his again, lacing their fingers together,

"M-maybe th-" he cut himself off, hugging her abruptly and burrying his face into her shoulder, "I'm sorry I ruined your day with Ranpo.."

"Edgar, it's okay," she cooed, "I wanna spend time with you now, let's go! You lead the way, I'll go wherever with you!~"

He shivered slightly, looking away and stepping back nervously as he fidgeted with his sleeves.

"Th-the cafe or the library?" he suggested meekly, the girl smiling widely,

"Sounds great," she beamed, already starting to walk.

Even when they were so close, when they were alone together, he felt sick with anxiety. Surely one day couldn't mean she doesn't prefer him to Ranpo? If she really liked him, she wouldn't insist on seeing Ranpo so much. She would spend more time with him. Everythigg she did—every breath she took, every word she spoke—it would be dedicated to him. Just the ssme way he treated her. During the past few days, he'd felt almost hopeless. His best friend was slipping through his grasp over and over and over again.

He wasn't sure if, at this point, she was his best friend. He saw her as more than that. A goddess, perhaps?

He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he was in no way willing to give her up. Especially not to Ranpo.

He was ripped from his thoughts, (Y/n) tugging him into an alleyway quickly.

"Edgar, is something bothering you?" she whispered, shrugging off his overcoat and placing it on his shoulders, "You seem tense.."

"I-I'm fine, (Y/n)," he smiled fakely, trying to lie to her.

She knew him too well, wrapping her arms around him loosely and leaning into him,

"You can always talk to me if something is bothering you, Edgar, I'm here for you whenever," she whispered, burrying her face into his shoulder, "You don't need to hide things from me." He shivered slightly, face red with embarassment.

"I.. I guess there is something.." he breathed, "Or.. Someone.."

"Who is it, Edgar?" his friend cooed,

"Wh-whenever I'm around them, I feel like I'm in bliss.. They make me so happy I can't help it.. I wanna be with them m-more.. I wanna be able to know how I feel about them.." he breathed shakily, "What's it called, (Y/n)? I've forgotten the word.."

"Love," she said, voice holding less emotion, "It's called love, Edgar, you're in love,"

"L-love.." he whispered, wrapping his own arms around her, "I like that word.."

The day continued, with a lot less physical contact, though. She didn't reach out to hold his hand, she didn't pull him into hugs, she didn't cling to his arm or insist on sitting as close as she could to him.

What if.. (Y/n) was in love with someone? What if the one (Y/n) was in love with was.. Ranpo?

It would make so much sense.

She was always wanting to be around him, she always smiled with him, she always laughed, always seemed.. Like she was in love. That thought terrified him. His dear (Y/n), in love with someone that wasn't him. He was happy for her, sure, but he couldn't stand the idea.

"Edgar," she started, "Do you mind telling me who it is you love?"

"I.. All I can tell you is that.. I r-really care about them.." he said quietly, staring down at the table, "I can't stand the thought of them loving someone else.."

"That's adorable, Edgar," she said with a small smile, "You sound like you're jealous." She had less emotion to her. Whilst she would normally squeal these compliments to him, she simply stated it, a dull look in (e/c) eyes as she looked at him.

"I-I'm not..!" he protested.

She really did love Ranpo, didn't she? She was bored of him, and wanted to see the person she actually liked, right?

"It's okay to admit it," she said plainly, "Anyway, I'm tired, can we go back home?"

"Sure.."

It was quieter at home, no real conversation. Poe had excused himself earlier, going up to his room with a solemn expression.

"Oh, Karl.." he sighed, flopping down onto his bed, "What should I do? He ran his hand through the raccoon's fur.

"Am I really in love? I forgot what it was.. And now I'm falling more than I ever have before," he whispered shakily, "How do you show someone you love them, Karl?" He was almost gripping at his pet's fur, the strong hold causing the creature to bite down on his wrist, blood beginning to drop from the wound.

"Th-that's it.." he gasped, "That must be it!~" he chimed, jumping up.

"You show love by showing pain.." he smirked widely, unnatural for someone with expressions as delicate as his own.

"But I can't hurt (Y/n).." he whispered, "I can hurt someone else though.."

It dawned on him.

"I can hurt Ranpo, then she'll have me to love instead of him."

"Edgarrr~" (Y/n) chimed, hugging him from the side and looking up at him, "Can we go see Edo-Chan again?"

He stiffened at the nickname for a brief second. Edo-Chan.

Why didn't he have a nickname like that? Was Ranpo really so much better than him? Was he so inferior to such a brat that even his best friend left him?

The previous night's idea was still fresh in his head, the tall male choking on his words briefly.

"S-sure.." His face was beet red, that much was noticeable. What went unknown to (Y/n) were the salty tears pooling in his eyes,

"Give me an hour for a nap, first, I-I'm tired.." The lady nodded at his groggy request, detaching herself from his waist.

"Okay, Edgar!"

There was none of the concern for his safety, no nagging about how he needed to sleep and take care of himself.

It made him feel worse as he hurried up the stairs, tears threatening to fall. He sat down on his bed, brushing his long, dark hair away from his face.

"(Y/n).." he whispered, voice shaking, "Why do you have to make me feel this way..?" He looked around for a moment, throat tight from anxiety.

Then an idea dawned on him, an idea he could use almost flawlessly.

"Perfect," he whispered, bangs falling over his eyes once more, "It's perfect.."

He sat in near silence for an hour, "waking up" and going to check on (Y/n).

"(Y/n)?" he called, hoping she hadn't left without him,

"Edgar!" she grinned, running towards him.

"Ah, (Y-Y/n)!" he smiled, "Let's go see R-ranpo.." The lady gave him a bright smile, leaning onto his side.

The day went by as normal, Poe feeling left behind and isolated as the (Y/n) and Ranpo talked to each other for little less than two hours.

"Don't worry.. Soon enough.." he whispered to himself, "Soon enough she can have me to love.."

They left the agency, the (h/c)ette slipping her hand into Poe's once more. It was almost a routine; they'd hold hands and she would be clingy as soon as they left, any other time on their visits she was with Ranpo.

Poe smiled slightly, getting up from the (f/c) chair in the corner of the room.

"Am I good enough for you, (Y/n)?" he cooed softly, stepping towards the door, "Of course not; but I really don't want to lose you.. So I'll make myself the best you can ever get.."

He looked back at her sleeping form, knife in hand.

"I will be good enough, (Y/n), I promise I will.. I will be good enough for you.."

He looked up at the street lights, hands stuffed in his pockets. It was probably around 2AM, something he knew wouldn't have stopped his rival from staying up playing video games. His eyes rolled back to the door as he knocked gently before entering.

"Ranpo-Kun?" he called up, a heavy book in hand.

"Poe-Kun? You finished the book?" the ravenette grinned, walking downstairs in an animal onesie. What else was he to expect?

"Y-yeah, it's all done," he said with a small smile, "Sorry for bothering you so late.." His rival simply shrugged, opening the book as he began to skim the pages, expecting to feel the familiar tingle of Poe's ability at any moment.

Instead, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, quickly followed by the feeling of blood trickling down.

Had Poe really just done that?

The detective was about to cry out in pain, and only then did the author's ability begin to work.

"You're out of the way now.. I can finally br good enough..!" the writer said, an almost derranged smile on his face, "She can love me now!"

Days passed, each one feeling like several months. (Y/n) was always clinging to him, seeming gloomy and on the verge of tears.

"Edgar.. Do you know anything about what happened?" she whispered shakily, arms wrapped around him and face burried comfortably in his shoulder.

"I went to drop off the novel and.. He wasn't there.." the author breathed nervously.

"I.. I miss him.. Please stay safe, Edgar, I can't lose you too!" she cried, beginning to sob again, "I already lost a good friend.. I can't lose you.. I won't.."

"Calm down, (Y/n)," he choked, guilt starting to sink in, "He wouldn't want you to cry.."

"I know," she sniffled, whiping her eyes and pulling away to look at him.

"I'm just scared that I might lose you too, Edgar.. I love you too much to think about it.." she whispered, face red with tears.

That's what made him feel the worst. She had loved him. He killed Ranpo for no reason.

He pulled her closer, beginning to sob himself as he cradled her closely.

"I-I.. I love you too, (Y/n).."

In her eyes, he had always been good enough.

#bsd #oneshot #x reader #poe #edgar allen poe #bungo stray dogs #poe x reader #bsd edgar allen poe #bungou stray dogs #poe bsd #fluff #yandere #edgar bsd #yandere x reader

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goldenscript · 6 years ago

Note

Uhm would you write a drabble with the title "a slight smell of strawberry shortcake" about nct's jaehyun working in a bakery? I noticed you haven't written anything about him yet and I am interested in how you portray him 😶💞 thank you for your effort!!!!! I'm always amazed how you come up with such high quality content and I'm always waiting eagerly for updates from you 💕💓💘

pairing: jung jaehyun | readergenre: slice of life au / fluffword count: 2,948author’s note: i’m so elated that you sent such a lovely request in! i’ve been meaning to write about him, so i’m super happy you’ve given me this opportunity. i definitely have a few portrayals in mind for him, but i decided the soft, adorable route would be great for this one! i’m just… thank you. it really makes me happy to know that you think my work is high quality and you wait for my updates ;w; you’re a high quality reader, and you gave me so much motivation for this!

You wondered if he remembered you.

If somewhere deep down, he has you etched into his memory like you have him etched in yours, forged by the seldom chance meetings in the hallways and occasionally met glances on this very same street. If somewhere deep down, he actually remembered that day. It was a silly thought, of course. But when you peered out the large expanse of glass with the fleeting view of vagabonds and the beckoning shop across the street where he manned the frontline with a smile as warm and inviting as the bakery itself, you found it hard to forget him even after all of these years.

“You could actually try talking to him, you know,” Ten pointed out. He snickered when you jumped at his close proximity and sudden appearance, only letting loose a single sharp peal of laughter upon your display of nearly dropping a rather hefty volume on self-help about mindfulness onto the carpeted floor.

You scowled slightly in response. The only sound emitting from you was the book getting placed carefully in its slot, punctuating your meager embarrassment with an unintentional thwack.

“How long has it been since you’ve giving him the love eyes, Y/N?”

“I have not—!” you paused. Your frown deepened at his amused stare. “What?”

“You’re absolutely bullshitting! Why don’t you actually try talking to him? This isn’t high school anymore, y’know. You can actually go up to a man and ask him out.”

You guffawed at the sheer prospect of doing that. Of course, you could. But would you do that? Hell no. You liked to think that Jung Jaehyun was part of a time where nothing really mattered besides letter grades and grade-point averages.

High school in itself was a fleeting moment in time that you both cherished and kept at a distance, though he made himself an exception just by existing; you just didn’t know what to expect if you decided to open up that can of worms. He was perfect, really. A basketball point guard, top student in English, music, and most obviously, home economics, and kind, invigorating, and enigmatic all the same. You didn’t know him like you wanted to, nor did you really know him very much at all (unless you counted that one meaningful conversation you shared with him). To talk him again would be nice, to catch up over these past couple of years, to finally have a moment that lasted more than just a couple minutes in between classes. God, that would be a dream.

But that was all it was, wasn’t it? He probably doesn’t remember me like I remember him… You shook your head, hoping that was enough to will away the thoughts and the very faint memories prickling the back of your mind.

Ten deadpanned and met your gaze, “So, you’re going to spend your entire time back in town just staring at the love of your life through windows instead of actually pursuing him like you’ve been dreaming of for God-only-knows how long?”

“I don’t love him,” you retorted, rolling your eyes as you went back to stocking up the bookshelves. This time shifting the large cart between the two of you for easier access, and to create a barrier for whatever he was trying to insinuate. “I’m back to help out the shop, not stroll down memory lane with some guy I talked to like once in grade school.”

Naturally, it was a failed effort.

Just as he grabbed a book, gaze flickering over the title to put it into place, he said, “Perhaps letting you know that he stopped by the store a few times to ask about you wouldn’t mean very much then, huh?”

You paused. Your eyes narrowing from the silver font of the title to the silver-haired man beside you.

“Hm?”

“What?” he blinked his stupid, cat-like eyes in innocence. “Did you need me to repeat myself?”

“When did he—?” you paused for a second time, already knowing you fell right into Ten’s trap. “Stop messing with me! There’s no point in getting my hopes up when I know he has never thought of me like that.”

“So, you do care then?”

“I don’t,” you responded stiffly.

“Are you sure?”

You shook your head. Of course, you fucking did. You just didn’t want to give that little shit the satisfaction of being right, again.

“When have I ever led you astray when it comes to Baker Boy over there, Y/N? You were so sure he had no clue who you were back then, but can you remember what I told you and what happened after that?”

Your lips formed a small thin line, almost a pout but without the playful pretenses as you’ve always flashed at him.

Of fucking course you remembered. It was one thing to know Jaehyun knew your name, but it was another thing to actually talk to him about your writing and hear him read his favorite poem to you aloud. You didn’t know why or what possessed him to do this, but it was senior year. And it was all you could think about even now, returning for summer break, back to where you got to see him without the crowd and watchful eyes of peers.

“C’mon, Y/N. Was he really just some guy from high school?”

“Shut up,” you sighed, sideying him as you put a few more books up onto the shelves. “It was ages ago.”

“And somehow you’re still thinking about a what-if with him.” Another thwack punctuated the statement.

You didn’t like where this was headed. And you stated so with a grumble, “Or you’re pulling some wizarding bullshit on me just so I’ll do what you have planned in that evil, little brain of yours, demon.”

“Actually, I prefer being called Cupid.”

He laughed as soon as he turned back on his heel and met your perturbed expression. A part of him leaned on the entryway toward the reading room, where a few passerby congregated. Some of which appeared to be couples of different tiers—the old-timers, the honeymooners, and the just-beginners.

The feigned discomfort on your visage faded while one of longing took its place. You didn’t particularly care for relationships now, but you remembered wanting one so badly when you were younger. You remembered a time where you only dreamt of interacting with Jaehyun, somehow only seeing him at the far distance most people saw any idol of a sort, before that day in Miss Calinao’s classroom. You remembered talking to him and watching the crush fade into something else, a possibility that perhaps you weren’t a stupid kid secretly chasing (read: ogling) a guy after all. You knew now that you didn’t need a relationship, really, that if you were to engage in Jung Jaehyun, then it was simply to catch up and reminisce, nothing more.

But what if there is more? The voice asked, sounding more like Ten than what you would’ve preferred. He was off finishing the rounds for strays on the coffee table, returning some of the teacups to the kitchens for later washing. You had drifted from that area to break room after double checking your checklist and found nothing else needed to be done to your relief, though it left more room for your mind to drift than you preferred.

A small wave of a hand blocked your focus, while the bemused titter of your coworker snickered at you once more. Instead of saying what you heard in your head like part of you expected, Ten asked, “Did you hear me?”

You shook your head before letting a loud sigh loose. “What do you want now, demon?”

“You’re on your fifteen, right?”

You glanced at your watch and then nodded slowly. It hadn’t occurred to you until then. Perhaps you could wander around the street… maybe glance at the bakery on your way to ShareTea. You had no actual reason to walk inside anyway.

“Do me and Nana a favor—!”

You blinked, “Wha—” What’s he up to…?

“—and grab us something from across the street.”

Goddamn demon.

Your own heart trembled as you walked toward the cream- and sky blue-colored building.

The very path was familiar.

Each step taking you back to a simpler time, where daydreams were less about your future job and more about ways in which you could bridge the acquaintance gap with Jung Jaehyun and become something. It was purely innocent back then. Always a hope and a scenario that brought you two closer; after all, you were both workers to neighboring establishments. How cute would it have been if you two had gotten closer back then and gone to work together? Left for home together? Maybe he could’ve walked you home. He seems like the type—

You cracked a small smile at the thought and felt your cheeks burn as soon as you got to the sidewalk. There were hardly any people around, a result of the summer heat, that made the prospect of entering both frightening and actually quite relieving. There wouldn’t be any possible familiar faces trying to engage either of you in conversation, or, well, engage Jaehyun in conversation. You could see him at the cash register and a few others scurrying in and out of the kitchen, but the sight wasn’t what beckoned you forward. It was the smell.

Even from the entrance of the book shop, you could smell the vanilla extract wafting off the assortment of sponge cakes. Some of them came in small and stout, tall and long, and somewhere in-between, each in a vast variety of colors and designs that made your stomach ache for a taste of the familiar softness and warmth only they could elicit above all other desserts. The most popular and your favorite, hands down, was the strawberry shortcake.

It reminded you of him the most.

You knew he decorated that one the best. Each one a work of his, right down to the way the dollop of cream perfectly stood beside the carefully sliced strawberries to the carnation circle wrapped around the middle. The scent was like a blast from the past, taking you right back to the days when you stopped inside for a few treats for your coworkers at the bookstore and when Ten decided to push you inside in hopes of giving you the necessary push that you always needed when it came to your highschool crush. But what gets you was the scent, because that was very much Jaehyun as well.

His smile was exactly like the dessert he was best at—soft, sweet, with just the right amount of warmth. And the moment you met eyes with him after the chime of the doorside bell, you were greeted with that very smile.

Truthfully, he looked very much like his high school self. Still handsome as ever, with his features much more filled out and prominent. His head of chestnut locks fell atop his forehead in haphard array, cropped at the bottom so the top was the fullest; dark brown eyes still alight with interest and invitation; and, small dust of flour brushed across his nose and near his cheekbones.

He said your name with a greeting. You realized it was with a hint of surprise and an undeniable twinge of happiness that you have only ever been privy to once a few times before, but you couldn’t deny your own swell of happiness as you walked up to the counter with a smile of your own.

“Hey, Jaehyun.”

For once in a very long time, you were saying his name to him directly, and it felt like a flutter off your lips. Almost so casual it was unreal.

His smile matched his eyes as he asked, “How’ve you been? I take it you’re back for summer break as well?”

You nodded, “I’m helping back at the shop across the street. Like old times.”

“Old times,” he repeated, giving an appreciative nod. “Well, I’m glad. It’s nice to see such a familiar face these days.”

Glancing around, you could definitely see the lack of people. A part of you hoped that his statement meant more than just seeing anyone from high school, but the realistic part of you knew that that was a silly, high school-like desire.

“I see that. Seems like baked goods aren’t very popular in this heat huh?” You tilted your head at him, “you really haven’t seen anyone from high school?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve seen too many people from high school. The ones I don’t talk to as much, I mean.” An interesting look passed over his face, something akin to fondness you would say. But you didn’t think that meant anything. Even if he did say that not many people he talked to stopped by… all things considered, you should be in that category, really.

“Well, I hope I’m not part of that unfortunate high school bunch,” you laughed a little. Part of you already expected some change in his expression. Maybe something that would give away his true feelings, but he merely looked alarmed and shook his head quite fiercely.

“No, no. I promise you, you’re part of the best bunch. In fact, I was hoping to see you around.”

You blinked hard, wondering if you heard him correctly. He gulped immediately upon your lack of response.

“I—I—I mean, well, yeah. I stopped by the bookstore a few times—for books, of course—and to see if you were around. And I did see you a few times not too long ago, I’m sorry for not stopping by myself. I, truthfully, have been working some courage to do just that.”

“What? Really?” You couldn’t even stop to mask the astonishment, and your cheeks paid the price for it.

“Y-yeah,” he laughed nervously. “It’s just… I feel like we didn’t talk as much as I hoped we would in high school. I know we got to before graduation, but I wished it had been sooner. I’m not sure if you remember, but what you said about my recitation really meant a lot back then. Gave me quite a bit of courage to go off of these past few semesters.”

“I—um—I’m really glad to hear that. It’s a pretty big surprise for me, honestly. A wonderful one at that. I’d like to thank you for what you said about my work, too. It’s helped me with all these writing workshops I’ve had to do for class. I think back to that day and it keeps me going forward with everything, even when it feels like writing is the bane of my existence.”

“I’d like to hear about how those are going, maybe see what new things you’ve cooked up since you last shared your work with me… if you don’t mind, of course.” It was like him to be considerate. And, the soft velvet tone of his voice only accentuated this.

Even when your heart was trembling with nerves that it may actually fall out of your chest and onto the tan wooden floors, you told him you didn’t mind at all.

“Really?” His eyes lit up when he asked, and you nodded with a smile.

“Yeah, I’d love to catch up over lost time with you sometime. I’m free in a few hours actually… if that’s alright with you.”

He nodded, “It’s perfect. I’m done at four. Have you tried that one poke place on Anderson yet?”

You shook your head, “I’ve been meaning to, though!”

“Would you like to go there with me then?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” You paused, letting out a sheepish laugh before asking. “Today at four, right? I just need to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

He laughed as well, allowing some of the dust on his nose to fall just a little.

“At four,” he said to reassure you. “So, I totally side-tracked you from whatever made you come in here but anyway—what can I help you with?”

“The usual, if you can remember.” You added, “It’s alright if you don’t—”

“—Two strawberry shortcakes, a three cookies, and a mocha log, right?”

“O-oh, yeah. Wow,” you said, a little dumbfounded. “You remembered.”

“Of course, I remember all the orders of my favorite customers,” he said this so casually, yet you could see the hint of flush becoming prominent beneath the flour.

You snorted, hoping to mask your own bout of embarrassment. “Now I find that a little hard to believe. But that’s cute.”

“It’s true! I promise, it was a pleasurable pastime to have you come in for my strawberry shortcakes. Even before I was actually any good at them.”

You remembered that, though this “rough” period hardly lasted a few weeks before he got the hang of the inner-workings inside the bakery. You still loved them to this day. Probably would’ve loved them even if they were terrible anyway.

“They were… decent.”

“Well, I appreciate you for enjoying my decent shortcakes, and I hope they’ve gotten better with time.”

You handed him the cash as soon as he handed you the bag of goods, and received the necessary change before walking toward the door.

“Well, I’ll let you know at four.”

“I can’t wait.”

Both you and your inner high school self smiled to yourselves, Me neither.

(When you returned, you found Ten’s attention fully on you, with eyebrows raised and an awaiting smile. You knew what he was waiting for, but you simply shoved his mocha log his way before grumbling and short and sweet—

“Shut up, Cupid.”

“Don’t you mean dem—you know what, I accept this. You’re welcome, by the way. Thank me at your wedding, okay?”

“Demon.”)

#kfluffnet #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun au #jaehyun x reader #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct u scenarios #nct fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 au #nct u fluff #nct u au #nct fluff #nct 127 fluff #nct u fanfic #d:milestone #emswriting

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good-to-drive · 2 years ago

Text

For Approval

Pairings: Lennison, Starrison

CW: mentions of sex, kissing

Word Count: ~1500

Part 1

Part 2

"George's vision was blurry. He wanted to deny it, but for some reason, looking into John's eyes, the words died on his tongue . "You fucking idiot," he said instead, voice shaking slightly. "You're going to talk about this here?""

*******

It didn't take a genius to realize something was wrong with John. George was a bit distracted himself – a new relationship could do that to a person, especially a relationship like this – but he'd still noticed that John was surly and awkward and even more self absorbed than usual.

Tonight John had been avoiding him again, and so it was a bit awkward when George slipped out of the party for a cigarette and found John leaning against the brick wall, eyes closed. In the dim orange light of the alley John's face was exhausted, a lit cigarette dangling in his hand.

"Are you that drunk already?" George spoke softly, but John still jumped.

"I'm not drunk," John said waspishly, narrowing his eyes at George. "I just need a minute. I haven't been sleeping lately."

Despite what John said, George could tell he was on the wrong side of sober. He reeked of alcohol and his head bobbed slightly as he spoke. "Bad dreams?" George asked sarcastically.

John shot him a venomous look. "What do you know about it?"

George was a bit taken aback. "Nothing," he said. Obviously.

John swayed a bit then, and George realized he was quite a bit drunker than he'd realized. He grabbed John's arm to steady him and managed to keep him upright. "Fucking hell, John, what's the matter with you?"

John looked at him with a dazed expression, something unreadable behind his dullened eyes. Instead of shaking George off as he'd expected, John actually leaned in a bit, inspecting George's face. George almost pulled back, but hesitated, not wanting to make John lose his balance again. Alcohol wafted over him while John studied his face, expression inscrutable.

"John, cut it out–"

"Why him?" John interrupted, voice thick.

George raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Why Ritchie?"

George went terribly hot and then terribly cold. He pushed John away, heedless, but luckily John managed to steady himself with the wall. "What are you talking about?"

John seemed oblivious. He leaned sideways against the wall, one hand still searching for a hold. "Does he fuck you? I mean, really fuck you?" His dark eyes bored into George.

He felt like there were snakes crawling over his skin, and his face was on fire. "I have no idea what you're on about," he stammered. He wanted to run. He wanted to hit John. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"I heard you," John said simply. "That day at the studio. I heard you sucking his cock."

George's vision was blurry. He wanted to deny it, but for some reason, looking into John's deep eyes, the words died on his tongue . "You fucking idiot," he said instead, voice shaking slightly. "You're going to talk about this here?"

"So he has fucked you?"

Somehow, ridiculously, George felt the heat of anger growing underneath his fear. Their quiet moments together when Ritchie was so incredibly, irresistibly attractive and lust pushed everything else from his mind and he could do all sorts of things that lads from Liverpool didn't do – those moments belonged only to them.

He scowled, face bright red. "Would you shut up?"

"That bad, huh?" John asked flippantly. He wasn't making fun of him, and that made it worse. He was genuinely curious, genuinely wanted to understand the details of George and Ritchie's time together, and it was like being split open and picked apart.

John had already monopolized Paul, did he need to have George's moments with Ritchie, too? Couldn't George have just one piece of himself he didn't offer up to John for approval?

The truth was, he and Ringo had tried to make love. More than once. But for some reason George's body only responded with pain.

That was a memory he didn't like to think about. The shame and humiliation of failing at something so simple, the terrible feeling of disappointing Ritchie like ashes in his mouth. Of course Ritchie had been incredibly sweet and kind, stroking George's cheek and kissing his hair and promising him that he wasn't disappointed at all. There were other things they could do.

But George didn't want to do other things. He wanted to do this. And it was horribly frustrating that his body didn't seem to understand.

"You're drunk," George said flatly. "You don't know what you're talking about. And if you ever tell this to anyone I'll – I'll – I'll make you wish you hadn't."

Another time John would have laughed at the childish attempt at a threat, but this John, this strange version of him that George barely knew, only cocked his head and smiled knowingly.

George opened and closed his mouth, unsure what more to say. Cursing, he tossed his cigarette to the ground and turned to go.

"George!" John's voice rang out, far too loud, and George winced.

"What?" He hissed.

John rolled his head to the side, still leaning against the wall. "You know, if Ritchie really isn't up to the task…. I mean, if you're looking for somebody else…"

George stared. John's eyes were closed, almost talking to himself now. He was well beyond drunk. And George might as well have been drunk too because something warm pooled in his belly to hear those words.

"John, you're being insane." George said nervously.

John shrugged, not looking at him. "I wouldn't ever tell nobody," he said softly.

"Oh, so now you won't tell anyone?" The words slipped out before he could help himself. But it was just like John. He'd keep his secret as long as it was about him.

But John looked at him softly, gently, almost the way Ritchie looked at him when they were alone together. "I'd never tell anybody," he whispered.

It was so unlike him, or so unlike the part of him that George knew. The John he got to have was mocking, aloof, rare with praise. This felt more like the flicker of softness he sometimes saw when John truly smiled. That gentleness usually reserved for Paul but that felt like the softest, most intimate touch when it was given to him.

Without breaking eye contact, John moved forward to cup George's jaw, firm and unyielding. And then he was leaning in and George smelled liquor and cigarettes and John and then John's mouth was on his.

It was so different from kissing Ringo's full lips. Ritchie was soft and careful, guiding him gently because he knew George was lost. John's kiss was intense, almost frantic, his tongue slipping into George's mouth and claiming it like a brand.

His hands found the small of George's back and he pulled George flush against him, the most intense heat blooming everywhere their bodies touched. He crushed George against his chest, ground into his hips, his hands lowering to find his arse. He seemed desperate to prove that George wanted it, that George wanted him.

And that's what brought him back to reality because, fucking hell, George didn't want John. He didn't want John. He didn't.

George pulled away, his lips burning so that he could feel every heartbeat in his skin. "What are you doing?" He asked desperately. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

John just stared, his face almost blank. His eyes were wide, afraid.

"What are you doing?" George repeated furiously.

John shook his head. "I–"

"What were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry," John managed to get out, voice small and uncertain. "I just thought…"

But George's face was bright red and his breath was coming fast. It was like he could still feel John's rough lips against his own, his calloused hand against his skin. "Just, just," George stuttered, struggling for the words. "This didn't happen," he finally said breathlessly. John felt he might have been talking to himself.

George pulled away from John, and suddenly the air felt so much colder than before. Without another word, George fled back inside, face flushed and hair askew.

John stood alone in the cold. His cigarette had fallen to the ground and with trembling hands he lit another. He tried to ignore the wetness on his face. He tried to ignore the way his lips still tingled from the stolen kiss.

He didn't want to acknowledge how much he still wanted that piece of George that he'd held for a moment. Maybe just because he couldn't have it, and George had always given him everything else. He waited a long time, until a headache began in his temples and he was too sober to be thinking these kinds of thoughts.

But still, as he shivered in the night air, he couldn't help remembering George's heat.

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estrxlar · 3 years ago

Text

The Ghost Of You

19 - Clean Canvas

This chapters songs:

Here She Comes; Slowdive

Dog Cuddles; Dad Sports

Dream Girl; Crisaunt

- Y. L. Perspective

I tapped my chin with the pen, frustrated that you weren't able to come up with anything. "Ah! Koshi, that hurt!" I yell at him as he softens his hands upon my shoulders. He was giving me a gentle back massage while I tried writing my first lyrics, but I was struggling to find the right words to say.

"Sorry!" He then stops squeezing my shoulders, letting his hands slide down my torso, and pull me into a hug from behind. His head nuzzled into my neck as he spoke. "What is the song about?"

I shrug. "I don't even know yet. Maybe I should just write about how much of an untalented and wasteful girl I am!" I scoff, rolling my eyes back. Now, out of all moments, my feelings decide to disappear.

Both Koshi and I say criss-cross on his bed with one single lamp on in his room. His room was not at all what I was expecting. I'd perceived it to be much messier in my head, the way an average teenage boys' room would be. But no! It was spotless and quite basic. Still, I felt very comfortable in his arms as I attempted to write down some ideas. Feeling his heartbeat on my back was enough to make me feel at home.

"Why don't you write about us, Y/n?" He asks me as he pulls me back and forth in a sway motion. The suggestion had already popped into my mind before. But if I could write about it, what would I say? How I'm in love with someone who won't tie the knot between us?

'What am I doing at his house if he's not even my boyfriend? I've got to gain some self-respect.'

Perhaps bringing it up wouldn't be as bad as I thought. So, I pull myself away from his arms and sit in front of him, fully staring at his confused face.

"What is it?" His fair voice questions, one of his fingers attempting to fiddle with my oversized t-shirt.

There was so much to say. Why arent you my boyfriend yet? Why won't you tell me what's on your mind for once? Aren't you excited about the training camp? But I decide to pick the first question. "Koshi, what's there to write about? I...I know that we both like each other very much, but what does it matter if you won't call me your girlfriend?" I look down at the grey shorts I wore, afraid that he would be disappointed in me for wanting more from him.

"I didn't know you felt that way. I guess...I guess I just wanted you to feel comfortable around me, not forced to be with me," Koshi mutters under his breath, ashamed he underestimated my love for him.

"Well of course I want to be with you!" I exclaim, leaning my head onto his chest. It worries me that he felt insecure about his love. It wasn't as if he could be giving me too much affection. So why didn't he trust that I loved him?

I sigh while he rubs my back in a circular motion, wishing he would tell me things that bothered him like this. "So you wouldn't mind being my girlfriend, Y/n?" The man's words are clear to me when he said them, not lagged like all the other times.

I nod my head. "Of course not."

"Hm, okay. Then for our first memory of being a couple, I wanna hold you," Koshi says, laying us both down onto his mattress. He leans over me, stretching to grab one of the blankets on his shelf, and unfolding it over us.

"But it's so cold. Why don't we just go under your comforter?" I ask him, pulling slightly at the corner of the thick bed sheet. But he denies my request and pulls my wrist back.

He says, "Uh-Uh-Uh! I prefer it to be cold. When we go to your house, we can use the comforter. If you're that cold then you're gonna have to hug me tighter."

I'm surprised at how stubborn Koshi was being with me but glad he was becoming more comfortable with sharing his opinion. He treated me like a princess most of the time instead of asking for what he really wants. Even if it was just the matter of a blanket.

"Do you wanna help me try and think of something to write about?" I ask him in the most delicate voice.

"What's something that saddens you, Y/n? Something that you're worried will cause you despair towards the future?" Koshi asks me. I genuinely hadn't thought about it yet. "Love is more than just feelings. I think it comes with a lot of pain. Has there ever been any pain that you've encountered during being in love?"

"Not really." My words couldn't be more honest. With Toruku, I felt sick that I had a crush on my best friend's boyfriend. And when she passed, those feelings for him weren't nearly as strong as the ones I felt about her death. As for Koshi, I've only been scared of the pain. But I hadn't endured it yet. At least that was what I thought. Truth is that every lasting second I spent with him could only cause me more and more pain in the future. "Maybe when I find what to write about, I shouldn't tell you. I should let you figure it out when I'm done with it."

"Planning something behind my back?! How evil of you." Koshi jokes, leaning on one of his elbows to hold himself up as he looked at me. With the pale moonlight shining down on him and the lamp lighting the room up slightly, he looked more beautiful than ever. I was glad that I was the one to be able I witness such an ethereal moment with him. Especially since he held me in a special place. I was his first love, after all. That's more important than any relationship he could have had with previous girls.

Attempting to obtain reassurance, I grow curious and begin to play with my new boyfriend, asking small questions. "So...what does it feel like to have sex with a girl, Kou? I've never done that before... do they smell nice? Are they soft?" It was obvious that I'd caught him off guard, for he stuttered and looked at me strangely. "I promise I won't get jealous if you tell me. I only want to know what it's like. It may help me with writing if you tell me about passionate moments like that."

Given that I'd never done anything that was borderline sexual with anyone else, I was curious about how it felt. Both physically and mentally.

"Uhm—stressful. And I haven't done it as much as you might think, so I haven't ever enjoyed it." It comes to me as a shock that he didn't have a slightly good experience that he could tell me about.

"Wh-really?! But...I thought all guys liked it! You're saying it didn't even feel good?" I waft my hand into the cold air, confused.

"No, silly. Of course it felt good, but it wasn't as passionate as you think. I wasn't ever in love with any of those girls, so it only made me feel worse. Sex isn't good for those who aren't ready for it," he explains to me.

I nod, understanding a bit more of what he meant. "Does that mean you weren't ready?"

"Mhm. I wasn't," he says. Deciding to switch up the question, he asks me, "So, what is it like to have sex with a guy? I bet they aren't very good-smelling, are they?"

I blink a few times. "Uhm, I dunno," I say, growing shy at the question. "I haven't ever...you know...had sex."

Too scared to look at Koshi, I stuff my head into a pillow and sigh obnoxiously. Though I knew he wouldn't make that much of a big deal out of it, I didn't want him thinking I was a prude. A lot of people that knew I was a virgin made fun of me for it. Truth was, I'd never found someone worthy of taking my virginity. Many told me that it was horrible for your mental health, especially for younger people like me. Not to mention how scared I was that whoever took my virginity would be rough with me and it would hurt like hell.

"Hey, hey...don't get all embarrassed on me. A lot of people haven't. That's nothing to be ashamed about. Being a virgin doesn't make you any less of a woman. If it were up to me, I'd go back and stay a virgin until the right time," Koshi states. His attempts to cheer me up were sweet, but not working all that much.

"What do you think, Kou? Do you like me better that way? You know, as a virgin?" I ask him, slightly peeking up at his lost expression.

Yes, it was something very awkward to ask. But I did want to know what he preferred. Not that I would be able to change last second if he didn't like me as I was.

"Th—that isn't something I have power over, so I don't think about it. But...you could say I prefer it."

I'm happy with his answer. Still, I was curious about the reason, so I ask, "and why is that?"

"Well...um...I'm not too sure. Not to jump to any conclusions, but think it's because...if you weren't a virgin, then our first time together wouldn't be as memorable. It's sure is selfish of me to say, but I would rather you remember me as someone who shared that moment with you. That's why I wish I would have waited until I met you," Koshi began to grow flustered towards the end of his explanation.

"And if you wanna put it into a metaphor then you could say that being a virgin is like being a blank canvas. You can only hope that someone will make something lovely of you by the time they're finished."

I haven't ever heard someone describe being a virgin in such a beautiful way. And he was right— the first time is always something you remember. That is if it's enjoyable for you. I could only hope that I would lose my virginity to someone as gentle as him.

"Then when the time comes, could you please be that person, Koshi?" I spoke, laying a hand on his chest. My nervous nature was far too obvious for me to hide. But thankfully, Koshi didn't mind it. He knew asking something like that took courage. Such profound questions weren't something to joke about.

My heart race died down when I hear him tell me, "Of course, love."

Koshi quickly gets up to turn off the lamp and I make myself more comfortable under the thin blankets and many pillows he had on his bed. When he comes back, he wraps his arms around my waist and holds me close near him.

It was no wonder that he didn't like to talk about his previous experiences with girls. He hadn't enjoyed them. But I was sure of it: and day, I'll make it up to Koshi.

"Goodnight, love. Maybe tomorrow you'll come up with something to write about, hm?"

"Yeah, goodnight." With one last kiss on the cheek, Koshi and I doze off to sleep.

Hey everyone!! Just so you know, I have a special playlist on my Spotify that I made just for this fanfiction. I always add the songs that I include in the chapters, so please go check that out in case you'd like to listen while reading!!

I love you always!! Thank you for reading I do appreciate it <3 make sure to take care of yourself

AND PLS VOTE >:(

- estrxlar

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kurokosvanillabean · 8 years ago

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Could I request the Gom + Takao reaction to walking in on their s/o crying because she listend to a sad song? I know it's kinda odd but I just listend to the song "you were there" from the game Ico and I started crying... If you haven't heard it I suggest you should listen to it!

Here! Finally……. anyways, I turned them into stories -Asami

Takao: Takao messaged you to say that he would be late, Midorima had apparently chosen a route that had many steep hills. While waiting for your somewhat annoyingly kind boyfriend, you opened up your laptop and delved into the world that is youtube. To begin the entertainment, you searched for your favorite song at the time and came across this one in the suggested section from what looked like a video game. At first, it was little too mellow for your mood, after all, Takao was coming, that always made you heart flutter even slightly. All of a sudden you were feeling streaks of salty tears roll down your cheek. Pondering why this was happening only made them fall faster. What on earth? Takao stumbled in, breathing a bit too hard to speak, but was fascinated when he laid eyes on you. “____-san, h…..how are you crying right now? I made it!” he exasperated. He came to your side on the couch, placing his arm around your shoulder. “Tell me, I’m listening.” You avert your eyes to the door, cheeks flushing a pale pink. “I just- The song, it made me cry…..” Takao pondered this notion for a moment. “You’re crying… because of a song? ___, you are so soft!” he laughed, teasingly poking your side.

Kise: Plush sheets are one of life’s small pleasures. Of all the beds you have slept in, he was one of the most tentative to the quality of his sheets. After an enduring two hour run after school, you decided that instead of going back home you would go rest your muscles in his bed instead as a pleasant treat; even more tempting was the fact that you would see him. His surprised face.The way his eyes gained a glittering curiosity to them, the little noise he makes, it has the power to evoke giggles and rosy cheeks in you. Arriving at his house, barely remembering to remove your shoes, you ran to his room, jumping on the bed. “Ahhhh…… so relaxing……” You sprawled out on his luxuriously velvety sheets, unravelled the mess of your earbuds and placed them in your ears. Shuffle mode. The first few were peppy, but then it hit you. Gentle acoustic guitar strums and the deep voice of a man sent chills through your body. Completely encapsulated in the soothing sound, you did not even hear Kise come in to the house and into his room where you lay. “___-cchi?” he asked, receiving no response. He leaned over his bed and pulled out an earbud, “Did you have a bad day or something? You’re crying.” He laid next to you. “Huh? Oh, Kise, your back.” You turned your head to face him, smiling tenderly. He placed his thumb on your face, wiping away the tears. “Im…. crying? Hahaha music really is powerful.” you placed the spare earbud in his and kissed him.

Aomine: There was nothing quite like a stroll through the park on a rainy day. What made the rain so pleasing was the scents. They were heightened by water, cleared of their toxins, the grass and trees wafted an energizing blend of their own perfume. An umbrella over your head and headphones at your ears you strolled down to the pond in the center of the park. A favorite hobby of yours was to sit on the bench closest to the water and admire the world, curious of how people lived their lives. Music pulsing, you sat on the bench inhaling the sweet smells while people in raincoats passed by. The rain was cold, yet pleasing enough that your eyes fluttered shut. Aomine had called while you were asleep, but even without an answer he had a feeling he knew where you’d be. He smiled, amused at the fact that you did not even wear a hat. He then tossed a towel over your head and rubbed the fabric in circular motions before lifting it enough that your porcelain skin and purple-blue lips became unveiled. “Baka, you’re going to catch a cold.” You peered up at him, smiling vaguely back. “Ah….. Aomine…. “ Shivering slightly between words you wiped away a few tears with your fingers “A-aomine, has a song….. ever made you cry before?” The basketball player placed a hand on his hip, “Ha,” he grabbed one of your hands and pulled you from your seat and into his chest, “you’re just soft”

Akashi: Good writing needs to make the reader feel something. One of the tools you use to evoke feeling is to listen to music. Today’s chapter consisted of the protagonist being isolated by their friends, which meant that a selection of mainly instrumental, classical type music was to be selected. You placed the headphones over your ears and sat back in the chair at your desk. Step one: Listen. Step 2: Close the eyes. Step 3: Ponder the things in life that caused a feeling of loneliness. The school bell rang to signify the end of the week. Everyone packed their bags a few minutes early to assure a prompt departure, but you decided to wait. Few students understood the serenity of an empty classroom, all except your best friend. They walked over to you and tapped on your shoulder. Although usually chipper, she carried a heavy burden on her slumped shoulders, the muscles in her face peculiarly unrelaxed. “I…..I can’t be your friend anymore.” she stammered, consciously avoiding your gaze. “Why?” you asked. She had no reason or explanation. Plastering on a polite grin, “Okay.” was all you could manage. Your friend left abruptly after, leaving you in the classroom. Making friends has never been a string suit of yours and so her parting left you stranded. At that moment you began to question your value to those around you, what did I do? The memory caused a few tears to fall, each in time with the music. Akashi arrived in your room and placed both his hands on your shoulders. “Hey princess, you’ve got to stop doing this, I don’t like to see you cry not matter the reason.”

Murasakibara: Today had been terrible. You had gotten the results back from a big test at school and were quite displeased with the results. The one problem though was that you were at school, it was not the most widely accepted course of action to cry in the midst of all the people. Like all brave humans, you swallowed your pride and suppressed the disappointment. Upon arriving home at the end of the day you were finally ready to pour out those emotions, there just needed to be a catalyst. Once at home you darted straight for your bedroom and turned on this song you found the other day. A minute in you felt the tears welling up. Muro-chin bursted through the door. You hadn’t even noticed he came in withe the music turned up. “____-chin? You’re crying. The music isn’t helping.” He strolled over and turned the music off, accompanying you, laying down right at your side. “What’s up?” You turned the music on again. “The song, its helping me cry. Please leave it.” Murasakibara nodded and handed you a chip.

Midorima: There is nothing better than a nice warm cup of hot chocolate on a chilly and rainy day. Midorima kneeled in front of the fireplace, fumbling to grab a measly match out of the box. His long fingers and large hands struggled to hold onto just one match, instead he would end up with six between his fingers. Frustrated with the original tactic he peered at the box, waiting a moment before he tipped it out on the carpet. He spread the matches out into two piles- the rest of the box and his one precious match. Feeling a bit proud of his thinking, he extended his fingers and pushed on the bridge of his glasses with the middle one. “Shintauro~, you make an excellent hot cocoa. The marshmallow was a good touch as well.” you noted, taking a few more sips, intermittently stirring the marshmallow around with your finger. Midorima lit the fire and placed a few hefty logs on top once the flame grew big enough, “I know your tastes nanodayo.” He stood up and went to the kitchen to make himself a mug as well. While in his absence you decided it was a decent time to play some music as well as read the next chapter of that book you started. “I’m putting on some music.” you called out while pressing play on the speaker, opening your book immediately after. As if meant to happen, the novel took a sad tone in queue with the music. Midorima walked back into the living room with his cup of cocoa, nearly spilling the hot contents on himself, “N-nano?! ____-san, so suddenly- why are there…..tears on your face?!” He jolted forward so his face was now directly in line with your, though this time his sudden movements caused some of the hot chocolate to spill on your chest. You jumped at the sudden spill. Midorima’s mouth gaped open, “Ah! I’ll got get a rag, you just- you stop crying okay? If the book is too sad just make sure I’m around.”

#kuroko no basket drabbles #kuroko no basket #Aomine Daiki #Takao Kazunari #Kise Ryouta #Midorima Shintarou #akashi seijuro #Murasakibara Atsushi #Kuroko Tetsuya #kagami taiga #anime #sports anime

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existentialstatesofmind · 7 years ago

Conversation

Weekend Fun

Clare: giggled. "Yeah well it's tiresome having people think of you as a saint." Of course Clare was a little scared she was going to get kicked out anyway because of her parents. Even though Christians were supposed to accept everyone, it didn't take much for some of them to turn their back on you. Back when the group called themselves Friendship Club, they had tried to take Darcy's purity ring away because people got the wrong idea when she'd been raped. Clare smiled and nodded. "Good to know. My family used to go church together at least two or three times a week but we've been missing services lately." Part of her wondered if God was mad at them. Her smile widened when Dakota told her a secret in return. She reached for his hand and gently squeezed it. "Ignore them." Clare murmured when his brothers seemed to find it hilarious that he was blushing without even knowing the reason. "You do know that's nothing to be ashamed of right? Please don't be one of those guys who wants to get a girlfriend just so he can have sex. I think you're better than that." She whispered. As Clare said it, she realized she really meant it. Dakota had girls throwing themselves at him all the time. If he was desperate to lose his virginity, he would've already hooked up with one of them. "I'm glad her mom was brave enough to help them get out of that situation. But even if they are safe now, what's going to happen when her dad comes back?" Clare asked soberly. No wonder Dakota's friend had been clingy, it didn't sound like she had anyone else to rely on or comfort her. Home was the one place were you were always supposed to feel loved and cared for. "You'll have to teach me if we have to clean. Even my mom doesn't do that thorough of a job. I just clean my room and help vacuum, mop, and dust. She does the rest." Clare turned red. "That isn't going to help me! Even they had different birthmarks, I wouldn't be pulling down their pants to check." She squeaked. Clare had already ruled out Dakota having more muscles as a telltale because she wasn't about to ask if she could feel his abs whenever she wanted to make sure he was the twin she was talking to. She laughed as Stacy explained about the video. "Oh wow, that is really cool! I haven't been swimming in awhile because it's still freezing outside." Clare pointed out. Her bikini tops didn't fit anymore either. She followed everyone into the kitchen once Dakota set the pizza on the table. Her stomach growled as the delicious smell wafted through the air. "Okay." Clare sat down and told Dakota which soda she wanted. She smiled at Dallas and Dakota. "Yeah, I think it's great." Clare bowed her head and put her hands together, saying the prayer along with everyone else. Once she had a couple of slices of the hot pizza on her plate, Clare immediately started eating it. "Mmm." She hummed appreciatively.

Kota: listened to Clare talk about home and church, he didn't say anything because they were in front of his family and he didn't know if Clare wanted them to know about her situation. He nodded when she told him to ignore them and listened to her whisper. "I know there's not. Ash and Dom are virgins too. Dallas isn't." he whispered honestly. "We just don't like everyone to know." he assured. Hearing Clare mention their dad coming back, he smiled at her. "He'll be gone for a year, when he does come back it'll be for the summer, she'll be here and sticking to me like glue because of the guys and her sister will be at her friend's for the summer." he explained. "After that he goes back and he already knows if he comes here I'll beat the crap out of him because I almost did. He tried to slap me and I caught his hand, then flipped him onto his back with my foot on his throat telling him not to mess with a black belt. he left after that." he explained. "I'll help you." he said honestly and laughed when she mentioned their birthmarks and pulling down their pants. "Sorry, it was a bit funny the way you said it." he apologized and listened as she mentioned not swimming in his while. "We went swimming on Christmas. Our pool and porch are both heated so we can go whenever we want. Emi, however is afraid of water so we're bringing her to the public pool in the summer." he explained. As they started to eat, he sat down and smiled as everyone conversed and looked over to Clare. "I'm glad you like it. This was supposed to be dinner." he admitted with a slight laugh. After they finished he watched Emi run and carry out his guitar. "May, May." she said handing it to him. "Stacy, join?" he asked taking it off her. He put the guitar strap around his neck and took a chair with him as Stacy did the same and everyone gathered on the couch and love seat. "Whole song?" Stacy asked. "No, not suited for Emi. It's too depressing." he said and started to strum a fast beat. "And s the sun went down we ended up on the ground. I heard the train shake the window you screamed over the sound, as we owned this night I put your body to the test with mine. This love was out of control 3, 2, 1.. where did it go." he sang and strummed slower. "And she said." he sang. "If you were me you'd do the same. I can't take it anymore, I'll draw the sades and close the door, everything's not alright and I would rather..." Stacy sang and Kota strummed for a few moments picking up the beat. "And as the sun went down we ended up on the ground. I heard the train shake the window, you screamed over the sound and as we owned this night I put your body to the test with mine. Our love was out of control, tell me where did you go." he sang as he strummed and soon stopped. "I was forced to take an elective in middle school and I was sick when we were picking them so the school automatically chose mine. Obviously I took guitar for the entire year. My mom walked in on me one night strumming on a guitar one night that I borrowed from school and heard me singing and immediately enrolled me in voice lessons saying there needed to be a singer in the family and since she wanted us to be talented in multiple things to make it easier to decide what we want to be when we grow up I didn't fight her. She's always telling us we can be whatever we want and no matter how many times we tell her we want to be something, enroll in a class and drop out because we don't like it, she smiles and tell us that it's ok. We don't need to have that profession. Our sister Kelly, she does ballet, tap, is a makeup artist, plays the violin, and figure skates." he said honestly. "As you already know Dallas and I can both do stunts, mixed martial arts, gymnastics, and karate. I skateboard which I taught myself it, play guitar, sing, and cook which my mom is teaching me." he said honestly. "Dom and I take art, there's a lot that can come out of it and we are quite sure if we're going to do anything with it, we both also take computers. I want to learn computer programming where as Dom right now wants to hack and do computer forensics which we both need to be better typists which we think everyone is a typist because in middle school our second elective was computers. The whole school had to learn how to type without looking at the keys everyone had it until they graduate. We want to continue it. We both also know hip hop dancing. I like playing sports though. Kota plays with me some times, but I like it more than he does, he just sees it as a work out." Ash shrugged. "I also like video games. Sometimes I'll play all night on the weekends to see how long it takes me to beat a game, then write the company about how they can make it better. I once got paid one summer to test out a video game. I beat it in a day." Dom shrugged. "I want to learn about medicine so I might take that in college." Dallas explained as all of them opened up to Clare.

#wf

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