#im never sure what tags to use either... but as it gets hotter and hotter this is genuinely life or death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roryfrommybabysittersavampire · 2 months

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here is the first unedited chapter and some of the draft of the second chapter of a book im kind of sort of writing but probably won't finish ! it almost works as a standalone story so it's not that much of a cliffhanger if you end up enjoying it. this is mostly just backstory about a trans guy growing up and being real sad and stuff because I'm sad and trans but there's ahappy ending yay!

words : a little more than 14 thousand

tags: ocs, trans, gays, coming of age briefly, two boys kissing /straight, rich people, homelessness, pet play kink, (dog motif), side character named seth, sub/dom, prostitution, some characters are strange about trans ppl and the character isn't educated at all about his identity, I edited out the actual smut because it was bad, I'm just riffing here guys I'm just typing ( I have no idea what I'm doing but I'm trying so hard. it's 3:52 in the morning)

tw lots of drugs and mentions of sa. probably more too. just like lots of trauma but none of it is very graphic because he brushes over all of it because he is Not Healthy.

CHAPTER ONE:

It must've been one hundred degrees out. Hotter, even. Every single pore leaking sweat, clothes clung like seran wrap, useless to pull his shirt from his back because it had nothing to do but stick again. Rue had never really used a thermometer, couldn't figure out where to stand to read one, but his dad's truck had a little number in the corner of the dash that he watched crawl up on the drive to school. Sixty when he got in the car, seventy before the sun was up. He felt the heat trying to crawl in through the bulletproof windows all morning, distracting him from long lessons about prefixes and suffixes that he really did mean to pay attention to. Watched the clock crawling toward a dreaded lunch release. But he knew that no amount of wishing could delay it, and now here he was. Did it even get hotter than one hundred degrees, or did it work like a percentage? Was one hundred the hottest? If it was, it was probably one hundred degrees out.

Rue was crouching behind the dumpster, hiding from the oven-light sun. His class did an experiment when he was younger where they cooked pizza outside with nothing but boxes and tinfoil. It didn't take long, either. He couldn't remember if they ate it for lunch or snack. For all he knew, he could be that pizza–stuffed in the foot of shade between the searing, smelly metal, and the anthill-ridden, cracked asphault, nothing when he looked up except for plastic dumpster lid. From where he sat he could see the old, rusty race car sitting by the fence, a low angle of the windows looking into Ms. Warburg’s office. He was playing a dangerous game, but he was also playing a smart one. That was usually his strategy. He couldn't run as fast as the other boys, couldn't scream as loud or hit as hard, and with the end of fourth grade approaching they were all starting to surpass him in heigh, but he could think better than they could. The rest of them broke off, ran around in noisy circles in the gravel while Mitch counted off his one-one-thousands. Rue tiptoed away in the chaos, sprinted around the corner of the building, watched until Warburg left her office, and took his chance. She could've been grabbing something outside of the door, but it didn't matter. That just meant he had to be quick enough for her to spin right back around. He ran, crouched, slid into the perfect hiding spot so fast that his knees bled. He was sure to win, then. No kid would dare cross the principal to find him. He just had to sit back, relax, and wait.

That was so long ago, though. Could it have been a whole half an hour? Was lunch over already? He looked down at his skinny arms, his shoulders wrapped in bright blue striped sleeves, circular sweat stains under his armpits. No, the little things looked perfectly raw to him. No bubbling, burning skin, blood didn't leak from under it like pizza sauce. He'd half-expected it to.

Yes, time was definitely passing, just as it had passed all day. It took a while to notice, but he couldn't deny it any longer. No one was coming. His legs were getting restless, the shadow had moved just an inch toward him. He took a risk, peeked his head out– Ms. Warburgs’s office was empty– and around the corner of the building–

“Rue Nadine!” the shrill voice came from behind him, froze him solid while he stuck his neck out uncomfortably, looking out at an empty field. Goosebumps shot down his neck, a chill tried to follow that didn't quite work because his skin was cooking. He'd done so good for so long, this could hardly be happening. Finally he sighed, turned around. “Would you like to tell me what you're doing out here?” the woman shrieked.

“Playing hide and seek,” he said, a casual answer.

Ms. Warburg’s face scrunched up, into the center the way it always did, like she smelled something bad, though she probably actually did that time. The dumpster wasn't pleasant. A hint of sour banana, some piss, a general trash smell that really couldn't have been anything but trash. “Don't get smart with me. Get out of there, my office. We're going to call your father.” She turned sharply on her heel, confident that Rue would follow. He smiled to himself as he clumsily stood on cramped legs. Oh no, my dad! How terrifying! Why were your parents supposed to be a threat? It was a sad thought, when he really considered it.

No one looked at him while he followed through the muggy, swamp-cooled office. Didn't care. Just another one of Warburg’s catches. They had to humor her at that point. At least she could still go out to hunt and get herself back inside. He sat down too hard on the soft chair by her desk, tapped his fingers together while he waited for her to ease herself down the way old people did. The office wasn't as bad as a lot of the kids made it seem. And Warburg wasn't either. She was old, yes. Smelled weird. Had a man’s voice that somehow still managed to be screechy, gave harsh punishments for harmless crimes. But she let Rue sit in the corner when he was having a bad day, run in and talk for a few minutes without warning when he couldn't sit still in class. She liked hearing about his books. The ones he was reading, and the ones he was planning to write. And she didn't look at him when he was upset, didn't say a single word from the time that he burst in crying with his head hung to the time he left breathing steadily, nodded to her politely, left and went back to class. She knew that he was a good kid. For some reason, though, she had a very strict idea of how to maintain that.

“Would you care to explain to me what you were doing, or do you plan to wait until your father is on the phone?”

Rue looked up. Her face was bored, her lips puckered and pouting like a trout, her wrinkly eyes thin and calculating. “My dad please.”

She narrowed her eyelids even further somehow, turned slowly without breaking eye contact until she had her spidery fingers wrapped around the black plastic receiver. She typed in a number without looking it up, laid the clunky thing back down and let it ring on speaker. Rue tapped his fingers on the desk, bit his lip. It rung. Rung. Rung.

She looked at him like it was his fault when his father's voicemail crunched through the damp air. Leave a message! She lifted the receiver, put it back down with a crash while she glared at Rue. “Okay, your mother then.”

Rue’s eyes shot wide, new sweat mixing with the cold stain sitting on his back. He tried to look calm, cool, put together. Sat still. Didn't tap his fingers as she flipped through a noisy binder, stopped on the page with his name on it. “Please just call my dad again.”

“Your mother’s number is right here, and I have to speak to someone.”

“No!” he snapped.

She glared again, wrinkles between her eyebrows, scrunched pig nose. “And why is that?”

“She's dead.”

Ms. Warburg looked shocked for just a moment, almost apologetic, before she rolled her eyes. “No she is not.” Started typing in the number.

“What do you mean she's not?” he shouted, pleading. “Do your records seriously not reflect that? She got cancer! She's not gonna pick up!”

When she only looked at him and waited for the phone to ring, to her ear this time, Rue shot up in his chair and tried to grab it from her hand, over the desk. A loud clatter, a cup full of pencils spilled across the clean wood desktop and onto the floor, Ms. Warburg’s rubbery hand swatting him away, putting on a fake smile as he heard the whisper of his mother answering the phone.

“Ms. Nadine, hello? This is Ms. Warburg, the Icecap Elementary principal. Yes, it's lovely to speak to you too. I’m calling, actually, because your child is in my office– no, this is disciplinary–”

Rue sat back in his chair, seething. Crossed his arms. Glared the meanest, nastiest glare that his little eyes could manage as he swayed slowly back and forth on the spinning chair. He resolved never to come into the office again, no matter the reason. She was a liar. She didn't care about him.

“Well,” she drawled, smirking at the boy as she spoke into the deteriorating microphone. “I found Rue– I’m sorry?” her face fell. “No. No, I will not be doing that, I apologize, ma’am. We have a contract that prevents it. Yes, I’m serious, I’m not sure what motivation I would have to lie about that. With all due respect, Ms. Nadine, that is not the issue at hand right now. I will continue to respect your son’s wishes– please don't use that language with me, ma’am! Alright– Ms. Nadine? That's fine. Have a nice day.” She turned away while Ms. Nadine’s voice continued to crackle into the air, hung up the phone. She looked at Rue. “Would you like the records to reflect that your mother is dead, on your word?”

He swallowed. Blinked at her, wasn't exactly sure what was happening.

“Or, I suppose I should just put a note not to contact her.”

“That sounds better,” Rue mumbled. The room was too silent. Something had shifted. He had a good enough idea what was said from Ms. Warburg’s side, but he wished she'd just put it on speaker. Let him hear it for himself. He couldn't let himself move.

The phone rang. Rue jumped. Ms. Warburg picked it up.

“Hello, Ms. Warburg speaking. Mr. Nadine, thank you so much for calling back! We had a touch of an issue, but it's been resolved. It’s really nothing to worry about, but are you in a place where you can pick your son up early? Now would be ideal, actually. It’s no big deal, he's just a bit rattled, but I think Rue would prefer to tell you himself—“ she glanced up at him. He nodded. “Okay, thank you so much. Have a nice day, sir.”

She hung up, turned to the wide-eyed kid. “Your father will be here in fifteen minutes.” Her face was unreadable, but her eyes were not narrowed, and her nose was not scrunched.

Rue sort of wanted to hug her, sort of wanted to run. He had nothing left to say, everything she could possibly need had been aired out. She took a red pen from her desk as he watched, one that had been nicely sitting in a cup when he walked in, pulled off the cap with a characteristically shaky hand and drew a line through his mother’s phone number. Scrawled something in cursive next to it, closed the binder and put it back in the filing cabinet behind her. “I had Mr. Jenks get your things from your classroom, they should be sitting in the hall when you leave. But you are welcome to wait in here, if you'd like,” she said as she turned back and looked at her old, wide Dell computer.

“Thank you,” he said, got out of his chair and went to sit in the corner with his knees pulled to his chest. She didn't look at him, he didn't look at her. When someone knocked on the door to say this his father was there he turned, nodded to her politely, and left.

***

“Do you know how many times I was forgotten in hide and seek, bud?” Rue’s dad asked while he served dinner that night. Rue was sitting at the table, pinching at the tweed tablecloth, still hanging his head. “It was like, five. You’re gonna have to try a lot harder if you wanna catch up with this hot shot.” He pointed at himself with his newly free hands.

Rue laughed half-heartedly. He hadn't shared the actual problem yet. He didn't lie, exactly, but he embellished a few facts to make the tone of the phone call make sense. He was sad because the kids didn't like him, played the game to get rid of him, got him in trouble. It made sense. Yes, Rue was bullied. Sort of. A passive kind of bullying. He didn't know at the time, but it would continue through fifth grade, worsen a bit in middle school. It was a bittersweet fact that no one would ever touch him. There was never a single bruise on him that he didn't put there himself. No one would call him anything explicitly terrible, nothing bad enough to quote. He would sit alone at lunch, be forgotten in hide and seek, and that was really the worst of it. And that was fine. Better to have nothing interesting to tell on that front. And not the issue at hand, not at all.

His dad sat across from him, picked up his plastic fork and stabbed his ‘Pad-say-ewwie’. He was trying to look casual, trying to get Rue to laugh. He was a good dad. He wanted his kid to be happy. It wasn't his fault that he thought that meant a constant smile, a complete lack of complaints. It made enough sense. Rue was not spoiled, but unchanged Bandaids were pasted all over his wounds, in the form of a nice room and laid-back rules and whatever dinner he wanted while they watched whatever movie he wanted to watch, if he wanted to watch a movie. He didn't complain. He didn't know what he would change about their situation, if he could change anything. Maybe his mother would be there, but she would be an entirely different woman, and that would be an unfair wish. Maybe his dad would be a bit more responsible, better at cleaning, smarter with his creative solutions. But that would change his dad, and that was a slippery slope. He loved his dad. His life was good.

Rue looked up, smiled. “Thank you for getting dinner.” He forgot that he was only ten sometimes. Felt a lot older. Fifteen, maybe. Thirteen on a good day. He did his own laundry, made sure his dad felt appreciated. And he thought all kids should be a bit more like him, but not like him. Adults loved him, but he had no friends, and he was too young to start going out and talking to the older kids. He assumed that he played them up in his head, anyways.

“What's up, buddy?” His dad asked, adjusting his position in his seat and making his eyes look sad.

Rue looked up like he was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not calling you a liar, I swear, but are you sure you told me the whole story? War lady seemed pretty worried about you.”

Rue considered his options, then gave up thinking, let his tongue blurt it out. “She called mom.”

“Fuck,” his dad sighed simply. Put his fork down. “Was it bad?”

Rue shrugged. “I dunno, but I’m pretty sure mom got upset when she said my name, so…” Rue trailed off, ate a piece of broccoli while his dad looked at him like a wounded animal.

“I’m so sorry, bud. You know it's just her issue, it has nothing to do with you.”

This is Rue’s sob story. The one smudge on Rue’s perfect, comfortable, not-quite-spoiled life. It was the reason that Rue’s mother chose to give full custody to his father in the divorce, the reason that Rue was tragically outcast from his peers. It was why he was ten, and felt fifteen or thirteen on a good day, but when he was being honest, in his journals and his head mostly, he was perfectly terrified to grow up. So much that he could barely read anymore for fear of escaping for too long, wasting time. Stuck in a perpetual state of not quite here or there, a non-child praying every night to a god he didn't believe in for time to slow down for him. And, finally, it was the reason why he was so close with his father. And that would make it good, even if it was a bad thing, but it was not a bad thing, and thus was Rue’s sob story.

Ah, the dreaded word. That terrible, taboo phrase. Should I say it? Do you deserve to know his secret, his curse that he withheld from everybody save for Ms. Warburg and his beloved father? But he knew he couldn't keep it a secret for much longer. It was already coming apart at the seams– tiny feet, little, skinny arms that did not cook like pizza. I suppose I’ll just tell you. It's not like he was truly ashamed. He really won't mind. So, here it is: Rue’s terrible, evil, secret curse was that he was a transgender child. Yes, one of those little things who forced grave choices on their parents, who drew news attention and made teachers complicit. He made the choice himself to keep it under wraps, after he made the choice to tell his father. So grown up, he was, even at seven, when he dressed up in a tiny play suit jacket and went to deliver his father a paper that said, simply, “I’m a boy,” with a small smiley face at the bottom. He would've been fun to put in dresses for a bit longer, but it made too much sense to disagree with. No one knew where he got “Rue” from, not even Rue himself, but it suited him, so he kept it.

And, of course, the crux of his suffering. His mother, bless her heart, loved him too dearly to watch Rue’s father feed his delusions. Couldn't bear it, packed up all of her things and left the night before the name change. Tried to sue him for child endangerment or something, lost, divorced him and requested not to have any scheduled visits. The judge laughed at her for refusing to use her child's legal name, and that was it. She didn't see them for years. Rue did not tell Ms.Warburg, but the little buzzes from the receiver were some of the first that he'd heard from his mother in years. And that was fine. He was happy with that.

That night he told his father what few details he caught, confessed that he was scared for the first time in a long time. Cried on the couch while his dad made popcorn. There was no option to grow out of this. It would follow him. They watched the first Ghostbusters movie and Rue looked out the window at the moon and thought of his mom. She must be thinking of him, too. He hoped that she was, after so long. He wouldn't be able to stop himself.

***

Middle school got worse, just as he suspected it would. He remained friendless, put in no effort to change it as voices around him slowly grew deeper. In seventh grade his father took him on a camping trip and couldn't make it up the mountain. Rue sat next to him on the side of the trail, stickers in his legs, while his dad told him that he had heart cancer. Rue didn’t even know that was possible. They cried together. Apparently he'd been trying to fight it silently for a year, but his time was running out. He thought it might be his last camping trip. They finished the hike slowly. Rue looked at his dad while he slept and wondered if he would wake up in the morning.

Summer approached. His father dragged his fragile, timebomb body to the rows of appointments to get Rue on hormone blockers, got all of his important documents together, signed his last will and testament. He wouldn't tell Rue what was in it. Not yet. There's no need for that yet. We're prepared, but we're hopeful. Hopeful but prepared. It became his mantra over the last few months, repeated every time that an arrangement was made, an appointment was scheduled. Rue stayed inside with him all summer, his grandmother came to help when a fourteen year old’s care could no longer suffice. His father died peacefully in late June. Rue stayed in the house with his grandmother until the custody was settled.

But she turned out to be a nasty woman as well, of course. One afternoon Rue’s uncle came to the house to give his condolences, and he said something strange. Something about being sorry, which Rue nodded at, and then something about a girl's body. A man’s going mind, in the end. Rue shook off the man’s handshake, wiped his palm on his leg and went to his room. When he came out things were missing. Important things. His father's laptop. His father's guitar. His father's journals and sketchbooks and his tobacco pipe. He cried. The old woman comforted him, told him that he would get them back when his uncle passed.

She arranged a Christian burial in August, complete with a speech about her son accepting Jesus into his heart in his last moments on Earth. Rue could not confirm or deny it– she had taken those moments from him. Invited him in to feel the body go cold. He didn't believe it, though. His father was closer to pagan than anything else, though agnostic may have been a good word for it. Rue sat in the back row seething. His mother took him home, loaded his bags from the church sidewalk into the back of her SUV and drove him to a strange house in silence.

His mother did not abuse him. Thus was his sob story. She did not hate him, didn't even dislike him. Most of her issue was with his father, after all. In her eyes Rue was a victim of brainwashing, a child who refused to be saved. And when she finally gave up on his salvation she only treated him like a thing that she was tasked not to kill– a houseplant, a fish, maybe a hamster on a good day. She didn't hate him, didn't neglect him, she just couldn't agree with his life choices, didn't think that his grandmother had done anything wrong. It was fine, Rue was simply defeated. He spent his energy surviving. Getting along with her. Bathing himself. No time for grief, at least. Might as well figure out how to sue an uncle.

***

Rue finally made a friend in the first month of high school. The kid approached him while he was laying on the ground during dodgeball, asked him what his problem was. He was tall, looked even taller from the floor. Rue said he was just tired. The kid said me too. His name was Donald, or Donnie, or Don. Rue didn't like him much at first, but at least they were talking, and then he still didn't like him much for the months after that either. Don was not gentle. He said whatever he thought, whenever he thought it, and he did what he wanted to. It was unfamiliar, but the general idea was attractive. By winter break Rue learned to laugh along, brush off cruelty, sometimes even chime in. He got attached, stopped being careful and followed Don wherever he asked. It felt how being fifteen should. Rue learned to see Don’s teasing as proof that someone was thinking of him, his arguing as proof that they were still equals, his cigarettes passed Rue’s way as proof that someone was taking care of him. Besides, not many people would so willingly treat Rue as ‘one of the boys’ the way Don did, enforce his treatment as one of the boys, no matter how many strange comments his curse inevitably came with. And Don was smart. Smarter than the rest of the kids, so that he didn't quite fit in for it, just like Rue. Logical. He didn't hate nonsensically. He had well-spoken reasons for why he thought how he did, so Rue listened. And, since they were smart, in their moments of intentional stupidity they were very careful about their company. They almost made it a game- assembling a gang of sorts, going through mental applications together. Don was the leader, Rue the thing that he kept by his side. And the kids listened. All of them, like Don was infallible. They worshiped him up until he graduated, then chomped at the bit for his phone number so that a diploma could not keep him away.

Don’s parents were rich. And not good job rich, inheritance rich. They had a huge house, too many nice cars, and endless spending money that Don could snag without anyone blinking. Starting in August of Rue’s senior year they went out of town for four months, to The Bahamas, and Don had the house to himself, and suddenly Rue’s life was perfect. His mother had lost interest. She didn't ask where he was going when he packed a few of his things. He got to pretend like he was an adult, that he'd gone off and moved in with a rich, dangerous man who bought him drugs and a pretty jacket and a bottle of his own cologne. Rue and Don slept in the master bedroom when no one else was there, Rue made a bed on the floor of Don’s room when there was company. There was company often. Endless rotations of friends and acquaintances who brought anything Rue wanted. Sometimes Don took him out on drives in the Ferrari, showed him off while he sold sandwich bags of weed, then let Rue smoke his stash in the passenger seat and smile out the open window at the passing streetlights.

That September Don got him testosterone. The gang treated it like a drug deal, found someone who could sell it to them cheap, had a party and laughed like Rue was shooting up when Don gave him his first shot. Then they considered the idea for a moment, said ‘now that Don can use needles right’– ever so cautious, even when they were speaking about killing themselves– but that wouldn't be for a long time, they agreed. Then they changed the subject. The beginning of that year stayed good. Rue’s voice dropped. He kept going to school while Don stayed in their big, empty house, training himself to be a kingpin. The brand new adult had his mind set on it. He was gonna climb to the top, work his way up from petty eighths to bags of cash and coke across state lines. He liked the rush. He liked when people listened to him. Rue had grown fond of listening to him, too. He didn't object when Don laid out his plan, liked the idea of hanging on a gold-watch-clad arm forever.

But, of course, eventually Don's parents came home. It was December. They found out about his amateur operation almost immediately, kicked them out that same night. Rue’s mom shooed them off when they came to her door. Rue excused Don so he could plead. She had a slough of reasons, even if Rue were to break down one she'd come back with ten more. It was hopeless. He gave it one last shot.

“He stays or I go forever.”

She laughed. The decision was too easy. She told him that he was welcome to get the rest of his things, or she'd make him breakfast if he was there when she woke up in the morning. He left crying to find Don on the sidewalk, they walked to the closest Denny's. Rue had one backpack with him. Don still didn't have a car.

Everything shattered around them, the illusion gone as they looked at each other in the sticky, faux-leather booth. They weren't grown-ups, drug lords, gang leaders. They were kids. And they were alone, and scared. They held each other, equals under the flickering orange light hanging too low over the table, traced the endless cracks in the wood scratched up and refinished a hundred times over, until they were asked to leave.

“It's 24 hours,” Don had objected quietly, looking up at the young waitress with tired eyes.

“Don't matter, I didn't say we're closing.”

Don blinked at her, annoyed, exhausted.

“Would you please just leave sir, it’s been a long night.” She glanced back at the angry woman watching her from the kitchen.

Don nodded and pulled Rue's arm behind him, out of the booth, out of the door, to the curb. They sat down. He took the bag off of his back, larger than rues by a few pockets, reached in and counted his money. Three thousand dollars, he said. It was much more than Rue expected. He didn't know why they didn't order anything while they sat. Maybe they could've stayed longer.

“What are we gonna do?” Rue asked.

They looked at each other for a long time.

That night they walked an hour to their friend Camden’s house. Don told him that he could drop the act after he opened the door like they were royalty, looked around nervously like he had no other choice. They weren't gang leaders, they weren't drug lords. They needed a place to sleep. Another friend. Camden’s parents lent them the guest room and Don let Rue crawl into his arms while he fell asleep. In the morning the Camden's pulled them out for a talk. Are you guys dating? No. Are you into drugs? Yes, Don said. There was no point in hiding it. The Camden’s would find out eventually, they might as well wait for a place that accommodated their situation. Rue cringed. What kind? Weed, we drink. That’s usually it. Ms.Camden raised her eyebrows. We had a stint with coke, Don said very casually, but it's over, he brushed it off. She nodded. Is that why you’re on the street? Rue looked to Don. No, no, he assured her. Uh, Rue’s mom is a bigot, my parents are bigots. He made a face like explaining more might shatter something in the boy standing next to him. Ms. Camden looked to her husband. Fine by me, she said, shrugging. Her husband shrugged too. Yeah, sure. He's still in school, right? Mr. Camden asked. Rue nodded. You? Don shook his head. You work? No, but I’m looking. Does he talk?

“Sorry, yeah”, Rue laughed. “Thank you, by the way.”

And then it was okay again, for a while. Just a speedbump, it's okay. They realized quickly that the interrogation was a charade, that there weren't really any rules as long as everything was well-hidden. First it was the beer bottles. They piled them up in a bag. Threw them out. No one cared much. Then the smoke. They opened a window. The house smells, a Camden might say in passing, and ask if there’s been a skunk nearby with a wink. They nodded, yeah, smiled back. Then it was the late nights. The days home from school as Rue and Camden slept them off. The empty dimebags. Around February things started to slip. Rue’s grades got low enough that the school was concerned. He had to look his mother in the eye as she examined him in the stuffy office– hair cut short and messy, scruff above his lip, charcoal around his eyes, a safety pin in his ear. And worse, the eyebags. The strong, sunken cheeks. She didn't know him. She left crying. He was let off with a warning.

***

The first night that they tried heroin was the same night that Camden went to his first punk show. Don made a big deal of it, dressed him up. Our scene, he kept saying, though he and Rue had only been to two or three shows themselves. While they were there Camden told them he got the impression it was really just an excuse to get high and hit people. He didn't mind it, it was fun. They met a guy named Jack afterwards who drove them in his breaking down Toyota to steal two bottles of ‘Henny’, as he called it, his favorite, then drank with them in the truck bed until they were all delirious. They could've died a million ways that night. None of them understood Jack's motives, bent over to whisper little jokes about the weapons he was grabbing whenever he stepped away. The three weren't that interesting. He was a few years older than them, in his third year of college to be a vet. Later into the night, or morning by then, probably, they picked up Jack’s friend Cooper. He was the one with the fix. Don was too smart to put something into his arm on a whim. He would've said no if the thought hadn't been brewing in his head already, ever since some guy he talked to in a bathroom described the feeling to him. Like a blanket made of water made of silk, safe in a hurricane, or something like that. Don would never seek it out. Never. So, it must have been fate that it came to him instead.

He didn't trust their needles, though, of course. So careful. He offered to host, said that if someone wanted to drive they had a clean shed out back, as long as they were out by sunrise. Camden cringed at the thought, but gave in when they all agreed, let Cooper drive because he had the least cognac coursing through his veins.

That night was also the first time that Don kissed Rue. It was nothing big, nothing too real. It happened right after his second hit, after he knew what to expect. He did Rue’s first so that his hand would be steady as possible, then his own, and fell back into the blankets that they'd stuffed against the corner. He turned his head and studied the boy. His hair was mussed, his muscles all limp. And his eyes were somewhere else entirely. Floating, vacant. Don knew that he was happy. He smiled. ‘Watch this,’ Don had mumbled to the room, gave a half-hearted laugh, before he leaned forward and caught Rue's lips. Just for a moment. When he pulled back Rue was there, looking at him. Dude, Jack laughed from the opposite corner, gross.

The next morning they talked while they ignored theit strange, feverish hangovers. Rue swore that he was done.

“We can do it like this. It was fun. But an addiction has to be broken at some point. It’s the only inevitability. You break it, you withdraw, you crave– or, I guess, you die,” Rue shrugged.

Don shrugged too. “It is always an option.”

They were only joking. Rue didn't know that Don was already chasing his first high again. It had been everything he wanted, just like the man in the bathroom described it. After Rue fell asleep on the floor he’d sent the strange men off, told Camden he was good to go inside, and laid next to him, watched Rue’s eyelashes fluttering on his flushed cheek, the stray hairs falling over his face, as he took the last two hits that he'd managed to convince the strangers that they'd already done.

He sought it out after that. Waited until Rue was asleep. Always when he was asleep. Knowing that he wasn't home was never enough. Don had to see him there in front of him, confirm with his eyes that Rue was gone, kicking his feet like a cat dreaming while Don wasted his high tucking everything safely under the bed. Rue stopped seeing Don before school, made sure he didn't wake him when he slowly rolled out of bed at seven every morning.

What field do you intend to major in?

Rue stared at the text on the grainy, decade-old laptop screen. There was no asterisks next to it. It was not a required question, he could leave it blank if he wanted. That almost made it more of a challenge.

None of your fucking business

He submitted the form.

Summer rolled around. Graduation again. Rue walked. He got no awards, one of few in the thousand person class. His mother didn't attend, but Camden’s parents hugged him after the ceremony, gave him a 20 and a red rose, took them all out to dinner at a fancy restaurant that served strangely shitty fried food. Don came clean that night, after they got back to their room. He had no reason to, mindless self-preservation. The guilt was eating him alive. It ate him at home while he sat in bed waiting for Rue’s bus. It ate him while they talked, when they laid next to each other, so that Don started facing the other side of the bed when he slept. It even ate him as he watched his Rue walk across the stage, wearing the big white robe that fell awkwardly over his bony shoulders, smiling wide because he really did accomplish something big, and Don could hardly pay attention.

Rue only nodded along, looked at him when he finished speaking. Don wanted some kind of anger. Tears. Anything. But Rue would only understand, tell him that they'd get him help together, that everything would be okay. Thank you for telling me. You didn't have to hide. All of it for nothing. All of the time lost, the sleep, the months trying to speak over his own pulse thrumming in his throat.

He couldn't stand the thought. Don let himself get angry. He wanted something. Anything. And it was Rue’s fault, really, that he wouldn't give it to him. He wouldn't feel that way if Rue could just try to be normal. If Rue was a dick like him, if Rue wasn't fucking riteous and perfect. He didn't say it like that out loud. No, it came out more like: “you should've known. What did you think was happening? How little attention do you pay me if you can let a heroin addiction go unnoticed, Rue?”

That part was too loud. Don held his breath. No Camdens stormed through the door. I’m sorry, Rue said, genuinely. Don slapped him. And when Rue only looked back up with stupid, shocked doe eyes, Don punched him, across the jaw, so that he fell to the ground. And then Rue looked apprehensive, and so Don climbed on top of him, and punched him in the eye, again, and then again, grabbed his shoulders, threw him down. His skull made a dull sound. No crack. No echo. And then Rue looked scared. Don was satisfied. He felt sick to his stomach. In a second Rue was reaching up, clinging to his shoulders, kissing him. Clawing the back of Don's head with chewed, ragged fingernails, biting Don’s lip. He might have melted for a second, but it wasn't that easy. He pulled back suddenly, knocked the wind out of Rue’s chest when he slammed him to the floor and held him there firmly so that Rue could only stare up blankly as he tried to catch his breath. Don stared back. There were no looks exchanged, no silent agreements or unspoken acknowledgements. He only helped himself up with his weight on Rue’s chest, and walked out of the door.

***

Don died in early July, two days after Rue’s 19th birthday. At least, they think so. They found his body in the early stages of decomposition, his gasses flooding a locked bathroom at the public park, a location popular thanks to certain individuals who enjoyed stench and swarming flies as hookup ambiance. Rue assumed they weren't too happy about the news either. He was grateful that Don waited, at least. He had a decent birthday with the Camdens. And he'd almost suspected it by that point. He made attempts to contact Don at first, but they got further apart as he grew tired of waiting for an answer. That didn't mean his thoughts were any further from the subject, though, no matter how hard he tried to sway them. He was lonely. That August he didn't move much. He laid in bed, watched his own memories. Camden played video games with him sometimes. They talked, about real, genuine things. Feelings. Grief. It was foreign. Camden laughed at that, until he thought about the statement, and he stopped laughing.

Rue decided to kill himself around September. He knew that he wouldn't be welcome in his room for much longer. Camden was staying home for college, and he was basically a brother, but Rue ate food. It might not have been much, but it was a cost. And he bathed. He needed the occasional ride. Toothpaste. Accutane. Every once in a while the Camdens even insisted on taking him to buy new clothes, taking the boys out for a nice dinner. Rue always insisted that they just give him a twenty so he could go to the thrift store, it would go much farther, but sometimes he lost and came home with new, stiff jeans. He was nineteen, and he did not pay rent, and they were not his parents. That, and he was tired. And lonely. And bored. Sure, he could lay there and play video games for the rest of his life if the Camden's let him, but that was no way to go. Better to die young, pretty and tragic, than ugly and burnt out and wasted. He knew that. If he couldn't live the life that he wanted to– and he couldn’t, he lost that chance some day in early July– there was no point in waiting around for the next forty, fifty, sixty years.

But he could never be that proactive, really. Suicide sounded like such a commitment. He went to sleep with the resolution that he would simply let himself die. The first morning after he and Don tried heroin, they'd spoken at length about addiction. That was always the conversation that Don was good at. Logical. Philosophical. Removed– not an I, but a we, an us, a you. They'd laid it out simply. There were two options. Three, if you counted complete abstinence, and four if you counted the rare, casual user. But, with addiction, there were two: you quit, or you die. One day, you either choose to stop, or you choose to let it kill you. And they both knew that it would be a conscious choice. Don knew, up to the moment that he took his last hit. Rue could picture him, stumbling down the sidewalk at night, into the stray branches, scraping his arms. Hanging heavy on the metal latch, hearing it clack shut. The bars drop. Crawling onto the floor, into the filth, propping himself up in the corner. Making a decision. He dragged himself into that bathroom like a sick cat drags itself under the neighbors porch, lays down and waits. The flies buzzed around his head like the rats that lived there, waiting patiently, watching his last breaths from a distance, laying there with it. Until it was gone. The cat is dead, Don is dead. Then there is no more contract. Then they can crawl into the eyes, the ears, chew open the stomach and leave bits of fur matted to the ribs. It's only meat, then.

Yes, it was the perfect plan. He would just die. Simple as that. Pick up whatever he damn pleased. Take whatever was offered. Whatever was thrust into his hands. He’d say yes to it all, over and over. He would drink through the hangovers, hair of the dog that swallowed Don’s tongue, because it didn't matter! Everyone wanted to do it, and now he could. When the Camdens finally kicked him out he thanked them for all that they'd done for him, cried. He might've fallen to his knees. He didn't remember. He woke on a bench with a headache, and didn't care. Something was sitting under him. Don’s bag. He opened it. Don's cash.

Some nights he slept outside, some at strange men’s houses. He didn't know what he was– gay, straight, or if those even applied to him– but learned quickly that the men wanted to take care of him. They wanted to look across the booth at his flutteringeyelashes, to grab his waist while they walked him out of the bar, to undress him with their unwashed hands. He didn't even have to do anything. Just stand there. Try not to hold his breath. He liked to pick who he'd be each night. Sometimes he was the club singer, the seductress, hidden beneath unshaved scruff and faux eyelashes. Those nights you could look thoroughly, but ask to touch. Others he was just a scared little boy, lost, looking for someone to take him home, give him a bed to sleep in. And who knew, maybe something else would happen. It was out of his hands. And the men, to his surprise, seemed to like waking up next to him. Liked reaching up to touch his small breasts with a quick comment, a little slight. Sometimes he moaned at the pang that it sent through his chest. Other times, when he thought it might be safe, he tore his head away, turned his shoulder and made them take it back.

He could feel himself succeeding, after some time. He was certainly dying. He didn't know the date, hadn’t checked in a long time. Sometime in March, maybe? He thought he saw a ‘March Madness’ sign somewhere. Easter was getting close. Was he really gonna make it to Easter? His limbs were weaker by the day, his headache, the fog between his thoughts becoming such a constant that some nights he could hardly make it through the greetings. Then he had to stumble to the very back corner of an alley, sleep with Don's backpack on the wrong way, covering his chest, pressed into his aching stomach, hugging it as he drifted off easily. One night, a very foggy one, after a week without a bed, when he couldn't quite remember his way through a conversation– hello, yeah, uh– Rue. – no, it's my name– yeah, hi there, do you wanna– no thanks, kid, the man said– a rare occurrence– he dragged himself out of the bar’s creaky side door, collapsed against the corner of the dumpster and pulled out a cigarette. He tapped his pockets, searched the backpack. No lighter. Fuck. He let his head fall back so that it hit the wall harder than he intended, and bounced off. Painful, throbbing. He looked up, swayed gently and smiled as he watched the stars above the polluted city.

“Are you okay?”

The voice rung out like the clear note of a harp through a construction site. Rue guessed that the man was an angel, finally coming to take him. He had the palest skin Rue had ever seen, white hair, a soft white button- up shirt. The alley light shone behind his head like a halo.

“Am I dead?,” Rue slurred.

The man helped him up, took his bag. Rue only saw the gesture, didn't think twice about its contents. It didn't matter much anyways, not anymore. Rue hung onto the man’s arm as he took long strides out to the road, opened the sleek, low car door for him, and held his hand as he ducked into the back seat. He made a gesture to scoot. Rue did. The man climbed in after him, closed the door.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Rue.”

“Hm. Did your parents name you that?”

“Does it matter?

“No, I just like it. It suits you.”

“Doe your name suit you?” Rue asked, smiling stupid. Maybe someone slipped something into his drink, but that made no sense. He wouldn't have been left waiting, left to stumble into the alley alone. He must've simply taken something that he'd forgotten about, replaced a few too many meals with hard liquor.

“Hm. I don't know. I’m Michael.”

Rue laughed. Very fitting. “Are you an angel?”

“I don't think so. I’m taking you back to my place, a party should be starting in a few minutes.”

“Cool,” Rue said, and let his eyes fall shut in the nice, conditioned air, the soft leather seats.

“Stay with me,” Michael’s voice cut through the pull of sleep like an electric shock. Rue’s eyes opened on their own accord, the light stung. “I promise it’ll be worth it. My bed is ten times more comfortable than these seats.” Rue smiled and nodded, smooth, though he was unsure if that was possible. He chose to watch neon signs fly by outside of the window instead, feel the hum of the engine below him as Michael kissed warm marks up his neck.

A second after the car rolled to a stop the door that Rue was leaning on was opened from the outside, and he fell, let the valet boy catch him. Michael held his arm again, firm, safe, as they walked up the rows of white steps– were they marble? And Rue remembered where they were. Are you a prince or something? he asked. No, Michael said. Then why do you live in a castle?

“It's barely a mansion.”

“There's a valet.”

“That’s Seth. He helps around here.”

Michael stopped him at the door, looked at his eyes. Rue noticed for the first time that Michael's were nearly see-through, so blue-gray that they might have gone red if he was a rodent. His hair was nearly as light as an albino rat’s, too, thin but full, long and straight so that it framed his face and suggested some kind of nobility. Not quite enough there to call a mane. You're pretty, Rue wanted to say. But he bit his tongue instead, didn't need to let anything else fall out.

“The house is very full. There will be people dancing, drinking, fucking, swimming out back. You might even catch some Russian roulette. To put it simply, there are no rules. Except for that you do not tell people about this. You do not give out this address. What happens in this house stays in the house. Do you understand?”

Rue smiled again. Couldn't help it. “To be completely honest, I’m not even sure where we are. But if I did– yeah. I'm good for it.”

Michael searched him, then nodded, satisfied. He opened the door. It made a dramatic sound, like it looked like it should. Every head turned, a sea of smudged eyeliner, pincurls, bare chests, Mardi gras beads and red solo cups. The music shook the floor as they walked through the foyer, through the smell of sweat and sex, pheromones and body spray, undulating bodies, puddles of beer on the floor. Some vomit. A few girls stopped Michael, desperate for his attention, but he gave them nothing, shouldered past the crowd on the stairs that parted just slightly as he dragged Rue through it, until they were safe in a big, open room. The master's. It was even bigger than Don’s parents’, somehow. Warmly lit with lamps built into the walls, a white bear skin on the floor, a TV on top of a gas fireplace. A desk, another desk. Hand carvings in the cabinets. He could see the bathroom connected to the room, the door standing open. A twin-sized bathtub and vanity mirrors.

Michael silently sat on the edge of the bed, leaned back on one hand and tapped the space next to him. Rue joined him, sank into the plush duvet.

“What are you on?” Michael asked, tugging on Rue’s shoulder until his head was resting in the blonde man's lap, on his thin legs.

“I don't know. I’m definitely drunk,” Rue said as Michael began to play with his short, ratted hair.

“Are you addicted to anything hard?”

“Coke, but who isn't.” Rue rolled over so that he was looking out at the room. The bear, calling for help.

“Anything else? Needles?”

“No. I’m clean, if that's what you're worried about. I get tested.” It was a lie. He didn't know how, where to go. He could’ve always always asked, really anyone, but that would involve admitting that he didn't know. And he knew that it was selfish, but at that moment he couldn't think about much other than the bed under him, the fingers petting his sensitive scalp.

“No, not that. But that's good. I’m just learning about you.”

“Oh?” Rue opened his eyes, craned his neck to meet Michael's. “Do you know anything yet?”

“Not much, no. You’re homeless. I believe you like to be told what to do.” A pause. “And you're trying to kill yourself.”

Rue sat up, offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, there's two thousand dollars in your bag, and you haven't eaten in– what, three days? A week?”

“Have you been fucking following me?”

“No. It was just a guess. There's a hollowness that people get, you can see it in the face and neck, mostly. Maybe it's the low blood sugar.”

“I drink plenty.”

“Alcohol? That's not how it works. That's worse than negative calories–a poison. Like a disease for your body to fight.”

“So you want me to stop drinking?”

“I want you to stop fighting me. Let me in.”

Rue looked him over slowly. He didn't trust many people. Didn't trust any of of the men that he let touch him, fuck him, none of the strangers that he smoked with on street corners, not the cops or his mother or God. He never said it if he didn't have to, but he did have boundaries. They were fairly standard for most, but he got questioned often, bewilderment and anger. Yes, you can grab my hair. Yes, you can finger me, treat me like an object. But you sodomize me, and you don't leave marks. No bruises. No hickeys. No hitting. Michael had already broken one rule, and Rue didn't seem to care much yet. It was always the same question, when they really wanted it anyways. Why? You clearly like it! You clearly want to be hurt, kicked, bitten. So why won't you let me? And he would tell them they were right, never really a clear answer. Just his rule. Just his one hard line. Some crossed it anyway. Those were some of the few interactions that he might've considered bad ideas, too far. Real self-destruction, leaving him to stumble through the streets for days, unsure exactly who, where he was. But he always bounced back, begrudgingly. Fine-tuned survival instincts on autopilot, a suicidal cockroack living through nuclear winter. He considered it, looking at Michael, who was looking back at him, patiently. Was that what he meant? Let me in, trust me. Or maybe it was simply a euphemism. A sleazy line to try to get his pants off faster, like he couldn't just ask.

“What do you want?” Michael asked him gently.

Rue didn't know why he was being so forgiving, lending him enough time to sort a few thoughts. Or maybe Rue was waiting to answer on purpose, drawing it out. If he didn't choose, eventually Michael would do it for him. That's how it usually went. And Michael was right, he liked it better that way. It was easier. He was done with trying, making decisions. Quit a long time ago. He even trusted Michael, he decided then. He didn't have to force his lungs to breathe, didn't have to pull out the rehearsed, batting eyes when he looked at him.

“I want you to tell me what to do,” Rue said, as steady and sober-sounding as he could. It was the truth.

Michael nodded, stood up and disappeared into the closet. When he came back he told Rue to close his eyes, I think you'll like this, so he did, until long, thin fingers were fastening a soft leather collar around his neck, buckling it in place.

Michael held him afterwards for a moment, twirled little curls into his hair and hooked two fingers under the leather, played in the mess between his legs as he kissed Rue’s shoulders, his jaw. So many marks. Rue welcomed them. Almost asked for something more extreme– did he have a pocket knife? Maybe he could carve his name, draw a nice picture in the blood. Michael had a striking likeness to a painting in that moment, afterglow and lamplight. Olives and purples in his shadows, pinks in his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and the point of his strong but small nose. His eyes were glowing almost turquoise, his long blonde eyelashes each defined an individual.

But he couldn't stay long. In minutes Michael was standing him up, dressing Rue in clothes so soft and light that they barely felt like they were covering him. The leash came off first, the collar last. Michael stood him in the mirror, looked over him in the silk and lace. Men’s clothes, somehow, clearly. They were cut just right. No one would know. He'd starved his boobs away, anyways. Michael's pecs looked more like tits than whatever his thin, concave, bony chest did. Rue didn't like how the center part stood out in the mirror, bumpy and emaciated. He thought about gaining weight to fix it. That was the first plan that Michael inspired. The first inkling of self-preservation instilled. There was no big commitment, but it was a goal with a motivation. To look good. To look good for Michael. The realization strung. He would have to eat, force his digestive system back into a functioning state when he'd nearly convinced himself that he would let it be the first to go, and it would be an accident when he could no longer swallow or digest fast enough to stay ahead of his own decomposition. Out of his hands. And why now, after he’d done so well? There was an easy answer.

Of course you wouldn't, Michael was mumbling somewhere. No reason to tell me you were a fucking virgin, of course. Not a virgin, Rue corrected. I’ve fucked at least 30 guys, I think. I’m not a virgin. You know what I mean, Michael said. You liked it, Rue countered. Michael turned at that, slowly walked up in front of him, calm. He adjusted the lace collar of Rue’s shirt, tilted the boy’s chin up to meet his own unreadable eyes. Rue swallowed.

“Don’t tell me what I like, mutt,” he said, gentle for the words, bent down and kissed him. Rue stared up, in awe. “It was fine, but I prefer to know when I'm about to hurt you. It makes it much better for both of us.” When Rue only sat there, slack jawed and hard again, Michael said ‘speak.’ Not a command, just a gentle suggestion. Rue said ‘yes– okay.’ He couldn't think of a good enough title. Sir was too formal, Master too clunky. Owner was fine for the time, but only in his head. It was no name fit for an angel.

“Good puppy,” Michael whispered simply, against his earlobe. Rue shuddered, Michael smiled. Who knew?

The people in the hallway greeted Rue like he was coming down a red carpet. Bitter, unspoken congratulations with some vague sense of knowing, though they couldn't have possibly guessed the details. Rue wished that Michael left the collar on, gave him a tag: ‘Rue’, of course, so he wouldn't have to introduce himself to the endless strangers, then the address, instructions to return him to Michael's room if he was lost. He doesn't bite. Never even learned how. No need to be afraid.

Michael was right. Downstairs, anything and everything was happening. There was the usual– floors packed with swaying hips, wandering hands, couches brimming with voyeuristic teenagers who could care less about the setting. The booming bass still shook the floor. The whole dining room table was covered in various liquor bottles– some cheap and generic, some so expensive that Rue had never even heard the names before. No one seemed to want those, too focused on getting wasted to bother when they’d be content with enough Fireball. Rue grabbed a green bottle as they passed it, figured that he was allowed because Michael didn't stop him. He’d always wanted to try absinthe. 150 proof, the bottle said. He lifted it to his lips as they moved. It stung. Way too sweet. He drank more.

The night cut out after the third tip of the big green bottle to his chapped, burning lips. Rue woke up happy and sore, rolled over expecting to see a pretty blonde angel next to him, and instead found a dirty tree trunk. He was on the ground. Somewhere. He sat up. He was in a park that he didn't recognize, not even the yard like he'd hoped for a moment. Across from him there was a coffee shop that he'd never heard of, a hardware store, a crumbling apartment complex. He remembered nothing of how he got there, very little of what he did the last night. When he stopped and checked himself he found he was still in Michael's silk shirt with the lace collar, but his own jeans, and a strange black hoodie. He checked the tag, but it wasn't elementary school. No one had written their name on it. It was 3XL and polyester. The pockets were big and empty. He put it back on to hide marks that his memory of Michael didn't leave, glanced at the ground around him, panicked for a moment, until he saw a sliver of black fabric peeking from a trash can’s wooden covering. He pulled on it. Don’s backpack, dirty and scuffed and covered in ants. But he couldn't care. He brushed it off, looked inside. Nothing but the cash. Michael couldn't have just left a fucking note? ‘Hey, sorry I left you unconscious in a city park, call me!’

Whatever. He zipped it up, swung it over his shoulder, and started walking. Might as well think while he walked instead of sitting there. Two birds with one stone. It worked better when he knew where he was going. He was used to waking up in strange places, but he was also used to recognizing them. He'd been around the city. It looked like he was still in the city, but he had no proof of it. There was only a similar aesthetic, a sour smell to the air. So, he would look for confirmation of that. Sure, good enough.

It didn't take long to find out that Michael had dropped him in Harlem. He laughed. Whatever. It was close enough to a joke. He didn't have a place, really, just the usual haunts. No real attachment to the ten-block radius around the big tall building. Still, it would be two hours back to where Michael picked him up on foot. He might as well pay for a bus pass at that point, a meal here and there. He'd have to if he was serious about it. But here was where the thinking came in. Was he serious?

Was one good fuck enough to change the last – what was it– three, five months of certainty? Was he seriously going to stop dying? Oh, what an incredible commitment. It was a choice, by that point. And he would have to make it. He had made absolutely sure of that in the past however long it was. It was true: he was dying unless he chose not to. And that was an incredible success for the man that he was a day before. Here came the thinking. But did he really have to think? He didn't want to, he could do whatever he wanted. And wasn't it settled already?

He headed for the coffee shop, didn't look before he crossed the street– a force of habit– and stopped on the sidewalk, staring at the pastries through the decorated window. There was another issue, of course. Food cost money. Choosing to stay alive cost money. He had money. Some of it. Maybe enough to get him healthy, back to Michael without a weird bumpy chest. But he was yet to spend a cent of it. He knew that was ridiculous, misplaced sentiment in a basic resource, but in Rue’s mind the money was the last gift that Don ever gave him. He couldn't shoo the thought. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he walked up to a cashier, reached into his bag, said, I’m sorry, I change my mind. Went hungry. And it didn't matter, really, but there was one more little thing. Rue did not know exactly how he got Don’s backpack. He didn't know the morning that he found it under the bench, he didn't know after months of thinking on it. In fact, he was entirely certain up until the moment that it was in his hands that Don had taken it with him when he left. He could picture it clearly, his standing up with Rue’s chest as a handrail, bending down and swinging the thing over his shoulder before he stormed off. But his recollection was beyond worthless at that point. He couldn't be certain of anything. Sometimes he entertained himself by watching memories over and letting things change, ruining them forever. He’d figured he wouldn't need them.

All of that aside, he was hungry. He reached into the bag, pulled one of the hundreds from the dry-rotting rubber band holding the flimsy stack of bills together. Only twenty of them. Nineteen now. It didn't seem like much suddenly. He wanted to put it back. Twenty is good. Nineteen is small. But it was okay. He stuffed away the thin brick and forced himself through the door. A stylized doorbell chimed.

The woman behind the counter looked up, furrowed her eyebrows for a moment then smiled. “Hello… sir? How can I help you?” She had a short brunette pixie with blonde highlights. Other than that, she was perfectly normal. Green shirt. Blue jeans. Perfect makeup. Little diamond earrings. It matched the decor. White and minimalist. Wood fixtures. She blinked at him, waiting for an answer.

“I just want a scone, but I only have hundred dollar bills. Does that, like, work?”

“Thats it? No coffee or anything? This is a coffee place, you know.” She was trying a joke.

He looked at her like he was lost. “That’s it. Thank you.”

He clenched his jaw as he handed her the bill, rocked back and forth on the balls of feet while she counted off the change into his hand. Ninety five sixty-eight. It felt small. He stuffed it into his pocket, took the scone and turned without a goodbye. She called a nicety at his back.

He stormed into the alley, threw himself to the ground. Took a bite of the thing in his hand. It tasted like flour and butter, fine. The sugar on top made him sort of nauseous, he brushed some off, watched it glisten on the asphalt, gagged like he was swallowing a pill. The ball of gluten crawled down his esophagus how he imagined it felt to be one of those animals that had to swallow its prey whole. He should've ordered a coffee. He refused to go back inside. But it was okay, because the change wasn't Don’s money anymore. She took that, and gave him back dirty, finger-grease cotton. Whatever. He took another bite. The roof of his mouth stung like someone took a razor to it as he chewed, skinless gums, spitless tongue. He swallowed anyway, squeezed his eyes shut as it went down, swished his cheeks and forced his saliva glands to work. Then he wrapped the scone back up, threw it rudely in the bag. Whatever. Fuck you, he told it. Stood up. His stomach felt full.

Back to walking.

***

Things got worse the moment that Rue tuned back in. The decision was made as soon as he looked in Michael’s mirror that night. He knew it, there was no point in thinking much harder if he didn't want to. And he despised it. He despised watching for danger, despised planning the day ahead of him. He was forced to stop floating through like his lungs were hydrogen blimps fated to flood, and he could spend whole days reminiscing on the feeling of happily dying, but it was always a memory. He was eating again. He was finding safe places to sleep. He was listening, paying attention. He had a reputation, apparently. ‘Hey, I know you,’ one man had said ‘yeah, you're a free whore! They say you're a godsend if you like ‘em like that.’

‘Well, when you put it that way,’ Rue had laughed. But the phrase had struck him. The man was right. Rue started charging after that. And it was much more difficult, it turned out, to sell himself when he wasn't dying.

None of it mattered. It was all just a means to an end, all secondary. Most nights Rue dressed up nice and went to high-end bars and clubs, the ones he'd never touched before because they probably wouldn't let him in, and he talked to people until he had to leave. Asked everyone that would look at him the exact same question: “Do you know a Michael?” Usually it was a no. When it was a yes it was a different guy. He had no idea who was telling him the truth, they had a good enough reason to lie to him. He remembered that much. ‘What happens in this house stays in this house’ and all. He figured meeting Michael didn't happen in that house.

He resolved to stop drinking for a while when his head threatened to lose the bits that he did remember. That made things worse, too. When he went out sober he could feel eyes like weights on his shoulders. He always knew they were there, but suddenly they were real, really looking, and none of them looked at him anything like Michael did. Most eyes weren't nice. The ones that were were too nice, trying to look through him. He started rotating bars more frequently, made his way in circles around the city. Let people forget who he was, it was better that way. He was fine with being a stranger.

A month passed, Rue was no closer to finding his angel. Sometimes he told himself that Michael must be hiding, that he didn't want to see him, and that's why he told everyone in the entire city to pretend that they'd never heard his name if Rue asked. Other times he thought about just how many people there were in a city, and the prospect of finding a single one of them in a single house was crushing. He didn't remember what the house looked like, either. Marble steps. Expensive. He wouldn't know if he was walking right past it. And he was down a thousand dollars already, with all of the admissions and honest-to-god meals that he’d been paying for. He gave up on the rich clubs for good the night that he finally counted his money, decided he'd go back to what worked. Walked into whatever door he stumbled past, kept asking everyone. Lowered his prices. When money felt scarce he didn't spend it. Went hungry. Let strangers buy him drinks, couldn't remember why he stopped. And then suddenly he was dying again.

He noticed it in an alley. It seemed fitting. It was another week that he spent mostly alone. He'd considered making a real friend for a bit, but they never stuck around for more than a day. He'd take one if he found one, he figured. He'd been left by a DJ named McCallan in front of a bank about a week ago, after he said that Rue was “just too weird.” Rue nodded and shooed him off. ‘Go on, then.’ He’d grown pretty fond of McCallan over the hours that they'd spent together, though, and Rue felt the absence when he left. He went and bought himself a bottle of whiskey, sat where he and the boy had been sitting, up at the top of the slanted cement under the bridge, where no one could see them. They’d kissed for fun, confirmed their lack of real feelings out loud. Just wanted warm bodies to be close to. Rue had spent the day quietly picturing a future with him– at least a few weeks of companionship. Someone to laugh at the absurdity of it all with while he made his plans for the day. It was fine, he was better off alone.

He was thinking about McCallan again when his heart started to stutter, and then his chest was numb, like there was something heavy sitting on it for a bit too long, and he sat there and looked up at the stars, visible that night, and thought ‘this makes no sense, I’ve done so well,’ but then he thought a bit harder and he really hadn't. Only holding onto those few weeks after Michael left, pretending that time would stop for him. And maybe the difference was just hope. He was hopeful back then. Every day he wanted harder and expected less, and it was starting to seep into his veins, he thought. Into his lungs, refusing to take in as much air. Starting to crowd his head, get in between his thoughts again. Funny, because he never did get sober when he thought even harder. Just less drunk. Dying less. And here he was again. So soon?

Michael, he thought, like somehow he could think it straight between their brains. Michael, and then, please, please, please, please, please. And then God. And when no one came still he opened his eyes and stared up at the moon and wondered if his mother was thinking of him, wondered who would deliver the news to her, or if maybe she thought of him something like Don. Maybe she suspected already.

Michael. I don't want to die.

He laughed at himself. No one could hear him. It was just like him to find a way to waste his last moments alive. He kept laughing. So hard his chest hurt, and then he was coughing, but still laughing, quietly, because it was quite funny how much worse that hurt his chest. Maybe this was it. A last hoorah before Rue was done, gone, another empty, stained corpse in another New York alley. A little joke between Rue and God. He'd never been religious, but it always seemed to crop up when he thought of the end. And then, like it always did, the gentle thought of heaven came to a question of hell, and Rue opened his eyes again. Stop doing that, he told them. I’m not fucking dying.

And so he made his neck right itself, forced his lungs to breathe a rhythm. He stood up, locked his knees and went limp at the hips to let the blood rush to his head, righted himself again. Stumbled to the curb. Looked both ways. A heaviness, a spinning. His legs shook, his stomach tried to crawl up into his ribs, but he felt quite removed from it all, he realized, so it was no bother. A car approaching. Oh, you again, Rue thought. Laughed. What’s that? The buildings were too tall around him, and he felt like an ant. A tiny ant, and then he looked up at the stars and he was just an atom, shrinking, shutting down just like he was meant to, and the car whooshed past. Breeze on his face. Crisp, freezing. He didn't want to feel it, torn back down to Earth, forced to move his sore neck, and then the spinning, his skull hitting the ground, a thump and a crack like thunder and lightning, and then it was storming, and the raindrops were running down his face, metallic on his tongue. He hadn't felt himself fall. And then he guessed that was it.

***

You fucking idiot…

There was a voice mumbling somewhere. A scratching sound. A bright light.

What did you think was gonna fucking happen if you picked out a fucking skeleton…

The voice was angry. Sad, maybe. Rue’s first thought was ridiculous. He considered it for a moment, brushed it away quickly. No, it couldn't be God. God wouldn't have picked him for anything. Or maybe He was talking about someone else? He tried to open his eyes, to see if he still had any, maybe. Did you get to keep your eyes when you died? No point in thinking about it. He blinked. There was no bright light.

Rue.

He took a count of his limbs, moved his fingers, his toes. His head hurt. Badly. There was a thrum in the back of it.

Rue!

Finally, he turned his neck. Michael.

He laughed. Micheal. He was dead, yes. That was for sure, but it didn't matter. He made it to heaven, and in heaven he was on a soft bed, Michael’s bed, Michael’s room recreated to a T, and there was Michael. In front of him, looking at him like the most important thing that existed.

But if this was his own personal heaven– Something was missing. His face fell. He sat up.

“Don?” his voice was crackly, pathetic. His arms hurt, sore for some reason. No, that didn't make sense. Why would heaven hurt?

“Don?” he asked again, panicked, two and two crawling together behind his eyes as his tear ducts threatened to spill over. Michael was still alive, he had to be. Or maybe he died, too, at some point, but that seemed unlikely. So, this Michael was fake, made of heaven dust. But Don was dead. And Don was not here. And here was heaven. Rue let his head drop to his knees, started crying when the realization settled. There was no point in fighting it. No one was watching, technically. Something was blaring behind him.

He turned his head. Michael.

“Jesus Christ, finally!” he heaved, looking at Rue like something was utterly wrong with him.

When Rue looked closer, he realized that Michael did not have wings. His hair was unkempt, his eyes red around the edges. And that made no sense, because that's not how he would look in Rue’s heaven. He blinked.

“I’m not dead?”

“No! You're fucking welcome!” Michael snapped, not really angry, just worn down, eyes wide and staring.

They were on Michael’s bed. In Michael’s room. Rue collected his facts. Stared blankly at the eyes ahead of him, until he narrowed his own. “You saved my life?”

“Yes.”

“You fucking asshole,” Rue said slowly, venomously, though he was sort of smiling. His head hurt. He needed to lie back down.

Michael’s eyes got wider still, his mouth hanging open in shock. He was sort of smiling, too. “What on Earth does that mean?”

Rue crawled back to the pillow that he'd woken up on, stained so red it was nearly black. That made sense. Once he was as comfortable as he could get, he spoke. “There's a lot of reasons. But I should clarify first, this is the happiest that I’ve ever been.” He closed his eyes, smiled.

“Alright. I'm very glad,” Michael said like he was confused, and like he was not used to being confused. It was much different than Rue’s practiced, graceful confusion.

“Anyways, you piece of shit,” Rue mumbled with his eyes closed, reveling in the fabrics that Michael had collected. “I’ve been looking for you for a month.”

“Oh, I’m not easy to find–”

“And!” Rue cut him off. Opened his eyes, smirked for a second. “And yet, somehow you magically found me, a moment from my tragic death.”

“I assumed you'd ask about that. Seth was driving me home and he stopped because someone was bleeding on the sidewalk. At first he didn't know that it was you–”

“Bullshit. You were totally following me.”

Michael furrowed his eyebrows, clenched his jaw like he was preparing to defend himself, so Rue just continued.

“Or having someone follow me, whatever. And that means that you just, like, watched me suffer? Up here in your big fancy silk bed? What the fuck, man?”

Michael looked at him, took a breath. Calmed himself. “Yes.”

Rue’s eyes shot wide, shocked.

Michael raised his eyebrows. “What's that? I’m only confirming what you already believed.”

“I was just saying shit, I didn't think you were actually that fucking phsychotic! What, was there a black limo ten steps behind me at all times or something?”

“It was a dark blue Subaru. A limousine would draw too much attention.”

“So? Explain!”

“Oh, suddenly you give the orders?”

Rue rolled his eyes. “Dude? The last thing I remember is dying on some dirty sidewalk, and a few minutes ago I thought this was heaven. I’m gonna need to get some shit straight.”

“You thought this was heaven?” Michael smiled.

“Fuck you.”

“You're much nicer when you're drunk.”

Rue glared.

“I understand that this is a confusing situation to wake up in. I don't mean to downplay that, I’m only trying to slow you down. You’re badly hurt, if you haven't noticed.”

“Yeah,” Rue said, no shit.

“I’ll help you understand when you can sit up straight, how about that? For now, sleep.”

Rue examined him. There were no signs of cruel intent, not that he could spot. His thoughts were fuzzy, limited to the immediate, the pain, the bed. It was worthless to try to consider his options, and he didn't particularly want to anyways, so he gave up. “Fine,” he sighed, rolled his eyes a little and crawled under the heavy blanket like he was upset about it.

Michael smiled, leant down to brush his hair away and kiss his forehead. His lips were softer than Rue remembered. He melted, smiled back. Kept himself from reaching out and holding Michael to his chest when he turned to walk away. Closed his eyes and listened to the door open, close. Laughed to himself. There was no point in trying to understand, no realization to come to. Michael knew, Michael would tell him when he woke up. He didn't have to think much to know that he trusted that. Michael saved his life, after all. There was something else he did that Rue couldn't quite place suddenly, but he shouldered off the thought and forced himself into an easy sleep.

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

CHAPTER TWO: first draft of the opening :3 there is more but it's worse

The people that lived in the strange mansion on top of the hill didn't have a single worry in the entire world. Behind the tall, beautifully detailed walls, the statues in the driveway, the manicured gardens, and the miles of dense, private forest surrounding them, they were happy. Endless wealth assured that each resident lived to their own standard of comfort, just like they'd been promised. Anything that they wanted, they simply had to ask for it. Anything. A scone for breakfast, or a jet to Japan. All of this, and not one of them lifted a finger to maintain it. Their only job was to use their leisure to its fullest. This wasn't an easy fact for most onlookers to accept. Those graced with the sight insisted that the occupants must be slaves, or secret devil worshipers. Speculation that the house was occupied by a very small, very silent cult traveled in whispers around the city– there were even certain individuals who swore up and down that the luxury on top of the hill could be credited to ritualistic blood sacrifice. And you really couldn't blame them. In reality, only one thing was required from the happy people living in the big, secluded mansion. And even that thing was flexible, because if they could not fulfill it, something had to be terribly wrong.

You will think that it's hyperbolic if I tell you that they had no problems, but there was truly no problem that they couldn't afford to fix. They lounged around with crystal wine glasses hanging from their hands, went wherever they pleased, and spent their time however they could possibly wish to spend it. The deal was simple. The only thing that they owed in return, for all of it, was their love. Michael told them over and over again, any time a doubt developed. He’d explained it very well one day, with everyone gathered around him: I couldn't possibly use all of this on my own, so I’ve chosen to share it with you. This is all ours. It’s a love language, I suppose. I would give you less if I had less to give. And if you continue to love me, all I ask from you is that you share that love, however love comes to you. It's silly to assume that you should work for something that belongs to you already. And they had all nodded and blushed. It was undeniably difficult to accept that there was no catch, but they had no grounds on which to complain. Their lives were perfect. The five people who lived in Michael’s house were happy.

And it was a miracle that they were! Only a year ago Rue had been walking the streets, unaware of exactly what he was on, but strung out nonetheless. Now, he slept on a chinchilla-fur bed in the corner of one of the most expensive living rooms on the east coast. Natalie had spent every day crying in her bedroom about the prospect of the corporate world ahead of her. Cry no more, Michael put her on the stage, her dreams of being a star brought to life in technicolor. Colton had run out of money for train tickets, left stranded in the city, so he’d spent his days on a stolen bike. Now he could lay by the pool, practicing his flips, touching Natalie. And Annika had been happy a year ago, but she’d known that it was all about to fall away under her. Now with Michael’s help she made herself a room so beautiful and safe that she never quite wanted to leave it.

Michael was, for all means and purposes, their savior. A philanthropist, perhaps, though he found the term clunky. The money that they shared belonged to him, but he hadn't earned it. In fact, he'd vowed not to touch it until that very year, letting it rot in scattered bank accounts across the United States and its adjacent islands. And look where it got him when he finally gave in! He'd been foolish to hide from what he was for so long. When they asked, he told his lovers that the funds came from his father's estate, and then he trailed off. It was true. They understood when he asked them not to push any further. When he died, his father had left Michael everything that he’d amassed in the material world, and more as it collected interest. It's funny how fast big numbers crawl, you almost forget where the point is. He could let his lovers go out and spend a million dollars in one place if he wanted. But he didn't tell them that.

There was a sense of reserve carried in the luxury on top of the hill. The cars were parked in a large garage, hidden away. The face of the building almost looked quaint. Cozy. Until you stepped back and realized that it was towering over you, three stories of gently worn wooden panels that were called a mansion for a reason. And was that a stained glass window? Inside, it was no different. A sense of serenity, homeliness, but then you kept walking, and you got lost, and then even more lost as you tried to find your way back through the halls scattered in endless frames that you never seemed to stumble across twice. The people who lived in the mansion on top of the hill did not need excess to be happy. And perhaps they wanted it, and perhaps onlookers would say that they already lived in excess. But they all shared one fund. And each of them knew that the others would say nothing if they began to take more than their share, but they would all know, and things would be wrong because of it. For everyone but Michael, or course. And though he was free to have as much as he wanted, he rarely took advantage of that freedom. The people that lived in the mansion on top of the hill were equals, to an extent. On paper. Out loud.

But the fact could never be shouldered that Michael was in charge. And he could deny it all he wanted, but he took advantage of it when he needed to. In this vein, he chose a nice mansion to move them into, though they already lived in quite a nice mansion. He said very little about it before the purchase was made, and that was fine. And he said very little after he announced it, and he was allowed to. And though they’d hosted highly glorified parties more nights than they hadn't in their old place, Michael chose to close the doors for a while, keep their new address private, stop refilling their liquor cabinet every night, and give the maids a break from the constant chaos. And no one argued, because he had that power. And then they became the strangers on top of the hill.....

that's it folks. thank you a lot of you actually read this far. more to come if I don't burn out and die. let me know if you have any thoughts idk <3

#writing #fiction #hey this animal can talk #my art #ocs

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bangtanloverboys · 4 years

Text

thought trade (ii) // jjk

summary - After so many months knowing who your soulmate is and unable to meet him; you finally do, granted by interrupting a televised interview, but still nonetheless he’s finally in your arms.

pairing - idol!jungkook x gender neutral!reader

genre - fluff; soulmate au

word count - 4.4k

warnings - vmin side pairing, some smooches, general cute stuff, a singular sex joke

author’s note - again reader in this fic is gender neutral, i have no idea if Sejin speacks English or not so lets pretend for the sake of this fic he does

part i

Jungkook pressed another kiss to your lips, then another, and another; not wanting to leave your embrace to go and change. You smiled against his lips and despite every fiber in you telling you to pull him closer and not ever let him go, you gently pushed him away. “You need to get changed,” you laughed lightly as he frowned.

“Changed mind. Later, you are here. More important.” He murmured as he leaned forward to kiss you again, you placed your hand over his mouth.

“I don’t think Jimmy Fallon would like knowing you ditched his interview to make out in his backroom.” You asserted as you pulled your hand away from his mouth.

“The interview you interrupted, so I don’t think he’d mind that much” He rolled his eyes at you. Taking slight offence to that, you lightly smacked his shoulder. “Aye!” He shouted, pouting as he feigned pain.

“Go get changed,” it's your turn to roll your eyes at him. You watched as he scruched up his face in a deeper pout but when he realized it wasn’t going to help he sighed and started walking backwards towards the door, his eyes never leaving your’s.

“Be right back,” he said as he slipped through and out the hallway. You shook your head and chuckled. From the few moments you’ve had alone with him, there’s clearly one thing you can tell about him and that he’s a dork.

As you started to come down from the adrenaline high you were on, the shock of what had happened kicked in. You actually met your soulmate. You met Jungkook. You kissed Jungkook! Holy shit. . .You felt your knees grow weak and let yourself fall onto the couch that was in the small room. You interrupted an interview. One that was going to be on national television. Fuck. What was ARMY going to think of you . . .

You pull your phone from your pocket and open twitter and sure enough, despite the interview not being live, there was still ARMY in the audience and 9.99 times out of 10 they had twitter. When you opened the app, it wasn’t surprising to see JUNGKOOK SOULMATE trending once again. Should you click on it? They were awfully protective of their boys so you don’t know how they’d react to you. Especially being one of their soulmates.

Against your better judgement, you clicked on the tag and you could feel yourself tense up as the page loads. The first tweet you see has your heart melting. ‘IM AT JIMMY FALLON AND JUNGKOOK’S SOULMATE WAS HERE AND THEY MET AND HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT THAT WAS THE CUTEST FUCKING THING IM-’ You kept scrolling and surprisingly, all you see are a bunch of comments about how cute the moment was and how surprising it was.

You’re not sure how long you sat there, scrolling and reading the messages but soon enough the door opened and there’s Jungkook looking down at you. He’s dressed in normal clothes, his face is now free of any sort of makeup. His world famous bunny smile is exposed as he quickly shut the door and made his way to sit next to you. You lock your phone and put it away as he took your hands in his and laced your fingers together. You watched him as he just stared and played with your hands before looking back at you. Maybe it’s the soulmate thing but the love you see in his eyes instantly relaxes you. You’ve felt as if you’ve known him your whole life despite only being physically together for a few minutes.

“Hi,” your voice is barely a whisper as you feel yourself get lost in his eyes.

“Hi,” he responded. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the tip of your nose and smiled. “Car outside, you ready?” You nodded and Jungkook stood up, pulling you up with him. “Let’s go!” he cheered as he pulled you along with him and down the long winding hallways. You definitely would’ve gotten lost if you were alone back here. When you come across an exit there’s a handful of people who you can only assume are some of the BigHit staff members. Oh shit, they probably aren’t that happy with you. But they don’t do anything as Jungkook tugged you along and into a car garage where a black SUV was waiting for the two of you.

He pulled open the backseat and gestured for you to get in first; so you do and Jungkook followed in after. The door slammed shut and the car started moving. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, still taking in what just happened.

“How much Korean do you know?” Jungkook asked, looking at you curiously. The language barrier was going to be a bit difficult to get around, you figured that soon as you started talking in Korean. While your Korean wasn’t that great, you knew the basics and hopefully that was a start.

“Basic stuff, not a lot,” you gave him a nervous chuckle, scared that it might cause any sort of problem. But he simply nodded in understanding, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s okay, we’ll get through it.” With those words said, the car went back into silence as the driver took you to the hotel where you assumed they were all staying. Either you phased out during the drive or it was really short because next thing you know the car was pulling into the parking garage of a very luxurious looking building. Once the car has stopped, the two of you climbed out of the car and you’re being escorted to what you assume is the staff elevator.

You remained quiet as you heard some of the staff members follow you into the elevator and you barely catch some of what they are saying; something about contracts and the schedule. Jungkook dismissed them all, saying how all that should matter right now is the fact his soulmate is with him and that’s all that mattered at the current moment. All while he said that, he kept his eyes focused on you and you swear you could feel your face get hotter.

When the elevator stopped on a higher floor, slowly you all filed out and down the hallway. Jungkook however, once free of the confines of the tight space, grabbed your hand once again and bolted down the hallway. The two of you erupted into laughter as you heard the staff call out after you but it was no use as Jungkook was pretty fast. You have no idea how you’re able to keep up with him but soon as you could feel your lungs begin to burn, he stopped in front of what you assume to be his hotel room. While you lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath you see Jungkook fish for his room key.

Door to room open, the two of you quickly enter the room and you take in how surprisingly neat the room is. You slowly made your way over to the window and pulled back the curtain a little bit, taking in the New York City skyline. Keeping your eyes out on the horizon, you felt Jungkook snake his arms around your waist again and hold you close as he possibly can. Your hands meet his around you and you trace circles along his knuckles. The two of you don’t feel any need to speak, just simply enjoying each other's presence.

After several moments, Jungkook began to take steps backwards, pulling you along with him. “Legs tired,” he muttered in your ear as he sat down on the bed, pulling you on to his lap as well.

“Wouldn’t this hurt your legs more?” You laughed, trying to remove yourself from his lap to sit beside him on the bed, but his grip wouldn’t loosen.

“Worth it,” he muttered, hugging you tighter. You turned to face him and take in all the fine details of his face. Nothing, and you mean nothing, can compare to the beautiful face that is Jeon Jungkook’s. No amount of videos or high definition photos could have prepared you enough for this very moment. You placed your hand against his cheek, tracing your thumb along his cheekbones. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. Leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, then another to his cheek, then his nose, then a quick one on his lips.

You felt him smile against your lips and before you could pull away, he pulled you down to lay on the bed completely, keeping his mouth on yours. The sudden movement however didn’t quite go as planned as you ended up bonking heads. You hissed in pain before rolling off of him, holding your forehead gently.

“Ah! You okay?” He asked, leaning over you and placing his hand over yours.

“I’m okay,” you assured him. “Might have a bump, but okay.”

“Ice? You need ice?” Before you could even respond, he stood up and made his way over to the bathroom, he disappeared for a moment before returning with a towel. You watch as he goes over to the mini fridge where he pulls out the ice bucket, already filled with ice. He probably got it last night you assumed and was saving it for something, probably not this though. Grabbing a handful of ice and wrapping it in the towel, he made his way back over to you on the bed, now sitting up at the foot of the bed. “Here.” He handed the improvised ice pack over to you and you nod in thanks, pressing it to where your head hurts.

“What about you? You got hit as well.” Not wanting him to end up with a bruise barely an hour into meeting him.

He waved you off. “Thick skull,” he chuckled, knocking his fist against his skull as if to demonstrate his head’s durability. He truly was a dork, you thought to yourself.

He opened his mouth to say something and you watched as Jungkook muttered a ‘be right back’ before jogging over to the door. He gave a quick look into the peephole before letting out a groan and opening it. You could barely hear him and who you assume is a manager at the door talking, you manage to catch the words ‘soulmate’, ‘contract’, and ‘press reveal’ so it doesn’t take much to figure out it’s about you. God it was a good idea at the moment, but maybe you should’ve waited until after the interview was done. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in such a mess.

You were pulled from your thoughts as you hear Jungkook return alongside another pair of footsteps, looking up you see the manager you recognize as Sejin. They’re talking quietly as they walked over to you. You give them both a small smile, pulling down the makeshift ice pack from your head.

“Hello Y/N,” Sejin started. “Now, I know that you didn’t mean to interrupt the interview and entire schedule but that’s past us now. Only thing now is the fact that you revealed yourself in front of the audience, composed mostly of fans. Word is already getting out so we just need you to fill out a couple contracts and non disclosure agreements. We just need your word that you’ll keep whatever is going on between the two of you to yourself and not sell information to the public. Also as Jungkook’s soulmate, you’re now also exposed to possibly safety concerns so this is also a contract that will place you under our protection. We’ve done this for all soulmates within BTS.” He explained everything as he handed the contract over to you to look over.

Sure to his word, everything he said was on the contracts handed to you. You look at Jungkook and he nodded to you, giving you the silent confirmation that nothing bad will happen. Since it was with all BTS soulmates, guessing how Jin has a soulmate and was kept safe and out of the public, you felt more comfortable.

You nodded to Sejin before standing up and walking over to the desk and starting signing. As you signed, you couldn’t help but wonder who else in BTS had found their soulmate? And what was their soulmate system like? Did they have tattoos? Hear each other's thoughts? Many different thoughts and questions rang through your head as you signed and initialed the paperwork. Once you finished, you handed the paperwork back to Sejin and he thanked you.

“Another thing, with the Jimmy Fallon interview, we have the option to deny it and have the audience members sign NDAs. Fallon has already agreed that if necessary he won’t have the footage released in the interview. However this one will be difficult as the story seems to have already leaked onto twitter and gossip sites have started reporting on this.” That option seemed the safest route, but then again there was already tweet and articles circling, they know what you look like. Would BigHit’s word be enough to hide you? “The other option is to confirm it, but with that comes your personal safety and privacy risks.”

While Sejin was talking, you tugged at a loose thread in your shirt, playing with it between your fingers as you thought through the options. Neither seemed ideal, you either have to lie to the world about who your soulmate is or risk everything for him. Both leave a weird sinking feeling in your gut.

Looking to Jungkook, he seemed to be deep in thought. You could read every thought on his face. He clearly deserved to have a sense of normalcy and privacy when it came to his soulmate, but he also loved ARMY and wanted to show you off and talk about you to them.

“Confirm it.” He said, “ARMY already knows.”

“Jungkook, are you sure?” Sejin questioned him while you looked at him, baffled he was considering the option. You’d learned pretty quickly that it’s very taboo that idols even talk about their soulmates, let alone reveal them to their fanbase. Especially with one as huge as the BTS ARMY. “What about the footage, do you want to release that as well?”

“Yes. ARMY knows and will have to respect them. Like they do with me.” He affirmed, standing firm in his words. Sejin nodded and gave a quick bow before excusing himself from the room. Leaving the two of you alone once again. “You okay?”

“I’m okay.” You smiled at him, you moved to lay down on the bed. You yawned a bit and shook your head, all the excitement plus the fact you woke up pretty early to get ready for Jimmy Fallon catching up to you pretty fast. “I’m tired.” You sighed as you maneuver yourself to rest your head on the very fluffy hotel pillows. You heard Jungkook chuckle at you as he walked over to you. You watched him through hooded eyes as he removed your shoes, hearing him mutter in Korean about getting the bed dirty. He then followed suit and laid down on the bed next to you.

Automatically, you slot yourself in his embrace keeping your face pressed against his chest. Jungkook wrapped his arms around your torso, you feel as if he’s trying to keep you closer even though you’re as close as you possibly can. You feel your eyes drifted close, feeling completely at peace.

“Jungkook,” you slurred. He hummed in response. “The other guys, have they met their soulmates?” You inquired as you sleepily trace circles into his chest.

“Jin-hyung met his a few years ago. Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung are each other’s.” You feel the vibrations of his response against your cheek. “The rest are still looking.” It was your turn to hum. So Jungkook was now 4/7 members that have found their soulmate. It was a bit of a surprise to learn that Jimin and Taehyung were soulmates, but a lot of their fanbase had already called them soulmates so it was only a matter of if they publicly confirmed it or not.

Little by little, you nodded off as Jungkook hummed a song that sounded fairly familiar but you don’t seem to care at any sort of moment. Jungkook was here and he was all that mattered at this moment.

You’re woken up by the sound of a doorbell ringing profusely. You groaned at the interruption of sleep and felt Jungkook shift in the bed. “Nooo,” you made grabby hands for him as he trudged off to see who was at the door. Sitting up, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You immediately realized the two of you must’ve slept for a few hours because it was now dark outside. You looked over to the clock on the bedside table and it’s about 8 pm. You sighed and flopped back on the pillows as you heard Jungkook talk to what seemed to be several voices, you think he’s trying to get them to leave but he obviously failed as the next thing you know there’s a bunch of new people in the room. More specifically, all of BTS are now in the hotel room.

“Hello!” Jimin jumped on the bed next to you, waving both hands. You must have a very startled look on your face as he’s laughing at you, his eyes disappearing behind his smile.

“Sorry, they want to. . .meet you.” Jungkook huffed as he walked back over to you. “Get off.” Jungkook shoved Jimin away from you, resuming the spot where he was previously.

Jin yelled in Korean not to be rude to his elders, but his raised voice had now fully woken you from your sleepy state of mind. “Oh! Sorry!” He apologized.

“It’s okay.” He gave you a small smile before sitting down on the other bed.

“Jungkookie, why is there a wet towel on the ground?” Namjoon raising a brow at the two of you.

Yoongi smirked at the two of you, he muttered something under his breath but you don’t catch it.

Taehyung however did catch it and laughed as he spoke, he’s speaking a bit too fast for you to catch but you do hear ‘sex’ and ‘horny’ and almost instantaneously you felt your face and tips of your ears burn.

“Get mind out of gutter!” Jungkook shouted, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at the two. Taehyung managed to duck away but Yoongi didn’t see it coming and was hit square in the face. The rest of the room burst into laughter, including you. Still embarrassed however, you move to hide your face into Jungkook’s shoulder.

“We bumped heads earlier. . .” You mumbled, trying to explain the towel situation.

“Bumped heads doing what?” Hoseok insinuated, clearly not moving on from the topic of sex. God, he really was one of the pervy ones.

You narrowed your eyes at him, now taking the second pillow behind you and throwing it at the dancer. He squealed and jumped before the pillow even had a chance to hit him. You all, including Hoseok, laughed at his reaction. You even catch him muttering how the two of you really are soulmates from how you both abuse them all.

The rest of the evening is spent with the 8 of you enjoying some room service (it was at this moment you remembered how rich they all were. While normally you aren’t ashamed of your financial status, you didn’t want Jungkook to think you only cared about him for his money. Which he immediately put to rest saying he had more money than he could ever need and was more than happy to dote on you when it’s needed), you asked them all the questions you’ve had as you learned since realizing your soulmate was Jungkook and they in turn asked you questions from the weird things Jungkook has said. Explaining the thought you had about shoving chicken nuggets up your boss’s ass was never something you thought you’d ever tell world famous sensations.

You even got to learn more about their Jin’s soulmate and their soulmate systems. Jin’s was the fact his hair color changed alongside his soulmate’s (who was a florist named Chun-hei), and was the reason why he dyed his hair on his own once with all those different colors.

Jimin and Taehyung both started seeing color once they saw each other, but as Jimin turned 20 before Taehyung, he only saw black and white for a few hours when he woke up but soon as he saw Taehyung the world was colored again. Jimin said he kept it to himself until Taehyung’s birthday a few months later, wanting to be absolutely sure.

Namjoon has a fairly common one being a date on his ribcage, displaying the exact time he will meet his soulmate. It’s not for another year and a half though, but you can tell he’s looking forward to it.

You also learn that Yoongi has heterochromia, so his right eye is his soulmate's eye color, which is hazel. He voiced that it’s a pain wearing a singular colored contact sometimes and how he sometimes does have to edit the selcas he posts to twitter and weverse.

Hoseok’s system is that in concept is similar to your’s and Jungkook’s but in reality is much different. He and his soulmate share pain so often when he dances he has to be very careful about how hard he pushes himself because he doesn’t want to end up hurting them as they do often work themselves to the point of exhaustion.

Once all your stories are told, Jungkook realized that it’s almost time for their Jimmy Fallon interview to be released. You glance at the clock and sure enough it was almost 11:35 pm. You watched as Taehyung grabbed the remote and flipped to the NBC channel just in time for Jimmy to start talking.

The eight of you get yourselves situated in the hotel room as the show started. You’re in between Jungkook’s legs, laying against his chest. Jimin and Tae are the same next to you. Jin and Namjoonare seated on two chairs they pulled up to sit next to the foot of the bed. Yoongi and Hoseok are both sitting at the foot of the other bed, waiting patiently.

The interview continued as normal at first, per everything you remember. It almost felt like the interview happened days ago, not a mere few hours. When Jimmy started asking about soulmates, you felt Jungkook’s grip on you tighten. This was it. The moment before it all seems to go down. When Namjoon was in the middle of speaking you felt the tension level rise up as the Jungkook on the screen yelled out “I’M HERE!” It was at that moment you really see all of their reactions to Jungkook’s blurt, they almost all seem to have their eyes bulged from their heads. Besides Namjoon and Taehyung, who’s jaws had literally dropped

The cameras quickly panned over to the audience as they looked around for who was the one that had him say that. You were more in the back so it wasn’t likely they caught you at all, and you were right, no singular shot of you, unlike a few other ARMYs who were screaming it was them. You weren’t that upset though, because the best part was about to come.

The silence that came over the audience as Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut came through and passed into the hotel room, despite you all knowing what happened next you all held your breath. Then the moment when you yelled came on (Jimin scolded Jungkook for having you yell out that he eats raw eggs which he assured you isn’t true), the camera whipped in your direction but they barely had any time to catch a shot of you as you were already running towards the stage.

The only good full shot they had of you was when you ran into Jungkook’s arms and he spun you around. It felt like a movie. You have the exact moment of meeting your soulmate on camera and watching it feels like an out of body experience almost. As you suspected, when you and Jungkook started crying and hugging the rest of the boys, including Jimmy, joined in. You were so wound up in that moment that you didn’t hear Jimmy say that they’ll be right back as the camera panned around the shot of all of BTS surrounding you and Jungkook in a hug.

“That felt intense,” you laughed a bit at how you slowly felt your body relaxing after the soulmate bit.

“Yeah, it’s crazy though. It’s very brave of you to let yourself be open with ARMY as well, thank you.” Namjoon said, looking over his shoulder to you. “Especially with how. . . well known they are amongst other internet groups.”

“Of course, I have no qualms with it at all. If you guys love ARMY, then I too have to love ARMY as well. They’re just as much a part of Jungkook as I am.” You gave a shy smile, Jungkook’s grip on you tightened a bit more and he kissed the side of your head, silently appreciating the comment you made.

The rest of the interview without Jungkook goes a bit smoothly, Namjoon explaining the situation as “The two of them are with management now” and ending it at that. Not talking any further about it, which you do appreciate from him keeping your privacy.

Pretty soon it was midnight and Taehyung said something about going back to his room to go on VLIVE. One by one the guys slowly leave Jungkook’s room to do their own thing, leaving the two of you alone once again.

“Soooo,” you started, drawing out the last syllable. “What happens now?” Were you to go to Korea with him now? Stay and have a long distance relationship?

“What do you want to happen?” Jungkook looked at you with a curious look in his eye. It’s your decision.

“I want. . .to be with you. . .” Your gut doing a bunch of twists and turns, the mere thought about moving to another country was terrifying. But now that you had Jungkook, you couldn’t just let him go.

“Then stay,” he grabbed your hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

You stared into his dark brown eyes and all the anxieties you had: ARMY’s reaction, moving, the future, it all melts away. All you saw in his eyes was love and that’s all that you needed from him.

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thirsthourdemon · 4 years

Text

Tea party headcanon

Includes: All obey me characters except solomon, and barbatos

Genre: Fluff

Tags: Fluff, Tea party theme, Pink Pastry and Pekoe Parlour! Au, general

A/N: This is a celebration cause I happen to like my new formatting. If anyone wants to be added to the taglist then just send in an ask please!

||Lucifer

-He’s actually the one that invites you and the brothers to the tea party.

-Makes sure everyone is at least properly dressed

-A mother of 7 children cause that includes you 😌

-Hates it here the moment levi said he’d wear something from some anime about a ‘demon’ butler, mammon saying that he did NOT steal the precious fine china set and beel having that look on his face that says “If I dont eat everything on the damn table, Im eating everyone else.”

-Either drink pure black coffee or chamomile

-if He drinks an ocean of chamomile but no amount of ‘calming’ tea can help save this poor stressed demon who just thought he could finally get a small break and have a lovely afternoon tea with diavolo.

-I wont be surprised if he’s even payed 200,000 grim worth of damage on the place due to his whole family

-Satan thought it was a good idea to exchange salt with sugar but he avoided this cause he...he looked into satan’s eyes while he drank his bitter black coffee with no sugar or cream.

||Mammon

-Gold laced bone china that costs about 500 grim a cup? Sold.

-He didn’t want to go but apparently he saw something that had caught his eye ❤️

-He was always invited to be the man servant at the witches’ tea parties so he kinda thought it was boring

-Did not realize how much he liked fruit teas until he came here

-Did not bother to even wear anything fancy as requested😤

-Probably tried stealing some stuff 😔

-He is on his 3rd cup of fruit tea and the orange chiffon cake but STILL denies that he liked being there.

-Chiffon cake is his thing but he will never admit that so instead he goes for regular old bread

-Defensive over paying the bill but he gives in a bit cause lucifer had to pay for the fucking stuff he stole 😤

-Was fucked with cause diavolo was actually paying and not them

||Leviathan

-Im sorry...sebastian michaelis who? I only know levi in a stuffy butler suit

-Speak like he’s talking to his masters but still trash talks mammon

-“I thumb my nose to you, unrefined scum.”

-For some reason...I cannot stress this enough...He loves...Lolita tea parties.

-Probably a Lizzie fan from Black buttler

-He strikes me as the type to drink matcha or a classic earl grey for the aesthetic but drinks bladderwack tea due to how common it is when he was at sea

-he drinks his tea in a typical lolita designed porcelain tea cup and is charmed by it so he takes 50 photos of the set for his live journalng blog.

||Satan

-A refined gentleman who wore appropriate clothing and brought a book

-He brought a little sacket or his own spice

-He usually drinks chamomile to calm down but occassionally drinks lattes but this time since it was a tea party he settled on...wait for it...

-Ethiopian spiced tea! More specifically Cardamom milk tea in the hottest temprature it can handle

-Him and asmo like their teas hot

-Satan makes me think that he goes for finger sandwiches instead of cakes or pastries.

-Has a book with him and actually his books have tea leaves in them as well because he likes the book smell with the Lapsang Souchung tea

-The ideal guest until he tried to play a prank on lucifer

||Asmodeus

-would you believe me if I told you he walked in there wearing slim dark slacks, creamy white silked dress shirt and a pastel plum ribbon tie that makes me drool?

-OF COURSE YOU WOULD IT’S ASMO 😤

-He looks gorgeous and he knows it! And every waiter/guest there is trying to get his number! 🥺

-I can see him originally drinking assam tea but he switches between that and a very specific order of butterfly pea flower tea with 1 cube of white sugar, 1 mint leaf within a minimalistic see-through tea set

-definetely a fan of berliner or a good chilled charlotte

-Indulges in conversations with simeon, solomon, barbatos and luke like the classy boys they are

-Drinking their tea like that, gossipping like mid 19th century wives in england

-probably laughs at the more energetic people

-Has the other guests at the parlour just senting him in something sweet only for their hearts to be crushed as asmo hands the sweet gifts to his sweet beloved younger brother

||Beelzebub

-You know why he’s here

-Asmo’s personal pastry trash can

-Hungry baby is eating a whole cake by himself ❤️

-Living the dream on his 4th cake btw

-Likes Cannoli sicillianis and Chou à la crème A.K.A profiterole or french cream puffs! He likes custard inside it

-He’s not very picky on his food but he does refuse to drink matcha tea without milk

-The type to be drinking something like dandelion root tea or peppermint tea

-This is the reason he can eat food faster. Please stop him. Please.

-Surprisingly even though he doesnt like matche he keeps green tea so he can gives some to belphie to help keep him awake.

-He tries to wear something nice so...Hahahaha Enjoy beel in a thick dark blue sweater

-He cant contain his cute little hair 🥺

-Uses a tea cup the same size as a mug and a dinner plate instead of a dessert plate

-Gets destracted by the pretty flowers and thinks of lilith ✨

||Belphegor

-Im sorry...Private booth with a couch please?

-He likes nuts cause they make up for his lack of serotonin and plus sleepy

-His tea is either chamomile to calm him or something like green tea to wake him up

-Only drinks green tea that beel gives cause beel knows exactly what to wake belphie up with

-He’s old fashioned he likes his tea in a some porcelain or clay though a preference is not a requirment

-Sleepy boy like private booths and resting himself on beel who’s just munching away but when he’s awake he does join the mid 19th century wives group

-Talks shit about most of the brother, except beel cause beel though a demon is still angelic.

-Has a great time there cause he’s reminded of when him and his twins were playing tea parties

-Does not dress for the occassion cause who gives a fuck

-Has told stories or at least recalled the times that lilith has made them pretend there was tea in the cup while they tried to point out that there was in fact none

||Simeon

-Polite boy that helps set up some of the servers and praises them

-ASSAM TEA YOU CANT CONVINCE ME ON THIS. He loves the taste honestly and he thinks he likes it so much more when there’s milk with it. Likes 1 cube of sugar on it and likes it bit more on the hotter side.

-Another one who enjoys sandwiches more than pastries though please dont tell luke.

-Likes the tea party so much that he wants to host one with luke so they can invite micheal and the other angels.

-Wears something nice but still a bit more appropriate.

-Probably the next host for the tea party

-does not shit talk or gossip bad stuff be he likes to join the conversations

-Adores watching luke pick flowers at the indoor garden

||Luke

-He is such a grateful person that he also brings his own sugar cookies ❤️

-He likes scones!!!! he likes em with lots of cream and blueberries

-The type to drink some sweet tea however he swears by candyleaf as the ultimate drink for him. If there’s no candy leaf though he can always go for fruit teas and something that kicks like orange blossom sponge cakes 🥺

-Dont look at me like he wouldnt play with the flowers and explore the indoor gardens while simeon calls him and he’s already back with sweet butterflies crowding him like the most adorable angel ever

-Joins the adult table cause...h-he’s...he’s old enough 🥺��👈 (It’s really cause simeon needs to take care of him)

-He might not like devildom but he can say that the ambiance in that place wasnt absolutely breathtaking

-Wants to recreate the sweets here as well

||Diavolo

-The host of the party and is currently tending to everyone in conversation

-He thinks he should do these more often due to how successful they are in bringing everyone together

-Brought barbatos cause only barbatos can make his special tea since the ingridients are rare to fine

-His tea? Bolivia black✨his tastes are complex yes I know

-goes on board with orange food and dark chocolate. He is so exquisite, bro. An orange-scented short bread with finely tempered dark chocolate is the best thing he pairs with that black tea.

-Has a grand time trying to give luci some of his sweet shortbread but ultimately the other demon refuses 😔

-Just fucking say yes, luci. Stop being a pussy already

Taglist: @yamaguchi-stan (Special thanks to her for my knowledge in this stuff),

#Obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me belphegor x reader #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me: shall we date?#obey me brothers #obey me shall we date #obey me beelzebub #obey me x reader

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goldencuffs · 5 years

Note

I'M HORRIBLE AT PROMPTS. laurent trying to do something really nice for damen&it kind of goes to hell but damen loves him so much&can't quit loving on him for it all? or laurent goes to some university&everyone thinks he's gorgeous but he's kind of a bitch&when he tells them he has a boyfriend everyone is like yeah right then damen comes to pick him up, looking hotter than anyone has any right to be&laurent melts with him? i'll read literally anything you write, it could be a n y t h i n g

@marrieddorkss im so so so sorry this took so fucking long lmao my god. im a mess. hopefully you still like it?? and it isnt such a fucking disaster lol??

Summary: Laurent decides to do something nice for Damen – and then immediately regrets it.

When Laurent comes back from his last class of the day, it’s to find Damen standing outside his dorm room, wearing a nice, oversized tank top and fraying shorts. The duffle bag by his feet is packed full; Laurent can see the sides of it are lumpy.

“Hey.” Damen’s smile is pleasant. It transforms his face and makes him look younger, despite the stubble growing across his face.

Laurent smiles too. “Hello,” he says, and when he’s close enough, he rests his hands on Damen’s hips and goes on his tiptoes to kiss his nose.

Damen’s smile widens, the creases by his eyes deepening. He scans Laurent’s face intently. “I’m guessing that your presentation went well?”

“It went well,” Laurent says. He pauses. “Actually, it went very well. I managed to answer every single question at the end.”

Damen wraps his arms around Laurent’s shoulders in a tight squeeze. “Fuck yeah!” He cheers. His enthusiasm is genuine, and it makes Laurent’s face heat.

“It’s not that big of a deal – I’m sure there are other people who did way better.”

“Stop that,” says Damen. He kisses Laurent’s forehead. “You killed it; I know you did.”

Laurent doesn’t answer. He just tips his head up in a silent request. Damen’s smile softens around the edges, and then he leans down to kiss Laurent fully on his mouth.

The kiss heats up quickly, as usual. Damen licks inside his mouth with vigour, his hand moving down Laurent’s back to grip his ass. Laurent moans into it, tugging on the front of Damen’s shirt to pull him closer.

Damen’s cock is already hard; it presses up against the inside of Laurent’s thigh in a slow, teasing drag. Laurent shifts his own hips forward, his body tight with anticipation.

A door slams shut at the end of the corridor and Damen detaches himself from Laurent in a measured pace, realising at the same moment Laurent does, that they’re in a very open, public setting.

“Come inside,” Laurent tells him.

Damen squeezes his ass again. “Here?” His smirk is sharp and arrogant.

Laurent hates how much he likes it.

He doesn’t let Damen know that though; instead, he rolls his eyes and drags Damen inside to his dorm room. It’s far from its usual pristine condition; Laurent hasn’t made his bed in a week, his dirty clothes are in a pile by the door and his desk is overflowing with papers, textbooks and plastic wrappers from food he’s bought lately.

Laurent grimaces at the mess. Damen doesn’t seem to mind, or even acknowledge it; he flings himself onto the single bed with as much ease as he can, hauling his duffle bag up with him.

“What’s in there?” Laurent asks.

The duffle bag is an expensive, leather one. For years, it had sat alone and dusty in the Revere’s garage, until Laurent had gifted it to Damen over the summer. Now, it’s used constantly; Damen takes it with him to classes and football practice and is rarely seen without it. He takes good care of it too: he diligently cleans it once a week and keeps it stored in his closet, away from sunlight.

Damen waggles his eyebrows in response to Laurent’s question. He sits up again and opens it with an exaggerated amount of fanfare, slowly inching the zipper in small tugs.

It’s amusing; it shouldn’t be, but almost everything Damen does makes Laurent laugh. He likes that.

Inside the lining of the bag, the tag is visible. It used to simply read ‘Revere’, but someone – probably Nikandros – has added, with marker, an apostrophe and the word ‘bitch’, so the entire thing says: ‘Revere’s bitch’.

Laurent also likes that.

Laurent doesn’t focus too long on the tag. The contents of the bag are much more appealing: there’s an assortment of treats packed haphazardly inside. Laurent can see chip packets, chocolate, tubs of ice cream and a four pack of Krispy Kreme donuts.

Laurent taps the lid of one of the ice cream containers; it’s sea salt, his favourite. “Did you rob a grocery store? Is this your first step into the tantalising world of crime?”

Damen’s shrug is uncharacteristically shy. His fingers are still toying with the zipper, but he still manages to look Laurent in the eye as he says, “They’re for you. I figured – depending on how your presentation goes – they’d either be celebratory snacks or conciliatory ones.”

Laurent smiles. There’s a sudden, pressing warmth in his chest. “Really,” he says, touched.

Damen is still shy; it’s a strange yet endearing look on him.

Laurent’s smile doesn’t waver. He pushes the duffle bag a little, so it ends up against the wall, rather than between them. He crosses the now empty space, shifting closer to Damen until Laurent manages to straddle his lap, knees digging into the hard mattress below.

He presses a soft kiss to the corner of Damen’s mouth. He keeps his mouth there, against the stubble across Damen’s jaw, and says: “Thank you. I love how thoughtful you are.”

Damen swallows, eyes darkening. His hands rest on Laurent’s hips. His touch is deceptively light.

This time, Laurent initiates the kiss. He keeps it slow, the way he favours, and Damen lets him. His hands begin to wander over Laurent’s body; even when they’re not fucking, Laurent has come to learn that Damen likes to touch him constantly.

When Damen’s hands settle on Laurent’s ass once more, Laurent shifts his hips a little. Damen’s other hand drops to cup Laurent’s ass cheek.

Laurent’s gasp is a quiet sound; most of it is swallowed by Damen’s mouth.

They begin a slow, steady rut. It reminds Laurent of the first time they did this, a few months ago in a secluded booth in Route, the small club down the road from their campus.

Laurent didn’t know Damen too well at the time, but he was always petering around the Student Life office, where Laurent had been volunteering on and off throughout the semester. He wasn’t sure what Damen did there: sometimes he volunteered to help with administrative tasks, but mostly, from what Laurent saw, Damen seemed to just want to hang around him.

They formed a tentative, shallow relationship that consisted of very poor flirting on Laurent’s part and a lot of unprecedented confidence on Damen’s.

It was obvious to everyone how much Damen wanted to fuck Laurent; he always looked half crazed every time Laurent so much as looked at him. Laurent found that he didn’t exactly mind it; Damen was attractive, receiving his attention was heady, and it wasn’t as though Laurent was swimming in proposals.

So, when Damen had asked him to hang out at Route with him on a Saturday night, Laurent had said yes, fully expecting the outcome of the evening.

Still, Damen had seemed surprised when, after two drinks, Laurent climbed into his lap. Their first kiss had been relatively innocent: just a short, chaste peck. Then Laurent, spurred on by the alcohol, deepened it. Damen responded eagerly, pulling closer Laurent and licking into his mouth with a shocking amount of indecency.

After a while, he’d pulled back. His eyes had been so dark, and he’d gazed at Laurent with awe.

Laurent had said: “If you’re going to keep looking at me like that, you might as well just fuck me here.”

Damen had inhaled sharply; even with all the noise around them, Laurent still managed to hear it.

Twenty minutes later, Laurent had been pressed down into his mattress as Damen licked him open for his cock.

As he’d pushed into him for the first time, Damen panted into his ear, “Fuck, I don’t usually do this on a first date.”

Laurent had laughed.

Afterwards, Laurent had thought he wouldn’t see much of Damen anymore. He knew how one night stands worked. He suspected that now that Damen had been inside him – more than once, actually – he would stop loitering around the Student Life office.

That didn’t happen. Instead, Damen seemed more persistent to hang around Laurent. Laurent let it happen. By this point, he’d grown fond of Damen, the way someone might feel fond over a stray puppy that constantly showed up at their door.

Besides, as the weeks wore on, Laurent discovered that as well as being extremely sexually compatible, Damen and he were also compatible outside of bed; they became fast friends, much to the bemusement of everyone else.

It’s amazing how far they’ve come, Laurent thinks. He doesn’t think he’s been so comfortable with anyone in his entire life.

Now, in the silence of his bedroom, Damen’s lips drag across Laurent’s neck. Laurent shivers, fingers running over Damen’s shoulders. He’s careful as he tugs off Damen’s shirt. Damen’s chest is marvellous – it’s all sculpted pecs and hard planes. There’s a tattoo of a lion roaring on his right pec. It’s the most obnoxious thing Laurent has ever seen, and the first time Laurent had seen it, he’d licked it. He might’ve felt stupid about it at the time, but that feeling quickly evaporated when Damen’s hips stuttered, and he’d spilled his release inside Laurent.

Once Damen’s shirt comes off, the need to get naked becomes a priority for both of them. Damen rolls Laurent onto his back after Laurent takes off his own shirt, mouthing over his collarbone, his nipples, his bellybutton, and then his hipbone.

Laurent is quick to unbuckle his belt when Damen kisses the waistband of his jeans.

Damen is always meticulous in preparing him. It doesn’t matter if it’s been five minutes or five days since they last fucked, Damen never rushes. Laurent’s given up on trying to coax him to be faster.

Laurent’s knee jerks a little when Damen’s fingers, covered in cold lube, circle around his rim in sure strokes. Damen kisses the inside of his thigh, then the crease of his groin as Laurent pants. When his finger breaches Laurent, Laurent turns his head into the pillow, moaning against the silk fabric.

“Please,” he says quietly, and Damen groans, long and loud. He likes it when Laurent begs, a fact that makes Laurent flush.

Damen continues fingering him. The sounds are disgusting, wet and sloppy. Laurent doesn’t understand why he likes it so much.

Finally, finally, Damen pulls away. Laurent’s fingers twist the bedsheets in anticipation. He knows he’s flushed all over; he can feel the colour vining across the bridge of his nose and down his chest.

Damen’s cockhead drags down his crease. It makes Laurent delirious.

“Yeah?” says Damen. His hand grips the base of his cock and his eyes are fixed on Laurent, like he can’t bear to look away. Laurent knows the feeling; Damen looks so good like this.

“Yes,” says Laurent, in Veretian.

That makes Damen groan again. He only gets louder as he pushes into Laurent. Laurent’s eyes go cross eyed at the initial stretch. He loves this: the initial pain of Damen’s cock entering him.

“God, Laurent.” Damen grunts as he starts thrusting, biting down on the column of Laurent’s neck.

“Yeah, fuck me,” Laurent says. His hands slide down Damen’s sweaty back. “Harder – please, I need it.”

“Fuck,” Damen gasps as he complies. He lifts his head from the crook of Laurent’s shoulder and kisses him.

Laurent keens into it. He wraps his legs around Damen’s waist, murmuring encouragements in Veretian against Damen’s mouth.

Damen’s thrusts start to get shallow; his rhythm isn’t synced, but it still makes Laurent’s toes curl.

“Good?” Damen says. His biceps are straining with effort.

“You know it is,” Laurent says.

“I like the confirmation,” Damen says with that terrible smirk, and Laurent closes his eyes and lets himself take it.

Damen comes first. He’s loud when it happens; Laurent is sure his neighbours hate him.

His cock is straining against his stomach when Damen pulls out. Laurent flushes when he feels the wetness inside him, and he darkens further when Damen pulls his ass cheeks apart, watching in awe as his come dribbles out of Laurent’s hole.

“Don’t touch your cock,” says Damen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Laurent arches his back when Damen’s mouth seals over his hole.

Damen slips his tongue in easily, licking into Laurent with enthusiasm. Laurent shakes under his grip. Damen’s stubble rubs against his skin, and Laurent knows it’s steadily pinkening.

He feels on edge. His cock is so hard it hurts. He pulls on Damen’s curls desperately, and Damen buries into him deeper.

Laurent’s mouth falls open. His quiet panting fills the room, joining the cacophony of sounds Damen’s mouth produces as he eats him out.

Laurent feels like crying. He almost asks Damen to stop because it’s too much, too much, too much.

Then Damen slows down to short, tiny licks. When he resurfaces, he gives Laurent a filthy wink. His chin is wet.

Laurent comes.

Every Thursday, Laurent and Damen have lunch at a small brunch place just outside campus. It’s usually packed, but Damen always manages to secure them a table. Laurent suspects this is because Damen has slept with one of the baristas. Damen has never explicitly denied this detail.

Today, their table is outside, along the gravel path leading to the campus gardens. The weather is nice; a rarity in Marlas, and Laurent enjoys the sunshine on his face.

Initially their weekly lunch meetings had been a habit borne out of practicality: last semester, one of the only days they could meet up was on Thursday mornings. After a good, thorough fuck, Damen always needed a cigarette, and Laurent always got hungry, so their solution was to head out to this particular brunch place.

Now, though, it’s become a fixed tradition between them. Damen also refers to it as their place – which Laurent still doesn’t quite understand.

Damen orders his usual – the everything breakfast – and Laurent, pleasantly reminded of this morning’s activities when he moves in his seat, decides to order the same thing.

Halfway through their meal, they’re interrupted by Nikandros, one of Damen’s teammates. Nikandros is wearing his letterman jacket, but he shrugs it off as he pulls up a seat at their table. He steals a chorizo sausage off of Laurent’s plate, despite Laurent’s protests.

Nikandros starts talking to Damen about the statistics of their latest game while Laurent finishes up his food. Once he’s done, he pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He manages to finish half of it; he offers Nikandros the rest. Nikandros eyes fall on the cigarette, then Laurent’s mouth, before he forcibly tears his eyes away and shakes his head.

He addresses Damen again, his voice slightly hoarse, “Hey! I just remembered – guess who I saw coming out the law library today?”

“Who?” Damen takes Laurent’s cigarette.

Nikandros pauses for dramatic effect. His smirk is not as attractive as Damen’s. “Lykaios.”

Damen drops his cigarette. He doesn’t pay it much mind; instead, he leans forward in his seat, eyes alight. “Wait – seriously? You’re not messing with me?”

“Nah,” Nikandros shakes his head, looking pleased. “Asked her what she’s doing here, apparently she’s starting postgrad law this semester.” Nikandros pauses again. “Like you.”

“Wow.” Damen’s expression is brittle with disbelief. “What are the chances?”

“Seems like fate.”

“Who’s Lykaios?” Laurent asks.

“Oh,” says Damen. “She’s an old friend from when I still lived in Ios.”

“A friend,” says Nikandros. His expression is amused. “Oh, come on, you two were practically together.”

“That’s not true,” Damen says quickly. He casts Laurent a reassuring look. “It honestly isn’t.”

Laurent doesn’t understand why Damen is being so defensive; it’s not news to him that Damen has been with other people.

“You were pretty much in love with her, dude.” Nikandros picks a sausage off Damen’s plate this time.

“Oh,” Laurent says before he can help it. The statement takes him by surprise. One of the first things Damen had told him when they’d first started hooking up was: I don’t know what it’s like to be in love. In the stillness of the night, Damen had been vulnerable and open; it was the first time Laurent realised the person in his bed might be more multifaceted than he let on.

“No,” Damen gives Laurent another reassuring look. His foot presses against Laurent’s underneath the table. “I wasn’t.” His voice is firm. “There was a time I thought I was, but I was wrong.”

Nikandros clearly doesn’t believe him. He rolls his eyes and utters a small, “Whatever.”

Laurent pulls out another cigarette, thinking.

Later that night, Laurent is contemplative. It’s late: almost two in the morning and the rain outside is a welcome, soothing noise.

Laurent is so sore, he almost regrets the last round, as short as it was. It doesn’t keep him from draping himself over Damen’s chest, fingers lazily tracing over the tattoo on his pec.

Damen keeps running his fingers through Laurent’s sweat soaked hair, his fingernails gently scratching against his scalp. It’s so relaxing, Laurent feels like he could fall asleep like this. Practically, he knows he shouldn’t: there’s dry come on his stomach and between his thighs. He’s also sweaty, and Damen is too.

But instead of getting up, Laurent asks into the stillness of the night: “What is she like?”

Damen jerks a little; his eyes have been closed for a while now.

“Hm?”

“Lykaios,” Laurent says. “I want to know what she’s like.”

There’s a small pause. Damen shifts again. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It seemed like she means a lot to you – and I’m interested.”

“She meant a lot to me. As in, past tense.”

“It didn’t seem that way during lunch,” Laurent points out. He doesn’t know why Damen is being so evasive and why it’s bothering him so much. “You seemed excited to hear about her.”

“Well yeah,” Damen says. In the darkness, it’s hard to read his usually expressive face, but Laurent can still sense a growing tightness in Damen’s body. “But that’s only because it’s been a while since any of us have heard from her. She sort of disappeared after first year.”

Laurent pinches Damen’s bicep. “Tell me.”

Damen sighs. He rolls over, so Laurent is unfairly jostled aside. He turns on the lamp on the bedside table. As the room is washed in a dull yellow light, Laurent can see how matted Damen’s hair has become, as well as the fingernail indentations along his shoulders.

“There’s honestly not much to say,” Damen says. His voice is very quiet, mindful of the neighbouring dorm rooms. “We were family friends for years, and in my senior year I realised I liked her a lot – more than I thought I did. But she had a boyfriend, so I never did anything about it. And then she dumped him because she liked me, but this time I was seeing someone. So, in the end, nothing happened.”

“That’s it?” Laurent frowns. In his mind, he keeps replaying Damen’s reaction at lunch; surely, there must be more to the story. Damen huffs. It almost seems like he’s pouting. He pokes Laurent’s stomach, hard. “You’re being very annoying.”

Laurent swats his hand away. “Are you still in love with her?”

“I already told you I never was. I just thought I could be because I was a horny eighteen year old.”

That makes Laurent laugh. It’s an unintentional sound, but it makes Damen smile.

“I’m not interested in anyone but you,” Damen says, too sincerely. The words hang heavy in the air.

Laurent doesn’t know what to make of it – not just the words, but Damen’s tone as well. It makes his stomach clamp up. He thinks Damen is making a point about how attractive he finds Laurent; in bed, the subject of Laurent’s body is always a welcoming topic.

So, Laurent says, a little awkwardly, “Thank you.”

Damen snorts. He looks fond. He kisses Laurent, and Laurent gladly welcomes it.

It’s a slow, sensual kiss. Damen keeps mapping out Laurent’s body with his hands, fingertips tracing over the veins across Laurent’s wrist, his chest.

“Think you can go again?” Damen says against his mouth. Pressed to each other like this, Laurent can feel Damen’s erection. It’s hot, he thinks to himself, how Damen physically reacts to him, even when Laurent hasn’t done anything to particularly excite him.

He’s still sore, sweaty and gross, but Laurent says: “Yes.”

Laurent is late to his study session with Damen on Wednesday. They normally don’t study together; tonight is an exception. Damen is apparently tired of being cooped in his room alone as he pours over his essays.

Outside the study room, Laurent pauses. Through the clear glass, he can see Damen is already seated, textbooks placed carelessly over the wooden tabletop. But he’s not alone. There’s someone seated on the edge of the table, in the one corner free of Damen’s things.

It’s Lykaios. Laurent knows it must be; Damen’s face is exuberant, creased with warmth. His smile is filled with teeth, white and straight, and there’s a lingering softness there. Laurent’s chest clenches with a foreign feeling. He’s unsure what it is, but then deduces it must be relief at seeing Damen so happy.

Laurent almost turns back. He wants to give Damen and his not-quite ex-girlfriend time to catch up. The thought of intruding on them with his presence fills him with anxiety. But he remains rooted on the spot because, for some strange reason, the thought of leaving them alone also fills him with anxiety.

Luckily – or perhaps, unluckily; Laurent still hasn’t made up his mind – Damen spots him through the glass. His smile, now directed at Laurent, changes instantly; it dissolves into a steady kind of fondness. His eyes seem to shine brighter.

It completely baffles Laurent.

His chest tightens again; this time, it’s much more pleasant.

Laurent supposes he should enter now. Damen seems to have forgotten about Lykaios; his eyes remain on Laurent as Laurent fumbles with the doorknob and steps into the room.

“Hey,” he says. His smile – and voice – wobble. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Damen’s smile, impossibly, widens even more. Laurent’s gaze is helplessly drawn to it.

They stare at each other for a few moments longer than necessary until Damen seems to remember they’re not alone. He fumbles over the introductions, face flushed.

Lykaios is unbelievably gorgeous. Like most Akielons, she’s very tall; even wearing flats she’s a few inches taller than Laurent. Laurent tries not to be bitter about it. Her hair isn’t as blonde as Laurent’s, but it’s long and shiny. Her eyes are amazing; long lashed and an intriguing colour, somewhere between green and blue.

Standing next to Damen, the two of them look like a regal painting. They look good together. They complement each other.

Laurent – unexpectedly, painfully – feels inadequate.

Lykaios rounds the table and shakes Laurent’s hand with vigour. Her smile is kind and open; her enthusiasm is genuine. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Damen has managed to mention your name about a hundred times in the last half an hour.”

Damen flushes at that, suddenly busying himself with rearranging his textbooks.

Laurent smiles. He can feel the heat travel across his face. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your study session.” Her voice is so sweet, Laurent thinks he could listen to her talk all day. “I was literally just walking past and saw Damen in here. I almost couldn’t believe it.” She turns to Damen and gives him in an assessing look. “It’s been what – six years?”

“Fuck off,” Damen says, with little heat. “I don’t want to be reminded of how old I am.”

Lykaios laughs at that. Her laugh is sweet too.

Laurent says, “You guys will probably see more of each other now. You’re in the same course, right?”

Lykaios beams. “Yep! Another weird coincidence.”

“Or fate,” Laurent points out.

Damen gives him a strange look. “Definitely just a coincidence.”

“Ah, who knows the mysterious ways of the universe,” says Lykaios. She gives Laurent a wink.

Laurent decides he likes her, despite the twisting in his gut.

It’s why he says: “Did you want to stay and study with us? We were also going to grab some dinner afterwards. You could join us for that too.”

Damen gives him another strange look; this one is brittle with disbelief.

Laurent ignores it. He keeps his eyes on Lykaios, who smiles at him.

“Thank you for the very kind offer, but I’ve already got plans tonight, I’m afraid.” She seems genuinely sorry, and it makes Laurent like her even more.

“Maybe next time,” Laurent says.

Damen frowns.

Lykaios doesn’t stay too long after that; she claims she needs to start getting ready for her night out. When she leaves, she kisses Damen’s cheek. Laurent bristles a little at that.

But his annoyance morphs into pleasantness when she hugs him goodbye – like Damen, she is very touchy, Laurent notices.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Damen kisses Laurent, hard and open mouthed. It’s a terrible kiss; Laurent isn’t expecting it, and he almost topples backwards with the force of it. Then he starts laughing, so Damen’s mouth mostly meets his teeth.

The second one is much, much better.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for the past ten minutes,” says Damen. “Next time, kissing first, and then we move on to having a conversation.”

“Shut up,” says Laurent. He pulls out his textbooks, trying not to laugh. After a few moments, he says, “She seems really nice. I can see why you liked her so much.”

He imagines Damen at eighteen, maybe a little naïve and cocky, completely enamoured by Lykaios’ sweetness.

Damen rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He squints at Laurent. “You’re not still hung up on that are you?” His mouth deepens into a smirk. He waggles his eyebrows. “Need me to prove my loyalty, baby?”

Laurent flushes. It’s not the first time Damen has used that endearment – he mostly says it in bed – but it still catches Laurent off guard every time.

His mouth is suddenly very dry. The only thing he can manage to say is: “Shut up.” And then he gets to work, smiling into his shoulder when Damen’s foot wraps around his underneath the table.

Lykaios’ Instagram is an explosion of colour: she likes wearing a lot of red and green and purple. Her entire profile is filled with her travels, charity work, her friends, and some shots of her eyelids coated in glitter. The more Laurent scrolls, the more careful he is not to like anything.

There are plenty of pictures of her from high school; Damen is in most of them, fresh faced and youthful. It’s strange to look at: nothing about Damen is boyish, but these pictures prove otherwise.

Laurent comes across a photo of Lykaios and Damen from six years ago. In it, Damen has his arm around her waist while Lykaios rests her head on his shoulder.

The caption is: hbd to this guy aka my soulmate #finally18

Soulmate, Laurent thinks. His mouth purses.

Damen’s comment is the first comment. It reads: love u ly!

Laurent puts his phone down.

His thoughts come too fast: he starts to think of all the ways Damen and Lykaios fit together, how connected they seemed even after so much time apart. He thinks of how nice they looked together.

Then, Laurent starts thinking of all the nice things Damen has done for him over the last few months. The duffel bag full of his favourite snacks comes to mind, as does the time Damen took him to a fancy restaurant when Laurent had averaged a high distinction last semester. Damen had even driven him almost forty minutes to the dentist once, even though he had an assessment due in the afternoon.

Damen is always doing nice things for him, and Laurent realises, guiltily, that he’s never quite returned the favour. His own gestures have often been small and unnoteworthy; they’ve never possessed the grandeur of Damen’s actions.

Laurent knows exactly how to change that.

Laurent isn’t the most forthcoming person. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to gather enough courage to message Lykaios on Instagram. But once he makes it past his awkward introduction – hey this is laurent in case you don’t remember me – to which Lykaios had responded ofc i do silly!, their conversations are light and easy.

The more Laurent talks to her over the week, the more he’s convinced of his plan. Lykaios is everything Damen needs and vice versa. It’s crazy how similar their personalities are: they’re both incredibly sweet, intelligent and interested in almost all the same things, from okton to hiking.

The next week, Laurent invites Lykaios to his and Damen’s weekly lunch outing.

Damen smiles when he sees him. He doesn’t lose the smile on his face when he sees Lykaios, but his eyes snap to Laurent’s in confusion.

“This is a nice surprise,” he says, although his tone is dry.

Laurent pretends not to notice it. Lykaios kisses Damen’s cheek in greeting and Laurent scratches at his chest as he sits down.

Damen leans over the table to kiss him, but Laurent quickly picks out the menu and starts to read it, even though he’s practically memorised it by now. He doesn’t want Damen to kiss him now – especially in front of Lykaios – and ruin his plan before it’s had the chance to even formulate.

When he puts the menu back, Damen is openly frowning.

It disappears as Lykaios begins talking. The transformation is amazing; Damen is instantly captivated by her. Laurent swallows. This is good, he reminds himself.

Laurent waits about ten minutes. He’s started to notice that even though Damen is laughing along to all of Lykaios’ jokes, he’s still shooting Laurent glances every few seconds.

The question on his face is clear: why is she here?

Laurent plays with his phone for a while. He tries to make it look like he’s texting something important; he keeps his brows furrowed in concentration.

Laurent isn’t the best actor, but even he’s proud of himself as he lets out a small gasp.

“What is it?” says Damen, instantly alert.

“Nothing,” Laurent waves him off. “It’s just that I completely forgot I had a study session right now.” He stands up, grabs his bag. “I should go.”

“Wait –” Damen’s face pinches. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m sorry, but this is really important.” Laurent turns to Lykaios and smiles. “You two stay and have fun.”

“But –”

“Bye!” Laurent says it too enthusiastically, cutting Damen off. He walks out of the brunch place with hurried steps. He turns back at the end of the gravel path just to check if –

His chest tightens with pleasure – yes, pleasure, although he’s not sure why it doesn’t feel like it – when he sees his absence has made little disturbance. Damen and Lykaios are laughing together, mouths open in delight.

Over the next few days, Laurent organises more and more outings with Damen and Lykaios. Damen never seems to stop looking confused whenever Laurent invites Lykaios, but he also seems happy to see her, so Laurent counts it as a win. During each outing, Laurent manages to come up with a different excuse each time as to why he needed to leave early. Damen always looks disappointed. Laurent is weak for it; he can’t count how many times that look has almost made him stay, but he doesn’t, because it would be detrimental to his plan.

Laurent makes sure to text Damen whether or not he enjoyed his time with Lykaios. Damen’s responses are pretty much the same every time: Yes, but it would’ve been better if you were there too.

It frustrates Laurent. Damen isn’t supposed to still be thinking of him while he’s hanging out with his potential soulmate.

Lykaios is the first to grow suspicious. She confronts him at the next outing. They’re in an idyllic little bar in the city, with a cosy atmosphere. It’s a perfect date venue.

Damen heads to the bathroom, and Laurent stands up, ready to leave, when Lykaios stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Laurent,” she says. “Is there a reason you keep depriving us of your company?”

Laurent manages a sheepish smile. He wonders if he should say anything at all. Then, he decides he should: he feels like Lykaios would appreciate his directive.

Laurent plays with the little sugar packets on the table. “I’ve been trying to get you and Damen to spend more time together. Alone,” he adds, when he sees her confusion.

“Why?”

“Well…” Laurent hesitates; he’s just now beginning to realise how awkward this is. “I think you two would be good together…romantically.”

Lykaios raises her eyebrows.

Laurent continues, fingers still fidgeting. “It’s just…Damen mentioned how much you two liked each other a few years ago. And I think Damen still regards you very highly. Plus, you two are so alike – I just think it makes sense.”

Lykaios’ eyebrows don’t lower, but she casts a backward glance towards where Damen has disappeared to.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about Damen and I…” she begins, and Laurent’s gut twists with…relief? Yes, he’s sure it’s relief. It’s a good – great – thing that Lykaios is interested in Damen. “But I thought –” Lykaios pauses for a few seconds. “I mean, I was under the impression that you and Damen were together.”

Laurent laughs, and then he realises she’s being serious. “You – no. We’re not. We’re friends.” Friends who spent a lot of time sleeping together, sure, but Laurent doesn’t think mentioning that now will do him any favours.

Lykaios’ face instantly changes. Her smile takes up her entire face; it’s stunning. She’s stunning.

Laurent shifts in his seat. He clears his throat. “So – you…you want to date him?”

She flushes, and it only makes her look more beautiful. “Like I said…I’ve definitely thought about it.”

“Oh – good. That’s awesome. Damen will be so happy.” He stands up. “So, I’ll leave you two alone?”

Lykaios nods. “Thank you, Laurent.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He turns around to leave. Everything in his body is screaming not to.

He keeps reminding himself that he’s doing something nice for Damen: that Damen will appreciate the fact that Laurent set him up with someone like Lykaios, a brilliant woman he has a past with. His mouth is dry, and Laurent’s palms are suddenly sweaty. Briefly, he wonders if this is always what happens when people do nice things for another. If it is…he might have to limit his niceness.

Laurent doesn’t mean to start ignoring Damen’s calls or texts. It just happens. He isn’t in the mood to listen to Damen go on about Lykaios; Laurent already knows she’s amazing.

He’s also confident that they’re dating now – or at least getting there. Lykaios posted a lot of snaps from the last night Laurent left them alone, and all of them had been of Damen smiling, drinking, smirking at the camera. They’d been there until three in the morning; Laurent knows because he’d stayed up until then, refreshing his Instagram feed to see any updates on Lykaios’ story.

What had they even been doing for so long anyway? Damen had called him until eleven, before he presumably gave up. Had Lykaios pulled a move on him? Had they gone back to Damen’s room, fucked on his bed? Had Damen thought of how he’d fucked Laurent on that same bed just last week? Or had he been so consumed by Lykaios and her pleasantness that Damen hadn’t even thought of Laurent?

Laurent had had the worst night of sleep.

And then a few nights ago, Nikandros had posted an image of the football team hanging around at his dorm room. (Laurent vaguely remembers being invited to that). In the photo, Laurent’s eyes had immediately been drawn to Damen in the corner, his head bent down as he said something to Lykaios, who had been smiling widely. It had looked very intimate. Laurent had turned his phone off when he saw it.

Alone in his room, Laurent lies on his bed, heart constricting. He should be happy for Damen. It’s frustrating him that he isn’t. And worst of all, he doesn’t know why.

He thinks it might be because he’s gotten so used to having Damen around all the time. If Damen starts seeing someone, then he’d obviously start spending less time with Laurent.

Laurent doesn’t want Damen to spend less time with him. If anything, they should be spending more time together. He only sees Damen about four times a week! That’s too little. Laurent should talk to Damen about that. He should tell him, Damen, even though you have a girlfriend now, I still want you to spend all your time with me, and I still want you to take me to fancy restaurants and then fuck me hard when we get home.

Horrified, Laurent rolls over and screams into his pillow.

A few hours later, while Laurent is trying to clean out his desk drawers, there’s a knock on the door. It’s a rapid set of knocks, loud and urgent.

Laurent frowns. He opens the door and his heart jumps when he sees Damen there, wearing a shirt Laurent had gifted him in the summer. Damen’s face is annoyed; it’s not an expression Laurent has seen often on Damen - and even rarely directed towards him.

Damen pushes past Laurent into the room. He takes up most of the space in it. Laurent’s heart still hasn’t calmed down.

“Tell me,” says Damen.

“What?”

“Tell me what I did wrong. I don’t like this passive aggressive bullshit.”

“What?” Laurent says again.

Damen crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You haven’t returned a single one of my calls or texts. You don’t want to hang out with me anymore. And I waited all night for you to show up to Nikandros’ and you didn’t.” When Laurent doesn’t say anything, he presses on. “Well? What did I do to piss you off?”

“I – nothing,” Laurent shakes his head, shocked. “I’m not mad at you.“

"Please,” Damen scoffs. “You -”

"I’m not,“ Laurent says. “I was just giving you some space.”

”Space. Why?“

"Well…” Laurent finds himself hesitating. “So you and Lykaios can spend more time together.”

“Why the fuck would I want to do that?”

“Um. She didn’t tell you?”

Damen’s eyes harden. His mouth presses into a tight line. “Can you please just give me a straight answer?”

“I’m – I’ve been trying to set you and Lykaios up.” Damen’s mouth drops open. Laurent quickly adds, “I talked to her about it and she said she’s been thinking of dating you too! So you know…” He trails off weakly.

There’s a sudden, pressing silence. It engulfs the small space of Laurent’s room.

In a very quiet, measured voice, Damen says, “What makes you think I would want to date Lykaios?”

“She really likes you Damen. And I think you two would be a good match. I mean – you’re so compatible.”

“No.” Damen’s voice is hard. “I meant: why the fuck do you think I would want to date Lykaios when I’m already dating you?”

Laurent’s eyes widen. His breath stutters in his chest. There’s a strange ringing in his ears. “We’re not dating.” His voice is too quiet; he can’t bring himself to repeat himself any louder.

Damen’s eyes bulge. It would be a comical expression if the atmosphere in the room wasn’t so deadly.

“Not. Dating.” Damen repeats between his teeth. “You – You really believe that?”

Damen’s mouth loosens around the edges. He looks like he’s received the worst news of his life.

“I –” Laurent fumbles with his words. The back of his neck prickles with discomfort. “We’re friends.”

“Is that what we are?” Damen scoffs. “My mistake, then.”

Laurent still feels wrongfooted. It’s almost like he’s not even experiencing this conversation, just watching himself have it.

“I don’t understand,” says Laurent. “I was just trying to do something nice for you. I thought it’d be good for you if you had a girlfriend like Lykaios.”

“For fuck’s sake, Laurent.” All of Damen’s anger melts away. His tone now is sullen. “I’ve literally been obsessed with you for the last six months – are you seriously just realising this now?”

“I’m –” Laurent swallows. “But you’ve never asked me out or called me your…boyfriend.” His tongue dries up around the world.

“I asked you out to Route all those months ago!” Damen says.

“No. You said: ‘do you want to go out with me to –’” Laurent cuts himself off. Now that he thinks about it, he’s sure that Damen did ask him out on a date. He’d also said, I don’t usually do this on a first date while they’d been in bed together, hadn’t he?

The realisation stumps Laurent.

“Oh,” he says.

Damen sits down on the edge of the bed, groaning. He buries his head in his hands. “Oh my god, Laurent. How can someone so smart be so stupid?”

Laurent supposes he should feel offended by that. He isn’t, though, because he genuinely feels stupid.

“You still didn’t make anything official.” Laurent says after a while.

Damen looks up. “Fuck you.” His eyebrows furrow. “What was stopping you from asking me?”

“Why would I say anything?! I thought you were only interested in fucking me!”

Damen groans again. He sounds like he’s dying. “If that were true, then why would I –” He gestures around the room. Laurent knows what he means. He thinks of all the…dates Damen has taken him on, all the gifts he’s been given, the fact that Damen doesn’t leave his side when they go to parties together.

Laurent closes his eyes. This is too much. He’s shocked by the anger that overtakes him – anger at himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.”

Damen looks at him steadily. He gathers his thoughts. “Do you still think I should date Lykaios? Because you seem pretty invested in the idea and I –” Damen sighs. “I don’t want to – I don’t think I can be with you if you don’t feel the same as I do.”

“How do you feel about me?” Laurent asks softly.

Damen’s gaze is burning. Laurent is pinned beneath it. “Laurent, I love you.”

Laurent gasps. It’s a soft sound, but in the stillness of the room it rattles against the walls. His throat closes.

When a few silent moments pass, Damen sighs. He stands up, mouth drooping and fingers tense by his thighs. “Alright…That’s.” He stops. He gives Laurent a small nod. “I’ll just go then.”

Laurent blocks his path with a shrill, “Wait!”

Damen stops.

Laurent’s fingers twitch. He wants to touch Damen. But he knows he should – “I don’t want you to date Lykaios. I don’t even know what the fuck I was thinking, alright? You just – you seemed so into her Damen, and I thought it would be nice if I did you a favour and set you up with her because you’re always doing nice things for me but then I got so sad and angry and confused every time you were together and then I felt guilty for feeling those things and I just –”

“Okay, slow down,” Damen’s hands grip his shoulders.

Laurent shakes his head. His chest is bubbling with all these emotions he’s refused to acknowledge. “I don’t want you to date Lykaios,” he repeats. “I want you to date me.” He pauses. “Only me.”

Damen snorts. “Easy. I’ve already been doing that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Laurent says. His throat is still tight with emotion.

“We’ll work on communicating better,” Damen says. He peers down at Laurent until their eyes meet. “I only want you, Laurent.”

Laurent collapses into Damen. He buries his head against Damen’s chest, weak in his relief. He even sniffles a little, something Damen thankfully ignores. “I only want you, too.”

Damen’s body loosens; he exhales and squeezes Laurent in his embrace. He kisses Laurent’s temple. “That makes me so happy.”

“Me too,” Laurent says.

Guiltily, he thinks of Lykaios. He remembers her excitement at the thought of being with Damen. Laurent needs to make it up to her, somehow, if she’ll let him. Maybe he could buy her flowers? Laurent has never bought flowers for anyone in his life, but he thinks Lykaios might like roses – unless that’s too romantic? Or maybe he could –

“Hey,” Damen says, interrupting his thought process.

Laurent looks up at him. Damen’s smile is radiant; it’s all white teeth and creased eyes. “Yeah?”

“Do me a favour.”

“Anything.”

Damen kisses him. Laurent smiles into it as his entire body fills with an unparalleled warmth. He’s not sure if he loves Damen back…but he’s confident he’s getting there.

Damen pulls back. He assesses Laurent with a stern frown. “Don’t ever do anything nice for me.”

Laurent huffs. He hides his face in Damen’s chest again. “Shut up.”

#captive prince #this is 7.5k lol i dont understand the concept of a drabble clearly #please lmk if read more doesnt work i dont want ppl to scroll through such a long post #@marrieddorks im very sorry for this lol #my fic #my writing

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mattygraygubler · 5 years

Text

our campus: chapter 4 (tom holland fanfic)

summary: frat!tom and reader go to the same college and y/n is tasked with being his tutor, they don’t really get along at first (because i love reader and tom hating each other trope)

warnings: none ?????

word count: 2.1k

a/n: so many texts and so much dialogue fuckin kill me also texts are bold

for a list of characters click here

to be added to the tag list send me an ask !

masterlist

✰✰✰✰✰

“I don’t know what you did to get her to give you a second chance, but I need to warn you.” Ally said. Tom turned to look at her, they had only ever spoken when necessary for theater stuff.

“Warn me?” He asked.

“Y/N can make your life either very, very good or very, very bad. She has most of the professors in this school wrapped around her pinky. And she doesn’t make it obvious, but she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. She can really help you if you let her.”

“Well, thanks.” He said awkwardly and turned back to his stuff.

“One more thing.” Ally said. Tom turned again and raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you dare catch feelings.” “Seriously? No need to worry about that.” Ally scoffed.

“I’m serious, Tom. Don’t. She doesn’t need that right now.”

“Yeah, fine, I get it.” He said.

“Alright guys let’s get started.” Gigi said, signaling rehearsal was about to start.

* * *

It was finally Friday, and your phone was blowing up as you walked to the library. Class had gotten out late, so you were walking as fast as possible so you wouldn’t be late to your meeting with Tom.

if Y/N is ok with it its fine with me

i still dont know how i feel about this

pretty pretty please guys i really like this guy and he really wants me to go

You

what are we talking about i was in class

harrison invited em and all of us to the delt party tonight

and i said we shouldnt go bc of what happened

plus isnt tom a delt? wouldnt that be a bit awk?

You

honestly i couldnt care less. after the week ive had im gonna too blacked to even realize where we are

lets take it to a vote

aye

nay

You

im abstaining

the ayes have it! delt BABEEEYYYY

ill have harrison put us all on the list

You

glad we got that sorted ill see u guys at mine at 8

You walked into the library, checking your watch and seeing it was 4:02. You bit your lip. Hopefully he didn’t give you any crap for being late.

You walked quickly into hlab, and you knew you looked like a crazy person. Your bag was falling off your shoulder, you had a coffee in your hand and your water bottle tucked under your arm, and your phone in your other hand.

You scanned the room and saw Tom sitting across from Max, both of them had books out.

“Hi,” you said breathlessly. Max slid over a seat so you could sit across from Tom. “So sorry I’m late, crazy day.”

“No worries dar-” You heard him start to say darling, but stopped himself. “No worries. It’s only 2 minutes after.”

“How long have you been waiting?” You asked.

“Max and I have been hanging out for a while, not a big deal.”

“Speaking of, I’m on alc duty for tonight so I better go.” Max said, did his stupid handshake with Tom, and walked out.

Hlab was almost empty except for some freshman. Most people don’t like studying on a Friday, who could blame them?

“So I got a copy of your lectures from this week. What do you want to start with?”

“I don’t care.”

“Ok, what is currently confusing you the most?” He thought for a second before saying “Astronomy.” You nodded.

“Great, grab your notes and your textbook.” He pulled out a notebook and his laptop, opening the online textbook. You pulled out your laptop and a pen and highlighter.

“May I?” You asked and pulled his notebook to your side. You went through his notes, circling certain things with the pen and highlighting others.

“These are really good, Tom. I like how you put question marks next to things that confused you.” He laughed.

“Do I get a gold star?” He joked. You rolled your eyes.

“So phases of the moon.” You started.

“Wait a second,” he said after you had been talking for a while. “You’re telling me that the moon doesn’t actually, like, change?”

“It’s all shadows.” You replied. He nodded and seemed to finally be getting it.

“The phases will most definitely be on your next lab, which isn’t open note, so make sure you memorize them.” You said. “Let’s move onto stats.” He groaned. “What?” You asked.

“Statistics is so stupid. Letters and numbers shouldn’t go together.” You rolled your eyes.

“Stats is easy, I promise you. This is the first unit, all we’re doing is descriptive statistics and graphing. Let’s start with some vocab.” You said, highlighting certain words in his notes.

Once you could see his brain was about to explode, you moved onto writing.

“There’s not much to talk about, just email me your most recent paper so I can go through it and look for themes we need to discuss.”

‘“Themes?” He asked.

“You know, on going issues that need to be addressed.” He nodded and emailed you his paper, which you would read tomorrow. You heard your phone buzz and took a quick glance.

al dont be upset

then dont give me a reason to get upset

what is it

……….. It’s themed

are you kidding? were not freshmen, i dont wanna go to a stupid themed frat party

its blackout !!!! itll be fun i promise

You turned your phone back down and didn’t realize you had an upset look on your face.

“Everything ok?” He asked.

“Just arguing in the group chat.”

“Do you need to go?” He asked.

“No, no, just arguing about tonight.”

“What’s tonight?”

“Tonight is not related to political conflict, which is what we should be talking about.” He laughed.

“Do you ever have fun?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m serious, do you ever have fun, or do you just go to sleep surrounded by planners and textbooks.”

“That’s not funny. There’s a lot more about me that you don’t know.”

“Clearly.”

“So we’re starting off with socioeconomic issues over time and the class strugle. Did you read the Marx chapters?”

“Yup. Didn’t understand a word of it.”

“Ok, let’s get into it.” You said and began rambling about the bourgeoisie and the communist manifesto. Politics was your favorite subject, you could talk about it for hours.

You were having a really good discussion with Tom. It was global political conflict, and he was able to connect the themes to both America and England, which made you really pleased.

You were pulled out of your discussion when your phone vibrated.

pickin up panera anyone want anything

“Jeez it’s already past 6:30, I gotta go.” You said.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He said.

“No it’s not your fault, I get so into politics I lose track of time.” “I can tell.” He said as you both packed up your stuff.

“Wanna grab some food?” He asked.

“Sorry, can’t,” you said.

“Why, got a hot date?” He joked.

“Maybe,” you said.

“At least let me walk you to wherever you’re going.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Well where are you going?”

“Congression Hall?” You replied.

“Wait, you live there?”

“Uhm, yes? Me along with practically every other junior.”

“What floor?”

“8.” You said.

“Should’ve guessed.” He replied as you started walking across the quad.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Honors 8. I forgot you were in hc.” He was referring to the eighth and top floor of Congression Hall, which was reserved for the honors college juniors.

“Yeah.” You said simply.

“I’m on six, by the way.” He said. “That’s why I was curious. I’ve never seen you around there.”

“I’m not usually, I only really use it for sleep.”

“Of course,” he replied.

“I assumed you lived in a frat house.” You commented.

“Nah, next year.” He said with a wink. “Speaking of frat houses, there’s kind of this party going on at Delt tonight-”

“I’m aware.” You said, cutting him off.

“Ah, well, if you want I can get you on the list.” You smiled to yourself.

“No need, I’m already on the list.” You said.

“Oh?” He said, clearly embarrassed. “Because of delta nu?”

“Nope.” You said, not offering any other information.

“Well maybe I’ll see you there then.”

“Even if you do see me there, I will be pretending I don’t know you.”

“Why?” He asked, clearly offended. “I run that house.” He joked, trying to play off the embarrassment.

“No offense, but your reputation would not be good for mine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well I have a certain reputation in the greek community, and if people see me with you they’ll get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?” He asked as you walked in the lobby of your building.

“Well, see, the thing is,” you said, stepping into the elevator. He pressed the button for six and eight. “I have certain standards. If people see me with you, they’ll think I’ve…”

“Wow, you are really uptight, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Certain standards? Jesus christ, you’re not the queen, Y/N. And I don’t have a bad reputation. But god forbid I don’t live up to your ‘standards.’” He said, storming off the elevator without another word, clearly upset. You sighed. Good job, Y/N.

Tom got to his room and threw his stuff on the floor, collapsing on his bed. His head hurt from all the tutoring, and trying to focus on not staring at your lips.

delt juniors

Tom

aight important question guys

Cal

whats up tommy

Tom

do you guys know a girl called Y/N Y/L/N? shes a delta nu

Joey

dan knows her ;)

Cal

fuck, Y/N? what are you doing with her?

Tom

shes tutoring me stop buggin

Max

i know her which u know shes in hc with me

Liam

oh danny DEFINITLY knows her

Will

who doesnt know Y/N? shes a hot commodity

Tom

what do you mean?

Cal

shes like the perfect girl next door, totally hot and so smart which just makes her hotter

Will

doesnt help that shes a huge fuckin flirt AND can hold her alc

Joey

dan is being suspiciously quiet……..

Dan

shut up joe

Liam

care to share with tommy your story with Y/N, daniel?

Dan

i hate u all

fine

i was like in love with her freshman year

and i thought she was into me too

and we made out a couple of times but nothing else

the second she found out i was in delt she stopped talking to me

like complete radio silence

Tom

wtf? Why?

Cal

she doesnt fuck with delts

thats like common greek knowledge

Will

maybe its because shes gonna be dchi sweetheart?

Joey

nah theres gotta be something else

Harrison

well i just put her on the list for tonite

Tom

wait YOU put her on the list?!

Harrison

yeah i invited her friend Emily Gold and she doesnt go anywhere without Y/N and these two other girls

Cal

Ally Park and Isabelle Miller

Harrison

yeah howd u know?

Cal

theyre like those cool girls from high school everyones obsessed with that are just out of everyones league

Tom

wow american high schools are so weird

Dan

tom if u wanna get with her i wont be pissed

Tom

nah like you said she hates delts, and after three tutoring sessions with me i guarentee i am her least favorite delt ever

Liam

theres no fuckin way she shows up tonight

she wouldnt be caught dead at a delt party

Noah

wait you said Y/N Y/L/N may come tonight????

DIBS

DIBS DIBS DIBS

I CALL DIBS

Cal

noah u seriously show up just to call dibs?

Noah

yeah bro have u seen her? if she comes tonight and any of you try to cockblock me i stg ill deck you

Dan

pretty sure tommy has rightful dibs to this one

Tom

nah fam she hates me so fuckin much

let noah try his luck

i doubt she’ll even show

Max

she’ll show.

Tom

what makes u say that?

Liam

max does know her best

Max

she and ally and emily and isabelle are ride or die. they circulate who picks what party they go to and if its emilys turn and harrison somehow conviced her to go, Y/N wont miss it

Dan

she hasnt set foot in a delt house since freshman year, you seriously think she’ll show?

Max

five bucks says she does

Dan

youre on

Noah

i just wanna make it clear

that if she does show

D I B S

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #frat!tom

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wiener-soldiers · 5 years

Text

tipsy (iii) - peter parker

summary: you lost five years of your life to the blip. five years without your family, your friends, and without really being alive. your dad’s solution? send you and your friends on a fully-paid vacation to spain. no superheroes stuff, no villains; just pure, teenage fun. how eventful could one week be?

pairing: peter parker x stark! reader

words: 1.5k

warnings: drinking, tooth rotting fluff, only editing was by grammarly

parts: part one, part two, part three

a/n: aw where can i find me a peter parker

You woke up the next few days in a haze. Everyone did, really.

Instead of living by the clock, you woke up when you felt like it, ate when you felt like it, wandered the streets with a flowy sundress on with your friends by your side until you got hungry, went into restaurants and cafés and ate what you wanted when you felt like it, went back to the villa to drink wine when you felt like it.

You liked it. You could get used to it.

Even though beautiful men and women complimented you and invited you to have drinks with them, you always politely declined.

Yes, they were beautiful, but they weren’t Peter.

You spent a lot of time with Peter on your trip. More than you expected, but you weren’t complaining. On your third day in Barcelona, you and your friends went out to an outdoor wine tasting festival in a downtown square. Your party arrived at around nine in the evening. The last remnants of the sunset cast a golden shadow over the city. The square was filled with people; tourists and locals alike, sipping luxurious wines as soft music hummed through the air.

You had all decided to dress up slightly: this was the first classy activity you were participating in. Everyone was quite excited, even more so after you all had a glass of wine before leaving the villa. Your floral wrap dress draped comfortably around your body, your sandals clacking against the cobblestone streets. You stood in front of the street band who played a combination of Top 40 songs and Spanish tunes. You swayed to the beat, taking periodic sips of red wine. You feel someone brush up beside you, it was Peter.

His hair was curlier than normal, giving you a handsome, Clark Kent-vibe. He wore a white button-up shirt, rolled up to his elbows and tucked into a pair of ripped shorts. Paired with a set of black loafers that you did not know that he owned (you had a feeling that your Dad had given them to him), your mouth salivated slightly at the sight of him.

“Holy fuck, you look so good,” the words escape you before you even realized you had said them.

Both of you turned beet red in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came of over me—” you ramble, face getting hotter. The amount of wine in your system didn’t really help either.

He bites his lip and looks down, “(Y/N), it’s fine. I’m flattered.”

A wave of sobriety washes over you, “Oh my god, I really said that out loud…”

Peter laughs, placing his hand on the small of you back, “Hun, it’s fine, really.”

“But is it though? I’m so sorry Peter, I overstepped—”

“Hey!” he says suddenly, grasping the both of your shoulders. He dips his head down to look you in the eyes before giving you an honest smile. “It’s okay (Y/N), really. I would be lying if I told you that I wasn’t hoping for a compliment.”

A strong gush of wind urges you to take a step forward in order to keep your balance. Peter catches you, your cheek hitting his chest, wrapping his arms around his torso.

You let out a soft chuckle, “Sorry.”

He pulls you away slightly, looking in your eyes, “Stop apologizing. Let’s get out of here.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, “Playing hooky from our friends, are we?”

He grasps your hand, “C’mon, I want to show you something.”

Before Peter leads you through the streets, hand-in-hand, you let Betty know that you’re leaving, trying to ignore the suggestive smile on her face.

“Where are you taking me?” you giggle. The amount of wine you had was not enough to make you drunk, but the alcohol was enough to make you feel slightly tipsy and light. The cool, night wind whipped your hair around your face.

Peter looked back at you, and you found yourself lost in his eyes which reflected the warm glow of the shop lights. He suddenly stops and points to a display window, specifically a pair of gold bracelets with a single blue gem on one and a red gem on the other.

You let out a soft chuckle, “They’re Spider-Man colours.”

He nods with a smile, “One for you, one for me.”

Today really wasn’t your day for self-control. Apparently, you had more wine than you thought: you had no control over your inhibitions.

“God…I love you.”

Another wave of sobriety.

“Oh my god, what is happening to me,” you whisper in horror. Your face heats up so hot, you’re sure you could fry an egg on your cheek. Your mouth dries instantly, and you try to make a sound from the back of your parched throat, “Peter—”

His soft lips are instantly on yours and you clamp your mouth shut in surprise. Your eyes stare at him, widened in surprise.

“Ow!” he yelps, pulling away from you immediately and bringing his hand to his lower lip. “You bit my lip!”

“You kissed me!”

“You said you were in love with me!”

“I am!”

“Then why are we yelling?!”

“Because I—” you cut yourself off, Peter rendering you speechless. You lifted your gaze to his face and studied his expression. His hair was wild, the brown curls flapping in the evening wind, but his eyes were wilder and his brow was furrowed. He stared at you in what you could only imagine as amusement and confusion. His lips were parted with the corners upturned slightly at the revelation that you are in love with him, but his bottom lip is slightly redder than the top.

The revelation that you are in love with him. After a beat, you blink, half expecting that you would open your eyes to stare at the ceiling above your bed and this was all just a terrible nightmare. But Peter kissed you. Was this your craziest dream then?

Frankly, you weren’t really sure what was going on.

Apparently, neither was Peter.

“Maybe…” the brown-haired boy says from in front of you, taking a step forward while rubbing the back of his neck, “we can start over? Like, let's just erase this conversation again.”

You blush, hard. “You’re gonna make me… go through the pain of saying it to you for the first time, again.”

“I’ll say it back!” he chuckles, giving you a small smile in reassurance.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

You take a deep breath and exhale, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. Your cheeks still felt warm and you could feel the pounding in your chest, adrenaline pumping through your body. Your eyes flutter open and Peter is once again standing by the shop window, gesturing towards the blue and red friendship bracelets in the shop window.

“They’re Spider-man colours,” you repeat as you walk towards him. You watch him in the shop window reflection, eyes glittering in delight.

“One for you, one for me,” he recites as you approach. Once you get beside him, arm grazing his, he nudges you, “This is the part where you tell me you love me.”

“You promise you’ll say it back?”

“I promise.”

You turn to face him, and he mimics your movement. With all the courage you could muster, you stare into his eyes, “God…I love you.”

“I know,” he says before crashing his lips onto yours. On the second try, you immediately latch onto his lips, bringing your cold hands up to his warm cheeks. His hands immediately go to your waist, clasping them behind your back as he pulls you closer to him. His lips are chapped, but the lingering taste of wine makes you feel as if you’re in one of the Rom-Coms Pepper always has playing.

You slowly smile against his lips. Good Lord, is this even real?

You pull away first, breathless. Peter plants one last peck on your lips before leaning back to look at your face.

“Thank God we got through that because I don’t think I could get through that a third time,” he says jokingly before you softly punch him in the arm.

“You never said it back,” you pout, but the warm glow on your face shows you aren’t really upset.

“Oh yeah,” he says smugly before pulling you in for another kiss. After you pull away, he presses a kiss to your temple and whispers, “I love you too.”

You were positive you were living in a fairy tale. As you and Peter walked hand-in-hand through the streets, the red and blue gems caught your eye every so often as your hands swung between you and Peter. Every now and then, you catch yourself doubting if this was even real. If it wasn’t, you don’t really care. The memory was so burned into your mind, you couldn’t forget it if you tried.

taglist:

permanent

@sebastianstanfoundmymixtape @httpmcrvel @lionheo04 @house-arya

marvel

@phanficblr

tipsy

strikethrough means you couldn’t be tagged

@campcampie @ironspider-girl @im-a-stranger-thing @wifunozomi @spideylovin @bellewithbooks @loveforweasleys @aathepenguin @magic-nyoko @brckenmemories @sunshiney-souls @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @toooooomanyfandomss @itsbebeyyy @ironspider-girl @thekingofrubbishtitles @snufflesashley @jackiehollanderr @trenchcoatedwhiskers @romance-geek @heyitsjayeee @vgirl-10123

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #spiderman #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #spiderman far from home #weiner soliders #weiner soldiers imagine

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harrypupperandhisownerdraco · 5 years

Text

💧∗ˈ‧₊°∗ˈ‧₊°∗ˈ‧₊°∗ˈ‧₊°basically i just had a shitty christmas and after that just started screaming n fighting w my mom and i just want to cry so much, this life is shit i just want sum comforting otp, tag urself im draco

(also this is a muggle!au)

Story

Silver, blue, on then off… The hanging lights were flickering all over, illuminating the dirty streets with artificial illumination, blinding the moonlight and hibernal constellations. It wasn't snowing anymore, and all of its reminiscent beauty washed away with dirt and stomped away by happy bystander. The air could have been colder, but what made Draco shiver was the contrast between the eerie feeling lingering in the street and the stinging feeling over his cheek. Twisting butterbeer candy in his mouth, its sweet aroma melted along with the bitter taste of blood. It stung a little, but the endearing feeling of alcohol started to take over. Wandering aimlessly, he was focusing his thoughts hard on the christmas song's lyrics resonating all over the town. Otherwise, the dark thoughts he was trying to shut in would start to yell again.

He inhaled -breath shaky- once again, trying to regain consciousness of his surrounding. He couldn't just cry in the street like that, he was pathetic yes but ain't nobody gonna see it. He sighed as a sad grin slightly made its way on his face, finding a place to cry safely was a middle school thing to do but here he was at 20. He let his gaze wander on all the dolled up shop front, displaying all kinds of present ideas. He hadn't even had time to open half of his presents before running away. They might all have been shitty anyway. Except his mother's… Not to be cheesy, but she was the one who really knew him in that big house, no matter how many people inhabited it.

Since when the family house became so full yet so cold and empty ? Maybe at the blurred line where childhood disappeared …

Draco rubbed his humid noise, he was definitely not going to cry in public, for god sake. Leaving the nice display for romantic couples, he walked off. There was only one place where a forsaken college kid could cry his pitiful life and that was college itself. And if luck was on his side, he had the shittiest family life and everybody else went back home.

Luck showed to not be on his side, Draco discovered with bitter annoyance as he was trying to sneak some snacks from the cafeteria. And it seemed Potter (the worst one Draco could fall into) had the same thoughts. His nemesis since middle school, the one person he personally made sure to say « happy christmas loser» before leaving because he knew christmas was Potter’s least favorite holiday.

Homeboy must have had the whole day to make a sweet stock but no, midnight snacking was better, of course. How original Potter.

"Come on Potter, don’t tell me you don’t hide food in that mess of a room you have", Draco put his arms around the amount of baked good and drinks he had stocked. " 'Cause I wont let you have any of these, you had the whole day, too bad."

"What are you doing here ? I thought you went back." Potter raised an eyebrow.

"Well you know, ehe, maybe I'm Santa and haven't given you your gift yet ?", he gave him droopy smile, trying to suppress wiggles alcohol induced. "Maybe, you’re Santa.

"A- Are you drunk ?"

"That would be insulting my alcohol tolerance considering I only had candy, but I guess a man can get drunk over his spleen. Oh, and like, a few bottle, aha.."

"You're definitely drunk.", Potter sighed. "Get some water and go to sleep Malfoy."

"But I'm hungryy."

"You're only going to regret it afterwards, now come on, give it-" Potter got awfully closer, and Draco felt an itching feeling under his skin.

"Let a man drink and get shitfaced Potter, jeez, I don't remember stopping you having fun at your last scoot boys party." Draco groaned.

"You're not having fun, " Potter sighed and he came so close Draco could feel his breath over.

"Why you caring about that." Draco tried to defy Potter's deep glare, but booze only confused him into the lulling gaze of green eyes.

As Potter groaned for answer, he grabbed his plate. Draco didn't put up any resistance as he didn't trust his body so close to Potter's. He might accidentally hit his face, and he didn't feel confident over a 1v1 against Potter right now.

"You don't smell like alcohol, you smell… good.", Draco muttered, as his eyes were half shutting over Potter’s collarbones. "What have you been up to Potty, you really don't know how to party, you only grunt and sigh."

Draco didn't know whether it was willingly or without realizing, but he leaned against Potter's strong frame more than necessary. The sweet feeling of being supported, not having to fight… If only Potter could close his arms around him.

"Malfoy I swear you should go now.", Potter's arms tried to shift him, but Draco felt his own arms envelope Potter's nice smelling neck on their own accord.

"Oh come on, I had a shitty christmas and a shitty evening, let me have that.", he whined slightly, tugging closer.

He could feel Potter’s breath stopped for an instant, and Draco didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe Potter would kick him for good now, pathetic or no they never indulged in anything soft or warm ; they challenged each other and threw word with deep rooted meaning, but never anything so clear and explicit.

But when Draco went to unlace himself from this awkward situation, he felt Potter’s strong arms not letting him.

"I don’t even know why i’m doing this, you’re heavy. " Potter complained as he was carrying Draco on his back.

"I’m not, not with those fit arms of yours ", Draco rumbled against Potter’s nice smelling jumper.

"... I should record you," Harry muttered, the back of his neck feeling hotter.

" I’d deny everything, the things you can do with technology these day.."

Draco could feel Potter’s muscles moving slightly over a soft chuckle. He pushed his face further into the nice perfume.

"... Hey take me to your room."

"W-what ?!", they nearly fell as Potter lost his balance.

"Calm your tits Potter, jee-"

"Why’d you want to go into my room anyway ??"

Because it might smell as nice as you..., Because it’s your room..., Because, there, it’d just be full of you and nothing would remind me of anything at home..., Because I don’t want to think about home right now...

"Because I know you have a hidden stack of snacks in there..."

"Malfoy."

Draco couldn’t feel Potter’s gaze on him but his tone conveyed enough to make Draco’s throat clench.

"I won’t steal anything, it’s just... there’s nothing that’ll remind me of home there... Just... I... "

Draco never finished his phrase and soft silence fell upon them for the rest of the way. He tried to no think too deep about tonight’s evolution, but even cloudy thoughts weren’t enough.

"We’re here", and as soon as he opened the door, Potter let Draco fall hardly on the floor. Not bothering to listen to his insulting fuss, he went to throw a cushion his way. "There’s a futon over there, the floor is yours."

"You’re the worst host ever, even dogs are treated better." Draco pouted.

"And you’re a handful guest and drunk", Potter said as he let a blanket fall over Draco’s head.

The ground was cold, he could feel it over the futon and the fall had made his heart sad. Draco remembered the comfy over-stuffed bed he left at home and how he should’ve been sleeping there comfily instead of making a fool of himself in front of the only boy that mattered.

"Well if I could have avoided drinking to drown my sorrow trust me i would.", he sniffed, already sobering up. "I’m so going to throw up all over your carpet."

All sound of moving and shifting stopped for a while. Then Potter peeked his face under the blanket, facing Draco’s.

"... Are you crying ?"

"... Next I’m gonna pee and then you’ll have all my body fluids over your carpet." Draco said with a small voice and he wanted to punch himself. Embarrassed him really had the worst retorts.

"You’re disgusting." Potter said, but he brought his nice smelling sleeve over Draco’s nose and whipped the dampness. Draco sniffed again.

"I’m not crying."

"You’ll deny it for the record I know."

For some reason, Potter lingered his touch over Draco’s face, wandering his hands over his cheeks, lightly wiping tears traces. Draco couldn’t see Potter’s face clearly due to the lack of lamps turned on. The room only escaping darkness for dim moonlight and Draco hoped Potter couldn’t see his face clearly either.

"Why did you come back ?"

"Because I’m the family disappointment and I have no weird cousin to dim that off."

Trying to use depreciative humor didn’t seem to get to Potter, maybe because he couldn’t see Draco’s face laughing it off. He had gotten quite good over the years.

"How could you be the family disappointment. You got the best grade and remarks, you’re basically every rich parents dream kid."

"Yeah that’s what I thought too, right ?... I thought that I would go back home and be congratulated or something, I mean I did get some of the best rank right ? But what are best rank when your friends are not ‘good company’ huh ? And when your clothes doesn’t reflect your seriousness enough, I mean who would hire me in these right ? Not like I came home to have dinner not an interview. Oh and sit straight will you, I taught you better, don’t embarrass me. We have guests Draco, is that really how you want to represent the Malfoy name ? And-"

"Breath a bit."

Potter’s voice was calm and strangely soothing. Draco hadn’t felt his blood pumping so hard until Potter made his heart stretch.

"The thing is... I do everything right but it’s never right enough. My father keeps talking about me like I’m just a display for the family name. I cant even think of doing other things that my whole life is already being pushed down my throat ! I don’t even know if I really want to do what I do ? Maybe I just convinced myself that’s what I want to do ? What if I understand I’m ruining my life when they’re already old and senile and I can’t make them pay for it huh ? Is it my fault they only fucked once and now they only have one shot for their brand of whatever ? Is it so hard to let me live as just ... someone ? Am I not enough just being my own ? "

Potter´s hand was still on his cheek and as everything fell into silence again, Draco felt overly conscious of their proximity. Heart clenching, he tried to not dwell on the words he just said, looking for some other depreciative humor ; he hadn’t plan to open to Potter. They never did this.

"Did you tell them that ?"

"I-", Draco let his lips hang open, slightly taken aback by Potter’s empathy and what felt like concern in his tone. "I did but... I feel like they never listen to what I say, I’ve been saying the same things for years. They say they’re scared for my future and just wants what’s best, but the truth is that they just don’t trust me and now I don’t trust myself either when I shouldn’t. " he bit his mouth over the bitter feeling.

"... I think you’re doing good."

"What do you know..." Draco sniffed, he could feel uneasiness coming from Potter and honestly he felt already bad enough from spilling his gut here he didn’t want some colored sappy moral or whatever. "If you’re going to tell me some sappy shit-"

"No I mean," Potter put his hands over Draco’s wrist so that he wouldn’t go away. And even in the darkness, Draco could feel his gaze’s intensity on him. "You look like, you’re... you just seem like you’ve got everything figured it out, like everything’s gonna work out for you in the end and... even if you feel like you want to change when you’re old, you’re the kind of person that’ll find something else and be great at it."

Draco could feel Potter’s pulse stirring over his touch and he didn’t know what to make of it.

"...You suck at sappy-inspirational speech, let me tell you."

"I mean... fuck if your parent don’t see it, you’re always doing your best and trying hard and giving it your all and... Whatever you decide to do with it you’re gonna be great at it... Even if you don’t really know what you want to do now, it’s ok, I mean... nobody does... know what they’re doing really. You don’t really need to know right away, you can... just keep doing for now until you know better..."

Although Potter seemed very thoughtful about what he said, Draco couldn’t help the awkward chuckle that escaped his lips.

"Hey, I’m serious you know !", even over his voice, Draco could hear Potter blush over embarrassment.

"I know this is why it’s weird !" Draco tried to untie his wrist from Potter’s grasp.

"Would you have wanted me to mock you or something !"

"N-no but now I’m confused ! If you’d mocked me I would have punched you and it would have been fine but now I don’t know what to do !"

"Then don’t reject me for once !"

Over their bickering, the blanket felt from over them but Potter didn’t let go of Draco’s wrist.

"You think I’m great ?"

"I’ll deny it for the record." he muttered and Draco could see him averting his beautiful eyes.

"Say it again."

When Potter’s eyes moved on Draco’s again, they held a burning purpose, and he couldn’t avoid his gaze if he wanted to. Potter’s beautiful eyes had him holding his breath but not wavering, even when he felt Potter’s breath over his lips.

He didn’t wonder who got over the last cm as their lips touched each other very softly, barely even, feeling unreal.

"Can I ?" Potter’s murmur ghosted over Draco’s lips.

On impulse, Draco wrapped his arms over Potter and squeezed very tightly. He had been so close all evening and all his life, and he couldn’t contain his feelings any more second. All the places in contact with Potter felt like they were burning the sensation into his skin, so that he would never forget what he’d been longing for so long. And as the kiss deepened, hands caressing softly through hair and clothes, Draco finally finally felt belonging.

As a ray of pale sun made its way on his face, Draco awoke feeling bundled in an infinite source of warmth and safety. He could barely move but he didn’t want to. Ever.

He might have fallen asleep again a few times before he felt some shifting around him.

The moment he turned around, he came nose bopping with Potter’s ; who opened beautiful green eyes and gave soft and embarrassed smile that Draco returned. He felt on cloud nine and the soft embrace he was in, not disappearing as they woke up, was the best part.

"Happy Christmas," Potter whispers against his lips.

“It’s happy now...”, Draco kisses him softly and they might just spend the rest of the day that way.

#the ending sucks i kno #i was dead sleepy lol #yes draco calls harry ‘potter’ the whole fic it bugs me too lol #this was barely a comfort fic also #i dont know what i did with that fic #i dont hate it tho #drarry #drarry fanfic #draco malfoy #harry potter #christmas fic #peep that ‘into the spiderverse line’ in harry’s comfort speech lol #update : I changed the ending lol #forgot it was a christmas fic for a minute oupsi

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taehyungsgrowl · 5 years

Note

Okay-so here’s some more sugar baby content because I LIVE for that shit. So Duncan comes home late to see Jim and the reader cuddling together in bed (both asleep) and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever and gets turned on. So he tries to be as quiet as possible when he jerks off but he ends up waking Jim and he wakes up (Y/N) to help out Duncan.

hi! i missed them quite a bit! I hope you enjoy this! I had a lot of fun writing it.

i was hoping to have out my shy!hawthorne!michael out before this, but i was in the mood to write about duncan x sugar babies so here we are.

(also i based my tags off the earlier post and so if you liked it i’m tagging u bc i’m assuming thats what u meant and if not im sorry im just a dumb baby ok)

Duncan finally felt like he could breathe when he stepped into the corridors of his home. Too many long nights were spent away at the office when he could have been with his Jim and Y/N.

He quietly called out their name as he dropped his keys on the table. He soon realized they must have fallen asleep without him. He sighed a heavy sigh, wishing he had gotten to see more of them. He promised himself to take them out to the beach house again soon. Jim and Y/N always seemed their happiest when they were there. It was their little slice of heaven; for all three of them really.

Undoing the buttons of his crisp oxford blue shirt, he walked into his room to find them both fast asleep. Before he even entered the room, he could hear the melody of their soft snoring and breathing.

Jim was stripped to his heather grey boxer briefs that clung to his bottom, making it appear nice and firm. If there was one part of Jim’s body that drove Duncan mad - it was his thighs. Jim’s fleshy thighs were carelessly draped over Y/N’s. Both of their legs tangled with each other in the center of their California king sized bed.

Jim had one arm securely around their princess - tightly circling her bare torso. The only thing (besides Jim’s bicep) covering her were the poor excuse for panties she wore to bed. He knew one harsh tug and those panties could come apart. Flimsy, sheer lace adorned her - and if that weren’t enough to make Duncan’s blood rush to his cock, he noticed the way Jim’s hand was placed on her lower stomach, his fingers resting on the waistband of her panties. So close to slipping in.

A fleeting thought in Duncan’s mind is they did this on purpose. He feels himself straining in his pants; he finished unbuttoning his shirt, but left it hanging open on his shoulders. He was towering over them at the foot of the bed, careful not to make a sound - when Y/N let out the softest moan he’d ever heard, accompanied by a stretch and wiggle of her ass into Jim’s crotch. Even in his sleep, Jim instinctively pulled her closer.

“Fuck,” Duncan sighed. The dim lighting from the nightstand lamp made both of their skins achieve a soft glow and Duncan just wanted to reach out and touch them. Feel them. Kiss them.

His hands fumbled with his designer belt, struggling to pull it apart quickly in the heat of the moment. Shifting uncomfortably until finally he felt his pants pool around his ankle. What had come over him, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the pent up tension at work or being away from them so so long that had Duncan leaking and desperate for them.

But seeing their calm, restful faces, sleeping peacefully, he didn’t have the heart to wake them. So he had to make do on his own. Duncan knew how to use his hands, not only on others, but on himself. He palmed at his underwear, allowing the tips of his fingers to trace the outline of his cock. Even though the cotton material, he could make out the veins on his length.

Duncan’s left hand ran down his chest as his slipped inside his waistband with his right hand. He gently pinched at his nipple before trailing down and pulling his underwear off. Once he was free he mimicked the way he would be touching Jim on his own cock. Letting his eyes flutter shut, he thumbed over the smooth head, spreading the precum down his shaft. Behind closed eyes he imagined how Jim would shudder with a touch like that.

“Mhmm,” the sound he made was primal and came from deep within his throat. He flicked his wrist upward, jerking his shaft. He senses were on fire; the AC kicked off in the room and made his already erect nipples pebble up. Beginning to pull and tug on his cock with gaining speed, his breathing quickened.

Thoughts of not waking them up, slowly leaving his conscious mind as he came increasingly louder. Labored breathing and throaty groans soon filled the room. He spit into his left hand to cover his cock in his hot saliva to twist and wrench himself util he was bucking his hips into his tight fist. “Baby,” he groaned aloud as he squeezed himself imagining it was Y/N’s tight little pussy clenching around him.

So lost in his arousal he missed Jim stirring awake. Jim had to blink a few times to ensure he wasn’t just having a wet dream. He slowly sat up, seeing Duncan’s shirt cling to his chest as it rose and fell quickly. His eyes wandered down to Duncan’s hand, tightly wrapped around his thick, lengthy cock.

“Argh,” Duncan continued with his eyes closed, unaware of the little audience he now had. There was nothing hotter than the sounds Duncan made - he never shied away from being a vocal man. His deep rasp resonated through his moans.

Jim gently shook Y/N awake. “Looks like daddy needs some help, princess..” he mumbled in her ear.

“Mmm?” she moaned out a sleepy question, slowly opening her eyes. Duncan must have thought the quiet sound he heard was all in his head as he responded to it, “That’s right, princess..”

Her mouth shaped into an “O” as her pout hung open, seeing the sheer pleasure their daddy was in. Exchanging an ever knowing glance at Jim, they both positioned themselves on their knees at the foot of the bed - a few mere inches away from the action.

“Do you need some help, daddy?” Jim’s giggle startled the older man. His eyes shot open. He didn’t know his cock could ache this much, but with both his babies barely dressed and on their knees for him - how could it not?

He let himself go, making his cock bounce freely. “Baby, please,” he reached for Jim’s head pulling him in closer, “I want you both,” his fingers tangled into Y/N’s hair.

Y/N scooted closer, placing a wet, sloppy kiss on his hip bone, “All you had to do was ask, daddy. It’s what we’re here for,” she winked up at him. Even with a sleepy smile, she managed to tease him.

As if on cue, both Jim and her kissed the sides of his shaft, their lips brushing past each other as they devoured Duncan in attention.

The way in which they synced with one another to please Duncan was other worldly. There was no fighting for attention because it was all for Duncan. Both Jim and Y/N thrived off making Duncan feel good.

They took turns with his cock in their mouths, edging him closer to his release. Where Y/N was slow, steady, and detail oriented; like gliding her tongue over each and every curve or swirling it around his head -- Jim was the opposite. It was complimentary, really. He was fast, wet, and sloppy. Drool dripped down his chin as Duncan hit the back of his throat. Ever the so helpful Y/N, licked it clean before kissing the base of Duncan’s cock.

With the duality of both sensations alternating, Duncan knew he would be cumming soon. He felt his strong thighs tense and his cock twitch. “Fuck, oh my god,” he gripped the hair of both of them tightly in two fists as he let his orgasm rip through him. He felt every nerve ending on his body become electric as he shot his load over both of them.

The mess he made was made even more erotic as Jim and Y/N cleaned each other off. Greedy mouths chased after his seed on each others skin. Y/N turned her attention back to Duncan and began kissing up his body. Jim loved seeing her all but crawl but Duncan. Her ass was in the air facing him and he couldn’t help but just grasp it his hands.

He gave her ass a firm smack, gaining an approving smirk from Duncan.

“Good to have you home, daddy,” she kissed his jaw and pulled him down on the bed with her.

With each sweet baby on either side of him, Duncan wrapped his arms around them both, letting them (and himself) rest for a moment. He kissed the top of Jim’s head, followed by Y/N’s head, “Glad to be home..” he sighed.

tagging these babies: @divinelangdon @desertsunflower00 @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonsinferno @peachesandfern @brieababy @lathraios @ladyren33 @miss-diamonds @nickisgirl @daadddysprincesss @duncan-sojourn @littlehouseofleaves @langdonswhoreprobably @lovelylangdonx @suspiciousamountofghosts

#me writing something w/o making it fluffy? idk her #duncan x sugar babies #jim mason #duncan shepherd #duncan x jim x y/n #duncan shepherd smut #jim mason smut #hoc #house of card #TTOPV #the tribes of palos verdes #cody fern #ahs #american horror story #duncan shepherd x reader #jim mason x reader

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horansqueen · 5 years

Text

AM Conversations : chapter 10

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 5 || CHAPTER 6 || CHAPTER 7 || CHAPTER 8 || CHAPTER 9

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his. -4.1k. -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

- IF YOU WANT TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN THIS IS UPDATED, I THOUGHT I COULD START A TAG LIST SO LET ME KNOW. IF YOU’D RATHER ME NOTICED IN PRIVATE, MESSAGE ME TOO PLEASE!

-please, message me, give me feedbacks, it would mean sooo much to me!

Chapter 10 : His chapter

NIALL

I stopped the conversation I was having as soon as Liv entered the room. She tried to avoid my gaze, I knew it, and I also knew how she felt for living it too. To be honest, though, I thought it was less embarrassing that it happened as adults than as kids, perhaps because we knew each other well and also because we were both aware that masturbation was a very normal thing to do. I didn't know how she felt exactly though so when she took a seat between Harry and I, I was wondering who she actually wanted to be close to.

"Hey, Niall, are you listening?"

I blinked a few times and tried to put my attention back on the girl on the other side of me. Fuck, she was gorgeous. I had seen pretty girls in my life but she was just on a special category. I know everyone thinks that I had sex with Maya but the truth was, I didn't. They always assumed I did and I never corrected them but we actually never went really far. The reason why was stupid and I hated to remember it because no one in their right mind would choose anything over spending the night with this girl. No one. Well, except me, that one time.

"Yea, sorry, I'm a bit tired."

I glanced at Liv before looking back at Maya, resulting in her looking at my best friend too. I sent her a small smile and she did the same, pushing food in her plate with her fork. I had noticed she barely ate anything and it made me wonder why.

"Liv uh?"

I nodded slowly, pressing my lips together.

"Yep, that's her."

I was hoping Olivia wouldn't know we were talking about her but I had the feeling that even if she heard, she wouldn't say anything. Facing me after I caught her masturbating was something she was not ready to do yet.

I held my breath at that thought again and swallowed hard. I had barely seen anything. In fact, just her hand in her panties, but the thought in itself was insanely hot. I had never caught anyone else before and even if it was sort of embarrassing, it was also extremely exciting. The way she had moaned was arousing and I couldn't forget how good it sounded. Perhaps I just needed some and it was getting urgent but It reminded me of my dream again. The whole thing became suddenly even hotter.

"Right?"

I quickly got out of my thoughts and came back to reality. My eyes focused on Maya again and I cleared my throat.

"Wait, what?"

"She's the one you told me about?" she repeated, her eyebrows raised as I nodded casually.

"Yea, she's my best friend." I flatly pointed out, taking a sip of my beer, trying to ease my nerves.

"She seems very nice." Maya pointed, sending me an other smile. "Shy a bit, maybe? But I think it's just the effect Harry has on her."

Olivia was anything but shy when you really knew her but I was aware she didn't know everyone here and there were many of us. I was about to explain to Maya when she mentioned Harry and I suddenly didn't feel like saying anything else.

"You should have seen them in the car." Maya continued, placing a lock of her short blonde hair behind her ear. "Gemma and I left them alone but I don't think anything happened yet. The way he looks at her..."

I closed my eyes as Maya sighed exaggeratedly. This conversation was bothering me but I tried to calm the beatings of my heart as I gripped my beer harder. I wanted to change the subject but It felt like I couldn't move anymore.

"I mean, I want someone to look at me like that."

I breathed in and opened my eyes after a while, turning her way. She was staring at me and I frowned slightly before glancing at her plate.

"You're not hungry?" I asked, wanting to talk about anything but the potential relationship between my bandmate and my best friend.

I could swear I saw her blush slightly, looking away and putting her fork down on the table. I didn't want to make her feel bad but at the same time, I was glad we were talking about something else. The fact that everyone could see how Harry felt for Liv bothered me. it seemed like I was wrong about him and maybe, just maybe, he really wanted something serious with her. I was still skeptical, though, if only for the fact that Harry doesn't do serious relationships. I groaned at my own thought and tried to push it out of my mind.

"I have a photoshoot in a few days." she admitted, avoiding my eyes. "And you know... pastas..."

I suddenly felt extremely bad for even asking and I sent her a small but sincere smile.

"I understand." I let out even if I wasn't sure it was true. "You should eat something though. I'm sure you can find something in the kitchen, Harry brought a lot of healthy food, trust me, I know. Just go grab something."

Her eyes softened and her lips curled and if I wanted to be honest, I didn't know what I did to deserve it, but she bent closer and kissed me gently, her lips barely touching mine.

"Thanks, Niall." she whispered before getting up and leaving the room.

I remained motionless for a few seconds and finally cleared my throat, turning back to my plate. I noticed Liv looking at me from the corner of my eyes but when I looked at her, she looked away and it made me sigh. We really needed to talk as soon as possible. I had decided to join her this weekend to mend things with her and make sure our friendship would survive but it seemed like the opposite was happening.

Half an hour later, everyone was done eating. A few people were washing the dishes and I decided to go back to my room to grab a sweater. I knew the night was a bit cold here but I tied it around my waist and unpacked a few things from my bags. I glanced a few times at the bed and couldn't help the small smile spreading on my lips every single time. The sheets were still a mess but the whole scene was still a bit funny to me. I tried to forget that it also turned me on slightly and finally left the room, closing the door behind me.

The rest of the house was quiet and finally found everyone in the backyard, sitting around a fire that Louis had just started. I noticed him walk back to his girlfriend and sit next to her. Immediately, Eleanor cuddled his side and leaned her head on his shoulder. Now that my eyes were roaming on everyone, I realized there was only two official couples and it made me feel better. Julie and Liam were cuddling too but she was sitting between his legs and he had his arms wrapped around her while he whispered something in her ear. She laughed and it made me roll my eyes with a smile as I joined them, grabbing a chair and bringing it closer to the fire.

Harry was putting marshmallows on a wooden stick but most of them were burnt and he always ended up blowing on them to smother the fire. He proposed me one and I accepted, regretting it almost right after. It didn't taste bad but it was incredibly sticky and I kept sucking on my fingers uselessly.

It took me about 15 minutes to realize Olivia wasn't there and I bent closer to Harry who did the same, still staring at the marshmallow he was holding over the fire.

"Hey, where's Liv?"

"In your room, I think."

"No." I frowned. "I was there only a few minutes ago and she wasn't in the house."

This time, he turned to me while I grabbed my phone in my pocket, quickly sending her a text message.

'Been looking for you?'

I looked up at Harry who was staring at me, probably waiting for what I was going to say next, but my eyes fell on my phone again when I heard it beep.

'Talking a walk in the forest, don't worry i'm not too far, I can see the fire from here.'

'Can I join you?"

I frowned when I noticed Harry was trying to read our conversation and took my phone further, getting annoyed. I wanted to tell him off but I knew it would be a bad idea so I bit my tongue a few times and licked my lips.

"She's alright, don't worry." I explained. "She's just taking a walk."

Harry nodded and we remained silent as I waited for my best friend's answer. I knew things were getting awkward between Harry and I but I didn't know what to do to bring our friendship back to what it used to be. I didn't want to admit that everything was changing and that it was fucking scaring me.

"You know, Niall." Harry let out in a low tone, staring at the fire before looking up at me. "I really like her, but if you have feelings for her, i'll back off."

My heart skipped a beat, my lips parted, and my head turned his way so fast I thought I heard my neck snap.

"What?"

My voice was low, coming out in a breath, and Harry just shrugged, sending me a sorry smile.

"I see it, you know? Things have changed between you two." he added in a calm way only Harry was able to pull off. "If you realized that you love her, it would hurt me, but I would understand."

I wanted to laugh, nudge him and tell him to stop being stupid, but I saw in his eyes that he was sincere and that he meant every word he told me. In fact, it seemed like he had really thought about it before actually talking to me about it, meaning it was probably something that had been bothering him for a while.

I stared at him, not really sure what I should tell him. Part of me wanted to tell him to back off but I knew it was selfish. I didn't have feelings for my best friend, I was just scared our friendship would change if she started dating Harry, but it was not a good reason to break what they could have and I would never do that to her. She'd never forgive me and i'd probably never forgive myself either. The other part of me wanted to reassure him and tell him that there was nothing between Liv and I but the words were stuck in my throat and I swallowed hard.

"Harry, I mean..."

The sound of my phone cut me short and I turned my phone back to look at my best friend's answer. Without thinking, I got up and passed my hand in my hair.

"Look, can we talk about that later?" I asked, not giving him time to answer. "I'm sorry okay? But don't worry."

My words meant nothing but he didn't argue, or at least, I didn't hear anything. I followed the path that lead to the forest and used my phone as a light to look at my feet, making sure I wouldn't stumble on anything. I saw her after a few minutes and realized the moon was almost full and it illuminated the way, making it easier than I thought to see around.

I smiled more when I saw Liv leaning against a tree and looking up at the starry sky. I took the few steps that were still separating us and she sighed as I put my hands in my pockets.

"Hey."

She glanced at me the way she had done it a few times while we were eating but couldn't hold my gaze. She shivered, bringing her arms around herself and rubbing her hands quickly on them. Shaking my head, I took the sweatshirt from around my waist and handed it to her. This time, she turned her head my way but her eyes fell on the shirt. She grabbed it with a smile and put it on, sighing and bringing her shoulders closer to her face.

"Thank you." she whispered, her eyes finally meeting mine as she rubbed one of her cheeks on the fabric of my shirt that she was now wearing.

"You're welcome."

The sleeves were too long but she grabbed the tips into her fists and even if she always did that, this time, I found it endearing.

"Why alone in the woods?" I asked after a few more seconds of silence.

"Oh you know me, I need time to think."

It was true. Sometimes, in the middle of a party, she could disappear. Normally, I'd find her locked in a bathroom or sitting in a desert hall, either thinking or typing something on her phone. She never told me exactly what she wrote but I guessed it was some sort of secret diary that she didn't show anyone and I never insisted.

"But you allowed me to join you." I pointed out, leaning against the same tree than her. "Am I special?"

I sent her a cheeky smile and she turned to look at me. Her face was incredibly close to me and I smiled even more.

"Come on, say it." I insisted, making her chuckle but roll her eyes.

"Yea yea, you're special, Niall."

The more we stared at each other, the more I realized I didn't want things to change. I couldn't hide it from myself anymore. I didn't want her to date Harry, I would never want to see her date someone with whom she could actually spend years. Harry was not that kind of guy but if he was actually ready to be in a real relationship with her, perhaps it was because what he felt for her was beyond what he had felt for other girls before. That's what bothered me. I lost my smile and it took me a few seconds to notice she did too. We were both staring at each other, lost in our own secret thoughts, and I suddenly felt like shit for the thoughts running in my head.

"It's so embarrassing that you caught me."

I raised my eyebrows and held my breath. We clearly were't thinking about the same thing and it made me think that catching her masturbating was futile in comparison of all the shitty thoughts I was having recently.

"Hey, you caught me too."

"Yea, over a decade ago. It's different." she pointed out with a grimace.

The way her nose raised up and her tongue stuck out slightly when she grimaced made me smile. It was adorable. Harry was right in a way, I was starting to see Olivia in a different light but it was not romantic love, it was simply all the little things i'd end up missing if our friendship ended. It made something twist in my stomach and I swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the sadness that had suddenly invaded me.

"Masturbation is very normal, we both know it." I shrugged, leaning my head against the trunk. "Plus, I barely saw anything. It's not like you were naked or anything."

"That would have been... horrifying!"

"Tell me about it!" I joked with a laugh as she elbowed me hard, making me laugh even more. "Kidding!"

She chuckled again and closed her eyes as silence fell between us again. I loved that silence was never something uncomfortable between us. In fact, it was soothing in a way silence rarely is.

"Did you have time to finish when I left?"

She groaned, probably at the fact that I kept the conversation going, and shook her head. I felt bad knowing I stopped her. If Liv was allowing herself to masturbate in a house full of people she didn't know, there was no doubt about how horny she had been.

"What made you so horny anyway?"

This time, she blushed so hard I could see it even in the dark and it made me extremely curious. I pushed myself away from the tree with one of my feet and put myself in front of her, looking down in her eyes.

"You're not answering, so it was not Harry."

The surprise I read on her face made me smile more. She clearly was not shy when it came to tell me that she wanted to have sex with Harry. I had noticed them on the side of the pool and the way he touched her legs but she blushed at my question when she could have simply told me he's the one that aroused him. Obviously, it was something else. Or someone else.

"Who was it?" I repeated insistently. "If it's an other of my bandmates you're gonna be disappointed, they're both taken."

She rolled her eyes and I laughed more, taking one of my hands out of my pocket and leaning it against the tree, close to her head. I moved my face closer to hers, keeping my smile.

"Or maybe you realized that you were in love with the wrong Styles?"

Her eyebrows raised and she chuckled. I thought she was going to laugh at the possibility or her falling in love with Gemma but her answer made my heart jump in my chest.

"I am not in love with Harry."

"No?"

"No."

"Okay."

We stared at each other for a few more seconds and I noticed how good she smelled, even after a long warm day. Was that the perfume I bought her a few years ago for her birthday? It seemed to be mixed with something that smelled even better... was it the smell she always had?

"So, give me a clue. Boy or girl?"

She moved her chin up defiantly and sent me a mischievous smile. That's when I knew I would never know or at least, it would take a while and a lot more insisting to get the information.

"Boy." she admitted, licking my lips. "But I'll never tell you."

I licked my lips and her eyes dropped on them, making me smile again. I was close to her and the moonlight was shining on her face but all I could think about is how good she smelled. I held my breath at the feeling hitting my insides all of a sudden, making me realize that losing her would change my whole life and that I was not ready for that. I never would be. I bent closer, my nose almost touching hers, and her lips parted at the closeness, probably.

"I'll definitely find out one way or another." I whispered, my fingers trying to grip the trunk.

"No you won't." she breathed as an answer.

I tried to push away the thought of her masturbating from my mind but when I did, the only thing left was the dream that I had about her and my heart started throbbing.

"OLIVIA?"

Harry's voice made both of us jump and I moved away, putting my hands back in my pockets. My heart was racing and I didn't even know why. It was not like Liv and I were doing anything wrong or forbidden but it still felt like we had been caught and I couldn't understand why. A few seconds later, Harry appeared and when his eyes fell on her, he smiled fondly. I think I hadn't realized that he really liked her just yet but the more time passed, the more obvious it was getting.

"Hey, sorry guys, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

I cleared my throat and swallowed the bitter remark I wanted to let out before looking at my best friend and sending her a smile.

"No problem, i'll leave you two."

I walked away slowly and turned around, noticing Harry had taken her hand into his. They were both staring at each other and the short conversation I had had with Harry near the fire came back in my mind. I didn't understand why he would think I had feelings for my best friend, or that she could ever have these kind of feelings for me. It was so evident in the way she looked at him that she liked him. I simply shrugged and made my way back to the others.

The fire was still up and everyone was still cuddling or talking. I took a seat next to Maya who immediately turned to me and sent me a smile. I mirrored it but turned back to the fire quickly. It's not that I didn't want to talk to her but I sort of felt overwhelmed by everything that was happening and I really needed to think about it. I didn't notice it when she brought her chair closer to mine but I jumped slightly when I felt her hand on my thigh. My head snapped up and out eyes met, making me slightly uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?"

She was gorgeous from up close and I held my breath as I looked at her. I knew we used to have a little flirting game and that it was meant to end up in the bedroom but I was not sure anymore that I wanted it. I had hoped for it before and backed away last minute and here I was, in the same situation, not knowing what I should do. I was not even sure what she wanted or what she expected from me and it seemed way too messy for me.

"Yea, i'm good." I replied with a nod. "Just a bit tired."

She nodded too and smiled more, her eyes not leaving mine and her hand warming my thigh.

"It's too bad we couldn't share a room."

I felt suddenly guilty or tensed or both and glanced behind myself to see if Liv and Harry were coming back. I didn't want to tell Maya that I was not interested because I really was. No one in their right mind would reject a girl like her. But I was not ready or interested in a relationship and I didn't want things to become awkward now that we were all stuck in the same house for a few days. I looked back at her and sent her a small smile.

"Yea, I guess." I shrugged, leaning against my chair and trying to ignore the way she squeezed my thigh. "I'm sharing my room with Liv, so."

"Maybe she could have shared a room with Harry?" she explained as I tried not to grimace again. "We could ask her if she'd be okay with that."

I felt my heart jump in my chest at the thought, wondering how I would get out of this one. Sharing a room with Maya seemed weird and the thought of Liv and Harry in the same room made me anxious.

"I don't know, I don't want her to think I want to get rid of her."

"I'm sure she'll understand."

I sighed low, getting a bit annoyed that she was insisting, but I quickly looked away.

"I'll ask her."

Without waiting for an answer, I got up, feeling her hand slip on my thigh and I suddenly felt relieved. What the fuck was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just enjoy the attention I was getting? Why didn't I jump on the occasion yet? It was getting ridiculous and I closed my eyes, pissed at myself for the way I reacted.

"Hey guys, how about we go watch a movie?" I proposed loud enough for everyone to hear.

I heard a bunch of positive answers and everyone got up slowly. I watched Louis smother the fire and finally looked behind me again. I was starting to feel very nervous that they were not coming back but I was not sure why, and I felt my heart sink low in my chest. It was stupid to feel incomplete just because my best friend was gone but it was still my reality. I had spent every single day with her for months now and I didn't want things to change. Closing my eyes, I fought the urge I had to walk back into the woods to find them and clapped in my hands.

"Alright guys, I get to choose the movie."

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