#it's like a coloring book but the pen hurts u if you stab yourself with it

[bar-les-coucougnes]

so the embroidery kit i bought a while ago was all like “relax and calm your mind and meditate with this needlework project 😊” and that’s all well and good but my experience so far has been 50% actually stabbing my needles through the cloth, 10% looking up stuff (which colors and stitches i’m supposed to use for each part, how tf do you do buttonhole stitch again, etc.), 25% unpicking stitches, rethreading needles, tightening the frame, splitting the threads and all that fun stuff, and the remaining 15% is me running my fingers across the satin stitches and french knots and my brain’s just “hnrnnnnrgggggggg tekschture”

[heliads]

The Anti-You

Y/N L/N was engineered by the Dread Doctors to be the polar opposite of Scott McCall. She would be an alpha designed to kill him, but as she finds herself increasingly involved in the McCall pack, she’s not sure whether or not Scott’s death will truly be the best thing for her.

masterlist

You’re sure this is going to work out?” You stand staring out at the lights of Beacon Hills, just starting to glimmer into being against the dark of the night. Your arms are folded across your chest, either to maintain a powerful facade or just because you’re cold, you’re not sure which. You’re not sure of a whole lot anymore.

Theo looks at you, emotionless as always. “Of course it will. There’s no way it couldn’t.” He considers you for a second, then places a hand on your shoulder for a second, the gesture hollow and empty of the strength it should have carried. Theo walks away, and behind you comes the roar of his truck’s engine as he drives off, leaving you alone before the glittering map of Beacon Hills. He doesn’t have to say anything more, you know why this has to work- if it doesn’t, you’ll be dead.

The falling darkness should have made it hard to see, would have made it almost impossible were you an ordinary girl. But your eyes glow in the night, and your footsteps fall surely among the twisting hills as you make your way down into the streets of Beacon Hills.

You, of course, are not human. Far from it. You had been, once, back before you’d seen Theo or felt the pain of the Dread Doctors’ experimentation. You had the bad luck of being a genetic chimera, and so the Dread Doctors’ gaze inevitably fell upon you for their latest project. Your hands curl into fists unconsciously by your side when you think of the dark days and long nights spent in that lab, with your arms bound by your sides and your blood spilling onto the ground.

When it was over, you were a chimera twofold. You were human, still, according to them, but with the added bonus of an alpha werewolf’s strength running through you and turning an innocent night dark with the hum of power, even when you didn’t want it. Your eyes should have been a blood red ruby, but they glow sapphire instead, to best go along with whatever lie you’ll tell to Scott. He can’t trust another alpha, they say, so you’ll be a misguided victim and he’ll have no choice but to let you into his pack. Just sell it, Y/N. They don’t have to finish their sentences.

There’s no reason to finish their threats anyways. Power and eye color weren’t the only things changed in you; there was a new hunger lurking somewhere in the space behind your forehead. To make sure you didn’t fail in your task to take down Scott McCall, they put something in your mind to make him your worst enemy, to make you hate him even without seeing him and yearn to put your claws through his throat. You were the anti-Scott, a polar opposite in every way except the claws and fangs. Killing him would be the only goal of your life, the only reason your lungs filled with another breath except to make sure that he took his last. Yes, you would finish your task. Your heart would stop beating if you didn’t.

You find yourself walking the halls of Beacon Hills High School the next day. You’ve been given a locker, a schedule, a false life that you’d add to the lies that surround you. As you turn a corner, you feel his presence before your eyes even land on him. Scott McCall has entered the building.

Your eyes inevitably come to land on him. He’s talking with his friend, some average-looking boy whose voice rises above the others around him. Scott must sense the alpha blood in your veins, because he drags his eyes away from his friend to land on you. His brow furrows, and you can practically sense the suspicions rising in him. He starts to move towards you, but you turn around and head the other way. You’re able to lose him in the crowd, and slip into your next class. You have to play it safe, don’t you?

Once you walk in, the teacher points to the different groups of empty desks. “Take a seat, Miss L/N. You’ll be working in groups of three today.” You nod silently, dropping into a chair near the middle of the class. You only sit there for a couple of minutes before two students slide into seats on either side of you. You glance up quickly when you realize who they are: Scott and Stiles. Of course.

You clear your throat. “I think she said random partners.” Scott just opens his backpack, reaching inside to grab his textbook and place it on the desk in front of him. “Guess that makes us a team. You want to tell us what pack you came from?” You raise an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Scott eyes you. “There’s no need to pretend you’re not a werewolf. I know you are. I just want to know if I have to consider you a threat to this town or not.” You return Scott’s gaze cooly. “Is this a prank or something? Werewolves don’t exist.” Scott sighs. “I’m not a hunter. I’m not out to kill you. I just want to know who you are and why you came.” He glances around to make sure nobody’s watching him, then leans closer to you. His eyes flash red- the scarlet of a true alpha. “See? I’m not going to hurt you.”

Something about seeing his eyes, about knowing just who he is, makes the blood boil in your veins. You shouldn’t be this close without reaching out to slash his throat, without raising a blade to stab him in the heart. You force the anger back down inside you, and force your eyes to glow their blue. “I came to town because I could sense the power emanating from it from miles away. I needed a place to go.”

You look away, forcing yourself to look upset and even regretful. “My pack is dead or gone. I have nobody, no one who would look out for me anymore. I figured a place with some supernaturals wouldn’t be the worst place to die.” Scott nods. “There’s a pack meeting in a couple of days. You should come.”

Your eyes fly back to him. “What?” Scott shrugs. “I think you should join the pack.” You frown. “Just like that? You don’t even know me.” Scott looks at you again, and you feel like his stare can see through every wall you’ve built up, that he can read every thought flickering across your mind. “I could sense your emotions, and you were telling the truth. You have nowhere to go, no people calling your name. We can offer you something better than a death at the hands of the hunters.”

You nod distractedly, grateful for the escape of the teacher starting to announce the assignment. Was this it- you were already a part of the McCall pack? This would be easier than you had thought. Then your brow starts to furrow as you think about what he had said. You did have an agenda, you were here to hurt him. Surely he’d be able to tell that you were lying about everything, that there were people who counted on you and you did have something that mattered to you. But then why did he think you were telling the truth?

Scott McCall isn’t the only member of his pack to welcome you. It’s strange, how easily they all extend their trust, letting it flow from their hands and voices to wrap around you. They hand it out like a flyer on a street corner, like it’s something to be given not earned. There’s no price to the welcome, no second meaning or hidden stare. Just an open heart.

You’re not supposed to be noticing this, you know that much. You have a job to do, and it ends with this pack crumbling to the wind. But every time you see them, every time you feel that strange carefree feeling in your chest, you go home to pain twice as deep as the wound they’d healed. Trusting Scott is having an affect on you, and it’s not one that you’re supposed to feel.

You’re walking out of the crowded school hallways with Scott, weaving around the crowds of people to reach the parking lot. Scott hesitates by his motorcycle, knowing that he should leave even as something pulls at his shoulders to stop him. You recognize the look on his face, that inner want to not be alone. You’ve seen it on yourself more than a couple of times.

So you turn back to him, mumbling something about how you forgot to bring your key with you and you needed a place to stay for the afternoon. Scott’s face instantly lights up, and he hands you a motorcycle helmet as a way of saying yes. You climb onto the bike after him and wrap your arms around his chest. You can feel the slight pull of his muscles as he kicks his legs off of the ground, the twist of his back as he steers. You lean your head against his shoulders, letting yourself breathe in and out slowly. Your eyes close, then flutter open as he comes to a stop.

He leads you up the walkway to the front door, sliding the key into the lock with a click of metal against metal. The door opens, and you follow him. Even if Scott hadn’t shown you the way home, you’d know this house was his. Traces of him linger in every corner and hall of the house, in the smooth wallpaper and stretching floorboards. He is here, in every inch and stone.

The two of you pull out your books and pens, homework spreading out across the table. As you finish a chapter, you glance up at him, and freeze just slightly in place. He’s leaning over some math problem, hair falling in a lazy frame around his face. The sight of him like this, so trusting and open, should fill you with the want to use this opportunity and kill him, but it doesn’t. It just makes you want to stay even longer.

Scott hops up from the table to grab a binder from his room, and you’re left in the sudden empty stillness. Your eyes keep dancing to the door where he’d left, as if the seconds without him leave you hollow and numb. Something’s changed about the way you feel about him, and the realization comes gradually and then all at once. It’s love, isn’t it? That’s what this is. This fullness where an empty hole once resided, this want to reach out a hand and feel it held instead of extending claws. You love him.

Something slides across your throat. You start to cough, the feeling choking you until you’re practically bent double. When you reach a hand across your mouth, you stare as it comes back tainted silver. Mercury. 

There’s a sound at the other side of the room, and you realize Scott’s coming back. You hurriedly drag your hand across your mouth, getting rid of all signs of that deadly silver, and pretend nothing is wrong. You head out soon after that, pretending your parents have arrived to let you in. Scott waves you goodbye with a smile and a promise to keep his door open for you.

When you get home, you drop down to the floor, knees pulled up to your chest as waves of pain crash over you. Tissues lie crumpled around you when dawn finally breaks, each one of them drowned in that hateful mercury. Your head is leaned up against the cool glass of the window, and you wear a t-shirt despite the freezing air in a desperate attempt to stop the fever that’s just a few seconds from arriving. You have to fake it, pretend like you’ve hated Scott all along. The Dread Doctors will kill you for this, if your own body doesn’t do it for them first.

Theo arrives, as planned. He spews his lies, as promised. You turn away when you see him, pretend it doesn’t hurt to know that his presence will only make things worse. You fake your smiles when you see him, do anything to keep him off your back. You spend your days with Scott and the others, filling up those hours of daylight with happiness so you can hold those memories tight at night, when the mercury threatens to drown you whole. The sound of their laughter is like a blanket wrapped around you, the one sheer line of protection against the knowledge you’ve been pushing aside, that at any moment you could die.

There’s a disturbance at the library. Mason’s driving Ms. McCall to the school, and his voice is issuing from your phone. Liam’s there, too, with Scott. Liam’s supposed to be turned against his own alpha, they’re supposed to be fighting. You head to the high school as soon as you hear it, spinning around corners and sprinting down halls until you come to a sudden stop in the open doors of the library.

A muted, tortured cry escapes from your lips when you see it. Theo stands over Scott’s body, claws extended through his heart. They both turn and see you at the same time. Theo nods. “It’s done.” You shake your head softly. “This-this isn’t-” Theo just tilts his head. “We both knew this was how it would end.” There’s the sound of running footsteps behind you, and Theo disappears into the night just as Mason and Ms. McCall burst into the room.

You can’t move, can’t drag yourself away from the sight of Scott bleeding out onto the floor. You can feel him die, feel it in the sureness of your heartbeat even as his ends. You know you should be leaving, because Theo’s as good as turned you in, but your feet are frozen in place. You don’t think you could move them if you tried.

You stay there until Ms. McCall manages to revive him, then finally slip away. You drive down the dark and twisting roads until you reach your house. You don’t bother to lock the door- you’ll be dead by the time anyone tries the knob. Everything changed when Scott took that first gasping breath, like your body knew that you failed and decided to punish you for it. You sit down unsteadily in that same corner, head pressed up against that same window. You don’t know how many hours you’ve spent here, wasting away your last few days as the dead and dying, but you don’t think you’ll get up again.

The silence is broken by someone stepping into the room. You don’t bother to look up, not until he’s a few feet away from you. You just sigh in relief. “You’re alright.” Scott nods. “I wish I could say the same thing about you. Do the Dread Doctors know? Are they coming to take you back?” You glance back up at him, shocked. “You knew?”

Scott chuckles. “I knew you were a chimera for a long time. Your heartbeat was too perfect to be a normal werewolf, and I saw the tints of mercury.” You close your eyes for just a second. “I’m so sorry, Scott. I’m so sorry about everything.” You chuckle despite yourself, the laugh coming out as damaged and broken. “You know, I’d kind of come to terms with my own death. I was fine with it happening to me, but I couldn’t take it when you died. Like I was allowed to die, but not you. It couldn’t be you.”

Scott sits down next to you, arms crossed across his knees. You watch him, eyebrows lifting slightly in confusion. “You should go. You don’t want to be found when they come for me.” Scott shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you, Y/N. Not now, not ever.” He reaches over; grasps your hand and links it with his. “I’m not letting you go.” You start to speak, but have to break away, coughing. “I won’t be much longer. If you want any chance to defeat Theo and the Dread Doctors, you have to hold to your one advantage. They don’t know you’re alive. You have to keep it that way.”

You sigh, looking away from him. “I have done so much wrong by you. Please, let me at least die knowing you got away.” Scott places a gentle hand on your chin, forces you to face him again. “I’m not letting you die.” You chuckle softly, breaking off once you start coughing so much it hurts to breathe. “I’m not sure you have much choice about that. Besides, why would you stay? I betrayed your trust, betrayed the entire pack. I’m the reason you died.”

Scott considers your hand, which is still linked in his. He reaches out his other hand to hold it before your eyes. “You weren’t the one with the claws through my heart. I knew the risks, I still took him on.” You shake your head softly. “Why are you doing this? Why are you staying here?” Scott looks at you, eyes taking in the labored breathing of your chest, the mercurial blood starting to tinge your tears a shade of silver.

 Then he leans over, kisses you. You feel your heart falter once, then beat stronger than it ever has before. It’s funny- in this moment, you let everything go. All the walls come crashing down, everything you held in place so you could cling to those last moments before your own head shut you down. In this moment, you let yourself stay with him, his lips on yours. It is blissful and brilliant, and it is killing you just as surely as anything. It’s the feeling of falling down, down, down, but then something catches you and pulls you back up again.

When you look up at him, you notice the webs of black spiralling over him, disappearing into shirt sleeves and loose collars. You break away. “Stop. You can’t do this- taking that much pain would kill you.” Scott just grins. “I already died. It won’t do much.” You laugh in spite of yourself, then stare at your hands in surprise. You don’t feel weak anymore. No, you feel strong, stronger than you have in weeks and even months. You feel whole again, pure without that overbearing rage that the Dread Doctors forced into you.

Scott cups his hand around your cheek, studying you. “The mercury is gone. I think-” You finish his sentence. “I think you saved my life.” A smile grows across his face, and he kisses you again. It’s fitting, isn’t it? He was the one to rescue you from death. He, the one you were supposed to kill. He, whose survival should have killed you had he not pulled you from the darkest waters and made you whole again. You were supposed to be his polar opposite, the mortal enemy. Instead, you take his hand, and pledge to never leave his side. 

When the Dread Doctors finally arrive at the house, they find it empty. There are no dead girls, or broken alphas. Just two pairs of tire tracks leading away, two paths that should have destroyed each other when they crossed but brought healing instead of pain. Two alphas, who have escaped together.

[g0ldengubler]

Chapter 10 ~ Strawberry Avalanche

A/N: AAAAAAA hey besties i'm baaaaaack! honestly, i lost all motivation for a couple of months, especially because wattpad is getting censored. i was scared that this story was going to be taken down, but now i've decided to keep going. Thankfully, this series is also on here so if nauseous is taken down on wattpad it will be here safe and sound. Also shortening chapters has been a nice thought. I'm sorry this one sucks i'm kinda rusty and this is more of a filler/catch up, but we're back at it again boizzz! Also, thank you so much for over 900 followers! Really really crazy but i'm so glad you guys are enjoying my fics. And I'm really glad everyone enjoyed lunchtime! I didn't think it would get that much love as I thought that kink wasn't something others would be into so I am planning on writing more one shots with other kinks I have. Things are just about to get good in nauseous...ok anyways i love uuuuuu <3

Category: Angst (??...yeah sure we'll go with that lol)

CW: Talks of cases; talks of murder

Summary: It's time to go back to work, and oh boy are they in for a "treat"

Word Count: 1817

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every time your alarm rang, you quote Cinderella at it, groggily saying, "Oh, that clock. Old killjoy." You hate waking up early, as sleep was such a beautiful thing in your book. When you were asleep, you were at peace, as if everything that had happened that day whether good or bad just went away. You were free in your dreams, running around like a child in a field of lavender. You had that dream here and there before you met Spencer. When the feelings for him grew over the course of a week, you started getting that dream frequently instead of waking up thinking you didn't dream or remembering a weird one. He would show up as a shadowy figure on the other side of the field and you would run over to it until you woke up once the figure turned around.

After you two made it official, the blur of the figure disappeared and turned into him. You would run as if it was the speed of light towards him, and he would turn around in a lilac colored cardigan, barely hiding the huge grin on his face. Spencer would pick you up around your waist and lift you up as he spun you around. Right before you kissed, however, you woke up. You were into the meaning of dreams, so you thought that at the right time, the kiss would happen.

As you got ready for the day, you couldn't stop thinking about the past month. You remember meeting Spencer and how your heart skipped a beat when your eyes first met in the conference room. You remember getting drunk and high with the team and how your boss was pretty much the life of the party without really meaning to. You laughed to yourself as the thought of Spencer high on edibles at Rossi's came in. He ate a whole brownie before Garcia could give a warning and once it kicked in it was hard not to laugh at his goofiness as he would only talk about Star Trek the whole night. He could've had the whole pot of spaghetti his munchies were so bad.

Garcia crept into your brain again as you got in your car. That night, instead of Spencer coming in to clean you up, it was Garcia.

With a wet washcloth in hand, she stood by the door and saw you on her bed, the laughter and voices echoing down the hall and into the room. You tried to cover yourself but she waved her hand away.

"Sugar cakes, don't worry about it," she said, walking over and sitting in front of you on the side of the bed. In a comforting way, she put a hand on your leg, rubbing it gently, "I'd be mad if it was other people on my bed going at it like rabbits. But you two? I don't seem to feel any steam coming out of my ears."

"Are you sure?" You asked, embarrassed, "I'm so sorry, Garcia."

"I'm just thankful that boy genius got laid."

The two of you laughed as she handed you the cloth. You took it and began cleaning yourself up, trying to clean what fell out onto the bed. Once you were done, Garcia gave you some advil and some water as you gave her the cloth back.

"Are you feeling ok, hun?" She asked as you were sipping on your water.

"Yeah, just a bit sore but nothing I can't handle." You hand her the glass of water back and fixed your pillows so they'd help you sit up.

"Reid is a very kind and respectful guy, Y/N," she said as she softly rubbed your leg, "I've known him since Gideon brought him on the team, I know he wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

"I see that in him," you said, "When he's not ruining me he's a total sweetheart and always open to trying new things if he wants to. He's really special to me, Penelope. I've never met someone like him. He's probably the first guy to want me for everything else, like the sex is just a bonus. Men back home were never like that."

Garcia smiled as she got up, looking down at you before leaning down and kissing the top of your head. "I'm glad you're here, Y/N. You've been the last missing puzzle piece for our team since you first walked in the conference room." Then she left, probably to let you rest.

You were still for a few minutes before you decided to try and get up. Once you were able to stand, you walked slowly out of the bedroom and back to the living room, which felt like it took you years to get to. You saw Spencer sitting on the couch next to Morgan, taking a joint from his hands. You watch as he put it to his lips and inhaled, holding it in for a sec before exhaling a big cloud out. He coughed before taking it back to his lips and took a couple more, handing it over to Jj.

As you parked in the parking garage, you remembered the butterflies you felt when his eyes caught yours. Morgan had got up and helped you walk to the couch, where you lay down with your legs on Spencer's lap. That night was so magical, but now you're back to work, dreading the amount of files that would be piled on your desk.

When you got out of the elevator to the 6th floor, you walked in the bulpin thinking you'd see Spencer at his desk, but your smile faded when you didn't. You looked around the room until you turned all the way around to the conference room, seeing all your friends in the window. You quickly-but calmly-walked up the ramp and into the room with a smile on your face, yet it went away again once you felt the room, seeing all their stern or worried faces.

"Y/L/N," said Hotch, "please take a seat."

"Is everything alright?" You ask as you sit next to Spencer. He locks his arm around yours and takes your hand in his, kissing it, knowing it was a way of his to comfort you.

Hotch was silent for a moment before he spoke. "While we were on our vacation, new cases have come to us. These cases were ones we had already solved, however."

No one spoke as he explained the two copycat cases. One was based from The Fox, a case they solved years ago, but it wasn't exact. The fox was more known for killing big families but this copycat killed small families, ones with only children. The other was one you knew all too well. A few years ago, couples were left in trunks of cars, all cut up and stabbed. You studied this case when it happened, and wrote an outstanding paper on it for class.

"We now have a copycat on our hands. This investigation will be going along while we also work on other cases. If needed, protection will be put for our loved ones. That is all. So far there hasn't been one to go to, but myself and Jj will let you know if one comes in."

With that, we all slowly walked back to your desks. Thankfully, yours was right in front of Spencer's. A part of you felt safe no matter what scenery you were in. But you still felt worried. With not being on the team for much time, you were scared for your friends. Stuff like this was part of the job, but that didn't mean you couldn't be human.

One thing was lingering in your mind the whole day...Was there a deeper connection between the two copycat cases?

~~~

Later that night, you finished your work for the day and headed home. Both you and Spencer felt too tired to do something, so you both went your separate ways. When you got home, you threw your bag and keys to a chair and fell on your couch as your dogs attacked you with love and kisses. Taking your boots off, you took your phone out and looked through your delivery apps to see if anything sounded good, but you didn't feel that hungry as you saw all the delicious options.

Remembering you had some wine on the counter, you got up and poured yourself a glass. You got changed into crewneck sweater and sweatpants that had U of M written all over it. Putting your hair up in a high ponytail, you made your way back to the couch and went through your phone, catching up on text messages from your dad, looking through memes and videos.

After a bit of time has passed, you were on your third glass and were feeling very tipsy. You turned on your speaker and went through your the music on shuffle before stumbling upon a song from high school, Strawberry Avalanche by Owl City. You hadn't listen to it or his music in years, so you decided to keep it on for old times sake. As the song got to the chorus, you felt your tipsy brain taking over, getting up from the couch and dancing along. Your furry friends-as Garcia would say-joined you as you picked up Draco's paws and gently brought him up on his back legs, while Benedict barked and went around in little circles, his eyes never leaving you.

You went to sleep after your dance party, wanting the comfort of your own bed rather than the less comfortable couch. As your children climbed on and settled down, you tried to drift off right away, wanting to go back to your dream, but you couldn't stop thinking about the deeper connection between the two cases. That feeling was bothering you beyond belief, as if it was on the tip of your tongue or right under your nose. 'They're not just copycats,' you thought, 'so then what's the other connection, if there is one?'

You sat up, letting your pillows support your back. You grabbed your notebook from the side table and pen and started writing down what you remembered from what Hotch said. They are copycats from two they have already solved. One in Detroit, the other in their own backyard. It couldn't of been anniversaries because they didn't happen on their exact days, but it could be revenge on the team.

You went deeper into the cases to feel an epiphany run through your whole body. The Fox copy killed smaller families, but the wife was left last. And in the Detroit copy, it was only straight couples and the women were stabbed the most.

This unsub was going after girlfriends and wives.

[outroshooky]

imagine | ksj

⇢ genre: drabble (postbreakup!au) (angst, some fluff)

⇢ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇢ word count: 2.5k

⇢ prompt: “why can’t you imagine a world like that?”

⇢ warnings: swearing and heartbreak. have fun, y’all.

⇢ a/n: i’ve been listening to thank u, next as an album a lot for the last few weeks. kudos to ariana grande and imagine for this one, as well as she’s all yours by loote.

Nobody ever said pad thai was the healthiest of dinners, but it certainly hit the spot on cold, rainy evenings when you found yourself bent over textbooks, immersed in criminal psychology like the nerd that you are.

Chinese food has become your go-to more and more these past few weeks, the heat on your tongue from Kung Pao chicken and lo mein warming you up from the inside. All it seems to do outside your apartment windows is storm, the world outside rendered a permanent color swatch of gray. Pewter were the clouds that settled low over campus, bellies distended with wrath. Abalone was the muted light that filtered through your bedroom blinds, dim and barely-there. Slate were the bricks of the achy old home directly facing your own, looming in your window, lashed wet and whipped by the never-ending rainfall.

A depressing existence, certainly.

In fact, the weather is not the only thing that seems to have turned a chilled back on you. In one dramatically splintering fragment, your friends have drifted away from you, too. Yoongi no longer comes around to talk some obscure bit of politics with you; Taehyung suddenly finds excuses to spend his time pouring over copies of art manuscripts dating back to the Renaissance. Your cold brew seems to have lost its vanilla flavor; the sweetness brews stagnant on your tongue. Even the majestic portraits of the university’s founding fathers, poised and proud in their frames, appear to be frowning down on you.

It’s as if the universe is trying to tell you something. Which, judging by all of those things plus the daily horoscopes that light up your phone screen, it probably is.

Sunday, 12:47 PM. Your day at a glance. Sometimes, you’re doing the work without being aware of it.

“You missed date night on Friday.”

“I did? Oh my god babe, I’m so sorry. Can we do it this Sunday instead? Or maybe Wednesday?”

“I have work on Sunday and a mandatory civics exam on Wednesday.”

“Well, how about next week?”

“This is the third one in a row you’ve missed, Seokjin.”

Yesterday, 12:53 PM. Your day at a glance. Think of trusting people as an act of generosity today.

“I thought you said you were studying with Yoongi in the library tonight.”

The door creaks closed. “I was. There’s a group project coming up that we’re nervous for.”

A text notification lights up your phone, the gentle ping! way more cheery than necessary.

myg: where’s your boyfriend? he’s supposed to be here. it’s been two hours and his coffee is getting cold.

And, perhaps, your favorite:

Nine hours ago. Your day at a glance. Don’t be scared to tell each other the truth.

myg: there’s nothing wrong with me, but i think you need to take some time for yourself, so we’re giving you some space. we’re all worried about you.

Perhaps this whole message-from-the-universe thing is more obvious than you thought it was.

You roll your eyes and take another bite of your takeout, leaning over your textbook with renewed, nearly reckless abandon.

The universe would have to wait. You had an examination on court cases tomorrow that you could not afford to fail.

It’s late the next time you look at the clock, so late that night has spilled over into the early morning, and for once, it’s quiet outside.

The streetlights reflect on the tearstained panes of your window, droplets of gold shimmering tranquil. Branches scratch at the glass with persistence, but not insistence. The lamp’s glow burns soft in the darkness of your bedroom, and the pen flows moot in your aching grasp, working endlessly for four hours- no, five. Your eyes grow heavy in the light that seems to be dying evermore, the bulb fading and flickering, threatening total extinction.

Perhaps a brief, merciful rest is in order.

Your head hits the cover of your notebook and you’re asleep without a second thought.

A single chime resounds in the stillness of your apartment, a sound that conditions your weary head to instantly lift from your pillow of study materials. You blink; your eyes are dry and sticky from exhaustion, but your dark laptop screen is awakened with color, so alive and so brightly blue that you squint for a moment, pupils overwhelmed.

Incoming call: campus-wide handsome💕💕💕

Relief.

Relief floods your system like water pouring from a broken dam, leaking and sinking and filling every nook, every cranny. Relief, ease; the feelings spurt color into your darkened world, the details sharpening as if brought into focus by an empyrean lens. Relief, him. This is normal; everything will be fine, he’s calling to talk it out, finally. He’s ready to come clean, to own up to his mistakes and mishaps and god, you will too, because you are far from perfect. Two broken halves, reunited by the glow of pixels on an electronic screen.

You move, almost automatically, to accept the call.

On the other side of the screen, your boyfriend sits, blurry with a poor connection. He is effortlessly handsome barefaced, an oversized hoodie thrown on casually, brown locks mussed in a style only he could pull off. His brow is more pronounced in the shadows of his dorm room, his almond eyes tired but hopeful. He's never looked so domestically kissable; your heart twists at the thought.

When Seokjin speaks, he’s quiet with the reverence of night-time, that sacred morning space when the world pauses to take a breath of its own. Everything is on the table, but nothing is off limits. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hi,” you breathe.

He scratches at the back of his neck, fingers disappearing in the strands of hair that lick at his ears. “I know that this isn’t really warranted and is probably going to sound weird, but I needed to hear your voice. It’s late, but- I don’t know, I missed it. I missed you.”

Your heart soars. “I missed you too Jinnie, more than I’d like to admit in all honesty.”

A smile pulls at his lips, wonderfully plush and sweet. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” 

You gaze into the camera at him. Him, the person with the world in the palm of his hands. Him, the student whom nearly every one of his professors fawned over, the son of one of the most distinguished politicians in the region. Him, who had caught your eye at the nearby coffee shop one late afternoon shift and stolen your heart with a spilled cappuccino all over his brand new slacks. Him, who stares at you with java eyes and a tender heart, so close but so, so far away.

There’s a beat of silence that falls as you stare at him, and he clears his throat. “Baby, I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“Us.”

A prickle of worry in your stomach. “What about us?”

“Do you remember that night when you made your mom’s pasta from scratch for the first time?”

Your brows furrow. “What about it?”

“That was the night we slow danced in the kitchen to Sinatra,” he reminisces. “It was just us and the moon, dancing on the tile while Frank crooned. I miss that.”

Your heart leaps at the happy memory, burning clear in your mind.

Seokjin waggles his brows as he places one hand on your waist, the gentle pressure of his hand on your hip comforting. You’re in sweatpants and an old shirt; he’s in a suit, having just come off his internship at a local firm. But he’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, your cheeks pink with the heat of the kitchen and your sleeves splattered with tomato sauce. And in that moment you are wholly, completely enrapturing to him, so much that he just had to ask you to dance, to hold you tight to his chest as the vinyl in the hallway plays and you have carved a moment out of chaos for yourselves, you only.

“May I have this dance, little chef?”

“You may, my handsome lawyer.”

“I only passed the bar exam, like, five months ago.”

“Shut up and dance with me, you coward.”

“I’m shutting up now.”

“And I miss that day we spent at the arboretum a few hours away, walking between the roses and talking about anything and everything,” Seokjin continues. “Or the times we’d bring Chinese food over Yoongi and Jimin’s dorm room and play Cards Against Humanity for hours on end.”

Seokjin kneels to cradle a flower delicately between his fingers, studying the pastels etched like ink into the petals. “You know, your lips are as beautiful as those petals,” you blurt. “And as soft, too.” He blushes a deep crimson all the way to his ears, and you laugh aloud.

Cheeks stuffed round and full with dumplings, you nearly choke at the card you draw from the stack. “Gordon Ramsay’s what?” The room is filled with howls of mirth and this, you think to yourself, this must be heaven.

“Even the moments when you’d cry because the stress was too much, or when I had that emergency hospital trip and you found out in the middle of your lecture.”

Chest heaving, lungs stabbing, fear. Stress and exhaustion and anxiety, bearing down their cruel weight on your shoulders, twisting each thought just enough to make it hurt. You’re crying into your hands, a hiccup punctuating each fresh sob, when your apartment door is opening and he’s stumbling in and then his arms are around you. He’s clutching you so tight you feel as though your ribs are cracking, insisting that he must hold you together when you feel yourself shattering into infinitesimal pieces, finds it in himself to pluck each shard from his palm and put it together to find you again. You, the everlasting heartbeat of his microcosm, a little slice of paradise to which no one else holds the key.

Chest heaving again, but it’s pure panic that floods your veins this time, seeps frigid into your blood. In a rush you’re dropping your phone into your bag, practically throwing your laptop and your books into your backpack with one hand, scrabbling for your car keys with the other. A text from Yoongi you’ll never forget: this isn’t an emergency, but jin had a severe allergic reaction to the seafood we got for lunch. he’s on his way to the hospital right now. Never in your life had you driven twenty-five miles an hour over the speed limit before that day, but he was awake and alert when you saw him next, enough to give you a crooked thumbs-up as he smiled behind the nebulizer.

“I don’t know why I’m thinking of all this. I guess I just wanted to call you and tell you that I love you and I miss you, and I’m thinking of you. It’s late, but you’re the only thing on my mind, and really, just- I’m sorry for everything that’s been going on lately.” You can hear the earnest pleading in his voice, the ache in his soul. He means what he says, and a pang of guilt throbs at the surface.

“I really do love you,” he continues. “I love you like every star shines in the midday sky, even when they’re too bright to be seen. I love the way your nose scrunches when you laugh and how your eyebrows furrow when you study at night and how your teeth aren’t quite straight; they’re perfect the way they are. I love your little unorthodox habits, your quirks and flaws and your talents too. I love you, okay? I love you for who you are and I promise we will get through this, I swear it even if it takes every ounce of energy I have.”

His voice breaks when he says okay; he says those three words like he's trying to embed them into your soul, carve them into your psyche, promise you that even though this has been falling apart at the seams, he loves you. Somehow, someway, it will last. The end isn’t near; that's not possible. Not while he loves you like this, and you love him too, love him with every ounce of your soul.

“Seokjin, I-” you begin.

CRASH!

Thunder explodes outside your window and you jolt, hand lashing out, knocking over your cup of pens and pencils that sits expectantly on your desk. It is if the sky is cleaving itself in two, lightning splitting the sky with an explosion of light and thunder howling with a cacophony of darkness. Rain pours down, spilling from the gutters down your sill; you can hear a faint dripping from the bathroom and realize the ceiling is leaking again, just like it has every day for the last two and a half weeks.

You raise a hand to your cheek and trace the square imprints in the skin from your laptop keyboard. There’s a kink in your neck that aches like the devil, your spine aching after the uncomfortable position you contorted yourself into pre-nap and you are so groggy at first that nothing seems out of the ordinary, and you move to message Seokjin that you accidentally took a nap, and you loved him, too.

You press the power button on your laptop. No response.

You frown and try again, running your hand across the body of the machine, cold and unresponsive to the touch.

Cold and unresponsive?

But you were just-

No.

No.

Seokjin was just here. He was just here; you just saw him onscreen, you’d call him in a moment and things would be just how they were.

Just how they were two weeks ago, when he’d told you over a caramel macchiato that this, whatever beautiful thing you had cultivated, was beyond repair. That he couldn’t have more of his energy sapped by this relationship that you had put so much of yourself towards, giving him everything he could possibly want, and yet at the end of it all, you’re the one whose face is spat upon with scorn. He promised you that you would get through this, and yet there is no promise because this is already over, and the second time the thunder crashes in your ears like a symphony of pure sound, you cry aloud. It felt so fucking real to have him there, him, the color on your canvas, the brightness of your everyday life turned up like an old television dial.

The lamp still shines buttery gold, all these hours later. Now it matches the tinge of dawn that peeks through a break in the angry clouds, spreading its vibrant fingers like ivy seeking a trellis.

It is so easy to imagine a world in which your laptop merely died, cutting off your proclamation of love to him. So easy to imagine him in his dorm on campus, body crooked as he sleeps curled in on himself, buried under a pile of blankets when your body can’t provide him the heat. So easy to pretend as though none of this nightmare, this hellish denial had never even happened to begin with.

But you can’t anymore.

You can’t hold onto every experience. Give yourself permission to forget.

Your phone vibrates with a notification.

Fortunate are those who can appreciate the basic goods of life with awe, pleasure, wonder and ecstasy, again and again for the first time.

[sabraeal]

Rarely Pure & Never Simple, Chapter 5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Obiyuki Week, Day 5 Wrath | Patience

By May, Shirayuki has been at Clarines High -- that’s what they call it, no matter whose name is above the entrance, for reasons no one has been able to explain to her -- for eight months, and she’d be hard-pressed to name a single thing Tanbarun Academy could hold over it, except, well...

The backpack ban.

(”It’s not that hard to get around,” Kihal tells her, picking at the pastrami in her sub.

“You can just get a messenger bag,” Obi adds around the remains of his Mayflower. Why someone would want stuffing in a sandwich, Shirayuki will never quite know, but from how baggy his band tees are, he could probably use the calories. “You know, the rind is what has all the flavor.”

“I don’t want the flavor, I want prosciutto, but some people don’t know there’s more than one deli meat with a ‘p.’“

Obi shrugs a shoulder, unapologetic. “We don’t have fancy sliced ham where I come from. If you want pork you have to stab the pig yourself.”

“Oh please.” Kihal’s eyelashes flutter as she rolls her eyes, and it strikes her -- Kihal is flirting. With Obi. “As if you’ve ever seen a pig.”

“I’ve seen them on the side of a can,” he says, all smiles, and Kihal sighs, not even noticing how he’s -- he’s not joking. Shirayuki can’t say she knows Obi much more than she knows anyone here, but --

But she knows what it’s like when you don’t want to talk about hard stuff. Real stuff. Not when everyone around you asks about what you did for your Sweet Sixteen, still.

“See?” Kihal jerks a thumb at him. “If this idiot can figure it out, you can too.”

Shirayuki glances between them, first at Kihal’s flat look and then Obi’s bemused one. “But messenger bags are so bad for your spine!”)

English book? Check. A Tale of Two Cities? Check. Her English notebook, with the three-ring binder definitely, for real closed and not about to spill out onto the floor? Check. Pencil case, with all her writing utensils, including the highlighters? Check.

Shirayuki hefts her haul up, arms quivering, and lets out a satisfied sigh. Sure, Obi may call this doubling down on a bad idea, but life’s too long for scoliosis --

“Ms Leon?” A tall shadow falls across her desk, and even if she weren’t still in his classroom, Shirayuki would know it was Mr Haruka from sternness alone. “Stay after class, if you would.”

She jolts upright, a good eight of her fifteen smooth-glide, fine-tipped journal pens -- all different colors, because who can properly color-code with only black, blue and red, for goodness’ sake -- spill right out on the floor. Ah, she forgot to do the Closed Pencil Case check.

“Y-yes, sir!” She looks him right in the eyes, but they give away nothing, and all she can think is -- plagiarism. She somehow forgot that she read something on the internet, put it in her last essay, and now she’s going to get expelled, barely a month before she graduates --

“Ms Leon.” His mouth curls, just the smallest bit, right at one corner. “Please breathe. And do pick up your writing implements.”

“Oh, yes, um.” She hurries to put the pens back in their case, taking surreptitious glances at his Oxfords. “Sorry, that’s -- important. Breathing, I mean.”

She can’t see his face but she could swear -- swear -- he laughs. Just under his breath, the lightest chuckle. “Over this way, if you please.”

She looks up, following his arm until she realizes -- his desk. He’s pointing at his desk. And the small chair to one side of it. “Oh.”

“Shirayuki.” Her eyes jump to him, and -- oh, yes. Mr Haruka is definitely laughing at her. “You’re not in trouble. I promise.”

“Oh, right.” She lets out a giggle that is awkward, too high-pitched to be anything but pure nerves. “Of course not. Why would I be in trouble? I mean--”

“Just sit, Shirayuki.” He takes the chair behind his desk, shaking his head. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Valedictorian?” she squeaks. “You’re telling me I’m valedictorian?”

“No! No.” Mr Haruka waves his hands gently, neck swiveling toward the door, as if that might make her words softer, as if he could stop the sound from leaving the room. “We don’t...do those things here. Because of the children.”

His tone makes it very clear that he is not so worried about the children as the administration is.

“Metrics like that might hurt more the fragile eg-- feelings of our students.” His mouth pulls into a grimace. “So we no longer...rank our high achievers. Instead, we invite the top one percent of our senior class to submit a speech. Which is what I’m doing right now. Inviting you to submit one.”

She stares. “But...I only started at Clarines this year. No one could possibly--”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Ms Leon.” His hands fold neatly on top of his desk calendar, which is all she can look at, because she knows -- she knows if she looks at him when he says what he’s going to say next -- “Your experience is just as valuable and important as anyone’s here, and if you -- my god, are you crying?”

“No,” she sniffs, but hot tracks already burn down her cheeks. He thrusts out a fistful of tissues from the box on his desk, staring at the wall like if he doesn’t look, it can’t possibly be happening. “Maybe.”

“Just...clean yourself up,” he tells her, stern, but when she glances up, he’s blushing. “As I was saying, your grades put you at the top of the class, and even if you’ve only been here a year, clearly you’ve made your mark.”

“Thank you,” she manages, little more than a squeak. “But I still think--”

“And unlike your other classmates, you’re literate,” Haruka tells the wall, as if she’s hardly there. “And you’re a good thinker. Your essays are concise and show more original thought than most any I’ve seen in twenty years of teaching. Besides --” his eyes dart back to her, mouth twitching at the corner -- “the kids say that if you’re the Honor Society Advisor’s favorite student, you’re a shoe-in to be picked.”

She blinks. “But, sir. You’re the advisor for the Honor Society.”

His mouth quivers. “Yes, Shirayuki, I am.”

“But...” Her jaw snicks shut. “Oh. Oh.”

“They’re due at the end of next week,” he tells her. “But you can drop it off on my desk as early as Monday. That is, if you’d like--”

“Yes. I mean, I will.” She jumps up, chair screeching across the tile. “Monday.”

He settles back in his chair, concern flitting across his features. “You know, you can’t take your time--”

“Don’t worry,” she tells him with a smile. “I’ll have it perfect.”

She’s halfway home when she feels the buzz in her pocket, and guilt nearly drags her under when her notification screen light’s up with Obi’s smiling portrait.

(”Did you crop this?” Obi’s grin is too wide for safety, and far too close.

“Y-yes!” His breath is hot on her neck, but she is going to finish this essay if it kills her. Which it might, if he keeps on looking at her like -- like that. “I can’t just --” words abandon her -- “have that show up, when my grandparents are around.”

His grin only turns more wicked. “Really? I think Nanna might appreciate--”

“Well, you could certainly ask her, since she got a real eyeful the last time you were over.” Shirayuki had expected a revision of the six-inch rule for her door, but instead Nanna had only smiled and told her, some things can just stay between us girls.

His eyes pulse wide. “It’s just my chest, kid. Not like I sent you a dick --”

“Please,” she squeal, covering her face. “Don’t.”)

Hey babe, it reads, and her stomach flips, just the smallest bit. Just wanted 2 remind u that i was hanging with Zen n every1 tonight.

Her mental calendar clicks into place, and she realizes -- Friday. It’s Friday. He has his usual pick-up game with friends, and she spends the night studying. Unless she goes with him, but even though things are fine between her and Zen -- good, even -- she doesn’t need to rub all this in his face. Especially when he’s hoping for a good time with his friends.

And if tonight’s Friday...

That’s fine. I have something I need to do this weekend. See you on Monday!

Instead of studying -- which she should do, really; finals are coming up in another week -- she spends the night googling things like best graduation speeches, and best HIGH SCHOOL graduation speeches, and best high school graduation speeches by new students not funny. After her nine or tenth compilation video she cuts herself off.

Three days to write a speech. It has to be short, but not too short; sweet, but not saccharine; and funny. Which she can’t do, so she’ll just settle for poignant instead.

With a few short taps, her phone is silenced. No interruptions. Just a weekend with her and a word processor, hoping something like wisdom comes out.

She can do this.

“Shirayuki?”

She startles, and it’s only Nanna’s hand that keeps her from face-planting right into the carpet. She’d fallen asleep, right here at the desk, and --

The speech.

Her neck swivels so fast it makes a painful crack, but there it is, on the screen --

“Oh my gosh,” she breathes. “It’s gibberish.”

“You were on the keyboard, dear,” Nanna sighs, leaning over her. She clicks the cursor and drags all the way up the screen, scrolling past almost three pages of nonsense to --

“Oh, oh!” She grips the edge of the desk. “It’s all there. It’s done!”

“Good girl.” Nanna pats her head, giving her a good scritch at the crown, like she always does. “But Obi’s on the horn.”

“The--?” She blinks, looking up at the cordless cradled against her cardigan. “He called the house?”

“He called the house,” Nanna agrees, very slow, like she’s afraid the implication might miss her. “And he sounds like he’s in a state.”

“Why wouldn’t he just call--?” Shes click her phone on, and the face of it proudly proclaims Obi: 12 missed calls, followed by a run of cut-off text messages. “Oh no.”

She holds her hand out, and Nanna drops the receiver into it. “Obi? Is something -- is something wrong?“

He lets out a laugh but it sounds -- ragged. “I don’t know, is there?”

She blinks. “Should I know?”

“Shirayuki.” His voice is tight, tense. “You haven’t talked to me since Thursday.”

“What? But I--?” She clamps down hard as she looks at their texts.

That’s fine. I have something I need to do this weekend. See you on Monday! still sits above her keyboard, unsent. Above it is, well --

hey is everything okay? kid is something up? you arent picking up your phone. please call me are you angry at me?

She blinks at that one. What could she possibly --

Oh no. Thursday.

(The applause is still rolling from the Daily Double, but Shirayuki can barely remember what the answer is, let alone the question when Obi’s touching her like this, his skirt up around her hips and his fingers deep inside her.

“It better not be College Jeopardy,” Lata calls out from the foyer, door closing behind him, but it’s too late, far too late to do more than stare as he walks into the room, face screwed up in annoyance. “I refuse to watch another night that makes the New York Times crossword look like a Gordian--”

Obi’s back is to him, so it’s Shirayuki that sees his gaze fall on it, then on the shirt discarded on the coffee table and the panties on the carpet, little banana splits smiling up at the plaster ceiling, and at last on the GWU shirt on the latest contestant before he turns on his heel and walks right of the room.)

please call me. we can work this out i promise i can do better

“Oh my gosh, Obi,” she breathes. There’s more but she -- she can’t look at that. Not right now. “I’m so sorry. I thought I had -- my text didn’t send!”

The silence from his end is deafening. “Your what?”

“I’ve been working on a project all weekend,” she admits, voice shaking. “And I silenced my phone so I could, you know, avoid distractions. I just -- I thought I pressed send, but I didn’t, and I’m -- I’m so sorry!”

There’s a pause, and then he must have put his phone down because she can hear him roaring with laughter, just...muted.

“Kid, kid,” he breathes, louder this time, brighter. “You are...something else.”

She’s glad he can’t see her, because he’d definitely call this painful red cute. “I...I guess.”

“Well?” She can almost see his eyebrows raising. “Did you finish?”

“Oh! Yes!” She spins, clicking at the doc. “I’m -- I’m just printing it out now.”

“So...” His voice slides straight into that easy purr, the one that makes her thighs clench just thinking about it. “...You don’t need to avoid distractions anymore?”

Even with all -- that, she still nearly says, I guess not, as if she hasn’t picked up his subtle hints, but her brain catches up quicker than her mouth. She snaps her teeth over the words, giving herself a breath to think.

“Finals are next week,” she says carefully, watching the door. She can’t see Nanna, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t lurking in the hall, waiting to catch her. “You need to study, don’t you?”

His grin is practically audible. “Come over here. Lyrias’s finals are this week, so Lata left early.”

She presses her thighs together, and -- three days. It’s been three days.

“I’ll be over in a bit,” she tells him, all in a rush. “Make sure you come up with a study plan.”

“Oh, trust me,” he rumbles. “I know exactly what I’m going to do.”

“All right, my worst subject is gonna be English, because I forcibly forgot Catcher in the Rye, and now I gotta relearn it,” Obi tells her, and -- and he whips out a piece of paper, written in no less than five colors, and drops it in her lap. “But after that is chem. I don’t know shit about how orbitals work.”

“Oh!” She stares down, squinting at the chicken scratch that is just barely more legible than usual. Never has she been less excited by color-coding. “You actually...you actually made a plan.”

“These are the last set of finals I’m ever going to take in high school,” he tells her, teeth flashing behind his lips. “Hopefully. So I gotta -- gotta make it good right?”

I thought you wanted to make out, sits right on the tip of her tongue, but she looks at him, grinning at her so hard it crinkles his eyes, finally excited and she --

“Right.” She takes out her own, and props them side-by-side on his night table, edges curling in on one another. “Let’s get to work then.”

There’s a flaw in her plan.

Her palms sweat around the folder she holds in them, fingers sticking with an awkward squich as she taps them on the plastic. She had plans for today. Big plans. Plans that involved a mirror and a red pen, but now --

“Obi.”

He looks up from his notes, bubbly p-bonds blooming across the page, and her breath catches right in her chest. It’s soft yet -- yet hungry, molten and knowing, and it’s exactly how he looks right before he kisses her.

Shirayuki can ignore that though. She has -- business.

“Mm?” he hums, and that -- that’s trouble right there, the way he leans in smelling all nice --

Focus! Focus. That’s what she needs to do. “I need you to help me with something.”

This isn’t a good idea, not when this is the first time they’ve had time to be alone, just the two of them, in days, but -- it’s important.

His mouth curls, and oh, maybe she needs to be a little clearer about what she means by help --

“Well, kid?” he rumbles, leaning his chin on his hand. “I’m all ears.”

There isn’t enough air in this room.

That -- that’s the problem here. It’s got to be almost eighty out there, and sure, Lata’s house has central air, but Obi’s just...covered up a vent. That’s why she’s sweating, gasping for each breath like she’s run uphill; that’s why she’s so light-headed she could faint, not --

“Oh, god,” Shirayuki moans, clutching at his back, skin slick beneath her fingertips. “Please...”

-- Not anything to do with what he’s doing between her legs. Oh no, all this quivering just -- just because they need to open a window.

“What was that?” Obi rumbles, grinning against her neck. He lifts her hips, just a little, so that her ass tilts up on his knees, and then he slides his fingers deeper, just where she wants them --

“Holy--”

“I can’t hear you,” he says, too innocent, nipping right at the curve of her jaw. His hand stills, just short of where she needs him. “Maybe you don’t like--?”

Her fingers band around his wrist, showing him just what she’d like. Still he doesn’t do the -- the thing; touching her like this is all fine and good, but sometimes he does this...fluttery thing inside, and she --

“Did you want this?” he asks, half-breathless, and his fingers move. Stars bloom in her vision, bright against the black of her eyelids, and --

Well, she doesn’t have any complaints about it, that’s for sure.

“Stop teasing.” she pants, hips raising to chase his hand. “Just--”

Oh, it’s -- it’s very hard to keep any sort of thoughts in his head while he’s -- he’s doing things.

“Teasing?” It’s an inquisitive rumble right above her heart, eyebrows lifting in the worst impression of surprise she’s ever seen. “I can’t do what you want if you don’t tell me what you need...”

“You’re doing just -- haaah -- fine on your own,” she assures him, back arching off the bed.

“I need encouragement.”

She lifts her head, and the look he gives her is, well -- trouble. “I’m not going to -- to --”

“Scream?” he offers, curling his fingers in a way that makes that seem like a more probably eventuality than it did a minute ago. “I don’t see why not.”

Her face is already flushed from -- from things, but she feels it go darker, chest practically burning up. “What if -- if -- Lata--”

She can’t even finish the thought. She knows far too well what would happen. It will be nothing short of a miracle if she ever manages to look him in the eye again.

“Lata is hours away,” he tells her, lifting his head so that honeyed gaze can bear down into hers, “and you’ll be living in a dorm room soon. So you should take advantage--” he grins as she gasps, his fingers touching her just where he needs him -- “of the fact.”

She means to argue the point, really she does, but he wraps and arm around her waist, lifting her upright into his lap, and -- well, she gives him exactly what he wants.

“Hnn-aah.” Knees jellied, thighs quivering still, Shirayuki tips back with a sigh, Obi’s mattress catching her better than she can her breath.

“Well.” His fingers shimmer with -- with her as he raises them, giving them a thoughtful glance. It’s all for show; she knows before he even moves that he’ll wrap his lips around them, sucking off her taste as if he can’t get enough.

It doesn’t stop her helpless whine when they disappear into his mouth, long lashes fluttering against his cheek. It’s not fair that he looks so good doing -- doing that. “Obi!”

“I liked it.”

For a long minute, she stares, halfway to saying, I know you did, but --

“Oh!” She laughs, shaking her head on his pillow. It smells like him, fresh and earthy. “The speech! Were you even listening?”

“Of course.” He looks almost affronted that she doubts it. “I obviously found it inspiring.”

He settles beside her, his front pressed to her side, and his -- his dick pokes her hip, as if it’s proving his point. Which, all right, it kind of is, but -- but that’s beside the point.

“I should have known better.” She rolls up onto her side, letting it dig into her belly, and she just catches the slight flutter of his eyelashes, the hitch in his breath. “It’s been three days. Expecting you to focus was a big ask.”

“I did focus.” His hips squirm, rubbing up against hers. Her panties are -- well, somewhere, and his fly is open for comfort and she -- she’s a little distracted. By his grin, that was the plan. “I’m still very focused.”

“I get it, I get it,” she laughs, leaning into his chest, closing the space between them with a kiss. It’s quick, affection rather than desire, but every kiss with Obi turns into something that lingers, that leaves her a little breathless when she pulls away. “But really, did you--?”

“I loved it, kid, really.” He leans his forehead against hers, rubbing noses with a grin. “I wasn’t just thinking about whether you had tights on or not.”

She lets her silence do the talking on that one. Mostly because if she said anything, it would come out less like, I appreciate your attraction, but I am more than just what’s between my legs, and more like, I plan what I wear depending on whether or not I think we’ll have time to fool around.

Shirayuki bites back a sigh. I would be nice if all her feminist ideology didn’t crumble the second he looked at her.

His smile softens, fingers reaching out to tuck some errant flyaways behind her ear. “You did great, kid. They’ll love it.”

She leans into his touch, just the littlest bit, and maybe --

Maybe the reason she doesn’t feel like she has to aggressively remind him to respect her is because he already does.

“I especially liked that part about me.”

She’s already flushed, but her cheeks scale up to a five-alarm fire. “It wasn’t about you! It was about--”

“I know, I know, everyone you met here.” He smooths a hand over the top of her head, fingers trailing down to tangle at her nape and draw her close. Lips brush right between her brows, smoothing away the crinkle there. “Don’t worry, kid, I know I’m not the only important person in your life.”

Obi’s right, of course -- it’s not like she just emerged fully-formed from the ether at the beginning of senior year, just to be the girl he liked. She has her grandparents, and the few friends she’s kept from her old school, Zen and Kiki and Mistuhide, Kihal, Ryuu and Higata and the rest of the mathletes --

Wow, that’s a lot more people than she even thought.

But even still, there’s something in the way he says it, not even sad or resigned but -- but so certain he’s not anywhere at the top of the list and fine with it, that makes her blurt out, “Well, I mean, it is mostly about you.”

The flat of his teeth presses against her skin, and she doesn’t need to look at him to know how immensely pleased she’s made him, not when his -- his dick twitches, catching the underside of her belly.

“Do you need to--” even after all this time, she still doesn’t know quite how to ask -- “handle that?”

His eyebrows dip in confusion, and she wriggles her hips, not subtle in the least.

A laugh huffs out of him, his forehead slipping from hers to bury itself in the crook of her neck. She feels him shaking against her, but it takes her a good long minute to realize it’s a -- a shake. A no.

“No. Well--” she feels his lips curl against her skin, which is just doing nothing for her concentration right now -- “eventually. But it can wait.”

She opens her mouth to protest -- it’s not fair that she makes him wait on top of everything else -- but he just says, “I like being with you like this. You know, after.”

A breath catches tight in her chest. She does know; there’s something nice about him being close as she comes down, as the tingle fades from her body and leaves a bone-deep relaxation behind. Sometimes, when she lays there, trying to catch herself against his shoulder, she thinks about how nice it might be for there to be nothing between them, for their touches to be skin-to-skin and for him to be breathless too --

He lifts her arm up and lets it drop, boneless, to the bed. “You get all floppy. It’s really fucking cute.”

He mouth pulls thin, giving him the most forbidding glare she can dredge up, the most scolding she can do in silence --

And he pulls back, taking it in with a smile that is just -- fond. Content. His palm cups the back of her head, and he draws her close, tucking her head under his chin. He’s so close, so silent, that she can hear his heart beat in his chest, hear the breath fill and empty his lungs.

He’s too good to her.

Her fingers curl against his chest, skin still slick beneath them, and she has to take a moment to calm herself, to think, because it’s just -- a lot. So much.

She’s never dated anyone before, not even at her old school, but she knows that this is different. Zen never made her chest feel tight like this, like she’s too small in a single body, like even skin is too much of a barrier between them. That sometimes, if she tried hard enough, she wouldn’t even need to speak to have him know what she was thinking.

It’s intense. More than she thought, and if he were any other boy --

Well, if he were any other boy, he would already be in the bathroom, finishing himself off. If he were any other boy, he would have told her she needs to stop being so shy about dicks if she likes rubbing up against them so much.

But he doesn’t. It doesn’t even seem to bother him, which just -- it has to be fake.

Not that she’s complaining. It’s only --

Sure, it’s just about sex now. But she can’t help but wonder about if something was wrong -- really wrong -- whether he’d tell her or just -- do this, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. She’s good at reading him now, but what about when they don’t see each other every day, when she can’t just look at him to tell if there’s a problem--?

“How are we going to make this work?” she asks his throat, pulse racing against her lips.

He jerks against her like she’s yanked his strings. “What do you mean?”

“When I’m at Lyrias and you’re here.” She pushes back, just in time to see the fear in his eyes fade to concern, fade to certainty. “What if it’s not enough? What if--?”

“I’m going to visit.” He cards his fingers through her hair, the blunt edges of his nails scraping down her scalp in a way that’s nearly as soothing as his voice. “Remember? Once every two weeks, and I’ll stay the whole weekend, if your roommate doesn’t mind. And we can skype as much as you want. And I promise I’ll text you as obnoxiously as I do now.”

“So every two minutes?” she teases, leaning her forehead against his lips.

She can feel his smile against her hairline. “Mm, no. Too long. How about every minute?”

“Obi--”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He squeezes her close. “Every five.”

Her hands are trapped against his chest, but she’s not above giving a good pinch. Even still, he just laughs, batting her hands away.

“I’m serious, Obi! We see each other every day, and then we just..won’t.” She squirms, tucking herself more firmly under his chin. It’s hard enough to say this out loud, never mind look at him while she’s doing it. “What if...what if...”

What if you get bored of me? She would never insult him by saying it, by implying that between them, he would somehow be the weak link, but -- it’s all she can think about. Hours away, only seeing her every two weeks, and who knows what time she’ll have outside of her course work to give him, and what time he’ll have with school and a job to give her --

Obi’s hand smooths down her back, broad and warm, and she just -- breathes.

“Shirayuki,” he says, her name rumbling fondly under her ear. “Haven’t I told you? You’re the only one who does it for me.”

She means to laugh, but it gasps out like wounded honk. “You can’t just keep saying that.”

“Why not?” For once, he sounds almost frustrated. “It’s true.”

It’s the earnestness that hurts. He’s so sure, and yet -- yet --

She wiggles her hips against his, feeling only the sharp jut of his pelvis. “It doesn’t feel like I’m doing it for you.”

Obi stares at her for a long moment, and then a laugh huffs out of him, his cheeks pink over bronze.

“Well, not right now.” His fingers drag against her scalp, burying themselves in the hair at her nape. “We’re having a serious conversation, I need all that blood. But give me a few minutes...”

The invitation is implicit, and she want to take it -- she means to take it, but --

She shakes her head. “One day you’ll meet a girl who isn’t afraid of penises, and then--”

“I’ve met plenty of girl who were very enthusiastic about penises.” His eyes meet hers as their foreheads touch. “And I still only want you.”

She lets out a sigh, closing her eyes. It would be nice to be able to believe that. “Be serious.”

“About you? Always.” For a breath he just lays there, head pressed against hers, but it doesn’t last. He shifts, pulling back, tilting her chin up so that their eyes meet. “Listen, I get that you haven’t done this whole long distance thing before. I haven’t either. I mean, fuck, kid, I haven’t really done this whole dating thing at all. I’m sure I’ll fuck up somewhere, but it won’t be by thinking the grass is greener on the other side, believe me.”

Her palms press flat against his chest, his heart racing beneath the, “Obi, I didn’t mean to--”

“But if you’re worried about us not being to do other stuff--” he waggles his eyebrows, making crystal clear just what sort of other stuff he’s talking about -- “we can always do skype sex.”

She stares, wondering if she’s having a stroke. “We can what?”

“You know.” His lips twitch. “When you skype each other, and then you watch each other get off.”

“I...” She blinks. “At the same time?”

“I’m mean, I’m a little fuzzy on the details here, but yeah.” His hand smooths down her spine, resting heavy just above her butt. It takes superhuman effort not to squirm back, not to press into it. “That’s typically how these things go.”

“And that...” She licks her lips, but her mouth is already dry. “That would work for you?”

He stiffens under her hands, eyes pulsing wide. “What, seeing you touch yourself? Getting all wet for me?” His hand urges her closer, and she can feel him hard against her thigh. “Watch you get all flushed because you’re hot for me? Think about how it could be me getting you that way, how I’d touch you to make you come?”

To her complete humiliation, she whimpers.

“Yeah,” he breathes, gazes fixed her hers. “I think that would work for me just fine.”

“O-oh,” she squeak, face burning. “Oh.”

His lips curl as he looks at her, as he leans close and rumbles, “Wouldn’t that work for you? Watching me touch myself, knowing I’m hard because you look so incredible when you come?”

Her nails scrape against his chest, earning her a hiss that is -- is not helping with the thinking, here.

That -- that might be okay. Seeings a penis not in person, but through a screen. Not that it’s really helped with google, but -- if it was Obi’s, if it was because she --

“Yes.” He twitches hard against her, and she ducks her head, flushed. “I mean, yes, but ...”

“But..?” he hums, too amused.

“I just...” I only there was a way to say these things without actually having to say them, like Obi does. Some innuendo that could make the problem clear without being so -- so obvious. “I’m not very good at, um, being alone. Like that.”

“Oh, really?” The hardness is impossible to ignore now. “Well, we have an entire summer, kid. Plenty of time for practice sets.”

“What, like summer school for m-m---” she grits her teeth--- “touching myself?”

“Why not?” His grin stretched across her temple. “You seem like the sort of girl who likes to get hot for teacher---”

Duchess Prettymane ends that particular vein of conversation.

“What have we said about you being nicer to your friends?” he says, catching Tiny Frog before he can join the pile surrounding Obi’s head. “If that doesn’t float on the motion of your ocean, I could always just get you a...graduation gift.”

For a long moment, she’s only confused; after all, she’s already looked in to getting him one, and it’s not like she was expecting one from him, but it wasn’t out of the realm of --

She catches his grin, the heat in his eye. Oh. Oh. Graduation gift. The kind she would not be opening in front of Grandad and Nanna.

“Obi!”

“What?” His grin is far too attractive, this close. “It would be very thoughtful. I would think very, very hard about what kind you might like--”

“Kind?” she yelps. “I thought there were, you know, just...sizes.”

“Oh, kid.” He bends close, lips brushing over hers. “Can’t start you off with some big dragon dick. Gotta work you up to it.” His hand skims over her hip, leaving a searing trail where each finger touches, lifting her leg to wrap around his waist. “I was thinking of one of those little egg ones, the king that just sit here--”

She whines at his touch, hips bucking against his as two of his fingers brush just over her clit. She came only a few minutes ago, but she’s wet again, hands clutching at his biceps as he moves those fingers just so --

“That,” she gasps, nails digging into his skin. “That might be okay.”

His jaw drops, eyes blowing wide, and --

Well, she loses a few minutes.

“All right,” he huffs, rolling away from her, fingers still slick. “This is definitely becoming a…ah….pressing issue.”

Her heart squeeze in her chest, but when she looks at him, he only gestures to where – where he is hard against his boxers, to a point that looks nearly painful.

“Oh!” She sits up. “Right.”

He gives her a weak smile. “If you would excuse me…”

He brushes past her getting off the bed, and for a moment she nearly stops him, nearly tells him to stay and pull off those jeans, to let her see him for once –

But she just presses her lips together and calls out, “Have fun?”

Obi tosses her a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “Oh, don’t worry, Kid. I plan to.”