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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.2 (BAON)

Summary: Jeff has a lot to think about and what better place to do it than at the bar with his best buddy, Stretch?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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The night wasn’t as young as it used to be, but to be fair, neither was Jeff. After a few hours of sitting on a bar stool, his tailbone would be more than willing to testify on that.

He leaned back against the bar in an effort to take some of his weight off of it, grimacing as he watched the dance floor. Colored lights flashed to the thrumming bass beat over the gyrating dancers and out in the thrashing sea of sweaty human bodies there was a head that was above almost all of them. Stretch towered over most humans and never was it more obvious than right then. The lights reflected off his smooth skull, a living disco ball, and around him other humans were laughing and cheering as they danced.

Edge would be having a conniption right about now and Jeff was a little bemused to find his anxiety having an internal dance competition of its own. Currently it was at ‘chachacha’ levels, watching all those Humans grinding up on Stretch. He didn’t want to think anyone here would hurt Stretch, intentionally or otherwise, but the threat of low HP always loomed. His trust in humanity took a pretty big dip a few months ago outside a Chinese restaurant and he had the scars to prove it.

Jeff took another sip of his drink. His straw crackled against the bottom of the glass as he finished it off, leaving only lonely ice cubes behind and he set it back on the bar as he settled back in for a little spare contemplation.

If he were honest, wasn’t a huge fan of the club scene even before he started dating Antwan. Not that he didn’t like going out but his problems with it were twofold. One, bars sucked to go to alone and back then he didn’t have a lot of real estate in the friend territory and two, it cost money. His disposable cash in those days was a lot like a pink unicorn: nonexistent.

Being friends with Stretch took care of both of those problems but a third loomed up to take their place like an unwanted acquaintance. Put bluntly, Jeff could not dance and until Kevin Bacon showed up to give him a few lessons, he probably wasn’t gonna learn how.

Not that he really minded that much. Guarding their drinks and listening to the music wasn’t a bad way to spend the night.

Besides, Stretch didn’t seem to care if he wasn’t up to evacuating the dance floor. He mostly let Jeff sit at the bar where he tried to look like someone with deep and mysterious thoughts to process instead of the person he actually was, far more likely to accidently spill his drink into his lap than anything else. On either side of him were other people doing the same, a row of wallflowers watching the dance floor with wistful envy.

Mostly Stretch left him to it but sometimes he’d bounce his way back and haul Jeff out for a song, any song, fast, slow, techno-bop, dubstep, didn’t matter to Stretch, he was an equal opportunist when it came to friendly torment and if Jeff felt a lot like Frankenstein’s monster tromping around next to Stretch’s lithe booty shake, eh, that was okay. Sacrificing a little dignity for a friend’s fun times was part of the package.

As far as he knew, Stretch didn’t go out to the clubs often either, but if there was one thing Jeff had learned when it came to Stretch, it was there were no half-measures. If he was in, he was all in, and that included drinking, dancing, and on the weekends, the occasional explosion caused by a thermal reaction. Truly a wide variety of hobbies came into play when hanging out with Stretch and going out to the bars pretty much guaranteed something interesting would happen.

Like the time they met those guys who’d come into town for the last beat poetry night. One of them mentioned liking Stretch’s Intergalactic Beastie Boys t-shirt so Stretch convinced them all to swap shirts and then swapped them around again, until they were all three shirts removed from the one they’d arrived in. Pants were a harder sell and if Stretch were ever hard up for money, he might take up selling ice to penguins because in no time they were all out on the sidewalk, firmly dismissed from Grillby’s over their rampant laughter drowning out the poet’s rambling about the burden of solitude. The Waffle House they ended up at had a less stringent dress code and all of them crammed into a booth to eat greasy breakfast food at two am in their boxer shorts. At least those were all their own and his plain cotton boxer briefs were no match against Stretch’s ‘wanna tickle my pickle’ pair.

He was pretty sure all those guys still followed Stretch on twitter.

He wondered what Edge had thought of Stretch wandering home in an entirely new wardrobe, minus pants. There was no way he didn’t notice, Edge was very intent on fashion, even Stretch’s version of it. Knowing him, he probably made Stretch strip right in the living room and soaked both him and his clothes in Lysol before burning his boxer shorts. The old-new t-shirt Jeff ended up with was hanging in closet even though it was two sizes too big for him. Antwan stole it sometimes for lounging around the house purposes and seeing him in it was always a cheap thrill.

Huh, now that he was thinking about it, he’d gone to the bar more this past year than in his whole life before. Not just with Stretch either, Blue and Papyrus had brought him along for karaoke a few times and that was an experience right there. Their singing was like a vocal interpretation of his dancing and just as painful for witnesses.

He’d even had a drink a couple of times with Red. Well, he’d been a tag along with Antwan but still. Red was still vaguely terrifying, but Jeff had gotten the occasional glimpse under his onion layers. He knew a little of what Edge and Red went through before they came here. His knowledge pretty much barely skimmed the surface, they’d both been soldiers and they might’ve gotten out alive, but not entirely unscathed. Knowing Red’s HP was similar to Stretch’s and he’d still survived? Perspective was a hell of a thing and it paid to look at Red from a slant.

Speaking of perspective, he was definitely liking the music. They were a local band and this place was close to the college, a good spot to hopefully get noticed and work their way up. The bar itself had probably been here for fifty years, the bartop pitted with scratches and scars from college students of yore, the stools definitely up for reupholstering.

It was really no surprise to find out that Stretch knew the current owner. He knew loads of people, wriggled his way into their lives a lot like he’d wriggled into Jeff’s. Only difference was, he didn’t usually let the other person wriggle back and yeah, okay, that metaphor was going in weird places, but the meaning stood. Stretch was good with shortcuts and he knew a lot of people, but he wasn’t necessarily friends with a lot. Jeff was pretty happy to be on the short list.

Knowing people came in handy, too, and bringing Stretch along always came with added perks. Catty only asked him to listen to the bands on the list to get a feel for their sound, but he’d be able to bring her a better report than that since they were going to go meet the band after their set was done. It would give him a chance feel them out, see if they were even interested in participating in the Midnight Monster Jamboree, as Catty had slyly dubbed it. After everything went down in California, they needed some serious good will.

The Monster community had been found not at fault for what happened right away, but Antwan told him court cases would be dragging on for a while yet. When Humans died, other Humans wanted someone to pay, and Monsters were easy scapegoats for unreasonable anger. His team was working their butts off on it, Antwan coming home at night so very tired, mostly falling into Jeff’s arms to sleep and yet still so grimly determined. Jeff couldn’t do much about all that, but he could try his damnedest to get their big public relations event off the ground.

The idea was to have a huge event for Humans and Monsters together and for it to be held in New New Home. Asgore thought that some of the problems with Humans might be a result of them thinking Monsters had something to hide, so what better way to show them who Monsters really were than a chance to see into their supposedly secret lives.

Jeff was on the lowest rung for planning and even from his view, it looked like a nightmare. Security details made up of both Human and Monsters, background checks, food, entertainment. Access was going to be extremely limited and the guest list was daunting; there were going to be some big names in politics and entertainment. That circled back to his job, getting some local bands together for the opening shows. Partly good public relations, but also an earnest desire to help out a few struggling locals with the kind of exposure most groups could only dream about. That was so like Monsters, trying to help others in the midst of helping themselves, but it sure was a lot of damn pegs getting shoved into so many slots.

He didn’t even want to know what Edge’s current schedule looked like.

There was a soft thud behind him and Jeff turned to see the bartender was bringing him another drink. The guy was probably somewhere around his age, unless you were gauging it by his world-weary expression, which probably put him at about right around three hundred.

He must’ve known Stretch, too. When they saw each other, he youthened to a spry two hundred and seventy after a complicated series of fist bumps. As an added bonus, he’d been keeping their drinks topped up and as someone who usually couldn’t even get a bartender to see him much less pour him a drink, Jeff sure did appreciate the VIP service.

He started reaching for his drink, but a sudden tap on his shoulder startled him. He turned around. A guy he didn’t recognize was standing there, not too bad on the eyes and weirdly nervous, enough that Jeff thought he might actually be trying to pick him up before he noticed the guy was holding something out.

“Did you drop this?” the guy said, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. It was a wallet and Jeff automatically checked his back pocket even as his eyes told him it wasn’t his.

He shook his head and the guy nodded, but instead of asking anyone else or handing it to the bartender, he wandered off towards the entrance.

Okay, that was odd. Jeff shrugged mentally, lots of weird people at the bar, maybe he was going to give it to the guy at the door in case whoever lost it noticed when they left.

He forgot about it as Stretch came back from the dance floor, sweat gleaming on his skull and face. That always gave Jeff a little pause, what exact purpose did sweating serve for a skeleton? Maybe he’d ask sometime when he was less busy with work. If Stretch didn’t know the answer to something, the journey to find out tended to be entertaining, and possibly less explosive this time around, although he wouldn’t put the chances at zero.

Stretch grinned at him, still panting, and picked up his own drink, gulping down half of it in one swallow. Jeff couldn’t remember was it was. Stretch tended to order more for the name than the taste, so it was probably something like a slippery nipple or a total screaming orgasm. Whatever it was, a skewer of fruit was floating in it and Stretch fished it out, pulling the cherry off the end with his teeth.

“so what do you think of the band?” Stretch asked, perfectly audible even over the loud music. There was another point of interest; when your voice was produced by magic, it didn’t always obey the rules of sound. “gonna give catty the thumbs up?

“I like it,” Jeff shrugged. He could barely hear his own voice, trusting that magical hearing worked the same way as speaking, “but I’m not the greatest judge of music. That’s why I bring you along.”

Stretch chuckled and propped his elbows on the bar, slouching back. It put him almost at head level with Jeff and the shirt he’d almost certainly borrowed from Edge pulled tight across his ribcage. “think i’m a better simon cowell than you?”

“No, you’re more Paula Abdul, and anyway, two heads are better than one.” Jeff played with the straw in his own drink. “Jokes aside, this is important, I don’t want to mess it up.”

“you’re not gonna mess it up.” Stretch scoffed. He bit a chunk of pineapple in half before polishing off the rest of his drink. “how even? you’re doing double-duty as it is. henry said once they’re finished, we can meet them backstage. i’ll have a chat with them, we’ll see if they’re assholes, and good to go! besides, it’s not like security isn’t gonna give ‘em a good, hard rundown, anyway.”

It was the truth and he knew it, but there was always that niggling little doubt in the back of his mind, that somehow he’d find a way to mess it up, and that would be it. This was so important to the Monster community and his chance to finally payback some of what’d they’d given him. He could do this, Jeff told himself, and he’d do it right.

The band started a new set, something with a low, growling bassline and Jeff turned back to watch, only to freeze as Stretch suddenly spoke again, the single word clear as a bell in church.

“jeff.”

The name caught his attention as much as the tone, Stretch never called him Jeff, it was always Andy or kiddo or whatever nickname was currently floating his proverbial boat. The last time he’d called Jeff by his actual name, he’d been lying in a parking lot in a pool of his own blood. The taste of hot metal was strong on the back of his tongue as he turned back to Stretch, his heart pounding, and some cringing part of him expected to see that friendly face instead as the one that appeared sometimes in his worst dreams, a deathmask with one socket dark and blank, the other strobing orange with grim intensity.

But Stretch only looked like his normal self and when he spoke again, each word was calmly measured and deliberate. "i don't feel right. i think we should go."

Somehow, that was even more alarming, and his worry quickly overshadowed any lingering bad memories that were vying for his attention.

“Sure,” Jeff said, “right now.” He hopped down from the stool. Stretch pushed off from the bar and staggered, leaning hard against Jeff and thank fuck he was light because his height already made it awkward to hold him up. He started to call for the bartender, maybe there was someplace they could sit down in the back while he called Edge, when another guy came up next to them, helping hold Stretch up. Then another on Jeff’s side and he started to protest that he didn’t need help when a voice growled close to his ear.

"Don’t look at me. Keep your mouth shut or I'll kill you."

It was followed by the sensation of something hard butting into his ribs and this could not be happening. This did not happen in the real world, this wasn’t a Jason Bourne movie, there could not be a gun pressed to his side right now. Even his own fear was sitting on the sidelines, pushed out by disbelief as Jeff stumblingly followed the guiding arm around him leading towards the door. The crowd reluctantly parted and next to them, Stretch was shuffling along, his eye lights blown wide and fuzzily diffused. He started sagging, his skull lolling back on his shoulders and around them were murmurs, people starting to notice.

“Hey, what’s going on? Stretch?” From the direction of the bar, and Jeff glanced back wildly to catch the bartender watching with dawning concern. There was no time to say a word, to even mouth a desperate ‘help’ before he was forcibly swung back around and pushed through the door.

The cold night air was like a slap in the face, sobering, and fear was starting to sink its teeth in past his disbelief. The guy next to him was keeping back out of his line of sight and he could only barely see the one on Stretch, dark hair, taller, burly, did he have a gun, too, who were they and why—?

By the entrance, the bouncer looked up in surprise as they walked past. “Hey, Stretch, you guys, okay?”

“Fuck off!” The man holding onto Jeff barked and the gun swung towards the bouncer. There was a beat of incongruous silence broken by the strains of music coming from inside the bar, then a girl screamed, the waiting crowd scattering.

“Fuck! Get them in the car!” A different voice, loud and panicky and he caught another glimpse of dark hair before he was shoved forward again. He stumbled, almost falling to his knees among the cigarette butts that scattered the asphalt, and the memory of another parking lot was strong, the swell of panic gagging him.

He didn’t resist as he was pushed towards a van, the side door sliding open and then he was inside it, collapsing across the backseat.

Weight dropped directly on top of him with a clatter of bones and Jeff grunted, trying to push Stretch off of him enough to sit up. Only to lose his balance again as the van squealed away from the curb, the tangle of his own limbs catching with Stretch’s limp ones.

A new voice barked from the direction of the driver’s seat. “Get their phones, hurry up!”

Rough hands grabbing at them, and Jeff instinctively tried to recoil, but there was nowhere to go. His phone was yanked from his pocket and Stretch didn’t say a word, only breathing with a slurry snore into Jeff’s ear. There was the sound of a power window going down, of tires squealing against asphalt and the inside of the van was too dark to see.

Not that it mattered. Rough hands hauled Jeff upright and the person they belonged to was wearing a ski mask like a fucking heist cliché. Jeff choked back a hysterical laugh, but even panicked amusement took a backseat when ski mask demanded, “Okay, both of you need to strip.”

Jeff only stared in mute horror, barely comprehending as a duffle bag was suddenly thrust at them.

“Change into these,” Ski Mask ordered, “Don’t get any funny ideas.”

There was a pun there, Stretch would have been able to think of one. Would have if he wasn’t lying slumped across the seat. His sockets were still open, but his eye lights were dim and unseeing, the lights were on and no one was home, not quite a pun but it’d have to do.

“Please, don’t hurt him,” Jeff said. He tried not to look at the guy with the gun as he carefully opened the duffle and pulled out the clothes inside, choosing his words with the same care. “He’s…he’s fragile, just a punch and you could kill him. Please.”

“Then don’t make us do anything that’ll get him hurt.”

Good advice from a shitty source.

Jeff scrambled into the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants in the bag, then helped the other…what, kidnapper? Asshole was the strongest contender in his head and that was what Jeff went with. Helped Asshole #2 get Stretch change into his. The guy was brusque but not ungentle, at least, and the second they were finished, the van pulled up next to a dumpster. A fourth asshole sitting in the front seat hopped out, tossing all their clothes plus the bag into it. Four against two, not including guns, not the best odds. Like Jeff would have been much help even if it were mano a mano. He sure as hell wasn’t a fighter past panicked desperation and he wasn’t about to hinge Stretch’s life on that.

“Now, sit back and relax,” said Asshole With A Gun. “You two behave and no one gets hurt, okay?”

Jeff knew a lie when he heard one. He nodded anyway and huddled into the seat, one arm looped around Stretch to offer what feeble protection he could. His skull resting in Jeff’s lap was a familiar weight from movie nights and Netflix marathons. His unconsciousness was not, but he was alive, they both were. It was a place to start.

Jeff kept silent, petting the smooth curve of Stretch’s skull as he watched the streetlights flash by and waited to see what came next.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #original undertale characters #by any other name

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ask-them-bois · 4 years ago

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The Scorpion’s Web, part 3/3

pt.1 pt.2

Tw: Mild blood

TLDR: A new troll arrives!

~~~

Bladepen sat on the altar top, hands folded in eir lap as ey listened to Oliver and Bohwie’s explanation of… everything. Overall, ey was taking the fact that ey’d been dead for four hundred sweeps pretty well, eir unnerving, coy smile never leaving eir face.

“… And that’s why we need your blood, darling.” Oliver finished.

“My, my, my…” Ey said, “That is certainly quite a story. I do not care for any sort of god, but I am not opposed to being a rat in your procedure. I shall have a vial delivered to your hive once I have the time.”

Oliver bowed graciously. “Thank you very much for your cooperation, doctor.”

Bladepen hummed, rose to eir feet, and turned to observe Zeruki, who was fidgeting with his tail. “So, you’re my descendant, are you?”

“Yeppers-peppers.” Releasing his tail with a flourish and a jingle, Zeruki stood up straight.

Bladepen cocked eir head to the side, observing him. “Hm. Malnourished, but reflexive. Serving the Fleet as an engineer, but,” Eir eyes locked on the bells embedded in Zeruki’s tail, “marked by the Enforcer.” Clicking eir tongue, ey steepled eir fingers. “Overall… disappointing.” Ey concluded, “Remove your helmet.”

Zeruki barked out a laugh. “Look, Bladey-bitch, you’re not my lusus, so I don’t gotta listen to you. You ain’t Fiona, and I ain’t Shrek. I’m not removing my helmet for shits or giggles after slaying your scaly-beasty-hivemate, okie-dokie? I’m uuuuugly, let’s leave it at that.”

Bladepen’s eyes narrowed slightly, before ey laughed. “Very well. What do they call you?”

“Zeruki. Zuki, Zuzu, Zuzuzuzuzuzuzuzu- but that one’s for my lusus only. Zeru if you’re here, Zeri if you’re queer. “The duder-bro who just stole a bag of chips” if you’re the oliveblood from the snackhive-”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Fayroe finally interrupted, twirling their needle-knife between their claws. Zeruki hissed at the seadweller.

Bladepen turned to Fayroe, their smile inexplicably getting bigger. “My, my… You’re Godric’s little one, aren’t you?”

Fayroe stiffened, fin-fronds fluttering. “Yes…?”

Bladepen looked them up and down. “Handsome, royal carriage, armed and dangerous… and, of course, bearing Godric’s majestic horns. Overall, satisfying.”

Fayroe curled his lip. “You’re weird.”

“So I’ve heard.” Bladepen purred, eir tail swishing back and forth as ey turned to address Oliver. “If there’s nothing more you need from me, I’d quite like to go see how my beloved has held up these past four hundred years.”

Oliver returned the cloying smile. “If it’s alright with you, darling, I’d like to accompany you. I wish to meet the Enforcer myself.”

“I don’t see why not.” Bladepen mused. Turning on eir heel, ey headed for the exit. “Come along, then.”

Zeruki looked around at the other three, then at the Black Hand. “… Yeah, no, I’mma dippin-dots-and-dash. This isn’t my kind of scene, so cut, print, kill the director. I’m out.” Flipping them all off, the young teal turned and fled.

While Bohwie and Oliver bid their followers goodbye and dismissed them, Fayroe headed after Bladepen, scratching listlessly at their lip.

“Dr. Ursida?” They asked as they ducked out of the cavern.

Dolion was stood a few feet away from the entrance, looking up at the stars. “Yes, master Fallen?”

Fayroe’s fin-fronds flickered; he liked the sound of that title. “What are you? To father, I mean?”

Bladepen made an amused sound, eir tail sweeping back and forth. “I am his physician, heart, and spade.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

Oliver and Bohwie emerged from the cavern a moment later.

“Shall we, darlings?” The oliveblood beamed.

Half an hour later, they were stood before the Imperial Enforcer’s hive. Bladepen and Fayroe took the lead, striding up to the gates. The drones on guard watched the group pass without reaction.

Dolion looked around, clicking eir tongue as they approached the front steps of the grand hive; it was large, imposing, and dark, exuding an energy of power over the lawnring. It was made of obsidian and gold, with architectural designs that could only be called “threatening.”

“Ohhh, so he’s a villain villain.” Bohwie said, staring up at the demented statues of drones in the process of dismembering lowbloods.

Oliver and Dolion both laughed.

Fayroe, however, had gone dead silent; Oliver could smell fear, barely contained terror, emanating from the fuchsia.

“His taste certainly hasn’t changed. How refreshing.” Dolion purred as they ascended the steps. The double doors were swept open for them by a pair of drones.

As the four of them stepped into the foyer, a fifth troll approached from the opposite side. He barely glanced at them at first, before he froze and did a double take.

“Wh-”

Dolion craned eir head back and beamed at the other troll. “Well this is a surprise. Hello again, Hounding.”

The giant purpleblood’s lip twitched, a growl rolling in his throat. “You’re back, too, doc?” He huffed, adjusting the ax laid across his shoulders.

“Indeed. Were you here to see Godric?”

“Hmph. Just fer a visit. Boss likes ta pretend we’re buddies; called me in fer a hive visit, an’ here I was thinkin’ it was work. Nah, fish-bitch just wanted ta have a beer and talk.” He rolled his eyes.

“How nice.” Bladepen smiled.

Hounding shook his head. “Whatever. I got shit ta do.” He turned and kept walking. “Getting’ real sick of finned-fucks tellin’ me what to do.” He muttered, just loud enough for them to hear.

Bladepen chuckled, before ey turned and kept walking. As the group headed through the doors on the far side, Fayroe dropped back behind Bohwie and Oliver.

They emerged into a dark, grand throne block, lit by braziers full of pink flames. Everywhere the group looked, there were depictions of deep sea monsters, banners of the Fleet, and- most prevalent- scorpions. They were carved into the ornate pillars, doorways, and even sewn as designs along the border of the carpet. The block was freezing cold, too, the air damp. It felt as if they’d stepped into a terrarium of sorts.

Out from the arched, tall and dark ceiling came a monster’s face; an ancient scorpion scale-beast, its scales bone white against the gloom. A death-rattle hiss in its throat, it bared its crimson teeth at the four of them.

“My, my, I’m coming across old friends aplenty today. Hello again, Lord Scordra.” Bladepen reached out and scratched the chitinous scales on the scale-beast’s chin, completely undaunted by the monster.

Lord Scordra, as the lusus was called, chittered and hissed; it was an odd sound, as it was both high pitched, and practically subsonic. The monster curled away, back into the dark ceiling, before it reappeared, crawling down an obsidian pillar.

It was a ginormous beast, with too many disjointed limbs and multiple glassy eyes. Its long, scorpion tail slithered over the ground as the monster snaked its way behind the raised platform at the far side of the throne room, curling around the dais.

Upon that dais, seated upon the throne, was the Imperial Enforcer.

“Dolion? Is that you?”

“Godric.” Bladepen breathed, eir tail practically vibrating. Faster than the three descendants could register, the tealblood was streaking across the throne room.

Ey ran up the steps and dropped to eir knees before the fuchsia, who reached out with black-gauntlet-covered hand and stroked his claws through the doctor’s wavy hair.

“I was wondering when you’d come see me again.” The fuchsia hummed.

“So sorry it took me so long. I’m afraid I was a little preoccupied for the last four hundred sweeps.” Bladepen groveled, taking the hand off eir head and kissing the steel knuckles.

Enforcer chuckled, deep and low. “Behave, Dolly.” He rumbled, grabbing the tealblood’s horn and tugging em to eir feet; his grip moved to one of the horns protruding from Bladepen’s jaw, which he used to pull the tealblood into a kiss. “Tell me, who are these friends you’ve brought with you?” He asked when he pulled away.

Oliver took the opportunity to step forward. She bowed as low as possible, as Bohwie did the same beside her.

“My lord Imperial Enforcer, Godric Fallen, I am Oliver Maddel, and this is my morail, Bohwie Akshai. We are no more than a humble oliveblood and cerulean, with a dream to see our enemies slaughtered before us. We’ve come to beg for your assistance. All we request and require would be a singular vial of your most royal blood.” Oliver spoke eloquently, laying it on thick. With their heads so low, Enforcer couldn’t see the shit-eating grins the two leaders sported.

The fuchsia laid his cheek on his knuckles, observing the two. “Rise, the both of you.” He ordered after a moment. Bohwie and Oliver instantly stood up straight.

“I would stand to greet you, but I cannot.” Enforcer narrowed his eyes towards Bohwie, “You resemble the one that robbed me of the use of my legs.”

The cerulean was not the best at being composed and articulate, as Oliver was, but he stood up straight, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Yes, sir. Dmitri is my ancestor.” He explained.

“Has he sent you to finish me off?” Enforcer asked, amused.

Bohwie spread his arms out. “Search me if you’d like, my lord, but I am weaponless. I don’t doubt I’d be cut down before I even took a step towards you, if your death was my intention.” He intoned, waving one hand to indicate the monster behind the throne; in truth, he wouldn’t even need to move to cut the fuchsia down. His abilities were far beyond his ancestors, but the Enforcer didn’t need to know that.

Enforcer laughed at that, before his gaze switched to Oliver. “Show me your eyes, oliveblood.”

Oliver obediently reached up and removed the band around their eyes.

“You’re blind?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, my lord. I was sightless from my hatching. My eyes were changed when I beheld the god I worship.”

“How is it that you return Dolion to me?”

“Through the god I worship, my lord.”

Enforcer said nothing, and his face gave nothing away. After a moment, he chuckled. “Very well. As thanks for returning my descendant, I will permit a single vial.”

Elation shot through Oliver so hard that his head spun. “Thank you, my lord.” He managed to say, bowing once more. Bohwie echoed his thanks and bowed, too.

Enforcer made a small noise in acknowledgement, before his gaze shifted to the fourth member of the party. “Fayroe.”

The younger fuchsia’s breath froze in their lungs. “Hello, father.” He managed to croak.

“Approach.”

On stiff legs, Fayroe did as he was told, but came no closer than behind Oliver and Bohwie.

A displeased growl rolled in Enforcer’s throat. “Fayroe, were you not released from the white room two nights ago? Then you turn around, flee the hive, and have to be dragged back by Dolion and company?”

Fayroe’s heart was hammering loud enough for Oliver to hear. “I didn’t flee, f- father. I went to fetch the Engineer, Zeruki Ursida, s- so that I might reunite you with Dolion.” He stammered.

Enforcer looked down his nose at the trembling fuchsia. “You’re pathetic, Fayroe.” He said at last, his voice as icy and dark as space itself, “Did I not just hear it was the oliveblood that brought Dolion back to me?”

“But I-”

“Enough!” Enforcer sat up sharply; had he the use of his legs, he would have stood. Lord Scordra stirred, letting out another subsonic hiss. Enforcer glared down at his descendant. “It matters not your intentions; you left the hive when you were ordered not to. You are meant to obey me, child!”

Fayroe flinched back half a step, a near silent whimper in his throat. They froze, their eyes widening with horror when they realized what they’d done. “I’m sorry, father, I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, please don’t-”

“Scordra.” Enforcer looked down at his lusus, “I’m finished with that thing. Do away with it.”

The draconic arachnid chittered shrilly, like it was laughing, gathering its feet under itself.

Panicked and desperate, Fayroe grabbed Oliver’s shoulder. “You swore you’d help me! You promised to get me away from him!” He cried.

Oliver turned her head and smiled at him. “I have done as I promised; he has rejected you, Fay, darling, and now you can go away.” She and Bohwie stepped away. “Goodbye, Fayroe.”

Fayroe’s head snapped up as the monstrous lusus shot across the floor towards him, the sound of his father’s laughter echoing around the chamber.

Oliver couldn’t see the carnage, but he heard the scream, the tear of flesh, the snarling-snort of a wounded animal, and fleeing footsteps, accompanied by the smell of fresh blood.

“Oh dear… did he hurt you, my lord?” Dolion said after a beat of silence. The giant lusus skittered up to the doctor, who knelt down and removed the needle knife from its nose. “There you go.”

Laughter rolled from Enforcer’s chest like an oncoming storm. “To think he’d defend himself… I certainly didn’t see that coming. How entertaining.” He turned his head towards the other two descendants. “You two, approach once more, and tell me this tale in full.”

“Yes, my lord, but- what about Fayroe?”

Enforcer’s smile was as coy and cruel as his lover’s. “Whom?”

~~~~~~~~~

(Credit for base)

Bonus story coming~!

#scorpions web #the imperial enforcer #the bladepen #story time #oliver maddel #bohwie akshai #fayroe fallen #zeruki ursida #long post #very long post #scorpion tw

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years ago

Text

Psycho Analysis: Lucifer/Satan

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Please allow me to introduce this villain. He’s a man of wealth and taste...

Satan, or Lucifer, or whatever of the hundreds of names across multiple religions, folk tales, urban legends, movies, books, songs, video games, and more that you choose to call him, is without a doubt the biggest bad of them all. He is not just a villain; he is the villain, the bad guy your other bad guys answer to, the lord of Hell. If there’s a bad deed, he’s done it, if there’s a problem, he’s behind it. There’s nothing beneath him, and that’s not just because he’s at the very bottom of Hell. He is the root cause of all the misery in the entire world.

And if we’re talking about Satan, we gotta talk about Lucifer too. They weren’t always supposed to be one and the same, but over centuries of artistic depictions and reimaginings they’ve been conflated into one being, a being that is a lot more layered and interesting than just a simple adversary for the good to overcome when handled properly.

Motivation/Goals: Look, it’s Satan. His main goal is to be as evil as possible, do bad things, cause mischief and mayhem. Rarely does anything good come from Satan being around. If he is one and the same as Lucifer, expect there to be some sort of plot about him rebelling against God, as according to modern interpretations Lucifer fought against God in battle and was then cast out, falling from grace like lightning. When the Lucifer persona is front and center, raging against the heavens tends to be a big part of his schemes, but when the big red devil persona is out and about, expect temptations to sin, birthing the Antichrist, or tempting people to sell their souls.

Performance: Satan has been portrayed by far too many people over the years to even consider keeping count of, though some notable performances of the character or at least characters who are clearly meant to be Satan include the nuanced anti-villain take of the character Viggo Mortensen portrayed in The Prophecy; the sympathetic homosexual man portrayed by Trey Parker in South Park and its film; the hard-rocking badass Dave Grohl portrayed in Tencaious D’s movie; Robin Hughes as a sneaky, double-crossing bastard in “The Howling Man” episode of The Twilight Zone; the big red devil from Legend known as Darkness, played by Tim Curry; the shapeshifting angel named Satan from The Adventures of Mark Train who will make you crap your pants; and while not portrayed by anyone due to being entirely voiceless, Chernabog from Disney’s Fantasia is definitely noteworthy in regards to cinematic depictions of the devil.

Final Thoughts & Score: Satan is a villain whose sheer scope dwarfs almost every other villain in history. It’s not even remotely close, either; Satan pops up in stories all around the world, is the greater-scope villain of most varieties of three major religions, and his very name is shorthand for “really, really evil.” Every other villain I have ever discussed and reviewed wishes they could be a byword for being bad to the bone. Even Dracula, one of the single most important villains in fiction, looks puny in comparison to Satans villainous accomplishments.

Satan in old religious texts tended to be an utterly horrifying force of nature, until Medieval times began portray him as a dopey demon trying to tempt the faithful (and failing). Folklore and media have gone back and forth, portraying both in equal measure – you have the desperate, fiddle-playing devil from “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” and the unseen, unfathomable Satan who may or may not exist in the Marvel comics universe who other demons live in fear of the return of. Satan is just a very interesting and malleable antagonist, one who is defined just enough that he can make a massive, formidable force while still being enough of a blank slate that you can project any sort of personality traits onto him to build an intriguing foe.

One of the most famous examples of this in action is the common depiction of Satan as the king of hell. This doesn’t really have much basis in religion; he’s as much a prisoner as anyone else, though considering how impressive a prisoner he is, he’d be like the big guy at the top of the pecking order in any jail for sure. But still, the idea of Satan as the ruler of hell was clearly conceived by someone and proved such an intriguing concept that so many decided to run with it.

I think that’s what truly makes Satan such an interesting villain, in that he’s almost a community-built antagonist. People over the ages have added so much lore, personality, and power to him that is only vaguely alluded to in old religions to the point where they have all become commonplace in depictions of the big guy, and there really isn’t any other villain to have quite this magnitude on culture as a whole. It shouldn’t be any shock that Satan is an 11/10; rating him any lower would be a heinous crime only he is capable of.

But see, the true sign of how amazing he is is the sheer number of ways one can interpret him. You have versions that are just vague embodiments of all that is bad and unholy, such as Chernabog from Fantasia, you have more nuanced portrayals like the one Viggo Mortensen played in The Prophecy, you have outright sympathetic ones like the one from South Park… Satan is just a villain who can be reshaped and reworked as a creator sees fit and molded into something that fits the narrative they want. I guess what I’m trying to say is that not only is Lucifer/Satan one of the greatest villains of all, he’s also one of the single greatest characters of all time.

Now, there are far too many depictions of Satan for me to have seen them all, but I have seen quite a lot. Here’s how Old Scratch has fared over the millennia in media of various forms, though keep in mind this is by no means a comprehensive or exhaustive lsit:

“The Devil Went Down to Georgia” Devil:

I think this is one of my favorite devils in any fiction ever, simply because of what a good sport he is. Like, there is really no denying that Johnny’s stupid little fiddle ditty about chickens or whatever sucks major ass, and yet Satan (who had moments before summoned up demonic hordes to rip out some Doom-esque metal for the contest) gave him the win and the golden fiddle. What a gracious guy! He’s a 9/10 for sure, though I still wish we knew how his rematch ended…

Chernabog:

Chernabog technically doesn’t do anything evil, and he never says a word, and yet everything about him is framed as inherently sinister. It’s really no wonder Chernabog has become one of the most famous and beloved parts of Fantasia alongside Yen Sid and Sorcerer Mickey; he’s infinitely memorable, and really, how can he not be? He’s the devil in a Disney film, not played for laughs and instead made as nightmarishly terrifying as an ancient demon god should be. Everything about him oozes style, and every movement and gesture begets a personality that goes beyond words. Chernabog doesn’t need to speak to tell you that he is evil incarnate; you just know, on sight, that he is up to no good.

Quite frankly, the implications of Chernabog’s existence in the Disney canon are rather terrifying. Is he the one Maleficent called upon for power? Is he the one all the villains answer to? Do you think Frollo saw him after God smote him? And what exactly did he gain by attacking Sora at the end of Kingdom Hearts? All I know for sure is that Chernabog is a 10/10.

Lucifer (The Prophecy):

Viggo Mortensen has limited screentime, but in that time he manages to be incredibly creepy, misanthropic… and yet, also, on the side of good. Of course, he’s doing it entirely for self-serving reasons (he wants humanity around so he can make them suffer), but credit where credit is due. The man manages to steal a scene from under Christopher Walken, I think that’s worth a 10/10.

Satan (South Park):

Portraying Satan as a sympathetic gay man was a pretty bold choice, and while he certainly does fall into some stereotypes, he’s not really painted as bad or morally wrong for being gay, and ends up more often than not being a good (if sometimes misguided) guy who just wants to live his life. Plus he gets a pretty sweet villain song, though technically it’s more of an “I want” song than anything. Ah well, a solid 8/10 for him is good.

Satan (Tenacious D):

youtube

It’s Dave Grohl as Satan competing in a rock-off against JB and KG. Literally everything about this is perfect, even if he’s only in the one scene. 10/10 for sure.

Robot Devil:

Futurama’s take on the devil is pretty hilarious and hammy, but then Futurama was always pretty on point. He’s a solid 8/10, because much like South Park’s devil he gets a fun little villain song with a guest apearance by the Beastie Boys, not to mention his numerous scams like when he stole Fry’s hands. He’s just a fun, hilarious asshole.

The Howling Man:

The Twilight Zone has many iconic episodes, and this one is absolutely one of them. While the devil is the big twist, that scene of him transforming as he walks between the pillars is absolutely iconic, and was even used by real-life villain Kevin Spacey in the big reveal of The Usual Suspects. This one is a 9/10 for sure, especially given the ending that implies this will all happen again (as per usual with the show).

The Darkness:

While he’s more devil-adjacent than anything and is more likely to be the son of Satan rather than the actual man himself, it’s hard not to give a shout-out to the big, buff demon played by Tim Curry in some of the most fantastic prosthetics and makeup you will ever see. He gets a 9/10 for the design alone, the facty he’s Tim Curry is icing on the cake.

#Psycho Analysis #Satan #Lucifer

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puppy-prose · 4 years ago

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How about jaskier is a dragon and determines that Geralt is very much his mate. He wants to make it official by fucking on the summer solstice, as dragons do to get married/bond. Geralt, not knowing that he's Jaskier's mate, is v. Confused when the bard starts pawing at his clothes and whining for his cock and that talk about "make me yours Geralt" but is Very Into It once he realizes just what's going on

ahh my first request!! thank you so, so much!! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!!

Geralt was a witcher—a very good witcher. He could sniff out a bruxae from a mile away; he could track down a wyvern from only a few drops of blood. He knew the differences between rotfiends and ghouls and alghouls, he knew how many spikes were on a manticore’s tail, he knew how to identify and defeat hundreds of monsters, creatures, and beasts of myth.

So, logically, Geralt knew he was a dragon. Jaskier was sure of it. Right?

He didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. How anyone thought he was human baffled him. He hoarded songs and scents, with his precious lite at the center of it all. Notebooks filled to the brim with lyrics and lines—not all of them his. Bags, once he had settled in with Geralt enough to trust him with it, that were always packed with oils, bath salts, and ointments. His temper, too, easy to flare, but easy to forgive. His affinity for shiny, pretty things. And perhaps the most damning of it all, the way he didn’t always act human. The half-raw meat that he never had a problem devouring; the way he always managed to find his way back to Geralt every spring without fail, no matter where on the Continent the witcher was. His unchanged youthful looks, years and years after they met.

So, Jaskier was reasonably certain, Geralt knew what he was. He’d simply not said anything because it was easier—because Geralt disliked honest and open conversations like that. So Jaskier didn’t bother to bring it up either, content in his companion’s silent acceptance.

But truth be told, Jaskier wanted more.

So he asked for it. Subtly, of course. Geralt wasn’t an emotional man—going to him and declaring his love wasn’t exactly an option. So Jaskier started slow, poking and prodding, testing his interests through his kind’s courting traditions. And when his first gift—a pair of gloves made from his own scales, the proud jeweled red dulled and dyed purposefully to keep Geralt safe when he was out stalking beasties—was accepted with a huff, a tiny smile, a roll of the eyes, and Geralt taking awfully good care of them, Jaskier knew his affections were accepted. Perhaps even returned.

More gifts, more rituals followed. Ointments of his favorite scents, carefully diluted for a witcher’s nose, to sooth his dry hands. Intricate braids done during baths, telling stories in his hair; Dutch braids for devotion, crown braids for loyalty, fishtail braids for patience, lace braids for fidelity, with all of them begrudgingly left alone until the next time he desperately needed a bath. The vernal equinox celebrated together by getting awfully drunk on honey wine, procured from the fae themselves.

And lastly, a final gift that could be an equivalent to a human’s engagement ring, he offered to Geralt a plaited bracelet made up of his lute strings, worn and representative of himself, a piece of his prized treasure and a piece of himself practically along with it. And Geralt? Well, Geralt accepted. He wore that bracelet every day, even if he pretended, quite transparently, to be only humoring Jaskier and nothing else. And that was that.

They were mates.

And today was the summer solstice.

Jaskier was antsy. Then again, Geralt was of a mind that Jaskier was always antsy. Fidgety and twitchy, always moving. Like a hummingbird, he thought. It was as if Jaskier expected himself to die if he fell still for even a single minute. But no. This was a different kind of antsy. He’d been extra energetic all day. It was as endearing as it was annoying--though he’d never admit to it.

He’d been whining about leaving the city all day, too. The little bird, always ready to fly away when bored. Gods, Geralt had a hard time hiding his small smiles as Jaskier went on about the boring foods, as he tried to bother him into heading out to the next town as soon as possible. But he’d had to hunt, unfortunately; the city had been plagued with a manticore on its outer regions, and Geralt needed the coin. So he’d had the bard wait for him at the tavern, taken care of the issue, and came back in need of a bath. Jaskier, never one to turn down a bit of pampering whether it was for himself or other people, was happy enough to do so, and they left the city on Jaskier’s insistence in the late afternoon, Geralt’s hair pulled back into a dragon’s braid.

While he’d expected Jaskier to calm as they got further away from the city, the opposite quickly proved itself true. He became more agitated, more twitchy. It prickled at the sense of amusement and content that generally followed him when Jaskier was involved, and as the sun was setting, Geralt finally pulled to a stop, leading them off into a copse of trees. “Go get wood for a fire,” he told Jaskier, hoping getting the man to sleep early that night would fix the issue. “I’ll find us something to eat.”

Together, they set up camp. Geralt had a rabbit caught quickly enough, roasted it over the open fire, and the two of them ate. All throughout the meal, Jaskier jabbered as usual--but his foot kept tapping, his fingers kept rubbing together, his words kept stumbling over themselves. And as the sun disappeared beneath the trees, Geralt caught a whiff of burnt rosemary and sweat. For whatever reason, Jaskier was getting himself worked up.

With a frown, concern marring his brow, Geralt used the tip of his boot to push into the meat of Jaskier’s thigh. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, leaving no room for argument. He wasn’t going to allow the bard to wriggle out of this--not when he’d been acting strangely all day.

Cornflower blue eyes turned up to his. “What? Oh--s’nothing.” Jaskier smiled. “Just a bit nervous, I suppose.”

The witcher’s brow arched. “Nervous?” he repeated. Yes, he could smell that. But he hadn’t expected Jaskier to give that feeling up so easily. “What about?”

“Oh, you know.” Jaskier waved his hand at the sky, his eyes catching--glinting--in the rising moon’s light. “Today was the summer solstice.”

Geralt wasn’t following. He blinked. They’d spent many solstices together. Not winter ones; not yet. One day… But plenty of summer ones. “Why?”

Whether it was the right or the wrong thing to say, Geralt couldn’t tell. It drew a laugh from his bard, slightly hysterical though, and he suddenly found himself with Jaskier’s full attention. He didn’t have that very often. The little bird flitted about here and there; he paid attention to Geralt, all the time, but to put all of his focus on him? To see those blue eyes turn focused and determined, to feel Jaskier staring into his very soul? Yeah, that was a bit intimidating.

“Silly witcher,” Jaskier replied. “This is why, of course.”

In the next moment, too quick for even Geralt’s senses to catch it--though that was likely due to surprise more than anything else--Jaskier was right before him. His breath got stuck in his throat--and then they were kissing.

Gods, Geralt had dreamed of Jaskier’s mouth on his for years. He’d wondered what it tasted like--sweet like the wine he was so fond of? Fruity and full from his dietary preferences? Deep and heady as the forest that Jaskier continued to force himself into with dogged determination? But no. He’d been wrong. It was, somehow, all of those things, and more.

He drew back a little for breath at one point, hardly registering that he’d lifted his hand to cup the nape of Jaskier’s neck, that his precocious little bird had pushed his way between his legs, on his knees before the log Geralt was sitting on. But Jaskier didn’t let him go for even long enough to open his eyes, dragging him back into another kiss. It was searing and hot, really hot, and he gave a soft, involuntary groan.

Finally, though, Jaskier moved back. It was only so he could tug and pull at the leather of Geralt’s armor, swearing under his breath as he pulled at the stubborn closures, swaying close to him and interrupting his own progress. But even with Geralt’s head still reeling from the sudden makeout session, even with him bemused by Jaskier’s usually smooth seducing capabilities turned into him fumbling with a jerkin, he didn’t miss the fact that Jaskier did not look like Jaskier.

Two horns, ivory, ridged in a spiral growing pattern, protruded from Jaskier’s head. They curved back and downwards towards his skull, before turning back up towards the night sky, the tips deadly sharp. Red scales were slowly emerging from his skin to smatter over his cheeks like rouge, like a glamor being revealed bit by bit, Geralt’s medallion not so much as twitching--ancient magic, powerful magic that slipped by even his detection. And he was fumbling, the witcher realized, because his nails had sharpened, those same jewel-toned scaled stretching up the backs of his hands, disappearing up the pale blue of his doublet.

“Dammit,” Jaskier whined, impatience thick on him, the nervous scent already beginning to fade away. “Just want you to fuck me, and this stupid--this--fuck!” He turned his eyes up to Geralt, cat-slit pupils just like the witcher’s own blown in the dark of the night, wide with his desire. “Geralt, please,” he begged, leaning in for another kiss--a kiss that Geralt didn’t refuse. And not just because he was caught off-guard by the novel sensation of being kissed with a newly forked tongue. “Please,” he continued when they broke apart, rubbing his cheek against his like a cat, like he was scenting him, the scratch of the scales not at all painful, instead kind of… Nice? “C’mon, help me, please, need you in me so bad…”

A lot of things clicked together in that moment.

Jaskier’s quick loyalty. His ability to walk hours and hours every day, nonstop. His music, the notebooks that he filled and then sent back to Oxenfurt to be kept safe. The bag of oils and creams that Geralt had not been allowed to so much as touch until two years ago, while they’d been traveling together for over a decade.

The gloves. The vernal equinox. The braids.

Fuck, the bracelet.

Jaskier saw him as his mate. And he’d been courting him, quietly, without drawing attention to it, for months now. And here they were--Jaskier believing him to have accepted his claim, Jaskier looking to seal their relationship by bonding on the night of the summer solstice, tying them together by the ancient magics of the earth for many, many centuries to come. No wonder the poor bard had been nervous.

Geralt was sort of glad he only realized now what was going on, because he knew he would have been nervous, too.

The revelation settled under his skin with surprising ease. Vesemir, should he ever catch word of how long it took him to identify a dragon that had been living side by side with him for years, would tan his hide. But all Geralt could feel was relief. His little hummingbird--or, he supposed, his little dragon, now--wasn’t going to suffer a mortal’s tragically short life. He’d live for hundreds of years more, thousands even, if he didn’t get himself killed first. And Geralt? Geralt could have every single one of those years if he accepted this. If he chose to become Jaskier’s mate.

It wasn’t really a choice at all.

Geralt’s calloused hand took Jaskier’s chin between his fingers. He dragged him up into another kiss, swallowing down the keen that fell between them, and nipped at Jaskier’s bottom lip as they pulled away. “Needy,” he huffed, a smile twitching at his mouth. He dropped his own hands to his armor; it got tossed to the forest floor quickly, Jaskier’s hands immediately setting upon the pale, scarred skin of his soon-to-be mate.

Feeling a bit vindictive for the years that Jaskier had never outright told him what he was, Geralt got hold of the bard’s doublet. He jerked the edges of it, eyes twinkling in satisfaction as the buttons popped off, no chance against his strength. “Hey,” Jaskier reprimanded, the seriousness he intended to put in his voice severely undercut by the breathy way it came out. “I liked this doublet.”

“I’ll get you a new one,” the witcher replied.

It brought a smile to his wicked, wicked mouth, and Geralt dove in for yet another bruising kiss. He pushed the doublet off Jaskier’s shoulders, the satin dropping into the dirt with as much care as his armor had gotten, and he managed to wrestle his chemise off between wet kisses. His mouth was red and wet when he pulled back; Geralt didn’t resist the urge to cup his cheek, to drag his thumb over the abused bottom lip. Jaskier, eyes dark, quickly sucked his thumb into his mouth. He had fangs now, Geralt noted absently, pressing the pad down onto his tongue until Jaskier was forced to open his mouth wide. He rubbed a small arc over the muscle, the dragon obediently still. It didn’t stop him from whimpering when drool pooled and dripped from the sides of his mouth, though.

His thumb was soaked when he pulled it from Jaskier’s tongue. He looked gorgeous--pupils dilated and wanting, chin glistening from the spit, the red of his scales seeming to bleed into the rest of his face for the way his skin was flushed with lust.

“Geralt,” Jaskier begged. “Please.”

So Geralt went.

He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle and pushed him back, back, supporting his weight to keep him from slamming into the ground, but none too gentle otherwise. The roughness seemed to excite Jaskier; he moaned and wrapped his legs around the witcher’s waist, those clawed hands finding purchase behind his shoulders. Geralt didn’t mind the sting. He licked his way into Jaskier’s mouth yet again, and then let his mouth trail down, exploring the other parts of him. His scales were rough against his tongue and he had to be mindful of the direction he went to avoid getting scratched; his jaw and throat were velvety soft and tasted of sweet orange and a deep earthy musk. Jaskier’s pulse fluttered under his lips, and he paid special attention to the edges of the scales that had appeared along his collarbone as well, the dragon shivering with delight.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier pleaded. Geralt reached down between them; his hand was hot over top of Jaskier’s trousers, palming his cock underneath, making the bard’s babbling turn into high pitched whining, hips rocking up.

“Be patient,” he scolded, biting into his throat, watching a bruise blossom there. What was the use in having a dragon as a mate if he didn’t indulge in his own more animalistic urges? Yes, by the end of tonight, he’d have Jaskier claimed just as thoroughly as Jaskier had claimed him.

The bard stammered, bereft, when Geralt moved his hand. He forewent telling him to be patient again, instead hooking his fingers into Jaskier’s trousers and yanking them down, shifting until he could get them and his boots and his smallclothes off all in one go. More ruby scales wrapped around the outside of his thighs, dipped into the hollows of his hips--and his dick was definitely part of pieces of him that hadn’t quite stayed human.

Thick, red, ridged, and with a pointed tip, Geralt couldn’t help but smirk as he drew it into his hand. His little dragon cried out and he watched, fascinated, as a pearly few drops of precum beaded at the slit. It wasn’t anything like he’d fantasized about, when he’d taken himself in hand in his weaker moments when the bard was asleep, imagining what Jaskier’s cock might look like. But it was good, better than good, better than anything he could have dreamed of. Smearing his thumb into the wetness, he spread it down Jaskier’s cock, dragging his hand up and down the shaft. A few more drops appeared from the attention, and he did the same with those as well, slicking him up nicely.

He dropped his hand away, then, to get rid of the rest of his own clothes. Most people didn’t like to see him without clothes. Certainly, they enjoyed his figure, but the scars--the crisscrossing of monsters’ marks, the hunts that had gone wrong, the people that had hunted him instead painting a gruesome picture across his skin. But with Jaskier, it had never been like that. He’d never been bothered. And, considering he was about to fuck a man with scales all over, horns, and a dragon dick, Geralt supposed he wasn’t bothered, either.

Bare at last, Geralt dragged Jaskier’s hips up close. He wrapped his hand around them both, only just managing it really, and the both of them groaned at the sensation. Heat flourished between them and he jerked them off, stretching out over him to bite his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Yes, Jaskier would be a patchwork of bruises come tomorrow morning, and by the way he jerked into each one of them, Geralt had no doubt that he was just as enthusiastic about that prospect as he was.

But as good as this was, it certainly wasn’t what either of them wanted. So he let go soon, smirking again as he wiped the sticky precum on his hand onto Jaskier’s thigh. “Knees,” he commanded, leaning back onto his own so he could reach for Jaskier’s bag. Might as well use what he had there, after all. Being his mate meant being privy to his hoard.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Jaskier listened to him. He keened but turned over, propping his hips up onto his knees. His shoulders pressed low, nearly to the dirt, and he rested his forehead on his wrists, the upturn of his horns just barely above the ground.

Geralt came back to him with a vial of lilac oil. It was one of the ones he’d begun to create for Geralt--that was to say, the scent was heavily diluted, only just strong enough for a hint of smell in consideration of his nose, and perfect for their purposes. He uncorked the vial and used his knees to open Jaskier’s legs wider; his free hand pulled one side of his ass away, leaving him free to get at his puckered hole, where he then dripped the oil down onto. Jaskier gasped and lurched, the liquid no doubt cold, but the witcher held him firm. He lathered up his own fingers, set the glass to the side, and leaned over top of him, licking and kissing the dragon’s scaled shoulder blades as he slowly, slowly sank a finger inside him.

“Geraaaalt!” Jaskier cried. Gods, if he was already this desperate, panting into the dirt and shivering with a single digit, Geralt couldn’t imagine how he’d be once he actually had his cock inside him.

“Lucky this is what it is,” he huffed, dragging Jaskier’s ear into his mouth and relishing the cry that came from it. “Otherwise I’d gag you and tie you down, make you learn some patience.” The dragon’s response was to moan wetly, shoulders shuddering, his tapered cock twitching.

Geralt pressed in a second finger, then. He kept his attention with those bites, scissoring him open, loosening him up. A third joined swiftly after; gods, they were mating, not just fucking. He was going to make sure this was good for Jaskier.

Finally, finally Jaskier was loose enough. He pulled his fingers out and grabbed the vial again, using the rest of it to slick up his cock, the subtle scent sweet between them. His hands found Jaskier’s hips; the dragon’s stomach dropped down further, ass staying in the air. “Breathe,” he said kindly. He waited until Jaskier drew a shaky breath in, out, and then in again before lining up his cock and pushing inside.

The cry of Geralt’s name was more broken syllables than anything, too loud and desperate to pronounce much of it correctly. “Fuck,” Geralt himself said, bending over the dragon. “Fuckin’ tight, Jask. Godsdammit.” He was so fucking tight, so hot around him, his body giving way each inch to the witcher’s intrusion. Jaskier could only mewl in return, his nails clawing into the rich earth, his sides heaving with each panting breath.

He bottomed out, and stayed there for a moment. Being inside Jaskier was dizzying, wonderful; he swore he could feel the air turn lighter around them, easier to breath, sparks flickering underneath his skin. Was this the ancient magic, readying to bind them? Or was this just Jaskier, was it just the fact that finally, he could give in to the feelings he’d ignored for so long, the urges he’d repressed, now that he knew not only did Jaskier feel the same way in return, but that he wouldn’t have to face his demise in what would be, for him a blink of the eye? He wasn’t sure. And, well. Quite frankly, in this moment, Geralt didn’t really give a shit.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier finally managed to say. “Geralt, my mate, please, please! Breed me, fill me up, wanna be yours!”

The words shot through him and what little patience he had left quickly fled. “You want to be bred, little dragon?” he asked, fingers tightening, bruising Jaskier’s hips. “Fine.”

A single kiss to his throat, and then Geralt pulled out to just the head of his cock. In one smooth, brutal motion, he slammed back into Jaskier. It sent the dragon rocking forward a few inches--it sent him roaring, the mighty sound seeming to shake the very trees around them. It was fucking hot, Geralt had to admit, and he groaned before he did it again, and again, setting a merciless pace. He’d never been much of a talker during sex, but he found himself rambling now, bearing his weight down on Jaskier, driving into that tight, wet heat.

“Like it, don’t you, Jask?” he asked, breathing too hard himself to properly bite for the moment, little strands of hair come loose from his braid and before his face, making him look wild, animalistic. “Wanna be bred like the bitch that you are. Fucked in the dirt. Look at you. Such a noble, proud beast. Taking every inch of a beast-slayer’s cock.” Jaskier sobbed, the sound wet, but he kept rocking his hips back into every thrust. They’d traveled together far too long; after the nights Geralt had been forced to listen to through thin inn doors, he knew better than anyone how rough, cruel words could reduce the bard to putty in any man’s hand. The best part? Now they were his hands. And there would never be anyone else.

The thrill of the thought shot through him. Geralt wrapped his arm tight around his middle; his other hand reached up, grabbing onto the base of one of Jaskier’s horns. He used the leverage to haul him up, going back on his own haunches and making the dragon sit on his lap, his cock driving in deeper, brushing against the bundle of nerves so far inside him. Jaskier thrashed, his nails digging into Geralt’s arm, drawing blood; the witcher didn’t mind, holding him through it, keeping his head still even as he fucked up into him, unforgiving and fast. “You’re mine,” he growled. “All mine.”

Jaskier nodded quickly, gasping for breath, only just getting enough air each time to expel it in some noise or another. The tingling under his skin got stronger--definitely the ancient magic, then. Especially considering he watched as sparks of golden light glittering below Jaskier’s skin, barely noticeable, like the chaos was struggling to burst free at any moment. Geralt suspected he looked much the same.

“Gonna breed you,” he promised, tightening his arm around him. “Mate you. Make you mine forever.”

Without warning, he shoved them both to the ground once again. His cock drove into Jaskier and the dragon roared again; Geralt’s hands moved to grab his wrists, push them into the dirt. He used his weight, every inch of their bodies flush together, to keep Jaskier down. And, with the both of them getting closer and closer, he gave in to the beast side of himself. His teeth, sharp and pointed, sliced into the back of Jaskier’s neck. Blood welled up in his mouth immediately, copper and sharp, but he didn’t let go, Jaskier’s pained moan doing little but encouraging him, pinning him against the earth.

It was too much. Jaskier’s sounds got louder, more desperate, more unhinged, before he screamed, his whole body quivering with the force of his climax. His cock pulsed as he came, streaks of white painting the dirt below and flecking onto his stomach above, too. It made his walls tighten around Geralt--and that was it. He was done for. The witcher growled and bit down tighter, his thrusts growing erratic, wild.

With a snarl, he came. He rocked his hips down into Jaskier as he filled him, splashing hot cum inside him, the dragon whimpering. The tingling grew in intensity for just a moment--and then it faded away, leaving him feeling whole in a place in his very soul he hadn’t realized he’d been empty beforehand.

A few more little thrusts and then, with care, he slid his teeth from his neck and pulled his softening cock from Jaskier’s tired body. He grabbed a rag from one of the bags and wiped them both down, pausing for a moment to watch his own cum leak out of Jaskier’s red, loose hole and down his thighs, before getting them clean and, with effort, transporting them both into one of the sleeping rolls.

Face to face with Jaskier, the poor bard blinking slowly, languidly, he couldn’t help but smile and lift his hand. His fingers brushed over the scales on his cheeks, utterly gorgeous.

“Mm,” the dragon hummed, forcing his eyes to flutter open. “My mate.” Nothing could change that now. Not a mage, not a spell, not even destiny herself. Geralt was his, and he was Geralt’s. End of story.

The smile Geralt gave in return was soft, genuine. His golden gaze was gentle, and he gave a tiny nod. “Yes,” he confirmed, barely a rumble in the night air. “Sleep, now. You deserve the rest.” He let his hand fall to Jaskier’s side instead, holding him close. Jaskier gave a gentle hum, shifted a little bit closer, closed his eyes--and slept.

#geraskier #devilkin-kink #my writing //#filled requests //#lemons //

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missinghan · 5 years ago

Text

time lapse ⤖ seo changbin

❖ genre : idiots to lovers! au; long-distance relationship! au; fluff; a teeny tiny bit of angst

❖ word count : 14,9k.

❖ warning : explicit language, suggestive remarks & mentions of alcohol

❖ summary : you used to see Changbin as a friend until you realized that you both don’t look at each other the way best friends are supposed to.

one.

Apparently, people like you and Changbin don’t look forward to spring breaks, ever, because you simply cannot see the point in getting pumped for the very few days of sleeping in only to dread every last moment of it. Hence, he keeps FaceTiming you every day and night with such ridiculous reasons it actually boosts your ego into thinking that he misses you.

Oh, boy were you wrong.

But this time around, he seems so flustered and burnt up all of a sudden it makes a smirk creep its way up to your lips. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state, you’re more than satisfied like a sadistic predator. You can really use some tea right now, it’s been a little boring without any dramas other than Hyunjin being dramatic over how his hair does not look good in any way, shape or form. That alone is enough for you to throw him off a cliff because since when does Hwang Hyunjin not look good?

Changbin asks. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I have. You’ve been asking the same question for five minutes straight.” You roll your eyes at him in the bitchiest way possible.

He questions subconsciously, only to have you narrow your eyes at him. “You have work tomorrow, right?”

“Bin, you have my schedule. Of course, I have work tomorrow.” You utter in disbelief.

“Can’t I just make up excuses to call my favorite girl?”

You make a gagging noise. “Cut the bullshit. Spill or I’m gonna whip out the big gun.”

“And what is that?” He drawls the question in boredom.

You grin at him coyly. “I’m gonna tell Chan to poison you with cilantro.” If Changbin had to choose between eating cilantro and jumping into a tank full of sharks, he’d definitely, without a second thought, sleep with those horrifying fishes with ridiculously deadly teeth. He hates cilantro with an ignited passion, and he’s entitled to that decision for the rest of his life. He’s sworn that he would never eat cilantro as long as he lives.

“Fine,” Changbin huffs in defeat as he holds his phone up while lying on his bed. “I need your help.”

You twirl the end of your hair dreamily and acknowledge his request. “I like the sound of that, go on.”

He shoots you a dirty look, proceeding to continue. “How do I get a girl to notice my feelings for her?”

His words strike through your eardrums like a lightning bolt. You don’t know whether you should be crying or laughing because 1) Changbin was never the kind of guy to be interested in having a girlfriend, he has always kept his hands to himself since forever although girls were more than ready to throw themselves at him anytime, anywhere; 2) How come he has never talked to you about this? You feel utterly betrayed because the key to having a long-distance relationship is to not hide anything from each other. And he’s doing the exact opposite of that; 3) You don’t feel as happy for him as you’re supposed to and now you feel like a horrible friend.

“Oh-my-god.” You gasp scandalously. “I’ve been waiting for this day to come my entire life! And it’s happening right in front of my eyes! It’s actually happening! Wait… did you already pop your cherries or…” When Changbin looks like he’s about to put your head on a stick, you quickly realize that you should have just focused on the topic.

He fakes a smile. “And what day is that?”

“The day that my best friend asks for relationship advice from me! To finally embrace the most amazing thing to happen in life, called ‘love’! Duh.” You prop your head onto your hand, blowing a few strands of hair out of your face. “So, who is she?”

“I don’t know if you can really help me Y/N but she’s like 5,000 miles away from me right now—“

“What did you just say?” You cut him off unintentionally. “Is she an exchange student?”

“Yeah? You can say so..” He trails off and scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly. “We met on Tinder and got to see each other later at a uni conference, and she’s really—“

You cut him off again, this time, it’s intentional. “Run, just run away.”

“Why?” He looks at you weirdly. “You’re not making any sense right now.”

You chuckle creepily, making him shudder. He’s never seen you laughing in such a dark tone it makes him wonder if you’ve been possessed or not. “Running away is actually a smart move, my friend. Just get yourself out of the war before there’s blood on those precious fingers of yours. Exchange students get all the attention. Guys or girls, doesn’t matter. Students are gonna be attracted to them like a bunch of moths to a tiny spark of flame.”

“But, but—“

You stop him before he can even say something stupid. “No but. And a long-distance relationship too? Not ideal. You can’t just slide into her DMs and ask her to be with you when you’ve only met twice. Unless her feelings aren’t necessarily not mutual. But yeah, I doubt that.”

“Whatever, I might as well just gonna fly home and watch some shitty movies with you instead.” Changbin purses his lips in boredom and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you wanna watch that zombie movie still? Zombieland right?”

You nod eagerly because gosh, after months and months, he still remembers. It’s one of those little moments which perfectly showcases how much Changbin cares about you. Because unlike some people, he actually pays attention to what you’re saying. And you would be lying if you said that those little actions of his never made your heart tingle. They do, and it sucks.

“Damn right, I’m pumped for the sequel, never really got the chance to watch it since college has been nothing but a bitch to me.”

“You’re so fucking spoiled, Beastie.” He snickers, biting back a smile. But deep down, you can clearly see right through his facade and feel the slight disappointment in his brown eyes. Exchange student or not, if it’s what makes him happy, then you fully support his decision. And if that girl ever tries to pull a dirty move on him? You’ll hunt her down and sell her off to some random mafia organization.

You laugh wholeheartedly, trying to lighten up the mood. “Listen, if you kept scrolling through Tinder, having a girlfriend wouldn’t be a problem. Because I’m pretty sure there’s not gonna be a single person who’d not swipe right.”

Changbin cocks a brow. “Why not?”

“Because you’re hot as shit!”

He groans loudly at your bold statement, cheeks tinted pink in embarrassment. “Shut up, mom.”

You smile cheekily at him. “Love you too, honey boo.”

two.

As much as you clown Changbin for using Tinder since the day he asked you for dating advice, you can’t help but think that you’re a little bit lonely without his company. Funny enough, you also found yourself scrolling through the infamous app for hours and hours until there’s a match.

The only thing that’s funnier than Changbin asking dating advice from a total fetus than you is you talking big games to him when you haven’t even got laid, not even once. So obviously, you’re so close to pissing your pants as you dread the drive to your date, tremendously.

“Since when did you even start using dating apps?” Yeji scrunches her nose in disapproval as she starts the engine. You both just finished watching ‘Dolittle’ since Robert Downey Jr. is an icon and you’re not planning on missing out on any of his movies. But that’s not the point because the point is, your roommate knows your impulsive ass too well. Meaning, she’s not letting your day end without giving you something to feel better about it. More straight forward-ly, she’s trying to lighten up your mood before your date can piss you off.

You singsong, trying to wiggle yourself out of the situation. “Since Seo Changbin asked me about a girl.” You know Yeji just as well as how she knows you, so you’re taking advantage of her carelessness to bring up a whole new topic before she can lure you into ‘the talk’.

Yeah, ‘the talk’, sounds scary enough if you’re thinking about that one awkward, intimate conversation with parents about how babies are made. You think it’s utterly useless since society is basically corrupted and kids these days are all over the place, watching porns left and right with their parents’ IDs. So having ‘the talk’ with Yeji is definitely not gonna be full of questionable statements in replacement for making love.

As far as you know, she only forces someone into ‘the talk’ with her when they suddenly have some kind of romantic interest in another human being. Upon hearing that, she’s gonna be out and about, playing the role of God and telling people all of the do-s and don’t-s along with a detailed description of how she’s gonna drag that person to the very bottom of hell if they end up breaking their heart. You’re sure as hell that you’re not ready to talk about it with her. In other words, you’re not ready for her to torment you about some boy that you haven’t even met.

“Seo Changbin, dating someone?” Yeji fakes a gasp. “Wow, tell me all about it.”

You roll your eyes at her. “So you knew?”

You don’t know why you’re even surprised anymore since Changbin tells Hyunjin everything who’d spill everything to Ryujin for their midnight gossip session who’d complain about it to Yeji later on. The cycle is fully completed before you even know it and that does not make you feel any less of a dumbass.

“Duh,” She purses her lips before making a turn at the second intersection. “Listen, just enjoy your date, I’m not gonna tease you about it until you tell me how much of an asshole that guy is.”

You sigh in relief, drowning into your seat like a jellyfish. “Thank God.”

“But,” Your roommate drawls the word for a painfully long time. “Can we just talk about how it’s such a shame? You and Changbin would make an extremely adorable couple, right? I kid you not.”

You choke on your own saliva, coughing furiously as your hand desperately tries to roll down the window for some fresh air, mainly for the heat that’s slowly creeping up on the apples of your cheeks. “Who would ship me and my best friend together? That sounds like every drama to ever exist. Ew.” Hissing at her like a snake, you repeatedly fan your face with the hope to rid off the annoying coral tint.

Yeji narrows her eyes at you and quickly diverts her attention back on the road because no one is getting pulled over on a gorgeous Saturday night, at least not her. She still has to finish the last episodes of the drama she’s been fangirling over. “So you’re telling me that you’re not jealous when Changbin told you about other girls? You’re totally, absolutely, entirely okay with him hanging out with some random chick in Italy?”

It makes your blood boil even more when she mentions the fact that yes, Changbin is having fun with someone who’s probably ten thousand times hotter than you in Europe, but you’re more pissed off at the fact that she’s always right. Of course, you’re fucking jealous, why wouldn’t you? You can’t even fathom the sheer fury that’s running through your veins. Your heart is pumping pure exasperation into your brain. Even your liver can’t filter such anger. You hate the idea of Changbin wrapping his arms around someone other than you so much you’d rather choke yourself to death than even glance at such sight.

But, for the sake of a completely normal conversation, your mouth says otherwise. “Why not? He’s not my property, I don’t get to decide who he falls in love with. Moreover, he deserves someone he truly adores. That’s not my business for all I know.”

“Liar,” Yeji smirks. “Enjoy your date all you want, Y/N. Try not to think about Changbin too much or your date’s gonna flip.”

Again, you can’t stress enough how annoying Hwang Yeji is because somehow, in which you still don’t know how, she can read your mind in a snap of a finger. So it’s no surprise for her to know that you’ve actually thought about dating your own best friend before. It sounds so cliché you might bury yourself alive if you accidentally slip one day and confess your stupid feelings for him. As if on cue, your sixth sense is currently tingling, trying to tell you that you will definitely make a fool of yourself as you try to elaborate on how you feel about Changbin.

“What did I do to deserve you?” You sneer sarcastically at her as she parks her white Rover right in front of the restaurant.

The moment you step out of her car, Yeji tosses you a look. “Don’t you dare trip on me Lee freaking Y/N, don’t even try it.”

“I’ll have Minho pick me up, now skittle outta here.” You grimace before shutting the door close. Turning on your heels, you inhale sharply and push the glass door open to enter what seems like literal hell on Earth for the next four hours or so.

three.

Being on an actual date reminds you of why you never even use dating apps in the first place.

The only part that prevents you from running away is that Yeji has his dating profile. She knows his number, his occupation, his face, and all that jazz because meeting strangers for the very first time and already eating out with them gives you every right to be paranoid. But you’re not gonna tell him that because you still respect him just fine. And in case he’s acting all sketch, you’re gonna make sure that he’s not going home in one piece.

Okay, you can’t just blame Jaemin because he’s not an asshole. He really isn’t. He’s a nice guy in general: respectful, confident, and outgoing with a good sense of humor. Respectful? Checked. Confident? Checked. Good sense of humor? Checked. Outgoing? That’s the dealbreaker right there. You don’t hate him for it, it’s just he’s too outgoing for an introverted potato like you.

Both Jaemin and Changbin have very strong personalities like every Leo should. You’re most definitely not an astrology nerd but you’re educated enough to know that Leos are dramatic, warm-hearted, passionate and impulsive.

In which, Changbin makes you laugh your ass off until you can’t even breathe whenever he’s whining about you waking him up at 9 a.m. But you gave Jaemin nothing but a scrunch of your nose when he yelped out loud as his mashed potato was too hot. And you kindly offered to finish it for him after knowing that he can’t have dairy products. Changbin’s managed to get you out of the house every weekend even when it’s a simple trip to the mall and whereas, Jaemin makes you feel more of a voiceless being when he continuously brings up one topic after another at the literal speed of light. You almost miss how you can just throw out the most random sentence without being afraid of someone judging you.

Clearly, Jaemin isn’t the one to blame here.

Admittedly, it’s just a ‘you’ problem.

And even more admittedly, it’s just because Na Jaemin is being himself, and will always be himself. He’s never gonna be, and will never be Seo Changbin.

Seriously, what’s up with Changbin taking over your mind today?

“Do you perhaps wanna watch a movie after dinner— you’re not listening to me, aren’t you?” Jaemin stops mid-sentence when he catches your dreamy expression, for the fifth time that night.

You quickly regain your composure and sigh in defeat. “Fine, you got me. Again.” Burying your face into your palms, you’re practically choking on your own frustration because you don’t wanna lash out on him just because he’s not your type. “Ugh, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve never been on a date with a stranger before. Who’d have thought talking on texts was so much easier?”

Jaemin props his head on his hand and makes eye contact with you. He breaks it after a good five seconds to catch you off guard, slowly processing his current thoughts like a lawyer in court. “Let me guess, you’re in a long-distance relationship with someone but since they’ve been away for quite some time, you got bored. So that leads to you, drum rolls, hopping on Tinder to find a one night stand.” He closes in proudly, a triumphant smirk painted on his slightly chapped lips.

For the first time after hours of dreading Minho to come and pick you up as soon as possible, you can finally let go and have a good laugh. It’s like the pressure of being on a date is gladly lifted off your shoulders and you feel like you’re just catching up with an old friend. Which is weird because Changbin— Would it kill to stop thinking about Changbin for once in your life you dumbhead?

“And how did you know that?” You smile at Jaemin, deciding to focus on him for the rest of the night so that he doesn’t think you’re disrespecting him. A date is still a date. Even when the feelings aren’t mutual, the amount of respect should be.

He slowly takes a sip of his water and chews on his steak after. “Not to be creepy but when you went to use the restroom, a notification showed up and I saw your lock screen. He looks like one of those hot SoundCloud rappers who manages to stay anonymous under their stage name even when they’re mad famous. You know, cool people making dope music without being too problematic like ‘real’ celebrities.” Jaemin says it with such admiration you’re nearly more than ready to rant about how talented of a music prodigy your best friend is. But for the sake of him being your best friend, you’re not gonna do that. Yet.

“We’re not dating, just childhood best friends.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you with mischief laced in his brown eyes. “You have a thing for him then. Aha! I knew it! All best friends are obligated to be together, it’s an unwritten norm of the universe.” Wow, just when you thought that no one would know about your feelings for Changbin other than your annoying, chaotic friend group.

“In my defense, he was the one who set that photo as my lock screen.” You grunt under your breath but don’t even try to hide it. “I shouldn’t have swiped right.”

“Be grateful that you did.” Jaemin inhales the last bits of his dish with satisfaction, dabbing the sauce on his lips away with a napkin. “Because not only am I paying for the meal, I’d love to meet up again to hear you ramble about the boy on your phone. As friends. Also because you totally saved my lactose intolerant ass back there.” He declares loud and clear, smiling from ear to ear.

You roll your eyes at him in slight annoyance. “Fine, but I’m paying for the movie tickets.”

Jaemin extends his fist. “Frozen 2? I know a place that’s having it tonight.”

“You got it, broski.” You chuckle and bump your fist with his while your heart is yelling at you to get the fuck out of this restaurant because you’re about to suffocate yourself with the amount of painstakingly awkward silence that this place possesses.

Before you even know it, you’re walking out of the Hilton Hotel with an empty bucket of popcorn in your arms as Jaemin hogs two cups of Coke which are left with nothing but ice cubes right beside you. It’s like the whole being too cautious thing that’s been driving you insane has disintegrated into literal dust. Watching a movie with Jaemin feels like you’re babysitting your non-existent little brother while your parents are out of town and Minho is bar-hopping with the guys. Except for the fact that he gave you his hoodie because the cinema’s ACs are ridiculously cold as always. But it’s really nice, actually, because although the date didn’t turn out how you expected it to be, you did make a new friend.

That rarely happens so you’re definitely giving yourself a pat on the shoulder.

“The plot was kinda messy, don’t you think?” You ask him after tossing the bucket into a nearby trash can.

Jaemin nods in acknowledgment and swings an arm around your shoulder. “It was all over the place, I’m with you all the way. And Elsa in that purple dress too? Yikes.”

You laugh with him, continuing the conversation with much less ‘watch what you’re saying’ and more ‘actually enjoy the date for the sake of it’ until you both reach the parking lot. “Drive safe and text me when you’re home, okay?” You remind him like the bossy person that you are as you pull out your phone from your purse.

“You’re not my mom.” Jaemin snickers and his fingers hover above the tips of his keys inside his pocket. “Wait, your brother’s picking you up right?”

[9:35 p.m.]

y/n | hey, pick me up already.

meanhoe | sorry sis, I’m a bit occupied over here.

meanhoe | just call a ride home or smth.

[9:36 p.m.]

y/n | LEE MINHO ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

y/n | do you have the slightest idea about how many serial killers are lurking the streets, waiting for girls like me to fall right into their traps?

meanhoe | paranoid.

[9:37 p.m.]

meanhoe | let me tell you about how Han Jisung is taking a nap on my lap rn.

meanhoe | in graphic details.

[9:38 p.m.]

y/n | or I can just tell you about that time when mom and dad found you right next to a trash can on a sidewalk instead?

y/n | it’s a very lovely story, trust me.

[9:39 p.m.]

meanhoe | ugh, what do you want?

y/n | nothing, Jaemin will drive me home.

y/n | goodnight.

[ 9:40p.m. ]

meanhoe | hey! I can make it up to you still!

y/n | I SAID GOODNIGHT.

You toss your phone back into your purse in pure disappointment. And with a prolonged sigh, you turn to Jaemin. “He abandoned me. Can you give me a ride home?”

He cackles at the scowl on your face and gestures you towards the seat next to the shotgun window. “Hop in.”

four.

“Wow,” Minho utters. “Just wow.”

“It’s you again, why am I still surprised at this point?”

He grins coyly and slips the keys into his pocket before running a hand through his bed head. Chuckling creepily, he watches as Changbin struggles to roll both of his suitcases across the bumpy surface of your front porch. “You left my sister crying with a bucket of ice-cream for Italy. How does that feel? You know, to finally be free from her ?” Minho inquires with an amused smile. “But on a serious note, she missed you, very much so. Did you even tell her about this?

“Minho, it’s supposed to be a surprise. Do I have to translate ‘surprise’ into whatever the fuck of a language that all snakes speak in general or you’re fully capable of doing that yourself? Also, it would be so incredibly kind and generous of you to actually comprehend my messages.”

Minho chuckles and leans back against the wall comfortably. “Why not move back here then? Aren’t you done with your degree already? Or did Italy blind you with their good food and hot girls? You’re quite qualified to be my roommate.” He drags the last part. “Just wish you didn’t have to give me that attitude whenever I’m trying to start a civil conversation.”

Changbin scoffs at him, clearly uninterested. And Minho’s definition of a civil conversation just concerns him even more. “I have enough qualities to be your roommate? Let me guess, smart ?”

“Secretly a nerd.” Minho tuts.

Changbin shoots him a dirty look. “Composed?”

“I’d say indifferent and stubborn.”

“Brave enough to kill some stupid bugs for you?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “More like painstakingly reckless.”

“You literally fell off the couch when Jeongin accidentally popped a balloon with his pen.”

A smirk blooms on his lips. “But you gave him an entire lecture about why he shouldn’t bring pens to a party. Inspiring leadership.”

“Looks good in black?”

Minho looks unimpressed. “Everyone looks good in black you moron.”

“Then why the fuck are you trying to pull me into your system?!” Changbin throws his hands upwards, a frustrated groan escapes his lips. “You know I hate commitments. They give me anxiety. Especially when it involves you.” Which is not entirely correct because he did have a date last week or should have had a date last week. He was so close to pissing himself in the middle of a Michelin rated restaurant. But lucky him, his date flaked out on him before he could start having a full-on mental breakdown inside the restroom.

A glint of curiosity ignites in Minho’s orbs. “Because you absolutely have no life whatsoever.” He starts calmly, going back and forth within the limited space of the hallway. “And don’t even get me started about your love life. It’s drier than Chan’s attempt at making macarons. Oh and remind me, did your goldfish die or did you kill him? Did he die or was he killed? Or was it both?” He taunts further, and further, and further until he’s hanging on that weird borderline between having Changbin lunge at him like a predator and succeeding at luring him back to Seoul. “I’m being as kind as my mind can possibly allow without a drop of caffeine so you better take it while you’re at it.”

Changbin is fuming with nothing but pure anger. He’s so fucking close to crush every single strand of liveliness left inside of the man in front of him until he turns white like a complete ghost. But he’s also convinced that Lee Minho is just a non-biological heir of the Angel of Death. Hence, getting rid of him is impossible. “Come over here and make me.” Crossed arms, he’s determined to not leave the city without at least throwing a punch at Minho’s ridiculously perfect face.

“What are you? Four?”

Changbin stops himself from throwing hands at him and turns on his heels. “Nothing, it’s just that I don’t really like you all that much.” He makes his way to the kitchen, tossing his black beanie onto the counter.

“Yeah, me neither.”

He protests triumphantly. “See?”

“Listen up you man child,” Minho grits and walks behind him through the living room, passing by a hungover Jisung with Woojin on top of him at an unusually persistent pace that seems to cover up the bubbling anger inside his stomach. “Would you stop what you’re doing and listen to me when I’m trying to prove my own point? I’ve known you for all my life—“

Changbin interrupts him. “Those times when you passed by me at the library and made fun of me for studying for finals in high school? Doesn’t count.”

Minho hides behind a rather cheerful voice, his stare colder than an ex-wife’s fighting for custody over her child in court. “That doesn’t matter! Y/N went out with some guy last night and even let him drive her home. I don’t even know if she’s okay or not since she wouldn’t pick up for the past hour. And I just can’t let those two idiots at home alone, completely unaware of their surroundings.” Changbin shoots him a weird look and he quickly brushes it off with a click of his tongue. “Don’t ask.”

Changbin chokes on the can of Coke that he just grabbed from the fridge. “Wait, so she’s not here?”

“She moved in with Yeji months ago in an apartment near college, didn’t she tell you ?”

“No?” He raises a brow. “And what date? Who? How? Where? When?”

Changbin’s starting to panic a little bit because if you were to be on a date, you’d most likely hide in the restroom just to text him for a good five minutes. Very much like him. Anyway, he’s also quite concerned about the fact that you didn’t reply to Minho’s texts all morning. Maybe he’s overthinking again but he knows that you’ve forced yourself to be a morning person even when it’s the holiday since you don’t wanna dread bringing back your old habits when a new semester hits.

Minho drums his fingers against the dining table. “Who? Some boy called Jaemin? How? Tinder. Where? The Hilton Hotel. When? Last night until almost 10 I believe.”

Now Changbin’s fully entered panic mode because since when did you even use Tinder? And not tell him about it too? What if you’re already kidnapped and sold to some creepy people from China to make profits off your organs? “That’s it. Give me her address, I’ll go.” He drops his backpack onto the floor and grabs his coat, downing the last few drops of his beverage in a rush. As soon as Minho texts him your address, Changbin dashes straight through the front door like a tornado to the point that it has Woojin facepalming himself on Minho’s dad’s old carpet.

“My job here is done.” Minho cracks his knuckle and takes a seat at his family’s dining table, picking up his phone only to receive a text from you.

[8:23 a.m.]

y/n | ugh, is your friend gonna come over to pick up the speaker or what? it’s been fifteen minutes.

y/n | and what’s his name again? Jackson?

meanhoe | yeah, he’ll be there in ten.

meanhoe | eat a chill pill sis, I’m in charge.

five.

You frown furiously at the series of messages that you and your brother have been sending each other for the past ten minutes. Something smells fishy, and you can already see that stupid, self-indulging smirk spread across his face without him being right next to you. But then again, no one really knows what’s going on inside that disturbing glimpse of thing called ‘a brain’ inside his head because magically, and spontaneously, everything works out whenever he’s in charge.

Except when he’s in the kitchen with Jisung and Hyunjin as his cannot-be-anymore-useless vice-cooks, aka when they’re holding onto each other for dear life the moment Minho cracks an egg onto a heated pan with oil boiling along the edges.

“Ugh, Yeji! It’s supposed to be your turn to do laundry, you ass.” You repeatedly hit your roommate’s sleeping figure with a pillow, slightly mad at the fact that she’s still in bed when you’re done with grocery shopping. Sometimes you wonder if her only talent is sleeping through earthquakes. Maybe that’s how she has mad stamina and can still do a decent thirty minutes of cardio after dance practice.

Yeji mumbles nonsense into her pillow and slaps your hand away only to bury herself under the wool blanket again. It takes every strand of energy left inside of you to pull the soft fabric over her head and onto the floor it goes. “Why are you making such a fuss out of me forgetting to do laundry ?” She sits up grudgingly like a zombie digging itself up from its own grave and yawns obnoxiously.

You blink numerous times at her in disbelief. “Uhm, hello? Because I don’t have anything to wear? And also, FYI, it’s almost ten, okay? Wake up Sleeping Beauty. Prince Charming isn’t available today.”

“Shut the fuck up!” She whines loudly before dropping onto her backside in defeat. “You’ve never binge-watched any dramas before, you’d never get it.” Hey, it’s not your fault she chose to stay up until 3 a.m. for a stupid drama. You’re not gonna tolerate her complaints about migraines after having lunch, not this time.

“Besides,” She glances at you before throwing an arm over her head dramatically. “You look good in that hoodie, where did you get it?”

You grab various pieces of clothing dangling off of her bed and her beige-colored computer chair as you ponder about your life choices. “Na Jaemin, who else? God, and I need to give it back to him too.”

Yeji teases. “Are you making an excuse to meet him again?”

“We didn’t click, that’s all I have to say.” A smirk finds its way to your lips. “I basically adopted him now, so yes, I am making an excuse to meet him again because a mother has every right to see their son.”

“You’re so weird.” Your roommate purses her lips before turning her back against you.

You scroll through your feed in pure boredom. “What do you want for lunch? Wait, it’s too early for lunch, what about brunch?”

“Anything will do.” Yeji shrugs, not even trying to get out of bed when it’s already 9 a.m. So naturally, you’re already facepalming yourself at her questionable sleeping habits.

Now, where is that guy Jackson?

As if on cue, your doorbell rings. You’re dead meat to me. You roll up your sleeves and put on your ‘formally serious’ face before grabbing the tote bag right beside your couch. Without even checking who’s there through the peephole, you swing the door open in a rush. “Look, Jackson, I’m really not in the mood to invite you inside for tea nor biscuits so just take the speaker and—“

“Y/N, I don’t need a speaker, stop bombarding me with information that my brain can’t even comprehend. And who the hell is Jackson?” Changbin puts his hands up as if you’re holding him at gunpoint. And you almost laugh out loud at how he looks like he just found out Trump is president, he— wait, Changbin’s here?

You subconsciously drop the speaker without noticing that you might break something before Jackson actually gets here. “You came back?!” Your mouth automatically goes agape, utterly speechless.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” He chuckles when you crash yourself into his embrace as an attempt to hide your teary eyes. Meeting Changbin in person again feels like a rollercoaster full of mixed emotions, you have so many things to say but nothing comes out right. Maybe it’s best if you just keep your mouth shut for the time being.

And thank God he still smells the same and doesn’t shower himself in ridiculously expensive cologne like other guys because you’d disown him if he starts smelling like a Tommy Hilfiger store. Changbin gently wraps his arms around your waist, rocking you from side to side. “You missed me that much huh?” Suddenly tongue-tied, he’s officially lost the ability to form a proper sentence when you hold onto him so tightly, so desperately.

When you pull away, you don’t even know what to say when so many things are running through your mind at the speed of light. After all those years, he’s changed. Yes, people change. But Changbin changed, for the better. He looks impeccable even in a simple black t-shirt with a grey bomber jacket thrown over his figure. Wait, has he been hitting the gym? You swear, last time you saw him he was five times smaller. His jawline can now cut you too apparently. Years of friendship and you just found out your best friend is an actual health freak.

“As if..” You sniffle into the crook of his neck, tears continuously streaming down on your cheeks. Eventually, you give in. “Fine, I did miss you.”

Changbin laughs wholeheartedly, sending vibration throughout your entire body. “Missed you too, Beastie.” And it’s there again, that fuzzy feeling tickling the pit of your stomach. It feels wrong, and your heart knows that too well. To the point that you’re afraid of your own feelings for him, that you’d hurt him, or he’d hurt you. You just can’t decide if confessing to him is worth the risk of destroying your friendship forever. But it’s most definitely not. Maybe it’s better this way.

“Wait,” Changbin scrunches his nose and pulls away. “You smell like a guy.” Then something rings a bell inside of him. “Right, you went on a date with some cute boy without telling me? Explain yourself.”

You scratch the nape of your neck sheepishly, slightly embarrassed. “Well… long story short, I got bored and downloaded Tinder. He was cute, but not compatible.”

“There you are, what took you so long?” Yeji pops her head out of her bedroom, almost giving you a heart attack.

You toss her a look. “What do you mean ‘what took you so long? Did you know? Again ?” And she nods apologetically. “Why the fuck do I feel so left out right now? Are you guys setting me up for something sketchy? Who’s in charge?”

“Your brother, obviously.”

You step aside so that Changbin can walk into your living room before shutting the front door closed. “Zip it, he’s adopted.”

six.

Kim Woojin, as always, throws his annual ‘welcome back’ BBQ party whenever someone returns from a long trip for a fairly long time. Of course, he would never leave Changbin hanging.

Which, also means you’re obligated to accept the fact that he just single-handedly dragged you out of your apartment with the most minimal of physical effort. So now you’re stuck inside his stupid kitchen, with your siblings (no not Minho, not that heathen), potatoes. You look so incredibly alike your brother might actually be whatever with the harsh truth that you can’t stop taunting him about how he’s adopted.

Anyway, because you’ve always been terrified about the thought of accidentally having your sleeves caught on fire, Chan just shooed you back inside to work on the potato salad. And the worst part of making a potato salad? Peeling the skin. Seriously, you’d marry someone who invented an automatic potato peeler, that’d be godsend privilege.

The saying goes : ‘When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade’. Likewise, but in your case, it’s : ‘When life makes you cook, get yourself a best friend who’s good at it instead’. Problem solved. Changbin might not be as great as *snorts* Minho, but he did manage to survive multiple months in Italy without spending too much money eating out when he’s very, absolutely, entirely financially capable of doing that for the rest of his life. He appreciates home-cooked food because of the process, the time, the effort, the love that every family member (or one family member) put into the dishes. And it may not be something that’s Gordon Ramsay-approved, but gathering around at the same table gives people the chance to catch up, to communicate, to care more.

And what does that mean? Well, that means when Changbin, fortunately, makes it out of the war zone in Woojin’s backyard where Hyunjin is chasing Jisung with a dead spider between his metal tong, he finds out that he just, in fact, got himself into another disaster. Bits of potatoes’ skin is everywhere, scattered randomly from the kitchen aisle to the wooden cutting board. Bottles of mayonnaise and mustard are lying lifelessly across the dining table, saucing dripping from the opened caps. And jars of different spices look like they just got dumped into one big bucket, mixed together, and then carefully divided them evenly into each one again. Changbin is utterly alarmed right now and he can’t decide whether he should be helping you or just run away. But since it’s you, he can’t simply turn on his heels and leave because chances are, you’re gonna fucking stab him in his sleep.

“Woah, who did you kill ?” He gasps, taking slow strides toward your figure standing at the kitchen aisle.

You blow a few strands of loose hair out of your face, crying dramatically. “My sanity, it’s long gone.” You tell him as you try to stir the mixture of mayonnaise, paprika, apple cider vinegar, celery seeds, mustard, and sweet pickle relish in a stainless steel bowl with a wooden spoon, trying hard not to ruin Jaemin’s favorite hoodie. “And if you’re not planning on giving me a hand, then the exit is right that way. No one’s stopping you.”

Changbin shakes his head at you in disapproval for a hot minute before pulling your hair free from the loose bun, accidentally dousing himself in the more than familiar scent of your shampoo. Fresh, and a bit pepperminty, he missed this so much it’s starting to get creepy. Basically his heart just swells, but he’s gonna choose to be in denial like usual. “Better get your hair out of your face first.” He says and effortlessly puts your messy, black mop of hair into a high ponytail. It’s not like he hasn’t done this before because Changbin tends to play with your hair a lot while you’re both on a Netflix marathon. But this time, you didn’t know what it was, but the moment the tips of his fingers brushed past your bare skin, they sent electricity down your spine and goosebumps rose on your skin. The fact that your little heart feels like it’s running on a treadmill for hours doesn’t make it easier to deny how much he can affect you without even trying.

“Why are you still wearing that hoodie ?” Changbin points out, confused.

You answer monotonously, still mad at your roommate. “Because Yeji forgot to do laundry. So I have nothing to wear.” You hate her even more now because she’s probably gonna be out and about, going to questionable parties with Ryujin until dawn and asking for a cup of water when she gets back home on your bean bag chair. “I’m gonna have to return it to Jaemin soon.”

Changin snickers. “Yeah, you better.” He finishes chopping up the hard-boiled eggs, celery, sweet onions, and fresh dill, dropping the ingredients into the dressing that you just made.

“So,” You walk over to the dining table to grab the bowl of chopped potato. “How did your date go? Was she cute or did she look like a potential serial killer? Wait, serial killers can look cute.” You shiver at the thought of losing your best friend in some foreign country because someone can literally be kidnapped in a span of fifteen to twenty seconds. So you don’t see the point of being ashamed about always being paranoid.

Changbin helps you pour the dressing over the potato before stirring the goodness together with a wooden spoon. “Ah, that,” He scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly. “She’s okay I guess. But you never know, talking over text is always easier.”

You decide to let Changbin finish up the dish and grab some paper towels to wipe down the table and counter. “So you guys never met up ?”

He looks hesitant to tell you. “Technically, we were gonna see each other every day because of the internship but I guess no? Our schedules aren’t exactly compatible. Maybe I’ll just ask her out again when I fly back.”

You stop cleaning up the mess on the kitchen aisle and turn your attention onto your best friend. He’s nibbling on his bottom lips, guilt is evident in his eyes.

“What internship?” You ask.

seven.

Seo Changbin used to have ( and still has ) a soft spot for you. And everyone knows that all too well.

He wasn’t kidding when he said that you’re his favorite girl. He wasn’t kidding when he said that he’d take a bullet for you. But you kinda wish that he was because falling in love with your childhood best friend just sounds so wrong on so many levels altogether. Jaemin night be right, it is written in the stars for some people to fall in love with their best friend but that life is not for you. There’s just something about the idea of Changbin and you as lovers that twists an immediate knot in your stomach. Sometimes you wish he doesn’t have to be so affectionate towards you so that you can give up on the one thing that’s holding you back : false hope.

He would always drag you out of bed in the middle of the night to watch the stars and talk with him even when you guys were practically inseparable. Your group of friends constantly tells you that Changbin could never keep his hands to himself when it comes to you but realistically, he’s just a secretly clingy person who loves cuddling. But those little moments where you guys were sharing the same bed, snuggling into each other’s presence like it’s the last sense of comfort in the entire world were the ones you cherish the most. They can make you smile stupidly to yourself all day.

And Changbin never failed to surprise you too. He once made the whole fancy breakfast in bed with flowers that only happens in movies and you couldn’t stop talking about it. Even ‘till this day, you still can’t shut up about it. He only brushed it off and told you that he wanted to spoil you since it’s your birthday but you took it as something much more than just a birthday present. Because those little actions of his are what set your heart on fire and you feel like it could combust anytime if he keeps looking at you so tenderly all the time.

Changbin isn’t a man of many words because he truly believes that actions speak louder than words. At least for him, his actions are much more powerful than his words. But that doesn’t mean his words never had any kind of effect on you. Because they did, greatly. You still remember how you’d always wake him up in the middle of the night because your stupid brain cells decided to give you a mental breakdown after bottling feelings up for so long. But Changbin didn’t just scold you for keeping everything to yourself, he did something else much more magical and much more comforting than any advice you could ever have.

He’s written plenty of songs for you before, and you can still vividly hear the familiar melodies every now and then whenever you’re in a really dark place.

It felt like a tight hug when you were all alone and in distress. But what sucks is that it makes you miss him even more. Where in the world is he? What is he doing? Does he have a decent life? Moreover, is he happy? You were always worried sick about Changbin because he’s that type of guy who works his ass off for things that he’s passionate about but he’d be willing to do something else for others because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Hence, upon hearing about him turning down an internship just to fly back, you didn’t know what to say or think.

You yell at Changbin. “Are you out of your mind?!”

He huffs in disbelief. “I’m a fully grown man who has every right to make my own decisions so I chose to visit my friends instead of torturing myself inside a studio. Yeah, sue me!”

“Do you have any idea how many opportunities and chances that internship would bring? There’s no need for you to do that just because of us!”

Changbin points out snarkily. “Well, you were the one who decided to call me at 3 a.m. every single day, complaining about your insomnia and shit.”

You gasp scandalously. “Why are you even saying that? It’s like you don’t even know me! I’m trying to put your benefits before mine, why is it so hard to understand that? Are you trying to say that I’m the bad guy in this conversation?”

“Maybe you are,” He says through gritted teeth. “Likewise, I’m trying to put my friends first instead of locking myself up within four soundproof walls twenty-four hours a day, five days a week, until spring break is over. You are being fucking ridiculous!”

You’re slightly taken aback when Changbin had the audacity to say such things. Why is he still so fucking stubborn? “I’m the one who’s being ridiculous? Me trying to not get my best friend's talent wasted, me trying to not have my best friend make the rest of his break go wack because all we do here is apparently get drunk, eat, sleep, and repeat. That, is being ridiculous ?” You let out a humorless laugh. “Well, if I need to keep on doing that in order to keep you on track with your dream, then I fucking will.”

He hisses at you. “What are you? My mom? I’m a fully grown adult for fuck’s sake!”

“Yes, I am technically your mom since the day you threw up on my dress in kindergarten. I even wiped your puke off of your face, you ungrateful brat.”

“Uhm guys, you might wanna tone it down..” Felix tries to cool off the situation since he doesn’t really enjoy eating dinner while two people are continuously throwing daggers at each other with their eyes.

Another thing, no matter how whipped you are for Seo Changbin, there’s still this little demonic part in your heart that screams to strangle the light out of his eyes every single day. Even back then, you guys bickered like there’s no tomorrow without a care in the world. Fortunately, your problems were always quick to be resolved because you just could never bring yourself to hate him even when you wanted to. He’s just that contagious, never fails to put a smile on your face nonetheless.

So naturally, it’s ten minutes into the BBQ party in Woojin’s backyard and you’re more than ready to fight him. Metaphorically, not literally because you’re too utterly soft for him anyway.

“Shh, shh,” Minho easily shushes Felix up with his index finger over his lips. “Lix, keep it down, the Petty Olympics is just getting started.”

Jeongin purses his lips. “You’re such a snake, did you know that?” He’s obnoxiously chewing on the slices of grilled steak that Chan just took off the iron rack. Like Felix, he wishes to enjoy dinner in peace but that has not happened for quite some time and he’s already sick of it.

Minho rolls his eyes at the younger boy with nothing but disgust in his eyes. “Wow, what a truly shocking revelation, Jeongin. It’s for the irony, sarcasm is needed in order for my joke to work.” He sips on the glass of whiskey in front of him like how he simply sips on his coworkers’ complaints about their relationships every morning. “Now run along, grab your monthly paycheck and buy yourself a sense of humor.”

Jisung snickers. “Wow, is he mean today—“

You cut Jisung off unintentionally, huffing with such determination. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

Changbin says casually. “It’s not like I want to.”

“I will break you.” You give him your best death glare.

He tips his imaginary hat with a smirk tugged on his lips. “If that’s what makes you happy, then I certainly cannot wait for it, Little Mistress.”

eight.

It’s the second time you’re hanging out with Jaemin and still, you can’t bring yourself to develop any non-platonic feelings for him. Do you really want to date him? Not really. Again, he’s not a bad guy. In fact, girls can just pass by you both walking by the Han River and they’re already eyeing him up and down like an expensive piece of steak.

Maybe it’s something about trying to push Changbin out of your mind for once in your life. Or it can be something about the fact that he actually has some kind of romantic interest in his Tinder date. Or you’re just being ridiculous and totally overthinking the situation.

It’s sad, but you’ll have to accept it sooner or later. You see Jaemin as nothing but a friend, and a little brother because he’s funny, respectful, and everything you can ask for in a guy. But, at the end of the day, he’s just not Changbin.

And although you’re madly in love with your best friend, it seems like Jaemin gets you and manages to keep your mind off of him for the day so that you don’t end up crying alone in one of the bathroom stalls. You can’t be any more thankful.

“You seriously didn’t have to watch ‘Dolittle’ twice just because of me,” Jaemin tells you as you both stand at the front door of the movies, hugging his bucket of popcorn closer to his stomach.

You smile at him. “Robert Downey Jr. is worth watching any movie twice. That’s why I’m still not over the Endgame depression phase because I may or may not watch it one too many times.”

He rolls his eyes at you and proceeds to throw his garbage away. “Crybaby.” Then, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and walks you towards the entrance. “I had fun tonight. Thanks, Y/N, it means a lot. Should I walk you home?”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t.” You answer cheekily.

Jaemin teases, “Because your boyfriend might show up and punch me in the face?”

“Shut up! He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Woah, I didn’t even say who it was. You’re so whipped for him.”

You elbow him in the stomach, earning a low grunt from him as a response. “I shouldn’t have given you your hoodie back. I should have burnt it or something.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, holding onto the paper bag that you brought tightly. “No, keep it if you want to. You look good in it.”

Before you can even clap-back at him with a witty retort, your phone vibrates inside your pocket. “Sorry, someone texted me.”

[ 9:23p.m. ]

meanhoe | Y/N WHERE ARE YOU?!

meanhoe | SOMEONE BROKE INTO OUR HOUSE!

meanhoe | I’m upstairs rn, but there were some sketchy sounds earlier. I think they’re in our kitchen.

meanhoe | Bin’s still in the living room!

meanhoe | COME HOME!!

Oh. My. God.

nine.

“Changbin, pick up, pick up,” You murmur and keep pacing back and forth at your parents’ front porch, frantically fumbling with your phone in your hands. “Goddamnit just pick up!” You groan out of frustration when you can’t even open the door because it’s locked, and Changbin’s not doing a great job at responding to your calls either. Which can only mean one thing, he’s being held hostage inside along with your brother and the intruder’s probably confiscated their phones.

You’d take a bullet for Changbin if that’s the last thing you could do for him. There are no words to fathom how important he is to you, so now instead of thinking of how to save his ass, you’re stupidly, foolishly thinking back to high school where he would always eat lunch with you whenever Minho’s too caught up with practice, where you both would lie under an ugly tree at the very back of your school’s enormous backyard, trying to do homework and dozing off five minutes after. Changbin’s been with you through thicks and thins, with all of your ups and downs. His lack of doubt for you was what helped you survive those horrendous years and you’ve decided that you’re not gonna let go of him, not in this life.

Therefore, you’re about to do something dumb. That something is going to prevent your best friend from getting murdered. But the chances of getting your head blown into bits are undeniably high too. That wouldn’t matter now, would it? If the intruder dares to tick you off, he best believes that you’re gonna fucking take him down with you.

Mustering all of the courage you have left, slowly, your fingers hover over the doorknob, the other on the wooden surface, ready to bang on it like a crazy person. You inhale sharply and close your eyes. 3..2..1..

The door suddenly swings open, causing you to stagger forward and your eyes widen in panic. “Y/N? What the hell?” Changbin catches you in time and frowns furiously at your soaked figure. Your hair and clothes are doused with rain, the tips of your fingers as cold as ice from staying outside for so long. You flutter your eyes open at his words, mouth grows agape when you find out that your current position can’t be any more awkward.

Great, now what?

Wait, where’s the intruder? “Are you okay?!” You mindlessly throw yourself at him, holding onto him so tightly like he’s gonna disintegrate into thin air once you let him go. Blood is roaring inside your ears, your heart is picking up its pace as you have so many questions, so many things to say but.. he seems pretty okay? “Is Minho okay too? Where is he? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why was the door locked?”

Changbin pulls away softly to prevent you from hearing his heart thumping vigorously inside of his rib cage, eyes as wide as a goldfish’s. “What? Minho’s downtown today to meet up with his old friend who’s studying abroad. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No?” You knit your brows together and take a full ten seconds to process what just happened. Why do you feel like you just got played?

He closes the door and walks you inside. “And why the hell do you look like a wet rat? Did you just walk home? Weren’t that Jaemin guy supposed to drive you instead?” You purposely ignore his questions and continue to piece the little amount of information that you have together. But once you throw a glance at your parents’ living room, you see a box of fresh, piping hot Hawaiian pizza with ‘Fast and Furious’ playing on the forty-eight inches TV. With that, everything makes sense.

You ran home as fast as you possibly could, under the rain when it’s dark outside all alone and this is how your brother repays you?

“Wow,” You utter, somewhat lightheaded. “I need to sit down.” You tell Changbin when he comes back with a white fluffy, towel. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, wordlessly bringing the towel to your head as an attempt to dry off your hair. You’re startled by his sudden affection, cheeks growing pink as you avoid eye contact.

Changbin caresses your cheekbone gently as if you’re far too fragile for him to touch and you just play dumb by batting your eyelashes repeatedly to shake the droplets of rain away. He quickly snaps out of it, taken aback by his own action. “Would you care to tell me what happened before I put you on trial?” He says with his arms crossed.

Your blood slowly boils as you choke on your own exasperation.“Minho told me that someone broke into our house and basically held you hostage. So I rain-checked on Jaemin, ran home only to find you in one piece with a pizza while watching ‘Fast & Furious’.” You hide your face behind your palms in sheer embarrassment as Changbin cackles his ass off in his annoyingly adorable laughter that makes you crack up every time.

He throws his head back and continues to laugh wholeheartedly, holding onto his stomach for dear life. “He got you good, wow. So much for supporting his sister’s second date. I’m sure he just wants to make sure that you’re home before twelve.”

“HE COULD HAVE JUST PICKED ME UP HIMSELF! HELLO?” You throw your hands in the air, huffing. You swear to God, Minho’s dead meat to you tomorrow morning. Your brother knows your feelings for Changbin all too well and he’s just doing everything he can to kick Jaemin out of your love life but the irony here is Jaemin was never there in the first place. But, Minho’s an evil mad genius so he still succeeded in pushing you back to Changbin when you’re trying to avoid him the most. Props to him, you’re now stuck inside a house with your best friend because your parents are currently going on vacation in Bora Bora.

That wouldn’t be a problem unless you’re madly in love with him. But you are, and it sucks.

You exclaim, smacking Changbin’s arm, causing him to whine loudly. “Would you stop laughing? I was scared that you’re gonna get murdered!”

In a split second, he pulls you flushed against him, rocking you back and forth as he ruffles your hair. When the vibration of his chuckle emits from his chest just makes your heart skip a beat. Changbin’s never been the cheesy, romantic type like Hyunjin but sometimes he does these things that just messes up your heart more as if it’s not already all over the place.

“Come on, Beastie, go change your clothes. I wouldn’t wanna cuddle with a sick person.”

ten.

One shower and five minutes later, you’re on the sofa right beside Changbin with your head rested comfortably on his shoulder. The first episode of ‘The Umbrella Academy’ is blaring clamorously on your dad’s TV as your eyelids grow heavy, hanging on the edge of shutting before your favorite character even pops up.

Changbin notices your sleepiness and pulls the wool blanket closer to your body, high enough to cover the rest of your shoulders as you snuggle into the crook of his neck. He pouts at the box of pizza and two empty bottles of Henny before playing with your hair, braiding a small section of it in boredom. He’s definitely not the type to rewatch any shows but since you’re just so pumped for the second season, you insisted that you two should binge-watch season one all over again. Obviously, he doesn’t see the point because he already knows everything, how does rewatching it has anything to do with getting him ready for the next season? Besides, you’re already falling asleep when it’s only ten minutes into the episode.

But is Changbin gonna let you sleep in peace just like that after all those years of you waking him up at an ungodly hour? Nope.

“Hey,” He nudges you with his elbow. “They said there wouldn’t be a second season.”

You jolt up from your sleepy state, eyes shooting open in utter surprise and disappointment. “Wait what?! Why not?!” You cry out dramatically, hands batting in midair like a madwoman as if they’re looking for something to hold onto. Soon enough, you plop yourself back onto the couch in defeat, letting the alcohol take over your entire body. You can already feel it kicking in as your limbs grow lighter and so does your mind. Gosh, you just wish you weren’t so lightweight.

Changbin chuckles at you, caressing your hair softly. He pulls you closer to him by your shoulder and takes in your scent like it’s the last sense of comfort on Earth. “You’re so cute when you’re drunk, did you know that?” He studies your features closely, quickly realizing how much he must matter to you for you to show this vulnerable side to him so casually. Giddiness is an understatement for the way that his heart just beats ten times faster, the way his arms hold you close so gently but so tightly at the same time. In this cracked darkness with the insufficient source of light from the TV screen, you’re so beautiful it takes the breath right out of his lungs. You seem too serene to be true, eyes closed, lips slightly agape it makes him wonder how it feels to seal his with yours.

As if on cue, your favorite character appears on time and you swat the sleepiness away, pointing at the screen with half-open eyes. “Five! He’s so cute, can I adopt him, please?” You giggle and show him those infamous puppy eyes. Changbin can never resist it’s actually frustrating.

“Yes, you can adopt a serial killer who knows how to travel through time, absolutely.” Changbin facepalms himself. “Honestly, what do you even see in him?”

“He’s smart and funny, and a total badass. I like how he never sugarcoats things and stays true to himself. But, he also puts others before himself without expecting them to do the same thing back. His actions speak louder than his words because there are countless times where he saved his siblings although he talks to them as if he sees them as nothing more than a bunch of assholes. I admire him in so many ways although he’s just a fictional character. And you know why?” You cock your head sideways, leaning closer. “Because he kinda reminds me of you.”

Changbin tenses up at the last part. “W-What?”

The ‘sober Y/N’ would never be brave enough to tell him what you’re planning on saying next. “I love you, Bin. I know that I might not act like I give a fuck, but I genuinely care about you. You mean the world to me.” You blurt mindlessly, hiccuping into his ears. “I really do love you. I just never got the courage to say it.” You hum and toppling over his figure on top of the couch, your legs straddling his.

“We can’t.” Changbin places his index finger on your lips to stop you from decreasing the distance. “You’re not thinking straight right now.”

You pull back, frowning. “Why? Because I’m not sober? What do my feelings for you have anything to do with alcohol?” You’re not mad, but rather curious. Either way, you can’t seem to get mad at Changbin for more than ten seconds.

“I- I don’t wanna hurt you.” He stutters and stops as he sees the heartbroken look in your eyes. It hurts even more because deep down, the sober part in you knows that you’d never fathom enough courage to actually tell him how you feel. And you also know that you’ve just potentially fucked up more than ten years worth of friendship. Changbin’s warm brown eyes stare at you with nothing but pure sincerity. “It’s like I’m taking advantage of you in this kind of state. It’s not right. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” He brushes your hair out of your face and sighs.

“Bin, you respect me like no one else does. You know it. I know it. We know it. You’re my best friend.”

“That’s the problem.” He pulls you closer while rubbing little circles on your back. “Promise me that we’ll never change, yeah?”

You wrap your hands around his neck, a tear threatening to fall from the corner of your eye. “Yeah..promise.”

“Y/N, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He reassures you as a confirmation, standing up from the couch that he’s been occupying for too long. You keep your gaze low, unable to meet his eyes as you’re ashamed of your own action. You shouldn’t have done that. What were you thinking for fuck’s sake?

Changbin turns off the TV before guiding you towards the stairs in the dark, holding onto your waist tightly enough so that you won’t slip. “Don’t blame yourself on this, okay?”

You voice quietly, almost a whisper. “Okay.”

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

eleven.

That night, you held onto Changbin like he’s the last thing you’re ever gonna see although you knew too well that it’s meaningless. What’s the point anyways? He just slapped your confession away and that alone was enough for you to understand that he sees you as nothing more than a friend. However, it’s still better than being stuck in that weird gray area that just keeps messing with your mind. You wouldn’t want to get in his way either. So when Changbin tried to peel your hands away from his torso gently in the middle of the night, your eyes remained closed as you rolled on the other side of the bed.

When you woke up in the morning, he was already gone.

It’s like he’s never been there all of those years as if he’s just an illusion that your delusional self made up to comfort yourself when things get hard. All of his belongings were nowhere to be found, his bed in the guest room was neatly made, something that he’s never done before. Changbin left no traces, no notes, no messages, no nothing like it’s a natural implement for ‘Don’t bother looking for me, I’m not gonna come back’. But to you, it feels more like ‘You fucked up our friendship, Y/N. I will never speak to you again’.

Losing a best friend of a lifetime is way worse than going through a breakup. But it hurts more when you’ve unintentionally developed feelings for him when you know too well that it’s not right. It’s not right. And you seriously screwed up. You just hurt the one and only person that’s so incredibly close and special to your heart. Therefore, you’re distraught, unable to do anything right for some of the following days. Utterly destroyed, you can’t seem to stop blaming yourself for what happened.

Changbin’s done so much for you and you can’t be any more grateful to have him in your life. There was this time where you totally lashed out on him because you were just having a ‘bad day’. He didn’t even get mad at you, he never gets mad at you. Instead, Changbin let you lock yourself up in your room for an hour until he came back with a box of chocolate and flowers. Everything fell right back into its place again and you really don’t know what you did to deserve him. He always goes out of his way, prioritizing others’ benefits rather than his own. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone at all because, in your heart, you know that he can be hurt easily too.

So it’s no shocker that you’re madly in love with him. You like how he smiles and looks at you like you’re the only person that’s existing in this celestial sphere. You like the sound of his laughter because it reminds you of Spongebob sometimes, it’s ridiculously adorable in the best way possible. You also like how he clings onto you and lets you be the big spoon whenever he’s having a long day, you can’t stop smiling knowing that he finds comfort in your presence.

The only flaw about him is that he��s all about that healthy life, which is good for him but you’re not adapting that any time soon. And he doesn’t talk about himself enough as he’s always used to listening to others’ problems instead. He’s flawsome, but you’re willing to embrace it all. Yes, as cheesy as it sounds, you love all of him.

Just because he’s Seo Changbin.

You stay up for many days, thinking an awful amount and flashbacking to when you’re on top of him, staring at him so tenderly as those idiotic words slipped out of your lips. All of because of one single beer. You just wish you could take it all back. If so, maybe you wouldn’t have lost the person you care about the most.

“No, she won’t eat no matter what I say.” You can hear Yeji’s voice echoes from the living room as you throw an arm over your eyes. “I don’t think you should see her right now, not when she’s on the verge of breaking down every two seconds.” You don’t even have to look to know that your brother’s outside, probably worried sick about you. Minho might not be the type of person to show affections on a regular basis, but he genuinely cares about the people around him. He just doesn’t know how to express that he cares.

The front door closes with a small ‘click’, making you jolt up from your bed. Your roommate pushes the door to your bedroom open and runs a hand through her hair. She practically grimaces at the current state of your room : curtains closed, clothes scattered all over the place with you still in your PJs. It’s funny because normally, you’re the one who complains whenever she’s being messy, now Yeji has the perfect reason to pay back. “Jesus Christ,” She frowns when her hands open the beige-colored curtains. “Get yourself together, will you?”

“Leave-me-alone.” You hiss at her like a snake when the light comes flooding in, blinding your eyes in the process. “What do you want? Am I not depressed enough to be at peace?”

She shakes her head and sits down next to your reclined form on the bed, a hand finds its way to your back. “No, you’re just in denial.” Yeji pulls your figure closer, embracing you with as much sincerity that she can muster. She might as well have you scream at her for forgetting to do laundry and waking up late rather than seeing you barely alive like this. If this goes on for too long, you might end up in the ER. And she can care less about whatever you’re planning on doing next because clearly, you’re not emotionally stable enough to make your own decisions right now.

You look down. “About what?”

“About the fact that Seo Changbin likes you too.” She says softly. “Only a dumbass can’t see that he’s completely head over heels for you.”

You chuckle dryly. “He’s not, he probably hates me.”

“He never hated you, he never hates you, and he will never hate you.” Yeji sighs as you snuggle closer to her chest. “Why would you think that Changbin hates you?”

Your eyes widen in terror as the night before when he left replays in your head over and over again. The more you think about it, the more you wanna kick yourself for not controlling our own feelings. Three words and your best friend’s gone. He was right, you guys could never, you weren’t thinking straight. Even down to that moment, Changbin put you before him and treated you with nothing but respect. “Because I ruined our friendship. Things are never gonna be the same again. I shouldn’t have fallen for him, I’m so stupid.” You let out an audible groan and bury your face into your palms.

Yeji peels your hands away and forces you to look at her. “I don’t see why falling for Seo Changbin is considered stupid. You see things in him that no one else does, and you even had the courage to confess how you truly feel, even when it’s because of a bottle of Henny. Not everyone can accept that because people are cowards when it comes to commitment and their own feelings.” She keeps looking you dead in the eye as if she’s testing you. “Look, even if Changbin doesn’t feel the same way. He can never hate you.”

“And why should I believe you?”

Your roommate laughs in disbelief, shaking your shoulder forcefully. “Are you blind? Do you even hear yourself right now? Haven’t you seen the way that he looks at you, eyes sparkling like puppies and all? If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is. Even if it’s not the love that you wanted him to return, he still loves you as a friend. He just ran away because, well, he’s human too. He might need some time to himself and make up his mind.”

You stare into the distance this time, eyes empty. “True love doesn’t count if it’s not returned, don’t you agree?”

Yeji rolls her eyes at you, she looks like she’s about to personally drag your ass across the planet, straight to Italy just to make up with Changbin. “Oh-my-god, you’re impossible! Of course, it counts! So what, you’re telling me that your feelings for him after all these years would mean nothing if he doesn’t say those three words back? I know that you’re sad and angry about what happened, but I think it’s much better than bottling everything up all to yourself. You were brave for doing that, Y/N.”

Your lips stay sealed as you decide to listen to her lecture obediently like a child. “Do you think Changbin would want to see you like this? No, no one wants to see you all depressed and miserable. Do you have any idea how worried Minho is? Have you checked the notifications on your phone? It’s not like you can’t move on with life without Changbin, you can and you will if that’s what you have to do.”

“So..?”

“Are you gonna step up and get your life back again or what?”

You groan internally, because gosh, you hate it whenever she’s right.

twelve.

From then on, Changbin’s like a phantom in your life, not because he’s constantly popping out of nowhere to scare the living daylight out of you, but because he’s constantly on your mind. Everything feels a little bit emptier without him. You don’t have to worry about having cilantro in your daily meals because he’s not there to complain about it. And there’s no longer a random cup of chai tea in the fridge on Sunday mornings because he can’t buy you one anymore.

But at the same time, everything reminds you of him. Like how his pairs of designer shoes aren’t laying around at your front door, how his favorite hoodies aren’t being forgotten at your place intentionally, and how the Stitch stuffed animal he gave you last year still reeks off his significant scent. Everything gives you a hard time to finally let him go, but ultimately, you know that you’ll pull through. And you did.

You move on with a college degree waiting for you at the end of this dark, bumpy road. Changbin, on the other hand, you can’t say much because his SoundCloud account is currently empty. He deleted every single song, every mixtape, every demo possible as if he’s trying to wipe his existence out of your life completely. Which makes it more difficult for you to muster up some courage and reach out to him again.

It’s almost a year, and you wish he could have just given you a sign about whether he’s fine with being friends or not. But as always, leaving notes is definitely not his department. The thing is, you feel like you both didn’t just grow apart. You also grew up.

“Y/N, did you ask me to go to the movies just because you didn’t feel like studying for finals?” Jaemin nudges you with his elbow and you smack his arms in return. Okay, technically you did grow up but old habits die hard, and you’re still procrastinating. Nothing new, but the occasional non-dates with Jaemin somehow helped with the aching part in your heart. You can’t say that he’s your new best friend because gosh, no one could ever replace Changbin. But ever since you found out that you guys go to the same college, you kept running into him on campus. Hence, hanging out with him is practically unavoidable.

You laugh, letting him swing an arm around your shoulders. “Nope, it’s because I love hanging out with you.”

“Does that naturally imply as you love me?” He grins coyly before approaching your car at the very end of the parking lot. You’ve talked about this before. ‘Love’ is an overstatement for the love that you have for Jaemin. Of course, you love him, just not in a romantic way and he accepts that. Although he does sometimes pull you in as a stunt just to get a discount for buying a couples’ combo. You let him, only because you’re both broke college students who are dreading your own student’s loans.

“Sure, I just love you so much I can’t even bring myself to say it without doing this.” You slowly feed his ego and your right hand quickly grabs the right side of his ears, dragging him into the driver’s seat of your car. Jaemin stops wincing once you let him go, pouting when you enter through the back door. “Serves you right.” You scoff, throwing him the key to start the engine.

He rubs his now swollen, red ear in pain, whining out loud like a kid that’s not allowed to buy popcorn when their parents bring them to the movie theatre. “This is domestic violence, I’m suing.” He complains but still hits the gas and starts backing out of the overpacked parking lot. People go wild during the weekends. That’s why you’re letting him drive because you suck.

You smile satisfactorily. “Ah, enslaved child labor at its finest.” If looks could kill, Minho would probably find your corpse in the car, limbs spread wide open because Jaemin is occasionally tossing you dirty looks through the rear-view mirror as he finds a way to hide a body while driving towards your neighborhood.

When you get home, you politely offer Jaemin to stay for dinner but he said he’s got a date to catch up with so you just let him be. Yeji isn’t gonna be home until nine because of her shift at the café so you basically have the whole apartment to yourself until your roommate returns from work.

Exhausted from spending all day on campus and going to the movies after, you quickly get rid of your long coat and plop yourself onto the couch. You waste absolutely no time and automatically hang yourself upside down on the cushioned surface while scrolling through your feed in boredom. You like to change up your position every ten minutes so that you feel less like a potato while your blood circulation isn’t gonna get blocked anywhere.

The moment you’re about to accept a video call from Jisung, you’re interrupted with a rather strange notification. You decide to text him, saying that you’re busy with a presentation and open the email from an unknown email. The email doesn’t have any specific title and you don’t think it belongs to any of your classmates. However, there’s a file attached to it which makes you even more confused. Who’d send a random video to someone they don’t even know? What if this is some kind of trick that people use for human trafficking? Like once you tap on it, there’s an automatic tracker on your phone and soon enough, you’ll go missing.

“for_you.mp4”

It makes your heart skip a beat as realization hits you like a truck. Deep down, you know, you know who it belongs to and you’re even more terrified to watch it. But you have to, you have to watch it. With a sharp inhale, your index finger trembles until it comes in contact with your screen, opening the file.

“Is this thing on?”

You immediately burst into tears as soon as Changbin appears. You’re stupidly, foolishly crying as he awkwardly adjusts the camera angle, checking himself in the monitor and runs a hand through his hair. Changbin’s wearing that one fitted black t-shirt that he probably bought in big bulks, warm brown eyes peeking through his messy bangs. He’s never looked better to the point that you’re tongue-tied, unable to scream even when you have so many questions, so many things to say. Yet only tears come streaming down your face. You missed him dearly, and here he is finally.

“Y/N?” Changbin quirks a brow and smiles. God, you missed his smile too. “If you’re watching this video, don’t..post it on social media. It’s gonna be a real tearjerker.”

You chuckle, wiping your tears away with the sleeves of your hoodie. He didn’t change, at all. “I don’t know if you can still forgive me for what I’ve done, but I still owe you an apology. I’m sorry for running away. I’m sorry for hurting your feelings. I’m sorry for not treating you right. It’s just when you said that you loved me, it sparked so much skepticism inside my head that even I couldn’t understand what I was thinking. Next thing I know, I was out the door, straight to the airport. I was an asshole and I know that. I hope you’re taking good care of yourself right now because you did nothing wrong. In fact, there’s something that I’ve been wanting to tell you too. I can’t seem to be complete without you. You’re it. You’re my endgame.”

When Changbin takes in a deep breath, so do you. You nervously scratch onto the black nail polish that’s starting to chip off on your pinkie, waiting for him as he fiddles with his fingers. Suddenly, he looks straight into the camera and laughs. “Why are you still here? You didn’t see the notification, did you?”

What notification?

Your trains of thoughts are once again canceled when your phone buzzes. You’ve just got a notification from an app that you barely touched since Changbin left. “SpearB just posted a new track. Check it out!”

“Neverending Story ( Demo ).”

Faster than a tick of the clock, you start playing the track, fingers drumming impatiently on one of your throw pillows. “Be mine, yeah?” His raspy voice sounds ten thousand times more attractive because it’s been a while since you’ve heard it and chills run up your spine. Adrenaline is pumping through your veins, your heart hanging on the verge of exploding. The soft instrumental blends in with the piano in the background perfectly, drowning out every other sound in the entire world. But what throws you off is that Changbin starts singing. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sing and it’s truly breathtaking that you can do nothing more than sitting there with a hand over your mouth, letting the melody guide your mind.

“Whenever you smile, whenever you struggle

I'll always protect you

For you,

I can even go against time

Just to appear in front of you

I believe, I believe

Even if the world changes

Can you promise that we won't?”

The first verse bleeds into the pre-chorus, then the chorus itself and Changbin starts rapping, spilling the feelings that he’s been struggling with saying out for you. Every word, every sound, every note hits differently and you feel like you’re already on cloud nine, drifting off into a daze. You can fully acknowledge and feel the ignited passion that he has for you even when he’s more than five thousand miles away, on the other side of the planet. But that’s all you need honestly because what more can you ask for?

As if on cue, the song ends and there’s a knock at your door.

Heat rushes up the bridge of your nose as you wobble towards the front door, head still slightly lightheaded from the mixture of emotions. You quickly fix your hair, straightening your hoodie and your toes curl from the nervousness. The moment you twist the doorknob, Changbin backs you up against the wall, shutting the door with his feet. He stares you down intensely, making you feel extremely small in comparison. But those eyes of his are filled with nothing but adoration for you and only you. “I’m in love with you, the same way that you meant it back then. I’ve been in love with you for even God doesn’t know how long. I booked a plane ticket and wrote the song as soon as that thought clicked in me. You’re all that I need. I want you to be my one and only. And I still want you back, so what do you say?”

Your lips curl upwards softly into a smile. “You’re really outdoing yourself, aren’t you? I confessed to you when I was drunk and not only did you film a video, but you also wrote a song for me?”

“Only for you, Beastie.” Changbin chuckles and pulls you closer, sealing the gap between your lips. He’s done it, he did what he’s been wanting to for his entire life : to know what being in love actually feels like. His kiss isn’t even somewhere near as those movie stars’ that you both used to make fun of every weekend. It’s one that steeped into a passion that flickers at the very pit of your stomach, one that makes you feel like home, like he’s your safe place. Changbin’s said everything that he wanted but he kisses you as a silent promise that he will do stupid things just to be with you, to have you right by his side for the rest of his life.

He’s the first to pull away, resting his forehead against yours as you both exchange shallow breaths. Smiling at you, Changbin can’t help himself but peppers small kisses all over your face from your forehead to the tip of your nose.

Life likes to toss you around and fuck you up sometimes but somehow, magically it always puts everything back in its place. The amount of tears that you’ve shed feels like payment for what you’re holding in your arms right now but there’s nothing that you won’t do to be here, in his embrace. Technically, Changbin didn’t have to say those three words back and he only did because he could, not because he needed to.

Even if he’s five thousand miles away, no one else is closer to your heart than he is. He loves you with all of the madness in his soul.

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crazyd4esq · 3 years ago

Note

Any luck remembering what the crying dude looks like?

Sadly no.

Between that lump with the stitches and the problem I had with my screen, I haven’t been having much sleep lately.

The lump attached to the stiches I think I mentioned a few times. By now it’s extending out of my knee a good quarter inch or so . . . and it’s still insensate . . . and it’s pitch black.

The screen issue bugs me more. Since it’s actually starting to get cooler where I live, I’ve been keeping the windows in my bedroom open. Except that something tried to get into my room two nights ago. The scratching and clawing woke me up from a deep sleep at around 2:00 a.m. I was half asleep and I couldn’t really see what it was, but whatever it was had torn a pretty sizable hole in the screen. I might’ve even closed the window on its paw (or hand?), but the beastie managed to extricate itself and run off into the night. The yelp it made when I crushed its hand was . . . I'm just trying to forget it, actually.

I’m saying it was a raccoon or possum or something like that, for my own sanity’s sake. So no more sleeping with the windows open for me, at least for a while.

So, suffice it to say, I haven’t been sleeping well enough to dream as of late.

#it's what's inside that matter(s)#iwitm 6 #halloween #horror #creative writing

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irandrura · 4 years ago

Text

The Elder Scrolls - a disclaimer and rant

I am going to make some posts about The Elder Scrolls, and in particular, its background, setting, and characters. That means that a disclaimer is probably necessary.

Here’s the tl;dr version: yes, I know about the lore. Please trust me when I say that I was really super into it about a decade and a half ago, and I’ve kept an eye on it since. I have read the Michael Kirkbride forum posts. I have read C0DA, The Seven Fights of the Aldudagga, Sermon Zero, the Loveletter from the Fifth Era, and so on. I know the forum roleplays like The Trial of Vivec. I know that Ayrenn is really a time-travelling mining robot from outer space. I think all the stuff I just referenced varies widely in quality, opinions quite reasonably differ on it, and it’s frequently at odds with what’s actually depicted in the games, but at any rate, I promise that I know it.

So when I go on and talk about Psijics – I know, all right? I know. I am choosing to engage with the setting on a level that focuses more on characters, human stories, and, well, the narratives of the games. The TES apocrypha is interesting, but of limited relevance to the things I’m interested in. There are many valid ways to enjoy TES. Okay?

Now, the longer part:

If you haven’t played TES, and… actually, scratch that, for like 90% of people who’ve played TES, none of the above needed to be said. The thing is, when you play a TES game, it is a fairly straightforward elves-and-wizards-and-dragons fantasy setting in the D&D mould. Indeed, the earliest versions of it, back in the 90s, were based on a D&D campaign. So there’s relatively little surprising about it, and “it’s like D&D” will carry you most of the way towards understanding it.

However, TES games are also renowned for containing lots of in-game books you can read, which are often some of the most striking and evocative parts of the games. These are supplemented by a large library of apocrypha: often unofficial material, posted by developers (and ex-developers) on the internet. The most infamous of these writers is Michael Kirkbride, who has some… very unusual tastes and interests, but there are a range of other names as well. In any case, the result is that TES has an ‘expanded universe’ composed of these non-canonical writings. Often canonical texts in-game hint at some of this vast, unofficial hinterland, and sometimes ideas invented in the apocrypha sneak back into the games themselves.

Further, the apocrypha often hints at what seems to be a very different setting to the one directly experienced in the games: one that’s less about warriors and wizards and adventure and more one about divine magic, transcendence, myth, and meaning. The descriptions often seem to be somewhat at odds. This can best be demonstrated with some examples.

For instance, here is Michael Kirkbride’s description of a High Elf warship, written before any game had depicted the High Elf homeland:

Made of crystal and solidified sunlight, with wings though they do not fly, and prows that elongate into swirling Sun-Birds, and gem-encrusted mini-trebuchets fit for sailing which fire pure aetheric fire, and banners, banners, banners, listing their ancestors all the way back to the Dawn.

This is Old Mary at Water.

You will immediately notice two things. The first is that this sounds really cool. Some of it you need some context to parse (the old elven homeland is called ‘Aldmeris’, hence ‘Old Mary’ as a mocking nickname given by its foes; the High Elves believe that they are literally, genealogically descended from the spirits that created the world at the Dawn), but even so, man, that warship sounds awesome. This Kirkbride guy can write. The second thing, though, is that it is extremely unclear what any of this even means. Given that descriptions… what does this ship look like? Try to picture it! What the heck does ‘crystal and solidified sunlight’ look like? How exactly does a trebuchet throw fire? What?

You might then go on to play a video game where the High Elves are taking part in a war to conquer the continent. If you’re like me, you’re probably keen to see one of these fabled warships. But then it turns out that in-game, High Elf ships look… like this. Or like this.

(Indeed, the High Elves are often a good example of this. An earlier written text, in a pamphlet enclosed with the video game Redguard, described the elven capital of Alinor as “made from glass or insect wings” or “a hypnotic swirl of ramparts and impossibly high towers, designed to catch the light of the sun and break it into its component colours”. Needless to say, should you visit it in a game, it does not look like that.)

After a while, you start to notice that there is very little connection between the world implied by the apocrypha and the world experienced in the games. Kirkbride says that the “closest mythical model” for the ancient knight Pelinal “would be Gilgamesh, with a dash of T-800 thrown in, and a full-serving of brain-fracture slaughterhouse antinomial Kill(3) functions stuck in his hand or head”, and says “Pelinal was and is an insane collective swarmfoam war-fractal from the future”. Indeed in Kirkbride’s descriptions Pelinal seems to have been an ultraviolent schizophrenic who led a wild, genocidal band of anti-elven warriors, was very definitely gay, and who had only a red, gaping hole where his heart ought to be (which in turn is a reference to the missing heart of the creator-trickster deity Lorkhan, whom Pelinal was in part a mortal incarnation of). You might find that really cool or you might find it banal, but there’s no denying that it’s extremely different to the Pelinal whose ghost you can meet in-game. The apocryphal Pelinal is a mad butcher whose closest mythic model, contra Kirkbride, actually seems to be Achilles; the game Pelinal is a straightforwardly sympathetic chivalric knight. This is complicated somewhat by the in-game books being written by Kirkbride and therefore being gonzo bananas insane, so the ‘canon’, such as it is, is unclear – but at any rate it is impossible to deny that there’s an incongruity.

I could go on with examples for a long time. I haven’t even mentioned the most famous – the 1st edition PGE description of Cyrodiil compared to what it actually looks like in Oblivion – or more recent ones, like the gulf between Alduin the mythic dragon who will consume the world and indeed time itself in its terrible jaws and the frankly quite underwhelming beastie you fight in Skyrim. The point I’m making is that there are effectively two TES settings: one relatively down-to-earth, immersive, and depicted in great detail in the video games, and one that’s this absurd mash-up of magic and science fiction and whatever psychedelics Michael Kirkbride has been taking this week.

I write this long disclaimer because it has been my experience discussing TES in the past that people who are mostly interested in the former – in the relatively grounded setting experience in the games – sometimes run into an elitist attitude from people who are interested in the latter. Sometimes fans of the apocrypha can come on much too strong, or gatekeep the idea of being a fan of ‘TES lore’. Any sentence that starts with “actually, in the lore…” is practically guaranteed to go on to be awful.

My point is not that the apocryphal TES is bad. As I hinted above, in my opinion its quality varies extremely widely: there are things that Kirkbride has written that I think are pretty cool (I unironically love the Aldudagga) and there are things he’s written that I think are indulgent tripe (C0DA stands out). Ultimately it’s all about what you enjoy, and I would never try to tell anyone that they shouldn’t have fun reading or speculating about or debating the zaniness of some of these texts. Indeed, as far as online fandoms and video game fan fiction goes, TES probably has the most fruitful ‘expanded universe’ that I’ve ever seen, and I think that’s wonderful. Kirkbride himself has said that “it’s really all interactive fiction, and that should mean something to everyone” and “TES should be Open Source”, which is a position I wholeheartedly endorse – and does a lot to take the edges off some of the worse things he’s said.

Rather, my point is that everyone should enjoy what they feel most interested in, or most able to enjoy. Further, I argue that there is absolutely nothing wrong – and for that matter absolutely nothing less intelligent or less intellectual – about a person preferring to engage with the version of TES most clearly depicted in the video games. Part of this might be defensiveness on my part, because in my opinion what TES has always done best is a nuanced depiction of cultural conflict: this is particularly the case in Morrowind and Skyrim, and ESO’s better expansions tend to deal in this area as well. As such I take relatively little interest in the metaphysical content of much of the apocrypha. For me, Shor, say, is most interesting as the protagonist of several conflicting cultural narratives, rather than as a metaphysical essence.

I would also argue that the most recent game content has taken a good approach by going out of its way to legitimise a range of possible approaches to the setting. The latest chapter of ESO, Greymoor, includes a system where the player can dig up ancient artifacts, and a number of NPC scholars will comment on them for you. This allows the game to indicate in-character scholarly disagreement over issues fans have previously debated. One item shows disagreement over whether the mythical character Morihaus was literally a bull, or a minotaur, or whether he was a human allegorically referred to as a bull. Another one points to disagreement over the possibility of magical spaceships: apocryphal materials have referred to ‘Sunbirds of Alinor’, ‘Reman Mananauts’, etc., as sorts of magical astronauts, but that seems so ridiculous given what we’ve seen in the games as to be easily discounted. I like items like this in-game because they seem to say to players, “It’s okay to disagree over questions like this – no one is doing TES wrong.”

That said, I am reasonably positive that I’m in the minority here, because I am in the camp that usually says that legends exaggerate, and so Morihaus probably wasn’t a bull and magical spaceships don’t exist. This is not a popular position. My reason, of course, is that I think tales are more likely to grow in the telling rather than shrink, and I have a dozen of what I think are hard-to-deny examples of this happening in TES (e.g. heroic narratives of the War of Betony are very different to the grubby reality you uncover in Daggerfall, or Tiber Septim is almost certainly from Alcaire rather than Atmora). However, this means that I openly take an opposite methodology to Michael Kirkbride. Kirkbride was once asked by a forum poster whether some in-game writings are exaggerated. His reply was: “I prefer, "It is very possible, as is the case throughout this magical world, that some of the exaggerated claims made about some subjects pale in comparison to the Monkey Truth. ZOMGWTFGIANTFEATHEREDFLUTYRANTS."”

Needless to say, I find this implausible, and it means that, for example, I interpret the Remanada as an obvious piece of propaganda, inventing a story about Alessia’s ghost in order to retroactively explain why Reman, probably born the son of a hill chieftain with zero connection to the previous dynasty, really has imperial blood. This is a very different but in my opinion more historically plausible take than Kirkbride’s, who has a naked thirteen year old Reman standing atop his harem and slaughtering recalcitrant followers.

I’m not saying that my approach is objectively correct. It’s all fiction – and as Kirkbride said, TES is open source. The only thing that matters is what you the reader, player, or interpreter find the most interesting. For me, that means generally favouring what is seen in the games over the developer apocrypha, which I can take or leave.

At any rate.

I’m going to go on and make some more fannish posts about stuff in ESO that I liked.

Just… if it’s relevant, be aware that I am familiar with the zany stuff. Some of it I like, a lot of it I don’t like, and I feel no obligation to use it if I don’t like it.

There. Disclaimer over.

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years ago

Text

Bluegrass-Chapter Twenty-two

A special thanks to @statell for your ongoing help

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter 22 (NSFW)

Claire opened the pasture gate quietly and slipped in to look for Runner who was eating grass behind a stand of trees on the far side. His head was down as grabbed a clump of grass between his teeth and jerked his head to tear it from the ground. He moved a few feet every now and then and dropped his mouth into a new area. His head froze, halfway to the ground and he sniffed the air. She was near. He could smell her. He trotted toward the gate but lost the scent suddenly and changed direction.

Claire was picking wildflowers and heard a sharp whinny. She looked up at a beautiful black horse galloping toward her at full speed. She smiled at him and when he was ten feet in front of her, strong arms pulled her backward toward the fence, as Jamie jumped in front of her holding his hands up to stop the charging horse. Runner stopped dead in front of Jamie, three feet in front of him, and snorted.

Runner tried to get around Jamie to get to Claire, but the man kept blocking him with his body and arms. “For scarin me half to death ye canna have her ye wee brute.” Claire giggled at Jamie’s back and watched the great fake out, starting in one direction only to turn on his haunches and get to Claire. He nickered deep in his throat when she hugged him and spoke softly. For the next hour, Runner had all of their attention.

“I saw what ye did to yer stall ye idiot. What the hell brought that fit of temper on? Well, yer in an aisle stall for a week while I fix it. Porcelain Love willna know ye anymore because the lass will be my girlfriend.”

Claire was laughing until she heard the last comment. “Jamie, how could you?”

“I dinna have a girlfriend anymore, so it’s okay.” He ducked in front of her and tossed her up on his shoulder while she laughed and beat on his back. It was done in fun that Runner didn’t understand. When Jamie looked up Runner reared and pawed the air with his hooves, risking their lives with his show of temper. Jamie lurched backward and set Claire on her feet then reached for the halter clipped to his jeans.

“Well, that wilna do, sorry Sassenach, I’ll be havin a talk with the wee beastie.”

Jamie walked toward Runner who promptly ran away, head swinging. “Come love. Ye’ll no be heapin love on that devil while I get the lasso. He held her hand and walked quickly back to the barn ready to go to war with a petulant three-year-old. He whistled for the guys and told them to bring their ropes. Both ran for them, and a bit of fun.

Jamie would not tolerate insolent and dangerous behavior, even in the most famous horse in the world. Rupert and Angus would flush him toward Jamie and his deadly accurate arm.

“What’s Angus suppose to do with his rope? Ye couldn’t drop that thing on a stationary post!”

“Ye watch me and learn ye big dummy.”

“Another time lads. It will be my rope on his neck to be sure, just drive him toward me.”

“What if he walks right to ye,” Rupert huffed from the aerobic walk Jamie set.

“He won’t. He destroyed his stall and reared three feet from me. We bring him down a peg or two lads. Ready?”

Rupert and Angus circled the horse from both sides of him and witnessed his haughty behavior. Runner was chewing grass and watching them step closer.

Claire promised to watch from the other side of the fence and prayed for all of them as the tension mounted. Rupert swung his lasso above his head, followed by Angus, then Runner’s head snapped up. The men moved fast giving him one direction to run, straight forward, right into Jamie’s rope.

Runner was feeling his upper hand and let them get within ten feet of him before he bolted, straight ahead, and felt his body jerk sideways from the rope burning into his neck. Claire gasped and watched wide-eyed at the two fierce combatants. Jamie was as strong as a bull, but it seemed Runner might drag him until he let go. The colt dug into the ground and pulled backward, tossing his head. When he couldn’t break free, Jamie took a step toward him, wrapping the rope around his elbow to keep it taught. Frustrated with this game, Runner reared high on his back legs, ripping the rope into skin. Jamie gave a brutal pull from the side and brought the horse down.

Claire couldn’t see into the dust cloud Runner stirred up, but she felt his energy shift, like he was a fierce adult and a second later, a young confused horse again. The fall knocked the wind out of him, so he was immobilized trying to breathe. Jamie took advantage of that and slipped his halter on and a regular lead talking softly to him. He pulled the painful lasso rope away from his arm and threw it behind him so Runner would feel safe getting up. The three men held their breath as he got to his feet and dropped his head for a scratch from Jamie.

“Yer alright laddie. It’s tough growin up, learnin how to behave. I’ll wager this wilna be yer last lesson.”

When Claire saw them walking toward her, she took off and walked home so Runner would not be rewarded with her company getting back to the barn. Jamie walked him into an aisle stall so repairs on the wrecked stall could commence in the morning.

Jamie helped the men with evening chores and watched them jump into their new trucks and head for home. Before his finger made contact with the keypad to lock up the barn, Jamie exhaled and dropped his head. There was just enough light to find his way to the tack room where Claire kept the apples. Runner came to him for some love and happily munched the treat.

“Sleep tight laddie.”

Jamie walked into the kitchen with wet copper curls and hugged his wife through her twenty questions about Runner’s health, physical and mental.

He kissed her neck from collar bone to mouth and suddenly stopped, looking like she just stabbed him in the heart.

“Ye sure ye like me more than him lassie?” The pout made Claire giggle until she gasped and grabbed his arm.

“Sweet Jesus, what have you done to yourself?”

There were minor cuts and bruises on his forearms and hands, she kissed each one of them telling him how brave he was. Jamie smiled while she pampered and sweet-talked him putting one arm around her waist to pull her closer for a hot kiss. Claire opened her eyes to look at him feeling something was wrong. The pain on his face made her pull away in alarm.

“Where is it, Jamie. Let me look at it.”

“I canna see it behind my elbow but it’s startin to hurt.” She spun him around and nearly fainted at the sight of the wound. She was used to blood and tissue in her face but never Jamie’s. “It’s a rope burn is all, it’s nothin Claire.”

She handed Jamie and huge spoon and told him to eat as much spaghetti sauce as he could and pointed to the large pot on the stove.

“I’ll put some in a bowl.”

“Eat!”

“We are going to emergency and do not bend your elbow or move your arm at all. Do you understand?”

Jamie chuckled between bites, “now yer scarin me Sassenach, ye havna called me an idiot yet and I have to go to the hospital?”

With his good hand scooping food to his mouth he reached for her with the wounded arm getting a stiff reprimand from Claire while she turned off burners and lights and moved him toward the door. The wound went clear around the backside of his elbow with a half-inch opening in the skin. It looked like a hot branding iron was pressed into his skin burning through to the muscle underneath, also charred.

Claire sped toward Lexington Hospital scared shitless of driving in the dark but kept her speed an impressive ten miles above the posted limit. She looked at Jamie to ask if he could drive but the words never came out of her dry sticky mouth. His head was covered in sweat that rolled down his gray face. When she was forced to stop for a red light, she told her phone to call the hospital ER and warned them he was in and out of consciousness and five minutes away. The truck stopped at the ER entrance where two nurses and a doctor waited with a gurney.

It felt like hours Claire searched for a wide space to park Jamie’s big truck finally pulling into the only spot she found. She could barely see over the steering wheel so she was in and out of the truck checking the space so she didn’t hit another car. Four paramedic firemen were returning to their truck and witnessed a pretty girl jumping in and out of a truck for five or six inches of movement. On closer inspection, she was crying and frantic to get into the ER. When they offered to help, she threw the keys at them and took off leaving the stunned men behind her.

“That is my wife… her name is Sassen…Claire. My wife.”

Heavily slurred words and a smile like the joker suggested her lovely husband was feeling no more pain. He rolled his head to the side, “time to go, love?” His eyes went wide at the nurse's face, “who are ye lass and dinna be lyin to me. Where is the Sassenach?” The nurse had been ordered to keep his arm straight and she wasn’t budging, even with his sudden outburst.

“I’m here, Jamie.” Claire gave him a soft smile and put her warm hand on his good arm. She watched his face soften and smile at her.

The nurse explained they had taken an X-ray and found a foreign object lodged between his muscle and a blood vessel. The doctor was conferring with the radiologist and soft tissue specialist. Claire was feeling the symptoms of her blood sugar crashing rapidly. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast at the airport in Florida and that seemed like forever ago. The nurse told her where to find the vending machines and she came back with cookies, potato chips, and soda, wondering how to get them into her terrified stomach. She held Jamie’s good arm and turned her head to stuff the whole package of cookies into her mouth followed by soda and chewed enough to swallow. The chips came next as she filled her mouth chewing quickly until her cheeks looked like she was storing nuts for the winter.

The curtain pulled away for the paramedics who handed her the keys and wished her well. She tried to thank them with her full mouth and felt her cheeks flame from embarrassment. The fourth man joined the others and they waved goodbye until someone said: “That’s Jamie Fraser.”

It was the fourth man who recognized him, even passed out as he was. He looked at Claire and spoke softly, “is that Jamie Fraser?” Claire shook her head and managed to swallow the last of the chips.

“You know him, so have you seen Midnight Runner?”

Claire almost choked on her soda at that question. “Yes, I’ve spent a lot of time with the colt.”

The paramedic became quite animated as he explained his father owned racehorses and idolized Jamie after the triple crown. He spoke softly not to wake Jamie, but Claire could see his eagerness to meet him and touched Jamie’s arm until he opened his eyes.

“Jamie, this gentleman, and his father know all about you and Midnight Runner. He parked your truck for me so I thought you would want to thank him. He reached out to shake hands with the man, his good arm being the shaking side. They talked a bit about racing and Midnight Runner and the man asked about his female jockey, where did he find an unknown who could ride him like that?

“The lass is my vet and cut that colt … of dead dam…and …some stuff happened…and she taught him some stuff.” Jamie’s eyes closed and he was gone again. The man was hanging on every word and tried to hide his disappointment the conversation was over. Claire wanted to help and offered to answer any other questions he had.

“Do you know her?”

Claire gave him a questioning look and then stuck her hand out, “I am Claire Beauchamp, it’s very nice to meet you.”

He shook her hand with the truth finally dawning on him. “You’re Misses Fraser and you look nothing like your pictures in the magazines. Well, no muddy goggles, helmet, and silks anyway.”

Claire realized she was still wearing her traveling clothes, a feminine sundress, sandals, straight long hair, and makeup. She couldn’t have looked less like a jockey at the moment. When the doctor asked for her, she told the man to stay if he had more questions and then left. They were ready to extract the object in his arm under local anesthetic. Some sutures in the muscle and skin and he could go home tonight. Claire signed the authorization papers and watched Jamie get wheeled out of his room and disappear. She suddenly felt the energy and courage drain out of her and the paramedic was leading her to a seat and running for a soda. Claire pushed against her tears forcing herself to sit up straight and put her faith in Jamie’s doctors.

“What is your name?”

“Steve. I don’t want to crowd you or be a pest. Is there a friend you could call to sit with you?

Claire knew anyone of her friends would drop everything and come to her side, but they were all so far away and tomorrow was a workday.

“No, I’m fine, really. You look so young to be an EMT, and a fireman.”

He blushed, “I’m neither. I’m in my last semester of EMT training and hope to get into the firefighter academy in the fall. Riding with those guys is part of my internship, and I love it. I can’t wait until I’m on the job, every day.”

Claire noticed Steve’s cheeks pink up when he talked about a career in the field he clearly loved.

“Honestly, I’m really bored now that school is almost done. I just want the summer to be over so I can start the next phase.” The young man blushed, “sorry to talk about myself like that Misses Fraser.”

“Don’t be silly, you are excellent company for me tonight.”

Steve looked at everyone in the waiting room, one person was crying, and another was consoling. “I have ten questions to ask. Maybe when we’re done, Jamie will be ready to go home. Is that okay Misses Fraser?”

She looked at Steve feeling some relief for the company, “of course, what do you want to know?”

Steve’s enthusiasm and interesting questions were a lifesaver to Claire. Before she knew it, the doctor was handing her a field rock that apparently bounced up during the struggle and lodged in Jamie’s arm.

“What are the odds a rock would shoot directly into his wound and lodge in his muscle.” The doctor chuckled.

“Thank you, doctor, for being so thorough before you dove into his arm. We will see you in two weeks.”

It was another two hours before Jamie was released and Claire was able to stay with him and sleep a bit in the comfy lazy Boy next to his bed. Her fatigue made it hard to wake up when a kind nurse touched her arm. Claire realized they started the day in Florida which seemed like months ago.

“Steve! What on earth are you still doing here?”

The young man’s head jerked up and he told her he waited to drive them home. “My dad will pick me up and your place is closer to the house. I hope you don’t mind that I stayed, it’s just that I remember you trying to park the truck and...”

Claire exhaled her relief and Steve got on the other side of Jamie who stuck his hand out and said: “I’m Jamie Fraser, and you are?”

Walking in the front door Claire thought Steve would faint seeing the large picture of her and Runner. She made the decision to pay him back for his kindness. Once Jamie was settled and asleep, she asked Steve to call his father and have him drive straight down to the barn.

“Really? He might have a heart attack if I tell him Midnight Runner is on the property, so I won’t.”

Claire turned on all the outside lights and most of the interior lights and quietly woke the snoring colt. He bounced up so happy to see Claire and she ran a soft brush over him to make his coat gleam. She told him to be extra nice because a big fan was stopping by and she led him out to a small interior arena and waited.

Steve’s father stepped out of his Town Car looking worried and wide-eyed. Father and son spoke to each other in Italian before walking into the compound. The older man stopped ten feet from Runner and approached slowly saying it was Midnight Runner in broken English.

“And this is Claire Beauchamp, his jockey, Dad.”

Nicholas Romano learned to love horses and racing from his father and passed the passion onto his son. He had given up hope of seeing a miracle horse win the Triple Crown, it was just too impossible. In the past thirty-five years there were seven horses that won the first two crowns and then lost at Belmont. This year, it finally happened in a spectacular way. He took Claire’s hand and kissed it three times and then turned his gaze on Midnight Runner. He ran his hand from ear to tail speaking softly in Italian and smiling brightly. Claire handed him some sugar cubes and the man cried as Runner licked them up from his open hand.

“Dad and I were trackside at Belmont to watch you win the most incredible race in history. Thirty-one lengths! I will never forget it.”

Claire suddenly felt uncomfortable wondering why Steve had not mentioned they were at Belmont. She walked Runner back to his stall and the older man pulled his wallet with tears in his eyes and showed her a Belmont ticket to win, Midnight Runner.

“One thousand dollars,” he said pointing to the ticket, smiling.

“Why didn’t you claim the wager, sir?”

Steve smiled at his father, “it’s a souvenir of the greatest day in his life, oh, sorry, second greatest day because I was the first, although I have my doubts.”

Claire relaxed, happy she could do this for such a big fan. After locking up, she said goodnight and climbed into the truck to get back to Jamie who was out cold and looking peaceful. She poured two whiskys, one for her and one for Jamie, and drank them both before sending a text to the guys that Jamie was injured and would not be in the next day. Thinking about their likely reaction, she sent another message, “no inquiries before noon.”

She was aching for a shower and dug deep for the energy to climb the stairs. When she slipped into bed, she put her arm around Jamie’s stomach laying close to his side.

“I didn’t know you were out there, and I never believed in a soul mate, but here you are, my man, and I love you fiercely. Now and forever.”

“Now and forever, lass” was whispered back in the pitch darkness.

At six in the morning, Jamie’s eyelids slammed open like they do every morning. He laid still trying to piece together the night before, lightly touching the bandaged elbow. He had a pretty good idea of what the Sassenach had been through, and he definitely remembered her confession in the dark. Such a sweet lass, he thought. Images drifted in and out of his mind of Claire in her wedding dress, feeding the deer, her shiny body at midnight in the moonlight. He kissed her in the surf until her legs were week and she pulled him to the sand for more. She was so beautiful when he pulled her suit off and watched her kiss him from chin to balls, pulling them into her mouth and working up to his club of an erection. Jamie was on his elbows and watched her open her mouth and drop it down on him.

“Come here, lass.”

“No.” She pulled him into her mouth until he banged on the back of her throat making him gasp at the intense arousal of watching her. When she refused a second time he reached for her hips, spinning her to him while she kept to her task. With her heat right above his mouth, he slid his tongue into her and heard her moan.

“Jesus Jamie, that is so…” He grabbed her hair and pushed her head back to his cock while he sucked her bud and flicked it viciously. When he knew she was coming he let it go and pumped his release down her throat.

Jamie smiled to himself, eyes closed, reliving the intense sex on the beach, hammock, bed, and in the water.

“How do you feel, love.”

Jamie gasped and his eyes slammed open. He had a crippling erection and a red face at being caught sex-thinking by Claire. He stared at the ceiling.

Claire snuggled next to him and lifted her arm to put it around him but ran into a warm, rather large object halfway there. She lifted the sheet and Jamie’s blush had progressed to purple.

“Is this a party for one, Jamie?”

“No, I didna touch it, I swear! But I was thinkin about ye on the beach, naked and willin.” He was smiling now. “And I dinna have experience layin in bed when I’m awake with nothin to do.”

He watched Claire get on her knees and straddle his middle, pressing his hot need against her clit until she was panting. She loved sex in the morning when her body was rested and easily stimulated.

“Tell me, Jamie, what did we do in your memory, better hurry before I lose interest.” She could hardly get the words out between her panting.

“It was our midnight swim when I pulled yer suit off, layin in the sand.”

Claire’s head was thrown back and she lifted her body and placed him at the entrance of her interest.

“And then?”

Jamie described the erotic position and crazy hot sex watching her pull him into her wet heat, finding it harder to speak as she ground herself down on him moaning. Jamie’s good arm was behind her pushing her hips for the deepest penetration.

“Touch it, Jamie. Make me come, please.”

It would be so easy if he just had his other hand. Give me yer hand Sassenach he opened two fingers and placed them on either side of her bud. Claire’s eyes shot open and she couldn’t believe how good it felt. Jamie laid back and filled his eyes with the most erotic image he had ever seen.

“Jesus lass!” He felt her muscles grip him like a strong hand as she shattered igniting the sting in Jamie’s balls that signaled a dear-diary orgasm was coming. It shook him like a rag doll, and they were slick with sweat and panting for their lives as they fell back to earth.

“That was incredible Jamie, I’m ruined for life.”

“Are ye?” Jamie feared he stepped out of bounds this time.

“Maybe. I will let you know tomorrow morning when we do that again.”

Claire slipped out of bed and ran a bath for her wounded man.

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