#on the one hand i do respect his tendency to say 'fuck what the crowd wants i do what pleases me'

[potahun]

sob. thank you op for raising that...i have been thinking about this azusa and furuya exchange again since reading on the Q&A about the 'romantic pair he cannot yet talk about', which made me go 'ah, ok. amuazu a real likelihood if it's a thing that is likely to make waves'...

and yeah...if it really happens, then it means we have to live with them being an item while this exchange also happened. we have to live with GA making us believe furuya would end up with someone who knows him only superficially and has done to him what he's been struggling with all his childhood (and faces into adulthood as well) i don't know how much character distortion or super intense development it requires (how many years is he gonna use) for me to believe this is a credible and lovely romance...

i am guessing that, in the cultural context, what azusa does here is simply considered innocent and quite common. but nonetheless, it really is a blatant statement of "I don't know you beyond the superficial". and furuya's response is the equally superficial "^^" and light impersonal rebuking that amuro does, he's not trying to get her to know him either.

of course, it's all extrapolation whether the remaining romantic pairs rly do include amuazu. but there simply arent many mf pairs left, and we know GA loves his comphet even if it adds nothing to the plot or makes little sense (he introduced a character like chihaya who screams lesbian and even has a dear uni friend only to pair her up immediately with juugo). there are even less mf pairs that would make a fuss. like, what, yoko x kazami? jodie x camel? wouldnt even make a ripple. the only other pair i can think of would be akai x rumi...or an unknown pair with haibara... so if amuazu does become canon, i might have to at least start adhering to the belief that ZTT/movies are in a different parallel universe as the main timeline (even if movie-canon facts are also manga-canon). azusa and furuya would still know each only superficially, with azusa only knowing his amuro persona, but eh, at least this specific characterization of azusa would be out of the way.

i did see that the original tweet came from an amuazu shipper account, while it seems most of the other tweets about the Q&A phrase the answer to that question in a more neutral way. so i will wait a bit...but i also feel like it's a possible thing for GA, especially considering the latest chapters where he's been teasing the ship more and more (WHILE NOT MAKING IT ROMANTIC) he's also done some very weird narrative choices lately, introducing aoko's mum in MK and doing acrobatics to explain her absence, thereby completely messing up the perfectly logical narrative of nakamori being an overworked single dad. im worried he might go ahead and do something equally crazy for furuya, like introducing that he actually had a family all along! who's proud of him and raised him normally but he just cut ties because of his job or whatever! so he's never really been isolated! azusa was his childhood friend but she forgot! and oh! somehow, amuro is the real persona, let's forget about grumpy, high-strung furuya of ZTT, so amuazu can work as a wholesome pair because azusa knew the real him all along!

that's the type of thing that would disappoint me the most. like, yes, i would also be a bit heartbroken because i like hc-ing azusa and furuya as lesbian and gay respectively. i like their dynamics as co-workers who dont really want to know each other on a deeper level, but work well together. but beyond that, i mostly worry that GA has to distort their characters as we currently know them to make this pairing work, and that he will do it, because unfortunately, he HAS done narrative choices before that were not bound by logical narrative flow and were only made to serve a purpose that only he enjoys...

But really, that dialogue in ZTT Ch. 1 that Aoyama either wrote himself or signed off on is insane, especially when you compare how Rei’s mixed heritage is addressed in WPS by his friends:

vs. in ZTT:

The only way this makes sense to me is if it was meant to further emphasize how alone Rei is in the here and now. He has no one who sees him as himself anymore, and neither does he have anyone who’d get angry enough to defend him. He himself is used to this level of othering- it’s not even worth getting mad at anymore, even if he might spitefully overcompensate at home by cooking up a storm of food that actually suits his tastes. So he’ll never bite back against it himself.

I assume Aoyama was planning an am*azu endgame from before ZTT started, considering that early am*azu fantasy chapter. Why in the world wouldn’t he have instead written Azusa as an ally to Rei, in that case? She could’ve defended Rei against a casually discriminating background character, cementing her as a proper friend to Rei that he hasn’t had since he lost his last police academy buddy.

Instead, he chose to do the exact opposite.

[jojomiwbvb6]

The Shower Scene, Part 2

Part 1 / Part 3

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI. swearing, sexual tendencies

Almost a week went by. Working non-stop for the past 6 days, you stand in the crisp air of St. Louis, Missouri and take a long swig of your water. Load-out commences in a half hour.

The crew are dancing on their toes while you all wait in the dressing room for the rest of the Bad Omens set. You chew your lip.

In the entire time since Denver, neither you nor Noah had said a single word that anything had happened. The next day, you two glanced at each other, departed the hotel to the bus, and pretended like everything was normal.

Yet you felt the strange energy and tension he was hiding, and he hid it well. The past week, you have said nothing at all about it, yet, the memory of the way he watched you hungrily and patiently was burned into your brain.

It was enough to want to do it again. But you were afraid to do anything again.

Sometimes, during hangouts on the bus with the boys, you'd find him side-eyeing you. He would smile, as if it were toward one of Jolly's jokes, and turn away from you.

Fresh from Dethrone and the crowds energy, the guys run into the room, sweaty and whooping.

"Great job guys. Great show, as usual," you smile.

"Thank you, (Y/N)," Folio says.

"Yeah thank you, (Y/N)." Noah smiles at you.

"As always, Noah." You offer back.

His eyes flash a knowing look at you before instantly returning to normal.

You leave the room to load-out.

--

Stepping on the bus, everyone sighs and parts ways, to their respective bunks and to the TV in the living area.

It's 12 o'clock by the time we hit the road. Various members head off to bed. I stay on the couch, watching Ruffilo and Folio fight to the death on a video game that Ruffilo seems to be losing at.

"You both fuckin suck!" Noah shuffled out of the bunk area to the bathroom, jesting at his friends.

"Fuck you!"

"Go away, Sebastian!"

Noah smirks and laughs, stepping in and closing the door to it.

You giggle, but you feel yourself getting tired. You stand up. "Alright guys. I think I'm gonna head to my bunk. Night,"

"Night, (Y/N)."

"Night, dude. Oh I think you should let Davis cuddle. He seems lonely." Nicholas commented.

You laugh. "Fuck off, Ruffilo!"

Hearing the boys chuckle, you turn to head to the bunks. They resume their focus on the game in the dark.

As you begin walking towards the bunk area, the bathroom door opens. Noah stands there, looking at you. You look back at him.

"Yes, what?" You ask, your breathing picking up. He glared at you for a moment, and peaking his head out to check for his friends, he smirks at you as he sees no one looking at us.

He grabs your arm and yanks you into this tiny bus bathroom. He quietly shuts and locks the door.

In a quiet growl, Noah sinks his fingers deep into the strands of your hair. He pulls on it, earning a gasp of need from you. He gets close to your face, whispering, "What you did to me was so dirty, (Y/N). You think you can treat me like that? What a dirty fucking girl you are. Do you think I should show you who the fuck is in charge here? Should I punish you right here?"

Every growl from his mouth had you dripping, making the desire in your stomach red hot.

Noah continued on. "As punishment, princess, I'm not gonna give you what I know you fucking want."

You mewl at his words. He takes his free hand, and runs it down the line of your neck. "I bet you would be so beautiful if I fucked you," he looks into your eyes, getting close to your lips. "If you ever pull that again, I'll fuck this pretty mouth, too."

Your desire soaks your panties and you're squirming with want. "Noah, please,"

He grins at you. "You need me, baby? Huh?" You nod furiously. "Uh-huh!" You gasp.

"You want me to touch your pussy?"

"Fuck, yes," you whisper.

Both of you are trying so hard to be quiet. His hands rub at your thighs. The hand that was in your hair and moves down to grip your throat. You almost feel his breath against your lips. He was so close. He dips down and indulges in leaving hot, wet marks on your neck.

Noah's fingers are so close to right where you want them to be. He bites your neck and squeezes roughly with his hand. Your eyes roll back, and without a thought, you buck your hand up, wanting him to stop teasing.

Immediately he pulls his hands away from you and shoves you against the sink. His hands on either side of you, he pins you against the cold veneer. He tangles his hand back into your hair and gets close again.

You're so turned on, you could fuck him in this bathroom for hours.

"Too fucking bad. Bad girls don't get to feel good." He smirks, his hot breath fanning your face. He pulls on your hair and you whine. Desire fills both of your eyes.

He glances at your lips, looking plump and swollen as you gasp in his arms. He leans down, kissing you hungrily and you kiss back. He pulls away.

"Just to show you what you asked for," he finally allows one caress straight to your core. He slides his hand from front to back, giving your aching core a sharp slap for good punishment's sake, making you jump and squirm. "You just wait, princess. You'll cum for me again."

He leaves the bathroom, leaving you in a panting, wet mess against the sink.

[kairiscorner]

TANGINA KINILIG AKO SA MGA HCS NI NOIR /pos 💗 CGE PA REQUEST NG MODERN HCS

ANG SARAP MAKARINIG NIYAN PO <333 SURE THING ANON HUHU

okokok, now imagine...

he'd play "panalangin" for you two. he'd dedicate his time and energy to learning the chords and how to sing it just right in his vocal range, HE HAS A BASS VOICE, he can rizz you up so easily when he opens his mouth like.......... ginoo <;333 (fuck off miggy this ain't about you noir sings better change my mind)

he really, really respects his elders. like your parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and even great grandparents--just anyone who was older than him, he never fails to say, "po", "opo" or call them "ate", "kuya", "tito", "tita", "lolo", or "lola". he finds filipino culture so respectful when it comes to the elders and how endearing the "mano po culture" is. he hopes that if he has kids one day, they'll be as polite as you, so he tries his hardest to follow your example AND UPHOLDING THAT TO A TEE.

he loves entertaining the elders at family gatherings, especially as cover for you if you family asks too many questions, especially personal or uncomfy ones towards you. he'd direct the conversation in another direction, and cast you sideways glances as he reassures you whenever you need it through simple gestures, like holding your hand underneath the table, picking up the convo when it's dying out after a dry response, and getting you more water or something when you don't feel like getting up.

also, he knows it's not very polite, but he disregards politeness when he overhears or witnesses you being kinda harassed or being treated uncomfortably by a family member. you know those types, making fun of your insecurities to mask their own? yeah, no, he'll step in for you and answer them for you even if you never asked him to. he'll retort every criticism they have of you, your body, your academic life, your personality, your habits--he does not give a shit if they're "doing it out of love", if he sees you uncomfortable, he'll give you real love and get you out of there and defend you all the while.

your family thinks he's spoiling you too much... and he might be :> BUT CAN YOU BLAME HIM, HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH?????

when asked when the wedding will be, he always chokes on air.

he's very good with kids, HAVE YOU SEEN HIM WITH PENI????? if you had younger cousins, he'd entertain them. i feel like he would've been overwhelmed at first when the kids were crowded around him, yk filipino parents sending their flock of kids to ask for mano po from their elders.

"oh bless kayo kay tito peter", he sees a shitton of kids, "well guess my favorite hand's gonna fall off".

ngl when he gets called tito, it warms his heart because, he has a soft spot for kids and has this innate urge to spoil them, so when he's called tito it's like all his spoiling and love and hard work has paid off even it's just in the kid's nature to call every adult not related to them "tito" or "tita".

HE'D TELL YOU EVERY TIME AS WELL THAT HAPPENED, "mahal! i was called tito by your pamangkin (nephew/niece)!" /proceeds to spoil them with chocnut, jollibee, or whatever else.

oh yeah, he also puts off on swearing, but he can't help himself so when he gets accustomed to tagalog, there are tendencies when he uses tagalog curses BUT he doesn't go through with it. so parang: "PU...SANG GALA", "ANG GA...MO-GAMO MO."

i like to think that when he's speaking to you, it's mainly in english/taglish. but when your family members catch you guys in conversation, they'll whisper to themselves, "uy, di marunong magtagalog jowa niya, lokohin natin," and try to get him to call himself mabaho or something, but when they talk to him, HE SPEAKS IN FLAWLESS TAGALOG, HE UNDERSTANDS WHAT THEY'RE SAYING.

also... he calls you aking sinta :> HE KNOWS IT'S OLD FASHIONED, HARDLY ANYONE USES IT IN MODERN TIMES UNIRONICALLY, but he loves calling you his "sinta", bc you are his one and only :>>>

"aking sinta, mamahalin panghabang-buhay.. i'll love you forever, my dearest." HE SAYS WITH THAT CUTE SMILE, THE DIMPLES SHOWING, THE CURVES OF HIS LIPS ACCENTUATED AS HIS EYES SOFTEN UP AND GET A LITTLE SMALLER AS HIS NOSE BRUSHES OVER YOURS AAAAAAAAAAAAAA /namatai

a/n: SANA KILIGIN KA RIN DITO ANON <333

tags !! @thecoolerdor

[saetiate]

My Queen (let me confess my lust to you)

The pro-hero event features an exclusive pre-viewing of the royalty display at the museum. The party is a success, and the crowd oohs and ahhs over the marvellous jewels. As the party moves from the display to the bar, you go to shut off the lights and make sure all the security is running perfectly when your boyfriend, Aizawa, decides he’d like to keep you company – and you both get a little… distracted.

Words: 4.4k Content and warnings: Aizawa Shouta x Reader, smut, reader-insert, reader identifies as a woman with a vagina and goes by she/her, THRONE SEX, Aizawa is your boyfriend, he calls you his queen, Dom!Aizawa, sub!reader, though I think the dom/sub tendencies are medium to lowkey, not an au – he’s a pro-hero, oral (both f and m receiving), you ride Aizawa on the throne, semi-clothed sex, plot what plot / plot no plot, use of a variety of other nicknames as well: baby, baby girl, kitten, not proof read Author’s note: thank you so much for your support my last fic! I hope you enjoy this one and I hope to be writing more <33 cheers!~  

“You’re mine.” He says roughly into your ear, his breath ghosting over. “You’re a queen, but you’re my queen. Mine to touch. Mine to give pleasure to. Mine to make cum. Mine to fuck.”

What a wonderous and successful event. You are the incredible go-to event planner for all hero events, with a keen eye for graceful colour palettes and an expertise on luxury. And no one could deny how well this event has gone. The theme is royalty, and the ballroom is filled with displays and high-security casings of the most expensive jewels and jewellery made fit for kings and queens. The crowns and tiaras are placed softly on plush cushions. People filter through to see each displayed item and gawk at the price of them. Heroes and their helpers fill the room. You’re proud of the event, and proud to be here with Aizawa Shouta, a pro-hero and your ever-loving boyfriend. You’re wearing a beautiful, midnight blue gown with a thigh slit and gold jewellery. The velvet material is soft at touch and comfortable. The main event ended about an hour ago and all the guests have now left, moved on to the open bar downstairs to drink and dance. You lead all the remaining people out and guide them to the bar, and your boyfriend joins you to check up on all the items and lock up the room. The ballroom is stunning, and the displays are even more luxurious. Without the crowd filling the room, you can see each detail in all its glory. Delicate moulding scatters the walls like a gentle breeze, and the jewels sparkle under the chandelier like the night sky. There sits a grand throne at the back of the room. You take the opportunity to fully enjoy each display now that the room is empty. When you grace in front of one of the crowns, you take the crown from the plush cushion it sits on and place it over your head. It balances precariously on the top of your head, and you turn around to show Aizawa with a pose and a large smile on your face. He chuckles and smiles back lovingly. “Fit for a queen like yourself.” He says. You walk up the stairs at the back of the room and take a seat on the throne, sitting with your back straight and crossing your legs whilst looking at your boyfriend, who somehow looks both happy and serious all at once. He’s got his hands in his pockets and he’s watching the way your thigh exposes itself to him when you cross your legs, knows exactly how it would feel in his mind when he runs his finger up and down the area and squeezes the supple flesh with his fingertips. Your heels trace around your ankle and elongate your legs, and the skin glimmers softly in the moonlight. It does something to him, the sleek expanse of your leg and the crown on your head, and he can’t help but think it’s both absolutely adorable and breathtakingly sexy all at once. The room dresses you in a hazy glow, and in that moment he realises he doesn’t know how he got so lucky to have the most stunning woman he’s ever seen right in front of him, fully loyal and belonging to him and him alone. His forearm and hand tenses, almost imperceptibly but enough to illustrate he’s bothered. You look at him curiously, and when you make eye contact you notice that he’s looking at you like he doesn’t know what to do with you. Aizawa comes to the edge of the bottom step, smiles at you and bows deeply to you, and you giggle. He slowly waltzes up the stairs with each graceful step, the noise of his dress shoes echoing across the room, to stand right in front of your throne. He places a finger under your chin, tilting your head up at him, and bends down to kiss you softly. It’s gentle, loving. Perfectly shows the utmost love and respect he has for you. He pulls away, and then kisses you again, deeper this time. He places a hand on the armrest of the throne so that he can more fully bend over you, and runs his tongue over your bottom lip before kissing you again. Your heart starts beating faster, and your hands move to his neck to pull him closer to you. You breathe in his scent – musky and deep. You feel the way his skin moves over the bones of his jaw as he kisses you, the way he swallows when he takes a moment from the kiss to breathe – like he’s just slightly hesitating. Like you’ve taken his breath away. He moves his hands to your hair, and you go to move the crown off your head to give him more freedom with the action. “Keep it on.” Aizawa says as a demand, and the tone sends warmth down your spine. His voice is deep and rough, and the short statement sends something straight to your core. You look at him curiously. You know this tone means he’s serious, and there’s no room for disobedience. You put your hands down from where they were in the middle of the action. He kisses you again, placing his hand on your waist. “My queen.” He states it simply, but sees the way your pupils dilate at the name. He smirks, glad it has the effect he wants on you. He kisses your neck, leaving a mark at the base of your scalp so that it’s easily hidden by your hair. He continues to kiss down your neck and moves down to your cleavage, where your breasts are pushed up oh-so-prettily thanks to the dress. He places a kiss on each breast, and carefully pulls the straps of the dress down to flip over the material and expose the white lace material underneath. He carefully reaches behind you and unclasps your bra, throwing it over the backrest of the throne. You spread your legs to give him space between them as he focuses his attention on your breasts. He swirls his tongue around one of your now-exposed nipples, then uses the tip of his tongue to flick it. He notices the way your hands tighten around his strong triceps when he does so, and does the action again. He places his other hand on the cool skin of your other, unoccupied breast, and rolls that nipple slightly between his thumb and pointer finger. He then engulfs the nipple he’s been toying his tongue on into his mouth and sucks, whilst his other hand gropes your breast. You run your hands into his hair to move his face closer into you at the sensation, feeling yourself getting wetter. He then swaps to do the same again to the respective breast, tonguing at it whilst his fingers pinch and pull at the other now-wet nipple, the slick of his spit giving him the lubrication for him to be more aggressive with it. He takes the nipple between his lips and sucks harder than he did the first time, until he hears your quiet whimpers above him. He then moves to place kisses and hard sucks on the underside of your breasts. He makes his way down your body, kissing your navel until he’s down on his knees in front of you. He spreads your legs so that one is over the arm rest of the throne and the other, the leg with the thigh slit, is gently thrown over his shoulder. He turns his head to place a kiss on the inside of your knee, then another at the bottom of the inside of your thigh, another one a little higher. He keeps going up slowly, looking up at you and making perfect eye contact as he teases you. He places a kiss on your clothed core, breathing in the scent of you, and the way he’s looking at you is as if it trances him. It makes you feel like the world is tilting on its axis. He notes that the fragile material of your underwear does nothing to hide how wet you are. Or the sweet scent of you. Or the ridges of your labia and cunt, which are now blossomed open due to the arousal you were feeling. He runs three of his fingers up and down the garment, pressing into it with each finger individually over and over again like a wave. He slides the underwear down your legs and over your heels, then pockets it into his suit jacket. Your legs presume their previous position. Aizawa sighs at the sight of your pussy in front of him. He runs his hands up and down your thighs, pressing his thumbs into your inner thighs. “Shouta...” you start to say, wondering why he’s just looking and not doing anything, “what are you-“ “I’ve always wanted to know what royalty tastes like,” Aizawa says, and then takes a long swipe of his tongue from the bottom to the top of your slit, moaning at the sweet and salty taste of you on his tongue. It reminds him of strawberries and a sea breeze, and he just can’t get enough of you. “Oh,” you speak, your voice airy and breathy as you immediately coast your fingers through his long locks, lightly scratching at his scalp, “oh, fuck. Oh, Shouta.” He runs the tip of his tongue over the outer lips before moving back to the inner portion, then swipes his tongue up and around your clit, careful to avoid your clit so that he could tease you just a little bit. He’s very much the brat tamer, and if you were both at home he would be edging you over and over and over again for the public indecency you’ve led him to right now, but you’re still in public so he’ll save that for later. He zigzags his tongue from the bottom of your cunt all the way to the top, making you wait as he gets closer to your clit and does a singular swipe over it, the anticipation making the sensation all the more extreme. Then he repeats it again, loving the way your body is getting frustrated at him. He lets you off on it and changes tactics before you get too frustrated. He moves his tongue towards the part of you that’s tensing around nothing, and you feel the warm muscle enter your canal. He takes a short pause to take his fingers and put them into your mouth, and you can smell yourself on him from when he was touching you over your underwear. He then inserts one of those fingers inside of you slowly, and you feel every inch of his long finger slide into your tight hole. He very gently and slowly curls his finger towards himself, catching on an area that has you gasping and moaning. He returns his mouth to your cunt to lick around his finger as it plummets into you, still purposefully avoiding your clit. He finally, finally, pays some attention to your clit as he traces the tip of his tongue around the nub. He’s taking his time, wanting to feel every crevice of your pussy glide over his soft muscle. He circles again, and then again. He then takes a soft kitten lick at your clit. He varies pressures as he continues to kitten lick slowly over and over again, testing to see your reaction to it so that he can give you the right pressure without overstimulating you. He finds the perfect way, and slowly increases his pace. You moan louder for him, nails digging into the back of his head and pulling his face towards your hot core as the pace increases and the pressure gets just a little bit harder. He’s listening carefully to the way your breath catches each time he licks the sensitive bundle of nerves. He looks up at you and sees the way your back arches and your neck is thrown back to expose so much of your decolletage, breasts exposed out of you dress. Your nipples are hard and aching, with light stimulation from the breeze. Aizawa is unbelievably hard under you, enamoured by your soft thighs and the way that your breaths and whimpers sound. He’s unconsciously rutting just slightly into the air, craving for stimulation that he won’t let himself have until he makes you cum hard over his tongue. Which he knows he’s close to. He can feel the way the thigh that’s over his shoulder is tensing and releasing over and over again, how you’ve now moved the other leg that was previously on the armrest to instead rest on his other shoulder as you can’t resist from closing your thighs. He can practically see your heart beating out of your chest as your breathing becomes harboured your breaths coming hard and fast like the way he’s ceaselessly lapping at your clit, your hips tilting towards his mouth more. He takes your clit between your lips and sucks lightly, making you moan at the sudden feeling. Your thighs fully tense, your head tilts up and into the back of the chair, your knuckles grip hard in Aizawa’s hair and moves to grip the armrest. For what feels like almost a whole minute your mind is blank as you hold your breath for a moment before your orgasm crashes into you and you’re crying out his name. Aizawa smiles slightly at the sound of his name bouncing off the walls. He is relentless underneath you despite the fact that you just came all over his mouth. He’s lapping into you from your tensing hole to your throbbing clit, collecting as much of your slick into his mouth as he can as you’re coming down from your high. The feeling ebbs away slowly, and you begin to register the sound of his mouth’s actions as they continue, as well as your own harsh breaths. You start to feel the stimulation on your oversensitive pussy oversensitive pussy. “Ah, ah…” you begin to say softly as you come back to yourself, moving Aizawa’s hair out of his eyes, smiling euphorically at him from your orgasm. And then you realise he’s still not slowing down. “Ah, Shouta… Shouta! Sensitive, so sensitive, too sensitive!” you start, and move the palm of your hand to push his forehead back a little. Aizawa continues regardless, but eventually lets up, smirking at the way your legs are still shaking a little and your pants are slowing. He shifts his weight from his knees to the bag of his heels and looks at you. The length of your dress is draped carelessly away from you and he can see the whole expanse of both your legs. He stands up and scoops you into his arms, sitting on the throne with you on top of him straddling him, crown still placed on your head. Your cheeks are flushed, matching the rubies on the crown that are reflecting the soft starlight coming through the windows. You unbutton his shirt to expose his muscular figure, fingertips raking down his abdomen to feel the muscles there. You run your hands back up his arms, sinking your fingertips into his triceps and watching the way the dress shirt glides over it. You move your hands from his shoulders to either side of his cheeks and jaw, and place a kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on him. You move down his body to kneel in front of Aizawa, similar to how he did to you earlier, taking note of his thick thighs that shift under his dress pants. You unzip his pants and take his cock out, smiling as it springs towards you. It’s girthy, and you wrap your hand around it and move it up and down his shaft with a few strong, slow strokes, listening to his breathing deepen at the sensation. He has a masculine scent, and the hair is trimmed back and well-kept. You almost wonder if he was planning for something like this to happen tonight. You lick the slit at the head of his cock, and Aizawa lets out a groan above you. You lick either side of it a couple times and feel his hand at the base of your scalp tightening. You then take the head of his cock into your mouth, pull away, and then take more of his cock – again and again, until you’ve taken as much of it as you can. You take the base of it into one of your hands, and run your hand up and down his member as you bob up and down it. You can feel Aizawa’s thighs tense around you. All Aizawa can think is that it is such a sight to see his queen, crown and all, looking up at him and taking his cock so well under him. He’s so aroused by this that you don’t do this for long before he’s pulling you back up and over his lap. He gives you a deep kiss, and you feel his tongue swirl in your mouth. As he kisses you, he swiftly takes a condom out of his wallet that he swears is just for emergencies that he didn’t think he had to prepare for, chucking his wallet to the side of the throne. He breaks the kiss for a moment to slide it over his hard member, and you watch the way the edge of the rubber slides over each ridge of the veins wrapped around delicately. As soon as it’s fully down, he smashes his mouth back onto you, running his tongue over the gums right behind your teeth, which has you moaning into his mouth and grinding over him. He can feel how wet you are over his cock, and as you grind again your clit catches onto the head of it, making you gasp. He’s gripping your hips tight, his self-restraint slipping as his urge to just be inside of you increases. He pulls you back from the kiss for a second to lift you up so that he can press the tip of his cock against your cunt. He slowly pushes it in, and you both gasp at the feeling of just the head being inside of you. Your breathing shallows as you sink inch by inch, lower and lower onto him until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. You stay there for a bit, adjusting to his size, and he takes this pause as an opportunity to grab at your butt cheeks, stroking the smooth skin there before gripping hard. “Gods, you look incredible.” He says, and you look down at him and make eye contact. You gasp, as you see so much emotion in his eyes, so unlike what most people think they know about him. He looks at you with love and lust, like you’re a wondrous beauty he caught from the sky. It brings a pang to your heart, to be the reason for it. His eyes are encompassing the view before him, dark blue velvet dress shimmering in the moonlight, your breasts spilling out of the dress from when he pulled the straps down. He can’t help but run his thumb over your erect nipple, making your legs tense and causing you to grind just a little onto him.You can’t take it anymore. You use the armrests of the throne to start to raise yourself up a couple inches, relishing in the way his cock inside your velvety walls, and drop yourself back down, moaning as you feel the head brush your cervix – the pain-pleasure of it feels like a shot of electricity in your veins. And then you do it again, Aizawa watching you the entire time, enraptured by the way you look on top of him. He can feel your slick all around his dick, the way it moves and trickles down as you ride him. He grabs the back of your neck to set a steady pace, nails digging into you as he grits his teeth. “You just had to do all this and look like that, didn’t you?” Aizawa starts, his voice deep and his breaths shallow. “Looking so fucking hot in that dress and that crown, and you expect me to look at you like that and not take you right here.” It amazes you, to listen to him say this. Aizawa, a man of restraint and infinite patience, and yet you did this to him. It spurs you on, making you pant as you continue to ride him. “You know this isn’t my style, baby girl,” he grunts, “fucking you whilst we’re out. But since we’re here, I’m going to give it to you like you deserve. My queen.” And with that his hands move to your thighs, nails digging into your skin, moving you up his member and slamming you back down. He momentarily takes one hand and pulls your face towards him so that it’s right next to his, his lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re mine.” He says roughly into your ear, his breath ghosting over. “You’re a queen, but you’re my queen. Mine to touch. Mine to give pleasure to. Mine to make cum. Mine to fuck.” He emphasises the last word with a considerable thrust of his hips upwards towards you, causing you to arch your back and push your chest towards him. He takes the opportunity to take one of your nipples into your mouth, sucking it roughly. You feel the cold air as his mouth unlocks from it. He’s tightening his grip on your hips hard enough to bruise. You turn your head into the crook of his neck, encompassing yourself in the scent of his musky cologne as you near your peak. He can acutely hear your soft whines, he can tell purely from the sounds you make when you’re close to your orgasm. He knows it like he knows the back of his hand, like he knows how each strand of your hair falls on your head and wraps around his face as he pulls your face a little away from him. He pushes a strand of hair back behind your ear, and places his hand at the base of your scalp. “Look at me.” He says, and you open your eyes to look at him. You can see a slight sheen of sweat covering his neck. Despite how much impact is being made as he’s fucking you, his voice is calm and even. And he’s looking right at you, honeyed gaze fierce and desperate. “You keep your eyes on me the entire time, you got it?” His demand sends a feeling down your spine and you nod feverishly, unable to speak from the stimulation of how hard he’s fucking you, focusing on making both him and yourself feel good. “I expect a response when spoken to, kitten. Don’t tell me you’ve dumbed out so much you can’t even respond with a simple ‘yes’.” You don’t even fully process what he’s saying. Nevertheless, you softly say “yes”. And then you say it again, and again. Yes, yes. You touch foreheads with him as you say this, and you can feel his breath against your mouth. “Good girl.” He shows a soft, genuine smile at your obedience. He rewards you by taking his thumb into his mouth, and then moves it down to your clit. You whine at the extra stimulation, moving one arm to around Aizawa, fingertips digging into the bottom of his scalp and twirling into his hair. You press the other into the top of the throne, using it as leverage to keep riding him. You can feel your impending orgasm, the way your mind blanks out to just the stimulation. All you can hear are Aizawa’s grunts and moans, and your own heartbeat getting faster. You can hear each gasp and deep groan that you elicit out of him. You can feel the way he’s throbbing inside of you each time you lower down onto him, the pace getting faster. You don’t even register the sounds you’re making as your own, but every whimper and moan spurs Aizawa on. He can feel your soft, velvety walls tensing around his hard member every time he twirls his thumb a little over your clit. “Please, Shouta. Please. Please,” you whimper, the last please almost sounding like a whine, letting him know you’re about to reach your peak. “Yeah? You wanna come, queen? Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me so tight. Come, my queen. Come for me.” Aizawa says, and you finally let yourself go. You take one deep breath in, fingernails dig into him hard. And then you clamp around him, back arching, letting out a scream as your orgasm hits you. Your body feels like it’s finally releasing days of tension that it’s been holding on for so long, and you feel his large member so noticeably as you release. At the feel of your tight cunt squeezing him, his thrusts start to falter and slow, and he comes with a grunt. Both of you breathing hard into each other, hearts beating heavy as you slump down over him. He takes your face into one of his hands and pulls you towards him, kissing you softly. You giggle at the intimate action, mind still floating with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the dopamine running through your veins. Aizawa smiles at this. “Thank you, my queen,” he says into your mouth. He looks up at you, and notices how the crown now sits slightly lopsided on the top of your head due to the force of your encounter. You both laugh softly at the predicament whilst taking time to catch your breaths and come down from your high. After a while of being held by your loving boyfriend, his soft cock still inside you, you begin to raise yourself on your knees, placing one foot on the ground with wobbly legs. Aizawa holds you up with his arms to help you stand properly. You take your bra from where it’s been precariously thrown over the throne, and loop your arms back into it. Aizawa removes the condom to discard downstairs later. As he gets up to buckle back his belt and button his shirt, you sit back on the throne to put on your heels. You both laugh and chat as you skip arm-in-arm back to where the crown once was. You go to place the crown back on the plush, velvet cushion it sat on, and lock up the ballroom. You both go down to spend the rest of the party with your now very drunk friends, whilst the both of you are drunk on something else entirely. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author’s end note: Thank you so much for reading! This is very much self-indulgent, I love the idea of throne sex. Also my ex-fwb called me his queen all the time, and he’s very good at giving head and had an oral fixation and used to eat me out for hours so this is lowkey reminiscent of the sex I used to receive irl lol

[ladykissingfish]

Dining Out with the Akatsuki

Pein

The Pein-body doesn’t need food to sustain itself, but Nagato has made it so that he can taste and experience eating through the body. Surprisingly his favorite dish is a simple fish stew, which he enjoys several bowls full of, paired with a beer or two and a few pieces of delightfully crusty bread. But more so than the food, Nagato enjoys “being” with the others, especially Konan. When they were younger he and the blue haired beauty were often on the brink of total starvation, so to be able to afford the luxury of eating prepared foods in a nice establishment, and to do so with FRIENDS, is a dream that he’d never have dared to dream. Is a very tidy eater, and constantly makes sure the others are keeping their areas clean, so as not to make too much work for their waiter/waitress. The type to, if he thinks the server has too many empty plates and glasses to take back, will get to and help that person carry the empties back to the kitchen. Also makes sure everyone tips, even Kakuzu.

Konan

When going out to eat, Konan will always order a salad. That’s it. And it’s not because she’s a dainty eater; it’s because she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that every other member of the Akatsuki will be sharing large portions of THEIR food with her. Even Kakuzu will push whatever cheap dinner he’s bought across the table to her and gruffly tell her to take some of whatever’s there. The waiter or waitress will come back to the table to refill drinks and be confused that the delicate-looking salad girl is elbows deep in fries, ribs, steak, and anything else the group has pressed on her. And dessert is another matter entirely. ALL of them (with the exception of Kakuzu because he feels sharing his dinner was more than enough) will fight over who gets to buy Konan dessert. Usually settled with spirited games of rock-paper-scissors, and the winner gets to pick (and buy, of course) what sweet treat Konan gets. Also she never ends up paying for the salad she initially ordered, either, as the one buying her dessert will usually go ahead and spring for that, as well.

Hidan

Hidan is a big meat-eater, so when they go out to eat will typically order several pork, chicken, or beef-based dishes. His favorite is spare ribs, and he’s such an aggressive eater that the sauce will ruin whatever shirt he’s been made to wear for the evening. Watching him eat things like steak is always a bit gross, as he orders it cooked as rare as possible and always makes a big production out of licking the excess blood from his arms/the plate. He isn’t really a fan of sides, though, in particular vegetables; and will always push off the undesirables on his plate to whoever’s sitting closest to him (most often Kakuzu who will take whatever’s offered because hey, free food). He’s also one of the few who won’t order any sort of alcoholic drink with his meal, as he claims Jashinism prohibits the consumption of such things. Sodas or sweet fruit punches are his thing, and he drinks so much of this that he’ll end up rushing to the bathroom to pee a bunch before the meal is over. Is the fastest eater in the bunch so will try and start arguments or have arm wrestling contests with the others to pass the time along. If the waitress is pretty, he’ll flirt shamelessly and leave a big enough tip to make Kakuzu faint.

Kakuzu

It takes a LOT to get Kakuzu to go out and eat with everyone; he’s the epitome of the “we have food at home” mantra. When he does, he’ll always go for the absolute cheapest meal on the menu, even if the dish isn’t something he particularly likes. Also isn’t shy about using his advanced age to his advantage, to make use of senior specials and coupons. Always requests for there to be no salt in his meal because “too much sodium raises blood pressure which is bad for the heart”, and after all he’s got several hearts to take care of. Doesn’t really partake in the conversations at the table except to occasionally comment to the others about food being left on their plates; yes, even with the others paying for their own meals, he’s still hyper concerned about wasting money. The only time he likes going out to eat is his birthday, when everyone else will chip in to buy his meal for him. A big Sake drinker and will have almost an entire bottle ((of the cheapest kind)) with his meal, but he holds his liquor so well that he never seems drunk.

Sasori

Doesn’t eat but going out with the others is one of the few things he enjoys. He is someone who prefers elegant, quiet atmospheres, therefore favors going to smaller, somewhat exclusive restaurants. Since his attention isn’t focused on food, he’ll get up and wander from the table a lot, taking in the artwork (if any) on the walls. Has a special (and unexpected) talent, in calming down the fussy children of other diners. Because he’s curious about everything, he’ll ask Deidara or Itachi to describe their meals to him in heavy detail.

Deidara

This guy can eat. He, Hidan and Tobi are the biggest eaters in the company, so when everyone goes to a restaurant or cafe together, separate checks are a necessity ((Kakuzu: All I had was tea! Why should we split the bill when those fucks had 12 plates each?!)) Shares a slight commonality with Kakuzu in that his favorite meal is fish-based, and Kisame has taught him well in regards to knowing whether a fish is fresh or not. He isn’t the neatest diner, and will constantly be reminded by Pein or Konan to tidy up his area before the waiter/waitress comes back to the table. Will ALWAYS ask the server about the specials of the day, even though 9 times out of 10 he already knows what he’s going to order. Deidara has the ability to taste food through his hands, and will sometimes make a show of eating with all three mouths at once (which fascinates the other diners but leaves his own team disenchanted, to say the least). Can easily be goaded into eating “competitions” with Hidan, which almost always results in severe stomachaches and a need to be carried back to the hideout by their respective partners.

Tobi

What’s an entree? This guy will always go straight for the dessert menu. At first Pein and the others tried to stop him, telling him dessert was only to be had after a balanced meal; but Tobi’s tendency to eat a single bite of an expensively-priced steak quickly convinced the others to mind their own business. Whether at home or out to dinner, meal times are the only times he removes his mask; he still wears a rough black cloth over his eyes but without the mask everyone can see the (slightly scarred) bottom half of his face — and his smile. Which he does a lot; it’s obvious that spending time with the others means a great deal to him. His voice changes just slightly too — he still says the most out of place, goofy things, only in a much deeper tone of voice. Deidara especially is completely thunderstruck by how calm and quiet and NORMAL Tobi seems without the mask, and comes up with the (correct) theory that Tobi literally becomes a different person with that orange monstrosity on. Can be goaded into eating contests with Deidara and Hidan, although his food tolerance isn’t as high as these two and will more than likely spend all night in the bathroom.

Zetsu

Never ever joins the others when they dine out. Like never. Will occasionally use his exceptional scouting skills to scope out new venues for the group, but that’s as far as it goes.

Kisame

Restaurants aren’t really his thing, so (as in many other circumstances) will only accompany the others if Itachi goes as well. Like Pein and Deidara, goes mostly for fish-based meals, although he does enjoy an extra rare steak on occasion. Doesn’t drink alcohol but will order many cups of tea or, in the winter, cocoa. Is one of the few in the group who knows just how bad Itachi’s eyesight has gotten, so will always lean close and quietly whisper to him things on the menu that he thinks he’d like to eat. Enjoys eating establishments where they play soft music; it always puts him in a relaxed state of mind. Kisame is like Pein in that he abhors rudeness towards servers and restaurant staff, and will jump in quickly (and often very harshly) to “reprimand” anyone he feels is being an ass, whether it be another customer or his own team mates. Has gotten into a fistfight with Hidan twice over some of the more lewd things he’s said to waitresses, one of which got the whole group banned from that particular place. Doesn’t like desserts but will ask both Itachi and Konan what THEY would get for dessert, orders both things, and gives it to them.

Itachi

Like Kisame, dining out isn’t really his deal, but will go every now and then when the “persuasion” of the others wears him down (Deidara: You antisocial asshole; are you too good to spend time with us or what, hm?!). Prefers places that are small and dimly lit; bright lights hurts his eyes immensely and he’s never been comfortable in large crowds of people. A trick his father taught him when he was younger was that, when eating in a public place, always go with somebody you can trust to keep an eye on the entrance for possible enemies; so Itachi will always sit in a spot where he’s facing the door, to protect the rest of the group. Eats his food slower than the others (everyone thinks it’s because he savors his meal but really it’s because he has trouble seeing it), and, like Tobi, is a bigger fan of desserts than the entree. Also has a thing with napkins; will sit and tear one napkin up into dozens of tiny strips while the others talk to each other, or sometimes shows off Konan’s origami lessons by turning them into little flowers or birds. Hidan gets easily annoyed by him because Hidan flirts mercilessly with every female in sight — but Itachi simply sits there quietly and has every female in the restaurant staring at him with wide eyes and lovesick faces. Hasn’t once left a restaurant without being asked out by at least 3 women (all of whom be very politely turns down, but still).

[bonnyskies]

his sweet omega ⇢ jjk

he’s your alpha, and you’re his sweet omega.

pairing — alpha!jungkook x omega!malereader,

genre — fluff, omegaverse au, college au, roommates au, friends to lovers au,

warnings — age-gap (the reader’s eighteen and jungkook’s twenty-two), swearing, past mentions of fuckboy!jungkook, jungkook is very soft for the reader, both parties are oblivious for the other’s feelings, and brief mentions of male pregnancy

requested by — anonymous

author’s note — honestly really loved this request so thank you to whoever sent this to me. and just a small heads up, this is my first time dealing with anything with werewolves so forgive me if there are any mistakes on the topic. i’m still learning about this type of au.

word count — 3k

masterlist

“—and he just told me that he couldn’t date me anymore. No real reason, just that he can’t.”

Jungkook couldn’t believe what he was hearing right now. How could Jaehyuk, your now ex-boyfriend end your guys’ six month relationship without any explanation? It wasn’t like you two had any problems, if anything the two of you were perfect for each other.

Jaehyuk—just the thought of his name already made Jungkook’s blood boil—was an alpha, and since you were only an omega, he protected you like an alpha should and treated you with complete respect and equality, unlike how other people do to omegas. That’s what made Jungkook like him when you first introduced them to each other, because Jaehyuk wasn’t like any other alpha. He was kind and didn’t order you around and treat you like you were his property like most alphas did to their omegas.

Jungkook still remembers the day you introduced him to Jaehyuk, because the image of your big smile and wide eyes shining with passion was engraved in his mind. It was just like any other day, Jungkook was on the couch in your guys’ apartment, waiting for you to come home from your morning lectures so that you two could go out for lunch together. You came back on time, but you also had someone else with you—Jaehyuk. At first, you introduced him as your classmate but from the way you glowed as you spoke about him told Jungkook otherwise. He joined you two for lunch that day, and Jungkook swore he never saw you blush so much, always shielding your face whenever Jaehyuk would compliment you.

You were so in love.

“I’m going to kill him,” Jungkook found himself growling, eyes flashing their crimson color as he tightened his arms around you, listening to your muffled cries into his chest.

“N-No, dont.” You whimpered out, sniffling and lifting your head to meet his eyes. “That won’t solve anything, Kookie. It’ll just create more problems.”

Jungkook smirked at his nickname, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss on top of your head. “He deserves it though. Nobody hurts my sweet omega and gets away with it.”

Even though your face was hidden from him, Jungkook could already tell you were blushing. You always get flustered whenever he uses his nickname for you. “Can I please beat his ass?”

You laughly softly into his chest, and Jungkook swore he could feel his heart stammer inside. “No,” you pouted, running your fingers along the fabric of his shirt. “Can you just stay here and watch movies and eat junk food with me?”

“Of course—,” Jungkook was cut off by the sound of his phone’s ringing before he had the chance to finish his sentence, causing him to slip one of his arms from you and check to see who was messaging him.

“Who was it?” You glancing up and attempting to peek at his phone, but Jungkook already shoved it back into his pocket.

“Nobody,” he answered bluntly, shrugging. “Just Jimin, wondering if I’m still going to his party tonight.”

You frowned, “You can go if you want.”

Jungkook grinned at your sad expression, pecking your head again before saying, “I’m not going. You need me, not Jimin-hyung. Plus, I rather be here watching movies with you.”

This time you couldn’t stop yourself from blushing mildly. “Thank you,” you mumbled into his torso, your heart beating roughly and uncontrollably inside your chest.

Jungkook smiled, leaning down and gently running his lips along your cheek. “Anything for you, my sweet omega.”

And that’s exactly how you two spent the rest of the day. Laying on the couch, watching endless amount of different kinds of movies with Jungkook’s strong, muscular arms resting around your waist, keeping you secured against his chest.

When the morning came, Jungkook tried to persuade you to stay home and take a break from school just for today, saying how you deserve to have one day of relaxation. But really, he just didn’t want you to run into Jaehyuk alone. And since you two were in different grades—him being four grades higher than you, he wouldn’t be there to protect you if you did end up accidentally running into Jaehyuk.

You refused, of course. Jungkook wasn’t surprised though, you’d always been stubborn. Saying how you weren’t going to let one boy and a broken heart prevent you from attending your classes.

But now, Jungkook couldn’t stop worrying about you, wondering how you were doing right now. His mind was so consumed on you, that he couldn’t focus on his professor’s lecture. He didn’t realize how long he’s been distracted by you until one of his classmates broke him out of his thoughts and informed him that the class has ended.

When leaving the classroom, Jungkook checked the time—it was half past ten. He still has another hour and a half until your morning lectures were done. So he did what every other student on campus did when they needed to kill some time. Chill at the college’s lounge.

Jungkook sat alone at the one of the tables in the very crowded lounge, scrolling through his social media as he patiently waited for you to meet him here. And still, his mind continued to worry about you running into Jaehyuk. You were only an omega, a small, shy, innocent omega and there was no way you could defend yourself—both physically and mentally from someone like Jaehyuk, an alpha.

With his mind practically torturing him, Jungkook finally decided to go and meet you at your class’s building instead of—

“Hey, man.”

Glancing up from his phone, Jungkook’s jaw clenched and his shoulders tensed when seeing your ex-boyfriend standing right in front of him. At least he knew now there was no chance of you running into him anymore. Jungkook could feel his fingers tightening around his phone. It was taking everything in him to refrain himself from beating the absolute shit out of Jaehyuk. His inner wolf practically howling for a fight. “What do you want?” His voice low, eyes glaring threateningly at him.

Without saying anything at first, Jungkook watched as Jaehyuk reached into his backpack and pulled your—his sweatshirt out. “{Name} left his sweatshirt at my place, and I wanted to give it back to him today during class but he’s avoiding me.”

“Can you blame him?” Jungkook spat, snatching his sweatshirt from Jaehyuk’s grasp. Even after not wearing it for so long, he could still smell his scent on it along with yours.

“Okay, I deserve that.” Jaehyuk sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, an awkward tension forming between the two of them. “Alright, well that’s pretty much it. See you around—”

“Why did you break up with {Name}?” The question came out of Jungkook’s mouth faster than this mind could comprehend it. He knew this was none of his business, but he had to know. The image of your crying state was still burned into his head, and it tortured him. He needed answers.

Jaehyuk sighed, running his hand frustratingly through his hair. He glanced at the empty seat beside Jungkook, and when the older alpha nodded his head approvingly, he sat down next to him. “Because he wasn’t mine...”

“What are you talking about?” Jungkook raised a brow at him, shifting himself to the side so that he was fully facing the younger alpha. “You two were together for six months, dude! {Name}’s crazy about you.”

“I know that we were together for a long time,” Jaehyuk groaned, tilting his head back. “But he never felt like he was mine, even to this day. No matter how many times I’ve tried to scent him or mate with him, he always refused.”

“You tried to mate with him?” Jungkook seethed, a growl forming in the back of his throat and his eyes shining their usual alpha color of crimson red. “He’s still a virgin, Jaehyuk! You shouldn’t force him to do something that he isn’t comfortable with yet—”

“I know!” Jaehyuk snapped, banging his fists against the table, earning some curious and annoyed glances from other students. “But I was sick of everyone constantly forgetting that we were together.” He confessed, “Even though we’ve been on dozens of dates together, kissed each other many times in public, people still didn’t believe that we were boyfriends. They thought that...”

Jungkook stared at Jaehyuk confusingly, noticing the way his hands were slightly trembling out of anger. “They thought what?”

“They thought you were his boyfriend,” Jaehyuk mumbled out, frowning.

Jungkook’s heart dropped. Other people thought you two were together? “Why would people think that?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Jaehyuk suddenly raises his voice, eyes flaring. “It’s because you’re always around him. And when you’re not, your scent surrounds him.”

Jungkook sighed, “Listen man, there’s nothing going on between me and {Name}. We’re just friends—close, childhood friends. We grew up together, and since he’s an omega and I’m an alpha, I’ve just got this natural tendency to protect him.”

“What you’re doing isn’t protecting him,” Jaehyuk commented, “You’re owning him.”

That caused Jungkook to scoff, “That’s crazy.”

“Is it really?” Jaehyuk questioned, cocking his head to the side. “I’ve seen the way you act around him, Jungkook. You always make sure to have your scent on him, whether that be either wearing your clothes or—,” Jaehyuk then winced, closing his eyes briefly before reopening them. “—scenting him personally.”

Jungkook’s hard expression dropped. Even though he didn’t want to admit it, he was right. He always made sure his scent was on you before the two of you left for classes. It wasn’t his intention to make it look like he owned you. He just didn’t want any horny, asshole alphas to force themselves on you—a young, unmated omega while you were alone.

“I’m his—was his boyfriend.” Jaehyuk stated. “He’s suppose to smell like me, not you. I’m an alpha too, like you, and yet people spread around saying that I shouldn’t even be considered as one because I can’t keep a single fucking omega!”

Jungkook frowned, guilt coursing through him. He knew how possessive alphas can be, he’s experienced it himself—with you. For an alpha, reputation was everything. If word got around that they couldn’t keep their omega—or ‘property’ in check and loyal to them, it would damage their reputation greatly and they’d be seen as weak.

“Listen man, I didn’t mean make you feel that way.” Jungkook stared at him sympathetically. “It’s just that I’ve known {Name} since we were kids. We grew up in the same neighborhood, we been through everything together. I guess there’s always been a part of me that wants to make sure he’s safe and protected.”

Jaehyuk sighed, leaning back against his seat. “It doesn’t matter anymore, we’re done.” He then stood up from his chair, pushing it in and slinging his backpack over his shoulders. “You should go for it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, “W-Wait, what?” He stared up at Jaehyuk with confusion. “There’s nothing going on between me and {Name}—”

He was interrupted by Jaehyuk’s laugh, the younger alpha shaking his head. “Come on, man. Have you completely ignored what we’ve been talking for the past half hour? You’re crazy about him. You’ve practically marked him without actually marking him.”

Jungkook lowered his head to hide the blush that was creeping up his face.

“It’s pretty obvious that you have feelings for him, Jungkook.” Jaehyuk continued, standing above him. “I’ve heard the stories about your reputation here. How you used to sleep around with anyone that caught your attention. But then you stopped when {Name} moved in with you. I’m right, aren’t I?”

He was. Jungkook couldn’t even say how many omegas or betas he fucked in the past. But when you told him that you got accepted into his college, Jungkook instantly offered you his apartment’s spare bedroom—saying how it’s cheaper to live away from campus than to pay for a dorm. Ever since then he hasn’t slept with anyone—let alone invite them over. It’s been months.

“T-That doesn’t mean I like him—,” once again, he was interrupted by Jaehyuk’s laughter.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore, dude.” Jaehyuk attempted to reassure him, clasping his hand onto Jungkook’s shoulder. “{Name} feels the same way about you.”

Jungkook felt his heart stop and eyes widened. “W-What?” He stuttered out, “No he doesn’t. Why would you think he does?”

Jaehyuk rolled his eyes. “It’s not that hard to figure out, man. Whenever he’s upset or happy about something, you’re the first person he goes to. He cancels our dates for those weekly movie nights you two always have. And when we do have dates, he’s constantly talking about you. Hell, he prefers your scent over his own boyfriend’s.”

He continued to verbally list, “It’s pretty fucking obvious that {Name} likes you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook didn’t know to say. “Just answer me this,” Jaehyuk leaned forward to where his face was inches from Jungkook’s face. “Have you ever thought of {Name} as anything more than friends?”

Jungkook was speechless. Has he ever thought of you romantically? Yes, he thought you were handsome, beautiful even but he always saw you more as a baby brother. But then again, siblings don’t usually scent each other. ‘Siblings’ also don’t sleep in the same bed together, arms and legs tangled with another. With the image of you flashing through his mind, Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder what a future with you would be like.

The thought of falling asleep and waking up beside you every morning, being able to kiss and hold you, and call you his. Mating with you, claiming you—just the thought alone made Jungkook’s heart burst inside his chest. The image himself marrying you, you carrying his children, his pups—oh fuck.

At this point, Jungkook couldn’t stop smiling. He wanted that. That future, with you.

Seeing the expression on Jungkook’s face, Jaehyuk couldn’t help but smile also. Patting his hand gently onto the older alpha’s shoulder, Jaehyuk whispered softly into his ear, “Go for it, man. Before someone else does.” And then he’s gone, leaving Jungkook with his thoughts alone at the table.

Jungkook’s heart was beating uncontrollably, his inner wolf howling loudly, cheering for finally realizing his true feelings for you. Next thing Jungkook knew, he was taking his phone out and messaging you.

jungkook: hey, can’t make it to lunch today. really busy. see you later at home.

And after the message sent through, Jungkook found himself searching for the nearest florist shop.

When recieving Jungkook’s message and reading it, you were confused. He’s never missed lunch with you before, like ever. After replying back with a simple ‘okay,” you headed towards your guys’ shared apartment where you were patiently waiting for him.

Two hours later, you were still waiting for Jungkook at your guys’ apartment, laying down on the living room’s couch in complete silence. As you waited, you couldn’t help but wonder the reason behind his sudden absence. He still hasn’t shown up and you were becoming anxious. This was unlike of Jungkook, completely vanishing from your radar, not replying to any of your messages.

Maybe he’s hooking up with someone right now, your mind thought, making your skin crawl and heart stop. You’ve heard how he was before you moved in with him. How he used to sleep around constantly, always having someone at his apartment. And since you’re living with him now, maybe he’s going to their place instead.

Just thought of Jungkook doing such...intimate things with someone else made your chest ache. You shouldn’t be feeling this way, you knew that. You were with someone for six months, recently, and it’s not like you two were together or anything so Jungkook can be with anyone he wants. Even though that pains you.

But all those paranoid thoughts disappeared when the sound of the apartment’s door opening was heard, causing you to shoot up from the couch and practically sprint towards the entrance. “Kookie, where’ve you been—,” you froze when your eyes landed on him. Right in front of you, Jungkook stood with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“W-What’s this—”

“This is for you,” Jungkook spewed out slightly aggressively, anxiously shoving the bouquet of flowers into your hands, which you gladly accepted.

“Thank you,” you smiled softly, leaning down and smelling the sweet scent of red roses. “Why flowers, though? And roses?”

“Because they’re the symbol of love.”

Your smile then dropped, replaced with shock. “W-What,” you stuttered out, eyes widening when Jungkook didn’t say anything. Instead he took a step towards you until he was only inches from you, lowering his head down to meet your wide-eyed gaze. His next words made your heart completely shut down.

“I’m crazy about you.” Jungkook said with such calmness, and you swore you’ve never heard your heart beat so loud before. “And I’m sorry that it took me this long to realize that.” You couldn’t speak a single word, you utterly speechless. Taking in your silence, Jungkook continued. “This entire time, I’ve only thought you as a friend. Someone to protect, and I’ve always blamed that slight possessiveness I had for you on my alpha instincts, but it’s not just that.”

Jungkook then leaned down and placed his hands on your waist, pulling you close to him enough to where your chests were barely pressed against each other. “I want you, {Name}. Not just as a friend, but as my boyfriend, my mate.” His words were taking your breath away, eyes swelling up with tears. “T-That’s if you’ll have as your mate,” he then started to stutter, head lowered to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. “I-I know you just got out of a serious relationship, and I-I’m not pressuring you or anything, I just want you to know—”

You couldn’t help but smile at your alpha’s rambles. You’ve never seen him so flustered, so vulnerable before. Leaning up, you silenced him by pressing your lips softly against his, which he gladly accepted and kissed back, tightening his arms around you. The bouquet of roses fell from your grasp as you moved your hands to rest on his broad shoulders, deepening the kiss as your lips moved perfectly in sync against his.

Jungkook couldn’t help but moan against your mouth, the alpha inside him howling, hungry for more, eyes shining crimson red underneath his closed eyelids. If it wasn’t for the need of oxygen, Jungkook could kiss you forever. Your lips was like alcohol, intoxicating. But nonetheless, you both needed to breath which is why you two pulled away, both heavily breathing.

“W-Wow,” was the only thing that Jungkook could say, smiling widely and cheeks blushing mildly. “Are you sure?” He then asked you, eyes shining with concern and assurance. You shared the expression as he did, jaw aching from how hard you were smiling.

And when you nodded, that’s all Jungkook needed before his lips came crashing back down onto yours.

He’s your alpha, and you’re his sweet omega.

[zankivich]

An Unexpected Romance: Chris Evans x Black! Female Reader Part 1

a/n: *sticks head out* omg hi. It’s been a while. A long while. Somehow I am back writing for another white man, a different one this time. We can only hope he does not disappoint as drastically as the last one does. I genuinely have no idea if this is good? I think it’s kinda cute, and I’ve been feeling very traumatized in regards to blackness lately so I really needed some black and brown women having a good time and being happy. We deserve that tbh. There could obvi be another part to this. Let me know if anyone even cares enough for that lol. Okay bye now. 

Part 2 Part 3

There’s an unspoken rule amongst you and your friends. Like a secret code, if you will. If a man hits on you at the bar and you’re not interested, and friends always know when you’re not interested, swarm and diffuse the situation. But? If a man hits on you at the bar and you are interested? Then that is a different story entirely.

It was a Thursday night out with the girls. You were at your favorite bar. It was quiet and quaint but still modern enough to attract a younger crowd. Sometimes there’s nothing better than getting dressed up and sipping on drinks with your girls. No dancing or club hopping or excessive uber rides. Just one bar, shit talk, and a lot of bacardi.

You were all sat directly at the bar in high standing chairs, Your back was turned to the entrance as you listened intently to your friend Tanya complain about her latest Hinge hook up.

“Can you believe I took my fine ass self all the way over to that nigga’s house in satin shorts? Satin! And he had a pizza box on his bedside table and the second he laid me down my back hit a bong. Make it make sense Jesus.”

Tanya was a beautiful Black woman. She was taller than all of you at six feet, and she strutted every step. Her skin was deep espresso and she was almost always rocking a vibrant colored wig that matched a vibrant colored outfit. Tonight’s color was lavender.

“I don’t know how many times we have to tell ya ass to stay away from them white boys.” You snorted, sticking your tongue out in search of your straw.

Your friends, Tanya, Raya, and Jesse all did a collective eye roll in your direction that did not go unnoticed.

“Yes ladies?” You asked with a straightened spine and arched brow.

Jesse was one of them girls you would have hated in high school. Skinny waist, slim thick thighs, and skin so clear that her Puertio Rican skin was only left to dazzle and shine. She had long, tight curls that hung all the way down to her belly button, and she always kept them gelled down and tied back. She, like all of your friends, did not hold back when it came to the group. You were honest, thick as thieves, and frankly a little brutal.

“You don’t even count. Your refusal to go near a white man is excessive and weird.” She cackled. “You're just as bad as Tanya, just on the other end of the spectrum sis.”

“Excuse me? Now Tanya dates boys...I date men. You see the difference? And if I am gone lie in some ivory sheets there’s gonna have to be some extra special attention being paid to me. And trust, there always is.”

You stuck your tongue out lewdly and laughed sending the whole table into a fit of giggles. You all clinked your glasses together and revelled in the atmosphere of melanin, acceptance, and tomfoolery. What a group.

“You tellin’ me that if a fine ass man walked in here right now and checked every box: his own money, his own car, intelligent, funny, etcetera,  and he just happened to be of the vanilla variety you wouldn’t bite?” Raya asked.

Raya was the thickest of the group, voluptuous in every sense of the word and also the only one happily married. She just put up with y’all honestly.

You rolled your eyes through with the conversation already.

“I’m saying...he’d have to be pretty fucking special and pretty fucking dedicated. Men are a headache as it is. I don’t need the added layer of some man pulling at my weave like I’m Lilly Ane from his hometown,  or asking me to do race play in the bedroom. Now I’m going to the bathroom and when I come back I’d like for us to talk about literally anything else? Okay? Okay.”

You slid out of your seat and headed for the bathroom with the grace and power of a woman in her thirties who had managed the insecurities of her younger self and had decided to only live her life revelling in her own excellence.

If Tayna was the darkest of the group you weren't at all far behind. If she was expresso, you were simply an americano with a dash of cream. And you rocked it with a full head of curls that ranged from nappy to bursting with life and moisture depending on both the day and temperature. It was all set upon the shoulders of a woman with curves and hips and chest. It was your body and you loved it endlessly, a matter quite evident in the way you walked.

That night you were wearing a coral pink jumpsuit with a long, flowy kimono and heels to match. Your kimono billowed behind you and made you feel fierce, even on the walk to the bathroom, which is perhaps why you weren’t paying that much attention. One second you’re strutting in the heels that you only wore when there wouldn’t be too much standing, and the next you’re slipping on some liquid that must have been spilt on the floor. Your whole life flashed before your eyes. The wind flew out of your lungs. This was the end…

And then you were caught by the waist. Not caught, more like gripped. Firmly. And perhaps not the waist so much as the hips. You expected to be lying straight on the floor staring up at the ceiling, and instead you were staring at a chest. A firm chest. No not firm. Chiseled might be a better description. So chiseled that your hands began to wander amongst the suit clad flesh before your mind had caught up with you. Heafer.

“Oh my god. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I can’t believe I--”

You peered up into deep blue eyes and let’s not forget that your fingers were still wandering along that chest. Had a chest ever been so broad? No. Not unless you count Captain America apparently.

“Please, I always like to pull a rescue mission before dinner. Makes me feel like I earned my meal.” He grinned down at you.

Chris Evans. What are even the statistical chances? You wouldn’t know, you were too busy drooling.

His hands were still on your hips. Yours still on his chest. And now you were just plain staring at him. Good look.

A waiter with a towel to clean up the mess broke up the moment by clearing their throat and alerting the two of you that you were way too close to one another still.

“Oh--Oh.” You mumbled idiotically. “You’re…”

He nodded. “Chris. And you are?”

“I’m...I’m…”

The waiter snickered under their breath and you realized just how much you were ruining this moment. You straightened your spine and tried to act like you had some sort of sense.

“I’m y/n. Thank you again for the save. I was actually just on my way to the bathroom so I’ll uh let you get back to your night and try not to fall on you again.” You smiled.

“Yea, we definitely wouldn’t want that would we?” He asked.

But the way his face was looking told you maybe he might not mind it after all. Sheesh.

“Okay well uh you have a nice night, Chris.”

You tapped at his hands on your hips and he quickly stumbled back with an apology. It was the first time he looked even the slightest bit flustered in your interaction with him. You found that you liked it.

“You have a nice night too, y/n.”

You smiled at him one final time before walking to the bathroom as you had intended. But he didn't leave your mind the entire time you were there. And not just because it was Chris Evans, it didn’t feel fair to call it star struck. That was too simple, too miniscule.  Instead it was the way his hands had felt on your hips. You had the tendency to lean away from men, didn’t feel comfortable with them when you didn't know who they were. And yet there you had stood, completely at ease in his hold. You couldn’t explain it even to yourself. He had just felt right.

“Of course he felt right, he’s practically a figment of your imagination.” You mumbled to yourself at the sinks.

That was it. He didn’t even count. The only time you ever saw him was on your netflix account, so surely your perception was warped. The reality was that Chris Evans was just another white man who looked good in a sweater. The end.

That’s what you convinced yourself as you walked back to your friend, but not without taking extra precautions against the floor. By the time you arrived back at your table you had done the mental gymnastics needed to completely eliminate him from your system. Good girl.

“Now, I trust you all found something better to talk about while I was away.” You grinned as you slid back into the table.

All of your friends were snickering behind their hands and they wasted no time at all laughing at you.

“Oh did we!” Jesse laughed. “You see we had just moved on to a new topic when a little someone got a drink delivered to the table.”

Your eyes widened as Jesse pushed a glass of what looked like processo closer your way. She then pointed over by the bar leading the entire table to turn that way. Seated by his seat with his arms leaning against the bar, shoulders even broader against the wood, was none other than Chris Evans himself. As if on a Hollywood cue he turned to look at you with a smile that was both innocent and filthy at the same time. He lifted a drink of his own in the air and tilted it in your direction in silent cheers. If you had been ten shades lighter you’da blushed like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous.

“Now...What was that you were saying about white boys sis?” Tanya asked.

You groaned to yourself softly and plopped your head down in your hands in embarrassment. This was only to notice that your sparkling glass of prosecco was perched upon a napkin with his phone number written upon it. Home boy was slick and he was bold. A man confident enough to come put himself out there, and respectful enough to do it in a way that wasn’t disruptive or rude to your friends nor yourself. It was the sort of thing that made you take notice for sure, which explained why your girlfriends were looking at you like cats that had just discovered the canary.

“What? What?! What?” You gasped at the table, clearly annoyed.

Jesse grinned. “What’chu mean ‘what’, mija! You gone get your mans or what?”

They all giggled and looked clearly in his direction, only embarrassing you further.

“Stop it!” You hissed. “He is not ‘my mans’ by any stretch of the imagination. He probably just feels bad for me slipping. I fell and he caught me. Clearly he’s a gentleman, which is nice but that don’t mean nothin.”

“Girl please! This man done sent you prosecco and a phone number. That’s like a rich modern version of a love letter. You better go talk to that man.” Raya snorted.

Women who hype up other women are the world’s greatest treasure. You loved your friends with everything in you, and you valued all of their intellects greatly. However, this was not a regular-degular man. This was literally a superhero. You had confidence for days, but this was simply a different stratosphere. You were just about to silence your friends again when a ghost must have descended because everyone else began to gasp.

“Girl he movin’. Captain America is comin in for the landing.” Raya stage-whispered.

“Oooo you know what? Suddenly I have to pee.” Tanya mumbled.

“Oh me too!” Jesse nodded.

And just like that….your table was empty. The audacity!

“Wow. I sure can clear a room huh?” He chuckled, stepping up beside you. “I hope I don’t offend too much.”

You sighed turning to face him head on.

“You certainly do not offend. In fact, I think my friends are around some corner cackling like the witches they are. They just wanted to give you space to shoot your shot.”

He smiled with a raised eyebrow. “My shot, huh? I better not fuck it up them.”

You shrugged, eyes raking gently over him. Beyond the obvious attraction, it was important for you to search for any warning signs. His body language was good. He had one hand draped over the back of your chair, but he stood two steps back from the table so that he wasn’t over-crowding your space. He seemed to be aware of himself physically, an important marker in your estimation. He was playful enough, but also clearly interested if he’d decided to come up to the table after all that. This did not bode well for you at all. The man was kinda nice.

“I just wanted to see if you were enjoying your drink is all.”

Your fingers flitted with the glass before pulling it to your lips for a sip. The way his eyes seemed to follow the motion had a heat pooling in your gut.

“I do enjoy a good prosecco.” You nodded. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. I didn’t want to be too forward but uh--I think you’re stunning and  I was wondering if I could take you out sometime.” He murmured.

Your legs were crossed in your seat, and you bobbed your leg a little, anxiety coursing through you.

“Were you afraid the number on the napkin was too subtle?”

He chuckled softly, eyes falling to the ground in an almost...embarrassed fashion? Lord, please.

“Sorry, I tend to second guess myself. I never know how people are gonna take me with my line of work. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to set up a one night stand or something. Wanted to show you I’m genuinely interested.”

Well that was unnervingly wholesome. Where they get this man from?

You let a small grin form across your mouth, a metaphorical step forward closer to his very inviting energy.

“Well, I do like the sound of stunning.”

“Yea? I think I could say some other stuff you’d like too if you give me a chance. What do you say?”

He licked the edge of his lip and it really was so miniscule but it had your thighs tightening in a way that was unholy. Rude.

You couldn’t say yes just off principle. Ten minutes ago you had just shamed all your friends for their white proclivities and the first one that walks off the street and bats his eyelashes at you causes you to cave? The hypocrisy! But...he was fine. Like capital “F” fine. Fwine with a “w”, fine. And it’s not like he was going to take you home to pizza boxes and lost bongs and then hit you up for gas money later. He was more set in his life than you were. Him being rich wasn’t even for you to utilize; it just felt good to know that he was accomplished and secure for himself. Again you dated men...not boys. And yet still you found yourself in such a conundrum.

“You look hesitant.” He noted, eyes locking onto yours.

You nodded. “I am...Excuse my bluntness but I had just gotten done explaining to my friends that dating white men often comes with more hassle than good. It can be difficult to connect cross-culturally. And quite frankly y’all are usually racist and/or fetishists. I’m not looking to upset your mama, nor am I looking to play slave master in the bedroom.”

Honestly the little speech was usually enough to send weaker men running. You say the r-word to a white man when you’re a black woman and he either calls you the n-word or gets upset and walks away. That had been your experience thus far. Not always, but enough to set precedence. The fact that he bothered to stay at the table further already separates himself from the pack.

“I can understand where you’re coming from.” He nodded, and a crease formed subtly between his eyebrows. “Not that I could ever really understand, just that I understand your hesitancy towards me. And I understand that it’s more complicated for you than it is for me. I really wish it wasn’t that way, but obviously that isn’t exactly something you and I can fix together in this very moment.”

You steadied for yourself for his next words, sure that he was about to leave you with, “have a nice life, I’ve got a spandex fitting in the morning.” There was a feeling in your tummy that felt out of place. You noted absently that it was a flutter of disappointment. And then he kept speaking.

“I don’t want to change your opinions on all white guys. I’d be willing to wager that most of us suck, and you probably should definitely steer clear.”

This caused you to snicker a little bit, a smile coming back to your face. He practically beamed in response, teeth coming together in a megawatt smile.

“However, I’d truly hate to never see that smile again.” He groaned and layed a firm hand against his own chest. “I don’t wanna change your mind about all of us...but maybe I can change your mind about me. I don’t want to feshitize you, I don’t want some weird power play between us. I don’t wanna do anything that would hurt you or make you uncomfortable. I just wanna take a really beautiful woman out if I could, if you’ll have me? Please? And if not, I take no as my answer and I walk away a little wounded, and you’ll still be here, stunning as always.”

Ooof. Boy was good. Real good.

You twisted your lips together and eyed him another time as if you were seeing each other for the very first time. Seemingly good guy. Persistent, not demanding. Willing to have conversations about race? Biceps the size of your head. Damn it was like the devil had crafted him especially for you.

“You know I think my friends have been spying long enough. I should probably meet up with them.” You mumbled.

You reached for the check in front of you adding your tip to your total and squaring out your tab. The way his eyes raked over you did not go unnoticed, unfelt. With the check closed and on the table you reached for one of the cocktail napkins on the table, pen still in hand, and wrote a note of your own. Sliding from your seat, you reached for the prosecco and downed the fizzy beverage before pressing the napkin to his chest with your nail. There was confusion, and perhaps a bit of hurt, in his baby blue eyes. This was gonna be some real trouble for you.

His palm came to rest over yours, trapping your fingers against his chest. There was a warmth there that seemed to leave your fingertips tingling. Definitely trouble.

“You have a nice night Chris.” You grinned.

His hand fell away from yours at the slightest movement on your part. He stood there, seemingly shell shocked, as you reached for your purse and his cocktail napkin. You almost thought he was going to let you get away as you went to step around him, only for his palm to grab gently at your hip.

“Good night y/n.” He whispered and reached to kiss chastly at your cheek.

The warmth of him was more intoxicating up close. He radiated heat like he radiated pheromones. And the smell of him was absolutely ridiculous as well. Was that gucci? Dior maybe?

It was a miracle you made it around the corner.

As to be expected, your awful ass group of friends were all standing by the hostess booth peaking around at you like a couple of dumbasses. They were lucky you loved em. You had an exit to execute though, and for that at least, they were useful.

You resumed your power walk, matched with clicking heels and a teasing pop of your hips, towards them.

“Is he watching?” You asked quietly.

They all nodded in various levels of incredulousness.

“Good. Let’s go.”

And then you walked your ass out that bar only to collapse the first second you cleared the doors. Your girls descended the way only women do, like fucking superheros of their own, and helped you float back to the car.

“Girl if you don’t start spilling A-S-A-P I swear fo’ God!” Raya gasped hands shaking on the steering wheel.

“What happened what happened what happened?!” Jesse screeched.

Your head nestled against the headrest of the car, your breathing having gone unsteady by the little game you’d just played.

“I think I just told him he can take my black ass on a date.” You mumbled in shock.

The tension in the car hit an all time high as everyone went silent...And then they all bursted out laughing as if you’d mentioned the funniest joke in the damn world.

“I KNEW IT BITCH!” Tayna screamed. “OOOOOOO BITCH I KNEW IT!”

“She finna be down with the swirl tonight, y’all!” Raya cackled.  

“In the category of white boys y/n will fuck with, this one has a networth of millions and the highest grossing movie of all time.” Jesse spoke in her best game host voice.

“I’ll take Captain America for six hundred, Alex!” Tayna snickered.

And they all continued to laugh.

“I gotta get some new friends.”

TBC?

[forthemorefortunate]

Live Like Animals

Nessian Modern AU

Merry Chris-  er, happy New Year to my secret snowflake!  @ncssian 💕😅

I hope you like the fic! I’ll be honest, when I filled out the application for the secret snowflake, I said I could make a fic believing that it was very unlikely somebody would ask for one 🥴🤔 But lemme say, I LOVED writing this, which is definitely something I didn’t expect. More than that, I’ve never been much of a Nesta or Nessian fan, but actually thinking through their characters and interactions for this fic gave me a whole new perspective on and appreciation for them (even if I’m not the best at writing their characters, aha), so thank you!

A few quick things about the fic:

(Ik I already told you this, but for anybody else reading this aha) This is my first fic! So please take it easy on me 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Okay so this part is kind of weird, but there’s kind of a corresponding playlist 😅 Each part is named after a song. You can play the songs while reading or not, I know for me personally (*cough* my ADHD ass) it’s hard to listen to music and read at the same time. The title is also the name of a song! Except that one is more random, haha (I couldn’t think of a title, so I shuffled my entire library and chose the first song as the title, and it kinda worked so I went with it)

One more quick thing – thanks to @moussescientist @ko0mbayamylord @blxckbeak @chanberry @mikitheswiftie @potatoburp @dead-on-the-inside666 @queenoffortunes and two anons for answering a question, and a HUGE thanks to Skye, @oneoutofamillionbooklovers for all your help and for roleplaying the parts I got stuck on with me ❤️

Part 1: Distant Early Warning (Rush)

Nesta pulled the dress over her head, letting it slide into place over her body. Screw this, she thought for the millionth time, yet she continued to get herself ready, turning to glance at her reflection when she was finished. She raised an eyebrow and nodded slightly at the woman looking back through the mirror. The woman Nesta spied had on a satin slip dress, darkest blue. She wore no jewelry save for the small silver studs in her ears, and her hair was pulled into a neat-yet-simple updo.

Why Nesta even agreed to go to this party she didn’t know. There was nothing different about it, just another college booze fest. The music would be too loud, the air too heavy, the guys too grabby, and the company too... clubby. Feyre insisted that she would fit right into her friend group – her clique – but Nesta wasn’t sure she wanted that. She padded over to the door of her apartment. No, Nesta was quite certain that “fitting in” with Feyre’s newfound friends was something she didn’t care for at all.

Nesta’s phone buzzed on her kitchen counter as she slipped on a pair of black heels, and she picked up to Feyre’s forcibly perky voice. “Hey! We just pulled up, you coming?”

“No.” Response blunt, tone dry. The line was silent for a long moment, and Nesta held in a sigh. “Did I give you the impression that I was interested in coming?”

“Nesta, I’m not in the mood for fucking around,” Feyre said, perkiness mysteriously faded now. “It’s just one party! I promise you’ll have fun.” Bullshit.

“Since when have I ever-”

“And everyone else really wants you to come, too!” Feyre cut her off, “Rhys is excited to meet you!”

Rhys. Feyre’s boyfriend. Nesta groaned inwardly, truly dreading any interaction with the rugby star. Feyre had immediately caught the eye of the local heartthrob, and the two began a serious relationship shortly after meeting. And with one came the others. In high school they would have been labeled “popular.” They were quite possibly the closest group of friends at the college, almost all of them having known each other since childhood. And Feyre had slipped right in among them. Nesta had warned Feyre against making the tight pack of fourth-years her main group of friends, and she had her own opinions about a freshman dating a senior, but Feyre didn’t make a habit of following Nesta’s advice. Rather, she seemed to think she could give Nesta – a third-year – much more valuable guidance. Domineering bitch.

“I don’t give a shit about your friends, Feyre. I’m only coming because of our deal,” Nesta said. Feyre had been pestering her all semester, spewing crap about how Nesta and Feyre should spend more time together. Nesta should get out more. Nesta should tag along with Feyre’s friend group. Nesta should have some fun. 

More bullshit. 

As second semester began, Feyre had proposed a deal: Nesta would go to one party with Feyre and her buddies, and if she honestly didn’t enjoy it, Feyre would stop asking her to join them. 

“I’m on my way. Let’s just get it over with,” Nesta grumbled, and with that, she hung up the phone and opened the apartment door.

Part 2: Can You Afford to Be An Individual? (Nothing but Thieves

Nesta looked around the group of fourth-years–plus Feyre–arranged in front of her. Introductions were unnecessary; you couldn’t attend this school without knowing who they were. Her eyes fell first upon Rhys, his arm around Feyre’s waist. His chin lifted slightly as she made eye contact. Rhys: double major in history and foreign policy. President of the astrology club. Captain of the rugby team, possibly one of the best players the school had ever seen. He was the group leader, though nobody said it aloud. Nesta knew him well. Perhaps she only knew his type well, or her own perception of his type, but that didn’t keep her from holding his gaze a few moments longer than would be comfortable. Then she turned her scrutiny on his sidekicks, so she called them, Cassian and Azriel. The former wore jeans and a baggy black jacket over his rugby uniform in the school colors: black and red. The latter wore black pants with a dark blue button-down shirt untucked.

Cassian smirked as her eyes met his. “Glad you decided to make an appearance,” he drawled. She narrowed her eyes at him, and his smile widened in response. Cocky bastard. Azriel, double majoring in political science and criminology, simply nodded at her in greeting.

After the sidekicks came Rhys’s cousin Mor, an architecture major with a minor in design. She was entirely too peppy in a way that left Nesta exhausted, but Nesta wouldn’t give her satisfaction by scoffing at her cocked hip and half-grin, ostensibly projecting confidence. She held Mor’s stare, matching her asserted confidence with a cool security in her own assets. The half-smile twisted, just slightly, and Nesta moved on to the short girl farthest to the right: Amren.

Amren scared people. As in, people were genuinely freaked out by her. Aside from a few cultish tendencies, her occasional propensity for violence and/or verbal outbursts, and her sharp expression, though, Nesta couldn’t tell why. Amren majored in gemology and minored in linguistics, and was the only one in the group other than Feyre to have not known the others since they were little. In fact, she was studying here from abroad, though nobody actually knew where she was from. Unlike Mor, Amren presented a confidence that Nesta could believe in and respect. Nesta maintained her chilled posture, but let the bite in her expression retreat.

As for Feyre’s introducing Nesta, that was unnecessary as well. They all knew her; most upperclassmen did. Or rather they knew of her, by the name of heinous bitch. If she were being honest with herself, she didn’t mind the nickname.

“Okay,” Feyre started, her voice expectant as she tilted her chin to look at Rhys’s face, “Let’s head in?” Feyre, Rhys, and Nesta had met up with the rest of the group in the parking lot before they entered the party. Fashionably late, Feyre had told her on the drive in Rhys’s tesla. Rhys taught me that the key to maintaining his public image is in making grand entrances. God, Nesta wanted to laugh at Rhys’s influence over her.

As they entered the building holding the party Nesta immediately stiffened, and had to close her eyes for a moment against the harsh blue and purple lights cast by PAR cans. All senses at once were smacked by the presence of weed. The floor was vibrating, and speakers blasted near-deafening music so that all Nesta could really hear was thunder. Jesus Christ, I hate parties, she thought. A mass of sweaty bodies shifted and bounced through the too-heavy air ahead of her, some only silhouettes in the murky haze, through which Nesta saw red solo cups littering every possible surface. Suddenly she noticed Feyre standing next to her, fidgeting with her clutch and looking over expectantly. Nesta shot her a withering look that said, “This is not what we agreed to.” Feyre had the nerve to look guilty.

“Okay before you say anything,” Feyre began, “I know that look, and... I know this is a bit bigger than we talked about-”

“A bit?! This is a rager, Feyre. Do I look like I rage?”

“Okay no, but I promise Rhys and I have a plan.” Oh my God.

Nesta gave her another glare and plucked a cup off a nearby table. Sniffing it, she sighed and took a big swig. “Please, my dearest sister, do tell.”

“We’re going with a buddy system.”

Nesta coughed. “A buddy system – are you fucking kidding me?” She spied Rhys and his dickhead friends in the corner of her eye. “Wow, are arts and crafts before or after beer pong?”

Feyre rolled her eyes, calling a fresh wave of frustration to roll over Nesta. “Can you shut it with the attitude, Nesta? I already apologized for the crowd of people – it kind of got out of hand. Rhys told me before we left but I didn’t want to scare you out of coming.” She gave Nesta a pleading look.

“Tch, whatever. Who’s my buddy? I assume you’ll be with Rhys?”

Feyre beamed at her. “You’re paired up with Cassian!”

“Cassian.” Great. Alpha dickhead.

“Don’t be like that. He knows his way around these things and he’ll keep you from accidentally overdosing or blacking out.” 

“Who said that wasn’t my intention?” 

Feyre scrunched her face up. “Either way, you can’t deny that he’s bigger and taller than half the creepy guys here. He’ll keep unwanted attention away.” 

Nesta watched as Rhys, lead hulking rugby bro dickhead, caught sight of her sister and eyed her with what might have been lust or love – Nesta couldn’t decide. Cassian, approaching from Rhys’s side, cut Nesta a slow, purposeful look down and back up to her face. She felt an annoying tingle down her spine as the crowds parted for them. This was going to be a long night.

Part 3: Inhaler (Foals)

They had been at the party for less than ten minutes and Nesta already wanted to leave. Drink in hand, she aimlessly wandered around the outskirts of the crowd, hoping to find a place to sit farther from the lights that drowned out any rational thought that flashed through her brain. Cassian trailed a few steps behind.

“So, what do you do for fun?”

She twisted around to glare at him. “Why are you talking to me?”

Cassian puffed out a laugh and spread his arms wide, responding, “If you don’t recall, we’re kind of stuck together, darling.”

Right. Nesta rolled her eyes. “How could I forget?” Cassian left the question hanging, still following her, so she forged on. “I like to read. A concept that’s probably foreign to you.” She dodged a young couple parting from the fray to make out against the wall, and paused to reorient herself.

“You might be surprised.” Nesta groaned inwardly and arched a brow. “Oh I have no doubt.”

“None at all?”

“What. Are you on volume seven of Captain Underpants?”

“Volume eight, actually.”

Nesta stopped. She was pissed. Pissed at this party, pissed at Feyre for lying about how big it was, pissed that she was stuck with rugby bro sidekick, pissed that the purple lights suddenly seemed a lot brighter, the music a lot louder, her thoughts a lot fuzzier. “Look, Cassian. I only came here as a favor to my sister. We’re not friends.” He started to cut her off, but she continued, turning so that they fully faced each other, “You don’t have to stay, I can take care of myself.”

He leaned in close, the laughter in his tone suddenly gone. “Listen, princess. You’ve had two beers and you’re already tipsy. I get it, we’re not friends. But there are at least four guys looking at you like they want to take you against the nearest surface and I’m the only man within a thirty-foot radius that has any self-control. There’s no way I’m leaving.” He held her gaze firmly.

“So that’s it – I’m just supposed to trust you? My knight in shining armor, here to protect my virtue? That ship sailed a long time ago.” Fuck it. “I wouldn’t mind taking you for a ride though,” Nesta said, flashing a smirk at the end.

Cassian’s lips twisted into a half-grin, but she could see annoyance rising up in his eyes. “Nesta, you don’t wanna play with me.”

“Brute.” Nesta turned and started walking away again.

“Bitch.” He followed.

Nesta scoffed. “How original.”

“Not all of us are English Lit majors.” 

Somehow Nesta tripped on her own foot at that moment, staggering sideways into Cassian’s path. He lunged forward, arms going around her waist to hoist her upright. Her lip curled and she spit out, “And not all of us are rugby stars,” and shoved her way out of his arms.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Cassian asked, incredulous.

“Cassian, I’m sure there are plenty of girls here that would love your attention. But I’m not one of them.” She turned around to face him, walking backwards, and almost tripped again. “So go on and play with someone else. I don’t care. Just leave me alone.” With that, Nesta thrust herself into the fray, pushing her way through the mass of shouting people, making the crowd a barrier between herself and Cassian.

Part 4: Emergency (Nothing but Thieves)

After five minutes of random college students bumping into her from every direction, her head pounding and thoughts muddled, Nesta realized she didn’t know which direction the exit was in. Fuck. She was disoriented and exasperated, her frustration now showing in her usually unshakable expression. She couldn’t even tell which direction the light was coming from. How many beers had she drunk? Two? Three? She wasn’t usually a drinker, and it hit her then that she hadn’t eaten for hours before the party started. Stupid, she thought. This was why she didn’t do parties.

She was so distracted trying to figure out where the light source was, trying to get her bearings at least, that she didn’t catch sight of a brooding figure wending its way toward her until the man had a hold of her wrist and was pulling her to the side of the room, wherever that was. 

“Hey! Get the fuck off me!” Nesta shouted over the crowd, but couldn’t get a response from the man until they found one of the cinder block walls.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice cruel as he tried to pull her closer. “We’re just having a bit of fun, that’s all.”

“Excuse me?” Nesta ripped free of his grasp, but he backed her into a corner. He had a drink in one hand. Not good.

“Hey, hey, no need to get worked up,” he drawled, “I saw the way you were looking at me.” Looking at him? Nesta thought. This was the first she’d seen of him.

Nesta tried to step to the side, but the man followed her, his senses keener than hers in her condition. He reached out for her arm again, and Nesta shouted this time. “Don’t touch me!”

He put his hand up as if in innocence. “Come now, I’ll make it fun for you. Just have a drink.” He brought the cup toward her face, his hand now reaching behind her head, which she snatched away.

“I swear to God, can’t you bastards understand that no means no?”

“You-”

“Get the fuck away from me, creep!” She aimed a kick at his groin, but he easily dodged it.

His mouth hardened into a line, and he growled, “Just take the damn drink, bitch!”

The man shoved her into the corner, her head hitting the wall. He brought his hand up to hold her back by her shoulders as he brought the cup up toward her lips and-

“Let me go or I promise you’ll regret it.” Last resort. 

He shot her a crooked grin and began to reply, but whatever response he had in mind was cut short.

A voice from behind him said, “And she never goes back on a promise, asshole.” The man was wrenched off her body by two strong hands, and pulled over to the side to give her an out, which she quickly took advantage of.

And there, dragging the man away from her, was Cassian.

The creep tried to play it cool. “Hey, Cassian, bro, what’s up, man?” he said mock-casually, “I caught your last game! great playing, dude!” His demeanor shifted completely as he turned on his bro mode.

Cassian’s jaw was set. He tightened his grip on the man’s shoulder, his stare withering. “You need to leave. Right now.”

Yet the man kept going with a smirk, “It’s all good bro, we can share.” 

That was a step too far.

Cassian grabbed the man’s shirt, pulling him close. “That’s the thing – I don’t share. I don’t play nice.” Cassian thrust his face forward so they were only a couple inches apart. “You said you caught my last game, right? So you know I don’t go down without a fight. Touch her again and you’ll regret it.” With that, he shoved the guy into a table, and turned to Nesta. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Part 5: Before We Drift Away (Nothing but Thieves)

Dizzy and shaken, Nesta let Cassian guide her through the crowd to the exit. Once they were outside in the cool night air, he pulled her aside, gaze dark.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Did he force you to drink whatever was in that cup?”

“No.”

His eyes closed and relief flooded across his face. “Good. God, some people are fucked up. I don’t know what I would have done if he had drugged you, or taken you away, or...” He trailed off, leaving anything further than that unsaid. 

They were silent for a minute. Nesta looked up at him, a bit of worry still etched across his features. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you care so much?”

He looked over to her, something strange in his expression that Nesta couldn’t place. “I don’t know. You’re a human being, and your safety was left in my hands.” He paused and looked away. “If I’m being honest, when I saw that guy put his hands on you... I don’t know. Something flipped inside me.” At that moment he looked down to her bare shoulders, noticing that she was beginning to shiver. “You’re cold,” he said softly. “Here, take this.” He removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, even when she protested.

Nesta frowned as she gave in and pulled his jacket tightly around her, annoyed at the way her body betrayed her. “I don’t need protection. I’ve lived a long time without people to care about me.” She started walking toward the parking lot, and he followed.

“You shouldn’t have to live like that, Nesta. You’ve been pushing me away all night, but listen to me – don’t you understand? I’m not just talking to you because I’m bored. I don’t smile at you as a game, as if you’re some prize for me to win. Can’t you see by now that I’m doing literally everything I can just to stay by your side? Damn it, I asked Feyre to pair us together at the party.”

Nesta had stopped walking and was speechless for once.

Cassian stepped closer tentatively, as though she’d back away. He ran a finger over Nesta’s wrist and looked up to the sky. “Please, just don’t make me say anything else completely insane. I promise I’m not in the habit of sharing intense moments with perfect strangers.”

A rush of anger coursed through Nesta, and she shoved him back. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t talk to me like that. Despite what you must think, I’m not an idiot. I’m not naive. I am well aware that this is all a favor to my sister. Stay with my lame, antisocial sister. It might be fun, right?” She paused, any restraint she had used earlier having completely abandoned her.

“That’s not what I think at all, Nes-”

“Fuck you, Cassian.” She shoved him again, more aggressively this time.

Cassian caught her wrists and pulled her closer. “Try that again.”

Nesta glared. “Bite me,” she spit out.

“Maybe I will.”

And as though drawn to her by some gravitational force, Cassian’s mouth came crashing down onto hers. He wrapped his arms around her waist, seeming to lift her off her feet. Nesta’s bare skin burned where Cassian touched her, and she pushed back against his touch to gain control. Everything, every thought was fading to nothing. Biting down on his lip drew out a low groan from Cassian, and Nesta broke free.

Cassian put his hands up as though to make a barrier between them, as though he wouldn’t be able to control himself without it. 

“So much for being the only man with self-control,” Nesta said. Cassian just shook his head, earning a light snort from Nesta. “I shut everyone out--even pretty jocks like you. Don’t take it personally. It’s just easier.”

Cassian smiled his easy smile, and he reached up to touch his lips with a thumb. “You think I’m pretty?”

Nesta scoffed. “The prettiest.”

He stood there for a moment, just smiling at her, before turning back toward the parking lot. “Okay, princess, allow me to introduce you to the pinnacle of after-party activities.”

Nesta raised a brow, and Cassian let out a bark of laughter.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m talking about pancakes.”

She looked skeptical. “Pancakes?”

“Yes. And after the night you had, you deserve an entire plate of them.” Cassian reached out to her with his big, warm hand, and Nesta hesitated.

“Cassian-” She started warily.

“Hey – I’m not asking you to marry me, it’s just pancakes.”

Nesta waited a moment more, then took his hand. “Fine. But I’m not sharing the chocolate sauce.”

“I wouldn’t dare ask you to. Besides, you already know how I feel about sharing.”

Nesta smiled a bit. “Hey Cassian?

“Yes Nesta?”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

[kuroshitsuji-scenarios]

“It’s been centuries since I felt like this, I’m not letting you go that easily.”/ for undertaker/ good you are safe! Mwah!

OHOOO, THIS ONE IS SO GOOD! I hope you enjoy the result! <3

Pairing: Undertaker x Reader

Words: 1,833

Prompt: 23. “It’s been centuries since I felt like this, I’m not letting you go that easily.”

[ taglist ] [ commissions ]

He was not the only the person you did not recognize during your relative’s funeral. There was so many people, after all, close family and friends but also faces you have never seen before and he certainly was one of them. Despite the gloomy atmosphere, it was impossible to not notice how he simply could not fit in the crowd, no matter that he was also dressed all in black, slightly bent over the freshly digged grave, mourning and silent.

Completely alone.

Perhaps it was his long, snow white hair or the unnaturally pale skin or maybe the scar crossing his handsome face—all those elements creating a picture perfect to catch your attention and cause you to think about it hours after the ceremony ended, giving you sleepless night. The stranger, whoever he was, seemed to be a ghost, now haunting your memory and making you wonder, who could that be? The longer you thought about it, the more uncertain you grew, sometimes wondering whether you truly saw him there or if he was just a passing shadow of the past, caught in the corner of your eye.

The fate, however, decided to end your misery in a way you would last expect it to—by giving you exactly what you wanted. Meeting the same, mysterious man in the middle of the city was something you would rather witness only in the films, the ones people considered as unrealistic and having plots which had no right to happen in the real world. Still, there was no mistake, it was him with the same eccentric appearance and the only difference being that now, he smiled when he clearly recognized you.

“It’s not the most common way to meet new people, I have to admit,” he chuckled after placing the cup of cappuccino back on the small plate and looked back at you. “If I only knew that my friend had such an adorable relatives, perhaps I would actually attend those family gatherings.”

“I can’t guarantee you that you’d meet me at any of them, I’m a rather busy person.”

“And not the life of the party, I assume?”

“Pretty much.” You shrugged. “Is it so obvious?”

“No, I’m just quite clever, if I can say so.”

The final conclusion after spending an afternoon with him in a coffee shop was that he was not only clever but also surprisingly charming. Undertaker, as he introduced himself right after giving you his real name and mentioning that he has never been fond of it, was truly like a gift from another world—he was a gentleman, well-mannered, polite and respectful, not to mention that his sense of humour seemed to fit yours just perfectly. The first wave of anxiety quickly faded away as he showed you that there is nothing to be shy about around him and even gave you an example or two on how he was not a social butterfly in his anecdotes.

The second and third meeting was surprisingly pleasant and each evening you came back home with stomach hurting from the amount of laugh, the blissful smile of your lips and the lovely tingling sensation in your heart.

On the fourth, he kissed you on the cheek as a goodbye, after walking you home to make sure that you were safe and sound, which was a very reasonable decision, since you were so lost in conversation, that you forgot about the passing time.

During the sixth, he confessed that he truly enjoyed your company and no matter the circumstances, he was glad to meet you.

On the tenth, Undertaker was showering you with heated kisses, the hunger on his tongue and the trembling in the fingers. He told you then, that he fell in love with you and he really did—he loved you just as much, as he always promised you to and there was never a hint of lie in his words, not when he was confessing his undying affection, nor swearing to spend the afterlife with you. Naturally, it could be an exaggeration, for he was always a little bit unpredictable with his love language, but in the end, you found out that everything he has ever said to you, was plain truth.

You would be the one worth considering a liar if you said that it did not flatter you. His feelings for you, how devoted he grew, how much he cared was the greatest compliment you could receive and a very clear signal that you deserved such a chivalrous man. It was a significant boost to your confidence, especially when you were walking together, arms locked and the conversations going so swiftly, as if he was created to be with you—the perfect, second half of one soul.

Soon, you started to wonder what could possibly go wrong, for the image seemed to be too perfect to be real.

Perhaps he was hiding some dangerous past, had debts or wife and children. Or maybe was he some kind of stalker who knew who you are long before you met. The possibilities were endless and when you asked him about some of your doubts, Undertaker not only explained why were they wrong but also gave you reliable proofs.

It was like a dream, the twisted one, where you were constantly waiting for something bad to happen but everyone around you kept dancing, blind and deaf for your intuition. You loved him equally fiercely as he did love you and that was the main reason why the possibility of some incident or secret slipping was running your blood cold. When it eventually did, you were beyond shocked to find out that no such thing ever appeared on your list, nor occurred in your mind.

Undertaker had to support his weight on the nearby wall, the other hand pressed firmly to his temple where the dark blood was gushing through his fingers and staining the collar of the dress-shirt. The wound you gave to him was not too deep, the place on his head and the amount of blood caused it to look like that, and at first you held your breath wondering if you accidentally killed him. The brass lamp suddenly grew heavier in your hands, the fingers painfully stiff when you were holding onto your temporary weapon as if your life depended on it.

And maybe it truly did.

“Stay back,” you ordered, your tone not sounding even half as confidently as you wanted. “Don’t come any closer.”

Undertaker looked at you from under his long, white eyelashes, the sight of his vivid green eyes causing the shivers to run down your spine. Still, you stood your ground, afraid to even blink just in case he would decide to jump on you and snap your neck.

“What’s the matter, poppet?” he muttered, slowly straightening his back and wiping the blood off his hand on the fabric of his trousers. There was a curve of the smile playing on his lips. “Didn’t you say that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me barely few days ago?”

“I did and I’ve changed my mind. Now don’t move any closer.”

“Or what?” he hissed and the sudden step forward was enough to almost make you lose your balance.

Undertaker chuckled at the fear you were so desperately trying to hide beneath the mask of courage. It was slipping out from every corner, your eyes betraying the terror in your soul.

Oh, how long it has been since he has last seen it.

“Will you hit me again, my love?” He pointed at the lamp in your hands. “Don’t hesitate, just make sure to aim better next time, the single blow won’t be enough to knock me out… And actually, I doubt that you’d ever be able to do it.”

“Stay the fuck back!” you warned, growing more scared and desperate with every step he took. “If you thought that I won’t discover the truth you were dead wrong and now you expected me to pretend that nothing happened?”

“What a pitiful choice of words,” he giggled, genuinely amused. “No, I wasn’t hoping to hide it from you forever, I just wanted to wait for a while longer. You, humans, don’t handle it very well and you’re no exception.”

“What are you talking about?” Salty droplet of sweat rolled down your forehead and you fought the urge to wipe it off, knowing that the man in front of you could use it for his advantage. “Did you really thought that if you told me later about your little laboratory in the basement then I’d be more understanding?”

“You would.”

“Like hell I would!”

You were at the verge of crying, the frustration and panic growing inside of you with every passing second. Discovering the bloody passion of your fiancé was one thing, but facing him and fighting for your life when he tried to pull you down the stairs was something completely different. All you wanted right now, was to leave, to run as fast as you could and never see him again, just to be safe and away from him and his murderous tendencies.

Funny, suddenly you felt like in the film The Shining, except that your partner did not lose consciousness after you almost crushed his skull with the heavy lamp in an attempt to defend yourself. It was almost as if he did not feel any pain, as if the hits had no effect on him.

As if he was immortal.

Slowly, you stepped back, still eyeing him carefully, observing if he would try to stop you from leaving his house. Once again, he reminded you of a dark ghost, the freezing memory of the past, growing and expanding in the tiny living room like a plague. His beautiful, pure face was rotten inside, his mind twisted and the smile—the smile, you grew so fond of—has never been so terrifying.

Undertaker waited patiently until you could almost reach the doorknob behind your back, giving you just enough hope to see your features soften before he materialized right in front of you in a blink of an eye. Before you could react, he covered your mouth with his hand, nails digging in your cheeks, and with a swift movement threw the lamp across the room, too far for you to reach. Leaning down, he looked at you in the eyes with the same, loving gaze you remembered and your noses almost touched, the dried blood staining his cheek and neck appearing as almost black now.

“You don’t understand, my love,” he whispered and rested his forehead against yours, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of your fear before continuing. “I’ve never lied to you, not even for a second. My affection for you is real, it brought me closer to being alive than I’ve ever been. It’s been centuries since I felt like this, I’m not letting you go that easily.”

[herstarburststories]

Swallow (Jason Todd x Reader)

✾ A/N: Hope you like it, hon!

✾ @thatgaypostsworld 's request: Do you think you could do Jason Todd from Titans x trans male, he's Hanks younger brother. They meet in Gotham and work together kinda like how Dick worked with Hawk and Dove and start dating then he Joins Titans to be closer to Jason and finds out that Hank knows Jason and can there be lots of fluff and protective older brother stuff from Dick and Hank cause Dick would have known him since he was like five. And Gar and Dawn being all for reader and Jason. xD

✾ Warning: request slightly edited from OC x Jason to Reader x Jason.

ONE YEAR AGO

GOTHAM CITY

‘'It’s over, bird boy.’’ The blue-eyed woman smirked at Jason as she pressed the barrel of the gun against his neck. Suddenly, the idea of ​​going after a drug dealer alone to impress Batman didn't seem like the smartest thing to be done. ‘’Batman probably won't miss his dumb pet. ’’

‘’You talk too much.’’ An unknown voice was added to the conversation, followed by the typical noise of a punch. Just like that, Todd was no longer between life and death, and his main target laid unconscious on the floor among his passed out henchmen. ‘’Come on, villains. Don't you know that monologuing only gives pretext for someone to come along and save the victim?’’

‘’What did you just call me?’’ The new Robin finally turned around to face his unfortunate savior. He was also dressed in a superhero costume, although Jason couldn't quite put his tongue on the name. The outfit was, in his opinion, ridiculous. Mostly blue, but with a white front and an orange mask. At least his body looked pretty hot in that. ‘’I'm not a fucking victim, bro. Who do you think that beat the fuck out of her crowd?’’

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. Batman's new apprentice was really petulant. If Hank was there, he would probably say it was a prerequisite for being a Robin. ‘’You, me, and your ego are on the same side. By the way, I am Swallow.’’

‘’Do you suck too?’’ Jason answered in irony, already picking up his customized batarangs that had been thrown in battle.

‘’Very funny. Swallow as in for the bird, Robin. Just like you.’’

CURRENT TIME

SAN FRANCISCO

When Bruce and Dick decided it would be good for Jason to spend some time away from Gotham, it didn't occur to Jason how frustrating that could be. After all, why would he even consider that idea? Todd would stay with the Titans for a few weeks and come home as fast as possible.

‘’It’s boring as fuck. I wish you were here.’’

However, now, after two months in that tower, with Dick treating him like a child and away from home, Jason had to admit that he didn't imagine this scenario. Everything was boring compared to Gotham. He didn't go out to fight crime with anyone. In his city, every night had someone to be saved, either with Batman or (Y/N).

(Y/N) had become Todd's confidant out of necessity. Although his first mission to conquer Bruce's respect had gone wrong, Jason wouldn't stop trying. He was valuable and could be as good as Dick Grayson once was. Bruce didn't have to protect him or anything, and he would prove that.

It worked a few times, mostly with help. Jay was still inexperienced, a Robin barely for months back then. (Y/N), on the other hand, had been Swallow for years. Robin certainly didn't call him, but somehow they always ran into each other during Gotham's night routine. After a few cases together and some make-out sessions in places extremely inappropriate for any civilian, they decided to try for real. A committed relationship, Jason's first.

Video calls happened, of course, just like the one occurring in that instant. But it wasn't quite the same, at all.

‘’Me too, babe. Don’t worry, we will see each other soon. I need to go now, just arrived at the supermarket,” you said, waving your empty hand at him through the phone as your face disappeared on the screen. It was replaced by your call duration time. You smiled at the street you were on. Jason surely would love your surprise.

Todd grabbed whatever comic book he had left around the room to distract his mind. He missed his boyfriend and the excitement of his hometown. And even though he invited you a million times to become an honorary Titan, the answer was still a no. If Jason had to bet, and he was good at it, he would say that you were afraid of history repeating itself among your brother's old team, even though he had stated that Hank was not there and had never visited since they arrived at the tower.

A subtle knock met the door of Robin's room, soon followed by Gar's voice. ‘’Jason, you have a visitor.’’

He tossed the graphic novel in his hands towards the chair across the room, smiling victoriously when he hit his target before getting up and leaving the room. It must be Bruce, finally showing up to get him.

‘’About time, Bru—(Y/N)?’’ You weren’t the person he was missing that appeared in the Titans' living room, but you were still a wonderful surprise. Jason marveled at you, his heart pounding happily. ‘’What are you doing here?’’

‘’I missed you and decided to accept your invitation.’’ Your words didn't obtain any reaction from Robin. He remained there, astonished. ‘’I could always go back...’’ (Y/N) teased, the side of your mouth curved into a playful smile.

‘’Don't even fucking joke about it, baby.’’

Jason approached you, pressing his lips against yours in a needy kiss, which screamed how felt your absence had been.

‘’What the fuck is this?’’ Hank's voice surprised the two young men, causing you both to separate immediately. Gar - who had gone to the training room after calling Jason - arrived in the place with Dick. ‘’What the hell is Jason doing to my little brother, Grayson?’’

‘’I don't know,” the rising leader responded, frowning as he mentally analyzed the scene. Jason didn't have enough stability to fight in a team yet-- a romantic relationship should be his last concern. Dick himself knew how it could affect teamwork, but then, he wasn't one hundred percent ready to lead the Titans yet and had started a complicated situation with Kori months ago. Therefore, Grayson was not the best to offer advice in that department. Pursing his lips, Dick added, ‘’Anyway, I'm glad you two came back.’’

While Jason's older brother had decided to ignore the surprise in his living room to address more urgent matters, yours didn't follow the same line of thought.

‘’We came here to help you and found the new problematic Robin sticking his tongue in my little brother's throat. What the fuck, Grayson? Since when (Y/N) is with the Titans? You want to fuck up their lives with my brother's life like you did to ours?’’

Dawn placed her hand against Hank's chest in an attempt to convey some serenity to him and prevent the male from attacking Dick in a fit of rage. She smiled sweetly at the couple – Jason’s arm around your figure as the old Titans argued.

‘’He didn't know I was here, Hank. I just arrived. I wanted to see Jason.’’ You shrugged. There was no real concern for the eldest Hall's reaction. You knew your brother. He had an explosive and exaggerated tendency for being. Especially after you came out as a trans guy, which increased his protective behavior. ‘’I have known Jason since the gap year in Gotham. We are dating.'’

Hank opened his mouth and everyone in the room waited for another round of swearing, most likely to be directed at Dick and Jason, when Gar's voice interrupted, ‘‘Can someone handle Jason willingly?'’

You chuckled when Jason showed his middle finger to his teammate. It caused tiny, relieved smiles from the present adults. Dick and Hank exchanged a suggestive glance. It was the same they gave each other when a difficult mission had worked out after a few mistakes, but they were too exhausted to argue at the moment. A truce, it meant. For now.

‘’Well, I'm happy for you two. Talk to me if you need tips on how to deal with a hot-tempered Hall.’’ Dove joined the joke, eliciting more laughter and a betrayed glare from Hank, who dramatically moved away from his girlfriend.

Jason grimaced when being compared to Hank, and you placed your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. His brother tried to convince Dawn that his anger was directed to who he deserved it, which didn't make him hot-tempered. Dick stood with crossed arms, a simple smile on his face as he surveyed the room. Gar was laughing still, his old friends disagreeing in a relaxed way, and Jason was pouting, being treated by his boyfriend with quick pecks on the cheek that made him smile like a happy child.

That reunion was better than he had anticipated.

[hoodwinkd1]

the stars that shine - Ch 1

Fic Summary: “Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”

He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”

His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. ------ Coming of age in a post-war world could never be easy. Growing up under the watchful eye of Erilea's most powerful and famous heroes is just a little bit harder. Figuring out what the hell they're supposed to do in this big, wide world might require a little more teamwork than either of them realize.

Ch 2 here.

Chapter 1: just two kids

The first time they met, neither of them knew what the hell was going on. The adults spoke in whispers and shed tears that they couldn’t understand, being only eleven years old. Evangeline grew tired of hiding behind Lysandra and clinging to Aedion; she wanted to explore this massive palace that served as her temporary home. Aelin had insisted that they all remain together for a few weeks after her coronation, giving them all some time to figure out how to be a court and a family.

For once, Evangeline’s short stature helped her as she ducked behind people and columns until she found the exit. She picked a direction at random, happy to wander around the hallways and take in the décor, even if some of it looked worse for wear. She hummed to herself as she walked, so focused on absorbing every piece of Terrasen that she could glean from the paintings that hung proudly (if not a bit slanted).

Terrasen. Her new kingdom. Evangeline had never felt any sort of connection to Adarlan. No one had ever held her hand at a celebratory parade or taught her the national song, if there even was such a thing. Her childhood contained no memories of pride or patriotism, nothing beyond a lingering resentment for what her parents did to survive.

“Evangeline! What are you doing away from the party?” She nearly jumped out of her skin at that cheery voice, her eyes darting up to meet the King’s kind smile. Dorian might have deserved her patriotism, if Lysandra and her had remained in Rifthold.

“I was exploring.” She shifted her weight a couple times. Although his face was kind, she really didn’t know him that well. And grown men, especially those with power, cause her to clam up. She remembered her manners just in time to add: “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Your Majesty.”

He waved a hand. “Please, just Dorian. We’ve all been through too much for fancy titles, don’t you think? We were just about to say our goodbyes and head out.”

At his statement, Evangeline finally noticed the boy sulking behind Dorian. Hollin didn’t acknowledge her at all, never even looked at her despite their similar age and forced proximity. She shoved down her irritation, choosing to be the mature and polite one.

“Are you excited to go home?” she asked sweetly, staring directly at the prince. He continued to study the wall next to him, ignoring her yet again, until Dorian shoved his shoulder lightly.

Hollin sighed in a way that made Evangeline’s blood boil. “I cannot wait to sleep in a chamber that doesn’t look like it might collapse on me in my sleep,” he answered, scrunching his nose in disgust.

Her eyes widened. She could have died, not a full two weeks ago, during the final battle against the Valg and Hollin was complaining about the state of his bedroom? Hundreds of replies ran through her mind, most of them including telling him where he could shove that selfish opinion--

“What my brother means to say, is that he wishes Terrasen a speedy recovery after so many trials,” Dorian interjected, placing his hand on Hollin’s shoulder. His grip tightened as he steered his younger brother around Evangeline, mouthing a quick “sorry” as they passed. “I hope you know that you’re welcome in Adarlan at any time. Until next time!”

“Thank you,” Evangeline replied uncertainly, spinning on her heel to watch them walk away. She still couldn’t truly say how she felt about Dorian, but she had never been more grateful for the crown on his head. At the very least, it kept that nasty little boy from having any sort of power he would surely abuse.

She kept walking. Sparing a glance over her shoulder to make sure they no longer lingered, Evangeline pushed into the chambers the royals had just vacated. She wasn’t snooping, just curious if their bed was bigger than hers.

The room was in perfectly fine condition, maybe lacking some of the over-the-top amenities that the former conquering nation of Adarlan could afford. She peeked into the first bedroom and let out a small gasp. So Aelin had given them nicer accommodations. The bed was massive, even bigger than Aedion’s bed (which Lysandra snuck into every night when she thought Evangeline was asleep). Logically, the larger man deserved the larger bed, right?

She looked into the next bedroom. This one was much more comparable to her room, only containing a queen-size mattress and a dresser. Evangeline ran her fingers along the silk sheets, wondering if it would be selfish to ask for these chambers for herself. She might enjoy having the space to herself, and Lysandra might not feel so guilty about spending time with her beloved.

A ray of the setting sun cut through the curtains, reflecting sharply off something in the corner of her eye. There, mostly hidden beneath the dresser, was a small piece of metal. Evangeline dropped to her knees and reached for it, fingers closing around the wiry texture.

It was a ship. Fashioned out of a long piece of aluminum that may have once been a large kitchen utensil. She examined the trinket, trying to imagine how one might have bent the shape hundreds of times to form a tiny replica of the boats that floated in the docks of Ilium.

Evangeline happened to love trinkets and tiny things, so she shoved it in her pocket, considering today’s exploration a wonderful success.

---

Hollin stared at the feast in front of him, wanting nothing more than to snatch up a plate full of food and run to his rooms to devour it in peace. Unfortunately, if he vacated his hiding spot behind one of the larger ice chests, the kitchen staff would surely see him and report his location to Queen Mother Georgina. And then she would surely force him back into the dining room to rejoin the most boring conversation he had ever had to sit through.

As part of his education, Hollin’s tutor taught him the importance of treating guests with civility and respect through proper socialization. While the prince normally managed to suffer through an entire dinner without running away, Hollin simply couldn’t pretend any longer. Not after he stayed up almost until dawn the night before, completely caught up in a new research project.

And although the prince had managed great strides in the two years since the war, shedding some of his more immature and selfish tendencies, he had never learned how to love a crowd the way his brother could. Dorian positively thrived in front of an audience, telling witty stories and navigating even the trickiest of topics with an easy smile.

He watched the head chef finish plating the soups, adding a fried green leek to each bowl. Hollin’s stomach growled, hidden by the noise of crashing plates and rolling carts.

“Hollin!” A sharp voice cut through the clatter. “If you’re in here, come out at once before you embarrass us any further.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. His mother had caught on to his hiding spot far too quickly. Rather than facing the indignation of getting literally dragged out of the corner by the indignant queen, he stood and brushed the lint of his pants.

Walking towards where Georgina stood, her arms crossed, Hollin searched his mind for any excuse that might explain his absence. “I wasn’t feeling well?”

“I planned on serving dinner as soon as the last guest arrived, but now everyone had to wait. Does that make you happy?” she demanded, reaching over to shove some of his hair back. “Remind me to send Donya your way tomorrow. This is getting out of hand.”

Hollin preferred his hair long, brushing his forehead and the back of his neck, but there was no arguing with her. “The dinner?” he prompted, warding off any further complaints about his appearance.

“Go, now. I need to run a final check on everything.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. Hollin ran out the door at that point, marveling at how much better the dinner party sounded after one simple interaction with his mother.

Pushing through the swinging doors, he was relieved to find most people standing around, finishing up their chatter and their drinks. Darting past a couple of particularly dull nobles and keeping his head down to avoid detection, Hollin scanned the table for his name card.

“Your Highness!” He winced at the nasally voice of Lord Ramdon and the impending doom of yet another economic lecture. “I was just telling your brother about the effects of his new trade agreement on the price of coal over the next five--”

“Please take your seats. Dinner will be served momentarily.” The voice rang out through the room, giving Hollin the opportunity to escape and finally sink into his seat, two chairs away from the head of the table.

Dorian slipped into the massive chair a moment later. “Mother tracked you down?” he asked, offering Hollin a sympathetic look.

“Obviously.” Hollin grabbed his napkin and threw it on his lap, a bit forcefully. “Enjoying the stimulating conversation tonight?”

Dorian laughed. “It was getting a bit dull for awhile there. Thankfully, some more exciting guests showed up at the last minute-oh, speak of the devil!” He stood up, waving to someone over Hollin’s shoulder.

The prince stifled a groan. He glanced at the nametag to his right, at the same time as the person in question filled the seat.

“Hello,” Evangeline smiled at him. “I didn’t notice you when we first arrived.”

Aedion Ashryver and Lysandra Ennar took their places across the table, also smiling warmly at him. Hollin never understood how these people managed to be so happy all of the damned time. Something like jealousy always churned in his stomach when he saw the familiarity and love shared between them, as if a devastating war hadn’t almost ripped them apart.

“I had a...prince thing to do.” He winced at how weak the words sounded. “I hope the journey was easy for you.”

“It was! We travelled quite light for this visit, since it’s much more informal and last-minute” Evangeline perked up as she spoke, starting on a tangent about the route they had taken. In all his fourteen years, Hollin had never met a group of people who talked quite as much as Queen Aelin’s court.

At least he grew out of his snark and pettiness since he left Terrasen for the last time. He forced a polite smile on his face as she rambled.

“Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”

He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”

His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. “I wanted to know, are there any additional activities you’d like to pursue while in Rifthold? Perhaps something in the arts?”

“Oh goodness, I’d love that,” Evangeline gushed. “I know that the theater here is beyond what we have in Terrasen; I’m sure there’s so much to learn from the actors and writers there.”

Hollin’s head hurt. He knew that Dorian would try to force them to get along while she stayed with them, in some bizarre attempt to expose him to so-called good people.

Even after the king had dedicated his time to being an older brother, even though Hollin tried so hard to avoid being another problem Dorian had to handle, he would never garner the look of affection that Evangeline did. He would never be Dorian’s friend in a way the Terrasen court was.

“Hollin attended one of the performances last week.” Dorian leaned forward, catching his brother’s eye with a meaningful look. “Perhaps you could take a look at the upcoming schedule, recommend something for her.”

The meddling had begun a whooping five minutes into the first course.

“I would be happy to,” Hollin replied. “Do you have any particular interests?”

For better or for worse, that question set Evangaline off on another tangent. Dorian gave him a subtle thumbs up as she chattered away, returning his focus to Lysandra and Aedion.

Hollin took the reprieve gratefully, digging into his soup. He mentally calculated how many minutes stood between him and the final course, already considering the night a massive failure.

[longitud-de-onda]

{un veneno} march: eloquence

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; your time with emiliana is running out and your feelings for javier are only growing rating; m warnings; talk about sex, alcohol (can i even write a javi fic without it?), angst, age gap, two idiots who need to get over themselves word count; 3.1k january, february

un veneno masterlist

You turned over as you woke up, not wanting to open your eyes to the bright light that streamed into your room from the windows. When you did, however, your eyes didn’t open to the darker side of your room but the worn fabric of Javier’s couch.

You stretched out, groaning as you woke up. Your neck was a little sore, which you attributed to the position you were lying in without a pillow. A blanket was half-draped over you, and you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. It didn’t feel great, but the couch was surprisingly comfortable.

The events of the night before began to return to your memory: going out for drinks with Javier, returning to his apartment, watching TV on the couch until late. You must have drifted off at some point.

It was nice to know Javier let you fall asleep there. It had happened before, more often than you’d like to admit, but usually, he’d set you up in the small spare bedroom he had.

You heard a bit of rustling as you rolled over to glance over the room. Javier was walking out of the kitchen towards the door, a piece of toast in hand.

“Javi?” you said, voice dripping with sleep, “What are you doing?”

“You’re awake!” he startled before breaking out into a smile. “Good morning.”

He had grabbed his leather jacket and looked like he was about to leave.

“Morning,” you smiled up at him. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to go to work,” he said. There was a tinge of apology in his voice like he wanted to spend the day with you.

“It’s Saturday,” you complained. It was too early for you to care about being respectful, or care at all about what you were saying. You wanted him to stay.

After that day on the mountainside, you had taken to spending your Saturdays with Javier. He had the day off, so you could go do stuff together. Except, obviously, today.

“I know, but it’s important,” he said. He took a bite of the toast.

“I hate the DEA,” you said. You had hoped you’d get to go out to the market on the other side of town. Javier had promised he’d take you there at some point, he didn’t trust you to go alone. Too dangerous, he said.

“I know,” he laughed, “I’m sorry. You can stay as long as you need. Just lock up.”

“Okay,” you said, “When’ll you be done?”

“I meant you could stay as long as you need to wake up and eat and stuff. You can’t spend all day inside.” Javier opened the door. “We can do lunch tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you said. “Bye, Javi.”

“Have a good day,” he said before exiting the apartment.

You pushed the blanket off of yourself and sat up. It hurt, having him leave as soon as you woke up. Not that you were in a position where you could be offended. You were lucky he let you spend the night.

Javier’s attention was something you found yourself almost fighting for, and you knew others must as well. He was charming, young, handsome, and worked for the Embassy. That was the definition of a perfect man in most peoples’ books.

You stood up and walked over to the kitchen, where you grabbed a banana and sat down to eat. This was your 8th time, if you had kept track correctly, spending the night at Javier’s, and you seemed to always get a better nights’ sleep, even on the couch, than you did back at Emiliana’s.

Unfortunately, today was different in that Javier wasn’t there. You missed having him wander around, talking about different things. You missed telling him about work. Sometimes he’d talk about his favorite music or Colombian political secrets, and you’d tell him about how you always managed to find the best restaurants in every city and lecture him about packing a bag for an overnight because whenever he had to go up to Medellín he always overpacked.

As you sat eating, you found yourself wondering what the back half of his apartment looked like.

You walked over to his room and pushed open the door. The smell hit you before you could even notice what it looked like. A combination of sweat and latex and whatever that distinctly sex smell was, and the wave of it was so strong you had a hard time imagining that he hadn’t had sex in the past 8 hours you had been in the apartment.

Usually, that smell dissipated, you were familiar with that. For it to linger?

Your stomach clenched as your mind cleared a bit to notice the big bed in the center of the room and you realized he must have someone else in here almost every day. There’s likely been girls younger than yourself in that bed.

And for some reason, you haven’t been one of those women.

You’re standing in Javier’s closet, shuffling around in the small space, Javier sitting on his bed beyond the closed door. You had been chatting ever since you arrived at his place after school got out.

You hoped to be able to change out of your work clothes into the outfit that had somehow migrated to Javier’s closet, but the limited space didn’t allow for any speed.

“Hey, um, you have to move out of Emi’s soon, right?” Javier asked, voice muffled through the wood.

“Yeah,” you said, frowning. “I do.”

You had a couple days left and had been lying to Emiliana for a couple weeks now about having a place to stay. You chalked your procrastination up to over-involvement with teaching work and spending the rest of your free time with Javier or out partying. That didn’t fix the fact that in a few days you’d be effectively homeless.

“What are you going to do? You’ve set something up, right?” he said.

You couldn’t outright say no. Not to Javier. He was a decade or so older than you, had things figured out, had dealt with his own fair share of housing problems in the past. To admit that you had ignored this problem would be to admit how naive you were.

“I’ve traveled a lot, you know,” you decided on saying. “Been places where I didn’t know where I was going to sleep for the night.”

“Y/N!” he sounds like he’s rolling his eyes. “This is different. You’re working a job, you need something stable.”

“I don’t do stability.” That was as close to a life motto as you had. Living someplace for two months was new territory for you. The prospect of another nine or so was practically impossible to imagine.

“I know, but...” he stopped.

You paused, shirt halfway on, and waited for him to finish his sentence.

“What if you just move in with me?”

“What?” you ask, stunned. You finish putting on your shirt, mind working double time.

“I mean, you practically already live here. Your clothes are here, you eat here. I have a spare bedroom,” he said.

Moving in with Javier? As roommates? It was like some sort of angel and demon joined forces to create a godsend that would also torture you for the rest of the year. And how long was he suggesting this for? Because the nights you spent here were already pushing your limits of staying shut up about how much you wanted to kiss him.

“You know what, forget I said anything. It was a bad idea,” Javier rushed out.

You tensed up. No. You wanted this. Even if he was going to be the death of you.

You slipped on your pants as fast as you could, and flung open the door, throwing yourself onto Javier. He hugged back.

“No,” you said into his shoulder, “It’s a great idea. Thank you.”

“Where are you headed?” Javier walked out from his room, seeing you grabbing your jacket and purse which had been tossed across the couch earlier that day.

You were wearing the tightest jeans you owned and a cropped tank top, and the feeling of Javier’s eyes swooping over your body was just what you needed. There was no question: you were wearing this outfit to get the attention of someone.

“Dancing,” you responded, keeping it short as not to divulge your feelings. I’m going out so that I can forget about the fact that I get to sleep in the room next to you but never in your bed wasn’t the most appropriate answer.

“Fun.” He was frozen in the opposite corner of the room and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You had been living together for two weeks. You had gone out before. Why was he acting weird about it now? Why was this different?

“You’d hate it,” you said.

He liked going out for drinks but that was his limit. You had learned that the reason Javier was so perplexed by your social tendencies was your comfort around crowds. After years of training and working with the DEA, too many people put him into Agent Peña mode, and while it was useful for self-preservation, it meant his idea of fun usually involved fewer people.

“Maybe not?” he said, walking further into the living room. You furrowed your brow. What was he getting at? “The fact that you’d be there makes a pretty compelling argument.”

“Sure it does,” you laughed, trying to ignore the way his words sent a chill down your spine. Your brain helpfully supplied you with the image of Javier in a disco with you, tipsy and on the dance floor, hands around your hips, grabbing at bare skin on your waist and sliding up your leg under a short skirt. The goosebumps crawled up your arms and you shrugged on your jacket.

“I’m not going to be back until tomorrow,” you said.

“Why not?” He actually looked confused and for a moment you felt sorry that he didn’t understand. Until you remembered he was why.

“Um...” You didn’t know how to tell him, I’m going to go out of my way to fuck someone so that I can forget that I’m falling in love with you. It hurt everywhere, but mostly in your chest, and you knew staying in this apartment any longer would cause you to explode. Your heart couldn’t handle the sort of torture you were putting it through.

Javier was perfect in all the ways you didn’t think men were capable of. He respected everyone, even the women he paid to have sex with. He was great at being a roommate: sitting down for dinner with you, going out and buying groceries, listening to you vent about your bad days. He was vulnerable, at least within the confines of your apartment, sharing the difficulties of his job in ways you were beginning to understand. He said good night to you every evening with so much tenderness it hurt.

You knew Javier was getting lots of action. It was no secret that before most of the fucking occurred in his living room. Now that you were around he had the decency to always stick to the bedroom if he even had them there. Usually, he would leave for the evening, but sometimes you would get to meet his encounters.

Some of them were young, just over 18 and absolutely stunning, while others were closer to his age and would stay for an hour to smoke with him and talk. It didn’t matter who they were. Only that they were almost always different every time and they each were successful in confirming that you were quite possibly the only girl in Bogotá who wouldn’t get to warm Javier’s bed for a night.

You couldn’t handle it anymore. The last time you slept with someone was over a month ago, with Mateo, and your most recent orgasms had been at your own hand with Javier’s name on your lips, face pushed into the pillow, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

Your pause was enough for him to understand you’d be falling asleep in someone else’s bed tonight.

“Right,” he nodded. He stood across from you, hands in his pockets. “Well, stay safe?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You too, Javi. You never know, I leave you alone and you’ll end up setting this whole place on fire or something.”

Your head was pounding as you woke up, wrapped up in the arms of not one, but two men. As you shuffled around, you realized one was awake, and you mumbled a good morning. The events of the night before weren’t very clear, once you left Javier’s apartment (you still weren’t used to the fact that it was your home, too) you had gotten as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. It was a blur of neon lights and hands around your body.

You could remember leaving the disco in a haze, arms wrapped around you. Remember moaning as you rode someone. Remember being held by your waist. By your hair. Remember Javier’s face flooding your mind as you came. Remember biting down on a pillow to keep from shouting out his name.

You looked down at the two men surrounding your body. You weren’t sure if they were together. They might have been? Most men wouldn’t dare sleep in the same bed as another unless they were involved.

You thanked them, wanting to make your leave before it got awkward. Maybe they wanted to have breakfast with you. Debrief. Talk. Sometimes that was custom. You didn’t want to do that. This wasn’t a normal threesome. Not that those existed. But this was you, trying to forget someone, and if that came up in conversation you would feel guilty.

So you gathered your things, got dressed, and left.

Walking the streets of Bogotá in the morning was nice. The fresh air on your skin felt amazing and the smell of fruit wafting through the air was refreshing. You loved the way the city breathed. It didn’t sound or smell like any other city you had been to. You knew you were falling in love with the city itself.

You opened the door to Javier’s and startled at the empty apartment. He was an early riser, and he liked to work in the living room. There was no one there. He must’ve still been asleep.

You entered the kitchen, collapsing into one of the chairs at the table. You grabbed an apple from the bowl and started eating. You didn’t really want to talk to Javier today. Sleeping with someone else hadn’t exactly helped the way you thought it would.

“Javi didn’t mention he had a roommate,” said a voice from behind you, accent thick. English wasn’t their first language.

You turned around, taking in the woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She was probably around your age, wearing nothing more than her underwear and one of Javier’s button-downs. She was beautiful. Your stomach flipped.

“Um, yeah. Hi,” you mumble. “And you are?”

“I’m Elena,” she said, smiling. She entered the kitchen like it was her own home and sat down across from you, grabbing another apple from the bowl.

You knew what she was here for. They didn’t usually spend the night. But there was a first for everything, you supposed. You told yourself you had to get used to it. You were roommates, and this was who Javier was. That was something you’d have to learn to accept. It just hurt so much more given the events of the last twenty-four hours.

“Nice to meet you, um—”

“Did Javi not tell you I would be here?” she interrupted you. Her brow furrowed a bit and you wondered how long she had been planning to sleep with Javier. 

“No, he, uh,” you stuttered, “He didn’t mention anything.”

“Elena,” called Javier from further back in the apartment, out of sight. “Do you want to have breakfast before my roommate gets back, I don’t really want her to know someone was...”

He had wandered into the kitchen, trailing off as he saw you. He at least had the decency to look guilty.

“Hey, Javi,” you said, swallowing back the pain.

“Y/N? Hi,” he said, “Sorry, I, uh, I didn’t realize you were here.”

Of course he didn’t. You stared up at him. He had on pants but no shirt, and damn if you didn’t want to walk up to him and feel every square inch, trace the side of his neck, feel the rise and fall of his chest. You glanced away, hoping futilely he hadn’t caught you staring. You looked over at Elena, knowing that she had gotten to do exactly what you wanted.

And you were sitting in between this couple, ruining their morning after.

“It’s fine,” you said, pushing back your chair and ushering Javier into your seat. “It’s your place, you should have breakfast.”

“I should go,” Elena said, standing. “I think you two need to work out whatever is going on.”

“No!” you and Javier said at the same time. He looked back at you.

“Stay,” you said, not wanting for Javier to say anything that would completely screw over your day. “I need to take a shower, I’ll make myself scarce.”

You turn around and walk away, knowing that the two are starting at your back, still wearing the skimpy outfit you had on as you left the night before.

Upon entering your room, you closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. You squeezed your eyes shut, praying that the tears wouldn’t fall. This was exactly why you didn’t stay in one place for too long. When you were traveling, there was no time for feelings to develop, anything that happened was casual. You didn’t have to deal with pining in silence for months as someone flirted meaninglessly back at you.

You had dug yourself into this hole, agreeing to the job at the school, and now you wished you hadn’t. Getting to be around Javier was a blessing, some days you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to get to meet someone so perfect. But nothing made sense. Why did this guy, years older than you, offer to spend his time with you, even give up his privacy and let you live with him, but stay so painfully distant? What was it about you that he didn’t want?

The sound of laughter erupted from the direction of the kitchen and you sank to the floor, wishing you could go back to when you said yes to living here and stop yourself. You’d rather be back at a shitty hostel than feeling this.

next part

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[bxthharmon]

Ivy, Chapter 1 ~ Inhale, In Hell There’s Heaven

Words: 2219

Series Warnings: Underage drinking / Smoking weed / violence / abusive relationships / toxic friendships and relationships

Pt Warnings: drinking / smoking weed / a fight

Series Summary: She’s been faking her whole life, and he makes her realise she doesn’t have to

Pt Summary: A party leads to a reunion

Pairings: Pope Heyward x reader, Rafe Cameron x reader

A/N: okay sorry for dipping but im returning with the first chapter from my new series (yes ik the gif is from euphoria but i love it)

prologue in masterlist

“masterlist”

She meets Sarah at eight, outside the gas station in Figure 8. She is leaning against the cool glass, wearing a bikini and booty shorts and smoking a blunt with a half empty bottle of Smirnoff in her free hand. She is met by Sarah’s disapproving gaze, and sulkily puts the sweet scented blunt out, mumbling about needing some kind of pregame to make it through the party. They link arms, walking in silence through the unlit suburbs, houses too big for their own good. 

They hear the party before they see it. 

From around a corner, they can hear the deep bass and the loud chatter of drunk teenagers. Sarah, innocent and apprehensive, lets her friend walk ahead, watching as the girl high fives and fist bumps almost everyone, calling out greetings to those she can’t reach, and answering random quick fire questions as she wanders down the front lawn. If Sarah was popular, Y/N was famous. On an island where everyone knew everyone, Y/N was the centre of everyone’s attention - the combination of being an experienced partier and high achiever found the respect of adults and classmates alike. She was the queen of the island, with a hold over the youth that couldn’t be rivalled.

The front door, open already, allows them into a thicker atmosphere, the reception hall opening up, on one side, the living room acts as a dance floor, thriving and jumbling with dancers. On the other side, the kitchen acts as a buffet of expensive spirits and party food. Past the stairs, the dining room is full of more dancers, but also more smokers, more drugs, the air at the back of the house thick with smoke. The large French doors of the dining room open into a huge garden, teenagers in the pool, around the pool, away from the pool.

Y/N leads the way to the kitchen, grabbing two solo cups from one of the red towers, and mixing herself a drink with concerning dexterity. For the first time since they entered the house, she turns to Sarah. Through the hum of the bass and loud shouts, Sarah understands that her friend is asking what she would like to drink. “Surprise me!” She shouts, and the girl in front of her shrugs, a small laugh playing at her features as she grabs a few bottles, some of them alcoholic, some of them not, and concocts a drink. Her hair flashes with the lights, neon pink eyeliner and glitter shining as she moves around, picking up bottles and stirring. After a minute, maybe two, the girl passes a drink back, an excited smile in her cerulean eyes as she bites her lip and gages her friend's reaction. Sarah takes a sip from the red cup, swirling the drink around in her mouth. She can taste the sweet citrus of orange and mango, and the masked tang of the spirits. Her friend shouts a warning, saying she’ll drink it like it’s juice, not vodka, so will definitely be wasted by the night’s denouement.

Sarah feels a sweaty palm grab hers, tanned hands connecting, and then the pair are off again, wriggling their way through the throng of bodies, moving to the beat. Sarah is hardly aware of their path - always ready to follow the girl blindly - until she finds herself outside, in the warm air of the late spring evening, bodies spreading out. Beyond the pool, teenagers stand in groups, some passing bottles or spliffs, some empty handed. Greetings are called out, most aimed for her counterpart, but a few called to her. Eventually, she is pulled to a halt. Kelce and Topper stand before her. Her boyfriend kisses her, and she smiles at the familiarity of the touch, tuning into the conversation, the clear night air allowing the ability to hear.

The talking is about parents - complaining, probably. Kelce is laughing at something Fallon is saying, and Topper is chuckling too. The conversation flows for a few minutes, each person taking intermittent sips from their respective cup. Sarah is talking to Topper, and when she looks up again, her friend is gone.

Y/N shimmies her way through the crowd, her cup dangling delicately from her blue-painted fingertips above her head as she works her way towards one of the dance floors - whichever one has a better atmosphere - she hasn’t decided yet.

She passes on the first, finding herself dancing in the suffocatingly crowded living room. After a while, when her drink is finished and her cup has been knocked away, her thirst gets the better of her, and once again she struggles against the tides of people, trying to get to the drinks. She works her cocktail magic, only drawing her attention away from her contriving at the sound of shouting. The kitchen thins out, and she sees the shapes of two men struggling against each other outside, hazardously close to the pool.

Curious, she joins the flow of people, working her way to the front of the forming circle, winking to Sarah, on the other side. She is surrounded by phone screens, each fixated on the brawl before them, following each punch, each kick.

The two offenders, one of them being the Cameron boy, the other blond and scruffy, seem dead set on causing damage. Before it gets exciting though, two more bodies join the violent fiasco, one of them being Kelce, the other a Pogue - recognisable as John B Routledge. 

The crunch and smack of each punch is painful to listen to, let alone tiresome. It’s the same shit every party - someone crashes, and everyone’s mad about it. Rolling her eyes, she sips her drink. She realises that she does know the blondie - he mows her lawn every Tuesday. She almost laughs at the thought, but withholds her self-inflicted humour. 

The fight fizzles out, the audience bored and the performers tired. One of the Kooks - he best friend's brother - is surfacing from the pool. She turns to leave, the entertainment of the night having ended quickly, but is stopped by the clammy hand of her friend.

“Does that happen at all parties?” Sarah asks.

For someone known for being an extrovert, she’s extremely inexperienced when it comes to parties. “Sure.” Fallon shrugs, already bored with the prospect of a fight. “Come dance with me.”

After another hour of dancing and drinking, she checks her phone. Her eyes scan over threatening texts from her parents, and countless missed calls.

Fuck them. The epiphany arises, and as if it’s genius, she agrees to her undisclosed plan. Wanting to take action quickly, she leaves whatever boring conversation she’s been dragged into and swipes a bottle of overly expensive whiskey and stumbles upstairs, opening each door cautiously, and slurring an apology at each yell until she finds the bathroom. She locks the door and sits down in the bath, drinking straight from the bottle as she ponders her own life.

She swings her legs up, worn nikes resting on the tiled wall as she drops her back, lying down so that she is nestled into the bath, her falling over her face in the cramped space. She discards the emptied bottle carelessly, enjoying the clunk that sounds as the glass hits the bathmat. 

She doesn’t know how long she lies there, turning every detail of her life so far over in her head, but when she wrestles her way out of the bath, the music is still in full flow. She fumbles to unlock the door, opening it into the face of a boy she hasn’t seen in years. “Pope?” She laughs, and he shakes his head despairingly, “Popey!”

“Oh my God, Y/N.” He frowns, not returning your drunken sentiment, “How much have you had?”

She groans, mumbling about his buzzkill tendencies as she almost falls down the stairs, rejoining the lively crowd of teenagers. She stumbles to the door, falling out into the fresh air as she checks her phone again, seeing that it’s almost half past one. She tries to gather her bearings, to work out which way leads home, but her inebriated state fights against it. Mumbling incoherent strings of words - barely able to be described as sentences - she realises that she only lives three streets over. In which direction, she is still uncertain.

“Need help?” The voice sounds behind her, and she spins clumsily, a pair of hands steadying her as she blinks dumbly at the offending face. The same face as earlier - Pope Heyward’s. Oh, so he thinks he’s so cool. Recognition dawns on her.

“Nope!” she hiccups. “Your friend fought Rafe.”

“Yeah.” he chuckles, letting go of her slowly, making sure she won’t fall. She blinks again, gazing at his face with utmost curiosity.

“He deserved it.” she decides, “He gets cocky.”

“That he does.” she tilts backwards again, and grabs her hands, pulling her back up gently, a familiar amused smirk forming as he glances down.

“I don’t think he’s a bad person though.” 

The boy in front of her raises his eyebrows, doubt adorning his features. “Debatable. Need help getting home?”

She ponders on it for a second, “As long as you don’t kidnap me.” she shrugs, “But he’s not.”

“Isn’t he?” the boy challenges, letting her walk ahead, swerving around with her arms out as she’s a child playing airplanes.

“Nope.” she bubbles, “None of these people are. I mean sure,” she spins around, sparing a look at the large house either side of her, “they’re backstabbing, fake, plastic assholes, but they’re not inherently bad.” He laughs, and she drapes a tanned arm over his shoulder. “Why’re you doing this?”

“You were wasted, I want to make sure you get home safely.” he explains, and she stumbles forwards, her arm sliding from its place on his shoulders.

“Popey, Popey, Popey.” she giggles, the thought of your childhood friend making you smile, forgetting for a moment that his shoulder was the one brushing against hers. “You used to be so carefree.” Pope nods slowly, your proclamation making sense in his head as he remembered the days before college applications and 4.0 GPAs. “So did I.” she murmurs.

“You seem pretty carefree now.” he scoffs, and she cackles.

“My darling,” she turns abruptly, forcing him to stop as you stroke his cheek mockingly, the sweet smell of alcohol and weed filling his lungs at the close proximity. “I’m a good actor.”

He scoffs again, “You’ve got everything, Princess.”

“In material terms, maybe.” she shrugs, rubbing her eyes so that colourful phosphenes imprint themselves in her vision. “But I’m trapped.”

She stops again on the street corner, and he faces her, unimpressed with her sentiment. “A caged linnet bird, are we?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m perfect.” she shrugs, and this time he rolls his eyes. “No seriously, I’ve got a 3.9 GPA, I study in the week, but look at me, a party girl. I’m a good friend, I’m dutiful and classy and I laugh at the right times and make the right jokes. I pull off being a preppy good girl and a party girl. But I’m so fucking bored. I want to feel free. I want to feel like I’m invincible, like my parent’s expectations and college plans and shitty friends can go fuck themselves because I’ll be free.”

There’s a glint of confusion in his eyes as he stares at her, watching the light in her eyes renew itself, even the idea of being rid of those metaphorical constraints giving the girl a happier aura. “What about all those times you ran away from home?” she turns to him, a smile on her lips as she cups his cheeks, drunkenly condescending.

She sighs. “I spent a few days high off my ass - it was hardly an escape. I wanna find a way to feel like all the pressures of this island are gone without actually having to leave.” He nods slowly, knowing the feeling, and she smiles, the embarrassment of the outburst plaguing her mind, retrospect sobering her up slightly. The girl steps away from him, “Shit,” she mutters, “I said nothing.”

She turns away, rushing towards the front door, now in sight. “Y/N, wait!”

Pausing, her shoulders drop as she faces the boy again. “Hang out with me, at least once - take a break.”

A frown pulls at her brows, mockery filling her eyes, “You?”

“Yeah, just trust me, okay? I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

She bites her lip, skepticism adorning her features as she turns the offer over in her head. “10 o’clock - don’t be late.”

She steps backwards, out of reach, and for a second she finds herself wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t pushed the boy away. There’s a moment of silence, and even in her inebriated state she can tell that he’s noticed that she’s changed since their last conversation. In a weird, untimely realisation, she realises that she is not herself, and she hasn’t been for years now. 

Confronted with her thoughts, and this boy, she steps away again, turning away and walking towards her house not daring to look back until her door is unlocked. She knows what she’ll see, it will be just like last time. Still, she has to prepare herself for the observation.

He’s gone.

Permanent Tags: @eternalangst @ultranikilove @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @yxseminx 

OBX Tags: @annmariek8 @cheshirecat107 

Ivy Tags: @outrebanx​ @ad-infinitums​ @bricksatanakinswindow​

[wincore]

main actor | wong yukhei

pairing: yukhei x reader

words: 3.6k

genre: best friends to lovers!au, college!au, reader and yukhei are pretty much cat and dog, fluff

warnings: yukhei’s wildin, language

a/n: warmup-ish fic? guess i just wanted to see how many cheesy fanfiction tropes i can fit in. vaguely inspired by this

gif credit

There are times when merely existing feels too wearisome, and there are times when you can’t be happier to be alive.

Wong Yukhei makes you feel both of these emotions simultaneously.

If someone were to ask what Yukhei’s really like (and you’ve been asked that a lot by curious crowds who’ve only ever seen him smile from afar and deduced he can’t be that nice) you’d say he’s an idiot. He’s not stupid, but he’s an idiot. Yukhei is a bunch of contradictions, but he’s your best friend and you’ll reluctantly admit, probably the best thing that’s ever happened to you. (Under no circumstances would you be caught dead saying that to him, even though you’re sure he’d just respond with a bone-crushing hug, grinning from ear to ear.) Obviously, you’ve got a lot of mixed emotions involved here.

The first time you met Yukhei, you were four. He had skipped over to you from another corner of the room, with wide eyes and a soft toy puppy in hand.

“You’re pretty. Do you want to go on a date?” he asked with a wide smile.

“No,” you responded, your attention still on your toy train. You glanced at him once and that was it.

“Okay,” he said, still grinning. Rejection wasn’t that big of a deal to four-year-old Yukhei.

Instead of leaving, he sat down beside you and watched you play. Eventually, you started talking to him about your fantasy land of trains and he, about his imaginary life as a firefighter. And after a few days, you and Yukhei were inseparable.

It’s quite the story for him to tell people, even if you never understood why he likes talking about it so much. It wasn’t very dramatic, or memorable like all the first meetings in books. But it’s always been a unique ability of Yukhei’s to make things sound a little more interesting as he animatedly told everyone at school how you were a cold, dark victim trapped in your lonely bubble and how he, your shining hero, warmed you up. You just make a face every time he forcibly brings you into the conversation.

Unlike elementary school Yukhei, middle school Yukhei was a little meaner, rougher at the edges. He never had any harmful intentions (you wondered if he had any intentions at all) but you always seemed to land the shorter end of the stick when it came to his shenanigans. A rapidly growing boy, he had difficulty getting his limbs in order and more often than not, he’d underestimate his own strength. Whether it was shoving you too hard or the one time he accidentally broke your toy train, those years had quite the horrors you’ve faced in life.

You’re lucky to have survived near him during his awkward teenage phase, full of hormones and messy feelings and Axe body spray. Yukhei’s never been good at telling people no and combined with adolescent curiosity, he’s been in quite a few choppy relationships.

But in the end, Yukhei still has the colour of a comic book hero. He’s always been the main actor of every play, whereas you doubt you’d get the role of villager C. Star athlete and the pride of your school, he’s never wasted an opportunity to enjoy the attention. You, on the other hand, prefer a little alone time. You’re different, immensely different, but you admire him for all that he is. He’s strong in a way you can’t quite describe, only appreciate in subtle ways. You’ve seen Yukhei grow from a boy who refused to admit he wasn’t happy, that he’s not always the smiling hero, to a man who learned to respect all emotions. He still hates to cry, sure, but he doesn’t do it in shadows anymore, pretending to be strong.

dumbass, 01:06 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image]

you, 01:07 AM

wtf yukhei

you, 01:07 AM

why are you awake

dumbass, 01:07 AM

i cant stop :(

dumbass, 01:08 AM

i think im addicted

you, 1:08 AM

to puppy pictures??????

you, 1:08 AM

you know what im not even gonna ask

you, 1:08 AM

go the fuck to sleep you big baby

dumbass, 01:10 AM

but look :(

dumbass, 01:10 AM

[Attachment: 26 Images]

you, 01:11 AM

tf im not looking at all of that

dumbass, 01:11 AM

:(((

dumbass, 01:11 AM

:( but :( puppies :(

you, 01:12 AM

good night dork

Yukhei’s a whirlwind of life, bringing energy wherever he goes. That’s the first thing anyone notices about him. The way his face stands out in almost any crowd, and not because he’s built like a giant teddy bear. The way he can find friends in almost anyone, and all he has to do is flash that grin.

Growing up, everyone could tell he’s a little off-beat, but it only made people want to be near him. The more he stood out, the more he fit in. It’s no wonder you see hordes of people around him, smiling back at his own friendly, dorky gestures.

“You get a walk-in closet and I don’t even get a washing machine?!” Yukhei complains, plopping down on your bed.

You’re certainly lucky to get the biggest dorm room, even if the closet occupies half of it. Now, if your roommate wasn’t such a dick, the beginning of your college life would be perfect.

“Wha- how are those two related?” you ask, leaning back on the wall as you sit beside him.

“I have to go all the way downstairs to wash my clothes,” he replies, “Henceforth, I am upset.”

“When did you learn such big words, Yukhei?” you tease.

“I’m not stupid,” he defends, “Surprising, I know. Considering I got my hand stuck in a Pringles can last week. Again.”

You laugh as he shoots you a grin and sits up, tugging up his red jacket on his shoulder.

“At least you like your roommate,” you grumble, before lowering your voice. “I don’t know which supernatural being up there I crossed to get mine.”

Yukhei laughs. “It can’t be that bad!”

You roll your eyes and smack the back of your head against the wall. Of course, he wouldn’t get it. Yukhei gets along with just about anyone.

“So, we’re starting college, huh?” he shifts to sit beside you.

“We really are,” you breathe.

And so when college began, you couldn’t even feel homesick because Yukhei brought home with him.

College somehow manages to amplify Yukhei’s tendencies to fuck shit up. Bad decisions and good intentions—whether it’s getting drunk at parties, or getting a secret tattoo, or going for midnight drives in the brightest part of the city, he certainly is living his life to the fullest. And he gets new friends to do that with—boys with similar interests and trouble in their presence (except Mark, he’s the sweetest and is only dragged to places like you are). Kunhang is a babbling mess when it comes to drinking, Dejun has strange food choices and Jungwoo isn’t as naïve as he looks (but that’s on you, you could never blame Jungwoo for anything). Mark might just be the sanest, and even he has his quirks. You’re glad, though, for Yukhei to have found them and for them to have found Yukhei.  

Despite all changes in Yukhei’s expenditure of time, he still finds a way to sneak into your spare moments.

“Tell me that story you were talking about,” he says, falling backwards onto your bed.

“Now?” you ask, still groggy after waking up from your unforeseen nap. Finals are not treating you well.

“Yeah,” he says, “You look like you could do with a break.”  

Of course, there are times when you hate Yukhei. Times when he’s reckless, pulls you into messes you know you can’t sort, times when you just feel so fucking annoyed by your best friend.

“You did what?!” you yell.

“It’s not that bad!” Yukhei explains, waving his arms around wildly.

“I am not going on a date with a stranger!” you yell, your voice coarser than usual as you search for something to fling at him.

“It could be fun!” he replies, ducking to avoid the slipper you threw at him. “You could be meeting the love of your life—all thanks to me!”

You throw the other slipper at him, and he narrowly dodges it. “No way is that happening.”

It’s not like it took you that long to realize your feelings, after the beginning of college. It happened slowly at first, barely a meandering stream of water, till the waves suddenly came crashing and you were drowning in your epiphany. Suddenly, you can’t not think of Yukhei’s large hand over yours or his bashful smile directed at you or even the way his lips look plump and kissable in the morning, despite the rest of his face all puffed up. There’s often stardust on his cheeks, you notice.

Suddenly, you know why Yukhei has always been the main actor in your life.

But you can’t be as open about it. If it’s not the idea of your longest and closest friendship falling apart that blows up your fears, it’s the image of Yukhei’s smile falling as he tries to tell his best friend no, and having to pretend everything’s okay. If the void in your stomach is good for anything, it knows when to tell you the jump is too difficult to take.

If anything, you don’t even know what you mean to Yukhei, but that’s coming from the negativity you hoarded. You have your fears and your questions. If you cross his mind as often as he crosses yours. If you take even a square inch of his heart, if he’ll ever see you that way. You’re not sure what it’d feel like to be the most important person to someone. If you go as far as to call this love, why are you so reluctant?

“And?” you egg him on, crossing your arms.

Yukhei going to frat parties was a horrible decision, really.

“I got drunk and started doing body rolls in front of everyone?” Yukhei shifts uncomfortably on your bed. He’s probably spent at least half of his days here in your dorm room, only leaving when your roommate started complaining about how loud he is. To be fair, he does sound like baby Godzilla at times, worse when more of your friends are over.

“Yukhei, you’d do that sober,” you grimace.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he says, pretending to think.

“Are you going to tell me what got you so uncomfortable?” you ask.

“I mean…it’s not that bad,” he begins, eyes glued to a corner of the floor to avoid your gaze.

“You made out with someone, didn’t you?” you sigh. It hurts a little.

Yukhei scratches the back of his head as he breaks into nervous laughter. “Yeah, and now she kinda thinks we’re a thing, and I don’t know what to tell her.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You wish you could yell at him, let him know in any way how awful you feel.

“Yukhei, you have to stop leading them on! Every party you kiss someone new. Any more, and you’ll get a bad reputation!”

“I know!” he responds quickly. “But I was so drunk last night I couldn’t remember my name.”

“But you remembered to dial my number?”

“Well…yeah.”

Yukhei fidgets with the hem of his sweatshirt. “I’d call Mark, but he was at his part-time.”

You groan, sinking onto the floor. “I feel like a parent with a stupid son.”

“Hey! Now that’s exactly what my mom would say,” he chuckles, scooting to sit beside you.

There’s a heavy silence between the two of you for a few moments. You gulp down any reproachful words you might have left and stare at your fingers instead. You can’t tell him how upset you really are, can you? You’d have to explain the why then.

“Are you…are you just scared my reputation will be ruined?”

You turn to look at him, but he’s staring straight ahead. “Huh?”

“I mean, is that…what’s making you upset? Just that?”

“Yeah,” you answer, and mentally curse your voice for cracking like that. “I don’t want people thinking you’re some sort of an asshole.”

“Me neither,” he says, looking back at you with wider eyes than usual. “I mean- yeah, that’s- obviously.”

You shake your head at him, but you wonder how long it’ll be till you break. You’ve never kept something so serious from him before. It’s human nature to want more than you already have; Yukhei loves chasing after things he can’t have, but you’re not him. You’ve never been him.

Only a few days later, you see your roommate fuming as she leads a rather flushed Yukhei into your room.

“Next time he comes here, I’m calling the RA,” she threatens with a glare before walking away.

You roll your eyes at her back before grabbing Yukhei by the waist lest he falls and smacks his head against your furniture. Your action, however, proves to be miscalculated (you always forget how heavy he is) as the two of you stumble to the floor, barely avoiding the edge of the bed. You stand up again; Yukhei seems to be half asleep with the way he’s struggling to move around.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t drink,” you grumble.

“I said I wouldn’t go to parties,” he struggles to form the syllables. “I went to a really cool bar…it had funky lights and stuff. And I was dancing…and it was so much fun! Except I underestimated how strong that drink was.”

You sigh heavily. “That’s all you talk about. Fun, fun, fun!”

Yukhei grins as he rises to his full height and wraps his arms around your waist. You’d chide him for the reek of alcohol from him if he didn’t look so vulnerable, dormant like this. His eyes are half-lidded with sleep and when he rests his forehead against yours, you swear your heart has skipped several beats in a row. It’s not fair how peaceful he looks with his eyes closed when he’s sent you into internal turmoil. The warmth of his body seeps through the thick hoodie, and you almost find yourself unable to move.

You swallow the feeling rising in your throat and pull apart.

“Come on, Yukhei,” you tug at his hands to remove them from your waist. “Let’s get to bed.”

“We’re going to bed!” he rejoices gleefully. You’re glad he’s complying at least.

Now if he would just let go, you could prepare a blanket to sleep on the floor.

Yukhei doesn’t remove his arms from around your waist, though. Instead, he pulls you into bed with him, and under the covers. This is nice, the stupid voice in your head pipes up again.

“We’re friends,” he mumbles, “friends do this all the time.”

Not when one of them has more than friendly feelings, you think bitterly. Struggling is futile against Yukhei’s iron grip, and you let yourself feel what you were trying so hard not to. When you look at him under the dim lights coming from your window, he’s already out for the count. You brush the hair away from his face and slowly drift off. It feels safe like this.

Of course, you pretend your heart didn’t jump at the sight of his face too close to yours. You’ve shared a bed when you were kids before Yukhei grew too large to fit the two of you and developed a tendency to drool. He has broader shoulders now, longer legs and he engulfs you when he wraps himself around you. In the morning, your body aches after being wound up so tightly on a small bed but you ignore it best as you can. You ignore the rising warmth in your face too when Yukhei departs with a secure hug and his wide grin.

You wonder what it’d be like to be Yukhei—ruin it all and hope it works out. You wonder what it’d be like to see his idiot grin every night, after a kiss against your lips. You scoff at yourself, face a brilliant red, whenever these thoughts walk in unannounced. It’s getting harder to pretend you don’t stop breathing every time he wraps an arm around you or lays his head on your stomach.

“So let me get this straight,” you say, “you can’t get a job at the diner because you’re too tall to fit into the mascot uniform?”

“Yeah,” Yukhei replies, clearly despondent. Usually, he’d be beaming about his height. You can’t figure out why the job means so much to him, but you get your answer soon enough just to greet it with a click of your tongue.

“The free pancakes,” he wails, “They give free pancakes and fries to their workers. I can’t believe I’m missing out on that.”

Yukhei suddenly sits up straight with wide eyes. “You can fit into the suit though!”

You smack your palm against your forehead while he laughs at his genius.

“You practically live in the gym and talk my ear off about being healthy,” you huff, “And now you just want to hog junk food?”

“I’m just good at being healthy,” he grins. “So I can eat unhealthily. You could do with some work, though.”

You raise your leg to kick him in the side but he catches your foot, laughing loudly at your resentful expression.

You’re about to throw the pillow at him when a click comes from the main door unlocking. The two of you freeze and look at each other. You know for sure this will be the last straw if your roommate finds Yukhei again, and you’ll be reported for good. Yukhei and you jump up in a panic and look around for any way to evade impending doom. The few seconds have you frantically searching for an explanation in case she does find him, and you swear at yourself for forgetting about her warnings. (In your defence, most of the things she says are meaningless and you have no reason to remember them.)

Yukhei points to the giant walk-in closet and sneaks towards it, careful not to make a noise. You tiptoe in before your roommate can enter the shared room, and hide behind a rack just in case she decides to come in. Yukhei isn’t small enough to be entirely covered, so you just pray your roommate has no intention of fetching a pair of shorts.  

You hold your breath at the shuffling outside the door and move backwards carefully, only for your back to press against Yukhei’s torso. He stiffens at the touch but continues the needed silence. You end up squeezed in one corner of the closet, little ways from the mirror.

You sigh in relief once you hear the click of the door again. She must’ve come in to get notebooks for her next class, you guess. You turn to Yukhei but your breath hitches when you see him like that in the half-lit closet, his figure leaning towards you. It’s not very comfortable to have your body close against him, half twisted.

Yukhei’s gaze sends your heart into a pitfall. He takes a step towards you just as you take a step back and you end up pressed against the wall with Yukhei’s arms on either side of you.

“You’re still so pretty,” he says, his voice low.

A pause ensues before he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

The touch of his lips against yours has you seeing colours you never knew existed. One of his hands still rests against the wall while the other is placed gently around your waist. You can’t quite remember the details except Yukhei’s lips are as soft as silk and you resent the separation when he pulls apart.

“I’ve wanted to do that,” Yukhei looks down as he speaks, his cheeks tinted a darker shade of pink, “for a really long time.”

“You’re so stupid,” you huff, “Or maybe I’m the one who’s stupid.”

He responds with a wide-eyed smile when you cup his cheeks and pull him in again, your fingers skimming over his lower jaw. This time you feel every touch of the kiss, your fingers tingling and your lips tasting his. The feelings you’ve been struggling to tie up and toss away come pouring out of you as you try to keep them orderly.

It’s different splashes of colour with each kiss and the two of you can’t help the laughter tumbling out of your mouths.

“I love you,” Yukhei murmurs, his mouth against your jaw. “I’ve loved you all my life.”

He places a chaste kiss against your lips before looking at you with an adoring smile. Yukhei’s never been good at using words to express his feelings, but he’s never really had trouble expressing them either.

“I’m sorry I took so long to realize,” you whisper, before pulling him by the neck of his sweatshirt and into another kiss.

“I’m letting you go just this once,” you roommate calls when you step out of your room in the evening. “Congratulations on getting a boyfriend.”

You blush deep red and look anywhere else to avoid her sly grin. So she did figure it out. You owe her one, or more for not telling on you all the times Yukhei and the others have been over. Perhaps you had got off on the wrong foot. You should start listening to Yukhei’s advice on how to make friends. You should start listening to Yukhei for a lot of things.

Maybe Yukhei has always meant to talk about your colours but never found words good enough. Maybe he loves the way you laugh and finds himself doing more and more ridiculous things just for you. Maybe he’s told you that he loves you a lot of times but you weren’t listening. Maybe, just maybe, you too have always been the main actor in Yukhei’s life.

[greyspilot]

From the prompts list, I’d love to see 21, 42 and 56 (or just one of ‘em if you don’t want a combo :))

(as discussed, I only did 21 + 42 for this)

21. “Is this really your idea of fun?” + 42. “Truth or dare.”

Word count: 1500

Wow this got away from me, I’m sorry it took so long! I hope you enjoy it

.

Steve really didn’t want to be at this party, in Tommy’s house, in Tommy’s kitchen drinking Tommy’s cheap beer and listening to Tommy’s shitty music. (Steve really just didn’t want to be in Tommy’s life, but Billy was in Tommy’s life and Steve wanted Billy in his, maybe a little more than he cared to admit, so he made sacrifices.)

Yet here he was, standing in a corner with a beer in his hand (the same one he’d grabbed when they’d arrived and quickly lost the urge to drink) and completely alone. And it wasn’t like he was upset about that, not really. He didn’t mind so much that girls didn’t stop and flirt, that guys brushed past him without a boisterous clap on the back and an exclamation of King Steve! He didn’t mind that he went relatively unnoticed these days. Really. He didn’t.

What he did mind was that Billy had been bugging him for a week to come to this damn party. Had been saying this ain’t about Tommy, fuck him, this is about you and me having some damn fun, Stevie! What he did mind was that he was weak around Billy Hargrove. Weak to the way Billy had wrapped an arm around his shoulder, the way Billy called him Stevie, the way Billy had leaned in last night and murdered in his ear, voice low and rough from the weed they’d been smoking all night, c’mon, pretty boy. Just go with me.

What Steve did mind, was that he let Billy Hargrove play him like a fucking violin because sure, Billy had bugged him, almost begged, Steve to come to this dumbass party and then fucked right off the moment they arrived. What he did mind was that he didn’t even really care that he’d left him; not until Billy ended up in the living room where Heather and Carol and whatever other pretty girls they were friends with sat on the floor in a circle. Hadn’t minded until Billy plonked himself down and joined their stupid game of truth or dare.

They weren’t even playing properly, anyway. It doesn’t count when every round is I dare you to kiss Billy!

And okay, maybe Steve was jealous. Maybe he liked having Billy around the way he had liked having Nancy around and maybe it took him a while to realise that. And maybe it hurt somewhere deep in his chest each time someone crawled into Billy’s lap, wrapped their arms around his neck (the way Steve wanted to) and pressed their lips to his (the way Steve wanted to so fucking badly). Maybe his heart broke every time Billy didn’t kiss back, choosing instead to look over her shoulder and stare at Steve, instead. (And if Steve thought he saw a tinge of longing in those blue eyes, then that was his business.)

Billy didn’t need to know any of that, though.

And fuck, Steve needed to learn some self-respect. He wasn’t a masochist. he didn’t like watching Billy with those girls, but Billy was like the sun; so bright and beautiful and he knew that if he looked, it would hurt, but it would be so worth the pain. 

Until Steve couldn’t do it anymore. Until it hurt too much to look. He’d always known the time would come to look away, to close his eyes before he blinded himself with Billy’s light. He only hoped he wasn’t too late as he kicked himself off the wall and shuffled into the kitchen, downing the rest of his beer on the way as if the alcohol would drown out the thoughts of those blue eyes on him.

All of a sudden beer didn’t seem strong enough (he was still thinking of those eyes) so he grabbed a red solo cup, was in the middle of filling it with too much tequila and not enough pink lemonade when he felt the weight of an arm, warm and familiar, drape across his shoulders.

“What are you doin’ back here by yourself, pretty boy?”

Steve wanted to roll his eyes, to snap, but he bit his tongue, used all his strength and self-control to shrug off the arm and mumbled: “Like you care.”

“Whoa, hey,” Billy frowned, feeling suddenly sober despite the fact that he hadn’t been even close to drunk the entire night, hadn’t even finished one beer, too busy watching the way Steve Harrington, ex-king of Hawkins high and resident pretty boy, had spent the whole night watching him. “What’s with the attitude, princess?”

And Steve, who had spent all night alone, had spent all night watching Billy Hargrove, boy of his god damn wet dreams, kissing people that were not him, was at his wits end.

In an outburst reminiscent of his King Steve days, he slammed the cup down on the bench. “You asked me to come to this stupid party and then you ditched me for some shitty game!”

Now, Billy never claimed to be the most observant person. He knew he had a tendency to get caught up in his head, to project his ideas onto others, but he was sure he heard a twinge of jealousy in Steve’s words.

“Why don’t you join the fun?”

Steve couldn’t help but scoff, roll his eyes, turn away from Billy and go back to his drink. “Is this really your idea of fun?”

“Could be,” Billy said, crowding in close to Steve’s personal space. “If you were there.”

And sure, they were friends now, had built their bridges a long time ago, but this was new. And sure, Steve’d had Billy warm and sweaty and pressed up against him on the court, but this wasn’t basketball. This was Steve and Billy, alone in a kitchen while a party raged on around them.

Billy’s hand landed soft on Steve’s shoulder and Steve felt like they were in their own, private bubble as Billy spun him so they were face to face.

Steve’s heart jumped into his throat.

He could feel Billy’s soft, warm breath hitting his face, smell the beer and the sweat and the cheap cigarettes. From this close, he could see every freckle, now barely-there from lack of California sun, could count every eyelash. From this close, Steve could kiss him if he wanted to.

And fuck, he wanted to.

And then, Billy was saying-

“Dare me.”

Steve froze. Blinked. Tried to process exactly what Billy was asking as all he could focus on was the blue of Billy’s eyes, the blonde curl falling over his forehead.

“What?”

Billy gave a small, half-smile, the kind that was reserved for girls in the halls and teachers at school and the older ladies that had nothing better to do than lounge by the pool and eye a minor. This wasn’t the kind of smile Billy Hargrove used on someone like Steve Harrington.

Except that, apparently, it was.

“Truth or dare,” Billy said. “We’re playing. Dare me”

Steve shook his head. Billy was drunk, must be. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how the game works, you-”

“Jesus Christ, Harrington! Just dare me!”

Billy was getting worked up now, pressing closer to Steve, towering over him because even though Steve was just that little bit taller, Billy was broader, with tide shoulders and a strong chest and arms that were made to be covered in sweat and glistening under a golden sun.

“To what, Billy?” And Steve was getting worked up too. His voice was strained and it was taking everything he had not to reach out and touch what he knew wasn’t his. “You aren’t making any sense!”

“To kiss you!”

The world stopped spinning. The air left Steve’s lungs. He opened his mouth to try and speak (not that he even knew what to say when the boy he’s been wanting for months was talking about kissing him) but Billy beat him to it.

“Because I want to, pretty boy. Fuck, I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now. But I won’t unless you want me to. So dare me.”

And that, fuck, that knocked all the air right out of Steve’s lungs. His chest tightened, his heart raced, beating so hard against his ribcage he wondered if Billy could hear it.

What did he say to that? Billy wanted to kiss him. Billy, who was drooled over by every woman within a hundred-mile radius, who was a golden adonis stuck in Hawkins, Indiana and he wanted to kiss Steve. Steve who was a nobody, who hadn’t been anybody for a while now, who didn’t even want to come to this dumb party in the first place.

What did he say to that?

Well.

He looked up at Billy through thick lashes, brown eyes sparkling, tongue coming out to wet his soft, pink lips. And then he spoke, and it was soft and it was low, barely a whisper but Billy heard it loud and clear.

“I dare you.”

[lost-in-zembla]

On Metamodernism

It’s tough to grasp metamodernism as an artistic movement but most of us live lives strongly affected by the concepts of metamodernism every day. You’re having a serious conversation with your friend about her mental health; simultaneously, you and your friend are part of a groupchat where you are currently making fun of the very friend you are supporting. This isn’t necessarily disingenuous; you are witnessing two different instances of a person and those two instantiations of you happen to be different depending on context and medium. In part, metamodernism is a kind of acceptance of our multiple selves, our tendency to oscillate between states or even inhabit both in a sort of human superposition.

I taught my friends about metamodernism in our groupchat as my friend Jarett consoled me via one-on-one text after the sudden implosion of my five-year long relationship and the fact that my life is generally unbearable—a fact that is more embarrassing when one considers how easy I have it. It’s sort of a shame feedback loop. 

As I was explaining metamodernism for my own satisfaction, I thought that I might actually make an okay professor. I could teach American literature. Maybe. 

So I get a job teaching at the local community college and my life slowly comes back together like a cut that heals. I am relatively respected by my students and I have some abstract sense purpose, the cracks in the surface of which are only visible if one spends a long, existential period of time contemplating the practical or, god-forbid, spiritual uses of an education in American literature what with the reality of a global climate catastrophe and the approaching drumbeats of right-wing strongmen leaders reaching positions of power all around the world.

But things are pretty good.

I get a parking space. I get an apartment that looks bad, then looks better. I start to open the curtains. I don’t want to hide so much. A year or two down the line I lease a practical car and people treat me with a bit more respect when they see me step out of it. I smile at people in the grocery store. At this point I can see peoples’ mouths when I go outside. When I see their mouths, they’re smiling. They can see my mouth. I’m smiling.

I get to know people and people think I’m lovely. The faculty all look up to me. How young and handsome and intelligent he is! He’ll sure go places, they say. And I do. I quickly earn a raise and then I’m head of the department. And so young! When I’m not inspiring awe I inspire smoldering jealousy. Women? Naturally. And I treat each of them with utmost respect. I value these women for more than the thousands of hours of hot naked ecstasy they provide me. I buy more fresh produce. I throw none of it out.

I single-handedly save the English department at the community college. Funding comes pouring in. Eventually, it becomes one of the premier colleges for literary studies in the Midwest. They rename a building after me. I just turned thirty. Before long, I’m offered a job at the prestigious private university in town, with nods toward a proverbial shoe in the door when it comes to tenure. Unheard of! But he’s just that good. My wrists and forearms become perceptibly thicker. People cross the street in front of traffic to shake my hand. I learn what the fuck “ketosis” is.

Then there I am one day in my cushy office. Rows of leather-bound books fill the shelves around the ample perimeter of the room. I’ve read them all, naturally. My hair has started to grey in places but damn if it’s not as thick and lush as the heart of the Amazon. A knock on the door. My office hours ended at one. I answer and it’s, oh, Claire from this semester’s modern American literature course. Of course I’ve noticed her in class. How could I not? But I’d always maintained a professional and appropriately avuncular demeanor in front of her. She’s twenty-eight, French, gorgeous. Naturally.

We discuss her essay on Light in August and I say to her, you know, Claire, it was the French who were among the first to notice Faulkner’s genius. She puts her hand on my thigh. In her accent that itself somehow resembles a beautiful naked body she says, The French notice lots of things. I slide my attractively thick forearm over the crowded desk space and knock the books and pens and everything onto the floor and—well, let’s just say that my life of success and talent has enhanced me in other ways. And it’s hot and insane and weird and papers fly everywhere. And it sort of just goes on like that for weeks and then months—the relationship, not that particular sexual event. At my age, after all the sex and drugs and joy and tragedy, sometimes I think that it’s the clandestine nature of the thing that really gets me off. Like I need more and more secret or shameful shit to fire off those tired old neurons. I start to become cavalier in front of the students. I begin to, perhaps, show my hand. 

I get another knock on my office, sometime in the Spring. Bill, I say. Come in. He sits down and we engage in a tense discussion where every syllable is laced with a double entendre because he can’t just say it out loud, for Christ’s sake. That’s just not how these things are done. He’s old school, but firm, Bill. She’s graduating anyway, and something tells me when we can finally be together publicly then the thrill will already be gone. 

The students already know. I’ve seen the screenshots. I’ve been memed. Things are tense in class and they can tell that I’ve given up. The fire in my eye that led to my meteoric rise has dimmed to a pathetic ember. Sometimes I take my Audi out on a dark highway outside of town and I press on the accelerator until I can’t go any faster. I have to stop myself from shutting my eyes.

One day in class, I look up from my papers and all the students are out of their desks, standing over me. They’re holding pencils and yardsticks that have been modified into edged weapons. What’s the meaning of this? They use my Tom Ford tie to tie my arms behind me and to my chair. They put me in the center of the room. I knew they would betray me. I’d always known. For years this notion has haunted the deepest recesses of my mind: these people, these kids, are going to be the ones to put this old dog down. Is this because of Claire, I ask. They laugh. They laugh because they think I’m an old fool. I am an old fool.

No, professor, Shellie says. She seems to be the leader. It’s much more serious than that, she says. O life! Everything I’ve ever done. I’ve stomped on people all the way to the top and now it’s all coming back to me, some sort of holdup in the karmic clerical system that led to forty years of consequences all delivered at once. Things were so easy for so long, so fun, that I forgot what it was like to live a life with consequences.

Shut up, she says. You’re here for a reason. What could she know? How did she mobilize all of these students? When did they make the weapons? How many questions could I possibly pose in sequence?

Professor, she says, we have one question for you. Anything, I say. And answer truthfully, she says. And I say of course, of course I’ll be completely honest. Okay, professor, she says, do you consider yourself… a historicist? At this very moment I know it’s over for me. Well, I say, it’s not so simple, Shellie. The mob is in an uproar. A fair bit of verbal sparring ensues. Shellie and the other students in favor of the transcendent nature of literature—whatever that means—and me in favor of a more context-based approach. Sure, if I thought that novels were a good way to learn about history then I’d deserve this. I’d deserve all of this.

How can you read these works outside of their historical context? What about Light in August for God’s sake?  The mob lashes out again—not Faulkner fans, go figure—but Shellie shushes them until the classroom is as silent as the dusty hills of Jerusalem. Literature, she says, is timeless. And this essentially breaks me. I begin weeping openly. You might as well kill me, then, I say. They set upon me like a pack of hyenas. 

A moment or an eternity after my head is pulled off my body like the Bacchae in that Euripides tragedy, I hear waves lap against the rocks. I feel in my face the salty breeze of the ocean. I open my eyes to find a beautiful Mediterranean island. It feels neither hot nor cold. The breeze from the ocean feels perfect, as though there were no storms to be found in any corner of the Earth.

Behind me, inland, I hear the sound of approaching footsteps. I turn around to find Vladimir goddamn Nabokov of all people. It’s perfect. So I tell him the story, how I was murdered by my students over two reductive and non-mutually exclusive schools of thought in literature—two schools of thought that are both perfect lenses through which to view Nabokov’s work. When I tell him he laughs his big Russian laugh and slaps me on the shoulder, and I laugh. Then he hands me a butterfly net and we skip through pleasant hills in that vast and timeless place forever and ever.

No. What’s happening? It’s all slipping away from me now. All the memories, the moments, the time, leaking out of my mind to become something ghostly, an image half-developed, a thought unspoken. I lift my head and look at my hands and there I am, lying on a couch in a high school faculty lounge. My hands are unwrinkled. My body is young. There is no Humanities Wing in my name, no tenure, no Audi. No Claire. Was it all just a dream? Could it all have been just a dream? Is it within the realm of possibility that such an absurdly bad trope could have manifested into my life naturally? Or am I the subject of a cruel and untalented god who simply bats me about and writes hack narratives for me to tumble through like some Sisyphean Rube Goldberg machine? Coffee. Need Coffee.

It’s all silly, anyway. Nabokov and myself cavorting through some weird Elysium? Ridiculous. If that was what the afterlife had in store for me, then Nabokov would probably be hanging out with Pushkin and Tolstoy while maybe Dostoevsky and I build a sandcastle. Maybe. But then, in all likelihood, Nabokov, Pushkin, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and the other cool kids would kick sand in my face and walk off with whatever beautiful ladies happen to inhabit this weird Russian-literary Elysium that I’ve somehow ended up in. I haven’t thought this out very well.

What was this all about, again? Metamodernism. Easy. Let’s think.

Okay.

As I write this now, behind my computer, watching Youtube videos about sushi, wondering how the sushi will make its way into my writing through mental osmosis (not subtly, it turns out), I look at these instances of me, with the meteoric success or the banal day-to-day life, and I wonder who exactly I am. I am a thousand selves. I am nothing. I am trying to remember into the future who I am. I am a metamodernist—no, I’m not.