#so now i can freeze for 25 seconds straight without blinking or moving

[lynx-sunfall]

Schlatt completely freezing for a picture in his hotel video is exactly what I looked like when anyone took a picture of me as a child, he's just a guy who's mom told him to go to a mirror and learn how to smile as a kid and now only knows that one smile for the rest of his life, the freezing for 15 seconds straight is because mom needs to take at least seven pictures to make sure no one blinked

[hongism]

1:58 am - c. jongho 18+

↣ pairing: jongho x fem!reader ↣ genre: fluff, smut ↣ wc: 2.0k ↣ for @ppersonna​​: “HELLO MY BESTIE RATTY PLS JONGHO WITH 25 - Being somewhere you’re not supposed to be 34 - “It’s 2am. Go back to sleep.” ↣ warnings: language, oral sex: f

In your defense, Jongho is both a maniac and insatiable. What started as a lovely movie night between the two of you, with his roommate Yeosang curled up in the armchair by the couch, has quickly devolved into leagues of stress for you and endless amusement for Jongho. Yeosang is (thankfully) off in dreamland and fast asleep despite the movie still going in the background, although that does nothing to quell your current nerves as Jongho’s hand is moving further up by the minute. 

It started at your kneecap, two fingers tracing mindless patterns into your skin under the blanket. Then he slipped to the inside of your knee and clutched tight at your flesh before pulling up the inside of your thigh.

Now, he has a hand basically over your crotch, close enough to make you sweat but far enough away to have you refraining from squeezing your thighs shut over his fingers.

And being a cocky little shit, of course Jongho knows exactly what he’s doing to you — if the smirk curling over his lips is any indication at least. You aren’t about to scar yourself or Yeosang by fooling around on the already stained leather couch in their apartment, as much as you really want to give in to his lingering touches.

You haven’t been paying attention to the movie on the screen for at least an hour, maybe longer than that because you don’t even recall the name of the damn film at this point, and all your focus is honed in on the fingers pressing into your thigh. Jongho won’t stop teasing with his touches either. Every few seconds, he squeezes just enough to startle you into sitting up straight just when you’ve recovered from the last touch. You’re certain he’s trying to seem interested in the movie given the way he keeps making interested noises or scowling at the screen, but then his smirk returns and you know what he’s really up to.

In short, you have had more than enough of his fun and games, growing increasingly frustrated with each passing second. Your body is so pent up and overheated that sweat is pooling at your brow, and that’s what makes you nudge his hand away as a last-ditch effort to save yourself from this teasing hell he’s trapped you in. Yet this isn’t your apartment and you can’t very well escape to his bedroom without looking suspicious to Yeosang. As far as his roommate is concerned, you and Jongho are still just friends, even if there is an ungodly amount of sexual tension lingering between the two of you like this.

Water. Yes, you need water. And where can you get water? The kitchen of course. Perfect plan. You should be safe from Jongho’s antics there, no?

“Feeling alright, Y/n?”

As it turns out, you are very much not safe in the kitchen.

You nearly throw the glass in your hand at Jongho’s head out of sheer shock when he sneaks up on you, creeping into the kitchen behind you like a damn ghost. You manage to hold back from doing that, but a small yelp escapes your lips instead. Jongho laughs at that, continuing to chuckle under his breath even when you try to level him with a sharp glare. He has the audacity to look absolutely delectable at nearly two o’clock in the morning wearing nothing but a stupid black t-shirt and stupid grey sweatpants with his stupid hands shoved deep in the pockets like he wasn’t trying to practically finger you on the couch moments ago.

“I don’t know, am I?” It made sense in your head, although that might be because of the haze of arousal over your brain because once it actually comes out, you’re wondering why the hell you said that.

“Well, you felt more than alright just a few minutes ago.” He’s smiling again, another lascivious grin that has you sinking your teeth into your lower lip.

“Not here,” you hiss back as a last-ditch effort to talk yourself out of this (again).

“Because Yeosang is in the other room? Come on, Y/n, you know half the fun is in the risk of getting caught.”

A scoff passes through your lips, loud enough to resound through the small kitchen.

“You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re painfully aroused. Are we done stating the obvious?”

Throwing this glass at his head is a lot more tempting now, but that would certainly cause a ruckus and Yeosang would wake up in a heartbeat.

“Only because you were fucking feeling me up on the couch like it’s your goddamn job!”

Jongho crosses the kitchen in three seconds flat, suddenly so close to you that you can’t breathe your own air without feeling the heat of his breath against your lips. You stumble back and hit the edge of the counter behind you. Jongho doesn’t give you a moment to recover, catching your wrists in his grip and pressing them hard against the surface of that same counter.

“Careful there, doll, you wouldn’t want to wake anyone up, would you?”

“No, that’s not what I want,” you exhale. It’s not enough to quell the desire in your gut, especially not when Jongho’s fucking thigh is pressed between your legs and leaving you squirming. He knows how you feel about his thighs thanks to an unfortunate admission on your part one night when you had too much alcohol (and unfortunately Yeosang knows too since he was an unwilling participant in that conversation).

“What do you want then? Although, I’m fairly certain that I know.” Again, Jongho’s gaze flicks down over your body, enough to be obvious about the way he’s checking you out from head to toe, but he returns to staring you in the eye after a second.

“Shut up and eat me out already,” you hiss under your breath. In the same sentence, you free your wrists of his grasp and push down hard on his shoulders. It’s nothing compared to his strength — he’s more than strong enough to resist your futile efforts, but he goes along with it anyway and lets you push him to his knees in front of the counter.

“You’re lucky I never make you beg, baby. If I did, you’d never get to cum.”

Tempting, you think, but right now you aren’t in the mood to be edged or teased anymore. Jongho did his fair share of that for over two hours, so all that is on your mind is a release under his skilled tongue.

“Please, Jongho, I’d like to do this before Yeosang wakes up…”

His hands are already curled around your pajama shorts, taking the soft fabric into his grip and pulling down with no resistance. A sharp inhale follows as the cold air hits your nether regions, and Jongho lifts one of your legs up to his shoulder as he bunches your shorts into the palm of his hand.

“Be glad I didn’t take you on the couch right in front of him then.”

Then Jongho is smiling up at you from between your legs, and you would be lying if you said that isn’t one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life. You brace yourself on the counter, knuckles white from the effort of clinging to the marble, and the man beneath you takes his teasing a step further. Soft lips caress the inside of your knee over the spot he clung to for the better part of an hour, then he follows the same path his hand took as well. He doesn’t stop until his nose is flush with your folds, and even then he exhales against you in a way that has a chill rushing down your spine. Your curl away from the counter, unintentionally pressing your hips closer to his mouth in the same fluid motion. It’s enough to make his nose hit your clit dead-on in a way that has a strangled moan escaping your lips. You fling a hand up to your mouth (too late as it does absolutely nothing to conceal the sound).

“Now it sounds like you’re trying to wake Yeosang up, doll.”

“I’d like to see you stay quiet when I’m sucking you off next time.” You manage to smirk a little, just enough to be playful and throw him off a little. He’s just as quick to retaliate, which is both a good and bad thing for you because his next move is to hoist your other leg onto his shoulder, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to clamp your thighs around his face. You have to bite the side of your thumb to quell the noises bubbling up your throat; your remark seems to have been enough to spur him fully into action, his tongue brushing between your folds until he reaches your hole with practiced ease. You can’t count on one hand how many times you’ve indulged in this — his tongue pressing at your entrance like he has no other purpose in life, eating you out with more enthusiasm than ever, drawing so many noises out of you that it’s getting difficult to keep quiet.

“Jongho?”

The man between your legs freezes but doesn’t move away from your cunt, staring up at you from between your legs without blinking for so long that you think he’s truly stuck like that. Admittedly, you’re stuck where you are too, both because he’s got your legs around his face and on account of Yeosang’s sudden intrusion on your otherwise intimate moment. Your gaze goes straight to the archway to the kitchen. The kitchen island is tall enough to block the view of your lower half, but if Yeosang steps even one more foot into the room, he will certainly see what Jongho is up to. There’s no telling how long it’ll be before he does enter, and you’re watching with peaked anxiety as Jongho sidles up your body into a standing position again.

His hands find your hips, and next thing you know, he’s moving you around and pushing you until your back hits the kitchen island. It protects you from possible exposure to Yeosang, which proves to be a good move on his part because Yeosang pokes his head in the archway a second later. Jongho moves to the side enough to avoid suspicion but you’re still quite nude from the waist down and screwed if Yeosang decides to come further in.

“Oh, there you two are. The movie’s over?” Yeosang says, easing his weight against the doorframe.

“Yeah, you fell asleep pretty early on honestly. But it’s 2 am. Go back to sleep. We’re just picking up some snacks we pulled out while you were asleep.”

You think that excuse is far too easy to see through, especially if Yeosang decides to even so much as glance around the kitchen to see that you are certainly not doing any cleaning whatsoever. You squeeze your eyes shut. Looking at Yeosang right now would be a mistake and you would probably give away what you and Jongho have been up to in the blink of an eye.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’m too sleepy to help you anyway. See you in the morning.” Yeosang stifles a yawn, lifting the back of his hand to his mouth, then lets his arms fall into a stretch. He lingers for only one more second before disappearing from the archway. You exhale the second he disappears, shifting to stare Jongho down as your heart continues to race rampantly in your chest without relent.

“That was a fucking mood killer,” you mutter before crossing your arms over your chest. Jongho huffs out a sigh and puffs his cheeks full of air. He stretches a hand out to touch your bare hip again.

“Let me make it up to you?”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

With Zero Power

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 3382

For @spiderman-homecomeme, with the following prompts:

winter power outage

holiday smut

“I can think of one way to warm you up.”

Summary: Peter and MJ return from skating to find their apartment not quite how they left it. Between the warm fuzzies of the evening they've spent together and the holidays right around the corner, it isn't hard to find a little romance in the situation.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t beautiful,” MJ insists, “but think how much lighting a tree that size costs. With the number of homeless slowly starving in this city? With the number of children below the poverty line who are going to school in this weather—” The arm she waves is instantly layered in thick, wet snowflakes that glisten as they pass beneath a streetlight. “—without winter coats and boots?”

“With the number of college students trying to make rent with only their girlfriend to live with because their three previous roommates staged a mutiny and forced the couple out because the volume of their nighttime activities was, quote, ‘obnoxiously loud and unprecedentedly lengthy’?”

She sighs in exasperation.

“I’m making a point.”

“I agree with your point,” Peter says. “Completely. I already told May I’m volunteering with her all next weekend, and I’ll call Pepper tomorrow to see where she’s committed Stark Industries’ holiday donations.”

“And ask her to triple the amount.”

“I can suggest it,” he laughs, “but I’m not her financial advisor.”

“Mmm you should be though,” MJ says, shifting from holding his gloved hand to pulling his arm around her. “You’re so sexy when you’re redistributing the amassed wealth of a late billionaire.”

There are icy crystals glimmering in her eyelashes. She’s beautiful. He could walk the borough with her all night, live in a loop where they’ve always just disembarked from a late bus, disoriented to step from its stark light into the soft glow of the snow on sidewalks that aren’t cleared with the same diligence as they are in Manhattan, around Rockefeller Center, where they’ve spent the evening skating. That would be a nice life—tonight, with her, forever.

Peter halts them for a moment and wraps his other arm around her too, pulling his girlfriend in to kiss her. He sways them as he does it, smiling against her mouth, her cold nose pressed into his cheek.

“Did you have a good time though?” he asks. MJ nods and her face rubs against his.

“My rental skates were a little tight, but I did wear two pairs of socks, so it’s kinda my fault.”

He has a new pair of skates for her, exactly the right size, but they’re wrapped in red paper featuring dogs with candy cane antlers, waiting to be snuck beneath her tiny artificial tree on Christmas morning. A totally outrageous gift—figure skates in immaculate white leather, like she wears in the pictures he’s seen of her at childhood skating lessons—but he hates it when all his money goes to rent. This might finally be the gift to make her cry. He’s cracked the bottle that stores his girlfriend’s tenderest feelings before, making her eyes shine the winter he knit her a terrible, uneven scarf (she’s wearing it now), and he’s certain the skates will be the thing she really loves. She’ll cry with joy, she’ll say they’re too much, he’ll carry her from the little tree to bed and keep her there until she’s begging for more instead of less. The thought makes Peter grin now.

“Take a bath when we get home. Your feet will feel better.”

“They’d feel better if you carried me,” MJ suggests slyly.

But she screeches when he jerks her against him and, in the relative darkness of their street, looses a web, swinging them both into the air. They pretend it’s still a secret how much she’s grown to love the sensation of sailing through the night with him. What Peter is far from secretive about is how much he loves the way she clings to him, trying not to feel too guilty when he remembers he should attribute some portion of her grip to the time he dropped her. Ah well, it’s in the past. His girlfriend’s laughing shakily as he lands them on the roof of their building and crawls deftly down the wall to the fire escape.

“Cute,” she says, shivering with the aftereffects of cold winter air whipping around her face. The tone is both complimentary and accusatory. “But we have to climb down now, unless…”

MJ’s eyes narrow.

“I… might’ve left the window unlocked?” he asks, because asking implies someone else has the answer, that there is a buck to be passed, as much as he would simultaneously like to hang on to any spare bucks during this expensive season.

“Peter, you can’t do that. You know break-ins are more frequent during the holidays.”

“Yeah,” he allows, edging the window open, “but who’s gonna climb up to the twenty-second floor to try to get through our window?”

He dives inside, then helps her through. The proof that she had a good time tonight is that she lets the window thing drop. Peter shuts and locks the window as loudly as possible behind them.

“Didn’t we leave a light on?” she asks.

“I’m not—”

“When I say that,” MJ cuts him off, dropping her voice to a hiss, “I mean I know I left a light on.”

Instantly, he’s stepping around her, keeping his arm out to hold her behind him. She has a bad habit of going rogue in dangerous situations. More likely than not, she’d grab a kitchen knife and end up stabbing him by accident as they checked every room for intruders. Safer for him to lead.

But it’s not a break-in.

“It’s cold in here,” he realizes.

As they moved through the small number of rooms that make up their hideously overpriced apartment, they left the lights off. Now, MJ smacks at the closest wall switch. Nothing happens.

“Aw, come on,” Peter begs the overhead light. He tries a lamp. Click-click, click-click. Nothin’. “Man!”

“Fucking Rockefeller Christmas tree,” his girlfriend accuses, though it’s not possible that even an energy-suck of that size could drain their building, way out in Queens. “I’m not having a bath now. I’ll be freezing when I get out.”

“Ok. Let’s get some candles first.” Peter starts to walk away from her, down the hall. “MJ, where are the candles?”

With his enhanced vision, he can see her well enough to catch the eyeroll. Fair.

By the time they have a dozen candles lit, it smells like every holiday scent at once. Vanilla smudges cloyingly across the sharper sweetness of candied orange peel, the heaviness of pine battles the richness of milk chocolate, and the cinnamon that seems to have been included in every candle is giving Peter a headache until they agree to space their light sources out. The room is darker with the candles far apart, but the smell is bearable. He also doesn’t mind how the flames catch in MJ’s eyes when she blinks, how a streak of gold will dart across her throat when she turns her head to watch him watching her.

Peter’s mouth is dry when he stammers out, “Y-you look incredible,” like they’re sixteen again and he’s got his gaze fixed on her legs because it’s 90° and she very reasonably wore shorts to school.

“How I feel is cold,” she admits with a small smile. She stirs under the blanket that’s draped across both of them. He strokes her shoulder over her wool cardigan. “I really was looking forward to that bath.”

And because the way she says it sounds nothing like how a person might casually look forward to anything, Peter swells a little in his jeans and shifts his legs closer to hers.

“Were you?” he asks.

MJ’s gaze goes from his mouth to his eyes as she smirks subtly. She knows she’s got him. When does she not have him? The complaints of their former roommates were undeniably valid. It’s a miracle he and MJ accomplished enough in undergrad to even get accepted into grad school. If she hadn’t been the responsible one, he would’ve been pretty damn content to spend those four years in bed with her.

Innocently, she rests her head on his shoulder. He swallows thickly.

“Mhmm. I was looking forward to getting out of my cold clothes. I was looking forward to grabbing a big, thick—” She grips his thigh suddenly. “—towel from the closet to wrap myself in when I was done. I was looking forward to using my cranberry bodywash in the tub. That one smells really good, right?”

Peter nods because forming a sentence in this moment is beyond him.

“And it foams up really well,” MJ continues, tilting her face, passing her lips lightly across his earlobe. He’s hard. He’s so fucking hard so quickly. “So, I was looking forward to popping those bubbles when I ran my hands all over my body to work it in.”

“Fuck,” Peter groans. He digs his fingers into her waist, through the sweater, blood pulsing in his groin.

She shrugs, abruptly nonchalant.

“Mostly, I was just looking forward to being warm.”

“I can think of one way to warm you up,” he pledges.

Trust me, he mentally urges. Right now. Trust me like you trusted me to keep you on your feet on the rink when your legs wouldn’t remember how to skate right away.

“Good, because I need you.”

“Say it again?” Peter requests, hand on the back of her head as she raises it from his shoulder.

“I need you, Peter.”

MJ’s hand jumps from his thigh straight into his lap and squeezes him through his jeans. He crushes their mouths together, the two of them breathing in hot pants like they can warm each other that way. Making to move over her, he’s pushed back instead, winded from more than the shove as his girlfriend straddles him with the practiced efficiency of a quickie before Spidey patrol or as an incentive between study breaks. When she rolls her hips against his… shit, she might observe Christmas on the 25th, but the friction of her grinding on his dick is the only Christmas he’ll ever need to celebrate. He plunges both hands deep into her hair to seal their mouths together and slumps into the couch, offering maximum opportunity for her to rock that beloved place between her legs along his erection. He’s already feeling warmer.

“No,” she yelps when he tries to push her sweater off. She snatches it back on and pulls the blanket up over her shoulders. “I’m still cold.”

“Ok. Let’s work on that.”

Peter tilts his chin up in invitation and repositions his hands on MJ’s ass. When she kisses him in a slow brush, he begins forcing her back and forth over his lap. He groans into her mouth to feel her angle her hips just right and shiver. Not letting her back down, he grips her and drags her across his erection repeatedly, until she can’t kiss him anymore, until her forehead’s pressed hard to his and she’s hissing his name. The oscillation of her hips in his hands is hypnotic, even with his eyes closed. He’s groaning and trying to hold back, having a hard time concentrating on an idea of what to do next to get his girlfriend off before he reaches that point himself. He wants her warm skin against his when he sinks inside her, not a sudden gush in his jeans.

Still grinding, MJ sits up straighter. She doesn’t take her sweater off, but she pulls down the front of the camisole she wears under it and tucks the material below her bared breasts. Peter’s happy to enjoy the visual while he rubs her over his dick, but she grips the back of his neck and compels his head forward.

“What do you want exactly?” he teases. “I’m a little confused.”

Eye narrowed down at him as she pants, MJ plucks one of his hands from her ass and guides it up to her face. It fucks him up pretty good when she folds down all but two of his fingers, sliding those into her mouth; she sucks with that almost-angry gaze locked on him before bringing his wet fingers down to circle her nipple.

“Ok, ok,” Peter says desperately.

“Just helping.”

A laugh pops out of his mouth, but then he touches his lips to her breast, kissing lightly as she sways. Her hand twitches on the back of his neck. Ok, he thinks again, pulling her nipple between his teeth. MJ moans blissfully and heat floods both Peter’s face and his groin. He jerks roughly against her and clutches her body close when she comes, cradling his face to her chest. There’s still something of the briskness of their walk home to her smell as he inhales against her skin, but also wool and the smoke that’s clung to her after lighting the candles. Her scent is rich. He feels rich, with his arms wrapped around her.

She shimmies her shoulders and the blanket drops. When she slips out of her sweater, Peter rushes to tear his hoodie (and the t-shirt caught up with it) off. MJ halts him in the act of flinging them away; right, candles. Gotta aim for a spot where he won’t start a fire. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans as quickly as he can, gasping in relief at the sudden extra room for the erection bulging beneath his boxers. His plan, as he hooks his thumbs into his waistband, is to yank his clothes down only as far as necessary, then guide MJ back on top of him as soon as she’s out of her sweatpants and pick up where they left off with her first orgasm. But, bottomless, his girlfriend settles on his lap before he’s ready. She shuffles forward, rubbing herself against him, making his boxers damp. Peter closes his eyes as they roll back. His hands skim blindly up her arms to fiddle with the slipping straps of the camisole she still wears—if the way it’s clinging to her from only below her breasts to her navel can be called ‘wearing’.

She kisses his cheek.

“Peter.”

He opens his eyes and watches her tilt her head to speak quietly near his ear. Candlelight seeps over and through her hair. He kisses where it pools on her naked shoulder and her soft breaths form words.

“I want you to bend me over.”

Peter turns his head and groans into MJ’s neck.

Running her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Is that a yes?”

“’Chelle, you say, ‘jump,’ I ask, ‘how high?’” he promises.

He whips a condom out of his pocket. She draws back and smirks at him, eyebrows raised.

“And how did that get in there?”

“I might’ve grabbed it while I was looking for the matches.” When his girlfriend continues to stare at him, he adds, “It’s dark! You were lighting candles! I dunno, MJ, it seemed kinda romantic. Why are you still looking at me like that?”

“You’re cute when you babble.”

“Stop talking,” Peter interprets with a sheepish smile. “Got it.”

She climbs off of him and stuffs the blanket into the corner of the couch while he stands and whisks his jeans and boxers down his legs. He almost trips peeling his socks off because MJ waggles her bare ass at him very unfairly.

“Come on, I’m getting cold.”

“I’m—” he starts, struggling with the condom. “I am… I’m going as fast as… there!”

Peter bounds onto the couch and catches MJ’s face in his hand, kissing her lovingly. Then desperately. Then sloppily pulling away to sneak a hand under the back of her top and press her down until her elbows rest on the arm of the couch. Taking a deep breath, he strokes his other hand from the back of her neck all the way to her ass. This is kinda hot with her shirt still on. He’s glad that, for as much as they discuss and debate things like the misuse of municipal funds on holiday decorations, they’re still in their hasty days. Still young, still eager. He grips himself and flexes his fingers as he traces the head of his dick through MJ’s arousal.

“Getting cold,” she repeats.

“Spider-Man is here to help, ma’am,” he jokes, pushing inside her.

Fuck. Peter works his hips gently forward and back, building up to plunging deeper the same way he tiptoes out into the water when they visit the beach too early in the year. But this isn’t like the chilly springtime ocean because she’s warm as she takes him—so, so warm.

“Uh, MJ? Baby? Sweetheart? I thought you said you were cold,” he grits out.

She presses back against him as he finally thrusts all the way in.

“I always keep the home fires burning for you.”

“Well, that was raunchy. You’ve been living with me too long.”

“How could I ever move out with perks like a December power outage?”

Grinning, Peter begins a loose swing of his hips, gazing down MJ’s back at the shadows and light sliding over the rounded edges of her neck, her shoulder blade, her ear as she tips her head to let her hair hang to the side. When her low moans start, he repositions his knees on the couch cushions and digs in with his toes. The wet smack of driving into her is loud in their little sanctuary. He takes her by the hips as she bows her head to her crossed forearms, moving faster, gliding in and out with more grace than he has when navigating an ice rink with skate blades on his feet. MJ spreads her legs wider and drops her head even lower. She is graceful, with the steep slope of her back that Peter can’t resist pressing a hand to. At his touch, she bends even further and he chokes on an already raspy inhalation.

“Faster, Peter,” she requests.

Not loud, not demanding. She knows he can hear her because he’s always listening for her voice. It coaxes him onward from beneath the urgent slap of his thrusts.

He hunches over her, wrapping one arm around her waist as they buck together, his other hand diving between her legs. She’s soaked and her hips are jumping in time with his, so it’s hard to keep his fingers on her swollen clit. Suddenly, MJ has her hand over his, directing his fingers. Reality grows hazy as pleasure creeps into his thighs and trickles invisibly down his stomach, like the phantom touch of his girlfriend beneath him. Peter squints against the light of their candles and so much feeling, flicking his fingers over the sensitive nub that has MJ’s legs quivering. He kisses her spine and scrapes the edge of her camisole with his teeth. She’s shaking too hard to thrust back. Groaning, Peter bucks in a quick burst, holding her body up as she threatens to slump flat.

“You warm yet?” he huffs. “Show me you’re warm.”

“Peter… almost.”

Abruptly, he sits back on his heels, hauling MJ with him. Sweating now, Peter bounces her on his lap. His hands squeeze the smooth skin of her hips. She gasps before moaning deeply and reaching up to wrap an arm behind his neck, arching against him.

“God,” he mutters, looking down over her shoulder to watch the jiggle of her breasts and the tension of her stomach, “I already want you again.”

Because of his words, or his hands, or his cock slamming up into her, she climaxes, clenching around him and stuttering over his name. Peter buries his nose in her hair to avoid the overpowering scent of the candles as his senses sharpen to the finest point; he’s learned this only happens when he’s lost in either the pain of a grave injury or the satisfaction of releasing into MJ. He pulses, hips snapping, hugging her against his chest, flushed with warmth from the top of his ears to where his toes grip the couch.

“Bath?” Peter pants in her ear, dick still twitching inside her. “I swear I won’t let you get cold.”

Just like that, the overhead light and the lamp on the end table blink on. Huh. Power’s back.

“Or maybe you don’t need me to,” he says.

MJ turns her head and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll grab the candles. You hit the lights.”

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 25

Part 2 from yesterday's sensory deprivation chapter is here! We pick up right where the last one left off, but switch to Keith's POV this time.

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Day 25 - Disorientation/Blurred Vision/Ringing Ears

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: restraints, stress position, muzzles, burns, dislocation, sensory deprivation, referenced torture

Everything hurt.

The hundreds of bruises all over his body throbbed. His legs, arms, and back ached from the position he had been forced into for so long. Several places on his torso burned where the cattle prod, for lack of a better term, had been used. There were stinging lines etched into his face from the metal muzzle. His ribs protested every time he took a breath. And his shoulder…

His shoulder was definitely the worst of it all. Dislocated. Screaming at him constantly for relief, but with his arms wrenched up behind his back so far that his head hung down by his knees, there was no relief to be found. It didn’t help that every time he thought he saw something move or heard some small sound - which was impossible, he hadn’t seen or heard anything real in...he didn’t know, probably days - he couldn’t help but flinch, which made pain flare in pretty much every part of his body.

The blindfold was still soaked with the tears that had escaped during the last torture session. He wasn’t sure whether anyone had noticed that he was crying or not, but it wasn’t like it really mattered. They had seen plenty of weakness from him. He had definitely screamed, even if he hadn’t been able to hear it. 

What mattered, though, was that he had stayed strong during the first couple of days when they had pressed him for information about the Coalition. He didn’t give in. All that had gotten him was into the situation he was in now, but it was okay. Yes, he hurt, and he was hallucinating, and he had no idea who or what might be around him at any given time and was scared out of his mind that the torture was going to start up again any second, but it was okay. As long as all of those people stayed safe. And Pidge.

She was here somewhere. He knew she had been captured at the same time as him, though he wasn’t sure whether she knew that he had been right behind her. For days he had hoped against hope that they were leaving her alone, that all of the attention they were giving him meant that they hadn’t gotten to her yet and she would remain unharmed until the team could come rescue her. He couldn’t stand the thought of any of what had been done to him happening to her.

Then they had moved him into another room. He didn’t know where, of course, but he knew that they walked him a distance that was mostly straight and longer than the length of his cell. Nothing really new had happened once they got there, just more of the same shocks and kicks and general torture. But something about the way there were long pauses in between, and sometimes even in the middle, made him think of an interrogation. Only he, for obvious reasons, couldn’t be interrogated. So were they using him to interrogate someone else? 

The realization that he could be being used against Pidge made his stomach drop. He didn’t think she’d cave on his behalf, she was much too strong and smart for that, and he doubted he meant enough to her to even think of risking so many other lives, anyway. But she was still just a kid. They all were, technically, but she was the youngest of all of them. She didn’t need to have to watch something like this. 

Plus, selfishly, he hated the thought of being seen in such a weak state in front of anyone, especially someone he knew and...and cared about.

Things had been quiet for a while. Well, maybe quiet was the wrong term to use, since he had been living in absolute silence other than the roar of his own blood and the rush of his own labored breathing for what seemed like ages. If somebody didn’t remove this blindfold and earplugs and muzzle soon, he was pretty sure he was gonna go mad.

But it had been a while since anyone had touched him. A fact he should have been grateful for, and he was. It was difficult, though, not to focus on the part where someone could touch him again, at any time, and he would have no idea it was coming, and it was guaranteed to hurt. He hated it. Hated this waiting, this not knowing, this constant adrenaline pounding through his veins because even if he wasn’t in a stress position he wouldn’t have been able to relax, every inch of him tense and expecting the next blow.

When something finally changed, he flinched just as hard as he thought he would, then moaned through his teeth at the pain in his shoulder. It took a moment for him to realize that the movement had come from his wrists, and that they were slowly being lowered. Gratefully, he let his arms drop until they rested against his back. His shoulder eased from a stab to an ache.

But he didn’t have the strength to stand upright himself, and without the chain holding him in that position, he began to topple without a way to stop it. He expected to smash into the floor. He was sure they’d enjoy watching that.

Instead, he fell against a body, a small body, that barely kept him from face planting and lowered him to his knees. Why, he didn’t know. He didn’t have the mental energy to try to figure out why or who, not when he was too busy waiting for the pain.

Something touched the sides of his head, and he jerked backwards, biting back a whine when it jarred everything. The something - hands, probably - persisted, following him. Keith forced himself to freeze in place, every muscle tense, and just wait for whatever it was they were gonna do to him next. It would only hurt worse if he resisted.

The hands fumbled at his temples for just a tick longer before the blindfold was suddenly ripped off. The light that flooded in was blinding. Crying out, he ducked his head, squeezing his eyes shut. They were so dry, from crying and from not sleeping in forever, it felt like his eyelids were full of sand.

Come on, you finally get the advantage of seeing what’s coming, now open your eyes! But he couldn’t hold them open, not when there was suddenly so much light, and even when the hands came back and tugged his head up so that he was facing straight ahead again, he couldn’t make out who or what was right in front of him. Everything was just a bright blur.

One of the hands went for his ear next, popping out whatever kind of plug they had stuffed in there, and the chaos that descended on his brain then was so much worse than the removal of the blindfold. Noise exploded into that one ear. Whatever was going on was the loudest thing he had ever heard in his life, and stabs of pain shot through his head. He doubled over, trying to get away, trying to hide, trying to press his ear up against anything that might block out some of the sound.

To his relief and slight confusion, his head was wrenched to the side and the ear plug was stuck back in. Silence fell. He lay there on his side with his eyes still closed, panting as best he could through the muzzle, trying to recover while the remnants of sound rang in his ears. This must have been the newest form of torture, suddenly giving back his senses, though he was surprised they hadn’t let him writhe longer. They probably didn’t want to give him the chance to get used to hearing again, so that they could keep doing it over and over.

Suddenly the link holding his manacled wrists together vanished. His hands were free. For a moment he froze, his brain swirling with pain and panic and trying to figure what the quiznak kind of trap this was, until his normal instincts took over. Squinting his eyes open as much as he dared, Keith sprang into action and lunged. They were going to regret giving him any kind of freedom. They were going to pay for what they had done. They were...Pidge?

As soon as he had tackled the much-too-small assailant to the floor, his vision cleared enough to make out a familiar pair of brown eyes staring at him in fear from behind round lenses. Pidge. She was here. And he had almost…

Scrambling frantically backwards off of her, he whimpered as his abused body hit the floor again, and cradled his injured arm to his side. I’m sorry, he wanted to cry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, are you okay? But the stupid muzzle wouldn’t let him, and somewhere in the midst of his panicking he realized that she was actually speaking. He blinked, narrowing his eyes at her mouth and trying to make out her words through his still blurred vision. 

“You’re okay,” she was saying. “Keith, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted you to know it was me.”

He gave a meek, wobbly nod to let her know he understood. He wouldn’t have known how to not freak him out, either, so he didn’t blame her. It was just good to see her. 

Pidge scooted closer to him on her knees, slowly, as if not to spook him. “The team is here.” Ah, so that was all the noise he heard. “They stopped by to give me this -” she held up her bayard with a little wiggle -“so that I could break us out of here. If you’ll let me get that stupid contraption off of you, then we can go catch up with them. You can keep the earplugs in if you want.”

He nodded again. Yes, he desperately wanted the muzzle off. And yes, he wanted the earplugs in. At least for now, until he could take them out in a quieter place. His ears were still ringing from having just the one out before.

She smiled a little crookedly, then crept around behind him and started fiddling with the straps on the back of his head. Even when he could see - sorta - and knew it was her, he still couldn’t help but stiffen at the contact. But a moment later the straps loosened, and he was able to reach up with his good arm and start to pry the muzzle off his face. The metal pulled against raw skin. 

Pidge reappeared to help, though he had to quickly grab onto her wrist to keep her from pulling too fast. Her eyes widened in surprise as they caught his. Seeming to understand, she went back to work slowly with a furrowed brow that deepened as she realized she was also pulling a bit out of his mouth. As soon as the hated thing was off, she pitched it across the room, glaring at it as if she wanted to slice it apart with her bayard.

“Thanks.” He didn’t have to be able to hear his voice to know that it came out as little more than a rasp.

She turned back to him, a frown on her face. “I’m really sorry, Keith. You shouldn’t have had to...that was awful. I wanted to help you, I really did, but they wanted me to -”

“I know.” He swallowed past the sandpaper in his throat, wincing, and held her wrist again, gently this time. “The Coalition. They asked me, too. You couldn’t help me. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay.” He could see well enough now to watch the tears that spilled down her cheeks. “They were hurting you. And I couldn’t do anything to stop them.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I still hated it.” She paused, chewing on her lip. “I really wanna hug you. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

His lips twitched upward at the corners, and he stretched his good arm out toward her. Hugging wasn’t really his thing. But he knew how much a hug could mean to somebody who had just gone through something hard, and he wasn’t going to deprive her of that. Besides, it probably would do him some good, too.

Pidge very tenderly eased herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around him lightly so as not to bother his ribs. Keith dropped his hand down onto her back. The warmth of her body seeped through her flight suit and into his battered, bare skin, and it was more soothing than he had expected. With a sigh, he let his chin rest on top of her head.

When he stopped and thought about it, he was pretty sure this was his first one on one hug with Pidge. He had had a few “little sisters” over the years, more official than her according to the government, but she felt more like an actual little sister to him than any of them ever had. They spent time together fairly often, usually with him just hanging out in her lab while she either worked in silence or rambled about her projects, but physical affection hadn’t really been a thing between them. Maybe he should try to change that. This hug thing was kinda nice.

After a moment she pulled back, shoving her hand up underneath her glasses to wipe at her eyes. She smiled at him. “Let’s get you out of here, ‘kay?” 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Sounds good.”

[tantum-tenebris]

25?

25: nicknames

“Hi there, dollface. What’s a pretty darling like yourself doing this deep in the woods?”

The frail doll purses her lips and clutches her bag tightly, too afraid to take another step. 

She hadn’t been expecting another soul for miles. Not in this area, at least. Hidden amongst the darkness of thick forest canopies, Willow could have continued to wander for many more miles without being found. 

To her dread, she fears that it may have been her frilly dollie outfit that attracted the shadow’s attention. The feeling of someone watching her every step was unmistakable, and she was a fool for thinking that she could blend in.

The monster stares down at her, red eyes burning holes in her dress, rounded with curiosity and amusement. When the dark mass steps from the safety of the forest’s shadows, she sees its inky blackness shift into the form of a suit-cladded man. His skin is pale, like a ghost. And he’s much, much taller than her.

He grins with sharp pearly-whites that are enough to make her lips ache. “Don’t you know better than to wander into the dark? You’ll get hurt, soft thing.” 

Willow feels her throat tighten as she struggles to respond. She wants to believe that this monster can’t hurt her. Nothing can, because dollies can’t feel pain. 

Physical pain, anyway. 

“I—I didn’t… I didn’t know. Please…”

Her lungs hurt from the way she holds in her breath, to afraid to even breathe. Does he want to take her stuff away from her? She’s got her valuables in her pocket: a lighter that was just as cursed as her, and Ashley, her stuffed kitty cat. It would be wise for her to drop her heaviest things and run. 

But, oh, she was so tired from running. Willow always felt quite faint.

The man hums in satisfaction. Everything about him, down to his voice, is rich and dark and sends chills down her spine. He moves closer, and when Willow steps back and finds herself pressed against a tree, she knows that she’s running out of time.

“Poor thing,” he coos. A clawed finger reaches to stroke her porcelain cheek so gently, and the light of his red eyes easily drown out her yellow ones. “You’re trembling. I’m not that scary, am I?”

He blinks once, enough for Willow to see his eyes change to an inky black sclera, before they seemingly return back to normal.

“What strange eyes you have,” she notes. 

“The better to watch you with, my dear.”

The dollie turns her cheek to press against the rough bark as his finger trails to the area of her chin, gently raising her head up and exposing the soft skin of her neck. Her breath hitches, and for a second she thinks about throwing a punch, but fighting back isn’t in her vocabulary. It’s not what dolls do.

“What jagged claws you have, Mr. Wolf.”

He tilts his head at that. “The better to examine you with, my dear.”

She’s haunted, cursed, fragile, weak. She’s of no use to him, isn’t she? Surely he’ll abandon her like everyone else. But right now, Willow can’t think straight, especially as his jaws begin to hover over her vulnerable flesh. 

“What sharp teeth you have,” she says with her eyes clenched shut, voice small and quivering. 

He smiles big and wide. “The better to eat you with, my dear.” 

The dollie is wise enough to know that she can’t possibly make it out of these woods alive, not if she continues to stay glued against him like this. She has to do something, anything. 

With a startled cry, Willow disregards all of her paranoia and shoves him off of her. Despite being unable to feel him, his body turns to smoke in her arms and she feels nothing but the cool, wispy air of the woods. He’s no longer trapping her there, so the doll makes like a cornered mouse and runs.

Laughter erupts from all around her. More white eyes open within the darkness, the trees are never ending. It seems that within the span of a few minutes, the sky has grown much darker.

Willow doesn’t even realize how futile her attempt is. When she trips over a massive tree root— the tears blurring her vision causing her to fall— she knows that it will all be over soon. Landing on rocks and twigs with a heavy thud was enough for her breath to leave her body. 

She freezes as she feels the points of his claws stroke the hair on her head in slow, loving motions.

“Don’t be afraid, Little Red,” he soothes. “I’ve got other plans for you.”

[ificouldau]

Section 4 - Chapter 35

25% of you chose to follow the figure.

> 75% of you chose to find the others.

“Okay,” You begin shakily, taking a moment to catch your own breath, “Let’s find the others first.”

Chan grits his teeth the slightest bit in frustration, closing his eyes for a second to process the unexpected answer. Jihoon and Minghao look on at him with cold glares, clearly judgemental of his mindset.

( -1 Reputation: Dino )

“Soonyoung,” Jihoon begins, voice softer than you’d ever heard before, “We’re not following him.”

Soonyoung looks weary, gaze glossed over and skin still sickly pale, but it’s relieving to everyone to see him glance up and face you.

“Come on,” Minghao adds reassuringly, “Let's go find the guys.”

Though Chan drags his feet along for a second in reluctance, the rest of the boys pull along fine. You walk cautiously at their side, Hao and Jihoon holding Soonyoung’s back in a comforting manner as they move.

Worry treads your heart at the sight of him. With weakened steps and head hanging low, the boy is nothing like his spontaneous character. Every single one of you can’t help glancing over every now and then in concern.

“Quit looking at me,” Soonyoung says after a while, finally interrupting his silence. For once, you’re glad to hear the irritation in his voice.

The five of you walk along in eerie quiet, guiding yourselves with the dim flickers of the hall’s candles and keeping a look out for the mentioned stained glass window. It seems like the dark walls never end. The floor stretches on into distant nothingness the further along you go.

After a short while of walking, a collection of footsteps reach your ears down the hall. The sound is full of threat for a moment, and then relief as you realize it could be the others.

“That has to be them,” Chan says eagerly, the footsteps growing closer, “Guys! It’s-“

Minghao grabs Chan by the collar as the younger boy attempts to race off down the hallway.

“Wait,” Hao says quietly, “Listen.”

You follow the boy’s words as well as the rest of the group, freezing in your position and glaring off down the long, dark hall. The footsteps sound unfamiliar now… slow and steady in such a rhythmic manner that it’s become ominous.

It’s not the others. The mere sound of it makes that clear.

“Hide,” You whisper harshly, hurrying off into the nearest doorway, “Hide!”

The boys don’t hesitate before following, ducking into the room behind you and pulling the door shut tight. The area is small, resembling that of an empty storage space. No more than a dim candle, like the rest of the mansion, lights its worn walls. Jihoon and Chan catch their breath for a moment, and Minghao presses a careful ear to the door in silence.

Then, as if were instinct, the four of you turn to face Soonyoung with worried eyes.

“...What?” The boy asks, sounding annoyed with arms crossed over his chest. The candle light flickers off of his bothered pout.

Hao reaches forward to pat the older boy’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be scared.”

Soonyoung, however, nudges him off quickly.

“Why would I be scared?” He scoffs, “I would punch those fuckers in the face if I could. Stop being weird.”

The rest of you exchange confused glances in odd unison, shocked to hear the boy’s sudden change of tone compared to earlier. Mere minutes ago, he was petrified. The lot of you expected sensitivity in terms of the cult.

“I…” You begin, puzzled, “Are you sure you’re-“

“Shh!”

The familiar rhythmic footsteps sound through the door, clearly a lot closer this time. The cult moves steadily, like clockwork, taking each step with an eerily slow pace. You can hear plenty of them… five or six people heading closer with every second.

Fear shoots through your heart as the sound comes to a slow halt. You can see several dark shadows flood the floor through the threshold, obscuring the outside candlelight from view. They’ve stopped, right in front of you. It feels as if in a matter of seconds they’ll find their way inside.

Luckily, the footsteps fill your ears once again, in the same steady motion as the cult continues their path down the hallway. The sound disappears with every second, and soon you’re left alone again.

“They’re gone,” Chan says after a second, having peeked out of the door to see no one in sight, “We can lea-“

The boy’s words are interrupted by the creak of metal moving. You whip around in fear at the sudden noise, only to see Jihoon pulling a small filing cabinet open in the corner of the room.

“What is that?” Minghao asks, joining the boy in curiosity. The rest of you gather around the open cabinet, peering into a mess of old, yellowed files. Soonyoung’s the first one to tug at anything, pulling a file out into the open air alongside a fresh cloud of dust. The five of you stumble backwards, coughing your lungs out with eyes squeezed shut for a moment, only to glance back up at a folder filled to the brim with old documents.

“What is this shit?” Soonyoung murmurs, thumbing through the papers aimlessly. Jihoon doesn’t say a word as he yanks some of the documents from the boy’s hold to examine.

“Old paperwork about the property,” He says in a low tone, “Insurance records, bills, statements...“

“And family pictures apparently,” Chan interrupts, peeking over Soonyoung’s shoulder at an old, grainy photograph. You follow their eyes down towards the black and white image, squinting through the dim candlelight to see two proud fathers standing behind strollers.

Though the image is worn with age and stains obscure faces from clear view, it’s clear the men are smiling in a way oddly familiar to not only you, but the others. They seem to recognize one of the two grins at the very least, and you’re nearly certain you’ve seen this somewhere before as Jihoon clears his throat.

“Look at this,” He says softly, raising a slip of torn stationary into the light for you all to see. Everyone gathers about the paper, struggling to scan the blotchy words in the dark.

‘I’m sorry,’ It reads in shaky black ink, ‘To the son and love whom I’ve grown distant. My people have run me and my closest companion out of my own home. We’re planning on going into hiding, as we can’t return just yet. I’ll put an end to what I started and find you both again.’

You reread the words a few times in confusion, trying to piece them together to no avail. The others seem just as, if not more, clueless as they cross their arms and shake their heads at the letter.

“Just some old batshit poetry or something,” Soonyoung concludes, tossing the file back into the cabinet.

“So the guy who owned this place was in the cult before they turned on him,” Minghao continues, completely ignoring Soonyoung’s remarks, “I wonder where he is now.”

Chan shrugs his shoulders, glancing over the photo one last time before resting it atop the cabinet. “He’s heartless if he left his family for a stupid cult.”

Jihoon shakes his head slightly, eyebrows furrowed in a concentrated manner as he runs through the information in his mind. “Heartless… no. It doesn’t seem that way.”

Hao studies the photograph with crossed arms and steady eyes.

“He clearly loved his wife and kid,” He murmurs, “I wonder if he ever reached them.”

Before anyone can add on to the conversation, a quiet cough sounds behind you. You turn about to see Soonyoung, standing impatiently by the door with a hand readily on the knob.

“We don’t have time for storytelling,” He says. You blink in embarrassment for a second, not realizing how invested you’d gotten into the old files.

Jihoon shoots the kid a warning glare, looking furious for a split second before carefully returning the papers. The rest of you quietly head right over to the door.

As everyone spills cautiously out into the candlelit hallway, Jihoon takes a moment to stand back and scold Soonyoung, his tone so low and deadpan that it sends chills down your own spine.

“If there’s a chance to learn about your enemy, you take it,” He mutters, “And quit being such a fucking brat about everything.”

As Jihoon joins your side, walking a few steps ahead without turning to look back, you feel Soonyoung follow close behind with fresh tension filling the air. Just minutes ago, you were all fussing over the boy as if he were a child, but you’re willing to admit that his impatient behaviors test everyone’s moods just a bit too much. For once, Soonyoung is clearly holding himself back, wearing a pout and upset glare as if he’d felt confrontation for the very first time.

“I see what you mean now,” Chan says, scanning the dusty walls, “There are literally no doors or windows anywhere. I feel like we’re in a cave.”

“At least we know where the others went, then,” You add, “It’s like a straight path to them.”

Minghao nods in agreement. Even the candles seem to lead to the way. Jihoon’s sneakers skid the old floor as he comes to a sudden stop, looking up with a still stare like he’d just made a significant realization. You frown, hurrying over to the boy’s side, only to follow his eyes and notice the exact same thing he had.

The long, repetitive pathway finally comes to a stop at the end of the hall. Rather than a dead end, however, it splits off into two directions. Both turns look exactly the same; high stone walls extending into dark abyss and no doors or windows in sight. One thing, however, instantly catches your eye.

You squint in confusion to see the row of candles lining only the right hallway. The left hall is almost completely pitch black.

“Which way is the big window you were talking about?” Minghao asks Soonyoung. The boy points off into the candlelit hall on the right. “Are you sure?” Hao asks. Soonyoung nods. “I’m certain.”

Jihoon looks determined, taking a step towards the right hand hallway without a word. You all begin to follow… until quick, distant footsteps reach your ears.

“Who the hell…?” Chan whispers, backing away to get a careful listen. You all do the same, simultaneously realizing the sound had come from the left… where the air is dim and heavy.

Soonyoung’s eyes widen, and then yours, then the rest of the group when a face quickly looks your way down the pitch dark hall.

There’s no denying it. It’s Vernon.

“Hansol!” Jihoon calls in a loud whisper, only to watch Vernon vanish into the shadows like he’d never been there in the first place. All of a sudden, Soonyoung’s legs begin to shake, and then he stumbles backwards with all the blood drained from his face. Minghao catches him by the arm just barely, hoisting him against the near wall and shaking frantically at his shoulders.

“It’s happening again,” He says, almost panicked. The lot of you rush over to his side.

Jihoon grips the boy’s forearm, sounding collected but somewhat nervous as he does his best to calm him. “It’s not them this time… It’s not them. It’s Verno-” “God,” Soonyoung winces, reaching up and gripping his hair so tightly that his knuckles turn white, “Please get me far away from here, please, I just wanna find the others, I…”

“I’m sorry, Soonyoung, seriously,” Chan begins, “but we can’t lose Vernon again when he’s literally right there. This could be our only chance.” “We have to save him, too,” Jihoon agrees. Hao nods firmly, and oddly enough, you find yourself the only one not completely against Soonyoung’s ways for once. “Guys…” You cut in, heart beating out of your chest, “We can’t split up, but we also can’t save Vernon like this, so-” “So we all go right and leave without him,” Chan states sarcastically, “When he’s right in front of our faces.” “Chan, I’m not trying to leave him.” “As much as I want to go get Hansol,” Jihoon says in a low tone, “Whatever you choose is the right choice.”

“I agree,” Minghao adds. You look over at Soonyoung’s petrified expression, his breathing heavy and uneven as he focuses on the floor in attempts to calm himself down. Both hallways are dead silent now, and you know that in this situation, everyone could just as well be right. The left hall is so eerily dark and ominous that it sends chills through your body at the mere thought of being in it. Still, despite the right one dimly illuminated by candlelight, your window of opportunity to find Vernon feels as if it’s closing. You take a second to weigh the possibilities in your head. The air feels a hundred times colder.

- Go down the left hall.

or

- Go down the right hall.

( Vote now on instagram.com/ificould_au. You have 24 hours. )

[myownpersonaldemons]

Self Tober Prompt 25

Bowtie

Grillby/Reader

Who else could I have written about?

You would be lying if you said you didn’t like a well-dressed man. There was just something about well-tailored outfits that just made you swoon a bit when you saw them. Even better? When those well-dressed men got comfortable, pushing their sleeves to their elbow, loosening their tie, unbuttoning their shirt? Perfection.

But, you were totally not undressing your boss with your eyes. You were not imagining slowly loosening his bowtie and slipping it from his neck.

Not at all.

You were cleaning tables, taking orders, joking and laughing with the mix of monster and human patrons, and stoutly avoiding Sans. The little skeleton gremlin would be able to instantly know what you were thinking if he hadn’t already figured it out. Sans was very perspective.

A series of excited howls drew your attention away from the table you were cleaning up to see the wolf pack piling into the bar for their nightly game of poker. You smiled and greeted them all with pets and praise and instantly reciting their order, constantly moving so that Doggo could see you. With a slight deviation to their normal order, you picked up your tray full of dirty dishes and headed over to the bar.

“…normal order?” Grillby asked, placing a freshly cleaned glass down in its spot and shifting it so it perfectly lined up with the others.

“Almost, Doggo would like a double order of fries instead of the burg, and Dogamy and Dogressa are starting them off early with their usual rounds of drinks,” you said, slipping behind the counter with the tray of dirty dishes. Grillby took the tray from you easily, and gestured towards the wall of alcohol before disappearing into the fire exit. It was a pun, mainly, because you had entered behind there a lot of times and it was just the back room for cooking and storage. Nothing fancy.

When you had asked about it, Grillby told you in the Underground they had less rules about what was required in having a business. That back room literally couldn’t be accessed by anyone other than him because it was on fire. Magical fire that didn’t spread, but fire nonetheless.

You were glad there were codes against that, or you probably wouldn’t have gotten a job.

You didn’t linger long staring after him, moving to do your job. It had once been incredibly hard for you to remember the different drink mixtures, but now it was like second nature. Especially the drinks you made day in and day out. Sans watched you, sipping on his ketchup, without comment. You didn’t offer any commentary either as you placed the four drinks on the tray  and headed back over to the dog monsters.

The rest of the night passed by with no incidents and, as always, Ugly Fish and Red Bird were the final monsters to stumble their way out of the bar. Red Bird throwing compliments and flirts at Grillby the entire way out. You weren’t sure whether or not Grillby appreciated them, as he wasn’t very expressive. Or…maybe he was? You only saw him at work, after all.

You locked the door behind them, switching the sign to off, closed the blinds, and turned around to smile at Grillby. He returned it with what you assumed was his smile before the two of you quietly finished cleaning the bar up.

As you moped, Grillby counted the till, slipping what needed to go to the bank into an envelope and into his pocket before working on splitting up the tips. At your previous waitressing gig, you had a feeling that your boss had been siphoning some of the tips into his own pocket, but with Grillby? Some nights you had to fight with him because you swore he gave you some of his tips as well.

You tucked away the mop and headed over to the jukebox in the corner to turn it off, pausing beside it as it switched to a song you recognized. Just for a moment before you hit the power button and the lights blinked off.

Grillby had already headed into the back so you made sure everything was away properly before following him.

It was the end of the week, which meant bank night. Normally, you were the first to leave so you never saw Grillby in anything besides his work outfit. It was a slow night tonight, so everything had gotten finished early so he hadn’t sent you home early.

He had taken off his apron and hung it up on the peg next to the door, which was normal, but what wasn’t normal? He pulled on a leather jacket over top of his work uniform, and was currently in the process of untying his bow tie.

Oh no.

Your weakness.

You had to firmly remind yourself that he was your boss and therefore those thoughts were off limits! You turned your gaze away immediately as you headed over to stand beside him. You hung your apron up, and slipped your own jacket over your shoulders and then pulled on your toque.

Grillby wasn’t a vocal monster, so you weren’t surprised when he simply gestured towards the door after opening it. You nodded your head and slipped out into the chilly air. It was just after Halloween and there was already snow falling. That wasn’t unusual to this part of the world, but you still glared up at the sky as the puffy white flakes drifted down. You’d hoped that the snow would have stayed behind the clouds until you got back to your apartment.

“…see you tomorrow,” Grillby said, interrupting your glaring. You turned to face him, watching the snow melt and evaporate well before it touched his flames.

“I’m off tomorrow, remember,” you said, stepping a bit closer to him and his warmth when a blast of icy wind managed to worm it’s way up your jacket. You should’ve worn your winter jacket but you weren’t ready to give up on fall yet! “My parents are coming to town to visit.”

“…right,” he said with a faint nod. Another gust of wind, and he gestured towards the street, “…would you like me to walk you to your car?”

That surprised you. A break from the script?

“I…uh, don’t drive,” you said giving him a smile, “Thanks for the offer though.”

“…you don’t drive?” he said slowly, some sparks flying from the top of his head.

“Don’t have car, it’s more expensive to drive than to walk,” you explained, stuffing your hands into your pockets, “I’ll see you in a couple days.”

You turned, but his hand gently touched your elbow, “…I can walk you home.”

“What?” you blurted out in surprise, twisting to look at him. There was a shift of his  flames and you swore that they shifted to blue for a moment.

“…it’s cold,” he gestured to the air, “…and it’s three in the morning.”

“Exactly, so you should drop the money off at the bank and get back to your place,” you said waving your hands in a dismissive way, “Does the cold not bother you?”

He shook his head, “…my flames just get warmer in response…which way is your apartment?”

You gestured down the street, “four blocks or so that way.”

“…that’s on the way to the bank,” he said, there was a hesitation in his voice. “…I can walk you…if you’d like.”

A pause.

“Sure,” you relented, it was just a friendly suggestion. Besides, you’d much prefer walking with someone this early in the morning. Especially if said someone let off a wonderful heat that chased away a majority of your chill.

Walking you home became a daily thing after that, and soon he stopped asking if you’d like to be walked home. It was just expected. As the nights got colder, you bundled up more, and on the coldest of nights he traded the leather jacket for a black pea coat.

You got comfortable enough with him to compliment the pea coat and told him that he had impeccable fashion sense.

“…really?” he said, glancing down at himself, “…Sans says I look old fashioned.”

You blushed lightly, tugging your scarf up slightly, “I mean, you do…but that’s not a bad thing? I like that style. Especially the bow tie. It…really suits you.”

After that conversation, you noticed subtle changes to Grillby’s wardrobe. If you thought he was trying before to look good, you were wrong. This was him trying. You were impressed.

Still, you just thought that your compliment merely spurred him into accepting his sense of style more. It was Sans who set you straight on that aspect.

Grillby went into the back to prepare some orders and you were manning the bar. You handed Sans a fresh bottle of ketchup and tucked the other aside to be cleaned up and recycled.

“grillbz has been changing up his look lately, know anything about that?” Sans asked, leaning against the counter top and inclining the bottle of ketchup towards you.

“Not really, I told him that the old fashion look suits him. Might’ve been a little boost to his confidence?” you shrugged a shoulder, “He hasn’t mentioned anything to me about it, though.”

“so him wearing a bowtie that happens to match the colour of your shirt has nothing to do with you?” Sans asked, a shit eating grin on his face.

You frowned slightly, “What? He’s not-“

The fire exit door opened and Grillby swept past the bar to deliver the cooked food to some of the regulars. You glanced down at your button up, it was a deep purple and when you looked back up at Grillby, so was his tie. You blushed, and quickly spun around to organize some of the bottles on the wall.

“That’s just a coincidence,” you hissed to Sans after your face had calmed down, peeking over at Grillby as he spoke quietly with the dogs at the poker table.

“was he wearing a tie when you started?” he asked, his grin twitching upward again. You paused and then shook your head. “hehe…and I thought I was a numbskull.”

“He wouldn’t have time to do that, and I wasn’t paying attention to his-“

“ya can’t lie to me kid,” Sans pointed out, turning around and leaning back against the bar to look at Grillby. “plus, grillbz’ lives above the bar in the studio.”

That made you freeze slightly, watching Grillby as he left the dogs to check up on the other patrons and then started making his way back to the bar. You glared at the back of Sans’ skull lightly. You didn’t need to be thinking that way about your boss, you would’ve been much more content in your ignorance.

Actually, you wouldn’t have.

You had a huge crush on Grillby and had for a while. The fact that he was matching his bow tie to your shirt colour was adorable. But…you didn’t really trust Sans. It could’ve totally been a coincidence! So, the next day you made sure to note if Grillby was wearing a bowtie, he was, and you relaxed when you noticed it wasn’t the same colour as your shirt. But then you felt bad. You had been happy at the thought that…well, it didn’t matter anymore.

Yet, at the end of the day you noticed the subtle shift of colour to his bowtie. It matched your shirt.

When you had started, he simply told you that the work uniform was dress pants, shoes, shirt and a black vest. The button up shirt could be any colour that you wanted.

The next day, just to make sure that it hadn’t been a fluke, you set up a stupid little test. You brought an extra button up shirt of a different colour and during your break you changed it. Explaining to Sans when he asked that you had spilt some sauce on your sleeve. A few minutes after that Grillby had come back into the room with a different coloured bowtie.

Sans snickered, and you blushed.

That night, as you were pulling on your jacket. Grillby moved to hand you your ‘soiled’ button up and paused, looking at the sleeve. You noticed him subtly check the other sleeve before you zipped up your jacket and turned to him.

“...” he stared at you for a moment before his flames shifted colour, sparking a bit with blue.

“Yes?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, and taking your shirt from him and tucking it away in your bag.

“…I thought you said it was…dirtied?” he asked quietly.

“I may have lied?” you said, peering up at him shyly, “Because I wanted to test a theory.”

“……..oh?”

He shifted slightly, almost as if he was trying to hide his bowtie that he hadn’t taken off yet.

You hesitated before reaching up and adjusting his jacket lapels so that the bowtie was more visible. His flames brightened slightly, and you dropped your hands. “…I can explain…”

You paused, did…he think you were mad? You tilted your head and waited quietly.

“…”

He sighed, a few sparks escaping his mouth, “…I…was…flattered by your compliment.”

“Which one?”

“…about the bowtie…”

“Oh.”

“…I am realizing that it might be weird as your boss,” he said, flushing even bluer. “I apologize. I’ll stop.”

“It’s fine,” you blurted out, and then added without thinking, “I think it’s cute.” You flushed and covered your face, “that was inappropriate! I’m so sorry-“

“Cute?” Grillby said, flames growing larger.

“Uh…yeah…cute,” you mumbled, “ANYWAYS! Time to go home!”

“…I find you cute as well,” he said quickly making you blush even more. If that was even possible.

“What?” you blurted out, “How?”

“Why…wouldn’t I?” he said, hesitantly placing his hands on his hips, “…it is…inappropriate as your boss…”

“Can we…walk?” you suggested quietly, gesturing towards the door. He opened the door and the two of you stepped out into the snow. “I’m attracted to you, I’ll admit,” you said, burying your face into your scarf, “and it won’t affect my work ethic because I’ve been attracted to you since I started.”

His flames grew a bit more wild, “…I am attracted to you as well…”

“But you are my boss,” you reminded him gently, and he nodded.

The two of you were silent as you walked, you stopped by the entrance to your apartment complex.

“So…do we just continue on like…nothing happened?” you asked quietly.

“…do you wish to?”

You stared up at him. Did you? Not at all.

“No…”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, before he slowly reached up and brushed his fingers against your cheek. “…then would you care to come early to work tomorrow?”

“Why?” you said, leaning into his touch.

“…for a date.”

You blushed, “Only if you wear your red bowtie.”

He blinked his golden eyes at you, before his mouth split open in a grin. “…for you, yes.”

[lets-talk-appella]

i’m nobody’s but yours

Chapter 4/25 - Chloe

Summary: Beca is straight as an arrow. 100%, totally, completely straight. Except for one problem that 100%, totally, completely changes everything: Chloe Beale.

Title borrowed from Calum Scott’s “If Our Love Is Wrong.”

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: M (for dark themes, homophobia, masturbation, and eventual smut in later chapters)

AO3 and FFN and below the cut

The trip to Copenhagen is long. Like, twelve-hours-total-flying-plus-a-five-hour-layover-in-Heathrow long.

Normally, Chloe wouldn’t mind. It should be fine. They’ve traveled for Bellas performances before, and Chloe’s even flown internationally before, so in theory, it should be fine. She’s brought a book, has her headphones and phone for music, and even has a sleep mask to cover her eyes.

And yet. There is one miniscule detail keeping the flight and travel from being not fine.

That little detail – though she’d never let anyone call her little – is sitting in her usual spot next to Chloe. Beca keeps twisting and fidgeting in her seat, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep, and it’s distracting Chloe and making her feel antsy.

Still, Chloe feels pretty lucky to even be sitting by Beca; she hasn’t missed how weird Beca has been acting lately. She’s been withdrawing more and more, and with how she acted about the drive to the graduation ceremony, Chloe can’t help but wonder: if they hadn’t booked tickets and seats months ago, would Beca have still elected to sit by her?

It’s confusing and actually kind of painful. She’d thought that the retreat had fixed everything, but apparently, it hadn’t. And, given Beca’s plans for leaving to LA in only a couple more days, Chloe’s not sure they have the time to fix anything at all.

Beca again fidgets in her seat, groaning a little in the back of her throat in annoyance. Chloe has to hold back an annoyed sound of her own. If Beca would just lean her head on Chloe’s shoulder and pass out like she normally does, they could both be comfortable and fall asleep for the duration of this stupidly long plane ride over the Atlantic.

But no.

Instead, for some unknown reason, Beca is stubbornly refusing to find the obvious solution. Rather, she seems to prefer to contort her body in seemingly any configuration other than leaning against Chloe, huffing loudly when she becomes uncomfortable.

Finally, after over an hour of this incessant, irritated huffing coming from the seat next to her, Chloe looks over pointedly.

“Bec, you could just… you know, lean on me.”

Beca glances at her uncomfortably but doesn’t move; Chloe clicks her tongue and leans forward to repeat herself – maybe Beca hadn’t heard her the first time – but the second her upper body crosses over the armrest dividing them, Beca scrabbles at her own seatbelt, releasing it with a click and jumping up from her seat.

Chloe stares up at her in shock. Across the aisle, Flo (with an eye mask of her own) twitches in her sleep and Emily blinks over at them with bleary concern.

A pale blush rises into Beca’s cheeks, coloring them a light pink. Eyes darting around the cabin, she stammers, “Um, uh, I – bathroom.”

“Oh,” Chloe blinks, not entirely sure she believes that. “Are you –”

But before she can finish the “okay?” Beca’s gone, headed down the aisle to the bathroom at top speed.

Just like that, Chloe’s left alone with only the aching understanding that Beca doesn’t want to touch her anymore.

***************

Beca is always on the edge of things. Chloe wonders if she even realizes what she’s doing, or if she just naturally migrates to the outside margins of life.

Chloe’s seen her do it from the instant she first laid eyes on the “alt-girl.” She watched Beca dodge around people at the Activities Fair, not letting anyone even come close to touching her or bumping into her. During Bella initiation, Beca had stood on the edge of the group, and then later remained on the outskirts of the action at the Hood Night party.

Beca lives life by sitting on the outside and looking in. Chloe isn’t sure if it’s some kind of defense mechanism, if Beca’s just really introverted, or if Beca even knows that she’s doing it. No matter the cause behind it, Chloe feels sad that someone would choose to live their lives without the comfort of another’s touch. It makes Chloe wonder how long it’s been since Beca allowed someone to touch or hug her.

It’s that thought that makes Chloe reach out and pull her close at Hood Night. Well, that, and the large amount of alcohol she’s already consumed. It doesn’t hurt that she’s more than a little attracted to Beca, either.

Beca responds favorably enough to that; at least, she doesn’t slap Chloe or shove her away. In fact, it kind of makes Chloe think she’s broken through that hard exterior. But then, the next day at her first Bellas rehearsal, Beca sits in the back corner of the group, and Chloe realizes it’s going to be harder to pull Beca in from the edges than she’d thought.

The first time she can remember Beca ever wanting to be in the middle of the group is after the final notes of “No Diggity” fade from the empty pool. It’s also the first time she thinks she’s really seen Beca smile – a real smile, not the tight, sarcastic, “fuck you” one she throws at Aubrey.

After the riff-off, as the other girls follow Aubrey from the pool, Chloe drags Beca aside and pulls her into a hug, wrapping her arms around Beca’s waist securely and hooking her chin over Beca’s shoulder. Beca gasps in surprise and stiffens to a board in Chloe’s arms. Chloe holds her even more tightly, trying to convey as much care as she can. When Beca still doesn’t hug her back, Chloe wonders if she should maybe back off before she’s brought up on assault charges. But then, Beca’s body relaxes slowly and arms rise to tentatively pat her back. By the way Beca starts to lean into the touch with a soft, almost silent exhale, Chloe gets her answer: it’s been a long time since Beca has been hugged by anyone.

Chloe immediately vows to never again let Beca go so long without touch.

***************

Worries about Beca’s sudden refusal of physical contact plague Chloe from the moment their plane touches ground in Copenhagen all the way until they arrive at the World’s stage. From there, Chloe’s every other thought is driven out by DSM and how stupidly, annoyingly good they are. Their choreography is perfectly coordinated, their music artfully arranged, and their voices in total harmony. It’s so annoying.

Chloe knows their set is better (not just any a cappella group can manage to put more than forty people on a stage, but the Barden Bellas sure can) and she trusts in Beca’s arrangement completely, so there’s no real question in her mind about who is going to win. So, really, DSM being very good at what they do is not the annoying part.

No, the annoying part is how Beca is obviously watching Kommissar during the entire DSM performance. She’s not being subtle about it, either. Chloe doesn’t know what Beca’s problem is, or why she’s been harboring this weird year-long fixation on Kommissar, but it would be great if Beca could get over that about now, thanks.

And it really, really doesn’t help that Kommissar seems to enjoy every second of it.

An enjoyment that is currently on full display as DSM finishes their set and Kommissar turns to smile directly at Beca, completely ignoring the thousands of people chanting for them in the audience.

Chloe swears she sees Beca’s throat bob up and down.

It’s annoying. And it’s pissing her off.

Before she can smack Beca upside the head to get her to stop drooling, however, DSM makes their way off the stage. Kommissar, predictably, makes a beeline directly for Beca, dabbing nonexistent sweat from her neck.

“Hear that?” Kommissar purrs, addressing Beca and Beca alone. “They chant for us.”

“Yeah, well –” Chloe starts, only to cut off abruptly when Kommissar reaches to rest her hand on Beca’s jaw.

“Now, don’t cry too hard when you lose, alright?” Kommissar says as if Chloe isn’t even there. “Makes eyes puffy,” she emphasizes her point by stroking her thumb across Beca’s cheek.

Beca doesn’t pull away.

(That stings more than it should.)

“Your hands are so soft,” Beca whispers reverently.

The sudden rush of jealousy blindsides Chloe and snatches the air from her lungs; she has to fight to school her expression and squash her initial reaction, which is to slap the smug look from Kommissar’s face and demand that Beca pay attention to her instead. She knows how irrational it all is – it’s not like Beca is, was, or ever will be hers – but Beca’s response to Kommissar’s touch twists knots into Chloe’s insides.

The intensity of her own anger is such that she loses track of things for a few seconds. By the time Chloe recovers enough to catch up, Kommissar has pulled back from Beca.

“Everything must come to an end, even the Bellas,” says Kommissar imperiously. And now Chloe’s back to being totally pissed off because how dare she speak to them like that? Doesn’t Kommissar realize who she’s talking to?

It’s only made worse when, as DSM files away, Beca lunges forward to yell after them, “Ha! Your sweat smells like cinnamon!”

Jesus Christ.

“Damn it!” Beca groans, turning back to the Bellas. At least she realizes how she sounds.

She’s not the only one.

“Um, Beca, I don’t know how to tell you this,” Amy begins, “but that was very… homosexual.”

Beca freezes, her expression shutting down.

“Yeah, you trying to make Chloe jealous?” Cynthia Rose calls.

Chloe’s stomach lurches. Beca’s refusing to look at her, though her cheeks are turning pink.

“She’s hot, I don’t blame you,” adds Stacie, with an apologetic half-smile at Chloe.

“No, nothing will interrupt Bhloe,” Amy protests loudly, though she was the one to start everything.

Beca stands mutely, her eyes widening with every word said. The sight makes Chloe desperate to end this line of conversation before Beca actually implodes or something.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she says loudly, drawing everyone’s attention to herself. “Let’s focus on the set. Everyone feel good?” she stares down the Bellas, making purposeful eye contact with each one until they nod. Beca’s the last in line, and her eyes skitter away from Chloe’s before finally meeting them resolutely. She nods.

“Great,” Chloe continues firmly. “So let’s go out there, and let’s aca-rock this.”

“Right,” Beca adds, apparently finding her voice. “We’ve got this. We’re going to top Worlds.”

Amy clears her throat loudly. Cynthia Rose smirks.

Chloe glares at them.

Amy seems to wilt a little before standing up straighter. “Let’s crush it!” she says loudly, throwing her arm forward.

The rest of the Bellas follow suit, stacking their hands on top of each other’s in the middle of the circle. Like always, Beca’s and Chloe’s hands are on top of the pile; Beca’s hand twitches when Chloe places hers over it.

But then the announcer calls for the Barden Bellas and Chloe forgets about everything except winning Worlds.

She trusts Beca’s arrangement completely. Of course they’ll win.

They win.

After, Beca doesn’t throw herself into Chloe’s arms like she normally does. Instead, she initiates an impromptu group hug. It’s nice, but not the same.

Chloe tries not to let it bother her.

(She fails.)

Chloe stands at the drink table haphazardly constructed in the middle of the Worlds field in front of the stage. She stares down at it, not quite sure what she should go for next: a vodka cranberry, or a Malibu and pineapple.

“Hurry up,” Stacie moans from behind her in the line. “I want to go meet those hot Canadians.”

“I’m thinking,” insists Chloe. She draws her lower lip between her teeth, eyes flicking over the available bottles. She’s just reached a decision and is reaching for the pineapple juice when a loud, “Becaw!” surprises her and makes her jump.

Her attention flies upward to see Jesse wading through the crowd, head swiveling, obviously in search of Beca. Chloe’s stomach sours, and suddenly, she’s not sure she wants anything to drink. She supposes she could help him; she happens to know that Beca is at the bathrooms, but she doesn’t really feel the need to tell Jesse that. He can keep searching.

“Oh my god you’re taking too long,” Stacie nudges her aside, reaching for the rum.

“Sorry,” Chloe mutters. “I’m not thirsty anymore, anyway.”

Stacie nods silently as she makes her drink, but when she turns to leave the table with her rum and coke in hand, Chloe doesn’t miss the slight softening of sympathy around her eyes. They’ve never really talked about it, but they don’t have to. Stacie’s more observant than people give her credit for.

Stacie is replaced by a happily swaying Aubrey an instant later. She spills a fair amount of her drink – a vodka cranberry of her own – on the ground, and Chloe has to reach out and steady her.

“Maybe that’s enough for now,” she laughs, steering Aubrey to a spot off to the side away from the drink table.

Aubrey merely smiles at her dopily. “You know, I never thought something like this would happen.”

“What? Us being the best in the world?”

Aubrey’s eyes widen. “God, no, not that!” she waves a hand. “I already knew the Bellas would be the best.”

Chloe smiles a little at that, because of course Aubrey would just assume the Bellas are the best a cappella group in the world. Which, she supposes, they kind of are now.

Over Aubrey’s shoulder, Chloe sees Beca emerge from the crowd to wave down Jesse. He spots her and smiles so widely that it’s impressive his face doesn’t split in half. They start to move to each other, dodging around drunken international a cappella singers.

“No,” Aubrey continues, slurring slightly.  “I meant I never thought Beca would care enough about the Bellas to do something like that. To come clean, swallow her pride, and follow through like this.”

Behind Aubrey, Jesse and Beca reach each other; Jesse sweeps Beca into his arms, both of them laughing. It makes Chloe’s chest hurt and she forces herself to look back at Aubrey.

“Yeah, well, we should know by now that Beca cares more than she lets on,” Chloe shrugs. “About a lot of things, apparently,” she adds because only a few feet away, Beca’s laughing in the arms of the boyfriend she barely spent any time with all year.

She hears the bitterness in her own voice; it makes Aubrey turn to look at where Jesse has his arms looped around Beca’s shoulders as they talk to each other quietly.

Beca doesn’t seem to have a problem with Jesse touching her.

Why would she, though? She and Jesse have been together for three years; he’s touched Beca in ways that Chloe never will. That’s all this is, Chloe realizes with a dull pang to her chest.

Beca’s finally remembered that she’s dating Jesse and set to move to LA with him in less than a week, and so she’s pulling away and shutting down. It’s what Beca does when she’s faced with emotional loss; she protects herself. This time, Beca’s protecting herself by not letting Chloe touch her anymore.

Aubrey turns back to Chloe with a quiet hum that might be either indifference or disappointment. “Apparently the hobbit does care.” She hesitates, then adds softly, “Chloe, are you okay?”

It throws Chloe for a second; she’d half-forgotten how direct Aubrey is. “I – yeah, we just won Worlds!” she enthuses. “I’m great!” she adds slightly manically, throwing Aubrey the brightest smile she can muster.

By the way Aubrey’s eyebrows lift and her lips purse, she knows she hadn’t fooled her in the least. Aubrey twists, sparing one more glance over her shoulder to where Beca’s starting to fidget under Jesse’s arms, then looks back at Chloe. Her eyes soften unbearably, and Chloe already knows what she’s going to say.

“Chloe. I’m really, really sorry that nothing ever –”

“You know, I’ve gotta go, sorry Bree. There’s, uh, there’s something…” Chloe looks around, desperate to make some kind of excuse to get away, and even though she’s really trying to not look at Beca, her eyes are naturally drawn there. Beca’s shrugging away from Jesse’s embrace, very obviously tired of his clingy tendencies, and yet he still keeps trying to draw her into another hug.

Perhaps irrationally, Chloe’s mind launches into overdrive at the uncomfortable look on Beca’s face, even though she knows Jesse would never do anything to hurt Beca. Still, Beca appears to be looking for some kind of escape, so Chloe impulsively calls out, “Hey, Bec, can you come here for a sec?”

Beca’s face snaps around to look at her, and for a moment she looks happy, maybe even relieved. She turns to Jesse and says something Chloe can’t hear, and then she turns and walks toward Chloe and Aubrey. As she draws nearer, though, her expression shifts to become more guarded. Behind her, Jesse stares at Chloe as if she’d kicked his puppy.

“Be careful,” Aubrey warns, too quietly for Beca to hear.

Chloe nods once, her lips drawn into a tight smile, and then Beca’s standing right there.

“Beca,” Aubrey says formally.

“Aubrey,” Beca mimics, equally stone-faced.

Silence.

Chloe has to fight to keep the grin off her face.

Aubrey buckles first with a small smile. “You did really well.”

“I know,” Beca deadpans back. Then, she smiles. “Thanks for coming, though, Cap. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Aubrey shrugs. “Of course.”

A huge crash and several screams sound out from a large group of people nearest the stage. Chloe, Beca, and Aubrey all jump, startled, and look toward the source of the sound; craning her neck, Chloe sees that Amy is attempting to hoist herself back onto the Worlds stage with no less than seven bottles of liquor in hand.

“Christ,” Beca mutters.

Aubrey clears her throat. “If you’ll excuse me,” she says, “I have to go stop Amy from doing… whatever that is.”

“Mmm,” Chloe agrees, now watching Amy perform a sort of revised mermaid dance involving balancing three of the seven bottles of liquor on her hip.

With one last overly formal nod to Beca, Aubrey bustles away with remarkable speed for someone recently cut off from booze.

Beca stares after her in amusement, until she seems to realize suddenly that she’s alone with Chloe. Her expression closes, suddenly becoming the neutral mask Chloe hasn’t seen since Beca’s freshman year. She shuffles her feet on the ground, looking down and around as if the grass under their feet is more interesting than conversation with Chloe would be.

For the first time in a long time, Chloe doesn’t know what to say to her. All she can think about is the looming deadline – Beca, leaving – in only about a week. It seems much closer this side of Worlds, and panic rises in Chloe’s chest at the realization, filling up the space in her lungs and forcing words from her mouth.

“So… Jesse’s here,” she manages after several seconds of silence, hearing the strain in her own voice.

“Wh – oh, yeah,” Beca huffs, crossing her arms and running her tongue over her front teeth.

Another beat.

“Did you know he was coming?”

Beca shrugs, glancing up at her. “Uh, not really. He didn’t – well, we haven’t really been – it’s, I mean, uh, it was a – kind of a surprise.”

Chloe stares.

“Oh.”

Beca nods awkwardly and examines the ground further.

Chloe’s mind races, flooding with ideas she doesn’t want to let herself hope for, mingled with the familiar dampening guilt because what the hell kind of best friend is she when what she wants more than anything is for Beca to tell her that she and Jesse are fighting, that she’s not going to go to LA with him, that instead she’s going to stay in the Bella house with the rest of them until August.

It’s Chloe’s wildest dream. She’s been waiting for this to happen for three years but she tries to dampen down her excitement because clearly Beca’s hurting over something and yet here she is, getting all excited about what it might mean, and dear God what’s wrong with her that she wants her best friend’s long-term relationship to crash and burn? But then Beca’s hunching her shoulders, drawing into herself, and her eyes dart around under her furrowed brow and suddenly Chloe knows what she’s going to say before she says it.

“Bec, are –”

“I’m going to break up with him.”

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 26 (Arthur x Mary Beth)

 AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big, all of which bring them closer to one another, as well as to their future. But they’ve fallen in love during hard times. With the gang tipping dangerously close to a breaking point in a changing world, Arthur must make a difficult choice. Can he escape his past, as well as the outlaw life, in order to start a family of his own? With Mary Beth by his side, one thing is certain: redemption and second chances finally seem within his grasp.

***Chapter 25 cw: strong violence (canon typical), vague reference to sexual violence **

Chapter 26: Goslings

When Mary Beth was a little girl, her father once shot and killed a pair of thieves—a couple of good-for-nothing petty outlaws who had been rustling around their property, picking off their goats for months. Whenever they came around, he would take her big brother out and arm him with a shotgun. Before they left, he would say, “Mary Beth, you stay inside with your mama,” and so she would stay inside with her mama, and together, they would make clay figurines like dogs and trains and things and cook them in the kiln, or else they would bake a pie or knit or sit by the window and read aloud the gothic tales of Edgar Allan Poe. Mary Beth so loved The Raven. Meanwhile, her mother would keep a loaded shotgun by the door but she did not act as if anything were terrible or amiss.

The night those thieves finally got their comeuppance, Mary Beth had been looking out the window, braiding her long hair. She was just minding her own business when, in the light from the big moon, she saw one of them—a strange-looking man, come running out of the woods and toward the house with his gun drawn and this look on his face like he was an animal. It was wrong. That was all she remembered thinking. It was wrong, and it happened in a kind of slow motion, as her mother was in the kitchen making tea, and the kettle was screaming, and so she had no idea. Mary Beth was alone. She froze in childish fear as she watched the man coming. She stood alone in the window, unable to yell or do anything at all but wait helplessly, as if she were in a dream. He made it all the way to the foot of the porch before her daddy put him down with his rifle from the tree line. Mary Beth closed her eyes and covered her ears. Her mother came running when she heard the sound of the gun but to her it was none the difference.

Mary Beth still wonders sometimes what would have happened if the bad man had gotten into the house. Would her mother have known what to do? Would her father or brother have gotten there in time? Whenever bad things happened to the gang, Mary Beth was typically hidden away with Abigail and Tilly and Jack and Miss Grimshaw and Karen—Jenny, too before she got shot. She longed for adventure but never had the chops or the know-how to exact her longing upon the world until she went hunting with Arthur. She did not want to kill anybody. She was not a killer, and she knew it. He was right about that, but the world was still all full of bad men. Bad men running toward her door with their big guns and their animal teeth.

“You ain’t gonna do nothing to me, Colm O'Driscoll,” said Mary Beth, her gun pointed. Colm was about fifteen feet away, and she was pretty sure she could make the shot. Even if he didn’t die, he’d be fucked up half to death with buckshot, and that was good enough. But her hands were shaking. She was standing at the window trying not to freeze.

Colm still had his hands up, in surrender. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because,” she said, renewing her grip on the gun. “Dutch might secretly relish the drama of a blood feud, but Arthur has no such vanity inside him. If you kill me, he will end you, even if he kills himself in the process, and you know that ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Colm took a step forward, considering. Mary Beth had nowhere to go, but she knew she had a point. “Maybe you’re right,” he said.

“Back up.”

“Maybe I ought to just haul you off like I did with Annabelle.”

“Don’t say her name.”

“But unlike her, I could keep you alive,” he went on, “as bait. I bet I could get Arthur Morgan to do all sorts of mean things to get you back. Though my boys is mighty starved for affection, don’t you forget, and that might be worse for you in the end.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed. “A fighter? Just like she was. You know, she caught me good, right before I strung her up. Right here, with the blade of a beautiful hunting knife.” He leaned into the light then, showing Mary Beth a fine scar across his right cheekbone. “Those van der Linde boys, they do got feisty taste in women, I’ll give them that.”

“At least they get women.”

“Their primitive weakness.”

“Seems they’re doing just fine.”

He smiled.

Then, there was a sound, coming from the front of the cave. Mary Beth moved fast when Colm turned to see. She wound up and swung that gun like a baseball bat, lit him clean over the head as hard as she could. He stumbled, swore, but when she tried to get past him, he grabbed her by the skirts and yanked her backward, tossing her into the cave walls like a sack of potatoes. It was nothing for him. She hit hard but caught her balance, and she was able to bring up the gun in an effort to shoot, but it was too late.

Somebody else was in the cave.

Mary Beth got distracted. It was footsteps, and in this time, Colm lurched forward and wrestled the gun away from her. She screamed. Then there was a low voice.

“Colm,” it said.

They both turned to see this time, but it was dark, and in the space of a second, a single gunshot rang out from where they were looking, and Colm went down without warning. He cried out. At first Mary Beth thought he had was dead meat, but it turned out he had only been caught in the precise back of the knee. He was writhing. And the gun had gone down with him, making a great big clang, and he did try swiping at her feet, unable to stand, but she stole the gun and backed away from him, unsure of where to point it next but emboldened nonetheless. “Don’t move,” she said.

“It’s okay, Miss Gaskill,” said Dutch. He walked out of the darkness, smoke alighting the barrel of his revolver. He holstered it up, stepped over Colm and his squirming disposition. He was removing his gloves, one finger at a time, looking like a surgeon as he gazed at her through the dim light of the cave. “You can put the gun down, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

She nearly collapsed into the earth, the relief so sudden. She dropped the gun to her side and steadied herself against the cave wall. It was cold and damp and the blood was pounding in her skull like a fuckin freight train. “Sweet Jesus,” she said.

“Motherfucker,” Colm groaned.

“That’s right,” said Dutch. He followed up then with one long stride, a quick swing of his boot, striking hard across the meat of Colm’s jaw. Mary Beth could have sworn that man picked straight up off the ground, flipped inside out and then landed hard on his back, wheezing and coughing, rolling onto his side, spitting blood into the dirt. Dutch tucked his gloves into his back pocket. “It’s me. The motherfucker.”

Mary Beth waited, pressed to the wall. She looked at Colm, and then she looked at Dutch, and she did not move. Dutch had entered a sort of trance, she thought. He circled Colm, as a predator. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, and he wiped the sweat from his brow, and then he put the handkerchief back in his pocket again.

“Did he touch you, Miss Gaskill?” he said then. She noticed he looked very tired and dirty. He had blood on his vest and his sleeves—from the fight at Lone Mule, she expected. She looked away, too scared to ask. She didn’t wanna know. Not yet. “No,” she said. “I mean, he roughed me up a little but nothing like you mean.”

Dutch nodded, cracking his knuckles. “Did he threaten to touch you, Miss Gaskill? Like I mean?”

She blinked, catching his drift. She held the gun close to her chest and nodded. “Yes.”

This seemed to enrage him. He kicked Colm again, in the gut this time. Colm yelped and rolled over but then much to her surprise, he began to laugh, maniacally, as if he had just realized what the hell was going on.

“If it ain’t ol daddy Dutch,” he said, coughing, “as I live and breathe.”

“Living and breathing ain’t in the cards for you too much longer, Colm,” said Dutch.

“I was just admiring—” his breath rattled, like maybe he’d punctured a lung. “Just admiring Miss Gaskill here. A pretty piece, even for you boys. I’m surprised you don’t take them spoils for yourself.”

“Shut up,” said Mary Beth.

Colm laughed.

“You’re like an animal,” she said.

“Don’t waste your breath, Miss Gaskill,” said Dutch, studying. “It ain’t worth it.”

Then, something changed. Without further delay, Dutch got down and straddled Colm and started beating the shit out of his face. It was alarming, like something had snapped inside him.

“This is for Arthur,” he said, hitting him again, and again. Dutch was a big man, very tall, and he was stronger than he appeared. “You tried. To take him. From me.” He then took to strangling Colm with two hands, a veritable death grip. Colm tried to struggle, but it was no use. As Dutch put him out of commission, he got real close, almost nose to nose, and he said, “And this is for them.”

Mary Beth could only watch from the corner of the cave. For a moment, she had forgotten where she was and how she had gotten here. The shock of it all and the speed with which so much change had taken place was so extreme. She could hardly remember. It was like waking up from a nightmare. But after a little while, she realized what was going on, and then she realized that Dutch was still over there, still holding down Colm’s wind pipe even as Colm was already dead and had been dead for some minutes.

She became hurried. She left the gun. She went to Dutch, and she got to her knees and tried to ease his hands away from Colm’s throat. “Dutch,” she said, trying to be gentle. He wouldn’t respond. She picked up his face, using all her strength, and she finally got him to look up, to see her eyes. “Dutch,” she pleaded. “Dutch, he’s dead. You can stop now. He’s dead. It’s over.”

“Over?”

She nodded, trying to shake him out of it. “Yes. It’s okay. You can stop.”

He surfaced, blinked a bunch of times. All the air seemed to go out of him, and he sort of lurched forward a little to try and catch his breath. Then he looked down at what he was doing and he immediately sat back with his hands resting on his knees. He looked at Colm O’Driscoll. Dead. He looked at his hands, and then he looked up at Mary Beth.

“Are you all right?” she said.

It took him a moment to register exactly what she had asked of him. But at some point, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m not, Miss Gaskill. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Where’s everybody else, Dutch? Are they—”

“They’re okay,” he said. He patted her on the back, seeming to normalize, if only for a second and he got to his feet, slowly, dusting his hands off on his slacks. “Arthur is fine. Don’t worry. They were on their way in to free Kieran when I—I saw Colm trying to sneak away. I tracked him here alone.”

“Thank you,” said Mary Beth, in earnest. She was standing too now, feeling eager. “You saved my life.”

“I would never let anything happen to you, Mary Beth.” He sort of stumbled. She caught him. He leaned into her, seeming dizzy all of a sudden. He was heavy, but she could handle it. “You,” he went on, “or Arthur. You’re my goddam family.”

“I know,” she said, trying to steady him against the wall. “I know, Dutch. I know.”

Just then they heard more footsteps, coming quickly into the cave.

“Mary Beth?”

It was Arthur.

She looked at Dutch, then she picked up her skirts and went running. The cave was filling with light as the sun rose outside. It flooded through the skylight, all pinks and yellows. She went into Arthur's embrace, and he held her tightly.

“You’re okay,” she said.

He smiled into her hair. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Did you get Kieran?”

“We did. He’s a little messed up, but he’ll be fine.”

She breathed.

“We can’t find Dutch,” he said then, pushing her hood down, the hair off her shoulders, “or Colm. I’m worried—”

“Dutch is here,” she said. “He’s in the cave.”

“He’s here?”

They parted. She looked up at Arthur and took a deep breath. He had a shiner on his cheek but it was nothing alarming. He didn’t seem to be bleeding from anywhere. “Something bad happened,” she said.

This confused him, so she took his hand and led him to the back of the cave. Dutch was there, in the pale circle of light from the oil lamp, sitting with his head hanging between his knees. In front of him with the dead body of Colm O’Driscoll.

“Holy shit,” said Arthur, scanning the situation and removing his hat. “What happened?”

“Colm came,” said Mary Beth. “He was—looking for some place to hide. He found me.”

Arthur looked shocked, and he had this wildness then, something unhinged about it, just around the edges, like he might snap. She hadn’t seen it much before. But then he softened when he looked at her. He put some of the hair behind her ear. It calmed him down. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m fine. He didn’t—it was scary, but he didn’t do nothing to me. Dutch came in time. Killed him, obviously.”

Arthur sighed, real serious. He went over to Dutch then, stepping over Colm'd body. He got down to one knee to try and figure out what was going on. “Dutch,” he said. Dutch was unresponsive. He snapped his fingers. “Dutch. You conscious?”

Finally, he looked up. His head sort of swiveled. He blinked and exhaled. “Arthur.”

“You okay?” said Arthur. He reached around into his satchel, handed Dutch a canteen of cold water. Dutch took a drink, gave it back, wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“I'm fine,” he said. He got up again. Arthur helped him to his feet. “Jesus Christ.”

“You killed him,” said Arthur, testing the body with his boot. “Colm O’Driscoll. He’s dead.”

“Indeed,” said Dutch, breathing heavily, his hands on his hips. “Did we get Kieran?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “Everyone’s outside.”

“Good.” Dutch nodded. “Very good, son.” He clapped his hand to Arthur's back, and then he turned around and proceeded to haul Colm O’Driscoll’s body up off the floor of the cave and over his shoulder. Arthur offered to help, but Dutch wouldn’t allow it. “Go on,” he said instead. “Both of you. Get. Let’s not spend another goddam minute in this goddam cave.”

He went out first, lumbering, but sure on his feet. Once he was out of earshot, Arthur said to Mary Beth, “What all happened here, exactly?”

She shrugged, slinging her shotgun over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you later,” she said.

He nodded, then he turned to her again, one more time before they left the cave. It was cold and eerie but they were alone. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Mary Beth. I should’ve—”

“There was no way you could’ve known, Arthur,” she said. “I’m sure I was still safer here, in the grand scheme.”

He sighed, pulled her in again, real firm, kissing the top of her head. “You’re too brave, woman.”

She laughed at this. Truth be told, she was still shook up, but having him back, knowing the night was over—it was enough to sustain her. “Ain’t no such thing as too brave,” she said.

They were about to leave then, Arthur with his arm slung around her shoulders. But before they could get outside, Mary Beth thought of something. She stopped him.

“Something wrong?” said Arthur.

“I’m not sure,” she said, glancing around, as if making sure they were still alone. “It’s just—I gotta tell you, now. Dutch said something, while he was…strangling Colm. It worried me.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, first, he was just beating him up. He said it was for you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” said Mary Beth. “He said, ‘This is for Arthur,’ and then some other stuff. That part…that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Arthur seemed surprised, a little taken aback maybe. “What else did he say?”

“It was right at the end,” said Mary Beth. “Right before Colm…died. He said, ‘This is for them.’”

Arthur gave her a look. He lit a cigarette, gave it to her. She smoked, took a big, long drag, let the nicotine soak into her blood, calm her nerves considerably. “Them?” he said.

“Yeah, them,” said Mary Beth, exhaling the smoke. “Do you know of anyone else Colm might’ve killed, other than Annabelle? Who Dutch was talking about?”

“No,” said Arthur, shaking his head. He’d lit his own cigarette now, smoked and closed his eyes like he was trying to remember, but it was crickets. “No.”

Outside, Charles had steadied Kieran and they were sitting down on a long piece of driftwood and Kieran was drinking some water out of a tin cup. Kieran was bloodied up in his face, real good, and he looked shook to high hell, but he wasn’t shot, and he was conscious. He seemed to fill with considerable warmth when Mary Beth went over and sat down beside him.

“Hi, Miss Gaskill,” he said, real bashful.

“Hey, Kieran.”

“I’m sorry I—I missed our last reading lesson.”

She took his hand. She smiled, close to crying. She had a real soft spot for him, and she was very relieved. Maybe she knew somewhere deep down he had taken a shine to her, and she didn’t feel the same, but they were friends. She hoped he knew. “I was real worried,” she said.

“Arthur said it was you who lead the way.”

“I couldn’t’ve done it alone,” she said.

When Dutch hauled Colm’s body out into the advancing daylight then, Sadie went right over to him. She was all dirty, blood staining her neck and one whole side of her face, and she seemed full of pent-up rage and excitement. “You did it. You killed him.” She wiped her face on the back of her hand, sheathing her knife.

“That, I did,” said Dutch. “Colm O’Driscoll is dead. But there are many O’Driscolls, not just the thirteen we dispatched of tonight. They won't take kindly to this.”

“What you gonna do?” said Sadie. “If you’re going for more of them, you gotta bring me with you.”

“Calm yourself, Mrs. Adler,” said Dutch, placing his hand on her shoulder. “One step at a time.”

“What now, Dutch?” said Arthur.

“Now,” said Dutch, “we get the hell out of here. Charles, Sadie, the two of you bring Mr. O’Driscoll’s body down to the Sheriff’s station in St. Denis. There’s gonna be a considerable bounty on his head, and we’re gonna reap it.” He looked at Arthur. “Arthur, Mary Beth, the two of you get Kieran back to Shady Belle, and then I want you to…take a break. Take a vacation. Come back, if you will, please, but get out of the swamps for a week or two. Mary Beth, you been through enough.”

“What about you?” said Arthur.

“I’m—I’m gonna stay here,” he said, looking around. “I need to…clear my head. Get my bearings. I need a plan.”

“You can’t stay here alone,” said Arthur. “It ain’t safe. We're mighty close to Blackwater, Dutch.”

"I’ll be fine, Arthur,” said Dutch, looking up at him from beneath the low brim of his black hat. “Please. Take your fiancé, and leave.”

“Fiancé?” said Sadie, looking from Mary Beth to Arthur then back to Mary Beth. “You two engaged?”

This seemed to defuse everything, all the badness from the night and the uncertainty on the beach. It went away in an instant.

Arthur took a deep breath and scratched at his beard. He deferred to Mary Beth. She became self-conscious and blushed. “Yes, we are.”

“Well, congratulations,” said Sadie, real happy all of a sudden, slugging Arthur in the shoulder. She was coming to her faculties again and smiling, looking more like Sadie. But it was always a certain sadness, with Sadie—back behind her eyes somewhere. “When’s the wedding?”

“Wedding?” said Kieran, looking wobbly. He blinked, looked around, bleary-eyed but okay. “I’ve missed quite a bit, I guess. I need to catch up.”

"You need to rest,” said Arthur. “You been through a fair amount of hell back there.”

“And we ain’t—we don’t got specifics, Sadie,” said Mary Beth, shyly. “I’ll let you know.”

Charles patted Arthur on the back in a stoic manner. “That’s good, man. Real good.”

“Thanks, Charles.”

“Anyway,” said Dutch. “Now that we’re all here and together and established again like one big, happy family, it’s time to disperse.”

“We hear you,” said Arthur. “But I just—” He leaned close, lowered his voice. Dutch seemed out of sorts, and with all that stuff Mary Beth had said back in the cave, he was worried. “Are you sure you wanna stay here, by yourself? We’ll stay with you. It’s no problem.”

“I’m sure,” said Dutch. “Tell Hosea I’ll be back in a few days.”

Arthur nodded, hooking his gloved hands over his belt. "Okay," he said, unwilling to argue. He looked around as Charles and Sadie started deconstructing their camp. All seemed clear. It was a new day by now, with the sun up over the lake and soaking their insides with its warmth and renewal. A flock of geese had come down to roost by the water's edge. Some of them were going out and wetting their feathers. A bunch of little babies were waddling in a straight line behind their mother. Mary Beth came over. "Look at them goslings," she said, pointing. "See them, Arthur?"

A breeze came through, blowing her hair around. The air smelled good.

"Yeah, they're real cute," he said, smiling down at her. He asked Mary Beth if she would like to wear his jacket, as that breeze was chilly.

"I'm okay," she said, linking her arm in his, placing her head on his shoulder. "Thanks, Arthur." They watched the birds.

[carmenlire]

Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 25

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Alec freezes, mind going blank.

The room is totally silent and Magnus is leaning against the edge of the island. Though there’s still a hint of the nervousness lingering in his eyes, he straightens, looking for all the world like he’s challenging Alec.

Alec plays through the last few minutes and suddenly everything is crashing against him. Magnus-- Magnus just said he didn’t want to be friends with Alec.

He didn’t want to be just friends.

Alec would like to think that his deductive reasoning is at least average but he’s floundering. His mind has short circuited with that brief sentence and he probably looks like a deer caught in the headlights. While his mind is racing, his gaze runs over Magnus. He sees the small smile at the corner of his lips, the barely raised brow, the body that he’s been secretly drooling over for weeks.

Magnus doesn’t say anything, just looks right at Alec, direct and unapologetic. Thankfully, as Alec searches for something in the radio silence of his head, he doesn't seem to grow more anxious. If anything, he relaxes against the counter, seemingly content to give Alec all the time he needs.

It’s another moment before Alec comes to the only conclusion he can when confronted with such a question. He thinks over the past weeks, the phone calls and teasing and weighted tension. There’s no denying that they’re friends but all of a sudden Alec realizes that maybe there is room for more.

He starts smiling, moving the few steps over to Magnus and closing that distance, both refusing to break eye contact. He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of him. There’s only inches separating them and Alec brings his arms up until they’re resting on either side of Magnus, caging him in.

Magnus doesn’t seem to mind, sinking into the space. He tilts his head and Alec’s gaze falls down to his mouth. There’s no gloss today, nothing but Magnus and Alec swallows hard.

There’s a few seconds of silence before he’s murmuring, “You don’t want to be friends-- just friends?”

Magnus shakes his head, not saying anything.

“And here I thought we really had something,” Alec says, smile widening.

“Sometimes things change when you aren’t looking,” Magnus replies, faux sad.

Alec lets his expression grow serious, whispering, “And sometimes they were there all along.”

He ducks his head a little and hears Magnus’s breath catch. Blood rushes in his ears and Alec’s almost dizzy with it. God damn him, it’s happening. It’s like a magnet pulling the two of them together until there’s not an inch of space between them-- if Alec’s being honest with himself, it’s like they’ve been attracted to each other since the beginning. Always circling, orbiting around each other without ever getting too close to collide.

Alec can’t wait for the crash now.

He doesn’t make a move for a second, relishing the tension that’s vibrating between them like a livewire. He savors this feeling of almost. This is the minute before everything will change and Alec’s steeped in the feeling of warmth coursing through him.

He shifts impossibly closer, leaning down torturously slow, veering off at the last minute so that his lips graze Magnus’s ear as he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

Magnus’s voice, just a touch breathless already, murmurs, “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.” His hands slide up to anchor at Alec’s sides and he can’t repress his shiver.

Alec grins before he moves so that there’s a breath of space between them. There’s a last moment where their eyes meet, contact so intense it feels like electricity singing up his spine before Magnus’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips. Alec is helpless, entranced by the action before he’s letting his eyes fall shut and his lips finally meet Magnus’s.

It’s soft, achingly gentle. A bare meeting of the lips, a point of contact before they’re moving. Alec’s mouth opens on a silent gasp. They’re a string of kisses, each light and ephemeral and making Alec dizzy with the feeling of it all.

Magnus’s lips are soft, his goatee scratching softly as Alec’s chin and it’s all so much. The pressure is light, nothing too deep, but Alec can’t help the shudder that moves through him at finally feeling Magnus like he’s been dreaming of for so long.

They pull back scarce centimeters before they’re going back in. Alec feels surrounded by Magnus. His arms come up, one hand cupping Magnus’s face, thumb brushing over his cheek and the other landing at his side, inching his shirt up until he’s grazing bare skin.

Magnus inhales and they separate. Alec watches as Magnus’s lashes sweep open slowly. The deep brown is a thin ring around the iris and he looks just a little dazed.

Alec grins at the reaction, though he’s well aware that he probably looks no better. Magnus’s cologne is clouding his senses and all Alec wants to do is dive back in.

So he does.

This time instead of warmth it’s the bite of heat. Alec settles against Magnus more firmly, hums as they fit together. Their lips reconnect and Alec gives himself up to the feeling. Magnus gasps as Alec nips at his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and sucking gently.

It’s like they’re in their own little world as they kiss lazily for long moments, sinking into each other. It’s easy and slow and Alec can’t remember ever feeling like this.

Hookups move from zero to sixty in seconds. There’s no room for tenderness, never an invitation to slow things down. It’s always about getting off and moving on.

With Magnus, though, Alec’s content in this. Nothing high stakes, just two people finally satiating the need that’s been gnawing for ages. It’s like syrup moving through his veins. Alec tastes the bite of wine they’d been drinking earlier and everything spins brighter.

The pull back eventually, breathing heavy and Alec grins dopily. “Hey.”

Magnus huffs out a laugh, humming when Alec leans down until they’re foreheads are touching. “Hey, yourself.”

There’s a moment of quiet, just the two of them soaking in what just happened. Alec lets out a breath and wraps his arms around Magnus’s waist.

His eyes slip shut and he hums as one of Magnus’s hands reach up and starts carding through his hair.

His mind is gloriously blank. There’s no tension, no worry. With little reflection, Alec knows that he’s just had his best first kiss. No one else even compares. It’s a herculean task to even think of another person when he has Magnus like this.

Their bubble remains intact until a thought starts niggling at Alec. His eyes fly open and Magnus just watches him, lips quirking up at his sudden movement.

“Yes, darling?”

“I thought you were straight,” Alec says accusingly, disbelief evident in his tone.

Magnus just stares at him, blinking before he’s falling forward into Alec’s chest and laughing. Alec wraps his arms around Magnus to collect him on autopilot as he starts smiling himself. Magnus is laughing his ass off, great chuckles and gasping breaths. It takes him a moment but when he finally collects himself, he pushes playfully at Alec’s shoulder before sliding his palm down until it’s resting against Alec’s heart.

“You thought I was straight? And you still kissed me? That was awfully bold of you.”

Alec grumbles before replying, “That isn’t my fault. When you said you wanted to be more than just friends my brain turned off. I wasn’t thinking of anything but finally touching you.”

“Finally?”

Alec gives him a dry look. “Yes, finally.”

Magnus takes a step forward and Alec follows blindly until the small of his back gently runs into the counter behind him. He relaxes against it, settling as Magnus crowds into his space. He bites his lip as Magnus places a hand on the side of his neck, thumb sweeping over his pulsepoint.

“I’ve wanted you for ages but I didn’t think you saw me like that-- saw us like that. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship so I didn’t do anything.”

Magnus doesn’t stop his hand as he says, “I thought the same. I thought you were content with our friendship.” He laughs. “Luke said something this afternoon that gave me a little hope that maybe you did feel what I felt.”

“What’d he say?”

Magnus hums, shifting until one of his thighs slip between Alec’s. This position is more intimate, brings them closer together and Alec barely restrains a muted whimper.

Magnus’s hand moves to his chin and he uses a finger to tilt Alec’s head up until their eyes meet. “He said that you’re a master at self restraint. That no matter how much you indulge in other vices, when it truly matters you pull yourself back.”

His voice is a whisper as he continues. “He said that sometimes you want something so badly you’re vibrating with the need but you hold back to spare others.”

He urges Alec’s head down, arching until their hips are flush before murmuring, “You never have to hold back with me, Alexander.”

Something snaps in him and Alec closes the distance and then they’re kissing again. It’s a little more insistent this time. Alec thought he was already overwhelmed but it’s nothing to the need, the sheer desire, that’s clawing at his gut right now.

Magnus stokes a fire in him that no one else ever has. Christ, they’ve only kissed once five minutes ago but he’s dizzy with the need for more. He wants Magnus.

He wants everything.

The two of them makeout lazily in the kitchen until the light disappears, casting them in shadows. It turns everything hushed, makes everywhere they’re touching stand out even more, phantom sensations lingering.

This time when they pull back they’re breathing harshly, panting. Alec can’t remember ever feeling like this. He’s wrapped up in Magnus to distraction. Nothing else matters.

Magnus’s hands are under Alec’s t-shirt, resting against the small of his back. Alec ducks down, noses along Magnus’s cheek before going further. He starts mouthing along his neck, lingering here and there, nibbling. He hums when Magnus tilts his head granting him better access and they stay like that for long minutes. Alec could do this until hell freezes over. Magnus’s scent is warm here and he breathes in, lets it seep into him, simultaneously easing him and bringing desire crashing through his gut.

It’s addicting. Magnus makes these little sounds, breathless edgings of a moan, muted gasps that leave Alec wanting nothing more than to drown in him. No one has ever captured his attention like this. He feels more leaving Magnus a hickey than he has during threesomes.

There’s no competition. Magnus outshines everyone. He’s brighter, more alluring than the goddamn sun.

Magnus has seduced him, utterly and effortlessly.

Eventually, Magnus brings Alec back up and their mouths meet again. It’s simmered back down to a lazy greeting. Even in an evening, Alec’s system is already drawn back in, again and again, to Magnus. Their lips rub together, warm and slick, and they kiss until Alec’s mouth grows numb.

He doesn’t know how long the two of them stand in the kitchen. He doesn’t know how long they would’ve kept standing but there’s a clang of metal against hardwood as the two of them shift down the counter and Alec’s hand brushes the silverware onto the floor.

They startle apart and Alec reaches out unthinkingly, swipes a thumb across Magnus’s bottom lip. Magnus closes his eyes and his breath fans over Alec’s palm.

“Dessert,” Alec murmurs in the deep twilight. It’s almost completely dark now, just enough light to see the gleam of Magnus’s eyes, the way he looks at Alec, drowsy and humming with contentment.

“I did tell you that I never turn down dessert,” he says, voice hoarse.

“I do seem to remember something like that.”

There’s a beat before Alec steps back, surprisingly unsteady. He regains his equilibrium quickly though his body itches for the heat of Magnus’s the second it’s separated. He clears his throat and walks to the far wall, turning on a few lights in the kitchen and living room to brighten things up. He has the half-formed thought that he needs to put a lid on the lust fogging his brain before he jumps Magnus.

Tonight-- for the foreseeable future-- this is enough. Magnus isn’t just another hookup and Alec refuses to do anything that might make Magnus question that. They were friends for so long and there’s no need to rush headlong into something when he’s not going anywhere.

They have time.

Alec turns around from the light switch to see Magnus watching him. A small, wondering smile is playing on his lips and it only grows wider as Alec nears.

“Who knew that the illustrious Alec Lightwood had so many moves,” he teases.

Alec huffs out a laugh. “I don’t have any moves,” he says. He goes back to the drawer and pulls out two forks and a knife, setting them where the previous set had been. He darts a look at Magnus as he opens the fridge and takes the cake out.

“It’s just that you’ve been on my mind and I might’ve been thinking about it.”

“Yeah?”

Rolling his eyes, Alec says, “Yeah.”

His expression grows a little more serious as he continues. “I really like you Magnus. As more than a friend. I’m so fucking relieved that it’s not one sided.”

Magnus smiles as Alec cuts the cake, setting the pieces on their plates.

His voice is soft as he says, “I really like you too, Alexander. While I was surprised at Luke’s gentle encouragement, I have to say that I was a little worried he was off the mark.”

Alec refills their glasses and they move to the living room, settling on opposite ends of the couch, their legs tangled in the middle. They both start in on the cake as they keep up with the conversation.

ALec shakes his head, laughing at himself. “He definitely wasn’t off the mark. I might’ve talked to him about you before you came to the coffee shop this morning,” he admits.

Magnus pauses for a beat before he’s chuckling. “Well, that would explain why he seemed so sure of himself.” He looks at Alec, amused. “What did you say about me, darling?”

Alec feels heat rush to his cheeks as he says, “I just told him that I’d been preoccupied lately with a new friend and that I-- that I wanted more but I knew he didn’t.”

Magnus’s expression softens as he continues. “Luke said I was being an idiot but--” he shrugs, “I had my reasons. For one, I thought you weren’t interested in guys.” Magnus snorts, but Alec manfully ignores it. “Secondly, my career is a big consideration for anyone who would be interested in me.”

Magnus reaches for his wine glass, takes a lingering sip. After a moment, he says, carefully, “While I will admit that I still have some concerns about being caught in the public eye, I’m not going into this with rose tinted glasses.”

He looks at Alec, direct, so that there’s no mistaking his words. “I will always be a professor and more interested in academia than celebrity. However, if we do pursue this thing between us, then there’s no denying that it’ll get out eventually. I’ll be okay with that when it happens. I’ll have to be, because Alexander? You’re worth it.”

Alec’s breath shudders as Magnus’s words wash over him. Even if everything does go to shit, he has this moment. This golden, ephemeral stillness in time when Magnus had total faith in him.

He can’t help but argue, “You say that now, but you’ve never been in the public eye. That shit the tabloid pulled after ice cream? That’s nothing once they know your name. I don’t want you to regret things between us when-- because there is no if, Magnus, they will find out eventually-- when your life is turned upside down.” His voice is soft as he ends, “It’s a lot to ask. I’m a lot to ask someone to deal with.”

Magnus watches him for a long moment before sitting up, moving until he’s straddling his legs and leaning over Alec, hands on either side of his face, tilting it up.

“It isn’t a lot to ask someone if they’re offering. I like you Alec. I want to see what happens with us, what could be. I won’t say that there might not be an adjustment period or that it might not be rough when they first put it together.” He leans forward until there’s scant inches separating them. “But the press will be an issue. Not us. Never us with this. I’m here, Alec. All you have to do is take me.”

Alec is still for a few moments before he slowly closes the distance and places a soft kiss on Magnus’s mouth. He pulls back a second later and looks into Magnus’s eyes before saying, voice hoarse, “Yeah. Okay, then. It looks like we’re doing this.”

Magnus doesn’t get a chance to smile before Alec’s adding, “But Magnus? I want you to know that if you ever grow uncomfortable of if it gets to be too much, then the door’s open. I don’t want to trap you. I don’t ever want you to feel like it’s too much but you can’t leave.”

Magnus just shakes his head, thumb running along Alec’s cheek. “You really do need to have a little faith in me, darling. I’m not going anywhere.”

Alec smiles and lets the words sink into him. While he hopes that’s the case, he has to be a realist. He’d rather never perform again then make Magnus miserable. However, he lets his worries slip away, at least for awhile, at least for tonight.

There’s no room for anything but the buzzing happiness that’s lighting him up right now.

“Should we set some ground rules,” he asks as Magnus settles against him, leaning over to the coffee table to grab his wine. Alec’s hands settles against Magnus’s thighs as he opens his mouth to respond and Alec is stuck in mild disbelief that he gets to have this. The casual intimacy, the accepted closeness.

An evening can change everything.

“I think we should,” Magnus says, grinning.

Alec echoes his smile before letting out a breath. “Okay, obviously the first thing is media. I take it that you don’t want to announce you’re my boyfriend?”

Magnus’s smile grows imperceptibly wider as he wraps his arms around Alec’s shoulders. He arches a brow. “And is that what I am? Your boyfriend?”

Alec falters for a moment, stammering, “I just-- I just thought? Because you know, we really like each other and--”

Magnus cuts him off, swooping down for a quick kiss. “It’s fine, Alexander. I just wasn’t expecting you to be so blunt with it. Of course, I’ll be your boyfriend-- if you’ll be mine,” he asks with a devilish grin.

Alec lets out a relieved breath, clearing his throat. His face is on fire. “I’m your boyfriend,” he says firmly.

“Okay, now that that’s settled, I have to say that I’m not ready to take our relationship public. It’s one thing to be your friend and for people to speculate about that, but it’s quite another for them to see us as an item. That would bring the heat up quite a few notches.”

Alec nods, understanding. An idea comes to mind and he decides what the hell.

“What if we admit that we’re friends? That way I can still mention when we hang out but no one knows that it’s more.”

Magnus thinks about it for a few minutes and Alec gives him his space, relaxing against the cushions. He has to admit that he likes Magnus’s weight over him.

Finally, Magnus slowly says, “I think that could work. I do have the habit of posting regularly and it’d be hard to keep you completely out of my social media presence. But just as friends?”

“Just friends,” Alec confirms.

Magnus thinks about it a minute longer before nodding. “That sounds like a plan. And to anyone who publicly asks, we’re not dating?”

“Right.”

“Alright, darling. I’m in.”

Alec grins, nodding, too. “Great,” he murmurs and the two of them lapse into silence, enjoying just being together.

Tonight’s been a whirlwind and Alec’s glad for a brief respite to catch his breath and enjoy having Magnus so close.

“What if we posted something now?”

Alec breaks out of his reverie to see Magnus staring at him expectantly.

“Yeah?”

“We’ve been commenting on each other’s posts. It wouldn’t be a great leap if you alluded to someone.”

“Magnus,” Alec says slowly, “Are you trying to fuck with the press?”

Magnus shakes his head though his eyes are laughing. “Of course not. I’m just saying that if you post something ambiguous, eventually they’ll get tired of always being shot down. And if not, then at least we have some fun.”

Alec huffs out a laugh but agrees. “Alright then. Let me get my phone.”

There’s a bit of shuffling as Alec angles his hips up, reaching for his phone in his back pocket. He takes it out and thinks a moment before straightening and reaching over to the coffee table where their wine glasses are sitting. He pushes them a little closer together before snapping a pic. He and Magnus hover over the screen, choosing a filter together along with the caption Friday nights in are the best, adding the wine glass emoji.

He doesn’t tag Magnus, though the man in question immediately opens the app on his phone and likes the picture, commenting Doesn’t that look cozy.

Alec rolls his eyes, though he likes it. The two of them set their phones down before Alec asks, “Want to watch something?”

“Magnus leans down until he’s resting on top of Alec, head over heart. Humming, he replies, “Sounds good. We can put on a movie?”

Alec makes a noise in confirmation and turns the television, opening Netflix. He puts on one of the new releases that looks cute and the two of them settle in to watch.

They half watch the movie, getting distracted a few times with lingering kissing jags. Magnus tastes like the dark chocolate of the cake and Alec can’t get enough. He honestly doesn’t give a shit about the movie right now, not when he has Magnus on top of him, surrounding him.

When the movie reaches the halfway point, things settle down, both of them getting drowsy. Magnus is probably exhausted, still jet lagged, and Alec feels like he could fall asleep right now. One hand is on Magnus’s back, the other in his hair, playing with the strands distractedly. Magnus, for his part, is mostly asleep, humming a little once in awhile as Alec continues his ministrations.

When the movie credits start to roll, Alec shifts underneath Magnus and can’t contain his chuckle as Magnus just rubs his face into Alec’s shirt more in an attempt to not get up.

“C’mon, Magnus, wake up.”

Magnus grumbles but eventually sits up, yawning. He looks a little out of it and Alec sympathizes-- time zones are a bitch to regulate. With that thought in mind, Alec thinks of an idea.

“Feel free to say no, Magnus, but you seem too tired to go across town. You could sleep here if you wanted?” Magnus just blinks and Alec’s words are rushing out to fill the silence. “You can sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep out here. I promise this isn’t me, like, trying to get in your pants. You just look really tired,” he concludes sheepishly.

Magnus shakes his head a little before he’s smiling. He stands up and Alec is set to remind him where his bedroom is when he extends an arm. Alec sends him a confused look.

“I’ve no doubt that your bed is big enough for us both, Alexander. I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch when I’m selfish and exhausted enough to take you up on your offer. Let’s go, darling.”

Alec thinks of protesting, but the steel in Magnus’s eyes stops him.

He gets up, taking Magnus’s hand and leads him to his bedroom.

Magnus barely looks around, just stands in the middle of Alec’s room as Alec grabs a set of makeshift sleep clothes. He points Magnus towards his ensuite bathroom and watches, amused and fond, as he shuffles into the bathroom with the bundle of clothes.

When the door closes, Alec changes into sweats and messes around on his phone for a few minutes, plugging it into the charger.

Magnus comes out a few minutes later looking adorably rumpled and Alec’s heart turns over. He has a second to worry that he’s already in too deep, that he shouldn’t be so affected by seeing Magnus in a pair of his sweatpants, in his t-shirt-- but that part is largely drowned out by other thoughts.

Alec looks at the bed. “I usually sleep on this side, if that’s okay?”

Magnus just nods and goes to the other side, pulling the covers down. They each settle into bed and Alec is acutely aware of just how much space is between them.

“Goodnight, boyfriend,” Magnus sleepily says.

Alec grins in the darkness, turning over on his side. He can barely make out Magnus’s shape under the covers.

“Goodnight, boyfriend,” Alec echoes.

The two of them fall asleep seconds later, warm and content. Alec’s last thought is that he’s the luckiest man in the world right now.

[thefeelsarereallyreal]

Partners- Yugyeom

You run into school since you were fifteen minutes late only to collide with what you thought was a brick wall. “Shit.” you say once you hit the ground. Looking up you see a smirking Yugyeom holding his hand out. Rolling your eyes you ignore his out stretched hand and get up on your own. “Watch where you’re going, asshole.” you can’t stand him. Ever since freshman year when he changed and started hanging out with the wrong people and ignoring you. You two used to be best friends. Your parents were very close, so you both grew up together. Now, Yugyeom was just a cocky bastard who thought he was better than everyone else. “I think it was you who was looking at their phone, princess.” he replied back to you. You hated when he called you that. He as called you that since you were in middle school. Your parents did have more money than most, but it didn’t mean you acted like it. You ignore him and shove past him, heading to your first block. Not seeing his eyes follow you the whole way. Sighing you slide into your seat for third block, your last class. Anatomy. And you hate it, well, you don’t hate it you just hate the work load. You also hate the class because Yugyeom is in here as well. “Alright, everyone in their seats please.” your teacher says. “Okay, so today we will be starting a new unit and a new project. You will work with a partner on the project. You will have no time in class to work on this project. It must be done outside of class. It is due in two days.” Y/F/N and you look at each other and smile until your teacher spoke again, “But I have already picked them.” The room erupts into one large groan. “Okay I will announce the partners. Namjoon and Seokjin. Mark and Jackson. Y/B/F and Taehyung. Youngjae and Chanyeol.” Your eyes widen at the last two partners and you look over to Y/B/F, whose eyes look the size of basketballs, even more than normal. This is not good. Y/B/F and Chanyeol broke up almost two months ago and she is now dating Youngjae. This just smells like trouble. The teacher reads off more names, but you aren’t really focused on that you are trying to make sure Y/B/F doesn’t have a panic attack, or you were until you hear you name. “And lastly Y/N and Yugyeom.” Your head turns and you look at your teacher waiting for her to say ‘just kidding’ but she never does. Glancing over to yugyeom and he turns his head toward you and smirks. After class you walk out with a shook Y/B/F and a nervous Youngjae. Yugyeom walks up to and stops you, “My house in 20.” he said rather than asked. “Ummmm, who said I want to come over to your house?” you cock your hip and place a hand on it. Yugyeom eyes you up and down before responding, “I don’t care if you want to. You have to. We have to work on this project and I have to be home. You know how my parents are.” Sighing, you look over to Y/B/F as her and Youngjae talk quietly. “Okay, I will be there, but in like an hour or so”. Once again he smirks and walks away while saying, “See you then.” Once you get home you take and shower and change your clothes. You put on leggings, a sports bra, and a oversized hoodie that was Y/B/F’s you stole. Grabbing your car keys you leave your house and head towards Yugyeom’s. You were early. It had only been 25 minutes and you told him an hour, but you wanted to get this over with. You pull up to his house and try to call him, but he doesn’t answer. Rolling your eyes you get out of your car and walk up to the front door. You knock and receive no answer. Turning the knob you test to see if it’s unlocked, and it is. “Yugyeom?” You call out. Silence. As you walk into the quiet house and shut the door you hear the faint sound of music. You follow the noise to a door under the stair and open it. The open door reveals stairs. Looking around you start to walk down the steps. The music getting louder with each step you take. Once you turn the corner of the steps you greeted with the sweaty back of a dancing Yugyeom. You freeze. Not knowing what to do. Standing there you watch him dance. The basement had been converted into what looked like a dance studio. A wall of mirrors, a small DJ booth in the corner and a great system of speakers. Sensing someone else in the room Yugyeom looks up and looks at you through the mirrors. You breath gets caught in your throat and you don’t know why. He smiles at you and turn around. “Why are you here? You said it would be an hour” he says wiping the sweat from his forehead. Blinking you try to find the words to say but for some reason you couldn’t think straight. “Um I-I umm. I wanted to, um, get this over with.” Yugyeom just smirks and walks over to the mini fridge and pulls pulls out a water. “Thirsty?” he asks you. “Yes. What? I mean no. No. I am fine thank you.” He laughs and stands back up straight. “Well, since you said it would be an hour I started practice. You can sit over there till I get done.” he points to a chair that’s back is against the wall of mirrors. Walking over you place your bag down and sit. You wanted to continue to watch him. The way him moved and passion he had was crazy, and you only saw him dancing for 5 seconds. Yugyeom walked over to the booth and started a song, Na Na by Trey Songz. Walking back he stands still and lets the music start and once it does you didn’t know how you were going to sit there this whole time without making some kind of noise. He moved his body with such grace and rolled his hips with such power it had you breathing hard. Once he looked up and saw the look in your eyes he moved over to where he was right in front of you. Looking you in the eyes he got down on the floor and started moving his hips. You looked right back at him, lust could be seen in his eyes as well as yours.

After seeing the look in your eyes Yugyeom gets off the ground and pulls you out of your chair and into a kiss. Your hands go straight to his sweaty hair and you tug. He groans into the kiss. Grabbing the backs of your thighs he pulls you up and hold you against the mirror and his body. “Liked what you saw, huh princess?” You roll your hips against his and feel his hardening member through his skinny jeans. “Oh shut up, bear.” He stopped what he was doing and looked at you as you said the nickname you used to use when you guys were best friends. “Bear? You still remember calling me that?” You rest your hands on his neck, “Of course, no one gave hugs like you, Yugyeom.” leaning in he meets you halfway and this kiss is different from the one you two just shared. This one was slow, deep, passion filled. You moan into his mouth and move your hips again. The next thing you know your back is hits a soft bed. You don’t recall the walk up stairs to his room being so lost in kissing his lips, neck, and collarbones. As you lay back on the bed Yugyeom stops and stares at you. You smirk at him and he does it right back while taking off his shirt. Your eyes roam his upper body. Licking your lips you crawl to the edge of the bed and start to undo his belt. Once his jeans are off you pull his boxers down and take his hard member straight into your mouth. Yugyeom’s hands go straight to your hair and holds you head still as his hips start moving. You hollow your cheeks trying to him feel pleasure. For some reason the thought of you making him feel good had you soaking your underwear, knowing you were the cause for his moans and tugs of your hair. He pulls you off him only to push you back on the bed and all but rips your clothes off. Laying there naked you look at him above you. You pull him down by his neck and kiss him long and hard. You gasp into the kiss as you feel him pushing inside you. “Holy shit, Yugyeom. Give a girl a warning.” You breath in deep as you try to adjust to his big size. And boy, was he big. He chuckles from above and whispers a half hearted, “Sorry.” against your neck as he sucks a mark right under your ear making you push your hips wanting more of him in you. Yugyeom pulls out and pushes in all the way this time. You feel tears come to your eyes. Not from pain just from the feeling of being so full. He was definitely the biggest you had ever been with. He continues to thrust in and out of you at a slow rate. You don’t complain though, somehow Yugyeom going slow makes it better. You are usually one for fast and rough sex, but Yugyeom is changing your mind with each thrust. You have never felt this kind of pleasure. Moaning nonstop and running your nails done his back makes him groan and thrust harder, not faster, only harder. “Oh God. Yug, right there.” You all but scream when Yugyeom finds your g-spot. He starts rolling his hips in shorter motions to hit your spot more often. You feel tears leak from your eyes as you feel the most powerful orgasm you have ever had rush through your body. The feeling of you tightening around him had Yugyeom closing his eyes as his own orgasm ran through him. Pulling out of you he lays beside you. Both of you out of breath and sweaty. You turn your head to the side to look at Yugyeom only to find him already looking at you. He reaches his hand up and moves and piece of sweaty hair out of your face. “Why did you leave me, Yugyeom? Why did you stop being my best friend?” your questions made him frown before he sat up. Sighing you gets up and puts his boxes back on and walks to get his pants. He throws you his shirt saying, “Put it on and follow me.” after that he walks out the bedroom door. Confused you put on his shirt, which reaches your mid thigh, and race to catch up with him. As you walk down the stairs you see him in the kitchen drink a water. “Can you tell me now?” He turns toward and picks you up and places you on the counter. You squeal at the sudden movement. Moving your thighs he steps between them and hugs you. You hug him back as he rests his head on your chest. “I was scared.” he finally whispers. “What? Scared of what?” pulling back he looks at you, “My feelings for you. I cared so much for you, but I knew you didn’t feel the same way. So, instead of telling you and getting hard I left so you wouldn’t hurt me.” He looked down after he confessed. You look at him, you see a broken boy in front of you who still isn’t over the past. You put your finger under his chin and make him look at you. Kissing his lips you put your hands in his hair. After pulling away you look him in the eyes, “Maybe if you would have told me you would have find out i felt the same way about you.” He eyes widened. “What? You liked me?” Yugyeom said with hope in his voice. “No.” and just like that the broke boy was back in front of you. “I still like you.” You finish and yugyeom brought you in for another kiss. Smiling into the kiss you couldn’t help but think about how happy you were you had your best friend back. After many more rounds on different surfaces of his house you guys actually started the project. The next day at school you couldn’t wait to tell Y/B/F what happened. As you walk into third you stop in your tracks when you are black eyed Chanyeol and a Youngjae with a busted lip and sitting between and yelling at them both was Y/B/F. You short friend, who was taller than you but not by much, in between the two boy who she cared for and only came up the their chest yelling and pointing her finger. Laughing to yourself you say, “Maybe my story can wait. I really want to hear what happen first.” Walking over to Y/B/F and the boys you prepare yourself for what is to come.

[legitkpopenthusiast]

Partners- Yugyeom

Partners

You run into school since you were fifteen minutes late only to collide with what you thought was a brick wall. “Shit.” you say once you hit the ground. Looking up you see a smirking Yugyeom holding his hand out. Rolling your eyes you ignore his out stretched hand and get up on your own. “Watch where you’re going, asshole.” you can’t stand him. Ever since freshman year when he changed and started hanging out with the wrong people and ignoring you. You two used to be best friends. Your parents were very close, so you both grew up together. Now, Yugyeom was just a cocky bastard who thought he was better than everyone else. “I think it was you who was looking at their phone, princess.” he replied back to you. You hated when he called you that. He as called you that since you were in middle school. Your parents did have more money than most, but it didn’t mean you acted like it. You ignore him and shove past him, heading to your first block. Not seeing his eyes follow you the whole way. Sighing you slide into your seat for third block, your last class. Anatomy. And you hate it, well, you don’t hate it you just hate the work load. You also hate the class because Yugyeom is in here as well. “Alright, everyone in their seats please.” your teacher says. “Okay, so today we will be starting a new unit and a new project. You will work with a partner on the project. You will have no time in class to work on this project. It must be done outside of class. It is due in two days.” Y/F/N and you look at each other and smile until your teacher spoke again, “But I have already picked them.” The room erupts into one large groan. “Okay I will announce the partners. Namjoon and Seokjin. Mark and Jackson. Y/B/F and Taehyung. Youngjae and Chanyeol.” Your eyes widen at the last two partners and you look over to Y/B/F, whose eyes look the size of basketballs, even more than normal. This is not good. Y/B/F and Chanyeol broke up almost two months ago and she is now dating Youngjae. This just smells like trouble. The teacher reads off more names, but you aren’t really focused on that you are trying to make sure Y/B/F doesn’t have a panic attack, or you were until you hear you name. “And lastly Y/N and Yugyeom.” Your head turns and you look at your teacher waiting for her to say ‘just kidding’ but she never does. Glancing over to yugyeom and he turns his head toward you and smirks. After class you walk out with a shook Y/B/F and a nervous Youngjae. Yugyeom walks up to and stops you, “My house in 20.” he said rather than asked. “Ummmm, who said I want to come over to your house?” you cock your hip and place a hand on it. Yugyeom eyes you up and down before responding, “I don’t care if you want to. You have to. We have to work on this project and I have to be home. You know how my parents are.” Sighing, you look over to Y/B/F as her and Youngjae talk quietly. “Okay, I will be there, but in like an hour or so”. Once again he smirks and walks away while saying, “See you then.” Once you get home you take and shower and change your clothes. You put on leggings, a sports bra, and a oversized hoodie that was Natalie’s you stole. Grabbing your car keys you leave your house and head towards Yugyeom’s. You were early. It had only been 25 minutes and you told him an hour, but you wanted to get this over with. You pull up to his house and try to call him, but he doesn’t answer. Rolling your eyes you get out of your car and walk up to the front door. You knock and receive no answer. Turning the knob you test to see if it’s unlocked, and it is. “Yugyeom?” You call out. Silence. As you walk into the quiet house and shut the door you hear the faint sound of music. You follow the noise to a door under the stair and open it. The open door reveals stairs. Looking around you start to walk down the steps. The music getting louder with each step you take. Once you turn the corner of the steps you greeted with the sweaty back of a dancing Yugyeom. You freeze. Not knowing what to do. Standing there you watch him dance. The basement had been converted into what looked like a dance studio. A wall of mirrors, a small DJ booth in the corner and a great system of speakers. Sensing someone else in the room Yugyeom looks up and looks at you through the mirrors. You breath gets caught in your throat and you don’t know why. He smiles at you and turn around. “Why are you here? You said it would be an hour” he says wiping the sweat from his forehead. Blinking you try to find the words to say but for some reason you couldn’t think straight. “Um I-I umm. I wanted to, um, get this over with.” Yugyeom just smirks and walks over to the mini fridge and pulls pulls out a water. “Thirsty?” he asks you. “Yes. What? I mean no. No. I am fine thank you.” He laughs and stands back up straight. “Well, since you said it would be an hour I started practice. You can sit over there till I get done.” he points to a chair that’s back is against the wall of mirrors. Walking over you place your bag down and sit. You wanted to continue to watch him. The way him moved and passion he had was crazy, and you only saw him dancing for 5 seconds. Yugyeom walked over to the booth and started a song, Na Na by Trey Songz. Walking back he stands still and lets the music start and once it does you didn’t know how you were going to sit there this whole time without making some kind of noise. He moved his body with such grace and rolled his hips with such power it had you breathing hard. Once he looked up and saw the look in your eyes he moved over to where he was right in front of you. Looking you in the eyes he got down on the floor and started moving his hips. You looked right back at him, lust could be seen in his eyes as well as yours.

After seeing the look in your eyes Yugyeom gets off the ground and pulls you out of your chair and into a kiss. Your hands go straight to his sweaty hair and you tug. He groans into the kiss. Grabbing the backs of your thighs he pulls you up and hold you against the mirror and his body. “Liked what you saw, huh princess?” You roll your hips against his and feel his hardening member through his skinny jeans. “Oh shut up, bear.” He stopped what he was doing and looked at you as you said the nickname you used to use when you guys were best friends. “Bear? You still remember calling me that?” You rest your hands on his neck, “Of course, no one gave hugs like you, Yugyeom.” leaning in he meets you halfway and this kiss is different from the one you two just shared. This one was slow, deep, passion filled. You moan into his mouth and move your hips again. The next thing you know your back is hits a soft bed. You don’t recall the walk up stairs to his room being so lost in kissing his lips, neck, and collarbones. As you lay back on the bed Yugyeom stops and stares at you. You smirk at him and he does it right back while taking off his shirt. Your eyes roam his upper body. Licking your lips you crawl to the edge of the bed and start to undo his belt. Once his jeans are off you pull his boxers down and take his hard member straight into your mouth. Yugyeom’s hands go straight to your hair and holds you head still as his hips start moving. You hollow your cheeks trying to him feel pleasure. For some reason the thought of you making him feel good had you soaking your underwear, knowing you were the cause for his moans and tugs of your hair. He pulls you off him only to push you back on the bed and all but rips your clothes off. Laying there naked you look at him above you. You pull him down by his neck and kiss him long and hard. You gasp into the kiss as you feel him pushing inside you. “Holy shit, Yugyeom. Give a girl a warning.” You breath in deep as you try to adjust to his big size. And boy, was he big. He chuckles from above and whispers a half hearted, “Sorry.” against your neck as he sucks a mark right under your ear making you push your hips wanting more of him in you. Yugyeom pulls out and pushes in all the way this time. You feel tears come to your eyes. Not from pain just from the feeling of being so full. He was definitely the biggest you had ever been with. He continues to thrust in and out of you at a slow rate. You don’t complain though, somehow Yugyeom going slow makes it better. You are usually one for fast and rough sex, but Yugyeom is changing your mind with each thrust. You have never felt this kind of pleasure. Moaning nonstop and running your nails done his back makes him groan and thrust harder, not faster, only harder. “Oh God. Yug, right there.” You all but scream when Yugyeom finds your g-spot. He starts rolling his hips in shorter motions to hit your spot more often. You feel tears leak from your eyes as you feel the most powerful orgasm you have ever had rush through your body. The feeling of you tightening around him had Yugyeom closing his eyes as his own orgasm ran through him. Pulling out of you he lays beside you. Both of you out of breath and sweaty. You turn your head to the side to look at Yugyeom only to find him already looking at you. He reaches his hand up and moves and piece of sweaty hair out of your face. “Why did you leave me, Yugyeom? Why did you stop being my best friend?” your questions made him frown before he sat up. Sighing you gets up and puts his boxes back on and walks to get his pants. He throws you his shirt saying, “Put it on and follow me.” after that he walks out the bedroom door. Confused you put on his shirt, which reaches your mid thigh, and race to catch up with him. As you walk down the stairs you see him in the kitchen drink a water. “Can you tell me now?” He turns toward and picks you up and places you on the counter. You squeal at the sudden movement. Moving your thighs he steps between them and hugs you. You hug him back as he rests his head on your chest. “I was scared.” he finally whispers. “What? Scared of what?” pulling back he looks at you, “My feelings for you. I cared so much for you, but I knew you didn’t feel the same way. So, instead of telling you and getting hard I left so you wouldn’t hurt me.” He looked down after he confessed. You look at him, you see a broken boy in front of you who still isn’t over the past. You put your finger under his chin and make him look at you. Kissing his lips you put your hands in his hair. After pulling away you look him in the eyes, “Maybe if you would have told me you would have find out i felt the same way about you.” He eyes widened. “What? You liked me?” Yugyeom said with hope in his voice. “No.” and just like that the broke boy was back in front of you. “I still like you.” You finish and yugyeom brought you in for another kiss. Smiling into the kiss you couldn’t help but think about how happy you were you had your best friend back. After many more rounds on different surfaces of his house you guys actually started the project. The next day at school you couldn’t wait to tell Y/B/F what happened. As you walk into third you stop in your tracks when you are black eyed Chanyeol and a Youngjae with a busted lip and sitting between yelling at them both was Natalie. You short friend, who was taller than you but not by much, in between the two boy who she cared for and only came up the their chest yelling and pointing her finger. Laughing to yourself you say, “Maybe my story can wait. I really want to hear what happen first.” Walking over to Y/B/F and the boys you prepare yourself for what is to come.

-Admin Unnie 

Masterlist

[fujibutts]

help me find a title for this

TIMELINE

Year 0: Bum is born

Year 1: Sangwoo is born

Year 14: Bum’s parents die, sent to live with uncle

Year 18: Bum graduates, begins 2 years of compulsory service

Year 19: Sangwoo graduates, mom dies, begins 2 years of compulsory service

Year 20: Bum’s 2 years are over, kept for extra year as fucktoy

Year 21: Sangwoo’s 2 years are over, discovers Bum being raped

Year 22: Both go to university

Year 23: Bum pining, Sangwoo courting him

Year 24: Sangwoo discovers Bum’s abusive uncle, moving in together

Year 25: Graduation -> Sangwoo works at police station, Bum at a bookstore

Year 28: 5 year anniversary (Present Day)

-Bum working at the school library to pay tuition/rent- a helpful cutie!!!

Sometimes Bum wondered whether leaving his uncle’s house was actually a good idea.

On one hand, it was hell. From the moment he stepped through the door as a newly orphaned fourteen year old, that man had made it his life’s goal to break Yoon Bum. To completely shatter him and then use those shards to rip him up into even littler pieces with no hope of ever being put together again.

But on the other hand, he had a roof over his head (though he was often forced to stay home other than school, so it was more like a prison), food in his belly (well, only sometimes when uncle was feeling generous or was too drunk to notice… it was still considered food when dug out of the trash, right?), but most of all, Bum had his medication.

Even before his parents’ deaths Bum had been seeing a child psychiatrist regularly about his severe anxiety. During the last session before the accident, they were working on a plan to help him with a speech he had to perform in front of the class.

After the accident, after moving in with uncle and moving schools, Bum didn’t see that psychiatrist anymore. He began seeing someone else at the insistence of the doctor who monitored him during recovery. Bum didn’t like his new psychiatrist. He had been feeling this way for as long as he could remember and had made no substantial progress in years of therapy. Now that mom and dad were dead, he really didn’t see the point to any of it. Why bother? Nothing has changed and nothing ever will…

Until she brought up the topic of medication.

Bum’s parents and his old psychiatrist didn’t like the idea of him taking medication, but they weren’t here anymore. Bum could see that his uncle was growing weary of the way he acted; he didn’t want to upset his already irritable guardian so he jumped on the opportunity. Anything to help.

And help it did.

Slowly but steadily, Bum could feel something shift within him. He could think more clearly, without irrational thoughts to make him feel nauseous with anxiety. He found the desire to get up from his bed every morning- instead of the fear of uncle being upset with him scaring him out from under the covers.

But uncle, generous uncle with shelter and food wasn’t satisfied anymore. Bum was too obedient now, not fun to toy with.

He threatened to take away the pills, if Bum didn’t follow his orders.

Bum was afraid of what uncle wanted, but he was more afraid of what would happen if he sank back into the hole he had been in for the first fourteen years of his life. His classmates had only recently started including him in conversations; he even had a few people he could call his friends!

At fifteen, Bum had been the closest he’s been to happy for as long as he can remember. He would do whatever he needed to keep that happiness.

…

He was wrong, of course.

It got worse at home and talking to overly enthusiastic kids at schools wasn’t enough to make up for the fact that he wanted to die.

But he lived, and lived through hell again for three years…

Until someone stepped in.

It was someone he recognized that began service a year after he did. He didn’t get a name, but he remembered that face. Those determined eyes and those saving words.

He remembered and remembered as he returned from service and entered university years too late.

Uncle sent him an invitation to come home, but with shaking, sweaty hands, Bum threw that letter into the garbage.

It was hard. He started work at dawn, opening the café on campus for sleep deprived students like himself. Bum never touched the coffee though, because he learnt the hard way that caffeine triggered his anxiety and he no longer had medication to help.

He worked until his classes began in the morning, and went on until early afternoon. As pathetic as it felt, Bum generally went home to his dilapidated apartment in the shady part of town and passed out until his graveyard shift at the library began. From there he generally went straight to open the café, and on went the cycle.

Often Bum wondered what he was doing all of this for. He didn’t have any ambitions or goals, all he wanted to do was live an average life, as an average person. So why was he working so hard?

No matter how many times he asked himself over his first few months at school, he never got a straight answer.

Eventually, a break came- in many senses of the word. First, the semester ended and Bum was free to work and save money without worrying about his grades. And second, he had been awarded a scholarship for the coming year, for outstanding academic achievement, of all things.

For the first time in months Bum could breathe a little easier.

With the money he saved up from working, and the aid received from the school, Bum left the little shell he had built around himself and lifted his eyes to the world around him.

He had never realized how vibrant the campus was; sure occasionally he was irritated at the noise other students were causing while he was trying to study, but he would never have described it as vibrant until now.

Students were smiling and laughing, and he felt a stab of pain at the friendships he had lost all those years ago, and the potential friendships he was never able to explore.

Bum sighed and realized that while he had been staring blankly into space, it had seemed like he was staring right at somebody’s face.

And he recognized that face.

BEGIN SANGWOO’S POV

-Sangwoo begins to notice him around, becomes smitten but doesn’t know how to approach him

        -cue Sangwoo always asking for help even though he can find books himself

“Hello?” he calls out. The boy jumps, more startled than Sangwoo would have expected. His eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open, but at least he doesn’t drop any of the books he’s holding. He’s cute, in the same way that a small startled kitten would be, and Sangwoo wants nothing more than to protect this boy.

But he has to get to know him first. It would be kind of weird, to just take him underwing… that would be kidnapping.

He just wants to get to know this cute librarian. Maybe get some coffee at the campus café, or a quick study session, or-

“Um, can I… help you?”

Sangwoo realizes he must have been staring while his thoughts wandered. His also realizes that this must have looked unbearably creepy to this boy. He didn’t want to be creepy, he just wanted to take him out! Maybe wrap him up in a warm blanket and feed him soup and-

“Sorry, my mind tends to wander. Can you help me find this book?” he hands the cute librarian a slip of paper with the call number for a book he knows is on the other side of the library, but he’s been seeing this boy around the library a lot and he finally found the perfect excuse to talk to him.

Cute Librarian scans the paper and motions for Sangwoo to follow, leading the way with his little push-cart of books.

“Oh, did I disturb your work?” Sangwoo asks, suddenly aware of the cart half-full of books that looks much too heavy for this boy to be pushing by himself.

“No, no it’s fine!” he turns and faces Sangwoo. The two of them stop, just looking at each other. The silence of the library is almost suffocating, and he can see red slowly blooming on the boy’s cheeks. “I-I mean,” the boy turns back to their task, grunting a bit as he got the cart rolling again, “it’s no problem, I like… helping people find things in here.”

Sangwoo grinned inwardly as he spied the smallest of smiles grace Cute Librarian’s face. “Well, I like it when people help me find things in the library!”

They continue the rest of the trek across the library in silence, weaving their way through hallways and shelves, and the occasional student cramming for a test in the early hours before dawn. Their time together has to end eventually though, when they stop in front of a bookshelf in the section of the library with case files. The section that Sangwoo knew quite well in his months as a criminology major.

Cute Librarian reaches up for the book, stretching enough for his shirt to ride up and reveal a sliver of porcelain white skin and- fuck- Sangwoo freezes, entranced by the sight as Cute Librarian grunts and lifts himself up on his tip-toes to try to make a grab for the book.

“Almost… almost… ah!”

Sangwoo blinks up at the boy, suddenly in front of him holding out the book he needs.

“I hope this is the right one,” he offers with a shy smile. He’s looking up at Sangwoo through the thick eyelashes framing his big brown doe eyes. His lips look slightly chapped and bitten, matching the pink of his cheeks which are still slightly flushed from trying so hard to get the book that Sangwoo needed.

“Thank… you…” takes the book from the boy, reaching far enough that their fingers brush in passing. “I…” he really doesn’t want this to end. This beautiful, beautiful boy, and those- no, he can’t leave without at least getting a name.

“Oh Sangwoo- um, that’s- that’s my name.” He smiles what he hopes is a charming smile despite his steadily moistening palms. The boy in front of him looks surprised at his sudden introduction, and doesn’t seem like he’s going to be responding any time soon. “You can call me Sangwoo,” he adds.

The boy blinks at him and begins fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater, “I’m Yoon Bum.”

Sangwoo can’t help but grin. Success! He lets his usual charming nature take over. Now that he’s got a name, it’s time to start wooing. ”Nice to meet you Bum, if I can call you that?” he asks with a flirtatious smile.

Bum’s face grows redder as he nods vigorously, “That-that’s okay! It’s nice to meet you too, Sangwoo.”

This boy was just too adorable for Sangwoo to let him escape. It’s time to go in for the kill.

“Thank you so much for helping me find this book, it would’ve taken forever to find it by myself!” Sangwoo laughs, or barks, more accurately. He ruffles the fuzz of his undercut nervously, he meant for that to come out as charming and flirtatious, not awkward and stupid.

Thankfully, Bum doesn’t seem to take it as a sign of his clear incompetence and the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly in that little smile of his. “It was really no problem, I’m glad to help.” Bum quickly breaks eye contact and gnaws on his bottom lip as if he wants to say something more.

With newfound confidence, Sangwoo is ready to continue with his plan.

“If-“

“I was-“

“Oh you go first!”

“No, you go first!”

“Please go, it wasn’t anything important.”

A protest is on the tip of Sangwoo’s tongue, ready to proclaim that nothing short of poetry could fall from his perfect lips, but he stops himself in time. No, that would be coming on too strong. Just a little bit. He has to work his way up to that.

“Um, I was just going to, well…” Dammit Sangwoo why are you like this? “I wanted to know if you wanted to go out sometime?” okay, that’s a good start. Come on Sangwoo, you can do it! “Maybe we can get something to eat at the café across campus?” Well, at least it was a strong start even if he didn’t finish strong. Sangwo sighs in resignation and averts his eyes in shame. There’s no way that Bum found that attractive.

But when he doesn’t hear any outright rejection, he chances a glance at the boy.

Bum’s eyes as wide as saucers, mouth opening and closing in disbelief. His cheeks are an alarming shade of red as he meets the taller boy’s eyes.

“Is… is this really happening right now?” he chokes out.

“Huh?”

“Are you… asking me out?” It was as if Bum didn’t even believe the words were coming out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Sangwoo chuckles nervously, “As thanks- if that’s okay. I wanted to repay you, for helping me find this book!” he cut himself off as Bum’s expression grew more and more dejected. Did he say something wrong?

“No, you don’t have to repay me. You probably don’t remember, but… Last year you helped me,” Bum murmurs. “I owe you my life, so please don’t feel like you owe me anything.”

“Saved…” Sangwoo thinks back on the past year. Last year he was still in the military. Those two years were pretty unremarkable, full of paperwork and cleaning that was dumped on him by lazy superiors. There weren’t any notable events, except for that one incident near the end of his service… “Wait, that man… was you?”

okay so basically this is chapter 2?? chapter 1 is a cute established relationship thing where it’s their 5th anniversary and sangwoo is sending bum flowers throughout the day and it’s super cute and they have dinner and sangwoo starts reminiscing like the old man he is

chapter 3 is the rest of this conversation (cue light angst) a date and the beautiful start to their beautiful relationship.

chapter 4 is back to their anniversary dinner and SANGWOO PROPOSING