#about the parts in each one in particular that made me yell!
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in lieu of packing
11pm, saturday, july 15, 2023
the things i could be doing right now could fill multiple volumes, but i listened to a podcast today about academic (im)perfectionism and am deciding i don't need to feel guilty. this summer's Big European Travel starts tomorrow and I! am! nervois! but i've done some smaller trips recently which helped me work up to this in a way. further media and life musings below the cut.
reading i had a few weeks there where my recreational reading was... a little bleak, in that i was reading things that felt dated and/or formulaic and/or just put me straight to sleep, thereby meaning that i took much longer than i normally like to finish anything-- this was enlivened with two excellent new instalments from two different series i love, anne leckie's translation state and samantha shannon's a day of fallen night.
very very fun now thinking of these back to back. two books were so engrossing, built (and built on) such rich worlds, such good command of the vibes/atmosphere/tone they were going for, but so different! to sound like a book reviewer for a moment, leckie's prose is sort of lean where shannon's is lush, something like that. there's a joke in here based on the meme that goes 'sci-fi is where x, fantasy is where y' but i'm too tired to work it out myself. both of these books say-- so there are incomprehensible beings in your world which may wish to eat and/or destroy you, and some people have found ways to work or live with them, but it is very weird and alien to your way of life. day of fallen night feels more like a climate metaphor, and there is plenty that felt pulled straight from the psyche of the years 2020-2023. both do fun/interesting things with gender and relationships, and both made me want to go re-read their respective predecessors to heighten the feeling of connection and resonance with those other works.
watching mostly dimension 20-- i introduced @yogurtforever to fantasy high last week, and I myself have been working my way through the toy island arc of neverafter-- but here is the place to mention watching netflix's new documentary about WHAM!, of all things, with @yogurtforever and @thehibernatinglentil last weekend.
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not being a documentary hound, i never would have watched this without friends, but it was genuinely quite fun! i didn't know a ton about wham! or george michael, which i now realize is a shame because there's a lot to know. making up for it by having the lyrics to their first hit single, the inimitable 'wham rap', stuck in my head for the next 200 years.
listening due in no small part to the wham! doc (and an mama mia 2 rewatch the week before that), i put on a lot of throwback music this week. it ended up being more 70s than 80s, and that got me thinking about how strongly my parents' music taste influenced mine. there are so many good artists from ~back then~ who i have found out about later, because we just didn't listen to them at home? and of the vinyl i remember finding in the basement, you know, it wasn't bowie, it wasn't fleetwood mac, it wasn't springsteen (it was james taylor and paul simon and probably joni mitchell). luckily, summer camp taught me all the lyrics to a bunch of other oldies, and we did listen to the radio oldies station quite a lot, so my education wasn't entirely deficient. i bring this week the don maclean song 'vincent', which i will be thinking a lot about for one reason and another this week.
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playing i have, at long, long last, completed my stardew community center. it was a little anticlimactic, after all the travail that went into it, but i'm so pleased. it only took like two actual human real life years! the last thing i needed was a rabbit's foot, and now at last i feel like i can move to the next tier of game play. i remain unmarried, fighting for my life in skull cavern, but now with two small bunnies to love.
making trying to figure out how to eat most of the food i have in the fridge, how to use up things and make the most of what i have and not leave anything to spoil for the next little while, so i haven't really been cooking big projects. i've been 'making' appointments, got my eyes checked, had coffee with two different profs and chatted with a former student about her med school applications, and that's about it!
working on conference paper, which is both a slideshow (graphic design is my passion, this part is mostly fine) and a draft of what might turn into usable words for the chapter i'm working on. naturally i have built it up into the Biggest Scariest Most Important task, and so am avoiding it and finding it miserable to work on. and i still have time! i had wanted to not work on it on the plane, during my travel week, etc., but there is actually time. there's time. and i keep having small breakthroughs, after 2-5 hours of dicking around, which allow me to believe that there is an end in sight. other things to be worked on, for when i have some 'free' 'time'-- newsletter draft that's so very overdue, multiple students asking for detailed essay feedback and grade breakdowns, emails from students asking for other things, recommendation letter, the next chapter that i'm meant to be finishing this summer. luckily, it's a long plane ride.
#in lieu of a commonplace book#ilcb#weekly roundup#the good thing with writing about two books per post is that i can really easily avoid spoilers; the bad thing is that i can't just yell#about the parts in each one in particular that made me yell!#it's a zoomed-out format and normally i like that#but also: these books were so good
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Come Through ୨୧ George Russell x Rockstar! Reader
Is rockstar the right word? idk I just know bro is crazy bts, the white boy with Excel persona is fooling NO ONE Georgie boy. Also, Reader has vibes of the Weekend song, hence the fic name.
Lando thinks it's all a joke. He hadn't been crying, screaming and manifesting for the past three years only for his celebrity crush to be dating someone else, another driver that too.
"WHO-" He yells as he storms into Max's room, where most of the drivers had collected, they hadn't decided but they all just gravitated towards the blonde with sweet blue eyes who listened to the vent and gave the best hugs, "AFTER ALL WE WENT THROUGH- WHO IS DATING Y/N L/N?"
All eyes were on him, Max lying on his bed, Charles, Carlos and Daniel with him. Lance, Esteban and Pierre were on the sofa, playing FIFA on Max's PS5, George and Alex were sharing the smaller two-seater, Zhou and Yuki were passing a tennis ball to each other and Logan and Oscar were sleeping, cuddling close on the floor surrounded by pillows, but were now woken up by Landos yelling.
"Lando stop screaming," Charles yelled back.
"No," he simply replied and made his way to the bed where he jumped on top of Carlos and Daniel, the older of whom groaned and grumbled something about his back, but Lando didn't care, he pushed his phone in Max's face, blurring his face in Carlos's neck.
xoxof1
xoxof1 Y/n l/n an infamous British rockstar most famous for her multiple dating scandals and most recently an arrest is rumoured to date a F1 driver.
username MOTHER WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE 😭😭😭
username girl... knowing her it's like Lewis or someone
username fr like hasn't she 'dated' a dozen older guys not to mention her record with women
username girl why are you hating like a man, she's iconic and we all know it
username just lost my wife to a vroom-vroom man no one talk to me
Max began laughing, looking up from the post to the distraught Lando currently getting his hair played with by Carlos.
"Mate, I don't think you're her type," he threw the phone back to the whining boy.
"Yeah? And how would you know? I look exactly like Edward!" He pointed to the bassist of the band you were a part of.
"Kelly loves her music..." he muttered, looking away much to the younger man's amusement.
"HAH!" He shrieked, "SHE'S NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND ANYMORE!!" He laughed to which Carlos pushed his head down, eliciting an 'oomph'.
"I've been told many times," Max muttered to himself and turned to Lando to hear the rest of his rant, though loud and fast, the boy was the best source of entertainment they had.
"Max, look at her band, she's so coooool," he groaned, passing the phone to him again.
Cupidd
Cupidd THANK YOU LA!! We'll be back with 'young, numb and brunette' after this short break!!
y/nl/n My old man said I had to be in Shangai this weekend 🫡 but trust- I will be back to piss y'all off with Eddie asap
edwrdnotcllen MY WIFE HAS LEFT ME FOR A TWINK HELP
y/nl/n shut up Eddie your the twinkiest twink I know
username I love that they have had multiple partners in the past yet still always call each other husband and wife
username I pity her boyfriend 😭 imagine having to compete with a man who looks like Edward
username SHES GOING TO A RACE????
username nooooo pls my parents
username girl they have never dated, both y/n and Edward have had multiple partners and relationships with men and women in the past. Leave them alone, they're adults
username FOUND Y/N'S BFS ALT GUYS!!!
"She's coming to China?" Max asked no one in particular but Lando took it as an invitation to freak out.
"Bro please, please, please let me win this one, I'll owe you forever, bro please," Lando tried his puppy eyes on Max but Max jumped out of bed calling his girlfriend, walking out the room trying his best to convince the older woman to not attend the race.
"I have so much work to do," Lando gasped and followed Max out the room.
The race was one to remember, with Max winning but George a close second and Lando barely a tenth away on the third.
He hadn't been able to find the girl anywhere but at least he got points for the team. He went to the McLaren team party and forgot about the other celebration taking place.
xoxof1
xoxof1 The unexpected couple have been revealed in a series of leaked pictures of the private f1 party after the driver George Russell had a podium finish for his Shangai race.
username Mr.Russell I was unaware of your rizz, forgive me sir.
username WHITE MAN DOES IT IN ONE DAY 😭😭😭
landonorris When i catch you george when I catch you
username LANDO???
username he's one of ussssss
username bbg you get me 😮💨 in ways no man ever has
George woke up with the worst headache he ever had in his life, he was sure he'd never get over this hangover but then he saw y/n next to him, hair tussled wearing the white shirt he was wearing last night.
"Y/n, darling, wake up," he pressed a kiss on her shoulder.
"mmhm," the woman groaned, turning to the blonde next to her and kissing him, the taste of vodka still fresh in her mouth.
She melted into his touch as he deepened the kiss, " Mornin' G," she whispered to him, voice hoarse from the night before.
He smiled in return, placing one last kiss on the corner of her lips. She searched around for her phone, finding it fallen amongst their haphazardly discarded clothes and opened Instagram to thousands of notifications.
She was used to it by now, it was quite fun.
y/nl/n
y/nl/n If I speak... @/georgerussell
edwrdnotcllen @/yn/ln you are so welcome for not squealing as soon as I knew
y/nl/n girl you asked me if you could kiss him after???
edwrdnotcllen And I still am??
username WHAT-
username I just know Lando is fuming rn
username y'all need a third? a dog? a maid?
username it should be me instead of him!!!
username god I see what you've done for others 😭
"Darling, did you post-" George had just begun but his room was rudely broken into, running in he saw a hyper papaya-coloured blur followed by a very hungover Max Verstappen.
Lando gasped looking at the woman next to George, screeching at an inhuman pitch, "HOW'D THIS PIECE OF VANILLA FRAPPUCCINO WOO HER??!?!?" He pointed at Y/n, making the woman laugh.
George offended, scoffed at the boy, "Well if you must know, I met her at Nando's party-" he was cut off once again, this time by the Dutch man.
"That makes sense actually," he said and immediately grabbed Lando by the collar and dragged him out, "Sorry guys!" he yelled after himself.
"I like your friends," Y/n said smirking making the taller man blush and push the woman slightly, before collapsing back into bed, making a silent promise of never trying to out-drink the woman again.
#f1#formula 1#max verstappen#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#george russell x reader#george russell#george russell imagine#george russell x you#lando norris x reader#lando norris#max verstappen x reader#george russel x reader
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𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 [𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎]
synopsis: they ignore you after an argument
characters: childe, ayato x gn!reader (separately)
warnings: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationships, mentions of injuries/ burns in childe’s
notes: since the other one did so well, i decided to make a part two. i was originally going to add dainsleif but these were both over 1k words each, so if i do another part he’ll probably be in it
part 1 (scaramouche, yelan), part three (xiao and heizou), part four (kaeya and alhaitham)
Childe:
You and Childe had been dating for quite awhile and were friends for even longer before you made it official.
And while you weren’t a part of the Fatui, you respected his work and stayed out of it…for the most part, anyway.
Recently, he had been coming home more and more injured each night and you were growing increasingly worried about him and his job. You loved and respected him, but you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t getting upset about his work.
When you finally brought your worries up to him, he blew up on you telling you things like “You need to stay out of my work life,” “What happens to me doesn’t concern you,” and “You could never understand.”
Admittedly, it probably wasn’t the best time seeing as he had just had a really rough week, but you knew it was better sooner than later. The last thing you wanted was for your boyfriend to leave for work one day and not come back home because he got killed.
After a long period of yelling back and forth and getting no where with each other, he stormed out of your shared home without a word and left you standing alone in your house.
Whenever you and Childe had an argument, it wasn’t uncommon for him to go out and train or practice sparring to blow off some steam. So, you let him do his thing and decided that he would probably just come back later and you guys could talk it out like the responsible adults you were.
Much to your dismay, Childe never did return and apologize like he normally would. Because, while he did come back, he didn’t utter a word to you. He merely brushed you off when you asked if you could talk to him and went into your shared bedroom and locked the door. Of course, you had tried knocking a few times to see if he would come out, but it was to no avail.
This went on for the following few days as well.
He would come home and hang his stuff up and then return to his work or to train outside, not even sparing you a glance. Even when you tried to talk to him, he would just stare ahead with a smug smile on his face as if he was mocking you.
Though, it eventually became crystal clear that he was, in fact, mocking and ignoring you. When you made dinner, he would push it away and cook his own. When you would try to snuggle up to him at night because it was too cold, he’d lightly push you off and scoot closer to his own side of the bed.
Even when you had a rough day and wanted nothing more than to have him hold you, he would return that same smug smile and ignore you. And if you tried to talk to him, he would make sure your shoulders bumped as he walked past you to really rub in the fact that he wasn’t going to listen to you.
Today in particular, you were becoming quite frustrated with him. When you had woken up, he was getting ready for work. He even made sure to flash his bandages at you since he knew how worked up you had gotten about them. You even saw the way he nearly laughed at your frown. But all you did was shove down your anger and turn away from him.
Instead, you decided to go pick up groceries for the week and run a few other errands to de-stress. And when you returned home, you decided you would make yourself your favorite food. It’s not like Childe liked it anyway, so there was at least one bonus to him not eating your food.
You put away your groceries and got to cooking. It was going pretty well, though the thought of your argument was still lingering in the back of your mind. Somewhere amidst your cooking, Childe had returned home which brought the argument to the forefront of your mind.
How long was he going to continue ignoring you? It’s not like the argument was your fault anyway. No one could blame you for looking out for your boyfriend’s safety, after all, it was out of love.
Suddenly, a painful burning sensation spread across your hand and a loud scream escaped your mouth followed by a string of curses. The tears that had been unknowingly building up in your eyes had now escaped and flowed down your face as you grasped your hand tightly.
At some point when you were lost in thought, you had accidentally grabbed the burning hot handle of a metal pan and burned your hand. You didn’t even notice the worried Childe now bent down on the floor in front of you asking what happened.
He gently grabbed your arm and pulled you up to the sink, turning on some cold water and carefully placing your hand underneath it before rushing off to find some first aid supplies. Once your crying had ceased and your hand was taken care of, he sat you down on the couch while he grabbed you some water.
He glanced around the room as you downed your water, now feeling quite awkward at the silence, contrary to how he was acting the rest of the week. You sat the cup of water down and stared down at your bandaged up hand and away from his gaze.
You gulped down your nervousness before softly speaking, “Are you done ignoring me now?”
Though he should’ve felt it days ago, guilt rushed over Childe and he snapped his eyes toward your own with a sad look in his eyes. A sadness you felt he had no right to feel.
He opened his mouth to respond but closed it just as quick, blanking on what to say to you. He didn’t have an explanation for what he did and wasn’t sure how he could make it up to you.
You shoulders dropped and you huffed out a sigh before getting up and turning to go to your room, “Nevermind, it was pointless to ask.”
Childe stood up quickly, nearly falling over at the sound of your dejected voice, “Y/n! Wait, I-”
He grabbed your shoulder and gently turned you around, quickly embracing you in a tight hug, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored you like I did and I shouldn’t have waited till you got hurt to stop it. Please forgive me, y/n, I’m so sorry.”
You returned his embrace but pulled back to look at him, too tired to argue with him, you spoke, “Why don’t you help me finish cooking and then we can talk over dinner?”
He nodded with a warm smile. Childe was never good at apologizing, you knew that well. Yet, you couldn’t help the way your heart warmed at the way he tried for you.
Ayato:
Ayato and you had been together for a long time, having both been prominent figures in Inazuma. Naturally, the two of you got along well and eventually began dating.
You shared a similar nature of hardwork that often resulted in overworking yourself, and because of that, you guys made it a rule to keep each other in check and take care of one another.
Recently, however, Ayato was overworking himself again with marital affairs and some international stuff. So, you decided to check up on him and try to get him to take a break, even if it was just for an hour or two.
But contrary to how he would normally react, he lashed out at you and called you overbearing and annoying. He even told you that you checking up on him the way you do makes him feel even more stressed.
Stunned at his words, you silently hid your tears and trembling lip as you hurried out of his office to leave him alone.
It had only been a day since your argument, yet, Ayato was still locked up in his office. You were too nervous to knock on the door or even see him, so you tried your best to avoid him for a bit. Though, that obviously couldn’t last forever.
Your first encounter was at breakfast.
Thoma had made a big and delicious breakfast for all of you to enjoy and you were hoping it was going to give you the chance to talk to him. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t talk to you. Instead, he spoke to Ayaka the entire time and even had Thoma join you guys.
When you had asked for him to pass you the teapot, he simply side-eyed you and acted like he didn’t hear you. Ayaka and Thoma were quick to glance between the two of you with puzzled expressions. Luckily, Thoma was nice enough to grab it for you to avoid the awkwardness.
For the remainder of breakfast, you kept to yourself and ate in silence, not even looking up at everyone else.
Your next encounter with him was when you were passing by him in one of the main areas of the Estate. You had been carrying a stack of papers to bring to Ayaka when you had tripped and dropped them, allowing them to scatter across the floor.
Ayato had been walking out of his room at the same time only to witness the entire thing happen.
Normally, he would be quick to get on his own knees and help you gather the sheets of paper and make sure you were okay. However, since he was seemingly ignoring you, he merely stopped to stare down at you before walking past you and around the papers.
You just sighed and continued picking them up as he walked past, wondering why he was acting like this.
The final encounter was the same night when you guys had guests over for business. There were around ten to fifteen of them, and they weren’t people you had met before.
Usually, Ayato would have you standing close to him with an arm around your waist or have his own arm linked with yours, but tonight there was a rather unusual distance placed between the two of you. You were sure even the guests could see it.
Regardless, you tried your best to appear normal with a bright smile on your face and politely answering any questions. Unfortunately, you couldn’t help the fidgeting of your hands or the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. You just hoped the guests couldn’t see it.
It felt like they were going to be there forever as you sat distanced from Ayato. While you pretended to be paying attention to what they were saying with the occasional nod or smile, you were really just lost in thought over how to fix whatever it was that was going on between you and your boyfriend.
He was barely even acknowledging you, and it almost seemed like you weren’t even there. You didn’t even look like his partner.
Having had enough, you got up to excuse yourself to use the restroom. But on your return back to the room, you had stopped as you heard two of guests, who you recognized as being an older husband and wife, gossiping to themselves in hushed voices.
“Archons, have you seen Lord Ayato’s s/o? They don’t even look like they should be with him!” The man laughed, his wife quick to join in.
“I agree, at least it’s obvious he’s not that interested in them anyway. I give it a good few weeks before he finally breaks up with them and he marries someone actually worth his time.”
You clenched your fists and attempted to stop the tears from falling from your eyes as they continued to talk. You, on the other hand, turned around and rushed to your and Ayato’s shared bedroom.
After what you had just heard, you couldn’t be bothered to stick around for the rest of the night, especially with the new found thought of Ayato breaking up with you now plaguing your mind.
—
When twenty minutes had passed, Ayato had begun to get suspicious of where you were. Sure, he was supposed to be ignoring you, but you didn’t normally take this long and he was worried. After all, he was still your boyfriend.
His eyes darted around the room at all the guests while his mind was beginning to fill with ideas of how to kick the guests out without it becoming obvious he wanted them gone.
He gulped down his thoughts and stood up out of his seat and fixing his attire before pretending to look at what time it was on the clock, “Ah, I do sincerely apologize, but it is getting quite late. Perhaps, we can all meet another time?”
The guests looked toward the clock as well before agreeing with him and grabbing their coats and other belongings. A fake smile remained plastered on Ayato’s face as he walked the guests out and bid them a goodnight.
As soon as they were gone, his nonchalant facade dropped and he was quick to rush back inside to search for you. When he couldn’t find you anywhere, he hurried to check your shared bedroom.
When he had slid open the door, he found you curled up on the bed under the covers and lightly sniffling to yourself. Alarmed at the sight, he rushed to your side and bent down to meet your face.
You were quick to cover your face with the covers and turn over to the other side, not wanting to face him. Ayato’s shoulders dropped as he let out a sigh and walked over to the other side and sat down next to you.
Carefully removing the glove off of his hand, he gently grabbed the covers and pulled them down to see your face, “Y/n, please look at me…”
Finally looking him in the eyes, he was able to inspect your tear stained face. His heart broke at the sight and he moved closer to you, but you moved back, “What do you want, Ayato?”
“What happened?” he whispered.
“What happened is you’ve been ignoring me all day. You wouldn’t even look at me! You ignored me at breakfast, you ignored me in when I dropped those papers, and you ignored me when those guests were here!” you took a breath before staring down at the bed, “And the guests…the guests-”
“The guests..what? What did they do?”
You stared down at your hands with blurred eyes, “I heard them talking about us when I came back from the bathroom. They…they said that you were going to break up with me and that I wasn’t worthy of you.”
Ayato was quick to wrap his arms around you and bring you closer to him, “Don’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re talking about, they don’t even understand business! I love you, y/n, and I’m sorry for ignoring you like I did. It was childish and it went too far. I didn’t mean anything I said to you, I don’t think you’re annoying or overbearing, so please don’t listen to any of that or think that you aren’t worthy of me.”
“So…you aren’t going to break up with me?”
“Archons, no. I’m never going to leave you, y/n,” Ayato reassured you, “Now, c’mon, let’s go to bed and we can talk more in the morning.”
#genshin impact#genshin#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact fanfiction#genshin x you#genshin x y/n#genshin angst#childe x reader#childe#childe x you#childe x y/n#childe x gender neutral reader#tartaglia#tartaglia x reader#tartaglia x y/n#childe angst#ayato x reader#ayato x y/n#kamisato ayato#ayato angst#ayato fluff#fatui harbingers#ajax x reader#ajax x y/n#ajax x you#ayato x gender neutral reader#ajax x gender neutral reader
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Teach Me (part 2) - (tom riddle x fem!reader)
part 1
warnings: smut. public sex. unpretected sex. not proofread bc i'm living on the edge today.
A/N: okay we all know i'm shit at writing smut so feel free to judge. i am not at all satisfied with how this turned out but oh well. you ask and i shall deliver.
buymeacoffee <3
༻♛༺
You were on edge.
With every step you took in the castle grounds, with every turn around a corridor, you expected to hear the not-so-hushed whispers and the not-so-subtle dirty glances thrown at you for your indecent behaviour.
But they never came.
You were growing paranoid with every passing day, and you had convinced yourself that the Slytherin boy who had seen you and Tom in a compromising position was just waiting for the ideal moment to blast the bomb and bring on your ruination.
You glanced at your friend sitting next to you, on the seat that you usually reserved for Tom, but now that you were trying to avoid him, you had forced your friend to sit near you.
"Heard anything interesting lately?" You subtly questioned, knowing she could never resist the temptation of gossip. She smiled mischievously and leaned forwards so that her words would not be heard by unwelcome ears.
"Walburga Black was caught in a broom closet..." She took a dramatic pause and widened her eyes. "With her cousin!" She whisper-yelled, and you were quite sure the students sitting in front of you tensed and shared a curious glance with each other at the new piece of gossip.
Despite your inner disgust, you only chuckled weakly and your eyes strayed around the room in search of—
Tom was staring at you. There was no particular emotion displayed on his face, but you could tell he was displeased. You quickly turned around to face your desk in front of you, willing your heart to slow to a steady rhythm. You cursed the way he could affect you just with his stare.
"Are you alright? You look flushed."
You smiled at your friend. "It's just hot in the room. I am fine."
Yet all throughout the class, you were uncomfortably aware of his gaze at the back of your head.
So when the professor dismissed you, you rushed to collect your things and sprung to your feet to make your swift escape. You were almost out the door when a hand grabbed your arm and pulled hard enough to have you crashing into someone's chest.
You were about to yell at whoever had pulled back, but when you lifted your gaze from the green-silver tie wrapped around the culprit's neck, you could not find the words.
Tom was staring down at you with a raised brow as if daring you to utter a word. "Come with me." And before you could object, he was dragging you with him, hand tight around your arm.
"Tom! Let me go." You whisper-yelled, throwing glances behind your back to see if students had caught on to the scene. But fortunately, they were blissfully unaware. "Someone might see us. Let me go!" You attempted once again, but Tom only shot you a dark glare.
When he made a sharp turn to the left, you realised you were in one of the abandoned hallways. "Tom Riddle, unhand me this instant!" You raised your voice before tugging your arm out of his grip, and he looked at you in mild bewilderment.
"You have been avoiding me." He broke the pregnant silence, brown eyes piercing right through you with their intensity.
You threw your hands in the air in frustration. "Are we seriously doing this here? Right now?"
He cocked his head to the side in interest as he watched your antics. When his gaze did not relent, you sighed and decided to just go out with it.
"What do you not understand? I am quite sure you are aware that if the boy ever decides to open his mouth, I will be ruined."
He hummed, those intoxicating dark eyes still watching you. "That still does not explain why you have been running away from me."
"Are you serious? I am mad at you, Tom! For the smartest person in this school, you are pretty damn idiotic to me—" He frowned at that, "—And you stood there and did nothing when he witnessed us! You could have spoken to him and convinced him not to say anything, yet all you—"
"I obliviated him."
"What?"
"After you left, I obliviated him." He repeated as if he was stating the obvious.
You backed away, unsure how to proceed with this information.
"I thought you would figure it out." He added with his brows pinched together. You gave him an incredulous look, silently asking how in the world you could figure that out magically.
"You are horrible," You muttered.
He rose a single brow, trying to hide his amusement, and in a mock inquisitive tone, he proceeded to ask, "Oh, I am?"
"Yes! It has been hell for me while you were allowing me to live in this miserable state." With an angry huff, you pushed him on the chest with all your might. He barely even moved from your attack, and if anything he was fully smirking now, which aggravated you even more. "I hate you!"
As you were about to push him once again, he managed to grab a hold of your wrists and held them against his chest, causing you to stumble straight into him. You looked up at him from your position, and your breath hitched in your throat at the nonexistent proximity left between you. His eyes were a shade darker, just like they were on that day when he had kissed you. You could only assume it was desire pooling in his irises, drowning the warm brown shade in its wake. You licked your lips almost subconsciously, and his gaze dropped to watch the action.
"Tom?" You spoke hesitantly, your voice small and breathy.
"Do you wish for me to teach you more? Hm?" He whispered hoarsely, breath fanning against your mouth and you could not help but lean closer. "Do you wish me to teach you how to pleasure a man?" He gulped, and you were transfixed as you watched him close his eyes as if he was imagining every possible scenario of you doing those things to him. When his eyes reopened, they were burning with an emotion that made your knees tremble. "Or perhaps I could show you all the ways a woman could be pleasured?" His hand rose to caress the skin of your cheek. You nodded, not being able to form any coherent words with the obscene way he was speaking.
He tutted, displeased. "I need to hear you say it."
"Please, Tom. Yes. Please."
Your desperate plea was all he needed before he brought his lips down to connect with yours in a heated kiss. Your mind began to feel dizzy as he moved his lips against yours, and you quickly freed your hands from his hold in order to weave them behind his neck.
He began pushing you back until you felt your back hit the cool texture of the wall, and he pressed into you desperately.
"Someone could see us," Came your strangled whisper when his mouth travelled to the spot where your jaw met your neck, but he did not answer you as he bit into the delicate skin, marking it with his teeth. Your hands grabbed a hold of his hair and tugged at it to yank his lips from your neck, and he let out a low groan of your name at the action.
"Let them see." He murmured before reconnecting his lips with yours. "Let them witness how I ruin you for everyone else, so they know you are only for me."
You whimpered at Tom's words. You had never felt such desire in your life. Never had your blood burned so desperately for someone. You wanted all of him. You wanted him to consume you whole.
Tom pulled at your school robe, doing a quick work of undoing it until it fell and pooled on the floor.
His grip on your waist tightened as he ground the constricting material of his pants between your legs, and you gasped at the feeling of his hardness pressed against you. "Tom, please." You begged once again, all shame and embarrassment gone from your body and replaced with only raw need.
Tom's hand left your waist and began travelling lower. He bunched up your skirt, and you whined when the tips of his fingers teased the skin of your inner thigh. You felt him smirk against your lips at the effect he was having on you. He skimmed his knuckles against your closed heat, causing you to throw your head back against the wall and flutter your eyes shut. "Stop teasing me."
"You are so wet for me and I have barely even touched you," He said as he pushed your underwear to the side and finally touched you where you needed him the most. A moan left your lips at the feeling of his fingers sliding against you, and you wondered not for the first time if Tom would be your undoing. You were overwhelmed with pleasure, and you felt him breathe faster against the skin of your throat as if he was enjoying this almost as much as you were.
His fingers made a mess of you, and you were chanting his name like a prayer, uncaring of the possibility that someone could discover you.
"I need you."
Your hands dropped to his pants, and you hastily attempted to undo them, only for Tom to pause his ministrations with a displeased hum. "Greedy girl." You watched, utterly transfixed as rose his fingers and put them in his mouth as if to savour your taste. Your cheeks burned at the sight, and you swore you had never seen anything so obscene in your entire existence.
"Beg for it."
You almost choked. "What?"
"You want me? Then you will beg for me."
You shuddered at the commanding tone, and something about it made you even more desperate. Desperate to please him.
"Please." You pleaded. "Please, Tom."
He got rid of his pants while you begged with no shame, but he did not seem entirely satisfied with your cries. "What do you want? Say it." He demanded, and you felt him tease you right where you needed him, yet he held back, not quite pushing inside you.
"I want you to ruin me." You breathed out, and you hoped he would not ask you to say anything else because you were not sure if your brain would be able to string up a sentence together. The sensation of him rubbing against you was enough to clog your brain, and you forgot all else except him.
He tightened his grip on your hip, and you briefly wondered if he would leave a mark. "Good girl." Is all he muttered before pushing forwards and sliding into you torturously slowly until he filled you to the brim.
It was painful. But in that pain, there was a particular type of pleasure you had never experienced before. You were convinced you would descend into madness at the feeling of him filling you completely. You could not tell where you began and he ended, it was as if you were one.
Tom dropped his head into the crook of your shoulder, groaning your name in a way that almost pushed you over the edge. "Tell me I can move."
"Yes. Please, move."
At your plea, he exhaled and rose his head so he could watch your face instead as he drew back. You gulped, hand tugging at the nape of his neck because he was already pushing back inside of you. You felt so full of him, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you relished in the euphoria that washed over your body every time he rolled his hips against yours.
This was a sin. The aching pleasure in your body had to be a sin. You never thought it was possible to feel the way you did at that moment, and you swore you would sin for the rest of your life and burn for it if it meant you could relive this moment over and over again.
When you opened your eyes, Tom's gaze snapped up from where he had been watching your hips move against his and there is a darkness in his eyes, as if he was ready to devour you whole.
"You feel so good. All for me. Only for me."
The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed in the hallway, and you quickly pulled him closer so you could connect your lips with his in a kiss. His grip on your thigh tightened at the action, to the point where you were sure there would be marks in the shape of his fingers the next day, but the thought only spurred your pleasure. As if that was not enough, he pulled away from your lips to latch his mouth on your throat, biting, sucking, and kissing until you knew that the skin of your neck would look like a warzone.
"Tom...I—I'm..."
He exhaled sharply and quickened the pace of his hips. "I know, I know."
Your body was getting caught on fire with his every hard thrust, and you felt yourself approaching your high, the fire burning brighter and brighter in your body until—
"Tom..." You moaned as you felt yourself peak, and your eyes shut in ecstasy.
He continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming sloppier and sloppier, chasing his own relief. He gasped your name into your mouth, and you felt him spill himself inside you, reaching his high.
Your head dropped against his chest, your body limply melting in his hold from exhaustion. Both of you panted heavily, trying to regain your composures, and you heard him chuckle lightly.
"What?" You asked, finding enough strength to raise your head and look at him. He was wearing a lopsided smirk, and you subconsciously reached out to brush the sweaty strands of his hair back, as if it was the most natural thing to do.
His eyes flicked between your own, glinting with mirth. "When you first asked me to show you how to kiss so you would be prepared for your future husband, I never imagined it would lead us here."
"Well, Mr Riddle, do you think my husband will be satisfied with what I have learned so far?" You teased with a smile, which turned mischievous when he suddenly glowered as if offended.
"What I think, darling is that you are delusional if you think I would let anyone else near you now that I have had you. Let alone wed you."
His gaze roamed your features, and for the briefest of moments, you wondered if you imagined the flash of red in his eyes.
"You will have no husband to impress. You shall remain as my student and I will teach you how to satisfy me."
You rose a brow at his words, and you could not help but ponder if he was simply jesting, or if the territorial tone in his voice was actually serious. "Oh? And what if the student becomes the master? What will you do then?"
"Then I shall learn how to worship your body until you know no one else's touch but mine."
And when he lay his forehead against yours in an uncharacteristic display of affection, you knew he had no intention of ever letting you go.
༻♛༺
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#tom marvolo riddle#tom riddle#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle smut#tom riddle x reader smut#tom riddle x fem!reader#tom riddle fluff#tom riddle x you#tom riddle one shot#tom riddle fic#tom riddle fanfic#tom riddle fanfiction#tom riddle x y/n#tom riddle angst#soft tom riddle#tom riddle imagine
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Getting to know Chuuya (pt2):
Chuuya technically had pulled you into the Port Mafia so he was the one who had to hand down an item to you. The day Mori told him to give you something of his was the most irritating day ever for him but… he ended up giving you his choker.
“There, keep it… just keep it.”
“Uh… a collar?”
“NO NOT A COLLAR… just put the d*mn thing on.”
The following day, he acquired an identical replacement for himself, inadvertently matching with you.
"I definitely wear it better," he remarked, a hint of amusement softening his frustration.
The bickering almost NEVER ended and there was always something being quarreled about.
“YOU’VE JUST ABOUT PUSHED ME TO MY LIMIT, CHUUYA!” you exclaimed, frustration boiling over as you grabbed him by the throat.
In retaliation, Chuuya seized you by the collar and forcefully pushed you against the wall. “YOU’RE ASKING FOR TROUBLE, YOU LITTLE BRAT!”
There were many times when Chuuya and you would yell in one another's faces, grab each other by the throat, and occasionally crush one another up against the wall. Your heated exchanges often escalated to shouting matches, with both parties grabbing each other in fits of anger. It was a volatile mix of fury, frustration, and a primal need to vent. But in this particular moment, the size of both of your pupils and the lift of your brows had grown rapidly… along with a few other things… like the tension in the room. As his gaze swept across yours, it seemed like he was committing every part of your face to memory and couldn’t stop… until Mori knocked on the door to assess how you were settling in. After that day, You and Chuuya had undeniable chemistry but it was never really touched on or acknowledged.
Over time you started to get used to Chuuya and his behavior. Bickering was always a common trend between you both and it seemed like hate at first glance but most times the real issue was that you both weren't used to expressing any type of emotion besides anger, even when comforting. Despite the constant friction, there were moments when you noticed a softer side to Chuuya. For example…
- Chuuya made sure to protect you under all circumstances no matter how badly you both bickered. Like the time a bullet almost pierced through your arm in a mission. It didn’t take corruption for Chuuya to send the bullet flying back through the assailant's skull…. and leg… and torso. We get it, Chuuya.
But acknowledging those moments felt like admitting vulnerability, so instead, you both continued to trade barbs and sarcasm, hiding the budding warmth beneath the surface. As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the tension between you only seemed to grow, sparking a fire that neither of you dared to extinguish.
After that mission was over, he wanted to go out to the bar but didn't really want to go alone.
“Man, I could really use some booze right about now.”
“I'm surprised your body can even tolerate booze, half-pint.”
“Half-pint of alcohol does sound grea- wait a minute. YOU CALLIN ME SHORT?”
“Of course not.”
He dragged you along to a bar with him despite you not wanting to go and ordered a bunch of drinks. You sit next to him, swirling the drink around in the cup and tapping your foot. Chuuya drank so much you had to be the one to carry him back to the Port Mafia and the one to deal with his violent hangover the next day. When you both arrive back at the HQ, you lie him down in his bedroom and take off his hat, placing it onto the top part of the lamp and letting it hang like he always does.
“Chuus… *you laugh softly and shake your head.* you're reckless as hell.”
Chuuya starts to snore loudly, almost tauntingly as he rolls over in bed.
“Asshole.”
For the most part this became a weekly thing. You carried Chuuya back to the PM every Saturday when he had drank entirely too much and you both bickered constantly, even worse when drunk. Even then, Chuuya's invitations to the bar carried with it a weighty undercurrent of yearning, his desire for companionship masked by casual banter. What’d you expect? He’s emotionally constipated and let’s be real… you probably are too...
To be continued...
#bungou stray dogs#bsd#chuuya x reader#bungou stray dogs chuuya#bsd chuuya#chuuya nakahara#chuya nakahara#chuya x you#chuya x reader#bsd chuya#nakahara chūya#bungo stray dogs headcanons#bungo stray dogs#bungou gay dogs#bungo stray dogs x reader#bsd nakahara#nakaharachuuya
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𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 [𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑] — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑
one / two / three / masterlist / wattpad
summary: when Jackie gets into a fight with Eve, she stops talking to you before finally revealing a bombshell that changes your relationship forever.
warning/s: mentions of underage drinking and of cheating.
author's note: here is the long awaited part 4! glad to see this one got a bit more interest, it was a fun one to write. this particular part is longer than the others, but i couldn’t split it so yeah, enjoy :)
After that random encounter with Eve at the arcade, I never really expected her presence to affect Jackie and I again. Oh, how wrong I was.
Jeff and I were at school to watch another Yellowjackets game, coincidentally against Eve's team, the Lions. Of course, I didn't think much of it as I was only here to support the team and Jackie. Jeff was waiting in the bleachers for me whilst I went to grab something I'd forgotten from my locker since I was already at school. It was on the way out and back to the bleachers when Eve found me, giving me a playful smirk.
"Well, if it isn't Y/N Sadecki," she said, eyeing me.
"Eve," I acknowledged with a nod.
"You here to support your little girlfriend?"
Knowing she was talking about Jackie, I felt my cheeks grow warm and tried to remain indifferent. "Jackie's just a friend."
"You should tell her that," Eve suggested with a knowing look.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, knowing she was trying to wind me up for whatever reason.
"It's unfortunate you have to watch me beat her," she said with a satisfied smile.
"You can try," I retorted, defending the Yellowjackets.
All Eve did was smirk before walking away to rejoin her team on the pitch. As I watched her go, I noticed Jackie in the distance, watching the two of us and glaring at Eve. The game was about to start so she couldn't do much, but I hoped she knew there was nothing happening between us. The last thing I wanted was for Jackie to think I liked her arch nemesis, especially after we almost kissed a year ago.
The referee blew his whistle, signalling for the players to get in position, so I returned to my seat beside Jeff as Jackie was forced to let it go for now.
"Popcorn?" Jeff asked when I took a seat.
I accepted it wordlessly, stuffing my face as I watched the game with anticipation.
The game started out pretty tense, with both sides getting close to scoring but eventually getting beat by each other's defenders. It was almost half time and everybody could sense a tension between Jackie and Eve, with the latter blocking every attempt Jackie made to score. She was following the blonde like a shadow, never giving her chance to breathe, and though that was expected, it was a little more extra than usual. Even from where I was sat, I could see Jackie getting frustrated by her presence.
Just before half time, Shauna was racing towards the goal, kicking the ball to Jackie. Everybody was on their feet as they watched her approach, ready to score, but out of nowhere, Eve performed a sliding tackle. Jackie hit the grass instantly, making everyone wince at how hard she landed on her knees.
The referee blew the whistle – possibly a yellow card? – and Jackie was sitting upright and fixing Eve with a glare. Then Eve must have said something to piss her off because before anyone could react, Jackie got up and shoved Eve backwards on the grass. She looked like she was about to go at her again, but Shauna intervened and held Jackie back as she yelled something at Eve. The referee was frantically blowing his whistle as a few more players broke up their almost-fight, and the crowd stared with surprise, wondering what was happening.
As Jackie was escorted off pitch by the referee, I could see Coach Scott scolding her, but she didn't seem to care. Very unlike her, she rolled her eyes and walked off.
"The hell was that?" Jeff muttered with confusion.
I shook my head. "I don't know... but I should see if she's okay."
He nodded as I got up to leave, hoping Jackie was alright. Not only did that sliding tackle look painful, but clearly Eve had set her off, and Jackie wasn't easy to piss off.
I followed after her as she stormed inside the school, but she didn't get far when I called after her in the empty hallway.
"Jackie, are you okay? What was that?"
She didn't stop marching forward as she answered, "Leave me alone."
I furrowed my brows. "What? Jackie, I just–"
Suddenly, she stopped and turned around to glare at me. "I didn't ask for your help, now go."
Taken aback, I swallowed awkwardly. "I didn't–"
"Why the hell were you talking to her?" she interrupted, hazel eyes staring into my soul.
Feeling lost, I said, "What?"
She mimicked me, "What?" before scoffing angrily. "Don't play dumb, Y/N. Eve. Why were you talking to her?"
Unsure what this had to do with anything presently, I decided not to let her accusatory tone get to me. "She talked to me."
Jackie rolled her eyes. "How convenient."
Definitely lost, I asked, "You're mad at me? For that?" When she didn't answer, her jaw clenching, I said, "What did she say to you out there? Why are you upset?"
She shook her head, suppressing a frown. "Just leave me alone."
And with that, she stormed off towards the locker room, leaving me super confused and also super curious as to what Eve could have said to rile her up.
I hoped she'd calm down within a day or so and finally talk to me, but all weekend after the game, she'd been avoiding my calls. And if her mum picked up, she'd lie terribly saying Jackie wasn't there. I didn't understand why she was so pissed at me when Eve was the one who'd annoyed her. Could she really be angry at me for one conversation?
The only reason I finally got through to Jackie on the Sunday afternoon was because she picked up without meaning to.
"Jackie, wait, please!" I exclaimed, not wanting to lose her. "I don't want to fight. I just want to fix this."
To my surprise, she stayed on. "What?"
I swallowed hard. "You've been ignoring me. I... I know you're upset, but I just want to fix this."
I heard her sigh on the other side, but she said nothing.
"What did I do?" I asked in a pleading voice. "Tell me and I'll make it right." She fell silent and I sighed tiredly. "Okay, well, can you tell me what Eve said to upset you? You've never acted like that in a game before. You're supposed to be the team captain."
Just when I was convinced I was talking to myself, she finally spoke quietly. "She was saying how she was going to win the game." She paused, then reluctantly continued, "And you. Talking about how irresistible the Sadeckis were and how you were next on her list. That it was a shame she couldn't get to Jeff first."
My eyes widened slightly, not expecting that.
Sighing, Jackie admitted, "It sounds stupid now I'm saying it aloud. I never cared what she thought, she's just some girl. But I... I saw her talking to you and I just– I thought–"
She didn't finish, and I tried not to hold my breath, not wanting to read into it.
"Jackie, that's nonsense," I assured her kindly. "She was just smack talking you to get to you and she succeeded in that. I wish you hadn't let her."
"I know," she agreed. A pause, and then: "I'm sorry for getting upset and yelling at you. I was just pissed."
"It's okay," I said, giving in. "Just..."
"No," she suddenly said, a little more confidently. "I wasn't pissed. I was jealous."
Eyebrows furrowing, I said, "What?"
Upset, she continued, "She doesn't get to do that! Everything I've ever wanted, Eve tries to take. Jeff. Winning states."
I wasn't sure what to say, sensing her frustration through the phone.
"You," she finished, making me second guess if I'd heard correctly. Judging by my silence, she added, "Yes, I want you."
Jaw dropping a little, I said, "What?"
"I don't want to do this over the phone," she said, exhaling deeply.
"Jackie–"
"I've gotta go," she said, and hung up before I could say anything else.
I couldn't move for a moment, reeling at what she'd just said. Did she just admit she liked me?
—
Jackie's words were on my mind for the rest of the weekend and well into Monday. I tried ringing her again, but there was no response so my only hope was to see her in school and talk it out there.
But at school, I didn't see her around like usual. At lunch time, I found Shauna eating, who redirected me to the library, and that was where I ended up finding her. She was tucked between some shelves, looking for a book, and I told myself it was now or never before approaching her.
"I've been looking for you everywhere," I said quietly, aware we were still in the library and also not wanting to startle her. Still, she jumped a little.
Recovering from her surprise, she remained focused on the bookshelf. "I was studying."
"You avoided my calls," I reminded her. "Dropped a bombshell then hung up."
She swallowed visibly, before glancing at me. "Sorry."
Her eyes didn't linger for long, and she was back to looking at the books.
"i just want an explanation, Jackie," I told her.
She shrugged nonchalantly. "There's not much to say."
Her feigned innocence was admittedly starting to frustrate me, and I frowned as she continued to avoid my gaze.
"What did you mean when you said you wanted me?" I asked outright, tired of beating around the bush.
She mumbled, "Nothing."
"Jackie," I pressed, impatiently.
"Really, nothing," she assured me with a quick glance.
"It wasn't nothing. Not to you. Or you wouldn't have hung up. Wouldn't have gotten so upset."
She pressed her lips together, sighing deeply, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt when I watched as she seemed to struggle with an internal conflict.
"Jackie–"
"Fine," she said suddenly, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "It was something."
I waited, heart sinking to my stomach the longer she took to speak.
"I want you," she finally admitted, turning to face me with a worried expression. "Because I fucking like you. And you make me happy. And I hate that I didn't see it sooner. But there it is."
It was as if someone was squeezing my insides, everything shrinking into nothingness as she said the impossible.
"But... but why is that a bad thing?" I asked softly.
She exhaled, shaking her head and looking away. "It's not. It's just... complicated."
I tried to meet her eyes. "Why? Because of Jeff?"
Saddened eyes finally met mine, accompanying a guilty nod. And it spurred me on for some reason, because the girl I liked actually liked me back, and how the hell was that possible?
"I don't really give a shit about what he would think," I said truthfully, surprising her. "What anyone would think."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "What?"
It was hard not to laugh as the realisation of my situation dawned on me. "I liked you way before he did, Jackie. I've had a crush on you for years. Why the hell would I let him get in the way of that now that I have a chance?"
The fact that she seemed genuinely taken aback by my admission made me wonder if I'd hid my crush well enough all these years, or if she was just terribly unobservant. Either way, she didn't know what to say as she tried to study my expression.
"I do have a chance now, right?" I asked with a shocking amount of confidence than I thought I was capable of.
As if the roles were reversed, she struggled for words. "I– yes, but–"
That was all the confirmation I needed when I stepped forward and kissed her, hoping to put her mind at ease. She relaxed against me, kissing me back slowly and carefully and in a way that made me forget anything other than her.
After a moment, I pulled away to speak, but she grabbed me by the shirt, tugging me back to her lips, and I didn't argue it. My arms wrapped around her waist, her back gently hitting the bookshelf behind her, and she didn't let go of my shirt as she held me in place, lips devouring mine.
My mind was spinning and my insides were humming with desire once we pulled apart for air, and I could still barely believe I'd just made out with Jackie Taylor.
"Now what?" I breathed out, eyes flickering between hers.
She caught her breath. "Well, I like you and you like me."
"Yeah..."
A ghost of a smile was on her lips as she let her head fall to my shoulder with feigned frustration. "Jeff is gonna be pissed."
I snorted with amusement, shaking my head. "He doesn't have to know. Not for now, at least."
She hummed in agreement, pulling her head back to look at me again, though this time truly looking at me. I grew nervous under her gaze, any confidence I had disappearing.
"Sorry, you were studying," I said lamely, though in my defence, I didn't expect to interrupt her by making out with her between the shelves.
She shrugged like it was a mere inconvenience before tugging me back to her lips, and of course, I couldn't resist Jackie Taylor's charm.
—
Sometimes I couldn't quite believe I was in a relationship with Jackie, albeit a secret one. But then she'd look at me in a way that only I knew meant more and I thanked my lucky stars she liked me back.
When we were in the presence of others, we'd act like we always did, though Jackie would sometimes leave lingering touches or stare at me for a little too long, and I always warned her not to make it so obvious but she seemed to take that as a challenge.
Not even Y/BF/N knew, and one time at school, she grew suspicious. Again, all Jackie's fault, but I'd like to think I denied it pretty well. I was at my locker talking to Y/BF/N about our Music class assignment when Jackie approached us with her usual smile.
"Hey," she said to us both.
"'Sup, Jackie," Y/BF/N greeted, returning her smile.
"Not much, just wanted to ask Y/N if she was still on for studying later," she said, glancing at me. Funnily enough, that wasn't code for anything – she was actually gonna help me study. But the way her hand rested on my forearm as she awaited an answer definitely earned a second glance from Y/BF/N.
I nodded, remembering I had her notes in my locker and grabbing them. "Yeah, that's fine. Can you take these? I'm just gonna forget otherwise."
She accepted the notes, finally letting go of my arm, stuffing them between her books in her hand. "Awesome. I'll catch you later then."
"See you later, Jackie," I replied, and her gaze definitely lingered a second longer than it should've, making my cheeks grow warm at the attention. I broke our stare and she chuckled before walking away, probably not even realising she'd done anything out of the ordinary.
I cleared my throat, about to resume my conversation with Y/BF/N, but she was glancing back at Jackie before quirking a brow at me.
"What?" I asked, closing my locker.
"The hell was that?"
I played dumb. "I don't know what you mean."
She looked at me with disbelief before tracing her hand up my arm exaggeratedly. With a high pitched voice, she mimicked Jackie, "Oh, Y/N, I do hope we're still on for studying later!"
I slapped her hand away, avoiding her eyes. "Oh, be quiet, that's not what happened."
She followed me as I attempted to walk away. "Isn't it? Girl, that was weird, even for Jackie." When I didn't reply, she asked, "Are you two together?"
I scoffed a little too quickly, glancing at her sideways. "You're kidding, right? She's Jackie Taylor."
Y/BF/N narrowed her eyes at me with suspicion. "You didn't say no."
I rolled my eyes lightheartedly. "Okay then, no, we're not. You done now?"
Thankfully she dropped the subject, but I was still a little nervous at being found out. It wasn't that I didn't trust her, but telling her just meant it was one step closer to getting to Jeff. And Jackie and I were still new – there was less pressure this way.
—
"Lottie Matthews is loaded," Tommy said what everyone was thinking.
The band and I were stood outside Lottie's house, a party which she had invited us to and was paying us to perform at this evening, thanks to Jackie's recommendation.
"C'mon, they'll be waiting," Y/BF/N encouraged us all, snapping us out of our daze of admiration, before leading the way.
We brought our equipment inside, past the few guests that had arrived a little earlier than they were supposed to, and Lottie and Jackie were there to greet us.
"You all look great!" Jackie exclaimed with a smile once she spotted us, before her eyes landed on me and her smile softened into one that was only reserved for me. "Love the coordination."
I rolled my eyes playfully, though felt my cheeks flushing at the attention.
"Thanks again for having us, Lottie," Aaron thanked her for all of us. "Where d'you want us setting up?"
Lottie began to lead the way to the gigantic living room, the others dragging their equipment with them, and I was about to join them when I felt Jackie tugging me back.
"Hello to you too," I said with a stifled chuckle as she pulled me into her, almost knocking heads.
"You look really good," she said quietly, eyes looking me up and down.
"So do you," I returned, squeezing her hand in mine before glancing around then sneaking a quick kiss. "I should go help the band. But I'll see you around, Jackie."
She sighed childishly but nodded, letting me go, and I tried not to laugh as I followed after the others. I'd like to say that she was good at keeping us a secret for the rest of the party, but every encounter we had went pretty much like that.
As more people showed up, the party was in full swing within half an hour, and what a party it was. Lottie's house was practically a mansion, with a games room, cinema room, a huge pool in the garden and more than enough rooms for people to sneak into. Between sets, the band and I promised we'd stay sober, only here for the music (and Jackie), but that didn't mean we couldn't witness some hilarious stunts pulled by other kids stupid enough to drink their body weight in alcohol.
It was quite the affair, and it was made even better when I remembered how much Lottie was paying us to perform. Her parents were filthy rich, so what was probably pocket money to her was going straight into my savings for college.
After yet another exhilarating performance, I was waved over to Jackie who immediately grabbed my hand and pulled me to the empty spot by the dining table to talk. We perched ourselves on the edge of the table, hands a mere few inches away from one another, and it took every ounce of willpower for me to not touch her. I couldn't help it, she just looked so beautiful.
"You guys are playing so well tonight," she complimented sweetly, before tilting her head to look at me with a cheeky glint in her eyes. "You finally gonna tell me who that last song was about?"
I rolled my eyes playfully, remembering the last time she'd asked me that at the fair. Except this time, she was definitely playing dumb to embarrass me. "Something tells me you know, Jackie."
"Yeah, but I have to hear you say it," she continued to tease, finally resting her hand on top of mine.
I gave her a knowing look, smile creeping on my lips. "You know it's about you."
She feigned surprised, hand to her chest. "Really? I never would have guessed! Gosh, Y/N, I'm so touched!"
I shook my head with dismay as she laughed at her own joke. We stayed there for a little longer, her catching me up with some dumb stuff she'd witnessed tonight and also pestering me about a date she wanted me to take her on, and I loved every second of it. Because everybody was stuck in their own world, the closeness between Jackie and I wasn't even suspicious.
Unfortunately, that got interrupted when some guy approached us, drink in hand and definitely a little tipsy as he struggled to stand upright.
"Hey, ladies," he bellowed over the radio playing through the speakers.
Neither Jackie or I said anything as we waited for him to either speak or leave.
"You're the girl who plays the guitar, right?" he slurred his words a little, meeting my eyes. "I never thought I'd like a lady musician, but there's something about the way you–"
"I'm not interested," I told him firmly.
He blinked, not expecting that, before looking to Jackie and trying his luck once more. "How about you? You're a–"
"Don't even think about it," she told him with a judgemental stare.
He rolled his eyes at the rejection before downing the cup in his hand and walking away.
"Y'know, I love that people are finally seeing how hot you are an' all, but I also hate it," Jackie admitted with a half smile, glancing at me.
I breathed out, chuckling at her honesty. "It's a good thing I've got eyes for someone else, isn't it?"
She pressed her lips together, bright eyes flickering between mine distractedly, and then her expression softened. "I really wanna kiss you right now."
I nudged my shoulder with hers gently. "Later. I promise."
She pouted adorably, only making me want to kiss her, but I managed to hold back. And this didn't seem to sit right with her as she jumped off the edge of the table and spun around to face me, holding out her hand.
"What?" I asked, resting my hand in hers.
Once she closed her grasp on it, she dragged me through the bodies of guests before pulling me into a room that I'd never been in before. It looked like some sort of pantry in the kitchen, well-stocked, I couldn't lie. But I barely got chance to ask her what she was doing before she pressed her lips to mine, kissing me hard.
All night I'd wanted to kiss her. but clearly she'd wanted it just as much as she pulled me close, barely letting me breathe as we made out between the dried pasta and sweetcorn cans. The party was merely a distant memory as I tuned out the chatter of the guests and the beat of the speakers, instead succumbing to the taste of Jackie's lips and the scent of her perfume.
We were breathless when we finally pulled apart, her hands encasing my face between them, my breath tickling her lips.
"You really couldn't wait, could you?" I spoke, a hint of amusement in my voice.
She scoffed lightheartedly, shoving me back. "Shut up."
I laughed quietly. "Bit desperate, isn't it? For Jackie Taylor?"
She quirked a brow, finger fixing her smudged lip gloss. "Really? Says the one who wrote a million songs about me?"
I narrowed my eyes at her. "Touché."
She smirked, before fixing her hair too. "I'm gonna go. You should too if you wanna make your next set."
"Yeah, yeah..."
She winked before leaving me alone in the pantry, and I made sure my own lipstick was fixed before heading out.
The party went on until pretty late into the night, and it was after midnight when Lottie and Jackie began kicking stragglers out. The band called it a night, but I felt bad leaving Lottie and her friends to clean up alone, so I stayed back to help out. By the time we were done, I offered to give Jackie a ride home, mostly because I just wanted to make sure she got back safely.
"Your mum knows you're with me, right?" she asked from the passenger's seat as I was driving.
"Yep," I said between a yawn. "You think she would've trusted me out this late alone?"
Jackie let out a tired chuckle, leaning against the door. "Yeah, she loves me."
I rolled my eyes lightheartedly. "Whatever."
"Sleepover at mine," she insisted. "It's already late. I don't want you driving back alone. You might as well."
I glanced at her. "You're sure?"
She nodded. "You're overdue cuddles anyway. It's only fair."
This brought a smile to my face. "It's only fair. Uh-huh."
Even tired, she was adorable, and I couldn't say no. Plus, I was exhausted and it was the weekend, so what was the harm?
Once I arrived at Jackie's, we headed straight to her room and collapsed in her bed together, tired but content as we wrapped ourselves up in one another. The perfect end to a perfect night.
—
I changed the notes on my music sheet, giving my composition another go on the piano. It sounded a lot better now, but I still wasn't happy with it. I was working on my assignment for Music class, having booked out the classroom and piano for today's lunch to hopefully get some inspiration away from my bedroom. It was working, kind of.
As I chewed my lip, tapping the same key over and over thoughtfully, I heard footsteps behind me and glanced over my shoulder.
"Jackie," I said, surprised but smiling at her presence.
"So this is why you ditched me," she said jokingly, before standing by my side and resting a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm working on my assignment," I reminded her with a knowing look.
"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, a ghost of a smile on her lips before she nudged me over and took a seat on the piano bench beside me.
She began to press some random keys with her finger, making me stifle a laugh.
"Like Beethoven himself," I teased, and she shoved me in the shoulder without looking up.
"You're shit at soccer, so zip it," she reminded me, making me groan.
"You're never letting me live that down, are you?"
Finally, she glanced at me with a quirked brow and an amused glint in her eyes. "What part? The bloody nose? The missing the goal a billion times? Or the breathlessness after running only one lap around the field?"
I pressed my lips together, narrowing my eyes her way. "I hate you."
She laughed, leaning forward to press a kiss to my cheek before returning her attention to the piano. "Yeah, no you don't. Now, teach me how to play something."
I sighed, knowing she wouldn't leave me be if I didn't, so I taught her a few chords, enough to satisfy her urge to be skilled in something she really wasn't. Okay, a little mean, she actually wasn't terrible. But she was impatient and very easily distracted, and I was running short on time.
"Okay, Jackie, I actually need to do my work now," I said apologetically.
She sighed dramatically, giving me a doe-eyed look. "Fiiiiine, if you must."
"If you really wanna learn, I can teach you properly another time," I promised her, tilting my head towards her, mimicking her expression.
"Nah, I just wanted to spend some time with you, but I can see I'm not wanted nor loved," she said, keeping up with her dramatics as she stood up.
"Jackie." I laughed as she lingered, slowly approaching the door.
"Until next time, I suppose," she continued, and I rolled my eyes at her theatrics as she left the classroom.
God, she could be annoying sometimes.
—
It had been a few months since Jackie and I had started dating and I guess I was so enthralled with her that I never really considered how everybody else perceived us, particularly my brother.
I was certain we'd done a good job at keeping us a secret, but then Jeff was becoming suspicious, and I knew we couldn't keep it hidden for much longer.
Using our usual cover story of 'studying', Jackie was over at mine to hang out, though this time staying for dinner at my mum's insistence. Shauna was also over, since she was Jeff's girlfriend an' all, and it didn't make much of a difference since we were all friends, but then dinner actually happened and I felt stupid for thinking it would go smoothly.
"Y'know, I love how close of friends you and Y/N have become," my mum was saying to Jackie as she passed her the garlic bread. "Always inviting her over to yours."
"Just tutoring her for French class," Jackie answered smoothly. "Happy to do it."
"You're terrible at French," Shauna commented with furrowed brows, and Jackie almost faltered as she thought of a response.
"But better than I am," I filled in with an awkward laugh.
Jeff quirked a brow. "And your grade is improving with all this tutoring?"
I met his gaze, sensing his suspicion. "B average."
He hummed, glancing between Jackie and I curiously.
"You should invite Jackie here more," my mum said to me, thankfully interrupting whatever Jeff thought he was piecing together. "I don't want her family thinking we're not a good host."
"Oh, they would never think that," Jackie replied with a laugh. "They love you."
My mum flashed her a grateful smile, eating out of the palm of her hand. I believed we'd gotten away with it, plus I now had more reason to invite her over. But when I looked back opposite me, I saw Jeff and Shauna studying the two of us curiously and I was never good under pressure. I focused on my dinner as my mum rambled on about something or the other, but the couple before me were watching me the whole evening.
Once the meal was over, Jeff went to drop Shauna home as I did the same with Jackie, though I was a little more distracted than she was.
"I love your mum, she's so cute," she was saying as I drove. "And you heard her, right? Gotta stop by more. Her words."
"Yeah, I think you're actually gonna have to start tutoring me French now," I realised.
She pulled a face. "What? Why? I suck at French."
I gave her a sideways glance. "Did you really not see Jeff and Shauna? They don't think we're studying, Jackie."
As if remembering, Jackie snorted. "Yeah, but who cares what they think? There's no proof otherwise."
I sighed. "I know, but I also know my brother. He's gonna be all over us. So, you're gonna have to start tutoring me French when you come over."
She chuckled quietly at this, unbothered. "Oui oui, Monsieur Y/N."
I tried not to laugh. "It's Madame. Monsieur is for guys."
Pursing her lips, she glanced at me. "Fuck."
I rolled my eyes playfully. "God, you're lucky I'm good at French."
—
Asking Jackie to actually tutor me for French class was easier said than done. Turned out she really did suck at French. I ended up teaching her more than she could teach me a lot of the times, and then there was the issue of how she kept getting distracted by random things because the last thing she wanted to do was homework.
The few times that Jeff 'accidentally' walked in my room, we were actually studying, which only reaffirmed my suspicion that he suspected something more between Jackie and I. After the first few weeks, he stopped checking on us, so I assumed he stopped caring. And I may or may not have let my guard down just a little...
"Okay, I just need to recite this to you," I told Jackie, sat cross legged on my bed, opposite her. "Follow along on the paper and tell me if I miss something."
She hummed, glancing at the paper before looking back to me. I could see she wasn't focused and gave her a knowing look.
"Please, Jackie, my test is next week."
She laughed. "Y/N, you know this paper front to back."
I didn't let up. "Jackie."
She sighed dramatically before straightening up and looking at the paper. "Okay. Go."
I nodded and cleared my throat, before reciting the paper in French. It was a speaking exam, and though I wasn't too worried, it didn't hurt to practice. Of course, as I was speaking, I realised Jackie was only looking at me, eyes on mine, and definitely not the paper in her hand.
"...Jackie!" I scolded her, making her blink. "How do you know I'm saying it right, huh? You're not even reading it!"
She bit her lip, trying not to laugh again, then tilted her head towards me. "I'm sorry. I can't help getting distracted. You're so hot when you're focused."
I sighed, though my cheeks were growing warm. "Jackie. Not the time."
"Well, if now's not the time...," she started teasingly, leaning forward on her hands so she was directly in front of my face. Her eyes flickered between mine flirtatiously as she continued, "Then when is?"
I tried to hold my ground, refusing to let her win just because she was stupidly cute and stupidly kissable right now.
"Y'know what I just realised?" she asked rhetorically, hazel eyes glinting with mischief. "Teasing you is pointless. One kiss and you're mine."
"Jackie–"
She silenced me by doing just that, pressing her strawberry-flavoured lips to mine, courtesy of her favourite lipgloss. Unfortunately she was right, and as soon as she kissed me, I melted under her touch, eyes fluttering close. Her hand rested on my neck as she tilted my head up, having the perfect gap to push her tongue into my mouth.
As we made out, studying long forgotten, my senses were overtaken by all things Jackie, so much that I didn't hear anybody come in my bedroom until said person cursed out loud.
Immediately pulling apart from Jackie, I looked to the door to see Jeff standing there with a shocked expression.
"I knew you weren't studying!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at us. Then it seemed to dawn on him what we were doing instead, and he glared at Jackie. "Seriously?!" With a lower voice, he whisper-shouted, "You're sucking face with my sister?!"
Embarassed, I scolded him. "Jeff!"
"In case you forgot, you cheated on me with my best friend," Jackie retorted, standing up to face him.
"So you make out with my sister?!" he repeated, hysterical.
Jackie scoffed. "You don't get to be mad right now! You literally–"
"That doesn't give you the right to–"
"–and you cheated on me for fucking months–"
"–my little sister isn't your–"
I sat there awkwardly as they bickered over the stupidest things, still flushed with embarrassment.
The sound of my mum calling all of our names, followed by the promise of lunch, silenced Jackie and Jeff long enough for me to stand up off the bed, subtly wiping Jackie's lipgloss from my mouth.
"This... this isn't over," Jeff said, looking between us, before storming out of my room and downstairs.
Jackie clenched her jaw before glancing at me, expression softening. "You okay?"
"Yeah... I think. You?"
She nodded. "Let's go eat."
The two of us trailed in after Jeff, taking a seat beside each other at the dining table where my parents were waiting already. Thankfully, Jackie was still her easygoing, talkative self and made conversation with my parents as we ate. Jeff and I were quiet, occasionally glancing at one another before looking the other way if we accidentally caught each other's gaze. I still couldn't believe he'd caught me making out with Jackie. This wasn't how I wanted to tell him about us.
"...Y/N, Jeff, you two are oddly quiet today," my dad noticed, making everyone look to us.
When Jeff didn't speak, I answered, "I'm just a little tired. Lots of studying."
Jeff choked on his water and I instantly regretted my choice of words. Jackie looked between us before changing the subject with my parents, saving the moment. Thankfully, they didn't try to talk to me again, and Jeff still didn't have much to say.
After a horribly awkward lunch, I left to drop Jackie off home, glad when we were finally away from Jeff's judgy eyes.
"So... you think he'll get over it?" Jackie asked me in the car.
"Probably," I answered. "Eventually."
She nodded slowly, glancing at my house as we drove away, before saying, "Sorry if it's awkward between you both now. It wasn't my intention."
I sighed, a small smile on my face when I glanced at her. "It's okay, Jackie, it's not your fault. Besides. You're kind of worth it, so."
"Oh, really?" she asked, quirking a brow playfully.
"Just a little," I played along, and she laughed.
"That's good to know, yeah," she said, before squeezing my knee gently.
—
I wanted to talk things through with Jeff as soon as possible, but when I returned home after dropping Jackie off, he was in his room and I figured it was best to give him some space. The next morning, he was already out the house when I went downstairs for breakfast, so my only hope was to find him at school.
I wasn't sure if he was actually annoyed at me or not, since he hadn't spoken to me since yesterday and I didn't really see him around much. I put it down to needing some space again, giving him the benefit of the doubt considering he saw his little sister and ex-girlfriend making out.
After school however, I was surprised to find him waiting for me by my car in the lot. He didn't look annoyed or upset, which was a good sign, but I was also planning to wait for Jackie just now, so I hoped this wouldn't go down badly.
"Hey, Jeff," I greeted as I approached him, a little confused.
"So, I've thought about it," he said instantly, hand clutching the strap of his backpack as he paced a little.
"Uh-huh..."
"I just needed to process it all," he continued, stopping his pacing but struggling to stand still.
"Right," I acknowledged, patiently waiting for him to finish.
"You don't need my permission, obviously," he disclaimed quickly, before saying, "but I'm okay with it. You and– you and Jackie."
I raised my eyebrows, surprised at his reaction, or at least witnessing it so soon.
"It was just strange," he admitted, finally relaxing once he'd gotten his words out. "My ex moving on with my sister."
I couldn't resist reminding him, "You literally moved on with her best friend."
He winced slightly, but nodded. "Right."
I chewed the inside of my cheek as we stood there, neither of us saying anything.
"Okay then...," I started, once I realised he was done. "So, we're cool?"
"We're cool," he agreed, before reluctantly asking, "Out of curiosity though... how long? Y'know, you and Jackie?"
"A month? Maybe a little longer?" I answered truthfully.
He nodded, letting that digest, then said, "You seem to get along well. I'm happy for you, Y/N."
I began to smile, despite his awkwardness. "We do."
He smiled too, albeit a little uncomfortably, and mine soon turned into one of amusement.
"Hey," Jackie finally arrived, looking between Jeff and I, though unsure how to react as she was as surprised as I was upon seeing him.
"He's okay with it," I told her, making her eyes widen slightly, taken aback.
"Oh."
"I'm happy for you both," Jeff added, nodding at Jackie.
She recovered from her temporary stupor quite quickly and began to flash Jeff a mildly condescending smile. "Well, that's very mature of you, Jeff. Thanks."
He seemed a little embarrassed, but nodded before glancing at me. "Catch you later, Y/N."
"See you later," I confirmed, watching as he left us to it.
Only when he was out of hearing distance did I look back to Jackie, who was stifling her urge to laugh.
"I guess that's that then," she said what we were both thinking.
"It is," I confirmed with a hidden smile.
Her green-golden eyes met mine with a hint of mischief. "That means there's no need to hide this anymore, right?"
Realising she was right, I nodded. "Guess not."
A grin appeared on her lips, but before I could question it, she yanked me forward by my jacket, pressing her lips to mine in a brief yet passionate kiss that had me floating and forgetting what my name was.
She flashed me another smile before getting into the car, and I was left speechless, before a grin appeared on my own lips. No more hiding anymore.
#jackie taylor x you#jackie taylor imagine#jackie taylor x reader#jackie taylor#yellowjackets imagine#yellowjackets#ella purnell
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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 2
Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.
Two months have passed since your first time at the motel with Frankie. What has changed, what hasn't. Who are you now?
Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)
Rating: Explicit 🔞 PLEASE, see series masterlist for extensive trigger warnings.
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 How are you all? Gentle reminder that our Reader is an OFC. In this chapter, we get to know her better, and there are indirect physical descriptions of her. Sincerest apologies to anyone who knows Tampa. I did a lot of research, but I'm afraid my ignorance will still show… I swear I did my best. Raul is real, though. He's a friend of a very dear friend and he lives in Paris.
@frannyzooey my love, as always, I am in your debt. Thank you for your help. I love you more than words 🧡
I hope you enjoy this one, Orange besties, it made me sweat blood, @dreamymyrrh and @pedrit0-pascalit0 had to listen to my constant whining to put me on life support. Ily 🧡
Word count: 8.6k
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Chapter 2: Closer
The traffic is dense, but you spot Ava’s red Toyota as soon as it turns into E 7th avenue.
On any given Saturday, the upbeat neighborhood is bustling with cheerful crowds of leisured weekenders and hip thirty-something. On this particular Saturday, the first after Thanksgiving, the streets are a vision from hell.
There’s a constant ballet of cars pulling in and out along the curbs. On each side of the avenue, the sidewalks are swarming with jittery shoppers, frenetically prospecting for good deals on potential Christmas gifts. You’re willing to bet that most of them will stretch their budget thin on useless, meaningless knickknacks. Generic trinkets without soul nor purpose but that will, for the first half hour of ownership at least, fill the void in their consumers’ existence.
The traditional Christmas tree of unholy proportions is up and sparkling. Wrapped around the iron porch columns, electrical garlands blink in rapid sequences like luminescent spasmodic snakes. Storefronts are decorated with more or less taste. The temperature has dropped twice below 70. It’s that time of the year.
The merry season usually finds you adding a generous helping of anxiolytics to your daily cocktail of little helpers. This year, however, you haven’t popped a pill in days, and everything feels… more. Louder, too vivid, more oppressive. Sensations magnified and emotions amplified. Which is, after all, what you were aiming at when you unilaterally decided to taper off your intake.
Ava miraculously secures a free spot on the other side of the avenue, about a hundred yards in front of yours. You watch her parallel park, the maneuver surprisingly sloppy, given the parking assist technology the brand-new hybrid car is equipped with, and you wonder if you really needed to spend that much money on it.
In front of your own parked car, pedestrians agglutinate at the crosswalk. When the light turns green, they move as one, like flocks of extras on a movie set, coming to life on cue when the director yells “action!”
They’re not extras, however, each one of them is the main character in the movie of their life. Together they form a constellation of individual and interconnected stories, while you stand at the margin, forever exhausted, willfully forlorn. At best, a supporting part in Ava’s fantastic tale of eccentric adventures, but more likely a backdrop in your father’s gripping success story.
Although, your narrative has changed drastically over the past two months. You now got a part in your own right, unfolding in between takes.
You wait until Ava gets out of her vehicle before you exit yours, reluctant to leave the hushed safety of your old sedan’s cab, even for the few minutes it’ll take you to meet with her and step into the coffee place.
You wave at her from across the busy street until she sees you, but when she proceeds to jaywalk over to you, reckless and entirely indifferent to your pleading expression, you have to avert your eyes. There’s a crosswalk right in front of you, god dammit.
She levels up with you and pecks a kiss on your cheek, hitting your cheekbone with force, more headbutt than demonstration of affection.
“Hey,” she says, barely stopping in her tracks before she pushes open the glass door to the coffee shop.
“Hello, pup,” you answer fondly, your words lost to the street’s bustle.
Inside, the artificial air instantly pulls at your skin. The atmosphere is cool but dry, saturated with the smell of freshly grounded coffee beans and greasy-sweet pastries. The high-ceiling, cement floor, wide open-space is packed. The brick walls reverberate the ambient noises, and the late morning sun beams brightly through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, evenly spaced along the lateral walls. People sit in small parties around the white designer tables, sipping iced coffees from tall red paper cups with white snowflakes, large shopping bags at their feet.
Trying your best not to shrink and shrivel from the multiple overwhelming stimuli, you focus on Ava’s back, walking behind her as she leads the way to a free table at the rear of the coffee shop, between the counter and one of the windows. There’s a regal quality to her gait and the way she carries herself, not unlike your father, the resemblance enhanced by her preference for masculine clothing, and you have to love the irony, given how much she hates the man. She has your mother’s beauty, though. The same luxurious dark hair, fair, flawless skin, and wide green eyes, her frame tall, her figure athletic. She’s the masterpiece. Next to her, you look like a clumsy first draft, with blurry edges and hesitant features.
She throws her jean jacket on the back of her chair and collapses on her seat with a theatrical sigh.
Across from her, you sit down gingerly on the edge of the hard wooden chair, balancing your weight around the sore and delicious ghost sensation of Frankie between your hips.
“You look good,” you start.
“Yeah, you too!” she exclaims, like it’s unexpected, “tired but like, good. Are you getting any sleep?”
You smile, waving your hand dismissively.
“Don’t we have to go to the counter to order?”
“No, it’s fine,” she answers, “they serve at the table. I’m having an oat milk matte, what do you want?”
“An espresso, I think.”
Right on cue, a young woman dressed in a black cropped top and black skinny jeans presents herself at your table and proceeds to tap in your order on a rectangular electronic device. Her long acrylic nails hit the screen with a rapid succession of click-click-click. The sound brings you back to your parents' dining-room, the large table standing like an angular island on the shiny square of reflective tiles, in the middle of a shag carpet ocean. Your mother’s nails, painted in Revlon Desirable #150, rattling impatiently over the lacquered surface of the dining table near her untouched plate and a glass of G&T sweating with condensation. She never ate her food. She drank even when she was pregnant.
Your fingers find the back of your knee and pinch the thin skin there, so hard you flinch.
The waitress waltzes off, and Ava returns her full attention to you.
“I’m happy to see you,” she offers, and you smile softly at her uncustomary expression of affection. Your chest expends. “It’s been a while.”
There’s no reproach in her tone, but you are usually the one expressing ill-concealed concern over her long silences, and the reversal in your dynamic throws you off. Guilts gnaws at you. You choose defense.
“You were away.”
“Yeah, but like, I came back three weeks ago.”
Three weeks. Your smile fades and you slump in your chair, running a quick mental calculation.
Time has never been an easy concept for you to grasp, but until recently, you’ve managed to remain afloat and functioning, on a practical level at least, amidst a society that revolves around schedules and timetables. The watch on your wrist, yearly organizers, recently and reluctantly replaced by the iCal app on your phone, sticky notes, tin boxes filled with tickets stubs… All clutches to your failing memory, anything to keep you tethered against an overpowering and primal instinct to escape, let go, drift away. And perhaps, most of your exhaustion stems from this endless swimming-race against the current.
Lately, your inability to remember appointments, to navigate time and hold an effective grasp on reality has reached a new high. For the past two months, your life has revolved around Friday nights and the sound of a red pickup truck pulling in and out of a decrepit motel’s parking, tires screeching on the gravel. Inside this timeframe, your entire life is contained. Around it, the days stretch, spiral, and blend. And you’ve lost all motivation and interest in any counter-current swimming.
You frown slightly, scanning her face, but she doesn’t let on anything out of the ordinary. After all, if she genuinely worried, if she so badly needed to see you, she could have given you a call. You were the one to reach out and ask to see her this morning.
Something’s different about her, in the way she holds herself straighter on her seat, with her legs crossed and her head tilted to the side, exposing the undercut she got before the summer. You’re still not entirely sure if this was the bold fashion statement she claimed it to be, rather than a dramatic reaction to her girlfriend moving back to New York. With Ava, it could be both. She’s not wearing any makeup today, her face looks disarmingly young, and the concern she’s expressed, however subtle, churns your insides with guilt and affection.
You plaster a polite smile on your face.
“Well, I’m here now. It’s good to see you, too. Tell me, how was New York? How’s Polly?”
The waitress returns with the pastries and beverages you ordered, and Ava begins to narrate her two-week trip to the big city. She speaks fast, punctuating her words with large gestures to describe the cultural buoyancy, the hip neighborhoods and her thrifts finds, the street food and the refined, cutting-edge restaurants, how everything is bigger there, faster and better, how she fell safe walking hand in hand with Polly, the clubs, the galleries, the weather, crisp air and chilly winds from the north, a refreshing, comforting seasonality to pace the existence.
“I was fucking crying when I boarded the plane back, you have no idea.”
“Oh, I can imagine,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You don’t miss her too much?”
She doesn’t answer, and something in the way she avoids your gaze makes you frown again.
Polly and you have always gotten along well. You genuinely appreciate her solar personality and her worldly conversation. Their encounter four years ago had been the silver-lining in an otherwise horrendous year. The happy, coincidental consequence of a chain of events that had been years in the making.
When Ava dropped out of college halfway through her freshman year, it provided your father with the excuse he had been waiting for to kick his own child out of his house. You had seen it coming. In fact, you had spent your entire adult life shielding Ava from the paternal discontent, investing all your strength into becoming the son and successor he had wished for, and that neither of you could ever be.
Ava, however, had never put in the effort. She didn’t fit into the family portrait. She never had. You didn’t want her to, and she simply couldn’t. Too rebellious, decidedly unconventional, and, well, queer, to boot. Your father had spent years formatting you and there she was, standing proud, strengthened by your unconditional support, a glaring highlight of your diverging values, a breathing reminder of his failure with you both.
In the aftermath of the fall-out, Adrian had refused to take her in, and she had spent days out of your sight, sleeping god knows where. Eventually, you’d dug your heels in, as you only ever did when Ava was concerned and her wellbeing on the line, and obtained that she move in with you. The cohabitation hadn’t gone smoothly in the least. As usual, Adrian was more concerned about potentially upsetting your father than making you happy. You were once again caught between crossed fires.
The strained situation with your fiancé notwithstanding, Ava couldn't spend her time sitting idly at home. You had pleaded with her for weeks before she agreed to resume her studies. Only this time, it had to be with your funding. The realization that you didn’t have any consequential money of your own had been brutal, even though it shouldn’t have been a surprise: you lived in Adrian’s apartment, and were employed by your father, who refused point-blank to let you sell some of your company shares, knowing the money would go to his estranged daughter.
All you could afford was Hillsborough Community College, but things had eventually taken a turn for the better when Ava and Polly had met. Polly was teaching psychology, waiting for a tenure that she would never be granted. Because of the 20-year age gap between them, she insisted Ava graduate with her BA before they started properly dating. And when they did, the improvement in your sister’s mental state and overall balance was immediately noticeable.
Calm and collected, affectionate and thoughtful, Polly grounds your young sibling. She eases her anger and channels her energy into creative and fruitful endeavors, without snuffing her rebellious temper.
And now, despite Ava being almost fully independent, with a job and a place of her own, you don’t know what you’d do if they were to break up. If one of them were to decide that a long-distance relationship is not what she wants.
You lean forward, your hand coming to rest over hers, warm and smooth. “Hey pup, what’s up? Is everything ok between you two?”
“Oh yes,” she quickly assures you, withdrawing her hand, “and by the way, she sends you her best.”
Understanding downs on you like a bucket of ice. You suddenly feel stupid, pathetically naive, forever one step behind. Leaning back in your chair, you let out a short, soundless huff. What you’re facing is not a breakup, but the likely possibility that Ava will soon move out of town to follow Polly to New York.
Ava is talking again, about New York you’re guessing, but you can’t focus on her words. Behind your impassive eyes and your attentive smile, your mind reels and wrestles with a downpour of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Pride flares in your chest at the prospect of your baby sister setting roots in a city as intimidating as New York, but it tugs at something else, something you’re too scared to consider, and an ugly feeling you’re reluctant to acknowledge.
Would she hesitate before leaving you behind, after you’ve prioritized her freedom over yours? After you stayed so she could fly away? And wouldn’t it be the point?
Your eyes travel up along the trail of small tattoos adorning her forearms. Dominos, tea cups, a white rabbit with round glasses, a flamingo, several thin arrows, a broken heart in flames.
What’s your purpose, if she’s not here anymore? If someone else is looking after her? If your sacrifice is no longer necessary nor justified?
“How was Thanksgiving dinner? Did you have fun talking about politics with Richard?”
You wince involuntarily at your father’s name. She never refers to them as “mom” and “dad.” She hasn’t for a long while. But today the sarcasm doesn’t fool you, no more than her feigned indifference.
She’s not truly asking if you had to bite your tongue and smile through conversations that make you nauseous. She knows well enough you’ve got just enough political convictions to carry you to the voting poll, but hardly a step further. Listening to him is painful, but you get by, and your shameful silence buys you necessary peace.
No, what she wants to know is if your family inquired about her. And you don’t have it in you to answer that no, no one has, not last Thursday, not for the past four years, not ever. Not your indifferent father, nor your inebriated mother. Not your bigot grandparents, not your egotistic aunt and her gold-digging husband, not even the housekeeping staff.
You shrug noncommittally.
“Who were the guests of honor, this year?”
The question makes you groan and briefly close your eyes at the memory.
“Adrian’s parents.”
“No?! Fuck! They really want this marriage to happen, don’t they? Looks like you’re not gonna be able to dodge much longer.”
She smacks her hand over her thigh, letting out a short staccato of a chuckle, as if the subject of your confinement through marriage was a laughing matter. You glare at her, crossing your legs and folding your arms over your chest, but the shifting in your demeanor goes unnoticed.
Suddenly, her levity riles you up. She got away. You didn’t. And the only thing that carried you through this year’s Thanksgiving dinner is the perspective of being fucked senseless by a stranger on a dirty motel floor the following night.
For a brief moment, you’re tempted to bite, and retort that, contrary to her, you didn't spend the holiday on your own. But the truth is that you envy her the privilege, and she knows it.
Taking a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to calm your growing nerves, you stir the conversation towards another topic, finding neutral ground with her job. You’re stalling, and you’re not even good at it. You sit restless on that damn hard chair, squirming uncomfortably, sweat prickling under your armpits in the chill artificial air, eyes flicking down to your watch every other second.
“Do you have to be somewhere, or something?”
Your head shoots up. Again, you have no idea what she’s talking about, or how long she’s been rambling for. This is ridiculous. You are being ridiculous.
“Listen, Ava, I have to ask you something. A favor. I have to ask you a favor.”
Her eyes widen at your sudden change of tone but she nods. “Hit me.”
“I need you to… I need to be able to tell Adrian that I spend… that I spend Friday nights at your place. Actually, I’ve already been doing it for a while. He thinks we see each other on Friday evenings. I just… I need more time. I need the night.” You grip your shin with both hands and dig your nails in. “It really doesn’t matter anyway, he’s not home on Fridays, he plays poker and he never comes back until like, 3 or 4am, and I just need— I need to be able to come home after him. Not, like, every week. Or yes, maybe every week. Just in case. If ever. You know?”
She remains completely still and silent as you wrestle your words out of your throat. Her face hardens, her wide, green eyes strained on you. She gauges you in silence for another moment, while you rub your clammy palms on your jeans under the table. Above the table, you do your very best to maintain a casual air.
“And what exactly is it that you do, on Friday nights?”
You anticipated the question, of course you did. You swallow around the sharp stone stuck in your throat. Your eyes dart down to your espresso cup. It’s empty.
“I’m just taking a bit of time off for myself.”
More time, to commit his body and his face to your long-term memory after he’s left you, depriving you of his heat. The tiny bits of him that add up to form the formidable sum of the man he is. The locks that curl around his ears. The dip in his collarbone. The little target tattooed on his hand. You’re never sure which hand it’s on, you need more time, that’s all. And you won’t lie to her, not exactly. You set your mind on that early on. But you will not tell her the whole story.
A large shit-eating grin slowly parts her plump lips.
“Are you telling me that Richard’s favorite daughter is getting some side dick on a weekly fucking basis?”
“Jesus, Ava, why do you always have to be so crude?”
“But you are? Right? You are getting dicked down, every fucking Friday night? Right? Are you on Tinder, or something?”
“I’m not—” you start, but her excitement is louder than your exasperation. She uncrosses her legs to lean toward you, propping her elbows on the table and threading her fingers together, talking over you.
“Why didn’t you tell me? For once that something cool–”
“Because there’s nothing to tell,” you retort through clenched teeth, raising your voice. Her mouth hangs open in shock. You don’t give her time to recover. “And look, if you don’t want to do that for me, it’s fine, it’s not like anyone is going to call you to ask if I’m with you.”
She takes the blow, leaning back in her chair. “Wow. You really thought this through, didn’t you?”
You don’t answer, shame and anger burning your cheeks.
“Why you’re telling me now, then?”
“Like I said. In case.”
“I case what? In case I find myself on a Friday evening in the same place Adrian takes his cuntsluts?”
You steel yourself and stare at her.
“Something like that, yes.”
—
Two months.
Two months of lies and deception, shoving your bright secret deep down inside you, shrouded under a veil of routine and normalcy.
Nine weeks, split into six days of stretched out hours, swirling languid and excruciating, like smoke from a cigarette stub in a room without air, and one day of counting. The minutes, your steps, your breaths, your heartbeats.
Saturdays, worn-out, appeased, pleasantly aching. Sundays rising slow like a lurking threat. Mondays-Tuesdays-Wednesdays merging, dragging and useless. People talking to you, expecting words, when your mind is filled with two glistening bodies entwined in golden hues. A tremor on Thursdays, the nearing promise, and by Friday morning you’re all frayed nerves and aching want, tapping into your pent-up emptiness for focus and patience.
Friday evenings sliced up into a ritualized sequence of actions.
At 6pm, you leave your office and head toward the employees' underground parking. There are 37 steps from your desk to the two silver-doors elevators on the landing. Seventeen stories down, including 2 underground levels, and 58 steps from the elevators to your designated parking place. It is crucial that you don’t allow the pace of your steps to catch up with the racing thumps of your heart.
From downtown Tampa, it’s an hour and thirty-six minutes drive north on the 589, before you reach the motel. An hour and fifty minutes, two hours top, if the traffic’s bad. There might be faster alternative routes, but you don’t use the GPS, so you don’t know about them.
Once you’re there, you park in front of room number 7, the one with the missing brass number. You stuff your phone into your purse, which you slide under your seat.
You exit your car and walk towards the reception in short, hurried strides, cursing the tight skirt that hinders your steps and gives your posture a subdued aspect, which is probably why your father imposes the garment on his female employees.
The reception is a square room with an old humming AC unit, dark-brown fabric wallpaper, yellowing popcorn ceiling and a counter behind which sits Raul, the night clerk. Raul is a short man in his mid-60s. His dark eyes are reshaped into tiny concentric boot buttons by the thick lenses of his small, round glasses. His light brown, straight hair is styled in a bowl cut. He only wears beige Henley’s with rolled-up sleeves and indigo painter overalls. You’ve never seen his shoes.
Every week, Raul hands you the key to room number 2 without lifting his boot-button eyes from the charcoal drawing he busies himself over behind the counter, and tells you in a thick accent that “everything has already been taken care of.”
Every week, you thank Raul, grab the key from his stretched out left hand, and chance a glance over the counter to see what he’s drawing. Mountains, infallibly, week after week, the scenery only varying in shape and shades of anthracite.
And every week, as you exit the reception, you feel Raul’s boot-button eyes strained on your back through his round glasses.
When you step inside room number 2, you flick up the two toggle switches by the door, turning on the lights and the overhead fan, and you go to the bathroom to wash your hands and check your reflection in the antique black-edged mirror.
Then, you return to the room and you sit on the bed. That’s where you wait for him.
You don’t undress, you don’t lie down, you don’t undo the bed.
You know what he’ll do to your clothes. Anticipation trickles down along your spine all the way to the ripe heat between your thighs, and it travels right back up to tug up at the corners of your lips, but you press them together, lips and thighs, as you wait.
He comes in after dark, preceded by the sound of tires on gravel and that of his boots stomping on the porch and he’s here, Frankie’s here, the rush of night air from outside when he storms into the room wafting over your face.
He greets you with a hoarse voice, like he hasn’t used it all week, and he takes a couple of long strides towards the desk, where he sets down his cap. You peer at his reflection in the framed mirror when he combs his fingers through his dark curls, tense jaw, creased brow. You study his broad shoulders, the rippling muscles of his strong back, when he takes off his jacket and drapes it on the back of the chair, swift, precise gestures. It’s his own ceremonial, you let him have it, his transition into this world that you share. The confine of this room. Brown carpet, yellow curtains.
When he turns to face you, at last, it’s always with a heavy, grating sigh, a sound so rough and primitive to express his relief, his hunger, the limit of his patience. You stand up slowly, unfurling in slow motion from your sitting position on the edge of the bed, eyes on him, forever and always. His want radiates from him in colorful angry waves, like a tangible, virulent aura, black eyes boring into your skin and you welcome it as it pours out of him and creeps up to you like thick fumes.
You stand tall in the charged stillness of the motel room, offered, but not quite yet within reach, waiting for him to come and seize you.
“Take off your clothes,” he says as he comes closer, tilting up his chin. The command rumbles low and guttural from his throat, and those words are your cue. You clamber out of your statuesque stillness, twisting your ankles out of your pumps while he tugs at your blouse, as he crashes his lips onto yours.
His first kiss is voracious, unescapable, your face trapped between his cupped hands, and you’re engulfed in the taste of him, drowning in the scent of him, leather and soap and musk. And something metallic you have no name for. It’s intoxicating, you’re floating, losing both bearings and balance, like when you were thirteen, and you’d sneak to the downstairs pantry to drink your mother’s gin before dinner.
On some Friday nights, you’ve already made it back to your glass prison when you notice a tear in the seam of your shirt, or a missing button. “Take off those fucking clothes, I wanna feel your skin.”
“Yes,” you answer with parted lips, parted heart, parted life, jaunty fingers working your skirt open.
Beyond that point, neither of you talks much.
It’s his name –Frankie– falling from your lips, a long but quiet whimper when you come, a whine of pleasure-plain when he inches into you, a moan when you plead for more, a whisper when you promise you can take it all.
It’s his clipped orders, sharp and short.
Open up
Push back into it
Let me hear you
I want you to come on it
And two words, always the same since that first time in the parking lot.
Stop me.
Stop me when he pins your hands above your head or folds your arms in the small of your back, his fingers like shackles around your wrists, and he lines himself up. Stop me before his saliva drips down his tongue in fat drops between your breasts, and he straddles your chest. Stop me, when he closes a fist in your hair and slides you down along his hard length, your chest caving in under your gag reflex, beads of tears like precious shiny diamonds clinging to your lashes. Stop me when he angles your spine backwards with a sudden tug on your hair, when he bands an arm across your belly and ragdolls you to the floor to fuck you harder and deeper. Stop me when he ties your wrists to your ankles with the black zip ties that bite into your flesh.
Stop me with the flat of his hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, Stop me with his thumb teasing your tight ring, Stop me with your legs around his neck.
Those two words, a beacon guiding you through the week that precedes.
Sometimes, when you’re alone, you repeat them to yourself.
“Stop me,” you say, low and quiet, facing the mirror when you're applying makeup, staring straight into your eyes, so intently it twists your reflection.
“Stop me.” A whisper, and a slow-spreading, carnivorous smile that splits your face in two because someone, at last, wants you beyond reason.
Stop me. You will never stop him.
He fucks you twice, three times a night, before he leaves you covered in him, sated and sprawled on the rumpled bed around 2am, with a nod and a husked, “I’ll see you next Friday.” He sounds calm at last. Drained.
Once he’s gone, in the rumbling of the pickup’s engine and the screeching of the tires, your mental countdown to the next Friday is reset. You crouch into the narrow bathtub of dubious cleanliness, and ruefully wash him away in the trickle of hot water. You try to hold on to the thought of him, even more so than to the feeling of his touch. That’s what the soreness is for. It will stay with you until Monday at least.
But in your memory, his face is blurred. Only his sad angry eyes stand out, dreamlike, entrancing.
There's a conflicting distance beyond his hunger. An underlying restraint beyond his roughness. Withheld intimacy. A reluctance to give into your softest touches, when his forehead briefly rests on the plane of your chest, and you circle his neck, or carefully run your fingers through his sweat-soaked curls.
It doesn’t take a PhD in psychology to understand that if he wasn’t in here with you, he’d be somewhere else, doing something worse.
Some weeks, you go through strings of sleepless nights and restless days of anguish, your mind spiraling to the agonizing thought that you are nothing more to him than an empty and interchangeable vessel into which he can fuck his rage.
With masochistic thoroughness, you pull taut a red woolen thread to connect the clues of your insignificance.
He doesn’t name you. There are no sweet names, no terms of endearment, and he certainly never calls you Marion. The sounds he produces when he’s inside you, that’s your reward. Deep guttural grunts, and if you’re lucky enough, they resonate through your whole body when he holds you tight and close.
He never comes inside you. Where do you want it? he pants, when his hips start to fall out of pace. “Mouth,” you quickly answer, always, a greedy match for his gritty ways. And most times, he obliges. Flips you around or scoot over you and shoves his pulsating cock into your warm, wanton mouth.
But sometimes, he doesn’t. The thick pearly white ropes of his spend spurt over your back, your belly, your chest. That’s when he’s got a mind to rub it into your skin. That’s when you want to believe he might have chosen you to be here with him.
In those scarce instances, you are tempted to rely on your instinctual understanding of your relationship. Far from the toxic codependency that, according to Ava, you feed into with Adrian, what you share with Frankie is elsewhere entirely. Week after week, he presents himself before you, visibly wounded, willing to offer exactly as much as he needs to receive. The balance is perfect. No travesty, complete equality. The purest form of interaction. The most honest transaction you’ve ever taken part in.
And thus, no matter how remote he may seem on some nights, no matter how dark his eyes, how clouded his gaze, or how brutal his hold, you can’t help but feel safe.
The feeling thrums underneath your skin and finds an echo in his bloodstream. You hear it in your shared silence, when you lie side by side on the bed and stare emptily at the ceiling, chests heaving, bodies cooling off. When a shiver rakes through you, he gets up and turns off the overhead fan. Walks over to the bathroom to bring you a glass of water.
He’s given you everything you wanted and didn’t know how to ask for.
And when he looks you in the eyes, he doesn’t blink.
Stop me, he says, and what you hear is, Trust me.
He’s been quick to learn your body, and he’s greedy with your highs. He keeps you pinned down onto the threadbare linen with his mouth fastened around your cunt until your legs tremble and your throat is hoarse with your repeated high-pitched moans, the stubble on his cheeks scraping the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Bestowing pleasure, drinking it right back.
Your body expands into new sensations, after years of a dormant existence, curled up within your outer shell into the tightest ball, the smallest possible shape. You’re spreading, stretching into your limbs, filling them in. Growing nerve endings that shoot farther along your extremities with each fiery kiss, each starving touch, each orgasm, like trees rooting in beautiful, intricate ramifications.
The wild creature nestled between your lungs has a mind of its own. You’re developing emotions unknown to you until now.
The tranquil contentment he leaves you with when he steps back into the night and closes the door behind him rapidly fades over the following days. By Sunday evening, there’s nothing left of it, and you find yourself shivering, deprived of his heat, unsettled, agitated.
Your mind wanders to her. The faceless, nameless woman he drives back to after you’ve fucked each other free of your pain.
Envy, tinged with hatred, pours ugly inside your chest, pressing against your rib cage, hindering your breathing, its heavy particles tainting your oxygen.
Does he handle her with reverence? Does he use sweet names to beckon her into his embrace? Does he spit in her mouth, does she beg him to? Does he rub his spend into her skin, or does he stuff her pussy full of his seed?
Whenever you loosen the grip on your thoughts, you’re brought back to a large reception room on the last floor of another glass prison, stilettos wounding your feet, strangers with empty smiles and cruel eyes drinking from crystal champagne glasses. The excruciating misery of having to interact with Adrian’s colleagues, laughing at golf jokes you did not understand, desperate to fit in. Fighting your survival instinct, to tether yourself and not present a blank stare to those people you were supposed to impress. As Adrian’s fiancée. As your father’s daughter.
The effort seemed worth it, then. You were in love. Or so you thought. In hindsight, you’re not certain anymore. Reinterpreting your past is a temptation you try not to succumb to. In more then one way, you still love him.
There was a hushed tremor in the faceless assembly of tuxedos and cocktail dresses, and you saw her entering the room, parting the crowd. Slender, swaying, lush honey blonde locks and incandescent hazel eyes. Junior partner at Adrian’s firm, quickly climbing the ranks, flawless makeup and oozing self-confidence, she smoked Vogue cigarettes and when your gaze returned to Adrian, everything fell into place. You knew with a chilling certainty that this formidable young woman was fucking your boyfriend.
Adrian had had a couple of flings in the past, but this one was different. He fell for her hard, a grown man in a teenage-like trance. Your blood left your face when you realized everyone else in the penthouse, and most likely in the firm, could see what you were seeing.
You decided then and there that you were never going to marry him, regardless of what he or your father would threaten you with.
But even then, what you had experienced wasn’t jealousy. You’d felt trapped, and yes, betrayed. Wounded, in what little self-esteem you possessed. Thoroughly defeated. But you did not feel jealous.
You understand it now, and every time you think of Frankie’s touch grazing the faceless woman. Every time you torture yourself into considering the nature of their bond and the depth of their attachment.
Would Frankie look at you the way Adrian looked at her? With blunt desire, unabashed, irrepressible thirst? With belonging? Would people around you know? Would they identify you as lovers?
After all, a single glance had been enough for him to take you from a bar, to a parking lot, to a motel. To make you desperate to mean something to him.
Does he miss you outside your shared time? Does he think of you? Does his mind wander to your skin in the blue morning hours, does he try to name your scent?
Deep down, you are no fool. If there’s one thing you’ve always known in this life, it’s your place.
But some Friday nights are more dangerous. They give you too much hope. Prompting you to call your sister, for instance, and risk your little secret so you can spend more time in the small room with the yellow curtains. Wrap yourself in the dirty sheets that bear his musky scent, instead of jumping into the shower. Linger into that breach of your life’s continuum. Extend the delusion.
Last Friday, he buried his face into your core and drew violent waves of release that he kissed back into you, swirling his tongue into your mouth to coat it with your taste.
His face was shiny with your slick and his body glistening with sweat in the soft yellow hues from the bedside lamps, when he got up to the desk and slid his belt out of the loops of his pants.
Your eyes grew wide, but not with fear.
He placed you face down on the bed, with your arms along your chest, and he trapped your body with the belt. You accompanied his movements, docile, curious, without apprehension. The metal buckle was cool on your feverish skin, and the leather smelled like him.
Stop me. He was hard and thick, and he fucked into you in long, thorough strokes, dragging the round tip of his cock along your clenching walls, slamming his hips into the swell of your ass. With his thumb pushing into your asshole and his hand around the belt to keep you where he needed you to lie still.
You came in seismic tides that quaked along your body in concentric ripples, from your wrung out core to the extremities of your fingers and toes. The sound that came out of your throat was unrecognizable, and perhaps it was his. Your mind tipped over into unconsciousness. When you resurfaced, his cock was rubbing in the cleft of your cheeks, his come leaking down the curve of your back, mixing in with your combined sweat, his chest pressing down onto your shoulder blades.
You felt his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, hot breath searing his choked up words into your soul.
“You’re a good girl. Say it. Say you’re a good girl.”
“I’m— I’m—“
“That’s it, say it for me.”
He was lying heavy on top of you, sinking you into the mattress, his belt buckle digging into your side. This was going to leave a mark.
“I’m a good girl.”
“You’re my good girl.”
You will never stop him.
—
Sitting on the edge of the bed, with your back straight and your ankles crossed, you wait. Eyes on the yellow curtains, darting beyond the dusty fabric into the warm December night. It’s yours. All of it. Yours until morning.
There’s the faintest hint of a bad taste sitting on the back of your tongue. Coppery, bloodlike. It comes in waves every time you remember how you twisted your baby sister’s arm into covering for you. But the night is yours. You swallow hard, force a smile. You want to be guiltless, for once.
“Polly says you’re overly secretive. That you like to live ‘hidden between the folds of life’, as she puts it. Something about culpability being a coping mechanism…”
The words, delivered flatly after you’d stubbornly diverted and defused all her questions, had cut through the most tender parts of your flesh.
“Is that her professional opinion?” you had retorted, your chin tilted up as if you were not bleeding inside.
You swallow hard again. If you close your eyes, if you concentrate, you can almost hear it. The pickup’s engine, bolting down the asphalt, bringing him into your needy arms. You can feel the heat radiating from his solid chest and seeping into your body through your palms, resting empty and upwards on your lap. Your tongue tingles with his tangy taste, a trail of goosebumps breaks across your skin, anticipating his caress.
Frankie.
The daydream that carries you through the week, carries you through that very last stretch.
Until the man himself storms into the room like bad weather. Dark, electric, a standing threat.
One look at his face and you know. It’s going to be one of these nights that make you doubt everything.
At first, the change in the script is barely perceptible. There is no gentle acclimatization, no ceremonial, no tacitly shared ritual. He doesn’t face away to let you observe his reflection in the mirror. But he looks like he hasn’t slept since last Friday. The crease in his brow is forbidding, his eyes are too bright, too clouded, circled in black and you’re dizzy with the distance you find there. Tension rolls out from his taut muscles underneath his clothes and you stand up, alert, if not entirely ready.
“Get naked,” he growls, tugging his gray t-shirt over his head, his trucker hat falling to the floor and tonight, you miss your cue.
Instead, you come closer, extending your hands towards him. You call him in a murmur, Frankie, but the wild thumping of his heart under your trembling palms cuts you short.
The light flickers in his eyes, so you hang in brave, hang onto the thread of your touch, sliding your hands up his burning chest. He stills. His gaze focuses on you for the first time since he came in. Your fingertips brush lightly along his collarbone, to the dip at the base of his neck, where they linger, underlining the hollow shape of it, skating around his neck to his nape. His brow shifts, his jaw ticks, and you draw him in for a kiss.
He jolts when your lips meet his. His hands grip your hips, rough and desperate. This is the part where you melt into him, surrender to his touch, but tonight the balance is tipped off. He licks into your mouth with a pained, muffled whimper, and your eyes remain open.
You’re powerless, powerless to get to him and bring him back to you from wherever the hell he may be. And his distance settles between your two bodies, an invisible partition. It stands erect and opaque, projecting its shadow over you when he lies you down on the synthetic quilt and dives between your hips. His ministrations are detached, performative, mechanical. There’s no contained urgency in his handling of you. Empty touches, empty silence, and you orgasm weakly, the sensation floating on the surface of you.
You can sense him, trapped behind his black eyes and this damn crease that splits his face above them, only you can’t reach him. He won’t let you. For every one of your attempts at a caress, at tenderness, is rejected by a shrug, a push of his hand, a shake of his head.
Sweat breaks on his forehead and dampens his curls as he becomes restless, showing none of the familiar signs of the relief he finds in your release, when he hums softly into you, lapping at your entrance to capture what you offer him, what he drew from you. Impatience and desperation roughen his grip on you. He shoves you to the head of the bed and you scramble, sliding on the slippery quilt, curled on your side, until you’re caged between his rigid body and the headboard.
There’s no warning, no Stop me, when he lines himself up with a stifled groan. You bury your face into the pillow and bite down on it to muffle the pain when he splits you open. He starts rutting into you with unrestrained strength, forcing through the vice grip of your tight cunt around his hard length. You try to relax into it. That’s all you ever want, for him to fill you up, to be inside you and around you, but that’s the thing: he’s not touching you. Not really.
Instead of gripping the curve of your hips, or kneading your breast, or lying between your shoulder blades, his hands are clenched on the headboard, white knuckled. His bent knee doesn’t quite touch your folded legs, his hips don’t even slap against the swell of your cheeks.
“Frankie,” you try, but your voice comes out thin as a ripping thread. It’s immediately drowned under the sounds filling the room, the creaking of the bed, his strained breathing.
“Frankie,” you call again, louder this time, reaching to the side to grab his thigh.
He jerks at the contact, sliding out of you with a hiss like you just burned him with a red-hot iron. You grab the side of the headboard to haul yourself up. Behind you, you feel him falling back on his knees. For a few seconds, you can’t bring yourself to move. You remain hunched over, fingers wrapped so tightly on the hardboard, your nails digging into the cheap, tender wood.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, and you turn around to face him.
Your heart sinks and chatters at the sight of him, of his glassy, pleading eyes that won’t meet yours. His chest heaves with exertion, and the weight of something else. He grazes a palm over his face, tilting his head down.
“I hurt you. I fucking hurt you, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Tonight, this is it. These words are your cue.
“No,” you start, scooting closer to him as he shakes his head, exhausted, isolated. The gesture no longer carries the warning it did as he was about to succumb. It’s a measure of his failure, of the depth of his defeat, and it chills you to the bones.
“No,” you repeat, stronger, and you offer him the only lifeline you know.
Closing the physical distance, you straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. When his body stiffens, you harden your hold.
“Frankie… Frankie…” you coo, again and again, like his name holds the solution, and all of your devotion. You say it as you press your forehead to his, as you rub your cheek against his stubble, as you nuzzle the sharp edge of his nose, and trace his plush lips with yours.
Until his shoulders sag under your embrace, until you feel the choked up breath that quakes his chest, you keep repeating his name. A few minutes, or an infinity of seconds, time doesn’t matter anymore. The night is yours, your skins are glued together in the soft yellow light.
His arms circle your waist, hesitant at first, but you encourage him, raking your fingers through his hair, twining them into his soft curls. He lets you, he gives in, tucking his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales you there, raising the soft hair on your nape. His voice is broken when he speaks.
“I’m not–”
“Frankie don’t, please don’t,” you cut in.
You know the words that are piling bitter and desperate on his tongue, know them on an instinctual level. You feel them swirling, black and hopeless inside his head, you’ve known them from the very beginning, recognized them in the sadness of his angry stare. And you won’t let him pronounce them inside this room you share, you won’t let him give them any kind of substantiality. Not between your arms, not against your skin.
“I’m not hurt,” you begin, pulling back to see his face, to look into his eyes and sink your words of hope and faith into him, past the barrier of remorse and regret, “I want everything you–” but his brow furrows deeper as he clenches his eyes shut, and you trail off.
Panic briefly floods your brain. You’re acutely aware of your shortcomings and limitations, of all the things you’ve never been taught growing up. How to translate feelings into words, how to express compassion, how to care for others. How to be heard.
You take a deep, shaky breath, your breasts pushing into his chest.
“Look at me, Frankie baby. Look at me. Let me–”
Let me in. Let me be yours. Let me mean something.
Your plea dies on your tongue when his eyes shoot open. They shine with unshed tears, pierced by a ray of light from the bedside table, and for the first time, you see that they’re not black. They were never black. His eyes are brown, a deep, rich, precious mahogany brown. The color paints your vision, it flows into your bloodstream and courses along your veins. It spreads into your heart, gets tangled in your soul. Around you, the whole world disappears, along with everyone in it. There is only him, his mahogany eyes brimming with tears, and the feeling of his hot, damp skin against yours.
His arms wrap tighter around your back, his warmth seeps into your bones. His hands find purchase on your curves, drawing you closer.
“I want you so badly to be real,” he whispers, quiet and pained, like he can’t ask you this much, but you know that, for him, you’re willing to be.
“I’m so sorry,” he says again.
Swallowing down the tremor in your throat, you give him a tender smile, tinted with gratitude, colored with praise. You cup his face, fingernails scratching at the heart-shaped patch on his jawline. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and you give him what he needs, leaning in to press them to his.
Underneath you, his length throbs with unreleased hunger, and you sway your hips over it. He moans against your lips, the vibration trails down to your core like hot, liquid amber. His tongue peaks out, and you open up for him, like you always have, like you always will. A grating sound comes out of his throat, an echo of your gratitude, a mirror of your pain, a reflection of your loneliness.
He breaks the kiss to lift you up gently, helping you find friction with his cock sliding between your folds, where it pulsates hard and thick against your clit. Your limbs turn to molasses, toffee soft and sticky, but your hips lock into a slow, languid rhythm, slick pooling down on him as you stroke him between your two bodies. His right hand skates up flat along your spine, to settle on your nape.
He draws you in closer, closer than you’ve ever been. His heart beats inside your chest, enveloping the purring wild creature you still can’t name or tame.
“Make us come, baby.”
A dry sob undulates up to your throat. Your eyes fill with hot tears, they spill against his temple. Mahogany explodes inside your brain. The night is yours.
“Yes, Frankie.”
“Make us come together.”
****
Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @your-voice-is-mellifluous @mylostloversbookmarks @readingiskeepingmegoing @lovesbiggerthanpride @youandmeand5bucks-blog @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @southernbe @blackvelveteen1339 @anoverwhelmingdin @casa-boiardi @nandan11 @jessthebaker @pedroshotwifey @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @noisynightmarepoetry @missladym1981 @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @survivingandenduring @jeewrites
#tonight you belong to me#happy frankie friday#tybtm#Francisco Catfish Morales#frankie morales#the pilot™️#frankie morales x fem!reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x ofc#frankie morales / fem!reader#frankie morales / you#frankie morales / ofc#triple frontier fic#triple frontier#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fic#frankie friday#will miller#benny miller#santiago pope garcia#william ironhead miller#triple frontier fanfiction
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You can ignore this if you're not taking requests but your recent Ace x reader fic got me thinking...what about Ace and Floyd being wingmen for Jamil with reader?? Cause they're the basketball club who does anything but basketball 😂
Backboard - GN!Reader/Jamil Viper (Explicit)
Rating: Explicit
Tags: Reader’s body not described nor are pronouns used (things are described as going in holes without specifics lol), mutual pining, grinding, heavy petting, kissing, dirty talk, talk of penetration, ask to tag for more.
Words: 3.3k
Silly author’s notes: Hey so this was probably a fluff request but uhhhh it became uhh smutty by accident so... oops?
Want more TWST? Here’s my masterlist!
“Prefect!” Yelled a familiar voice behind you. Before you could turn around to see who it was, you felt two different hands clap onto each of your shoulders.
With a blur of teal and ginger, you felt yourself being swept away to who knows where while Ace and Floyd bicker about their club.
“So I was sayin’...” Ace coughed stiffly, glaring at Floyd as his jaw tightened “...what was I saying, Floyd?”
“Oh!” Floyd nodded, “You were saying…” He tilted his head to the side in a look of confusion and not-at-all-subtly was mouthing words to Ace.
Snapping your gaze to your redheaded friend, you missed the first part of the sentence, but you could make out Ace mouthing the words ‘you idiot’.
“I’m clearly missing something.” You say, trying to dig in your heels to stop your two troublemaking friends from continuing to orchestrate your kidnapping.
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that!” Floyd whined, “We just wanted you to watch us practice! Finals are coming up and Jamil’s been on our asses about improving.”
“And that involves me how?” You say, crossing your arms but allowing them to start walking you again. You had a huge crush on the hardworking and clever Jamil, not that you would ever admit it to anyone. If the smirks on Ace and Floyd’s faces were anything to go by, though... you might not have been as subtle as you hoped.
“He’s nicer to us when you’re watching!” Ace said with a grin, “Come on, don’t you want to do this for your besties?”
“Yeah, shrimpy! We’re besties!”
“Um, I’m pretty sure that I am the bestie, Floyd.”
“If you’re the bestie, how come I’m the one that got slapped by them the other day?”
“Floyd!” You exclaimed, “I told you that was an accident! You surprised me!”
You had slapped Floyd across the face two days ago when he had jumped out and screamed bloody murder as you were walking out of the bathroom. Fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, and you learned that day that apparently you are a ‘fight’ person. Floyd’s reaction was to cackle and then pretend to run and cry to Jade, who teased that he was disappointed that you had only slapped Floyd and not him yet.
Dangerous, both of them.
The three of you had finally reached the gym, so it seemed like that particular thread was going to be left forgotten. Grabbing your hand, Ace pulled you inside.
“Jamil! Look who wants to watch us practice!” He exclaimed, holding your hand up in the air like a referee calling a boxing match.
Jamil’s face did not show even the slightest change of emotion while he stared at Ace. “You’re both ten minutes late, you know.”
“Yeah yeah, but we’re here now, right? Let’s get practicing!” Floyd said playfully, grabbing one of the discarded basketballs off the ground and biting his tongue while he tried to spin it on the tip of his finger. Well, you supposed that was a kind of basketball practice.
“Uh, if you’d rather only club members be here, Jamil, I don’t want to bother you.” You offered. You would rather stay, but not at the cost of annoying him, even if Ace saying that he was nicer around you made your heart flutter.
Jamil sighed, his neutral expression falling into a gentle smile.
“You are fine to stay, if you wish. I very much doubt that you were brought here only of your own volition.” He said, side-eyeing Floyd and Ace who had gotten distracted enough within seconds to be horsing around and making repeated missed shots at the home team hoop. Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Did he really always have to play babysitter?
“Go ahead and take a seat, Prefect.” Jamil said, lightly touching your elbow to steer you towards the bleachers. You go to sit, unconsciously stroking the skin that his fingertips had just ghosted by. This was going to be bad for your heart, you could already tell.
There was a strange dynamic between the three at practice, you could tell that they were all talking to each other while playing, all three pairs of eyes darting between each other and sometimes even making it your way. Both Floyd and Ace had been going out of their way to talk to you and were being strangely flirty. They were calling out that shots were ‘for you’, winking at you, saying things like ‘if I get three baskets can we go out on Saturday’, or walking off the side of the court to talk to you while everyone else continued to play. It was not your usual dynamic, and it was very confusing.
Jamil however, looked pissed. He was playing a great game, especially since the ever mercurial and unnecessarily tall Floyd was playing seriously for once. There was a flurry of movement, sneakers squeaking on the court, the echo of the ball bouncing and every so often you would catch a word of one of the boys’ mysterious conversations. Unfortunately the only part so far you were able to glean were the words ‘cute’ and ‘fuck you’, so… not much in the way of success so far.
Practice went on that way for a while and then came to an early close. Since Ace and Floyd were late and the second years had a big test coming up, they were leaving early. You decided that the least you could do is help pick up, so you volunteered to help Jamil put all of the equipment away. He gave you another soft smile and thanked you, showing you the equipment closet and instructing you on where everything went.
You thought that Ace and Floyd would have left by now, but they were huddled together and whispering, which frankly made you nervous. Jamil called you back to reality as he got your help to grab the last of the practice gear and hauled it into the closet, letting out a sigh as you finally got everything put away.
“So Jamil, do you…” You began, but you were interrupted by the lights turning off and the door slamming shut with a loud clack. The distinctive laughter of two of your new best frenemies rang from behind the closed entryway and the sounds of loud running footsteps got quieter and quieter.
Those assholes.
Jamil was closer to the exit than you were, and you could hear him rattling the door while trying to turn the handle.
“It’s locked,” Jamil groaned while burying his head in his hands. He didn’t trust those impulsive assholes for one second, and they still got him with this elementary-level setup. “And the light switch is on the outside.”
You walked uneasily forward and called for Jamil softly, your shoulders relaxing as soon as you felt the warmth of his arm. You tried to look at his face, but it was just a bit too dark.
The darkness was actually lucky for Jamil, because that meant that you would only see outlines of shapes rather than see him grinding yet another layer of tooth enamel off in stress. He was going to strangle those boys with his bare hands.
Okay Jamil, breathe. You can get out of this. He inhaled slowly and exhaled on an eight count. Calm. Calm. Collected and calm.
“I’m so sorry you got wrapped up in their pranks,” Jamil said, sighing as he rubbed the back of his neck in a self-soothing motion. The good mood he had from having you helping him significantly dampened.
“I don’t mind an excuse to spend time with you, even if I wish the circumstances were a little more fun.” You said with a bubbling laugh.
Your laugh sounded like a chime in the spring, it felt like a fresh breeze caressing Jamil’s burning skin. You were going to be the death of him.
How was he supposed to focus on finding a way out of this escape room when all he wanted was for it to be even smaller so he would have another excuse to feel the brush of your cool fingertips on his boiling body?
He had been dying for the entirety of practice, having to listen to Floyd and Ace try to egg him on by talking about how cute you were and how they were going to steal you away if he didn’t make a move. They had been offering to ‘wingman’ for him as soon as they had realized that he seemed to have a soft spot for you, but he had refused the offer.
Apparently, they had decided to go ahead and take matters into their own hands anyway. Idiots.
Jamil is snapped out of that thought by a loud clatter further in the supply closet, accompanied by your voice letting out a yelp, then followed quickly by a loud expletive and more noises.
“You okay?” He asked into the darkness, blindly walking forward while waving his hands warily in front of him. The closet wasn’t that big, but there was enough junk in it to make it a bit of a maze.
“Yeah!” You reply with a slight hint of frustration, “I was just trying to see if there was anything useful in here but…” A groan, a shuffle, and your voice sounded quite a bit nearer, “That was a bust.”
You sighed, “My phone is in my bag so I don’t have a flashlight. I’m guessing yours is also?” You asked, wanting to kick yourself for not keeping your phone in your pocket for once.
“Same.” Jamil chuckled sardonically and began reaching out his hands in the direction of your voice. “Maybe we should work together, huh?”
“Probably. That’s why you’re the famous genius, Jamil.” You said teasingly, feeling along the wall to where it sounded like Jamil was.
Jamil was going to combust if you complimented him like that again.
He scoffed, “Is the otherworldly non-magical yet still straight-A Ramshackle Prefect, really going to try and call me the famous one?”
It sounded like Jamil was almost right in your ear now. You decided to use that to your advantage. Your eyes had adjusted just slightly, and you were pretty sure you could see the barest outline of the handsome sorcerer you were trapped with.
You quietly sneak behind him and snake your arms around his waist, feeling his entire body stiffen under your touch.
God, he was so cute. Your next sentence was breathily whispered over the shell of his ear.
“I mean if one of us should have a fan club it’s you. How do I sign up?” You murmur, taking joy in the quiet gasp that fell out of Jamil’s mouth. “You're always so busy, how do you keep it up?”
It was taking every well-trained muscle of his body to not start shaking in a mixture of intoxicatingly new and intriguing emotions your touch gave him.
“You should be a little more careful in the dark, you know? You did just fall after all.” He mumbled, waiting for a moment for you to relax and reply to his light jab.
He felt your arms loosen as you began an undoubtedly sassy reply. Jamil took the opportunity to spin around and pin you against the wall. One palm next to your head and the other next to your hips. He could just barely see the cheeky grin on your face. Were you messing with him?
“You should also be careful when it comes to playing with others,” he hissed, pressing his body closer to yours, the sweet scent of dried Scarbian flowers escaping from the fabric of his clothing.
You felt dizzy from the almost touch, the enthralling smell of him, the heat of his gaze. Would it be too forward to just pull the clothes off of him with no explanation? Well, yes obviously, but should you do it anyway? While you were mulling this over, you felt warm breath fanning over your lips.
“Jamil?” You asked shakily, feeling the body heat of the man in front of you seeping below your skin.
“Yes?” He replied, moistening his lips with a lick of his tongue.
“Can I touch you?” You nearly whimper, desperate to close the millimeters of space between the two of you as soon as possible.
Jamil barely makes out the start of a “yes“ before you were on him, devouring him with kisses for dear life. It felt like you had waited years to feel him, to taste him, to explore the soft cavern of his mouth with your own. You listened to his moans and gasps for air like a symphony made just for the two of you.
The darkness added to the thrill of exploration as you felt your way across his body: his gorgeously defined shoulders, the flexibly sleek muscles of his chest, his abdomen.
It was so sudden, you both had barely even talked today, but your eyes had been burning into him as you had daydreamed for the past hour about how much you wanted to put your hands on him and make him speak your name.
Watching him focused on the court, the way his hair would fly in the air as he would duck and weave like the finest silk, the glint in his eyes when he would see an opening, and the dangerous grin that would grow on his face when he took advantage of the opponents single moment of weakness to their doom. You would stare at him, his smile wide, his perfectly smooth complexion gleaming with sweat, just a hint of scarlet on the tips of his ears and the ends of his fingers from the exertion. Laughing in joy for securing that final point they needed to win the match. How could you not be enthralled by him?
You thought of how the world seemed to stop spinning when he danced, how wide he would smile, the crease of his eyes, the sway of his hips. He was intoxicating.
And now, he held your chin in his hand, gently guiding your head back against the wall he had the rest of your body pinned against, his other hand cushioning the back of your head from the hard surface. Pupils blown wide, chest heaving.
Jamil worried that he might be dreaming and would wake up any second now. He moved closer to your body again, unwilling to miss out on a second of feeling your skin before he awoke. If this was a dream, then he would make sure to take every advantage. If this was reality, then he would just need to thank his lucky stars for the opportunity as soon as he could.
Moving his lips down the shell of your ear, he traced his tongue down from your lobe to the base of your neck. Jamil’s knees almost buckled in overwhelm as he heard you moan his name while you threaded your fingers at the nape of his neck and pressed your body against him as hard as you could. He pushed you flush to that goddamn wall, scraping his teeth on your soft skin onto your pulse point as you gasped and murmured praises for him, scratching at his back with your nails and pulling at the roots of his hair.
It felt like he was on fire, it felt like the world would end the second that you were no longer touching him. He needed more, he needed every last drop of your affection that you would give him. Kissing a path back to your face, Jamil smoothed his tongue over yours as he gave your soft appendage a strong suck, pumping your tongue with his mouth as the messy kisses and overwhelming sensations caused your lips to redden and swell from the rough contact.
You separate for air and stare at his almond eyes in a daze. The brief thought that he could ask you to do anything at this moment without even bothering to hypnotize you first and you would do it without question. Jamil’s hands had begun exploring more of your body, squeezing at your chest, stroking his thumbs over your hip bones, tracing the curve of your ass. He would map out every inch of your body until he had memorized it, this was only the beginning after all.
You pushed your fingers under the hem of Jamil’s shirt and started tracing the lines between his stomach and his hips, kissing up and down his jaw and whispering how beautiful he was, how long you had wanted to touch him, and how lucky you were.
This seems to have gotten him worked up faster than anything yet. Jamil balled up your shirt in his fists to pull you back for breathless kisses, telling you how much he wanted to feel you, how your every action affected him so, and the sheer amount of times he had seen you look into his eyes and smile and how he had to do everything in his power to not pull you away to his room to fuck you right there. Shove himself inside of your shaking frame as his fingers trace the shape of your tongue to make sure that you don’t get too loud. Permanently indent the shape of his fingertips into the divots of your hips as he slams into you over and over, praising your name like you had both been made for the express purpose of being with each other.
You wished he had, but it wasn’t too late to start.
You shamelessly told him the details of how you would touch yourself to the thought of him at night, stroking, bucking, biting your lip near bleeding from the imagined sensation of him, his cock, and the repeated sensation of your bodies meeting over and over as you both screamed each other’s names so loud that your voices would be hoarse the next day.
You felt like you could burst from this heavy petting and erotic descriptions of your collective fantasies alone. You already knew that he was perfect, but you had never been this aroused before in your whole life. You needed relief, you needed him.
“Jamil…” You breathe out, feeling Jamil’s lithely muscled arms envelop you in a desperate embrace, clearly trying to resist (and then immediately failing) to grind his hips against you in a desperate bid for relief from the flames that were clawing their way out of his body inch by inch.
You were so aroused right now, you didn’t know what to do. Unfortunately for the two of you, there was an audible shuffle and a knock outside the locked door and both you and Jamil’s heads snapped up, separating from each other in surprise.
A sliver of light flooded in from the door, and Ace and Floyd’s giggles floated in along with it.
“Sea snake? Shrimpy? You alive?” Floyd called, snapping the lights on while you and Jamil grimaced and covered your eyes from the bright lights.
Jamil didn’t answer, he just held his head high as he plastered on a fake smile, pulling you along with him to the door.
“Ace? Floyd?” Jamil began, tilting his head to the side in a closed-eyed grin.
“Yeah, Jamil?” Ace beamed, scratching the back of his head like he was a kind samaritan waiting to be thanked for their act of charity.
“You two are the dumbest motherfuckers alive. Go run laps until your legs give out.”
Both Floyd and Ace’s expressions went slack, and the two boys nodded and began sprinting outside. You looked at Jamil quizzically.
“Did you just…?”
“They’ll be fine, they need the exercise anyway,” Jamil replied slyly, his fake smile melting away into a genuine one.
“So are we going to your room or mine, gorgeous?” He cooed, leaning to place a chaste kiss on your cheek.
You went to his.
What TreySimp? A plot got away from you? How shocking! How novel!
Okay anyway Jamil is a babe he is a hottie I love him etc etc etc I am insufferable with my 500 fictional boyfriends sue me
Let me know what else y'all wanna see. Love you, reader!
Requested tags: @readinganas, @yandere-kou, @daeda21, @sideofblog, @buckketboy, @kxhyuns, @aikochan4859, @kumiko-desu, @destinationdesignation, @ninjas-are-the-shit, @star-gods, @sarahyumiko2, @sappyisyourpappy, @sunnyseaside, @twstandsh0ut, @rebel-faes-writing, @witch-waycult, @fr0llo, @bluesylveon2, @dari-kun, @kit4kat256, @naniky, @kashasenpai, @the-mermaid-of-the-stars
#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twst#twst smut#n/sfw text#twst reader insert#twst x reader#jamil viper#jamil twst#jamil x yuu#jamil x reader#jamil x mc#jamil imagines#twst ace#twst floyd#ace trappola#floyd leech#twisted wonderland fanfiction#twst fanfic#twisted wonderland smut#twst x you
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The Surface
banner by @sailoryooons
Pairing: prince merman!Hoseok x sea witch!reader
Genre: fairytale AU/The Little Mermaid AU, smut
Summary: Prince Hoseok has only ever wanted one thing: to experience life on the Surface. You have only ever wanted Prince Hoseok. When he comes to you, desperate, claiming you are the only one who can help him, you decide to play along. You'll help him achieve his dream and maybe you'll satisfy your own dream, too.
Word count: 20k
Content: unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), Hoseok has sex with someone but he thinks they're someone else, if you're incredibly squeamish, there may be some body/pain stuff that makes you go 😖, potentially a litt yandere-vibed
A/N: Happy my birthday eve to you, dear reader!!!!! This is my very first toe-dip into the world of fantasy/spn!! AND my first collab!!!!! Pleeeeaaassseeee read the warnings (and please!!!! let me know if I'm missing any or any are insufficient). I'm so excited; I struggled with plotting this fic and working out how to get it to do what I wanted and thid is actually v3.0 lmao BUT I'm really happy with it! And happy to be part of the Make Me Your Villain collab!!! Thanks to @daechwitatamic for beta-ng and yelling!!!!
*
Hoseok swam farther than he ever had before. Swam closer. He’d be inching forward and now he was close enough to be spotted; he knew that. He knew that that was too far, but he didn’t really care.
The first time he swam in this direction and saw the shadows of small boats cross over him, he’d bolted in a panic. Merpeople were not to be spotted by humans. Ever. So he’d raced away, not looking back.
But then he had the knowledge that humans sailed there. He knew that that stretch of water played host to life above its surface, too. They were little boats, not the huge ships he usually tailed. These were much smaller, with handfuls of humans sitting in them, pointing in the distance, holding little boxes up to their faces and lowering them again. Visible. Watchable. It was tantalising.
So he went back. Hung around and waited for a while. Did it again. Watched a boat sail over him and eventually drop anchor near the cove. Went back a third time. Saw the humans jump from the side of the boat into the water. Hung back.
The next time, he swam closer. And the time after that, closer still.
That particular day, he had time. Lots of it. There was nothing calling for his attention, nothing tying him to any place, so he edged closer and a little closer, until he could see so clearly their spindly legs kicking ineffectually through the water, their weird feet and tiny toes. He had never seen humans so close before. He wondered if anyone had. They were fascinating. They dived down and kicked back up, their limbs moving in the water to keep them afloat. They turned on to their backs, looking just like seals from below. They squealed and laughed and talked and Hoseok watched it all with rapt attention. What he wouldn’t have given to approach one. To have made contact. To have asked them all his questions.
He wished he had someone to tell. Someone who would receive the information with not even wonder—his hopes were not that high—but interest. He didn’t have anyone to share his discoveries with, his treasures, his excitement. No one else understood. Some people thought he was weird; others thought his interest in the human world was downright wrong.
But his excitement was palpable that day, floating so close to the humans, he could hear their voices. He could even just about make out their words. And then their speech took on a more urgent tone; there was more frantic splashing, some flailing of limbs. He looked around himself and rose until his head bobbed out of the water. He watched the humans spin, searching for something, pointing this way and that way, calling to each other, looking.
He wanted to help but he didn’t know how. He dipped back into the water and skirted around the edge of the group – still unseen—and then it hit him. He had been so focused on the humans that he hadn’t seen it.
The rip tide tugged him sideways with a vicious spinning force. He was lucky, because he lived in the sea and this was far from his first rip. It might have taken him unawares, but he was able to right himself and spiral through to the other side.
That was when he saw what they must have been looking for.
The rip had tossed him out on the other side of a sharp, rocky outcrop on the west side of the cove. It jutted far out into the sea, sheltering the shore from western winds, and he saw a human woman struggling to the surface.
Her limbs were slow and her face kept dipping under the waves until eventually, she just floated, barely moving at all, moving only with the rhythm of the waves. Hoseok watched with dread and fear curdling the excitement in his stomach. She was too still now, her face too low in the water. Something wasn’t right. There was something unnatural about the way she was lying there, suspended in the water.
Hoseok didn’t think before he acted. He kicked his fins and swam to her, wrapping one arm around her torso and hiking her upwards so her face was out of the water. He dragged her, swimming backwards, towards the shore. He was grateful there was a shore; the other side of the cove had nothing but sheer cliffs and sharp rocks.
He didn’t know what he would do when he reached the shingle beach, but being on land had to help, didn’t it? Land was where the humans belonged.
Hoseok dragged her as far out of the water as he could manage—which wasn’t very far because his tail churned the stones and wouldn’t propel him forwards, so he dragged himself, as well as this human woman, until only her legs were splashed by the waves.
He looked down at her, anxiety churning in his gut. How did humans die? Was she already dead? The thought was nauseating. He knew humans had hearts like merpeople did, so he pressed his hand against her chest and felt nothing. He pressed a hand against his own chest. Felt nothing. He pressed his fingers against the large artery he knew ran down his front and felt nothing. He pressed them to his neck and almost felt something, moved them around until he found the spot at which he could feel his blood pushing against them. He immediately transferred his fingers to the same position on the woman and felt the same thing.
He let out a heavy breath. Relief. At least she wasn’t dead.
But she also wasn’t awake.
“Hello?” he called lightly. “Uh, hello? Are you ok?”
She remained unmoved, but he could barely hear himself over the pounding of his frantic heart; maybe he was too quiet? Maybe merpeople couldn’t make noise outside of the water? He tried again but it elicited no response.
He watched her carefully, listening, training his ears towards her, tuning out the roar of the waves and the squawk of seagulls and the distant sound of voices. He concentrated hard, breathing carefully to slow his own heart, to quiet the thump of it against his ribs and the rush of blood through his veins. There was a wet gurgle as her chest rose and fell, coming from her mouth, but sounding from deep inside. Hoseok knew humans breathed through their mouths, not having gills of their own. So he knew she was breathing.
She was both alive and breathing. He sighed with relief. He could let his worry go and lean into his fascination.
He had never seen a human like this. Close enough to touch—he had touched her. Her hair was the colour of the sun, even wet through; the curls stuck to her skin and Hoseok dared to reach out and brush them from her face. As he took his hand back, he noticed he was shaking. Drops of water on her skin sparkled like gems, glinting in the daylight. The sun was hot—far hotter than he’d ever felt it in the water—and bright. The heat of it burnt away the water on her skin almost too quickly to notice. Hoseok didn’t think she looked all that different from a mermaid, not really. The legs made a difference, sure; she had no gills in her ribs; the webbing in her fingers was reduced to nothing, each digit separated down to the palm. But really, what difference did those things make?
He thought her a wonder. He thought her the most beautiful, fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Her rosebud mouth, lips open and plump. Her skin was smooth and dark; he looked stark next to her. Her torso was whole, one expanse of skin stretching around her back and ribs. Hoseok placed a hand to his gills, fingers playing along the edge; they were flapping uselessly in the dry air. He smoothed them down with his hand, imagined his torso like hers, uninterrupted.
He lay with his tail next to her legs. He tried to picture it split in two, tried to picture himself walking on two feet, upright. He wasn’t the longest merman, but how did that compare to humans? The woman by his side seemed long—were all other humans, too? He figured he would probably never know and the rarity of this moment, the precarity of it, dented his enthusiasm a little. But, he reminded himself, for the rest of his life, he would have this. This human woman, lying next to him, seen by him, touched by him. He wondered how many other merpeople had done that.
He’d heard the horror stories, of course, the kind that teachers tell students to scare them away from the surface. He had never believed them, not entirely. There were bad humans, sure, but there were bad merpeople, too. And looking down at this human, this woman, he knew she was good. He felt a fluttering in his chest that made his breathing hitch. Made him feel almost breathless.
He wished she would wake up and see him. That wasn’t allowed, of course. It was absolutely forbidden to make your presence as a merman known to anyone who lived on the surface. But, who had to know? Just this once. Just this once, Hoseok could have his dream come true, couldn’t he?
She blinked once, then twice, and rolled over to cough and splutter, and he panicked. The tranquillity of the moment was gone. He heard the sound of seawater hitting stone as she choked and it spilt from her lips. He didn’t know what that meant. He watched her back heave as she coughed and was gripped by an intense fear. He wasn’t bad; he didn’t break the rules; he didn’t have the stomach for it.
He was diving in the water before she had rolled back, before she had a chance to see him or even notice him. He had disappeared before he’d even made the decision to disappear. Maybe that was close enough. So much for his wishes to be seen. He just wasn’t brave enough.
Back in the water, he shuddered and realised he could breathe again. With his heart rate finally slowing, he swam towards home, his mind pre-occupied with daydreams about coming back to this shore, seeing more humans, learning some more; pre-occupied with the panic and relief and adrenalin of his last ten minutes.
Pre-occupied as he was, he didn’t see that his movements were being tracked. He didn’t see a royal aide, following at a distance, and then moving off towards the royal chambers when they made it back to court.
He didn’t see you either, though you could see him.
* * *
His mother came to see him the following day.
“Hoseok,” she began, in the quiet, stern voice that had always scared him as a child. “Do you think your father and I are stupid?”
He blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that and couldn’t see the reason behind it. That worried him. He was walking into a trap.
“No, of course not,” he answered, honestly.
“Then it will not surprise you if I say that we do know where it is you go in these waters.”
His blood turned to ice.
“We are all very well aware of your... interest in the surface. In humans and all their detritus.”
He opened his mouth to argue back but the expression on his mother’s face stopped him.
“We know you hunt out shipwrecks and follow boats along trade routes, searching the carcasses of their vessels for rubbish, hoping and waiting they might drop something valuable. We know how close you have got, Hoseok, to exposing yourself to the humans.”
He gulped. He knew he was in trouble. Probably a lot of trouble. He didn’t know what his punishment would be.
“We are not going to permit this any longer.”
That rankled. He was almost 21. An adult in any world. Permission? He found his voice.
“I wasn’t aware I needed permission to go anywhere.”
“You’re a prince, Hoseok, of course you need permission. And you no longer have it. So Sebastien will accompany you through your days for the time being, to ensure you do not go where you should not.”
“For the time being? How long is that exactly?”
His mother looked at him, impassive.
“For as long as your father and I tell him to.”
Then she swam away without bothering to say goodbye. Hoseok didn’t have any time to react before Sebastien was by his side.
“Good morning, my prince.”
Hoseok bit back a spiky retort and swam away, with Sebastien following at his fins. His mother couldn’t be serious. He was being chaperoned? It was an indignity. It was infantilising. It was entirely unnecessary. He flexed his hands into fists and out again, balling and stretching as he swam, as he carried on in his head the argument he wished he could have had with his mother. This would not do.
As he realised where he was swimming—with his new bodyguard—he stopped suddenly. He had been inadvertently leading Sebastien to his happy place, his treasure trove, the place where he kept all the so-called ‘human detritus’ he saved. He was sure his parents didn’t know about that and he didn’t want them finding out.
He swam away, ignoring Sebastien chatting idly at his side, and wondered just exactly what his parents knew. Had they seen him save that human woman? Had they seen how close he had come to being discovered? Is that what this was all about?
* * *
Hoseok looked miserable. Oh, he was smiling, and you were sure he was saying all the right things. But you knew. He was not enjoying his birthday party. There was nothing dazzling in his smile, no halo of light around his head. His laughter rang out, hollow and pitchy, not at all like the tumbling bells it usually was.
No, the prince was miserable. You were sure of it. You had noticed that he had been followed—was being followed—by one of the court’s highest-ranking aides; you saw him behind the prince at every turn, like a shadow, like a ghost. Maybe that was the problem.
You had been close as children, you and the prince, for a time. In that period when you were free, when society meant nothing to you, when prejudices and family feuds still hovered above your heads, out of reach. You had been friends and you felt it then, too, his brightness, his warmth. He didn’t care that the adults treated your family poorly; he did care that they treated you poorly. He didn’t know or care about what the adults said; neither did you. You were friends, the two of you, thick as thieves.
Then one day, all that hovered above you came tumbling down, pouring over you both like ice-water. It became more difficult then, to spend time together, to be friends. He never outright said it, broke up with you in a friend kind of way. You just ‘drifted apart’ because he was welcomed in where you were shunned; he was celebrated and everyone did their best to forget you ever existed.
You should have expected it. He was the prince, after all. And you were a sea witch. People said you were evil; the rumour had it that your whole family was. Matriarchal, and that was just the first problem. You had power. Your mother had had it. Your aunt. Their mother. The way you were told, it went back right to the very beginning. You were the latest in a very long line of very powerful witches.
It took you a long time to understand why that was used against you. You had power. Wasn’t that a good thing? You could do magic. You could achieve things no one else could. You could have made the entire sea a better place for everyone and everything living in it. But no one wanted your input; no one wanted to listen, to hear you. They wanted you to stay quiet. They wanted you to hide.
What boiled your blood was that you did. You stayed at the back, hid yourself away in a cave far from where the royal court lived: merpeople in coral towers and you, tangled in seaweed every time you so much as shook your head. You were older now and you knew full-well why they did it.
They were scared of you. They had always been scared of your family, but now, since the ‘tragic’ death of your mother, they were scared of you. Because you had a score to settle. Because you had a reason to hate them. You had vengeance on your mind.
Vengeance and Prince Hoseok.
Because no matter how much you hated it, no matter how much you didn’t want to want him, you did. You looked at him and your chest hurt with longing and your stomach roiled with hatred. How could it be that you could feel two things at once for the same person? You chose not to examine it these days. It had gone on too long and you were used to it. It felt like your natural state of being: hatred and love in equal measure. Fear and power.
No one had ever tested you. Not really. People came to you for silly little things like love potions and spells to make them smarter or charms to ward off hermit crabs from their gardens. No one wanted to see the full extent of your abilities. So you didn’t quite know what they were.
You toiled, testing yourself on little creatures, to see what you could do to them, how much you could transform them, how creative you could get. There had been a lot of failures at first, of course. So many. But then you started to succeed. And now you never failed. Everything you turned your hand to worked. Your mother had always said you were a natural and now you believed it, too.
You thought you could turn yourself into one of them if you wanted. Not that you did want. Never. Ever. You wouldn’t debase yourself, wouldn’t shame your ancestors with an attempt. But you could do it. That much you were confident of.
You were also confident of just how well you knew the prince. Better than he knew, you were sure. He probably didn’t realise quite what an open book he was to you. It was an open secret that he had a thing for life on the surface, but you saw so much more than that. He had never been able to hide from you: his enthusiasm, his wonder, his furtive glances around himself, the swift flick of his tail as he snuck between two large boulders, the fluidity and flexibility of his body the only things enabling him to sneak through. His little collection. Though ‘little’ wasn’t really the word for it, not anymore.
You had been to see it just once before. It was almost enough to impress you. His discoveries, his treasures, were displayed with such care, it almost touched you. These things, this tat, that he had found floating on the surface or buried in the seabed, he loved them. He treated them like something precious, not like the trash it so clearly was to the humans. It made your heart ache a little: his naivety, his innocence, his propensity for flights of fancy, his dreamy insistence on seeing the good in things, in people. In humans.
It was an open secret, this obsession of Hoseok’s, but it concerned his parents. Sure, he was only the youngest of seven sons—he wasn’t the heir—but he was still a prince. That made him valuable and important. It also meant he had to keep up appearances and it simply would not do to have a Prince of the Royal Court enamoured with... up there. So they had instructed one of their aides (a creeping, odious merman whom you avoided like the plague) to follow Hoseok around, to make sure he wasn’t getting himself into trouble.
Yes, you nodded to yourself, that was exactly what had happened.
*
Hoseok was getting sick of being followed around. It wasn’t even just that he couldn’t go to the surface; he couldn’t get a single minute of peace! Sebastien was always there and it was starting to grate quite uncomfortably.
He wasn’t enjoying the party and he was getting tired of pretending to enjoy it, so after taking a quick scan of the room, he turned tail and left. Sebastien followed, but Hoseok chose to ignore him.
“Leaving a party early?” you said lightly, as you caught him leaving the room. “Leaving your own party early? That’s not like you.”
His smile was a little tight when he flashed it your way.
“It’s only my party by technicality. No one will miss me.”
You merely raised your eyebrows slightly and raised one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
“I notice that you are also leaving,” he countered.
“Ah, once the host leaves, everyone else is free to go.”
His brow wrinkled a little and he scoffed.
“Don’t call me the host.”
“Careful,” you joked, “Sebastien here might tell your parents you’re being ungrateful. Look at all this opulence they prepared for you.”
He was about to spit something not entirely kind back at you before he realised that you were taking the piss. He rolled his eyes inwardly at himself. Of course you didn’t care. You never went in for this stuff anyway. He was surprised you had even shown up.
“I am being ungrateful. I would like them to stop looking out for me, stop doing things for me, stop-” he said, coming to such a sudden halt that Sebastien crashed into the back of him, “having me chaperoned like a child just because I like to swim a little farther than others.”
“I’m not sure it’s the distance they’re worried about.”
“Whatever. They just don’t get it. They think it’s dangerous.”
“What is?”
“The surface. Humanity. They think my collecting scraps from the seabed is somehow going to threaten all undersea life, trigger an apocalypse or something.”
“Ah.”
“They just don’t get it. They don’t get it. It’s not like I’m going to go up there and act like I’m human-”
“No? You could.”
He scoffed.
“Oh yeah, just go and flop around on the beach with my tail and my gills and everything. Great idea.”
“... You know I’m a fucking witch, right? I literally have the technology.”
Hoseok stopped suddenly again, looking at you, a little aghast, a little trepidatious. Then he laughed.
“Yeah, sure, one human coming right up!”
You laughed along with him, letting the subject drop, letting it be a joke. It had to be a joke with Sebastien listening in. But you were serious and you needed Hoseok to understand that you could do it. If he asked.
* * *
You thought about it more in the following days, as you watched the prince and his tormentor float around in the water. Hoseok couldn’t even blink without Sebastien there to watch him. You could feel his frustration, his impatience; you could see the dullness diminishing his shine; you could see the time it took for his lips to stretch into his signature heart-shaped smile expand—sometimes they barely made it at all. Was it the annoyance and inconvenience of having a chaperone in itself, or was he pining for a little adventure? Itching for a treasure hunt, fingers twitching to dig through sand and find something broken and useless to take back to his cave of wonders?
The whole sea knew. The prince was being monitored. The prince was being kept on a lead. A short one. There were whispers and gossip and speculation. The worst of these rumours was the one that told you his parents were doing this to get him ready for marriage. That he had been betrothed to a princess in the Caspian sea since before he had even existed and now they had both come of age, the marriage negotiations could begin in earnest.
That would not do. You could not have that.
Your own fingers were twitching; you were as frustrated as the prince, trying to work out a way to expedite this whole thing, to get things moving.
Someone’s hand would have to be forced, you realised. But whose? And to do what?
*
It hit you, quite suddenly, as you were drifting off to sleep one night. You had been picturing Hoseok amongst all his ‘objet d’art’: his happy face, his preening and polishing, his voice ringing out in a sweet, little tune—the one you liked to catch in your shells and store for later. It was obvious.
With each day that passed, the prince’s frustration grew. As did his misery and his little, daydreamy desires to experience life on the surface. With each day that passed, his parents were obliviously telling themselves that Hoseok was forgetting about it. He was integrating better with his peers, no longer always off on his own adventure; he was finally getting over this little ‘phase’.
It, actually, you thought to yourself as you caught the fleeting idea with a snatched hand, would work out quite nicely after all. You just had to be careful about tipping the scale.
*
Sebastien wasn’t stupid (you couldn’t get to his position if you were), but he wasn’t exactly sharp. You engaged him in a little idle chat while the prince was dining with his family. Commented on the prince’s interest in life ex-marina. Sebastien had responded a little too eagerly, sharing a little too much (not that he knew he was doing it—not sharp) so it was very easy for you to drop in that you had noticed the prince hadn’t been visiting his little shrine much recently. Sebastien played off his reaction so terribly that, even had you not been so perspicacious, it would have been clear he was bluffing, that you knew far more than he did and he was embarrassed by it. You shrugged, as if the conversation meant nothing to you, and glided away, certain that the seed had been planted.
All you had to do now was wait for it to sprout.
*
It took even less time than you expected. The sea over the next couple of days was a flurry of anxious activity. No official word had gone out, but something was happening and everyone knew it. Aides were everywhere, in every corner, under every rock, in every reef. The king and queen had an awful lot of staff at their disposal, so it wasn’t long before one of them turned up something very interesting indeed.
It was even quicker that the King stormed down to the prince’s little cave of wonders to give Hoseok what for.
You hung back and watched. Watched Hoseok’s face as it moved from dismay to anger, to fury. You had never heard him angry like that. It was thrilling. It was exciting. It was, you hated to admit it, sexy. He swam forward and you heard him confront his parents, heard his outrage.
But how his father roared. How he hovered above Hoseok, his youngest child, with a face like thunder. How his shouting rippled through the water, carrying it farther than you were sure he’d have wanted.
Hoseok put up a good fight, but he had no power. He wasn’t the heir; he had no leverage, not really. So, his father took his trident and destroyed everything. Even the very cave itself. It was rubble by the time he turned his back on his son and swam away. It was sand. Hoseok was left staring at what used to be his most prized possessions, his secret joy.
It almost hurt when you saw his face, his distress and despair. You watched him sink to the seabed and sob, then you turned around and swam away. You didn’t want to watch that. You didn’t need to. You just had to hope that it worked like you intended.
You slunk back to your cave—your presence having never been noticed—and waited for the prince to come to you.
*
Hoseok knew they were just things. He knew they were things most people would consider rubbish, garbage, trash, waste. But they weren’t rubbish to him. They were prizes. They were trophies. They were secrets. They were hints of another life, another way of living. They were like the key to a code. If he collected enough, maybe he would understand what life on the surface was like. Maybe once he had enough human things, he would be able to experience Personhood by proxy.
He had always known he would never go there. Could never go there. It just wasn’t done. Not even for a prince. Especially not for a prince. But his parents couldn’t order him to stop dreaming. So he dreamt and he collected and he treasured. He knew no one approved of what they called his ‘obsession’ with the surface. He didn’t care. They didn’t understand. They didn’t see what he could. They were so entrenched in their own, bigoted ideas that they couldn’t open their minds for a second to the possibility that maybe humans weren’t so bad. Maybe they had their problems, but they also had their wonders.
Even outside of his personal curiosity, he had always thought that some sort of treaty with the humans would be advantageous. They were lucky, in his sea, that the water was kept mostly clear, that oil spills only reached them as news. Their unfavourable interactions with humans were limited, but Hoseok knew that wasn’t the case elsewhere. He thought, if they could communicate with them, that maybe agreements could be reached. A relationship with the world on the surface could be mutually beneficial.
No one else saw it that way.
He sat on the sand and wept, cried, sobbed, for his secret little things that were no more. No longer secret and no longer there. He scooped up fragments of them in his hand and let them drift back down. He sifted through rocks and pebbles and sand to see if anything had been left intact, if anything was salvageable. But his father was thorough. And powerful. And there was nothing left.
* * *
The flurry of activity stopped and was replaced by an awkward tension. No one had seen the prince since the argument with the king. No one dared approach either king or queen, not even the other princes. People moved so slowly through the water, as if they were scared to cause too much of a ripple. The rhythm of everything had been upset.
For no one more than the prince. He lay on the sand next to what used to be his happy place for hours, until the sea grew dark and he should have been back at home with his family. The very thought made him sick. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. The thought of seeing his parents again made bile rise in his throat. His blood boiled with an anguished kind of anger he had never experienced before.
Once he had stopped crying, he spent some time staring around in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that all his things were gone, but he also couldn’t believe that his father had done it. The royal family was a Happy Family, officially, but they were also usually happy in actual fact. Arguments were few. Discord uncommon. There had been little cause for friction amongst them in his life. He wasn’t used to this. He and his brothers fought as kids, but never seriously; no one ever tried to rebel in any meaningful kind of way. It was a peaceful kingdom and that peace started at the very top.
Or so it had been. Even that had been destroyed now. Peace was the very last thing on the prince’s mind. He was torn between his anger and his despair. He wanted to hurt his father, very badly. He wanted to show his father that he wouldn’t let this stop him, that not even the King could break him. He knew he was right about humans, about humanity. He would show him. He also wanted, with a kind of frenzied desperation, to set off over the oceans and retrieve a new artefact for each and every one that he’d just lost.
As time passed and the sun disappeared from overhead, his whirring mind, his racing heart, began to slow and a tiny spark of hope burst in him. There was a way, he had realised. Or, he thought there might be a way. There was a possibility. There might be a possibility. If anyone would have the answer, it would be you.
*
He called your name and it roused you from a mid-morning nap. You sauntered to the cave mouth and your face pulled into surprise at the sight of him.
“Prince Hoseok, what are you doing here?”
He looked a little hesitant, peering behind you at the darkness of the cave, wondering what lay back there, if all the rumours were true. He knew you. You had been close at one point. He knew you so this was fine. He could trust you; he knew he could. You weren’t going to hurt him. You weren’t like they said. Well, in one way, he hoped you were; he hoped you were every bit as powerful as people said because, lord knew, he was going to need some powerful magic. Powerful magic the likes of which could topple the royal family, people said. What care did he have for the royal family now?
But, the evil part... He hoped that wasn’t true. You’d never given him cause to believe so before.
Still, waiting at the entrance to your home (your ‘lair’ as some called it and Hoseok was never sure if they were joking or not), he felt timid. Small. Not like a royal prince, but like a supplicant. Which, really, he supposed, he was.
“I’m here to ask you to do something for me.”
You couldn’t deny your intrigue. You gestured for him to follow you inside.
He did so slowly, his eyes darting around at all your shelves, full of stuff, fuller even than his own treasure trove had been. He couldn’t imagine what might be in all the containers, what secrets or tonics or poisons they might be holding. He had no idea what it was you did, really. You were the Sea Witch and that was bad enough for most people to never ask anything more... Until they needed you, of course. Hoseok had never needed you, not until now, so he had never paid your work much attention. You flew under the radar for the most part, which was entirely by design.
“Ok,” you said, as you perched yourself on a soft bed of anemones that Hoseok didn’t dare touch. “What can I do for you?”
He took a deep breath, a steeling breath.
“I want to be human.”
You pretended to be surprised, but that was exactly what you had been hoping for. Only an idiot would have been surprised by his request, especially given what had just happened.
“Human, huh? Finally pulling the trigger?”
He looked reluctant to say any more. You raised one eyebrow at him and held his gaze. He looked away.
“My parents don’t understand a thing. They don’t know anything about humans. I want to know. I have to know. They-... My parents can’t control me.”
You shrugged and nodded and caught the look of surprise on Hoseok’s face as you turned to gather some ingredients from the other side of the cave. He hadn’t thought it would be that easy.
It wouldn’t be.
You gathered the necessary items and tipped first one, then another, into the large conch you used for mixing spells.
“You... you can do it?” he asked and you chose not to be offended by the question.
“Of course I can.”
“You... will do it?”
“I will.”
The relieved smile on his face could have lit your cave for weeks. His teeth shone and his eyes sparkled as he laughed and clapped his hands. Victory.
“Thank you! I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sunshine. There are conditions to all this, you know.”
His face settled back into seriousness, his brow knitting above his eyes. He nodded fervently.
“Yes, of course. I understand. What do I need to do?”
You paused, leaning one hand on the edge of your giant shell and looked at him with a firm, fixed stare.
“You get three days,” you told him. “Three days as a human. You’ll be human before lunch, so noon on the third day will see you turning back as you are now.”
“Oh.”
His disappointment was palpable, but that worked to your advantage, too. You forced a light chuckle.
“I’m good, Hoseok, but I’m not that good.”
(You were, in fact, that good, but he didn’t need to know that).
“Of course! Yes, three days. That’s great.”
“There is a way you can stay longer than that, but it’s not in my power.”
“What does that mean?”
You pushed off the ledge and rounded the basin, coming to a stop in front of him. You didn’t miss the two inches that he scooted backwards away from you. At a different time, under different circumstances, this might have offended you, but you had a reputation; you could hardly blame him for his timidity. He had never seen you do anything like this before.
“You have to put down roots.”
“Right... What does that mean?”
“You have to find a human woman and plant a seed.”
Hoseok continued to look at you blankly, until you rolled your eyes.
“Fornicate. Copulate. Mate. Breed. Fuck.”
His eyebrows shot towards his hairline.
“Oh... Within three days?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No!” His answer was too quick and his blushes beetroot. He cleared his throat. “No, it’s fine, but... You said plant a seed. You mean... a child?”
“Mhmm.”
He blinked, his mind reeling. You gave him a second to process.
“How do I guarantee that? It has to be a child? There has to be... it has to...?”
You nodded.
“If you want to stay up there, you need some connection to it. You need a tether. Just how it works.”
“Oh, right...”
He was nodding, but he wasn’t looking at you. You could see his eyes were far away; he was thinking.
He was worrying. Would three days be enough? And bringing a child into this? Could he? Doubt was beginning to creep in at the sides, but he couldn’t let it. He had to see this through. It felt like his only chance. And you’d already said yes. You could do it. He could almost taste it, he was so close. He had to keep going. He could deal with the seed problem later; he could hardly think about putting down roots when he didn’t even have legs to stand on. First things first and the first thing was becoming a human.
“There’s also something else I need from you,” you told him.
“Anything.”
“I just need a little piece of you. In order to make this work, I need a little tether to you.”
“You need to tether to me? But doesn’t that keep me tied here?”
You liked it when they asked questions. You smiled, benignly, but your eyes glinted wickedly.
“It keeps you tethered to me, the one with the magic? The one who’s transforming you? We can skip that step if you like, but then the spell will do absolutely nothing.”
“Oh.”
He blinked and then nodded.
“Ok, makes sense. Yeah, ok, what do you need?”
“Come here.”
You beckoned him to your side and he obeyed quietly. You took his hand in yours and plunged it into the shell; then you placed your other hand on his chest.
“Hold still; this won’t hurt.”
“What are you taking?”
“Just a little bit of soul.”
He flinched and you had to tighten your fingers around his wrist to keep it there.
“Relax, you won’t even notice it missing. And keep still, I need to concentrate.”
You closed your eyes and tapped lightly on his chest with your fingers, looking for a tap. Once you found the spot, you dug your finger in a little harder, focused hard and turned it on. You channelled it through Hoseok’s arm and tipped it into the shell through his fingers.
You were right: it didn’t hurt. He felt a weird pulling sensation in his chest and then it dragged down his arm; it was a little uncomfortable, certainly something he’d never felt before, but it didn’t hurt exactly. He wanted to look and see what his soul looked like, pouring out, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.
His soul was sweet like nectar and it shimmered as it settled atop the other ingredients. You could feel its pulse, strong in Hoseok’s heart, its rhythm airy and delicate with a stable bass. You liked it. You liked it a lot. You could feel your own shimmer in response to it; you could feel your heart flutter when you let a little of him inside it. You bit your lip to stop a smile. Once you had what you needed for the spell, you siphoned off just a little extra for yourself. Nothing he would notice – you were always careful about that.
You held him there a minute longer, just absorbing, marinating a little. Sometimes this was the worst part of the job. Some people’s souls were vile, horrid, dark, acrid, smoking things; the taste they left in your mouth wouldn’t shift for days. This, though, was delectable. If you’d had another plan in mind, you might have taken more, maybe even all of it; you weren’t sure how you managed to stop yourself.
You shouldn’t have been surprised by its sweetness. It was Hoseok. He was like that. Of course his soul would be pure as sunlight itself. It was the lightest soul you’d ever held. Almost light enough to make you feel bad for doing all this.
Almost.
“Ok,” you began, letting him go and creating a little more space between you. “We’re done.”
Hoseok opened his eyes and looked down at his tail.
“We are?”
You laughed, not unkindly.
“Yes. You might want to start swimming while I finish this off. Surface is a long way up from here.”
“Oh. But... it’ll work? I’ll be...-”
“It’ll work. Trust me. And take this.”
You thrust a little package, wrapped in fisherman’s netting, into his hands.
“Now go on. Get.”
He nodded, first a little uncertainly, but, as if he was convincing himself, each bob of his head grew surer until he was turning around and swimming straight out of your cave and up, up, up.
You gave everything in the shell a swirl, a mix, let it coalesce, then you placed your hands on the bottom and forced heat through them, so much heat that the concoction boiled, the sea water steaming around you. It bubbled and it boiled until there was nothing left in the shell but a pearl. You picked up this pearl and placed it into a clam. You shut the clam over a cord and tied it around your neck. You were going to want to keep this one close.
*
Hoseok was swimming so hard he barely noticed it at first. Then his tail was tingling. Then it began to hurt. Hurt enough to slow him down, to almost stop him completely. It was a wrenching, tearing, searing kind of pain that made him cry out, that made dark spots dance in front of his eyes and his head feel light. He couldn’t quite tell if his tail was moving or not; there was blinding pain and very little else, but he knew he was getting close to the surface. He couldn’t stop now.
In the space of three kicks, his tail became two, and Hoseok was overwhelmed by the agony of saltwater in his wounds. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t look, couldn’t do anything but try not to die. Try not to drown. He kept kicking, kept pulling with his arms, but his fingers were no longer webbed and they didn’t grab the water like before.
Swimming as a human, it turned out, was every bit as inefficient as it looked. He tried to move his legs in tandem, to kick and flick like he did with his tail but they wouldn’t cooperate; they couldn’t bend like his tail could, didn’t have the flexibility. Every movement sent a fresh surge of pain racing through him and he was finding it hard to breathe through it.
And then he stopped being able to breathe at all. He clutched at his ribs with one hand, expecting to feel his gills, but there was nothing. He opened his mouth to gasp and his throat was full of salt water in a way that felt wrong, uncomfortable, painful. In a way that made him panic. His lungs were burning, his throat was burning, his legs were burning; everything, everything, felt like it was on fire.
His heart was humming, beating so fast it vibrated against his ribs. He couldn’t think clearly, coherently, at all. It was all just a screaming panic, shouting and squealing and howling for him to get out, get out, get out of the water.
When he finally broke clear of the sea’s surface, he choked and gasped and coughed up water. It stung in his eyes and the taste of salt was so strong, it made him gag. He looked about himself to find the nearest shore and saw none in sight. He knew where he was; he saw the sea, his underwater kingdom, in his mind and he knew how to find the nearest shore. He just had to get there.
*
He dragged himself out of the waves, spent. There wasn’t a single muscle in his body that wasn’t crying out; he had never found swimming difficult before. It had always been as easy as breathing, but that, too, was difficult as a human. He swallowed seawater that made him sick, accidentally breathed it in and choked, found his breathing growing laboured and heavy when he was still miles from shore.
He lay on the shingle beach for a while, waiting to feel something other than pain. Pain and heaviness. Every movement was an effort. Every movement took active thought, especially his legs. He pushed himself into a sitting position and turned his attention to the package you gave him. He unwrapped it and unfolded fabrics—soaked through, of course. Hoseok had seen people wear clothes in books before but he’d never seen any in real life. He wondered where on earth you got them from. He briefly wondered if he wanted to know.
And despite everything: the pain, the exhaustion, the fear, the dread that was starting to settle in his stomach as the adrenalin faded, Hoseok was excited. He had human garments in his hands. They were his and he was about to wear them. He was human.
Human.
*
The awe and wonder didn’t last long. The friction of the fabric against his skin was almost unbearable. Was his skin sensitive or were the fabrics rough? He couldn’t tell but he could feel each tiny swish, each brush against him as he moved, with every swing of his arm and every step of his feet. It felt like the top layer of his skin was being slowly rubbed away, his soft, supple skin becoming red and raw and oh so sensitive.
The steps hurt, too. The shingle under his feet felt almost pleasant compared to the torching pain he felt in his legs. Like they were being cut open every time, like he was splitting his tail over and over and over again, the torture wouldn’t end.
He felt so heavy. Leaden. Like he barely had the energy to lift his feet at all. He put this down to the swim, the physical trauma, the lack of sleep he’d had that night. But he’d never felt the weight of his body so heavily before. In the water, he floated. The water kept him buoyed; the water supported him, carried him; he moved through it like he weighed nothing at all. On land, he felt no support. On the contrary, he felt as if the air itself were pushing him down, keeping him stuck to the ground, as if it didn’t want him to move anywhere.
It wasn’t at all like he had expected. He wished you had warned him about the pain. He wished he had known a little more before walking into this – literally walking! He was walking! On two feet! It was agony.
Trying to keep his head straight, he knew the first thing he should do was find food. He’d swum so far, he needed something. His stomach was gurgling in an angry, acidic roil that made him feel faint (or maybe that was the pain or the exertion or the atmosphere or or or). He was lucky that this beach was narrow and the town close. The shingle quickly gave way to grass, which was only slightly soothing on Hoseok’s feet, and then the grass gave way to paving.
He followed the path in the only direction it went and it wasn’t long before he found people. Humans. So many of them. He stood, stock still, watching them. It was overwhelming. The sights and sounds and smells of them. There was food grilling, and children laughing, and market hawkers soliciting, and Hoseok had no idea which way to turn. He could barely think at all. He needed-
He didn’t know what. A rest. A break. To sit down? He walked to the nearest chair – a metal frame with metal seat, next to a metal table – and sat; the chair scraped backwards slightly and the scratch of it on the ground brought a man out from the cafe the chair was sitting in front of.
“Hey, you can’t sit there!” the man called, looking none too happy. “Customers only! Those chairs are for customers only!”
“Oh, oh ok,” Hoseok spluttered. “I can be a customer. I can buy, uh-”
“No! We’re not open yet! No service!”
Hoseok thought then that it should be fine for him to sit down if they weren’t open, if there were no customers yet, but the man continued to shout, to shoo him off, so Hoseok stood and moved away. He would just have to try again a little further down the road.
That cafe might not have been open, but there were market stalls with edible wares already cooked and out for consumption. He took a skewer proffered by a weathered old lady and ate it gratefully, even though it was dry and hard to chew. She then held her hand out expectantly and it was at that moment, Hoseok realised he had nothing to trade. What could he offer? He considered the neat, net package that you had provided his clothes in and brought it out of his pocket. He tried to hand it over but the woman started cursing at him in a language he didn’t understand. He backed away from her aggression and this was clearly the wrong move. She grabbed a large metal spoon and came around the side of her table, raising it above her head.
Hoseok ran. He hadn’t known he could run. Would have claimed not to be able to if you’d asked him to at that moment, but the panic set him going and his feet stomped, painful step after painful step, until he was, once more, breathing heavy and laboured, a sharp pain between his ribs stabbing him with every inhale.
This was going to be harder than he thought.
*
He eventually sat at the side of the road, wondering how he was supposed to navigate this world he clearly knew nothing about. He had been arrogant in the sea. He thought he knew everything there was to know about humans. He had learnt about their culture, he thought; he had studied their ways of life, he thought. It was nothing compared to the real experience of being here. Nothing was how he expected. He was woefully unprepared.
Tears pricked in his eyes and he tried to keep them at bay because he had wanted this. He had asked for it. And you had done it for him. Hoseok realised with a shock just exactly what position this had put you in. The prince was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t told anyone what he was doing. The only person who knew was you. If they found that out, lord knew what kind of trouble you’d be in. They’d have your head if they thought you had brought him to any harm.
But you’d been willing. Supportive even. So he had to make this work. He had to make it worth it. For him. For you. He would make it work and he would return to the sea to explain everything: to show what he had achieved on the surface, to prove to everyone that humans weren’t like they all said. To prove that you had been the truest, kindest and most loyal friend he had. That you had given him all of it. That you weren’t like they all said, either.
He blew out a deep breath. There was a lot riding on this.
He knew he would eventually need somewhere to sleep, somewhere safe. He walked back towards the centre of the market and found a nice-looking woman selling necklaces.
“Excuse me,” he began, warily. “I need somewhere to stay.”
Her friendly smile faltered a little, frozen on her face as she tried to parse his words.
“Ok?” she finally returned.
“Can you tell me where I can... Is there somewhere I can sleep?”
“Uh,” she said, her face twisting into a kind of confusion that Hoseok felt he was being judged by. “I mean, you can get a hotel or something?”
“Ok, where do I get one?”
The woman looked around her, to see if anyone else was really hearing this. She shrugged.
“There are kind of a lot around. Take your pick. There’s one right there.”
She pointed over Hoseok’s shoulder at a white, stone building, and Hoseok’s smile was all the bigger for the relief he felt.
“Thank you!” he called, already making his way towards the hotel.
But things continued to be difficult. He didn’t have a ‘credit card’ for the hotel staff to ‘hold’. He didn’t know what that meant. They told him he couldn’t have a room if he had no method of payment. He tried to offer something else; he was a good swimmer, he said; he could dive for pearls? The two staff behind the reception desk gave each other the same look the woman on the stall had given him. They explained that they only took cash or credit. He didn’t have either of those two things.
He left the building and sat by the road, because there was nothing else he could do.
He tried so hard not to let doubt creep in, not to feel despair, not to start desperately wishing he had thought about this a little longer. He tried to remember things he’d learnt about the human world – things that would help him. But it was already so different here from what he had expected.
The stories he had grown up hearing about human interactions with his kind were awful; humans were brutal and cruel and hunted merpeople for sport. That kind of thing. But he thought they were kind to each other. They had a society. They governed each other: elected officials who were entrusted with their cities and countries. They made art and sang songs and raised animals whom they kept for companionship, rather than labour. Humans were resilient and tough and brave, social creatures. They came together in crisis and performed heroic feats to help others out of danger. Those were the humans he had imagined.
The ones he had experienced so far were not like that at all. Maybe they knew, he thought; maybe they could tell already somehow that he wasn’t one of them. He was different. He hadn’t even been a human for a day yet. Maybe he was doing things wrong. He was sure he wasn’t walking right—the pain made it impossible. He had shown up from the beach in clothes that had barely dried, were caked in salt. His hair was stiff and tangled with it, too. His face felt tight and rough. Maybe they were right to mistrust him.
But how could he fix it? What could he do?
He couldn’t stay there, sitting on the ground. People walking past were looking at him; it made him nervous. No one had been able to show him any generosity or kindness and the darkness of night was starting to cover everything. There were artificial lights hanging from every door, a warm glow from every window that served only to bathe the shadows in a dim, greyish light. Nothing was black, as it was in the deep ocean, but it was all muted, hard to make out, indeterminate. Scarier.
He had to get out of sight. He had to find somewhere safe that he could stay for the night. That was the most important thing.
As hot as it had been when he first arrived on the surface, he could feel the chill now. There was something naked about being out in the air, with no water surrounding him, enveloping him. Even through the fabric of his clothes (which still scored his skin with every movement), he felt the air move, felt it stiffen his skin and raise the downy hairs there. He needed shelter. He needed to be far away from people, for now. He needed to be sure that, if what the merpeople said was true, he would not come to harm this night.
It was with a heavy, sinking heart that he made his way back to the beach. He fell upon the shingle and didn’t even have the energy to cry out, to sob like he wanted to. He had never experienced pain or exhaustion like this. He had never felt so out of place—not just in this world, but in this body. Did all humans feel like this? Heavy and sore and stiff, with the world pushing down on you? His legs were still screaming; they were as unblemished and unmarked as they had been when he’d first checked them twelve hours ago, but the pain was so convincing, he thought he would look down and see his tail, mutilated, bloody, split in two just like he’d asked.
He made his way very slowly, very carefully, to the end of the beach and the edge of the shore. With the cliffside to his right, there was protection from wind, at least, and it was deserted of people. He shuffled forward and sat with his legs straight out, letting the waves wash over his feet.
That was when he cried. He cried with abandon, without thought, without hope, with an aching, broken heart. He couldn’t quite believe that it was happening this way, that all of his dreams were crumbling in front of his eyes. He wouldn’t believe it; there was good in this world and he was determined to find it, but he had never felt so out of his depth. He had no idea what to do. He had no one, nowhere, nothing.
He looked at the waves as they splashed over his feet (feet!) and he imagined sinking into them, imagined them encroaching further and further onto the shore until he was swallowed up by them, swimming, drowning. Could he drown? He was human now and humans could drown, but he was really a mermaid... Would the magic revert? He remembered what you had said about keeping a tether to him; would you know if he were drowning? Could you see him now, pathetic and weeping?
You could. With his pearl at the bottom of your basin, you could conjure up his image and watch his drama play out in the rippling water.
But the sight didn’t bring you much joy. You worried that you had overestimated him, overestimated the humans. You had spent time on the surface but it was still a foreign world; you didn’t know everything. Maybe you should have prepared him a little more, lent him a little of your human currency. You had expected his grace and charm to carry him at least through the first night but he was a different person now. Well, he was a person, not a merman anymore. He was literally out of his element. A fish out of water.
You chuckled to yourself at that one. Then you frowned and rested your chin on your palm, pondering ways that you could make this work if he couldn’t do it on his own. You fingered the clamshell on your necklace and an idea started to form.
It could work. It wasn’t how you had envisaged this whole thing going but... It could work.
With a sigh, you placed the pearl safely back in its clam and floated off to your inventory: a powder there, some shellfish here, gathering together everything needed for yet another expensive spell.
If you need something doing, you thought to yourself ruefully, you’ve got to do it yourself.
* * *
Hoseok was starting to shiver on the shore—something that he had never experienced before and something he would be quite happy to not experience again. The way his muscles trembled and his skin hurt, still raw from the fabric, but bumpy now with goosebumps that made the friction all the worse. He took his feet out of the water and asked himself forlornly what on earth he should do, but he had no answer.
He scanned the horizon out to sea and saw nothing but washed-out darkness looking back at him. He scanned the beach and the land and his attention was caught by a light, wobbling in the darkness and growing larger. It was only when the person holding the lantern stepped foot on the beach that he could see there was a person behind it at all. If he had been less tired, less sad, less hungry, he might have worried, or he might have rallied and put his best foot (foot!) forward, or he might have hidden. But he could do none of those things. He sat and watched a young woman approach.
“Goodness, are you alright?” she asked, when he was close enough to see her form but not her face.
She wore the same thin shoes that a lot of people in the town had been wearing, barely covering her feet, and long, flowing fabric danced on the shingle above them. He could just about make out her light hair and her petite height, but the rest of her remained a mystery.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Hoseok replied, knowing that he was lying but not knowing if she would see that.
“Are you sure?” she queried. “It’s not safe to be out on the beach alone at night like this. I saw you sitting here and I thought you might be in trouble.”
A glimmer of hope flicked in Hoseok’s heart. Could it finally be: a human who was like he had always dreamt humans would be? Kind? Generous? Could he tell her? Could he share his woes? Would she ease his mind? Was this what he had been waiting for?
He decided he had no choice because his only other options were to drown in the sea or starve on this beach.
“I am in trouble,” he began. “I have nowhere to stay, no food, no money. I have nothing. I don’t know what to do.”
He tried to stop his voice cracking, but it cracked of its own volition. He didn’t want to be pitied; he just needed to be helped. But beggars can’t be choosers, he reminded himself.
“None at all?”
You took a couple of steps towards him, still not close enough that he could see your features clearly, but enough to suggest trust, to suggest comfort.
He shook his head in return.
“You should come with me.”
You could see the surprise on his face, the hope that lit it, the worry that creased his brow.
“Just for tonight,” you continued. “I can give you a bed so you can rest. You really shouldn’t stay out here all night.”
Hoseok rose to his feet, biting hard on his bottom lip to stop himself crying out as the pain surged once more.
“It’s not far,” you said, before turning back the way you had come.
Hoseok followed your lantern, back up the beach, down the path, and into the town. You led him into a narrow alley with a single door at the end. It was this door that you opened with a quiet creak, then you led him inside and up a single flight of steps.
“It’s not much,” you said, attempting to sound somewhat apologetic as you opened the door to the apartment.
It was sparsely decorated and the linens were grey in a way that suggested they hadn’t always been. The lightbulb in the ceiling was naked and dim. The plant on the windowsill looked crisp and parched.
You lived comfortably underwater, despite your status as social pariah, because people wanted your little potions and spells and you could charge through the nose for them. On land, it was more difficult. Humans weren’t interested in trading for things; they wanted cash and nothing but. That made it more difficult to be comfortable here. But you had shelter and food and that was more than the prince had.
Hoseok was nervous. He hadn’t known what to expect but somehow, this wasn’t it. He had heard of the way humans warred with one another, the way they oppressed and exploited other classes, the way most of them starved whilst the few indulged. This was so much more mundane. Nondescript. Boring. Homely.
He took a look at the woman now that he could see her properly in the cold light of the apartment. She was beautiful. Not unlike the woman he had rescued from the beach, he realised. Dark skin that somehow shimmered, golden hair that almost looked like a halo with the way it reflected light. Her eyes were dark, too, deep and rich and warm. She felt familiar to him, somehow, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. He knew she wasn’t the same woman from the beach, not quite, but there was something about her that he felt he knew, had seen before. It comforted him, quieted his nerves a little.
“I don’t have much to offer,” you interrupted his thoughts with a shy chuckle. “But it’s better than sleeping outside.”
“This is wonderful. I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. It has been a difficult day and you are the first person who’s shown me any kindness. I don’t know how I can repay you for that.”
You giggled and it sounded like chimes.
“You don’t have to repay me. Pay it forward; if you help someone like I’m helping you, that will be enough.”
Hoseok wondered for a second if he had fallen asleep on the beach and was dreaming this. Because this woman, she was everything he had dreamt; she was what he had been hoping for. The flicker of hope in his chest grew into a flame and he shivered as a warmth rushed through him.
“Would you like something to eat?” you offered and Hoseok jumped at the chance.
You gave him bread and cheese and watched him eat them, at first tentatively, and then with great gusto. Of course, he had never tried these things before, never eaten human food. You placed some fruit on the small coffee table he was eating at and he devoured that, too. His eyes widened as he bit into a pear, ripe and juicy, sticky sweet nectar dribbling down his chin. He hummed with delight and you saw the sparkle return to his eyes.
You knew what you were there to do but you were enjoying this moment. This was the Prince Hoseok you knew; this was how he should be: bright and smiling, his crescent-moon eyes alight with laughter. You sat next to him and picked at some food, too, not really tasting it because the sweetness of the moment was far too strong.
Hoseok only stopped eating when you stopped giving him food, when you only had enough left for a small breakfast in the morning and nothing else. He sat back, resting on his palms, and sighed happily.
“That was the most amazing meal I’ve ever had!” he exclaimed and you laughed.
“You are very easily impressed. There are far more exciting things to eat here; I simply cannot afford them all.”
He shook his head.
“Not at all. That was wonderful. Thank you so much.”
With his stomach finally full, his fatigue hit him full in the face and he yawned widely, a quiet wail escaping his throat.
“You must be exhausted. Please, take the bed. I can sleep on the sofa,” you said, gesturing towards the bed that sat against one wall.
Hoseok thought the bed looked huge and the sofa, small. He thought about what the right thing to do would be. He couldn’t sleep in the bed. It wouldn’t be right, would it? But he was so tired and in so much pain. He looked at the bed longingly, imagining himself stretching out over its surface, letting it take his weight. He imagined it feeling like water, like being carried on the waves, weightless. He looked at the sofa.
“Please,” you repeated. “Take the bed.”
Every manner, every point of order, every etiquette lesson was screaming at him to say no, to refuse, to offer to sleep anywhere but the bed. To not inconvenience you, to not put you out, to not cost you even more than he already had, to not trespass any further onto your kindness. But sleep was calling, louder and more insistent. His wrecked, ravaged body was screaming.
He nodded shyly and offered a quiet thanks before rising and slipping, sore and worn, beneath the sheets. He was asleep before he even had the chance to notice the way the bed fabric, too, brushed rough against his exposed skin.
You watched him. He looked peaceful; his face smoothed of any worries or concerns. He made a fine human, you thought. He was tall and lean and, despite the pain you knew he was suffering, he didn’t let it show: he’d walked straight and held himself high. Royal blood, you assumed.
You wondered how much you would have to engineer this to ensure success. Despite all you knew about the prince (and you knew a lot), this was a blind spot. He had hesitated when you told him of his conditions; the idea of a child had alarmed him. Maybe he would decide he didn’t want to stay human after all.
There were two and a half days left. That was plenty of time, you decided. You wouldn’t push; he was too delicate for that, especially after his first day’s misery. You would cushion his fall, pick him up carefully, and slowly show him both what the human world was really like and what it could be like with you. You would delight him and impress him and he would give himself to you. He would. You were sure of it. He would fall into the world that you would show him and he would give himself to you, body and soul.
You fingered the clamshell still tied around your neck. It held the pearl you created when you turned Hoseok into a human. It now also held the pearl you created when you turned yourself into one.
* * *
The thing about royalty, the thing about the privileged, who’ve never really experienced hardship, for whom doors have always been opened, is that they are resiliently optimistic folk. Everything has always gone their way; naturally, they assume it always will. Even now, after everything that happened to him yesterday, Prince Hoseok was beaming. He was enamoured. He was full of awe and wonder. He was experiencing the human world as he thought it would be.
Because of you.
It was taking a lot out of you, truth be told, because you didn’t have the riches you needed to show him a human experience comparable to his underwater life. He wasn’t a royal here; he wasn’t anyone at all. Doors didn’t open for him and they didn’t open for you. But Hoseok had his charm and you had charms of a very different sort. So you were making it work, but your nerves were rising; with every bit you put in, you told yourself you had better pull this off. You had better seal the deal, make good on this bargain you had made with yourself, see through to the end the promise you swore to your dead mother and her dead mother and all the dead mothers back until time began.
It was your biggest show. It was your hardest work. Your magnum opus.
Or it would be. If—if you could do it.
Hoseok couldn’t let on that this was his first time on the surface; he couldn’t tell you he was really a merman, that a seawitch had transfigured him, that his legs were really a tail. It was too risky, too dangerous. But he kept forgetting that that meant he had to try to hide his enthusiasm, his surprise. Everything here was new to him. Everything here was fascinating and wonderful and intriguing and he could barely contain himself.
He had no backstory. He had no lies to tell. And he hadn’t noticed that you hadn’t asked. But it was dawning on him that, if he were to have a life here, he would have to think of something to tell people about where he came from. But he didn’t have the time, right now, to think of it. There was far too much to attend to. Too much to see, too much to do.
It would have been overwhelming were it not for you. If he’d had to continue doing this alone... well, he wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have. If you hadn’t found him on the beach last night, where would he be? Sinking beneath the waves? Starving on the shore? You had lifted him up and now you were carrying him along, tethering him to the earth, providing him a guiding string to hold. He had never been so grateful for anyone in his life.
Not even the sea witch.
“What do you say?” you asked him, shortly before sunset on that second day.
Hoseok tried to think, but it didn’t really matter to him and he was so overstimulated, he couldn’t have made a decision if he’d wanted to. He shrugged.
“I’m happy to go wherever you like!”
“Hungry yet?”
He shook his head. He had sampled one of everything at the market after lunch and had to spend half an hour sitting quietly so that it wouldn’t make a return journey up his throat. He was still very far from hungry.
That was exactly the answer you were hoping for.
You led him away from town, towards the west where the land rose in a grassy slope, steep and getting steeper, until you reached the top of the cliff. You walked up to the edge and turned to see Hoseok hanging back, looking nervous.
“Scared of heights?”
Hoseok didn’t know. He had never really experienced ‘heights’, wasn’t quite sure what that meant. But the wind was stronger up here and he knew, without having to look, that the sea was a very long way down. It couldn’t be dangerous if you were doing it, he reasoned, but he’d heard too many stories of humans falling to their deaths from cliffs like these – sometimes deliberately, but often not.
You held your hand out to him and his stretched back before he’d even noticed and he inched forward until you could take it and tug him a little further and a little further still. His heart was in his mouth as he craned his neck to peer down into the foaming waves as they crashed and broke against the rock face. You didn’t let go of his hand.
“It’s very high,” he stated unsurely, not knowing if it was really.
It felt high. It looked high to him. But, in a way, everything was high. The sea had depth, not height. It wasn’t the same thing. He might have wagered that it would be, before now, but looking down to the sandy seabed from high above it was very different from looking down at the sea from the cliff edge. Something to do with the environment maybe.
Maybe the fact that he couldn’t fall off the sea and plummet to his death. Maybe that. He’d never been in mortal danger; the sea was a safe place for him and he had all the protection he might have wanted (more than he wanted, actually); he hadn’t really appreciated it until yesterday, when he had nothing and no one.
Now, he had you.
It had occurred to him. The condition of his staying a human. The three days he had to plant a seed. It kept occurring to him. It wouldn’t stop occurring to him. Not when you smiled, not when you showed him yet another wonder, not when you took his hand in your own. He wasn’t sure if he could do it. For a start, he wasn’t completely sure how all that worked with human bodies. For another, he didn’t know if you would want to. He didn’t know what human culture dictated.
You were beautiful. About that, he had no doubt. Was he attracted to you? Yes, he had decided he was. Did he trust you? Yes, as much as he could trust someone he’d just met; as much as he could trust a human. Did you feel the same way? That was a mystery he didn’t know how to solve. You had stretched out your hand to him; you had paid for him to be fed; you had let him sleep in your bed; you had taken him into your home. It suggested something, but he didn’t know what.
Just as it had the day before, his ignorance alarmed him. His recklessness in coming still surprised him. The weight of his deadline pressed down on him and he shuddered, involuntarily.
He looked concerned, you thought, distracted. You could tell he didn’t really like being so high above the sea; you wondered if it were a merman thing or a Hoseok thing. Being neither, you couldn’t know. You took pity on him and led him back down the cliffside, keeping his hand in yours as long as he would let you.
You assumed you would have to lead, that he wouldn’t take charge of the situation—judging by what you had seen so far. You mulled it over as you wandered slowly back into town. He had never really had to work for it, you supposed. He was a prince. And beautiful. And charming. And kind. He had everything going for him, which meant he had the entire sea throwing themselves at his feet, desperate to be picked. He probably didn’t know the first thing about seduction, about attraction—not really, anyway. It struck you then that there was every chance he’d be a really bad lay. There was every chance you would be, having never done it as a human before, but that was besides the point. The idea of Hoseok disappointing you left a sour taste in your mouth but you ignored it; that was not what you were there for. Good or bad didn’t matter. There was one objective and one only. Your own pleasure, your own, secret, little goals were neither here nor there. You had to stay focused.
Because it wasn’t going to be easy. You knew that. That was half the reason you hadn’t planned to do it yourself anyway (or so you told yourself...). It was going to be harder for you than some random stranger. You knew that. It was going to be horrible, you knew, looking into his eyes when he learnt the truth, when he saw you—the real you—for the first time on land. You could picture it: the shock and betrayal, the fear and hurt. It gave you pause. Because you hated him, hated who he was and what he stood for and everything about the systems and society of the place you both lived. But you also loved him, loved his smile and his eyes, his heart and his soul. You wanted him to be yours forever. You wanted him to choose you. He never would. Not really. If he knew you were here, if he knew the human holding his hand was really the sea witch who’d sent him up there, he wouldn’t choose you.
The shocked, betrayed face. The frightened, hurt expression. You sighed heavily, without meaning to.
“Are you ok?” Hoseok asked, his head tilting to the side.
You smiled brightly back at him.
“Of course! Just starting to get a bit peckish. Shall we eat something?”
Hoseok wasn’t really hungry. The market food was still solid in his stomach. But if you wanted to eat, he’d eat. He’d do anything you asked. He owed you everything.
More, in fact, than he knew.
* * *
You’d been distracted through dinner, which had been fine because, without the food to focus on (Hoseok barely ate), he could look around at everything else. He could fire questions at you (questions that were far too revealing—not that he noticed) and comment on his surroundings and commentate with barely any input required. That meant you could contemplate your task. You’d had to rush into this whole thing, take the reins with very little notice at all. This was not how you usually operated.
You were meticulous and organised because you had to be. Always on your guard because you had to be. Everything you did came with its own audit trail because you couldn’t afford to make mistakes. You had seen what that had done to your mother at far too young an age. Not that she actually made the mistake. But when you don’t have the proof of every action you’ve taken and word you’ve said, they can make it look like you did whatever they say you did.
You ate slowly, not really tasting, not really savouring. Your mind was busy, calculating. You had a day and a half left. 36 hours, give or take. There would be another night after this one. You didn’t relish the idea of leaving it until the last minute, but you could spoil the whole thing entirely if you pushed too hard, too fast. So you decided to wait.
*
Hoseok was determined, this time, to do the right thing and let you sleep in your own bed. He was embarrassed at the way he had behaved the night before: how greedily he’d eaten, how quickly he had relegated you to the sofa. It made him cringe. And then you had spent the whole day playing hostess to him: showing him around, paying for everything, keeping him company, and answering his questions.
His debt to you was beyond belief. He knew he should leave. He knew he should make his own way. He knew he could not rely on you – not even for the rest of his three days, if that was all he would have. He had to find a way to survive independently. He knew that. He had to pay you back. He had to make things right.
“I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight,” he announced when you returned back to your shabby apartment.
You pretended to be surprised.
“Oh, no,” you replied, “not at all. Take the bed! It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“No way. It’s your bed. I slept on it last night when I really shouldn’t have. Please. Take it.”
You shook your head, scrunching your nose and grinning stubbornly at him.
“No. You.”
He sighed, but the corners of his lips twitched anyway.
“We may have reached a stalemate,” he announced, with solemn mock-seriousness.
You hummed, thoughtfully, running a finger along the bottom of the bed as you stepped closer to him.
“A compromise, then,” you said, poking a finger into his chest.
“And what is your compromise?”
“Well…”
You weren’t shy. Not when you were being yourself and not when you were pretending to be a human. But you were good at acting like it. You looked down and then up at him through your lashes, a small, reluctant smile traced on your lips.
“We could… share?”
You raised a hand to your face, covering your mouth, looking at Hoseok and then away and then back to him, eyelashes fluttering.
The genuine surprise on his face gave you butterflies. You could see his hesitation, watch his mind weigh his options, calculate the costs and benefits of each. He knew too little to have anything to guide him. Anything but you. And you had suggested it.
So it had to be ok, right?
“Share?” he asked, buying himself another moment to think it over, to consider what all this might mean in relation to the condition he had to meet.
You nodded, lip trapped between your teeth.
“Ok!” he answered brightly, hoping it was the right response, and inwardly breathing a sigh of relief when you beamed back at him.
It would be easy to love you, he thought and the sentiment caught him off-guard. He had to be realistic about human life. He wasn’t a prince here. He had nothing. But when he looked at you, he felt rich. He felt like his dream was within his grasp. You were everything he had ever hoped for. He could stay here forever with you, couldn’t he?
He wasn’t going to do anything tonight. Ask or proposition or… or god knew what else. It was too soon. Too early. There was still time. He told himself, there was still time. Still time for him to wake up from this dream he’d fallen into when he met you. Still time to commit to it forever.
You took the left side and Hoseok the right. You curled onto your side, facing him, with the covers pulled up to your eyes. He lay on his back, moonlight from the open shutter illuminating his face in a sharp line that crossed him and left you in the dark.
You watched him for a while: not sleeping, though he had his eyes closed.
“Hoseok,” you whispered. “Where are you from?”
His eyes opened and went to the window.
“Somewhere… close but also very far away.”
“You mean like, culturally?”
You saw him nod.
“Yeah. Where I come from is… very different. More different than I thought.”
“How come you came here?”
He shook his head, eyes trained on the ceiling.
“I had to,” was his simple answer and you let it hang there in the darkness, waiting for him to add to it. “I think I could have stayed, but I’d have got old and I would have looked back and I’d have regretted it. I’d have regretted staying there my whole life. I’d have regretted not seeing everything this wo- this place has to offer. I needed to experience it.”
“Do you like it here?”
He let the question go unanswered for some time. So long that he wondered, after he’d spoken, if you’d fallen asleep in the interim.
“I like some of it. I like you.”
It made your stomach swoop. Even if he wasn’t talking about you. Just the human you were pretending to be. You wondered how a real human woman would have responded to that.
You changed the subject.
“I thought I was seeing things when I first noticed you on the beach.”
A slow smile formed itself on Hoseok’s lips.
“You were… You saw me.”
You reached out and poked his arm.
“I didn’t want to go home not knowing you were ok. If I’d woken up in the morning to a news story about… well, I couldn’t have lived with myself. I realised, as I approached, that you weren’t really in danger. You looked like you were waiting for something. Someone.”
His smile turned rueful and his eyes flicked again to the window, outside of which you could hear but not see the waves crashing on the shore.
“I was,” he said, his voice a low whisper. Then he turned his face away from the light to look directly at you. “I was waiting for a miracle.”
* * *
You no longer had any concerns about the success of your plan. You had no doubt that Hoseok would go along with anything you wanted to drag him into. You didn’t know if he knew what his feelings were, but you did.
It was your own feelings that concerned you.
You hadn’t spent time with Hoseok like this since you were much younger. He was addictive. His smiles and his laughter and the way his eyes gleamed bright all the while. You could feel your resolve crumble and you knew it was bad when you realised it didn’t bother you.
You began to try to re-think things. Reformulate. Work out a way that maybe there could be a future, after all.
Originally, this was where it stopped. This was where your scheming—and your life—would end. You felt the guilt of having had no children: no one to pass your powers and your knowledge down to; you also felt free because you had subjected no one else to a life like yours. It was a heavy burden to be who you were down in the water. But it wouldn’t have mattered much once you were dead, which you were certain you would be at the end of all this. You can’t just ‘kidnap’ the prince, ‘mutilate’, and ‘trap’ him and live to tell the tale. Many had died for less. And you were fine with that. You were living to avenge every woman in your family, every witch, every creature under the sea who lived shunted into shadows, left out of the light, less than. Had been for years.
And for years, your only source of light, the single little gemstone glittering in your heart, was Prince Hoseok. Prince Hoseok and his angelic face, his musical laughter, his charm, his lightness, his brightness, his everything you weren’t and could never be.
You would get to destroy it all in one fell swoop. A beautiful, perfect demise.
Now you weren’t so sure. Weren’t so sure you could do it. You could do it; you weren’t sure you could go through with it. These feelings that you thought you were so used to, not controlled by, not swayed by anymore, were threatening to overpower you. You felt the tendrils unfurl, in the deepest pit of your heart, sending out shoots and roots, embedding themselves further into the bitter, twisted muscle. You could feel them growing through your veins, buds springing up like goosebumps on your skin. You felt them every time his hand accidentally brushed yours, every time you fed him some new food and barely grazed his lips with your fingers. Every time he laughed. Every time he looked at you. Every time. All the time.
Hoseok allowed himself to relax. You liked his company. You wanted him around. He hadn’t tried that hard to leave you—because he had no one and nothing and nowhere else, but also because he recognised that you wanted him to stay. He had realised that, whilst so much was different up on the surface, he was the same. And people liked him. Always had. Yes, he was a prince and there was always a contingent of the sycophantic and the boot-licking, but he had always been well-liked, even amongst his brothers, amongst the entire royal court. He was popular. He was fun. He was funny.
And he was enjoying himself.
He had twenty-four hours. That was enough. He’d make a decision. He was confident in that. He would make a decision soon and he would live with it, whatever it ended up being. He wasn’t pushing himself to find the answer just yet.
He was enjoying himself.
You took him dancing. It felt risky, given what you knew about how much pain he must still be in, how uncoordinated he might be on his two feet, but it was an opportunity to get closer, to show him something new, to show him something you could do. Because you loved to dance. Really only came to the surface to do this one thing.
Certain sea creatures danced, but not like humans did. It wasn’t the same without the sound of feet on floorboards, wasn’t the same without the weight of gravity trying to keep you down every time you pushed up. You weren’t exactly a fan of humans (certainly not in the way Hoseok was), but they had got this right.
Your worries had been unfounded. Hoseok’s legs were feeling better already, he thought, or he was just getting used to the pain. Either way, he wasn’t suffering like he had on the first day. He was a terrible dancer, make no mistake. He couldn’t understand the way people moved their legs, the way their feet moved so quickly they were almost blurs. He tripped and stumbled and crashed about but none of that seemed to matter to you, so it didn’t matter to him either. You held him close and pulled him up and around and twisted and turned and skipped and span until his head was dizzy.
He had never experienced a joy like it.
*
You took him on a short carriage ride, because there was somewhere else you wanted him to see. It wasn’t that far, really, but you didn’t want him to have to walk and a carriage was as new an experience to him as everything else was.
You made it drop you just far enough away that it wouldn’t spoil the surprise. You gave Hoseok nothing, answering none of his questions, not saying a word, because you were holding your breath to wait for his reaction.
And there it was.
You saw his eyebrows, first raised and then knitted together, and then softening. His eyes widening. His mouth dropping open slightly, in the way that made it perfectly heart-shaped. Then he turned his eyes on you. Was this it? Was this the thing you wanted him to see?
It was.
Like a sea of green grass with hundreds – no, thousands – of red flowers floating on the waves. Hoseok didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t seen anything like this before. It was as if he were in another new world. The red-headed poppies were so numerous, you almost couldn’t see the grass underneath; there was merely a suggestion of verdant growth propping up the riot of colour. What were these things and how did they grow in such great number?
He had been taught, growing up, that humans had no respect for nature. That they ripped up land plants and built over grasslands; they destroyed forests and valleys and wetlands all for their own ends. They would rather look at glass and concrete and chrome than the kaleidoscopic views the natural world had to offer. He had believed them, because he had heard the true stories of what human activity had done to sea life; he had received the messages of the reefs dying and oil spilling and nets catching up all sorts of things they shouldn’t. He thought, trying to give them the benefit of the doubt, as he was always wont to do, that maybe the nature on land wasn’t like the nature in the sea. Maybe things were different up here. Lots of other things were.
Now he saw that he had been entirely wrong. Acres of land lay before him. Acres of useful land that could have grown crops or laid foundations to buildings were ablaze with the bright, bright red of flowers he’d never seen before. And the humans let it happen.
As his surprise gave way to pure, wide-eyed admiration, he noticed that the humans were experiencing it the same way he was. He saw them with their cameras, taking their images (as you had explained to him that’s what they did), keeping the sight forever more. He saw them smile and laugh and frolic. He saw them and saw himself in them. He saw, also, the goodness he had always known was there. The spirit and love and joy of humanity. It was here, in these fields. It was here, in his heart. It was here, standing next to him; you, watching him expectantly, a nervous smile trying to tug your bottom lip from between your teeth.
“Wow,” was all he managed to say.
* * *
It was his last night. What might have been his last night. What could be his last night. Hoseok felt tense. Nervous. Almost sick.
He had decided. He was going to stay. If he could. If he could make it happen. If you wanted it.
He knew he had a home to go back to, if you didn’t. He would always have these three days. No one could take them away from him. And if that’s all he got, if three days on the surface was all he ever got to experience, then so be it. He was putting himself in your hands: himself, his heart, his dreams. His body.
The problem was that he didn’t know how to tell you that. He didn’t know how any of this happened on land. He didn’t know what he could or could not say, or do, or suggest. Which is why he had to leave it up to you. He’d just get it wrong.
It was Hoseok’s last night and you were wondering if you were just imagining the way he was looking at you, wanting him to be looking like that. You could bend reality, but that didn’t mean you always saw it clearly. The heart had tricks of its own.
But you had the advantage over him, because you knew his secrets. You knew that this would be his last chance; you knew that you were his only option. You knew that he wanted to stay. You couldn’t be sure if he wanted to stay enough to sleep with you.
You had suggested wine at dinner because you knew it was what the humans drank and knew it made them silly and loud and boisterous; you knew it lowered their inhibitions and made them do things they often regretted. You didn’t really know how you would react to it—your body was technically human now but you’d never been drunk before—but it had left you feeling warm and a little giddy. It had, blessedly and as you had hoped, made this whole thing easier to think about.
Because your head was spinning a little too fast to think about the bigger picture: the whys and wherefores of how you got here, how he got here, the purpose of this whole thing. You could really only think about the splendid slope of his nose. The way his shallow philtrum led to the smooth, rounded peaks of his cupid’s bow. The tiny, dark freckle there that waited, begging to be kissed. The perfect symmetry of his dimples as he smiled.
You hadn’t indulged in this since you were small. Hoseok had been your first crush. First, last. Only. As a pre-teen, you’d been silly with infatuation over him. Memorised the maps of his freckles and exact proportions of his body. You’d floated around in the sea, daydreaming about him for hours on end, not realising how far you had strayed until your mother had come screaming after you, pulling you back and warning you about being so unaware of your surroundings.
You remembered those feelings now. The fizziness in your limbs and heavy twisting in your gut. Like old friends. Hoseok, too, was an old friend. Your oldest. Your only. Now and, if you got this right, forevermore.
Hoseok had accepted the first glass of wine but recoiled at its taste, unable to believe he’d found something on the surface he didn’t like. You had then explained to him that it was technically a poison and he had been aghast to see you continue to drink it, to look around and see so many other humans doing the same. Every minute brought him something new.
You took his hand as you walked back from dinner to your apartment. It was warm and soft and you were grateful for it. Hoseok was grateful for it, too. His clothes still rubbed at his skin and so much of him still hurt, but your hand in his did not.
You didn’t let go when you reached the door, didn’t let go when it shut behind you and you let the lock click. You tugged him a little closer to you, took his other hand, kept his eyes on yours as you moved closer still.
You hadn’t done this before.
Hoseok hadn’t done this before.
You’d seen it done. You understood the concept.
Hoseok had no idea what was coming, but he had decided what he wanted. He had decided to trust you. And he’d decided to trust his gut, too. If humans were anything like merpeople (and they were), at least some of what was to happen would be instinctive.
He hoped, anyway.
You didn’t say a word, though you had planned to. You had scripted a kind of shy proposition, an awkward hobble of a speech in which you would say and ask and tell. But you abandoned it. Or rather, it abandoned you. Not a single word of it left in your head. So you stopped using it: your head. Stopped thinking.
You pressed your lips to his like you’d seen humans do.
The candle in Hoseok’s heart roared, its flame reaching up his throat and into his mouth. He didn’t have time to think. His body acted for him. For the first time since he crawled onto the shore, his body was feeling something that wasn’t pain. Was feeling something familiar. Something hot and deep and aching.
He didn’t mind the taste of the wine on your tongue, thought it was sweet, actually, had lost the acidic tang of the alcohol that made it poisonous. This kiss was like every kiss that had come before it, but also, nothing like them. Absent, the tang of salt. Present, the wet heat of your mouth and his. Absent, the way he could breathe through his gills. Present, the breathlessness that made him pull away before you pulled him back. Absent, the modest nudity in which the entire undersea world lived. Present, a kind of shy, self-conscious awareness of his hidden body.
An enormous, embarrassed awareness of the bulge in his trousers, the way it couldn’t be hidden. He had been horrified to see it, when he had washed up on the beach, two-legged and naked. He couldn’t believe that humans just walked around with everything on display like that (he had known this already, would have remembered if he’d been in his right mind); he’d felt awkward and conscious the entire time, sure that everyone could see, that it was obscene, that humans couldn’t really live like this?
But never more than now, as it strained against his trousers, which hadn’t been tight thirty seconds ago and were now constraining him in a way that bordered on painful. He kept his body away from you, more difficult now that your hands were skittering up his arms and down his chest, slipping back up his skin underneath his shirt, trying to pull him closer.
You felt a little bit dizzy. Sure, the wine, but also, this. Hoseok. The sweetness of fruit in his mouth. The heat of his skin. The sensation of a kiss—something you’d never experienced before, that you had seen, that had disgusted you—was nothing like you’d imagined. If you had thought about it, if you’d been thinking rationally, you might still have been disgusted by the way your tongues rolled over each other, swapping saliva, the way you could taste him, taste the fruit he’d just eaten. But you weren’t thinking rationally. You weren’t thinking at all.
You were feeling. And it was like nothing you’d ever felt before.
You gave into it.
Hoseok gave into it.
It was, as the humans say, like riding a bike. Though you hadn’t done that either.
Hoseok stopped thinking about it when you removed his shirt and stepped out of your dress. Legs were new to him. That was true. The human arrangement of body parts was new to him but they weren’t all that different once everything was out in the open. You had lit a fire in him and he was happy to stoke the flames. He was burning again, all over, inside and out, but it wasn’t painful, wasn’t torture. It was exquisite. New and familiar at once. Intoxicating.
You fell to your knees and Hoseok thought you had stumbled, bent down to help you up, but you stopped him, shook your head, and he stood straight.
Then you took his thick, heavy cock into your hand and licked the top. You wrapped your lips around it and pushed yourself forward, gliding your tongue along the underside, hollowing your cheeks and sucking. Hoseok gasped and almost fell to his knees himself. He didn’t know what this was, assumed it was a normal part of human sex, briefly wondered if sex actually was different here, if this was the entire act. Then he felt the head of his cock press against the back of your throat and his mind was wiped clean of thought. Replaced by a kind of urgent static that made him want to buck his hips, fuck into the hot clutch of your throat.
You had seen humans do this. You weren’t sure if you were doing it right. Not at first, anyway, but Hoseok had a pained look on his face, his mouth hanging open, his chest heaving as he panted, and you knew that was the reaction you were supposed to be eliciting. You could feel the twitch of his dick as it hit your throat, as you gagged lightly around it. You could just about hear, over the roaring of blood in your ears, Hoseok moaning, your name tumbling from his mouth like a prayer.
You were aching between your legs. You were hot and sticky and you could feel it dripping from you. You felt your walls clench and had the sudden, immediate need for Hoseok’s cock there, not in your mouth. You let it fall, wiped your eyes and your mouth and Hoseok was pulling you to your feet, crashing his mouth into yours, his hands frantic and grabbing.
Neither of you was thinking a second beyond what was happening. Gone were your concerns with your long-planned acts of vengeance. Gone were Hoseok’s worries about committing to life on the surface, about leaving his marine life behind, bringing a child into the world. Gone was the pressure of your subterfuge. Gone was the pressure of all his lies of omission. Gone was everything outside the four walls of this apartment. Gone was the whole world beyond your body in his hands, his body in yours.
Hoseok found that legs made all this much easier. They probably wouldn’t under water, but here, he saw their benefit. Saw the upsides to having two of them, of having them jointed at two places and not twenty. As he knelt over you on the dingy grey sheets of your bed, he almost laughed at the image of him trying to do this with a tail. Maybe there were some upsides to this human body after all.
He placed the tip of his cock at your entrance and pushed his hips forward, a little experimentally, testing the motion, the movement of his hips. He fell forward onto his hands, eyes closed, a long, gasping moan trapped in his throat.
He hadn’t known that humans had it so much better.
Would’ve done this days ago if he had.
You were hot and tight and wet and it was all Hoseok could do not to come right there and then. He paused, trying to catch a breath, gather himself, not lose it all as soon as he had begun.
It was excruciating for a second and the whine you’d let out wasn’t pleasured but pained. You were grateful when Hoseok stopped, though you didn’t think it was for you. Is this what it was like? You had thought they liked it. That was the point, wasn’t it? Humans mated for fun, not just for procreation. You had to assume fun would follow. It had been fun up to that point. It had been its own exquisite kind of pleasurable torture waiting for something to stuff you full.
But now he was and it was like being split down the middle. You wondered for a second if this was how it had felt for Hoseok when he grew legs. Then he started pushing his hips forward again and it tossed all thought out the window.
“Are you ok?” he asked, looking down at you with a frown of genuine concern.
You nodded. You nodded some more. You couldn’t speak because the pressure in your centre was overwhelming, the pain like nothing you had felt before. But you couldn’t stop. You wanted it. You wanted him. You had never been pushed out of your mind like this, brought into your body so viscerally, so violently, with such care. Hoseok brushed a strand of hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear.
“Do you want to stop?” he asked.
“No.”
You pulled him down to you, down to his forearms, so you could kiss him, so his chest touched yours, so you could distract yourself from Hoseok with even more Hoseok. With your tongue in his mouth, you allowed yourself to cry out as he pushed further. He swallowed the sound and returned his own. You were trembling, your muscles shaking, your skin sticky with sweat.
So was Hoseok.
The pain wasn’t registering anymore, even though he knew it was still there. All he could feel was your cunt squeezing hard around him; it made him dizzy with pleasure. His stomach was churning, twisting; he was bracing trying to make this last.
Because he’d forgotten the point of it. Forgotten that the ending was the bit that counted. He wanted to feel you, he wanted to touch you and taste you and luxuriate in the human experience of this. He hadn’t imagined it but, if he had, even his wildest dreams wouldn’t have come close. Mermaids? He’d never go back.
He paused, to give you a moment, to give himself a moment, a breather. He kissed you, luxuriating in that, too: the way you tasted like no one else he’d ever kissed, the way your mouth was warm and wet, your tongue soft and supple. He liked the way his breath caught in his throat. He liked the way he found himself panting. He even liked the way his shoulders were starting to ache from holding his body up. Liked the way he could feel every muscle of his posterior chain move when he slowly, tentatively began to draw his hips back, when he tipped them forward again, when he set a slow, smooth motion that he found came easily to him.
Having a human body was exhausting. It was hard work. It was heavy all the time and never supported. It had been torture in the truest sense, with every step Hoseok took stabbing daggers into his legs. But he could see the benefits now. Well, he could feel them. He felt more embodied than he ever had before. Somehow separate from the world in a way that made him feel so much more connected to you. You weren’t two small parts of a larger whole. You were the whole.
He had spent time pondering the ways in which air was so different from water. He often thought water came off the better from the comparison. But this was changing everything. It was exhausting and painful and he was so aware of each and every part of his body. And with that, came a gut-churning pleasure that made his eyes water and his head spin. Water had nothing on air.
You weren’t sure it was pleasurable yet. The sharp pain had subsided and the little grunts and groans that Hoseok left in your mouth were sweet enough, but it wasn’t pleasure. Not yet. You were sure it would come. Didn’t mind entirely if it didn’t tonight. There would be other nights.
You hoped, you prayed, there would be other nights. Because it might have been pain, but it was the sweetest pain you’d ever felt. A pain that you somehow longed for, even as you longed for it to end. A pain that made you feel wanted. A pain that connected you to another living being in a way that you never had been. A pain that, in a moment of intense clarity, you realised connected you to women, human women. All human women who had experienced this since time began. You understood a little about their myths about the origin of man, and sin, and punishment.
You understood it. How this could be punishment. How it could be pleasure, too. How it could be worth it.
Hoseok could feel it coming. He was desperately trying to beat it back, to delay its onset, to make this last and last and last. He never wanted it to end, but he could feel his muscles tightening, feel his cock jumping with every thrust. Pleasure was coiling like a spring inside him, boiling rapidly, boiling over.
You gasped alongside him when he came, when his hips and breath stuttered and he filled you with ropes of hot cum. His body was heavy on top of yours, in a pleasing, crushing kind of way that grounded you. At that very moment, neither one of you was thinking about the consequences of what you had just done. What it could mean. What it meant for your best laid plans. You were lying, listening to the soft rushing of your breath and the hammering of your hearts.
*
It came to you, first, and you didn’t want to think about it. Because you were so full of feeling for Hoseok; feelings that you thought had faded, that had embedded themselves in you in a way that made them fade into the background, made you almost forget they were there, were screaming at you now. In technicolour. Surround sound. Unignorable. Undeniable.
But had you just destroyed him? Destroyed his life? His family?
That had been the intention. Bring down the royal family by having one of their own shun the sea for life on the surface, mate with a human. They’d have known it was you—it couldn’t have been anyone else—and they’d have executed you without trial. But it would’ve been worth it because, forever more, there would be a line of the royal family that ran human, that ran amok on the surface, that no one below the waves would ever be able to forget. It would have been their undoing without doubt. Whatever betrothals lay in wait for the princes would be broken; whatever treaties that were depending on them dashed; the reputation of the family would be in tatters. It would be over for them.
Which was what you had wanted.
But as you lay, absent-mindedly stroking Hoseok’s hair, naked and sweaty and sticky, with a penetrating ache still radiating through your core, you thought about how much that would hurt him. You saw the betrayal on his beatific face and your stomach flipped with fear. Because it wasn’t meant to be you lying here. And that made a difference.
Because you had seen him. You had kissed him. You had had him move inside you. You had loved him your whole life long and now you had to tell him that you had ulterior motives. That you were working against him. That all of this had been the result of your careful manipulations.
There had to be another way. There had been another way. That was how you had designed it. You weren’t supposed to be in this front-row seat. That was the point.
But it was too late now. And you needed a way out.
Maybe he never had to know.
Maybe you could make this work.
*
Hoseok’s eyes were fluttering shut. He could barely keep them open. He didn’t know if he had just secured his existence here or not. He didn’t know how to guarantee a child. Wasn’t clear-headed enough at that moment to know, for sure, if he wanted one.
He wanted to stay. Oh, he wanted to stay. He couldn’t go back now. But a child?
He felt wicked. He thought about what you might say if you ever learnt the truth. The betrayal. The way he used you for this.
He felt like a coward. He was a pampered prince who had achieved nothing on his own. He had turned to a sea witch in the midst of what amounted to a king-sized tantrum. She had risked her entire existence bringing him here. He had barely survived on his own. You had rescued him. Given him food and shelter and company and the greatest pleasure he had ever known.
He knew he couldn’t tell you the truth. Not if he wanted any part of this to continue.
Because he did. He wasn’t just using you. He wasn’t sure he was using you at all. He liked you. He wanted you. He wanted to stay, not just on the surface, but on the surface with you.
It felt too big. Too confusing. Too difficult. He was a coward, after all, so he closed his eyes and decided to see what the morning would bring.
You noticed his breathing slow, grow heavy and deep, his body relaxing further, his weight pressing down on you harder. He was asleep. That gave you time, you thought. To think of something. Some way out of this. Some way to stay in this.
But your own eyelids felt heavy, kept dropping of their own accord, and you kept losing your train of thought. You gave into it; you would wake early, go out and buy something for breakfast, figure it out in the morning.
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a special surprise
Rhys x f!Reader
Summary: Day 3, Lingerie with Rhys
Warnings: smut, rough oral sex, lingere, light d/s dynamics, minors dni!
kinktober masterlist
After dinner, you were determined to do something special for Rhys, even if he would say it’s completely unnecessary. He’d been gone since before dawn, and although he wouldn’t tell you, you knew he had a rough day. You rummaged through your closet, finding a golden lace set, one you hadn’t worn in a while.
“I’m taking a bath,” you yelled, not waiting for a response. The bath was one of the quickest you’ve taken, ever. After, you put on some of your favorite - and his favorite - rose scented oil, and slipped the set on. Beautiful, if a bit uncomfortable.
You slowly opened the door, slipping silently through the hallways, and finding him in one of the sitting rooms, hands tucked in his pockets as he looked over a map on the table.
“Hello,” You say softly, leaning against the doorway. His head turned, and his eyes widened before a smirk formed on his face.
“Hello darling.” He purred, stalking towards you in a way that made your pulse flutter. You felt like you couldn’t breathe as he stopped before you, his hands brushing over your ribs, feeling the fabric beneath his fingers. His thumb ran possessively over the column of your neck.
-
He hadn’t seen this particular set in a while. Rhys remembers every single one you have, and loves them all. He never asked you to wear them, letting you choose to put them on when you’d like. His hands pressed under your thighs, and you laughed softly, locking your legs around his waist. Rhys winnowed directly to the bedroom before lowering you to the sheets, his eyes took in every inch of you, listening as your heart rate and breathing sped up. Your skin, soft and smooth underneath his fingers as he traced them along your stomach, fingering the edge of the lace, pulling it slightly before letting it snap back against your skin. A soft moan left you, back arching. He thanks the Mother, every day, for you.
“Gorgeous.” He murmured, “and all for me.”
“All yours,” you breathed.
-
Rhys took his time with you, his fingers ghosted over every inch of your skin, and you were soaking wet and he’d barely touched you. You squealed as he pulled be back towards the edge of your bed, peeling the set off of you, painfully slow, but you knew better than to whine or complain.
“Please,” You begged instead. His eyes lit up with feline amusement.
“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“Please touch me, Rhys.” You pushed yourself up, propping on your forearms. “Or can I touch you?” You swallowed harshly. He usually preferred to take his time with you, driving every inch of you crazy before you ‘earned the right’ to feel his cock, as he liked to say. Lust and desire made his eyes darken, and maybe for once you could go first.
“I won’t be gentle,” he murmured, and you could scent your own arousal flooding the room. “But that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” You breathed. You want all of his frustrations, all of his anger, to be that outlet and person for him - in any way you can. His hands trailed down your front, sending your back arching as his thumb brushed over your nipples - the lace rubbing against them.
“On your knees my love.” His hands pulled you off the bed, switching your positions. You carefully undid the laces on his pants as your hands shook with each movement. “Hands behind your back,” he murmured as he noticed. You followed his instructions without question, and nearly salivated as he adjusted his pants just enough so his length would come out. As much as you love seeing his naked body there’s something erotic about him being fully clothed in front of you, as you’re left almost completely bare.
“This pretty little mouth, all mine to use,” he commented, almost absentmindedly, running his fingers through your hair.
“All yours.” You replied, unable to take your eyes away from his. One finger tapped your cheek, and you parted your lips. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your head to the perfect angle to take him. You teasingly ran your tongue up his length, before one hand fisted the back of your hair, the other guiding himself inside you. His eyes closed in pleasure, the quiet moans leaving him as you swirled your tongue around. He groaned as his movements sped up, his hand pressing you down, forcing you to take him more and more. “Breathe through your nose,” he instructed, and you listened, following his every instruction.
“Look at you, taking me so well.” He praised, and his hands gripped you tighter, as he thrust into you without abandon. A sense of pride filled you as it took mere minutes for him to spill down your throat. You swallowed each bit, licking your lips to make sure you got every last drop.
As soon as you had, he tugged you up and tossed you on the bed, chuckling as you squealed.
“I might not take this off you,” he murmured as you propped yourself up on your forearms.
“Really?”
He hummed, running a finger up your core, lightly pinching your clit. You let out something between a whimper and a moan, your legs instinctively trying to close but Rhys used his knees to keep them parted, sending a warning glance at you before kneeling between your thighs. You groaned as his teeth scraped over the fabric, one finger running underneath the edges of it.
“Let’s see how many we can get out of you, darling.”
#rhysand x y/n#rhysand x reader#kinktober#acotar x reader#acotar smut#acotar imgaine#rhys x reader#rhys x y/n
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I'm doing these two together because of their similarities and figured it would just be best to answer both of them at once.
As a preface: Qiu and the MC do have a crush on each other but neither of them have acted on it. So right now they are Very close friends but Tamarack and the MC are best friends. I went with a more fem leaning MC but they are still using they/them pronouns and are still nonbinary. Just because of who will be showing up in this drabble 😭
With that out of the way, here's the drabble! Hope yall enjoy Qiu being a certified #asshole
Qiu wasn't a jealous person. In fact, they were quite the opposite, growing up as the residental young boyish heart-throb of the young population had other people jealous of them for many reasons. Popularity, good looks, funny, and with a perchant for being kind to everyone they meet; they had heard the rumors of how some of the "friends" Qiu had were secretly trying to push others away from them just to horde their affection. Of course, Ren and Baxter always snuffed out those particular people's issues. Though that didn't stop Qiu from finding out that they unknowingly made people jealous of them. For a while, they had grown accustomed to it.
But then they moved in.
With their sincerity, kindness, and love; they ruined Qiu so thoroughly, down to their very being. Yet, Qiu couldn’t even complain. They would absolutely let the MC do it again and again to them. They were everything to them, and all they had to do was look pretty and bat their eyelashes at them to get them to do anything. They were completely head over heels screwed for them.
And it's what led them here now, sitting at the lunch table, silently fuming on the uncomfortable bench.
Fuming because they were the reason they were completely and madly green with envy at the sight of the MC being so close with Tamarack.
"Tamarack, your hair is so silky and has such gorgeous curls!" The MC preened as they started to make a small braid with some strands of Tamarack's hair.
"Ah, are they really?" Was Tamarack's reply, soft and questioning. For a second, it would have sounded truly genuine, and it might have been, but Qiu knew better.
Tamarack had lost all of her boisterous energy and know-it-all attitude that she wielded back in 2010, replaced with insecurities about everything and anything about herself. It was like watching a turtle shrink back into its shell, and a part of Qiu understood why.
But as they watched the MC comb and weave their beautiful fingers through Tamarack's sparkling hair; a much louder, nastier part of them yelled and screeched.
She's obviously fishing for compliments, she knows her hair is her best quality!
Her hair isn't even that pretty to begin with!
Why is the MC braiding her hair? She doesn't deserve it.
Is my hair not good enough to be braided?
Why her and not me!
"Anddd done!" The MC squeaked, snapping Qiu out of their momentary spiral as the group cooed and awed at the small braid, dangling next to Tamarack's ear. Much to Qiu's utter displeasure, Tamarack had the nerve to be bashful.
"It's so cute!" Serenity, one of Tamarack and the MC's friend, piped up. "Now you have two braids!"
"It does look very nice." Vianca hummed in approval, which made Tamarack fidget in place.
"You did a good job MC." Renee or Ren for short, the only ally Qiu supposedly had at this godforesaken table and the only reason why they were even sitting there, smiled at the both of them.
Why the hell was she on Tamarack's side?Almost everyone here don't even know she's a girl! Why are we even here?!
Qiu couldn’t help but grit their teeth in pure frustration. They couldn't even lie, it was a perfect braid and it suited Tamarack perfectly. But, if they were being honest, they had rather Tamarack have no-
"Qiu."
Qiu, once again, snapped out of their thoughts and turned to the source of the voice. It was Vianca of all people, with a smirk on her face. Usually, they didn’t a single shit about her, but for some reason, that shit eating smirk made Qiu's stomach drop.
"Aren't you going to... you know? Join in on the conversation or compliment the braid? You havs been staring at Tamarack for a hot minute now." She sneered at them, and Qiu's eyes widened as they realized she was completely right.
Tamarack had noticed Qiu's stare on her. Otherwise, she wouldn't be fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, her smile dropping into an uneasy line, and her plucked eyebrows furrowed. God, she made them truly sick sometimes.
"Qiu probably thinks it's fine." Ren chuckled, though it was obvious that there was nervous energy coating each sound. They felt a small jab on their foot, and they looked up to see Ren's hazelnut eyes staring back at them.
"Right, Qiu?"
Qiu knew what was happening. They made Tamarack feel bad, and now they had to sit there and pretend that they thought her and her stupid mini braid that the MC made was cute to save face. Their hands balled up into fists on the table for just a second before they took a simple breath in and exhaled, and their hands relaxed once more.
The MC is in front of them for fuck's sake, they can pretend to be fine.
"Sure. It's cute." Was Qiu's stiff reply.
There was a collective breath of relief from most of the table's patrons, and Tamarack glanced up at them for just a second, her eyes searching for something before-
"I'm so glad!" The MC nearly squealed before pulling Tamarack into a close hug, giddy from all the praise, and all poor Tamarack was able to muster out was a solid squeak.
"I been practicing and practicing with Tamarack's hair the past few days after school. I love messing with hair, and once I get better, I want to do-"
There was a solid slam that reverberated on the table that not only silenced them but silenced most of the chatter in the cafeteria. Qiu's palms stinged and burned from the impact of the force, but they didn't care.
Why should they when all they been hearing was just bragging and idolizing someone that wasn't quite frankly worth the MC's time?
"I am sooo happy that you love to do Tamarack's hair and that you just loveee to do everything with her." Qiu laughed but it wasn't remotely happy or earnest, but instead filled with a deep malice.
"Qiu-" Ren snapped but Qiu pressed on.
"But I quite frankly don't give a fuck enough to be caring about her damn braid to be complimenting it."
There was audible gasps and even some giggles from the other students who were listening in. Vianca, Renee and Serenity's faces were twisted in a state of shock and disgust. The nasty pit in them were reveling in it.
At least that was the case until their eyes wandered on Tamarack's face, flushed hot with embarrassment and shame. Her head was ducked down but they could hear her eyelashes furiously batting away the tears that were starting to form beyond the drumming of Qiu's heart in their ears.
And if that didn't make Qiu falter, then the look on their face certainly did. It wasn't shock, it wasn't anger; it was pure and unfiltered hurt and disappointment. That was easily enough for Qiu to stop, but as if feeling like they were controlled on strings, they spoke again.
"Now if all of you excuse me, I'm going to do something better with my time."
The poison in their words even shocked them, but before they could even process that, they felt their limbs run on auto pilot.
They snatched their bag and stormed out of the cafeteria much to the confused shouts of the group, but Qiu didn't care.
They had to get out of there! They had to!
Qiu felt the blood rush to their face in so many emotions, eyes stinging as tears filled their vision. As they side-stepped both faculty and students as they ran up the stairs, thoughts were running at them a mile an hour.
Why did I do that?!
Why didn't I do it sooner?!
Did you see the look on their faces!?
I made Tamarack cry!
It was so funny!
What is wrong with me?
It was great!
As Qiu barreled past the door and onto the rooftop, stopping to take a breath of fresh air, one single though ruminated in their head.
I hurt them. I hurt my best friend.
Qiu wasn't a jealous person. That's what they thought. But as they sat down on a bench, holding their head in their hands, that thought just wasn't true anymore.
They realized that maybe, just maybe something nasty had taken residence within them underneath their watch. Whatever that nasty thing was, Qiu thought, it had rotten them to their core.
Or worse, that nasty pit was there the entire time and Qiu was too tired to fight back anymore.
#our life now and forever#qiu lin#tamarack baumann#renee murray#olnf qiu#olnf tamarack#olnf renee#olnf vianca#olnf serenity#candy drabbles#yeah this one kinda got away from me?#i really liked exploring the nastier side of qiu#especially since That part of them rears its ugly head when their jealous#but i also wanted to write them realizing that they Do have a nasty side#way more than their inital cold front leads on#sm sm they let the intrusive thoughts win badly
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Happilyfeatherafter’s ficrec Fridays
Good friday y'all. Welcome back to a new fortnight of fics that I’ve read and loved recently. I took my first holiday of the year and IMMEDIATELY caught a cold that knocked me out for the week but at least it meant I got reading done. Save me, destiel, save me.
If you want to find more you can see my previous rec lists here!
29 March 2024
virga(e) by @shineforthee (art by @neversleepuntilfive) has gone straight to the top of the favourite fics ever pile, oh my god you guys, please read it immediately and admire the art that inspired it as part of @deancasreversebang. This fic is a thing of beauty from start to finish. In one version of the story of Dean and Cas, we find Castiel perpetually waiting in the desert, when a 26 year old Dean stumbles upon him drawn to the location mid-hunt. They must learn to trust each other, to figure out what's causing the push and pull that bonds them. The poetry of this fic, run through with this yearning devastating emotion on their journey together, coupled with the incredibly evocatively descriptions and research into the setting, come together to make the most gorgeous picture, the desert a place that seems desolate but is teeming with life. Much like the slowburn romance that flourishes between them. It also links back to post-canon in a way that is seeded so carefully and cleverly, and made my heart explode. It's funny, romantic, devastating, emotional, moving....I can't do justice to this fic with such a short snapshot, please read it for yourselves and come yell at me about it. It's so beautiful. shineforthee also has a great 9x06 fanfic gap one shot and an ongoing wip now too and I can't wait to read that! (Somehow need any more convincing? Check out @bloodydeanwinchester's Virga(e) liveblog).
It's all very complex by artichokeflower okay that was all very serious, so let's turn to a short and sweet smut fic that had me giggling gleefully throughout. 'After walking in on Dean's private time, Cas decides to do a little research and experimentation of his own and gets magically trapped in a book about sexual fantasies. And if that means Dean has to go in after him, well what are buddies for, right?' The thing that is just GOLDEN about this fic aside from the hot smut is the dry sense of humour, borderline French Mistake parody level porn and dialogue between Dean and especially Cas which just gets them so well...the cowboy scenes in particular. Glorious: “I’m sorry, Dean. That’s the end of the erotic violence. Are you hurt?” “Is there going to be any sex in your sexy fantasies?” Dean wheezed. “Not that the whole shoot out wasn’t fun. I just wasn’t expecting as much plot is all.” He coughed. That had probably sounded too eager.
Just Being and Just Having by Englandwouldfall I have recced before but is now complete!! This the post-canon fic series delves so incredibly beautifully into Dean and Cas’ history of miscommunication and gives them the chance to truly talk things out, finding themselves falling more deeply in love as they do so and understand their own mistakes but also what makes them work so well together when they’re no longer under Chuck’s thumb. Each chapter feels like therapy and a brain and heart massage! It sticks the landing so well and I just love these boys so much.
Something Happening Somewhen by allthismusic (@folkbloodbaths, art by @eggchef) aaaahhh time travel young Dean brought to the future to meet older Dean and Cas fic trope my beloved. A @deancaspinefest fic, Allthismusic is a fan of the trope too and this fic is a gorgeous tribute to it and the fics that came before. Cas saves 24yo Dean from an accident and brings him to the future when he witnesses what his life will be. Will Cas have to remove his memories to stop a paradox? Sweet and heartfelt, a joy to read.
Books, Pies, and Roommates by @seidenapfel (art by @kitshay) is a @deancaspinefest two-person love hexagon, with some excellently farcical misdirection. Cas moves in to the spare room of Dean's house, but he doesn't meet him, he meets Sam, as Dean is busy working. Cas is professor but helps his cousin out as a barista and his favourite customer is Deano. Dean's intrigued by the barista but he's not his online penpal and best friend Angel. Lines blur, connections are made, and hearts are gonna get broken...or are they?
Tag list under the cut, let me know if you'd like to be added! Please reblog <3
@dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you
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Seeing the last few asks regarding Dehya in the Empress AU, it got me thinking.
So, obviously the other Courtesans are jelly about this outsider butting into to their circle and getting a wee bit too chummy with their Empress.
Now, imagine. Beidou (and I'd like to say Shenhe, though idk if- even in the context of this AU- it'd be in character for her) start having a sort of contest with Dehya, trying to one-up her in displays of strength. Meanwhile the Empress is just appreciating the show (maybe even being being swept by the herculean woman, for better or worse) trying not to die from being so flustered (among a particular other emotion, if you catch my drift) from the strong duo (or trio, if Shenhe were to partake) so openly, and competetively vying for her affections.
A competition where buff women try to one up each other by proving their strength to the empress? Oh, anon. You know me so well ;)
sfw under the cut—————————
First off, Beidou was definitely the one to initiate the competition. She was getting jealous at the way Dehya was just so casually grabbing her empress and carrying them around like they were nothing. That was her job. (And Shenhe’s too sometimes) so why was this outsider suddenly stealing their job?
In terms of getting Dehya to agree to such a competition, Beidou had to get Shenhe on board to make it seem like she wasn’t the only one being petty.
“You don’t like Dehya, right?”
“I don’t have any opinions on her.”
Beidou would facepalm and try to make Shenhe jealous to join the competition.
“I saw Dehya carrying the empress.”
“Okay.”
“She was getting pretty handsy with them too.”
“Mhm.”
Beidou sighed and finally thought of an idea.
“You know, if Dehya joined the harem, she might become one of their bodyguards. Meaning you won’t get as much alone time with the empress anymore.”
Silence.
“Shenhe?”
Okay, now Shenhe was on board. The two of them walking up to Dehya and declaring a competition to see who was the strongest and fit for the empress’ side. Dehya looked confused, but agreed nevertheless to the competition as it was just another excuse to flex in front of the empress.
When the competition starts it’s your typical Olympic style lineup where each event would have a different test of physical endurance. The empress and their harem would all gather outside to watch in the shade as Dehya, Beidou and Shenhe all competed for your heart.
Truth be told, some of the courtesans in your harem thought it was ridiculous. Keqing especially as she just rolled her eyes and sat by your side with her arms around your waist.
“Are you brutes done yet?” Keqing would yell, watching as Dehya and Beidou engaged in an intense arm wrestling match while Shenhe quietly waited for her turn. “The empress shouldn’t be out in the sun for too long. We didn’t bring sunblock…”
As everyone was caught up in the hijinks of the competition however, you couldn’t help but admire the three buff women all flexing and showing off their strength in ways that made you swoon. Your favorite part of the competition had to be the swimming part if you were being honest. The way your courtesans + Dehya were in the water wearing minimal clothing with water dripping down their abs was just too hot for you to look away.
“Hey empress! Like what you see?” Dehya would chuckle from the water, letting the water droplets slide down her body before Beidou tackled her in the water.
“Weak! I’ve had my muscles since the time I could barely walk!” Beidou would counter back, Ningguang groaning at how the competition quickly escalated into a fight, as Shenhe innocently doggy paddled in the background of the pool. (Poor Shenhe was the only one actually following the rules)
“My empress, shouldn’t we stop this?” Ningguang would ask, quickly shielding you with her parasol as splashes of water almost soaked through your clothes.
“No, let them be,” you smiled as you watched them tussle with each other in the pool. Unable to admit that the real reason you were letting this continue, was so that you could watch the muscular women pine for your affections. “Let’s give them another hour.”
By the end of the competitions, you had Beidou and Dehya tired out with Shenhe as the reigning champion from the competitions. Not only did she follow the rules, she absolutely demolished the two with her strength due to her intense training with the adepti.
“How…How did she…” Dehya looked stunned as the elegant woman simply strutted over to you to claim her prize.
“Yay, Shenhe you did it!” You cheered, waving your arms in the air. “I’m so proud of you— oof!”
She didn’t say a word as she hoisted you up in her arms and started walking away. Off to have some alone time with you as she wanted nothing more than to have you all to herself…
#🫧hydration station#empress au#dehya x reader#beidou x reader#shenhe x reader#genshin women x reader#genshin x reader
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"Woah, now I know why you don't drink with us!!!!" || Part 1
Part 2 || Masterlist
Summary: Y/N has a secret crush on Felix. Little did she know he too liked her. All the boys are Y/n's friend as they go to the same college and live under the same roof. The other boys did know of Felix's crush but are clueless about Y/N. Little did the blooming couple know that an anesthesia would be the one bringing them together.
Pairing: NonIdol!Felix X Female!Y/N
Genre: slightly suggestive, fluff maybe, mentions of alcohol, high Y/N
Note: Y/N is sedated, The Felix or his other roommates mentioned here are no where related to the idol Stray Kids and are just a fictional character. Minors DNI please!!!
"Initially we give less dosage of anesthesia to patients who come for the wisdom teeth removal, since Y/N's so sensitive, we had to give her higher dose. So she would be high for some time, and would come to her senses after 8 hours. Meanwhile, if she faces any issues you can tell her to take the prescribed tablets. Also she is advised not to have any spicy or hard food for a week. Only liquid food for an entire day and soft food for the rest of the week." said the Dentist. "Thank you Doctor", Han said as he helped Y/N get up and made her go out . "Y/N, I'll get the medicines and you stay here" he babied her. "Who are you? I do what I want to." Y/N retorted. "Y/n ah, I know you are a brat, but I'll let this pass once, only just because you are under sedation" a triggered Han said as he left her on the chair to get medicines. On his way to the pharmacy, he met Hyunjin. "Han ah, where is Y/N? Chan asked me to tag along in case you needed help". "Bro, I have made her sit on the chair, can you please take a look at her. She is spewing nonsense. Such a menace she is." Han replied. After the medicines were bought, Hyunjin and Han helped Y/N walk on her way to their car. Hyunjin sat in the driver's seat and a staggered Y/N went to occupy the passenger seat. Not even 5 minutes later, she was transferred to the back seat and was made to sit with Han with all the fuss she created. "Chan, we are on the way back and .... Y/N!!! stop pulling my specs" Han yelled and after a heated argument Han relied to Chan about Y/N's diet and the dentist's advise.
Y/N is usually a bubbling extroverted girl. A beautiful girl who is one year younger than I.N. A person with both beauty and brains, had a lot of people courting her, but her eyes laid only on one of her roommate, Lee Felix Yongbok. Being a bratty roommate with others and making fun of everyone with all possibilities, she has always had a soft spot for Felix and has never made fun of him. The others had never doubted this because, she had treated him like how all would treat him. But be it arriving on time for a class, or making any meal, or saving a book she had all done it ready for him. Often the members would have late night outs and parties and she being the only girl was literally treated like a younger sibling and was never allowed for any late night parties. Whenever it would be, just "Saturday Nights" at their dorm, she would always insist on having orange juice or sparkling water rather than alcohol. The members though knew it, that it was because of her lower tolerance level and that she would be difficult to handle, didn't force her. On the other hand, she didn't want to because, she knew she would pour her heart out if she drank and didn't want to miss the friendship she cherished. So, it was only when she was with he girls that she drank. That was how much she loved him.
Similar to Y/N, Felix liked her but didn't open up his heart to her for the fear of loosing her friendship. He kept it to his heart, until one day, where they had a game of truth or dare during their "Saturday Nights" and he confessed to have feelings for a particular girl. Upon closely watching his previous movements, the group concluded that it definitely was Y/N. When he asked how, each of them had their own answers for confirmation. Seungmin said, "I saw you waiting for her after class, to walk along with her to our dorm, even thoug you didn't have class that day". " One night when I went to drink water, I saw you tucking up her bedsheet " Hyunjin replied. "I saw you having her as your wallpaper on your phone" replied Changbin. He also added, "I didn't mean to peak at your phone, remember; when I had asked for your phone to text the professor. It was that time I realised it". "Not to mention, we share the same room and one day I saw you texting her, you slept with your phone. When I tried to keep the phone on the table beside, I saw a notification with Y/N's name along with a light blue heart." replied the youngest. "Don't you think I know the way steal glances of her during our combined sessions?" asked the eldest. "I knew it the moment you told me weeks ago about how you wanted pasta for dinner just because Y/N had a bad day at college. You have never done it for anyone else" said Lee Know. "Remember the one day I borrowed your book for reference? Do you not remember what you had written in it? The entire book had Y/N's name on it just like how a psychopath writes a person's name" said Han "You have been too obvious with it around us. Y/N must be either dumb or must be really clueless about it" he retorted.
Back in the car, when Han cut the call, Y/N "Bro, where is my love? I wanna meet him" she said. An astonished Han, asked who it was for which she replied that he knew him. Hyunjin in the driver's seat replied "I guess Felix is screwed!!!" Meanwhile, "You Quokka like human, where is my love? I want to meet him. Kiss him... Please bring him here." Han knew it wasn't easy and not right either to bring words out from her, so he decided, "Y/N let's play this game 10 questions. I'll ask you 10 questions and you have to answer them honestly. By the time you are done, I'll bring you your love. Deal? " he asked. "Deal" she challenged.
Even after 10 questions, he was not able to find out who it was and had arrived to their dorm. Han and Hyunjin had tricked Y/N into make her believe that they were at her "Love's" home and that she had to go in to see him. As soon as she entered, she started yelling "Lee Felix Yongbok!!!! where are you?". Hearing her voice, Felix came out to see what was going on.... "Come here!!!!" she ordered as she sat on their sofa, pointing her hands, implying him to sit near her. "What is it Y/N?" asked Felix as he sat near her. A wild Y/N, grabbed Felix's shirt by the collar, just leaving a gap of 2 inches between them. She could feel his breath pace take off and her cheeks now tinted with red. With a raspy voice, she said "Do you know how much I love you? Those freckles and the cute smile is definitely the death of me. In the future, if I get married, I want it only with you and our kids will have beautiful freckles just like you" she confessed. Everyone were too stunned to speak at the confession. Meanwhile Hyunjin, "Han, we were so clueless, the entire ride she was talking about.... was it Felix????" Han replied "Now with what she confessed, I think, no conclude that it was definitely Felix." "You know why every time you call me to have drinks I deny? It is because, if I drink, I would pour my heart out. I don't know what is in your mind and if you don't like it, I would crumble into pieces. i wouldn't be even able to face you" she said. Her hands now across his neck as she pulls him in for a deep kiss. Breaking out from the kiss, Felix says" Who said I don't like you? I've always loved you, and will love you. " as he tucked the small fringe of hair behind her ears. " Woah, now I know why you don't drink with us. It's okay." he says, as he carried her to her bedroom.
Idk if y'all want Part 2. But if you want, please feel free to ask it in the comment section.
#skz#stray kids#y/n#bang chan#christoper bang chan#han#han jisung#lee know#kim seungmin#yang jeongin#hwang hyunjin#lee min ho#lee felix#felix#lee felix yongbok#changbin#seo changbin#I.N#felix X Y/N#lee felix X Y/N
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t141 + könig beach day! 🏖️
summary: you and the task force have a beach day!
pairings: platonic!t141 x reader, ghost x reader
warnings: cursing, suggestive thoughts
a/n: this is gonna be a pretty long one so buckle up!
- it all starts when you guys came back from a stressful mission
-people were hurt, soldiers killed, and the aura during the whole mission was very dark
-Soap had the idea to suggest going on a trip
-he thought it would brighten the mood
-he brought it up with price and he agreed
-since there were so many of y’all, price had to drive a minivan 😭
-it was könig in the front with price, since he was quiet and wouldn’t disturb the man from driving
-gaz and soap sat next to each other
-unfortunately, you got stuck with grumpy ghost
-for the first hour of the trip, soap was torturing the rest of you guys with their unbearable singing
-ghost had already threatened him too many times to count and the ride had barely started
-once price turned on the radio, gaz and soap started to play card games and for the first time in history, they were both mostly quiet
-you felt yourself drift in and out of consciousness until you slumped over on the closest thing to your head, which was ghost
-at first you expected him to push you off and yell at you, but once he made no efforts to do that, you just relaxed
-the next time you opened your eyes you guys were at your destination
-you and König started to unpack the trunk and brought the stuff to the beach
-you had packed some snacks in case one of the guys would get hungry, something that always happens especially with soap
-at the beach, gaz and soap took their shirts off and ran towards the waves without even saying goodbye
-you laughed as a rogue wave drowned soap
-you decided it was your time to get wet 😉, and you took your clothes off leaving only your swimsuit on
-this particular swimsuit accentuated all the right parts of your body, showing off all the things you worked for during training
-you couldn’t help but notice könig’s face turn pink under his mask and look away when he noticed what you were wearing
-you felt really, really hot
-once you got to the water you couldn’t even hide the shock on your face from seeing ghosts form
-he was built like a Greek god, chiseled with pink scars littering his beautiful body
“any particular reason your staring at me?”
“N-no, i just, I’ve never Seen you this exposed.”
“hm.”
You looked away shyly, embarrassed you got caught staring at your lieutenant
-what you didn’t notice was that Simon did a double take when he first saw you, enamored with your physique
-he had to adjust himself after seeing you
-everything was going great, price had been sipping at a beer while looking at the beach
-soap and gaz had been play fighting, which was now what you got roped into
-you were screaming as you all were chasing each other
-while you were playing, you accidentally splashed ghost with water
-it was like the world paused, you were terrified to see what he would do
-even soap shut up, which showed a lot about the situation
-ghost then dead panned at you and the next thing you know he started charging at you
-you started screaming and running away as fast as you could and even called to price for help
-Gaz and soap were laughing at your unfortunate situation
-you ran and used poor König as a human shield to protect yourself from ghost
-eventually a laughing König betrayed you and swam away, leaving you at simons mercy
-he tackled you and you started laughing, and for the first time in a while, you finally felt at peace and happy
-a feeling that doesn’t happen often in your line of work
-you laughed as you gazed into simons eyes, seeing him smile too
-his usually cold eyes pierced into yours, seemingly warm this time
-during the sunset, you and the guys had set up a camp fire and laughed at missions gone wrong
-it was a great day
-overall, you were glad you had your team, people you considered your family with you <3
A/N: i hope you guys enjoyed! Let me know what you would like to see!
#captain john price#cod#cod x reader#fluff#gaz garrick#cod mw2#ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#ghost mw2#könig cod#könig#könig x reader#könig mw2#könig call of duty#call of duty#konig x reader#konig mw2#Beach day#beachvibes#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#kyle gaz garrick fluff#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#gaz cod#gaz mw2#soap mctavish
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On "Coming Out" and Noel Fielding
I mentioned forever ago that I had this post in mind and then never got around to it, but now with the new interview quote I was yelling about recently it feels like a particularly good time to get it out of my brain and onto the page!
tl;dr: musings on the concept of "coming out" as it has evolved over time, whether it's something that should continue to be necessary or expected of queer people, and why Noel is particularly inspirational to me in that regard since this is, after all, my brainrot blog. This may be extremely long and a bit disjointed but I hope some of y'all will enjoy it!
So a while ago myself and several friends were discussing the concept of coming out. All of us are some flavor of queer both in gender and orientation, but each is in a different place along their self discovery and identity journey, with some being long since out and proud, and others just starting to dip their toes into exploration past the expected cishet.
This discussion actually was prompted by a different discussion about Noel, spurred by comments we'd come across slamming him as being homophobic/transphobic on Bakeoff for making comments suggesting he has romantic or sexual attraction towards Paul, referring to himself with female-centric terms, playing female characters in the skits, and a particular moment where he brings up Old Gregg while talking to KimJoy and says "he was a sea transsexual....quite a demanding role for me" while laughing to indicate that that last part was said in jest.
Hey fellas, is it homophobic/transphobic to be a little bit gay and trans?
This got us talking about how the current culture of queer identity has evolved to the point where "coming out" feels more like something the public feels they're owed in order for them to view one's expression as valid, rather than its original purpose as something one does for themself in order to live most authentically. I don't think I need to go into detail about how many artists have been harassed by their "fans" into coming out before they were ready because people wouldn't accept the validity of that person's work without knowing exactly how that person identified, there've been plenty of articles and video essays and better written tumblr posts about that, but it's definitely a concerning trend.
It can be particularly dangerous when it comes to people who aren't feeling confident or safe enough to come out, who end up being criticized and shunned by the queer community as being somehow problematic for not being able to fully articulate to a group of strangers the ways in which they're experiencing their identity. In this situation, the people who are struggling the most end up with the least support. Forcing people to either declare an identity or get out just leads to more people staying closeted out of fear of doing it "wrong" and never getting the chance to explore the most authentic and joyful versions of themselves, or even worse, feeling the need to out themselves before they're in a safe place to do so and suffering the resulting consequences.
Questioning or cautious people deserve space in the community to experiment even if they haven't yet or maybe never will come out! My high school's Gay Straight Alliance was comprised entirely of "straight allies" when I was there. There was not a single "out" person in the school at the time. Nearly all of us in the GSA ended up being some flavor of queer or trans years later after graduation. But whether it was intentional closeting or just feeling an innate affinity towards something we couldn't quite pinpoint at the time, we all knew we belonged there and made that space for ourselves and others like us.
Back when "coming out" first became a concept in the public consciousness, it was during a time where cishet identity was not just considered the default, but the only option. By coming out, queer people were giving genuinely revolutionary representation for themselves and others like them by telling the world that, as the old saying goes, we're here, we're queer, get used to it! Nowadays, we're lucky to live in a culture that is much more cognizant of queer identities being a thing, so in many cases coming out has become less about having to explain to those around you the basic concept of queerness existing, and moreso about which specific identity you fall under, and that's where things get messy.
My friends and I shared our own thoughts and experiences.
One is currently identifying as "unlabeled" because they haven't found a term that feels correct yet, and therefore hasn't come out because they wouldn't know what to say.
One spoke about how when they first came out they were much more insistent on what terms or pronouns people used for them but as time has gone on they've grown to find joy in being inscrutable and letting others wonder what they're perceiving.
One expressed that given the state of the world they've been retreating somewhat back into the closet for safety reasons rather than being super outward with their queerness like they used to and is working on learning to embrace those parts of themself again.
One said they felt like they'd already been existing as queer and expressing that queerness "before I even had the terms to come out to myself" and is now working on catching up on the conscious end of figuring out what's what.
I myself never really had an official "coming out", I just became increasingly visually/socially/vocally queer as I became more and more confident in who I was and what I wanted to be and who I had on some level always been, and decided if people didn't get the hint that's their own problem.
I came into consciousness of my queerness during the early 2010s original tumblr MOGAI microlabel boom, where there was a ton of focus on figuring out the hyper specific identity labels that exactly described what you were experiencing. I did a lot of digging and soul searching and experienced a lot of unnecessary stress trying and failing to find my perfect labels and landed on clumsy terms like "full time drag queen" because it was the closest I could get to what I was feeling about my gender, only to be told it was problematic for me to call myself that as an AFAB person because drag "belongs to cis gay men" (don't get me started on that statement, that's a whole other essay lol)
It was a real wake up call once I distanced from these aggressively labeled and segmented online spaces and made my way into real world queer communities where I was relieved to find that in fact no one there asks to check your membership card before letting you in, if you feel like you belong there you're welcome no questions asked.
I had other people in these communities referring to me as "queer" and "fag" and "gay" and "queen" before I felt comfortable doing so myself based on online Discourse I'd experienced over who is Allowed to use certain terms, and having these community leaders I respected recognizing those things in me and welcoming me in like that gave me the confidence to really find my own footing in ways that attempting to find my exact correct identity label so that I could officially proclaim it never did. Once I could answer the question of what I was with a shrug and "queer I guess!" things became so much easier. Microlabels can be incredibly helpful and liberating for some, don't get me wrong if it works for you that's great, but let's not pretend that everyone is going to have the same experiences.
So anyway, back to Noel. Noel has never, to my knowledge, ever had any sort of official “coming out” or explicitly referred to himself as queer. So I know there are people out there who will disagree with me considering him to be queer. But so much of what he’s said and done throughout his several decades long career has indicated to me that this is clearly someone of queer experience navigating the world as such, and just as the queers in my local community welcomed me as one of them before I knew to do it myself, I extend that welcome forward.
Let’s take a look at some of the facts.
In the public span of his career, Noel has.....(in no particular order, also if anyone wants to add additional instances of note in the reblogs or comments please feel free, this is by no means a fully comprehensive list)
-repeatedly called himself "the woman of the Boosh" or Julian's/Howard's "wife" in ways that suggest that's how he actually felt about it rather than it just being a punchline that he was mistaken for female in the show [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12]
-referred to himself at the GQ "Man of the Year" awards as "never been a man" and "a sort of girl, he/she"
-been referred to by Sandi Toksvig as being "on the cusp" in regards to gender, to which he reacts with amusement and acceptance
-consistently expressed excitement and appreciation when others refer to him with feminine terms or say he looks like a girl [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
-said "I love being a man-woman, it's much more interesting than being one or the other" and expressed that the loved shooting the Boosh Electro episode for this reason
-referred to Vince Noir (a character who he's been pretty open about being based on himself) as "wasn't seemingly one gender or the other"
-expressed that he felt most free and happy when presenting femininely [2]
-had Julian, one of the people closest to him, express that Noel and Sandi (an out lesbian) may have "real sexual chemistry" because Noel is "all over the shop, he's a different sex"
-used the "Confuser" line of "Is it a boy? Is it a girl? I'm not sure I mind" to refer to himself rather than Vince, and express that he's had to work to find new ways to feel as androgynous as he'd like now that he's older
-referred to himself as a lesbian [2]
-said that he "sometimes looks in the mirror and sees a woman", in the same interview that Julian implies that Noel is in fact a girl
-referred to himself as a "girl/boy"
-consistently referred to himself with feminine terms on panel shows and bakeoff
-made a joke on bakeoff about not being a testosterone-based person
-responded positively when asked about the ways Boosh had influenced queer and nonbinary youth
-has said he's "quite obsessed with the man/woman mixup thing"
-has said if he was an animal he'd want to be a seahorse because the males get pregnant
-Had Lee Mack, who Noel used to live with, refer to him as "the little transsexual one, yeah I think she's fantastic" in a Boosh documentary and "a young lady who came out here happy to be herself" in response to Noel's Wuthering Heights drag performance
-had his own mother refer to him as "the daughter I always wanted"
-described his own appearance as that of a "transsexual witch" and when an interviewer attempted to make fun of him for calling himself "a transgender witch" by showing Noel a drawing the interviewer clearly found repulsive, Noel responded that the interviewer was "holding up a mirror" and called the image his passport photo
And I'm not even going to bother citing sources on the countless times he's made comments suggesting romantic or sexual attraction towards men. Literally just watch any non-character appearance he's ever done, it's kind of his whole thing??? Not to mention his penchant for picking up explicitly queer and gnc character roles, and also just [gestures vaguely to everything Noel and Julian have said about each other suggesting romantic and sexual tension between them and how they used their characters as an excuse to explore those feelings in a less scary way, again that could be a whole other essay on its own but ooh boy]
I also think there's something interesting to explore in the idea of Noel repeatedly referring to his appearance as transgender or transsexual rather than identifying himself as such- at what point does the appearance of something become reality?
It all begs the question- is it even a joke anymore if it's that consistent? Either it's not a joke and it's an authentic expression of his real feelings and experiences, or he for some reason really really wants everyone to believe that he's queer when he's not, with this behavior spanning back to a time before the concept of queerbaiting was on anyone's minds and when being publicly queer could mean the end of your career.
Which scenario do you think is more likely?
And, does someone who’s been conducting themself like this for their entire career really NEED to come out? Honestly, I find this level of simultaneous authenticity and inscrutability aspirational.
In this Velvet Onion interview from 2012, Noel compares his penchant for dresses to both Grayson Perry and Eddie Izzard. This is interesting because those two people represent pretty opposite intentions behind their presentation- Grayson identifies solidly as cis male, and for him the shock value of crossdressing is the point, saying “I signed up for a gender and I want them to be very clearly delineated so I know I’m dressing up in the wrong clothes.”
This doesn't seem particularly in line with where Noel is coming from given him famously referring to himself as "the Confuser" and stating in that same Velvet Onion interview that he "never even bothered giving it a label, I never went oh I'm a transvestite, I just went yeah if I fancy wearing a dress I do, never really thought about it really"
Eddie on the other hand has famously said "They're not women's clothes. They're my clothes, I bought them." indicating that they were a genuine part of her authentic expression rather than a crossdressing costume, and has subsequently over the years identified more and more solidly as transfemme. I find Eddie's trajectory particularly fascinating because it's been so non-linear. In the 90s when the language for transness was much less public knowledge, she referred to herself consistently as a transvestite- a cishet man who enjoyed dressing as a woman, as well as using terms like "male tomboy" and "male lesbian" and "a full boy plus extra girl". Despite doing most of her standup shows in femme looks, most of her acting jobs were male-presenting, and there was a period of time in the 2010s where she dropped the femme presentation entirely in an attempt to be taken more seriously as the "crossdressing" was seen by many as a gimmick. Swinging back around more recently, Eddie has been explicitly identifying as genderfluid and transfemme, and in recent years has made the decision to "be based in girl mode from now on", and use primarily she/her pronouns. Since this announcement, in her trans advocacy work Eddie has described herself as being "out" as trans since the 1980s despite all of the above. She always knew who she was, it's just she's gotten access to more accurate terms over time to describe what she was experiencing, as well as feeling more safe to do so the more that transness became a known and accepted concept in the public eye.
The interview I mentioned at the very start of this post isn't really a coming out from Noel. And I don't think we'll ever really get one from him. In my opinion Noel has spent the past several decades conducting himself as someone who is in fact already out- it’s pretty clear Noel knows and is proud of who he is regardless of how he chooses to describe that identity. At this point, making some sort of official statement would just be for the benefit of others looking for clarification on their own perception of him and people who want to be able to put him in one box or another, and that’s not what coming out should be. The statement in the new interview is not "I am genderfluid", its "I've always been genderfluid", simply putting an accurate name to what's always been publicly visibly true now that he's got the terms to do so.
#noel fielding#gender files#gender files masterpost#gay yelling#the mighty boosh#shouts into void#a lot of this could also apply to my other wife#but that discussion is way more of a minefield so I'm not touching that for now plus many more people already have
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