#and posts to the wrong blog for the thousandth time
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Hello, I am writing Astarion fanfic with no signs of stopping 👋
Note: All Astarion x Tav, all written with gender-neutral pronouns and from second-person POV. Will continue to update this! This blog is all BG3 + Astarion
Love at First Knife
Rogue!Tav and Spawn!Astarion
This series is based on my double-rogue playthrough. Tav is an assassin rogue, chaotic neutral, chooses mostly good options but a ton of options just for the laughs or the money. Astarion remains unascended. Everyone shows up sooner or later, though main group includes Karlach and Shadowheart.
The Trap is Set: Two 8 strength rogues get stuck and need to wait for rescue; one of those rogues doesn't like being trapped underground
Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You: the gang plays Truth or Dare and Tav starts to realize their feelings
Healing Threads: Astarion is an expert at embroidery -- Tav finds this out through an injury. They later find out *why* he’s such an expert
The Night They Slept Together: Tav pines, and their relationship with Astarion shifts ever so slightly. (They literally do just sleep) [Tumblr]
One Small Bedroll, Two Confused Hearts: oh no, one bed! But both Astarion and Tav are scared to admit they're catching real feelings
Failed Every Insight Check and Fell all the Harder: Astarion POV, he begins feeling some new feelings. It's only after Moonrise Towers that he can put a name to them. [Tumblr]
Stolen Hearts: Tav "picks" Astarion over Karlach (Tav and Karlach were never really together but oh well, semantics)
NEW! To be Known: Astarion reads a book and wonders what it means to be known. [Tumblr]
A Stolen Moment: Tav and Astarion are on a thief date
The Rogues that Slay Together Stay Together: Tav goes down protecting Astarion, Astarion has never been this worried
A Pair of Penguin Pebblers: Both Astarion and Tav love stealing, they steal through a shopping episode and go on a date afterward
The Smut Peddlers of Sharess' Caress: the group finds smut written about Astarion and Tav [Tumblr]
A Bad Counterfeit: Tav is replaced by a doppelganger and Astarion immediately notices something's wrong, some angst as he comes to term with being a "hero"
Hugs for a Vampire: Rogue!Tav and Astarion's romance as told through hugs [Tumblr Masterlist]
More than Vampiric Charms: After some banter between Jaheira and Astarion goes too far, Rogue!Tav reassures Astarion [Tumblr]
Would You Still Love Me?: Rogue!Tav asks the question everyone wants to know the answer to "would you still love me if I was a worm?" [Tumblr]
Of Bets, Bluffs, and Briefs: The gang plays strip poker, though it seems like not everyone (Astarion) is playing by the rules [Tumblr]
Brawls Fair in Love and War: What starts out as a scuffle turns into a full out tavern brawl for the gang [Tumblr]
Alone in a Crowded Camp: Astarion reflects and realizes that company isn't so bad. [Tumblr]
Their First Winter Together: Astarion and Rogue!Tav enjoy a lot of winter firsts in this fluff-filled extravaganza [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12]
Unraveling Plan Meet Immeasurable Insecurity: Tav tries their damnedest to propose, only to be rebuffed by Astarion at every single turn. [Tumblr]
(smut) The Thousandth Time: Astarion and Rogue!Tav make love for the thousandth time. In a bathtub. [Tumblr]
Random post-game rogue!Tav headcanons
A Star in the Dark
Evil!Dark Urge and Ascended!Astarion
Evil!Dark Urge and Astarion have a tumultuous relationship, make dubious choices, and become a power couple.
*This playthrough scares me so I'll update this sporadically hah
(smut) In My Head: Dark Urge has an all new kind of daydream after Astarion approaches them
(smut) A Bloody Sacrament: Astarion licks Dark Urge clean after they bathe in a pool of blood [Tumblr]
Other
Tav x Astarion fics that don't belong to a series
IN PROGRESS When He's all but Forgotten How to Love Again: Elf-Tav reincarnation story, they dream of him in their reverie, and go out to find him once they reach maturity [Tumblr Masterlist]
IN PROGRESS The Consequences of Convenience: Tav enters a marriage of convenience with their unromanced, best friend Astarion-- feelings ensue.
Spicy Astarion Headcanons (both A!A and Spawn!A)
Horny Astarion Headcanons (both A!A and Spawn!A)
If you're looking for some more fics, check out my fic recs here!
If you're wondering which Hozier songs fit which pairings, check them here!
#baldur's gate 3#astarion#fanfic#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#bg3#bg3 astarion#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate 3
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Hasn't ever been an issue before now, but PSA that I reserve the right to delete insulting comments on posts that could potentially hurt or upset my followers and moots if they see them.
There is a lot of simping here, and if that's a problem, then just move along.
There's nothing wrong with being a fan of things, and if that's a problem, then definitely move along.
I am aware that I sound like a broken record, but for the thousandth time, THIS BLOG IS A SAFE SPACE. I'm not calling anyone out specifically and have already removed the comment in question, but I'm not going to tolerate anyone calling my moots "pathetic." You can call me whatever you want, but my mutuals are awesome amazing kind people, and the only "pathetic" behavior is taking time out of your day to be needlessly insulting.
That is all.
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i have never met another Iraqi person that wasn’t family in my entire life and i have never had a Muslim community whatsoever in school online or otherwise and I have to introduce myself as Middle Eastern (if at all since some places still call me white) instead of Iraqi and that people will still guess me being from 10 different ethnic backgrounds over Middle Eastern and that everywhere i go there is permeating Islamophobia that i never really know who my allies are because at the end of the day 9/11 jokes are “more important” than the Islamophobia that followed the event and attacking Christianity with Islam as collateral is “more important” than addressing how suppressed Muslims are in the western world. getting time off for Christmas is “more important” than giving a single day absence from finals/AP tests for Ramadan just one day much less the whole month.
people are more concerned with slandering every Muslim than addressing the fact that there are authoritarian theocratic regimes that kill non-Muslims and addressing that a religion can be inherently harmless and still be used as a weapon by regimes. that forcing people to believe in anything is wrong, what is happening in these governments is a human rights violation at the minimum, and that Muslims out the world are not singlehandedly at fault. but hey whatever makes white people feel performative about human rights crises.
(speaking of human rights crises, there’s a genocide of Muslims that is still happening in China. by the way. that nobody has talked about.)
this isn’t the best wording I’m a little pissed right now but i have been. SO isolated my ENTIRE fucking life. people are only willing to accept Islam for as long as they can to look like an activist and then immediately call me brutal in the face of trying to look performative elsewhere
i’m so sick and so tired and so exhausted of my religion being something to hide. of not being allowed to write about it in college essays because i don’t know who might read it. of having to smile and nod when people call me Latino for the thousandth time even after us knowing one another for 3 years. of trying to tell someone i’m from Iraq and them going “oh like ISIS!” (thanks for that one, zeke.)
i have privilege in this country because i know it is so much worse elsewhere but im so sick and im so tired and I would give up everything in the world just to meet another Iraqi person. and not have to cling to the same book of a short play about Iraqi women in an attempt to substitute for that connection.
okay to reblog. encouraged to reblog, but do whatever the fuck you want its your blog. ps i know that other religions/ethnicities experience intense aggressions too but please do not derail this post. thank you.
#ides.txt#i add that last part knowing its going to get derailed anyway#because nobody wants to talk about Muslims#nobody wants to talk about Iraqis#i feel fucking nauseous i'm so tired. i'm so fucking tired.#and not to mention what its like being a queer Muslim and being from a family where-#actually nevermind on that last bit.
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Geno collection part 2: quick doodles version. I’ve been holding off on posting this one because i wanted to write my usual yearly blurb summary underneath but i’ve been struggling to put it into words which is a new one for loquacious me. What to say about geno…
Normally i’m very logical about my favorites - i know exactly why i picked them and there's a list of reasons. This time left me confused. One minute i’m insisting i’m not going to root for pittsburgh, even though its my city, and i'll only do ONE drawing of sid as a homage. But then there's this photo of some dude sitting on the boards in a blue jersey - you can’t even see his face it’s all about the Attitude and his posture - and it’s the most compelling hockey photo i’ve seen yet. Who is this guy, how the fuck is he so sexy, he's just SITTING, he's not even skating? And then i find out his name (and whoops it’s that guy i already decided to hate, guess i have to rethink my snap decision), and then i start noticing things. And noticing more things, and reading old blogs, and more, and more…
And next thing i know ive got over 271 doodles in my sketchesdone folder, and a favorite that was never supposed to be a favorite, and also a new sculpting project.
So. Why? his expressions are a joy to draw. he looks like he escaped from an animated film. He's got that elusive quality where half of what i want to draw is physical and the other half is in his movements, and body language, and personality. It drives me crazy because i am terrible at capturing that second half so i’m never fully happy with any of my doodles. That glow of personality, the look in his eyes - how the fuck do you draw that? I don’t know.
His body alone is also interesting - unique proportions. He's long, with lots of muscle, but also soft? I could cry over it probably. Actually i just study, and study, and want to throw my computer at the wall when i get it wrong in my art yet again for the thousandth time.
He's funny. But he's sneaky about it. If you dont pay much attention he seems like this kind of slapstick guy. But underneath the surface goofball he almost miserly keeps to himself how sly his humor can be. You get the feeling that he doesn't miss much, even if he doesn't comment on it. Yet even that's hilarious - how in some interviews it's obvious he's mentally checked out. All so you're thrown for a loop when in other interviews he's the most vivacious guy in the room. Which is the real evgeni? only he knows. :P well, and obviously the lucky few who know him personally.
I have a small confession. I’ve been sending him art. Look - the missing the playoffs thing happened - and i was suddenly overcome with concern that they might not get as much fanmail as usual. And that was so sad. And then i realized i had all these drawings. And a printer. I could send fanmail. (i have only sent famail once before. this was a very anxiety inducing undertaking) Normally i don’t like the subject of my art seeing my art, it’s just supposed to be for us. But i carefully picked out each drawing - mostly the ones that were more badass or powerful in the traditionally masculine sports sense. I definitely avoided any of the thirsty ones (duh) and tried not to use any of the more personal ones of his face where it was obvious i was just drawing him instead of him as a hockey star. And tried to be respectful and desperately hoping my art wouldn’t accidentally insult him somehow or be inappropriate. i have zero idea if i succeeded and it only worries me sometimes.
So there you go. The year of geno. \o/ nothing in this list has any logic to it
#really i have no other excuse it must be magic#this is the gas leak year except it's just me discovering evgeni malkin for the first time despite living in the same city for a decade#2023#seriously i had SO MANY drawings to choose from this year#and it's all of his face#im gonna get into hockey i said#im gonna use hockey action shots to practice anatomy and gesture i said#and then i go and draw genos face 100 times just so i can learn things like the exact angle of his cheekbones#so useful#his bottom lip is my kryptonite
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my post about p/roshipping and how antishipping isn’t about harassment is attracting p/roshippers, and ya know what they’re talking about?
they’re saying that antishipping is about harassment actually
like i’m sorry but as much as i hate i/ncest and p/edophilia and such, i have never actually gone to a p/roshipper’s blog to tell them how wrong they are.
they’re obviously too integrated in their interests to change their minds, and it’s a waste of my time to try and convince them otherwise. i will not harass people regardless of how wrong they are.
and the funny thing is, these people are coming on my post to tell me i’m wrong
like y’all are the ones harassing me, so i think there’s some hypocrisy going on there :/
and i even said that there are antis who are bullies. i admitted that. bullying is never good i get that.
and for the thousandth time, if you don’t like what i have to say, just freaking block me
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Fight (1/?)
You said angst? Here’s part 1/? of pre-baby Orphydice angst for you!
This will probably get a title change too at some point....
-Danielle
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Eurydice jiggles her key in the lock of her apartment door, clouded vision and faulty craftsmanship making the process twice as arduous. The lock seems to scream back at her in response; a refusal to enter, a why are you here? A frustrated groan escapes her lips. Eurydice jams the key back into the lock with force, jerking it side to side and pulling on the doorknob until it flies open under her strength. She slams it behind her, throwing her bag on the floor with a huff and setting up the long, pole-like master lock with a second-natured sort of unease.
Turning to face the shoebox studio apartment, Eurydice feebly attempts to shake off the tears that now spill over, run down her cheeks and her chin without so much as a warning. It’s been so long since she’s been in this place for a night, so long since she’s had to settle herself on the lumpy mattress on the floor. She can’t bring herself to it, to the place she’d spent so much time wondering how her life would turn out-if she’d ever get out of the place she’d worked so hard to afford for herself.
Being back is a slap in the face-a failure in more aspects than just a simple move.
She treats the night as a permanent settlement not to add on to her pain, but to cut down any sort of possibility or optimism she might have. It’s easier this way, she thinks, to find finality in it all. Abandoning hope before it settles in her heart is easier than losing it unwillingly. She’d started this mess, tangled him in her web of doubts and insecurities, in the inner workings of her mind. She hadn’t been able to shut herself up, had been too loud-to sharp-too unforgiving. She’d been everything that her father had said to her all those years ago, everything her mother had tried so hard not to be. In an instant, Eurydice finds herself wishing that she weren’t so similar to the woman who taught her to ride a bike-who listened to her sing and brushed her once long, cascading waves of dark hair while whispering words of love. She wishes she weren’t like the woman who couldn’t be saved from herself.
She holds on to her rounded stomach. She wishes.
Shuffling around, Eurydice has to reach back into the not-so-distant depths of her muscle memory to recall where everything is. There are several smaller things in her bag, things she’d reached for with the vision of boxes outside of his door, of it’s over, of seeing him only while passing their child back and forth. The possible instability is the last thing Eurydice had wanted for the child she’s just gotten used to longing for, and now that shifting vision her anxiety had created is quickly becoming a reality.
He’d be the better parent. She knows this from the softness of his voice, the natural instinct to hold, to love, to nurture without so much as a thought. Orpheus is the one who’d helped her learn to love-not only him, or their child, but herself. Without him, Eurydice feels a shakiness she hadn’t felt since childhood-since her father had willingly let her go time and time again.
It’s better to run before being thrown out.
Eurydice sinks down onto her bed; the tiny mattress in the corner of her studio apartment can’t be classified as much else, but she’d been proud of it. Now, it feels inadequate. Tucking herself in , feeling the empty space beside her, the weight of her changing body feels much heavier than it had been. Thoughts of a baby lying beside her-tiny, fragile, helpless-in this space barely even suited for herself has her cringing. Being a mother isn’t something she’d planned for; it’s a thought that had grown comfortably on her as time wore on, as she’d become attached to the idea of a little family. Every vision in her head had included she and Orpheus as a team and then slowly, as two people that would grow together for as long as they’d live. She’d let herself succumb to those thoughts of undeniable comfort. She’d let herself feel too deeply.
She’d ruined things once again.
She can’t handle the idea of taking off her ring-the thin band with its tiny stone fit on her finger as if it were meant to be there. The thought of giving it back hurts more than anything, and it makes the bed cold, the apartment darker and more frightening. She coughs, a sputter through her choked back tears. Her body shakes as she lets her feelings consume her.
---
Orpheus is a wreck; he walks into the bar ten minutes late for his shift, Hermes staring at the clock wondering where he could possibly be. His boy-responsible, hard-working, self-critical-had never been late to work before. Eyes red and puffy, lips forced into a shaky smile, he slips his apron from its hanger and ties it clumsily around his waist. He is a fumbling mess, cocktail shakers and ice scoops falling from typically skilled hands. Hermes watches him carefully-the way his long limbs trip over themselves, the way his voice is low and quivering as he talks.
Persephone slides onto a stool near her pseudo-brother with one eyebrow raised, her eyes trained where his is. Their son slides her a glass of red wine with a quick greeting before focusing back in on his work. She whips her head around to Hermes.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He was late today. On top of that he’s nearly broken three or four glasses and it’s only been half an hour. He’s not right.”
“He hasn’t said anything to you?”
“I haven’t asked.” He shrugs, effortless, without excuse. Persephone straightens her posture, clears her throat. Hermes sighs. “Sister, he’s old enough for you not to go meddling. If he wants help, he’ll,”
“-Orpheus, you look like shit.”
Her blunt nature has her son turn around, caught with wide eyes like a deer in the headlights. It’s then that both Persephone and Hermes are able to see the line of puffy red skin beneath his eyes, the expression both vacant and overrun with thoughts.
“’Rydice’s upset.”
“She’s upset?”
“We got into a fight.”
“Is she upstairs?” Persephone stands up from her stool, stretching her shoulders and grabbing her purse. Orpheus moves quickly to the front of the bar, one hand out to stop her.
“She went home-not home, not our home. She went back to her old apartment.”
Hermes is hit with the passing sight from earlier in the day-Eurydice clamoring up the stairs, unlocking the door only to return a moment later with a bigger backpack, half-opened, her feet moving slowly back down the wooden stairs. She hadn’t even said hello to him as she’d passed, wiping fervently at her eyes and keeping her head low. He hadn’t thought much of the sight then-Eurydice had been coming and going from here to school to her multiple jobs since Thanksgiving weekend. He hadn’t let himself see the minor details the way he does so easily on his son. Where Persephone would have stopped her, he’d let her go.
“Persephone,” his tone is gentle, but still warning. He puts a hand on her shoulder and she shakes it off. Younger, stubborn as long as he’d known her, Persephone stays true to form as she puts a hand on Orpheus’s shoulder.
“What did she do to you?”
“Persephone,”
“She has your child, Orpheus. She has your child and she has your ring, she can’t just run off like this.”
“She’s not running.” His words are laced with doubt but he stands his ground, as unsettled in his own truth as he is. Flying to her defense is as easy as loving her had become; her dark eyes filled with admiration, the way she laid lazy in bed with her head on his chest. She craved more than holding his hands, her body pressed close to his. She spoke softly to him and harshly in defense of herself. She kept her guard for everyone but him, it had seemed. She’d been so short with him then that he hadn’t known exactly what he’d done wrong. He’d been hurt by her quick, lashing words, the way her gentle demeanor had turned dark and cold, how she’d left him standing in the store by himself. The moment felt like one long, hellish nightmare. He thought he’d been doing things right for once. He’d been blindsided.
“I can’t do it, Orpheus. I can’t.”
“You can’t do what?”
“I can’t accept her pity. I thought-I thought she was different, and now she’s throwing her money at us? I just,”
“’Rydice,” He’s a soothing presence, his hand running up and down her arm.
“We can do it on our own. It might be hard, and it might suck for a while, but we can do it. We don’t need handouts or pity.”
“She just wants to get something for the baby.”
“You see things through your own lens, Orpheus. She doesn’t think we can do it. She doesn’t think I can do it, and she’s probably right. People use their money to make their own futures and to manipulate everyone else’s.”
“She’s not doing that.”
“I didn’t grow up knowing what it was like to have money. I didn’t grow up getting new things every time I asked. I barely grew up with enough to eat. You need to understand that we can’t afford these things-we’re not going to be able to give this baby the life you had.”
“The-the life I had?”
“Orpheus,” She huffs, taking a frilly dress from his hands and holding it up to eye-level. It’s a beautifully crafted dress, a muted pink made from fabric that feels more like butter in her hands. There’s a matching diaper cover, all ruffles and frills, and the ensemble brings a pin-prick of mist to her eyes. “We can’t afford all of this.”
“I understand.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.” He stops then, eyeing the dress Eurydice had put back on the rack. The basket full of tiny dresses and bows and shoes is everything he’d been hoping for, everything he’d dreamed about since holding Junie for the first time. Eurydice has a far-away look in her eyes, a glassy cloud rolling over the adoration they’d had when she’d first held a newborn onesie.
“We can’t keep pretending that this is normal-we’re not some thirty year olds settled perfectly into their little white picket fence marriage. I’m broke. We met a few months ago. We’re getting married and we’re getting to know each other because of this baby and I’m sorry that this is what you’ve got, but it is.”
He stops short, unsure of how to respond. The information has barely registered, thrown at him all at once through a voice grown suddenly cold. He’s taken aback by her-the way she steps further from him, refuses to look in his direction. The air is thick between them, Orpheus slowly opening and closing his mouth as he attempts to craft a response that’ll bring her back to him.
“That’s not why I asked you to marry me.”
“Orpheus,”
“-is that why you said yes? Because of the baby?” His voice squeaks at the last syllable, disbelief in his shortened breaths. Eurydice is not able to answer him quick enough-the hesitation in her thoughts is unbearable, a crushing blow to his heart. He’d been told time and time again that he moved too fast-fell too hard, loved too openly. A sweet boy-a kind soul- but a too much personality. Orpheus looks at the stack of clothes in their basket. A onesie boasting about the best dad ever stacked right on top, picked out by a grinning Eurydice.
He pulls a handful of hangers from the basket and thumbs through them, swallowing back the lump in his throat.
“I’m going to put these away.”
“Orpheus,”
“-It’s okay.”
“I didn’t,”
“-I have to go to work. I,” he hesitates upon the three words he’d said too soon, nervous about driving her further away. He can’t see the way she leans in subconsciously, the way her eyes close and her lips part slightly. When she opens them again he’s kissing her cheek, his hand on her hand. “Think about it.”
He’s not even sure what he means by the phrase, only that for the first time since meeting her, he wants to step away from Eurydice for a moment. Before he can get out of the store Eurydice’s sent him a text, and he stops short to read it over in hopes that the words might change.
“Staying at my place tonight. I’m sorry.”
#hadestown#hadestownmodern#orphydice#young parents orphydice#orpheus#eurydice#danielle writes#and posts to the wrong blog for the thousandth time
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𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗶 𝗱𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗺𝗺𝗮 || klitz x reader
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 || klitz is lucky enough to have some really great best friends. he should just be satisfied with that, but instead he can't stop himself from longing to be more than friends with you. the problem? well, there are a few. you're just friends. you're one of the hottest girls in school. the list goes on. some feelings are hard to ignore (and some biological reactions are hard to hide), though, when you show up to the beach looking like that.
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 || 13.5k
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 || smut (loss of virginity, male masturbation, unprotected sex even though it's literally the opposite of the point of the movie, premature ejaculation (lol), semi-public/almost caught), mild angst?, pining, tons of fluff, the reader has a ~reputation~, slight OC with the readers family/characterization, reader and klitz are in high school, eli is a lil shit but we love him, the entire plot of the movie and the main character of the movie are ignored entirely lmao
the first part of this was already posted on my blog as a drabble but the rest is a (very long) continuation! if you are 18+ please enjoy and feel free to leave a comment or reblog to show your support <3
Do you know how impossible it is to hide a boner in swim trunks?
I mean, seriously— Klitz was worried if he looked at you for more than a second, there'd be a tent in his pants so obvious that Boy Scouts would start trying to camp under it.
"Hey, lookin' good," Eli praised you, and you laughed; he loved your laugh. Of course Eli could handle this, he watched so much porn that his dick was probably half comatose by this point, but Klitz was still an excitable 18-year-old with 20/20 corrected vision and a massive, secret crush on one of his best friends. (The female one, contrary to popular rumors).
"Oh, this old thing?" you dismissed as you laid down between Eli and Klitz on the towel. How was he supposed not to look at your legs, at your neck as you let your head fall back for a moment, at your tits gloriously displayed by the way you propped yourself up on your elbows?
"Somebody call Sports Illustrated!" Eli continued, and you shoved him on the shoulder playfully.
"Shut up," you rolled your eyes, he could just see it behind the massive sunglasses. You looked back at Klitz, who looked away the second you caught him.
"Yeah, uh," he coughed, "you look good..."
"Thanks," you smiled. "You too."
"Wha— me?" he returned.
"Yeah, him?" Eli agreed.
"You think you don't look good shirtless?" you raised your eyebrows.
"He looks like someone painted nipples on a white T-shirt," Eli frowned.
"Nothing wrong with being pale," you shrugged, "isn't that why we're out here anyways, for a little sun?"
"You think I look good?" Klitz repeated again, still processing what you'd said, feeling his face heat up from more than the beginnings of a sunburn.
"Uh, yeah," you scoffed. "Is that so mind-blowing?"
"It's not his mind that's the issue," Eli noticed, "I think he's worried about blowing in his trunks."
"Hey!" Klitz shouted defensively, but it came out all weak and wobbly and he had to clear his throat.
"Really?" you smiled proudly.
"Yes," Eli insisted.
"No," Klitz denied.
"Whatever, I'm going for a swim," you announced, standing up in front of the towel— giving him a painfully wonderful view of your ass, by the way— and jogging towards the shore. Eli and Klitz watched you dive into the ocean, before the former gave his friend a knowing look.
"What?" Klitz asked.
"Dude," Eli began firmly, "this is ridiculous. You need to just go for it."
"I... no, I shouldn't," Klitz decided for the thousandth time. "She's great, but she's our friend, and if I messed it up it would be so awkward between all of us—"
"You won't mess it up!" Eli insisted. "She's into you! Give her the D!"
"Okay, that's... kinda not what I'm talking about," Klitz frowned, "you're missing the point."
"What other point could there possibly be?!"
"I'm out of here," Klitz groaned, standing up and walking towards where the water vacillated on the shore.
~
At the end of the day, as the sun was going down and Klitz collapsed into his bed after a much-needed shower, he closed his eyes and saw you first thing. The way you smiled when you laughed, every curve and detail of your body in that damn bikini, your skin dripping with ocean water that reflected the sun like glitter...
His skin was still warm from the leftover heat of the sun, the slightest tint of a tan visible when he compared his stomach to the line on his hips where the trunks had covered. Somewhere across the neighborhood, you were probably in the shower now, untying that string at your back and letting the water wash the sand and salt off your skin.
Out of instinct, his hand was already wrapped around his cock, imagining the way you would wash your hair, run your hands all over your skin— did you touch yourself in the shower? He wasn't even sure if girls did that... sure, they probably do it sometimes, but maybe not in the shower— maybe lying in bed, like this, with your legs spread and your back arching up off the baby pink sheets he remembered from the last time he was in your room. He could just imagine how good you would look with tan lines across your hips and back, around your neck and down your chest... he could trace them all with his tongue, he could hold your thighs open and hear you moan while he tasted you.
His cock was throbbing in his hand already, and he stroked himself faster.
Just as he was really getting into it, his phone rang. "Shit," he blurted out, startled, as he let go of himself and fumbled around on his nightstand for the cell. "What?" he answered flatly when he saw it was Eli calling.
"Am I interrupting something?" Eli said, voice tainted with his grin, and Klitz coughed when he realized he was audibly panting. "Listen, I know you wanna see those pictures I took at the beach."
"I'm good," Klitz dismissed.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll do just fine on your own, Romeo," Eli insisted, "but you're gonna wanna see these. I mean, you know she's basically like my sister and I'm still working on half a hard-on over here."
"Dude, that's disgusting," Klitz grimaced.
"Hey, I'm not creeping or anything, she asked me to take these," he recalled; and yes, you had, posing for him and everything— though you had rejected some of his more salacious ideas. Klitz almost laughed to himself as he remembered Eli trying to talk you into posing on your hands and knees. Like a lion, you know, you can snarl and stuff— it's empowering! he'd justified. "I just figured you'd want some of these moments preserved in more than just your memory," Eli explained.
"I mean, we got like, pictures together and stuff, right?" Klitz remembered. "I might want a copy of those."
"Yeah, of course, I've got a best-of compilation of all your hoverhand moments," Eli scoffed, "those aren't the ones I'm talking about. I'm talking about spank bank material— really good stuff."
"You're awful, you know that?" Klitz reminded him.
"You don't want me to email these to you then?"
"No, send it," Klitz sighed.
"Atta boy," Eli grinned, clicking 'send' right away. "All yours, pal, go nuts. Good luck looking her in the eye tomorrow."
"Yeah, I've somehow managed it for the past three years," Klitz mumbled before hanging up; he sat up on the edge of his bed, pondering the level to which he'd sunk for just a second before he got up and crossed the room to his computer. Eli's email had already come through. Subject: You're welcome. 16 attachments.
He sighed and got comfortable in the chair as he opened the first one. Even before he touched it, his cock flexed at the sight of you lounging back on the sand; somehow, he'd managed to forget just how little that bikini covered, just a few pink triangles covering the key parts, two over your tits and one slipping down between your thighs. He clicked to the next one, all but whimpering to himself seeing you laying on your stomach, kicking your feet up, laughing at something Eli had said. Your ass looked great, but he was looking at your smile the most. He wished you'd been laughing at one of his jokes instead, that was the best feeling in the world. Maybe second best, to when you hugged him and he could feel your body against his own...
The next one was taken in the water, you were bending over slightly to reach for something— that curve in your back, that's what he would run his hand over, up and up on his way to grab your hair and pull it back as you moaned loudly for him, begging him to fuck you faster. He'd push your shoulders down, making you bend over even more, he'd hold your hips and tell you how perfect you were.
You were running in the next one, and your legs looked so good he could cry; he could kiss his way up them slowly, until you were so desperate that you grabbed his head and shoved it right into your pussy, and he'd eat you out until you cried.
Klitz, don't stop— you feel so good, you're so good at this— I've wanted this for so long...
He was already ridiculously close, and there were still 12 pictures left. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get through them all before he made a mess all over his hand.
Your tits looked amazing in the next one, it was obvious they were what Eli had been trying to photograph, but he still got plenty of your face in the shot. Klitz jerked off faster, imagining coming all over that chest and face, pulling the bikini top down and out of the way so he could finally see what he'd been dreaming about for years. He didn't just want to see them— he wanted you to show him; he didn't just want to touch them, he wanted you to ask him to, to moan quietly as he did it, to ask him to put his mouth on them...
"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he gasped out loud, because it made it easier to imagine your voice in his ear, encouraging him. I'm close too, please don't stop— Klitzy, you can come inside me, if you want, just don't stop!
The next picture was the best one yet; he was in it, and he usually hated seeing himself in pictures, but you were hugging on him and he was laughing and the way you were looking at him... it made him wonder, for a second, if you could feel the same way about him. Because it looked just like the way he thought he looked when he looked at you.
He remembered when Eli took that picture, he remembered how your skin felt on his and how he wished he was brave enough to wrap his hand around your waist— he remembered the next one before he clicked to it, he saw you kissing his cheek as he blushed so hard it was turning his forehead pink; Eli, being the unwanted wingman that he was, had told you to kiss him for the picture, it was your choice to go for the cheek, but Klitz was on cloud 9 either way. Maybe if he was more of an asshole, he would've turned just in time to catch your lips with his— but then again, if he was an asshole, you'd probably not be his friend. He might just be one of the guys you went out with for a few weeks and then cried on Klitz's shoulder about. Believe it or not, Klitz preferred being this guy, the guy stuck at his computer jerking off as he imagined you. He might never get to touch you the way he wanted, tell you everything he wanted to say or make you feel as amazing as he knew you really were... but at least he could make you happy. You were laughing in the picture, after all, and you looked so beautiful.
He choked out your name as he came suddenly, much harder than he anticipated, eyes shut tightly as hot liquid started to run down over his fingers...
When he caught his breath and opened his eyes, your picture was still on his computer— and there was jizz all over his keyboard.
"Fuck," he groaned, looking around for tissues or something; he settled for a dirty t-shirt on the floor, and made a mental note to himself to insist to his mom to do his own laundry this week as he wiped up the mess he'd made.
Just then, his phone beeped with a text message, and he picked it up to see your name with a heart beside it.
I had fun today :)
He was still trying to come back to reality, and avoid the impending guilt for his ulterior motives. I had way too much fun today, he imagined replying, if he were more honest.
Me too, he sent back instead, Eli's pictures turned out great
you saw them already?? jealous!
He hadn't meant to give himself away like that... Ask him to send you the best ones, Klitz suggested to you. He set his phone down to keep cleaning up the embarrassing scene, but you replied quickly
all he sent me was the ones of us together with the title "hottest couple at westport high"
Klitz swallowed thickly when he saw that, wishing Eli would back off and let Klitz handle his crush on his own timeline... he was still only two years into his five-year plan— you can't rush art! LOL Klitz replied, hoping to keep it casual and vague.
too bad we're not a couple :( you sent back... Klitz wrinkled his eyebrows together when he read that, not really sure what you meant. Did you mean like, too bad we can't be a couple because we're such good friends? Or were you just kidding? He read it a thousand times in four seconds, trying to figure it out, until you sent in one more text.
yet ;)
~
Oh, that’s it— right there! Harder! Fuck me harder!
His hand was a blur over his cock, his eyes shut tight, his whole body covered in a thin layer of sweat and starting to get pins and needles. He was so close, so fucking close, and the image of you was right there in his mind— you wore his favorite skirt of yours today, the tight one that showed a glimpse of your thighs when you crossed your legs. Right now, he was busy imagining that skirt rolled up to your waist as you bounced on top of him, head tossed back in a cry of pleasure. While his free hand clutched at his sheets, he was thinking about both his hands running up your legs to grab your hips, moving you just how he wanted.
“M’gonna come,” he warned with a gasp, bucking up into his own hand.
Yes, Klitz, he heard your voice in his head, I want you to come— come for me, baby, come inside me—
“Ohhhhhh my god,” he choked, whimpering slightly as the pleasure hit him suddenly and sharply, right in his gut; he slowed his movements down as he came, sticky spend coating his length as he panted like he’d just run a marathon. His face was hot as hell and probably beet red, but it always got like that when he came hard thinking of you and felt that guilt sink in a second later.
He was so sure you’d freak out if you knew he did this… you’d think he was such a creep, and really, you’d be right. You’d stop being his friend, you’d stop hugging him, you’d stop talking to him— you’d definitely stop sending him cute texts and joking about how it’s too bad we aren’t a couple.
Groaning, he covered his face with his arm. Why did you have to say stuff like that, were you just trying to drive him crazy? You were doing it more lately, and he kept laughing it off awkwardly every time you did it— what else could he do? But those texts, he hadn’t stopped thinking about them since you sent them two days ago; well, he hadn’t stopped thinking about them until he saw you in that skirt today. And then he was only thinking about that until just now.
Right at that moment, his cellphone rang. Of course it was you; just his luck. He cleared his throat, guilt swelling in his chest, and grabbed the phone to flip it open and answer. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it very far into that plan when he noticed his hand was still covered in come and he’d smeared it onto his phone, now, too. Grimacing, he pulled away and found a tissue box by his bed (like any prepared high school boy would have) to start wiping it all up. Just before it would’ve gone to voicemail, he got enough of it cleaned up to answer while he quickly tried to clean the rest from his lap.
“H-hey,” he greeted thinly.
“What took you so long to answer?” you wondered.
“I was in the backyard, sorry,” he bluffed.
“Oh, well, have you finished the term paper yet?” you asked.
Yes. “No.”
“Great! I thought maybe you could come over and we could work on it together?” you suggested. “I’m just, like, totally stumped on how to write a good conclusion paragraph.”
“I’ll come over right away,” he offered, “i-if that’s okay…”
“Yeah, totally,” you hummed happily.
~
He loved being able to walk to your house. It could be a bit of a nuisance in the middle of the night when he was randomly compelled to run over and throw rocks at your window and tell you everything; it could also be a nuisance when you came to his room, sneaking in through the window looking for some trouble to get into. But overall, he enjoyed having you so close, just across the neighborhood, and it made studying together like this really easy.
When his cell started ringing in his pocket, halfway into his walk, he pulled it out to see it was Eli calling.
“What’s up?” Klitz asked when he answered, still walking as he talked.
“Wanna come over?” Eli asked. “I got this great new tape I’ve been meaning to show you.”
“I can’t, I—” Klitz began, darting his gaze around his view of the neighborhood and hoping to come up with a good excuse by the end of his sentence.
“You’re going to her house again, aren’t you?” Eli sighed.
“Yeah,” Klitz admitted.
“I thought you said you were gonna stop doing that so much until you got over her," Eli recalled.
"That was the plan, but then…" Klitz trailed off.
"Then?"
"Then she asked me to come over," Klitz groaned, hearing Eli's exasperated cry from the other end of the line.
"Dude, seriously," Eli scoffed, "you've gotta stop being such a simp!"
"I'm not a simp, she's my best friend," Klitz insisted.
"No, I'm your best friend, she's the girl you've been in love with since we were freshmen and still don't make a move on," Eli corrected.
"I can't just make a move! You know I have no chance with a girl like that— I wouldn't even know how to make a move, I don't have any moves."
"Either get over her or get under her, man, but I can't listen to you whine about this anymore," Eli decided. "She's kinda slutty, isn't she? Why don't you just ask if she'll sleep with you?"
Klitz swallowed thickly. Yes, you had a bit of a reputation. He didn't mind that; he didn't like that people spread rumors about you, but he wasn't surprised by it anymore either. He knew that you acted like you were fine with that attention, even wanted it, but that you'd really gotten your feelings hurt a few times. And, he knew that if he asked you to have sex with him, assuming he had a chance solely because you were known to put out, you'd hate him because you were just like all the guys who used you and tossed you away. He wanted so much more than just your body, if he didn't he wouldn't have stayed your friend so long.
He remembered when you hooked up with Tate Winters because he said he broke up with his girlfriend, only to discover it was a lie when his not-ex wrote SKANK on your locker in permanent marker. The school janitor tried to clean it for hours, which only brought more attention until he finally gave up and just painted over it— and then nobody could forget it happened until the "wet paint" signs were gone. And as if that weren't enough, apparently Tate's best idea to get back on his girl's good side was to tell the whole school you had a loose pussy and secretly stuffed your bra. You tried to laugh it all off at school but when you and Klitz were alone, you cried for hours. He held you until the shoulder of his t-shirt was totally soaked and you just fell asleep.
"She's not a slut," Klitz corrected Eli firmly.
"Well, I don't know what else you call it when a girl gives it away more than the fuckin' Salvation Army," Eli joked.
"She's… a little adventurous," Klitz conceded, glancing at the house he was walking by and noticing the garden had a new ceramic gnome, "but that doesn't mean she wants anything to do with me."
"You won't know until you try," Eli pointed out. "Just wait until she does something stupidly-hot— which you know she will at some point because she's always doing that kind of stuff—"
That, he did know.
"And then just let her know you're down to clown!" Eli finished, like it was an obvious sort of solution. "I mean, if she sleeps with all those guys—"
"She does, that's exactly my problem," Klitz replied. "She's got all this experience and I'm a virgin. She likes guys who actually know what they're doing."
"Tell her you wanna learn from the best," Eli suggested.
"That's weird," Klitz frowned.
"Tell her you have a terminal disease and your dying wish is for some pussy," Eli offered instead.
"That's so much worse," Klitz shuddered.
"Whatever— honestly, it's really your own fault now," Eli scolded. "She's not just gonna fall in your lap, Klitzy, you gotta go for it."
"Hm, I think I'll just keep doing nothing and die alone, but thanks," Klitz decided.
"Okay," Eli sighed defeatedly, "but I'm telling everyone at your funeral that you had a chance not to be a virgin forever but you were too afraid to do anything about it."
"Appreciated," Klitz grumbled, hanging up just as Eli started to warn him that you would probably bring a super hot new boyfriend of yours to his funeral. It was just in time, too, because Klitz was just then turning off of the sidewalk to make his way up the path over your front yard right to your house.
Still holding onto his backpack’s strap on his shoulder with one hand, he leaned forward and knocked on your door which opened a second later.
“Oh, hi there, Timothy!” your mom greeted him with a smile.
“Hey, Mrs. S,” he nodded in return, suddenly noticing she was wearing a nice dress and jewelry. “You… look lovely, is it a special occasion?” he asked, afraid it would come across too forward, but she laughed in a flattered sort of way and he was relieved.
“You’re such a sweetheart— we’re just going out to dinner,” she explained, the other half of the ‘we’ already obvious before your dad showed up beside her. “Honey, Timothy’s coming over to work on that term paper she mentioned—” she began to inform him.
“Riiiight,” your dad nodded as he recalled something you must have said to them. “Good to see you, Tim,” he offered even though nobody called Klitz ‘Tim’, and when he extended his hand for a shake, Klitz almost reached out but suddenly hesitated. He’d only had time for a Kleenex wipedown, not a real wash with soap and water, since he’d busted all over that hand thinking about this man’s daughter. But he wasn’t sure he could get out of it, and so, with a suppressed cringe, he shook your father’s hand with as much enthusiasm as he could feign. Kill me kill me kill me—
“Come on in!” your mom offered, stepping aside for him to enter the foyer, which he did. “She’s upstairs. Help yourselves to snacks if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” he nodded to her as they started to step out the door. “Enjoy your dinner!” he offered with a wave.
“Such a polite young man…” he heard your mom’s voice trailing off just before the door shut on its own; Klitz sighed. Your parents liked him, which would be a boost to his chances to date a lot of girls— but not you, the chronic rebel. For the most part, you were well-behaved as far as teenage daughters go: he’d never seen you get wasted at any parties and you got good grades and everything, it was just all the guys you dated… he figured your parents must not know about most of them or they’d be a lot stricter with you. Wouldn’t any good, old-fashioned suburban parents freak out if they knew their daughter had gone out five times with a guy who inexplicably has had tattoos since sophomore year— or if they heard that rumor (which he happened to know was true) that you and Jake the quarterback had hooked up in his dad’s truck?
Bounding up the stairs, Klitz navigated to your room where he found you laying on your bed, on your stomach with your head propped on your hands and your feet kicked up and swinging slowly. Eli had shown Klitz some foot fetish porn once, at which point Klitz had sworn he did not have a thing for feet— which was true, except that the day after that he’d noticed you were wearing platform flip-flops and had your toes painted with a flower shape on them and there was a silver bracelet around your ankle (you informed him sternly when he mentioned it that it was an ‘anklet’ not a bracelet) with a sun charm and, well, he still didn’t think feet were actively sexy, but if anyone had sexy feet, it was you. And there they were, lackadaisically swaying in the air— your toes were painted today, too, and instead of an anklet you had a toe ring on, and he could help but imagine what it would be like if you ran your foot up his leg—
When you noticed him in the doorway, you smiled up at him and slid shut the magazine you were reading. “Hey,” you beamed.
“I thought you were working on your paper,” he remembered with a frown.
“I decided to wait for you to get here,” you laughed as you sat up on your bed. “And, you know, I was checking to see if this Seventeen issue was going to give me any inspiration to write about the War of 1812.”
Klitz just smiled and rolled his eyes, sitting down next to you on your bed at exactly the moment you suddenly stood up.
“Ugh, you know that thing where you can go all day acting fine and then suddenly the tag on your shirt is trying to kill you?” you sighed, and Klitz nodded in agreement. You were more sensitive to that kind of stuff than he was, but he get what you meant. “Anyways, point is, I’ve been wearing this stupid top all day and I can’t focus.”
“Okay,” he mumbled; he liked that top, it was tight enough to show off your figure but not so tight that he’d be tempted to get jealous. Best of all, it had words written in sparkly lettering across the chest, which gave him a socially-acceptable reason to look at your boobs for three seconds when he first saw you at school this morning.
“I’m gonna get into something more comfortable, m’kay?” you explained, but he didn’t understand that you meant literally right here and now until you started to lift your shirt. He looked down with wide eyes, swallowing thickly as he saw your tanktop land on the floor… and then your bra right beside it. Jesus fucking Christ.
He stared at the floor so intensely that he felt like he was about to burn a hole all the way into the living room below. He couldn’t stand it when you did stuff like this— well, he loved it, but he hated it, too. You were right there topless and if he had a bit more courage and a bit less respect for you he could just look up and see you. But even just knowing that you were stripping in front of him made his cock twitch, so he wouldn’t be able to keep his cool if he actually saw anything.
You walked to your closet and rifled through some things, apparently settling on something because he could hear you pop it off the hanger and slip it on over your head. He didn’t look at you until he was absolutely sure it was safe, which was when you plopped down next to him and made the mattress bounce a little. It was a forest green hoodie, with yellow letters across the chest: YALE.
“H-hey,” he choked, “isn’t that mine?”
“It was,” you grinned cheekily. You were wearing his clothes, you were wearing his clothes, this was like his biggest dream and worst nightmare coming true at once. He knew this image was going to burn in his mind and he was already looking forward to his next chance to jerk off to the thought of it; it was like every domestic fantasy coming true, his dream girl in his hoodie—
“I thought I lost that,” he laughed nervously.
“You did, and I found it,” you shrugged. “I meant to tell you that you left it here but, then I forgot… and I’ve been wearing it as pajamas.”
You were sleeping in his hoodie. You were, like, 90% of the way to being his girlfriend at this point, except for all the key parts such as liking him back and kissing him and letting him take you on dates and stuff. Maybe he should just be happy with this— after all, somewhere out there are plenty of guys wishing you were wearing their hoodies right now and not Klitz’s, right? Actually, probably half the guys at school would kill to be here right now, in your bedroom, on your bed, watching you cover your hands with the ends of the sleeves.
Difference is, some of those guys actually have a chance with you.
“You’re not, uh, dating that insanely ripped dude anymore, right?” Klitz stammered out.
“Who— Frank? God no, he was a creep,” you rolled your eyes, “which, like, yeah, I kinda knew going into it, but I guess I thought he’d lighten up a bit. But he was so rude and like, pressuring me and stuff…”
Klitz tried not to react to hearing that, but he hated to imagine it so much.
“I mean, I’m no virgin,” you scoffed, “not since the summer before junior year, but like, back off, you know? He was always bitching that we couldn’t do it at my place.”
“You couldn’t?” he realized, a little relieved that he wasn’t sitting on the bed where you and Frank might’ve banged.
“I’m not allowed to have guys in my room,” you explained.
“Uh, I come over all the time,” Klitz noticed, “your dad literally just let me in here.”
“Oh, you don’t count,” you mentioned in passing, and Klitz sighed in defeat; he was such a non-threat that your parents basically forgot he was male. How comforting. “Anyways, I dumped him because he was annoying and dumber than a box of rocks.”
“Those seem like good reasons,” he mumbled, not really sure what to say. If he sounded too congratulatory, he might seem creepy himself, so he wanted to stay semi-neutral.
“I think the next guy I date has gotta be smart,” you decided suddenly. “Like, not necessarily an intellectual, definitely not condescending about it, but smart. And nice.”
Smart and nice— would you also be willing to accept scrawny and pathetic with permanently sweaty palms?
“And no more guys who go to the gym five times a week, I don't care what anyone says, that's not indicative of sanity," you added.
Wow, I can only bench forty-five pounds, guess I'm your dream guy! If only I wasn't so… me.
"Anyways!" you chuckled, exhaling with a hint of exasperation. "This paper… where do we start?"
"Well, what do you have so far?" he asked, and you pulled your paper up to read aloud.
You cleared your throat before you read dramatically: "In 1812, the War of 1812 began."
This is gonna be a long night…
~
He was pretty sure he blacked out for a second when you hugged him that tight. He laughed nervously when you pulled back, still resting your hands on his shoulders. “Yay!” you smiled wide. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I finished the paper this early! Thanks, Klitzy.”
“Oh, sure,” he shrugged, and you took your hands away even though he wasn’t done memorizing the way they felt yet.
“And it’s only 8:30,” you noticed as you glanced at the clock, “my parents probably won’t be back until 10. Wanna stay longer and, like, hang out? Ooh, we could put on a movie,” you suggested. “We’ve got popcorn and stuff.”
Sometimes you put your head on his shoulder when you watched movies together. “Sure,” he agreed quickly. “What should we watch?”
“How about you go microwave the popcorn and I’ll pick something out,” you decided, and Klitz gave you a thumbs-up in approval of your strategy.
A couple minutes later, Klitz was in the kitchen watching the bag rotate and inflate inside its little food prison, while you were on your knees going through your dad’s movie collection. You’d shown him where to find a bowl for the popcorn when it was ready, and he carefully pinched the bag by the edges to open it and start dumping it out into the plastic container.
When he carried the bowl back into the living room, now full of nutritionless high-sodium deliciousness, he found you bent over to push the tape into the player. Clearing his throat, he let himself only glance for a second, except that when he got to the couch to sit down, your ass was literally at eye-level directly in front of him. You were still wearing that skirt, too, and it was riding up as you bent over to show the back of your thighs; lord have mercy…
When the movie started to play, you grabbed the remote and hopped next to him, sitting just a little too close to him in the most painfully perfect way.
It was a scary movie, he could tell by the music even though it had just started. He just hoped he didn’t humiliate himself by screaming like a girl or something. He reached for a handful of popcorn at the same time that you did, and your fingers brushed against his inside the bowl. Jesus, was he really this sensitive that that would turn him on? At least the bowl in his lap would hide anything—
“Stop hogging it!” you giggled as you pulled the bowl away, but you yanked too hard and some of the popcorn spilled out onto his lap. “Oh, fuck, sorry…”
You started to brush the popcorn away, running your hands all over his pants as he sat there frozen. Do not move a fucking muscle Klitz, he commanded himself internally. Wow, your hands on his thighs felt amazing; he had to fight not to shudder visibly.
“Gosh, I’m kind of a hot mess tonight,” you sighed, “at least popcorn doesn’t stain.”
Grabbing a final remaining white puff from right on top of his fly, you gingerly popped it into your mouth and smiled.
She’s eating your dick corn, man, go for it! the voice of Eli appeared independently in his head.
Ew, what? his own internal voice replied.
As the movie went on and the popcorn bowl was depleted and discarded, he managed to mostly pay attention and not get too distracted by how pretty you looked lit only by the dim blue glow. The movie itself was pretty boring, not too scary, but it did have some gory parts that made him cringe as you covered your eyes. However, over time, both of you were drawn into the suspense— the shadows, the tense music, the promise that the killer was lurking just behind the corner— and when he jumped out of nowhere brandishing a chainsaw, you both jumped a bit and then laughed at each other.
“You’re not scared, are you?” you asked.
“No,” he assured. “It’s creepy, I guess, but not like… scary.”
“Ooh, you’re so tough,” you teased with a poke to his ribs, and he moved away with a laugh.
“Stop,” he whined softly, laughing harder when you poked him again. “You know how ticklish I am, don’t mess with me!”
“Knowing how ticklish you are is exactly why I wanna mess with you,” you explained, poking him repeatedly on the shoulder.
“Yeah? Well, I know how ticklish you are, too,” he warned you, “and I’m stronger than you, so, you might not wanna start something you can’t finish.”
“Is that a threat?” you raised an eyebrow, reaching for his ribs again, but he grabbed your wrists and started to tickle your legs first. You cried out in delight and tried to fight back, but the more you laughed the easier it was to pin you down and dig his fingers into your ribs or stomach. “Stop, stop!” you begged through laughter so hard it brought you to tears, and he finally relented— he knew from experience that you would not hesitate to kick him anywhere you could reach to get him to stop.
There was a second right after he stopped, and right as your smile started to fall, that he realized how… sexy this whole thing was. Maybe it was just because it was you: your inherent hotness could make anything sexy, you could probably scrub a toilet sensually if you needed to. Still, a guy on top of a girl while her parents aren’t home, a movie on the TV, tickling each other… any other guy and girl at school and it would probably end differently. But, he knew you and he knew himself and he knew how this story was going to end: a chaste hug goodbye, a scream into his pillow, and his dick in his fist while he whispered your name.
He awkwardly maneuvered away from you, and you sat up straight again just to scoot closer one more time. It was peaceful again, for a while— he kept imagining putting his arm around your shoulders, but other than that it was fine— until another jumpscare on screen shocked you both.
You yelped and buried your face in his chest; he willed his heart not to beat faster, in case you could hear it, but it didn’t work… even he could hear his own heartbeat now, it was throbbing in his ears as you cuddled up into him and clutched at his shirt.
He couldn’t understand why you did this stuff— was it just a joke to you, hunting for sport? It seemed like you knew he had a crush on you, Eli had probably given it away with his aggressive attempts to wingman, and now you were, what, toying with him?
“Protect me,” you whimpered, and he knew then that you were fucking with him, and after three years he decided he’d just about had enough. Frustrated, he grabbed the remote and paused the movie, standing up briskly to force you to peel off of him. “What’s wrong?” you asked from behind him on the couch, and he just sighed.
“I— maybe I should go,” he said suddenly. “I have to work on my paper, too, you know.”
You stood up then, standing next to him, looking right at him. You looked so hurt. This was why he never stood up to you, because he hated seeing you upset— and knowing he’d hurt your feelings made his heart break. But at a certain point, he needed to defend himself. “Klitz, seriously, don’t go,” you breathed, “it’s dark and I’m gonna be all freaked out after watching that movie, you can’t leave me alone—”
“Are you making fun of me?” he blurted out, turning away.
“What?” you pressed. “Klitz, I don’t—”
“Can you just stop?” he winced. “I get it, I’m not like the guys you go out with, you don’t have to… rub it in. And you don’t have to make me feel stupid for having a crush on you.”
“Wait, hold on,” you interrupted, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to face you, “start over. You do have a crush on me?”
“Yeah!” he yelped. “Obviously!”
“I didn’t think I was your type,” you explained.
“My type? You know you’re gorgeous,” he stated plainly, “everybody knows.”
“Oh,” you smiled shyly, “that’s… not true, but it’s sweet.”
Klitz waited for a second, not sure what to say; you weren’t rolling your eyes and telling him to get over it, I was just being funny— you weren’t apologizing and admitting you went too far, either.
“Eli said some stuff before, it made me wonder if you really liked me or if you were just being nice,” you admitted. “And then we went to the beach together and… well, you looked really cute in your trunks…”
He blinked at you, speechless, and waited for this to all start making sense. You clearly meant cute like a puppy or baby— girls had called him that before, and he knew it wasn’t really a compliment when they said it like that, it was demeaning. How could his ‘cute’ compete with your beautiful?
“And honestly I’ve been into you for ages but I didn’t want to say anything,” you rushed, covering your face with your hands like you were embarrassed to say it. “God, I mean, we’ve been friends so long and I just didn’t want to mess anything up if you didn’t feel the same way—”
“Is this… huh?” Klitz asked in a mumble.
“Klitz,” you sighed, dropping your hands and stepping closer, looking up at him. “I like you,” you explained, “like… you know, not just in the normal friend way. Wow— sorry, I’m really not good at this, usually guys ask me out so I don’t have to do the whole love-confession thing.”
He gave you a wide-eyed look, and you seemed to realize what you’d said.
“N-not that I’m in love with you!” you rushed. “I mean, I’m not saying that I’m not— I’m just not saying that I am. Because that would be an insane thing to say— damn it, Klitz! I was trying to make it obvious so I wouldn’t have to say all this and you still ignored me!”
“What do you mean, ‘make it obvious’?” he repeated.
���Like, changing in front of you and putting on a scary movie and suggesting we go to the beach just so I can wear a bikini I bought because I thought you might like it—” you enumerated.
“I just thought you were teasing me,” he coughed; why was it so hot imagining you trying on bathing suits, looking at yourself in the mirror and wondering if he’d think you looked good? You could’ve worn a trash bag and he would have thought you looked amazing, but the bikini was still a nice touch.
“Klitz, that’s flirting, I was flirting,” you clarified with a frown. “You were so immune I thought you were just trying to let me down easy.”
“I’m not immune,” he admitted, “I’m just… incredibly stupid.”
“No, you’re not,” you insisted, stepping closer again and grabbing his shirt, tugging until he looked at you sheepishly. “Klitz, you’re super smart, and funny and sweet, and you’re so good to me— I just didn’t want to lose what we have, you’re my best friend. But I’ve been, uh, kind of thinking about you all the time for a while now. And I really wanna kiss you right now.”
Finally getting over himself for a few seconds, he grabbed your face and kissed you first. You tasted like lip gloss and minty gum, and when he took a deep breath in and kissed you harder, he could smell your shampoo. Best of all, he felt you smile against his lips; he hadn’t kissed a girl since 9th grade and she had braces and smelled like zit cream— not that he could really blame her for that, everybody looks awkward in 9th grade— but that had been pretty underwhelming and this was everything he imagined kissing was supposed to be. You melted a little and leaned your head back, opening your mouth wider: did you want him to put his tongue in your mouth? He hoped so, because that was what he was going to do— slowly at first, until you nodded slightly and he really went for it. He wasn’t sure how to be good at this, so he tried to not do anything too adventurous so he’d at least lower the risk of being actively bad at it.
You were really good at this, though; so good he was trying not to have too strong of a reaction… but it was tricky when you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him closer, humming contentedly into the kiss. Were you always like this? He knew you’d dated quite a few guys, he’d had the privileged honor to see you make out with a few of them when they were particularly obnoxious and had to show you off in the middle of the cafeteria. Then again, he’d do the same if he could. If he was currently capable of remembering anyone else in the world even existed right now, he would happily kiss you in front of all of them.
Tugging him back with you, you pulled him onto the couch as the kiss went from demure to desperate in seconds; the feeling of his weight pressing your body into the sofa cushions was already incredible, and then your arms wrapped around him and your hands started to slide up his back and it was like you were in complete control of his body. He didn’t mean to moan your name but it just slipped out, he was trying not to get hard but it was impossible to avoid, and he couldn’t even stop himself from moving his hands lower to rub your legs.
Speaking of your legs, they spread when he touched them, slowly and sensually exactly like he’d dreamed it. Groaning lowly, he slid his hands up higher to where that skirt was wrapped around your thighs and ventured far enough to push it up slightly.
“I want you,” you whispered, and it was so incredible that it jarred him out of his trance; he pulled back and looked down at you, his best friend laying there beneath him on the couch, just waiting for him to take you…
“Hold on,” he shook his head, “I— I don’t think we should do it like this.”
“Huh?” you sighed, sounding a little hurt.
“No— I mean, I… I want to,” he assured, feeling his face heat up a bit as you stared up at him, “I just— I wanna, like, take you out and stuff. Like, we can go to dinner, or catch a movie— we can go to that drive-in you wanted to check out—”
“Fuck that,” you grumbled as you roughly pulled him down into another kiss, needy and sloppy with your fingers tangling into his hair.
He whimpered when your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer until he couldn’t hide that he was hard anymore; it was grinding up against you, and you moaned at the feeling— and Klitz realized that this might be the first time in his life he was supposed to have a boner.
“We’ve been waiting way too long to do this,” you explained as you broke the kiss to start tugging his shirt up over his head. “I can’t wait until after a date, I need you right now— please?”
You were actually asking him, like he was doing you a favor; stunned, he simply nodded and finished taking his shirt off before he kissed you again. When you broke the kiss again, he was only disappointed for as long as it took him to realize you were lifting that hoodie of his up— he hoped his face wasn’t as idiotic and dumbfounded as it probably was while he stared at your boobs, buuuuut he didn’t really have the brain power to care. You were struggling slightly to get it off while still laying down on the couch; maybe it would’ve been smoother if he tried to take your top off for you, but it was so sexy watching you do it— you wanted him to see you, you were undressing just for him. It was so perfect that it was probably just a dream but he didn’t mind as long as he didn’t wake up.
“You can touch me,” you whispered as you tossed the balled-up hoodie away, and he certainly didn’t need to be told twice. With a small gasp at how genuinely perfect you were, he grabbed your tits— as gentle as he could manage, of course— and bit his lip while he kneaded them in his palms. You moaned softly, closing your eyes, and he took a second to study your face before focusing his eyes again on your gorgeous chest.
He remembered a few times that your nipples had gotten hard enough to poke through your shirt— at school, at late-night study sessions when you were already in your pajamas, or at the beach when the cool breeze blew and that little bikini did nothing for you— and he’d imagined what they might look like based on their silhouette through fabric. They were better than he could’ve thought, and they were getting harder between his fingertips. Unable to resist, he bent down and captured one in his mouth, hearing you moan louder as he swirled his tongue around it. How could your skin taste so good? Did you use frosting as lotion or something? Wow, that was an oddly erotic mental image…
Moving across your chest to the other nipple, he suckled harder until he heard you gasp out his name. That had to mean he was doing something right, right? It was certainly encouraging, and made his cock throb inside his pants.
Licking a long stripe up your chest to your neck, he heard you giggle and felt your fingers tug lightly on his hair. “Klitzy, fuck,” you sighed, “you’re— you’re not how I thought you’d be…”
“Really?” he hummed against your skin, loving the way you writhed under him when he kissed just under your ear, or right where your neck met your shoulder. He would be so content spending the rest of his life memorizing your body to find those spots that made you moan and whimper.
“Yeah, I— I thought you’d be shy, but you’re so…” you trailed off with a wistful sigh. “I mean, you’re really sweet, but you’re driving me fucking crazy, too.”
He sat up a bit so he could look down at your face. “In a good way, right?” he hoped.
“Yeah, in a good way,” you smiled, grabbing one of his hands and moving it down your body. “I want you to touch me,” you explained, spreading your legs even more beneath him as you moved his hand up your skirt, “I want you to feel what you do to me.”
Panting like he’d just run a marathon even though he’d just been laying on your couch all night, he kept his eyes trained on your face as his fingers slipped into your panties and explored the silky-smooth folds of your pussy.
“Oh, you’re… you’re really wet,” he noticed, and you smiled wide. How can it feel this good just to touch it?
“Mhm,” you agreed, biting your lip. “I always get like that when I’m with you.”
“Fuck, really?” he choked, and you nodded. “Oh, wow… I wish I’d known that. Actually— maybe it’s better that I didn’t. I would’ve lost my mind.”
You were so warm that he was losing his mind anyways— he couldn’t even imagine how you would feel around his cock, even though his brain really wanted him to try. Were you really about to go all the way, tonight? It was sudden, in a sense, but then again he’d been quietly in love with you for years, so… maybe it was actually kind of slow.
He made an embarrassingly high-pitched noise when your hand suddenly slipped down to rub on the bulge in his pants.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, losing his focus on touching you and needing to grip your thigh just to stabilize himself.
“I knew you’d be big,” you mumbled to yourself as you started to open his button and then unzip his fly. His dick was fighting to bust right out of his briefs, and you reached down to hold his balls in your palm through the fabric; a massive shiver ran up his spine when you gently dragged your nails all the way up from there to the very tip of his cock, and he couldn’t stop himself from shakily whispering your name.
Looking much too proud of yourself, you sat up a bit and started to pull his pants and underwear down until his cock bounced freely and proudly— Klitz himself was less proud, not necessarily embarrassed but definitely a little overwhelmed at the feeling of your eyes on him. He realized that no one else had really seen him naked, and thankfully no one had seen his erection before (though he’d had a few close calls while jerking off due to parents allergic to knocking first). It was mildly terrifying, but he was soothed to say the least when you bit your lip at the sight and looked up at him with wide eyes. You looked impressed, and he decided he would remember this moment anytime his confidence ever faltered: he had no reason to doubt himself ever again because there’s a massively hot girl looking directly at his cock and staring up at him like she’s seen something incredible.
“Jesus, Klitz, what were you doing hiding this monster from me all this time?” you smirked.
“I-is it really that big?” he wondered, sure you were just flattering him.
“Of course it is,” you insisted.
“I mean, I’ve seen porn and stuff— it seemed kinda… normal to me,” he shrugged.
You laughed out loud, and he felt his cheeks warm up a little more as he wondered what he’d said wrong. “Klitz, ‘normal’ for porn is absurd for real life,” you explained. “I mean, the women in those movies, are their tits ‘normal’, or are they huge?”
“They’re definitely bigger than most— ohhhh,” Klitz nodded as he realized what he’d somehow failed to put together. Porn was his only exposure to other dude’s dicks, so how was he supposed to know?
“You really thought this was average?” you chuckled, squeezing his shaft just enough to make his balls tighten up. “Baby, you’re hung.”
He couldn’t help but beam proudly at that. “Oh… really?”
You smiled back at him with a nod, starting to stroke him slowly. Your hand was so soft, your fingers so nimble and delicate, and the way you stroked his cock was much too slow but just right to keep him desperate and needy.
“Oh god,” he sighed as he started to rock into your hand, shutting his eyes tight and hearing you giggle a bit.
“How does that feel?” you asked gently.
“It feels so much better,” he blurted out, under his breath.
“Better than what?”
“Better than when I do it to myself,” he continued with a tilted smile. “Which is impressive considering I have… a lot of experience.”
“How often do you jerk off, Klitz?” you wondered coyly, and he knew he had no shot to lie to you with you looking him right in the eye like that.
“I don’t know,” he stalled for a moment, “maybe twice a day? Sometimes more…”
You hummed, leaving it sort of ambiguous if you thought that was disturbingly high or not, but he was in no position to backtrack and pretend it was less while you had his dick in your hand. You lightly ran your fingers up the length of his cock and back down again, teasing him until he struggled not to whimper aloud. “Do you ever think about me?” you asked, almost sounding shy— like you were afraid he would say no. What the fuck else would he think about?!
“Always,” he choked out, voice wavering when you twisted your hand right as it moved over the tip of his cock— there was precum running down already, smoothing your movements and making everything all sticky and slick.
“Fuck, that’s so hot,” you sighed.
“You don’t think it’s creepy?” he pressed.
“No, I mean, I couldn’t judge,” you shrugged. “I do it too.”
He blinked quickly. “You do?!”
“Yeah,” you breathed. “I lay in my bed at night, I spread my legs, I smell that hoodie I stole from your lock— I mean, that you left in my room…”
You were still stroking him slowly and carefully, but with you talking like that he honestly thought he could come right now— but if he did, it would spray all over your face and chest, which should’ve been a deterrent but somehow just made it even more tempting.
“I imagine how you would sound when I put your cock in my mouth,” you continued. “I fuck myself with the end of a hairbrush, just to feel full—”
“I-I don’t know if I can take this,” he stammered.
“Get down here, stud,” you giggled as you laid back on the couch again, grabbing his arm to pull him down on top of you. You kissed him again, and he delighted in the feeling of his bare chest against yours— and then moaned when he felt his cock press up against your pussy, sliding over the slick lips when he involuntarily rocked his hips.
“Can I…?” he asked, trailing off.
“Can you… what?” you teased, and he tried to ignore his repressed upbringing for a second to not be embarrassed to say it.
“Can I make love to you?” he whispered, and you smiled wide.
“Oh,” you sighed bashfully, “I thought you were gonna ask if you can fuck me.”
“I mean,” he choked, “that too— I guess…”
You nodded; he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think the odds were better than not that you would say yes, but he still breathed shakily in response. Reaching down between your bodies, he grabbed himself at the base to guide towards your hole— one of the benefits of having seen some porn before this was actually having a pretty decent idea of where everything was. He shivered as he pressed his cock up to your opening, shutting his eyes for a second to compose himself.
“Are you, uh… are you sure?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” you nodded, “are you?”
“Definitely,” he promised. “I just sort of can’t believe this is really happening…”
“Me either,” you smiled, “in a good way.”
“You… know I’ve never…” he began, but you nodded again.
“I know,” you whispered, “I wanna be your first— if you don’t mind.”
“N-no, not at all,” he replied, “this— this is all I ever wanted…”
And there it was, right in front of him: one little push of his hips forward and he was going to be inside you. What if it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, what if sex is actually pretty lame? What if the moment he does it, he suddenly realizes he’s actually gay— is that how that works? What if he screws it up and you never talk to him again? What if he’s patient zero for some terrible STD you can only get from virgins, what if your pill suddenly stops working and you get pregnant, what if—?
“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up and resting your hand on his cheek; it soothed him, and he sighed as he looked down at you and forgot every anxious thought in his head. “You okay?”
“Never better,” he promised, and maybe the timing was kinda wacky but he finally did it: he held your hips tight as he pushed into you, immediately feeling the wind knocked out of him. You were… tight, and warm, so warm— and smooth, but also sort of not considering the ridges of your walls that created this addictive friction on his cock…
You were perfect, in short. And as he pressed his hips up to yours, he knew for certain that this wasn’t a dream or a coma fantasy or a Total Recall-type situation— this was real. Nothing had ever been this real before.
“Oh my god,” you sighed, head dropping back on the couch. “Fuck, Klitzy— you’re so big…”
He couldn’t stop himself from starting to move already, even though he heard you hiss in a breath like you were still getting used to it. It was just too good and his body was running on instinct now, something primal and natural and slightly delusional.
You moaned again, louder, and held his shoulders tightly. “You feel so good,” you whispered.
“You do too,” he managed to find the brainpower to whisper back. He heard you whimper when he moved a little faster, already chasing this high that felt so incredibly in reach and he just knew it would be perfect— he couldn’t slow down, he’d never needed something like he needed this. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you nodded, “yeah, oh god, don’t stop— you’re just the biggest I’ve ever—”
His cock throbbed before you even finished your sentence. “D-don’t talk like that,” he hissed, “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to last—”
“It doesn’t matter,” you promised, “just come, fuck, I wanna feel your come in me, Klitz.”
And that was how Klitz lost his virginity to you and came in literally eight seconds. As his face burned incredibly hot at the realization that he’d blown his load in less time than it takes to flip a pancake, he sighed and dropped his head onto your shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out instantly, “fuck, I— I didn’t mean to—”
“Shh,” you breathed, “hey, it’s fine— it’s… really hot, actually.”
“Shut up,” he groaned.
“No, really!” you insisted. “It’s sexy, Klitz— fuck, you’re so sexy…”
Okay, at this point his prevailing theory was that he’d encountered a genie some time today, who granted his wish to transport him to an alternate reality where his gorgeous best friend suddenly thinks he’s super hot, but also erased his memory of making the wish in the first place. Except, if he’d done that, he would’ve also wished to be a sex god who made you come so hard you gained mild omniscience during your dozen consecutive orgasms— and instead he was just a two-pump chump who couldn’t even return the favor after you made him feel so incredible. So he was back to square one again.
“Hey,” you said again, softly, lifting his face so he would be forced to look down at you. He stared into your eyes, and he felt you in his arms, and he was still inside you— and he wondered if anything could ever be this perfect again. “It’s really okay,” you promised, “you’ll last longer next time.”
“There’s gonna be a next time?” he realized, and you nodded happily.
“I mean, I hope so,” you smiled. “If you want to…”
“But I was bad at it,” he pointed out.
“Sex is like literally everything else— you get better with practice,” you explained. “And I think we’re gonna have to practice a lot… you know, just to really get super good at it.”
He just couldn’t help himself; “Wouldyoumaybewannabemygirlfriendorsomething?” he rushed out.
“Huh?”
“Um,” he cleared his throat, “I was just asking if you might want to be my girlfriend. A-and I could be your boyfriend.” He added the last part just in case you were about to suggest that some other guy could be your boyfriend instead— not that you would do that, but Klitz wanted to be really really sure. You smiled up at him and his heart was like putty in your hands.
“I’d love to,” you beamed. “Actually, I kinda thought I already was… what, with you coming in me and everything…”
“Y-yeah, there’s that,” he mumbled, smiling nervously.
He turned his head when he heard a noise outside, it was hard to describe— sort of crackly like TV static? He figured out what it must be when he saw your eyes go wide in shock: an electric car on a gravel driveway. Specifically, your dad's electric car on your house's gravel driveway.
"Fuck!" you yelped, both of you dashing to get off of each other and find your discarded clothes. Klitz was trying to get his mostly-still-hard dick back into his pants, which was a bit of a struggle, while you rolled your skirt back down and tried to turn the hoodie right-side out again.
He was still looking for his shirt— why did he have to toss it away so dramatically, was he going for distance or something? — when he heard a key in the door and thought his heart might fall out of his ass.
You found the shirt just in time and tossed it at him unceremoniously, giving him just enough time to navigate which limb to put in which hole as he fell down onto the couch beside you and with about a nanosecond to spare, you two were posed like a couple of chaste little Bible study kids, sitting next to each other with your hands in your laps and friendly smiles on your faces.
"Hey guys, how was dinner?" you asked your parents sweetly.
"Hi Mr. and Mrs. S," Klitz waved at them.
"Hi sweetie," your mom cooed at him. "Dinner was lovely, honey— how'd your paper turn out?"
"We… finished it faster than I expected," you answered, and Klitz nodded in agreement.
"Were you watching a movie?" your dad asked.
"Yeah," you nodded, "hope you don't mind us borrowing your tape—"
"No worries," he assured. "How was the movie, was it good?"
"It was amazing," Klitz replied.
~
"I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled shyly, clutching your hands together as the two of you stood outside of your front door.
"Yeah," Klitz agreed with a contented sigh. He didn't think he'd ever seen you looking so… demure, maybe even innocent. It might've just been an aftereffect of having to play it cool in front of your parents just now as they told you about their dinner and asked Klitz a bunch of questions about how his parents were doing and Yale and stuff.
After giving him a split second of a mischievous smirk, you pushed him back against the door and slammed your lips onto his, kissing him hungrily. Okay, so definitely still not innocent…
You pulled away sooner than he would've wanted— he wanted to kiss you for hours, really— and placed your hands on his shoulders gently when he tried to chase your lips with his own. You looked around for a second as you stepped back, making sure no one was nearby before you reached under your skirt and pulled your lacy panties down your legs; you stepped out of them gingerly and stuffed them into his pocket with a grin.
"Something to remember me by, hm?" you offered.
As if anything could ever make him forget this.
Holding tightly onto your panties in his pocket, he walked home on a cloud. He whistled, he'd never whistled as he walked before.
The tune stopped only when he stepped inside his own house again and found Eli at the kitchen bar, happily chatting up his mom who greeted him quickly while she cleaned up after dinner. “Oh, hey Eli,” Klitz nodded; Eli was the type to show up unannounced, this wasn’t anything new, but it was more surprising when he’d been in his own head the whole walk home.
“Hey, Klitzy,” Eli returned, smiling. “I was just stopping by because my mom told me to bring your mom some book about yoga or something— but she said you’d be home soon…”
“I figured you wouldn’t be out too late if you were just studying,” Klitz’s mom pointed out, seeming to have a slight ulterior motive with the statement. “You seem to go over to that girl’s house a lot—”
This is normally the part where Klitz would defensively say she’s just a friend, Mom and she wouldn’t really believe it because she loved her son too much to properly understand that a guy like him and a girl like you wouldn’t get together. Of course, that wasn’t really as true now as it was the last fifty times, but he also didn’t want to immediately blurt out that you’d just become his girlfriend because, well, for one, it was a little pathetic to tell his mom that just a few minutes after it happened. Secondly, she’d probably ask questions Klitz was not at all in the mood to answer. Thirdly, Eli was here, and maybe it wasn’t the right time to tell him, either; and, finally, if his mom knew you were his girlfriend and not just his best friend, she’d probably start coming up with new rules about curfews and doors left open and bla bla bla— the last thing he needed was any obstacles to get to you now that he finally had what he’d been dreaming about for years.
“We’re really close,” Klitz finally decided to say, and that seemed to satisfy his mom enough to dismiss the two boys to Klitz’s room.
“I told you, I don’t wanna watch your tape,” Klitz began as soon as they were alone, sitting down on his bed with a sigh as Eli made himself comfortable in the chair by the desk.
“No no— I’m not gonna make you watch anything, I didn’t even bring it,” Eli promised. “I really was just here to deliver the book, and I figured I could say ‘hi’ and ask you how the study session went.”
Klitz sighed slightly, looking away. Truth be told, Klitz wanted to tell Eli what happened, and he never imagined not calling his best (guy) friend first when he lost his virginity. But he never imagined he would lose his virginity to you— okay, he actually imagined it a lot, he just never thought it was an actual possibility— and as a result now suddenly had to consider the repercussions of blabbing about it to Eli. Wouldn't it be wrong to kiss and tell, especially considering some bad experiences you'd had in that regard? Especially considering Eli knew you and cared about you?
“Uh, it was fine,” Klitz shrugged, “we finished the paper— and I already did mine before I got there. Have you, uh, finished yours yet?”
“Almost,” Eli answered, “just need to figure out how to do the thing in Word that makes it all spaced right— do you know how to do that?”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll show you,” Klitz offered, making a move to cross the room to his computer so he could demonstrate rather than try to explain it in words.
The thing was, while Klitz had decided he wouldn't tell Eli what happened while he was at your house, apparently fate had other plans. When Klitz stood up just then, he didn't even feel something fall out of his pocket.
"Dude— are those panties?" Eli mumbled, pointing to the lacy black thong on the bed. Klitz scrambled to grab it and stuff it back into his pocket, but it was too late. "Oh my god, Klitzy— how did you end up with a thong in your pocket?"
"I-it doesn't matter," Klitz stammered, feeling his face heat up.
"How could it not matter?!" Eli sputtered. "Who gave you those?"
"Nobody!"
"Did you take them?"
"No!"
"Are— wait," Eli stiffened up and cleared his throat, "are… those yours?"
"Are you asking me if I wear a thong?!"
"I mean… I'm gonna try not to be judgmental," Eli offered, "to each his own, right?"
"No— no!" Klitz denied. "They're, well… I just got back from—"
"Oh, shit," Eli seemed to figure it out, "did she— did you— are you guys—"
"Something happened," Klitz offered.
"Dude, you know I'm not gonna be satisfied with that," Eli rolled his eyes. "You don't have to tell me everything, just tell me what base you went to— first, second…?"
Klitz waited, and Eli's eyes widened.
"Third?" he continued, quieter, amazed when Klitz still said nothing. "H-home run?!"
Slowly, Klitz nodded, and Eli yelled emphatically like he actually was at a rowdy baseball game. "Shh!" Klitz hissed. "My parents are downstairs!"
"Sorry, I just— I'm so happy for you, man!" Eli beamed. "I can't believe you two finally fucked!"
“We made love to each other,” Klitz corrected, his face burning hot enough to cook an egg.
“Oh shut up, that’s gay,” Eli rolled his eyes.
“That’s gay?” Klitz repeated. “Me, a hot-blooded American teenage boy, having sex with a beautiful girl, is gay?”
“Whatever,” Eli rolled his eyes, which was the best he could do to admit obvious defeat in an argument. “My point is— good for you, man.”
Eli sunk his shoulders down slightly, suddenly getting a bit more serious.
"I know I mess around with you a lot. And I know I was pretty hard on you for not going after her for so long… but it's just because I knew you'd be good together— and I knew she was into you, I just couldn't get either of you to realize it!"
"Huh," Klitz said as he narrowed his eyes, "you know, you're more perceptive than I thought, Eli."
"Tell me everything," Eli demanded.
"You just said I didn't have to tell you everything," Klitz recalled.
"I changed my mind— I need to know now," Eli decided. "Just… tell me what it's like."
"What, sex?" Klitz wondered, sighing when Eli nodded quickly. "Uh, well, it's sort of hard to describe…"
"People always say that," Eli rolled his eyes.
"It's… it's like," Klitz searched for the words. "It's like a hug? But… wet."
Eli grimaced slightly. "That sounds kinda gross."
"But it's not," Klitz insisted, "and— and when she looks up at you it's like nobody else has ever existed. I never really felt like a man before that."
"And you do now?"
"Uhh, mostly," Klitz sighed. "I'm still, you know, me."
"What did her tits feel like?" Eli grinned.
"Okay, you're done," Klitz rolled his eyes, standing up. "Go home, show's over—"
"No, wait, come on," Eli pleaded, "just one more thing— just tell me one more thing! Are you gonna do it again?"
"I asked her to be my girlfriend, and she said yes," Klitz smiled slightly. "So, yeah, I really hope so."
"That's perfect," Eli announced. "You two are gonna be so good together."
Klitz's chest warmed because, yes, you were. Somehow he was sure of that, uncharacteristically unworried that it might all go horribly wrong. This was you; things always went right for him where you were involved.
Thankfully, Eli respected his privacy enough to leave not too long after that, on the condition that they find time at school tomorrow to talk more about how it all happened. The moment he had the room and house to himself again, Klitz collapsed onto his bed with a dreamy sigh, equal parts exhausted and energized— it’s a difficult feeling to describe, but he was all shaky and his head was spinning and it was euphoric. She’s my girlfriend, he kept saying to himself until he really believed it. Part of him was afraid to go to sleep in case the universe returned to normal tomorrow; really, he just didn’t want today to end yet. He thought about texting or calling you, but what would he say? Would it be too cheesy to admit he missed the sound of your voice?
Deciding to just take a much-needed shower instead, Klitz finished the rest of his nighttime routine and slipped into bed— normally, he would hope to dream of you that night, even if it left him with a sticky situation to clean up in the morning. But now, it didn’t matter as much, because he was going to see you tomorrow and his mind was overwhelmed with the possibilities of how it might go. Yes, a small fraction of his mind forced him to imagine that you’d pull him aside in the hall to say it was a mistake, that you two should just be friends again, but he didn’t really expect that after everything you’d said. He couldn’t decide if he was going to kiss you as soon as he saw you, or wait for you to do it first. Would you want to hold his hand in the hallway or be more discreet? Would you let him take you out on a date this weekend, or were you going to be impatiently desperate again? (Not that he was going to complain either way.)
Eventually, he realized that thinking about it was useless and that the sooner he fell asleep, the sooner tomorrow would come and he could see for himself what would happen when the two of you reunited. But he had one more thing to do tonight before he could fall asleep: wrap those panties around his cock and jerk off to the memory of how perfect you were.
~
He did last longer next time, just like you said he would— fifteen seconds, rather than eight. He’d even jerked off beforehand to try to increase his time but the way you looked up at him as he slid inside you, biting your lip and begging him to fill you as deep as he could go… yeah, he barely got a chance to gasp out something about how beautiful you are before he totally lost it. In his defense, you really did your best to drive him over the edge as fast as possible. You brought that upon yourself, really.
Then there was your genius idea to fool around in the school library, in that one section nobody ever goes to except to do this— you managed to avoid getting seen by any teachers or the security guard, but a junior did catch you two just as he was starting to reach up under your shirt. It should’ve made you both jump away from each other and try to act casual but Klitz doubled down; he wanted every student in this school to see this, if they could— see him and his girl, because honestly, they might have to see it to believe it.
He wanted them to see that you’re so obsessed with each other you can’t even wait until school lets out; he wanted them to see that you don’t just let him touch you under your shirt, you beg him to, and moan his name when he obliges.
Admittedly, he kinda didn’t want them to see when he came in his pants from said library excursion… but whatever, you didn’t mind— you were still insisting you were into that, and he was going to stop trying to convince you otherwise.
Instead, what most of them saw was the two of you sitting closer than normal at the lunch table, his arm around your waist or your head on his shoulder. Eli liked to tease you two about it sometimes, but thankfully for the most part he was just the same as usual. He was pretty supportive— if anything, a little too supportive, considering he liked to ask invasive questions and even ‘jokingly’ floated the idea of a threesome, to which you ‘seriously’ agreed just to freak him out and prove he was all bark and no bite.
In a moment, all of Klitz’s most common dilemmas were gone: it was okay to be turned on by something you were wearing, and he didn’t have to hide it anymore (except to prevent you from teasing him more and giving him a problem he couldn’t solve until he got home from school); he was allowed to look at you, and hug you and kiss you, without worrying if he was being weird; he no longer tortured himself with the possibilities, the fantasies, the anxieties, and just enjoyed being your boyfriend, maybe more than anyone’s enjoyed being my boyfriend before you told him once.
Instead, he had a new dilemma: how was he going to ask you to prom?
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i wish there was a bigger fictionkin community on tiktok. it's the social media i'm active on the most and it's just so alienating. all the kin content we get is from people kinning for funsies or talking about that "dragonkin who ate gemstones" post and the "godkin who didn't remember making someone" for the thousandth time. it's just not safe over there man. all you get told is that you're disrespecting systems or stealing from psychotics or somehow disrespecting "actual" spiritual beliefs. everyone is just so mean.
even with the dragonkin who ate gemstones, it rubs me the wrong way how people drag this post through the mud. like, that was someone's safe space, that was a kin confession blog. it makes me wonder how prone any of us are to being made a laughingstock of on tiktok someday.
-#🎐🍀🧧(if that's even my tag lol I can barely remember. hopefully u all know who I am)
#fictionkinfessions#fictionkin#🎐🍀🧧#community issue#grammar issue#bullying cw#ableism cw#religion cw#anty kin
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MAYHEM BY ESTELLE LAURE
BLOG TOUR & CHAPTER EXCERPT
The Lost Boys meets Wilder Girls in this supernatural feminist YA novel.
Available July 14th, 2020
It's 1987 and unfortunately it's not all Madonna and cherry lip balm. Mayhem Brayburn has always known there was something off about her and her mother, Roxy. Maybe it has to do with Roxy's constant physical pain, or maybe with Mayhem's own irresistible pull to water. Either way, she knows they aren't like everyone else.
But when May's stepfather finally goes too far, Roxy and Mayhem flee to Santa Maria, California, the coastal beach town that holds the answers to all of Mayhem's questions about who her mother is, her estranged family, and the mysteries of her own self. There she meets the kids who live with her aunt, and it opens the door to the magic that runs through the female lineage in her family, the very magic Mayhem is next in line to inherit and which will change her life for good.
But when she gets wrapped up in the search for the man who has been kidnapping girls from the beach, her life takes another dangerous turn and she is forced to face the price of vigilante justice and to ask herself whether revenge is worth the cost.
From the acclaimed author of This Raging Light and But Then I Came Back, Estelle Laure offers a riveting and complex story with magical elements about a family of women contending with what appears to be an irreversible destiny, taking control and saying when enough is enough.
About the Author:
Estelle Laure, the author of This Raging Light and But Then I Came Back believes in love, magic, and the power of facing hard truths. She has a BA in Theatre Arts and an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts in Writing for Children and Young Adults, and she lives in Taos, New Mexico, with her family. Her work is translated widely around the world.
Twitter | Instagram | Get Your Copy
Read on for a special chapter excerpt of Mayhem!
three
Santa Maria
“Trouble,” Roxy says. She arches a brow at the kids by the van through the bug-spattered windshield, the ghost of a half-smile rippling across her face.
“You would know,” I shoot.
“So would you,” she snaps.
Maybe we’re a little on edge. We’ve been in the car so long the pattern on the vinyl seats is tattooed on the back of my thighs.
The kids my mother is talking about, the ones sitting on the white picket fence, look like they slithered up the hill out of the ocean, covered in seaweed, like the carnival music we heard coming from the boardwalk as we were driving into town plays in the air around them at all times. Two crows are on the posts beside them like they’re standing guard, and they caw at each other loudly as we come to a stop. I love every- thing about this place immediately and I think, ridiculously, that I am no longer alone.
The older girl, white but tan, curvaceous, and lean, has her arms around the boy and is lovely with her smudged eye makeup and her ripped clothes. The younger one pops some- thing made of bright colors into her mouth and watches us come up the drive. She is in a military-style jacket with a ton of buttons, her frizzy blond hair reaching in all directions, freckles slapped across her cheeks. And the boy? Thin, brown, hungry-looking. Not hungry in his stomach. Hungry with his eyes. He has a green bandana tied across his forehead and holes in the knees of his jeans. There’s an A in a circle drawn in marker across the front of his T-shirt.
Anarchy.
“Look!” Roxy points to the gas gauge. It’s just above the E. “You owe me five bucks, Cookie. I told you to trust we would make it, and see what happened? You should listen to your mama every once in a while.”
“Yeah, well, can I borrow the five bucks to pay you for the bet? I’m fresh out of cash at the moment.”
“Very funny.”
Roxy cranes out the window and wipes the sweat off her upper lip, careful not to smudge her red lipstick. She’s been having real bad aches the last two days, even aside from her bruises, and her appetite’s been worse than ever. The only thing she ever wants is sugar. After having been in the car for so long, you’d think we’d be falling all over each other to get out, but we’re still sitting in the car. In here we’re still us.
She sighs for the thousandth time and clutches at her belly. “I don’t know about this, May.”
California can’t be that different from West Texas.
I watch TV. I know how to say gag me with a spoon and grody to the max.
I fling open the door.
Roxy gathers her cigarettes and lighter, and drops them in- side her purse with a snap.
“Goddammit, Elle,” she mutters to herself, eyes flickering toward the kids again. Roxy looks at me over the rims of her sunglasses before shoving them back on her nose. “Mayhem, I’m counting on you to keep your head together here. Those kids are not the usual—”
“I know! You told me they’re foster kids.”
“No, not that,” she says, but doesn’t clarify. “Okay, I guess.”
“I mean it. No more of that wild-child business.”
“I will keep my head together!” I’m so tired of her saying this. I never had any friends, never a boyfriend—all I have is what Grandmother calls my nasty mouth and the hair Lyle always said was ugly and whorish. And once or twice I might’ve got drunk on the roof, but it’s not like I ever did anything. Besides, no kid my age has ever liked me even once. I’m not the wild child in the family.
“Well, all right then.” Roxy messes with her hair in the rear- view mirror, then sprays herself with a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and runs her fingers over her gold necklace. It’s of a bird, not unlike the ones making a fuss by the house. She’s had it as long as I can remember, and over time it’s been worn smooth by her worrying fingers. It’s like she uses it to calm herself when she’s upset about something, and she’s been upset the whole way here, practically. Usually, she’d be good and buzzed by this time of day, but since she’s had to drive some, she’s only nipped from the tiny bottle of wine in her purse a few times and only taken a couple pills since we left Taylor. The with- drawal has turned her into a bit of a she-demon.
I try to look through her eyes, to see what she sees. Roxy hasn’t been back here since I was three years old, and in that time, her mother has died, her father has died, and like she said when she got the card with the picture enclosed that her twin sister, Elle, sent last Christmas, Everybody got old. After that, she spent a lot of time staring in the mirror, pinching at her neck skin. When I was younger, she passed long nights telling me about Santa Maria and the Brayburn Farm, about how it was good and evil in equal measure, about how it had desires that had to be satisfied.
Brayburns, she would say. In my town, we were the legends.
These were the mumbled stories of my childhood, and they made everything about this place loom large. Now that we’re here, I realize I expected the house to have a gaping maw filled with spitty, frothy teeth, as much as I figured there would be fairies flitting around with wands granting wishes. I don’t want to take her vision away from her, but this place looks pretty normal to me, if run-down compared to our new house in Taylor, where there’s no dust anywhere, ever, and Lyle prac- tically keeps the cans of soup in alphabetical order. Maybe what’s not so normal is that this place was built by Brayburns, and here Brayburns matter. I know because the whole road is named after us and because flowers and ribbons and baskets of fruit sat at the entrance, gifts from the people in town, Roxy said. They leave offerings. She said it like it’s normal to be treated like some kind of low-rent goddess.
Other than the van and the kids, there are trees here, rose- bushes, an old black Mercedes, and some bikes leaning against the porch that’s attached to the house. It’s splashed with fresh white paint that doesn’t quite cover up its wrinkles and scars. It’s three stories, so it cuts the sunset when I look up, and plants drape down to touch the dirt.
The front door swings open and a woman in bare feet races past the rosebushes toward us. It is those feet and the reckless way they pound against the earth that tells me this is my aunt Elle before her face does. My stomach gallops and there are bumps all over my arms, and I am more awake than I’ve been since.
I thought Roxy might do a lot of things when she saw her twin sister. Like she might get super quiet or chain-smoke, or maybe even get biting like she can when she’s feeling wrong about something. The last thing I would have ever imagined was them running toward each other and colliding in the driveway, Roxy wrapping her legs around Elle’s waist, and them twirling like that.
This seems like something I shouldn’t be seeing, some- thing wounded and private that fills up my throat. I flip my- self around in my seat and start picking through the things we brought and chide myself yet again for the miserable packing job I did. Since I was basically out of my mind trying to get out of the house, I took a whole package of toothbrushes, an armful of books, my River Phoenix poster, plus I emptied out my underwear drawer, but totally forgot to pack any shoes, so all I have are some flip-flops I bought at the truck stop outside of Las Cruces after that man came to the window, slurring, You got nice legs. Tap, tap tap. You got such nice legs.
My flip-flops are covered in Cheeto dust from a bag that got upended. I slip them on anyway, watching Roxy take her sunglasses off and prop them on her head.
“Son of a bitch!” my aunt says, her voice tinny as she catches sight of Roxy’s eye. “Oh my God, that’s really bad, Rox. You made it sound like nothing. That’s not nothing.”
“Ellie,” Roxy says, trying to put laughter in her voice. “I’m here now. We’re here now.”
There’s a pause.
“You look the same,” Elle says. “Except the hair. You went full Marilyn Monroe.”
“What about you?” Roxy says, fussing at her platinum waves with her palm. “You go full granola warrior? When’s the last time you ate a burger?”
“You know I don’t do that. It’s no good for us. Definitely no good for the poor cows.”
“It’s fine for me.” Roxy lifts Elle’s arm and puckers her nose. “What’s going on with your armpits? May not eat meat but you got animals under there, looks like.”
“Shaving is subjugation.”
“Shaving is a mercy for all mankind.”
They erupt into laughter and hug each other again.
“Well, where is she, my little baby niece?” Elle swings the car door open. “Oh, Mayhem.” She scoops me out with two strong arms. Right then I realize just how truly tired I am. She seems to know, squeezes extra hard for a second before letting me go. She smells like the sandalwood soap Roxy buys sometimes. “My baby girl,” Elle says, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to see you. How much I’ve missed you.”
Roxy circles her ear with a finger where Elle can’t see her.
Crazy, she mouths. I almost giggle.
#mayhem#estelle laure#blog tour#chapter excerpt#free chapter#book excerpt#book promotion#booklr#supernatural ya#paranormal ya#st. martin's press#netgalley
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Dare to fall (in love): prologue
Hello! I have recently been spending more time on Tumblr again and after reading so many lovely fanfics I wanted to try something new: writing my own fiction. I still need to come up with a name for this story, but I wanted to get this out already.
Name: Prologue
Word count: 1 306
Prologue
”I must be totally mad”, I think for what must be at least the thousandth time in the last couple of weeks. The reason that makes me question my sanity is that at the moment I’m at the airport, waiting for boarding to start, so that I can fly half way across the world to meet a guy I’ve met online a couple of months ago. I’ve watched enough crime shows to know that, even though I’m sure my new friend would never hurt me, sometimes the bad guys are good at making their victims feel like that until it’s too late, and I could very well be on my way to meet some crazy murderer.
I have obviously taken some precautions in case something goes wrong. I have booked myself a room at a hotel, so that I don’t have to stay at my friend’s place if I don’t want to for any reason. And of course I have told a few of my closest friends and my brother exactly where I’m going. That was one of those conversations me and my brother sometimes have, which started with the words “Don’t tell mom...” My mom thinks I’m going to meet a former colleague who has moved to the States. If she knew the truth of where I was going, she would worry herself sick, and no one would be having any fun on either side of the Atlantic until I would be back home. Sometimes I wonder if my mother’s tendency to worry about everything is the reason why I’m having hard time judging if this trip of mine is stupidly reckless or actually nothing to worry about, if I just use some common sense.
There is also another reason why I think this trip might not be such a good idea, even though my gut feeling about my friend would be right and he would really turn out to be as great a guy as I think he is. At this point I really can’t lie to myself anymore, and I have to admit that I have a massive crush on him. Unfortunately tough, I really have no clue about whether he sees me only as a friend or if he feels the same as me. Sometimes, when I read his messages or talk to him, I wonder if he’s flirting with me, but usually I brush that thought away almost immediately, tell myself not to be stupid and that he’s just being friendly. It’s not like he has been very obviously flirting, and most likely I’m just reading way too much between the lines because of my own feelings.
Meeting with him now definitely doesn’t help me getting over these feelings, and it would really be better to meet after I’ve gotten over this crush. Even if he felt the same about me, I can’t see a future for our relationship. We live on different continents and neither of us is interested in long distance relationship. Furthermore, it wouldn’t be sensible for him to move in with me, because he doesn’t even speak my language, which would make it so much more difficult for him to find a job and life here in general. It would be easier if I moved to America to live with him, but I’m not sure that I would be willing to leave my family, friends and my whole life behind. But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself here, and I should really focus on worrying about whether my gut feeling about him was actually right, or if I’m lured into a trap of some sadistic criminal.
To be honest, I’m having hard time believing that all this is actually happening. It’s all been so out of character for me. You see, I’m definitely not social when it comes to social media or online activity in general. I do have some social media accounts, but I mainly use them to make my own posts and to stalk other people. I never really comment on anything except if it’s to answer a comment addressed to me. Occasionally, but very rarely, I might also comment on a post made by my relatives or real life friends. But then one day I stumbled upon this blog. Based on the posts and answers to comments, the person behind the blog seemed very kind and interesting, and instantly I got the impression that I would feel good with him. I couldn’t help myself and had to leave a little comment on one of his posts. And then he answered it!
I kept following his blog and leaving little comments every now and then and he answered to most of my comments. Slowly our communication started to move from the comment section of his blog to private messages and Whatsapp. First we only communicated through messages, but soon we started making video calls too, even though finding suitable time was a bit difficult due to the time difference. We talked about everything, and for some reason I felt comfortable telling him about things that I hadn’t told any of my other friends. But my crush, which feels more like an obsession to be honest, makes me always want more, and soon simply talking to him on a video call didn’t feel enough anymore.
About a month ago I mentioned during one of our calls that it would be nice to meet him. He agreed, but unfortunately he couldn’t take time off from his work to travel any time soon.
“What if I came there?” I suggested. “I have my summer holiday in July, and usually I make a trip somewhere during that time, so I might as well come to see you.”
“Are you sure about that? I would still have to work, and I would feel bad that I could spend so little time with you, knowing that you have come here just to meet me. And what if we don’t get along in person? I feel like it’s unfair that you would invest your so much your time and money coming here and risk it going to waste, when I had to risk pretty much nothing,” he hesitated.
“Don’t worry about it, if it turns out that we drive each other crazy if there isn’t an ocean between us, I can just spend the rest of my holiday travelling around the USA. I’m used to travelling alone, and I’ve never been there, so I’m sure I find enough interesting things to do and see there to make my trip worth it, regardless of how we get along. And the same goes for the times that you have to work: I can just spend the time exploring the area where you live. You can’t seriously tell me that there’s nothing interesting to see there,” I reassured him. I tried to keep my tone light and hide how desperately I actually wanted to meet him and spend time with him.
After a little more negotiation and planning it was settled: I’m going to the USA for two weeks in the beginning of my summer holiday. I will go to see him first and then we will see how things go from there. If we feel that we’ve had enough of each other before that two weeks are over, I’ll spend the rest of my holiday travelling around. But if things go well and if we get along well, we will have two weeks to spend together. I was hardly able to contain my excitement after that call. The nerves kicked in only later.
I’m waked from my memories by an announcement informing me that boarding for my flight has started. “It’s time to go,” I tell myself when I collect my belongings and head to the gate. “I really must be totally mad...”
#my writing#original writing#original character#first person pov#original story#writing#fiction#romance#multi chapter#prologue#dare to fall (in love)
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Kai
requests are encouraged! please read my guidelines before submitting your request
Genre: university!au, features Sehun and Chanyeol as the reader’s longtime friends & SHINee’s Taemin as Jongin’s best friend (bc i never stop being taemin trash lol). not really fluff or angst, but happy endings abound!
Word Count: 3,140
Note: this is an idea i’ve been developing for a while. it ended up being pretty long because it’s about one of my favorite themes: inaccurate reputations.this is an idea i explored in depth in my bts social media Any Other Name, which is referenced as a novel in this story. please enjoy!
As far as you could tell from your first month at your new university, there was only one rule: avoid the boy named Kai. Your roommate, a girl named Soo-ah, introduced you to an anonymous girls-only blog that meticulously detailed dramatic confrontations between other students. In short, it was a gossip website; however, instead of discussing the lives of celebrities, it was devoted entirely to exposing students. And the general consensus from the website and Soo-ah was that Kai was nothing short of a monster.
“Apparently, he likes to befriend girls before breaking their hearts,” Soo-ah told you, her eyes burning with rage.
“But broken hearts are kind of a part of dating,” you observed quietly. It seemed wrong to hate some guy you never met, regardless of how many anonymous people swore they were moved to tears by his behavior.
“Didn’t you read any of that stuff I told you?” Soo-ah held her phone out to you once more. “He only likes for girls like us to stroke his ego, then he’ll drop up like we’re worthless.”
“But how do you know? We don’t even know who any of these people are—” You set her phone down on the end of your bed when she refused to accept it. “And they don’t include his last name or even a picture, so how would we even know if we saw him?”
“You would know Kai if you saw him,” she answered vaguely. Eyeing you suspiciously, she snatched her phone off of your blanket. “And why are you so determined to believe he’s such a good guy? Do you know him or something? Has he already gotten to you?”
A furious blush rose to your cheeks at her accusation, and you shied against the wall at your back. “No, I don’t know him, and I’m not determined to believe anything about anybody. Would you feel better if I was afraid of every boy in the school named Kai?”
“Honestly?” Soo-ah glared, “Yeah.” And when your stare clearly indicated that you were uncomfortable, she smiled and added, “You know— just so you’re safe.”
. . .
When you recapped the conversation to Sehun the next day over lunch, he stared at you blankly. “You mean to tell me that the girls have a whole website where they post what they really think about guys?”
Rolling your eyes, you ripped a used page out of your notebook and threw it at him. “Focus, Sehun.”
“I am focused.” Sehun hurled the paper at your face, but you ducked. “We’ll talk about your weird roommate after you tell me if my name is anywhere on that blog.”
“I don’t know, I didn’t look for you.” You picked the balled paper off of the ground as you answered. “Besides, to be on there, I think you have to be some kind of affront to women.”
“Oh,” Sehun nodded. “Well, I’m a total gentleman.” Satisfied with your mocking laugh, Sehun said, “Anyway, are you sure that your roommate doesn’t have some kind of grudge against this Kai dude— or whatever his name is?”
You shrugged, “I have no idea— I literally just met her a week ago when I moved in.”
Sehun shook his head at you. “Seriously, Y/N, that girl could be a psychopath for all you know. I told you to just move in with me and Chanyeol—”
“Excuse me, I only finally escaped you two when you went off to college.” You teased, biting your cheek to avoid laughing. “You know, I didn’t even want to transfer here, but the scholarship—”
Sehun kicked you under the table. “Cut it out, punk. Chanyeol’s heart would break if he heard you.” He scolded as if he weren’t pouting himself.
“Fine, fine. Anyway, I didn’t tell you everything so you could analyze Soo-ah or convince me to move in. Is any of that stuff about Kai true?”
As he shrugged, Sehun wrinkled his eyebrows. “How would I know? I don’t know anyone named Kai.” Then, more gently, he advised, “But Y/N, maybe don’t take a risk on someone with a bad reputation, ya know?”
Your tongue clicked in frustration. “No— I don’t know, actually. I mean, what if I listened to everyone in high who said you were a bully because of your resting bitch face—”
“Don’t play with me, Y/N, I know you had a crush on me and my mean eyebrows—”
Groaning, you complained, “Okay, first of all, literally nothing is sacred with Chanyeol.” Once Sehun finished laughing, you continued, “Second of all, that was back when I was a freshman and you actually seemed cool.”
“All these excuses.” Sehun smirked as he leaned across the table to ruffle your hair. Leaning back, he abandoned his jokes, and said, “Seriously, though, don’t be too naive. I know we think Soo-ah is a weirdo, but maybe she has some history with that guy, and she’s trying to protect you.”
Again, you refused to accept Sehun’s opinion that you should just be cautious. “But she didn’t even tell me who he is. And the blog calls him Kai— like some nickname.”
“Or a codename,” Sehun suggested. “Look, I’ve been to a lot of parties—”
“Is this really the time to brag about your social life?”
“ — Shut up! Anyway, I know almost everyone here, and nobody in my grade is named Kai. So maybe it’s just like a fake name everyone on the blog knows someone as?”
Your brow furrowed as you tried to rub the headache out of your temples. “But why warn me if nobody is going to tell me who to fear? The more I think about it, the more I think this is just some clever way for people to gossip.”
“Yeah? Well, welcome to college.” Realizing how troubled you were, Sehun recommended, “Don’t pry if you think it’s just girls being catty. What’s the point of going through the effort of finding out who the hell Kai is if they’re just venting?”
“Because it’s not fair for him to have a bad reputation if he didn’t do anything wrong.” You were about to begin your rant anew when your phone buzzed, signalling an incoming text. “Sorry, I gotta meet someone in the library. Group projects are so inconvenient.
“Yeah, don’t lie to me about meeting other guys, Y/N, it confuses me about the true nature of your feelings.” It would have been impossible to know that Sehun was joking if you lacked the years of experience in noting the slight upward twitch of his lips. “You’re coming to the party tonight, right?”
You nodded, “Yeah, sure. I have nothing else to do.”
“Obviously.” Sehun laughed when you shoved his shoulder. “Go ahead and invite your boyfriend so Chanyeol and I can run him off.”
. . .
Jongin was the only person who made a good impression that first month of classes— well, aside from his friend Taemin. As far as you could tell, the had to be the most popular guys on campus, judging by the whispers and stares that followed them everywhere. What were the odds, you wondered, that two seemingly perfect people would be inseparable best friends?
It was surprising to find him waiting for you alone in the library, since it was your first time seeing him without Taemin.
“Hey.” Jongin greeted you with a warm smile, just as he had on the first day of class.
While people obviously initially admired him for his stunning appearance, Jongin’s personality was more worthy of appreciation. And you knew it was silly to be yet another girl whose heart raced for him, but you couldn’t help it.
You returned his smile as you sat. “Hey.”
“So,” he raised the assigned novel, “what did you think of the book?”
“Actually, that was, like, my thousandth time reading Any Other Name,” you admitted bashfully. “It was my favorite book in high school.”
Jongin’s jaw dropped. “No way! It’s my favorite book too!” His excited volume attracted several hisses from nearby students and the assistant librarian. While his cheeks turned scarlet, he flipped his book open and displayed the colorful annotations. “It’s a little embarrassing, but I did most of this before the book was even assigned for that contemporary literature class.”
Hours slipped away as you and Jongin discussed your favorite parts of the novel. By the time you finished the project, and took a few selfies, and made plans to watch Any Other Name’s film adaptation, the sun had set. A quick glance at your phone confirmed that you were running late for the party.
Sehun had only been joking about you inviting Jongin, but at this point you were confident that he enjoyed hanging out with you, and you weren’t ready for your heart to calm. “You know, I’m about to go to a party at my best friends’ place. You may know them— Sehun and Chanyeol?”
“Yeah,” Jongin nodded. “I know them.” He laughed as he rubbed at the back of his neck and admitted, “And I know their parties are a little wild.”
You dismissed his concerns by explaining, “They’ve been my best friends since high school, that’s the only reason I’m going.” You blushed as you realized that he was likely politely rejecting you. “Ah— actually, it’s okay if you don’t wanna go—”
“Wait, you’re inviting me to go with you?”
Had it not been obvious? Jongin smiled when you nodded. “Okay, Y/N, I’ll go, and I’ll look out for you.” And he took your hand in his and allowed you to lead him out of the library.
. . .
The party was a chaotic blur. Evidently, Sehun decided to invite everyone he knew, resulting in little space to move and booming volumes. While the environment prevented a continuation of your earlier conversation, it didn’t discourage Jongin from remaining at your side throughout the evening, acting as your date and protector from the boisterous guests.
Sehun nudged you as he passed you near the blaring stereo and teased, “I can’t believe you actually brought him.”
And Sehun wasn’t the only person suspended in disbelief. You would have to be blind to miss the stares, which you attributed to envy considering Jongin’s popularity. Until the following morning, after Jongin escorted you to your dorm, when Soo-ah shoved her phone into your hand again, you didn’t consider that Jongin’s reputation could be more sinister.
“I told you to stay away from him.’ Soo-ah reminded— as if you could ever forget— while you examined the pictures displayed on her phone. They depicted you and Jongin dancing at the party.
“This doesn’t make any sense— his name isn’t even Kai.”
Yet the caption clearly read: ‘Kai picks his newest prey. Don’t be naive!’ and linked to Jongin’s account, where he had posted the pictures of you from the library. So it was as Sehun suggested; Kai was an alias for Jongin.
It wasn’t that you trusted Soo-ah or distrusted Jongin— so why was there a sudden sharp ache in your chest? Why was your stomach suddenly in knots? You didn’t know him well enough to suffer a broken heart, so your discomfort had to be caused by the embarrassment of having your pictures spread among anonymous strangers.
All you knew for certain was that nothing could come from confiding your feelings in your roommate, so you returned her phone and resolved to remain silent.
. . .
You spent the weekend trying to interpret your feelings alone without much success. When Chanyeol collapsed into the desk next to you and stole a concerned glance, you finally realized how deeply confused and upset you were by the entire ordeal.
“Hey Y/N, what’s the matter?” To comfort you, Chanyeol dug a cereal bar out of his bag and tossed it onto your desk. “Something happen with that guy you brought to the party?”
And you should have known better than to recount the situation to Chanyeol in that ten minutes before class; Taemin sat in the back corner of the classroom, and anything he heard would be repeated to Jongin. However, at Chanyeol’s compassionate provocation, you explained everything.
Like Sehun, Chanyeol fixated on what you considered a minor detail. “You mean you’ve managed to find the only guy in the world who’s obsessed with your favorite book?”
“That’s what you picked up on?”
“It’s just— it sounds like you really like him. And it sounds like he really likes you. And you have the same interests. And it’s dumb that you’re letting some stupid gossip blog ruin everything.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like him anymore.” You glanced over your shoulder to make sure Taemin wasn’t listening; and when you were satisfied that he was listening to music, you continued, “I’m just not sure I’m okay with people taking my picture and talking about me just because I hang out with some guy.”
“Well, Y/N,” Chanyeol studied your expression as he leaned back in his chair, “If you really like him and you don’t believe what your creepy roommate says about him, maybe just avoid that website.”
Before you could respond, the professor began his lecture.
Maybe Chanyeol was right. You could easily forget about the blog, since you only knew about it and read it when Soo-ah was forcing you to read it. But could you really ignore the real world scrutiny? Even as you took notes, you lost count of how many girls turned around to stare.
If this was how they were acting after a weekend of ignoring all of Jongin’s texts, how could you believe everything would go back to normal if you swore off involvement with him? And, perhaps more importantly, why should you live to please a bunch of strangers?
As an act of defiance when that girl in front of you glared at you once more, you yanked your phone out of your book bag to ask Jongin to meet you to lunch, and you didn’t try to hide your smile when he immediately replied.
After class, Chanyeol rubbed your arm on the way out. “Everything will be okay. And if your roommate doesn’t back off, you can always stay with me and Sehun.”
You only nodded before heading to the campus cafeteria. A few steps later, a delicate voice called your name.
“Y/N?” It was Taemin, approaching you with a gentle grin. “Um, no matter what anyone says, Jongin really likes you. Don’t tell him I told you, but he’s had a crush on you since the first day of school, and he had a lot of fun with you the other day. So maybe don’t believe everything you read online.”
“You mean—” Your voice dropped below a whisper as you were almost too nervous to ask, “You mean you know what everyone says about him?”
Taemin nodded before confessing, “Yeah, we know what everyone says about us. They’ve been talking forever. But please don’t believe it.”
As relieved as you were to learn that your instincts were right, you were more consumed by sympathy for Jongin and Taemin. Despite the growing guilt of ignoring Jongin because of unfair rumors, you smiled softly at Taemin. “Don’t worry. I don’t believe it.”
Bearing that in mind, an apology tumbled out of your mouth the moment you found Jongin waiting for you at a table by the window. He already bought both of your meals and set your food at the space opposite him.
“For what?” He smiled at you, evidently determined to believe that you hadn’t deliberately avoided him all weekend.
You sat down and began, “I’m sorry I heard rumors about you— I didn’t even know they were about you—”
Jongin took your hand in his to interrupt your rant. “Y/N, don’t worry about it. I know all about that Kai stuff. Honestly, when you were actually nice to me and invited me to that party, I guessed you just hadn’t heard anything.” A frown yanked at his lips as he concluded, “I knew it was just a matter of time before you heard that I’m apparently some kind of jerk and decided to distance yourself.”
You appeared to have forgotten how to speak until Jongin released your hand and stood to dismiss himself. “I didn’t believe them—” You blurted as you grabbed his hand and tugged him back toward the table. “I didn’t believe the rumors before I knew they were about you. Before I even liked you.”
He stilled and sank back into his seat. “Really?” He narrowed his eyes at you curiously.
“Really,” you repeated. “It was just an instinct. But if you don’t mind me asking, why do they call you Kai? And why are people so determined to talk about you?”
“They’ve just always talked about me.” Jongin shrugged; it must be a part of life he accepted long ago, but that acceptance didn’t lessen his frown. “I don’t know why they call me a womanizer; I’ve never even dated a girl. I remember when Taemin had his first girlfriend, the other girls were so mean to her; I didn’t want anyone to go through that because of me. I really hoped things would change when I got to college, but— well, I’ve been here for a full four years, and people still whisper behind my back.”
Then, rather stupidly, you asked, “You still don’t date?” as if all you could think of was becoming Jongin’s first girlfriend.
Thankfully, he chuckled and you could release the anxious breath you were holding. “Nope. Until quite recently, I didn’t attract anyone I really liked. Actually— until this week, I didn’t attract anyone who actually liked me for more than my face.”
In a feeble attempt to distract from your deepening blush and an earnest effort to console Jongin, you said, “Well— for everyone who chose to believe rumors rather than get to know you, it’s their loss. Your kindness is way more impressive than your face, and you’re beautiful so that’s really saying something.”
Jongin caught his bottom lip with his teeth to keep from smiling, but the corners of his lips curved upward anyway. “Thank you. And to answer your other question, I went by Kai in high school. The girl who runs the blog, Soo-ah, ran it in high school too, and I guess she hasn’t stopped thinking of me as Kai even though I’ve been running from that name because of her.”
“Damn.” Your jaw clenched in anger as Jongin placed the final piece of the puzzle in your mind. “I hate when Sehun is right. My roommate is a psychopath.”
And, on a less infuriating but still annoying note, Sehun also accurately predicted that you would have to move in with him and Chanyeol— at least if you wanted to date Jongin without enduring daily rants from your deranged roommate.
#exo imagine#exo imagines#exo scenario#exo scenarios#exo fluff#exo angst#exo drabble#exo drabbles#exo oneshot#exo oneshots#exo one shot#exo one shots#jongin#jongin imagine#jongin imagines#jongin scenario#jongin scenarios#jongin fluff#jongin angst#jongin drabble#jongin drabbles#kpop imagine
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2018 APMA’s
Title: 2018 APMA’s
Chapter: One-Shot
Pairing: Andy/OC/Remington
Rating: T
Fic Summary: Andy is hosting the APMA’s and Palaye Royale is up for an award. What could possibly go wrong?
Author’s Notes: Oh my god, it’s been a while since we’ve seen our favorite trio. I’ve missed them so much! So obviously this takes place shortly after Remington has entered Andy and Jenni’s relationship, so they’re very much at the beginning. Babies.
“Do I look okay?” Jenni asked for the thousandth time.
“Babe, this is the APMA’s. Not the Oscars”, Andy told her.
“I know”, she said, but she still cared about how she looked. This wasn’t her first time attending the Alternative Press Music Awards, but Andy was the host this year and she wanted to look her best.
Palaye Royale was also attending for the first year and the boys were up for an award. Best New Underground Band and Jenni couldn’t be more proud.
When they arrived at the venue, they stopped for pictures and Jenni played the part of dutiful girlfriend while Andy did interviews. Jenni kept a look out for Remington. She vaguely knew what he was wearing based on Emerson’s Instagram story. Finally she spotted him with his brothers. Jenni approached Andy and leaned in towards his ear. “Remington just got here”, she said.
Andy nodded and placed a quick kiss on her lips, causing the interviewers to “aww”.
“I’ll see you later”, she told him and walked towards Remington.
“Hello gorgeous!” he said, pecking her on the lips.
“You don’t look too bad yourself”.
He was dressed in a black and white striped suit that suspiciously looked like the one Michael Keaton wore in Beetlejuice.
Emerson was dressed in his usual Renaissance Pirate look and Sebastian was in a nice suit that was still very much his style.
“I’m gonna have the most gorgeous woman on my arm tonight”, Remington said.
Jenni blushed and gently shoved him. “Stop it”. Jenni walked down the carpet with the boys, doing the same as she had with Andy.
When they reached the end of the carpet, they were stopped by Alicia from A Music Blog, Yea?
Jenni thought Alicia was such a sweetheart and she loved all the interviews she did with her boys.
“I’m here with the lovely Palaye Royale. So Remington, you’re presenting an award tonight?” she asked.
“Yes I am actually. Although I’m still confused as to why”.
Jenni and Remington both knew it was a lie. They both suspected Andy had something to do with it.
Jenni stood quietly by Remington’s side as the interviewer continued to ask questions.
“So Jenni, what’s it like to have one of your boys presenting an award and the other hosting?” Alicia asked.
“I’m incredibly proud of them. I know that Andy was ecstatic when AP asked him to host this year and this year is Palaye’s first time being up for an award”.
“I understand that this is your first award show since Remington entered yours and Andy’s relationship. What is that like?”
“I honestly wish I could be by both of their sides. If I could, I would split myself in two. It’s still taking some navigating”.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Of course like most years, the event was a complete disaster.
Jenni would even go so far as to say that it was the worst one she had attended.
True, it would never have the budget of the Oscars, but it seemed nothing was going well.
At least for half of her boys. Andy was having the time of his life, whereas Remington was not.
After losing the “Best New Underground Band” to a band no one (not even most people watching) had ever heard of, Remington decided to get drunk. Unfortunately, this meant that he was drunk when he announced the next act, but he couldn’t care less. He went back to Andy’s dressing room and took a snap of him rolling his eyes captioned, “Fan voted”.
Of course when Andy saw the post, he was furious. Now the two of them were arguing as if Remington wasn’t in the room.
“He needs to grow up”, Andy snapped.
“I think he’s earned the right to be upset”, Jenni argued back.
“Yeah, it’s not like you’ve won every award you’ve ever been nominated for. I’m sorry I don’t have an army like you do”, Remington muttered, “I still think it was rigged. They bought votes or something”.
Andy sighed and walked over to Remington. He knelt in front of him and said, “I understand you’re upset. Maybe it was rigged maybe it wasn’t. Black Veil didn’t win every award at first and even when we did, people were upset about it. We never really fit in. I know you feel like no one here takes you seriously, but one day you won’t have to worry about that. One day, when you’re up for an award, you’ll no longer have to worry about winning it. Because you’ll win it every time”.
Remington gave him a small smile.
“I think we all need some sleep. It’s been a long day”, Jenni said.
Remington and Andy couldn’t agree more.
#andy biersack#andy/oc/remington#andy/jenni/remington#remington leith#remington/oc#andy/oc#black veil brides#black veil brides imagine#palaye royale#palaye royale imagines#bvb imagines#bvb#emerson barrett#sebastian danzig#2018 apma's#alternative press music awards
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A Good Number of Wizards
Greetings, travellers.
So, by my count, which I have reason to suspect is slightly off, today marks the 900th wizard uploaded to my blog. That is truly a stupid number of classes, even for a made up joke RPG. It’s insane. I sort of imagined doing this blog indefinitely when I made it, for a couple years at least, and I still never really considered that daily posts would mean I would hit nine hundred posts in the third year.
I’ve mentioned before that I started doing this blog to prove to myself that I can do something every day. The extent to which that’s been successful and useful is something I’ll comment on later, I think, in a longer post, but I think the point is as proven as it’s gonna get. Moreover, it’s getting harder and harder to deliver here every day. I try hard not to phone it in, so to speak, and I still feel like I end up not putting enough effort in one night out of seven to get the post out of the door. Coming up with and executing fresh ideas has become kind of a slog.
With all that in mind, I will, eventually, stop updating this blog daily, and a thousand seems about right to me. Since I’m pretty sure my count is wrong, and I don’t want an asterisk next to this project, the last daily post will fall on the thousandth day after this blog debuted, May 19th, a little over a hundred days from now. Because some days had more than one post, this means the number of wizards will be over 1000, but I can say that every day for a thousand days, I posted a wizard up to this blog.
I will likely continue to post wizards from time to time after May 19th, if an idea comes to me or on special occasions, but I’ll probably take a break for a short while at least. As always, thank you for taking your time to read my work, my inbox is open, and I hope you enjoy the next hundred days.
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yours. (boyfriend!au)
ft. huang renjun, young love, and a break up.
this was an old thing i found sitting in my drafts and i only decided to publish it now because - it’s so angsty compared to my other bullet fics, and i feel a bit sad these days, so this feels somewhat appropriate.
i still see people showing interest in this blog, and i’m forever thankful. thank you for the my followers, old and new, i’m sorry i haven’t been posting a lot recently, but i do have a few ideas planned.
please enjoy and keep loving renjun. :)
if given the chance, you probably wouldn’t have broken up with renjun.
but thing was, you didn’t have the chance.
when you spoke to him about it earlier that day, you were crying. and he cried too. you sat in the corner booth at your favourite fast food restaurant, in his arms, as he ordered a milkshake for you
it has been tough. it’s been a tough few months already and it certainly wasn’t the first time he’s seen you break down
certainly wasn’t the last either
you were happy with him. you’ve been tons happier since you started going out with him.
he was a completely different person before you guys met
it didn’t surprise people that you two were in a relationship because you suited each other so well
he loved you. you loved him too. renjun and you loved each other so much you were both a little overwhelmed
the obsession you had toward each other really got a little overbearing
your grades were terrible and it seem almost too late to save them.
he got kicked off the soccer team last month.
you guys only fought once, but it was a while ago and since then you made a mutual pact that you guys would never fight as badly as that time, ever again.
and y’all stuck to it
love is real. but love had to be at the right time.
renjun nodded, his eyes downcast, as he heard you out earlier that day.
“...even if we’re not.. dating.. anymore, can i still love you?”
you were glad you were sitting right next to him when he asked, because his voice was so soft and so fragile
you said of course. and that you still loved him.
for one last night, you let renjun sleep over.
your single bed was way too small for the two of you, but he’s slept over before, and y’all always made it work
when he came in, he immediately crawled under your covers, turning the other way so he wasn’t facing you.
you quickly finished what you were working on at your desk and rushed through your night routine before joining him
and even when he felt your weight on the other half of the bed, he refused to turn over
and you were rendered confused until you heard a sniffle
and that broke you, really.
but you knew that it was for the best, and for the better of the both of you.
you reach your arms around his torso comfortably, and you feel his cold fingertips brush over your arms
you gave him a few moments before he turned himself around so that he faced you.
under the dim light from the moon outside, he gazed at you, and you gazed back at him
memorising every detail of each other’s features as it was the most precious thing in the world
and to you, two teenagers in love? it really was.
“i don’t...” renjun started quietly, but looked away, his bottom lip trembling
“it’s okay, junnie.”
“i know it’s for the best.”
you blink a few times as he pulled your body closer to his
“i’m so sorry.”
“you’ve done nothing wrong, honey.”
“i’m sorry for wasting your time.”
“you really haven’t.”
he was silent again for a long time, and you looked up at him, who had his eyes closed, his eyebrows ever so slightly furrowed.
you use a thumb to smoothen the frown out, then you slide your hand to caress his cheek
“is it possible for exes to love each other?”
“of course it is. elvis and priscilla continued to love each other even after their divorce.”
he was quiet again, but his eyes fluttered open to watch you.
“but.. then he died.”
you couldn’t help but let out a small, quiet laugh. tears welled up in your eyes without permission
“you’re not going to die, junnie. i don’t allow it.”
then, he leaned in and kissed you
kissing renjun always made you feel like a summer’s day. or a fruit salad, as he likes to put it.
it was from your watermelon chapstick, and a strawberry chapstick you bought for him, because it was one of your favourite fruits
and he liked watermelon, so you always, always, always wore watermelon flavoured chapstick
lowkey it was so he could never resist your lips.
but today
his kisses were cold, damp and a bit salty from his tears,
and nothing else.
as soon as you felt his lips on yours, you responded, telling yourself it would be the last time
you’d let him kiss you
feverish hands, warm, swollen lips were all that you remembered from that night.
“i’ll always be yours.” he whispers just before you doze off.
his voice cracks a little and for the thousandth time that night, you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces
but a part of you remained strong, because you’ve loved, you love, and you will continue to love him
maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week
but if time allows, perhaps you and renjun could fall in love again, perhaps even more than you have before
perhaps for another day, perhaps for another week, perhaps for another month,
perhaps for eternity.
#huang renjun#renjun#nct renjun#renjun scenarios#nct renjun scenarios#renjun imagines#nct renjun imagines#nct dream#nct dream renjun#nct dream imagines#nct dream scenarios#wayv#nct china line#nct china line scenarios#nct china line imagines#norenmin#angst#boyfriend au#renjun boyfriend#renjun angst#nct angst#nct dream angst
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Fight (4/4)
If I post this on the wrong blog one more time I stg. Who let me have access to technology? WHO?
-Danielle
----
“’Rydice?” He knocks a bit louder than intended, driven by the nerves that dance painfully along his skin. The complete lack of knowledge in this situation presents himself in a discomfort, a prickling sensation that clouds his thoughts as he waits intently for an answer. When none comes, he knocks even louder.
“’Rydice, it’s me.” His voice cracks slightly on the last syllable, but he barely notices. There’s shuffling on the other side of the door, a voice quieted by distance. A small coming that sends a shock of relief through to his chest.
“I have to go,” Orpheus speaks quickly through the phone, shreds of hope hitching themselves back to his voice. “She’s here, I have to go-I’ll call, I promise.”
Before Persephone can answer he’s hung up the phone, stuck it in his back pocket with shaking hands. He can hear the clicking of locks, the slow sliding of metal against the doorframe, and then her face.
Her face-she pokes through a crack in the door momentarily, as if checking to make sure that the voice she’d heard matched the person in front of her. Her eyes are substantially paler, darkened only by the baggage that weighs underneath. She seems smaller, yet so much more guarded in comparison. In the two days since he had seen her, it’s as if he’s met with a stranger. She looks him up and down through the slit in the door before pushing the door open, covering her eyes with her hands.
Orpheus stands still for a moment, hands lingering awkwardly at his sides until he hears the shakiness in her breath, witnesses the immediate collapse of that guard she’d held onto so fiercely when she’d first opened the door. The sound of her sadness pushes his hesitation to the side, drives him to close the distance between them to wrap his arms around her completely, gently.
“I’m sorry,” her chest is heaving with the difficulty of her breath, the relief and the sadness and the nerve of it all. It’s all she can say, the words stuck on a loop she can’t control, the words that should have replaced her running. She lets him cling to her, her face against his chest, one of his hands running soothingly along her hair. With each apology Orpheus longs to hold her tighter, longer, long enough to wash both of their tears away. His shirt is damp with her grief and his cheeks are raw from wiping his own tears with the rough backs of his hands.
“Do you want to talk?” He waits until her breathing has slowed, her body has fit itself against him without shaking. She hiccups, sniffs and nods her head. Orpheus does not move from her side, keeps an arm wrapped around her as she turns to face her apartment.
It’s a tiny studio, a shoebox stereotypical to the experience of living in a city. In one small room she’s fit a loveseat of scratched up leather, a rickety shelf with an amount of books that do not fit, a pile started on the floor next to it. There’s a small houseplant with browning leaves set in front of a tiny window, a valiant effort as he notices her view of the old brick of another building. The kitchen cabinets are hung haphazardly, as if by second thought. He can tell she’d tried to fix them by the way she’s kept them, one set of cabinet doors tied together with a craftily thought-out system of ribbon and neatly tied knots. In one corner of the shoebox space there’s a mattress on the floor-just a top sheet and an old quilt on top.
There are memories; Eurydice sinking into his bed the first night with a sigh, the way she’d slept completely splayed out and wrapped tight in his blankets. She’d apologized so much, sat with that slight stiffness in her back and attempted to refuse the breakfast he’d made. The longer she stayed the more he noticed her little quirks; the way she kept a corner of his thick blankets between her fingers while they watched a movie, her texts of outpouring gratitude each time he hid a snack in her backpack or brough her a lunch. He remembers the way she spooked at the noises of the bar below at first, how she locked the door twice at night as if she didn’t trust herself. It had taken her so long to become fully acclimated to his space-their space. He’d thought the stiffness in her body and the hesitation in her actions had been a result of the wall she’d kept up, the wall he’d been trying to tap gently though.
“I, uh…I wasn’t expecting company,” She attempts an awkward sort of humor as she bites her lip. “You can sit, you know. It’s not…it’s comfortable.” She gestures to the well-worn loveseat and he obliges, pulling her down and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Her body responds to his touch with a sigh, a muscle memory, a craving that’s nearly tense in nature. It had only been two days, but the span of time without the comforting smell of his skin and the softness of his voice had felt like months. She’d wrapped herself in loneliness and accepted that the world was not made for her, laid in her own bed for a day as time passed around her without her own knowledge.
She’d let herself shut down completely and still, Orpheus had come.
“How’d you know where I live?” She has to ask the question on her mind, the one that had made her think that his knocking and calling her name had been nothing but her last thread of hope sewing itself into a hallucination.
“Persephone told me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to say that anymore.” His finger reaches for her chin, gently tips it up so she can see the sincerity in his eyes. “I messed up too.”
“You didn’t do anything, Orpheus. It was me. You were trying to help. You were excited. And Persephone was too. I just…it set something off in me, her offering money and clothes. People just…they used to do that to me all the time with this look in their eyes that…it was dehumanizing. Even as a kid I knew it. But I shouldn’t have reacted the way that I did. It’s not okay. I hurt you. You don’t have to be okay with that because you don’t deserve to be hurt.”
He has never seen her so upset; that hint of anger runs in tandem with a tenderness, a passionate resolve that strikes him as the final word. She will not let him continue to think that this fight is his fault, that her leaving the store and staying away from him had anything to do with his helpfulness or his excitement. She will not let him believe that this is his fault, not when their relationship is still so new.
With Orpheus beside her on the scratched up leather, listening to the sounds of doors slamming and her upstairs neighbors very clearly arguing again, Eurydice is caught between the life she’d grown accustomed to and the life she’d been trying to leave behind. She hadn’t told Orpheus about this place-once a source of absolute pride as she used her own keys on the door and paid her own bills each month. She hadn’t told him much of anything-just flashes of her past as they’d come, filtered bits of herself.
There isn’t shame; she refuses to feel shame for what she’d been through, how she’d fought to get this little rundown shoebox. More than anything, Eurydice had wanted to believe that maybe the pieces of herself she’d grown to know-the pieces that so closely resembled her mother-would fade away as she left her past behind her. The decision wasn’t completely cognizant, rather a piece-by-piece display of fright. The intricately lain fabric of her life had been torn so many times that one sentence had sent her into a spiral of panic. Leaving had seemed like the only option.
Eurydice braces herself with a deep breath. Orpheus is here. He sits and waits patiently. He’s come to talk-to let her cry. He hadn’t left her. He’d come to find her.
“I’m going to start talking, and I need you to just listen. I need to tell you some things that might get hard to hear. You deserve to know more about me than what I’ve told you. I’m not looking for pity, and I’m not looking for you to save me because I’ve already saved myself. I just…my actions weren’t justified, but they didn’t come from you. You didn’t cause my running away, and I should have never done it.”
“Okay,” Orpheus shifts in his seat, waiting. His mossy eyes are trained patiently on her, their color swimming with warmth-adoration. Eurydice finds an immediate sense of comfort here, in this space typically lacking the overwhelming sense of security she finds in him. His arm around her shoulder brings her strength, and she begins.
It’s not something she’s done before, this rote recitation of her past. She’d run through the basics so many times that this deeper diving feels immensely intimate, more than shedding a few layers of clothing or sharing the password on her phone. Her gaze shifts between Orpheus and the wall as she talks, and she becomes acutely aware of the way he pulls her closer at the harder parts; and then they left me there-my dad told me I was too much like her-I chose to tell them everything that happened-I never thought I’d get out. There are memories she hadn’t accessed in a while, things she’d buried deep with the hope that they’d soon just become another part of her fabric, a fraying thread in her own tapestry. These are the things that bring Orpheus to tears, to kissing her hair-her forehead-her eyelids-with a hummingbird sort of delicacy mismatching the protection of his hold on her body, his hand on the space where their baby grows.
It’s dark when Eurydice finishes-when her mouth has become dry from talking, crying, kissing him again. Their cheeks share reddened moisture as they brush against each other gently, slowly, without words or explanation. They sit like this for a while, Eurydice’s body suddenly heavy with the ghosts of her memories.
“Will you come home?” He asks her so softly that she nearly believes the words are imaginary-that the way he’d been holding her for this immeasurable amount of time had been just a result of exhaustion and wishful thinking. When she looks up at him, he is real-unfalteringly real. He emphasizes the word as if it were made just for them, just for the space they had created and the life they’d begun to share. Home. Her lips lift in a softened grin.
“I really want to come home.”
There’s immediate comfort.
“Go take a shower.” Orpheus urges, “I’m going to make something quick for dinner.” She sighs happily, thankfully, and her eyes close as he kisses her forehead, runs a hand along her arm. She hadn’t taken a decent shower since she’d left, her apartment boasting lukewarm water temperatures and a lack of water pressure. The scalding water soothes her immediately, just as the gentle rainwater scent of the handcrafted soap Demeter had given them.
Eurydice puts on a pair of sweatpants and one of his shirts. His clothes hang loose on her frame, but less and less as time passes. She’s thankful for the bump that brushes against the fabric, that causes the cloth to hug and drape differently than it had just a few months ago. Even with the exhaustion of the day settling into her body, she feels a hefty weight begin to drift off of her shoulders.
Hair still damp, Eurydice walks with bare feet back into the open living space. She smiles at the shelves lined with photographs, puts the needle back over the last record he’d been playing. It’s an older sound, all brass and bluesy rhythms, and the sound fills the space with a harmony she hadn’t known she’d been missing. Her fingers run along the strings of his guitar collection where she stops and stands still, admiring the way he’d had them hung on the wall, put in stands on the floor. Each piece of the room is a piece of Orpheus; kind, gentle Orpheus. Her eyes begin to mist at the sight of his favored guitar case lain open on the ground, the last ultrasound photo of their daughter tacked inside with care.
She finds herself on the couch without a second thought, lost in the sound of the music and the relative quiet of this neighborhood. Eurydice can hear the sound of Orpheus humming along to the record she’d chosen, his bustling in the kitchen. She considers getting up, walking the short distance and standing there with him while he cooks. Her body protests, having searched for this comfort that soothes her throbbing joints for so long. Her eyes close reflexively, the sounds and the warmth washing over her with a sense of irreplaceable peace.
He finds her like this; head leaned back on the sofa, one leg draped over the edge of the couch and the other neatly on it. Her hair has half-dried, puffed up and waved. The slightest bit of a snore accompanies her slow, even breaths, and Orpheus chuckles to himself as he listens to the sound. He does not want to wake her, but the couch leaves little room for her to move and his worry flies to her back, her neck.
He calls her name softly, one hand in her hair and his lips on her cheek. She groans, shifts her position and cracks her eyes open for just a second. She rubs at her eyes, yawning when she hears her name again.
“Do you want to eat?” He asks. She shakes her head, smiling apologetically.
“Just sleep,” she mutters, the grogginess evident in the light, slightly graveled tone of her voice. “So tired.”
“You need to go to bed, this couch is going to hurt your back.”
“Come with me?”
She lifts herself off of the sofa with a herculean effort, blinking back to the light of the room. He shuffles around, shutting off the lights and the music, wrapping up their food for another day. By the time he makes it to bed she’s half-asleep; eyes closed, limbs splayed out comfortably, one hand neatly lain across the little bump of her belly. Orpheus lays another blanket over her, brushes her flyaway hair from her eyes and kisses the cheeks that had been stained with tears. She feels his weight as he lays beside her, shuffles herself over until she’s pressed up against him. He settles quickly with her next to him again, listens to the music of her breathing.
Before he can fall fully asleep he can hear Eurydice whisper against the darkness, feel her kiss on his shoulder and the sigh of contentment that matches his.
She tells him she loves him, and he holds her closer as he whispers back to her.
I love you. You’re home.
#hadestown#hadestownmodern#orphydice#orpheus#eurydice#young orphydice#the fight#danielle writes#and posts to the wrong blog for the thousandth time
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Text
Monster Among Men - 05
word count: 1,115
~
Harlow
Oh my goodness, what have I gotten myself into? I'm getting coffee with Calum after he ruined my book? Okay I guess Lynn's confidence or something is finally rubbing off on me? I don't know.
During the drive to my apartment I started getting a little anxious, especially since Calum was behind be the whole time. This boy I just met is going to know where I live. What if everything goes terribly wrong and he shows up at my doorstep one day?
I part my car and Calum parks beside me. I watch as he quickly gets out of the car and comes over to me as I get out of mine. "You live here? In this building?" He asks a little surprised.
"Uhm...yeah, why?" I bite my lip as we walk in together.
"Because I live here too." He chuckles "I've never seen you though."
My eyes widen and I feel a blush on my cheeks. He lives here? In my building? How could I have not seen him before?
"Well, I stay in a lot, I usually only leave my apartment when I have to, like for work or groceries, or for Roman." I mumble and we step in the elevator together.
"Roman?" His eyebrows furrow in confusion. "My dog" I giggle softly
He smiles and nods, we get off the elevator and go down the hallway to my room. "I live on the floor above you by the way, so weird that we live in the same place." He chuckles
"Uhm yeah." I mumble and get to my door and quickly unlock it and Roman runs instantly to the us and he's extremely excited. "Oh my goodness! Hello sweet boy, have you been good this morning?" I pet my dog as Calum and I walk inside my apartment.
Roman comes over to Calum and attempts jumping on him and my eyes widen "Ro! Stop!"
"No, it's fine love, he's just excited" Calum laughs and pets Roman "Hey Roman, I'm Calum, you're such a good boy, isn't that right?" I watch in amusement as Calum baby talks my dog, it's kinda cute honestly.
"Well, um I've gotta walk him around a bit outside and then we can go." I mumble shyly and I watch as Calum's gaze diverts to me. "Okay."
...
"What kinda coffee do you drink?" Calum asks me as he drives. So far this drive has been pretty quiet and awkward, and Calum's music choice is...interesting? Very loud and angry sounding. Some of it also sounds really sad, but who am I to judge? I still listen to One Direction.
"Um I don't know...I like it hot or cold, I like creamer, no black coffee. That's just...ew." I give him a small smile and he laughs "So you basically just like that sweet shit that doesn't even taste like coffee?"
"No!" I laugh "I like it to still taste like coffee, just a little more sweet."
"I see" he responds with a smile and parks at the corner in front of the small coffee shop. I've never been to this one, Sugarplum Coffee House, the name is adorable though.
"You been here before babe?" He asks while watching me glance at the shop.
"Um, no, but the name is very cute." I bite my lip. "You're very cute too, but it's a nice place, good coffee, good cakes and shit." He says to me casually.
Cute? Me? No. I mean...I don't know? I feel my cheeks grow warm at his words. We get out of his car and walk in together, I'm not too surprised when I see he avoids opening the door for me, I don't mind, but he seems to be on a roll with his kind of "kindness." He's not been too extremely rude like yesterday and earlier. I suppose he is genuine.
Calum
Fuck I cannot wait to fuck her, such a good girl, with a little feisty side. I know if I wanna get what I want I have to play nice, at least a little. I bet she likes my attitude though, probably has dreamt of a "bad boy" and is living her teenage dream.
Despite wanting to get in her bed, she actually is pretty nice honestly. Very shy and kinda socially awkward which confuses me because I bet she has tons of friends. She's hot and reads books and has a dog. I dunno, it's still a little weird to me that we live in the same apartment complex.
If I knew this chick lived in the same building I'd have already slept with her multiple times. How could I have never seen her? Probably because she seems to hide in that fucking hoodie.
We sit at one of the booths across from one another and I watch as she awkwardly looks down at the table, avoiding my gaze.
"Who are you?" I ask her and her head snaps up in utter confusion.
"Um...Harlow?" Her eyebrows furrow and I chuckle.
"Let me rephrase that, who are you, meaning what do you like? How old are you? What don't you like? Hobbies? Music? Uh alcoholic beverages? Kinks?" I smirk, watching her cheeks turn a light pink shade, for what seems like the thousandth time today alone.
"W-well...um I'm 20, I obviously work at Tim's and The Dusty Covers, you met Roman...I don't really have any friends except for Lynn, but she lives far, far away...um I don't really have family either, never have, but I have Helena. I don't have or have ever had a boyfriend." She looks away from me
"People kinda keep their distance and I've grown up like that. I've never drank any alcoholic beverage before, I read and write every day. As for music, I love Jaymes Young and Harry Styles."
I nod at her answers. "You can't possibly have no friends or family. And you skipped a question love." I chuckle
"I am an orphan, my family left me when I was a young child and I moved around in foster homes my entire life. Nobody wanted me I guess, and I do have a friend. Lynn, and I suppose Helena too, she was my social worker." She shrugs, I notice she's becoming a little more comfortable, which is a relief.
"Oh, fuck I'm sorry...that must've sucked growing up....but any kinks?"
She giggles and rolls her eyes, "it used to bother me, but I'm twenty years old and I'm pretty content, and I purposely skipped that one Calum, it is none of your business.
"So the you do have kinks?" My smirk grows deeper
"No! I didn't say that!" She covers her face while I laugh
~
probably gonna post my michael fic soon as well, i’ve been getting a few likes on this fic so far, and with how new the blog is i think the amount of likes i’m getting is actually fairly good, especially with my sudden growth of new followers (thank you!!)
#monster among men#chapter 5#dazedbymalum#cth au#calum hood#5sos#5sos fanfic#calum hood fanfic#original fanfiction#5sos fanfiction#cth#luke hemmings#ashton irwin#michael clifford#5 seconds of summer#5 seconds of summer fanfic#au fanfiction#pls read#like#reblog#comment#send me asks#send me anons#send me feedback#thank you for the follow
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