threesecrets | open rp post;

open rp post;

+ Leave me a starter, an idea, whatever you like!
+ As always consider this your cw: weird kinks are possible

+ I ship pretty much whatever, though Gansey and Adam are of course favorites. m/m only

+ Hit me up on PM or Discord (thatwasdumb#0150) if you want to plot something.

No. It doesn't.

[He sharp blues flick to the twitch of Gansey's fists, then back to meet that way it feels almost like there's a glow in his hazel eyes. There's something uneasy about the moment, but it's a thrill, something dangerous. That way that his mouth shapes the words my dog and again, it's different on Gansey's tongue; a slight flash of teeth against Ronan's lips. That feeling of taking risks that makes his heart race. And it's all tangled up in the other boy and that makes it feel- better, somehow.

He could tack on explanations or reasons why; there's a handful of different justifications. But somehow that feels like it would just make it feel less honest. So he gives the answer to him bare, just like this.

Gansey is lovely like this, and it's hard not to focus on, to not feel trapped in his orbit, like he's drawn in easy as gravity. He doesn't remember moving, but he's a pace closer, and he can almost taste the shift in proximity. He watches with hawk-sharp attention the way he almost vibrates with the energy on the air, and Ronan's smile doesn't falter. He wants to hold onto this, onto him, for as long as he can possibly be allowed, a balm for that way he already aches for the loss of him.

He tilts his head a little as he watches Gansey, letting that silence stretch. There's that twist in his chest, a flutter of want and that's maybe the most dangerous part of all of this. Like this he's different from the Gansey that is all perfection, charm and control, where attraction was more like appreciation for a painting than something real. He doesn't feel any more attainable or less risky to touch- this is not like that moment in the Dollar Store. But there's nothing about this side of Gansey that isn't visceral, and it makes attraction burns down in veins, lurid with a feeling like he should be ashamed but isn't.]

And what about you?

[His voice is quiet and even between them, but he still feels reckless for asking when he hadn't bothered considering if he could handle having the answer. But one way or the other he has to face it now.

It doesn't bother him because it doesn't matter when it's Kavinsky saying it. Just another piece of bullshit on his mouth trying to spark a rise. It doesn't bother him because there's no part of the idea of being Gansey's dog that is an insult, or even untrue. If Gansey hadn't had his hand on the back of his neck and that edge on how he said his name that was all truth and surety, confident in all the ways that he faltered-- he would have torn himself apart with his own teeth. It doesn't bother him because it matters when it's Gansey saying it.]

[It isn’t the answer that Gansey expects. Ronan fights authority constantly. He flaunts breaking the law, adding each speeding ticket to the ever growing collection on his bedroom door. He snaps at Gansey if he tries to keep Ronan’s wilder impulses under control. He brawls with Declan whenever the elder tries to force Ronan into the expected, acceptable path. He should hate being referred to as anyone’s dog.

Even without that wildness, Ronan should hate what it implies. They both should. Blue would say it’s demeaning. Degrading. Adam would have a few carefully worded comments that would lead to another argument. Gansey knows it’s insulting. He knows he should hate it. They both should.

Except he can’t. Especially not on a night when tension winds his nerves tight. When his carefully created masks keep being stripped away by the possibilities that hum in the air. By the way Ronan keeps looking at him.

Jesus, he hadn’t had to deal with this for months. Actually, he had, but he’d always carefully contained those impulses and emotions, boxing them up and storing them away with the regrets and grief that he’d kept to himself for months. Now it’s like one of the punches he’d caught during one of the many Lynch brothers’ brawls he’d refereed. Leaving him aching and trying to catch his breath.]

Everything Joseph says bothers me.

[But he knows that isn’t what Ronan meant. This isn’t about Kavinsky, not really, at least not about his narrow minded insults. And neither is Gansey’s answer. Kavinsky bothers him. The way he can capture Ronan’s attention causes anger to simmer whenever his best friend disappears into the night. The way Ronan seems captivated - bewitched - by Kavinsky. Jealousy fuels hours of cardboard construction as he waits for Ronan to return. Each night he wonders if Ronan will return to what has to seem like a cage instead of whatever exotic endeavors Joseph promises.

He might have lied about it, about the yearning that he’d zealously quelled for months if Ronan hadn’t moved. He couldn’t stop himself from stepping forward, gaze briefly moving to teeth and lips before focusing on Ronan’s eyes, still trying to translate what was going on between them.

The barely contained energy that had snared him since their trip to the party demanded that he take another step closer. He’d never been able to resist Ronan. Not really. Not in any way that truly matters. Which is why he knows he can’t lie. Ronan will never forgive a lie, even if the turth might shatter everything between them. His breath seems to heavy in his chest, a struggle simply to turn thought to words.]

I hated him calling you a dog, but I liked the idea of you being mine.

That's why he says it.

[The way he says it is as even as he can manage, even if he feels compelled to point it out. There's adrenaline in his veins, and somehow, impossibly, standing here with Gansey feels like just as much of a high as being in his car, coming off a turn and watching the tachometer climb toward the red as he shifts the gear and feels it in his bones. This feels like an oncoming collision, but he can't step away from it, even when he can already feel the vibrations.

But that wasn't what either of them really meant, and Gansey knows it- they're talking around the edges of the things they never admit to. It makes his breath catch when Gansey takes a step in closer. Close enough that Ronan could almost touch, if he dared. It reminds him of the cars at Kavinsky's party; crashing, impact because they couldn't resist. Because sometimes it's worth it.

He doesn't quite know what he expected Gansey to say, what the real answer was behind the obvious. But this is somehow better, more raw- the way that he says mine curls deep in his chest, and Ronan doesn't step back from it. He tries to catch his breath, to breathe in the space between them, and the thrill of it curls a smile that's lopsided and indecent. It's the way that he says the words, but it's also the intention of it that hangs on the air. Wanting, and possessive and he doesn't know that he deserves it, but he can't help himself.

This is his favorite side of Gansey, but he still feels like something Ronan isn't quite allowed to have. It's just that the shape of it is different: less like he'll ruin him, cut him on his broken parts and leave smudged shapes of the monstrous parts of himself all over perfect, beautiful Gansey. And the idea that Gansey likes the thought of words like mine- makes it feel different. Less like a transgression.

So he bites his bottom lip, and lets his greedy fingertips press against the other boy's chest, tentative as a whisper. He doesn't quite know the right words, how to put the way his body hums with the want of it into something he can say outloud. He feels undone already, with his fingertips the only thing connecting them.

Maybe there aren't words for it. Blue eyes watching Gansey's hazel, and it feels like his heartbeat is in his throat, like he's wrecked.]

Gansey.

[That’s why he says it. It’s a simple observation, but one that warns him that he hasn’t been as cautious as he thinks. Joseph has seen what Gansey struggles to keep hidden. He’s seen the longing and want that’s kept carefully locked up while he provides the support that Ronan desperately needs as he grieves. Kavinsky knows his secret, prods it like a sore tooth to see which one of them will flinch away first.

It might work if they both didn’t so easily accept the roles that Kavinsky attempts to insult them with. But Joseph’s wrong. Ronan’s never been his dog. He’s more than that, the bond between them deeper than what Kavinsky can understand. Though that truth can’t seem to stop the way his heart beating with a completely inappropriate Mine. Mine. Mine..

Those words, the idea that Ronan might be his, draws him closer, the forbidden too tempting for Gansey to escape. He might have said the coveted word ‘mine’ aloud, but he isn’t certain. His pulse is too loud in his ears, drowning out everything but the sharp blue of Ronan’s eyes, the glance of teeth against Ronan’s lip, the provocative, provoking smile that Gansey never truly thought could be directed toward him.

He goes still when Ronan’s hand moves, breath hissing out in a needful sigh when fingertips alight onto his chest. The contact doesn’t seem to match Ronan nor the fire wrapped around Gansey's bones. His eyes close for a moment as he tries to memorize this strange, impossible moment. Then the illusion can be real. Ronan wanting him, wanting to be his. Something that seems surreal even as his eyes open and he sees some unknown emotion in Ronan’s gaze.

The possibilities that linger there and in the desperate sound of his name causes him to catch his fingers on the belt loops of Ronan’s jeans. Holding him close, but never binding him, never forcing him to be still. A silent request for Ronan to stay as Gansey makes a small sound at the way Ronan sounds undone by proximity and a few truthful words.]

Ronan.

[One word. A name. Simple with no implied threat, but Gansey knows how dangerous it is. Knows how easily he - they - could be hurt if he’s not careful.

Except standing so close to Ronan, feeling the warm of his fingers from the forbidden contact, he can’t quite remember why he’s supposed to keep his distance. Instead of stepping away, he smiles, bright and alluring, nervous hopes beating against his ribs.]

Would you mind being mine?

[If Ronan was honest with himself, he might be able to admit that there's something he likes about the words that Kavinsky implies about them sometimes. He knows better than to imply his own ownership of Ronan, so it's always this: always that he belongs to Gansey. And there's always been something about that which feels like comfort, safety. So he doesn't argue it, not really.

He swallows hard, something about the way that Gansey stills, his breath exhaling in a sigh as he touches him. It's too light for the heat that runs through them both, but Ronan's always been softer with how he handles Gansey than himself. He closes his eyes, and Ronan forgets to breathe, unsure if this is where the moment dies, where Gansey shoves all this fire back down inside of himself where it can't touch Ronan. If this is where he pulls away.

He watches Gansey as his eyes open, and there's a certain relief to the way that Gansey looks at him. They're hardly touching, and he still doesn't want to lose this moment. Not when he knows he's leaving in the morning, and he wants so dearly to just soak up every breath of the other boy he can get.

This is a new realization for Ronan, the way that Gansey sparks a feeling he can only name desire across his skin. He's been drowning for so much of the past two years, and grief and depression were selfish things that left him buried inside of himself. But before Niall had died there had been a magnetic sort of feeling there. It catches his breath as Gansey's fingers catch at his beltloops, but it doesn't feel restrictive- just like the other boy anchoring him right where Ronan wants to be.

The soft touch of his fingertips shifts and he curls his hand, catching the fabric of Gansey's shirt for something to hold on to. He feels undone, something in the way that he says his name and he can feel his heart race. They're too close, but he can't bring himself to care about that. Especially not when Gansey smiles at him; sunlight to go with the fire. The question is easy and difficult all at once. He knows the answer, but saying it isn't anything Ronan's ever been good with.]

Fuck Gans, I.. No, I wouldn't mind.

[He feels exposed with the words on the air, tilts his head down a little. He wants it. It feels almost more like putting words to something that's already been there in the background. Like the want that he'd almost forgotten until he'd seen Gansey all ruffled and imperfect under fluorescent lights.]

[There's dozens of reasons why he should let go of Ronan and step away. But if he'd never had the resolve to say no to Ronan, then he'd never find the willpower to let him go. Even at Ronan's worst, when the drinking and rage would have driven most sane people away, Gansey had stayed. He'd cared too much for Ronan to leave him at his worst. Why would he leave him now when so much potential lingered between them?

But he would leave, he realizes, pain razor sharp through his chest. Tomorrow he had to go to D.C. For the first time in years, he'd be away from Ronan for more than a day. The realization nearly stops his breath, his heart. It isn't permanent. He'll return after the weekend of deadly dull socials was over, but it feels like something will be irrevocably lost if Gansey stepoed away now, and then left for D.C.

The thought claws through him, fire and jealousy and want slamming his heart against his ribs, the rhythm painful, determined. His smile falters for a moment, then Ronan's answer careens through him. Something hot and possessive burns at the edges of his mind, tightens his fingers in the fabric beneath his hands. An entreaty more than a demand. The smile steadies, turnes into something nearly wicked at the word 'fuck'. It shouldn't effect him so much. Ronan swears constantly, but in this context, it seems more a possibility than an example of coarse language.

He feels something like the freedom he'd felt at Kavinsky's party. No masks. No Gansey III lies. Nothing but the two of them, the versions of themselves that no one else is allowed to see. The version that Gansey had never thought he'd be allowed to be, the one that might be able to have one of the things he'd wanted most.

Which is why he says what might be the most un-Gansey-like thing he'd ever put into words in his entire life.]

Usually, I don't do that on the first date, but I'd break that rule for you.

[Ronan might have let his thoughts linger on the fact that Gansey's leaving tomorrow, if not for the fact that they're so close and he can feel the way that his fingers tighten against him through fabric. His heart races, sure that he's crossing those lines they've both avoided for the past two years, and he doesn't think there's a way to take it back if it goes wrong. But there's something about the way that he smiles; wicked and almost possessive that burns in those hazel eyes, and God help him but Ronan wants it, craves it. It's impossible to focus on anything else except the heat and the tension and Gansey--

And then those fucking words come out of the other boy's mouth, and Ronan's breath catches. His blue eyes wide and his pupils blown, heat flushed against his cheekbones. He can't even remember how he's supposed to breathe, a shameless sort of whine in the back of his throat. In a different situation, on a different night, he would have laughed it off, maybe pointed out this is hardly their first date; all lifted eyebrows and a flash of teeth. But Ronan's ability to be that blase was entirely predicated on the assumption that Gansey didn't mean it, that this wasn't real.

Right now the words I liked the idea of you being mine still hangs too heavy on the air between them for the suggestion to feel like anything but truth.

Ronan knows he should say something, needs to say something before he takes it back. But he feels like a mess, flushed and his heart racing, like his ribcage is too small to contain the shape of this. The way that Ronan comes alive in a way he'd thought he didn't know how anymore. He smiles, but it's not a sharp thing, not bared teeth and pretending the words don't make him ache. Instead he's almost giddy, raw with his own want and the idea of Gansey's desire.

He lets his hands shift, trailing from his chest to curl his fingers against his biceps. Just to touch, to feel him under his hands as he leans into him.]

Yeah? [His brain is still sort of short-circuiting; clever responses aren't exactly his strength right now. He doesn't know how to say what he wants. He almost says something instead about how he's never done it on the first date either, and there isn't a rule he wouldn't break for Gansey. But it feels too casual, especially since the truth is that he hasn't done it at all, but he wants him with every beat of his heart.

He lets his hands slide up to the curve of Gansey's shoulders, watching him as his touch stills there. It feels risky, dangerous, and he can't stop from chasing his heart, even if it feels like stepping into dark water, not knowing how deep it goes. Something he wants without a name for it.]

If you don't want me to be your dog, tell me what I am.

[It's somehow heavier than he thought it would be, because the yours matters. Because usually tell me what I am are words that end up in his prayers. It's different, but not.]

[Even as he speaks, Gansey isn't certain of what Ronan's reaction might be. In some ways it's obvious that Ronan is attracted, but that doesn't mean that it's anything more than proximity and hormones. Ronan might react the same way to any boy that he didn't actively dislike if he was in a similar situation with that person. It doesn’t signify that Gansey is the one who had earned that desire, despite Ronan wanting to be his’.

At least not until Gansey’s avidly notices how Ronan’s eyes darken, the color that spills across pale skin that is far warmer than it should be even during a summer night in Monmouth. Even those signs might be ignored if Ronan hadn’t let out sound that Gansey’s only imagined, feeling ashamed every time he did, waiting for Ronan to somehow know when they start their mornings together.

His heart stumbles, hands trembling faintly, but the motion stilled by his grip on Ronan’s jeans as he waits for some sort of answer. It’d be easy for Ronan to step away and laugh this off. There’s a ready excuse waiting, stalking in the shadowy corners of the factory. He could claim that it was some lingering effect of Kavinsky’s party or too many sleepless nights. He could laugh and say that Gansey was being dramatic, even though they both know he’d never let his more passionate whims cross so many forbidden lines.

He can feel their confessions against their skin, pressing in way that could easily become too much and open wounds that would take weekss, if not months to truly heal. It makes his nerves feel stretched too tight, his resolve eroding away until he’s certain that he’ll have to back away, apologize, and flee to the familiar comfort of the Pig.

The smile eases the horrible dread, revealing something that Gansey hadn’t seen since he’d learned of Niall’s murder. This Ronan, the one caught lightly between his hands is a version that Gansey hasn’t seen before. A curious mixture of the Ronan of drag races and endless grieving rage and the boy who had laughed and sang at the Barns. The one who had offered Gansey a world of magic and acceptance that he hadn’t known that he needed.

Possessiveness and a wistful ache tumble together. His breath hitches, a faint shiver catching him off guard when Ronan’s hands move. This is too much like his most shameful fantasies for Gansey to keep his self control intact. He makes a noise that is hopeful and wistful as Ronan catches him, keeps him close, destroying what distance there is between them.]

Yeah.

[One simple word, sounding just as needy as Ronan’s whine. It’d be embarrassing if it weren’t for the potential binding them together. He leans into Ronan’s hands, gaze flickering to Ronan’s mouth, telling himself he can’t do more than look. Not yet. Not until he’s certain that Ronan feels the same way. That the desire that seems so obvious is meant for Gansey.]

I’m not sure what you are.

[No. That’s not true. Gansey knows. He just isn’t sure how to put it into words.]

But you were the one I yearned for, but never thought I could have.

[The words I'm not sure what you are almost make him falter for a moment, that uncertainty that for a moment he's not sure if it's rejection. But the ones that follow soothe the moment into something better. Better than the way he says yeah that sounds like it's all desire, the way that he admits he wanted him, and it unravels something in Ronan's heart.

He laughs, but it's soft sound- warm, not biting. A sound meant to draw him in, not push him away. Ronan's hands still curled against Gansey, like he's afraid that he'll pull away if he lets him go, even with those words on the air. It all feels so fragile, but he wants this, wants him.

He smiles, a little bit helpless, a slight shake of his head as he tries to articulate the way that he feels. The way that Gansey thinking he can't have him feels so impossible. He was perfect. Not in the way that most people saw him- flawless and picture-perfect, devoid of fears or insecurities, but in a way that was deeper than that, a way that meant more. Perfect in the ways that they fit together, in the way that Gansey's hands on him steadied him, that his voice leashed him when he needed it most.

But if they fuck this up, he's not sure if they get to go back. And that makes this dangerous, the sort of thing that Ronan should know enough to walk away from. But he doesn't. Especially not tonight, not after being at the substance party, at the way that Gansey still burned. This is risk and adrenaline and his pulse pounding in his veins and want, want, want.]

You can have me, if you want to.

[He says it before he can reconsider, before he can tell himself why it's a stupid idea, or why he doesn't deserve to say it. He feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin, on edge and doesn't know how to handle the feeling of it. That way the ache, the need of it clutches in his chest. He wants Gansey, he's always wanted him in the moments where the idea of wanting was something he could parse. He lets his fingers shift a little, not pulling away but just stroking against the shape of his shoulders as he feels electric so close to Gansey.]

I want to hear you say I'm yours.

[He meets his eyes, Ronan's blues unsteady, and his pulse feels like thunder. He's greedy and he knows it, and he lets Gansey see it in his eyes. It's lust and desire, but it's focused. It's all his, if he wants it. It feels like stepping onto a ledge and not being sure if it'll collapse under his weight or not. If Gansey will catch him or not. But it's truth, raw and real. All the things he usually doesn't have the courage to say, and he doesn't know if this is courage or stupidity or just helpless magnetism.]

[That smiles leaves Gansey breathless, hope making him feel like he's incandescent. It's something he'd been so certain that was lost that he's almost helpless before it. The shake of Ronan's head doesn't distract him since he knows that it isn't a refusal. It's something else. Ronan clearing his head or driving away the shadows that had stalked them both for the past two years.

He feels too alive, too real for this to end with a refusal. Ronan wouldn't have said that he wouldn't mind being Gansey's if he would turn him down a few moments later.

Hope hooks itself into his heart, painful but wonderful. This is better than seeing the Pig for the first time. Or finding some proof that his theories about Glendower are true. This is something far more magical than ley lines and lost kings.

He smiles foolishly as Ronan's hands move, ridiculously pleased that Ronan wants to touch him in ways that weren't just meant for friendship. Then the idea of having Ronan conjures up the fantasies that he's felt so guilty for. Tugging gently on Ronan's jeans, he pulls him closer, tipping his head up as he lets out a shaky breath.]

Jesus, Ronan. I've wanted...

[His voice trails off when he realizes how helpless he sounds. How needful. He isn't ashamed of it, but it's so rare that he gets to allow himself to be himself instead of the role he plays that he doesn't know how to continue.

Swallowing hard, he knows the words will shatter if he doesn't regain some control, but Ronan's eyes are bright with desire. His words ones that Gansey's craved almost since they'd met. Gansey has always tried to be less selfish but there's one thing - no, one person - that he could never stop himself from wanting to keep for himself.]

You're mine, Ronan.

[The words sound like they've almost been ripped from him, possessive and demanding. The declaration seems to fill all the hollow spaces around them, a command from a fable pushing back the doubt and darkness. He wants to take, dragging what he wants into the open, but he waits, knowing that this has to be both their choices. If he is a king, he isn't a conqueror. Ronan has to agree before Gansey can have more.]

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open rp post;

sorry for the fragment before, cat jumped on the keyboard, oops

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