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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough Am I giving enough Have I paid my debts Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker - and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

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mypersonmyg · 4 years

Text

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight, tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon.

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent.

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece.

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.”

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?”

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.”

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?”

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.”

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art.

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks.

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway.

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now.

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you, Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek.

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust.

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts.

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded.

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.”

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms.

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due.

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit.

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure.

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze.

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you.

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with a countering taunt.

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots.

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe.

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses.

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest.

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.”

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling.

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete.

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.”

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity.

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas.

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms.

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence.

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival.

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you.

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord.

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink, already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile.

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity.

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door.

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance.

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.”

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--”

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you.

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation.

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil.

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission.

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat.

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago. “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?”

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks.

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down.

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans.

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion.

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space.

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud.

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning.

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe.

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?”

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.”

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?”

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.”

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop.

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown.

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it.

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay.

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.”

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.”

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest.

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare.

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed.

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above.

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo.

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find.

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.”

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work.

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.”

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf.

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent.

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine.

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix.

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied.

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.”

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum.

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.”

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays.

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips.

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!”

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.”

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry.

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute. “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.”

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth. “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?”

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!”

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place. In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside.

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud.

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work.

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so.

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.”

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face.

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders.

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?”

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?”

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles.

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.”

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?”

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.” Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago.

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin.

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff.

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.”

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk.

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.”

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest.

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance.

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello.

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance.

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page.

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you.

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here.

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you.

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf.

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.”

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour.

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor.

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving.

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance.

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk.

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length.

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.”

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.”

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.”

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?”

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again.

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take.

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran.

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?”

“What do you know about my meeting?”

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits.

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him.

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?”

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded.

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids.

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest.

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.”

“Scared of needles?”

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.”

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier.

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you.

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.”

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived.

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him.

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from.

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?”

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.”

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him.

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?”

“Hm?”

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly.

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more.

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.”

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…”

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…”

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind.

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.”

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye.

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern.

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken.

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you.

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…”

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?”

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much.

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!”

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold.

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture.

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…”

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…”

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth.

“Why are you opening a tea shop?”

“What?”

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?”

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.”

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.”

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?”

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.”

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?”

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules.

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.”

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.”

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?”

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.”

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.”

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes.

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible.

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange.

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung.

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you.

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.”

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom.

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home.

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils.

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.”

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away.

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up.

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response.

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone.

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time.

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa.

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening.

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.”

“You think so?”

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…”

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago.

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.”

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.”

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space.

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?”

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.”

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.”

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner.

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you.

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.”

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.”

“I don’t yell at Jimin!”

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.”

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk.

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going."

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.”

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…”

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.”

“You guys didn’t have to.”

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous.

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.”

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.”

“Or...you could come?”

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence.

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.”

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud.

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.”

“I promise I won’t be long.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, we smile.

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jjk fluff #bts au #jungkook au #bts s2l #jungkook s2l

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girlpornparadise · 4 years

Text

Out and About (pt3)

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader (Narcos)

Word Count: ~2400

Warning: I write smut people.

You can read Part 1: At Your Doorstep and Part 2: Atop the Office. It’ll make a lot more sense that way.

Gif @el-cheung

Having missed breakfast for the second day in a row, you sit at your desk downing cup after cup of tea.

Javier passes your desk and stops. He notices the jacket that usually lives on the back of your chair buttoned up, carefully hiding the barely work appropriate sundress underneath. He smirks. "Fun night?"

He's seen the walk of shame, done the walk of shame many times before. He knows.

You can't help but smile to yourself as you remember Horacio's lips brushing against yours.

Javi catches your wistful movements and decides not to pry further. As he walks away you giggle to yourself.

You look around surreptitiously and reach into your purse. You take out the note, and run your eyes across it once more, a sacred text that feels even more religious each time you see "ángel" written on the page. You may not have wings, but it feels like your heart does, and they're making it soar.

You want to tell everyone, scream it from the rooftops as it were, but you know what you're doing, though not forbidden in writing, is certainly taboo.

You're privy to important information and don't want anyone to think you're influenced by him in any way. He also has a reputation to maintain of being above reproach. No, this will have to remain quiet.

In your haste you hadn't made any concrete plans, but felt brighter about the future. This wasn't a quick fling, you weren't a mere plaything. You were his ángel.

The day would have been painfully slow if you weren't so distracted by infatuation. You gaze dreamily at nothing between writing reports. You hum to yourself as you tap at the letters. You sigh contentedly each time you return to your desk and see the note peeking out of your purse.

Finally, mid afternoon just as you're starting to get a little sleepy, something worth noting happens. Your phone rings and the voice you've been swimming in the recollection of filters through.

"This is Colonel Carrillo calling from Search Bloc. Thank you for bringing by the reports yesterday on such short notice."

"Certainly sir." You reply, emphasizing and raising your eyebrows with the word sir.

"I'll need you to bring the day's reports again. There's some vital information I'm waiting on. Make sure you bring any reports containing the word "ángel" as they are very important to my case."

You smile at his cheekiness. At the embassy all of your calls are recorded so an open conversation is out of the question, but the use of his word, your word makes your heart jump.

"I'll bring those by as soon as they're completed. Is there anything else you need?"

"No, that will be all, thank you."

He hangs up abruptly, not to be rude, but to avoid any suspicion. You would have stayed on the line like a "No, you hang up!" teenager, so it's for the best.

You squeal internally to yourself about having another date night, and start leafing through the take out menus in your desk drawer to decide what "files" would be best tonight.

You decide on a little place that does burgers that you've eaten at too many times alone.

As the clock ticks down the final minutes of the day, somehow impossibly slowly, you start to gather your things, being sure to safely tuck away the note to leave it unblemished. You make sure you have your badge with you for tonight's delivery as well as your keys.

You grab your purse and walk home with an unusual spring in your step. You're glad to get through the door and into your sanctuary. You can finally get out of that dress and you hop in the shower. Though you'd been enjoying the subtle scent of him on you all day, it's a relief to be clean and refreshed.

You put on your next best sundress and a light application of makeup and prepare to pick up the "files" that will no doubt smell of beef and French fries.

You gather your purse and keys and head for the door when there's a knock. You peer through the peephole and instead of a green uniform, you're met by the sight of a cornflower blue button up and a pair of khakis.

You'd expected to have a few more minutes to mentally prepare for your date, but his spontaneity makes you smile. When you open the door, you're grinning at him.

"I thought that maybe sitting at a table full of files instead of a desk full of actual files would be a better way to spend the evening."

He clearly has something in mind, and you see no reason to object. "Lead the way."

The restaurant is further afield than you normally venture, but you know it's to prevent prying eyes from your combined world from seeing you together.

You laugh when you arrive. It's a burger joint, a touch nicer than the one you had in mind. Great minds think alike you suppose.

"What's so funny?" He asks, worried maybe he made the wrong choice in restaurants.

"I've just been craving a good burger all afternoon."

"Then maybe I'm psychic." He laughs.

The meal is exactly what you wanted, and admittedly a better burger than you had planned. The conversation is more animated than previously, maybe because you're out in public at a reasonable time of day. There's still plenty of work talk, but you get to know a little more about him too. Talking about himself, he understandably plays it close to the (tac) vest. He's in a position where knowing too much about him could leave him vulnerable to the lowest of the low. But he wants to open up to you, and gives you a general rundown of his family, his childhood and the hobbies he wished he had time for. You reciprocate in turn and feel like this is blossoming into a relationship and not just a physical force of nature.

That force of nature returns as he reaches across the table to hold your hand and you feel the electricity run through you. You blush ever so slightly as your eyes meet his in a slow, longing sort of way. You notice his chest rise and fall subtly beneath his shirt and can tell he has the same conclusion to the evening in mind as you do.

He pays the entire bill despite your gentle protest and you thank him for the meal. You walk back to his Jeep and pick your way back to his place. He can't help but smile to himself as you hum along to the radio despite clearly not knowing the song very well.

From the outside, his home is modest and neatly maintained and you wonder how he finds the time. You picture him mowing the lawn, though he probably hires someone else to do it. The thought makes you smile nonetheless.

As he ushers you in, a little quickly to avoid prying neighbours, you take in the interior. It's beige like his pants and sparsely furnished and decorated. Typical of a busy military man you suppose. He offers you a seat on the couch and disappears into the kitchen. He returns with a whiskey tumbler full of presumably whiskey, and a second one with what you find out to be vodka soda after a sip.

"Cheers."

You clink glasses.

The alcohol slowly disappears as the natural light outside dims and the streetlights come on. The conversation has slowed and a peaceful quiet descends on the home.

"Can I get you another?" He's practically whispering at this point.

"No, I'm fine thanks." You say, your eyes lidded from the alcohol and the general mood.

He rests his hand on your knee and leans in closer.

Your breathing quickens in anticipation of his next move.

He subtly moistens his lips and leans in even closer. He kisses you softly on the cheek, lingering against you for a long moment. You raise your hand to rest on his opposite shoulder. When he pulls back, he gazes deep into your eyes, searching them for emotion. In them he sees desire. Not desperate and firey, but needing him to return the comfort and compassion you afforded him that first night together. In his eyes you see his desire as well, a desire to please, a desire to mirror you so that you can act as one.

He keeps his movements slow, deliberate but not teasing. He moves his hand from your knee to brush at your blushing cheek and can feel the heat radiating off of you. It is you who leans in next and plants a kiss on his slightly open lips. Your tongues find each other and intertwine, dancing to a slow rhythm as your breathing slows to match his. As the song you both feel but neither can hear ends, he pulls back from you. Your hands migrate to his collar and trace it down to the top button of his shirt. You unbutton it carefully working your way down his torso over his abdomen, to untuck it from his pants. While you work to remove his shirt, his hands sneak up past the hem of your dress to caress your outer thighs. Your hands drag up his undershirt over every inch of muscular stomach and chest back to his shoulders where your hands sneak beneath the opening of his shirt. You coax it off of his shoulders and his arms fall to his sides, allowing you to rub down his biceps and to remove the shirt entirely. It is discarded on the floor as an encumbrance to your intimacy.

He hands return to seeking your softest skin beneath your dress, and your breathing trembles as he passes over the sensitive skin that craves his touch.

He works his way upward, over the panties covering your hips, and along the sides of your waist. As he reaches your bra covered ribs, you raise your arms to accommodate him pulling the dress over your head.

You reciprocate by running your hands under the hem of his undershirt, again taking your time to let your fingers map each muscle as you raise it to his chest and as he raises his arms, over his head. It joins his shirt on the floor.

He regards you, taking in your curves, the soft flush of your skin from the alcohol and the desire. You take in his firm body, your eyes dragging along each hard edge that defines his physique.

Your eyes return to each other's and all you can hear are your breaths mingling in the heavy air.

"Hermosa" he whispers.

As your lips open and shut as you try to find a response, he silences your uncertainty with another kiss. While your lips press firmly to their counterparts, he releases your bra. You let him remove it and throw it on the growing heap of clothing on the floor.

His hand cups your breast and he swipes his thumb across your nipple, it hardens at his touch and you gasp. He massages your breast while leaning into you, over you, using his mass to coax you downwards until you're laying back on the couch lengthwise.

While you watch him stand and remove his belt, pants and boxers, you pull down your panties and toss them aside. You are both now fully nude and your combined lust mounts as he all but dives on top of you.

You spread your legs to allow him access to your center and he positions himself to align with your body. Leaning on his elbows, he holds your face so he captures your full attention. His thumbs smooth the hair back over your temples as he watches you. You scrunch your eyes together as he enters your body and you whimper as his length slowly fills you.

You grasp at his back and your knees bend upwards to grip at his sides, while he rhythmically draws in and out of you. You rock your hips to his pace and he studies your ever changing expression. Little gasps and whimpers escape you as he presses into your pleasure, and you hear his breath crack softly as he feels your walls tremble around him.

As your breathing quickens and you gasp for air, he increases his pace. He kisses your face lightly.

"Oh god." You say in a voice you don't control.

He takes that as his cue to press into you harder, each thrust more deliberate than the last. Your legs begin to tremble and he can see your face begin to tense and slacken in ecstasy.

"Oh god." Your exclamation louder this time.

For an instant, your whole body tenses and you cry out as waves of pleasure radiate from your core. Every part of you then relaxes for an instant while the thrusts continue.

You can tell he's close, and you bear down to aid his release. His cry is broken as his few final thrusts press at your center. He spills his cum into you and you smile, knowing you caused such a pleasurable act.

He collapses on top of you and his weight grounds you to the reality of him. That despite the floating, swimming sensation you are feeling, you are in his home and he is at home within you.

A few moments pass and he pulls away, leaving you dripping with his cum. For a second he admires his work, and silently excuses himself to get something to clean up with.

The warm washcloth beneath his strong, gentle hands is almost more intimate than what just occurred, showing a regard for your comfort and wellbeing. He takes you by the hands and lifts you off the couch, and pulls you into a deep satisfying kiss.

"Come to bed ángel." He says leading you up the stairs to his room.

You collapse into his bed and he comes back from his bathroom with a glass of water. You sip it gladly, and placing it on the nightstand lay your head against the pillow. He tucks in next to you and smooths a stray hair away from your forehead, which he then kisses.

You both lay back and let the quiet night lull you to sleep.

#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #colonel carrillo #smut #fic #softie

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the-sympathetic-villain · 4 years

Text

You Belong With Me - Chapter 30

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.

Word Count: 7859

Chapter Warnings contain major spoilers so they’re at the end! Scroll to the bottom and check them if you need to! Thanks :)

“Stay here and stay out of the way. I'll be back as soon as I know where princey is. Got it?”

Logan nodded, stepping to the side of the door as he watched the flurry of the infirmary bustle around them. The atmosphere of the infirmary held a somber tone as people rushed back and forth past them. He could feel his hands shaking as he stared at the the nurses' faces as they silently moved around the room. Aside from the hushed whispers of the staff and the quiet tapping of feet on the stone floor, no sound filled the air and the silence was truly unsettling.

“Patton, I'm going to find Thomas.” Virgil muttered, eyes tracing the various people shuffling about the room. “I'll try to keep him at a distance, but if I can't, you need to act natural and not draw attention to yourself.”

“I know, kiddo. Don't worry about me.” Patton whispered seriously. “Go find him.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I know something.” Virgil put a hand on Patton’s shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Patton stepped back against the wall, pulling Logan with him. Logan numbly followed him as he anxiously ran his thumb along his wrist.

“Why is it so quiet, Pat?” Logan whispered, looking down at Patton nervously.

“I'm not sure, Lo. I've come up here before to deliver supplies and I've never seen this place so quiet before.” Patton whispered back as he watched the ominous procession of healers about the room. “That doesn’t mean anything bad has happened to Ro though, kiddo.”

Logan paused, looking down at the nervous look in Patton’s eyes and guessed Patton was trying as much to convince himself of this as he was Logan. “What do you think he did to Roman, Pat?”

Patton chewed on his lip nervously before looking up at Logan. “I think he compelled him, Lo.”

Logan took in the serious look on Patton’s face for a moment. “What does that mean?”

“The ability to compel is one of the main reasons many humans fear fae.” Patton muttered, peeking at a bundle of herbs in a nurse's hand as they passed by b looked up at Logan. “Fae are sensitive to the world around them and can manipulate nature to their will. They can make plants grow faster or elements obey them.” Patton sighed. “Compelling is when a fae uses that ability to control a human being.”

Logan tensed, crossing his arms. “Control them how?”

Patton looked up at Logan with a sympathetic smile. “Now, kiddo. Don't go jumping to conclusions. Compelling humans to do things is frowned upon, even by the fair folk. Most of them don't even use their abilities to control plants and animals because of their beliefs. Without a good reason for compelling a human, the fae courts will punish them severely."

Logan remained tense, watching Patton carefully. “You didn't answer my question, Pat.”

“I know, Lo. I just don't want you getting any ideas in your head that they're bad people just for having the abilities they do.” Patton’s lip curled into a small knowing smile. “Fae can compel humans to do nearly anything—”

Logan grimaced.

“—but Lo, that doesn't mean they use this power to hurt people.”

Logan averted his gaze as he crossed his arm. “But this is what you think Dee did to Roman?”

“Maybe, kiddo.” Patton frowned. “It's the only reason I can imagine that Roman would be resisting the king bringing him into custody, but it's a serious crime.”

Logan sighed, feeling his muscles droop with exhaustion. “So is kidnapping the crowned prince, Pat.”

“Not exactly, Lo.” Patton stepped out of the way as a healer hustled by, muttering under her breath. He turned to Logan and whispered quietly. “Fae are not bound by our law the same way we are. A human would be put to death for kidnapping Roman."

Logan looked up at Patton stiffly. “And a fae wouldn’t?”

Patton shook his head, keeping his voice low. “No. The Fae have their own courts. The king wouldn't risk the wrath of the fair folk by putting one of theirs to death.”

“So, even the king fears them?" Logan’s skin prickled uncomfortably. "That’s—”

"Hey!" Patton suddenly looked at him with a horrified expression. “Stop that, Lo!”

With a pause, Logan looked up in surprise as Patton took his hand from his arm. He looked down to see he'd dug his fingernails into his arm. Thankfully, Patton seemed to have stopped the subconscious habit before he drew blood. He forced himself to relax, glancing up at Patton’s horrified expression.

“Patton, I'm sorry.” Logan flushed with embarrassment. “I-It’s a bad habit.”

Patton looked up at him . “What do you mean habit?”

Logan took a breath as Patton gently rubbed his arm. “Our day was…eventful and I tried to sleep earlier, I really did, but I couldn’t seem to distract myself from thoughts of what may be happening to Roman while we slept.”

“That doesn’t explain why you called it a habit, Lo.”

Patton’s wide-eyed stare made Logan cringe with shame. Guilt made his heart beat quickly in his chest as Patton stressed over him. “I know it make no sense for me to be doing it now, but I got in the habit of digging my nails into my arm to keep myself awake—so Remus couldn’t catch me off guard when he came into the—

A loud crash shattered the silence around them and Logan flinched as the loud sound racked his body. His knees nearly collapsed from the shock as the loud metallic clang echoed of the stone walls. Patton’s arms reached around him, supporting him.

He glanced up. All movement in the room had stopped and everyone had stopped to stare at a very apologetic looking apprentice staring helplessly at the mess he made as the rest of the room watched him. Logan stared blankly for a moment before Virgil’s muffled voice filled the air.

“What are you all looking at?” He growled at the staring crowd. “Get back to your jobs and leave the kid alone.”

The crowd quickly dispersed at his command, hanging their heads as they went back to their work. The young apprentice collected the items from the tray and cleared the mess. Logan watched as Virgil stopped to briefly reassure the shaking child before turning towards to rush towards them.

Logan didn't miss the way Virgil’s eyes looked him up and down as he approached. His eyes flitted to Patton for a moment, looking for answers before turning back Logan. “You good, L?”

“I'm fine.” Logan stood up off Patton, forcing himself upright.

“Are you sure?” Virgil stepped closer, putting a hand on Logan's shoulder. “You’re looking kind of pale.”

“My discomfort is manageable.” Logan waved away his concern. “Where is Roman?”

Virgil glanced at Patton for help, but Patton merely nodded with a subtle smile. “Fine.” Virgil sighed. “We're going to see him, but from what I've heard so far, he's really sensitive and we do have to be careful not to set him off.”

“Do they know what the fae did to him, Virge?” Patton anxiously tapped his fingers on his forearm.

“Thomas' healers have an idea, but I want to see what you think before we talk this through.” Virgil paused, crossing his arms as he looked to them both. “Sound okay?”

For the first time, Logan noticed a hesitancy in Virgil’s demeanor as he shifted back on his feet. He straightened, watching Virgil carefully. “That sounds agreeable. Vee, is there something else?”

“I'm not sure what we’re walking into, L. He's not in a good place." Virgil attempted a reassuring smile. "Thomas—uh, he had to have princey restrained.”

There was a long beat before Logan could speak again. He stared at Virgil’s attempt at reassurance, noting the stiffness in his movements. “Why?”

“Princey's been putting up a fight about being here. He hasn't said much about what happened, but he's hurting.” Virgil crossed his arms, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Is it really best for us to visit him in this condition?” Logan wondered out loud, anxiety prickling under his skin he took on Roman’s words.

“Yes,” Virgil stepped closer, whispering under his breath as he watched the rest of the room bustling around him. “Whatever happened was the doing of a fae. So, given this guy's treatment of me earlier, I assume we’re probably going to need a little fae intervention to remedy the situation.”

Logan nodded stiffly.

“I'm sorry to put that on you again, L,” Virgil put a hand on his shoulder gently. “but this bastard doesn't seem to want Roman dead, so my only assumption is that the game he's playing still revolves around you.”

“Your assumption seems sound,” Logan looked over at Virgil cautiously. The level of control he had over his newfound abilities gave him pause, but much like Virgil before, Dee wasn't giving him another option. Logan sighed before attempting a smile. “Of course, if I can help, I'm happy to do whatever I can for him.”

“We'll figure it out together, Lo.” Patton whispered encouragingly.

Virgil smiled, wrapping his arm around Logan as he started to guide them through the crowd. “Thomas agreed to give us a few minutes on our own with him. He's been in and out of princey’s room a few times, but leaving Roman alone seems to have been the only way they've been able to keep him calm.”

“Is Thomas with him now?” Patton whispered seriously.

“He'll be close. Chances are we good we'll run into him.” Virgil glanced at Patton’s nervous expression and slowed his pace. “It's okay if you want to keep your distance, Pat. I can come back and give you an update in—”

“No. It’s okay, Virge.” Patton gently waved at him to keep up his pace. “I want to be there for Roman—and for Lo. I want to be there to help if I can.”

“Okay." Virgil nodded, increasing his pace as Thomas came into view. “It’s your call, Pat. I just want you to be sure.”

Logan lifted his head to watch the king pacing in the narrow corridor ahead of them. He demeanor seemed agitated, though Logan could hardly fault him for his apparent frustration.

“Keep you voices down.” Virgil whispered. “Princey's pretty sensitive to sound at the moment.”

Logan nodded, crossing his arms as they drew near the king. He snuck a glance at Patton as Virgil detached from his shoulder. Despite his detached expression, Logan could feel waves of anxiety radiating off of him as he timidly stepped forward. With a reassuring smile, Logan reached out to touch Patton’s forearm. He smiled as Patton’s anxiety wavered and he looked up to return Logan’s smile.

“Virgil.” The king looked up, visibly less tense as Virgil approached.

“Thomas,” Virgil nodded his head in a quick bow and the others followed suit, stopping just behind him. “Has there been any change?”

Thomas sighed, running a hand through his golden-brown hair. Logan noticed his appearance was considerably more disheveled since their last meeting. Stress flickered in his eyes as he looked at Virgil. “Nothing worth noting. He’s still being resistant, but at least for now, he seems to have quieted.”

“We're going to help him, Thomas. I promise.” Virgil took a step closer and put his hand on Thomas’ shoulder. Logan couldn’t help but stare at the small act of familiarity, still mesmerized by Virgil’s openness with the king.

“Do you have a plan?” Thomas whispered. Logan could hear a tinge of sadness in his voice as he looked nervously at Virgil.

“Not exactly, but Logan has had some experiences with this particular fae,” Virgil glanced over his shoulder and Logan tensed as Thomas’ gaze turned to him. “I think we'll be able to piece together a solution once we see Roman.”

“You've met this fae before?”

Logan nodded tensely, skin prickling at the hope in Thomas' voice. “Our interactions were not pleasant, but I can only hope I gleaned enough information to make a difference.”

“It was Logan who tipped me off to the guy being fae in the first place.” Virgil whispered with a faint, proud smile.

“It was noth—” Logan’s thought was stopped abruptly as the king's arms reached around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He froze, awkwardly stiff as the king squeezed him tightly.

“Thank you, Logan.” Logan relaxed slightly at the gentleness in the king's voice. Raw emotion radiated off of him and Logan’s breath caught in his throat as Thomas’ gratitude seeped into him. “You've brought my son home to me, not once, but twice now.”

“Truly, it is my honor to serve him, your majesty." Logan whispered breathlessly as the king released him.

“What you’ve done goes beyond service. It is kindness, Logan.” Thomas smiled gently at him. "and I couldn't be happier that Roman has you on his side."

Heat rushed to Logan’s cheeks at the praise and he dipped his head. “T-thank you, sir.”

“Please, call me Thomas. You've more than earned that right. If you ever need for anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” He waited for Logan to nod before turning to Patton with a curious glance. “I don’t believe we've met.”

“My name is Patton. I’m—” Patton whispered.

“Oh yes! I've been meaning to see you for a long time!” Thomas exclaimed quietly. He paused as Patton flinched visibly at the sound. He softened his voice putting a hand on Patton's shoulder. “You're Danu's prodigy.”

Patton stared blankly at Thomas until Logan nudged him with his elbow. His heart fluttered as he nodded slowly at Thomas.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting you.” Thomas smiled with a glance at the door behind him. “Every time I have tried, it seems that my son would bring an issue to my attention that demanded my immediate attention. I do apologize for my negligence, but the greenhouses have thrived under your care, and I've had no urgent reason to visit.”

“Thank you, sir.” Patton whispered. “I am grateful you have agreed to let me continue to practice in my master's position.”

“I must admit, I thought the underworld itself had frozen over when Danu told me she was stepping down, but I knew she would not leave the greenhouses in the hands of someone she did not trust.” Thomas paused with a sad smile on his face. “I do miss her presence in the castle, but she would be proud of the work you've done in her absence.

Patton smiled proudly. He dipped his head in solemn fondness of the memories playing in his head. “I miss her too, but it is an honor to receive your praise for what she taught me.”

“It is my pleasure,” Thomas smiled at Patton. For a moment, something more seemed to flicker in Thomas' eyes as Logan watched him, but as quick as it was there, it was gone, leaving Logan wondering if he'd seen anything at all. The somber expression was quickly replaced by a playful smirk. “I also assume that the many times my son and Virgil have disappeared from the infirmary, they were in your care?”

Patton flushed nervously, dropping his gaze to the ground. “Yes, sire.”

“Thomas is fine.” Thomas quickly reassured him. “Quite honestly, I feel better knowing they were with you. I have no doubt they were in good hands if Danu trained you.”

Patton smiled and Logan feel a subtle glimmer of pride surge through Patton at Thomas’ confidence in him. “She taught me so much. I was lucky to have her.”

Thomas smiled gently at him, before turning back to Virgil. “I hate to take my leave now, but I have to relieve my husband. Sending out the alarm on Roman upset some members of the court and I left him at their mercy. If they haven’t eaten him alive yet, I think he'd very much like to see his son.”

“Go, Thomas. We've got princey.” Virgil urged. “We'll send word if we make progress. I promise.”

“At least one of you will stay with him until his father arrives?” Thomas pressed. Logan shivered as the anxiety he had felt from Thomas before they’d arrived seemed to resurface at the prospect of leaving. It radiated off him in waves, nearly knocking the breath out of Logan.

“You have my word, Thomas. Roman is safe with us.” Virgil reassured him.

“Thank you, Virgil.” Thomas whispered gratefully. “All of you, thank you.”

Logan smiled at the king as he turned to leave. The nervousness still radiated off of him, but he could feel that the king seemed to trust that Roman was in good hands. He made his way down the corridor, casting one last worried glance at the trio before disappearing around the corner.

“Are you ready, L?”

Logan’s eyelids felt heavy as he stared after Thomas, but his mind suddenly buzzed with anxious thoughts at the idea of seeing Roman again.

“We're going to be with you the whole time, kiddo.”

He felt Patton’s hand on his shoulder as he stared down at his trembling hands. He tucked his hand into his sides as he crossed his arms. “I’m fine. Let's help Roman.”

“Okay. If you need to duck out, that's fine too.” Virgil put a hand on the door, glancing back at them seriously. “Stay quiet and be gentle with him. Whatever is going on, he's sensitive and we need to be careful not to antagonize his discomfort.”

He waited for affirmation from Logan and Patton before turning the door handle. Logan watched as Patton followed him quietly through the door behind him.

Logan stopped just behind Patton, pausing in the doorway as he allowed his eyes to gradually adjust to the dark room. His heart twisted with guilt as he took in the sight before him. The curtains were closed, allowing only the thinnest sliver of light to illuminate the room. He shuddered at the sight Roman was propped up stiffly on pillows against the headboard of the bed. The blankets beneath him were untouched as he sat on top of them. His muscles were tense and he was clearly awake, yet Logan was unnerved by the unnatural stillness of his body on the bed.

He absently started to push the door shut, stopping immediately as Roman's face scrunched in discomfort at the groan of the door. Virgil's head snapped to Logan, waving at him to leave the door open. Logan nodded as he pulled his hand from the door, leaving it open as he stilled to watch Virgil step lightly toward Roman. Virgil stopped at the edge of his bed as Patton and Logan watched quietly from across the room. He’d only just opened his mouth to speak when Roman interrupted him.

“I know you’re there, Virge.”

The whisper was weak. Even from across the room, Logan could hear the exhaustion in his voice. His heart ached as he watched Virgil lower himself down into the chair next to Roman.

“What do you need from us, princey?”

“Quiet.”

Virgil paused, before continuing in a soft whisper. “Do you want us to leave?”

Roman stiffly shook his head. The movement was so minute Logan felt he could have blinked and missed it. Logan felt an ache deep in his chest at the pained expression on Roman’s face as he moved.

“What happened, princey?”

“Bastard caught me off guard.” Roman grimaced, face contorting in pain. “One look in his eyes and—”

“Don't push yourself, princey.” Virgil leaned forward. “Let’s focus on fixing it and then we can worry about the details. What's wrong?”

“Feel everything.” Roman whispered through gritted teeth. “Too much.”

Logan watched as Patton perked up at that statement. He looked back at Logan before stepping forward, staying light on his feet as he approached the side of the bed. “Hey, kiddo. I think I know what happened, but I need you to answer a few questions. Did the fae control you with just a glance?”

Roman gave a small pained nod.

"Okay, kiddo." Patton thought for a moment. "So, he mesmerized you and got you away from Logan and Virgil, but this couldn't have started then. He needed you to be able to move while he had you." Patton paused. "Ro, did he tell you to open your senses just before they arrested him?"

Roman sucked in a shallow breath as he gave another quick nod.

“Good job, Ro. Just hold on a little longer." Patton whispered. “We can fix this.”

A soft gasp of relief escaped Roman as he continued to sit still on the bed.

“Don't touch him, Virge.” Patton smiled faintly at Virgil's worried expression as he turned and moved back to Logan. Silently, he pulled Logan out of the room and leaned into his ear. “I was right, Lo. That fae compelled Roman.”

Logan scowled as he nodded along with Patton.

“From what I can tell, He didn't order Roman to do anything,” Patton whispered bitterly. “but he seems to have altered Roman's perception of reality so that his senses are working at full capacity. You remember yesterday, when I hugged you, and you were overwhelmed by all of my feelings, because you didn't know how to control your new senses?"

Logan leaned away and nodded solemnly.

“That's what's Roman is feeling, but it's a lot worse, kiddo. All of his senses are overloaded and he can't dull the feelings at all.” Patton frowned as realization struck him. “No wonder he resisted being captured. All that noise and being touched. It was all hurting him.”

Logan bristled at the thought, glaring at the ground. “Tell me what I have to do, Pat.”

"I'm sorry, kiddo," Patton whispered. "but you're going to have to compel him."

His arms went limp as he looked up at Patton’s words. “What?”

Patton looked at him sympathetically. “What are you feeling, Lo?"

“I don't want to force anything on Roman.” Logan pleaded quietly. “He already—"

“You’re not forcing him to do anything.” Patton reassured him, resting a hand on his arm. “Please, kiddo. You’re the only one who can help him return to normal.”

Logan bit his lip and looked up at him. “There's no other way?”

Patton looked at him desperately, but sighed. “It can't last forever. The altered reality is running on the fae's magic. Eventually, his magic will run out and Roman will return to normal, but that could take hours or even days. We can't wait that long. He can barely move, Lo—”

“Okay—” Logan held up as hand to stop him. “Okay. Just tell me what to do.”

Patton paused with a hesitant glance at Logan. “Well, that part I'm not sure about, kiddo.”

“Pat—” Logan hissed.

“I haven’t exactly done it before, Lo. I don't have that kind of power,” Patton smiled sheepishly at him. “but magic is all about intention and focus. If you stay focused on what you want, once you feel the magic flowing through you, all you have to do is tell Roman what you want him to do.”

Logan paused. “Which is what exactly?”

“The words you choose matter,” Patton thought out loud. “but if you spend to much time thinking about the exact right words, you'll lose focus.”

“So, what do I do?” Logan looked at him in disbelief. "Just make it up on the spot?

“No, not make it up. If you’re focused, the right words will be there.” Patton smiled gently. “Can you do it?”

“I'll give it my best effort, Pat.”

“That's all we ask, kiddo.” Patton whispered. “Now, do you need a moment to center yourself?”

Logan shook his head nervously. Patton smiled as he took Logan’s hand and led him through the door once more. He could feel his hands shaking as Patton dragged him into the room. Stepping back into the room, he could see Virgil leaned in close to the side of Roman’s bed, whispering reassurances as the prince sat stiffly in his bed.

A desperate look filled Virgil’s eyes as he looked up at them, His voice shook with concern as he looked to Patton and Logan. “He's hurting. Please, tell me you have a plan.”

“We do, Virge.” Patton rushed to his side, gently wrapping his arms around Virgil waist. Virgil hesitated before wrapping his around Patton sadly, worried tears glistening in his eyes.

Logan hovered in the doorway, hesitating to approach. His gaze drifted to Roman, and his heart twisted with guilt. Knowing that Roman had done so much for him, and yet he couldn't himself to move, extending Roman's pain because he couldn’t control his own fear.

“It's okay, Lo.” Patton gestured for him to follow him forward. "You can do this."

Logan stepped forward slowly. Thoughts rolled through his mind absently pulling him in different directions as he moved to Roman.

A sudden groan from Roman stopped him in his tracks. Logan let out a soft gasp as he stepped forward and Roman whimpered. Frozen with indecision, he watched Roman squirm with discomfort until Patton’s arms gently guided him backwards. Guilt burned in the pit of his stomach as the prince relaxed slightly with each step he moved away.

“Lo, you have to focus.” Patton whispered. “You’re projecting your own discomfort and he can feel it.”

Logan tore his eyes away from Roman to look at Patton. “I can't—"

"You can, kiddo." Patton whispered patiently. "You just have to—"

"My emotions are clouding my judgment—" Logan whispered. "I can't focus on what I'm doing—I'm useless—”

“You’re not useless and neither are your emotions. You’re just focusing on the wrong ones.” Patton smiled gently at him. “We've seen how kind you are. You care about him. Let go of the fear you're feeling and focus on your good thoughts about Roman."

Logan paused, looking at Patton. “Good thoughts?”

“Yes. Let go of the future, kiddo. Whatever happens, Virgil and I will help you through it.” Patton smiled. “Focus on everything good you feel about Roman.”

With a deep breath, Logan nodded slowly. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander through his memories. The air shifted gently at the memory of Roman’s touch. He felt a gentle breeze rush over his skin at the memory of the night before, curled in Roman’s arms as the fire crackled before them. The hairs on his arms raised at the thought of pulling Roman into bed with him.

Memories of spending the night in Roman's arms.

Memories of their first kiss.

Logan sucked in a sharp breath as his first memory of Roman played through his mind. He could feel the air crackling around his body at the mere memory of staring up into the eyes of the man who saw fit to give him a chance when the rest of the world had abandoned him.

A small crack of thunder echoed in the distance as Logan opened his eyes. His pupils glowed a bright blue as he stepped forward. Virgil’s eyes trailed him as he skirted the end of the bed. He stopped at the edge of the bed, barely registering Patton and Virgil staring at him from across the bed. His focus zeroed in on Roman. Gentle energy radiated off him and he could feel Roman relax as he leaned closer. He could feel Patton tense as Logan reached a hand to the prince's cheek, but Roman relaxed into his hand with a relieved sigh. His eyes were still tightly closed as he leaned into Logan’s hand.

“Roman, my dear.” Power flowed through Logan’s words as he whispered to Roman. “Please, I want you to perceive the world as it is.”

Roman groaned softly as a shiver passed through his body. His shoulders slumped and he collapsed forward. Logan's magic faltered briefly as he leaned forward and caught Roman with a hand on his chest, gently pushing him upright against the pillows. Roman’s eyes fluttered on the edge of consciousness as his head rested back on the pillow. His eyes focused briefly on Logan with a confused expression, staring up into Logan's glowing eyes.

“You’re a fae.” Roman's weak mumble resonated in his chest as Logan looked down at him.

Logan smiled shyly and nodded. His eyes still glowed a vibrant shade of blue as Roman murmured and seemed to lose consciousness. Logan sighed, anxiety burning in his chest as he watched Roman drift to sleep.

“Well, well, well…”

Logan heart seized as he lurched back from Roman. His eyes flickered and faded to their normal shade as adrenaline rushed into his veins. Patton and Virgil turned their heels, spinning to the door.

Remus.

A sick smile spread across Remus' face as he stepped into the room with a guard on each shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Virgil hissed as he instinctively stepped forward between his friends and Remus.

“My dearest brother was hospitalized. Of course, I was going to make an appearance,” Remus mused in an almost bored tone. “and good thing too, since it would seem my brother's favorite toy is content to let a fae control him—”

Virgil stepped in front of Remus, cutting him off from advancing on Logan. “What are you playing at, R—”

“Don't pretend you didn’t see the smoking gun, pet.” Remus cooed as Virgil snarled in his face. “His eyes were still glowing. I think the world should know my favorite little prison rat has been compelling the crowned prince, and—” Remus peeked over Virgil’s shoulder at Roman, deliberately invading Virgil’s space as he drawled his statement. “—seeing as Roman’s out of commission, it would seem the responsibility falls to me.”

“What responsibility?” Virgil muttered, stubbornly holding his ground as Remus leaned closer.

Remus smiled over Virgil’s shoulder, sending a shudder through Logan’s body as Remus' gaze locked in on him. “I'm going to arrest him, of course.”

Numbness settled over Logan as he backed into the far wall. The meaning of Remus’ words sunk in as the sadistic smirk on Remus’ face widened. Logan' s fingertips tingled as a new wave of panic settled over him as a soft, pleading whisper escaped him. “Vee—”

“You’re not going anywhere, L.” Virgil stated sternly.

“Oh, come now, pet.” Remus sneered as he turned back to Virgil. “You've played this game long enough to know how this works. You don't have the power to stop me.”

“The only way you’re getting to him is through me,” Virgil glanced up at the guards behind him with a heated glare. “and we both know you didn’t bring the manpower to walk out of here with him.”

“Eh,you're right." Remus giggled as he glanced over his shoulder at the guard. He raised a hand to Virgil’s shoulder, smiling wryly as Virgil shrugged his hand away. “They're a dime a dozen compared to you, but you know better than to touch me. Roman has trained you better than that, pet.”

“Try me.” Virgil hissed back.

“Give me a reason to arrest you too. I dare you.” Remus chuckled manically as he surged forward, latching his hands onto the front of Virgil’s cloak. “Arrest the fae.”

Virgil pulled back in shock, surprised by Remus grip. Remus’ men surged toward Logan as Virgil struggled against Remus' grip. “You bastard. Let me go—”

Logan's heart sank in his chest as the guards approached. He shrank back into the corner, closing his eyes as he braced himself to be grabbed. “Please, no—"

“Anyone who touches Logan will lose their head.”

A soft gasp escaped Logan as the movement in front of him stopped. He opened his eyes, trembling as he stared at the guards towering over him.

“I won't repeat myself.”

The guards took a step back and Logan blinked, straightening up as he turned his eyes to a bleary-eyed Roman looking up from his bed. A furious looking Patton glared at the guards, standing over Roman's barely conscious form.

A loud grunt from across the room tore his attention across the room as Remus tumbled back towards the door. Remus reached a hand to his face wiping the blood from his lip as he glared at Virgil. “You’re going to regret that.”

“You don't hold that power over me, Remus.” Virgil spat back glaring at Remus as the guards retreated behind him.

Remus scowled back at him for a moment, before glancing behind him to see a growing crowd that had been attracted by the commotion. Logan shivered as Remus turned to Virgil with a dangerous grin. “You traitor! You claim to protect my brother and you put him in danger like this?”

“What—” Virgil growled.

“You knowingly bring a dangerous creature into our midst.” Remus' dramatic gaze drifted to Logan as he continued his façade, playing up his dramatic gesture as the crowd behind him watched. “What game are you playing at? You play the loyal hero but you put this kingdom in danger by allowing him to control our dear Roman—”

Virgil stood frozen, as the small crowd mumbled behind Remus. Suspicious glances fell on Virgil as Remus continued his tirade. "I'm not—"

"Don't lie to me. It's eyes were glowing bright as I stumbled onto your plot. You're a traitor to the crown—"

“Remus, enough.” All eyes in the room toward the bed as Roman tiredly turned his legs over the edge of the bed. “You will not question my leadership or Virgil’s loyalty again. Am I clear?”

“Your friend here just gave me a bloody lip. Clearly, he's—”

“From what I saw, you attacked him.” Roman stated firmly, pushing himself up off the bed. “The consequences that befell you are your own responsibility, Remus.”

Remus growled as he started to lose control of the situation. His face became manic as he continued to push. “I was trying to protect you—”

“Logan is my friend and personal advisor. You overstepped your bounds by acting as judge, jury and executioner, and you will apologize to him.” Roman commanded him as he rolled up his sleeves. “I will not ask twice.”

Remus’ eye darted between Roman and Logan before settling on Logan with ice in his eyes. He growled, glancing at Roman staring at him in his periphery. “I apologize for acting with haste. I had only our kingdom’s safety in mind when I acted to your detriment.”

“A good apology does not blame your victim, but I will allow your attempt to be difficult to slide because I have more important issues to attend to.” Roman stated dryly, gesturing to the crowd. “Now, take your leave. All of you.”

Remus glared as the crowd began to disperse. An edge crept into his voice as he raised his volume in a final attempt to regain control. “Your friend is a fae who I saw compelling you and you plan to allow him among the general public? Do you care so little for your people?”

Roman lifted his eyes to Remus in apparent annoyance. “He’s been falsely accused once and his actions have saved my life on multiple occasions. I do not doubt his loyalty. Nevertheless, I will allow your claims will be investigated for peace of mind of the people, but not to Logan's detriment. Virgil?”

Virgil looked across the room to him. “Yes, Roman?”

“When we are finished here, you will escort Logan to his chambers and he will remain there until I confer with my fathers.” Roman glared at Remus. "I will act on their advice to clear Logan of your accusations."

A smile tugged at the corner of Virgil’s lips as he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you satisfied?” Roman pressed Remus, signaling the end of the conversation.

Remus snarled angrily. “Fine.”

“Then, leave.” Roman commanded plainly, leaving no room for argument.

Remus paused and his face shifted. His irritation disappeared as his eyes landed on Logan. The controlled, hungry look in his eyes sent new waves of fear through Logan's body. His smile widened, licking his lips at Logan before finally turning to Roman with a smirk and an exaggerated bow. “As you command, my prince.”

The door had only just closed behind Remus as Logan’s knees gave out from beneath him. His knees hit the ground, barely able to stay upright as his breathing became rapid. His heart pounding in his chest nearly overwhelming all sound around him.

“Pat, grab princey. Get him on the bed.” Virgil’s voice blasted overwhelmingly in Logan’s ears as he felt hands grasp him. “Come on, L. You’re—”

“Virge—”

“Don’t argue with me, princey.” Virgil cut him off with a huff. “You may have fooled Remus, but I can tell you’re still weak. Lay down.”

“But—” Roman's voice became urgent and Logan could hear him take a step forward as Virgil waved him back.

“I've got him, princey. Shut up and sit down.” Arms curled around Logan as he heard Virgil gently hushing him. “You’re safe, L. You were never going with him. We weren't going to let that happen.”

Logan leaned into Virgil, shaking as he sucked in a sudden breath. He felt a lump in his throat as he breath caught in his throat.

“Steady breaths, L. Match my breathing.” Virgil gently pulled Logan to his chest, taking exaggerated breaths as he held Logan close.

Logan wheezed, struggling to steady his breathing. His hands clenched as tears streaked down his face. He choked back a sob feeling a deep ache in his chest as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

“You’re doing good, L." Virgil whispered patiently. “He's gone. It's just me, Patton and princey. You’re not going anywhere.”

Logan’s ragged breathing slowed gradually as he leaned to Virgil. When he finally calmed himself, he choked out a few words between strained breaths. “I'm sorry—I was on edge b—”

“Don't apologize. None of us saw that coming, L.” Virgil corrected him gently as he squeezed his shoulders. “You’re fine. Really, if anything, I should be thanking you for giving me the opportunity to bloody that bastard’s face.”

Logan smiled faintly, still shaking as he relaxed slightly into Virgil’s arms. “Please tell me you’re not going to face consequences for helping me."

“Nothing’s happening to me because I helped you.” Virgil smirked back at him. “I might have if it were my word against Remus', but princey woke up just in time to back me up. We're good now.”

Logan blinked blankly at Virgil for a moment before a new wave of nervousness settled on his stomach as he looked up to where Patton and Roman stared at him as they sat on the edge of the bed. His face flushed at the sudden awareness of the attention in the room directed at him. “I'm sorry—”

“L—”

Logan glanced at Virgil before correcting himself with a downward glance. “I didn't mean to draw all of the attention to myself.”

There was a long pause before Patton broke the silence. “You were scared, Lo. It's okay if you needed a moment—”

“It wasn’t right for me to worry you—”

“What are you talking about, Lo?” Patton jumped off the bed and took a few steps toward him. “You couldn’t control that—”

“I'm sorry, Roman.”

Silence hung between them as they all stared at Logan with wide eyes.

“Why are you apologizing to me, Lo?” Roman watched him carefully.

“I knew that you were leaving with the fae who took me—” Logan swallowed nervously as he met Roman’s surprised expression. “H-he said he'd kill you if I said anything, but I should have—” Logan’s face dropped as his words trailed off as he looked at the ground.

“Should have what?

Logan’s brow furrowed as he looked up, confused by the gentle smile on Roman’s face. He glanced at Virgil before looking back at Roman. “What?”

“What should you have done?” Roman pressed gently. “You seem to be sure you had another option, Lo.”

“I should have done something." Logan stated dryly, biting his lip. "After everything—"

“Lo, I’m here and I'm okay,” Roman stepped off the bed, ignoring Patton’s protests as he came to kneel before Logan. “and it would seem that is only true thanks to you.”

“I didn’t know, Roman.” Logan whispered, dropping his gaze.

“Didn’t know what?” Roman took Logan’s hand in his as he moved closer.

Guilt welled in Logan's chest as he stared at Roman’s hand. Finally, he looked up to Roman’s tired smile with a hesitant tremble. “About my true nature—I never intended to hide anything from you. I swear I didn't know—"

“Logan, relax.”

Logan kept his head down, staring at his hand as Roman cut off his rambling. He winced as Roman's other hand brushed his cheek and looked up to Roman’s tired, gentle smile.

“Please, Lo. You’ve done so much for me.” Roman whispered. His voice held a hint of exhaustion as he glanced patiently up at Logan. “Whatever you’re worried about, I promise you don't need to be.”

“But you said—” Logan whispered, stopping as Roman squeezed his hand.

“I was angry you'd been hurt Lo.” Roman sighed as a small, adoring smile curled on his lips. “but what I said is clearly not true. You are the most admirably kind person I’ve ever met, who has seen fit to save me again and again. I'm sorry if I made you worry you were anything less.”

Logan paused, looking up at him in disbelief. “This really doesn’t bother you?”

“You just saved me from the most miserable pain of my life, and you did so at the risk of showing me a part of yourself you were clearly nervous to reveal to me.” Roman smiled faintly. “I'm nothing but entranced by your bravery, Logan.”

Logan smiled shyly as redness dusted his cheeks.

“Not that that's not sickeningly sweet, but you should probably be careful about the words you use, considering what just happened.” Virgil chimed in a bored tone.

“Right." Roman glanced over at Virgil’s serious expression before watching Logan as he dropped his hand from Logan's cheek to behind his neck. "Remus may not have been successful in his plan, but he succeeded at stirring the pot. No doubt rumors are already spreading about you. The whole kingdom will be watching us.”

“I'm sorry I wasn’t quite quick-witted enough to cut off the head of that snake before it got away.” Virgil growled. “Remus turned that situation around on me fast.”

“It's not your fault, Virge.” Roman muttered. “He's got a natural instinct for making everything worse, but Logan?”

“Yes, Roman?” Logan lifted his gaze.

“I'm going to ask you not to share this with anyone, Lo. My fathers' leadership will fall under question for allowing me to fall victim to another plot to harm me. I know it's a lot to ask, but I don't want to make their job harder." Roman paused, looking up at Logan with guilt in his eyes. "Will you keep your true nature a secret for me?”

Logan stared at him for a moment before nodding quietly. “Anything you need, Roman.”

“Thank you, Logan. Virgil will take you to your room.” Roman leaned over to press his lips against Logan’s forehead before turning down to look at him. “I think you need to get some rest.”

Logan nodded as Roman gently pulled him to his feet.

“You need to do that as well, princey.” Virgil chided lightly.

“I will once I talk to—”

“Patton will send a courier for Thomas and stay with you until he arrives.” Virgil stated plainly, looking to Patton for confirmation. When Patton nodded back, Virgil turned back to Roman. “Stay here and rest. Don't go looking for trouble tonight. Got it?”

Roman rolled his eyes with a smirk. “Perhaps, Remus was right when he said I'd given you too much control.”

"You didn't give me this power. Thomas did,” Virgil smirked back. “and he did it for your own good."

“Very well, go. I will rest and once I’ve cleared Logan with my fathers in the morning, I will stop by his chambers to release you both.”

“Both of you, stay safe.” Virgil smiled as he stepped back, eyes flitting back and forth between Patton and Roman.

“You as well, Virgil.” Roman nodded tiredly before turning to Logan. He smiled gently as he took Logan’s hand. “Until morning, I will say goodbye. Please know precious you are to me, Lo, and I'm grateful for what you risked for me tonight. I know it was not an easy thing to do.”

Logan smiled as Roman’s arms wrapped around him and he leaned his head into Roman’s chest. “I would do anything for you, Roman.”

“Rest easy tonight, Lo,” Roman whispered. "and know you are protected and loved."

“I hope you do as well, Roman.” A smile spread across Logan’s face as he nodded gently into Roman's chest. Slowly, Roman released him and his heart warmed at the tired, adoring smile on Roman's face. His heart fluttered as he turned from Roman to follow Virgil out of the room.

He ducked through the doorway behind Virgil quickly following him into the corridor. They wandered quietly through the halls as they made their way up to his chambers. Thoughts danced through his mind as Virgil led him silently through the halls. The long, empty hallways reverberated with their footsteps as they made their way through the dim hallways. Sounds of the night echoed in the hallway as he followed close behind Logan

Logan glanced up as they approached his door. Nervousness bubbled in his stomach as he looked up at Virgil as he slowed to allow Logan to open the door. Logan hesitated, fidgeting with his key as he look up at Virgil. “Vee?”

Virgil watched him carefully as Logan dipped his head. “Yeah, L?”

“How long do you think I'll be confined to my chambers?” Logan whispered, staring at the key in his hand.

“I'd be surprised if princey’s not here right away in the morning to let us know it’s resolved. Thomas likes you. I don't see why he would stall your release.” Virgil stepped forward to reassure him. “The court is in chaos at the moment though, and Remus could stall them a few days if he chooses to be difficult.”

Logan stared down at the ground, lost in thought.

“No more than a few days though, Lo.” Virgil reassured him. “I promise. You won't be stuck here for long.”

“It's not that, Vee.” Logan whispered, not looking up from the ground. "I-I want to talk to him."

“Roman?” Virgil leaned against the wall, still eyeing him cautiously. “He'll be here tomorrow, L. Regardless of anything, Roman is going to stop by to give us an update—”

“Not Roman, Vee.” Logan looked up at him seriously. “I want to talk to Dee.”

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, Angst, Unintentional Self-Harm, Overstimulation, Attempted Arrest, Minor Violence, Minor Blood, Panic attack, Romantic contact

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

You Belong With Me Taglist:

@cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @croftersphoenix @optimistic-violinist @chronicallynervouschild @croftersjam15 @actitus-hypoleucos @unbefuckinglieveable @justthatamount @eeveeeclair246 @taxicabinmemphis @theoddkidnextdoor @bluerosesbleedred @bowties--cool @lookingforaplacetosleep @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @007ardra @im-actually-ok @grayson-22 @dwbh888

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #ts thomas #ts remus #logince #You Belong With Me #villain writes

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chemicalpink · 4 years

Text

대취타 | EMPEROR!YOONGI X READER | PART THREE

Pairing: Emperor!Yoongi x Assassin!Reader

Words: 2.3k

Genre: Emperor AU, Historical AU (kinda), smut but its kinda soft.

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, you know the drill)

A/N: I hope you like this as much as I did! this part is the sole reason as to why I started this lil au tbh. Let me know what you think! As always, thank you for reading!

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

“Great. I was hoping you were still awake” Yoongi said, making you jump from the seat you had claimed in the large library, watching carefully the emperor’s figure as he made his way towards you. He seemed exhausted, his hair the most disheveled you had ever seen it.

You opened your mouth to say something but closed it right after, denying the thought with a movement of your head.

“What are you doing here? It’s almost midnight and you’ve got an event tomorrow”

As time went by and the bickering took a pleasant back and forth, you had also become more involved in the political aspects of the palace; truth be told, you had been avoiding him ever since that time in his office as rumours started going around, making more than just a few of consorts jealous enough to mess with you, in attempt to make your life as barely tolerable as possible, you had to remind yourself a thousand times that you were most definitely no missing Min Yoongi, although you had to admit that his presence offered some relief in a sense from the hectic life you led inside the palace.

“You’ve come from classic literature to history?” Yoongi stole a glance at the books that were lying on top of the small table, arching an eyebrow

“I read what pleases me”

The silence that followed wasn’t quite comfortable as he dropped into a chair just next to yours; his leg brushing yours.

You cleared your throat, mind hazy as you didn’t give it a second thought before the words were leaving your lips “I don’t think it is wise of you to be here with me”

A frown crossed his attractive face.

“And why is that?” he replied.

At that time you were extremely conscious about how close his leg was to you, but you made no attempt to move away.

“Aren’t you worried about what people may talk around the palace? It tends to get quite toxic around here”

Yoongi leaned towards you and looked you in the eye. You found yourself clearing your throat for the second time that night

“I’m not worried about myself if that’s what you’re thinking,” you said abruptly, pulling away from him a little. It wasn't entirely true, so far you’d had a taste as to how far a jealous consort could go, very much into physical damage. “I’m just saying that it might damage your public image. For you to be meeting with a servant like me, late at night behind closed doors”

“And may I know ever since when have you been concerned about my public image?”

“Ever since apparently I became the one in charge not only to handle your dirty business but your public appearances too. Perhaps you should focus more on keeping track of the political matters rather than playing around with your toys in the harem”

“Any other requirements?” asked Yoongi, who was still close enough for his lips to brush yours if he dared to do such a thing.

“I’ll let you know if any comes to mind”

Your eyes met and you gave him a slight smile.

What type of man was the one right in front you supposed to be? It wasn’t exactly that you had gone soft for him, but you had to admit that from time to time it felt nice to have someone around in such a grand space, even if the only to be close enough was none other than the Emperor himself.

You removed from your thoughts the feeling of longing in your chest. There was no way after what you both had done with each other to suddenly grow soft.

“Why is your hair so dishevelled? Has Yanli been playing with you so hard?”

“Yanli? Not in the past few months, fortunately. But I had the most depressing day ever! The puppies are ordinary and-” he brought his hands to his head

“Puppies?”

“One of my dogs has given birth to a litter of crossbreeds. They were too young to tell before, but now- Anyway, I expected pedigree animals”

“Are we talking about dogs or–?”

“What would you prefer?” Yoongi smirked

“Oh shut up” you muttered, making him laugh.

“Care to explain why is it that you look so dishevelled” the emperor's laugh was cut off, “Hoseok told me you two attended some official event, I hope it wasn’t one of the stuck up ones”

“Not at all. I haven’t been able to sleep well, that’s all”

“Neither have I” he recognised and stretched in his place “Would you mind playing the kayagum for me?”

You dropped your foot to the ground and wondered how the subject could have changed so easily. A completely different air taking over the room. One that was the reason for your insomnia ever since the sexual encounters between the two of you had shifted to longing glances across the room, subtle brushes of hands and minds running on images that were no doubt anything but a product of very creative imagination.

“Of course not”

“But you played wonderfully last night”

“If I had known someone was spying on me, I would not have played”

“Why is playing something so personal for you?” Yoongi asked leaning back in the chair and you felt yourself slipping into dangerous and uncharted territory.

“I can't listen to or play music without– whatever.”

“No, say what you were about to say”

“It’s nothing interesting” you replied while stacking the books that were on the table.

“Does it bring back memories?”

You looked at him for some sign of ridicule, finding in his eyes a feeling of sweetness and compassion instead.

“Sometimes”

“Memories of your parents?” Yoongi reached out to help you stack the remaining books.

You stood abruptly.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Yoongi”

“I'm sorry I meddled”

You did not answer. The question, mixed with the environment in which you were with Yoongi, had opened a crack in the mental door that you always had closed, and now you were trying to close it at all costs. Seeing Yoongi's face and seeing him so close to you ... The door had to be most definitely locked.

“It’s just– It’s just that I know nothing about you.”

“I’m an assassin” you replied, trying to ground yourself “There’s no need for you to know more about me”

“I know” Yoongi said with a sigh “But why is it so bad for me to want to know more? Like, how did you become one? Or how was your life before that?”

“Trust me, it’s not interesting”

“Well I wouldn’t find it boring”

Once again, you didn’t answer.

“Please. Just one question and I promise it won’t be anything delicate” Yoongi had suddenly made a go for your hand to intertwine with his, his thumb making small circles on the back of it ever so lightly.

You twisted your mouth, your eyes fixed on the surface where both your hands seemed to melt together in something you weren’t able to pinpoint.

“No”

Yoongi smiled “You have beautiful eyes, you know?”

“If you’re trying to court me with sweet talk, I’m afraid it won’t work”

Looking right back into his brown eyes, something came alive only for it to die down just as fast as Yoongi stopped caressing your hand and tugged at your wrist to have you sit down on his lap.

Yoongi’s fingers are cold against your skin, the tips tracing delicately along the exposed skin of your thigh as his hand had made its way under the sleeping hanbok you wore. Your teeth hurt your bottom lip, a gasp escaping from them as his slow teasing movements make their way to your clothed core in the gentlest way possible.

He grazes your clit with his thumb and you find yourself uncomfortably arching your back against him “Now you can't resist responding to everything I say, right, kitten?” his teeth gently grazing the soft spot where your ear meets your neck and you writhe beneath him, unable to fulfil the growing need that pools between your legs.

“Now tell me, love, why is it that you love music?”

You let out a strangled moan as he kept the slowest pace possible on your clit

“You–you said it wouldn’t be anything delicate” you whispered and attempted to turn to scowl at him

Yoongi’s fingers manoeuvred their way to pull your panties apart, skilled fingers now caressing your wet folds “Just answer the question”

A large sigh left your lips at his touch “I love music” you said slowly, trying to keep a steady mind “because when I hear it I- I get lost in it a-and I feel like I pour myself out and fill myself with it at the same time. When I play I’m not- agh I’m not destroying, but creating” you bit your lip once again as his index finger teased your entrance “I used to dream of being a doctor, you know? I’ve never told anyone about that” you felt yourself clench at the way Yoongi was entering his fingers inside you stuffing you full, he laughed lowly and stopped his movements, removing his hand completely, making you able to see him smile “Don’t laugh at me”

The emperor denied your claim with his head and the smile left his lips

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m just not used to-”

“People pouring their heart out to you?”

“Well, yeah, especially not while I have my hand down their pants”

You smiled a somewhat wicked smile at him.

“Well then, I think It is my turn now” you were quickly to find his already hard member inside your hand, pumping it to life,leaving wet kissed along his exposed neck as he reclined himself “Is there any limitation?”

“Not at all” Yoongi placed his hands on the back of his head “I’m not even half as reserved as you are”

A grin appeared on your face as you thought about the question, opting to play him a little bit further before asking.

Your tongue finds his already leaking length and you bask yourself in the sweetest noise he makes, his hand coming forward to stop you from taking him in your mouth.

You both pause, eyes meeting, reading each other. He smirks at you, a smugness in it when he makes his way to you on the floor, the chair screeching the floor, forcefully taking you down with him as he slams his lips on yours, hands fidgeting with each others’ clothes in an overwhelming rush to take them completely off.

Once the body heat envelops you both, contrasting the cold floor, partially covered by a carpet you currently found yourselves in, he rushes to cover your body in chaste kisses at the same time as a new heatwave hits you from him entering you.

“Yoongi” you whine, making him look straight into your eyes “I’ve got my question”

“Go ahead, kitten,” he said, diving in to place a kiss on your lips, his right hand keeping him up while he thrusted deliciously into you, skin slapping and lewd noises filling the otherwise silent room, his left hand finding yours as a way to ground himself to the moment.

“Why aren’t you married yet?” you felt him stop dead in his tracks for a second too long, his dick almost losing contact with your pussy only for him to thrust it back in with a little more force than necessary

“Ask me another question”

His slow pace but forceful thrust were hitting a certain spot of yours that he had become way too familiar with over your time in the palace, knowing perfectly that he was purposedly doing it for you to drop the topic, you pressed once again “I wanna hear your answer– If you resist so vehemently it must be interesting”

You heard him groan as he found his face nuzzled into your neck “I’m not married” he said in a low voice, untangling his left hand from yours to caress your face “because I can’t stand the idea of marrying a woman that is inferior to me in mind and spirit” he trailed kisses along your throat up to your jaw, making sure to mark it “ That would mean the death of my soul”

“Marriage is a legal contract, it is not something sacred. Being the emperor, you should have given up those crazy ideas. What if you have to get married for an alliance? Would you really declare war because of your romantic ideals?”

“Things–” he grunts and pulls back slowly “are not–”and pushes his way back in, groaning “that way”

You could tell something had snapped inside him, and you were sure to have your fun with it “Huh? Then you wouldn’t marry a princess to strengthen your empire?”

“I’ve already got an army to take care of that”

A mewl makes its way out of your mouth as his shaft slides in and out of your body “You can always love another woman aside. Marriage for you doesn’t mean you can’t love other people”

Yoongi’s eyes burned holes into yours.

“One must marry the person they love and none other” he said as he struggled once more to keep his pace and you laughed “You’re making fun of me! You’re laughing in my face!”

“You deserve to be laughed at for having such stupid ideas! I spoke to you from the heart; you only speak from selfishness”

“You are incredibly judgmental, Y/N” you were still smiling up at him as he dived down to capture your lips, moans constantly escaping both of you as you quietly and gracefully approached your own highs together, him spilling his seed inside you.

Forehead resting against your own as you found yourselves panting, him sliding out as your spasming cunt dripped with both of your releases onto the floor, placing one more soft kiss on your lips with his eyes closed “Marry me”

#bts imagines #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi imagines #emperor!yoongi #suga smut #suga imagines #bts one shot #bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi oneshot #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #bts royal au

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

Text

It’s This Jealousy

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Notes: I got tagged in this post right here by @starkerscoop and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get my hands on it. It got a little smutty at the end - hope you don’t mind! (& @send-me-your-hcs asked for a tag, too!) Warnings: masturbation Summary:

It's this jealousy Oh, and I just can't believe In this jealousy This jealousy for you

At the ripe age of 49, Tony never imagined he’d be best friends with an 18-year-old. After all the mess with Steve and Bucky, things were a little strained between Rhodey and Tony. It wasn’t anything personal, there were just lots of things between them now, the leg braces he worked constantly to improve not even close to the only thing. With Peter, Tony could simply be. Their shared history wasn’t filled with anything other than a little tension and some misplaced control on Tony’s part.

The more Tony started to see Peter as the intelligent person he was and not the kid he always made him out to be, the more he wanted to have the younger man around. There was something in the way he tilted his head to ask questions and babbled incessantly that Tony just felt drawn to. Try as he might, there was no escaping the magnetic pull that drew him more towards Peter every single day.

It wasn’t subtle, either – the way they just seemed to fit. Peter moved into Avenger’s tower after graduating; the transition from part time to full time was and easy one, he fit right in with everyone – especially Tony. It didn’t take long for the two of them to break off and head for the lab together or be found in the living room pressed together from shoulder to hip talking quietly amongst themselves.

If someone was looking for Tony, they always pointed him in Peter’s direction. There weren’t many times throughout the day that they weren’t together. Tony appreciated Peter’s brain – he thought from all angles and wasn’t afraid to be wrong. There were many times when Peter taught Tony something new or made him go back and look at things from a totally different perspective.

Just the other day, Tony sat with his head in his hands, the nanotech and its housing unit he’d been trying to manipulate for the last hour sitting uselessly on the desk. A soft touch on his shoulder had him looking up, a smile overtaking his face for the first time all day. “Hey, kid,” Tony said in greeting, his hand coming up to hold Peter’s to his shoulder for a moment. “Training go well?”

He’d been trying to update his suit, so he stepped out of the group training for the day. The transition from the mechanism on his chest to the full suit was still too slow – he needed at least another second off of the total time. The headache didn’t seem worth it at that point, though – he should have worked the frustrations out. His head ached and he wanted to pull the freshly showered Peter Parker closer to him more than usual.

When Tony let go of Peter’s hand, he was surprised to find that Peter didn’t move his hand from its place on his shoulder. In fact, the fingers there dug in, the tips moving up and down the line of muscle. He tried not to move – the last thing he wanted to do was scare the kid away; the touch felt amazing. It was almost enough to make the collection of useless tech below him not matter. Almost.

“It did – the new adjustments you made to the aiming system did a world of good. I was moving so fast today,” Peter answered, his voice excited. Tony forced himself to settle on the slightest flash of a smile – Peter loved being a superhero, it was so insanely obvious. More often times than not, Tony found himself working on Peter’s suit just to see the astonishing smile on his face – the very one that was beaming back at him right now.

Tony picked up the small screwdriver he’d been using to mess with the back paneling, his face burning a little from the rush of affection that washed over him. It didn’t make sense, feeling like a schoolboy with a crush. But he couldn’t help it – Peter was so wholesome and filled with excitability and life; it was hard not to be drawn to it. “Bummed I missed it. I’ll pull the data from EDITH later – we can do a little data spec. I’ll see it in real time that way.”

He heard Peter suck in a breath, then saw the smile on his face grow wider. “That sounds like a good idea. I also brought some new ideas for the next evolution of web fluid. I’m so close to a breakthrough.” He went about taking his StarkPad and old-fashioned spiral notebook out of his backpack, excitement written all over his face.

Sitting down next to him (instead of across from him like not too long ago) Peter leaned into Tony’s space, looking over his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s this,” Peter remarked, pointing to the external structure. “The adjustments you made on the shooters was in the programming. I don’t think it’s a mass thing, either. I think it’s in the transition.” To Tony’s surprise, he opened his notebook and pointed to a couple different equations. “I ran these this morning when I saw what you were looking at yesterday.”

Peter’s cheeks were red, and his body radiated the kind of heat that shouldn’t have been natural. It made his entire right side warm, the bare skin of his forearms prickling from the contact. Letting his eyes roam over the work, Tony leaned into him – an arm wrapping around his shoulder. “This is good stuff, Pete. I think I know exactly where to go now.” He kept his arm there for a few minutes, the two of them still lightly discussing the numbers and what brought Peter down that path.

A week later, his suit was ruining faster than ever before. Every time he punched the mechanism and the nanotech did its thing, Tony felt a warm drip of pride in the middle of his core – the little bits of attraction he’d been trying to hide getting harder and harder to ignore.

Especially because Peter seemed to think that their friendship came with an all access pass – to him, to the never-ending stream of thoughts that ran through his head, hell, to Tony’s things. Many times, he’d come back from a meeting and find Peter passed out on the edge of his bed, the huge TV dialed in to some anime show he couldn’t force himself to get into. He never did anything about it – how could he? Most of his daydreams revolved around that very instance.

After a few weeks, Peter started to talk – like, really talk. He started with the story of how his parents died and the struggle it was to get used to living with May and Ben. Peter talked about the things he missed because he didn’t have parents in his life, no matter how much his aunt and uncle tried.

The more time they spent together, the more Peter let himself be free with his words. Tony knew what type of shampoo he preferred, how many times May walked in on him naked or unclothed, and all the different fanfictions currently all the rage.

They were close – plain and simple. There were a few times when their closeness seemed like it might be something else, but neither man acted upon it. Tony didn’t want to apply undue pressure to a situation that only few people his age were interested in. He didn’t know much about Peter’s thoughts on that matter – it was the one thing they didn’t talk about.

MJ quickly became a topic that strictly stayed in the friend pile, Peter’s interest in her weaning significantly after some sort of mishap during their trip to Europe.

Tony spent most of his time holed up in his bedroom the entire week Peter was gone, his mind and body exhausted from all the work he managed to get done in the comfort of his king-sized bed. He didn’t talk to anyone, Tony keenly aware that his behavior was not appropriate for an almost 50-year-old person.

He could never admit that Peter coming back was the best day of the entire summer – the two of them quickly catching up on his use of EDITH and the different aspects of the new suit he wanted to start working on for his patrols back in the city. It seemed like nothing changed between them – but relationships or anything related weren’t brought up again.

The idea that he wasn’t approachable in that area made his jaw clench. His history didn’t lend itself to a positive image, he could admit that. There were a few years when things were so out of whack that only going from one thing to the next could satisfy him. After the cave, Tony figured the person closest to him when he got back was the answer. The try he applied to his relationship with Pepper wasn’t lacking, they were simply better off as friends.

It smarted a little – how perceptive Peter was. If the reason he didn’t approach Tony was because of his past, he couldn’t begrudge Peter one single bit. The kid was smart and understood that bad habits weren’t to be repeated. Too bad Tony’s history wasn’t anything like the way he currently felt and thought.

----

Walking into the kitchen in the common area of the tower, Tony quirked a brow at the congregation of Steve Rogers, Wanda, Bucky, and Peter – they all looked up at him when they realized he was in the room. Peter’s cheeks colored, his eyes drifting down to the hands knit together in front of him. The rest of the adults at the table were looking at him with looks of curiosity and interest – Tony almost certain he could feel Wanda picking around in his brain, or something.

“Tony!” Peter exclaimed, one of his hands moving quickly to cover his mouth. It would have been comical if Tony didn’t know the kid so well. Peter didn’t do so well with lying or bending the truth – his face and expressive eyes gave him away. Staring at him now, Tony wondered what kind of snake pit he walked into. He gave the group a swift nod but didn’t stop to join them – he didn’t need spider senses to understand the prickly sensation on the back of his neck.

He was quick to get the hell out of dodge, a water bottle in his hand – the thought of making a sandwich quickly abandoned when all of the eyes in the room followed his every movement. Settling onto the couch, Tony put a random Netflix show on and turned up the volume – his ears ringing from the overdrive of his thoughts. Whatever they were talking about, he suspected it might have something to do with him.

It didn’t stay a mystery long. Tony saw Steve approaching him from the laid-back position he let himself curl into on the couch. Queer Eye sucked him in, so he let his brain check out, his body relaxing with the rest of him. The second he saw Steve, though, he sat up – the prickly sensation returning to his skin. He felt like he might throw up all over his fancy shoes, the thought that maybe throwing up would be a little less painful than whatever Steve might have to say crossed his mind.

“So – “ Steve started, his arms folding across his chest as he settled into the empty part of the couch. “I had a surprising conversation with Peter. Or well, he asked some surprising questions. Are things okay between the two of you?” Steve’s voice sounded a little patronizing – the big brother act something Tony could never get behind. At least he was here talking to him, though – it didn’t seem right to begrudge him that.

“What are you talking about, Rogers? I don’t know what kind of questions he asked you to know what you’re referring to. The last time I saw Peter, he was smiling over a beaker of web fluid.” Tony pressed himself against the side of the couch, the softness of it aggravating. In that moment, he wanted weight – something to ground him to this weird conversation.

In another life, Tony would’ve appreciated the tilt of Steve’s head, the curious look in his eye not the worst thing to look at. He knew what it was like to take on Bucky, though – he’d never win that fight alone. Shaking his head of the thought, he focused on Steve and the words it seemed he was trying to find. “He was asking about pleasuring himself. We all assumed you two were good in that department.”

Tony sucked in a breath, his eye bulging. “Pleasuring himself – what? Steve, we’re not together.” The words felt weird coming out of his mouth, like they were trying their hardest to cling to the surface of his tongue and not be spoken; speaking them made it true. Running a hand through his hair, Tony wished that the couch would open up and swallow him whole.

The emotions that swarmed around him made it hard to pay attention to anything else Steve said – his head nodding, but his brain not really processing anything. All he could think about was the fact that Peter went to Steve Rogers of all people to ask about the most personal of matters. Tony was good enough for everything except carnality – what a joy that was to learn. Without much thought, Tony got up, not really giving two shits about the still talking Steve gaping at him from the couch.

He took refuge in the lab – the sight and smell of familiar things enough to calm him down slightly. “FRIDAY, play some classic rock, will you? KISS, maybe.” Tony said absentmindedly – music would drown out the bottomless pit of things that only made him angry. His understanding of how irrational it was to be as angry and jealous and upset about something that wasn’t even his business made it all a little worse.

A whoosh of the door opening a little while later brought Tony out of the trance that he blissfully slipped into. Not thinking was a lot better than the war of emotions that threatened to consume him. His eyes caught Peter’s, his exterior softening for a second – his presence was soothing, even now.

Remembering Steve’s mistake and the weird feeling of betrayal, Tony lowered his eyes quickly – it would take ignoring the soft look in Peter’s eye to keep firm to his resolve to be mad.

“Tony – I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Peter approached him like one would a wounded animal, slowly and with caution. He wondered if Steve was supposed to tell Tony about Peter’s questions – if he was betraying the kid’s trust to set the record straight. His blood felt like it was boiling – the direction of his thoughts not very productive in deactivating the bomb that was ticking down, each second a little closer to explosion.

He felt himself huff out a sarcastic laugh, his emotions getting the best of him. “Well, you found me. Now what?” Tony’s voice was harder than he ever wanted to use towards Peter – the pitch of it sending a shiver of shame down his spine. The subtle change in the room wasn’t missed – so he let the feeling take hold; what did he really have to lose?

“What? Tony, I – “ Peter spluttered, words not coming despite his demand for them.

“You what? You’ve told me your entire life story, every little intimate detail, but you seek out Steve Rogers for sex advice? I don’t get you, Peter – a little piece of me is licking a wound. It kind of feels a little like betrayal.” Tony inwardly cringed, his own desperation so very evident. The dam inside of him was broken – there seemed to really be no going back. “I’m good enough for everything but this?”

Peter’s face fell, his usually bright eyes clouded over by confusion that was swiftly mixing with hurt – it pained Tony on a molecular level, seeing that gorgeous face anything but radiant with happiness. “Steve’s such an asshole,” Peter muttered, his eyes dropping to the floor. Tony wanted to pick Peter’s head up and rub his cheeks until the red hue and shine came back to his face.

“I didn’t come to you because you’re the one driving me crazy – I’ve been so on edge around you and I can’t – there hasn’t been any relief. I thought I’d ask people who are just as souped up as me about it. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me,” Peter admitted quietly, his eyes peeking up to gauge the look on Tony’s face.

Shaking his head, Tony cursed himself for not being the stonewalled person he made himself out to be. The cracks in his armor were ones he couldn’t buff out – no matter how hard he tried. Words he longed to hear sat on his skin, his body trying to decide how to process the stimulus of actually getting the thing he wanted the most.

The few steps it took to close the gap between them felt like miles – Tony couldn’t get his hands on Peter fast enough. “I’m driving you crazy?” Tony mumbled; his hands grabbing Peter’s hips. “You walk into the room and I’m completely lost. I’ve thought about bending you over every one of these tables – kissing you breathless against the damn fridge you lean into and search for food that isn’t there.”

Peter wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck, his enhanced strength pulling Tony against him before he knew what happened. There wasn’t any space left between them, their noses brushing with every hitch of breath either man took. “You’re my best friend, Pete – I haven’t wanted to fuck that up.”

Their lips touched then, both of them leaning in to close the distance. Tony’s fingers clenched, the hold on Peter’s hips tightening. The t-shirt Peter was wearing rode up a little, a bare stripe of skin available for his fingers to touch. At first brush, the body against him squirmed, Peter pulling away to let out a soft gasp. “Fuck!” Peter grunted out, his eyes clenching closed.

Tony watched Peter’s reaction, a rush of heat collecting in the boiling pit of his stomach – his cock throbbed against the zipper of his jeans. He’d thought a lot about what Peter would look like in the throes of passion – the sight was exponentially better than anything his brain could dream up. The flush on his cheeks made them seem fuller, the globe of them looking tasty enough to pull into his mouth. Glazed eyes and a hanging jaw had Tony moving – his lips desperate to be pressed against Peter’s once again.

“We should move this elsewhere,” Peter babbled against Tony’s lips, his fingers fisted in the front of Tony’s shirt. “I want to feel your skin, Tony.” His hands were uselessly tugging at the buttons, the fabric of it starting to tear with the force of his grip.

Groaning, Tony forced himself to take a couple of steps out of Peter’s grip completely. It would take too many brain cells to get to the elevator and up to the floor his rooms were on if he were still anyway attached to Peter – his hands achy to touch, to finally feel the thrum of Peter’s heartbeat pulsing in his veins.

“After you,” Tony mumbled, his chest heaving as he watched Peter walk in front of him, the articulation of his step hitched a bit from the stiffness in his pants. His steps were quick and the view from behind was nice – a good enough distraction to get him from the lab, into the elevator, and then down the hall where he grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled him along.

The slamming of the door in his bedroom was more satisfying than he figured something small like that had the right to be. Peter’s breath hitched when Tony’s eager fingers slipped under the edge of the soft t-shirt covering the long limbs he’d been thinking about for months. It got caught on Peter’s ear as Tony pulled it off, both of them laughing. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Peter admitted, pupils blown wide.

Tony grinned, the tips of his fingers trailing down the hard planes of Peter’s sides – “It’s real – I’m real,” Tony answered, his hand grabbing Peter’s and placing it over the hardness trying to escape the confines of his jeans. “That’s for you.” He let a chuckle slip, the reaction of Peter’s hand tightening on his crotch surprising him.

They made quick work of clothes after that, Tony kissing him breathless between the unbuttoning of his shirt buttons and the fumbling it took to get shoes, pants, and briefs off. Peter ended up in the middle of the bed, Tony settled between his spread legs. “Touch yourself. Steve may be enhanced, but I know what it’s like to feel good,” Tony’s voice dropped, his eyes wandering over every single inch of Peter stretched out below him.

Peter didn’t wait to do what he said, long fingers wrapping around a thick erection before Tony even finished speaking. His grip was tight, Tony taking stock in the way he slid his hand from the head to the base, and the flick of his wrist on the upstroke. Dark eyelashes flickered, the edges of them just barely moving along the edge of Peter’s cheek.

Without saying anything, Tony let the fingers of his right-hand trail along the inside of Peter’s thighs. He kept the touch light, the skin pebbling with his caress. “The best part of what you’re doing is the build-up. It starts with the littlest itch. You grasp on and try to itch, but the pressure you’re using isn’t enough,” Tony flattened his hand, his palm running down the front of Peter’s balls. They were slightly hairy and drawn up – the sheen of sweat on Peter’s skin telling him just how much Peter seemed to be enjoying the tease.

Gripping both of Peter’s balls in his hand, Tony gave a tug and rolled them between his fingers. “So, you grip a little harder and move your hand a little faster – it’s the sweet combination of pleasure-pain, the relief of almost curing the itch and the slightest dig of your fingernails into your skin.” Tony let his left-hand wrap around his own length, the tip completely drenched in precum.

Tony slipped his hand from Peter’s balls down his perineum and in between his cheeks, his finger tracing around the tight rim of his asshole. Peter’s hand was moving quickly over himself, his eyes wide as he tried to stave off an orgasm and catch every move of Tony’s hand that he could. “You should cum, Pete. Finally scratch that itch.” Tony’s finger pressed ever so slightly against the rim as he spoke, the tip barely slipping inside. “Cum, Pete.”

The clench of Peter’s muscles was almost enough to pull Tony over the edge with him – Peter’s hand was flying over his length, the start of his orgasm splashing against the bottom of his stomach, then pooling between the ab and pec complex up towards his chest. Tony’s name dripped from his lips, Peter’s free hand fumbling around until he grasped bare skin.

It took a couple more strokes for Tony to follow him over the edge, the sight of Peter’s cum coating his own stomach and the blissed-out expression on his face more than enough to fuel Tony’s fire for a long time to come.

Without much thought, Tony collapsed on Peter’s chest, their legs tangling. He didn’t care about the cum that smeared against his skin when he moved in to press a kiss to already swollen lips – Tony hoped to spend many days covered in Peter’s cum and sweat. Now that the dam was broken, there’d be no holding back the feelings he tried his best to keep under control.

Peter’s arms wrapped tightly around him, Tony feeling the boy’s sigh from his position against his chest. His skin was warm and slick – the softness of it a contrast that made Tony want to hunker down and be surrounded by it forever.

#starker #ironspider #bobbie writes #prompts #starkerscoop

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rest-upon-the-morning-light · 4 years

Text

JonMartin fic

So I’m trying to get back into fic writing, especially for TMA, and have a multi chapter fic planned but wanted to start with a smaller one shot style fic to warm up. It’s been an age since I’ve written anything, much less something that wasn’t just reader based or smut lmao. I’ve added trigger warnings but if I missed any do let me know!

Any feedback would be great and if you like this, please send me prompts! Happy to write anything from fluff to smut, just as long as its TMA based :D

So! Here is my cute fluff JonMartin fic! Enjoy~

Everybody Wants To Be A Cat

Word Count: 2240

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Animal Abuse, but nothing to graphic. Anxiety. Self Worth Issues. Season 1 Jon being Season 1 Jon. Season 1 Martin being Season 1 Martin.

Fandom: The Magnus Archive

Pairings: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood

Summary: Martin was certain of two things. One, he had an enormous crush on his boss. Two, his boss hated him. Who knew a one eyed beast of an alley cat would bring them closer?

Martin Blackwood has two problems.

Problem number one. He was absolutely certain he was more than a little bit in love with his boss.

Problem number two. His was absolutely certain said boss hated him.

Well, hated was probably a strong word. Hated implied that Jon thought of him at all, and it was far more likely that Jon thought of him very little throughout his day. Except, of course, when Martin did something wrong. Then those piercing eyes of his would be solely fixed on him whilst he shouted about how inept Martin was or how stupid his mistake had been.

It hurt, those moments. It hurt that the only time Jon ever truly seemed to see Martin was when he was angry at him. Not when Martin did an amazing follow up on a statement. Not when he’d created a great rapport with a statement giver or their family. Not when he brought Jon tea. Just when he did something wrong.

It was a running theme in this annoyance Martin called his life.

He still couldn’t help these feelings though. Jon was an arse half the time that much was true. It infuriated Tim to know end when Jon would lash out at Martin. “He has no right Martin. Mistake or not he’s your boss, he’s supposed to help you, not act like a massive dick all the time”

It was harder for Tim and Sasha in a way. They’d been Jon’s equal for a long time, working together. Moving to the Archive was always going to be a bit of a challenge. To have friend become boss. Especially for Sasha, who everyone thought was going to be become Head Archivist. But neither had held any real resentment over Jon for the change. After all, it wasn’t his choice, it was Elias’s.

But Jon’s sudden shift from rude but mostly recluse and occasionally friendly colleague to rude very recluse and stick constantly up arse boss was harder than any of them expected.

Martin could understand. It was big position and Jon seemed like the type to take everything he did very seriously. This meant holding everything in the archive to a high standard. His assistance included.

So yes, Jon was awful to him a lot of the time. But he was passionate. He cared. For all his blustering that none of this was real, Martin could see how much he empathised with the people who had given those statements. How he looked like he’d personally failed them when a follow up revealed they had died not longer after they’d come to visit the institute.

His crush probably wasn’t the most healthy but sue him! He liked being a bit in love. He liked having inspiration for his poetry. He enjoyed the fluttery feeling in his stomach when he came into work.

He just wished Jon didn’t quite hate. No. Didn’t quite dislike him so much.

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There is a cat that has been hiding the alleyway behind the Institute for several days now.

Martin noticed the poor thing when he’d been taking out some rubbish that accumulated in the Archive. Usually that sort of thing wasn’t his job, but he’d been done for the day anyway and he liked to be useful, even if no one really noticed.

It was a mangy young thing. Light brown fur matted, one eye seemed to be damaged and it hissed every time Martin so much as approached it.

He couldn’t just leave it though. Poor thing needed help. It was out here, lonely, forgotten, damaged by the people that probably at one point said they’d love and protect it.

Was he projecting onto a stray cat now? God this was a new level of sad.

So he did what someone in his position did best. He researched.

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There is a surprising number of places to buy cat supplies near the Institute and the workers in the shop were incredibly helpful with his questions.

Approach slowly. Don’t try to touch or hold the cat. Leave out food and water. He’d also bought a small plastic hut and shoved a warm blanket inside for the large cat. He didn’t know what breed it was. Just that it was grumpy and hurt.

It didn’t take a great deal away from his own funds either. His job paid well enough and he didn’t exactly go out with people very often, buying expensive drinks or tickets to shows.

His special treat was usually some sugar drenched coffee.

He couldn’t see any physical injuries on the cat, apart from its eye, so he put some treats in the hut, left out the food and water, then left.

He came back everyday with more supplies to keep the large growling cat comfortable. Every day that passed the cat came a little bit closer to him. He grinned at that. Hoping one day it would come close enough to pet.

He’d read somewhere that when cats blink, once and slow, it was a sign that they trusted you. Martin waited for that day with bated breath.

Tim and Sasha were a little bit suspicious as to where he was going on his lunch breaks. He told them he just taking a long walk, getting some fresh air away from the dusty old archives but he knew it wasn’t the best lie.

Lying for the sake of his job was one thing. Lying to his friends for no good reason was another.

It wasn’t like he doing anything bad. It was more that he wanted this for himself. He wasn’t even too sure why. Part of him wondered if he was worried the cat would somehow take some natural liking to either one of them or both. He didn’t want to lose all his hard work.

Or, if he was being more honest with himself, he didn’t want the cat to abandon him for someone better.

Yeah. New level of pathetic had been reached.

But one lunch, a few weeks after he’d first spotted the broken but massive feline, that the lying and the ill feeling became absolutely worth it.

Because the cat approached him.

Martin didn’t move a single muscle. He was sat on a small wooden box in the alley. Far enough away as to not frighten the poor thing, but close enough that the cat could make contact if it wanted to.

And today it did.

He held his breath the closer it got, keeping eye contact with its good eye the whole time. It paused for a moment, right in the front of his bent legs, before it let out a small mirp noise and butted its head against his knee.

“Oh hello” Martin laughed, chest feeling lighter than it had in an exceptionally long time.

He reached out his hand slowly to pet its head and let out another sign of relief when the one eyed cat let him.

“Well” he began

“I can’t very well keep calling you cat or beast in my head, you’ll need a name”.

It didn’t acknowledge his words in any way, just continued to let him scratch behind its ears and watched him with its one working eye. He could almost imagine its thoughts.

“Silly Martin, just come up with one already. Stop wasting time”.

He let out a soft chuckle at the thought, a name ready on his lips.

“Jon” he smiled gently.

“I think I’ll call you Jon”.

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It went well after that. Martin made plans to keep the cat. It would help the dreariness of his lonely flat, and he was lucky his landlord allowed pets in his building.

He couldn’t afford proper insurance but the workers at the pet shop knew an emergency vet that wasn’t too expensive, so he could get Cat Jon’s eye checked out soon.

Giddy as he was with his newfound friend, he didn’t realise that he’d been less subtle than usual about where he was going on his break.

It was one grey, wet Wednesday that it all came to ahead.

He’d been sitting crossed legged on the ground, his coat below him as a sort of makeshift blanket to keep his trousers dry, when Human Jon found them.

He hadn’t even noticed Jon had followed him until the backdoor that led the alley burst open with a bang that echoed down the narrow way.

“Martin” shouted Jon, looking at some papers in his hand.

“I need you to take your lunch late and follow up on this report. You made several errors in your research that, frankly, a child could spot. I don’t know what you’re doing out here but if you have time to sit around then –“

Jon’s rant was cut short as he finally looked up to the picture that greeted him.

Cat Jon had leaped into his arms from the loud noise, clinging to Martin’s bright yellow sweater.

Martin froze, cat in arms as Jon stared at him with a look of equal shock.

“Oh” began Jon softly

“Sorry” Martin practically shouted.

“I – eh – this is, well um, a cat, I found? A few weeks ago, actually. I’ve been sort of taking care of it? Getting it food and water and um” he gestured to the plastic hut and blanket he’d laid out.

“He was hurt you see. Only one eye and really badly taken care of. Abandoned, I recon. So I’ve been out here on lunches making sure he’s, um, that he’s okay? Is that..is that alright?” he trailed off nervously.

He couldn’t look at Jon. It wasn’t exactly something to be ashamed of, taking care of a stray cat. But he could imagine Jon being the sort of serious no nonsense person who would see it as a waste of time, his lunch break or not. God would this make his relationship worse? Would Jon scold him for it? Did it make him seem more pathetic than before? Christ, was that even possible?

He didn’t notice the movement until Jon was sat beside him on the floor.

Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, sat on a dirty alley floor with Martin K Blackwood.

He watched with bated breath as Human Jon reached his hand out to Cat Jon and let out a small sound of relief when Cat Jon didn’t bite, scratch or run away.

“You poor thing” murmured Jon, eyes only on his (unknowing) cat counterpart.

“What have they done to you? Well, you look better now than you probably did before. Thank to our Martin here”.

Martin couldn’t help but blush deeply at that. Hot all over his face. He couldn’t handle this. Jon being all, all soft and gentle and calling him “our” Martin.

“You’ve been taking care of him then?” Jon looked up at Martin now. Eyes soft and kind for once. It nearly took all of Martins brain power to respond after receiving such a look.

“Yes” he began.

“Like I said, I found him a few weeks ago. Planning on taking him back to mine soon, get him out of the cold properly”.

Jon nodded, eyes never leaving Martins, hand firmly petting the cat in Martins arms.

“I’m sorry, about the work” Martin nervously bit his lip.

“I’ve been really worried about him so I rushed it to get out here on time. It’s no excuse and I know you don’t exactly think highly of my work in the first place. I’ll make sure I stay late tonight so I can catch up”

“Martin” interrupted Jon, eye straying on the bitten lip, a slight flush to his cheeks.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I haven’t been fair to you these past few months. It’s been unprofessional at best and, well, and downright cruel at worst”

“Your job is stressful” Martin tried to defend

“And we both know I’m not exactly at the same standard at the others”

“Still” Jon continued.

“It’s my job to help you, not, berate you at every mistake. You came from the library, not research, so you have different skill set and – well, its been hard for us all. Not fair of me to put all that blame on you. God knows Tim could stand to be a bit more professional at times” Jon grumbled out the last part, a small pout to his lips.

Martin laughed at that, smiling wider than he could last remember.

“Tim just likes to keep you human, I think” he winked and watched with fascination as the flush came back to Jon’s dark cheeks.

Cat Jon leap out of his arms after that, toddling off to who knows where.

“Well” Martin began, getting up from his cross legged position on the floor.

“We still have time for lunch, we could, um, maybe eat together? If that’s okay I mean! You could help me figure out a name for him?” “You don’t have one already?” replied Jon, surprise in his voice “Uhhh not any suitable ones, no” Martin laughed awkwardly.

He couldn’t exactly say he’d name the poor blighter after Jon. He doubted Jon would take it as a compliment and he didn’t want to ruin whatever fragile peace they’d stumbled onto.

He held out his hand to help Jon off the floor. Jon eyed it, before bringing his own hand up and placing it into Martins larger ones. Martin pulled him up and held back a small gasp as Jon shot forward quicker than intended, his smaller hand landing on Martin chest.

Jon looked up at him, a small shy smile gracing his lips.

“Beautiful” Martin couldn’t help but think, face and ears bright red.

Jon pulled back, coughing every so slightly into his fist.

“Yes, well, I’ve named a cat or two in my time, it won’t be too hard” “Oh?” teased Martin

“What about Magnus? We did find him here” Jon shook his head at that, crinkling his nose slightly.

“Absolutely not, something more dignified. The Captain maybe?” “Captain?” countered Martin

“The Captain” continued Jon as they began to head back inside

“I suppose the one eye does give him a bit of a pirate look” Martin couldn’t help by laugh slightly as he said it.

“Yes” Jon laughed back

“Dignified but still fitting his nature” And off they went, back into the Institute. Unaware of any monstrous eyes watching them as they simply watched each other. A new, wonderful feeling developing between them.

Neither noticed that they still held each others hands as they made their way to the break room.

And if they spoke of cat names, and toys and flushed deeply when they did notice the hands still entwined, well.

Those moments were only for them.

#the magnus archives #tma #writing #fanfiction #jon and martin both project onto the same cat #cats just sat there like #pls someone fucking take me home #kiss already #jonmartin #god i love soft moments for them #hope you guys enjoy!#pls send me prompts they feed me #my writing

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border-spam · 4 years

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Leech Lord ficlet - What's mine is mine

The first time she’d tried to leech Troy they were 11, and she’d grabbed his hand to pull him down into the warm soil around a Nekrotree’s roots, laughing through gap teeth that it was time to share the warmth in her tummy from the glowpods he’d found for her.

It wasn't on purpose, it's not like she'd planned ahead or given it thought, it was just.. it just happened. The question of if she could whispered through her mind in a fraction of a second as their hands touched and she felt the cool pull of passing energy to her twin.

She'd paused, rolling it on her tongue for a moment as she watched him lean back against the rough bark, letting his eyes slide closed and those lines that already scoured his little face relax.

It wouldn't work, right?

It wouldn't. They shared, nothing would happen if she tried to take.. would it?

Ty had twisted her free fingers in the hem of her threadbare shirt, squinting at the markings that glowed across their joined hands with the gentle thrum of power she felt him pull through her core. It felt like exhaling with a heavy wind at your back, a subtle assistance that wasn't sinister in any way just... it was hungry. He was hungry, and a tiny pang of guilt tightened her chest as she watched their markings pulse slowly. Maybe she should have shared sooner, but Troy would never ask.

He was pretending he couldn't hear the sounds as they felt the bond seal, he always did that, it was stupid. He'd insist nothing was happening while she knew he heard the same thing, the wash of confusing background noise that would fill their heads with static when they joined like this. She turned to stare back at the entrance to the vault, thinking of Dad and his crackly old E-Com, the garbled audio that was almost language it would hiss out of a broken speaker. That's what the sound was like sometimes, or at least, the closest comparison she could think of in her isolated little world.

She swallowed hard, half her insisting she should forget the question that had just fluttered across her thoughts, half eagerly egging her on to find out. What would happen if she tried to take power from him? How would it feel? What would it look like?

Would it hurt? Would it be like that time Mom had told her not to get too close to the fire but she'd had to know for herself why? Would it burn as bad? The urge to do it felt the same as that time had, curiosity too strong to ignore despite the warnings surrounding it.

She knew that now she'd thought of the question once, she couldn't pretend otherwise, wouldn't be able to forget it had been asked. It would bounce around in her little head till she found out the answer, mom had always said Ty was going to be an adventurer one day, a great one just like dad. Leda had smiled and told her it was because wanting to know the answer to questions was the greatest reason to explore. That if she hadn't wanted to know the answers to her own questions, she'd never have her Starlight and Moonbright, never found this home and her family.

Tyreen would try then. Just for a second. Just once. Just like dabbing a battery against her tongue to feel the shock. Just like passing her hand through that flame, because she was an adventurer like mom had said, and she needed to know.

A slow, even breath out as she loosened her shoulders and settled back into her spine, then Tyreen focused, gathering the threads of wavering energy she could feel shimmer through her body and into his, and with just a twitch, the most subtle shift of the flow, pulled back.

Then nothing happened.

The lack of response was more jarring that anything she'd been prepared for. If it had burned, if Troy had yelped and pulled his hand away, if anything had responded, it would have been less disturbing. Nothing. The tug hadn't even registered, the same complete lack of response as if she'd yanked at a rope tied to Dad's old ship. No movement, no give. He hadn't even opened his eyes.

Ty sucked at her lower lip and shuffled her knees under her, glaring unblinking at where their thumbs crossed. Maybe she just.. maybe it needed to be harder. She never had to pull normally, she couldn't stop pulling normally. Maybe she just didn't know how to do it on purpose. She'd try again. Just a little harder. Just so she could be sure and not have to question it ever again.

She screwed her eyes shut, biting down with slowly increasing pressure on her lip as she focused on the whistle of his breathing, on the blistering heat of the power beginning to roil and churn inside her ribs, the tendrils of heat snaking inside her arm to taste and squirm against his cool skin, and she pulled.

She pulled, harder, harder, waiting to feel the give, there must be a give, everything else crumbled against this magic warmth when she didn't even try, there would be a give, of course there would be a give if she kept pulling and -

Nothing.

The taste of blood broke her concentration before the realisation she hadn't breathed in half a minute did, she gasped in a shaky breath and yanked her hand out of his, wild-eyed as she watched him fumble in confused fright and scrabble to his feet.

"Ty??"

Her ears were ringing, unsure what he was saying when he awkwardly dropped to his knees in front of her in a heap of gangly limbs and crookedness, and mouthed something while his hand gently squeezed her shoulder.

"..u ok Ty..n?"

It felt like she was drowning, breath wasn't filling her lungs right and his gaunt face swam in her vision, blurred and concerned as the dull roar in her head slowly cleared.

"Ty you're b-bleeding.."

She jolted back as his hand moved from her shoulder, and Troy froze, eyes dark with worry as he glanced down. Her gaze slowly following his to the blood dripping onto her thighs from the nosebleed she realised he'd been about to wipe, sticky and glinting black in the dim light.

Her ribs felt like glass, everything was empty inside, what did he do, what.. what...

"What happened..?" he whispered, looking back up through tears as hers began to spill past her lashes.

She swallowed again, running her tongue slowly over her swollen lip as gnawing doubt crept into the back of her throat, the first flicker of an emotion she'd never felt before settling in her tummy.

"I don't know, Troy."

She wished that wasn't the truth.

--------

The second time they were 18, wasting away on the dead planet they called home, watching their pathetic lives tick by slowly.

She'd been so damn tired, another night unable to sleep. The constant drone of singing Korax just too loud to manage to blank out. It got this bad every year during breeding season, and the nights always felt long. Typhon would snore through it, but the twins usually couldn't sleep properly till the month ended and would nap in the cool shade of tree boughs during the day instead. Shift their sleeping patterns around the creatures that made this place home and wait for the Korax to move on. They belonged here, after all. The twins didn't.

Ty had given up on resting through the chirping echose and had carefully padded out of the sleeping area, noting Troy's empty bedroll as she wrapped a thin blanket repurposed from panelling insulation around her shoulders. The night was cool and heavy, amplifying the animal's whistling calls through the clarity of the air. It smelled like damp soil and rotting wood on nights like this - lovely in a way she'd come to appreciate. That was the smell of life, of death and growth blooming and decaying all around them. Clean, like mom used to describe it. Ty had quietly shuffled across the smooth rock of the vault and towards the outer camp, filling deep lungfulls with that delicious air as she searched for her missing twin.

She found him cracking bones from the meal he'd eaten with dad earlier by the campfire, a spindly mess of jutting shapes and harsh shadows, picking desperately at marrow from where it hunched in front of the embers.

He quickly tossed the remnants with a panicked flick of his hand as he heard her approach, and she didn't need him to turn to know he was flushed in shame at being found like this. She could hear that clear enough in the shaky greeting he grumbled over his shoulder.

It took him a moment to answer, hair fluttering in the firelight as he shook his head tiredly, staring at the dust in front of him as she slowly lowered herself to the ground by his side.

"Hey... hungry again?"

A stupid question really, she knew he was. He always was, not in the exact same way as she felt it, but still ravenous. Hunger was something they both knew intimately.

"Yeah. Didn't really.. d-didn't really get much today, not after sharing with dad. It just ain't ever enough Ty, it's n-never enough..." he paused to lean into her a little.

"I try and like, I try and be fair, I can't give him less cause he needs to eat and he can't go hunting anymore but.." he trailed off worldlessly, warm light glinting reflections in the darks of his eyes.

She shifted the cloth around his shoulder too, pressing hers against his empty right as they rested their heads together side by side.

"Is it the, you know, our power thing?"

He nodded slowly, still staring at the fire.

"Yeah. Always is. And it's not like there's payoff, it doesn't do anything bar make me so hungry, Ty."

She waited quietly, something unsaid was on the air, and she could feel him tense against her as he mulled over the words on the tip of his tongue.

"...It's not even that, it just, it feels like I... feels like it should be doing something, you know? There's something inside me, it's not just the markings, there's Siren in me. I know there is, it's just under my skin. It's right there and I c-can't touch it or make it work. I don't know what it does or if it does anything bar... this. "

She took his outstretched hand and waited for it, that song strumming between their veins neither could fully hear. Trying to explain, trying to communicate but language broken and voice backwards - inside out. Nothing and everything crashing together in a wave of cosmic frustration both twins felt viscerally.

He pulled away, grimacing in disgust as he shook his hand slowly, trying to fan that grotesque sensation out of his fingertips.

"F-fucking hate when that happens, it's like feedback, a power surge or something. Feel like it's going to blow my skull out... man. Is that really all I've got? Eating your energy and.. and.. blowing fuses inside my brain when we touch? That's it Ty? God... I wish I could just give it back..."

He'd whispered the last part but she'd heard clear enough despite her teeth chattering through nerves still firing from the blast of sensation a moment ago. He wishes he could give it back...? If he was anyone else she'd have ripped him apart to drag it out of his entrails by now. The wave of anger that blossomed at that statement dulled slowly into the back of her mind as a possibility arose, a question she'd forgotten about for so long.

"Maybe" Tyreen whispered, turning to face his side.

"...maybe you can try giving it back."

He looked like he'd just been shot, eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock as he whipped to look at her.

"What? Will that work?"

She rubbed the tips of her fingers against her thumb, glancing to the fire in front of them, the memory of passing a tiny hand through flame.

"I don't know, Troy. But we could try."

He grabbed her hand before she could react, screwing his eyes shut as he pushed.

Something happened, she felt winded for just a second, something moved inside her chest and she gripped his hand tighter, grabbing his wrist with her right and squeezing as she focused and pulled.

The screeching wail filled both their minds like warning sirens, voices over voices in octaves that pitched madly, and the twins grimaced in pain as he opened everything inside him and she desperately tried to drag it outwards, but nothing happened.

Nothing.

He gasped out a pained breath as he pulled his hand away and started to cry, crackly voice-breaking whines that fell into desperate sobs as she wrapped her arms around him and shushed into the black of his hair.

"Its ok Troy, we'll be ok."

--------

The third time they were 26, and he had her pinned against the wall of her personal ship, monstrous prosthetic claws digging into the hull panel beside her head.

She scratched blindly at his forearm as it pressured against her chest, spitting venom at him as he roared in her face to stop LYING TO HIM ALL THE TIME.

That he knew what she'd been doing, the same thing she always did when she thought anyone else was threatening how much time he gave her. That his friends DID like him, they did, they weren't feigning caring about him, they weren't manipulating him to get something, they weren't.

That she was wrong, as she kicked against his shins and snarled up into the rage in his face, that she just didn't get it, because what the fuck would SHE know about KINDNESS???

Her fingernails bit into the muscle of his forearm as she leeched him, the thing inside her screaming at her mind to punish him, to show him who had the real power in their rivalry. To make him beg for forgiveness.

She pulled with such force, such intense fury, that his words were drowned out by the swell of blood in her ears... and nothing happened.

Nothing.

She hated him so intensely, hated what he'd taken from her, that she didn't stop the crushing effort of the pull against his immovable barrier till she felt a vessel in her eye burst, and he choked, stepping away from her in shock.

She panted against the wall, palms burning as he whispered in apology. As her twin stuttered that he was sorry, while blood from the nail punctures dribbled down his forearm. That it was an accident and he didn't know he was pushing against her that hard, that he hadn't meant to hurt her.. as he asked if she was ok.

She slapped him so hard that she heard a crunch.

--------

The fourth time they were 29, and he was renouncing her.

It was in desperation as she felt it flow into him so effortlessly that it was almost like it wanted to escape her soul, dragging ice from her fingertips through her spine as he leeched her power from the tomb of her core. A final, sad attempt to defy Troy, to pull back feebly against that wall of his inner self as she realised in panic that there was no one left to stop him.

That no devout was coming to help their Queen, all rallied under his banner now.

That no loyalty remained to the Vault Mother, and she'd been the architect of her own fall from grace. That Tyreen had destroyed the goddess she built from scratch... and as she began to lose consciousness, there was a flutter at the back of her mind that was so glad.

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #tyreen calypso #troy calypso #calypso twins #leech lord #my writing #my hcs

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norafike · 4 years

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Despite all this, I still love you 21

I would like to thank my dear friends @journal-of-an-outlaw and @bucketofcowboys for taking the time to beta read this for me. Please be sure to go check them and out and give them a follow, some of the loveliest people I have met here.

“Easy now.” His voice was gentle and calming. Nora rested comfortably in his arms and while it still hurt for someone to touch her flesh he did it so softly she almost did not notice.

“Arthur?” She croaked, her voice sore and the male nodded slowly.

“Albert, don't suppose you could help me get her up onto the back of my horse there.”

She couldn't hear what the two men spoke about and she startled when this stranger moved her. Unlike Arthur, he was not gentle in his actions and she almost cried out from the pain that shot throughout her body at his harshness. Arthur scolded Albert on it once and while he was more careful in what he was doing, there was no drastic difference.

“You hold on, Nora.” Arthur told her, but the words fell upon deaf ears and she almost fell off the back of his horse when he spurred her into movement.

They rode at a gentle pace and even though they barely moved along the trail she still held on for dear life, fearing that a fall from the horse would injure herself further after all that had gone on.

She wasn't sure how many cuts or bruises she had left from Colm and was afraid to look and see. She was grateful to not be bleeding as much, but hell, did everything hurt.

“What happened to you, Nora?” Arthur demanded to know, the stress obvious in his voice as he nearly shouted

She was too weak to talk at length but she managed to let his name slip in a gasp. “Colm.”

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed when he caught the name and turned quickly to face his original companion. Albert looked just as concerned as Arthur was despite having no idea on the severity of the situation with the O'Driscoll's being involved.

“Mr. Mason!”

“Yes?”

“You head on back to wherever you were stayin', I need to take my friend here back home.. keep an eye on the roads and if any nasty lookin' people jump out, shoot them.”

Albert seemed displeased with the instruction but nodded reluctantly in agreement regardless. He shot Arthur a quick look, the worry apparent in his eyes at the almost lifeless Nora. “Farewell, Mr. Morgan.”

...

Lem paced back and forth in the campgrounds, the mud under him worn down so the ground was no longer level. He didn't listen to anything said by either his own Aunt Maggie or Cripps. No matter how hard they tried to calm him down from his worry he paid them no mind and continued to fear the worse for Nora.Even Marcel who wasn't particularly fond of the Fike boy had spoken with him a couple of times before giving up and passing over a bowl of stew that was left uneaten.

His pacing wore on Maggie's nerves and eventually she aimed her cane just behind him and shot into the tree, splintering the trunk. Lem jumped back, looking at his aunt in dismay.

“What the hell?” He cried out but she only gave him a stern look in warning.

“Pacing isn't going to do anythin', Lem. You're only getting on our nerves.”

Lem was bewildered at the harshness in her tone, choosing to ignore his Aunt and not argue back to her.

He left the camp to sit on an old rock near the roads, wearing a brave face no matter how much he wanted to break down and cry.

Cripps got up to speak with him but Maggie held her cane out to stop him, instead choosing to steer him towards the table to sit down. She slowly lowered herself into the seat opposite and leaned forward to speak quietly that nobody else could pick up on her words.

“If she's dead make sure to ease him into it. Tellin' him bluntly ain't gonna help.”

“She ain't dead, Maggie.” Cripps sighed. “How could you say that?”

“JB she's been gone for days and the only thing any of you found was a gun and a horse, she's unarmed out there and you know what she gets like. You don't know if she's dead or not.”

“And you don't know, Nora. That woman's been caught in an explosion because of your nephew and got out fine.”

Maggie's expression didn't falter; she held that same harsh gaze. “Just don't go giving him false hope.” She left the table soon after and, using her hand, waved for Marcel to come back with her to the moonshine shack.

Even though It was the simplest conversation it left him mad. Cripps got up from the table and ignored his former admirer's warning, approaching Lem as he sat sulking. “She'll be fine.”

The sound of twigs snapping brought Lem and Cripp’s attention and both men turned to look over at the tree line, in time to see one angry face marching towards them.

“Shit.” Lem whispered under his breath as he stood up.

“Hello, Morgan.” He greeted, although rather reluctantly, but she shot him one mean glare and he bit back on his tongue.

“You gonna tell me what happened to Nora?” She bitterly asked, crossing her arms and standing firmly before him. He ignored the question and turned back towards Cripps, pointing a finger towards her.

“This is a friend of Nora's, Morgan Canaday.”

“I'll be leavin' you two to talk.” Cripps said as he began to slowly back away, uninterested in getting involved with this new trouble Lem had been found in.

“So, where's Nora?” Morgan asked again but this time she spoke a lot more slowly.

“We're l-lookin' out for her.”

“Like shit you are, if anyone was really puttin' in the effort then she'd have been found already.” Morgan growled slightly at the eye roll he gave her and leaned forward, intimidating him enough so that he backed away from her.

“Listen, you better pray for your sake that Nora is fine, Fike.” She sneered. Any words Lem had were caught in his throat and he could only manage a small squeak to reply. Morgan nodded slowly but the tough exterior never faltered.

“You know where I'll be if you need anythin', but you make sure she gets home safely, understand?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.”

Morgan disappeared amongst the trees again and when she was far enough gone Lem was finally able to let out a long breath. “Fuck.” He mumbled so nobody could hear before returning back to the camp where everyone else waited.

...

The journey was a lot longer than anticipated but it was what should have been expected given the slow pace Arthut travelled at. Eventually, they returned to Shady Belle with Nora still breathing.

“Abigail!” The man called for as he dismounted. Nora swayed back and forth, ready to fall but Arthur reached forward to lift her off of the animal. Abigail came marching around the corner and gasped the minute her eyes set on Nora as he carried her towards the plantation house. , She turned back towards John who had been following and whispered something incoherent that Arthur couldn't hear.

“What the hell happened?” She asked, but Arthur simply shook his head as he didn't know.

“Found her this way, Abigail. Said it was Colm.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“Afraid not.” He sighed. “I had to take her here if the O’Driscolls were involved.”

Abigail nodded and waved Arthur to follow her indoors. John had already set up a bedroll near the fireplace and the piano. Hosea stood waiting for them with Miss Grimshaw, an equal look of worry on both their faces.

“Arthur, you leave the women and come talk with me about what happened, John- take Charles and try and find Nora's posse...tell them she's with us.”

“Yes, Hosea.” Marston left the building and Hosea took Arthur upstairs to talk in private, not wanting to disturb Susan and Abigail.

“Want to tell me what happened?” Hosea jumped straight into the questioning as soon as they entered Arthur's room and he had to raise his hands defensively to show that he wasn't the one in the wrong here.

“I found her out on the track like that- she mentioned Colm and that was all she could say.”

“So Colm's going after Nora now, I mean, he and those bastards go after anyone they can get their hands on but she seems… bad.”

Arthur nodded. “If it was a robbery, she'd be dead.”

“Or lucky. Knowing that girl, she's lucky.”

There was a subtle chuckle that escaped from Arthur's lips but he quickly silenced it out of respect. The door to his room swung open and stood there was Molly O'Shea, her hair dishevelled and barely kept like it usually was. She looked worried and Arthur quickly prepared himself for a long speech about how much she loved Dutch and how he began ignoring her again but instead the Irishwoman gazed up at Mr. Morgan, sharing an equal amount of worry as him.

“Will Nora be okay?” Her concern confused him as Molly had never spoken about Nora before and for her to be talking about someone that wasn't Dutch was surprising. Sure, they had chatted briefly but he figured Molly was too much ‘high society’ for the likes of Nora.

“I don't know, why don't you go downstairs and-”

“And deal with Abigail and Susan?” She cut in. “No thank you, they'll look down on me and shoo me away without hearing what I have to ask.”

“I'll go down and check for you, Miss O'Shea.” Hosea, not wanting to be involved, suggested and she nodded in thanks as he disappeared down the stairs. Molly sharply turned back towards Arthur and he felt an unfamiliar sense of dread wash over him.

“She's a sweet girl, Arthur.” Molly said quietly.

“I weren't aware that you thought so fondly of her, Miss O'Shea.” Molly's jaw fell open in offence at his words but she quickly closed it, biting back an angry remark and his thoughtlessness.

“I think highly of most.” Molly gave him a gentle nod before pushing away from the doorway. He listened closely until he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore and decided that now would be as good as time as any to return back downstairs to check over Nora, see how she was doing. He didn't get too far before Susan placed a cold palm flat against the man's chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“I just wanted to see how she is doing, Miss Grimshaw.” He said.

“She's fine, but you can't come in here.. none of you men can if I can help it.”

“How bad was she?”

Grimshaw let out a low sigh as she waved Mary-Beth over, silently telling her to tend to Nora while she conversed with the man. “It's similar to how you were.”

“When?”

“When Colm sent his men after you, too.” She finished. Arthur let out a hiss and the memory, even though he didn't like to dwell back on it.

“She'll live right?”

“Always with the question. I don't know if she'll survive, Morgan. Ain't nothing infected but… time will tell. Us folk ain't lucky.”

“Keep her alive, Susan.” He warned, exiting the old house through the back door so he wouldn't have to cut through the same room where Nora rested. Susan's lips pressed into a thin line and she shook her head gently before returning to Nora's care.

...

“And Lem?” Arthur knew she would ask about him soon enough. Other than saying she felt significantly better it was practically the first thing she had said; she loved that man.

“What about him?”

Nora slowly pushed herself up, groaning as pain flaredin her sides. She grabbed it gently, thinking the pressure would help ease the ache, but there was only so much a hang could do.

“Do you know where he is? Or how he is?”

“I don't know. As soon as I found you I took you here.”

Nora nodded gently. “I gotta go back, see him.” She tried to stand but barely made it off the floor.

“You’ve gotta rest some more, Nora.” He said kindly but she knew it was more of a command. She pouted slightly but wasn't feeling stubborn enough to argue further, reluctantly agreeing with Arthur who chuckled lowly at her.

“Charles and Marston have been sent out to look for your group. I'm sure Lem will come back with them.”

“He's definitely going too.”

“I'll leave you to get some rest, Miss. Take care.” Nora looked up at Arthur with a gentle smile as she watched him walk out of the room. From beyond the window she noticed how he talked with someone, whispering in their ear and pointing back towards her.

...

“Where is she?”

Molly was surprised to see Lem and she gently pointed over towards the house where Nora rested, knowing it could only be her that drew him to Shady Belle. He nodded curtly and hurried inside the derelict building.

He didn't need to go far. She was right by the fire with her back towards him. Nora didn't notice the door opening, her focus solely on the flickering flames in front of her.

“How are you feeling?” At the sound she jumped. She turned around quickly with wide eyes, surprised and yet happy to finally see him again after so long.

“I'm just happy to see you again, Fike.” She chuckled.

“I'm happy to see you again, too.” He sank down to the floor with her, sitting just a few feet away. “God I was w-worried about you.”

Nora let out a quiet sigh, averting her gaze over towards the wall so he couldn't see her cry. He heard the sobs regardless and shuffled closer, placing a palm on her shoulder. She still didn't look over at him but could feel Lem's gaze burning into her.

“I really should have listened to you, Lem.”

“You had no idea what was g-gonna happen.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “I don't care about that. I'm just happy you're alive.”

“You're too good to me.”

He shrugged. “You saved me.”

She finally looked over and when their eyes met she offered him a kind smile. He leaned forward and gave her a small kiss on the cheek, a gentle peck and it was over no sooner than it started but Nora still flushed a bright red after it, flustered by the kind action. She often found herself unsure of what to say after any show of affection but this time she managed to splutter a small “thank you.”

#rdr2 #red dead 2 #rdo #red dead online #rdr2 fanfic #lem fike #lemuel fike #arthur morgan #lem fike x oc #original female characters #original characters #molly o'shea #hosea matthews #susan grimshaw #mary beth gaskill #abigail marston #I love Lem and Nora sm

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puddygeeks · 4 years

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Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 47: Tᴇᴇɴᴀɢᴇ Kɪᴄᴋs

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for.

A/N: This chapter gets a little weird, I had a headcanon and I went with it. Let me know what you think ;)

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Several hours had passed since Raven took off, and Harper and I were joined by the rest of our group from the day. We all crowded around the table which was now overflowing with drinks and there was an intense game of cards taking place. The atmosphere was joyful and celebratory in a way that I hadn’t seen since Unity Day and it was heartwarming to see the faces of my family that had been aged by hardship light up in each other's company. Even Bellamy had joined the drinking, but whilst the others threw back their cups with enthusiasm, he simply continued to nurse his first drink in his usual controlled manner. I was starting to feel relaxed and warm in a way that I knew was fuelled by the alcohol, but still felt completely in control of my actions. There was raucous laughter as Harper successfully defeated Monty with her sly tactics.

“Alright, come on mom and dad, it’s time you stopped hiding on the sidelines and joined in.” Octavia stated as she set her sights on Bellamy and I with a determination glinting in her eyes. “Deal them in, loser has to down their drink.” She announced and Bellamy chuckled as he shook his head at her. “Come on Bel, you’re supposed to be the big brother, it’s about time I got to see you drunk.” She drawled as she slapped his arm and he groaned at her in disappointment.

“Hell, I’m in. But i’ve been here for hours already so I’m at a disadvantage.” I stated, as Octavia cheered in excitement and returned her expectant expression to Bellamy. “I think if Bellamy dares to join the delinquent life, he should have to catch up first.” I challenged as I bit my lip suggestively at him and the entire group whooped as they waited with baited breath for his decision. I held Bellamy’s tempted gaze with my heart hammering in my chest.

“Bring the drinks.” He ordered without breaking eye contact and I felt my stomach fizz with nervous anticipation. Miller clapped in celebration and hopped to his feet to fetch three straight shots, which he lined up in front of Bellamy with a flourish. Bellamy glanced up at me with a competitive fire in his eyes, before swiftly sinking each shot whilst his audience cheered him on. When he successfully finished the set, I raised my brows in surprise and he winked slyly at me over the table.

The card game was tense as people gradually dropped out at the cost of numerous forfeit drinks and they munched on a couple of bowls of peanuts that Miller had snuck out of stocks as they watched the remaining players. Most of the surrounding tables emptied as the majority of camp retired for bed, but our party continued into the darkness until eventually only Bellamy and I remained in a showdown that exhilarated the group. We were caught in a silent staring contest as we each attempted to intimidate the other into cracking and I could sense the thrill of those observing the match with baited breath.

“You think I’m lying badboy?” I drawled in a low voice and Bellamy smirked confidently from behind his cards.

“I know all your tells, Scrappy.” He crooned and I felt my nose scrunch up with the width of my smile. It was practically impossible to be subtle about my attraction to him with my inhibitions so lowered and I suspected that our friends were enjoying the blatant flirtation between us.

“Sorry baby, but you don’t.” I whispered as I revealed my winning hand and he cursed under his breath whilst the group around us roared in laughter. “Drink up Bel.” I winked and he bitterly forced down the entirety of his cup with a grimace. Octavia leaned over to high five me and we sniggered together with matching pink cheeks from intoxication.

“Indie, catch!” Monty called as he threw a peanut at my face and after playing this game for hours at a time with him and Jasper back in our old camp, I instinctively leaned forward to catch it in my mouth. He could hardly believe his eyes when I successfully managed it and gasped at me. “Bullshit!” He hissed in shock as I remembered missing every single throw in the past and I laughed at him fondly. “Bet you can’t do it again.” He stated and I shrugged to welcome another launched peanut. This time when he threw it, my reflexes were too slow and it missed my face completely. Instead, it hit my chest and promptly disappeared into my top.

“Ah shit, I think that went in my cleavage.” I remarked as I shook my top in the hope of releasing it to no avail and several of the men in our small gathering found this hilarious.

“Hold on, I can help with that.” Bellamy commented as he stood from his seat and I viewed him suspiciously.

“Don’t even think about it.” I emphasised as I held a finger up to him in warning and he strode over to me with a mischievous smile fixed in place. “Bellamy, don’t!” I attempted to sound firm but my voice cracked with the hint of a giggle and he stepped behind me to shove his hand down my top without any hesitation. “Oh my god Bel, stop!” I cried between filthy cackles and I could feel his sloppy laughter against my back. I struggled in my seat with a squeal as he took his time to search around thoroughly and the group fell apart in disbelieving laughter. “Get off me, you animal” I tried to shout but a snort escaped and Bellamy almost choked on his delight. He finally stepped back with the peanut held up victoriously, much to the cheers of his audience. I knew what he was about to do in the moment before he moved as he met my eyes and threw the peanut into his mouth. “Ew! That is so gross!” I groaned and Octavia covered her face beside me.

“Alright, that last game is going to be hard to beat. Strip poker for the next round?” Miller suggested and I stared at him in shock.

“Oh, not a chance! I think I’m gonna head off before it gets any worse.” I announced as I wobbled my way into a standing position. I was amazed at how steady Bellamy was beside me and it was clear that our size difference gave him a rather substantial advantage when it came to alcohol tolerance.

“What about truth or dare?” Monty chirped and I paused in place as I considered his words for a moment. I slowly slid back towards the chair, but for some reason I didn’t quite meet it as something held me in place.

“Nope.” Bellamy stated defensively as he noticed my interest and wasted no time in hoisting me over his shoulder in a graceless movement that earned a squeal of surprise from me. “I’m taking her before she can cause any more trouble, any objections?” He addressed the crowd who simply waved him off and continued drinking whilst he carried me away.

Once we were back in his quarters, he dropped me onto the bed with a thump. I took a moment to sit up after the dizziness of hanging upside down and he wandered the room in search of something. I noticed that music began playing and scanned the space in confusion.

“Got this from Mount Weather, thought we could have a little fun.” He explained as he indicated to a radio and handed me a cup of whisky that he’d swiped from the bar. He dropped onto the bed beside me and I leaned over to place my head on his shoulder. There was a romantic old song playing gently in the background and I smiled fondly at him.

“I didn’t know you liked this kind of music.” I commented idly and he shrugged in a relaxed manner.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” He remarked and I felt a pang of sadness at his words. It had never occurred to me before now how little we actually knew about each other and I was uncomfortable with the idea that, despite feeling that I knew him better than I knew myself, he was right. His face contorted into a guilty expression as he studied me and I realised that I must have revealed my feelings. He crossed the room to change to an upbeat swing song and strolled back over to hold a hand out to me. “Dance with me?” He offered and I viewed him with suspicion. He waved his hand to encourage me and I took it nervously.

The moment that I stepped to my feet, he pulled me into him and began guiding me in a simple but quick two step. I felt my mouth drop open in shock at how efficient he was at this and he dipped me backwards in a smooth tilt. When I straightened back up, he flashed me a dazzling smile and I couldn’t contain a laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“What is happening right now?” I cried as he spun me around and I fell back into his arms clumsily. “You can dance?” I questioned with a growing confusion and he chuckled charmingly.

“My mom was all about dancing before Octavia was born. I used to practice with her all the time.” He revealed and I felt my face light up as I beamed at him. “Guess I still know some moves.” He winked and I found myself staring at him in awe.

“I never would have guessed that you have rhythm.” I remarked with a delighted expression as I watched him with a renewed appreciation.

“I didn’t realise you had none.” He teased as I mocked offence and he had to puppet me into the correct place as I tripped over my feet again. I would love to be able to blame it on the alcohol, but if I was honest with myself I’d never really had the coordination for any kind of dancing.

“What can I say, I’m more of a rock and roll girl.” I commented in my defence and his brows raised, before he quickly changed to a fond smile.

“Yeah, that actually makes sense for you.” He muttered as he seemed to view me with a new assessment. The song changed to a ballad and we slowed into a close sway. I moved one of my hands to his face and caressed the edge of his jaw. “Octavia doesn’t even know about this.” He admitted quietly and I cocked a brow at him in interest. “I want you to know me... really know me.” He dropped his voice to a low tone and stared into my eyes with a deep sense of adoration.

“I’d like that.” I expressed, with the feeling of my heart swelling in my chest when he smiled at me. I felt as if I wanted to stay lost in this moment, with the dreamy music and warm fuzzy feeling, forever. I could hardly believe that it was real and the thought crossed my mind that I’d never imagined experiencing anything like what I had with Bellamy. “Alright, my turn. Let me show you what I grew up on.” I chimed as I stepped out of his arms and crossed the room to the radio. “What have we got here?” I mumbled as I flipped through the available songs and he settled in a seat with a fresh glass of whisky, watching me with blatant amusement.

I could feel the effects of the alcohol now as the last of my inhibitions dissolved and Bellamy barely seemed to be feeling a light buzz by comparison. Finally, I selected a song with a cheer and turned the volume up to blaring. He laughed as I threw my jacket off dramatically and started to whip my hair around. I downed what remained of my whisky before descending into fully jumping around with flailing arms and very little semblance of any form of dancing. I forged an unsteady path toward him and pulled him to his feet. It took some considerable convincing, but he eventually dropped his guard and joined me in our own 2 person rave.

He suddenly paused in place and studied me with an awestruck expression. I opened my mouth to question him when he fell into my space and slammed his lips against mine. There was something more frantic about his kisses tonight, as if the calm control that he so carefully maintained the rest of the time had been removed by the shots that I’d baited him into earlier. My body immediately responded to his contact with an urgency that was emboldened by my lack of inhibitions.

I threaded my fingers into his hair and pushed myself up against him hungrily. The low growl that escaped his throat only spurred me on and I deepened the kiss before he could. We broke apart for just long enough to both start removing clothes from the other before clashing together again. I jumped up to wrap my legs around his waist and he wasted no time in gripping me in place. Several items of furniture clattered over noisily even over the sound of the music and I laughed against him at the chaos.

Bellamy pushed me against the wall and pressed his body against me with a level of dominance that was new but not unwelcome. His hands were all over me and I could hardly catch my breath as he altered between sloppy kisses and nipping my neck. He deftly removed my trousers whilst I was too distracted to notice and following a particularly head spinning connection of our lips, he tugged my hair. I released a moan that sent him wild and he gripped me tightly to him as he strode over to the bed. We crashed onto it in a fashion that produced a worrying variety of crunches from the bed frame but we were too absorbed in each other to care. As he resumed his mind blowing conquest, I knew that tonight would be an experience to remember.

***

The very first thing that filled my consciousness was a pounding that was so powerful, it seemed it could split my head in two. My mouth was so dry I could easily be convinced that I had been living in the desert for months and I was pretty sure that if I dared to move even a single muscle, I would vomit. After a while of lying perfectly still and wallowing in my own self pity, I dragged myself into sitting upright and the entire room spun around me. I could barely comprehend my environment through my blurred vision and wondered if I was actually still drunk. My entire body throbbed from last night's antics and my desperate need for water urged me from the tangled sheets. I tried to gingerly slide myself to my feet and instead fell gracelessly from the bed in a flop.

Following some considerable effort, I managed to coordinate my limbs into the clothes that were strewn across the room between the carnage. I carried my jacket by my side as I felt a cold sweat covering my skin and wandered on shaky legs in search of fresh air. As I stepped out into the breeze of camp, I took a moment to indulge in some deep breaths as I considered who I could count on for hangover advice. Instinctively, I found myself shuffling toward Raven’s quarters and as I opened the door, I stumbled inside with my arms outstretched for balance. The moment that I fell into the room, Raven glanced up at me with a grimace and a hiss. My puffy, matted hair hung in front of my face and I panted from the strain of getting here.

“You look like hell.” She commented with a hint of amusement in her tone and I groaned loudly in response.

“I think I’m dying.” I gasped with a hoarse voice and she chuckled as she raised from her seat to rattle around in the cupboards. I struggled to keep myself in an upright position as I worried how I would ever be able to move any further than this exact spot and felt as if the space was mocking me with it’s rapid rotations. Raven crossed the room to hand me a bottle of water and a bag of food.

“I remember my first hangover, I felt the same. Drink plenty and get some food in your stomach, it’ll help.” She advised as she smiled at me and I attempted a nod that only made the room spin faster. “And sit down before you fall down.” She added sternly as she returned to her workbench and I followed her with a heavy footsteps. I dropped onto a stall beside her and drank from the bottle as if I’d never had water in my life. Raven pointed at the food insistently and I held back a burp.

“Oh god, I can’t do it.” I cried as I tossed the bag onto the bench and leaned forward to place my elbows on the surface with my face in my hands. My hair fell forward to block out my surroundings but I heard Raven take a sharp breath, then barely suppress a laugh.

“Seems like you had a hell of a night.” She crooned and I scoffed as I tried not to linger on my hazy memories. Everything was a mess in my mind and although I remembered enjoying every moment of the events, their sequence was still a mystery to me. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if some of it was possible or I’d potentially just experienced a montage of hormone fuelled, boozy dreams.

“You have no idea.” I muttered as I felt a surge of embarrassment flooding through me. For a moment, I was distinctly sure that our activities had been rather more vocal than usual and I realised that a lack of inhibitions may have caused some significantly more adventurous parts of my personality to reveal itself. I shook my head in an effort to distract myself from the highlight reel that threatened to fill my mind.

“Oh, I have some idea.” Raven remarked with a deviousness that made a shiver run down my spine. I leaned back to examine her with nerves building in my stomach and she studied me with her lips pursed smugly.

“You know what, I don’t even want to know what you mean by that.” I stated with a long sigh, deciding that I didn’t have the strength for her mockery today. “I’m supposed to be working today, you got any tips on how I can do that?” I asked with a desperate, pleading expression and hoped that I could simply battle through my pain. She looked momentarily sympathetic before a wicked smirk spread across her face.

“I don’t know if you want to go to work after you kept people up pretty late last night.” She stated with a cocked brow and I gulped involuntarily. I prayed that her insinuation was merely in jest and that she would follow it with a confirmation that she was referring to the over exuberant noise of our card games last night, but her silence was deafening as she continued to stare back at me with a knowing look.

“Yeah, I guess the music was pretty loud, got a little carried away.” I mumbled as I shuffled in my seat and battled not to appear embarrassed. There is no way she could know anything about what happened in the privacy of our room and I was determined not to fall into her trap of accidentally revealing any details this time.

“Oh, I know exactly how carried away you got, pretty sure the whole camp does.” She reported and I felt my stomach lurch at her statement. “It wasn’t the music that you need to worry about Indie, I don’t think it was quite as loud as you think it was.” She finally cracked with a snort of laughter and I felt all of the colour drain from my face in horror. I couldn’t hold back the mental replay of the noises from the night before that I’d been confident the radio would cover and felt as if I could die on the spot. “I’m telling you, if you thought people didn’t know that you two were a thing before, they absolutely do now. And anyone who still doesn’t will soon if you keep walking around with your jacket off.” She sneered as she glanced at my neck area and I viewed her with confusion. She indicated to a mirror in the corner of the room and I leaned to catch my reflection with a gasp. I was coated in a multicoloured assortment of hickeys all over my neck, spreading down onto my collarbone and I rushed into the large jacket with my cheeks burning. Raven snorted in delight beside me and I hurried to my feet.

“I’m going back to bed before today gets any worse.” I groaned as I rapidly stumbled toward the door and I could hear Raven’s cheeky laughter even from outside in the hall.

I returned to Bellamy’s bed with a heavy head and hid under a pillow in embarrassment. I hadn’t even questioned where he was this morning, I’d been too distracted by my own suffering and at the current moment, I was relieved by the peace of my solitude. My mind spiralled over the idea of others hearing us together and felt sick with humiliation. The feeling was so overwhelming that the only logical solution my mind could present was to never leave this bed again. At some point I must have drifted back to sleep, as when I next opened my eyes Bellamy was crouched by the bed, studying me with a smile.

“Morning sleeping beauty.” He muttered and I groaned dramatically in response. He handed me a bottle of water with a cheeky smile and I took it gratefully. I noticed that he was fully dressed and was still frustratingly bright despite my clear memory of him drinking whisky with me. I fixed him with a scrutinising look as I pondered his perfect face that didn’t show any signs of exhaustion.

“Did you lie to me about not drinking before?” I asked in a gruff voice and he shook his head in confusion. “Because somehow you’re sitting here looking like a goddamn model and I’m on my actual deathbed.” I groaned as he chuckled in amusement.

“I just hold my drink better, Love.” He teased and as I leaned up on my elbows to retort, the mattress fell through with a large crack. I squealed in surprise and after an initial fuss over me, Bellamy and I stared at each other in disbelief.

“Did we...actually break the bed last night?” I hissed with a slight bite on my lip to suppress a laugh.

“Just one of many parts of collateral damage.” He commented as he glanced around and now that I had slept off more of the effects of the drink, I absorbed the state of the room with bewilderment. When I returned my attention to him, we both broke into laughter.

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crimsonbluemoon · 5 years

Text

Working For Love: A Terrormoo Story 4/17

Okay so I totally planned to have this out earlier but my day’s been kinda crazy. But it’s technically still Saturday so enjoy!

Previous Part

Start from the beginning

Brian loved Wednesdays.

For most of his life, Wednesdays were the bane of his existence. What person in their right mind actually looked forward to the middle of the week? It was the furthest extension from the weekend, almost no holidays were celebrated yearly on Wednesday, and the back end of it was just as long as the head. But that was before he got to talk to Brock. Finally, he learned his name. Brian’s first interaction hadn’t been the best, and the second only made it worse, but the third? The third was all the reason he needed to stark talking to him more.

Three Wednesdays in a row, Brian had clocked into his shift before Brock came to the gym. Other days they crossed paths, but Brian’s trainings or classes managed to get in the way of getting to talk to Brock for more than a casual greeting or goodbye. Evan, Scotty and Anthony (Tyler’s other full timers) would wiggle Brock’s card over their heads and make kissy faces at Brian when Brock wasn’t looking to taunt him. The urge to flip off the menacing trio while working on Mrs. Lavigne’s squat form was hard to ignore, so he settled for punching them after work over beers and buffalo wings. The full timers got the weekends off at the gym, meaning Brian didn’t get to see Brock unless their work-out times somehow managed to sync up. So they passed each other for parts of Brian’s shift or Brock’s routine, but Wednesday was the only day Brian got to have an actual conversation with him when scanning him in. It wasn’t always the longest talk, and if anyone approached the front desk, Brock would hurry out an excuse and leave. It could be ten minutes or two, depending on Brian’s luck.

Still, Brian cherished the few minutes he got.

Hearing his voice had been an unexpected bonus he didn’t know he needed. The soft but steady tone fit was pretty. His laugh was pretty. The pink that bloomed over his face when Brian laid out the honest truth of how he felt when seeing Brock work out was pretty. His modesty, his dad jokes, the nervous way he rubbed his ear when Brian would smile at him- just in general, Brock was pretty. Being up closer helped him pick out little quirks of the other man that he hadn’t been able to see from a distance, like how animated his eyebrows were when he spoke or how perfect his teeth lined up when he showed them in a rare full smile. Brian made sure to toss a thumbs-up Brock’s way whenever he passed by his treadmill to clean a machine or restock paper towels (Evan and Nogla both seemed to enjoy his sudden boost of ‘hard-work’ effort when Brock was in the building, the lazy bums), and it made him smile when he’d get a stunted but responsive wave back. It was slow progress to some, but for Brian, it was more than worth it.

And when Brock walked in with a new person, Brian was tickled pink in curiosity.

“God, this place smells like sweat and regret.” The new voice that entered the lobby of the gym made Brian laugh, tossing the crossword to the side in order to take in the new man. The platinum blond flopped on the top of his head was not natural, but it screamed personality with the hot pink elastic bundling it up. He didn’t seem ashamed of his look when placing his hands on his hips, the electric blue water bottle swinging with his movements. “It’s way better than WOW.”

“You never went to WOW.” Brock’s voice lacked any hesitation or shyness when he rolled his eyes, a shoulder nudging into his friend. “You literally paid for a membership that went unused for seven months.”

“Have you ever tried to cancel a gym membership? It’s not possible. They demand your firstborn.”

“You’re gay.”

“I could adopt.” The banter was refreshing to watch, and Brian grinned from ear to ear at the impolite snort Brock gave in response.

“You’d kill a cactus. You have killed a cactus. You can’t keep a tune alive.” The new side of his personality was surprising, as Brian had only ever encountered the meek but endearing Brock. Here he was laughing and poking fun at his friend’s dismayed shout of protest, though the teasing smile he wore was quick to slide off when he realized Brian was watching the entertaining scene. “Oh! Um...hi.”

“Hey there,” Brian answered, trying to sound smooth when tilting his grin into a smirk. The movement had the desired effect, Brock’s face rushing to resemble an apple.

“Hi.” Brock mumbled again, and Brian had to bite back his laughter.

“You already said that, but I’ll take a second hello if it’s from you.” It wasn’t the most subtle flirting, but he was never known for being quiet with his attraction. Feeling cheerful at making Brock’s smile perk up at the small compliment, he tilted his head towards Brock’s left, but kept his gaze on him. “You bring a friend to convert to the healthy side, Brocky?”

“Not just a friend.” The correction made Brian’s body twitch, eyes darting over to the cocky look now being worn by Brock’s… something. Brian didn’t like the weird bitterness that jumped over his taste buds, but he tried not to let his lips drop down to a frown. His hand was casual when it dropped under the front desk to clench. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought about this before? He couldn’t be the only one to realize how amazing Brock was. It was so obvious that Brock had a- “I’m his best friend.”

“Marcel’s my best friend.” Brock answered without missing a beat, though he seemed to lack the awareness to pick up on the glint of mischief that fueled his friend’s wink. Brian blinked for a moment, though it took less time to realize what had happened; this guy was trying to see how Brian would react to Brock being taken. Which meant that even though he’d never been to the gym, the friend knew of Brian. He didn’t like being played, but he’d trade the moment of embarrassment if it meant Brock talked about him outside of their gym meetings. “This is Mini, or Craig.”

“They call you Mini cause of your dick size?” It didn’t mean he couldn’t get his own shot in, though. The blunt comment made an interesting noise come from Brock, but Mini rolled with it.

“You wanna find out yourself?” The obnoxious wink was dramatic, and Brian felt a kindred spirit in Craig. He snickered at how mortified Brock look at their exchange.

“Craig!”

“What? Obviously he’s not straight, look at his hair.”

“Hey, thanks for noticing.” The hat that Tyler had mandated he wore hung on his belt loop. He was hoping to keep it off long enough for Brock to see him, and the technical loophole he found in ‘wearing it on his person’ would be funny to watch Tyler steam over. He glanced to Brock, catching how the eyes ducked away from him to send a stern look at Craig.

“I didn’t bring you here to-”

“Oh, right! My recon.” Brian wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear that, but Mini didn’t look to care when he dropped his hands flat onto the counter, peering up at Brian over his glasses. “So, as nice as calling you ‘hot gym guy’ has been for the past couple weeks, it’s really too long and has no cool acronym to use in public. You are pretty good-looking, so the name’s not wrong, but I think we should just clear the air; what’s your actual name?”

“Craig!” The pitch that Brock hit was impressive and clarifying to Brian, who took the moment to think over his previous conversations with him. Sure enough, despite Brian pouring out different nicknames and variations of Brock’s name, there had never been a rebuttal. At times he had looked flustered or nervous, but Brian had simply contributed that to his twitchy nature. Had all of that anxiety been because he didn’t know Brian’s name? Turning his attention slowly, he took in how Brock’s glare was significantly weaker with the flush of his face. It was obvious now that Mini’s question had been something Brock talked to Craig about, but didn’t have enough guts to ask himself. Mini looked like the cat that ate the canary when he shrugged at Brock’s heated stare.

“I really do suck at the whole spy thing.”

“I cannot believe that you really just- this wasn’t what we said you’d- why are you like this?” Flustered Brock normally made Brian happy, but sympathy was in the front of his mind at seeing how distraught his new friend was.

“I don’t mind telling you,” he offered up, hoping he didn’t send Brock running again by addressing the elephant in the room. “Really, if you’d asked me earlier, I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I’d spent all this time talking to you, and I didn’t know your name. I thought it’d be kind of weird to ask after our first conversation,” Brock defended, and Brian knew the feeling.

“Okay, explanations later. Name now.” Mini didn’t seem to be in the same understanding mood, arms crossed over the counter while he nodded at Brian’s nametag. “Because I’ve been staring at this chicken scratch for two minutes and I don’t know what language you wrote it in, but it’s not English.”

“Alright, drama queen,” Brian teased, though he didn’t pull any of his attention from Brock’s hopeful stare. “It’s-”

“Brian!” It wasn’t him who spoke his name, but Tyler, whose glare looked ready to kill when storming out from the storage closet. “If you don’t put that hat on your damn head, I will make you eat it.”

“Brian?” From the corner of his eye, he picked up how Mini scrunched his nose and waved a hand to the side. “Blah, how boring.”

“I think it’s nice,” Brock replied, and Brian realized how quickly he didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion.

“I think he’s going to be jobless if he doesn’t put his hat on.” Tyler looked unamused by their conversation, but Craig’s curiosity seemed to rise when he glanced the taller man’s way.

“Wait, who are you?”

“Tyler, the owner of this gym. Got a problem with that?” Brian knew there was a reason Tyler rarely talked to new clients, leaving that job to himself or Anthony; his people skills were shit. But Mini didn’t seem to mind, his hum filled with mischievous intent.

“Just wanted to know where I can sign up. If I get to look at you each time I work out, I’ll be practically living here. Might even do yoga. Heard it helps you be more flexible.” Mini emphasised his claim with an eyebrow wiggle that made Brian snort, Brock sigh (how often did this trainwreck of flirting happen?) and Tyler glare before he stormed away.

“He could literally break you,” Brian clarified, though the threat only seemed to widen Craig’s grin.

“I live for the challenge.” Then Mini was snatching one of the application forms, moving to the chair to settle in and begin the process. Brian was amused by the turn of events, and the slight smile that crossed Brock’s face when he shook his head was enough to give Brian a boost of confidence.

“When your friend’s done with the form, give him this.” Making sure to grab two, Brian held out the schedules to Brock with a shrug. “It’s got our classes on there, as well as the information for our trainers. Names, phone numbers and emails you can reach us at. We do classes like yoga, pilates, fat burning, even some cardio kickboxing. You get in for free if you’re a gym member. You should check one of ‘em out.”

“I… I think I will.” Brock’s nod was more to himself than Brian when he looked down at the paper, taking a few seconds to look it over before he spoke again. “Thanks, Brian.”

“Anytime, Brocky.” The warm exchange of glances they shared was nice, and it was one of the first times Brock didn’t shy away from their connection. The warmth in his stomach fluttered for a moment, but he didn’t try to push down the sensation.

“When this thing asks if I need any accommodations-” Mini’s voice broke the moment like glass, both jerking their heads over to look at how his teeth chewed on the pencap through his words. “would it be considered sexual harassment if I put Tyler’s dick?”

“I should go help him before he gets banned for life.” This time, when Brock made his exit, it wasn’t hurried or flustered. For once, Brian didn’t feel like Brock wanted to get away from him. And when Brian gave him a thumbs-up during his work out, the wave he got in return was bright and confident.

Brian really loved Wednesdays.

And that’s it for this drabble part. Hope you’re enjoying the story because it’s been fun to write. As always, love, reblog, and let me know what you think! <3

#Terrormoo #Soft boys #Terroriser #Moo Snuckle #<3 #Crimson drabblez

104 notes · View notes

finetastrophe · 4 years

Text

indescribable | ten (nct)

pairing: ten (or aka chittaphon leechaiyapornkul) x reader

summary: in which ten remembers what it is like to dance again or ten feeling some kind of way from your dance

word count: 1773 words (3 more and it would’ve been the year of independence)

warnings: angst(?).

note: i have been writing this for a week or so and it kind of sucks. i just wanted to finish this. uhm, i may or may not be working on another fic that probably would be up by the end of the month so (no promises). btw, this was inspired by an anime that i watched called given. it’s not a complete rip-off, just...inspired. anyways...i apologize for any grammatical errors. please do enjoy.

-----------

Ten was quite bored to say the least. He had been teaching the same choreography for the past few weeks, and now he was evaluating each dancer. It was the same sight, and with that, he sighed. He would occasionally feel some sort of false hope when someone gave some sort of new stylistic touch to his choreo, but to no avail, it always fell short. He sighed once more as he stood from his seat turning off the stereo. He nodded to the students allowing them their leave. After every student had left, he began clearing up the area.

The sound of the door opening did not distract him from his task and he tiredly said, “Did you forget something?”

A startled voice answered, “Oh, no uhm. It’s just that I have this practice room booked. I-I’ll wait until you’re done.”

Ten looked up from his task to see a figure slumped over. He couldn’t get a clear image of you other than the top of your head. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, sorry. I’ll be out of your way.”

You briefly lifted your head shaking your head to indicate that he didn’t have to rush for your sake.

“No,” Ten locked with your nervous eyes. “It’s okay. Thanks.”

Ten picked up his remaining articles that he had brought with him and quietly left the practice room. He closed the door behind him, looking over his left shoulder to see you warming up. Thinking nothing of it, he shrugged his shoulders leaving silently.

“Hey Ten,” a voice greeted him. Ten looked up to see a fellow choreographer, Taeyong, and stopped.

“Hey hyung.” Ten responded. Ten stood still shifting his weight back and forth. “Are you going to prepare for the choreography showcase?”

Brightly Taeyong replied, “Yeah! I’ve been working on this new piece--I think you’ll like it. How are your dancers coming along? Good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ten said. “I guess things are going well. They know the choreo.”

“Wow,” Taeyong breathed. “You don’t sound all too excited.”

“Well,” Ten tried to justify, “When you see the same thing over and over again, it’s kind of hard to be excited.”

“I guess,” Taeyong reasoned. “But wouldn’t you feel excitement from the new elements that your dancers are bringing. That energy, that aura. Doesn’t that excite you one bit?”

Ten gave a smile in hopes to end the conversation, “Hopefully when the showcase comes, I’ll feel something.”

Taeyong smiled widely, “I think that you will find that the talent this year is incredible.”

Ten nodded and left. He sure hoped that he would find inspiration this year.

Ten had passed you a couple times throughout the hallways of the dance studio. He never paid much attention to you and when he did, he always saw you stretching or warming up. It was just when he left his practice room for a bit, he could hear faint music coming through the walls. It sounded like an original piece, and Ten was curious to see what choreography would fit with that type of music. The music sounded passionate, but it was portrayed in a subtle way kind of like a slow song that built up with different elements to create this strangely beautiful cacophony of sound. Curiously, he took a quick peek to see you seamlessly move through choreography with grace and passion. Shortly after, the choreography ended with you catching your breath. Ten had caught the tail end of your performance but it was enough for him to understand everything--so he thought. He turned away feeling quite disappointed once more.

He knew you were a good performer based on what he saw. He could tell that you cared about your performance. However, for some reason, Ten could hardly feel anything anymore. It was like he was stuck in this hole wanting to get out. The only way he knew how to express himself was through dance--though, right now, there seemed no silver lining of inspiration.

He went back to his practice room looking into the mirror and feeling quite frustrated with himself. He slumped his body on the floor still staring at himself. There were clear dark circles from overworking himself, and his lack of sleep edged through to his performance. He closed his eyes for a bit listening to the music from next door. The music from the other room had stopped, and he heard the faint sound of the door opening and closing. He took a deep breath, stood up, played his song and began. His eyes were trained on his own figure in the mirror. He moved his body to the music with his emotions scattered throughout the room as he executed his routine. Routine--that was a good word to describe his life right now. He landed on his last move with heavy breaths. His chest felt heavy somehow.

---

It was the day of the showcase. Ten had been chatting idly with Taeyong about something--he wasn’t really paying attention to the words that hurriedly left Taeyong’s mouth. He focused his energy elsewhere while keeping an interested look on his face. You were in the background quietly going over the step of your routine. Ten couldn’t help but glance at you ever so often. Taeyong noticed and smiled just a bit.

“You interested?” Taeyong teased.

Ten snapped out of it and refocused his attention onto Taeyong. “Who?”

“You know…” Taeyong pointed his head towards you subtly. “Y/N.”

“Y/N?” Ten tilted his head.

Taeyong gasped. “Are you telling me that you’ve been staring at them this whole time and you didn’t even know their name? You do know they are a part of our dance company, right?”

Ten paused. “...right.”

Taeyong scoffed, “You so did not know. Did you even bother learning everyone’s names?”

Ten’s silence explained everything. Taeyong shook his head, “You do know your student’s name, right?”

Annoyed, Ten defended himself, “Of course I know my students’ names.”

Taeyong raised both his hands in mock defeat. “I’m just saying. That’s all. By the way, you should get changed--your performance in ten minutes.”

Ten rushed out of there with Taeyong laughing behind.

Ten breathed heavily as he finished his performance. The crowd's claps were ringing in his ears as he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath before getting off stage to hear the announcer call up the next group of dancers to the stage which were Ten’s very own. Taeyong was there on the side waiting to go on. Taeyong patted Ten’s shoulder as Ten walked past to make his way into the audience to observe his dancers. The music began to play, and his dancers moved effortlessly through the music. Despite Ten feeling uninspired from his dancers, they did an excellent job in executing his choreo which gained points in his books. When the performance was finished, Ten clapped. He was happy that the performance went off without a hitch, but there was still something missing.

The dancers made their way off the stage with Ten giving them thumbs up for their efforts. Then he heard your name. He could see that you were nervous as you were shivering as you walked up onto the stage. You situated yourself at your starting position waiting for the music to begin. The music began. You began moving your body. There were intricate movements from the tips of your toes to the tips of your fingers. Your whole presence was in this performance. The moves were subtle as it reflected the music, but as the music began to build up, there was this fire that burned in Ten’s eyes. He was envious--envious that you were able to convey what he couldn’t.

He bit his lip with his brow furrowed. His arms were crossed, but his whole body unfurrowed when the climax of your performance began. What the heck? He thought as he saw you dance. He didn’t think that the performance that he caught a glimpse of that one day was the same one that was in front of him. It was like that performance that he saw was jacked up to one hundred. Your moves were explosive but controlled and well-refined. It was an unknown feeling bubbling in Ten’s stomach. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t.

---

Ten zoned out for the rest of the showcase even missing out on his buddy Taeyong’s performance. Ten knew that he had to confront you. He was backstage frantically looking for you. Taeyong had just come off stage being the last to perform. Taeyong noticed a change in Ten’s behavior.

“Who are you looking for?” Taeyong spoke up from behind Ten.

Ten was still looking for you. He answered, “Y/N.”

“So you enjoyed their performance, huh?” Taeyong smirked.

Ten groaned, “I just need to talk to them.”

Nonchalantly, Taeyong said, “...Something about being in their dressing room.”

Ten took off. Taeyong laughed it off, “I knew he would be amazed by them.”

Ten dashed through the crowded backstage area before he saw your dressing room door. Ten barged in.

“You!” Ten proclaimed. “Where have you been?”

You were surprised to say the least. You cleared your throat slightly scared at Ten’s erratic behavior, “I have been here…”

“No.” Ten shook his head. “I mean, how could you show up on stage, give that performance, and just walk off like nothing happened? Like you didn’t rip my heart out of my chest? Like you are unaware of how talented you are?”

You looked down, ashamed for some reason. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yes,” exasperated, Ten kneeled in front of you with his head down. “Where have you been? Why...why? I don’t get it”

Feeling like you had to explain, you cleared your throat, but he didn’t look up, “I was never really good at words. I only knew how to express myself through movement when words failed. My parents noticed this and signed me up for dance. I fell in love with it learning to convey my emotions through my dance. Growing up, I never knew how to act or knew what to say so I resorted to what I know best: dance.”

It was easier to talk to him when he wasn’t looking, but after your last word, Ten looked up with tears welling up in his eyes. Feeling awkward and shocked, you offered him a hug as it seemed like he needed it. Ten silently sobbed into your shoulder as you awkwardly patted his back. Ten looked up with teary eyes.

Wiping his tears, “I want you to teach me.”

With a small nod, you accepted his request.

#nct #nct u angst #nct wayv #wayv ten #nct scenarios #nct ten scenarios #nct fics #nct au #finetastrophe #ten scenarios

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brookelynnsanders · 4 years

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Anti Cool Girl - The last fall

A/N: here we go - @arin-schreave and Brooke’s first date. Thank you anna for this ridiculous rp and thank you @evalinkatrineberg elise for being an amazing beta. Also the title is a reference to dodie’s song cool girl - enjoy!

Cold water trickles down Brooke Lynn’s lean frame, washing off the accumulated sweat sticking to her heated skin. The aching in her thighs spreads towards the hollow of her knee - the water unable to soothe the sting. Luckily it cools down her boiling thoughts. She takes in a moment of silence just for herself. No wary eyes, no protocols to follow, and no time to kill. So she just keeps on breathing and counts each droplet gracing her skin. Delaying the inevitable moment of having to leave her little chamber behind. Not ready to face her upcoming date.

“Lady Brooke, did you fell asleep in the shower again?”

The blonde automatically groans at the sound of her maid’s nagging voice. Can’t I have a quiet second for once?

“No, I just don’t moan when I pleasure myself in the shower”, the woman shouts while stepping out of the shower. Her calm interior is now completely destroyed - her defense mechanism filling its space. At least her comeback urged Brita to fall silent. Giving the blonde some last few moments of peace.

So Brooke quietly wraps herself in a fluffy towel and tries to shoot herself an encouraging smile in the mirror, which ends up being a hopeless grimace. Her stomach slowly ties itself into a knot at the prospect of the upcoming hours. So she focuses on drying off her body instead, watching each droplet either moisten the towel in her hand or glaze over the floor. Afterward, she squirts some pomegranate scented body lotion into her palms and carefully slicks up her limbs before wrapping herself into a baby blue silk robe. With a deep breath, still very wet hair, and a polite smile on her lips, she steps outside into the arms of her personal headache.

Sandra, one of the mute maids, grabs the blonde’s arm tightly and leads her towards the vanity - seemingly in a hurry to get the woman ready. Once Brooke Lynn's bum touches the chair, all of her maids are already over her. Prepping her skin, teasing her hair, and painting her face for the big event.

The speed of her maids awakes an unsettling feeling in the blonde who's heart starts to beat a bit faster. Her palms glitz with sweat as Brita keeps on muttering about Brooke's unmanageable hair. Blue eyes stare back at a strange figure, surrounded by buzzing bees, as she attempts to keep her calm. A deep breath in and a deep breath out.

Yet once Brooke is shown the outfit prepared for her, she just knows. This will be her downfall.

Brooke Lynn walks up to the front steps 10 minutes early for her date. The note she had received two days ago is held in her left fist. Opening and closing around the royal paper, fidgeting to calm her mind. Already imagining each worst-case scenario she can think of. Yet still unable to stay in her room any longer - the hustle wrecking her nerves. So she lets her gaze wander around and lets out a deep breath - relieved that no one is present. Her fingers scratch her light brown breeches, attempting to get used to the tight fit of them.

"Lady Brooke."

A slight shiver runs down the woman’s back at the voice onset of her date. Not mentally prepared to meet the Prince so suddenly but within a blink of an eye, she spins around and puts her crumbled invitation into her vest’s jacket. Her face sporting a very neutral look. "Your royal highness." Luckily she remembers her manners.

"Shall we?" Prince Arin asks with a slightly forced smile while he motions in the direction of the stables. Dressed in equally flattering clothes as Brooke Lynn.

Brooke Lynn's blue orbs widen at the reference, having hoped she could delay their departure to the stables a bit. But sadly that isn't the case, so she just clicks her tongue and side-eyes the prince while mumbling "We shall." Her confidence not quite yet at the forefront.

"So... How have you been?"

Awful, thanks for asking.

Brooke settles with, "I am not dead yet, so can't complain, " and a subtle wink.

"Well, I'm glad we set the bar really low here at the palace," he counters with an ever so slight eyebrow raise. Not as amused by her comment as she is.

"No offense, but my bar for this entire experience is very low." A little giggle colors her voice. "I didn't even personally sign up so I have zero expectations."

After a brief pause of awkward silence, she realizes that her prior statement might have sounded a bit rude. Even though it's just a factual truth. "But that only means I am pleasantly surprised all the time," the blonde hurriedly adds, not wanting to ruin the date before it has even properly begun.

“At least you can find some positive things in this whole situation.” The two keep on walking in silence, each a prisoner of their own thoughts. Yet once the stables are in their sights, the Prince speaks up again. “Do you like horses?”

“I am actually terrified,” Brooke answers honestly for once. The woman attempts to keep her cool though, not wanting to look like a scared 3-year-old, but her shaking hand betrays her.

The prince slows down his walking and looks at her. “Oh, I’m sorry... I didn’t know.”

Brooke Lynn stops for a second and closes her eyes, before plastering a forced smile on her face. The foundation of her walls now fully replaced. “It's fine. I'll manage - somehow. But if that horse kills me, I'll haunt you until eternity,” she teases him with a cheeky wink.

“You're not really selling it,” he glances over his shoulder, “We can go back.”

“Aren't you the one who is supposed to show me that deep down I've always wanted to be a horse girl?” Brooke side-eyes him with a smirk, trying her best to keep the conversation light. “But seriously, you chose this activity for a reason... So I might as well give it a shot.”

He just shakes his head. “It wasn't actually my idea, sorry.”

“So you got a little matchmaker advisor who tells you how to find a wife or what?” Another teasing smile graces her lips while she throws her carefully crafted side braid behind her back. Yet once her glance lands on the horses she can now clearly see, the knot in her stomach tightens.

“No... I have a mother who involved herself and a friend who helped her.”

“So you are a mommy boy?” Brooke asks in a teasing tone and scrunches her nose in amusement.

“Well considering I have two I don’t know else I’d be,” Arin replies with a slow blink.

The blonde can’t help but snort at his response and tries her very hardest to suppress her giggles. “You've got a fair point.”

“Well, at least I can make you laugh.”

“Maybe a giggle or two will come out of those pretty lips when the horse throws me into the mud.” An awkward smile graces the woman’s lips as she peeks into the stables. “Why do they gotta be so Goddamn tall,” Brooke mumbles to herself. Still very intimidated by those animals.

“They ate their fruits and vegetables.” Apparently, she wasn’t too quiet.

“And so did I,” Brooke replies as she looks up at towards the prince, “still I am not that tall.” Her waving hand motions an attempt to highlight her point.

“Well, you're not a horse....”

Who would have guessed?

Brooke Lynn rolls her eyes and decides that now is the moment to face her fears and just walks inside the stable. “Let's get this over with.”

“We don't have to do this. It won't hurt my feelings if we don't.”

He really sounds like a little kid not wanting to go shopping with his mum.

On the tip of her toes, Brooke Lynn turns around and fixates him with termination carved into her irises. “No matter if you came up with this idea or someone else - enough effort went into this and I am very sure my maids would be upset if they see this outfit wasn't but to use.” And she isn’t prepared to get into another fight with her maids. Once the two are truly inside, the blonde looks around, very lost. “So wanna show me what I've missed in my life without horse riding?”

Prince Arin just looks at her and blinks in surprise, and if Brooke isn’t wrong she actually hears him chuckle. “You're asking the wrong person. Horses aren't really my thing.” He mentions casually while he walks towards a stall, already greeting one of the horses.

Brooke Lynn stops in her tracks, slightly regretting having pushed him. “Great precondition,” she mumbles to no one in particular.

“There's still time to back out.”

She has him pushed him so far that there is no way to back down now.

“And not watch you crash and burn with me?” Her left eyebrow raised in suspicion as she turns towards the stall gate, taking in the horse nearest to her.

Arin leads the way inside so Brooke Lynn just cautiously follows him trying her best not to use any sudden movements so she won’t scare the horses. At least that’s what she tells herself. Cautiously she rolls her shoulders and straightens her back - not wanting to look too intimidated.

The gate is being pulled open by the prince who then gently tugs on the reins of a tall light brown horse that walks out. “You ready?” Raised eyebrows clearly worried about the woman’s reaction.

The overly nervous woman inhales a deep breath and gifts the man her best smile, refusing to give up on this rocky date already. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

Brooke Lynn’s words are the kickoff to officially start the date. Arin walks around the stable, pulling saddles from left and right and carefully prepares the two royal horses for their ride. As the awkward silence starts to grow, Brooke starts to sort through her brain, pulling out possible small talk topics.

“So if you are not a horse kind of guy - any other animals and hobbies you prefer?”

“I like fish, I guess. And some other things yeah,” Arin mentions as he walks over to his horse.

“Fish?” That’s specific.”Wanna indulge in me that?”

“I have a fish.” The prince concentrates on closing the belts of the saddle. “And they’re a good source of protein.”

“What's their na-”; Brooke Lynn stops in her tracks as the second part of his statement reaches her consciousness. Within a second her polite smile falls from her face. Replaced by a heavy heart as disappointment oozes out of her being

“Her name is Gillian.” No remorse only confusion plastered on his face.

“That's a nice name,” Brooke Lynn replies with an awkward smile, trying her best to not judge him. But she does.”But like how can you have a pet fish that you cared enough to name... And still, eat fish.” Her brows are furrowed as hurt and confusion mixes in the sea within her eyes as Arin finishes up the last details of preparing the horses.

“Fish can be friends and food?” He glances over at her as his statement comes out more than a question.

Yet Brooke Lynn’s mouth only falls open in shock. “How can you say that?”

“I um... like fish?”

Brooke Lynn takes a deep breath so she can collect her thoughts and arguments so she won’t lash out at him.

“But how can you say you like fish as living beings and then still eat them? Like the fish industry is exploiting our oceans and seas while endangering so many species.” With each spoken word she feels a bit sicker as her shoulders and the corner of her mouth hang low.

“I... I'm sorry?”

How am I supposed to see this man as a potential partner?

“No need to apologize - at least not to me but maybe you wanna look into the issues surrounding the consumption of animals and animal products.” With a deep sigh, Brooke lets the topic go. “Speaking of animals,” her eyes glance towards the regal horse by her side, “how is this supposed to go down?”

“Um... now we just mount.”

“Just mount?” A slight waver in her reveals her helplessness. She hasn’t felt that small in a while.

After being told they need to bring the horses outside first, Brook cautiously takes her horse's reins and waits for Arin to lead the way outside, cautiously looking over his shoulder at her as they go. Which prompts an apologetic smile by Brooke. Once the two get to the pasture he circles around with the horse to face her. “Are you ready?”

“I guess we'll see.”

Arin makes it look so easy the way he mounts his horse so regally and then just looks down at her from his horse. “You can do it.”

With a deep breath, Brooke collects all her strength and puts her right foot into her horse's stirrup and swings herself onto the horse. A victorious smile already presents itself on her glossy lips but soon falters as she realizes that she ended up on the horse facing the butt. Fucking great.

"Do you need help?"

"Unless this is the preferred way to ride a horse I guess yeah." Brooke attempts to be very nonchalant, yet a quiet giggle escapes her lips. Too amused by the ridiculousness of the situation.

And like her knight in bright armor, the prince dismounts his horse and walks over to Brooke. "What can I do for you?"

"Whatever the fuck -" Manners. "Whatever the freak is needed to be done." Her nose scrunches an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

Arin slightly hesitates before offering his hand to the blonde as he carefully puts one hand on her waist. "Ready?"

Brooke's vocal cords are suddenly unable to form any words so she just nods and attempts to turn herself around. Yet somehow she miscalculates the curvature of the horse’s back and so she loses her balance. As the blonde realized her mistake it was already too late. Brooke tightly closes her eyes as she tumbles off the horse - fully prepared to hit the ground. But somehow strong arms are able to half catch her in time. After a brief second - which feels like an eternity - Brooke opens her eyes again and stares up at her savior.

Within a moment his arms are gone and Brooke is back on her feet. "Are you okay?" A hint of concern colors his voice as gives Brooke a quick one over.

"Yeah, just wanted to test the reflexes of our soon to be King," the blonde adds with a wink, bringing out her usual cocky self. She smiles a bit to herself, glad Arin had been so quick on his feet, before looking back to the horse and taking a deep breath - not ready to give up. "No, seriously thank you," she adds with a look behind her shoulder as she prepares to finally get this right. With a determined nod she mounts her right foot onto the stirrup again and is about to push herself of. However, she freezes for a moment - realizing the mistake she has made switches her Foot. With her corrected position she manages to mount her horse in a swift motion and ends up correct in her saddle. "Not too bad."

Arin gives her a smile for her victory before adding: "I’m glad you’re okay."

The blonde returns his smile as she watches him go back to his own horse, satisfied with the outcome so far. Until she realizes this is only the first step to actual horseback riding. "Got a coin to start the engine?

He chuckles at her remark. He actually chuckles at her remark." No, you just nudge her with your foot a little and say - let’s go."

"Okay," the blonde replies very focused on the tasks at the head but still manages to offer a small nod and smile as she nudges her horse. A "let's go" escapes her lips as the regal animal suddenly picks up its pace.

"Are you okay?" The prince's voice barely reaching the girl's pina as his horse trails behind.

"So far," Brooke Lynn shouts back as she keeps her gaze ahead - trying her best not to fall off this wobbly ride. Her thoughts suddenly swirling around how the horse could possibly understand her directions.

"You're still alive, see." An encouraging smile suddenly by her side.

"That's a plus." Her first genuine laughter escapes her throat.

"We can be done if you want."

Brooke doesn't have to look over to see the concern plastered onto his face. Slightly wondering if he even wants to be around her, not really buying his sudden concern.

"You really sound like you don't wanna be here, but I am finally on a horse - there is no stopping now." With a click of her tongue and a feisty nudge to her horse's rips, she spurts it on to go faster and faster. Craving serotonin to fill her blood.

"Horses aren’t really my thing." The prince's call nearly lost in the woods.

Ocean eyes roll at the reveal of his dark secret. "Oh who would have guessed."

As the trees enclosing her vision move past her and the stark wind cools all her limbs she wonders if that's what true freedom feels like.

"Not you," Airn voices once he manages to catch up to. "You’re a lot better at this than I am."

Ohh okay? Maybe we can forget this fish situation.

“Seems like I have natural talent then,” the girl confidentially exclaims with a big grin.

“Maybe you do.” His voice suddenly getting closer and closer until Brooke can see the other surpass them.

“Are you trying to win a racehorse boy?” She shouts at him, urging her horse to go faster - trying to catch up.

“Boy?”

“You gotta earn the horseman title,” she challenges him with a wink as she is at an eye level with him again.

“Last between the two trees gotta bake the other a cake.”

Within a whirlwind, she passes him and encourages her horse to go even faster, determined to win the race. Her laughter halls through the cool air as the wind plays with her baby hairs. Brooke refuses to look back and she just focuses on the horizon. Her heart and head feel a bit lighter with each added mile between her and the palace. If she just closed her eyes she could pretend she is in her own adventure - not prince who doesn’t want to get to know her trailing along.

The blonde doesn't look back and just takes in the serotonin buzzing through her bloodstream as she comes to the finished line closer and closer. Her head is free of constant overthinking once she reaches the finish line. Yet all of a sudden her horse’s fuse blows and within a second she already greets the grass as her horse attempts to circle the fox in its way. Brooke Lynn’s left foot is still caught in the stirrup once her horse calms down, so she tumbles to the floor and just rests on her back. Kinda in shock, yet glad for her verst as bubbly laughter escapes her chest, patiently waiting for Arin to arrive.

Once his horse stops alongside hers, he carefully gets down and rushes over to her. Clearly worried. Not that he should worry. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, cause I won,” Brooke cheers with her fist raised high, “so this is a wonderful position to cloud watch. You should join me.”

“Alright, Van Grunsven, let's go.” Arin immediately leans down to untangle her from the saddle, wasting no time.

The blonde says a small ‘thank you’ as she scrunches her nose and smiles at him. She completely lays on her back now as she is freed from the saddle and nocks onto the grass next to her. A silent invitation for Arin to join her. The need to share the beautiful sight in the sky with him immense.

However, Brooke Lynn can only feel an expecting look on her skin. Not sure what he wants from her.

“You're free,” he adds after a moment of awkward silence and raises his eyebrows at her.

“Yeah. Thank you,” She repeats confused, petting the grass next to her again while scrutinizing him. “Please don't tell me you also hate cloud watching.”

“I don’t... I just don’t really want to lay in the ground.” He nonchalantly replies with and outstretched arm. Brooke only rolls her eyes and mouths the word wimp but takes his hand anyway.

In a smooth motion, he pulls her up. “I’m guessing we’re done with horses for the day?”

With a nod, the girl confirms his suspicions. So she grabs her horse’s reins, ready to walk her way back to the palace, but pets her horse on the head slightly. Still a bit scared of the majestic creature, yet still having found a place in her heart for it. “Thanks for not killing me,” she mumbles lovingly.

Arin shoots her an amused look at the interaction. “Not so bad, huh?”

“Yep,” the girl pops the p and nods, “especially since you owe me a cake now.” Actually really excited at the prospect of a cake just for her. Unable to let it go that she actually won.

“I think you’ll be disappointed,” he says not very convincing, leading the horse towards the stables. The evening sun highlighting a light sweat patch on his horse’s back and neck.

“We'll see - maybe you'll discover your sudden love for baking.” The blonde shoots him an amused look as she walks beside him, unable to really look him in the day due to the blinding sun rays hitting her iris.

“Or burning the palace down,” Arin mutters as a response.

“That will definitely make it into the history books.”

The prince blinks surprised, seemingly having hoped Brooke wouldn’t hear him. “I’d hope not.”

“It's in your hands,” she replies with a coy smirk before letting her gaze shift towards the closer inching palace. Her smile slightly drops at its sight, not ready to be a prisoner of her golden cage again.

“What’s wrong?”

Shit.

Hurridly the blonde morphs her phase into a neutral expression, relaxing her furrowed brows and clenches jaw. “Ohhh it's just that I enjoyed the company - I am not really looking forward to being alone again.“ The woman exhales deeply and bites her bottom lip trying to find the balance between being honest and still keeping her walls intact. Not trusting the stranger opposite her yet.

“I'm sure there are lots of people in the Women's Room.”

A polite smile stretches across her lips, not really wanting to share her lack of social contact in this place. Not even remembering the last time she had visited the Women’s Room. Luckily the Prince immediately leads his horse into the stable once they neared the palace. He politely waits until she's inside behind him before he starts to take the saddle off.

Brooke Lynn, on the other hand, simply watches him in silence caught up with her own thoughts but keeps a polite smile on her face. Torn between labeling this date a total disaster and progress in the right direction. Because she didn’t really hate it. But maybe he did?

A ‘Can I’ catches her a bit off guard. It takes her a second before she realizes that he wants her to hand him her horse’s reigns.

“Will you take Skippy back to his stall?” He asks, nodding towards his horse while he approaches hers.

“Skippy?” A bright smile shining on her lips. “Your brilliant idea or did someone else name him?” The girl walks towards Arin’shorse and slowly approaches him before carefully taking his reigns in her hands. She walks him into his stable, careful not to step into horse shit.

“Uh... my mom came up with it.”

“It's actually a really adorable name,” she says, mostly directed at the horse that manages to elicit a small smile from her as well. He also receives a light pet from her before carefully closing the gate and walking back towards Arin.

”Will you take Lou, too?”

Brooke Lynn nods as a response and walks Lou to her stall and gives her a fake evil look before silently cracking up. “Thanks for not killing me Lou,” she mumbles with a smirk.

“So, what's the verdict?”

About what? Ohh the horses, Brooke mentally facepalms.

“I am still alive, so this couldn't have gone better!” The girl exclaims with a smirk and her left hand against her hip. Not deadly terrified of horses anymore, but still in need of a 21-year long break of horseback riding.

“Well, staying alive in a date is always a good standard to have.”

“And if the standard couldn't have been upheld - I couldn't be disappointed cause I'd be dead,” the girl laughs a bit morbid. Either because Brooke stopped caring about looking perfect or because she has gained a concussion over the past few days. Not quite sure yet.

Nervous laughter by her side makes Brooke only crack up more.

“Just kidding. You are too easy to spook.”

“Am I?” He motions for her to follow him as he walks back towards their meet up spot.

“Seems like it at least,” the girl calmly replies, solely focussed on the steps leading towards a side entrance of the great hall.

“Interesting observation,” are his last words before he falls silent, accompanying her.

Brooke Lynn slowly drags her feet across the path, an attempt to delay the end of this evening. Yet once the two reach the top of the stairs the prince and the girl say their goodbye’s with polite smiles resting on their faces. Both left alone with their thoughts from now on.

Not sure if they’ll see each other again.

#Brooke lynn Sanders #challenge 3 #selection oc #arin schreave #first date

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