#I was actually very resistant to fixating on the other things because my pride got in the way again lol

[sysig]

Still normal don’t even worry about it (Patreon)

[ahkaahshi]

how to earn their trust [scenarios]

pairings: miya atsumu; sakusa kiyoomi; akaashi keiji x fem reader

genre: fluff

warning(s): n/a

to earn miya atsumu’s trust, SHOW UP FOR HIM

Atsumu is an incredibly devoted guy who will never make you question his love for you. While he’s known by his brother and a few others close to him for being a liar and has a bad reputation for being selfish, he cares much more about people he’s close to than he lets on. He’ll never let you or his teammates down and, because of this, he needs a s/o who will be there for him, too.

When he asks you to come to his games, it often comes off in a facetious way, since he’s a total showboat and has an air of haughtiness to him. But, in actuality, he craves your support and seriously wants you there because volleyball means a lot to him, and so do you.

Just knowing that you’re there, watching him and cheering for him, gives him a sense of peace and calmness that’s important when he’s playing, since volleyball is such a fast-paced game that makes it nearly impossible for players to have a chance to slow down. Since he shows up for you, he wants you to do the same, which is completely fair.

If you have plans, he’s totally okay with it. You’re a busy student with a lot of stuff on your plate and a life of your own, so if you can’t come due to prior commitments, let him know and he’ll understand. Of course, he’ll tease and whine about it, but that’s just his way of being goofy with you because he knows he’ll be seriously missin’ you.

“Hey, ya comin’ to watch my game on Friday, (f/n)?” he asks, his honey-colored eyes full of hope.

Your heart sinks into your stomach as you answer, “I’m sorry, I’m tutoring all day after school and it’s really important for me to get some extra money, ‘Tsumu.”

Dejection flashes across his face, but he’s quick to hide his disappointment out of fear of upsetting you and out of his own pride. When he notices the creases of worry appear in your forehead from your furrowed brows, he’s quick to throw his arm around your shoulders and announce jokingly, “Ah, ditchin’ me again? I get it! If you don’t wanna spend time with me, jus’ say so ‘n I'll stop invitin’ ya to do fun things, like watch a kick-ass game of volleyball!”

Though he purposely made his comment loud enough for everyone in the gym to hear, his teammates didn’t bother with him, and, instead, continued putting all the equipment away. In spite of this, your face still burned with embarrassment at being teased, making you give Atsumu’s toned chest a light smack.

“I’m jus’ kiddin’! C’mere,” he reassures you, pulling you into a sweaty hug that you initially resist before placing your hands on the back of his soaked t-shirt and reciprocating his sign of affection. “Do whatcha gotta do, smartypants. I’ll see ya at next week’s game, though, right?”

“Of course.”

His grip around you tightens and he nestles his head in the crook of your neck. You can feel him grinning against your skin as he says, “Great! Wear that warm-up sweater of mine you’ve been holdin’ onto, why don’tcha? Looks good on ya.”

However, if you constantly flake on him or keep making excuses not to hang out with him or go to his games, he’ll quickly become disillusioned with you. Your lack of interest that’s apparent to him in the way you always think up reasons not to support or spend time with him will break his heart. As a result, he’ll stop asking you altogether, and his lack of trust in you will surely put your relationship on the rocks. He’s busy but always wants to make time for you, so if you can’t do the same for him, he’s ending the relationship.

to earn sakusa kiyoomi’s trust, RESPECT HIS BOUNDARIES

As we’ve seen, Omi doesn’t like crowds or germs, and, thus, is very strict and serious about the boundaries he sets. Because of this, it is crucial for his s/o to respect his limits and be aware of them. For him, this not only shows that you’re patient, but it also shows that you care deeply about him, which, in turn, will foster a relationship of trust between the two of you.

If he says he’s uncomfortable with doing something or going somewhere, don’t push him; especially early on in your relationship. If he needs space, let him have his space. He’ll come to you when he’s ready. It’s important to know that even if he doesn’t let you into his bubble right away or turns down your signs of affection because he’s worried about germs, he still cares about you. He’s just a bit anxious.

To build his trust, you'll have to work in a gradual manner towards pushing his boundaries and showing him that it’s okay for him to step a bit outside of his comfort zone. If you’re more excitable, touchy, or clingy, you can still be yourself, but you will need to slow down a bit for him. He needs time and love to get comfortable, so patience and commitment to him are important.

He will fall for you so hard if you show him that you want him to feel safe. Examples of this may be wearing the face mask he bought for you when you’re out in public together, bringing extra hand sanitizer or disinfecting wipes on dates for the two of you to use, or changing your bedsheets before he comes over. If you accommodate him, he will 100% do the same for you to make you feel safe and secure.

After you open the front door of your house for him, Sakusa shuffles out of the coldness of the brisk evening air and slides off his shoes. When he looks down at his sneakers sitting amongst the rest of your family’s shoes, he realizes that there’s an extra pair of slippers sitting along with the rest that are considerably larger and differently colored.

“Oh, Kiyo!” you pipe up when you see his charcoal gaze fixate on them, “I got you some slippers of your own since you come over so often! Everyone knows they’re yours so they haven’t been used, or anything.”

Though you can’t see it because he’s still wearing his mask, his lips curl up into the smallest of smiles. When he slides it off, he presses a gentle kiss against your forehead as thanks for the house shoes he slides his feet into before making his way to the kitchen to wash his hands. Once he's finished, you lead him into your room so he can set down his duffel bag and the two of you can settle in for a Netflix marathon, as promised.

Upon entering your room, his olfactory senses are delighted by the clean scent of fresh laundry, which he soon realizes is wafting from your bed. The look of contentment on his face as he takes a deep inhale makes you smile.

“Since you’re staying over, I washed everything,” you announce, “And, also, you left your shirt here by accident yesterday, so I washed that too.” His eyes follow where your finger points to his warm-up shirt laid on the edge of the comforter, neatly folded by your careful hands.

Wordlessly, he makes his way over to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling your body flush against his. With his head hanging by the side of yours, he can smell the shampoo you used on your slightly damp, (h/c) hair. “Thank you,” he murmurs before moving his face down towards yours so he can give you an appreciative kiss.

When you release one another, he rifles through his duffel bag to retrieve a bag of your favorite sweets that he then plops into your hands.

“I stopped by the store on the way to get you some, since you wouldn’t stop complaining about badly you wanted them yesterday.” Turning his gaze to the laptop on your bed, he adds, “We can watch whatever you want.”

“Really?!” you bubble, eyes glowing with excitement, since he always put up a fight about your choice of movie or television show.

He furrows his dark eyebrows at you, making the two distinctive moles above one of them twitch. “Yes. Don’t make me regret this.”

He will not tolerate a s/o who chastises or berates his habits, since they’re ways he creates feelings of security and peace of mind for himself. If you insist on constantly pushing his boundaries, or forcing him to do anything before he’s ready, he’ll ultimately pull away from you. At the end of the day, if he thinks you don’t have much consideration for him and how he feels, he will end the relationship since mutual respect is important to him.

to earn akaashi keiji’s trust, BE YOURSELF AND BE HONEST

Akaashi is the king of delivering the truth, albeit bluntly--but knows how to exercise tact. Because of his commitment to being straightforward and unapologetically Akaashi so that everyone around him can also be themselves, he wants a s/o who will be real with him.

If he does something you don’t like, tell him! If you want to watch a different movie than the one he put on, tell him! If you don’t want Bokuto crashing your date with him for the ten millionth time, tell him. Even if you’re worried about upsetting him! He can handle the truth and will work to remedy the situation, but he won’t stand for lies and dishonesty. Also, if you’re not comfortable with talking about something, just let him know and he’ll be respectful of your wishes.

No matter what you think of yourself, just be you. While he’s attracted to looks, of course, he’s also a huge personality guy. Therefore, he really appreciates people who are just themselves and don’t try to change for the sake of others. I mean, look at how much he loves and trusts Bokuto, and what does that mf do? Be himself!

Akaashi wants to love you for who you are, so let him!

“Hey, Keiji?”

“Yeah?”

You bite your lower lip with hesitation as your (e/c) eyes travel up and down your form in the mirror resting against the wall in your bedroom. The dress you’re wearing is one your doting boyfriend diligently selected for you, but it just doesn’t quite suit you--in terms of both style and fit. “Uh...” you mumble shakily, trying to find a way to reject his gift without being harsh, “this dress is really nice...”

"I sense a but coming,” Akaashi responds, his voice muffled by the door separating the two of you.

You sigh, “But, it’s not really me and it doesn’t really fit that great. I'm sorry. I know you went out of your way to get this for me.”

After opening the door for him so he can inspect how his gift looks on you for himself, he purses his lips before they form a gentle smile. “It’s okay,” he assures you, taking one of your hands in his and meeting your gaze with his gunmetal blue one, “Thanks for being honest with me. I still have the receipt, so I can return it.”

Giving his hand a light squeeze, you reiterate, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head at you and plants a kiss against your temple, filling your body with warmth. “Don’t be. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for not getting your style or size right even after being with you for, what, three months now?”

His comment makes you giggle, and he relishes in the delightful sounds echoing from your mouth. As he tucks a stray strand of your (h/l), (h/c) hair behind your ear, he offers, “How about you come with me to the mall when I return it so you can help me pick something you actually like?”

A smile graces your lips that makes his heart skip a beat. “Thank you, baby.”

Since he values honesty and authenticity so much, he’ll lose his trust in a s/o who is a habitual liar or who constantly tries to change to fit in. He gets seriously irked by people who are fake, so if he sees you take on an entirely different persona just to gain the favor of other people, or treat him differently based on who you’re around, he’ll be very turned off. And don’t even think about lying to him. Little, white lies he can work with, but keeping secrets from him and not being straightforward with him will break his heart. He’s very forgiving, and will wrack his brain for reasons as to why his s/o might be lying to him, but if he draws a blank or if you cheat on him, he’s done.

[pokedash55]

ULTRA LONG TIME TWIN HEADCANNONS

@sippin-on-waterfalls your post is ready

From Pokedash and Purplefern

Ooooooookay here we go.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

-Krux perceives time slower than others so he is easily late to events (plus he gets distracted and way into projects so he can easily lose track of time, ironically) so he could end up missing a lot of Elemental Alliance meetings

-Acronix made sure he informed Krux it was time to go (whenever he remembers, anyway) otherwise he’d be uber late all the time. Good thing they always go together

-Acronix is super early all the time because of his powers and he and Griffon Turner’s grandfather got along really well

-All the same, between lack of attention span, focusing on other things, and not caring for the meetings in general, Krux and Acronix miss a LOT of meetings 

-Before alliance meetings Wu is training little Morro and the Twins and the Master of Speed just waltz in the monastery doors an hour early

-Acronix teaches Morro some sick fighting moves (some rather underhanded)

-Krux advises him to never let people get away with harm cause you are the most important thing in your life. (Revenge!)

-Wu be like plz stop encouraging my kid into violence and dishonorable tactics.

-Krux brought refreshments to an EA party exactly once. It was pickled beet tea and nobody liked it. He took it very personally. 

-Back during the war, the love triangle with Misako was actually a love rectangle. Krux had a crush on her too but he literally had no idea how to act on it so his part of the rectangle was staring at her longingly from afar and not saying anything. 

-Yes Acronix teased him immensely about this. And tried to act as a wingman several times but Krux swore if he did he would murder him 

-Pre-series, Misako would do work for the museum a lot, so she ended up working with Sanders Saunders quite often. Despite her relationship to Wu and Garmadon and their “history”, he did like working with her ok

-They both also worked with the Explorer’s Club a lot, and have equal disdain for Cecil Putnam and Clutch Powers 

-Krux hates Cecil’s stuffy rules (even though he couldn’t show it while being Dr Saunders) and Clutch’s….everything

-Krux’s doctorate is real, and he has a doctorate in History and and Master’s degree in Museum Studies 

-He’s the Curator of History at the museum, and the other curator is the curator of natural sciences 

-Acronix is a big nicknames guy. He doesn’t usually call people by their actual names. Only the people he actually cares about or that he super hates. 

-But he also generally despises nicknames given TO him. The only people allowed to call him Nix/Nixie are  his brother and mother (and later Shannon). 

-Krux only calls Acronix "Nix" if he's feeling particularly vulnerable/scared/etc (so like, when being the older twin isn't feeling that fun and he decides to ignore those 3 minutes and be more like the "younger" twin.) So this becomes a lot less as he becomes more arrogant. 

-(Based on how he describes Dareth getting beat up by the Vermillion warrior) Krux likes watching wrestling. It’s a guilty pleasure of his 

-And of course Acronix loves it once he learns about it, so the two watch it together 

-Krux occasionally plays strategy board games. He tried to get Acronix into them but he found them boring. 

-(Sometimes he’ll suck it up and play with him anyway, though.) 

-Both are sass masters

-Both also like science

-But like completely different facets of science. 

-Krux of course likes the more stable and earthy sciences. Biology and geology, ecology. Those elemental science that have always existed but we just haven’t yet understood them

-Krux is also a total history nerd. Things like paleontology and anthropology are also really interesting to him 

-Yes he was a dinosaur kid. (Especially since dinosaurs had just started to be discovered back in his day.) 

-Acronix of course likes advancement and the otherworldly sciences. Technology, Astronomy. Sure we build upon the discoveries of the past but what about creating something new for the future? 

-Acronix does like bioengeneering since it is a new advancement but he knows saying so would make Krux grin with “I told you bio was cool” vibes

-Krux can engulf himself into his work or his schemes for days. As he is very patient. 

-Acronix is less so. He sees time constantly moving forward so sitting idle to “Plan” seems a ridiculous waste of time. 

-He jumps from activities quickly as the novelty of it wears off and he is always on a quest for what's new and what may work, not really what has been confirmed to work

-Krux of course sees this as a fool's errand. We need to respect the knowledge we have and use it and plan with it. 

-But when they are in sync you should be SCARED

-Both thinking in the Present can make them in perfect harmony, Both in fighting and talking.

-Their different planning methods can help eachother get things done. So yes, when they work together you should be scared 

-Krux can get really fixated on an idea, and get into major creative blocks. Acronix helps propose out of the box solutions that keep his ideas moving forwards that he wouldn’t have thought of himself. 

-But as we see they can also be reeeeallly different and fight over the miniscule things.  

-Krux lingers on Grudges easily as he physically cannot not put value to the events of the past.

-Acronix’s main grudge with the alliance came from his ego and arrogance, not his element. I think he feels very internally about wrongs to him in the moment but if he sees nothing really changed a couple of days later he loses interest in holding such a grudge easily

-Each of them have the ability to not be affected by the other’s powers

-Acronix has no patience to listen to anything he doesn’t want to hear. Back when he had his powers he COULD and WOULD just “skip” peoples’ dialogue if he got bored of it. 

-Krux has a bad habit of “freezing” people if he feels like they’re interrupting him. Like, he will freeze people who are trying to get him to stop working on something while he’s trying to get something done, and then get back to them when he feels like it. Everyone has to work on his time. (Annoyingly, this does not affect his brother, which is why Acronix is the only one who can actually get him to stop working on his projects.) 

-Whenever Krux & Acronix would hang out with Chen, Acronix loved messing with Clouse. Clouse reminds him of his brother, but even more stuffy and annoyed somehow, so he just has an instinctual urge to annoy him as much as possible. 

-(Clouse does not appreciate this, but Master Chen says they’re “important” to his plan so Clouse just suffers quietly.) 

-Acronix likes the Master of Speed, but also finds it annoying that he can resist his slo-mo powers by going really fast. (On the bright side, though, this does make him the closest thing to an equal he’ll get for a sparring partner, if Krux doesn’t want to train with him for whatever reason.) 

-Because of his element, Sound is one of the rare people who doesn’t really mind Krux but REALLY dislikes Acronix. Acronix is just so loud all the time and it physically pains him because he is so sensitive to vibrations and volume. Krux is generally pretty quiet so doesn’t bug him as much. 

-Acronix is an Entrepreneur (ESTP)  and Krux is an Architect (INTJ) 

-They have no Feeling whatsoever

-Otherwise, they are complete opposites

-Both of these personality types hate rules, regulations, and micromanaging restricting authority figures (hmm, wonder why they broke away from the alliance…)

-Acronix is arrogant in the way that he doesn’t care about his flaws, because obviously he is awesome and everyone else is just jelly, Krux is arrogant in the way that he hates people pointing out his flaws, because shut up he doesn’t have any 

-Their mother is Polaris, they take after her physically 

-Father is Kronos, they got their powers and ego from him 

-Their father actively encouraged them to have immense pride in their element -- being the former master of time himself 

-Ordered them the sweet matching armor

-He was a samurai back in his day, which is why the Twims wore samurai helmets.

-Between their two loving parents, the Twims were nearly spoiled 

-Krux and Acronix grew up pretty rich, Kronos was pretty much high society and Polaris was too 

-They went to a fairly fancy private school growing up

-But everyone there were snobs so they didn’t get along well with their classmates (what a surprise)

-Their parents died in a skirmish with Serpentine, leading the Twims to join the alliance full of vengeance. 

-Acronix has a battle scar from being grazed by an anacondrai sword on his left pec cause I said so

-Also a lot of misc snake bit scars and a burn scar from that one time (Ray’s got a bad temper and Acronix likes pressing people’s buttons, so that went super well)

-Acronix super cares about his looks so has a ton of, like, haircare and beauty products. Krux has a single bottle of 3-in-1 and a bar of soap and says that that’s sufficient. 

-Back in the day Acronix had a bunch of oils and whatever for his hair, and when he’s in the present he’s got a bunch of fancy shampoos and such.  He’s definitely the vain one of the two twins

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

A collection of Neurodivergent Twims HCs

-Acronix has ADHD and Krux is autisitc

-Acronix is early, but only to things he remembers. He often forgets dates. And Krux will get involved with something else, and has a warped sense of time. Together, the two miss a lot of EM meetings 

-And when they’re at them, neither of them are good at conversations. Acronix talks a mile a minute and doesn’t let anyone get a word in edgewise. Krux either doesn’t talk to anyone or similarly dominates conversation and doesn’t let anyone else talk. 

-The two also get sent on solo missions alot

-They don’t focus well in a group setting (Acronix generally ignoring the plan for what he prioritizes as the better option and krux simply not being popular with the others and only really battling well beside his brother)

-They are generally strong enough to protect a village by themselves

-The other EM work better with them out of the way since they are “annoying” and no one really likes their arrogance, pride, or entire personhood

-They seem to be happier working only together than with the whole group

-Once during a group charge on a collection of Serpentine races Acronix notices a horde heading in a different direction and follows them impulsive

-All of these things together make them especially unpopular with the other EMs

-Especially with the Master of Ice, who considers their actions disrespectful and often scolds them on their behavior 

-Krux and Acronix can BOTH get hyperfixated on things they are interested in, and can also forget to eat and sleep.

-Acronix struggles with insomnia a lot because his brain doesn’t shut up. Luckily his brother never really sleeps either. They spend a lot of long nights talking about nonsense 

-Acronix tries to use time skip powers to not waste time while sleeping. He skips the night, but he still didn’t get sleep. He crashes after a few days of this and Krux tells him that he’s a moron 

-Acronix has a fidget spinner, which he got for the memes but ended up finding unironically helpful, and gives Krux a fidget cube (which Krux reluctantly accepts and actually does use pretty often.) 

-Before learning what a fidget spinner was he would flip his phone a lot. It was both an easily accessible stim and assurance he knew where it was cause he tended to leave things around at random. 

-Krux used nail-biting as a stim, mostly because it can appear pretty neurotypical 

-Acronix is “annoying” around the ninja during his lil redemption arc, but instead of reacting like the elemental masters, the Ninja actually do research and come to an understanding (especially Zane, who is perceptive, understanding, and has an instantaneous link to the internet). 

-Altogether he’s a little surprised when they actually put effort into tolerating and understanding his differences. Huh. How’s bout that? 

-Jay is also pretty understanding, he’s got a lot of nd cousins and has ADHD himself so it’s kinda just *shrugs*

-Modern dyes and preservatives really trigger Acronix’s ADHD to be even worse than usual. 

-Zane picks up on this, and like the mother hen that he is starts to put in a special effort to keep dyes away from Acronix (or to keep Acronix away from dyes, as the case may be)

-Jay has a similar problem with dyes (which Edna let the Ninja know about, thanks a lot ma ) so Zane works double time to keep them both away from dyes

-Makes special dishes that are “ADHD safe” 

-Neither appreciate it (well Jay does but will complain openly at every chance he gets)

-Acronix got into a lot of trouble with their dad when he was a kid, because he just couldn’t pay attention 

-Has bursts of anger a lot, oftentimes this happens during things like parties or pre-meeting conversations. (which easily leads to him getting a label of “aggressive” or “hotheaded” by the EMs) 

-DEFINITELY struggles with Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria

-Ninjago history is Krux’s special interest 

-Krux freezes people around him when he needs a sec to destim

-Krux is pretty high-functioning, but is on the borderline. He's high-functioning enough to be aware of himself and mask, but not enough to avoid things like shut/melt downs 

-Acronix is fiercely protective of his brother whenever he shuts down. Messing with Krux while he's like that (whether the antagonist is aware or not) is a one way ticket to his wrath as well as physical punishment. 

-Whenever things got too intense at a meeting/party type thing, Acronix would ditch and sneak them both out whenever Krux was heading towards a shut down. Being the awesome supportive twin that he is, he learned to pick up on the signs of one and was certain to prevent them pretty much whenever possible. 

-Acronix failed in his efforts only once (he was kind of sick that day and wasn’t at the top of his game to be keeping a watchful eye on his bro), and Krux kind of ended up time freezing a few of the EMs in the process. It was something the elemental masters (or Krux himself)  did not soon forget or forgive. 

-He'll go nonverbal sometimes, to the minor aggravation of the alliance. Sign language isn't a thing yet so anyone trying to understand him when he's like this are pretty much reliant on Acronix and his twin sense to translate. 

-When their parents died Krux went nonverbal for a little over a month. 

-Krux was pretty delayed in learning to speak, he didn’t say his first word until he was 3 ¼ 

-Even during his redemption arc, Acronix does not tell the Ninja about Krux's autism, from a built in fear that the knowledge would be used against him in possible future battles. (Also because he knows Krux wouldn't want them to know.) 

-Krux doesn't just hate phones because “ugh technology”, he also just hates talking on the phone because it’s super difficult

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

OK there are way more that we have but... did you know there is actually a word limit on Tumblr? Heh heh... If you want more Twim goodness you can read our extensive fanfic collection... or maybe we’ll make a part two (That’ll probably consist of Home life pre-war stuff, post-canon AU junk, Vermillion family nonsense, and more random stuff)

[hyunhour]

right behind you ] [ felix au

a/n: yoohoo! been wanting to write a yandere themed fic for the longest time and finally got around to it. note that i do not condone this sort of behaviour and it certainly isn’t meant to be glamourized. yes, this story isn’t supposed to be all sunshine and rainbows. loosely inspired by “never ever getting rid of me – christopher fitzgerald” this is for fictional purposes only! it doesn’t depict the actuality of my sunshine boy at all!

yandere!felix, barista!hyunjin, barista!reader, unrequited love, obsessive love, toxicity

tw: yandere themes

word count: 2k

walking home alone after midnight had been a common occurrence for you after taking late night shifts at work. maybe you should start taking earlier shifts instead.

—

Your steps were heavy, slugged as you dragged your feet across the concrete path. There was only the sound of the wind howling as it gently caresses you, accompanied by the music softly playing from your earphones.

The streets were dimly lit, only neon lights of pubs being a reliable source of light. All the stores that lined the pavement were closes, shutters locked shut. There was not a single soul in sight, besides yours of course. It felt lonely, but comforting, the tranquility of the serene night enveloping you in a newfound safety.

« Shuffle, shuffle. »

More shuffling.

You quickened your pace. You were dubious about whether those footsteps were yours, but they weren’t matching with yours at all.

So, you’re not alone after all.

Anxiety washed over you, goosebumps prickling at the surface of your skin. You no longer felt the peace that the night held you in, only fear and panic surging from within you. Perhaps, you were overreacting. It could very well be a passer-by, just wanting to hurry back home, like you.

You shrugged off your doubts momentarily, warranting yourself a bit of relief. Right, you are probably overreacting.

But, just to be sure. You took a sharp left turn on your heels, opposite from the usual route you took home. Just as you thought, the footsteps trailed behind you. They were slow and steady, as if it was mocking you. You could just turn, it was right behind you.

Your hands stiffened in the pockets of your jacket, gathering sweat in your palms. You know that the way down this road was going to be to your old elementary school, otherwise known as a dead end. This person had to stop sooner or later at one of the houses scattered around the area. That had to be it. You’re overthinking this all.

« Shuffle. Shuffle. »

It had been a good five minutes of you walking down this pathway. This person is still hot on your trail, close enough for you to hear them but far away enough for them to.. to?

You’re overthinking. Overreacting. Over–

“Hah,”

That wasn’t you. Your lips were firmly pressed into a tight line, which made it harder for you to breathe in the cold weather. The only sounds escaping from you was the light wheezing of your lungs from your ragged breathing.

Your legs were losing vigour, instead they were shaking. Your stomach felt knotted, the deepening anxiety further tightening it. The inky darkness of the night no longer felt welcoming, instead it began to engulf you. You felt the invisible walls closing in on you as the footsteps behind you, got closer, and closer.

Right behind you.

Just turn.

Turn and see it.

Finally, mustering all the bits of bravery inside of you, your steps came to a halt. You had to be sure. This was the only way.

The footsteps had stopped as well.

Dread twisted in your gut as you turned around, painfully slow.

Within a blink of an eye, a dark figure that you couldn’t quite make out from the lack of light, sped off to the alley right around the corner. It was quick, and it almost made you doubt yourself, that you even saw it in the first place.

All your self-doubts dissolved immediately once you noticed something had actually fallen out of the person’s hold. It flayed around helplessly in the light breeze on the concrete path. It was a handkerchief, a pale cream coloured one, delicate to the touch. Your hands briefly hovering above, before retrieving it.

Your eyes scanned the foreign object, your fingers just ghosting along the seam lines. Down the handkerchief, your finger continued to trail.

« F.L »

Were those initials? They had been sewed on in a garish red thread, completely in contrast with the cream coloured cloth.

You slipped it into your pocket without thinking much of it, your mind was clouded with pride, the fact that you were actually able to ward off the creep.

—

It has been a day since that odd incident.

Hyunjin was busying himself with making the drinks, avoiding the cashier at all costs in order to dodge the multiple girls that lined up just for him. You laughed silently to yourself as yet another girl approached you, the cashier, for Hyunjin’s help instead.

“Sorry bub, he’s busy right now.” you meekly apologized, a faint smile plastered onto your face.

The girl before you whined, her eyes glued onto Hyunjin, who was at the back of the counter. He sneered, he lost count of how many times you had to say that fixated reply to almost every customer. He almost felt bad for you.

You finished tending to all the customers, immediately scurrying over to Hyunjin to help him out with making the drinks. You were adjusting the apron around your body before Hyunjin holds an arm out in front of you.

“Don’t.” he pauses briefly, “your coffee is fucking bitter.”

Your lips part apart in shock, smacking him at his arm. He winces in pain before retracting himself and scoffing.

“I’m trying, okay?” you roll your eyes at him, not amused at his usual bluntness. He reiterates you in a mocking way, rolling his eyes in return as well.

“Where the fuck is your nametag?” he stares down at your breast pocket, where sure enough, it was empty. You were hoping that he wouldn’t realize about your missing nametag, which you left at home. “Stop cussing at work, you asshole. I promise to bring it tomorrow,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Are you kidding me? You had like, one job–“ he berated, a string of incoherent words mumbled under his breath. You just couldn’t be bothered to even listen to his nagging anymore, thus putting on a deaf ear and just nodding your head to whatever words he relentlessly spewed out. “I swear your nametag spends more time at home than at work. You’re lucky, boss doesn’t know.” he remarked, causing you to grunt in response.

“Boss doesn’t care, thus boss will never know.” you smirked smugly at him, before distancing yourself from him as he flings a couple more vulgar insults at your face.

You had recently just started working as a barista, after Hyunjin pestered you about being lonely at work. It was another impulsive decision that Hyunjin easily manipulated you into taking without ever doing a double take. How could you resist when he pulled out those puppy dog eyes and pouty lips? Annoying fuck.

The bell against the front door chimed, a clear indication that a new customer had just stepped foot.

“Welcome!” both you and Hyunjin greeted, softly laughing at each other because of the unplanned perfect timing.

You were ready to receive another order, probably from another hormonal teenage girl that was ready to pounce on Hyunjin.

Boy, you were wrong.

It was a man. A very beautiful man at that. He stood at the door, soft eyes meeting your tentative ones. He sweeps his silver tresses back with his hand, before offering you one of the most gingerly-looking smiles. Your heart fluttered at the enticing sight. He didn’t go straight for the cashier. His eyes darted from the menu that was on the wall behind you, and then back to you, shyly avoiding your eyes now. What happened to that confidence he strutted in with?

He lingered at the entrance for a while, taking hesitant steps as he ventures further in to the café. You had gotten tired of waiting around for him, so you decided to help out Hyunjin—this time with refilling the coffee beans into the hopper. He so stubbornly insisted upon you not making any drinks until he could properly guide you, which would be after the store closes.

“That dude is iffy,” Hyunjin mumbles under his breath, briefly turning to face the entrance of the store, and then back to you.

“Iffy? Yeah, you.” you mock, and he nudges your arm a little too hard.

“I’m serious, Y/N.” he says, before leaning down to your ear, “he keeps looking at you, and like– salivating? Not over the food, but you.” You follow him, and sure enough, the silver-haired man had been staring right back at you unabashedly before looking away moments later. “Of all things.. you?” he reiterates, putting his finger on his chin, as if deep in thought.

You almost choke at his choice of words, caught off guard by his bluntness yet again. You pinch his arm, earning a whimper from him before he returns the same pinch onto your arm, if not more painful.

“Fuck you.” you hiss under your breath, pulling away.

“I was being a nice friend, looking out for you.” he hisses in return. You and Hyunjin both bicker for a while, causing you to spill some coffee beans onto the countertop, earning another earful from Hyunjin. God, he wasn’t even the manager but he sure was niggling like one.

“May I..” a voice from a distance interrupted your bickering, and you were almost thankful for it. You stick your tongue out at Hyunjin playfully before tending to the cashier.

“Yes! How may I help you?” maybe you were a little too excited, the poor boy in front of you jumping a little, obviously surprised at your gleefulness. It was the same person that had been standing around the entrance of the café, he was also always picking at the bed of his nails with his teeth, a habit that you noticed from just a few moments of looking at him. You felt an inkling of pity for this boy.

“I’d–” he choked on his words, his cheeks reddening. You chuckled softly, this kid probably has some major social anxiety. It wasn’t new to you to receive shy customers.

“It’s okay.” you motioned for him to continue, nodding your head. His eyes locked with yours briefly, a glow of light circled around his pupils momentarily, sparse freckles adorned his pale face as he chewed incessantly on the bottom of his lip. Out of anxiety, probably.

You had to break away the eye contact, feeling tense under his watchful eyes. It had gotten a bit uncomfortable with him doing more of staring than talking. This wasn’t normal.

“I’d like..” he resumes, sucking in a deep breath, “a medium vanilla frappe.” the sides of his lips tug upwards tremulously, and his eyes begin to waver.

“That’ll be $6!” you chirped, trying to coat the awkwardness within you with glee instead. He nodded, his hands frantically fishing for change in his pockets.

You open your palm up to him, not losing notice of the way he stares at it. His eyes linger for a moment before placing his money onto your palm, his fingertips just barely grazing the surface of your skin. It all went by painfully slow. You sighed, retracting your hand. He, however, seemed a lot more happier than before. His eyes glistening still at the newfound physical interaction, although small; it was still something. A wide smile crept up onto his face.

Brushing it all off, you returned his change by sliding it over the counter. Usually, you wouldn’t be that rude but this customer particularly did actually feel iffy as per Hyunjin’s words. You took in his smile that disappeared, a solemn frown in place instead on his freckled face.

“Your name, Sir?” you questioned, readying a plastic cup and a permanent marker. He cleared his throat, “Felix.”

“Felix Lee.”

You could’ve sworn your heart had stopped beating for a moment. Moments of the previous night flickered on and off in your head, whizzing by quickly before you could even comprehend what you had just realized.

« F.L »

Felix Lee.

“I’ll be waiting, Y/N.” he coos, before backing away from you. His words, his tone and the volume of his already low voice, letting goosebumps bubbling to the surface of your skin. The familiar feeling of anxiousness washing over you once again, fear having a grip on your throat, causing you to have the inability to even interrogate him.

When did you tell him your name? Right, it must be from your nametag–

Your nametag?

Your finger ghosted over the bare breast pocket of your apron, no nametag pinned onto it. You recall only remembering your nametag once, which was your first day of work. Other than that, it was stuck at home.

This all had to be some sort of sick, sick coincidence.

[sarcastically-defensive17]

Cold Shiver - B. Hargrove.

Part 3 of the “Changing Temperature” series.

Y/N has gone AWOL. Billy intends to find out why, and finds out that there is more to his favourite girl than he could ever imagine.

This is long awaited! I’m so sorry for the delay my loves! A part 4 is DEFINITELY coming. Sorry for the mini cliff hanger but I sincerely hope y’all enjoy !!

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

TW: mentions of past abuse, past sexual assault, theft, death of loved one, abandonment of family, criminal records, abuse, abuse, abuse, sexual abuse, and reader being a bitch to billy. Please do not read if this can trigger you in any way as your own health is far too important. Thank you.

Trust was a dangerous thing. Putting your secrets, the deepest, most significant parts of oneself in the mind of another, allowing them the capability of using such secrets and characteristics to their advantage was the most dangerous thing one can do.

Y/N sat in a diner, at an hour that which she should have been sleeping, under the same roof as her mother and brother and cat, listening to Billy Hargrove pour his heart out. She hadn’t expected to feel so strongly about another person again. She had told herself she wouldn’t allow it.

Yet, the blue eyed man had worked his way into Y/N’s mind, and was slowly advancing into her heart.

Things were fine. For a month. A month of late night calls, comforting when Neil got too much, enjoying the presence of another. Two wayward teenagers indulging in the affection of another person. Y/N found herself enjoying Billy far more than she would like, and it scared her.

She had grown more distant. They hadn’t officially begun a relationship, yet Billy knew he could fall for her. She made him feel as if he were a new man. A man deserving of love and admiration. A man more than his flaws. Until she stopped.

She stopped answering his calls. She had missed many days of school. She didn’t take the kids to the arcade, or answer Max when she called for Y/N’s advice, or help, or whatever it was that the girls spoke about.

He had put aside the fact that he missed her - he went through every day accepting the fact that nobody is permanent - but when he saw how much Max missed her... He and the kid didn’t get along, but he knew how important it was to have an outlet from their family, and Y/N had become that for both of the step-siblings.

Even on the drive to school, the brat wouldn’t stop talking about her. Y/N this, Y/N that. Billy had enough of the games. He wanted to know what her problem was and why Max was suffering.

“I just don’t understand what happened. It’s like she has dropped off of the earth,” Max grumbled. Her fiery hair was everywhere, and even that reminded him of Y/N. Max joked, “Maybe she got sick of you, Billy.”

He turned to her, shooting her a look that expressed so much venom that he even surprised himself for a moment. Max flinched. Since Y/N showed up, Billy had been a lot calmer. She gave him an outlet other than violence and anger. She gave him more purpose than the ‘bad boy’ persona he had forged for himself. Max felt scared of her brother for the first time in a while.

“Watch your mouth, you little shitstain. If she’s sick of anybody, it would be you and your constant whining.” He growled at her. Growled like an animal. Y/N’s absence had made him more insecure than her presence did, and Max was toeing a line that he was afraid to slip over. He didn’t mean the outburst, but he couldn’t stop himself from letting the poison spill from his lips.

Max was never one to back down, especially not since Y/N had helped her become more self-assured.

Max shoved billy away from her, matching his loon of ferocity with her own. Her eyes blazed as brightly as her hair, and Billy had to push down the sense of pride that was boiling at how his step-sister could take care of herself. It made him more confident of when he leaves for college at the end of the following year.

“Stick it up your ass, Billy. She actually cares about me, unlike everybody else in this stupid town. She would care about you more if you got your thumb out and stopped pretending to be all that.” They had pulled up to the middle school, Max pushing the door open and not bothering to thank him for the ride. The door slammed behind her, and only her head of fiery curls was visible through the window. “Try paying attention to somebody other than yourself, jackass.”

Billy didn’t have the energy to argue with her any longer. He had class in 15 minutes and he needed to see if Y/N’s Chevy was in her spot.

He had been struggling. He opened up to her, gave her everything that he had been scared to have people know. She knew of his horrible home life, how much he despised Max but how much he wanted to protect her and Susan from his father. How much he longed for love, but couldn’t find it - once a woman got to know him and where he came from, they’d turn tail and run. Y/N never did that... until now.

He took his usual route, his Camaro darting through the backstreets. He found the route with Y/N, the quiet streets almost singing to them, and being one of the best places to simply park and listen to music. Even the sight of the streets made his heart miss her. They had only been ‘together’ (in a way) for a few months, but he had grown so attached.

His eyes were shifting around the area, fingers thrumming to the music blasting through the radio. His foot slammed on the break when he caught the sight of the Canary Yellow Chevy parked in a far off parking lot. He didn’t know the shop she was behind, and he didn’t know who the guy was that she was standing with.

He definitely didn’t like the way the man was getting close to her, or grabbing at her wrist.

It was unmistakably her. Jeans clad on her legs. Tie dye shirt severed at the waist. Stilettos on her small feet, making her appear slightly taller.

His Y/N stood out among any other.

Y/N knew she shouldn’t have met him there. She vowed that if she saw him again, she would break his nose, or worse...

She had a long list of people in her bad books, but he was at the very top. The things he did... unforgivable.

She was waiting outside of her car for him. He had promised to give her back what he took from her. Well, what he could physically give back to her.

Derek was her first ‘love’. She met him at 15, loved him for a year and a half, gave him everything. He was heavy handed, he was light fingered, he was rude, charming, ruthless. He was a thief, and a predator. She despised him.

He had convinced her to leave everything she knew. She ran to New York with him, thinking everything was fine. A few months after her departure, he started taking what he wanted. He used her for when he wanted, struck her when she didn’t follow him.

She ran back to her mother, regretting every decision as she sported a swollen face and a loss of her dignity. He followed her. Got to her again. Took all of their savings, her mother’s jewelry. Her late fathers’ watch.

He called her two days ago with an offer. She gives up her grudge, he gives her back her parents stuff.

She knew it was wrong. She knew she should have told somebody, given Derek’s track record, but... she could handle herself. She had since she left him.

She was out of her car the minute she pulled up, her eyes fixated on shadow of a man waiting for her. Derek had upgraded his car since she last saw him, now driving a beat up truck instead of the crappy station wagon they had stolen together. Because of him, Y/N had to practically beg Sherif Hopper to not send her off to Juvenile Hall. The things she had done for him, it disgusted her. She acted like anything but the woman her mama raised. She would never go back. Never.

“Hey princess,” Derek drawled when she exited the car. He was puffing on a cigarette and the action simply reminded her of Billy. A pang of fear shot through her chest with the thought. “You look more gorgeous than ever.” His dark eyes looked her up and down and she resisted the shiver that trailed across her spinal cord.

“I don’t have time for the bullshit, Derek. Where’s my stuff?” Her snarl was evident, her weight leaning on one side while her arms crossed over her diaphragm.

There was a backpack sling over Derek’s shoulder. He wore a denim jacket, new looking. She imagined that he probably stole the item.

“Is that any way to talk to the man you owe?” He chided, smirking in a slimy way. “I’ve missed you baby.”

“And I missed my stuff. You said you would give me my things if I dropped my threat about going to the cops if I saw you again. Well I’m here, hand it over.” She was clenching her teeth. Every second spent around the malicious man made her blood almost curdle in her veins. The feel of his eyes on her had her near paralyzed with fear, but she refused to let the feeling of lead in her feet control her. Derek stopped controlling her long ago. She was a Henderson, and she could handle him.

Derek inched closer to her, wrapping his wiry fingers around her wrist. The touch burned her nerves, but she wouldn’t let it show. Instead, she fixed him with a gaze that burned as hot as his touch. “I was thinking, we could exchange something else as well.”

“Get your hands off of me,” she wrenched her arm back, jaw set, but his grip did not falter. Within seconds she was reduced from the Y/N Henderson that Hawkins knew and feared, to the Y/N Henderson that Derek broke many years ago. The fear crept up her spine and tears pricked at her eyes with his very touch.

It was a bad idea to come alone, but she had nobody she could comfortably bring with her.

Derek stepped closer again running his nose along Y/N’s cheek as his hand ran up her neck to grip her jaw. She had experienced that grip many times.

His laugh was sarcastic and full of anger. “You took so much from me, baby. We had a good life. We were free, and then you had to get a bee in your bonet and take all of my money. You know how many people we owed?” She shook her head as best she could in his grip. She had no idea. Derek kept his workings with others to himself, and she was confined to the tiny apartment that they were squatting in. “You got me into some real trouble, doll face.” He laughed once more. “Maybe I should show you how much trouble? Hm? Put you through what I went through? Maybe even worse-“

“Wow, and I thought I was an arrogant prick,” the minute that voice reached her ears, Y/N was flooded with emotion. While she was grateful that somebody interrupted the horrendous rambling, she was furious. Had Billy followed her? Did he not think she could handle the situation on her own? But most of all, she was furious that Billy had potentially heard the conversation. Heard about her past.

Billy was stood behind her Chevy, jeans tight on his legs, yellow shirt unbuttoned to show his chest, denim jacket in better condition than Dereks and far nicer, and cigarette hanging from his soft lips.

“Let her go, asshole,” Billy smiled at Derek. Y/N still hadn’t seen where he came from, but she most definitely wanted him to leave.

Derek simply laughed, “stay out of this, pretty boy. This is between me and my girl.”

Billy scoffed, “Your girl? Y/N, who is this guy.” He stepped closer, and only then did Y/N realise how much Billy towered over her ex. “He needs to learn some manners.”

Derek was well and truly distracted. His grip on her jaw and wrist had loosened very slightly, and she eyed the bag on his shoulder. She needed that stuff back. He had taken the only possession she retained of her father, and all of the savings her mother had put away. In that bag, was the items that, with their loss, solidified her existence as a horrible person. She had let him take from her family more than he took from her. She needed to do right by her family.

But more importantly, she needed Billy to get away. This was her business, and he needed to go far away. She couldn’t let him in. She wouldn’t.

She took the opportunity, both men squaring you to one another, a battle of vomit-inducing testosterone. Her window was open, and she readied her first before throwing a right hook into the side of Derek’s face. She had learnt so much in her time away from him. She knew how to protect herself now. She followed the blow up with a punch to the side of his throat, and the impact caused him to drop his grip from her face.

She had planned to simply strike and grab the bag to escape, but the feeling of her knuckles against his skin was intoxicating. She had pent up much anger and resentment. She had wanted nothing more than to make him feel the pain that he inflicted on her. Every time he lay a hand on her, every time he forced her into bed, every time he degraded her, blamed her, struck her, made her bleed or swell or bruise. Every time he broke her, damaged her, made her into the woman she is today. She needed to let it out. She felt the endorphins flood her system with every strike.

Her vision was white with rage, and she hadn’t realised that she had brought him to the ground until she was on top of him. His face was split in many spots. His mouth was filling with blood from the force of his own teeth biting the inside of his cheek. A tooth or two had come loose from his face and his nose was bent at an uncomfortable anger.

She was screaming. She was screaming in anger, rage, she was screaming for the young girl that died the night that she left with him. She was screaming for the broken heart of her mother when he robbed them. She was screaming for herself, who couldn’t even let Billy in, who had proven to care about her more than any guy had before.

Hands started to pull at her arms, yet she shoved them off.

“Y/N!” Billy called. She didn’t answer, instead she kept swinging, her elbow being sent back into his jaw at one point and splitting his lip. It was not a new wound, instead a reopening of one Neil had left a few days prior.

The impact didn’t bother him, instead he curled his arms around her waist and pulled her from the man. Derek was bleeding and sputtering. She had done a number on him. Billy had never seen her so angry, not even when Tommy H had thrown a beer bottle at her hood a few days after he started at Hawkins High. Tommy left school with a few broken and bruised ribs that day.

“Let me go!” She screamed as he pulled her back. She was throwing herself around. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

“Y/N, you need to calm down.” He set her on the ground not far from Derek’s sputtering body. “Princess, look at me. You need to stop.” Y/N was still trying to swing, but he caught her wrists. His grip was nothing like that do Derek’s but the combination of his touch and the name that Derek would call her brought the tears flowing down her cheeks.

She was on her feet in seconds, pushing him away from her with all of the force that she could. He didn’t move very far.

“Get out of here, Billy!” All she could see was red. The way Billy was looking at her made her want to sink into his arms and cry, but she needed him to leave. He couldn’t see her like this. He couldn’t see her weak, and malicious and vulnerable. He couldn’t come to her rescue. “I don’t need you here.”

“Y/N I’m not here to do anything!” His tone matched hers. They both had fiery tempers. “I fucking saw that guy grabbing you and I wanted to know who the fuck he thought he was. Nobody grabs my girl-“

“Your girl?” She scoffed. “What am I - huh? I’m your ‘nothing’, Billy. I’m not your damsel to come and save and I am definitely not yours to protect.”

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She snarled, “I don’t need your help. I don’t need you to come and save me and I definitely don’t need you to get involved in my business, Billy.”

“I’m not trying to get involved-“

She stepped over to Derek, snatching the bag from his faltering grip before shoving past Billy.

“Can you just stop and fucking talk to me, please, Y/N!” His cigarette was discarded long ago. He put his hand against her car door as she went to open it, blocking her entrance. “What happened? You were fine two weeks ago, then you disappear on me and I find you being fucking manhandled by some asshole, and then you have a go at me when I try to talk to you? What is going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you, William. I don’t need you getting involved and I don’t need you trying to check up on me. I can handle myself, and I sure as hell don’t need you to stick your nose in my business.” She refused to meet his eyes. “I never asked for you to become so involved in my life. I was fine before you came along, and I will be more than fine when you go.”

She reefed the door open, pushing his arm back into his body and climbing in her canary yellow Chevy.

“Y/N, wait-“

“Stay away from me, Billy,” she growled, bro sparing him another look as she reversed out of the lot.

He watched her car retreat, her stiletto covered foot skillfully maneuvering the car away from him and down the back streets.

He spared another look at Derek on the ground before allowing his eyes to settle on the sunshine touched vehicle.

There was something wrong with Y/N. She wasn’t okay, and he needed to know what was going on. He couldn’t sit back and watch somebody that he cared about so intensely he so hurt.

He jogged over to his camaro and set off in the same direction that she did. If he knew correctly, she would be going to the same spot she always did when she was upset or needed a break.

The same place they spent the night over a month ago. Where Billy realised that he could fall for Y/N.

He knew the way to the diner like the back of his hand, and when he pulled up, there she was. Sitting in her same booth by the window, her Chevy parked in its usual spot.

Tag list: @booksandfandomsarelife1 @originalwhore @http-cherries @cynthianokamaria @ietss @theatrechic26 @winter-captain-01 @thelastemzy @quaintflor @infinitelycharmed23 @mantlereid @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3 @roxytheimmortal @alongcamedolly @angelofslytherin

If you would like to be added to the tag list then let me know in the comments or send me a message!!

[mochiyoonfi]

Our Utopia

Synopsis: Y/n is an Idol Trainee under the same company as her big brother- Kim Namjoon. But there’s more to her than her angelic voice.

Universe: idol!bts, idol!reader, reader is Namjoon's sister.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of drug abuse/addiction, mentions of suicidal thoughts, depression, abuse, sexual assault, violence.

A/N: This is a request! Requested by @deereadeer​ Sorry this took so long!

~ (reader discretion is recommended) ~

Betraying the darkest parts of your heart to strangers was definitely something you wouldn’t recommend. Heart in your throat, you looked across at the judges. The founder of the company had his eyebrow raised, as if asking if you were going to do anything.

Taking a deep breath, you summoned every ounce of your courage and opened your mouth.

As you begin to sing, you feel everyone’s eyes fixed on you. You don’t pay attention to that, only to the thumping feeling of your racing heart.

You close your eyes, putting all the emotion you can manage without breaking down, into your voice.

Suddenly the room around you faded, you saw your darkest fears, the ones you could never talk to someone about. Your worst memories.

Walking through the lush park that you could no longer stomach to see, the gentle air playing with locks of your hair. The three men, strangers to you, who now haunted your nightmares regardless, had come out of nowhere, the darkness around them betraying the darkness of their hearts. And when it was over, they slunk back to nowhere.

You had only been two blocks away from your house.

You were almost home.

But you weren’t.

The frightful attack was just the start of your mentally declining slope. Drugs, alcohol. They became your only comforts. The only thing helping you cope. The shame surrounding your use of them was apparent to only you. No one else knew of your pain. Not even your best friends.

The real saving light to your turmoil came, maybe not when you desperately wanted it to, but it came nonetheless.

Your parents.

Of course you knew that your trusting, caring parents would have never imagined the spiral you had fallen into.

But they tried their best to comfort you regardless. You saw the shame in their eyes though, they couldn’t hide that. Their shame didn’t change the fact they loved you.

You knew that they loved you.

So when they told you to go to rehab, you went willingly. They had to know what was best for you. Because you sure as hell didn’t.

Your eyes slowly trailed up to the judges, resisting the urge to wipe your eyes, unsure of if there were even tears in them.

The judges all had straight faces. For a second your heart sunk.

Maybe you just weren’t good enough.

Was your best not good enough?

The female judge was the first to crack. She turned away and her shoulders began shaking, her hands shooting up to her face. Sobs were torn from her mouth, none too quietly.

The CEO, Bang Shi Hyuk or better known as PD Nim, wasn’t crying or staring almost blankly at you. He was smiling.

“Thank you for auditioning, we’ll get back to you if you’ve made it through.” He stated, voice a little quieter than normal. “You remind me of someone.”

You blinked.

He sighed, realising that you wanted to know who he meant. “You remind me of RM, from BTS. You both speak well and have heartfelt lyrics.”

It was your turn to smile, a sense of pride washing over you. “He’s my brother.”

The judges gasped quietly, the crying woman’s eyes widening. “Why didn’t you tell us beforehand? We would’ve marked you better!”

You shuffled on your feet, fingers playing with each other. “Well…I guess… I..”

“I think Kim Y/n means that she didn’t want to use her brother to make it through the auditions.” Bang Shi Hyuk said, smiling kindly at you.

You nodded vigorously. “Yeah. I want to do it for myself. Not cheat my way through…”

The woman stood up, face contorted somewhere between disbelief and anger. “What if you don’t make it through? Wouldn’t that be worse on your reputation? It wouldn’t even be cheating, it would just be an advantage!”

“I want to do this myself. I’m sure I can.”

Bang Shi Hyuk nodded. “We have your details and contact information. The period of call backs is one to two weeks. Thank you. Goodbye.”

-✥-

“Namjoon’s really good at rapping.”

You were lying on the floor of the practice room at Big Hit Entertainment with five other girls. Not just any girls. These girls were insanely talented— and also the only female idol trainees signed under the same company as the Kpop sensation, BTS, the band your brother was in. You six girls were kind of special in that sense.

“Yeah I know.” You replied, not trying to hide the pride in your voice.

“How come you aren’t good at rapping then?” Aiko asked, her dark eyes fixated on the tv mounted on the wall. You rolled your eyes when you saw that her eyes were solely on your brother. You still weren’t used to the whole ‘worldwide famous brother’ thing.

“Just because my brother is a good rapper doesn’t mean I am too.”

Heeyoung laughed. “Yeah but how can you not even drop a beat?”

Heeyoung was the main rapper in the group, so you weren’t surprised to hear this from her.

“I’m a singer, not a rapper.” You replied.

Ji-Eun smiled softly. Her smile was a welcoming thing to you. She normally was quiet, didn’t smile much and wasn’t very opinionated— a real peacekeeper. When she spoke, she spoke with pure honesty. You had never seen her lie before, at least, not successfully.

“You’re the best singer I’ve ever heard. Better than all those professional singers out there.”

You went red. “J-Ji! You can’t say that!”

Aiko shook her head. “No, she’s right. You’re a real natural talent. Probably even better than Jungkook.”

Your eyes widened. “J-Jungkook? He’s a senior to us! You can’t insult him like that!”

“Y/n, it’s a compliment to you.” Aiko scoffed, no malice in her voice.

“B-but-!”

A tinkling laugh filled the room and you turned to the source. The lead dancer of your group was grinning up from her phone. “Y/n, you really can’t accept compliments can you?”

“I can accept compliments just fine Luna.” You pouted.

Luna shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe just not in front of us.”

“Baram has no problem accepting compliments. I guess she should do our acceptance speeches.” Aiko stated.

Baram looked up from her phones. Baram smirked instantly. “No, that won’t work. Our modest leader shall accept everything.”

“Accept what?” Luna laughed. “We haven’t even debuted yet!”

Aiko jumped up, thrusting her fist into the air. “Yeah, but I know we’ll do well! Just like BTS! Just like TXT!”

“Yeah but BTS is mainly vocalists. We have two vocals.”

Everyone’s eyes drifted to Baram. She was a known overthinker. Ji-Eun quickly came to the rescue though. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve got some of the best dancers I’ve ever known! We’ll rock the industry to their core.”

You grinned. If anyone could energise your group, it was definitely Ji-Eun. “On three! UT-Opia!”

“UT-Opia!”

-✥-

You sat down in your dormitory, ignoring the fact that Aiko was sleeping, quite loudly, in your own bed. You rolled your eyes, throwing a blanket over her and turning on your camera.

You smiled warmly into the camera. “Welcome back, Blisses! I’m Y/n, the leader and main singer of UT-Opia! Today I’ll be talking about the song writing process! First I think of what the song will be about. Normally two themes: Love or sadness. I’m feeling pretty happy right now, so I’ll write about love.”

You talked for maybe five minutes before signing off and turning off the camera. You sighed in relief. Now all you had to do was your afternoon workout, and you would be done for the day.

Aiko stirred from under the blanket. “Oh. Hey Y/n.”

Walking over to her, you smiled lovingly. As much as you loved all the girls equally, you had a soft spot for the maknae, Aiko.

“Hey Aiko.”

She looked over at where your camera was set up, sheets of music and note paper discarded messily. Her brow creased. “Were you filming a daily vlog?”

You nodded.

“Don’t overwork yourself.” She warned.

You laughed unintentionally at this. Here she was, so exhausted from her daily life that she had collapsed into your bed, and slept for who knows how long. And she was telling you to take a break.

“I’m fine Aiko. You, however, look tired. Please sleep well. I’ll wake you when we need to practice.”

Her head immediately fell into the blanket again. “Thanks Y/n.”

You shared a room with Ji-Eun, which you never used. Really, it was more a gesture than anything useful.

You carefully pried open the front door to your actual dorm, being as silent as possible.

“Y/n! You’re back!”

Your brother greeted you with a hug and you couldn’t help but fall into his warm embrace. He smiled at you.

“Where were you? I hope you weren’t practicing all day..”

You grinned and pulled him into another quick hug. “No more than I need to.”

Namjoon sighed. He rustled his short blue hair and eyed your own dyed hair. “Honestly, at this point do we even look like siblings?”

“The price of fame.” You quipped. He laughed slightly.

“The price of keeping your fans happy.”

You turned to him, setting down the cup of coffee you had just begun to make. You studied him with care, studying him for any of his normal nervous habits. But no, he was standing calm and still.

“Don’t you enjoy making your fans happy anymore?”

He looked up from his own cup. He shook his head. “I do. I love making them happy. In fact, they make me happy.”

“I wonder if I’ll be as happy.”

The words came out without any intention to. Your thoughts had somehow managed to scramble themselves and now your older brother was looking at you, bright eyes unable to mask their sympathy.

“I’m sure you’ll be just as successful—if not more. And I’ll always make sure you’re happy.”

You sucked in a breath. “Always?”

“When have I ever not been here for you?”

You didn’t answer his question, knowing if you lied he may be able to tell, somehow. Instead you just nodded, smiled slightly awkwardly.

A gush of breeze raced past you, so fast you couldn’t even see what it was. Well, not really. As sneaky as Taehyung thought himself, the young man from your brother's group was actually not very good at unnoticed movements. In fact it had only taken two days of living with him to know his lying habits, exactly how fake his smile was, and what he did when he was tired. A lot of the time, it was the latter. He never seemed to get a full night's sleep. Often he would knock on your door and you would get out of bed and follow him out onto the deck. Together you would sit in silence, just gazing at the stars.

“Y/n! You hard worker! I’m glad you’re back!”

You smiled at the younger man and brought him in to you for a brief hug. “Ah, I should be saying that to you guys. Promoting a new album is making your schedules busy, eh?”

Namjoon sighed loudly. “It’s hard.” He saw your slightly disappointed face and hurried to correct himself. “It’s always worth it though.”

“Mm. I’ll wait until I see the worth.”

You breath hitched. Min Yoongi, the second oldest in your brothers group, had entered the room. He scratched his neck slowly, eyes trailing to each person's present face. He looked away before he got to you though.

“Oh Yoongi give her some hope.” Taehyung complained.

Yoongi shrugged. “It’s true. I’m just tired right now. Where’s the cereal?”

“Grandpa, it’s 10 at night.” Namjoon groaned.

Yoongi’s upper lip curled downwards in something that resembled disgust. “What’s wrong with cereal at night?” His frown deepened. “And don’t call me grandpa.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Whatever. How’s your practice going anyway?”

Realising this was directed at you, you looked up into your brothers strong eyes. “I think we’re pretty good! Almost as good as you guys!” You teased.

Namjoon laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You girls are very talented. All we have really is years of work and a massive fan base backing our every move.”

Your eyebrows fell. “We haven’t even debuted yet. Of course we aren’t that successful.”

“You guys still do daily vlogs right?” Taehyung asked.

“Yeah Y/n did one this morning.”

Turning to Yoongi, your heart caught slightly. “D-did you watch it?”

He nodded. “It was good. I like the way you write your music. It’s very deep.”

Your heart began pounding, not because of the butterflies catching at the fact that he had been watching you, but now because he had seen you so invested in your music. It almost felt as if you were ripping out pages of a diary you had kept for years and giving it to him to read through.

“Too bad you didn’t do any singing though.”

“I haven’t heard you sing— really sing, I’m so long Y/n.” Namjoon jumped in. “Do you think you could sing for me at some point.”

“Me too!” Taehyung jumped in, reminding you that he was still there.

“Maybe later?” You squeaked.

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “That’s fine. I think you should go to bed.”

You sighed. Of course Namjoon had noticed the sleep bags under your eyes. He was too perceptible for his own good sometimes.

“I will. I just need to talk with Jungkook first.”

The three boys nodded. It had become a regular thing, you talking to each of the boys in private every few days. They just assumed that it was for some type of mentoring purposes, as the things you asked about were always vague. But your conversations always turned to a more emotional route.

Because you weren’t there only for their tutoring and mentoring.

-✥-

“Jungkook sunbae?”

“Come in.”

You slowly opened his door, walking in quietly. He was slouched on the floor against his wall, phone in hand. He looked up at you and grinned.

“Hey Y/n. Nice to see you. And for the hundredth time, just call me Jungkook. You’re older than me for goodness sake.”

You laughed, sliding down next to him. “But you have so much more experience than me. It doesn’t feel right addressing you so casually.”

“You’ve been living here for two whole years now. I think we’re pretty good friends at this point.”

“You guys have really blown up over two years.”

He turned off his phone, throwing it and landing it perfectly onto his bed. “And you guys have gotten a lot better at dancing— which to be honest, is astounding seeing how good you were to start with.”

“And your mental health has gotten so much better.”

“It’s only thanks to you.”

You smiled. “I’m glad I can do anything to help you. You didn’t need much helping really, just a gentle push in the right direction. You’ve been strong since I’ve known you.”

“You as well.” Jungkook responded earnestly. “You were really reluctant to move in with us at first.”

A laugh filled the room. “Well you should expect that— A 23 year old moving in with a bunch of men.”

Jungkook shrugged. “I moved in with a bunch of teenagers and young men when I was only young. I guess I had very different experiences to other people.” He looked down at the tattoos running all along the skin of his hands. The word ‘ARMY’ spelt out of his group members' names. “I guess some of those experiences were good though.”

A warm smile washed over your face, lighting up your eyes.

Jungkook was right.

Some experiences were different— and they weren’t all enjoyable.

But some of them were good.

“I’m really glad I came here. Even if I didn’t really want to at first. I’ve learnt so much from you guys. I think I’ve grown a lot more too.”

Jungkook chuckled, ready to poke fun at you after your shared emotional moment. “I hope you don’t mean in height, because that certainly isn’t true.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him slightly as you got up.

He looked slightly crestfallen as you began to exit his room. “Wait I didn’t mean to offend you!”

You giggled. “And you didn’t. I just need to go to bed. I’m tired, Kook.”

A bright grin washed over his face, white teeth popping out in a bunny like expression. “You called me Kook!”

You paused in his doorway. “No..”

Bolting towards, and before you could react he had his arms wrapped around you tightly.

This felt sickeningly similar.

The feeling of being deprived of air.

The world turned to pure black.

“Y/n?”

You blinked.

Right. That was just your memories. This was the present.

And there was no reason for you to be afraid.

Grabbing at Jungkook’s back you found your chin resting on his shoulder. He fidgeted, clearly surprised that you had returned his gesture.

“Yeah I called you Kook. Goodnight, Jungkook. Sleep well.”

He pulled back, even though you were his noona, a few years older than him even, he still stood a large majority taller than yourself. He leant down to press a light kiss onto your forehead. A brotherly action.

You pulled him into another hug quickly before running out of his room, trying in vain to hide your beaming face.

-✥-

“They’re coming over here? Them!” Aiko squealed, not even trying to conceal her inner fangirl.

“Yeah. And one of ‘them’ is my older brother.” You eyed up Aiko’s bouncy stage. “Don’t make it weird.”

Aiko huffed, placing her hands onto her hips, staring at you with a sassy pout. “I've never made things weird.”

Luna jumped up, feeding off Aiko’s overexcited energy. “We can introduce ourselves as a group right? That’ll be so cool! Using our stage names too!”

“You don’t even have a stage name.” Heeyoung pointed out.

Luna thrust a hand at herself dramatically. “My name is so beautiful I need no stage name.”

“Girls! Get ready, they’ve just arrived.” Your manager said offhandedly, obviously not grasping the weight of the rest of your group getting to perform in front of the most famous band in the world.

You all jumped up, standing in a line in front of the door, a few metres back so as to not scare the poor boys.

The door clicked open and a bodyguard stepped inside. He looked around, then stepping forwards and aside, he cleared the way for the tall man behind him to enter.

Your brother smiled softly at you as the rest of the group filed inside slowly. You could hear Aiko practically buzzing when Jimin stepped inside.

“2! 3! Bangtan. Hello, we’re BTS!”

“We know.” Ji-Eun muttered and you had to bite your tongue to suppress a laugh.

You stepped forward, taking in a breath. “Hello! We are UT-Opia!”

At the end for UT-Opia, the other girls joined in so it came out as a chorus.

Your manager waved his hand as if this wasn’t necessary at all. It probably wasn’t, but it made you feel professional.

“Introduce yourselves girls. I’m sure the boys don’t need to.”

Ji-Eun raised her hand. “Manager, I’m sure I’ve told you, I don’t know BTS well at all.”

You giggled. Ji-Eun was ever blunt and honest. Your manager didn’t see this as a virtue though, and hung his face in his hands.

“It’s fine. Hi! I’m RM, rapper and leader of BTS.”

The following six members introduced themselves, to which Ji-Eun noticeably didn’t pay much attention to. Realising it was finally your turn, you took a deep breath, mustering your fleeting courage.

“I’m Y/n of UT-Opia. I'm the main vocalist and the leader.”

“I’m K.” Ji-Eun tried dismally to put any emotion into saying her stage name. “I'm the lead rapper and the oldest.”

“Hey! I’m Luna, lead dancer!” Luna accentuated the words ‘lead dancer’ with a flip of her dyed blonde hair.

“I’m Gem and I’m a main dancer.” Baram looked almost starstruck to be talking to BTS. She was normally overly confident and self certain, but right now she looked quite awed.

“I’m Cinnamon, it’s a stage name do not worry, and I’m a main dancer but I prefer the title of-”

Manager tapped his watch. Heeyoung smiled sympathetically at him, but regardless continued her speech. “I’m main dancer but I prefer the title of main rapper.” She looked down at her purple button up shirt and dark tracksuits that somehow looked fashionable. “I’m not as good at dancing as I am at styling.”

You could’ve sworn you heard Manager groan at her final wordings.

“I’m Aiko. I’m the youngest and I’m a sub vocal and also a dancer and sub rapper!”

Manager breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness that’s over. Girls do you have a song you could perform, you know, to show what you can do? The boys can give some pointers or something.”

He looked down hurriedly at his watch. “I’m late to a meeting. Thank you BTS for coming. Please take care of them.”

As soon as the uptight man rushed from the room, Yoongi dropped onto the ground along with Jimin, and on the other end of the room, Heeyoung.

“Let’s get rid of the formalities, alright?” Yoongi asked.

You nodded. “Ji-Eun, their names are Namjoon, Seokjin, Hoseok, Yoongi, Taehyung and Jungkook, alright?”

She frowned. “I would’ve addressed them by their hair colours if I didn’t know.”

“But unnie-” You began.

Hoseok cut you off with a laugh. “Sorry Y/n for interrupting. Just K has such a lack of care. It’s quite honestly refreshing when everyone treats you like kings of some kind.”

“My name isn’t actually K.” Ji-Eun pointed out. “It’s Ji-Eun. Call me Ji.”

“I’m Baram.” Gem added.

You noticed the boy's eyes trail to Heeyoung. She didn’t comply.

“I’m just Cinnamon. It’s my birth name.”

“Her name is Heeyoung.” You said, grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes. “And the air of mystery is gone.”

“So what are you guys gonna perform?” Yoongi asked, eager to hear you sing.

You fiddled with your fingers. “We’re a mainly dance focused group, should we dance?”

“I want to hear you sing though.” Yoongi replied, not enforcing, but softly so he sounded as if he were reassuring you.

“Well.. I-” You begun.

Heeyoung leapt to her feet. “Well? Cmon! Let’s do that song!”

“Heeyoung and Aiko dragged you to your feet. “It’s a good song too!”

“I dunno.” You whispered.

Ji-Eun looked deep into your eyes. “There’s no harm in trying.”

And with that, you were in the middle of the room, a microphone in hand and the rest of your group spread around you.

Aiko pressed the player, turning on a quiet piano track you could remember sitting down and playing to record. It had been emotional by yourself, how would it be with people with you?

You took a deep breath.

No harm in trying.

Focusing on your voice instead of their reactions, you closed your eyes. As the words to your song left your lips, your mind wasn’t in the practice room. You were racing through all your bad memories.

And there was a light at the end of the foggy tunnel of pain.

A way out.

The last time Namjoon had heard you sing was before he went to audition for Bighit Entertainment. A long time ago. You had been just goofing around with him, he was rapping to the song and you were singing. He had showered you with compliments over your voice after that.

Would he still like your voice?

Your eyelids fluttered open. Ji-Eun, Heeyoung, Aiko and Baram were all moving rhythmically around you, moving with the music. Luna was dancing beside you in a smooth flowing form of actions. It wasn’t the normal hip hop or pop dancing she normally did. This was a more sorrow filled format. Her movements were lucid. She noticed you watching and made her way over to you. Her palm drew across your face, sliding your eyelids shut.

Only when you felt the moisture on her palm slide across your face did you realise you were crying. So much emotion was being poured into your voice that you hadn’t kept a tight enough lid on how you were acting physically.

You didn’t make the motion to wipe off your tears though.

The tears, the pain— they were part of your song.

Part of your life.

As the song drew to a close, your eyes opened again to see the astounded faces of the members of BTS. Yoongi’s eyes were wide and it seemed as if there was a slight sheen to them, a small amount of moisture. Hoseok, Jimin and Jin all looked amazed, and slightly guilty that you were crying. Jungkook and Taehyung were both blinking back tears. They had needed you a lot more than the others in your years of helping them with their mental health and hated seeing you upset.

The boys all had the same look of adoration and amazement plastered onto their faces. They were blown away by your voice, your emotion. By you.

Your brother was astounded though. A wave of emotions seemed to be rippling through his expressions all at once. It was a relief to hear your sweet voice once again, lifting and filling up the room as you sing your heart out. Pride overwhelmed him.

He was proud of you, of your voice. Of your emotions.

You fetched some drink bottles and took the chance to dry your eyes, handing a bottle to each member of your group.

“That was a really good song.” Yoongi noted. “The piano was superb as well. The lyrics.. they were really deep and heartfelt.

Aiko smiled. “That’s our Y/n writing and playing that song!”

Namjoon blinked slowly. “You wrote that song?”

“Y-yeah.” You gulped. Maybe he didn’t like it after all. “It’s not very good but-“

“Are you kidding me?” Namjoon yelped. “It was so good! The lyrics were so deep as Yoongi said! I can’t believe you’re such a good writer!”

You flushed a shade of crimson. “I-I-I thank you.”

“What is…” Yoongi’s voice trailed off. He peered at the moisture still in your reddened eyes. “Never mind.”

You flashed an okay-then smile at him and turned back to listen to how Hoseok and Jimin were critiquing their dancing— even though they would be the first to admit there was hardly anything to criticize. Jungkook began talking to you about some singing tips and you immersed yourself back into real life again. Pulling your mind out of your over active imagination.

-✥-

A nock came on your door when it was already late at night. In fact, if you stuck to your schedule you would already be in bed. But you found yourself sitting in your room, writing out lyrics to a song that you didn’t even need to write. You slowly opened the door, shutting off your light first so it looked as if you were about to go to bed, and not ignoring your schedule.

“Sorry Y/n. I know it’s a bit late.”

Yoongi stood in the hallway, shifting awkwardly, his eyes in contrast shon with a determination.

You felt your stomach fill with butterflies and you tried to quench the feeling. “No, it’s fine. What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. I just...I wanted to ask a question.”

“Fire away.”

He shook his head slightly. “Well it’s not just a casual question. And I want to make sure I’m not invading your privacy. But it’s about the song you sung earlier.”

You felt your heart drop, blood running cold while simultaneously goosebumps spiked onto your skin.

“You seemed very emotional.. not even seemed. You cried and I really want to know why. I just feel that if I wait any longer to ask you, it’ll be too late. Now feels like the right time.”

Sighing, you knew he was right. You couldn’t hide your demons forever. Even though you had talked to your therapist a bit about the incident, you had never gone into depth about it with your parents. You had never even told Namjoon. Your brother had no idea that it had happened.

And it was time that he knew.

“Can you go get Namjoon? I’m not ready to tell the others yet.”

You were really close to Yoongi, the time that you had spent in their housing really grew you close to him. He had picked up on your main reason for being there almost the third time you had talked to him. He didn't mind that you were partially there just to help their mental health.

When you first moved in he hadn’t been at his best, stressed over the band’s popularity and success. His OCD was worse than ever.

More upset than the others, you were eager to help him get back on his feet. At first however, Yoongi was cold to you. He didn’t think he needed your help. He could fix it himself.

And he thought you were stuck up and arrogant to think that you could help him. After all, you were only 25 years old. Who were you to help him?

But slowly and surely with your help, he managed to get a hand on his health. He accepted that you could help him. It came to a time when he was happy to talk to you, and looked forward to it even.

Telling them was hard, but it felt freeing. Like a weight you had been carrying for the past eight years was lifted. As if you had been chained to your trauma and couldn’t get free, and now the locks were opened.

“You were attacked?” Namjoon almost yelled. You shushed him, nodding. Even though Yoongi had told the other boys not to enter the recording studio, you didn’t want to run any risks of them hearing regardless.

“The place is sound proofed Y/n, don’t worry.” Namjoon looked apologetic, as if by yelling he had upset you somehow. “But you were attacked? When was this?!”

“When I was seventeen…”

He immediately let out a cry. “You never told me? I could’ve helped you! Did the person ever get caught? Held accountable?”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t a person… it was three men.”

Namjoon swore loudly. “Multiple people? Attacking a fucking teenager? Who the fuck do they think they are? Who are they Y/n?”

You felt someone’s warm hand slip into yours, giving your own a tight reassuring squeeze. You noticed you were trembling slightly. It wasn’t from Namjoon raising his voice. It was from realising the weight of what had happened to you, that had suddenly come crashing down onto your mind.

You kept your gaze focused on Yoongi’s hand grasping yours, trying not to look at your astonished brother's face.

“I… I don’t know. They.. weren’t found.”

Namjoon let out a loud growl. “So the authorities can’t even do their job and find these degenerates? Fuck them.”

“N-Namjoon they’re trying their best! It’s not their fault…”

A wave of sympathy and guilt washed over his face. “It’s not your fault either Y/n! It’s those stupid bastards fault!”

You held your free hand up to quiet him. “Namjoon, I know it’s not my fault.”

His eyes narrowed, staring deep beyond your skin. “You’re so different Y/n… I shouldn’t have left you. You’ve changed so much from the little girl I left in Ilsan.”

You shook your head. “I changed at first after the attack. When I miscarried my child,”

You heard the boys intake of breath when they heard miscarriage. Namjoon didn’t know that you had been pregnant. YOUR PARENTS DIDN'T KNOW. How could you talk about this without crying? Without breaking down?

It was so hard to think about let alone talk to someone else about. But it was your brother. He had a right to know. And you wanted him to know.

“I-it really changed me. I thought.. maybe I was to blame for my child’s death. After all, I was the mother.. I was meant to take care of my baby. And I didn’t.”

“Y-your child..?” Namjoon whispered.

The present had faded into a fog. It was if you were standing in the dark, pure silence enveloping you. All you could hear was your thoughts, booming louder than you could control.

Your child.

Yoongi softly touched your arm. “Y/n? You were.. pregnant when you were attacked?”

You shook your head slowly. “The attack.. I got pregnant after..”

The words clicked inside Yoongi and Namjoon’s minds, sudden rage boiling through them.

The child you had carried inside you. The innocent victim of ruthless men, who you were just as bad as. It wasn’t the child’s fault. You had decided to keep it after you were found to be pregnant, hoping that you would be able to provide the child a life better than it’s conception.

You found out only months later that due to complications of your physical and mental health sustained after the attack— the poor infant had died before even reaching half term.

You had failed them.

“Y/n.. it’s not your fault.” Yoongi murmured. “You couldn’t stop them from attacking you, you weren’t to know… it’s in no way your fault. It’s so brave that you kept the baby...”

You shook your head, hands coming up to wipe tears from your eyes. “I was the mother! How could I fail my baby? It wasn’t their fault that their father was a c-criminal! It wasn’t their fault that they were conceived from an assault! They were innocent! T-There’s always a way to save someone!”

Namjoon grabbed your hands in his. “Y/n, it isn’t your fault. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, that you still feel guilt. You were so brave to try and give them a life anyway, even if it hurt you. You shouldn’t feel any guilt. It wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself. I love you, Y/n. And I’m here for you.”

You sniffled softly, glad for your brother's presence.

He was right.

You knew that.

You had known that for years. But it took someone else saying that for you to finally realise it was true.

It wasn’t your fault.

“Do you feel alright to continue, Y/n?” Yoongi murmured, an empathetic expression washing over his face. “We can take a break if you want…”

“No.” You smiled slightly, Yoongi’s caring side more than enough to reassure that you were safe. “I’m alright.”

Taking a deep breath, you continued your story. “I-I got addicted to drugs. I was completely off the rails, trying my best to cope with something I couldn’t handle. It was destroying me from the inside out. Eating away at my physical health as well as my mental state. My-... our parents, found out a little while after. I didn’t last that long before they discovered what happened.”

“They knew?” Namjoon cried, his choice cracking. “Why did no one tell me? I should’ve known! I would’ve helped you!”

You shook your head, tears filling your eyes. “You don’t understand Namjoon! If I would’ve told you you would’ve left BTS! You would’ve come back home!”

“Well yes! Of course!” Namjoon replied.

“I couldn't let you give up your dreams for me! I couldn’t be responsible for ruining my brother's life! Not when our parents were already so shocked and upset to hear the news! Mum was always so supportive to both of us! She tried her best to make me happy and comfortable! But it got to the point where they couldn’t handle it anymore.. they sent me to rehab.”

“Rehab?” Yoongi asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded. “It really helped me. The people there were so kind. It took me a while, but I finally recovered.”

Namjoon’s heart had been thumping in his chest for the past ten minutes. He couldn’t bear the thought that anyone had dared to hurt his little sister. By all accounts, to him she was perfect. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to hurt her.

“I should’ve been there for you! I’m your older brother and I didn’t even get to support you! I didn’t get the chance.”

You felt your heart shaking within you. “N-Namjoon? I have to tell you something else too.”

Namjoon and Yoongi looked at you, nervous for whatever you were going to say. You took a deep, shaky breath.

“You know the people you were in a rap group with back at Ilsan?”

Namjoon’s heart stopped.

“T-they were the ones who attacked me.”

Anger flared inside Namjoon’s eyes. “My former friends?! Attacked you?”

You nodded reluctantly.

His head fell into his hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“I’ll kill them.”

You both turned to Yoongi, whose jaw was set in determination. “I’ll kill them.” He repeated, his eyes focused solely on you.

Namjoon quickly jumped in. “Me too. Those sick bastards think they can get away with hurting my sister? I-I-”

“No.” You whispered. “I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Namjoon snapped. “I never knew that you were this hurt! How could you be fine?”

“Rehab really cleared my head.. I finally got a chance to step back and for the first time in possibly years, think about what I wanted.”

“Y/n…”

Yoongi’s soft eyes were focused solely on you, in a way that would normally cause your heart to do somersaults. But not right now. The tension in the room was thick, the atmosphere that of a depressing one.

“You’re a fighter.”

You hadn't expected this response. You had expected some form of criticism, for him to tell you on for subbumcing so easily to the quick way to no pain.

You get your heart squeezing. You had never talked in depth about your feelings to your parents, but right now you would be willing to open your heart to Yoongi.

“You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Sure, when you first got here I thought you were a snob, someone stuck up and ready to have the world handed to them simply for Namjoon’s achievements.”

Namjoon’s brow creased. “Watch how you talk about my sister hyung-”

“It’s alright.” You reassured him. “I trust his words mean no harm.”

Yoongi nodded instantly. “My views on you quickly changed. You cared for each of us, even if initially it was solely as a favour to Hitman Bang. And we began to care deeply for you. Because no matter what you’ve been through, no matter what tears you’ve shed and for what reasons, you always will mean so much to us. So much more than you can imagine.”

Yoongi wiped a tear from forming on the corner of his eye. He smiled sadly at you, regardless of the simplicity of the gesture, a wave of emotions spread through the one smile, rejuvenating and replenishing your drive, your focus.

“You deserve your happiness.”

You turned to the small voice.

He had spoken so much quieter than you had ever heard him speak before, the raw feelings in his voice transparent. “You deserve to be happy. You’ve been working so hard. You can’t just sacrifice your happiness for the benefit of others. I remember when we were growing up, you used to always make sure that I was okay if anything happened. Y/n, I’m your older brother. It’s okay to rely on me for support sometimes. You need me just as much as I need you. And that’s not a bad thing.”

You couldn’t hold yourself back any longer. You threw yourself against Namjoon’s chest, grabbing his back tightly, clasping him as if you could never let go.

“Y/n…”

You tried in vain to wipe your tears from your eyes, looking up at his strong face.

“It’s okay to cry. You don’t always have to smile. You’re still strong. And I’ll still love you anyway. You’re still my sister.”

You buried your face into his toned chest again. “N-Namjoon..I-I-I love you too.” You sniffled.

He gripped you tightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

“It’s not your fault, Namjoon. It’s only their fault. Please don’t feel guilty.”

Pulling away from you, he wiped the tears off your moist cheeks. “Okay Y/n. For you, anything.”

A small cough was interjected into the comfortable silence of the room, reminding you that Yoongi was still there. Both you and your brother turned to him. His eyes were soft and empathetic, as if he didn’t want to spoil the moment, but couldn't wait any longer.

“C-can I please talk to Y/n alone?”

Namjoon considered his hyung. While he didn’t really want to leave his sisters side, he knew that Yoongi wouldn’t ask it he wouldn’t take care of her. Namjoon knew he could trust him.

“Okay.” He relented. “Y/n, I love you. Just say if you need anything.”

On his way out he grabbed Yoongi’s shoulder bringing the older man against him.

“Make sure she’s okay. Don’t you dare hurt her.”

Yoongi nodded. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I was in a dark place once. I wasn’t happy. It felt like the world was against me.”

Now that you were alone with Yoongi, he seemed a lot less cold, and a lot more caring. The off putting gaze he had on accident given you multiple times was replaced with soft eyes that seemed to drip honey.

“I got through it. And I’m heaps weaker than you. I don’t have the mental endurance that you have, nor the fighting spirit. If anyone can overcome this situation— it’s you.”

You wiped your eyes with your hands. It was so reassuring to have someone believe in you. To have someone who was backing you up.

“You know, I can’t believe how strong you are. To be able to recover from that in just years? And with only really your own strength? I really admire it. It’s amazing.”

You blushed slightly. “I didn’t really have much choice.”

He sighed, eyes scanning the door as if someone might burst in any second.

“Y/n… I shouldn’t be saying this. But I can’t hold onto my feelings any longer. I really like you.”

Your heart began racing and you could feel your skin begin to heat up.

Could Yoongi see how nervous you were?

You hoped he couldn’t.

“I-I-”

He grabbed your hand tightly, making your face flush.

“Y/n, you don’t have to answer me right now. I can wait as long as you need. I would wait forever for you.”

“Y-Yoongi I really like you too. I know I’m not always perfect but I-”

Yoongi’s body fell against yours, his arms wrapping around your frame. He stroked your hair slowly, burying his face in your shoulder.

“You don’t have to be perfect. Your flaws make you humans.” He pulled back slightly, playing with your hair as he looked right through you. “I believe you can overcome your flaws. They don’t make you a bad person. They make you you.”

You giggled slightly. It was weird to hear Yoongi so sweet. Normally he stayed away, his face in a resting serious face. You were so happy to see him smile.

“I’m so glad you like me back. I was so worried.”

“Me too…”

He pulled away one last time, his face weighted with a burden that hadn’t been obvious before. Or had you just not noticed.

“Y/n.. I know your past. So I think it’s time you found out mine.”

Your mouth opened slightly, eyes widening.

“Really? You trust me that much?”

He nodded, grinning. Then he frowned again. “Not all of it will be pretty. I-it might shock you a bit.”

You squeezed his hand that was still in yours. He blushed.

“I’m ready.”

[lokidrabbles]

Bitter-sweetness (Loki x Reader)

Loki comes to visit the reader after they send out a drunk text

A/N: Another part of my Loki x Reader Winter Series! This is also an AU after Ragnarok where the Asgardians have settled on Earth. As always, Gender Neutral Reader! Warnings: Language, Alcohol Use, Angst, Implied smut

You considered yourself to be a responsible person to a certain degree. In fact, you prided in your ability to make rational decisions about your day to day adult musings. Yet here you were, alone in your home, a whole bottle of red wine downed, complete inhibited from making sure you didn’t make a terrible decision.

This was your first holiday away from home. Living in the big apple had its perk, especially since you managed to land a job working at Stark Industries but living alone, while your closest relative lived three states away was not as glamorous as the shows made it out to be. You swore you would be able to handle it, after all, this had been quite a successful year for you career wise. And yet, the horrible emptiness expanded the moment you finished speaking with your sibling over the phone.

Reality hit. You were here alone, and that was just scratching the surface of it all. You had gotten along well with your co-workers and the supers you would run into often but it wasn’t the same. There was no way you would budge and plea for them to spend this ‘merry’ time with you, humiliating. And so, while not the healthiest of coping skills, you drowned your depression away with a little lady known as Lambrusco.

Being a lightweight, the red wine quickly put you in an inebriated state, fixated on feeling sorry for yourself and the impeccable loneliness.  You cried, you laughed, and you sang depressing melodies in effort to bring your spirits up, but to no avail. You eventually ended up surfing on social media through your phone, twisting your mouth at the cloy pictures of families and friends celebrating together in their homes. What a bunch of bullshit. You resisted the temptation to instant message your old friends, knowing it would just be filled with a myriad of cuss words.

Your mind then wandered on texting your co-workers, clinging onto a childish hope of maybe one of them coming to your rescue and joining you in drinks and sobs. You flipped through your contact list and came across your most recently added. It was a 5 digit number, but that wasn’t weird for you. Tony would often have these weirdly set up numbers for some of the team members to maintain contact without having calls traced by ill intending foes, and you ended up with some of them through exchanges and other occasions. You weren’t really sure how it worked, but it was kind of like a trading card game you had with your co-workers. Obtain Thor’s number, Caps’ number, Dr. Banner’s number, Romanov’s number. It was stupid but it passed the time.

You squinted your eyes, attempting to decipher which Avenger’s number this was. However with the room spinning and your happy-go-lucky state, you didn’t bother to figure out who it was, and you began to text the unknown number with the best of your ability.

Helloo,,,,this is (y/n) and....comeover I have fun stuff to do...:) :) :)

Perfect. And with much gusto, you tapped on that send button, throwing your phone casually on the side of your couch. It wasn’t like you really expected anyone to answer or to come over, and it wasn’t like you really cared at the moment. Without any hesitation, you reached for the wine bottled and took a last swig, with only drops remaining of the sweet warm nectar. You felt the relief in your throat and closed your eyes, slowly drifting into a quick nap, completely disheveled on your couch.

Not ten minutes would pass before you heard a loud and obnoxious pounding on your door. The loud rapping sent you flying off your couch and in a frenzy. You cleared your throat and scurried over to your front door.

“I’m going, I’m going!” You yelled, not having a moment to sort  out what was actually happening. But the room continued to spin, and you figured you were still heavily drunk.

You undid your locks and open the door wide open, only to be greeted by the cold winter wind and the last person you had expected at the moment.

“What in the seven realms are you trying to prove here?” It was Loki, standing tall and menacing over you. He held a small cellular phone between his thumb and index finger, showing you the drunk text you had sent him.

It was Loki’s number. You had completely forgotten that your coworker had given you the number after laughing about Tony giving Loki a method of communication and how Loki was entirely clueless on how to use the device or what it’s purpose even was. Your coworker had a know in with the security manager who programmed Loki’s phone and got his contact number through suggestive means. Again, part of the stupid little game, and you had mindlessly added the number onto your contacts.

Fuck. You guessed he had figured out how to use it.

“Ah, shit.” You sputtered casually. “I didn’t think anyone would have come!”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you incredulously. “You’re wobbling.”

Wobbling. Loki’s accent was distracting enough most of the time. But hearing him say a silly world like wobbling sent you in a laughing spree. It was uncontrollable laughter, where the more you stared at him the funnier it would become. It was apparent that Loki didn’t find this funny in the slightest.

“Wobbling, pfft. Woooosh.” You retorted, making fluttering movements with your fingers.

“Wait.” He began, his mind beginning to calculate and process. And finally it hit him. “You’re drunk. Are you foolish or just this stupid?”

“Both maybe.”

Loki groaned, shoving you inside your living room and closing the door behind him. Immediately he began to smell the heavy scent of alcohol coming from you, as well as quickly taking notice of the empty wine bottle and wine juices leaked on your coffee table. Also you wouldn’t stop laughing, continuing to giggle until you fell backwards onto you couch.

Loki narrowed his eyes at you. “Having a good time here? I see you’ve laid waste to that wine bottle.”

“Oh yeah.” You responded proudly, throwing your arms up in the air. “Nothing else to do here, but to see just how much I can drink till I stop making sense. Which is...now!”

“Really now?” He responded sardonically. “You look like an absolute mess.”

“Screw you.” You dejected at him knowing full well that wouldn’t offend him in the slightest. “Why are you even here if you’re just gonna be like this.”

“Would you rather I leave then?” His arms were crossed over his chest now, long legs and feet firmly planted on the ground. He looked very intimidating, but perhaps because of your state, he also looked extremely masculine and handsome. You never noticed how broad his shoulders actually were, or how defined his jawline was. You imagined being held in those strong arms and hummed pleasantly.

“No, I like you being here.” You said in a sing song manner, swinging your head back and forth.

“Are you sure that’s not the alcohol talking for you? I wouldn’t imagine you meant to send that message directly to me.”

Loki took a seat across from you on the couch, continuing to shoot you looks of improvement, but concern as well. You continued to fixate on his looks despite this, suddenly wanting to see how his skin would feel on your hands.

“It wasn’t really meant for anyone. But I actually feel a lot better knowing it was you.” Even through your mashed up words, this was actually true. If it was Tony or a coworker or, lord forbid, anyone of the Avengers receiving this and coming over to lecture you about your substance use, your humiliation would have no bounds. There was still a sense of a professional relationship to maintain with them and if those boundaries were broken, maybe that would mean your job as well.

However, the moment you saw Loki standing at your door, you worry had instantly vanished. It was funny, but Loki was the only person who you could be yourself with. There wasn’t any authoritative nature to him, and you felt you didn’t need to prove anything while he was in your vicinity. He was just as lost as you were during this year in dealing with Stark Industries and the team. Also you both had bonded a bit with having a natural disdain for large crowds and ‘stupid’ people in general. You weren’t proud to be shit talking about others, but it made some work days bearable for you.

“Perhaps this is the moment where I as why you’ve drunk an entire bottle of red wine on your own. Even I can tell your natural tolerance isn’t very good.” Loki said, motioning for you to begin describing whatever had tormented you for this evening.

You sputtered again. “It’s stupid. I didn’t even mean to drink the whole thing. It just happened. Stupid bottle.” You really didn’t want to talk about, fearing how much control you would lose. You couldn’t put Loki in an awkward position, with you bawling over the fact that you miss your family or that you feel completely alone in such a large city. You knew Loki’s situation, you knew how much conflict he had experienced during the past year, what with settling down on Earth after Asgard was destroyed. Your human woes paled in comparison to what both him and Thor had encountered, why minimize that?

“Are you not comfortable with discussing this with me?” He asked, his voice firm. There was no malice in it but some sense of ease.

You shook your head. “I am sooo comfortable with you. I’m just not really comfortable with myself.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” He continued, but you remained quiet mostly because you began to feel sick. “But I do know, even in Asgard, we drank for both our victories and for our losses.”

You pondered on this for a bit and then sniggered. “I suppose a loss for myself. Because lord knows no one wants to be around me.” Here we go. You were beginning to be dramatic once more, drowning in your melancholy. “But noooo I have a lot of friends and people who like me right? Because that’s what everyone expects right? For me to be content with everything?”

Loki remained quiet but not for a loss at words, but simply because he knew listening would be the best way to tackle this situation. His body language changed and he turned his body to face you, full attention and focus. But of course, you were far too deep in your downward spiral to have noticed.

“I’m supposed to be this independent, responsible adult who knows what they want or want to do.” You continued, your voice beginning to break. “But I still feel lost. And stupid. And wobbly.” You sniggered again, not being able to hold back to stupidity of the word.

Loki rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why humans always enjoy over complicating their own personal matters when the solution is staring them right at the face.”

You stopped giggling and furrowed your brows. “How am I over complicating things? I feel like shit because it’s been a whole year of me living in this city and I haven’t made one single valuable connection with anyone. Don’t be telling me that is an easy thing to solve.”

It was as if you had completely forgotten you were still tipsy.

“You do realize you could have just contacted me.” His words seemed to have echoed across your living room, sending a strong pang of guilt into your chest.

“What are you talking about?” You words meshed with one another, unable to articulate your frustration.

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “I really do have to hold your hand for everything don’t I? As long as I am here in this forsaken city working for that piece of human garbage that is Stark, you don’t have to spend your evenings alone.”

You blink in total bewilderment, not really buying into his intentions or his words. “Don’t do that. Don’t just do that because you feel sorry for my pathetic ass.”

“Are you daft?” Loki responded with an elevated voice.  “What indication of pity have I presented for you? What you need to realize is you have absolutely no reason to have this display of misery if companionship is what you seek.”

Your eyes widened as your focused in on the details of his face. Even though he had become quite angered by your stubbornness, he continued to be beautiful and ridiculously attractive to you. A strand of his dark locks fell over his face, making him even more desirable than you could have imagined. His piercing blue-green eyes were just as captivating as the last time you saw them. What would you have sacrificed for the opportunity to absolutely melt into him? To take in his scent or his heat. Maybe to even dig your face into the crook of his neck, providing you with much security.

Evidently your body began to move on its own as you leaned forwards to him, plopping yourself ungainly between his arms and his chest. Loki instinctively pulled backwards only causing you to fall further onto him until you were completely laid down upon his chest. He kept his arms slightly above you, unsure whether you’d be fine with him placing them on your back or on your waist. You sighed contently, nuzzling your face and fists into his chest. He was very warm, and you could hear the thumping of a heart deep within him.

“This...is not the best position to be in.” He said, a minute after laying there awkwardly with you.

“Heeey Loki.” You began, some mischief in your tone. “Let’s do it.”

You swore you heard him gulp heavily. “No. Especially with your inebriated state.”

You chuckled, your best attempt at being sly. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about you at first. I guess it didn’t cross my mind that you’d want to do anything with me.”

You finally felt his hands gently rest on your back, fully trusting of your total comfort with him.

“I’m going to reveal something to you but I don’t want you to tell anyone else. This is solely for your ears.” He began, piquing at you interest.

You plopped your head upwards to have a better look at him. “Oh?”

“I don’t come to New York solely for Stark. In fact, he’s become quite disdainful of me as you know. I go out of my way to come here because of you.”

An uncontrollable smile formed over your face. But again, that could have been the alcohol.

“You’re a foolish human. But...you are my foolish human. And you don’t need to be alone as long as I am here. I know how much this time of the year means for you, and I wouldn’t want to see you like this again.”

Before he could continue, you lifted your upper body to plant a much desired kiss on Loki’s lips. You didn’t care if you still reeked of cheap wine or if it was an impulse of your needs, but you deeply desired to still feel him skin on yours. You became even more eager once you felt him return your kiss, aggressively and longingly. His lips were so soft and tasteful and you pleaded mentally for him to explore your tongue with his. You pulled back briefly, your eyes watery and full of drunken bliss.

“I love you so much.” You said without much thought or meaning. You knew you didn’t fully convey those emotions yet, but the timing felt right.

He stared at you with his mouth slightly agape, his eyes also full of bliss and desire. “Don’t say that just yet. But I do too.”

The remainder of the evening was spent quietly as Loki adjusted himself to a much more comfortable position where he could fully encircle his arms around your frame. You melted into him, greedily closing your eyes and drifting away into a peaceful slumber inside his hold. You continued to be lulled by the thumping on his chest, your own matching his in full connection.

[promiscuous-jalapeno]

Happy Blogiversary! I'm grateful for all the content you've shared with us! And thank you for being here ♥️ If you're still taking requests, I'd like to ask for Silence - a fable or The Man of the Crowd (from the poe prompts) for Jinpachi from SLBP. Feel free to skip this if you don't want to do it, but thank you very much if you do :) Have a great day!

Thank you so much, dear! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ I would be more than happy to! Jinpachi is a fav I love him so much! Also, this really got away from me omg. This is not a drabble, it turned into a one-shot haha. 

────────────────

{Nezu Jinpachi}

│The Man of the Crowd│following, curiosity, fascination

────────────────

     It had only been a bit of harmless self-indulgence. That’s what he had told himself. Yet he knew indulgences, albeit even harmless ones, were not suited to shinobi. Jinpachi was unaccustomed to acting of his own accord as he had oft of late, and even in the slivers of downtime, he couldn’t come up with plausible reasoning behind his actions. Aside from the obvious–he had, for the first time, been captivated. 

     She had twisted her ankle in town when first they met, a heavy basket of daikon and various vegetables toppling into the street. He had gotten her permission before wrapping the delicate thing in a strip of white cloth. And her hand was so small as it slid into his for support. Soft. Is this what a woman’s hand feels like?  Later, he’d ponder if perhaps only hers could feel that way against his skin. 

     “Thank you, I’m sorry to trouble you,” she apologized, and Jinpachi had not missed the wince as she stood. Nor the way the sun’s rays illuminated her face as she looked up to him with a smile. It made his heart knot in his throat. 

     But he was an expert at hiding even this. He was practiced. He was calm. The unreadable expression so many had deemed aloof would come at his benefit, after all. 

     “It’s nothing. But can you walk?” 

     “My restaurant isn’t far from here, I can manage,” she hobbled. 

     Jinpachi’s face pulled from stoic to troubled frown. “If it’s not far, then allow me to assist you.” 

     “I couldn’t possi-” 

     “Forgive me,” Jinpachi interjected. He had already extracted the basket from her grasp and was now wrapping an arm around her waist in support. 

     He couldn’t help but notice the beautiful blush on her face when they finally made it inside the establishment, and she had a hard time making eye contact after he placed her at a vacant table. Had he done something uncouth? 

     He had only touched her enough to be of help, he frowned pensively. Yet she continued to stumble over her words. The more she attempted to conceal her flushed face the more desperate he grew to see it. It’s not as if he had never seen a woman’s blush before, however. Women fell over themselves for a chance to blush at his Lord. But this…this was different. She was different. Somehow. 

     Despite his protests for her rest, she cooked for him in gratitude. And when he ate at his usual rapid pace she laughed. Oh, heaven. She laughed! And the sound sent him choking on a mouthful of rice. 

     “I’m sorry,” she finished laughing. The melody faded into her light pants like the sound of rustling leaves carried off on autumn wind. “That was rude of me, wasn’t it.” 

     “No, I’m…often told my eating habits are strange.” Among other things, he thought, shifting his gaze uncomfortably. No matter how many times he’d heard the remarks about his peculiar stoicism or the speed at which he ate, there was simply no changing the habits of one such as a shinobi. That did not, however, make him less self-conscious in the present moment. 

     “I’m not laughing because I think it’s strange,” she corrected. “I laughed because, in a shocked sort of way, it made me happy.” 

     Happy? Now who was the strange one, he thought. This was the first time anyone had regarded him with normalcy. Aside from Nobuyuki, that is. But Nobuyuki was far from normal, himself. The confusion must have registered on his face, and she explained while pouring more tea. 

     “You ever feel like you were just born to do something?” 

     Yes. He gave a nod.

     “Well, that’s cooking for me. My father left this restaurant before he died. I guess in that sense, I would have ended up a cook either way, but…I’m lucky to love what I do every day. Seeing people enjoy my food like you just did, well, it gives me great pride. So yeah, I was happy to see you eat so quickly.” 

     “Is that so…I’m sorry about your father.” 

     “It’s alright,” she sighed wistfully, “his memory lives on in the recipes, at least. Would you like some more?” 

     Yes. He gave a nod.

──────

     That night he couldn’t forget her. What if she fell in town again? Trouble always seemed to follow women as kind as she. And what’s more, the whole reason they had come to Kyoto was to track thieves fleeing Sanada lands. What if she had been accosted while mindlessly thinking about recipes? 

     What if they happened upon her restaurant and caused trouble? The blame would be his, in his failure to apprehend. Yes, he had a duty. Yes, he decided. Maybe he had better check on her once more. 

     Out of sight, he watched her day. Her early morning service prep and the elegant way she tied her sleeves back, hands of grace chopping vegetables into uniform bits while she hummed to herself. 

     He watched her the day after. And the day after that. 

     The way she lit up the town when out went shopping for ingredients. Jinpachi couldn’t help but smile at the charming way she held up each bit of produce for inspection. She was a curious one, indeed. He didn’t know what she was looking for. 

     She’d sniff and poke and weigh two against each other in her hands, quirking an eyebrow with pensive concentration. He couldn’t understand what drove her to care at such lengths over a simple onion or radish, but oddly enough, that made it all the more endearing to watch. 

     He felt a twinge in his chest when a young grocer stepped a little too close to her one afternoon. 

     “A discount again? But there’s nothing wrong with these…I couldn’t accept, I’d feel like I was taking advantage of you,” she kindly protested.

     “Don’t be silly! Look, I’m stopping by your restaurant after I close up shop here. If you’re still feeling guilty you can always treat me to some sake, on the house,” he grinned. “Even better if you decide to share it with me.” 

     This guy…there was no mistaking that tone and what he was implying. Jinpachi’s lips pressed into a thin line…Using a favor as leverage against her. He wanted to tell him as much, but meddling was never his forte. 

     Besides, what if she was actually interested in his company? The thought turned his stomach. Still, such an underhanded tactic…he waited until she left and settled for hurling a hearty pebble at his head. Cocky smile growing on his face when the man yelped, rubbing the wound and looking up at the sky in confusion. 

     And the man did show up that evening as promised, but she paid him no more mind than any other customer. She smiled as she did for everyone else. She poured only when necessary. And though his eyes were trained on her, she seemed fixated on stealing glances at the door. 

──────

     Her path to and from shopping had a few rough spots. Thieves and gamblers and drunks loitering around. The usual. Too dangerous to be left alone, surely. But nothing he could not handle in a day. Those that couldn’t be verbally threatened away were subdued so easily he hadn’t the need to use weapons at all. 

     “You’re back awfully fast!” he heard her mother exclaim. 

     “It’s the craziest thing,” she huffed, placing the heavy produce on the counter before throwing her hands on her hips, “all of the shortcuts home have been practically empty lately.” 

      “Now that you mention, the crime around here seems to have gone down. I wonder what’s going on?” 

     “I don’t know, but whatever it is I hope it stays this way,” she laughed. 

     Jinpachi smiled. 

──────

     When visiting her father’s grave she was surprised to see a bundle of fresh vibrant flowers already placed. Curiously she picked them up to examine them, looking around for a sign of anyone else on the lonesome hill. The only answer a silent swift breeze. 

──────

     The day he saw her eyeing a peach a little too long, he couldn’t resist buying it. Finding a way to slip near her in the crowd and toss it at the top of her basket. The surprised noise she made when she arrived home and discovered it was gift enough for him. And the pleasured ‘Mmm’ she made when she bit into the juicy thing, even more so. She looked around curiously, clutching it between her palms like a treasure. 

──────

     It was best this way. He was comfortable in this. Ever the invisible hand from the shadows. He needn’t glory nor recognition for his deeds, these small moments were enough. But it never occurred to him that he might simply be frightened at the idea of anything else. 

     Not until this night, when she had closed up and sat alone, her family all gone to sleep. A single bright lantern and her gaze fixed at the door. He wondered what she was thinking, her cheek resting in her palm as she sighed. Maybe she was having trouble sleeping. Or was she was ill?  He hoped she wasn’t. 

     But then he watched her reach into her sleeve and retrieve something in a balled fist. He wasn’t thinking anything, then. Time slowed. Finger by dainty finger she unfurled. Eyes trained down she untangled a familiar white strip of cloth with care. 

     He was thinking everything, then. 

     Eyes wide and heart racing he left as fast as he could manage. It couldn’t be. He’d imagined it. Surely, he did. It was something else. It didn’t matter, either way...he wasn’t staying in Kyoto. 

     “You’re rather late again.” Nobuyuki’s brush stilled before he placed it on the writing desk. His face was illuminated by dancing lantern light. 

     “Forgive me,” was all Jinpachi replied. He had been concentrating on the evening of his breath. Shutting the shoji behind him, he quietly took a seat against the wall. If he spoke now, Nobuyuki would surely catch on that something was amiss. He was far too clever for anyone’s good.  

     “Jinpachi.” 

     Oh no. “Yes, My Lord.” He knew that tone. 

     “Who is she?” 

     Oh no…How? “She?” 

     Nobuyuki smiled. “Your thoughts are preoccupied, you arrive late almost every evening. And you apprehended the bandits days ago…or did you think I would not find out?” 

     “I…” It was not as if he was purposefully hiding that fact. Though, he had told himself he might have missed one somewhere. That one had gotten away. That they needed to stay a little longer, to be sure. Absolutely sure. Perhaps it was all just a selfish excuse after all. Suddenly, he felt terrible. 

     “Come now,” Nobuyuki laughed lightly, shrugging it off, “no need to look like a child caught sneaking sweets. I was beginning to think I’d never get to see this side of you, old friend.” His face fell into a more serious expression, and he picked up the brush once more. Making one last point before turning back to his work. “But we depart for Ueda in two days’ time. I trust you know what I mean by that.” 

     Yes. He nodded. “By your will.” 

──────

     If she did not remember him, it would be just as well. And why would she? He was quiet and near impossible to understand. They had only met once. If he walked in and she gave him the usual empty courtesies, he would drink he tea and leave quietly. 

     Had what he seen the night before truly been a mirage built from exhaustion and buried hopes, that would be alright. But if she did remember him, then maybe…No. It was not likely. 

     The town was painted in scarlet when he finally had the restaurant in his sights. He’d faced death countless times over. He’d been surrounded by enemies, sword to sword with foe’s in battle, yet nothing gave his heart chase like parting that noren and stepping inside the mouth of fate. 

     “Jinpachi!” she beamed immediately. The face he had grown to love cheerily peeked out from the back room. He could swear she practically skipped to him from the kitchen. “I was…hoping I’d see you again.” 

[spell-cleaver]

PROMPT MASH UP. 93. Makeover. and not on there but possibly intoxicated? or bad acting? or all three? And for Luke. bonus points if Vader is involved because I love your Luke&Vader fics. Thanks so much for writing these!

This is very, very similar to this AU I did a few months ago (which I have every intention of writing a sequel to, I just haven’t got round to it yet), probably because the concept of a Naboo!Luke is one of my favourites, and the scene of Vader striding into the throne room is just too dramatic. So I’m sorry for being repetitive, but hey, I had fun writing this, so I hope you have fun reading it!

Prompts from this post.

Lukas tooka deep breath. He resisted the urge to pull a face—the makeup would just draghis expression back into a neutral flatness—and tried not to shiver.

Strange:even when Lord Vader wasn’t in the room yet, he still had an effect on theatmosphere.

It wasespecially strange that Lukas could almost… sense the dark lord’s approach, like a contained sandstorm—no, rainstorm. Sandstorms on Tatooine werestill hot, as everything was under those twin suns; Lord Vader reminded Lukasmore of the rainstorms he’d encountered since coming to Naboo, and how deathlycold they could make a young desert farm boy feel.

Unwittingly,Lukas’s eyes slid to his king’s. Jonas looked scared but resolute, and Lukasdrew strength from it. This was it: this was the friend whose decoy he’d beentraining to be for years; this was, if it came down to it, the person he hadsworn to lay down his life for. And with Vader on the way…

He hopedAunt Sola would forgive him.

He hoped his grandmother would forgive him.

She wasstill upset over his mother’s death…

Hebanished all thoughts of either woman from his mind as the door swung open andVader strode in, clad in shadows and death. Lukas straightened up, that mask ofrespectful disdain falling over his face surprisingly easily.

“LordVader, on behalf of Naboo it is my honour—”

“Ihave no time for games, Your Majesty.You are under arrest for high treason against the Empire.”

Lukassucked in a breath, though he’d expected it. He felt, in the way he always felt things, Jonas’s guilt; he pointedlydidn’t look at his friend.

He didn’tregret anything. He was glad Naboo had harboured those Force  users. Ahsoka especially had been kind, hadbegun to teach them all how to shield. He couldn’t bear the thought of handingthem over to Vader and his minions.

“Verywell, then,” Lukas said. “I submit to the arrest, on the grounds thatno others, including my own entourage, will be punished for my transgression.”

He took inanother breath, ready to argue his case—hehad to protect Jonas—until—

“Agreed.”

ThankShiraya for the royal makeup. The only surprise Lukas showed was a quick blink;otherwise he remained impassive.

He had notexpected Vader to capitulate that easily.

Add thatto the satisfaction and anticipation he could feel rolling offVader in droves, and he knew there was something very, very… off.

But whatcould he do about it?

If therewas the slightest chance that this could spare Jonas from execution… he hadto take it.

So Lukasnodded, stood from the throne, and took several long steps towards Vader. Thestormtroopers accompanying the dark lord came forward, binders at the ready. .. then Vader waved his hand and they fastened themselves around Lukas’s wristsof their own accord.

“Youare dismissed,” he told the troopers curtly.

“Mylord—”

“I thinkI am capable of handling one teenage boy.” Lukas winced, but didn’t refuteit; he’d thought the same thing of the monarchs when he first came to Naboo,after all. “You. Are. Dismissed.”

The threatin his tone was evident. The troopers left, and Vader took his shoulder toescort him out personally. Lukastried to catch a glimpse of Jonas and the others before the door slammed shut,but Vader’s grip on his shoulder was tight.

The momentthey left the safe, familiar confines of the palace, Lukas’s fear both spikedand dropped.

Dropped,because at least Vader had bought it,and his king was no longer in his presence. Spiked, because…

He wasgoing to die.

He didn’teven know if Jonas would be safe—the oddness from earlier haunted histhoughts—and he was going to die.

“Youare not going to die, young one.”

Lukasjerked his head up just as he climbed into the speeder. Again, the onlysurprise the makeup let him show was a slight widening of his eyes, but thatseemed to be all Vader needed.

“ThoseJedi taught you impressive shields for the time that they had, but they areinadequate,” Vader elaborated, and Lukas doubted he would ever be able to untangle the mix ofamusement, smugness and… pride… in that sentence. “Your thoughtsbetray you. You worry for the actual king.”

Makeup orno makeup, Lukas’s eyes blew wide—

“Relax.I have no interest in him.”

Thespeeder started forward, but Lukas was fixated on Vader.

The darklord’s voice was heavy with something. “I came only for you.”

“Me?”Why? Lukas was just… Lukas. Hewas the background person. That was the point.

Vader wassilent for a moment, then asked, like he already knew the answer, “Yourname?”

Hefrowned. “Lukas Naberrie.” Why did he care?

“Yes.But that is not the name you were born with.”

His gazesnapped up to those red eye plates. How had he—

“Ihave tracked you from Tatooine, young one, and that name change only made itmore difficult. I am aware you took on your mother’s name when you came to staywith her family, and I am aware you changed it again when you started trainingas the king’s decoy. But while you were on Tatooine, living with your father’s.. . family"—Vader sneered the word—"what was your name?”

Lukasgritted his teeth, remembering Old Ben’s warnings, but it was clear Vaderalready knew. So… “Luke Skywalker.”

Somethingcold settled around his shoulders, like an embrace that was in equal partscomforting and unnerving.

“And that is why I came only for you.”

Luke shookhis head. “I still don’t understand—”

“Mymother was Shmi Skywalker.”

Images ofthe grave that had stood outside his homestead flashed to mind; he didn’t knowif they were his memories, or Vader’s.

His, orhis f—

Thatcoldness tightened around his shoulders, and the orphan in Luke leaned into italmost on reflex. His eyes pricked with tears.

“Then—”He shook his head. This was too much to comprehend all at once; he’d gone fromresolve to fear to confusion to hope in the space between heartbeats, and— he—“What?”

Vader—his father—seemed to understand that theword was more exclamation than actual question, but he responded to it anyway.

“Andthat is why I have searched for you for so long,” he said, something tender in his voice—"my son.”

[dendrite-blues]

The Pace Gremlin

My writing pace is something of a personal gremlin.

Most days it doesn't bother me. I'm proud of the work I do. I put deep thought into every line.

When I hand it off I have zero anxiety about the feedback, because no one could ever pick it apart as thoroughly as I have.

I beta for opinions, not quality. To have someone else check my character's logic (they have a tendency to make snap decisions without explaining themselves adequately) and to find my infamous typos. By the time others read it, my prose is already at my current personal best. If it wasn't, I would still be writing it.

But when something brings me down emotionally, the pace gremlin is always right behind. Vulnerability has a pheromone that insecurity can't resist. It smells your self doubt and comes running.

I'm sure everyone has their own personal wounds. I'm sure lots of people struggle with the "I'm not creative" demon, the "I never finish anything" demon, the "someone else already did it better" demon. All valid. But not what I struggle with in writing. (Art is different but that's another post.)

The trouble with the pace gremlin is, everybody has a magic trick to "fix" slowness. I've read them all. Good advice, if speed is beneficial to you. I'm sure some people feel very good about a fat word count, and for them such advice is probably a life saver. A few common points in these advice posts:

1) Stop procrastinating. Make a schedule and stick to it. Write everyday.

I'm sure this works if you happen to have fully developed ideas on a schedule. I don't. I need time to gather my thoughts. I burnout, I get stuck, I mope because I'm a bit melodramatic about being stuck. But if you do have endless ideas and energy that never end up on the page, it's solid advice.

2) Stop editing while you write. Force yourself to write without stopping. Time yourself. Don't ever stop to research. Don't ever stop, period, until you've reached your word count.

Because a word count is the end all be all, right? Never mind prose, diction, attempts at originality and style.

People love to blog about this point because there are so many apps to cure it. It makes for good top ten lists, which always get more hits than actual content.

Advise blogs will tell you to turn your monitor off so you can't see what you wrote. They will tell you to put a coin under your backspace so you can't even press it. They will recommend you apps that track your output, apps that mimic typewriters, apps that block your internet usage, apps that punish you for failing. (shudder)

I don't see how any of this promotes quality writing, personally. I don't agree that all writing is good writing. I think of you input half baked crap you get out half baked crap. Who cares if you cover it in buttercream, it's still got raw eggs in it.

I don't buy that it's a bad thing to stop and rearrange the structure of a sentence, to find the exact right word, to question if there's a better way to reveal this plot point. I don't think word counts should be the goal.

3) Let go of perfectionism, "all first drafts are shitty."

Again, I understand that this is important advice for people who are paralyzed by self doubt. The compulsion to rewrite continuously and never progess is strong for some. But there's a difference between finessing and fixating. This advise shouldn't be taken as gospel.

Perfectionism is not an addiction, and it's not something I can quit. It is ingrained in how I evaluate myself. In preschool I arranged my Legos by color. I was literally born this way. Its not going away now.

If I make crap, I feel like a crappy writer. Which makes me hate the crap I made, which discourages me from writing more. Rushing to write crap is the fastest way to sabotage myself, I have learned. (Painfully.)

If someone is genuinely struggling with perfectionism, this is THE WORST advise you could possibly give them. Perfectionists need to feel confident in what they do. They need to produce good results. No, the first draft is never going to be perfect. But it can be good. It can even be great. And the feeling of writing something great can fuel my motivation for weeks.

Which is not to say that it's okay to indulge in endless editing loops. There's a limit. But it's also not okay for me to "write crap and fix it in revision."

I can't polish an paragraph if the paragraph is incoherent, if it has no unique qualities, if its just a meandering line of words I regurgitated to meet a quota. When I come back to edit I will just delete it and rewrite... In which case I'm actually spending more time than if I just wrote it slowly to begin with.

Which brings me to my real point:

There's nothing wrong with slow.

When people talk about slow, all of these other accusations are automatically made. Because it must be that there is something wrong, we are capable of zooming if only we weren't stunted by some hidden inefficiency that prevents us from joining the fast fiction master race.

Nonsense. I'm not slow because I edit too much, or because I don't know what my story is about, or because I lack discipline. I am capable, if given something to copy, of typing 60 words per minute. But I can't think at 60 words per minute.

(In fact, according to my sprinting stats, I think at about 10 words per minute...14 if I'm rushing. Please, hold your applause. Haha)

I'm a slow writer...because I'm a slow thinker. I don't "waste" time spinning my wheels on stuff that doesn't matter. I don't need an app to trick me into being productive. I just need time to think.

When I don't give that to myself... When the pace gremlin catches me unable to defend my insecurities...I make crap. I feel crappy. I convince myself I am the problem and I would already be published if only I let myself write "crappy drafts." If I wasn't held back by my toxic "perfectionism."

Enough. I'll always be slow. Its not a condition, it's the way my brain works. As far as I know, there's no cure for being a tortoise.

And that's fine. In my right mind I am proud of my pace. I take pride in considering every word in every line. I care about craft.

I find drafting sentences at a snail's pace satisfying. It's deliberate. It has gravitas. It's laced with complexities I hope others will detect and appreciate. And when I place my pages in stranger's hands, I know I have raised them with the ability to defend themselves. I have no fear.

I know I will still feel bad about it at some point. That's the nature of creative life. But now I have a post to remind myself why slow is okay. And I guess if anyone else had the same problems, then this post is here for you too. Don't get discouraged. Do it your way and make stories with meaning.

[outroshooky]

“i still remember the way you taste.” | myg

⇢ genre: series (angst, fluff)

⇢ pairing: min yoongi x reader

⇢ word count: 2.5k

⇢ prompt: “I still remember the way you taste.” postbreakup!au

the writing style of this fic was inspired by @tendershepherd and Three Preludes. i highly encourage you to check out Shep's blog and fics!! you can read Three Preludes here.

I gotta say, for being apart for eight months and counting, you still know how to sneak up on me and give me a goddamn heart attack. I mean, seriously. You should know by now that I scare easily, which leads me to think that maybe you did actually plan to step outside and find me. Well, you probably did decide to come to talk of your own volition for once, and not because Hoseok put you up to it. He was always sympathetic, and a little bit more understanding when it came to these things (I won’t mention the snake incident).

It was close to broiling inside the wedding hall, which was filled with glass, glitz, and utterly drunk, vaguely familiar relatives. Side note, ditching a very wasted Aunt Ji-Yoon and that one hovering waiter with the combover was absolute cake compared to getting those bloody heels off. Gem-studded and beautiful, sure. Easy to slip off in an emergency? Hell no.

That’s where you found me, actually. I’d gotten the left ankle-biter off after a good minute and a half minutes of struggling, and was about two seconds away from cutting the straps off of the right. The ambient glow of skyscrapers was ample enough to illuminate the balcony, with only a few bare bulbs dangling to criss-cross the ceiling. Apartment buildings loomed beside like impossibly tall trees, and city blocks were laid out in perfect alignment below. With the slight buzz of champagne in one’s skull, you could almost call it ideal serenity. It was as close to tranquil as life had been in a long, long time.

And then you came along and fucked it right up.

“Need a little help?”

That was all you said. Four words. Four simple words that shot my heart into my tightening throat. Let’s be real for a moment Yoongi, I’d be able to recognize that rasp if you only said four syllables. Your voice is really something else, you know. It’s deep, a little husky, a bit grating on the ears. There’s a bit of breathiness when you’re talking, you choose your words carefully and sometimes you hesitate. But there wasn’t hesitation in that sentence, and for half a second, I didn’t even believe you could be here. Then I remembered that I missed the service, and you were his best man, and it was you after all who was standing next to me, tugging on your right tuxedo sleeve, hair as black as the night sky, the firm line of your mouth set into a slight pout. Maybe it wasn’t your actual presence that scared me, but those four words that burned a hole right through the wall I’d let down for just one breath on the veranda. You managed to stumble across me at my most vulnerable moment, and I’m still not quite sure how.

I think you knew as soon as you saw the expression on my face. You read me like an open book, you always have. Every part, every fragment of me was spread out before you the second I heard your footsteps echo on the concrete. Call that a side effect of being the closest to your heart for such a long time, but half of me suspects that that’s just who you are, and I’m oddly comfortable with that. If it’s anyone that instinctively knows their way around the deepest parts of the maze, if it’s anyone who can dissect the cogs of people’s innermost workings without being crushed by the machinery, it’s you. Without a doubt, it’s you.

You chuckled a little when I didn’t say anything, just shook your head. It wasn’t meant to be ironic, nor mocking, more like “Wow, I just surprised my ex-girlfriend, and she’s currently staring at me with one hand on her shoes and her jaw on the floor. Hmmm, I’m Min Yoongi, I’m so clever with my quiet voice and tendency to sneak up behind people when they least expect it.” (Do I honestly think that you said that bit about being clever? No, but it made me feel better, so lay off it.) It was at this point that I finally ripped that godforsaken heel off, and I could turn and actually face you for the first time.

I could say that you did a complete 180 in our time apart, that you were bulkier, you held yourself higher, you smoothed out the dents and pulled taunt the crumpled edges. I could say that you’d bettered yourself since March, I could say that you were a little tanner and your hair was a little longer and now the color of ink instead of straw, I could say that you carried yourself with an air of confidence that I’d never seen. But if I were to say that, I'd be lying, because sure, now your hair curls at the base of your neck instead of an inch or so higher, but you could never work out the dents and edges and that was just a fact about you. You hate working out, you’re stubborn, resistant to change, and still a little unsure about social situations. At the base of things, you’re fundamentally the same, and that's what I love about you, Yoongi. We know those dents and nicks can never be worked out, but you wear them with pride, and that lack of a change was comforting in a way I think you’ll understand with time. Even if you pull a sheet of paper straight again, you can never completely iron out the wrinkles.

“Guess not.” You played with the hem of your sleeve, rolling a loose thread between your index and pointer, an old habit you never seem to be able to break. “What’re you doing out here?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” I honestly didn't realize how cold it was until I stood up, and the wind whipping around my bare shoulders and legs really didn't help my argument.

“Avoiding people?” Your smirk is simultaneously the most adorable and obnoxious thing I've ever seen.

“Fuck you. What’re you doing out here?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?”

“Avoiding people?”

“Well, I guess we've got something in common.” You came to stand next to me at the railing, leaning your covered forearms on the thin metal bar. Even in the darkness, your skin glowed pale, and I had to resist the urge to run my finger from the corner of your jaw to your chin, because it caught the light from the glass patio doors just so and you looked goddamn ethereal, Yoongi. (I enjoy a little bit of irony in that, because you so straddle the line between black and white that you seem to settle somewhere into gray, and that's exactly how you appeared to me at that moment.) I was so immersed in the contrast that I jumped when your hand waved in front of my face, and your lips jumped into the first hint of your real gummy smile I'd seen and missed so much. “Did you hear me?”

“What?”

“I asked if you were cold.”

“No, I'm not. Are you?” I looked out over the edge, eyes fixated on the dark river in the distance and the bright moonlight patterning across the water. (It wasn't any use attempting to lie to you, I don't know why I tried to; I don't learn from my mistakes and that's a flaw you pointed out to me during our infamous January fight.)

Your response was to turn and step closer to me and I momentarily forgot what breathing was, but all you did was slip out of your jacket and swing it around me, hand grazing skin as you adjusted the fabric. It came pre-heated courtesy of a combination of sweat and your tendency to run warm, and the little tinge of cologne on the collar only contributed to your efforts. You tilted your head as you straightened the fabric, hair flopping sideways, smoothing out the folds and creases and admiring your work before facing the skyline once more. “No, I’m not.”

I don't think my eyes have ever rolled farther back in my skull.

You seemed a little more at ease now that I was bundled up in your suit jacket, the touch of hesitance wiped from your slim frame. For a second, I could mistake your crisp dress shirt for that oversized sweatshirt you wear all the time, and the patio light for the late-night glow of your studio computer as you promised me you’d come to bed, just one more minute, please jagiya. Both the jacket and the sweatshirt smelled like you- cedarwood, musk, and a twinge of something exotic you must have gotten abroad. It's utterly fascinating to me how a combination like that of cedar and spice can be appealing, but you make it work.

Silence fell over us for a while as we stood there, wind swirling and whistling around the glass curve of the building to cut through your thin button-down and ruffle the skirt of my dress. You could call it peaceful with the city lights and my bare toes and your lingering cologne under my nose if undertones of regret didn’t linger on my tongue, bitter under expensive wine and a familiar human touch. It was peaceful like this once before- before we took each other for granted and before we started taking out our fights on the front door instead of the bed frame. The thought was sobering, and the words were on the tip of my tongue before you unknowingly (or perhaps knowingly) cut me off.

“You know, I still remember the way you taste.”

Yoongi, out of all the things you could have said to me standing out there on the balcony, those words in that order were the last words I ever expected to hear drop from your perfect rosebud lips, and I choked, airway constricting with my second heart attack of the last fourteen minutes. “Excuse me?”

You brushed off my trivial disbelief and initial shock, maintaining that oh-so-drippingly-cool exterior that I knew as Min Suga, the mask you place on when you need to hide because your vulnerability is simmering to the surface. “I still remember the way you taste.”

“You can’t just say that out of fucking nowhere, Yoongi-”

You stood up to your full height (just a maddeningly bit taller than mine), turning to face me completely, jaw set. As intense as always, your gaze whittled me down to the core, but they say the eyes are the windows to the soul and so I found myself staring back at you, exposed on the opposite side of the black panes. Your shoulders rose and fell. “Vanilla lip balm.” The statement was rhetorical; you needed no acknowledgement from me before pressing on, your quiet tone incessant. “Vanilla and red wine and black currant perfume when you’re going out.”

You shifted your weight onto your back leg, hands jammed in your pants pockets as your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip, inhaling slowly. “There are some days where I think I can still smell your shampoo on my shirt.” You paused, gaze flicking from my calves to my eyes. “And I really don’t know how I feel about that.”

I cocked an eyebrow at you, unsure whether I was speaking to Suga or Yoongi, because Min Suga would never let this kind of a sentence slip from his sinful bad boy mouth but Min Suga was plastered across your pale skin, mask still painted over Min Yoongi’s features. It was the closest thing to an apology I’d ever gotten from you, and that thought nearly stunned me. “What are you saying, Yoongi?”

“I don’t know.” You turned on one heel sharply, hackles raising, hiding, withdrawing. You took four steps away from the railing, facing the double doors, pausing to take in the thudding of the bass, the clinking of glasses, the resonant laughter. “Forget about-”

I’d like to take this moment to apologize to you, Yoongi. My spontaneity was always hit-and-miss with you, a gamble of the dice, and I am still not sure if this was one of those times that made you smile and blush or made you want to crawl into a hole and never emerge, but for both of our sakes, I’m hoping it was the former. Because with the running theme of the night, out of all of the things that I could have said out there on the balcony, I picked the last option that neither of us could have expected.

I remember stooping to pick up my shoe, slinging your suit jacket off, draping it on the bench, and feeling the sting of late-night chill return. I remember concrete beneath my toes, hard and smooth like marble, the minute scattered gravel biting into the soles of my feet. I remember taking five steps and turning you to face me in one swift movement. I remember how your mouth dropped open into a little “o”, teeth peeking out under your top lip, and how your hands slipped out of their pockets to grab me as you staggered a step backward.

Silky soft.

Those were the only two words that came to mind when my lips met yours. I had worried, agonized over months that they’d somehow changed, that if I kissed you again their subtle taste would be gone, that everything that dramatically, cataclysmically shifted from the moment you’d pulled away for the last time. Silky, so soft in all of the right ways, sensual, narrow but parted enough that I could feel your shocked exhale rush into mine.

I took a moment to revel in the fantasy, the dream. White wine and musk met red wine and vanilla, and the drastically different flavors managed not to clash but instead compliment. Where my hand fell over your jaw I could feel the slant of bone, skin unmarred and perfectly glowing. Your cheek fit so perfectly against my fingertips, and the memory of countless kisses like this one burst against my closed eyelids, kisses against your chest on the couch, kisses on the street corner under neon lights, kisses below the river bridge, leaning on the fence, sitting side-by-side in the restaurant booth. It bubbled to the forefront of my mind, consuming my willpower to move, spearheading the tension that chafed two very different individuals who had once very much been in love, and perhaps were still in love, too.

“You know, there are some days where I think I can feel you kissing me,” I murmured, pulling back, lips brushing against yours as I spoke. Your arms wound around my waist, eyes still closed, forehead leaning forward to rest against mine as you licked your bottom lip, tongue flicking against the corner of my mouth. Your chest rose and fell, warmth burning through the soft fabric against my palm. “And I really don’t know how I feel about that.”

Your eyes opened, pupils dilated, and I knew I’d lost myself in them- in you- when your fingers danced up my spine, splaying over my lower back. “I do.” You glanced down at me, other hand brushing my hair back, circling my face to cup my jaw and cheek.

And you tilted your head and closed the gap.

[unicornforcewinds]

WAM Chapters 3 & 4

The Wolf and the Mermaid: Solas is a forensic financial investigator, and Lavellan is a mermaid performer with a mysterious past. Fluff, Smut, Angst, and lots of Drama. Solas POV.

Chapters 1 & 2. Entire fic on AO3.

Chapter 3: TPG’s Annual Garden Party

When the invitation arrived, his lips quirked up into a smile. This was the Wolf in his element. That’s what they called him, on account of his keen predatory instincts. This was not a party, oh no, this was a hunt, and he would absolutely leave with blood staining his jaws. But then, he was perhaps taking this metaphor a little too far.

He had not been himself lately, thoughts of her entering his mind much too often, and maneuvering through The Game was sure to set him right. Usually, his work involved copious amounts of reading files and computer forensics, but sometimes a job veered more into the realm of corporate espionage. He cut his teeth on more traditional cases, but this is how he earned his reputation. As soon as he scented his prey, the Wolf would be on them, revelling as they squirmed.

Choosing a black, well-tailored suit and a grey silk tie, he cut a decent figure but was still unassuming enough to avoid unwanted notice. He enjoyed the artifice of it all, crafting a character in the details of his appearance. A little obvious, perhaps, his cufflinks emblazoned with a wolf, but he had his pride. Besides, people believed what you wanted them to, if you gave them just enough of a story to build from. And, if someone noticed such a minute detail, it told him they needed to be kept an eye on.

The Pentaghast woman greeted him when he arrived, Cassandra, he recalled. She looked uncomfortable. Pulling at the neckline of her dress. He considered that she might be ill-suited to this line of work, but then, being stolen from and lied to did tend to disagree with most people. He supposed that was a good thing, since he’d be out of a job otherwise.

She briefed him quickly, wanting to get everything over with. It wasn’t really necessary – he had studied the case files, but he decided it best not to interrupt.

“Solas, you are certain they will be here?” she asked.

“Whoever is doing this, if they are not personally tied to you, has someone leaking them information that is. It’s also a good idea to note any people who are absent, just in case, but I believe the person I’m after is too smart to risk raising suspicion.”

She heaved a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I hope you are right.”

“I am very good at what I do, Miss Pentaghast, try not to worry.”

“Easier said than done,” she paused, a hand on her forehead, “Go down the hall to your left, and you’ll see the doors to the garden. I will be here, trying to pretend I would not rather be anywhere else.” He offered her a rueful smile and took his leave. Now, he was on the prowl.  He didn’t get very far outside before spotting Leliana, who waved him over.

“You seem to be in good spirits, Nightingale.”

“Oh, I am, Wolf. They hired a mermaid , can you imagine? She’s elven, and she’s absolutely lovely.”

“They… what?” He felt warm, hand reaching up to tug on the collar of his shirt, unable to guard against the look of surprise on his face. This could not possibly be happening, had he misheard her?

“Oh my, there is a story there, I think. I have never seen your mask fall before! She must be very special.” she teased him.

Leliana was not someone you wanted knowing your secrets, even if she was your friend and could be trusted. She hoarded scraps of information like they were baseball cards. Fenhedis . He did not want his to be part of her collection.

She wasn’t in the water today, instead, lounging on a chaise inside a giant clamshell, not entirely at odds with the wall of moss behind it. Framed as she was, on either side, by the curved staircases that lead to the balcony, it made for a stunning tableau that he badly wanted to paint. He knew that was a terrible idea, but resistance was futile. She was so well suited to the estate’s garden, looking ever the image of a queen. He imagined she would be well situated no matter where she was, such thoughts impossible to push aside.

He didn’t see Bull anywhere; the qunari’s presence might have been helpful, since he stuck out like a sore thumb and would have tipped him off immediately about Ellana. Then he’d have had the chance to steel himself and not let Leliana seem him lose composure. As it was, leaning against a sculpted column and nursing a glass of wine, he found himself staring at her and feeling wistful. This was not why he was here, and he had work to do… but that’s when she waved.

At least, he thinks she did. Maybe it wasn’t to him. He had intentionally stood outside of her direct line of sight so that his staring would be less awkward, but that plan had apparently failed. He looked around to see if there was someone else she might be looking at, but no. When he turned back, her eyes were zeroed in on him. If there was such a thing as fate, it obviously hated him. Chiding himself, he walked towards her. Why was he such an ass?

“Should I worry that you’re stalking me? You do seem to show up an awful lot.” An odd choice of greeting.

“I… no!, Most certainly, I would –“ she cut him off with her laughter.

“Oh, I’m just teasing you, Solas! Are you always so tightly wound?”

The man who appeared to be her handler in Bull’s staid – a human, strong, with weary eyes and a thick beard – was moving further away - to give them some privacy, he assumed.

“Yes, if I’m being honest, but I am much worse around you.” He was shaking his head now; rubbing the back of his neck. Why was he telling her this?

“Well, I could send you a copy of my schedule, that way you’d know what parties not to attend. Would that help?”

“It would, yes,” he returned, chuckling, and the smallest bit sincere.

“I like your shoes, by the way. A different pair every time I’ve seen you, always very nice.”

His face felt hot all the sudden, wash he blushing? This was more than he could bear.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed, “I didn’t mean to make you feel self-conscious! I… have… a thing with shoes. I mean, everybody has to wear them, right? That’s innocent enough, but it’s kind of become an obsession.” She shook her head, chiding herself. Was she rambling? Her gaze was turned away.

“I,” he cleared his throat, “it is something of a fixation of mine as well.”

She looked up at him, their eyes locking. Everything felt surreal, how did this keep happening? And now they were telling each other personal things. It was definitely getting warmer, he should’ve worn a lighter suit. Too many thoughts, and the silence was going on too long, he needed to break the ice.

“Though I must admit, it seems an odd choice for someone with fins.”

She smiled then, mouth dropping open a bit. “You are so lucky I can’t reach the water, because I’d definitely splash you.”

“My shoes and I are both grateful.”

She laughed, and so did he. The pleasure he derived from it was honest, untainted. It was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time – something he wanted to experience more of.

He caught something at the edge of his vision, turning his head just enough to get a better look. Leliana, she was watching him; watching them. Suddenly he wasn’t smiling anymore, and she looked concerned.

“Are you alright?”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been distracting you from your duties for too long.”

“It’s no trouble,” she had started to say, but he kept walking. This was work, and he was behaving like a damned fool! The Wolf was a hunter, a predator, not some tongue-tied schoolboy with a crush. To risk his reputation so carelessly, it was not like him to be reckless. He needed a drink.

At the bar, he recognized the waitress – she was the same one from the Dorian’s party – golden skin, long black hair, bright but cheeky smile. The world was feeling smaller all the time.

“Vodka –“ he began, but she interrupted him.

“With cranberry, right?”

“No,” he breathed, “just the vodka. Go ahead and make it two.”

“You got it, love.”

Both drinks he downed in a single swallow, looking forward to the reliable warmth that would soon fill his stomach. He needed to be grounded, to shake himself out of this state. He was not here to socialize, he had a job to do; owed it to his clients to be at his best. As he crawled deeper into his pit of self-flagellation, he observed the man sitting next to him, a man whose eyes had clearly landed on his cufflinks; a man whose face had shifted, almost imperceptibly, at the sight.

Sometimes it wasn’t a reaction you were looking for at all, but instead, a lack of reaction. The slightest tightening of a jaw in an otherwise emotionless face was a strong indication that something hidden was going on beneath the surface. When someone tried to intentionally obfuscate their reactions by masking them with a placid façade, it meant that whatever they were hiding was usually worth discovering. Maybe the day was salvageable, after all.

The man, a human in his mid 50s?, had noticed that he was being noticed. Unlike his earlier observation of Ellana, Solas had actually been employing his expertly honed discretion. That meant that whoever he was, he was a skilled player in The Game and definitely a person of interest.

“It looks like neither of us is enjoying the party,” the man offered, cutting through the tension with his words.

“I am not certain this is the kind of party that’s meant to be enjoyed.” His voice was cool, the Wolf now alert and at the wheel.

“Not unless you like standing next to gaudy shrubs and making small talk, at least.” He was good, his attempting to find common ground to gauge him…

“Alas, I do not.”

“Something we have in common.” The human extended his hand and he shook it. “Alexius.”

The man’s handshake was firm, but not overly so, an exact match for his own. That too was by design – the way you shook someone’s hand could tell them a lot about you. If someone’s grip was overly firm, or not firm enough; if their hand was stiff, or limp, or sweating - all invaluable clues that revealed a surprising amount of information. This man’s handshake was meant to reveal nothing, and that on its own was significant.

“Solas.”

“I must unfortunately get back to my rounds. Perhaps we’ll meet again.” He gave a polite, closed-mouth smile as he got up to leave. I’m sure of it, he thought, I’ve caught your scent now.

Solas fished his phone out of his pants pocket, fingers tapping on the screen.

Solas 3:12pm Alexius.

Leliana 3:18pm Tevinter. Dead wife. Sick son. You think it’s him?

Solas 3:20 Perhaps.

Leliana 3:21 I suppose that Mermaid Lyna is another possibility. You did seem far more interested in her.

Leliana 3:29 Do you know that the tips of your ears have turned pink? I could talk to her for you, if you like. Put in a good word.

Solas 3:30 No.

Leliana 3:30 ( ◕ ︵ ◕ ,)

Solas 3:31 … What is that?

Leliana 3:32 It’s a little crying face! Isn’t it cute?

Solas 3:33 No.

Leliana 3:34 I bet Lyna would think it’s cute.

Solas 3:34 Marjorlaine.

Leliana 3:35 ( ╹ _ ╹ ) 凸

He was pinching the bridge of his nose now. This was a woman who could strike fear into a person’s heart with a look, whose bread and butter was blackmail and coercion, and she was typing ridiculous little faces into her phone. He felt his jaw clench and let out a harsh breath through his nose. Had he always been so old ?

His spirit should be soaring, having a lead, but instead there was a pit in his stomach. It felt like things were unraveling – like he was losing control. The one party this year he thought he’d actually enjoy, and it might’ve been worse than the others. He hadn’t forgotten the discourteous way he’d treated Ellana, either, and neither had she, he was sure. This was a mess.

When he got home he tried to work, but his mind refused to focus. Defeated, he prepped a canvas and took out his paints. The first brush strokes were reluctant, tenuous, but he quickly found his rhythm and was engrossed. By the time he went to bed, he’d finished her face. He still didn’t know what her eyes looked like. Falling asleep tonight would not be easy.

Chapter 4: A Luncheon with Dorian

Reluctantly he hit the play button on his answering machine, letting out a deep sigh.

Hey Chuckles, it’s me, Varric. I know you’re home and screening your calls and probably won’t pick up anyway, but you’re coming over Thursday night for dinner. If you noticed, which of course you did, I didn’t actually ask, so you don’t have the option to say no.

Anyway, it’s just dinner with friends, nothing formal - Cass will be there obviously, Blondie, Ruffles and… you haven’t met her boyfriend yet I don’t think, and then Fli – no, scratch that, she said she probably couldn’t make it. Bring a bottle of wine. Should be starting about 7:30.

Tonight was Tuesday, so that was more or less enough time in advance for an informal dinner, but he’d have to think about it. Things were getting serious with work, and progress was going at a snail’s pace. He was already meeting Dorian for lunch, and one social event was more than enough for any given week. No, it was better to stay home and continue his progress on the files. This case was much more difficult and complex than he’d imagined, and it appeared that money was being siphoned out of multiple accounts and then funneled into foreign banks in Seheron and Tevinter.

The connection with Tevinter kept Alexius fresh in his mind. He was much too smooth to be uninvolved, but he hadn’t been able to connect any dots. Besides the few tidbits she’d offered him, even Leliana’s well was dry. Considering that she knew just about everything about almost everyone, that put together a highly suspicious profile. Breadcrumbs, he just needed a trail to follow, one piece at a time and then the bigger picture would slowly unveil itself before his eyes.

He’d been trying to avoid the den where a half-finished fresco was waiting for him, a reminder that he shouldn’t be chasing after a fairytale. There were real things he needed to do, and that was a level of distraction he hadn’t realized was even possible. It didn’t help how he’d left things the last time he saw her, and it was likely that he’d never see her again, anyway. He couldn’t bear to finish the painting, but he also couldn’t throw it away. How could a woman he didn’t even know have turned his life so far upside down? Being stuck on this case made it easier for his mind to wander. He needed some kind of breakthrough.

His phone alarm chirped, letting him know it was 12pm, and he needed to leave to meet Dorian. He let out a deep breath and carefully closed his laptop – he might have inadvertently slammed it shut in his irritation once or twice and that was not a smart thing to do.

The restaurant was some new hipster place he was too old and not hip enough for. He hated it immediately. Rave reviews, Dorian had said, obviously from idiots with no taste. Their waitress, a blonde elf with questionable fashion sense, sat them by a window. Her manners left a lot to be desired.

“Right then, wot d’ya want?”

“Malena, da’lan –“

“Wot, no, I don’t speak that elfy shite.” Solas felt like he’d just been slapped.

“I,” Dorian began, trying not to laugh, “I think we’ll need a few more minutes.”

“Ugh, yeah, course, sir elvhen glory has’ta make everyone wait.” He tried to ignore the eye roll before she trotted off. He glared at Dorian, his eyebrows lifting.

“Rave reviews, I believe you said.”

“Me?” he balked, splaying a hand across his chest, “I don’t recall that conversation.”

Solas heaved a sigh as he opened the menu. It was… qunari-dwarven… fusion. His stomach churned. None of this could possibly be edible. Dorian was conspicuously looking everywhere but at Solas.

“You do have to admit that was a little funny… and I mean, being verbally assaulted by your waitress is a memorable and entertaining experience!”

“Very amusing when not being directed at you.”

Dorian cleared his throat.

“Ahem, well, what looks good?”

“The menu selections at restaurants that serve palatable food.”

“It can’t be that ba-, Sweet Andraste! Marinated nug with…” Dorian swallowed, the lump in his throat violently rising and then falling, “I, why don’t we just try one of the specials?” He tried to smile, but the edges of his mouth were turned downwards and it was very unconvincing.

“What makes them special, does the side of food poisoning come at no extra charge?”

“Mmmm. I’ll just,” her turned his head to look for the waitress, waving at her and calling “Hello, miss.”

“Right, so, wa’dya want?”

“Actually,” began Dorian, hesitating, “We wanted to know about the specials, or perhaps there’s a dish you might recommend…” His face had turned a shockingly pale shade. It was hard to tell which one of them was more horrified. They should probably just leave.

“So, two Red Jennies it is.” The waitress said, scribbling on her pad.

“And, would you mind terribly explaining to us –“

“Ugh, you rich tits, thinking everyone else’s time is free. Some of us have ta work, you know? I’ll go put in ya order.”

“You know, on second tho- “ She effectively cut Dorian off by walking away.

“Very well handled Dorian, you’ve a way with the young people.”

“Oh, do shut up.” He tossed one of the whatever they were at him from the basket on the table. “Elvhen glory.”

He shifted his head out of the way, the suspicious lump of what he thought was intended to be bread landing on the floor. “And what is it she called you? A tit, I believe it was?”

“It’s not my fault that a good pedigree is so easily recognizable.” He gave his moustache a little twirl with his index finger.

“Yes, you would take anything as a compliment.” He was rubbing his eyes now, a headache bound to appear at any moment.

A few minutes passed and then their server, used in the loosest possible sense of the word, dropped two steaming plates covered in an unrecognizable amorphous blob.

“So, like, can you get satellite with that thing?” she was inclining the pen in her hand towards his head. Dorian burst out laughing.

“Excuse me?”

“Right, you’re excused. I mean yer ‘ead. You know, on account of it’s so shiny, like. Do you get any signals from space when the sun bounces off just right?”

He could feel the color draining from his face.

“Shut. Up.”

“Jeez, sorry, no need ta go getting all offended. It was a fair question.”

The look he gave her must have been significant because she turned on her heels and walked away without saying another word. Dorian was looking incredibly smug, trying and failing not to cackle.

“Dorian,” he said, grabbing his spoon and digging it into the substance, “can you do me a favor?”

“Wh-“ Solas shoved the spoon into his mouth the moment he’d opened it. “Ahhh, ooh” and he began choking.

He raised his hand and called out, “Check please!” A small smile forming on his face. Dorian was turning green.

They decided to go back to his apartment, since it was in walking distance, and Dorian would be able to purge whatever bits of the ‘food’ he’d accidentally swallowed.

While Dorian made a beeline for the bathroom, Solas decided to brew some tea. He sat at the breakfast bar, turning on his laptop, while he waited for the kettle. The tea was ready by the time Dorian found his way back to the kitchen.

“I’ve made some tea, it should help your stomach, it’s elfroot.”

“Elvhen Glory root, you mean?” He was trying to smirk but his face wasn’t cooperating.

“I think I see a little bit you’ve missed in your moustache,” he looked up at him from the screen, raising one eyebrow.

“As if I’d fall for… my, my moustache you say?” and he was running back to the bathroom, his hand covering his mouth.

His own self-satisfied little smile remained until he took a sip of his tea. Eugh .

He had looked over all these files dozens of times and still nothing. He was beginning to get frustrated. There had to be something he was missing. He opened to a picture of Alexius, and just stared at it for a while, willing it to tell him something.

“Kaffas.” Dorian breathed over his shoulder, he hadn’t even seen him coming out of the bathroom.

“That tea should settle your stomach.”

“My stomach was fine until I saw that,” he lifted his arm, extending his index finger to point at the picture of Alexius. “Why is that on your computer, Solas?”

“He’s a board member of the Pentaghast Group. How do you know him?”

“ Fasta vass . If you’re thinking of investigating him, don’t. I’m not terribly fond of you, but I’d prefer if you didn’t wind up dead.” He looked genuinely grim, which was not something Dorian did.

“Forgive me my doubt, but you do sometimes have a propensity for melodrama. Why would I end up dead?”

“Because that man is Gereon Alexius and he has ties to powers in Tevinter so scary that people in Minrathous are afraid to whisper about them.”

“Can you give me a name?”

“What, no!” He threw his hands in the air. “Did you hear what I just said Solas? I’m not getting involved, and you shouldn’t either. I have a very pretty head, and I like it where it is.”

“I just need a name Dorian, something I can work with. I promise not to involve you and your pretty head .”

He was rubbing his neck now, the seriousness of his demeanor worrying. If he wasn’t at least being sarcastic, then Solas would trust what he’d said. That didn’t mean he was going to stop pursuing this; in fact it meant he’d be pursuing it harder. Dorian didn’t need to know that though, there was no reason to make him worry.

“I can’t close the case and deliver a report to my client without something to offer, Dorian. I’m just asking for a name, that’s all. You can even write it down if you don’t want to say it out loud.”

“We both know you’re going to pursue it to the end, you stubborn old idiot. I just hope your pride doesn’t get you killed.” He heaved a sigh, closing his eyes, and shook his head. “Venatori, they’re known as the Venatori. Alexius is one of them, and an old family friend. He tried to recruit me, but like I said, I like my head where it is. And now, here we are.”

“Thank you Dorian,” he put a hand on his shoulder and gave a small squeeze before being shrugged off.

“Yes, thank you Dorian for signing my writ of execution because I’m too worried about my Elvhen Glory to have an ounce of sense…” he was shaking his head again, “I think I’ll head home, I have a date with a bottle of wine, and I promised I wouldn’t be late.”

“I’ll be fine Dorian, there’s nothing to worry about.”

He didn’t turn around. “Sure, right. I’ll talk to you later.”

He walked out the door and left Solas’ mind running a mile a minute. There was so much he needed to do, but if it really was that dangerous, it was best not to use his computer, or even use a computer at his home. He wasn’t looking forward to more of her teasing, but he’d probably need to read Leliana in, and if things were truly so bad, maybe even Vivienne. That would be an absolute last resort however, their methodologies did not mesh well.

[definitelynotfrankincense]

PSO2 - Kinktober 2016 Prompts (Chroto x Aurum) [NSFW]

Yes, I'm posting 2016's prompts in 2017. I wrote them last year, and I meant to post them a couple months afterward in one big post like this, but I just kept wussing out. Also I had two lists of prompts to work off, so there'll be more numbers... ...And also some of them went to Sherri instead. And some got shared, as the "(Either)" tag indicates.

Anyway. Not all of these actually have sex even alluded to in them because I'm a huge pansy. Yeah leave it to me to participate in KINKtober and end up with a few prompts that are only fluff.

2-1 - Noisy

Aurum had always been a quiet person. Chroto didn't know how he'd been in his youth, but if he had to guess, he'd still been just as nervous and soft-spoken back then. He didn't even offer much in the way of verbal reactions; he made no sound on the battlefield, from quiet breaths to swallowed pain.

So he was surprised when the first caress of their tongues together earned him a breathless whine and hands clutching his shoulders as his knees gave out. The first time his hands traveled beneath his clothes, the sharp gasp and uneven breaths next to his ear sent shivers down his spine. The first time they joined, he was rewarded with cries and moans that he restrained Aurum's wrists to hear in full.

Aurum's honesty would break through the embarrassment; begging in earnest for all he wanted as his voice cracked at the notes he was hitting on the way to his climax.

And stars, did he live to hear it.

2-2 - Dirty Talk (Either)

He'd never given much thought to his own voice before; whatever came out was whatever took the least amount of effort to create without needing to repeat himself.

But apparently his voice did things to some people.

Combine that with a passive enjoyment for teasing, and, well...

"You've had that look on all day. Did you think I wouldn't notice you undressing me with your eyes? I'd be more surprised if the people around you didn't notice you fidgeting, trying to keep those daydreams under control. What was it this time? You seemed awfully fixated on my neck. I know you've wanted at this from the start. To leave your mark here. If you're good tonight, I might just let you. How does that sound?"

If he sounded anywhere near as good as the replying moan did, he could totally understand it.

4-1 - Food Play [*1]

Who the hell taught him how to eat?

The way he left the pretzel stick dangling from his mouth as he read over a news article just couldn't be forgiven.

So he approached from behind, taking the snack in one hand while the other trailed along his shoulder and down his chest. The surprised sound shifted into confusion as he slowly worked the pretzel further into his mouth, scraping against his cheek and tongue along the gentle in-and-out.

4-2 - Bukkake

As appealing as the idea was beforehand, there was always a niggling guilt in the back of his head each time he finished— well, anywhere, really; now the mess wasn't only his own problem to deal with. But it was the worst when he'd look down to see Aurum panting as it dripped down over a closed eyelid and right over the corner of his open mouth.

He looked so debauched, so used, and that's what always had him thinking it was a bad idea after all.

But the expression he was always answered with, no matter when and no matter where, invited as many repeat performances as he was willing and able to give until by the end of the night, the only option was a full shower and new sheets.

5-1 - Sadism

He'd never thought himself to be sadistic; thus he'd been appalled at himself the first time he felt the urge to make Aurum cry.

He still doesn't think it really applies to himself, but is rather a unique trait of their particular relationship.

As long as Aurum doesn't want him to stop, it's become all too erotic when the tears are falling one after another.

However, he's still torn between feeling pride or disgust with himself when his fingers roughly trace a new bruise he's given Aurum. Even as the crying voice hitches into moans or words of gratitude, he's not sure how he wants to feel.

6-1 - Hidden

There's something romantic and just plain exciting about sneaking kisses and touches behind peoples' backs.

Their first time visiting Aurum's parents had nearly reduced him to tears (the bad kind) multiple times. He had found a good distraction in laying him down on the couch and reminding him (his hands, his lips, his neck) that he was loved while the two former caregivers conversed just around the corner.

9-1 - Bondage

He never brought it up.

Aurum seemed to both enjoy and fiercely dislike being restrained. When at his worst, keeping him from thrashing away seemed to be the only thing that could calm him down. On the other end, he would work himself into a panic if he couldn't move how he wanted to.

So he never brought it up.

It just kind of... happened.

It started after a rough day when he didn't want to bother with the so rarely bold hands roaming over him. He'd pinned Aurum's wrists beside his head, and although he instinctively tried to break free from it a few times to grasp at something— anything —he hadn't been met with any resistance.

Call him tame, but he couldn't really work up the effort to do more than tie his wrists together. He couldn't be doing all the work, after all.

9-2 - Asphyxiation

He'd only stroked a little too hard over Aurum's throat; caused a panicked gasp and a hand to grab at his wrist, but not pull it off.

Even if Aurum hadn't told him that any more than a light pressure to make him work to breathe would have him scared out of his mind, he doesn't think he could bring himself to do more anyway. Even with the level of control he always had, no matter how observant he trusted himself to be, he didn't have the confidence that he'd know when to stop.

12-1 - Jealousy

Aurum's face was always carefully trained in a passive expression. Anyone who didn't know better would think he was just perpetually bored or annoyed.

Chroto knew better. He'd come to recognize when he was feeling stressed (he could actually see him breathing), uncomfortable (his point of focus would shift lower), happy (his eyes didn't look dead), longing (he couldn't seem to focus his eyes on anything), aroused (he seemed all too focused on absolutely nothing), among other things.

Such as jealousy.

And Aurum got jealous. A lot. Over nothing.

But Aurum himself knew it was unreasonable and tried his hardest to stomp the feelings down. He wouldn't grow resentful or angry; instead retreating inward and trying not to listen to the feelings of inadequacy.

It was easy enough to remedy. Chroto had stopped verbally addressing it after the fifth time when he'd already said all he could. It seemed to work out better that way anyway. Where words would just make them both feel frustrated at the repetition of it all, a smile and a hand on his shoulder for just a moment longer solved it instantly.

Jealous sex was a coin toss he wasn't willing to risk, either. One side had Aurum more aggressive, taking the lead and leaving as many marks as he pleased; the other had him as a lifeless doll that felt it was all he was good for. It had to end with or cut off to holding and caressing until it was clear on what level he appreciated their time.

13-1 - Scars

ARKS armor was pretty amazing in all regards. Despite the amount of coverage, it seemed to protect the entire body equally. Nobody who used it was quite sure how that worked, especially considering it didn't even partially resemble the records of line shield technology. Still, it did its job wonderfully and combined with the TECHNICs and medicines ARKS ops had special access to, hardly anyone had scars to show for their struggles.

It was civilians who had the most scars. Civilians who made enemies of their own people and had no armor.

Running his fingers over the faint scars on Aurum's upper arm (too haphazard to be self-inflicted), he wonders what each fight was about.

"I probably deserved it," Aurum had muttered the first time the subject came up. "I don't remember what I said, but you know me; I don't think before I speak. I might have said something honestly awful."

And Chroto does know him. He has almost no filter. He rarely means anything to come out as rude as it sounds, and he only recently started trying again (the children (among others) never listened; beat the kindness right out of him) to backpedal and explain himself more gently when it happened.

But words aren't enough to justify laying your hands on anyone. No matter what Aurum might have said to anger his peers back in those days, he didn't deserve these scars.

But they're part of him now. A part of him that he's slowly trying to heal.

13-2 - Medical play

Aurum 'retired' early from ARKS when he realized he wasn't doing nearly as much to help people as he wanted. It was a dangerous job he clearly wasn't cut out for if the number of failures on his record was anything to go by. It was just causing unnecessary worry for both of them.

So he quit and went back to school with what he'd saved up from his time as an operative.

Being a nurse might have been more monotonous most of the time, but he found it more fulfilling than slaughtering countless native creatures whose d-arker infection usually didn't see them hostile until ARKS poked their heads in.

(Usually. There were very few documented cases of them actually tearing each-other apart, but those were the ones the media and government clung to to justify their violent meddling.)

He worked at the ARKS medical bay, letting them continue living under the same roof. Unlike civilian hospitals, he didn't have a locker for his uniform at work. The uniform itself was ARKS-issue and thus was technically armor. All staff in the military district from desk jockeys to janitors had to be ready and able to join the frontlines in emergencies, so being unarmored just wasn't an option.

So he put it on at the start of the day and returned home still wearing it.

But men weren't exactly common on medical staff. In fact, he was the first they'd employed on their ship in decades, and thus had to make due with the women's dress and a pair of trousers until they could order something more fitting for him. After modifying the hem to make it into more of a long shirt, it looked good enough to keep as backup anyway.

The reaction Aurum expected when he showed off his uniform the first time was just a nod, a smile, maybe an 'I'm proud of you,' and he'd be on his way trying not to grin like a fool. And he did receive it exactly right before heading off for his first day at work.

Then he came home to hands on his waist and lips on his neck, being asked to look at a 'sudden mysterious ache' that he couldn't help but snort a laugh at.

Neither of them could take it seriously, but it had been fun.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, how much does it hurt?"

"About an 8, but it's gettin' harder... to bear."

"snrrk... I'll have to... administer a massage... hahah... to reduce the swelling..."

"Hahahah... Nah, I can't keep this up. But that uniform is seriously a turn-on."

"Well, it needs washed anyway... No harm in getting it dirty."

14-2 - Sensory Deprivation

Aurum didn't like not being able to see.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Chroto. There was something that just felt wrong about taking away one of the senses. His ability to see and hear were the proof of who he was with. Even if all he could see was the room in front of him, just seeing it jostled back and forth in his vision added to the whole experience.

But it seemed Chroto really liked to cover his eyes. He had only used one hand to cover his eyes until now.

He holds a blindfold out to him with a questioning grin. Aurum nods even though he wants to say no. It's a bad habit of his.

Chroto notices, as he learned to do. But a lack of protest still doesn't ever really mean 'no' with him, either. "We'll try it. Just let me know if it's too much."

He doesn't know if he can trust himself to actually say so, but he nods again anyway.

He doesn't touch the blindfold or ask for its removal throughout the session even as he's pulled up and turned around. Whispers brush against his ear the whole night, constantly reassuring him that he isn't having a nightmare about someone else.

"Just focus on my voice, even if you have to ignore the feeling."

They keep a slow, steady pace up until the end.

"You're doing fine. So good. Come on, talk to me."

He calls out his name weakly as his hips rock backward. He feels trapped and hates that he can like this.

"I'm here. I'm here with you. Stay with me."

18-2 - Daddy [*2]

"So, ah... Before all this, you kind of hinted at..."

"You're nervous and it's making me nervous."

"I'm trying to be open-minded here."

"That isn't helping."

"You did a lot of things for me for Father's Day the first year you were here."

"..."

"And now, uh. Well, we're this."

"..."

"We're consenting participants of intercourse together. Fairly often."

"..."

"I mean, I'm not into it, but if—"

"I do not have a daddy kink. Do not finish that sentence. Do not ask me if I want to call you 'daddy'."

"Oh thank goodness."

20-1 - Squeeze

Aurum wondered if he just hated everything about himself sometimes. All too often since this man had come into his life, he found himself thinking the exact same words:

'I hate that I like this.'

He was almost always asked first, and on the rare occasion that he wasn't, he was sincerely apologized to and asked afterward. He was never forced or guilted into anything, even by his own nasty subconscious. (And that was a miracle in itself; he'd resigned himself before he ever confessed that he'd probably agree to anything even if he'd rather die had it been anyone else.)

It was... difficult. So many things he found he absolutely loved, but would chastise himself for— feel bad for enjoying. He had to wonder just who had taught him what that had limited him so much, because he certainly didn't remember being explicitly told that anything was as wrong as he ended up thinking it was.

"You just never thought you'd grow up to be even remotely kinky?" Chroto had offered one evening, and he'd hidden his defiant scowl under the sheets.

Maybe he had a point, but it was still confusing. He hated feeling powerless, yet he liked so many things that gave the same general feeling just in a different flavor. Being blinded, being ordered, being restrained...

He was being pressed hard against the mattress, hard enough that he only had the side of his mouth and one nostril to breathe from with his head turned to the side, hard enough that with each thrust, his entire torso rubbed against the sheets and he could feel his lover's chest on his back.

The position didn't offer much movement, but the pressure against both sides had him feeling more trapped than ever. His arms were trapped at his sides and he couldn't have gotten free even if he'd wanted to.

But as his groans came half-muffled, he couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be.

23-1 - Slow (Either)

Chroto appreciated his partner's enthusiasm and forwardness. Had it been up to him to take charge, they likely wouldn't have all that much intimacy beyond holding each-other as they slept. He just couldn't be bothered to put forth the effort for much unless it needed to be done, or he really wanted it to be done.

It took getting used to and plenty of reassurances that yes, he was still interested, and no, he didn't dislike intimacy.

"It's like cake, y'know?" he tried to explain one day, "cake's great, and you could look at it or fantasize about it all day. But if you have to make the cake yourself, you're not going to be eating a lot of cake unless you really enjoy baking."

The exasperated look he was given in response had him laughing at himself and apologizing for the analogy.

But he found he got the point across just fine as they became increasingly bold in their advances.

But the pace was almost always too much to keep up with unless they were already on the same frenzied page. Whether it was because of impatience, wanting to see him exhausted, some kind of misunderstanding, or just personal preference, he never got around to asking. But if they weren't complaining, neither was he.

Most of the time, at least.

He cupped their face, rubbing slow circles with his thumbs as he redirected the feverish kiss to something more sensual.

He caught their wrists, placing their roaming hands at his chest as his own massaged the small of their back.

Before they could descend on him, he brought them back for a kiss as one hand caressed their cheek and the other ran over their hip.

He would take control back, grinding into them slowly with long, deep, quiet sighs. They would describe the look he gave them as reverent when he brought one of their hands up to kiss their palm.

They conceded easily to his silent requests for sensuality. They would ask afterward if they should always go slower, if perhaps they weren't romantic enough.

He would give them a silly, sated grin.

"It's all about the cake you're craving at the moment."

"Stop using cake analogies!"

He appreciated their enthusiasm and seeming inability to get enough of him, but he liked teaching them how to slow down and just enjoy each-other more.

24-2 - Exhibitionism/Voyeurism [*3]

The year is A.D.234. Countless years of innovation have led up to a bio-engineered civilization living among the stars on a sprawling fleet of spaceships, and he can still hear his roommate masturbating.

Is a little bit of sound-proofing really that much to ask for?

He knew he was at fault, too, though. He wasn't in his room, trying to sleep. He wasn't in the kitchen, he wasn't in the bathroom. He was the one sitting outside Chroto's room with his back to the wall.

He hadn't meant to— well, obviously he hadn't specifically wandered over just to overhear... this. What kind of freak would do that?

But what kind of freak went to tell their roommate dinner was ready, noticed they were... busy, and instead of either going away and waiting a decent amount of time or casually leaving a knock on the door and a shout of the information meant to be delivered, just sat down and kept listening?

Aurum was that kind of freak, obviously. He was the disgusting kind of creep that did things like that. The kind that couldn't stop himself from getting as close to the door as possible to savor every faint noise, every wet slide, every breath, every hum. The kind who conjured the image of the movements going on behind him. The kind who let his imagination run and picture those same hands on himself, stroking and breathing over his shoulder and humming in satisfaction.

No, no he wasn't. He reined it back in, put a stop to that fantasy. That was too much, crossed too many boundaries, defiled Chroto's image.

He swallowed thickly and pushed himself up to sneak away, not sticking around to hear the end of it. He had violated Chroto's privacy enough.

27-1 - Creepy [*3]

If he realized every time he started fantasizing, he'd shut it down immediately.

It always starts off small, with things he already knows. Chroto will roll his neck after stretching, and Aurum imagines what he smells like. He already knows; the barracks aren't very spacious. His mind fabricates the scent of worn leather and musky cologne diluted by the sweat of a day's work and he almost shudders.

When Chroto is leaning back into the couch flipping the pages of a book, Aurum imagines what his hands feel like. He's already felt them numerous times, from picking him out of the rubble to patting his hair encouragingly. A hand lands on his shoulder and he imagines it isn't his own, that it isn't stationary, trailing down to play at his waist.

Chroto's mouth, speaking with clients, makes Aurum imagine what it would feel like moving against his own lips. His chest, hugged tight by the inner layer beneath his armor, invites his hands across it. His legs, twisting just so to keep his balance in mid-air, call for worship.

He stops himself— or tries to.

He can't stop his own mind at that point, but he can resolutely keep his hands clenched at his sides. He won't seek gratification even at the unknowing expense of someone else. He won't stoop that low; won't cheapen him more than he has.

Aurum tries his best to sleep through the unwilled image of a body moving over him, and it's so much easier than looking Chroto in the eye the next day.

27-2 - Branding [*4]

When he saw them all through highschool, they looked painful.

When he received his first one years later, he didn't even notice it until he caught sight of it in the mirror. Chroto walked up behind him, ran his fingers over the small bruise on his neck with a look of pride before leaving a kiss on his cheek.

"Sorry. I should have asked."

"No, it's... It's fine."

Nothing about his posture says it's fine, but the excited quiver in his voice makes up for it.

He found out later that they could hurt. He doesn't remember what words he'd uttered, but it set both passions ablaze, sent hands groping bruises into his wrists, his sides. He felt drowned amongst the heavy breath, the biting teeth and aggressive sucking across his neck. It hurt then, it hurt afterward, and he'd beg for it all over again.

He's always worn high-necked shirts, but now it's exhilarating to think that they hide little secrets. He sometimes considers wearing anything else just to bare the possessive marks for the world to see, but as with most such fantasies, the thought is enough.

30-1 - Rough

He can't usually work up the motivation and effort to do more than set the ball rolling. When he's angry, he'd much rather think or sleep through it. When he has a bigger spark of energy, he'd rather spend it teasing Aurum and throwing him off-guard.

Some days, though, there's just the right balance of frustration with the miserable day and energy to vent the feeling physically.

He's never been one for violence, and the day he raises his hand to anyone is the day he'll quit and check himself in for help.

But then there are the days when Aurum literally asks for it; opens his mouth, shudders out a quiet, shy, "hurt me."

And he can't refuse when all those pieces come together. Shoves him and pins him to the wall, leaving lingering pain where bruises would form by morning. Grips his jaw, bites his mouth, his ears, his neck, his chest— marks him so thoroughly it'd be indecent to wear anything less than a turtleneck for a week. He raises his knee between Aurum's legs, rubbing too hard and grabbing his hand to make him reciprocate.

Aurum can't keep quiet through any of it— all gasps and groans and clutching at his shirt, hands positioned like he wants to push him away while he only pulls him closer, grinds their hips together until he's thrown face-first onto the bed moaning as his hair is pulled backward. He doesn't put up any kind of fight as his hands are torn away from the sheets and pinned against his back, does his best to meet every rough thrust until he's told to sit still. Whines and begs him not to stop when the sight of blood nearly halts the punishing pace.

And Chroto regrets listening to him every morning after as he wakes to see the bruised mess he's made of him. Even as Aurum rolls over and gives him a small, rosy smile as the aches remind him of the previous night, he can't shake the guilt pooling in his gut.

30-2 - Toys

"I want to watch you masturbate," he'd requested of Aurum and basked in his embarrassed attempt at words.

He palms his still clothed erection as he watches Aurum rise and fall upon the toy he'd surprised him with. It was thinner but longer than he was, undoubtedly reaching deeper than Aurum was used to.

He seems enthusiastic enough, but unease builds in his stomach as he keeps watching. Aurum is hard— has been since the bedroom door shut and Chroto gave him the sly grin reserved just for riling him up. It bobs and sways as his thighs brush against the carpet, but his eyes and teeth are clenched shut, and he can hardly hear him breathe. He's not even making the soft noises he usually can't hold in at the beginning.

He doesn't seem like he's enjoying himself very much.

"Hey."

Aurum doesn't stop, and his eyes clench just a little tighter.

"Aurum." When he still doesn't stop, Chroto gets up from where he'd been leaning against the bed, crawling forward to place a hand on Aurum's cheek. "Aurum, stop."

He finally does and gasps like he'd been holding his breath the entire time. His eyes crack open and he immediately looks like he's about to start panicking and making excuses.

Chroto strokes his thumb under his eye to try to calm him down, break him out of whatever mindset he's already got himself in. "You're not enjoying this. Stop."

Aurum shakes his head and shuts his eyes again. "You—"

"Aurum, please," he brings his other hand up to make Aurum look at him, "stop agreeing to these things if you don't actually want to do them."

They've been over this before, and he thought they'd had it settled. He knew from early on that Aurum was the type who aimed to please others, whether he actively enjoyed whatever he was doing or not.

Aurum swallows like his mouth is dry, still not opening his eyes, and Chroto knows he's trying to hold on to an argument he's going to lose. "I already told you, this is the kind of person I am. I'm fine with anything as long as you want it."

'Then why do you look like you're being tied down and forced?' Chroto lets out a small sigh and leans forward to touch their foreheads together. "Who taught you to lie so much?" 'You were so honest when you got here. What all have I done to you?' "That blunt honesty of yours is what I love about you. So why are you so bent on lying to me about these things?"

"I'm not lying," he immediately blurts, a familiar lack of thought that simultaneously has Chroto feeling both relieved and sick. He's telling the truth, and he's not sure whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. "It's just..." Why does it have to be so complicated with him? "I wouldn't... We wouldn't even be together if I didn't force myself to do... things. It's not like I just jumped at the first idea of... being intimate with you."

What. That sounds like... No. No, no, no.

It feels like everything inside is sinking, his eyes widening and grip tightening before letting go as if burned. Before he can pull away, Aurum's hands grab his wrists, keeping him in place. "No! It's not— not whatever you're thinking."

Chroto shudders, "Stars, I hope not..."

"No. No. I love being with you. Being... with you." His fingers rub over his wrists like he's coaxing him to hold him again. When Chroto's hands cradle the back of his head again, he continues. "But, just like so many other things, this... all of this, I've already been raised to not like."

He can imagine. Who knows what kind of shambles Aurum's own identity is actually in thanks to the ideas drilled into his head as a kid. He certainly doesn't have a good relationship with himself at least.

"I can't like anything without exposure. Positive exposure. You, and you liking it... is positive..." His eyes trail to the side and he swallows thickly again. "I'll get over it. I'll like it."

"You'll learn to like it?" The sick feeling is back and he can't restrain a grimace. "Aurum..."

"I'm serious. It sounds bad, but... Please."

Chroto shakes his head. "Even if you're telling the truth, you at least looked like you enjoyed everything else we've done." Didn't he? God, what if he didn't... "This... You look like you'd rather be anywhere else."

"It's not you."

It's thoughtless, once again. He has to roll the words over in his mind a few times, repeat the sound until he realizes he's not waiting for an 'it's me,' and he remembers that they're still on the floor, and while Aurum had stopped moving against it, he was still seated on the toy.

They both blush and Aurum can't look him in the eye. "Physically, it feels good. But it's not you."

He should ask first. After all this, he should definitely ask first, but he's moving without thinking. He leans back and scoots across the floor to lean against the bed again, pulling Aurum forward until he's on all fours on top of him. His left hand moves to tilt his chin up and his right reaches to the base of the dildo to press it deeper. He swallows the resulting cry with a kiss, slowly working the phallus out and back in. "Is this good, then?"

"Hah..." Aurum's hands grasp up along his chest until they reach his shoulders, holding tight. "nng.."

"I'm here. This is me— it's me doing this to you." He searches Aurum's face, seeing his eyes half-lidded and mouth hanging slightly open with familiar sighs and groans spilling out as his breath gets heavier. Yeah, that's how he's supposed to look.

Aurum doesn't verbally respond, instead letting his body answer for him. He leans forward, teeth grazing Chroto's collarbone as the pace picks up. Chroto's left hand trails down, over his chest, his stomach, gives his shaft a few quick strokes before moving to grope his rear. He rocks back against the toy being thrust in and out at a steady pace, his cock rubbing against Chroto's bent leg.

Chroto figures the fabric can't feel all that good, and there's obviously better things around. He brings his left hand back to unzip and tug his pants down enough to pull himself out. "C'mere."

Aurum obeys without hesitation, sitting up to straddle Chroto's lap. He's quickly rewarded with a sharper thrust and a hand encircling both their lengths, pressing them tightly together. "GHh— hah— mmmhh..."

"How selfish of you, though," he jests, letting his left hand slide up and down in time with the push and pull of his right. "Here you were supposed to be puttin' on a show for me. Now I'm doing all the work?" He angles the toy before pushing it back in all the way to the base, delighting in the sudden arch of Aurum's back and the guttural moan it drags out of him. "That's right, sing for me."

"Ahhg! MmnnghH..." His head is tossed back, all but begging for the mouth that closes around and sucks on his neck. It's too much at once and as a thumb runs over both their slits, he knows he's not going to last. "C-hhHH— I— mmnngg! Hhha!"

"Go ahead, let go."

Neither stop moving for a few more moments; Chroto's hands keep stroking, keep pushing as Aurum's hips twitch erratically as he rides his orgasm out.

Chroto slows to a stop, pulling the dildo out and leaving it wherever it falls. Aurum whimpers then shudders as it leaves. He thinks the only way he'd look more beautiful is if he'd scoot forward and take him in, keep groaning and ride him to completion.

As if he'd read Chroto's mind, Aurum jerks back upright and glances down between them. He stumbles over a few non-words that might be an apology before backing up and leaning down to take him into his mouth without giving Chroto a chance to protest. His brow creases briefly at the taste of his own cum left behind, but it doesn't deter him at all.

After all that, it doesn't take long for Chroto to finish. He runs his fingers through Aurum's hair appreciatively as he swallows and doesn't protest when he comes up to kiss him with all the dazed passion he can muster.

Then they lay there, leaning against the bed in a messy heap.

"So, you believe me?"

Chroto looks down to the mop of blond hair still nestled against his chest and runs his hand over Aurum's back. "Yeah. It's just difficult, y'know? Hell, it's still hard to accept it when you start crying. S'hard not to think the worst. Should feel like scum if I didn't think the worst."

"If I really don't like something, I can say so. You made it pretty clear how important that was to you the first time it came grinding to a halt. I still remember the word you had me pick." Aurum nuzzles closer, sighing sleepily. "Just give me time. Let me warm up to everything new until I can ask for it myself."

"Like you'd really ask," Chroto snorts. Aurum sits up and Chroto swears the gaze he's giving him under those eyelashes will be the death of him.

"So you don't want a show after all? I guess a repeat of today wouldn't be too bad, either..."

The seductive almost-pout doesn't last long before he's hiding his face with an embarrassed huff.

Yeah, it'll be a while.

31-2 - Any combo of the above (Outdoors + Wet + Exhibitionism/Voyeurism)

Sherri didn't run across other operatives on the field very often. Planets are, well, planets. They're big. It's certainly not unheard of, especially on days where emergency cleanup is ordered in one area.

But this had been no such day. Just a long but easy client request for some measly tomatoes from the Greenscape.

It was the first time she'd heard Chroto laugh in earnest. Somewhere around the corner, he was laughing at something. She could make out a few splashes before a second round of laughter joined him, this one higher and harder to place. She eventually recognized it as the newman boy that she often found hanging around the 2nd floor balcony during Chroto's breaks, deterring her from approaching him herself. It'd been difficult to place since he always spoke so quietly. Didn't help that she'd never actually spoken with him, or even been introduced.

A bigger splash and a pause in the voices won her curiosity. She peeked around the rock and quickly ducked back further behind it upon seeing the scene in front of her.

Chroto was in the shallow lake on all fours, hovering over the boy who was sprawled beneath him in the water.

She couldn't tear her eyes away as she watched Chroto lean down to kiss the newman, a shiver visibly running through him as the boy's arms wrapped up around him.

Her heart sank as they continued, hands caressing and finding their way under armor to bring out a sigh or hum. She hadn't had high hopes that her feelings had been mutual, but seeing them outright dashed in front of her hurt.

'Hadn't pegged him as that type, either...' she thought, not really registering what was going on until well after the boy's coat was opened and his shirt pulled up to bare his chest.

'Oh my god.' She ducked back behind the rock entirely before the hand at his pants could go any further. But just because she couldn't see it didn't mean it didn't continue.

"MMhhHa! MMhh~!"

"Shhh."

"Cuh— hHhh... can— HhhHHmmMm..."

She wouldn't soon forget the low chuckle Chroto gave beneath the loud gasps and sloshing water. But after this rude awakening, she dearly wanted to forget. Didn't want to be thinking about this at night. Didn't want to end up both crying and touching herself to the memory.

There was a gasp and the sound of water got closer until a dull thud against the rock wall and a quivering whine reminded her that leaving was an option.

"HhhHah! AHhn!"

"Ha... Mmm... Au...rummm..."

'Oh yeah,' she realized, 'I'm standing here listening to two men have sex on the job. Wow. I don't know who's creepier.'

Trying to time her steps with the rest of the noise, she retreated. She'd definitely remember his name.

[*1] jfc I'm so sorry :T I can't really imagine food play so this is the best I can offer. Surprise pretzel fellatio that may or may not lead to penile fellatio.<br /> I was going to rewrite it to be something about cooking together, but it ended up being too long and involved for a drabble (not to mention not heavy enough on the kink for these drabbles), so it'll be its own one-shot later.

[*2] I'm not into it, I'm sorry. But I accidentally put Aurum in such a position, so I have to call myself out on it whenever I can.

[*3] These both take place before they're a couple.

[*4] Well, it didn't specify what KIND of branding... ... I know what it meant.

These are all the prompts I skipped and why.

1-2 - Spanking It was disappointing to skip the very first one, but I just can't see any of them being into it. Maybe a one-off ass slap in the barracks to decide nah, not for them. (Sherri may or may not fantasize about slapping Chroto's ass in public as a territorial thing, but she knows he'd hate it. Which is probably why she fantasizes about it.)

3-1 - Corset Well, Sherri isn't one for corsets, and while I have toyed with the idea of crossdressing for Aurum, I'm not really feelin' it. It's the type of thing he'd only do and get into if he was specifically asked to, and Chroto probably wouldn't even think to ask, so it's something that accidentally goes unexplored.

3-2 - Public Chroto doesn't do public. He won't even hold hands in public. The closest I can justify were covered in 6-1 (Hidden), 11-1 (Transportation), 14-1 (Outdoors), and 31-2 (Combo of Outdoors, Wet, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism), which were all either while on missions (unlikely to run into anyone) or in someone else's house. That said, any of those prompts probably could have filled in for "Public", but I chose to use them as I did.

5-2 - Humiliation This would overlap too much with 2-2 (Dirty Talk) and 5-1 (Sadism). All I can think of is just dirty talk meant to embarrass the receiver, and probably more crying, which I've already written so much of that it'd be redundant.

6-2 - Size Difference 21-1 - Big (Size difference) 22-1 - Little (Size difference) They're all relatively close in height. Sudden micro/macrophilia is fine in drawings, but it's kinda dumb in writing without a ton of setup. Only other option is aging one of them down and I won't do that. (Yes, I am aware that shrinking has been done in the PS series before. I lived (and died) the megid trap hallway of doom multiple times.)

8-1 - Rock Hard I couldn't think of anything that wasn't cringe-worthy or laughable. How do you make "rock hard" not sound stupid these days? I probably could have written something like 7-1 (Lust) but from Chroto's point of view, but it's difficult enough writing the rest of this stuff from his POV without feeling like I'm putting way too many words in his mouth and doing too much with a character that isn't mine.

10-2 - Edgeplay 20-2 - Pet Play 31-1 - Pet play I don't see them being into any form of roleplay... Or anything rough enough to count as edgeplay... Also I can hardly even put up with people who roleplay as animal people outside of their shitty public ERP sessions. What makes you think I can tolerate it in porn?

11-2 - Sadism/Masochism Already covered by 5-1 (Sadism)

12-2 - Master/Slave Another of those things I don't think any of them would be into. Chroto's too lazy to play the slave, and he'd probably ruin playing the master role by ordering the slave to do all the household chores. All three of them could definitely get into something similar, though. Something with less of a power dynamic where he just gently instructs them what to do. His voice is hypnotic.

15-2 - Sounding I admit I love the idea of this. Watching it is super fun, but I don't think I'd like to be on the receiving end. So, I haven't participated, nor have I read much about it from people who enjoy receiving it, so I was ill-equipped to write about it. There are plenty of things I'm ill-equipped to write about, but it's easy enough to smudge the details of those. I guess I could have written it from the giver's POV, who just has to take their word for it that it feels good? But I didn't. Oh well.

16-2 - Waxplay This would probably be one of those things that accidentally never gets explored. I'm also ill-equipped to write about it besides sticking my fingertips into candle wax as a kid.

17-1 - Battle I'm not sure I understood the prompt. Battle? They are soldiers, but unless it's a meaningless mission like gathering materials, they're not going to be in the sexual mindset on the battlefield. Did they expect something like "battling tongues"? Because that's been silly since it was first thought of.

17-2 - Blood/Gore Nope nope. When blood is shed, it's gone too far. They aren't that hardcore.

19-1 - Suspension idk man I don't see them having a sex swing or anything like that lol And if they got tangled in say, the vines of the Naberius forest, their partner would probably be too worried to start makin' with the sexy. Picking up? The one who'd have to do the picking up would be Chroto, and he's not gonna do that lol (It was implied some pegging goes on, and if Sherri were thirsty enough, she'd definitely hoist him up with dem Hunter muscles. But I'm not about to write about that (yet?).)

22-2 - Glory hole I couldn't see any of them doing anonymous hand/blowjobs, and just randomly having a wall between them and their partner would be pretty frickin' weird.

24-1 - Orgy Despite especially enjoying the threesome solution to love triangles, I can't bring myself to do it to these three. Sherri and Aurum just wouldn't be able to stand each-other, and neither like sharing. Sherri just wouldn't have it and would walk away. Aurum would probably go along with it 'cause he's a spineless turd and thinks "well as long as my partner is happy," and quickly sink into full blown depression.

25-2 - Boot worship I don't think any of them would be comfortable with that... Chroto would be thinking "what the hell am I doing with the gift of life so graciously given to me" Sherri would laugh in your face, "haha what" Aurum would again concede to anything until he got into it by osmosis

26-1 - Cage play Similar to Suspension, I don't see them owning something so big for these reasons.

26-2 - Shotgunning I am ill-equipped to write about this, and also I like to limit my characters to one vice unless they're a real fucking mess, and it's fallen on light drinking for them.

28-1 - Burn Similar to the Blood/Gore prompt.

28-2 - Xenophilia (Objects/Aliens etc) That's gwanada doujin territory lol It's like the micro/macro thing for me. It's fun in artwork, but requires way too many suspensions of disbelief, too much rule-bending to work in writing. I mean, why would a tentacle monster want to stick its tentacles in human sexual organs? Why would it have that instinct, when it's not meant to breed with them? So uh. The closest I could get is making particular mention of newman ears? And I already wrote that! Hahah...

29-2 - Watersports/Omorashi I have these blacklisted for a reason.

[my-innerenemy-blog]

Inner Enemy

It has been a couple of days without entries....they have been good (sort of) and busy.  Today apprehension came back in the form of the nagging feeling that some water with brain eating amoebas entered my nose and are eating my brain.  The fact that I ve felt some stiffness in the joint of my neck and back makes me even more apprehensive.  So I guess it is fitting to write.

Today I want to write about the title of my blog: my inner enemy.  I guess that it came to me when I had that panic attack in the gas station’s restroom.  When I pulled near Somerset, PA and cried in bitterness, it came to me that I had to accept something that I have not wanted to ever since this anxiety ordeal started: I am not a person...I am persons....persons or personalities inside that form a collective of voices that rob my attention and serenity away.  Most of the time the collective splits in two camps: the “I” camp and the “self” camp.  I took those definitions from Eckhart Tolle’s Power of Now because it is true: In the car I felt that I could not live with myself.....my.....self.  The “My” is the “I” and the “self” is the is collective of fearful and alarming voices that get triggered at the smallest stimuli. Call it “water droplet sensation”, “wind with water knocking my face”, “muscle tension in my back”; whatever can trigger the attention of my brain’s orbital section (I have read that is the section that deals with alertness) will immediately push the self into an uproar of alarm, fear, anxiety, panic, and depression that will rob me away any happiness, peace, interest, and motivation that I have.  This is my self....my inner enemy.

I guess that i have always had it.  When I was little I was always anxious of not being liked and always felt out of place (dad not being in the picture would compound to this feelings).  In my adolescence years these feelings of awkwardness would be joined by extremely low self-esteem and a very explosive alcoholic household where I was always either being called names by my stepdad or screamed and chewed out by my mom.  After I finished high school, alcoholism made its presence known in the form of the nagging feeling that only through alcohol i could relate to people and feel assured of myself (TBH I had been doing this since high school).  Thus, my inner enemy, or the self which groups the many voices in my head hampering my normal mental status, has always been there.  When I got into a 12 step program things improved drastically in several ways:  I got clean and sober through steps and traditions that helped me turn my life and will to the care of a higher power as I understood it as well as working on character flaws.  Yet, I guess that I fell asleep in my achievements in between graduating from my undergrad and coming to the U.S. for graduate school.  

While in the U.S. I realize that the way I have carried my life has been conducive to the return of the inner enemy.  Back in the homeland, I had a very strong 12 step support network that were actual friends while here I have not been able to develop that.  Pride has been one of the reasons as at times I have felt left out because of the language and fluency.  Other reasons might be social anxiety (however comfortable I feel with English, it makes me social interactions at the emotional level more difficult because I feel foreign to the setting...newsflash I am! hahahaha), school, time.  In the homeland I felt that life was full of possibilities while here I have had a sobering dose of reality which is good: life is eternal yes, but everything comes in doses and with a time and place.  Regardless of reasons, the conditions were laid for the return of my anxiety. When I heard about my professor that was the perfect moment for anxiety to launch an assault. And it was fitting...thanks to the program and a spiritual relationship with God as I (mis)understand it, I was not the same socially insecure person.  But I still have insecurities like all of us, and anxiety hit me right in the one where everything hinges in my life: My spiritual life.

I believe that during my first years in the program, my inner enemy was put in check by God.  You see there is no other way around for an addict like me.  Whoever you are (if someone ever reads this) I know that God (or G-d as I will now refer to it-I am not Jewish btw) divides people nowadays.  I do not and cannot dive into the issue that is behind that division: G-d’s existence and nature.  But I can explain that as an addict, for over 13 years I did everything to get my life together and nothing worked.  One starry night, afraid that there might be no solution for me I walked through the doors of that meeting and was offered a program that, in its second step, required willingness to believe in a Higher power as I understood it and, in its third step, called me to trust It with my life and will.  At first I resisted.  I was angry with G-d....where was He when I suffered, where was He when my mom beat me, where was He when I was ridiculed.  Later, the force of addiction pushed me into acknowledging that I could not do this on my own and turned to Him for those two steps.  Everything got better after that and (one day at a time) I am clean now with a life beyond anything I could have imagined.  As an addict my story is no different than that of millions that have found recovery through the same program and that leads me to assert that G-d is real....we are people who were beyond medical and psychiatric help who today are sober....G-d is the reason for that and he put my inner enemy in check.

That is why my relationship with G-d was the ripe target for my self when it came back in force last year.  The self chose to use the incident with my professor to raise the insidious question of: Why would a righteous person have to suffer with something like cancer?  Last year, as it became clear that there was very very low possibility that my neuralgia  was that gliobastoma my self was alarming me about, it used the death of a young girl by nagleria fowleri while she was in a church trip in South Carolina.  The self says: Can you really trust your life and will to a G-d that did not protect that girl?  That is why it attacked right there and that led me to increasingly do one of the things that my program suggest that I do not do: take the reins of my life back from G-d. But hey, it has served exactly the opposite purpose.  The self tells me that I cannot trust G-d and that i have to protect myself.  Last year it started with no putting my head below the showerhead, then it evolved to putting it to wash my hair but not breathing, then it evolved to breathing through the mouth and blowing air through my nose to avoid droplets entering and infecting me with nagleria fowleri, then it evolved to avoid any sort of watery liquids near my nose, then it evolved to not being able to look at the dishes while I was washing them out fear that droplets might squirt up to my nose, then it became covering my nose while I peed out of fear that toilet water droplets might find their way to my nose, then it became into generalized fear of public restrooms, nowadays I am afraid of drinking coffee because some liquid might accidentally enter my nose.  Today, while blowing air through my nose during my shower there was a noise in my throat that my self turned into fear that the amoeba had entered my brain and now I am fixated with the alleged neck stiffness that proofs that I will die in seven days (it is easy to get neck stiffness when I am literally pulling muscles everytime I turn my head away from the sink).

The thing is that my inner enemy says I cannot trust G-d in this world of messiness and randomness and that I have to protect myself.  Yet, for all those protections I have described I am living less and less. How many of you actually enjoy and relax in the shower? How many of you drink water freely from the tap or have your coffee with peace of mind? How many of you enjoy walking in the rain and playing in the snow? How many of you wash your face with peace of mind?  How many of you don’t freak out when a water droplet touches your face or nostrils?  I am pretty sure 99% of you.  This is the thing, in the process of indulging the requests for self protection of my inner enemy i have lost my life...

I only wish G-d would find me again so that He could put my inner enemy in check again.  In the meantime I will have to keep battling my urges to self protect myself.  I will have to work to re-learn to trust life and will to His care and let go.  I will have to keep going to meetings and anxiety support groups to learn to be comfortable with my discomfort and to tell the difference between thought and reality.