#I’ll try to do some Dip since I think I can draw better on paper then digital
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mxviko · 10 months ago
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Traditional drawings I did of Leslie ft Kyle
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This is me attempting pen sketching and since I’m extra I colored it
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Leslie x Kyle doodles because uggg I like themm they make me sad
I had extra space on the bottom of the page so I did the Scott pilgrim scene because it was on the front page of my Pinterest. I don’t like had it came out-
But what can you do
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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years ago
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Day 140: I Need You
"Alright, Potter," Robards said, "I need you to finish filling out these papers, then I need you to finish that proposal we're sending to the minister about increasing the DMLE's budget for next year."
"Right," Harry said, taking a fortifying breath.
"Don't forget how important it is that we get that extra funding," he continued. "It could be the difference between life or death for some of our aurors."
"Yes," Harry affirmed. "I'll have it ready. I'll take it to Kingsley myself this afternoon."
Robards looked at him curiously, "This afternoon?"
"We've got a meeting about the upcoming charity season," he added. "trying to decide which events I'm needed to speak at."
"Right. Good," Robards said, and Harry could see the wheels in his mind turning already as he thought about the leverage this could conceivably give Harry.
Before he could say anything more or ask Harry to do something else that he wasn't entirely comfortable with, Harry fled, waving to Robards as he made a beeline to his office. He closed the door as quickly as he could, separating himself from the pressure waiting just outside his door.
"Rough start to the day?" Draco queried lightly.
Harry turned and glared at him, "I hate budgeting time! I hate charity season! I hate that I can't even make it to my desk in the morning before I'm accosted by these-" he broke off, searching for the right word, "these vultures!"
"Well, if it helps I brought you a pumpkin latte," Draco offered, pointing to the to-go cup on Harry's desk.
"That does help a little," he confessed as he made his way over to his desk and dropped his bag on the floor.
(Read more below the cut)
"So I'm guessing that we'll not be heading out on an active duty assignment today," Draco said with a sigh.
Harry winced and rubbed the back of his neck, "Probably not."
"Well. Which part should I help with first?" Draco asked.
He shook his head, "You don't have to-"
"What else should I do? Just sit at my desk all day and watch you?"
Huffing a defeated sigh, Harry held out the beginnings of the budget proposal he'd been writing, "Could you work on the budget, then?"
Draco took it from him, "Good choice," he said. "You know, our partnership really did end up working out well," he mused. "All of my father's political expertise has come in handy after all."
And Harry didn't say anything, but that was probably one of the most disheartening things he'd heard all day. Draco had joined the aurors to avoid becoming like he father and here he was, doing exactly what his father would have done, thanks to Harry.
If he hadn't felt like crap about himself before, he certainly did now.
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It was a long day (most days were, if Harry was being honest) and after leaving a board meeting with Kingsley and a handful of other Ministry officials Harry trudged back to his office because he wasn't sure he'd be able to make it any further.
He collapsed into his chair and put his head down on his desk and tried to not think of all of the things he'd been asked to do, of all of ways he was needed.
"Hey," Draco said, entering the office behind him and Harry startled.
"What are you still doing here?" Harry asked, sitting up to look at the other man.
Draco shrugged, "I just had a few things to finish up," he said. It was a lie and they both knew it. "Wondered if you wanted to come to mine for dinner?"
Without letting himself think about whether it was an imposition or not, Harry nodded.
The other man smiled at him, "Let's go then. Everything else can wait until tomorrow."
"Oh," Harry said, frowning at the papers on his desk and thinking that he really ought to make himself a list of the things he'd agreed to at the very least, "I should just-"
"It can wait until tomorrow," Draco repeated, somehow firm but gentle all at once, grounding him in the way that no one else seemed able to these days.
He nodded once and they made their way toward the floo. It was late enough that the lights had all been dimmed and only the enchanted brooms and dusters were out, tidying from the day.
Harry followed Draco through the fireplace into his kitchen and collapsed into the chair at the kitchen table.
"I hate charity season," Harry groaned as Draco passed him a beer, the kind that Harry knew he didn't even like but got because Harry was at his house so often.
"Let's not talk about work," Draco said, as he headed toward his door just as the door bell rang, "Our Indian food is here, anyway," he added with a smirk since he knew that Harry could never work out how Draco always knew when the food was going to arrive.
When he got back to the kitchen, carrying bags that had Harry's mouth watering, Harry asked, "What would you like to talk about, if not work?"
"Literally anything," Draco said, handing him a container of rice and the chicken vindaloo.
He frowned as he dipped his food, trying to think of anything that he could talk about that wasn't related to work.
"You work too much," Draco informed him.
"You work as much as I do," Harry protested.
The other man snorted, "Only because if I didn't, you'd never leave."
"Great," Harry said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Let's just add one more thing that I am responsible for that I can proceed to fail at living up to," he snapped.
Draco's eyebrows rose in surprise as he froze with his fork midway to his mouth.
"Sorry," Harry said, shaking his head and trying to clear it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Harry," Draco said softly, laying a hand on Harry's arm to draw his attention outward.
"What?"
"Relax," he said. "I don't need you."
Harry nodded, tears stinging the back of his eyes, "No, I know-"
"I do want you," he continued. "I want to be your partner, I want to be your friend. I'd want to be more if that was something you were interested in. But I don't need you."
Harry swallowed, a bit at a loss. He'd wondered (hoped) that Draco might feel the same way he did but he wasn't sure what to say.
"The pressure you're under," Draco said with a little shake of the head, "It's a lot, Harry. And I need you to know that no matter what, I'm here for you. I will always support you, I will always do my best to help you, and I will always tell you to take a break and take care of yourself," he said. "Or I'll insist that you let me take care of you."
"You shouldn't have to take care of me," he protested.
"I don't have to, I want to," he replied. "It's a small, but important distinction," he added with a little smile.
Harry looked down at his food.
Draco let him think, let him mull it over while they ate and listened to the quiet music drifting through the wireless.
Eventually, Harry said, "I think I want that, too," he swallowed. "The more than just friendship part."
The other man stayed silent, letting Harry speak and process.
"But I can't just jump into another commitment right now," he said. "Being a boyfriend seems like a lot of work, and I don't think-"
Draco's hand covered his and Harry looked up to see that Draco's eyes were on him, soft and understanding. "It's okay," he repeated. "If you just want to keep things the same as they are now, that's okay. If you want to spend Fridays cuddling on the sofa in front of the telly, that's okay. If you want to have someone to take to events with you, or if you want to take a step back," he shrugged. "It's all fine, Harry. I've loved you for a decade at this point, nothing's going to change."
A pleasant tingle of surprise drifted up his spine. "If I wanted to kiss you?" Harry asked before he could think better of it.
The corner of Draco's mouth curled at the corner, "I'd let you."
He leaned across the edge of the table and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth where his smile had blossomed.
"Can we take this slow?" Harry asked, still only inches from Draco.
Draco nodded, "Slow as you like. All you have to do is tell me what you want."
"Can we cuddle after dinner?"
He smiled, "I'd like that very much."
"Would you-" Harry started before breaking off and pulling back slightly so he could search Draco's face.
"Tell me," Draco encouraged.
"Would you stroke my hair?" he asked quickly before his courage could desert him. Draco had done that once, when they were very drunk and Harry still let himself go back to that place in his mind when he was feeling tired or upset.
Draco smiled at him, "Yes," he replied immediately. "Yeah, I would like that very much, too."
"And if that's all I'm ready for?" Harry asked.
"Then that's what we'll do," Draco replied with a little shrug like he really didn't mind. "Let me," he whispered, thumb brushing over the back of Harry's hand. "Let me love you in any way you feel ready right now."
He took a deep breath. It was surprisingly terrifying, even letting down his guard that much, allowing even that tiny amount of vulnerability. "Okay," he finally said.
"Yeah?" Draco asked, eyes skimming over Harry's face, searching for any sign of unease.
"Yeah," Harry repeated, smiling at him.
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After dinner the moved into the living room and Draco put on a movie. They just sat next to each other for a while, Harry's shoulder pressed against Draco's, his right thigh pushed up against Draco's left.
After about half an hour, Harry finally broke the silence. "Can you-?" Harry started before trailing off.
Draco looked over at him and gave him a little nod, putting a cushion on his lap so Harry could lay his head down. And then he started playing with Harry's hair, gently rubbing his scalp, combing his fingers through Harry's curls.
"Thank you," Harry murmured after a little while, feeling calm and a bit sleepy for the first time in ages.
"Anytime," Draco replied as he continued to toy with Harry's hair.
"I think I'm going to fall asleep," Harry mumbled.
Draco just kept stroking his hair. "Good," he murmured. "Sweet dreams."
And as Harry drifted off, he found that his dreams were in fact very sweet.
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Day 139: Expectations | Day 141: What? Why? How? When?
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fanficimagery · 4 years ago
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When Enough is Enough pt. II
Imagine being let down one too many times by your best friend, only to end up making some new ones in the process.
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Words: 8.5K Author’s Note: Okay so some of you asked to only be added to part 2 of this while others asked to be added everything Bucky.. and a few others weren’t exactly clear. So if you want to be tagged in any future Bucky related imagines please let me know so I can get your blog name written down on my list.
Tags:  @aya-fay @70s-chic @sipsteacasually @kaitlyn2907 @scarlettwitch99 @thingsforimagination  @mimilh @felicityofbakerstreet @eternalharry @eliwinchester99 @intothesoul​ @wintershadowkat  @b1sexualtonystark  @meredeph @miszswan
The Sunday before you are to return to work, you sleep in until nine in the morning. Your thoughts are immediately on Bucky's impending arrival and you couldn't help the butterflies that took flight in your stomach. He's a friend, just as all the others are, but you couldn't help but notice just how attractive this new friend of yours is. But not only does his attractiveness draw you in, his easy-going teasing and protectiveness does too. However, Bucky Barnes is still a man trying to find his footing in this world after all that's been done to him and finally getting his name cleared, and if he finds comfort with you then you're going to try your best and be the friend he needs.
So since you're not dressing to impress, you dress in your favorite lazy outfit after your shower- leggings, sports bra, a faded sleeveless band tee with the arm holes having been cut down to around your ribs, and a pair of socks. Damp hair gets gathered up into a messy bun and you walk around your apartment to pick up some things you had unknowingly left out.
You've skipped breakfast, so when there's a knock on your door and you open up to find Bucky standing there, you groan in relief. He raises both hands with paper bags hanging from each. "I come bearing sushi. Wanda let it slip how much you love it."
"Yesss." You step back, quickly taking in his own comfort outfit of sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt under an opened jacket. "Did you bring plenty of wasabi? And you can just kick off your shoes anywhere."
"Of course." He hands you the bags so he can kick off his shoes and strip out of his jacket before hanging it up. You don't know why, but seeing him in a short sleeve shirt makes you happy, knowing full well he was weird about his metal arm being out in the open. "And plenty of dipping sauce as well. Wanda was more than happy to give me advice."
"Wanda, huh?" You chuckle, leading the way to your kitchen. "You actually told her where'd you be?"
"Apparently I looked very pensive this morning. She asked and I figured she was a better confidant than Steve or Sam who would have made a big deal about us hanging out."
"True." Setting the bags down, you let him empty them while you head to the fridge. "Beer?"
"Yeah."
Grabbing him a beer and yourself a can of Cola, you return to the table and your eyes widen at the sight of all the sushi. "Damn, Barnes. That's a lot of sushi."
"Don't act like you won't eat half of it."
You laugh as you take a seat, handing him his beer and pulling a few trays to your side of the table. You take a container of wasabi and dipping sauce for yourself, and grab a pair of chopsticks to start digging in.
You moan in delight at your first taste, happily shimmying in your seat before taking another. Eventually, you ask, "So what are you going to do when I'm back at work and I can't keep you entertained by getting shitfaced?"
Bucky grins around his mouthful of food before chasing it down with a swig of his beer. "We actually got a mission comin' up so I'll be leavin' around mid-week."
"Well that sucks." You sigh. "Now who am I going to send random pictures to when I have downtime at work?"
He grins. "You can still send them to me. I just won't get back to you until after the mission's complete."
"Yeah, yeah."
The two of you continue to eat- Bucky dodging Steve's texts about where he is and when he's coming back, and you sending the middle finger emoji over and over to Wanda who keeps wondering how your date is going. Then once most of the sushi is gone and Bucky puts what little is left into the fridge, the two of you head to the living room. You immediately flop onto the couch as Bucky takes the plush recliner, only for you to hear him moving the chair into its reclined position seconds later.
"Oh. I definitely need to get one of these."
You laugh as he snuggles down and you pick up the remote to bring up your streaming services. "Anything you've been meaning to watch?"
"Not really. Just show me your favorites."
You start off with some humor by playing the Goonies. It's a movie that no matter how many times you've seen it, it always seems to make you laugh. And it seems Bucky is not immune either when they make Chunk to the truffle shuffle. Titanic plays afterwards, but only after making sure Bucky found it somewhat interesting after reading the movie summary to him. He is interested from beginning to end and doesn't even laugh at you when you shed a few tears for the old married couple who opt to stay in their bed as the room floods.
When a break is needed, you head off towards the bathroom as Bucky finishes off the leftover sushi. Both of you check your phones and read each other the missed text messages from Steve and his worrying behavior.
"Wanna tell Steve to fuck off via video message?" Bucky takes a moment to think on it before he grins and nods. "Excellent. Sit in the recliner. I'm gonna crawl up all in your business. That okay?"
"Yeah."
As Bucky gets comfortable in the recliner, you sit on the armrest before sliding down sideways onto his lap. You bring up the camera app on your phone and switch it to video, sliding your right arm behind Bucky's neck while holding your left arm out to capture the two of you on the screen. "Ready?"
"Sure, doll."
You chuckle quietly and then smirk mischievously as Bucky relaxes his expression into his best resting bitch face. After you hit record, you say, "Hey Rogers, stop being a little bitch and sending us text after text. I'm tryin' to fuck your best friend here." Bucky's expression cracks as he barks out a laugh and you turn to face him while grinning. You share a laugh with him before facing the camera once more. "Only joking, but seriously stop buggin' us. I promise to send him back in one piece."
As you prepare to send the text to Steve, Bucky says, "You're terrible."
"Whatever. Admit it, you adore me."
"Occasionally."
You huff another laugh as the video message finally sends. You and Bucky both watch as the delivered status turns to read, and then those three little dots appear as Steve starts typing his reply.
"Tell Bucky to wrap it before he taps it." You burst out laughing at Steve's text, Bucky's rumbling laughter only fueling yours even more. "God I hate your best friend sometimes." And before you climb off Bucky's lap, because honestly you were getting a little too comfortable, you send Steve a few middle finger emojis before deciding on a third movie to watch.
The third movie you choose is one that never fails to make you laugh- Bridesmaids. You had a moment of hesitancy because of the sex scenes, but you figured they were ridiculous enough that it wouldn't be awkward. Thankfully you're correct and you get the added bonus of hearing Bucky's laughter again during Megan's scenes, especially when they get food poisoning and are all fighting for the bathroom.
You and Bucky take yet another break after the film, just stretching and finding something to drink.
"So what's the verdict, Barnes? Are you enjoying the films?"
He grins. "Your taste is all over the place, huh? That last one we watched was raunchy."
"But hilarious! You need to watch the Hangover trilogy, but you definitely need to watch that with Steve and then watch him squirm at the pictures that roll with the credits."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Jurassic Park holds his attention and he can't help but comment how stupid one has to be to replicate dinosaur DNA and then open up a park with live dinosaurs. You laugh, but don't bother commenting. You'll tell him later there are more movies involved, with yet another idiotic man who felt he could get the park up and running once more.
It's getting dark, but it's still a little too early for dinner. One more movie and then you'll order or go out and pick something up.
"So this last one for the day is a movie that's directed more towards the female viewers, but you did ask for my favorite films and Practical Magic is my absolute favorite."
"Well put it on, doll."
As you press play on Practical Magic, you quickly grab a throw blanket and snuggle in. Instead of watching Bucky, you watch the film and mumble certain quotes to yourself. The magic scenes always bring a soft smile to your face just as Gary's confession to Sally of I wished for you too breaks your heart, and Sally and Gillian's heartfelt sister moment makes you cry.
Afterwards, Bucky hums in thought. "So that's your favorite?"
"Absolutely." You tell him. He's watching you curiously and you grin. "If I show you something, you promise not to laugh?"
"I'll try."
"Whatever. That's good enough for me." Standing up, you walk towards him and kneel, and tell him to pull your shirt sideways by the armhole next to your left arm. There on the back of your left shoulder and forever etched into your skin is a salt shaker, a rosemary plant, a lavender plant, and a heart. You then rattle off one of your favorite quotes to him. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."
Bucky chuckles as you get up, retaking your spot on the sofa. "You really are a fan of the movie."
You nod. "As a little girl, I was fascinated by magic. I thought I'd grow out of it, but I only grew more fond of it. And then I found Practical Magic and it had a bit of everything I adored."
"So what's the one scene that just gets you every time?"
"Ugh. You're making me choose?!" You feign being distraught and he grins. As you think about it, you keep coming back to two scenes in particular. "So there's two," you tell him, "and I'm not choosing between them." Bucky nods, awaiting your answer. "Gillian's possession. When Sally calls together the other mothers who were mean to her in order to make a temporary coven to save her sister, and Gillian begs Sally to just let her ghost ex have her."
Bucky hums. "That was a bit sad, doll. I saw you shedding a few tears over that."
"Mhm. And the other scene is when Sally comes clean to Gary and admits that she did a spell as a child to call forth her perfect love thinking it wouldn't exist, only it did. When Gary tells Sally that he wished for her too, it just breaks my fuckin' heart."
"Let me guess, you were one of the girls who cast her own spell after seeing that scene." You stay quiet for a moment and the second you feel your face heat, Bucky laughs. "What did you wish for?"
You groan quietly. "If I tell you, you can't laugh!" He only smiles in response and you know he won't drop it until you tell him. "Fine. So even though I knew it would never work, I gathered the weirdest objects and wished for a significant other with dark hair and colored eyes. He had to be protective and funny and love me for me. Simple."
For some reason you can't seem to meet Bucky's gaze then and you feel awkward the longer the silence stretches on.
"So dinner?" He asks.
"Oh god, yes please. Pizza and wings?"
"Sounds good."
You have the nearby pizza place on speed dial, so after finding out Bucky's preferences you make the call and place the order. It's going to be about a thirty minute wait, so you fill the time sending Steve pic after pic of Bucky who's none the wiser as he scrolls through his own phone and adding the most asinine comments to each picture. Steve thinks it's absolutely hilarious.
Then when the pizza and wings arrive, you beat Bucky to the door and thrust several bills at the delivery boy. He's more than happy with his tip and you hurriedly wave him off before shutting the door. You laugh at Bucky's disgruntled expression and then place everything on the table while gathering a beer for both you and him.
"Don't let me have more than two," you tell him while handing him his own bottle of beer.
Bucky agrees and the two of you dig into your own personal pizzas and boxes of wings once you're situated around the table. As you're eating, Bucky asks about what other movies you hold near and dear. You fill him in on a few others and he hesitantly puts it out there that he'd be up for another movie marathon when you both have a day off. You agree that that's doable.
Halfway through dinner, as you and Bucky are chuckling over the thought of making Steve sit through Bridesmaids, there's a sound of glass breaking from your living room and a muffled curse. The two of you immediately cease making any type of noise and Bucky is up with a gun in hand.
"Where the hell did that come from?! You hiss.
The telltale sound of a window then sliding shut can be heard.
"Shut up and get behind me."
The authority in his voice makes you freeze and your heart flutter at the same time, and you have to mentally scold yourself before you quickly do as he says. You follow Bucky towards the living, ready to duck at the ready, only to sigh and roll your eyes when you see who it is.
Bucky stands tall and lowers his gun. "Parker." You can practically hear the annoyance in his voice.
"Mr. Barnes?" Peeking around his shoulder, you raise your eyebrow at your best friend who's been too busy for you and is now frowning at Bucky. When he catches sight of you, he asks, "What's going on?"
"Uh, well we were having dinner until we thought someone was breaking in."
"Alone?!"
Your brow furrows at Peter's incredulousness, only for him to realize you're not impressed with his tone. You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms over your chest. "Did you need something?"
"Oh, um, yeah." He shifts from foot to foot, gesturing to his face where there's a scrape on his cheekbone. "My ribs took a beating too. Can you patch me up?"
"Sure." You sigh. "Why not."
Before you can leave to go to the bathroom to get the supplies you need, Bucky says, "I'll just get out of your way then."
You stop and face him. "What? But we haven't even finished our food. It won't take me long."
"It's fine, doll." He grins when he realizes you're trying to get him to stay. "You gotta hit the hay early anyway. We'll talk soon."
You hold his gaze for a moment longer, sighing when he won't budge. "Well at least take your food with you. No use in it going to waste."
Bucky nods and heads back to the kitchen, collecting his food. You watch him and then follow him to the door, holding his food while he bends over to lace up his boots. Once he retakes his food and you open the door, he thanks you for the time away from the tower and disappears down the hall.
Shutting the door and then heading back into the living room, you tell Peter to get back into his regular clothes so you can get to his ribs while you go gather your medical supplies.
Meeting Peter back in the living room and setting everything down on the coffee table, he says, "So you and Bucky-"
"Don't." You pick up the peroxide bottle and soak a cotton ball in it. "Bucky and I are friends."
Peter manages to keep his mouth shut as you clean the scrape on his cheek and place a small bandage on it. Then when you've checked his ribs and tell him he just needs to ice them, he mumbles, "Friends who apparently lick each other." You snort and think nothing of his sullen tone, but when you look at his face you see he's actually being quite serious. There's no chuckle or boyish grin and for a moment you're absolutely floored at his attitude. "I don't think I'm comfortable with Bucky being alone with you in your apartment."
"Are you- are you kidding me?" You huff and take a step back from him. When Peter just continues to frown, you shake your head at him. "First of all, I'm an adult woman who can make her own decisions."
"I know, but-"
"I'm not finished!" You snap. Peter's eyes widen, but he smartly ceases talking. "I am allowed to have friends whether you like them or not. We have a pact, Petey, and since I'm still abiding by it I would hope that you would too."
"Yeah, but that's for significant others!"
"Significant others or friends, it doesn't matter. And you should be grateful I've kept my mouth shut when it comes to you and Leslie because let me tell you, I've been biting my tongue a lot these past few weeks. Bucky and the others have stepped up since you've abandoned me, so you have absolutely no room to tell me that you're uncomfortable with him or any of them being around me."
"Leslie isn't that bad and I have not abandoned you." You snort, but don't bother opening that can of worms even further. He finally gets annoyed with your quietness. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"You're here because you needed a bandage. Tell me, Peter, where are you going after here? Where are you going after making five minutes of small talk and calling it a night?" He opens his mouth and then snaps it shut, shrugs, and you shake your head at him once more in disappointment. "Exactly. Just go, Peter. I'm so over this conversation right now and I have work in the morning."
"Wait, but we promised we'd never leave a conversation where we were still annoyed with each other!"
"And we also promised we'd never judge who the other decided to spend time with, but here we are." He frowns at you. "Go to your girlfriend, Peter. We'll talk again in another few days or weeks or whenever. I don't care right now."
Peter stands there, gaping, before he pulls himself together and makes his way back towards the window he had crawled through. He glances at you one last time, but you merely keep staring until his mask encompasses his head once more and he lifts the window before taking his leave.
As the window shuts behind him, you sag in on yourself and your breathing stutters in your chest as your eyes fill with tears. You've never been this angry at Peter and the fact that he thinks it's okay to ignore you until he needs something and then has an opinion about who you hang out with was just too much for you to let slide.
You quickly gather everything from your coffee table and return it to its rightful place in your bathroom, and throw away the trash. Your appetite is long gone, so you put up what's left of your food and then head to your room to gather some clothes so you can shower and get into bed.
By the time you've crawled into bed, you're still a bit annoyed. So grabbing your phone, you pull up your text messages and click on Bucky's thread.
To Bucky: Well that was a shit show. I don't think I've ever made Petey leave my apartment while we were still angry with each other.
From Bucky: I'm sorry, doll. Anything I can do?
To Bucky: If he gives you attitude, get a non-serum individual to punch him. You, Steve, and probably Nat will send him flying into the wall.
From Bucky: If I remember..
To Bucky: Well I mean if you forget, I won't complain. I'll probably laugh when he comes crying to me.
From Bucky: You're a terrible human being.
To Bucky: Whatever. You adore me just the way I am. And now I should get some shut eye. I'll talk to you soon. Night, Sarge.
From Bucky: Night, sweetheart.
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For the next couple of weeks, you keep yourself busy with work. Bucky and a few others do go on a mission as he said they would, so you keep your texts to a minimum of three each day- a good morning, a random story from that day, and a good night. They're gone for four days and in those four days you've not heard from Peter. The only reason you know he's not completely done with you is the fact he likes your posts that you put up on social media.
But since you're not currently speaking to your best friend and are too exhausted to hang out with anyone else, you're in a bit of a funk and completely caught off guard one evening when the patient a police officer brings in smacks you right across the face. You had been trying to insert an IV into his arm when he completely lost his shit, and then you were hit so hard that you were strewn across the gurney behind you. And in your vulnerable position, a fistful of your hair had been grabbed and yanked right before the police officer had intervened and pulled the patient off of you.
You had been given a bit of time to ice your cheek before you had to get back to work, but your face and scalp were hurting you the entire time.
On your way home, however, you're surprised to receive a call from Pepper. You're heading towards your apartment complex when she invites you to dinner there at the tower since Darcy is finally back in town, and you hate to do it, but you're not exactly up to be around such a rowdy bunch. So you apologize to Pepper and ask her to apologize to Darcy for you, and take a rain check. Immediately she knows something is wrong, but you only tell her you had a rough night at work and all you want is a hot shower and to crawl into bed. She hesitates but wishes you well, and the call ends moments later.
When you get home, you waste no time in locking the door behind you and heading straight for your bathroom. You strip down and take the hottest shower your body is capable of handling, and let yourself relax in the steam-filled room. Afterwards, as you're drying off, you gently dry your hair since your scalp is still sensitive and then get dressed in some of your comfort clothes.
Then heading out into the kitchen, you find some leftovers in your fridge and heat those up, tiredly sitting at your kitchen table and digging in. Just as you're done with your food and heading towards the living room, someone pounds on your apartment door. You sigh, hoping they go away, and have only plopped down onto the sofa when a familiar gruff voice speaks through the wood.
You quietly groan as Bucky tells you he knows you're there and you get up to open the door for him. He's on the verge of knocking again when you swing the door open. "Hey. Pepper said-" He trails off as he takes in your appearance, expression going slack before his jaw clenches in anger. "Who?"
You shake your head, gesturing him inside as you turn around and walk towards your sofa. You hear your door click shut before the footsteps follow you. "Work got a little hectic. No need to hunt down anyone, Barnes. I'm fine."
"Half your face is bruised, doll. You are not fine."
"It's all part of my job." You shrug and plop down onto the sofa once more. Pulling a blanket over your lap, you stare up at your friend. "There will always be a drunk and disorderly patient. I was just lucky he didn't do more damage."
Bucky frowns, but he doesn't push you on it. Instead, he walks over and sits next to you, angling his body towards yours when gentle fingers grasp your chin to angle your face more towards him. "What exactly happened?" He asks as his eyes dart over every inch of your face.
"Some petty criminal did some damage to his head in the back of a patrol car. Police officer brought him in and he seemed pretty docile up until I jabbed him with the IV. He got the drop on me. It happens." Gentle fingers brush along your cheekbone and you flinch. Tears sting your eyes as you sniffle. "I'm fine."
"Just because you keep sayin' that doesn't mean it's true."
Your bottom lip wobbles at his words and you lose the battle with keeping the tears at bay. The moment they fall, Bucky pulls you into a hug and you cry into his shoulder. "Dammit," you mumble. "See what you started!"
Bucky chuckles and he holds you a few moments longer, rubbing a hand up and your back to offer a semblance of comfort. When he lets you go, you fall back against the sofa cushions and wipe the tears away with your blanket. "So what are we watching?" He asks while settling in next to you and draping an arm behind your head.
"Shouldn't you go back to the tower and have dinner with the rest of them? I'm-"
"If you say you're fine one more time, I will drag you back to the tower and let Steve motherhen you."
You sigh. "Low blow, Buckaroo."
"And for that horrendous nickname, you've lost the privilege of choosing what we're going to watch."
You laugh and don't bother arguing with him about it as he leans across you to snag up the remote. When he settles back down and you snuggle into his side, you huff a small laugh when he settles on TLC which is showing 90 Day Fiancé.
"Why this show?" You ask.
"Because it blows my mind that some people are so oblivious and can't see that their chosen partner is only in it for the green card."
As you let his reasoning sink in, you can't help but giggle as you picture Bucky sitting in his own apartment and bad mouthing the TV because he didn't like the decisions the people were making in their love life. You watch along with him, cringing at the more obvious couples that are only headed for future divorce and smiling when one of the couples is actually in it for love.
You manage to almost watch a complete two hour episode when there's a knock on your door, but you're too comfortable to get up and answer it.
"You get it," you say as you nudge Bucky.
He nudges you back. "It's your apartment."
"Yeah, but I don't feel like getting up."
"You could have at least come up with a better excuse."
You grin, finally taking your eyes off the screen and glancing up at Bucky. "M'too tired. Brain's not working fast enough." He continues to give you a deadpan stare until you jut out your bottom lip. "Please?"
The second Bucky's lips twitch, you know you've won. He huffs and roughly pushes himself up off the sofa as if answering the door is a hardship, and you go back to watching TV. At least until you hear a familiar voice stammer, "Uh, h-hey Mr. Barnes. Is Y/N home?"
Your gaze snaps towards the door where Peter is standing out in the hallway, hands in his pockets as he sheepishly stares at Bucky. The man in question turns and raises an eyebrow at you as if saying what do I do and you give him a terse nod to let him know it's okay. Bucky steps aside and Peter readily walks in.
"I should be getting back to the tower," Bucky suddenly says. "You kids have fun."
This time it's your turn to give him a deadpan stare and he smirks right before slipping his boots back on. Then as soon as they're laced up, he's walking out the door and shutting it behind him. Peter, who hadn't stopped staring at the intimidating man, finally turns to look at you. And when he does, his eyes widen.
"What happened to your face?!"
You sigh. "I'm fine. Just had a little incident at work."
"And Mr. Barnes was what? Comforting you?"
"First of all, can you stop calling him Mr. Barnes? You two avenge together and what not. I'm pretty sure that means you're on a first name basis." Peter grins as he takes a seat on the recliner near you, shrugging. "And Bucky was here because when I turned down dinner at the tower, Pepper figured something was wrong. Bucky took it upon himself to check in."
"So are you two like a thing or something?" He wonders.
"We're just.. friends," you say. "For some unknown reason we clicked and we're comfortable in each other's company."
For a moment Peter doesn't say anything, nor will he meet your gaze, but then he's looking at you and sighing. "I'm sorry." You blink at him, surprised to hear the apology. "I shouldn't have freaked out that one night. Who you are friends with and who you decide to date is your business."
You finally smile, even though it's rather small. "Thank you. And don't get me wrong, I know you meant well, but you should have dropped it and just trusted my judgment."
"Yeah. I know," he mumbles.
"Soo.. are we good?" You ask.
"Yeah."
"Good. I was getting tired of you liking my posts and not commenting on them."
Peter snorts. A moment of silence passes and then he says, "So you'll be glad to know that Leslie and I aren't together anymore. I broke it off earlier tonight."
You wince. "Sorry."
"Nah. Don't be. She was totally using me for access to the tower." You're torn between being smug about being right and being sad for your friend who just ended his relationship. "I only realized it earlier when she got upset because Mr. Rogers posted a picture of you and Mr. Barnes together, and she had a few choice words to say about it."
"What? Steve posted a picture of us?" You quickly pull out your phone, checking social media for any notifications. There are none, but as you get on Instagram you check Steve's page and sure enough there's a new pic that shows Bucky staring fondly at you as you laugh at something on your phone. "That little shit didn't tag us!"
As your thumbs move furiously to give Steve a piece of your mind and to comment how adorable you and Bucky look, Peter can't help but say, "You're attracted to him."
Your texting falters and you quickly glance at your friend to gauge his reaction, but when he just looks amused, you shrug. "I mean have you seen him? How could I not be attracted to him?"
"Does he know?"
"I have a feeling he does. Asshole likes to fluster me every now and then."
"Well if it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure he likes you back." You snort and go back to finishing up the comment on Steve's post. "I'm serious. When we stopped talking, he threatened me. He was pissed that I made you cry and said I was lucky. He's actually really scary when you're on his bad side."
It takes a moment for his words to sink in and when they do you can feel your ears heating up, followed by your cheeks. Peter starts to laugh and you groan in embarrassment. "Why is this so weird? Dating should be easy!"
"Well he is an Avenger.."
"I don't care about that! He's just- he's really, really hot. It's intimidating."
"Wait, what?" Peter huffs. "So you're intimidated by his hotness and not because he's a super-soldier with a metal arm?"
"Well yeah."
Expression melting into one of confusion, your friend eventually shakes his head at you. "You're on your own with that. Good luck."
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You hadn't realized how much everyone had known about your and Peter's brief falling out until the two of you were laughing together once again at the tower. It seemed like everyone had sagged in relief now that the two of you were poking fun at one another once more, and you had to apologize for apparently making it awkward for them.
And now that your best friend knew of your crush on a certain super-soldier, there was lots of teasing material. Of course you kept him in line when you could, but there was no stopping the force of Peter, Wanda, and Darcy combined.
It's a random Tuesday night when you've driven over to the Tower, Bucky having called you over for dinner with a few friends. You had the day off so you didn't mind heading on over, but as the elevator doors slide open after having ridden up to the communal floor, you yelp in surprise as the small gathered crows that shout, "Happy birthday!", at you.
Steve, Wanda, Sam, and Peter pop confetti poppers as you step out of the elevator, eyes wide as you glance between each of them. "My birthday is not until tomorrow!" You hiss.
"But you work tomorrow." Wanda frowns.
"Mhm." Your eyes then narrow, glancing behind them at the streamers and balloons hanging from the ceiling. "And how'd you guys even know?"
Everyone glances at Peter and he takes a step back when your gaze slides to him. He chuckles sheepishly. "I might have hid your birthday cupcake here and Steve found it."
"Petey," you groan. "Why couldn't you just hide it at aunt May's like usual? You know I dislike birthday celebrations."
"You don't dislike them. You just dislike all the attention being on you."
"Whatever. Where's Barnes? He's the one who lured me here under false pretenses. I got a bone to pick with him too."
Everyone turns around and Bucky's head appears from around the corner. He smirks and you glare at him. "Not false pretenses. We are having dinner," he says. "It just so happens to be a birthday dinner. And it's running a little bit late, so until the food gets here you get to open presents."
"You guys all suck."
Peter and Wanda each take a hand and drag you further into the room, heading towards the kitchen. Bucky fully steps out from behind the wall and you aim a kick at his shin as you're walking by. He laughs as he easily dodges it and then you're standing by the kitchen island that's been cleared of everything other than birthday presents.
You huff a small laugh and shake your head fondly at them. "I love you guys, but you do know you didn't have to get me anything, right?"
"Shut up and open the presents," Bucky says.
"Open mine first," Sam says, reaching into the small pile and pulling out a white envelope. "Unlike the others, I was literally told within the last thirty minutes we were doing this so yeah. It's not the best present, but I think you'll enjoy it."
You smile at Sam as you open it, chuckling at the plain birthday card and his brief personal message written inside. But it's what else that's inside that makes you meet Sam's gaze once more, smiling fondly at him. "Thank you. I can't get enough of bubble tea and I'm sure I can do some damage with this gift card."
"You're welcome."
"Mine next." Peter reaches in for a medium-sized box and hands it over to you. "I know you're not a fan of presents, so I got you something I actually knew you'd enjoy."
Raising an eyebrow at him, you pull the lid off of the box. Then glancing down, you snort before pulling out a bottle of Patron Silver Tequila. "I knew we were best friends for a reason."
Steve groans. "Please drink responsibly."
"Please. Responsible is my middle name, Rogers." Everyone snorts and instead of trying to remain serious and feign offense, you end up laughing. "Sam and Buck are good babysitters. You have nothing to worry about."
"That's to be determined," he says. "Here. Open mine. I honestly had no idea what to get you, but Peter assured me you'd enjoy this."
Putting the bottle of tequila back in its box, you accept Steve's gift. Pulling off the ribbon, you can't help but laugh when you see what's inside. "Cards Against Humanity." Peter cheers. "We're playing this the next time I have off," you say, grinning at Steve.
"What is Cards Against Humanity?" He wonders. "I just picked it up and boxed it."
"It's possibly one of the most confusing card games or raunchy card games you'll ever play," Sam says. "I, for one, am looking forward to it."
"Thank you, Steve. I seriously can't wait to play it."
"You're welcome."
Wanda claps her hands. "Mine and Darcy's next. She ordered online and I had to pick it up earlier. But, um, I'm not sure you want to open it up in front of everyone."
"Oh god. Don't tell me it's a vibrator."
Sam laughs out loud as both Peter and Steve start blushing. Bucky looks rather amused and intrigued as Wanda slides two boxes over to you. She shakes her head, giggling. "Not quite."
For a brief moment you're relieved, but then her answer sinks in and you're hesitant all over again. You groan. "Is yours safer? I feel like it is. Which one is it?"
Wanda only smirks as she pushes her box towards you. You open it, marvel at its contents, and then put the lid back on much to the boys' displeasure. Trying to keep a straight face, you look at Wanda. "How many sets did you get?"
"There's four. All in colors that will look amazing against your skin tone."
"Thank you. I'll send you pictures when I wear them."
"Yes please! Natasha wants to know how they fit as well. She was the one who suggested them."
"I'll send them to the ladies group chat then."
"Well that's not fair," Sam complains. "First for not showing us what's inside the box and then you guys have a ladies only group chat. I wanna be in the ladies only group chat."
"But then that defeats the purpose of it being a ladies only group chat," you muse.
"Come on," Peter then whines. "What was the present?"
Your gaze slides to Peter, but instead of outright saying what it is, you say, "Think back to that one Halloween night where you wouldn't let me out of the dorm until I switched costumes."
It takes him only a minute to understand and when he does, he snorts. "That wasn't a costume! That was lingerie."
"Whoa, what?" Sam exclaims, grinning.
"Lingerie can be worn as a costume?" Steve wonders.
"I was actually a Victoria's Secret Angel, complete with the most amazing set of wings, and Petey forbade me from leaving the room. It was a sad, sad night."
"As much as I wanna get into that," Sam says, "I wanna know what Barnes got you more."
You chuckle and glance at Bucky, smile faltering when you see him tense. But then he seems to shake himself out of it and offers you a grin. "Open the bigger one first."
Wanda clears away the other presents as Bucky slides his two towards you. You feel giddy as you grab the bigger box, untying the black silk ribbons and lifting the lid. There's tissue paper you open up and you gasp, happily giggling. "You didn't?!"
"Well you did say it was your favorite movie, sweetheart."
"Yes!" You glance up, beaming at Bucky, and your heart swells at his own smile being directed at you. "I really, really love this. I can't wait to hang it up."
"What is it?" Peter wonders, trying to peer across the island.
"It's a quote from Practical Magic," you say and Peter huffs a laugh, knowing full well your love for that movie. You carefully pick it up and turn it around so everyone can see it as you read it off by heart. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."
"Aw," Wanda coos. "That's adorable."
"I made Bucky watch this movie a while back," you say. "I need to show it to you one of these days."
"I'm looking forward to it," she says.
With nothing else to say, you place it back in its box and set it aside in favor for the second box. It's a little smaller, but you're excited for it nonetheless. Untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, you immediately laugh at the white petals scattered atop the tissue paper.
"Barnes, you smooth sonuvabitch," Sam mutters.
Steve and Peter laugh, but you're so focused on the notecard that's under some of the petals. Lifting it up, you read the note to yourself because immediately you know it's personal. My better half has to be funny, get along with my friends, won't judge me for my past, and has decent taste in movies.
Heart fluttering, you bite the corner of your lip when it feels like you're smiling way too much.
"Well what does Prince Charming have to say?" Sam asks.
"That's none of your business." You close the note and then tuck into your back pocket, chuckling when Sam and Wanda complain. When you meet Bucky's gaze, you immediately flush and mentally curse yourself when you see him smirk in return.
Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you center yourself and then part the tissue paper. You look at the second portrait and gasp after you read it.
"What? What is it?" Peter wonders.
This second portrait is of a hand drawn bowl with a tipped over salt shaker, a small bundle of lavender, a small bundle of rosemary, and a heart beneath it. Above the bowl is a swirl of flower petals and inside the swirl of petals, in very pretty cursive writing, are the words I wished for you too.
Did he just- did he confess his own feelings by using a Practical Magic quote? Or was this just you overthinking his present? You glance to meet Bucky's gaze and at his gauging expression your eyes fill with tears.
"What did you do, Barnes?!" Sam scolds him. "You made the poor girl cry at her own birthday celebration!"
But Bucky isn't paying him any attention, instead he's solely focused on you. You set the present aside and walk around the kitchen island on shaky legs, and Bucky readily reaches for your waist as you grab his face and pull him down into a kiss.
You can't believe you're kissing Bucky, but then he squeezes your waist and returns the kiss, and you know you made the right choice.
Someone gasps, but then the following words let you know exactly who it is. "Darcy is going to be so angry she missed this." Wanda. That is Wanda.
"What the hell is going on?" Sam wonders. "What type of present can cause this type of reaction?"
You smile against Bucky's mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before falling flat on your feet after having been on the tips of your toes in order to reach his mouth.
"It's my favorite quote from my favorite movie," you say. You turn around to address your friends, but Bucky doesn't let you go far. He wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you back so you're resting against his chest and tucked beneath his chin. "It's a movie about witches," you explain. "These two little girls are being raised by their aunts and they see them performing love spells for a local woman. Basically, one of the young girls refuses to fall in love after witnessing a love spell gone wrong and she does her own spell to call forward a love that would be impossible to find- a man who's favorite shape would be a star and who had one green eye, one blue. Years down the road, the sisters accidentally murder a man."
Sam snorts. "How the hell does one accidentally murder someone?"
"Shush." Wanda admonishes him. "I want to hear the story behind the gift."
You and Bucky chuckle, and you continue to explain. "Anyway, they send in an US Marshall to investigate the disappearance and the one who had done the love spell at a young age starts to fall for this man. She ends up telling him about the murder, but he doesn't quite believe her. Then they're on the verge of hooking up when she gets a good look at his eyes- one green eye, one blue."
"Oh my god. That's so cute!" Wanda says.
"It gets cuter. And sadder," you say. "So she explains to this man about her family, the murder, and how she can't be with him because he's only attracted to her because of a love spell she did when she was just a little girl. At first he's skeptical about this spell bringing him to her, but then he ends up believing her. And as he's walking away from her, he stops to tell her I wished for you too."
"So you made out with Barnes because of that?" Sam shakes his head, chuckling. "Wow."
"It's fuckin' adorable. Stop ruining the moment, Samuel!" Bucky laughs at your words and pulls you closer to him.
"So while I'm happy for Buck," Steve says, "I'm still really curious about what Darcy's gift is."
Peter nods. "Same."
Wanda giggles, but says nothing as she grabs the box and slides it over to you. You groan because you know it can be nothing good, but you still open it since everyone is watching and waiting. As soon as you part the tissue paper and read the box, alongside taking in the picture on the box, your face flames as you shove the lid back on. Wanda cackles.
"I hate her."
"She said to give the remote to-"
"Don't!" You cut Wanda off, blushing even further. "I know who she means to have control of that."
"They- they make underwear that does that?" Bucky muses and you die a little on the inside in embarrassment. You elbow him as he starts to laugh behind you.
Sam instantly knows what the gift is now and starts to laugh, but Steve and Peter apparently need some help.
"Lewis got you vibrating panties, didn't she?"
"Oh my god, Sam, if you don't shut up I'm gonna punch you in the throat."
Steve is torn between laughing and trying not to make you even more uncomfortable, but his amusement wins out. "Given Y/N's flustered state, I'm assuming Darcy wants Bucky to have the remote."
"I mean this seems like it could make for an interesting night."
Everyone laughs at Bucky's sudden interest in the box you're doing your damnedest to keep shut, but luckily Peter steps in. "As much I love watching Y/N squirm, can we get ready to eat? I'm starving."
"Yeah, yeah. Let's go wait downstairs for it, kid."
Sam and Peter head for the elevator to take them down to the lobby, and you turn around in Bucky's hold. "Help me take this stuff to my car so I don't have to do it later?"
"Sure thing, doll." He grins. But instead of stepping away, he pushes you further into the kitchen island. You smile as he cages you in and then huff a laugh when he reaches for the box behind you. "So exactly how long do we have to be dating before we can test these out?"
You slowly lean upward so your lips brush his as you say, "I'd say very, very soon if you would put your ass into gear and help me move these presents like I asked."
Bucky laughs and presses a quick kiss to your lips. "Then let's get to it."
The telltale sound of a phone's camera goes off and you turn your face towards the sound. Wanda is beaming, her phone pointed towards you and Bucky. "Darcy wanted evidence I wasn't lying. She's going to be so happy."
Bucky turns his face to look at her then, his cheek brushing against yours where he's yet to back off from you. "Tell Lewis I said thanks for the present. I'll give her my review of them in a few weeks."
Wanda's eyes widen and you immediately blurt, "Don't you dare!" But she's already texting and you know the group chat full of ladies is going to be full of messages that you'll have to reply to later. Quietly groaning, you slap your hands against Bucky's waist and push him back. Looking up at him, you shake your head but the corner of your lips turn up in amusement. "You're terrible. I would threaten to withhold sex, but I've been looking forward to that for a while. I'd just be punishing us both."
"Just tell me when and where, sweetheart, and I'll be there."
"Oh no. You guys are going to be that couple," Steve complains.
And without missing a beat, you face him and say, "Fuck off, Rogers!" Bucky snorts.
"You're cranky when you haven't gotten laid."
You gasp as Bucky bursts out laughing right in your ear, but he quickly catches you as you try to lunge for his best friend. "You know what, I was going to be discreet when banging your best friend, but now I'm going to tell you all the filthy things Bucky likes to do just to annoy you. I will go into excruciating detail about the look and taste of his dick!"
Steve blanches as it's Wanda's turn to burst out laughing. "You've done it now, Steve."
And as Steve looks to Bucky for help, he merely shrugs. "You brought this on yourself, Stevie. Hope you enjoy the play by plays."
Relaxing in Bucky's hold and moving so you're hip to hip with him, you slide your arm behind his waist and hook your thumb into the belt loop of his jeans. "We're going to have so much fun."
565 notes · View notes
mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago
Text
Hvítr gown, nýr life (Ubbe x Reader)
This is my contribution to @geekandbooknerd​ 2k followers challenge! Congrats again, my dear! 
My prompt was: "People aren't born good or bad. Maybe they're born with tendencies either way, but it's the way you live your life that matters." - Cassandra Clare, City of Glass. 
Couple notes for this fic- Bjorn & Torvi are still together because reasons. Italics mean speakers are using Old Norse. 
The title means ‘White Gown, New Life’ in Old Norse. 
Also, this is my first time writing Ubbe so.... hopefully its not OOC?
Words: 4800
Warnings: one or two swear words. implied sex. I think that’s it???
Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​
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"You cannot truly be considering this!" Bjorn thundered in the small, enclosed room. 
 Ubbe observed his elder brother- a man he had aspired to be like his whole childhood, a man he still looked up too, regardless of his faults. "Of course I am."
 Bjorn slammed his hand on the wooden table, making it shake, as his voice shook like thunder in the room. "You are throwing your future away!"
 "I am protecting our future!" Ubbe snapped, finally rising to his feet, irritation leaking into his tone. He met Bjorn's incensed blue eyes with his own resolute gaze. "We need allies, alliances, everything to make father's dream come true. If this is the price I must pay to fulfill Ragnar's dream, then I will gladly do it. It is not about me. It's for our people."
 After a long, tense moment, Lagertha pushed off the wall she and Torvi were leaning against. Gliding closer, she moved to stand in front of Ubbe, tears swimming in her eyes. Gently, she cupped his cheeks. "Your father would be so proud of you, Ubbe. I pray the gods bless you with happiness in this."
 "Thank you, Lagertha." Relief swelled in Ubbe's chest. If he had Lagertha's support, he knew Bjorn would come around. 
 Since they fled Kattegat and came to England, he had watched the shieldmaiden age before his eyes. He could not help but wonder if her soul yearned for Valhalla and to be reunited with Ragnar. Not that he could blame her. To hear her speak of Ragnar and his approval of Ubbe's actions, it only further solidified his choice. 
 Torvi spoke up, surprising him.  "I think Ubbe should do it." When Bjorn opened his mouth to interject, she snapped her gaze over to her husband. "This is his decision, Ubbe. He has asked for our advice but it is up to him. We need security and this, though we don't trust them, this can provide that security."
 Bjorn huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine! Do what you want!" 
 "Thank you." Ubbe softly said, looking at all the family he had left in this world. "I'll go inform King Alfred now." 
 With a firm stride, he left the quarters they had been given in Wessex. After some time trying to locate the young king, a passing servant was able to tell him Alfred's location. Thankfully the king was in his private study, reviewing petitions from the worker's guild. The guards at the door allowed Ubbe entrance only after the king called out to allow him entrance. With a look of unrestrained animosity, almost begging him to give them a reason to throw him out, the guards opened the door for him to pass. Ubbe nodded his thanks, but never removed his hand from the sword at his side until the door closed behind him. 
 Straightening in his chair, Alfred looked up from the papers spread out over his desk. "Good afternoon, Ubbe. I suspect you have sought me out because you have an answer for my proposition."
 "I do, your highness." Ubbe paused, knowing how his life was going to irrevocably change once he answered. "And I will accept. I will take a Saxon wife to further the alliance between us."
 "I am greatly pleased by your decision." The dark-haired man pushed away from his desk. He moved to a nearby table to pour them both a cup of wine, something these Saxons seemed to favor, as he continued speaking. "Alliances must be built on trust and understanding. A political marriage certainly helps solidify that trust."
 Ubbe received the cup, missing the taste of ale from his homeland. After taking a small sip, he stared at Alfred. "So what do we do now? Do I meet some potentials or is there a matchmaker?"
 "No, I already have someone picked out for you. My cousin." Alfred answered without hesitation before pausing in contemplation. "What your father and my grandfather would think of this arrangement….our families tied by blood."
 "Yeah…. What is her name?"
 "My cousin? Lady Y/N. Fear not, she comes from a well-respected family and with a substantial dowry. She has spent most of her life at a nunnery, so there is no fear of her virtue being tainted."
 "Great." Ubbe sighed out. Though he knew Alfred meant all that to be reassuring….it felt anything but. 
 *****
 It was not until almost a month later, Ubbe met his intended bride; with the wedding set for three days after her arrival. Apparently King Alfred and some of the Saxon noblemen were keen on the arranged marriage happening as soon as possible. 
 Ubbe stood off to the side in the throne room. With his hair freshly braided and pulled back and wearing one of his nicer tunics, he hoped he appeared princely. Even if by Saxon standards, he knew he fell woefully short. Lagertha had given him a nod of approval as they waited in the throne room. Though outwardly he kept his face passive and calm, his insides twisted into knots and his hands were clammy. 
 "Are you still certain about this, brother?" Bjorn clapped Ubbe on the shoulder as he whispered, eyeing the Saxons standing around. 
 The flaxen-haired Viking glanced over at King Alfred, who sat on his throne, talking in hushed tones to one of his advisors while his mother looked on with a sour expression. 
 Ubbe answered solemnly. "Aye, we need this alliance."
 With a grunt, Bjorn removed his hand but stayed at his brother's side. Something Ubbe appreciated. Although Bjorn had no issue airing his thoughts on this foolish alliance and how Ubbe was making a mistake in regards to choosing a wife again, he kept his complaints behind closed doors. In front of the Saxons, they presented an united front. 
 The large doors to the throne room opened with a groan. All eyes turned to witness as a sole figure cautiously yet gracefully walked forward, head held high and hands clasped in front of her. 
 "Cousin!" King Alfred exclaimed, rising from his throne, arms spread wide. Immediately, he descended the few stairs with a fond smile on his face. "Your presence has been missed here at court."
 The woman dipped into an elegant curtsey, her dress gliding around her like water. "You are far too kind, my king."
 As King Alfred embraced his cousin in a warm hug, Ubbe could only stare in shock. Standing there in a deep red gown, the woman looked like a goddess. Ubbe had prepared himself mentally for his intended bride to be marginally pretty like most of these Saxon women, but someone he easily overlooked. Not her though. Without even saying a word to him, he felt beguiled by her. It was more than just her physical beauty, it was in the way she carried herself, with grace and a nobility. It reminded him distantly of his mother. A woman who knew her place and dignity. This woman, his intended bride, was truly stunning. He could not help but wonder if the true reason for her prolonged residence at a nunnery was not because of piety but to preserve and protect her. Something he was suddenly immensely grateful for. 
 "This is your betrothed." Alfred walked her over to where the Vikings stood, at the bottom of the steps leading to his throne. With a pleased smile on his face, he introduced the two. "Ubbe, son of Ragnar Lothbrok, this is my cousin, Lady Y/N." 
 She curtsied to him, her movements so graceful like they were part of a dance. When she spoke, he was further enchanted, for even her voice was beautiful. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Ubbe."
 "It's just Ubbe. Since we are to be married, we can skip the formalities."
 A coy smile played on her lips. "As you wish….Ubbe."
 "Excellent." King Alfred beamed. "Perhaps a walk in the gardens to better acquaint yourselves would be desirable?"
 Before Ubbe could whole-heartedly agree, wishing to learn more about his intended bride, a sickly-sweet voice interrupted. 
 "Y/N has only just arrived. We have wedding plans to finalize and she must try on her dress." Princess Judith interrupted, wrapping an arm through her niece's while pointedly ignoring the Vikings. "Maybe another time, but I am sure y/n will be quite busy with preparations. Come, my dear."
 With that, she swept her niece out of the throne room as if the Vikings had the plague and she refused to breathe the same air as them. But before y/n disappeared, she peeked over her shoulder and met Ubbe's gaze with a tender smile teasing her lips, then disappeared from view. 
 "There is much to finalize and my mother wants to ensure the wedding will go smoothly. You and y/n will have time after the wedding to become acquainted." Alfred said, studying the direction his mother and cousin vanished. With a sigh, he pulled his gaze back to Ubbe. "Now that introductions are made, I have matters with the clergy to attend to."
 Ubbe barely paid attention when Alfred walked away, returning to his throne and listening to some priests whine about something petty. 
 A bump of a shoulder against his own drew Ubbe's attention back from thinking about y/n. 
 Bjorn leaned over to whisper conspiracingly in his ear. "Well, at least you won't have a problem bedding her." 
 *****
 The wedding ceremony was outlandish and dragged on for entirely too long. Between the many prayers of the priests and the rigid formality of everything, Ubbe was ready to draw his sword and spill some Christian blood, just to break up the monotony. Even Lagertha appeared ready to fall asleep from where she stood. 
 The only aspect that kept his attention was his bride. Watching her walk down the aisle, he almost swallowed his tongue, leaving him gaping at her in a slack-jawed awe as she slowly approached. In her flowing wedding dress, a crown of flowers in her hair and eyes alight, she appeared ethereal. Standing in his nicest tunic and pants, he knew he paled in comparison to her, but he did not mind. 
 When the priests tried to forcefully convince Ubbe to dress in Saxon clothing for the wedding, he not-so-subtly threatened to decapitate them if they mentioned it once more. He was a Viking and would dress as such. Besides this was to be a physical representation of an alliance between Saxon and Viking, it would make no sense for him to dress as a Saxon. 
 Thankfully Alfred agreed with his thoughts, so the clergy kept any further comments to themselves. 
 Once the wedding concluded with Ubbe and y/n proclaimed man and wife, the couple was escorted to the celebration. The following feast was beyond lavish, with drink and food in overflowing abundance. To his dismay, Ubbe found himself unable to converse with his new bride. Either Alfred was introducing him to someone new, some nobleman pestered him with questions or worst of all, Judith purposefully continued to make excuses that pulled y/n away. When their eyes met, he could see the apology in them, which lightened the stone in his heart. 
 As the feast progressed, Ubbe found as more time passed, the more his gaze drifted to his bride. The gods had truly blessed him with this marriage. Watching her, he was captivated. Although, he found his hand frequently shifting to reach for the hilt of his sword no longer strapped to his side. All the appreciative or lustful looks she received from other men did not go unnoticed, and if one of them tried to lay a hand on his new wife, he would not be held accountable for his actions. His fists could be just as deadly as any weapon.
 Finally, the time was called for the bedding ceremony. 
 Alfred and some of the clergy explained to Ubbe what happened during a bedding ceremony when he was learning about the wedding's customs and the vows he would have to recite. To say the Ragnarsson was shocked was an understatement. It sounded barbaric…. and him and his people were called the heathens. But he understood the need to maintain protocol for building the alliance and the trust of the Saxons. 
 So that was how he found himself walking down a corridor with Bjorn at his side, while the feast and celebrations continued on without him. 
 "Are you sure about this?" 
 Ubbe rolled his eyes at his elder brother, his stride never faltering. "You did not have to agree to it."
 Bjorn scoffed, keeping pace. "And miss out on all the fun?"
 The two brothers laughed, the sound loosening some of the tension in the bridegroom's body. When Alfred told Ubbe he needed a witness to represent his people at the bedding ceremony, Bjorn was the only option. When Ubbe initially told his brother about the tradition and asked for Bjorn's presence, the hulking Viking had doubled-over in laughter, followed by making several crude comments about the need to instruct Ubbe on how to properly bed a woman. The discussion ended in a brotherly tussel but Bjorn agreed. 
 Especially when Ubbe explained his plan. 
 The bedroom was in the wing of the royal families' rooms. Since y/n was related by blood, she was given a room there whenever she came to visit and naturally, this meant it was where the marriage would be consummated. Several candles were lit but the bedroom was kept dim to give an illusion of privacy. A quick glance at the bed made Ubbe raise an eyebrow at the generous size and the curtains draped around it. A fire burned in the fireplace providing warmth in the bedroom, a sharp contrast to the stern, cold faces of the clergy who waited. 
 The bishop who married them stood off to the side with two other clergy, all in their robes and barely suppressed looks of disgust on the priests' faces. Two female attendees fussed over y/n, clearly everyone waiting for Ubbe and Bjorn. Once again, Ubbe had to force himself to keep his eyes from staying glued to his new wife. She stood there in a thick robe, with her hair falling about her shoulders loosely, free from the bridal veil. Her gaze jumped from Ubbe to the clergy and back as she nibbled on her bottom lip, clearly nervous about what was to occur next. Cheekily, he sent her a quick wink, hoping that would help settle her nerves. If the blush that grew on her cheeks said anything, at least she was not repulsed by him. 
 The bishop stepped forward. "Are you prepared to consummate your marriage to Lady Y/N before God and man?"
 "I am." Ubbe defiantly met the man's eyes. 
 "Then by the power given to me by the Holy Church, let the two become one in the sight of God and these witnesses and the marriage shall be complete." With that, the man drew their strange cross sign in the air and stepped back to rejoin his fellow clergy. 
 The two attendees helped y/n out of her heavy robe, revealing a thin, white nightgown that seemed to only enhance her beauty and innocence. Desire thrummed in his blood at the sight of her, but Ubbe ignored the sensation for the moment. The heavy robe was laid on a nearby chair and the two women left the room with a quick curtsy, leaving only the men and y/n. 
 After a shared look with Bjorn, Ubbe walked over to his new bride, keeping his movements slow so as to not startle her. Her hands were clasped before her, but even as he approached, he could see the faint tremble in them. Her gaze never strayed from the floor. The confidence seen previously in her seemed to have melted away into anxiety, making him think of a skittish colt. He could not help but wonder what changed, if it was due to him or what was supposed to occur between them. 
 Standing before her, he gently reached out to take her soft hands in his own larger, calloused ones, pleased when she did not flinch at his touch. Although her gaze remained downward. 
 "Are you alright?" He whispered, aware of the four pairs of eyes watching their every move. 
 "Of….of course, my lord husband."
 "Remember, I told you to call me by my name."
 That caused her head to snap up and meet his gaze. Now he could see the tears welling up in her eyes and her swollen bottom lip from constantly worrying it. 
 "It'll be alright." He tugged her bottom lip from between her teeth. The way her breath hitched at the intimate touch made his heart pound. He gave her hands in his, a quick squeeze. "Trust me, yeah?"
 After a moment, she gave a faint nod, still eyeing him warily but appearing less like she wanted to flee, mutely squeezing his hands back.
 A voice broke the stillness in the room, immediately causing her to tense again. 
 "The two of you must proceed to the bed to finalize the union. We do not have all night to wait for confirmation of her virginity and consummation." One of the priests drawled with an apparent undertone of disdain. 
 "Then it is a good thing you don't have to wait any longer." Ubbe retorted, narrowing his eyes at the priest. The man huffed but a quiet rebuke from the bishop had the priest pressing his lips together. With one final, assessing scan, the flaxen-haired Viking shifted, pulling his new bride into his side and wrapping an arm around her waist. He felt her tense against him but ignored it to stare at the three clergy with a mocking smirk. "Bjorn."
 At the sound of his name, his brother moved from leaning against the doorframe. A scowl on his face, and with the shadows cast over him, made him appear more looming and menacing. "Everybody out."
 The three clergy looked back and forth between the two Viking brothers, clearly confused and intimidated. 
 "You can't….we must witness…."
 "I SAID EVERYBODY OUT!" Bjorn roared, pulling the axe from his side and waving it in the air. "OR DO I NEED TO SPLIT YOUR SKULL TO HELP MY WORDS REACH YOUR TINY BRAINS?!"
 The three scrambled, eyes wide in terror, tripping over their long robes in a pathetic attempt to reach the door faster. The bishop turned around, hands grasping the golden cross hanging from his neck. "King….King Alfred will hear of this." He stuttered out in feigned confidence. 
 A deafening war cry from Bjorn practically shook the room in answer. That was enough to silence the bishop and have him flee, following his companions.
 At Bjorn's roar, y/n began shaking like a leaf, her hands tightly holding onto Ubbe's arm wrapped around her. He further pulled her against him, providing shelter from his brother's fury. Even as the room fell back into silence, he could still feel her trembling in his arms. He prayed to the gods that this did not darken her view of him and cause her to fear him. 
 Once the room cleared and the pounding footfalls of the clergy could no longer be heard, Bjorn turned around with a grin, scratching the back of his neck with his axe. "You know Alfred will be upset when he finds out." 
 Ubbe smirked. "We can't let him have everything he wants, yeah?"
 That made Bjorn chuckle. "I'll go guard the door." He pointed his axe at Ubbe, still grinning. "You owe me for this."
 "Scaring priests shitless isn't enough for you?"
 Bjorn scoffed. "I can do that whenever I like."
 "We'll name our firstborn after you."
 Bjorn waved him off, opening the wooden door and stepping out. When the door closed, the echoing sound seemed to fill the empty space in the room. 
 Ubbe peeked down at the woman in his arms. "Are you alright?"
 "Your brother….is….frightening."
 "Aye, don't tell him that though. It would only inflate his ego more."
 Once he was certain she was steady on her feet and would not faint, he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of her head before striding away to the other side of the bedroom. Quickly he pulled off his tunic and boots, tossing them onto a nearby chair and then flopped onto the massive bed in only his pants. If nothing else could be said for tonight, he knew he would sleep well. The bed was comfortable, even rivaling his own bed back in Kattegat. With a pleased groan, he tucked an arm under his head and settled under the covers. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him, his eyelids sliding closed.  Even though he felt like he spent most of the day standing around and kneeling for the wedding, it was still tedious and draining. Thank the gods it was over. 
 "Um, my lord…." 
 "Ubbe." He interrupted, lips twitching in amusement. "Or husband. Whichever you prefer."
 "Ah, Ubbe….are we not….?" Her hesitant voice trailed off, but the unspoken question lingered in the air. 
 He snorted. "I have no plans to force myself upon you just to appease your priests and bishop."
 "But we must consummate the marriage."
 "I will only have sex with you if you desire me as your husband and not just to fulfill an obligation."
 The following, prolonged silence caused him to open his eyes and look over at his new wife. It was apparent she had not moved from where he left her. He expected to see fear on her lovely face or revulsion at the idea of her ever willingly wanting him to touch her. Instead, she seemed to be studying him with a mixture of curiosity and respect. That confident woman he had previously met, making a reappearance. 
 After holding her gaze for a moment, he patted the bed next to him. "Come lay down. I doubt standing there all night will be pleasant."
 With a soft smile, she stepped over and crawled under the covers, but maintained an arm’s length distance between them. They both laid on their backs, together yet alone. The only sounds were of the crackling fire and their breathing. 
 Before he realized it, Ubbe found himself speaking, filling the silence with his babbling but strangely felt he needed to share these thoughts with the woman beside him, the woman whose life was now tied to him, whether she wanted it to be or not. 
 "I doubt this is the marriage you were dreaming of as a little girl. Probably expected some prince or lord….not a Viking. Your people only see us as heathens, as barbaric devils, at least that's what one of the noblemen said. That we cannot stop the evil and destruction we cause because we are possessed." He snorted, rubbing a hand down his face. After a deep breath, he turned his head to look at her, amazed to find her already watching him. His tone softened as he continued. "I'm sorry you were forced into this marriage. I know it might not mean much to you but I vow I won't ever physically harm you or force myself upon you. After all the wedding ceremonies, you can return to the nunnery if that is what you want."
 Her eyes widened momentarily, then drifted away as she worried her lip once again. As he waited for her to speak, his gaze traveled over her face, taking in the small details that until now he had not been able to observe. It would be a blatant lie to say he did not desire to lie with her, to touch and taste her. The current state of his manhood was evidence enough of how simply gazing at her beauty affected him. He made a vow to her. If nothing else, he hoped they could be friendly to one another. 
 To his shock, she rolled onto her side, facing him completely, hands tucked under her cheek. Without hesitation, he mirrored her action, but kept his head cradled on his arm. 
 "I have not traveled much," she quietly said, almost shyly, "but there is one thing I've learned through my studies and the observation of others. People aren't born good or bad. Maybe they're born with tendencies either way, but it's the way you live your life that matters." She paused as if choosing her next words carefully. "I do not think you are a barbaric devil or….or possessed. I think…."
 "What?"
 "I think you are very brave and strong. Not many would seek an alliance with those that fervently claim them as an enemy….nor be kind to a simple noblewoman."
 He smirked, finding himself charmed by her honesty. Carefully, he reached over and brushed a thumb over her cheek. "You are no simple noblewoman, my lady."
 "If you are just Ubbe, then I request you call me, y/n."
 An unexpected, loud banging on the door startled them both. Y/n gasped and rushed to sit up against the headboard, eyes wide with fright. Ubbe immediately pushed himself up, making sure to put himself between his wife and the door, unsheathing a dagger he had subtly slipped under his pillow. 
 "Are you two done yet? Some ugly priest out here wants to know!" Bjorn shouted through the door. 
 Ubbe groaned, putting the dagger away, before calling back. "No! This woman is insatiable! Tell the priest to come back in the morning! Hopefully I can still walk!"
 A harsh bark of laughter preceded loud arguing, which could be heard through the door. Raised voices crept underneath the door frame, the loudest being that of Bjorn. Ubbe stayed perched on the bed, to assist his brother if the need called for it. No matter what Alfred or those whiny clergy ordered, no one would be witnessing any consummation of his. Ever. Eventually, the voices dwindled like a dying flame until only silence could be heard from outside. Ubbe figured Bjorn must have won the argument, or used enough threats of bodily harm, since no one entered the bedroom. 
 The dagger returned to its sheath under his pillow. A habit he had since childhood. A glance to his side showed his wife still shifted as far away from the door as possible, hands clutching the sheets in a tight grip. He reached a hand out to her. "It's alright. Bjorn won't let anyone in."
 She took his hand, still eyeing the door warily. "What did you say to him?"
 "Ah, nothing important. Just to keep the priests away."
 "Ok."
 "We should go to sleep. Today has been long." He stated after he coaxed her back under the covers and no longer sent glances towards the door. Only after she was settled did he relax. Laying on his back, an arm behind his head, his eyes closed almost instantly. He could hear her shuffling occasionally but he paid it no mind. Sleep slinked into his mind, hovering on the edges. 
 "Ubbe…." A barely-heard whisper pulled him from the brink of sleep. 
 "Yes?"
 "What if….what if I want to."
 "Mmmm?"
 "Um, fulfill our marital duties."
 Well, that got his attention. He turned his head to the side, noting how her gaze traced over his bare chest slowly then lifted to meet his gaze. "Are you asking me to have sex with you?"
 "Yes." She bit her bottom lip, even as her eyes never strayed from him.
 "Are you sure?"
 She nodded. 
 "Hmmm….well, I may be convinced but….you have to kiss me first."
 Cautiously yet deliberately, she scooted closer until they lay side by side. In a graceful movement, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his in an innocent, chaste kiss. Her lips were softer than even the pillow beneath him and by the gods, she was going to be his undoing. After a moment, she leaned back, gazing down at him with a nervous yet endearing smile. Before he could say anything, to encourage or instruct, her lips descended on his once again, but this time hungrily. His initial surprise transitioned to a carnal satisfaction when a soft moan slipped out of her after he tugged on her bottom lip. Their mouths connected with a needy kiss, sending a jolt of electricity through him. All thoughts of sleep forgotten. 
 Suddenly, he flipped them over, pinning her underneath him, taking charge of their love-making. She giggled at the abrupt action but that was quickly silenced by his mouth crashing against hers and thrusting his tongue into her mouth. 
 As she kissed him back passionately, he wondered if maybe this marriage was not such a bad idea. If the way her lips eagerly sought his, her hands gripped onto biceps as if to keep her steady, her back arched as he trailed open-mouth kisses down her neck….maybe the marriage could be more than just political. 
 Soon enough, all thoughts vanished from his mind that were not related in regards to exploring the exquisite body of his Saxon wife and listening to her moan his name repeatedly. 
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vukovich · 3 years ago
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peculiar prompt: soulmate au where your dick is the same exact length as your soulmate’s (i guess everyone has a dick in this universe idk 😂) anyways drarry discovering they are soulmates in whatever convoluted way you would like!
Nine and Three Quarters
Summer weddings were an unlikely tradition for a family that ran high to freckles and sunburns, but Harry didn't mind. Usually.
This wedding, though, he'd have just as soon not attended. It wasn't that he harbored any romantic intentions toward Charlie, but seeing him so bloody happy made Harry keenly aware of his own solitude.
Charlie and Constantin fed each other forkfuls of cake and grinned. They were perfectly-matched. Identical white short sleeve dress shirts and gold waistcoats, sparkling blue eyes and mirrored grins as they threatened each other with blobs of icing, much to Molly's horror.
Their matching gold rings felt like an extension of the tattoos on the underside of their left forearms. Charlie's was a dragon, of course. Constantin's was a crouched hippogriff. They were exactly the same size, but different designs and colors.
Forearm tattoos abounded among gay wizards, but it had taken seeing Charlie and Constantin together for him to notice the pattern. A plate of cake floated to his table and set itself down in front of him. He picked it apart with his fork, separating the layers of frosting out from the the cake, then mashed the fluffy cake down into a pellet.
A breathless Charlie flopped into an empty chair next to him and surveyed the wreckage on his plate.
"Got a grudge against that cake?"
"Huh? Oh. No. Sorry."
Charlie slid Harry's cake away, probably for its own good. Constantin and Fleur fox-trotted past, and one of them reached out to ruffle Charlie's hair.
"No date?"
"Nah." Harry licked his fork clean, rolled the bits of cake around in his mouth, and wished he'd have eaten the slice.
"Still doing the playboy thing, eh?"
Harry shrugged. "I guess."
Charlie huffed a laugh. "You guess? What else would you be doing at clubs?"
Harry shrugged again.
"Well, if you get tired of it and want the name of a really good soulmate tattoo artist, let me know." Charlie wiped up a dab of frosting off Harry's plate and popped his finger in his mouth. "Until then, enjoy hunting in the dark."
Charlie rose to leave, but Harry reached out and grabbed him by the buckle on the back of his waistcoat.
"Soulmate tattoos?"
--
--
"But I thought the tattoo went on my arm."
Harry kept his hands in his jeans pockets, just in case the man decided to help him disrobe.
"It does..."
Bushy grey eyebrows rose in speculation, and the man's brown eyes squinted at Harry, unsure of whether Harry was playing a prank, playing dumb, or playing at nothing.
"So why would I take my trousers off?"
"Riiiggght," he said slowly, gently spinning back and forth on his stool. "Why don't you tell me what you do know about soulmate tattoos."
Harry hooked his thumbs in his pockets and looked around the tattoo parlour for clues, but there was nothing but drawings on the walls. Pictures of forearms, too, all with differing sizes of beasts and creatures on them.
"Uhm," Harry started, "they go on forearms." The man nodded and motioned for him to continue. "And... they're... magic?"
The man shook his head and sighed. "The death of gay wizard culture, I swear. I blame that app."
"Wait, there's an app for-"
"Soulmate tattoos are the size of the wearer's dick."
Every tattoo Harry had ever seen ran through his head at once, and he stood slack-jawed for what felt like hours.
The man continued. "And so part of getting one is getting your dick measured. Professionally."
"I... Uh..."
"Men lie on the app. That's why all these boys are running around thinking they don't have soulmates, but older men know better. Back in the day, we'd just walk up to a bloke, line our arms up, and pair off."
Harry looked at the ceiling and tried to imagine a scenario in which that didn't sound both terrifying and oddly comforting.
"Why would you line them up?"
The man stared at him for a long. fucking. time.
"Soulmate dicks match, kid." He grumbled something about the Internet. "Now do you want the tattoo or not?"
"I... Uhm... Maybe later?"
"Suit yourself."
--
There had to be a better way to do this.
Harry balanced on tip-toe, focused on his dick with one eye, and dipped his quill. His tongue peeked out a corner of his lips as he concentrated on tracing around his shaft.
Was the quill angled accurately? Was the nib too far from his skin to be accurate? Was width even relevant?
He let out a held breath and dropped down to his heels. The paper on his desk was an embarrassment.
"Looks like a fucking caterpillar," he grumbled to himself.
Maybe they made enchanted quills for this.
--
The nook of art supplies at Flourish and Blotts was overwhelming, but it smelled good. Needle-sharp enchanted nibs sounded like a terrible idea. Image-grabbing paper sounded equally dangerous. What if he got his dick stabbed or absorbed into a piece of paper?
Someone cleared their throat behind him.
"Can I help you?"
Draco Malfoy met his eyes with a hesitant smile. He looked strangely at home surrounded by paper and ink. He wore a rumpled black t-shirt that advertised in bold white letters "Truth Quills: The Reign of Error Ends Here".
"Uhm... maybe?"
"What kind of project are you working on?"
"I'm... just... tracing something?"
Draco nodded and reached up to grab a pack of nibs just above Harry's head. The Dark Mark on his forearm caught Harry's eye. It wasn't a Dark Mark anymore. The skull wore a crown of red roses, and the snake had been filled in with vibrant yellow and blue markings. Harry decided it looked a bit like a Grateful Dead album cover. But prettier.
"These are good for most projects if you're just starting out."
Draco handed him a plastic box with more thingamajigs than he had any idea what to do with.
"Uhm, okay. Thanks."
"No problem." Draco's eyes wandered down to Harry's forearm and his smile faltered. "Anything else?"
"No, I think I'm good."
--
He wasn't good. He was nowhere near good, and he had black ink all over his dick. Also on his hands, and the table, and the floor, but those were less important.
"Looks like a goddamn Holstein dong."
--
"Alright," Draco said, and his smile was bordering on a smirk. "But what's the reference? What are you trying to trace?"
A dozen dick-shaped things came to mind, and Harry blurted, "A banana."
Draco did not laugh. Not with his mouth. Just with his eyes. His t-shirt today said "Blink Ink: Drier than your ex" in jagged black script.
"Mm hm," Draco squeaked through his nose. "Is accuracy important?"
Harry let out a relieved sigh. "Yes."
Draco cleared his throat and schooled his face. "Here."
He handed Harry a Truth Quill. "That ought to give you an accurate outline of your... banana."
--
"Hot damn!"
Harry held the outline of his cock up to the light. Damned if it wasn't perfect. He laid it face-down on his forearm and frowned. How was he supposed to get it onto his skin?
--
Draco faked a cough and covered his mouth and nose with his hand. "Pardon?"
"I need to transfer it."
"But a backlight won't work because..."
"Uhm... it can't... light can't go through the... other... thing."
Draco's t-shirt today had a frilly, looping font that said, "Nearotica: Almost There."
"Dare I ask what material you're transferring this banana onto?"
Harry focused on Draco's forearm, and the curve of the roses, and the sinewy body of the snake.
"Uhm... leather?"
Draco shot him a challenging look Harry didn't understand. "I suppose you'd want a cautery tool for that."
"Uhm... okay."
--
He wasn't okay. He had two burned dots on his forearm, and a hole in his paper at the base and tip of the outline.
Over a hundred galleons spent, and all he had to show for it were what looked like two mosquito bites that were exactly one penis-length apart.
The hell with all of it.
--
Harry dropped bags of barely-used art supplies on the store counter, and Draco's chin snapped up. He cocked his head and looked at the bags while Harry read his t-shirt: "Thrill Your Darlings: Tropes and Nopes."
"Didn't work out?" Draco asked.
Harry bent down, rested his elbows on the counter, and shook his head. "Can I return it?"
Draco shrugged. "Store credit, since it's all been opened."
Harry buried his face in his hands. "I'll take it in coloring books."
"I'll throw in some markers."
Draco shot him a pitying smile and stood to collect the bags. His eyes caught on the two burn marks on Harry's forearm. He set his elbow next to Harry's and pressed their wrists together.
"Huh," Draco exhaled. He rolled his tattoo against Harry's forearm. The peak of the rose crown touched the mark nearest Harry's wrist, and the snake's tail met the other.
Harry stared at their arms, wide-eyed and panicked in the best way.
"Is it-" Harry started. "Do they, uhm..."
"I... do believe so. If your banana outline was accurate."
Harry gulped. "It was."
"Huh," Draco repeated. "Well, in that case, there's a giant mandala coloring poster I've had my eye on, but it's a bit much for one person."
Harry let a grin spread across his face. "Consider it sold."
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phantomphangphucker · 4 years ago
Text
Phic Phight: [REDACTED] “Oh Goddamnit. DANNY!”
Prompt Creator: @mr-lancers-english-class
Even Danny’s school projects cause ghostly issues and Lancer really should have seen this coming.
Alright fine, Lancer knew this was a bad idea. He knew it. And yet... here they all are, with each of his students doing their self-chosen presentations. And as he should have expected, Every. Single. One. has been on Phantom. Sure at least there’s been some variety. Star’s piece on his fashion and how that reflects on his personality and the era he died was actually fairly interesting (if it wasn’t for the fact that Phantom spiced up his jumpsuit with t-shirts and whatnot sometimes then this would have been a very boring one). Kwan also surprised him some, apparently he’s spent the past year or so sneaking photos of Phantom eating and did a piece on Phantom’s rather peculiar food tastes (who dips their pickles in milkshakes???) as well as effectively providing proof for the existence of ectoplasmic food (there’s no way any earth apples are neon green on the inside). Dash’s wasn’t even correctly calculated, trying to figure out how far Phantom could throw footballs based on his known strength and if he could kill someone by tackling them (disturbingly the answer -regardless of Dash’s bad math- was decidedly yes. Daniel seemed particularly disturbed). And Paulina’s was quite literally a badly written self-insert ship fan fic; the added drawings of what their child would look like only made it worse (Daniel left, not that Lancer could blame him. Lancer’s also glad for the ghost fight interrupting the presentation). Emilie’s was... disturbingly about ghost hunger and purposed the thesis that Phantom, for the good of the town, should eat the aggressor ghosts (he actually had to cut her off for getting too graphic).
But the single most interesting thing was that a ghost apparently caught wind of this and literally Every. Single. Presentation so far had words that were permanently replaced with [REDACTED], which, needless to say, caused some chaos when Samantha gave the very first presentation.
-
Lancer clicked his pen, crossing his legs and resting the evaluation sheet on his thigh, “alright, Samantha. Feel free to start whenever you please, though soon would be preferred”, by ‘preferred’ he had meant required, but no need to be mean. He chooses to ignore the goth teen's eyeroll.
Predictably the projected screen doesn’t work when she opens her file so Lancer has to spend ten minutes fiddling with the outdated tech that they wouldn’t give the school funding to replace. Eventually, he does get it up and running showing Ms. Manson’s title screen reading ‘Phantom And Hate Crimes Against Blood Blossoms’. Lancer’s positive ‘blood blossoms’ are a type of flower, figures she would do something nature-focused. She’d make for a great herbalist or botanist someday. He does catch Daniel and Tucker giving her ‘death glares’, as the kids call it, though; Samatha doesn’t look any less smug. The second page has what he thinks was supposed to be a detailed drawing of a flower but it’s severely pixilated, almost as if it been blurred; Samantha looks visibly upset so he’s going to assume something when wrong with the file or pasting format. He’s not marking on artistic capabilities though, so effort is effort there.
She quickly clicks to the next page, where the actual writing of the assignment is and looks decidedly pissed; Lancer even quirks an eyebrow since at least two-thirds of the words are a very bold noticeable [REDACTED]. Lancer watches her yank out her physical copy while glaring with murderous intent at Daniel -Lancer will have to dock him marks if he messed with another student's project- before looking at the physical copy in bafflement for a few seconds. Half the class shrieking when she drops the papers and basically launches herself over the desks at Daniel, “OH YOU LITTLE FUCKER!!!! HOW THE FUCK!”.
Lancer’s sighs and stands, “language, Ms. Manson”, moving to pick up the papers and quirking an eyebrow over them looking the same. Sighing again and eyeing Daniel, who’s being choked -or throttled perhaps?- by Samantha yet is grinning innocently. “Daniel, messing with other students' work is against student policy”, sighing yet again, “and I’ll let Star go while Samantha fixes her document”, summoning up the blonde while glaring at Daniel. Some days that boy was more trouble than he was worth but he was also insanely bright and had a heart of gold. Lancer knows he’ll do good things someday, and that’s why he still tries with him.
Half the class is snickering or laughing now and Star is very clearly trying not to laugh as she sets up.
However, as soon as it opens up the class is met with a very familiar sight. [REDACTED] litters every single page; he checked. And Star’s physical copy was in the same state.
Kwan blinks, “okay seriously, what is going on”, before scrambling to grab out his own physical copy; the rest of the class going wide-eyed and following suit. Lancer just puts his head in his hands and sighs very audibly while shaking his head. Why could nothing go right? Sighing again as the class erupts into noise.
“Mines all weird too!”.
“Same here!”.
“Okay there is no way Fenturd messed up everyone’s work”.
“And I actually tried on mine! It was about the merits of Phantom getting armour!”.
“Oh damn do we just get auto hundreds now? Please please please say yes”.
“Oh damn, Phantom would actually look awesome in armour”.
“I know right”.
“Can we just skip class entirely now?”.
“Oh my Zone a ghost messed with or work”.
“Holy Shit”.
“Wait! Wait! Wait! You don’t think Phantom did do you?”.
“Why the heck would he do that? How would he even know??????”.
“Oh I hope Phantom was inside my computer. That would be so hot”.
“Oh I don’t know, maybe someone told him or he overheard shit. He’s a ghost, he can be invisible. Heck, he could be here, right now, invisible”.
“Invisible and laughing at us”.
“No! No! Hold up! What if he doesn’t want us writing about him or maybe someone wrote some sus shit and he just nerfed us all for good measure”.
“That would mean Phantom totally read my stuff, aw Hell yeah man. That was some boss shit”,
Lancer sighs and stands up, “alright that’s enough”, sighing again because why did this have to happen to him, “and I apologies for blaming you earlier, Daniel”.
Samantha snaps, “oh no, I still blame him”, and continues glaring at the teen. Lancer suspects Samantha would continue blaming the boy even if it was firmly proven he wasn’t at fault.
Addressing the class again, “here’s what we’re going to do, you’re going to read off what of your projects you actually can and allude to the rest. Please reframe from repeating what you know was there beforehand as I’d rather not have whatever ghost responsible -Phantom or otherwise- come here pissed off”, glaring at few students who look slightly encouraged rather than discouraged by that prospect, “anyone who does will receive automatic zeroes”, ah and the encouraged looks have deflated. Good. Gesturing at Star, “you’re already up here, so do continue”. Better to not bring the clearly infuriated Samantha back to the front until she’s had some time to calm down.
Star nods and clears her throat, thankfully everyone quiets down. “O-okay, well, um”, gesturing at the screen, “I did my piece on Phantom’s sense of fashion and the cover image was one with him dressed in one of the Spook Sense stores meme shirts....”.
-
Lancer shakes away the memory, he honestly slightly regrets giving this project. But regardless right now is Daniel’s turn and Lancer is honestly slightly fearful of what his file is going to look like. Thankfully all their files were saved to his computer before the [REDACTED] debacle, so no one could go back in and edit theirs to add [REDACTED]’s for an easy grade. Lancer’s still not exactly sure how he’s supposed to mark assignments that were anywhere from one-fifth to one-third [REDACTED]. That word will be burned into his head after this grading period.
Lancer moves to find the boys file, but stares when clicking it crashes the computer. Not once. Not twice. But thrice. The fourth time rebooting the computer he inspects the file and is a bit dumbfounded, “Daniel, your entire file’s corrupted. The file type has even been changed to redacted, which I’m fairly sure, isn’t actually any possible file designation”. Everyone’s silent for a bit before bursting out into laughter.
“Just what the Zone did you write, Danny!”.
“Oh we so have to know what this is now”.
“Danny has the forbidden knowledge! We haft found him! The keeper of things forbidden and Ghostly! Haza!”.
“Ha! It was probably so lame that Phantom wanted to save him the embarrassment”.
Lancer sighs, but Daniel gestures Tucker up, “hey Tuck, feel like trying to fix the file”. Tucker chuckles and walks up, though apparently glaring at the boy. Based on Daniel’s smirk he finds this quite amusing.
Tucker does manage to make the file viewable at least. Lancer nods and leans back in his seat, “thank you, Mr. Foley”, while the file loads on screen.
Tucker sits back down with a head shake while Daniel stands at the front and gestures to the screen, “aight, as you can see from my not redacted title-”, that earns a couple laughs, “I did mine on Phantom’s portfolio of crime. Every single time our dear Phantom broke ghost law. Including such wonderful things as, that time he caused not one, not two, not even three, but five, prison breaks in one day. Or that time he invalidated a Observant spectator duel by bringing an inflatable sword”. Samantha slams a hand on her desk, “IT IS YOUR FAULT YOU DICK!”.
Lancer has some serious questions as Daniel clicks for the next page, the entire class going dead silent as a screen comprising of almost nothing but the word [REDACTED] shows. Lancer sighs very audibly. Eventually the class starts up again.
“Fenton... actually has forbidden knowledge”.
“If it wasn’t for the teacher computer saved thing I’d think he was fucking with us”.
“I mean... he is a Fenton, right?”.
“Okay the fact that this entire presentation is on ghost crimes is concerning alone. But they’re forbidden ghost crimes at that”.
“Shit I wanted the tea. Damnit”.
“Better question, how does Danny know?”.
Daniel clicking the button to go forward is very audible. And, Chicken Soup For The Soul, every single page is [REDACTED] to the point of being completely and utterly unintelligible. There are occasional lines pointing out how Phantom apparently ate confetti at a ghosts third wedding (which is apparently illegal for some reason) or that time he beat someone up with a violin that had a pie inside it (Lancer can see this one, Lancer himself has smacked a ghost with stranger).  Literally the only photo that isn’t blurred beyond recognition is one of Phantom in a prison uniform (Paulina was very vocal about liking men in uniform here). Lancer is absolutely positive the end of his conclusion ‘[REDACTED] are a bunch of [REDACTED]’ is an insult.
Samantha chucks a boot at his smirking face, “YOU IDIOT. Of course they were going to block you from talking about them. Ancients, I can’t believe you”. Tucker’s busy laughing into his hand.
“Oh my Zone, they know too”.
“They’re really earning that weirdo trio title, huh”.
Daniel snickers as he sits back down, “they broke into my room and wrecked that epic puzzle I was working on. They shoulda seen this shit coming. Literally”. Tucker snorts, “they probably did but couldn’t do anything else about it. They can’t stop you and your endless bullshit”.
“Damn fucking straight”.
Lancer isn’t going to claim to know what exactly they’re talking about but apparently Daniel effectively orchestrated this entire fiasco just to annoy some ghost. Lancer is honestly more impressed than disturbed. A for effort but an A- for making everyone's work nigh unusable.
End.
Prompt: For the last project of their senior year in high school, Mr. Lancer is letting his class do presentations on literally whatever topic they want. He is very, /very/ sure that this is going to go poorly, but that's a problem for later...
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mae-gi-writes · 4 years ago
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Jealous | Kevin Moon (The Boyz)
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Your mission is to get your boyfriend jealous. What better way to do this by fawning over Stray Kids?
Genre: slight nfsw? Idk its kinda hot? And female reader insert.
A/N: inspired by my convos with @seraplantery and @chaoticdeobi Kevin would be about me thirsting over Chan. Also idk what I wrote im sorry TT > TT
-----
Jealousy had never been in Kevin Moon’s vocabulary. And you were damn certain it would never be.
That doesn’t mean you never try pushing his buttons every time you can, though.
“How can he be so hot?” You mutter to yourself, loud enough that it reaches your boyfriend’s ears. It’s a late lazy Sunday afternoon and you two are taking this time to unwind and relax, mentally preparing for the full week of work ahead. While Kevin is busy doodling across his sketchbook like he normally is, you take this time to catch up on the multiple kpop performances you’d missed earlier this year. 
And boy, have you missed out.
“Oh my god,” your lips go round as your eyes widen as big as saucers, gaze permanently fixed on the screen giving way to eight hot men dominating the stage with their fiery charisma and strong choreography, “Oh my-- holy shit I think I fell pregnant.” 
Kevin’s voice permeates through the hot summer air, “What you watching?” 
“Stray Kids,” you say absentmindedly as your eyes follow one particular member’s every moves. While you had fallen out of touch with the kpop world -- and you blame this on the concept of having a job and actually now going through adult life like anyone should be -- that doesn’t mean that you don’t get your phases, especially with one of your favourite groups you’ve been following since their debut.
“Stray Kids?”
“Yeah, jesus christ Kev-- Chan’s arms are to die for.” 
Admittedly, you wouldn’t have been so vocal about admiring other men if it’s not for your silent experiment of whether Kevin Moon will finally bite at the bait jiggling before his face. He’d be an idiot not to. 
But considering he is never even aware when other men look at you, you doubt that this time is going to be different. So you continue on:
“He’s not even my type of guy you know? I usually go for the tall skinny ones but somehow--he’s just so charismatic onstage. And did I tell you he’s Australian? I mean I’m not fond of Aussie accents but I don’t know I find it really sexy on him--”
“Woah Y/N, look at you. Talking as if you don’t have a boyfriend,” sarcasm drips from Kevin’s alto, causing your head to slowly turn with surprise, an eyebrow arching slowly at the way he seems hunched and rigid over his blank piece of paper, pen held so tightly in his grip it might snap in two.
“Kevin,” you draw out slowly as you try to hide your grin, “is that...jealousy I hear?” 
He scoffs, “I don’t get jealous."
"Sure could've proved me wrong."
Reverting your attention back to the screen just in time to catch a glimpse of Bang Chan's smile, you sighed in bliss, "his abs, though."
There is silence from Kevin's part, causing your lips to tilt into a small smirk of victory as you click on the next video that follows. You know him all too well that you assume he will probably sulk for the next hour that follows, and you're content with that, considering that you're not at fault.
You're too engrossed in your video that you barely realize that a shadow hangs behind your shoulder, before an arm shoots out to close your laptop.
You whip around with a scowl, "hey! What--"
But no sooner are you protesting that you feel Kevin's arms haul you up, turning so quickly you can barely register anything but the soft mattress welcoming your figure as you are plopped onto it, Kevin's frame hovering over yours. His face is all but amused.
Laughter bubbles up your throat, "what the --"
It cuts off into a gasp upon feeling his arms hooking around the back of your thighs to pull you closer, lips mere inches above yours and dark orbs gazing down at you with a thunderous depth. It halts any further comment you are about to make, takes your breath away.
Something warm coils within your stomach.
You are a little breathless when you say, "y-yes?"
"You want me to be jealous?" His lips curl slightly, eyes narrowing down at you while fingers ghost over your thighs, his touch igniting a series of sparks in his wake, "I'll show you jealous."
And then he's kissing you. Hard mouth on yours, intense. Demanding.
That's not the Kevin you know but somehow desire pools through you. He's never been this...aggressive.
He is holding your frame against his, fingers so firm and pressing on the back of your thighs before slowly slipping up to cup your ass. You gasp in response, hands automatically lifting to grab his shoulders only for his to grab them instead and pin them down by your face. His head tilts, lips moving to your rhythm and dominating your tongue the moment you gasp into his mouth.
The softest grunts rumbles up his throat when your hips buck up on instinct. He murmurs against your mouth, "not so chatty now, are we?"
"I--"
And then his mouth is latching onto your jaw, peppering a trail of warm kisses that makes your heart beat twice as hard, your body writhing with the delicious sensation of wanting him. He devours your neck, growling with satisfaction when he urges your fingers down onto the mattress to stop any attempts of escape. That's hot.
You're practically seeing stars at this point, the sounds of his soft suckling evocating a sensation of heat deep within your belly that your legs wrap around his waist on their own accord to pull him closer. And the moment his firm length presses onto your heat, he lets out a moan that has you trembling.
"If I knew how you'd react--" you stop to moan softly as he grinds his hips into yours. Lord, "I would've done it more often."
"What, that's your kink?" His breath ghosts over your skin at your collarbone now. You struggle against him wanting nothing more than to run your hands through his glossy raven locks and to scratch your nails down his back. But his fingers squeeze firmly nibbling at the skin of your shoulder, "you like seeing me jealous?"
"Hm, I won't say the contrary," you breathe out.
Ensuring that one of his hands cage your wrists together, his other slips down to trace your neck, the dip of your breasts, ghosting over your side before trickling down the inner side of your thigh. You take a shaky inhale. Waiting.
He's looking at you now, gauging every reaction that you gift him with like you're a fascination he can't quite make out and the intensity makes you squirm.
Slowly, oh so slowly that it makes your toes curl, Kevin starts a slow, sensual path of kisses down the middle of your chest and air gets stuck in your throat the more you watch him, practically holding back a whimper with every searing touch he imprints upon your skin.
He kisses down your navel, nipping and biting as he does while his heated breaths send waves of heat up your spine. At some point he releases your hands to grasp your waist and they instantly tangle in his hair, emitting a grunt from the said man.
He continues his sensual search using his mouth, hot breath fanning against your skin down the sides of your thighs, landing on final peck to your knee, before rearing back up to hover above your pelvis and finally tilting his face up to yours.
And that makes your breath catch in your throat. For in Kevin's eyes you read the dark desire, the craving he holds for you, the longing.
Your heart jolts to a stop. You swear you stop breathing as your gazes lock.
A beat passes. You swallow hard. Suddenly vulnerable under his hooded stare.
Then, before your brain can scramble for coherence, the raven-haired man leans over. He presses a kiss.
Right on your sex.
A sound between a mewl and a whimper escapes your lips.
You gape at him. He smirks back, thoroughly satisfied.
Slowly, he hoists up until his lips hover yours once more and at this point, you're pretty sure you're dead. What with the speed of your heart rate practically vaulting out of your chest.
"Well," he murmurs while one of his hands keep tracing up and down your side, "I guess I can leave you to ogle at your kpop boys--"
His words are interrupted by you shooting out to grab his t-shirt, pulling him down to kiss him. And oh, does he kiss back like a starved man, grunting and growling as your fingers tangle up in his locks to pull him even closer as your teeth sink upon his bottom lip. He gasps.
You pull away slowly then --merely coming up for air -- and gaze into his dark, bottomless orbs, "the only one I'm gonna ogle tonight is you."
His breath halts for a minute. He stares at you, eyes darting back and forth between your eyes and your lips.
And then, a crooked grin spreads across his face.
"I like the sound of that."
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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago
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Everything, Everywhere | The Mikaelson Boys
Hello Lovelies! I circled back to my element and wrote a more traditional Mikaelson Boys fic. Did I reuse the theme of a ball? Yes, I am a weak and lazy woman. Did I make the fic completely implausible and touchy? You know I did, they’re vampires and I will let them touch whoever they want (with consent of course). Anyway, it’s honestly just a cute, kinda steamy romance. I altered some of the points from the universe but you have to squint to see where. You know, my entire gambit. You could use this as a prologue for my other fic, Big Decisions, but this is more than fine as a standalone. Anyways, I hope you are all doing well and that this story brings you joy! Until next time <3 
Description: Y/n is part of a founding family and gets invited to a Mikaelson ball. Somehow she manages to enamour three of the brothers. They soon discover she has a few secrets that they’re more than willing to indulge.
Pairing: Fem!Reader x The Mikaelson Boys
Warnings: Kudos to me I think there are none
Word count: 10k (oops)
Tags: Fluff, smut if you squint (more like nudity)
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“Are you heading home this weekend?” Lily twirls a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, “Mama told me there’s an event.”
Your best friend lays on your bed as opposed to her own, her legs dangling over the edge. Her eyes are closed, probably halfway to being asleep. It’s been this way since the two of you left for college three years ago, always more in your space than her own. You’re lucky that way, you have a best friend who would follow you across the country if you wanted her to. Honestly, you would do the same. Luckily, though, you decided on only two hours away away from home. Just far enough to find your footing. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. 
You smile softly at her, swiveling in your chair, “what event? My parents haven’t said anything to me.”
Your family is a founding family, just like Lily’s is. That’s how the two of you became best friends, it was practically destined. You were babies at the same time and your parents brought you to every meeting together. You were inseparable long before you can remember.
Lilly yawns, curling her legs to her chest, “I think it’s some sort of ball. I’m not too sure, I think we got invitations,” Lily rolls her eyes as if the concept of a hand written letter offends her very being, “and they probably just forgot or assumed I would tell you. Isn’t your mom, like, the head of the committee now?”
You nod at her, closing your own eyes for a second, “yeah she’s always got something going on. I swear she forgets she even has a daughter half the time.” You let your mind drift to the other half of the conversation, “Invitations? That’s exciting.”
You don’t have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes again. You crack an eye open anyway just in time to glimpse her do that very thing. You giggle lightly, shaking your head. 
Always one for theatrics, “careful, Lil, your tomboy is showing. What would your mother think if she could see you up in arms over a silly, little note, hmm?”
She scowls at you before letting the grin crack through, flipping her middle finger up at you and mouthing bite me. 
You lean your head back against your chair, “I’m not even sure if mama wants me to come. She hasn’t said anything about this to me. She called me yesterday and it didn’t come up once. Maybe I should just stay here.”
“Not true,” Lily curls her fingers at you, beckoning you to join her on the bed, “she’s just busy these days. Remember how she was when we were little?”
You move to the bed, curling next to your best friend, “you mean how she was always around? She went from helicopter parent to too busy to text me back.”
You yawn, closing your eyes and letting the lullaby of sleep on your limbs sing a little louder. Lily cuddles closer to you, almost gone herself. You wish you could hold onto these moments. These fleeting minutes of comfort in your best friend’s arms. It’ll be gone all too soon. You almost don’t want to fall asleep. Laying next to her feels like the calm before the storm and you want to soak up as much of it as you can. Your heavy eyelids, however, have other plans.
“You’re coming. If I have to go then so do you. I’m sure this weekend will be different,” her voice is the last thing you hear before you drift off, “I can feel it.”
                                 *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
Sure enough, when you pull into your parent’s driveway after dropping Lily off at her own house, your mother bursts through the door, a wide smile on her face. You let your own smile drown the nerves you’ve been fighting for the last three hours, practically falling out of the car to get to her. She wraps you in a hug, her familiar honeysuckle and lilac scent trickling around you.
“I missed you, mama,” you whisper against her shoulder and she squeezes you tighter for a second before letting go.
“Oh honey,” she crinkles her nose at you, her face the picture of serene joy, “what’s to miss? I’m always right here. I, however, missed you so much.” She leads you into the house, her arm around your shoulders tight, “Tell me all about everything!”
You suck in a breath as you enter your house, letting your shoulders sag as you pass over the door frame. You’re home, finally. You glance around quickly at everything you’ve missed for the last few months. You glance at family photos, most of which include Lily, and the random trinkets your parents have collected over the years. There are a few new ones and you make a mental note to look at them later. 
You settle on a stool at the kitchen counter, leaning your head in your hand, “you first, mama. What’s this about a ball? And an invitation, hmm? You’ve been holding out on me.”
Her eyes widen, telling you everything you need to know. She forgot. You really aren’t that surprised. It makes you feel better, at least the reason she didn’t tell you wasn’t because she didn’t want you to attend. Lily was right, you’ll have to let her say I told you so when you see her next.
“Oh shoot,” she snaps her fingers, rushing to the foyer, her voice floating to you as she turns the corner, “I’m so sorry honey, it completely slipped my mind. I barely had a chance to glance at my own invitation,” she comes back into view, now with two envelopes in her hand, “here you go!”
She hands you the envelope and you almost gasp at how luxurious the paper feels in your fingers. The cardstock is definitely of the more expensive selection and you blanche. Who on earth could be sending this? You read your name on the card drawn in an elegant script. Handwritten. You had been joking with Lily when you thought that but now, looking at it first hand, it almost offends you as well. You could never write like that.
You open it carefully, making sure to not taint the red seal. You’re pretty sure your heart would collapse if that happened. This has to be one of the most beautiful things you have ever touched. You pull the equally luxurious note from the envelope, your eyes dancing over the paper. 
Please join the Mikaelson Family this coming Saturday at seven o’clock for dancing, cocktails, and celebration. 
Your heart stops. This coming Saturday. Saturday. As in today Saturday. You whip your head up to stare at your mother, your mouth falling open. 
“Mama,” this time your eyes widen, “this is tonight!” you hiss, your brows shooting up, “I can’t attend this! There’s no time, it’s two in the afternoon already!”
She rolls her eyes and for a moment you picture Lily and how she would call you dramatic. You can practically hear her voice. Just wear jeans you princess. You scoff at imaginary Lily. You can’t attend a ball in jeans, not that that would stop her at all.
“You can and you should attend,” she places a finger under your chin, drawing your eyes to meet hers, “the Mikaelson’s are new to town and have invited us. It’s only polite that we attend. Besides,” she winks at you and your cheeks flood with heat, “they are quite the handsome bunch. Perhaps you can end this dry spell? Give me some grandbabies?” 
You choke at her words, pulling your face from her fingers with burning skin, “oh my god, mama! I’m almost certain you should not be condoning grandbabies! Besides, I have nothing to wear so I highly doubt I’ll be the one pulled from the crowd. Reproduction rates are looking slim, I am sorry to say!”
She laughs, her eyes crinkling, and you can’t stop yourself from joining her, “alright, alright. No grandbabies. Yet. However, I’m not so sure how you can be so certain when you haven’t even looked at what I picked up for you. I quite think you’re going to change your mind, honey bunch.”
Your laughter stops abruptly as she leaves the room for the second time. You hear her jog up the stairs and your interest is officially peaked. She never jogs. What on earth has she done? You rack your brain, trying to picture what she’s going to show you now. You don’t have much time to sit on your thoughts, however, because soon you can hear her feet on the stairs again, still jogging, now humming a tune you can’t place. 
When she comes back into view, your mouth falls open. In her hands is a gown. No, not just a gown. In her hands is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. It’s a black, sequined number with a full skirt and a slit that looks like it will rest a touch lower than your hip. The straps keeping it on the hanger are thin, almost nonexistent, and the bodice has a deep but modest dip. When she moves it sparkles like a diamond, catching the sun rays pouring in through the kitchen window. She holds it up, letting it flow to its full effect in front of you, and you gasp, your hands flying to your mouth. 
You can feel the tears prickling at the edge of your vision and you silently scold yourself for being so emotional, “mama, where did you get this? It’s too much!”
Her smile falters, minutely, but you still see it and curse silently, “you don’t like it?”
You stand quickly, your eyes wide, “no! That’s not it,” you take the dress from her, afraid it’ll disappear if you don’t touch it, “this must have cost a fortune is all! How can we afford this?”
It’s true, the dress looks like a million bucks and probably costs as much. You’re a founding family, sure, but that doesn’t instantly equate to old money. It doesn’t even mean new money. Your family has never struggled to get by but you also know that something this extravagant would have definitely set your father back a pretty penny. You don’t want your family to waste their hard earned money on something this frivolous, even if it is the most stunning thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on.
Your mother’s smile returns to its full brilliance and she shakes her head, “it didn’t cost me a thing, honey, don’t worry. Mrs. Jackson down the street owed me a favor and I asked if she had anything particularly pretty laying around. She pulled this from her closet. She also told me to let you know that it’s yours if you would like.”
You hug the dress tiger to your chest, your mouth gaping further, “I can keep this?”
Your mother giggles, bobbing her head up and down quickly. She looks like she’s ready to start jumping. You don’t blame her, you’re half a second away from doing the same thing. You could scream from how ecstatic you are.
“Come, honey,” your mom grabs your hand, dragging you up the stairs with her, “I think it’s high time we start getting ready for tonight, don’t you think? You have some Mikaelson’s to wow!”
                            *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
When seven o’clock rolls around you’re standing outside the biggest mansion you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Its white pillars taunt you, each one large enough to hide your body. Twice. You’re alone, spare the people around you milling in and out of the large doors. Your mother had dropped you in front while her and your father went to park the car. Never before in your life has a house made you feel this small. This alone. You pull your shawl, a sheer black number, around your shoulders and shrink slightly.
A hand lands on your shoulder and you jump, spinning around quickly only to be greeted with Lily, whose face is twisted from the laughter pouring out of her. She clutches her stomach from the force, wrinkling the red satin dress she’s wearing. You take a moment to admire how much it suits her. It’s a little bold for your tastes but she wears it like no one else could. Her hair is twisted on the top of her head, a few curls falling to frame her face. She looks amazing, not that you had any doubts.
You lightly smack her shoulder, finally letting a few giggles loose, “you scared me you idiot!” You turn your eyes back to the mansion, swallowing the lump of nerves growing in your throat, “take a look at this place, will you. It’s huge! Have you ever seen a house this big? What could someone possibly need a house this big for?”
“Yeah it’s something alright,” her eyes drag down the hulking facade before meeting yours once more, a naughty smirk now on her red lips, “and I’m sure the inside is even nicer! Let’s go!”
She grabs your hand, all but dragging you over the threshold. Light pours over you, catching the sequins on your dress and making it sparkle delicately, something that would usually make you squeal however your attention is currently elsewhere. That elsewhere is the dual grand staircase in the center of the room. It’s encased in pillars, the feature leaking in from the exterior of the mansion. It’s bronze railings are strung up with thousands of twinkling lights. The staircase is easily the focal point of the foyer. 
But not because of the lights. 
Lily digs her nails into your hand, pulling you to a screeching halt, “are you seeing what I’m seeing right now?”
Her eyes are glued to the same place that yours are, dragging up and down the staircase with little care to whoever might be watching her little show. You choose a less outright form of gawking, opting to look all around the room while still making little glances at your main focus.
“Yeah, Lil, I think I am,” you gulp, your eyes training on three sinfully gorgeous men, “mama said they were handsome but this,” you let the end of your sentence drop, not having nearly the vocabulary to explain the Mikaelsons.
In total, there are five people on the staircase. Four men and a woman. Each one is gorgeous in their own right. You mull over the woman first. If you thought that you looked nice before you left, that’s pretty much gone now. She’s absolutely stunning. Her blonde hair lays in a sheet over her shoulders, winding almost to her base of her spine. She wears an emerald gown, one fitted to every dip and curve of her body like it was spun by Aphrodite herself. You have to look away, she’s the kind of pretty that makes you feel like you’re not worthy of seeing it.
Your eyes travel to the man next to her and your mouth goes dry. He’s tall. That’s the first thing you notice. If you were next to him he would easily tower over you. Not just because of his height, though. You shift your focus to his arms and the way the sleeves of his tux hug them tightly. You have no doubts this man could rip you in two if he wanted to. He stands at ease, his eyes wandering the faces of those closest to him as he lifts a hand to smooth over his brown hair. At least he doesn’t look to be in the killing mood.
Behind him is a man with blonde hair. Even from across the room it looks softer than silk and your palms itch to run through it. He leans against the railing, a glass of champagne loose in his fingers. His eyes are on the others but he has the appearance of a man who is a thousand miles away. Your heart hurts at the thought but you brush past it. You don’t know him and you’re most likely wrong. Still you give him another brush over, wishing slightly that he would crack even a hint of a smile.
You shake your head, moving to the man at the top of the stairs. He’s alive with something fiery, speaking to the others with animated hands and laughing hard. You can’t hear him over the crowd around you but, gods, you wish you could. It’s probably nothing important but, by the looks of him, he could make anything sound special. He throws his head back laughing, his brown hair flopping wildly. You can’t look at him for long either but not for the same reason you couldn’t look at the woman. No, you can’t look at him because you’re afraid if you look any longer than you’ll be sucked in forever.
When you look at the last man you shiver. It’s not the kind of shiver that makes you feel exhilarated though, it’s the opposite. Your blood runs cold when you look at him and, when his eyes meet yours, you look away instantly. You can feel his eyes burning into your back for a few moments after and you hate it. Unlike the rest of them, this man makes you feel ice cold.
You tug on your best friend’s hand, desperate to get away from the man, “come on, Lil, let’s go find the champagne.” 
Lily’s eyes light up at the thought, instantly taking the lead on this new expedition, “girl you read my mind!” 
You take one last glance towards the staircase as she pulls you into another room, momentarily catching three pairs of brown eyes before scampering around the corner. Your cheeks are hot when you’re finally out of their vicinity. You hadn’t realized how heavy the air around them had been. Now that you can’t see them your bones feel marginally lighter. Something nags at you though, a loss of sorts. You rub a hand over your chest, massaging the ache away.
Lily pushes a cool glass into your hand, lifting her own to her lips. You follow suit, breathing in the sugary scent before letting the sweet bubbles flow down your throat. They pop, soothing your flaming chest.
“Shit,” Lily breathes, “everything about this screams money. The invitations, the house, this damn champagne. What’s next? A pool of synchronised swimmers?” Her eyes wander the room, her fingers tight around the glass, “I’m not used to this Great Gatsby level of wealth. It’s making my head spin a little. This is my parent’s scene, not mine.”
You nod lightly, her words everything you’ve been dying to say. It’s magnificent but you’ve never felt more out of place. Not even the founders day balls are like this. At least Mrs. Lockwood has the good sense to cater to the modesty of the town. Before you can answer, however, a voice joins your conversation.
“My apologies, my brothers like to go overboard when throwing parties. It’s not quite my taste either, a little too stuffy if you ask me.” 
You spin around to the sight of the woman from the stairs and your heart pounds hard in your chest. She’s even more beautiful up close, like a Van Gogh masterpiece. Her voice is accented and smooth, impossibly so. You feel like a peasant in her presence but her smile is light and it helps to soothe your nerves a touch. When you look at Lily, though, her cheeks are beet red and her eyes are wide. 
“Oh my, I am so sorry! I didn’t think anyone would hear me besides,” she nudges you lightly, the smile she’s plastered on her face sheepish, “this one here. It really is gorgeous. Perhaps university has lowered my standards.”
You watch Lily fumble her words and you don’t blame her. This girl seems like she was made to insite insecurity and you mean that in the very best of ways. Despite her slight enthusiasm, though, Lily’s eyes flow over the woman slowly. You can tell she’s interested. By the way her stares are being reciprocated, you would say she isn’t the only one. You smile at that.
The woman laughs, her eyes filled with mirth, “your standards aren’t low, this party is just a nightmare. I’m Rebekah, one of the many Mikaelsons you will surely encounter tonight,” she looks over her shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing slightly, “and it looks as though you’re going to get the immersive experience.”
You, too, look over her shoulder and your heart stops. The three men from the staircase, the ones who didn’t make your blood run cold, walk towards you slowly, stopping here and there to welcome guests. The tall one catches your eye and you freeze, a deer caught in the headlights. He says something to the other men and they join in looking at you. You swallow hard, your insides doing somersaults at the sight of them. A deer caught in three headlights, it would seem. 
You look back at Rebekah, your eyes blown wide from the panic rising in your chest. She isn’t looking at you, her eyes still locked on your best friend. They’re in the middle of a conversation that you haven't been paying attention to. You tune back in just in time to hear Lily ask about the gardens behind the house. You scrunch your nose. What gardens?
“Yes, they’re marvelous,” Rebekah leans towards Lily, a glint in her eyes, “and much less crowded. I could show you around them if you’d like?” 
Oh no. No no no. You can see the gears turning in your best friend’s head and the smile that blossoms on her face. You know what’s about to happen and for a moment time stands still. She’s really going to do it, isn’t she? 
She looks over at you, tossing you and apologetic squint before meeting Rebekah’s wondering eyes, “I would love that! Lead the way.”
You watch in slow motion as your best friend wanders away, once more looking over her shoulder to mouth a quick I’m sorry. You roll your eyes at her, murmuring a silent you owe me. You close your eyes briefly, tipping the remainder of your champagne into your mouth. You set your glass down as the alcohol swirls in your stomach, adding a kind of weightlessness to your movements. You embrace it, your eyes scanning the ornate walls. What the hell are you going to do now?
A breeze swirls around you, a myriad of spices hitting your nose just as a honeyed voice breaks your daze, “this house was built in the seventeenth century. As a matter of fact, those are the same walls. I do apologize, we’re a little slow when it comes to modernization. I know it can be a lot to take in, if you need another moment to confront them I do understand.”
You turn quickly, your cheeks hot to the touch, and you find yourself inches away from one of the men from the staircase. You bite your cheek, you really need to figure out their names. Up close you see that you were right about him, he does indeed tower over you. You have to bend your neck significantly to make comfortable eye contact. You almost wish you hadn't, though, his dark eyes flooding your chest with butterflies.
“I think I’ve had my fill of the walls but thank you for your consideration,” you pull your wrap tighter around you, clutching it like it's the source of magic that is helping you keep your composure, “and for the history lesson. This house is beautiful.”
He smiles widely, an action so doused in beauty that your head spins, “thank you, it was my father’s. I am Elijah, I don’t believe we’ve met before,” his eyes flit across your face and you can feel the blush begin to creep down your chest, “something which I’m beginning to understand is a terrible misfortune on my part.”
Your heart pounds painfully, your throat dry. This man clearly has a deep grasp on words and knows exactly how to use them. You wonder for a moment to what extent. What would he sound like in a more intimate setting? What words would he use when no one else could hear him? 
Your eyes widen, your chest burning at the thought, “I’m y/n. Perhaps you’ve met my mother, Mary-Anne?” you glance around, trying and failing to locate your mother, “She’s around here somewhere, she has a hand in most of the happenings around town so it wouldn’t surprise me if you do know her.”
Elijah’s carmel eyes fill with recognition, “ah, yes, I believe I’ve seen her in town. Never you, though.”
Though he doesn’t ask, the question is clear in his tone. 
“I attend university out of town,” you clutch your chest lightly, your fingers curling around the top of your dress, “I’m actually only home for the weekend. My mother was adamant I attend this evening.”
Elijah tilts his head, his eyes flitting quickly to where your fingers slip down your dress. When he looks back at you his eyes are a touch darker than before. Your heart pounds harder as well and you bite your lip slightly, thankful your mother didn’t make you wear lipstick.
“I see. I suppose that means we must give you a night to remember,” his eyes linger on your mouth for a moment and the heat that was swirling in your chest sinks lower.
“Indeed we shall, brother,” a voice from your left pulls your attention.
You’re greeted with the blonde from earlier, the one who looked like he was on another planet. Standing in front of you now he looks much more aware. His eyes, a touch lighter than Elijah’s, skim down your dress, lingering on the high slit on your hip before meeting yours again. You suck in a breath but there is no oxygen to be found.
“I do hope my brother is giving you a proper welcome,” his eyes flash, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips, “I wouldn’t want you leaving here tonight without a proper taste of the Mikaelson charm.”
The way he says the word taste, the way it rolls of his tongue, is positively sinful. It hits you straight in the stomach, spreading like poison through your already airy body. It anchors you to the ground, to him. You glance at Elijah who’s already watching you like a hawk. You feel naked under his gaze but, for some reason, it isn’t a wholly unwelcome feeling. You actually kind of like it. 
You smile lightly at him before turning back to his brother, “I think he’s doing a marvelous job. His introduction skills, however, need a little bit of a touch up.” You giggle at the glimpse of his furrowed eyebrows from the corner of your eye, “Too much talking about walls for my liking.”
“Ah, there you two are,” a third voice joins your arsenal of men, standing on your right and piercing you with a voice accented enough to make the gods fall to their knees, “hogging all the pretty girls tonight, are we Klaus?”
You meet the eyes of the third man, the one who made laughter look like a gift, and your heart sings. He grins at you, his eyes, much like his brothers’, a warm brown. Having all three of them this close to you is more intense than you could have imagined. They make the room feel smaller. Intimate. You’re not sure if you want to run away screaming or move closer to them. They’re magnetic, you’re just not sure if being pulled in or pushed away.
He takes your hand, an action that sends your heart into overdrive. His eyes light up, as if he can hear every rapid beat of your pulse. You scold yourself inwardly. Don’t be stupid, y/n, that would be impossible. 
“I’m Kol,” he brings your hand to his lips, laying a kiss that renders your knees weak against your knuckles, “it’s a pleasure.”
Your heart thunders at the feeling of his lips against your skin. You feel like a schoolgirl, dizzy from the slightest touch from your playground crush. His lips are warm and soft. Is this how princesses feel? God, you need another drink. 
“So,” Klaus steps towards you, his eyes swirling with something barely contained, “what’s this I heard about us giving you a night to remember?”
Your heart stops on the spot and you almost choke, not missing any of the implications behind his tone, “I have to head back to school tomorrow is all,” you breathe, trying to play off some of the heat swirling under the surface of your skin, “please, don’t let me keep you from the rest of your guests. I’m sure there are quite a few more important people than me here tonight.”
Elijah chuckles, the sound piling on top of the many other ones you’re already holding tight to, “the guest list is merely a formality, it would really be my pleasure to show you around.”
He holds his hand out to you, his eyes warm but challenging. You swallow thickly, a string of indecipherable emotions rushing through your chest, circling your lungs. You know it’s just a gesture so why does it feel like something more? Why does the thought of taking his hand feel like stepping into the rest of your life? You take a breath, squaring your shoulders and slipping your hand into his. Bring it on, destiny.
“Wait just a moment brother,” Kol’s fingers slip around your wrist, dragging down your palm until your fingers are locked together, “stealing her away from me so soon? I’m not sure I can let you do that.”
Elijah and Kol stare at each other, something wild brewing in their increasingly dark eyes. You tense, feeling like the rope in a game of tug of war. This doesn’t feel like a game, though, this feels real. You’re not a rope to be fought over, you get to decide what and who you want. Even if that’s all of them.
You squeeze both of their hands, drawing their attention back to you, “I’m sure this house is big enough for us to all comfortably go for a tour.”
Elijah’s eyes widen, dragging over you once more as if seeing you properly for the first time all night. He, like his brothers, lingers on the most delicate parts of you for just a few moments longer than he should. It’s a hole in his armor, a hint past the gentleman front. You want to leap at it and pull until all that’s left is the darkness swirling beneath his surface.
You glance at Kol who meets your eyes head on, a toothy grin already on his face, “marvelous, darling. What a great idea.”
He begins pulling you, and by default Elijah, out of the room but you halt, feeling a tad off. You look behind you at Klaus and sigh, your heart heavy. He stands tall but you catch his eyes and the way they glance at your hands, both of which are still being occupied. He squeezes his hands into fists, shoving them in his pockets. You tilt your head, pouting slightly at him. 
“Mr. Mikaelson, are you coming? Time is of the essence,” you nod your head toward the foyer, a coy smile on your lips, “we can’t can’t afford to waste any now.”
His face lights up instantly, walking towards you with flames dancing behind his eyes, “time isn’t real, love. Tonight we have as much of it as we want. As much of it as you want.”
You swallow hard. You want it all. 
Kol pulls you towards him, twirling you slowly, making your dress spin around your legs like a ribbon, “where to first, darling? What do you want to see?”
Your hands land on his chest, your cheeks flushed and legs wobbly from the spinning. His other hand goes around your waist, his fingers squeezing gently, his thumb pressing into your side in a way that makes you want to draw his body closer to your own. Your thoughts from before ring through your head. He makes everything sound special. More than that; he makes everything feel special.
“Everything,” you can’t tear your eyes away from his, you don’t want to, “show me everything please.”
He leans down, his forehead inches from your own. You can feel the heat rolling off his body even through his tux. It’s luxurious and mingles with the last dregs of the champagne. When combined with his scent, a nutty blend of cloves and cinnamon, you feel lightheaded. 
“Very well, darling,” his eyes flit to your lips, “everything it is.”
An arm snakes around your waist, pulling you away from whatever mischief is brewing beneath Kol’s honey eyes. He tilts his head at the person who grabbed you, his aura turning from playful to down right frosty. 
You turn away, breaking the hold of one Tyler Lockwood. Your ex. You squint your eyes. If you were a cat, your hackles would be raised. You wouldn’t claw his eyes out but you would be damn close. Memories from your senior year pour through your mind, twisting your gut painfully. You blink them away. Contrary to Klaus, you don’t have time for this.
“Tyler,” your voice courteous but cold, “what is it?”
He doesn’t catch your tone or, if he does, he doesn’t act like it. He reaches towards you again, no doubt to pull you into a hug, but you back away. Unlike with Kol, you don’t want to touch him. You definitely don't want him touching you. That part of your life is over.
“Y/n,” his voice is light, happy, “I didn’t know you were back! Mom didn’t say anything. How have you been?”
The atmosphere around you thickens. You don’t have to look at the Mikaelsons to see that their shoulders are tense. You feel them take a step closer to you, surrounding you with some much needed warmth.
You clench your jaw, forcing a smile on your face, “yes, well, I didn’t know if I was going to be home this weekend or not. University and all, I’m sure you understand. I’m fine, thank you.”
He nods enthusiastically and you grind your teeth slightly, wishing the floor would just swallow you whole. You dart your eyes to the side, briefly skimming Klaus as he rolls his eyes. Lily would be proud. Kol and Elijah don’t look amused either. You’re not sure how you know but you have to get them away from Tyler as fast as possible. The air drops another few degrees and you shiver.
“Oh well, no harm done!” Tyler steps closer to you, “say, how long are you in town? We should grab a bite at the grill.”
You drop your fake smile, your heart stinging slightly, “sorry, Lily and I are heading back tomorrow morning.”
You feel the boys once again tense, as if they don’t like the information you just shared. You don’t have time to think too hard about it though before Tyler closes even more space between you, grabbing your hand. You flinch back, hitting something hard and warm. The smell of pine trees, a whole forest of them, swirls around you as a hand circles your waist.
Tyler scrunches his brows, his smile slightly faltering, “tonight, then? I would really love a chance to talk. Catch up a little.”
You almost laugh. He just isn’t giving up. He can never make it easy for you, can he? The hand on your waist squeezes and you look over your shoulder, your heart stuttering. Elijah is staring at Tyler, something swirling under his irises. Whatever it is looks untamed. Not in the good way, like how he was looking at you earlier. No, whatever he’s feeling right now is dangerous. Time to go. 
“I really can’t, my night has been spoken for. Maybe next time, Tyler,” you turn to Elijah, “Elijah, did you say that you saw my mother looking for me? Would you mind showing me to her?”
Elijah’s eyes sparkle, clearly taking your hint, “indeed, she was right this way.”
He pushes you gently, blocking you from Tyler as he leads you out of the room. You can hear Tyler call out to you but you keep walking. Two other sets of footsteps join you, Kol grabbing your hand and twining your fingers together once more. When you break into the foyer you let the anxiety that had been building drain. That was more exhausting than you would like to admit. 
Elijah leads the four of you silently to a room off to the side of the foyer. He pushes the large mahogany door open, ushering you in before shutting it again. The smell of ink and old pages hits your nose and your mouth drops open at the sight. You’re in the biggest library you’ve ever seen. It’s like something out of The Beauty and The Beast, the ceilings high and the walls lined from top to bottom with shelves upon shelves of books. You break away from the boys, your fingers itching to touch what is no doubt an impressive collection of history. 
You hear a chuckle behind you but you don’t turn, your fingers skimming an older looking manuscript. Upon closer inspection the handwritten inscription on the cover reads Vonya i mir. Your heart stops and you quickly pull it from the shelf throwing all common courtesy out the window. This can’t be what you think it is. You flip it over in your hands, taking care not to crack the spine too much. Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy. 
You whip your head up, meeting three curious glances with wide eyes, “this is War and Peace! Like, the original manuscript. This is,” your heart pounds, your eyes glued to the yellowed pages in your hands, “this is history. I can’t believe I’m holding this.” Your heart stops, “Oh my, I should not be holding this! This belongs in a museum! What am I even doing, holding it like it’s nothing.”
You set it carefully on a desk behind you, looking apologetically back at them. Your cheeks heat rapidly. It’s very much not like you to go into a stranger’s home and start groping their collectables. You pull your lip between your teeth, lowering your head.
A hand gently grabs your chin, “you didn’t mention you’re a classic literature major, love.”
A small smile toys on Klaus’ lips, his thumb skimming over your jaw. Your heart stutters when he says love, warmth spreading through your chest. You reluctantly move your head from his hand, turning to motion at the manuscript.
“That’s because I’m not. I am a history major, with a focus on Russian culture. I’ve read War and Peace more times than I care to admit,” you smile lightly at the book, thinking about the hours you’ve spent pouring over it, “never in Russian, though.”
You glance back at Klaus, your hand flying once more to your bodice. He studies you carefully, his head tilted to the side. 
“And what do you think of it? Do you prefer the war or the peace?” He steps towards you, his words filling the almost nonexistent gap between your body and his.
Your breath catches. He’s close enough to touch and, gods, do you ever want to just reach out and pull him against you. First Elijah, then Kol, now him. You’re really gunning to end that dry spell in one night and three ways aren’t you? Heat creeps up your neck, your ears flaming at the thought.
“You can’t have one without the other,” you glance over his shoulder at Elijah and Kol, both of whom are hanging on to your every word, “war is inevitable but peace,” you look back at Klaus, “peace is fundamental.”
Klaus brushes a strand of hair from your cheekbone, sending shivers racing up your spine, “fundamental to what, love?”
His voice is low, his accent wearing down any reservations that you had at the beginning of the night. Your mother’s voice rings through your ears. Give me some grandbabies. She had clearly been joking but your body clearly has no concept of satire, heat pooling between your legs at the thought of making those babies. You close your eyes, sucking in a deep breath. It does nothing to quench the heat. You’re in the thick of it now and there is no escaping the white hot fire growing inside of you.
You sink your head into his hand, “happiness.”
An arm hooks around your waist, spinning you into a pair of spiced arms. Kol. You crack your eyes open and, sure enough, you’re correct. You shouldn’t have been able to guess that already. You’ve known them for no longer than an hour. This is insane. He lowers his face towards yours and your heart slams against your ribcage, his lips inches from yours. You swallow hard, your hands finding the lapels of his jacket. Instead of kissing you, however, he rubs his nose against yours. Oh. That feels nice. 
“What makes you happy, darling?”
You laugh softly, his question catching you off guard, “I’m not sure, to be honest. I haven’t had many opportunities to find out.”
“Well then, If you could do one thing that you think would make you happy what would you do?” Kol lifts a hand to your face, his thumb, like his brother’s, skimming your jaw. 
You don’t have to think about it, the answer is on your tongue as soon as he asks the question, “I would leave this town,” you glance down, the truth of your statement making you feel all too guilty, “and I’m not sure that I would ever come back.”
His thumb stills and you hold your breath. Perhaps you should have answered with something a little less full on. You haven’t even told Lily that you want to leave and never look back so you honestly have no idea why you just divulged one of your greatest kept secrets to three men you just met. Maybe because it doesn’t matter. Who are they going to tell, right? But no, that doesn’t feel right. You didn’t just tell them because. You had a reason, you just can’t put a name to it.
“I see,” he draws his thumb over your lips, an action that both surprises you and steals the air from your lungs, “and where would you go?”
Again, your answer is effortless, “everywhere, Kol. I would go everywhere.”
Kol smiles, his eyes lighting up with his grin. Your heart skyrockets, fireworks shooting through your chest from the slightest tilt of his perfectly red lips. They look soft; perfectly kissable. If only you had half of his self-assurance. What you wouldn’t give to run the tips of your fingers over his lips. 
His hands draw back down your sides, “what was going on back there? You didn’t seem pleased to be speaking to that,” Kol clicks his tongue distastefully, his accent thickening, “boy. Is he the reason you want to leave?”
You pull back slightly, your hands tightening on his coat. How are you even supposed to answer that? The story is a long one and there are very few enjoyable moments to lighten it. Tyler is not the reason you want to leave but you surely wouldn’t be doing yourself any favors by staying for him either. He’s part of a long past, one you’re not going to tell them about. Not today, anyway.
“It’s a long story,” you gently remove yourself from his hold, “one that I assure you none of you would care to hear. But to answer your question, no. Tyler has nothing to do with me wanting to leave. That’s entirely my own, for better or worse.”
He nods, the understanding clear in his honeyed eyes, “in that case, darling, tell me something else.” He pulls you back to his chest, “Do you like the stars?”
                                 *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
They left the party. Their party. They just up and left the party that they were hosting. You’re shocked. You were shocked when they dragged you out of the mansion and you’re still shocked now, laying on a blanket a few miles away with your mouth hanging open. You hadn’t thought anything of it when Kol asked you about the stars. You thought he was continuing with his little game of twenty one questions. You didn’t think he was serious! Who the hell just leaves the party they’re hosting?
Elijah shuffles his hands through your hair, pulling pins from it left and right and letting the hardwork your mother put into it fall. Yes, indeed you’re laying across the lap of one of the most eligible bachelors you have ever come in contact with, your face pressed against his warm thigh. Your fingers are wrapped around a bottle of the sweet champagne from earlier.
“You know,” you murmur quietly, your eyes locked on the spray of stars above your head, “when you host a party, it’s usually expected that you attend. Running away is frowned upon.”
He laughs and you can feel it through your entire body. It awakens the butterflies sleeping in your chest, sending them fluttering to your guts where the beating of their tiny wings create an inferno so large it sets you on fire from the inside out. You always wondered what it would feel like to be burned alive. You would have never guessed that it would make your toes curl.
“I thought that was what you wanted,” he drags his fingers through your scalp, the final blow to your once styled hair, “to run away. Here’s a start.”
You rub your cheek against his thigh, your face heating when he tenses at your action, “we’re pretty terrible at this running away thing then,” you hum, pulling yourself to your knees, “we only made it five miles. If I focus I think I can still hear the music. We’re lousy escape artists.”
A breeze blows over your shoulders and you shiver, your thin shawl doing nothing to veil you from the night. You’re just thankful it’s still warm enough to be outside at this time of night. Soon the nights will be getting colder and you won’t be able to do this. It’s one of the many reasons you long to move away. A pair of hands draws over your shoulders and you shiver again, this time from something entirely unrelated to the elements. You smile lightly. Maybe not. The Mikealson’s have more than proven that they are a force of nature.
Klaus’ voice is like ocean waves in your ear, cresting your skin with every low syllable, “well this is just the beginning, love. How far we go is up to you.”
He’s joking, of course. He has to be joking, right? You turn to look at him, seeking out his eyes in the darkness. They burn into yours, no hint of humor anywhere on his face. His gaze pierces through the night and your breath catches, your heart pounding at all the possibilities of what he meant. You bring the bottle to your lips, using the cool liquid to stall while you gather your feelings.
Kol takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth, “So, darling,” he kisses one of your knuckles, his lips like heavenly fire, “how far are we going?” Another knuckle, another kiss, “what is it you want?” He nips lightly at your fingertips and you gasp, the feeling akin to tiny zaps of lightning against your skin, “where do you want to go?”
Your head is spinning, the champagne settling once more over your bones, “I wouldn’t know where to start. There are too many places,” you swallow hard, “too many things.”
Klaus’ fingers toy at the straps of your dress, skimming down your arms with them in tow, “the first place that comes to mind, love. What is it?”
Elijah pulls you towards him, his hand sliding up the slit on your thigh and curling around your hip. His fingers whisper over your bare skin and you tighten your hand on the bottle. Not out of fear, though. No, you use the bottle to keep your hands busy. If your hands were empty you can’t be sure where exactly they would be. On who they would be.
Elijah squeezes your hip and you gasp again, this time louder, “New Orleans,” it’s the first place that comes to your mind, “I want to go to New Orleans.”
Time stills when you finally answer the question. You can hear the wind rustle through the trees and crickets chirping in the distance. Three smells, each of their own element, wrap around you. Klaus’, like water, pouring over your back. Kol’s, like fire, burning up your arm. Elijah’s, like earth, sliding down your hips. You, the air, curl around each of them, pulling them close with your very essence. 
And then, with a far off howl, time unfreezes and Klaus rips the straps down your arms, “New Orleans, hmm,” He sweeps your hair back, his nose skimming down the side of your neck, “a woman after my own heart. When shall we go?”
You laugh, the sound breaking through the almost reverent atmosphere, “we can’t just leave, Klaus. You have to plan things. I can’t just drop everything and run to New Orleans.”
Kol pulls your arm through the strap, furthering the tantalizingly slow  process of peeling the dress from your body, “but you want to, darling. Am I right?”
His lips find the crook of your elbow and you almost moan, “of course you are but it’s not practical.”
Elijah tugs at your hips again, pulling you onto his lap. Kol and Klaus move with you, clinging to you like shadows. Kol’s hair tickles your arm, the soft strands brushing against you as his blazes a trail of open mouthed kisses up your arm. Klaus nips the back of your neck, his fingers wrapped in your hair and pulling lightly. It should feel wrong, you know it should, but by god how could something this ethereal possibly be wrong. Your body feels like it’s made out air and for the first time you’re free to breeze wherever you choose.
“Neither are we. It’s simple,” Elijah leans down, grabbing your jaw and steering you to meet his eyes, “would you like to go, y/n?”
Your heart stops when it hits you that they’re dead serious, “to New Orleans?”
It’s dark but you can still make out the smile on his face. It says it all, his words only reaffirming what your brain has been screaming at you.
“Not just New Orleans, darling, everywhere,” Elijah murmurs, his lips just in front of yours, his peppermint breath fanning your face delicately, “do you want to go everywhere?”
Just like that, your heart restarts, a rush of adrenaline spreading over your bones. Very rarely in life are you presented with the opportunity to go everywhere. You can’t even fathom what everywhere means. Surely there isn’t time to go everywhere, right? You suck in a breath, one that makes it feel like before this moment you were never truly breathing at all. Who cares if there isn’t enough time, you think to yourself.
You slide your arms around Elijah’s neck fast, nodding your head furiously in lieu of all the words that refuse to form a coherent sentence. You tangle your fingers in his hair, the strands like silk against your skin. You don’t take your time to admire it, though, you just yank his mouth to yours, smashing your lips against his and hoping it says everything that you can’t. 
His hands squeeze your hips again and this time you don’t hold back, moaning into his mouth with the force of the tropical storm building under your skin. Your dress feels much too tight all of a sudden, the sequined material biting into your flesh. You shuffle, pulling your other arm from the strap before wrapping it back around Elijah’s shoulder, your fingers digging into his back through his tux jacket. That needs to go too. Now.
“Darling,” Kol’s husky voice whispers against your skin, his face buried in the other side of your neck, “as beautiful as you look right now I’m about half a second away from ripping this dress off your body.”
His words barely register but you catch the important parts, peeling your lips from Elijah’s just far enough to utter, “please don’t rip it, it’s the prettiest thing I own.”
His hands, which are curled around the back of your bodice, stall momentarily, “well that won’t do, now will it?” He muses, his mouth skimming your shoulder with each word, “New Orleans is fine, you won’t need many clothes at all I’m sure. But Paris will demand more of us, darling. We’ll have to fix this.”
Your heart shudders, along with your body. Paris. Surely now he’s joking.
He opts instead to use the zipper rather than tearing it apart, his knuckles softly skimming your bare back as it becomes exposed to him. Inch by inch, cool air wraps around your skin. When he gets to halfway, his mouth begins following his hands. He nips at the bumps of your spine, biting down harder when he gets to the base. Your hands, which are still on Elijah’s shoulder, tighten as flames roll through your body. 
Klaus’ hands slip around you, tugging this time at the front of your bodice and pulling it down to reveal your bare chest. He pushes the fabric down your stomach, trailing his fingertips over your ribs as you arch into his chest, a string of incoherent praises falling from your lips. You’re pretty sure you murmur his name somewhere in there though, because his chest rumbles against your back and, before you know it, he pulls you up to your feet. 
“Klaus, what are you-” your words are cut short from the night, swallowed instead by lips which taste too much like oranges and rum for you to even consider trying to repeat yourself .
His tongue slips into your mouth, his hands flying into your hair, pushing it away from your face and using it to tilt your head to an angle that makes you see stars. The cold air sweeps over your breasts and you shiver again. It doesn’t last long before a pair of hands are sliding up your exposed sternum and over your chest, cupping your breasts. Kol’s cinnamon musk furls in your lungs as he pulls you into his now bare chest. His skin is hot against yours but you wouldn’t expect anything less from the flame made man. 
Klaus detaches from your lips, pressing them once more against your swollen mouth before moving down your neck. He pulls your skin into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the dip in your throat. He courses a river down your front with his mouth, stopping to leave little love bites all over your collarbones and shoulders before heading south. He falls to his knees, shrugging his jacket off before pressing his lips to the valley between your breasts. 
You moan, loudly, and thread your fingers through his hair, tugging him harder against you, “god, you’re too good at that,” you roll your head against Kol’s shoulder as Klaus lips flow over your skin, finding your nipple between Kol’s fingers, “we should not be doing this.”
Another pair of hands, the last pair, pulls your face to a pair of lips, the last pair of lips, “Is that what you think, darling? Do you want us to stop?”
Elijah’s lips skim over yours as he speaks, sparks igniting with each touch. You don’t have to think about his question.
“No,” you press your mouth against his assertively, “please don’t stop. Never stop.”
With that Klaus pushes the rest of your dress off your body and, well, the rest of the details of that night remain between you, Kol, Klaus, Elijah, and the stars.
                               *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
You lean your head against the cool leather of the seat, your eyes closed as the wind whips your hair behind you. You’ve never ridden in a convertible before but, much to the trend of Mikaelson fashion, it’s luxurious. Elijah slings his arm around your shoulders and you smile, cracking your eye open to glance at him. His hand is on the wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him. He looks peaceful. Happy. He looks over at you, tossing you a wink before turning back to the road. Butterflies flutter through your chest and you welcome them with open arms.
You glance in the rearview mirror, your grin growing when you see two sleeping men. Kol is leaning back, his mouth half open as soft snores fall from his mouth. You giggle quietly. Last night must have exhausted him. He wears his slacks still but now, instead of his jacket, he wears a wine colored hoodie. His hair is mussed and you swallow thickly, thinking back to how it felt between your hands.
You move to Klaus, shaking your head slightly to defuse your slowly heating skin. He, too, no longer wears his jacket  but, unlike Kol, he only has a t-shirt on. His arms are folded under his head as he leans against the seat. His body is relaxed, his legs spread in front of him. You yawn looking at him, fighting the urge to crawl over your own seat and into his lap.
“Are you tired, love?” Elijah’s voice mixes with the wind, floating over you like music.
You meet his glance for a moment, smiling sheepishly, “yes but it’s nothing.”
“You should try to sleep,” his voice is slightly concerned, his eyes slipping over your bruised skin before turning back to the highway, “we still have about seven hours before we’re even in Louisiana.” 
You stifle another yawn, pulling the sunglasses on your head over your eyes as the sun breaks over the trees blurring past you, “not yet, Eli. I don’t want to miss anything. I’ll sleep when we get there.”
You hear your phone beep from the bag at your feet but you ignore it. That’s another thing that you’ll wait until the Louisiana state line for. Instead you lift the book on your lap, your fingers skimming delicately over the words on the cover. Vonya i mir. Your heart warms as you open it to the first page, settling into the leather seat. Elijah looks over at you and chuckles, the sound even more musical than last night. This is going to be the easiest seven hours of your life.
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tobiosmilktea · 4 years ago
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red ink — semi eita
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2.5k words | genre/s: tattoo shop!au, friends with benefits, smut | warning/s: uhh badly written nsfw | pairing: musician!semi x tattoo artist!reader
↪︎ in which famous musician, semi eita is a regular at your tattoo parlor and only gets work done from you and you only. the only catch is that fans only know that much and definitely not the fact that you and him are friends with benefits.
a/n: happy belated bday for my good friend @kitsunetea. here’s my shameless second (third?) attempt at writing smut as a late bday gift bc fuck it, amirite haha ✋🏻😔
please take it easy on this one,, this is singlehandedly one of the worst nsfw pieces i’ve ever written and i just want to apologize in advance...
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semi had forgotten the tingling feeling of a tattoo gun striking away at his skin. he liked how each indent of minuscule pinpricks would leave a mark on him forever. the pain, though not enough to make him grit his teeth like the first time around when he impulsively got one on the side of his ribcage, was actually quite nice. the sensation was almost addictive, however, it wasn’t as nearly as addictive as you.
it was no shock nor surprise that each reveal of his newest tattoo was always done by you. most would understand the practicality of going to one tattoo artist consistently. if anything, most of his fans would come to believe that he simply just liked your style of tattooing and artistry, but no one would even claim to think that you two had even a pinch of something going on behind the scenes. it wasn’t like he would always stop by your shop all disguised and covered up in a black cap and a face mask just in case there were any hidden onlookers that would blatantly assume the worst.
the worst being that semi eita, the nation’s current rockstar heartthrob, was hooking up with some obscure, back alley tattoo artist.
but it was safe to say he was as addicted to you as he was addicted to the infamous pain of receiving a tattoo.
it had been ages since his last tattoo. this one especially was placed on his right forearm of a snake that spiraled up and around his wrist in red ink.
times like these—here, where your eyes are focused and locked onto his skin, making sure to capture each intricate detail, brows drawing together in concentration as you made swift and accurate runs over his skin—came to realize how much he missed the feeling of getting tattooed. but most importantly, he missed the feeling of you. the warmth of your skin, body blazing underneath him as your breath tickled at the nape of his neck.
at moments like these where he could just stare at your entirety for an hour and a half, admiring how the low lights cast shadows upon each and every curve of your body was enough to keep him occupied through the process.
you lifted your tattoo gun up as your other gloved hand wiped the area clean from any residual ink. you took one last look at your work, clean and well-done.
it was pretty good if you could say so yourself. the linework was easily one of your best, and the shading was even better. no wonder semi liked getting work done by you so much (other than the fact that you two are friends with benefits—he would joke, “i’ll give you the best night of your life and you can give me a free tattoo in return.”)
you’ve never seen that man back out of a joke that quickly in your life. regardless, you still found yourself taking him up on that offer, still paying for his tattoos as a good customer should. support local businesses as they always say.
“alright,” you say, breaking the last ten minutes of silence as you cleaned him up. “you already know the drill–gently wash it with warm soap and water at least twice a day, pat dry, and then apply ointment.”
semi looked up at you once you stood up to grab a box of saniderm from another station. he stands up, making his way to one of the large mirrors on the wall to inspect his tattoo as a smile crept onto his lips.
“how is it?”
“it’s perfect,” he says, “as always.”
“well, you shouldn’t expect anything less from me.”
“you know, you don’t have to be so professional all the time. the shop’s already closed and no one else is here but us.”
you give him a pointed look as you take out a strip of saniderm large enough to cover the circumference of his forearm. you press the thin plasticine carefully around his freshly bruised skin, peeling the protective backing off of the clear bandage. “technically, you’re still a customer. can’t really give you any more special treatment.”
“says the girl who literally gives me tattoos after the shop closes,” semi fires back.
“or you could actually come in during normal hours to get one instead of coming a minute before we close just so we can hook up,” you deadpan, ignoring the look he gave you as you turn around and made your way towards the front desk.
semi doesn’t miss a single beat in following right behind you, stopping in front of the counter as you were on the other side with the cash register.
“well if you didn’t want to fuck in the back room anymore, you could’ve just told me,” says semi as you tap away at the screen in front of you, “we can go to my apartment instead.”
“paying with card again?” you ask, completely ignoring the way your body heated up all of a sudden.
the musician in front of you nods, handing you his card quickly. you take the thin plastic out of his hand and swiped it in one quick motion, handing it to him once the machine properly reads his card. within seconds, the receipt comes out of the printer. you snatch it from the opening before shoving it into semi’s chest.
“so what do you say?” he presses, continuing to follow you around like a dog as you serpentine your way back to your station.
you let out a sigh, huffing as you start cleaning up, “about what?”
“about me taking you home. maybe spend the night?”
you swerve around to face him, a spray bottle of disinfectant in one hand and paper towels in the other. you give him a coy smile, “you’re funny,” you huff before pushing past him to spray the chair then wiping it down.
“come on, (y/n), it’s been a while since we’ve last done anything together.” semi gives you a mischievous pout, “don’t you miss me?”
his words immediately flush out your cheeks as you recalled the memory so vividly, it was like you could almost feel semi’s large hands exploring every inch of your body, memorizing every dip and curve like it was second nature. to think that all happened in the storage closet while there were people still in the shop. the simple thought of your last rendezvous with him went straight to your heat.
no wonder you haven’t done anything with semi in a while after that little stunt he pulled almost a month ago.
in order for a tattoo shop to run properly, it needed to be completely sanitary to prevent any health complications considering your job was to literally puncture tattoo ink deep into people’s skin, the risk of infection runs high in situations like these. so by law, fucking in a tattoo shop, regardless if it was in the backroom, was completely out of regulations. not to mention the scandals to potentially spread like wildfire that one of the world’s favorite musicians being at the root of all this.
those poor fangirls, you thought. drama was the last thing you wanted.
“so?” you say, trying to pull yourself together as you finish sanitizing the chair. you turn to face him, hoping that he couldn’t see the way your cheeks were burning up knowing he would only keep up the teasing. “why don’t you just fuck one of you groupies or something?”
semi scoffs, “i’d never stoop that low. besides, you’re the only one i’ve been with ever since this started happening between us.”
“good for you for not being a whore, i guess?”
you brush past him again, this time cleaning up the mess on your table. placing the spray bottle of water, rolls of paper towels, bottles of red ink, and your gloves away–you discard anything else in the bin.
“don’t be like that,” he sighs as he comes and wraps a strong arm around your waist. he rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose tickling at your skin as his mouth latches onto your neck. “i for sure missed you.”
“eita,” you say, attempting to hold back a moan as he nipped at the sweet spot on your neck. despite your efforts, quiet mewls escape your lips as his thumbs rubbed circles over your hips. “i-i still have to clean up. let me finish and then maybe we could—”
without another word, semi lets go of you and immediately starts getting to work, gathering up all the one-time-use disposable items and dumping them all in the trash. he moves quickly, rubbing down every nook and cranny of your station until it’s squeaky clean. your eyes widen at his state. it was clear he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible so he can finally have you all to himself.
did he really yearn for you this much?
in just a few minutes, the job is already done. clean and spotless and ready for tomorrow’s workday as semi gives you a hopeful look. “is that all?”
you hold back a smile as you motion towards the boxes stacked up near the entrance of the backroom, “i still have to put those away and then we’re all done for the day.”
the man doesn’t even let you finish as he’s already making his way down the hallway. There was no sign of hesitancy in his actions as he grabbed two of the boxes, one stacked on top of the other as he barged into the backroom. you follow him in with only one box in your hand as you placed them in their respective places on the large industrial shelving.
you let out a grunt as you picked up the last box and inserting it into its spot. you sigh, dusting your hands as you turn around to face semi, “alright, we’re all d—”
semi doesn’t hesitate for a second to push you up against the wall, his lips crashing into yours with such desperation and fervor. he had been anticipating this for the past two hours. from the moment he walked in, to the moment you finished tattooing him; all he wanted was you.
you moan into his lips, his hand cupping your jaw while the fingers of the other were already working their magic. his touch greatly juxtaposed the zeal in the way he kissed you deeply, dipping his tongue between your soft lips as his finger, slightly calloused from years of guitar playing, gently trailed their way up your shirt.
there was a brief moment where you had to pull away from him in order to catch your breath. chest rising and falling rapidly along with the quickening beat of your heart, semi dived down to your neck, marking you with dark red bruising to anywhere he had access to. his large palms rubbed your sides before squeezing at your breasts to elicit a pleasurable groan from you. the pent-up heat within you only built the more he played with your body, fingers flicking at your nipples.
“what happened to taking me back to your place?” you asked breathlessly.
“i couldn’t wait any longer,” he mutters on your warm skin, feeling his soft lips twitch into a lopsided grin as before you knew it, he was already tugging your shirt over your head. “jump,” he says and you don’t miss a beat.
he catches you quickly, hands palming your ass as he steers you towards one of the supply tables. pushing away loose items and paperwork off to the sides.
semi’s lips meet yours again as he fiddles with the button and zipper of your jeans, diving his hand inside. he palms your sex, the pads of his fingers teasing up and down your slit as his thumb rubs circular motions around your clit. your moan muffles into his shoulder, breathe heavy and uneven.
you couldn’t seem to catch your breath as he dipped two fingers into you, pumping them in and out slowly. it was a nice change of pace from earlier, and yet you couldn’t help but let out mewls of impatience as you ground your hips into his hand, desperate for more.
semi knew what the hell he was doing.
he was a musician after all. his entire career was literally built off of his innate ability to play the guitar that each expertly placed finger and movement that accompanied it was guaranteed to send waves of pleasure throughout your entire body. he was good at what he did and he knew it. he didn’t need to see the way you were shaking under him, coating his hand with your juices, or have to hear your addicting moans to know you felt so, so good.
“eugh, eita–” your breath hitches when he curls his fingers inside you, rubbing the spongy spot deep within you in the best way possible. you curse under your breath, savoring the pleasure as you felt your release coiling in your abdomen.
“you’re close aren’t you?” semi didn’t even have to ask to know as your walls tightened around him. you nod hastily, eyes coating in lust and the desire to feel the release as you look at him.
the look that you gave him as enough to send him over the edge, his thoughts blurring once he quickens his pace, his middle and ring finger pistoning in and out of you.
you let out a cry, practically trembling under him. “oh my god, oh my god.”
with his other hand, he finds your clit again, rubbing you over the edge. it was all too much. from the mixing cacophony of the most obscene and vulgar sounds of sex emanating from the backroom to the absolute thrill of how good semi was making you feel—you were ready to feel that euphoric glow.
“fuck,” you clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. “shit, baby, i’m gonna—”
semi doesn’t mind the sting of your scratches at his body as he was too busy paying mind to you cumming all over his hand. gushing fluid escapes from you in waves as semi continues pumping his fingers in and out of you, his pace matching with the way your walls pulsated around him.
as you came down from your high, your arms that rested on the table to hold you up felt weak. almost immediately, your body slumps onto semi as he licks your pleasure off his fingers. you bury your face into the crook of his neck as you both stayed there for a few beats to catch your breaths, savoring the unique afterglow whenever you were with semi.
perhaps it wasn’t so bad doing this type of thing with him a bit more often. you didn’t mind what you had with him right now even if you two were just friends with benefits. you liked what you had now and asking for more would certainly cause a strain you don’t want to happen so soon.
your hand reaches up to run through his soft hair.
“hey,” you softly say. he only responds with a hum, “what about you?” you ask as your eyes cast down to the straining tent in his jeans.
he doesn’t answer. instead, he places a few kisses on your cheek and down to your neck before placing one of your lips. “let’s continue this at home, i have a surprise for you.”
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general taglist: @yongboxerrr @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @anejuuuuoy
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jawllines · 4 years ago
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Sorry to be annoying but I asked awhile ago and I think tumblr ate my ask but did you ever do tattoo Harry blurb? I love them and I miss them:( I’ve looked through your tags and there isn’t any on there if you have posted one
I CAN POST ONE I WROTE A WHILE AGO RIGHT NOW :D I DONT THINK I POSTED HERE BUT LET ME KNOW HERE YOU GO PET 
i.
“Baby -- baby, c’mon!”
It was rare that Harry ever woke Y/N with more than kisses and cuddles. Maybe an abrupt shoulder shake if the both of them slept through their alarms (and, considering that they are the only ones with the key to open up their own respective stores, they never typically arrived late facing happy employees -- or in Y/N’s case, employee -- Niall, in particular, was always more of a grump in that situation than Riktor even), but even that still managed to be tender, and soft. He always treated her so delicately, as if she were made up of porcelain in the morning and it was imperative to speak in a low, soothing voice with careful touches or she might shatter. And she really didn’t think it was because she was an absolute terror to wake up -- Y/N did quite well, even as early as 5 AM she was still in somewhat of a pleasant mood, certainly nothing to be fearful of -- she thinks he’s just gentle in the morning. He’s gentle all the time, but for some reason or another, he’s extra soft with her then.
They had both had a bit of a busy day, so by the time that they made it back to Y/N’s flat (Harry said he liked it there best because it smelled like her, and -- well, he softens her up and calls her Darling when he wants them to go over there, so it’s hard to say no), both of them were ready for bed. Neither of them could barely keep their eyes open as they scarfed down the burgers they’d picked up on the way home, and once they’d finished and brushed their teeth, they toppled into each other on the mattress. Y/N would reckon they both fell asleep before their heads had even hit the pillow -- she doesn’t even remember crawling beneath the blankets.
Apparently she had though, because now as her brain tunes in with the world around her and she realizes that the distorted voice that had begun to prod her dreams was actually a grumpy, dry throat Harry, she’s cuddling herself closer in the covers. This only makes him grumble at her more, “You’re such a blanket hog,” he whines and Y/N finally blinks her eyes open, being greeted with Harry’s disgruntled, pouted face illuminated by the sunlight beginning to slip through the blinds, “I’ve been trying to unravel it for like ten minutes, but you’re all wrapped up! I’m cold.”
Y/N smiles sleepily at him, not understanding the gravity of the situation entirely as she begins to un-burrito herself from the covers, “G’morning, beautiful,” she murmurs as she does so, finally disentangling from the blankets and while she was a little less warm, Harry was quick to wiggle in beneath them, “Sorry.”
“Don’ be sweet when m’tryin’ to be angry with you,” she puckers her lips at him dramatically, and though he sighs, he leans in and presses their mouths together softly, “Your kisses aren’t g’na sweeten me up, m’still grumpy, blanket hog.”
She can only hum as she cuddles closer to him, “Sorry,” she repeated, this time adding, “Like to swaddle myself like a lil’ baby. Reckon you weren’t holdin’ me well enough last night.”
An offended gasp leaves through his lips soundly, enough that it startles her, but his arms worm around her waist and draw her closer to his body, “Brat,” he grumbled, dipping his nose into her throat, “I held you so well and you just wiggled right out of my arms and took all the covers with you.”
“Like a worm -- I wiggled out like a worm or somethin’,” she tried to sit up but his arms tightened around her, “This worm has to pee though and she’ll soak the bed if she isn’t allowed.”
His arm loosens around her, “This worm sounds like she’s a sleepy sort of delusional that requires about two hours more of rest.”
Y/N stumbles toward the bathroom in her room, “Noooooooo,” she whines, frowning at nobody, not bothering to swing the door shut before she plops on the cold toilet seat to relieve herself, “We’re supposed to go get hot chocolate, no more sleep.”
“Baby, it’s 6 AM and I’ve been up the last 30 minutes freezing my bits off!” He calls back to her and she giggles some, her eyes trying to accommodate to the bright white lights of the bathroom, “Sleep just a bit more and we’ll get the hot chocolate when we wake up next.”
She waits until she flushes and washes her hands to respond to him, and though she knows that she is definitely going to crawl back in bed and fall asleep, she stands at the foot of it with her hands in fists at her hips. He had let his eyes flutter closed by then but she thinks he could feel her eyeballing him, so he looks up past the mountain of blankets now covering him so she could only see his eyes and his nose, “What’re you doing?”
“You’re telling me, you don’t wanna go at 6 AM, three hours before the kiosk even opens to get hot chocolate with me? You must really hate me, don’t you?”
He huffs a sharp breath through his nose which is how he usually laughs in the morning, when he can’t muster up the strength to have a proper giggle, “Absolutely loathe you, baby doll, but could you please come back to bed so I can loathe you in the warmth?”
It takes little persuading -- as she said, she knew she was just going to crawl right back in beside him -- and instead of relying too heavily on the blankets to provide her warmth (like wrapping up half of it around her so she was cocooned entirely. . .this is what she normally does, and she would say that’s probably why Harry almost never has any of the covers in the morning), she relies on him. Picks up his arm so that she can fit herself underneath it and lies her cheek on his chest, “Your pits better not be smelly.”
“I make no promises.”
.                             .                         .
“I love your hair.”
“Stop it, Sweetheart, I’m g’na start blushing.”
They had slept for four more hours rather than the two Harry had originally suggested, but that always happens with them. Y/N would say that they are just too content cuddled up with one another that they milk it for all it’s worth. If one of them wakes up before the other, then they just settle their head back down and close their eyes again. Unless they had somewhere to be, of course, but Harry had a free Saturday (no clients schedule, even though Saturday’s could often be some of his heaviest days) and he’d elected to spend it with her -- whether they were awake or asleep didn’t much mater, they just liked to be near each other.
When they finally did wake up, they lazily got dressed into about thirty layers so they wouldn’t freeze outside. The weather had grown frigid quite quickly this November, and neither of them stood the cold very well, but there was a park lined with little pop-up kiosks with hot chocolate, sweets, little holiday goodies, and an obscene amount of knitted blankets (it was a clever marketing tactic, Y/N thought -- everyone is more willing to spend money on a blanket when they’re freezing cold - she and Harry had certainly fallen for it today). Y/N bought them shoe warmers to keep their toes at least not numb, and Harry lets her borrow a pair of his gloves because she keeps forgetting to buy some of her own. They both have hats fitted over their heads too, and since Harry’s let his hair grow out, his curls stick out from beneath the pumpkin orange print and Y/N can’t stop staring at it. She’s always loved his hair, she told him as much one of the first nights they’d sat on her bookstore’s floor and talked about just a bit of everything. Back when she barely realized she had a crush on him. . . .when she didn’t know that in just a little time, she would be over the moon.
And she’ll never forget that people used to make him feel like shit about his hair, so she maybe overcompensates by telling him every time she has thought about loving it. Which means today, in the span of a short three hours they’d been awake, Y/N had complimented his hair about twenty different times. If she was running her fingers through it, fixing his beanie, or just staring at him, she let him know just how much she adored his curls.
“I hate to tell you this, Button, but your cheeks are already red as apples,” she shifted the paper cup of hot chocolate from her hand closest to him to the other, so she could reach up and tuck them behind his ear, that had reddened from the cold, “The air has you more bashful than I ever could.”
“Not true,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he knocks closer to her ear, “I always blush when you go down on me.”
“God,” Y/N shakes her head, “You’re too much, d’ya know that?”
He laughs, nudging her with the cold tip of his nose, “You want the peppermint bark? We’re coming up on the seller.”
“Of course, I want peppermint bark,” she reaches for her wallet, “I’m stocking us up for the next hundred years or so.”
Harry slows for a moment, sliding his gloved hand into her own and squeezing, “Hey,” he begins, his voice soft, somewhat reflective and it brings her attention to him at her side, “Y��know when -- you remember how you said you just get random flushes of love for me and s’a whole lot and you just don’t know what to do with it?”
Y/N nods, “Yeah, like every waking minute practically. Why?”
He smiles shyly, “I’m having one of those moments.”
“For the peppermint bark?” She teases, but his brows furrow and he swats her shoulder playfully, “Hey!”
“I’m trying to be sweet on you, and you’re still going on about this bloody chocolate,” he rubs the arm that he swats, even though Y/N has so many layers on plus the blanket that she bought wrapped around her, that he made no real contact with her body.
Y/N pulls him in for a hug, narrowly avoiding a child running past them as she does so, “Oh, you know m’only kidding. I love you too, Bug, more than words can describe and ten times more than the chocolate I reckon. . .well, unless it’s made really well this year.”
“I’ll leave you here, blanket hog.”
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thatslikely · 4 years ago
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Frosting On Your Nose - R.W.
Frosting On Your Nose- Ron Weasley x fem!reader
Warnings: marriage (to Ron), mentions of having a kid, food.
Word Count: 1.2k 
A/N: this has been an idea of mine forver, here it is. writing for ron is actually kinda fun! i’ve been feeling really bad about my writing lately, so I’m glad at least to churn something out. also I renamed Ron’s son because Hugo is not it
Taglist: @amourtentiaa @probably-peeves @anchoeritic @theweasleytwinsgirl
if you want to be added, send me an ask or dm!
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“I can’t believe our Benny’s already turning one year old! Feels like he was born just yesterday, doesn’t it, love?” Ron asked you from across the messy, crumb-coated kitchen, his chiseled hands steadily whisking a muckle of creamy, vanilla frosting in a bowl. 
“Time really does fly when you’re having fun, I suppose,” you replied while carefully selecting a fistful of small food dye vials of various shades of the rainbow. The blank, white frosting will soon brilliantly decorate the rich chocolate cake cooling on the windowsill, basking in the sun’s lazy, late-afternoon rays.
Silence soon rose into the bright, cozy room like the soothing morning tide of the sea, calm and comfortable. Ron continued to rhythmically stir the batch of uncolored frosting while you had moved on to preparing various crystalline piping bags, selectively choosing each fine metal tip.
Inexorably, Ron soon removed the metal whisk from the bowl, long, red tongue out and ready to kitten-lick some of the deliciously sweet frosting off the whisk’s wired loops. “Ronnie, you better not be eating any of that frosting! It’s for Benny’s cake, remember,” you smoothly reminded the sweet-toothed redhead opposite you, not even needing to gaze at him to know what he had planned.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Ron denied innocently, placing the whisk back into the bowl inconspicuously. You ambled over to the tall ginger for a quick progress check, pleased to see that the frosting was now mixed to perfection, its texture silky smooth and ready for piping. You swiped your finger on the rim of the bowl, accumulating a dollop of the fluffy cream, before nonchalantly sticking it into your mouth with a pop. “Hey! You can have frosting, but I can’t, huh? That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair, Ronnie-kins. But I’ll let you have all the leftovers after the cake is done, deal?”
“Fine,” - he grumbled - “deal. Now what colours are we gonna frost this mouth-watering cake?” 
Countless rough sketches and outlines of adorable cakes filled the smudged papers of your notebook, the same one you doodled in since your Hogwarts days. You gingerly handed Ron the dog-eared bundle of bound papers, pointing at your favorite sketches and concepts, most of which included bright colours and childish smiley faces galore. The final design of the soon-to-be Benny’s first birthday cake was circular and slathered in white frosting, dotted with yellow and orange suns wearing wide-mouthed grins, which popped against frosted sky-blue ribbons. Little spherical sprinkles added miniature bursts of colour to the central letters of the cake which read, “Happy First Birthday Benny!” in flawless, fluid cursive writing.
“Wow, I didn’t know you had such a knack for drawing, sweetheart. Benny’s cake’ll look amazing, as long as you’re the one doing all those tiny details.” 
“You’re not that bad at sketching yourself. We’ll pipe it together, but I’ll be sure to do the lettering. Don’t think I didn’t see your awful handwriting back on all your old Divination homework.”
“It was only that bad because I hated the class! It always smelled like old-lady perfume and Trelawney was a nutter!” 
“She was better than Snape, at least.”
Ron gave you a concurring nod, his unkempt mop of ginger hair fluffing up and down with the movement. You suppressed a giggle at his charming, goofy grin you’d come to love before squeezing droplets of brilliantly-coloured food dye into the small basins of peaked, milky-white frosting. 
Ron gently clamped his large, vermillion-freckled hand over yours’, guiding your wrist in circular stirring motions to tint the heaps of icing. Ron’s chin rested on the crown of your head, his warm breath blowing strands of your hair to obscure your gorgeous, light-catching eyes. You paid no attention to the falling tresses of hair, instead you absorbed the familiar sensation of being held in Ron’s delicate arms; the knits and stitches of his homemade maroon sweater caressed your skin. 
Once the pigmented frosting was tightly wrapped in the metal-tipped piping bags, you daubed a thin crumb-coat onto the layered cake. When the coat had settled, cementing the loose specks of brown to the sponge, you smoothed on another layer of frosting, this time making it a silky, uncreased layer.
Soon enough, Ron was concentratedly piping an (uneven) border of blue around the base of the cake. Even though his strokes of frosting were messy, you admired his effort. His effort that was made quite prominent by the tip of his tongue poking out from his soft lips in focus, his minimally-blinking blue eyes glued to the slowly revolving cake.
“Honey, you did a splendid job. I’m so proud of you.” You pulled in a triumphant Ron for a tight, loving hug, twirling your fingers through his messy ginger hair. You were quick to notice little ivory specks of frosting was strewn through his fluffy locks. “How’d you manage to get frosting in your hair, silly?”
“It’s just part of the process of being a great baker, I guess.”
You both let out airy chuckles, your faces inching closer and closer. He finally pulled you by the hem of your apron into a sloppy, languid kiss, each succumbing to the familiar sensations of each other’s lips. The sensation you felt all those years ago after he confessed his love for you on a chilly night at Hogwarts, the sensation you felt dressed in a stunning sea of white on the day of your wedding, the sensation of his lips after looking at your son for the first time.
In quite a few minutes, after lingering kisses and tear-jerking memories came and went, you were back in the present, the clocks still ticking forward, finishing up the piping. You trimmed the sponge with varicoloured stripes and ribbons, meticulously spacing them out to perfection. 
After the last pinch of beads of sprinkles fell atop the cake like bittersweet summer rain, the cake was finally complete. It looked adorable, exactly like the baked goods that would be proudly displayed in the window of a bakery. Ron gave you a goofy high five (which was commonplace) in celebration; after your hands smacked together, he wrapped his fingers around your palm, your hand dwarfed by his’.
“You did a wonderful job, love. Everyone at his party’ll be dying to try a slice!” he praised, pulling you to his chest for a hug. 
You pulled back to glance up at his handsome face with doe eyes, his features illuminated by the golden, waning sunlight. Before you could give him a sweet reply and subsequent peck on his lips, he stated with a laugh, “Y/N, you have frosting on your nose.”
You retracted your hand from his sweater-clad chest, dipping your pointer finger into the leftover stash of glistening frosting before briskly smudging a streak of white across Ron’s sun-freckled nose, teasing, “now you do, too.”
“Oh, you’re in for it now!” Ron exclaimed mischievously, coating his hands into the bowl of sugary fluff, desperately attempting to slather your nose in white further. As the sunlight gradually faded away, and the moon elusively bathed your quaint house in pale beams, the evening was pin-drop silent and peaceful, except for the light, scampering footsteps and fearful giggling of you and your doting husband.
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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years ago
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Day 125.6 Accidental Bonding (Part Six)
(You can start at Part One, if you’d like.)
This was the last day that Harry was going to be bonded to Draco.
That thought should have made him feel relieved or overjoyed; it should have made him feel like he was regaining his freedom.
But it didn't. It made him feel like shit, actually. He spent the entire day moping, feeling overly sensitive, and like he was about to lose something important.
"So, how are you feeling?" he asked Draco over dinner that evening, his knee pressed against Draco's under the table.
"Fine," he said, brow furrowed. "How are you feeling?"
He laughed, "I meant about the bond ending tomorrow," he said casually.
Draco shrugged one elegant shoulder, "Fine."
"Sure," Harry said, ignoring the way the knife that had been stabbing him in the gut all day twisted harder. "Right. Good."
"Potter," Draco said, "It's-"
"Just the bond," Harry finished. "I know." He stood up from the table, "I'm not hungry," he said, vanishing the food off his plate and sending the plate to the sink.
Draco didn't try to stop him as he fled the kitchen, making his way to the bedroom and crawling under the covers. It smelled right in here; he let the combination of sandalwood shampoo, a light peppermint scent from Draco's face cream, and the hint of coffee from Draco drinking it in bed while he read the paper, wash over him. Breathing it in and trying not to let the thought that this was the last time he'd have this ruin the calming effect.
After a few minutes the door opened but Harry didn't roll over to look at the other man.
(Read more below the cut)
The mattress dipped behind him and Draco's arms wrapped around him, drawing him back into his embrace. "I'm sorry," he whispered into Harry's ear and Harry's arm hair stood on end. "I didn't mean to trivialize what you're experiencing. I thought it would make you feel better, knowing that it's not really you," he added.
"S'fine," Harry muttered but it sounded petulant, even to his own ears.
Draco huffed a laugh, "I hate to be the one to tell you this, Potter, but you're a terrible actor." And just once, Harry wished that Draco would call him by his name.
"Aren't you afraid you'll miss this?" Harry asked, choosing not to dwell on his desire to hear Draco's mouth form his given name.
"Miss what?"
He sighed irritably, "Just," he shrugged awkwardly, "Having someone to hold you. Having someone to keep the other side of the bed warm."
"There's this thing called a boyfriend," Draco drawled, "Perhaps you've heard of the concept."
"Oh piss off," he snapped. "It's not that easy."
Draco shifted and Harry could tell without looking at him that he was rolling his eyes. "You're the savior of the world, Potter. Literally anyone would be honored to cuddle you."
"But that's the problem isn't it?" he asked.
There was a short pause before Draco said, "What is?"
"If literally anyone would cuddle me how can I know that they genuinely like me?"
"And you think that my cuddles mean that I genuinely like you?" the other man asked.
The knife in his gut plunged deeper. "No," he said, forcing his voice to stay level. "But I know where you stand. You've never pretended to like me."
Draco was silent for a few moments, which Harry recognized was something that he only did when he was comfortable. When Draco didn't feel safe he'd rattle off anything that popped into his head to avoid people thinking he was slow or dimwitted. Something idiotic warmed inside of him at the thought that Draco felt safe enough with him to think things through before answering.
Harry was in so much trouble.
"It may surprise you to know," Draco said finally, oblivious to the turmoil roiling in Harry's mind, "that I don't hate you."
Harry's breath caught, which was ridiculous really, it was hardly a declaration of anything more than basic human decency at this point.
Still.
He pressed back against the hard planes of the other man's body, memorizing the way it felt when their bodies were in line, "I don't hate you either."
Draco's exhale ruffled the curls at the base of Harry's neck and Harry was filled with a longing so fierce that he couldn't breathe. "What do you want to do tonight?" Draco asked.
"This," he answered before he could think better of it. His heart hammered so loudly in his ears that he wondered if Draco could hear it, too.
"Alright," Draco said and all of the thoughts spinning wildly in Harry's head ground to a sudden halt. "Roll over," he instructed and Harry was too shocked to do anything other than what Draco had asked.
Draco collapsed onto his back and reached for a book on the nightstand and Harry just watched.
"Well, come here," he said with an impatient huff, holding out his arm so Harry could press against his side.
He moved so that his cheek was resting on Draco's shoulder and Draco wrapped his arm around Harry, his fingers trailing lightly over his tricep.
"This is what comes next after The Hobbit," he said, opening the paperback novel with his other hand. "I think you'll like this one even more," he added.
Harry nodded and draped his arm across Draco's stomach.
"When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would be celebrating his eleventy first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton," Draco began, voice low and soothing.
And Harry closed his eyes and let himself drift in the sound of Draco's voice, trying to store up every sensation he could before the rest of his life began.
------------
When Harry woke up in the morning, the bed was empty. He laid there for a moment, trying to sort out his feelings and thoughts. Everything felt too quiet and he didn't like how alone he felt.
He shook his head, pushing away the thoughts and the feelings; it had just been the bond, he reminded himself (even though the voice saying it in his head sounded suspiciously like Draco's).
Harry used the loo and then packed his things and Draco was nowhere to be found, probably out enjoying his freedom, Harry thought bitterly.
"Get it together," he grumbled at himself as he scooped up the duffel bag with all of his shrunken clothes off the floor.
As he was walking out of the bedroom the front door opened and Draco came through dressed in running shorts and a tank top, his hair damp with sweat, face pink with exertion. "Hey," he said breathlessly when he caught sight of Harry.
"Morning," Harry said once he got his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth.
"Figured that I'd start the morning off with a run since it wouldn't cause either of us pain," he said with a little smile as he headed into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
He followed behind him, very pointedly not looking at his arse in his shorts, "You could have-" he started before trying again, "I wouldn't have-" he broke off and shook his head, "I would have gone running with you," he finally managed.
Draco turned to look at him, "Oh," he said, brow furrowed. "I never thought to ask."
"Sure," Harry said, nodding, "Right, well I'll just-" he started.
"Do you want some breakfast?" Draco asked at the same time as he opened the refrigerator. "Oh, sorry," he said. "What was that?"
"I was just going to say I'd get out of your hair," Harry said.
Draco looked around the refrigerator door at Harry, "Did you want to stay for breakfast?"
"I couldn't impose," Harry said quickly even though he would like nothing better. Well, perhaps there were things he'd like better than breakfast but those definitely didn't bear thinking about.
The other man tilted his head at him, "It's no imposition. I'm making breakfast for myself regardless."
"That's okay," Harry said, backing toward the door, "I should get my stuff unpacked before-"
"Right," Draco said, nodding hastily. "Right, yes. Of course."
"Right," Harry repeated like an idiot. "Well. I'll see you at work, I guess."
"Yes," Draco replied, burying himself in the refrigerator.
He nodded, "Okay." Harry turned and made his way to the door, before he turned the handle he called, "Draco?"
"Yes?" Was there a note of hope in the word or was it just Harry's wishful thinking?
"How are you, um," he paused, "feeling?"
"Fine," Draco said, looking at Harry in confusion.
"Right. Good," Harry replied. "Not having any side effects from the curse?"
The other man shook his head, "No. I feel the same way I felt before the bond. Why? Are you?"
"No," Harry said quickly. "Nope. Just checking." He opened the door, "Bye then," he said before he stepped through and closed the door behind him.
He stood on the step for a moment and tried to tamp down all of the thoughts and feelings swirling inside of his chest. With one last look at Draco's home, he apparated back to his own but he couldn't help but wonder why he still ached for the other man if the bond was gone.
--------------
Part 5 | Part 7
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chamomileteainabuttercup · 3 years ago
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Dincobb Week Day 4 - AU/Freebie Day (SFW)
Welcome to my Dincobb Week fanfic posts! I've written stories and scenes of varying lengths and tones. For clarity I should say that most of these exist as miniature AUs of their own and have no continuity with each other or with anything else I've written about these characters, so in different pieces they may be described having different physical features, personal possessions, preferences, et cetera. (There are three exceptions which I'll note as such when they come out.) Thanks to @djarining, who helped me a lot with brainstorming and discussing my ideas!
For today I have just one story and it's SFW. It's the second of the three linked stories (SFW, SFW and NSFW in that order - but the two SFWs can stand alone if you prefer not to read the NSFW one).
AU/Freebie Day - I chose Drunken Home Ear Piercing (as a free choice, not an AU)
People have idiosyncrasies when they get drunk. Din’s noticed that, mostly as an onlooker, because his principles for most of his life didn’t allow for social drinking. He’s never been one to drink alone either — given how much he was alone, it seemed like a fast track to pickling himself in alcohol — so he’s mostly just watched, feeling uncomfortable because he can’t participate and people either think he’s a killjoy or that he must have some deep dark personal reason for not drinking, when it’s just the practical fact that you can’t keep your face covered and drink. So when he came to stay with Cobb, broken-hearted and bare-faced, he kind of crashed into drinking far too much too fast, and paid the price with a sunburn that took days to heal and made the whole affected area peel like tattered white lace.
“Passes out in the blazing sun and half cooks himself” was a pretty stupid drunken idiosyncrasy, definitely worse than “decides he can sing” or “wants to get into everyone’s lap” or “starts planning a revolution” or the other quirks he’s observed in the people he’s known over the years. He’s managed not to make a habit of it. With a bit of guidance from Cobb on knowing when to stop, and drinking to enjoy the experience, not to blot out how awful you’re feeling, the tendency that seems to be developing is just “easily talked into things.”
Cobb is generally the one talking him into things, and fortunately so far they haven’t been too troublesome — dancing with him was nice, obviously, and the pancakes eventually peeled off the kitchen ceiling after they tried to make midnight breakfast and he didn’t know his own strength flipping them. Neither of them can really remember what they were hoping to accomplish by digging that pit out the back of the house but there was a very muddled drawing on a scrap of paper on the living room floor labelled, as far as they could make out the next day, AWESOME SWIMMING POOL. The less said about the lawn chair incident the better, but they both walked away from it, somewhat unsteadily.
That’s not Cobb’s idiosyncrasy so much as the effect of the two of them being otherwise sensible and competent men who for some reason get a little bit dumb when they put their heads together. His thing is that, by contrast with the many people who find their calling as a stripper when tipsy, he starts putting things on. He keeps darting into his bedroom and coming back to show Din this great hat, or a big coat he found in a thrift store, or how many sweaters he can put on at once, or the jacket with the fringe which swings out when he goes like this (which coincided with the dancing). This evening it’s his best suit, another second-hand find which probably predates the Empire and features not only fringe but embroidery. He parades around the living room enjoying the attention, since Din is suitably impressed, before dumping himself down on the couch next to him again and taking a long pull on the drink he abandoned to go and get dressed up. As his head tips back Din notices something shining and looks closer. Cobb has an earring, a yellow gold sun in his right earlobe with a rose gold sun hanging from it on a tiny ring.
“Hey, where’d you get that?” he asks, trying to touch it without pulling on it.
“Oh, that? Found it in the jacket pocket when I got changed. I thought I lost it dancing at Tracy Dunerunner’s wedding last winter. Must’ve just dropped in there by luck.”
“It’s so pretty.”
“Why, thank you.” Cobb tilts his head to let him admire it better. “I only really wear it for special occasions. Thought the hole might’ve closed up, but it seems okay.”
“You should wear it more. It looks good on you,” Din says earnestly. “I wish I could wear stuff like that.”
“Why can’t you?”
Din blinks at him, befuddled. “Don’t have pierced ears,” he says.
“Well how the heck do you think ears get pierced, dummy? You gotta pierce ‘em. I’ll help you, I’m good at this.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s easy. C’mon, the best light’s in the kitchen.”
So without quite intending it he’s ended up sitting on a kitchen chair with Cobb wiping his right earlobe with alcohol and then rubbing it with an ice-cube to numb it. That feels really weird and it makes him wriggle around so Cobb sits on his lap facing him to hold him still, which feels weird from a whole different angle.
“Okay,” says Cobb, flourishing a sharp darning needle, “I’m ready to operate. Got you a nice little earring to start off with.” It’s sitting on the table after a dip in a shot glass full of rubbing alcohol, a plain silver stud, like a moon to Cobb’s suns. “I’m gonna need you to hold still for me, okay partner? Real still, because if you pull we might just tear your earlobe, and it’ll heal but who wants to deal with that?” He’s cut a piece of potato for Din to hold just behind his earlobe, so when Cobb sticks the needle through quick and hard the point will go into that instead of the side of his neck.
“I can hold still,” Din says, although his heart is beating fast and his numb earlobe is already starting to feel warm again.
“Okay,” says Cobb. He rubs the ice-cube over his ear again, making it sting and tingle with the cold before it grows number. “On the count of three, one, two,” and he stabs the needle through right then. Din gasps in shock and no small amount of pain, ice or not, but he manages to keep still. “That’s great,” says Cobb, “just a little bit more now, hold on for me, hold on,” and with slippery fingers from ice and blood he pulls the needle free from the potato and then manages to fumble the stud post through the raw new hole and get the back onto it. “Woo!” he cheers, raising his arms in the air. “That looks great!” He grabs the little shaving mirror from the kitchen table and holds it up for Din. “Take a look!”
It’s hard to get a look at his own ear in the small mirror but Din makes it out; there are bloody fingerprints on his neck and ear that make the whole thing look kind of gory but there’s the little silver ball shining in his earlobe, and it really does look great. A big smile breaks out on his face as Cobb wipes and dabs the blood away with a damp cotton ball, and then touches the fresh piercing and the pain is so sharp he yells “Fuck!” right in Cobb’s face. Cobb starts laughing and apologising and laughing more.
“I’m sorry, darlin’, sorry, at least it wasn’t alcohol, right?”
“It was alcohol, that’s the point,” says Din.
Cobb glances back over his shoulder at the unfortunately identical-looking shot glasses of water and rubbing alcohol and says “Whoops. Well, it’s clean.” His voice turns gentle and coaxing. “C’mon, you’re okay, right? A big strong man like you?” He strokes Din’s jawline as he admires his ear, and it’s pretty hard to stay angry. The pain has changed from a stab to a hot throbbing, and when he holds the melting ice to it he feels some instant relief. Cobb’s looking at him with such a lovely smile, and he finds he wants to earn more of that.
“You think you could do the other side too?” he asks.
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hongism · 4 years ago
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mists of celeste ➻ 28
➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 5.7k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you
⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist
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✧✧✧ act four ➻ part three
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“Mingi had an episode in the mess hall.”
“Captain–” Seonghwa swivels to call Hongjoong forward, but the captain has already stood up and made his way over to the door. He comes to a halt not far behind Seonghwa, eyes trained on San and no one else. There’s only silence for several moments, and you aren’t sure what to make of it until Hongjoong dares to speak.
“Lieutenant, I want the crew here in less than five minutes.”
“All the crew?” Seonghwa inquires. Hongjoong pauses, inhaling a breath so deep that you can see the way his chest puffs a bit.
“Minus Mingi,” he responds after a breath of hesitation. Seonghwa nods and steps around you, no doubt trying to get to the comms station outside. He pauses next to you though, and you shift to look at him at the same time that he glances down at you. His lips part, and words are on his tongue, yet they are words that never reach your ears because Hongjoong speaks again before he has the chance. “Seonghwa.”
The tone is firm enough to cause Seonghwa to move again, and he leaves your side to escape the room. It leaves you with the bitter taste of curiosity on the back of your tongue, wondering what he intended to say and what was on his mind for the past week and why he couldn’t at least visit you once.
“If it’s what you want, let’s do this once more. And if it’s time that you need, I can be as patient as you need me to be. Whatever it is you want this to be… whatever it is you need me to be… I’ll do it for you.”
Unless his definition of patience somehow became avoidance, you cannot figure out where this sudden change came from or why it’s happening. You have better and more important things to worry about for the time being though. Your woes surrounding Seonghwa will have to wait for another time because Hongjoong is clearing his throat again and look between you and San with expectant eyes. He somehow bears even darker circles than Seonghwa did, but even with the exhaustion on his features, he seems as awake and alert as ever.
“I’ll ask for a deeper explanation once the others are here but…” Hongjoong trails off, voice dying before he can finish the thought.
“Everyone is still in one piece, yes,” San finishes. His presumption must be accurate because Hongjoong fully exhales the breath he’s been holding in since before Seonghwa left.
“Anyone hurt?”
“Wooyoung sliced his hand open, but that was unrelated.” Hongjoong opens his mouth again less than a second later, but San beats him to it once more. “Mingi is okay as well, as is everyone else as far as I’m aware. When they left, that was the case.”
A whooshing sound echoes through the room, and Hongjoong stands up a bit straighter as Seonghwa steps back into the office, looking a bit more somber than before. You twist to watch him enter. He isn’t alone this time either; Jongho is the first to enter behind him, followed by Wooyoung and Yeosang, who has his hand wrapped tight around Wooyoung’s, and finally Yunho walks in with his head dipped to his chest. Seeing him in such a state of disarray is disconcerting, to say the least, and painful nonetheless. You can hardly look away from the blossoming bruises over his neck, ones that are splotchy and red right now.
Hongjoong doesn’t wait for everyone to file in and line up before unleashing his barrage of questions, but his impatience doesn’t surprise you in the slightest.
“What happened? What was the trigger? How long did it take to get under control? Did you have to use force to stop him, or was he able to overcome it on his own?”
No one responds right away. You can’t recall a time when the air has ever been so still and quiet. It would be disconcerting if you did not know the reason behind it, but that much is obvious considering what went down in the mess hall less than two hours ago. Then Wooyoung starts speaking, or at least tries to when –
“I triggered him,” Yunho cuts in, lifting his head for the first time and looking Hongjoong directly in the eye. “I brought up – I mentioned Kebos on accident.” Wooyoung’s eyes grow to an impossible width, and he seems to be half a breath from countering Yunho’s false confession, but yet again, the taller man doesn’t give him a chance. “And I panicked a bit too much without realizing how it would affect him. It trigg – I triggered the episode.”
“You know better, Yunho,” Hongjoong replies, tone barely above a whisper. It holds no contempt or anger; frankly, all you can hear is the interlacing confusion in his words, as though he can’t believe that Yunho of all people would make such a mistake. He wouldn’t be wrong to think so in any case, but it’s still something you don’t understand in the slightest. Yunho swallows around nothing, and his tongue darts out to moisten his thin lips before retreating back into his mouth.
“I messed up.” Yunho drops his eyes to the floor. His shoulders begin to sag bit by bit, and you aren’t even sure he’s doing it intentionally with the pace his body moves at. Jongho takes the chances to divert the subject, stepping forward just enough to draw Hongjoong’s attention off Yunho.
“It didn’t take more than ten minutes to get everything under control. He didn’t have a bad episode. I would say it was a more mild one, but he did hurt Yunho in the process. No force needed to stop him; however, I was able to talk him down and bring him back in one piece.”
Hongjoong releases a deep sigh, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead, then he turns on his heel and moves back towards his desk. Seonghwa is quick to follow; he steps around you and San to draw closer to the captain. His hand ghosts over your back as he goes, and for a moment, you think you imagined the sensation, but Seonghwa confirms its presence when he glances back at you.
“How is Wooyoung’s injury?” Hongjoong inquires after a long bout of silence.
“Recovering. He’ll be fine: more shaken up than anything else. It caught him – all of us off-guard,” Yunho explains. He doesn’t lift his gaze from the floor. The way his shoulders slump forward is a clear sign of his guilt towards the situation, but he opts not to voice any further grievances or explanations. Hongjoong hums in reply before shifting his gaze to Jongho.
“And how is Mingi?”
“Upset. He says I should have used a gun and ended it there. I talked him down from a worse episode than this one though, so… baby steps.”
“Baby steps,” Hongjoong echoes, lips barely moving.
“Progress is progress, Captain,” Jongho speaks up again, tone a bit louder than before. “That’s better than nothing.”
“You’re right… Could’ve afforded faster progress though, but I suppose we don’t have a say in that matter.”
“We should discuss the mission,” Seonghwa whispers when silence envelops the room again. “While everyone is present.”
“Right, yes, the mission. The plan is –” Hongjoong slips around the backside of his desk, motioning down at the mess of papers atop it “–information gathering. That’s all. We’ve been going back and forth on what the plan would be exactly for the past week, and the agreem–conclusion was that it’s best to gather intel where we can and leave.” Hongjoong seems to want to say something more. His gaze flits over to where Seonghwa now stands close to his desk, but he doesn’t add to his thoughts, merely sending a somewhat annoyed stare at the back of his lieutenant’s head.
“We will have a lot more luck if that’s the case,” Seonghwa says without looking back at Hongjoong. “Gathering the intel and leaving the planet before the military can sniff us out, or before something worse happens.” You know Seonghwa is looking to you for some sort of reaction to the mention of the military, but you manage to conceal your expression long enough for his gaze to pass onto someone else.
“I have settled an agreement with Vladimir. We will be meeting in three days to discuss my questions and the information I’m after, and once our conversation comes to a close, he will name his price. The meeting place is at the arena during one of his matches.”
“Isn’t that a bit…?” San cuts it but trails off before he can finish the thought. The hesitation makes sense, as does the confusion about the situation. You can’t imagine Hongjoong would easily agree to such a dangerous agreement. Should Vladimir request something Hongjoong doesn’t want to give, then what? Would he ask for a Siren? Information about them? Maybe he would just ask for you and be done with it because of the bounty on your head. Or perhaps he would opt to take all of you and collect a lifetime’s worth of money. There are too many ‘if’s and ‘maybe’s. The lack of certainties in this plan already is concerning, to say the least.
“We have worked a few things out through our previous chats. Monetary compensation only, and nothing else.” Hongjoong dispels your concerns in an instant with those words, and you find yourself exhaling a breath of relief. San’s eyes dart over to you, concern glistening over his dark orbs before he returns to staring forward. “Seonghwa and Yeosang will be at my side throughout the whole meeting. I will not be allowed to keep an earpiece or a wristband on my being throughout the meeting, but both Seonghwa and Yeosang will have them. Seonghwa will serve as a broadcast for the conversation, and you all will be able to hear every word being said. It is also a failsafe in the event that… and we hope this won’t be an issue, but a failsafe for if things turn south. Understand so far?”
A myriad of nods and murmurs of approval greet Hongjoong, his eyes shifting from person to person until he reaches Seonghwa.
“Good, now — we will also have a right-wing team. Since this meeting is happening inside the arena, we will need teams to move through both wings of the stadium. The right team will consist of Yunho, Wooyoung, and Y/N.” The plans for that haven’t changed in the past week, but the way Seonghwa presses his lips tighter together is more than enough evidence to tell you that it was a lost battle on his part. He isn’t the first to protest the arrangement though – it’s Yeosang who steps forward, arm pulling away from Wooyoung’s as he draws closer to Hongjoong.
“That team doesn’t have a strong enough defense. If something were to happen, they would be at a tactical disadvantage. And you know that I do–”
“Hear the rest of the plan first, Yeosang,” Hongjoong counters. “You’ll understand the logic behind it once I finish.” Yeosang’s lips fall shut, teeth almost clattering together as he snaps them together, and he lets Wooyoung tug his sleeve to pull him back to his original place. “As I was saying, the right-wing team will consist of those three with the main purpose of being scouts. Just meant to be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, whether that be soldiers, snipers, or generally suspicious things. Now, for the left team, the purpose will be similar but not the same. Jongho, you’ll lead the team. San and Mingi will follow.”
What follows is a jumbled mess of words that makes little sense in your mind, but you manage to pick out a few words here and there.
“Mingi?”
“Hongjoong, that’s–”
“You can’t be serious!”
“Quiet,” Hongjoong orders, lifting one hand above his head just a bit. Silence falls over the room without hesitation, and all the voices die into nothingness as Hongjoong lifts his chin to stare out over his crew. “I am well aware that there are many concerns to take into account in this decision. It is not set in stone yet, and most certainly not something I’m confident in doing knowing that he had an episode not too long ago–”
“Yeah, not too long ago as in less than two hours ago!” Jongho snaps. Hongjoong meets his fiery gaze with one that contains equal heat, barely flinching as the Berserker hurls the words his way.
“You know better than anyone what the risks are, Jongho. As does Yunho. So enlighten us a bit, and explain what those risks are.” Hongjoong clenches his fists against the desk. Jongho doesn’t answer right away; his lips stutter and mouth meaningless words that never reach the air. The captain turns to Yunho next, eyes searching and demanding an answer that still doesn’t come. “If it can be avoided, I would like to know. But leaving Mingi on the ship alone is the last thing I want to do.”
“Then let me stay behind with him,” Yunho insists, but the words hold no confidence or certainty.
“That’s not an option, Yunho. We have to have a right-wing team, and I cannot send Wooyoung and Y/N alone.”
“Scrap the left team and keep me on the ship with Mingi then!” Jongho takes a quick step forward. For a second, his red eyes flash with a barely contained rage, and out the corner of your eye, you see Seonghwa discreetly lower a hand to the holster residing on his right thigh. “San and Y/N can take the left-wing, and Yunho and Wooyoung can take the right.”
“Oh? And leave Yunho and Wooyoung without any defense whatsoever? How is that a good plan, Jongho?” Hongjoong chastises. Jongho seems to at least see the logic in those words, shoulders losing some of their tension as he withdraws from Hongjoong’s desk a bit.
“There are too many… I don’t even know where to begin with the list of bad things that could happen if you bring Mingi into that arena,” he murmurs with his gaze glued to the floor.
“Risks! Then what are the damn risks?” Hongjoong slams a fist against the table, eyes narrowing on Yunho and Jongho where they stand near your side. Yunho purses his lips and shakes his head, an evident lack of knowledge concerning what Hongjoong asks. Jongho, however, avoids Hongjoong’s stare like it’s a plague spread by sight. “Jongho, give me an answer. Best case scenario?”
“Best case scenario is that Mingi goes fucking psycho,” Jongho relents, giving an answer to Hongjoong’s desperate questions at last. “And I somehow manage to quell him before something worse happens.”
“And worst?”
“Worst is that he goes fucking psycho and kills me, which means the none of you have a way to stop him without killing him.”
The odds aren’t pretty in the slightest. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to be backing down though; he still seems adamant about bringing Mingi along despite the risks. The captain sinks to his chair without a word, hands pressed hard against his temples.
“Yunho, give me something. Anything.” Hongjoong’s tone is nothing short of desperate. On your left, Seonghwa grinds his teeth together and avoids looking at Hongjoong.
“I have an… idea,” Yunho starts, tone barely above a whisper. It isn’t hard to see that he’s hesitant and nervous about whatever it is he’s thinking. Again, you find yourself wallowing in shock. First, Hongjoong’s brash and bold facade falling away, and now Yunho’s arrogant and know-it-all attitude?
“Yunho.” Desperation doesn’t sound pretty falling from Hongjoong’s lips. You’ve decided that much.
“I don’t think I could carry it out in good conscience. It’s a bit – well, it’s unethical.”
“Jeong Yunho, I could care less about ethics right now. But if you don’t hurry up and spit it out, I will have no qualms with putting your head through a wall.” The threat falls on deaf ears, and Yunho doesn’t seem daunted by Hongjoong’s words in the slightest. Still, he heaves a deep breath and continues to speak.
“There’s a way to, uh, accelerate a hard reset. I’ve been looking into it over the past few days since Y/N told me what the military did to her. According to my research, the military uses a serum – injected into the arm once – then sends several electric pulses to the brain. They often add a narcotic given orally so that the patient doesn’t feel any pain throughout the process.” Yunho’s gaze shifts over to you. “It effectively wipes the memory of the patient.” The gleam in his eyes is almost expectant, like he’s waiting for you to have some sort of reaction. And you do.
Strong arms yanking you forward, fingers closed around your bicep. Weak cries for help and attempts to pull away. A cold chair against your back, then the touch of rough leather straps coming over your wrists and ankles. Writhing and kicking to get out of the chair, only to be hit across the temple with a sharp jab. A stab of a needle, a syringe going into your skin, a strange blue liquid being pushed into you. Warmth, then the feeling of your blood turning to ice. Your mouth forced open and something being shoved deep inside. Red. So much red. Hands coming down on your head. Then – nothing.
You don’t realize what’s going on around you until several sets of eyes snap to focus on you. Frankly, you think that you’re handling the trauma quite well. Still on your feet, at least even if you can’t think thanks to the rush of blood in your ears. You imagine that you even manage a tight-lipped smile in Yunho’s direction – an assurance that you are just fine. That was a minor miscalculation, as it turns out, and all of a sudden, San’s hand is on the back of your neck, cradling your head when your knees buckle and you nearly fall to the ground. It’s embarrassing more than anything else, especially with the heat of Hongjoong’s stare on you and your determination to not be weak in front of him. You seem to be proving anything but the fact that you’re strong.
San’s touch is too much. It sears your skin, fills your head and overwhelms you in seconds, and you do hit the ground this time, although it only consists of your knees hitting the metal underneath you. San chases you, hands seeking purchase on your waist and shoulder, but you swat the offending limbs away before he can touch you. It reminds you too much of that dark room, the hands closing around your temples, and the cold liquid filling your veins until you could feel nothing else. The memory that has been buried for years and years coming forward again, stronger than ever before. Your head feels as though it’s being split open with a dull knife, but you can’t even manage to cry out from the pain.
“I’m fine,” you hiss out between gritted teeth. San’s hands remain close though, ready to make contact if need be. Seonghwa has angled his body in your direction, and his brows are so closely knit that you can hardly see the skin between them. He doesn’t move though, staying as far away as he is without making any effort to come closer. Hongjoong barely bats a lash in your direction.
“Will he have a similar reaction?”
Yunho’s gaze flits between you and Hongjoong, mouth hanging open and failing to produce words for what feels like hours.
“H-He – possibly. Yes, he might,” he manages after some time. “In the event we discuss it. I… Y/N went years without remembering what happened, though. He could remember nothing depending on how effective the process is.”
“How quickly can you complete the procedure?” Hongjoong’s tone has grown cold and emotionless, face as rigid as a statue. You would believe that he’s an Elitist at that moment if you didn’t know better.
“Hongjoong, you – you can’t be seriously considering this,” Seonghwa stammers.
“How long will it take, Healer?”
Yunho presses his lips together.
“I should be able to complete the procedure in no more than an hour. All Mingi needs to do is have ample time to recover physically. Maybe a day at most. I – I would need the serum they use. I can’t make it myself.”
“That can be arranged. We can find a source and dispatch a team to collect it within a day.”
“Hongjoong–”
“You can’t be serious about this,” Jongho growls, stepping forward once more, but this time he doesn’t stop until he hits the edge of the desk. His hand darts out and snatches the collar of Hongjoong’s shirt. Seonghwa lunges into action, hand gliding over the table before rising up to press against Jongho’s neck. There’s a glimmer of silver, and it’s only then when you notice the blade in Seonghwa’s hand, one that is digging into Jongho’s skin without relent.
“Yunho, we’ll have what you need within a day,” Hongjoong continues without so much as batting a lash at Jongho’s aggression. “You should be prepared to conduct the procedure day after tomorrow, and that will give you enough time to finish it and help Mingi recover for the mission the next day. You all are dismissed for the time being.”
No one moves despite the order. If Hongjoong is surprised or angered by that, he doesn’t let it show on his expression.
“If you do this, I won’t forgive you,” Jongho hisses. His knuckles go white from the pressure of his clenched fist.
“Don’t be mistaken, Jongho. I don’t need your forgiveness for anything I do.” Seonghwa’s hand twitches, and the blade drags over Jongho’s skin. A few droplets of blood glide down to the hilt of the knife. “Should my decisions upset you that deeply, then you are welcome to leave the crew as you see fit.”
Jongho jerks backward, hand falling down to his side, and from where you kneel on the ground, you can clearly see the anguish that paints his expression. His chest heaves a bit from the deep breaths he’s gasping in, but words fail him for several moments. The whole situation unfolding before you feels like a fever dream, something so surreal and confusing and painful, but somehow that only gets worse. You couldn’t describe the pain that blossoms in your chest when Jongho utters his next words if you wanted to; all you know is that it’s such a tangible pain that you feel it through your whole body.
“Then I’ll pack my things and be gone in the morning.” A startled and choked sob bursts from Wooyoung’s lips, and his hand reaches up to clap over his mouth just as quickly. He attempts to hide himself from view before anyone can see the evidence of his distress. It’s useless, of course, but no one is about to tell him that. Yeosang extends a silent offer of support, arms wrapping around Wooyoung’s waist and pulling him into a tight embrace as the other quietly cries against him. Hongjoong’s gaze flits over to watch the exchange.
“So be it.” Hongjoong’s words are tight, strained, and almost thick. However, he doesn’t try to stop Jongho, and when the Berserker turns around to leave the room, Hongjoong merely watches him go. Yunho rushes to follow the man out, calling out his name too late.
“Hong–” Seonghwa doesn’t get to finish his thought as the captain levels him with a glare so intense that you have to look away.
“Yeosang, San, and Y/N. Return tomorrow at seven in the morning. You’ll be the team going to get the serum for Yunho.” You push up to stand up straight once more, San’s hand lingering near your back in case you fall again.
“Understood, Captain,” Yeosang replies over Wooyoung’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything more than that; instead, he guides the man in his arms to the door with gentle hands and pushes. Once the door snaps shut behind them, the cracks in Hongjoong’s resolve begin to show. He exhales a staggered and shaky sigh, head dipping down until he stares at the wood under him with empty eyes.
“Don’t give me that look, San,” he mutters after a few seconds of stagnant silence.
“Sorry, Captain. I’m–” San inhales sharply and blinks up at the ceiling before he continues the thought “–You once told me that even when there seems to only be one way out, there is always another option. I hope you remember that.”
You move when San does, not wanting to stay in the room any longer than you have to, and neither Hongjoong or Seonghwa try to stop you from going. Stepping back onto the bridge is like breathing fresh air after being trapped inside for too long. There’s an immediate break in the tension, and reality seeps through your skin in that moment.
“He’s not… he’s not serious, is he?” You ask, tone so hushed that you aren’t sure San hears it at first. All San can do is release a dry laugh.
“Which one are you talking about?” You aren’t even sure that you could answer that. San tilts his head from side to side, releasing a small hum as he leads the way off the bridge. You fall into step with him without complaint, content with going wherever he goes as long as it’s away from Hongjoong’s quarters. “Jongho is dead serious. He would never let any harm come to Mingi, and if he had it in him, I’m sure he would go against Hongjoong’s orders. I think – I think he sees leaving as his only option. The only way he knows how to get Hongjoong to see reason and think straight, or… yeah. I think he’s being serious, but Hongjoong? Not at all. He’s not thinking straight, too little sleep obviously but also too caught up in something in his head. I’ve seen him like this before, making bad and irrational decisions out of desperation. He’ll get over it.”
“How long will that take?”
“Hopefully less than two days?”
“You don’t sound confident,” you say through a weak smile.
“I’m not.” San glances over at you, eyes glistening with an emotion you can’t read. However, you don’t have time to dwell on it or wonder what it is because he continues speaking without dwelling on the subject for long. “If this does work out the way Hongjoong wants it to, then we’ll be going on yet another dangerous mission, huh?”
“Not as dangerous as the last, I hope,” you murmur back.
“I fear that… more than I would like to admit. A repeat of what happened last time we were on an official mission. I don’t think I can go through that again.” San pauses, and his tongue darts out to drag over his lips. “Seeing you in the position again — t-that’s hard to think about. Any of the crew in that position for that matter.” You aren’t sure what compels you, but you reach down to catch hold of his hand, pulling it closer to you and lacing your fingers through his without saying anything for a few moments. When you do muster the strength to speak, your voice comes out as nothing more than a whisper.
“We’ll be more careful this time. Better prepared too.”
“Seonghwa must be rubbing off on you,” San chuckles. “You sound just like him.” The words catch your off-guard, and you pull your hand back in an instant thanks to the surprise. You don’t know what expression crosses your features, but San sees it and devolves into a small panic because of it. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t – I didn’t mean to overstep. If you–”
“No, no, it’s okay. I just w-wasn’t expecting that,” you interject, equally as rushed and frantic. It serves to calm San down some though, and that’s all you can ask for at this point in time. “You’re not overstepping.”
“Then would it be too much to ask if everything is alright between the two of you?” San’s question isn’t inherently nosey or prying, merely a genuine question about the state of your relationship with Seonghwa, but you aren’t even sure how to answer that yourself. It isn’t a relationship – a romantic one, that is – but it surely can’t be described as nothing more than a friendship or a work relationship because friends or coworkers don’t necessarily behave the way the two of you do. The lack of a label on it helped up until this point. Now you feel as though you’re swimming in a deep ocean with no life vest.
“We’re… on break?”
“Now look who doesn’t sound confident,” San teases. The smile that stretches his lips offers a moderate amount of comfort, and you find yourself returning it with one of your own without thinking.
“He’s patient and giving to a fault almost, and I — it makes me feel guilty because I can’t give the same in return. So… on break.”
“Hm, well, if I may be so bold as to offer some sort of advice?”
“Be as bold as you want, by all means.”
“In any type of relationship, there is give and take whether you are aware of it or not. You may not feel like you are giving as much as he is, but the guilt you feel towards it is more than enough to show that you aren’t intrinsically a bad person or someone who just wants to take. Some people show affection and love through giving. It’s hard not to want to give back in return, but at some point, it all becomes a matter of perspective. Receiving love, letting someone give you that, allowing yourself to accept those things – I guarantee that the other person sees that, appreciates it, and feels your affection through it. Especially when you’ve gone through things that would otherwise hinder your desire and ability to let people into your heart.” San’s gaze is almost too warm and soft on your skin, and chills go through your spine because of it despite the warmth.
“I-I… you’re t-too bold, Choi San,” you stutter as you try to wrangle your scrambling thoughts before they slip too far away from you.
“But I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Which one?” San hums, moving to tap his chin, and you swing a fist at his arm. “Sorry, sorry! It was a joke! Please don’t hurt me!”
“As much as I hate to admit it: yes, you’re right. Those sorts of emotions are something I’ve never put much value or care into because of my line of work. When I did, it was something I didn’t value enough until they were gone. So I suppose that part of me doesn’t know how to do it right.”
“Well, is that something you would want one day? Someone – a person and a family or the like?”
“I’ve never thought about it that way.”
“Never seen people as a necessity? Moreso just constants in your life? Things that come and go without influence or intention?”
“Stop reading my mind,” you grumble, turning your cheek in the opposite direction so you don’t have to suffer looking at San’s everpresent grin. “Yes, I think I would like to have that someday. When this is all over, and I can rest without constantly looking over my shoulder or worrying that something bad might happen.”
“Hm, do you think that’s a possibility?” You barely notice that you and San have stopped moving. You’re suddenly standing still in the corridor, side by side but now facing each other head-on, and San continues peering at you with those same perceptive eyes.
“I think… I think I would only have that peace when I’m dead.” San’s smile falters and shifts into a pursed frown.
“You’ll find that peace one day, Y/N. I’m certain of it. Because if even I can be worthy and deserving of having that chance at happiness, then you can too.” His words almost put a spell over you, and you find yourself stuck to the spot, unable to budge even an inch. San reaches up and cups your face with his hands, letting his grin return and tug one side of his lips up. You follow the movements with your hands as well, not with the intent to pull him away but merely to let your fingers rest against his wrists as he holds you gently. “We’ll get there,” he whispers.
“O-Okay,” you respond with a series of shaky nods. Slowly but surely, San moves closer to yours, lips pressing against your forehead so softly that the feeling of the kiss ghosts over you in less than a second. He pulls back with a sigh, not asking for anything more than that, then extends a hand in your direction. It takes a moment for it to process, but you place your own in his once it dawns on you.
“Come on. I guess we better go say our goodbyes to Jongho.”
✧✧✧ a/n: gah yall have no idea how much I missed this ;-; I'm so happy to be writing something that isn’t smut KLFJSDKLFJL i needed this break from kinktober and I'm so happy that this is the chapter I got to write because whewie she’s a big one and she’s intense!! I hope you guys enjoy tho pls let me know what you think >-<
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bibliosophist · 4 years ago
Text
Soft as Bread, Sweet as Honey, Chapter... Idk, 4?
Hi folx! I guess there is more to this story. I’m working on what will be chapter 4 on here, and chapter 2 on AO3. You can read it below the break if you want to, or you can hop on over there and just read the whole thing properly. Beelzebub x Female Reader
Cooking duty is one of the chores at the House of Lamentation that you mind the least. You’ll certainly take it over cleaning the common room. It never ceases to amaze you how much of a mess fully grown men- demons- whatever- can make. Like all chores in the house, everyone takes turns cooking. Unlike other chores, people usually double up on cooking duty on account of there being so many mouths to feed-- especially when one of those mouths belongs to Beelzebub. Your cooking partner this semester is Levi, and though he does more talking than cooking, you’re generally fine with that. His constant stream of anime and game related chatter puts you at ease as you cook.
It had taken some time for you to get familiar with some of the more exotic Devildom ingredients, but you had found many that bore a close resemblance to food you were familiar with from the human world, and whatever you were unfamiliar with you were pretty good at researching on your DDD. You’d found a few Devildom dishes that you were comfortable cooking, but most often you ended up making food inspired by things you’d loved eating in the human world. Tonight you have decided to make okonomiyaki, a personal favourite. It would be easy enough to prepare a large quantity of, and allowed for enough customization of toppings that everyone would end up happy. Plus, you figured, Levi probably wouldn’t mind actually helping-- his fondness for everything Japanese outweighing his innate laziness.
When you enter the spacious kitchen, Levi is nowhere in sight. No matter, you think. You’ll start without him. You busy yourself washing vegetables and preparing a large pan of Covetous Cod fillets to bake. The mild fish, you think, will pair well with the tangy sauce.
You’ve almost finished peeling a pile of yams when you hear a voice behind you.
“Uh, hi.”
That is most certainly not Levi’s voice. Slowly you turn around, meeting Beel’s eyes from where he stands, large frame taking up most of the doorway.
“Hi,” you say back, your stomach fluttering.
This is the first time you’ve been alone together since the incident in the alleyway a few days ago. Between your project with Sibyl and his brothers’ constant presence, you haven’t been able to say two words to each other in private, and thanks to another one of Mammon’s pranks backfiring, the brothers’ texting privileges have once again been temporarily revoked. You briefly considered texting him anyway, but shuddered at the thought of Lucifer finding out and reading your messages. Though you haven’t had any alone time, it hasn’t stopped him from holding your hand under the table when nobody's looking, or smiling at you in the halls.
“Sorry I’m a little late.” A rosy tinge crept into his cheeks. “I got Levi to switch with me, but, uh, I got hungry on the way home and stopped for a few doughnuts.”
You can feel a grin spreading over your face. “You got Levi to switch. How did you manage that?”
“It wasn’t hard. He doesn’t like making anything more complicated than instant noodles.”
You laugh, running the peeler over the yam you’re holding. “So I’ve come to realize. But why did you ask him in the first place? Isn’t this just more work for you? Are you that tired of Ruri-chan Ramen?”
“Instant ramen is good, but I like variety in my meals. I get a little bit bored with just one flavor. Not,” he says, panic on his face, “that your cooking is boring. I like your cooking very much...” he trails off, cheeks on fire.
Your grin widens and you turn back to your task, beginning to grate the yam into fine strips. “I agree. It’s better when there are different, complimenting flavours.” If he doesn’t have a problem with your cooking, could he have come here just to see you? Your heart beats a little bit faster.
“Are you okay with my plan of making okonomiyaki? It’s a human world dish, but it’s really versatile. I think it will work well with the ingredients we have here.”
“Ah, yeah, I’ve had that before when I visited up there,” he says, pointing at the ceiling.
“Is it really “up” from here? Like, if I sprouted wings and flew straight up, would I get to the human world eventually?”
“I’m not sure,” he laughs, “I don’t know if anyone has ever tried getting there without using a portal.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” you say, gathering the grated yam into a bowl and beginning to thinly slice cabbage. “The cod is already baking. It should be done in a few minutes. Do you want to start on the batter for the pancakes?”
He nods, coming to stand beside you at the counter. “I can do that. Can you tell me how?”
“I actually wrote the instructions out over here,” you say, gesturing to a piece of paper.
“So...” you trail off, keenly aware of how close he’s standing to you. “What kinds of things do you like cooking?”
“Oh, um. I don’t think anybody has ever asked me that before. Usually they only ask me what I want to eat,” he says. When you glance over at him, he’s got a finger in his mouth. You suspect he’s just dipped it in the flour. You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips again, or the memory of how his skin tasted. Thankfully you don’t think he’s noticed you peering at him, because he keeps talking. “I guess I like grilling best. It’s pretty quick, and you get to watch the whole thing. It’s not like baking. That’s frustrating.”
“I don’t have the patience for baking either,” you say, resting your hip against the island as you watch Beel begin to crack eggs into his bowl. “One wrong measurement and the whole thing is ruined. Oh, hang on, you’ve got an eggshell in your batter.” You reach over, plucking the tiny fragment of shell out and wiping it on a teatowel.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“It’s completely fine, it happens. That looks good, now just stir it all together.”
“Is it supposed to be kind of... runny?”
“Sure,” you say, carrying over the bowls of vegetables, “if it’s too thick, it won’t cook through properly. Here,” you reach into the bowl, transferring handfuls of cabbage and yam into the batter. “Make sure the vegetables get well coated. I’m going to take the fish out.”
“Thank you for letting me help,” he says.
“What do you mean?” you ask, sliding protective mitts over your hands before opening the oven. It smells incredible, and your stomach rumbles. Normally you’d cut off a big chunk and snack on it while you finished cooking-- Levi had usually wandered off by this point in the process-- but you’re acutely aware that it’s not Levi standing behind you.
“Well, usually my cooking partner is Lucifer. He likes things the way he likes them. And...” he trails off, bringing the batter over to the stove. He looks a little dazed, eyes locked on the pan of cod. “That smells incredible.”
“Thanks. I hope it tastes as good as it smells. Wait- no!” Your warning comes too late, he’s already reached out to pinch off a corner of the flakey flesh. He hisses in pain, pulling his fingers back, shaking them vigorously.
“That’s another reason he doesn’t like me in the kitchen with him,” he says bashfully.
“Come here,” you say, taking his other hand and leading him across the room to the faucet. You turn the cold tap on and test it with your own hand before taking his injured one and running it under the chilly water. “Is that better?”
“Yeah, thanks,” he mumbles, cheeks pinker than his fingers. “I have a hard time controlling myself. It’s like I know better, but I forget when there’s food around.”
You chuckle, rotating his hand under the stream. “I get that. Normally I snack while I cook. I don’t like waiting either. Then I end up eating way more than I should.”
He nods along with your words. “I do the same thing. There’s this one soup that Belphie really loves, but every time I try to make it for him, I end up eating it all before it’s ready and have to start all over again.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” you say, turning the tap off. You gently dab his hand dry with a clean teatowel. “I’m going to go get the first aid kit from my bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
“No, wait,” he says, catching your arm as you turn away from him. “Stay here with me.”
“But your fingers-”
“Already feel much better,” he says, drawing you back to him. Now his eyes are glazed with something other than hunger. He cuts off your protest with a kiss. His lips are so soft and warm; you melt right into him. When your lips move against his he scoops you up in his arms, sitting you on the counter, bringing your face level with his. “I missed you,” he whispers, pulling back to kiss your nose.
“I missed you too,” you whisper back, resting one leg on either side of his hips. You wrap your arms around his neck and your mouth back to his. His hands find your waist and he holds you tight as your tongues explore each other’s mouths. You hadn’t realized how badly you’d wanted to touch him these past few days, and now that you are you can’t get enough. Your hands find their way under the collar of his jacket, fingers running over his broad shoulders. You’re in the process of sliding his jacket down his arms when a familiar voice cuts through your haze.
“- getting hungry, do you need any help in- oh.” Breaking apart, you look to the source of the interruption to find Satan standing in the doorway, one hand on his hip and a smirk on his face. “So dinner will be quite late, then.” he says.
“Beel burned his finger,” you blurt.
“Uh-huh,” Satan nods. “And to sooth it he had to stick his tongue down your thro-”
“Get out,” Beel yells, seizing a nearby piece of fruit and throwing it in his brother’s general direction.
Satan steps to the side, smoothly avoiding it. He chuckles. “I’ll tell the others dinner will be a bit late.”
Face absolutely on fire, you hop off of the counter and cross back to the stove. “I’ll just heat up some oil,” you say.
Beel follows after a moment, resting his hands on your hips as you begin cooking the pancakes. “Can we finish that kiss after dinner?” he asks
It takes all your willpower to continue spooning batter in the pan. You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod.
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bandaigaeru · 4 years ago
Text
gravitational pull - seo changbin
→genre: brief fake dating, childhood friends to weird enemies to fake lovers to real lovers →synopsis: he was a glimmering star of hope until he exploded, suspending your relationship into a seesawing gravity. →pairing: changbin x gender neutral reader →word count: 8.1k →warnings: hyunjins kinda mean at one point, mentions of alcohol
i.
Mulch crunches beneath the adolescent shoes of your classmates. One intention is shared, in this playground warfare, and it’s to get a swing.
You disregard the heap rushing towards the ones closest, for your gaze is set on the far end of the swingset. And it is just within your reach. Your eyes narrow as you outstretch a palm, prepared to feel the coolness of the rusty chain.
The chain sways away from you beneath the harsh touch of another boy.
You stare at him with wide eyes, mouth fallen agape.
He smiles, the plastic seat dipping beneath his weight. “This one’s mine.”
A small shake in your tone as you return, “I was here first.”
“So? Everyone knows this is my swing.”
You slowly nod, taking small footsteps backwards. Hwang Hyunjin is bigger than you. And more accustomed with goons of friends. There’s no point in fighting.
Though as you start for the abandoned monkey bars (their vibrant red paint chipped to a sad haze) with blurry vision faulting your path, a voice booms over the rush between your ears.
You glance in the direction. A short boy sits in a stationary swing, smiling as though it is all he’s ever known. He waves you over.
Taking all of the precautions, you glance over your shoulder to make sure he’s talking to you. When you confirm, you drag your feet along the mulch.
You flinch when he stands, bringing guarding forearms to protect your face. The blow never comes.
“You can take my swing,” he says. You peek at him through your shield. His puffy cheeks are still indented with the smile. And his hands, not balled into a fist, lay calmly at his side.
You blink, slowly lowering your defense. “W-Why?”
He laughs, “That’s what friends are for. Duh.”
The laugh that trembles over your lips is shaky and foreign. You reach for the chain.
“I’ll push you!” he declares, rushing behind you as you steady yourself in the small seat.
He pulls you from the ground, the tips of your shoes trailing back amber woodchips.
The tip of your nose kisses the blue sky. Though, inevitably, the time comes when you must fall back to the earth. Steady hands push against your back, returning you to freedom. You find yourself grinning each time.
The next day, Changbin saves you the swing beside him. He waits until you are ready before kicking off on the ground. You swing in sync, sharing a few glances under the sun’s hugging rays.
It only takes a week before he’s begging his mother to arrange a playdate. And to your luck, he follows through with the promises, meeting you at your doorstep that Saturday. He guides you a block over to his house. He must be a good kid if his mother entrusted him with such a task, bringing two first-graders over. One returning home and one in need of a home away from home.
His mother is extremely nice, smiling at you each time you catch her eyes. She sets a plate of fruit on the coffee table while you and Changbin battle over the next Spongebob episode. His sister comes out of her room, too, asking you whether you prefer Barbies or Matchbox.
Elementary school passes like this. Recess is spent with his presence, as is lunch and gym and any class freetime. On the off days that it rains, barring you inside the school, you play Mancala. It’s totally civil. Not once does Changbin storm off when he loses. He merely shrugs and offers to set up the next round.
So unusual, though each time you find yourself smiling.
After an emotional graduation party—emotional for the teachers and family, you mean—he hands you a small piece of paper.
“What’s this?” you curiously look at him. His tie has loosened since the ceremony and his hair is ruffled by his father’s hand.
“My phone number. I won’t be in town this summer, but I still wanna keep touch with you.”
You smile down at the small digits. Neatly, you fold the post-it before slipping it into your pocket. You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into his touch as he wraps his arms around your waist. “I’m gonna miss you,” you announce, voice muffled by his shoulder.
“It’s only one summer,” he reassures. “Plus, I’ll bring you back something nice. A keychain or something.”
You laugh through the sting that stabs your body, nodding. One summer cannot mark the end of the world, you tell yourself as you watch his car drift over the hill leading into town.
ii.
On the first, dreaded, day of middle school, you scan the halls carefully. The new faces do not scare you as much as the lack of his does. Each call was sent to voicemail. And each time the dial sounded, you frantically returned the phone to the receiver. Maybe he had accidentally miswrote the number. Or maybe he was too busy to return your calls. Summer has that effect on people, you think, where you have so much fun you forget the things you used to do daily. Like a memory disorder.
You finally see him in the lunch line. A breath of fresh air invades your lungs as you rush over to him.
“Changbin! How was your summer? I called, but you never answered,” you grin, nudging his shoulder.
He does not shoot you a glance, nor does he send a glare. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued on his shoes. A sharp pain strikes your chest—that breath might have been poison.
You gently shove his shoulder again, forcing a shaky laugh as you continue, “Hello? Anyone in there?”
The boy in front of him spins on his heel. His eyes are cold, painful, as they meet yours. “Can’t you tell he doesn’t wanna talk to you?” Hyunjin scoffs. “Go somewhere else, dumbass.”
Hesitantly, you look to Changbin. Surely, he’ll defend you, right?
Right?
His eyes have traveled to the lunch menu, displayed on a TV in cheap font. Far away from this conversation.
You nod, looking back to Hyunjin. His abrasive eyes are still waiting for you, eagerly begging you to move on. “Sorry, then,” you murmur as you start for the bathroom that will become your haven.
Behind you, Hyunjin’s loud laugh taunts you. Hidden beneath it is a quieter one that stabs you in the chest. Something painful blurs your vision, twists your insides, and curls the corners of your lips as you try to fight it.
You were a fool to think he was different. Elementary promises should never be trusted.
Secondary school passes in dreary blinks. Watching Changbin run for class president. Bubbling in his name despite everything. Hearing Changbin got the lead role in Cinderella. Showing up despite the physics test you had to study for.
You wonder momentarily if Newton was behind this twisted feeling in your chest. Drawing you to him—like a moth to a flame. You even scan his sister’s Instagram from time to time, finding a picture of Changbin framed carefully beneath the stars, a twinkle in his eye.
You watch from afar as he accepts his diploma, a careful smile seated on your lips.
A bitter taste haunts your tongue as you pack for college.
“This is good for me,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll be far, far away from him. I can move on.”
Some things are better left unsaid.
iii.
Awkward introductions replay in your memory as you get ready for your first college class. Seven fifteen, physics with Professor Kim. Denoted as one of the best in the country. Physicist and professor, respectively. It would be a lie to say he didn’t take part in your decision to attend this college. And the ocean, which is only a fifteen minute walk (that’s what the RA told you when you moved in).
You arrive with a hot americano precisely on time.
As you climb the lecture hall’s steps, your eyes drift among the sea of unfamiliar faces. One in particular sticks out—a glimmer of hope among the trenches. You raise a hand to wave, a smile quirking your lips. But, at the face directly next to him, you drift back.
Evidently, you didn’t move far enough.
You stand at the edge of the aisle, glancing down at the empty seat. “Hey, is this spot empty?”
Hope looks back at you with shock glazing his features. “Oh my God, Y/N! Of course. I didn’t know you decided to come here,” Minho smiles, tugging his notebook closer to allow you more room.
You pull out the chair, glancing at the boy on the other side of him. “I didn’t really tell anyone where I was going.”
He fills the silence with his tales of life, occasionally glancing at Changbin to see if he wants to add something. Each time, he is met with the boy’s indifferent profile. Mindlessly scrolling through his phone, though not once stopping to read one of the passing captions or like a picture.
Professor Kim claps, fizzling any remaining conversation. The syllabus fades in your mind as you wonder how Changbin’s summer went. Maybe he spent it with his sister. Or perhaps he accompanied a love interest to a string of dates.
This thought shoots a concoction of contradicting emotions through your heart. You return distracted eyes to Professor Kim just as he’s dismissing class, burying a content fist into the customly tailored pocket of his navy suit. Minho turns to you immediately, filling your ears with proposals to coffee and lunch and maybe you could come to the dorm later and catch up. Changbin’s ears perk up as he begs for Minho’s eyes.
For a split second, his eyes fall on you before they dart away.
“I need to get back to my dorm,” you announce when you can finally slip into Minho’s breaths of pause. “My roommate’s waiting.”
“Who’s your roommate? Maybe we know him.”
You fight a laugh when he finally glances back at Changbin, who has long since given up. “His name’s Yang Jeongin.”
iv.
While Minho is overly focused on you, begging you to tell him what happened after he moved in tenth grade, Changbin pretends you do not exist. When the conversations trail outside of the lecture hall, he clings to Minho’s side but does not speak. His eyes stay glued to the sidewalk. Or his textbook, whose cover he seems very invested in.
So when Professor Kim announces a project, your heart thumps a little too fast.
Minho grabs your arm, “Be my partner?”
Changbin kicks his leg. “Dude.”
He glances back at him, as though nothing he has said goes against him. “What? Just join our group.”
Changbin’s eyes find yours reluctantly. They ignite a spark in your fingertips as you reach for a pen. “Can I?”
You smile as your head twitches in a nod. “Of course.”
The plan is this: meet at the library on October 15th (a Saturday, you realize) at 1 P.M. “Expect to be there long, I wanna get this done ASAP,” Minho adds as he downs the rest of your americano.
When the day finally comes, despite your daily prayers that time would somehow freeze or somehow skip over the day, you leave your dorm right when you need to. Early October aids a brusque breeze, and you wrap your jacket around you as you approach the small crosswalk. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you dread the inevitable message.
Lee Minho [12:59 P.M.]: Sorry guys, I can’t make it. Mama Lee’s in town and wants to see her favorite son.
It’s too late to go home, you realize, when shoes scrape against the cement and a sigh penetrates the silence. “I cannot stand him,” the voice mutters behind you.
You turn to him, offering pitied condolences with a small smile. “Just the two of us, huh?”
He nods. “Guess so.”
A loud hum draws closer as his foot leans down for the asphalt. You look to the source, seeing a red car barreling down the street. You gasp, grabbing Changbin’s sleeve and tugging him back on the sidewalk. The horn echoes in the back of your head like an alarm.
His eyes are wide when they find yours. “T-Thank you,” he stutters, cocking his head a little. As though, for the first time, he is taking in your appearance.
You realize your grip is still tight on his wrist and you let go, tensing up. “You’re welcome.”
In the library, you work in silence. As though nothing happened outside. As though your entire history lies merely within the timespan of a few weeks. Minho serving as the mutual friend to your forced, awkward friendship.
He shoots you a dizzying look as he turns his packet to you. “Can you look this over?”
The tip of your eraser taps a number. “This has to be meters per second, not centimeters per second.”
A small sigh tumbles over his bottom lip as he realizes, “That’s why the final answer looked so weird. Thank you.”
The corner of your lip must have an opposite gravity to it, because it curls upward without intent.
v.
Returning to class the next Monday leaves the soft hint of a calm lavender in the air. You share a quick, almost childish, glance with Changbin before settling back into the tune of physics. Newtons and joules and all the fun things that make up energy.
The next few weeks pass with a quiet hum, one that hangs in the background and, if you lose sight of it, you’re scared you’ll lose it forever. It’s a time of your life where you will look back with a sigh and whisper, “How did I not realize how good I had it?”
At your peak, you fall onto your bed on a Friday night. Jeongin scribbles impatient homework answers while your eyes fall shut.
The storm of your phone blaring its tune awakes you.
Lee Minho calls to remind you that he expects you to arrive at his ‘rager of a birthday party.’ He tells you the address, enthusiastically repeating himself (like an auctioneer) as you try to find a pad of paper. Jeongin’s jumping up to fix his hair before you even hang up.
You’re really not sure what you expect as you drag your roommate in tow towards the destination. Though, when you feel the tremble of music and hear shouts from the lawn of the frat house, you somehow know you’re in the right place.
The foyer is packed with jumping bodies. Leaning on the stairs, a red solo cup in hand, is the man of the hour. His cheeks are dusted in a light coating of heat and, as you approach him, you notice that glitter brushes soft highlights along his cheekbones.
“Happy early birthday!” you shout over the music.
He dizzily turns to you and drags you towards his chest in a swift motion. “Y/N! Thank you for coming!”
You had no choice. It was either come to the party or admit yourself to Lee Minho’s terrifying grudge list.
Despite this, you return with a grin, “Of course!”
When he lets you go into the stale air, he shoves his cup into your hand. “Try some,” he nods.
You tip the plastic to your lips. As the liquid scrapes the back of your throat, you flinch back. “What is this?” Your face twists.
“Just vodka and Coke.”
You hastily return the cup to him and glance around. Jeongin has disappeared to a desolate corner, you presume. A spark of jealousy runs through your veins.
“Where’s the bathroom?” you find yourself asking Minho.
He points down a vacant hallway and tells you it’s the last door on your left. You thank him before scurrying in that direction.
Your knock echoes, though nothing returns. The pale wood feels cold against your cheek as you listen for any life inside. You find it safe to enter. Instantly, you press your palms against the cold marble. Identical eyes stare into each other in the mirror until your eyes slip to the pale, spotless basin. You stare into the milky dome absently, pondering why you feel so odd being here. And for a moment you forget where you are, lost in the dizzying world of your thoughts.
Until you hear the choked sob from behind the shower curtain.
It takes you by surprise. Hesitantly, you reach out for the navy shield.
“Ch-Changbin?” you stutter, staring down at the boy in a mess of shock.
His legs are drawn to his chest as trails of tears line his cheeks. He lets out a squeak as he looks up to you. Arms fall to his sides as he leans forward. Though, he appears to have no intention of stopping, surrendering himself to gravity.
Your hands find his shoulders merely moments before his nose slams into the porcelain. “Are you drunk?” you whisper.
Though, in return, he sobs. “I’m sorry.”
Something pierces your chest. Your lips part to say something, but the words are clogged in your throat.
“I was such an idiot,” he slurs, swaying gently.
“What’re you talking about?” you finally ask.
His balled fist slams against the tub. “You!” he shouts, face twisting as he releases another cry.
You flinch back.
“My mom always asks how you’re doing, no matter how many times I tell her. My sister still has a grudge. Hell, even Hwang Hyunjin thinks I’m an idiot and he’s the one who tricked me into leaving you!”
He leans his cheek against the wall, once again releasing a cry. Though, this one, he fights to hold back. It scalds the air in a whimper.
Quieter, he admits, “You were the only person I’ve ever felt safe with.”
You sigh, looking down at your shoes. Those days when you wondered what had gone wrong, staring up at your blank ceiling and trying to relive his smile as quiet tears fell to your pillow, wash down the drain.
He watches intently as you climb into the tub. You do not look at him as you slowly lean against the wall he rests his cheek on. Instead, you stare at the mahogany finish of the small cabinets. Regardless, you can feel his eyes burning holes into your cheek. In this cold porcelain cage, all you can hear is the distant thumping of music and the occasional sniffle from the boy beside you. You smile at the familiarity of it, returning you to your former years cozied up on a playground. No worries back then, you jealously note with a muted snicker.
“I missed you,” you finally say. Tears blur your vision, warping the defined lines of wood into a mess of color.
When you bring yourself to look at him, his eyes are closed. You lean a little closer to see if he’s sleeping. Reluctant lips part as he whispers, his breath hot and reeking of tequila, “I missed you too.”
vi.
One of the things you come to realize is that Changbin’s smile has never changed. There’s still that little indent where his cheeks fold over and each time he offers a glimpse at it you are returned to the days of the swing.
Thanks to the drunken night (half drunken night, you should say, since he had enough for both of you), Changbin has allowed a sneak peek back to his life. Strictly over text, though. You’re not sure why he’s never asked to meet up—maybe it’s too much too fast, you think—but you cannot find it in you to complain. He’s back after all these years and that seems to be enough.
So you endure it, texting him until the early hours of the morning and fascinating yourself over all of these things you have missed.
Seo Changbin [2:39 A.M.]: My sister and I went to the elementary school a couple of weeks ago.
Looking at your phone burns your eyes, as does the weird feeling in your chest.
Y/N [2:40 A.M.]: Really? Has it changed much?
Seo Changbin [2:40 A.M.]: The kids after us got all the cool playground equipment :(
Seo Changbin [2:40 A.M.]: I should take you there one day haha. I think that’d be fun.
You fight the giggle that wishes to flee, glancing up at a sleeping Jeongin for reassurance.
Waking up in the morning is aided with fleeting regrets, though beneath it you realize there is a small skip in your step. One that flares a heat in your face when you walk into the physics classroom and reach to meet Changbin’s eyes. And there, waiting, is his gaze and a small smile.
Maybe you have it bad for Seo Changbin, you think, as Professor Kim begins talking about Newton’s Third Law.
vii.
Yang Jeongin is broadcasting his homework onto the cheap projector he bought on Amazon for $50. “Isn’t it so cool?” he marvels as his red pen underlines a key part of his notes.
You absently nod, glaring at your textbook. Between the lines is a screaming thought that cascades a waterfall of forget towards your upcoming exam. You fail to notice your phone buzzing against your bed. Daydreams are dangerous like that.
“Y/N,” Jeongin’s voice finally snaps you out of it. You look to him, standing at the door and lazily holding the knob. “You’ve got a visitor.”
Your heart leaps in your chest as you rush to take his spot. Before you can tug the door open, he presses a hand on your shoulder. “Be careful around him, please.”
You watch as he struts and flops down on his bed, opening a comic book above his head.
As you open the door, a little more hesitant than before the interaction with Jeongin, you smile.
Changbin is watching the end of your hall and playing with the sleeves of his hoodie. When he senses your presence, he finally breaks his trance and offers a smile. He keeps his voice low, “Can I talk to you?”
You nod, ignoring the annoying thump thump of your heart, “Sure. What’s up?”
“In private,” he adds, peeking over your head at Jeongin. Maintaining his hold on the comic book, though his eyes have drifted to you with a parental glare.
You shut the door behind you. His footsteps draw towards the common area, and you follow. There’s a silence draped over you until he abruptly stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to you. “I need you to pretend to date me.”
You blink. “W-What?”
He draws his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily before continuing, “I made a stupid bet and I kind of really need the money.”
A shroud of toughness hides your instant willingness to help. “What do I get out of this?”
His eyes radiate the innocence of a child. They draw you to a distant memory, one that you might have seen in a movie and forced into a memory, but you’re not sure. You were at his house after he broke his arm and he cried, those same eyes staring at you as he whined about how much it hurt. And how itchy his arm was beneath the cast.
Your heart softens, and you have to fight the crumbling beneath your feet.
“Whatever you want,” he assertively nods. “Seriously.”
You sigh. “Do you have a plan?”
“I always have a plan,” he smiles, pulling you into a grateful hug. His hoodie smells vaguely of ramen with a hint of sealike cologne you might find in Lee Minho’s bathroom. You find yourself smiling as your hands rest on his back.
viii.
His hand, admittedly, feels a little odd in your hand. The last time you had held his hand was in second grade, when you went to the zoo on a field trip. Your class was already flooding into the bird exhibit with anticipation and exuberance. But you were crying your eyes out at the mere thought of seeing a parrot. (This unfounded fear is all thanks to Spongebob)
Changbin’s hand slipped into yours and slowly urged you in, mumbling that if you didn’t go you’d get stuck there forever. And then, he had whispered, the parrots might eat us alive. Even then, his hand was oddly clammy and a little sticky.
But now, as he guides you through the small neighborhood, you feel a calm mix of elation and awkwardness. Sure, this is groundbreaking material for you and your “small” crush on him. However, he’s not doing this because he likes you. He’s doing this because he needs some cash and you were a means of aiding him.
“Where are we going?” you ask, a cloud of your breath expanding from your lips. It’s only the beginning of November.
“You’ll see,” he glances over at you, a small smile painted on his pale cheeks.
There’s a small line of shrubs on your side of the sidewalk. Serving as a break in them is a metal archway, accompanied by a small wooden sign reading: Gyeonghwa Park. He turns into it, guiding you into the small fenced area. A two person swing set stands in the corner, absent seats trembling in the breeze. There’s a few wooden benches, though most are tainted in a layer of leaves.
“Ta-da,” he says, gesturing with his free arm at the small park.
You look around to the little duck statue in the corner. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are we here again?” you turn to him. His hand burns against your skin like a constant reminder.
“I can’t take you to our playground, so I thought we could settle for here as our first fake date,” he smiles. “Plus, we need couple pictures and I think this works well.”
You’re grateful for the breeze that dashes pink across your cheeks, disguising the heat that has rushed to them at his words. “R-Right,” you stutter.
He takes a seat on a leafless bench and slips his phone from his pocket. As you reluctantly sit beside him, you watch as he sends texts to his friends. Nothing regarding you, you presume, but when he feels your eyes he quickly closes the chat.
The pictures are poised carefully, his arm resting on the top of the bench behind you, your head tilted towards his as you smile. Without warning, he presses his lips to your cheek as the shutter clicks. You try not to make your flinch obvious.
He pulls back, smiling slightly as he inquires, “Should we kiss to seal the deal?”
Fire poisons your veins as you stare back at him. The invisible mark his lips had left sizzles in the air. “Do you think we should?” you whisper.
He shrugs. “It’ll make it a bit more believable. We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, though.”
You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. Kiss me.”
The corners of his lips upturn a little further, sending a shiver down your spine—though maybe it was just the wind. He readjusts his phone, glancing to assure you’re both in frame, before leaning in. At first, his lips merely wander in the air before yours, as though he is thinking about the best way to do this. But then, confident lips press against yours. His touch melts away the numbness in your fingers, the shiver of the cold. In this moment of freedom, you wonder if he had ever wondered what your lips tasted like. Because you sure have.
ix.
Each of your fake dates is constructed with careful attention to detail. A trip to the movies (seeing a film you had mentioned wanting to see very briefly over text). A study ‘date’ that didn’t really feel romantic, though he brought you an americano and a fancy pen he stole from his dad’s work.
But your date today is very special. The diner is filled to the brim with hungry college students and elderly couples. In the back, bunched up against the upholstery, are Changbin’s friends. They throw their heads back to laugh as one tells a stupid joke. Changbin leads you down the aisle slowly. He squeezes your hand, whispering over his shoulder, “Thank you, again, for doing this. It means a lot.”
You smile against your will,“That’s what friends are for.”
As you approach, the new and familiar faces turn to you. Some hold smiles, others hold gaping lips.
“I didn’t think you actually found someone willing to date you,” a boy marvels.
“Let alone Y/N! How come I didn’t know you were dating?” Minho shouts, garnering certain harsh looks from neighboring booths.
A glimmering smile finds your lips as you slide into the booth beside him, “You never asked.”
He scoffs. “Am I supposed to ask when anything life-changing happens?”
Changbin files in beside you, sighing, “Not necessarily, but you talk a lot.”
“How long have you been dating?” a boy across from you asks. His cheeks are dusted with light freckles, and a friendly smile paints across his lips.
“Nearly two months,” you glance at Changbin, who nods. The finer details, he stressed, must be known like the back of your hand. A single hair out of place could be the end.
“Are you serious?” Minho booms. His eyes are wide and his lips are parted. Even his eyebrows raise in awe, scratching dull wrinkles across his forehead.
“You do talk a lot,” you mumble.
Before Minho can have the chance to shout profanities aiding his awe, another boy sighs. “Shut up and congratulate them, okay? This is karma for laughing at him when he wanted in on the bet.”
“Thank you, Chan,” Changbin smiles, wrapping an adept arm around your shoulder. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder.
As the night unfolds, queued by digging questions and the occasional groan from Minho, you nearly forget that this is an act. That when Changbin presses a kiss to your forehead it’s not real.
Outside of the diner, as his friends disperse into their means of transportation, he cups your cheeks and presses a soft kiss to your lips. When he parts, there’s a small smile and a gloss hanging over his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers.
x.
He promises to pick you up at five. All that remains is the reward, you realize. A simple favor has brought you here, waiting impatiently for his knock on your door. Your heart beats harshly against your chest.
“Why are you even messing with him?” Jeongin mutters, stirring his ramen with the tips of his chopsticks.
You glance up at him, sighing, “I’m not messing with him. I’m doing him a favor.”
“Yeah, but, why? He’s an asshole, Y/N,” he shakes his head. As he shoves the steaming noodles into his mouth, he hisses at the heat and tilts his head to the side.
You watch him as he gulps down water.
At your prolonged silence, he adds, “When is he supposed to pick you up?”
You tap your phone screen, illuminating the time. “Five minutes ago.”
Jeongin drowns his harsh words with more noodles. Though, in between bites, he says, “Maybe he’s standing you up.”
The thought has crossed your mind, though a hollow in your chest wants to believe he wouldn’t do that. Friends, if that’s what you are, don’t do that.
Seconds drift into minutes. And minutes turn into an hour. Jeongin’s gone through three more ramen cups. Your lips ache as you nervously bite them, jumping for your phone at each notification.
At half past six, Jeongin rests into your bed beside you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he wraps a cautious arm around your shoulder.
Though, you do not feel anything aside from the irritation blurring your eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks. These simple words open the floodgate.
xi.
His eyes avert yours as though they had never known you in the first place. Minho doesn’t say anything when you lower yourself in the seat beside him. Instead, he cautiously slips you a small note. Large, scratchy words read: are you okay?
You crumble the note in your palm before tucking it into your bag. He does not bother you for the rest of class. Class travels by in grueling moments. Professor Kim’s voice seems slowed, stripped of any tone. When he finally dismisses class, warning that the semester is ending soon, you haphazardly shove your things into your bag and leave.
Over your shoulder, you hear a low smack and Minho mutter, “What the hell is the matter with you?”
It hurts to admit, given that you had known from the beginning, but Seo Changbin used you. Though, despite the anger you should be feeling, you can only find yourself wondering what he needed the money so badly for.
Back at the dorm, Jeongin silently pulls a piece of cake from the small fridge and hands it to you. “Here,” he mumbles. “My friend made it for you.”
You look up at him. “Why?” Your voice is raw from desuetude, crackles like an old radio.
Jeongin bites his lip, eyes slipping to your comforter. “I told him you were having a rough time. Plus, he knows Changbin, so he knows the story.”
You take the paper plate in your fingertips, dragging it toward you. You poke the delicacy with the tip of your fork. “What’s the story?”
A sigh slips past his lips. “That you guys dated and you broke up. That’s all Changbin told them.”
You nod. He must’ve gotten the money and thrown you away.
Your phone buzzes against the mattress. Jeongin leans over to check who it is. When his eyes meet yours again, he informs, “It’s just Minho.”
So you allow yourself to look at your phone.
Lee Minho [9:20 A.M.]: I’m outside your dorm. Let me in please.
You look up to the door, though your energy is below zero. Jeongin grabs your phone, reading the message, before going to answer the door.
“Hey, Jeongin,” Minho pushes past him. He sits at the foot of your bed. “What happened?”
You blink, eyes staring into his absently. “What?”
“With Changbin. Tell me what happened, please. He won’t tell us anything and I’m starting to get worried for both of you. He’s never this quiet and you’re never this sulky,” he reluctantly rests his hand on your knee.
You look at Jeongin, who stands there with arms against his chest. He shrugs, silently telling you it’s up to you.
You sigh. “Where do I start?”
“The beginning, preferably.”
“I think I fell in love with him, but I can’t tell you when. Maybe it was when we were kids. Maybe it was at the party when he apologized,” you slowly say. The words do not feel like yours. A small pit rumbles in your stomach, begging you to continue. “He wanted a favor, to pretend to date him for that bet you guys made. I didn’t ask why he needed the money or why I should do this for him, given all he did to me. I just went with it. And things were great, as far as fake relationships go.”
In your break of silence, you find yourself smiling at all the fake dates. You wonder if the pictures still live in his phone or if he discarded them the moment he got rid of you.
“So you guys faked the whole thing?” Minho’s eyebrows furrow.
You nod. “He was supposed to pick me up on Saturday, but he stood me up. And now we’re here.”
Minho blinks. “Either Changbin’s a good actor or he’s a fucking asshole.”
“It’s the latter,” Jeongin announces as he crosses to his bed.
Minho shakes his head. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Don’t tell him what I said,” you rush. “About loving him or anything.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
After he leaves, Jeongin loudly sighs. “I knew you were in love with him.”
You look at him, slowly nodding, “I didn’t really make an effort to hide it.”
xii.
There are tears irritating your skin as you pull yourself out of bed. Surviving off of Felix’s cake and Jeongin’s ramen cups is less than attractive, but you cannot build enough will to leave your dorm. You ask Minho to take notes in physics for you and he quickly obliges, no questions asked.
Changbin, still, plagues your mind like venom. Each time you think maybe a nap is in order, you shut your eyes and see his smile. Or you’ll think of his lips on yours as he smiles into the kiss. Your eyes shoot open, chest rising heavily. Even when you stare at your ceiling too long, your brain deems it a screen for a memory to play. Casted like Jeongin’s cheap projector.
There was this once, in fourth grade when you grew bored of the swings so you relocated to the plastic blue tunnel. He blocked off one end while you took the other. On hotter days, you’d lay on top of the tunnel. One day, he looked at you across the plastic and asked, “Do you ever think we’ll be grown ups far away from each other?”
You shook your head so confidently. “No. We’re gonna live together. Like roommates.”
Jeongin comes home from his classes with a cup of coffee. He sets it on your nightstand as he whispers, “I’m spending the night at Chan’s tonight. Call me if you need anything.”
You take a sip of the americano. “Thanks, have fun.”
In his wake is a dreaded silence that reminds you of Changbin’s laugh. Time has only plagued it with a dash of depth.
Your phone buzzes. Hesitantly, you roll over and grab it. The metal is cold against your fingers.
Lee Minho [4:29 P.M.]: Hey, I need you to come to the beach. There’s something I want to show you.
The thing that tipped you over the edge when looking for a college was the beach. As you carefully scouted, the grains of sand kept drawing you back. It’s ironic as you realize that you haven’t been once, despite its proximity. You can already feel the bitter cold against your cheeks as you rise from your bed. Dots of dizziness scatter across your eyes.
The mid November air is cooler than you expected as you step out of the complex. You shove balled fists deeper into your hoodie pocket.
The walk to the beach is shorter than you had expected, only passing ten minutes. You see Minho waiting on the wooden slats leading to the sand. He jumps to preserve his heat.
“Hey,” you call out to him.
He looks to you, daring to unveil a pale hand as he waves. When you’re closer he says, “It’s fucking cold out here.”
You nod, looking out onto the vacant sand. Huddled like a speck of trash is a small figure.
“Why’d you want to meet out here?” you return to look at him, a piercing cold slashing your heart at the realization.
His face softens as he glances out towards the black speck in the sand. “Well, he wanted to meet you here but he wasn’t sure if you’d come if he texted. So he dragged me out here.”
You find yourself laughing. “And you agreed?”
“I didn’t know it was negative twenty out here,” he mutters. “So go and talk to him so I can get back in my car.”
You smile. Your heart thunders against your chest and, even though you know you shouldn’t, your feet move towards the small figure. He tugs you in, time and time again.
You glance over your shoulder when you reach him. Minho’s already gone, as though his presence was merely a ghost. You squat next to Changbin, wrapping your arms around your knees.
He looks at you, though you keep focused on the pale water. Brushing up on the sand, pulling back into the ocean.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
You nod. “You always say that.”
“I really am,” he admits. “I know you probably think I’m an asshole, reasonably so, but I really am sorry for everything.”
You finally look at him. “What’d you need the money for?”
He’s taken aback. He had expected more of a heartbreaking confession, a perspective he had not once explored. “Music equipment,” he says. “It’s really for me, Chan, and Jisung.”
You nod, looking back at the water. “I was just a ragdoll so you could get that.”
“Not really,” he whispers. “It was kinda a double positive for me.”
Furrowed eyebrows turn back to him.
“I got the money,” he starts, “and I also got the luxury of pretending to be yours.”
You blink. Your voice is small, barely audible over a gust of wind, “What?”
“Every time I did something stupid that got in between us, I always knew I’d find my way back to you. I was the tide and you were the moon, reaching out and tugging me back into reality. Time and time again, as we’ve come to understand,” he nods, glancing at his red fingers, bitten by the air.
You stare at him. “So why do you keep pushing me away?”
He shrugs. “There was always the fear that you didn’t want to bring me back.”
You scoff, remembering your childhood and the way he kept drawing you closer. You shake your head, words failing you.
“So truly, I am so sorry. You still have your end of the deal, you know. You get whatever you want. You can tell me to fuck off and I’ll go home. Sure, I’d be a little heartbroken, but-”
You cut him off, “Why would I ever do that?”
“Because I treat you like shit to fuel this stupid ideology that you don’t hate me,” he admits. “Even when I don’t try to be, I’m a selfish asshole. I only kissed you because I wanted to, not because of the stupid pictures for the bet. I only asked you for the favor because I wanted to paint this stupid little picture in my head. I only stood you up because I couldn’t bring myself to face you and admit that my stupid fantasy was over.”
“That’s not selfish,” you say. “That’s just very Seo Changbin of you.”
“I really cannot tell if you hate my guts or not,” he sighs, picking up a handful of sand and watching as it trickles down again.
You shake your head. “Minho didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
You look back at the empty space where the ghost once stood. A sigh of a distant nostalgia slips from your lips—the times you’ve pictured this moment over and over in your daydreams. However, you did not imagine the bitter bite of the wind nipping at your cheeks. “That I’m in love with you.”
“You what?” he gawks, leaning a bit closer. As though his ears deceive him.
Your eyes return to his as you nod. “I love you. I probably have since we were kids. That’s the only reason I agreed to your favor. Because I, too, wanted to be a little selfish.”
His lips slowly curl up into a smile as he releases an abrasive laugh. “How much did Minho pay you to say that?”
“He didn’t. I’m being completely honest. Why else would I be here if I wasn’t stupidly in love with you, huh?”
“Really?”
“Yes, now can we speed this up? It’s fucking cold out here.”
He presses his lips against yours. You expect them to mold against yours like they had in previous weeks, but now they are fiery. It sends tingles down your spine as he cups your cheek. With those internal feelings finally suspended from your body, you can sigh a breath of relief.
You wonder if younger you would be proud.
xiii.
“Are you guys actually dating now or are you just fucking with us again?” one of Changbin’s friends, Jisung, asks as you slide into the same booth as a few weeks ago.
“They are,” Minho intervenes. “I watched them confess and everything. Like a minister.”
“Bullshit,” you mutter. “You went back to your car as soon as I got there.”
Changbin’s laugh tickles against your ear as he scoots in next to you.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t revoke the award,” the freckled boy, who you’ve now concluded is Felix, observes.
“Why?” Jisung asks, bringing the straw of his soda to his lips.
“Because we would have had to give it right back.”
His friends are very welcoming of you, despite the deception that marked your first greeting. Chan catches you in the parking lot as Changbin and Jisung fight over the extra mint the server placed on the table.
“I just want you to know,” he starts with a smile, “that he really loves you. It’s not a front, I promise.”
Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you ask, “Those are suspicious words. How should I trust you?”
“Because he talks about you all the time. I know more about your childhood than I know about mine. Plus, he’s written three songs about you and we don’t even have the equipment to record anything yet.”
You laugh, “You’re in luck, then.”
His eyebrows furrow. “Why?”
You smile, shaking your head. “You’ll find out.”
Changbin returns to your side, a sullen scowl pressed against his lips as he watches Jisung pop the mint into his mouth. Chan dismisses himself to attend to Felix attempting to teach Minho a taekwondo move.
You look over at Changbin, “You’ve written songs about me?”
His eyes widen, “No? Why would I ever do that?”
A giggle bubbles up from your stomach as you shake your head, starting off to his car. Behind you, he repeats the same question urgently.
xiv.
Seo Changbin is like a pest that flies around your head, begging your attention at all moments of the day. He invited you over to his dorm so you could study together, though when you arrived with your textbook and notes, he appeared offended.
“What?” you asked as you settled on his bed, fluffing pillows before leaning against them.
“Studying doesn’t mean studying, it means cuddling,” he pouted.
It’s lucky for him that Minho isn’t home because if he ever heard those words falling from his lips, he’d never hear the end of it.
So that’s why you’re laying your head on his pillow, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you read over your notes.
“What’s the formula for Newton’s law of universal gravitation?” you quiz him when you feel his arms start to loosen with the temptation of sleep.
He hums, “I don’t know. You’re the one with the strong magnetic force. Shouldn’t they call it Y/N’s law of universal gravitation?”
You sigh, setting the spiral notebook on his nightstand before you turn in his arms to face him. The hint of a smile already greets you. You press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “What’s your grade in physics?”
He looks up at the ceiling as he pretends to think. “38.”
“What?” you hiss, pulling back away from him as though he has an illness you didn’t know about.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he whines, pulling you back. “I only signed up for the class because it reminded me of you.”
You smile. “Why?”
He shyly pouts, “I may have gone out of my way to hear about you when we were in high school.”
“And you never thought to apologize?” you counter, your smile still reigning.
“You looked like you were doing fine without me,” he shyly admits.
“Changbin,” you shake your head. “I had no friends after Minho moved. I chased after you, thinking maybe something would happen.”
He closes his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t see me in Cinderella.”
“I saw you in Cinderella,” you laugh.
He throws his head back and whines. “The pants they put me in were two sizes too big.”
The memory of him standing on stage and having to hold up his pants, disguising it by having his hands on his hips, brings another laugh to the air. “Did they really not have any clothespins or anything?”
“No!” he exclaims, looking back into your eyes. “Fucking Hyunjin was hoarding them all!”
You feel the vibrations of your laugh against the pillow. It’s good being like this, having him tethered close.
He’s in the middle of saying something, probably further pursuing his complaints about high school or Hyunjin, but you do not care. You press your lips against his. A moment of stillness, thanks to his shock, before he kisses you back.
The only word to describe this feeling brewing in your stomach: bliss. Pure, hot bliss.
You hope gravity will keep you grounded here.
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