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vikingpoteto · 4 years

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27, 9, pick any two bats

To no one’s surprise I pick Jason and Tim + cleaning wounds + “Listen, I know it’s hard, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Red Robin looks around his kitchen and tries to list 5 things he can see. The pictures of his friends held by magnets on the fridge. The pile of dirty mugs in the sink. The unread papers spread on the table. The closed window. The trail of blood leading to the counter where he’s sitting. He makes a mental note to clean that up in the morning. Before that train of thought leads him somewhere else, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 4 things he can touch now. The leather of his cowl that he slowly peels away. The cold surface of the counter. The hard wall behind his back. The needle between his fingers. Another deep breath. 3 things he can hear. The clock ticking against the loud silence. Traffic and distant sirens. His mildly ragged breath. He opens his eyes, hoping he doesn’t have any cracked ribs. Another deep breath. He can smell antiseptic and also something coppery. He licks his lips. The one thing he can taste is the bitter pang from the antibiotics he took.

Tim Drake glares at the needle. This isn’t the first time he had to stitch himself up. This isn’t the first time he had to take care of his own wounds.

However, this is the first time he’s the one and only responsible for it.

In another life, he would do a patch job, emergency stuff only, and then get to Alfred as soon as he could for a double check. In a time that felt like a dream now, he would have the latest health tech available and Cissie hovering over his bed while Cassie fussed about how he irresponsibly hurt himself, Bart made a joke out of everything and Conner, of all people, would be the one getting Tim proper care. Less than a month ago, the most deadly organization of the world was making sure Tim was getting the best care available. While his trembling fingers put the thread in the needle, he thinks of the almost healed scar from a damn splenectomy. He doesn’t know what Ra’s people had done to him, but he’s been recovering unnaturally fast, especially considering his immunity.

Tim bites his tongue and looks down at his battered outfit. He could go to Leslie’s clinic. But it’d be stupid to go all the way there for a couple of bruises and a wound that would probably take less than five stitches. Tim could go to the cave, but… No. He puts the needle down and starts pulling his shirt out. He can’t completely muffle a pained groan and he hates the way it echoes in his empty kitchen. It’s been less than a week since he left Dick, Alfred and Damian. He’s an emancipated adult by all means. Bruce trained him to be independent. He can do this.

Except… as soon as he reaches for the antiseptic, he hears a noise coming from the living room. Tim freezes. You’ve got to be kidding me. Of all the nights to have a robber breaking into his apartment, tonight? Did it have to be tonight?

Painstakingly, he jumps to the floor and reaches for his staff. He has half a mind to get his cowl, but he thinks Tim Drake defending himself with what could’ve been a broomstick is easier to explain than Red Robin just hanging out at his place. If he’s lucky - and, after tonight, he feels like the universe owes him - he’ll knock out the robber before they see him.

The most ridiculous thing about all this is that he feels like crying. He doesn’t know why. He barely remembers the last time he cried. Probably right before he realized Bruce could be alive. As much as he’s in pain now, this is no reason to cry like a baby. Especially not in front of a robber.

Tim silently hides by the side of the fridge and listens. The person in his living room is good. He can barely hear their steps. He can tell there is only one of them, however, and, judging by the way the sound become louder, they’re coming towards the kitchen. Partly to focus on his hearing, partly to ignore the way his eyes are glazing over, he closes his eyes, listens and waits. He waits. He waits a little more.

Ignoring the way his muscles ache in protest, he swirls around and aims for the gut, hoping to knock the air out of the robber. Gloved hands grab his staff and the invader takes a step back before recovering his balance.

“Woah,” he says in a familiar voice, “easy there.”

Tim raises his gaze to face him. Red Hood lets go of the staff in order to remove the helmet, revealing Jason Todd’s frown. Tim feels his shoulders slumping.

“What the fuck, Jason?” Tim hisses. He feels his voice will break if he tries to speak up.

“I should be the one asking that.” Jason puts his helmet aside. He takes one second glancing around until he finds Tim’s medical supplies. “Is this sanitary? Shouldn’t you be doing first aid in your high tech basement?”

He should. It would’ve been more practical than getting the whole first aid kit and bringing it up here. However, using his medical bay for the first time… It would make it all too real. Too definitive. Tim can’t tell Jason that.

“Medical bay isn’t finished. Kitchen or bathroom were my best options,” he lies.

“Hm,” Jason says as though he doesn’t believe him.

Tim could lie to Batman if he needed to, but, for some reason, Jason seems to always know the truth.

Without another word, Jason takes off his gloves and leather jacket. He drops them aside and walks to the sink. Tim doesn’t ask Jason how he knows where Tim lives - he won’t insult Jason’s detective abilities like that - but he does frown at the older boy as he strides through Tim’s kitchen like he owns the place.

In fact, Tim doesn’t want to ask anything. He wants to scream at Jason to go away. He wants to lie down on the cold floor and not move for days. It’s comical in a twisted way that Tim had been just thinking longinly about the time in which he wasn’t alone, and, now that he has company, he wants nothing but to go back in time and hide inside the cupboard until Jason goes away.

“What are you doing?” Tim croaks.

“Washing my hands,” Jason says simply. He turns to Tim and waves at him to come closer.

It’s a testament to how miserable Tim feels that he does it without questioning. Jason arches an eyebrow at him and points at the counter where Tim had been sitting not long ago. Tim doesn’t move, even as Jason wipes his hands dry with paper towels and reaches for the hand sanitizer in Tim’s medical kit.

“Jason,” Tim insists. “What are you doing?”

Jason sighs. “One of my guys told me this new vigilante, this Red Robin guy, took an ugly beating near the harbor while he took down one of Sionis’ turfs.”

“It wasn’t an ugly beating,” Tim mumbles.

“Wasn’t it?” Jason asks, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Was it easy to fight fifteen guys at the same time, Superman? Did it feel wise to bring a freaking staff to a knife fight?”

“I won!” Tim says.

“Yeah, and which victorious mighty hero is bloody and purple all over?” Jason barks. “Sit your ass down, Replacement!”

Tim flinches and… freaking hell, his eyes are stinging again, which is the most absurd thing ever.

Jason sighs one more time, but this time he sounds… Well, annoyed isn’t quite the right word. He does sound somewhat irritated, but there is something else in his tone. Discomfort? Embarrassment?

“That’s not… Ugh, I’m sorry, alright?”

Except that’s actually worse.

Moments ago, Tim wanted nothing but to be seen. It was pathetic. He wasn’t even that hurt and tonight hadn’t been special. It was just the first time he went out for patrol since he moved into his new apartment. He didn’t stop Poison Ivy, didn’t get into a scuffle with Harvey Dent. He just put away a bunch of low level henchmen even if he miscalculated how many of them would be there. Such a small feat, but there was a part of him that wanted someone to acknowledge that. To see all the bruises and bloody scabs, to pat him on the back and tell him he was great for how hard he was working.

How childish.

Now that there is someone and he seems to be fully aware of Tim’s misery - enough to apologize for speaking a little too loud - Tim only feels small and stupid. He should’ve hidden it better, he shouldn’t be in this sorry state at all.

The last time he saw Jason, they made amends. Just returned to Gotham after his mishaps with the League of Shadows, Tim found him to let him know he was aware that Red Hood was active again. Jason had said - albeit not in so many words - he lamented trying to kill Tim one year ago. Tim had told him it was water under the bridge by now and they agreed to work around each other, even if Jason still didn’t meet Dick eye to eye after last year. Then Tim had promised himself he would become strong like that. Jason had been through hell and back so many times and he always bounced back on his own. Why couldn’t Tim?

Maybe that’s why it felt like rubbing salt to the injury when Tim glares at Jason, the boy he was supposed to replace, the man whose shoes were too big for Tim to fill, and Tim’s vision is blurry with tears and his voice is overflowing with frustration when he asks yet again:

“What are you doing here?”

Jason meets his gaze. His brown eyes show clear unease, but he doesn’t look away. His brow is furrowed as though this is painful to admit, but he finally says:

“I heard you were probably hurt like that,” Jason gestures at Tim’s bare torso. “I knew you weren’t going to the cave for aid, so I brought the aid to you.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because if it were me, I wouldn’t go there either,” he states simply.

Tim bites his lip. “You dealt with your wounds alone after you came back.”

“Yes,” Jason says. He gestures at the counter again. This time, Tim sits. “I know it sucks. You ever tried stitching your own back? It’s really fucking hard.”

Tim looks down and doesn’t say anything. Jason brings a damp cotton ball to Tim’s wounds and stats methodically cleaning them. Tim doesn’t flinch, even when it really stings. Even when he feels like shame and guilt are all going to drown him.

“How did you do it?” Tim finally asks.

“The back stitches? A mirror and one of those grabby claw things, whatever they’re called…”

Tim glares at him.

“So serious,” Jason complains. Then, in a calm voice, “I did it the same way you were doing before I got here. If I didn’t I’d die. Guess I wanted to keep living. You’d be impressed with the things people do when they have no other option.”

“You’re incredible,” Tim admits quietly. “I’m not like you. I’m not strong or… I gotta do this alone. I don’t know how.”

He doesn’t know why he’s saying out loud all the things he struggled to keep hidden for so fucking long. Jason doesn’t seem surprised with the confession though. He keeps calmly checking Tim’s injuries.

“Not strong, huh? Which one of us took fifteen guys in a fight and won?”

“You know what I mean, Jason.”

“Yeah.” Jason grabs the needle Tim picked earlier and checks it before starting to work. “I know. Except you don’t gotta do anything, Timbers. And I don’t mean the vigilante thing. Fuck, I know none of us can quit this fucking life. We’re in too deep. I meant you’re not supposed to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. That’s what fucked up the old man. That’s how you lose yourself.”

“What’s that?” Tim scoffs. “You sound like a shrink.”

Jason looks up and smirks. “Maybe I have a shrink.”

Tim frowns. “Who?”

“Guess.”

“Jason.”

He chuckles. “Okay, so… I know it seems crazy, but she found me and asked me to join my crew in exchange for taking off this explosive thing that Amanda Waller put in her. And she’s crazy competent, so…”

“No,” Tim interrupts him. “You did not let Harley Quinn join your crew.”

“Actually, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy,” Jason has a shit eating grin even as he finishes his stitch job. “They’re a package deal. Ivy showed up a couple of days after Harley and I couldn’t get her to leave so…”

“You’re working with Harley Quinn and letting her give you therapy sessions,” Tim says. “Am I on a parallel Earth? Have those guys killed me and I’m hallucinating?”

“A lot changes in a year, Timbers, you’ve been gone for a while,” Jason shrugs. “People change too.”

“Not that much!” Tim protests.

“Is that so? Then how come you gave me, what now, three, four second chances?” Jason glares at him.

That catches Tim off guard. He takes a moment to realize what he’s talking about.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Tim asks, genuinely confused.

“I came back, I tried to kill you. You let it go. I get arrested, you help me to break out. I thank you by losing it after seeing B’s clusterfuck of a testament. You come back like it was nothing and tell me you hope to do business in the future. And you think I’m insane for giving shelter to an abused lady?”

“I’m not saying you’re insane for helping her. I’m saying I wouldn’t trust her advice,” Tim corrects. “Besides I know what you’ve been through. I understand, even if the others don’t. You’re still a hero. Why wouldn’t I help you get back in the game?”

“Because I could hurt you again, you moron,” Jason frustratedly points out.

“You could also be helpful. I decided it was worth taking the chance,” Tim states.

“Yeah, you did,” Jason whispers, using the bandaging as an excuse to avoid Tim’s gaze. “You’re the best of us, Tim. I’m not letting you crash like I did so many times.”

Tim just stares, his lips parted in shock.

That’s when he feels the dam breaking and tears finally start to stream freely down his cheeks. He sniffles and makes that horrible choked up sound of someone vainly trying not to cry. Jason keeps tending to his injuries even as Tim’s body shakes with barely contained sobs and Tim doesn’t know if he’s ignoring the meltdown out of mercy or because he simply doesn’t know how to deal with it. It’s probably both.

By the time Jason finishes wrapping up Tim’s many scrapes and rubbing medicine on countless bruises, Tim has managed to contain his sobs and is gingerly trying to wipe his face and pretending he doesn’t feel like he almost drowned.

“Listen, I know it’s hard, Baby Bird,” Jason mutters, a tad awkwardly. “But I’m not going anywhere. It’s not just you against the world.”

“Then what, is it the two of us against it?” Tim tries to quip.

“Maybe,” Jason says. “You did a lot for me. It’s about time I start deserving it.”

“I didn’t do it because I wanted you to pay me back.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m here, dumbass,” Jason takes a step back. “I’m done. Go get changed into a pair of sweatpants or something. I’m gonna introduce you to the wonders of 2am cereal.”

Tim lets out a chuckle. “I’ve eaten cereal at 2am before, Jason.”

“Not mine, you haven’t. Chop, chop, kid, we don’t have all night.”

Tim listens to him.

He should know better, after all he had experienced new beginnings before. All of them inevitably lead to crashing and burning, some rather spectacularly too.

However… There are a few firsts here. This is the first time someone truly understands. This is the first time Tim doesn’t feel like he’s entering a challenge, that he has to earn his place as Robin, as Young Justice’s leader. He feels like his place had been earned, like there’s a small beacon of hope after a long struggle.

Tim lets himself accept it.

#wingsdingsandpurplethings #jason todd #red hood #red robin #tim drake #red bros #batfam #poteto writing #sorry it took me so long leaps

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elefics · 4 years

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torment / chapter 2

word count: 2.4k gif credit: @/xalongfortheridex

Within an hour, all the girls were assembled in two long lines near the front door. Everyone was dressed in black - it was an unspoken uniform. We didn’t always play to the stereotypes, but when company came knocking, we all knew we had a duty to look the part. There’s power in community, and even more as a bunch of strong young women in all black.

“Girls, the men that are coming-” Cordelia began.

“Hold on – men? Why?” One girl piped up.

Cordelia chuckled softly. “I’m not thrilled about it either. The men that are coming over are warlocks.”

A murmur rippled through the room. I knew warlocks existed, but I’d never met one. They mostly stayed out of the witches’ way, and we stayed out of theirs. Some girls swore warlocks were a myth, that they’d gone extinct ages ago.

My experience with witchcraft had definitely been dominated by feminine energy. I loved it, but I couldn’t deny that the thought of men and boys like us, with our power, excited me.

“Dear God, let them be cute.” The girl next to me whispered.

I guess life at Miss Robichaux's Academy felt pretty small sometimes. I loved all of the girls here; they were my family, through and through. I knew they’d die for me in a second and they knew I’d do the same for them. But sisterhood only goes so far…if another witch stole my hair straightener, I think someone would end up hexed.

So, some fresh faces – and maybe some cute ones – were appreciated, needed even. A buzz of excitement and pure curiosity hung in the air as we fussed with our stockings and lipstick. There was a collective inhale as the door clicked open softly. Cordelia seemed to brace herself.

The front door creaked open agonisingly slow.

A short man dressed in black stepped through the door first. His eyes were ringed with lines, wrinkled from years of laughter. Now, his face was set in a gentle smile, but there was a determination, almost intimidation, behind it. A long red scarf hung around his neck. I could only assume it meant something significant – he was clearly someone in charge.

“Ms Goode, and all young witches. Good morning.”

Following the first man were three other older men. Behind them were rows of boys, ranging from twelve to well into their twenties. They were all dressed impeccably. I guess we all got the same memo: black.

“Ariel. How lovely to see you this morning.” Cordelia kept up her smile.

I could practically hear the cogs turning in her head, trying to figure out what exactly these warlocks were here for, and what they wanted. The strong maternal instinct she had for all of us was in full force; she was a lioness, crouching watchfully in the shade, waiting to pounce as soon as it was necessary.

“My name is Ariel Augustus. I am Grand Chancellor of the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men, an institution much like Miss Robichaux’s.”

A snicker echoed through the witches. We all had the same thought: Nothing compared to Miss Robichaux’s. No warlock school would change that.

Ariel’s jaw tightened, as well as many of the men in the crowd behind him.

One of the younger boys held a great bouquet of red and white roses. Ariel motioned him forward silently.

“Let me get right to it, then. Witches and warlocks haven’t been on the best of terms, for many years. Cordelia, in her reign as Supreme, has emphasised the importance of belonging, unity, and magical pride. We think the most logical next step is for witches and warlocks to come together as a united whole. We come to the Academy today as friends.”

With a flick of his hand, each of the roses in the bouquet flew into the air, before floating into the hands of every witch in the room. I took mine between my fingertips and smiled. A few girls burst into giggles. I shook my head, grinning - these guys were good.

“Red and white, for unity. We hope you’ll open your hearts and minds to us.” Ariel smiled.

The rose in front of Cordelia floated in front of her. Her lips were pressed into a thin, contemplative line. She was hesitating, running an internal pros and cons list.

Cordelia took a deep breath before speaking. “It’s true that witches and warlocks have been at odds for decades. Girls, I’ve spoken with Augustus in private for some time. We both think that, for the sake of the coven, unity is the only answer,”

A soft inhale went through the witches.

“Some of you have been raised to think of witches and warlocks as opponents, instead of the same kin. I myself have fallen into those same thought patterns. But this is not what our community, our magic, stands for. These gifts are more than roses. They symbolise turning a new page. All of us, everyone in this room, is joined by our magic and incredible gifts. United.” Cordelia finished her speech and grasped her rose by its delicate stem.

Ariel smiled.

I scanned the room, taking in all the new faces. My sisters did the same. The air was electric with change and freshness.

Some girls began vying for the boys’ attention, turning their roses every colour of the rainbow, from orange to blue to purple. The boys grinned, one sending petals showering over some girls with a flick of his wrist.

“As a gesture of good will, and of our new friendship…would you boys like to stay for breakfast?”

---

Within minutes we’d found enough chairs to seat everyone. There were dozens of us, all packed into the dining hall. It felt full on any regular morning, with just us witches, but the extra boys made the air buzz. We sat elbow to elbow, laughing as we bumped into each other.

“Sorry! It’s a little cramped in here, huh?” the boy next to me laughed as he knocked my fork out of hand.

He seemed totally at ease on foreign turf – his plate was loaded up with bacon, eggs and croissants. I wondered how we miraculously had all this food to feed the extra guests.

“No worries. I’m Lyla.”

“Jerome.” He smiled, holding his hand out for me to shake. I took it with a smile.

Most of the tension from the morning had evaporated – the girls and boys seemed completely at ease with each other. As I learned that morning, we’d all had similar experiences – we were the weird ones, the ones that didn’t fit in at regular schools. Outcasts and rejects in another life, we found endless things to talk about in this one.

The only tension I noticed were between the two leaders, at each end of the table. Cordelia barely took her eyes off Ariel, refusing to turn her back on the ocean before it swallowed her up.

Other than their power plays, everyone else seemed happy. Every face was full of food or laughter or both. Girls were blushing, boys were laughing and gesturing wildly in conversation.

“I have to interrupt for just one second,” Cordelia stood up, tapping a fork against her glass half-filled with orange juice. Waiters were making their rounds about the table with bottles of champagne, topping up everyone’s glasses with bubbly.

“Today is a special day. It’s one of our girls’ birthdays today – Lyla. She turns eighteen, and we are so happy to have her with us for another year. Happy birthday Lyla!” Cordelia grinned.

The warlocks started a sloppy rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, putting their arms around each other and swaying with the lyrics. I cringed at the feeling of the entire room turning to stare at me, but appreciated the gesture.

My gaze settled on one boy in particular a few seats down, smiling softly but not speaking to anyone. He seemed like he was having a moment like me, sitting back and admiring how our groups had come together. His blonde hair fell around his face in waves. A crisp black dress shirt was buttoned to his neck, and I could see the glint of a small gold chain peeking out from underneath.

I’d clearly been staring for too long, because I hadn’t realised that he was staring right back at me from across the table.

I immediately looked away. My heart raced in my ears and my cheeks flushed. I kept my eyes squarely on the leftover bacon my plate. I spent the next few minutes looking anywhere but his direction. Something about gaze made me feel like I was under a microscope. Like he could see right through me. The side of my face felt warm, and somehow I knew it was because he was still looking.

I chanced another glance. The boy was still staring, and this time his full lips were quirked in a smile.

I smiled back, then turned my gaze back to my plate.

“Michael, let the girl eat!” Jerome exclaimed across the table. The warmth in my cheek disappeared, and when I looked up, the boy was listening intently to the conversation next to him, like he didn’t know I was there in the first place.

“Sorry. He can be a little intense sometimes. His powers are crazy too, you should see some of the shit he can do. I’d never seen it in my life.” Jerome laughed.

“You said his name was Michael?” I asked.

“Michael Langdon.” A deep voice came from behind me.

I looked up, and Michael’s seat was empty. A large hand gripped the back of my chair, and when I swivelled to see who it belonged to, I finally saw him up close.

He was beautiful, in the truest sense of the word. His hair glinted in the mid-morning light and his jawline cast shadows down his neck. His piercing blue eyes crinkled just a little in the corners as he smiled at me. He looked mischievous, like he was waiting for something to happen.

“H-” I began to introduce myself. Right on cue, I was interrupted.

“Alright boys, I think these young women deserve some appreciation for this feast. Let’s help with the cleaning up.” Ariel’s voice boomed over the chatter.

“No need – you’re the guests of honour. You boys head on home, we’ll take care of the rest.” Cordelia smiled diplomatically. The witches stood from their chairs and started to clear the table, while the boys straightened their jackets and headed for the door.

Ariel twisted his lips, clearly upset that nobody had offered to help any further.

“At least a few of us can stay back, at least to help you with all these chairs.” Michael offered. His voice was clear and confident. His hand hadn’t left the back of my chair once.

Cordelia looked up at Michael and smiled. “If you’re insinuating that we need the muscle power, it’s not necessary. But you’re more than welcome to help with the dishes.”

---

The warlocks marched one by one out the front doors, thanking Cordelia and the rest of us for such a spread. Only a few (very polite ones) remained.

“You boys know the way home. Be back by eleven-thirty, no later.” Ariel warned the leftover warlocks. He tipped his hat to Cordelia and set off behind the rest of his students.

Michael had hovered behind me as everyone filtered out. I felt his eyes on the back of my neck.

“So, you’re Lyla.” He spoke for the first time in a while.

“Yep.” I smiled, walking straight past him into the kitchen. I swear I saw him shake his head before he turned to follow me.

“How long have you been at the Academy?” Michael asked, setting a stack of plates down on the counter.

“I was fifteen when I got here. How long have you been at Hawthorne?”

I ran the sink, focusing on small tasks. I had a feeling if I held eye contact with him for too long I’d drop something.

“A few weeks.” Michael said softly. He picked up a tea towel and started to dry dishes as I washed.

“Woah, so you’re fresh. How old are you, Michael?” I asked.

He smirked. I didn’t understand what was funny.

It was just the two of us in the kitchen. The rest of the clean-up crew were in the dining hall, occasionally popping in with a handful of dirty cutlery.

Michael coughed and looked at the ceiling. “It’s a beautiful building. How many girls stay here?”

He was completely dodging the question. I didn’t know what was weird about asking how old he was. Unless…unless he was way younger than me, and trying to get with an older girl. I winced at the thought. There’s no way he’s younger than me. Impossible. He was tall, broad, and more than anything, the way he carried himself – I couldn’t explain it. It seemed like everything was amusing to him, trivial. Like he was way older, way wiser. Or maybe he was just a pretentious, brooding asshole. A hot one, but an asshole, nonetheless.

He smiled again. For a split second I worried he was telepathic. I scolded myself for not thinking of it sooner. He brushed my arm reaching for another plate and I jumped back. I felt like I’d been burned.

“Uh – I’m not actually sure. Since Cordelia put the Academy on the map, we’ve had a lot of new girls. I was one of them, but even after me, we have new girls come in every month.” I floundered to answer his small talk.

“And with so many girls, we’re very busy. Thank you for all your help - Michael, was it?” Cordelia’s voice rang out with finality.

Michael smiled tightly. “Yes. Thank you again, Ms Goode. Lyla.”

The other warlocks were assembled by the door, ready to depart. Michael turned to me and nodded. His eyes were saying more, I could tell, but I didn’t know how to decipher it. I held my forearm in my other hand, and it was still warm.

---

A/N: I know the whole witches and warlocks getting along thing doesn’t fit with the show’s storyline…but to be able to tell the story I want to tell, I had to get them together, or at least on civil terms. There’s obviously still that tension from years of differences, but they’re polite and connected now. Also, I’m pretty sure the witches and warlocks are in totally different geographical locations in the US, but let’s just assume they’re both in New Orleans/can travel quickly between their locations). The really fun stuff is coming soon! Stay tuned :~)

Taglist: @angelicmichael @theneverendinghunger @outpostmichael @leatherduncan

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nachtgraves · 4 years

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Fic: Chasing Gazes

This was my piece in the @avocadotoastskkzine! I’ve been lazy about formatting and all the little things to post online so it’s up a lot later than when we were allowed to post. I had a lot of fun with this!

Read on AO3.

Pairing: Dazai Osamu / Nakahara Chuuya Word Count: 5,000 Warnings/Tags: T. Rockstar AU, rivals to contract friends to lovers, fake/pretend relationship but it’s fake friendship instead of fake dating, Summary: Maybe getting into a one-sided drunken fight with Dazai of Armed Detective Records in public wasn’t the best idea.

Ougai and Kouyou watch Chuuya storm around Ougai’s office. He finishes by slamming his hands down on Ougai’s desk, breathing heavily and glaring murder. Ougai drums his fingers expectantly.

“There’s no way we’re working with that bastard!”

“Gin, Ryunosuke, and Tachihara have already agreed,” Kouyou says from behind.

“Kouyou suggested to wait to tell you until everything was settled,” Ougai explains. He glances at the jostled items on his desk. “We were all in agreement.”

He’s surrounded by traitors. All of them. Traitors.

Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. He knew he was in for a scolding when he was called to Ougai’s office. He knew when he woke up to Google alerts and tweets and tabloid articles with his arm pulled back ready to throw a punch—that ended up missing, seeing as Chuuya’s knuckles are fine. Which is unfortunate in Chuuya’s opinion, but he’s in the minority.

Maybe getting into a one-sided drunken fight with Dazai of Armed Detective Records in public wasn’t the best idea. But he doesn’t even remember much of what happened. All he remembers is that he’d already been in a bad mood because he’d come second to Dazai in yet another popularity list that everyone seemed to be talking about.

So he went to Arahabaki, a bar he’d been going to since he was an underage kid begging the owner until he was allowed to perform on weekdays after school. Arahabaki is where Ougai found him and he joined the Akutagawas and Tachihara to form BlackSheep.

It’s his turf. Dazai wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near it.

Ougai hands over a file of papers. "Sign this and we’re all set."

Chuuya takes the packet and flips through. It's a contract detailing the collaboration for two songs, one by BlackSheep featuring Dazai and one by Dazai featuring Chuuya alone. It seems easy enough, but as Chuuya reads on, the contract starts detailing events he has to do with Dazai. A few of them involve the rest of BlackSheep but mostly it’s just him.

“What the hell is this?” Chuuya flips through the contract. “Be seen having meals together, interact and post on social media about and with each other, present the image of best friends?”

“We need to clean up your image. Your rivalry with Dazai, however self-declared⸺”

“Self-declared!?”

“⸺and one-sided was fine for sales for a while, but getting into an actual altercation is not.”

Kouyou adds, “ADR is being quite generous considering you almost injured their cash cow.”

“They had the choice of taking advantage of this to promote themselves while your reputation sinks. But—” Ougai’s grin sends a shiver of dread down Chuuya’s spine—“what’s better marketing than two rivals becoming the best of friends?”

“His fans hate me,” Chuuya argues.

Ougai waves his concern off. “Vocal minorities. Have you any idea how much fanfiction there is of the two of you?”

Chuuya does not know nor does he want to.

“Anyway, everything’s already set. We’re just waiting for your signature.”

Chuuya flips to the last page where six signatures are scribbled at the bottom. The terms could be a lot worse. Dazai and ADR could have left Chuuya to sink and he’s not alone. He’d have dragged BlackSheep down with him and he’d never forgive himself for that. Ryunosuke would kill him if Gin, by some miracle, didn’t beat him to it. Tachihara would burn his guitars.

Reluctantly, Chuuya grabs a pen and signs in the space left next to Dazai’s obnoxious flourish. Just as he finishes, a knock sounds on the door behind him followed by Ryota’s voice. “Mr. Mori, I have your guests.”

Chuuya drops the pen as Dazai enters, grinning wide. “Thanks for having us.”

“No time like the present, my ass,” Chuuya mutters. Dazai came with Kunikida, his manager, and regards from Yukichi, ADR’s president. After a quick round of introductions, Ougai tossed Dazai and Chuuya out with the company credit card and everyone’s orders to go buy from a nearby café.

They’re in minimal disguise, hats and sunglasses, but the café’s between rush hours. Some of the few patrons have been glancing over and whispering to their companions, but no one’s come up to them just yet. Chuuya’s noticed a few awkwardly angled phones.

“Hmm. What’re you thinking of getting?” Dazai’s scanning the menu.

“We don’t have to actually make small talk,” Chuuya replies. “Just sit and look pretty for fans and tipped paps.”

Dazai ignores him. “I’ll go up when you decide what you want.”

“I can order my own damn drink. And it’s on my label’s card.” He goes to do just that, Ougai’s card is in his pocket, anyway, but Dazai grabs his wrist and holds him back.

It takes every part of Chuuya not to yank his hand free and go off on the popstar. Ougai would kill him. Kouyou would sign him up for one of those terrible celebrity game shows.

“Yes?” Chuuya fixes a tense smile and tries to pull his hand away, but Dazai’s grip is unrelenting.

Dazai steps closer but there’s really no space for him to be doing so, they’re chest to chest. To Chuuya’s displeasure he barely makes it to Dazai’s chin. It’s one thing to know there’s 21 centimeters between them and another to confront it so closely.

“Seriously, let me cover it. It’s my turn.” Dazai beams down a smile, all commercial teeth and conniving eyes.

Chuuya has no idea what the hell Dazai’s on about. He’s about to say as much but Dazai squeezes his wrist and lowers his voice, keeping his smile in place. “Sit and look pretty, right? Suits you more than me.”

He places a hand on Chuuya’s shoulder and gently but firmly pushes him towards a barstool by the window. Chuuya’s too stunned by Dazai’s cryptic statement to fight and even then he’s stuck, legally bound not to make a commotion. So he fixes a smile that’s likely more of a grimace, conceding. Dazai still takes a touch too long to let go of him.

It’s not until Chuuya’s slouching in the seat that he realizes he never told Dazai what he wanted, but it doesn’t matter as long as they finish up quickly. His gaze flits about the café but ultimately lands and stays on Dazai because there’s nothing else to do. The man rocks on his heels like he’s a kid who can’t stand still.

The line’s short and Dazai makes his order and pays quickly. He waits by the pick-up, leaning against the counter like he’s posing. When he meets Chuuya’s gaze and winks, Chuuya turns away before he can scowl and looks out the window, until an iced drink is held in his face.

“What?”

“A drink.” Dazai shakes the cup.

Chuuya’s eye twitches. “I can see that.”

“One of their summer iced teas. Thought you might like it.”

Chuuya hesitantly takes the drink and a sip, grudgingly admitting, “It’s good.” He glances up at Dazai only to see that Dazai’s gaze is a little too focused on him.

Chuuya’s gotten used to being watched. Even when he wasn’t a celebrity people watched him, granted, for vastly different reasons, but Dazai’s stare smothers them all. It’s as if Dazai’s seeing into him, seeing something Chuuya can’t and it puts Chuuya at a disadvantage. It’s like he’s lost before he even knew he was competing and still didn’t know in what.

“Go get the rest of them, they’re ready.” Chuuya goes to get the door for Dazai when he gets a tray of everyone else’s drinks and a bag of cakes. Chuuya takes the bag from him and intends on it being a silent walk but Dazai has other ideas.

“What’s your schedule like today?” Dazai turns so he’s walking backwards. He pulls a too-perfect expression of sincere curiosity. “Hmm? Your manager said you weren’t that busy.”

“I’m busy.” Chuuya doesn’t like Dazai’s insinuating tone. “Today’s free time is rare.”

The way Dazai’s grin widens has Chuuya walking faster so he doesn’t give last night’s punch another go. He’s sober so he won’t miss this time.

“Then how’s BlackSheep’s new album coming along? Your last single did well.”

Chuuya’s eye twitches. ‘Well’ was understating it. It was number one on the charts when it came out. And then Dazai released a new song not a week later and BlackSheep dropped to number two. From Dazai’s willful grin, he’s well aware of that.

Luckily for Chuuya, PM’s doors are just ahead stopping him—for now—from reacting. Because that’s what Dazai does. He gets under your skin and baits you into reacting and when Chuuya does, he ends up the bad guy. Last night was definitely Dazai’s fault.

They return to Ougai’s office and distribute drinks and snacks before going over the contract, again. It’s mostly their managers talking. Chuuya sulkily drinks his tea because he doesn’t really have much of a choice in things, apparently. When they wrap up, Kouyou orders Chuuya to walk Dazai out while she walks Kunikida to their car.

Chuuya spots Kouyou’s tipped reporter almost immediately once they’re outside.

“Looking forward to next time, Chuuya,” Dazai says, giving the reporter a good angle.

“Definitely,” Chuuya replies, lying through his camera-ready grin.

When Kunikida pulls up, Chuuya goes to wave a truly heartfelt good-bye to Dazai, but Dazai has other ideas. Before Chuuya can raise his hand, Dazai’s stepping in and hugging him.

Despite his twig-thin appearance, there’s strength in Dazai’s arms. He presses close to Chuuya, fitting their bodies together so all Chuuya can feel is Dazai.

Chuuya freezes, tries to step back but Dazai’s arms tighten and he ducks his head to Chuuya’s ear, whispering, “Best of friends, remember?”

With great effort, Chuuya’s arms come up to return the hug as he hides his scowl against Dazai’s chest. The bastard’s height has its uses. “Fuck you.”

Dazai pulls away with a shit-eating grin and lazily waves as he gets into Kunikida’s car and they finally, finally, drive away.

Kouyou’s waiting for him inside and beckons him to follow her. “Come on. Since you’re here, you can continue working on the album. Ryunosuke and Tachihara are already here and Gin will join you boys at four.”

It’s technically his rare day off but he’d have been working on new songs at home anyway, so he follows without argument.

Kouyou drops him off at one of the practice rooms that BlackSheep have been using at all hours of the day for the past few weeks. They walk in on Tachihara and Ryunosuke in the middle of a break, Ryunosuke at a table with a bento and tea, and Tachihara lying down on the spare futon they keep in the corner, on his phone.

“How was your meeting with your new best friend?” Tachihara asks without looking up.

“You’re all traitors,” Chuuya replies, grabbing the chair opposite Ryunosuke. “What’s new?”

Ryunosuke uses one hand to slide over a revised composition of what they’d been working on yesterday.

“Lyrics still need work,” Tachihara says from the floor. “Huh. Have you checked Dazai’s Instagram?”

“Why would I?”

“Prob should now that you guys are besties.”

Chuuya glares at him but pulls out his phone. His page is rarely updated outside of promotional obligations but he finds Dazai’s profile. At first, he’s surprised by the ‘follow back’ option. But his attention quickly shifts to the newest post.

He has no idea when Dazai took the photo. It’s of Chuuya in the café drinking the iced tea Dazai had got him. He can’t even be angry because it’s actually a good photo of him. But when Chuuya reads the caption, his ears grow warm.

[ @blacksheepchuuya makes sitting and looking pretty so easy, right? ]

“That asshole.” But he likes the photo and follows Dazai back. Because he has to.

The first day they actually work together, Dazai returns to PM. It’s a disaster.

Everyone gets along with him and he’s polite and brings donuts. Chuuya, unlike his bandmates, doesn’t partake in the bribe even though the dark chocolate glaze Dazai brought is his favorite.

When they do finally get to work, Dazai requests that they play some of what they’ve done so far.

“Didn’t realize spying was part of the contract,” Chuuya says.

Dazai blinks innocently. “Not at all. Since our song will be part of your new album, I just wanted to know what the general sound was to make sure I fit with what you have. Unless you haven’t got much done yet.”

Chuuya grits his teeth, knows he’s being baited, but Dazai’s not wrong. Dazai sits with his legs crossed and stares directly at Chuuya while they play snippets of their songs. Chuuya ignores him.

As they play, his ire fades as he focus on the music, on Tachihara’s drums, Gin’s bass, Ryunosuke’s guitar and supporting vocals. He forgets his audience, eyes closed as he sings. It’s like a regular practice session. At least until he opens his eyes and meets Dazai’s gaze. He’s watching intently, like in the café, expression unreadable, but it’s gone in a flash back to his usual aloof amusement. When they finish, Dazai doesn’t look at Chuuya. He claps and hands out praises to Chuuya’s apparently easy bandmates. Tachihara doesn’t even reply with his usual arrogant snark. Ryunosuke preens. At least Gin’s still on his side.

Later, when Ryunosuke’s showing Dazai what they’re in the middle of, Gin says, “Dazai’s not bad. It’ll be fun working with him,” and Chuuya takes everything good he’s thought about her back.

It is not fun working with him.

By the time they have to end for the day they haven’t done much. It’s not Chuuya’s fault, despite the looks everyone keeps giving him. Dazai’s ideas and suggestions weren’t good enough. Chuuya has standards and if Dazai doesn’t meet them, that’s his problem.

“You know,” Tachihara says as they pack up to head over to film a wine commercial Chuuya’s been looking forward to. “The more you fight the longer you’re going to have to work with him.”

Chuuya tells him to shut up.

Dazai walks out with them to the van and pulls Chuuya into another hug goodbye. Kouyou hadn’t texted him about a tipped pap so he figures Dazai’s side arranged someone who was better at hiding.

The second time they work together a few days later goes somewhat better. With Gin and Tachihara giving him pointed looks, Chuuya doesn’t combat everything Dazai does. But they still argue over a refrain for half an hour before the two are separated, and Chuuya has to walk him out.

Their next commitment is a photoshoot. They’re all in some sort of suit and tie look, Dazai in white and gold and BlackSheep in black and silver.

Ranpo, an eccentric photographer who’s worked with PM and ADR several times starts with just BlackSheep. Dazai stands against the back wall and watches. Chuuya feels his eyes rove over his body like hands. It’s disconcerting. When Chuuya’s hanging off Tachihara in a manner that’s a little provocative per Ranpo’s directions, Dazai’s gaze burns.

“Something wrong, Chuuya?” Ranpo asks. “Your face is a little red.”

Chuuya doesn’t look at Dazai. “I’m fine.”

But Ranpo says they’ve got plenty of great shots to work with and Dazai’s called up for a few solos before they do all five of them.

Dazai passes him a bottle of water as they switch places. “Pity your brand is all dark and edgy. You’d look great smiling.”

“W-what?” He can’t have heard right.

But Dazai carries on, their fingers meeting around wet plastic. “But I don’t know if I want the whole world to know your smile that easily.” And he leaves Chuuya with the water bottle that’s too cold against his heated skin.

“You do look a little red,” Ryunosuke says when Chuuya takes a seat in the back.

“I’m fine. It’s hot,” Chuuya replies and drinks his water. He sneaks a glance at Dazai and finds the man already watching him over their crouched photographer, loosening his tie.

Chuuya’s caught in Dazai’s gaze, only released when Dazai has to break contact to follow Ranpo’s directions. When Ranpo finishes with Dazai they move onto the group shots.

Assistants bring a loveseat onto the set that everyone has to fit on with Chuuya and Dazai in the middle since they’re the focus of this whole farce. Gin and Tachihara take up the armrests and Ryunosuke stands by Gin.

The loveseat is intimate. When Chuuya sits down beside Dazai there’s really not much room between them, yet Ranpo orders them closer.

Chuuya grits his teeth. He doesn’t know what Ranpo wants from them, there’s not much closer they can get. But Dazai curls his arm around Chuuya’s waist and Chuuya all but ends up in Dazai’s lap. Dazai radiates heat and his hand on Chuuya’s hip is like a brand.

Ranpo says, “Good,” and the camera clicks.

It’s the worst shoot he’s ever had to do. Dazai is far too close and it’s hot and uncomfortable but Ranpo seems to want the two of them all over each other.

Just when Chuuya thinks they’re finally done, Ranpo says, “Now just Chuuya and Dazai.”

The second his bandmates are off the set, Chuuya leans closer to the free armrest but Dazai decides to throw his legs over the side of his armrest and lie down with his head on Chuuya’s lap. He grins up as Ranpo takes photos that probably won’t be used because Chuuya’s glaring down at the annoyance he’s contractually bound to.

“What are you doing?” he hisses.

Dazai just reaches up and steals Chuuya’s hat. “Your scowls are almost as cute a smile.”

Chuuya splutters, face heating. He fists Dazai’s tie and yanks him up, maybe trying to choke the bastard, but Dazai just laughs and Ranpo yells at them to hold the pose.

Dazai spends the rest of the shoot all over Chuuya. He has some limb or another draped over him at all times, and even goes so far as to carry Chuuya for the few stunned seconds Chuuya allows it before recovering his senses. Ranpo only encourages it all. When the shoot finally ends, Chuuya rushes through getting his own clothes back on, but as he leaves the changing room, he walks into Dazai.

Arms wrap around his waist as he braces himself against Dazai’s obtrusive chest he’s become far too familiar with as of late.

“Careful there, shorty,” Dazai says but he doesn’t let go of Chuuya, even when Chuuya moves to step back, pushing against Dazai’s chest.

“Who’re you calling shorty?” If only he could punch him. Just once. Right in his stupid grinning face.

“Is there anyone else here?” Dazai removes one arm from around Chuuya and pulls out his phone. “We should post a selfie. Teaser material, among other things.”

Dazai’s already got his camera app open and holds his phone out with his stupid long arms. Chuuya doesn’t have the time to fix a pretense of a smile before Dazai’s taking the picture. Dazai checks the photo but pauses.

“Ah, never mind. Not good for the internet.”

“What, why?” Chuuya reaches out to snatch the phone and catches a glance. Chuuya’s captured with his eyes transitioning from wide surprise to narrowed scowl, and something must have been off with Dazai’s camera or the lighting because he looks far too flushed.

Dazai releases him. “I’m going to be late for another appointment. See you soon, shorty!”

He’s gone in a flash but the ghost of Dazai’s touch stays through his next appointment.

The following few weeks are a lot of back and forth between ADR and PM. Their breaks are spent going outside so reporters can see them and post photos and speculations. After they announce the collaboration, more photos of the two of them, outside of the ones they and their labels have been posting, appear online.

Chuuya notices a lot of them have Dazai looking at him when he’s not paying attention. Dazai’s expression isn’t one Chuuya’s used to seeing. It’s soft, thoughtful. His mouth curved in a gentle smile that makes Chuuya’s ears burn.

Chuuya’s at ADR waiting for Dazai. He’d come early and Dazai was apparently going to be running late so he busies himself by working on a song that’s been swimming around his head. It’s mostly just a jumble of verses but they bring Dazai’s face to his mind and make him unable to progress much.

Frustration gets to him quickly so he takes a break, resting his head on the table. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep but he wakes up to brown eyes watching him. He sits up, quick enough to make his head spin and wipes any traces of drool from his mouth, flustered.

“When’d you get here?” Was he just watching Chuuya sleep? Chuuya rubs his face, it feels too warm.

“Just now. Were you working on this?”

Dazai holds up Chuuya’s partial lyrics that Chuuya quickly snatches, folding the paper up and putting it away. “It’s nothing.”

There’s a box on the table. Dazai opens it and pushes it towards Chuuya. “I brought snacks.” More donuts and this time, Chuuya takes the dark chocolate offering.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he says and Dazai just hums.

After that, their schedules don’t line up for close to two weeks and that’s only partly Chuuya’s fault. He comes down with a weird cold the mornings he has something scheduled with Dazai, his heart racing, his skin too warm, and his stomach twisting. The symptoms worsen whenever he sees photos of the two of them or just Dazai, works on the unfinished lyrics. When he thinks about Dazai’s casual touches for cameras.

Their only interactions are through social media to keep to their contracts. Fans from both sides have been speculating and directly asking what’s going on between them. Dazai’s as enigmatic online as he is in person and his answers are unhelpful, to say the least. Chuuya just doesn’t respond to the direct questions. They have an interview soon anyway.

It’s early when Chuuya’s at the studio for a morning talk show he and Dazai have a segment on. ADR and PM announced their collaboration and quickly set up the first TV interview.

Chuuya doesn’t see Dazai until right before they’re due on set and there’s no time to talk or rehash what their stories are. Not only do they have to sell their upcoming albums, but their friendship too.

They wait in the wings, fitted with body mics and standing closer together than needed. Chuuya crosses his arms, tries not to fidget, not think about Dazai being so close. He’d gotten familiar with the feel of Dazai near and around him and not seeing him for weeks has amplified his awareness of the other man. He’s so caught in his own thoughts that he almost misses their cue, but Dazai grabs his hand and leads the walk onto the stage, letting go just before the cameras catch them. The applause is deafening. There’s no time to think. Chuuya pastes on a smile and does his job.

They quickly go through the usual pleasantries and get to business when their interviewer, Naomi, asks them about their albums. Dazai takes the lead for most of the answers, charming everyone with winks and cheeky grins. He’s a firm line of heat against Chuuya’s side, arm loosely draped over the back of the couch they have to share, fingers brushing against the back of Chuuya’s neck.

“You both have been taking social media by storm since you publicized your friendship and collab. How long have you two been close?”

Chuuya looks to Dazai but it seems it’s his turn to answer. “It just…happened. Our circles don’t exactly mix but we cross paths enough. Dazai may have started his career before me but we’re the same age and I caught up to him. It kind of developed from there.”

“So is there any truth to the big rivalry between you two?”

Dazai laughs and leans into Chuuya. His arm moves from the back of the couch to settle around Chuuya’s shoulders. “Chuuya’s very competitive so there’s some professional rivalry, but I’m actually a fan. I own every CD BlackSheep’s ever released and I’ve been following Chuuya for years. I used to watch him perform at Arahabaki.” When Dazai glances at him, his smile doesn’t look as sharp as it usually is.

Chuuya can’t hide his surprise. “You’ve known me since then? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Let me have some secrets.” Dazai winks at the audience and incites joking boos.

“All you are, are secrets,” Chuuya huffs. His mind can’t stop circling about Dazai knowing him for that long. He’d always thought it was one-sided. Why would Dazai have known him before BlackSheep got popular?

“I’m a lot more open with you, though.” It’s quiet, Chuuya almost isn’t sure he heard correctly, but their forgotten interviewer jumps back in.

“You both have just been full of secrets. Can you share anything about your new songs? Any teasers?”

Chuuya laughs and shakes his head. Even if he wanted to, they still don’t really have anything. He refuses to feel guilty for his part in their standstill progress. But Naomi pouts and tries to cajole them into giving away details.

Chuuya goes to continue their planned blue-balling, but Dazai sits up and shrugs. “Why not. A teaser for our lovely fans.”

Naomi and the audience cheer while Chuuya stares wide-eyed at Dazai, wondering what the idiot was doing as a piano is rolled onto the other side of the set.

The piano was not a part of the script. All they were supposed to do was be coy with hints and teasing. There isn’t supposed to be a piano and Dazai isn’t supposed to go up to it, or be grabbing Chuuya’s hand and pulling him along.

He can’t even demand to know what’s going on because he’s mic’d and they’re on a live broadcast. Dazai sits on the bench and pulls Chuuya down beside him. They’re flush against each other, the bench designed for one, not two, and Dazai rests his hands on the keys. There’s a sheet of paper on the music rack. Chuuya doesn’t recognize the handwriting but the lyrics are familiar. Dazai made some additions.

“When did you…” he starts but Dazai starts playing and even though all he has are questions, Chuuya sings.

They only play a snippet, maybe thirty seconds, forty-five tops. It’s a slow piece, slower than Chuuya’s used to. It’s definitely in Dazai’s style but some of the chord progressions are in a lot of Chuuya’s compositions. When they finish, Dazai’s not looking at Chuuya but Chuuya can’t look away.

The rest of their segment is a blur. He only vaguely registers smiling and nodding along to Naomi as she thanks them for joining her and waves off as they cut to commercial and Dazai and Chuuya sign a few pieces for their fans in the audience.

When Dazai gets held up talking to an enthusiastic fan, Chuuya makes his escape. He gets to the dressing room and downs one of the bottles of water, mind a whir of all the strange things Dazai’s said. Of what Dazai hid under all his antagonizing jabs and smirks.

He has no idea how to face Dazai. So he has to find Kouyou and get out before Dazai comes back. When he reaches for the door, it swings open as he grabs the handle, pulling him along and right into a chest.

The hand not on the other doorknob comes to hold Chuuya. “I’ve told you to be careful, shorty.”

Chuuya stumbles with a retort, mind blank but for the awareness of Dazai holding him, Dazai against him, Dazai grinning down at him. At least until whatever expression is stuck on his face wipes Dazai’s grin clean and Dazai shuffles them into the dressing room, door clicking shut at Dazai’s back.

“All the ways I imagined this, I didn’t think you’d be the one pinning me against a door,” he says.

Chuuya lets go of the doorknob and tries to step back and give both him and Dazai space, but Dazai doesn’t let go, instead he slides his hand around Chuuya and leans back against the door.

“What’re you doing?” Chuuya looks to the side. He’s flushed and his heart’s thudding in his chest, erratic and uneven as if it had an off-tempo twin.

“Not sure just yet.” Dazai’s voice softens. Chuuya’s never heard him sound so hesitant. Didn’t know he could be. The man doesn’t know how to be anything but a confidently arrogant pain in the ass.

The thudding at his chest increases and Chuuya realizes it’s not just his heart thundering away.

“Dazai,” Chuuya starts and makes himself look up and meets Dazai’s gaze.

Chuuya’s heart stutters and the other one ticks even faster, like it’s sprinting the last leg of a race.

“I like you,” Dazai says and Chuuya can feign ignorance, misunderstand, but the weight of Dazai’s words don’t allow room for anything but what Dazai means. Chuuya doesn’t know what to say.

“This is where you say you like me too,” Dazai fills the pause between them.

“What?” Chuuya splutters. “How do you know I like you?”

“Ah, so you do?” Dazai’s smirking but Chuuya feels the moment Dazai’s heart skips. He’s let his smug armor crack.

“Oh shut up,” Chuuya grumbles and rises up to make sure the tall bastard can’t say something irritating.

The kiss is brief but Chuuya’s breathless when he pulls back, or at least tries to. Dazai follows him and Chuuya’s stuck in Dazai’s arms that hug him close for another lingering press of mouths that for once have nothing mocking to say.

“I think the rest of this collaboration is going to be fun,” Dazai says and his smile isn’t the sharp one he flashes to cameras.

#skk #soukoku #nakahara chuuya #dazai osamu #bsd #bungo stray dogs #my writing #tumblr fic #avocado toast zine

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lawnmowing33-blog · 5 years

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What To Know About What You Want

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#Lawn Mowing

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caffeineivore · 5 years

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M/N fic for Wils!

For @nelwynp aka The Ebil Enabler. I actually wrote this longhand on a notebook as is my habit during long plane rides and so on. Recently got back from a two week vacation to Spain and Portugal so... there was a lot of plane time. Also chilling time post-evening sangria. I managed to write a few ficlets during this trip, and will tag them all under “travel ficscribble”.

Set in a ficverse not yet really published, but the same as the last few things I posted. Will eventually compile everything after the main fic is published for the @ssrevminibang.

Prompt: M/N, “Buffoon”, “I hope you’re miserable”

“You great buffoon! Why in the names of all the saints would you attempt to keep up with me Uncle Murphy, then? It’s tea and dry toast for you this morning, and possibly into this afternoon, too.”

There’s an army of mad leprechauns doing an Irish step dance in the space in his skull where his brain used to reside before it was pickled to death by a gallon of Guinness last night. His mouth tastes like the Sonoran Desert, scorpions and lizards and all, and Noah is pretty sure that if he attempts to move his limbs, they might fall off. Had it been any other person than Mary Kathleen talking to him and breaking the silence of the room, he might have cussed them out. Or at least made plans to do so sometime in the near future once the room stopped spinning.

“Your Uncle Murphy was the one who kept refilling my cup! I wasn’t trying to start anything with him! Does he hate Americans or something? I mean, we are kind of a bunch of assholes, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t personally do anything to him.”

Mary Kathleen tsks at him, but sets down the tray of toast and tea on the nightstand by his bed. Noah is not above admiring the glimpse down her shirt as she bends over. He might be suffering the Hangover From Hell, but the day he couldn’t find the wherewithal to appreciate Mary Kathleen’s incredibly fabulous boobs, he’d have to be blind, dying or both.

Not that he thought of her in some sort of sleazy, disrespectful, sexual object type of way. And certainly not anything he’d admit to, aloud. Mary Kathleen was a friend-- they’d kept in touch since meeting each other at her graduation two years ago-- and besides, he wasn’t going to discount the fact that she could quite possibly kick his ass. Or at least make his life a complete living hell. Nor was he about to make things awkward, particularly on her home turf.

It’s his first time in Ireland and certainly it’s a pretty big departure from America. Mary Kathleen’s family comes from a tiny village that looks like something out of a postcard, and just the other day, they were stuck behind the local idea of a traffic jam-- a flock of sheep taking their sweet time to cross the road. The land is a bit hilly, but lush and green, with a great deal more rain than he was accustomed to. But he could hardly complain. Not when it never came close to the downright dangerous temperatures of a sweltering Arizona summer, and especially not to Mary Kathleen’s exceptionally friendly family.

She’d told him, perhaps a year ago, that she’d lost both parents in her teens to a plane crash, and that she’d been taken in by an aunt and uncle afterwards, who’d lived in London at the time. They’d since moved back to Ireland after Uncle Murphy had retired, and though the sleepy little village of her youth certainly offered less by way of employment opportunities, there was no other place she’d rather be in the summers between school terms.

And so, as her friend, and as Zack’s unofficial babysitter, here he was. At least, that is to say, he got Zack safely into the UK and dropped him off into the competent hands of Amy, then embarked upon this little detour. And though he hadn’t exactly done anything super exciting thus far, it was worth it just to see this side of Mary Kathleen’s life, in her natural habitat, as it were.

He was never going to spend an evening at the pub with Uncle Murphy again, however. Everything that people said about the Irish and their alcohol tolerance was true.

About two hours later, Noah is roughly human again, after about four slices of dry toast, three cups of tea and two cat naps. He blearily makes his way towards the direction of the bathroom, which is tiny and adorable and had lace curtains on the windows, but also a shower about the size of a shoebox. The water pressure leaves something to be desired, but at least it does get good and hot. He sweats out the last little bit of alcohol left in his system, gets dressed, and wanders outside in search of his elusive hostess.

He finds her-- or at least a pair of very long and shapely legs that definitely look like hers-- sticking out from underneath a rusted, ancient jalopy of a car in a shade of brown-green usually associated with bird droppings or guacamole past its prime. The car is parked in a neighbour’s yard, and the neighbour in question seems to be a fairly ancient man wearing a sweater and a cap, who calls out when he sees Noah approaching.

“Yer Yank’s here, Mary Kathleen, and sure and he’s looking a lot more lively now than last night.”

“Me Yank’s a great buffoon who can’t handle his drink, but at least he conducts himself well enough when he’s half-pissed. I remember the time when Fergus McLean ran bare-arsed through the village singing ‘Whiskey In The Jar’, and if he wasn’t a walking advert for the evils of over-indulgence, I’m sure I can’t think of a one who’d suit it better.” Mary Kathleen, butt wiggling in her well-worn jeans, shimmies out from underneath the fugly car, a streak of black grease on one cheek, and grins up at him from her prone position on the ground. “I’m changing the oil of Flynn Malone’s car for him. He’ll be giving me some fresh eggs and a loaf of his wife’s soda bread for tomorrow’s breakfast, and perhaps if he’s feeling particularly generous and kindly, a pot of fresh butter as well, for none make better bread and sweeter butter than our Bridget Malone, aye?”

“‘Tis why I married her, to be sure,” Flynn Malone says agreeably, even as he gives Noah an unmistakable side-eye. “Now, my Bridget’s Da was fit to string me up by the bollocks, he was, when he caught me singing for her at her window in the moonlight before we were married. Our Mary Kathleen’s quite the prize herself, and I’d be happy to stand in for her Da if a lad comes sniffling after her and doesn’t do right by her.”

“I’m pretty sure if I did anything untoward in her presence, let alone directed at her, Mary Kathleen’s completely capable of kicking my ass herself,” Noah remarks in as polite a tone as he can muster, considering the conversation topic. “Therefore, I’m not going to try anything funny. I want to live.”

“Oy, yer smarter than ye look,” Flynn Malone guffaws as Mary Kathleen ducks back under the car to finish up. “We had our doubts. A body who makes a living getting pictures taken of his naked chest doesn’t always have a great deal going on upstairs.”

“The Yank’s working on his post-graduate in Physics at his Uni, and I’d thank you to be nice to my company, Flynn Malone.” Mary Kathleen reappears out from underneath that car. “Don’t be troubling him too much, or I’ll be tying a knot in your fuel line.”

Mary Kathleen wipes her hands and face clean with a damp towel, and Flynn Malone hands her a covered wicker basket full of the agreed-upon bread and eggs and butter, and after bidding her neighbour farewell, she and Noah head back to the house of her Uncle and Aunt.

“So, you never answered my question.” Noah carefully steers clear of any implications of his intentions towards Mary Kathleen. Not that they’re dishonourable, per se, but why bring a beautiful friendship into an awkward and potentially disastrous direction? Mary Kathleen, he knew, would never consider getting on a plane to even visit the United States, let alone move over there. “Do people here hate Americans, or do they just enjoy messing with me? I mean, I’m not mad. Just kind of curious.”

“Oh, you’re not from around here, and moreover you’re a male non-relative visiting my home. This part of Ireland is still quite traditional with things, so me neighbours probably want to make sure you’re not here to shag me and whistle off on your merry way, leaving me pregnant and unwed.” Noah’s eyes go wide at the last part of her explanation, and to his chagrin, Mary Kathleen blithely misinterprets his expression. “Not to fret, lad. I know you’ve no interest in such a matter. You’re quite safe from the parson’s trap. In the day and age of Flynn Malone, a man and a woman could scarce smile at each other without threats of the Banns being read, but I’m expecting naught from you of that sort.”

“Sure. I’m safe with you. Just not with any other number of people who’d like to see me miserable. Sounds good.”

“Maybe you should improve your constitution before we visit the pub again.” Mary Kathleen smirks up at him. “At least you no longer look like you’re fit to go to the Devil. You’re not quite to shirtless kilt standards, yet, but perhaps a nice walk in the fresh air will help you.”

“As long as I don’t step in any more cow shit.”

“I make no promises. You should have been more careful and watched your step.”

Noah says nothing about the fact that he’d been distracted staring at the freckles on her nose, and the glint of gold in her green eyes, and the way her t-shirt clung to her in a way white cotton had no business doing to anyone at any time, and follows her down the lane. He’d perhaps die in Ireland, but at least he’d die happy.

#M/N #sailor moon #senshi/shitennou #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #nelwynp #travel ficscribble

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mortiz888-blog · 6 months

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Dethatching A Lawn: A “Deep Clean” For Your Green. #SaveYourGreen

Intro: Keeping a green, perfect lawn that causes neighbor envy, can become a daunting task to many homeowners. From mowing to aeration, the list is long, and the costs can add up to some real pocket pain. However, one of the least known about, and lowest cost, lawn tasks that can make a real difference has long been Dethatching a lawn. Dethatching is a very long-practiced lawn care technique, and produces very reliable results. So, let’s take a quick dive into the basics of dethatching, how often you should do it, and why you shouldn’t overdo it either. Related Reading What is “Dethatching” a Lawn Anyways? Dethatching a lawn is the process of removing a layer of dead and living material that builds up in between grass crowns and the ground. This layer of “thatch” blocks sunlight, harbors disease and organisms, and prevents the proper absorption of water and nutrients into your lawn’s soil. Removing this layer regularly, usually during Spring, allows your lawn's organic layer, known as the “Humus”, to be better exposed to sunlight, water, nutrients, and seed. Traditionally, dethatching was achieved with very extensive scouring of the turf with a metal rake. Newer options include lawn mower attachments that use the inertia of your gas-powered machine to achieve the same results as manual raking. Many lawn care professionals have tools that mechanically spin blades, or “teeth”, into the soil to very effectively pull up even the deepest, thickest layers of thatch. Any option will most likely include the process of cleaning up the debris removed from the ground and disposal away from the lawn. How Often Should You Dethatch Your Lawn. What is dethatching for a lawn? Lawn Dethatching companies near me. As mentioned before, allow thatch to remain in your lawn harbors pests and diseases, and also blocks sunlight and nutrients. It is important to expand on this to really understand how your lawn really benefits to decide how often to do it. Pests: Insects, such as Sod Webworm and chinch bugs, use the cool, dark layer of thatch to rest and breed during the hotter months. These pests feed on the crowns and blades of your grass. This causes Yellow, wilting spots on lawns. Disease: all fungus thrives in dark wet conditions. If water is allowed to “stand”, or pool, in areas of thatch, this allows Fungal diseases to thrive. Fungus on lawns manifests in all sorts of colors and shapes, but most are very damaging to your lawn’s health. Sunlight: This one probably goes without saying much. A thick layer of thatch blocks sunlight to the soil, grass root, and beneficial organic matter. Without sunlight, grass has roots have difficulty participating in the process of photosynthesis. Nutrients: The process of getting nutrients to your soil, and grass roots, includes various forms of absorption and adsorption. Both of the processes are mechanically prevented from happening when blocked by thatch. Even spreading or spraying fertilizer and other supplements will prove ineffective in this scenario. So the big question still stands: “How Often Should I Dethatch My Lawn?”. In order to know how often to perform lawn dethatching, you must assess all the preceding factors regularly. Along with checking for visible thatch buildup, you want to make sure water is not pooling, fungus is not forming, and insect damage is not present (especiall7 during the hotter months). As long as these things are kept to a minimum, most lawn care professionals recommend dethatching once a season in Spring, before your first mowing. Many homeowners and pros may perform a second dethatching in Fall, usually after the final leaf cleanup. https://youtu.be/CBvHBlFp1-s?si=sT-gi_MR6m4RD2xN Why You Shouldn’t “Overdo” It When Dethatching A Lawn. As with anything in life, being too “extra” when dethatching a lawn can prove to be detrimental. The reason why can be analogous to brushing your teeth too hard. At some point you are just removing the protective enamel and doing more harm than good. With lawn dethatching, going too deep with your chosen tool, or not observing caution with the “pulling” up process, can rip your grass out by the roots and damage your soil. In this case you would be approaching legitimate roto-tilling rather than dethatching. Conclusion Dethatching your lawn can be one of the least costly, and most beneficial lawn care tasks you can take as a homeowner. While professional tools and techniques are worth the extra investment, it is well within your ability to DIY lawn dethatching. Remember that leaving thatch in your lawn harbors pests and diseases. You should think about dethatching in Spring, and possibly again in Fall, if your lawn needs it. So remember, dethatching your lawn is like a “deep clean” for your turf. Related Posts Author Bio Michael Ortiz [email protected] (860) 213-4569 GreenTeamSave.com Mike Ortiz is a licensed Pesticide Supervisor in the State of Connecticut. Mike has 22 years in the Landscape and Lawncare industries. He has owned and operated his own Lawn Care Chemical company, Green Team Lawn Care, for 12 years now. Mike has written expert articles for his own blog for over 6 years now. Read the full article

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grasscarpetsdubai · 5 years

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Artificial Grass Carpets Dubai

Synthetic Grass

For installing artificial grass Dubai the surface must be level, steady and porous to water. It is regularly amazingly simple to introduce artificial grass on an overhang since it is a little surface region and the grass can be cut from a solitary piece. Additionally, it has a level surface onto which the artificial grass can be just taken off. Possibly this is on the grounds that I picked the Grass Carpets Dubai for artificial grass establishment, however my front and patio have not required upkeep in more than 15 months. The fundamental issue I had with my past normal grass was that it was so defenseless to sicknesses, which required time, cash, and thoughtfulness regarding avoid spreading and harming the well being and presence of my garden. Keeping up my grass was an agony in the rear in view of the pressure that accompanied battling about dark colored patches and persistently expecting to get new fungicides. Artificial grass isn't vulnerable to infections which gives me awesome comfort because of the low support required. How about we likewise incorporate other undesirable issues joined by natural grass, for example, weeds, irritations, mud, and puddles. Getting an evergreen scene with artificial grass requires no composts, pesticides, and overabundance of water with the goal for it to flourish.

Whenever introduced artificial grass over existing for an outside wedding, open air party, outside occasion and so forth , I believe is a decent method to keep the ground green and near nature yard it is a pleasant thing. Be that as it may, if introduce artificial grass in the greenhouse, the proprietor may need to think about something, they need to confront the long existence of artificial grass. So as to have a long life artificial grass installation, it is vital and advantageous to pursue its establishment rules. In the event that you need to DIY, you can allude to the artificial grass establishment process here. or then again you could locate a neighborhood experienced installer. They will give you valuable counsel. Actually, there is truly have one sort of artificial grass that can introduce over my current yard, we call mixture turf. Crossover turf can ensure the rhizome of the yard, lessen the harm brought about by stomping on the garden, and the regular grass develops on the man-made fiber, which can completely apply photosynthesis. The ideal mix.

Easy Maintenance

Natural Grass requires an undeniable duty, and with regards to keeping up a sound and normal yard, you can invest a ton of energy and cash on it. Enter the fake grass. Once introduced, there isn't a lot to fear. Ensured for a long time and with a normal life expectancy of 10 to 15 years, you can unwind and respect the incredibly genuine counterfeit turf that currently possesses a position of respect in your greenhouse. Gracious, and do you recall when we said it would make your life simpler previously? On the off chance that you supplant the yard with a artificial option, you can bid farewell to the hours burned through imagining and cutting the garden. Result! Presently, all is well and great, yet shouldn't something be said about this "extraordinary reward"? The truth of the matter is that over the long haul, introducing fake turf in Dubai will set aside you cash. There are no two different ways to do it. Your water bill will be fundamentally decreased (up to 70% now and again) on the grounds that you won't have to water the yard forever.

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In the event that you have pets or kids, adding Artificial grass to your nursery ought not be easy. As a parent or pet sweetheart, all you truly need is a sheltered and clean condition for your kid or your hairy companion to play. With our Artificial Grass pad base, you'll have a sense of security realizing that if your tyke falls, you'll be shielded from damage. Furthermore, you have the additional advantage of expelling grass stains from the condition! With regards to your pets, the sturdiness of the counterfeit grass ends up more grounded. A characteristic yard inclined to felines and mutts will normally fall prey to openings and dead grass stains to check the spot when nature is calling. The Artificial grass pet office will keep your property in its most flawless condition as pee drops and strong waste are effectively evacuated.

Environment Friendly

The climate, the mugginess and the absence of downpour in Dubai don't loan themselves to basic development and upkeep of characteristic vegetation, and the grass is the same. For grass to develop in the dry states of the UAE, you need water and a great deal of water. On the off chance that you are worried about water protection like us, you'll be thankful that counterfeit grass is customized to help preserve water in Dubai by disposing of one of the main sources of water misfortune, the sprayer . What's more, not exclusively should you not water your counterfeit turf, you don't have to utilize a horrendous or conceivably hazardous pesticide. Another incredible triumph for the earth directly there!

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kdreamscenario · 6 years

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The Boss’ Girl Ch. 10

Lee Minwoo (Shinhwa) X Reader X Jeon Jungkook (BTS)

(Feat. Yoon Dujun (Highlight), Kim Dongwan (Shinhwa))

Office!AU

Rated: M sub!Jungkook, switch!reader, dom!Minwoo, stepping, degradation, foot job, temp play, cum marking, face fucking, deep throating... you see where this is going.

Word Count: 7582

Ch. 9 | Ch. 11

Mina and Jungkook have been officially dating for two weeks. Like any gossip, the whole company knows about it the day after. Mina wasn’t shy to tell all of the secretaries as soon as Jungkook gave her the okay. They teased you a bit for the boy finally dropping his effort with you. You thank Mina for taking him.

By now the flutter around the new couple has settled. As a couple they aren’t super lovey dovey at work. Being in different departments means they don’t see each other often. The only painful part is Mina twittering about their dates every time the girls get together. They’ve been on three dates so far, all of them completely planned by Jungkook.

Mina always drones on dreamily about how much of an old romantic Jungkook is. They’ve barely gone passed first base in a month. You’re the only one who doesn’t gush over her stories. You can’t even remember the last time a guy took you out on some sappy rom-com date and that’s more than fine.

The best part of their dating is how much your office life goes back to normal. Jungkook still comes nearly every day to drop off papers but there are no more little notes to you. He’s turned confident and casual with you, not cold or unfriendly just professionally amicable. Your elevator rides out of the office are once again solo trips.

Upon hearing the news, Minwoo simply said he was glad your little problem was resolved. He rewarded you well for the accomplishment that next weekend.

Saturday is the first company versus company soccer game of spring. Minwoo and Dongwan have been organizing their teams for the last 8 years. The companies meet once a month from March to September. They say it’s great team building but it’s more another way for the two to compete.

Minwoo has been so excited to show off Jungkook. He’s the best player for the team in a long time. Dongwan has an employee, Dujun, that lives, breaths, and sleeps soccer. Dongwan’s company has been winning the year end award for 3 years in a row. Minwoo is hoping Jungkook can be his key to victory this year.

These soccer games are so important to Minwoo that he matches game weekends with your menstrual cycle. He doesn’t go out the Friday night before a game and doesn’t have you over to play.

Early Saturday morning he warms up with a short jog. He comes home to you sitting at the kitchen island sipping a cup of coffee. There’s some egg scramble and his favorite smoothie waiting for him beside you. He doesn’t even have coffee in case it upsets his stomach or gives him a caffeine crash during the game.

The soccer turf is still slightly damp with melting frost when you arrive. The morning air has a chill even though it’s nearly eleven. Minwoo meets Dongwan and a few others out stretching on the field. You go to the small bleachers on the side. Most of the interns, a few of the secretaries, and a couple other employees are already huddled in groups on the cold benches. There’s usually a good turn out of spectators. Partly because lunch is provided and partly for the female employees to watch the hottest guys in the office run around and sweat.

The secretaries wave you over. They have a few big blankets draped over their laps and offer you one end. Proving your point of why they’re here, Yoona is pouting that there won’t be much sweating in this weather.

Ten minutes after eleven the stands are fairly full and almost all the players are ready. Mina and Jungkook arrive soon after. Jungkook walks Mina over to the seats. They bow and say good morning to everyone. Jungkook looks you up and down, his gaze lingering a bit too obviously. You raise a brow in question and he snaps out of it.

“I've never seen you all not dressed in office attire.” He grins sheepishly and you all giggle. Of course it must be a big change to see everyone dressed so casually. “Surprise we're actually normal humans on the weekends.” Sooji teases. “You're still pretty of course.” He adds rubbing his neck and looking to Mina if that was okay to say. She laughs right along.

Minwoo calls Jungkook to stop flirting and come get ready. He asks Mina to watch his duffle bag and pulls his sweatshirt off over his head. Jungkook mentally scolds himself for thinking you looked so cute and feminine in a big puffy sweater dress and thermal leggings. Your makeup is much lighter, just mascara and tinted lip balm. Your hair always perfectly coiffed in neat corporate fashion is down in a loose braid. Maybe this is what you might have looked like in college. It shakes him up more than he's comfortable admitting.

Without the baggy sweatshirt you all get an eyeful of Jungkook outside of work attire. He’s wearing a form fitting long sleeve athletic top paired with skin-tight leggings and soccer shorts. Even with the shorts you can tell the boy is hard lean muscle from head to toe.

“Quit drooling you hyenas.” Mina scolds you all. Jungkook looks cutely confused, making his baby face clash with his body. Mina pats his shoulder and pushes him toward the field. “Have fun and good luck. We’ll be cheering for you!” He jogs off with a wave. Minwoo introduces him to Dongwan, Dujun, and some of the others.

Standing next to each other you can’t help but compare Minwoo and Jungkook. Minwoo is wearing a very similar outfit. The biggest difference is his slightly thicker shirt is neon green as opposed to Jungkook’s all black attire. Minwoo is also a good bit shorter but looks much more manly and commanding. He’s just as muscled and fit, his strong jaw and slight stubble give him a much more mature look. You think to yourself that you’ve got the better of the two.

It’s a close game from the start. Jungkook is a huge help to slow down Dujun. The two are always on each other. Dujun only beating him with experience. He knows better where to run, when to pass, and how to fake out. Jungkook keeps up by sheer stamina and athleticism. Dongwan and Minwoo cover each other in equal fever.

At the half point break the game is 1-0, Dongwan’s team winning. Jungkook comes over for his water bottle. The poor boy is panting and slumps on the bleacher in front of you. “They really play seriously.” He huffs. “You’re doing great though.” Mina grabs the towel out of his bag and dabs at the sweat around his face and neck. He smiles and lavishes in her doting. A group of girls behind you from the other company are thoroughly upset at the scene. The cute newbie already has a girlfriend.

The ref blows the whistle to end the break. With a groan Jungkook gets back up and goes back to the field. It’s obvious Jungkook and Dujun are tiring each other out. Jungkook blocks Dujun’s pass and your team makes a goal. It’s nearing 1 when the lunch delivery shows up. As always you get up and take charge of where they set up the table of food and signing the receipt.

A cacophony of shouts and cheers are coming from the stands. You turn back to watch the end of the match. Kim Yongmin of your accounting office passes the ball to Minwoo. Dongwan intercepts the pass and runs it to their side. Minwoo is on his heels trying to reclaim the ball. Dongwan struggles but makes a pass to Dujun. Jungkook is right there to stop him. There’s a long struggle. Dujun fakes left and kicks a back pass to their shooter.

In the last second they make their goal. The ref blows with whistle to end the game. Dongwan’s team runs together cheering. Your office team stops to catch their breath. Both teams shake hands for a good game.

The food delivery offers different beautiful lunch boxes and hot barley tea. There's plenty of food for the hungry players to get as many boxes as they want. It's all delicious but having to watch Mina coo over Jungkook scarfing down 3 whole boxes diminishes your appetite. The boy beams and blushes at nearly every doting praise. You're sitting with Minwoo and Dongwan only a few feet away trying to ignore the sickening scene.

Kim Sangmin the head of financing approaches the three of you, thankfully giving you something else to focus on. “Sir. The Beyond company president is on the phone. They're not happy with the budgeting proposal.” Minwoo sighs deeply at this but takes the cell phone from him. He stands and walks out onto the field to finish the call. From here you can see how irritated he is and with good reason. The CEO for Beyond cosmetics is an intolerable old miser. If he weren't such a big customer Minwoo would've dropped their contracts years ago.

Minwoo ends the call and comes back to where you're waiting. “He's unhappy with the project meant to launch on Monday we're having an emergency meeting at 3. That gives you about an hour to collect everything you need, get detailed spreadsheets reprinted, and be in the main conference room ready to stick your pitch to them. Did you have anyone else working with you on this?” Minwoo gives these instructions all while handing back the phone, cleaning up his lunch, and pulling on his jacket.

“Yes, sir. Jeon Jungkook worked with me on this.” Sangmin replies. Minwoo gives the faintest smirk then calls over to the intern. “Jungkook!” He jumps to attention right away. “Yes?” “We're having an emergency meeting with Beyond. Come along and help Sangmin.” The boy looks shocked but grabs his things right away. He says a quick goodbye to Mina while Minwoo says goodbye to Dongwan and the company in general.

Sangmin had his car there so he would drive himself and Jungkook to the office. Driver Park pulls up minutes after Minwoo calls for him. It's a less than ten minute drive even with Saturday traffic.

At the building, you and Minwoo go straight up to his office. To clean up a bit Minwoo washes his face, straightens up his hair with a wet comb, changes into an extra shirt and slacks, and sprays on a bit of cologne. That's as much as he can do with the time given. You switch your sneakers to the spare pair of black pumps you keep in the office closet. These last minute meetings are common enough for you both.

While Minwoo was cleaning up you made a pot of coffee, hot water, and a pitcher of ice water with all the accoutrements for the conference room. You had the insight to also grab a few boxes of pastries from the lunch delivery to offer on a tray. That's about as much as you can help with.

It's 2:50 when the four of you are in the conference room with everything set. Minwoo comes in last, giving last minute orders without a pause. “Sangmin you wait here, I'll go down to the lobby and bring the CEO here. Jungkook you're not dressed for a meeting you wait in my office with secretary Y/N if we need you for anything. I hope we can get this done fast.” Jungkook looks sheepish and apologizes. He can't really be blamed. He hadn't really brought a change of clothes besides a spare t-shirt and there's no real way for him to get cleaned up. Sangmin luckily hadn't been playing soccer and was dressed nice enough.

Minwoo ducks out the door after these last instructions. You and Jungkook leave as well after wishing Sangmin the best of luck. The intern follows behind you quietly all the way up to the office. You sit at your desk and check your cell and the desk phone. It takes you a few minutes to realize Jungkook is standing awkwardly by your desk looking at the painting on the wall but not really seeing it.

“You can sit down you know. They'll probably be a while.” He jumps a bit at your speaking. You give him a skeptical look then turn back to your desk phone. He rubs the back of his neck gives an awkward laugh and finally sits in the seat across from you at the desk. He feels so stupid that being alone with you is putting him so on edge. His stupid brain goes right back to the last time the two of you were alone here like this.

He'd done so well not thinking about you clutching onto him right here every work day. Now it's the only image in his brain. You quivering against him through an orgasm. What could you be doing with Minwoo today? You're busy listening to voicemails and not looking. He tries to see if anything is out of the ordinary but you look fine. No flushed cheeks or panting breath. You do look especially pretty today though. This relaxed casual look is really captivating. Jungkook is crushing on you all over again seeing you this way and it's so wrong. He's so stupid to think that when he's got Mina but he can't help it.

You can feel Jungkook staring at you so you turn. Before he looks away you think he looked afflicted by something. “Is there something wrong Jungkook?” “No.” He mumbles. “Good, then would you please find something else to do while we wait besides staring at me?” He looks up to defend himself but you’ve turned back to the phone. He huffs and pulls out his cell phone. Social media does keep his attention for a full 20 minutes.

All of your voicemails are heard through and taken note of for Monday. Sitting on that cold bench for hours and even sitting in your desk chair has your back pretty knotted up. You stand to stretch but an abdominal cramp makes you double over to clutch to the desk. Seeing you like that gives Jungkook immediate flashbacks. It makes him more angry than anything.

“Really? Are you really doing this again?” He snaps. You look up to throw daggers, surprised to see he’s giving you his own. “What exactly do you mean?” You snap back. Jungkook can’t believe you’re playing dumb right now. “You’re playing one of your little games with CEO Lee right in front of me again. I guess you really don’t care.”

It takes you a moment to realize your current position might look differently given past experiences. That doesn’t excuse Jungkook for being this snippy. “I’m having a menstrual cramp for your information.” All of the anger drops from Jungkook’s face then flushes with embarrassment.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. I just thought that you were. You know… doing other things in front of me again. Can I get you anything?” You roll your eyes at his dumb ramblings. “A cup of tea would be nice since you’re asking.” Jungkook scrambles out of his chair. “Of course!” He’s hurried over to the elevator without asking what kind of tea you even wanted. He’s just glad to get out of the room.

While he’s gone you try to stretch out your back without cramping up your stomach again. A few yoga poses would be great right now but the last thing you need is for Jungkook to walk in with you doing a cat-cow pose on the floor.

He’s back quickly with a cup of coffee, a cup of mint tea, and a few pastries. “I brought you mint tea. I hope that’s okay. My mom drinks it when she’s not feeling well.” He places the steaming mug and the pastries on your desk. Mint tea is for upset stomachs not really cramps but at least he tried. The two of you sit in silence again, sipping tea and nibbling on the snack.

“Are you feeling better?” Jungkook asks not sure what else he should say. “A little tea isn’t going to really help you know.” Jungkook frowns. “Is there something else I can do? Maybe massage your back for you? Not in a weird way of course just like a normal massage.” That came out way worse than he meant it. You weigh your options a moment. The last thing this awkward tension needs is him touching you but a massage sounds too good right now.

“If you really wouldn’t mind that would help.” Jungkook stares wide eyed for a moment. He didn’t expect you to say yes. It was a stupid thing to suggest in the first place. “Sure. It’s your back that hurts right? Maybe you could um… lay over the desk? Is that weird?” You hadn’t really thought about how you’d go about this. Laying over the desk is really the only option.

The two of you clear enough space for you to bend with your torso on the desk and Jungkook standing beside you facing perpendicular. Once you’ve settled Jungkook presses his thumbs along the tight muscles along your spine right where it’s knotted. You can’t help the moan at just how good it feels. Of course the golden intern is also great at giving a massage. He continues to work out all the tightness along your back. Even at the awkward angle and posture, you’ve never had someone’s hands feel this good.

Each new spot pulls more sounds out of you. No amount of biting your lip can hold them all back. So much for the massage not being weird. Jungkook is dying with all this stimuli. He’s trying to think of anything else to not get aroused. Maybe if you’re talking you can’t make these noises.

“This is a weird time to ask, but why do you hate me?” The question catches you off guard. “Jungkook. I don’t hate you. You’ve just given me reason to keep my distance. If you weren’t so persistent about dating me I might be nicer.” He frowns at this and thinks a minute. “Then would you tell me besides money and age what you like more about CEO Lee?”

It’s mean to laugh but you can’t help it. “The most important thing between me and CEO Lee that you’re missing is sexual experience.” That sounds like a stupid reason to Jungkook. He stops massaging but rests his hands on your back. “Is that really all? I can easily make up for that. That’s not a great reason to pick a man.”

You keep laughing at just how naive the boy is. “Jungkook you’re forgetting that our relationship is not a romantic one. It’s purely sexual. Experience and ability are the most important factor here.” Jungkook is silent for a long pause. He’s struggling to grasp the concept.

“Think of the filthiest porn you’ve ever watched and assume that’s the sort of thing we do together. You can’t compare that with some virgin boy’s experience.” Jungkook takes a step back. “I’m not a virgin!” He exclaims. You sit up to look at him. “Fine barely not a virgin then. Have you had sex more than once in your life?”

He can’t argue against that. The red cheeked angry pout gives him away. “Let me guess. You dated an older girl in college and she took control of everything. She took your first time, showed you the basics, then tossed you away when she was done?” Jungkook stays quiet. Your words hurt with accuracy. No one has ever figured him out so easily. You’re reading him like an open book and he’s mortified.

“You see now why I continue to deny your advances? I don’t have time for to train a kid with a noona fetish.” You straighten your posture and stand back on your feet. Jungkook crowds you back against the desk, arms trapping you in. You’ve pushed him too far. “Why not try? I’m a fast learner. It could be something new and interesting”

You give him the coldest glare you can. “Minwoo keeps me well interested. Besides you’re already dating Mina. I’m not going to start useless office drama for you.” Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll dump her.” “No. It’s still not worth it. She’ll be heartbroken and I’ll have to hear about it for months.” Jungkook knows he sounds desperate but he can’t seem to care. “Please just tell me what I can do. I’ll do whatever you say. I just want to please you.”

You should push him away. He’s at the point of groveling that should really disgust you. Instead his words spark the smallest bit of interest. You hate how solid his body feels against yours. He could easily overpower you. His height and build towering over you but you’ve got him like putty in your hand. Being the one in control for once is a thrilling experience.

“All I want is for you to back up.” Hurt flashes in his pretty eyes. He was really hoping that your pause in answering meant you were considering it. Still he’s not going to give up. He drops his head and takes a big step back. You know what he’s playing at.

“If you’re waiting for me to tell you to kneel down and kiss my feet you can forget it.” You joke. Jungkook knows he’s pushing it but he drops to his knees anyway. He reaches for your foot but you step it back. With the toe of your shoe you push his head back up. He’s really testing your patience.

“That wasn’t a command.” You snap. You’re in a bit of shock knowing he would really do anything you ask to please you. Guys who will drop their pride to be dominated by a woman are very rare to come by. There’s no way he could be faking this just to sleep with you. Any normal person should be outraged by someone pushing their face with a shoe. Jungkook looks like he’s almost enjoying it.

You tap his chin with the toe of your shoe to close his hanging jaw. “Look at you. Absolutely pathetic.” You snear, crossing your arms. Jungkook doesn’t move. “Do you like me treating you this way? I that why you keep bothering me? You enjoy being degraded? I didn’t take you as a masochist. Are you turned on by me bossing you around? I bet you were getting hard just from giving me that massage.”

You watch the boys reactions. You keep pushing to see how far he’ll let you go. The only answer you’re getting are unfocused sparkling eyes. You tap his cheek to get his attention. “Answer me. Did you get hard from touching me?” “Yes.” His voice cracks on the single syllable.

He’s close to tears. Not tears of pain but tears of being overwhelmed. He had never thought about wanting this until now. Having a kink pressured out of him breaks him up. He’s not telling you to stop so you keep pushing.

“Can’t control yourself touching me like a little boy. You need training don’t you?” “Yes.” Jungkook waits just long enough to be sure you’re done talking before answering. “Yes what?” You demand. “Yes, noona.” That’s not the answer you were looking for but it sounds so good you go with it. “Good boy.” His cheeks flush from the praise. He’s really in deep but he doesn’t care.

“I’ll give you one training and nothing more because you obviously need it.” He looks at you in disbelief. What could you mean by training? “If you blow your load two minutes after Mina touches you, the whole office will know how much of an inexperienced little boy you are. You should be careful dating girls like Mina.”

He’s thought of this once before. It’s one of the reasons why he hasn’t slept with Mina yet. Mina is much more a girl who expects to be taken care of. She would absolutely destroy him if she knew he was a useless quick shot. Training is exactly what he needs. “Please help me noona.”

He looks sinfully innocent. You’d be a monster not to help this poor little lamb. “Of course. First, put those hands behind your back since they cause you trouble.” He obeys instantly. The toe of your shoe comes to his chest and moves him to lean back and straighten his back. You keep traveling down, drawing a line down his torso to his knee. From his knee you toe right up to his groin, resting his balls on your shoe.

The breath stutters out of his lungs. He almost whimpers when you drop your foot back down. With underwear, sports leggings, and soccer shorts there are too many layers for your idea to work. “Without getting up, I want you to take these shorts off and your sweatshirt.” He strips off the articles you asked for and get back into position.

This was an excellent decision. He’s left in the skin tight athletic top and leggings. You can see the outline of every toned muscle and best of all the length of his dick hard along the inside of his left thigh. You take your time soaking in every inch of this young Adonis.

The suspense frays Jungkook’s nerves. He’s afraid you’ll stop and send him away. He sits poised like a show dog waiting for the judges approval. He doesn’t notice you slipping off your heel. Your bare foot touching his thigh knocks the air out of him again.

The top of your foot runs up the inside of his thigh on the opposite side of his hard on. Just before the apex you drop your foot back to his other knee, travelling up over the trembling muscles. He’s shaking, not from holding himself in position but from excitement.

To his agony, you continue just brushing over his legs two more times, never once touching where he needs it. The fourth pass up the right side you turn and firmly stroke down and up his throbbing member. Even in the tight confines of his leggings, it jumps out at your touch. Jungkook moans loudly, not holding it in. Touching him through his pants with your foot shouldn’t feel this good. He’s had lubed hand jobs give him less of a reaction.

You rub him through three slow strokes and he’s already feeling the tightening in his balls. You drop your foot and he groans. He’s panting and out of breath. “Look at you. You can barely handle a little touching like this and you think you can compete with CEO Lee? You need to learn control.” You scoff. He hates to hear his boss’ name from you but he wants so much to please you. “Yes, noona.”

You tilt his head up to look you in the eye again. “I’m going to keep playing with you but you’re not allowed to cum until I say. Understand?” “Yes, noona.” It comes out like a plea for you to keep going.

There’s no teasing this time. You go right back to slowly stroking him. Every four or five times you stop to let him compose himself. Gradually you pick up speed and add more strokes. Jungkook tries so hard to think of something else to get his mind off the need for release. He doesn’t realize how much he’s trembling, mouth hanging, flushed and panting for breath. There’s no focus in his eyes. You’re spurred on by how hot and fucked out he looks.

He’s so entranced in the pattern you’ve set. When he next expects you to pull away you instead roll the head of his cock between the pad of your foot and your toes. He doubles over moaning out loudly. “Noona!” “Don’t you dare cum.” You scold, not letting up. He cries out trying to hold it in. “Please… I can’t!” His eyes fill with tears. His dick twitches uncontrollably. You pull back your foot and give his length a firm slap then drop back to the floor.

You let Jungkook have a long break to collect himself. He takes a full 5 minutes to slow his breathing and lean back into place. “Are you okay to continue?” You ask when you think he’s ready. “Yes, noona.” His voice is gravely and cracks again. He’s not ready to move on but he wants to be a good boy for you.

Starting again from the beginning he can tell he’s so much more sensitive. He only gets up to seven strokes before there are tears running down his cheeks. You can see he’s trying so hard to be good. “You’re doing so good. Do you want to cum?” Jungkook jerks his head up to look at you, his watery doe eyes pleading. “Please noona.” “Are you sure? You want this to be over?” Oh no, he hadn’t thought of it that way. If he cums you’ll be done with him. By what you said, done for good. He panics. There’s no way he can hold back anymore but will you be disappointed that he wants to cum? You can see the wheels turning in his head. “You’ve been so good. I won’t be mad if you want to finish.” With your permission he caves. “Please noona. I need to cum.” You smile a little. “Okay you can cum baby.” You go right in to rolling the head of his cock again to help him out. He moans, cumming right away. His hips thrusts up on their own with each wave of his orgasm. The warm sticky liquid soaks through his leggings and you use it to keep stroking over him. The pleasure fades all too fast into over stimulation. He tries to tilt his hips away from your touch. You’d love to work him right into another orgasm but there’s no time. It’s getting dangerously late now as it is.

Jungkook slumps forward with a sigh. You grab a tissue from the desk and wipe the dampness from your foot. “You did well. Better than I expected. Try edging yourself to help build your stamina it should help a lot.” You slip back on your shoe and take one last good look at the quiver boy in front of you. “You free to do what you’d like now. We’re done”

Jungkook lets his arms fall forward to help hold him up. His whole body relaxes, all the tension slipping away. He takes a deep breath and stands. The blood rushes to his numb legs and feet. Every step shoots pins and needles up his legs but he needs to get out of there. Embarrassment and disappointment come welling up like the blood rush. “I’m going to get cleaned up.” He mumbles and stiffly walks over to the bathroom.

This floor has two single room bathrooms by the elevator and a private bathroom in Minwoo’s office. Jungkook locks himself in one of the front bathrooms. He’s leans back against the door, tempted to slip down to the floor. Some time to alone to reflect would be great but he needs to get cleaned up. He strips out of his underwear and leggings and does his best to clean the cold drying jizz out of the fabric. It’s a good thing he grabbed his shorts to put on.

The sweat and tears are washed away. The cold water helps to cool him down and compose himself a little. He can’t wait to get home and have a nice hot shower, a stiff drink, and curl into bed.

Still so many thoughts are buzzing in his head. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this pathetic. How could he stoop so low for your approval. Why does it even matter that much to him? He has a girlfriend who would be more than happy to have regular sex with him and love him. Being humiliated, controlled, and used like this shouldn’t turn him on this much. It’s not right. You didn’t even look affected by anything that just happened. Hearing you call him a good boy had been so fulfilling but it was probably empty words to you. At the end you were just as cold and distant as ever. It hurts knowing you don’t need him at all.

Jungkook has no idea how long he stands there staring blankly into his reflection. The sounds of the elevator ding and two male voices outside snap him out of it. He slips on his shorts and sweatshirt and braves going back out to the office. Minwoo, Sangmin, and you are standing at the coffee table in Minwoo’s office.

Jungkook tosses his bundle up wet bottoms into his duffle bag. He enters the office where the three are going over the last notes from the meeting. Minwoo looks at him when they’re done. “Jungkook, help Sangmin put away the files then we can all go home.” “Yes, sir.” He answers quietly and happily leaves with Sangmin.

You follow Minwoo over to his desk with your tablet in hand. He goes over what changes are to be made for Monday’s schedule and any other notes. The papers get filed away. You switch back to your sneakers then the two of you go down to the lobby where the others are waiting.

“Thank you gentlemen for spending your Saturday working. I owe you a dinner but I think we can all agree on having it another time.” Minwoo says. “Yes I’m sure we’re all looking forward to hot showers and some rest at home by now.” Sangmin thankfully speaks for you all.

Minwoo notices Jungkook’s legs on their way out the door. “What happened to you pants aren’t you cold?” Jungkook doesn’t stop walking or even turn back to answer. “No sir, I was uncomfortable from the dried sweat. I don’t live far. I’ll be fine.” Minwoo doesn’t press. “Well have a goodnight everyone” Jungkook does turn then to give a quick bow then makes a beeline for his apartment.

Sangmin calls over a cab. You and Minwoo get into the car waiting for you. The ride home is silent. Minwoo thanks driver Park when you arrive at the apartment building. In the elevator, you hit the buttons for your floor and his. Minwoo unclicks your floor.

“I have something I’d like to talk to you about.” Minwoo isn’t giving you an option. You’re definitely confused. He never asks you to come up on soccer weekends. Of course you go with him anyway without question.

You both take off your shoes once you’re inside. “Have a seat.” Minwoo gestures to the couch and goes over to his mini bar. You sit where he pointed and wait while he mixes himself a manhattan. He takes a long sip then turns to face you. “Y/N, you like your job right?”

Of all the things you were considering that was not at all what you expected him to say. “Yes, I love my job sir.” You answer right away. He sips his drink and hums. “You like the relationship we have right? You aren’t tired of me?” He sounds too casual for such a heavy question. “No of course I’m not tired of you. How could I be?” All these questions put you on edge. Not once since you started this relationship has he asked you things like this.

Minwoo steps closer to where you’re sitting, stirring the ice around his glass. “I’m just getting the feeling that maybe you’re forgetting some of our company policies on coworker relations in the work place.” Realization hits you right away. Minwoo must know all about what you did with Jungkook. He must’ve watched the security footage at some point. Perhaps even watching it during the meeting.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I swear it’s the last time it will happen.” “It better be. It shouldn’t have happened at all. That video footage could get you into a lot of trouble. If Jungkook ever wanted to take that issue up to HR I’d have to fire you.” That’s a really harsh blow for you. You know it’s nothing personal, the company comes first for Minwoo. You can’t blame him, it would be completely your fault.

“You know there are good reasons why those sorts of activities are not allowed in the workplace. I’m disappointed in you for slipping up. Our hot young intern must attract you quite a lot.” You hang your head low in shame. It hurts to hear Minwoo be disappointed in you.

“No, sir. I apologize for my actions. You’re right. I’ve made a mistake. Jungkook thinks he could take your place in this relationship. He wouldn’t drop it so I decided to teach him a lesson. I should have been the bigger person and left it alone.”

Minwoo finishes his drink and sets the glass down on his crystal top coffee table. “I’m still concerned that you have some lustful attraction for the boy. I just want to know if I should be worried about you looking for a new relationship.”

You look back up to make eye contact. “No, sir. I was clear with him that we were done after today. I swear I only need you.” You’re as sincere as can be. There will be nothing more between you and Jungkook. There’s no way he would want more of the treatment you gave him.

Minwoo steps in front of you and takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I want to believe you my dear, but you seem to cave everytime you’re left alone with him. Of course our relationship has always been open and you’re free to have any other fun you want to just not at the company.” He smiles tightly.

Your relationship is open but there has been an unspoken agreement that the two of you were exclusive. “I’ve been weak, but I promise I’m only yours.” Minwoo is happy to hear that. He really hopes this is the end of the problem. His smiles turns to something a bit more mischievous.

“Still you made a big mistake that I think deserves some punishment.” He narrows his gaze and drags his thumb over your bottom lip. His hand drops and he takes a few steps back. With a crook of his finger he beckons you forward. “Why don’t you start by getting on your knees.”

You slink down to the floor to kneel in front of him. “And put your hands behind your back. You don’t deserve to touch today.” Again you obey. You recognize what he’s doing, putting you in the same position you had Jungkook. “I couldn’t help but notice you took control over the intern. You said he needs to learn his place. I think you need a reminder of your own place.”

Minwoo’s voice is deep and commanding. It was fun to have the control with Jungkook but Minwoo makes you realize how much you love being submissive. You’re anticipating the punishment which soft of defeats the purpose.

Minwoo takes an ice cube out of his drink glass. “Open your mouth and hold out your tongue.” As soon as you do he puts the ice cube on the end of your tongue. With two finger he rubs it in little circles all over the surface. Little by little your tongue gets colder. Temperature play isn’t unfamiliar to your sessions but this is something new. You’re curious where he could be going with this.

When the ice cube is nearly all melted there’s spit and water running all over your mouth. Without taking away his fingers, Minwoo tells you to suck. You close your lips around the digits and swallow down the liquid pooled in your mouth. He appreciates the extra effort you take licking and sucking his fingers clean.

“Open again for me.” You open your mouth right away. Minwoo grabs another ice cube and repeats rubbing it across your tongue. Your tongue gets even colder and wetter than before. It’s starting to get a little numb.

The ice cube melts away. You expect him to tell you to suck again but he places another ice cube on your tongue. “Stay just like that for me.” He commands, wiping his wet fingers on the front of his slacks. The ice cube doesn’t melt very fast on your cool tongue.

Minwoo unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants. He pulls them down just far enough to pull out his length. The sight of it has your throat reflexively swallowing. You’d been drooling if you hadn’t already been dribbling all over yourself. You’re a good girl and keep your mouth open and waiting.

Minwoo takes his dick in his hand and uses the head to rub the ice cube around. He shudders at the first cold shock. It doesn’t take long to feel good. With the heat of his skin the ice cube melts much quicker. Once it’s completely gone he tells you to suck again.

Your warm lips wrapped tight around him give a contrast to your frigid tongue. It feels amazing for him. It’s a strange sensation to you that you can barely feel him with your tongue cold and numb. This doesn’t hold you back from working him properly. You know just what he likes. Keeping tight suction, rolling your tongue in his sensitive spots, and bobbing your head.

He lets you work him for a good while simply enjoying the service. All the extra liquid makes for an amazing slickness. You’re so beautiful to him like this. You know this is where you’re meant to be.

Gradually your mouth comes back to a consistent temperature. That’s Minwoo’s cue for a time to change. He runs a finger over your cheek to get your attention. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this, but it’s supposed to be a punishment.” He threads his fingers into your hair at the back of your head. “Loosen your jaw and keep those hands behind you.”

That’s the only warning you get before Minwoo gives a few shallow thrusts of his hips. You relax your jaw muscles and let him take over. He starts with slow strokes gradually getting deeper. Then with his hands firmly pressed to your head he sinks in all the way to the base.

Your throat stretches around his girth. With little warning your the muscles spasm. Your hands want to reflexively come to Minwoo’s legs but you keep them behind your back. He sees them twitch then still. You settle enough to swallow around him once then he pull out of your mouth completely. He barely let’s you catch your breath before pushing back in.

The pattern is repeated twice more. Your jaw, throat, knees, and scalp are sore but you sit still and let Minwoo use you. His thrusts this time are quicker and sloppy signaling how close he is to losing it. When he pushes into your throat again you barely flinch. This really pleases him. “You’re such a good girl for me aren’t you? Always a good girl. Shame you have to get punished like this.” His voices is so low and gravely it gives you chills.

Minwoo moans when you swallow around him. He’s way too close now. He pulls you off his length completely and takes it in one hands. The other hand holds your head back. “Keep that mouth open and don’t take your eyes off me.” He strokes himself quickly to the finish. Thick streams of cum land all over your face and tongue.

He puts the tip back between your lips and has you suck the last few drops from him. Once he’s sure that all of it has come out he uses the tip to smear the globs on your face into your skin. He spends extra time painting it over your lips like lip gloss. “I hope this helps you remember in the future just who you belong to.”

Minwoo takes a step back to admire his work. “I ought to take a picture of this and send it to Jungkook. He’d get the point pretty fast I think.” Just the idea gives you a thrill. Jungkook would no doubt use that as spank bank material for weeks. It would probably urge him on more than deter him.

“Too bad I’m definitely keeping this pretty image all to myself.” Minwoo must have had the same thought. He grabs the tissues from the coffee table, first cleaning himself up then helping you. You try to stand but your legs are asleep from the knee down. Minwoo picks you up by the waist to sit you on the couch. He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Thank you sweetheart. I do hope you learned your lesson.” He smirks and walks away.

While he’s gone you try to get some feeling back into your legs. Minwoo comes back with a warm washcloth and a cup of honey lemon tea. You let him wipe your face completely clean then take a sip of tea. It does soothe your sore throat. “Have some cough drops later. I wouldn’t want you to have a sore throat for work Monday.” He teases. At this point you wish Monday were much more than a day away.

-E.최

5 notes · View notes

moonbelt · 6 years

Text

»whiplash | 05

↳ fake dating au | college au

⇢ pairing: chanyeol | reader

⇢ genre: slight angst + fluff + sexual themes

⇢ word count: 8.471

⇢ description: as an aspiring big-shot photographer in a slump, you’re looking for something that inspires you and unfortunately — or maybe not — it comes in the form of a guy named Chanyeol.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 [final]

There was nothing particularly fascinating about love — in your opinion. To be frank, you thought the whole experience of butterflies in your stomach, fire in your veins as you fell in love was one of the most ridiculous clichés ever created.

The idea of love, at first sight, was amusing to the say the least. Everyone wants to believe in things written between starry nights and coffee dates. But at this point in life, you'd resigned yourself to think that kind of love only existed through the confines of recorded videos and fabled literature. Why build yourself up only to have it ripped apart?

But here's the thing about preconceived ideas. There's an eighty-twenty percent chance that your preconceived conceptions are wrong.

Relationships were just another type of addiction that gradually pulled you under until you lost who you were among someone else. And it was always something you'd thought people had fallen into willingly. People claimed they wanted love and friendship, but when it came down to it, all they really wanted was to change and control each other. To have someone put them on this grand pedestal. To have a distraction from being alone so they wouldn't have to take a hard look at themselves.

In the name of love, people do stupid things and hold on to beliefs that are in every sense of the word; broken—and even hazardous to their wellbeing. You swore you wouldn't be like one of those people. You regulated your interactions with anyone you felt even an inkling of a connection with. You rationalized everything you felt to mean something smaller. You didn't rely on them for anything and that made you stronger and more ineffable.

You'd accidentally fallen in love before, and all it did was cement your theory about intimate attachments equaling weakness. You had firsthand experience of how letting down your guard bruised you more than you could handle. And you didn't — couldn't — go through that again.

And yet, all those convictions swirling in your head do nothing to stop you from standing outside the one person that threatens to dismantle all your theories front door. Here he stands right in front of you, looking at you with a mix of disbelief and — you're not sure, vulnerability?

All the oxygen in the room evaporates to somewhere you don't know as Chanyeol moves closer into your space. Well, his space if you're being technical. You're the one intruding on his turf. Did he get taller and broader since you last saw him three weeks ago? You're not sure, but his frame takes up all the air around you and your mind short circuits for a minute or two.

It grates on you that your body still reacts when you see him and that your heart still gets so excited from being in mere breadths away from him.

"In the neighborhood and thought you'd stop by and say hello?" He's the first to break this stalemate silence and you recognize the sarcasm and thinly laced anger dripping from his tone, his eyes not once straying away from yours.

"No, I came to talk to you," as a second thought you add. "If that's okay."

You understood his anger. Heck, if the situations were reversed you doubt you wouldn't be snarky and sarcastic to him as well. He pushes himself past you and slides his keys into the door, his entire demeanor closed off. "Do what you want, but you should have called first. I have stuff to do."

He pulls his front door open and angles his head behind him to look down at you, waiting for you to say something in response.

"I... I didn't think I would be here today."

Your voice falters a bit but you refuse to back down. Even though being near him makes your insides want to burn. You came here to say something and goddamit, you're not leaving until you say it. Even if he doesn't care about it anymore.

"Look, [Y/N], I don't — we shouldn't do this." He steps into his apartment and now it feels like you are divided.

You look at your surroundings. You don't want anyone to just walk out and hear the two of you, for what its worth, you still have a smidgen of pride remaining. "Can we talk inside?"

"I'm not sure there's anything we need to talk about," he crosses his hands across his chest. "You made it clear that you didn't want to see me."

You feel so small and so stupid and although you're not one to usually regret your decisions. You find yourself doing exactly that. "I'm sorry, Chanyeol." You really are but now that you're standing face to face with him, the words that you had practiced in your head have faded into nothing. And your apology sounds weaker than you thought it could be.

Chanyeol closes his eyes, breathing in for a moment and you take this time to really look at him. His hoodie is three times too big for him and his hair doesn't look like it's seen a brush in days. He doesn't look that good. Not bad or deprived...just not good. Just not how he usually he does. It's light, but the shade deeper circles under his eyes tell you that he hasn't been as well off as you had originally thought. To be frank, he looks dead-tired. He steps away from his door and motions for you to walk in.

Unlike the last time you came over, there are no stray track pants littering the floor. In fact, his apartment looks impeccably clean. And for a moment you accommodate the idea that maybe he hasn't been hanging in here more than necessary. The pit in your stomach digs harder, making a house.

Another round of uncanny silence slips above the two of you. And although you had this fire burning through you earlier to have this conversation with him, now you're not ready for what's to come. "Can I, uh, use your bathroom?"

He raises an eyebrow at that but doesn't say anything to it. "Knock yourself out."

You try not to scamper to the bathroom but you're sure it must still appear that way to him regardless. Ah, shit. You're tempted to call Sehun for an impromptu pep talk. Or better yet Kyungsoo. Sehun's great and all but you need some quick words to raise your confidence bar.

You shut the bathroom door and lean against it, hoping that the few minutes you spend here would be able to help you figure out what you needed — wanted — to say. Thoughts and emotions collide catastrophically in your head and you're afraid your nervousness would render you incoherent if you don't get a grasp on the situation soon. You lean over to the sink and click it on, dousing your face repeatedly with cold water. You pat your cheeks and will your heart and mind to still for just one moment. You can do this. You've come this far ahead already, you can't back down now.

When you return to the living room, Chanyeol is standing in front of the kitchen's island, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and his attention focused solely on the notepad in front of him. He's furiously writing away and for a moment you're tempted to not disturb him.

You've seen him write a few times and no matter how many times you do, it still manages to mesmerize you all the same. You could watch him do this until the wee hours of the morning — not asking questions and never interrupting his work. You silently adore him — his intense focus and attention to emotion and details and then, out of nowhere or maybe out of somewhere really deep within you. You realize this unabated truth: that you love this man, and that it has drowned you.

Because of this, you decide that you need to use this tension stringing and knotting together in your stomach for good. So, you clear your throat and alert him to your presence.

He looks up from his work and a small but somber tilt peeks out on his lips. And a sharp pang filters through you, your fingers suddenly more jittery than before. "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

You fiddle with your fingers to prevent you from biting them to all damnation. If you were any closer to him, you bet he would hear the loud gulp you take to steady yourself.

"I like you, a lot. I love talking with you, I enjoy your company. You're dedicated and smart and...although I say I hate your puns, I find it oddly very sexy. I love how you're sure of yourself and your craft. I like how you're a really good friend to me and I hate that I was coward enough not to return the favor. Chanyeol, God, Chanyeol, I..." You trail off. You feel so incredibly stupid. Christ, why do you feel so pathetic?

As perfect as that all sounded, you knew there was no way Chanyeol was just going to accept that. You catch his gaze and he sighs out. "But?"

"I didn't think you could like me back."

Your answer lights something in him because the amount of irritation that floods off of him is enormous. He laughs but it comes out as disbelieving and mocking. "And now you think I like you? Is that why you're here? Did you decide on your own about my feelings about you?"

Biting your cheek hard, you do your best to keep your spine straight. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" His fervor has dimmed but you still hear it. "I want to know why."

"Why what?" You move your eyes from the top of his head to his face.

"Why you can say all those pretty good things about me—how you like me so much, how good you think we could be together— but then didn't even attempt to do anything about us. Is it me? Is there something about me that makes everyone think they should keep me around but not too close? Like I'm some sort of medal? Why am I never enough?"

You don't know how to go about this. There's raw neediness in his voice and he truly is asking for your answer. You wish you could scream at him that he is more than enough. More than anything you'd ever been used to. More than enough. Always more than that. You can tell its something that's plagued him for days on end and if you didn't know much about Chanyeol, you wouldn't understand the underlying question.

It doesn't matter that you didn't shatter his heart like Mai did; the principle is the same. Of course, there are things that you would never be able to prevent, no matter how hard you try, but you could've prevented this. You didn't have to chip at his slowly-mending heart, you didn't have to decide about stuff all on your own.

"I thought I was doing both of us favors. I thought I was preventing everything from getting messy. I —"

He stares at you and you can't form the words anymore. There's so much swimming in his eyes— anger, vulnerability, confusion, desire. But among all that, you know you're looking at a man who has feelings for you. You aren't alone in this.

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"It's not that simple."

"I didn't say it was. But rather than try to sort things out, you just packed yourself up and didn't look back."

You remain silent because you're not sure of what to say or rather, you're not sure how to say it. Frustrated by the lack of words on your part, Chanyeol maneuvers around the island countertop until he's somewhat close to you. He runs his hand through his hair once, twice and then again for good measure. "Why did you come here, [Y/N]?"

"Because I had to tell you. I couldn't leave it like that, it didn't feel —"

"So? Has this helped you? Did you need to see first-hand that I'm unhappy or something? Because this certainly hasn't helped me any." He places a hand on his forehead, tired, and is about to turn on the heel of his foot and walk off when you reach out and grip the edge of his sizes-too-big hoodie.

"Chanyeol."

He jerks his shirt away from your grip and whirls back so fast, your brain stutters from the whiplash and you barely have enough sense to move back to avoid crashing into him.

"Or did you come to fuck me? Is that what you came for?" He pulls the hoodie off his head in one swift motion, revealing the basic tee under it. "Have a repeat of the last time you were in here. I mean this is all fake, isn't it? The only real thing that happened between us was the sex, right?"

"Stop."

He doesn't. He keeps plowing. You don't even have buttons to push but he presses them all. The second button, the third, then the fifth... He keeps going, laying out all these things bare for you to hear. And even though some part of you had expected this, you can't help the closing feeling enrapturing your throat.

You interrupt his tirade. "You deserve more than I — anyone — can give you."

That wasn't an explanation for the things you've done; it was a withdrawal. But you meant it. He does deserve better. Someone who doesn't let insecurities or 'what if's' dictate their life. Someone that wants to be with him unapologetically. Someone who wasn't riddled down by plays of other people's bad choices. Someone who wasn't scared of problems that haven't even happened.

Is it so wrong to still want to be with him even though you acknowledge all these faults?

"You're absolutely right." He shuts his eyes for a moment before re-opening them. "I do deserve more. I deserve someone who wants to be with me in the way I want to be with them. And maybe it's my own fault for growing all these feelings for you when you never promised anything more than a pseudo-relationship. But you know what?"

You don't know and now you wish you had said everything you wanted to say earlier. There's no stupid right time to confess to someone. There's no way you can control something like that.

"I didn't think I was in this alone. I was foolish enough to think you were right there with me, breaking your ridiculous rule about repressing your feelings to dust."

Seconds tick on to minutes and you can feel your heart wrapped around his fist. Why did you ever buy into the stupid idea of trying not to fall in love with someone? What have you gained doing that? Yeah, sure heartbreaks are a pain in the ass and devoting yourself to someone only to have them trample on your feelings is a horrible situation. But, who says that's the only outcome? Why are you supposed to live your life being afraid of getting hurt? People — you — deserve to have that one good thing.

All putting up barriers around your heart does is make you more alone. Not alone alone, just lonely.

He motions with a tilt of his head to the door. "You should go... if you have nothing to say."

But you have a lot to say. So much in fact, that you stammer a good minute before anything useful falls from your lips. "I'm not leaving." Not again.

"[Y/N]," he says now and it's more of a plea than anything. Maybe he thinks you came all the way here to make a clean break from him? You didn't come here to tell him your feelings and then just leave. You came here to...You came here to come to terms with this feeling imploding in your chest.

"I am right here with you. I just..."

"Just what?"

"There are all these signs in my head telling me about everything that can go wrong but I also can't seem to fucking walk out that door."

He licks his lower lip and sighs. Not an exasperated sigh like all the others he's been letting out, it's more of a resigned sigh. Like it's clicking that you're not leaving here until the two of you have ironed this whole situation out. He leans back on the corner of the island counter, and the two of you have a mini stare off. Maybe he thinks you're gonna bolt out of the door the minute he blinks, you can't blame him.

"What made you think that I couldn't have feelings for you?"

First, there was that talk. The one you had the night before you cut off all contact. He'd talked about finding this wonderful person that was made for him and about the kind of love that only existed within beautiful literature. It wasn't something you'd ever associated with yourself. You and love and relationships had never been on the same page. And to be frank, you'd never even given it a chance. Never even entertained the idea. Until your walls came crashing down and the only thing that seems remotely relevant is that you don't need — you don't have to be on your own.

"I mean you're...you," you stumble around blindly. "You could have anyone you want."

A soft, if slightly incredulous yet unexpected laugh filters from his lips."You'd think I'd be able to make my own decisions at my age."

"Shut up," you mumble, averting your eyes to anywhere but him. "I'm not good with these things."

"What things?"

You don't realize he has moved from his position until he's ridiculously close to you that you can feel his body heat. Or maybe it's yours? Your chest is pounding faster than before. And you swear your bones are lighting with charged electricity. He must sense that you're not going to answer him because he doesn't waste time before adding:

"I want you. If I can have anyone I want, don't you think I should get to have you?"

"I don't want you to settle for me. I don't want you to regret any of the time you spend with me when you find someone greater."

Chanyeol furrows his eyebrows, puzzled. "Greater? Settle? [Y/N], when have I ever implied that being with you would be settling for something lesser?"

You huff out a frazzled breath, not wanting to relive that day but having to do so all the same. "You're waiting for your perfect person. I don't want to get left behind because of that."

"Oh, my," Chanyeol squints at you like he can't quite believe your thought process. "Sweetheart," he chastises and a part of you — a really minuscule one — melts.

"What?" You're not annoyed but a spike of mild irritation floods your veins.

"Just because I said that doesn't mean —" he cuts himself off. "Since you clearly didn't get what I was trying to say; lemme lay it down again." Chanyeol cocks his head to the side. "I was trying to hint at you. That I think this," he uses a hand to demonstrate between the two of you. "Is the real thing."

Hearing those words from out of his lips is like something akin to an epiphany. This chemistry that has been brewing between the two of you wasn't something you conjured up all on your own. It takes all your willpower — fortunately, that's a lot — to restrain yourself from turning into some inebriated schoolchild. However, try as you might, you can't stop the fragile smile from creaking at the corners of your mouth.

You manage to nod, barely. "But?"

"But I — we — should take it slower this time."

"Slower?" You probably sound dumb repeating what he just said but it's because you want to be sure. "That's not a thinly graced no, is it?"

He laughs at that and your body sings. "Of course not. I just think the both of us we have to sort some shit out... from scratch."

Again, you nod because you can't seem to be capable of doing anything else. Chanyeol moves away from you and finally plops down on one of the beige sofas in his admittedly big living room. He gives you a look, beckoning you over and you do as he implies. Sitting close but not too close to invade any personal space.

"The point," he strums along, "is that I get it, okay? You've never had an actual relationship before. You're thinking about all these possibilities that could happen but I don't care. And I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend right away, in fact, I'm not asking for any of that right now."

You twist your lips up at what he's saying, not quite understanding. "Then what are you asking for?"

"For a date," he says simply. "One date. Maybe two—"

A part of you bows to the heavenly power of euphoria.

"—or maybe four. Point is, I wanna keep seeing you."

You watch as he rakes a hand through his floppy-ish dark hair. Damn, he looks soft. He doesn't notice your little gawking fest because he continues on.

"I don't care when. You want to get a burger at night, cool. Early in the morning, great too. I'm willing to play by your guidelines, so long as you promise to communicate with me on things that are bothering you."

Pleasure and presentiment wage a war inside your head. "You'd really do that?"

You hold your breath when he fixes you with a firm, intense gaze. Then he wacks your chest and convictions even more by asking. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

Oh fucking no.

There must be something monstrous brooding on your facial features — not that you deny it — because Chanyeol cracks up like a geezer, laughing. You believe in love, of course, you do. But love at first sight? You'd rather cough up a lung than have a belief in something as fickle as that.

"Calm down, [Y/N]. I'm not saying that I fell in love with you like that."

You don't know why the sigh that reverberates through your body is one of relief. It's not like you don't want Chanyeol to be in love with you but it's the principle of the thing. You'd rather him fall in love with you as he got to know you, not some superficial shit like love at first sight. You scoff inwardly to yourself. "Then what are you saying?"

"I'd seen you a few times around campus before that day at the beach," he admits something you had no prior knowledge of. "And yeah, I'll confess, I thought you were hot — no, beautiful — but it's not like I was desperate to find out who you were."

"Great boost of confidence, thanks."

He shakes his head at your drooling sarcasm, grinning. "Make up your mind, sweetheart. Do you want me to be ridiculously enthralled with you, or do you want me to be honest?"

You bite down on your lower lip to keep the sly smirk from painting on your lips but he notices it anyways, so you give up and let it out. "You walked into that one."

"Anyway, I'd seen you before. Multiple times, probably. But the day, when we made eye contact? When you actually spoke to me? Something extraordinary happened then," he says matter-of-factly. "And I know you felt it too."

Does he have no sense of shame? Or where you just strung too tight? Your eyebrows lift up as you scoff lightly at him. "I've never seen a guy that throws around 'love at first sight' without looking at least a little bit embarrassed."

Chanyeol shrugs, not caring, a small smile gracing his features. "What can I say? You bring out the different sides of me."

You highly doubt his statement. For whatever it's worth, you think Chanyeol to be the kind of person that has little to no shame about the things that he holds close. The tension around your stomach uncoils itself and you loosen into the sofa.

"Okay, I'll admit, I did feel something." You raise a hand and scratch the skin under your eye. "Where are you going with this?"

"I don't want you to run off again. This connection between us? I wanna explore it."

"Me too."

His eyes light up like Christmas candles and for a second you're tempted to reach out and brush the tips of his hair and before you can weigh pro's and cons of it, you push forward and do just that. When he leans into your touch though, the entirety of your insides feels content.

Chanyeol says he wants to take things slow — for your sake — but at this moment, you want everything other than slow. You want his hands on you, you want his body flushed hard against your body, you want him with every fiber of your being. No halfsies this time. You feel safe with his hands wrapped around you and by shit, you want them around you right now. But you promised to abide by these new set of rules, you're not going to rush anything. You're not going to repeat your father's mistakes, you're not —

He clears his throat and your attention flitters back to him, your ears fiery hot because you've been caught absent-mindedly thinking about him. "Kissing you isn't rushing it, is it?"

An airy giggle bubbles up from your throat. "Are you asking for permission?"

"That and I hope we're both on the same page."

You shake your head at him. "I would never mind kissing you, Channie."

Maybe it's your nickname for him, maybe it's the permission you've given him, but either way, he's kissing you before either of you can think. And it's the kind of kiss that goes from a dim kindling to an inferno in one hot second.

His tongue slides through your parted lips in a deft stroke and you gasp at the intrusion. It takes about a millisecond — you're not counting — before you're kissing him back. Tongue dancing in intricate moves with his for a few earth-spinning moments. You can't seem to get close enough. Your fingers want to pull at his clothes but you still have an inkling of rationality to push them through his hair instead.

In stark comparison to the last time you kissed him, you are positive that this time, you're not the only one. Chanyeol winds one set of his fingers behind your neck, the other cradling your face, and tilts your head to the side to deepen the kiss. Your body presses deeper into his and his large frame steadies yours as he lets out an intensified groan that zips straight to your core.

"Tell me to stay," you breathe out, barely a whisper. Your body language speaking volumes in and of itself as you try, desperately, to catch your breath.

Your on either side of his lap now, your legs spread out. Chanyeol's head rests cooly on your forehead and for one dark moment you imagine him with all his clothes off on the floor and your bodies getting closer in more ways than one.

"No."

His answer startles you into clarity and for a brief minute or two, you stare at him shocked. Did he just? You open your mouth several times before you close it again. Willing everything you have inside yourself to say something back.

"Y-you don't want me to?"

Chanyeol shakes his head, a ghost of a smile not on his lips but in his eyes. "I don't want to command you to stay. If you want to stay then stay."

Yeah, that's all well and good. "But do you want me to?"

"I'm not saying this for my own benefit. I want you to make this decision. If you want to stay here — if you want to stay with me, then, I want you to do it because you want to. Not in some roundabout way to please me."

You have no idea where this relationship is heading towards but you know that you're heart is already there with him. For such a long time, you'd believed that being alone was the answer and that you would be better off like that but now, you're not sure anymore.

Being with him is like being on a high. Not the kind of high that makes you feel bad when you hit your lowest point. It's different. It's a kind of high that pulls you up, drags you up from the ground and throws you into the sky, teaching you how to fly — maybe — along the way.

There's a door inside of you that Chanyeol is knocking on and finally, you open it. "I want to stay."

And Chanyeol doesn't slam the door shut. "I want to stay with you too."

Chanyeol keeps you to that promise of taking you out on numerous dates. You can't count with two hands how many you've been on in the last month or two or three. Point is, you're spending more time with Chanyeol than with Sehun, [he's characteristically jealous], but you don't mind it.

This time you're back on a beach. Not the same as the first one you'd gone to, instead you and Chanyeol had driven an hour and a couple more to a different one that promised clear water and bustling people. The only thing seemingly true about that statement is the people. But it's not like you could do much harm to something you found on the internet, so you let it slide.

It's supposed to be date #24, but you're not counting. He's perched on the sand, scribbling away in that leather-bound book of his and you're busy taking shots of other people that peak your interest. You like dates like this, the ones where the two of you enjoy each others company more than anything. Sometimes when his eyes catch yours, he throws a silly face your way and you make it a point to stick your tongue at him and stomp away.

Once you've decided that you've taken enough photos for the day, or maybe it's just the exhaustion finally catching up to you, you flop down on the sand beside his body. He flips his notebook shut and glances your way, a really wide smile gracing his face. And shit, you feel amazing when he smiles at you.

"Question."

He lies on his back, body incredibly close to yours. "Fire away."

"You ever heard of sporks?"

"A what now?"

You roll your eyes at him, plowing your hands through the sand and reveling in the feeling of it cascading through your fingers. "I know you heard me. Please don't make me repeat my idiocy again."

He chuckles at that. "If you don't mind me asking: what the fuck are sporks?"

Sitting up, you clear your throat, preparing to give him a lecture for a lifetime.

"They're like forks but also spoons. You've never seen one of those before? They kind of look really stupid and are really inefficient but they sound cool so..." you shrug your shoulders.

"You're trying to tell me that a bunch of stuffy old people at some big company sat down in a meeting and came up with...that?"

You nod your head, shooting him a faux-prideful smile. "That's right. One of man's many wonders."

He rolls, literally he does, across the sandy plain. His throaty laugh coming out in breaks as he clutches his sides in despair. You laugh alongside with him, albeit not as loudly, and watch him as he claps his hands like a seal. It's endearing, really.

"Question." He says a thousand minutes later when he has finally regained composure, sitting cross-legged in front of you.

"Shoot."

"Did you ever think of me as naïve?" His eyebrows furrow at his own question. "Maybe not now, but before?"

You tap your lower lip as you mull over it. Well, you wouldn't say that Chanyeol was naïve. Hopelessly optimistic, yes, but not downright naïve. But maybe that can be considered as naïveté to some degree? You have no idea but you decide to go with it.

"Maybe a little. I mean, you were talking about all that love love stuff and I was skeptical about it so, of course, it seemed like you were naïve to me."

"Great," he drowns in his own sarcasm. "How about now?"

"Uh, lets just say your hopeful optimism is one of the reasons I love you."

"So, you love me." If it's a question or a statement you don't know.

"Was this just some roundabout way to get me to say that?" You scoff at his antics, shaking your head in mock-disappointment.

He raises his hand in surrender. "What? Me? How dare you accuse me of such a thing?"

You burst out laughing at him, small — ridiculously small — tears bundle at the edges of your eyes. "I love you, Chanyeol. I thought we'd already gone through this?"

You had... Maybe a month ago? You're not that good with the semantics but one night in the fast food joint near your apartment, the two of you were having one of your impromptu get-togethers. You'd tried and succeeded in stealing a handful of his fries as he looked at his phone for a second.

He'd caught you in the act but had allowed you continue on. You smiled like you were insane and sighed out. "Man, I love you." At first, it shocked him more than it did you. You stared at the red tabletop for a good thirty seconds before Chanyeol snorted aloud and grinned at you, teeth and all. "Same, sweetheart."

For some reason, he hadn't asked you to explain anything. The two of you carried on, you with stealing his fries and him with stealthy taking out of your drink that he claimed to hate, but ended up worshiping. And for the first time, you realized that love wasn't something that came in with a bang! Yeah, sure connections happened like that. It was either there or it wasn't. But with love, it was something you couldn't hide. It brought you to life. And it was always there, whether you try to acknowledge it or not.

"We did," Chanyeol's voice brings you from the past. "But I'll never get over hearing you say it."

The insides of your stomach do flip flops and inhale dandelions. It's a beautiful feeling, to feel loved and to love someone back. Soon after that, because you and him promised to watch some new fantasy/horror movie that just came out, the two of you pack camp and head back home.

These days, you hang out more in his place than yours. Not necessarily because you want to. Sehun just seems to always have his girlfriend over and you'd rather not third-wheel if you can help it. Plus, it doesn't help that Chanyeol's apartment is super welcoming and compared to your apartment, the WiFi there is spectacular. And let's not forget, it's easier to steal his sweatshirts when you spend most of your time there anyway.

Getting home is faster than it was to go to the beach and you're surprised that neither of you are as tired as you had expected. Chanyeol is still wary of watching the horror movie though, he has this look on his face — like you kicked his puppy or something. You would never do such a thing but with the way he's looking at you, you wouldn't be able to tell.

"Relax, sweetheart," you fling the endearment haphazardly, grinning lopsidedly. "I'll protect you from the big bad murder guy."

The two of you are situated on his bed, his laptop on his lap. You're about to hit play for the film to start and Chanyeol looks like he's actively forcing himself not to scream. The movie hasn't even started yet.

"What if it's not a guy?"

You shrug. "Doesn't matter. I'll fight any monster that comes for you, sound good?"

He must figure that this is as good as it's gonna get because he nods and you immerse in the movie. He clutches your arm tight and doesn't let go but at least he keeps his eyes open. Forty minutes into the movie and you realize what a horrible mistake you've made. There's absolutely nothing great about this movie! The generic couple of college students that went somewhere with absolutely nobody for spring break, somehow end up pissing off the resident serial killer and hence have to survive.

As usual, everyone but the person that caused the whole mess dies first. You tsk at the laptop screen, highly dissatisfied with your choice of entertainment.

One of the women decides it’s a perfectly good time to go skinny dipping with the love of her life — they are supposed to be hiding from a murderer. What makes this a time to go have a sexed-up scene is beyond you.

"This bitch is stupid and now the only guy worth any common sense is gonna die."

"I thought you wanted them to die?"

"Not like this. They have to put up a fight for it to mean something. Now it's just like they want to die, you know?"

He doesn't know but he doesn't say. Even though you're not particularly loving the movie, Chanyeol seems to be enthralled by it. He seems to be the target audience the producer was aiming for. You rest your head against Chanyeol's shoulder; bored. At least one of you is enjoying it. Occasionally, Chanyeol's scream lights up the room and you laugh meekly at him while trying to subtly calm him down.

You're about ready to doze off when you hear the buzz from the front door. Someone's here. Your head jerks towards the wall-clock. It's almost 12 am. Why would someone feel the need to come over now? Chanyeol is gone with the movie and you figure you'd rather go and check who's there. Wary, you pull the covers away from your body and head to the living room.

The peephole in the door does nothing to tell you who's out there. All you can see is a maroon colored shirt, you sigh to yourself, unbolting the door and opening it slightly. Your breath hitches in your throat when you find Mai standing there. For a brief second, you're tempted to slam the door in her face.

Her expression darkens the moment her eyes find yours, her pretty face a mixture of shock, ugly jealousy and anger.

"What are you doing here?" She demands like she has some kind of right.

Man, you're tired to a Capital T with dealing with this girl.

You've never prided yourself on being the bigger person, but you see yourself doing so right now. Holding your hands to your side.

"Ha, I think the more important question is, what are you doing here? And why? It's not like you're welcome or anything."

The wrinkles in her forehead — that you hadn't noticed before — tighten. "Can you not be rude for, like, one second?"

"Not exactly," you don't see the point in fueling this jealous rivalry she has going on.

She's the one that's been playing Ms. Rude since you'd set eyes on her. You wonder where she gets her self-confidence from and if you can get it in a bottle. And then you snicker at your own thought, cracking yourself up.

Mai decides to ignore your answer. "Is Chanyeol here?"

"He's watching a movie."

She nods her head, trying to peer on her tippy toes last you. "Oh, I see. How about you?"

This time you can't stop the snicker from leaving your lips. "What about me?" You cock your head to the side. "No, Mai," you pronounce the words extra slowly to prove a point. "I am not currently watching the movie."

Intense annoyance flares through her eyes. "Can I speak with Yeol? I need to speak with him. Can I come inside?"

You gawk at her for a second, maybe more. You can't believe her. In fact, you've never understood her at all. An enigma that you have no intention of trying to figure out.

"I don't think Chanyeol would like you coming inside his apartment unannounced. Why don't you try calling him and stop by some other time?"

Chanyeol's ex rolls her eyes as she twists her lips into an ugly frown. "He doesn't answer my calls. You think I would be here if he picked up?"

Well, you don't know.

"I think you should go."

"Look, I need to talk with him."

She emphasizes the need part so eloquently that you have the urge to ask. "Why?"

Mai doesn't like to be questioned apparently, because she scowls even harder. "That's none of your business, __."

Classic Mai, fucking up your name for some type of dominance quest.

"It's [Y/N]," you force out in a pseudo airy voice. "Which I know you know. And you know what?"

She doesn't move a muscle to interrupt so you press on, sneering at her. "I know you're trying to make me feel like I'm having your leftovers or something by purposely messing my name up every goddamn time you see me, but it's not working. You can call me whatever the heck you want and it won't change the fact that I'm Chanyeol's girlfriend."

And you know, you shouldn't be egging her on. It's only going to bite you in the ass later on but by fuck, you can't stop. The sight of this woman—this woman who had the most beautiful man [in and out] in the whole world and then proceeded to cheat on him with some low life sets you on fire. You can't shut up and frankly, you don't even want to.

You push the door open a little bit wider. "He loved you. He's been keeping the truth about you from his mom for months. His entire family thinks he cast you aside when in reality, you're the one that shattered his heart. You're the one that made him feel like he'd never be enough. He didn't tell Yixing, your best friend, what you truly did. Everyone thinks you're some kind of victim, bullshit."

It's a small tick but you see a part of herself cringe back at your words.

"But you don't deserve it," you tell her. "And you don't deserve anything with Chanyeol. You're here to apologize, right? To try and win his forgiveness so he never talks to his parents and Yixing about it, right? You don't want anyone to think of you as a monster, even if you know you are one."

This time she has the decency to feel embarrassed or maybe humiliated. You can't be bothered to look for the difference. It doesn't matter to you either way.

"B-but I love him," she says, and for what it's worth, some hidden part of you hears her.

You're sure your mother loved your dad. Or at least, at some point she did. But humans have to be held accountable for their actions. If only everything could be forgotten. If only. But people's hearts don't deserve to be trampled on like that. They don't deserve to have their trust severed by someone they would've given all their days for. And you'd be tenfold stupid to ever agree with ideals like that.

"Do you realize how unfair your love is?" There's a sharpness to your voice you don't recognize.

Mai is stunned into silence and you bite your lower lip, contemplating if you should go on. And maybe it's the look in her eyes that says she's not ready to give up that makes you add your next sentences.

"I won't stand for you weaseling your way to him only to break him again. I'll tell him you came by but honestly, if he asks for my opinion on the matter, I'll tell him you're not worth any of his time."

"[Y/N]," she pleads. There's a huge desperation swimming in both her voice and eyes.

"You hurt Chanyeol. I'm not letting you hurt him again. So you can go back home. Pick up your phone and call him because I'm not letting you into his apartment."

"Or don't at all."

His throaty voice grips you and has you whirling around, startled. Even Mai looks shocked beyond compare. He pushes forward and looks down at Mai directly and she cowers a little bit. He sighs out, running a hand through his spazzed hair.

"Look, Mai. You exhaust me. If someone ignores your phone calls, the general consensus is that they don't want to talk to you, isn't that correct?"

She doesn't nod but you're certain that if she could, she would've. But instead, you answer in her stead. "That's right."

"Exactly," he smirks at you through your haze before turning back to his ex. "I really don't want to talk with you. Every time we do, I get drained of all my happiness and end up hating you even more. You already made your decision and I've made mine."

Moments pass with the three of you standing like that, not doing anything. And you think maybe Mai has become incapable of using her words. You clear your throat and two pairs of eyes flicker onto your frame.

"And that's that. Drive safely," your voice has softened but you're sure she can hear the finality in it.

You don't know what she does next because before she can do or say anything, you're closing the door in her face. Happy to finally not be looking into her eyes. Ah, you hate this ex business. You never know how Chanyeol would feel about you crossing over this line. You never talk about Mai with him and you don't want to start now. But maybe it's good he knows? What if she comes back again and—

"You know, I've never had someone defend me like that."

"Must be dating the wrong people."

He chuckles and this is the first time you've seen him not get emotionally down after seeing Mai. And God, if it doesn't feel good. You reach forward and wrap your hands around him, drowning in the smell of him and the rigid feel of him.

"Yeah," he laughs out. "Must be."

You grin into his shirt. "How much did you hear?"

"Almost all of it. Can't believe you adore me this much, [Y/N]." His hands close tighter around your torso and you breathe out deeply.

"Yeah well, you would've done the same."

Feeling him nod, your ears heat up and you pull back from his body in hopes that he doesn't notice it but he does and his smile looks like it could carve heaven right in your chest. He reaches down and traces his fingers across your cheek.

"More likely than not. I mean, I do love you."

He cups your cheek and you lean into it. You have Chanyeol. Not for a halftime. Not just parts of him. Not the good parts that he just wants to show you. You have all of him. Everything. The character flaws, the greatness — everything.

Relationships had always seemed like a type of addiction that people had fallen into willingly but now, with this guy that made you want to glide across the earth with him. You realize that you will gladly allow it drag you down and consume you, especially because he's right by your side. He had waited for you and now, you waited for him. It's about opening yourself up to one another, imperfections and all, trying to find a half that fits with you.

It's a craving for something deeper. Something the words in Chanyeol's book or the pictures you take can't depict. It's something you feel and only then can you truly understand why it's important to not be so alone.

"I love you," Chanyeol pecks the tip of your nose and then the side of your mouth. "I love you," he says again, this time obnoxiously. He grabs your face between both of his palms and continues the process everywhere else.

You try to squirm from his lips. "Oh my gosh, stop!" But when he doesn't, you drag your body away from him — a huge feat in and of itself — and run as fast your legs can carry you back to the solace of his room and slam the door closed, leaning against it.

"Hey! Open up! I'm trying to love my girlfriend here!" He shouts, cackling, as he pounds mockingly on the door.

"Shut up! I'm not opening this door unless you promise to not slobber all over my face."

"How can I promise something so—"

You kick the door with the side of your foot as a warning and he backtracks.

"Of course, I'll stop. I'll swear." He chants tauntingly but you pull the door open anyways.

Not expecting him to push the door open so fast, you practically jump back until the heel of your foot feels the edge of the bed. You wag your finger at him with as much fervor as you can muster. "Don't do it."

But he does it. And suddenly your back is on his bed, his face inches from yours, his body hovering above yours and your breaths mangling into each other. He doesn't move any closer, so you do the honors of pushing up on your elbows and planting your lips on his. It's intoxicating and has you giggling in minutes. He abides with your demands quickly, not wasting time in tangling his tongue with yours.

"Love you," he pulls away from your lips and proceeds to kiss all over your face but this time you're smiling uncontrollably.

"Say it again."

He does and how your body sings. And then another realization dawns on you. If love was a competition, you're learning a lot from him. You don't need Chanyeol. Christ, no. You want him. You want him so much that it consumes you and fuels you up. He's teaching you that you don't have to walk through fire to prove you want him or love him and there's no need to be so nervous about the things you don't know.

This is foreign territory, sure, but he's showing you the ropes. And with the way he's looking at you, you can't exactly complain. He uses a hand to raise the end of your — his — shirt up and his lips placate themselves on the most sensitive points of your stomach.

Yeah, he's definitely on a mission to show you all the affection you've been missing. One touch on your heart at a time.

a/n; this is the end of whiplash!! i really hope you enjoyed it and please send me feedback or anything you liked from it :)) thank you so very much for reading! and please do tell me if you liked this!! im happy you stayed with me >.<

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imagine-loki · 6 years

Text

Runaways

TITLE: Runaways CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 6 AUTHOR: SassyShoulderAngel319 ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine around the turn of the twentieth century, Loki gets sick of being a Prince of Asgard for a while and runs away to New York City, where he falls in with a ragtag group of newsies, including you… RATING: PG/K+ NOTES/WARNINGS: This has been a LONG time coming. Back when I was submitting this consistently my laptop broke and then stuff like college happened and it fell through the cracks. But I’m back now and I’m going to try to finish this! No warnings I don’t think, not even name-calling. PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: P, Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch 5

^^^^^

APARTMENT FIRE EVACUATES HUNDREDS! The headline, at least, was more interesting to the crowds than the day before’s.

No-No sold her papers faster than Loki did again, but not by much. They were in Fitz’s spot, which was, indeed, a little slower. Still, her last paper was gone five minutes before Loki’s was. She gave him a smug smirk when she was done and then leaned against a building with her arms folded across her ribs until he was finished.

The sun was dipping low. “We should go grab the evening edition,” she advised, “but only like thirty each. No way we’re gonna sell fifty or even a hundred. Not gonna happen. Not here. Not even with you and me.”

“Excuse me?” a lady asked Loki, who turned around. “Where’s the little boy who usually sells the newspapers around this area?”

No-No skirted around Loki to stand in front. “He was havin’ a rough time sellin’ ‘round here so I—well, we—traded him places for a couple o’ days till he gets his confidence back. My spot tends to get more customers,” she explained. The lady was dressed nicely. A string of pearls around her neck, a lush violet skirt with a matching blazer, feathered hat, and white tights. Her skin was pale with some makeup on it, including pinkish-purple paint on her lips.

She contrasted so sharply with No-No that for a moment Loki was reminded how dirty and rough No-No was.

He blinked but didn’t say anything.

The lady, who was probably in her late thirties, nodded. “I see. I just usually buy a paper from him to give to my husband.”

“Well ma’am, evenin’ pape’ll be out soon but we’s outta the day pape. If ya wanna head over closer to The World’s gates, that’s where Fitz is. By the time ya get there he’ll have the evenin’ edition, I bet,” No-No said, as polite as she could with her rough manners.

The lady nodded her head. “Alright. Thank you.”

“If ya don’t know where The World is, we’re actually headin’ there right now to pick up the evenin’ pape.”

“I’m alright. Thank you. My husband won’t die if he doesn’t get the paper tonight.”

“Well if you sees some other newsie who’s already got the evenin’ edition or a copy of the mornin’ pape, you’d certainly make their day by pickin’ up a copy,” No-No commented, tipping her cap to the lady. “Have a nice evenin’ ma’am. Little Fitz’ll be back here in a couple days.”

“Have a nice evening,” the lady replied, sounding a bit eager to leave before edging around Loki and No-No and vanishing into the deepening afternoon.

Loki and No-No shrugged at each other before heading back to The New York World’s gates for the evening edition. Loki walked behind No-No since she was more familiar with the streets and didn’t seem to want to walk directly next to him. The bun in her hair made a goose-egg in her cap, wisps of hair that had escaped hanging against her neck.

The sunlight shone in Loki’s eyes as they rounded a corner—and he caught sight of two pinpricks of shadows, one in the center of each of No-No’s earlobes. Scar tissue built up around holes.

She had pierced ears.

Not something he would have pegged on her.

Then again, he remembered what she and Tony had mentioned about her past: she was from the west and her parents had died. Her parents were probably better-off than she was all by herself. She’d probably pierced her ears when she was younger and her parents were still alive.

Loki coughed as they walked past a haze of smog and blinked when they made it through. No-No scoffed at how gross the smoke was but didn’t make any comments about it. “So, uh,” Loki began. “You were being pretty nice, giving up some business to another newsie by recommending that lady pick up a paper somewhere else.”

No-No shrugged. “Well, gotta sell where we can, and I didn’t have nothin’ to sell, so might as well give another newsie a chance at gettin’ an extra penny,” she remarked over her shoulder. “‘Sides, we made some good money today. Better th’n Fitz woulda done ‘ere.”

When they made it to The World’s gates, the little curly-haired Fitz was just tucking a small stack of evening editions into his canvas bag.

“Heya Fitzie,” No-No greeted, ruffling his hair. “How’d ya do t’day?”

The kid lit up like a shooting star. “Great! I got a dollar from a man in a suit who was in too much of a hurry to wait for me to count his change so he just let me keep it! A whole extra dollar!”

Loki’s heart broke as No-No laughed and encouraged the kid, saying he was doing great. These kids had so little. No one except each other knew they existed. If one newsie vanished, no one in the rest of the city would even notice. They had nothing but each other and a couple coins each. He wished he could give them some of the excess wealth of Asgard. They might actually do something useful with it—like get warm clothes and a decent cleanup.

Loki and No-No picked up their evening editions—TROLLEY CRASH IN MANHATTAN, NO DEATHS—and headed back out to the city.

“So what happens if we don’t sell all of these anyway?” Loki asked.

No-No snorted. “Well nows the companies buy ‘em back full price, but had you come two months ago and didn’t sell everything ya woulda just ate the cost yourself,” she replied.

“What happened in between?”

“‘Bout a month ago there was a strike o’ newsies against The World and The Journal after a price dispute when the war ended. Newsies for da two refused to sell papes until it was settled. Then Pulitzer and Hearst agreed to eat our losses. So things ain’t great but they ain’t terrible neither.”

Loki clenched his jaw. Why did he talk to her when her grammar made him want to rip his cochleae out?

The rest of the evening was rather uneventful. Just selling more newspapers to people on their way home from work. The trolley crash news from earlier in the day got people interested, even if the “no deaths” was a little bland. No-No grunted that it wasn’t a bad headline but crazy ones sold a good deal better.

Once they were done, they got some dinner and went back to the boardinghouse. They were the first ones back.

No-No went to take her shoes off upstairs and didn’t return downstairs to the boys’ area for a good fifteen minutes. When she did, she was barefoot with her hair hanging loose. She didn’t say a single word to Loki, just crossed into the washroom and shut the door.

When she reemerged another fifteen minutes later, her hair was wringing wet but clean and brushed out. The twine she’d taken from her newspaper bundle the day before was wrapped around her right wrist. She sighed and plopped onto Loki’s bunk while he was drawing his view out the window. “I live for days I get back earlier than the others and actually get a chance to wash my hair out,” she said plainly, peering over his shoulder but trying not to.

“You can watch if you want,” Loki informed her, noticing. “My brother always did when we were younger so I’m used to it.”

No-No brushed her soaked hair behind her ear and watched him sketch the New York skyline outside the window. “Well, usually peoples don’ like no one spyin’ on them drawin’. Thought I was bein’ polite.”

“You were, don’t worry. But if you want to watch, I don’t mind.”

The peace only lasted a few more moments before three other newsies burst in at top speed, hooting and hollering, calling for No-No.

“What is it?” she asked, standing up, nearly bonking her head on the bunk over Loki’s.

“Rogers ‘n Barnes sent a kid over from Brooklyn. Says they wants to have a word with you,” Bruce explained, out of breath. No-No bit her lip, a worry line appearing between her eyebrows. She peeled a flake of dry skin off her lip with her teeth and licked at the blood it left behind.

“Did they’s say why?” she pressed.

“Nope,” Tony replied. “Kid’s outside if ya wanna go tonight. Said he’d come back in da mornin’ too if ya don’t.”

No-No rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, I ain’t goin’ alone with no messenger. Who wants to go ta Brooklyn with me?”

Everyone in the room looked away except Loki, who didn’t understand why everyone balked.

No-No rolled her eyes. “Ah c’mon fellas. It’s Brooklyn. Rogers and Barnes’ turf. They ain’t gonna hurt us,” she complained. Still no one met her gaze except Loki, whose forehead was wrinkled in confusion. Tony had mentioned that Rogers and Barnes—whoever they were—taught No-No how to sell newspapers. Why did everyone seem scared?

“We knows they ain’t gonna hurt us,” Rhodey said. “They’s just… really scary. An’ big.”

No-No scoffed and set her hands on her hips. “Fine. I’ll head out for Brooklyn tomorrow mornin’ and if anyone’s brave enough to come with me then, well, ya gots tonight to whip yourself up for it,” she decided, turning on her heel and heading for the stairs to go talk to the messenger.

Loki looked back down at his drawing. He closed his sketchbook and slipped it back in his pocket.

The drawing was nowhere near finished but the city wasn’t going anywhere.

And he wasn’t either.

#Loki #Others #Submitted fic #submission #runaways #chapter 6 #SassyShoulderAngel319

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