#ahoy mateys au

[making-my-wey-down-town]

Mermaids SIRENS!!

[hershelwidget]

Guys 2: Electric Boogaloo

Sequel to THIS POST

The GUPS under the cut + Soup Man !

Those first two designs are for the AU... Professor Inkling’s MAFIA skin (in the timeline where he stays to take over his father) and the Octopod whilst under Jarvis’ control :) I’ll explain all that better some other time I promise-

[quitethepirategal]

tag fix.

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Two: cellophane wrapping on funeral flowers

tw: alcohol, intoxication

It’s always sweltering in this damn restaurant. 

Countless patrons pack themselves tightly into booths and tables throughout the building. Their hands palm at sparkling tabletops as their wine glasses stay full and their food comes out hot, steam wafting behind plates like the smoke plume of a train. You’re unsure how they can smile through the heat that radiates off of their bodies as they stuff their mouths full and chuckle with friends. Suffocating, you wipe the sweat from your brow. It clings to every inch of your body, soaking you as if you’re a drowned cat. 

Despite your discomfort, you perform your job to the best of your ability. Weaving between tables, you lead guests to their seats before racing back to the kitchen to package to-go orders, and you’ve only gotten yelled at once tonight by the waitstaff for incorrectly seating a family of five. 

(And the fight that ensued from Bianca—or, Bee—defending you was only mildly uncomfortable. You still feel the gaze of every patron staring at you as if you’re some poor creature to be doted on.)

Really, tonight is no different from any other night that you work. Things are always semi-chaotic at a restaurant as successful as Sapori—a controlled chaos, as Bruce would remind you—but your pay as hostess is manageable. And they usually turn a blind eye when your hours start to brush close to the fifty mark within a week. You’re glad Bruce pays you under the table for that time. It’s not entirely legal—making money without reporting it to the government—but it helps you when you desperately need it.  

A blind eye—it’s always better this way when you don’t have someone trying to look out for you. 

Except, someone is always looking out for you, which is why you shouldn’t be surprised to find Aelin strutting through the entrance with an obnoxious foam pirate hat on her head. It’s poorly made, and the Jolly Roger design is beginning to peel. Your first instinct is to grab one of the menus and hide your face, but she’s much too perceptive for you to slip away without consequence. You manage to hide away most of your grimace with a smile as she approaches your counter. 

“Ahoy, matey!” she exclaims, though she uses only half of the enthusiasm you know she can muster. 

“I don’t think Jack Sparrow ever said that throughout any of the movies,” you deadpan. 

“Captain Jack Sparrow, mind,” Aelin corrects as she points to her hat. Made for a child, it sits too small on her head and knocked slightly to the side. 

“Right, of course.” 

“I thought you would’ve remembered that better after you oh so ceremoniously dubbed me Sparrow yourself, after him,” she eggs.

“Row,” you correct, “and it was well deserved.” Playfully, Aelin sticks her tongue out at you while she fiddles with the foam hat on her head. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to pick you up,” she responds as if you should already know the answer. 

Just as you open your mouth to question her further, the answer smacks you. Halloween. No wonder why she’s wearing that stupid hat. It all comes back to you—the car ride, your promise to attend the party at Terminus with her; everything. You had agreed to it, and then promptly forgotten about it, which is why you’re nearing hour eleven of your eight hour shift. Had you remembered about your previous promises, you would have gone home a long time ago to recharge before spending the remainder of your exhausting night in a packed nightclub during a holiday. 

“You’re off soon, aren’t you?” Aelin asks as your silence starts to stretch. 

“Uhm, yeah,” you answer as your eyes flicker to the clock on your left. Five to ten. “Just… give me a few minutes and I’ll be good to go.” 

In reality, no amount of preparation can ever truly ready you for any sort of intense social outing, and you dread arriving at the club the entire ride there. As you sit in the passenger’s seat of her car, you find the palms of your hand slick with sweat. No matter how many times you try to wipe it off on your pants, it only seems to be immediately replaced with more perspiration. You’ve been to Terminus a few other times before this, all by request of Aelin, and still it’s not enough to become comfortably familiar. Everything is always too loud, too much, too close. 

But this is Aelin—you’d do anything for her. 

So when you find yourself in the private parking lot outside of the building, you try your best not to complain. It stands several stories tall, a hulking baronial beast that looks like an old storage building turned partyhouse. Foggy windows allow you to catch a glimpse of the sanguine lights flashing within, and you swear you see the panes shake with the beat of the music that bleeds through the stone.

A deep throb begins to gnaw at the soles of your feet and you feel a tension headache bloom by your temples as Aelin leads you to the VIP entrance. The outside area is well maintained with clean stone and well illuminated lights. There are several signs that state overall rules and regulations drilled into walls on either side of the entrance. Still, it’s not enough to hide the half-smoked butts of cigarettes and spilled liquor. In an attempt to quell your nerves, you suck in a deep breath of the cool night air as you remind yourself it can’t get much worse than this. 

Except it does—because it always does. 

You almost don’t recognize the large figure that stands outside of the entrance, but once those dark eyes land on you and you feel that pang rip through your stomach, you know it can’t be anyone other than Simon Riley. His gaze meanders back and forth between you and Aelin. Soft, inquisitive even. He lingers on you for a beat too long as if questioning your appearance like he can’t comprehend why you’re here in a place like this. As if he knows you don’t belong here. 

“Evenin’ ladies,” he casually greets. 

Even if you hadn’t recognized him visually—which would have been an odd feat, considering the sheer size of him—his voice would have been more than enough to jog your memory. You can still feel the way his breath tickled your ear the other night while playing pool. His timbre holds a delicious baritone that you swear can haunt your dreams. 

“Stuck on guard duty tonight, Riley?” Aelin teases. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Simon humors. 

“Shame. Well, Chip and I—” she continues as she tosses an arm around your shoulder to bring you close, “—are going to get wasted.” 

A slight smirk pulls at Simon’s lips. “That so?” he asks playfully. He says it as if he’s tempted to challenge her, but he steps to the side after a beat while gesturing to the open door behind him. “Cheers.” 

There isn’t any time to mutter a thanks before Aelin’s pressing onward, dragging you along with her. 

Walking into Terminus is what you imagine walking into hell feels like. Aptly named, thick air threatens to singe your hair, and you feel your diaphragm screaming as it attempts to suck a breath into your lungs. Countless patrons dance beneath florid lights, and it seems as if Aelin isn’t the only festive one tonight. Many of them wear masks, cheap costumes, or unabashed lingerie. The cheering from the dance floor forces your eardrums to pulse as if you’re listening to the screams of the damned. You swallow as you paw at your left ear—it aches already. 

Aelin yells something at you that isn’t strong enough to cut through the chatting of the crowd. Grimacing, you shake your head. Pointing her finger upwards, you’re vaguely able to read her lips. 

Up top. More room. 

Though the VIP section is usually reserved for smaller groups of people, the second floor is just as suffocating as the bottom. There is slight reprieve to be found in the fresher air and more restricted population, but not much. Aelin makes a beeline to the first bartop she sees, leaving you no choice but to follow along behind her. The bartender glistens beneath purple-toned lights that dance off her body glitter in a hypnotizing way like she’s a fairy lost in some concrete prison. Mirrors line the ceiling above her, so when you look up you’re really looking back down at yourself. Wide eyes, clammy skin, and an aura of exhaustion reflects back at you perfectly.

Once your drinks are filled, Aelin leads you to a private table in the far corner of the floor. It skirts close to the railing of an overhanging balcony that overlooks the dance floor below. Somehow it’s quieter. The speakers are positioned to blast their music toward the bottom floor rather than right in your face, giving you room to breathe through the discordance of the club. Swallowing, you toy with the rim of your cup, running the pad of your finger along the edge while trying to fight off the fatigue that yanks at your legs. 

“Well?” Aelin speaks up expectantly. She poses the word as if she had given you a question to answer, but it’s the first thing that’s been said between the two of you since you took your seats. “How have you been? How have you really been? We weren’t really able to talk the other night with all the other distractions, but I’ve been missing you.” 

“Oh. Well, you know…” you start only for the words to die in your throat. 

It’s never easy answering a question like this—not without lying. How are you supposed to twist your life into something interesting when you’re anything but? All you’ve done for the last few months—no, years—is work. Work, pick up extra shifts, and sleep with whatever free time you manage to scrounge up. Every pence you earn goes towards bills. You’re nothing but a cog in a machine. 

No, the only things worth telling Aelin are the things you can’t speak. You’re not sure your tongue would know how to form the words, but it’s not like this is anything new. You’ve gotten used to dodging the invasive questions. You’ve gotten good at lying. Sometimes you can almost convince yourself that you’re just a very imaginative storyteller rather than the rotten deceiver you truly are.  

Almost. 

“Fine. I’ve been fine. Just… working, mostly,” you excuse. 

“Oh, come on,” Aelin groans. She takes a quick sip of her drink—rum, as she had made sure to point out earlier—before overdramatically leaning back in her chair. Her hat slides to the side of her head, and she fixes it with a huff. “You always say that. It really is just work with you, huh? No redecorating the apartment again or getting excited over new cutlery? No getting out to talk to people?” 

Scoffing, your fingers tap against the table. “I think we both know that getting out is more your thing than mine. As is the excitement over cutlery,” you tease. 

“It could be your thing too if you didn’t ditch me half the time I invite you somewhere,” Aelin counters. As if tasting her own venom, she sighs as she leans forward, face softening like wet porcelain. “I meant what I said the other night. You are worrying me. More than just a little.” 

In order to give yourself some time to think, you raise your cup to your lips. Face contorting into a grimace, your vodka cranberry seems to be nine parts vodka and one part juice, and the brash alcohol tastes worse than cough medicine on your tongue. 

“What’s there to worry about?” you ask while trying to hide your cough. 

Raising an eyebrow, Aelin tosses a few strands of her hair back over her shoulder. “What isn’t there to worry about? I mean, you’re working yourself half to death, I feel like I hardly get to see you anymore—hell, I don’t even think you’ve ever managed to score a boyfriend!”

“I think I’m doing just fine without a partner,” you interject. 

“My point is,” she continues, “I just… I’m… terrified you’re still trying to punish yourself.” 

It’s difficult to believe that a place so full of life can fall so silent. Everything fades to black, leaving you with just a sharp ringing bell and an underwater fuzziness. Normal, the doctors had said. Typical for someone who went through what you did. Absolutely plaguing. There’s nothing you can say in response. Her words stun you because—unlike usual—she sees right through you. Like you’re nothing but the cellophane wrapping on funeral flowers. 

Putting you out of your misery, she continues talking so that you don’t have to. 

“Look, I… I know we’re not really family. It’s not my place to say stuff like this, but it’s… fuck.” Aelin cuts herself off with a slight shake of her head as a nervous chuckle expels past her lips. “I know I never got the chance to know you before… everything. But I look at the way you were back when you lived with John and I, and I look at you now and… it’s, I dunno. And I know that you’ve always been a little quiet, and you like your alone time but this just feels different, you know? Like you’re… pulling away from everyone. I just don’t want you to blame yourself for surviving.” 

It must be the alcohol. Surely. Aelin never talks about the accident, and neither do you. A silent rule settled between the two of you one day where you just stopped talking about it. You’d utter nothing about it when the anniversary came around, or when the events plague your sleep. You tell yourself that you’re quiet about it for her sake but really—you don’t talk about it because you’re certain the contrition will choke you on its way out of your throat. 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Aelin continues softly. “For surviving it.” 

You swallow.

“I know.” 

She raises an eyebrow at you incredulously, forcing you to quickly give her a smile before she can chastise you for your sloppy deception. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever not feel guilty about it, Row,” you continue, a bit more truthfully. “It’s something that just… stays with you. I know it’s not my fault, and I’m not trying to self-sabotage or anything but it’s- like- just, some days are harder than others.” 

A bittersweet smile crosses her face as she nods. “Yeah I… I get that. Just remember that you’re not alone, okay? You’ll always have me and John. No matter what.” 

An awkward silence falls after you mutter a rigid thanks, yet everything continues to pulse around you. The music that vibrates the very molecules in the air, the patrons who jump and dance below you like a heaving pile of flesh; it all continues. 

The only thing that changes is the stale scent in the air. 

“Wow, what a way to ruin the fun,” Aelin chuckles. She shakes her head as if she’s physically removing the bad thoughts from her brain as she shakes her cup. “No more sappy talk for the night, I promise. I’m just about empty. Wanna come with me for a refill?” 

Just like Aelin had promised earlier that night, she spends the rest of the evening getting wasted, and it doesn’t take her long to get there. In a matter of hours her speech begins to blend into the mess of noise around you with fits of giggles and heavy slurring. Each step she takes is unsteady. She can hardly hold herself upright as she drags you to a pool table for what she swears will be a quick game. Her inebriation becomes so concerning that you forget all about your discomfort of being trapped in this club. You’re more focused on making sure Aelin doesn’t fall over. 

You consider it a blessing in disguise that you now have something else to focus on other than the prying eyes around you. Aelin seems completely immune to any outside forces as she sloppily leans over the pool table with her stick in hand. Each time she attempts to line up a shot, her hands seem to sway away from the cue as if its weight is suddenly too heavy to carry. This game has gone on for what you swear has been for the last hour; half in part due to you missing your shots, and half in part due to Aelin not being able to stay quiet long enough to focus on hitting anything properly. 

“Stop kicking the table,” she groans. 

“I’m not kicking anything,” you assure. 

“Why’s it vibrating?”

“That would be the music.” 

“The music?” she repeats. 

“Yeah. You know… the bass?” 

Nodding like she’s understood what you’ve said, Aelin makes her shot only to royally flub it, sending the cue ball ricocheting across the far side, nearly pocketing one of your balls instead of hers. You chuckle as she straightens herself up. Surprisingly pleased with herself, she adjusts the crooked pirate hat on her head as she grins at you. 

“Too bad Riley isn’t here to give us some pointers,” she teases. 

There’s something familiar in the tone of her voice that sends a jolt shooting throughout your spine. That familiar, yet confusing heat courses through your veins as you think back to dinner at Aelin’s house. Suddenly, you’re back in that garage. You feel everything; the felt of the pool table against the palm of your hand, Simon’s fingers brushing against yours, his voice rattling your ruined eardrum for all it’s worth…

“He seems busy with work,” you excuse. 

“Yeah?” she taunts. Her grin slowly melts into something hazier at your comment. It’s not quite malicious, yet there’s something oddly devious about it. Like she knows something you don’t. “Shame. You two seemed awfully comfy the other night.” 

You open your mouth to respond just for it to snap back shut. Of course she brings that up. Aelin can be worse than a mother teasing her school aged children about silly crushes, and you’re mortified that she’s doing this in her drunken stupor. Really, there was nothing special at all about what happened that night. Except for maybe the fact that it was the first time in quite some time that a man touched you and it didn’t make your skin crawl. 

“You’re reading too much into it,” you excuse while waving your hand. “He was just being helpful.” 

“You know, you should just date him,” Aelin says as if you had never spoken in the first place. 

For a moment, all you can do is stand there and blink. “You’re being ridiculous.” 

“No, I’m being serious,” she slurs. “He’s a good guy, really. Quiet, too. Sure you gathered that from the other night. Bit of a smart arse sometimes, but I think you two get on well. He’s like… roughened. Girls like that, yeah? That’s sexy.”

“Row, I don’t think-” 

“And you need someone to look out for you at home, too. Those apartments? Those ones you got for dirt fucking cheap? They’re falling apart at the seams. I wanna kidnap you sometimes and just, like, bring you home. You’re gonna get robbed one of these days.” 

“Really, it’s-” 

“Besides… he seems to be having a much better time following me around now that you’re here,” she huffs. “He never seems this interested when it’s just me.” 

You freeze. There’s nothing but shards of ice in your veins. Your mouth grows sere as you attempt to shake the frost off your shoulders—you’re in too much disbelief to attempt to look around the area for him. Simon—following you? How could you have missed such a thing when he towers over nearly every head in the building? 

“What?” Aelin teases, nodding her head to the area behind you. “You mean you haven’t noticed your little shadow?” 

It’s only then that you brave a glance over your shoulder. Your throat grows tight at the sight of him. He sits at a small gossip table in a chair that’s dwarfed by his size; you’re surprised the wood hasn’t given way beneath him. Long legs stretch out to the side so they’re not awkwardly bent, and he slouches against the back of the chair as if to make himself appear smaller. Luckily, his attention seems to be absorbed by his phone. The screen casts a dull glow on his face, vaguely illuminating the rosy scars that faintly line the bridge of his nose and the corner of his lip. 

You don’t think you could’ve handled it if you had looked back at him just to see him already staring. 

“John likes to send him as a guard dog whenever I come here. Things got a little crazy one time and now he’s gone all scorched earth thinking I’m gonna get assaulted or something,” Aelin explains flippantly. It seems as if she’s given up on your game of pool as her hands playfully bat the balls around like she’s a cat with a roll of yarn. “I promise he’s not being a weirdo. Not on purpose, anyway.” 

Things only start to get worse. Her teasing, her insisting that you try to talk to Simon, her drinking—they only increase. Aelin’s words and insinuations make your mind spin more than the small sips of alcohol you’ve allowed in your system. You stare at her with her glazed eyes and frizzy blonde hair, and your stomach twists like you’ve been stuck with a knife. 

Your only saving grace is John Price. He crawls out of some room a little past one in the morning in an attempt to wrangle his wife in. It’s impossible to talk any sense into her, it seems. Hands on her hips, John tries to prevent her from swaying too much as she giggles. You awkwardly watch from the sidelines as she pulls at his shirt in an attempt to kiss him—you’re jealous at her ability to ignore the crowd around her. Always confident, she acts as if she owns the place. 

In a way—you suppose—she does. 

“Wanna get some fresh air?” 

You don’t realize Simon’s even approached you until his fingertips rest on the pool table in front of you. Blinking, you follow the line of his arm. The wideness of his hand sits like a riverbed for the veins that dance beneath the thin skin. It ends abruptly at the long sleeved shirt he somehow manages to wear despite the stuffy air in the club, and still you continue up along his thick shoulders until you meet his dark eyes. 

Pulling at your left ear, you grimace when the pressure changes. “Huh?” you ask while you twist your right ear toward him to hear better. 

“Some fresh air? Wanna head outside on the terrace?” he asks before chuckling. “Thought we could give the lovebirds over here some alone time.” 

Blinking, you quickly glance back at John and Aelin before answering. They’re still standing there in each other’s arms, swaying and talking to one another. Aelin’s smile is bright as she looks up at him, and John can’t help but grin at her crooked pirate hat. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Outside sounds nice.” 

Simon brings you to the back of the VIP section where a door littered with heavy sharpie graffiti leads you to a terrace. The noise level instantly changes the moment the door shuts behind you. Plenty of patrons mingle about in the cool, fresh air, but their chatter is nothing but a whisper compared to the rush of the music trapped inside. Cold autumn air chills your feverish skin as he guides you beneath a canopy of lights. 

At the end of the terrace lies a thick, metal railing. The cold iron bites through your palm as you grip it and look down at the alleyway below. Just on the other side of the railing, where the ledge juts out against the building, there are pots of flowers. They’re small, waifish little things, but their attar cuts through the dull night air all the same. 

“You smoke?” Simon asks as he shoves a hand into the pocket of his jeans. 

He’s on your left again. Sighing, you watch him carefully take out a pack of cigarettes where he beats the bottom of the carton against the palm of his hand. Shaking your head, you turn around so that your back is against the railing, putting Simon on your right side. 

“No,” you say bluntly. 

“Good,” he hums. “Don’t start.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to light the thing and start puffing away. The scent of it cuts through the air, smothering the redolence of the flowers behind you, but you don’t mind. Each time he exhales, he makes sure to turn his head away, blowing the smoke well out of your way. 

“So, Mrs. Price is a pirate. What’re you dressed as?” he asks. 

Chuckling, you stare down at your work uniform. It’s nothing special. Just a plain black dress shirt with the pants to match. There’s a small stain of ranch that haunts the hem of your shirt, but you try not to bring any attention to it as you cross your arms. 

“Oh, uh, a Sapori hostess,” you answer humorously. “Didn’t really have time to change before getting dragged out here.” 

“Sapori,” Simon hums. “Heard that place is pretty fancy.” 

“It’s up there, yeah,” you concur. 

“They pay well?” 

“Thirteen fifty.” 

“Not great.”

You shrug. “It’s enough.” 

A sharp breath cuts through the air as Simon inhales another long drag from his cigarette. The embers at the end dance to life in a bright orange before going cold when he exhales. You feel your head go light as a feather as you watch the smoke swirl and dissipate in the air. 

“What about you?” you ask. “I know you work for John, but like… you know…”

“Security mostly. Makin’ sure people don’t get too rowdy. And whatever odd job he assigns,” he answers. “Usually end up workin’ nights. Same as you, I reckon.” 

“Yeah, though I’m usually off around midnight most nights,” you chuckle, then sigh. “I’d be in bed by now if it wasn’t for Row.” 

“Row?” Simon repeats. 

“Oh, uhm, Aelin.” 

“What’d she do to earn a nickname like that?” 

Your teeth dig into your lip as you smile. “I could tell you, but I think I’d have to kill you afterwards.” 

“Ah, one of those stories,” Simon chuckles. There’s a short pause in the conversation as he finishes off the rest of his cigarette before tossing it to the cement at his feet. He stomps out the embers with the sole of his work boots. “Alright, what about your name then, Chip?” 

A sharp, awkward scoff escapes your lips as you stare at your feet. Reliving the story of your nickname is something you haven’t had to do in a long while, and it feels wrong saying it. Like you need to keep every little thing about yourself hidden, lest someone see how truly pathetic you are. 

“You promise not to make fun of me?” you question. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he says facetiously as he leans his elbows on the railing. 

“A while back, Aelin’s grandma invited us over for tea. The cup she gave me was broken on the rim. Like, a perfect slice just missing from it. I was too… I dunno. Nervous, I guess? I couldn’t bring myself to ask for another cup, so I drank out of the broken one the entire time. When Aelin realized, she just laughed at me. Said it was like that little teacup. You know, from Beauty and the Beast? Chip? She’s called me that ever since.” 

A quiet chuckle rattles through Simon’s chest as he turns to face you. It’s deep. Canorous. Without the cigarette between his fingers to distract him, he’s able to give you his undivided attention. His gaze ignites your intestines. Burns your offals until they feel too warm within your skin. You swallow as he blinks at you. 

“Cute,” he murmurs. 

“Riley!” 

Both you and Simon turn at the calling of his name, and it doesn’t take long for either of you to find the source. John marches across the terrace with Aelin stumbling behind him. She’s somehow managed to lose her hat since you last saw her, though she doesn’t seem too heartbroken about it as she throws her arms around you the moment you’re within her reach. 

“You vanished,” she slurs, spiced rum heavy on her breath. 

“I was only gone for a few minutes,” you chuckle. 

“Too long.” 

“Riley,” John repeats again, quieter this time. “Would you take the girls home for me? Don’t want them trying to head home when she’s this… well… Just take her car, since I’m sure you took your bike here, yeah?” 

He hands off a set of keys to Simon, who shakes them around a bit like he enjoys the sound of the jingle. “I’ll take good care of ‘em.” 

Getting Aelin into the car is a difficult task. Swaying worse than a drunken sailor, she nearly sends you tumbling into the back seat after her as she plops her entire body weight while tugging on your arm. Eventually you both are able to settle just in time to watch Simon struggle to get into the driver’s seat. The poor man proves himself to be significantly taller than Aelin, and he somehow manages to bash the side of his head on the roof of the car with a grunt. After some quiet cursing from him—and plenty of merciless giggles from Aelin—he moves the seat back far enough so that he’s not completely scrunched over. 

The moment he ensures both you and Aelin are buckled in the back seat, he takes off through London. 

“This is what you get for being so tall,” she teases. “I mean, really. There’s no reason for anyone to be this tall. What did your mum feed you as a kid?” 

“You know, your husband is only a bit shorter than me,” Simon retorts. His eyes find yours in the review mirror for a split moment before his attention is back on the road. 

“Yeah, but John puts his inches somewhere a bit more important than height,” Aelin teases, low enough for only you to hear. 

Aelin manages to sober up some by the time Simon pulls into the driveway, but only slightly. Rum still taints her breath as she gives you a tight hug and thanks you for coming with her tonight, and she’s unsteady on her feet as she climbs out of the car. Simon keeps his hands up like he’s watching a toddler who can collapse at any moment. Once she’s set, she turns around to look at you where she points a finger in warning. 

“Stay,” she orders as if speaking to a dog. 

Confused, you glance awkwardly at Simon. “Uh… aye aye, captain.” 

After your confirmation, Aelin slams the door shut behind her before allowing Simon to lead her inside the house. It takes her three failed attempts to get the keys into the lock, each punctuated by an array of colorful words. The entryway is shrouded in a thick numbra that disperses when she flicks the lights on, and she confidently struts toward the living room. 

“Simon,” she says, motioning for him to follow her inside. 

Dumbfounded, he listens. Aelin makes it all the way to the living room where she slowly lowers herself onto the sofa with a huff. “Yeah?” 

“I want you to keep an eye on Chip for me,” she hums. 

Simon stiffly crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course.” 

“No,” Aelin whines, “I don’t just mean tonight. Like, after tonight. Keep tabs on her, or something. You’re good at that stuff, aren’t you?” 

Confused, Simon quickly glances over his shoulder as if he expects to find you standing in the entryway. “Is she in trouble?” he asks. 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Leaning her head back, Aelin rubs at her eyes as if she can remove the drunken haze that clogs her vision. “It’s difficult to tell with her. She’s really good at keeping things hidden, but I just know something’s wrong. I’d just feel a lot better if you helped keep an eye on her. Especially in that fucking apartment. Simon, I swear, I’m surprised that place hasn’t collapsed yet.” 

“So, you just want me to be her friend?” Simon confirms. 

“Well obviously don’t be a fucking creep about it, but yes. I suppose,” Aelin nods. “And don’t tell her about this, either. And obviously not about… anything else. You know. The business and everything. I know John is strict about that but you really can’t share that with Chip. She just… needs someone in her corner.” 

Nodding, Simon mulls over her request. There are certain things that are expected out of organized syndicates—protection is one of them. When you own the streets, there’s a duty required of that mafia to serve the people who live within the community. He’s lost track of how many heads he’s knocked together in the pursuit of making sure people know the rules. Watching over you would be no different. After all, there’s really only one thing Simon Riley is good at:

Fighting.

“Consider it done.” 

The drive to your apartment is quiet. There’s nothing but the sputtering hum of the engine and the cracks in the road to fill the silence between you and Simon. Every now and then you mutter directions for him to take, but otherwise you’re thankful that he doesn’t spark up any real conversation. With it nearing two in the morning, you doubt you’ll be able to say anything coherent anyway. Instead, he turns up the radio and lets whatever station Aelin last had it on fill the dead air between you two. 

The next thing you know, the car is parked in front of your apartment complex, and Simon is opening the door for you with his hand outstretched. Blinking the weary fatigue from your eyes, you take his hand and allow him to help you out of your seat. He’s so incredibly gentle despite the fact you’re certain he could crush your fingers with a simple squeeze. He shuts the door behind you as you pat your pockets down for your keys. 

“Thank you so much for the ride, Simon,” you say once you have them in hand. 

“No problem,” he replies with a nod. Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheeks as you wait for him to leave, except he doesn’t. It’s not until he glances at the ancient building behind you that you realize he intends to walk you to your door. “Which floor do you live on?” 

Each step that stretches between you and the third floor is grueling in a cruel way. If the lift was fixed, you would have taken it but it’s been out of order for the last two months, no thanks to your less than helpful landlord. Your feet are screaming by the time you make it to your door, and you feel the earth begin to tilt. Your keys slide into the lock with ease, and it takes nothing more thana simple turn of the knob for the door to swing open and reveal your studio apartment. 

It’s nothing special. Peeling wallpaper adorns the walls like crunchy autumn leaves, and its yellow tint is brought out by the lone lamp that sits on the nightstand next to your bed. Messy sheets adorn your mattress where it sits shoved into the corner of the room closest to a lone window, and there’s a single door slightly ajar on the far side of the room revealing a claustrophobic bathroom. The entire apartment is small enough to be a coffin, but the rent is cheap enough to not leave you bankrupt every month. 

Ready to dismiss Simon for the night so you can get some well deserved sleep, you turn to face him only to see his attention has been consumed by your door. Everything in this building is near ancient, but your front door and window are probably the worst. Chipped paint and rusting brass plague the hinges, but he seems more intrigued in the plating on the frame. 

“Find something interesting?” you ask stiffly. 

“More concernin’ than anythin’ else,” he mutters. Thick fingers brush against the old metal plating where he scrapes at the screws holding it in place. “How long ago were these replaced?” 

You shrug. “I have no idea.” 

“I’ll get you new hardware,” he hums, straightening himself up. “Someone could sneeze on the damn thing and it would fall over.” 

A million excuses flood your mind on why he doesn’t need to do that, and you’re certain they would’ve left your mouth if you weren’t so exhausted. Instead of trying to deny his offer, you yawn as your heavy eyes glance towards your bed. 

“Get some rest, yeah?” Simon prompts as he places his hand on the doorknob. 

You turn to face him with a quiet smile, and for a moment you find yourself at a loss for words. The ivory light of the hallway casts a dark shadow on his face, but it’s not enough to smother the soft concern in his eyes. 

“I will. Goodnight, Simon,” you say as a gruff vocal fry seeps into your words. 

Despite his size—tall enough to nearly brush his head against the doorframe and almost just as wide—you don’t feel any fear as you witness him. There’s nothing insidious about him, especially not with the small smile that manages to tug at his lips as he shuts the door. 

“Sweet dreams, love.”

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[bi-writes]

Hi bi!

Wanted to wish happy holidays and hope u have a wonderful rest of the year.

Today is my bday and felt the courage to ask some random ass question.

Sooo are u able to do like those Spotify wrap ups? But with stories(ones you've written or read/faved)

You're a wonderful writer and i feel like your taste/eye for fics/posts would be interesting and i would personally enjoy

No pressure to really answer cause a majority of your posts do show wat u enjoy or catches ur eye.

Again, lots of love!!! 🎅ho~ ho~~

happy birthday, love. hope it was a wonderful one.

i really can't pinpoint a story (there were so many wonderful ones, you could go through my #fic recs tag for hours maybe), but here's a list of people i've thoroughly enjoyed recently + the vibe.

@syoddeye (price x reader chokehold) @391780 (because big, beefy men need a fat ass to hold onto, we don't make the rules) @saintquincy (the poly!141 altar that i didn't know i needed to die on) @pricetagged (nasty work for price and ghost over here) @pricegouge (making horror sexy and price daddy-licious) @ceilidho (making soap dirty over there) @moondirti (putting me in scary, hot situations 24/7, baby) @rememberwren (because every bad day can be healed if we make this fic ghoap x reader) @ghouljams (sex-ed and monster fucking ftw) @oceantornadoo (if you're wondering how many AUs might exist, you should start counting here) @swordsandholly (more fat fem supremacy here + giant men, what more could you want) @starsofang (ahoy matey) @charliemwrites (making me hot for nobody there ;))) @peachesofteal (because i would have that large man's baby in any universe fr fr)

these amazing people have written series or stories that i just bite at when they post a new part of something. like i cannot function until i read it immediately and have it devoured whole. good luck going through these masterlists, you'll die and come back to life several times. ✌🏼

[sapphanimates]

wish these weren't in such shitty quality. i'll try transcribing the text, but until my mom gets home this is the best i can do TwT

TEXT (by character, under cut):

- Wow, it's Azure! The only girl* AU Sonic I have! (*born and identifying)

- She's going to be the most unreasonable person ever and i'm going to have so much fun with it.

- "fuck"

- You made the person who loves to run and explore die and become a ghost with no legs.

-"I WANT MY LEGS BACK"

- I'm not sure what to do with the S&R au.

- Maurice Rose "Sonic"

- Like a less detailed version of the Comicbook AU design.

- He and Amy need matching outfits.

- "Ahoy matey"

- Wow, it's Skipper. Skipper Marcet. Skipper Marcet the Hedgehog.

- I think they'd have tattoos actually.

- WET DOG.

[medusapelagia]

Thank you!

Ahoy matey!

If I didn’t mess up, this post should be scheduled at the same time as my STBB fic's post on their main blog, so this is the time to thank everyone.

First of all @kallisto-k, who is always a great supporter and who was the first person I pinched my idea of an omegaverse metalsandwich pirate au and who didn't call the mental institute to take me in!

Another thanks to @spaceofentropy who was by my side during this journey.

A huge thanks to @lemonhitsu who kept comforting me when I was 100% sure I wasn't going to have an artist for my fic.

A big thanks to @mothellie that between all the stories chose mine and to @ghostdeb that rescued my fic when things got a bit confused.

Thank you to @acingthecounts (ManuK) who read my entire fic to make sure I didn't mess up too badly and to @suometar who took a closer look to the spicy bits.

A last thank you to the @strangerthingsbigbang's mods who did their best to make sure everyone was having fun.

I started this BB thinking I was the only one that would have enjoyed my fic and I ended up with an amazing team and some old and new friends.

Can you see now why BBs are so addictive?

That said... my fic (Hidden Treasure) is posted and you can find it in the master post on the @strangerthingsbigbang's Tumblr page or on my AO3 page.

I hope you'll enjoy it.

For my part: I had a blast!

[asexual-spongebob]

ahoy mateys. I gave into my urge to make a tagr smeet for my siren au!! >:3. Their name is Kriska Marie, but she just goes by Ska, as that’s xyr favorite kind of music. (Fun fact: They picked out that nickname themself.)

I gave them colorful hair for good measure, just like her parents.

i feel like tak and gaz are like. actually cool parents and not embarrassing and cringey. Like they have cool mom reputation among the kids. Ska has a faint British accent because of Tak. And she calls Gaz mom and Tak mum fun fact. Xyr favorite uncle is Zim to Tak’s dismay. They commit arson together/hj

Very weird human, siren and irken hybrid. I’ll probably draw a siren version of them at some point, maybe late today when I get the chance.

Sev is like a sibling to her, and will defend xem for life. Sev is the 1# Ska defender.

They use a mixture of American and British slang, I guess you could say that she has a Mid Atlantic accent (accent with both American and British traits)

Xe enjoys annoying their uncle Dib. Dib doesn’t mind the tho.

She also likes it when Dib infodumps on cryptids.

And fun fact: Xyr favorite food is buttered noodles, with extra garlic.

They don’t like how Zim and Tak don’t exactly get along, as well, like I mentioned Zim is her favorite uncle (sorry Dibby.) and Tak’s xyr mum so you can probably imagine what that feels like-

[novella-writers]

ahoy matey 🫡🏴‍☠️ I’m on the hunt for either Koby x Luffy or Doflamingo x Crocodile (fem!croc welcome 🙏) from one piece! 18+! I prefer a canon plot but I won’t say no to a good AU. I also prefer descriptive writers who require character development, world building, and plot progression, as I tend to go well over the word count on basic discord. I try to reply daily but it’s not always possible, but know you’ll get a few a week unless something pops up (but I’m pretty active ooc so I’ll tell you). I am both a sfw and a nsfw writer, but keep in mind that I am not looking for smutfishers! Plot plot plot will make me stay active!! Anyways sorry for the rambling but I think I got all the basics out so like this and I’ll reach out!!!

Like if interested!

[octonauts-to-hq]

OCTONAUTS TO HQ!

ahoy mateys! Welcome to HQ! (This little fanbase blog)

pls follow all rules and we welcome everyone!

-no cussing pls (keep at friendly levels if you do no f no bombs AT ALL)

-pls keep post about Octonauts AU and crossovers are completely fine!

-nothing inappropriate or 18+ (if anything is 13+ pls put a warning just for sensitivity reasons)

[captain-lotl]

✗ Ahoy maties! ✗

The name's Captain Rocket! And I'm the prince of the Seven Seas! The ocean is under the command of myself and my father! I hail from a kingdom half sunken under the waters! If anyone knows the oceans, it's me! And did you REALLY think all merdemons were gone? Wrong! Because I'm one too! I wonder... No. Let's have some fun! [Also featured: K. Zuka and Sunkenhammer]

🏴‍☠️ Some ship rules, matey! -> If you wanna ask me naughty then uh.... I guess you can! -> Kindness is key! I won't tolerate any disrespect on my ship! -> I'll have Sunken take care of ya if you try anything. -> I'll come back with more later...

-> YAY YIPPIE WAHOO!!!!!!! I'M SO HAPPY HE'S FINALLY HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY!!!!!! -> Captain Rocket is involved with @gladiator-sun [Who's run by my friend Disco]!!!!! -> Captain Rocket and Captain Valk do NOT know each other, although Captain Rocket knows Mermaid Dom [Valk still believes that Dom is the only merdemon left] -> If you think he's gonna be something big and scary.... Well he can be!!!! But he's honestly just a cutie patootie... -> HCs and AU stuff galore!!!!! -> IC answers will be in GREEN -> OOC answers will be COLORLESS -> Lore/HCs post: Seafoam Rocket / K. Zuka / Sunkenhammer -> Enjoy!!!!

[making-my-wey-down-town]

[wtfanworkclassification]

Stage 7- Pirate AU

Ahoy, matey! While the peloton rolls over some lovely hills, the competitors for the maillot chispeante will be rolling over the waves of the high seas they put their efforts towards crafting a pirate AU.

Ship-to-ship combat! Swashbuckling heroics! No one gets scurvy? Maybe you could even set it in space? Let your imagination run wild here and have fun.

There is no minimum word count for this stage. Please reach out via Tumblr or Discord if you have any questions.

[quitethepirategal]

[ shield ]  ~  ( the sender drags receiver behind them to keep them safe. )

                                                                                                               ~   ( @emcads​ )

   Another crowded inn.        Another sea of heads. 

   This port town was seedy enough to service both merchant vessels and the less organized of the smugglers.  Drunkards filled the pubs and bars and sailors fought and fucked where they could get one.  And while that was, for now, a good thing, meaning Jess and her captain could conduct business in relative peace, it also meant that her crew mates were more akin to fish out of water than usual.  While the time they intended to spend here was short, the “ girls ” of The Venganza found themselves no less set adrift in this cesspool, waist deep in an ocean of men.

   Captain Esmeralda was smart enough, or perhaps just kind enough, not to force any of the crew to accompany her on her outing.  But Jess was built like a stack of oak barrels and stood a head taller than all on deck.  Only made since to bring her along as the muscle.  Her job today was simple; no salves or oils or tea blends this time.    They were meeting a contact in the corner of the pub to trade for information on an inbound treasure ship.  Worth the trouble for the chance at such pretty prey.  She just needed to look as intimidating as she could manage and help insure that the transaction came through safe and smooth. 

   But suddenly a little arm pushed at her waist, placing the captain in between Jess and the rest of the large sorted crowd.  Alert, the red head fixed her stance to a ready one, and scanned the room intently for the source of what the captain perceived as a danger.  But-

     ...Just a moment.            It was Jessica’s job to be the guard dog.

   Why is the captain defending HER?  And from what exactly?  Jessica couldn’t hear a damned thing over the crushing drone of the party clamor anyway but even looking around she saw nothing out of place.  Her eyes trace the captain’s hateful gaze to a table of laughing old men- why?  What danger did they-    Poor Jess couldn’t form the words to ask her captain what was wrong before the men at the table locked eyes with her.  Not with each other or other patrons or even Captain Esme.  Her.

  They were still laughing or grinning or both, and two of them even waved at her coyly.  Creepily.  The fifth stood from his chair with a slobbered smile and seemed to shout something and pull open his shirt.  There was no reading his spitting lips from there and the roar of the pub rendered him silent but... that gesture...    Jess sheepishly glanced down at the shirt she was in.  She choose it because of the summer heat and the lack of sleeves made her look more threatening than usual.... but it only now occurred to her.. how low cut the garment was..

     “ I’d forgotten how ta dress with buffoons in mind! ”  she snarled, shooting them a hateful growl and buttoning her shirt with her shaking hands.  She spoke less out of urgency and more out of needing just something, anything else to think about lest her temper boil to rage.

     “ Is that contact o’ yours at a table already            or are we ta wait as wallflowers all night?! ”

[yakkyrwhackr]

Drafting up a Swashbuckling Sonic AU

[blog-name-idk]

Mold a Pretty Lie | 06

Pairing: professor!Jin x Fem undergrad!Reader

Genre: College!AU, Unhealthy relationships, toxic relationships, virgin reader, eventual yandere, eventual smut

Summary: They say love is like a garden that requires regular care and attention. Kim Seokjin, your kind and handsome professor, is more than happy to cultivate the vines that bind his heart to yours.

Word Count: 4089

Rating: 18+

~~~~~

Seokjin watched out of the corner of his eye as you read a paper, brow creased in concentration as you highlighted a section and added it to your ever growing pile of notes for your research project. You were absorbed in your work, allowing his gaze to linger on the way the fading sunlight highlighted your studious frame.

Things were mostly back to business as usual - you were no longer leaving right on time, and by your progress it seemed you'd been pouring even more hours into your project than before. With your other schoolwork, along with his own class, it seemed to indicate that you weren't wasting more of your time with anyone… unnecessary.

Your phone buzzed on the table, and a tendril of irritation spiked through his chest when you giggled at whatever was on your screen. Who was texting you? Was it Taehyung? Hadn't his words been enough to get you to realize the boy was no good for you?

"Ashley says she's gonna come by in a few minutes," you informed him, looking up and letting the light bring out the sparkle in your eyes. Seokjin hadn't noticed how stiff his shoulders had grown until they relaxed, and he smoothed his expression.

"Yes, I have exams to make her grade," he replied lightly, grateful you hadn't realized how tense he had been a second ago. You laughed at his words, and he selfishly wished that sound was for him alone.

"Poor Ashley," you said in a too-innocent tone. "Forced to pick up someone's slack."

You looked straight at him with an impish smile, one that wrapped itself around his thoughts and fed the twining shadows at the edges of his mind. His exchanges with you had been becoming more playful and teasing - more so than it should be, and yet Seokjin found himself unable to resist. No more than he could keep himself from occasionally touching your shoulder or arm, some strange part of him needing the reassurance that you were there, real and perfect.

Especially when you said something impertinent, as if you were begging him to put you in your place.

"Well, if my research assistant worked faster, maybe I would have more time for grading," he replied lightly, grinning at you in a way that made you bite your lip and duck your head. You made a valiant attempt at recovery, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Oh? So when you tell me I'm the best, you've been lying?" you asked with a cute pout, the jut of your lower lip drawing his gaze like a lure.

"I'd never lie to you," Seokjin replied seriously, holding your eyes with his. Well, at least, not unless it was for your own good.

You looked a little dazed at his words, flustered in a way that made Seokjin's chest purr. But before you could reply, his TA arrived.

"Ahoy mateys!" called Ashley as she strolled through the door with a grin, shattering whatever delicate atmosphere had accumulated. "Professor, I'm reporting for duty!"

You giggled at your elder's antics, and Seokjin couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or relieved at the interruption. He shouldn't have let his relationship with you grow so familiar, and yet if you weren't in his sight, incessant worry gnawed at the back of his thoughts in an irritating, constant buzz.

You were a kind person, and while it was one of the qualities he appreciated about you, it also made him wonder if others would take advantage of it. It was definitely possible for Taehyung to sweet talk you back into his arms, despite the slight… exaggeration he had made when describing seeing him with that other girl. That cursed image of your body pressed against the boy's flashed in his head, and he forced his hand to unclench.

And then there was that other boy, Jimin, who had the audacity to kiss you on the cheek after lecture. By your reaction, you hadn't been expecting it, and Seokjin bristled at the thought of the boy putting his grimy hands on you unprompted. Just how many vultures did he need to protect you from?

"Good luck, our dear professor is in rare form today," you said, shooting a mischievous grin at Seokjin and pulling him out of his perturbing thoughts. He gave a good natured scoff, hiding the way your words seeped into his veins, twining around his limbs like a gentle caress.

"When isn't he?" Ashley replied with a laugh, coming in to ruffle your hair before setting her backpack on the ground. Seokjin felt a surge of protective irritation at the casual contact, one that was surprising. He knew Ashley of all people was a good person, the action shouldn't have bothered him the way it did.

"When you're done beating an old man while he's down, I have papers for you," Seokjin complained, doing his best to shove his thoughts aside. He was being ridiculous.

But - Ashley liked women. Who was to say she wouldn't fall prey to your guileless charm? And as someone somewhat closer to being a peer than he was, she had more freedom to treat you as familiarly as she wanted.

"Yes boss," Ashley replied with a good-natured groan, grabbing the stack of stapled papers on his desk, oblivious to her professor's roiling thoughts.

An hour passed in relative silence, a calm atmosphere settling over the three of you. Occasionally the quiet was broken by a remark or query from one of his students, but otherwise the only sounds were the shuffling of papers, and scratching of pens, and the sound of you typing on your computer.

Seokjin found his eyes sliding over to you more often than necessary, unable to resist despite knowing that Ashley could look up at any time. There was a small wrinkle in your brow as you frowned at your screen in thought, and you were worrying your lip yet again.

Another vine in unfurled as he watched you absent-mindedly pluck a tube of chapstick from your pocket and swipe it over your lips, leaving them just a touch shinier than before. Your eyes flickered to meet his before he could look away, and he flashed a grin that made you smile bashfully in return.

He had bought that little plastic tube on whim while buying groceries, your little habit popping up in his mind when he spied the selection at the check-out counter. If the strawberry flavor he had picked happened to coincide with his favorite fruit, well, everyone liked strawberries. It was simply the most logical choice.

It should have been a strange gift to give to a student. But you had smiled so beautifully at his tiny gesture that any thought of regret fled instantly. If anything, Seokjin found himself resisting the urge to dote on you even more.

"The showcase is pretty soon, right?" asked Ashley absentmindedly as she twirled her pen in her fingers. You jumped a little as if forgetting she was there, then rushed to answer.

"Yeah! I can't believe almost an entire semester has gone by already," you said in tones of sincere surprise. "I feel like it went by so fast."

Seokjin smiled at the memory of you, bright-eyed and nervous at the door of the office. At the time, you had been just another student, indiscernible amongst a lecture of nearly one-hundred. And yet, you had burrowed your way into his affection. A smile here, a joke there, and each moment with you had embedded itself inside of him before he had even realized it was happening.

"You've come a long way," he agreed, chuckling when you ducked your head in embarrassment. A semester hadn't yet cured you of your awkwardness to compliments, another trait he found positively endearing.

"You really have!" said Ashley, nodding in agreement. "I hardly recognize the jumpy little freshman from my first recitation."

"Okay, okay," you grumbled, waving your hands as if to keep any praise from sticking to you. "Enough! I'm amazing, I get it!"

"Our little girl's all grown up," said Ashley with a fake sniffle, wiping a nonexistent tear from her eye. "I'm so proud."

"Oh my god, shut up," you laughed, throwing a wad of paper at the older girl. "I can't believe I was ever intimidated by you."

"How dare you, I am incredibly intimidating," Ashley replied with a prim harumph. This time it was Seokjin who snorted, making you laugh harder.

It was nice to see you so cheerful and carefree, even if he had to share this moment with someone else. Your smile lit the room with bright sunshine, your laugh washing over him like warm rays. He was going to miss it, when you wrapped up this project.

Seokjin's good mood dampened at the realization that the showcase was only a couple weeks away, the ending of this surprisingly addicting partnership in sight. He did believe you had a good chance of winning, though he was excused from the judging due to being your mentoring professor.

He was leaning heavily toward offering you a continued position - your work was exemplary, and the knot of worry in his chest eased at the prospect of being able to continue looking out for you.

You made up his mind when you turned and gave him a tentative grin. "I'm actually already planning on signing up for Global Change II next semester. If you're not sick of me yet."

Warmth seeped into his chest at your words, and he couldn't stop the smile from taking over his face.

"Impossible," he said warmly, holding your gaze long enough for you to begin to fidget and look away. Then, to cover his lapse, he cast his eyes towards Ashley. "Unlike this one here, who I just can't seem to shake."

Ashley's indignant squawk joined your bubbling laughter, and for a little while everything was right in the world.

~~~~~

"Yes, that looks good," nodded Seokjin, looking over your shoulder at the computer screen. You were working on formatting your poster for the showcase, and he was impressed by your attention to detail. Your graphics were far better than he would normally expect of someone in their first year, though he'd already seen first-hand just how dedicated you were.

"You don't think it's too wordy?" you asked fretfully, pointing at your methods section as he hovered behind you.

He knew he was leaning a little closer into you than was strictly necessary, but he couldn't help it. You didn't wear perfume, but the faint, flowery scent of your shampoo seemed to seep through his pores and leave behind a sweet ache he wasn't sure would ever go away.

It wasn't like he was going to do anything, so surely he could indulge himself in these innocuous ways, right?

"Dr. Kim?"

Your voice broke him out of his dangerous thoughts into an even more perilous reality, and he realized that in his distraction he had hovered even closer. Close enough to count the lashes bordering your eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your cheeks. Closer and closer you came, and Seokjin found himself unable to move, unable to do anything but savor the soft whisper of your breath against his skin.

Your lips were soft and insidiously sweet, and before he could stop himself he was kissing you back. It was intoxicating, and he felt the ache in his chest recede even as those dark vines wrapped further around his heart.

You let out the sweetest, most beautiful sigh against his lips and suddenly he came to his senses, stumbling away from the edge of the abyss he desperately wanted him to fall into. It took all of his self control to back away, to keep himself from devouring you the way the mass in his chest demanded.

He looked at you and wished he hadn't, as your blissful expression rapidly shifted from confused to horrified to heartbroken.

Every fiber of his being demanded for him to rush forward and gather you in his arms when your lips began to tremble. Yet all he could do was stare at you, rooted to the spot while you spluttered apologies, gathered your things in a haphazard rush, and fled out the door.

His lips tingled, and when he swiped his tongue over them he could still taste the faint flavor of your fruity chapstick.

Fuck.

Fuck.

~~~~~

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

You were such a fucking idiot. Why had you done that? Well okay, you knew why but fuck your body and its lack of impulse control.

But how were you supposed to think rationally when he was that close, his body heat washing over you in warm waves and his woody cologne consuming your senses? It felt like his proximity always made your brain shut down, especially since the day he had so matter-of-factly said he thought you were beautiful.

And he had been so - so attentive lately, the look in his eyes warm enough to send tingles down your spine. The sporadic little gifts, the random touches, his gentle teasing, everything your professor did went straight to your head and heart, filling you with what you now realized was hubris.

How had you deluded yourself into thinking he felt anything for you other than whatever normal fondness a mentor might have for their charge? You were such an idiot.

When you threw yourself into the scant sanctuary of your dorm, you were relieved to see that Sierra wasn't back yet. There was no one here to see you throw yourself face down onto your bed and scream into your pillow.

You hadn't realized how close Dr. Kim had been standing until you turned to speak to him more directly, and when you met his gaze, the look in his eyes had ensnared you completely. You had found yourself hypnotized, no more able to resist his pull than the tides could deny the moon.

Your breathing slowed as you recalled just how soft and full his lips were, how he was standing so close that all you needed was an inch to be in his arms. With a start, you realized - he had kissed you back. For a brief, wonderful moment, your professor's lips had pressed deeper against your own with a warmth that set you aglow. Before he had backed away from you and stared as if you had grown two heads.

Oh no, what if it was because you were a bad kisser? You only had Taehyung for reference, what if he never said anything because he didn't want to offend you?

Shit, you couldn't just hide in your room and cease to exist. There was no way you could avoid Dr. Kim for the rest of your life and pretend you hadn't just done one of the stupidest things imaginable. The best you could do was beg for his forgiveness and hope you hadn't ruined everything.

With your heart pounding, mind racing, and stomach churning, you pulled out your phone. You had his number in case you needed to coordinate meetings/lab timings, though you rarely used it because you didn't want to bother him.

You I am so, so sorry I don't know what I was thinking

Dr. Kim Hey, it's okay

You I didn't mean to put you in that kind of position I hope you don't think I'm that type of person

Dr. Kim [Y/n], I know you're not Please don't worry about it

You You must be thinking so many terrible things about me And I probably deserve it I know you just see me as like some college kid and me throwing myself at you like that was so stupid I'm so sorry

Dr. Kim Don't say things like that

You I'm so embarrassed I just Please let me finish out the project and then I promise never bother you again I'm so sorry

Dr. Kim [Y/n] Stop You're never a bother If I'm being honest… it wasn't completely unwelcome

You Really?

Dr. Kim Yes But it can't happen again I could lose my job And besides what you had to deal with earlier in the semester, it wouldn't be good for your academic career either You're a brilliant, driven, and hard-working person, [y/n], I would hate for anyone to think you didn't earn everything you've achieved up to now

You I understand Thank you for being so kind You don't have to say all that just to make me feel better

Dr. Kim Please stop beating yourself up about this Nothing I said was a lie

You I'm sorry again I can drop your class for next semester if you don't want me there

Dr. Kim Nonsense The only thing that's upsetting me is that you're beating yourself up about this so much I want you there And I was going to ask you after the showcase, but I do have the funding if you would like to continue doing research with me

You What? Really? Are you sure?

Dr. Kim No, I'm Kim Seokjin

You …

Dr. Kim Struck speechless by how your professor is both brilliant and witty I understand Seriously speaking though, yes I am 100% sure I would love to continue working with you

You Ha ha ha Then absolutely, thank you so much!! I'll try to be normal

Dr. Kim But you're not normal, you're extraordinary :)

You Professor!!! You can't say things like that!

Dr. Kim I can't make true statements about the top student in my course?

You ;aljfasljfjs You're the worst I'm not sorry anymore

Dr. Kim Cute I'll see you in office hours

You stared at your phone, heart pounding and mind racing. Cute? CUTE???? What did he mean by that? Did he even mean to mean anything by that? No, he couldn't have, he had literally just told you it couldn't happen again. But he had also confirmed that he liked kissing you. Oh god, what were you doing?

With an anguished groan, you locked your phone and tossed it into your bag. He was right, it had been a stupid thing to do that could have ruined everything either of you had worked for. You weren't about to throw away your hopes and dreams for a beautiful professor who made you feel like the only person in the world when he looked at you.

Five seconds later your phone was back in your hands as you read and reread the exchange like a conspiracy theorist looking for proof of the Illuminati. You were a stupid bitch.

~~~~~

This was torture. Of the sweetest kind, perhaps, but torture nonetheless.

You nibbled your lip, and Seokjin felt his tongue flick out to wet his own as he remembered just how soft they had been.

Things had gone more or less back to normal between the two of you, other than a few awkward pauses and silences here and there. If there were a few lingering stares or an air of words left unsaid, no one needed to know. True to your word, you made no further attempts to touch him, kiss him, or even to be alone with him, really. He should have been relieved.

Unfortunately, you were more tantalizing than any drug and now that he had gotten a taste he couldn't get you out of his head. He found himself thinking of you more and more, craving the honey of your voice, the innocent and yet forbidden feel of your lips against his.

To all appearances, Seokjin's placid demeanor was that of a still ocean. But underneath the calm facade was a roiling mass of emotions, desire warring with affection warring with disgust at himself.

You shifted slightly in your seat, crossing one bare leg over the other. He swallowed, eyes raking down your skin before tearing his gaze away and back to the papers he was supposed to be grading.

Sure, maybe the air conditioning set by the building was a bit lacking in his office, but did you really have to torture him like this? Despite a long gulp from his water bottle, he couldn't get rid of the dryness in his throat, or the thirst that seemed to grow day by day.

"Achoo!"

He chuckled at the cute way you wrinkled your nose and glanced at him after your sneeze, and your embarrassed expression turned into a pout.

"Wow, your prized student could be dying and you just laugh," you grumbled, crossing your arms. Seokjin grinned, trying not to stare at the tantalizing jut of your lower lip. Then he strode over to you, pulled along by those creeping tendrils he couldn't find it in himself to cut away.

"Oh?" he teased, reaching forward to press his hand against your forehead. He felt your face heat up at his proximity, eyes wide in surprise, and something dark purred in his chest. "Hmm, I guess you are a little warm."

Your face somehow flamed even hotter and you gave him a light shove that was clearly not meant to move him at all. He didn't budge, despite every rational part of his mind begging him to back off and stop sending you mixed signals. The other part of him felt electric, relishing in the softness of your skin, the warmth seeping off of your body, and the way you were so clearly affected by his actions.

"P-professor," you spluttered, eyes darting anywhere but at his face. You drew your lower lip between your teeth, worrying at the plump flesh, and his gaze sharpened.

"Are you sure you're not getting sick?" he asked in mock-concern, taking the opportunity to stare hungrily at your mouth while you looked away. You were so close, all it would take was a few inches to close the distance and taste your lips again.

Seokjin's brain chose that moment to finally catch up with his body, and he stepped away, feeling his ears go hot.

"Well, it doesn't feel too bad," he said, clearing his throat. You blinked at him, slow and confused and dangerously endearing. "Have you been eating well?"

You began to giggle at his stuffy question, and he wondered if he could get drunk off the sound.

"The same as always," you said softly, gaze flicking up to meet his eyes with a smile. It lasted just a split second, and yet Jin felt time freeze as he felt those vines begin to pull him back under. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and retreated back to his desk.

"You should take better care of yourself," he said when he was safely restrained by the breadth of space and wood furniture between the two of you. A tiny part of him wanted to tell you to run away from him, long and far. He ignored it.

"I'm fine," you said with a shrug, echoing your words at the coffee shop a few weeks prior. "You don't need to worry about me."

All Seokjin could do was sigh, aware that he wasn't really in a position to insist, especially considering he was the one who had shut down the kiss that never ceased plaguing his mind.

But how could he not worry? You were special, and the possibility of some college idiot taking advantage of your sweet nature was all too realistic. Of Taehyung, kissing your lips, swallowing your pretty sighs, of touching you in ways he had no right to.

Seokjin's jaw clenched. As if some eighteen-year-old whelp would be able to treasure you like you deserved, to touch you the way you needed, to make you -

"Professor?"

Your voice halted his spiraling thoughts, and for a moment all he could do was stare, trying not to think about how your body would feel pressed against his own, what sounds and reactions he could elicit from you. He licked his lips involuntarily, and by the way your eyes followed the movement he could tell you hadn't forgotten, either.

Fuck. You were so beautiful, lips softer than the petals of any flower. He wanted to be the one to make you bloom, for your thoughts to be as consumed as his own.

Even if that couldn't be the case, he could at least protect you. Seokjin would guide you, give you advice, steer you from those that might pluck you away and crush you under their undeserving feet. Anything to keep that smile on your face, and those lovely eyes fixed on him.

Anything for you.

~~~~~

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